Powdered Sugar Magic

Christmas has really never been my favorite holiday. I could live the rest of my life happily without seeing another winter, I don't particularly care for the presents, and I don't really understand all the hype about it. I really love Christmas Eve church, but that's about it. This season really doesn't do anything good for my mood/depression either, I think I just need a little extra Vitamin D that winter just doesn't give me. Over the last few years, several of my friends have tried to teach me all the things they love about Christmas, and it's helping A LITTLE, but in my heart, I'm just really a fourth of July, 100 degree weather, knee-cap sweat kind of a girl.

This weekend, a few events changed my perspective about Christmas - even just a little bit. Friday night I had the opportunity to go to the Christmas party that my parents host ("Party with a Purpose"). They've been attending or hosting the party for almost 20 years and this was the first time I was actually able to go. The idea of the party is that they are able to adopt several families through the Christmas Bureau and then they have a party and everyone spends time shopping for the families, plus a little socializing and drinks after.  My mom, knowing the way to my heart, gave my friend Heather and I a set of three year old twins to shop for with special needs. Do you know how hard it is for a pediatric therapist to shop for a three year old in 45 minutes? Hard. But we did it.

After we got back we wrapped all the presents (which is actually very funny, men aren't really the best present wrappers, but they give it their best effort and their most positive attitude. If there's anything that puts you in the Christmas spirit, it's people doing things they hate/are very bad it for the good of someone else. While smiling.)

I don't see my parents in situations like this very often. They both spoke and had a long list of people to thank - people who donated, people who catered, people who shopped extra, etc. The room was filled with smiles by the time they were through - tons of people giving what they had (time, money, and skills) to help families who needed it. Most of all, to keep the magic in Christmas for kids. I've learned over the last few years that if I need reminded of some of the positive things about Christmas, go hang out with some kids. My parents always made sure my sister and I had MORE than enough and that Christmas was a very magical time of year for us. To hear them talking about moving all the magic they gave my sister and I as kids to other families who could use some extra magic this time of year really made me feel good - definitely something that I want to emulate in my own life.

Yesterday, I spent the day at my neighbors house baking cinnamon rolls as a fundraiser for a family who is near and dear to my heart. I spent countless hours at the Savages growing up - playing in the treehouse or on the trampoline, making and frosting cookies, and playing Mario Kart in the basement for hours. Once Luke was born, we played a lot of Wii games with him, trains, hide and seek, and legos. I don't make it over there as much anymore, but some things never change. Turns out I'm still just as messy making Christmas treats at 23 as I was when I was 10. 60 dozen cinnamon rolls, several tired bakers, and a LOT of powdered sugar later, I was ready with 11 dozen to come back to Omaha today.

Tonight, I had the opportunity to pull off a Christmas surprise for said cinnamon roll family. My main job was transportation of rolls and presents to Omaha, as they were all put together by the "Luke Squad". They were beautifully wrapped and the tags looked like something that came directly from the North Pole.Then I was meeting Santa in our church parking lot. I was so nervous for this. I wanted everything to be perfect.  I met Santa and him and Mrs. Clause rode with me to the house (you can imagine the stares we got on the highway). Although our visit was VERY fast and chaotic, I wish I could relive it over and over again. I wish I could have captured the joy in those kids' eyes when they saw Santa in their home, opened their presents, and just took in the environment around them. I thought about how all this was put together because one family suffered immeasurable hurt at the loss of their own child, and the desire to help others in a similar situation was what they wanted to do for this Christmas season without him.

I did not cry during delivery tonight like I thought I would, until I heard Brent read the snow globe that Kim sent for them - it had Luke's verse printed on it, and I don't know the last time I heard it out loud. It may have been at his funeral.To hear it read by people that I love, for people that I love, in memory of someone I loved, was really special. Luke made his presence pretty known tonight - especially with a Lightning Mcqueen toy.

Today, I realized, that for me, Christmas is never going to be snow on the ground, or presents, or certain music. I will probably never like peppermint flavored anything, wearing 10 layers, or trying to find things to buy for every single person I love. I will never like so few hours of daylight and what feels like months and months of nonstop gloomy weather. This weekend I realized that the magic in Christmas for me is in the eyes of kids, flour all over my clothes,  and people with hearts bigger than their kitchen. Magic is less present for me than it use to be in big events anymore, like Christmas morning. I found the Christmas magic this weekend by trying to get through Wal-Mart to shop as fast as I could without accidentally taking someone out with the cart. I love trying to wrap dozens of packages as quickly as I can. I love surprising people I love and giving them the things that they deserve, but that only 'magic' can bring them. I love seeing the people I love excited, and I love when people who don't know each other team up to make someone else's day.  I may always be a fourth of July kind of a girl, but this weekend definitely reminded me that Christmas is it's own kind of special.

What Happens in Vegas

I was in the second grade the day that the twin towers fell.

I had just graduated high school when a man from my community murdered one of my friends.

I was getting ready to start college when I heard about a man who had opened fire in a midnight showing of a movie in Aurora, Colorado, where one of my co-workers had family who had planned to go to the showing.

I had just finished my first semester of college when someone entered an elementary school and killed twenty children and six teachers. Eleven days before Christmas.

I was a junior in college when I learned about, studied, and pondered over the mysterious case of Elliot Rodger.

Today, I was 23 and in my second year of grad school when I learned that 50 people were killed and over 500 are injured after a shooting in Las Vegas at a concert early this morning. One of my best Omaha friend's parents were at the concert. My friend who lives in Los Angeles reported a gloomy, sad, scared vibe today throughout the city. It seems as though the older I get, the closer to home these things become. My life has had these unpredictable and scary events for as long as I can remember, and I can't tell if the world is actually getting scarier, or I'm just getting older.

Keep in mind that the list I gave doesn't include EVERYTHING that's happened in my lifetime, and it certainly doesn't include things that are tragedies but with more natural causes, like hurricanes or earthquakes.

For the most part, these tragedies have, as shameful as I feel saying it, disappeared. They are no longer on my radar, even though there's a family out there who celebrates Christmas each year without one of their children, someone out there who struggles through September 11 every year and remembers the bravery of their spouse, and, right this very second, people who do not know if their loved ones came home from that concert last night. All because of....?

I don't know the because. I don't know why these things happen. Honestly, I don't even know where to start looking. Is it on purpose? Did someone truly, in their right mind, want to kill 20 kindergartners? Is it mental illness that does not allow them to think clearly? (This is not an excuse, but I do enjoy studying the brain, and it is real stuff when people have things like biological changes, undiagnosed tumors, etc. in certain parts of their brain.) Was this person just really, really, angry about some unrelated circumstance and that's how they took it out?

