Find your tribe. Love them hard.

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There are some feelings you will never find words for; You will learn to name them after the ones who gave them to you. Maza-Dohta 

We have to remember what's important in life: friends, waffles, and work.
Or waffles, friends, and work. But work has to come third.
Leslie Knope

Last Friday, you turned up the music on the stereo when OneRepublic’s new single came out. The rhythm of the music pulsed through the car, and you glanced at me, nodding your approval of the new beat. I didn’t really pay attention to the lyrics, but somehow, I knew that the music would frame the moment into a memory that would stick with me through the cold months ahead. I think you often don't realize the weight of a moment until it's past. We blinked in the afternoon sun that flashed from behind the racing hills like the string of traffic light signals leading to your house. 

Stop. Go. Red. Green. 

Lately, life has been acting a lot like we’ve been approaching green lights that force us to go, to keep pushing, and to keep proving ourselves. Yes, green lights mean growing, new driver's licenses, bigger projects, and bright futures, but they also mean saying goodbye. Weeks like this remind us to cherish the red-light moments, moments that make you stop in your track and breathe a small thank-you for the people who stay, for the home team that keeps rooting for you, miles away. I'm thankful for these lazy days spent in Arrowhead, untouched by the fires surrounding fires; for haunts that were once my mother's favorite summertime destinations, and for moments of grace that wrap you around tight. 

Johanna once told me that she didn't like change. Truth be told, I don’t think anybody really fancies the idea of a close friend being taken by a boy, college snatching the idylls of our childhood, going away parties, or people trading picture frame moments for their claim of 'bigger and better’ things. Yet here we are years later - both students knee deep in our college careers that changes so often it can’t be grasped with both hands, both on the verge of saluting our teenage years goodbye, both taking a breather from jobs and classes and obligations that screamed for us to grow up, both with a few more goodbyes written in our ledgers. The change charged so quickly that we couldn't even hold life in both hands. And life was not going to stay stationary for anyone, and somehow along the way, we accepted the fact.  

And yet, six years race past in a blink of an eye and you turn around and recognize a grace that is so much bigger than ourselves. After six years, we both have a few more bug bites, a few more memories, a few more messy notes in our Bibles, a few more songs added to our soundtracks. 

Find the people who don't walk away, who know you at your worst and love you and then some. Find the people who brew you a cup of tea when you have been bitten by twenty yellow jackets. Find the people who can read your face of stone and speak life into your dreams and push you to reach for the stars. Find people who talk about deep things and shallow things and give you reasons to laugh. Find people who, after a year, six years, or a decade, will never leave your side. 
Find your tribe. Love them hard.
xx

also, yes to this. 

yes, darling, but what if we fly?

What I realized, though, is that all I really needed to know when it came down to it was the direction I was pointing and that I was somewhere inside the large circle of God's love and forgiveness.

Bob Goff

"DO YOU WANT TO BE 
THE GIRL WHO 
SHINES ON STAGE 
OR 
THE ONE WHO 
SMILES AT STRANGERS?"

The Lord posed that question to me about a year ago last April. I was taking a walk around campus during a time in the semester when my head was too fuzzy to formulate a response.

It was more than a question that received a flippant "yeah, okay, God, I get it" answer. This was a "pay attention" question, a question that shook the core of my apathetic heart to wake up.
But perhaps, even more difficult to contend with was God's follow up question: "Are you willing to give up everything — even your desires, hopes, aspirations, passions, talents, time, connections, energy — your dreams that I gave you, to follow me and reach people?"

I wan't ready to answer, then. 
If you gave me these dreams, 
wasn't it my responsibility 
to chase after them? 
I bit my lip and shook my head with a heavy retort. See, if I were really honest, I would have told you I was scared. I have always been noticed. I've always been the "something's different with that girl," or "something's special about her" go-to-gal. I was torn. I wanted to be apart of the "it" crowd. I wanted to be up there with the doers - the ones who got all the parts in theatre. The one who were sought after by the directors. The ones that us freshman looked up to and knew by name and squealed when they took the time to memorize ours. And if I gave up all this - would I even have a chance to be seen?
Fall semester rushed in, frenzied and leaf-blown with a calendar filled with auditions. Mum always told me, "Theatre's 90% rejection," so I rolled up my sleeves and tried to not let my constant underestimation break my determined heart. Finally, I thought I had climbed over the hill of defeat when I had my eye set on the prize of my dream part. To this day, I can still probably recite the panicked prayer my suite mate and I muttered right before we headed to auditions.

