I'm officially a week into Year 24 and so far it looks like armfuls of blooms and hair that's easier to take care of because it's shorter now. I wanted to feel more wild and free, and chopping off my hair felt like something I could do that day. So I did. 

Magic seems to dance around a new year — I woke up with a restless wiggle whispering to my bones that a million new trails were set in front of me. I crave to keep that anticipation so very close and near to each minute of my days. After spending a few days walking the forest of Year 24, I figured out the wisdom and intentions I want to tuck into my backpack. You can walk with me, if you'd like to.

1 // Plant the windowsill garden.
I have a hundred dried flowers hanging upside down on my living room wall. I see fresh blooms at the market and imagine how they'd look all dried up and fragile. But I want to start cultivating. Therefore I am planting a windowsill garden — it might not work. Maybe I'll just end up with pots full of dirt. But earthworms like soil, and so do I. 

2 // Let bravery talk. 
I used to live as a mouse, quiet and afraid. I'm working to be wild and free now, to live in joy and intention while seeking beauty and courage. Bravery is my mission. 

3 // Minimize, minimize, minimize. 
In the words of Emily Gilmore, "I'm decluttering my life. If it brings you joy, you keep it. If it doesn't, out it goes."  Does this heavy brass sea lion bring me joy? You betcha — he gets to stay. But anything that doesn't spark nostalgia, purpose or joy, I want it outta here.

4 // Break up with worry.
I've started to write lists of anything and everything that makes me feel anxious or worried. Sometimes there's validity and somedays it's okay, but mostly I get in my own head and they start to sneakily emerge and wiggle their way to cloud my eyes. I'm going to command the thoughts with strength and ferocity to go away and be trampled underneath my bare feet (even if it feels thorny).

5 // Know when it's time to quit. 
I'm going to gain being okay with slamming the old oak door on stuff that's no longer serving me well, and also on things that I can no longer serve well. Do the messy, heavy, dirty work to figure out what's important and what can take the back burner for now. Tear out the weeds. 

6 // Say yes, too. 
It's all about boundaries, babe. It's about taking chances on people, and things that could turn into passion projects or heart works. Say yes to drinking water, wearing soft clothes, coffee dates, love letters and phone calls, and exploring.

7 // Remember that God doesn't hide.
It's not in His nature. Maybe he'll be quiet for a season or two, but that's when it's on me to open the door and listen harder. 

8 // Blaze the trails. 
Drop the seeds behind me as I go, beg the rain and light for growth so that bravery blooms will break the soil and scamper to reach the sky. Forage bouquets, fellow trailblazers, then drop your own seeds. 

9 // Hydrate. 
With coffee. But also with water because my body deserves to be nourished by enough water. And coffee, of course. 

10 // Yell at the trees. 
Like, actually shout at them. I want to march around my neighborhood and holler, "It's beautiful to be alive! Breathe this air! Look at you, trees! You are a work of art and you're rooted here for a reason!" People might think it's weird at first but I think they'll join in when they see how freeing it is to compliment the trees.

11 // Let God amplify.
Pray the big prayers and whisper the smaller ones. Ask that He moves in and around everything.

12 // Buy the plane ticket.
Travel. Go where I feel called to go. And then put more quarters in my adventure jar so that I can buy the next plane ticket. 

13 // Listen to the Soul Whispers and follow the God Winks.
Those are the words my sweet friend Sophie wrote me in a letter. I think when you begin noticing these, I'll start to see just how subtly and strongly God starts weaving His presence and holy touch on all aspects of the every day. Then I think life begins changing and moving and dancing. 

14 // Dig out the rot. 
Come to terms with fear of isolation and fear of growing close to people, and maaaaaybe let myself fall in love. I've got to start digging because burying stuff doesn't make it go away, it just makes weeds grow. And if you let dreams and anticipation fall asleep in muddy water, they'll just drown next to your feet. Move forward with a shovel, babe.

15 // Journal.
Write it all down. Every web of thought that is woven into my day — the grocery lists, the funny human interactions, the prayers, the God Winks. Come back to read it in fifty years. I want to be amused and rattle with tears and not wrestle to remember what I was like when I was 24. 

16 // Sisters and soul sisters are best friends.
And they should be. Find them and root each other on because we shouldn't have to walk through the forest by ourselves. 

17 // Set a budget and knock out loans.
Save that money and be content in living small now — so adventures can come later. 

18 // Don't grow cold when the seasons do.
I tend to let the light go from my eyes when the sun sets sooner. I let the cold wiggle its way into my bones and it doesn't leave until springtime. I want to battle with a lion's heart, to say "HEY WINTER, you don't get to steal my joy. Not this year." I don't want to sleepwalk while I'm awake.

19 // Go outside.
Forage some blooms and take them home. Return to the forest to remember why you started the thing in the first place. Breathe a little easier.

20 // Focus on faith.
Because a faith-filled life is a full life and beauty is woven through all the corners. I want to let God stir my heart so I wake up and fall asleep to joy in Him, instead of weariness.

21 // Do the stuff I keep saying I'll do.
Write the book. Make stickers of my whale who has mushrooms growing on his back. Quit letting Fear get in the way because he's not my pal. Sorry Fear, I have stuff for the world.

