A Philanthropist's Confession.

Today, I felt every emotion. Nothing traumatic (or even dramatic) happened; I went to an information session at DU for my grad program.

(Caption:  "Welcome to DU's Graduate School of Social Work!"  I am the drawn-in girl in the center amid an overly-enthusiastic crowd.  Also, I Paintbrushed some extra women in, since women significantly outnumber the men in the program.)

I probably felt everything, because I was nervous about meeting my peers-also my future classmates and colleagues. But, really, I was nervous about it all being very real. The whole going to graduate school and wearing-the-big-girl-pants thing. Even though I advocate with deep passion and speak out against injustice with conviction, there's a timid me deep inside as well. And timid me walked into Craig Hall this morning, so distractedly that I parked in the wrong spot (marked clearly on a sign and my permit) and scored a ticket from the university's security office.  For the first time, in a long time, I missed CCU Security. Harry was always so cool, and I talked my way out of tickets with him...

Sitting in that room, surrounded by unknown faces in an unfamiliar environment, I felt small. And unexperienced but aware. And hopefully-idealistic but passionate. And underprepared but over-prepared... in an entirely different way.  And young but inspired. And poor in dollars but rich in wealth that will far outlast my graduate degree, educational debt, and 765 square-foot apartment. And very, very, very Christian.

I left with a headache, probably from a spinning head, but it felt right. A little nerve-wracking, but right. It was almost as though a little piece of me that I haven't seen in awhile sat down beside me during my drive home, squeezed my shoulder, and said, "Hey, I've missed ya, but I knew we'd find each other again" with a big smile.

And when the rubber meets the road (trite.trite.trite.), I am under-experienced, hopefully-idealistic, poor, small, and a Christian. And all that is okay. Heck, I'm beyond okay; I'm fabulous. I'm lovely. I'm orchestrated. I'm called. And I'm worth it.

So, even if I feel a little out-of-place and way too adult for my own good (what does it even mean to be an adult, anyway?!), I know this is the best thing. And by being slightly uncomfortable with views, individuals, and dialogue that is a little different from what I am used to, I am going to be more comfortable with myself. And one step closer to doing what I know I'm meant to do.

So timid-Ash-somewhere-deep-down, Adios! Peace be with you, because deeper down than you, I know that I'm all about love and life and redemption. And not being timid.

And through this arduously-long confession, I encourage you to look at little, fearful you and laugh. Because you are incredibly more than that; I believe it with all the philanthropy in me.

I like to do things backward.  For example, I am currently reading the Harry Potter series at age 23 instead of age 13.  Is this a waste of my time?  Most certainly not.  Every true lover of literature wishes secretly (or not so secretly, in this case) that his or her best friends were Harry, Ron, and Hermione.  Every single one.

Who doesn't want to visit Hogwarts?  Come on, People, come on.  If I had a Spring Break, I'd want to go here for vacation.

"... Yet you are..."

During Lent I am reading the Lament Psalms with my church.  The Psalms have fascinated me always.  Within this book we find every human emotion expressed in raw conversation.  And whether the passages are thankful praises or defeated cries, the words are never enough, but God always is.

Reading the laments help me see the power of expression.  This book contains real suffering and agony.  By naming and identifying their pain, the Psalters acted in great faith.  As they identified their pain and sat in it, the healing process could begin.  By writing their Psalms, they were readying their their wounds to be opened, cleansed, and healed.

In many ways reading the Psalms, expressing our grief, and dealing with it in a healing and restorative manner is extremely counter-cultural.  We are taught to stuff our feelings-that's what maturity technically boils down to, right?  Hiding what we truly think and feel in order to appease and push through-and not to express emotion too strongly, because this makes us weak.  As I read through the Laments, one phrase, one theme, one facet of God's heart keeps resurfacing:

"... Yet you are..."

Regardless of the magnitude of pain, confusion, and lack of confidence in the Psalter's own ability to get through it, God is.  And even when the feelings of abandonment and disillusionment are heavy and overwhelming, God is.  I am humbled that God feels our pain and wants to heal us of it, so we can be agents of healing and joy for others.  When we are at our worst, God sees and knows us to be our best.  This simple truth-"... Yet you are..."-that my heart's clinging to during this Lenten season is the same truth that God whispers over us in our weakest, ugliest, lowest moments.  

