learning to see love

Self-esteem. It's a tricky thing.
One day we're accomplished, successful, loved, and beautiful. But one thing snaps and all the sudden you feel like the world's biggest failure. It may be small. It may be big. But that one thing has the power to control your mind and make you believe that somehow you aren't deserving of love, of hope, of things good for your future.

It's so easy to feel like a failure. If it's not in every aspect of our lives, it's still easy to focus and dwell on the things we loathe about ourselves. Whether they're internal matters or physical matters, it's difficult to keep those distractions at bay and feel in our hearts like we're worth something.

No, I'm not suggesting we focus solely on our positive aspects, putting on the rose-colored glasses and ignoring the faults we need to work on to change. But I believe our society is looking for approval and acceptance in all the wrong places, and when we realize the greatest love that's already upon us, it can change our perception of life.

As a recent college graduate, I find myself wandering through these post-grad months with a foggy sense of direction of where my life is going. And because of that lack of direction, I also have a lack of self-esteem. Who am I really? Is who I've become who I'm supposed to be? What do I really want to do with my life?

I thought I had it all figured out. But truth be told, I've realized that perhaps my plan for my life isn't what God had planned for me at all. And the lack of work, the lack of purpose, has got me all flustered.

There have been many moments where I've felt like a failure. I wonder what in the world am I doing. And as I've sauntered down the road without a clue where it's headed, I begin, piece by piece, to lose my self-esteem. Not getting jobs, interviews, or even an email of recognition that someone has received my resume - it's worn me down into this person that I look in the mirror and all I see is failure.

So as I sat on the couch this afternoon, watching yet another episode of FRIENDS to cheer me up, I began to wonder ... what really can boost my spirits? Because although FRIENDS has always proved to be a great source of laughter for me, it only lasts for 22 minutes.

I began to realize that I needed to really look at myself the way God does. He loves me. And he doesn't just love me when I'm successful. He doesn't just love me when I rocked an exam, or served him at VBS.

He loves the complete, whole, every single bit of me. He loves my loud laugh, he loves my blue eyes and my tiny feet. He loves the way I twirl around the house, because I'm a dancer through-and-through, and simply cannot go a day without twirling, leaping, and throwing in an arabesque wherever I can. He loves me.

And so I took some time today to write a list of the things I think God loves about me. I found writing that list was incredibly freeing, incredibly uplifting, and incredibly full of love itself. I found that the more things I wrote down, the more I thought about how much God loves me. Which made me realize just how much I love him. He loves the parts of me that I loathe, like my unruly hair and the zits that pop up on my face. He loves my crazy irrational fear of spiders and getting bit by a shark.
What I realized most was that simply, yet so unimaginably, he just loves me. He loves all of me. He loves me because he created me.
And writing that list down of those things.... it helped. It helped me see the bigger picture. It helped me widen my view from just focusing on my flaws and failures to the things greater than those - his decision to love me anyway. His decision to love me and help me overcome those things.

That encouragement from that list was life-altering, and I encourage you to do the same.

Write down the things you love about yourself. Then write down the things you think God loves about you. See what you find. You may just find a God who's loved you since forever, who just wants you to see that love reflected in your eyes, too.

Try to see what God sees. It'll open your eyes to a love unlike any other. A love that's willing to accept and welcome you for all you are and all you aren't, give you grace for your flaws and failures, and challenge you to take those flaws and failures to spin them into something beautiful.

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How to meet good Christian Men: a comedic "how to meet the guy"

