Story from the Sidewalks

Walks to work prove to teach me the most about my neighbors and my own heart. More then ever, I see the detail that went into building our historical neighborhood. I see the people with fancy things living next to those who hope for basic things.  I see the smiles from passing buses, kids taking selfies in back seats, and Moms singing loud. Then I see the fast and careless cars, rushed spirits, and tired hearts.

Denver has been given ~13 inches of snow this week, paired with sub-15 degree mornings.

A mother with three mobile kiddos and one in a stroller, pushed through drifts of un-shoveled snow in wet sneakers, capris, and white cotton socks. She kept ushering her kiddos, reminding them that breakfast awaited at school.

Genuine Jerry also walks to work daily. Brown paper bag and coffee mug in hand. He nods, I wave. Both of us processing what awaits or what we just left behind at our careers. He too is also saving for a vehicle, and prefers the walk because "driving is for wimps."

Three teens stand at the bus stop in light weight jackets. I pray they were just being teenagers with opinions about their sense of style, but my heavy heart fears jackets might not be in the budget.

A gentleman who just had serious neck surgery was shuffling from the health clinic to the corner 7-11 to use the restroom. He started riding the bus at 4 AM only to arrive at the clinic to find that it didn't open until later. With his walker, on these icy sidewalks and serious lack of mobility - he slowly made his way to 7-11. He kept stopping In pain. Asking how I could help, and he said - "keep smiling."

Sweet Sandy, who has to be in her 80's, has greeted me each morning this week.  She's shovels the bottom of her drive because she prefers "to skate on a lake" and not on her driveway.

Part of me cannot wait to get a car; the heated bubble of plastic and medal that lets me be the bigger thing on the road, the faster one to work, and the muscle behind my grocery shopping.

A bigger part of me hopes that I never lose sight of what exists on the sidewalks. The detail, the stories, the eye contact, the emotions. These past two months have given me eyes that see - and I don't want my tinted windows to tint my heart.

It is my walking hope that whenever I can - I hope I GIVE freely, joyfully, and with intent. In this world that tells me to spend more, do more, be more - there is one who knows all, is all, and serves all.  Thank you sweet Jesus for this season to remember that you are the ultimate gift. That you loved so we may love, serve, grow, go, live, lead, forgive, encourage, share, and give.

Love,
Lauren

Birthday Side Effects

I've been alive for 29 years and almost 8 days and I'm suffering from "new age syndrome." Is that a real thing?

With New Belgium's Snow-Day winter beer in hand, Annie F. Downs book opened, and the tub running - I prepared to soak up and rest in the start to this new age of life.

A mini - what I think might be a sliver of a panic attack - later, the water was too hot, the book was annoying me me, and a beer that was downed before it was enjoyed. Nothing was right, everything was wrong, and here I am about to be another day into year 29 and I can't find peace with it. 

It's not that I feel old.

It's not that I regret what has already been.

It's that I have too many stinkin' things I want to do, and too many ideas of where I should start.
It's that my passion is so wide, so tall, so deep - that I get lost in the love, joy, and gratitude I have for all things.

You have to wrestle before you can win.

And that's where I stand, in the arena, time to fight some rounds and get some answers.

Luckily, Denver had 13 inches of snow and I was given the gift of time to listen to James Granger's "God With Us In Rest" sermon.

Take away: "Stopping long enough and consistently enough - to remember who God is, who we are, and who we are not." [James Granger]

I'll pray for that.
I'll cheers to that.
I'll rest in that.

Wineries and Homesickness

Last summer we were celebrating the single life of my sweet friend from college. We spent the weekend touring wineries, sleeping in a crappy motel, and changing clothes in the Burger King parking lot. The day was a bit chaotic as most bachelorette parties are; and our last stop had us looking out over this beautiful valley at the darkest, most gloomy rain clouds.  They were thick, full, and ready to pour on beautiful women dressed to the nines.

We ran into our last winery and listened to the storm as it landed on a tin roof. We were tired, wet, cold, and going to be late to dinner reservations. 

I looked at our beautiful bride-to-be friend and she was laughing. She's one who knows that things don't always go as planned; in fact, she might argue that most of her major life events have not gone as planned.Our eyes met and we just laughed. She was letting this storm roll of her shoulders just about as fast as it rolled in, and making the most of it. It was admirable. 

