145,254 steps: Pacific Northwest adventures.

We spent May 19-29 on the West Coast, first celebrating a family wedding (congrats, Signe + Drew!) and then heading out on our own adventure by the Pacific. Here's what we got up to, and some places we'd suggest for folks heading out that way (though there are many more that we didn't get to this time around!).

May 19-23: Portland, Oregon

We first visited Portlandia in the summer of 2013, so already had a sense of how cool this city is. It was fun to go back to what we consider "old haunts," because we'd been there one time before. But when you're on the opposite coast, it's cool to think of anything as familiar. Some of those "old" favorites: Kell's Irish Pub (and my first of many delicious meals of fish n' chips in ten days), Deschutes Brewery (I don't know how many times we've recalled their home-brewed ginger ale in the last three years, and I sucked down two and a half glasses of it), Voodoo Doughnut (duh), the Oregon Zoo, and Powell's City of Books (just block off a whole day for it. Because it's a whole city block). And we never go out to movies at home, but both times we've been in Portland, we've gone to a movie at Regal Fox Tower (last time Star Trek, this time Keanu), a theater in the heart of downtown PDX. 

Of course, there was plenty of time to explore new spots around town. We checked out Salt and Straw for ice cream, which is in a neat food court type place (minus the generic-ness of a mall) called Pine Street Market, where we also grabbed pizza on our first night. When we split up for pre-wedding festivities, we girls dined at La Provence in Beaverton (delicieux!) while the guys headed to Killer Burger. The gals also had a fun night out at Darcelle XV to see a drag show--singing along with everything from Broadway to Britney Spears to Cher, and cheering some epic dance moves. 

We also got more of a chance to explore Portland's waterfront on the Willamette River this time around, and even got to stay at the Waterfront Marriott for a couple of nights. We walked by the river early on Saturday morning, and were surrounded on all sides by what felt like HUNDREDS of joggers, all with multiple water bottles strapped to their sides. Hardcore, y'all.

It would be hard to beat those views on a regular day, but we had no idea what was coming next.

May 23-25: Cannon Beach, Oregon

Sean's folks, a.k.a. my awesome in-laws, discovered this gem of a seaside village a couple of years ago on a trip out to Oregon, and shared the beauty with us this time around. The hard-to-believe thing (at least to me) is that Cannon Beach is only about an hour and a half from Portland, so it takes nothing to get there, and yet they are different worlds. Cannon Beach is home to Haystack Rock, a 235-foot monolith known as a "sea stack." Wikipedia says it was formed by lava flows around 16 million years ago, which absolutely blows my mind, whether or not it's completely accurate. (Also apparently it was featured in The Goonies, which I wouldn't know because I was an unintentionally deprived child, I know, don't yell at me.)

In our 48 hours there, we walked this view as much as possible. 

And the town itself was just lovely. I could have stayed there longer than two days. Some of our favorite places: Cannon Beach Book Company, Crepe Neptune, Pelican Pub & Brewery, Ecola Seafood Restaurant & Market, Schwietert's Cones & Candy, and Lazy Susan Cafe.

We stayed at the Cannon Beach Hotel, which offered a yummy breakfast in the mornings, chocolate chip cookies in the afternoons, hot tea at all hours, and--maybe my favorite out of all of these--a non-stop jazzy French soundtrack that made me feel like I was in Something's Gotta Give or Midnight in Paris. Such a marvelous touch.

And the sunsets. Y'all. The sunsets. We stayed outside for nearly two hours both nights, wind brushing cold in our faces, walking and watching the sun dip closer and closer to the waves.

On our second day based in Cannon Beach, we drove a few miles down the coast to Hug Point State Park. I pretty much have to let the photos speak for themselves here. Truly.

We stopped at this overlook on the way back from Hug Point. I could have perched here all day long. (This was the day we walked the most-- 22,000 steps, around 10 miles, so it was nice to rest a bit!)

May 25-27: Lake Quinault, Washington

Our 3.5 hour drive from Cannon Beach into Olympic National Forest was a real landscape shift. The weather changed, too. We drove from Oregon into Washington, from coast into forest, from sun into cloud, from blue into green. It took a little adjustment (at least for me), but once we were settled at Lake Quinault Lodge and got exploring, we knew we were in another place that is gorgeous in its own right. We immediately went to visit the world's largest Sitka Spruce tree, and the next day did some hiking around Lake Quinault.

