we were young and learning.

Happy Street had lots of houses. Courage, Truth, Adventure, Love, Bravery, and Integrity all lived on Happy Street.

I lived in the white and brick house on Happy Street. Courage always played in the rain, watched the lightening on the back porch, and dared to go make an ice cream run on snowiest winter nights. When Adventure was exploring new frontiers and Bravery was off fighting an another epic battle Love and Truth were always home. Truth sometimes seemed abrasive, but I knew deep down inside that the other neighbors just misunderstood him. Love had a smooth pale complexion, the purest eyes, and the softest voice. I'll be honest, I've always been a little infatuated with Love. And Integrity, well Integrity, kind of embodied all of the other residents of Happy Street.

I suppose that living on Happy Street for nearly twenty one years kind of spoiled me to it's rarity and beauty, I never really meant to take it for granted...it's just that I thought everyone grew up on their own sort of Happy Street.

I grew up blissfully unaware that most people grew up on Sad Street. Residents of Sad Street had neighbors like Fear, Doubt, Hate, Predictable, and Dishonor...I can't really blame them, I guess I'd have been sad too if I lived on their street. I once heard a story that Doubt shot Fear's dog when it crossed the property line, I'm starting to believe that it was more than just a tall tale.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I wish I knew a Happy Street in Nashville.

If you know a Happy Street or are one please reply by mail to my Happy Street, and I mean mail-mail...because, well, everyone loves getting real mail. And I think my Happy Street would be delighted to share a cup of Joe with your Happy Street. But if you're a Sad Street or know one please don't tell them about my Happy Street; Dunkin isn't all that great about leash manners and I would hate for him to learn that not everyone operates like Happy Street residents.

Happy sometimes goes by Horace.

lucky we're in love in every way.

Facebook has become like Myspace. Quizzes take over my "newsfeed", strangers regularly ask to be my friend, and my updates are typically three friends who have added the most recent "what will happen to you this year" application. I am proud to say that I seldom added the applications and quizzes...then I started night classes. I gave in. I now spend the better part of my Monday and Thursday evenings taking quizzes to find out who my celeb crush is, when I'll get married, and what breed of canine I'd be; I'm a beagle.

Compliments of the "Friend-ly Application", I found out that: I have twenty-two friends named Matt, the most common astrological sign among my 1,195 friends is the Libra, Tara Reynhout-Wroblewski has the longest name, I have more male friends than female, and seventy-one percent of my nearly twelve hundred friends are in a relationship. Seventy-one percent. SEVENTY-ONE PERCENT. There's a good chance that the staggering statistic can be attributed the fact that over half of my "friends" attended a small private Christian college. My hope is that there is an equally good chance that three of the six people who read this blog may actually take my precautions in to account before the "ring by spring" mentality creeps it's way in to your hearts and minds and takes root.

When you walk down the cereal aisle at the local Kroger there are literally a bajillion choices, literally a bajillion...and this is the way it has always been for us millennials. The options are endless, the choices extravagant, and the ability to choose just one...inconceivable. Obviously, you need Captain Crunch Berries for days when you're feeling juvenile, Raisin Bran for days when you're feeling well past your years, Golden Grahams for days when you're missing home, Special K with Strawberries for days when you're feeling loved, and Cinnamon Life for all the days in between. Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but sometimes I really fancy the thought of relationships being like the cereals that reside on the top of my refrigerator. Golden Grahams are never offended if I pick Special K with Strawberries, and Captain Crunch Berries is always pleased to know that I even acknowledge their existence. Raisin Bran...well, Raisin Bran is well aware that the days when we share breakfast will be few and far between...and RB is okay with that. And Cinnamon Life knows that we're on this journey together...almost everyday.

Relationships, unlike the cereals, do not operate under the same rules. When you pick who you are going to share your life with you are with them on the days when you're feeling childish, aged, loved, and all the days in between. It's not that us millennials don't want to make a decision and stick with it, it's just that we want it all...and can you blame us? We've had all the options our entire lives, and now for some reason society tells us that we need to pick just one. One choice that will shape our forever, and who knows if the relationship will actually last that long. Given that the current divorce statistics are well over fifty percent, I would say that the cereal aisle has done more than provide us with tasty treats in the morning. The cereal aisle birthed a generation of consumers who know that if today's breakfast isn't everything you dreamed of and more then there's always tomorrow. When you walk down an aisle garnished with flowers and ribbons, you're walking down an aisle with one option. One option, one choice, one person...forever.

