Top Seven Tips for Surviving Your First Semester as a PhD Student

My first semester as PhD student has officially come to a close. The last ten days have been one for the books. When I left my house earlier today, I realized it was the first time I had been outside since Monday. It took a long time for my eyes to adjust to a light source that wasn't from Christmas trees or computer screens. 

But now that I have survived, I thought I would pass along my top seven tips for surviving your first semester as PhD student.

 1) Get yourself one of these things

Because if you're going to have read approximately a billion pages a week, you should at least be able be comfortable and preferably up to your neck in bubbles. 

2) Hot Tea

More accurately, this is one of my tips for surviving life in general, because tea might be one of the best things God created on this earth. Bonus points if you drink tea while taking a bubble bath while reading a biblical scholar who's been dead for a least a century. 

This is also one of the most true things I've ever read. 

2b) Find someone who can make you tea

Because frankly, when you're surrounded by books and trying to churn out 3000 more words before bed, you're not going to have time (or skill required to dig yourself out those books) to make some yourself. Thankfully, Guy makes the best tea in the world (I married up, you guys.) 

3) Sara Stephens (Pushcart nominated poet) 

I feel like this one goes with out saying. It's for a million reasons, but also because she copy-edited my papers like a champion. (and seriously. they were really long and scary). Also, because sometimes she volunteers with my youth when I need extra help and once she dressed up like flower and only teased me a little when I dressed up like a pig and had pies thrown at my face.

4) Make your bed. 

I don't know why this one works, but it does. I've made my bed every day since we moved into our new house (except for this week, when I turned it into my office after I get tired of the futon). 

5) Be grateful for your cohort. Because they are brilliant. Because they are making you into a better student.

Because they sum what you're feeling with insightful sayings like this: "When full days of studying Greek are the light at the end of the tunnel, you know your finals week is a crazy time." 

And because they remind you that you are not alone and that they are at least a few other crazy people out there who decided spending five more years in school was a good life decision. 

6) Get a fire pit. 

And use it. Invite your best friends over (one at time, of course, because you only have three chairs) and make s'mores and drink tea. Sit with your husband by it and discuss the pros and cons of a constructivism or about that show with the banana stand. 

7) Be kind to yourself

During our first official advising session, the brilliant New Testament scholar, Luke Timothy Johnson, looked at us and said: "be kind to yourselves." 

Now, he might have been only referring to what ancient texts we picked for our translation exam, but this became my unofficial slogan for the semester

Because there was always more reading that could be done. Always more translating that needed attention. Always more planning to do for church.

Always more of something.

But this semester, I tried to give myself a break every now and then. I took weekends off on occasion. Sometimes, I just went to bed with more pages to read. I tried not to compare myself with others, tried not to beat myself over the things I hadn't done or things I didn't know. I tried to give myself a little bit of grace. 

It worked most of the time and it helped take some of the pressure off, 

And when I was being kind to myself, it reminded me that I really love what I do.

One down, friends, nine more to go. 

Tom the Turkey (My Short Thanksgiving Post)

Seriously, if you have 15 minutes today, you should listen to this hilarious true story about Tom the Turkey and his demise. (It starts at 14 minute mark) 

"He lived like a bird, but he died like a gangster." 

Layla Marie (A Baptism)

Little Layla,

You won't remember the day you got baptized. You won't remember how so many of the people who love you gathered with your mom and dad in the back of your church. You won't remember the white christening gown you wore, the same gown your sister wore less than two years earlier. You won't remember how the room was cold or how your cousins weaved in and out of the pews, as they waited to go to your house for cake. 

You won't remember the priest or the water or the oils or the prayers we prayed over you and for you.

But we will.

I will.

So if you ever need reminding of the day you officially were brought into the family of God, I'm your girl. 

Thanks for letting us be a part of your beautiful day.

Love you, little girl.

(thanks to Aunt Carol for taking these photos at the baptism) 

The Bible is not a love letter written directly to you

"The Bible is God's Love Letter written just for me!"

