Roosevelt Kringle

There's just something about sitting by the lights of a Christmas tree and listening to Christmas music while Christmas candles glow softly on the coffee table. I guess it's the winterized version of sitting on the beach and listening to the waves crash on the sand. Because like the beach, it soothes the soul.

Our tree this year is named Roosevelt Kringle (plain "Roosevelt" sounded too austere for our slightly lopsided tree). He's doing quite a nice job of making our living room a cozy haven.

Trading Traditions

We didn't have our Tofurkey Bowl this year. No, that's not some bizarre vegetarian dish. It's the name I'd given our annual football game a few years back. But this year it didn't happen. No one was up for it.

"Maybe tomorrow," someone said.
"How 'bout we play football at Christmas?" someone else said when "tomorrow" rolled around.

Some people just don't understand traditions-- I, the family traditionalist, thought to myself.

Friday night we got invited over to Aunt Susie and Uncle Wayne's house to make springerle cookies. I'd had the cookies before in my pre-glutard days; they've been making them since before my dad was even born. But never had I ever had the experience of making them.

Experience the scene with me....

As you walk into my great aunt and uncle's house, you see three of the cousins (from my generation, but about ten years younger) sitting on the couch with a pile of beads, a pile of thin leather strips, and a pile of finished bracelets. Before you can even process what's going on there, you're distracted by the smell of anise. So. Much. Anise. Sitting at the table is my dad's cousin Richard, measuring and cutting the leather strips that will be used by his daughter and her cousins to make the bracelets that are being sent to the orphanage in Haiti.

As you follow your nose to find out where the anise smell is coming from, you walk past Richard into the kitchen, where you'll see Uncle Wayne himself rolling out a large pile of cookie dough into a neat rectangle. Stay a little longer, and you'll see him take another rolling pin-- but this one has imprints on it!-- and roll it carefully over the rolled out dough. Then he'll take a pizza cutter and methodically cut the imprinted squares and place them on a cookie sheet.

You'll see Aunt Susie take that cookie sheet and carry it into the next room. As you follow her, you'll pass her son (my dad's cousin) Bob at the mixer, whipping up the next batch of cookie dough for Uncle Wayne to roll out. Keep following Aunt Susie with the cookie tray, and you'll see her hand it to her daughter Susan, who will lead the process of trimming the edges of each square and brushing them to remove any excess flour.

"How many cookies are we making?"
"Oh, 90 dozen."
"90 cookies... so about 8 doz... WAIT. 90 dozen?!?!"

Yep. 90 dozen. Because it turns out that all those years I've seen springerle cookies around, I was missing out on the fact that this is a tradition that has been going on since well before I was born-- and well before the days of the Tofurkey Bowl. Grandpa Alstadt used to make them, but when he died, Aunt Susie and Uncle Wayne carried on the tradition. Some evening early in the holiday season, the family gathers to make sure that there will be plenty of springerles to give to the rest of the family and to their friends. I'm not sure when the tradition expanded to include other projects, but the girls made quite the pile of bracelets for the orphanage in Haiti (I got to help for a bit until I became Uncle Wayne's apprentice at the rolling station) and someone had packed a large pile of gift bags to be taken to the men at the City Mission.

I still like the Tofurkey Bowl annual football game. But it was pretty cool to learn another family tradition, too. And maybe it's okay if traditions change and grow as the years go on, after all.

Gimpy Pigeon

Are there parts of life that make you happy? -- I asked one of my friends who'd just had a terrible day.

"Oh sure," he said, "but they're the absurdities... the man at the deli who you never really talk to but he knows your coffee order by heart; the pigeon with the club foot down by the ferry..." and he kept listing other absurdities that are true especially in New York-- but he lost me after the pigeon. I interrupted him--

Sorry, but I have to go back to that pigeon. With the club foot. If you were that pigeon, you'd probably think your life sucked and was pointless.

"And it does and it is! Poor stupid pigeon."

But his life isn't pointless; he made you smile! Poor pigeon hobbles around on his club foot and probably thinks he doesn't make a difference anywhere, and yet he makes you smile every time you see him.

--
I used to be better at finding joy in the little things; finding something to smile about in the absurdities. I used to be better about remembering that everything happens for a reason and to find comfort in that. Maybe it's part of getting older; I just hope it doesn't mean I'm getting cynical... but I have a harder time doing that lately. I wish I could find that pigeon and somehow explain to it that its gimpy foot still brings joy to people's lives. I wish I could remind myself that my gimpy mistakes and shortcomings can still be used for good; that it's okay that my life isn't coming together the way I always thought it would or doesn't look like the lives of the people around me. That even if my walk is different it can still be encouraging to others whose paths I cross.

Memory Overload

Washington Heights
Budget car rental
Central Park
SAT tutoring
the Apple store
wine and cheese parties
music on my ipod
mentoring
Alphabet City
making sushi
Dutch Blitz
books on my dresser

Everything reminds me; everything makes it harder to forget.

"It'll get easier."
"You'll get over it."
"You'll be fine."

But it's not.
And I haven't.
And I'm not.

8:29

[I read a book on the bus to and from New Hampshire this weekend. If I didn't know better, I would have thought I'd written it myself. In fact, I'm pretty sure that the author and I live parallel lives. Either way, I'll be blogging about this book a bit in the near future. And you should read it. Seriously. It's called Angry Conversations with God by Susan Isaacs, and it is the most refreshingly honest book I've read in a long time. I feel like I could write pages and pages about what reading this book did for me. But this is going to be just a short blog entry because I'm tired; but I just have to write about this part that made me tear up and smile at the same time because it proved to me that the author and I are, indeed, soulmates.]

There's a part in the book where the author (Susan) is talking to her counselor (Rudy) and have the following conversation when Rudy asks Susan what she has to be thankful for:

Susan: My cat. My friends. And this is really lame, but there's 3:16.
Rudy: Do you mean John 3:16? "For God so loved the world"?
Susan: No. My birthday is 3/16. March 16. It's a dorky, superstitious thing. I keep catching the clock when it's 3:16pm. I've even woken up in the middle of the night, and it's 3:16am. It's bizarre.

I liked this part already. I've had the same experience multiple times, where I keep "catching the clock" at 8:29-- my birthday. And it always makes me happy. But the rest of their conversation is what brought the tears to my eyes--

Rudy: And what do you think God's saying?
Susan: "Hey man, just thinkin' about ya."

Maybe she's right; maybe it's a dorky, superstitious thing. But I think that God uses the little things to encourage us sometimes. So I'll take it.

When Hoping Hurts

I am learning that sometimes it hurts worse to hope than not to.

Maybe this is something that the rest of the world figured out a long time ago; but I'm stubborn, and I've long insisted that being an optimist is The Way Forward and that, really, it is a more enriching and rewarding approach to life.