Who you marry is the most important decision you will make, outside of choosing to establish your faith in Christ.

I love Captain Crunch Berries, but I cannot eat it everyday...it's a real tragedy. You see, when I eat Captain Crunch Berries it tears up the roof of my mouth...but it's so good that sometimes I just can't resist. If I had to eat Captain Crunch Berries every single day for the rest of my life my life I'd be miserable. Sure when it's good it's good, but when it cuts me I bleed and it stings at lunch when I try to eat a burrito. And in the end I sometimes wonder if it was really worth it.

On mornings when I have a big test I try to stomach a healthy variety blend of fiber soaked bran flakes. Test days are the days when I have a big bowl of Raisin Bran for breakfast. I love Raisin Bran for about two bites...and then the flakes turn to mush. When Raisin Bran looses it's crunchiness I am immediately turned off....errr...I mean, I lose my appetite.

Sometimes when I my mom calls to talk, my neighbor helps me carry in my groceries, or I get a random e-mail from an old friend...I just eat a handful of Special K with Strawberries dry, right out of the box. In those moments I feel appreciated, remembered, and loved.

Last night I talked to Megan, and this morning I had Golden Grahams...enough said.

I have a feeling that tomorrow I will wake up, take Dunkin for his morning walk, and slurp down some Cinnamon Life while I take in all that Regis Philbin and Kelly Ripa have to offer me on a Thursday morning...which, for the record, will be an extensive amount of knowledge...plus, Jason Bateman is going to be on tomorrow.

Is it impossible to choose just one? Is it even fair to think that you'll be able to be with one forever? Can you really have just one cereal for the rest of your life?

I'd like to think it is possible, doable, and has the potential be the best breakfast you've ever had...everyday. I think that because Cheerios exist.

When you are picking the person you will be with forever, it is important to do just that...pick. Be picky. Pick someone who you find attractive. Pick someone who you respect more than any one else you've ever met. Pick someone who causes you to stop, think, and reevaluate...and then does it again when you think you've landed on an answer. Pick someone who makes you laugh until it hurts. Pick someone who is grounded spiritually. Pick someone that will represent you well when you're unable to represent yourself. Pick some one who loves adventure. Pick someone you can rely on, trust, and who is safe. Pick someone who you can do more for the kingdom of God with than you could ever do alone. Pick the person not the game. Do not let someone pick you, pick them. If you do not choose each other the relationship will not ever be balanced. If you allow someone to pick you, they will always have the upper hand in the relationship. A relationship that is not balanced will fail.

I'd like to think that I tend to avoid drama, but for the sake of transparency I will tell you...sometimes the urge to be a girl overwhelms me. When I am confronted with a decision and I don't know the answer, I will ask everyone and then get a few more opinions. In cereal terms, I have a little bowl of each...from there I will formulate my action plan on based on parts of each response that I elicited. When you're in a relationship with someone you should be able to place enough trust in that person that if you were unable to ever have any other opinion than theirs it would be enough. You should value their opinion so highly, and know that they are earnestly following the will of God so adamantly that any other opinion would pale in comparison to theirs.

Do you know how many different kinds of Cheerios exist? 10. Ten different kinds of Cheerios exist, not including the Olympic O's that they made for the summer games of '96. With in the Cheerios family there are so many options, but at the end of the day it is still the classically delicious toasted oat. I could eat Yogurt Cheerios to feel affection, Apple Cinnamon Cheerios when I'm feeling youthful, Multi-Grain for test days, or Honey Nut when I am feeling nostalgic, and for all the days in between I'd be happy to eat plain ol' Cheerios.

Cheerios aren't boring, they're safe. Boring holds you down. Safety provides you a net for when you jump.

I recently asked my Ranny what she would tell someone who is embarking on new relationship endeavors, she said “To really, ya know, be careful, and to know them. To know their preference in religion, and this type of thing. I don’t know, I don’t remember that far back.”

My grandparents were married for fifty seven years.

i consoled a cup of coffee but it didn't want to talk.

His hand was huge, hot, slightly sweaty and on my upper thigh.  He was trying to help me avoid walking into a busy street.  This 30's something gentleman was so embarrassed that he had grabbed my leg in an effort to protect me from oncoming traffic.  Little did he know that was the most action I had seen in months. 

Apparently Cupid does have a heart.

l is for the way.

