Dear Kendahl

Dear Kendahl,

I'm writing you a letter instead of telling you things in person for a few reasons:

 a) it's October, which is also pastor appreciation month, and I wanted to appreciate you

b) this summer in a leader's meeting at CIY we were asked to raise our hands if someone had invested in us as teenagers, and I did. Which (of course) made me cry and feel like I needed to thank you

c) you and I are awkward human beings, and if I say it to your face I'll never be able to get through it

When I think about my time in youth group - I cannot remember a single message that Bryan ever preached.

I'm sure they were great, but the lasting impact was the time that you both spent on me.

 Now that I have my own marriage, a job outside of the church, a house and a dog I'm beginning to understand just what it cost you to stop and make time for me.

So, thank you.

Thank you for letting me bake 50 cupcakes in your kitchen for Hannah's surprise party.

Thank you for always being real and honest about life in ministry.

Thank you for taking an entire Saturday to drive me to Lincoln Christian University for a college visit.

Thank you also for eating 20 chicken nuggets with me on the way home.

Thank you for giving good advice, even though sometimes it was tough to hear.

Thank you for asking the hard questions.

Thank you for opening up your home for countless Bible studies, small groups and random meetings.

Thank you for taking us to Steak n' Shake in the middle of the night after that car accident so we didn't have to be alone, even though you were 5 months pregnant annd probably exhausted.

Thank you for listening to my never-ending boyfriend woes.

Thank you for the endless cups of coffee.

Thank you for never making me feel like I was wasting your time.

Thank you for arguing with your husband in front of me -- it's how I figured out people who love each other can still disagree.

Thank you for listening to my current rants about life as a youth pastor's wife.

Thank you for still giving me advice that's challenging.

There are days when I come home from youth group with a heavy heart, and I wonder how on Earth you ever did this. Even with your own struggles and worries, you always made time for me. I didn't get it when I was in high school -  but I'm starting to understand just how hard your job was.

And you have never decked a rude church lady.

In the last year I've come to understand just how much self control that takes, but you still respond with grace.

Thank you for being my youth pastor's wife. Please know that on days when it's hard for me to want to stay up late with teenagers, or open up my home or be at church -- I remember that a youth pastor's wife showed me love on my very worst days. I'm making good on your investment.

Sincerely,

Emily 

Adult-ing is hard. Have a donut.

Lately, I'm in this awkward transitioning stage of life, caught between making Ramen with my Keurig and getting excited about things like health insurance benefits.

I feel like I'm supposed to know what I want out of life.

I feel pressure to be doing epic, bold, and equally responsible things while simultaneously writing a novel and winning my first Nobel Peace Prize.

When most of the time I'm struggling to decide what to eat for breakfast. 

I mean seriously, it's like everywhere I go people want to know when I'm having kids and then they want to know how many kids, and then it gets into this weird-judgey-cycle where they tell me how wrong I am for wanting 23 kids (kidding).

And if I'm not popping out babies, I must sprint to the opposite end of the spectrum and be on some kind of amazing, incredible career path with all of my ducks in row, ready to end world hunger in the next few years.

Guys. 

Some mornings I don't even put on eyeliner because I'm pretty sure I'll do it wrong. I can't decide whether or not to cut two inches off my hair, and I'm just now realizing that Pumpkin Spiced Lattes are not calorie free.

The thought of being a mother terrifies me most of the time because there are days that I want ice cream NOW and I refuse to shower -- I can't be responsible for a tiny human being.

I'm 23 and I [still] have no idea what I want to do with my life.

I just know I can't do it with a Bachelor's Degree in Psychology. 

I want to wear #flannelonflannel but I have a job that requires khakis.

And I'm saying all this because here's what I'm learning: I am enough. 

Right now, in this very moment, with my chipped fingernail polish and my temporary desk job - I am enough.

In all honesty, I like eating Coco Puffs and staying up late to play nerdy board games.

I don't have any idea what to go to grad school for and I don't want a new car.

I like my crappy furniture and the freedom I have to make Garrett cook his own dinner.

