Some of you may know my story with my now fiancé. I have known Nick for three years in a first platonic, then romantic entanglement. Prior to dating him, I wasn’t really interested in snowboarding. Nick pursued me and we went on dates for years, but I was too intimidated to actually move forward with this person who appeared to be so different from me. When Nick and I both relocated to Seattle last year independently from one another, I saw it as a nod from God that I could indeed give things a chance with this man who wore hoop earrings and described everything as either ‘epic’ or ‘bitchin’… even though he lived and breathed a world I was completely alien to. Well, fast-forward a yearish, and I am the happiest I’ve ever been. I simply can’t wait to marry my best friend.

If you know Nick, you know how much his life doesn’t actually revolve around snowboarding – there is so much more depth behind that mischievous smile and sparkling eyes than what he does to pay the bills. My college-educated fiancé enjoys music, world culture, and undoubtedly more than anything, people. He proposed to me before he ever taught me to snowboard (I don’t know about you, but to me that speaks volumes). All that being said, in a short amount of time I have indeed been exposed to the ins and outs of snowboarding, and I’ve learned it’s a hell of a lot more than Shaun White winning the Half Pipe.

This is the world of snowboarding from my perspective… the perspective of one more akin to a – dare I use this word? – hipster lifestyle of art, Instagram, coffee shops, and other activities that usually don’t involve jumping off cliffs.

A sport that is pretty new in and of itself, snowboarding evolved as a youth-fueled response to the more bourgeois skiing. Coasting down a mountain with both feet strapped to one board instead of two closely paralleled skateboard culture and the street art movement of the 90’s. Eventually snowboarding seeped off the slopes and evolved to urban environments, where mothers gritted their teeth and watched their kids attempt tricks on railings, stairs, sides of buildings – the gnarlier the better. One of the most well known urban riders in snowboarding happens to be the man I’m engaged to. Even novices like me can quickly pick up on how unique Nick’s riding style is, mirroring his own eccentric one-of-a-kind yet lovable personality. He truly is a joy to watch. Nick is an X Games medalist, has traveled all over the world many times over, and is the only snowboarder to have ever landed the Christ Air (google it).

A day in the life of Nick looks something like this: Wake up. Check the weather. Brew coffee. Answer emails and return phone calls. Eat fruit and maybe eggs for breaky. Talk about daily fiber intake. Check the weather again. Make some more phone calls. Meet up with a film crew. Drive around spot-checking, which simply means looking for places to film a trick. Find a spot. Check the snow conditions. Talk about the snow conditions. Mention how the Eskimos have almost 100 different words for ‘snow’ in their vernacular. Start shoveling the snow. Discuss camera angles and settings. Finally begin snowboarding. Shovel some more. After the trick is finally captured, discuss if it’s good enough. Probably film it a dozen more times. Check the weather. Eat a burrito slathered in Tapatio for lunch. Drive around spot-checking again. Find another spot. Discuss trick ideas. Shovel for a half hour, then decide the snow conditions are not ideal. Call it a day. Hit up the local skate park for an hour. Probably have more Mexican food for dinner with a margarita or five. Check the weather for the next day. End the evening in a hot tub.

‘Tranny’ doesn’t mean transvestite. Phrases like ‘dropping’ and ‘sending it’ are used in day-to-day vernacular. The word ‘stoked’ is, well, used to a fault. Ski resorts are their own world and have a culture completely unique to them: women in fur drinking with their ski boots still on. An après beverage is very much a part of snow culture. Snowboarders are in bars just as often as they are on mountaintops. Speaking of mountains, if Nick and I are on a road trip and pass Mt. Shasta or something, he can’t take his eyes off of it. He’ll know the exact elevation and talk about memories associated with that particular mountain and how much his heart lusts for nature. Meanwhile, I nervously eye the road from the passenger seat for fear that he will get too distracted while driving. Nick’s thirst for the outdoors is one of the things I love most about him.

While recently spending a week in Philadelphia to work on an art project, one of the girls on my team caught herself saying ‘rad’ a lot and told me, “I don’t normally say this but you’re starting to rub off on me!” I told her to blame my fiancé. Perhaps Nick is rubbing off on me more than I know. Now if you’ll excuse me, we have a full day of shredding ahead of us.

While I understand there is not necessarily anything inherently wrong with desiring marriage and companionship and wedding registries, in my heart of hearts I took it way too far for many years. I completely idolized marriage. More times than I’d like to admit I have imagined the moment I walk down the aisle, hundreds of eyes on me, as I gracefully float to my soon-to-be husband, looking perfect. I thought that moment meant my life was complete. I know I’m not alone — I’m not the only single girl with wedding Pinterest boards.

