The Adventure Led Me Here

“‘It is finished.’ May those words land on your bones for the nights when fear tells you the cross was a beginning & you must finish grace.”  —  Jon Acuff  The cross was enough.When grace tiptoes in with hushed footsteps during raging storms, sometimes we don't hear its gentle whispers to remind us of the victory found on the cross. Expectations and guilt thunder in, chanting our failures and shortcomings. 'Try harder. Be better. Get your act together.' The cross is enough. The cross will be enough. Years ago, every messy, broken part of our lives was nailed to a simple wooden cross and replaced with grace. So often we try to take the brokenness off of the cross, clinging onto the remnants. It is finished' means exactly that. There is completion, and the debt is paid, our guilt erased. Grace isn't carefully budgeted and couponed out; it is extravagant and never-ending. Grace is sufficient, even in our weaknesses, struggles, and pain...

His eyes held a library of books that were now dusty and forgotten. "Hi, Grandpa." I squeezed his hand, his skin paper thin. He blinked. "Hi," he croaked, tilting his head to the side. "Who are you?" I should be used to this by now.  But I wasn't. I swallowed around the growing lump in my throat. "It's me, Erica. Your granddaughter." Who lives right across the street and visits you every day. "Oh." He shifted his gaze to the flickering newscast in the background. I lowered myself onto the couch. This wasn't the grandfather I'd grown up with. I had fuzzy warm images of going to church with him every week, bumping up and down in his stormy gray truck. I could still hear him playing his harmonica or relating stories about attending the county fair as a boy, words tumbling out on top of each other. We sat in silence. Some silences are comfortable, refreshing, like dipping your toes into the pool on a...

You are the color of the sea Wild wild wild A kite on a blustery day Gentle Velvet stand beneath my feet Cool The man with the cragged face Sliding his metal detector Across the hard packed sand Warm A campfire underneath  The tiny stars Peeking out their shining faces You are the Color of the Sea

Special Edition: You Might be an Education Grad Student When... 1). You watch the Super Bowl while lesson planning and doing homework. 2). Glitter underneath your fingernails is perfectly acceptable. 3). Your lunch consists of a sandwich shaped like a hippo. 4). Talking about data and research studies is something you do with your grad school friends...when you're not even in class. 5). Education books at the library just seem to jump into your arms. 6). You have a Pinterest board labeled 'Classroom Ideas.' Enough said. 7). Sleep is for the weak. 8). You can turn anything into a song. 9). Writing an abstract? Bring. It. On. 10). Even when life is crazy, you wouldn't trade the experience for anything in the world.

I love to plan. I love planning for goals, things, events, vacations, etc. Whether my planning comes to fruition is an entirely different matter altogether. My head is usually in the clouds, thinking and dreaming up something I want to do in the future. The strange place called the present, the here and now, is a place I rarely land. But the future isn't so exciting because once I get there, suddenly, it's the present. Then I'm on to planning for the next thing. When you open a gift, you're paying attention to the gift. You're (hopefully) not thinking about the next gift before you've even unwrapped this one. I want to be present. Life is so very beautiful. And I'm missing out on it. Be present.

With the best of intentions, I open up a notebook to a fresh sheet of paper every year on January 1st. Pencil scribbling across the pages, I write a list of things I want to accomplish during the coming year. I usually lose the list by mid February. I love making goals. I love working towards something. However, more often than that, life happens. It gets busy, and my goals and resolutions fall to the side faster than the dinosaurs went extinct. This year is different. This year, I'm not making any resolutions (I am resisting the urge to slip in the "my resolution is no more resolutions" joke). I am, however, developing a theme for the year that will guide it. Be intentional. Intentional with every aspect of my life. So often, I drift through life somewhat aimlessly, the days passing by like wispy clouds on a spring day. No more. I want to be intentional with my time. If I'm looking up something on my phone, I don't want three hours to pass wit...

Four Ways Your Life is Like a Tub of Hummus: 1). Hummus comes in many flavors. Guess what? Your life comes in many flavors. Somedays life is sad (basil pesto hummus...who really likes that flavor?). Sometimes, it's exciting (spicy hummus). Sometimes, it's calm (plain hummus). 2). Hummus can complement food or stand alone. Yes, it is possible to eat hummus plain. You can choose to have a significant other (my hummus's significant other is usually celery) or you can be single. It's cool. 3). Hummus is unique. Even its name is unique. Hummus. Hummus. Try saying that five times fast. Your life is unique. Just like hummus. 4). Hummus never loses its charm. You never lose your charm. Because you're cool. Like hummus.