I never had to tell him that I was having a bad day, he just knew.  I never had to tell him when I was mad at him, he just knew.  I never had to tell him when I was so happy, because you guessed it, he just knew.  I told him every one of my secrets; the good, the bad, and the ugly ones.  He saw me at my best and he saw me at my very worst.  He was there after every heart break, every loss of every game, he was there through it all.  Every time my friends were mad at me he knew just how to cheer me up.  He didn't hold grudges and he didn't seek revenge.  He always loved.  He loved me when I was mean.  He loved me when I was ugly.  He loved me when I told him I hated him.  He loved me when I was ten and had stitches covering the better part of my face.  He loved me every minute, of every hour, of every day.  To me he was love.  

John 3:16 may seem generic, but when you really think about it can you even wrap your mind around the concept?  God so loved the world that he gave us his one and only son, so that who ever believes in him will not perish but have ever lasting life.  I never really understood unconditional love until I found myself bargaining with God to let me keep him.  To let him stay just a little longer.  I begged God to let me have him for just one more day.  One day wouldn't have been enough but it was better than the alternative.  God didn't bargain, God didn't beg...God gave up his own heart beat so that we could have one.

Naturally being twenty-two and a female I find myself being naive at times thinking that if I seek love I will find it.  I just assume that if it always works out for Drew Berrymore after ninety minutes than surely it will work out for me too.  I have stumbled on the road, played the game, and daydreamed of an insatiable love.  All the while ignoring the fact that God has been offering me a real, raw, passionate love.  I have disregarded that God so loved the world, that God so loved me that he gave up his one and only, his true love, his son.  

My true love had black and brown hair and sported a winter coat even in the summer.  He let his chest hair hang out and on him it was cute.  His brown eyes saw every single one of my blemishes and loved me in spite of them.  He was my one and only, he was my best friend.  He wasn't Jesus, but he sure did love like him.  It's because of Blazer that I know all dogs really do go to heaven.

I think that God created man's best friend so that we'd be able to relate to him a little bit better.  A dog and God have more in common than the fact that if you reverse their names you get the other...Good dogs love us, like a good God loves us, and I for one can't fathom that.  Although we were created in God's image I wouldn't be surprised if when I get to heaven I see a canine quality in his eyes.  

I know that most people see love as a four letter word, but I think it's either six or three...

Blazer is love.

God is love.

Both are pretty similar in my opinion.

this is how the story goes.

She had a thin frame, coarse wiry hair, and yellowed teeth.  She wore a dress most days, and helped me learn how to spell the word ambiguous; her name was Mrs. Dunlap.  Mrs. Dunlap was a high school cheerleader back her heyday, and she not only taught me how to spell but she also showed me and Faryn Dewar how to do a perfect cartwheel and round off in the hallway of my elementary school.  Mrs. Dunlap even held my hair back one day when I had consumed too many grapes...and my stomach was thrusting them out of my body at an unmanageable speed.  She was the perfect fifth grade teacher.  

I love going to church.  I am not sure what it is about church but I love going.  I have been to so many churches in my life that I can't even recall, and while most of them have been Nazarene, each church has taught me a little something about "church".  Sunday mornings roll around in Nashville and I wake up and get ready for church, but church here is a different kind of church, there are a lot of "bless your hearts" and "sweet spirits" but to be frank I was growing exceptionally weary of encountering sweet spirits, and not "the spirit".  I wandered from church to church in Nashville looking for more than an old man greeter telling me good morning, I was starving for more than just another sermon and a benediction, I needed to find a place where worship wasn't about performing but reverence for an awesome God...and while I may not be at the best fitting church last week I found a sprit that was more than simply sweet, and for a moment I found a place that reminded me a little bit of home.  I'm positive that the fact that they sang "Believe" by Natalie Grant was a contributing factor.

Mr. Dunlap is a greeter, and his wife, Nancy, has an exceptional memory for any Nazarene that she has ever encountered.  From all appearances Mr. Dunlap was the typical old man greeter that hands you your bulletin, and ushers you to your seat, has a friendly smile...but is guiding you to your seat quickly so that he can get back to the door and repeat the process all over again.  He wears pleated khakis, a polo, and a sports coat, and while it is not a suit...it is the "contemporary" take on church clothes these days, and for him it's "hip".  His name tag was positioned just so, and when I came walked into to church he was there ready to shake my hand, I shook his hand and slipped into a seat in the back of the church where I was sure that I wouldn't be approached.  

