Kara Landhuis

For many people, “season” refers to the time of year or maybe part of a tv series. It seems that in Christian culture, a “season” can be a number of different things. Season is a sort of catch-all term that can be applied to any unspecified period of time. Lost your job? You’re in for a season of unemployment. Getting married? Well, that’s going to be a new season! I can appreciate the fact that it’s a versatile and applicable word, but sometimes I wish I just had the normal four seasons to deal with.

Spring

Summer

Autumn

Winter

The seasons may have different distinguishing features depending on where you live. In Iowa, spring and autumn are lovely and mild. Summer is hot and humid. Winter is frigid and bleak – and long. But no matter your climate, the seasons follow each other in the customary way. No matter how long the winter is, spring eventually, mercifully arrives. And no matter how verdant the summer seems, the leaves will eventually turn to red and gold and brown. There is a dependable pattern, a rhythm, a cycle.

Seasons in our lives also have different distinguishing characteristics. Difficult seasons may include the death of a loved one, unemployment, infertility, estrangement, or illness. Joyful seasons may include things like marriage, adoption, promotion, or travel. We tend to focus on events and circumstances instead of the feelings that accompany them, and this means we may fail to see that seasons in life are cyclical too.

An event may only happen once, but the feelings that accompany that event will certainly reappear, probably many times. Loneliness, doubt, fear, and anger will visit us again and again. If our idea of difficult seasons is tied to certain events and circumstances, we may be blindsided when familiar thoughts and feelings pop up time after time.

“I thought I took care of that when _______ happened!” we say. “I thought I got over that.”

When negative feelings revisit us, we might feel some shame at having to re-learn the same hard lessons or skills over and over again. But please know that it is all part of the cycle. All is as it should be. Trees are not ashamed about losing their leaves and standing bare every single winter. That’s what trees do in that season.

My recent experience with a “hard season” has included unemployment. It has also included anxiety and doubt. The lie I was believing for a long time was this: As soon as I get a job, everything will be okay. I realized that this statement was not only a lie, but a delusion. When I get a job, it may seem that anxiety and doubt dissipate. But if I have deep-rooted fears and doubts about my credibility and worth, getting a job will not fix that. And even if I process these feelings now, they will undoubtedly resurface along with other situations down the road.

You can look the lie I was believing and fill in the blank with your own circumstance.

“As soon as ________ happens, everything will be okay.”

There is only one way to escape from lies like these. We have to look beyond the external happenings of our lives to find our worth and our wholeness. Learning to be okay regardless of your circumstances is a messy, brutal, lifelong learning experience.

I am envious of Paul when he writes in Philippians:

“I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want.” (Phil 4:12) 

The “secret” isn’t really a secret. Paul is talking about an intimate closeness with Jesus and full dependence on Him for everything.

I want to acknowledge the fact that the appeal of “trust God” can seem like a pointless Christian platitude if it isn’t applied with empathy. I’m a Christian. I know I’m supposed to trust God. But the reality of trusting God isn’t always a sweet Sunday school certainty. When we’re faced with real pain and real needs, trusting God is difficult. And the real question is: What am I trusting God to do?

Am I trusting God to provide me with what I think I need? Am I expecting Him to give me that thing that will fill in the blank?

Or am I trusting him to give me what I actually need?

The only the things I actually need – the presence of Jesus and His redemptive power.

I have spent most of my life trying to minimize my hair maintenance needs so that it takes little time and few products to manage my mane. Therefore, I have always had fairly short hair. When I was about 10 years old, my hair was short and a bit mullet-y. With my mullet and my tomboy fashion, I was occasionally mistaken for a boy. One of these moments stands out. The Embarrassing Mall Incident. I was at a store in the mall, looking at a toy display.

A woman nearby turned to her fidgeting child and said, “Wait your turn. That boy is playing with those.”

That boy.

I was mortified. I turned bright red and left the store as fast as possible.

Current trends have helped to relax the strict stereotype that men have short hair and women have long hair. Short hair on women is fairly common, and long hair on men is common too. Even so, I’ve experienced the pressure of old fashioned expectations. It’s subtle, usually, but sometimes it’s not so subtle. For example, some men have told me they aren’t attracted to women with short hair. They are free to express that, but it has made me think more about how hair can affect perceptions of beauty and femininity.

I got my first super-short “pixie” cut when I was a sophomore in college. Because my hair has never been very long, getting a pixie cut wasn’t THAT dramatic. It was a big moment for me, though. I spontaneously booked an (expensive) appointment at a posh salon I had never been to. I didn’t tell any of my friends that I was doing it. I went in and told the stylist what I wanted, and I watched my hair fall to the floor. That was exactly four years ago, and I have never regretted it – not even when, at 23, I found myself in a situation similar to the Embarrassing Mall Incident.

It was a brilliant day in July: windy and a bit chilly, but bright and sunny. I was out on a walk with friends in the English countryside. I had recently shaved my hair even shorter than usual, and I was dressed in androgynous layers – t-shirt, hoodie, jacket. While I was kneeling to pet a dog on the path, an old British couple mistook me for a man. I don’t even remember exactly what they said. It was still a bit embarrassing, sure, but I didn’t feel that paralyzing humiliation I had felt when I was 10.

I don’t want to write this.

I like to write things that offer insight and actionable advice. I like to be authentic and honest about where I’m at, but I prefer a tone of reflection, of hard-earned hindsight. It’s easy to share hard things after I’ve gleaned a lesson or a silver lining. It’s harder to share stuff that still just completely sucks.

The working title of this post was “Fuck You, Anxiety,” and that may be a better title. This is not going to be about tips for coping with anxiety. Everyone who has anxiety experiences it differently. This is my experience so far.

I did not just randomly have a panic attack one day. My anxiety came upon me in a way that was slow and insidious. Despite having several close friends and family members who had shared their experiences with anxiety, I didn’t realize what it was when it started happening to me. Looking back, I think I had panicky and anxious episodes throughout my life, but these incidents became more frequent and more intense in June 2015.

It was terrifying and unpredictable. I would be at my desk or I the car or at a movie or at Panera or lying in bed, and this feeling would grip me. When I’m anxious, I usually feel frantic. My breathing gets fast and shallow. I feel trapped. The first few times this trapped feeling came over me, I thought I was going to throw up. And then I started to panic more. I had no idea what was going on, but I knew something was wrong.

At this time, I was preparing for my gap year in England – 11 months away from home. I couldn’t be sick. I couldn’t let anything keep me from going to England. I would experience this panic, and I would grit my teeth and will it to go away. I would pray. I would go outside and take deep breaths. I thought maybe ignoring it would make it stop, but it just got worse.

