The Steadfast Heart

One of my favorite things to do is to daydream. I spend half of my thoughts having conversations with people I’ve never met and taking adventures I’d never plan in real life. That’s fun for me to imagine and to picture myself doing incredible things. I love to create things in my mind as an outlet to my own reality.

The only problem with this, is at some point, I have to resurface for air. Practically speaking, I have an incredibly challenging time separating realistic outcomes to my desired expectations. I can envision myself making waves and living life to fullest in the eyes of Instagram. I can spend hours daydreaming and never day-doing.

Day-doing is not as easy. Day-doing means that I can’t control all of the outcomes of my efforts because day-doing does not exist in the imagination. Maybe I’ve lost you here. Maybe you’re one of those incredible people that is incredibly goal-oriented and you go after whatever you set your sights on. Maybe you are totally satisfied with your life and are just along for a good time. Maybe you have created a twelve step program for yourself and how you’re going to get from where you are to where you want to be, and it’s all worked out perfectly for you.

If that’s you, I’d love to be the first to present you an award for all of your achievement. Consider this your trophy for nailing your goals and knowing exactly what you want out of life and being successful in all of your endeavors. You are very deserving of a big wooden plaque with your name on it and gold letter balloons to celebrate you, because that is a spectacular accomplishment on your behalf.

But maybe–maybe you’re like me. Maybe life wasn’t handed to you on a silver platter and the world has not been your oyster up to this point. Maybe you’re wondering about yourself and asking questions and needing validity in what you’re doing. If you’re like me, you have doubts. May I be so bold to call some of those doubts, fear?

When I was in college, I was so positive that my major was going to launch my career into all that I needed it to be. I majored in business and absolutely loved it for many reasons. Not only did I understand it in a general sense, but I enjoyed studying business. I loved that it was a transferrable degree that would never box me in the way a Bachelor’s in Underwater Basket Weaving would. I really relished in the status it gave me, being one of the few women in my male-dominated classes–and killing it with my Strategic Management presentations every Wednesday Spring semester.

Most importantly, my college major was going to skyrocket me in my small business endeavors. Post-grad, I abandoned the dream of opening up my own salon/boutique after feeling the burnout of the industry. Sometimes I wonder if it was truly burnout, or hard work disguised as adversity that I couldn’t handle. Regardless, when I was handed a fresh start in a new town, I feel like I failed.

Applying 31 places with a business degree and enough leadership experience to at least qualify me for an entry level position, only to either hear silence or rejection from all 31 places was tough at 23. I had daydreamed about climbing the corporate ladder in a short amount of time, leather tote in hand (briefcases aren’t as cute). I’d be revered as a thriving woman in the business world.

I pictured myself in the pencil skirts and cute H&M blazers calling the shots from behind my giant office desk. In my wild imagination, I even had an assistant who not only was honored to have my coffee order memorized as one of her duties, but was my friend who loved spending all of her time with me. Somewhere, I am confident that my mother is laughing at my creativity. This hallucination was of course, accompanied by my fat salary that provided amazing benefits and all of the vacation time I needed.

That’s not how that happened. The only thing that transferred with me into reality was the cute H&M blazer that is now hanging in my closet with grease stains from deep-fried chicken. Yep, I went on to make my alma mater ridiculously proud to know I used my degree at a fast food chicken chain in the dairy lands of the Midwest. Humbly, it was never my resumé that impressed anyone. It was my family connections to someone who knew someone from somewhere that got me the interview.

I’m not sure why I’m still not over not being good enough for those 31 other places I applied to. I guess it was never about being “good enough.”

It was about showing up to the place where God wanted to do his refining within me.

That place just so happened to sell chicken and pay an hourly rate. I’ve spent the last three years wrestling with my status and my purpose, that I’ve at times easily missed opportunities to honor God where I feel unseen. It’s when I spend too much time daydreaming that I don’t let God show me where I can be day-doing.

Better yet at times, my eyes are opened to the opportunities I have to grow my character, but it just doesn’t always seem exciting. If it’s not extraordinary or signifiant or special, I rule out that it could ever be meaningful. That’s what I really want out of life: to experience deep meaning. To do things that have meaning and to mean something to people.

I just think I’ve had it all backwards. Let me articulate better for you. I struggle with the mundane tasks at my job. I mean, I truly have felt like my personality slowly approaches the slaughter house every time I open my email. So often, I have seen my work as insignificant because my co-workers don’t appreciate me the way I think I deserve to be esteemed or my boss doesn’t divert the meeting to announce five ways Natalie is indispensable at this company. That’s truly ridiculous to expect. And even after I say that, I still would really love that to be reality because simply put, I am motivated by recognition.

