Adventures Afar(ish)

 Now that January is over half over, I'm ready to write about Christmastime! 

Zeb and I went to Washington on Christmas Eve to spend time with his family, and stayed with his parents for about a week afterwards. At some point on our trip, Zeb told me I had to write a blog post about it. 

I could write about the beautiful scenery, about meeting people, about my experimental eggnog pie...

I could write about how well Bailey traveled, or how it felt to be in Zeb's hometown, or what it was like getting to know his parents.

But what Zeb wants me to tell you about... are our adventures at Leavenworth.

So here begins a tale of cold feet, animal smuggling, and breaking and entering.

We headed to Leavenworth sometime between Christmas and New Year's Eve. Apparently this is a busy time of year over there! We circled the main street area a few times with no luck, and ended up finding parking in a residential area a few blocks away. Everything was covered in either snow, slush, or water. I had only brought one pair of shoes, some beat-up old suede boots. They quickly absorbed as much moisture as possible and kept my feet nice and cool the entire afternoon. They also have absolutely no tread, and made walking on packed snow/ice and slush very exciting!

Zeb fared quite a bit better with his footwear choices, and therefore had to purposely walk as slowly as possible while I slipped and slid my way down the hill a few blocks, and tried to dodge the giant puddles at all the crosswalks and intersections. This remained a theme for the rest of the day. I did everything very slowly and loudly, from carefully walking through snow and giving the occasional discreet shriek when I slipped, to smelling every candle in every store that had candles, and excitedly beckoning Zeb over to join me.

We had brought Bailey with us, and decided to keep her in Zeb's messenger bag for the afternoon. Once we finally made it to the actual part of town that everyone goes to Leavenworth for, we were already wet, tired, and getting hungry. The restaurants we were interested in had crazy wait times, and one of them immediately informed us of their anti-pet policy as soon as we poked our heads in the door, it seemed.

This was all mildly discouraging, and my blood sugar was starting to crash. We started walking towards McDonald's as an emergency measure. There were two problems with this plan. Number one, it was on the other end of town. Number two, Zeb hates McDonald's. But I needed food, and McDonald's was not likely to have a multiple-hour wait. Luckily I spotted a Starbucks and made the executive decision to change course. The Starbucks was super crowded, but at least it was warm and there was no rain or snow happening inside. I ordered a bunch of different foods and a drink for us to share, and snagged a tiny table in a corner. 

Bailey trying to dry off inside Starbucks

The coffee wasn't great, of course. But it was warm, and so was the food, and we were greatly comforted. So with blood sugar stabilized and misery abated, we braved the cold and rain once more. The wait for Andreas Keller's restaurant was 3+ hours, I think? So we had some time to kill.

Once I got over my cold feet and decided to have fun, it really was a lovely time. All the Christmas lights were still up, and the stores were pleasantly bustling with other touristy people. Zeb was also having a good time, so much so that he even agreed to take some selfies with me, trying to angle things juuust right so the Christmas lights would show in the background.

We wandered through so many shops. We got some very expensive fudge, found our last names in a genealogy book, and Zeb got Bailey a ridiculously priced Seahawks hoodie at a little pet store. 

And then, as we were wandering, I saw a sign. 

"Museum"

"Can we please go? I know you hate museums, but I wanna see what it is!"

Zeb kindly acquiesced, and we climbed the staircase to the Leavenworth Historical Museum.

There was no one at the desk. Here is where the breaking and entering comes in, although I confess I may have exaggerated it a bit. I did not want to enter the museum without paying the $5 per person fee, but what were we to do? We waited awkwardly, with no sign of help. I looked around considered our options, and got an idea. What if I just check out our tickets myself? How hard could it be? So I reached over the counter and pulled the little checkout computer thing to where I could see it, selected two adult tickets, and paid for them. I saved the receipt to prove that we had indeed bought our tickets, and as soon as I completed my daring mission, the museum employee whose job I had just taken over, approached us and offered her assistance. "No thank you, we already got our tickets! See, I have the receipt, we already paid."

Luckily, she was fine with all of this, and very enthusiastically answered a couple of questions and then some! I think she was just excited that someone was obviously so passionate to go through the museum. 

After all that buildup, we went through the whole museum in about 15 minutes. 😅 There was a lot of interesting info all over, and a lot of care and passion obvious in all the details. But I think my favorite part of the whole thing was the little checkout computer. That was probably just because of the adrenaline rush, though.

Soon after this escapade, our turn on the restaurant wait-list came up. I'm pretty sure they let us make the reservation because Bailey was in a bag and also below the little check-in podium/counter thing, so no employees saw her. We were determined to keep it that way when we went back to actually eat. 

Bailey had been a perfect angel all day. She nestled quietly in her blanket nest in Zeb's bag, and gladly let us put the flap over her to keep her head dry. 

However. 

As soon as we sat down she decided that now was her time to make a move. We looked over our menus while Zeb tried to keep her tucked under his arm and out of sight. Whenever a server came by, I would hold my menu up to divert attention away from Zeb's mild struggling, and he would lean forward and try to hide Bailey behind his arm, and we successfully ordered food without being caught. When it came, of course Bailey was very interested. Zeb did his best to keep her contained, and we thoroughly enjoyed our meal. I think laughing at Bailey's antics enhanced the experience, overall.

Bailey subtly requesting a bite of schnitzel.

With our meal finished, Zeb subtly maneuvered Bailey back into the bag, and we headed out, thoroughly pleased with our accomplishment.

We wandered through more shops until evening, and enjoyed the caramelly smells from a kettle corn stand. My favorite shop was a spices and tea store that had everything you could possibly want, in bulk. There was a full wall with jars of spices, and another full wall with jars of tea. It was glorious. I want to take Hannah there sometime.

The absolute decadence!

As dusk fell, we bid Leavenworth farewell. Zeb walked with Bailey back up the hill to his truck, while I waited at a pedestrian pick-up area and admired the view.

We drove back to Zeb's parents' house, content with our adventures. 

Honestly, I'm really proud of myself. When the day started, it seemed like things would be somewhat miserable the whole way through. We drove in circles looking for parking, we walked through snow, in the rain, and got wet feet. We were hungry and cold. 

And I decided to just ... not be miserable. We had set out to have fun and enjoy ourselves. When we were sitting in Starbucks, I checked in with Zeb. He was tired and cold and slightly discouraged. 

"I'm trying to picture a scenario where, in a couple of hours, we're having a good time. I can't quite get there, but I'm trying."

I asked him to look for a scenario in which he was having a good time, because I was already enjoying myself. 

He seemed kinda surprised, but I think maybe it took some pressure off of him to make things perfect.

And sure enough, a couple hours later we were having a pretty great time. 

I'm really glad I was able to choose to have fun. And I'm so relieved and slightly surprised that it actually worked! There are so many times where I can't quite tip the scales of the day, away from misery or discontentment. Often Zeb has to be the one to say, "No, we're not going to have a bad day. Things don't have to be perfect for us to enjoy them." And that day in Leavenworth, it was my turn to change our course and choose to embrace whatever the day would look like. It looked like adventures, laughter, and cold wet feet. And that was perfect.

-Dolly 

Gladsome Tidings

 

Sooo.... I may have some news! 