I would wake up the next morning to callbacks lighting up my phone. This was it. This was my time to shine. I was sure of it. And after three rounds of intense callbacks, the list up for my dream part whittled down to two people. I received overwhelming support, and more than a couple of people were absolutely certain I had secured the part. I imaged how it would play out: I would walk in and scan the cast list and scream with excitement and realize — I hadn't been chosen.
Those little words still sting a little because they shook the foundation of everything I had hoped and wished for; they turned into a lie that tugged at my heart and bit and chewed every little ounce of confidence I had stored up the past year. 
They were the words that lead me to walk back to my dorm and curl up in the dayroom and ugly-cry on the phone with my mom. They lead me to skip my favorite class and basically go to bed sobbing my heart out that night. It was the last string that had unwound it all. I felt like all the expectations and dreams and aspirations shattered around me, and I wasn't ready to face them again; I flew home for Christmas with fists full of bitterness.

AND THEN JANUARY HAPPENED AND 

WRAPPED ME AROUND WITH A 

GRACE THAT WAS TANGIBLE. 

Now, don't get me wrong, everything wasn't fixed up by a christmas break when I flew back. 
I cried. A lot. I doubted myself. A lot. I wished for texts that didn't come. I still do. I didn't want to go back to florida. Yet, I still did. And like all college students, I still had those weeks that I wanted to wrap myself around in a blanket, when I wished that I could quit life to become a burrito. But spring semester carved a bravery in me that wasn't evident in the fall. 

I ASKED THE LORD 

TO KEEP ME SMALL & 

TO LET THESE SMALL HANDS CARRY 

BIG THINGS. 

That prayer carried me through March, the most stressful and demanding month of the year when I faced a writing evaluation as well as a speech platform that determined if the English and Speech departments deemed me talented enough to stay in the program. Basically, I spent the first half of the panicking and coming up with several back up plans [ie quit college and go to Europe]. An hour before I went in to perform for my speech platform in front of the panel, I remember I distinctly heard the Lord whispering, "This is your time to shine." And then, I got it. This wasn't a competition. This was learning to live palms up, learning how to surrender all that I dreamed of and would fight for to have, learning to brush the dust after stumbling, and learning to be brave enough to pursue not what the Lord had in store but simply Him. 

The Lord flooded the semester with the best of things - with good friendships that without a second doubt I could count on for anything and everything and coffee dates and real talks and Fine Arts dates and rehearsals and performances and and group projects and memos that officially confirmed my degree and connections that made me thankful for communities that were built into theatre and classes alike. 

I don't have a magic formula that will get you everything that you want, desire, or stay up all night praying for. I don't have a prayer that absolutely makes God pay extra attention to you or ones that don't really feel like they're bouncing off the ceiling every four to six seconds. I don't think this life was made for that, let alone a relationship with Someone who knows you better than you know yourself. I don't have a prayer, I have a word, though that was pressed to my lungs: Surrender. Surrender. Surrender. 

Big things start happening when our want of being seen is overshadowed by the glory of a Heavenly Father who can do exceedingly and abundantly all that we could ever wish or imagine. 
Because once we find the courage to fall, 
maybe we'll discover that it's our time to fly.
xx
reading // this

begin again.

following god isn't glamorous, but it is so beautiful. your hands will get dirty, and your heart will get wrecked. 
But love makes it worth it. 
| julianne wilson |

Sometimes new year’s —F R E S H  S T A R T S—don’t happen at the strike of a midnight clock. Sometimes they happen after a few shaky lips and getting really brave about honesty. New starts only happen when you sit down and pose hard questions about very old problems. Peeling back layers often reveals the pain and risks your cringing at the brokenness underneath. But underneath, when we lay down our defenses, when we get really real with ourselves and God, there’s h e a l i n g. 

 "Grace, you always seem to have your life together.” 

“I must be a good actress then, because half the time I don’t know what I’m doing with my life.” 

“But you seem to always have your life so together.” 

