Moving on

My life is about to change.

A lot.

And sometimes I don't like change. At all.

I love my parents, but I'm about to move in with them for three months, and I can't say I'm jumping with joy and excitement at the thought of this. I've lived in the same apartment for the past four years, and I've gotten so used to things there. While I'm looking forward to living closer to my friends and life outside of work in a few months, this interim period is going to be a challenge in more ways than one.

This isn't a "Failure to Launch" situation with me mooching off of my parents, and they aren't trying to get rid of me like a Matthew McConaughey. Actually, if my mom had things her way, I would live with her until I got married—so, basically, forever. I'm living there for the short time period, because it seemed like the most logical thing to do, and I think it would break my mom's heart if I chose a different option.

I haven't moved in a really long time, and I guess I forgot how grueling the process is. There's kind of a high turnover rate at my apartment complex, so I frequently see people sweating as they move heavy objects from their moving trucks on the weekends. And, every time, I think to myself, "Wow, that really sucks."

Yesterday I looked around the disaster that is my apartment at the moment and thought to myself, "Wow, this really sucks."

The parallel thoughts I had there are by no means a good thing.

It's amazing how much you can accumulate over a span of four years and how comfortable you become in being in only one place for that long. I hate to admit this, but I'm a little bit nervous to leave. I've grown accustomed to everything around me, and I've developed somewhat of a routine, if you will. I put my keys in the same place; I know exactly when my elderly neighbor who only wears Texas A&M apparel takes his dog for a stroll to the fire station and back; I know precisely how long it takes me to walk to the pool and the perfect spot to sit and read a book; the kids at the pool know not to splash the redheaded girl with the book; I have the perfect setup to be able to be on my computer and watch television at the same time; I can navigate my way from the bedroom to the front door in the pitch black and reach for my spare key in its spot on the shelf before I leave for my morning run and not stumble or smack my face into anything; and I still look at that random switch in the kitchen and wonder what the heck it does.

And now I will never know.

It's going to be strange going back to the house I grew up in and have less privacy. And less closet space. (I'm trying really hard not to be shallow about that one, but it's hard. I never knew how small my closet was until I moved out and got a walk-in one. I realize there is a life lesson there about appreciating what you have when you have it, and the genuine side of me will acknowledge it more later, but for now I'm still wondering where all of my clothes are going to go.) There are moments in life when I wish I were an extreme minimalist. This is one of those moments.

Change isn't always a bad thing, and I know that. But that doesn't mean it's the easiest thing. It's often challenging to adjust to new situations or return to old ones. Am I going to feel a tad awkward running the streets I cruised for all of my formative years? Absolutely. But, it's one of those things I'm going to have to embrace for a little while. I'm just thankful my parents love me enough to let me crash with them for the next few months without making me pay rent. The people in the front office at my apartment complex were practically going to double my rent for month-to-month leasing. They don't love me like my parents do, apparently.

It's bittersweet to be leaving "Canada," but I know it's what I need to do. I've learned a lot living up here, and I think it's helped shape me over the past years into the person I am today because of the experiences I've gone through here. But it's time to move on, and I'm excited about what's ahead, even if I have to endure some challenging adjustments beforehand.

The good news about moving is that we never lose God. He goes with us whether we're in Canada, Australia, Hawaii, Papua New Guinea, or any other place on this planet. It doesn't matter if you're in an apartment, a house, a box, alone, with your parents, in a family, with complete strangers, or with a group of good friends. It's all part of a journey. Your journey. And you're where you are for a reason.

Even if you find yourself temporarily back at the home where you grew up.

Besides, my parents may not be able to offer a tremendous amount of space for me, but they have hearts full of more love and grace than any walk-in closet could ever provide.

Love for Chester

Every so often, I love hearing the story of Chester the Little Pony.

Especially when my mom tells it.

When my sister and I were younger, my mom used to tell us two stories we loved: one was about Bert and Ernie (a story with a lesson on forgiveness), and the other was about Chester the pony, and it is a great little tale about a pet owner who finally realizes his horse needs attention on more than just weekends and holidays—the times when kids normally come to pet and ride Chester.

I didn't have the best day one day last week. When I have a lot of free time, I tend to pile on extra projects and bog myself down with more than I really want to handle. So, my free time doesn't become so free anymore. On top of that, I'm moving soon, so I have a few stresses in that area of my life. Then a couple of things happened on Thursday that sort of upset me.

But I love Thursdays.