In May, I posted an update about this guy named Zeb, and how we were dating now, etc. etc.

Things have been going pretty well since then, as we've settled into the routines of a relationship. Zeb works at my cousin's grass seed and grain warehouse, just a few minutes away from my little trailer. So most days I make lunch and he comes over during his break, and many days we also have supper together. I love the structure this gives my days, as well as the opportunity to express my value of caring for the people around me. And Zeb loves my cooking. 😁

So every day Zeb comes over for lunch, gives me a hug, says hello to Bailey, and politely asks Izzy to make room for him on the couch. I love that we get this time to be together and feel at home. I love that my girls adore him. Bailey asks for belly rubs and climbs in his lap. Izzy scoots a little closer to him on the couch and licks his arm. I love that we're a little family.

I've written before about how important these kinds of patterns are to me. 

So, overall life hasn't been the easiest thing, (when is it ever?) but it's been good. 

Apparently Zeb agrees with me.

On Saturday, November 18th, he proposed. 

I had been somewhat anxiously awaiting this development, and then when it happened I was completely blindsided. Apparently Zeb had been carrying this locket around for weeks, waiting for the perfect moment. And then, on this particular Saturday, he just decided it felt right. There was nothing special that day. We were just hanging out before going to get groceries together. But Zeb decided it felt like the right time, so he texted Hannah.

Hannah was having our friend Maggie over for a Harry Potter marathon, and had made her own butterscotch sauce for butterbeer. She invited us up to try some butterscotch, and I suspected nothing. 

Hannah has a really old phone, and it takes... not great pictures. So I told her a long time ago that I don't want the only pictures of me getting engaged to be on her phone. 

Hannah asked for a phone with a good camera, to take pictures of my reaction to the butterscotch, and I still suspected nothing. 

Hannah started explaining to Maggie that, "Dolly is just so picky about phone cameras," and I immediately protested. 

"I just don't want my engagement or wedding pictures to be taken with your phone!" I explained, as Zeb got down on one knee. I still suspected nothing. 

With a spoonful of butterscotch in my mouth, I turned to look at Zeb, on one knee, and I just sorta blanked. I turned towards Hannah, who was at the ready with Zeb's phone camera, and the realization dawned. In my shock, I didn't notice that there was a spoon in my mouth. Thankfully, Hannah did notice, and removed it, although I didn't even realize it at the time. 

Zeb asked me to marry him, and I said yes. And then I had my first kiss, and we all sat around Hannah's table and drank Martinelli's while I tried to breathe at a normal rate.

The not-quite-three-weeks since then have been... Busy? Hectic? Stressful? Wonderful?

All of the above. From budgeting to scheduling to dreaming to asking people to help, it's been a very full time. We have venues and photography booked, my friend William took our engagement pictures, my mom and Auntie Dorcas have started the dress-making process, my Auntie Arlene is practicing embroidery, I asked my friend Maggie to make me a flower crown, Hannah is planning to make just ... so many cupcakes, our pastor Ranee lined up church venues for us, another pastor-friend has agreed to do premarital counseling with us.... 

I know I'm missing people.

I'm already amazed at the ways so many people want to help and be involved and show us love and support. You're each so kind and wonderful. Thank you. ❤️

Still, there are a lot of things that we're not able to outsource just yet. Zeb and I have kinda split up some of the communication duties. "I'll reach out to ______, and you can be the one to draft an email to ___________?" 

We brainstorm and plan together, and it's been really fun for me to hear his ideas. He's the one that reminds me that we still have time. The entire wedding doesn't need to be planned in a week. It's important to talk about other things and have mental downtime. He helps me solve problems, and also reminds me that they're not all urgent. 

He's not the only one reminding me to rest. I remember one day in particular, that I had woken up 3 hours early and immediately started working on wedding planning. When Hannah woke up, she forbade me from doing any other wedding planning for the rest of the day. She then informed me that she had to go to work at 11, and had therefore enlisted Maggie to take over checking in with me for the afternoon.

I'm grateful for such good friends.

As we get into the holiday season, I especially need to take all their advice to heart. This can be a busy and somewhat frantic time under any circumstances, much as that seems it should be counterintuitive. I'm trying not to get swept away by gift lists and travel and events, in much the same way I'm trying to keep dresses and decorations and save the dates in their proper place. What I mean is, these are all accessories to my life, not the focus. A wedding is about commitment more than color schemes. And Christmas is about peace and hope more than presents and plans. 

I want to take my time and enjoy this time.

After all, it's my first Christmas with a fiance.

~Dolly soonish-to-be Berg

Changes

 Fall is my favorite season. 

All the seasons are my favorite, honestly. But fall is the best. 😁 I often describe myself as liking the changes between seasons, more than any of the seasons themselves. And every year. I think that's true... until fall comes around and then I suddenly feel like myself again. Give me sweaters, flannels, boots, and beanies. Give me warm lattes, foggy mornings, sunny afternoons, and crunchy leaves.

Fall and IKEA always remind me that I'm actually a basic white girl. 😅 What can I say, if we all like these things, maybe it's cuz we all have good taste.

I'm not sure what it is about certain things that bring such a sense of identity, and why change can affect that so strongly. A couple of posts ago, I mentioned cutting my hair. Recently I cut it again, and got a nose piercing about a week later. Friends were super sweet and supportive, and I got a few interesting questions. "Do you love it?" "Do you feel more free?" "Do you feel more like yourself?"

Yes? No? I'm not entirely sure.

It's not like I wasn't myself before. And I don't feel suddenly different or less stifled, or even like my hair is easier to work with. I wasn't feeling dysphoric or inauthentic or controlled, exactly. However, I was, and probably always will be, very concerned about how others would feel about how I look.

I've wanted to have a pixie cut to wear with beanies basically since I started wearing beanies. I've wanted a nose ring for almost a year? And I just haven't done these things. It's not that I wasn't being myself a year ago, it's that I was slightly trying not to stand out. Maybe because I naturally stand out in ways I don't always want to, with my arms. 

Also... I dunno, I don't want people to think badly of my family. Like my parents somehow "failed" because both their children are non-conventional in different ways. So I tend to just not do all the things I know I want to. 

The main person that stifles my sense of self... is sometimes myself.

So! Do I feel suddenly liberated, or in love with my hair, or otherwise drastically different?!? 

No.

But I do wake up every morning and feel cute.

Look at this fun, joyful being!!

And I look at this person that I would dream of becoming... and she's me. She has cute hair and a nose ring in just the right spot and she has supportive friends and a really sweet boyfriend and... and she's me.

Some days that takes longer to set in than it does on others.

Some days it doesn't feel special. A lot of days lately, I'm too tired for anything to feel special. But even on a lot of those days... I wake up and feel cute. And maybe that's what people mean. 

There's been no big dopamine rush or sense of novelty. I just feel like me. And I think that's all I'm meant to feel like right now. Life is a bit of a slog lately. I don't have much energy, I don't have much money, and I'm not having many adventures. I'm just trying to live with each day, letting it be what it is. And hopefully in that, I can learn to let me be what I am, too. 

