Joshua Becker

Dear Joshua Becker,

I think we're going to be friends.  I've only read one and a half of your articles, but they.are.good.

And you shared a quote from my favorite artist, Joan Baez, in an amazing and true post about writing.  You're speaking my language of life balance, physical and emotional health, spirituality, nutrition, simplicity, nature, solitude.

Yes, we will be friends indeed.  If only in the blogosphere. 

I can't believe I just used the word "blogosphere".

Your Newest Fan Friend,
Julie

Cabin

Dear Cabin,

How I love thee.  Let me count the ways:

-The Hansons (they deserve a whole different letter, but I have no idea where to begin...)
-The smells: pine, campfire smoke, birch, lake, outdoors, nature, ahhh!
-Abraham and Gideon.  Cuu.Tees!  What delightful children. Pleasant, funny, adorable.  And, since Aly the Beloved Baby Hog wasn't there, I had the chance for more time with these kiddos. (I say that completely in love, Aly)
-The lake.  I must admit: I'm a lake snob.  I grew up going to Torch Lake, Michigan every summer which is a beautiful, clear, sand-bottom lake that you can still see the bottom of at a depth of 40 feet. I'm still not sure about these mud and weed-bottomed lakes around Minnesota, but Island Lake is growing on me for sure. And, since the weather wasn't warm enough for swimming or skiing - I was forced to enjoy the lake by simply watching it.  And breathing it all in.
-Road runs.  Saw 3 deer and only one other person.  A perfect 3 or so miler.  Sunny and 70.
-Sally (yes, I know she falls into the "Hansons" category, but allow me...) - I don't think I'll ever get tired of her calling me "honey".
-No technology.  I've never brought my laptop, and I turned off my phone for 24 hours straight - lovely.
-Rocking Abraham to sleep with hymns.  He didn't complain about my singing voice and in fact, offered complementary approval with his big, blue eyes.
-The view from the porch bed.  I love waking up to the sunshine peeking through these amazingly tall trees.  Can I reserve this sleeping spot for myself (and Kyle) forever?  *Dibs*                            
I guess I just did.
-Fires in the fireplace. It's the best of both worlds when it's nice enough to read outside during the day, but cool enough to have a fire inside during the evening.
-Nature. Creation. I'm realizing more and more that God meets me here in special ways.
-Peace.

Here's to many, many, many more years of enjoying you and the people you host. 

I'd rather be Up North,
Julie

20s (take two)

Dear 20s,

It's me again.  I'm glad I alluded to this sequel in my first letter, and thus committed myself to it, because I found myself falling into my pattern of thinking after a blogging marathon (yes, 2 counts as a marathon for me currently) where I loose any gumption I had to write as soon as I'm actually in front of a keyboard and I second guess every thought anyway.

Enough of that.  Here I am.

There are two strong and encouraging voices that I hear when it comes you and all the tension, expectations, struggles, and confusion that you 20s bring: my mother's and God's.  (Though as of this morning, I could probably add my dear friend Warren's as he wrote me an especially encouraging message - thank you friend).

My mom's faithful encouragement is consistently and simply: It's hard. I've been there. It will get better.  Simple, but hugely encouraging given the fact that it's really easy to develop a guilt complex or a "what's wrong with me?" attitude when everyone's telling you that this should be the best time of your life and you're struggling like you never have before.  So, thanks Mom, for validating my feelings, sharing empathy, and giving me hope that life won't always feel like this.  My mom has this unique way of making me feel like  I'm totally normal, when I'm completely convinced otherwise.  I realize the bias that she possesses, but my mother doesn't just make things up because they sound good, so don't mess!

And then there's God. Lately, as I've been walking through questions of job changes, school plans, future decisions, and everything in between, God has consistently and repeatedly been telling my heart: I don't really care. 


(Ummm - say what God?  I thought that caring was, like, you're job.....)

Don't freak out.

God does care.

About a lot of things.  Most things, probably.

BUT, I think that I've been missing the point for about 25 and a half years.  Every time I hear that whisper from the Spirit of I don't care, it's immediately followed by: I care about YOU. Now, this is risky to say, because that sounds pretty selfish, but I think it's true.  I think that more than what grad program I apply to, what job I work, who I want to help, or even where I live; more than any of that, is God's desire to know me and for me to know Him. I think that God certainly cares about and guides and leads people to specific jobs, vocations, studies, locations - most definitely He does this!  BUT, I think above any of that is His love for His people and His desire to be known by them. (And while I'm fully supportive of a communal interpretation/manifestation of Scripture - I'll dissect that plural pronoun and say that God desires that I would know His love for me deeper.)

It's kind of like if you had a hangnail and while attempting to remove said hangnail lost your balance and accidentally fell on a combine and dismembered your left leg.  You're laying there saying "Shoot! My hangnail is still there - and it's going to become infected and cause gangrene! What do I do?!"  And the farmer (who, of course was driving the combine) says "I don't really care about your hangnail - I'm thinking the leg injury is more important here."

Get it?

Poor analogy, I admit. 

He cares about all the stuff of vocation, study, etc. andbut He cares about me, His child.

SO, while I pray wade through the questions, worries, decisions of this decade of my life ... I cling to the still, small voice that says, I don't really care what you study or where you work, I care about you. You! Beloved Julie.   

