2019

Another year gone by. How to express all a year can hold?

Looking back at my journal, I see that in the first day of this year I had finished a book already, gone to work, logged 16,000 steps, started a crochet project, made plans to meet friends next week, done laundry, and got some writing in. It's nice to remember that some of my days looked like that. I know for a fact that a lot of them did not. 

This January was dark with depression, and many months of this year were plagued with weariness and lack of motivation. But when I look back, as always, I can smile at how far I've come. The tools I've added to my belt, and new skills in using them.

I have a therapist now. I've had good experiences with doctors and acupuncturists. I'm taking supplements that changed my life. I joined a gym, and a choir. And sometimes I meditate. These did not fix me, but they are some of my new tools.

I became a manager at my job. Survived an operational audit, and franchisee conference. Interviewed and hired and fired and trained and coached and befriended and learned from and have been greatly blessed by a lot of folks.

I visited Europe. Walked the streets of London and Paris, strolled by the Thames and the Seine. Explored Churchill's war-rooms, and marveled at the Normandy beaches. I ate superb fish'n'chips in London, and could have cried over the simple beauty of French wine and bread and cheese.

My brothers married absolute gems this year. And both my new sisters work with me now, which thrills me every time I see their faces. How rare and many-splendored is this blessing, I ask you?

I moved out of my tiny apartment, spent some weeks in the basement of kind friends, and then moved into an old Victorian mansion of a house, that's run as an Airbnb. Do you realize that when I was a kid, what I wanted to do when I grew up was either run a bed-and-breakfast or a coffeeshop? I seem to be living the dream.

Funny how sometimes life is a dark and exhausting, claustrophobic tunnel, sometimes it's a riotous thunderstorm, brilliant and beautiful and dangerous, and sometimes it's a quiet fireside with a book and a cup of tea. Other times you experience all three, along with seven others, in one day... and then someone asks you why you look a bit dazed.

Try to be kind, when people ask stupid questions. 

And try to be gentle, when you're the asker.

I can tell you, last winter one of my least favorite things, something I actively dreaded, was people asking me how I was. Because I didn't have a satisfactory answer, for them or myself. No one, when they ask that question, is expecting you to say... I just wish I could laugh more than I cry. 

And I was right there, and worse.

But Jesus stayed with me, even when I was so numb that I felt as if I were going blind and deaf. He stayed and sustained me. When all I could do was repeat his Name. He was Faithful. And as I kept putting one foot in front of the other, in faith, one gentle moment at a time... I made it out of the shadows.

I am in the light once more. 

And how to express that? The complex and difficult and untidy but glorious thing that is life. When color and shape come back to life, when blessing and gift and friendship startle you awake. When despite the desperate loneliness you've felt, you find yourself, in fact, surrounded. And it makes you want to be the surrounding for everyone else.

It doesn't mean you're never lonely, but you know you belong. It doesn't mean you don't get sad, but you know you'll laugh again tomorrow. It doesn't mean that the hurt is all gone, but you don't mistake it for lack of abundance. It doesn't mean we're not hiking a stiff mountain slope next year, but this time, we were able to pack a mean rucksack.

There are so many things to celebrate in making it this far. Surviving 2019 in one piece.
But what's more... I'm getting my joy back; some of that stability and tranquility that's been so elusive for so long.

I have new sisters, new responsibilities in my job. I have new ideas for visiting Scotland, and Quebec. I have closer friends, and old-new friends, and new-old friends.

I read 52 books this year!

That's always roughly what I'm shooting for each year. For a Reader, this is doable. But with lives full of people, jobs, and (help me now) the internet, it is something else to actually get there. 

I only read 13 of them with my eyes. The other 39 were audiobooks (Audible, Overdrive, and Chirp. Use your libraries to capacity, my friends!). 31 of them were new books, 21 were rereads. Interested in which books I reread most years? Want a recommendation for next year? Have a recommendation for me? Comment below!

