quite unexpected

Sometimes the best things are the simple things, the hidden ones, the unexpected goodness found when you least expect it.

Like Nantucket Pie, for example.

Perhaps this will not surprise you, well-informed reader, but Nantucket Pie--it's a thing! I had no idea. But it's out there. Baking in people's ovens, residing on their food blogs, perched upon dining room tables and kitchen counters. Particularly in Nantucket, I assume.

I'm told that the late Laurie Colwin has a classic version of this recipe in her book More Home Cooking. The recipe featured here today, however, came to me a few Saturdays ago in a slightly more haphazard way than, you know, a book. (As is appropriate, I imagine. My life feels much more haphazard than your typical glossy cookbook photograph.)

I purchase my cranberries faithfully from the cranberry lady at my local farmers market, who also sells blueberries in the summertime, offers a plethora of surely-scrumptious-yet-extremely-expensive jams (due to the latter part of that description, I have purchased approximately one) and is the only certified organic berry vendor at the market.

Yet I must say that Cranberry Lady is not particularly...friendly. She's not unpleasant, just distracted. Or extremely disinterested? I'm not entirely sure. On the Saturday morning in question, after she handed me my box of cranberries, I was responding with an overenthusiastic smile (in hopes of lifting her spirits) and turning to go when she reached toward me again, a brochure in her hand. No eye contact. Then one word, in complete monotone: "Here."

Now as it happens, what Cranberry Lady lacks in enthusiasm, her pamphlet provides in abundance. It is all about the humble cranberry! The pamphlet comes by way of the Michigan Cranberry Marketing Committee--which I didn't even know we had! I'm learning so many new things. "Say yes to Michigan cranberries!" the pamphlet instructs me with evident enthusiasm.

And indeed, I do. Yes, Michigan cranberries, yes.

And so it came to pass that a few days later, whilst making dinner with Ben and craving dessert (as is typical) to accompany it, I remembered the notably brief recipe I'd spotted in the brochure. Nantucket Pie, or Henrietta's Easy Cranberry Pie, it was called, though as I scanned the ingredients and extremely concise instructions, it seemed unlikely to me that this eight-line recipe was going to produce anything much like a pie. It was mysterious. I wanted dessert. We gave it a go.

Before we knew it, my apartment was filled with the scent of comfort and warmth and the holidays. Dessert was completed before dinner, but we showed tremendous restraint and ate our vegetables first.

And oh, but what a worthwhile wait! The pie was scrumptious. As I will not be the first to note, this recipe produces a "pie" that is not very pie-like. It's more reminiscent of a cake, a simple one, the kind I most enjoy. Most of the cranberries linger near the bottom, and the moist cake rises between them, culminating with a crisp top. The flavor is simple and delicious.

I made it again last night, and after I had slowly eaten my slice, pausing between each bite, I was very, very sad that it was over.

Part of the goodness of the Nantucket Pie is that its deliciousness and my sense of culinary success were so utterly unexpected. Hardly any ingredients, obscenely simple instructions, an incredibly quick preparation, the mysterious label of "pie" for something quite decidedly not pie--I had very low expectations.

If you think something is going to be good and it is good, that's wonderful. But if you have no idea what is coming and it turns out to be this good...well. That is another thing entirely.

And I probably don't even need to tell you outright, but all of this is much like my life.

Yours, too, I imagine.

Nantucket Cranberry Pie
Adapted from the Michigan Cranberry Marketing Committee brochure


2 1/2 cups cranberries, fresh or frozen (if frozen, no need to defrost)
1/2 cup walnuts or pecans, chopped, optional
1/3 - 1/2 cup sugar
3/4 cup (3 ounces) butter, melted
3/4 - 1 cup sugar (if you like, swap out 1/4 cup for brown sugar)
1 cup all-purpose flour (or, 1/2 cup white + 1/2 cup whole wheat)
2 eggs, beaten
1 tsp vanilla

Preheat over to 375 F.

Butter a 9-or-so-inch pie pan. Pour in the cranberries and then the walnuts, if using. Sprinkle the first 1/3 - 1/2 cup sugar on top.