I'm beginning to think that I've been wrong this whole time. Because the fact of the matter is that if you let yourself hope, you open yourself to a whole lot more risk of getting hurt than if you just expect the worst. If you expect to be let down, then you're either satisfied or pleasantly surprised. Yet if you choose to hope, you open yourself to the possibility of pain.

So just stop hoping, I keep telling myself. Stop expecting big things and you, too, can be satisfied or even pleasantly surprised.

It sounds wonderful. And yet I can't bring myself to do it. Maybe it's my fear of missing out. Because if hope deferred makes the heart sick (and boy, does it!), hope fulfilled must make the heart sing like nothing else.

And there's this-- I can't get away from the fact that we serve a God of hope who wants us to keep hoping, even when it's hard and even when it hurts. One of my favorite prayers in the Bible is from Romans 15:13-- "May the God of hope fill you with joy and peace as you trust in him, that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope." I read this verse last week when I was fighting to hope, and I was relieved to see that there's no expectation that this hope will come from my own strength. Because I don't have that kind of strength. But by the power of the Holy Spirit, I may abound in hope.

It hurts to hope. Because when you hope, you make yourself vulnerable. You open yourself to the possibility of pain and disappointment. And when hope is deferred and your heart is sick, it's so tempting to give up and not go down that road of hope again.

I still want to believe that it's worth it. That because we are called to hope, that it really is the more enriching and rewarding path to take-- even if it's the scarier, and sometimes the harder, one. Man, I wish I had answers; I wish I knew how to keep hoping without risking getting hurt. But the only thing I can figure out right now is to keep clinging to that verse from Romans. I don't even know what it looks like completely, but I want to fight for it because I want my life to be characterized by peace and joy. I want to fight for it because I don't want to give up hope.

But I am weak. Right now especially. And in the midst of the hurt, it's hard for me even to think about opening myself up to more pain. I keep trying to remind myself that it's not up to me, that I don't have to find the strength in myself, and that the Holy Spirit is the one who will enable me and empower me to hope again.

Lord, by the power of your Holy Spirit, help me to trust in you, the God of hope, so that I can continue to abound (to overflow!) in hope.

Even when it hurts.

Masquerading Goodness

Some things you just can't blog about. And that's a shame, since blogging helps me process life. Maybe someday. But for now, I'll share the words of the song that is playing on repeat in my apartment.

Heavenly Father, you always amaze me
Let your kingdom come in my world and in my life
Give me the food I need to live through today
And forgive me as I forgive the people that wrong me
Lead me far from temptation
Deliver me from the evil one

I look out the window the birds are composing
Not a note is out of tune or out of place
I walk to the meadow and stare at the flowers
Better dressed than any girl on her wedding day

So why do I worry?
Why do I freak out?
God knows what I need
You know what I need

Your love is
Your love is
Your love is strong

The kingdom of the heavens is now advancing
Invade my heart, invade this broken town
The kingdom of the Heavens is buried treasure
Would you sell yourself to buy the one you've found?

Two things you told me
That you are strong
And you love me
Yes, you love me

Your love is
Your love is
Your love is strong

Our God in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Above all names
Your kingdom come
Your will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us today our daily bread
Forgive us weary sinners
Keep us far away from our vices
And deliver us from these prisons....

At the end of the day, this is all I need to know. That God is for me. So somehow everything God is doing in my life is good. It's just sometimes goodness that I don't recognize because it looks suspiciously like things I fear.

But why do I worry? Why do I freak out? God knows what I need. You know what I need.

On Turning 30...

I've dreaded turning 30 since, well, since I could count that high. For me, 30 has always been a marker for being grown up and, therefore, for having everything figured out. In recent years, the closer I got to the dreaded 3-0, the more it became apparent to me that I wasn't going to be ready to turn 30. Because instead of getting closer to my goals, my goals have shifted and changed until I'm not even sure what I'm reaching for anymore.

I turned 30 two weeks ago today. Not only am I not married with two children like I always thought I would be by now, but I'm also not on any direct or clear path to some elite career in lieu of this motherhood track. I changed my mind about pursuing a PhD a long time ago, and I don't even live in the house I bought when I was sure that Philadelphia was where I would spend the rest of my life. No, I'm nowhere close to where I thought I'd be when I turned 30.

Puzzles have become the theme of my life ever since my move to New York last summer. Last week I got handed a few more puzzle pieces that don't seem to fit anywhere. I guess I always thought that, at the very least, I'd have the frame of my puzzle done by the time I turned 30. No such luck.

I have a friend who has understood my struggle in a unique way, because it has been her struggle as well. We have both been fighting to make sense of what to do with our individual lives. She wrote to me today: "God's already got it all worked out... and he already knows what is best and fulfills my heart's desires and uses all my skills and personality and loves. Remember, he already knows before we even ask, so if he already knows, maybe we need to spend less energy asking and more focus on 1) acknowledging and seeing God's greatness and 2) surrendering to him, letting him be God."

One of my favorite songs is by Andrew Peterson, and it goes like this:

Give us faith to be strong
Father, we are so weak
Our bodies are fragile and weary
As we stagger and stumble to walk where you lead
Give us faith to be strong

Give us faith to be strong
Give us strength to be faithful
This life is not long, but it's hard
Give us grace to go on
Make us willing and able
Lord, give us faith to be strong

Give us peace when we're torn
Mend us up when we break
This flesh can be wounded and shaking
When there's much too much trouble for one heart to take
Give us peace when we're torn

Give us faith to be strong
Give us strength to be faithful
This life is not long, but it's hard
Give us grace to go on
Make us willing and able
Lord, give us faith to be strong

Give us hearts to find hope
Father, we cannot see
How the sorrow we feel can bring freedom
And as hard as we try, Lord, it's hard to believe
So, give us hearts to find hope

Give us faith to be strong
Give us strength to be faithful
This life is not long, but it's hard
Give us grace to go on
Make us willing and able
Lord, give us faith to be strong
Give us peace when we're torn
Give us faith, faith to be strong.

Life isn't long, but it is hard. And the pieces of the puzzle don't always make sense. Especially when you're bad at puzzles, anyway. But I'm glad that God has it all worked out; I'm glad that God's not caught off guard by the fact that I just turned 30 and I'm still staring at all my puzzle pieces. And I'm really glad that he's already got it all worked out and knows exactly where and how each piece will fit with the others.

Lord, give me a heart to find hope. Give me faith to be strong. Give me strength to be faithful. Give me peace when I'm torn. Give me grace to go on, make me willing and able. Give me faith, Lord; please make me strong in your strength.

Who Knew?

I took the bus to and from The Promised Land yesterday. One of my best friends got engaged this week (Congrats, Rach!), and I'd gone to meet her new fiance. I brought them a celebratory cake, which meant I had a huge cake-taker with me on the bus.

After a fun evening of making sushi and hanging out, I caught the bus back to NYC. It was late. It was a Saturday night. And when I got on the bus and a bunch of guys at the back of the bus yelled, "CAAAAAAAKE," I should have known it would be an interesting ride.