The conversation I had with one of my college friends stunned me, because if there’s anything I hate the most, I hate façades. If I got really really honest with you, I would tell you I am a mess half the time. I change five times a day. I wear red lipstick on speech performance days, thinking that the cranberry color gives me confidence. I forget my grading sheets for really important projects. I grumble when the alarm goes off at 6:30 in the morning, and I don't "make time" for God as much as I should. Half the time, I’m consciously counting the beats in my head, trying to determine the right time to make eye contact and say hello when I see someone approaching on campus. I eat too much or not at all. I fancy people who don't know of my existence. I don't drink enough water. I stumble over my words. I cry and rage and rave when I don't get a part in a play. I get irritated with my roommates. I stress over insignificant things. I don't know how to let go when people walk out of my life. I get jealous. I get frustrated. I don't listen to the Lord's leading. I get bitter. I get angry, really angry. And I get hurt. 

No matter how “together” our lives seem on the outside, we’re all struggling to find something real in a fake world. We become so used to saying the right words to get the right people to think well of us. We swallow two pills of pride each morning to keep our ship afloat, and we learn to bury our fears and failures deep somewhere inside. And if we can’t, we learn the right things to say to ourselves that convince us "grace carries that" and "I don't have to deal with that right now." We assume that running away solves our problems for a spell. 

But running away for a girl who will not accept goodbye is not an answer. And when it comes to God, I say no. I say no to lukewarm living. I say no to clichés. I say no to a shallow faith. I say no to running away. I say no to a fake relationship and shallow “thank you for this day, amen" prayers. 

If you read the Bible, you'll see a pattern in Jesus' ministry. He spoke to multitudes, but the Bible records specific circumstances — specific people that He met individually. Where they were. 
On a rooftop. 
In a tree. 
At a well in a forbidden land. 
Deploringly cast at His feet. 

He meets people where they are. 

And, I think, He met me on a worn-down, ugly, salmon-pink couch in a quiet corner in a hotel lobby. Where hearts are left on the patterned carpet and knees tucked up to our chins are the only defenses against the words that would slip out tonight. New years for me began when an ocean of tears let lose, and I spat out some words that sounded hollow, revealing the ugly bits of my soul. The monsters that I determine to numb everyday. The rooms that hide locked under a key that sometimes I can’t even find. New years began a week after the bells rung and the fireworks lit up the sky. When I cried all my makeup off and sobbed and laughed and cried again next to a soul who I’m so thankful did not judge. Who did not brush me off. Who simply sat there, took my hand, and didn’t run away. 

Those are the people we need at the end of the day. People who will not run away. People who are willing to follow. People who learn to be planters. People who tear down walls. People who are willing to stay up all hours of the night who will show up for you. People who are brave enough to be honest. 

God wants those types of people too. We’re not going to reach people until we get really honest with ourselves. That we’re struggling. That we’re not a perfect. We’re broken. Our love is, in turn, the same: broken. And it hurts. Gosh, it hurts. 

Love is forgiveness. 
And it's 

Atonement. 

And it's basically like putting your soul in a washing machine—it's not some gentle cycle, it's a fierce whipping that rings you out good. It makes the stains fade. 

Best of all, 

It fills the holes. 

Hannah Brencher 

But at the end of the day, it’s what fixes us too. Broken love offered to a Savior who was broken for us. Who took our brokenness and infused His beauty into it. At the end of the day, He graces us with a very real story that we can carry with us and can't run from. He sews reminders of a grace that wins through midnight conversations and quotes from articles and snippets of lyrics. 
He reminds us that He's in it for the long haul. 
The brokenness. The bad. And the ugly. 

Sometimes new years — FRESH STARTS — don’t happen overnight. Sometimes it’s the little choices the day by day decisions, the conscience hour by hour thoughts, that keep you clinging to the belief that He’s never going to stop reaching. And He's never going to let go. 

No matter the pain. No matter the brokenness. No matter the distance that you think you made for yourself between you and your Creator. 

This is where we 
begin again.

xx

ever inspired by // this & her.
portraits by // the ever lovely hannah | SoCal succulents circa 2014
on replay // "called me higher" 
inspired by // a conversation with my bestie. 
postscript // thank you to all who still keep connected to this little spot, despite my comings and goings. you're all lovely people. 

