no(t)mad(e)

i am not made to be a nomad.

two weeks ago i lived in lancaster,
this past week i lived in lake clear, new york.
last night i lived in wenham, massachusetts,
on tuesday i begin living in northern california,
wandering through the john muir trail,
sleeping wherever our hearts choose. 
(after that i'll live in rockport, then lancaster, then wenham...) 


like the avocados struggling to survive in my (temporary) window sill,
my heart is trying to grow roots. 




after a really solid week in new york our little adventure family returned to gordon for a few days before beginning our trip together in california. it's weird coming back to a place that you call home and feeling like you don't belong. new people live in the rooms i called my own. the friends that made this place home are not here. (they too are exploring the world.) hurricane irene forced us to be indoors, but since i had no room to call my cozy hide-away - i spent the day running from building to building, trying not to let the gordon police see me. (only once they caught me and made me ride in their dark car decked out with flashing lights. "you have to stay inside, " they said "you're not allowed to leave the buildings..." i don't think they understood that i was an "off campus" student so i did not have a key to get into any dorm) i felt so trapped. so stifled. so lonely. after a week of living in really close community with people, suddenly finding myself without a bed or place to stay was frightening.

so i've been moving from dorm to dorm, mooching off of people and passing time any way i can.  last night i found myself in dexter house and as i sat there and had food placed before me, i was humbled. so often i am the one offering food to others and it was so good to learn to accept hospitality as well. and i remembered something God began teaching me this summer, that we cannot sincerely love others until we know what it means to be loved, we cannot genuinely give food (spiritual or physical) to others until we know what it means to be hungry, we cannot properly offer hospitality to others until we know what it means to be homeless... and though this is a super small scale example, these few days of waiting for our trip have reminded me of what it means to be in need, to be at the mercy of those around you. i think this whole semester is going to be a really humbling journey.



i feel as though i am standing on the edge of something vast and dark; i am tip-toeing off the edge of it and i have no idea what is to come, but i am fairly certain that i will not be able to return to this same (and sane) safe little ledge. in four months i will not be the person that i am right now. i know i need to be changed. i know i need to learn and grow and experience new things.


this past week was a good taste of what is to come:

we learned how to tie knots and set up the tarps that will be our humble homes for the next three weeks.
we practiced lighting stoves and collected our gear.
we shared hopes and fears and goals.
we made a lot of food together.
we ate way too much ice cream. (the motto: "everything you eat now will keep you warm later." haha)
we wore sweatshirts and listened to good music.
we played banana grams.  (i am determined to get better at word games.)
we went canoeing. (nate and i may have tipped our canoe... on a lake, no current, no reason to tip.)
we practiced gunnel hopping! (and i have some super crazy bruises because of it.)
we danced.


already i am so very glad that this semester is going to be unlike any other semester i have experienced thus far. i am glad that the learning will be so tangible and practical, so hands on. i am glad that my heart's desire to know what it means to live in intentional community will finally be fulfilled. i am glad that we get to make our own food. our team is quite the eclectic group but even for that i am excited - we have so much to learn from each other. we all bring with us such different ideas, such contrasting backgrounds and varying values. already i have been so encouraged by such honest and vulnerable conversations. everyone is so great and i cannot wait to live with them for the next four months. (ok, i might not still be this excited after we spend every minute together for the next 25 days buuuuut, a girl can dream.)



so tuesday morning at 5am we fly out to california and i cannot even begin to imagine what the next month will hold. i'm hoping snow and grizzly bears are not in the cards but we shall see. your thoughts and prayers are so welcomed and appreciated. hopefully next time i update this i wil be a 21 year old certified outdoor educator.

until then...
may your days be filled with rhythms of rest, gratitude, and joy,
may you explore and love the places that you find yourselves in.




with a heart so full,
ashley

adventure is on the horizon.

summer is quickly coming to a close. last week i sat outside on duke street and talked with my dear friend hannah about this fact as i sipped iced coffee. (i do not even like coffee, but it's cheaper than tea at square one and so for the past three weeks or so, i have ordered it every time i meet up with  hannah. drinking iced coffee seems like a good thing to do in the summer, specifically when sitting outside on steps watching traffic and discussing the deepest parts of life.) 

 hannah said she wanted summer's end to feel like dying in your sleep... natural and easy, pain-free. i've been thinking about it a lot. normally the transition from home to school is not entirely pain free. a dull ache creeps up on me and often hinders the joyful anticipation i have for the next place. this transitory life is not without tension. 

