Yesterday I quit my job.
Five and a half years ago, a seventeen year old walked into an office complex on the southside of Lexington, and listened to a manager say, "I guess we'll give you a try."
Their "try" would last almost six years. I grew up within the walls of that office. Fell in love and climbed back out of it. Started college. Quit college. Started college again. I got sick and learned how to bite my tongue. On some level I learned how to stand up for myself because of this job.
One of the greatest lessons this job taught me, however, was that I was made for so much more. Different things are important to me. This 9-5, cubicle job was not what I wanted for my life. It had, literally, become my safety net. My comfort zone.
And yesterday I quit.
I woke up yesterday morning to the craziest of wind storms. I was about to make one of those crazy, life-altering decisions. You know. I'd been teetering on the edge of trust and safety, carefully walking the line of my expanding comfort zone. And I'd been hearing God tell me to wait... it wasn't time to give up the job yet. That safety net was there for a purpose.
And then I in an exaggerated gust of wind I heard Him say: go. Go now.
I wanted nothing more than to jump up and down. That is, after the initial urge to vomit subsided.
After talking to my boss, I sent my Dad a text message.
I was remembering being eleven years old. My Dad resigned from his position as a pastor at our church. This decision completely rocked our worlds; one of those pivotal moments that changes everything. Vividly I remember the first time I walked into my living room and Dad was sitting in a chair reading a book. I slowly, quietly backed out of the room. I found my mom who was cooking in our old, steamy kitchen. "Did you see what he's doing??"
I had never seen Dad rest anywhere but on the beach before. Dad used to be so tired, all the time, that he'd walk in his sleep. Talk in his sleep. Eat in his sleep. He was empty.
After Dad quit his job at the church, he got a job at a local lawn service company. That first season their main job was to aerate rich people's yards. In other words, dig small holes. All day long.
Dad went into this job knowing it was not permanent. But he would come home at night and spread his map out on the kitchen table, grab the cordless phone, and we would sit together and map out his route for the next day. He did his job well. He smiled more.
Not long after that he started teaching DUI classes here in town.
Today, eleven years later, he is a LPCC. He is a counselor, working in a private practice, doing what he was created to do.
So I sent him a text yesterday morning that said: "time to aerate some yards".
And he responded by saying, "vacuum some tennis courts, paint some dumpsters, drive a zamboni..."
Those jobs were the jobs he had when he was in his early twenties. When I was a baby. That was the work he did to provide for our family when I was still very small. Jobs that had a beginning and an end. Where progress could be marked.
Yesterday I quit my job.
The job I'd had for almost six years. Which kept me from seeing the morning sun. A job that had me sitting down for nine hours a day. Alphabetizing xray reports and sorting mail. A job that was a huge blessing in it's time. With a flexible schedule and good pay.
Yesterday, I thanked God that some things have an end. That there are seasons in our life that are meant to happen and then be done. They are there to change who we are. A transportation device - to get us from here to there. A safety net. I am so thankful that at some point, God calls you out it, though. "Come on, let's get outta here..." I heard Him whisper. "Say thank you, but we need to go now."
I have two or three jobs lined up. Jobs, which will have me on my feet. Working with kids and delicious frozen yogurt. With people who love Jesus and love me. I have entered into a state of detox. A change of pace. A state of trust. Time to shake it off. (Throw off everything that hinders...)
One day, maybe eleven years from now, I will look back to my resignation from the first real job I ever had and I will smile. Then, even more than I do now, I will understand how deeply imperative it was for me to to leave. To "drive a zamboni" for a season.
Yesterday I thanked God that while some things are meant to end, His faithfulness never does.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
High Waters and Sunglasses
Spring's coming. The thunderstorm that woke me up at 3:30 AM told me so. The world is turning and we are tilting gently towards the sun and what was frozen is melting and what was asleep is being awakened.
I woke up periodically throughout the night to bright flashes of lightening and deep rumbles of thunder. My heart skipped, knowing how close this new season is.
And just like I do every morning, around 6:30 AM I pulled out of my driveway and went on my way to work. Rain pelted against my windshield, trickled through the duct tape holding my back passenger-side window in place. Thunder shook the asphalt under my car and rain shot furiously to the ground in the yellow cast of slow-moving headlights.
