The Practice of Gratitude

In my daily gratitude practice I have noticed how many times I compartmentalize my gratitude.

I remember the moments and people and circumstances I am grateful for, then later find myself complaining or in a cycle of negative thoughts. Isn't the goal of the discipline of gratitude supposed to seep into my regular routine and mindset? Otherwise - what's the point...

Today, I am most grateful for my job at PLNU.

I am grateful on so many levels: it provides me with a flexible lifestyle where I can show-up late or leave early if I have to; meet friends for lunch, or run errands mid-day. I am grateful that it is quiet and peaceful - that I can listen to music or a podcast or go for a walk when I want. I love that my wardrobe is not limited to "things that can get paint on them and things that can't" as well as "things that allow me to crawl on the floor and sit cross-legged" and that I can be as professional or non-professional as I want. I love that I work for a University that aligns well with my heart and mission, and that I get to speak with a diverse student population who are mostly second language learners. I am grateful that it is has provided me the opportunity to adjunct teach university students - something I look forward to maintaining into the future. I love the women I work with - they are encouraging and supportive and have become a second family to me in so many ways.

God opened a door for me to be here and He knew the exact department and people He wanted me to work with. I remember the first few months, resisting this job that didn't afford me summers off or holidays like I used to get while teaching. But I would never trade what I do now for those two months of freedom. This job has allowed me to create a rhythm to my day that feels most truly me, and it is the perfect job to be in now that baby boy is coming along. I hope I get to return to it... I really do. I know God will make it clear, He will open doors, and He will always be faithful to provide the next step.

The Good to Come

I am learning to let go of what was and step into was is.

Because it was Good in the past does not demand it to always be the same

in order for it to continue to be Good.

When it is different, it can still be Good.

Or sometimes better.

I know our lives are about to change,

but I also know that perhaps what we are stepping into will be better than

all the freedom in the world.

Because it will be a challenge.

And challenges bring refinement.

And newness.

And when things are hard,

character is refined. Even when we don’t want it to be.

And if there’s one thing I am committed to,

it’s transformation.

Only in the difficulties do we see who we are,

it is the times of growth that I am most thankful for in life,

even when I do everything I can to fight it.

This is preparation to stop fighting the changes,

And see them as a gift towards something greater.

10/18/2017

Feeling a little off for the week with massive cravings for burritos, salt & vinegar chips, and mac ‘n cheese, I drove home at my lunch break and took a pregnancy test… just to be sure I wasn’t pregnant. Immediately, two delicate pink lines appeared, the fragile indicator of the most life-altering circumstance: positive pregnancy known within seconds. I sunk with my back to the wall onto the floor with wide eyes, suddenly realizing that the rest of our forever was about to change. I couldn’t believe it actually worked…! In my naivete, I believed it rarely happened the first time, and that it would take years to get pregnant. I wrapped up the test to give to Ben that evening, returned to work and could barely focus the rest of the day. My mind twisted and circled with questions - could it really be true that there was a life growing inside of me?!

As the day progressed, overwhelming waves of fear swept over me. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the changes that were about to ensue – and my thoughts took me down a dark road where suddenly I was living with a teenage child who hated me because I am a terrible mother. Because… hello - I don’t know how to be a Mom. And what if I never quite figure it out?!

That night, I taught my last course for the term and speeded home to an empty house. I frantically called Ben, trying to figure out where he was and begged him to come home to me. When he opened up the test, he was nothing but smiles, while I was nothing but tears. The fear I had bottled within was released in a long night of sobs. I don’t think I have ever been more terrified in my entire life. A switch turned inside of me to let loose every [rational or irrational] fear ranging from “Will we never get to travel again?!” “Are we ready for this?” “I don’t even know how to bring a baby to a grocery store!” And then the guilt for feeling such fear choked out the real emotions – after all, I know couples who try years to have children – shouldn’t I feel more joy and happiness and excitement? Does this mean I’ll dislike the baby? Why do I feel so different from everyone else who finds out they’re pregnant? Tears upon tears and the never-ending thought of: WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!