Whatever God wants that to look like, I guess. I don't think I'll ever be anything earth-shattering. When I was younger, I wanted to be. I wanted to be a big deal, I wanted to change people's lives! Maybe that's what happens when grown-ups call you an "inspiration" all the time. 😅

But as I've gotten older (not by much yet, but you know) I've kinda... gotten a sense of what brings meaning and purpose to my life. What calls to me. 

It's very (annoyingly) traditional.

I want to make people feel safe and wanted. 

I want to provide a home for others to find respite in.

I want to bring God's sense of adoption into the world- I want to accept and nurture others.

I want to build community. Somewhere I belong, as well.

I want to sustain myself and maybe others. To grow food and raise animals, to cook and can and butcher and preserve....

I want to be a partner and a mother figure.

I want home and family, whatever that may look like. 

I like all these things now. But I didn't always. I had a slight identity crisis when I first realized that a lot of my personal skills, values, and interests lie very heavily in the homemaking category. Culturally, that's what I've always been "supposed" to do. So I questioned all of it. 

"Is this really me and my interests, or is this just what I was raised for?" "Am I settling because I don't think I could do anything else with my life?" "Do I want this because it's familiar, a path of less resistance?"

Also...

I just don't like being told what to do and who to be. 😅 Autonomy and independence are incredibly important to me, and if I were to end up walking someone else's path, I think it would rot me from the inside out.

So after much poking, prodding, deliberating, and a fair amount of young adult angst...

I think this is just who I am.

Right now I think I'm someone who has cute hair, and a nose ring in just the right spot, and supportive friends, and a really sweet boyfriend; and I think I'm someone who wants to have a garden and a home and kids running around and I think I'm someone who's just... me.

Whatever that is.

~Dolly

Rhythms and Rituals

If you're coming from my last post:

This is not a post about my birthday/Memorial Day weekend campout! 

It was a very mixed weekend, and I wasn't confident that I could write about it without risking anyone feeling like they contributed to some of the more difficult aspects. So I avoided the whole topic entirely, rather than risk making anyone feel bad. The TL:DR of the weekend is that I was very tired and stressed and I really love my friends and relatives and I'm grateful they came and spent time with me.

But this blog post is not about the campout, it's about finding the patterns that make life less overwhelming to face.

The older I get, the more I realize the importance of ritual. The patterns that start out with such intention, and then become so integral to daily life that they settle into rhythms that feel like coming home.

In some ways, I thrive in mild... adversity(?) I don't consider these things as difficulties, but other people might.

For instance, I didn't have running water for part of my time in Eastern Oregon. So first thing every morning, I would take a jug out to the water spigot so I could have water to wash my hands and brush my teeth and all the other little things one does to start their day. It was so lovely to have something to do as soon as I woke up each morning. And as it became a habit, I added to it. I started talking to Ike the old horse. And then I bought a bag of carrots so I could give him a snack each morning. 

Now I have running water, but I don't trust old RV pipes to be clean and respectable. At first I would just boil water in a kettle all the time, but that's not as fun in the summer heat. So now I am back to hauling water, but it's not as effective since I don't have to do it first thing, especially if I have a bit of water leftover from the previous day. So I've had to find new ways to add bits of loose structure to my morning.

For the past 6+ months, I have been horrendously bullied into drinking water. I spent the first 23~ years of my life being somewhat chronically dehydrated. And then I obtained a boyfriend, and he joined my best friend in pressuring me to hydrate. 

It has been effective. Technically this is a good thing, but I also don't like the idea of them thinking they're winning.

All my little hydration woes aside, I now drink some water first thing in the morning, and take my anxiety med. And then I let Bailey outside and feed the small group of cats that I've accidentally collected. Bailey and I come back in, I feed her, and then I make a smoothie or frappuccino or something for myself.

I have other little rituals to my day as well. Every morning I wash dishes so I can make lunch for myself and Zeb. He works at my "Uncle" Paul's warehouse, which is smack-dab in the middle of my family's farm, so it's very convenient to have lunches together. Or if Zeb's very busy I'll just drop off his lunchbox at the warehouse's office. So lunch is another little ritualistic event in my day. I put a lot of care and time and intention into it.

Afternoons tend to be when things™ happen. Meeting a friend, volunteering, housework, etc. Often I take a bit of time to rest, as well. And then as evening comes I wash lunch dishes so I can make supper. Sometimes I make supper for Zeb, too, but not every day. 

As twilight falls I often sit in my hammock for a bit. Sometimes I start a small campfire. I let Bailey out and feed the kitties again at 9:30, and call Izakaya in for bed. Both my indoor girlies get treats, and then I make Bailey's dinner, take meds, and get ready for bed. I'm usually settled in around 10.

Reading through this, it probably sounds like my whole day is scheduled out. But honestly, it's just a few moments morning and evening, and cooking meals in between. The rest of my time is very open, and I really need that flexibility. But I also need structure. I think that's an ADHD thing? 

I've found that I need structure mostly in the mornings and evenings; it does wonders for my sleep schedule. If I try to tackle my sleep schedule issues directly, it all becomes an impossible chore, and the feeling of pressure heightens my anxiety, which further prevents me from sleeping well. But if I have a set of rituals to get ready for bed, and they're triggered at a certain time, then I am reliably getting to bed at roughly the same time every night. And if I have an approachable but specific task to do when I get up in the mornings, I am much more likely to actually get out of bed.

A week or two ago, my kitchen sink plugged up and my whole life fell to shambles.

The sink was plugged for a good few days at least, and it ruined everything. Trying to wash dishes in a tiny RV bathtub is... not particularly feasible. Especially with very low water pressure and zero space to put one's legs or feet.

My bathtub of dishes

In addition to the difficulty of washing dishes in the bathtub, I had to choose to either wash dishes or take a shower, at any given time. And I can only do my less-enjoyed chores/tasks on spur-of-the-moment whims or bursts of energy. So having an obstacle, such as a large knife in my bathtub, causes problems.

The whole thing was such an issue that I started exclusively making sandwiches and things that required minimal dishes. I made entire meals where the only thing I got dirty was a singular knife. 

So now my dishes routine was off, I didn't want to take showers, and I wasn't really cooking.

Misery. 

My mornings and evenings were in chaos, the in-betweens soon followed, and I felt very off-kilter and restricted. The problem was, I couldn't quite tell why in the world this one little thing was throwing me off so much. So I have to wash dishes in the bathtub and my back hurts a bit: what's the big deal?

But I wash dishes because I enjoy washing dishes. And having back pain removed that enjoyment, and therefore my motivation. 

But even still, if it was just dishes, I don't think it would have been such a problem. But because it also threw off a few other patterns, I completely fell out of rhythm.

I didn't realize all of this until a few days ago when my sink got fixed and I was so very excited to get to wash dishes! Oh the joy of chores!! And the rest of my life very quickly followed suit and lined itself back up into its proper order.

Day-to-day life isn't the only useful place to hold ritual and build rhythms. Zeb and I have been dating for 6 months now, and one of my favorite things about our relationship is that we build these things together. 

We are very happy with the state of things.

On a daily level I get to make his lunches. But there are other things.

On Sundays we go to church and then get groceries. And maybe take a nap. 

