Intention

“Set your intention for class.”

If you’ve ever taken a yoga class, you’ve heard these words.

Set your intention.

I’m always grateful to hear these centering words, and so I follow this imperative at the beginning of each yoga class. My intention is always based on what I need. Tonight, my intention was movement. After a lot of sitting and eating the past few days, I needed to move and stretch my muscles, to feel and know again that my body is strong and healthy and capable. Other times, my intention is to alleviate back pain or strengthen muscles. Often I am in great need of stress relief--to release mental burdens and tension. Thus, my intention becomes this: To remember and feel peace and grace and God’s Spirit, alive, as I move with my breath.

The thing I love about yoga is that each class I attend accomplishes all of these things for me and in me to some extent. However, setting my intention for class makes that one thing I decide to focus on particularly prominent. When my mind inevitably wanders, I come back to remembering that specific reason I’ve established for practicing yoga in that moment. That unspoken intention is able to take my wandering mind back to the present; it helps me refocus on that one specific aim. My intention can even have influence over what I leave the studio thinking about and feeling.

And so it is with life, right? What if I applied, “Set your intention,” to every action I engaged in, every decision I made regarding how I use my time and energy and heart? Every word I wrote or spoke? What if this yoga mantra is way more powerful and universal than I previously considered?

“Intentional” is a word I’ve heard and used often, especially in Christian circles. “Intentional living” and “Living intentionally” are Christian buzzwords that are so overused they’ve lost real meaning to me. The idea behind it is great, but what again does living intentionally mean? 

However, “Set your intention,” gives explicit direction for every action I carry out or choose not to carry out. What is my intention, my aim, my purpose, my goal in doing this right now? Am I about to do this out of boredom, guilt, lust? Does it stem from my own pride, is it for attention, out of selfishness? Am I about to do this because it’s cultural, it makes “worldly” sense, it’s what everyone else tells me I need to do? Or, am I doing this out of a desire to give love, to spread light, to gain knowledge? To experience true rest, to create, to develop a skill, to listen to a friend, to share joy? And I think the biggest and toughest question to ask when setting intention is: Am I doing this in light of my future?

Instead of fumbling around in my indecisiveness and finding myself burnt out and bruised and weighted down from the actions I take, I’m starting to realize I need to ask myself over and over, before each action, What is my intention? and hold it next to Truth and Wisdom to see if it lines up. If it does, I’ll set it, and carry out that action with my intention in mind. Even if I drift and lose sight of it, my mind will keep wandering back to it, resetting, and I’ll continue breathing in and out in purposeful movement.

Guadalajara!

Friends and Family,

I hope this letter finds you well...and warm!

For those of you who have not yet heard, I will be embarking on a new adventure in Guadalajara, Mexico from February-May 2015 with TEAM (The Evangelical Alliance Mission). Before I tell you more about this service opportunity, I want to share with you a bit of my journey up to this point, which will hopefully answer your question, “Why won’t this girl stay put?”

After two years teaching in La Paz, Bolivia, I came back home in July 2013 with uncertainty and a heavy heart. I knew intuitively I was supposed to be back in Chicagoland but didn’t know why, so my resolution became this: To mesh these two cultures, these different realities and my affinity for each. Over the course of the last year and a half, I’ve been blown away by how my worlds have meshed.

My experience in Bolivia prompted me to seek out other ESL (English as a Second Language) opportunities and work with older students. In His faithfulness, God provided great workplaces and ministries for me to be a part of. I developed a love and appreciation for awkward middle schoolers and hyped-up high schoolers, studied at a local college to obtain an ESL endorsement for my teaching license, joined a Latino church plant, and formed friendships and relationships that have been incredibly influential in my journey.

My time and work here in Chicagoland has transformed my heart and vision in amazing ways. In the last year and a half, I’ve begun to see more clearly how the passions of my heart, the gifts and talents God has given me, and the areas of growing need are intersecting.

Which leads me to Mexico.

Through the combination of all of these influences in my life, I’m beginning to see an intersecting piece--to serve locally through teaching the growing immigrant and refugee population in the United States, specifically the very large number of Mexican immigrants. My desire is reconciliation in a world full of division, poverty, and injustice. Meeting the needs of immigrants is a way for me to say to them, “Hey, I see you, and I love you as my brothers and sisters, and I am for you and will walk alongside you. I want to empower you in the way I have been empowered through love and opportunities and education.” 

I believe that in order for me to serve this population the most effectively, I need to see where they’re coming from. I desire to know the Mexican culture, to become fluent in the Spanish language, and once again have my perspectives challenged.