My Benjamin though – the sweetest man in the world – with his patience and understanding and ongoing grace – I’m not sure how he sat with me and held me and listened to me and brought compassion to my experience of the situation. When I asked him if he felt ready for this, he replied “I know far less competent people who are fathers, so I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.” ;) Ben with his sensitivity and strength and purely logical mind. His steadiness that evens out my transitional breakdowns and his kind eyes that tell me I’m not crazy [even when I clearly am.] What would I ever do without him?! His support and love for me is something unlike anything else I have ever experienced.

The following week, I couldn’t stop crying. I woke up in the middle of the night multiple times with crippling fear and unstoppable tears. Ben would hold my hand and comfort me – he would speak truth and confirm a deep desire of my heart towards motherhood – he would whisper in my ear “I know it’s scary and I know you’re afraid. It’s okay. It’s okay to feel these things. I am here for you no matter what- anything you need. Just tell me.” Which of course, only made me cry more for not deserving such goodness in my state of panic.

Now, 16 weeks-ish in – I am stepping further away from the hormonal depression and more conscientiously into the light of excitement in prepping for our little babe. I know motherhood will bring a whole new set of questions and all the things I can’t plan for – but maybe that’s exactly what God is teaching me in this season. Trust Him. This is what He has called me into in this season. Do I know He is a good God?! Can I see that He knows this is the best thing for Ben and I right now? Just because it is terrifying doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Just because it feels foreign and scary, doesn’t mean that we made the wrong choice or that I am incapable of being a mother. I am learning these baby steps of trust deeper and deeper into His Calling. He is showing me how to step into what He has for me and to express gratitude to the Giver of Life. 

2018 Resolutions

Overall:
- Spend time in the Word daily (do whatever it takes! If it means using my lunch or before bed or in-between time...)
- Pray for co-workers and build those relationships
- Meet neighbors and strangers
- Embrace the process and journey by not expecting myself to have it all figured out or be perfect
- Spend time in stillness/meditation/quiet - take a personal retreat
- Host regular Girl's Nights and carve time to connect deeply with women
- Drink water (this has been on my list every.single.year)
- Creative Workouts (I get in a routine and do the same thing all the time... Ugh!)

Relational:
- Love Ben the way he needs to be loved (and learn deeper ways to do that)
- Grow spiritually together - join a small group and read through the Bible in a year
- Communicate and be a Team

Choosing A Word

It has been a tradition the past few years to choose a word that highlights a character trait I hope to embody for the year and one at the end of the year in reflection. Going into 2017, I chose the word Generosity. It was my desire for this year to reflect a generous spirit in giving of time & money. I learned generosity this year in what it means to be a wife to Ben and serve him; and especially what it looks like for Ben and I to be generous as a couple – giving of our home, space, and resources to others. We still have a lot to learn in this regard (Ben teaches me more about generosity every day!) – but I know this is definitely an area of growth in 2017 with learning to tithe to our church regularly, serve our community, and give to ministries that we feel passionate about supporting.

Reflecting back on the year, my word to describe the year is Joy. From getting married to embracing honeymoon bliss to date nights and weekends away and establishing our home together… being hired as a professor for the first time and finishing my thesis and– most of all – finding out we are pregnant and due in June! Telling our family and friends has been the biggest joy of all!

Going into 2018, I know this year will be a year of Change. It will be an adjustment for us to be a family of three, and I would be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly terrified of the sleepless nights, spit-up, diapers, breastfeeding, and endless crying. Mom Life is something I have never done with my own child before! While the logical part of me knows that it is instinctual to keep a baby alive; part of me wants to have it all figured out and perfected before the baby is born (impossible, I know…).

This year will bring other changes such as family moving, another little cousin baby birth, possibly scouting out a new home… but in all these things God is constant. I remember that change is part of the journey of forming identity. In all things, God has equipped me for the road ahead. I know that I will have moments of freak-out-and-breakdown in the transition (thankfully, Ben has already sat by my side through a few of these…) – but I don’t have to be flawless, gracious, and perfect. I am learning to accept each feeling and experience as who I am, instead of altering it with the “should’s and could’s.” Fear is normal, and the only way for courage to be fully lived. Too often I choose my fear instead of my faith.