I once heard someone say that she wakes up every morning and greets herself in the mirror as "Beloved ".  Without commenting on the self-talk-in-the-mirror factor here (another confession letter for sure!) ... that has stuck with me, because before I was Julie, God loved me.  Before the creation of the world.  So really, I'm Beloved first, then Julie.  Beloved Julie. 



God cares about works (even though I think I just admitted that sometimes I hear Him say he doesn't) and loves me SO much.

Thankfully,
Beloved Julie  

20s

Dear 20s (I pondered titling this "The Roaring 20s", but thought better of it ... though it would seem appropriate),

I hear that you're supposed to be the best years of my life. 

But I think that's a lie.

Maybe.

Sure, you have this allure of excitement and adventure - and an appearance of freedom, opportunity, and little responsibility.  I could see how 30s or the 40s might see you as this - and perhaps even the teens, but let's get some things straight:

Adventure is sometimes merely a positive interpretation of the words rootless and directionless.  Expectations are that 20-somethings would be free of responsibility that family (read: kids) bring about, while simultaneously enjoying all the freedoms that adulthood otherwise offers (read: choice, movement, finances, alcohol).  While some of this is true (I love that Kyle and I can just pick-up-and-go to the cabin for the weekend, can sleep in as late as we want on weekends and then walk over to MayDay Cafe for coffee, have as strick or as loose plans as we want, etc. . . ) - there's often general feelings of purposelessness and selfishness - fearing I'm wasting my time, my life and having no idea how to rectify this (and we Christians must not waste our lives - that's for sure).  It's also this weird tension between being free and having little responsibilities and feeling like I don't belong anywhere and my roots haven't had deep soil to grow in for about 7 years.  I often have this feeling that no one really knows me, because, well, the people I spend most of my time with have only known me for a year or so.  And just be it known that there's a lot more to Julie Oostra than just the last 12 months.

Opportunity is sometimes another word for a inordinate amount of options that are seemingly at your fingertips but often aren't a reality because of lack of experience, lack of finances, or lack of education that make you feel like you aren't actaully capable of anything meaningful and life-giving and thus cause paralyzing panic. Sometimes "choice" is a curse.  I've often wished that I was the kind of person who always knew what I wanted to "do" - like a number of my classmates growing up.  Since day one of kindergarten it seemed, Ryan knew he was going to be a doctor (okay - it was fifth grade, but still).  And look at him now - super smartly saving lives in some super detailed and complicated specialty related to brains. No wasted life there.  And then there's me: one year it was a doctor, the next a marine biologist, the next a teacher, the next (and the next) an Olympic track star, the next a university professor, the next a lawyer (or at least a legal advocate), the next a nutrition/health consultutant for sustainable food production and consumption, all the while thrown in there here and there: a mom.

Ugh, please just give me my 70s where I can love every kid that comes into view to death, rock on a rocking chair with Kyle every morning on the front porch with coffee, bake crazy amounts of pies for neighbors and friends and strangers, and listen to the problems of the broken and speak with that certain kind of wisdom that can only come with experiencce and say "It'll get better. I know."

I have some redemptive thoughts here for you, but quite honestly, I think this letter's gotten too long and I'm low on motivation.  I'll save these ideas for a second installment.

Carpe diem,
Julie

Home Business Parties

Dear Home Business Parties,

No, this is not a I-loathe-you-and-all-your-cheesy-sales-pitches-and-awkward-moments-of-forced-purchase kind of letter.


I actually kind of like you.

Sometimes.

Except that I’ve decided that there’s a new rule regarding you:

One can’t invite someone to a home business party without having invited that person over previously. I’m talking a no-strings-attached, purely social invite. In a public place or one’s home.

Now, I understand that besides the obvious, “I want to sell items and make money” or “I told the party host I’d have at least 12 people show up” reasons for inviting near strangers to your party; some people might actually really want to enjoy the social aspect of your events and really want to befriend the attendees. I could see how you might seem like a “safe” environment in which to get to know coworkers or acquaintances with whom you ordinarily do not socialize with. That the schedule and purpose of a party might provide nice structure as a host.

I get this, I really do.

But.

I’m putting my foot down with this rule. I and my over-analytical self and tired of getting these PamperedChefMelaleucaTupperwareNorwex invites from people with whom I’ve never engaged in voluntary socialization. How do I interpret this? Am I just another number on the invite list? Am I just another potential sale? Do you really care about the quality of my jellyroll pan? Do you really want to be my friend in real life? Or just my friend in the home-business-party world?

Therefore, the necessity of the rule. If the host is willing to actually hang out with the invitee prior to the aforementioned party, the host is either: a.) really wanting to engage in a genuine friendship with this person OR b.) willing to go to great(er) lengths to make a dollar and more power to her OR c.) genuinely concerned about the invitee’s organic cleaning, plastic storage, all-natural laundry detergent needs.

Phew, I feel better having voiced this.



But as I write, a second rule is forming in my head. Something regarding the ratio of home business party invites to non home business party invites. Probably at least 1 to 3, though this might be altered depending on the amount of purchase the invitee makes at said party ….

For another letter, I guess.


Best,
Julie