I'm even getting better at liking what size jeans I wear.

The point is that I know you are out there reading this and you're not engaged, and no one is hiring you and you are not finding the cure for cancer and everyone wants to know when you're getting a "real" job, or finally settling down, or having kids.

But you need to listen to me: you are enough. So long as you are doing things that are right and good and kind -- you are still enough. 

I have these days where I just sit and freak out; one question about my future leads to another and another which leads to a tailspin of donut eating.

The truth is: I am not pregnant with twins, I don't have a PhD in Psychology and I don't know what I'm going to do when my poor Camry finally quits.

Someday I'm going to publish a book and have a dozen children and maybe even get my Masters... but that is not today folks.

Today I'm going to eat spaghetti in my rental house. Because I can.

8 tips to surviving Small Town Life [from a city slicker]

Once upon a time a country mouse and a city mouse fell in love.
And it was bizarre for everyone involved.

I grew up in the massive metropolis of Springfield, Illinois and my sweet husband grew up in the middle of a field somewhere in Illinois - we come from different worlds.

There were a lot of culture shocks for me when I first got into Edinburg, honestly I'll write a book about it sometime. There were also a fair amount of culture shocks for Garrett when we moved to the booming city of Fort Wayne, Indiana. But the tides have turned and I find myself now LIVING in a small town - something I did not exactly dream of as a little girl.

 My time in Fort Wayne made me soft, according to Garrett, so this summer I have had to relearn these 8 essentials to survival in a small town. I think it's only fair that you have them as well for the next time you find yourself in a town that could fit its entire population into a good sized clown car.

1. Wave - at everyone. This is essential, this is the epitome of etiquette, you MUST do this in order to survive. If you don't wave, you're probably a snob and no one will trust you.

2. Learn something about corn. When all else fails, crops are a great fall back. Everyone sees them, they tell the weather, they tell the season, and someone always wants to complain about how tall-short-green-dry or dead they are. If you can make one intelligent corn comment, the farmers in the room will take it from there.

3. Do NOT ask where the Starbucks is, do NOT ask where the Dunkin' Donuts is. It's in the city, that's where it is and there's coffee at Casey's down the road. Also - you will be mocked.

4. Locking doors is optional. Most of the time no one will break in, the rest of the time intruders will be shot on sight. So really, don't worry about it.

5. Beware of the amount of privacy that exists in a small town - there is none. So if you're building a fence, grilling a steak or you're locked out of your house for the third time and you're crawling through the kitchen window - there will be someone who sees, someone will know.

6. Free range chickens. You know those cows that just roam around in India? Free range chickens, my friends, so stop staring.

7. The lingo will get to you. You will find yourself referring to traveling to the nearest Walmart as "going into town". Grab your bonnet, hitch up the horses and do not forget your wallet...this is no 15 minute trek.

8. The thing I have always found strangest about small town life is something I struggled to put my finger on at first. People move slower, they stop to talk to each other, they know their neighbors, you can just walk to someone's house for dinner and they aren't all that amazing at doing things on time. Here's why: for whatever reason, there still exists a level of grace for one another, a margin for error built right into small town life. It goes against my need for schedules and lists and rules and timeliness-that's for sure. But - hey- it works.

Since we moved I have found myself missing my daily Dunkin' and the seven minute commute to work. But as Garrett lovingly reminds me - there is not enough Dunkin' in the world to make up for being only 30 minutes away from my mom...and Sonic. So should you ever find yourself in a small town - I hope this helps you yuppies survive.

With Love,

Emily LeVault

112 Laconwood

My mom is moving.

Papers are being signed, boxes are packed-officially moving. 

And as we go through the process of sorting through old things and dividing up what we want - I'm starting to comprehend how many stories this house holds, and I want to remember them. 

Because all I know lately is that things keep going, they keep changing. My youth pastors stopped being youth pastors, Rob Petersen has preached his last at Edinburg Christian, my baby sister is getting married and my favorite sandals are on their last summer.
And this house, I want to remember.  

