What We Did in London: Day 2

Day 2 of our London escapades was entitled: "Channeling Our Inner Lady Mary." On the agenda? Highclere Castle and Bampton (or for Downton Abbey fans: Downton). 

We started off the morning grabbing some croissants at a bakery across from our hotel and asked someone for directions since we were on a time crunch. We walked through Piccadilly Circus on our way to meet the tour group and head out of London. It was pretty tame this morning, but when we walked back through this afternoon, it was packed. 

Our tour guide was from Scottland (Glasgow), and his accent was awesome. I've decided I need some kind of accent - between all those British and Scottish people, I'm jealous. We and 5 other people made our way in a van out of London toward Highclere Castle. I almost felt bad for subjecting Kalie to a ride in a stinky van full of old people, but we were going to Downton, so she just had to deal. After nodding off continously for an hour and a half, we finally made it to Highclere. 

Or Downton, I should say. 

We weren't able to take pictures inside (mainly because the 8th Earl of Carnarvon and his family still live there). While we weren't able to see the full castle, we were able to see a lot. We saw the entrance hall, saloon, library, dining room, drawing room, grand staircase, and Sybil's room from the show. The inside of the castle was spectacular (probably better than Kensington Palace), but the clencher was the grounds. 

From the Wild Flower Meadow to Penelope's Wood to Monks' Garden and the South & East Lawns, the grounds were spectacular. I want to move in for the grounds alone. 

From Highclere, we drove about 40 minutes to the village of Bampton, where the scenes from the town of Downton are filmed. Aside from the Downton relation, Bampton was a quintessential British town that I would love to move to but could never afford. Also, apparently all of their restaurants are closed on Thursdays for lunch, so finding food is next to impossible. 

Mrs. Crawley's house. 

The church where Mary and Matthew got married. Before Matthew decided to ruin the show. 

Apparently when shooting the first season of Downton, they paid the villagers 200 pounds to paint their doors a uniform green. So after filming was completed, a lot of the villagers painted their doors different colors, expecting to receive 200 pounds for the next filming. Unfortunately, the crew just placed fake doors in front of the painted doors for the remaining seasons, so they lost out. But the doors were pretty. 

Day 2 was spent with a lot of time in a stinky van, but it was worth it. We did manage to sneak some shopping in on Piccadilly as we meandered back to our hotel. We also realized that our cell phone service was a little unreliable after receiving 5 very much delayed texts from my aunt frantically inquiring about our whereabouts. Apparently walking into an empty hotel room and not being able to reach said people you were expecting to see in said hotel is a little nerve-wracking. 

Not that we'd know. We were too busy shopping at Taylor Swift approved stores. 

Tomorrow, we're going to see Julia and Hugh. 

Until then, 

The Americans Who Won't Be Coming Home

What We Did in London: Day 1

Well, we officially made it to London. We were out of commission yesterday because: jet lag. 

I made the very wrong assumption that jet lag was a made-up thing that wouldn't affect me. Apparently not. Once we were finally able to get into our hotel room, we crashed and didn't go to dinner until around 8 PM. So our afternoon itinerary was nixed, and Typically London Tourists we were not. 

I was charged to find places to eat for dinner, and let me just tell you: finding a place to accommodate a gluten-free diner and Kalie (whose palate is limited to literally seven things) is very difficult. We ended up eating at a place called Bill's, and it was fantastic. Seriously, if you're ever in London, you need to go. 

Just the ambiance alone is worth it. 

Also, if you go, get the honeycomb ice cream. It's the most amazing thing I've ever tasted, and I will be looking for a recipe to replicate it at home. 

Day 2 on our itinerary was titled: "Keep Calm and Act Like Kate (Middleton, That Is)." Once we managed to actually wake up, we made our way over to Buckingham Palace - which was quite challenging for someone as directionally challenged as me. Add to that the fact that street names are posted on the sides of buildings (not stoplights) or sometimes not at all, and you've got a very confused Alexis. Thankfully, though, the scenery was pretty so even if you're lost, it's ok. There are pretty buildings all around you. 