In addition, every month we do:

1 Double Date

1 Date Night/Day

1 Open Hack Night at the Eugene MakerSpace 

1 "Talking Day"

Talking Day comes from my cousin Daisi; she told me how she does it with her boyfriend, and Zeb and I adopted the idea. It's a time to finish any/all conversations that have come up throughout the month and just didn't quite happen. Whether it's a topic that we want to talk about but haven't gotten to yet, or a question I have that isn't time-sensitive so I just forgot about it, or a conversation we started and then couldn't finish for whatever reason. I write these things down as I think of them, and then when Talking Day comes I get out my reference list. 

Having these bits of intention built into our relationship has made it so much more fulfilling to me. It's still very flexible, but there's just enough of a guideline there to make sure that we keep a pattern of reinforcing the relationship we're building between us.

A date can be whatever we want it to be. Going for a hike, making a special recipe for a dinner, exploring somewhere new, or just setting aside specific time to focus on each other. It doesn't matter what the date is, it just matters that we have one.

I think that's what all these rituals come down to. Whether in general life or in my relationship, rituals only work when they're specifically about living out my values.

I value feeding others, so washing dishes and cooking is fulfilling.

I value life, so caring for my animals is rewarding.

I value small pleasures, so making myself a smoothie or frappuccino makes me feel very cared-for.

I value the energy it takes to be present and do what matters to me, so my bedtime and sleep routine is comforting.

I value my ability to think clearly and react well to the world, so taking my meds feels purposeful.

I value my relationship with Zeb, so doing things for him and spending time with him is really enriching.

I think I'll start doing evening campfires again soon, which will be uplifting because I so strongly value community.

All this to say, I think this issue of fulfilling values is why building up rituals is so much more doable to me than trying to force a new habit to rise from nothing. Habits take so much work! Whereas rituals just give my values a framework to express themselves. So building a ritual, while it holds intention, doesn't feel like work at all. It feels like the intentionality of taking a second to hold and smell a warm cup of coffee before you drink it on a cold morning. On the other hand, trying to create a habit feels like trying to raise a skyscraper from plain dirt via telekinesis or the force. It might be possible for some fictional person somewhere, but it's not particularly doable for me.

All this to say: I'm glad to have my kitchen sink back. 

And I really look forward to a lifetime of finding new rituals as my natural rhythms change with time and circumstances, or as my values soften and deepen as I grow.

I don't usually ask for feedback, but I would really love to know what y'all think. Are you able to build habits? How do you do that???? 

Or, on the other hand: 

Does building habits feel daunting to you? What about finding rituals? Do you see these two concepts as distinct from each other?

I'm just so curious about what works for other people! Or, if nothing has really worked for you so far, does this approach sound appealing? 

I value a sense of wonder and curiosity, and I express that by asking a lot of questions. 😁 So I hope someone will have mercy on my curious little mind and answer some of them.

Either way, I hope you find a way to live that suits you just right, and that you find as much joy and comfort in it as possible. Good luck to each of us on our own journeys.

-Dolly

Burnout and a Boyfriend

 Hello! It's been awhile!

The last thing I posted was a synopsis of my life and health for the past couple of years, and my feelings about 2023. We're almost halfway through the year now, and so much has happened and changed... some of it good, some of it amazing, and some of it very hard.

In my last post I said that had entered the dating world, and I didn't have a boyfriend but I had made some lovely friends. By the time I wrote that, I was already phased out of online dating. I had a pretty full social life, and I was feeling busy and fulfilled and not in need of a boyfriend. Or dating experience. 

God had other plans....

Our announcement on January 19

I like to say that this came about because of divine meddling.  Zeb and I became close friends while neither of us had any intention of starting a serious relationship. (I was a bit more open to the idea, though.) After things had developed in some very annoying directions, we spent roughly two months with romantic feelings out in the open, and the agreement that we still weren't going to date. I was so frustrated with my silly feelings that weren't quite going away, hahaha. 

And then... Divine Meddling™. 

I remember being so confused one afternoon, after Zeb and I had specifically agreed to remain "just" friends. We had visited our local Mormon church together, and afterwards spent the afternoon talking about truth and theology and calling and what God has done in our lives... At one point in the middle of the conversation, God whispered to me, "His calling is _______, and your calling is ___________, and those two things go together."

My thought was, "Why in the world would you tell me this?" 

We both felt like we were where God wanted us to be, including in our relationship. I still believe we were. But He kept dropping hints about the future, and now here we are. 😅

And it's absolutely lovely. I'm so overwhelmingly lucky that I can't even describe it. When I see Zeb holding Bailey, or working on a project; when he invests in relationships with my family, when he shows me kindness and grace when I'm struggling.... I don't deserve him. But I guess we never deserve good gifts, and God gives them anyway.

I mentioned us going to Mormon church.... That's something that's remained a part of our lives. I think it's been really good for me to examine beliefs and embrace people that I otherwise wouldn't. I've heard such a mix of accuracies and misconceptions about Mormons and the Mormon church over the years, that when I realized the Holy Spirit is active in their lives, I was kinda surprised. From what I'd heard, they're not Christian in almost any sense. 

I think they're a good group of people who love Jesus just like I do; and who also have some beliefs I don't agree with, and heroes and structures that I can't really align myself with.

Which is like pretty much any group of God's kiddos. So it makes me happy to explore more of my extended family, hahaha. ("This is my church family on the Mormon side," lol.) And I'm really grateful for the connections and friends I've/we've made. 

Getting an epic burger at Junkyard with the JC missionaries, Elders Shelley and Nielsen.

I don't know exactly where God is going with these connections, but I'm happy to settle into them and wait to see what He's up to. 😊

In more general terms, my social life isn't what it once was, hahaha. I pushed myself really hard for a very long time- helping hold a lot of things together for other people, and then having to hold myself together in my downtime. I think that all started at least last fall or so? So I didn't really have time to invest in my less intense relationships. A few months ago I told my pastor that I was approaching my limit and I didn't want to commit to things. 

Unfortunately, I am bad at not committing to things.

So, I hit some pretty rough burnout. Which means that even after external circumstances have changed, my social life is still on the more minimal side. It honestly makes me extra grateful for the connections I had already built last summer- they've supported me so much. I'm especially grateful to Hannah, Maggie, and Marissa. They've all taken turns initiating plans, which means I don't have to. And they're such an uplifting group. Being with them nourishes my soul. Even though they take pictures and laugh, instead of helping me, when I fall off of things from laughing too hard. 😂

L-R: Me, Marissa, Hannah, Maggie

Another contributing factor to my social decline is... I'm just busy! Between the two of us, Zeb and I have almost every evening booked except Sunday! We have 4 recurring things on the calendar every week, and then the last couple of days always get filled. 3 out of our 4-5 Saturdays a month are usually already scheduled out, as well, so that pretty much just leaves one "empty" evening a week, which gets filled with whatever we can't fit into the other days. On Sundays we sleep it all off so we can start again.

It's something we're both having to evaluate. I know, for myself, that I'm not great at prioritizing. So it can be really hard to figure out what actually needs to stay on the schedule, and what can be set aside for a week. 

We're figuring it out together. We have to: we've both gotten a bit burned out.

For me, this burnout has been weird. Last time I pushed so far past my limits, I got that weird paralysis-ish thing for awhile. 

