The Significance of a Moment

How often do we find ourselves pushing moments into one another, rushing, speeding, striving to get to the next, better, important moment later on? How often do we pause and try to describe a moment as it happens, try to feel it, drink it in and savor it, like one savors a bite of something delicious?

A writer's job is to describe, to put the reader into the moment, so the reader can truly feel and try to experience what the writer is attempting to convey. I suppose I would consider myself as a writer, but one that is still learning the craft. But I will try.

Do you ever have a moment that seems to hold significance, but you're not sure why? You try to understand it, to feel it, and to describe it so you can remember it forever, but it eludes the words you try to use. It seems you are on the edge of inspiration, of understanding something truly profound, but it sits on the tip of your brain, on the edge of description.

I was driving, and I was blown away by a feeling  I still can't quite grasp. I can describe the fireflies I saw across the road, appearing like tiny sparks of fire, extinguished in moments. I could describe the deep scent of the earth that has just been tilled and wind mixing together through my window, a promise of rain in the air. My words can try to paint a picture of the last rays of a summer sunset, the purple and pink mixing in with the deep navy that creeps in to slowly envelop all other colors. The feel of the wind moving my hair about, its sound competing with the song on the radio.

Yet I can't describe the wistful feeling that all of these things brought me, the wildness that seemed to well up in me as I smelled the earth and wind, or the bittersweet feeling I got as the sun set on another day. I can't truly describe what happened, or how I felt, and why it drove me to cry out to God.

But I will try.

For these moments must be savored; described with our inexperienced writings and our insufficient words.
Because if we ignore them, these moments will be lost, and we will miss the brief communion with God that they bring.

Hanna Elizabeth

Judging, or Not...

Does anyone else ever worry about what others think about you?
Wondering what that glance across the room meant, or what that person who is of a certain age, or ethnicity, or religion, or culture, or size, or...you name it really-must be thinking of you right now, based on your appearance, possessions, body shape, or outfit?

It's a habit that is easy to pick up, and exceedingly hard to break. I have struggled with this for a long time, and it is difficult to keep my mind under control. From this worry comes a projection of others. I start to put people in boxes, thinking about who they must be, and how they must think-based on how they look, or act, or what generation they are from, or who they affiliate themselves with.

I'm sure everyone has heard someone say something similar to this:
"Those (insert collective group name here) are (insert negative comment here) and they are all like that!"

Consider this: People are people. People are individuals with their own private lives, and no matter what the differentiating factors between you and them, they don't fit into your created box. People of a certain type don't always, or even typically think and feel a certain way.

People are people, and each human being must be treated as an individual.

In reality, it only hurts me to put others in boxes, stunts my perception and understanding, and limits my ability to do my most important job-love others.

What does it look like to love? That will have to be delved into another time.

My first job is to shake off my misunderstandings about others, and seek to see each person as a unique individual.

If I choose to do so, I might just make some lasting friendships, and learn a little something along the way.

Hanna Elizabeth

About Self-Care and Home Care

The other day, I was feeling very exhausted. My muscles hurt, I felt weak and weary, and my heart was broken over five different things at once.

So, naturally, since I was frustrated with myself, I decided to clean my bathroom.

....yeah, I don't know how that connects either.

But as I was scrubbing a month's worth (or more...who's keeping track?) of stains from my toilet bowl, cleaning the sink until it shined, and sweeping every bit of dust off my bathroom floor, I began to start to feel...better.

So I started another task, doing my 2 week's worth of laundry, sorting clothes...and I felt even better. 

So I washed my (only two days worth, give me props, people!) of dishes, wiped my counters, cleaned off most of my kitchen table, and put thing away.

By the time I finished, I started to feel...actually...glad, and a little proud of myself.

Finally...and I hesitate to share this gruesome detail....I  shaved my legs that hadn't seen the light of day since last August...

...Don't tell anyone....

After all of this was accomplished, I sat down to dinner I had cooked, and watched a show on Netflix...guilt free.

So why does all this matter anyway? 

Well, as I scrubbed that gross ring on my toilet bowl, I started thinking about an article that I had read a few weeks ago about self care. It was titled: This is What 'Self-Care' Really Means, Because It's Not All About Bubble Baths and Chocolate Cake. You can find the link to this great article here:

https://thoughtcatalog.com/brianna-wiest/2017/11/this-is-what-self-care-really-means-because-its-not-all-salt-baths-and-chocolate-cake/

Yep, I have really existential and deep thoughts when I scrub my toilet bowl. Maybe I should do it more often.

I realized that self-care is sometimes about caring for your home, and making it an enjoyable place to spend time. Sometimes making yourself feel better is a matter of washing dishes and cleaning your sink, or putting away clothes and cleaning out your backpack. 

Self-care can be things that make you feel better about where you are, as well as who you are.

Also, if anyone knows how to get those pink rings off of my toilet bowl, I'd welcome some suggestions.

What I Learned From Watching Someone Else Teach

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to watch my best friend teach.

She teaches 3rd, 4th, and 5th grades various subjects in a small school.
I teach Kindergarten, so you can imagine the differences in our classrooms.