We eventually made it to Buckingham Palace for Changing of the Guard. We watched from across the street since the front of the palace gates were packed, so we didn't get to see the ceremony, but we saw them walk in, so it was good enough. 

Then Kalie decided it would be a good idea to almost pass out in front of Buckingham Palace. I told her that wasn't the way to get the Queen's attention. Lesson learned: feed the child breakfast before doing anything. Even if you're running late. 

We managed to find a street vendor that sold waffles in the St. James park, so I didn't have to request the help of the police. Which is a good thing because they kind of scare me - except for the one on the horse who gives children high-fives. I would have sought him out. 

So with Kalie full of Nutella-covered waffle, we made our way over to Chelsea for our hair appointments at Richard Ward (Kate Middleton's choice salon). I warned Kalie not to tell them about our Kate day for fear they would kick us out and call the police with Kate-stalking charges. 

After some stylin' and head massages (which Kalie was very intrigued with), lunch was at a French bakery we found in Chelsea called Paul's. It didn't sound very French, but it was delicious. Kalie had a bretzel (which she said was pretty much a croissant and pretzel mix), and I had my first Croque Monsieur. 

Oh. My. Goodness. 

I've found my food. 

We decided to take the Tube over to Kensington Palace because hello - Kate Middleton. I was a little nervous about figuring out the Tube by myself (remember - directionally challenged). It was actually fairly easy to understand and with the exception of Kalie holding up the exit line because her Oyster card wouldn't take, fairly eventless. 

Although, if we're being honest, I would like to make an official request to London to put some air conditioning on the Tube. Because it's hot. 

Kensington Palace was awesome. While we couldn't go find Prince William & The Duchess of Cambridge's apartment, we were able to tour a part of the palace. Walking through there and hearing about the history of each room was pretty cool. My favorite section, though, would have to be this room. 

Josh - if you're reading this - I want a room like this in our future palace. 

There was also some children's playrooms that are the stuff of dreams. Check out these outfits (they're real, not dress up). They're so cute they almost make me want to have children. But these people had nannies, and I would not. So there you have it. 

Queen Victoria (or Mary... I can't remember which) had a drawing room where she spent her time reading and relaxing. The view from the room was spectacular. 

We also found a random cubbyhole that may or may not have been a secret passageway at one point in time. We're not sure, but it did make for a good photo-op.

And we kind of saw Kate. If you count gazing upon her picture in wonder as seeing her. Then, yes, we saw her. 

We hopped back on the Tube and headed to the hotel after that because it was getting late and our feet were hurting (which wouldn't have happened if we actually were Kate because she has chauffeurs). 

Dinner was a Five Guys because again - complicated diners. We all came to the mutual agreement, however, that Five Guys in London is much better than Five Guys in America. Plus, it's the only place we've found that had Dr. Pepper, so Kalie was happy. 

Until tomorrow. 

Peace out - The Americans Who Won't Be Coming Home

On Vulnerability and Sharing Even When It's Hard

If I were to be honest, simply writing this post is a stretch for me. Five years ago, I wouldn't have hesitated to push the "Publish" button; today I'm wondering if I'm really ready to take that step again.


There was a time when I did not hesitate to share my story. My story was as much a part of me as my name. It was my passion, my message, my hope. I shared it because I knew that God would use it to help someone. I wasn't ashamed of it because God brought me through it. I knew the places God rescued me from and I knew that He could do the same for so many others.


So I shared without hesitation because at the end of the day, it wasn't my story to tell.


It was His.


Somewhere along the way, though, I stopped sharing what had become such an integral part of my life and ministry. I allowed the voices of people around me to plant doubt in what I felt God calling me to do with my life. I slammed the door on the plans, dreams, and passions of my heart because they made me uncomfortable. I stopped writing because if I didn't write from a place of vulnerability, then I had nothing to share.