One day, I was driving to work and found myself gasping for air in the parking lot of a Hampton Inn. I had pulled off the interstate because I kept imagining myself losing control of the car and crashing into the rush hour traffic. I drove home shaking, using back roads because the interstate was too terrifying. I cried with my mom, and I cried on the phone as I made an appointment. The woman at the doctor’s office asked me for a reason for the appointment, and I had to say it.

“I’ve been having anxiety.”

I thought that saying it out loud would give it more power over me, that it would overwhelm me. But it actually gave me a tiny bit of relief. The weird, sick, frantic feelings have a name. I was equipped with my first resource. When I start to panic, I no longer tell myself, “I’m dying.” (Even though it often feels that way.) I can say, “I’m having anxiety,” or “I’m having a panic attack.”

After this appointment, I had about four weeks until my flight to England. In that time, I was given some medication and I had three sessions with a counselor who helped me with breathing and meditation techniques. I still had anxiety in England, but it was much better. There are two main explanations for this:

1. The grace of God. I truly believe that God relieved some of my symptoms during this time because He is good and generous.

2. It was shock to my system. I was fully, overwhelmingly immersed in a new situation, a new culture. There was nothing familiar for me to lean on. I was either going to quit right away and fly home, or I was going to thrive. And I thrived.

Returning to Iowa in July 2016, the anxiety got worse. The past six months have been harder than the year in England, even though I’m back among things that are safe and familiar. I don’t understand this.

It seems cliché to say, “I have good days and bad days,” and it’s also not entirely true. Sometimes I have a great day that is interrupted by 10 minutes of intense, irrational panic. Sometimes I wake up with a paralyzing knot of dread in my stomach. Sometimes I breathe through it. Sometimes I can distract myself and carry on. Sometimes I take a Xanax.

Months ago, I sort of daydreamed about writing about my anxiety. I thought of how helpful I could be, how inspirational. I would share about how I overcame anxiety, and so can you! But that’s not the post I’m writing. And I don’t actually think that sort of post would be very helpful to anyone.

There is one tip I want to share in regards to coping with anxiety. When I experience anxiety, I feel afraid and alone. When I share about my anxiety, I feel supported and connected. When other people share about their anxiety, I feel a sense of all of us sharing the burden.

I constantly struggle with the conflict between my sinful, human tendencies and the righteous living that is possible through God’s Holy Spirit living in me. This is not a unique struggle. In fact, it’s universal for all Christians. In Romans, Paul describes this conflict: “I myself in my mind am a slave to God’s law, but in the sinful nature a slave to the law of sin.” (Romans 7:25) Later, in Galatians, he says, “Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires.” (Galatians 5:24)

For most of my life, this tension has been a burden. Instead of feeling encouraged and empowered by the presence of God’s Spirit, I have felt guilty and ashamed of my inability to overcome the desires of my sinful nature. Instead of feeling freedom, I have felt stuck, even trapped.

I recently came to realize that for most of my life, I have been skimming over an important detail in this struggle. On my way toward repentance, forgiveness, and transformation, I have been ignoring a glaring truth about myself:

There is an Ugliness in me.

This “sinful nature” that Paul talks about is not just human nature. It’s MY nature. In hurrying on to an attempt to crucify this sinful nature, I fail to acknowledge that it is a very real part of me. If I say to myself, “I am a Christian, so I shouldn’t be bitter,” I can remain in a state of denial.

I have to look my bitterness, my anxiety, my lust, my pride, my Ugliness in the face and fully accept it as a part of who I am. I cannot seek to distance myself from my sins simply because they are embarrassing and shameful. This Ugliness is not my whole identity, but it is there. I cannot ignore it and simultaneously seek to be delivered from it.

In his book, The Gift of Being Yourself, David Benner writes of this in a way that dramatically altered my perspective.

“Some Christians become quite upset at the suggestion that self-acceptance must precede transformation. They argue that self-acceptance is the exact opposite of what we are supposed to do to the parts of self that do not honor God…Scriptures seem clear enough about the importance of crucifying our sin nature. But attempts to eliminate things that we find in our self that we do not first accept as part of us rely on denial, not crucifixion.”

In The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning says it a slightly different way.

“People have expressed the fear that self-acceptance will abort the ongoing conversion process and lead to a life of spiritual laziness and moral laxity. Nothing could be more untrue. The acceptance of self does not mean to be resigned to the status quo. On the contrary, the more fully we accept ourselves, the more successfully we begin to grow. Love is a far better stimulus than threat or pressure.”

Benner and Manning are speaking about something that I have experienced in Christian communities throughout my life. Because of this fear of “spiritual laziness” and “moral laxity,” Christian teachers tend to emphasize the importance of fleeing from immorality and crucifying the sinful nature. But I’ve never felt like I had permission to embrace my Ugliness.

One of my central struggles with my faith is that I rarely believe that I am truly and deeply loved by God. I simply cannot fathom the irrational affection that he has for humanity in general and ME, specifically. But this love simply must be the foundation of my identity. I cannot embrace my Ugliness and experience transformation until I begin to understand that God embraces me AND my Ugliness.

I wish I had more practical advice to share. I will say that it helps to set aside grandiose plans for a “perfect” relationship with God. Don’t let good goals turn into things that heap guilt and shame on you. God wants to spend time with YOU, the REAL YOU, with all your Ugliness still showing. He’s going to spend your whole life making you and re-making you even if you don’t have a perfect quiet time. Jesus died for us while we were SINNERS, not saints who start every day with an hour of prayer and Bible study.

I also recommend reading the two books I mentioned – The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning and The Gift of Being Yourself by David Benner. I have found so much grace and freedom in these books.

This is not easy. Spiritual growth is difficult because I’m always tempted by the lie that God loves me because I’m growing closer to him. It’s the other way around: I grow closer to God because of his love for me. It’s not about my efforts or achievements. It’s about his love.

Kara’s Favorite Books of 2016

1. Pride and Prejudice

Classic | Romance

Okay, this shouldn’t be surprising, and if you haven’t read Pride and Prejudice – WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH YOUR LIFE? For real, though, I fully believe that Pride and Prejudice should be required reading for all humans. This was a re-read for me, but it’s only the second time I’ve read it. And the first time was in 7th grade, so I was long overdue for a re-read. I just thing Jane Austen’s stories are so pleasant and pastoral and human.

Also, I picked up this stunning edition from Waterstones right before I left England! I think it’s absolutely gorgeous.