Such a great book

I have a regular dinner/hangout with some of my best friends on Thursdays, and these times always brighten my day. I left that evening feeling better, but I was really dreading my drive home. I live quite far away from most of my friends, so I do a lot of driving each week. And I mean a lot. On occasion I get tired of listening to so much music, but then the silence can become too loud, as well. Sometimes I really just need someone to talk to—or listen to.

So I called my mom.

I felt exhausted in so many ways, and I asked my mom if she would tell me a story, thinking she would talk about her latest golf adventure or something funny about my dad or their cat. But, secretly, I think I really wanted her to tell me the story about Chester.

I almost started crying when her first sentence had Farmer Miller's name in it.

I think parents instinctively know what they're kids need even when we don't say it—and even if those kids are 28 years old.

As I sat there and mindlessly drove while I intently listened to a story I've heard a countless amount of times, my heart felt uplifted. If my tear ducts worked better, I might have cried. My mom even made me tell her at the end what the moral of the story is.

We need to love every day, not just Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays.

Chester isn't the only one who gets lonely when he's not feeling like people care about him on a daily basis. We all need love, and that's one more reason why we should make more concerted efforts to show people we truly care about them. Farmer Miller's heart ached deeply when he realized Chester had wandered off because of his own broken heart. When he finally found his dear pet and brought him home, he promised Chester would have visitors every single day, because love should not be selective.

Thankfully, we have a God who loves us daily, regardless of how many times we mess up or wander off like hurt little ponies. His love never fails, and we're called to share that love with others. It's important not to let people feel unwanted like Chester felt.

Each day you wake up is a new chance to love, and that's definitely an opportunity you shouldn't let go to waste.

Let it ripen

You can learn a lot from your food.

Especially super foods.

I love avocados. And apparently I love them too much to be patient. Now, I can't say I always follow instructions or expiration dates (which I often call "suggestions") when it comes to food, but I recommend you believe the little stickers on avocados that say "ripe when soft." Trust me.

Yesterday I really wanted an avocado, but I only had one, and it was nowhere near soft. But I was stubborn and hungry, and you should not argue with a hungry girl—even if that arguing is with yourself. So I got a knife.

I think I would have been better off with a chainsaw.

Mindy Kaling has an avocado tree.

I've never had such a difficult time cutting an avocado in half. Ever. Then, once I finally cut through that thing, it was a struggle to slice it and get it out of the rind. It took a ridiculous amount of time (I seriously could have gone to the store and gotten a ripe one by the time I finished), and my hands were covered in a special green hue when I set down the knife. I even managed to cut my finger in the process.

I hate to say this about an avocado, but it didn't taste that great. It simply wasn't ready to be eaten. I had essentially ruined its destiny.

I think we all have tendencies to try to rush things. Let's face it: waiting is simply not fun and not on our lists of things to do. Go to the grocery store? Check. Get some laundry done? Cross it off the to-dos. Wait for things you really want to happen? Umm, no. But, even though we would probably never want to admit it, we often aren't truly ready for the things we think we are when we are. Our hearts aren't always ripe enough yet, and God operates on His own schedule.

If things had gone according to my plan, I would be married and have at least one kid by now, and I'm pretty sure I'd be living in a house on a golf course. Obviously that's not the case, and that's a good thing. It's OK that my Facebook feed is inundated with updates on all of my friends and their recent engagements, marriages, and babies, because I'm not ready for any of that yet. While I'm a great babysitter, I still can't keep a plant alive. And I can't even make break-and-bake cookies without ruining them completely.

God's still ripening my heart in some areas.

Just as we have to find patience in waiting for some fruits to be ready to eat, we often have to wait for our hearts to be ready for certain things in our lives. How much better would that avocado had been if I had just let the ripening process occur properly? How much better would our situations be if we just calmed down every once in a while and let God's ripening process occur properly?

It might be frustrating now, but you don't want unripe fruit.

Reflections

It's a strange thing to think about being a mirror for others.

Whenever I hear the word "mirror," I can't help but start signing a little Justin Timberlake.

And JT is certainly on to something in his song, because he's not talking about physical reflections.

I recently read a book where the main character let little girls play with her hair one day, and she was in a village in Africa at the time where she had no access to a mirror. She didn't really care, though, and only became somewhat aware of the possibility of looking a bit ridiculous because her friend had jokingly said she looked like a "cartoon character" of sorts. But I really liked what the author said regarding how some people's perceptions of appearances might work.

