Far from Ordinary

This is My Story

2012-02-15T18:45:00.001-08:00

The year I turned 21 was when everything changed. It was a slow change surely and my decision became final only six years later, but 2005 was definitely the turning point.

Ten years old is young to start baby-sitting. My first 'clients' were the twins across the street. They were in a family of seven, the youngest at almost two years old. I sang them to sleep with a lullaby I had composed when I was eight years old. For days later, the twins 'talked' about me, affectionately pointing to the lady on the red raisin box and saying, "Lala" because apparently, they thought I looked like her. Their mom was surprised by the twins' obvious affection for me.

My little brother was born when I was 11 and 1/2. January 14th, 1996. I held him, helped my mom change his diapers, babysat him as soon as he was old enough to be weaned. A friend recently asked me, "You were not nervous about holding a newborn when you were that young?" It had never even crossed my mind to be nervous about that.

Taking care of children came second nature to me. I adored them! I was familiar with the developmental stages, the differences in correction needed for the various ages and situations. I knew how to soothe crying babies or squabbling siblings. Anything I didn't know, I learned about in Child Development classes in High School, from my parents or other acquaintances with children. I listened to Focus on the Family broadcasts about Biblical/practical parenting techniques and difficulties. It is impossible to say this without sounding too prideful, but I had more experience, knowledge and wisdom at 18 when it came to caring for children of any age than many of my friends did upon having their first child in their 20s.

From the age of 10-21, I babysat extensively, played with children at church in the nurseries, worked with elementary aged children every summer for mission trips, volunteered as an adult on High Schooler's mission trips and taught their Sunday School. I had experience watching ten kids at once, all various ages. I had experience working with tantrum-disobedient two year olds, rambunctious four year olds, self-conscious eight year olds, and awkward adolescents. I have potty-trained a 3 year old and gained the respect of a class-full of inner-city teenagers.

Everyone who knew me said, "Oh you will make a wonderful mom!" I inwardly agreed, to be honest. Between the ages of 16 and 22, I had plans to get married and have about ten children of my own.

In 2005, I was working in New Jersey as a nanny for a family of twin 3 month olds and a 3 year old. At the time I had recently graduated with my Associates Degree and my only life goal was to get married and have those ten children. I was only waiting for the man to come along. To my surprise, though, I found a new feeling dawn within my spirit and it arrived on the coat-tails of the realization that I was soon to turn 21.

"What does it feel like to be in your 20s?" I asked myself. "Actually, I do not feel like I am 20, I feel like a worn out 45 year old woman with years of child-rearing ahead and behind her. I have 'raised' a lot of children already. Is this what I want to do for the rest of my life? Maybe I want to learn a new career. I wonder what it feels like to be a 20 year old?"

That inward conversation led me to discover that I was burnt out from being a nanny. At the time, I was shocked at myself for entertaining the feeling that I couldn't even bear to have my own children, I was so burnt out. "I just need a break," I thought. "I will take a break for a while, discover my gifts, learn what it means to be my age for a while, that way I will have something to offer my own children when I have them."

For the next two or three years, I did just that. I moved around, tried different jobs, went back to school, rediscovered my love of writing, dabbled in art and dancing again.

I stopped volunteering in the church nursery, stopped nannying altogether, even did little babysitting because it would send me into a burnt out panic again. Instead, I cleaned houses, worked as an ESL teacher in an Elementary school, trained horses, worked as a lab assistant, was a wedding coordinator, secretary, substitute teacher, served in church by playing my cello or singing, helped with renovations or meal set-up, worked with the poor.

I was growing, learning and seeing the possibilities for my life expand and change. God was leading me down paths I never dreamed would actually be possible for my life! Dreams for my purpose started edging slowly away from being a mother, but I didn't notice right away.

When I was in the midst of my education at the University of Arizona, my younger sister got married and when I found out she was pregnant I was so happy for her! A few days later as I contemplated the news, a huge wave of relief swept over me. Unexpectedly, I found myself awed and exhilarated by the fact that God had not answered my many prayers to get married and have those ten children ASAP! I was a bit perplexed at this relief, but thought it was just a momentary thankfulness. I must be glad 'for the time being' that God delayed and brought other marvelous things into my life. Probably I will want children later.

