Starbucks Purple Chair

I wish at this moment I was sitting in one of the purple chairs in the Student Center Starbucks. That I could accidentally brush against its stiff fabric, shuffle off my shoes, and sit with my feet tucked under myself. I would shuffle through the papers in my bag and pull out some dusty book I found in the library, listening to the soft pops its spine makes as I re-open the poor thing since sometime last summer.

I’ve sat in this chair so many times it’s become familiar territory for me. I know that it is large enough for me to curl sideways if I want to, and that if I wait here long enough someone will come over to say, “Good morning”. I always find myself here in the morning. This is probably due to the large window which overlooks the Student Center balcony and just barely allows me to see the top of the pines across the walkway.

If I were to be emotional anywhere, it would be here in this conveniently sized, scratchy purple chair. I’d reflect on the first day I saw snowfall in Nacogdoches and came in breathless and giggling amongst friends as we collapsed on this chair. I’d reflect on sipping Café White Mochas and tucking my hair behind my ear so I could read the last sentence of my handwritten test review. Finally I’d let my memories settle into this so very worn cushion which, although it is only a piece of furniture, has become a close friend.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but I sit there often times hoping to be found. Yes, I go here to get away from the small corner where I live and mentor and grow. But in another way I go anticipating being interrupted from reading my book, which I’m only skimming really. It is there more than anywhere that I’d be most likely to spill my guts with you.

Returning

Returning is one of the most comforting feelings in the world. You may have experienced it too in one way or another. It is the feeling of coming home after a year away, or re-discovering the joy of laugh lines on another’s face. You may feel you won’t ever stop smiling though your cheeks are tingling.

I know for me returning will be sitting on a pew in a most beloved church. I’ll experience it again this summer when a dear friend returns to the States after a year away. This past year has been a great one, and it will be good to return.

Things you should do as a Post Grad

1. Frame your diploma

    Your parents will probably want to pay hundreds of dollars to get it framed just the way you want it. And be grateful! Place it somewhere you can see it, or even better, place it where everyone can see it. Sneak it into conversation such as, “Oh wow, that’s so interesting. Did you notice my diploma?” Nothing should keep you from your glory.

2. Clean your room

    That’s right. I ain’t yo mama, but seriously get to it! Throw away all those cheap and out of style Forever 21 clothes, the Hollister shirts hidden in your bottom drawer, and especially those loose papers from your High School classes. It’s time to make your room your own. That picture of you dressed up as a goose in your school’s musical didn’t get your best side anyway.

3. Get a job (duh)

     It’s all about the Benjamins. Now is the time to apply like you have never applied before. Apply to places you’ve never been, apply over the phone, apply in person. Don’t be picky and remember to be patient with yourself. As soon as you have income, you can enjoy that fancy Starbucks drink you like every day and not feel guilty for spending so much money.

4. Rest

    Between applications and phone calls regarding your future, take time to smell the roses (literally). You really do have the time to do whatever you want to. Wake up to the sunlight in your room instead of your alarm clock. Read scripture at a leisurely pace. Paint your nails, and then repaint them. The time is yours baby!

Two Weeks

Is not enough to time share my thoughts

To snuggle into a couch in a yellow home

To process

To fix the light bulb in our living room.

But it holds promise

A spoken promise from the Lord

Of a hope and a delightful future

Of Austin, of ministry, of sipping coffee on wooden slats.

Reminds me that I love people

Allows me to take my time falling asleep

To finish the last few chapters of an enchanting 864 page novel

To share breakfast with my favorite red headed friend

And finally brings me back to Starr Avenue where it really all began

Where I drive with the windows down, my hand out the window palm up,

Proclaiming that “Clocks” by Coldplay means everything to me

Where leaves slip across my window and the wind billows my hair behind my ears.

