This afternoon as I took the long way home (the route that curves through Laguna Canyon and leads you down Pacific Coast Highway), I had a realization.

Today, I felt like myself, my whole self, for the first time in awhile. I didn’t even realize I hadn’t been feeling at home in my own skin until a day passed where I felt really comfortable being me. The me that God created me to be.

The me that’s a little quirky (or “corky” as Trisha Davis likes to say), a little loud, a little goofy, a little obsessed with singing off-key and creating hand motions to worship music, and not one bit afraid to look at complete strangers and blurt out “I think we need to be friends.”

Maybe it was all the familiar faces at the Catalyst One Day, all the people that know me in other contexts, and all the people who ask me questions that make me think cry?

Or maybe it was just time for me to fly my “freak flag”?

But for whatever reason, I felt like Tally Atwater after Warren Justice showed up in Philadelphia to reminded her who she was and how to tell a great story. (That’s an Up Close & Personal reference for those of you who are trying to figure out what in the world I am talking about.)

Did you happen to rediscover yourself today too? When was a time recently when you felt exceptionally “at home” in your own skin?

I wanted to take a few minutes to fill you guys in on a few things.

You know…a little of this and a little of that? It’s gonna be bullet-pointed, well, because, it is just…a little of this and a little of that.

• Today, I was struck with the realization that God is good. Really good. You people probably don’t make the same mistake I do. You probably ALWAYS give Him the credit He deserves. Not me. Sometimes I can’t seem to acknowledge the work He has done, and is doing, in my life. And when I suddenly catch a glimpse of how He has shown up, of how He loves me, and of how He always provides for me, I am dumb-founded by His goodness, and my blindness.

• Tomorrow, there is a chance, a small chance, that my dear friend Trish (who is in Guatemala right now with Compassion International) is going to meet, and have the opportunity to love on, my sweet little Compassion boy Jenser. Man, the sheer thought brings me to happy tears.

• Friday, I am headed to Phoenix, Arizona, to take part in Together for Adoption. There is so much to learn and do as we seek to care for orphans worldwide. I will be blogging from the conference so check back here for my notes, etc. And if you are going to be there, please be sure to say hi!
• Over 1,200 people will gather together at Redemption Church (Gilbert Campus) to explore the theme Missional Living, the Gospel and Orphan Care. One of our primary objectives for this year’s conference is to create a forum to consider the good news of the Gospel, explore its implications for how we think about and implement orphan care strategies, and discuss how we can move toward greater collaboration as the people of God for the sake of orphans worldwide.

• Next Thursday, I will be at the Orange County Catalyst One Day with Project 7 serving up coffee. I’m excited to be at Saddleback, hear from Andy and Craig, see old friends, and share Project 7′s story. My very first Catalyst experience was at a One Day several years ago and it excites me to know that other people will be initiated into this incredible movement of next generation leaders.

 Your turn. Please tell me something, anything, that’s happening your world. 

Slowly, surely, life is starting to settle in.

Each day I find myself stumbling head first into my day, surprised at how it quickly time is parceled out, as my calendar fills up with new people, places, and things.

The big things came first. Home. Work. Church.

Then, out of the blue, other plans started coming together. Small group. Dinner with friends. Lunch with co-workers. Meetings. Conference Calls. Soccer games. Concerts. Trip to Los Angeles and San Diego. Women’s ministry events (who would have thought…not I). Scenic tours of the South Coast.

But still important pieces are missing. And I want to must figure out how to make them fit. Working out. Writing. Serving.

I have found a new normal, even though it’s not quite normal. Yet.

Do you have a new normal? What does it look and feel like? Does it feel…normal?

As I spent time over-analyzing myself earlier today {too bad I can’t figure out how to make a career out of self-analysis…I’d be rich}, I realized that I am in the midst of a mini identity crisis. With so much new, and so little old, I am struggling to pinpoint who I am, what I think, and how to share this journey with you.

In the most simplest terms, I am in the process of discovering what remains…of me.

Without my precious pup, the church that restored my faith in God and community, the comfortable routines that filled my Nashville existence, the job and the company that I knew like the back of my hand, the conferences where I felt known and respected, and the cast of kids that I adored spoiling rotten, I feel a little lost, a little timid, and a lot unsure.