Combine the remaining ingredients and beat until incorporated. Pour the mixture over the cranberry layer.

Bake for 30-40 minutes, until the top of the pie/cake is a lovely shade of light brown.

Yield: 6 slices

my arms are open.

It is official: fall has arrived.

This is evidenced now not only by the calendar. The trees are changing colors, I pulled my boots out from the back of my closet, my landlords have turned the heat on, I bought brussels sprouts and sweet potatoes at the market, I ate two cinnamon-coated donuts and drank hot cider at a nearby cider mill this afternoon and I am fighting a nasty cold (which would totally justify the two donuts, if I felt justification were necessary, which I do not). Also, I have baked three harvest cakes. More on that later.

Those who spend any amount of time with me know that I love fall, but I love it with hesitancy these days. I find this season enchanting and beautiful, but it comes before winter, which, though also enchanting and beautiful, is cold. I used to love winter, too, but now the best I can say is that winter and I get along alright. You see, while I adore snow and festivity and Christmastime, I also get very, very cold. Additionally, I do not appreciate the darkness that descends for the sum total of the hours I'm out of the office. And there is no one to drive me over the slick and icy roads, cover the rising cost of heating a home or shovel my car out from snowdrifts, like there was in my childhood (thanks for that, Mom and Dad). The fresh produce disappears, and I am relegated to the track at the Y, banished (or at least greatly discouraged) by the snow and cold from regular runs on my city's streets.

I know that all of this worry is premature. But sometimes, I cannot help but be irrational. As soon as I sensed summer fading, I began behaving as though mid-February was coming, you know, tomorrow. It's almost winter, I whimpered as children bought fresh notebooks and apples crept into the market stalls.

However! I come to you today with good news: I have embraced fall, even knowing that the darkness and cold of winter will follow.

The shifting of the seasons is a beautiful, magical thing, as is the passing of time, and as is the movement of our lives from one situation into the next...and we cannot have that beauty without all of the intricacies, both good and bad, of each moment along the way. I know this; I have known this for a very long time. I just tend to forget.

And after all, this is what we must do, is it not? When we've finished griping and complaining and worrying, either we embrace our circumstances and the corners of the world we inhabit, challenges and quirks included...or we don't, and life happens anyway.

So I have stopped myself mid-worry, and I am opening my arms, choosing to embrace this season of the calendar year--and, yes, this season of my life. I have resolved to invest in a few more layers of clothing and to drink as many warm beverages as it takes. I am choosing to be happy.

Now, let's get to that cake, shall we? I was prompted by my dear friend Sarah, who is currently far away from me on the isles of Hawaii, to bake a cake she spotted on the internet (wish I could have shared this with you, my dear!). It is a cake for harvest time, filled with zucchini and carrot and apple, along with an array of other wholesome and delicious ingredients. As noted, I have made it three times now, with numerous tweaks and variations along the way to bring me to the following version. It's a friendly cake, open to such things, so experiment yourself if you so desire.

This cake is filling and hearty, just right for the glorious early autumn now upon us, when the cold begins to brush against your skin though the sun still shines brightly, when you need a scarf around your neck but can still wear a sweater in lieu of a coat. It is a knobby cake, with a very nice crumb and a rustic sweetness. A slice of this pairs perfectly with a mug of hot cider or coffee, and it is healthful (and delicious) enough for breakfast or the most delightful of mid-morning snacks. It is also wonderful with frosting, for dessert.

And so. My arms are open, and I am embracing this season.

But as with any difficult task, cake certainly doesn't hurt.

Harvest Cake
Adapted from Roost

3 cups white whole wheat flour (or 1 1/2 cup white and 1 1/2 cup wheat flour)
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons cinnamon
pinch nutmeg
1/4 cup coconut or olive oil
1/4 cup honey (+1 tablespoon if you like, for a slightly sweeter, moister cake)
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
3 eggs, lightly beaten
1 cup carrot, grated
1 cup zucchini, grated
1 cup apple, grated
1/2 cup walnuts, chopped, optional (but very much recommended if you like nuts)

Preheat oven to 350 F.

