frustrated plants

This year is wrapping up, less than a month to go. I know this season of beautiful things is coming to an end, and I don’t know how to think. I catch myself spending more time trying to hold onto every single memory, and yet I am also trying to figure out how I am going to get all 26 plants home without damaging them. The Lord has been so gracious to me, his provision continually brings me to tears. I know that new things are on the horizon, new and exciting things. I have decided to RA again next year, with a whole new group of first year women. I will once again be in a position as a role model, of leadership, and simply a position where I get to love on, and pour into these girls with everything I have inside of me, for the eight months that we will love together. The Lord showed me how important this role is over these past seven months, and how much of a heart he has for these women.

I’m going from a dorm room, to a suitcase and back to a dorm room. I so badly want to settle down, rent an apartment and move in my plants so they don’t feel displaced every eight months. One of my plants drops off all of its leaves when I move it anywhere, a passive aggressive attempt at telling me to leave it put. I feel you plant. I know that I am good at making a place a home, I learned from my momma how to make somebody feel right at home, even if they are there for five minutes. I created a home away from home for these six girls for these eight months, and I’ll do it all over again in September again. What an honour that is. I know that the Lord is calling me to this, so I will continue in it until he lets me know when it’s time to move on.

These past seven months have been nothing short of incredible, learning more about who I am as a leader, as I step out of my comfort zone and step into who the Lord is calling me to be. I’ve embraced the words, mama nat. Loved on these girls with everything I have inside of me. Laughed over spaghetti being thrown above our heads, and played ultimate frisbee along some of the finest players I know. I’ve stayed up late, much later then I would prefer, eating nutella on bagels and having life chats. Jane the Virgin marathons, mini egg fights and chats over teeth brushing. This is such a sweet season of life.

Somedays I feel like my plant, desperate to put my roots down. Passively aggressively dropping my leaves when I have to move. Other days, I feel like all I want to do is pack and move on to the next thing in my life because it’s so exciting to start fresh.

Let’s meet in the middle, with half of our leaves gone and the other half packed away in a suitcase. Let’s meet in the middle, and get real with each other about the struggles we are facing. The arguments we are having because we are taking our frustrations on those who don’t deserve it. Let’s grab coffee and sit with each other in the silence of the unknown. Let’s rock out on long car drives to jams, and learn how to love each other better during these times of transition. Transition isn’t easy. It’s messy and complicated. There’s something beautiful about being in the middle of it.

I’ve written about transition before, and I know this won’t be the last time I will. I know I will find myself in transition a lot in the upcoming years, and there is a lot to be said about this topic, a lot on my heart about what I need to say.

I feel a bit like my leaves are beginning to drop. I am dreading the day I stand in an empty dorm, as empty as I first moved in. I know this next season will be vastly different, but I also know that the Lord is preparing me for what’s next.



Dormancy to Growth

I went plant shopping yesterday, because why the heck not. One of my cactuses is becoming wrinkly, and I couldn’t figure out why, so I asked a very kind saleslady. “There’s a good chance it just needs water, because it is coming out of a dormant season, and into a season of new growth.” Felt like the Lord used that kind saleslady to speak directly to my soul. I feel like I am coming out of a season of intentional dormancy season on my own part, parched because I haven’t spent hardly any time with the Lord. I often use the excuse of busyness, running from classes to meetings and hardly finding time to eat or sit down sometimes, and yet I am forgetting the most important aspect of my entire day, my entire life. That I need to be filled up with Jesus because right now, I am running on fumes. I get frustrated much quicker, I am annoyed at things that I should be fine with, and I blow up at my family members who don’t deserve that from me. I have been allowing myself to run on empty, basically stuck at the side of the road because my Jesus light is flashing. I need to be intentional about spending time with Jesus, to be filled up with him because my intentional dormancy isn’t resulting in anything other than anger and frustration.

I realize that I have absolutely no excuse for this, I also realize that there is grace involved. Because I am human. I am a human that messes things up. Gets angry instead of showing compassion. Forgets important dates and sometimes eats cookies for breakfast. I realize that I am human, and God created me with this in mind.

He created me with this in mind, but I know that he also created me with a love for words. For creating. For people. For dreams. For organizing.  A passion for baking yummy things, and a good thing that I don’t have a sweet tooth. I know that the Father has created me for things beyond my imagination. He created me with grace in mind because he knew that we as humans are not perfect, and yet he loves us all the same.

I am still knee deep in creative writing and grammar. Soaking up everything I can like I am a sponge. The Lord has reminded me through a kind garden worker that I need to move from a season of intentional dormancy to a season of intentional growth.

I hope this serves as a reminder for whoever stumbles across this blog. There’s always grace. Listen to his gentle nudgings wherever you end up, he is always speaking even when we aren’t listening. We serve a God who loves us beyond anything we will ever be able to comprehend or imagine.