An[ne] Updo

Anne Shirley is one of my favorite people.

She’s spunky, imaginative, and has one of the best crops of red hair ever.

I was watching Anne of Avonlea a few weeks ago, and spent the entire 4 hour movie in a focused study of her head, mesmerized by her hairstyles. I regret nothing. She is my inspiration for all fashion pursuits. So, I tried to come up with something that would resemble the period fashion and be relatively easy to replicate. And here’s what I got:

Not bad. Easy to replicate – not necessarily. It looks a bit different each time I try, but it’s not actually hard to put together, so I’m okay with that.

And I’d like to tell you how I do it! So you may have big-hair bliss as well.

Pre-game step: Get this stuff together

Hairspray, bobby pins, teasing comb, jumbo clip. So fancy, I know. You can ignore everything else in the picture.

Step 1. Volumize

A lot of people have told me they love my hair – “It has so much volume!” – Sadly, this is not entirely its own doing. It is naturally thick, but the real voluminous secret is my teasing comb and a can of hairspray. One of my college roommates taught me the magical secret of hairspray, teasing combs, and the self-confidence it takes to rock that big hair style (Thanks, Mary. Love ya, girl.). She had a magnet on our refrigerator which read, “I’m only as strong as the coffee I drink and the hairspray I use.”

If that quote were in the Bible, it would be my life verse.

But seriously, I love big hair so much, I should have been a child of the 80s. Or least a time period where it was socially acceptable to appear in public looking like this:

Look at her hair. LOOK AT IT.

Gorgeous.

So, the key to this particular hairstyle is volume, ergo teasing.

Tease it, girl.

Tease that hair ‘til it’s full of secrets.

If you don’t know how to tease your hair, here’s a great tutorial on the least damaging way to do it.

Step 2. Pin it

After my hair looks like I stuck my finger in a socket or I’m an extra on the set of the music video for Thriller, I take two small sections from the front near my face and pin them back like I would for the kind of half-up style a girl depends on when she wants to wear it down, but her hair won’t stop falling in her face.

It doesn’t have to be much, just enough to add some poof in the front.

Step 3. Braid.

At this point, it just looks like I have a mullet. We’re advancing a decade at a time here, people. But that’s okay, cause it’s not finished yet.

Next, gather ALL of the rest of your hair and make like Willow Smith, but in one direction, not two. Whip yours upside down and separate the hopelessness into three sections, to braid with the help of gravity. It’s a bit awkward, but practice is good.

Step 4. Secure and spray.

Right yourself, and (still holding on to the end of the braid) secure the middle area of the braid with some bobby pins to the back of your head. I usually do this near the pins from the earlier step. Tuck the remainder of the braid underneath itself, randomly stick in some more bobby pins, and spray the whole contraption until your hair feels like a piece of plastic.

Voila! Success. Hopefully.

I know that this will probably be hard to follow without demonstration pictures, but aint nobody got time to take pictures of the process while it’s in process. Or enough hands.

Translation – I’m too lazy.

Have fun!

Gypsy blood

Today was an idyllic day, and I refused to waste it. Perusing my closest, I selected the trifecta of fall fashion - sweater, skirt, and scarf - and drove to the nearest coffee shop with my Bible, journal, and pen in hand. A steaming hot cup of black coffee and a pane glass window next to busy Monday traffic completed the scene for this hipster-happy moment, where I whiled away my time for hours in absolute bliss.

October.
The month of perfectly gloomy weather, golden trees, and gypsy souls, floating away on dreams like leaves in the wind.

I love summer equally, if not more, than the next person. The splendid summer sun, warm wind, and freedom it brings makes my heart sing and dance.
But there is a certain quality about fall which grips my mind in the best way. The burning passion of colored leaves displayed against the somber grays of cloudy days and rain-swept mornings plunges my thoughts into swirling nonsense and pensive, wandering dreams.  The exuberance of summer is child-like, but the flavor of autumn is age, wisdom, and reflection.

I'd rather the eaves be littered with leaves
     dripping with tears fell'd from heaven.
My soul breathes a sigh, the thunders reply,
     my whimsy and daydreams in tension.

There is something desperately romantic to me about traveling on an autumn day with only one's thoughts for company, staring out the window of a train or a coffeehouse, pondering everything and nothing. You greet a stranger, smile at a child, holding this great secret inside your heart all the while - the secret of yourself, your past, your life, your joys, sorrows, and story.
The definition of a gypsy is a "member of a traveling people." Breathing deeply of this crisp, tangy air awakens the wanderlust and passion for travel in every fiber of my being and calls to the gypsy blood rushing through my quickening heart.

I want to go.
I want to do.
I want to be.

But October chill lulls me to sleep, warmed only by dreams ablaze with October leaves.

Doing nothing is rather hard to do

Unemployment.

It's awkward, let's be real.
Interesting things happen when you're by yourself with not much going on and apparently no purpose in life.

Thankfully, orientation starts on Monday and I will happily depart the world of the jobless with scraps of my sanity still intact, but before I do, I wanted to leave behind this list of reasons why unemployment is the worst. Read it, and be encouraged that no matter what happens to you, at least you don't talk to strangers about cheese.