I believe that gun control is a serious issue in our country. I believe that mental health is also an issue in our country, and our healthcare laws don't do us any favors. I believe that many, many factors influence situations like today and the people who make such sad choices. What I also know is that a political decision, law, or party affiliation does not have the power that people like to give it. If you think that 'if everyone abided by this law or voted this way, this issue would be fixed' then you are wrong. (Hint: criminals don't follow laws. Making things illegal does not stop the use of them.)  However, I'm not all that knowledgeable or interested in politics. I try really hard to pay attention to educate myself enough to vote, but they just do not come naturally to me, and I don't believe they should have to. I trust that there are important and educated people out there (some harder to find than others) who are destined for political office and I am just destined to know the very, very minimum of it all. I don't believe that it is my responsibility to be knee deep in politics all the time. However - that's not to say I don't have responsibility.

A few things that I believe that are relevant today:

1. I believe that God creates people of all talents, skills, and interests in this world. Just because you do not understand it or even like it does not make it bad, but it means that we have to come together, as no one can do it alone.
2. I believe that, even if I wanted nothing more, and had the time and money to hop on a plane there may not be a job for me in Vegas right now. There might be. But there also might not be.

More importantly...

3. My proximity to the disaster does not excuse my inaction.
4. Hate does not drive out hate, it only magnifies it.

Let me be very clear here: What happens in Vegas DOES NOT STAY THERE.

I have seen on Facebook all day today posts about needing people to donate blood, as there are hundreds of people fighting for their lives in Nevada right now who need it. I'm not sure how the whole blood thing works - can they transport it that far? If not, maybe this isn't a job for my friends on the east coast reading this.  Financial compensation, in almost any scenario, can always be used. Now, some of us are graduate students who don't exactly have a lot to give, or anywhere to give it. That's okay too.

I have seen several posts today about 'keeping your thoughts and prayers because they wont fix the loss of 50+ lives' (that number has gone up since I started writing this) today, and that's true, that we can't expect prayer to do all the work. We are responsible for action. But, if you are the praying type, you know that prayer. does. work. You should do that. Now and Always. But not everyone was meant to be a prayer warrior - some people are meant to serve behind the scenes with prayer and be on the front lines in other, equally as helpful and skilled, ways.

Perhaps the biggest takeaway I wish this world would understand is about unity. I have seen so many posts, articles, pictures... captioned with 'We as a country have got to learn how to be together or this will never stop.' And that is exactly right. What I think that most people don't understand, though, is that many times, that isn't about racism, or a fight over religion, or issues like abortion or gun control. Unity does not begin by you standing up to say that you can get along with someone who is very different from you, but it starts with the people who are the closest to us. One person making this world a better place does not start with anything but being nice to the person next to you. It means developing friendships, learning about others, and living with people, not next to them.

You may have heard of the research project called Six Degrees of Separation. Google will be much more helpful to you if you want to look into this more, but it was basically a study done that found that you are, at no time, farther from any one person on this earth by more than six 'friend of a friend's.' Obviously there's probably no way to prove this is exactly correct, and this study was also done in 1930, so the population of the world has maybe grown and changed since then. But what is it like to consider that you might be that close to someone involved in any one of these situations, regardless of their status in it? What if your kind word, your inclusion, your willingness to be vulnerable and try something new with or for a total stranger, meant you had an effect on those around you that changed the rest of their life, and maybe the paths of the lives around them? My friend Brenna was excellent at this type of pond rippling kindness. We should all be able to do this.

A commencement speech from the University of Texas at Austin in 2014 has gone viral on YouTube (I'll attach the link below) and it begins with the simple command of making your bed each day because this is a task accomplished. Whether you choose making your bed or not, I don't think really matters here - I think that the key is diligence. Admiral William McRaven tells about his own challenges during his training in the service, one particularly rough night where his group spent the night up to their neck in cold mud - teeth chattering so loud they couldn't hear one another. He claims that one member's singing, which ultimately led to the singing of many, got them through the night, despite the voices of their superiors telling them to stop singing, or they would regret it. He says he believes that it is only the smallest acts required that will really change the world.

I am not saying that prayer and kind words will stop the violence in this country, because they won't. But I can't imagine that they wouldn't help. In my opinion, this battle has three parts - hope, prayer, and action. Any two without the third will not get us very far. Our country seems to come together best in the face of tragedy, so it would be really cool if we could figure out how to come together before these things happen. Even if today is the very last shooting in the entire world forever, I'm still going to spend the rest of my life wondering why humans want to kill other humans, because that very question has changed my life in so many ways. I'm always going to wonder how my actions in middle school P.E. could have changed the fate of the person who killed my friend - what could I have done differently? Even if my actions can't change the past, they may be able to change the future. One minuscule action from the several million people in this country could turn into something really great. What if we, the diverse body of this country, used the tune and song that we sang the very best to make this world just a little better?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U6OoCaGsz94&app=desktop

Fully Charged

I live my life by my iPhone.

Yes. I do mean in the stereotypical 'millennial way'. I get most of my news through Facebook and Twitter (I can make arguments for these, but that's for another day.) I peruse through Instagram when I'm in the doctor's office, and I am, on occasion, caught Snap chatting. I like to be connected. My phone is among one of the most important possessions that I have.

But - it's also important to me in like an actual functioning adult kind of way. My budget apps and online banking are on my phone. I link my iPhone calendar to my Mac calendar and school calendar, so I can schedule meetings on my phone and they show up everywhere. All of my prized pictures (if you've seen my Facebook you know I love pictures)are stored there. My weather app that I check daily, and of course the clock app so that I always know what time it is in Madrid, Hong Kong, and so that I can get up for school every morning - not to mention my apps for ESPN and MLB, as well as all the airlines so that I can check myself into my flight without finding a printer. (this is one of my most prized adult tasks. I feel so accomplished whenever I have a boarding pass on my phone.)

I can count on one hand the number of times since I have had a cell phone that I have let it die. I am ALWAYS prepared with an extra charger. My parents know if they text or call me, they'll hear from me within half an hour if I don't answer. I am, in fact, so anal, that when my phone rarely DOES die at night, I wake up on my own in the morning (because you know it's my alarm) because I just know. Creepy, right?

Sometimes I think it would be a good idea for me to take a break from my phone. I try to leave it in my backpack during class, but I last MAYBE four hours tops. That's where my to do list is. I schedule meetings on my phone. I literally cannot.

This week, I've started wondering: What if I treated my God that way?

God and I have our time every morning for about half an hour before I have breakfast. I will admit - some/most of these reasons are selfish. I am an introvert and devout planner at heart and it gives me a surpassing peace to start my day off by talking to God about all the things I have going on that day (Spoiler alert: Grad school does not cater to introverts. It is Friday night and I am sitting on the couch wrapped in blankets, and I am HAPPY about that.) Most of that time in the morning is spent journaling - occasionally I will use a devotional book to journal about a specific topic. But rarely am I good at reading my bible, or better yet - listening. My journal time is very similar to my phone - I cart my journal and bible around with me everywhere, but I have not yet learned the art of listening to God instead of talking to him. Which is, actually, kind of odd for me to think about. I sometimes struggle to list my strengths (ok, usually I struggle) but I really think listening is one of them. I want to work with trauma survivors in my future, and I think that's why. I like to listen, and I like to help. So why do I not want to listen to the Ultimate Helper?