That's it; that's love.

Spring Cleaning.

I'm not moving for months.  Maybe it is spring waiting around the corner.  Or the idea of being somewhere new but familiar with someone who's closeness I treasure.  Possibly it's the concept that frugal people are de-cluttered people who hold onto the necessities and valuables, nothing more and nothing less.  But I am in the mood to rid my life of things-physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual-weighing me down and cluttering my mind, my focus away from what is truly important and meaningful.  Distracting my heart from where it should be.  Blocking the sun's rays from shining hope into my soul that tiptoes on the brink of an uncertain, discontent, and tempting void.

So I'm simplifying.  Downsizing.  Outsourcing.  Letting go to trade for the lightness of freedom and simplicity.  

P.S. - Girls, you might be able to grab some things from my closet to spice up yours.  Check back with me in a few :)

I Got In!

I am happy to announce I will be a foundation-year student at the University of Denver in the Graduate School of Social Work next fall.  It is almost surreal, the thought of being a student again and structuring my life around classes, internships, exams, and papers.  I have no idea what to expect other than a challenge, but I am ready, I think.  And a little nervous.  This school could not be more unparalleled with my undergraduate institution, and I will need to learn to navigate an entirely different system.  But I am confident that by going to graduate school, I will have more opportunities to be involved further with the people, communities, and issues close to my heart.  It will help me do what I want to do (or think I want to do at 23), even if it means being a little boring for two years... and another five to pay off the student loan debt I'll incur.  I am eager to see what new experiences, relationships, and opportunities will come my way.  And I get to be a super nerd again or at least let it surface openly...

Stay tuned for the possibility of a personal finance blog about being a poor social worker/graduate student by yours truly!

Over the weekend I flew to Wisconsin for a day-and-a-half to celebrate my grandparents' 50th wedding anniversary.  And now I must declare to the world that I love my grandparents.  They are the coolest people ever.  Ever.

After 50 years they still love one another and are committed to maintaining their marriage for the rest of their lives.  They are the old married couple we archetype, ragging on each other then joking about getting it on when the family leaves.  Yep.  And my grandpa runs; he's 70.  And plays banjo, which I've referred to before (see Basement Band post for details).  And my grandma is one of the funniest women I know, always making everyone around her smile and laugh at her ridiculousness, which includes monkey imitations and voices impressions.  She's not so good at the impressions, but her confidence in herself makes up for it.

(Pretty much sums up my family...)

All this to say, I love them, and if I have a marriage someday that is half as joyful, blessed, faithful, and loving, I'll be one lucky girl.

Any day now.  The envelope could come in the mail any day.  And I am real scared to open it.  But real excited.

But once it's open, it will be open, the answer laid bare in front of me, and that will be that.  And even if I don't like the response-or if I do-I will still be me.  Still be someone with a long way to go, but an incredible someone who has come through a lot as well.  All this waiting; I'm no good at it.

Even if the content doesn't say what I want it to, other possibilities wait.  Some I know nothing of and others I've considered for some time.

A trip to Kenya.  And maybe a detour to Uganda.  Or Senegal.
Two years in Mexico.
Jobs in other fields, places.
Living with one of my best friends again.  And two dogs.  And maybe with others.
Friends I have yet to meet.
Books to read.
Questions to ask.
Weddings to dance at.
Thoughts to consider.
Habits to break.
A love I have yet to love.
5Ks to Run.  This coming Saturday.
Money to save.
Projects to take on.
Areas to grow in.
Laughs to laugh and laugh and laugh.

Up to this point, I've lived in phases, waiting for the "next big thing."  What happens when there isn't a "next big thing?"  I guess that's now, and I'm learning to live well in the now.  In the monotonous mundane.  To appreciate every day for what it is, nothing more and nothing less.

But my heart is still wild.  And that is something I love, something I won't let go of ever.