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You probably hate my bangs now.
And the new health nut I've become.
The late hours I work,
The amount of coffee I still over-drink,
The amount of money I still over-spend.
That I'm working three jobs again,
And that there's still things I regret.

I hate how much I still bring you up.
How much I check in on you,
How I still want to be just friends.
How I can't watch Les Mis.
How it took me so long to not feel like a monster,
For breaking your tender heart.

I hate that my password still has your name in it.
That I gave back your oversized sweatshirt.
That memories we had are still vivid pictures in my mind.
The pieces of myself I gave to you,
the alleys of my history I let you walk down.
I know I would do it all over again -
just to learn the things I learned.
I just wish it didn't hurt you so much.
That those songs on the radio didn't remind me of you.
I wish that I didn't hurt...

but then I would have learned nothing at all.

In Love...With Coffee Shops

There's something so romantic about a coffee shop.  It attracts people of all kinds.  It welcomes them in with the bittersweet aroma of espresso, promises them a peaceful seat, and provides them with free wifi.  At any given coffee shop at any given time, you can spot the elderly gentleman reading the paper, a young student frantically cramming for a pending final, a middle-aged intellectual putting the finishing touches on his novel, and a wayward twenty-something inspired to write a post on her darling and continuously neglected little blog.  The sounds will always be the same, the screeching of steamed milk, the low hum of chit chat, and someone's really loud great aunt catching up her friends on the latest family gossip.  There's the first-daters, nervously playing with their now empty coffee cups.  The couple meeting after work, she's greeted with a kiss as he grabs his usual drink she has waiting.  The random out-of-towner with a British accent, and the awkward gamer in the corner, glued to his computer.  

Perhaps they're romanticized because every coffee shop makes us think of that overstuffed couch that Ross and Rachel flirted on, or that Starbucks where Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks ordered their coffee in passing, or Luke's Diner where Lorelai banters as Luke fills her with yet, another giant mug of coffee. 

Maybe we're obsessed because of the people we've met in them.  Friends from high school, mentors, potential bosses - people that have shaped our past and who matter in our future.  Perhaps it's the delicacies guaranteed inside.  The familiarity of a piping hot latte paired with a cinnamon spice scone that almost speaks to you.  Or the music - the soft jazzy and relaxing tracks that dance around the room and get stuck in your head.

What the romantic draw to these establishments is, we may never know...but this I can tell you: If you ever get the chance to go to Moravia, Costa Rica - there's a hidden little cafe at the back of a bookstore there.  If you sit outside, it feels like you're sitting next to a rainforest, and their pastries are delicious.  In Traverse City, MI there's a coffee shop next to an old insane asylum called Higher Grounds.  They roast their own beans, and a batista there can do the best latte art.  In Cedarville, OH there are two rival coffee shops.  Stoney Creek Roasters has the best coffee, a fire place, and you'll always run into someone you know.  Beans n Cream has been around forever, and they have an upstairs where you go if you need to hide in a small, small town.  Go to Stoney Creek if you're in a hurry - Beans n Cream to take your time.  In Grand Rapids, MI Bitter End is open 24-7 and has some of the best people-watching and parking in the city.  It's usually where you find yourself surrounded by some of your favorite people.  And, finally, when you find yourself in the quaint little town of Mattawan, MI - Java Joint has a chocolate pastry thing that gets me every time and you can never go wrong with a blended mocha.  Just down the road, Nadean's Coffee Shop boasts one crazy owner for sure, and she was the first person to put cinnamon syrup in my Americano, which changed my life.  You have to have her scones warmed, and you can call your order ahead...if you ever happen to be running a little late...

Wishing you a much love with a coffee shop,

A cafe-sitting, coffee-drinking, completely smitten with coffee shops everywhere little darling  

I'm a Tomato

I meandered into the grocery the other day in search of just the skeletal necessities (or those that I could afford).  As I wandered through the produce in search of the tomatoes, I noticed a lone, ripe one and it cried out to me.  It said, “Pick me, Pick me! I am ready for you to add to a meal!  I will bring flavor and variety!  You will be pleasantly surprised...Promise.”  So I bought it.