I almost hydroplaned multiple times. As I drove down one of the main arteries in Lexington, I began to notice traffic was moving slower and slower. Bottlenecking, even. Suddenly I saw why.
Just ahead of me, the asphalt dipped, creating a basin. A basin where at least eight inches of water churned. Swirled. Nasty and gray and fast-moving. Traffic was merging to the right lane because in the left lane there was an Oldsmobile parked in the middle of the churning rainwater. Lights on, wipers slinging rain.
There was no other option but to slowly navigate the little river that had flooded the road. Carefully I merged right and passed the Oldsmobile. Something told me to look as I passed.
I watched a big, black man lean forward in his seat, just a shadow in the fogginess. Then I watched as he pulled into traffic right behind me, as if he'd been waiting for me to pass.
-
Let me tell you a secret. One that is important for you to know. You are going to think I'm crazy. And believe me, I'm ok with that.
God manifests Himself to me all the time. In the wind. And through people wearing sunglasses.
Yeah. I said it.
Lately God's been making His presence known through people wearing sunglasses. Strange, you say? Absolutely. But it is very much a "you can watch My back as I pass you by" sort of holy gesture. It's not everyone wearing sunglasses. Every once in a while God will deliberately get my attention, or startle me with a check on my spirit, and He will show up. Yesterday He was riding a bicycle down Liberty Road. The very first time, he was an old, black man with dreads sitting in an blue Chevy. Both we wearing sunglasses. Both showed up at a moment when I needed God to remind me that He is creative. And He is close.
Olivia and I send text messages back and forth over the course of the week. Most conversations start out with "Today He is..." and one or both of us will describe our interactions, or distant encounters, with the Almighty that day. It's a beautiful, simple thing. Our way of inviting God to take a walk with us (or maybe... His invitation to walk with Him). Something I truly believe our Father delights in.
This morning, however, when that Oldsmobile pulled into traffic behind me I heard the Father say: "that's Me, sweetheart. Right there. Keeping you out of high waters. Blocking your way, so you don't get in over your head. I am your Protector. I am your Hero. I am in your way."
I sent Olivia a text message that said, "today, He wasn't wearing sunglasses."
The significance of His sweet words this morning wouldn't hit me until later this afternoon, when I realized I was losing a battle. A battle with the enemy I didn't even know I was fighting.
I was being suppressed, held down, by this horrible melancholy and sadness. I had convinced myself of something, and had slipped into this state of sorrow over it. At the time I didn't realize just how deceptive the enemy can be. I am used to him attacking me with anxiety and fear and insecurity. Not with resignation.
So when I heard the voice of Truth whisper in my ear today, "I will take your every thought captive"... and I returned with the prayer, "God, please, take my every thought captive"...
I didn't expect what happened next.
Sorrow was lifted.
Instantaneously.
There had been a battle going on for my thoughts. With my surrender, came God's victory.
And I heard His words again. "I am keeping you out of high waters. Blocking the treacherous way, so you don't get in over your head. I am your Protector. I am your Hero."
Blessed am I, the beloved daughter of the Strongest One. The precious child of a Creator who loves His creation enough to hop into a blue Chevy and breathe heavy so the wind blows. The Almighty who "came down to find us", to find me, the one who got lost.
A couple of nights ago I was praying and I saw Him. Squatting on His knees, with the whole world cupped in His hands. I saw Him peer close, as close as He could get His face, and whisper strongly, quietly: "I love you... so much."
That is the image I want to leave you with tonight.
I woke up periodically throughout the night to bright flashes of lightening and deep rumbles of thunder. My heart skipped, knowing how close this new season is.
And just like I do every morning, around 6:30 AM I pulled out of my driveway and went on my way to work. Rain pelted against my windshield, trickled through the duct tape holding my back passenger-side window in place. Thunder shook the asphalt under my car and rain shot furiously to the ground in the yellow cast of slow-moving headlights.
I almost hydroplaned multiple times. As I drove down one of the main arteries in Lexington, I began to notice traffic was moving slower and slower. Bottlenecking, even. Suddenly I saw why.