We are finally part of a church we love, have developed deep and meaningful friendships, and are moving forward into “the family years.” It has already been quite a whirlwind these past two years from moving to CA, dating Ben, engagement, marriage… and now 2018 brings the next season! We have 6 months left of Ben & Rebecca Knisely before we are Ben & Rebecca & Baby Boy Knisely… the best is yet to come! Here we go...!

Allowing Space for Change

With its consistent 70's weather and scenic views even whilst sitting in traffic, San Diego could easily be deemed one of the easiest places to live in the U.S. Its been said that the "Honeymoon Phase" of a relationship can last two years; I am now 2 years and 3 months into my CA Life and perhaps I have closed out on the newlywed feelings with my beloved San Diego. I realize that my woes against SD are mostly personal, not because of SD itself, but mostly because of who I am and what I grieve while living here.

Anyone who knows my family is aware that we live on a hyper-alert for nostalgia. My brothers and I are quick to point out the songs, sounds, and smells that bring about these sentimental feelings of the past. We are often quoted for saying "I already have nostalgia and the trip isn't even over!" or "I still have nostalgia for last weekend..." We are a family that houses memories as identity; the fabric of who we are is wrapped up in the moments created in the past.

This is why from September to January, it is the most difficult time of year for me to live away from what I know. The childhood (and adulthood) memories of snow and hot chocolate and the giant Christmas tree at Macy's and that feeling of finding warmth by the fire after a day of sledding... I can't re-live these memories here. In fact, I don't even know how to celebrate Christmas when picking out a tree in 80 degrees and hanging Christmas lights in shorts. In a way, life here seems to falsify the season; it feels foreign to the extent that it has me longing for What Used to Be.

I recognize the stance that I often assume when thinking about What Was and dreaming of What Could Be. (Human nature - or just me?) I glorify the way things were and tend to think those were the best ways. I am learning to make space in my heart and my mind to recognize that it might have been the way I was raised, but it doesn't mean it's the only way. I am learning to make a New Normal here in San Diego. To notice the discomfort because it lacks feelings of nostalgia, it is void of memories that remind me of family and the fuzzy feelings of Christmas... but it doesn't mean it's wrong.

What if our new tradition is to go to the beach or watch the sunset or picnic or fly kites or watch the boat parade? Do I have space in my heart to allow California Christmas to be just as good? Is it possible that something so different could also, in time, begin to carry the same sense of nostalgia I often long for back in Chicago? I recognize that in order to live presently here, I have to grieve what is different, but also celebrate what is different.

It is truly a sense of contentment that I lack. Contentment is able to say that joy is not housed in a location or a place or a circumstance. Joy is knowing that God is with me on the journey. Do I believe He goes with me wherever I am? Can I look to Him in this season as the whole purpose? Am I willing to let go of what was to move towards what is? These are the questions I ask myself. Because when I look at Him - when I look at the Cross - I know that Home does not narrow down to a choice between Chicago or San Diego. Home is what we long for while we are here on earth, while we receive glimpses of it in our day to day. Home is also what I create with Benjamin, wherever we are. Can I be present to a new view of Home while living here in San Diego? 

So Far

As much as life is an adventure and each day there are glimpses of eternity when we have the awareness to be near to it; life also scares me in ways that I can’t fully comprehend and sometimes I feel like I just can’t keep up. I get frozen in the reality of how quickly life passes and I wonder if I am doing all I can to make the most of it.

I fear that time goes too fast – and in so many ways I still feel like that 22-year-old who just graduated college, or the 23-year-old setting off for a year in Spain, or the 24-year-old moving to the city with my very first teaching job, or the 27-year-old trekking off to the Camino, or the 29-year-old driving across the country to California, or the 30-year-old, newly engaged and planning a wedding (Okay, okay… that wasn’t that long ago!). The 20’s are gone, and I’m into the 30’s, but I now get why our parents say they still feel so young.