Grease a 9 or 10-inch cake or springform pan. Combine the dry ingredients in a large bowl. Combine the wet ingredients in a separate, smaller bowl. Add the wet mixture to the dry, and stir gently to incorporate. Pour into the prepared pan.

Bake for 40-45 minutes, or until a tester inserted into the center emerges clean. Frost if you wish (one of my favorite frosting recipes follows) and enjoy!

Yield: 8-10 slices

Not-Too-Sweet Buttercream Frosting
From Mark Bittman's How to Cook Everything Vegetarian

12 tablespoons (6 oz.) butter, softened
2 1/2 cups confectioners' sugar
pinch salt
1/4 cup + 2 tablespoons milk or cream, slightly more if needed
2 teaspoons vanilla extract

Using a fork or electric mixer, cream the butter. Add the sugar and salt, alternating with the milk and beating well after each addition. Stir in the vanilla. If the buttercream is too thin, refrigerate it until it hardens enough to spread easily.

the thanks giving post.

Though Thanksgiving has come and gone, I want to voice my thanks before continuing on with updates and new reflections and the Christmas-themed posts sure to ensue.

I got out of town and had a wonderful holiday weekend with family and an extension of my family (aka my brother-in-law's family...my family in-law in-law?) and also that boy I'm so fond of. We went to fetch the Christmas tree for my parents' house and decorated it with twinkly lights and cheery ornaments, which means that I will soon begin waxing poetic and becoming wildly excited about any- and everything even remotely related to Christmas. That's right. Be ready.

But first, some giving of thanks.

It's unfortunate that we need a national holiday to remind us to be thankful, but it seems that we do. (We don't need a national holiday to remind us to eat, so I'm going to stick to giving thanks as the primary purpose of the day/this post.) I probably complain more than I give thanks, which is a horribly skewed way of going about things in a life that has been filled with far more goodness than suffering.

And I want to live a life of gratitude.

There is much to be thankful for, after all. On the most elementary level, I am thankful for the material things that I have but don't need or deserve and so many go without--big things like plenty of food for the table and a little apartment all my own; simple and ultimately unnecessary things like cooling racks for hot loaves of bread; the electric blanket and humidifier that, though also unnecessary, make my Michigan winters much more bearable; shoes for my feet to stay warm and my body well, because it could be otherwise.

And of course, there are the good people surrounding me. There's this one girl who has now lovingly listened to a year's worth of joy and heartache and anxiety, who picked much of my summer sustenance with her very own hands, with whom I've never cooked a disappointing meal and whose single-syllable laugh I at some point unconsciously picked up. There's this other lovely lady in my city but from my hometown who absolutely makes my "short list," whose presence seems to ensure an eventful evening out and with whom a bottle of wine, a dessert (two desserts?), a platter of cheeses or a Valentine's day celebration was never unhappily shared. There is an incredible woman who believes in me more than I believe in myself, has a strength and vitality I strive to emulate and is the kind of mother that makes me want to be a mother.

I have a father who is a source of constant joy and offers much-needed guidance for my professional life on a regular basis, and my mom--who is also one of my very best friends--listens to me talk nonstop whenever I need to. (Seriously. My parents are awesome.) My sister and brother-in-law are living in the same country I am living in, which is something to be thankful for in itself, and on top of that, they are great house guests, read even my longest emails without complaining and are full of wisdom and hope.

There are good folks at my workplace; wise mentors from college and church; dear old friends now living in other cities, states and countries far off; kind landlords who fix even little things like broken doorknobs; new, inspiring acquaintances in this city that is my home.

And there is also a boy who makes me laugh until my face hurts, sees the bit of goodness in everything, listens to every last story even from a boring day, runs with me in the dark, cares about the world and appreciates a good meal or a well-made scone just as much as I do.

Along with all of that, I give thanks for the great big things, the things I ought to be expressing gratitude for with every breath: justice in my daily life, freedom, opportunity, health, peace in my neighborhood--and a good and sovereign God who holds everything, even that which is not just or peaceful or right.

Finally, I am thankful for a vast miscellany of other gratitude-inducing aspects of my life, such as my (currently) pest-and-rodent-free apartment, the fact that said apartment is in a house painted purple, my job (for both its good days and its bad ones), my little office with its fake plant, local businesses where they know my name and cardigans and baked goods and music and artwork and poetry and cookbooks and hope.

