I've done some surprising things of late.
I got my hair dyed pink this summer.
I got a small heart tattooed on my wrist.
I walked into a party of 220 people I had only met online. And bunked with 20 of them on a strange property with Buddha figurines.
They're all kind of related, really.
Michelle helped me be brave. To beat my drum and tell my story. I saw her childlike faith, the ways she put herself out there and made herself known and I decided I could do the same.
These 500 were let in to my inner circle, and I let my guard down. I was a new kind of happy, a confident happy. In some ways I took on an alter ego. I shared ridiculous videos (Oh, Dubsmash, I'm so sorry I was late to the party) and selfies. I shared a struggle that couldn't be made public anywhere else at the time. I professed words of faith, doubt, and snark.
But what I think really happened was that I saw a safe place where grace was given to all and competition was not a factor. Personality types were discussed, and I looked into Myers-Briggs more on my own. It rescued me in a way. I was able to extend myself a kind of grace my critical mind has never been able to. I realized the implications of being an introvert... to realize all that time in high school and college I wasn't broken. I just needed different things, and to give myself permission to embrace the way I was wired. I found beauty in that, finally. I understood why my circle was small and why those few people were the only ones I gave access to my humor and soft spots.
They got my fun side first, which was a big thing in and of itself - to feel free to share wit and believe that they did in fact want to be friends with me - those are things to which few are given access in my world. About a week before the party, I peeled back the curtain on the other side. The dark and twisty in my life. We all have it. They listened. They responded. I was seen, in all my mess, and loved. By these stranger-sisters.
I arrived to "The Coop" almost exactly three weeks ago, to the hour.
The 21 of us who stayed there clung to the conclusion of For the Love, in which Jen provides a word picture of women as chickens. We can be foolishly independent by day, with ambitious wanderlust - or maybe we frequent the same places as a force of habit, but come night, we snuggle in together and share our adventures and feel safe together.
I can't tell you how true that came to be - for months we had planned for our time at The Coop. I was shaking as I walked in from excitement. I ran to hug a new friend and I'm pretty sure I bit her arm in my haste. There was a video camera rolling and lots of happy, familiar faces I sank onto the stairs in the corner - for 30 minutes I didn't have the capability of auditory processing whatsoever - I smiled and nodded and gladly took a margarita.
I always thought that if I ever got a tattoo, I'd have a plan for at least a year, and then commit. But then some of my chickens starting bawking about them months before launch party weekend, and the wheels started turning. I decided in the car on the way to the infamous Dirty Sixth Street late Friday night if and what that tattoo would be. I had considered something of significant meaning on my surgery scar, but I ended up keeping it simple. A heart on my wrist. Small. Easy to cover. Cutesy. Arbitrary meaning. But I would know I had a freaking tattoo. And I would always remember I got it that weekend with those girls. So Stef held my hand, and then I held Corie's, and we got tattoos. Krista and Stefanie got even got chickens.
The weekend was a strangely ambivert one - I had tricked them all online into thinking I was an extrovert, but couldn't 100% back that up in person. I am still connecting dots between stories I've read over the months and necks I hugged that weekend. But I hold all of my new friends close to my heart. The memories from the whole weekend were sweet. The food and shopping were on point The laughs were rich. Tears certainly came. And then the party. It was fun, it was meaningful, it was exciting, for sure, but an event can't hold a candle to these humans. Even still, I was in Jen Hatmaker's backyard with her, you guys. And she hugged us and looked into our eyes and listened and shared her heart with us, on a truly personal level.
And the next morning, she preached. She talked about being little, and advocating for the little. She gave a message of depth and truth and we cried. I strongly recommend you listen to that message "God, Make Us Small."
And then we said goodbyes and cried more.
I still have stories to tell you. About these women. About the amazing lives they lead, their hearts of gold, and the pure and unadulterated (okay maybe sometimes adult-rated) fun they are! And it's not even over. The Launch Team is still alive and well. But I had to start somewhere. Tattoos and chickens.
I got my hair dyed pink this summer.
I got a small heart tattooed on my wrist.
I walked into a party of 220 people I had only met online. And bunked with 20 of them on a strange property with Buddha figurines.
They're all kind of related, really.
 |
When the Facebook page for the For the Love book launch team was very first created I remember being so proud of myself for being among the first on the scene with a witty comment, or so I thought at least.
We were timid at the outset, but a community quickly started to form. I told 500 strangers, from 10 miles away to Saudi Arabia about my new job first, before it was ever official.
When I started work, I drew back, because the information and the feelings on the page were kind of a lot. It was beautiful, but I did not have the bandwidth to take on the testimonies of infertility, abuse, financial ruin, and more. I watched quietly as hurts were shared, and saw this tribe cheer each other on, provide for each other in innumerable ways: prayer. meals. money. a simple "I hear you" or "me too, sis." I jumped in here and there, started recognizing faces and stories and hearts, but still sat on the sidelines for the most part. All the while I got to know these people, their children, their humor and their hurts.
