whitney dziurawiec

I sit here with a hot mug, cheeky cheesy Christmas notes fluttering around my ears begging me to smile, to be happy, and I just can't. I wish the aching in my heart was only due to yet another loss of a favorite garment (an inevitable byproduct of all our moving), or some other triviality that I easily elevate to Disaster Level. But my heart aches for Sydney, for Afghanistan, for children who know more terror now than I may ever feel in my lifetime. For hostages and martyrs whose heads roll at the feet of those whose minds somehow think this is right. For hurting rioters and the policemen who do care. For those who raise their way to fly to these places, with the balm of a Healer in their carry-ons, and a heart of compassion in their chests, only to meet death, disease, broken marriages, hurt children on the other side. Missionary life is so glorified, but oh how it is a constant ache to those who actually do go. Oh come, all ye faithful Joyful and triumphant I s...

A whole year! What does it feel like? It feels like it did when I first held a driver's license in my hand, like when I first walked onto my college campus. It's that blank feeling when my senior recital was over, or as I finished my last collegiate assignment. The fuzzy blankness and well of emotion when I saw him down on one knee, when I tried white dresses on. It feels like everything and nothing and it just feels normal, both like nothing and everything has changed since I couldn't wait to get my driver's license. We sit here in our apartment for a night before we travel again and I'm reeling over the year. My striving heart wants to write practical marriage advice and lessons learned but the one slamming into my hard heart over and over again, kneading it like dough, is the concept of grace. And I'm not talking about the tattoed, Scotch-drinking, hipster grace that attacks only the rules it doesn't like with the accusation of legalism but the hear...

I'm 24 now, which is an age that kind of reminds me of a bagel: not super exciting, really just makes you crave donuts, is just a filler until your next meal, and usually isn't that great unless you pay a lot of money. No one really Instagrams their bagels, because no one is usually proud that they're eating a bagel. Happy bagel year, Whitney. 24. I'm really trying to engrain this in my brain because for the past 365 days, I've forgotten my age every time I've been asked. I quiz myself throughout the day, how old are you, Whitney? 24. 24. Twenty-four. I am twenty-four years old. "Bagels" have 2 + 4 letters. 24. I sit here drinking tea to combat sinuses while my father-in-law strums out jazzy Christmas songs in the next room, and my husband is making me soup. It's one of those "sicknesses" where I can't quite tell if I'm sick or if I'm just being a brat and want to sleep a lot and be waited on and not work. So I'm s...

We had a wonderfully over-romanticized week last week. They let us pretend we were on staff and so we went to Bible studies, outreaches, meetings, and fell in love. Well, I did. I fell wildly for those students who beforehand I had only kind of liked. I saw what ministry, Spirit-filled, full-time, Gospel-soaked ministry looks like. I couldn't believe how these people who had been doing ministry for years, whose numbers this year are disappointingly low, who are short-staffed and exhausted, still have such heart and hope for this ministry and the campus as a whole. And more than ever, this is what I want to be part of. And so coming back to Omaha, with 40% to go, as we share space with another family, actually hurt my heart. My thoughts are scattered amidst fond memories, optimistic and bold prayers, depressing realities, convictions, and thankfulness. I want to write more often but I feel constrained as I miss the times when I felt like answers were flooding. I'm learning th...

"So... where are you right now?" Valid question. Right now, we are tucked away in the forests, dogsitting in a house hidden by trees and leaves and our introverted selves even skipped church today because, honestly, this golden canopy and crunchy ground feels holier. But this is our last day, our last few hours with this as our "home" (what a new meaning this word has had for us). Tonight we drive, again, to our actual home, where my coat is hanging and our pictures are framed and that garage sale lamp stands proudly. Cru told us we have earned a week-long "vision trip" (aka pretending we are on staff, doing ministry) on campus, so we pack up again and we drive, again, wondering when life will push us somewhere that isn't a car. I start this hesitantly, not knowing how it will spill out. But my tendency toward legalism has been driving me to my knees lately as I see what grace is, what it means for me, and how I interact with others. How a grace-...

Staring out the window, pretending the [albeit beautiful] cornfield landscape is the New England coast and wishing our honeymoon fund had a few extra zeroes attached to the amount, contemplating a beautiful soul I know who will be with Jesus any day now, and celebrating the life of a dear friend whose birthday is today. Emotions, only one of which I'm [quite literally] wearing on my sleeve: ...and all others exhibited via an impulsive bangs decision that I'm not sure if I like, but whatever. My heart has changed a lot in the past month and I feel the need to share this because I think it's important. I noticed the difference last week when a family (whom we had met ONCE) had us and another family over for dinner. I've felt the difference in my morning runs and my afternoon yoga. In how I view the fridge, working out, and community in general. About a month ago, I saw a lot of my thought processes and lifestyle choices and realized the implications of those. In...