The Unemployment Effect:

#1. The Facebook Background
     I think I set world records for how many times a person can check Facebook in one hour. If someone had changed my desktop background to a screenshot of the Facebook homepage, it wouldn’t have increased how many times I saw it every day. With my homepage constantly on standby in the background of my life, I would jump on each new notification like a female college freshman on a jar of Nutella, then impatiently sit and stare at the screen, waiting for a socially acceptable amount of time to pass before responding. After all, it simply wouldn’t do to be answering all queries with 10 seconds of the time they were posted… people might get suspicious.

#2. Loose Connections
     Spending a lot of time at home by myself led to some interesting consequences. In addition to a decline of passable social skills and inability to sustain a decent conversation, my thoughts started leaking their way out into my words. Normally this wouldn’t be too much of an issue, but my thoughts are rarely complete, coherent sentences. They run more along the lines of, “So that’s why this but the door was oh but it doesn’t matter because well it’s not too important anyway and the dog needs the internet for the next couple hours.”

#3. The Cheese Factor
     I mentioned that decline of passable social skills, right? I denied this particular side effect for a long time, but even I had to admit things were going downhill after a conversation I had two weeks ago, when the
words “I love cheese” escaped my lips. Not simply “I like cheese” or even “cheese adds a certain taste palette to various foods which I find rather enjoyable.” No. With enthusiasm, I proclaimed my undying love for cheese and proceeded to discuss with a near-stranger how each type is just as good as the others.
Needless to say, I was horrified later when I realized this person probably now knows me as “that cheese girl.”

#4. Siren Sweatpants
     I’m pretty sure that in the beginning, when God declared it was not good for man to be alone, he also muttered under his breath that it is not good for April Ether to wear sweatpants all day long. Moses just didn’t catch that part, I guess. The siren call from those heavenly garments of flexibility and sweet-baby-angel kissed soft fabric may be almost irresistible, but to quote Admiral Akbar, “IT’S A TRAP.” When it became necessary to leave the house (and actually look somewhat like a normally functioning human being), my body protested against the relative torture and confinement of even a pair of jeans. “These are not clothes! This is madness, who came up with this preposterous idea?”
Along that thought, sweatpants quickly become the only pair of pants that fit when a lot of free time and a fully stocked fridge get together and produce the type of food baby which doesn’t go away in a few hours, but crashes on your couch to stay for a month or two.

Of Marriages and Maids [part two]

The seestor is married!

Actually, the seestor was married about a month ago. So why am I just now getting around to writing about it? Simple. There is finally photographic evidence that this event did in fact occur and I was in fact a part of it. Evidence which I will share after some thoughts.

If I learned anything from that weekend, it would be this: weddings will not go according to plan. Rental chairs will not come on time, Christmas lights will uphold their reputation for being notoriously unreliable, everything will run behind schedule, and the bride will need to be sewn into her strapless dress when the 90 degree weather makes the double-stick tape obstinately refuse to do its job. However, while it might not be the wedding everyone had in mind, at the end of the reception when two of the people you love the most run away from the party in a tunnel of heart-shaped sparklers and a rising moon above, everyone will agree that it couldn't have been more perfect.

Em and Chad moved to Colorado about two weeks after the wedding, and they are now happily settling themselves before he starts doctoral classes at the end of the month. I can't wait to visit them as soon as I can afford a plane ticket there! As much as I love my sister, it is not advisable for anyone's mental health to make a 20+ hour car trip in a vehicle with no working stereo system and no one to talk to, so plane it is.

Pure Joy

I sprinted up the driveway, breaths coming hard but steady and even, heart pumping strong with each beat to push life through my body. Heavy black clouds pursued my brother and me as we finished our evening run, and the drizzling rain which came in spurts warned of the downpour to come.

Racing against the storm, we climbed the steps to our porch and, turning around to watch, saw the rain pour out of the sky. As a girl who loves a good thunderstorm, and because I felt the rain needed a consolation prize for losing the chase, I ran out from under my shelter to greet the sheets of water.

I fell down spread-eagle on our driveway, the hard concrete at my back and the grey sky above with the raindrops striking my face like kisses from heaven. Closing my eyes, I breathed deeply and reveled in each sensation, each shred of experience, and the thoughts that came with them. My heart swelled, and I laughed aloud at the thought that life is a gift, and it is so good to be alive. God's power was evident in the wind, his gentleness appeared in the caress of the water on my skin, and I couldn't help but imagine him belly-laughing in heaven along with this child of his who was giggling like a little girl at the fun of getting soaked by the storm. Spirit called out to spirit; his to mine, and we lay in the rain together, as Father and daughter.

I also couldn't help but think that with a different perspective, it might have seemed a miserable and hopeless situation. If you looked at me with a narrow focus, I was there on the ground - wet and cold - with no shelter and no immediate or apparent way of escaping the rain. You would have pitied me and thought it was such a shame I was suffering like that.
But I had a different, broader perspective. I knew my house was right behind me, and I could go in when I was done, the wet and the cold wouldn't last forever. There would be food, a towel, hot tea, and my favorite pair of pajama pants. There was joy ahead, but there was also joy in the moment, made sweet by the knowledge of what was to come.

As a Christian, I should have a different perspective on life, in trials and pain. If I remember what is coming, what is ahead - the reward that Jesus promises and the incredible gift of himself and his unveiled presence when we go home to heaven - what joy that should give me in even the darkest trials and situations of life!
They will become bearable and even sweet in a way when I realize that Jesus is lying next to me on the driveway in the rain, and when it is time to go inside the house, I'll hand him a towel, he'll hand me a cup of tea, and we will rejoice in unhindered fellowship together.