Yet again, we'd found a really neat place to stay. Lake Quinault Lodge has been around since 1926 (and there was even one before that, but it burned down). When FDR stayed there in 1937, it spurred his decision to create the national park system. (Leslie Knope would be freaking out.) My favorite part was the lodge's Roosevelt Room Restaurant, where we ate dinner one night and breakfast both mornings. The view of the lake was so peaceful, and the largest number of hummingbirds I've ever seen were always flitting around feeders right outside the window. Not to mention that the food was delicious!

Even while we were in the forest, we couldn't quite get the coast out of our minds, so we drove the thirty minutes to Kalaloch Lodge for lunch, right on the Pacific. It was windy, cold, and gray -- but still beautiful!

Lake Quinault itself gave us multiple moods while we were there, and it was fun to see the sky over the water at dusk and in the morning. For our second dinner, we drove a couple of miles up the road to the Salmon House Restaurant, where we partook of sumptuous (you guessed it) salmon (Sean had garlic on his, I had dill cream sauce), green beans, rice, baked potato, and tuxedo cake for dessert. 

May 27-29: The Pacific Coast, Hoh Rainforest, Seattle

On Friday morning, we got up early and drove the route you see below--stopping at Ruby Beach on the coast (also pictured below), the Hoh Rainforest, Port Angeles for lunch (Cafe Garden--really good spot!), and then we took the Bainbridge Island ferry over to lovely Seattle.

In Seattle, we stayed at the Palladian Hotel downtown, which we really enjoyed. Let's just say it's not your typical Marriott or Holiday Inn. It's very modern (see: the "Sir" George Lucas pillow that greeted us on the bed, similar to "royal" portraits of Seattle greats Dave Matthews, Jimi Hendrix, Bill Gates, and Kelsey Grammer/Frasier Crane hanging in the lobby) and yet old-fashioned looking at the same time. (It was also sustainable--we had to slide a card into a designated place on the wall in order for our room lights to turn on.) Our favorite thing was probably the incredibly comfortable king-sized bed, which had to be some kind of memory foam mattress that we wanted to take back on the plane with us (unfortunately, that was a no).

We had the pleasure of eating a home-cooked meal with our good friend Sarah and her boyfriend on our first night in Seattle; oh, the joys of a cozy home and a non-restaurant meal! You start to miss that after ten days on the road. Not to mention talking and laughing for hours with friends. On Saturday morning, we slept in and then walked a couple of blocks over to Biscuit Bitch, which is clearly well-known because it took us about an hour to get our orders (Sean got the Bitchwitch Sandwich (egg, cheese, and sausage) and I got the Royal Canadian Bitch (maple peanut butter and banana). In the meantime, the people watching was pretty great, they had an epic hip-hop soundtrack, and I drank a delicious Seattle Fog.

After breakfast, we headed down one of the steepest hills I have ever walked (featured in Sleepless in Seattle, I believe) two blocks to Pike Place Market. I had last been in seventh grade, and back then I didn't realize what a maze the market is. Up and down stairs, on the Sound side and on the street side, every which way, there were booths and restaurants and crowds. We had fun wandering around (though I was again grateful for the countless time that my husband has a keen sense of direction) and exploring, and we wound up eating our last Pacific Northwest lunch at Lowell's, with a (not surprisingly) great view of Puget Sound. My last fish n' chips was great, too!  

It was cold and rainy, so after our Pike Place adventure, and after purchasing fresh berries from the farmer's market and cookies from Three Girls Bakery, we headed back to our cozy hotel room and unashamedly served our introverted selves by staying in bed for the rest of the day watching movies (The Intern -- not bad!) and Game 6 of the Western Conference finals, and eating cookies and berries for dinner. We had to leave for the airport at 3:30 a.m., so there was no guilt in lying around for fifteen hours, something we'd done precious little this trip (with good reason!). 

When we got home, I calculated it all up with help from my FitBit: in ten days, we walked 145,254 steps, or 63.45 miles. What a fantastic and memorable adventure exploring just some of the West Coast and its wild beauty. We'll be back!  

P.S. I took lots of these photos, but Sean took just as many (and most of the wonderful panoramas). He got his photographer dad's eye!

The internship that changed everything.

So I went on vacation and have had a blog post about that on hold for several days, just getting back in the groove and honestly enjoying not having anything that must get done at any particular time. That's what can happen on a vacation, especially a long one-- you realize you can do without anything that's not in this suitcase, this hotel room, this time zone, and that starts to feel normal, and you feel simplicity in a way you haven't felt in awhile. And then you come back to the house full of stuff, the fridge needs restocking, the bills need paying, the weeds need pulling, and oh yes, you need to go back to work. So many things crowd back into your brain at once that you want a vacation from your vacation.