Here are some things I have learned from that experience.

• If you respect your students, they will respect you.
• You have instant camaraderie with a 5th grader if you ask him what's for lunch today.
• Jenga blocks can be used like dominoes.
• The analytical prowess of an 11-year-old is impressive.
• 3rd grade girls surpass the maturity of 5th grade boys by about two years. 
• 5th graders can be a lot quieter than Kindergartners.
• There is hope for my Kindergarten kids to become focused, quiet 5th graders.
• All kids love Jenga blocks
• All kids love to play
• There is an exponential amount of knowledge from Kindergarten to 5th grade.
• They CAN SIT STILL! :)
• experiments with gum are the best! 
• Apparently 5th graders are resourceful at finding out you have a boyfriend.
• Apparently 5th graders are able to find their teacher's boyfriend's address online.
• Again, 5th graders are very resourceful people.
• I'm so glad I don't teach 5th graders who ask invasive questions.
• My best friend may be one of the most patient people I've ever met.
• She is definitely the most patient person I know.
• 5th grade boys are really good at pushing the rules. 
• 5th grade boys might also be some of the funniest kids I've met.
• My best friend is one of the best teachers I know. :)

A Joy Inside My Soul-Stories of Summer

Applications...friends...tattoos....paperwork...finances...

100 things cross and re-cross my mind as I work inside my favorite coffee shop in my new town...soon to be my old town if these plans worked out.

Caught up in my human concerns, it isn't until the darkness begins to seep into the windows that I look outside to see the storm approaching. Black clouds creeping slowly over the sun, showing between the buildings, a feeling of danger suddenly overtaking the once cloudless sky.

Shoppers hurry a little faster through the historic downtown streets, looking up nervously in case the clouds empty themselves prematurely. 

My heart beats faster and my Joy grows. That little thrill of danger, the quick flash of lightning excites me. I've decided that I could be a storm chaser if this teaching thing doesn't work out.

Suddenly, the deluge begins. 

From dry to streams in the street in 3.5 seconds, and shoppers run for their vehicles helter-skelter.

People begin leaving the coffee shop, young ones darting out as quickly as they can, older ones standing under the eaves longer, waiting for a slackening, a slowing of the downpour before they try to run--a little slower--to their vehicles. 

Others enter, parking as close to the door as possible, attempting to use umbrellas as they get out of the car, only to have them soaked and pushed sideways by the wind. Families come in, laughing as they wipe the wet from their faces and find a place to get comfortable. 

A grandmother pauses with her three young grandchildren. The kids discuss how fast they'll run, excited at the possibility of getting wet and dodging raindrops. The grandmother contemplates pulling the car up, but with a resigned sigh says:

"Well, I guess we'll just get wet." As they leave, three have beaming faces, while one is less enthusiastic. 

I pause my observations. Is this how it is supposed to be? When did that grandmother forget the Joy of running in the rain? When did the older ones stop taking risks, just doing, and darting out into the storm without a second thought?

At what point do people stop choosing Joy in ordinary circumstances? 

Was there a point when that grandmother began to view storms as unpleasant, a nuisance to the natural progress of life? 

What about the older ones, as they hesitate to take a risk, waiting for an opportune moment as the rain streams down the eaves? Is this something learned, or did it happen gradually, as they got older?

Risk taking, choosing Joy in the small things, I think they're all connected.

I didn't used to be someone who took risks. 

Calculated, well-thought out, work-the-way-I-planned risks? Yes. If you can call those risks at all.

Choosing something new where I didn't know the outcome, and jumping off that ledge with Joy? Never. 

My 15-year-old self would be scandalized at who I am today.

But because of the risks I've taken, my eyes have been opened to the Joy that a rainstorm can bring. The dark clouds are more exciting than scary, and the cliffs I jump off of don't seem quite so tall.

There are many days where I hesitate to jump, and my 15-year-old self begins to scream at me to stop. 

Then I shake her words from my head, and I remember that I don't want to go back to who I was.

I don't ever want to be afraid to dart into the rainstorm, or jump off of that cliff, no matter how high, as long as the Lord is whispering to me to follow Him in that direction, my Joy and fulfillment will surpass my fear.

The rain stops as quickly as it had began, and the Joyful sun peeks through the clouds.

Hanna Elizabeth 

Baseball games and spittin' seeds-Stories of Summer

Tonight I went to my very first baseball game!

Now, before you ask...yes...I'm 24...and seriously...I've never actually been to a baseball game before.

Sheesh people, it's not like its the great american sport or anything...

Anyway, my first baseball game, a fourth and fifth grade game, and I couldn't have been more excited. I'd been looking forward to it all day long, and I had the full experience. 

Close your eyes and imagine a little league baseball field. bases are loaded, and the kid up to bat is swinging with all his might to hit that hard white ball that whizzes at him, 15, 20, 30 miles an hour from a good pitcher. The smell of popcorn wafts from the concession stand, parents are cheering and giving directions from the stands, and you're spitting ranch flavored sunflower seeds as far as you can. 