Turns out, the guys had had a bit too much to drink. And they decided that this bus ride would be the perfect opportunity to educate each other-- and the rest of us unsuspecting passengers-- about what to look for in a woman.

"All I know," one guy announced loudly, "is that any girl whose name starts with an A is crazy. I've never, never met a girl whose name starts with A who wasn't insane. In fact," he declared even more loudly, "when I have a daughter, I'm going to name her something that starts with a Z because it's as far as you can get from A."

I thought about going back and introducing myself. But I was afraid I might just prove his point....

Cape Cod Sand

"They say once you get Cape Cod sand in your shoes, you'll always come back."

My grandma used to tell me that all the time when I was little. She and my grandpa came here for their honeymoon. It rained the whole time. "But," she said, "we had Cape Cod sand in our shoes. And they say once you get Cape Cod sand in your shoes, you'll always come back."

I think I was born with Cape Cod sand in my shoes. Of all the places I've been in the world, this is my absolute favorite. As soon as we drive across the Bourne Bridge and are greeted by the "Cape Cod" shrubs (yes, they really are shaped to read "Cape Cod"!), it's like everything else melts away and I have a new lease on life.

Driving around town, walking to the town cove, watching the sun set over Rock Harbor, listening to the waves crash on the shore at Nauset Beach, swimming in one of the many ponds, playing mini-golf after a day at the beach or playing card games around the dining room table-- these are a few of my favorite things about the Cape.

I'm on the Cape for the week, and it feels wonderful. I can't explain why I feel like a different person when I'm here-- why life makes more sense, why I am totally relaxed, why everything is more beautiful and I can think more clearly than anywhere else, why the Cape Cod air soothes my soul. But it just does.

My theory is that once you get Cape Cod sand in your shoes, you get it in your soul as well.

It's good to be back.

The Time the Weatherman Was Right....

The forecast said 60% chance of rain today; 70% chance of rain yesterday. We debated and debated, and then we debated some more. And then we decided to go camping anyway.

By yesterday morning, the weatherman said there was a 90% chance of rain-- and thunderstorms.

Don't worry, guys-- I said-- they've been saying all week that there'd be thunderstorms, and it's been nice every single day! I'm sure we'll be fine.

Why is it that weathermen are only right when you need them not to be?

And yet, it was awesome. The rain let up enough for us to go on two hikes (and we even almost made it back from the second hike before it started its torrential downpour-- almost, but not quite); and it stopped raining enough for us to get a fire started for cooking all our meals. Last night it rained the hardest. But we were able to take shelter in our large tent and play some Dutch Blitz and Bananagrams. Pretty hard to feel sad about that!

I haven't been that wet or cold in a while. Not that wet, not that cold-- and not that happy in a while. I'm even glad the weatherman was right.

I don't think I would've changed a thing.

Key Handoff

There's something final about handing over keys. I guess they stand for ownership. Or something. Right? I mean, why else would we talk about the "key to my heart" or give a mayor the "key to the city"?

Today I handed over the keys to The Elle to three new girls-- college students at UArts. They love the house; they're excited to live there. One of them even asked if she could give me a hug after I'd showed her how to use the firepit.

So I guess if I had to hand over the keys, I'm glad I handed them to people who love The Elle. As I watched the girls carry in boxes and decorations, it hit me all over again that I'm not living there anymore. I own the house, but I no longer own the house.

I sure hope they take good care of her....

Lost Cat: Found!

A few weeks ago, I saw a poster on the street that said this: "Lost Cat: Found!" And it made me really happy, because people don't usually tell you the end of the story. I see plenty of "Lost Cat" or "Lost Dog" posters; but I don't think I'd ever seen a posting letting everyone know their help had paid off and that there was, in fact, a happy ending to the story.

So I have my own little poster to "hang up" here.

"House Dilemma: Solved!"

I have this house in Philly, and for the last year it's just been a huge question mark. I haven't been sure if I should sell it, rent it, or what I should do. I will tell you that it has stressed me out, and you'll just have to understand that to be one of the biggest understatements of all time.

About a month ago, I was talking to my friend Laurie about this whole housing dilemma-- and I told her about my fears and about my overwhelmed-ness and how I was just feeling paralyzed by all of it.

"So what have you done?" she asked me. "What steps have you taken?"
That's just it-- I told her-- nothing. I feel like there are so many aspects of this decision that I don't even know where to start. So I haven't done anything.
"You've gotta do something. You need to advertise that it's for rent and just see what happens."

I took her advice and I posted it the next night. Two days later, I had two different groups of people interested in renting it out. By the next day, one of the groups of people had their security deposits in the mail to me. The girls even want to rent some of my furniture, so I don't have to pay to put any of it into storage!

I went down this weekend with Adam, one of my friends from Alice's. Tim drove down and my parents drove up for the day on Saturday to help clean, too. Adam and I packed on Friday; we all cleaned on Saturday. One of my friends even showed up Saturday morning with gluten-free muffins and helped me deep-clean the kitchen! We packed and cleaned, put some stuff in the basement, some stuff in my 'rents' car to go to Maryland, and the rest in the UHaul to come to New York. Tim drove up with us, making sure I could change lanes and that nothing fell out of the truck. He followed us all the way into Manhattan and helped us unload at my place, then followed us over to Brooklyn and helped us unload the furniture that was going to Adam's place, and then he followed me back to Manhattan again to make sure I was able to find parking for the truck (I couldn't return it until this morning). I think I have a pretty airtight case for having the best Big Brother in the world.

So the housing dilemma is solved for another year. And once again, my family and my friends supported me above and beyond what I expected or deserved. I guess I didn't make a huge "Housing Dilemma" poster; but I feel that I have to tell you now that the poster loomed large in my own head, and now the dilemma is solved.

I have felt pretty overwhelmed by this whole thing for the past two months. I know that God provides, but I still live in fear that his idea of provision may be different from mine. But he provided yet again-- not just tenants, but help and support for the move itself.

I'm not yet able to articulate the emotions of moving out of my house. I feel like I've failed; I feel confused; and I feel relieved. And I'm not sure what to do with any of that. And I'm really thankful that people love me anyway, even when I feel like the messiness and uncertainty of my life is seen most clearly in this housing dilemma.

Pumpkin's First Birthday

One year ago today I moved to New York City.

What a long, strange year it's been.

My year doesn't look much like I thought it would. To be honest, I guess I'm not sure what I was expecting. But I didn't think at this point in the game that I'd still be working two part-time jobs or that I'd still feel like I'm living in a state of limbo.

"Are you happy though?" -- many friends have asked me in recent weeks. And again and again, my response has been:
Yes. But I feel like I shouldn't be.