2. The Lies of Locke Lamora

Fantasy | Adventure

I often have a craving for a really good ADVENTURE story, but I have a hard time finding things that really fit the bill. When I’m looking for adventure, I want a book that makes me feel like I’m watching Indiana Jones or Pirates of the Caribbean. I want non-stop action, humor, and great characters. This is one of the most exciting, engaging books I have ever read. I had SUCH a fun time reading this. It has everything: Pranks, theft, near-death experiences, great world-building, hilarious camaraderie between characters, peril, etc.

And I’m partial to this edition. Other editions are much more fantasy-novel-y, but this is so bright, and I love the type. I left this one behind in England, unfortunately.

3. The Hating Game

Romance | Contemporary

I absolutely LOVE romance stories when they are done well. Unfortunately, most romance books are not good, and I am very picky. So I abandon a lot of romance books after a few chapters, or I finish them and hate myself a little bit for reading utter trash. BUT THIS BOOK. What a breath of fresh air. This is truly a romantic comedy – super good and FUNNY chemistry between characters and excellent romantic tension. And NO DUMB ANGST. I can’t recommend this enough.

Also, I HATE ROMANCE COVER ART. It is, almost without exception, very bad. Meet the exception.

4. Lists of Note

Nonfiction | Novelty

I’ll start by addressing the title and the irony of giving employment advice while I am currently jobless. It’s true that I haven’t earned a paycheck since July 2015. To be fair, I spent 11 months as an overseas missionary – not earning money, but technically working fulltime hours. During those 11 months and the months that have passed since returning to the States in July, I have spent a lot of time thinking about work. I have been struggling through my shifting ideas about what it means to be employed.

The word “employment” technically has a few different definitions. I would like to focus on these two:

1. An occupation by which a person earns a living

2. An activity that occupies a person’s time

So, by these definitions, I can be employed while being unemployed. I hope you’re following me. In other words, I am finding things to fill my time even though I’m not working a nine-to-five job.

I’m not writing this to bore you with long descriptions of how I spend my time. I have been doing a bit of freelance writing and design in order to prevent my bank account from emptying entirely. I’m compiling, editing, and publishing a book. I have had various other projects to work on. I try not to be too idle because it makes me depressed and anxious.

I have also spent a lot of time thinking about my year in England. The work I did in England was completely unrelated to my degree and my career aspirations. I spent three days per week in schools, helping with kids aged 8-16 with everything from math (or “maths”) and reading to cooking and art. I helped lead two youth groups for teenagers, and I often planned and led Sunday school lessons for elementary school (or “primary school”) children.

I have not had any formal teaching training, nor do I consider teaching to be one of my natural talents. Before going to England, I didn’t even think of myself as being particularly drawn to youth work. This has led me to two main questions:

1. Why did I find this work so satisfying?

2. How will this experience shape the rest of my career?

There are some long and complicated answers to that first question, but I’ll try to summarize. Mainly, the volunteer youth work allowed me to connect authentically with people while expressing values and ideas that are at the core of my identity. My daily objectives were to express love, empathy, and the truth of Jesus Christ.

Additionally, I was often departing from the tools I am most comfortable using for communication: Written words, art, and design. I experienced a lot of personal growth because I had to do things that were well outside of my comfort zone. I also experienced spiritual growth as I was forced to rely on the Holy Spirit to equip me for situations that I felt totally unable to handle alone.

So, how will this experience in England shape the rest of my career? I don’t feel “called” to a lifelong career in volunteer missions or youth work. For years, I have been practicing and studying a range of creative skills that I feel led to use professionally. I also don’t know if I want to work in a paid, fulltime ministry position. I’m certainly open to this idea. It is very satisfying to use my creative skills in order to promote ministries and organizations whose values are aligned with mine.

Another option is a job in the “corporate” or “secular” sphere. This currently seems like the most realistic option for me and for most Christians. Most Christians I know do not work in fulltime missions or ministry. Most work normal, mainstream jobs. I fully believe that there is abundant meaning and satisfaction to be found here. God is glorified by His people exercising their skills in order to perform all sorts of tasks. Christians in these environments also have the unique opportunity to influence their coworkers with their faith, even if they are unlikely to explicitly express the Gospel in the same way as a person working in missions or ministry.

A final consideration is the realm of self-employment, freelance work, and entrepreneurial endeavors. Most of my dream jobs fit into this last category. I would love to own my own business. I want to design stationery and other goods. I want to write for magazines and websites. I want to write novels someday.

For the past several months, I have been considering all of these options: missions, ministry, mainstream, and entrepreneurial. I am weighing pros and cons. I am existing in a place between optimism and pragmatism. I’m trying to sort out realistic goals from naïve ones. I desperately want to pursue my passions and also earn a paycheck.

As I write this, I feel burdened by privilege. I am blessed with a good relationship with my parents, generous and financially stable people who continue to provide for me and support me both materially and emotionally. I have a place to sleep and food to eat. I was able to drive to a coffee shop and buy tea to sip while I write this. I realize that not everyone can afford the luxury of a long, career-related existential crisis.

I also realize that some people might read this and think “Quit whining, grow up, and get a job.” They might be right, and I am trying. I’m willing to try harder. I am filling out applications and going to interviews. I personally know several people who are in a similar place right now – either unemployed or working part-time jobs while trying to figure out what a satisfying career looks like.

I recently heard a song lyric that accurately summarizes my current goal. It articulates how I feel about tempering my dreams with practicality:

“We will walk with our feet on the ground /

And we will talk with our head in the clouds.” 

(Oh Wonder, Body Gold)

My prayer is to be able to make wise life decisions without becoming cynical about my dreams. It’s challenging, but I think it’s possible.

Loving myself and taking care of myself and being my own advocate is not something that happens without effort. And it’s not something that even seemed right until recently.

Growing up in an evangelical church environment, I never really heard anyone talk about self-love and self-care. If anything, I heard the opposite. I heard that I should consider other people’s needs above my own. I heard verses like Matthew 20:16, “The last will be first, and the first will be last.” I was taught that serving God and serving others are two of the most important things I can do as a Christian.

It seems that many Christians fear the idea of self-love. There are certainly negative side-effects that can come from focusing on oneself: pride, vanity, narcissism, egotism. It’s good to be aware of these things, but it seems that most people who prioritize healthy self-love don’t fall into these vices.

I’m much more concerned about the amount of people with astonishingly low self-worth – people who are insecure about their very identity, people who constantly question whether they are good enough or likable enough or even worthy of love. This seems to be a nearly universal struggle, as if deep in every human soul is a tiny voice that whispers, “Am I enough?”