When I was in undergrad I was in a bible study about a book called The Circle Maker. Unfortunately it also happened to be my hardest semester so my attendance wasn't that great, but in essence, the book is about two things - praying boldly. and praying a lot. I think I have the latter down. But the first one, I'm not so hot on.

My prayer to God tends to be: 'its whatever you want - help me to deal with whatever that is' because I learned in May of 2012 that what I pray for is not always what happens. That's not to say that He isn't listening, because he definitely is. It's just that many times,  God's plans are bigger than yours and you DON'T know what's best. (Picture the moms who tell their kids that they cannot have ice cream for dinner. The kids don't understand why that's important, but the mom does, and she has bigger plans for them than to have horrible eating and grocery shopping habits when they're 20. Case in point: my mom always had us choose cereals below a certain number of grams of sugar, and I have only bought child sugar cereal once in my adult life. Cinnamon Toast Crunch doesn't count.) My mom wanted the best for my sister and I (and still does) and I appreciate her teaching me healthy habits.

What if I lived my life with God fully charged? What if I even did like 75%? What if I told him boldly what I wanted and I asked for it more than once. There are a few things that I currently 'pray circles around' - that I have been praying for since I was probably in high school. It gets downright exhausting to pray continually for something that you feel like God is just IGNORING.And it's not that He doesn't want to, or can't, or doesn't feel like it. It's that He's just BIGGER. and that's all. And that can seem really, really, unfair in our eyes, because sometimes I look at my life and think about the things that I want the VERY MOST IN THE WHOLE WORLD. and I wonder how God could not feel the exact same way.

I tend to shy away from bold prayer because the first time that I ever boldly prayed for something I wanted was moments before my mom called me to tell me that Brenna had been found and she did not make it. It was like getting up the courage to ask for something you've wanted deeply and for a long time, and being shut down in a harsh, heartless, and mean way. And it made me terrified to ever ask for anything again. But... I am slowly realizing that I HAVE to get over that.

My inspiration for this blog post came partly from the fact that I'm snuggled up on my couch with my favorite blanket but MOSTLY from Emma - the little girl I post [constantly] about. Emma has had a rough couple of months with her health and an even more rough last few days. I don't know a lot about Emma's health other than her diagnosis or understand a lot about what her parents post (I google a lot of things). But I do know that I love that little girl so much, I can't even find the words to express it. When it comes to Emma's health, I haven't known what to pray for. (Good health? Ok, that's specific, way to go, self.) I don't know what the right scans results are or what the spinal pressure should be. I just don't. But that doesn't stop me from being 'fully charged' about it.

I want Emma to come dance with me again. I love feeling her little hand on my knee at dance when she is uneasy, so she knows that I won't get up and walk away without her knowing. I love how unbelievably excited she gets when we go backstage, she can hardly stand it. I want Emma to go to kindergarten and play with her friends. I want Emma to be the reason why kids learn empathy because they learn how to play with a child in a walker. I want Emma to play with her baby dolls and make me fake hamburgers in her kitchen. I love Emma because of the way she changes hearts and minds.

So this morning, I told God that. And it may have come in a slightly angry and frustrated tone. And you know what? Man, it felt good. I don't know what the future holds for her or for any of us. Christ could return tomorrow for all I know. But if you aren't praying boldly, why are you praying at all? If I'm stuck in my 'ok God, help me to deal with whatever you decide" that doesn't get our relationship anywhere besides me being mad at him for not doing what I want.

My friend Meg explained this beautifully to me several years ago and I have never forgotten it. If I went to her house for dinner, I might want her to make a chocolate cake, so I might tell her that. But she might already have vanilla cupcakes in the oven. So she would thank me for suggesting it, but let me know that she's already got something planned. But now she KNOWS that about me. And I know what you're thinking. "God knows what I want - why should I have to tell him?" You're right, he does. But you owe him the service of TELLING him that - you don't build relationships by KNOWING, you build them by WORKING. (Hint: this means it isn't easy.)

The difference between living my life on 50% battery and fully charged is that (I think) if I live at fully charged, the things that matter the most to me will be the things that matter most to God. Which is, truly, the way you want to live. It's the same (times a million) as getting along well with a teacher, or your RA in college. Things go better when you have important people on your side. I want God's priorities to be mine. The first step for me in being fully charged was to write this blog. I think that people think I have all these ideas for all these wise things I want to say when I write these, but 0% of the time that is how it works. Normally Im just chilling (probably on my phone) and I'm like, hmmm, you know what? I should blog. So I just start typing and I see what comes out.

Tonight, my lesson is to pray boldly about the things I want in life: my upcoming test, my little dance buddy, my future as a therapist. Even if I don't know what I want - I can be better about boldly not knowing. I know that someone needed to be reminded of this - I sure did. My goal is to work hard to be as fully charged with God as I am about scrolling through my social media accounts when I'm bored, or relying on my phone for math problems or time change.
Sometimes I need reminded - you are 50 times happier by learning to make God's will your own than deciding He'll just be background noise in your struggle with yours.

16 Things I've Learned In Grad School

About a year ago I posted an article encompassing 24 things I learned in college that I felt were valuable enough to share. I have recently felt as though there is a similar list, but this time revolving around grad school. Some of the things on the list are the same, but some of them are not, so pay close attention.

1. Technically, I'm not in grad school

My teachers really find it necessary to remind us of this (we had a lecture last year about how to correct your awkward uncle at Thanksgiving when he says this, I have never used it, but maybe someday... I really don't care what people call it.) Technically, a doctorate is 'professional school' and a masters is grad school. This isn't really advice, but you never know when this little tidbit may come in handy. I will continue to refer to my program as grad school through the course of this blog, simply for the sake of consistency and simplicity, but I thought you should know this fun little fact.

2. Roommates are everything.

Unlike college, you likely can't hide from your roommate in grad school because more often than not they are in the same program. Leah and I have all of the same teachers, assignments, projects, and almost the same schedule. AND - I currently have the best roommate I've ever had. Leah ad I are POLAR OPPOSITES. We study differently, socialize differently, cook differently, and most importantly, have consistent disagreements about whether we should break the noodles in half when we make spaghetti. BUT. Coming home to someone whose company I genuinely enjoy has made all the difference in a smooth transition to a new city and new school. Sometimes we are really only bonding over dislike of a subject or assignment, but the grad school roommate bond is rock solid and it makes all the difference in the world.