Cup of Tea

I began this morning boiling over as I thought of this past week and remembered homework assignments I had almost forgotten. As soon as I had time I fled to Java Jacks hoping to find sanctuary. I sank deep into the rim of a plain chair and allowed myself to be filled: filled with stillness in a book, filled with rest. And when I had reached the brim I slowly steeped into the room relaxing my shoulders and watched people around me read maps and laugh as they spoke to each-other. I settled here for a moment, enjoying the warmth, and then picked myself up and out of my thoughts. I placed myself beside my cup, wrapped my fingers around the handle of my mug, and took a drink of chai.

Freedom, but really.

Is a frilly thing

Which dances

And sings

And swims

And laughs as it tickles the insides of me.

Window into the Future

This morning I woke up somewhere between 7:30 and 7:45AM. My eyes opened and closed. I watched as my still and quiet room appeared, then faded, and reappeared until I was fully awake. Somewhere to my right Train told me I had drops of Jupiter in my hair and I was coaxed out of my still warm comforter sheets. I dressed in the clothes I had set out the night before, curled my hair just a bit, and stopped a moment to survey the damage in my double vanity mirror. Before me stood a small and awkward 21 year old girl dressed in khaki pants and a cardigan. My toes wiggled in soft brown flats which weren't even mine and I chuckled as I saw the reflection of myself. 
Today I am older than I ever thought I would be.

Pen and Paper

I love new word documents. I always center the page on my computer screen and take a moment to pause on the opposite side of a white, blank rectangle. In the morning I think of my mind as a new sheet of yellow notebook paper- the kind you have to fold behind itself to continue writing.

I hope to always live my life between pressed blue lines. Lines which will have filled its own dog-eared pages full of Scripture, small drawings, and cursive writing detailing moments worth mentioning. I pray that occasionally my life will be folded into thirds, sealed, stamped, and sent away to be an encouragement to another human being. That they would delight in receiving yellow envelopes containing a small piece of me dated and signed “Your friend, Caitie Holman”.

Sociability

These are first-hand accounts written out for people who are as socially awkward as I am. Please note these are NOT appropriate to do in public, in private, or anywhere in general.

10/25/2010-

Today I saw one of my Community Group girls at Starbucks. As she said, "Hello" I decided that I was unbelievably thirsty. Before I knew what was happening I was trying to finish my sentence while trying to swallow a mouthful of water. She politely smiled as I sputtered through the rest of the conversation, and eventually left me to examine the splotches of water soaking my t-shirt.

11/20/2010-

I was eating Panda Express with a new friend today and must have sighed a little too heavily through my nose because my fortune suddenly flew up in between us. She paused. I paused. And we watched as it slowly found its way back down to the table. Note to self- learn to control nose breathing.

09/15/2011-

A girl wearing super cute sunglasses and carrying a seeing-eye cane entered and stood next to me in the elevator. Assuming she was a Human Services student I suavely leaned over and asked her, “Is that cane for your class?”

Nope. Not for her class.

French Pressed Coffee And Other Things I am thankful for.

I thought I was an early riser until this year. Now I wake up at 9 o’clock and feel guilty- kind of like being the loser who wakes up last at a slumber party. All of your friends are already awake and have been teasing and giggling with each other for the past hour or so. It’s the same way here. Except that my desire to sleep doesn't affect my popularity status.

On the first day of school a few friends got together and drank French pressed coffee. We sat together and joked around as, one by one, we wished each other a “Happy First Day of School” on the way out of the door. Another day I woke up to pancakes and sat across a round table from new friends who laughed through triangular shaped bites of breakfast. And how can I forget the morning a bouncy red head hopped in my room and sprayed me with the water from her wisdom-teeth syringe?  

The kinship here is obnoxious. It’s overbearing. You can’t help but be wooed by it; it simply won’t let you. It creates secret handshakes, and calls close friends by laughable nicknames. When caught off guard, it may manifest itself in green foam peanuts stuffed in drawers, taped on framed photos, and set in-between seminary books in a bookcase. This morning as I was brushing my teeth, kinship again made itself known by a knock on the outside of the door, and then a voice which said, “I love you, bye” before leaving for class.