I find it very difficult to reconcile these two things: The Christian teachings that I grew up with and my desire for personal wholeness and wellness. How can I put myself first and look after my own well-being when I’ve been explicitly instructed to put myself last?

I’ve also felt guilty about my self-doubt. I’m a Christian. My faith is in Jesus. My identity and my self-worth are unshakably based in Him. I literally get to share in His divinity. When even that feels inadequate, I feel like a bad Christian. I feel like I’m saying to God, “You are not enough.”

A speaker at one of the equipping sessions for my gap year in England had a lot to say on this topic. He said some things I had never heard in a Christian context before. This is what he proposed as the two most important relationships in our lives:

1. Relationship with God

2. Relationship with ourselves

And for the first time, I heard a Christian say this:

               “You need to be an expert on loving yourself.”

My notes from that day are tear-streaked and smudged. With those words, I felt the grip of guilt loosen. I felt I finally had permission I didn’t know I was seeking: permission to love myself and to make that a priority.

To be honest, I’m not even sure exactly what self-love and self-care look like. I don’t think there’s a formula for it. I’m positive that it doesn’t look the same for every person, and it doesn’t even look the same for me every day. Here’s what I do know:

Self-love isn’t ignoring responsibilities and commitments.

Self-love is allowing yourself to say no to things/people.

Self-love isn’t about narcissism and vanity.

Self-love is about wellness and self-esteem.

Self-love isn’t isolating yourself.

Self-love is promoting a positive community (but also having time away from that community – especially important for introverts).

Self-love isn’t indulging in habits that are harmful in the long-run.

Self-love is doing things that make you feel good – physically, emotionally, mentally, etc.

I won’t make specific suggestions because I think self-love is a highly individualized thing, and it takes introspection and experimentation. Suggestions are also difficult because they often end up sounding like clichés and platitudes.

A friend of mine recently shared something profound with me. No one has good days every day. No one can operate at 100% all the time. If you’re having a 60% day or a 40% day or a 2% day, give yourself grace and have hope that there are better days ahead.

I think all of this applies whether you’re a Christian or not. There are a lot of Christian sources that say that self-love and self-esteem are evil and that we need to be sustained only by love that comes from God. Okay. I understand this sentiment, and I believe that an understanding of God’s love is an essential part of self-love. But we absolutely need to affirm and celebrate ourselves in order to be well.

I’ll leave you with some final tips and affirmations that I believe to be true of every single person who reads this.

Be patient with yourself.

You’re doing your best.

Let bad days happen without punishing yourself for them.

You have something unique to offer the world.

You are worthy of love.

I deleted Tinder this morning. I deleted my account, and I deleted the app.

Three months ago, I wrote about my Tinder experience in a post entitled “How Tinder Helped Me to be a Healthier Person.” Everything I wrote then is still true, and I would say I’ve had a positive experience on Tinder, overall. I might even try it again someday. I was on Tinder for a year – 12 months, 5 guys I actually met up with, and countless conversations.

Though my experience has been mostly positive, Tinder’s appeal has declined for me. It has gone from novel to neutral to negative. Here’s why:

1. The Guys

It seems that 99% of the guys I saw (Filter settings: age 21-28, 40-mile radius around Des Moines, Iowa) had one or more of the following in their pictures/bio.

- Picture with a dead deer

- Picture with a big fish

- Pictures of only his torso (no face)

- Pictures of only his dog (no face)

- Group photos where I can’t tell who he is

- “420 friendly”

- “Here for a good time, not a long time”

- Only hobby listed is “drinking beer”

- No bio, only his snapchat username

- No bio, only a penis joke/reference

- No bio at all

2. The Process

So, after wading through the above, I would occasionally see guys who seemed to be my type, which I loosely define as wholesome, handsome, and normal-looking. Of these, I would end up matching with a few of them, but I’d receive a message from even fewer (I don’t mind initiating the messaging on Tinder, but that’s another story). Then, some of these guys would turn out to be mainly interested in sex. Although I got pretty good at filtering these out (ex. never swipe right for the torso pic guys), some slipped through. None of the guys were truly lecherous, and I would explain my expectations and/or unmatch them.

This left me with a handful of guys who were wholesome, handsome, and normal-looking. But many of them would end up being truly, painfully boring. This process became increasingly tedious. It’s a lot of time to spend on something that usually ended up being disappointing.

3. The Pattern

Most interactions proceeded in a fairly predictable way. We’d chat about our days, or we’d find something that we had in common – Star Wars, books, work, etc. Some guys liked to flirt – they would compliment my hair or my smile. They would say how they enjoyed chatting with me or how they’d like to buy me a drink sometime. I liked this.

It’s nice to have a source of attention and affection. It can even get addictive, and Tinder can provide a limitless supply of guys to flirt with. But because I didn’t have a real relationship with any of these guys, it felt hollow and shallow. It was flattering but ultimately superficial, and it started affecting my self-esteem. Tinder started to become not only a waste of time, but something more troubling – it was a crutch. I craved attention and validation from these guys as if their opinion of me could add or subtract from my worth as a person. 

Ever since I was in high school, I’ve struggled with these lies: Girls with boyfriends are better than me and cooler than me. They have something I don’t. There’s something wrong with me. When I realized these lies were motivating my Tinder interactions, I knew I needed to take a break.

4. The Bottom Line

Being on Tinder was good for me. It helped me to chill out and adjust some unhealthy ideas I had about dating. But I know enough about what I want in a relationship to know I’m not likely to find it on Tinder right now. And I also know that sorting through the stuff in my head and my heart is hard enough without the added confusion of Tinder entanglements.

Wanting has a bad reputation. Wanting can lead to all kinds of unpleasant things – it can grow and shift into greed, jealousy, lust, and envy. It can lead to debt and discontent and more. This is true, but it’s not exactly fair. Wanting isn’t all bad.

I feel like we live in a culture where people choose to be apathetic and aloof rather than risk the potential pain of wanting. It makes sense, in a way. If I really know what I want, I risk disappointment. I risk feeling like I’m settling or failing if I don’t end up getting what I want. And if I share my hopes with other people, I risk embarrassment and fear of what they might think if I fail. It seems much easier to avoid exploring the messy depths of your own desires. It seems easier to say, “I don’t know what I want,” and thus fool everyone around me. (And myself.)

So, yeah, living in a vague fog of apathy and ambiguity is tempting. You’re less likely to be disappointed if you never give a voice to your desires. It’s harder to get hurt if you never want anything.