3. Your free time is not actually yours 

When I started college I remember being overwhelmed with the amount of free time I had. Not that most of it wouldn't be spent studying, but still. No one was telling me how or when to do things and it was kind of scary. (Looking back, I would have had a LOT of free time had I known how to structure a day like I do now. But whatever.) In grad school, you have much less free time (I spend way more time actually in class than I did in college, and have about four times the homework) but the twist is that, LOL, I don't have any time that's mine. There are lots of times when I'm not scheduled to be somewhere but the school can just tell me I'm doing this event for a class on a Friday. You don't have free time ... it's more 'rented' if you will. For the low price of tuition (which is like three of your limbs)

4. You truly learn how to get along with people you don't like.

I don't know about anyone else but this is what my professors PREACHED in college. Group projects will teach you how to get along with people you don't necessarily care for. That was false. They taught me how to save my own butt when I didn't like the people I worked with because they didn't do their work (which is a valuable skill) and how to learn how to avoid them for group projects in the future, (also a valuable skill) which was easy because I would usually never see these people again. In grad school, there are 62 people in my class. Not all of us get along. But we have at least learned (for the most part, or we will) how to work together. I have at least three group projects per class, per semester. Some days we don't really like each other all that much. But we're all here for a common goal, and we're doing our best. We learn how to utilize the planner, the best speaker, the logistical thinker, and the person with the most artistic talent to improve our success, not make us perfect equals.

5. You deserve The Bachelor

I will be the first to admit that The Bachelor is, debatably, one of the dumbest, most unrealistic, shallow TV shows in existence. THAT BEING SAID. Do you know what got me through spending 20 hours a day at school? Knowing that my roommate and I had an hour every Monday night reserved just to gossip over the people on the show, and then creep on their respective social media sites to see what they thought of the episode. Then go back to our rooms and continue to study. You have to take a break from the deep stuff. Or you will die. Not really, but it will feel like it.

*Note: You don't have to choose The Bachelor. Any shallow show of your choice is really okay. Just choose one. You owe it to yourself.

6. Career Fairs are good for your health 
a. The wellness of your ideal future job. I HATED these in college. I knew I wasn't doing anything with my undergraduate degree and they were a downright waste of time. HOWEVER. When I went to one at Creighton I did talk to quite a few people and get quite a few business cards of people who maybe I wouldn't want to work for in terms of practice setting, but these may come in handy in the future.
b. the wellness of your desire for free things. Everyone loves free things. Why not, you know? I'm always running out of pens.

7. Learn to be wrong, and learn to do it well. 
This is especially important if you are in school for something that is health, teaching, or people related. There is a reason it is taking you more than just four years of lecture halls to learn your trade. You may have some sort of fieldwork, clinical rotation, or something similar. It is important that you understand you need to be wrong and need feedback about your performance with clients, patients, or students in these positions. If you didn't, you wouldn't be in school.

8. Do not underestimate the importance of good library study spots 
One thing I really like about Creighton is that their professional school library has an excellent and wide variety of places to study. Large classrooms, tiny cubicles, wooden booths, couches (mostly for napping). You must find the perfect spot. This is not undergrad where you can get your assignments done in a couple of hours. On the weekends it is likely that your butt will be in the same seat for the next ten to fifteen hours. The only thing worse than studying anatomy for ten hours is if your butt hurts while you're doing it.

9. Your backpack should function very similar to an IKEA shelf 
... In that it is organized to the owner's eye but also a little terrifying and overwhelming to someone who is unfamiliar with it. I would recommend specific compartments for snacks, permanent markers, chargers, lunch boxes, wallets and personal items, feminine products, etc. (You do not want to pull out your professional name tag only to send tampons flying in the direction of your professor) Similar to the concept of your locker in high school, maybe your car in college, your backpack is your best friend for at least 15 hours per day. You need it. Treat it well.

10. Understand sleep and it's important components 
In the blog I wrote about college, I wrote about getting enough sleep. For some people in college, that was not possible based on their program and how much they needed to study. For me, I did get enough sleep because I am such an unpleasant person when I do not get enough sleep. Sometimes, it is not possible to get enough sleep, and instead of freaking out about how little sleep you will get, it is actually easier just to accept the fact. My practicums in the spring made me so nervous I would toss and turn and only end up sleeping 2-3 hours, which just increased my anxiety because I was over tired. Do your best to take a deep breath, drink lots of water, eat something high in protein, and remember that whatever it is, you are confident and capable and can get through it. (One of my favorite moments of that spring was my first kinesiology practicums on about 45 minutes of sleep. I don't even remember it, whether that be because of my panic or my lack of sleep, who can be sure?)

11. Practice on a variety of patients, if this applies to your profession
If you are getting your masters or doctorate in something such as accounting, I would recommend skipping this step. There really is no need for strangers to let you practice your skills on them. Math is pretty much math. (I could be wrong about this but it seems to make sense) But those of us in professions revolving around health, people skills, and bedside manner, it is necessary for us to practice our skills on adults, children, people who don't speak English.... the list goes on. You must practice on LOTS of people to really understand what you are doing prior to a practicum. Stretching the rotator cuff muscles of a four year old is very different than doing it on a large, grown, man. Practice.

12. Dunkin Donuts 
This is perhaps the most important of the steps, so please pay attention. Dunkin has a happy hour for their iced coffee from 2:30-6:30 every day. Check your local store before quoting me on this, but it's pretty important. My roommate and I pretty much text about the following things, in order of their importance:
1. If the other one would like Dunkin.
2. What type of coffee the other one would like at Dunkin
3. Whether or not we should get a couple large coffees with no ice to use the rest of the week at Dunkin
4. Whether we are out of Ziplock bags
5. Where and when we are watching the Bachelor this week

13. Learn that your grades are a different kind of everything. 
I HATE when people tell me my grades don't matter because my future employer won't care. Some people in the workforce tell me that they agree with this, and I've heard people say that employers asked about their GPA. Regardless, grades DO matter, because you spend all your time working for them, so saying they don't matter just feels really frustrating. The most important thing you need to realize is that to an extent they do, and to an extent they don't. I don't learn a whole lot from taking tests, I learn a whole bunch through practicums. You have to be able to take your grades with a grain of salt - look at them when it matters, and ignore them when they don't. It's a skill.

14. Embrace the chaos.
Although pretty much all you do in grad school is things that revolve around school, so it would seem like your life is pretty singularly focused, it's really not. There are mornings when it seems like Leah and I can barely make it out of the house with our lunch, backpacks, coffee, and a solid idea of what we've got going on that day. One time last semester Leah tried to get coffee ice cubes out of the tray (we freeze them for easy and yummy iced coffee) and right as she tried to do that the ice tray broke in half and coffee went flying all over the kitchen. I am someone who is a planner and needs to operate on a schedule, but I've learned that if I'm not the perfect combination of flexible and really on top of it, school will ruin me. Sometimes you just have to embrace the chaos.

15. Understand pizza and it's wide variety of blessings and values. 
Other than Leah just being a great roommate, one of my favorite things about her is that when I text her or ask her "What do you want to do for dinner?" She KNOWS that isn't an actual question. The simple answer is always "Pizza." We try to eat healthy, to eat protein, to not eat five slices in one night. We drink our protein shakes in the morning and go to the gym a couple times a week. But sometimes, you've had a hard week and you just need Domino's. This almost always happens on a Thursday night for us, and man, is it good.