Seriously, guys. Stop saying that. Stop thinking it. Stop pinning things about it.

Because when you say stuff like that, the internet produce scary pictures like this one.

I blame you for this image. 

Traumatizing images aside, stop saying it because it makes you look like you haven't actually read the Bible.

Because if the Bible was actually was God's love letter written to me personally, I might think that somebody needs to explain to God what exactly love letters are supposed to look like...

Because this "love letter" has genocide in it. Floods. Destruction. And a whole bunch of gore, blood and death. (Don't believe me, flip open to the book of Judges...seriously, that book is crazy town)

And that's just the violent stuff. This love letter also has page after page of rules, genealogies, measurements, clothing patterns, debates about food laws, and the like.

Nothing says love like all that, right?

Even Jesus, the hero of our story, gets a bit snarky at times. Seriously, read what he actually says in there sometimes. Sometimes its all love and all inspiring, but sometimes he talks about cutting off your hands and throwing them into fire or throwing mill stones around people necks.

Oh and then there's Paul and all I'm going to say is that I'm pretty sure he would roll over in his grave if someone called him a romance author.

When you try to make the Bible become a love story written just for you, you are not getting the whole story of who God is and what the Bible can do. You end up ignoring its complexity, the multiplicity of its voices. You lose out on the stories, the tragedies, the victories.

You lose out on the anger. You lose out on the despair. Which makes the hope you find its pages lose some of its strength.

And no, I'm not saying that God's love isn't in the Bible. No, with every ounce of me I believe that Bible contains the words that lead to Life. God is love, friends and by reading its pages, I hope you begin to realize that God loves you and your neighbor and your enemy and all of creation.  And there are days when I know that the Spirit will use 3,000 year old words to speak directly to the deepest places of your heart.

But that doesn't mean the sole purpose of the Bible is to be love letter written by God directly to you.

It's a collection of stories and letters that span centuries, written for different reasons in different places. Different voices shouting through history to teach us a little bit more about who God is and about who we are and who we could be.

Barbara Brown Taylor describes the Bible like this:

[Because of the Bible] I am not an orphan. I have a community, a history, a future, a God. The Bible is my birth certificate and my family tree, but it is more: it is the living vein that connects me to my Maker, pumping me the stories I need to know about who we have been to one another from the beginning of time, and who we are now, and who we shall be when time is no more.” -   from This Preaching Life 

So call it your birth certificate. Call it your family tree. Call it your connection to the past and to the future.

Call it crazy and lovely and scary and life-giving and encouraging and difficult.

But please, stop calling it a love letter.

It is so much more.

#Homeowner?

Why are every single one of my towels hanging outside to dry, you ask?

Because our water heater broke (burst, more accurately) early in the morning sending water pouring all over my guest bathroom and sending me crawling underneath our house to turn off the water.

I was completely convinced I was going to get ax-murdered. Or that I was going to find a dead body under there. (I have been watching too much Criminal Minds lately, I guess)

As I was crawling under the house, this thought struck me: "This is growing up. These are the things that happen which slowly but surely turn into you a grown up."

And then, of course, I went back to freaking out.

Thankfully, Guy would arrive home shortly to crawl and climb with me. The water would get cleaned up. We would get a new water heater. My towels survived.

And so did I.

Here's to growing up, friends.

Purity Pirates and a Jesus Feminist: Reflections on freedom, ministry and high school

When I was seven or eight, I remember my dad telling me I could be anything I wanted when I grew up to which I promptly responded: "anything except a preacher."

Because even my seven year old self knew that only boys got to grow up and be preachers.

When I was in middle school at a conservative Christian school, I listened to my female teachers (who loved us dearly) lecture us on the dangers of dressing immodestly. We were lined up against the wall and our skirts were measured one by one to prove the point. I remember our principal's wife telling us about her unbuttoned shirt and a boy who made unwanted advances.

"When I got home, my mothers slapped me and said I should have known better. And you know what, girls. I know now she was right."