Will you allow me to be vulnerable with you? I have been in and out of relationships faster than you can say Taylor Swift. Ask any of my friends, and they will immediately nod up and down and acknowledge with a sigh of frustration, “I tried to tell her to be single!” It’s true. I never listened. And looking back on years and years of broken hearts, all I see is pain and brokenness. Sure, I learned from a lot of mistakes I made. But if I could go back in time I would tell myself there is absolutely nothing wrong with choosing to be single for awhile. I entered relationships because there never really seemed a good enough reason not to — they completed me and gave me a sense of identity. I was secretly obsessed with finding a husband, and had myself convinced time and time again that I had found the right person, just because he loved me and told me I was beautiful. That’s all I needed, right? When one relationship didn’t work out I would numb the pain by jumping into a different one, causing untold damage to my heart and mind.

I am almost 26 years old and am now engaged to a man named Nick Visconti.

Nick and I met almost three years ago. He has never stopped pursuing me since the moment he met me — at the time I was dating another would-be husband. I was not interested in Nick, a professional snowboarder whom I didn’t think I shared much in common with other than a fiery faith for Jesus. He didn’t care. He knew, literally from the first night we meant, that God had written my name on his heart and that no one else was right for him. Less than a year ago, only when both Nick and I were planning on moving to Seattle completely independently of one another did I finally agree to date him. Rather reluctantly. I had been single for six months, and was finally beginning to heal and trust God with my future. I had endured a lot of broken hearts at this point. I was sick of the fighting, sick of the breakups, sick of changing my Facebook relationship status. I wanted the real thing. I didn’t know if Nick was it, but for the first time, I was entering the relationship based on faith that God was bringing us together in Seattle rather than trying to fulfill a need in my heart.

I fell in love with him immediately. He had been loving me from afar for years. Things felt organic — not perfect, but right.

Five months after I moved to Seattle, Nick proposed a few days before Christmas at Donner Lake. Snowflakes fell softly from the sky while the sun shone brightly on us as if God was nodding in approval. We were completely alone. And I said yes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t jump up and down. I quietly said yes, a giant smile on my face, and looking at the gorgeous rock adorning my finger, silently thanked God for this blessing that I hadn’t expected in the form of Nick Visconti. I had never felt more confident in a decision before. Instead of forcing an outcome because of how badly my heart longed for it, I gave God a few months to work out the innermost kinks and motivations for finding a husband. Once I had begun to heal, He unexpectedly gave me Nick… the most creative, eccentric, hard-working, talented, wise, funny, and relational man I’ve ever met.

What I am not saying is this: God will give you a spouse as soon as you’re single for a couple months. What I am saying is this: oftentimes when we are willing to yield our deepest and dearest desires over to Him, only after we are totally stripped does He give us what is best for us. And it almost always looks different than we think.

I laugh as I type this. I had absolutely no idea a year ago that I’d be marrying Nick Visconti — sometimes the thought still surprises me! One year ago I had chopped all my hair off as a way to free myself from my past (I’ve always wanted long hair for my wedding day). I just got a weave yesterday — which is super weird, by the way. I don’t have my life together like I thought I would when I someday became a wife. I still struggle with time management. I am more out of shape than I ever have been. My career is still being built and cultivated. I am on the brink, sure. But aren’t we always in seasons of transition? Aren’t we always reaching onward and upward? Nick asked me to marry him for exactly who I am, not for who I am striving to be. I am learning to succumb this idea of being a perfect bride to God’s perfect idea for me, His precious daughter and the crown of His creation. And not only that, but the big glorious wedding? I care less about that now than I ever did before I was engaged. I am marrying my soulmate. That is all that matters now.

And I am running in freedom.

A pause. He waited expectantly.

Caught off guard, I repositioned my iPhone to my other ear and prayed for about two seconds before exclaiming, “YES.” 48 hours later I found myself boarding a plane bound for the land of cheesesteak and liberty. I hadn’t been to the east coast for about a decade and tried to prepare myself for a spontaneous adventure with a crew I had never met, working on a project I knew virtually nothing about. I was admittedly a little nervous. I had no idea what to expect.

One week later, and I am still reeling at the proof that once again, God always has things figured out. At last week’s Justice Conference in Philadelphia, I helped a team of about 20 people create a gigantic interactive mural measuring 24′ x 30′. The name of the project? Justice Does (search #justicedoes on various social media outlets if you feel so inclined to see how everything unfolded). Because a member of the team had dropped out at the last minute, I was asked to tag along, all expenses paid, by Shawn Manley of Rooftop 519. Although Shawn and I had never met in person before, we had exchanged a few emails and he knew a little bit of my story and taking a leap of faith, invited me into a whirlwind of art and justice for a week. For Justice Does, Rooftop had partnered with Portland-based Artists Inspiring Action to create a project where thousands of conference attenders participated in a magnificent piece of art… symbolically pointing to what is so central to the core of all of us: we are all part of something much, much bigger than we could possibly fathom. As Christ worshippers, pursuing justice is our calling to respond to the cries of this world. As my new friend Ryan Frederick says in this blog post highlighting his experience at the conference, justice is tied very closely to living a life for Jesus; it is the byproduct.