I love New York. I love our new apartment. I love that I live with one of my best friends. I love both my jobs (yes, even though they're part-time and I don't have benefits and I don't make as much money as I could doing.... um.... pretty much anything else). I love living about twenty blocks from Steve and Ellen. I love that I see Tim every couple weeks and that it doesn't have to be planned out way-far in advance. I love that friends keep coming through New York and staying with me.

And somehow I didn't expect to love all these things as much as I do. I thought I'd come for the summer, regroup and heal a bit, and return to life in Philly. Because, to be honest, the one thing really missing from my life in NYC is my friends that don't live here. And I miss them. A lot. Somehow I thought that one year later, I wouldn't still have those moments where I missed my friends so much that it hurt. But I do. And somehow I can't reconcile all of that with how much I love New York.

I told Adam about some of this the other night, and he said, "But Anne, it takes time to make good friends. You haven't given it enough time." I know he's right. But I also know that I left some pretty incredible friends behind, and that friends like that are few and far between. And I don't want to replace them, either, which makes it hard for me to think about making new friends like that here. And then again, maybe I'm just thinking about this way. too. much.

I saw three of my best Philly friends last weekend. As we sat around the table, I said--
Guys, can you believe I've almost been gone a whole year? Next week will be my one year anniversary of moving to New York!
"One year?!? That's such a long time!"
But you know what? We're still really really good friends. Distance didn't change that. One year didn't change that.

So yeah. I've been in New York for a year. I love my life right now, but I'm still scared about my future. I want to make more new friends, but somehow I feel afraid that to do so would mean losing some of my old ones, and I know for sure I don't want to do that. I wish there were a way to be in New York and Philly (and England and Maryland and Michigan and Virginia and New Hampshire and everywhere else my friends are, for that matter) at the same time. I'm still trying to figure out what it means to be content where I am. I don't know how to be content and still strive for more; how to be content, yet not complacent.

I'd like to say I'm excited about this next year, but I don't know if that'd be true. I have no idea what it's gonna look like, and that scares me. If I've learned one thing this year, it's that I have no idea what my future holds. But that's not the whole truth, either. Because I've also learned that even when my future is uncertain and scary, God is faithful and constant through it all.

So as long as I can remember that throughout this next year, I say-- Bring It On!!

May Fever

It's May 4, and it's cold and rainy outside.

Don't get me wrong, I love the rain. But I also love the sun. I love to be tan. I love to be warm. And I love to wear summery dresses.

I am not tan. I am not warm. And today feels like a perfect day to wear a cozy hoodie.

Spring, where art thou?!?!

Wheat Allergy issues

Last week Gretchen and I set out to find a new NYC coffeeshop. Both of us have dreamed for years of opening our own place, so we feel that doing "market research" like this is an important step.

Yelp (if you don't use this website, you need to!) pointed us in the direction of Birch, a cool coffeshop in the Flatiron neighborhood. It was well into the afternoon, and I hadn't eaten lunch. We noticed an oat bar in the bakery case, and I told Gretchen it looked like it might be wheat-free!

"I'll ask," she offered (she knows that I still get embarrassed when I have to explain my allergy).

"Excuse me," she said to the man behind the counter. "Does this bar have wheat in it?"

He looked at her with a look of shock and horror. This is why I hate having to ask about ingredients, I thought. Then he looked at me, amazement still written all over his face.

He took a deep breath. "Does it.... does it have weed in it??"

"WHHHHeaTTT," Gretchen clarified. "She's allergic to wheat!"

Pillow Ponderings

I woke up at 3:04 am this morning. Not because I wasn't tired-- no, I've had trouble waking up after full 10-hour nights of sleep lately. So why, why did I wake up three hours and forty-five minutes before I needed to get up for work?

Because I was feeling anxious. So many thoughts running through my brain; I think they must have been running through my dreams, too, until I finally woke myself up to give them my full attention. Brilliant. Just what I was hoping for-- giving these problems my full attention at 3:04 in the morning. Not.

Lord, I need sleep. Please let me sleep. Please work all these things out. Help me not to be anxious. "Cast your cares on him, for he cares for you." Please take them, and don't let me worry. Why do I struggle to trust you? Why do I struggle to let go? Why don't I think you'll really take over and work things out for me?

I groggily tried to recall Bible verses that would soothe my anxiety.

"And his steadfast love endures forever."
But it doesn't always feel that way.
"And his steadfast love endures forever."
But it's hard anyway sometimes.
"And his steadfast love endures forever."
But that doesn't mean it's all going to work out like I want it to.
"And his steadfast love endures forever."
"And his steadfast love endures forever."
"And his steadfast love endures forever."

I'm not the only one who's struggled, who's doubted. I read this on my way to work this morning: "Lord, where is your steadfast love of old, which by your faithfulness you swore to David?" (Ps. 89:49).

It doesn't mean the steadfast love isn't always there; it just means sometimes it's harder to see it.

"Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days" (Ps. 90:14).

Yes, please, Lord. Satisfy me with your steadfast love-- deep satisfaction that drowns out any feelings of fear and anxiety and doubt.

"And his steadfast love endures forever."

Post-Wedding Letdown

I spent a whole weekend with some of my favorite people in the world. And I met new favorite people in the world. And now I'm back in New York-- back to work, back to reality. And I miss these favorite people. I miss the excitement of the upcoming wedding and seeing everyone work together to make this huge celebration happen.

I wish I were back at the rehearsal dinner mingling with people I hadn't seen in ages and meeting people I'd never met before. Or back in the bridal dressing room toasting and crying and praying with Ellen. Or back at the reception cheering Tim on before his best man speech. Or back on the dance floor dancing to "Numa Numa" (Best Song Ever, by the way). Or back at Vintage 50 after the wedding laughing, telling stories, and laughing some more. Or back in the Wendy's parking lot watching the guys try to go through the drive-thru sans car (and getting rejected). Or hanging out in the hotel lobby wondering how much the hotel receptionist hated us.

But weddings can't last forever, and I'm back in New York. And back to work.

I still remember when Steve got home from one of his college friend's weddings a couple years ago, and he was so sad. "It was just so much fun. And now it's.... over," he said.

That's how I feel. It's not that I don't still love New York. It's just that the weekend was so much fun, and now it's over. So much preparation and then BAM! and it's over. And I don't know when-- or if-- I'll see all these people again.

I guess weddings have to have some downside, right?

Growing Up

I don't want to grow up. But it's getting harder and harder to avoid.

My little brother got married last night.

Beautiful wedding, beautiful bride. And I haven't seen Steve smile that big since, well.... um.... yeah, I've never seen him smile that big.

Growing up. It comes with some growing pains, of course; but it can also be pretty amazing.

Wake Up Call

I set my alarm to go off around 8am on Sunday to be sure I'd get to church on time. I woke up at noon-- just as the first service was ending. Good thing there's an afternoon service and I wasn't meeting anyone this morning.