May I remain thankful all the year 'round.

on chocolate/pear cake, running and autumn.

On the brink of another autumn weekend--oh autumn how I love you!--I wanted to review last weekend's loveliness.

I made this Bittersweet Chocolate and Pear Cake for some very dear friends' housewarming party. The cake met with great approval, though with its farmers market pears and specks of dark chocolate and that golden taste of browned butter, I shouldn't be surprised. Yet in my personal philosophy, anything remotely worthy of celebration ought to be celebrated, and baking success certainly falls into that camp--as does that happy house filled with some of my favorite people. And so I celebrate. And we eat cake.

Following that lovely evening, I awoke to Sunday's perfectly crisp air and bright sunlight and cool temperatures to run the Grand Rapids Half Marathon, which I accomplished in a pleasing 1 hour and 43 minutes. I was thrilled with my time and stats and so forth. And I will probably regret what I'm about to do, but if you're interested in proof that I was running that morning, here it is. I promise, people, despite the look on my face in the majority of those photographs, I do enjoy running. Ha. But it was an utterly perfect day; it really was. Mist hovered across open grass, and the wooded areas of the route blazed with brilliant colors. People ran in great herds--such camaraderie!--and families and friends held signs and chased the route on bicycles and cheered. And on top of all of that, there's this really great guy who woke up early early early in the morning to bring me downtown to the race and cheer me on. This, of course, made the day all the more wonderful. I am blessed indeed.

Then, in the spirit of recovery, four pals and I enjoyed an afternoon of sun and fall colors paired with fresh donuts and hot apple cider. Delightful.

So with that, cheers to another weekend! May your mornings be bright and your cider be warm, my friends.

i don't want to miss it.

I have a whole slew of things I want to write about and recipes I would like to share and pictures to post from events and excursions back in September...but for the moment, I offer something a bit more simple.

I'm compelled to write about changing seasons over and over again here. And I think I've said before that I don't know what it is that intrigues me so about this process in nature and the emotions and feelings and memories it evokes in us (or me, at least). But I'm fascinated. On top of that, I adore fall. Yesterday, I read the following in an old post from the Smitten Kitchen: I love fall. I mean, I know how decidedly unoriginal that is to say, but I can't help it. And I'm sure it's even more unoriginal to say it by way of quotation, but doing so makes me feel less alone in my decided un-originality and weakness for all of the beauties of fall--the bright splashes of color in the trees, the crunch of the leaves on the ground, the chill of the crisp air, the apples and squash and cider and dark leafy greens...

And yet. I'm afraid I'm missing it. I'm afraid I'm missing the change of seasons and the glory of autumn and...life. It feels as though there has been so much going on--trips and visitors and a conference and meetings and deadlines and events and friends and a race to train for and an apartment to clean and my first and then second illness of the season--and on top of that, I have the overworking of my mind to contend with as I overanalyze my life, worry about all of the injustice and mess of the world and pursue the impossible task of figuring out both the present and the future right now while staying poised and trying not to let anyone see that I'm a bit afraid of all that may or may not come.

When I got home from work yesterday, I felt that fall had suddenly begun in earnest while I was tucked away in my office. As I walked to my front door, it seemed that I was brushing through more layers of leaves than before, and the air had that feel of autumn that I can't possibly describe with words, and it finally smelled like the season.

I went outside for a moment today on my lunch break. I didn't have any errands to run, and I didn't really want to go anywhere. But before staying in (to write this post--something other than a grant request or press release or newsletter), I wanted to catch a bit of the sunlight on my face, to see the brightness of the leaves in their splendor, to feel a little more free and alive.

It was perfect. Still, cool, bright.

And I don't want to miss this...this season, this time of my life, this moment. It's too easy to wish it all away.

So tonight, I will appreciate the wonder of the season as I run through the leaves covering the sidewalks of my neighborhood, and I will revel in and enjoy the present moments of my life. This weekend, I will bake for friends with autumn fruits and happily run a race in my city. I will appreciate and love well the good folks that surround me. I will decide what needs to be decided, and I will let everything else rest, peacefully. I won't worry about the future...the bluster and ice of the winter to come or the elements of the life that awaits me.

