When You Grow Up

Yesterday, a friend asked me about my wildest childhood dream. 

"What's the craziest thing you wanted to be when you grew up?" she said. Honestly, I really had no answer, and as it happens with most questions that I'm not expecting, I ended up thinking about it long afterwards. 

And so last night, I tried to put myself in my perceptions of life as a little girl. I didn't dream of being a firefighter or an astronaut. I didn't imagine exploring a jungle or saving the day as a doctor or a nurse. In fact, I was probably one of the only little girls out there who didn't grow up planning her wedding! (Truthfully, it's never happened.) 

I know that I lived in expectation and dream. Childhood has a rosy glow of hope and excitement in my memory. That was the atmosphere that colored the season. So as I thought about why I didn't have any big expectations or goals for myself as a little girl, I realized that my overall sense of security and excitement came from love, not from doing. My sense of myself-my hopes, dreams and aspirations, were never tied up in something that I would someday achieve. They were tied up in belonging. 

I knew, deeply, that I was loved, by my parents and by the Lord. This love filled up my little personhood, and I knew that this love was for who I was in the present, not who I would be someday. My parents always told me that I could do anything I dreamed, but they never suggested that those "anythings" would increase my worth. They loved me, and still do, simply because I am theirs. 

And that planted a seed of contentment deep down in my soul, and a trust that the Lord's love, like my parents', would always be for me. The security of the Father's love sends down roots into my soul, deep down into the bedrock of Jenny Claire Tokheim. And roots of that sort will support a tree more steadfast than I can imagine, with branches whose directions I can only dream about right now. Expectation, hope, excitement--all of those still remain.

I'm still not too worried about what I'll be when I grow up either, because I trust that who I'm becoming has always been about whose I am, not what I'll do. The doing is important, don't get me wrong, but I trust that the achievements of my life will always be more profound when they're endeavored for in the strength of His love, not out of my need for accomplishment. 

Let His love be your source today, Dear Reader. Let His love be your strongest motivation and your most steadfast security. 

"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are." 

-1 John 3:1

Sorrow and Victory

A friend died the week before last.

His funeral was a week ago today. I was far away, and I couldn't go to the funeral, couldn't participate in the communal grief, and that was difficult.

My sister described grief so accurately in an email this week. I'm so thankful that she always tries to meet me where I am, no matter what kind of crazy place that may be:

"Grief is a mess. A necessity. A hold you by your ankles upside down for awhile kinda thing. It kinda messes up the functioning of normal life because it's a response to a great rip in life. There's a space no longer occupied. And the soul hasn't adjusted to it yet." 

I've done a lot of crying. A lot of remembering + praising Jesus for the beautiful life and heart that still lives--lives with Jesus where he belongs, lives at home.

And still there is sadness, sorrow, the deep sort that ambushes you.

Tonight, when grief snuck up on me, I was spraying a pan to make some banana bread. For some reason, a familiar baking pan--one of my mom's old ones--caught me so off guard in the midst of all the unfamiliarity and isolated feeling that goes along with grieving. I burst into tears- and I picked up a pen...

...because somewhere in this torrent of tears, there is something holy. Just as Jesus wept for his friend, so I weep for mine. And just as Jesus' friend lived again, so does mine.

These days my song is sorrow and victory, death and life abundant, tears mixed with the Conqueror's joy.

Green Tea & Sugar Cookies.

Let me take you back in time, back to the making of me.

Come in, come in, step inside the breezeway; we're going in for a cup of tea. It will be green. If you're like me, like I was then, anyway, you'll pour copious amounts of milk and stir in spoonfuls of sugar. It will be sweet.

It will be almost as sweet as that cookie perched on the edge of your saucer. The little granules of sugar brush off so easily, don't they? The cookie is still quite chilly--partially frozen because she pulled a bag of these sugar cookies out of the deep-freeze just for you. She's always doing that.

Who is she?

Look across the table; she's the beautiful one. The one with peace written in every line of her face. She's the one who will look at you with understanding and love, who will hear your childlike story with as much attention as she would give to the most important of guests. She's the one who poured your tea, who will watch your cup empty and fill it again. She will listen to your stories, but she will also tell some.

She will tell you story after story of a world you are too young to know. She will speak of winter-time sleigh rides, of struggle, and of deep and true love. She will remind you who you are with her stories, where you came from, and from whom.

She will tell you the hard truth. Her stories won't be sugar-coated like her cookies.

And all the while, she will have that flash of merriment in her eyes, that dance of light that tells you she has a beautiful, exciting secret she'd like to let you in on.

And you won't even realize it, but she will.

She tells you gradually, carefully, in her own way.

She shows you her photo albums. She tells you the stories for each black and white picture. You soak in her stories. A family, woven around this little part of the world. Hearts, bound together and broken, sometimes both.

Every story of hardship ends with this phrase, "Ah well...whatever." And every story of joy ends with a chuckle that makes her small frame dance with amusement.

And through it all, His mercy. Times are bad, but never desperate. Sorrow comes, but joy somehow remains. And all the while, that refrain she loves to play for you on the old organ in the corner of the living room rings more and more true, "What a friend we have in Jesus, all our sins and griefs to bear, what a privilege to carry, everything to God in prayer."

And amidst all the moments remembered, from bubble-blowing at the kitchen sink, to being persistently and gleefully beaten at scrabble, to mending the old toys from attic with that super-sticky white tape, there's one small thing that always sticks in my mind and heart.

When we bowed our heads to pray--over a meal or over afternoon tea--after the "Amen" had been said in unison, she would always linger, eyes closed, head, bowed. She was in the secret place with her dearest friend just then. In the pause, there was such holiness, such volumes were spoken by a moment of silence before her God and Friend.