Anyway, that's for another post, and the bottom line is that we're home again. Which is also good in its own way. And I've been thinking this week about an anniversary--how, seven years ago, my dad and I drove up to Richmond, Virginia, where I would be doing an internship at Ginter Park Presbyterian Church before my senior year of college. When I accepted the opportunity, I had never spent a summer away from home. I always loved being at home for those prolonged breaks, be it in high school or college. But I had also spent a semester abroad during my previous school year, which I think prepared me to finally leave my family for a long summer stint. 

This was in a time when I was discerning whether or not ordained ministry was a path I wanted to walk down after college. Funnily enough, it was something that I'd hardly considered before this internship, even though I have been involved in church and religious life since I was a child. In this internship at this small PC(USA) church sandwiched between one of Richmond's historic neighborhoods (Ginter Park) and one of its most poverty-stricken (Chamberlayne Avenue), I would be shadowing the church's only pastor. It was daunting, but as soon as I went to the church's website, read more about its values, and more about Carla, then I knew I was going to a good place.

That summer, I learned to navigate an entirely new city for the first time on my own. I pumped my own gas for the first time (yeah, yeah -- I got my license late and didn't have a car in college), took a train up to DC, made a day-trip to visit a friend, found a favorite cafe, a favorite pizza place, grocery shopped, and even had my car battery die on my second-to-last day of the internship. I was truly more of an adult than I had ever been before.

I was trying out new vocational skills, too. I was expected at the church office every morning, and I even had my very own office. I audited a class at the seminary across the street, made visits to church members in the hospital and those who were homebound. I organized two volunteer events and a book discussion, and spent the Fourth of July with members of a group home near the church with the purest of hearts. I led at least one part of the liturgy every Sunday, wearing a robe. And I researched, wrote, and preached one sermon--that Sunday, it was a joy to look out on the small congregation and see not only faces that I had come to love, but to see my parents and brother, my home church pastor, and one of my college best friends. It was a good day.

I was finding out a lot about myself in all ways, and it was a journey that would continue when I returned for my senior year of college, when I would regroup with other classmates who had done similar internships around the country. We were all trying to figure out what we wanted to do with our lives, and how God would be a part of that. Sometimes--during that summer and after it--I felt like I was supposed to want to be a pastor. "You speak so clearly, you have such a good presence!" folks would tell me after worship. "Are you a student at the seminary?"

No, I'm a 21-year-old trying to figure out what God wants of me, and what I want with God.

Because even though I did speak so clearly, even though I did have a good presence, I didn't feel like I was as much of myself preaching in the pulpit as I was worshiping in the pew. It was a feeling that would take time to digest and explain, but I knew it clearly at my core. I felt most myself when I was among a congregation, singing hymns. I did not relish the feeling of being up front, and proclaiming. While several of my fellow discerning peers knew that they wanted to pursue seminary and ordination, I wasn't sure that I did. And when we had to write up what our "ideal job" would be, I was the vaguest of all.

The best part of looking back on those two summer months in 2009 is realizing that not only did I explore my inner and outer surroundings, but that I met people who still impact my life today. I met them at worship and over meals, through their hospitality and kindness. They took me out to dinner, invited me to an Indigo Girls concert, took me to the botanical gardens, made sure that I saw the Patrick Henry reenactment at the very church where he uttered "Give me liberty, or give me death!" Two people who became two of my very favorites hosted me in their home all summer, except for when a family member had a bout with the swine flu--and then I got to stay with another who became one of my very favorites. New friends drove me to Charlottesville, took me frolicking and boating on the James River, had me over to their homes, made me oatmeal cookies with almond icing, got me a cake when I preached my sermon. On June 25, 2009, one of them drove me over to the house of a friend of hers who had cable, turned on ESPN, and watched bemusedly as I freaked out when my classmate was picked seventh in the NBA draft.

All interns of all sorts should be so welcomed in the communities they have joined.

When I read back over that vague job description now, I recall my panic and frustration as I wrote it, a fall semester college senior. Now, it makes me smile. Because I believe that with this internship, God found people to lead me right to it.

Without my time at Ginter Park, I would not have had any inkling that church/religious work was something that I would or could do, even though (this is what always surprises me) I have loved and felt close to church ever since I was small. Why had I not considered it before?