December 2009, I graduated with my degree in Creative Writing and Equine Science. I hadn't thought about wanting children for a while by this point. Truth be told, I was immensely enjoying the fact that my life was not revolving around children. I had other gifts and skills! I had different possibilities and dreams for my future! I could still enjoy spending time with my nieces, nephews and the multitudes of children that my already married friends had! And I didn't have the pressure to discipline them or schedule their days or soothe their unquenchable tears...I could just pass them back to mommy and daddy with a gentle pat and smile. The idea had already started forming that I would be not necessarily mind if God never gave me the opportunity to have my own children.

For the entire time I lived in Tucson, my body started to revolt on me. Without going into too much detail, I gained about 60 lbs in a year and a half and could not get it off even after two years of dancing, riding horses, training horses and eating healthy. Other things were changing too. I went to the doctor insisting something was wrong, but he could not find anything! It wasn't until my periods started wigging out that things got even worse. One day in February 2010, I was in extreme pain and my body was scaring me. I was in my house, laying on my bed. My mom was sitting next to me. Between moans, I told her how miserable I was. Since I was ten years old I had had debilitating cramps and other related issues- 16 years of extreme pain! I told my mom that the rcent changes were more than I could bear on top of everything else and that I had considered asking for a hysterectomy. "I don't even care if I can never have children after that! Is that bad?" My mom calmly said, "Laelia, you do not HAVE TO have children! I enjoyed having you kids, but there are so many ways to be an influence in the world. I see you as having hundreds of kids in the sense that you speak to them through your writing, your childrens' stories."

Soon I would go to the gynecologist, be diagnosed with PCOS and endometrial hyperplasia, both of which have a high chance of causing infertility and cancer. I had to have an invasive biopsy done to make sure I did not have cancer and still need to be checked every year to make sure it does not develop. Since June 2010, my life has been transformed by the miracle of birth control! (I literally thank God for it almost every day!) I never thought I would ever say that, but for the first time in my life I am without that debilitating pain, not to mention it guards against my high risk of endometrial cancer.

Since my startling revelation that day in my room (and my mom's even more startling response), I have been on a long, prayerful journey. Through prayer, seeking advice from godly friends, pastors, scripture, articles and weighing my dreams, desires and gifts in light of the possibility that I could be called to remain childless by choice, I finally decided permanently that that is exactly the path I wish to take. With that decision came the assurance that I still long to be married to a godly man and have our relationship be one that glorifies the Lord. I believe that the Lord will bring me a man who is called to the same lifestyle even though it seems near impossible to find a Christian man who also loves children, but is not called to have his own. With God, nothing is impossible, though. It is my dream that we will be able to focus on our marriage and extend our influence into the lives of those around us in ways that we could not if we had our own children.

In the meantime, I am loving my seven nieces and nephews, the children of my best friends, the children in my church and on the bus or train. I grieve with my friends and siblings who desire children and are not able to conceive, or endure the heartbreak of miscarriages. I pray for God to grant them children, to heal their children. I smile at the children I come across every day, laugh with them, comfort them and play with them even more freely now because I know my calling and I have so much relief and joy in it, that I feel more free to love.

Year of Expression

2012-01-23T20:42:00.001-08:00

Every time my sister Bess or I declared that we were going to get a hair cut, my dad would invariably say, "I know JUST the style for you!" and he would spread his fingers and fan them over his head in the place of a potential Mohawk. He'd laugh mischievously and we'd chuckle and roll our eyes. While I do not plan to go to such extremes as this photo demonstrates (although the kissing part might be nice), 2012 is now dubbed, "My year of EXPRESSION!"

A coworker friend Jill and I discussed new year traditions at lunch one day. She found out that I enjoy choosing a spiritual focus or a specific prayer list for the year and suggested I read an article she had come across.

Read it yourself. I am too relaxed after my massage to explain the concept.

