A Letter to my Urbana Starbucks Customers

Dear Amazing Customers:

My intention was to write you all individualized notes, but due to a planning failure (I should have started writing them 6 months ago - ha!), you all get this one letter. Know that the words are sincere and meant for each of you personally.

When I started working at Starbucks a year and a half ago, I had no idea this experience would affect me to the extent it has. I have had the opportunity and privilege of getting to know some of the most caring, thoughtful and interesting people in this community. For that, I want to say thank you. Thank you for opening your lives to me. Thank you for letting me get to know you and your families. Thank you for trusting me with not just your coffee, but bits of yourselves.

I believe that every interaction, no matter how seemingly insignificant, can have a monumental impact. You probably didn't realize that each day while you were being your incredible selves, you were impacting my life. If ever I'm feeling hopeless for humanity, a flashback to the Urbana Starbucks drive thru will change that. With your friendly faces and warm spirits, you daily made me aware of wonderful people everywhere.

My hope is that you felt valued and loved (and caffeinated) as you drove away from Starbucks. Keep inspiring people like you've all inspired me.

Thanks again, and I wish you all the very best. If you're ever in San Diego, please do let me know!

Your Urbana Starbucks Barista,
Emilee Shake

A Prayer

Saint Theresa's Prayer

    May today there be peace within.

    May you trust God that you are exactly where you are meant to be.

    May you not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith.

    May you use those gifts that you have received, and pass on the love

that has been given to you.

    May you be content knowing you are a child of God.

    Let this presence settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to sing,

dance, praise and love.

    It is there for each and every one of us.

Changing the World

"How wonderful it is that nobody need wait a single moment before starting to improve the world." - Anne Frank

I want to be a world changer. 

Now that's a big dream. A dream that I once thought was unattainable, ridiculous, and, frankly, naive. I thought the whole "change the world" bit sounded like a beauty pageant Q&A line and would never be taken seriously. But I've come to realize that's so far from the truth. I can change the world, and so can you.

Changing the world happens one loving person at a time.

 

Changing the world doesn't take a superstar platform. It doesn't take a spouse. It doesn't take living in a city or having a million Facebook friends. It takes a single person deciding to act in love and compassion, deciding to show kindness instead of impatience. When many people (even in the Church) are proclaiming the world's going to hell in a hand basket, world changers are the ones giving hope for tomorrow, believing that Jesus came to restore and are actively being part of that restoration process.

Simply showing one individual generosity can change his/her world, and that's changing the world.

Let's change the world, friends.

What does being a "world changer" mean to you?

Floating

You know the feeling of being in over your head?

Like you've taken on a project that you have no idea how to accomplish. Or you've planned your schedule too tightly and you're not sure you'll make all of your engagements. Or you've entered a relationship and you feel totally out of control.

Whether we inch into the deep end of the pool of life or cannonball from the ledge, it's inevitable that we occasionally find ourselves there.

I usually end up fighting the water. I'm not an excellent swimmer, so as the battle to keep my head above water rages, I tire. Quickly.

But what if I relaxed and floated? I know how to float. What if I worked with the water as oppose to fighting it?

That's my challenge for myself and for you. No matter what situation I find myself in, I want to float. I want to relax and not tire. I want to enjoy where I am and not be consumed with seeking control. I want live the adventure.

Hey friend! - I have a friend-assumption issue.

I spent some time back in good ol' Daviess County in Southern Indiana recently. Whenever I'm home, I like to make rounds and visit some of my favorite people and places. One of those places happens to be the newspaper office, where I held my first full-time job as a reporter. While there, I was told by Todd Lancaster, sports editor, that my blog needs to have some funny in it, not so much serious. Since Todd, one of the funniest people I know, was recently awarded a "Columnist of the Year" award, I thought perhaps I should heed his advice and try it; although, I'm not exact sure written humor is my thing.

I have a problem. Instantly after meeting an individual, I think he/she and I are friends. Even if I don't meet them, if I just read their name on a name tag in a restaurant or store, I remember it and think we're friends. I guess this problem shouldn't surprise me. When I was probably 8 or 9, I told my mom "Every stranger is just a friend you haven't met." (She makes fun of me for that all the time. lol.)