2015 in review.

sometimes you publish things. and somethings you just live. you break all the little rules that you made for yourself and you just live. 

{hannah brencher}

JANUARY // familiar hello's came at a cost with goodbye's made bittersweet. i nervously boarded a plane early one cold january morning and immediately dove into new classes and projects and a graduate recital as soon as my feet touched Floridian soil. 
FEBRUARY // every tick of the clock was precious with only a month until production night gracing the calendar. nights were long. really long. and sleep was too little. but i was blessed with the opportunity of working with a director who continues to inspire me to this day as well and i was blessed with friendships that i will carry for the rest of my life. 
MARCH // 7 weeks of late-night rehearsals threaded a handful of theatre people into a real "MISHPUCHA." 
APRIL // spring crept its way on campus, bursting with vibrant green life and splashing every nook and cranny with light. afternoons were spent sailing on the breezy gulf. since Anna Filly and Moriah Nelson were in town, Taylor, Makaela, and Kristi, and I chased the sunset on Pensacola's famous sugary beaches and shared our hearts around dinner and froyo. evenings were spent with mishpucha at dinner gatherings; and we all attended the phenomenal production of agatha christie's "the moustrap." 
MAY // the end of the semester unwound with a trail of new friendships and dear people who were difficult to bid farewell to. LA greeted me cooly with Disneyland adventures with my dear parents and my OC family to spark the beginning of an unforgettable summer. 
JUNE // long distance phone calls tied me to a soul that made me breathe poetry and dream of stories i never believed i would ever title as mine; and hannah brencher's book inspired me to pursue stories. 
JULY // we packed our bags and spent a week breathing in mountain air and swimming in the refreshing rivers of Yosemite National Park. Johanna and I spent two and a half weeks of adventuring in Yosemite, Arrowhead, and sunny SoCal. 
AUGUST // brought an adventure with Joanna by the sea; my journal was filled with colorful entries reflecting a vibrant life.
SEPTEMBER // the shifting of the seasons prepared me to reach for the stars in my sophomore year. i met my dearest friend in French class. greek rush welcomed the incoming freshman, and each of my classes fueled my passions for writing and speech. 
OCTOBER // my birthday was ushered in quietly but sweetly. in the middle of the whirlwind of midterms, i celebrated at my campus parents' home with pumpkin cheesecake and skype calls that made me thankful to have friends and family supporting me in Cali. 
NOVEMBER // delivered a flood of papers and speeches and auditions and callbacks and rehearsals that blurred weeks into tiny infinities. i was blessed with the opportunity of working on another production with a fantastic senior director. 
DECEMBER // the week before finals nearly killed me, but by God's grace papers were submitted, speech were performed, bags were packed, plays were put on, and friendships that were hard to say goodbye to were made. California greeted me with crisp weather and a cozy Christmas. 

the world became bigger. my eyes grew a little wider. i blinked and time slipped by. my heart was scattered in a few more people and places, and my journal is bursting at the spine with the many vibrant adventures that fell into my lap. i learned the weight of words, the art of writing; and the Lord confirmed my calling in the field of writing during the fall semester. 

i was the assistant director for two different productions in one year and learned the ropes of networking in a place that constantly makes me thankful for the constant sense of community my life. the Lord became a little realer. love wasn't so foreign a concept. there was much growing and trusting and stretching and memory-making in 2015. i lived. and sometimes there's a little breaking involved. but so much grace too. yes, if there's anything i will carry out of 2015 it's this: 

grace wins. 

HAPPIEST NEW YEAR, DEAR READERS! 

may 2k16 be your best year yet. 

xx

nineteen.

it is one thing to be the girl on fire, but it is entirely another thing to be the girl who manages to set the world on fire with all the quiet and beautiful things she does. 

>> hannah brencher << 

it was learning. 

it was learning that EVERYTHING couldn’t always be explained in words. 

that some things like // 
learning to let go of glances that made hearts start and shatter all at once on the brick pavements,
four in the afternoon conversations on my best friend’s bed while exhaustion collapsed in my lungs and home settled in the bones, 
sitting on mum's bedroom floor in tears at the realization of how loved one could be, 
or philosophizing with dad as he tenderly watered the plants — these moments could never ever be explained in a million and one years. 