There is too much goodness in my life and in this world to be anything but thankful.

small things.

Too much time has lapsed since my last posting. My apologizes. My sister noted this today, and as she now has (at least part) ownership of two blogs that stay quite up to date and as she is, after all, my sister and dearest friend, she is more than entitled to kick me into gear whenever necessary. So thank you, sister of mine; this was the nudge I needed to just sit down and start typing, to choose one of the many thoughts swirling through my mind and pin it down in words on this page.

So many very small but very beautiful things have happened in my life as of late. This has provoked some good thinking and reflecting, and what I have come to is this: life, though we hesitate to say it straightforwardly, is unpredictable and tumultuous and often strange and just downright hard... but in the midst of the struggle and confusion, there are many small moments of beauty bringing hope and joy. And in this big, strange, confusing life, it is these small moments that carry us through.

This latest season of my life has been the most confusing and uncertain that I have yet experienced, but these small moments remind me that life is a wondrous and worthwhile thing... and not just in spite of everything but rather because of everything... because beauty glimmers through the cracks of the brokenness and dirtiness and imperfection of our lives. So I thought that I would share with you some of the beauty I have experienced:

[A SIMPLE ACT] One rainy day, while grocery shopping at Harvest Health, I ran into a professor from my dear alma mater. I never took a class from him, nor does he teach in any of my areas of concentration, but I know him from various interactions on campus and around town. We paused to talk; I admired his beautiful baby, who he affectionately calls Beetle, and he asked what I was up to these days. I explained my part-time job and yet-unsuccessful search for a second job, and after a short but lovely conversation, we both continued on in search of grains in bulk and ingredients for vegan baking. As I checked out, he paused en route to the door, reaching into his shopping bag and taking out a cookie (and not just a cookie, mind you, but a very good vegan cookie). Handing it to me, my wonderful professor friend said, "This is from Beetle. Good luck finding that second job." He disappeared out the door. I held back the sudden urge to burst into tears. The whole world felt kinder.

[UNANTICIPATED CARE] My job at CBI expanded significantly as of this week, which is a tremendous blessing as I can sustain myself financially with these increased hours plus freelance writing/editing/etc. And the smaller -- but no less significant -- moment of beauty was this: when my supervisor, an incredibly kind woman who had been keeping up with my second job search and praying for me throughout, heard that my job had expanded (the additional hours are in another area of the organization), she was absolutely thrilled, nearly to tears. And this from a woman I've known for just a month.

[COMMUNITY] A friend of a friend's family has a farm and presses apple cider every fall, and several friends and I joined them for this lovely event a few weekends ago. The day was filled with the beautiful community of a group of strangers, small children unabashedly expressing the amazement we all felt at the magic of the wondrous old cider press, freezing fall winds and brightly colored leaves, homemade pumpkin bread and donuts and spicy vegetarian chili, copious amounts of cider and, of course, my beautiful friends.

[FRIENDSHIP] My once-housemate and very dear friend E was in town last weekend for a wedding, accompanied by the wonderful Larry, and we met on Saturday morning for a lengthy brunch at Marie Catrib's (note: favorite. restaurant. ever.). E is a beautiful human being; she makes me feel more alive. Larry is one of the kindest, most genuine men I know. Amazing food, hot coffee, good conversation. Beautiful. And then one of my closest friends from back home appeared here that same weekend; Kevin is traveling with and running video for a concert tour. Spending time with him encouraged my soul and threw me back to our high school days, where I found some lovely memories I had forgotten about. And then I observed him in action, and I was so proud. I love seeing my friends doing exciting things in the great big world.

[ART] One night during ArtPrize (which was wonderful all around -- good work Grand Rapids), I left the public library and turned the corner to see the mosaic on the side of the Children's Museum shimmering in the darkness, sparks of light darting from the tiny mirrored tiles and twinkling in the quiet street. Magical.

[FAMILY] My parents came to visit for no reason in particular, and they are fabulous people. My mother is immeasurably kind. My dad is hilarious. They love so well. And they came bearing sweaters I had forgotten I owned and thick winter socks to keep my toes warm as the temperature drops.