16. You. Can. Do. It. 
These programs are downright stressful, overwhelming, and tear-inducing. Last semester I remember coming out of a practicum in anatomy and I wasn't even sure if the cadavers were laying on their stomachs or backs. Just remember that whatever your fear is (failing a class, messing up a practicum, etc.) that millions (ish? That's a loose statistic) of people have gone before you and few have done whatever you're fearing. And, if it does happen, you are a competent and excellent adult who will handle the situation with confidence and grace. Whatever it is, you can do it.

The Princess

It is currently two in the morning on May 25th, and I am struggling to get my words together. (One idea might be that it's two in the morning, go to sleep?) Usually I know what I'm going to say by now. But tonight I don't. Five was supposed to be a round number, even things out. If you've made it through all these holidays, all these birthdays, and at least two new transitions in life, you can make it through anything, right? If you are reading this and you are new at grief, let me be the one to break it to you that it is not linear, nor does it pretend to be, nor can you pretend that it is. Grief does what it wants, has it's own plans and ideas. Grief actually has a very similar temperament to a tired two year old. 

This past fall I moved to Omaha to pursue a clinical doctorate in occupational therapy. There were exactly zero things about this move that left me with familiarity. I had a new roommate, new apartment, new city, new school, new classmates, and a new curriculum. All of it was new, and all of it was scary. Overall, it's been a good move. But it's definitely had it's challenges. I've never slept less and studied more, and I really think it's been a long time since my grief has been this bad. I don't know if I'm longing for the familiarity, and that makes me think of all those nights right after Brenna died where I felt the same way, or what the deal is. But it's been a rough six months with grief. 

This fall one of the things that I found peace in was an organization called Dancing Beyond Limits. It is a dance class for kids with special needs, physical or cognitive, and they were of all ages. Beautifully chaotic is how I would describe it to you. During the semester I was paired with Emma, a four year old currently undergoing chemotherapy for a brain tumor. Because of the location of the tumor, Emma does not walk or stand on her own, and the left side of her body tends to not listen as well. (These are legit her words. Once, I asked if Lefty was doing his job like he's supposed to in dance class and she looked me directly in the eye and told me he didn't want to.) Emma is smart, sassy, and strong, but also humble, kind, and joy filled. Emma loves Starbucks, the Huskers, and Rapunzel. She goes to Boston every few months for scans and she gets excited to ride on the airplane. She likes stickers, watching Mickey Mouse on her iPad, and she can scoot across the room using one hand faster than I can. (I know this because we race at dance when she doesn't feel like walking)  

What Emma doesn't know is the impact she's had on me over the last eight months or so. It was probably spring break before I stopped crying on Sunday afternoons when I had to come back to Omaha. Change is HARD. But usually, the drive would calm me down before jumping back into the week again, and I would go straight to dance class to maximize my time at home... and in would come my little princess, hair always accompanied by a ribbon or bow, and she almost always says "Ge Wha?" and she tells me the new and exciting thing in her life from that week, like shoes, her brother coming to watch her dance, or her new baby doll. Emma has no idea how much easier she makes it for me to be in Omaha, and although it's because she's sweet, I think there might be more to it than that. 

Four months after Brenna died I went back to my high school to watch the homecoming ceremony for the class below me. Although always a fun ceremony, this year it had a different feel to it - because the queen from the previous year wouldn't be returning to present the crown to this year's winners. Instead, each candidate was holding a purple balloon. I remember watching Brenna a year earlier during homecoming week. She loved to dress up, loved to be in the parade, to wave at everyone. She was a sweet, humble, and kind person who genuinely was in her element during that week. Two days after she died I sat in my high school auditorium with many friends and classmates as my friend Tyler talked about the honor it was to be paired with her for the event. She didn't know how perfect she was. 

One of these days, I will get to see her again and we will get to rehash it all - boys, jobs, college, life. I will tell her how the things went that she missed out on, and she will be my tour guide in heaven. I already have a million people I can't wait for her to meet. Unfortunately and fortunately, that day isn't here yet, and I miss her all the more every day. I do my best to be sure that her legacy outlives her life, not that Dustin's actions are able to do the same. Although I think 'closure' is like the stupidest and most insulting term ever, I have found some small pieces of it - like little stitches of it. It's not permanent, and it's not the same, and it actually kind of hurts, just like real stitches would, but it's progress. 

In the last five years I have made peace with many things about the awful, awful day where my friend lost her life to someone else's selfish and scary choices. I have made peace with the day that I laid in my bed and cried with my mom when our local newspaper printed every last detail of what happened to my friend before she was pronounced dead. I have made peace with the scene and sounds of watching my friends fall sobbing and shaking into the street when they heard the news. I have made peace with the nine months that followed of court dates. I have made peace (almost all the way, not totally) with the sound of a helicopter over head, the police yelling into an abandoned building for my friend, and even my own ignorance to think that this could be just a normal 'hit and run accident' despite the yellow caution tape around the field and a van that vividly read "Crime Scene Investigation" I have, mostly, made peace with the loss of her. But a lot of days, I still struggle to make peace with the loss of her life.

And maybe that's why moving to Omaha was so hard. I am doing something that Brenna was never privileged to do - earn not one, but two degrees. Live on my own, learn how to be an adult, and have interests and hobbies in all the things that God has provided for me. It seems so unfair, somehow, that that's just how it ended. Loss of life seems unrealistic. I imagine how wonderful of a wife and mom she would have been, all the people who would have been positively impacted her on the rowing team at K-State, and the number of kindergartners who would later graduate high school and remember her as the best teacher ever. It makes me frustrated to think how on earth God's plan could include this. How could anyone think this world would be better off without her? 

But in the end, I know that isn't the case. I know that God does not control, He is in control. And that means that sometimes, things don't work out the way you wanted it to, but it opens your eyes to the world around you just a little bit more. I currently hang out with a four year old every week who is going through chemotherapy. She inspires me more than she'll ever know. She has spent much of her life in treatment, but you should see the look on her face when she gets to choose a new baby doll. 

My 18th birthday fell two and a half months after Brenna died, and I spent that evening at her house with many of my friends. Her parents invited us over to go through some of Brenna's things and take some to college with us. In grief time, two and a half months is like, five seconds. I look back and applaud the incredible bravery and trust I know this must have taken for them. That night, I got a sign out of Brenna's room that simply reads "Celebrate Everything." It was ironic at the time, because it felt like nothing was really worth celebrating. But over time, the sign has proved itself, and it currently hangs above my door. When I am in a trying time in life, I often see it and remember to be thankful, just like my four (now five, as of yesterday) year old friend. I know that Brenna would have LOVED Emma - and it makes me happy that Emma has slowly filled, in her own little way, the princess shaped hole in my heart. 

Pictured below are two of the most influential people in my life. I think the crown fits them both. 