For some women, their dreams of a fairytale romance begins with an accidental bump on the street. Or perhaps it begins with a mix-up at the deli. Or witty banter over a drink while bar-hopping with your girls.
But for us Christian women with slightly different standards, there aren’t many places where we can go to meet good Christian men. A bar isn’t the first choice for me to go and meet a potential husband/father. Accidentally bumping on the street isn’t an impossible situation, but odds lean towards the less-than-likely side. And although getting a number as a “thank you” for helping out said customer while at work in Express is flattering, it’s not quite the same for those of us who have, well, just different standards than most.
While pondering my current lack of places to meet a potential husband, I came up with a brilliant idea.
Church hopping.
That’s right. Church hopping. The Christian version of bar hopping.
My suggestion:
Google potential churches that have different service times. You can hit your traditional services in the early morning, rush over to the church with the late morning service, take part in another church’s small group that goes out to lunch afterwards. You then have approximately a few hours to go home, nap, and prepare for the evening to late night worship services.
In order to do this effectively, one must do research on which churches and services have a coffee/lunch/potluck hour. If you do your research well, you might be meeting the man you will spend the rest of your life with.
Start your morning off with coffee before the traditional service at the first pre-selected church. Perhaps the man with the coffee next to you might offer to pour you a cup. (Make sure to "conveniently" keep your hands full with your bible and purse.) Keep watch of his hands to see if they are shaking while pouring your cup - that could be a hint that he's into you. It also could mean he's had large quantities of caffeine already that morning. Next, you move onto the potluck at the next church’s late service. They always say food is the way to a man’s heart, so make sure to make up your own hotdish (yes, hotdish) and stand behind it and serve it. When the other ladies of the church ask you if you’re new, point to a guy and say “I’m his guest.” Those ladies will then swarm said man and ask tons of questions, which will of course peak his curiosity and ask you on a date…and of course try your amazing tater-tot hotdish. End the late morning/early afternoon portion with a full lunch at small group for the third church of the day. (Keep in mind not to eat any of your own hotdish from before. It'd be a shame to be too full to attend lunch.) Lunch is always a great way to get to know people. So go to the local Perkin’s, Applebee’s, or IHOP afterwards with that small group in your age bracket... and make sure to sit next to both the guy that catches your eye and the girl who looks like your next best friend. Having a girl confidant to subtly ask questions about said man next to you is a good way to get to know that man. Who needs 1-on-1 conversation when you can get the inside scoop from your soon-to-be bestie?
Make sure to take a break in the afternoon. You’ll need to figure out a good concoction for the extra-socialization hangover. Be careful not to socialize too much without taking the proper precautions. Most importantly, always have a friend to call to drive you to said events in case of too much socialization.
Come evening, drink tea at the first evening services’ pre-service fellowship. The tea-thing can come in handy, because if you typically don’t drink tea, you will need a proper tea expert (such as the man again standing next to you) to ask about which tea to try, how strong to make it, and which tea would be the most proper to have on a date. Finally go for a late night jaunt to Caribou with the people from the late night vesper’s service, because they will certainly need some caffeine for the late night study session for their next exam. Of course, this only works at Bethel and if you are a college student. But hey, you might just snag a Bethel Sem student in the process.
And as most shampoo bottles say:
“lather, rinse and repeat as necessary.”
Ok, so take out the lather and rinse, but you must still repeat as necessary with different churches until you find that soul mate.

*note: none of these theories have been tested or proven to be even the least bit effective. But if someone wants to try them, I’d be willing to accompany them.*

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The Adventure Itch

Sometimes I feel as if I'm bipolar or schizophrenic.

There's a side of me that belongs home, longing for roots and stability. My family, my home, my friends. The little things, like the smells, the sounds, the creeks of the floorboard, etc. I love having that sense of sturdiness, that sense of roots. Contentment.

Yet there are times when I get what's known in our family as the Davis Family Travel Bug. Or better worded, the adventure bug. I long for excitement. I long for experiencing the new, the unknown, the unstable. Experiencing new smells, new sights. Jumping off cliffs and diving into the sea. Sightseeing and experiencing all that God has set in place. Taking off without reason, spur-of-the-moment deciding to head off somewhere unknown.

Tonight I made what I now know is a mistake by watching Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants 2. They each travel to their respective areas, most of them not far from home. But at the end, they all just up and buy a ticket to Greece. I long for that. If money wasn't a factor (or the fact I don't have a current passport), it would take all the forces of the world to stop me from driving to Minneapolis and hopping on the next flight to anywhere exotic. Bora Bora? Of course. Turkey? Why not. Greece, Italy, Spain, Rome, Portugal, Venezuela, Australia, London, Paris, Vienna - "covered". (A camp reference, for those who would understand.) I would go anywhere.

It's as if words cannot account for this extreme urge to get out of this place. It's not that I don't love it with all my heart. But it's really that I love the thought of adventure more. I want to experience all life has to offer and the thought of being cooped up here with the same ol' same ol' is disheartening, at best.

Part of this past summer was exactly that for me...the adventure. My first two weeks were rough, as I was homesick for all that I missed. But after that it seemed as if I delved right into California life, embracing everything and anything it had to offer. (I will soon have the opportunity to experience it again! My heart longs for that familiar as well.)