This problem has been the root of some awkward encounters in the past. The beginning of my senior year of college, I met this freshman girl. She told me all the intro facts: her name, where she's from, her major, her dorm, etc. I didn't see her again until the end of the school year, and, strangely, I remembered her name, where she was from, her major and her dorm. When I excitedly stopped her to ask how her first year in the criminal justice program was and if she was living in Morton Hall again the following year, she looked at me weirdly and said, "Good, and no" and walked away. She had no clue who I was.

Then it's always evident that what I perceived as a friendship was just an acquaintanceship when after a person pops into my head, I go to write on her Facebook wall only to find out she's unfriended me. That's happened many times. And every time, it makes me laugh.

And most recently, I was hit with this reality at Walmart. One night while paying for a few items, I had a friendly conversation with the cashier who thought she knew someone in my family. She told me she thought I went to her church and was an artsy photographer. Laughing, I said I'd like to be an artsy photographer and that I go to a different church. As if the friendly talk didn't seal the friendship, I thought for sure the church connection would. I read her name tag and said, "Bye, Heidi! Have a good night!" as I walked way. A few days later, while walking through one of the aisles, I saw Heidi, only this time she was shopping. I started to smile and say hi to her when she made eye contact and immediately looked away. And I realized yet again, she has no clue who I am.

I am absolutely not seeking pity. I actually think it's kind of funny. I'm sure Heidi has loads of conversations with customers every shift, and it's not her problem I have a friend-assumption issue. Basically, I'm coming clean about this with all of you today so you understand this: If I know your name, I think we're friends. :)

Learning from Moses

So Deuteronomy 34:7 says Moses was 120 years old when he died. Before God called him to any sort of action, Moses waited 40 years... in the wilderness... with a flock of sheep... wandering aimlessly. And then, boom! A burning bush and God sent him to deliver the Israelites from slavery.

I'm can only imagine what was going on in Moses' head those 480 months of wandering. I bet for awhile he fought off memories of killing the Egyptian (Ex. 2). Maybe he wondered if Pharaoh would ever find him or forget about what he'd done. Perhaps he thought he'd be a shepherd the rest of his life. I wonder if that bothered him or if he was satisfied with it. But I imagine every time he'd try to convince himself he was content, the image of the Egyptian beating the Hebrew would pop into his mind and anger at the injustices would ensue.

4 months. That's how long I've been waiting for direction. Nothing compared to Moses, granted, but I believe I've had some of the same feelings. In an attempt to reach contentment, I've found myself pressing towards nirvana - trying to remove my desires, tricking myself into wanting nothing (which I'm convinced isn't what God wants). Like Moses, I know things aren't as they should be. I've seen injustices done in various developing countries around the world. I've read blogs, watched videos, viewed photos of hurting, abused, neglected, hungry, thirsty, dying people nationally and internationally. I've been livid when it appears justice doesn't prevail. I've been broken when I read statistics of orphaned children. I've been down-right infuriated when I hear about human trafficking. Ahh! There's just an infinite amount of brokenness...

I see so much need in the world, and while I only have one life to offer, I want to give it. I want to act. I want to do something. I want to make a difference. I'm willing to travel the world, to sell everything I own, to -gasp- wear dresses or skirts every day if need be. But I find myself in Champaign, Ill.... in the middle of corn fields... in a college town... wearing the only pair of jeans I own every day... looking for a job...

If you've read any of my previous posts, you know I moved here to be part of a church plant, Confluence Church. And, I want to be clear, while I'm here, serving the Champaign-Urbana community with Confluence is my purpose. God is moving in this city, and it is a privilege to be serving Him in this capacity and partnering with Him in this work. Truly humbled.

I just know this is temporary. I don't know if it's temporary like Moses' time as a shepherd, the 40-years-type of temporary, or if it's temporary like 1-2 years, the you-don't-have-an-income-type of temporary. But I do know this: Even in the temporary, God meets me. Even in the waiting, He shows up. Even in the longing for more, this is enough.