Homesick

I'm going to be honest, today has been really rough. I really thought that each year, Brenna's birthday would get easier, and until today, it had. My logical human mind has rationed that because April 7 is filled with so many more positive memories than May 25, this day should not be hard, especially not five years later. It should be filled with happy memories. But this year, the happier ones seem harder to come by than they normally do. Each year when I write these for Brenna's birthday or death day, it seems like I can reflect on what I have learned over the last year - I somehow feel better and more sound and stable than I did the year before. But this year, it doesn't quite feel that way. Today, on Brenna's 23rd birthday, I almost feel like I'm moving backwards.

I've learned a lot about the setbacks and 'relapses' that come with grief both from learning about it in school and working with a counselor who has been through the same thing. It's amazing how society seems to give people one year to grieve and then they assume that things are back to normal - but now that you're in the middle of it, five years seems like five days. This year, I think that the best way to describe my feeling is homesick. That doesn't make a lot of sense, because no amount of money in the world could get me to go back to the summer of 2012..the toughest summer of my life. I wouldn't say that I want to go back to high school, before she did, either. So much has happened since then and I wouldn't take it back. The time that most fits the homesick category is probably my last two years at K-State, where I felt like my grief was minimal, and had a great group of friends and really just felt like I had it all under control - but I'd still be missing my time at Creighton that, stressful as it may be, is allowing me to work towards a goal I've had since I was 14. Maybe I'm homesick for a little bit of each of those places today - but not too much of any one of them.

Most days (with the exception of this semester as the stress has been insanely high) I make it without thinking about that horrific day in May much at all. I think about Brenna when I hear the girl in my class who has a contagious laugh just like she did, or I think about her when I see the movie Tangled, or I think about my last conversation with her when we talk about medical intervention in the hospital - how she was arguing (legitimately) that marijuana should be used during labor, and although she was serious, the rest of us were laughing so hard the tears were rolling. How I wish I could bottle those things up and keep them forever.

This year is the first year that on Brenna's birthday I have not been able to go home at least within a few days, to take her flowers. Her voice still remains in my head during seventh grade P.E., where she strutted across the gym floor, yelling out "Life is a fashion show, and the world is my runway." I vowed to myself and her that I would, as long as I lived, be sure that her grave lived up to her sense of style and her bright, warm personality. It is hard to know that this year, it is simply by the path of life that I am farther away than I've ever been - and it is substantially harder to be in Omaha today than I ever dreamed it would be. How dare I continue to move on with my life when she will never have that opportunity? I can remember the yellow bracelet I made for her funeral, and how I swore to myself I would never take it off, but six months later, I had to cut it off in order to play intramural volleyball at K-State, and I cried right there in the middle of the rec center. I vowed that the WWBD would never be washed off my car, but it came off, a little less than a year later. When I moved to Creighton, some of the stuff that had been with me that was hers or reminded me of her didn't come. All of the things I promised to do, see, and be for Brenna in her absence have faded into my memory - right along with the details that gave me nightmares for years to come. How dare I forget the good with the bad? How dare I not be able to separate them out for someone who did so much for me?

Wednesday night, I went to go hang out with Emma, the little girl that I dance with and her family. After her bath, she was snuggled up into her Little Mermaid jammies, curled up on my lap, watching Mickey Mouse on her iPad. There's something about a freshly bathed, snuggly, tired little girl that just cures what ails you. (Not to mention her ten month old brother clapping and babbling on the floor, taking the occasional try at stealing her iPad, and then losing interest) True to form, on one of her commercials, a Tangled ad came on. I love the movie Tangled, but the scene with the sky lanterns still gets to me - remembering the sight, smell, and emotions that I had the night my high school community released them in honor of my friend, and, just at dusk, hundreds of lanterns filled the sky - and as usual, she was still lighting up the lives of those around her. That Tangled commercial was like her way of reminding me - I KNOW you can do this. It feels wrong for me to be stressed about school because she never had the opportunity... but yet here I am. I want so desperately for that to be in my control - to constantly be able to feel joy that I have been given so many privileges that she was denied by someone else's decision - but this time of grief is a weird combination of carrying on with life and also wanting to never move on, ever.

In the car last night I heard a song by MercyMe, my absolute favorite Christian band, called Homesick. The song talks about the feeling that you have knowing that someone you love is in Heaven. I had not yet heard something that describes the specific type of pain that comes this long (almost 5 years) after someone dies - the initial shock, trauma, and sadness is gone.. but you still feel empty sometimes. You can go days, weeks, even, without noticing. And then all it takes is one thing - a baby sleeping in your lap, the sound of birds on the first really nice spring day, or a Kansas State football game - and it all comes rushing back. And you feel guilty for those weeks and months when you did well. You're trying to enjoy, but not to compromise on all the promises that you swore on at her funeral. This song talks about the famous line everyone tells you after someone dies - that that person is 'in a better place'. It doesn't matter how true that is, that line usually makes me want to punch someone directly in the eyeball.

Another line in that song by MercyMe is that "In Christ there are no goodbyes" and I find that statement somehow profound, obvious, and so comforting. Anyone who grew up in the church could have answered that, right? Of course there are no goodbyes. That's what keeps you going when someone you love dies - it may be a long see you later, but it's a see you later. But when you get caught up in this process, you mostly end up grieving the goodbye - or lack thereof. Most of my memories from those five days in May between Brenna's death and her funeral are blurry and don't make any sense - but it's hard to grieve the fact that you never got to say goodbye, and it's hard to grieve something that never happened - her college years, her marriage, her years as a kindergarten teacher. Everyone tells you so many ways about how to grieve the loss of a person, but no one tells you how to grieve the loss of their life. It's hard to grieve something that wasn't.

Now, I grieve as I hit new stages in life and grieve what she didn't have. She never made it to college, never got to be a teacher, never got to go to grad school of any kind, meet people from all over the world like I did at K-State, or play college sports like she planned. This past year, I've learned about about grieving all over again when life starts to get tough or change. I know that it will get better - it always does - but sometimes the hole just feels more raw. This morning I felt angry when I had been working on this blog all week and couldn't seem to wrap it's ends up. I still don't feel like I did it, but I'm using it anyway. It seems to be a perfect analogy with how my heart feels today. Something just seems off this year, and it doesn't seem to be fixable, but maybe with time it will wrap itself up.

I would give anything in the whole wide world to go visit heaven. I used to sit in class at K-State and think about how, if i can go to the office hours for my professor, I should be able to attend visiting hours in heaven. Not permanently and not even for a long time. Just to stop by... look in the window, maybe. To see who she's met. What she's doing. How the food is, even. Are the streets paved in gold or candy like I had imagined as a child? (don't ask me why my view of heaven seems to be something out of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory) Is it my teenage view of heaven, where I would have happily accepted comfy couches, soft blankets, and hanging out with my friends? Or is it my grad school vision, where all I ask is a world where the grading scale isn't so steep, and maybe a full night's sleep once a week or so. I know this vision will change as I grow older - maybe one new qualification I would add is that everyone I love is finally in the same place again. Occasionally, Brenna will show up in a dream of mine, and that can be a bright spot for my entire week. It does wonders just to see her, to know she's ok, to have even the tiniest bit of that awful, awful term 'closure.'