I bought it because that tomato is ME.  I am a recently (ish) graduate with menial experience, but a mother load of enthusiasm.  I have so much to offer - creativity, dedication, positivity, teachability, smarts, time, and the list goes on.  But I’m crying out in a sea of other tomatoes, and I’m not being heard.  Other tomatoes have been chosen long before me, or are getting chosen all around me, and here, alone, I sit.  If given the chance, I could add that flavor and variety to a company, organization, church, or anyone that will have me...but no one has yet plopped me on one of those thin plastic bags with a twistie tie and thrown me in their cart.  Sure, they’ve picked me up, examined me, given me a little squeeze and then promptly replaced me back onto that ever-filling shelf with the rest of my kind.

These days, I’ve applied to countless jobs, had a few interviews, enjoyed some serious pool and beach time, and drove myself to the brink of crazy refreshing my email (literally every five minutes) to hear back from employers who I’m just dying to work for.  So today, I made up my mind.  I was going to get up and get out.  

Sometimes doing nothing is the most taxing thing in the world.  You can’t sleep at night because you haven’t been engaged throughout the day.  Putting on clothes, doing your hair, even brushing your teeth takes about as much effort as running a marathon (a smig of a hyperbole, I realize).  But today I woke up after a terrible night sleep, bade my roommates goodbye, and came to a coffee shop.  I got an Americano and started planning a road trip I’ve been dreaming of that I can’t currently afford.  I perused yummy cookbooks and little nick nacks (that I surprisingly talked myself out of), and I didn’t check my email for a whole hour.   

My hope is that by the end of this post, I will actually have several emails pleading, literally begging me to come use my gifts and talents to enhance their institution because they clearly can’t live without my caliber.  But in reality, as I sit here sipping my now lukewarm espresso and eavesdropping on the loud old ladies next to me, I am still an unemployed, single, twenty-something.  Just a girl with big dreams and a big God.  

Thank goodness that fact is constant.  No matter if I end up (still) penniless or in the arms of a bazilionare, my dreams are big, and my God is bigger.  

Xxoo

From a still optimistic, forever searching, city living little Darling.  Off to go buy more tomatoes.

Writer's Block

Some people love writing.  I'm not just talking about the occasional note sender or sporadic diary keeper, but those whose hands crave the feeling of the keys gliding along their finger tips as words begin to make magic across a page.  I'm talking about the ones who see beauty, experience greatness, capture an emotion, and yearn to do nothing more than to document it on paper.  Perhaps words come easily to you, or perhaps you're an appreciator of the words of others.  Whoever you are, I'm glad you're here.  

I love to write, I always have.  Since the 7th grade when I was given the opportunity to write a story about anything, my imagination has been overwhelmed with the endless possibilities.  Although my scribbles may not be the most eloquent to read, they are mine.  They are an expression of me, and I will always claim them.

For those of you writers, you will understand the term "writer's block".  And although some may not understand it, it is, my friends, a very serious thing.  I don't know if you've ever experienced a place in life where your spirit was squelched, where you were simply going through the motions, forgetting what sets your soul on fire? Where the essence of your daily routine didn't match your wayward dreams? 

I was there, and I didn't even know it.  Life had turned into a series of menial plans upon plans and ceaseless duties that demanded nothing but my time and meager effort.  My creativity, my love for people, my passion for new things and places and challenges was drowned in the mundane.  I was not being stretched, challenged, grown...and I wasn't writing.

In May I was thrust into a different routine.  The bar was set high for me to perform.  I was overwhelmed, in the best way.  Suddenly, a lot depended on me.  Suddenly, I was surrounded by a slew of unique people who dreamed big.  Suddenly, I began to dream again.

Yesterday, I felt it.  My finger tips tingled just a little.  I captured it, my lost desire, buried under the simplicity I had dumped upon it.  I started to crave a blinking courser and a blank page that required nothing more than my creativity to fill it.  I needed to write.

