Mackenzie Standing

When I worked in Maine last summer, there were a couple instances when I would have to drive back from Skowhegan (the thriving metropolis of 8,589 people an hour and a half away that held the closest hospital and Wal-Mart) late at night. Let me tell you something about Maine: It gets dark there. Really dark. Because camp was located so far north, the population base was small (again, Skowhegan is a thriving metropolis) and the light pollution was minimal. As I would walk back to my cabin at night, lugging my laundry bag and desperately wishing that I had given up my non-outdoorsy fashion sense and bought a head lamp, it would be so dark that I couldn't see my hands in front of my face. When the stars came out, it was phenomenal. They weren't the only things that came out, though. Easily the most intimidating part of driving in the dark in Maine is the moose. They're huge. Someone once told me that it's just as dangerous to hit a deer as it is to hit a moose, and I c

Three-and-a-half achingly long and simultaneously unbelievingly quick years ago, I started this blog the day before I left to begin an undergraduate degree at Montana State University. My first post was called "The 'Good' in Goodbye,"  and it was one terrified young woman's attempt to find hope for the future. The goodbyes I said then were mostly bitter, and my post attempted to latch on to some sweet. It seems only fitting, then, to bookend this journey with the second half of the post (the true bookend would be to shut the blog down, now, but I need someplace to continue rambling). Unlike when I left Wenatchee, this goodbye is happily anticipated. I have learned so much in Bozeman, academically and otherwise, but it has also come at a cost. There is no where in the world where I have felt so lonely and out of place, even after months upon years of living here. This goodbye is exciting and terrifying all at the same time. It's mostly sweet, but the bitter i

At the core of my faith lies a love for liturgy. I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime between the years of celebrating communion weekly and the spring when I was twelve and first began practicing Lent (I fasted soda and promptly failed at my commitment when I went on a cruise and my aunt bought me an all-you-can-drink beverage pass), I cultivated a deep set love of tradition. Much of my year is marked by the seasons of the church calendar. It simultaneously reminds me of the unchanging nature of God in the midst of my ever changing life, and makes me feel connected to the thousands of believers with and before me who engage with Jesus through these cycles of light, life, and love. Last Sunday, November 29th, marked the beginning of the Christian year (Happy New Year!) and ushered in the season of Advent. It's a season of waiting, one where we anticipate the coming of Christ represented in His virgin birth, the coming of Christ in our present lives, and His future com

It was after the 9am service that I saw you. You were standing in the 38º weather at the four-way stop on Baxter and Love, the corner where my church meets. You had a prosthetic leg and a sign that said "Imminent Situation." My first thought was a result of three-and-a-half years of business school, where I've been taught to evaluate situations in terms of financial gain. "How strategic," I mused as I pulled out of the parking lot and caught a glimpse of you, "To place yourself outside one of the biggest churches in the valley, a place where we're taught to give generously and live missionally." My second thought was one of fear and shame. My heart started pounding as I watched as car after car pulled up to that stop sign, paused, and then kept driving. I watched as people briefly made eye contact with you and then deliberately turned away. I watched as my sisters and brothers were presented with the chance to show you what Christ's love

I would like to be able to sit here and say that I have impeccable film taste, but I really don't. Sure, I like plenty of movies with beautiful cinematography and interesting plot lines (like my all-time favorite film , which is highly under-appreciated), but if we're honest, I'm just as likely to enjoy something asinine or predictable. I like to blame it on the fact that I have two younger brothers. Regardless, I really enjoy the movie Zombieland -- enough that I've been known to crash "Guys' Night" just so I could watch it (in my defense, literally every female I knew in Bozeman was out of town that weekend). In it, the main character Columbus has a list of rules he's developed to survive the zombie apocalypse. They're widely applicable statements that make decent advice for life in general, including rule #1: cardio; rule #4: seatbelts; and rule #22: When in doubt, know your way out. My favorite rule, though, is #32: Enjoy the little thing