And so, she taught us the secret, the source of the merriment in her eyes. She taught many of us. The secret was Jesus.

Her infinitely sweet and precious friend was Jesus.

And yesterday, on this beautiful woman's birthday, I drank a cup of green tea, this time without milk or sugar, and I thanked my sweet and precious friend, my Jesus, for the life of a woman that changed the course of mine, with sugar cookies, laughter, and the presence of her dearest Friend.

Happy Birthday, Great-Grandma Pedersen. We love you. 

Sunshine and Snowflakes

There's a secret and small part of me that began to breathe in Spain. It started to stretch and yawn to wake up from its slumber, but, for some strange reason it didn't quite shake sleep's hold.

It is not the forceful part of my heart, not the proud, not the pushy.

It is the delighting part, the part that dances, the part that plays. It is the part of me that sees delight and every snowflake and birdsong, the part of me that wakes anticipating the simple joys and small adventure of the unknown day.

And that part has been stifled-by practicality or circumstance, by lies or by categories -I'm not sure-but it has been missing for quite some time.

This is the part of me that dances in the rain and jumps in the car a moment's notice to find a field to stargaze. This is the part of me that whispers life to growing plants in the garden and laughs as pranks are well-played.

This part of me, she's full of mischief and play and the light and the peace of his goodness and faithfulness.

And I must learn to nurture her, to coax her from her resting place and into the moment, into the present, into the need for beauty realized here and now. And today, it starts with a fearless, honest cry and snowflakes falling on my upturned face.

Dad's Proud of You

Hello Dear Reader,

I want to share with you, tonight, a beautiful picture of the Father's love. A couple of weeks ago, my cousin posted a sweet video of his daughter. This adorable little one is working on learning her ABC's, and the video was documenting her latest version of the song. Her cheerful little voice pronounced the letters, one by one, and the video was charming. She forgot a few letters, as everyone tends to do when learning the song (there are, after all, 26 letters to remember!), but that's not at all what stands out at video's conclusion. You see her big smiling eyes and adorable little face.

Then comes the God-moment. As I finished watching the video, I looked over at the comments, and read one from her proud dad. The comment previous to his was expressing some sort of delight in the cuteness of the video, and his response was so simple, but so powerful, "She's mine!" 

In that moment, God used my cousin and his little girl to show me a sweet, sweet picture of how He feels about each one of us. He looks at us, His children, and He is proud! He's bursting with joy over us!

We, like my cousin's little girl, don't always do everything perfectly. Sometimes we forget some of the letters in the song, but His delight isn't dependent upon our performance. He's proud because we're His. In some crazy way, we are God's kids, and He is a proud Dad.

So, Dear Reader, hear the Father saying about you, "She's mine," or "He's mine," with such pride and joy in His voice that it borders on ridiculous. He's crazy about you. He always will be.

"See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!" - 1 John 3:1

Home Sweet Home

Hello Dear Reader! 

I've been home for about a week now, and life has been sweet. Here are a few of my favorite things this week: 

Down to the bare minimum, mid-project. 

 I found an old chair last fall. It caught my eye because it was covered in a certain teal vinyl. Beautiful color, but ripped and stained. So, yesterday I ripped into it and began the re-covering process. It was my first re-upholstering job, but I've seen Cathy do it so many times that it went pretty easily! 

Finished Product.

 I was out and about today in the nearby town of Fairmont, MN, and I came across all sorts of lovely treasures: 

Lovely Lacy Jacket, Clearanced. That's a win. 

Beautiful Cream Train Case. $5. 

A rainbow of books, ready for listing on Etsy this week.

New books of stamps. Beautiful options at your local Post Office!  ;)  

Everyday life is full of beautiful things; we've just got to keep our eyes open! 

Homeward Bound

Dear Reader, 

I can hardly believe it as I write this, but my time in Spain is drawing to a close. I have eight days left at Generation 42, and I am overwhelmed when I think back on all God has taught me and done in me. Thank you, for being a part of this with me. 

When I came to Spain, I anticipated learning a lot of practical skills, and I've definitely done that. But, I've also encountered God in such a way that I've been changed by Him, and that's one of the sweetest gifts I've ever been given. During my time here in Spain, God has refined my vision and shown me that His plans for me are incredibly accomplishable. I really, truly do believe that He is able to do whatever He says He will do. 

I've also gained some direction for my time following Spain, and I've been given the opportunity to assist some dear friends in the start of something I am extremely passionate about: The local church. One of my fellow interns here at Generation 42, Ryan Banko, has a vision to start a church community in the city of Memphis, TN, so I will be moving to Memphis at the beginning of October to help make this Kingdom Dream a reality. I believe that my vision for helping women will flow out of the community that develops in Memphis, and I'm very excited to see what God will do in this next season! I would LOVE it if you would continue to pray along with me! 

Here are some specific requests:
-Eyes to see all that He has for me in my remaining time in Spain
-Safe travel for my luggage and I back to the USA
-God's Spirit to move as I lead a youth group mission trip the morning after I return!
-God's continued guidance and favor as we advance plans for planting a church in Memphis, TN in the fall 

Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. I really can't say it enough. I can say with certainty that this season of life has been one of the most impactful of my life, and I'm excited to share more with each of you when I'm back in the USA (if you're one of my USA friends, that is)! 

Love from Spain, 

Jenny 

P.S. If you have any burning questions or comments, please feel free to get in touch via email or Facebook!

email: jenny.tokheim@gmail.com 

P.P.S. Ryan blogged about this crazy-awesome church planting adventure awhile ago, too. Check his blog out here: http://thelionsfire.wordpress.com/2013/03/06/god-is-sending-me-to-to/