A Difficult-ish Farewell

Over the past three years, Dan and I have been wondering what our future would look like regarding a local church. For the past year, we've been pretty confident that we would not be staying at Grabill long term, but had no clear direction on when to leave or where to go. We visited a few congregations, spent several Sundays at Parkview for chapel with my parents, and talked and prayed about what God wanted us to do.
A few weeks ago, during worship team rehearsal, I suddenly felt confident that the end of August was the right time to leave. I was scheduled to be on stage for three weeks in a row, and it made perfect sense to leave after that time.
We told a few people over the next three weeks, but didn't want to make a big deal or scene.
As I stood on stage on Sunday, worshiping with the congregation there, I was given a renewed sense of joy and confidence and freedom regarding our departure.
We do not leave with any bitterness in our hearts. We pray that God would continue to show faithfulness to Grabill Missionary Church.

This is the email we sent on Monday:

"To the Staff of Grabill Missionary Church,
We have decided that Sunday August 27 was our last at Grabill Missionary Church.This decision was difficult in some ways, but also very easy. We have been planning to leave GMC for the past two years, and now know that this is the right time.
Our reasons for leaving are numerous, but I (Hope) want to start by saying that we are not leaving because we are hurt or offended by any individual. We do not leave with wounds or scars or bitterness. It's more of a general feeling of discomfort with the culture of GMC, and the understanding that God is leading us away.
I've been part of this congregation for nearly ten years and it's never quite felt like "home." I was 16, a junior in high school, and a pastor's kid. I was awkward and uncomfortable. I didn't know who I was, but I know I've changed. My views and beliefs would be almost unrecognizable to the sixteen-year-old version of me, and I like that. They are more compassionate and gracious than those of my high school years. I like the nuanced views I've developed as I've matured spiritually and intellectually. The problem is, GMC does not feel like a place to have nuanced conversations. I want to be able to speak openly about my thoughts, but experience tells me that to do so would only lead to criticism and judgment and being told that I'm young and worldly.
We are also looking for a more diverse congregation. GMC is very white and family-oriented. This isn't surprising, but it's difficult right now to stay somewhere so homogeneous. If we decide to have kids, we want to raise them in a church culture that is warm and welcoming to every race, color, gender, sexual orientation, marital status, etc. We want all visitors to walk in and see people who look like them, or at the very least, meet people who demonstrate a level of comfort with differences.
There are changes happening in structure and leadership at GMC. These are good things and I pray that God would pour out blessing during these times of difficult transition. But we feel God leading us away from participation in this season. It's time for us to start over together. Our identity at GMC has been tied to my parents and Dan hasn't quite figured out how to be part of the congregation there. We need to find a local church family in which we can be ourselves as a married couple, rather than a former pastor's kid and her husband.
We're excited for the journey that we will be taking over the next weeks and months and years. For the next couple months, we'll be spending our Sunday mornings at the Parkview chapel with my parents. I will be helping lead the music. We will be moving to a new apartment in late October, which will put us farther away and that's when we will begin visiting churches.
The sermon yesterday was exactly what we needed to hear on our last Sunday at GMC. The local church is incredibly important for spiritual growth, and we can't wait to see where God leads us. But we know that to stay at GMC would not be good for us or for the body there.
We are thankful for the love, support, encouragement, prayers, and friendship that we have found during our time at Grabill Missionary Church. I know that my life would be completely different had my dad not been employed there. Our arrival there was an act of obedience, and we leave with the same attitude. God has proven Himself faithful over the past decade, and we trust in His goodness."

My life would have gone in a very different direction if we hadn't started attending GMC. I wouldn't have gone to Bethel, worked at East of Chicago, met Dan, or gotten a job at Brotherhood. I'm thankful for what God did with our time there, and I'm excited to see what He does with the next steps of our journey.

Feel free to ask us (me) questions. They might not get answered to your satisfaction, but you can ask.

Let's talk about consent.

Brock Turner has served half of his six month sentence and his being released. He was convicted of sexual assault. He was guilty.
And he served three months for a "youthful indiscretion" that caused a lifetime of trauma.
Drunken sexual assault is not a "youthful indiscretion."

It's rape and it's destructive and it needs to stop.

So here are a few pieces of advice to anyone who's considering raping someone. There aren't original thoughts, but here they are in one place:

• Don't. If you need sex that badly, get help. Others would advise you to get a hooker, but there's clearly something deeper going on. You need help.
  
• You need an actual "yes." You need real consent. You need to be told that your advances (which should always start with genuine interest and not just a desire to have sex) are wanted and that your desires are reciprocated.
  
• Previous consent does not mean current consent
  
• Drunk consent is not consent.
  
• Previous rejection does not turn into consent under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
  
• Previous rejection should be respected and not challenged.
  
• Don't deal with rejection by going to a party and waiting for someone to be drunk enough to be convinced.
  
• If he or she has said "no," that's when you stop. It doesn't matter how close you are to finishing. Your pleasure doesn't matter once you've been told to stop.
  
• Your pleasure needs to stop being your first priority.
  
• Again, drunk consent is not consent. Even if it seems to be, it's not. Drunk sex is not good sex. Sex without consent is not good sex. It's rape.
  
• If you have to "have sex" with someone behind a dumpster, you're not doing it right. Unless you're both sober and think it's exciting. Even then, it's a dumpster. There's garbage juice on that ground. You're going to end up with a nasty infection and it won't have been worth it.
  
• You own your own body. Only your own. You have no rights to any one else's body unless they are offered freely.
  
• Don't wait for someone to be drunk in order to try to have sex with them. That's not how it works. And you need to stop using that excuse when you're accused.
  
• Just stop. You won't get in trouble for staying home with a bottle of lotion. (Although porn is a whole other layer of this.)
  
• Seriously. Unless you actually have a psychological disorder, you won't get any real pleasure from this. 

I know that a blog post by some rando won't do much, but if I can make one person think or make one more voice heard, I will be fine with my small influence.

Stop trying to take ownership of anyone's body or life other than your own. Stop making your urges the most important thing.

I think your "Always" tattoo is ridiculous.

This post contains opinions that I have been formulating for years. I know that it will offend some people and will possibly cause you to regret something that caused you pain and cost you money. For that, I apologize. If you are proud of your tattoo, be proud. I won't tell you to your face, but I want to point this out and maybe save someone the time and money.

Let me start by saying that I'm a huge Harry Potter fan.

Okay, I read the books often and own all of the movies and really want to go to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter. I do not involve myself in Pottermore and I don't seek out new information that J.K. Rowling puts out about the universe. I don't need it. And I can't spend that much time on one thing.

But I am very serious about this one thing:


Severus Snape is an obsessive creep.


I know, that might be a controversial opinion and you're already preparing to fight with me. But please, hear me out.


1. Young Severus "watched" Lily Evans and observed her magical powers. He had already been indoctrinated with Pureblood supremacy ideology enough to mock Petunia for being a jealous Muggle.

2. He remained obsessed with Lily through the rest of his life, but his prejudices were so ingrained that he called her a "Mudblood" and refused her help when she tried to defend him against the Marauders. Yes, he apologized and tried to make things right, but that kind of slip of the tongue doesn't just happen. (Is this also evidence of self-loathing, since he is also not a Pureblood wizard?)

3. He called himself the "Half-Blood Prince." He thought so much of himself that he could give himself that title.

4. He joined Voldemort. He became a Death Eater. He made that choice and was probably somehow involved in the abuse and/or murder of Muggles or Muggle-borns.

5. He only came to Dumbledore in order to beg him to save Lily. Not James. Not her son. Just Lily, whom he likely hadn't seen in years and who was actively fighting the oppression that he was part of.

6. He was horrible to Harry. It makes a certain amount of sense, because he was staring at the face of the man who not only bullied him at school but won Lily's heart; and, in that face were the eyes of the woman he loved. And the existence of this child was the reason Lily was killed.

7. His Patronus became a doe at some point because he was so desperately in love with Lily. Lily's Patronus was a doe either because it changed to match James's stag or because it was some kind of sign that they were meant to be together.

For Snape to still be that much in love with a woman he had pushed away, who had married and had a child with someone else, is creepy. If we took this story out of the context of this world that we love so much and put it in real life, he would not be someone we would admire. We would not celebrate that kind of commitment from an actual person.