But there is something incredibly cleansing and clarifying about wanting something. It exposes your heart, pulsing and pumping with it. Once revealed, your desire will demand to be dealt with. It’s not always pretty, either. People often talk about the bravery required to face your fears, but I think it takes equal bravery to face your desires. Your ugly desires want to be satisfied as much as the pure, hopeful wishes in your heart. But when you admit to yourself that you really, really want something, it’s a place to start:

1. If it’s a good, healthy thing to want, you can start to figure out how to get it.

2. If it’s an ugly or harmful thing to want, you can start to decide how to purge it and find a better thing to want.

3. If it’s neutral, you can start to prioritize it in a healthy way with other wants and goals.

There’s another type of want – the painful, impossible wants. The ones that break your heart. They are people who left us, opportunities that we missed, places we can’t go. You have to be gentle with yourself when you find one of these. You have to allow yourself space and time and permission to grieve.

Most of all, you mustn’t feel embarrassed or ashamed of any desire or of its intensity. I’m sometimes completely derailed by my desires – even good ones. I become obsessed and begin to convince myself that a certain thing is absolutely crucial for my present and future happiness. And it usually takes a lot of crying, journaling, reflection, and prayer for me to regain some perspective. I plead for distraction and redirection. I depend on God’s mercy and grace and patience, and I find he is ultimately generous with these.

I am not an expert. But I do have a lot of experience with berating and scolding myself for wanting things that I shouldn’t want or can’t have. It’s enough to know that that shame isn’t useful or healthy. Nor is it healthy to ignore desires or pretend that they’re not a big deal when they are. This business is not simple, and it’s not painless. But I think it is a way forward. In a culture that seems to encourage indifference as a balm, I’ll advocate for wanting.

Written Blogs

Why I went to England

New things - right after I arrived in England

Someone I met - Little John

A Day in the Life of a Youth Worker - Guest post for Premier Youthwork

My Favorite British Period Films

England Q & A

My Tinder Experience

Being Balthazar - A Story

Videos

Traveling to England

Lake District

York

Durham Lumiere

The British Tag

An American Makes Tea

London

Oxford + CS Lewis

Being a little dog is harder than it looks.

My humans will often make these sad, pouty faces. “You poor thing,” they say, their foreheads wrinkled with contrived worry, voices thick with sarcasm. But they don’t understand!

First, there are the tractors. I start to hear them even before the sun starts peeking in mud room window. The great green beasts roar and rumble down the road, their muddy treads streaking dirt down the middle of the street. And my humans don’t seem to understand how important it is that I bark at these tractors. They don’t let me out of the mud room until the sun is well above the horizon! This is the type of cruelty I have to live with on a daily basis.

I shouldn’t even start on the other dogs. There’s the dark labrador that tugs her human down the sidewalk in front of our house every morning, puffs of her hot stinking labrador breath fogging the chilly spring air. There’s the border collie who is constantly tormenting me at the fence that divides his field from the woods behind our house. He’s black and white, just like his smelly cows that he’s always barking at. Insufferable.

Worst of all is Pixie. Pixie is supposedly a Yorkshire terrier, but she looks like an overgrown rat. I know I’m a little dog, but come on. She thinks that just because she’s got a bow in her hair, she’s some kind of princess. She even thinks she’s allowed upstairs!

But the absolute worst thing about being a little dog is that I’m so much smaller than my humans’ suitcases when they go away. When the bags come down the stairs, I know it’s already too late.  There’s nothing I can do.

The other day, one of my humans dragged this wheeled purple suitcase out of the front door, and then she just disappeared down the drive! “Good boy,” she said. “See you soon!” See you soon? It’s been ages! I’m even starting to miss cleaning off the lip gloss that gets stuck in my fur nearly every time she kisses me on the head. Which is all the time.

It’s raining today, so everything interesting has happened while I’m stuck inside behind the tall glass pane of the front door. It’s so annoying that I can see and hear every single tractor that rumbles past, but I’m not allowed to go out and chase them. I sigh and put my head down on my paws, staring blankly through the glass. I can see a fat grey rabbit crouched by the front gate, but I can’t be bothered to muster up a bark or even a whine. I close my eyes.

I might as well start off with some background information.

My first crush happened when I was about 5. His name was Luke Skywalker, and I was absolutely smitten. He was the first in a very, very long string of infatuations, both in fiction and in the flesh. When I was in third grade, I moved to a new school and met a boy and promptly got a huge crush that lasted until my freshman year of high school – 7 years. I think that’s when I knew that infatuation was always going to be an issue for me.

I’m willing to take ownership of most of my issues with boys and dating. I have an overactive imagination. I tend to think that I’m “reading between the lines,” when I’m actually just massively misinterpreting things. I have a hard time grasping that a greeting is just a greeting, a conversation is just a conversation, and prolonged eye contact does not mean a guy wants to marry me.

There were also outside influences that affected my perceptions of relationships and dating, though. A lot of well-meaning Christian resources, especially, told me things that seemed good and helpful at the time; I was instructed not to pursue dating relationships but to consider “courtship” – a romantic relationship where marriage is the aim from the outset. “Don’t date anyone that you wouldn’t consider marrying” is something that I was told over and over. This isn’t bad advice altogether, but it skewed my perceptions. I was essentially encouraged to evaluate any male that I encountered to determine if I would or wouldn’t marry him. And the boys in this Christian context were encouraged to do the same for the ladies.

This is an enormous amount of pressure to put on any relationship – friendly or romantic. It’s no wonder guys are afraid to ask a girl out for a cup of coffee when she’s been taught to determine if he’s husband material before she gets involved. But that’s another blog post for another day. Hopefully this is enough context for you to get an idea of where I’m coming from. I’m 22, I’ve never had a boyfriend, and until November of 2015, I’d never been on a date.

Shortly after I arrived in England last August, one of my new friends and I started talking about Tinder. I didn’t really know anyone who had used it, but I’d heard that it was a “hook-up app” designed to help people meet other people for casual sex. The more we thought about it, the more we thought surely there must be guys on Tinder who were interested in dating and meeting people without sex being the principal goal. So we decided we would both download it and see what it was like.

I’ll briefly describe how Tinder works. You create a profile consisting of your first name, your age, a few pictures, and a brief bio. Then, you set your search criteria – the gender, age, and proximity of the people you’d like to match with. After that, you swipe through a seemingly endless collection of potential matches, and you’re given the chance to view their profile – swipe right for “yes” or left for “nope.” If you match with a person, this means that you have both said “yes” to each other’s profiles, and you’re given the opportunity to exchange messages.