This time, my body has honestly held up remarkably well. I take naps and rest when I need to, and a day or two later I can be back at it again! It's very mixed, for me. I love that I can do more, and I like being able to move. But I'm still sort of always teetering around the brink of further collapse and exhaustion, because I haven't hit a point where I have no options. I've been having to choose to say, "I can't do that." "Yes, I'm okay, I'm just trying to make sure it stays that way," which is a totally new concept to me. So, I often miscalculate. Which means that I'm dragging things out a bit longer, each time I overreach.

TW for the next three paragraphs: mentions of suicidal ideation.

I would say the biggest effects of burnout have been on my mental/emotional state. Insecurities feel bigger. Triggers hit a LOT harder. My mood swings can be pretty dysregulated. And it seems like really small things can suddenly start that little pathway in my brain that says, "I want to die."

One week my insecurities with Zeb built up so big that they kinda exploded. Another week I was falling over from exhaustion. Another week I had 3 anxiety attacks. This week it's the suicidal ideation that seems to kick in on auto-pilot.

I do want to clarify that I absolutely do not want to die. It's just that my brain had that thought as an automatic response for years, so sometimes it just goes there, basically separately from me. So, I wouldn't say I'm in danger. But it does get exhausting to have to fight my own thoughts, or correct them, especially when I'm under some sort of emotional distress.

Back to less triggering topics!

I cut my hair. 😁

I've always had it decently long. A side effect of growing up Mennonite, hahaha. In the past few years I've grown it to its maximum length a couple of times, which was really fun. I loved the swishy ponytails and the fun updos and the really long braids. 

And then I cut them off. 😊 I initially cut off over a foot of hair. Hannah cleaned up the back where I couldn't reach, and I taught Zeb how to do layers.

Initial ponytail chop. Yes, they got donated, thanks to my mom. 😊

Pre-layers. I was already pretty pleased with it.

My very handsome haircut assistant. 😁

And then I got bored and had Hannah help me cut it even shorter, so now it's more of a long, layered bob. (Layers courtesy of Zeb once again.) I love that I have a haircut team, lol.

We always have fun. 😁

I think this is the best picture I have of the current length.

It's definitely been an adjustment!! I can just barely get it into a ponytail now, so when it's hot I braid my bangs back and do two little ponytail-bun-things to keep it contained. 😅 I'm thinking of cutting it shorter again, but it might wait til fall, cuz I think I'll wanna be able to put it up over the summertime.

I know that after all the bigger updates, haircuts are a bit mundane.

But my hair is a big deal to me. It's a part of my identity in a way I don't know that I can express. I think the best I can do is share an experience.

After I posted pictures of my haircut, I was surprised at how many people commented, whom I know from Mennonite circles. Positive comments. I think a lot of us are on parallel journeys of discovering openness to new things. 

I looked at the picture and I realized something. 

I don't look ex-Mennonite anymore. Which is weird. I'm used to being able to look at people and just know if they grew up Mennonite or Charity or conservative homeschooled or something along those lines. There's a vibe, and I don't know if I could explain it, but it reminds me of something one of my cousins said about Amish kids on rumspringa- they look like they don't know how to do their hair.

Awhile ago, I started transitioning out of having Mennonite hair. Now I don't really have ex-Mennonite hair either. It's weird to think about.  I don't know that people from the kinds of communities I grew up in, would be able to identify that I'm one of them. Or, that I was, at one point. 

It's a sense of liberation and loss.

But my hair looks cute. 😁 And I think this is an important part of my process of growing up and deciding what to keep, and what to let go.

I've been having to process a lot of things lately. And let go of a lot of them.

Past experiences, relational expectations, bits of cultural history, a need to always push to the limit... and a lot of hair. 😅

I think that's a pretty decent update/ramble. As always, I didn't cover everything. But this is what I had on my mind, so it's all you get for now. 

In just over a week I'll turn 24. It's also Memorial Day weekend, then, so Zeb and I are hosting a campout and cookout with friends. I'm really looking forward to it. 😊 And I'm looking forward to whatever else the summer may have to offer. Prayers that it involves a good harvest, without fire or injury. ❤️

I think that's it for now. Maybe I'll post about the campout, later. 

Thanks for reading!

~Dolly 

What's Next?

 I don't have any resolutions for this new year. I've been trying to remember when I stopped doing that, and I think it was 2020. When my health disappeared completely from December 2020 to January of 2021. I haven't picked up the habit again, since. To be honest, it seems slightly pointless to me.

I've been working, and hopefully growing, so consistently the past couple of years, that making extra plans or setting extra goals seems unnecessary.

2020 was a strange year. I think it started out well, but I don't actually remember anything pre-pandemic. I had a pandemic roommate for a couple of months, which was a new experience. It went poorly, which was even more of a new experience, and it definitely threw me off. In July 2020, my relationship with my mom shifted, and I became more independent. I went to Newport with just myself and Bailey. My first time taking a day trip without other people. In the fall, Mom and I went to Portland during what seemed like a lull in the pandemic, to celebrate my 21st birthday. We ate sooo much fantastic food, and I got to show her the Grotto. It's a really special place to me, and I'm not entirely sure why.

And then in December of 2020, I think I had an adrenal crash. All year, the drastic social and political climate had been wearing on me. I'd been engaging in small-scale activism and picking up other people's pain and burdens. I couldn't approach my neighbors freely without feeling defensive and endangered. My relationship with my former roommate had disintegrated. Every topic felt like an issue that no one agreed with me on, which was so stressful for my newly-forming sense of ethics and integrity.

I laid on my couch, basically paralyzed for over a month, maybe two months? I'm not sure. 

I slept roughly 20 hours a day, probably more. I was scared to walk down the stairs. I couldn't stand up straight or steady. I would wake up just long enough to take Bailey outside, and then need to nap for a few hours before I had the energy to sit up and try to eat. Sort of. My body was so heavy that I couldn't get it to move at all. I relied completely on other people to bring me food.

My doctor was no help. 

I started taking an adrenal support supplement on a hunch. I don't remember whose hunch it was.

Eventually I started feeling better.

All through 2021 I was scared and trying to find my capabilities. Whenever I would "overdo it" I would experience the same problem of feeling glued down to my couch for most of the day. Sometimes it would last a week, sometimes longer. I never knew where my limits were. They kept shifting.

Slowly but surely, I started to rebuild my life. With a lot of caution. 

I started therapy again. I started gaining more self-awareness. I started feeling like my life was too big for me to manage it. I started the project of moving into the trailer.

The trailer was a really good thing. It was always there when I had a spare bit of energy and needed something to look forward to. But there was no set day-to-day schedule. It was also something that my close friends and family really helped me out with, which helped me rebuild my sense of community, just a little.

Just before Thanksgiving of 2021, I went to Eastern Oregon. I wasn't sure entirely why I was going there, or how long I would stay, or how it would go. We parked the trailer at my Uncle Leland's place, in a spot that Aunt Sandra had lobbied for. It had an amazing view of the mountains.

I still miss those mountains.

Eastern Oregon was the first time/place in years that I'd really had a social life at all. There was always something going on, and I was always welcome to tag along. I was able to do as much as I had the energy to do, without the effort of being the one to make it happen. It was a really safe environment for me to settle back into my body and try to trust it again. And it's also where I had my first extensive set of experiences caring for babies. I didn't realize I could fall for someone that hard, but I loved and prayed over Uncle Lelands' foster baby every day. I adore her so much, and I'm really glad she has a good home now.