Reading about Moses encourages me. I'll wait as long as I need to wait, and I'll know there is strategy and purpose in the wait and timing. (deep inhale, slow exhale -- this is not easy.)

Risky Business

risk /risk/

Noun: A situation involving exposure to danger
Verb: Expose (someone or something valued) to danger, harm, or loss

Words or phrases I think of when I hear "risk": action, adventure, scary, dangerous, against the norm, a lot on the line, scary, unknown outcome, scary...

I've always hated the fact that I'm not much of a risk taker. Risk takers are unique people. They believe in what they're risking for. They're willing to put it all on the line. They're actually doing. They're acting out of their beliefs, regardless of the outcome.

All the situations I can dream of people "risking" involve them doing something, taking some crazy action. Buying a company despite the opposition from others. Bungee jumping despite the minute chance of an accident. Taking a job despite having to relocate across the country. ...Those are what I think are risks.

But here's what hit me this morning: If risk, by definition, is "a situation involving exposure to danger" then perhaps is NOT acting sometimes a risk? Isn't it a risk to be offered a job then NOT take it? Isn't it a risk to see an opportunity and NOT pursue it?

Couldn't it be a risk to, dare I say, wait?

I'm in a waiting time of life. And while I don't usually want to do anything too risky, I do usually want to DO something. I want to make some kind of action. I hate sitting still. But I think right now, I need to take a risk and wait. Believe me, that's terrifying.

Waiting on the Mosaic

I wonder if the tile creators ever imagined this when they dreamed up the tile designs.

I bet they saw their tiles nicely and neatly laid in lobbies, bathrooms or patios.

Maybe they did dream they'd be displayed in public areas, like around a park fountain. But I doubt they pictured their creations broken into pieces and placed with other mismatched and broken tiles.

But just look at this incredible wall at Park Guell in Barcelona, Spain. It looks so perfect. (Admittedly, I love abstract art. I love that it can be whatever you want it to be. I love thinking about what the artist wanted viewers to see and feel.)

In early January, my typical restlessness was about to overtake me. The many, many dreams I'd horded were about to cause my heart to bust. Among several other crazy things, I'd wanted to live in about 5 major US cities and overseas somewhere all before age 30, so then at 30, I could marry and start a family. Feeling the pressure of time, I began to doubt my decision to join Confluence Church and my 2-year (minimum) commitment to the Champaign area.

I felt like God was asking me to name all of the desires and dreams I'd kept locked in my heart. It was as if my dreams were colorful, unique jars I'd been collecting, each so special to me, so important. As I named them, I lined them up on a counter, being so careful and intentional in their placement as I explained each dream's importance.

Right after they were all lined up and beautifully displayed, they went crashing to the floor, the concrete floor. My entire insides tightened. I looked over the edge of the counter and what I saw was astounding. This is all I could say:

My dreams are being dashed so beautifully that each and every sharp-edged, disproportioned, shattered piece is forming a breathtaking, mosaic work of art.

So that is where I am. My original plans were not bad, just as the tile creators tile dreams weren't bad. But I believe there is an Artist who wants to take my plans and make them into something far more beautiful that I can imagine. I will control my restless heart and wait to see how exactly these pieces flow together.

In the fog

I've learned many things this past month. It's been steep walk on my faith journey. While the rocks seem to be moss-covered and slippery and the fog has nearly blocked all my vision, my ears have become more acute to the voice of my Leader. I hear Him more clearly and more often, and when I don't hear His words or see His pictures/images, I hear His breath and know I'm close. So peacefully and confidently I take my next step. One step at a time. One day at a time. I keep going.

There is one specific word that has resonated with my heart most and that I remind myself of every day. And I believe, friends, that this word is for you too. It's this:

God knows where you are. He sees where you are. He hears your prayers/cries/begs/shouts/yells. He knows your situation. And He cares. He loves you while you cry, while you shout, while you plead. He loves you right there.

He sees where you are. He sees where you started. And He sees where you're going. He sees the entire journey. And He's with you on the whole journey.