i am hopeful however, that the dull ache will be different this time. hopeful that the ache will not be so much of a nostalgic longing to return to all that this summer has been, but instead a dull ache of gratitude, an ache that appears because life has been so rich and satisfying and i do not want to brush it off in a couple sentence response to the inevitable question: "how was your summer?!" for it has been rich, my friends. the days overflow with (at times unbearable) beauty. 

if this summer's end is indeed comparable to dying in your sleep, then i think my breath is slowing and my eyes are growing heavy... and it feels just fine. it feels natural. something else is coming and i know that it is good. this preparation however, has not been without resistance and difficulty. allowing my eyes to close and my breath to slow has been a lesson in trust. 

on saturday i set out for a new adventure. for the entire semester i will be studying outdoor education. the thought of doing experiential, tangible learning for the next four months brings me great joy. the first part of the trip will be spent backpacking in northern california. for this i am both thrilled and terrified, but i am finding that is exactly where God requires us to be so that we can grow and learn and thrive in ways we never thought possible.

the (rather terrifying) cry of my heart as of late has been to learn to depend fully on God, to trust him wholly. he is teaching me this in ways that i did not expect, in ways that i often (shamefully) complain about. physically i have been wrestling with  knee pain along with a bizarre leg infection that has hindered my walking. emotionally i have been challenged as i found out that the one girl i knew doing this semester with me is no longer going. it seems as though slowly God is stripping me of everything that i am clinging to that is not him. he is the only one who can provide me with the strength physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually, for the long journey ahead.

not only that, but God is reminding me that he calls us to the places that we are (and the places we are going.)...and that he fully equips us with everything that we need to not just survive in that place, but to thrive and grow and become the people he intends for us to be. he equips us with what we need to love and be loved, to give and receive, to learn and ask questions ...

and along with the reminders, he's encouraging me with emails of solidarity, cards in the mail, and text books that teach about backcountry baking, woohoo! slowly my fears are melting into some sort of trust and excitement for whatever lies ahead.

and it's funny, because this summer i set out to memorize psalm 25, and though i have not quite accomplished that goal (yet...) the very first verse is perhaps the one i need most.

'To you oh Lord i lift up my soul,

in you i trust oh my God.' 

God is good. 

so here's to the natural death of summer, to summer drifting off peacefully in sleep. 

here's to my summer eyes closing so that they can be opened to all that autumn has in store. 

my heart is an overgrown forest.

"it smells like toads," she said - slightly out of breath in her jean capris and green tank top. she wanted to go on a run with me - i was hesitant to agree, but with some frustration, i did. her little feet slapped the pavement beside me, her large headphones bouncing around on her tiny blonde head. i noticed how much larger my strides were- her little feet had to work hard. she was a champ. (though maybe i didn't want to admit it.) she completed the Grubb Lake mile with hardly any walking. i failed to do that until last year.

i have a little shadow, a shadow i always forget about. she waits in the yard next to ours, waits for my little red car to pull in the driveway.  sometimes she races over only to find out that the car belongs to andy. (or so i am told.) after a long day of work i pull in the driveway, anxiously anticipating silence, food, a run and some rest. my soul longs to be free from babysitting, to not look after children (until the next morning...) but just as i turn to roll up my window a little smiling (though perhaps a tad sheepishly)  face appears just inches from mine. she wants to play. she shows me her tennis racket. (i told her the day before that she could not come play tennis with me because i didn't have an extra racket for her...) i tell her that although i do not have to babysit again, i do need to go on a run. (thinking for sure the alibi is enough to explain to her that i am too busy...) i walk inside saying, "maybe tomorrow..." (feeling a tad bit guilty for refusing her again, dangit.) i settled down to check the blog i am keeping with friends and soon i hear a gentle knock on the door. standing to my right smiling is my little Lexi shadow holding her chucks in small hands. i open the door hesitantly. (and with a sigh, if i am honest.) "i can go running with you! i ran 3 miles before!" she says with far too much excitement for me to handle. i try to convince her otherwise, try to make the hills at Grubb Lake sound menacing...i have no success. soon enough we are both jogging down the road towards Grubb Lake.

a child's admiration is a difficult thing for me to hold. maybe it's pride and selfishness, but sometimes it makes me feel so trapped. this little shadow often shoots guilt through my veins. if i did not spend all day (most days) with people half my age, perhaps i would have more energy (and desire) to invest in her - but alas, normally an almost ten year old is one of the last people i want to spend time with. but what if this is my last summer home for quite some time? what if i am supposed to be spending more time with her? what if she is here to teach me more about love, patience, and sacrifice?