I explored a lot of things in Eastern Oregon. I tried out a new community, I started testing out the implications of the beliefs I'd started developing in 2020, and I started experiencing a sense of calling. A master plan for my life that fits just me. Something I greatly want to see and be a part of. I want to see who I am.

Eastern Oregon helped rekindle hope.

And then it was time to come home, in January of 2022.

I was just going to reflect on this past year, but I've gotten this far in the post and I don't feel like going back now.

This year started off with a bit more difficulty. The transition back to the valley was hard, but I knew I was supposed to be here. I spent a few months feeling discouraged that I still had some things packed up. The trailer wasn't in its (semi)permanent space, so I hadn't planned to unpack everything. But then I was stuck in a temporary parking place and also in a mid-transition rut for at least a couple months. It was depressing.

I think I started slightly entering the dating world in the early spring or so. 

I didn't find a boyfriend, lol, but I met some fantastic people, some of whom turned into lovely friends. I started learning about other perspectives, which were extremely different from my own. It was exciting and fun and deeply fascinating.

I need a sense of discovery to be fulfilled in life.

I decided I need a social life as well. That was one of the biggest differences between my life here in the valley, and the positive parts of life in Eastern Oregon.

Hannah and I decided to befriend a guy named Zeb from our church small group. The trailer doesn't have an oven that works for me, so I started baking at his apartment, where I also became friends with his roommate Mike. Between that and the people I met online, I started having people to hang out with and have adventures with.

Hannah moved into my old apartment this summer, which was amazing. We're closer neighbors than ever! It's so fun to be able to pop in for a cup of tea or a conversation. Or to just sit on her couch in the evenings and laugh at memes until I collapse.

I started doing campfires this summer. And that solidified a bit of a friend group. I reconnected with Marissa, who got to know Tristan in college and has become a lovely family friend. I started getting to know Maggie, whom I had gone to youth group with, but not really talked to before. There are many other people, but Marissa and Maggie and the guys were the most consistent, so we all started getting to know each other.

Marissa suggested baking a pie with all of us gals. We did it at Hannah's apartment, and we all connected and had such a great time, that we've been finding ways to hang out ever since! Even though the weather isn't great for campfires.

I've never had a friend group before. I've never had places to go and be with people and feel just as comfortable as I do at home. Places where I know the routines and dynamics and I can just settle in and be myself. I think that's a perk of having friends with their own places. We make our own routines.

I posted on Facebook awhile ago, that most of my friendships were formed this year.

It's amazing to me how quickly I've gotten so close to people. I mentioned to Mike last night that I've only known him for roughly 6 months or less, because he wasn't at my birthday party in May.

He's one of my best friends- Marissa and I baked his birthday cake in November. He offered to postpone his Thanksgiving plans if I needed anything during a family emergency. 

How did we get here?

I don't know, but I'm so grateful.

There's a lot I'm missing. Reconnecting with a couple of cousins on my dad's side of the family. Accidentally obtaining 2 new kittens. Having the first dtr conversations of my life. Becoming more and more independent of my immediate family. Connecting really strongly to my big sis Tiffany and her family in the past few months, especially. Learning to trust and rely on newer relationships: to trust other people. Learning to reach out to trusted mentors for guidance.

Learning the joys of discovery and the security of a strong foundation. Learning to advocate for myself and others without needing to be aggressive. Settling in to my relationship with God.

If 2020 was a year of fear and uncertainty, and 2021 was a year of loss and then rebuilding, then 2022 was a year of discovery and settling in.

My relationship with God is more natural and open than it's ever been. My desire to do the right thing has been slowly adapting to a desire to be myself. God created my core- my actual, true identity. I want to pursue that with openness and enthusiasm and vulnerability and tenacity and grace.

I want to be me.

I'm not entirely sure what that looks like, but I do know parts of it.

I am strong. I am caring. I am curious. I am full of wonder. I have integrity. I am joyful. I am open and uncertain.

I've been learning to leave room for the Holy Spirit in my life. I desperately want to be malleable. I want to be open and ready for whatever God asks of me each day, week, month....

This has been the best year of my life, I think.

I have laughed, cried, yelled at God, and confronted injustice. I have hurt and grieved and built something beautiful around me. God has given me all of this and so much more.

I'm not sure when the bubble will burst.

But until then, I choose to live with joyous abandon, relishing each moment of freedom and energy. I will cling to my friends and love them as fiercely and gently as I can. I will pursue God and continue to bring Him my challenges and questions and gratitude. I will care for the people around me without wavering for as long as I am able. I will pursue that which I am meant to be, and I will dive in, to the glorious and terrifying uncertainty of the future.

Here's to 2023. We'll see what's next.

~Dolly

The Spirit of Christmas

 To me, joy is such a part of the Christmas season.

Not just the gifts or the traditions or the food or even the loved ones to celebrate with...

It's a time that we focus attention on what is always true; we are each loved by an incomprehensible Being, to an unfathomable degree.

What's the opposite of Lovecraftian/cosmic horror?

Maybe it's wonder. Encountering the vast and unknown, and emerging better for it. Eyes wide open to take in the goodness in the world. And, speaking from grueling, painful experience... there is joy here. There is goodness in the world to be celebrated. All the way from a dog's wagging tail or a cat's sleepy stretch, to a foggy sunrise, to the very act of God Themself becoming a painfully fragile and sweet baby.

These are things to gawk over. Things that strip away our facade of dignity in the best possible ways.

There is wonder in this world, if we have the strength to look for it.

Sometimes we don't. But in this season where (hopefully) the people around us are also feeling the "Christmas spirit", may we all help each other to recognize the good and the beautiful and the wondrous.

Anyway, that was all intro, haha. 

The second of the Advent devotionals I wrote for church, came out yesterday. 😊 It's about joy. It's a little rushed and squished together. I wrote it last-minute, amidst a very intense family emergency. I also struggled to fit my thoughts into the the word count. 😅 

But I offer it to you anyway.

There's a podcast  version on Spotify, or you can keep scrolling on this post to read it, if you prefer that method. 

The Wonder of Joy

Receiving presents has never been the biggest highlight of Christmas for me. As a child, I definitely loved the excitement of whatever could be hidden in a brightly-colored package, but there's something just deliciously exciting about all the effort that goes into giving something. The time spent picking just the right thing, or the investment of making something meaningful.  

When my family opens presents, we go around in a circle. Whoever is taking their turn doesn't receive a gift, they choose one to give. And all the planning and excitement builds into the bated breath of that one moment. 

Because we're all caught up in the excitement together, the response is always worth it. Everyone comments on what a great choice the gift was, while the recipient displays it proudly.

It's lovely to know that you chose something meaningful to show care for someone you love. But there's something to be said about the moment right before the wrapping is pulled back. That feeling of vulnerability and excitement and love that all wraps up into a wondrous bundle called joy.

I wonder if that's how God felt a couple thousand years ago. He had spent so long preparing to give the most precious and meaningful gift available to Him, and here was the moment that it was about to be unveiled. Was God excited to give us something so precious? Was He nervous about making His Gift vulnerable to the rejection of so many? I don't know how God felt, but I do know that the angels rejoiced and the shepherds were in awe, and that God was behind it all.