Yet I still can't shake this craving that I need more. It's a little frightening, to be honest. There are days I wonder if it has a drug-like quality. Every bit of adventure gives me a dose and it quenches the thirst for the time being. The problem is, the thirst comes back with a vengeance, wanting more and more.

I want to chase storms through the midwest, feeling the power of the wind surround me. I want to fly east, Lobstering in Maine and traveling down the coast, stopping for the thrill of the theater or history of New York City, going through South Carolina on beaches, or visiting the very tip of Florida. I want to travel to Paris, buy a ridiculously overpriced pair of Jimmi Choos and take the elevator to the top of the Eiffel Tower. I want to Greek Dance in Greece. (I already know how, thanks to Jenny Codi... "hooopah!") I want to eat true Italian food in Italy. I long to dive along the Great Barrier Reef, taking in the coral and tropical fish, all while not being eaten by a shark. (knock on wood, right?) I want to swim with dolphins off of the Bahamas, and maybe even sail a Pirate Ship with Captain Jack Sparrow through the Caribbean. (Ok, so that last one, not quite, I suppose.) But you get the idea.

I've seen so little. I've experienced far less. I need to embrace this world.



.....the only problem: How do I get the money? Oh, and, who would travel with me?

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Shhhh....

I can't tell how many times I've written about snow. I can count at least three (including this one) on this blog. But for years and years, I've written about in diaries and journals. But it seems no matter how much I write about it, I can never really express the true magic and wonder that fills the air whenever it snows.

It snowed again today. I went into the library to go check out some Christmas books, and when I stepped outside, it was falling. And after a quick trip to Walmart for some much needed Christmas wrapping supplies (including both duct tape and packing tape), I came home and announced I would be going for a walk.

So indeed, I went. I grabbed my iPod, threw on my warm boots and bomber hat and stepped outside into the glittering white snowglobe. And really, oh the beauty. There's something inexplicably thrilling yet calming as you walk through the white winter wonderland.

I passed by homes and businesses all lit up, people bustling inside with love and laughter. I walked through the streets covered in a soft white blanket, not yet pounded by feet and tires. I wandered around town, looking up at the streetlights and wreaths attached to them, seeing the snow fly down towards the ground. I passed by churches, candles lit from the inside.

And while there's a thrill of excitement, I often times find myself wanting to say "shhhh..." I'm really not even sure why. Perhaps it's a suggestion for others, to stop hustling and bustling with the deadline of Christmas morning looming and simply enjoy the blessings of the season. Perhaps it's God telling me to "Be quiet and listen." But whatever the reason, it's quite calming.

I think the thing that most resounds through the holiday season is the presence and importance of family. Whether it's yours or a stranger's, it's not only important but inspiring when you just sit, watch, and listen. Be still and take a moment to soak in what's around you. Families hustling around the kitchen, making a Christmas meal. Co-workers laughing together at a business. A father toting home his daughter in a sled through the snow. It's amazing what you can discover and encounter just by watching. So as a reminder to you all, just... "shhh..." Stop and listen, watch, just to experience the joys, sights and sounds of the holiday season.

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The best tree

I've always been a traditionalist at heart. I like to sit in the same chair at the dinner table. I like to eat my cereal out of the same bowls I have since I was a young girl. I even had a hard enough time when my mother decided to buy new furniture for our upstairs living room. I had an even harder time getting used to the new dish set she bought some five years ago. I like things the same. Through the years, changes have had to be made. Some of them small, like the dishes. Some of them big, like moving, and moving again, and yet again. And because of moving, things changed. And knowing there was nothing I could do, I just had to let it be.

But there was one thing that hasn't changed through the years: our family decorating the Christmas tree together. We put on Christmas music, and start decorating away.

Earlier this holiday season, my roommates and I set up our own tree. I had brought the old plastic one from home that we never use anymore (as we've elected to get the real-deal for the past many years.) It took us a while to get the whole thing completely decorated, between schedules and time-constraints. We set up the tree one afternoon. Then we strung popcorn and cranberries several days later. And the next week, Mia finally put some of her ornaments up. And just a few days ago, I finally bought Christmas bulbs and candy canes, that night hanging them on the tree. I even painted a few of them with glitter, spelling out our names on them. But as I hung the shiny Christmas ornaments, I felt a sense of...complacency. Just, blah. I didn't feel the excitement, the thrill, and the joy that comes with the memories formed with each ornament. Oh, it's a pretty tree. And in our its own way, it represents a new beginning. New traditions. New beginnings. But sometimes new is hard.