The novelty was remarkable, at first. There were guys! Who thought I was pretty! And wanted to talk to me! (And they were British!) Having not experienced this kind of attention before, I thought it was awesome.

Then, there was a match I really liked. He was cute and interesting and we had things in common, and we even talked about faith! This could really go somewhere, I thought. We texted all the time for a few weeks and then we met when I found out he’d be at the same church service that I was going to. When we sat down to chat after church, I think I just sort of stared, slack-jawed, at this manifestation of my dreams coming true: a cute British guy who liked me back. He did most of the talking. But then we set up something for the following week. My first date EVER:

Date #1: Friday night. A drink out and then pizza at his place. It was fun, but I was so nervous. I didn’t really know how to act on a date. And I already really liked him. We had a nice time and he drove me home and I carried on texting him as usual. But when I asked if he wanted to hang out again, he said yes but just as friends if that was okay with me. What? No! We went on a first date, so naturally, we should go on a second date. I’d already imagined us going on adventures together and falling in love and stuff! But I had gotten ahead of myself. I assumed that we were on the same page, and we weren’t. (I’d put the cart before the horse, my mother later said.) I was so disappointed. (But unreciprocated feelings aside, we are actually still friends! Hurray!)

A few months pass. I made it my New Year’s resolution to go on more dates. Eventually, I matched with a cute guy from Manchester who sang in a barbershop quartet and who was willing to take a train to York to meet me. Which leads me to:

Date #2: Sunday afternoon. I met him at the train station and we walked around a bit before sitting in the sunshine to talk. He was very nervous and a bit awkward, but it was fine. We went and saw a movie (I paid), and then we had pizza (he paid). There were some long awkward pauses while we ate, and we had to resort to making comments about the artwork on the walls of the pizza place. But it wasn’t so bad, and I hugged him before he went to catch his train. It wasn’t a fantastic date, but it was alright. I attributed the awkwardness to the fact that it was a first date. I texted him the next day because it was his birthday, but I didn’t get a reply. Not so much as an “It was nice to meet you.” (It’s not a big deal, but I still think this is a bit rude. It’s fine if you don’t want to see someone again, but don’t just ignore them completely.)

So a few more weeks pass, and a guy I had chatted with every so often for a few months suggested that we meet. There were a few things about him that didn’t thrill me – mostly his negativity and the fact that he smoked – but I thought why not? I said I wanted to go on more dates, and meeting new people is always interesting:

Date #3: Saturday morning. We went to the train museum in York (his choice) and ate out on a patio with a view of the river (my choice). It was pleasant. He was a bit gloomy and cynical (and I think he found my cheerful optimism very…American), but the conversation flowed, and I had a good time. I figured we wouldn’t be a great match, but it was a fun morning. We texted a few times afterward, but the conversation eventually just kind of died. I was fine with it.

At multiple points before, during, and after these dates, I thought to myself – what am I doing?? And, even more – who am I?? When did I become someone who’s willing to meet up with virtual strangers? In rational moments, it seems far too scary and awkward. It is scary and awkward, but connecting with other human beings in general can be scary and awkward. Going on a date is a great way to get to know someone, and I think all single people (men AND women) should feel like they can arrange dates without expectations getting in the way. Yes, I think we need to make wise choices about who we spend time with, but marriage does not need to enter the equation at such an early stage.

I don’t know if Tinder is the perfect place for me to find guys to meet and date. It probably isn’t. But being on Tinder has been really good for me. I feel like I’m more confident and more capable of having healthy expectations for dating and relationships, and I’ve learned a lot about myself. Mostly, it’s helped me to relax a bit and realize that I can go out for a meal or a movie with a male human being and not totally make a fool of myself. And it’s helped me to stop seeing every guy as a potential mate and just enjoy friendships without constantly expecting more.

Q: Public transit – heaven or hell?

Heaven. I love public transit. Best of all is trains. I love riding on trains. If I could take a train everywhere I go for the rest of my life, I would be content. My favorite train ride was from York to Edinburgh – the tracks went right along the coast, and the views of the sea were stunning. The bus system is really excellent as well – I take public buses all the time. I occasionally miss driving a car, but the public transport is very convenient and efficient.

Q: What has been your favorite food/drink experience?

I think my favorite food I’ve had here is something my host mum makes - shepherd’s pie/cottage pie. (Shepherd’s pie is made with minced lamb, and cottage pie is made with minced beef. Both are yummy.) It’s basically just ground beef in a casserole dish with mashed potatoes on top, baked so the potatoes are browned a bit. I’m not usually a meat-and-potatoes kind of girl, but I just love it. Favorite drink is Yorkshire tea, black.

Q: Do you like the weather?

I love the weather and I hate the weather. I’m used to the wildly varied climate of Iowa – cold, snowy winters and hot, humid summers. The weather here is just constantly chilly and wet. Not ever really cold – even in the dead of winter, the temperature was never much lower than 30F. But the high temperature in the middle of summer will likely hover around 70F. This is what you need to be comfortable in English weather:

1. Rain boots (“wellies”)

2. Umbrella (“brelly”)

3. Rain jacket (“waterproof”)

Q: Do you have an English boyfriend?

Not yet

Q: Have you seen Hugh Grant?

Not yet

Q: Have you had any embarrassing moments?

There were a lot of embarrassing moments, especially when I first arrived. Adjusting to some of the different vocabulary was a bit awkward, especially trousers v. pants. If you go around talking about your pants…or complimenting other people’s pants…they think you’re talking about UNDERpants. Made this mistake many times.

Q: What has been the most memorable experience?

In January, my team of four had the opportunity to speak in the assemblies at one of the schools we help at. We talked about our faith and about our identities. It’s a Church of England school, which means you’re actually allowed and encouraged to share faith related things. I’ve never spoken to such a large audience – nearly 300 students and staff at a time, but it was so cool to share a message that is very important to me: You have intrinsic worth that no one can deny or take away. You are enough. God loves you.

Q: What advice do you have for others when visiting?

I believe the person who originally asked this question wanted my top five pieces of advice for visitors. I’ll give it a go.

1. Get to know people. This is obviously much more difficult if you’re visiting for a week or two instead of a year, but the people are the best part about a place.

2. Be aware that a lot of the stereotypes about British people just aren’t true. Except for the tea thing.

3. Wear layers

4. Find sights that you are genuinely interested in. A lot of people come to England and just visit London, but none of my favorite places in England are in London. I’m a bit biased, but VISIT YORK!