So in case you didn't grow up with me, here's what you need to know about 112 Laconwood:

Here lies two pet rabbits and 30 dead fish. 

Here is where Olivia used sharpe on the carpet and Hannah threw up wedding punch. 

This is the location of about 2,000 couch pictures though the couches and cameras changed. 

Here is where we learned what the grace of God looks like after the bathroom was flooded and the ceiling fell into the kitchen and mom still didn't kill us. 

Here is where someone shut the garage door on the new van, and someone else left the deep freeze open. 

Here lies the naked lady bathroom wallpaper we will never be able to forget.

Here we spent hundreds of hours practicing piano in tortuous 30 minute increments. 

Here was born the OH Restaurant, served on Emily's bedsheet. 

Here is the big tree that we played under, we were just pioneers trying to survive.  

Here our mom taught us that girl power can accomplish anything, like dragging wet carpet out of the basement, painting the bathroom red or mowing on the diagonal. 

Here we learned to cook meatloaf, French braid our sisters' hair and what to do should a semi lose control. 

Here is where we spent every Christmas Eve snuggled up together. 

Here is where we learned how to ride a bike, drive a car and make knot blankets. 

Here is where we got to watch what a woman of faith does when things get scary. 

Here we built snowmen, raked leaves and stepped on rusty nails. 

Here is where we came when school was hard, when boys broke our hearts or we needed laundry done. 

This is where we put up our Christmas tree, this is where we hunted Easter eggs, this is where we carved pumpkins. 

This is home to the emotion bush, dress up in the basement, and game nights. 

Here is where our 'Mana' arrived, and where we watched our mom cry. 

This is where we hunted mice and got a puppy and bred guinea pigs. 

Here on this kitchen floor, late at night with a tub of ice cream, was the safest place in the universe. 

Here is where we struggled, we got hurt, we tried to understand divorce. 

Here is where my sisters became my best friends. 

Here is where we wore eye patches, heart monitors and headgear. 

Here is where we practiced walking in high heels, had time constraints on Internet and a doorbell that called us to dinner. 

This is where we threw surprise parties, played Shangai and fell in love. 

This is where my friends would come, to eat and see my mom.

This is where we fought a lot. Where we apologized as well. 

Here is where I sat and watched my mom do her hair and her makeup on Sundays before church for 12 years. 

Here is where we had water fights in the house. 

This is where we played Barbies, planned weddings and learned to shave our legs. 

This house held ugly curtains, awful rugs and monstrous art work too. 

Here is where I did homework. From 3rd grade to just this year. 

Here and only here is where you'll find beautiful wonderful loud family dinners that most boyfriends didn't survive. 

This is where I said goodbye to the people I missed most the day we moved to Fort Wayne. 

Here lies Titanic, Tourist Trap and Cocoa Jammy Christmas. 

This is where we celebrated birthdays and graduations and mom's new job. 

This is where my family was. Where we grew and changed and loved each other. 

This is where my home was. My family was made here, and so was I.

Lately I'm trying to figure out where I belong. Garrett has this job he loves and we love our church family and we are figuring out our new town. But I'm trying to find my spot- what it is that I'm supposed to do. And I look at this house and this funny front porch and this reminds me of who I am. Where I came from. And what we've been through. I miss these things. And I know that when this season passes, I'm going to miss it too. 

So if they change the front lights and the Rochester Rockets finally lose a State Championship... it wasn't us. 

With Love, 

Emily LeVault

First is the Worst. [happy anniversary]

WARNING: this is about to be a sappy anniversary blog post. So if you're feeling angry and single come back another day. Otherwise, I'm going to try and sum up my first year of marriage in 1,000 words or less. 

First of all, I didn't sign up for this. 

When I got married I was under the impression that I was simply agreeing to combine life goals and bank accounts and maybe have a few bad days and some kids and a dog. 

That's not how it works. 

Second, can we please stop telling newlyweds that this is the "best year of marriage" - please?! 

Because that's not how it works either. 

It just makes me want to poke you in the eyes. Both eyes. 

