The best of intentions

I really did intend to be better about keeping up with this, Scout's honor.

Luckily, for the few that read this (or maybe I'm delusional about readership), nothing too life-changing has happened since I turned 22. I turned in the dreadful senior seminar project, and 6300 words later, I consider myself a self-taught expert on crisis communication. For anyone facing an undesirable, more-than-likely-unexpected situation that pins you as the bad guy, always, always tell the truth, my friends. Crisis communication 101.

I get the "So, how's wedding planning going?" question a lot. And I think the last 10 times I've answered that question, it's been with, "Umm, pretty good. I'm not really doing anything, I guess." Ninety-five percent of the time, this is followed by a look of shock, mixed with a little horror and judgment. Call me 'Sally', but wedding planning doesn't necessarily get my pantyhose in a bunch, a.k.a. it doesn't stress me out that much. I was grateful enough to have a fiance' that proposed to me a year before our wedding date, so to be honest, all that big stuff that I have to figure out was figured out almost a year ago. This has fared to be a great setup for us, given that we're both freaking out about something WAY bigger right now....*scary music*....jobs.

Ahhh, yes. The full-time, salaried occupation that is every college student's recurring nightmare. Let me tell you, it has been nothing short of that. I don't know who has it worse - my super-genius other half that has interviewed in almost every region of the country but hasn't cemented anything down just yet; or me, the I-thought-my-major-would-take-me-places communicator who couldn't interest an employer if my appendages were chicken strips. We're really hugging the "All You Need is Love" theme right now. My secret fallback is to move to California in search for happiness as I wear white cotton and linen, holding hands with my beloved. Sound like the mid-60s to '70s? I thought you'd say that. Fortunately, neither E or I own VW vans; we represent the Honda Civic and Chevy Cobalt-ites. Much different, I assure you.

But since it was just Thanksgiving, I am thankful - for many things, to say the least. I am thankful God blessed me with a brain, and that He was gracious enough to give E one, too. We've been working like sleigh dogs this semester, and are crossing our paws that it'll show in our precious online student portal accounts.

I'm thankful that God has blessed me with a sincere, affectionate, genuine, brutally-honest, and ever-hilarious fiance'. The senior scramble is in full-swing at Trinland right now, and I'm glad to be one of the lucky ones that snatched her prince up three years ago. Wedding planning is relaxed for us, which has resulted in very few arguments that other couples typically experience. We've taken the approach more similar to that of a party planning committee. ...Ok, so we're not as ridiculous OR cool as "The Office", but party planning is definitely our vocab when it comes to the wedding.

And yes, I am thankful for the insecurity of job hunting (and missing). It's scary, emotionally-exhausting, time-consuming, and frustrating in simplest terms. But it's also humbling, and experiences like this are something everyone needs a little of in their life. And it has to be said: E and I have definitely learned where the strength to apply for loads of jobs we won't get needs to come from. Those little reminders from God are always a little bittersweet, but most definitely heavier on the 'sweet'.

Up next time: my and E's engagement photos! But for now, just a taste - you know, to keep you coming back for more, of course.

22.

It's officially two days after my 22nd birthday. I'm feelin' old, friends.

I know, I know. It's silly, really. Twenty-two is really not that old.

But why do I feel old? Is it the fact that when 11 o'clock rolls around each night, I'm thinking it's time for bed? Or is it because for the past year and a half, my clothing taste automatically favors more items in the womens' section than juniors'?

...I think I might have it figured out. This is a big - I mean, huge - year for me. In two-and-a-half months, graduation. A month after that, marriage. One week after that (hopefully), moving into the first place Eric or I can call 'ours', and (hopefully) starting some great new jobs.

I'm ready for that crazy month chocked full of life changes. I literally can not wait for all of those things to happen. But I think that being "old enough" for all of those things to be in my life's equation is what makes me feel old, aside from having no birthdays to look forward to until I'm 30 - banking on the fact that I'll be excited about turning 30, and in somewhat of a shape.

