Battling Bridezilla (the one in my head)

I’m getting married in 2 ½ months and I’m feeling insecure about how I look.I know I’m small, always will be, so I feel a bit uncomfortable writing about my own body insecurities. The rational part of me knows I look okay; I don’t need to lose weight. But my inner monologue is a different story. Whether or not my insecurities are well-founded--in my head, they are real. You see I used to be a gymnast, with no body fat, in peak condition. So this is the biggest I’ve ever been. “Grad school 15” is real.The part of me that thinks a wedding is all about the dreamy pictures and the affirming accolades is bummed that I happen to be getting married when I’m the least in shape I’ve been in years, the least tanned, the least toned.But then the part of me that knows a wedding is not a fashion show or a Pinterest party, but an outward celebration of commitment, of love, of deciding to choose each other in the good times and the flabby times. That part of me is floored by the beauty of the timing.Because I know know know that my fiancé’s love is not dependent on my looks or workout schedule. His love is not something I earned and therefore is not something I can lose if I “let myself go.”He asked me out on a date when I was marginally employed spending my day caring for a 94 year-old-woman with Alzheimer’s in velour jump suits. He liked me for me. Not for my job or career or standing. Not for anything I did or do. I made a point of not styling my hair for any of our dates for the first maybe six months of our relationship. He liked me anyways. He didn't even seem to notice.I know this.But as the wedding planning amps up, so do my insecurities.I start to fear my frizz, my freckles, my back fat.Bridezilla is in my head, and I’m her main victim.It’s not Ryan that I’m worried about. I know he’ll think I'm beautiful no matter what. I know he’ll tear up when I walk down the aisle. I can see in the way he looks at me that he is a man in love.It’s everyone else I’m worried about. I’m worried about impressing my friends. I’m worried about what I will look like in photographs. On Instagram.It’s stupid, I know.I don’t want worry to win. So I hope in writing them out. In seeing how silly and vain my concerns are in light of the magnitude of the gift of love I have been given, I hope that joy will win. In writing my insecurities “out loud” I hope to loosen their grip on me, diminish their power.I can choose to let joy win. To rejoice and celebrate. To embrace marriage planning. To show up whole-heartedly to the upcoming wedding events, no matter what I look like. To let love, not fear, steal the show.In a couple months I will take a new name: Prades. I will choose a new role: wife.In front of my friends and family, I will commit to love one man for the rest of my life: that’s the easy part. I will also commit to be loved by him: that’s the hard part.To receive his love. To believe I’m enough.It is my hope and my prayer that Aly Prades is a woman who knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that she is loved.Who lives like she is loved. Who doesn’t listen to the voices that say I am my calorie count, my waistline, or my hairstyle.I don’t have to wait until I’m married to believe this. Since I began spending time with Ryan, this transformation has been taking place. His tender spirit, his faithful love has healed me, is healing me, of my perfectionism, of my own self-criticism.And I know it can’t just be Ryan that tells me this. I’ve been praying to a God of Love, communing with a God of Love, for years before I met Ryan. Ryan is just a new instrument to show me this love. To help show me I am enough. I am loved.Today, before my name change, before the wedding. I will choose to let joy win.I am Aly Lewis, an embracer of joy and a woman who believes she is loved.