During the four months I’m in Guadalajara, I will be living with a Mexican family, teaching English at a cultural center and an orphanage, as well as working with missionaries and other interns to share Jesus’ love and grace through coffee dates, community gatherings, Bible studies, and various events.

I want to ask if you would consider supporting me prayerfully and financially in this endeavor. I need to raise $3,938 by December 21^st to cover the total cost of my airfare and living expenses for the four months I will be in Guadalajara. If you would like to partner with me, please go to https://team.org/give, click on “Give Now” and search for my name, or follow this link to get there directly: https://secure2.convio.net/team/site/SPageServer?pagename=donatenow&did=4343. You may also send a check to TEAM with my name in the memo line:

TEAM

PO Box 969

Wheaton, IL 60187-0969

As well, the orphanage that I will be teaching at, Rios en el Desierto, needs your help.

I will partner with other missionaries on a number of necessary, immediate projects for which the orphanage does not have funds. If you are interested in giving to this orphanage, follow this link:

https://secure2.convio.net/team/site/SPageServer?pagename=donatenow&did=4201, or send a check to TEAM (address above) and indicate that the contribution is for the "Guadalajara Orphanage Fund.”

Thank you so much for your love and support of me in this journey.

Grace and peace,

Julie Hogan

julieghogan@gmail.com

630-991-8637

Hard vs. Easy Rest

Exhausted, I stand. I produce. I emote. I serve. I carry with me worlds.

I am strong, so strong, I know that now.

And strength calls to rest.

In strength, we rest. In wisdom, we rest. In gratitude, we rest. In love, we rest. We rest when we believe, deeply, that we are loved, we are whole, we are strong, we are capable, we are worthy.

Rest is surrender. Rest is learned. Rest is uncomfortable. It is choosing stillness and smallness and putting a stop to our work in a world on steroids. This idea of "hard rest" that I want to discuss, is completely counter-cultural. We don't understand it. We don't see its importance.

We think we rest, but it’s the easy kind. It’s the Netflix rest. It’s the 7 hours of sleep each night rest. It’s the 5-minute newspaper-reading rest. It’s not the difficult kind, the real kind, the reflective, intrusive kind that forces us to face ourselves, to deeply know ourselves, to process the lives we live out daily. No, we flee from the hard rest.

We settle for easy rest; we think it’s enough.

I’m learning, if you have faith or want faith, hard rest is essential. Our souls are desperate, and I think this world is desperate for movements that come from periods of hard rest.

Our faith, our well-being, and others' well-beings cannot be sustained in continual service, continual movement. We must do the hard rest, the rest that requires us to dig and weed and examine and prune and cry and beg and confess and laugh and meditate and scribble and create and break and wrestle.

And so, after my job ends and before I enter into cross-cultural service once again in February, I am choosing to enter into hard rest with intentionality. I need it, desperately. I have forgotten what it is, what it’s been for me, and I’m excited for what it will do in me. This rest for me will include prayer, meditation, yoga, writing, playing music, cooking, reading, creating art, cleaning, donating, and anything and everything that gives me life and freedom. I anticipate it will also include a lot of laughter, tears, and wrestling, as I grieve, reflect on, and anticipate all my past and future work and the weight of the worlds I leave and enter into.

As my anxiety often threatens to eat me alive, these verses continue to be my spiritual water:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” -Matthew 11:28-30

Leading Quietly

“Didn’t you hear me tell you to stop?” I asked, after running to catch up with a student.

“No. Teacher, you don’t talk so loud.”

It may sound ridiculous, but this simple interaction at the beginning of the summer was another blast to my confidence that I could do my job well, that I could do any teaching job well. Because I’ve heard things like this before, or sensed it--the lies surrounding simply the way I am that begin to obliterate the notion I have any leadership or authority or impact or influence.

I don’t have a loud voice. I don’t have a loud presence. I slither like a snake to get around people and am often stepped on and run into and hit in the head with sportz balls (yes, my favorite, sportZ). There have been numerous occasions in my life I’ve felt like I must have Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak over me.

I prefer quiet to loud, listening and writing to speaking, the beach to NYC, a game of Bananagrams to Charades. I’m a dreamer and a thinker and a feeler. The things that happen to me and around me quickly overwhelm; too much stimulation around me drains me of energy. Truthfully, my favorite part of every day is time alone and sleeping.