So, after a long hiatus, I am back.  I am ready to write.  I am embarking on adventure.  I am dreaming big...and I am writing it all down. 

From a grinning, coffee-filled, dreaming Darling.  

Perfection Through Weakness

Here's what I know...

-After four years of dorm/apartment life, and three months of living in another country...I'm now living at home...with my parents.

-After four and a half years of hair pulling work to obtain my degree in Middle Childhood Education, I've finally concluded that teaching...is not for me.
 

-After collecting info and crunching the numbers, I have more college debt than I anticipated...and I start paying in June.

 

Add that to the fact that I'm not entirely sure what I want to do, besides move to Miami Beach, I've suddenly became a smidgen stressed. It seems that after four years of loving the independence and endless opportunities of college life, and my latest experience on my own in Costa Rica, I have had a serious set back. Suddenly, I'm sitting alone in my freezing, jam-packed room, with a part time (what my dad refers to as “fake”) mall job, debt up to my eyeballs, and what feels like ceaseless pressure from all sides to “figure things out.”
 

I'm stuck.
 

Most of the time, when we're stuck, we look to others for encouragement. We need reassurance of “I've totally been there,” or “Everyone goes through this.” After several wise and reassuring words, we realize, although encouraged, we still lack the power to instantaneously change our current situation.
 

At this point – I have a verse I always turn to. Usually it's after I've tried to figure out and accomplish something completely on my own, failed completely, or have finally been humbled enough to admit defeat.  It's underlined and highlighted in my Bible, you know the ones.

2 Corinthians 12:9

“But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.”

It makes me want to scream, “I'm WEAK!” right here in my quaint little hometown coffee shop as I write this. Because, when I am weak, his power is perfect.
 

All this to say, I am learning to be content. I'm frustrated with always waiting for the next stage of life to begin. First we say, “I just want to finish High School” then, “Life will be so much better when I'm done with college” next, “I'll really be able to relax when I start my career” and of course, “When I get married, my life will be perfect” (which is maybe the most dangerous one of all).

So, these facts remain:

God always knew I would get my degree and not want to teach. He knew I would be living at home, with little direction and lots of dreams. He wanted me to go to Cedarville University, and he will help me pay it off. He knows I love working at Forever 21, and it's right now, and it's not fake (cough, dad). He makes me strong. He is my joy.

So to all you recently-graduated-working-a-fake-job-waiting-for-the-next-step-payments-pending-big dreamers reading this, I wish you contentment. Stop waiting for the adventure to begin...because it's already started.

Much Love,

 

From an adventure living, job hunting little darling

 

 

 

Burning Red

And that's when I knew. I was sitting on a sticky bus, on my way back from a weekend at the beach, and I wanted to cry. Everyone warned me “don't lead this boy on,” “protect your heart,” “don't make it serious.” But at that moment, as I stared out the fog-framed windows, I knew...it was too late.

His name was Hro. I had come to Costa Rica to do my Student Teaching and would be there a total of three months. A couple weeks in, on the way to a local concert, I saw him. I was in the car with my friend Maria Paula, waiting for some boys we were picking up. The first thing I saw was his shadow – broad and tall. I looked up as he was running his hand through his perfectly combed over hair, eyes sparking, laughing as he and his friend made their way to our car. We made eye contact through the window and I involuntarily stopped breathing.

As he walked around the front of the car, I caught my breath,

“Mari, who is that?”

“Hro...why?”
 

At that moment the car doors opened and the boys jumped in. As Mari introduced me, I flashed a smile at the adorable friend named Uribe, and then found myself unable to look away Hro's gaze.

“Hola.” He said with a rather shy smile.

“Hi.” I mustered, then I turned back around. Mortified.