Yes, teenage James Potter was a jerk. He and Sirius preyed on Severus because he was studious and greasy and poor. Remus didn't stop him. Peter was just a mess and ultimately ruined the lives of so many people.

Yes, Snape pledged his loyalty to Dumbledore, even to the end. He ultimately gave Harry the key to the whole thing. He was a kind of hero and as a layered and complex character, he was brilliantly written. However, this thing that is quoted and permanently inked onto people's bodies and used as wedding decorations is awful. Don't celebrate this creepy love.

And yes, I did give seven reasons. No, it was not intentional. (Can you find the eighth reason I never intended to create?)

I got married and then...Mrs. Smith

We've been married for almost ten months.

I know, you haven't received the thank you notes that I promised you four months ago. Chill, please. It'll happen. I'm sorry.

I've been training for a new job, worrying about where we're going to live in a few months, and sleeping through headaches for several Saturdays in a row.

But it's been five months since I wrote a post and I have something to write about right now, because I've been working for ten months to change my stupid name. (I love my name, but it's been quite the process, and I still have work to do.)

About a week after our wedding, I drove to the other side of town to the Social Security office to apply for a name change and a new card. It was a simple process, changing "Swanson" to a middle name and making "Smith" my last name. I was given a receipt, but I didn't look closely at it.

After a couple week, my card hadn't arrived. I checked the receipt and the mailing address was incorrect. Now, before you worry that my card was sent to a stranger who would steal my identity, the address it was sent to did not exist. It would be returned to the Social Security Administration as "Undeliverable." When I realized this, I called the local office and explained the situation. I was told that the name change had been successful, that I didn't really need a card for my everyday life, and that I could either go on without worrying about it or come back to the office and apply for a new card.

Because I was only getting paid for the hours I worked, I didn't want to take time off to take care of it. I didn't need my card for anything, and I knew my name was officially correct.

Once I was hired full time and had vacation days, I took a half day. I drove across town again. I sat for over an hour waiting for my number to be called. I explained my issue again to the woman at the window. She asked me what my name was supposed to be. "Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith" She gave me a receipt. The address was correct, the name wasn't quite right, but the last time I went I was told that there weren't enough available characters but that the card would be printed correctly.

A few days later, I opened the mailbox and found the envelope from the SSA. "Yes! She got the address right!"

I opened the envelope, pulled out the card, and found myself in a blind rage. "Hope Elizabeth Swans Smith." SWANS! Swans. That is not my name. That is not what I said, and she didn't give me the opportunity to review the information. It also doesn't make much sense, since she had our marriage license with "Swanson" on it. Isn't it logical to assume that that's the name I wanted?

Also, it was the same woman who got the address wrong, even though she was looking at our marriage license with the correct address.

I spent the next week annoyed that my options were to either deal with it and finally get my swan tattoo or take more time off. The hours at our local office don't allow for me to go after work or on the weekend, which I can almost understand. It also adds an item to the list of reasons why the government is the worst. (It's not, and I've written about it, but it's frustrating and inconvenient.)

I woke up a week ago and was sick enough to stay home from work. I was pretty miserable, but I decided to take advantage of the day and make the trek across town AGAIN to explain the situation AGAIN. I took Dan with me this time.

Congratulations to the office for getting a new check-in computer in the last month!

I got to work with a different woman, who was much more helpful and understanding. She let me check and confirm the information and the name that would be printed on my new card. She gave back my first card, even after taking a Sharpie to it and voiding it (I'm too sentimental for my own good and started crying when I realized that this card that I've had forever would be destroyed). She was very sweet and I am so thankful for her.

And yesterday I opened the mailbox and found Saturday's mail. Behold, an envelope from the Social Security Administration. Behold, inside that envelope, my new Social Security card.

Behold, Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith. My name. My real, official, preferred name. After ten months, three visits, plenty of tears and frustration, I have my new name. It's done.

I still have to get a new driver's license and passport in the next couple of months, so stay tuned.

I got married and then...Thank You Notes.

We've been married for five months. It's been really difficult. Like, really. I have cried a lot. We've argued about really stupid things. We've hurt each other (not physically. Well, not intentionally. With malicious intent.)

I've had to reexamine my goals and my purpose. I've had to seriously think about why I wanted to get married and why I wanted to marry Dan. Sometimes I don't have those answers in the moment.

We don't have great jobs. We don't have our own health insurance. We don't have a lot of money to spend on frivolous things. Our schedules don't typically allow for regular meals together. We don't cook normal meals anyway. Dan will cook a big batch of something that will give us leftovers for a few days. I eat a lot of dry cereal and make a lot of pasta. We're not very good at being fully-functioning adults. But we're learning.

It has also been really good. We're committed to being a team and facing all of these things together. We know that the way things are now is not the way things will always be, and we know that we get to decide some of the ways things will change.

And here's something we've (I've) been struggling with since before we got married.

We still have not written all of our "thank you" notes from our wedding. We've done a few, and I spent some time creating hand-stamped notes, but these things are probably the worst thing about having had a wedding. Seriously. I was fine with standing in heels for a few hours. I loved the feeling of my dress. It wasn't great that we didn't greet everyone and there are definitely people who we wished could have been there. But the process of writing these stupid notes is weighing on me more heavily than any research paper deadline or conversation I've been avoiding. I want to sound sincere and share how we've used each gift and say how important each person has been to us. But I only have so much sincerity to go around, and Dan isn't any better.

So here's the plan:
We're not going to write them. WE'RE NOT GOING TO WRITE HANDWRITTEN, PERSONAL "THANK YOU" NOTES TO EVERYONE WHO GAVE US A WEDDING GIFT. Instead, we will write a "here's what has happened in our first six months of marriage" letter, kinda like a Christmas letter (also something we're not going to do often), and write a brief personalized note at the end when we physically sign our names.

If this bothers you, I'm very sorry. We're a new generation. We're changing the way things are done because that's what Millennials are supposed to do. I understand the importance of etiquette, and I know that Emily Post would shoot me dead if she could. But she's dead. And you're getting a real update on what has been going on in the life of the Smiths, instead of a slightly vague, very late, disappointingly cliched note that you might not even be able to read (my handwriting isn't great). We are thankful to have had such great support and encouragement on our wedding day and in the months before and after.

We'll be drafting this letter soon and sending them out in the next month. We love our friends and family, and we want you to know about the adventures of our marriage to this point.

And that's what happened after I got married. I should probably get back to work.


By the way, this will be a new blog series that I might turn into a book someday.
I'll be writing about

• living in a tiny apartment
• sharing a bed (almost) every night
• division of labor
• family events
• crisis moments

and probably some more situations that we've faced. Get ready for some real life and some humor (that won't translate well into text).

My Responsibility

My heart hurts.

As I scroll through my Facebook and Twitter feeds, I see too many headlines filled with hatred, prejudice, and opinions based on fear. I consider the success of Donald Trump's campaign thus far and can only pray that his statements will open up a better conversation about refugees, freedom, diversity. I pray for a better option. I pray for Donald Trump. And I wait for next summer when the conventions present us with our options for November. Indiana isn't given the option of choosing a candidate, so I have to trust the states who have that power.

I work with Muslim immigrants. I volunteer with an organization in Fort Wayne, IN called International House. We offer ESL tutoring, sewing classes, assistance in finding jobs, support for refugee and immigrant families, fellowship, homework help, and whatever else we can do to make the transition easier and to provide a safe place to struggle. Most of the people who come to us are African Muslims. Many of them waited in refugee camps for months or years. They come from Somalia, Sudan, Kenya. They have seen horrific things. They have had their humanity compromised. They have suffered.

We're a Christian organization, but we don't put pressure on the people who come to us to accept Jesus. We know that showing them love and support is more important and more effective. Of course we want them to come to know Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior. We want that for everyone. We know what our faith has given us: hope, comfort, joy, a belief that God is good in all circumstances. But we don't get to scream at these people. We choose to be their friends. We choose to live out our faith in front of them and we give them opportunities to talk to us. More than anything, we want them to know that they are loved and that they are welcome.

I do not often take to the Internet regarding controversial issues. I hate being lost in the cacophony of debate. I write so moderately, and I think there are people who want that, but I'm only one person with a quiet little blog, trying to share my thoughts.

I stand opposed to Donald Trump's statements regarding a ban on Muslims entering the United States. I don't deny the existence of terrorism. I don't pretend that radial Islam is a small or fleeting threat. I don't claim that Islam is a religion of peace, but I reject the proposition that all of its adherents are on their way to violent radicalism. Acts of terrorism are not exclusively performed in the name of Allah, by immigrants, or even rooted in religious conflict.