Some of you reading this may not believe I prefer solitude most of the time. You probably know well from talking to me or from Facebook or Instagram that I get out a lot. I’m around people a lot. The reality is, I have chosen to take on many positions and join many groups that have required me to step out and “put on” an extroverted self. Truly, the only reason I’m able to do all that I do is because I care so deeply about education, mentorship, and friendship. Social small talk pains me, but I can talk with a friend about our desires, heartaches, and future plans for hours; I’ll teach into lunch time just because I really want my students to gain an understanding of a story; I’ll participate in organized activity if it also means getting some one-on-one time with a high schooler who’s struggling so I may speak into her situation. But I’m able to recharge and thrive in solitude; I come back to who I am. In solitude, I feel the most like myself.

When I took my first Myers Briggs Test in high school, I finally knew the term that described me: I’m an introvert. I knew the type description fit me. Yet, I’ve spent a lot of years trying to fool others and myself. I knew, or thought I knew, that to be an extrovert was to be a leader. To be an extrovert meant I had a voice. To be an extrovert meant friendship. To be an extrovert meant success. To be an extrovert meant power. To be an extrovert was to be a fun, people-person. To be an extrovert meant glory and being well-liked.

I envied and even idolized extroverts, specifically in college. Sometimes I tried, or at least imagined, I was louder, more dynamic, bubbly. But I just didn’t feel like I had what it took to speak in front of large groups or enough boldness to share the gospel with a stranger. For most of my life I’ve felt too quiet, too timid, too inadequate.

Through reading Susan Cain’s book, “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking,” I gained a better understanding of why my own worldview says extroverts are “better” and thus, I am inferior. And I breathed a sigh of relief as I read true stories of people that sounded just like me. I discovered some of the most influential leaders, innovators, writers, etc, are introverted, just like me, needing lots of time alone to develop ideas and create and reflect.

Cain explains at the beginning of the book how we have progressed from a “Culture of Character” to a “Culture of Personality.” We have gone from looking more at a person’s character to looking more at a person’s personality, learning from motivational speakers, media, our families, etc, that the extroverted personality is the most favorable. This movement began to put forth the idea that if your child is shy and likes to keep to him/herself, there is something wrong and he/she needs to be treated. We’re quick to diagnose social anxiety disorder when one third to one half of the population are simply introverts that are hard-wired to feel a bit nervous and anxious in social situations. Cain calls this cultural outlook the “Extroverted Ideal.”

This idea of an “Extroverted Ideal” was eye-opening for me. I immediately applied it to my first experiences on my teacher-journey.

From a young age, teaching captivated my attention. I loved school, homework, helping my brothers with homework, and I idolized my teachers growing up; I wanted to do what they did for me--to help, instruct, share love and creativity and knowledge, and be an important part of children’s development. I’m a nurturer, a giver, a lover of people and life and learning. Naturally, teaching seemed like a great fit and a practical career choice.

And then I got to Taylor and started the Elementary Education program, and I felt...different. I didn’t feel like I fit the mold. I quickly came to believe that my mostly extroverted peers were superior to me. They must make better teachers based on their ability to give presentations, their enthusiasm around kids, their colorful creativity.

And I convinced myself in so many other areas that I was inferior as well. I wanted to lead in different areas--small groups, youth conference, discipleship assistant--and was able to take on a few leadership positions that interested me. But I always believed others were better at them. Others seemed to enjoy standing on chairs and yelling, speaking in front of people, and being the center of attention. From my perspective, I wasn’t a bad leader, but I could be more. I knew I had something to contribute to students and peers, but it couldn’t be nearly as much as one of the extroverted leaders.

This “Culture of Personality” I believe has influenced us all far more than we realize, especially for all my fellow introverts. I’m sure you can relate to feeling inadequate, unsuccessful, or inferior compared to some of our extroverted friends who seem to take on the world with ease, get their way, feel more comfortable around people, make eloquent speeches, and navigate the dating world with expertise.

We have to push harder in this world to “get ahead,” to feel like we have a voice, to do something noteworthy, to just be noticed sometimes instead of stepped on. And we introverts are typically sensitive types who hold back when we get stepped on, ignored, beaten up with words and the ways of the world.

How do we introverts become leaders? How can we as a society begin reclaiming a Culture of Character? In what ways can we lead without a podium or megaphone? How do we begin to start believing we have a powerful voice and can make some of the best leaders of our world? How do we relinquish our preconceived notions that we were made to be followers, not leaders?

Because the truth is, introverts are not destined to be followers of gregarious extroverts; in fact, gregarious extroverts work wonderfully under the leadership of reflective introverts. (Read Cain’s book for several real life examples.)