Just my thoughts on turning 22. It felt a little weird. A benefit of my most recent birthday? Eric and I took one of thee best pictures we have ever taken (see below). Fo reals.

aaaaannnnnddddd, I'm back.

It's been a while. I'd apologize, but I don't know of anyone who checked my blog every day during my 4ish-month hiatus. So, I'm not sorry. Just lazy.

Summer was weird. Usually, you hear laments that the sweet season flew by. My summer started off sprinting, then went into a coma, and ended in a comfortable power walk. I could tell you what I did, but I might as well not drown you in the probable boredom, and will keep it to a list instead: work, wedding planning, finding out I hate cooking for myself (as in, one person), and learning to drive a stick shift. Also, Eric and I consumed lots of pizza. Oh, and we got lots of awesome gifts - like a Keurig - at a bridal shower.

So what am I up to now? Welp, school has started again. That, my friends, took off like a Kenyan marathoner. I'm leading two student groups, working on my senior seminar project, and trying to enjoy my last semester as a college student. I'm also three months out from my wedding, and trying to give what I've been told is the most important day of my life the attention it deserves. Life is good, friends. It's busy, quite difficult to follow at times, and requiring lots of late night/early morning combinations.

I originally was going to vacation from blogging until I finally decided what I wanted to blog on. I know that blogging doesn't have to be this super well-thought out thing, or that each blog has to have a specific reason for existing other than for its author to write. But, I've always wanted to have a blog with purpose, talking to particular topics, like family, faith, fashion, relationships, and other stuff I like to think I'm knowledgeable on.

...And then, I realized that I really missed blogging. I missed submitting my random thoughts to the cyber world's critique. And I really missed writing, which, in this case, is synonymous with typing.

Lesson learned? Not everything I do in life has to serve a specified purpose, as long as I enjoy it. So with that, thank you for reading, and bask in the things you love, even if they only matter to you. Welcome back, and let's hope I'm better at supplying you with silly, useless thoughts.

It's good to be back,
Ashley

So, it really goes that fast

I’m in the middle of my first official week of summer, but I feel like summer never officially began.

Everyone knows that feeling. It’s the day after your last day of school, you wake up right before noon, and decide to have ice cream for lunch. To a lesser (or maybe further) extend, the feeling of finally “being done” is common among college students.

But what if you never have this feeling? What if everything just blurs together? (Insert intro music that awakens you to the topic for this post.)

The past year of my life has been an accumulation of mixed feelings. A year ago, I was crying in my parents embrace, telling them as they tried to say goodbye that I had made the wrong decision in deciding to spend a summer away from home. Nine months ago, I was finishing up a great internship experience, and preparing for another year at college. Eight months ago I learned one of my closest relatives had cancer, and the next 8 months proved to be the wildest rollercoaster ride of emotions I’ve experienced. My uncle’s cancer, busy school life, no social life, getting engaged (!), planning my wedding (again, !), experiencing the worst homesickness I’ve ever felt, and restarting the same internship I was dreading a short year ago.

So why is everything blurring together? Maybe it’s because that rollercoaster of emotions, specifically within the nine months of the school year, I so often curse was strangely satisfying (aside from the cancer and homesickness). This past year, I’ve found who I believe are true friends, and have kept the ones I always thought would be. I have a new love for some new people, and have grown closer to those I already did.

Choosing to focus on my third year of college, most days, I could NOT wait for it to be done. And then it came time to say goodbye to some friends for the summer, others for longer, and I prayed that the year wouldn’t end. I said ‘goodbye’ to the people I came to love, but only wished that the space pushing us apart would bring us closer.

Maybe that’s the irony in it all. I’d lay in bed at night, talking to my two roommates/best friends about my inner turmoil, and all I could say was that the greatest things in life pass by the quickest. Why must the things we most enjoy and the people we love, aside from all their faults, enter and leave our lives in what feels like a few minutes?