So where did I fit in with all of this? As I left Seattle, I wasn’t exactly sure. All I knew was that sometimes God calls us so obviously towards something that we have no other choice but to follow it and thus, to follow our King. Even though, in this case, it meant abandoning my brand-new fiancé on his birthday (sorry about that babe). As my time in Philadelphia passed, I realized how much I fit in with this delightful crew made up of creatives like myself hailing from all over the country. People that were not only passionate in their faith but doing something about it. I believe there comes a point in every Christian’s spiritual journey where following Jesus is so much more than trusting Him with our salvation, and even more than having a day-to-day relationship with Him. Loving Jesus means loving His people. Fighting for them. Pursuing them. Forgiving them. And in this case, showing them that each and every one of them are created in His image… and thus are all artists in their own right.

Yes, you read that right. I believe that you are an artist.

I left Philadelphia motivated and inspired, not just because we created a rad and unique piece of art. But because working alongside these new friends of mine, allowing their stories to touch me and mine to touch them, reminded me to embrace humankind as the most beautiful artwork of all. We all are, you are, an utter masterpiece.

For those of you who have read it, would you consider taking a few minutes to leave a review on Amazon and/or Goodreads. Eye would so appreciate it.

In closing, Nick and I were playing around with an Olloclip yesterday and he took some rad macro shots of my eyeball. Ladies and gents, my eye in b&w:

From the publisher: In Believing is Seeing, Laura tells her story – one of loss, of heartbreak, of hope, and of a new vision. In her debut SlimBook, Laura takes you inside the mind and heart of an idealistic young creative who, with the world at her feet, gets the news that she is losing her sight. Her writing draws you in, and her story will keep you turning the pages. A great read for anyone who has ever dealt with loss, for anyone who values creativity and the creative process, and for the idealist in all of us.

Seriously y’all, I am so proud to add PUBLISHED AUTHOR to my resume. God is healing and redeeming my story. Read this interview my good friend Ashlee from Where My Heart Resides posted of me this morning to hear more.

I’d love to get your feedback after you’re done with the book. Happy reading!!!

I’m pretty sure I say this every single year, so at this point it’s probably rendered completely null and void, but I seriously cannot believe how quickly 2012 went by. Happy holidays, y’all.

Here I am, nestled back in Seattle from my world travels, and I gotta say… this is a completely different Seattle than the one I left five weeks ago. This is the Seattle everyone warned me about before I moved here: gloomy, rainy, and dark. The sun pretty much never comes out, but when it does, I run around outside in a swimsuit, celebrating 50 degrees and Vitamin D. Not really. But it’s tempting.

The first week Nick and I were back in the Emerald City, we both contracted colds and watched the entire first season of Once Upon A Time. Yep that’s right, I successfully got my supercool pro snowboarder boyfriend hooked on the lamest/most addicting show of all time. We sat inside, gazed mournfully at the zillions of raindrops falling unapologetically everywhere, and didn’t exactly know what to do.

Then we got outside.

The Northwest is best appreciated when you suit up, sans umbrella, and march outdoors. So what if you get a little wet in the process. Just like everything else in life, Seattle’s weather is made much more tolerable with a positive attitude and a little bit of determination. And it’s beautiful here. For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to appreciate cold weather. My California wardrobe has been replaced with flannel, scarves, and beanies. I live in the Ballard district of Seattle, which has a style all it’s own. The word ‘hipster’ is never heard here. Staying warm and subsequently stylish is a way of life. See: @ballardvibes on Instagram.

Exciting things are coming! I am in the final stages of editing my upcoming memoir-in-the-making, Believing Is Seeing, which is due to be released later this month (!!!). Also, I have been working on a Ballard-inspired series of watercolor paintings dubbed Vintage Nautical, which will soon be up on Etsy. If octopus tentacles are your jam, this series is for you. Seattle, despite the incessant precipipation, truly has become a root of inspiration in my life.

More than anything, this is a season of thankfulness.

The Space Needle in a rare moment of sunshine.

Impressionism is just that: an impression. The quickness of light, shadows fading, footsteps falling, hushed laughter… life is made up of a series of brief, shimmering moments, each different from the one before. Monet sought to capture these changes in the light by painting the same scenes over and over in varying times of day and season: haystacks, cathedrals, and of course, the famous waterlilies. He was a manly man with a Santa Claus white beard (Nick said he looked like a train conductor upon seeing a photo of him for the first time) who captured the tenderness of the French countryside of Giverny in such painstakingly beautiful brushstrokes… it is no wonder he is one of the most beloved artists of all time.

