Until We Meet Again.

Life alway seems to get in the way of my plans. Everything was perfect and then it wasn’t.

He didn’t make the team.

The economy crashed.

She planned her life around him and now it’s over.

She missed it by one point.

He had his whole life ahead of him.

We didn’t plan for this.

We buy insurance and security systems. We build savings accounts and 401K’s. I didn’t vote for this. I didn’t sign up for this.

We didn’t plan for this.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the unexpected. It’s interesting to notice how people deal with it. Some of us fall apart. Others seem to triumph.

All that I know how to do is learn from it. There was a lot of “unexpected” in the last six weeks. Some good, some not so much. To be honest, the entire project was unforeseen in my grand scheme of things. But we learned a lot. Here are ten randoms:

1. There are a lot of angry people in the world. But there are also a lot of loving people. We are all capable of both.

2. Daily life can be mundane whether you’re on a grand adventure or working a job you hate.

3. We aren’t meant to be alone.

4. Jeeps tend to overheat when driving up hills while towing a trailer in 106 degree weather.

5. If your best isn’t good enough, it’s not the end of the world.

6. My love is, as hard as I try, conditional. God’s is not.

7. Words have power. It would do me good to choose them more wisely.

8. Humidity.

9.  People are infinitely more valuable than ideas, plans, and things.

10. Life happens. My response is more important than my plan.

We left Dallas for New Orleans. What an incredible city. Unlike the other 20+ places we stayed, we didn’t know a soul. Luckily, a friend found us a place to stay last minute. There were a lot of cockroaches. The boys were strong. I screamed like a little girl. Maybe that was Rachel. It’s irrelevant.

No one came to the show for the first hour. But my friends played just the same. I thought it was beautiful, watching them play as though no one was watching…literally. To our great surprise, four local college students came in half way through. They drew us a picture and it’s going on my wall.

I don’t like it when people say they have no regrets, that they wouldn’t have done things differently. I’m grateful for the experiences that come out of failure and naivety. But I’m going to honest, I would have done a lot of things differently. There were a lot of lessons to be learned in six weeks. Unfortunately, most of the strategies came a little too late in the game.

We made an unexpected stop in Alabama on route to Tennessee. We met a guy named Jake in Dallas who wanted to get us a show there. It didn’t end up working out with our short time frame, but we stayed the night in a shed outside of Birmingham anyways. Jake was such an encouragement. Moreover, he represented this collection of people who kept throwing themselves behind our vision. Emails offering places to stay and people to connect with kept pouring in. Invites to return were endless and a group of students from Texas almost drove to Colorado to come to another show.

We left for Tennessee the following morning. We stayed with a friend Melissa who lives near and works at the army base in Clarksville. Stepping into other people’s stories, even for such a brief period, gave us a perspective we wouldn’t have had staying by ourselves in hotels. Every two days we were in a new city with new people. Often they were old friends, sometimes they were strangers. We made our way into Nashville and out of Tennessee the next day.

By this point we had discovered we preferred to drive through the night. I guess it’s easier to sleep away 13 hour drives when it’s dark outside. Bonus: the car doesn’t overheat. We arrived in Alexandria, Virginia at 5am the next morning. The girl we were staying with hadn’t woken up for work yet. One of us laid down and fell asleep on the sidewalk. I won’t tell you who.

We ended up playing three shows with our contact in Virginia. Collaborating with local talent is smart. Something I learned a little too late in my short career as an amateur booking agent.

Our third show with Tiffany was in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. We played at this bookstore. Maybe we were missing Portland, maybe we just love bookstores, but it was wonderful. You just want to spend the entire day reading and taking pictures, a friend in Los Angeles had warned us. He was right.

It was so good for us to connect with other musicians who were touring at the same time. Up until now we had played most shows by ourselves. Criticism and input can be helpful from anyone. But there’s a power and understanding in talking to someone who’s done it before. Tiffany may very well be one of the hardest workers I know.

A couple of our friends were simultaneously touring across the country with a nonprofit organization called MyFight. They sell t-shirts to provide microloans, financial services and training to the poor in developing economies. Our schedules just so happened to have crossed in Pennsylvania. They are doing some awesome work, check them out here.

Our three hour drive to New York City took closer to five hours…naturally. We were embarrassingly redirected at the Lincoln Tunnel to the trailer-sanctioned Holland Tunnel. Number 11 to add to that list: tolls are expensive. Mind you we come from a state without tolls and without sales tax. We don’t even get out of the car to pump our own gas, if we even drive a car. I felt like we were in some sort of reality television show as we drove through the middle of Manhattan, with a trailer, in five o’clock traffic, with no air conditioning, to stay with a supermodel in the east village. I wasn’t really sure why the air conditioning was off but I wasn’t going to ask.