_______________________________

So that is how we first met. I was warned against him, a few times. (Maria Paula, Maria, Mela...I wave my white flag of surrender). After the concert, he followed me on Instagram, left flirty comments, and floated to mind from time to time. It wasn't until one Sunday, standing alone, waiting for my ride after church, that someone tapped me on the shoulder. About a month after meeting him, he magically appeared before me. I was so excited to see him that I wrapped him in a huge hug. We stood there with sheepish smiles, and talked Spanglish for a moment before he had the audacity to ask for my number, which I gave to him, of course.

Later that week, while relaxing at home on a Thursday night, I invited him over to my host home. We had been trying to hang out all week, and it just so happened he was free the night I was making cookies (the key to any man's heart). We ate chocolate chips, showed each other pictures of our families, and shamelessly flirted the entire night. We spoke Spanglish, more Spanish than English, but somehow we understood each other perfectly. As I walked him out to his car and hugged him goodbye, we stood under the a perfectly full moon in the rich Costa Rican breeze, and suddenly I couldn't help myself. Maybe it's all those chick flicks, or maybe it's the hopeless romantic in me – irreguardless I looked up at him with my baby blues as the following words thoughtlessly poured from my mouth, “Hro, I feel like I want to kiss you.” To this day I am still amazing that at his rapid response as I motionlessly experienced the most electrifying kiss. Even now, as I reflect on it can't help but smile...it was perfect. He drove away, promised to text me, and I promptly walked inside and collapsed to the floor. What. Was. Happening.

The next week involved cuddle sessions, dates for ice cream and pizza, a late night tour of the city on his moto (don't tell Dr. Brittan!) and precious texts that I woke up to every morning. To say I was swept off my feet is an understatement. During my week vacation from school, I left for a short adventure with my gringa friend, Kat. We had a wonderfully amazing and hilarious time, but I'll admit I was restless to get back to a certain Tico who had remained in the back of my mind. On our bus ride back, I texted him something to the extent of, “There's a certain gringa excited to see a certain Tico very soon.” And he immediately replied, “A gringa who holds the heart of this Tico.” Ok, as I write it sounds cheesy, but in that moment a profound butterfly-like sensation made it's way from my heart to my toes. Subconsciously, I reached for my ipod and journal. After putting Taylor Swift's “Red” on repeat, I scribbled the excerpt you read above. It was then that I began to feel something more than “like” towards this romantical young man.

The next weeks were much of the perfect same. He as a gentleman – he would walk on the side of the street with the cars, insist on paying for everything, and held my hand...fingers intertwined. He took me to his house, introduced me to his family, and always texted me goodnight. His last adorable moments were the night before my last day of school. I was making cookies and notes for my students and he came over just to hang. We played tic-tac-toe, doodled tattoos we'll never get, and each wrote the each other a note, which I still have (but may end up throwing it in Cedar Lake – for those of you who know that story, I'm laughing with you. If you've never heard it, ask me sometime, you won't be sorry :).

My last weekend there, he wanted to go to the beach for a day. We planned it weeks in advance, and I was beyond excited. The day, however, ended with me sitting on a bus, deciding that I'm not in love with this Prince Charming after all. I'm thinking there may be another girl (or two), or maybe he became blatantly bi-polar overnight, but that day, everything was different. He wasn't excited to see me, he didn't hold my hand, he didn't make me laugh like he always did...and the sparkle in his eyes was gone. When I asked him what was wrong, he told me he was just sick and tired. That was true, but the end fact was: he wasn't there. Even though he was right beside me all day, he was long gone. (This is the part where I had “I Knew You Were Trouble.” on repeat if that last line sounds familiar.) So it was there, on hot an sticky bus ride, equal to the one I took only a short month before, that I pulled back my heartstrings...one by one.

Although I was warned (several times) about getting heartbroken, I don't think that's what I am. I think my heart, ironically, is wiser than ever. Hro taught me so much: he gave me a glimpse of what a relationship looks like, set a standard of how I deserve to be treated, and confirmed that this little darling seriously isn't ready for anything serious. I have Taylor to thank for writing songs about me and my heart, that I still can't stop listening to.  More importantly, however, I am grateful to my Savior, because He knew I needed a little Hro in my life. For one month, for the first time in my life, I needed to be treated like a Princess. I needed to add a million bullet points to my “Liem John Gilmore III” list (what I named my future husband – God bless him). I needed to realize, again, that above all I am HIS Princess, and I am fine china.