I started praying for God to give me a new passion. Something normal. Something less vulnerable. Something safe. I remember praying for a life that didn't involve having to speak up about uncomfortable topics.


"Maybe I'll just live a normal life... stop writing altogether. I don't need to write to fulfill a purpose. I don't need to put myself out there. Someone else can do it. I can live behind the scenes and make just as much of an impact."


So I did. I stopped writing. I stopped speaking up about the topics that were important to me. I stopped being vulnerable. When people asked about my dreams, I had vague answers:


"Oh, you know. Have kids eventually, I guess."


"Work."


"Go back to school."


I traded a life full of meaning and passion for something I honestly didn't want to do. Deep down, I wanted to spur on change in this world. I wanted to reassure people that there is hope and freedom. I wanted people to know that they weren't alone.


But I wasn't willing to step outside of my comfort zone to do it. I was paralyzed by the fear of what people would think or say.


After living a few years like this, I realized that I'd been living my life at a distance. I kept people at arms length. I didn't let people get close. When they asked questions, I'd give them simple answers. Nothing too revealing. Nothing too interesting. Nothing more than what they needed to know.


Sometimes we allow the voices around us to dictate how we feel about ourselves, our situations, and our beliefs. We allow people who shouldn't have much say in our lives to have all of the say. We ignore God's gentle nudging on our hearts because we don't think it fits into how other people view us.


It took me a couple of years to realize what I was doing. I thought I was being smart. I thought I was listening to God. I thought I was following a new purpose... that I had misunderstood what I was supposed to do with my life.


Then someone brought up the topic. Someone knew someone who had an eating disorder, who struggled with depression. And the things that I had stuffed down for so long came bubbling back up to the surface. I wanted to share. I wanted to help. I wanted to let someone know that they were not alone.


Because I remembered what it was like to feel alone in this often silent struggle. I remembered how hopeless I felt. I remembered what it was like to feel misunderstood.


God used that situation to revive a dream and a passion I purposely let die. He reminded me of the things that made me feel alive, made me speak up. He gave me the nudging I needed to take a step out of the boat.


God uses vulnerability. He uses the things that are hard to make the biggest impact. If He's calling you to do something you're uncomfortable doing, there's always a bigger purpose behind it.

More

I don't do New Year's resolutions... Never have. Never will.

It probably has something to do with the fact that I don't like doing the "in" thing. If everyone else is doing it, count me out... even if it's something I know I'd like and could possibly be beneficial for my life. I'd rather wait for the hype to pass and then delve into whatever it was that somehow managed to capture the attention of everyone else. Being associated with the "crowd" seriously gives me the heebie-jeebies.

New Year's resolutions are one of those things I avoid like the plague. Along with a certain singer whose name rhymes with "fever".

I like the concept. I like setting goals (believe me, I'm an awesome goal-setter). It's the follow through that bothers me. Or really, lack of follow through.

Because really, how many of us actually keep our New Year's resolutions throughout the entire year? How many of us actually reach the goals we set for ourselves? How many of us give up only after one week? Or two days?

If I made resolutions, I can promise you I'd fall into the latter category. Every. Single. Time.

Just the other day, I told the Mr. that we really need to start making an effort to workout. Because we're not getting any younger, and I'm pretty sure our occasional Ramen-noodle diet is going to do some serious things to our heart.

Serious as in not good things.

So, being the naturally compliant husband he is, he said "Ok."

Simple as that. Accountability made.

Later that day, he broached the topic. While I was in the middle of eating a bowl of peppermint ice cream, mind you.

The Mr: "So, are we going to go workout tonight?"

Me: "Uh, no."

The Mr.: "Well, you said you wanted to. I'm just making the effort."

Me: "It's too late...and cold."

The Mr: "Ok. Just asking."