There was a three band line up for the show. We played first. I always get really nervous at shows and I’m not even playing. I’ve never worked with people I love so much. They were trusting me with a big part of themselves. Sometimes I fail. But I also get to see people fall in love with their music. I get to see them network and build relationships. Ultimately, I get to see them work toward something they love.

Then we headed west.

This is the point in the tour where I really realized what stopping in 15 cities on the way over and only 4 on the way back was going to feel like. We left New York city late in the evening for Chicago. A last minute contact provided us a place to stay in West Chicago. The people we stayed with were all so incredible, the backbone to this project. Without the encouragement and hospitality of others, often people we’d never met before, we would have been a traveling mess. Opening up your home to someone is such a vulnerable thing. It meant the world to us to be welcomed by so many.

We spent a lot of time in prayer and challenging conversation in Chicago. When people ask us about the relational dynamic of the tour, it blesses me that I can say it went well, that it was strong. Of course we had our differences. Little irritations will become big irritations if you let them. We were strongest when we were in prayer, Jordan tells everyone we see. It wasn’t like anything I’ve ever done before. We had been on missions trips before. We had all lived with people. We had all worked with people. We had all traveled with people. But the dynamic was so different than I’d previously experienced. I like to describe it like this. We were all all in. We weren’t doing work someone else had told us to do. There wasn’t a leader/follower mentality. We had put all of our own money into recording and planning and tour funds. We had the financial and emotional support of our community at home. We had quit our jobs. Moved out of our apartments (mostly). We were breathing, eating, living, working, crying, laughing, driving, praying, and dreaming together. We were all all in. When we got angry, we addressed it. When we hurting, we prayed. When we were irritated, we talked about it. When we were tired, we didn’t.

When you have someone beside you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for six weeks, you learn to love better. I realized how easy it is to be likeable when people only get to see the full-tank, energized, pleasant version of you. I also realized that I’m only that way about 10% of the time. When I had a hard time loving, I was reminded that I’m not the easiest person to love.

It was the fourth of July. We missed the fireworks. By about 15 minutes. On the train ride back to West Chicago we sat across from a group of recently graduated high school students. We talked nearly the whole ride home. Two stops before home, our newly acquired friends caught wind that we were a band. You have to sing us a song now! Fortunate for me, I get to say things like, SURE! They’ll do it, while I sit back and videotape it. I think I’ll remember moments like those the most.

We split the drive from Chicago, Illinois to Boulder, Colorado with a quick overnight stop in Omaha, Nebraska. Drive all day. Sleep through the night. Drive all day. We arrived in Boulder to rain. Up until now we had been chasing heat waves. Ninety-five to one hundred degree temperature had been our norm. Humidity had become our enemy. Colorado was cold and we wore pants.

Boulder reminded us so much of home. I’ve been told that Oregonians and Coloradans are cut from the same cloth. I like mountains. Colorado has a lot of those. The gal we stayed with was unreal. A friend of a friend (if this is your first read, this is a common occurrence), Sarah spent every waking moment with us. We had never met this girl and she was going out of her way to make sure we were fed, rested, showered, clothed, and encouraged. It was like we were family and we had only just met. She shared stories of her own community and the way the Lord was using her friends. She loved so practically.

The show in Boulder was better than expected. We had had a rough couple of days with some things and were feeling greatly discouraged. The cafe was pretty high traffic, so the place was full when we arrived. Another girl played first. She had this ability to storytell in a way I found so genuine. Every piece of her music was fighting for someone else. Her and her husband worked with several nonprofits around the country. Her music provided this instrument by which to tell those stories. I sat back and remembered why we were doing this.

I love taking a backseat during shows. It’s interesting to watch people’s faces as the music unfolds. Often their countenances change. I think they tell a great story. I think their hearts are in the right place. Of course not everyone’s going to love the music, but no one walked out…so that’s good. In all honesty, I got to hear the accounts of so many people who were encouraged by the stories of their music. That made it worth it.

Another overnight drive took us from Boulder to Boise. We were able to connect with a local couple who took us to a show and introduced us to some others involved in the Boise music scene. The came to our show the following night as well. It’s funny how sometimes the smallest details, the emails you almost forget to follow through on, will end up birthing the greatest experiences. They were one of them. It was the kindness of people who made this entire thing possible.

We ended up forgoing the stop in Washington and donating the remaining funds to the nonprofit we partnered with (see below). The bands plan to play a show in Seattle this fall.