I was supposed to go home one weekend to help set up the family Christmas tree. I was nearly packed and ready to go! But luck and true Minnesota weather had it that it would snow. And not just snow, but really snow and snow and snow. It snowed so much that malls closed on the second busiest day of the year. As a matter of a fact, everything closed. It snowed so much it was the fifth largest blizzard in the metro area on record.

In the meantime, I had called my parents, letting them know I could not make it home, and now this meant I most likely wasn't going home until two days before Christmas. I told my dad, "You guys need to get in the holiday spirit. Go ahead and decorate without me, and I'll just have to deal with it." I was trying to be ok with it, but really, I wasn't.

This past weekend, I had from Saturday night to Monday afternoon off. So I called up dad and I said, "I'm coming home!" The way this time of year goes, it had whisked away without a chance for them to decorate the tree. So I came home and was ready to bring the holiday cheer with me. And finally, the Minnesota weather gave me a break. I headed home Saturday night, and Sunday afternoon, we were setting up the tree.

First came the lights. Dad loathes Christmas lights. I think he just gets tangled and can't make them stay the way he wants. But for years, it's always been my mother and I putting up the Christmas lights, and in recent years, the sister has helped. And as every year happens, there weren't enough to go around. So of course I was sent out to go pick up some more Christmas lights. (It really is a big tree.) We finished stringing the lights, and then came my favorite time.

We plugged in the Christmas music and dug out the ornaments. We are an ornament family. Through the years, we've collected so many, that I think each year our tree has to grow nearly exponentially for them all to fit. As Johnny Mathis and Bing Crosby crooned their Christmas tunes, we sifted through our favorite ornaments, each representing some memory. I had my "shoe" ornaments - (one is an actual miniature white lace heel, the other says, "If the shoe fits, buy it in every color.") I have my ugly homemade ornament I made in the first grade, or the glitter star with a picture in it from second grade. There's the ornament given to me from my Sunday school teacher and "other mom" Mary Anders. The clear glass ornament is stuffed with a picture of me in my favorite yellow frilly dress from the 3rd grade. And then there's the ornament given to me from my preschool teacher, a "July" precious moments angel, and even a Barbie Collectors Christmas ornament. Oh, and a Vikings ornament, which is technically dad's, but I might claim for myself here soon.
As I go through each of the ornaments, whether they're mine or my sisters, or sift through my parents' ornaments from when they first got married, I am reminded of memories that are attached to them.



Part of it isn't even the ornaments, it's just being with my family, shuffling back and forth from the ornament boxes (yes, there are more than one) to the tree as we sing along to whatever song is playing. (My sister now even sings along to the Hallelujah Chorus.)

My mother, after it was finished, made a comment that said, "It's the memories and the love that make it so beautiful." And how true that rings. It doesn't have a pretty theme, and it might filled with too many ornaments, both beautiful and ugly alike, but it's the love and the memories that fill the tree that make it special.

After the ornaments came the tinsel, and after the tinsel came the gold bows. And the star, of course, which came actually before the ornaments - we've learned that the bigger the tree, the harder it is to put it on after the ornaments.

I'm not really sure what to make of this, if there's a lesson to be learned or a thought to be processed. But I know that our tree, this year named McKinley (because of it's massive size and a family member in Washington), is one of the most beloved. Oh, what it is to come from such a loving family.

But whatever happens for Christmases future, I know that these memories will never be taken from me. And although it frightens me to let my family go and begin my own, whenever that may be, I'll be excited to start new memories on a new tree.

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Quandary...what defines appreciation?

As some of you know, and many of you don't, my roommates and I have been on a large Gilmore Girls kick. And when I say "Gilmore Girls kick," I really mean "We've gone through the entire series in about a month and a half." Yes, ridiculous. Pathetic, even. But when you're about as boring as the three of us are, it tends to go that way.

And so it would just make sense that watching the series, it would rub off on me and create questions in my mind, as does a good television show does.

One of the questions recently popped into my brain while just having it on in the background as I cooked supper. As fellow Gilmore Girls fans would know, Rory is arguably one of the smartest and most precocious characters ever written. Part of that brilliance is the knowledge of unusual and quite large words.
In addition to her unusual knowledge of words in the English language (and French and Latin as we later find out), is the series' use of references. Anything from the Barefoot Contessa, to journalism names like Bob Woodward and Christian Amanpour, to obscure band and television/film references. Some of them I know. Most of them I don't. But it peaks my curiousity, and often times I find myself googling certain references just to understand the meaning. But the brilliance of the writing in the show is that you don't have to know all the references to understand what they're saying.