Everything is Fall

I feel like I am leaning on the tips of my toes and looking downwards from some high mountain peak. The trees beneath me are my favorite shades of maroon, orange, and pale yellow. They seem to call my name and wave as a warm wind ruffles their leafy appendages. So, here I stand leaning half way over, clutching the shoulder straps of my old purple backpack- recently packed with wisdom Tetris style. I breathe, knowing there is no way but forward, and take a leap of faith.

Gavin DeGraw

Used to be one of my all time favorite music artists. His pop-culture lyrics and upbeat piano solos spoke directly to me all the way until I was a wide eyed, seventeen year old college freshman. Previously, a summer crush had surprised me with a pair of tickets to his concert and, after much anticipation, there he was only five feet and a large crowd away from me. I’ll never forget when he stood on top of his silver glittering piano and sang directly to me in the crowd, or so I imagined. We listened to his cd all the way home and I fell asleep fully content with a low humming in my ears.

Tuesday morning I woke up much older than that small seventeen year old. All of a sudden I am a leader in a church. I am a senior in college. I’ve even become one of those particular customers in coffee shops and order a “tall chai latte, shot of espresso, skim milk only”. After turning around, mutant chai in hand, I scanned the room for a comfortable space to sit, pulled out a Webster dictionary, and began making flash cards for words like “equivocal” and “loquacious”.

The stark difference between 2008 and now became apparent when I returned home and began to walk up the stairs. My sixteen year old sister called me over to where she sat in front of the computer screen. “Caitie,” she squealed, “I just bought Gavin DeGraw’s new song! I love it!”
I couldn’t help but suppress a chuckle.

Yellow

Right at this very moment I am sitting on a quilt. Under any other circumstance this would be normal but not today. Today this worn patched quilt is on my new bed in my new home.

My new room wakes me up at 6am every morning- sometimes earlier. The sun gleams through the blinds and creates dashes of sunlight all across my room. Initially waking up so early seems almost unbearable but the annoyance is quickly masked by the beauty. I look up and my entire room is bathed in sunlight.

I’ve come to find that there is no possible way to stay quiet in this house. The wooden floors complain at any attempt of sneaking. The bushes in the back of the house are almost completely saturated with birds- Blue jays, newly born cardinals, chickadees, and mockingbirds. They hop from branch to branch calling to each other as they perform aerial acrobatics.

More and more I am finding assortments of memories around the house. They are found in worn couches, a leaky sink handle in the kitchen, and the ever tempting urge to open all of the blinds in the house. And as I sit here, I wonder if I can even see beyond the next five minutes of the day. Mostly the answer is no. So I just tap my toes to the sound of the music playing on my laptop and read another chapter of A Farewell to Arms.

Foreign

What is this?

For all extensive purposes it is a tree.

But why is it a tree?

Well, it has roots. It has branches, it grows vertically, it has leaves…

Have you ever thought why calling something a tree isn’t something simple, but rather complex?

We grow up learning our surroundings because someone kind enough labels the objects for us. The word “tree” by itself doesn’t hold any meaning- only the meaning you attach to it; the picture you see in your mind when you first labeled it.

My neurology professor said in class, “When you name something, you aren’t calling it anything- rather you are naming the concept of something.” And ever since, it has stuck with me.

It’s just recently occurred to me that a tree doesn’t need to be this way. It could have been created wiggly, and creep outwards instead of tall and straight. I’ve always walked around and seen giant wooden objects standing much taller than me and have thought ‘duh, of course’. Everything about it is foreign. In fact, it’s a pretty alien object. There are many types, with different leaves, some grow food, and all of them provide a means for me to breathe and therefore survive.

It begins

Has an awkward teenage stage

And grows

Maybe I’ve been reading too much C.S. Lewis sci-fi, but ever since I feel like everything about the world is new. Everything has become something different.