Sometimes a small gift holds so much meaning and depth that it brings out a bigger reaction than you'd expect. But those are the most precious gifts of all.

Advent, Wonder, and Peace

 Hello! Merry early holidays! 😊

During the Advent season, my church does a devotional, where each day is written by someone from church. 

This year they asked me to write a couple, so I did. The overall theme for the whole Advent series this year is wonder, which seems so fitting to me. Wonder speaks to the bigness of God; the fact that we can't understand everything He's doing, but whatever it is, it's good. It's that awestruck moment that catches your breath away for a moment, when you catch a true glimpse of beauty and glory.

Like seeing a leaf trimmed with frost crystals, or a rainbow refracted in a dewdrop, or a golden sunset reflected on the creek. The little things that God sets in front of us, that reveal bits of Himself.

The first devotional I wrote was on Peace.

It came out on the church's Advent podcast a couple of days ago, so now I feel free to post it publicly, hahaha. It's not a spoiler anymore.

Anyway feel free to listen to the podcast, but if that's not your thing, here's what I wrote:

The Wonder of Peace

I love traditions. There's just something about the comfort of falling into a routine and being able to be fully in the moment, because you know exactly what's coming next. There's no worry about what each moment may hold, and no pressure to make any plans or decisions.

My family's Christmas Eve ritual is one of my favorite traditions. I remember being a small child, and running all through the house to collect every candle my brother Tristan and I could find. Mom and Dad would get out the oil lamps, because we probably would've spilled or broken them.

We'd gather all of them in the living room and light every single one. Tristan and I would excitedly compete for the privilege of turning off the big lights.

And then ...

We would all sit quietly and watch the dancing flames, until Dad would start, "And it came to pass, in those days..." 

We would all join in: "...that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed," and together our family would recite Luke 2 from memory, still watching the flickering lights. I can't describe that feeling of absolute contentment and stillness and amazement. In between the big meal and the exciting presents, we would all pause to let the truth sink in- that God really came and He was a baby, just like we each were, at one point. I don't remember all the gifts I got over the years, or all the delicious dinners. But I do remember pausing to reflect, to be still and know what Christmas is about. That feeling comes over me afresh every Christmas Eve- the peace and wonder of the Presence of God.

Having Pride

 June is ending. Soon all the corporate logos will be back to their monochromatic normalcy and the world will be a little less rainbow.

I remember when I first realized gay people exist. I don't know how old I was, but the panic over the "gay agenda" was going around church. I remember the pastor talking about it in youth group. And I remember, before I was old enough that adults felt the need to talk to me about these things, being uncomfortable. I remember watching Worst Cooks in America, online, and there was a gay man competing. And of course, they had the episode where the contestants' families visit, and this man's partner came. And I remember wanting to close my eyes because I was very uncomfortable, but I thought that would be wrong. Because even as a kid, I realized that some people are just gay, and it's not okay to be uncomfortable with who people are. So I made myself not turn away when those two men kissed, and I kept making the choice to not look away when I saw homosexual people in media. And after a little while, I wasn't so uncomfortable. 

Obviously that's a very childlike and simplistic perspective. I'm not saying I did things right. I had no clue about the very broad spectrum of gender identity and sexual orientation. But I am proud of my childhood self for at least knowing that it's not okay to fear people.

It was a start.

A few years later, the topic came into my life again in a very personal way. People I love and grew up with, started realizing they're not straight and/or cisgender.

Once again, I was scared. But this time I wasn't scared of a progressive agenda. I was scared for my friends and how others would treat them. I was particularly nervous about church. My family's church had a course about the "issue," which I did not participate in. Everything was very confusing, and everybody seemed to be in a different place on the "issue" and loving people seemed secondary. The conversation was rarely, "How do we as a church reach out and love the hurting and repent to the broken?" it was, "Is being gay an abomination, or just a 'normal sin '?" "Is attraction a sin, or is just a relationship sinful?" "Is any of it a sin at all, or has the Bible been taken out of context for decades?"

Everything was very confusing, and experts, who seemed very qualified, were all over the map on what the Bible actually says and what God actually wants. 

Things were contentious. 

They still are.

Most Christians I know would consider homosexuality, being transgender, etc., as sins. At the same time, a lot of them are loving people who wouldn't/don't otherwise discriminate against others who do happen to identify with one or more letters in the LGBTQIA+ acronym.

And I've found my own position on all these things, which has brought me more emotional and spiritual stability.

All of this said, I've slightly taken for granted, in the past couple of years, that society and the church have been making progress. That we're moving beyond, "Are people sinning?" and on to, "Am I loving?"

And then.

I went with my brother Tristan to my first pride event last weekend. It was absolutely lovely. The whole thing was at a waterfront park in Bend, with live music and lots of booths by nonprofits and advocacy groups and vendors and even churches. Tristan's outfit and Bailey's existence were big hits. They both got many compliments. 😊

I'm really glad I went. 

But I've also felt heavy ever since.

While we were there, there was a protest on the outskirts of the event. A group of "Christians" carrying a sign that said "God does NOT love you as you are!"

My barometer for when a situation is spiritually unhealthy, is when I feel a need to stand up and preach. And wow, I still feel like preaching at people about it. I guess that's why I'm writing. There are so many things I wish I could say. Scriptures, especially. 

Nothing, not any created thing can separate us from God's love.

The greatest expression of love is sacrificing your life, which Jesus did for all of us when we were absolutely undeserving.

He loves us as we are.

No qualifiers to that statement. No ifs, ands, or buts. If God can love me, He definitely loves you. 

I have so many emotions that I don't think I can express myself well. 

If you care about someone's soul, you tell them there is hope.

If you truly receive God's love, you know it's freely available to others.

If you say you love God, but you don't extend love to others, you don't love God. 

All the things these people were expressing, are things that Jesus would call them snakes for. He would say they're being self-righteous and rejecting the very God whose Name they use to perpetuate condemnation.

At least, that's what He told the rule-following believers of His day.

And I wish I was brave enough to say these things to these people's faces. But there was mockery on both sides of the fence, and I saw myself on both sides, and I teared up and walked away.

I wish I could've said, "That sign you're holding is the abomination; not any of the people it's directed towards."

But I didn't, and now I sit at home and feel heavy with all the words and feelings I didn't feel safe to express in the moment.

On the flip side, I still have pride. I'm proud of myself for reaching past another cultural barrier that made me nervous and uncomfortable, and going to pride. And just like my childhood decision to sit with my discomfort until I wasn't scared of people who are different from me, it was so worth it.

I'm also proud of everyone else at the event. I'm proud of the churches that put themselves out there as a safe place. Of everyone who dressed up to express themselves freely. Of the musicians that poured out their pain and their hope and determination onstage. I'm proud of the person who had two lesbian bearded dragons and painted their nails rainbow and was excited to let us pet them. 

Multiple people at the event thanked me for rescuing/adopting Bailey. That's never happened to me before. And it makes me think, how many people have traumatic experiences that they need(ed) rescuing from, for things they can't change? And how could I help? And why won't the broader church help?