I aspire to be a leader like Rosa Parks or Jane Addams, like some of my favorite writers, Rachel Held Evans, Anne Lamott, and Sarah Bessey. These women have lead and lead with heart, soul, truthfulness, femininity, strength, and humility. They are not the “Oprah’s” of the world, but instead, choose to lead just as effectively in a different and quieter way.

Give me a keyboard instead of a microphone, a child instead of a congregation, a guitar instead of a megaphone. Empowered and equipped and educated, I will lead.

In fact, we need a lot more leaders who are empowered, equipped, and educated before we give them a megaphone or computer or congregation.

Rachel Held Evans recently wrote an article on her blog about Mark Driscoll, opening up our eyes to the awful reality behind a man that Christians have been idolizing and looking to for Truth for years (See:  http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/driscoll-troubled-mind-william-wallace). This is a perfect example of how our culture has shifted to caring more about personality than character. Give us an attractive personality, and character can be excused a bit. We’ll give him grace. We’ll forgive him again and again for saying these awful things because his sermons are just so darn mesmerizing. Would we forgive him and exalt him if he weren’t a great speaker? If he was an introvert? Isn’t it scary how much we glorify personality over character and integrity?

So my prayer and hope is that we, introverts and extroverts alike, begin to lead with integrity and dignity, recognizing each of our individual strengths as tools of empowerment in a world that is desperate for voices of hope, joy, peace, and faith.

There is not one way to lead. There never has been and there never will be. Sometimes the written word to five people can be more powerful than a sermon to five thousand. Sometimes the best teachers are those that reflect on a lesson rather than create a colorful bulletin board. Sometimes a song created in hours of solitude can influence more than a public testimony.

There is not one way to lead. You are not a worse leader than someone else. You are powerful. You are important. And if you have accepted Jesus’ grace, you are empowered by the Spirit. You do not need to fear. You do not need to follow a prescribed plan of action. You do not need to compare yourself with others in your field. You need to pray. You need to figure out what your heart is telling you to do, and do it. Lead with humility and dignity and grace and most of all, love.

Our voices are powerful, no matter their decibel levels.

Amen.

Yes, All Women.

My heart's been heavy lately, and before I'm able to write my last paper for my ESL class tonight, I need to write about something that matters more to me right now than a paper on Chapter 19 of my textbook.

This social media movement #YesAllWomen that began recently after the mass shooting in California is both exciting and disturbing me. I'm extremely grateful for what both women and men are sharing, but deeply troubled by the injustice and perversion I've been reading and hearing lately. I've been reflecting on my own experiences, as well, and the way that society has influenced my own thoughts on gender roles, dating, relationships, and sex. I've been reflecting on the way men have treated me, how I respond to men, and the ways I've unintentionally encouraged male dominance and sexual aggression. I've been reflecting on all the times I've felt disempowered, inferior, and ashamed because of the way men have treated me or talked to me. And it's making me angry. Like, really deeply irritated—at myself and at the media and at society; at any form of misogyny or violence; at the lack of male mentors; and at women (or men!) like me who have never spoken out or previously recognized their shame and its link to male expectations and abuse.

I've been starting to question all my thought patterns and behaviors in regards to men and dating, and it's been challenging. Just the other night, a cute stranger started grinding on me on the dance floor, and I didn't pull away and even encouraged him with a smile. Why? Do I want attention in that way? Does the fact that I was dancing near him give him a right or privilege to dance with me in that way? Did I encourage it only because I found him attractive? Is that ever appropriate behavior?

And in stream more thoughts.

Did I really say sorry and feel ashamed and prudish after he felt frustrated that I didn't want to go any further?

Why didn't I call out the cowardly and uncaring behavior of that supposedly "Christian" guy I went out with twice, before I deleted his number from my phone? Will he treat another girl like he did me?

Why did I let him make me feel inferior—ever? Did I have him up on a pedestal? Did I not value my own mind and body and spirit? My own individuality and intelligence?

Why did I encourage a guy's initial objectification of me just because the way he said it seemed humorous and clever and made me feel better about an insecurity?

Why do I keep hearing that the person in a relationship who is less interested has the most power? And that the Chicago dating scene is vicious? Are relationships and dating all a game to people? Aren't we dealing with people's hearts here?

I think the saddest part of all this to me is that for so long I, and I think many women, have absorbed any kind of hurt or shame or guilt we've experienced onto ourselves, and we've swallowed it all and discredited its effect on us. 