Friday

Today everyone I met was exceptionally nice. People I’ve never talked to in my life started conversations with me, more boys held open doors, and my roommate went out of her way to say hello. “What in the world is…,” and then I realized, “Spring Break!” I don’t think I’ve seen so many smiles, or gotten so many nods of approval, while walking across campus.

Lately Nacogdoches and I have been having a sort of love/hate relationship. I feel like I’m constantly plucking pine needles off of a large branch and saying, “Nacogdoches loves me… He loves me not.” So to hear that I could leave, would leave, was leaving suddenly made me proceed throughout Friday with urgency. I came to the conclusion that the faster I listened to the teacher, bobbed my foot in anticipation, and sped through daydreaming about putting my key into the ignition, the sooner I would be ready to leave.

I practically hummed from speed as I spun around tossing everything I could ever dream of taking home in my suitcase. And in my second suitcase... And in my backpack. Afterwards, now feeling positively giddy that I made it through packing, I bounced all the way out of my apartment and swirled up an elevator to my shiny white car. “Fabio,” I said, “My friend, it has been too long!” Fabs just sat there. I began patting the back fender as my heart swelled with pride. I spun my way down and through the parking garage, found North street, rolled down my windows, and couldn’t contain myself any longer.

Wind gushed through my hair.

My hand met sunshine, palm up.

I popped open my bottle of soda.

After three hours or so I was met by a wiggly puppy who rolled around and around my feet,
two gangly, loud, teenagers, and the bristles of my own carpet.

New

Three nights ago, I encountered God in a musty sanctuary.

It began with me thinking through everything that I’ve done. I began with the big topics that He and I have sorted through, dissected, flipped over, overanalyzed and discussed, and wondered if I was missing forgiveness for something. So I dug deeper. Here was our conversation:

“Oh God… I guess I can ask forgiveness for-“

Upon which I was cut off. I heard my own voice, or at least it sounded exactly like my own voice, except that it spoke to me with authority. And so my inner-dialogue said:

“-Stop.”

“I have forgiven you. You are forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. You are free. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Free. Free. Free. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven. Forgiven.

I will forgive you a thousand times a million times.”

It repeated “forgiven” to the point where it was almost embarrassing for it to be said again. But I realized that it’s finally true. It’s always been true. I am not identified by anything from my past. My past is over, it is finished. I accepted Christ three years ago, but am continually being re-created. I am a new creation.

Reader, I don’t want it to seem that I sat down and tried to make this sound more emotional or beautiful than the actual event, and debated posting this because I'd like to run away from writing anything sounding "spiritual" or "religious". But, if it brings any encouragement to you, then here it is.

Known

Right now, I’m sitting in a coffee shop; Piano man enthusiastically playing John Mayer, sipping coffee from a cup bigger than my face, and it has occurred to me that life is good. I mean, really good. So good that I had to write a run-on sentence.

Pretty soon the swaying, scarf wearers will begin to sing along with him. Ahh, there it is. Oh! And some clapping. It seems so perfectly right for us to chime in this way. A handful of strangers sharing a same thought, laughing through half-sipped coffee cups, and crescendo-ing from secretly humming along in our chair to piecing confidence together from nods and smiles until we’re boldly singing with each other.

Or perhaps the two sets of friends who have brought their Bibles, seeking the Kingdom of God and putting holy words into relational terms. This moment is my favorite of the night. What a beautiful picture of the way God created us. We are so relational and a lot of times it’s easier to forget.

It’s the reason why hearing people sharing jokes and watching them stand to greet friends is so refreshing. The explanation behind why a handful of people joining together in song is so impactful. Don’t we all want to be shamelessly known? To be identified with a group and share moments of unity with others? And the best part is that we are. We are shamelessly and visibly known by Christ.

Now “Gravity” slows to an end and we all snap, glad to know and be known.