I blame myself for not appreciating the things I miss when they were in the present. I also blame this lack of smooth transition from school to summer to work on me, too. If only I’d given myself more time to adjust, soak in summer’s glory, and reflect…well, I’d be sitting on a deck basking in the May sun as I write this post rather than at my desk at work. 

What my mother taught me

It's Mother's Day, and being more than 700 miles away from my mom, I'm left with no option but to tell the rest of the world (or maybe just those who read this) what my mother means to me. Thank you, social media, for being so viral efficient.

Lessons from my mother

1. The love I have for my future kids will always be my priority. Since getting engaged, I can't stop thinking about the life I will have with my fiancée, especially for when we have kids of our own. As I plan our wedding, my rationale to stay within my budget is that my wedding is a big day, but the biggest day of our lives will be when we have children. You've heard it a billion times - the gift of life is truly a miracle. My mother has lived every day of her life with the philosophy that my three younger siblings and I are the greatest gift she's ever received. Of course, there have been days when having four kids isn't so fun. But my mother always make sure to tell us she loves us, and that we mean everything to her. 

2. Loving your spouse doesn't always mean you'll be happy. I've seen my mother sacrifice a lot of things for the benefit of my father, and as we all know, having to sacrifice things we want doesn't always make us happy. But more than her happiness, my mother loves my father, and if his happiness results from her sacrifice, it's worth it. I love my future husband more than I ever imagined I could, and I've also sacrifice more for him than I ever thought I would for a man. I've happily and willingly made these sacrifices, and I thank my mother for the strength to do so, knowing that what makes him happy will ultimately make me happy. 

3. Loving your kids doesn't always mean they'll understand at first. I can not tell you how many times I fought the love my mom (and dad) tried to show me by enforcing curfew and continually questioning what I was doing on the weekend. To be honest, I hated how over-protective and possessive they seemed, and I had no interest in trying to understand how they were "loving" me by "making me miserable". Their definition of tough love sounded more like social torture to me. To be blunt, I was stupid. I thank God for the epiphany I suddenly realized one day that tough love was more difficult for them than it was for my social scheduling. It would have been 100 times easier for them to let me do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, rather than trying to protect me. I'm thankful that my need for pride is outweighed by my want to acknowledge that yes, my parents were right, and only ever had my best interest and safety at heart.

4. In difficult and sad situations, you want more than anything to be strong for your family. I've never met a stronger woman than my mother. As a woman who lost both of her parents to tragic and sudden causes by the time she was 40, what I remember most at both of my grandparents' funerals was that my mom was a stronghold for my siblings and I. As we cried into her shoulders, waiting for her reassuring touch as she played with our hair, whispering that everything would be alright, I never gave much thought to the healing we may have deprived my mother of. My mother ignored her need to grieve, to cry with her siblings, to be held my by father, her process for healing, to comfort her children. I can not fathom the strength it took for her to be that for us, and I pray that I can be then same for my children.

On this day, whether or not you have the opportunity to be with your mother, I encourage you to think of what your mother has done for you, what she has taught you, and what she has been for you. My mother has been my best friend, my protector, my strength in hard times, my encouragement in discouraging times, my cheerleader in good times, and my fighter when I am too weak. The woman that has been all of these things and so much more for me is the woman I can only hope to be a fraction of some day.

Mom, I love you. Happy Mother's Day. 

L to R:  The woman I am, and the woman I want to be.

Hope Under a Ceiling Fan

I have a dozen memories I could easily share of when my uncle was healthy and I was younger, of him teaching me basketball, and realizing as I grew up that he literally had a song for everything. As geographical distance and the courses of life have put more space between our families, these times are harder to have. Thankfully, I was recently granted time with Gailen that I think back to often.

I was sitting beside Gailen's bed, his wife Stephanie making her rounds, moving in and out between their bedroom, bathroom, and kitchen, where the rest of our family was pretending to be focused on anything but Gailen when, really, it was the opposite. I sat next to my uncle as he laid under the warm, soft cotton covers in his bed, his kind face propped up with the support of a pillow. The ceiling fan made it's soft, monotonous hum above us. It's odd how little noises like that can bring us comfort, but I knew when I sat down that I needed the ceiling fan's song to get through what happens next.