A year ago today I married my best friend, and I said some really cute vows and I wore a pretty dress and I danced a lot. And I started out thinking I knew what I was getting into - and quickly discovered that I was absolutely clueless. 

I had no idea that I would be so miserable when we first moved away. 

I had no idea that Garrett actually expected to eat a real meal every single day- including weekends. 

I had no clue how to begin scheduling (juggling) bills, insurance and more bills. 

I had no idea that I was so incredibly bad at sharing, but I really am. I even have trouble sharing my toothbrush. 

I hadn't planned on having to actually work at marriage, because dating wasn't all that complicated. 

I had no idea how gross my husband is. He poops, people. And it smells. Also he doesn't clean off the sink when he shaves. 

I did not think that the human being I loved the most could make me so frustrated I would cry. He didn't know he could do that either. 

I thought we agreed on more things than we actually do, like whether or not paintball is a real sport, how awesome white comforters are or how many kids we're having (I swear he agreed to 10 while we were dating). 

Most shocking to me in my first year of marriage is that things do not always go as planned. 

I thought we were working towards mutual goals and sharing a bathroom. 

When I stood up there and I signed on for this marriage, things like broken appliances, emergency room visits, tight budgets, family Christmas and jobs that don't work out were not on my mind. Nowhere near my radar. 

I didn't expect it to be so hard to keep Christ at the center of my marriage but things like health care and Hulu Plus kept getting in the way. 

And sometimes I have to fight this utter selfishness I have over things like my time and my money and what temperature we keep the house at.

It's ridiculous. Because I stood up in church and promised to be faithful through all of these things for the rest of my life. And after one year I'm like- this is hard!!!

But I also thought I knew everything there was to know about Garrett LeVault. I did not, I'm sure I still don't. 

In my vows I explained that I had no idea how much Jesus loves me until Garrett loved me, but truthfully I still had no clue. 

This man has loved me through some ugly, scary, hard things this year.

Through homesickness and a second Freshman year in college, through fear and failure.

Through 2 moves and a lot of road trips. 

I have single handedly destroyed most of our wedding gifts, and he still lets me use the stove. 

I didn't think anyone could be funnier than me- but I've laughed more than I've cried this year. If he meant to make me laugh is a different matter. 

I thought that we loved each other at maximum capacity the day we got married but I had no clue. I love him more today than I did a year ago. 

I also didn't expect how precious it is to share a life with someone. To be a team and a family and to work together to be a living example of the Gospel. I didn't think we would have this much fun. 

It's been a really hard year. And it happened so fast. Things are different than they were a year ago, my expectations have changed, I have been humbled in ways I did not want to be and we have become a solid unit instead of two clueless kids. 

Whether you were there for the beginning or you're here at the end or if you've been riding this out with us all along- thanks for being a part of our first year. 

Now it's time for a brand new year. 

I love you Garrett LeVault.

With Love, 

Emily LeVault

P.S. It was mess day. Happy anniversary/welcome to my life as a youth ministers wife. 

11 Things I did not learn from a professor

So I graduated this month.

I GRADUATED THIS MONTH!!!!! 

And suddenly I'm feeling nostalgic and sappy, reflecting on the last 4 years. 

So these are my words of wisdom after 1,920 hours of sitting in a college class:

1. The grade you receive in this class does not define you as a person. Really. Just because you failed does not mean you are a failure. Just because you got straight A's and posted it on Facebook does not make any of us like you more. Secretly, I like you less. 

2. There are no assigned seats but don't sit in my seat. Don't sit in my seat. 

3. College guys are more afraid of you than you are of them. Kind of like spiders. Creepy, but easy to hit with a shoe. 

4. Make friends in every class. You're all stuck there together. Try to avoid the "adult learner" who asks too many questions. 

5. Sometimes all you need in life is Ramen, ice cream and Netflix. And a big comfy chair. 

6. Your roommates are probably not plotting to kill you or -much worse- eat your food. Probably. 

7. You don't have to drink the kool aid. Retain your personal beliefs and avoid being brainwashed by your professors. Because honestly they are overweight white guys with a few extra pieces of paper. Not God. 