Just ahead of me, the asphalt dipped, creating a basin. A basin where at least eight inches of water churned. Swirled. Nasty and gray and fast-moving. Traffic was merging to the right lane because in the left lane there was an Oldsmobile parked in the middle of the churning rainwater. Lights on, wipers slinging rain.
There was no other option but to slowly navigate the little river that had flooded the road. Carefully I merged right and passed the Oldsmobile. Something told me to look as I passed.
I watched a big, black man lean forward in his seat, just a shadow in the fogginess. Then I watched as he pulled into traffic right behind me, as if he'd been waiting for me to pass.
-
Let me tell you a secret. One that is important for you to know. You are going to think I'm crazy. And believe me, I'm ok with that.
God manifests Himself to me all the time. In the wind. And through people wearing sunglasses.
Yeah. I said it.
Lately God's been making His presence known through people wearing sunglasses. Strange, you say? Absolutely. But it is very much a "you can watch My back as I pass you by" sort of holy gesture. It's not everyone wearing sunglasses. Every once in a while God will deliberately get my attention, or startle me with a check on my spirit, and He will show up. Yesterday He was riding a bicycle down Liberty Road. The very first time, he was an old, black man with dreads sitting in an blue Chevy. Both we wearing sunglasses. Both showed up at a moment when I needed God to remind me that He is creative. And He is close.
Olivia and I send text messages back and forth over the course of the week. Most conversations start out with "Today He is..." and one or both of us will describe our interactions, or distant encounters, with the Almighty that day. It's a beautiful, simple thing. Our way of inviting God to take a walk with us (or maybe... His invitation to walk with Him). Something I truly believe our Father delights in.
This morning, however, when that Oldsmobile pulled into traffic behind me I heard the Father say: "that's Me, sweetheart. Right there. Keeping you out of high waters. Blocking your way, so you don't get in over your head. I am your Protector. I am your Hero. I am in your way."
I sent Olivia a text message that said, "today, He wasn't wearing sunglasses."
The significance of His sweet words this morning wouldn't hit me until later this afternoon, when I realized I was losing a battle. A battle with the enemy I didn't even know I was fighting.
I was being suppressed, held down, by this horrible melancholy and sadness. I had convinced myself of something, and had slipped into this state of sorrow over it. At the time I didn't realize just how deceptive the enemy can be. I am used to him attacking me with anxiety and fear and insecurity. Not with resignation.
So when I heard the voice of Truth whisper in my ear today, "I will take your every thought captive"... and I returned with the prayer, "God, please, take my every thought captive"...
I didn't expect what happened next.
Sorrow was lifted.
Instantaneously.
There had been a battle going on for my thoughts. With my surrender, came God's victory.
And I heard His words again. "I am keeping you out of high waters. Blocking the treacherous way, so you don't get in over your head. I am your Protector. I am your Hero."
Blessed am I, the beloved daughter of the Strongest One. The precious child of a Creator who loves His creation enough to hop into a blue Chevy and breathe heavy so the wind blows. The Almighty who "came down to find us", to find me, the one who got lost.
A couple of nights ago I was praying and I saw Him. Squatting on His knees, with the whole world cupped in His hands. I saw Him peer close, as close as He could get His face, and whisper strongly, quietly: "I love you... so much."
That is the image I want to leave you with tonight.
Angels and Elevators
Sometimes I wish we were given warnings upon waking up.
"Good morning, Anna! Today's gonna be one of those rough ones. Put on the right socks, please."
Then there are days I know had I been warned of the coming events, I never would have gotten out of bed.
Sometimes we have to be taken off guard so that we end up in the right place at the right time.
Which is what happened this morning.
I was sitting on a bench, listening to my iPod, waiting in the lobby for economics class to start. It was too early in the morning for any significant thoughts to be racing through my head. I was lost in the music when the elevator doors opened.
I was just looking straight ahead when a tall, black girl step off the elevator. And just as the elevator doors closed I remember seeing a short, white guy staring out. We made brief eye contact before the doors completely shut. "She was just on the elevator with an angel," was the very first thought that popped in my head.
An angel.
Why in the world did I have that thought?