Ellen was coming over for breakfast on Monday morning. Wake me up if you don't hear from me by 8:45-- I told Gretchen-- I feel like something's wrong with my alarm. Gretchen woke me up at 9:15. I'd slept through two alarms.

"See you tomorrow; we open together!" Anjuli told me as she was leaving work Monday afternoon.
Anjuli, I'm nervous-- I told her-- I keep sleeping through my alarms!
"Do you want me to call you?"
Um.....
"I'll call you. Or text you. What time do you need to be up to get here on time?"
6:30....
"Perfect. That's when I leave. I'll text you when I leave my apartment."

I told Gretchen about my alarm-backup-plan when I got home. "I'm confused, though," she said. "Why is Anjuli calling you?"
She's opening.
"No she's not. Adam is."
Oops.

So Gretchen texted the appropriate people, and I set four alarms to be sure I'd wake up in time this morning. No, that's not an exaggeration. One at 6:40, one at 6:45, one at 6:46, and one at 6:47. One of these has to go off.

I woke up at 6:05-- long before any of my alarms had gone off. I hopped in the shower. When I checked my phone a bit after 6:30, Adam had texted:

Wake up!
Boggle!
(It's a tradition on slow mornings when we open together that we get to play this favorite game.)

A few minutes later Anjuli also texted to make sure I'd woken up.

Turns out I didn't need their alarm-abilities, but it sure was a more fun way to wake up to than the "Marimba" setting on my phone!

A Time to Work, and a Time to Think

I had three days off in a row this weekend.

Come to find out, I don't do well with time off.

One day into it, and I was ready to go back to work.

The problem with having time off is there's just so much time to think.

And think.

And think some more.

Like today.... I went all the way until 6:30pm without talking to a single person. Not because I was alone, but because I was by myself-- even though surrounded by people.

So I had lots of time to think. About what I'm doing in NYC. About how much I love it here. About what I miss about living in the 'burbs. About whether or not it's okay for me to keep working the jobs I work. About what people think of the fact that I'm almost 30, have my MA, and am a waitress. About how people don't understand how I just don't want a typical career. About how most people don't quite get "from whence I came" when I moved here to take a break. About how I'm really scared of finding myself back there. About what to do with my house. About whether or not I'm a failure for leaving Philly. About how I need to stop thinking so much.

I work tomorrow. In fact, I'll be working for the next six days.

I think that's a good thing.

Just Sayin'

I don't really have anything to write about. It's another case of "so much in my head that nothing is ready to be written."

But people keep asking me how I am, so I just want to check in with my blog readers to let you know that I'm doing well. And thank you for asking and for caring and for praying.

I'm doing really well. I have a peace that I haven't had in what feels like ages. I feel that people are praying, and that's a good place to be.

I am happy. Not just the "happy because today was a good day" kind of happy, but the "I have joy in my heart" kind of happy. Even when things are hard, which they have been in the last month.

God is good.

I haven't always felt that way, even though it's always been that way.

Anticipating V-Day

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. I feel like a traitor to my fellow singles, but I have to admit that I don't hate Valentine's Day as much as I think I'm supposed to.

Don't get me wrong... I wish I had a Valentine for tomorrow. But let's be honest, I also wish I had a Valentine for February 15 and 16 and 17 and March 14 and 15 and 16 and July 23 and August 18 and... well, every day really.

I like Valentine's Day partly because I like all holidays. But I also like that it's a whole day where people get mushy and sentimental. And as much as they whine about it, I like to think that couples appreciate the excuse to tell each other how much they love the other person. Yes, they should tell each other that all year round. But tomorrow? Everything around them will remind them to tell the person most important to them exactly that. No excuses now! I like that little kids give each other Valentine cards. I like that Alice's has all these "Valentine"-themed scones and cupcakes and Valentines hanging up on the walls and windows. I like that for one day the majority of people celebrate love instead of making snide and cynical remarks about it.

Maybe it'd be more accurate to say I have a love-hate relationship with Valentine's Day. Because I love it so much, I hate that I can't participate in it fully. And maybe, in reality, this is why my fellow singles also hate the day.

So to all those who will have a Valentine tomorrow, please enjoy it to its fullest extent on behalf of those of us who can't.

Please don't call it a Hallmark holiday. Please don't complain about having to take your significant other out for dinner or having to buy them a gift. Please don't skip buying flowers just because they're marked up a little since it's a certain day in February.

Embrace the day-- embrace the excuse to tell the person you love the most in the world all the reasons you love them, all the reasons they are worth the price-increase on those flowers. Embrace the person you love.

It's a pretty special day. And I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty jealous of you right now.

In my weakness, Lord make me strong

"You doin' okay?" asked my friend Adam as we walked to the memorial/funeral fund-raiser event for Christofer last night.

I think so.... I mean, sort of. But I'm nervous-- I feel like I haven't dealt with it yet; I keep thinking it's a joke. And I'm scared it's going to hit me as soon as I'm standing in that room surrounded by all those other people.

"You're right. I think it'll hit you because it'll have hit all those other people; and we won't be able to deny it anymore."

Ugh. I'm not looking forward to this.

"Here, hold my hand."

And Adam reached out and took my hand and didn't let go until we'd walked through the front door and through the crowd of people that stood there unsure of whether to smile, hug, cry, or laugh (so we just did all of those things).

Conversations last night went kind of like this--
"Hey. How are you?"
"You know..."
"Yeah."
"How are you?"
"Yep."
"Yeah."
"Mmhmm."
And then the tears would start.

Eventually we worked our way upstairs. No small task. There were so many people. And it was so overwhelming. People gave tributes to him-- in front of the whole crowd, yes; but also in small groups just to each other. Framed pictures of him lined the tables around the restaurant. Christofer laughing. Christofer dancing. Christofer surrounded by friends. Just like Christofer always was.

It wasn't hard for him to be surrounded by friends all the time, because even if you started out strangers, he'd soon make sure you were friends. The first time I ever met him, he stuck out his hand and said "I'm Chris with an F; what's your name?" and then let out the laugh that made you smile despite yourself-- the laugh we all loved so much.

He trained me to be a barista a Chapter 2. He made sure that we tried all the drinks we made (it's the only Alice's location that has a full bar), and we joked and laughed our way through the shift until it was over-- what felt like twenty minutes later, though it'd really been several hours.

He trained me to be a server at Chapter 3. He danced, he sang, and he taught me how to make sure that everyone who walked through the door felt like they were visiting a friend's home-- because that's how he treated everyone, and that's the experience he always wanted Alice's customers to have.

He trained me to be part of the Alice's family. I didn't realize it at the time, but that's what he was doing by welcoming me into his life and wanting to be a part of mine. As I stood there last night, crammed so tightly with other people it was hard not to feel claustrophobic, all I could think was this is a guy who touched the lives of everyone he came into contact with. And that's what it means to be a part of a family. You don't just live next to them; you live life with them. You care deeply about them. You laugh with them; you cry with them. You dance with them; you work your butt off with them. You disagree about stuff, sure; but you also love them hard.