Advice #5 comes from Bella, my partner in crime, my ride or die. She’s another American who’s doing youth work with me over here. (She’s from Texas, but we won’t hold it against her.)(Also tip #4 was also partially from her too.)

5. “Don’t visit. Because you’ll never be satisfied being anywhere else ever again.”

Q: What is the biggest change you’ve seen in yourself?

I’ve become more independent and more assertive. Moving away from everyone and everything you know will do that to you! This change seems even more dramatic because I was dealing with depression and anxiety last summer right before I came to England (that’s another blog post for another day). I think it’s been a combination of the people I’ve met here, the teaching and training I’ve received, and the experiences I’ve had. I feel much more confident about who I am and what I can do.

Q: What is something you miss about home that you didn’t expect you’d miss?

I miss the most random things. Here is an incomplete list of things I miss.

My family

My friends

Jimmy Johns, Panera, Wendy’s, Fighting Burrito, etc.

This one stripey top that I didn’t pack. Regrets.

Sunshine (only sort of joking)

Shopping at Goodwill with mom

The chili my dad makes

60 Minutes with Scott Pelley

Central heating/air

Kara's Favorite Books of 2015

1. Outlander - Diana Gabaldon

Romance | Historical Fiction | Time Travel

This was the year of Outlander for me. In addition to this 800-page whopper, I also read two of the eight sequels, both coming in at well over 900 pages. And I watched season one of the Starz tv adaptation. And I loved every second. It’s storytelling of epic proportions and one of my favorite love stories of all time. Don’t be intimidated. Just read it. Book one is still only $3.99 for kindle.

2. The Martian - Andy Weir

Science Fiction | Humor | Science

Stunning, fun, hilarious, thrilling story. Very science-y which I was a bit wary of, but it’s explained well enough to get the gist even if you’re a bit science illiterate like me. The movie was great too because Matt Damon, but I think the book packs a more powerful emotional punch. I cried.

3. A Darker Shade of Magic - V.E. Schwab

Young Adult | Fantasy | Adventure

An excellent but not over-complicated magical world. Atmospheric, great characters, fun magic, creepy villains. Not as good as Schwab’s Vicious, which was a favorite of last year, but still very, very entertaining and compelling.

4. Up the Down Staircase - Bel Kaufman

Young Adult | High School | Epistolary

Kara’s Favorite British Period Films

1. Pride and Prejudice

Early 1800s - Jane Austen’s classic

Pride and Prejudice is my all-time favorite movie. It’s absolutely stunning in every way. And no I won’t argue about the BBC/Colin Firth version.

2. The Young Victoria

Mid 1800s - Queen Victoria’s reign and romance

There’s just something so sweet and subtle about the romance in this film and Emily Blunt is perfect.

3. Testament of Youth

Early 1900s - World War I

This movie captures perfectly the patriotism and optimism at the beginning of the war and the devastation that followed. 

4. Atonement

1930s/1940s - World War II

Atonement is a story about a misunderstanding and the consequences that follow. Lots of breathtaking costumes and settings - it’s the same director as Pride and Prejudice.

5. Amazing Grace

Late 1700s - Abolition

This is an incredibly powerful movie - It’s the story of William Wilberforce, a leader of the abolitionist movement in England in the 1700s. Bonus fun: Benedict Cumberbatch in one of his early roles!

6. The Abduction Club

1700s

This is a little-known movie about a group of gentlemen who are faced with impoverishment because their older brothers are to inherit everything - so naturally, they decide to woo and “kidnap” wealthy young ladies in order to form advantageous marriage connections. It’s really quite hilarious and such good fun. 

7. North and South

Mid 1800s - Industrial revolution

North and South is about one woman’s struggle with the contrast between the idyllic south and the industrial north. And her love for this super intense and super handsome cotton mill owner (Richard Armitage). I watched this when I was 14 and it basically changed my life. It’s SO romantic. So good.

8. The King’s Speech

1930s - Pre-WWII

This movie got a lot of (well-deserved) attention from critics and audiences when it came out. It won Oscars. It’s brilliant. Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush portray the best bromance of all time.

9. Belle

1700s

Belle is about a mixed-race girl raised by English aristocrats in the 18th Century. The story is captivating and the performances are very emotional - especially Gugu Mbatha-Raw as the title character.

Honorable Mentions:

Last Friday, I made plans to go into York by myself. I had been into the city several times, but never on my own. I wanted to go for a wander by myself – to experience the city at my own pace. I got a bus at 10:25 and was in the city center by 11:00. I first found my way to the city walls because the walls are awesome.

I ambled down the narrow stone ramparts, tugging my sleeves down against the late morning chill. I came to a place where two sections of the wall met in a sort of raised outlook point. I settled on a bench and gripped a thermos full of tea that was still too hot to drink.

I had intended to write in my journal or read, but I mostly just sat and looked and thought. By 11:30, a steady stream of strangers provided prime people watching. Couples, families, tourist groups, and students went by – some stopping to rest on the benches, some strolling along down the wall. I sat for a while, watching and eavesdropping and sipping my scalding tea.

Eventually, I stowed my tea and rose from the bench. As I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I heard a voice.

“This is Robin Hood’s Tower.”

“What?” I turned around to find a man settling onto the bench next to mine. I glanced at the rest of the benches and saw no one else. He was speaking to me.

“Robin Hood’s Tower,” he repeated, indicating to the outlook we were currently occupying. Stringy grey hair hung in his eyes. He sniffled, but a drip of snot remained glistening at the tip of his nose. He shoved a hand into the pocket of his worn coat.

“Hmm,” I responded, glancing around once more before perching on the edge of my bench. The man’s hands trembled slightly as he pulled out a thin pack of cigarettes, lit one, and wedged it in his mouth.

“You can tell your friends you met Little John on Robin Hood’s Tower,” he mumbled around the cigarette.

I smiled nervously.

“My name is John,” he clarified. “What’s your name?” He sucked on the cigarette.

“Kara,” I said.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kara.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” I said. At this point, I figured I was committed to at least a few minutes of conversation with this stranger. There is sometimes no way to politely extract oneself from a situation like this, so I sat back on the bench a bit and shrugged my backpack onto the bench beside me.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” He asked. “Canadian? American? I never guess correctly.”

“Try to guess,” I said with another nervous smile.

“American?”

My smile grew, and I nodded. “I am American.”

He looked a bit proud of himself then. “I’m drunk,” he declared, followed by another drag on his shrinking cigarette.

Bewildered, I responded with a solemn nod.

“I lost my mom in May,” he said. “I can’t get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“I’ve been crying all morning,” he said. “I’ve been drinking since three this morning. I drink all the time.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t say anything. I glanced over my shoulder at the sky behind me. The sun was finally peeking out from underneath the dense cloud cover.