For weeks I wanted to believe that Trump was kept in the conversation and campaign because people wanted to be entertained and to mock his bigotry. I figured he'd eventually say something so ridiculous that he'd be laughed/shouted/pushed off the stage and the GOP would move on to the next option.

I'm still waiting.

I stand opposed to Jerry Falwell, Jr. and Liberty University's decision to allow, and even to encourage, students to bring guns into the dorms.

I stand opposed to the man who killed three people at a Planned Parenthood clinic. While I value life and I oppose abortion, I know that I can't force my values and my morality on anyone. This man does not represent the Pro-Life movement. His actions and his lack of regret or shame are reprehensible.

I stand opposed to hatred, bigotry, fear-mongering, radical Christianity.

I am tired of my religion being identified with those who have the loudest voices and the largest audiences. It's not my job to scream at non-believers. I can only do so much to change the minds of the people around me. I'm not going to shout rhetoric at you. I'm going to demonstrate love as well as I can. I will condemn acts of hatred. I will love and serve the students I spend time with each week, showing them that I value who they are as people.

We can't repeat the acts of the mid-twentieth century. We can't let the acts of a few determine how we treat the whole. We must be wise, discerning, careful. We must learn from our past and create a better future. It's not enough to believe that things will get better. Prayer can change our hearts, leading us to perform acts of love that can change our communities, our country, and our world. Make small changes in your own life. Listen to people's stories. Be open to change. Be gracious with those who do not agree with you.

My heart hurts.

What I Do At Work

I'm writing this from my work laptop.
I think that might mean that the company owns the text of this post.

But I have a work laptop. I have a cubicle and an email address and an extension that people can call.

People keep asking me what I do at work. I figured it was time for me to answer everyone at once.

Title: Food Services Assistant/Temporary Administrative Support/Kitchen Girl

Department: IT: Office Services

Desk Location: Somewhere between the mailroom and Policy Issue

I work Monday-Friday, 8-4:30. I was hired on a temporary basis while they work to approve a more permanent position. There's some shuffling going on, and an assistant was needed right away. I'll probably be here until the end of the year.

I spend most of my day on my feet. I sit down and check my email and The Hub (the company intranet) when I get to the office in the morning. I drop my big bag containing my glasses, Bible, journal, and various pens and pads of sticky notes. My small purse comes with me to the kitchen area.

At 8:00, or a little after, I head down to my actual work space. I unlock the pantry if I'm the first one there. I set down my purse in my little cubby hole, plug in my headphones, find a podcast I want to listen to (TED talks, TED Radio Hour, StoryCorps, and Here's The Thing are the current subscriptions), and start the day.

My first task is usually making sure the breads are stocked. We have six different kinds of bagels, four kinds of sliced bread, plus English muffins, buns, and SandwichThins. I also stock the butter, peanut butter, and cream cheese.
I then move to the packaged breakfast items (donuts, muffins, oatmeal).
Then come the shelves of snacks. We have granola bars, candy bars, Little Debbie snacks, a rolling rack of bagged chips, and individually wrapped Dove bites. Among other items.
We have canned fruits and vegetables, frozen meals, drinks, cereal, cheese, stuff to make sandwiches (breakfast, burgers, and deli). If your diet is "typical American," we have something for you. If you're looking for something a little more exotic, I apologize. We stock what gets eaten.

We spend the first hour making sure everything is stocked.
Then we start getting everything ready for the salad bar. A few things need to be chopped. We take the items out of Ziploc containers and put them into black food service containers.

We set up, keep it stocked, eat lunch, break it down, and spend the afternoon stocking and doing dishes and cleaning.

I drink coffee and water through the day. I sit down when I can. I take breaks sometimes.

At 4:30, I'm officially done and head back to my desk to check email and The Hub and Facebook and my personal email before heading home.

I'm sitting at my desk at the end of the first day of Agent School week. Agents come from all over the country to watch presentations, take classes, and make sure they're up-to-date on various issues relating to insurance.

I helped today by cutting veggies for their break and helping set up lunch. I'll spend my week doing whatever I can to make it easier for those who are in charge of organizing the week.

I also helped decorate the top of the salad bar for the season.

I've put leftover wedding flowers in vases to put on the tables in the eating area.

I'm helping to plan the Thanksgiving luncheon.

I'm accommodating employees' needs as well as I can and with as much cheer and joy and grace as is possible. It's not difficult.

This is behind-the-scenes work. I'm not and obvious part of the operations of the business. We stay in the kitchen area and make sure we do good work. It's rarely boring, even if it can be mundane. My feet often start hurting around 2:00. My hands will dry out as the weather changes. I rarely wear my glasses to work, because I have blasts of steam in my face about fifty times a day. My hair responds to those blasts of steam, so I try to keep it managed.

I stick to a business casual to business professional dress code, as well as I can to be comfortable. My shoes have memory foam insoles, but they're cute flats. My nail polish doesn't survive very long.

I read Blue Like Jazz during my lunch break sometimes. I listen to scientists and entertainers and writers talk about their passions.

I'm a food service employee, a florist, a decorator, an event planner, and a stock boy.

I like my job. It might not be what I thought I'd be doing or what I want to be doing for the rest of my working life. But that could change. It's where I am. I work at an excellent company with incredible people. I will make the most of this time.

That's what I do at work.

The New Mrs. Smith

I'd call myself "The Newest Mrs. Smith," but I'm quite sure that's not true.

For a long time, I thought I'd stay a Swanson, then I thought I'd hyphenate. A few weeks ago, I had to make the decision.

Dan wanted me to become a Smith. He wanted to have a name that I'd be proud to take. Over the past 16 months he has proven to me that it's true. I love being Mrs. Smith, because I am proud to be Dan's wife.

I am Hope Elizabeth Swanson Smith. Two middle names, just like my husband. The second one won't be used much, but it's nice to know it's there. I'm still a Swanson.

Our wedding day was almost perfect.

I woke up early and drove myself to Starbucks. I needed a few minutes alone, unmarried, before jumping into a long day of hugs, dancing, crying, and being surrounded by people. I'm an introvert. We need things like that.

Horror of horrors, it was raining when I woke up. By the time I got home with my Coconut Mocha, the rain had stopped.

My bridesmaids stayed at my house the night before the wedding, so we packed up, loaded the cars, and drove to the church. The sunrise was beautiful after a night of rain. I could tell it was going to be a beautiful day.

We got everything put together, the hair stylists showed up (a gift from one of my maids of honor), and I got to sit down for an hour while Bre made my hair look better than it ever has or ever will again.

I put on my makeup, the photographers arrived, we all got ready. My mom zipped and unzipped my dress a dozen times, which made for some laughs and good pictures. My maids of honor put on my shoes, which was generally hilarious. I'm too independent for such things, but we did it anyway.

Then I got to see my husband and get the first dirt on my dress. It speaks to the excitement of the day that I just didn't care. I was standing in front of the man I was about to marry.

Then I changed back out of my dress, into another white dress to go greet our guests for brunch. I can't wait to wear that dress again. It is an incredible dress. I'll probably make my husband take me out to a nice dinner (huzzah for wedding money).

After about twenty minutes, I went and got back into my dress and we went and took pictures.

And then it was time to walk down the aisle. (Yes, a-i-s-l-e. Please.)

Original lyrics written for us to the tune of a James Taylor song.
A prayer read by our friend Andrew.
A short wedding sermon.
Personal vows.
Wedding rings.
Unity PB&J ceremony.
Selfie.
Mr. and Mrs. Dan and Hope Smith.
Kiss.
"You're My Best Friend"
Walk out.
Bubbles.

Then we got back and took some more pictures.
Then my mom got stuck in an elevator. (Her first chance to be alone and take a break.)

She told us to go ahead and go to the park for the Apps'n Serts Reception. (This was a smaller gathering for family and closer friends.)

So we went. It was mostly a typical reception with toasts, eating, dancing, pictures, not talking to everybody because we didn't walk around to each table.

The biggest exception was the Father-Daughter Dance.

My dad doesn't dance. So we had a car ride. It's something we came up with a while ago, but he modified it and surprised me a bit. It started as the two of us in chairs, Dad with a Wii steering wheel.

He told me what was going to happen.