My friends and I laughed it off. From then on, she was known as the Purity Pirate, but I remember thinking that I was glad my little sister wasn't there that day for girl's chapel.

Soon after, I began to joke with my best friend that we were closeted feminists. We had no idea what that meant really, but we were pretty sure it meant that we thought girls were just as good as every boy in our class.

I began to feel a call to ministry in the deep places of my heart. I was looking into Bible colleges, but getting a degree in being a pastor's wife seemed terrible. The colleges I visited felt heavy and suffocating. So I began to feel led into missions, because when you're in the mission field, you don't have to be a missionary's wife, but just a missionary.

But then I met my first "real' feminist. She came and taught us AP English my junior and senior year. She was a Democrat with a PhD who called herself a feminist. She was everything I wanted to be. She had seen the world, spoke multiple languages, had a beautiful family and loved Jesus more than anyone I ever met.

I remember telling her my fears over disobeying God by not going to a Christian college, begging her to tell me how you know something is God's will for your life.

And she must have taken pity on my frazzled awkward seventeen year old self because she asked me a question. She asked me what was God's will for my life was for that day. I remember stuttering something about being a good student and a good friend and daughter. About loving the people God placed in my life.

"Exactly. So go do that. And what's God's will for your life tomorrow?"

"The same thing?"

"Right, so just take it one day at a time. God will lead you when you get there."

And those words were freedom.

And those words were the beginning.

The story, of course, continued. I would pack up my bags the next year and move a few states away for (a decidedly not Christian) college. Soon I would have my first female pastor and the summer I would spend as her intern in a struggling church would change me. I would fall more in love with the Bible and decide this was it. This was what I wanted to do forever.

I would fall in love with a boy with kind eyes and crazy hair who loved God but not in the skinny jean, worship leader kind of way like all the other boys I knew.  I would read and study and preach and meet more Jesus-loving women (and men) who continued to teach me more and more what becoming more like Christ can look like.

But this piece of advice from my first Jesus feminist set me free to go and follow after God wherever that led me, to set aside the life script of a good Christian woman and just love Jesus.

This post is a part of Sarah Bessey's synchroblog celebrating the release of her book, Jesus Feminist. Be sure to check it out! 

Why Do You Show Up

Why do you come to church? 

No, seriously. When was the last time you thought about it. Why do you get out of bed, get dressed up and go to church? Why don’t you just sleep in and then go have a nice brunch somewhere? 

What is it that makes you keep showing up? 

Is it the people? Is it the people you’ve known for years and you look forward to their fellowship? The handshakes, the smiles, the warm greetings? The fact people will miss you if you’re not there? 

Is it the worship? Is it the chance to hear the organ play or the choir sing? Does it keep you coming back? 

What about the ministries? Why do you show up and serve? There are other ways to serve the community. There are other ways you could spend your time. 

And why in the world do you come to church meetings? I know there are family meals that you are skipping to spend your evenings with us church people as we discuss finances and ministry programs...

Read more at the SSUMC ministry blog

Bedtime stories

Bedtime stories make 14 hours of driving in one weekend worth it. 

A Whole New World: An Engagement Party

Two of my favorite people are getting married next year so I had the privilege of throwing them an engagement party last weekend.

The theme was "A Whole New World" and so we used a lot of globes, maps and other travel-themed decorations. And since both of these people are adventurers of sorts, we also decorated with pictures of the happy couple on some of these adventures.

We wanted to have the party outside and thankfully the weather stayed warm for one more weekend to accommodate this desire. We threw white lights in the trees and around the fence and set out a lot of candles for when it got dark (I wish we had approximately 2 more strands of lights but everyone could see well enough in the end.) 

For food, we had each of the guests bring an international dish to share. People were really creative in what they brought. We had sushi, egg rolls, fire beef, baklava, butter beer, and swiss cake rolls (complete with Swiss flags stuck into them). 

For place settings, I printed out luggage tags (found here) and we set the table with a variety of candles, cupcakes and wine glasses. 