I don't understand why it's all so complicated. Am I loving God? Am I loving everyone, including the most unaccepted people around me? If I am doing those two things, I can claim to be a follower of Christ. If I'm not doing both those things, I don't think I can say that I'm truly doing what God wants. There's a lot of craziness and nuance and dichotomy in life, but I truly believe that's what it all boils down to. 

I don't feel so heavy now, so I guess I've written what I needed to write. I don't know if it's what you needed to read, but here we are.

Pride is a mixed bag for a lot of people. One of the musicians called it "Queer Grieving Month" I think. It's a time to reckon with and accept who you are, but also a time that can remind people... that not everyone else will accept them. The subject of identity is firmly in the forefront, and that can be both validating and painful.

Even for me, as an ace person who can very easily just live my life as a "good Christian girl," it's a conflicting time. What happens if I get married? Is that even a possibility? What do I even want a potential relationship to look like?

I don't know. 

I don't have answers for myself, let alone anyone else.

So, while I bumble along and do my best, I will hang onto what I know to be true of God. I desperately love Him for it all. And I will continue to try to extend love to everyone around me.

That's all I know. 

And I hope other people will extend the same courtesy to me. Because this is a difficult world and people can be cruel and uncaring.

Thanks for reading. Happy Pride! And may we all continue to seek God, accept ourselves, and love others for who they are. Even when it's not Pride Month.

Beauty

 "I am going to make a beautiful life for myself, no matter what it takes."

I'm sitting and going through my nighttime routine, but it can wait for a bit.

I'm experiencing a little warm glow of gratitude. And that's worth pausing things to just sit and focus on. 

I've been a bit discouraged lately. When I was in Eastern Oregon, I had my life together, a little bit. My trailer was organized. It was clean a lot of the time, even! 😅 The fact that I maintained things is a really big deal. Given the ups and downs of my health, keeping things manageable and putting them back in order is really difficult to do over any period of time. Often I feel like my life falls apart periodically, and it is so exhausting to pick the pieces back up again, that I often just ... don't. 

It causes me a lot of shame. I hate not feeling able to invite people over. I hate sitting down to rest and just seeing a bunch of "to-dos" everywhere I look. 

It's overwhelming and discouraging, and I hate asking for help. 

It can be hard to tell someone else how to help me. It's mentally taxing, and when my brain is already overloaded by the clutter in my home, sometimes articulating goals isn't possible. And, asking for help means admitting that I'm having trouble. Which isn't a great feeling. Also, for someone to help, they have to enter the mess: the source of my stress and shame and exhaustion. It's a very vulnerable position to put myself in. So I usually don't.

But then I'm isolated in a pile of dirty dishes and laundry and I still need to eat and wear clothes and be with people. So I get depressed and stressed and exhausted, and the cycle continues.

The apartment never really got fully clean after my first few months to a year there. When I moved into the trailer, I purposed to be intentional about what entered this space. I also wanted my things to be limited enough that even if everything were to pile up, I could look around and say, "Give me a couple of good days and it'll all be taken care of."

In Eastern Oregon, that was the case. I had just moved in, so things were organized and fresh. Hannah had helped me with everything, so when it was time to unpack boxes and settle in, I didn't have to explain it all to her. She knew where things were supposed to go. It was a lovely start, and I was able to keep things in that condition. 

After a project, supplies went back to their place. I was using my cousins' laundry room, so I had to be efficient with it, out of consideration. I had people over sometimes, and I never knew when Uncle Leland or one of the boys would need to come in to look at something or fix something. So I kept blankets and pillows piled in cozy corners of my couch, and kept the floor swept clean. 

I think the biggest thing, though, is that I was always around people. Whenever I wanted, I could pop into the house and hold a baby or talk to Aunt Sandra or my cousins. We did life together, and it consistently fed my soul and replenished me. So life in general was easier to manage. Also, the sun shines every day there, pretty much. And it is so life-giving. Even in frigid temperatures, I would walk out to the mailbox or to say hi to the cows, or give a carrot to Ike the old horse.

But then my time there came to an end. All of a sudden, I just knew it was time to come back to the valley. So things were very rushed coming back. Basically, as soon as we were confident that it would be safe to go over the passes, Mom and Dad came and got me! So packing was hurried, and things were shoved into boxes that still haven't all been opened. I think. And the trailer got parked by my parents' house, which was a temporary arrangement. So I was stuck in a liminal state for a few months. (Much longer than I expected.)

Then, finally, my little home got moved to the shop area on the other end of the farm. Right below the apartment I used to live in, actually! I decided I would settle in here, even if it's only temporary. Living in an in-between is worse than potentially packing boxes in a few weeks. And I looked forward to settling in and finally feeling at home again.

But then I kept getting tired. Again. And then I got sick! So some things have stayed in boxes, and other things are just not quite organized. And I was stuck in that cycle of looking around at all the "to-dos" and feeling incapable and exhausted. (To be fair, I was going through conflict with someone I love dearly, so that's where a lot of the sudden exhaustion for "no reason" was coming from.)

But the past few days I've started feeling better. My dishes have been consistently getting washed. My laundry has been getting folded and even put away!

And my pantry is disorganized and there's random stuff just sitting on my table....

Baby steps.

And while I wish I had the energy to reorganize the baking section of my pantry and clean off my table and wash my rugs and sweep and do everything else.... I'm pleased that I have clean dishes and clothes, and that they're not piling up and adding to the pressure. 

And then, today? I bought 3 cassette tapes to test the tape player that's built into the trailer. 😁

And I cobbled together the most lovely little dish set and got some teacups and saucers, since I'm going to give one of my dish sets to Hannah as a housewarming gift when she moves into the apartment. (We're going to be such close neighbors!)

Such cute teacups!!

There wasn't a full set of these blue floral dishes, so I mixed them with these solid blue ones.

My bounty!

And as I was winding down with a glass of kombucha before bed, (don't ask me why, but it works for me, despite the caffeine,) I looked over at my new dishes, and I noticed that I'm playing my cozy playlist for the first time in a little while. And I thought, I'm doing it again!

I am fighting to make a safe place for myself in a very big, exhausting, volatile world. I am investing heavily in the good and the beautiful. Not just investing my money, but my time. My mental, physical, emotional and even spiritual energy. I will continue to do my best. And I will continue to pick up the pieces of my life when they scatter and get away from me. I will put myself in a position to feel safe and secure and loved, so that I can reach out to the next person and honestly tell them that there is good in this world. Because I don't think I'm the only one who doubts and questions that. 

So I invite you; seek the good with all your might. That's where God is. He's with us in the dirty and the broken, but His character and His dream for us is revealed in the sweet and the safe and the strong. 

Brew a cup of tea or a pot of coffee and sit with yourself in a safe place and thank God for being there. Or just be grateful that you're here, investing a moment into something wholesome.

Build something as beautiful as you can out of broken pieces. And if you don't have the strength right now, come to me and I will invite you into my safe, cozy home. And we can have tea in my new little teacups and I will do my best to create a moment of beauty for you. I think everybody needs that sometimes. Or as often as possible, honestly.

Now that I've spent a really long time writing, I'm going to finish my kombucha and go to bed. I hope you have a good day/night, and that you get some time to rest yourself. Life can be exhausting.

-Dolly