I long for that day when Jesus and I will walk in his back door.

It's a boy!

Except not, because blogs don't have gender.
But I do want to announce that I've started another blog over at aprilether.wordpress.com

Feel free to join me over there if you like - I'll be talking about all sorts of grown-up kinds of things, such as big girl jobs, missions work, and this life of faith in Christ that I am trying to live.

I won't abandon this one. After all, every writer needs a place where he or she can write about platypuses, coffee, and crafting, but it's useful to have two different blogs for two different purposes.

All right then! I'll keep ya posted,

The Barista Confessions, part 2

What's your friendly neighborhood barista to do once she is no longer privileged to work behind the bar?

It's been eleven weeks since I last picked up a portafilter and a tamp or poured my best lopsided rosetta.
Not an extravagantly long period of time - I went without using my barista skills for much longer than that last summer break - but it feels much longer in light of the knowledge that I will not be returning to my favorite coffee-stained tan apron and massive poppa pot fresh brew filters in the fall.

All of the busyness and activity throughout my summer so far has been a distraction from remembering life as it was in McConn, but a few things happened recently that sparked a sudden nostalgia and reflection on my drip brew days.

The first happened about a month ago, when my sister and I ran the Sunburst 5K. If working up enough motivation to run 3.1 miles is difficult enough, it's even harder to do at 6:00 in the morning on a Saturday, and four years of college taught me that coffee is the answer to nearly any question, so I found myself at the closest Starbucks at 5:55 AM. Worried that they might not open in time for me to be caffeinated for this race, I glanced over at the hours of operation.
Open at 6:00 AM.
I stood there awkwardly in the front door, just playing with my phone and keys while I watched the lone employee scramble to get everything ready.
It reminded me of 7:00 AM shifts at McConn. As a happily self-proclaimed morning person, I have worked many opening shifts without complaint. But (and I'm going to be completely honest here, so if you're one of my former customers, please don't take offense) mornings don't often go as planned, and it can be frustrating to have a customer walk up to the register 4 or 5 minutes before the official opening time, pressuring you to be ready when your morning tasks have unexpectedly fallen behind schedule and you're still popping muffins in clamshells rather than putting the last touches on timing the shots.

Standing in the Starbucks that Saturday, I encountered for the first time what it is like to be on the other side of the equation. To be the customer awkwardly waiting for a coffee shop to open, rather than the barista frantically trying to set everything in rights behind the bar. To all my customers - I get it now. Too bad this experience didn't come sooner, so I could "get it" when I was still serving you.
I wanted to tell her I understood. I wanted to reassure her that I know what it's like to be in her position, that I didn't mean to cause her stress by being early. But I didn't. Hopefully, she has also experienced the early-morning coffee crunch, and was forgiving of my minor coffee house faux-pas.

Every spring, McConn holds an end-of-the-year party for all the employees. This party happened back in April, but a friend of mine recently finished editing the pictures she took at the party, and she shared them with us a few days ago, which brought on my second wave of nostalgia. As I scrolled through the smiling faces, I felt a strong longing for the community and friendship we shared. It's one of the best things I have ever had the privilege to be a part of.

Picture by Alicia Wines Photography

Finally, I volunteered last week at Camp Geneva, where I worked over the summer in 2012 as a camp nurse. It was an incredible week, full of friends, God, and lessons, but those are stories for another time. For now, I'll simply say that I was catching up with one of the girls at the end of the week when she mentioned her new job as a barista at Biggby Coffee in Holland. Since these are the barista confessions, I will admit that yes, I felt a twinge of envy at her news.
There are days when I have the crazy, hare-brained idea that I can get it all back. In light of my recent frustrations and discouragement with the job market for brand new graduate nurses, I am sorely tempted to ambush the nearest coffee shop and stiff-arm a copy of my resume to the barista behind the bar saying, "I have two years of coffee experience (one as a manager), and I'm desperate to be back where you are currently standing. HIRE ME."
But there are two reasons I refrain from confusing that poor unsuspecting soul. First, no matter how excellent any other coffee shop may be, it will never be McConn - you can't duplicate that place - and I would be bitterly disappointed by the comparison. Secondly, I recognize that part of my life has ended, and God is leading me to other things. It was good for a time, but now is not that time any longer, and he and I will have different adventures as we move on.

I will most likely never work in a coffee shop again, but espresso will forever run through my veins and I will always claim the title of "barista" just as strongly as I claim the title of "nurse". Nurturing the community of my campus, fueling caffeine addictions, and enriching a customer's day through a smile and a laugh brought me feelings of joy that resonate as clearly in my memory as they did in the moment they came, and I will continue to treasure those experiences.

Read from the beginning: The Barista Confessions, part 1

Of Marriages and Maids [part one]

On December 26, 2012 my sister asked me to be her Maid of Honor.

Well, technically it was December 27, 2012 seeing as she called me at 1:00 in the morning after her fiance proposed. I offered something along the lines of a guttural grunt of consent when she asked me the question, but to be completely honest, I don't remember most of the conversation due to my sleep-induced delirium and may very well have agreed to trade myself in for a goat or become a bondservant for the next seven years. 

Regardless of whether my future liberty is in question, the wedding planning is coming along well, and I couldn't be happier to support my sister in all of her bridal preparations. 