----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

we passed this sign while hiking in colorado. i forgot that forest need to be thinned out in order for everything to grow properly.

my heart is an overgrown forest.
it needs a fire not every 50 years, but every day. a multitude of weeds eat up sunlight in my soul. that which is good and beautiful is choked out.  the cactus of 'what does everyone think of me' is running rampant. the thistles of what the future holds trip my feet while the dandelions of pride and selfishness keep me from loving others. (keep me from loving little shadows next door.) i need God to burn away everything that is choking him out, everything that is keeping me from loving everything within the ecosystem that i find myself.

colorado rocks.

hello friends,

i am spending the week in colorado with my family and it has been ever so wonderful thus far. we are filling the days with hiking and exploring, two of my most favorite things. i do not want to waste this precious time out west updating this blog but i thought i would just give you the smallest of tastes. hopefully when i return i will have thoughts to match the size of these mountains... (haha)

today we hiked through eldorado canyon and as i lifted weary feet and sore knees up and down the trail my mind played and replayed this song by sufjan stevens. when i saw sufjan play in october he said that this song was inspired by the times he stands on things so vast and great and incredible that he does not know what to do. the inspiration for the song came from those breath-taking moments when you realize just how big (oh how small that word is!) the world is and how tiny tiny, microscopic we are in the grand scheme of things. this is how colorado makes me feel, small. on the way down i asked my mom if she thought maybe people out west would be less prideful because they are constantly being reminded of how small they are. (haha...) we discussed it but reached no solid conclusion. maybe i will do a behavioral study someday and figure it out --- that would give me a reason to return to this place.
is anyone really satisfied after one visit to colorado?

that's all for now, friends. i'll be back in a week or so with thoughts and perhaps some more photos of this glorious trip. hopefully before then i will get to see a mountain goat! (she said with hopes high.)  i hope you are enjoying wherever you are, soaking up all that is normal and outrageous and beautiful right in your backyard.

they say it's a deadly game.

trust, courage, and fear. these three things are often on my mind these days. i admired the courage of my not so little cousin the other week. we were boating on the susquehanna and the two of us took a ride on the big round tube. as we climbed in i told her the signals for faster, (thumbs up) slower, (thumbs down) and stop (pretend you're slicing your throat...haha). i expected a calm little ride.

no sooner had we begun and she stuck her little thumb up in the air, and in the air it remained for the entire ride. she could not get enough speed. a contagious giggle stumbled out of her mouth as we rode over each bump and flew out of our seats.

as i (finally) watched the lord of the rings series with jonah i marveled at the courage it takes to go into battle, especially a battle you are expecting to lose. i thought about death and the fragile state of life. i hate watching battle scenes. i hate knowing that they are not just fiction.

sometimes when i think about my fall semester, my heart trembles. sometimes when i think about hiking around in california for a month with people i hardly know on a knee that is often sore, a fear fills my soul. i wonder if i can do it, i wonder if i'll make it. i wonder if i'll drag the team down. i wonder if i am really cut out for this whole outdoor education thing. i fear i won't be qualified, i fear i won't be equipped with the right gear. i know that this is outside of my comfort zone, i know that alone i cannot do it - and this is partially why i want to do it. but that is also precisely why at times everything in me does not want to do it. i think it's important to take risks and do things that we know we can't do alone. i have a lot to learn when it comes to depending on God, when it comes to trust...

it always comes back to trust.

last week we biked to the park and quickly found ourselves playing the bridge game. (the bridge game is a made up game - it is played on playground equipment. one person closes their eyes and the rest of the players hide somewhere on the equipment. then the person with their eyes closed continues to keep their eyes closed and walks around trying to find those in hiding. the people hiding cannot touch the ground, they must stay on the equipment....think marco polo, minus the call and response, minus the water - plus obstacles and danger. . . (ok maybe don't think marco polo, haha.)) i digress.