As Gailen took my hand, feeling too heavy for his own, and held it, I lost control of the water my eyes were working so fervently at hold back, as if a dam trying to contain a flooding river. The tears began to trickle down my face, and I prayed that God would make them stop. Crying at that moment made me feel unworthy of my uncle's presence, his bravery. His eyes were kind and loving, his smile small but there. As he handed me a tissue, reassuring me that it would be OK - whatever 'it' was - he began to speak the words I was feeling.

He told me that life is not always fair, and found the most delicate way to explain to me why terrible things happent to good people, causing the dam of tears I thought I had regained control of to burst again. He shared some of his favorite words - most from the Bible, others from things he'd read - and he told me he believed God has a plan. His ability to sense my feelings was almost supernatural as he answered my mental response of doubt about what plan God could possibly have. And what felt like too quickly, he asked me if I had an questions for him as he squeezed my hand with one of his own and wiped a tear with the other.

I asked him how he continued to stay so positive, why he found it easier to believe God has a plan versus doubt. I listened to every word he spoke as if they were my only source of life in that time. I wanted him to talk until I found it easy to believe in a divine purpose for this cancer, even if it was only for a second. I wanted his confidence, and had hoped it would transfer to me as he squeezed my hand a second time. As we talked about hoping for a miracle but accepting whatever was handed to him, I knew that things would never be the same. I realize now that what I wanted during that time, more than confidence in a cure, was the pre-cancer version of my uncle. I wanted a miracle.

That conversation between just the two of us has gotten me through the past five months. The hugs of my parents, tears shared with my siblings, and the sympathy of my closests friends and fiance, I've found, are feeble substitutes for the genuine comfort my uncle gave me in teh few minutes spent with him alone - crying, desperately wishing for him to miraculously be healed, hoping. The small glints of faith and hope I still carry with me from our time under the ceiling fan's quiet hum tell, "Whatever happens, it will be OK" - just as my uncle told me that night. All I need is a miracle, and that's all I can hope for.
.................................
For more about my uncle's cancer and testimony, please click here.

Practicality at it's finest....or maybe not so much

Thinking back on last week, I'm thankful it was over. For one, I was the most sick I've ever been with a common cold. I even skipped a day of class (*gasp* I know!). Aside from that, a difficult time dealing with tough family things and other relational-related stuff made for a very emotional, mildly-bipolar-but-mostly-rollercoaster-esque me. I was like hungry grizzly bear who had no specific appetite for anything; not so pleasant, eh?

While talking through some things with my husband-to-be, I've come to a strange realization about myself. I am entirely impractical on so many levels.

Let's take conflicts, for example. Rather than being 152% rational like Eric, I'm 154% relational, making me quite irrational. I will always, ALWAYS put relationships first, and base my conflictual instincts off of that. How much do I love this person? Do I in any way want to be their best friend? Yes? ...Crisis "averted" through bypassing conflict and putting up with the behavior that irritates me so.

I'm confident that those who know me best would wish for me to be more practical. Why is that to me, the simplest task involves 17 steps that make it simple, when really, it complicates? The human brain is truly a mystery, and for me, I'm housing a mind that is an endless, solution-less game of 'Clue'.

This blog post is another example of my impracticality. I'm going to tell you right now that it literally has no point, and I am only blogging this for two reasons: 1) I have not blogged since mid-March, and 2) I can. But I promise, I will attempt to make a point.

Whether we are designed, described, or assigned as impractical or practical creatures, the fact is that (sorry, fellow Ke$ha dislikers, for the quote that will follow) we are who we are. Whether rational or somewhat insane, the way we think and process our feelings, our emotions, and our experiences distinguish us not only from robots, but from each other.

If you read this, congratulations on making it through what may be the, for lack of a better term, dumbest post I've made yet. You're a champ.

Practicing more practicality,
Ashley