I'm tired of expecting the worst from people

I've always been a fighter. Ever since elementary school, I considered it my duty to stick up for kids who got picked on, and to admonish my own friends to become better people. For some reason, the radio antenna of my heart has always been tuned in to truth and justice (with a brief exception in middle school, when I thought it would be cool to be cool). 

This is not a self-brag. I honestly can claim no credit for that goodness-loving quality, though I suspect my parents are to blame, and certainly God had a hand in it. 

Along with this passion in me came a big mouth, which I spent many long years learning how to master. And oddly enough, coexistent in me was a desire to keep others happy and avoid conflict. When I think about it, it does not make any sense, but here I still am, so I suppose I must be real. 

I think this conflict-averse tendency is born out of a real love for people--but also, there's a big fear component to it. In my quiet narcissism I fear that I am the only sane person left on earth, and that there's no point in reaching out for common ground in a world of monsters. 

After high school, my conflict aversion led me to avoid knowing too much about worldly matters. It was impossible for me not to have an opinion at every opportunity, so I didn't even read the news in college, because I didn't want to be angry all the time and I didn't want to fight with people I loved. And I fully expected to be angry all the time once I got back on Twitter a few months ago, angry and tired because no one is reasonable and I am alone in the universe. 

How selfish is that? 

I would rather hide than take the light I've been given into what can be the darkest of places--the scrambling crowd of social media. I'd rather sit in the shadowed corner, thinking my own thoughts, avoiding the discomfort of being heard--or worse yet, that of hearing some truth I've been ignoring, clear enough that I can no longer run from it. I'd rather assume, in judgmental cynicism, that no one else feels as I do, and that everyone who thinks differently than I must want me dead. 

But you know what, that cynicism still made me tired. Tired of expecting the worst from people, and suppressing the best in myself. 

Life and truth and conversation are indeed burdens, as Jesus said they would be. We are burdened with the responsibility, in this age of social media, of having more information available to us than any other generation of people ever living. Burdened we are, yet what a beautiful gift we've been given.

It is a gift, whether we see it as one or not. At this moment we have the ability to connect with people we may never meet in person, but with whom we share many unexpected things. We have the chance to learn so much, and grow so much, if only we don't shy away from the challenge. And most exciting, we have been given a voice to spread the Gospel to the ends of the earth, to any who will hear and believe. And they will. 

I don't believe we are meant to neglect this opportunity.

I believe we are meant to take it and run--to run toward truth, and take as many people with us as we can. To invite our fellow humans, fearful and cowardly though we are, to leap boldly into the fray with us, as we stand up shakily and try to be better than that which we hate. To hold ourselves, and each other--even the ones who should be our enemies--to a higher standard. To encourage each other to try again when we inevitably fail to meet it. 

To say boldly to those who don't yet know the truth, and may even be hostile to it: you are worth this conflict. 

Because in the end, if our cause is God's, our fight is for them too. 

The Best Day Ever

There’s a lot of cynicism about weddings and marriage out there, and sometimes for good reason. People sometimes behave terribly. It only makes sense that in some cases, people would make marriage look like a terrible idea. Or like it takes all the fun and flavor out of life.

I haven’t been married all that long (8 months last Saturday, actually), and I’m sure there will be many days in the future that I mark as significantly good days. But the memory of my wedding day will always be one of the most purely happy and tranquil memories I have. I definitely have no scruples at this moment about saying it was the best day of my life.

Not only because I achieved a lifelong dream and married my favorite person, but because the entire day I was surrounded by my best friends, and I genuinely can’t remember a time I ever felt less stressed. Which, if you know me, is a pretty big deal.

Most of my wedding day was spent preparing for the actual wedding. We had an evening ceremony–7pm, to be exact, which was our coy way of refuting any responsibility for serving our guests dinner. Instead, there was a dessert bar, replete with every good kind of sweet (and some rice pudding, which I guess some people like).

The chocolate-covered strawberries, decorated in white sheaths and smart tuxedos, had been picked up the day before, the chocolate swan was awaiting its place of honor right next to the 3-tiered, lemon-curd-filled cake, everything had been baked and packed neatly into various cute little candy dishes.

All the decorations–the jars which would hold the floating candles for the centerpieces, the greenery, the tablecloths, the pew bows, bouquets and boutonnieres, were set aside far in advance, most having been hand-picked and arranged by my mother, sister, and me over the last 3 months. Mom’s dress from her wedding 26 years ago had been altered, the princess sleeves removed, the train trimmed, and was hanging, freshly steamed, on my bedroom door, ready to be worn once again.

Having the whole day before the ceremony meant that even with all the preparations, we could still take it easy. I woke up that morning at 7:30, after a surprisingly good night’s sleep, and spent some silent time praying. My friend Mimi and I met for tea and donuts at Lamar’s (the best), and from there she came to my house, where I set about steaming her light gray bridesmaid’s dress. Not something I would generally do for fun, but any moment spent with Mimi that weekend was a treasure, because I hadn’t seen her since we walked at graduation together, and she had plans to spend the next year studying abroad in England.

She had flown to Omaha from Mackinac Island, probably the second most beautiful place in the world, just to be in my wedding.

Early in the afternoon we headed to the church to get everything ready. All my bridesmaids were there to help. Taylor brought her bluetooth speaker for the necessary tunes, Sarah–in true Sarah fashion–arrived with arms and purse overflowing with every imaginable party snack, Emily (honorary interior decorator of my life) gladly took charge of any decoration that needed her attention. My sister Julia did most everything else (she, along with Mom, deserves much of the credit for making this wedding happen).

We had so much fun together, prepping and snacking and taking weird photos of each other. I’m so blessed to have shared my wedding day with those women, who make me feel supported and loved and witty and like I deserve to be happy. They are the friends that got me through the tough days, the long studying sessions, the endless bus rides, the event-less summers, the monotony of muggle life.

Julia, Emily, Taylor, Sarah, Mimi–you are the reason (besides my husband) that August 4th, 2019 was the best day ever. And I can’t wait to be there with each of you on your most special of days.

(Everyone except Emily, that is, because you found and married your true love years ago, you old lady. But here’s to the special day you’re anticipating now–I’m so happy for you.)

Cheers to you all, my lovelies. I love you