Answering questions as simple as “who are you?” and “what are you doing in Southern California?” leave me perplexed and stumbling to find words. But maybe, just maybe, that is how it should be? Maybe I don’t need to search for the answers, maybe I need to live my way into the answers?

“Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and try to love the question themselves, as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, some day far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”
― Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet

Are you good at loving the questions? Or are you like me, searching through every nook and cranny for answers? 

Last week got off to a rough start. A funk enveloped me and I wasn’t sure I was going to find my way out.

Moving can be hard. A thirty-fifth birthday can be hard. Together they became the double whammy that did me in…at least for a couple of days.

But sometime Wednesday morning the tide turned. And instead of grieving faraway friends, failed attempts at romance, and fruitless dreams, I started seeing the love that I often take for granted.

It was everywhere once I just opened my heart wide enough to see it, and receive it.

A hijacked blog. Love.

A Facebook wall and Twitter feed full of familiar faces sharing their birthday greetings. Love.

A Skype call with my three favorite nieces. Love.

Not one, or two, but three beautiful bouquets of flowers. Love.

A leisurely birthday lunch with a team of co-workers. Love.

A post-Rooted birthday tapas celebration. Love.

The perfect birthday dessert, a “colossal cupcake” from Crumbs. Love.

A weekend with a dear friend I’ve known for the better part of the last decade. Love.

Everywhere. Love.

Even in  the suddenly dulled aching of my grief. Love.

As my sweet friend Ann Voskamp says, “All’s grace.” Yes. Love is near. We just need to open our eyes, and our hearts, and delight in Him and His gifts.

Where have you seen Love lately?  

Hi. Trisha Davis here…

Today I decided to hijack Lindsey’s blog! Because I have moved thirteen times and because I may have dubbed myself  “Queen of Moving Land” if there was such a place. Moving is that season of life where normal no longer feels normal. A season in which familiar is replaced by unfamiliar and “remember when” is no longer spoken. But like all seasons, this season of moving will come to an end and before long normal, familiar and “remember when’s” return.

So while Lindsey is still in the thick of her season of moving I thought her online community could be her normal, her familiar and her “remember when’s” because today is…

Lindsey’s Birthday!

So will you join me today to give this birthday girl the best online birthday party ever? (Remember I’m the queen and if you don’t it’s off with you head)

I’ll go first… Happy Birthday Lindsey! You are a gift and I thank God for the way he has used you in the life of my family, friends and church family. I’m thankful that you have taught me new words that one day Jesus will want to talk about with me. I hope your day is AWESOME!!!

In an effort to begin checking things off my insanely long California bucket list, Saturday night I ventured out with some friends to the LA Galaxy game. It was my first soccer game since I saw “Tatu” play with the Dallas Sidekicks. {I know. I am probably dating myself. But there is no hiding it anyway. I am 35. Or at least I will be Wednesday. Ugh. Pardon my digression, I’m pretty sure it is just another symptom of my old age.}

Back to the soccer game. Or actually back to what my ears bleed during the soccer game.

Two male contemporaries sat directly behind us. And for an hour or so they grated on each of our nerves as they loud-talked about marathoning. One of the men had completed several races. And the other was just beginning his training.

It wasn’t ONLY the deafening decibal at which they spoke that made them annoying. It was also the way in which they conversed with each other.

One spoke without listening. One spoke dropping big words and accomplishments so that he appeared uber-knowledgable. One spoke overstating his meager skills so he might fit in. One gave half-hearted yet wholly-unconvincing assurances. One spoke with an air of superiority. One spoke with a hint of insecurity. And they both took themselves, and their running, way too seriously.

The unease during their exchange was so apparent, it united me and my friends in a mix of agitation and hilarity. But as I reflected back on it this morning, I wondered if someone, anyone, might overhear some of my conversations and observe the same lame conversation skills.

Yep. I fear they might.

And so this is the song I sing, the prayer I pray,

May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer. Psalm 19:14

And may I not sound like the foolish idiot I regretfully am time and time again.

Have you witnessed, or displayed, any lame conversation skills in recent memory? 

I left Nashville four weeks ago today. And my transition for the most part has been surprisingly smooth.

That doesn’t mean that I don’t have mornings, like this one, where I wake up aching to turn the clock back four weeks and relish in a place that I know and that I feel known.

That is the hardest part about moving…the constant uncertainty. That everything, and I mean everything, is new.