of course, they choose me to be the first one it. (as babysitter i cannot complain.) i step carefully and slowly with my arms outstretched. it's crazy how quickly even the most familiar place seems foreign as soon as my eyes close. (is this where the slide is? or the monkey bars? is this the fire pole or am i suddenly on a mountain about to stumble off a cliff? my mind races.) i listen closely for little breaths exiting the chests of children. i strain to hear stifled giggles that give hints to where they are. as i close in on one i can feel both of our hearts racing - mine at the prospect of (finally) opening my eyes, hers at the fear of closing...

often my trust in God looks like that deadly game. i walk slowly and with caution, uncertain that God will tell me what to do next (next summer, in 2 years, even tomorrow...) i strain to hear the voices of others and envy their open-eyed adventures. (instead of training my ear to hear the one voice that knows me best.) God, have mercy. Help me in these busy days to trust in you.

irony that this is one of the hymns that i decided to try to learn this summer? i think not.

...sometimes the journey feels long. sometimes i can almost hear God asking in a low, loving voice: "Do you trust me? Do you trust me still?" and with eyes tightly closed and hands held out, a feeble and broken 'yes' stumbles off my lips. 

oh, increase my capacity to trust and to follow!

"He guides the humble in what is right

and teaches them his way.

All the ways of the LORD are loving and faithful

for those who keep the demands of

his covenant."

Psalm 25: 9-10

too much.

summer is passing quickly. 


yesterday evening was summer to a "T." I drove with the sunroof down, windows open. The air smelled like cookouts. A deep, lush green wrapped the curling roads up in a snug blanket. Broken Social Scene's song, "World Sick," played loudly in my ears - words like globalization and colonization swept through my mind, closely followed by Wendell Berry and images of emaciated children. (thank you kindly, documentary.)

we watched the fireworks with open mouths.
the bursts of light were fireflies playing tag,
peacocks showing off,
dazzling shimmering fountains of radiance.


i could write about a lot of things right now. i could write about the weekend spent with family at the cottage or the moments spent with my dear cousins last week. i could write about working and finding joy and purpose in mowing grass, or about the books i am reading and the people i am meeting. i could write about today's weather and the way the sunsets are always different...but my words are tired and my thoughts have yet to catch up with my days and so instead i will just include this little snippet that i scribbled down after a lovely moment of silence on tuesday. it is not much; i apologize.

Last night I decided to bike up and down the street a few times before heading to karaoke night. My muscles complained slightly as I began to peddle. (and increased in sound as I forced them uphill.) The air felt cool on my face, thick with emotion. Biking after a twelve hour work day is a good plan. As I looped back and forth past the neighbor's house I stared intently at the charred remains of life. I thought about how deer used to live in the backyard, and a trampoline after that. I thought about the people that never open those doors anymore, never park in the driveway, never catch my eye as I speed up the road. It seems so normal now. The sight barely makes my heart sad. (this frightens me, for the darkness and death remain.) I thought of my soul and how cold and dead parts of it are - I fear that has become normal too.

My stamina grew and I circled up through the development off Ironville Pike, still growing I faced Pitney Road next. I did not make it. I had to walk. At the top I debate, Indian Head or the old church and cemetery loop. At first I lean towards Indian Head but the ever brightening pink sky convinces me otherwise. The road says closed but I slide through finding myself on an empty and familiar pass. My legs fill with gratitude as the road slopes downward. I circle through the church parking lot and think of the time we road tandem bike for the first time last summer - zach, dad, kayla and I rotating through. I loop down through the cemetery and think about walks and runs with mom when the loop seemed so long. Looking at the names of the people who now exist only in the past tense of thoughts, my mind wanders. I thought about flying off my bike and smashing my head on a tombstone, dying in a cemetery...(sounds like the name of an emo band's song.) I thought of that woman we met on the Rails to Trail, the one on the nice tandem bike who thanked me and Jonah for wearing our helmets. I felt guilty. (my helmet was left in the garage, safely on the shelf - on purpose.)

After each loop through the vacant parking lot I thought about stopping, considered biking home - but with each turn the sky grew more beautiful. The pink sky pleased my eyes and reminded me of God's faithfulness; how beautiful his unfailing love. Though I close my ears to his voice, spit in his face, and turn my thoughts to everything but him - still he remains. And his remaining is not passive, but full of passionate pursuit. (God have mercy.) 






