black and white and grey

A friend of mine (Matt, you always post the best things) posted this article on facebook, and I just happened to see it. It's an interesting take on religion, and I like it. Here's the link if you want to read it.

Maybe it's controversial. People sometimes think that when it comes to God, things are black and white. You're obedient. Or you're not. You have faith. Or you don't.

When I look out at religion, the window starts fogging up with my own breath. And all I can see is how I feel about God and how I feel about faith and how I feel about my testimony even when all that seems to be there is the condensation dripping down the pane. My world is black and white and all sorts of grey--beautiful, beautiful shades of grey. It's not unsettling and it's not murky. It's the kind of grey that almost kills you with its clarity and acuity, even if you don't know what it means, really. It's the calmest kind of a misty day.

It's the kind of grey that lets me respect the way a Muslim prays five times a day. It helps me understand the LGBT community. It lets me appreciate a Buddhist temple. It's the kind of grey that lets me remain strong in my own faith, even when I don't have all the answers.

My world is not all black and white.
Perhaps it should be. I don't know.

Perhaps nothing is more personal than your relationship with God.

So maybe you see God differently. So
disagree with me. It's fine. I dig it. Be singular. Live the most personal religion that ever was.
I'm okay with that. Are you?

home

I bought my plane ticket home the other day. I'm excited to go home. It sounds ever so cliche (please forgive me, do), but there's no place like home.

People don't always know Michigan. It's just one of those states on the map. Truth is, that doesn't really change until you've run down a sand dune in the summer or seen the frozen, rippled edges of Lake Michigan in the winter. You need to experience the brilliance of fall time up north, or walk among the tulips and daffodils in spring. And downtown Holland, be still my heart. It's one of the best parts of Michigan, and I can't help but be overcome with nostalgia every time I even think about 8th street. It's brilliant. The state is brilliant. 

Christmas is easily my favorite time of the year. Christmas lights all over the trees (especially the white lights, which just knock me out). Wreaths and holly. Snow and hot chocolate and the Christmas markets in Centennial Park. The Salvation Army people with their bells. Delicious baked goods. And the music. I live for the music. I am about 97.6% sure that the first Christmas song of the year (played on the Friday after Thanksgiving, of course) is the best song I listen to all year. 

I'm going to be home for Christmas time. Home is with family in a cozy house in the middle of the woods, and I love it. I hope it snows like crazy, because gosh, it's so beautiful.

Our Christmas break is depressingly short this year. I think I'll be home for a mere week and a half. It will be the best week and a half even though I'm super bummed that I'll barely miss Evelyn's dance concert on the 20th. Dance your heart out, baby girl. I'll be rooting for you all the way from Utah.

Chaos.

Once upon  a time, I used to think the idea of being a chaotic, beautiful mess was terribly romantic, in a kind of fascinating and devastating sort of way. 

To embrace hedonism and anarchy and passion with a ferocity that scares away all your old demons with new ones. To languish away on sofas and swear at the banality of the weather. To hold ticking bombs because that soft staccato countdown is the only thing that can still make your heart race with anticipation. To vortex disaster, to make it disappear into the void where all such disasters go as they patiently await you again & again & again.

Here's to choking the dull rankness of unexpressed artistry and unrealized genius with your bare hands around the neck of a glass bottle. Here's to laughing with your mouth [alone], to lying on the bathroom floor [alone] because there's really nowhere else to go. 

But it is not romantic. 
It is not romantic at all.
What it wants is romanticism.

long time gone.

Can we have a quick conversation about how wonderful this song is? I like it. Will you like it too? Say yes!  Like it a lot, in fact. I'll only respect you for it.

Anyways, take a listen. Let whatever musical groove you have melt all over the place. Just do it. 

My sister wrote the cutest letter the other day. 

Dear pumpkin farmer,
Please do not pick me. I am afraid of my inside being scooped! My family is important to me. I have a good friend of mine. You need to keep me here. I do not like to be lit up. Please, I like the field.
From,
Evelyn the pumpkin

If she got any cuter, I think my heart would explode. 

Oooookay, I'm one of those people now. I'll stop. 
Sorry.

good news

I got the research and development internship at General Mills. I got it. I still can't believe it sometimes.

I've wanted this internship ever since I joined the food science program four years ago.

Anyways, I am thrilled. Thrilled about working for General Mills, about doing R&D, and about getting to live in Minneapolis again. Can't wait to see that city skyline! Not to mention the amazing running trails, great food, good music, and the overabundance of things to do and see.

Summer 2014 should be grand!

Imperfection.

Sometimes it takes my breath away.

How beautiful imperfection can be. 

There's something raw and real about rain. About the emotional crack in a singer's voice that comes out only in concert, and not the edited CD track. About the people that fight the entire world for one small step in the right direction. About loss, acceptance, forgiveness. 

This past Saturday I went rock climbing outside for the first time.

As I clung to a cliff face absolutely and 100% stuck beyond belief, I looked down and was struck by how high I was. My fingertips were numb and I could feel my legs and arms shaking. I kept slipping and thank god for the rope, or I probably would have died.

I hate not being strong enough to pull my own weight. I hate being stuck. I hate not being good at something, at not intuitively knowing what to do next.

And then I let go, and the rope took my weight.

It is 100% cheating, and for the first two seconds I hated it.

And then I realized I'd forgotten to put my hair up before I'd started climbing. And the breeze was in my hair and the sun was kissing my face; I looked behind me and I could see the entire valley. And it took my breath away.

Sometimes life ends up being spectacular, even if it's not perfect.

P.S. I did make it to the top, and that moment, too, was pretty freaking glorious.

leading me now.

Because I'm kind of obsessed with it right now. You're welcome.

                                          

I need to go on a hike, run until I can barely breathe. Climb a mountain, a la Sound of Music. A really excellent dance party. Actually, a concert would be perfect--you know, the kind where everybody's dancing like their life depends upon it, and screaming the words to songs that are never more true than in that moment, and everybody's sweating, but nobody cares, because seriously, isn't that what you came for? I want to go to a farmer's market and then cook something spectacular. I need to do something besides sit here and study. I've got this restless feeling in my bones, and I want an adventure.

I'm blaming it on the fall air, and this deliciously moody weather that's just perfect for things like bonfires and guitar music and hoodies and motorcycles. I've never ridden a motorcycle, but I feel like now would be a great time to do so. Anyways, what's important here is that now is not a great time to study for biochem, nutrient metabolism, or food micro. It's not even a good time to do multiple lab write-ups, even if they really aren't that bad.

I just want to have an adventure.