Take heart, friends. If you are following Jesus and are in a position where you feel purposeless and lost, where you feel overwhelmed and inadequate, where you feel the whiplash of the world's brokenness...if that's where you are, He is there. He sees you. He loves you. And He will see you through. His love prevails over life's circumstances.

If you stumbled onto this blog and are curious about the assurance this "God" offers, or maybe you have questions you don't think He could answer, or maybe you think I'm insane...regardless, if you feel like contacting me to talk about the questions you and I have regarding faith, email me. (You can find my email address on my profile page.) I love hard questions and have many of my own. I'd be honored to talk to you.

Some things are timeless.

I recently ran across a once very familiar notebook. I carried it with me everywhere my junior year of high school. It was what I’d now call my creative outlet, but that was before I embraced any sort of creativity; I was slightly embarrassed by my writing tendencies.

The notebook housed my poetry. The words that overflowed from my heart. Prayers to God.

So the other day when I found this notebook, I read through each piece of writing, letting my heart remember the words. It was like reconnecting with an old friend. The words I remembered; the climate of life when they were written, I’d forgotten.

I was inspired by my 17-year-old self. As I read through the prayers, I thought of how my life was then, the young woman was becoming. Then I thought of how my life is now, remembering various experiences I’ve had, people I’ve met, places I’ve been, the woman I’m still becoming.

So much in my life has changed, yet my prayers are still the same. Here is one of my poems:

Direct Me, God

1-03-04

Direct me, God

This is new ground

But You’ve been here, Jesus

It’s to You I’m bound

This is what I’m asking

This is what I pray

Show me, Lord

Where to go today

What to say

Who to meet

In a store

Or on the street

Direct me, God

This is new ground

But You’ve been here, Jesus

It’s to You I’m bound

Every breath goes to You

Every step to You

Wherever you choose

Win or lose

We’re in this together

Through all kinds of weather

Lead me wherever

Guide me forever

Direct me, God

This is new ground

But You’ve been here, Jesus

It’s to You I’m bound

You know what I can take

You know when I break

You won’t leave me stranded

I’m Yours, branded

Yours forever

Take me wherever

Show me Your way

For me today

Direct me, God

This is new ground

But You’ve been here, Jesus

It’s to You I’m bound

Cautiously or Radically?

I believe I was a sophomore in high school when I made this life-changing decision. A decision that has, in fact, affected every major decision I've made thereafter.

No, it wasn't the decision to follow Jesus, exactly.

It was the decision to not just live for the Lord, but to live radically for the Lord. During musical worship at a conference, as I was praying, two pictures came into my mind. One picture was of a house on a hill with a fence and a dog in the front yard. The other was a straw hut on a mud road. In my heart I felt that the pictures represent two ways of life. (Note: Don't hear me saying I think having a house on a hill with a fence and a dog is bad or wrong or unspiritual. I don't. At all. And I may very well have one myself someday! If that's all you hear, you'll miss the point.)

To me, the first picture represented living cautiously, while the second represented living radically. Because God knows my heart's language, He used those pictures lead me to a Y in the road on my journey with Him. I decided that night to live each day radically, wanting to live life on the edge.

Right now, I'm trying to figure out what the "each day" part looks like. Moving to Champaign, Ill., to join a church plant team may sound radical, but not to me. It's getting down to the day-by-day details of living radically that has stumped me. My challenge has been to make sure each day is aligning with the larger purpose of living radically, loving radically, and risking radically. And I'm not sure I've been doing that well.

I have a feeling this isn't something I'm going to master anytime soon. It just might take a lifetime.

That I'm not alone

I found tears running down my cheeks this morning.

I'm not one to cry, really. There are typically two things that bring my internal emotions to my exterior: movies and music. Stop, play and pause buttons can be pushed during movies or songs. There's a clear end, either an hour and 58 minutes or 3 minutes and 28 seconds. I get to decide if I want whatever happens during the movie or song to affect me thereafter.

In real life, not so much (which is why I struggle with emotional connectivity).

But this morning, I had no control. It was as if my heart bypassed my brain.