But like I said, watching this show has peaked several questions I still have yet to answer, although I have a sense some of them will never be answered. For today, I will just leave you with the question most prevelant in my mind at the moment.

Does it take an artist to truly appreciate the art? or really, simply put, "Does it really take one to know one?" as the saying goes.
I shall further detail my quandary with bits of examples.
As aforementioned, Rory is the journalist and English "freak." Her knowledge of words and books is astounding. So it just makes sense that as the series goes on, episode after episode there are references to famous journalists, both past and present, to journalism terms, and of course the use of exemplary words. As a fellow journalist, my classes have taught me such words and references in the journalism world, and so I feel as if I connect and can appreciate the words and the references.
Now, to the average person, the knowledge and use of such words and references might go unnoticed. Or even if they are acknowledged, they are at most interpreted in a horizontal manner, not being able to understand its full depth.

The same goes for me as a dancer. I watch other routines, ranging anywhere from a contemporary piece by Travis Wall or Mia Michaels to a classical ballet piece choreographed centuries ago when Tchaikovsky still gave the breath and life of music to ballet. When I watch other routines, I think I am able to appreciate it more and understand it on a deeper level than others, since I know the difficulty of work and the time and effort strained into it. As an artist, a choreographer, I watch other pieces with what I think of as a greater appreciation, taking into account all the things good choreographers do. While the average viewer might just say "I think that was amazing," I could probably take that statement and divulge why.

Not to say I am a head above the rest. In the matters of science or mathematics, if someone were to create a hypothesis or theorum, then create the data and evidence to back it up, I wouldn't understand in the least. All I would do is look at the numbers and cringe. (As my journalism professor would say, "When we see numbers, our eyes have a tendency to gloss over.") I would stand there dumbfounded. Probably amazed at what I was looking at, but still completely clueless as to its actual extend and importance.

Now, this doesn't go without its own controversy.
After I posted this question on twitter, a friend of mine replied:
"No. Otherwise there would be very few would would appreciate greatness."
So is that true, as well? If we only appreciate what we know and understand, there really wouldn't be much appreciation in this world, would there?


So what do you think?
Is appreciation only for the knowledgable? Does it really take one to know one?
Or can appreciation for art, or science/mathematics, for that matter, be held by those with less or no knowledge at all?

OR, can we all appreciate work, but we appreciate it at different levels?

So seriously, what do you think?
Quandary.

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White fluffy stuff fluttering from the sky.

Once upon a time, I wrote a similar blog about snow. But tonight's a new night.

Tonight was the first snow of the season. Mia and I were winding down for the evening, fiddling with our ipods, as do all twenty-something year olds.. All the sudden, she says "facebook says it's snowing!" and we turn around out the window to see the snow starting.

I said, "Let's go outside!" and she was right with me. We immediately turned off the TV, threw on shoes, and rushed out the door.

As we stepped outside, the snow was lightly falling. But it didn't matter. We ran outside and started to squeal (or rather, *I* started to squeal) "IT'S SNOWING!" with a dumb grin on my face, like the world had handed me a lifetime of chocolate. I stood there in the parking lot with Mia, just staring at the sky with white puffs flying into my face. I smiled like I wouldn't be able to smile again ever in my life.

It was that childlike excitement that falls upon me every year. Every year I step outside, screaming, hugging, jumping, yelling, "IT'S SNOWING!" or simply just the word "Snow!"

After playing around for several minutes, then realizing just how cold it was, Mia and I decided to bundle up and take a walk around the neighborhood.

After coats were found and scarves were wrapped and boots thrown on, we ran outside to begin what turned out to be over an hour and a half of walking around the area. It was beautiful. There really is no other way to describe it. What God gives us every year is simply undeniably beautiful.

We wandered around, listening to the sounds of the wind whistling...although more to the sounds of our squeals of excitement and our laughter. We nearly froze our extremities off, but an hour and half didn't seem nearly enough time.

Snow. The word is so beautiful in itself. The white begins in flakes, and before you know it (and before we knew it tonight), the ground was covered in white, and as we gazed down the street, it was a peaceful calm as the snow fell down.

Now we're back, cozied up on the couch with warm fuzzy blankets, sweats, and hot cocoa.

Nothing could seem more perfect.

It's here. Snow. Christmas.....it's here. :-)

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