I've added Latvian Stew to my signature repertoire in the kitchen. I love adding a dish that has special significance, and or cultural history. Latvian Stew I first came across in a beloved work of fiction (A Gentleman in Moscow) and I knew I wanted to try it. When I found the recipe it was an unusual combination, but I knew at once it would be wonderful. It was amazing. Rich and sweet, and mouthwatering and savory.

Last year I added Syrian Mujadara to my everyday repertoire. And that was courtesy of Preemptive Love's Eat like Syria night, that I joined in my own home.

It's inspiring me to do this every year: find a dish, from another country perhaps, that has significance for me---a built in conversational starter---and add it to my repertoire. Looks like I need to pull out my Together cookbook, and get inspired for 2020!

I also settled into a pretty signature outfit this year. Cashmere is one of my favorite things, and when I find them at the thriftstore, I take them home with great excitement (or my friends do it for me!). And I've discovered high-rise skinny jeans and they work real well together. So... I'm usually wearing a combination of those. Unless I'm at work, where there's no way I'll bring my cashmere. In that case I'm probably wearing a casual quarter-zip sweater or fairisle if I can find it. Winter is a good time for sweaters and socks. And if you live in Minnesota, you've got to embrace the wool and fairisle and layering life.

I've gotten even more protective of my sleep, and stopped feeling guilty about it. Largely because of this fascinating podcast. It's eight hours or bust! I think if I were to give anyone else a resolution for their year it would be to work on getting good sleep. It can save your health, rebuild your brain, and change your life.

And as trivial as it sounds, I am thrilled to have settled on a facial cleansing routine that I will actually do. Micellar water for the win. 

Maybe next year I'll tackle natural teeth whitening??

I found that the L'ange titanium curling wand actually curls my hair. And well. And easily. It's pretty much changed my life. With how much I was effusing over it in the first week, I really should have been one of their promotors. 

I also should be sponsored by Chipotle, the great fueler of all my food needs when not at home... 

I seriously eat there so often. I am still thrilled that they got a rewards app!

I'm lacing up my boots for the year ahead, and remembering that holidays and endings and beginnings can be charged and fraught. Sadness is okay, even at Christmas; the waves can crash during festivities, or after... Step back, let it come, let it pass. Deep breath. We're celebrating God With Us, Emmanuel. Jesus came for our brokenness. To wrap his holy self around our wounds and frailty, and make us ready for himself, for the year ahead, for giving and receiving blessing, and for an eternity in the Light of the Lamb.

So wrap our injured flesh around You

Breathe our air and walk our sod

Rob our sin and make us holy

Perfect Son of God

Welcome to our World

last late dinner in Montmartre

Taken in the Musee de Montmartre, Paris, in June.

Advent

I had this grand idea that I'd write dozens of Advent posts for December, with devotional musings, literary recommendations, quiet inspiration and reminders to pause. Haha.

I've barely had time to breathe myself.

And this year, I want to say yes to the offers of Christmas parties that come my way. And to host a few myself. And that means more hands on, and fewer quiet nights alone, which is right for this time of year. Tonight I'm having some of my siblings over for dinner. Latvian stew and wine. Salad and green beans. Pavlova and spiced cutouts and coffee. Napkins shaped like elf-hats, red dishes, and silver candlesticks. The White Christmas soundtrack, a puzzle in progress, and this large cozy bnb to explore.

Nothing taxing, but each piece especially chosen for comfort, enjoyment, and festivity.

My room is quiet and clean. The Scandinavian candelabra lit in the window. Two advent (battery) candles lit. And an empty menorah waiting to celebrate the Feast of Lights next week.

Last night I started reading The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe again. And was so delighted and inspired that I spent the rest of the evening making paper cut-out pictures of Tumnus in the snow.

I also happen to be five books away from my yearly goal of 52 books read in a year. And being this close, I feel duty-bound to fulfill it. So instead of picking up a pen these days, I've had my nose in Campion, and my audiobooks playing Wodehouse and Sayers and Stevenson. It's not a bad way to start the winter...

Signing off now, but I expect more percolated thoughts to come through in the next couple of days.

Peace.

Christ has come!

