LAURA HEMING PHILLIPS

WRITER | CREATOR | BELOVED

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

It’s Not like the Movies, and I Think That’s Okay.

These last three months have been a tough few for me to swallow if I am honest. After graduating university, jumping into a journalism internship through the summer and moving to a new city in a new apartment, life seemed somewhat like how I thought it would at age 22-- independence over my head, an education under my belt, and a new trail to blaze.

My trail became increasingly less clear as my job searching/ life-calling-quest swallowed my hours. Those hours turned into days, turned into months. To put things bluntly, I was searching for the hidden chapters of my life to come in the hands of an employer. Someone who would affirm the last four years of my education and continue to spin the wheels of my future.

It was easy to feel like this was my identity-- the question of whether or not I was going to get a good job because that would assure my family and my friends that I had found some sort of success. 

The interesting thing was the more I strived to find myself in a career, and the more I tried to find my sense of completeness in other people, the more I had become a shadow of myself.

I remember going for a walk on the trail behind my house one Sunday. It was one of those fall days in the forest that could  pass for a default desktop background on your family’s Microsoft computer (maybe that was just me...) As I walked through the trails I felt strangely connected to myself. Oddly enough, when I stepped away from everything I strived to find my identity in, I began to hear myself again-- my true self. I began to hear God speak in the sound of the wind and wrestling leaves. I spent that day in complete solitude-- not for the sake of pity or frustration but simply because allowing myself to slow down my ever-speeding mind let me see the real truth of my circumstances of unsuccessful interviews and frustration with people.

Life cannot or will not never be a movie. Not even the people in the movies can have a life like the movies. Confusing? Let me explain this a bit. 

I have a bit of a strange relationship with movies. I used to despise them because I would let their content effect my daily life so much-- whether that was fear, or wishful thinking, or a sudden desire to pack up and move to Hollywood to find the perfection they all had.

I also love movies because they depict the ideals we wish we could have. The perfect unrolling of a relationship, the New York Times job we always dreamed of, or even the perfect wildness of exploring the cities of the world. 

This is a double edged sword however. It depicts a reality that is somehow unachievable, feeding us a contagious spoonful of circumstance we only wish we could achieve. The reality however is that these circumstances are untruths, or are sometimes reached through much hardship and fight. These movies can become a means for us to grovel in our life circumstances, certain that we were handed the short end of the stick.

We tend to have an ideal constructed by others, by society or by ourselves about what life is supposed to be like-- especially, as I am finding, in our twenties when the most is supposed to be figured out, and figured out quick.

The truth of it is that I will not have perfection in any part of my life, so I cannot strive for it. My relationship will never be void of frustration, bumps and reconciling. It will not make me completely whole-- it will be beautifully messy, complete in fighting for one another, and wonderfully raw as the combining of two different people quite honestly is. The purpose of relationships is not to find someone who completes you, but someone who can sharpen and encourage you in the unique calling God has on your life, and who will question and hold you firm when you are shaking.  

The same can be said about jobs. If I were to find the perfect job in my mind’s eye, my purpose, my everything would be found in that one job. In the same way, a job is not meant to create purpose-- even those who have found that perfect job most likely struggle with finding true contentment. We were not made to be completed by anything here on this earth. 

That is why I am learning to daily chose to soak in the season I am in. I have been in one of confusion and struggle with identity, but never in my life have I felt so sure of what the purpose of life is--

--Not that I might succeed or come to the top of my own self-expectation, but that I might daily recognize that I am only truly content when I am in the will of God. It is here that He is teaching me the weakness of my humanity, and how my search for myself will endure insofar as I neglect the fact that my life is not to become a full and complete piece by anything other than the knowledge that I am a daughter of God. 

C.S. Lewis says in his book Mere Christianity, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.”

These last few months for me have been proof that I was not made for here, but my sufferings and shortcomings are ultimately for his Kingdom’s glory. They are little Polaroids of truth that I stick to my wall at the end of everyday. 

The struggles of identity, the imperfections of my life, and the vast difference between my life and a movie plot are pieces that build my own identity and foundation so that I might not find all that I am in the emptiness of a job, but in the fullness of my Creator.  

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

Not the Be-all, not the End-all

I am above it all.