Then, very softly at first, the rain begins to fall. Of course you brought your umbrella because you should always bring an umbrella to a baseball game. Or...your friend told you it was going to rain...

Soon the rain is coming down in bigger splatters, dripping off your umbrella in little rivers...and the water begins to pool in the spot your are sitting.

But the kids play on, so you stay, standing up to watch, and save your rear from a thorough soaking.

As I stood there, just as you've imagined, my friend Beth and I became aware of something amiss in this idyllic scene. Between the cheers of the parent, one mother seemed to be struggling. 

"If you don't hold the umbrella right here, the stuff is going to get all wet!" She exclaimed to her five-year-old, exasperated. "Why are you rolling your pants up? You're going to get cold!" On the game went, any silence on the field punctured by the mother's frustrated attempts to control her child and still watch the game. Every time he ran off to play, she was calling him back. Every time he brought her something to show her, he was told he should be watching his brother play. Worried about the blankets and chairs, and how to properly hold the umbrella, this mom seemed tired. 

I will not pronounce judgement on this woman's parenting for this small thing. I have no idea how her day had been going, or anything about her life, other than the fact that one of her sons plays baseball.

Instead, my best friend Beth raised the question that has become the topic of this long-winded blog post.

"Do the things that your mom values become the things that you value?"

For example, if your mom values the furniture, and doesn't allow you to sit on some of it, what does that tell you as a child?

If your mom cares very much about what other people think, do you carry that burden as well?

Or, if your mom often scolds you about whether your clothes get torn, or your chair and blankets get wet, how does that change the way you view things? 

We don't keep all of our parents values. Depending on our willpower, and our own ideas, we will often shrug off the things that our moms tell us are important. Which is why you have kids who haven't cleaned their room in months, even though mom tells them every day.

But the deeper question becomes, what do I, as a person who has influence on young kids now, and who will be a parent one day, want to communicate to my kids? 

When I think about what I want my kids to know is important, I know for sure, it isn't stuff. It isn't what other people think, or whether they get good grades in school all of the time, or what people say on social media (that's a full blog post for another time), or whether they get wet in the rain.

It's Jesus, and people. 

I want my kids to care about what Jesus thinks, and I want them to care how they treat other people.

Does anything else truly matter?

Hanna Elizabeth

 

The Call of the Lord

To say the Lord has been stretching me lately is an understatement.

These last two weeks has forced me to rely on Him more than I ever have in the past.

In the last 4 days, I have moved 7 hours away from most of the people I know, including my immediate family, moved in with a couple I had never met before, and started a job in a new town that I don't know how to navigate yet. 

For a once timid girl who never thought she'd leave her hometown, and at one point had plans to buy a house next door to her parents, this has been quite the change. 

This, admittedly, is both what I wanted, and have felt the Lord's calling to do for almost a year now. 

I have also been feeling uncommonly overwhelmed, and have been driving my own pity train off the cliffs of insanity for the last couple of days. (kudos if you understand that last reference) 

Because of all of this, and because I could too easily turn this post into a pity party of epic proportions, I am instead going to list the things I have been thankful for today.

I am thankful that I have a car that can help me explore town, and get lost every day.

I am thankful for the friend that called me yesterday, excited beyond words, to tell me about the cats she met at the humane society. She brightened my whole week. 

I am thankful for the friend that has been texting me all day with witticisms and funny questions about men I might find in this small town. 

I am thankful that you can get from one end of town to the other in 10 minutes or less, so I'm almost never late.

I am thankful for the coffee shop I'm in right now. Impeccable coffee, friendly staff, and only open until 5:30 Mondays-Wednesdays. This is truly a small town, and I kind of love it. 

I am thankful for the conversation I just overheard, about a man who hasn't payed his taxes "since the year after Obamacare came out." Enough said.

I am thankful for the couple I'm staying with, who have an evil cat, but who couldn't be more welcoming and kind.

I am thankful for the kids that I've gotten to work with over the last week. From the little girl with bright blue eyes who told me "by the way, I think you're beautiful", to the one who growled at me, and the little one with a cold who asked me to hold her hand every time we went somewhere. I'm so incredibly blessed that I get to work with kids all day. 

  

I am thankful for my family. The ones I didn't realize I would miss this much when I moved. It's been their support, a phone call or two, and the "good morning sunshine!" texts that have helped me feel loved..

I am thankful, so so very thankful, for my best friend Beth, who has been my rock when I've been a mess all week, supporting me, listening to my pity party, and, in true best friend fashion, telling me to suck it up when I've gotten too irrational with my worries.

I'm sure I could list a dozen more, given enough time, but it boils down to this:

I am thankful for the the guiding hand of the Lord in all of this.

Amidst all of my irrational worries, fears, and loneliness, I know the Lord has got me. He has called me here for a reason. While I can only begin to glimpse that reason now, He will show it to me in time. 

Do not fear, for I am with you. Be not dismayed for I am your God. I will strengthen you, and give you help. I will uphold you with my victorious right hand. Isaiah 41:10

Thank you Abba.

Hanna Elizabeth