Christ will come again!

My Argument for Eleven

At first, David Tennant was my favorite doctor. Because, well, David Tennant. Smart, funny, tortured,  sassy, had great hair. What's not to love? Honestly I think part of it was because he jabbered intelligently all the time, and I could so relate...

And when Matt Smith came on the scene, I was at first put off by his juvenility, much as you would roll your eyes at a teenager who insisted on talking nonsense and using innuendo. But I soon saw that there was so much more to him. All that I loved about the Doctor was still there: his intelligence, his experience and depth, his fascination with worlds and peoples.

In fact, I soon saw that his ridiculously young face was just the right thing to juxtapose these things. He has never looked his age, we know that. And so to have a thousand years of adventure and grief and history weighing on those baby-faced shoulders, brought a poignancy that had actually been missing elsewhere.

His levity was not only a coping mechanism for all that he had seen, but a conscious choice to live in the wide-eyed-wonder part of him that had been buried for so long. He was no Peter Pan: he was "old enough to enjoy fairytales again".

This came along gradually, as I began to love the family created by the Doctor, Amy, and Rory. I was cautious about Amy too at first, and for largely the same reasons. But soon found her to be full of heart and depth and courage. Soon I loved them all as family.

But there was even more that endeared the Eleventh Doctor to me. He loved children, and would tear the world apart for a crying child. This too highlighted the fact that he had had children and grandchildren of his own, long ago. He really Saw people. I see him as the most empathetic of the Doctors.

He was a little less hard, a little less sad. And so could enter into people's lives and into every crazy element of this world and others. He believed a thousand impossible things before breakfast, and that's what kept him sane, funny, and capable of changing the world.

And that's why, when the twelfth Doctor came along, all grouchy and sad and pushing everyone away, I was disappointed at the regression. Of course he's allowed the downs with the ups, but it went further than that. He couldn't remember what anyone looked like. Children knocked on his door for help, and he turned them away. Twelve wouldn't accept love from others, and he continued to dwell on the darkest parts of himself, and to call that out in others. Which is rather the opposite of Nine, who was in a very dark place himself, but continued to call upon the best things inside him, and to see the best and the beauty in others and call that out in them.

But I digress...

Twelve reminds me what I'm like when I'm deep in depression. Eleven is like the road back into sunshine. Life is still rocky. Pain is still real. But I'm telling you now, live in the wonder. Accept the love and friendship offered. See people. Get excited about fish fingers and bowties and jammy-dodgers and computer-y things. Ask someone out for texting and scones.

Because, isn't that what Doctor Who is about? About being reminded that anything can happen. That there are greater things out there than any we've dreamed of. That anyone can be a hero if they just do the right thing without backing down. That there is hope and joy and a craziness to this world that it would be a shame to miss.

It reminds me of what Chesterton says about fantasy: “Fairy tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green. They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water.”

That's what Doctor Who did for me. It helped me to see my whole world with new eyes.

"I am and always will be, the hoper of far-flung hopes, the dreamer of impossible dreams."

Season of Lights

The season of lights and anticipation is on its way. I’m trying not to rush headlong into it, but am appreciating its topping the horizon. As I breathe slowly in and out, I recall the words Pastor Jonathan repeated last week: the words of Jesus: Come to me all who are weary and heavy laden. I will give you rest.

Oh how I need that rest. I weave back and forth between labor and laden these days. You?

I am praying for space in my heart and mind for a true Advent. Real anticipation. 

A festive and full and generous season—melding Thanksgiving, the day and celebration, with the gratitude, peace, and remembering I want the rest of this year to taste of. And then, entering full into the joy of His coming, His incarnation. The start of His life here on earth. I want to take Pastor Nick’s recommendation, and enter into the original meaning of the twelve days of Christmas. A joyous, spread-out, feasting celebration to culminate this anticipation. Holding the best for these days, so that our jubilation that our Christ did actually come in the flesh, is evident and glorious. For our own soul’s nourishment and hope, and for the sharp meaning in our feast-days declared to the world surrounding.