We were nearly home.

One. Last. Overnight. Drive. We crossed the border into Oregon around two o’clock in the morning. We jumped out to pump our own gas only to see a gas attendant already doing the job. We were home. Bend became the last stop on our trip. They played a house show for many of the supporters that we had here in Oregon. Our mothers even drove out to see it. Precious. Last show. Tour over.

This tour was not something I ever thought I would do. Most of the time I wonder how it all came together. We’d love to tell you more if you want, but let’s do it in person. Thank you again to everyone who supported us in this. We are in the midst of sending letters and meeting with people. We couldn’t have done it without people like you.

We are so excited to say that we have leftover funds and tip money to donate to the Women and Children’s Advocacy Center to support the great work that they are doing there. It was an incredible honor to be able to take some of their material on the road, but also be able to support them financially. If you would like to know more about them, visit them here: Women and Children’s Advocacy Centre.

I just wanted to share one last thought with you. This tour meant so much to us. When criticism came it affected me more than I expected. It took me far longer than it should have to realize why. These three are my family. For the last six months, they have been my life. I’ve walked through so much with them before, during, and after this tour. I know their pains and insecurities better than most and they know mine. I didn’t get tired of the music because it was the story of our lives. Literally. There is a verse of one of the songs, which to my friend’s embarassment, I always whisper (or sometimes exclaim) to the person next to me, this part is about me.

Oh dear friend don’t’ start to weep

Surely this is not your defeat

Sing to me your melody

Ever so sweet and meek

Raise your voice and still your soul

Let love teach you to be bold

Oh darling please be strong

Don’t’ ever lose you song

‘Cause this is not the end

Oh this is not the end

Oh this is not the end

Just wait and see your heart will mend. 

In the last year, the four of us have all had these moments of personal defeat. We’ve found ourselves without the strength to get back up. We’ve seen death, heartache, loneliness, apathy, dreams shattered, and hopes deferred. The beauty of friendship and of community is that it has the power to pick us back up again when we are unable. This tour saved my life, Rachel told me before we left. Without other people, without hope and without the One who created it we wouldn’t be here.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. {Proversbs 13:12}

You are often that deliverer of hope.

with love,

a tour of sorts.

We all tell stories. Some of ours are scattered all over the Internet.

There are people that love it and there are people that hate it. I’m not sure how to approach the latter.

We are learning. We’re a little bit crazy. I’m under no illusion that this project is typical. I know what it looks like. Believe me, I’ve been told what it looks like.

I will tell you that this is all new to me. I wake up every morning processing the slew of events that landed me 3000 miles from home. Before three months ago I’d never booked a show in my life. I’d never designed posters, written anything but term papers, made a press kit or been called a hipster for that matter. Our desire was to share with you our learning process – our struggles and all.

I am (we are) broken. But I’m in love with a God who wants to make me whole. It’s a slow, often painful process. I get to be wrong a lot.

We felt like we were supposed to share this journey as honestly as possible. We’re not professionals and we’re not theologians. These are thoughts and experiences in process.

Here’s our context. We’re all incredibly fortunate young adults. Not only do we have places to live, computers to even write this on, and college educations, but we are blessed to live in a community that supported this project, as absurd as many people find it. I have a mother and a father who would give their lives to see their kids succeed, and I’m not ashamed of that. I am beyond grateful. I wish everyone knew that kind of support. I’m aware that people think we are unaware.

We wanted to see how other people were using artistic vocations to encourage and help others. A lot of them were friends, a lot of them friends of friends. This was not meant to be some conclusive, all encompassing research project. We reached out to people we thought were doing interesting things in their communities. We went from there. A friend in Los Angeles using a clothing company to advocate healthy body image.  A couple we met on Twitter who are using their designs and writing to talk about subjects people often ignore in the church. A family in Albuquerque who are mentoring and encouraging artists in their neighborhood. A model in New York City who is constantly giving so that her friends can succeed.

A lot of our tour took place “off stage”. Conversation doesn’t always have monetary value. I get that.

Often my definition of success is doing everything “right” and having everyone like you. I have a lot to learn.

But I don’t believe this endeavor was a failure. By a lot of people’s standards, yes. By the music industry’s, I’m sure of it. House shows and coffee shops don’t exactly draw large crowds. Forty-eight days is a long time for fifteen shows. I know. But we don’t think encouraging a boy in Lubbock is a waste of money. We don’t think sharing the vision of the Women and Children’s Advocacy Center is a waste of time. We wanted to have time to hear people’s stories.Technology is great. Stages have power. But we’ve seen face to face conversation have incredible value.