We had communion at Confluence Church for the first time today. Confluence, a church plant in Champaign, Ill., started meeting in July. Church is held at the pastor's home, and we've been catching the vision, learning about the city, discussing practical ways engage the community, building relationships, listening to the Spirit, and worshiping God since then.

Before church, the kids of the pastor went over to the neighbors' houses to invite them. Two kids came, Niko and Tanea.

For communion, someone read 1 Corinthians 11: 23-34 from The Message version. A plate of bread was passed around to everyone one, and Kevin (the pastor) served everyone the juice saying some variation of "This is the blood of Jesus; He died for you." Even the kids were served.

After that, Kevin asked if anyone felt God tell them anything or if they had any images they wanted to share with the group. (This is very common at Confluence. Sometimes no one has anything; sometimes someone does.) A couple of people said very serious, genuine things that were on their hearts. And then there was some silence.

And now, here comes the reason for this post. This the reason there were tears streaming down my cheeks. After a few moments of silence, Niko, the 10-year-old 5th grader who doesn't really go to church, said with more sincerity than I can write

"I felt God say that I'm not alone."

Wow.

I am certain, so certain, something is going on in his heart. The Lord is moving and drawing him near. In a room of strangers, primarily adults, this little boy had the courage to share God told him he's not alone.

Oh, and Niko, who decided to not go to children's church but to stay with the adults, also volunteered to help in a service project next weekend.

All my heart could do was smile through tears.

10 Reasons I’m Not Selling Everything I Own and Traveling the World

My love for traveling has taken me many places in my short 24 years of life. I have amazing friends in Mexico I visit at least yearly. I’ve almost been arrested in Athens, Greece, for not validating my metro ticket (three words: bribe the cop). I’ve met Great Britain’s former Prime Minister Gordon Brown outside a hotel on the northern coast of Wales.

The city of Paris still inspires me when I close my eyes and remember walking out of Sacre Coeur and having my senses overcome with awe at the sight, sounds and smells as the chilled night wind blew my scarf into the empty sky behind me and the entire city sparkled just like in the movies. Flipping through a book I bought at the Vatican and remembering Michelangelo’s incredible art encourages me to persevere when a task seems daunting and the end isn’t in sight.

I spent four months living in a real castle nestled in England’s green countryside. Nearly ten years ago in Haiti I met a little boy, T-Jim, whose picture still sits on my desk in a frame that says, “Memories such as these are treasures of the heart.”

I can’t watch the travel channel because it makes me restless. I can’t flip through vacationing magazines because I want to visit everywhere. I can’t save any money because I spend it all on airfare or gasoline.

So you can imagine how hard it was for me to read Elizabeth Gilbert’s New York Times Bestseller “Eat Pray Love.” In fact, I haven’t read it completely. I had to stop after reading of her experiences in Italy. By that point, I’d created an eBay account, Kelly Blue Booked my vehicle’s worth, and searched one-way flights to various cities across Europe. I was ready to sell everything I owned and move to anywhere. It was then I knew I had to put the book down. My heart just couldn’t take it.

Side note for those of you who are out of touch with pop culture: Gilbert’s book is about her experiences spending a year traveling in search of herself and, some would say, spirituality. She spends time in Italy, where she focuses on food, India, where she visits an Ashram and focuses on prayer, and Indonesia, where she focuses on love. Last weekend a movie based on her book was released starring Julia Roberts. (End side note.)

When my best friend, who loves the book, asked me to see the movie with her, I could hardly say no, especially because it stars my favorite actress of all time. (“Pretty Woman” was my favorite movie as a child.) Going into the theater, I gave myself a pep talk, something not uncommon for me.

“Just enjoy it. You know you’re supposed to be in Champaign now. You just signed a 12-month lease. This is where the Lord wants you. Just enjoy the movie,” I told myself convincingly.

I did enjoy the movie. But, I’ll admit, there were times, while sitting in that surprisingly comfortable movie theater seat, I would have given all but my last breath to be sitting on the Spanish steps in Rome (something I’ve done before) or walking the beaches of Bali (something I long terribly to do).

