“Why is she so angry?”

That was the question that constantly went through my mind as I sat in my Race and Ethnic Relations class a decade ago as a junior in college and listened to my black professor.

I was born a natural suck-up, and professors usually liked me. But this professor didn’t seem so easily enamored. To be honest, she just seemed angry. I noticed that most of the time she heard a white student’s perspective, she held her breath and her voice became a little more frustrated when she responded. I noticed most of the time a black student spoke, her voice seemed to soften and her shoulders relaxed.

It really bothered me.

Written a couple months ago when I went all the way to Canada to hit the “reset” button. This is what I’m striving for in 2020. Want to join me?

*S E L F C A R E*

It’s one of those blog topics that automatically makes me want to barf it’s so millennial. Then again, I love boots and Starbucks, and I upload pics of my dog to Instagram daily, so I might as well fully embrace the millennialism. I’m currently sitting in Ontario, Canada, with my phone off drinking a pumpkin spice latte (see previous millennial note). I drove here yesterday to try something for the first time ever: explore and relax somewhere random – alone.  

So far today, I baked myself a huge breakfast, sipped a mimosa by the lake, explored the southern tip of Canada at a national park, and ate an oven-fired maple bacon butternut squash pizza (say that five times fast).

Full disclosure: about two hours ago, 26 hours into this getaway of mine, I inhaled a deep breath of Canadian air, and cried a little. 

It wasn’t a long or dramatic cry – just a couple tears. But those tears held immeasurable meaning.

I’ve felt the urge to write for a lot of months now. But when I start thinking it through, I realize I don’t think I have anything profound to say. Nothing funny. No great life lesson. I just have words that I want to get down and for some reason, share on this ugly, pink blog of mine. I don’t even want to proofread it, so sorry in advance. This is really more therapy for me while I sit at a coffee shop for some much needed alone time. Right now, I’m just taking it one day at a time. And today seems like a good day to reflect.

We are nine months into this adoption journey. We finalized just three weeks ago, and Kayden is officially a Sok.
We couldn’t be happier to check off that box legally. When we said yes to Kayden in January, before we even met him, he was already our son – but the formality of adoption has been helpful for us all. Especially Kayden, who understandably doubted the day would actually come.

I finally threw in the towel on trying to sleep around 3 a.m. this morning. For some reason, it’s just one of those nights when it’s not going to happen. No-sleep nights don’t happen that often, but when they do, I really don’t mind it after I eventually give in and get out of bed. Actually, I find it rather peaceful to be awake when most of the world around me is asleep.

Then 4 a.m. hits and I get this automatic, tiny wave of excitement, followed quickly by another wave of sadness.

Lately, I’ve been longing to go back to place I haven’t been in a long time. I don’t remember the town, I don’t remember the name of the camp, and I don’t even really remember my age at the time. I was young – probably early high school, on some sort of church retreat. It was a weekend full of rest in the Lord and sitting face to face with His truth. I woke up early one morning, before the rest of the campers and I went and sat on a concrete stair outside of my cabin with my Bible. The sun was dawning, the grass was dewy, birds were chirping and the fog was settled around the camp.

And Jesus. Just Jesus. So clearly.

Jesus was there other days. But this morning was special. The position of my heart was ready to receive, and everything else was quiet – which made Him loud.