It's been a crazy 2012.

     My piano teacher probably wouldn't be impressed by my form of "focus" during practice. My undisciplined mind reverts to two choices:

 1)"Focusing," which equals forgetting to breathe. An unfortunate habit, especially when it comes to inputing music into my brain for memorization.  Oxygen plays such a vital, inconvenient role.

 2) "Breathing," which equals setting sail on a mental evaluation of my life and those in it on a level I somehow can't manage while doing anything else. My hands take off and play the background track to my journey of thought, and I've come to my most meaningful revelations in times like those. Today's realization was this:

     I think I want to teach piano to under privileged children. Kids that are either prone to neglect or to getting in trouble. I want to give them the gift of something healthy they can pour themselves into and express themselves with, and at the same time welcome them into my home and the presence of God. I was blessed with a wholesome childhood, and instead of seeing my testimony as "boring," I'm seeing it as a gift given to me that I'm responsible to give back.  ...And as with everything else in my very particular mind, I have a visual picture along with it that involves a studio apartment of my own filled with natural sunlight, unfinished wood, flowy curtains and seafoam colors. Pillows. Photos. Flowers. Sea shells. Splash of red here and there. My dog. A kitty. The smell of oatmeal banana chocolate chip cookies.

The first half of that paragraph is the relevant part. The second is still gonna happen eventually.

     My mom says I have my dad's gift of making someone who's right believe they're wrong if I talk long enough. Though I understand that being particular and persuasive is not always good, I've evaluated it and, overall, seen it as a good thing. It's spared me from unhealthy relationships, wasting money on things I wouldn't end up using, saving money on things I could finagle a discount on, etc. (those are the conquests I live for).  But in the last few months, God has been distinctly showing me where being particular can prevent Him from surprising me.

     Even things like my drive home from Lodi the other night have contributed to this new theme.  Any 23 year old girl is up for a midnight drive on Highway 12, alone with the company of dense fog and a migraine, right?  It was a long, dark, creepy drive home and dense fog has a way of making one feel utterly enclosed and alone. (the absurd side of me kept thinking of the Hash Slinging Slasher Sponge Bob episode. Yep, THAT intense). But on you drive, slow and steady, knowing the fog will eventually break to reveal familiarity, safety, and home.
     After spending the weekend in a congested city that never sleeps, and enduring such a tense drive home, I drove slowly through my small hometown and said to myself, "This town sleeps."  All was quiet.  My driveway was silent, lit only by the glow from inside the house. Walking through my front door and hearing Gilmore Girls in the living room was like stepping into a different realm. Hard to believe that two such different worlds existed so close together.  Although relief came with the feeling of safety and familiarity, over the last few days I've realized the stifling of creativity that comes with a lack of change and stimulation. As out of my comfort zone as a city like San Francisco is, it's inspiring. It's alive.
     My small town is wonderful. I can get gas without casually wielding pepper spray. I can walk to my mailbox and smell jasmine instead of weed. Nighttime is peaceful, and it's a great place to raise a family. But it sits still. It's not that I would raise a family in a place like San Francisco, but I think while I am young and have the freedom, I want to spend some real time in a city very different from the one I grew up in. God has been stretching my definition of what I think I "want" this last semester, and situation after situation has only added up to enhance the notion that I need to be prepared for change.

     The possibilities are literally endless. I need to settle in my mind that whatever I do and wherever I go, I will be bringing ministry with me, and the notions and definitions I grew up with are not necessarily reality. Excluding my family and closest friends, I grew up in a strict, legalistic environment with little change.  Life is not as black and white as I thought. Grace has a wider definition than I ever comprehended. Jesus loved in ways that are uncomfortable for me and that I fall pathetically short in. I have a lot of mental boxes to break through. The thought is simultaneously terrifying and exciting.