We took a risk. We had an idea and we went for it. Of course we made mistakes. We live in this tension between who we strive to be an who we are. Whenever you attach your name to an identity, you run the risk of enforcing the very stereotypes you are trying to debunk. But we won’t stop trying for fear of failure.

Disclaimer: Any commentary by us, relating to this project, will strictly be found on this website, our Kickstarter, our Twitter and our Facebook page. We will not be posting commentary or responding on other websites. If you encounter entries in our name, please know that we were not the authors of such content. 

The Gift of Networking 

I have this friend. If “networking” were a spiritual gift, she has it. I’ve met practically everyone I know in Portland because of her. Every city we stopped in from Texas to Alabama, I heard the words, “Miranda? Ya, I know Miranda.” We would be grabbing a cup of oh-so-perfect coffee in SE Portland and she’d say “Anya, meet so-and-so. She ordered a soy latte from me this morning.” From customer to friend in a mere two hours.

So when she asked us to come to Dallas, I couldn’t say no. The plan was to go to Austin, which I have been told is the Portland of Texas. It seemed more fitting. It was logical. But I’ve been learning we serve an incredibly illogical God. So Dallas it became.

I made one phone call, and in typical Miranda fashion, discovered that everything was already taken care of.

The house show went from awkward to awesome in a matter of minutes. I sat there and marveled at the way Jordan changed the entire temperature of the room with little more than charm and his Breedlove.

If you can command the attention of a room with a glockenspiel then you have it. And let me tell you, these kids have it.

People keep asking us if we still get along. I suppose I had the same assumption. We definitely have our moments. I’ve been told I’m scary sometimes. But the reality is, I fall more in love with them everyday. I wouldn’t be sitting on a stranger’s couch in West Chicago if I didn’t. I couldn’t do this without them and as they often remind me, they couldn’t do this without Mama Anya.

Collaboration is a beautiful thing. Dependency is not defeat. It reveals our humanity. That we need each other. What if we stopped pretending we can do everything? What if our independency is keeping us from succeeding? Maybe we were meant to act like a body.

Meet Jordan, You May Know Him as #JORO.

Photo Credit:David Iliyn, David James Visuals

Tell me your story. 

I am a God fearing, left handed right-minded thinking, creative, amiable, lovable person who enjoys a good pint. I was born and raised for the most part in the lovely state in which I’m far too proud to be a part of, Oregon. I grew up playing sports and doing a lot of outdoor activities with my family. I owe my love for the outdoors to my parents. There is nothing more humbling than a snow-covered mountain or more beautiful than a sun kissed ocean. Despite the fact that I was shy as a kid I found an outlet through middle school drama to release my inner artiste. Being a part of drama class I got more connected to my artistic side and started playing the guitar everyday. I was always interested in the guitar though, because of my father. He had an acoustic guitar when my brother and I were growing up, and we used to pluck the strings while he would form a chord. I remember the night I knew I wanted to play the guitar for the rest of my life. I was half asleep on my couch, and my dad was sitting on the ground next to me playing all the old songs he knew. As I listened, I knew that this “music” thing is more than just music. It can connect us with each other’s souls. It can lift people up and bring people together. It’s something that is so intangible, yet we have the power to create it. At the same time I started playing the guitar, my best friend started playing the drums, and the rest is history, as they say. We have been in and out of the same bands for 10 years before starting Find Your Smile in 2010, which my brother and his brother are apart of. If I’ve learned anything from growing up it’s that life does not slow down. In fact, it gets busier. But you have a choice of making it better or worse. I am blessed. Life has been generous to me.

Passions? {you say my sister and I’ll kill you]

Music. It’s an artistic expression of life. My heart skips a beat when I see a performance of someone pouring out their soul through their instrument or voice. That’s just it though; there is something more to music than just music. It’s connected to our lives. It’s connected to our souls. Music can either mask the truth or be the truth. I strive for the latter.

Learning?

God is teaching me about community. It’s funny when people say they don’t like people. I hope they realize they’re people too.  When I think someone is hard to love or difficult to even be around I try to remember I’m not so easy to love sometimes too. I recently read the book “Screwtape Letters,” which is chalk full of wisdom about community. In one of the parts it talks about how the closer we get to one another the quicker we snap or get annoyed of each other. I hate that we get so frustrated with the ones we love. Why is that? I’m learning how to deal with how to love a person even when the love seems far away. I’m learning that  “feelings” are just feelings and they can sway like the wind. I’m learning community is something we need. No one can deal with life on their own. Nor should they, it’s too freaking hard and confusing sometimes.