One of my favorite quotes says it best - "You will never truly be at home again because part of your heart will always be somewhere else. That is the price you pay for the richness of knowing and loving people in more than one place." And this explains it perfectly - it is almost like, as you get older, loving people and things you have visited gets harder - when you would think it wouldn't be that way at all. When I think about the fact that I have friends in Nicaragua and Hong Kong, and that I may never make it back to those countries, it is somehow both sad and fulfilling to think that a little chunk of my heart is resting peacefully in a classroom in Asia teaching bible school, and that another chunk is in a small village in Nicaragua, eating lunch with the kids and playing soccer with them. But, ten, thirty, fifty years from now - if I wanted to visit those countries again, I could. But there is no train, plane, or even a boat to heaven - I have to just be really, really patient.

Birthdays, in my opinion, are much harder than death days. The hardest part about days like today are the articles that pop up on Facebook that have nothing do with her close family or friends - the things that bring her up as a court case and not a person. Things advocating for the death penalty, which even she herself would never have wished on anyone. Today I think of all the things that 23 year olds do that she never had the privilege of doing. On May 25, I think about the horrifying scene of that day, but the day ended in Jesus himself escorting her to the gates of heaven - that day can't be all bad.

There will always be parts of me (at least I think) that struggle with these specific two days of the year - but there will always be parts of me that love a little harder, deeper, and wider, because I experienced an extreme loss of an amazing friend, and through which I learned more about the court system, the evil of the world, and everything about this world that just doesn't work right or make any sense.  I think those parts of me that I learned from her and from the situation grow every year - minuscule as they may seem sometimes.  Despite pain, sadness, and a lot of confusion that the last five years have brought, this situation has shown me that tragedy can transform into something exponentially better. Getting through these days will, eventually, get easier because even 100 years from now, her legacy is something that will carry on. Maybe not directly, because of the thoughts and actions of those that knew her and knew of her. The best thing about the gift of life, I guess, is that it never stops giving. As usual, with her photo that went famous on Facebook just three months after she died of a quote she had left in our high school..you just have to 'take lots of pictures and enjoy this time, but just remember - the best is yet to come."

The Little Guy

Since coming to OT school in August, many people on various occasions have asked me how grad school is going. I usually give a quick answer that lasts 1-2 sentences, and I'll be honest, some days it is much more positive than others.

Being in professional school is, quite honestly, one of the hardest things I have ever done. The amount of stress that I have felt during the last seven months has not been paralleled during any other time in my life - moving to a new city where I really didn't know anyone, farther away from my family than I'd ever been before, dealing with a new type and level of stress for someone who is generally an anxious person to begin with, and a thousand other "news" has been a real challenge, and I question more often than not why I came here in the first place.

"The Big Guy" is a term I've heard quite a bit since moving here, whether or not they say it in those exact words. "The Big Guy" and what He's doing in my life right now. The Big Guy and his plans. The Big Guy his purpose. Some days, I just down right don't feel like looking at the big picture anymore, because that crap is stressful. The Big Guy - challenging me to move away,  giving me such an opportunity to pursue a doctoral degree, blessing me with an awesome roommate (who keeps me sane more than she'll ever know). "The Big Guy" is a term we all here a lot in life, honestly - I heard it when Brenna died, when Sam got sick, during the grad school application process, and on absolutely terrifying journeys like my first trip to Asia. "The Big Guy" is always up to something, isn't He?

If there is anything I have learned through this semester, it is that sometimes, it is okay to not focus on "The Big Guy" and his plans. In fact, sometimes that is impossible and makes me feel ten times more anxious and scared for my future. What has actually turned out to be more helpful, is the little guy.

When I use this term I picture this adorable little kid, probably four, who just kind of walks around blessing people. Almost like God has elves. This little guy puts your headphones in your backpack for you when you have a 15 hour library day and forget them. The little guy schedules the half price margaritas for whenever you can get there. The little guy thinks of things that no one, including yourself, even knew you needed, and his deeds go, for the most part, unnoticed.

This semester, the little guy has been more prominent for me than I ever thought he would be. I have an amazing roommate, who never fails to make me laugh, and keeps me going on the weeks where I am running on 45 minutes of sleep by Friday. The little guy knows the maintenance staff from my apartment complex, who make this such a great and hassle free place to live, because he knows how much I don't have time for right now. The little guy allowed me to meet Emma, a four year old little girl from Omaha who I get to go to dance class with once a week. The little guy plans the way that when Emma and I sit at dance class, Emma always keeps one hand on my leg until she feels comfortable with where we are, since she cannot walk. Only the little guy orchestrated this relationship knowing that I need Emma just as much as she needs me. The little guy planned the way my best friends from home still text me and let me know they're praying for me during the rough weeks - without me even telling them the week is rough.

The little guy led me to the yoga studio that I have found and become interested in this semester, the cooking I have taken up a desire to learn, the 45 minutes that cooking dinner each night takes me away from school and gives me a sense of productivity. The little guy ran Google the day that I googled for a counselor in Omaha and found the perfect one - just by clicking the first name that popped up. The little guy is the mail that I get from my parents every so often, reminding me that they believe in me and are so proud of me no matter what. It is the valentine my 11 year old cousin in Virginia sent me, where he made me a word search out of marker and printer paper for a study break.

In grad school I have learned that incredible amounts of stress and change can bring back past trauma - suddenly I am having days where I feel as though Brenna's death and all that accompanied it for myself and my community during my first move to college was only yesterday. I know that these are things I will probably always work through, but that doesn't make them easy. - Any knowledge that something could or will happen doesn't make it easier when it actually does. But the little guy is present.

The little guy is Emma's family, who have opened their home to me, understanding how much being around a family refuels me and gives me a break from school. The little guy is the blackout curtains that let me sleep late on Saturday mornings. The little guy is my professors who care so deeply about my success as a therapist and all the people I will help. The little guy is the news that I did way better than anticipated on a test I was really nervous about. He is the excitement that Chloe had in her eyes when her family came up in the fall to go to the zoo, and she saw penguins. The little guy is in everyone who has helped me to get where I am today - every step of the way.

The little guy is the knowledge within me that sometimes, it CAN'T be about the big picture. God wants me to focus on His big picture, but sometimes, I have to understand that my picture is smaller - because I am so little, and He is so big. Focusing on 'the little things' has been the key to my success (and sometimes survival) each day. If I look a month into the future right now, I see close to 20 exams practicums, and big assignments, (6 of them in the same week) the choice about where to do my next fieldwork (a lot tougher of a decision than I thought it would be) and the knowledge that I truly do not see a 'light at the end of the tunnel' for quite some time. But thankfully, that's where the little guy comes in. The little guy knows that the big picture just isn't reasonable right now, and that's okay, but he's going to make sure that I get there.