And that's how I single-handedly broke a goal I'd made not even 6 hours earlier.

So New Year's resolutions? Um, rather not. 

Despite my reluctance to set resolutions, I do desire change. I want to intentionally start the year off right. I want this year to be better than the last. I want to seize opportunities by the horn and not let them go.

I read a blog over at (in)courage this morning that really got me thinking. It talked about "rewriting" our New Year's resolutions and choosing ONE word to sum up who you want to be and how you want to live this year. One word to guide your thoughts, your actions, and your purposes throughout the year. One word by which to shape everything you do each and every day.

My word for the New Year is more.

Not as in more money. More stuff. More opportunity. More pursuits.

More as in more love. More grace. More trust. More truth. More faith. More commitment. More intentionality. More understanding. More sacrifice.

...and less self-focus.

As I think about the year ahead, I see more. I see the unraveling of a purpose that will lead to more of the good things and less of the bad. I see opportunities that will create more trust in God and who He says I am. I see a chance for more growth - personally, relationally, and spiritually. When I look 2014 in the face, I see God doing more in and through my life.

So I don't have a resolution. I don't have a list of measurable goals that I'll forget about in five seconds.

I have an intentionality to seek out the more and become more to those around me.

 

Happy New Year!

Love Josh, Alexis, The Holy Terror & Miss-Priss

This One's to You

Six years ago, I met a girl who changed my perspective on life.

And people.

Our encounter was brief in comparison to all of the people I've met since then. Our time together nothing more than a blip on my radar.We were quite the unlikely pair, she and I.

She, dressed in black from head to toe, hid beneath the hair always covering her face. I, dressed in whatever would cover me the most, hid beneath the face of perfection. She lived in the world where “numb” was the only available emotion; I lived in the world that never ran out of tears.

We didn’t meet in the most ideal of circumstances. In fact, we were both pretty much as far “rock bottom” as rock bottom can get.

I didn’t plan on talking to anyone there. With my face toward the white expanse and my chair back against the room, I was pretty much unapproachable.

She found me, nevertheless.

As she sat down at the table and turned her chair toward mine, I was already planning an excuse to hightail it out of there. There were “weirdos” here, and I wanted nothing to do with any of them. As I formulated my escape plan, she started talking to me.

“What are you doing?”

I’m pretty sure I looked at her like she was an idiot at this point. I mean, how much more obvious could staring at the wall be? Did I need to put up a sign saying, “Staring at Wall. Do Not Disturb”? Don’t worry though, I appeased her.

“Knitting a scarf, and-after lunch-I’ll be sewing mittens to match.”

It must have been my charm that encouraged her to keep on talking…because she did.

“Why are you here?”

“I have issues.”

She sat there for a moment and then said, “Yeah, me too.”

Wow. Shocker. All that time I had been thinking she was there on vacation.

She joined me at that table and never left. Every free moment, she sat there, sharing her story with me. As I listened to her life, I realized that she was not much different than me. Yes, the events were different. Deep down, however, she and I were cut from the same cloth. We both felt invisible in a big, scary world, and we both tried to gain the attention we craved any way we could.

“Sometimes I would give anything for someone to notice me.”

She told me this after showing me her scars. Scars that spoke of deep pain she couldn’t even name. Scars that cried out for attention. Scars that wanted to be seen and touched.

Scars that would never take the pain away.

I don’t remember her name. I didn’t keep the phone number that she stuffed in my hands before she left. I don’t even remember the school she told me she went to.

All I remember is her story and its theme.

She comes to my mind often. I pray that she has found some source of healthy attention, but parts of me doubt it. Statistics show that the majority of teens who leave the institutions of the world return worse than they came in. They have no hope. All they see is what they know, and what they know holds no hope.

So they end up back in the arms of institutions, hospitals, and-eventually-jails.

It’s really all so sad.