“Don’t go,” John said suddenly. He had misinterpreted my glance as intent to leave. “Just talk to me for five minutes.”

“I’ll stay,” I assured him.

He looked relieved and started in on a new topic: the weather. English people love to talk about the weather. We commiserated about the glum, cloudy morning. He seemed to have some knowledge of American climate and geography, so we chatted about that. He then claimed that he was able to name all 50 states in under 40 seconds. I was equally impressed and somewhat skeptical. It must have shown on my face.

“Have you got a stopwatch?” he asked. He was on his second cigarette now.

“What?”

“Have you got a stopwatch?” he repeated, rummaging in his own bag. “I haven’t got one.”

“Uh, my watch has a second hand,” I offered.

“Alright, give me a minute.” He frowned in concentration.

“Okay.”

“Just give one minute to get ready.”

“Okay,” I repeated. His speech wasn’t slurred, but he was definitely drunk. I counted down from three, and John proceeded to name all 50 states in geographical order from West to East. In 48 seconds. In retrospect, he might have missed a few. I was still impressed.

We talked for maybe twenty minutes. We talked about America. He told me he was in New York when the towers fell. His voice broke when he talked about it. He mentioned his dead mother several more times. His voice broke when he talked about her. He told me about his siblings and his children. He told me a joke that was both sexually inappropriate and racist. He demonstrated a few accents for me. (Welsh, Scottish, Australian, etc. but they all sounded basically the same. He was drunk, after all.)

My heart ached for him, this man who was so lonely and so broken. I wanted to help him, but I didn’t know how. I thought about offering to pray for him, but I didn’t want to offend him. I thought about asking him, “What can I do for you?” But honestly, I was a little afraid of what he might say. So, ashamed of my timidity, I simply tried to listen attentively and respond energetically.

Eventually, he asked me where my friends were.

“Oh, I’m actually going to meet someone for lunch soon,” I said. It was true. I had a sandwich in my backpack and a picnic planned with my friend Bella. I glanced over my shoulder again to find that the sun had come fully out and the sky was clear and blue. I noticed its warmth on my back.

“Look,” I said, pointing at the sky. “The sun’s come out.”

“I like you,” he said with a resolute nod as he extinguished his third cigarette. He stood and I stood, and he offered his hand to me. I took it, and he enveloped my hand in both of his. “You’ve cheered me up,” he said. “I’ve been crying all morning.”

I nodded. “It was lovely talking to you.” He released my hand. “I hope you have a good day.” I turned to go. He hollered another goodbye as I walked away and I yelled back.

I got the impression that he spent a lot of his days sitting on that bench seeking a connection and a conversation. I still feel a bit ashamed. As a Christian, I am responsible for sharing the Good News about Jesus. I didn’t tell this man about my faith. I didn’t offer to pray for him. But I did what I could in the moment, and I hope I was a blessing to him. He was a blessing to me – He was eccentric and drunk, but he was kind and interesting.

Somehow, I’ve been in England for two entire weeks already. It seems like I just got here yesterday! So much has happened already – I’ve been having a hard time even knowing what to write about. So, I’m just going to try to keep things simple and share some of the new things I’ve experienced during the last two weeks.

1. I had my first experience with international travel and the resulting jet lag. I have to say, I sort of thought jet lag was a myth? I thought I would just wake up on my first full day in the UK feeling refreshed and ready to go. HAHAHA. I didn’t feel “normal” for probably 5 days, and I’m still feeling like my body is adjusting to this new time and place.

2. The driving is strange. I knew they drive on the “wrong” side of the road over here, but I didn’t realize how startling it would be to witness firsthand. After two weeks, I’m almost used to it, but it’s still a bit bizarre.

3. My first train ride! I had to take a train from Newcastle to York when I was going on 30 hours without sleep. Luckily, I didn’t have to go it alone – I met up with my teammates Bella and Daniel! I think we were all glad to share this experience and figure out the rail system together (it really wasn’t too complicated, thank goodness).

4. The money is different and they really like coins?? My wallet is seriously filled with coinage right now.

I’m generally a cautious person who seeks safe, comfortable situations, so there have been several times in the past two weeks when I thought, “What have I done?!” Moving across the world to meet and serve with a group of strangers in an unfamiliar place is a nightmare for someone like me – but it hasn’t been a nightmare. It’s been quite difficult, but it’s not a nightmare. Here are some more new things:

1. I was able to connect instantly with strangers. I’m an introvert, and I often need time to feel comfortable expressing myself among a group of new people. But meeting the other gap year volunteers has been incredibly comfortable. It helps that we’re all in the same boat – most of us are taking a gap year because we don’t quite know what we want to do with our careers, our education, or our futures in general. But each of us knew we wanted to give up a year of “normal” life in order to serve youth and communities in England. It’s been great to have this common ground. It’s made me feel safe and connected, and I know that’s a rare gift.

2. I’ve been able to say what I need and what I want. This sounds like a simple thing, but I’m not naturally assertive. I like to be self-sufficient, and I don’t like to inconvenience anyone. I have to literally tell myself, “Ask for what you need.” I’m still not good at it, but I’m getting better.

3. I’ve been vulnerable, and others have been vulnerable with me. Again, it helps that we’re all in the same boat on this gap year journey. We sort of “get” each other, and it’s easy to feel safe. But I’m a pretty private and reserved person. I’m really not very comfortable disclosing difficult emotional things with people I don’t know very well. The past two weeks have had me in situations where people have asked me pointed, difficult questions, and I’ve been able to respond. It’s amazing what truth spills out of my mouth when I’m willing to be vulnerable and I don’t overthink things. For example: 

“What is your biggest fear for the coming year?”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to connect with young people.”

That’s a big fear, considering I’ve volunteered for a year as a YOUTH WORKER. I’ve hated and loved these moments of us sharing ourselves with one another – it’s messy, but it’s beautiful.

4. I think I’m learning how to love more. For some reason, I tend to think of love as a limited resource. I have a few close friends and family members whom I love deeply, and that’s enough. Being social stresses me out, and I don’t love meeting new people. But as I’ve been meeting my host family (or host families, as it’s turned out) and gap year peers, I have had this feeling in my heart and this image in my head. I keep thinking of the part in How the Grinch Stole Christmas when the Grinch’s puny, mean heart grows three sizes. I’ll never be an extrovert or a person who overflows with easy, effervescent affection. But love is not a limited resource. I think my puny Grinch heart is growing.