22 // Remember that trying to do too much makes things slip through the cracks.
Set intentional, attainable goals and priorities. I don't have to juggle everything at once. And that's okay.

23 // Learn to cook. 
Like, baby steps. First goal — don't burn down the apartment. Just learn how to make a casserole and go from there.

24 // Give myself the titles and say hello to them.  
Florist. Writer. Maker. Seeker of Beauty. Everyday Explorer. Kate.

The wily crew of campers' ears perked up as they swirled their first-night meal of spaghetti onto their forks. They overheard their counselors whispering about the reappearance of the skeletal beast in the forest - murmured words that he was resting just off the path in the nettles, halfway down the trail to the creek. The campers heard stories last year that a beast may have once lived in the forest. Curiosity crept into their bones at the prospect of being the ones to discover the fabled beast. 

As the campers nibbled the last bites of their brownies, the counselors announced that a hike was next. Bug spray was a necessity but the campers decided they'd better collect sticks on the way, too. They needed to arm themselves in case the beast decided to emerge from the forest during the hike. 

The counselors explained that this was to be a silent hike so that they could all enjoy the sounds of nature - but as they walked, the campers were more listening for sound signs that the beast was coming. Perhaps he snacked on small bunnies, maybe nettles and poison ivy, or worse yet — camper-sized humans. 

As they hiked, the wily crew sneakily scooped up sticks from the forest floor. Their fearless camp counselors led them down the trail towards the creak, towards the supposed location of the skeletal beast. The campers' eyes were peeled, scanning the forest for the beast with sticks at the ready for defense. 

A gust of wind came as they sensed something among the nettles. Without pause, they forged ahead with their sticks to proactively fend off what they knew was the beast. 

As the wind moved through the foliage and sticks barreled through the air, the beast came into line of sight — but he was still. Preserved in time.

He was truly just a skeleton, once living but now left behind to become a part of the forest as nettles creeped among him. The fabled tale was true — a beast once roamed Camp Fontanelle and he remains to stand in the trees as a guardian of the forest, for the sake of wily campers to discover him. 

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The lovely Lydia Daigle and I teamed up for the @artstew52 Week 22 Diptych prompt collaboration! Oh what fun it was for both of us to take a photograph of foliage that seem to mirror each other (Lydia's is on the left, mine's the right) and write short stories of the seasons. Click her name above to read a winter tale about sledding and a grumpy old man! It's golden.

My story was inspired by a metal skeletal beast sculpture I welded together and hid in the forest at Camp Fontanelle. A little girl from my church was a camper several weeks ago and she came back to tell me how they found the beast in the forest and threw sticks at him. I told her he didn’t eat humans -- rather he was on a nettles diet ;) 

Friends, I've now been walking the post-college, real world road for just over a year now. I think if you're walking with me, at whatever length you've traveled, you know that it can indeed be lonely. That's not to say that there aren't good, kind people on the way — at work, at church, in your family... In fact, you might frequently interact with them and they easily knit their love into your days. And you most certainly don't take it for granted. 

But more than likely, you settle in some nights and feel like you're trudging through a desert. 

When you're in the "real world," it can feel like you've been flown to the middle of the barren dryness and forced to sky dive out of the plane by yourself. You free fall to the sand and land hard in a cloud of dust. You wiggle your way to stand up and brush yourself off, look around and can't see any sign of life for miles.

You shout loud, desperately inviting somebody to join you for this walk — and a coffee date, in the unlikely chance you might happen to find a cozy shop in the middle of the desert.

You most likely you can't hear anyone responding to your calls, so you walk. And walk. And walk. And walk until you pass over a sand dune and nearly run into another person who feels just as lost as you do. And you walk together, down that desert trail until you find that lone coffee shop. Over the mugs, you learn each others' hearts and you don't feel quite as alone.  

Friends, this life is lonely and maybe you're looking for your community. Know that others are wandering the desert too, and you will find them.

These days, I am grateful. Grateful for kind church people, for my camp people, and for my family. And somehow, I've nestled into a community called the Art Stew. We don't simply make art, we mail each other surprise packages. We make mugs that fit perfectly in hands. We send notes and words laced in love and encouragement. And with you're resting with your tribe, it seems like the desert road isn't so lonely anymore. 

This is the first time in four years that I'm not packing up my wolf shirts, water bottle, bandanas and Bible to live with me in the forest for ten weeks. It's the strangest feeling and I've felt the urge to get in my car and drive to camp immediately at least twelve times in the last five days. 

But perhaps you have packed. Maybe you are about to drive down the gravel road to the forest. From somebody with "professional sleeping bag roller, four years experience" on her resume, here are some words written just for you. 

You may never know if your feet are dirty or if you have a Chaco tan line. It's probably both. Accept that as a badge of honor, just as you should accept being called "weird" as a characteristic of a superhero. 

My friend, it takes a special breed of human to be a camp counselor. Congratulations, you have made the cut. Have all the coffee but have no expectations. Walk ten miles a day. It's really no biggie. 