A photograph of the bride and her friends before the storm.

Homesickness is much like this storm. Denver has been nothing but beautiful, chaotic, and six months of "I have no clue what to do next" moments. Last weekend, my mind was already telling me how hard this week was going to be. My dearest friends were going to be together in northern Michigan and I was not, deadlines at work were pressing in, and somehow all I could think was, "I made the wrong choice."   

Everything I wanted, needed, and loved seemed to be in another world.

Everything foreign was right next to me and all up in my bubble space. 

Anxiety set in and my mind decided that it was going to be a crappy week.

I was choosing to stand in the rain - wet, cold, and mad.

Then...

Shannon sent me an email that touched every fiber of my being and shined light onto something I thought was unseen.

Katie road-tripped with me to Pueblo via phone and encouraged me to keep taking care of myself.

Ryan shared his testimony to 8 people he barely knew - reminding me that men are good and God works through all things.

Denver dropped rain last week & snow today. #makeupyourmindCO

Dilyn said, "I'll do that spreadsheet for you - go to bed," - reminding me that I'm not alone and that my burdens are shared.

Claire invited me to do cool things this summer- reminding me that there is so much to look forward to.

Selma told me about the new love in her life - reminding me that strength grows as patience is practiced.

My roommates and I ate breakfast at Ihop, in our PJ's at 11 AM and reminded me that hitting the ground running is not always what you need.

And tonight, I close another week of unmet deadlines, unanswered e-mails, and so many unknowns. I see the storm, hear the storm, and embrace the storm - it's the water this new season needs to survive, it's not drowning me - it's growing me. 

Written in love,

Lauren

Cousins & Turkeys.

Disclaimer: This photo was not taken at Thanksgiving, but it's a forever favorite.  

Relocation to a new mitten-shaped state blessed our close Chicago-Italian family with the challenge to learn how to do holidays a little bit differently. 1993 began with an attendance of 13 individuals. A few years passed, we grew to 16 chairs with the addition of two beautiful Lupori ladies and the little man who would get to pass on the Lupori name. The kids table was officially equal in size to the adult table.

I can remember working with Brian and Lynn to get all our chores done - and nothing about it felt like a chore. We were dusting baseboards, cleaning toilets, and carefully organizing our Michael Jordan memorabilia and Disney statues so that our guest would have the best view during their stay. Lynn and I grew up with queen beds for the sole purpose of the week we got to host our favorite people.

Mom conversations on the phone with Nonni grew longer as the time got closer, and her excitement to spend time with her brother and sister's family was evident in the smile on her face.

I kept a list of all the things I wanted to do with my cousins in my nightstand, Brian and I checked the movie listings and Lynn planned her babysitting night. We would run home from the bus on the day Nonni and Nonno arrived - we could not wait to get hugs from two people we saw just a month before (for Mom's birthday). We'd hang up our backpacks and grab one of the treats Nonni brought and sit down to hear about the latest events on Oak Hill. It was right about this time that Nonno joked that the turkey was forgotten or that the police pulled him over for not buckling it up for the trip.  

The following days were filled with toasting and cubing the bread for stuffing, phone calls between Mom, Aunt Tina, and Uncle Vince. Last minute questions were flying as the Jones' and Lupori's packed to head north - It was the season of sippee cups and diaper wipes for Z, American Girl dolls and princess pajamas for Paige and Maddie, and Pixar movies and warheads for Kimberly and Kev. Without fail, there was always a cousin who was sick, lake effect snow, or traffic that killed with pace of getting the best people to Bellwether.

Those nights, I found myself sleeping by the window in the master bedroom just so I could see those headlights signifying my people had arrived.

It's not the food, the lighting, the outfits, or the decorations I remember.

It's the way Nonno pinched Nonni's booty when he thought no one was looking, the basement time I spent with my siblings and cousins, the encouragement I got from my Aunts and Uncles, and the joy I saw in my Mom and Dad's face when they had guest around Great Nonni's table.

I love that we crammed 16 people into a home, that we shared couch cushions and personal space for a few days a year. I love that we watched Nonno and Nonni love each other generously through their last decades of anniversaries.

This week always brings me to my knees in gratitude for the sacrifices you made to get your families to ours.

All my love,
Lauren