[FOOD] My recent baking endeavors have been successful, though not always conventionally successful... which ultimately made them all the more wonderful... more details to come.

You see, my friends, these small moments make all the difference in this complicated life. A cookie for encouragement, the bustle of community, art that speaks of hope, the mere presence of a friend, good food eaten with loved ones, warm clothes for the coming cold, fall leaves and apple cider... This is how I carry on.

So I am sitting here in my room in our little flat while blustering winds blow outside and raindrops gently patter on the windows, cuddled up in two warm sweaters, smelling the lingering scent of coffee mingled with traces of the delicata squash I roasted for dinner and listening to Rosie Thomas singing peace into my ear.

And I know all will be well.

good/bad (this is life).

(Good)

A few nights ago, I went on the most wonderful run, and oh yes, my friends, it is fall indeed. As I ran, the wind whisked through the leaves, leaves colored green to yellow to orange to red like fire, and I could hear the trees creaking in that erie way they do when the cold settles deep inside of them like it settles now already in my bones. I ran past a football field and thought of being sixteen and caught up in that strange and completely different world that is high school (thank God it's over). Canadian geese honked loudly in the distance as I passed Reed's Lake, bringing to mind nights at the wetlands in Midland with my dad when I was young; I never loved it quite as much as he or my sister did but was drawn in whatever small way to something in nature and thrilled to make my dad so happy just for having come. I ran down these streets that I've run down so many times before, past houses and down sidewalks whose shapes have become so familiar, and the smell of fall nearly overwhelmed me...

For whatever strange reason, after a day that seemed rather inconsequential, happiness was overwhelming me as well. And the mystery of changing seasons and the memories bombarding me and the hope of the future threw me into this strange place of beauty and I felt so deeply that the world is new the world is new the world is new.

And then the next day started so well. I went to the farmers' market (which, as many of you already know, is one of my most favorite things in the entire world), and the farmers were all bundled up and my toes were cold and I wandered through with the handful of other people that come out to sparsely populate the Wednesday morning market. I bought apples and tomatoes and zucchini and eggplant and onions for my house and talked to one of my favorite farmers, a darling old man with surprisingly straight, white teeth who I first bonded with early this summer over the beauty of swiss chard. I went to breakfast alone at Gaia, and it was warm and wonderful and peaceful. I talked to the waitress and listened to the rapid flurry of Spanish bouncing between two Puerto Rican men and a little girl sitting up by the window and wrote and drank a copious amount of coffee.

And I was feeling relatively, surprisingly positive about life in general.

(Bad)

Then I went to work, job 2, nonprofit 2, currently part-time/temporary but with promise of becoming part-time/not temporary. At the end of a few mundane-but-not-so-bad hours of sorting and filing, I found out that the possibility of the job becoming more permanent had lessened significantly.

And suddenly I did not feel quite so positive about life in general.

None of this should have been surprising. I knew, first of all, that things weren't completely settled in my life, and they never will be because life just isn't that way. And for weeks now, I have been telling people that I think that this phase of life I am entering into is one in which things will remain in flux, up in the air, shifting constantly. Whatever happens next, I realized mid-summer, is very unlikely to be a full-time job. With health benefits. Check back in a few years, and even then don't count on it. I've become quite okay with this.

And yet. And yet, I am tired, I am tired of being tired, I am tired of being confused, I am tired of the puzzle pieces of my life not fitting together. (Yes, Kyle VZ, don't you worry, Old Stacy will never go away completely.)

And this is the thing: loosening our grip on our lives, choosing peace (thank you Ryan), knowing that life is hard and crazy but choosing to enjoy living anyway... these are things we must do every day. Of course it's still hard. Of course things are still uncertain. I have to throw up my hands and give it all over, every day.

As part of my job at Crossroad Bible Institute (part-time job 1), I read through the Bible studies completed by our students, who are currently in the US prison system (more description of this job later). Yesterday, I read the following in one man's prayer:

"Le entrego todas mis cargas, mis angustias, pesares, anhelos, deseos, planes, mi vida, mi ser y que sea lo que Dios quiera." (More or less, "I give him all of my burdens, my distress, grief, yearnings, desires, plans, my life, my being and that it may be what God wants.")