My brother grabbed another two chairs and brought my mom over.
Then he grabbed two more chairs for himself and his wife.

Then my dad found my new husband, handed over the steering wheel, and sat down behind us, next to my mom.

The song? "The Pirates Who Don't Do Anything."

More dancing, pictures, food, hugs, sweat.

And then we went home. To OUR home. Where I sit, right now.

Being married is great. It's difficult and strange and new and fun.

Dan going back to work after a week off together has been less fun. but I'll admit that it hasn't been all bad. I get to spend time working on putting stuff away, which we've been neglecting too much for the past month. Seriously, we've been moving in for a month.

I've officially been Mrs. Smith (pending receiving my new Social Security card) for less than a day, but it's been eleven days since our wedding, and it has been a wonderful new adventure. I'm glad I don't have to wait for it anymore. I like being married.

And now I need to go empty a box of stuff and find places to put it.

Thoughts on the last days of Miss Swanson

I think I should first respond to those who take issue with the title.

I know that Miss Swanson isn't really disappearing. I know that I am not becoming a whole new person. I know that I don't stop being an individual when I become a wife.

But I am changing my name and becoming part of a new thing. Dan and I are creating a new entity. We're going to be The Smiths (without the vegetarianism, conflict, and break-up).

Anyway. We're getting married in less than three weeks. So, here are some answers to common questions, along with some other thoughts. I'm getting to the point of being sick of talking about wedding stuff, so I might be stepping on some toes with a little bit of this. But I'm the bride and we're less than three weeks away from the wedding. That's how I'm supposed to be acting, right?

Yes, I'm excited. Of course I'm excited. I'm marrying a guy whom I love and who loves me. A guy who loves Jesus more than he loves me. A guy who has worked incredibly hard to make sure we're going to be okay. A guy who cares about people and who loves that I care about people. A guy who has supported me and prayed for me and encouraged me. A guy who is proud of me and makes me proud. Why do you think you need to ask whether I'm excited?

Yes, I'm freaking out. My whole life is going to change. Everything will somehow be different. I don't get to make a lot of decisions without considering how they will affect Dan. Sometimes I wonder what the heck I'm doing and why I ever thought it was a good idea to decide to spend the rest of my life with someone and limit my freedom give up my space. And then I remember all of the things that I listed above. There have been days when the only good thing in my life is Dan and that makes up for all the terrible things in the rest of the day. He pushes me to be better. He makes me love harder. He believes in me when I don't believe in myself.

I'll start looking for a job when we get married. I don't know what I want to do, but I'm trusting that God will provide a place for me to be exactly where I need to be in order for Him to use me.

Money is tight. That's scary. God is good.

We have an apartment in Dupont Lakes. Moving in and setting things up is driving us crazy. We have so many things to do in the next two weeks. But we're slowly figuring it out and getting things put together.

We're still deciding what to do about church. We want to be where God wants us. We both have a list of things we're looking for, and we'll probably be visiting churches for a while. We appreciate your prayers as we do this.

Don't ask us about kids. It's none of your business. Seriously. You don't need to know. If it happens, you'll find out. But don't tell us we should have them right away or that we should wait. Don't tell us that we'll be great parents. Don't ask us about our sex life or birth control. And don't give us meaningful looks that mean any of that. This decision is between me, Dan, and God. We'll ask for advice when we want it.

The wedding is planned. There's still some prep work that needs to happen, but it'll happen. And I know "the little details don't matter. [I'll] be the only one who notices if something goes wrong, and at the end of the day, what really matters is [we'll] be married." I know. I've heard it. Stop talking about it.

We're really ready to be done with this wedding planning process and to just be married. We're ready to not have to leave at the end of the day. We're ready to be living in the same place, working through the little things that we do differently, waking up next to each other every day, drinking coffee on our patio.

If you want to know about our marriage planning process, we're more likely to respond positively. We've been doing that for much longer and it's much  less frustrating. The conflict in marriage planning matters. The things that we work out as we prepare for our marriage are things that will actually make a real difference for our future and the lives around us.

Because we aren't just doing this for us. We're getting married in order to become better together. We become better in order to be more effective servants in the Kingdom of God. We can't be selfish with our growth. We can't be selfish with our love. We want to serve those around us and take care of people. We want to live out our marriage in a way that makes people believe in marriage. We want to show people that it's okay if it's difficult sometimes and it's okay to not pretend that it's always easy or that you always like each other, because we love each other through it all, and we trust that God will use everything for His own honor and glory. That's what we want. (Well, that's what I want, and I don't think Dan would disagree.)

We're super ready for our wedding. We're ready for the week after our wedding when we get to just be together all the time and we don't have to leave and we get to start our marriage.

We appreciate your support and your interest, but let's cool it with the questions. Especially if you don't actually know us and you're not invited to the wedding. You'll see pictures on Facebook.


kthanksbai.

Better for the next generation.

I spent Sunday and today judging CDYC's Got Talent at the "church camp" for my region of the Missionary Church. That will mean something to some of you, that might annoy some of you, and some of you might have no idea what I'm talking about. I'm processing through writing.

I listened to 12-18-year-olds sing, play, and preach. I watched a kid do a card trick. I had a great time working with some very talented people to provide feedback to these students in a way that would challenge and affirm and encourage them. When I was one of those students, seven years ago, things were completely different.

Today's teenagers are technically in my generation, but I feel so different from them. They have iPads as part of their education. They don't know a world without cell phones. They don't know what Y2K was. They have unlearned how to have a real, face-to-face conversation without constantly looking at their phones. (I admit that I have struggled to avoid falling entirely into that same pattern.) The ways that we have reached students for the past 10-20 years must evolve and adapt, while challenging them to be mature and disciplined and focused. But that's not really the point here.

When I was a student, I participated in Talent Quest at CDYC. The judging structure was loosely based on ISSMA criteria, the rooms were separated by category, and there were sports going on the whole time. I was judged by people who had known me for years, had taught me music, and who hurt me more than they ever intended or knew.

There was a point system, we competed against ourselves, and everyone got a medal. I never got a gold medal for any of my performances. Six years. At least eight entries. Almost all good performances. No golds. Others from my churches received gold medals. Other performers, whose skill levels were close to mine, received gold medals. I couldn't help but feel as though I was being singled out, judged more critically, kept from affirmation.

I rarely received positive feedback on my forms. I didn't get to read about the things I had done well. I was hurt. I didn't take it as "constructive criticism." I took it personally. Because I was 13-18 and knew I had talent and didn't feel like people saw that in me.

Last year, everything changed.

Instead of the rooms being divided by category, they were divided by church. Sunday and Thursday afternoons were set aside for CDYC's Got Talent. Each church had a time slot. No other mandatory events were scheduled during that time. The judging teams were made up of people with a variety of talents and backgrounds who would be able to critique everything from magic to violin solos. I was asked to be part of that group. It has been such an honor to work with these people.

After so many years of wondering what I had done wrong, wondering what had happened, wishing I could watch myself perform, I get to encourage. I get to tell students that they have potential, and that they should keep singing. I get to thank them for sharing their gifts with us. I get to offer advice on how to improve their performances. I get to smile at them and make eye contact and assure them that they are doing well.

I get to make "compliment sandwiches." I get to practice being gentle and honest. I get to tell the girl in whom I see myself as a freshman that she did a great job. As I talk to her, I tell my younger self that excellent performances take time and effort.

I understand that I might accidentally be crushing these kids, but I have tried to be sensitive to their body language in order to remain positive when it would be easy to criticize. I understand that my judges were doing what they thought was best for me. They were trying to tell me how to take my performances to the next level.

But when no one is interpreting that for a 14-year-old, it stings. For ten years. And it inspired me to be better for the next generation.

I love CDYC. I love that I've gotten to be part of it for so many years. I'm so thankful to have had the opportunity to encourage young performers to keep using their talents and worshiping the God who has given them.

A month of unemployment.

My last day at the pizza place was Saturday, April 4, 2015. I left in tears, carrying my last free meal. Nachos, with chicken instead of taco beef. I started that day thinking I'd have another day. Around noon, the schedule for the next week arrived and my name wasn't on it. I started to tear up. I had another seven hours and then I was done. Twenty months of answering phones, making pizzas, serving customers, slicing vegetables, making dough, counting money, and cleaning any surface available came to an end.