Serving Here and Now

I always thought I would marry a man who has a heart for the same people group as I do--immigrants, refugees, abuelitas. That we would go traipsing off to Guatemala or Mexico or inner-city somewhere to "really make a difference" for the marginalized.Today at church the pastor called us to serve, to be ministers, to usher in the Kingdom of Heaven, RIGHT WHERE WE ARE. Even if we're not where we want to be. Even if we're not in our dream job or ideal living situation or working with our "target population" just yet.People--the people right in front of us--matter most. I was convicted.You see, I'm in grad school on my way to (hopefully) landing a job where I can work with refugees. But I'm not there yet. Right now I'm working with mostly well-off international college students from countries like Kuwait and Saudi Arabia. I'm writing lesson plans for hypothetical classes in my teacher training classes and grading hundreds of essays for students who just want to tick off a GE requirement.In the midst of studying and paper writing and correcting grammar mistakes, I've lost sight that this place matters. This interim, this training ground, this place that I am currently in, matters.And not just as a means to end. A means to transforming the lives of refugees. My time at SDSU, right now, can be a destination in itself. A place to see God work. A place to serve and grow and plant deep roots. To usher in the Kingdom of Heaven here on Earth.My Kuwaiti students who talk back and the tedious hours I spend planning curriculum--ALL MATTER.Right Now.And that's the area where my future husband blows me out of the water. He may not be called to a particular people group or have the same international justice outlook as I do, but he is so faithful in the here and now. To the people right in front of him.He treats everyone with respect and kindness. He's generous to all.As much as I theorize about poverty and social justice, he works diligently, humbly to serve those right in front of him.Of course I still think it's important to look outward. To be challenged. To reach beyond the comfort of our own friends and neighborhoods. To see the unseen and offer a listening ear to the unheard. To make a conscious effort to go where God is calling us, even if it's uncomfortable. To daily ask for the scales and blinders to drop from our eyelids.I'm that much more excited to ask these questions and to seek my/our calling with a man who daily teaches me how to be faithful in the smalls things, how to love when no one is watching, and how to live like all places--all people--matter.

The Year of Dessert First

All my friends have been posting photos of their year from Facebook. I've always been more of a words person, so here is my year in words.I didn't write much this year. I started out 2014 unemployed and depressed, scared that I may never want to write again. While at first this terrified me, I found God whispering something new to me, in the midst of my own silence.Live My love story. I started this blog a few years back specifically to "Write My Love Story," to share the story of God's audacious love in my life. I didn't know how to experience God apart from writing. Writing is prayer. Writing is life. For me, at least.But I'd lost writing. And, consequently, it felt like I lost God.In this year of silence. Of words not typed out on pages or scribbled across receipts. I lost my writing, but I found I didn't lose me.I don't have to write for my life to be real. For my prayers to be real. I don't have to write at all to be a person. To be loved. To have worth.The life can just be mine. The thoughts just mine.If I had to pick a title for my year, I would call it "The Year of Dessert First." Not that I skipped all the healthy things or the hard work, but it's been a year of grace, where first accepting the dessert, the gifts, the grace, leads to health and wholeness, recovery. I could list all of my accomplishments of 2014: starting a graduate program in Linguistics, teaching a university level course, securing myself a boyfriend. But those are just the outside trappings. I stand back almost bewildered that this is my life now. I did nothing to deserve this. To earn this. And that's the beauty of it.When I look back on my year, the moments I cherish most, the feats I'm most proud of have nothing to do with a college acceptance letter or my relationship status.I'm proud that I persevered. That I continued with counseling even when it seemed nothing was improving. That I started a grad program even though I had no idea if I would have enough energy to even get out of bed in the morning, let alone do homework or attend classes. I'm proud that I had the privilege to invest in the lives of Alzheimer's patients as a caregiver in a last ditch employment attempt. I'm proud that I traveled to Israel and Palestine and let everyday peacemakers teach me something about grace. I'm proud of the moments I let my friends in, let them cry with me, sit with me, mourn with me and hope with me.With my boyfriend, I'm not boastful in my relationship status, but deeply moved by what he's taught me about grace and self-acceptance. I'm thankful for every moment he makes me feel that I am enough. Just as I am.I feel resurrected.This woman of words is at a loss to express the healing that's taken place. The peace I know.That phrase from the song, In Christ Alone, seems to say it best:What heights of love, what depths of peace,            when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!There's a contentment within me that I never imagined possible. Not because I worked my ass off for self-love and self-acceptance as I have in the past. In fact, I didn't try at all. And I think that's the best medicine a recovering perfectionist can encounter. And I don't mean this as a formula. Not a how-to-get-over-depression-and-love-yourself DIY manual. But as my story of God's undeniable grace in my life this year.

grace from the disgrace

beauty from the ashes.

stillness to dancing.

And so I enter 2015, happily dancing and enjoying dessert.