Fo a moment the girl stood in front of me, staring awkwardly ahead of her as if she was waiting on me to say something. I took one earbud out to ask if she was okay (and I secretly wondered if she had seen him and thought he was an angel too). But before I could get a word out, a very large, white woman came bursting through the hallway doors.
She ran up to the girl and got in her face - aggressively, yelling words I didn't even understand. The girl just froze, looked to the ground and then at me. Immediately I took both of my earbuds out of my ears and the large woman's attention was pulled from the elevator-girl and fixed on me.
She stared at me. Defiantly, without blinking. Pointed at me and called me a very derogatory name, and then said: "look away from me. Over there. Look over there. Do not look at me. Look away from me now, (insert racial slur here)!" I stared. And kept staring. Partially because I was frozen. And partially because I recognized this. I knew what this was.
When I didn't look away, the woman backed off and quickly ran down the hallway.
I stood up and asked the elevator-girl what in the world just happened. She shook her head and replied that the woman had been on the elevator with her on a lower floor. On their ride together, the woman had threatened to kill the elevator-girl. In her rage, the woman had gotten off the elevator early, only to run into the elevator-girl in the lobby again. Right in front of me.
Elevator-girl and I exchanged names and I went into economics class. Elevator-girl is from Africa.
It wasn't until I was sitting in class that I was reminded of the "angel". The angel who had been riding the elevator during the entire altercation. The one who had made brief, brief eye contact with me seconds before I came face to face with the enemy. I was convinced.
Do you ever wonder what someone sees when they look at you? Do they see Jesus? Do they see light emanating from your face? Do you realize, as a believer, you have the power to bind spirits and cast away demons? That you literally irritate the hell out of the forces of darkness, because you keep shedding light on their shadows?
I've been praying for open eyes. For God to show me what's going on - to give me a glimpse of His angel armies and for scales to fall away. I know I sound crazy. But I know I witnessed part of the battle this morning. I never even prayed, you know? I didn't sit there and pray "God, bind the evil spirit that is threatening us right now." Or "in the name of Jesus, I command you to leave!". Wish I'd thought of that.
No. I just needed to be sitting there. I needed to not look away. I needed to be a witness. I needed to let Jesus do what Jesus does.
Hmm. What a way to start your Thursday, with a few angels and demons.
"Good morning, Anna! Today's gonna be one of those rough ones. Put on the right socks, please."
Then there are days I know had I been warned of the coming events, I never would have gotten out of bed.
Sometimes we have to be taken off guard so that we end up in the right place at the right time.
Which is what happened this morning.
I was sitting on a bench, listening to my iPod, waiting in the lobby for economics class to start. It was too early in the morning for any significant thoughts to be racing through my head. I was lost in the music when the elevator doors opened.
I was just looking straight ahead when a tall, black girl step off the elevator. And just as the elevator doors closed I remember seeing a short, white guy staring out. We made brief eye contact before the doors completely shut. "She was just on the elevator with an angel," was the very first thought that popped in my head.
An angel.
Why in the world did I have that thought?
Fo a moment the girl stood in front of me, staring awkwardly ahead of her as if she was waiting on me to say something. I took one earbud out to ask if she was okay (and I secretly wondered if she had seen him and thought he was an angel too). But before I could get a word out, a very large, white woman came bursting through the hallway doors.
She ran up to the girl and got in her face - aggressively, yelling words I didn't even understand. The girl just froze, looked to the ground and then at me. Immediately I took both of my earbuds out of my ears and the large woman's attention was pulled from the elevator-girl and fixed on me.
She stared at me. Defiantly, without blinking. Pointed at me and called me a very derogatory name, and then said: "look away from me. Over there. Look over there. Do not look at me. Look away from me now, (insert racial slur here)!" I stared. And kept staring. Partially because I was frozen. And partially because I recognized this. I knew what this was.
When I didn't look away, the woman backed off and quickly ran down the hallway.
I stood up and asked the elevator-girl what in the world just happened. She shook her head and replied that the woman had been on the elevator with her on a lower floor. On their ride together, the woman had threatened to kill the elevator-girl. In her rage, the woman had gotten off the elevator early, only to run into the elevator-girl in the lobby again. Right in front of me.