Art and Community?

Art and community go hand in hand like chocolate and wine. Both are fantastic by themselves, but when together they are amazing. Unless, it’s like white chocolate and a gross fruity wine then it doesn’t pair so well. There is art that can enhance the community and there is art that can destroy community. If we all need community then why not make it better with art that creates joy within the community.

Randoms. 

Top 5 films:  Oceans Eleven, Finding Forester, Almost Famous, …Free Willy, Notting HIll

Top 5 albums:  This is difficult.  It will change every time I try to answer this.  Any Beatles album, The Head and Heart by The Head and The Heart,  A Charlie Brown Christmas,  Classic Sinatra, Emotionalism by Avett Brothers, The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan,  Garden State soundtrack and Finding Forester’s soundtrack, and Almost Famous’s soundtrack…blast this is difficult.  How I Got Over by The Roots,  Light Grenades Incubus or really any Incubus album, Parachutes by Coldplay probably for nostalgia, Physical Graffitii by Led Zeppelin,  The Reckoning by NEEDTOBREATH…okay I’m done for now

Top 5 books:  A million miles in a thousand years Donald Miller, Screwtape letters CS Lewis, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas Hunter S Thopmson, Where the Red Fern Grows…any Dr. Suess Book and Where the Sidewalk ends Silverstein

Favorite artist: Hmmm Dali.  ….

Favorite spot in Portland:  Wherever my friends are

Favorite article of clothing:  Socks are fun

Can’t live without: music

How do you drink your coffee: black sometimes americano’s or “little buddies” or if I want to treat myself,,,I’ll get a latte

Country you want to visit next: Hmm Ecuador

Nicknames: Joro, JorRo of the Jungle (self proclaimed), Hunter- Gatherer, JT, J, Jordy, Roach, J. Roach, JR,

I’ve never:  been water skiing.  I know.  I’m not a huge swimmer, but I love the ocean and sun…so that counts or something.

Coffee with the Crew. Instagram Style.

We wanted to say a quick thank you again to all of those who have financially supported this project. This was the first time we have ever used Kickstarter. It was a roller coaster of an experience. Tosh.0 and some technical difficulties aside, it was a great success. So many of you helped make this adventure possible and we are eternally grateful. We offered several rewards for the pledges. We’ve had an amazing time with the people we’ve been able to meet with thus far and are excited to tell the rest of you our stories. One of our dearest friends is currently living in Taiwan. As much as we would love to fly on over, it’s just not in the budget (this time). He suggested we Instagram “Coffee with the Crew” instead. So Nick Edwards, this is to you!

Bridge Builders: The Women & Children’s Advocacy Center

Sometimes we forget. About why we are here and what we are doing. Every now and then we get tired. Distractions seem to be lurking on every street corner. Yes, this may be a grand adventure. But it is still life, and life comes with its’ set of obstacles.

This trip isn’t about us, though we often forget. Some days we see the fruit. Other days we find ourselves full of doubt. Why did God give us this much responsibility? Why did people trust us? We’re kids.

I’m not qualified to tell this story. There are better writers and a million people out there who actually know how to use a camera. My inability to use a comma correctly will forever haunt these pages.

And then I realize I’m still talking about myself.

The only way I know how to battle pride is to direct my gaze elsewhere. So let this be an exercise in humility.

Let me tell you a story of compassion. Its’ protagonists are intelligent and cunning, though their fight is selfless. You won’t read about them on page six and you won’t find them wearing capes.

They are quiet revolutionaries.

Their hearts are burdened for those most vulnerable. They are asking what it takes to create change.

And they recognize that they are not alone. There are a lot of incredible organizations around the world which have the same heart. What I particularly love about this one is that their leaders are dedicated to bringing unity. They are “bridge builders” and we are privileged enough to call them friends.

The Women & Children’s Advocacy Center recently moved their headquarters to Portland, Oregon.
I’d like to share some of their own words with you:

The purpose of the Women & Children’s Advocacy Centre (WCAC) is to be a resource for those currently working with women and children at risk, and a resource for those who want to help – to become a bridge, a lifeline and a central place for people to come together, so that there is hope, interdependence, and change.

The WCAC facilitates working together to see ministries fulfil God’s calling to work among the most vulnerable. We do this by providing training, distributing information to care givers, raising awareness among churches, helping turn the dreams of those interested in serving into reality, and by learning from care givers’ experiences so their successes can be multiplied.

As the body of Christ we are called to support one another in our service. Your involvement can make a difference to those who are the lifeline for women and children at risk.