Her struggle is not so foreign. We all want to be noticed. We all want to be seen. None of us want to be invisible, so we gain the attention any way we can. Some of us act out, holding the belief that any attention is better than no attention at all. Some of us chase perfection, believing that it will fill all of our needs. Some of us cling in desperation to every person we know, terrified of that moment they decide we are not worthy enough to be seen. Some of us create hopeless situations that warrant the need of a savior.

And we wait and wait and wait for that savior to come…only he never does. The human hero will never be able to save you, no matter how fancy his hero cape.

There is hope, though. There is someone who sees you in the midst of your pain, and He’s waiting for you to stop chasing human heros and look to Him. He has His own scarred hands. Scars that speak of your pain. Scars that speak of your own hopelessness. Scars that speak of the victory He has won for you.

He bore your scars so you would have no need for your own.

The truth is, we all struggle with wanting to be seen. We all fear becoming invisible. Some of us just go farther for attention than others. Some of us go all the way to rock bottom, and those of us who have been there can testify that even rock bottom will not make a difference.

God sees you, no matter where you are.

Think of Hagar, the unseen woman who said of God, “You are the God who sees me” (Genesis 16:13). Think of David, who again and again thanked God for seeing him and rescuing him from the pit. Think of Paul, who lived with absolute assurance that God saw him and knew him. Think of Jesus, confident and secure in the knowledge that He was loved and seen by the Most High God.

My friend, you don’t have to battle for attention here on this earth. You don’t have to chase one image after another. All you have to do is rest in Him, for He sees you even from the darkest place.

I don’t know where she is today, but God knows. He sees her, and He feels her pain. Where I, as a human, could not heal her, He can. He can go in and heal her wounds from the inside out.

And He will.

Living Life with #NoFilter

 

 

I was scrolling through my Facebook feed the other day when I saw it.

A pregnancy announcement.

Again.

Lately it seems that all of our friends and acquaintances are moving on to that "next" phase in life. The baby phase. The phase that seems to move you from the plateau of "just married" to "you've finally arrived".

Or so it seems.

The funny thing about social media is that it makes you care about things you never cared about before. Jealousy and insecurity creep in through the posts of someone else's highlight reel. Doubt lingers as you compare your life to theirs.

"Am I where I'm supposed to be?"

"Should I be doing what they're doing?"

"How do I get from here to there?"

Vacation photos become aspirations. Self portraits become thieves of confidence. Job announcements become goals to attain.

In the margins between my screen and my life, I begin to write new goals. New dreams. New aspirations... because mine just don't seem to be "enough".

Life is summarized by pictures that are perfect and words that are poised, and - if we don't look hard enough - we'll fall for the façade.

We'll believe that our lives are significantly less. We'll begin measuring our day to day lives with the posts we see on Facebook and Instagram. We'll compare our ordinary and mundane with the highlights of someone else's life.

And we'll convince ourselves that that is what life is really like.

The highlights.

Life doesn't consist of just the highlights, though. It's full of highs, sure. But it's also full of lows and in-betweens. It's messy and scary and sometimes it falls short of our expectations.

Life cannot be summarized in a Facebook post. Life cannot be represented by a picture on Instagram. Life is meant to be lived. Authentically. Truthfully. Unfiltered.

Is social media bad? Not necessarily. It keeps us connected to friends and loved ones positioned all around the world. It allows us to celebrate the highs of life and come together for the lows. It inspires us. It propels us to move forward and do good things. It helps us spread our messages of hope.

When used correctly, it can become a beautiful avenue for living life authentically.

It's all in how you use it.

The problem with social media is not with social media itself. The problem is with us and how we receive what we see and what we read. Jealousy and discontentment are not byproducts of social media; they are byproducts of ourselves. They are the overflow of our doubts and insecurities, projected onto someone else.

When we learn to accept our lives for what they are, our perspectives will change. We won't be so focused on what everyone else is doing. Our value won't be determined by the milestones of somebody else. Our worth won't be tied to where we're positioned in the rat race of life.