Right now, at this particular moment I am closer to coral sky than to cigarettes and concrete blocks.

My highway mishap is a miniature hot wheels collision now, and I am the little bright eyes boy controlling a carpet city.

The shades of green and mortar bricks are a gift for my dry, screen-trained eyes-- eyes who have been taught to wake to scrolling, but should wait to strolling through crickets and creeks and creatures that sweetly beg me to join them in a symphony of sleepy morning eyes.

I stretch, as I do each morning to embrace my smallness, feeling like a child in my pink polar bear pyjamas. I am no orchestrator-- no father of time. Here though, I am.

I can stick a toothpick into that which grabs my attention-- the vast Bayfront park, the unidentified sister escarpment that ends this city sandwich.

I am the choice maker, the wealthy woman with the turned up nose, plate full of orderves.

I am choosing because I am here, on this chipped away, spray painted, beer-can holding rock body that hoists me upon his shoulder to show me the view above the heads of man;

The heads that see heads that see heads, that see heads alone.

He is a million times my size, and frankly has years on me. He has conversations with the moonlight and kisses the sun good morning and she blushes rose pink.

As I wedge into his shoulder’s crevices I am as broken as a shell because the only man I can manage to see is some sort of moving speck, and I realize this just now.

Perhaps thats the way it ought to be-- not a knelt down humility, but a rock face kind enough to whip you up in its ancient arms and show you how tiny you are-- like grain you are.

From dust I have come, and to dust I will return.

I am not quite above it all, if at all. In fact I am somewhat lower than the ground as I sink into realities of my me-centred destruction. I am sorry sir, forgive me?

Let me sweep up all the messes around your brow, and while I am here whistle sweet songs to the flyers, who have mastered the art of nonchalence, of keeping to a different drum;

“Excuse me if I am in your way.”

If I could shut off the lights of the city, or silence the voice of the self, or let “less" be the meaning of “more”, I would, so you could get some shut eye and some peace of mind.

I would stay up here on your shoulders and listen to your pulses.

You are more alive than I.

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

City Hall Misfits

Who really knows for sure that the moon turns rustic in the middle of the night, or that February stopped trying after twenty-eight. Who really heard that city is for the ones who never look below their dimmed glasses, or that silence is for the failures. Who of us can run to the top of a city tower and change the second hand to a quarter past ten so we can wrap ourselves up in our sheets and hum familiar, sanctified melodies. Or can we breathe out our dusted ignorance before we spoke at all. Can we just be ready to not be ready and be okay, be somewhat intrigued by heartfelt ignorance. Can we just,

can we

be?

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

What He Told me

Can you feel a burn like fire Does it haunt you in your sleep Or wrap around your core as the morning Train takes away the workers and brings them To the burning city?

Are you pulling on your mind like a three-strand rope Watching one slip out of a tightener grip.

And you stand in a warm stream of water Your old Sunday bathing tradition Wipe the fog from the mirror and ask This too shall pass?

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

21 21

I see a shadow flowing close behind me,

his breath cold like the late September wind.

Dwelling on schemes, on dark and porous dreams.

I am beyond what I was when the clock was at eight,

as though I have been sipping down

an impossible liquid.

I’d rather not swallow but he’s plunged me to wallow,

now my overwhelming anticipation has turned to,

“look what you’re missing”.

I haven’t missed anything, have you lost your senses?

Well indeed they’ve abandoned my young and steady heart.

The devil’s been whistling his song behind me,

And a twist my head to all of my sides,

so the moon will not find me, and neither will he,

take a different road than me.

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

Why Thrifting May be a Step of Justice

I recently trudged through a mall for a solid five hours--perhaps the first time since high school. I soon figured out there is a reason for that. Maybe it was the hustle and bustle of people around every corner, or the herds of young girls and mothers in Forever 21 rifling through the sale racks.

If I didn’t know before, now I do. I am inherently an introvert.

I found myself almost dizzy looking around at the piles and piles of $10 shirts and pants. Watching young girls with an arm and a half full of dare I say cheaply made but trendy dresses and shirts. Now don’t get me wrong-- I am just as tempted as the next girl to b-line to the sales rack and see what wonderfully “unique” and cheap clothes I can find. But as I left I felt a sort of stone in my stomach that didn’t quite feel like the one I get when I forget to ask for my drink made with non-dairy milk.