Benjamin and I have been married about 9 months now and life feels full. After much debate, we finally finished those lingering registry items – the stainless steel pans and our wine glasses with the pressure of Thanksgiving around the corner. We look back at our memories together, and it feels like we have known each other longer than 2 years if measured by the amount of travel we have done and the quality of relationships we have built – not to mention, we are one week out from being completely debt-free! It all seems like it has gone too fast. Life feels a lot less scary with Benjamin beside me, but when I look ahead at our years, it seems like a lifetime is hardly enough. 31 years of it have already flown by in a blink – what’s another 31?! What is the secret to slowing it down? We pull out our phones to capture the sunset or wine on the porch or bike rides on Adams Ave or cheeseboards in the park… but I wonder if this truly forges a sense of presence. It does, however, capture the story of Us and this is my favorite story to write so far.

Upon Return

Too often it feels like second nature to share every experience with the entire universe via social media. It’s a natural habit – and I believe it can be a good thing – to automatically enter the zone of “This is so good, everyone has to know!” and then to frame the shot accordingly. However, this mentality can also be a trap. It can tempt me to drift into my people-pleasing zone and the desire for affirmation from friends (and strangers) that I am living life well; the need for encouragement to push me to appreciate each moment.

So when we left for our 19 day vacation from San Diego to Chicago to Indiana to Paris to French Riviera to Florence to Rome… it was a much needed time Away – fully away. We put down our phones and entered into moments of beauty, culture, art, and the experience of the senses and smells and people around us. Sure, there was that part of me that just so badly wanted to share our bike ride + picnic at the Eiffel Tower or family vineyards as we drove through Tuscany or the 6-course Michelin star restaurant in the French Riviera or our accidental run-in with the best pistachio cream I have ever tasted as we sampled 32 flavors at the International Gelato Festival… all the wine bars and tiny cappuccinos and pastries and paninis and pizza in the piazzas; the moment when Ben decided (in bed) at 10:30pm that he needed Gusto Pizza or he wouldn’t be able to sleep that night – so we hopped out of bed to steal a moment in the street with the best pizza in Florence amidst the rainy Ponte Vecchio with musicians tucked in corners creating the most romantic of nights. The intimacy was built between Ben and me because we were the only ones together experiencing these moments. As much as you can explain or show pictures, only the two of us really know what it was like to embark upon each new city by train, toting our black and white luggage along cobblestone streets, and walking 20,000 steps a day. It is an experience we share with nobody else. And it made it that much more interesting to me and special and important to building our family identity in marriage. There was also a presence to each moment; fully breathing it in without that strange tug to curate the experience to make it more appealing to friends and family. Watching, waiting, looking around, breathing deep. There was rest.

I have found that life is more full lately when lived this way; when experienced more for gratification than affirmation. Time feels more saturated with all the good things: the dance of rest and play; the search for God in the simple; and the floating through of questions and thoughts and curiosity with how the world works and what my part in all of it actually is right here, right now.

A topic of conversation that continually rose to the surface as we shared apertivos in energy-filled plazas and people-watched under umbrellas overlooking the Riviera, was the aspects of Euro life that we wanted to bring back with us to San Diego. We talked about how the reality of working a 9-5 feels like it’s cramping our newly-developed Euro style a bit; but we circled back to the fact that it’s more a mindset that becomes a lifestyle. In Europe, there is no sense of hurry and rushing. There is a silent calm that pervades even the moments of tardiness. There is also an appreciation of the simple; a walk through the gardens for no apparent reason or a tiny coffee on the corner with the newspaper; each of these moments brings life to the day.

I want to put down my phone and observe life before I miss it. It’s all too good and too beautiful to be taken down by the screen. It seems to be a daily fight and I am still learning how to do this. I had a professor once tell me that each day he meditates on the same prayer: God, give me wisdom and give me gratitude. I am reminded to live each day in thankfulness and that wisdom in the decisions comes only from God.

A Wedding Moment

Because Benjamin and I just turned 6 months old together, I have been more nostalgic than normal for our wedding day. After a vivid wedding dream a few nights ago, I woke up to the stark realization that the only time I get to relive the day is in my dreams (or maybe in heaven…). It is a day that I will forever remember and never get back.