That brings me to my main point, the title of this post: 10 Reasons I’m Not Selling Everything I Own and Traveling the World. Truly, I believe these reasons are from my heart. However, I must be more truthful in saying perhaps my heart is trying to convince my head these reasons are valid. Regardless, here are the 10 reasons I’m staying in good, ol’ Midwest and not becoming a globetrotter….right now anyway.

1. I’m not in a financial position to spend a year unemployed.
2. My family would hate me.
3. I just signed a 12-month lease that can’t be broken.
4. Honestly, I believe God has led me to Champaign, Ill.
5. Student loans, need I say more?
6. I plan on going back to school next year (for dental hygiene this time).
7. My camera isn’t good enough to take on that kind of trip.
8. I need to shed some pounds before I can fit in with the rest of the world.
9. I would need to take another self-defense course to brush up my moves, and I don’t have time for that now.
10. The final reason, and probably the one I cling to most, is that book has already been written. I won’t write it again; I’ll write my own.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

What is it about natural disasters that brings out the best in people? It seems almost odd that something tragic and terrible would bring unity and camaraderie among strangers and neighbors (and strange neighbors). Oh sure, there will always—on this side of Heaven, anyways—be people who are exceptions to the majority. But for the most part, people seem to band together in times of need. And it appears natural, second-nature.

I think about the earthquake in Haiti a few months ago. The world responded. I was proud not only to be an American, but simply to be living and breathing right now on this earth. To be part of a universal society that saw an earthquake completely and utterly destroy a nation and chose to act. The world leaders did not look away burying heads in their own problems (and Lord knows we've all got plenty of them), but rather they responded. They cared. They aided.

While there are many tragedies in which this type of behavior has occurred (Hurricane Katrina in 2005, 9/11, Indiana Ocean Tsunami in 2004, etc.), I choose to downscale to more local disasters.

Visiting Spring Hill, Tenn. this past weekend during the torrential downpours and flash flooding that happened in Middle Tennessee reminded me of the floods that hit my home county two years ago. It was the summer of 2008, and I was actually living in Spring Hill at the time. Back home in Southern Indiana, the northern part of my county was being hammered with rain. Daviess County is a very rural, farming community, and many farmers grow crops near the river. As the rain escalated, people began to prepare for flooding. People in the community helped sand-bag areas and evacuate homes, anticipating the levees breaking.

Being more than four hours away and feeling very helpless, I realized there was nothing I could do to other than solicit prayer, which in itself is far more productive than anything I could possibly do. I sent a message to one of my best friends, who, at the time, was doing an internship with Mercy Ships in Sierra Leone. (Ironically, he's there again right now working full-time for Mercy Ships.) I told Neil about the flooding going on in the community and asked him to pray for the people there.

A few days later, I received a call from my mom, whose natural enthusiasm was magnified. She told me while several people were out sand-bagging, a big truck showed up with a few men who looked slightly uncertain of what to do. They found a deputy (my uncle), and told him they were from Huntingburg, Neil's hometown about two hours away from mine.

It was the mayor of the city and a few other volunteers. Neil had told his mother about the flooding, who contacted someone, who contacted the mayor. And the mayor decided to find others, drive two hours, and help out some strangers.

So I revisit my first question: What is it about natural disasters that brings out the best in people?

I think natural disasters expose the reality that we are all mortal. There is no differentiation between the rich and the poor, the pretty and the ugly, the confident and the timid. Tornadoes don't avoid the biggest homes. Floods don't recede around homeless camps. In the midst of disasters, all people have is each other. And that, my friends, is beautiful. The acknowledgement that life is about people; that situations and circumstances cannot be controlled; that all you really need is love.

When will we grab hold of that beautiful picture of true unity outside of a disaster and live together in community caring for our brothers and sisters? I look forward to that day.

Dancing in Circles

I just wanted to pass along a new song that I think is phenomenal. At first listen, you—like me—might be repulsed by the sort of boy band vibe that comes from the perfect harmonies or by the pop-esque, Rascal Flatts (bleh!) feel. But hang tight and listen to the words. It's quite a lovely song.