All of it? Wow. But yes, all of it. I give him all of it today, I'll probably need to do it again in an hour or so and tomorrow I'll do it again. And to really mean this is terrifying, but it's the only right option. So may it -- all of it -- be what he wants.

And I know even now that it will be good, and it will be bad. May I choose to enjoy living, regardless.

changing seasons.

Hello there, dear readers, and welcome to my (new) blog!

As I sat down to write a terribly belated post for my old blog this afternoon, I felt disheartened by the fact that my posting there has been so very spotty and perturbed by the resulting randomness of my writing. ALSO, due to my minimal and inconsistent posting, last summer’s posts appear on the same page as this summer’s posts (ahem... pardon me, post), and so I once again found myself bemoaning my less-articulate, not-quite-as-mature, only-one-year-younger-but-still-clearly-younger self.

And I was just not in the mood to begin yet another post with an apology for my lack of diligence and sincere-but-tired promises to write more faithfully.

So I decided that I would begin afresh! And what better time than now? I have burst out of that clear and structured pathway that is the pursuit of a four-year undergraduate degree at Calvin College and into this great big beautiful chaotic wonder of a world. I am learning so much and finding out how very little I know. I haven’t a clue what the future holds, and let me just say, I am FINISHED trying to figure that out. (Because I can’t.) So here we are, my officially post-collegiate, (becoming) grown-up blog.

At the beginning of the summer, on the old blog, I listed my reasons for returning to this whole blogging business. For posterity’s sake, I list them again:

1. I want to communicate better and stay more closely in touch with those that I love.
2. I said, over and over, that when I graduated from college, I would write for myself, for pleasure, for practice, for the shear joy and beauty and growth that come through writing. Not to fulfill requirements, achieve the “right” GPA, please professors or impress conference panels... just to write.

So that’s why I’m here. To share with you, and to write for me. This will be more than just a running update on my life, which would be something more in the spirit of my adolescent diaries, and we don’t want that, trust me. I WILL give those updates, fear not, extended family and long-lost friends, but I also plan to reflect on life, on this journey of faith, on passions of mine such as justice, food and feminism and on whatever else begs reflection. And we will see how this evolves along the way.

On another day, I will summarize in more detail what I am doing these days, but in brief, to tide you over until then: I am still in Grand Rapids, I still live in the Eastown flat with the twins (along with the addition of a new roommate) and I have a (part-time) job (!!!) for which I couldn’t possibly be more thankful. All of this will last at least through December, an amount of stability that the woman I refer to as the new Stacy finds incredible. (She is much more flexible and significantly less concerned with plans than the old Stacy.) I think that I am close to securing part-time job number two and am possibly looking for part-time job number three. Everything is more complicated and harder than it used to be, but in the complexity there is beauty and depth and reality. In the end, I wouldn't want it any other way.

And it’s officially fall. I’m finding crazy-new hope in this. A few weeks ago, I was talking with a friend of mine that works at Baxter Community Center, the local nonprofit where I worked this summer. At that time, I felt as though everything in my life was up in the air; everything was chaos. I was unemployed. I had been, until just a few days before, on the brink of homelessness. The relationship that I had been in (with, for the record, a really wonderful man who remains a very good friend) had just ended. I was detailing this list for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to be cheerful but feeling kind of awful. And my friend responded by marveling at how the changes in our lives so often coincide with the changing of the seasons. She said that when she sees this, she thinks, praise God, he’s bringing change in my life also. And she told me that she was excited for me. Now I’ll be honest, that blew me away. Excited? No, no, this is not exciting. In concept maybe: oh look at the great big beautiful open future! Anything could happen! Anything!! However, I needed to pay the rent and buy food. And I was sad. And nothing made sense. But this dear friend of mine somehow managed to infuse my spirit with hope. Things are ending, things are changing, but something is coming...

Something is coming. And so I open my arms, open my heart, open my mind, and welcome this new season with hope.

Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is. In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace.

--Frederick Buechner