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.