It addresses many things going on in our world, and I especially like the references to God. AND it's true. (Sometimes when artists talk about God in their music, what they say isn't exactly true.)

It's called "Dancing in Circles" by Love and Theft. Please, check it out and let me know what you think.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69_XxCQYg1U

A near tragic breakup

Recently, I almost ended a long, deep, intimate relationship. It could have been the worst mistake of my life; though, I'm sure it could have been mended, but it probably never would have been the same. I was feeling very deceived. No longer was I sure what I'd relied on, believed in and hoped for was true. For years, I'd trusted. I'd found comfort. I'd found strength. I'd found part of myself. And then, I began to doubt.

I almost broke up with country music.

I know, I know. Perhaps I'm being melodramatic.... Or perhaps I'm not. Perhaps something such as music can have a larger impact than realized or recognized. I am a music freak. I may not be able to tell you who sings every song, what year it was released or on what album (the sports editor I work with can do all of those things; he's a music genius). But I sure can spout lyrics from nearly every genre. My heart opens when I'm listening to music. Sometimes, it's like every part of my being is the song. I am the melody, the harmony, the guitars, the drums, the lyrics. It's everything I want to say or wish I could say. It's what my heart feels.

I listen to lots of music, but I prefer acoustic, singer/songwriter type, modern jazz and country. Country music and I have a rich history. My grandpa listens to the country station The Bullet 106.5 all the time. He never turns his radio off. He has the radio in the kitchen and in the garage on 24/7. When I got my first alarm clock with a radio, he set it to that station. And I fell in love. Reba McEntire, Travis Tritt, Patty Loveless, Tim McGraw, Garth Brooks, Aaron Tippin, all of them.

With the exception of about three or four dark years when I would have rather listen to a chainsaw than to country music (I don't speak of those years often), I've been a fan all my life. It was my comfort and my hope. It seemed more like real life to me.

But then I began to wonder, are those lyrics true? Do people really think those things? Should I find encouragement and strength in this? Am I believing in the words of some far-fetched dream? The questions where there. The doubts. And with the doubts came other radio stations. I gave country music very little airtime. It went from being my primary tunes to being my last resort.

I started thinking about the songs. Hearing "Independence Day" by Martina McBride takes me back to a cab ride back to Harlaxton Manor on the last leg of our Paris trip. Alyse, Beth, Megan and me in Marty's cab with that song cranked up singing at the top of our lungs. Then there's Reba's "Fancy," which I remember watching her perform in a long, red sequency dress when I was in the third grade (a concert my mom surprised me with on a school night). Joey and Rory's "Cheater, Cheater" was a solace to me at one time in my life. And, honestly, I've yet to find a song that fits me, my personality and my desires like Terri Clark's "I Wanna Do It All."

I've lived through country music. There was no way I was going to stop living through it, stop remembering moments in life through it. Heck no.

So tonight, as I was driving home, I knew we'd crossed the valley when I bypassed Lady GaGa and Train for Reba McEntire. Two weeks ago, that never would have happened (I say ashamedly, as if my allegiance to Reba has been slightly tarnished).

All relationships have their ups and downs. It's just a matter of having wisdom and knowing when to trust your heart or your head. Had I ended things with country music, I believe there would be a void not only in my music sphere, but in my life. Country music connects me to my feelings. I guess you could say I'm a cowgirl at heart.

In my dreams; En mis sueños; Dans mes rêves

Recently, I've had two dreams in which I communicated easily and effectively in other languages.

I've had friends who've dreamt in other languages, but all of those friends actually speak other languages. Me, I don't. Not because of a lack of opportunity. Unfortunately, when I had the opportunity and was enrolled in Spanish courses in college or French classes in high school, I studied only enough to get by, not to learn the language.

The strange part about the dreams is that I have no clue what I was saying. In both dreams I was with people I knew, friends in those countries — Mexico and France. So there I was, just hanging out, laughing and being friends, completely engaging in the conversation. I remember hearing myself say words clearly and without hesitation. I was untroubled by fact I didn't know what I was saying.