And a joyous clatter to start our new year, with the truth, realness, poignancy, and outright celebration that should indeed mark our days and years as God’s people.

On fear and grief

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear."

I've known C.S. Lewis said something of this kind for who knows how long. But it wasn't till I encountered it today that it struck me, hard: yes, or fear like grief. I have had a few griefs in my life, as is common to the human condition. Nothing as monstrous as I expect Jack was referring to--the loss of his Joy. I have only experienced the loss of my lower-case joy. The loss of dear relatives; of beloved people of mine who really saw me. Of safety-nets. Of feelings of invulnerability. Of relational ease, physical stamina, peace, a certain innocence. I've lost a certain amount of motivation and mental agility that, to me, was startling and unnerving.

But what I think I'm trying to say is that I've often found it difficult to grieve in a sort of way that makes sense to myself or to other people. I feel it as weight, heaviness, stress. And eventually anxiety, which is a type of fear. I had an irrational aversion to change as a child, as well as deep and consistent struggles with a dread that I could neither explain nor control. I can recognize these now as anxiety, which brings some understanding, as I continue to deal with adult-level anxiety now.

And that leads to my other point: that anxiety too, can feel a good deal like grief. Often when it crosses this line, it is called depression. And I know that I have struggled with that for many years as well. The many weights of grief, and the heaviness of this world. The stress of life's challenges, and the strain, the painful strain in the loss of safeties, tethers, comforts, and wholeness. These can lead to panic-inducing aches, and lingering anxieties. And sometimes, those lingering anxieties look to other people like fear. Like an unsteadiness, a lack of grounding, unbelief.

And I can't tell you that it isn't fear. I can only tell you that it feels like grief. Like an aching loss in the pit of your stomach. Like a death, but of who or what you couldn't say. As if you've been pummeled and then left bereft. Like the London Blitz is happening inside your chest. A sundering so violent, that any attempt at wholeness feels empty, useless, and excruciating. I have in those days experienced a grief that I had never felt for any death or illness. Or perhaps I should say, the pain of every death, illness, and brokenness that my heart has known, came to bear on these times.

...

I can only tell you this because I am not there right now. I hesitate to use words like anymore, as I never promise myself these times won't come again. I don't harbor convictions that all is over and done with. That another valley of shadows couldn't come. But I look back at the despair that I felt not many months ago, and realize it is gone. That the place of shadow and pain that I spoke from (as true and faithful as I could make it) as a felt reality, is no longer felt.

I am aware of the devil's black desire for me to founder, and I don't doubt I have felt the clutches of it. But flounder as I did for lack of light, I did not sink. I couldn't do anything like drown, for the hand of the Lord was on me, day and night. Even in my bleakest forgetting, and blackest confusion and pain, I could not lose the conviction that my God was Good. The deeper reality (from before the dawn of time) was my tether through the harsh felt-reality I bore.

And now I can see again and feel again, what I only clung to, not so long ago. I can cherish the beauty and clarity of now. The lack of crushing weight. The eyes to see how green and gold is this September. To welcome with open arms these chill and rainy days. To read and think and hope and talk. To pull out my hat and scarf and walk miles in the rain, to a cheerful, bubbling coffeeshop full of life and college-students.

I'm happy. At this moment, I am quite content. The aches in my back and congestion in my head don't matter. I actually look forward to the chill, wet wind of the walk home. I look forward to tonight, and a drink with a friend. I am excited about this weekend, moving into my new home! I am hopeful I'll get back into letter-writing, and habits of walking the neighborhood and praying for the people behind each window and door.

I can see and notice and feel again, the glories of every day. Growing plants and dripping eaves. Coffee dripping and tea steaming, and something to eat. Thoughts and ideas, writing and poetry, books, authors, quotes, and artwork.

And long, complicated thought-processes like this one. Bless C.S. Lewis, and bless our almighty Father of Light. And peace I leave with you, my peace I give to, as you navigate the valleys, and rejoice over every pastoral hilltop. May your arms, your heart, your eyes be full, and your mouth filled with praise. Hope is calling you. Love is coming for you. Believe it.