No, this was a new and contemplative stone. I found myself wondering how on earth there could be so many clothes sold for so cheap. What was going on on the other side of the $10 price tag?

Well, you are probably well aware and well versed in the reasons upon reasons why cheap clothes most likely equal cheap wages for workers which equals people being poorly treated. Perhaps you know, but you tend to ignore that conviction or you find yourself thinking that at least the people making these clothes have a job. Without sweat shops, they could be without any employment.

My response is this. Mistreatment is mistreatment. I should hope that if I was working for an abusive boss who underpaid and took advantage of me, people would not simply say, “Hey, at least you have a job. It’s better than nothing.” I have a feeling this response is lazy and a poor counter to a call we have to treat all of humankind justly.

The thing is that maybe we think that we’ll do it once and that’s it. Maybe we really needed black pants and didn’t have a whole lot of money so the $9 pants at Forever 21 just made sense (guilty!) But there is a catch to this ‘one time’ mentality. That is, that it is a cycle. Because our cheap clothes are also cheaply made, they are bound the need replacements in the coming few months or so. I can attest to that. Those clothes end up in the garbage and there we are again in line with our fresh new pants hoping they’ll stick it out through the winter.

If I had it my way, I’d have extra change to buy some Canada-made clothing. Unfortunately, OSAP has a claim to my wallet for the next 10 or some odd years. In spite of this, I have found a soft spot in my textile heart for thrift stores. My reasons?

1) Thrift stores are a practical way of recycling more than just pop cans. Some people get freaked out about the thought of wearing somebody else’s clothes. I laugh because if we only knew how much of the things we purchase are recycled. The water we buy, our Starbucks cups, and our toothbrushes (seriously, they’re made from yogurt cups) are just a few. It’s an ignorance is bliss mentality-- the less we are told where our products come from, the less we care. So clothes really aren’t much different. I think about how many times I’ve gotten sick of the clothes in my closet or the times when I surpass my little “phases” of knitted sweaters or men’s button ups. There’s peace knowing that suede button-up beauty with the illustrations of 18th century folk on it that has a special place in my heart is going to be well loved by another crazy person.

2) Some stores already pick out the good stuff.  I remember days when I would wake up on Salvation Army’s Toonie Friday Day to be sure I was the first one to get to all the good stuff and to guarantee myself a good 3 hours of routing time to make sure I had some time left in the day to do some normal things. What I’m finding now are stores popping up (that aren’t expensive vintage stores) that already pick out the good stuff and place it all in one store! It’s an exciting world we live in. Shout out to Plato’s Closet and A Kind Exchange (who I will write a feature about later on). These places not only sell used clothing for a low price, but also allow for exchanging and selling your old clothes. A very kind exchange indeed.

3) We are called to live justly-- even in our buying. What does God require? To act justly, love mercy and walk humbly (Micah 6:8). I think we often generalize that verse to in general be all for justice and loving people and all that jazz. But I think God meant it to be an all-encompassing. contagious, flowing sort of command. I am starting to see how this command can work out in the practical corners of our lives-- even in clothes shopping. By choosing to act justly and not ignore what goes on on the other side of the price tag, I believe we are honouring God and God’s people. We are doing a small thing that really is not so small, but actually pretty powerful. I often think about how God honours our choices when we do so to put others first, and I know this is a tangible and critical part of both boycotting mistreatment of people and caring for God’s creation.

I am in no way attempting to condemn you for not thrift shopping-- that is both unfair and unloving. I just want to share in my journey of discovering alternatives that plant little seeds of justice.

And with that, I would like to dedicate this In Wearing  page to places who are allowing consumer culture to not be so much about consuming and disposing, but exchanging, sustaining, creating, and ultimately becoming entrepreneurial justice-bearers (whether they know it or not).

[laurahemingphillips]

[laurahemingphillips]

Where Is Our Pause?

We are trained for the next big thing. Like when you’re getting hungry around five o’clock. Maybe you eat some yogurt and then decide you’re ready for the next step. So naturally, you make some pizza. After that you realize that you always need to finish with something sweet, so you eat a mug full of peanut butter cup ice cream. 