Yesterday completed my first major MOH responsibility - the bridal shower. I am quite possibly a tad bit more than an perfectionist and most definitely a lot more than a overachiever, so my mom and I were busying ourselves for weeks to get ready for the party, keeping my sister in the dark about most of our plans all the while. (After all, shouldn't the bridal shower be a surprise?)

It was more than worth it when everything pulled together that afternoon, and I watched Emily enjoying herself with the friends and family who came to celebrate with her in this exciting new change. After the party was over, she tried her veil on for the first time and I could picture her the way she will be on July 20. It just seemed right somehow, like breathing in a sigh after unconsciously holding your breath for a while.

Nearly 40 people squeezed into our living room to fellowship with our family. We ate fruit and cake, listened to Emily tell stories about Chad (always my favorite part), and played two shower games: the Price is Right, Bridal Edition and a memory game where we hid the bride from sight and the guests had to recall details about what she was wearing during the party. 

And next, of course, came the presents! With 40 people to give gifts, there were so many bags and boxes packed around our feet that we couldn't move, but each one was admired and appreciated with time to spare. 

Frozen lemons in the ice cubes for the lemonade, and mint leaves in the ice cubes for the iced tea

Chocolate Cinnamon fruit dip
(makes approximately 1/2 cup)

1/2 cup vanilla Greek yogurt
2 tbsp. Nutella
1/4 tsp. cinnamon

Mix ingredients together well. Serve immediately or refrigerate until needed.

Honey Vanilla fruit dip

1 cup vanilla Greek yogurt
1/4 cup honey
cinnamon to taste

Mix ingredients together well. Serve immediately or refrigerate until needed.

Bridal shower favors

Friends for 22 years, and favorite sisters for just as long

All of the girls from both families - Mother of the groom, bride, Mother of the bride, and sister of the bride!

Next up on the list: Bachelorette party. 

The 'rette party and my NCLEX exam are in the same week. Here's to hoping I come out the other end alive.

 

Welcome back

Here it is.

My first blog post as a college graduate.
An IWU alumna.
The holder of a Bachelor of Science in Nursing degree.

But not a nurse quite yet. One more monumental obstacle remains.

The NCLEX-RN 2013.
The mother of all nursing exams. The test for which my graduating class has been preparing since we arrived on campus sophomore year, with bright eyes and brighter hopes because we were now NURSING STUDENTS. No other test has even come close. Not Sloan's Crit Care cardio test. Not Reed's Adult Health II final. Not even Wolgemuth's Pharmacology exams, aided by cheat sheets crammed so full of minuscule handwriting they were nearly illegible.

Notice how I've said "remains." Which means I haven't taken it yet. Which is why I haven't written anything in five weeks. When I first arrived home after graduation, I used lots of excuses to avoid cracking books for this test. Once I realized that this was probably not the study method that would lead to the most satisfactory results, I wised up and began reviewing information.

and information.

and information.

All of the information. From the past THREE YEARS.

Needless to say, everything else kind of lost its significance. Studying for a test that has the power to dictate whether or not you can practice where your passion lies really messes with your emotional stability.
On good days, I feel like Supernurse:

"Step aside, people. I can start IVs in one attempt on dehydrated veins with only my non-dominant hand and STILL maintain sterile technique. (Oh, and calculate titrated drip rates in my head at the same time.)"

But on bad days, you'll find me curled up in the fetal position on the floor as I slowly dissolve into a puddle of inefficacy, eyes fixated on that one point in space which will keep me from flying into a thousand useless pieces.

All that to say, I've been pretty preoccupied. Hopefully I will take the NCLEX before the end of the month, and this will all be behind me.

After the end of the semester, I was home for less than 24 hours when I told my father, 

     "Dad. I want to re-paint my room." 

And he said, 

     "Okay."

And I said,

    "But I'll do it all myself and...wait, what? Really?"

So for seven days, twelve hours a day, I completely immersed myself in Project Pinterestify April's Bedroom. It was fun at times, ridiculously hard work at others, and I pulled some life lessons out of it, which I can tell you about some other time if you're interested. Anyway, voila! The (almost) final result.

Eventually, the various paraphernalia on the floor will be on the walls. Eventually. 

Currently, my life consists of just four things: NCLEX prep, job applications, pursuing time with God, and helping my sister. I have one sister. One's all you need when you've got the best one.

She's getting married this summer (to a ginger by the way), and asked me to be her maid of honor. I've never been a maid of honor before, never even been a bridesmaid before, but goshdarnit I am going to be the best maid of honor there ever was for the best sister I've ever had.

We ran a 5K together this morning (um, yeah we're that cool), and I am so proud of her. So. much. fun.

More races in the future, yes?

That toe-tapping time [in be]tween

The Bible is a lot like Facebook.

Perhaps that statement requires a bit of explanation, lest you think I believe Moses had a timeline and posted daily selfies with captions like "Struck a rock today and a fountain came pouring out. #waterbender".

Let me rephrase. The stories I read throughout the old and new testaments can evoke the same emotions I feel when scrolling through my Newsfeed on Facebook.

Picture this: as I sit in front of my computer, chewing my nails to stubs while trying to fill out one more job application or figure out one more contingency plan in case something else falls through, my fingers somehow find their way to that gargantuan behemoth of a website in the obscure hope that the elusive words or thoughts I am looking for will be mysteriously hidden among the instagrammed pictures of food and overabundance of updates from Spotify. Scrolling through the posts reveals many words and thoughts, but not necessarily the ones I want to see.