8. There is so much more to life than what you are doing now. Right now you are trying to make sure the indentations are correct on your References page. There is a lot more to the universe my friend. 

9. Park strategically. 

10. College is not the point of life. So stop feeling like you have dishonored the ancestors just because you don't like it or you skipped class or you drop out. 

11. Community College is way underrated. At $89 per credit hour nobody puts Lincoln Land in a corner. 

And that's a wrap. #classof2015

With Love,

Emily LeVault

IKEA lied.

IKEA is a beautiful place. 

If you've never been, you'll just have to believe me. It's beautiful. There are floors upon floors of what a perfect house can look like. Perfect kitchen, perfect bedroom, perfect office-- just perfect. 

When we got married, I thought we were on track for the IKEA life. I mean sure, bad things happen to good people-- but if those good people also live in an awesome house with fluffy white towels... how bad can the bad stuff really be? 

IKEA convinced me that if I just registered for enough fluffy white towels, designer pots and pans, Apple TV and three spatulas, that life after marriage would be perfect. 

So, I registered us for the perfect life. I thought of everything we could ever possibly need and then about a hundred things we would never need. I convinced Garrett to let me have the most perfect apartment we could find with new paint and new carpet and vaulted ceilings -- all a part of the perfect equation. I had everything we needed for our life to look like an IKEA catalog, and all we had to do was get married and move in. Life was going to be perfect. 

IKEA lied. 

After we got married, life kept going.
Not in the perfect IKEA way I thought we were destined for, no. 
In the same way that Garrett and Emily had done life before. 

We had a beautiful set of pots and pans- that were not dishwasher safe. We discovered this after we put them through the dishwasher. 

We had fluffy white towels... until they got washed with one very bright blue towel. 

We had this awesome kettle that whistled and everything... until I lit it on fire. 

We had matching sugar and flour canisters... until they fell off of the fridge and shattered. 

We had an Apple TV remote... until it magically disappeared. 

We had a Keruig machine... until it spontaneously died. 

We had a blender... until it cracked up the side, mid-smoothie.

The list goes on: can opener, waffle maker, butter dish, Mac charger.

My point is... that the IKEA fairy never showed up in the LeVault household and life kept being life.

We're moving back to Illinois in a few weeks.

We've prayed about this decision for months. We've labored over it, pros and cons, back and forth. This is what we know is right for our family, this is where God's leading us. But this is not what I had planned. This was not part of my IKEA-perfect life.

When we got here I was surprised to find that instead of perfect, I was heartbroken, lonely and homesick. And after a few months of that, I started to wonder why on earth God had brought us to Fort Wayne, Indiana. 

I still can't tell you why. 

I do know that while we were here, God taught us a lot. 

While we were here I had to take a giant dose of humility by becoming a college freshman again, and cleaning up vomit professionally. 

While we were here God gave us a small group to do life with.

While we were here I learned to rely on Garrett. 

Today is my last day of work; I keep crying about it and laughing too. If you had told me nine months ago that I would mourn leaving Fort Wayne I would have laughed at you. But God changed my heart, He gave me people who love me and a place to belong. And miracle of all miracles,  I'm finding it hard to say goodbye.

IKEA was so wrong. You do have to pay for electricity. And my house has never looked like the catalog. But this way is better. I get to watch God being so much bigger than the hard, imperfect things in life. Honestly, I am wrecked over what He has done, how He has blessed us, how things have lined up and the timing that has brought us to this moment. 

It is time for us to go. Goodbyes are hard, and plans have changed. 

But I am so thankful for a God who shows Himself in the brokenness of my imperfect life. 

This past weekend Garrett left for a paintball expedition in the woods (let that sink in). As I was getting ready for bed I noticed a lone bright orange toothbrush sitting on our bathroom counter... mine was nowhere to be found. 

As we come to the end of this adventure in Fort Wayne, I'm not sure what to say. God has done amazing things here. None of them were what I had planned. How perfect is that. 

With Love,

Emily LeVault