"Katie wondered for a moment if part of the reason so many of the young women she knew who had poor self-esteem ended up that way because they spent their lives gazing at themselves in a mirror instead of being the mirror others gazed into."

Oftentimes when we look in mirrors, we tell ourselves we look like something we really don't. Our hair is never perfect enough, our clothes never look as good on us as on the mannequins on which we originally saw them, and blemishes stand out more to us than anyone else who happens to look at us that day. But what would things be like if we didn't put so much emphasis on the reflections that stare back at us? What if our imperfections weren't constantly being pointed out to us—by ourselves?

When I was a little girl, I was a really big tomboy. I played a lot of sports, wore athletic clothes, and I'm not sure I even knew how to brush my hair. I certainly didn't know anything about flatirons or curling irons, and I didn't care about them, either. It was a rare occasion to look in the mirror, because I was too young and carefree to be concerned with having an acceptable appearance.

Sometimes I wish things were that easy nowadays.

As most of us learn, as we get older the mirror starts to become more important to us. And it seems the world around us often encourages this: your car visor has a mirror so you can get one last glance at yourself before you get out and go to whatever your destination is; some apartments and homes have entire walls made of mirrors; workout facilities make it impossible for you not to see yourself; and smartphones even have apps that make it unnecessary for a person ever to have to worry about looking disheveled in public. I've even used portos with mirrors on the inside of the doors—because people clearly need to look their best before races.

I don't think it's wrong to look in the mirror, and I don't think it's bad to want to look presentable. But it's an interesting notion to be the mirror others gaze into.

Especially if we're trying to be reflections of Christ.

I realize this is more the reflections of our hearts rather than our appearances, but that's what it should be about, anyway. If people look at us and can't see beyond what's on the outside, then something's not right.

A few days ago, I was running late and frantically put my hair in a ponytail. When I got home later, I saw there was a huge bump in my hair—it honestly looked like I let a preschooler be my stylist for the day. I don't remember if I got any weird looks, because I wasn't even aware of how silly I looked. And, especially at that point, I didn't care. What difference did it make if someone thought my hair didn't look perfect?

There's nothing wrong with taking care of your appearance, and you aren't a bad person if you use mirrors. But, it's when those mirrors become so important in our lives that I think we lose focus on what reflections are most valuable.

So maybe instead of worrying about if your front pocket (or "frocket" as I've heard it called) looks uncool on your new shirt, you should be concerned with having a "pocket full of soul"—thanks for that one, JT.

Fallen gummy bears

The five-second rule is stupid.

In fact, it's not even accurate. It only takes a mere millisecond for bacteria to attack anything that hits the ground. While I never factored in that a food's moisture or surface geometry or the condition of the floor determines how dirty that food gets—and not the amount of time it is actually on the floor—I knew the theory was bogus. I mean, it's just silly.

The other day I saw a gummy bear on my kitchen floor, and I had a decision to make: I could either waste a perfectly good gummy bear and throw it away, or I could let the little guy fulfill his purpose and be eaten.

Obviously I chose the latter.

Judge me all you want.

I had eaten some gummy bears earlier that day, so it's not like it had been there that long. I mean, it certainly exceeded the five-second rule, but as I stated before I don't buy into that at all. You know what happened when I ate that gummy bear? Nothing. I survived. And I have yet to notice any unfortunate repercussions that come with eating something that has been on the floor longer than a popular myth tells us to allow.

I still love him.

Are there ever times you shouldn't eat something that's fallen on the floor? Absolutely. But, if it's in the comfort of your own home, surely it's safe (as least you would hope so). I don't think we all have to be so paranoid about dirty things harming us all of the time, though. I'm pretty sure I ate dirt a few times when I was a kid. I'm still here.

I think people too often get treated like fallen gummy bears that are too far beyond the five-second rule: they mess up, and suddenly they're out of the realm of acceptance.

But there's no timetable for grace.

There's no five-second rule with God. No matter what you've done or how long you've been away from Him is not an issue—you're immediately made clean of all of the dirt you collected. And we should treat people in the same way: rather than five-second ruling them, we should extend grace and forgiveness when they mess up. We are all fallen gummy bears at some point and need a little bit of love to help us back up.

Every once in a while, you have to take chances in life. Whether it's taking a chance on a dirty gummy bear or taking a chance on a person, life can't always be lived in the caution zone.

Be bold—after all, you'll never know the wonderful things that can happen if you aren't willing to take a risk or two.