This friend just accepted a position at a prestigious hospital!
This friend is going backpacking across Europe for four months!
This friend is going to graduate school!

I am truly happy for them, and yet discouraged at the same time. Why aren't these great, awesome things happening for me, too? Compared to the news from my friends and family, my life is so static, slow, and ineffective.
Whoa, whoa, whoa. There is a huge red flag right there. "Compared to the news..."
Compared to what news? What kinds of things do people post on the internet? Well I can tell you what they don't post. They don't talk about the two hours they spent cleaning. Or the half an hour they spent on hold with the insurance company. Or the grounds they spilled on the counter this morning while trying to start the coffee pot in the dark. Basically, the boring, monotonous things that happen to everybody all the time.
I wind up comparing my everyday, minute-by-minute, behind the scenes life with the glowing highlights of everyone else's.

Bad news bears.

So how is this like the Bible again? Right, I'm supposed to be making a point.
Consider the stories that we learn in Sunday School.
God promised Abraham he would become the father of a great nation, a multitude of people. And he did! He and Sarah had Isaac, who had Jacob, who had twelve sons, who then started the tribes of Israel.
Joseph was sold into slavery by his brothers, but he became second in command of all of Egypt and saved his family from a famine.
Moses became the leader of the Israelites,  following God's call to take them out of Egypt, and he performed many miracles through God's power.
Jesus had an incredible ministry, demonstrating God's love to us and showing us, through words and actions, how to live as a part of God's kingdom on earth. Then he conquered death in a final, resounding strike that echoed across every age and nation!

YEAH, GOD. I'm PUMPED. I'm READY. Let's go!

....Ready, go.

... ...Go?

...now?

And nothing happens. For a while. So I become discouraged when I'm not parting Red seas or raising people from the dead between raising my dead-weight body from the mattress and parting my bagel for the toaster oven. Am I missing something here?
Yeah, yeah you are, April. Let's go back and revisit some of those stories.

God promised Abraham he would become the father of a great nation.
God did this. And Abraham became the father of the Israelites.
And when did the nation of Israel begin?
Well, after Abraham was dead. The twelve tribes of Israel came from the twelve sons of Jacob who didn't even consider procreating until old Abe was long gone. Oh, yeah. What about Isaac, his promised son? Surely that had to have happened in his lifetime. In fact, God promised Abraham that he would give him a son and Isaac was born.... 25 years later. Abraham waited for God to fulfill his promise for a period of time that was longer than my entire life.

Joseph became second in command and saved his family from a famine.
Joseph did awesome things. He saved entire countries from starvation, became a powerful and wise leader, and displayed an upright and gracious spirit toward his family, forgiving them for the wrongs they committed against him. But before all of that happened, he was a slave. He spent years in prison.
We can see the story in its entirety. We can look back on the event's of Joseph's life and connect all the pieces, seeing the hand of God in everything that happened. But when Joseph was right in the middle of it all, he couldn't see the end! He didn't know what was coming! For 13 years, he faithfully trusted God in suffering and waited on God to reveal the plan and the purpose.

I could talk more about how Moses hid in the desert for 40 freaking years before he even started leading the Israelites or how Jesus spent the first 30 years of his life waiting for his Father to give the okay to start his ministry, but I think you get the point.
The accomplishments these men achieved with the power and help of God shine out brightly from the pages of my Bible, and the brilliance of their high points often distract me from the years they spent waiting or the hardships they suffered. The Bible is so concise, that sometimes it is hard to feel the full impact of what it means to spend 25 YEARS waiting on God to fulfill a promise. What was it like for Abraham to wake up in the early morning hours, walk out of his tent, and wonder in anticipation if this was the day that Sarah would announce, "I'm pregnant, love!" What frustrated thoughts ran through his mind as he smeared goat cheese on his falafel when it was not that day yet again?

This morning, as I sit on my couch with my cup of coffee, listening to my refrigerator hum and my roommate get ready for the day in the bathroom, I am waiting.

I'm waiting on God.

Yesterday, at 8:53 AM Eastern Daylight Time on April 24, 2013, I turned in my very last college final exam, which marked the end of my undergraduate career. The end to a 4 year era of nursing school.
What is supposed to come next is very vague and undefined. God has clearly called me to pursue a certain path after graduation, but he didn't exactly give me an itinerary or a how-to instruction manual. So I'm stuck in my breath by breath, minute-to-minute real time life, unable to see the end result and trusting in God that he knows what is going on.

I think that God is an optimizer, though. He uses the time we spend waiting to make us ready for what is coming in the future. Abraham and Joseph and Moses and Jesus didn't wallow in their waiting! They didn't sit idly by and say, "Well, God's got big things planned for me in the future, so I'm just going to hang out until it comes." No! They passionately and purposefully sought after God, allowing him to transform them into people who were prepared and equipped to do the things that He had for them to do.

They were faithful in their waiting, and God was faithful in his promises.

So I'm taking encouragement from them this morning, and making a commitment to not waste the waiting. I'll let God use me, shape me, and mold me while I anticipate what he has set in place for the years ahead. I'll be fully present in each moment to grow into the right person for the job.

And when the time comes, I won't hesitate, but will step forward in courage and excitement, cause I've been looking forward to this for a long time.