I needed a taste of what's to come, and to surrender (again) to HIS perfect timing.

In closing,

“Loosing him was blue like I've never known

Missing him is dark gray all alone

Forgetting him is like trying to know somebody you've never met...

But loving him was red. Burning Red.”

-Taylor Swift Red

Xxoo,

From a not-heartbroken, optimistic, memories-filled, expectations heightened, stronger little darling

p.s. Hro, if you're reading this (or more likely if Uribe is translating it for you) just know that you're lucky you're out of range of my daddy's shot gun...but word on the street is he's building a missile. Watch. Yo. Back.

 

 

Adios, Miss. Britt!

As I sit down to write one of, if not my last, blog from Costa Rica – even here at my little cafe, with a grande latte, this. is. hard.
 

This one's about my school. Over the past three months I've been a Student Teacher in Mr. Valverde's 5^th grade class at International Christian School in Heredia, Costa Rica...with a bunch of rambunctious little munchkins. I could fill pages and pages of things they've taught me, ways they've made me laugh, and how they've loved on me. But, I think all I need to do to demonstrate this is recall the events of last Friday, my last day at school.
 

There was a blanket of sadness throughout the day as the students and I knowingly exchanged “the glance” that meant: “I can't believe you're leaving us” and “I'm so sorry I have to go.” The day before my teacher sent an email letting parents know that today would be my last, and I wrote a small paragraph thanking them for each of their children. Shockingly, this translated into the idea that we needed food, and lots of it. For, while exchanging sad glances, students and parents kept bringing in snacks and goodies that eventually accumulated into an entire feast.

 

That day, we ate fresh Chinese, chips, cookies, candy, ice cream, cake, brownies, and a whole slew of other things that made these fifth grade kittens jittery with sugar, all in my honor. It was incredible the way the parents had, in the past 24 hours, rallied together to create such an amazing celebration of my time spent there. After lunch, we all ran back to the room, where I assumed the impossible task of settling the kids down for lessons would begin. Instead, my teacher opened the closet in the front of the room, and one by one the students went up to the hiding place, grabbed their gift for me, and proudly presented it to my shocked self. Before I knew it, my desk was a mountain of coffee (of course), chocolate, flowers, hand-written cards, and other gifts, along with a blown up picture of all of us, that they had each signed. I. Was. Stunned.
 

As the day ended, I left them each with their own little note to remember me by – filled with a memory or two and the promise to never forget them. Well, that's what did it, and from them on came the waterworks. They all hugged and kissed me (even the boys, which never happens!) and promised to email/Facebook often.
 

As I sat down to collect my gifts, still in shock at the accumulation of them, my teacher asked me to run and give a message to someone in the teacher's lounge. I promptly went on my merry way, and entered to find balloons, signs, coffee, and more food. Thinking I was interrupting something important, I uttered, “excuse me...” and they all cheered, “Yay! She's here!” I stood there like an idiot and asked, “Wait, is this for me?” They all laughed and nodded. We ate more food, drank more coffee, and they said the most precious things while trying to convince me to return. It was wonderful.
 

To my (almost always) precious students: Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for making me laugh every day. Thank you for welcoming me to Costa Rica. Thank you for trying my patience, because it made me stronger =) Thank you for your love - I will never forget you!
 

To the staff/teachers at ICS: Words can't even describe my thanks to you. In these past three months you have made me feel so special – beyond what I deserve, and I can't thank God enough for each of you! You all hold a special place in my heart. Thank you for helping me get through each school day with laughs, coffee, and a break from the little humans. I will never forget your kindness. Until we meet again <3

I'll Be Seeing You,

From a little darling who's leaving a little piece of her heart in Costa Rica.

Xxoo