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...