I have been to church four times now and I have yet to be approached by anyone other than the greeter, and I am not sure if that counts...because after all it is their "job".  So there I sat, in between the aisle and a couple that couldn't keep their hands off of each other.  I tried not to look at the love birds, but it was like when you see someone has a huge facial birthmark, you know that you shouldn't look, but it's nearly impossible not to.  So there I sat between an aisle and an awkward place, which is similar to a rock and a hard place only much much worse.  I suppose I never really understood why people said it was hard to find a church home, but on Sunday I knew why...for the first time I couldn't hide behind the lines "oh, my dad's the senior pastor", "that's my mom on the piano", or "my dad basically raised the youth pastor"....So there I sat in a Nazarene church with nothing that made it feel like home.  

As soon as service ended I put my coat on walked out of the sanctuary...I made a pit stop, and when I walked out of the bathroom there were so many people in the foyer of the church, they were trying to hustle out the doors to get to the restaurants...heaven forbid that they have to wait fifteen minutes for a table.  I made my way through the traffic filled room and to the doors, and it was there that I was stopped by none other than Mr. Dunlap. He asked me a few questions about myself, told me about his claim to fame...which happens to be that he is a grandpa, and then he introduced me to Nancy.  After a few minutes of conversation he asked me what I was doing for lunch.  In all honesty, I was so embarrassed that I didn't have lunch plans (I don't think that you can be a Nazarene and not have Sunday lunch plans) that I thought about making something up...I don't know why I was so concerned about looking "cool" to a old man (it was probably because of his super suave sports coat, and pleated khakis) but I was...but being that I was in church I opted for telling the truth...I conceded that I did not have lunch plans.  They offered to take me to lunch, at a restaurant of my choice.  I agreed to meet them at a taco place not too far from either one of our homes, and I got in my car and prepared myself for what I was sure would be a very uncomfortable afternoon. 

Lunch wasn't awkward at all.  For the first time in a long time I felt as though I was apart of a church, I didn't have to check the visitor box on the attendance card anymore, and when the pastor said "y'all" I could finally feel as though I was included in that...I had become part of the "y'all" (clearly that means you have arrived).  I never thought that I would be a fan of southern lingo, but I must confess that to feel apart of the "y'all" is comforting.

I'm pretty sure that the Dunlaps did not think that taking an aloof, homesick graduate student to a taco joint on a Sunday afternoon would prove to be such a big deal, but as for this graduate student I am grateful for their generosity...they became the spirit, the "sweet spirit" of Jesus to a distant twenty-two year old college girl...and on that Sunday Nashville became semi-permanent to me.  

My fifth grade teacher and Mr. Dunlap are not related, and thank goodness I didn't gorge myself on tacos...but I have a feeling that Mrs. Nancy Dunlap would have loving held my hair back while I purged the fragments of taco from my overfilled stomach.  It is because of people like Mr. and Mrs. Dunlap that it is easy for me to "believe in a cross".

past the infatuation phase.

I have never been a big fan of Christian music, however the first "real" concert that I ever attended was Steven Curtis Chapman...and I am not ashamed at all to admit that I sang "Saddle Up Them Horses" at the top of my lungs, and the boom from my very bass voice echoed all over "The Palace of Auburn Hills".  I didn't listen to Shine when I attended Olivet, I didn't know what AIR fm was until a couple of years ago, and I know more hymns than "christian pop'' songs.  My junior year of college I made a christian music mixed CD, and I recently found it and transferred the songs on to my I-Pod.  I am not sure what came over me today, but on my way to the dentist I decided to listen to Jesus Jams.  I flipped through the album list until I had reached the J's and clicked shuffle, the first song that came on was "I will Rest in You" by Jaci Velasquez.  Velasquez is like the Michelle Branch/Vanessa Carlton of the Christian genre.  

Every night I lay down to rest, but I have yet to sleep through one night and wake up feeling well rested since I moved to Nashville.  I nap, and when I awake I wish that the sleep never ended.  And some how through disturbed sleep, and naps that never seem long enough, my slumber leaves me very unrested.    

I have found myself in a place of tranquil melancholy stage in life.  I am going and coming all at the same time.  I am coming to Nashville to study and be, but only to leave and become.  I am uncertain where I will go to become what it is that I am being led to be, but I have decided that I will rest in the Lord.  I will not lean on my own understanding, but his.  I will not make my own plans, but know that he has plans to prosper me.  To pretend that it is easy to follow path that is not clear would be a lie.  It is exceptionally difficult.