I want to be stronger than I am; raise my standards for men's behavior; teach boys to be real men and teach girls they have a voice, and a damn powerful one. I want to keep addressing and discussing the small and large injustices my friends and I have dealt with and move forward in confidence and strength, knowing Jesus is behind this movement, behind me, behind women, behind equality. And I feel His calling for me to lead as a young woman in my mid-twenties who has and will be affected by these issues, and I want to invite others to lead along with me, and stand for equality and freedom and love in the purest form. Selfless, sacrificial, gracious love, free of expectations and agenda and power imbalance.

Help me know where to go from here, friends, and how we can help each other and this generation. Let's please keep this conversation going. 

Freezing Rain and Contact Catastrophes

This morning I was pretty sure a hex was put on me.

My two alarms failed in waking me up from a deep sleep, and I woke up in a panic to my mom's frantic voice, alarmed I was still in a deep sleep and still completely oblivious to the music and buzzing resounding from my IPod dock and phone.

In the bathroom, trying to comprehend the words my mom was speaking to me at this early hour and fumbling with my right-eye contact, I poured my un-neutralized Clear Care solution on my contact and inserted it into my eye. It's an unbearable feeling, what I might imagine flames shooting into your eyes to feel like, and I bent over in pain, trying to get the contact out of my eye, flushing out my eye with water, searching for the contact on the floor, and finally realizing it was hanging out in my hair. I cursed this entire string of events as I heard the door slam shut, my parents leaving me in disarray as they shouted there was freezing rain outside.

Cringing at the thought of wearing contacts and mascara after this fiasco, I searched for my glasses and stared at a red, droopy eyed mess looking back at me in the mirror, dressed in a sweatshirt and pajama pants for pajama day at school.

Grabbing a bowl of cereal to eat in the car, and a yogurt, fruit, and hard-boiled egg for lunch, I left, cursing and on the verge of tears, overwhelmed in this despicably long season of monotony and cold, desperate for sleep and sunshine.

My brain must have started to turn on when I was almost to school, and I realized I was in my car—except I shouldn't have been. I knew since yesterday I was supposed to take my mom's car to work and my dad was kindly going to take my car for a necessary emissions test. That is what my mom was talking about during the contact catastrophe.

I got to school, explained my situation, and turned around to go back home to switch cars. Walking up my driveway toward the garage in my red TOMS, my feet flew out from under me, my thermos of coffee clinked on the pavement, and I landed on a patch of freshly frozen ice, transparent and evil and inappropriate for the end of March. My butt was wet and the skin of my thumb scraped the rough cement of the driveway, and I said to no one, "What ELSE could go wrong today?"

Inside, my dad was sitting at the dining room table with a laptop and papers and books. He had driven my mom to work and was back, working from home. I expected him to be upset, or state the obvious—that I was supposed to take mom's car today. But he knew I knew that. I'm not sure what he said to me, but I remember he poured the last couple ounces of coffee in my thermos, wrapped a band-aid around my thumb, and handed me eye drops to take with me, to soothe my still red and watery eye.

And as I drove back to school, a song about grace and peace came on the radio in my mom's Outback, and I started crying, thinking about the grace just shown by my dad, and then realizing all the other moments of grace there were even within this horrible morning:

My mom woke me up when my alarm wouldn't; pajama day allowed me to be comfy and dress quickly on this rushed morning; after my fall on the driveway I was able to change into a different pair of pajama pants because I was home; my co-worker, full of compassion, told me to go back and switch the cars; today there was testing and I wasn't needed first period; fifty minutes of driving in the rain and no problems; and--great news--my coffee didn't spill as I fell.