But it’s not reality. That is a daydream. It is however, my opportune moment to begin day-doing. One of the best things to ever come across my Pinterest feed was a quote that said, “If you don’t like where you are, move. You are not a tree.” I laugh because it’s very true and practical guidance. But I’d like to add an additional thought.

What if we were to see our disappointment in our circumstances as an open invitation to celebrate all that God is doing behind the scenes of our efforts?

What if I woke up every day and encouraged at least one person in my workplace by sending a two-minute email, praising them or thanking them for something positive they’ve done (See Shawn Achor’s book The Happiness Advantage, where he writes these very words)?

What if, in doing the small things, what was ordinary turned into a joyful experience? I think I spend too much time focusing on how to get out of my present circumstances and not enough time choosing gratitude for what they’ve provided. Beyond that, I may never, ever know the ways in which my work encouraged other people around me. If I’m more motivated by being recognized for what I do, then I’ve lost. I’ve totally missed the mark. I’ve daydreamed about the wrong the wrong dream.

But if I can wake up to the fact that I was given meaning and significance before I ever took a breath on this earth, I can not only get over the fact that my resumé didn’t land me a high-level corporate job, but I can ultimately get over myself.

This morning I was in the car with Hunter and between the two of us, we have big dreams. And they are awesome ambitions, and I think God honors people that dream because I know God wants the best for our lives.

But if we define success by achieving our goals the exact way we plan, success will always be a moving target. Hunter and I thought life would look vastly different than it looks to us right now, and we’d be lying if we said we haven’t felt a heavy amount of disappointment in the last three years.

He turned to me as he was driving and asked, “What if all that you are learning right now in this season is the very thing that is going to be what you need for the next chapter? What if you miss it and you’ll never know what God has for you right now because you’re thinking too hard about how you’re going to get where you want to be?”

I’m nowhere near arriving at the person I want to be, but I am awake to the fact that just like the seven dwarves can whistle while they work, I can daydream while I do. And even the smallest tasks, the most minuscule gestures can build our character on our way to who we were meant to be.

Take care & take heart,
Natalie

“When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the rock that is higher than I.” Psalm 61:2

Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe people when they tell me that things will get better.  Life can’t promise us that it will—and I also know that often times Jesus allows us to go through things or experience the absolute depth of a situation for our good.  I was listening to a podcast this week and out of the entire forty-five-minute segment, I came away with one line from the speaker: “Looking out of the windshield of life, the things that God allows may not make any sense, but undoubtedly they do reflecting in the rear view mirror.”

I’ve been reminded in the last thirty-six hours that all of my best efforts to fully understand my circumstances in the moment simply cannot compare to God’s sovereignty.  My thirty-minute drive to work yesterday took close to fifty-minutes because of the snow.  I drove under the speed limit, with two hands on the wheel, giving plenty of space between vehicles the entire twenty-three-mile stretch.  At my very last turn, braking five-hundred feet in advance and taking one of the slowest turns of my life, my car lost it’s grip on the unsalted, slippery surface and my driver’s side wheel slammed parallel into the median curb as I tried to maintain control.  

My thought is that even with taking the turn with all of the slowest and cautionary efforts, the slight decline in the pavement coming off of the main road gave my car more speed than I intended.  Within seconds, I had thankfully arrived at my final destination and could park my car. When I got out to assess the damage, my jaw dropped because I couldn’t find anything wrong with my car looking straight on.  I knew that the only thing that had hit the curb was my tire, but I expected the impact to have external, if not internal damage.  

While the car didn’t have to suffer through any external damage aside from a scuff on my hub cap, I could tell instantly driving my car home that there were internal issues.  I thought I knew stress, but that was before I drove down the highway for home going fifty-five with my flashers on and my steering wheel alignment looking like it’d gotten jammed at two o’clock.  It was quite the nerve-wracking and humbling experience.

To make this long-story shorter, I was able to get my car into a repair shop this morning.  My heart sank when they couldn’t find my scheduled appointment information in their system—until I saw my name on their calendar as “7:00AM – Natalie Tripe.”  At least they attempted to be detail-oriented and personable on my first visit. 

Two hours alone in a car repair waiting room with crappy coffee and faux leather chairs from Sam’s Club resulted in absolutely nothing being fixed on my car, just a $140 diagnostic assessment being run.  After giving the go-ahead to get my car restored back to it’s original condition it was in when I woke up yesterday morning, I was told it’d be ready by 5:00PM. 