Tonight I watched youtube videos that Christofer and his roommates had made (they choreographed music videos for a couple songs), and I smiled and laughed-- until I cried. But not the laugh-til-you-cry kind of tears; it was the laugh-until-you-realize-he's-gone kind of tears. Not surprisingly, that kind's not as much fun.

A good friend wrote me an email letting me know of her love and prayers. But she also spoke into my Alice's family and the grief journey that we've all now embarked on together. She wrote,

If there is one thing that tragedy accomplishes it is this: through all this, an irrevocable, and incredible intimate bond has already been created between you all--- you have gone from co-workers to a suffering (and consoling!) family. You will never be the same. These will be friends for life... through this confusing and tragic and heart-wrenching circumstance, God is binding you all together in a way which would never have happened otherwise. So, love on each other. You need one another. And you, Anne, can be strong and weak all in one. Grieve and be confused, but also talk to God--- cry on His shoulder and ask him in the brokenness of the child that you are--- "God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others."

I'm not gonna lie. I don't really want to be on this journey right now. I'm sad and confused and overwhelmed. And I am not alone. That's good and bad. My family is hurting, and that makes me hurt worse. I think we were all hoping Christofer would show up last night when his friends were gathered and let us in on this big joke he'd played. But it didn't happen. Instead, I heard someone say that she was one of the people that had to identify his body. There's no prank to be exposed. This is really happening.

So I'd better start dealing with it.

"God calls us to trust before we understand," my dad said to me tonight. It's a good thing I don't have to do both right now.

God, I don't understand but I need you. I know that much. We need you. Love us. Let me know your love and consolation and let me in turn be your love and consolation to others.

Still waiting....

I feel like I can't grieve because I'm still in that limbo state. Still waiting for my phone to ring and end this stupid joke. Who pretends that they're dead, anyway?

You may have played the most hilarious pranks, Christofer; but this one's not funny.

I don't believe he's gone. I don't believe this isn't another crazy adventure of his-- like when he got himself stuck in Cuba a couple weeks ago. I just want my phone to ring and for someone to tell me that the joke is over.

And then maybe I can begin to sort through all the emotions I'm feeling right now.

Phone, please ring.

I keep thinking my phone's gonna ring and the person on the other end will be laughing/crying so hard I'll barely be able to understand what they're saying. They'll be laughing out of relief that the whole thing was a joke, but crying because they're feeling such a confusing mixture of anger and relief that they don't know what to do with themselves. It'll be hard to understand what they're saying, but the gist of it will be this: Christofer, the ultimate prankster who loved to laugh more than anyone I've ever known, didn't really die; he just played the Best Prank on all of us.

I keep waiting for that phone call, but it's been a few days and it hasn't come yet.

I was at our winter retreat for Kids With A Promise this weekend when I got a text from one of my managers at Alice's. "If any of you need to talk," it read, "I'm here for you. I love you all."

That's sweet of her was my first reaction.
That's not a normal text was my second reaction.
Something's wrong was my third, and more panicked, reaction.

I texted Gretchen and asked if something was wrong at Alice's. She wrote back, "Yes, but I didn't want to worry you; I know you have a lot on your plate this weekend that you need to focus on."

Too late. I'm already worried. What's going on??? -- I texted back.

"Christofer fell out of a window and passed away at 5:30 this morning. That's all we know right now."

Passed away? Something's wrong here. That's not possible. I just saw him on Tuesday, and we were laughing and joking and he was dancing and making fun of me and entertaining everyone around us. No. Something's wrong. Maybe he fell, but he must have just broken something.

But it was there in the text-- "passed away at 5:30 this morning"-- like they knew for sure. Like it wasn't open for debate anymore. Like there's no chance that maybe he'll be okay and this'll just be one of those really close calls that make us so thankful we still have him.

It wasn't that sort of text at all.

So I'm back in the city now, and we're all trying to make sense of this together. "It's so silly and senseless; it just makes me so angry," one of my friends texted me. "I just want to understand why it happened, and it doesn't make sense," said another.

I want to tell you that I understand why it happened, but I don't know either.

I'm clinging to the fact that God is good, even when things don't make sense to us. And this, for sure, doesn't make sense to me.

It doesn't help that I haven't quite yet grasped that this is real. I'm still waiting for that phone call telling me that Christofer just played the most elaborate prank on us that he could think of.

The Joy of the Cheek Cramp

I'd never heard of a cheek cramp before I met Betsie. In fact, to be honest, I actually mocked Betsie during college when she used to collapse on the bed laughing, holding her cheek, and squealing "Cheek cramp! Cheek cramp!"

And then one day, I got one too. I don't remember exactly what brought it on, but I'm pretty sure it was Betsie's fault.

This weekend I made my way to New Hampshire to celebrate Betsie's 30th birthday (it's not til next week, but this was as close as I could get). We've been friends for over a decade now-- am I really getting that old?! -- and we still laugh until the cheek cramps come.

If you haven't experienced a cheek cramp yet, don't think I'm crazy. Just know that it means you have not yet laughed hard enough.

I recommend remedying that, and as soon as possible.

:)

Can't Fight the Fire

"When you're a writer, you just can't turn it off," said Ryan, a poet/waiter that I work with at Alice's. "It's not always a good thing; but you can't turn it off even when you want to."

I found myself nodding in agreement.

I write all the time in my head. Sometimes it's to my detriment.... Like today when the homeless guy started pontificating about my great rainboots (I mean, he was right... I just got them, and they are pretty amazing, but still...) and I couldn't bring myself to walk away because all I could think about was writing about this bizarre conversation.

So yeah, I agree with Ryan. If you're a writer, you can't turn it off- it's just a part of who you are.

I'm finally beginning to embrace this about myself.

You've Found Home

"How's the new place?" asked Julianna yesterday. (It's been the Most Popular Question since our move last week.)
I love it.
"That's great! Is it cozy?"
So cozy. The only problem is.... I never want to leave it. I just love being there; it's hard to psych myself up to leave for work!
"Sounds like you've found home."
Yeah, I think I have. And I've been looking for it for a while. It feels pretty amazing.

I (heart) NY

It's famous now. The "I (heart) NY" t-shirts are everywhere you look at tourist traps around the city.

It's an easy way to tell tourists from residents: if they're wearing such a t-shirt, they're definitely from out of town.

I'm not a tourist anymore. But I saw a store full of those shirts the other day, and all I could think was "I (heart) NY, too!"

I love the hustle and bustle on the sidewalks.
I love that the public transportation is amazing.
I love that you can walk down the same block everyday for a month and still find new places you hadn't noticed before.
I love that I encounter people from all over the world here.
I love that friends are always excited to make NYC their destination.
I love that cultures collide right here in this city.
I love that my new apartment is three blocks from Central Park and that, if I wanted to, I could lose myself in the park and forget that I even live in one of the biggest cities in the world.
I love that I live in one of the biggest cities in the world.
I love that I don't want to forget that I live in one of the biggest cities in the world.
I love that my brothers live in and near New York.
I love that the NYC radio stations are the same ones I grew up listening to (how are those DJs still around?!).
I love that I will never be able to explore every nook and cranny of this city.