We also had a guest book table of sorts. We set out vintage post cards (found here) for guests to write a message to the happy couple and also to provide their address.

It was a wonderfully sweet night that ended around a fire pit (like all nights should end, in my opinion) and it looked like everyone enjoyed themselves. It was one of those parties that everything ends up looking like you planned and nothing crazy stressful happened. You could just enjoy where you were and who you were celebrating. Here are a few more shots of the night. 

Thanks for letting us celebrating with you, Alex and Mary! Here's to a happy engagement and a happy life!

I am from

I am from
dogwood trees and trampolines
hidden reading nooks and torn-up paper backs

I am from
ill-fitting school uniforms and tired chapel mornings
gym locker rooms and long late night prayers.

I am from
One dollar ice cream cones and cheap summer drinks
from summer afternoon movie theaters and a yellow kitchen

I am from
5 o'clock local news and instant mashed potatoes
practices and games and tournaments.




I am from
the ones watching me from the stands

every stand, every game, every year.

I am from
knowing they support you
knowing they always love you.
and from the life that love can create.

I am from
wanderlust, the internet and a castle on a brochure.

I am from
Georgia in the fall
Indiana in the Spring
from Red Top Mountain
and the Ohio River
And a thousand places in between.

I am from
the first time I walked up those stairs alone.

I am from
the first time I saw him walk across the lawn.

I am from
the day I walked onto the plane to cross the ocean

I am from
the day I walked into that tiny church.

I am from
the God who always calls me home.

Today, I'm linking up with She Loves Magazine.
Head over there to read more "I am from" posts

There are days when I feel like worst youth pastor in the world

The other day while on a mission trip with my youth, the volunteer coordinator commented on how blessed my kids were to have me since I had a seminary degree.

"You must feel so much more prepared!" she said. 

And as this woman was just about to start to seminary herself, I did not have the heart to tell her that most days, I still have no idea what I'm doing.

Youth Ministry = carrying around sheep?

Because I'm nothing like any youth pastor I've ever had. I'm not very loud or outgoing. I can't be ridiculous on command. I'm not good at "stupid" humor and I can't play the guitar. 

And I let my teenagers wear two-piece bathing suits on our mission trip.

They laughed me the other day because I referenced this other youth pastor I know. "You would like him," I said, "he's a really great youth pastor."

"You make it sound like you're not a great youth pastor!"

I take the the compliment, but inwardly, I know its just because they've never had the loud, extroverted, guitar-playing youth pastor.

At least, I remind myself, they don't know what they're missing.

Because this was not my calling. I could barely handle being around teenagers when I was a teenager. I'm awkward, bookish and don't really like loud things.

But goodness, these youth of mine. They have stolen my little awkward heart.

And so now I spend days planning, thinking of crazy youth games, writing lesson plans, praying and worrying.

Oh goodness, how I worry. 

Because I know that being teenager can be so hard and scary and unfair. And I know the chances are good that 50% of my youth group will walk away from the church when they leave home and not look back.

And so I keep working.

Because I want them to know that that this Christianity thing, it isn't about whether or not you wear a two piece to the beach. That God has called them by name and made them beautiful, all of them and that they should never be ashamed of who they are. I want them to know that Christianity, it's not about a list of rules, but rather living into the truth that they are children of God. I want them to know that Jesus will always go with them, no matter where they go and they don't need to be afraid.

I want them to know that Christianity is not about never having questions. I want them to know the questions are okay, that God is big enough to handle them.  And that while I certainly do not have all the answers, that I will help them wrestle with those questions for as long as they need me.

I want them to know that sometimes being a part of the Church is hard work. That church people sometimes really (really) suck. But that there is something unmistakably beautiful in the Body of Christ and that it needs them, my loud, hilarious, loving youth. Because there is work to be done for the Kingdom. 

I want them to know that God loves them. That the Church loves them, even when its awkward and doesn't know quite how to show it.