18 was learning to live. really live. dirt under finger nails. ink smudged elbows. it was learning that honest connections are missing in this world. to listen to souls and to purposely feel the weight of words. to be brave enough to swallow the word "goodbye," risking the change that would happen in between homecomings.

18 was learning that, though we humans could all be starkly different, we were all craving the same things: to be wanted. to have purpose. to never feel alone.

18 was the year i picked up hannah brencher's book if you find this letter {a book which by the way made me laugh out loud and cry and ache and applaud and squeal all in one reading} that basically shook my world. it's people like her who open your eyes to the fact that small things can become something bigger than you.  

18 was learning that it didn’t matter how many reblogs, or likes, or comments that reflected how my words were affecting the world, but that they were getting out there. they served as small “i love you’s” in world that was very fake and that was hurting under the weight of the facades. 

18 was staying up until 1 o’ clock in the morning, with the windows open, and a thumb nail digging into my index finger until it bled because i was overflowing with incoherent stories and prayers that i hoped one day would make a difference to someone. 

18 was realizing how to not be afraid. not be afraid of the ambiguity of love and life and laughter. 

18 was learning to be honest. 18 was deciding TO STAY. 

19 scares me. can i say that? is that even allowed to be said in a society demanding that this is the age to be bold and loud and self-assured? I am afraid not at the thought that I might not find love but that love might not find me. I run too often than not and am more restless than I care to admit. I am afraid that I will be too much for someone, or not enough. and I so desperately want to be enough. I am afraid that my talents only go so far and that I will eventually look back and see that I did nothing noteworthy.  I don’t want the next succeeding years to carve me without my carving something out of them too. it doesn't matter if there's a trophy in the collegian hall with my name on it, or a story in the school's publication with the words, "grace shaffer" in roman type. 

I just want to leave behind something of grace. I want to stop being an apology note and be a love letter instead.  

I want to learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable — allowing the learning curves to fill me up with grace and honesty. I'm not always going to have the right words at the right times, but I don't want the fear of awkwardness to stop me from showing up for people. to be there. no matter what. I want people to see a girl who was half-way out of her mind for dodging those daunting terminals and crossing 3000 miles across the states back and forth for school, because maybe just maybe they might be inspired enough to put their comfort zones to rest and rise up to the challenge of showing up for a life that the Lord had mapped out for them with all the pretty mountain vistas and roads by the ocean. 

I want these years to be embedded in me, etch me into someone 

more confident, more willing, more open, more loving, more kind.

I want to make a difference - little ones that people don’t realize are there until they look back in their yearbooks, big ones that are too loud to be ignored, ones that suck the air out of your lungs and you can point to saying "now, that — THAT could never have happened without a big powerful God routing you on."

the more i grow up, the more i realize this world is hurting. grace is everywhere.

pay attention. show up for others. be there. be present. be whole. be deeply rooted. be honest. 

19, in my mind, has always been an awkward, in-between year.
and no wonder, since this birthday falls directly on the busiest, most stressful weekend in between midterms. 
but i believe that the in-between years can sometimes bring the best yet. 
xx 
second still by the lovely miss hannah. 

the grit of goodbyes.

good-byes hurt. and they happen too much. the only thing I know for certain about this whole good-bye thing? you have to say it sometimes. you have to get real brave, and bite your bottom lip, and let people go sometimes. fully, fully. whether you feel ready or not, you're still going to grow up and use that word a lot more than you ever expected to. 

>> hannah brencher << 

SHE NEVER LIKED ENDINGS.

she was the last glance behind the shoulder, the last cheek-to-cheek hug, the last blown kiss. she lingered in between the goodbyes. 

she left the last pages of journals unfinished, coffee tins half empty. she was always trying her best to hang on.  

