And Now to Write

Ever since I was in high school, mission trips have been a part of my life.  I participated in home repair trips, community service trips, and an international mission.  One summer, I chose to work for the organization that did so much to spur on my faith and ran a mission trip site with two other people.  Motivated by this and knowing I was going into public health, I also took a class last year that critically looked at humanitarianism.  So when a friend of mine recently questioned how much good they actually do, I felt like I was just the person to give an answer.  But, as per usual, I did a mediocre job at best trying to explain that on the spot with limited time. So, I want to try to do a better job of it now. Having had so many different experiences within the realm of mission trips, I have seen plenty of great and not so great things.  I read many of the articles circulating social media a couple years ago that denounced and challenged mission trips ( here  and here are some

I know I'm a little late, but I want to recognize Mental Health Awareness week. The purpose of this week is to educate and increase awareness of mental illness. So, I want to do my part. I've had my own battles with mental illness. Specifically, I have a history of depression and anxiety. The first time I suffered from depression was my freshman year of high school. However, I was never officially diagnosed and never went to a counselor for it. Stressors seemed to continuously pile on. Transitioning into high school meant playing less sports I loved and being surrounded by more people who were better than me in areas I had previously been a top performer in. Adding to this, I felt an increasing distance between me and my grade school friend circle. As we all started making new friends, I noticed how I increasingly heard names everyone but me recognized and shared stories about. To cap it off, my grandpa was diagnosed with and quickly died from pancreatic cancer. Once h

Arrowhead grads - do you remember how during sophomore year we had to give a bunch of speeches in our English class? While I don't remember what most of them were about, there is one that has stuck in my memory: The Soundtrack to My Life speech. Not because I got up there and froze or gave the best speech of my life. It's because the speech was about how some of the songs we listen to tell a story about us. We had to talk about 4 songs that resonated with us at various points in our lives. According to the outline I found, I chose "Graduation (Friends Forever)" by Vitamin C, "Tomorrow" from Annie , "Complicated" by Avril Lavigne, and "Real World" by Matchbox Twenty. Looking at this list, I wanted to go through the basics of this assignment again. Updating my list to reflect the 7 years that have passed (wow). So, here's a snapshot of my life via song. I've linked music videos to the song titles in case you don't know

Everyone needs a pick-me-up some days. I know I am no exception. Because of this, there is a small plastic bin I take with me every time I move. It holds all of the cards, letters, and care cards I've received over the years. They give me the reminders I occasionally need that I am enough and how much I have been blessed by and have been a blessing to the people in my life. They remind me of the little things I do that make a difference, even if I don't realize it. They affirm that the good things I strive to do and be are getting through, with or without me making a conscious effort. They remind me how widely I am loved and of my own capacity to love. Recently, I added another group of items to that bin. Now, it also contains the journals I've kept since my freshman year of high school. All of the entries that were painful to write or read alongside the ones that bring a smile to my face. Together with the notes, this bin reminds me who I was and who I am. It has the goo

These past couple of years have involved a lot of moving around for me. First, moving to Eau Claire for undergrad. Next, moving out to Italy for a semester abroad. A little over a week after returning from there, I left for Colorado and then for York, PA to spend the summer out east. Came back to WI for my final year of undergrad, and then I moved to Madison for an internship. And now, I'm sitting on my balcony in St Louis, gearing up for graduate school. Each move uprooted me in one way or another. Going to UWEC I knew a couple people from high school, but not many. I had some family there, but I didn't spend the majority of my time with them. I was still in school, but the structure of everything changed. To most people on campus, I was a complete stranger. Heck, I started off living with someone I had only met once before. In a way, my life was a blank slate. Yes, I brought my background with me, but few people knew where Hartland was on a map. No expectations were l

Going through some notebooks, I came across an outline for a paper I wrote back in high school. I had interviewed my grandma about what it was like when she was my age. Some of the questions were pretty basic. What did you do for fun? How would you describe your high school self? What was high school like back then? But one question made me pause. What advice do you have for my generation? Unfortunately, I did not take the most complete of notes. However, the little I did record struck me. In all caps, I wrote "SLOW DOWN." Being a generally busy person, it made me sigh. I don't know about you, but I have a hard time slowing down. Unless I go on a retreat, I don't know how to hit pause. When I do have breaks, I don't know how to use them. My list of books to read, places to go, and creative projects to do only seem to increase. During the school year, I am constantly on the move. While I used to sit and journal at least monthly, now I do so maybe once a s