I am unemployed. I suppose, technically, I'm self-employed. I've started offering my cupcake-making services, but it's taking some time to get that started. I charge less than minimum wage, and I'm okay with that. I love to bake and be creative with decorations.

I need a job.

Dan and I looked at apartments today. His roommate/landlord is getting married in August, and we're hoping to get married shortly thereafter. We found places we like, and he'll be able to afford them on his own for a while. But weddings cost money, food costs money, cars and college loans and clothes and Netflix and almost everything else cost money. I need an income in order for us to get married and live together and be comfortable.

I have enjoyed not having a job that I grew to dislike.

I enjoyed the work. I am thankful to have had the flexibility to request time off for church camp, vacations, visiting friends, and personal retreats. In twenty months, I learned how to lead. I learned how to meet the needs of customers while protecting the needs of the company. I became more disciplined, more detail-oriented, more deadline-driven. I became better at multitasking and hiding my frustration and solving problems creatively. I learned to count money quickly and delegate tasks and be firm with those I was managing. I became a better teacher.
I also yelled and cried and threatened to quit and made customers angry and let people down and forgot things. I was not a perfect employee. I didn't always do my best. I didn't always hide my frustration. I was lazy sometimes.

I learned lessons in those twenty months that I'm not sure I would have learned in an entry-level office job. I learned how to deal with the public and to be humble. I learned how to have compassion on fast-food employees (who work harder than most people think) and servers (who deserve bigger tips than they usually receive). I learned how not to be a jerk at restaurants, because restaurant employees don't make nearly enough money to deal with entitled snobs all the time. They deserve a break.

But now I'm ready to move on to somewhere new and learn new lessons. I jumped in obedience, not knowing when the net would appear.

The net hasn't appeared yet. I'm applying to anything that sounds like I could do something with the job. I've applied to a variety of positions at the local hospitals. I've applied all over the place. I'm trying to enjoy this process.

I've appreciated the time off. Dan and I went to North Carolina to visit a friend of his. We've had days together to have good and important conversations. I've been able to take on more responsibilities at home. The freedom has been nice.

It's time for it to end.

It's time to get a job.

Valentine's Day.

On my old blog I wrote about Valentine's Day twice. I wrote about how I hated it but didn't hate it. I wrote about how to be my Valentine. I wrote about how Jesus is not and should not be anyone's "Valentine." I wrote about the unrealistic stories that chick flicks present. I got pretty real and sounded silly in the process.

I liked Valentine's Day because there would be cheap chocolate the next day. It was fun to pretend that there might be a guy out there who would reveal his feelings for me in some big romantic way. I'd always build it up in my head, imagining roses and music and this amazing movie moment.

It never happened, and I would always end the day a little disappointed. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has gone through this. But the only reason I didn't like Valentine's Day is because I allowed myself to have expectations and because I allowed myself to be jealous of everyone's fun. If you're the type who will feel this way, stop reading now. There's nothing profound or worthwhile in this post. It's simply a public journal of my Valentine's Day experiences.

This is the first year since I was 13 that I have looked forward to Valentine's Day. In seventh grade I had a boyfriend named Andy. We were in Fort Wayne Children's Choir together and on Valentine's day that year we had a performance of "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat." He gave me a box covered in duct tape with inside jokes written on it. The box was filled with chocolates from Christmas. He also made me a card that I still have somewhere. I gave him nothing. Andy was pretty much the best boyfriend a seventh grader could have. I broke up with him a few months later in an email. I'm the worst. We're Facebook friends now.

The next year, I convinced a guy I was friends with to be my Valentine. He gave me two bags of Russel Stover chocolate hearts. I gave him nothing. I didn't know how to be a Valentine.

Since then Valentine's Day hasn't been very significant. My friends and I bought carnations for each other in high school. I once sorted out all of the orange conversation hearts and gave them to a friend who hated orange. He gave me a carnation. I don't know whether he got it specifically for me or if someone had sent it to him and he decided to give it to me.

But this year I have a boyfriend. That changes things.

We celebrated on Thursday, partially because today was going to be a busy day for both of our places of employment and working tonight would mean that we made decent money and partially because it was the 12th, which is our Dope-iversary. We went to lunch (Queen of Sheba, pretty tasty), we saw "The Imitation Game" (excellent), we watched "The Legend of Korra." Because it was a double celebration, I may have gone a little overboard with gifts. They were mostly boring things like pillowcases, but still. I gave him like, six things. And I got homemade brownies from my boyfriend who doesn't like to bake. He also got me roses and wine. I felt and feel very loved.

I know that we shouldn't need a special day to demonstrate our love for each other. And we don't. We express our love for each other often and in various ways. But it's fun and cute and silly to spend a day going the extra mile. I like being able to tell the story of what happened on Valentine's Day, rather than writing some pseudo-profound post about how it shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't matter. It doesn't matter. It's a day. But I'm going to enjoy the fact that I have a boyfriend and he's awesome and I love him.

More importantly:
I'll notify her next of...uh...fruit cup.

The Government Isn't Terrible (A Lesson In Perspective)

Okay, in some ways, the government might be terrible.
Washington DC, state capitals, and every city and town with a local government is filled with humans who make decisions. Some decisions are selfish, some are selfless, some are misguided, some are just plain stupid. It happens. Not everyone will be happy all the time. And that's how life goes.

Calm down about it. Just chill, okay? If you have a problem, find a peaceful, rational, loving way to deal with it. Argue logically. Don't be controlled by your emotions. Don't yell at people who are just trying to do their jobs the best way they know how. (This relates to the service industry, too. Please, stop yelling at your servers/fast food workers/cashiers. They're trying and they might be having a rough day, too. Please. Try for some empathy.)

But this post isn't supposed to be about that. This is a post about me putting my foot in my mouth today.

I filed my 2013 taxes online at the end of March. I opted for a direct deposit into my checking account, hoping that the money might show up while I was in New York that week.

I didn't notice an increase in my account, so I checked the history and didn't see any deposits. I checked a few times over the next several weeks and never saw the money. I figured we'd deal with it eventually. It was going to be a loan payment anyway, so I didn't really care when it showed up.

I got my 2014 W2 this week and celebrated only having one of them this year. (I had three for 2013: Bethel, GMC, and EoC.) I realized that I could file my taxes any time in the next three months. I could do it right now. But I'm writing this post, so I'll wait.

It has bugged me for months that I never got my return. It was $350 between state and federal, and I wanted my money! I've complained to a few people about it. I checked my email today for a confirmation from the filing service we used. It was right there. It had been filed, the IRS had accepted it, and I could be seeing my money within three weeks.

Where the heck is my money?!?

Dad and I just spent half an hour trying to access my account. We wrote down all the information somewhere, I know we did. But we couldn't find it.
Finally, he checked on a website for the state return and found that they said they'd deposited my $25 on April 9. I looked in my account history and there it was.

Then, to my chagrin (I love that word and almost never use it.), I looked down a few more lines. A deposit had been made by the IRS for my 2013 return. My $336 had been put in my account in early April.

I was so ready to be angry with the filing service, the IRS, and the internet in general for failing me. I was annoyed with the customer service rep who offered no help since we couldn't remember the answer to my security question. It was deeply frustrating.

Instead, I sit here telling you, my dear readers, that I didn't look closely enough at my account history all those months ago. Nine months. It was NINE MONTHS AGO!
I wanted to be the victim of some sort of government scam, so I didn't see what was right in front of me.
My money was in my account. I'll be able to make a bigger loan payment this month, which is awesome. And I'll be able to do it again when I get my 2014 return.

Friends, strangers, people who stumbled across this post, are you looking at the whole situation? I'm going to get a little preachy here. Hang on.

When someone is annoying you or not treating you "fairly" or not accommodating your every need, do you become indignant? Do you view yourself as a victim?

Could it be true that you are simply being told "no" because that's the store policy? Or because they're really out of the dress in your size? Or because the girl just doesn't want to talk to you/go out with you/sleep with you, so walk away. She's allowed to say that she doesn't want to talk to you without having a reason. If you'd like to be allowed to say "no" without having a reason, allow others to do the same.

"No" is a complete sentence.

Sometimes you just have to deal with not getting your way. Sometimes you have to acknowledge that you won't like every decision that people make. Sometimes you are the one at fault because you are behaving like a spoiled child. (Dear parents, say "no" to your children. It will make them better adults.)