I have a draft saved on here, another in my head, and another burning as a lump in my throat. And this is none of those. Summer and fall are fighting brutally; their punches and kicks wisp around me and so it is a necessary pony tail day. Horrible news made us rethink going to the pumpkin patch for our day off, but we went anyway because I am about what works, and crying on my bed all day doesn't work, however tempting it is. And those pervasive questions threaten to mist over my eyes and heat my cheeks and so I haven't formed them yet, haven't asked because the answers will swarm if I ask and I don't want swarming, stiff answers right now. Those questions are important, they are real and they are justifiable. Terrible things do happen, they do swarm and overcome. Death, sickness, destroyed relationships, no answers, spirals of chaos and resentment and anger and pain. There is an undeniable ache to this life: that is something both the privileged and the oppressed...

We are in Omaha now, "permanently". Permanently doesn't mean a whole lot to us anymore, but we are in Omaha... ...after we get back from Sioux City on Thursday. Permanently. Kind of. And our days are spent in prayer lifting up our cars for perseverance, our days for productivity and creativity, and lifting up appointments, phone calls, emails, and church presentations. We also think about knocking on the doors of rich neighborhoods, brochures in hand, ready to share our ministry with them. Because it worked when I sold magazines in elementary school? I actually started typing a tweet at Sean & Catherine Lowe about sharing our ministry with them, but wimped out. It's not desperation; it's innovation. And I may still do it. We live with his parents, and then my parents, and then my aunt & uncle, and then maybe a friend's house, and on and on and on we move. We are moving permanently .  Maybe that's how I should respond when people ask...

As fall pokes its holes through the air in my world, I feel death looming over and around me; I so wish I just meant the plants and the trees. I see the death in a dear one's spiritual walk, left me with theological questions, personal questions, angry questions, and no answers. Of myself, as I watch dear aspects of my comfort, my impatience, my plans die for Him, because of Him, for His cause. Of real people. With actual lives ended. Moms, sisters, classmates. I'm petrified by this, that death is this close, this permeating; it will stop for no one. I am struck by the unnaturalness of it all. How odd that something so certain for everyone feels so wrong, so off, like we weren't meant to die. We were not made to die, nor to deal with death. Death was not His intention for us, which is why it shakes us to our innermost being. And death is devastating, because it negates every fiber of both our souls and our bodies. I hear of deaths of precious people I ba...

A few months ago, I was asked by my Omaha church to be one of the speakers at their Women's Retreat. The theme of the retreat was stories (one of my FAVORITE things), and this is what God laid on my heart to share with those wonderful women this past weekend. I pray it will encourage you in whatever walk of life you're in.   In thinking about my story, I think about meeting my high school friend, Kayla, at a coffee shop a few weeks ago to catch up. The four years since I’d seen Kayla had blurred into a blink, and naturally I thought of her as the same, innocent girl I’d hugged tightly at high school graduation. But as the condensation on my iced coffee dripped onto my hand and the barista loudly talked to the customer in the drive-thru, I remained undistracted from Kayla’s engulfing prodigal-like story. I sat wide-eyed as tales of promiscuity, drunkenness, rebellion, insecurities, and finally of the restoration she found in Christ poured out into the space between us, hang...

The question expanded in my chest with each breath I've taken in this prairie air. Larger and larger and, coincidentally, more and more depressing. These disjointed thoughts which came to a head in one single question to my ever-patient husband: Have you ever thought about how meaningless it all is? It's taken so long to say this aloud because it seems wrong that things that seem to satisfy others don't satisfy me. Am I just a prideful snot, unimpressed by ideals that people have (even Christians...and especially politically conservative Christians) because the hearts of men are always depraved and things are never quite right?  For years I've wondered why I leave a conversation with a friend unsatisfied because the topics go as far deep as which TV show is the juiciest. I love my husband {he is the best} but often I wonder why I (and so many Christians) put so much stock into this one relationship where we really just find out how selfish we really are. I wake up ...

I took this picture at 4:20 pm today. Yes, this is us eating dinner. Yes, this is a terribly shot, terribly enhanced picture edited on my Samsung Galaxy 4 mini. But I made homemade cream of mushroom soup that is much healthier; I made homemade balsamic vinaigrette for our salads and I don't know what has become of me, but I am growing rather fond of it. We got our first love seat today and now have furniture in the living room that isn't a futon! We spent time in all three of our home towns, enjoying our time too much to have pictures to show, with both family and friends, eating pancakes and pizza, frolfing, celebrating birthdays, going to church and d r i v i n g [always] but those sweet times are worth it. Our together times are my favorite. But work weeks are different: fighting for time together if that means dinner at 4:15 while he comes home on his hour break, showering earlier than normal to have time together when the other gets home from work, snuggling on the...