We have been able to partner with the Women & Children’s Advocacy Center while on the road. We believe our gifts are meant to work in conjunction with one another. It hasn’t been as much as we had hoped, but we are able to share their vision with others as we travel across the country. If you are interested in knowing more, please visit:

Women & Children’s Advocacy Center
(their website is currently under construction).

Us Versus Them: A Problem of Self Righteousness

your words are water to this desert

You’ve been on the road for three weeks?! You don’t look like it at all!

He can’t see my bug bites. We won’t tell him about the nearly untouched bottles of shampoo.

If only he knew.

Three weeks will take the enigma out of anything. The long term road trip is a world of its’ own. We may be young but we’re not untravelled. We’ve touched 6 continents and over 40 countries between the four of us. Roommates, siblings and missions trips have nothing on 12,000 miles in a Jeep with your best friends.

I can tell you what Rachel had for breakfast, the last time Jordan shampooed his hair and when David woke up this morning. What they’re reading, who they’re texting, and the last time they phoned their mother.

Jordan can’t eat breakfast, David has to. David can’t drink coffee in the morning, Jordan has to. He hates mayonnaise, she can’t eat dairy and I hate grocery shopping. We share a bank account.

Three weeks also goes by incredibly quickly. I’m sitting on a bunk bed in New Orleans and I haven’t even told you about Phoenix.

If you want to know what it felt like, step into a sauna. If you want to know what it looked like, take a trip to Anthropologie. Adorable never found a better suitor than in Meghan Wise. Chalk art, antlers, books, clocks, pillows, popcorn machines…you name it, she had it.

Posters made, coolant changed, barbecue eaten and we were off to Albuquerque. Seven hours turned into eleven hours as heat turned into swelter. Arriving three hours late to our dinner date, we found ourselves pulling up to the home of Matthew and Carolyn Tobias.

Friends of a friend of a friend. It was blind date night with the Tobias family. With the New Mexico heat wearing heavily, we arrived to find children on the lawn and chicken on the grill.

Matthew is a drummer from Nebraska, Carolyn a writer from Australia. They met in Hawaii. After working with YWAM for several years they relocated from Omaha to Albuquerque this past year. Their children are the most delightful people we have ever met. They spoke in a words well beyond their years, with manners to match. I have a passion for dancing and I would like to pursue it as a career someday. These children could articulate their passions better than most adults. Even their concern for the Albuquerque education system was as profound as their parents. The conversation went from arts education to drum kits and took a sharp turn toward community. Community isn’t something you go looking for. It’s something you create. It takes sacrifice. You can’t be at a different Bible study every night of the week and still be a part of a community, Carolyn explained.  Woah…talk about conviction. Albuquerque is one of those cities where people come to do outreach because of the thriving arts scene. Churches put on community art events. But what happens Monday morning? Where are the people living in the middle of it. Matthew and Carolyn moved to Albuquerque to do just that. They didn’t come with a five step program or a preconceived agenda. They are choosing to listen first, act second.

I wish I could recount every detail of the conversation. For it was one of those evenings that leave you pining for more. Wrestling over the words for weeks to come. I want to share a snapshot with you. A theme has arisen among conversations over the last couple of weeks. It’s one of humanity and a story that’s bigger than heaven and hell.

My intent is not to speak ill of the Church. I love the Church. God loves the church. But we are imperfect and it has been my experience, naive as it is, that pretending we are doesn’t help anyone. Take it as you will, but I’ve seen megaphones and crusades hurt more often than they heal.

Community is not affinity, Matthew always says. Ugh…that’s a hard pill to swallow. I dream of artist communities where diversity means that you paint and I dance. But is that really community? Isn’t relationship about the fact that you have what I don’t? And visa versa? Hey Mr. Accountant, what can I learn from you? A place where wisdom meets innocence and vision convicts complacency. A place where your story heals my heart.

And then we further dissociate ourselves from people who aren’t “saved”. As if we didn’t have the same struggles, wage the same wars.

We tell people they are going to hell and leave them to sort out the rest? Matthew questioned.

What about the rest of life? A thirteen year old girl who spent the morning throwing up in the cafeteria bathroom doesn’t need to hear she’s going to hell. She knows more of hell than those empty words ever will. A young man fighting for his marriage doesn’t care about heaven, he cares about today. We strategize and we sandwich board. Why don’t we listen? We search far and wide for “relevance”. Always looking to make the message “hip”.