Elevator-girl and I exchanged names and I went into economics class. Elevator-girl is from Africa.
It wasn't until I was sitting in class that I was reminded of the "angel". The angel who had been riding the elevator during the entire altercation. The one who had made brief, brief eye contact with me seconds before I came face to face with the enemy. I was convinced.
Do you ever wonder what someone sees when they look at you? Do they see Jesus? Do they see light emanating from your face? Do you realize, as a believer, you have the power to bind spirits and cast away demons? That you literally irritate the hell out of the forces of darkness, because you keep shedding light on their shadows?
I've been praying for open eyes. For God to show me what's going on - to give me a glimpse of His angel armies and for scales to fall away. I know I sound crazy. But I know I witnessed part of the battle this morning. I never even prayed, you know? I didn't sit there and pray "God, bind the evil spirit that is threatening us right now." Or "in the name of Jesus, I command you to leave!". Wish I'd thought of that.
No. I just needed to be sitting there. I needed to not look away. I needed to be a witness. I needed to let Jesus do what Jesus does.
Hmm. What a way to start your Thursday, with a few angels and demons.
darkness
I am afraid of the dark.
I hate walking into dark rooms. I hate shadows. I hate it when I forget to leave my porch light on and I come home to a dark doorstep.
My sweet sister shares this fear with me.
It can be really paralyzing. And with imaginations like ours, it can be terrifying.
It is only scary when I'm alone though.
So when I got a text from my sister tonight, asking for me to pray for her over the phone as she got ready for bed, I understood. Sometimes just a voice is all we need.
Sometimes a voice can banish all fear.
I called her. And prayed for her. As I prayed, tears just started streaming down my face.
I don't really know why. Other than every once in a while, I am overwhelmed by Jesus. I am consumed with amazement over the power of prayer and just how special it is. Together Olivia and I went to Jesus and said, "Hey. The darkness really scares us. Be bigger than that."
And He was.
Tonight, I keep thinking about what John says in his gospel.
Candles blazing, lanterns lit, spirits shining - straight into the darkest depths.
I hate walking into dark rooms. I hate shadows. I hate it when I forget to leave my porch light on and I come home to a dark doorstep.
My sweet sister shares this fear with me.
It can be really paralyzing. And with imaginations like ours, it can be terrifying.
It is only scary when I'm alone though.
So when I got a text from my sister tonight, asking for me to pray for her over the phone as she got ready for bed, I understood. Sometimes just a voice is all we need.
Sometimes a voice can banish all fear.
I called her. And prayed for her. As I prayed, tears just started streaming down my face.
I don't really know why. Other than every once in a while, I am overwhelmed by Jesus. I am consumed with amazement over the power of prayer and just how special it is. Together Olivia and I went to Jesus and said, "Hey. The darkness really scares us. Be bigger than that."
And He was.
Tonight, I keep thinking about what John says in his gospel.
Candles blazing, lanterns lit, spirits shining - straight into the darkest depths.
"In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:4-5 ESV)
A Kingdom Dream
Written April 21st, 2010: Thank God we change, that we do not become who we want to be.
That we do not pick our destiny at a young age and barrel ahead with a single agenda and no chance to alter our course.
Motivation moves us forward.
Free will is the mother of our failure.
Love redeems us.
One day, surrender will perfect us.
Sometimes I try and retrace my steps. How did I get here... to this moment? What brought me this far, in this direction, through those trials... ultimately to end up here.
How did I become... me?
Many people in my life today don't know who I used to be.
The little girl who was terrified of new places and of strangers,
Who never held a baby, for fear of breaking them,
Who would rather lay on the bed and read a book than spend any time outside,
Who wanted to grow up and open a coffee shop and write books about people who took grand adventures...
-
I walked into their front yard last night without a second thought. The porch light was on and light glinted against the windchimes hanging from their roof. I could hear them yelling inside. The sound of feet pounding on the floor in the hallway... then the storm door being thrown open... then hollow footsteps on the porch.
He threw himself into my arms.
His eyes were wide and bright. He told me his name, then spelled his name, and announced he was seventy-two years old. He played with my hair as he talked to me, sometimes reaching up and touching my face.