When I was in Italy, I took a sustainable foods class that often left me thinking along tangents. In this class, we talked about all aspects of the food system: growth and production, distribution, preparation, consumption, waste. Between this course and my cooking classes, I really began to think about what I eat and what that means for my body. After all, "we are what we eat." One morning after class, I went to News Cafe to work on some Italian homework that was due in a couple hours. But, as what often happens when I get a sugary espresso drink, my mind wandered down a rabbit hole instead. The light was coming through the windows and hitting my moccacino in such a way that it sparked by caffeinated brain to think about light, food, and faith. Since my mind doesn't actually process things well internally on caffeine and sugar, I wrote it all down in my notebook.  Enjoy. Reflections on Light We need energy from sunlight to live, but can only

Looking up at the night sky has always filled me with wonder.  When I was in kindergarten, I dreamed of becoming an astronaut and constantly sought out books about space when I was able to read.  My favorite memories of vacations up north with my dad's side of the family are of stargazing on the docks.  Looking for shooting stars.  Hearing stories and thoughts from relatives that normally didn't surface.  A feeling of peace and connectedness always filled those moments. The night sky reminds me of the vastness of the world we live in.  Even with the simple speckles of light among the darkness of the sky, an element of wonder emerges.  It fills my heart with the yearning for discovery.  Excitement about what is unknown, but right in front of me.  How we can't even see all of the stars in the sky, but we know they're there. I think of how small and gentle stars look when they are actually giant and full of fire.  It is an echo of the human soul.  So much being contain

                In high school, I took summer classes every year.   One summer, I took creative writing.   A week ago, I stumbled upon the journal I kept for that class.   I don’t remember what the majority of prompts were, so that makes some of the entries really interesting.   Here’s a line from one of them: “When you tiptoe through the Valley of Happiness, you might find panda bears playing ‘Streetcorner Symphony’ on banjos."                                                          Imagine being the teacher reading a series of 25 sentences like this one, multiplied by however many of us were taking that class at the time.   N ot all of the things I wrote were that strange, though.  My first entry was a reflection on the concept of time.  Time is something I find entertaining to think about.  It’s both concrete and abstract.  There are the seasons and the rising and setting of the sun, but also clocks and calendars.  Before I dive into it all right here and now

This is the shirt. And yes, I have troubles knowing how to pose for photos. Back in high school, I went on mission trips with a group of teens from my parish.  Every Workcamp, we got a t-shirt with the week's theme on it.  I have developed quite the collection: Undeserved, Connect, Made, and What Do You Stand For.  The last one has resulted in the most attention.  Walking around in public with "What Do You Stand For?" in big letters across my chest often prompts people to ask me that very question. Starting from when I was 17 years old, I have been working on an answer.  I knew responding with "oh, that was just the theme from a mission trip I went on" was not good enough.  It didn't actually answer the question.  Sometimes, people would respond with their own answers.  This happened if a little kid or someone with Downs Syndrome asked or were nearby.  They would say something to the tune of "puppies!" or "homeless kittens!" 

One of the things I think about fairly often is how many people are struggling with feeling lost to themselves.  Who feel like they need to find themselves.  Who wonder what it is like to love themselves.  I think about this because I only briefly experienced it myself, and I want people to be free of these feelings. I think about how there's a departure at some point.  As kids, we don't ask these questions.  The idea of not knowing who you are feels absurd because you just are.  But then other thoughts creep in, whether they're from classmates, teachers, family members, friends.  We develop insecurities and lose ourselves.  Some earlier than others.  I met this battle head on my first year of high school when I felt a growing distance between my core friend group and myself.  Thankfully, a year later I was able to work through it and return to loving my authentic self.  Insecurities still exist, but I don't give them the power to completely take over my view of mys

I've been mulling over this for a long time - off and on for a couple years.  Do I want to start a blog?  The idea has intrigued me for a while, but the questions were always 1) what should I write and 2) will I be able to keep up with it? Well, the second question just requires me to set aside time for this.  Can't just assume that I won't keep up with it without even trying.  Time will tell if I'll keep it up.  Might as well give it a go.  The answer to the first question has been more elusive.  What do I feel like I need to write?  What I've discovered is I needed to answer a different question first.   Why  do I feel the need to write?  Ever since the end of high school, I've been jotting down random thoughts.  Responses to comments that I couldn't think of in the moment.  Pondering why different conversations have stuck with me months after they happened.  Rabbit holes my mind travels down after something a professor or student says in class.  The