Pencils, Rulers, and School Supplies in General

I love the beginnings of things; especially beginnings that deal with buying school supplies. A handful of new pens and a package of freshly saran-wrapped Oxford index cards make me feel like a whole new person. In some ways I am a new person and don’t correct my professors when they call “Caitlin, Holman?”

Don’t even get me started about the official first day of class. Every year I wake up an hour before class, eat a special breakfast, neatly part my hair to the side, and almost whistle as I skip on my way to class… which happens on occasion if I forget to keep social appropriateness in mind. My new textbooks are likely to be sorted either by color or by class schedule in my backpack along with three different pens for me to choose from in the front pocket.  Throughout the year I will start every paper in my notebook with my full name and the date. Confessions?

In conclusion, I love the first day of school. The whole experience summarized by the smell of flippy spiral notebooks, slacker syllabus class meetings, and new pens that you have to swirl around before they'll write for you.

Old School

Some days… okay, let’s be honest, everyday, I try to kick it old school. Like when I dressed up as a 90’s soccer mom, or that time I played Aaron Carter during small group. And sometimes I have to keep my actions in check and use what I like to call my cool/un-cool gauge. I’ve got to be careful to make sure I’m still in the cool zone at all times possible.

1.       Wanting to play hand clapping games? Cool

2.       Secretly bringing my old gameboy color to school? Cool

3.       Tucking in my t-shirt? Uncool

4.       Wearing a fanny pack in order to listen my cd player? … Cool?

I dunno, I was just thinking about it. I think my mind still works in the 90’s and I’m secretly hoping we’ll have a relapse and go backwards.

Utopia

Day 1: Voyage to “The Hideaway”

Well, really Utopia, TX. We were supposed to have left three hours ago but we’re still parked in front of the house. Classic. Each of us is suped up with electronics. Ipods, cameras, gameboys, and Ben with his first ever cellphone. An amazing feat for a now fourteen year old boy. 
I'm the odd man out and have brought a book instead.

“Please drive to highlighted route”.

And we’re off!

Later that evening…

Phew! Already 60 degrees and dropping inside the cabin. I have doubles of almost everything on plus gloves! Ended the night playing Apples to Apples and laughing hard at the results.

Day2: Rain

Sprinkled all day. Not too terribly bad though! Found a flock of wild turkeys. Dad was excited and gobbled at them after taking pictures. We were schmucked out of $25 to get into Lost Maples State Park. Turns out it’s a hiking only park and who wants to hike in the rain anyway? We chanted “dirty double dealers” on the way out. Sat in a wooden bird blind… Stared out and saw one poor miserable bird.

Day3: Exploration

Went to Garner State Park today. Climbed part of the steep trail. After we got to White Rock Cave Alicia and I realized that converse plus muddy uphill hiking don’t mix. So, we all climbed back down… much to Ben’s disappointment.

The best part was tonight. We suited up into ski suits and waddled out into the night. We looked like astronauts which was perfect because of the abundance of stars overhead. Alicia, Ben, and I startipped while the parents took pictures. We swapped gobbles and hoots throughout the night, trying to persuade any creature to call out. We heard two hoot-hoots, some coyotes, and a few unruly dogs.

Got back to the cabin and scraped the 3-4 inches of mud off our shoes. Made tea, hot chocolate, and painted a rock with our names on it to display in the cabin. Now we’re waiting around to play a game, most likely Apples to Apples again, while Ben and Dad discuss why Jesus chose Peter.

Day 4: Departure

Dad has slipped into his Chinese accent and has walked around interjecting “Ah, so…” and “I tink maybe” into his speech. Peels of laughter break out anytime he says anything. We’re all packed and headed out. Many stops to “hysterical” markers along the way home. And frequent stops to take pictures of hawks and various other birds. Dad makes a game out of it by showing us the pictures he's taken and asks, “Who’s that Pokémon?”