Without that realization, I would not have reached out to churches for post-college jobs, or gotten the church youth/children/communications internship that kept me employed that first year out of school.

Without that position, I would not have been in Charlotte, or met my husband. Or gotten my first full-time job--at a church, in communications.

Without THAT position, I would not have been able to be where I am now--a communications specialist at an active, justice-seeking, worshipful, energetic divinity school.

Without my time at Ginter Park, I would not have met so many friends and supporters, people like Andrew, who kept in touch with me about writing. Who introduced me to Collegeville and encouraged me to apply to a workshop, where I first started seriously thinking about going back to school for writing. And then I did. 

It is fascinating and fulfilling and so much fun to begin to understand the many intricacies of that summer and how they still play into my life--especially since I had no idea what my life would look like back then. It's one of those stories that you can't see fully when you're in it, but as you start to unravel it, God is everywhere. In the faces of my friends and mentors, in my experience leading worship, in my uncertainties, in my burgeoning independence, in my explorations.

And the story doesn't end; that was just the first chapter.

Just some of my wonderful friends, several years after the internship.

Bubble-Popping (For the Grads).

I first wrote this a couple of years ago for my friends in the midst of the finals/graduation haze. Class of 2016, this is for you.

These have been the craziest days, bustling and brilliant and brace-yourself days that feel normal and yet... not. 

You've got one foot in the bubble and one foot in the real world, and those two feet are running you pretty ragged lately, more than ever, because on top of all the seminar papers there's a party, there's a dinner, there's a ceremony, or simply one last coffee date.

It's got this weird, inverted feeling of freshman orientation all over again, all the events and special attention. Except this time you're not standing in an awkward clump dropping your name, hometown, hall, potential major for the five hundredth time and trying to recall everyone else's. Friendship's gotta start somewhere, and I guess it comes from those introductory moments, but even more it comes from living together, side by side, struggle by struggle, and learning the magic of shared experience and growth. You've done that together. And during your final days of cramming and writing, during your in-between days on the beach, you realize - yet again - that you have made yourself a family.

From my perspective, there's no clean way to do this, to graduate from college. No matter how you feel about it, there will be something messy, whether it's your half-packed room, how much you have to drink, how you say goodbye to someone, or how many tears you shed. In fact, I feel slightly hypocritical even writing about it, because I don't know what your experience will be. Nobody can hand you a syllabus for these next weeks and months, even years. And that's the scariest part, and the best. 

Don't feel like you have to be everywhere at once. Okay, it's hard not to rush as excitement and nostalgia build and more people arrive and in a slam-packed parking lot with a dance floor and a truck full of beer, well, what else are you going to do besides rush around and find folks? It's full of fun and memory: the history you have created for yourself is right in front of you, in these shiny happy sad giddy tipsy gorgeous faces.

But in the midst of that, let yourself breathe. Let yourself be where you need to be. And if you're not sure where that is, then let yourself be where you are. Rest. In the few moments of quiet, look around. Go to your favorite tree on campus, a favorite place, even for just a minute. In the midst of the pealing bells and the chattering throngs, look around. Hug your advisor. Thank the dining staff and physical plant workers. Handle your family groupies with as much grace as you can - even if that means explaining to them that you need to go be with your friends for a little while. Help your apartment mates clean out the fridge (this I missed, and still feel a tad guilty). Inwardly bless what made your place your place - the tea kettle, the couch, the beer pong table, the porch. As you pack, yell to each other back and forth from your rooms. Blast some tunes and sing. Tell old stories and jokes and laugh. Stay up late and keep your door open for goodbyes. Cry. 

And here's what I really want to tell you, here's what you'll figure out as the days fly and you fly with them to whatever's next on your path:

It is the end of college, but it is a far cry from being the end of who and what you gained here. That's a big part of why we go to college in the first place, isn't it? To let it change us and grow us, to be open to what it gives us, lessons and loves in and out of the classroom - and to hold those close no matter how far we go from the red brick and green grass. It is the end of living together side by side (for the most part), but not the end of living together struggle by struggle. That, at least, I can say with certainty. These friends that you're hugging goodbye? There will be countless reunions, distance be damned. The bubble will burst, but the friendships will not. Even better - they will open up into the wide, wide world. They will take twists and turns that you never imagined. There will be phone calls and texts and visits and adventures and dance parties (welcome to the Wedding Years) and life, big life, to share together.

You have embraced so much and so many in the last four years. Celebrate it. Be proud of it. And know that it's only the beginning.

Peace be behind you, within you and before you as you go.