Terminal A

There are a handful of things in this world that bring the people who inhabit it a great amount of joy without them even realizing it. These things bring a joy so instantaneous and temporary that you've forgotten it within ten seconds. Some of these things might be the first bite of your favorite food, watching a child go sledding for the first time, or putting on a sweatshirt that just came out of the dryer. One of my personal favorites, though, is the split second when you first see someone you love coming down the jetway after getting off of an airplane. I've usually been waiting for quite awhile between the hour and a half drive to the airport and the waiting for the person to step off the plane. And for that split second, your joy is so overwhelming you just can't contain it.

This summer we were privileged enough to have two young girls from Hong Kong stay with my family for two weeks. They were 10 and 11 and some of our most joyous memories of the whole summer were during those two weeks - they got to see fireflies for the first time, eat lots of ice cream and fruit (as those weren't things they ate much of at home) and run barefoot in the grass (also something they can't do, living in apartment buildings in Asia) and this was an incredible reminder of the joys that I take for granted, having the opportunity to do those things all the time.

When we first met Suki and Cathy, we got to go pick them up from the airport. Their plane arrived around 10 pm, and if you've ever been in the Kansas City airport, you will understand that the host families for 20 students from Hong Kong plus parent chaperones adds up to more people than usually inhabit that airport in a week. We looked like a high school tour group, trying to find the right gate and get our welcome signs ready to go. We were led by our 'troop leader' the week, Jacob, a seven year old whose family was hosting two students and he could not have been more excited to get new visitors into his home that he could hang out with for a whole week.

Once we found the right gate, got everyone situated.... we waited. And we waited, and waited, and waited some more. We finally saw an aircraft pulling up to the gate (again, this is Kansas City, it's pretty easy to tell when a plane pulls up whether it is yours or not.) We had been waiting, and waiting, and waiting. Jacob got on someone's shoulders while yelling "Places, people!" (seriously, you have to meet this kid) And then....

We waited. This plane must have pulled some Harry Potter tricks because what felt like thousands of people piled off this plane before we could see the heads of 20 ten year old students with their supervisors following closely behind. Chaos, Anxiousness, and Joy ensued as the kids were tired from an entire day of travel, and we tried to pair kids up with the right host family.. sleep deprived and shy ten year olds who weren't super confident in their English.

Finally. Finally, after five months of having Cathy and Suki's pictures on our fridge.. they were here. After studying their papers to know which foods they liked and didn't like, what they were afraid of, and what they wanted to do while they were in the United States, we were so ready to show them absolutely everything we had to offer - these two young girls that we had never even met, and only got to 'borrow' for two weeks.

This week, my family has been dealing with the painful process of saying goodbye to my Aunt Bobbie. As long as I can remember, Aunt "Bobbie" has been in my life and, having no kids of her own, treats her nieces, great nieces, and great great nieces like treasure. At the age of 94, she has done and seen her part of the world and has been asking my mom for the better part of a year when she will be able to see her sisters and her momma again. She is one of six girls, the first one died over fifty years ago, and the most recent one around 8 years ago. I can't imagine being separated from my sister in such a sense for even a day.

Wednesday night my mom called to update me on her status and I cried when I realized this really was the end. She talks about heaven and you should know how unbelievably excited I am for her - but it set in. Being like another grandma to all her nieces, death is never fun - and I don't care what anyone says, it's not natural. Inevitable, yes, natural, no. My mom has been with her each night this week, relieving my grandparents, who spend their days there. I am lucky to have a family who treats one another as such a priority, even though in her last days she was very unaware of her surroundings and gave no response.

I vaguely remember going to visit Aunt Bobbie as a child and she still lived independently (with one of her sisters), and the looks on their faces when they opened the door to find my sister and I standing there were looks of pure joy that I know I will never get out of my mind. (I still have this same picture of my great grandma, who died when I was 5 - it's one of my few memories, and it's a good one) They would always invite us into their home and we would tell them about school and life. While we talked, they would go to the bathroom and get a Dixie cup and fill it with M&M's (and when mom wasn't looking they filled it again) They were the cool aunts, who treasured their nieces for so long.

The bible says that heaven will be a joyous reunion, and until this week, I hadn't allowed myself to paint that picture. Until now, all the people in my adult life who passed away were not ready to leave the world and the grief and sorrow that was left around them was immense. This time, it's a little different. My aunt was EXCITED to leave this world. When I try to put myself in her shoes, I go back to relationships, hopes for my future, and things that I just find downright fun that I'm not ready to give up yet. ... But she's excited.

I imagine my aunt stepping off the plane (or staircase or elevator or boat or whatever) to get into heaven and her sisters running straight at her, because Jesus let them know a few hours before that she was on her way. I imagine her being able to walk again, even run and participate in the world's best group hug. I'm quite sure that my aunt will soon order one of heaven's finest cocktails, and sit down to catch up wit her sisters - for the first time in 70 years. I can't imagine the excitement of her sisters, to know that you are in the greatest place imaginable, where there is no sorrow, pain, or concern about anything other than Jesus himself, and you are summoned down because Jesus needs you in Terminal A to be part of the welcoming party - for someone that you loved dearly and haven't seen in seventy years. For someone who will finally, after seventy years, bring your family of eight back together again.

On the way to heaven, there are no gate changes, delayed flights, or overbooked seats. There is no wandering aimlessly through hallways and staircases to find baggage claim. God calls us to get on the right plane, out of the right gate, and he will multiply the love when we finally get off the plane to step into the arms of those we have loved for the first time in so many years.

This morning, my mom finally called me to let me know that Aunt Bobbie had passed, and after the few momentary tears, I was overcome with excitement. What is she doing? Are her sisters waiting? Is she already there? What will they do tonight and for the rest of the weekend? Today, although sad, I am thankful that this world isn't the end. I'm thankful that my aunt's inability to care for herself physically was temporary, and all her pain is now gone. I am thankful that in her last days, although she only slept, that was actually the hardest part. It was the last part of the international flight where you are overtired, annoyed, and a tad bit hangry.

Last night at dinner my dad and I were talking about what is taking her and God so darn long to agree on a time to go home. She asks to go see her sisters, but then she consistently defies what we are told about her health and always does better. But then, just when we think it's finally here, they tell us 'within a few days' and she's still in consistent condition a week later. I think my mom has told the hospice nurses more than once during the last week 'you don't know my aunt' but when it comes right down to it, I don't know if anyone is actively controlling this timing. My dad and I were talking about how excited we are for her to finally see her sisters again and he said 'they just aren't ready. they're getting her room ready, blowing up balloons and all.'

I know that Jesus has had her picture on His fridge for many years, knowing the all the things about her we spent time learning about Cathy and Suki. He impatiently awaited her arrival, and gathered the appropriate people this afternoon to meet her plane...After 94 years, the vast majority of which have been apart from a number of people she loved, she has finally stepped off the plane to be welcomed home.