"For we are God's handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do." Ephesians 2:10

April Problems

Sometimes, I can be a pretty oblivious person.

Even though I’ve been posting words on the interwebs for public consumption ever since I started this blog, it never quite clicked in my mind that people were actually reading what I wrote. Occasionally, I would receive a comment on a post, or a friend would tell me in person, “Hey, I read your blog last night,” but I would simply think “Oh, that’s nice” and move on with my life.

However, the massive response to my last post caught me completely by surprise. Within a day, my page view counter shot into the thousands and people I had never met before at my school were approaching me to say how much they loved my blog.

Oh! Ummm….thank you! I mean…yeah.

Wait, what is this? People are reading what I write? And they like it?

While it was nice for a while, the inevitable happened. As I sit here this morning, the view counter on my blog homepage displays an indelible mark, a spike that vaguely resembles the Eiffel tower or the Washington monument. The more I stare at it, the bigger it gets. This spike has taunted me every time I’ve sat down to write for the past two and a half weeks, and my mind was paralyzed by this pressure to measure up to my previous standard.

There is this awareness that people are actually interested in what I have to say, and I feel compelled to meet their expectations.

Be funny. Do it, April. People want you to be funny.

YOU HAVE TO BE FUNNY RIGHT NOW.

But…but…but…

And so, you have gotten no words from me for the past two weeks.

However, today I am choosing to get over myself and remember that, contrary to what I may think, the world will not end if some random stranger reads my blog and says, “Well, that was stupid.”

I know, right? Life-changing revelation right there. They should just induct me into the World Changers Hall of Fame already. I’d love to have my bronzed, eerily detached and floating head enshrined on a pedestal next to John, oops, David Green and the two-headed Gaither monster.

I thought I learned this lesson once before, but I guess it didn’t stick.

So. Moving on.

This is the fourth month of the year. A very special thirty day period in which I feel like a schizophrenic because my name gets tossed around everywhere. The month of April. It is all my own, my precious.

Contrary to popular opinion, no I was not born in April and therefore my parents did not name me such because of my birth month. Honestly, if my parents had been so dull and uncreative, I would be a little miffed at them. Also, you are not the first person to think that. Sorry to break it to you.

I’m curious as to why people find it so interesting, though. Yes, my name is a month of the year. But think about it. Other people are named after birds. Or plants. Or Biblical ideals.

I’m not complaining. It is a rather unique name, and I’ve never really had to share it with anyone else.

I am a tall person. I tend to tower over my classmates on a normal day.

However, I am also a woman, and I love high heels.

This can be an unfortunate combination.

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

Normal Day

High Heels!!

3 out of the past 4 days, I have worn 4 inch heels. This results in a grand total of approximately 6 feet 2 inches. One of the most entertaining things in the world is watching people’s facial expressions when they turn around and crane their necks to stare up at me, blocking the sun with my head.

It’s the simple joys in life.

Confessions of your friendly neighborhood barista

I just love people.

Watching people, that is. 

Have you ever thought about how funny people are? One of my favorite things to do (although admittedly very creepy) is just sit and watch the behavior of those around me. My job as a barista at our campus coffee shop affords me the perfect opportunity to observe human behavior in my customers.

After 4 semesters behind the bar at McConn, I've watched a lot of people. The funny thing about people is, they tend to fit into groups. If you've ever been a barista or worked in some kind of service industry, you know exactly what I'm talking about. Every waiter, cashier, barista, or lunch lady subconsciously (or even consciously) sorts their customers into specific categories.

I can laugh at these groups.

I'm allowed to laugh at these funny people.

Why?

Because I have been all of them at one point or another. I was a customer before I was a barista, and I continue to be a customer in several other areas of life. You have been all of these people, too, if you're honest with yourself. So, it's not a malicious kind of laughter. It's enjoyment of the general quirks and idiosyncrasies in everyone that make life so interesting.

Here we go.

The Barista Confessions, part 1

"The Timepiece"

     These customers are so dependable, you could time your shift around them. They grace your coffee shop with their presence at the same time every day, with the same order, and generally the same attitude. They are more predictable than Indiana weather or the quality of Baldwin's food and nearly as consistent as Dr. Lo calling the student body "Dear Ones" in chapel. Depending on who the person is, they might be the highlight of your day or the thing you dread most about coming in to work.

When you see a Timepiece approaching the register, you already had their order entered in to the system 10 seconds ago, because it never changes and it never will.

If it ever does....well, let's not consider that situation. The world just might fragment into shatters of reality.

"The Stiff Arm"

     With their no-nonsense attitude, these customers charge the register with an apparent lack of working elbow joints as they hold out their student ID for me to swipe before they've even uttered one syllable. My introductory greeting is overrun by their directly delivered and well-rehearsed order. When you know how the system works and you know what you want, common pleasantries are inconsequential. 

I like to think that the Stiff Armers are losing an internal battle against the need to purchase caffeine - they need to order fast before they can reason themselves out of the decision, and I am the enabler, fueling the legally addictive habits of the students populating our campus.

"The Live-In"

     I am entirely convinced that there are students on this campus who do not actually go to this school. Either that or they simply skip their classes all of the time. How else do you explain a person who comes to a coffee shop before it opens in the morning and stays until closing time at night? One of these days, I would like to conduct surveillance on the student center overnight and catch one of these creatures sneaking a mattress behind the bar to sleep.