Don’t get me wrong, I love exploring. I love meeting new people. And I love an adventure.

But there are days when I just want to know the fastest way to get from point A to point B. There are days when I just want to be able to stroll into church on Sunday morning and see more friends than strangers. There are days when I just want to savor old routines instead of going through the hassle of establishing new ones. And mostly there are days, when I just want to know and be known.

Have you moved? What did you think was the hardest part?

I said my last goodbye and pulled out of Nashville eight days ago. And it still hasn’t hit me that this isn’t some supped up vacation.

I have been in Orange County since Wednesday, but haven’t even begun to get settled. {I know what you are thinking. I should be settled by now. I’ve had days. And you’ve seen my twitter stream and are well aware that I have been running around Southern California footloose and fancy free. But don’t judge me, it’s difficult to get settled when your stuff, and your car, are on a semi-truck somewhere between here and there.} Instead for the last week, I have been crashing with friends and living what I’ve deemed “the surreal life.”

My friend Allison flew down from San Francisco and we had a wonderful couple of days exploring Orange County. We strolled through Newport and Laguna. We ventured out into Newport’s Back Bay on standup paddle boards. {No, I didn’t fall in. Well, I didn’t fall completely in.} We made our way down to Dana Point to have a cocktail al fresco at the Ritz Carlton. {The view and the ambiance was definitely worth the extra $5 I paid for my drink.} We ate fish tacos and poke at Bear Flag Fish Company. And we hung out with a host of welcoming Californians.

Yesterday, Allison flew home and I caught my first service at Mariner’s Church. While on the outside Mariner’s looks and feels so different from Cross Point, I love the heart of the church. Like Cross Point, they believe that real life transformation happens in community and so they make it a top priority. I’m really looking forward to getting rooted there.

All my loot should arrive sometime later this week and I’ll be ready to get to work. Truth be told, living “the surreal life” has been nice, but I cannot wait to sleep in my own bed, start my new job, and begin establishing a few healthy routines.

What have you been up to this Labor Day weekend?

Five years ago almost to the day, I got Molly as an early 30th birthday gift. I had been debating a dog but could never seem to pull the trigger. So the boy I was dating at the time pulled it for me. Molly was 4 months old with a shiny black and white coat and a head cock that could melt your heart in two-seconds flat. Unfortunately, she was a terrible puppy. A truly terrible puppy.

Almost everyday she did the unthinkable, she peed in her sacred space, her big black wire kennel. I’d rush home from work excited to bond only to find her bouncing around in a puddle of her urine. I’d have to toss her in the sink, bathe her, and towel her dry. Not to mention a thorough scrub down of the kennel and the utility room. It wasn’t just the peeing that made her so terrible. She was a barker. She was a jumper. And she got into everything. She especially loved to shred paper so it was quite convenient that I worked for a bookstore chain and had lots of books around for her to make into piles of worthless confetti.

I seriously debated getting rid of her. She wreaked havoc on my life those first few months. The boy who had given her to me didn’t stick around. But Molly did. And she bloomed into the best dog that ever existed. Ask anyone who has met her. Molly is the absolute best. {I am pretty sure as we pulled out of town last week, she left a bigger whole in the heart of Nashville than I ever could.}

A year later I was offered a new job in a new town. So I packed up my life and my dog and headed to Nashville. I will never forget snuggling up with Molls in my empty Sylvan Park apartment as we waited for the moving vans to arrive. We were going to tackle this adventure together.

And here I am today, 4 years later ready embarking on another adventure. Only this time it seemed selfish to force her to suffer through the turmoil of the transition. So I left sweet Molly with my parents for a month or two so I can get settled before adding a dog into the mix.

Leaving her this morning was absolutely brutal. It wreaked havoc on my heart like none of my other goodbyes. I know that she is in great hands. She will be living the high life with long walks, playful scuffles with my parents’ maltese Lily, and of course bountiful trips to the lake and the pet spa.

It is me that I worry about. Molly is my partner in crime. Molly is my alarm system. Molly is who I talk to so I don’t have to admit that I talk to to myself. And Molly is the warm body that lays her head on my crook of my leg as I settle down to sleep reminding me that I am not alone.

So can I ask you to pray for me as I embark on this journey without the comfort of my sweet pup?

And will you share with me a little about your favorite four-legged friend?