When I was rear-ended in May and the other party was telling tales to the insurance companies I came running back, because I needed a safe place. And they prayed. One woman messaged me, saying she worked for an insurance company and would be happy to help in any way possible. (That story resolved itself in July, thank goodness)
I wore my launch team shirt the day my hair turned pink. I had been wanting to do something crazy for a year, and finally had a stretch of time in which I didn't have to maintain a professional image. It was deeper than an appearance or a "look" I was shooting for, if you would indulge me in saying so. I needed to do it, to do something simply because I wanted to, to allow myself to be seen. They were the first to see or know.
Come June and summer, I was ready to fully jump in with this crew. A dear girl, Michelle from Michigan, had become a darling of this group, with stories and pictures and her heart on her sleeve. She was known and cherished. Somehow (God) she and I became friends who called each other regularly and shared our life stories.
We were timid at the outset, but a community quickly started to form. I told 500 strangers, from 10 miles away to Saudi Arabia about my new job first, before it was ever official.
When I started work, I drew back, because the information and the feelings on the page were kind of a lot. It was beautiful, but I did not have the bandwidth to take on the testimonies of infertility, abuse, financial ruin, and more. I watched quietly as hurts were shared, and saw this tribe cheer each other on, provide for each other in innumerable ways: prayer. meals. money. a simple "I hear you" or "me too, sis." I jumped in here and there, started recognizing faces and stories and hearts, but still sat on the sidelines for the most part. All the while I got to know these people, their children, their humor and their hurts.
When I was rear-ended in May and the other party was telling tales to the insurance companies I came running back, because I needed a safe place. And they prayed. One woman messaged me, saying she worked for an insurance company and would be happy to help in any way possible. (That story resolved itself in July, thank goodness)
I wore my launch team shirt the day my hair turned pink. I had been wanting to do something crazy for a year, and finally had a stretch of time in which I didn't have to maintain a professional image. It was deeper than an appearance or a "look" I was shooting for, if you would indulge me in saying so. I needed to do it, to do something simply because I wanted to, to allow myself to be seen. They were the first to see or know.
 |
Come June and summer, I was ready to fully jump in with this crew. A dear girl, Michelle from Michigan, had become a darling of this group, with stories and pictures and her heart on her sleeve. She was known and cherished. Somehow (God) she and I became friends who called each other regularly and shared our life stories.
 |
| Life stories and bedtime routines, that is |
 |
| #FTLBFF |
Michelle helped me be brave. To beat my drum and tell my story. I saw her childlike faith, the ways she put herself out there and made herself known and I decided I could do the same.
 |
But what I think really happened was that I saw a safe place where grace was given to all and competition was not a factor. Personality types were discussed, and I looked into Myers-Briggs more on my own. It rescued me in a way. I was able to extend myself a kind of grace my critical mind has never been able to. I realized the implications of being an introvert... to realize all that time in high school and college I wasn't broken. I just needed different things, and to give myself permission to embrace the way I was wired. I found beauty in that, finally. I understood why my circle was small and why those few people were the only ones I gave access to my humor and soft spots.
They got my fun side first, which was a big thing in and of itself - to feel free to share wit and believe that they did in fact want to be friends with me - those are things to which few are given access in my world. About a week before the party, I peeled back the curtain on the other side. The dark and twisty in my life. We all have it. They listened. They responded. I was seen, in all my mess, and loved. By these stranger-sisters.
I arrived to "The Coop" almost exactly three weeks ago, to the hour.
The 21 of us who stayed there clung to the conclusion of For the Love, in which Jen provides a word picture of women as chickens. We can be foolishly independent by day, with ambitious wanderlust - or maybe we frequent the same places as a force of habit, but come night, we snuggle in together and share our adventures and feel safe together.
 |
| The Coop's all here! |
I can't tell you how true that came to be - for months we had planned for our time at The Coop. I was shaking as I walked in from excitement. I ran to hug a new friend and I'm pretty sure I bit her arm in my haste. There was a video camera rolling and lots of happy, familiar faces I sank onto the stairs in the corner - for 30 minutes I didn't have the capability of auditory processing whatsoever - I smiled and nodded and gladly took a margarita.
 |
 |
 |
| Tattoo Crew |
The weekend was a strangely ambivert one - I had tricked them all online into thinking I was an extrovert, but couldn't 100% back that up in person. I am still connecting dots between stories I've read over the months and necks I hugged that weekend. But I hold all of my new friends close to my heart. The memories from the whole weekend were sweet. The food and shopping were on point The laughs were rich. Tears certainly came. And then the party. It was fun, it was meaningful, it was exciting, for sure, but an event can't hold a candle to these humans. Even still, I was in Jen Hatmaker's backyard with her, you guys. And she hugged us and looked into our eyes and listened and shared her heart with us, on a truly personal level.
 |
 |
| ... and then Kathy and I forgot to actually introduce ourselves... |
It's lengthy, but Jen's sweet words to us are included
with pictures and footage of my people.
And the next morning, she preached. She talked about being little, and advocating for the little. She gave a message of depth and truth and we cried. I strongly recommend you listen to that message "God, Make Us Small."
And then we said goodbyes and cried more.
I still have stories to tell you. About these women. About the amazing lives they lead, their hearts of gold, and the pure and unadulterated (okay maybe sometimes adult-rated) fun they are! And it's not even over. The Launch Team is still alive and well. But I had to start somewhere. Tattoos and chickens.
 |
| Tattoo (and TOMS sunglasses). Thanks Austin. |
 |
| Chickens |
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