Now, there are two different breeds of the Live-In.

The first is the Hibernator. This sub-species of the Live-In remains in one chair at one table for hours at a time. On occasion, I will surreptitiously pass by the table of a Hibernator to ensure that they are still breathing. It would, of course, reflect poorly on my company if a customer were to expire in our dining area without anyone noticing.

The second is the Migrator. This type of Live-In is unsatisfied to remain in one spot for too long, but floats from table to table, taking advantage of the many relationships they have established in order to secure a permanent residence in the area.

"The Jesus-Gazer"

     You can spot this one a mile away. 

Almost literally a mile away, because they hover a significant distance away from the register. Just close enough to make you aware of their presence, but far enough away that it's not yet socially acceptable to engage them in casual conversation or, worst of all fates, ask them "What can I get for you?" before they have fully decided.

Even after deliberating for several minutes, they cautiously approach the register and stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed in front of the counter, staring at the menu screens mounted from the ceiling as if Jesus had just ascended from behind me and currently occupies the space above my head. They stay that way long enough that they just might experience the second coming. 

The Jesus-Gazer is faced with a dilemma - to order the safe, pedestrian sounding, and familiar White Mocha, which is unlikely to disappoint or present with any surprises, or to be bold and order the more esoteric and mysterious London Fog or Midnight Grae, which, despite one's mention of foreign cities and the other's eccentric spelling, give you absolutely no hint as to what will actually be inside of your drink. 

What inevitably follows is one of my favorite questions: "Can you tell me what I want?"

While your friendly neighborhood barista has many unique talents that could potentially pass as super-powers, reading minds is not one of them. 

I do, however, have the ability to control minds it seems. Whatever drink I ultimately recommend is almost invariably their final coffee decision.

With great power comes great responsibility, Peter Parker.

     

This is the Flip Side

Every once in a while, a moment happens in a person's life when everything changes.

Sometimes, a person can feel the presence and power of God so keenly and intimately that the hair on the back of his neck stands up and tears involuntarily stream down his laughing, uplifted face.

The world explodes in a revelation of understanding, and you cannot comprehend how you didn't see it before. The facts in your head didn't change, but the way you perceive them made a fundamental shift in perspective, like the difference between black and white and color.

Suddenly, my picture of heaven and eternal worship sounds like a cacophony of Spanish, Creole, English, and hundreds of languages harmoniously interwoven and looks like a tapestry of beautifully contrasting skin side by side with arms and hands lifted in praise to Jesus.

Welcome to the DR, April.
Welcome to a world where the reality of how small and insignificant you actually are is acutely evident, and yet the enormity of God's incomprehensible love for you is reinforced to such a degree that you cannot force your face to stop smiling. My heart was so full that I literally could not hold it in. Every part of me longed to spill love out on other people.
That is the way to live!
Wow.

Would you like to take a minute or two and hear about what happened?
Here we go.

Saturday, March 2 - Day 1
Travel is both exciting and exhausting.
Day 1 started at 2:00 in the morning in Indiana and didn't end until 9:00 at night on the Students International base in Jarabacoa. 1.5 hours in a van to Indianapolis, 2 hours to Newark, 4 hours in an airport waiting room, 4.5 hours over the Atlantic ocean, and 3 hours in a bus up through the island mountains equals 20 worn out and sleep deprived travelers.
Thankfully, our hosts knew just what we needed and sent us straight to bed.
My thoughts as the day ended:
"I felt helpless and stupid, not sure of what I was doing or where I was going. I've never had problems communicating with other people before. I've never been in a place where the primary language was not my own. It's awkward and uncomfortable. I don't think I ever really thought it through before. 
I feel very out of place in this world where nothing makes sense, funeral houses are painted in light baby blue, and dozens of people cram into the back of a pick-up truck while trash swirls around the tightly winding streets."

Sunday, March 3 - Day 2
Part of our team went to a Haitian church for Sunday worship. I couldn't understand a word anyone was saying, but the joy on the people's faces as they sang praise to God was so infectious!
In the afternoon, we had a crash course on the history of the Dominican and Haitian people and learned more about the culture of the country
"It's been a day of meeting new people and making new friends.
I just love people. I love learning about others and connecting with them in new ways. My heart was so full today. It's not about me, guys, it's not about me."

Monday, March 4 - Day 3
"Birds sing, roosters crow, and cars rattle past on the busy road as the sleepy tropical sun rises behind the mountains, illuminating the palm trees and overcast skies of this beautiful island. The air is cool and fresh, refreshing and invigorating as the breeze blows across the bare skin on my arms. I can hear the kitchen staff chattering happily among themselves in Spanish, and the delicious scent of breakfast wafts across the air, tempting my empty stomach.

As I sit and ponder my surroundings and circumstances, my heart is full to bursting with wonder and gratitude. Who am I that God would see fit to bless me with such an experience and adventure as this?"
The first day of the week brought an exciting start as I met my site leader, her translator, and the four other students I would be working with closely over the next five days. My site leader runs a community health clinic in Jarabacoa, providing health care to people who cannot afford the services of a hospital. In addition to an office in the city, she also runs traveling clinics out in the outlying rural mountain communities. We stayed in her office for the day, getting to know each other and seeing a few patients throughout the day.