Really... he was six. Too big to be held in my arms the way I was. But it didn't matter.
They led me inside and handed me the baby. One month old, he was still sleeping. I pulled him close and they handed me a bottle and walked away. Suddenly... I was by myself. Standing in the hallway of a strange house, with pitbulls scratching at the bedroom door, and an army of people unloading a truck outside.
-
So many moments add up to make our lives.
Moments take us by surprise and transform us.
When we least expect it, we are stretched. We turn in a new direction. Scales fall from our eyes.
We discover potential we never knew we had.
We learn how to love.
That babies don't break easily.
We learn how to pray.
And what it feels like to have dirty feet.
-
I did not grow up to be who I wanted to be.
And I will not end up who I am right now.
But there is a whisper I can hear... that suggests I was made for this life.
For adventures and babies and dirty feet.
I retrace my steps... realizing that every one was taken to lead me here.
And every one I take from here on out will be taken to get me there.
Toward becoming who I was created to be.
No time wasted.
It's been almost a year.That we do not pick our destiny at a young age and barrel ahead with a single agenda and no chance to alter our course.
Motivation moves us forward.
Free will is the mother of our failure.
Love redeems us.
One day, surrender will perfect us.
Sometimes I try and retrace my steps. How did I get here... to this moment? What brought me this far, in this direction, through those trials... ultimately to end up here.
How did I become... me?
Many people in my life today don't know who I used to be.
The little girl who was terrified of new places and of strangers,
Who never held a baby, for fear of breaking them,
Who would rather lay on the bed and read a book than spend any time outside,
Who wanted to grow up and open a coffee shop and write books about people who took grand adventures...
-
I walked into their front yard last night without a second thought. The porch light was on and light glinted against the windchimes hanging from their roof. I could hear them yelling inside. The sound of feet pounding on the floor in the hallway... then the storm door being thrown open... then hollow footsteps on the porch.
He threw himself into my arms.
His eyes were wide and bright. He told me his name, then spelled his name, and announced he was seventy-two years old. He played with my hair as he talked to me, sometimes reaching up and touching my face.
Really... he was six. Too big to be held in my arms the way I was. But it didn't matter.
They led me inside and handed me the baby. One month old, he was still sleeping. I pulled him close and they handed me a bottle and walked away. Suddenly... I was by myself. Standing in the hallway of a strange house, with pitbulls scratching at the bedroom door, and an army of people unloading a truck outside.
-
So many moments add up to make our lives.
Moments take us by surprise and transform us.
When we least expect it, we are stretched. We turn in a new direction. Scales fall from our eyes.
We discover potential we never knew we had.
We learn how to love.
That babies don't break easily.
We learn how to pray.
And what it feels like to have dirty feet.
-
I did not grow up to be who I wanted to be.
And I will not end up who I am right now.
But there is a whisper I can hear... that suggests I was made for this life.
For adventures and babies and dirty feet.
I retrace my steps... realizing that every one was taken to lead me here.
And every one I take from here on out will be taken to get me there.
Toward becoming who I was created to be.
No time wasted.
Since I picked up a bucket and carried it into a house in the inner city.
About 321 days since everything changed.
Again.
March 16th, 2010 I wrote: "I forget, sometimes, that God builds us up like building blocks. That every season of brokenness does not tear us all the way down to the ground. And so I expected, after Africa, for my calling here in the States to change. I assumed that what God had been leading me towards before was not interconnected with what He's leading me towards now. Except that, in reality, He's been preparing me for this all along. He knew my path curved this way a long time ago. Which is why He created me the way He did. Why He jumps for joy when I learn not to be anxious, but to pray about everything."
I'm sitting here, almost in tears.
I am thinking about Kingdom Dreams. And about my kids.
I want you to go and check out how God's been blessing me and stretching me over the past year. Know that one of my Kingdom Dreams is to see revival and restoration in the ghettos. Urban, inner city children are the beat of my heart.
To know me, you must catch a glimpse of my heart.
Serve the City East End.
Bless it... my heart is so tired tonight.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Dislocated Toes
I have a new blog spot where most of my writing has been going lately:
www.annavaughan.theworldrace.org
I have missed this, however. This space where I can come and write about anything and everything... without regards to the Race. Even though that does seem to be what everything revolves around right now.