Panic mode set in when I realized I didn’t have anyone to pick me up from the shop or bring me back when my car was done.  Hunter has a basketball game tonight and I think it would be bad taste to be tardy. Standing with my pregnant belly rubbing up next to the receptionist’s desk under bright fluorescent lights all while trying to recover from sticker shock and figure out how I was going to get home was one of those “low-point” moments as an adult.  

And while Hunter and I had wisely budgeted for situations like this, it unfortunately doesn’t provide any extra comfort.  Even when you’re prepared, you’re never really prepared.  Sure, we’re financially prepared.  But emotionally I don’t think I’ll ever be prepared to not have anyone that can come pick me up from the car repair shop when I need them to.  I wasn’t prepared to call my boss this morning and tell him that sorry, I don’t have a car or anyone that can take me work today.  On a day where I’m spending a significant amount of money, I unfortunately won’t be able to work for a fraction of that repair bill today. 

It’s just me and Hunter. We do all that we can to be there for each other and to make life work when things like this happen, but I can’t help wishing that our support group extended a little past the two of us.  I miss the comforts of home, having parents nearby, a church home where we’re known by name and that actually feels like home, rather than a hotel that we check in and out of every Sunday.  There are a lot of days where I wonder if we made the right choice by coming to Wisconsin.

I should be earning a paycheck right now, but instead I’m here, writing this and trying not to feel guilty about bringing a little guy into the world’s smallest community of people. Baby Price, welcome to your new home– population: just your mom and dad.  And while I know that is way over-dramatic of a statement and he’ll be dearly loved by our family and get lots of visitors, our little world feels very small right now. I walk past our guest room every day wishing it was used more often or that our calendar looked a little fuller with social events.

But if I’m being incredibly real with you, sometimes experiencing so much silence this season has made me terrified to get invited to social events.  Or nervous to have people interested in us.  Quite the hypocritical comment, right?  What I’m trying to say is, I have stirred up this belief that maybe I’m not worth getting to know and so if or when I get invited to be apart of something, there are a few things that may occur.  

One, I could set incredible pressure on myself to perform, to hopefully connect with someone who would want to be my friend.  Friendship ain’t about any kind of performance so let’s try again.  Two, I legitimately may not be able to attend. Basketball season with my husband and the health of my baby boy are always going to come first because they will always be my constants.  I’m learning with pregnancy that it’s also really important to take care of yourself and this crazy lady can get real out of whack.  And third, I have a tendency to set unrealistic expectations on people. That is seriously a whole different issue for an entirely different post, but I’ll trust you can guess at what I mean. 

Before my panic mode could set in at Silver Lake Auto, the angel of a receptionist offered their complimentary concierge service to me so I could not only get home, but picked up so that I could come get my car.  I may have been the first person they had ever seen cry out of joy in the middle of their lobby after being told their bill was their entire two-week paycheck.  So no, my current season of life doesn’t feel or seem very ideal, but yes, God is providing for all of my needs as they occur. 

I wasn’t lying when I said it is hard for me to believe people when they say that things will get better, because I’m not sure what’s better than absolutely needing Jesus like the Israelites needed manna.  To be honest, there’s no place I’d rather be.  My dad has often said that he’d rather be alone with Jesus than in a crowded room without him.  My prayer as I wait for five o’clock to roll around is that I can continue to want the character building moments in this life more than I want the crowded room.  

What I love about God’s provision is that when we acknowledge him, he always provides for us. Just like the Israelites, I too have asked for manna to get me through the day.  There is an album that has been that for me during this season.  I won’t lie to you, I clicked on the link to this album because it said “The Belonging Co” and as someone who’s biggest desire is to always belong, this spoke to me.  The album title is called “All the Earth” and some of my favorites for moments like these have been: 

• Peace Be Still feat. Lauren Daigle
• Beautiful Story feat. Mia Fieldes
• You’re Not Finished Yet feat. Maggie Reed
• Hunger + Thirst feat. Henry Seeley

Many of you know how much I connect with Louie Giglio’s communication style.  He’s absolutely right when he proclaims that faithfulness always wins in the end.  It so does. Looking out of your windshield today, you may be a lot like me wondering what’s going on and why you.  The auto repair shop did legitimately tell me that my windshield wipers were streaky but I know spiritually they can easily get the exact same way.  Maybe today you need to be reminded not to quit.  Don’t stop fighting for integrity in your life.  