When I think about February 18, 2017 from start to finish there are so many moments that come to mind: waking up at 6am and announcing to my favorite coffeeshop “I’m getting married today!”; putting on my dress and crying with my mom; dancing with my girls outside my house before heading to the venue; walking towards Benjamin for the first time whilst ditching my umbrella in the rain; reciting our handwritten vows to one another as we sense raindrops fall from the sky, our loved ones gathered around with umbrellas to pray...

Of all these moments, there is a singular sweep of time that will forever rest on the pedestal of Best. Waiting for our reception announcement, Ben and I locked arm-in-arm beholding a glowing tent at the bottom of the hill, exuding the unique tint of warmth and light that comes only with the existence of loved ones. It was as if we were onlookers upon a tapestry created by the interweavings of our own existence, all the strands of our lives woven together in one instant; beautiful because it was whole. Witnessing the scene below beckoned a profound sense that the messiness of the world was pulled outside the tent, so that what remained was a few fleeting hours of pure indescribable joy. This tent that brought a stream of tears the night prior, now seemed as if there couldn’t be a more perfect vestibule to encapsulate the collision of all the Best in life: friends, family, drinks, tacos, pizza, music, dancing, long dresses, and ice-cream cookie sandwiches (of course). Making our way towards the tent, there was a notion of leaving the old life behind and entering into this new life together; a life of unknowns and questions; up’s and down’s; but in all things joy because we have each other. Entering the tent, I can’t imagine a more poignant representation of a “thin place;” the expectancy of our arrival held thick in the air, and the applause felt as if the gates to heaven just opened. Stumbling over each other during our first dance; we were unclear whether the cause of our own instability was the rain glistening on the dance floor or the massive wave of love sweeping over us as we attempted each step. It didn’t matter. As Walt Whitman writes “We were together, I forget the rest.”

On Writing

"Vocation at its deepest level is, 'This is something I can't not do, for reasons I'm unable to explain to anyone else and don't fully understand myself but that are nonetheless compelling.'"

- Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak

My earliest memory of stating what I wanted to be when I grew-up was when I was seven years old and participated in a school-wide Young Authors contest for my story "Winifred and the Twirly Skirt." On the back cover of the book, I had written an About the Author section, with details regarding where I lived, how much I loved horses, and that when I grew-up I would be an author and a teacher. I voluntarily stayed in from Recess, perfecting my words and illustrations, whilst devouring my latest library checkout. I came home and filled the lines of journal after journal, hoping to capture and document memories to tell the stories of my life.

Writing is the thing I can't not do - if someone were to take away my pen and paper or tell me I could no longer write, I can't imagine going on living. It's who I am at the "very center of Rebecca-ness" (as my graduate professor Dan Haase would say...) and who I have always wanted to be. I have found this humble corner of the internet in this blog, as an outlet for my reflections & perceptions to carry-on with this thing I can't not do.

Lately I have a question brewing inside of me - what if there's more than this?

I know I have words inside of me waiting to take form. But every time I think about possibly writing a book, there are a million logical reasons to shut it down. What do I have to say that nobody else has already said? What unique thought do I have that hasn't already been added to this world? Why would anyone pick-up my book when they could read Henri Nouwen or Richard Rohr or Brene Brown or Shauna Niequist? What if I pour my life and time into something that goes nowhere? Do I have an audience or a platform? What would I even write about? 

Fear is both overwhelming and paralyzing; it invades my heart and overcomes my thoughts so that I settle for less and don't let myself entertain asking for more. It is easier to put it to the side and say I just can't do it. I look at the process it would take to get there and I choose to never start. If I pour so much into this thing that isn't even a thing, and it goes nowhere, that is failure. If I never try, I never have the chance to fail. 

But maybe it's more about the integrity of my life and being true to who I know myself to be? Listening to those still voices drowning in doubt and saying to them: "I see you. I hear you. I am going to make you the loudest voice I hear." Perhaps it is less about the product of a book, and more about courageously taking steps forward to make it happen? 

"Vocation comes from listening. I must listen to my life and try to understand what it is truly about -- quite apart from what I would like it to be about... I must listen to my life telling me who I am" (Parker Palmer).

If I truly listen to my life - it says: "You are a writer and the thing you were made to do is write." 

But how?