So yeah. I'm not a tourist anymore. But I (heart) NY too.

Bienvenue a The Chateau!

Here are a few photos of our new place to hold you over til you come visit us in person!!



After climbing five flights of stairs to the sixth floor, you'll be especially thankful to reach this resting place at the top-- now affectionately known as "The Chateau"!









My new room (so small, yet also really cozy and great). Great sign, right? :)









Our living room! Perfect for entertaining, which we've already had the privilege of doing multiple times in the five days we've been here!!!









Hopefully that whet your appetite to see it in person! Please come visit us at The Chateau soon!!

The Extravamovinganza

I'm sitting at our dining room table-- listening to Chopin and basking in the sweet memories of yesterday. Is it really possible for Moving Day to be fun?! Yesterday was-- yet another reminder of God's goodness to us throughout this whole moving process.

Our moving team showed up just after 9am. We had to move on a Friday, so we were worried about finding enough people to help us. But Steve was off that day, Ellen and Tim took off, three of the bussers from Alice's agreed to help, Josh came over, Alex took off work and came down from Connecticut, Candice and Chris used one of their vacation days and came up from Philly, and Chris was working from home and came over to join the crew as they carried our belongings up six flights of stairs.

"I've never seen such a big moving team," Alex said to me. "You are really lucky.... really blessed."

Yes, blessed. Not only did this team show up, but they were beasts about moving! The truck was packed in an hour. An hour!! Josh even had time to count the many many china plates that were lining the staircase (over 580! and yes, we had to take down the ones that were low enough to be affected by the furniture....). Ellen stayed behind and helped me clean the apartment and put the plates back in place, while Gretchen and Steve drove the truck-- with the stuff and the helpers in the back!-- over to Manhattan. Just as Ellen and I were finishing up, Tim called--

"I don't see a moving truck yet; where are you guys?"
Oh! They should be there soon; they left here about twenty minutes ago.
"Wait, where are you?"
Ellen and I are cleaning the apartment; we'll be over as soon as we finished.
"Wait. What? I'm in Brooklyn. You guys are done already?!"

And so Tim drove Ellen and me over to Manhattan. We got there just as they opened the back of the moving truck (turns out it takes a while to drive a 24' truck through Manhattan!). And the amazingness began. Correction: the amazingness continued.

I'm not sure how no one passed out after making all those trips to and from the sixth floor (no, there isn't an elevator). I'm not sure how everyone stayed good-natured. And I'm really not sure how they managed to get that leather couch (yes, the one we'd claimed from the Brooklyn sidewalk back in August) into our apartment. But I do know this: I could not have asked for a better moving team.

1:22pm, and we were finished. Completely finished. They'd unloaded everything into the lobby and then brought it up to the sixth floor. Once it was into the lobby, Gretchen took the truck back. By the time she made it back to the apartment, everything was inside and we'd already rearranged the furniture at least six times trying to find the optimal layout. We thought we were going to have to lose the futon, but we finally found a way to make it all fit. The guys assembled our beds, moved furniture around in our rooms to make sure we could fit everything, and provided comic relief throughout the whole process.

For dinner, we walked downstairs to Joy Burger Bar-- which is a) just below us and b) possibly the best burger joint I've ever been to (translation: deadly)-- and ordered burgers to bring back upstairs. A few more friends joined us, and we spent the evening hanging out, laughing, and watching Social Network.

I didn't know Moving Day could be fun, but it was. At one point I was so exhausted that I excused myself to lay down for a half hour. But after ten minutes I gave up-- not because I wasn't tired, but because I could hear everyone having fun in the living room and I didn't want to miss out!

So this morning, I am still tired. But I am also still happy. As we drank coffee at our dining room table this morning, Gretchen said "I just can't get over how good God is to us." And that's exactly it-- from start to finish in this whole (what could have been awful) moving process, God has guided, directed, and provided for each detail. We have an apartment now that we can use for showing hospitality to others-- for sharing the love that Jesus has shown to us.

To whom much is given, much will be required.

So here goes! Lord, you have given us much. So, so much. Help us to bless others as you have blessed us.

How Sweet It's Been

When you walk across the Brooklyn Bridge (which is probably one of my favorite things to do in NYC), you'll be greeted by a sign that says "Welcome to Brooklyn. How Sweet It Is." It's Brooklyn's motto, and it made me smile all sorts of smiles when I first moved here just eight months ago (just?? has it really been eight months?!?!).

But tonight I came "home to Brooklyn" for the last time. My room is almost all packed; I am sitting on the edge of my bed, surrounded by boxes and suitcases and a little pile of the last-minute things I'll need tonight or tomorrow morning. Tomorrow I am moving to Manhattan.

Ever since I was little, I've wanted to live in New York City. When I moved to Brooklyn, I told my brother "It's cool; I mean, it's kind of New York City. But I can't help but feel like I'm so close and yet still so far away from living my dream." Well, here it is. A dream come true. Literally. I'm pretty psyched.

But don't get me wrong. Brooklyn has, indeed, been sweet. This Pumpkin has grown a lot in Brooklyn. It's been a bit of the painful kind of growth (ah, growing pains....) but also a bit of the fun kind of growing-- like when you ride a bike for the first time or learn to tie your shoes and have inklings of So this is what it's like to be a grown-up even though you're really still young and have so much more growing to do.

I'll come back to visit this borough. I have to-- the Best Coffee on Earth is sold at a store in Cobble Hill, just a few blocks from our current apartment (and we could only buy so much today to take with us). And the Promenade will forever be one of my favorite spots from which I can see the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty while walking by the water. Yes, Brooklyn has it's charming spots, which I fully intend to visit again.

I never would have guessed that I'd live in Brooklyn. But I'm glad I did.

Goodbye Brooklyn. How Sweet It's Been.

Uprooting the Pumpkin

I took the pictures off my wall tonight. For the second time this week.....

See, I started to take them down a few days ago; but I don't do well with bare walls. So I put them back up. I know, I know. I broke a cardinal rule of packing-- don't unpack anything. And never, ever put things back up on the walls. But I just couldn't help myself.

I'm leaving my curtains up though. Ostensibly it's so that the sunlight doesn't wake me up too early tomorrow morning. But really we all know the sun doesn't come up that early in the winter. I'm enjoying that one splash of color that's left in my room.

Almost all my boxes are packed. I just have the few "Miscellaneous" boxes waiting for the odds and ends that didn't find a different home. I'm excited for this move-- so excited, in fact, that I've had trouble sleeping the past few nights even though I'm absolutely exhausted (Note to self: Never work eleven days in a row leading right up to a move).