I have lived in Nashville for almost three months now and I don't have curtains, candles, or a kitchen table.  To be honest, I have no desire to have any of those things because I know that one year from January I will be leaving.  Nashville is not really home but more of an extended vacation.  My parents house is exactly that...their home and not mine.  Watervliet was always temporary.  Detroit was home until my family left and then it was a house, but not my home.  I tried to make my apartment homey, but I think that I failed.  I think that I wanted to fail, deep down inside, I didn't really ever want Nashville to be home.  

I am not sure what it is but I have the gypsy gene I am afraid.  I will continue to travel through this purgatory like stage of life until a find a home.  I suppose that is what we all do to some extent travel on the journey until we can settle, I don't know that I will ever settle.  

I recently told my mom that I didn't want to wake up at thirty with a mortgage, three kids, and find myself sitting behind a desk from nine to five.  My mom looked at me rather perturbed, because she had sacrificed her youth for my siblings and I...and then in a very humble voice said, but you don't want to wake up at forty and realized that you lived adventurous but had no one to share it with...I think that my mom is right.  I want to see action, passion, and the raw heart of people and for some reason I don't think that I can find that in the suburbs of life.  However, I have come to realize that the city doesn't have much more to offer than the 'burbs that I am so afraid of getting acclimated with.  

Cities are like boyfriends.  They are all fun at first, but after the infatuation wears off there is really nothing left but a lot of vacant lots and some entertaining coffee shops that after a while seem boring as well.  The place, much like the person, that you used to find rest in becomes one more thing to check off of your to do list, the conversations fade to predictable, and nothing is novel anymore...slowly but surely you detach and then just like a relationship gone sour, you move out and on with life.

I am not sure what it is about the nomadic lifestyle that is so appealing to me, but there is also something so entrancing about the unchanging.  I find a warm, quiet peace in the unchanging...I suppose that is because our God is unchanging.  It is my prayer that God will take me back, constantly his eyes will watch over me.  I want to be in the place that I once knew falling into the bed of faith prepared for me, and there I will find rest.

Jaci Velasquez may not be able to play a piano while sliding through the streets of the big city, but she sure can make me feel at home in a place that is so transitional.

killing me softy.

When I was sixteen I created a livejournal, within the pseudo pages of my internet journal I documented the events of my very colorful sophomore year of high school.  After about six months of documents the ins and outs of my life, while trying to sound poetically unique I realized that I, like every other sixteen year old, was just like all of my friends who listened to Dashboard Confessional and Simple Plan and despised my parents for instilling morals in me.  My livejournal page is still in existence, however I have not been "active" since 2002.  When livejournal became too popular, and "everyone and their mom" had one...I once again wante to establish myself as the girl who was ever so popular, yet outside the cliche...so I quit blogging on livejournal to create a deadjournal.  A deadjournal and a live journal were basically interchangeable...there was just one distinct difference:  livejournal was white and deadjournal was black.  Deadjournal seemed to provide a place of solace for very over dramatic teenagers who wore black nail polish, dark eye liner, and very purposefully messed up their hair to look like they had just rolled out of be.  I was proud to know that while I curled my hair and wore American Eagle that I had somehow fashioned together a deadjournal that had a small following.  Granted that following consisted of my very very dramatic sixteen-year-old friends who had had also switched from live to deadjournal for the sake of establishing their originality.

I think that at twenty-two I am still attempting to establish some sort of originality.  I would like to broadcast my thoughts to you while consuming a classy panini, and sipping on an Italian soda; but I must admit to you that I am a sucker for a good Whopper, a king size fry pod, and a very cosmopolitan diet coke.  The BK lounge is nothing to call original, and that is where I would rather dine.  So in this stage of life I find myself looking for the same thing that I searched for at sixteen, and I discovered that even at twenty-two I have found some sort of awkward peace in spilling it all over the internet.

As I once again record the story of my life, the ins and outs of the hum drum, and my overly theatrical take on my lustful relationships I hope that my contemporary livejournal will provide the relief of a good back scratch from a mom who now lives four hundred miles away, or the feeling you have when your best friend greets you at the door, or the comfort you had when you opened your high school locker and found a encouraging note on game day from the team captain...my expectations for my new therapeutic endeavor may be set too high, and maybe I should find a friend in Nashville instead of another internet page to have affection for...but that would not be nearly as entertaining to tell old friends.  I made a friend, or I started a blog?  Weigh the options...definitely a better conversation starter to say that you started a blog.  So if I meet you in a coffee shop that is home to modern day philosophers, or a Burger King that is contributing to our fast food nation I hope that you will not be able to recognize that the internet is killing me softly.