Look at the whole situation. You might be the victim. If you really are, I'm sorry. Whatever happened to you never should have happened.
If you're not the victim of something horrible, you might be overlooking important facts because you don't want to see them.

Step back. Try a different perspective. Care about your fellow humans, even if you don't like them. Take a breath before you make a judgment. Don't complain until you've done your research.

You just might find that your $361 had been in your account the whole time.

Does your heart break?

About six weeks ago I was at a youth leaders retreat. In one session the speaker was talking about why youth ministry matters.

He showed a video to "Does Your Heart Break" by The Brilliance. It was one of those lame slideshow kinds of videos with pictures that match too well with the lyrics. But the lyrics are fantastic and convicting and desperate. A plea to God to see the hurt of His children. A plea to man to see the hurt of the children around him. A call to action. A call to be moved.

Tonight, my heart is broken.

My heart is broken for families in Ferguson, MO; New York, NY; and Cleveland, OH. Not only the families of those who are gone, but for the families of the officers. My heart is broken for the families who aren't in the news, but are going to bed tonight without children, parents, siblings, friends.

My heart is broken for our country, with its obsession with pointing fingers and placing blame. With its biases and screaming voices.

My heart is broken for humanity with its flaws and pain and suffering and freedom.

People make choices. People make bad choices. Sometimes, people make choices that seem like the right thing to do in the moment. Sometimes emotion and impulse take over. Sometimes, as a result, people die.

That means that tonight, across this country and around the world, families are hurting more than they thought possible.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. We are left to ask God why He would allow such pain. We are left to try to pick up the pieces and make apologies and give answers that we're not entirely sure we believe.

I don't know why Michael Brown, Eric Garner, and Tamir Rice are dead. I know that they were loved deeply by family and friends. I know that they made choices in their final hours. I know that God made them and loves them. I know that He saw them die. I don't know why He allowed it. I wish I could speak on His behalf. I wish I could understand why He allows such pain. I wish I could understand why He allows evil to be so prevalent. I wish God was easy to explain. But then He wouldn't be worth worshiping.

I wish I could understand why those officers made the choices they made. Regardless of whether they are ever punished under human law, they are in God's hands. They will have to answer to Him for their actions. Each of those men will live the rest of his life knowing that he was responsible for the death of his fellow man.

That might not seem like enough. It might not be enough. I cannot say.

I know that hurt is real. I know that God is just and merciful. That paradox is difficult and unfair in the eyes of the imperfect. But God is perfect.

"And in despair I bowed my head

'There is no peace on earth,' I said

'For hate is strong and mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good will to men'

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

'God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail

With peace on earth, good will to men.'"

It may take until the end of the world, but I trust those words. I trust that Right will prevail. I trust in a God who offers peace that surpasses our understanding. He is always good and we are always loved. He sees and feels our hurt. 

On behalf of all humanity, I'm sorry.

It started with some bread.

It started with a baguette that I got at Meijer for $1.74 plus tax and didn't eat before it went too stale.
I decided, while my parents and I were trying to gnaw through a few pieces, that I should try to make French Onion Soup. I should buy another baguette at Meijer for $1.74 plus tax and make French Onion Soup.

Yesterday was the day. I bought the bread last week while Dan and I were buying ingredients to make dinner. I decided that it was time. For the first time in my life, I was going to make, and eat, French Onion Soup. That's right. Until yesterday I had never eaten French Onion Soup.

Dan and I went shopping Tuesday night, after stopping to make sure we didn't buy anything that we already had at my house. I could hear my mother's voice in my head saying "Why did you buy that? We already have plenty here." So instead of buying six onions, I bought three. Instead of buying chicken broth and beef broth, I used what we had. I did need to buy cheese, wine, and butter.

I spent about two hours making the soup, but it was ridiculously simple.

You're going to need a soup pot that can fit at least two quarts of liquid. Start heating in over low heat.

Throw in a stick of butter. I used unsalted because that's what I prefer to cook and bake with. It allows me to have more direct control over the amount of salt. I use salted butter in my frosting, but that's not really relevant here.

Once the butter is melted, add your onions, salt, pepper, and thyme. I used four sweet onions. Three of them were about the size of a baseball, and the fourth was closer to a softball. The recipe I used called for two pounds or six medium sized onions. I probably could have used more, but it ended up alright. If you want to make it and you use this recipe, do what you want. It depends on the flavor you're looking for and how long you want to spend waiting for your onions to cook down. I'll talk more about that later. I sliced mine about an eighth of an inch thick, because my knife skills aren't stellar unless I'm cutting tomatoes. Thinner probably would have been better, so I'll probably be buying a mandolin before I make this soup again. The kind that slices vegetables, not the instrument.

You'll need about a teaspoon each of kosher salt and black pepper, and probably ten sprigs of thyme.

Once all of that is in the pot, stir to coat the onions with butter. This will also help the seasonings stick to the onions evenly, which just looks better for the pictures.

 This is what they looked like when I first started cooking them. You'll want to stir them "occasionally," which for me meant every five minutes or so.

 The recipe I started with said to cook the onions over low heat until they were "deep golden brown and very soft, about 30 minutes." I cooked these onions for an hour. They got very soft and translucent, but I wouldn't say they were deep golden brown. But I'm really over it, because I was getting impatient.

 Heads up, onions release a lot of liquid as they cook. Don't worry about it. It will slowly disappear into the air, making your house smell like onions for several hours. Like, I think my house still smells like onions more than twenty-four hours later.

 While the onions were cooking, my lovely handsome assistant grated some cheese for me. Apparently, Gruyere is traditional, but Kroger didn't have enough smaller chunks of it and I didn't want to spent $67 on about a hundred pounds of cheese (hyperbole). I ended up with Gruyere, Havarti, and Farmer's Cheese. A delicious combination. Also, that's about the amount of thyme I used. I think I added a few more sprigs. (I really like the word "sprigs.")

The next step is to sprinkle one tablespoon of flour over the onions and stir and cook for a couple minutes. I think this serves as a thickener, but I didn't actually see much effect.

Then add one cup of wine. Here is my major departure from the recipe. It called for dry white wine. I obviously used red. Decide for yourself. And if you wouldn't drink it, don't cook with it. (Which speaks to the quality of wine you should be using, and the fact that if you have a sensitivity to alcohol, you shouldn't cook with it. It doesn't all "cook out," like everyone on TV but Alton Brown will tell you. The amount of alcohol will decrease, but it doesn't disappear. Anyway.) Cook this mixture for a few more minutes.

You will now need four cups of beef broth or stock and two cups of chicken broth or stock. You could probably swap out the chicken and make it all beef. It's up to you. I think. We had homemade chicken broth in the fridge, so I'd say we win. The soup doesn't look great at this stage. I was concerned about how much liquid there was in comparison to the amount of onions. Dan told me to relax, which is nearly impossible for me to do while I'm cooking, but he's cute so I tried. I took out about a cup of liquid, let it all simmer for about half an hour, and added it back in. It was pretty much perfect.

And now for the baguette. (Were you worried I'd gone through all of this and not used the bread that made me decide to make the soup in the first place?) Never fear. It takes me a while to make a point sometimes. 

I don't have bowls that I want to put in the oven, so I made croutons, of sorts. That cheese went on slices of bread which went under the broiler until the cheese melted and turned just a bit brown. I really wasn't paying attention to how look it took.

The finished product. It was sweet, oniony, cheesy, delicious. I'm proud of what I accomplished.

So there you have it. A food post. French Onion Soup, complete with pictures taken by my iPhone.

Things have happened in my life.

I haven't written a Life Update Post in a while. Mostly because I've been living life. I've been posting less about my life anyway. Stuff shows up on Instagram, which links to Facebook and Twitter. That's pretty much how people find out what's going on. But here are a few stories:

1. I taught Sunday School for an entire school year. I spent nearly every Sunday morning from September 15-May 25 with the seventh graders at Grabill Missionary Church. I couldn't handle it at first, then I learned to love them, then we tolerated each other for a couple months, then we all got along pretty well, and then it was over. I spent Wednesday evenings with those girls, too, and they are my favorites. These kids are wonderful. I miss them. I am so excited to spend a few days with them at CDYC next week, even if they might spend the whole time accusing me of using heroin. Yeah, that's something that happened.