I wish learning a language was that easy (I say as I'm sitting on my bed surrounded by my Spanish/English dictionary, picture dictionary and "Daily Spanish for Dummies"). But the dreams encouraged me that perhaps one day I will be able to communicate effectively in another language. Though I'm not holding my breath I'll be able to do it with as much ease as I dreamt.

The New Look

After an intensive and extensive (smiling because both of those words work) search, I decided on a new layout.

I was searching for something that fit me and my posts. There were several layouts that I liked, but they didn't seem to go along with the vibe from the content.

When I saw this one, I immediately liked it. The only thing I don't like is that "Big World" isn't clearly visible at the top. I'm giving it a trial run for a few days and then I'll decide if it's a keeper.

What are your thoughts, friends? Does it work for me?

Hesitation — The Follow Up

Please, if you're interested, read my previous post before diving into this one.

As I was trying to sleep last night, I realized I didn't touch an important part of my thoughts on hesitation. Inconveniently, I woke up thinking about it too. (I despise my overactive subconscious. As if dealing with an overactive mind all day isn't enough, my subconscious is equally busy, at times making it impossible to actually feel rested.)

I always think if there's no takeaway, no application, no implementation, then what good is the thought. So here is where I'm going.

Hesitation in itself is not wrong. The important thing is to figure out what is causing the fear in the hesitation. After getting to the bottom of the fear—actually coming face-to-face with it—it can be brought before the Lord. Then the fear can be justly weighed.

What I'm getting at is it's important to figure out what the fears are and why they exist. And that's something the Lord can help with.

But don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting you go through that whole process before crossing an intersection in a vehicle. I say, "Just gun it and go!" :)

Hesitation

Most days, a thought hits me in the morning and clenches its teeth into my brain. All day, it refuses to loosen its jaw clasp around my mind. I spend the day feeling the individual imprint of each tooth, wondering if its really there, if its just my imagination, if I believe in its power. I question the truth of the thought and its applicability in all circumstances.

Here's what held my mind hostage today:

Every hesitation is rooted in a varying degree of fear.

I was hit with that thought while standing in the shower this morning. I wish I could remember the thought process that got me there, but I haven't the slightest idea. But immediately after, I began to question its truth. I tried to think about different types of hesitations and various times I've hesitated to do anything.

My initial link to hesitation was in driving. I don't know statistics, but I'm going out on a limb to say there are lots of accidents that happen because drivers hesitate. The think they have enough time to make it across the intersection. But then they hesitate before proceeding, and that's when a collision occurs. What caused the hesitation? The fear that they might not make it across. And what really caused the accident? The hesitation...rooted in fear.

I'm a rather indecisive person. If I don't see how the decision will play into the big picture of life, then I don't really care; I'm truly indifferent. (I honestly don't care what restaurant we go to!) But if it's a decision that directly affects the big picture of, say, my life, then I care. Example: Upon my college graduation, I was offered a position with a wonderful organization whose purpose I stood beside doing a job I was passion about in a foreign land that captivated me. I hesitated. Man, did I ever. I hesitated to even say I felt swayed one way or the other. My hesitation was rooted in fear—fear of making the wrong decision, fear I'd bypass an opportunity to serve the Lord, fear I'd step out of God's will for my life. I mention this specific time of hesitation to clarify I'm not saying hesitation altogether is wrong. After all, now more than ever I'm confident I'm where I'm supposed to be. (Plainville, Ind., happens to be the ends of the earth for me right now.)

I hesitate before I tell certain people things, hesitation rooted in the fear they my not receive the words the way my heart intends for them to be received. Or the fear they'll misunderstand me. Or the fear they'll disregard or devalue what I'm saying.

I hesitate before sharing the Gospel at times. I hesitate before letting myself care about certain issues or people. I hesitate before following my heart. I hesitate before making decisions that affect my future. I hesitate before doing anything that will make me uncomfortable or vulnerable.

So at the end of the day, as the thought begins to loosen its bite on my mind, I say I believe it: Every hesitation is rooted in a varying degree of fear.

I invite thoughts on this issue.