When a camper wakes you up at two in the morning because a wolf spider and her egg sack are creeping in the outhouse, please simply put a sign on the door directing them to the bathhouse instead. There are some spiders you can deal with. A wolf spider, her egg sack and an outhouse at 2 a.m. is not a circumstance you should have to deal with. 

Be proud when your girls whisper to you that they peed clear because that means you made sure they're hydrated. Be jazzed when another tells you she was excited about having a frog in her shower. Make each day close, real and good. Make every day like one you haven't seen before. At some point it's going to be your 50th day of camp, but it will be your campers' first day. 

Make up long jokes that don't make sense. Tell outrageous bedtime tales, even to the high schoolers. I promise they'll like it. Your campers will soak in every word of your stories, and they'll crave to share their own when they know they're in a safe space with you. You can either tune them out or listen hard. Choose to listen and love them deeply. Make them know they are seen by you and God because maybe they feel invisible back home. This is your chance to be a world changer. 

Invest in the work. It's more valuable and more precious than you can even dream of. I beg you, make your God-given time on the fruitful camp soil worth it every day you're there. Don't sleepwalk while you're awake. 

When you're a camp counselor, you build fires and campers come to them. Some nights they'll be one-match sculptural masterpieces. Other times you'll battle humidity so hard that you start frantically whispering prayers to God that your fire might start before the campers hike down the trail for worship. 

Build your campfires. Figure out if you like the log cabin or teepee structure best. I personally like the cabin. Peel bark off logs for kindling and gather small twigs and dried foliage from the forest floor. Light your match or take the lighter from your backpack. Fan the flame once it begins to catch. You'll have to work to sustain your fire like you'll work to sustain your staff community. 

Try as you might, you can't force connection and you won't always get along. When you haven't showered in three days, have 37 mosquito bits on just one leg, and another camp counselor is getting on your very last nerve, you may feel like you're barely holding onto the edge. Take a breather and then step back to the present. You never know what they're just barely holding on too, so please love each other hard. Be the light because your campers are always watching. You can't be a superhero camp counselor by yourself. You cannot do this life alone, and you're not called to. 

Let hearts be changed during nightly campfire worship and let your lungs breathe in the woodsy air during night hikes. Watch in the forest for the nights when thousands of fireflies glimmer around the trees. That is pure camp magic. 

Let campers call you their older brother or sister. Give them space for cabin talk because that's when community is formed. It's a good opportunity to share your own sweet wisdom about life, school, boys and faith.

Humble yourself. Seek God's will this summer and call on him so that you can speak truth and love to your campers. The last night of camp will roll around each week. You'll sit around the fire, tears flowing and the Holy Spirit dancing around you and you'll know for sure that God is sitting next to you on the log. 

You might evolve into your best self at camp. Carry that person with you after you leave. The seemingly small things you do over the summer will indeed ripple out to spaces you may never even see. Plant the seeds anyways and trust that God will do the nurturing and harvest. 

Be fearless in your faith. Carry bravery with you and dispel every lie you tell yourself -- that your hands are much too small to do the work, that you're incapable of being a world changer, that your actions are insignificant. My friend, God blankets you in grace and sufficiency. You're valuable, worthy and seen. Don't forget that for a second. 

Take the Sabbath. God can usually renew your energy better than a nap can. God worked and rested, and took delight in both. You should too. Gift rest to your fellow camp counselors, but also ask them for help. Be careful to not stretch yourself too thin but don't be too relaxed in the work. Fight the battle to establish balance. 

Promise to fail. It's okay. But don't let that consume you. Dig out anything that's not serving you or speaking to your faith this summer. Let God fill the holes. Keep lists of your victories and the God winks you see, both large and small. 

Make camp your sanctuary. Make it the place you crave to go back to when you're in the real world and you need to find yourself again. Let camp serve you as you serve it. If your heart is open, camp can help you find your place in the world, a place where you can take your broken pieces, insecurities and messes. Find your tribe. Be forest dwellers and bed stealers. Be church goers, fire builders, life talkers and s'mores eaters. 

The work you do as a camp counselor is good. You will change lives, whether you see it or not. Maybe you'll get an Instagram DM weeks after the summer ends saying that she wrote a school essay about how you're her role model and you made her feel seen.

My friend, you are about to spend the next ten weeks of your life as a camp counselor. You ARE ready. What you're going to do WILL matter. The time is s'now to be a world changer, my dear sweet skippy. 

As a camp counselor of four summers, I am rooting for you so hard. 

Much love and many cinnamon rolls,

Kate

Dry bones, oh dry bones, weathered and whitened by the winter's cold sun. Why have we become nestled into the dead winter field, just slightly blanketed by bent fragile wheat? Where is the joy laced in sunbeams and sunflowers? Come alive, oh sweet soul, it's sad to cocoon and hide in the dry light of loneliness and barrenness. Ask for living water, come alive once again to seek the beauty we see in even the shadowy, cobwebbed spaces. Reside in a city of golden awe as the earthworm peeps from the soil when the raindrops finally begin to speckle the weathered bones. Living water, wash away the dust, breathe life and joy into our winter souls.

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This short musing takes the place of my weekly Currently post, the words were knockin' on my heart and seemed important today.