It’s so easy to let our minds get out of tune and believe that we are the victim in our less than ideal situations.  I tend to volunteer to be the victim because it’s been a role I’ve actually enjoyed playing. It’s easier to be the casualty from that situation than to choose to have character.  Character takes mental and spiritual sweat and sometimes I don’t want to have to re-do my make-up after, if you get what I’m saying. 

But if anybody can tell you that you put a stop to being the victim when you choose to let all that Jesus has done for you define you rather than all of your failed efforts at perfection, it’s me.  People of character respond to life’s adversities out of fortitude, steadfastness, and grit and not out of complacency, bitterness, or low self-worth. Faithfulness always wins in the end. 

Take care & take heart,

Natalie

Originally written January 2018

I have a feeling as I sit at my kitchen counter to write out my thoughts tonight that they are not going to come out super polished or pretty. As I’ve thought about writing what’s on my heart as of late, I’ve continued to push it off because all I have going on in my head is a legitimate whirlwind, squirrel moment-esque, giant potpourri bowl of thoughts.  And I’m not even sure they smell all that pleasant. 

I normally am able to find some sort of silver lining in whatever I’m going through as I write out my thoughts.  I fear that for some of these thoughts, I won’t arrive at any answers and I hope that isn’t a let down. No one wants a negative Natalie.  But I did kind of say a while ago that I’m learning to be okay with not being okay. 

Nevertheless, the external processor in me has mentally internalized long enough.  Maybe the New Year has me subconsciously reflecting on my 2017.  Maybe you can chalk it up to pregnancy hormones. Or, the weather might actually work towards valid reasoning here.  What I’m trying to say is, my perception may not be reality and I am highly aware of that.  But if you want, you are invited to join me in “whatever this is that I’m trying to say” feels like. 

It’s My Pleasure

Shall we talk about chicken? The restaurant that I work at was the first free-standing restaurant for our company in the state of Wisconsin. There are now 8 locations across the state that have come to be in the last three years, but even still, chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is like a super new thing up here.  I hear “Chick-uh-fill-ahh” and “Can I try your Chipotle sauce?” on the regular.  So you could say that I am in the business of guest education in a state that is dominated by Culver’s and Canadian accents. 

It would take me quite a bit of time to fully explain what I do, because essentially the role that I fill was made up.  I literally came up with my job title, Executive Coordinator (which is legit if you google it.  Accurate, too.) and most of my responsibilities have been things I’ve accumulated along the way.  Most of what I do is stuff that you’d never know or never see as a guest because I assist people like our operational managers or our owner/operator, but I also help with serving food every day, too.

You know that game called Never Have I Ever?  If 23-year-old Natalie would have been asked a question about dreaming of a career in fast-food, I would have never-have-I-ever’ed that so hard.  But here’s what I’ve learned.  I thought doing hair was challenging.  Serving chicken can certainly hold its own candle to that.  Part of my job is to respond to guest complaints, not just in store when they happen. I’m the lucky one who gets to call the people that write to corporate with an incident or post nasty reviews to our Facebook page.  Remember, our little chicken chain is super new to Wisconsin.  So to the lady from the drive-thru calling back because she didn’t get her “Tahitian sauce” and had to put her own mayo on her “burger” and oh yes, was ticked that her fries were weirdly shaped like some sort of a net or grid—it’s okay.  You will figure us out eventually.  But sure, we’ll replace your entire meal for you and your family because you are convinced that the lemon seed you found in your hand-squeezed lemonade was in fact an intentional act from us to give you food poisoning.  Thank goodness you are now miraculously healed! 

So that wears over time. Thankfully I also have positive experiences with super pleasant guests who really did have a bad experience that we need to absolutely recover and that always helps balance the scales. But lately, as I drive thirty-five minutes back to my apartment I just find myself asking the question, “What am I doing?” 

For the record, I assist some really great people.  But off of the record, I struggle with being content with my job status and wanting recognition for the things I do that I feel like no one sees or finds value in and I definitely ask myself if what I do really matters.  And listen, I know that I could Esther the living daylights out my situation and “for such a time as this” myself into thinking otherwise. But for whatever reason I feel like I’m supposed to just sit in this mess for a while.  Find a way to not just see the silver lining, but believe it and own it and live it out. 

The raw truth is that I’m just not there yet.  I fully understand that my lackluster feelings is way more about how I’m tuning my heart to see God’s grace over my life and a whole lot less about what assignments land on my desk every morning.  So here is my first step to getting over myself: My name is Natalie and I sell chicken for a living.  I don’t have a high-end corporate job.  I receive hourly pay and clock in and out just like the high schoolers that I help hire onto our team.  I come home smelling like a poultry farm.  Hi.  Will this be for dine-in or carry-out? 