And in that moment, it won't matter what anyone else is doing. It won't matter that your life hasn't turned out like everyone in your age group or graduation class. It won't matter that you're married or unmarried, with kids or without kids. It won't matter that you don't own a house or take vacations twice a year.

None of that will matter because you know that you are right where you are supposed to be.

Here.

Now.

Today.

And even an Earlybird filtered photo can't change that.

Season Number What?

So this happened last night:


And it was epic.

I mean, seriously, what did we ever do without Pinterest? How did wives around the world know what to make for dinner every. single. night?

I don't know, but it's a mystery to me.

Other than managing to actually make dinner twice (gasp!) this week, our week has been fairly uneventful.

Unless you count the fact that Season 2 of Chicago Fire started this week. That was pretty eventful. Mainly for the Mr. because he started getting inundated with questions that sounded oddly like, "Has God told you of His plans to make you a firefighter yet?"

Yes, I'm sure the Mr. is super excited to have that show back in the weekly rotation.

Four months after our move, we are finally starting to get back into what some would call a "routine". People our age would probably call it succumbing to our elderly ways but hey - it is what it is. I've already accepted the fact that the Mr. and I are drastically different from our peers.

Mainly due to the fact that we prefer to go to bed at 8:30 and are severely allergic to anything with the word "fun" in it.

Just kidding. We are totally fun people.

If you're 35.

Anyway, as I was saying, the move took some adjusting but we are finally in a place that feels like home. Not necessarily because we're in Texas (although I will gladly support that theory), but mainly because for the first time in our lives together we feel like we are right where we're supposed to be. It hasn't been easy; that's for sure. We've had to give up quite a few comforts to walk this path, but it's been worth it.

We've been ready for something new for a long time.

When the Mr. and I met, we were both in uncertain places in our lives. Spiritually we teetered on the edge, unsure of how to move forward. He was burnt out on church in general, and I was struggling to balance what I knew to be true of God with my relapse into all things bad. Emotionally we were both a mess: desperate to please everyone around us and struggling with some deep-rooted insecurities and doubts. Add to that the fact that, after almost a year and a half in recovery, I walked right back into the eating disorder that I had struggled with for 6 years.

It was a chaotic time.

The thing I love about our relationship is that we've been able to grow together. Neither of us are the same person we were when we met... and that's a good thing. We've grown in our faith through the trials we've faced (both individually and jointly). We've developed better coping skills so we can actually deal with life rather than run from it. We've established better boundaries so our relationships are healthy, and we've finally come to accept ourselves for who we are rather than who we'd like to be.

And after all that growth and change, we're ready for a new chapter. Full of new growth and new change. One of our joint dreams and desires has always been that our lives would make an impact and be a catalyst for good. Before I moved to Colorado and long before I met the Mr., that's where my life was heading. I had a passion to share my story and spread the message that there is hope in this world. I started writing a book for girls who struggled with eating disorders. My mess had become my message, and I was passionate about my purpose in life.

Those dreams were pivotal in my decision to move to Colorado and join a church plant. Looking back, I know that the journey was directed by God... even if it didn't turn out exactly as I had planned. I walked away from a lot during my 3 years in Colorado and am just now starting to understand the price I paid.

I lost my passion and didn't want to be associated with my message anymore. When I finally got my life back together, I wanted nothing to do with my past. I didn't want people to know who I was, where I came from, and the struggles that had shaped me. I wanted a new start, a new life.

What I didn't realize, though, was my past will always be a part of my present. When I discredit that part of my story, I'm discrediting everything God has done for my life thus far.

And He has done so much.

All that to say that the Mr. and I are finally at a place where we're ready to be used. All that we've been through together has brought us to where we are now - a new chapter. A new journey.

Which, if I have my way, that journey will include the important things in life.

Like cupcakes and fire trucks.