I'm supposed to be taking a nap because my alarm woke me at 4:22 am, thankfully promising freshly made banana bread as my first breakfast (second breakfast was at 9:30 when I got home from work and husband was making waffles. [I married him for various reasons and I'd be lying if I said his love for eating and making waffles wasn't one of them] but this is irrelevant). With sleepy eyes but an alert body I type this, staring adoringly at our new rug... husband there to show size  ...spent with $0 of our own money (please, please, Dave Ramsey, you may have our autographs later) and gazing anxiously at the plants that I gave Jon as "his" birthday gift (when in reality I may be more excited about our upcoming zucchini and spaghetti squash than he is). And yes, sometimes when you're support-raising missionaries and you have to choose between missing work for your brother's wedding and buying groceries, you give your husband seeds to plant (which really w...

We had cereal and jello for dinner, so that's life today. I've also had coffee from three different places in a span of 8 hours, which is support raising missionary life most days. And I'm becoming okay with life right now and the beauties in it. The sacrifices are hard but even the small earthly rewards we experience are sweet. Support raising, though difficult and emotional and stressful, has been one of the most enriching experiences of my life. Right when I decided to work for Cru, I felt a nudge toward learning more about apologetics, mostly because when people present philosophical questions attacking Christianity, I'm left standing in a dumb silence. And though I know the Spirit is who changes, having some logic behind what I believe is imperative. Especially as evangelism will be one of the main parts of my job soon. But I've been putting it off because whose priority is apologetics while they're getting married and support raising and living in 3 ...

And so today, grumpy, confused, out of sorts. Abnormal- but normalcy seems like an impossibly expensive vacation at the moment. The grass outside my window flutters around because we are half underground. Our home is smattered with laziness as we grapple to start yet another week with more calls, more prayers that may or may not be answered, and most likely more tears. Nothing happened this weekend and I am afraid that it will become normal. Normal. Ugh. I hate May now because it is indecisive and no one is ever free. My coffee is cold but I'm bearing it because I feel like I deserve it from giving up on reading Hebrews for class. I'm fumbling around on the piano again, frustrated and focused. I see pictures of friends laughing in community and I wonder what that feels like. The due dates for the goals we've made are looming and I hate that and daydream about becoming loggers in the Oregon forests or fishermen on New England coasts or secluded log cabin-dwellers in hidden...

We sped down the highways to Georgia and spent three days just breathing. Laughing with those who get it. People to see every day. Who love me. Who give me Wisconsin accents. Who laugh with us and at us. Eating good camp food. Being a tourist. NOT calling potential partners. Learning how to be a financial steward. Being encouraged by people who have been there. Resting. Walking. Figuring out fears that have inhibited and facing them, confessing them, processing them. And then driving back. Quick, uneventful, wonderful Georgia. The week before we left for Georgia, I told Jon how I wish we had gotten a hand mixer for our wedding. We have a precious few Bed Bath & Beyond gift cards left and want to use them really wisely and I didn't think a hand mixer qualified for something we needed. Guys, I probably didn't even pray about this. Because people don't really pray about hand mixers. And a few days later, my sweet soon-to-be sister-in-law offered us a ...

I'm sitting in sweatpants on a futon that has dog pee on it. With a messy kitchen to my right and jelly beans to my left. Books, Bibles, thank-you notes are strewn out on the floor. We are out of toilet paper so I have been using penguin napkins to take care of business until Jon comes home from work and saves my bottom. I ate two cupcakes tonight and tried to compensate by mixing up healthy things in our Vitamix and then attempting Kale chips (which I made ridiculously too salty but I would still recommend them). I haven't made our bed in days. I was supposed to clean today. I feel like a senior in college again, scrambling and mess-making. Eating non-dinner foods because I am too lazy to be creative when Jon is working and I'm stuck at home with cupcakes on the table with homemade frosting that I swear is laced with something deliciously illegal. The past 24 hours have entailed some anxiety. I just want to go do ministry. I don't want to call people who don't ...

This weekend I reread my old blogs from senior year and (if this isn't the most narcissistic thing you've ever heard) totally had a love gush for them. I wrote what I wanted, whenever I wanted. I posted them on Twitter where I have less followers. I didn't care how many "likes" my posts got because they weren't so public. I complained. I dreamed. I cried. I shared my struggles about crushes , about broken hearts , about love . I wrote through the process of accepting God's no's , and the misery of No Pants November . I wrote about potentially dating a doctor and you bet I wrote about sex . I bore my soul to you guys, whoever "you guys" is.  I   so   miss   that. I need this, friends. Because as I look back on where I was, I have a smirk on my face because I know where it led. And I refuse to miss out on that treasure. Of rereading with a smirk. It is the best. Way-too-long story short: I'm going to blog again. Sometimes they will be...