Further up and Further in.

Hello again

Bonjour mes amis!

After so long away from writing here, and with all the fullness that life can be (and the emptiness it can sometimes feel), I feel almost like a different person when I come back to this blog. A new person, hands poised above the keyboard, ready to leave my mark here. Is this still my place?

And so I am here to introduce myself today.
My name is Olivia. I am called Liv by most of the people who know me.
I am called to Live, by the one who writes my story, and yours, who spoke the stars into existence, and who loves every dandelion and tadpole even more than I do.

Stories are a theme here. I love stories. From the books on my shelves I have traveled and fought and learned and witnessed a thousand things. And every person I meet has an infinite soul and a long and varied story of their own with hidden struggles and private joys. I love to hear people laugh, see their eyes light up, and talk about things they are passionate about.

My story is long and complicated already, although I've only been around the sun twenty-four times. If you visit me in my tiny home, my Dandelion Den, I can tell you the story behind the bits of art on my wall, and the books on the shelf; even my mugs have stories. I have quotes up everywhere, from some of my favorite sources, to brighten my days, make me smile, and remind me what I love and who I want to be. And I'll give you a cutting of my spider-plant to take home with you.

These days are not filled with fabulous enterprises, or parties, or plans. It may only take a moment to tell you whether or not my calendar has plans for me this week. But that which fills my time is a different matter entirely. I may feel that I watch too many shows, or am cluttered with appointments, or remain unmotivated to do all the things on my list. But none of that can paint the picture of my days and hours here.

I found my unabridged audio of the Two Towers recently and have it on in my car, so that every time I drive somewhere I am surrounded by these long-time friends and the glorious inspiration and wisdom that is The Lord of the Rings. It is restorative to my very bones.

The music albums I've had on repeat recently are "Oh My My" by One Republic, and "American Dream" by Dominic Balli; "Crazy Talk" by Mat Kearney , and "In Between Dreams" by Jack Johnson (basically always on my repeat list). My listening to Shane and Shane doesn't fall into neat album categories of course, nor does my playlist from women of the faith... and all the other bits of music that fill my days, including that french rap song I'm trying to learn... speaking of which...

J'apprend le français! I've been learning French off and on for the last couple of years, but lately have been really throwing myself into it, and for a very good reason. I am visiting France in June! Absolutely thrilled about this trip--to be able to see some beloved places in Europe for the first time. And looking forward to putting into practice this language I've been trying to get a handle on.
I will be documenting my trip as much as possible with photos and insta-stories (in which I will speak French).
So if you see me staring off into the middle-distance more than usual, I am probably conjugating French verbs. Also... if you're  a francophone and want to converse with me to help me learn, let me know!

So my days are filled with great music, amateur dance moves, and muttering French under my breath; epic stories and beloved characters and generous laughter; podcasts and sweatshirts from Preemptive Love, the smiling and mischievous face of my goddaughter. I work at a coffee-shop in the morning, and in the afternoon take long walks in the sunshine, birdsong ringing through the trees and sky.

There are many places I want to visit, many things I want to do; there are people I really want to get to know, and friendships I want to hold on to. There is a great deal ahead of me, and a great deal behind. And sometimes the unknown stretches out in a daunting parabola. But greater than my fears is my hope. And greater than my courage is the steadfast love of the living God. And dawn is ever the hope of men, as Strider says.

Thank you for stopping by this corner of the internet today. I'd pour you a cup of tea if I could reach your mug. This turned into quite the ramble, so your patience is appreciated. Leave me a comment to let me know what fills your days. Do you want book recommendations? I love thinking about books...

The Lord of the Rings
A Gentleman in Moscow
Uneasy Money
Clouds of Witness
One Corpse Too Many
Death by Living

C'est tout pour ce soir.
bonne nuit mes gens

This is glorious

try it with a nap I dare you
or write an epic poem,
or cry
it soothes my soul like I can't even explain
the gladdest sad music I know

Are you ready for 2019?