2. I turned 23. It was a pretty good birthday, starting with flowers from one of my seventh grade girls and ending with a Skype date with My Friend Katie who Lives in China. Yes, that's how I refer to her when I'm not talking to her. The hours in between included a lunch of steak and mashed potatoes, an afternoon of napping and watching "The West Wing," and a visit from some wonderful friends who brought me healthy foods, flowers (more about that later), and a Dan Smith. A couple of impromptu songs were performed, raspberries were eaten, and I may have shed a few tears of joy.

3. Our Tuesday Night Bible Reading has made significant progress. We finished the Pentateuch, jumped through a few Epistles, and went back to Joshua. We're now in 1 Samuel, unless they finished it the other night. Spending my Tuesday evenings with this group of people, reading Scripture, discussing the text and life and food is such a wonderful part of life. I am continually thankful that I get to be part of Team Awesome.

And now,The Abridged Story of Dope (If you're anything like me, you probably don't actually want to read this. I like this guy a lot and I need to write about it.):
4. Toward the end of February we were reading Exodus. After that night's reading, a few of us had an extended discussion of the few chapters including the Ten Commandments, Moses going up Sinai, the Golden Calf, etc. We were trying to figure out how many times Moses when up and down the mountain, where he was on the mountain, and how long he was there. We kept going back to Exodus 19, which has become a bit of a running gag. I was sitting across from Dan Smith. The taller one. The one who has two middle names.
A few nights later, I was sitting across from him again. We talked for two hours that night.
A few weeks after that, I was in New York. Dan texted me all that week, helping me process the trip, asking good questions, praying for me. He was great.
He was the one who brought me the flowers on my birthday. He was the one who ate half of the raspberries he brought me.
On the Tuesday after my birthday, he turned my invitation to a high school play directed by My Friend Stephanie who Teaches English into our first date. Same page? Same page. Cool.
We went on four dates, plus a non-date casual hang out that ranks among my favorite nights.
And then we were an official couple.
The past two months have been so unexpected and wonderful. We have been through some difficulty and some serious conversations and some tears and some laughter and some frustration and some awkwardness and some family time and some Putt Putt and some generally great time together.
I promise I won't talk too much about this, but I really enjoy telling stories and I really like this guy. So he'll show up occasionally.

5. I'm slowly starting to look for a new job. I'm not sure what kind of work I want to do. I'm just ready to move on and try something new. I'd like to start in September. I'd appreciate prayers or job offers. I'd appreciate a lack of pressure. Thanks.

And that's all I have to say about that.

I wrote about New York.

As I begin writing this, we’re at the station in Rochester, NY. It’s about 10:00 on Saturday morning, and we’ve made it halfway through our journey. And I’ve slept through most of it. I think a lot of the kids have, too. The thing is, most of the my fellow travelers wake up at the same time every day and have normal schedules. This meant that I was woken up at 7:30 to news of $10 pancakes. I do not understand the ability to have that much energy and excitement at such an early hour. There seems to be a pretty even split in our group. Half of us are either still sleeping (or almost sleeping), and the other half are up and down the train, laughing, and playing cards. I decided to start the process of updating you, although you won’t be reading this until we’re in the city. This train doesn’t have wiFi. What’s up with that?

Our group of thirty-eight must have been a sight to see boarding the train around 2:00am. In the church basement, it doesn’t seem like such a big group. Spread out on the platform, though, we started to get an idea of how it’s going to be for us walking through the streets of New York City. These kids better be ready for some lessons in “we discipline you because we love you and don’t want you to get hit by a taxi driver who is just trying to do his job so GET OUT OF THE STREET, NOW!” Okay, maybe that’s just me. But city drivers are not to be messed with.

I look out the window and see bare trees, dry, brown grass, a few houses, and the last bits of snow turning into huge puddles. In a few short (eight) hours, these will be replaced by skyscrapers, people, slushy corners, cars, lights, noise, and the energy of city life on a Saturday night. And, according to my weather app, a 90% chance of rain. Welcome to the city!

I hear there’s a stop coming up that’s long enough for us to get out and stretch our legs for a few minutes. I’ll end this part of the post now.

We’re about an hour and a half from Penn Station. We’ve been traveling through New York for most of the day, and it has been beautiful. Between small mountains and old buildings, we have not been lacking for scenic views.

At the moment, it’s raining and I’m listening to Rend Collective’s newest album, The Art of Celebration. There’s a song called “Burn Like a Star,” and I think the lyrics in the second verse speak perfectly to our desires for the work we’ll be doing this week:

“Send revival, start in us.

Set Your holy spark in us.Send us out in resurrection power.History’s about to change.We are rising once again.Send us out in resurrection power.We are aching for the real thing;hearts are open wide.Hope Swanson

Burn like a star, light a fire in our hearts.”

I can’t pick a favorite song from the album, but these words are my prayer for our team over the next few days. We want God to use us in ways that we could never predict or expect or ask. We want Him to do things in us and through us that we could never dream of accomplishing. We want to be His hands and feet and voice and heart in the middle of a city that, for the most part, ignores Him. We want to support and encourage our brothers and sisters who are seeking to change the city. We want to partner with them in ministry and in prayer. We want to be open to whatever is going to come our way on this trip.

So far, everyone has stayed safe, healthy, and excited. Almost everyone has gotten at least a few minutes of sleep, and I think we’re all looking forward to getting off of this train, eating dinner, and getting settled.

Please be praying for our children’s ministry and youth conference tomorrow, for Michael as he preaches.

We love you and miss you.

Good night.

Good evening! It’s Monday and we just got back from a day of walking through the city. Lee has asked if I could tell you all that he says “hi.” So, Lee says “hi!”

Yesterday was incredible, almost unbelievable if I hadn’t been in the middle of what what happening. My team (also known as Greg’s Team) and Kelley’s team left at 8:15 for Iglesia Evangelica Misionera Brooklyn. We sang with them and then a man came to the stage and read Psalm 51 and spoke about it. He spoke passionately about how we are washed clean by the blood of Jesus. I studied Spanish in high school and started as a Spanish major at Bethel, but I’ve never been very confident in my skills. I was understanding about half of what they were saying and singing, and it helped to have the lyrics up on the screen.

After announcements a man came to the stage and started talking about and to us. He asked the band to start playing one of the songs again, and said that we needed to sing in Spanish. He said that God might be calling us to be bilingual. At that point, I was already feeling like God was nudging me in that direction. Then he called Kelley up to the stage and asked him to hold his arms up. We were singing and moving and worshiping. Then he called Dave Jofreda to the stage and the three  of them danced and jumped. Rhonda Bollier was the next to be called up, then Dylan Carlyle, Rob Voirol, and Nancy Souder. When each person came to the stage, he began to speak to them, prophesying over them. Most of it was Spanish, but we heard a few words in English. It was such a powerful display of the Spirit. (There’s more to this story, but I don’t think I can be the one to write it.)

Then we went downstairs with the kids and Kelley’s team led the children’s ministry program that we’ve prepared. Many thanks to Janna Worthman for her prayerful preparation of a fantastic program that was adaptable depending on the audience. Kelley’s team did a great job and the kids had fun. It was awesome to be able to watch another team work.

Our two teams left together and split so that my team could go to Roosevelt Island. Christina Getz was guiding us all day and took us to their apartment to rest for a while. We got our Starbucks fix and spent about an hour getting to know Christina and enjoying their view. Roosevelt Island is in the middle of the East River between Manhattan and Queens, and you can walk across it width-wise in about a minute. Their apartment has a view of both boroughs, and the roof is incredible.

The church where our team presented the children’s program is a brand new church plant on the island. It’s called Hope Church Roosevelt Island and they officially launch next week. When we arrived on Saturday night the four adults on our team met with Jeff and he told us that the kids probably wouldn’t have any church background and that we’d have to adapt our program and start with explaining what a disciple is and what the “good news” is. We had a brief moment of panic, but we spent some time in prayer with the rest of the adults and went to bed feeling much more at peace about the whole thing. After what happened in the morning at IEMB, we were ready. We knew that God was with us and would use us and speak to us and through us.

We walked to the church building, which is a beautiful old brick building. The sanctuary is classic: stained glass, hardwood floor, cathedral ceiling; gorgeous. Our space for children’s ministry was about twice the size of what we anticipated. We talked with Amanda, one of the pastors, and she helped us get set up. We prayed together and headed upstairs for the first part of the service. I immediately felt at home when I heard Mumford and Sons playing through the room. When the next song was “Second Chance” by Rend Collective, I knew I was in the right place. (Not that there was any question.) I met a few of the kids, we stayed upstairs through music, and went back down with the kids. There were about ten of them, and four of them were the pastors’ kids. (So much for no church background.)