The fact that I am leaving. For a year.
I've tried to leave so many times before. So many times.
That fact that in just a little over five months, it will be real, it will actually happen (God willing). Well. That just blows my mind.
The past few days I've just spent processing some stuff. I'm getting ready to move. And I quit my job. I'm getting ready to start a few new jobs too.
But I haven't cried. At all. This month long process of getting started. Of letting the idea sink deep, deep into me. I've just accepted it. Embraced it, even. Thrown myself wildly into the process.
And there had been no tears.
Until yesterday morning. When I got a text message from Olivia. She told me she thought she had dislocated her big toe. The text made me laugh.
But a few minutes later, something cracked inside of me. The dam, which had been holding back all of my tears so effectively, suddenly sprung a leak. Just a small one. But a tear trickled down my cheek as I thought about how, this time next year, if Olivia wakes up one morning wondering how in the heck she had dislocated her toe... I would not be the one to get the silly text message.
Funny. The things that set me off.
-
Today I'm thinking about how I'm kind of lonely. About how I really just want someone to love, who loves me back. Someone to cuddle with on the couch. Who will adopt Ethiopian babies with me. A man I can trust to hear the voice of God... to lead and provide. There are days when I don't even think about it. Really. There is so much else going on. But some days I wake up and I just wonder. I am just overwhelmed with the fear that this will never happen for me. Washed by this deep, cutting fear that no one could ever love me like that.
Think about it for a second. For those of you who are loved and do love: how precious is it that out of a room (a world) full of people, you have been chosen? Above all others. You are desired. And seen. Someone thinks you are beautiful. This thought just blows my mind sometimes.
-
Also.
I am ready for spring.
Winter has overstayed her welcome and I am not-so-hospitably showing her the door.
I am being teased. By warm days and thunder and lightening.
I sit, willing the trees to start turning green.
Come, spring, come. This girl is only happy in the sun.
www.annavaughan.theworldrace.org
I have missed this, however. This space where I can come and write about anything and everything... without regards to the Race. Even though that does seem to be what everything revolves around right now.
The fact that I am leaving. For a year.
I've tried to leave so many times before. So many times.
That fact that in just a little over five months, it will be real, it will actually happen (God willing). Well. That just blows my mind.
The past few days I've just spent processing some stuff. I'm getting ready to move. And I quit my job. I'm getting ready to start a few new jobs too.
But I haven't cried. At all. This month long process of getting started. Of letting the idea sink deep, deep into me. I've just accepted it. Embraced it, even. Thrown myself wildly into the process.
And there had been no tears.
Until yesterday morning. When I got a text message from Olivia. She told me she thought she had dislocated her big toe. The text made me laugh.
But a few minutes later, something cracked inside of me. The dam, which had been holding back all of my tears so effectively, suddenly sprung a leak. Just a small one. But a tear trickled down my cheek as I thought about how, this time next year, if Olivia wakes up one morning wondering how in the heck she had dislocated her toe... I would not be the one to get the silly text message.
Funny. The things that set me off.
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Today I'm thinking about how I'm kind of lonely. About how I really just want someone to love, who loves me back. Someone to cuddle with on the couch. Who will adopt Ethiopian babies with me. A man I can trust to hear the voice of God... to lead and provide. There are days when I don't even think about it. Really. There is so much else going on. But some days I wake up and I just wonder. I am just overwhelmed with the fear that this will never happen for me. Washed by this deep, cutting fear that no one could ever love me like that.
Think about it for a second. For those of you who are loved and do love: how precious is it that out of a room (a world) full of people, you have been chosen? Above all others. You are desired. And seen. Someone thinks you are beautiful. This thought just blows my mind sometimes.
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Also.
I am ready for spring.
Winter has overstayed her welcome and I am not-so-hospitably showing her the door.
I am being teased. By warm days and thunder and lightening.
I sit, willing the trees to start turning green.
Come, spring, come. This girl is only happy in the sun.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
A Fork in the Road
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It's all here:
http://annavaughan.theworldrace.org/
Consider supporting me too. :)
It's all here:
http://annavaughan.theworldrace.org/
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