I'm persevering. I'm choosing to see the light and the good and the grace and the hope and the love in this dreary day and in this dreary world. Because it's there. And why not trust the Giver of it? Why not hope in Him? What else is there to hope in? Who else is there to trust? What have I got to lose?

~~~~~~~~

"Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.

We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love."

 Romans 5:1-5

Dear friends, let's rest.

I checked out a book of readings for Lent and Easter at my library, and this passage struck me:

"Do what you will with this insignificant creature. Whether it be that I should work, or become inspired, or be the recipient of your impressions, it is all the same. Everything is yours, everything is from you and for you. I no longer have anything to be concerned about, anything to do. I have no hand in the arrangement of one single moment of my life; everything belongs to you. I do not need to add or subtract anything, nor to seek after or mull over anything. It is for you, Lord, to regulate everything: direction, humiliations, sanctification, perfection and salvation—all are your business, Lord. Mine is to be satisfied with your work and not to demand the choice of action or condition, but to leave everything to your good pleasure." –Jean Pierre de Caussade

Read that again. Let it sink in.

This prayer seems foreign in this world I live in, this world I've conceptualized. "I no longer have anything to be concerned about, anything to do. I have no hand in the arrangement of one single moment of my life; everything belongs to you."  Really? What about job searching? What about figuring out where to live? What about finding my future husband? I can't just sit and wait and have all of these things come to me.

Yet, as nonsensical as this prayer seemed to me in my current state of mind and in my natural being, this prayer resonated with my heart. I wanted those words to be true. And what if it is true? What if these words and the words within the gospel that say stop worrying, stop striving are true?

What would that mean for me? What would that mean for us as self-obsessed, driven, stressed-out workaholics who compare and compete with one another constantly? What would that mean for us as a nation? For the world?

How do we stop trying to control everything? How do we stop worrying? How do we rest when our bodies and my minds have developed a distinct pattern of constant movement, nearly constant unrest? What does it mean for our only business to be satisfaction in the work of Christ and to leave everything to His good pleasure? What does that look like?

I don't have the answers to all these questions, but this is what I think it could look like, practically speaking:

I think it would mean taking a Sabbath weekly—putting aside all work and allowing ourselves to lie in bed all day. I think it would mean praying before and during the activities of our lives. I think it would mean finding peace in our meditation of Truth—that we are loved unconditionally by the God of the universe and we can trust Him with our lives because He's been faithful and will be faithful to provide exactly what we need.

Most of all, I think it would mean having peace with where we are at, exactly where we are at. Peace that as we move and go and speak and eat and everything we do as humans, we are a part of something much larger than us that is out of our control, so there is no reason to keep trying to take control and putting ourselves through hell trying to figure out our next steps.

"It is for you, Lord, to regulate everything."

My heart longs to pray this prayer, but it may take the rest of my life for my mind and heart to follow the words my mouth may say.

_____________________________________ 

I'm still unsure what role I'm supposed to play as I take part in life decisions and in my future plans. I know I obviously need to fill out applications if I'm going to find a teaching job next school year; I know I can't be Sleeping Beauty and just wait for a handsome prince kiss me awake (though that would be kind of amazing); and I know I have to faithfully do the work for my job and my classes that I'm devoted to right now. I can't do whatever I want and just wait for things to fall into my lap, and the more I read this prayer, the more I see that's not what it's implying.

What I do believe this prayer is implying is simply acceptance. Accepting my life, and recognizing all the blessings I have right here, right now. There's a reason I'm here—not just "here on this Earth," but here, in Downers Grove, living with my parents, working at Eisenhower, taking classes at National Louis, co-leading a group of high school girls, singing in the worship band and being a part of Kairos, and investing in the great people around me. And there's a reason you're exactly where you are right now.

I came back from Bolivia in July thinking this year living with my parents would be a "transition year" and it would allow me to recuperate and prepare for another move, my next steps.

Yet, I'm finding, I've made a life here and am still making a life here, right where I'm at. Life is never a "transition period," it's life! It moves and we move with it. And I'm finding that I've been stressing about "next steps" for so long, rebelling against this idea of staying planted here for awhile, thinking that was never even an option, thinking that moving back in with my parents was a step backwards in life.

And now I'm realizing how wrong I was, about all of it.

The more I live here and find myself growing deeper into this place I'm at (physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually), the more I realize this is what I need right now. As much as you may have heard me complain about the weather, ISBE, my online dating experiences, and much more, there are too many good things, too many blessings in my life to leave Chicagoland right now. God's using me here and He's blessing me here, and as much as I sometimes daydream about going back to Bolivia or hopping a few hours southeast to Indy, I know that's not for me at this time.

So unless God has something crazy up his sleeve for my future that hasn't been revealed to me yet, I think I'm sticking around here for a little while longer. No, it's not for financial reasons, it's not because I'm too comfortable to move, and it's not because I don't desire to live with roommates in a big city or go to a warmer place. It's because I recognize God's working on me right here and now and reconstructing my views of "success" and "independence" and all that our society deems important. Maybe I need my parents right now, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need my church right now, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need the middle school and high school students I'm working with, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need to plant myself in Chicagoland for a time, despite my strong will to leave it. Maybe movement is not a cure. Maybe I need to just start resting and trusting.

This verse is my living water right now:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-30

Con amor,

Jules