These kids were AWESOME! They participated, they knew one of the songs, they danced, they answered questions, and they talked to us. We had a great time with them.

We made our way back via the tram and subway, rejoined Kelley’s and Lee’s teams, shared some stories, and stayed up way too late talking.

I’ll write the story of today in the morning, and maybe we’ll get back on a normal schedule. I started writing this post this morning and was almost done when Jeff came in and told us that it was time to go. And I’m emailing this to my dad tonight, but it probably won’t go up until tomorrow morning. So you might get three posts in a day.

It’s Tuesday morning. I’m sitting on my air mattress, which deflated slightly overnight, sipping coffee and listening to the girls get ready. This is the point of the trip when we all know each other and like each other well enough that we’re still being very loving and kind. But it’s the fourth day that we’ve spent together, and this is often the time when we are tired enough that our usual filters start to deteriorate. We start reacting without thinking. We start getting a little bit snippy. Please pray specifically for this need. Pray that we would continue to care about each other’s hearts. Ask that God would give us a double-portion of patience in these last few days.

Yesterday was extra exhausting. We got to sleep in a bit, but it sure didn’t feel like enough. The first thing on our agenda after breakfast was a devotional from a man from Pakistan. There are some legal issues involved in this situation, so I’m not going to write too much. Suffice it to say that our eyes were opened to the need for knowledge about other religions, especially Islam. We cannot demonstrate their need for Jesus if we don’t demonstrate an understanding of what they think they have. Did that make sense? I hope so.

After that meeting, Jeff took us on a prayer walk through the city. This probably wasn’t quite like the prayer walk you’re used to. Jeff has a deep love for this city. He said to us “till the city that never sleeps meets the God who doesn’t either.” That’s why he’s here. That’s why he works with people who are planting churches. That is the desire that God has placed on his heart, and he wanted us to get an idea of how to pray the same way he does. As we traveled through the city, we would stop and Jeff would point out a landmark and talk about how he uses it as a reminder for prayer. We went to Times Square and he talked aout how New York is the city that never sleeps and that Times Square is the crossroads of the world.

Our next stop was lunch from Chipotle (yes!), which we ate in Bryant Park. After we ate, we gathered and Jeff pointed out the Bank of America building, representing greed. He challenged us to think not only about obvious kinds of greed, but the greed in our own hearts that keeps us from sharing what we have to offer (money, skills, love). As we stood there, he pointed behind us to the library. He talked about all the knowledge that building stands for and our responisibility to use that knowledge well, and not to depend on it. We walked from the park, to Grand Central Station, which represented busyness. Jeff asked us to think about things in our lives that take up time that we could be spending doing other, more meaningful things. We walked from Grand Central to the United Nations building. Each time we walked, we were to be looking at people’s faces, really looking at them, looking at their eyes. We were asking God to show us how to be part of their lives. We were praying for people differently than we usually do, I think. We were supposed to notice places, and think about how to use them as reminders to pray for what is going on in people’s lives and hearts. When we get home, ask us about what we noticed and how we’re praying for the people around us.

After the UN, where we prayed for peace, we made our way to the Staten Island Ferry, which is widely accepted as the best view of the Statue of Liberty, and it’s free. When we got back to Manhattan, we took the train to the tram and took the tram over to Roosevelt Island for dinner. Then it was up to the top of the Getzes’ apartment for the best and windiest view of the city. Inside, we heard from Kelley’s friend Josh Lee, who I’ve been hearing about for six years. Josh has a desire to bring the Gospel to kids in poor neighborhoods, who don’t have any idea what it means to be loved or cared about, because their parents aren’t providing that for them. It was so cool to finally hear from Josh. And Kelley finally rapped for us. We also heard from Kristin Bollier, who graduated from GMC and Leo in 2008. She’s living in the city, working in the fashion industry, and learning to be intentional about finding community. She hit hard on our need to surround ourselves with people who can support us and encourage us and challenge us. It was so good to see Kristin and hear her heart and what’s going on in her life right now.

That was yesterday. It was a good day, and I hope you get a chance to hear from some of our team members. Ask us questions. We have stories to share, and we would love for you to get an idea of what we’ve been doing.

We’ve made it to Wednesday. It’s our last full day and it’s going to be a long one.

I’m typing between bites of Honey Nut Cheerios. It’s 9:27, and we’ve gathered for breakfast. We’re in the room where most of the girls are sleeping. Air mattresses are stacked on tables, luggage is pushed to the edges of the room, several of my belongings are strewn across a table.

Yesterday (Tuesday) was a long day of walking.

Half of us spent the morning at a senior center on Roosevelt Island, while the other half did community research in Astoria. I went to the senior center and spent about an hour listening to a woman named Paula talk about her children and grandchildren. The woman hardly took a breath, and it was freeing. I didn’t have to come up with questions for her or things to say about myself.

We ate lunch with the people there, and then Monique and I went with a woman named Perdida to help her clean out a shelf and throw some stuff away. She put a few things in a bag and offered them to us. She went back to a room and returned with an armful of clothes that she wanted to get rid of. She kept telling us that we should keep the stuff, because she didn’t want it to go to waste. 

I think everyone at the senior center had a good time and talked to some interesting people. I haven’t heard much from the people who did the community research, so you’ll have to ask them about it.

After our morning activities, we met at the 9/11 Memorial. I wasn’t sure what to expect from myself emotionally. I remember a few details about that day: sitting at the kitchen table, eating a Pop Tart, watching the news, wondering along with the hosts what what going on in New York, watching a plane make its way across the screen and sky and into the tower. I remember cars lined up at gas stations. I remember watching the news in the afternoon, because nothing else was on because nothing else seemed to matter. I was in fifth grade, ten years old. I didn’t realize at the time that everything had changed. I didn’t realize that fear had taken over our country.

As I slowly walked around one of the Memorial Pools, I read names. I thought about these people who got up and went to work or boarded a plane. We hear stories of people who woke up late and missed their usual train, or who happened to have a meeting scheduled and rescheduled for somewhere else in the city. The people whose names are on that memorial didn’t have stories like that. They went through their normal routine. They did the same thing they did every day, but that day was the worst day. That day changed our nation and their families forever. On the far side of the first pool I noticed two names that were followed by “…and her unborn child.” That is when the tears finally fell. I thought about those children who would now be teenagers, the same age as my Sunday School students. Those children who were spared from a world without peace by such an act of violence and hatred. Those children who were victims along with their mothers and thousands of others. It was a tragedy that was felt throughout the world, the effects of which we are experiencing every day.

It’s now 12:44am on Thursday morning. I got interrupted this morning, and have been talking and getting ready for bed since we got back. Fellowship seemed to be more important on this last night in the city, so I’ll give you two days in one post.

It feels like we spent the day on our feet or on trains. After breakfast, we set our room back up so it would be ready for us tonight. We boarded the train to the World Trade Center stop, ate lunch at Burger King, and got on another train to take us to Newark, New Jersey. We met Pastor Tulio at Emanuel Missionary Church. This was the church where Michael preached and his team did their children’s program on Sunday night. It’s a beautiful old Russian Orthodox building that has been updated on the inside. They’ve added lights, painted, and generally brightened the place. It was such a welcoming space, even without people.

There’s a playground across from the church where we did a modified version of the children’s program. Kids were running everywhere, parents were watching, and our students were amazing. They talked to people, they played games, they laughed, they led well. I was a very proud youth leader.

I’ve been so impressed all week. Parents, you have done well. These students are helpful, loving, thoughtful, smart, brave, patient, encouraging, funny, and fun to travel with. We’ve all had our moments of frustration, but we’ve pushed through them all. We are at the end of our time here, and we still like each other. You should be proud of your children/parents/siblings/spouses/friends/GMC family. Thank you for supporting us financially and in prayer over the past few months. God has been faithful to provide everything that we’ve needed, and even more than we ever thought to ask for. Our eyes have been opened to the needs of the city, and our hearts have been softened to the needs of Grabill/Leo/Fort Wayne.

We’re looking forward to being home on Friday morning. Not just because we get to see you and tell you our stories, but because we now have a better understanding of our mission to our hometown. Get ready, Grabill. We’ve been to New York City, and we’re bringing back the love of Jesus.