Or maybe two.

Where in that delicious session of indulging did you stop to think about the richness of that strawberry yogurt, or the perfection of the crispy crust?

Now that you’re all ready to order a pizza, let me take that metaphor home. I have been thinking lately about how fast life is. I mean, I am almost done my undergrad-- in the midst of the paper writing, I find my breaks are me looking in to more school next year, as if I haven’t had enough already!

What I am saying is that I think we as a society have lost the art of the pause. The hour or two where we sit with our thoughts and process what is happening in our hearts, in our minds, and in our growth as a person. I am convinced that the purpose of life is not to rush. God is doing a lot of things in our hearts constantly that maybe we don’t realize.

What if we stopped and breathed, and let our hearts take in feelings, take in thoughts, and dreams. Life is not a race. Your perfect job will not escape if you don’t get it next year. We are fragile beings. We cannot let the rush crush us.

Step back, drop your fighting fists, and pause.

[laurahemingphillips]

Why I am not Committing to One Post-Grad Career

I have been finding myself as of late collecting pieces that I have dropped behind me on my life path of the things that make me, me. 

I am collecting pieces of dreams I once had, talents, things that bring me true joy, and memories of times where I have felt most alive. 

The reason they are behind, you should know, is because of a little thing called post-grad pressure.

Post-grad pressure, by informal definition, is the pressure — whether intended or unintended — of parents (most likely) put on their child in regards to committing to a steady, practical career. This may consist, for you perhaps, of grandparents asking at the graduation ceremony how you will transfer your liberal arts degree into a good, hefty career like nursing, teaching or something of the like. For me, it is usually something along the lines of getting in with the Toronto Star so I can slowly make my way up over the years. Usually I will reply with a soft, “maybe”, but in my mind know this is not the sort of life I want to live.

This is not to say that making your way up with a company is unwise. In fact, I believe that shows much commitment and dedication, and I very much respect that. The point I intend to make, and perhaps am making as I journey along this road of impending “post-gradship”, is that maybe I wasn’t meant to pick one thing and hold it for the rest of my life.     

          The fact is, I have many loves. I love to write — write insightful non-fictions of things relating to faith and culture, or sometimes just poetry. I love to work with people, and I dream of opening a centre for sex-trafficking victims who need true relationships, need to be shown care, and need outlets for healing such as painting or writing. I love designing and creating — making décor for homes, making floral arrangements, or turning recycled objects into something new and borrowed.

So yes, I have many, many loves. Possibly an incompatible ensemble of loves. But as I keep learning more about the God I serve, I continue to learn how much reason and purpose there is to every one of these passions. Perhaps not every one will land me a mansion in the outskirts of Hamilton, but I don’t think that is what it is about. In a world surrounded with people grasping for money — singing about money, living for money, compromising morals for money — it is no wonder we feel an enormous pressure to make our way up to some place that will allow us to life more than comfortably.

The picture I see coming together for me as I slowly put together my life puzzle is that the pieces do indeed fit together, because every time I drop one, I feel as though I have lost a part of myself. I do not want to lose pieces of myself in the pursuit of money. I want to dedicate my life to giving back to God the gifts he’s given me, even if it is a messy, multicoloured puzzle. The fact is I don’t want to be a journalist who writes about new social work therapies while finding a couple hours here and there to entertain my crafty side. I want to be an obedient, Jesus-serving woman who happens to love to write, speak into people’s lives, and make stuff. I am learning what I choose to do with my life and my time doesn’t define me. It is Jesus who defines me and gives me stuff to do and a personality to brighten the things I do.

I wholeheartedly appreciate and love the way a close person in my life has decided to start conversations with new people. Rather than asking “What do you do?” or “What’s your field?” he will ask “What do you like to do with your time?” I think this is the way we should approach the body of Christ. Our identity is not what we do or where we work, it is rather the person God is shaping us to be and how he has uniquely gifted us to do so more enjoyably. I have learned to notice that God ties little lessons and insights to each little event in our lives, if we only take the time to reflect and notice. I hope you will do the same as you journey through the roads and rivers, however plentiful or dry they may be. 

Find peace in the fact that everything literally works together. What a great Orchestrator we serve.