But am I so different than the stripper on Bourbon Street? That homeless man is just as human as you are. I have clothes on my back and I can afford rent. I have some money and I’ve read a few books. I don’t have to sell my body to buy groceries. I’m not better because of it.

Self righteousness is a deadly giant. There are enough stones being thrown.

So what do I say to that thirteen year old girl? I’ll tell her that Jesus loves her, yes. But maybe first I’ll tell her that I’ve been there. That I know what it’s like to weigh yourself ten times a day. That I know what crying yourself to sleep at night feels like. Maybe I’ll tell her that I’m not healed, that I still struggle. But that I’m healing….

{the only picture I have of myself from the last two weeks and I’m holding my iPhone. what else is new?}

The southwest is hot. 110 degrees at ten o’clock at night kind of hot. A heat that forces you to drive thirty miles an hour up a hill so your Jeep doesn’t overheat. A heat that, dare I say, makes you long for August in Oregon.

And this heat breeds a rare kind of people.

People like Ryan Irby. What a gem. I imagine his heart is actually made of gold. Not to mention he can rock a suit and is one hell of a musician. It looks like a music store threw up in here, Ryan exclaimed before launching into a rapid conversation with David. They quickly transported themselves to a world where the language is Fender and the currency is Gretsch. I don’t speak Telecaster, so naturally I sat on the couch and Instagramed. They were in Narnia and I was I was Edmund Pevensie.

Master something. Do your work well. Know your profession better than anyone else. Be able to speak the language.

I need to admit something to you. I’ve been writing scared. I’ve been telling other people’s stories because it’s easier than penning my own. I’ve built myself a nice little home in the warmth and comfort of someone else’s autobiography. Don’t get me wrong, this project is very much about other people’s stories. But I also promised you ours. What I want to tell you is that I cried last night. But I don’t. I want to tell you that sometimes he says something hurtful and she says something worse. That it’s not all glitter and gold. I need you to know that I struggle with jealousy. That I want to throw up half the time I look in the mirror. That most of the time, I feel like a child who put on a pair of shoes two sizes too big.

But that’s not pretty. It doesn’t look good in a Facebook status. It won’t get me that job and certainly not a date. My writing career is limited to art history papers and embarrassing emails I’ve sent to boys I’m too nervous to confront in person. But I desire excellence. And excellence isn’t fake. I’m not promising that I will stop writing in fragmented sentences or learn how to spell. But I do hope to be better. Hopefully more polished, but probably just more honest.

If you don’t know me my name is Anya. I’m the voice behind the Tweets and the eyes behind the camera. I talk a lot, I Instagram more, and I think in 140 characters. I am a horrible driver and a compulsive “deleter”. I  have a degree in Communication and Art History if I ever remember to pick up my diploma. I’m passionate about enabling people to share their gifts. I believe God has called me to the fringes – to the places where creativity flows and hope wanes. Once, I went to Iceland by myself. I love reading. I drink too much coffee and I bicycle mostly because it’s the cool thing to do. I’m terribly burdened by the thought that I will never be an old man who drinks whisky, smokes a pipe, and reads Dostoyevsky on his porch. But mostly, I’m a 23 year old kid who loves Jesus, loves stories, and wound up on this crazy adventure across the United States.

So I hope you’ll still follow along as we tell of the good, the bad and the vulnerable. We’re not looking to air out our dirty laundry. We’re learning to tell the story … the whole story. And that story is that we are human.

to be continued…

Act II. The Dubinskys.

Los Angeles is a huge city and we are small people. With naivety heavily clouding my calculations, I forecasted a 45 mile drive would take us little over an hour. The city of Los Angeles dealt me a cold, hard reality. The journey from Chino to Venice Beach was no walk in the park.

If that’s not enough, we greatly overextended ourselves. With regret in our hearts and exhaustion in our bones, we were forced to forgo many engagements. Thankfully, the Dubinskys weren’t one of them.

It was love at first email. One afternoon, as is typical, I was reading through my Twitter feed. Ridicule me all you want, but I love Twitter. A friend of mine had retweeted a certain Lauren Dubinsky. Naturally I clicked on it. I read. Then I clicked some more. Who is this wonderful human being, I thought. Her words were human. They dealt with everything you wonder about but no one dares to mention. So I emailed her. I don’t normally do that. By that, I mean write emails to people I don’t know. Maybe the last couple of months I had become accustomed to talking to strangers. Maybe I felt like I knew her. Whatever the case, I felt the urge to encourage her. Immediately, I found an automated reply in my Inbox informing me that Lauren only checks her emails Monday through Friday. She would return my email as promptly as possible. My intention wasn’t for a conversation. I shut my computer and forgot the whole thing.