Good morning, friends, and welcome to 2019. I'm off to work in a couple of hours, but I wanted to greet you all here first, and let you know a little of what I'm thinking about these days. Priorities change, so these lists might too. But I like to spark a little inspiration to get me started in January. I'd love to hear what your aspirations might be!

In the meantime, I'm wishing you a year filled with hope like dandelions, growth like a young tree, and light like the sunrise to shine into all the dark shadows.

19 Things I want to do in 2019 (no particular order):

1. Adriene's 30 day yoga challenge
2. Visit France
3. Be a bridesmaid (my brother is getting married!)
4. Do a ruthless closet-purge and home declutter
5. Read 52 books
6. Write more sonnets
7. Illustrate my children's book
8. Visit museums
9. Make music
10. Go ice-skating
11. Make my own Oatmilk
12. Host a couple of dinner parties
13. Go cross-country skiiing
14. Cook food from other countries (at least one country per month)
15. Write a letter to my future self on my 25th birthday
16. Watch Casablanca 
17. Schedule time to do nothing
18. Rearrange my furniture to keep things fresh
19. Be a little more like Adaline Bowman

19 Things I want to fill my day with:

1. Reading my Bible
2. Learning French
3. Dancing
4. Drinking water 
5. Green tea
6. Crossword puzzles
7. Impromptu yoga
8. Classical music 
9. Reading poetry
10. Visiting parks
11. Shane and Shane, and this playlist
12. Good conversation 
13. Candles
14. All the music
15. Quiet moments
16. Laughter
17. Uninterrupted study
18. Brushing up on great artists
19. Trust

My last list is a bit different. I know nothing about Chakras; I've only heard them mentioned in passing when doing yoga. But I saw this simple breakdown of them (on Pinterest I think), and thought it made an excellent model as I pray for my new year:

7. To Know 

6. To See 

5. To Speak 

4. To Love 

3. To Act 

2. To Feel 

1. To Be Here 

So I've elaborated:

7. To Know the goodness of God to my very marrow. 

6. To See the blessings and glories gifted to me in each daily moment.

5. To Speak life over the people around me, and myself; to build each other up.

4. To Love without fear (I have a laundry-list for this one, so I won't elaborate here) 

3. To Act not only in service, but in the freedom of Christ, supporting others because I am supported.

2. To Feel joy in my going out and my lying down, when I sit and when I rise, because the hand of my Lord is on me.

1. To Be Here and be still, and know that it is enough to rest in God.

In this year ahead, here are some pillars to light our way into the unknown.

"Lay down your life, and find that you have picked it up. Fear no raging beast. Be light to the darkness, life to the dead, love to the loveless, folly to the wise. Wage your war, and tell only tales of laughter" 
-NDW

"No man who values originality will ever be original. But try to tell the truth as you see it, try to do any bit of work as well as it can be done for the work's sake, and what men call originality will come unsought." -CSL

"Until you conquer the fear of being an outsider, an outsider you will remain." -CSL

"Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light." -Jesus

"The more we let God take us over, the more truly ourselves we become - because He made us. He invented us. He invented all the different people that you and I were intended to be. . .It is when I turn to Christ, when I give up myself to His personality, that I first begin to have a real personality of my own." -CSL

'I don't know--I don't want to talk as much,' she said, denting her chin thoughtfully with her forefinger.  'It's nicer to think dear, pretty thoughts and keep them in one's heart, like treasures.  I don't like to have them laughed at or wondered over.  And somehow I don't want to use big words any more.  It's almost a pity, isn't it, now that I'm really growing big enough to say them if I did want to.  It's fun to be almost grown up in some ways, but it's not the kind of fun I expected, Marilla.  There's so much to learn and do and think that there isn't time for big words.' -LMM


"To love is to be selfless. To be selfless is to be fearless. To be fearless is to strip enemies of their greatest weapon. Even if they break our bodies and drain our blood, we are unvanquished. Our goal was never to live; our goal is to love. It is the goal of all noble men and women. Give all that can be given. Give even your live itself." -NDW