Motherhood.

There’s a word I am in the process of embracing.  I have been pretty quiet from a social media front on this one.  Part of me never wants to be flashy about it, knowing that some friends haven’t been able to experience this, or they’ve experienced a miscarriage, or they’re not even married yet.  Maybe they’re just newlyweds and the thought of kids is so far removed from their mind, they can’t relate. 

But if I’m allowed to share, I am overwhelmed with all of the feelings.  The excitement, the nervousness of not knowing what we’re doing the first time around, the planning process, the fun in picking out clothes and things for the registry.  I am honestly grossed out about a lot of the stuff that comes with a baby like the whole breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and snacks in between thing that I will physically be responsible for, what happens to your body after you essentially push a bowling ball through a straw, the whole “try not to poop when you push” recommendation I keep hearing about and oh, be sure you stock up on like a lot of Depends for after birth—LIKE WHAT?!?! I need to get off of the internet like yesterday. 

But even with all of those “pack this, not that in your hospital bag” type blogs and pregnancy Pinterest posts I read when I can’t sleep at night that quite frankly freak me out, I am truly loving that this baby is a part of my life.  It’s also quite underwhelming with how few of people I feel like I can share that with at times.  Maybe that’s on me—I am of course, the over-thinker. 

Not to continue to be Johnny Raincloud tonight, but here’s the depressing truth.  Last New Year’s Eve, Hunter and I sat on on our couch, bored and sad that everyone but us was racking up a bazillion likes on their party posts.  And I remember in trying to find the positive, we said that next year would be the year that we too, would be out with friends.  We’d be the ones with Instagram stories and the glasses that said 2018 over the eyes.  But we weren’t.  We sat on the couch and essentially relived Groundhog Day from the year before. Except this time there were three of us. 

And while it’s easy to attend social events and be around people, it’s a lot harder to make friends. Real friends.  People you can do life with and share your heart with and double date with.  It’s even more challenging to find people that are going through the same life events as you are or that can at least try to put themselves in your shoes and share in the excitement.  I will sprinkle this with the fact we have no family remotely close.  So we can’t even be the cool kind of lame people that hang out with their parents or siblings to cover up their lack of other kinds of friends. In a lot of ways, in the last year and a half of living here, we have felt orphaned and we wonder if our old friends still remember us or miss us.  Social media has a way with leading us to believe that’s a solid no. 

With that being said, I am extra, extra thankful tonight that I married my best friend.  Most of the time, we have figured out a way to be content on Friday nights when we come home from work just to watch The Office and drink hot chocolate together.  I would still argue I’m living my best life being married to someone as intellectually deep, as ambitious, driven, and as side-stitching hilarious as Hunter Price.  So feel free to put your umbrellas away now.

Out of all of the moments and thoughts that have consumed me in the last few weeks as I’ve been reflecting on 2017, Christmas Eve has taken up most of my time.  As I sat shoulder to shoulder with family back home at the Cherry Hills service, I had such a moment with Jesus that I’m not sure I will ever be able to forget.  As Scripture was being read about Mary and the message that Gabriel gave to her, that she would give birth to a son and that he would be Emmanuel, God with us, I felt the silent kicks of my own son as I listened.  And for the first time in my entire life, I finally understood just how deep Mary treasured up God’s gift to her in her own heart.  

I’m not sure if I could ever sing Silent Night with the same kind of reverence that I had on that night. The candle that I held felt extra bright as I resonated with Mary and the gift that she beheld.  On Christmas Day, the 25th, as I turned 25 years old at 25 weeks pregnant, that’s what I spent time thinking about over everything else. That in part to Mary’s faithfulness, I have received this everlasting relationship with Jesus that carries on long after Christmas is over.  I have never been more grateful that he can completely make sense out of and identify with my potpourri of thoughts.  He totally gets what it’s like to be forgotten by friends.  Or to feel overlooked, unrecognized, and uninvited. 

I think the place that I’m trying to get myself to here is that I want to continue to tune my heart to what matters and most of all, to who matters.  I’m not super sure how to close out an open-ended thought, so here is my best effort:

There is a lot of life left to live in 2018 and I promise that if I ever get into Johnny Raincloud mode again, I’ll at least share the silver lining with you.  

Take care & take heart,

Natalie

Originally written January 2018