whitney dziurawiec

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-...