I’m back in the States now after a whirlwind of Parisian romance, art, and wine. My week with Nick in the City of Lights was filled to the brim with as much life as we could muster. In retrospect, I wish there had been more quiet afternoons drinking espresso and playing chess in a coffeeshop, listening to rain pummle the cobblestone outside. However, because this was our first time in the city, we set out to see and do as much as we could. Tourist Mode was in full effect. From the Moulin Rouge to the Louvre to ordering snails for dinner to escaping gypsies on the Metro, we squeezed as much as we could out of the experience. Many memories were made and laughter was shared. I truly had the time of my life. The highlight, of course, was the art.

When I was 17, I rounded the corner in an obscure art museum in Spain and saw my first Monet painting in person. It brought tears to my eyes, as my heart was deeply stirred by the man behind the brush that inspired an art revolution, and changed the way I view art and life. That emotion was nothing compared to visiting Monet’s garden and waterlilies in Giverny this past week and wandering the streets of Montmartre, the art district of Paris where Monet and Cézanne and Van Gogh all wandered a century before me. I tried to see Paris the way Monet saw it: shimmering lights, the reflections of trees passing swiftly in rain puddles beneath my feet, steaming baguettes peaking out of peacoats and bicycles. A series of beautiful moments.

Two favorite memories stand out from the rest. The first was watching Nick, an art and overall life lover to be sure but not someone who previously knew a lot about Impressionism, become fascinated and captivated by it as as the week progressed. While walking through Musée d’Orsay, which does a great job of highlighting the Impressionism movement and is much more digestible than the Louvre, Nick was able to recognize and compare the different artist’s work. He developed a keen understanding, love, and appreciation for the same paintings that have whispered to my heart my whole life. This meant more to me than I could possibly even begin to describe.

Secondly, I was able to sneak away from our crazy tourist adventures for a half hour to sit in front of the Eiffel Tower and do a quick painting of it before twilight approached. Shivering, oblivious to everything around me, I brushed my watercolors across a paper and captured a quick impression of this famed icon of beauty and romance. Just like Monet.

Paris, you stole my heart, just as I always knew you would.

Monet’s Waterlilies

Le Tour Eiffel

Impression of Eiffel Tower

Waiting in line at the Louvre with Nick

Bonjour from Annecy, France! Despite an extremely harrowing travel experience flying to Geneva on Saturday, including one missed flight, two delayed flights, and missing luggage (which thankfully was recovered a few hours later) I am having the time of my life exploring the French countryside with my boyfriend Nick. We’re staying in Annecy, a truly stunning town nestled against the Alps with castles, cobblestone walkways, and espresso aplenty. We even sang Christmas carols under the first snowfall of the season and attended a mass at a local cathedral where we didn’t understand a single word. I feel like Belle. My heart is captivated by this place. I’m not sure I’m ever coming home.

As Nick and I indulged in pizza and local wine last night (when in France…) I realized that life is still life, even when on holiday in one of the most beautiful places in the world. Daily frustrations and annoyances still creep up no matter where you are or who you are with. The world is dirty, people are rude, Air France loses your luggage. The trick, as I have learned, is finding the right person to share these moments with, good and bad, because then they all just seem good. I’m learning how to balance out realistic expectations while still demanding as much as I can out of life on a daily basis.

In a few days, I will board a train that will take me to Paris, a city that has whispered to my heart my entire life. While in Paris, when I’m not busy weeping for joy in the Louvre, I plan to finish writing my book, which will be published before the end of this year. I am extremely proud of what I have written and eager to share my story with you all on a level I never have before.

I am growing and flourishing in ways I never thought possible. Thank you for following along with my journey.

I am smack dab in the middle of my twenties. I cook spinach into my eggs for breakfast and don’t buy candy anymore. I make room in my budget for concert tickets because seeing live music as regularly as possible is absolutely necessary. Sometimes I go to bed as early as 10:30. Sometimes I stay up reading The Hunger Games until 2:30. I drink my coffee black. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, nature is fascinating and has completely captured my heart. I wake up every morning and gaze out at Mount Rainier peeking up from behind downtown Seattle and whisper a prayer of thankfulness.

In this dance between childhood and adulthood, I make a lot of mistakes. Days of laziness still exist. But I am evolving into a wiser and healthier version of myself. I am delighted to discover this person God always knew I would become. Everything is starting to make sense.

Last night I found myself doing yoga on gravel outside of the Mutemath tour bus with some amazing friends. Then we sat in chairs around an invisible campfire and went around the circle saying things we loved about one another. It was one of those nights that I’ll never forget. I’m learning to squeeze memories out of every single moment… true and honest memories that hold meaning.

Oh how life is so much more than I ever thought.

photo by Laura Pritchett

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