A couple of days later I discovered a response in my Inbox. Full of thankfulness and genuine interest, the email took me off guard. I didn’t know this girl from Eve. I wasn’t sure how to reply. But something told me I should. I wrote of our upcoming adventure. My fears and hopes found their way onto my keyboard faster than I had anticipated. Before I knew it I had clicked “send”. That was weird. Within an hour I found a Kickstarter notification from her husband and an ecstatic response from Lauren offering their home, their finances and her personal assistance with absolutely anything I needed.

I’m not going to bore you with the next couple of weeks but Lauren was, for me, a support I didn’t know that I needed. Web design, self hosting, HTML and CSS coding lessons … you name it. She was there.

Weeks later, the four of us found ourselves in an Intelligentsia in Venice Beach awaiting the arrival of the infamous Dubinskys. Freshly married and living in Hollywood, these two had returned to Los Angeles after seven months on the road. Talk about coincidence. Max is a writer. Lauren is a … well I’m pretty sure she’s good at everything. They’re a team if I’ve ever seen one. And they love Jesus more than each other, and each other more than what they do. They write and talk in a way that speaks of their love for people. We found them more interested in commonalities than what tears us apart. Max heart breaks for the homeless and Lauren fights for women. They’re not perfect. They don’t know all the answers. But they’re obsessed with knowing the One who does.

Max and Lauren live in the heart of Los Angeles. A man once told me that if you want to have impact somewhere, you must place yourself in the thick of it. Writing emails from the suburbs does little good for the city, if any.

God is at work in Los Angeles. Through people like the Dubinskys. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people who are giving their lives to see God’s kingdom come in the culture capitals of the world. So let’s pray for them. Let’s support them. Because God knows it’s not easy.

Check them out here:

Lauren   &   Max

Chino, the OC & Coffee Shops I Can’t Pronounce.

California was a lot of things, boring not being one of them. Four cities in one week may have been overkill. But I imagine twenty cities in six weeks is as well. To try and dictate every conversation we had, every song we sang and every emotion we felt would take far more energy than I have. And to be quite frank, you’d probably stop reading after a single paragraph … if you haven’t already. So, it’s coming in pieces. A trilogy of sorts.

After weaving our way through the grapevine we found ourselves in Los Angeles. Our perfectly coordinated arrival landed us in the middle of rush hour traffic, credit to yours truly. Not to worry, our crew is never without a joke. I don’t even think David breathes. “I’m just spitballing,” Jordan declares as he spirals into an act few comedians could rival.

We spent five days in southern California. I felt like I had moved into Rachel’s childhood bedroom. The Jeffers welcomed us into their home and took care of us as though we were all their own. They fed us and prayed for us and calmed my anxious heart as we awaited our cable television premiere on Tosh.O. Kaylene, Rachel’s mother, thought of everything. “Now you remember me when you find yourself in an outhouse in the middle of Texas. You will be glad for this toilet paper.” The Jeffers loaned us a PA system, organized our shows in Chino, made tour t-shirts, filmed the performances, took us to an Angels’ game, and entrusted us with their daughter for another six weeks. The Jeffers know how to support a team.

Rancho Cucamonga Klatch Coffee is a mouthful if I’ve ever heard one. Directly off of Route 66, tucked between a tasting room and a banquet hall, Klatch coffee offers its visitors an experience in small batch roasting. It’s the only place in the Inland Empire a Portlander can find a pour-over bar, and we weren’t disappointed. I was even teased for ordering an espresso over ice. If it weren’t 90 degrees outside I would have sworn I was still in southeast Portland.

Two pastors and a bishop walked into a coffee shop. They ordered a drink, proceeded to the patio and watched their beloved Rachel stun the crowd as her tangerine colored nails made their way up and down the accordion. Rachel had left California a bleach blonde tomboy and returned with oversized frames, tattoos, Zooey Deschanel fringe, and a fresh addiction to floral dresses. The crowd, nearly the entirety of Rachel’s hometown, quadrupled Klatch’s business for the evening. The line was out the door.

It’s difficult to play for people you know. Or so I’ve been told. There’s a freedom in sharing with strangers. It’s easier for me to post a story on the Internet than it is to have my dearest friends read my unprotected heart.

But it teaches us to be vulnerable. What are our stories if they aren’t first shared with those closest to us? Your words, your music, your creativity … they might touch the world. But what if they healed your mother’s heart? What if they brought hope to your friends and peace to your sister’s soul? What if they spoke life to the very people that you wrote them with? What if art is meant for more than entertainment? What if it is meant for community?