I left johanna's home nearly two weeks ago. i didn't water the McDonnell's parking lot with tears like i had at In N' Out in camarillo nearly a year ago. and i wish i could say that the years have made me brave — that they had disclosed some secret formula to keep me from melting into lake arrowhead at the very mention of "goodbye." truth is, i think i've become accustomed to the feeling of missing. i'm always missing something or someone. 

to be honest, i'm not good at goodbyes. i like "see you later's" and alligators and crocodiles. the taste of goodbyes are often left stale and gritty because i don't put them to rest. i don't like letting go. maybe that's the human part of me who fights against inevitable change. because every ticket to and from Florida is an automatic entrance into the change that is etched into me every time college happens. and it's an odd feeling, being the only connection between two different worlds. 

to the college students who are going away, goodbyes are going to become a second language to you.  not the type where the conjugations twist your tongue or you can't determine the masculine or feminine pronouns, but one that clings to your pumpkin colored cardigans and sticks to the soles of your boots after they become hollow from the tiled terminal floors. home is going to tuck itself into the very corners of your suitcase until the smell of it is only vague after storage opens. and there will be nights as the christmas season advances when you won't be able to hide your tears when "i'll be home for christmas" plays in the malls. there'll be nights in the shower that you'll try to stifle tears. and there will be nights you'll fall asleep, nose buried in a blanket that you wish could transfer you to your own bed. 

the only advice i can give you is don't hold on too tight. this life wasn't meant to be held onto. it's meant to be planted in the souls you see down your hall everyday. home will live in your dad's corny jokes that you laugh over with your roommates or when you try to repeat your mum's advice on laundry. it's meant to be impressed upon you and kept pressed between pages of the stories you'll tell around honey-cured hams when christmas eventually calls you back. 

plant your home in people and suddenly the grit of goodbyes is graphed into something more. 

it becomes a beautiful hello.    

xx

also: please pray for the fires that continue to ravage the west coast, especially the ones up in the pacific northwest. 

"she lives — no, she thrives." // johanna // senior photos

let me tell you the story of a girl who was brave as she was kind. 

SHE'S A LION HEART. A DREAMER. A REALIST WITH A COMPELLING ROMANTIC SIDE. AN ENTHUSIAST OF LIFE. THE "MOST OUTGOING" INTROVERT YOU'LL EVER MEET. A CREATOR. 

A DOER. A MUSICIAN. 

a quiet storm that is going to change the world.

johanna and i went on our traditional tea at the teahouse on the los rios in san juan capistrano. instead of squealing over the baby succulents and the gold rimmed tea cups on the white table clothes, we greeted them like old friends, asking "has it already been a year?" we talked of our previous visits to the tea house and about taking our someday-highly-probable-tomboyish children to tea {because, let's face it, life is ironic}, imagining their chagrin as we pat napkins to clean their pudgy cheeks and their sour faces as they sip apricot tea. marriage and someday-families are not as foreign, fairy-tale conversation topics as they were before. the conversation died down, and we closed our eyes when the sun dappled through the trees to fully savor one moment of time standing still. it's a funny thing when you grow older — how one feels pressed between the fading past and a weighty future, always trying to hold on to something that's tangible.

we laugh now because most of our friendship is made up of "how on earth did THAT happen?" moments. to this day, she doesn't remember how exactly she found this little spot of the blogging world. I remember first clicking onto Johanna's site five years ago and gathering the courage to ask to become pen pals with "the old fashioned girl." a year later i met her in person; two years later i spent a week with her and her family — a rather unorthodox tradition that has yet to be broken. and five years later after many blog comments, letters, packages, Skype calls, FaceTime calls, iMessages, Disneyland trips, handfuls of three-hour long-distance phone calls, three week annual visits, a yosemite adventure, and four years of high school later; we're here. i've had the pleasure of following this young lady's journey from being a twelve-year-old homeschool impromptu speecher to her becoming a stunning state champion dramatic interper. and while maybe we haven't been together in person to experience the "big" moments of our lives, we've been there for each other. i think that's what i love best about her: she makes me realize i'm not alone in anything. we're in this together. 

i think people are often surprised when i say that my best friend and i have known each other through high school even after 300 to 3000 miles have separated us. but if they honestly knew this gem, they'd instantly recognize people like her aren't ones that you simply let go. despite the growing pains. despite the distance. despite the busyness. despite all that this life likes to throw at you. you hold onto them. no matter what. 

sometimes you see God's fingerprints, sticky and blatant on people who touch our lives.  

that's what i see when i think of her. 
johanna, you're going to move mountains in college.
we're in this together, okay? 
xx // your almond joy