And that I love them, even though I'm awkward.

And that despite the fear that I have no clue what I'm doing, I promise I'll keep trying to figure it out.

Hospitable Souls

"Here's to becoming more hospitable souls." 

I read that quote the other day on this blog and it’s stayed with me over the past few days as I've unpacked the boxes in our new house.

Hospitable soul? 

What does that even mean? To be hospitable all the way down to your soul, to the core of who you are. 

I know the Bible places particular emphasis on this quality: hospitality, because again and again, we are called to welcome the stranger into our midst, to prepare a place at the table for any and all who might come. 

Sounds simple enough, until I remember that in reality, this is actually really hard to do.

Read the rest of this post over at Sandy Springs UMC's staff blog

These New Old Days

These last summer days have been days of transition and have somehow managed to feel both new and old at the same time. New house, new program, new job, new Kroger, and yet old school, old professors, old church. A mix of new people and old friends and somehow I feel both different and still very much the same.

But we have been making the best of this old new season of our lives.

We were able to spend Labor Day weekend in Indiana meeting our littlest niece,

(Can you even handle that little baby yawn?) 

And like usual, the weekend went by too quickly and there was not enough hours to make up for the hours we miss up there. But we did spend our time well. 

 (Guy and Eric shucking corn, the most typically Indianian thing I can think of) 

(Spending time with our newest love) 

(because seriously, how can you not love that face) 

(playing in the tent at Grammy's house) 

(Alli and Noah taking Kaylee on a grand tour of their hew house.) 

We also got to celebrate the engagement of our two of our favorite people! The Mary-Alex wedding is going to be one of the best parts of 2014, I can already tell. 

(showing off our bling)

And I got to see my loveliest, sweetest friend to celebrate our six year friend-iversary. By the way, the 6th anniversary is the iron and candy anniversary, so of course, we celebrated by seeing Iron Man 3 and eating candy.

 It was wonderful and delicious. And a beautiful way to celebrate all these years of friendship. 

And in between all these wonderful times, Guy and I have been filling up our days slowing digging ourselves out from all these boxes, exploring our new home and figuring out this new rhythm of life. 

(the creek by our house) 

(this is how I spend most of my days if I'm honest) 

(another view of the creek behind our house) 

These are good days. These are full days. And I'm trying not to take them for granted. 

That day we redid our counter tops

So when we bought our house, I fell in love with the kitchen. Even though the appliances were old and even though the countertops were painted a weird sea foam color. I loved how open it was, how bright. I loved the lazy susan in the cabinet by the stove. I loved the pantry and the little window over the sink.

However, we quickly decided that those blue counter tops needed to go. Hopefully before we moved in. We didn't want to buy all new counter tops, so I researched ways to repaint them.

(this is the before picture)




I stumbled across this tutorial and the layout of the kitchen looked exactly like mine.

In that tutorial, they used Giani's Granite paint in Sicilian Sand and after reading about a thousand more internet reviews and tutorials, I decided that we could do that too. The kit costs about $70 and it comes with everything you need, including a very detailed instruction video (that again I watched about a dozen times)

First, we needed to tape off all the cabinets and move out the stove.

Then after a very thorough cleaning, we begin to paint on the base coat

After letting that dry overnight, we began the stressful part, actually applying the mineral paint. 

I mostly let Guy handle that part (I was too nervous and he's got way more skills) 

After the mineral coats (which are three different kinds of paints) were dry (after about 4 hours) we applied the top coat. Each top coat took 4 hours to dry and we did two coats. 

The final result:

I'm pretty pleased over all. When Guy's parents came over, they did not realize that it was painted and they thought we had marble counter tops. 

Here's a closer look:

I'm glad that we decided to this before moved in. It would certainly be much more of a hassle if you had to move all of your stuff out first, but even if you had to, the whole thing took us one weekend. And for $70, its certainly a lot cheaper than getting a whole new counter top. It was our first real adventure as grown-up homeowners and I'm really happy with how the whole thing turned out.