And even though I always hate taking pictures off my walls when I move, I can't wait to hang pictures in my new Manhattan apartment!

"So" what?

"Now Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus. So when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he stayed two days longer in the place where he was" (John 11:5-6).

It must be a typo. Mary and Martha were probably waiting impatiently for Jesus to get there and heal their brother. If Jesus really loved them, he would have rushed to Lazarus and made him better. He wouldn't have let him die; he wouldn't have let Mary and Martha go through the grief of losing their brother. It should say "he loved them... but when he heard that Lazarus was ill, he had to stay two days longer even though he tried his best to get to Lazarus immediately."

Not only is it not a typo, but it also tells me a lot about my own relationship with Jesus. The "so" is important because it tells me that Jesus knew what he was doing, and he knew what was best. His love isn't separate from his delay in going to them; it's the cause behind it.

How often do I doubt God's love because I don't understand his timing?

And yet, here is a reminder that we don't need to understand; we just need to trust. I just need to trust-- "Now Jesus loved Anne Davies, so he waited to answer her prayer..." Jesus doesn't do things by accident. He doesn't make us wait because he doesn't have time to help us. He makes us wait because he loves us and has a better plan for us than we could have come up with on our own-- because he loves us more deeply than we can imagine or even begin to understand.

I hope pumpkins grow in Manhattan, too!

1567 Lexington Avenue. New York, New York.

Ah, the city so nice they named it twice. I've always wanted to live there. And now I get my chance!!

If you're a faithful blog reader, you know that we "randomly" heard that our dream apartment was available again after we thought we'd lost it. You also know that there were several hurdles for us to overcome to make it all work out. It's been clear in the past month that God had a plan for Gretchen and me to move to this apartment; there's no way all the details could have fallen into place the way they did otherwise. Hurdle after hurdle; solution and provision after solution. Here's a bit of what's been going on in the weeks leading up to now....

Almost every apartment we saw had a broker fee attached to it (this can be 10-15% of the annual rent!) in addition to first month's rent and the security deposit. // This apartment was advertised by the couple moving out; they'd made an arrangement with the leasing agency that they could break their lease early if they found someone to take over the apartment. For whoever took it, this also meant no broker fee.

We saw the apartment and fell in love with it. // The married couple that was looking at it at the same time said they wanted it too, and the leasing agency decided to give them first dibs.

We decided not to look anymore, at least until after the holidays. A week before Christmas, the current tenant emailed me and said the other couple decided to take a different apartment, that Gretchen and I could have it if we wanted. It was available January 1 (a mere two weeks later). // We wanted it, but agreed there was no way we could find people to take our spots in our current apartment and move in two weeks. Especially since both of us were going away for Christmas.

We asked him if he would consider letting us move in January 15 instead. // He said no, he really needed someone in there on January 1.

I told him to please keep us in mind if he couldn't find anyone because we'd really loved it. // He emailed back and said "If you guys are that definite, let's just go for the January 15 date; we'll make it work from our end."

I told Debbie that we had found a place and that we'd be moving out just three and a half weeks from then. // She felt overwhelmed by the thought of finding two new roommates, and in such a short amount of time. I promised to do any legwork I could to help find people (we expressed to her that we didn't want to leave her in the lurch and that we were determined to help find replacements as well).

On Christmas Day, I posted the ad on Craigslist. My thought was to put it up there kind of as a trial run and then to post it again after people would be back on their computers following the holiday. // My email started blowing up. Within the first five hours of posting it, I had received at least ten emails, about 8 of which were extremely promising!

I gave Debbie the update when I got back to Brooklyn the day after Christmas. She felt a lot better, too, to hear that there was so much interest; and we started making plans for when potential roommates could come see the apartment. // By the following Wednesday (just four days after I posted the ad), we had two women lined up to take the rooms!

We were hoping to move on a Saturday so all our strong (guy) friends could help us, but we were told that we had to move Monday-Friday, between 9am-4pm. // Steve has off work that Friday, Tim took off, and several of our other friends are making sacrifices to help as well! Even some of the busers from Alice's are helping us before they go into work that day!

And then there are the "stupid" little details (I am glad to know God cares about the details of my life as well; not just the "big" things) -- we don't have a dining room table. // They are leaving one there. It's going to get really hot on the sixth floor. // They are leaving us two air conditioners.

Now I have to pack. I was proud of myself because I started already, but everyone assures me that having five boxes packed five days before the move doesn't mean I'm ahead of the game. I should probably get going on that.

So the pumpkin patch is moving from Brooklyn to Manhattan. I'm pretty sure this pumpkin will keep growing there, too.

New Year's Resolutions

New Year's Day. Time to think about goals for the brand new year, obviously. You know, New Year's Resolutions. Everyone has them-- even if it's just resolving not to make any.

I've been trying to think of resolutions I can make that I'll actually be sure to keep, but it hasn't been very easy. Am I really that bad at following through on stuff? But it's more that I'm learning exactly how much I can't control the future. I think through things I'd like to do or not do this upcoming year, but almost immediately I realize how difficult (or impossible, depending) it would be follow through completely. (Side note: don't get me wrong; I think it's both good and important to set goals and work towards them. I just mean those resolutions that you're SURE you'll accomplish and will just be disappointed with yourself next December 31 when you realize you haven't. Hopefully that distinction makes sense....)

I'm not gonna lie, it was kind of depressing to think about all the things I would like to do/not do and then to realize how unlikely it is that I would do so successfully. Are there any things I could resolve to do that I'd be guaranteed to accomplish?? Adding "by the grace of God" to the end of each helps, but even that emphasizes how unlikely it is that I'll actually follow through completely.

As I thought about that, I realized that the only real guarantee is God, and that he is the only one who could ever perfectly keep his New Year's Resolutions. So I started to imagine what some of his resolutions toward me would be. It was pretty encouraging to my heart, so I'll share some of them with you here....
- I will love you even when you behave in an unloveable way.
- I will take care of you and provide what you need.
- I will do the best possible thing for you at all times, even when you don't understand how it's best.
- I will never leave you nor forsake you. Even if you feel lonely, I will be there at all times.
- I will give you good things, because it makes me happy to do so.
- I will use you to bring glory to my name. I will let you have the privilege of helping carry out my plans.
- I will listen when you talk to me.
- I will care deeply for everything that you care about-- whether it is big or small, major or seemingly insignificant.
- I will show you what to do when you are confused. I will guide you through all the uncertainties of life, and I will not lead you astray.
- I will talk to you when you listen for me.
- I will give you joy and peace as you trust in me.

Pretty impressive, right? I couldn't hope to make good on any of those if I tried to promise them to someone else. But the best part? God can't NOT keep these resolutions, because he's promised them and he can't lie. And he's been doing them for all of time, so it's a sure thing that he'll keep doing them in 2011, too.

Happy New Year!