Tuesday, March 5 - Day 4
My site group traveled up the mountain to our first rural clinic for the week.

"As we bounced along in the jeep with our heads brushing the ceiling and fearing every minute that a piece would fall off the bottom of the car, I was struck by the beauty of the land and the poverty of the people. The mountains are breathtaking - green and glorious with a wide variety of tropical plants and trees, ever changing in color under the influence of the piebald sky. There were houses made of wood slabs, covered in dirt and mud, standing adjacent to stables made of cardboard. The whole scene was straight out of a picture and my mind had a difficult time reconciling the discrepancies between the lifestyle of these people and my own way of life back home."

I struggled a lot with the language on our first day out in the mountains.
So many times I felt completely lost and frustrated at my inability to communicate. Even though the day was draining, in the end it was so rewarding as I made progress in understanding others and making myself understood. There is nothing quite like the feeling of seeing the light in someone else's eyes when they comprehend what you are trying to say in your mangled version of their language, your language, and plenty of universal hand gestures.
Tuesday ended with a powerful worship night as God spoke to all of our hearts, whispering to us when we were raw and so ready to hear his voice.

Wednesday, March 6 - Day 5
In the middle of the week, we set up clinic in a Haitian community.

Wednesday holds a very special place in my heart because of our very last patient of the day. She asked my site leader and me if we would pray with her. "Rachel prayed in English and then she [the patient] prayed in Spanish. It was beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. I was crying by the end. This woman, this beautiful woman who lives in another world, was praying for me, connecting to the very same god that I worship and after whom I seek. We prayed in different languages and from different backgrounds, but he understood us both and loves us both equally with the same intensity and passion."

In the evening, we were given the incredible opportunity of spending a night in the community, eating dinner in the house of a Dominican family. The dinner we ate is known as the "Dominican flag," the most popular meal in the DR, containing most of the food staples in that country - white rice, beans, chicken, and yucca. We also had cabbage salad and fried eggplant.
IT. WAS. DELICIOUS.
Seriously some of the best food I've ever had in my life.
Their house was amazing. The father of the family we visited built it himself, "poco un poco" for sixteen years.
"Our dinner was such a blessing to me...we played Dominoes to end the night, with lots of laughter and joy. Carlos seranaded us on the guitar in Spanish, and I was overjoyed to feel this connection with such a wonderful family with all the love of God in their hearts.
     We are all people. We are all valued in the heart of God. I am happy. I am so happy.
          And humbled.
               And blessed."

Thursday, March 7 - Day 6
Our last day of traveling clinic.
It was a great day of Spanish practice, and I was amazed at how much progress I made from Monday to Thursday! By the end of the day on Thursday, I was holding very simple (and, I'm sure, painfully slow) conversations with some of the patients while they waited to see Rachel.
We made a house visit to one of the patients in the town - an elderly woman who is one of the most generous, giving, and joyful people I've ever met. Even though she has next to nothing, she kept offering us everything she had!

Our entire site group at clinic on Thursday

Friday, March 8 - Day 7

"In the morning, we took an open flatbed truck up to a waterfall on the side of the mountain. The sight was absolutely astounding, and the drive up was so memorable - standing up in the bed with the breeze blowing in my face and hair, surrounded by the sights, sounds, and smells of the Dominican... We spent the morning reveling in the beauty of God's creation. I climbed up the side of the waterfall along the rocks to sit at the top and take it in. I had forgotten just how much I love to be close to creation, clinging to the rocks and feeling their security, my insignificance, and God's power."

In the afternoon, we traveled back Jarabacoa, to see patients there in Rachel's office. I was sad to see the day end, because it meant the end of the week and the end of my time working with patients in the clinic, but I truly believe that God will bring me back to this country someday, so it is not goodbye so much as it is see you again, God willing.

Saturday, March 9 - Day 8

You can never have enough mountains.

"The glory and splendor of God is so tangibly evident through the beauty of his creation. Our entire team went hiking in the mountains this morning to another waterfall along the river. As the water flowed constantly down the hard, unyielding rock, my heart rejoiced in the moment. I felt so free, so ALIVE, so passionate. The roaring water filled my ears. The pinks, greens, blues, and purples of the rocks danced across my vision, and the rough caresses of the boulders kissed my skin as I scampered across them like an insect in comparison. Jumping into the deep, clear pool, my breath caught in my throat from the shock of the cold water...I wanted to laugh, cry, sing, and dance all in the same moment. I stood on the pinnacle of a boulder and felt my own heart beating in my chest and pounding in my ears. What a powerful reminder of my life, and the frailty of it! 

Ah, rejoice in the Lord, oh my soul! Praise his holy name! The rocks cry out in praise of you, they declare the glory of God!"

We walked around the city in the evening, eating at a Dominican restaurant to end the day, and preparing to leave early the next morning.

Sunday, March 10 - Day 9

Another long day of travel. Day 9 started at 7:20 in the morning in Jarabacoa and ended at 12:30 in the morning the next day in Indiana. My mind was considerably more full than at the beginning of this adventure and my heart rejoiced in all the ways that God revealed himself to me and all the lessons that he taught me throughout the week.

Nine days was all it took.

Nine days when everything changed.

I feel like I've said so much, but I also feel like I haven't said anything at all. I could talk for hours and still not fully explain all the thoughts that I have about everything that happened.

Maybe that's okay. Maybe it will motivate you to go and see for yourself.