[in smaller news:]
Summer means,


1. eggs for lunch
2. bon iver 
3. playing (...memorizing) hymns on harmonica
4. zucchini everything 
5. thinking a lot about the future 
6. going to the library
7. playing tennis 
8. discipline

the llama won't stop dancing.

i have been hanging out with a lot of children these days. yesterday i took a few moments simply to acknowledge the fact that i was getting paid to pick strawberries on a beautiful cool day, to make grilled cheese sandwiches, go to the library, spend way too long feeding goats at a petting zoo, and play at a park. today i got paid to hide in a closet with a seven year old and tell "ghost stories" in only the glow of a flashlight (my stories weren't so scary on account of i hate scary stories. and by closet i mean a wooden box about 2 feet deep and 3 feet long - my neck hurt. i thought they might have to cut me out of there, haha)

aside from my family, this summer i will probably be spending more time with children than anyone else. the three kids i babysit are champs. they're adventurous and silly and for that i am so thankful. (granted, yes. they drive me crazy sometimes, they fight and disagree and whine - but who doesn't? i have a lot to learn from them.)

so yesterday we found ourselves at Longs Park on the big wooden playground. we played tag for a bit but that turned out to be a terribly huge task. after a lot of running and not much success in tagging the correct children, i recommended that we play hide and seek. not the regular hide and seek however, i told them about the hide and seek we used to play when i was little - the kind where you hide, but then you all try to return to starting base without being seen. it's hide and seek with a curve ball, it gives a little more purpose and challenge to a game that can sometimes get lonely. (i mean really, who thoroughly enjoys hiding in the same dark, tight space waiting to be found? i don't. i get bored. i'm always that kid who switches hiding places and is then accused of cheating, lame.) after explaining the game they agreed that it sounded fun enough to try, so try we did. i counted first. after spotting everyone fairly quickly (hiding spots always get better as the game progresses) it was my turn to hide. like an excited child i searched for the perfect spot. when the counting stopped and the seeking began, i slowly began creeping back towards base, forgetting however - that i am taller and easier to spot than i used to be. (especially in a wooden playground with so many children who fit so perfectly into the cracks and crevasses.) the first time kelsea spotted me easily  - she saw my blue shoes sticking out. even though my head was hidden, i forgot about the rest of me. in the attempts that followed i was continually struggling to fit my 20 year old self into 5 year old hiding places. as i attempted to hide behind small wooden poles i forgot that my shoulders are broader, my hips wider than when i was five. i crawled and scampered as low as possible, but always peaked my head up at the wrong time. confidently i stepped into the game, feeling the familiarity of playing it years before rush over me - and shamefully i walked back to base each time i was found. not once did i make it back to base without being seen.

not only have i stepped into a game of hide and seek with far too much confidence, i have also stepped into the familiar circles of home with too much as well. the familiarity of home always presents a challenge to my heart's desire to seek God's guidance. this place is known to me; the roads i drive are the same, the room i sleep in is still cold and dark, and the people i love are still here. i know how to live here, i know how to go from this to that and back again. i know how to handle myself and get through a day, or at least that is the foolishness i buy into. like my confident footsteps to the perfect hiding spot, i easily buy into thinking that i can live these days on my own. i quickly forget that i am different, that i do not fit easily into the crevasses and cracks that i once filled in this place - my role has shifted and i do not quite know what that is anymore. i have grown and changed. not only this, but i tend to forget who gives me breath. i forget who made this whole game up to begin with. so i trudge through my days on my own strength, i step out with confidence and shamefully hang my head each time my strategy does not quite work. (why this continues to surprise me, i know not.) 

it is always hardest to follow God in the most ordinary of settings, to seek his face and his truth when you are pretty sure you know how to live well where you are all on your own. it's hard to ask him where the best hiding place is when you know the playground like the back of your hand. i believe it's important to step outside of our comfort zones into territory when we have no option but to trust God, but perhaps it is harder to force ourselves to trust and seek him in the most comfortable of settings. this is the tension i find myself in these days. 

but even the familiar is full of surprises, and God reminds me that i do not know this place as well as i think - a lot of times the lens through which i look is the problem. afterall, kelsea saw a llama doing ballet moves when i just saw a llama scratching its foot. 

God's joy moves from unmarked box to unmarked box,

from cell to cell. As rainwater, down into flowerbed.

As roses, up from ground. 

Now it looks like a plate of rice and fish,

now a cliff covered with vines,

now a horse being saddled.

It hides within these,

till one day it cracks them open.

-Rumi