The theme I chose stems from my desire to live out certain aspects of my life that God was tweaking all last year... well, pretty much my entire life.
With 'Expression' as my theme for this year, I hope to intentionally continue along the path God started clearing for me during Fall of 2011. Without explaining in too much detail, these are a few of the areas that I know 'expression' will cause me to live differently than I have in the past:

1. EXPRESS feelings: to acknowledge them in the first place (anger, sadness etc), talk to God about them, talk to a trusted person about them and/or ACT on them- either by repenting of certain attitudes or confronting someone or just allowing myself to cry or rant

2. EXPRESS gifts: sing, paint, play my cello and recorder more often, to write more letters of encouragement, to write more in general, public speaking, pray-pray-PRAY, to learn and use my MIND which has been sorely neglected lately, bake/cook, and experiment in general more

3. EXPRESS life: this might look like choosing to love anyway especially when it seems hopeless or pointless or painful; pouring love into those around me by listening, hugging, serving, repenting, forgiving and laughing; taking dance classes again to reconnect with the kinesthetic-passionate side of me, saying no to the 'activities' and 'service' which I allow to fill my time with enough busyness to avoid facing the hard issues of my life, heart and relationships; and only stick to the people and areas of service that God sees as my priorities

It is my hope that this focus will make every area of my life an EXPRESSION of WORSHIP to my Lord. This will not be easy. I will have to be okay with disappointing people's expectations of who I should be or what I should be doing with this time, body, mind, heart, spirit and breath that God has given me. I will have to be okay with failing miserably as I journey to take hold of the life God has been pushing me towards. I thought for a while my fear of death was a stumbling block, keeping me captive, but lately I have realized it was only masking my greater fear of LIVING. For almost 28 years, Satan has been working to stifle me, trying to obscure my God-given identity and purpose:
'King's Beloved Daughter named Laelia Catherine Watt (beauty-orchid, pure, leader of the armies); light-bearer, joy-giver, gentle-ruler. Sinner redeemed by Christ. One on whom God smiles.'
[God's names for us are long when translated into our languages.]
In many ways his tactics succeeded, at least in numbing my thrum of life or misdirecting it. In the midst of my darkest times, I felt a pull that, if I would only let go of my fear and trust God for the life he intended me to display, the world would never be the same again. The implications of living such a life both scared and thrilled me.

Watch out, world.

Here I come.

Without the Mohawk, of course.

A Bit of Color for Winter

2011-12-13T18:14:00.000-08:00

Here are some photos I took at the Missouri Botanical Garden's Orchid show this past Spring. I came across the folder again and decided dark December was a good time to be reminded of flowers. The orange ones are "Laelia" orchids

Grape Salad

2011-11-22T19:27:00.000-08:00

We, formed in the mind of HIM and breathed into Time's kazoo,
hurtle forth perplexed, with a small grape salad in each hand.

We think
we lack tickings of clocks, grand hellos or rambling thoughts
we think
we lack calendar photos or celebrations of first cries
we think,
...this one had a good run
...that one didn't have a chance
...the other one should not have been granted an audience

Shadows writhe along the walls assured
we are only a physical breach, a tipsy toddle, the rotting of chromosomes
Hollows sound with mule brays basking in their owlish delight
we are only rounds of a checkers game stalked by crowned enemy kings in our Wake

Few Lights blazon and blink down a path walked by countless fogs
here we are, immortals

Some journey two pages and depart to evergreen trees, crisp ocean breeze, a bubbling of friendly rejoices and kisses
Some wander four chapters and depart to putrid nightmares, clogged in a room of knives obscured, no whimper of sympathy.

But ALL walk and walk and walk
along a Timeline-
with a promised beginning and an ever reaching, never end,
interrupted by a momentary glitch-
and stumble
into Comedy or Tragedy

The Creative Call

2011-11-19T20:14:00.000-08:00

Reading blogs of friends has made me realize, it has been THREE MONTHS since the last time I have written on my own blog! I started this blog originally so that I would have a place to practice writing often, at least to force myself to write 'in public' and hone my skills, but here I am, letting three entire months go by and not a single word written. Unacceptable!

I have, in fact, been writing these past few months. Most of my writing has been in my journals or in completing the exercises in an amazing workbook called "The Creative Call: an Artists response to the Way of the Spirit." (Seriously, if you are an artist, writer, creative at all, I highly recommend this book! HIGHLY! I have never gone through a workbook and been so incredibly inspired and equipped as I have with this book. If you are stuck in your creative endeavors, curious as to how the gifts God has given you play into the call on your life, GET THIS BOOK AND DO IT! If you have no money to buy it, please borrow mine!)

Anyway, I have also been working on my children's stories. There are about six in various stages of completion saved onto my computer. Some stories I wrote years ago, a couple I started within the past couple of months, and one of them is finished, edited, has been reviewed by other writers and polished to the best level I could muster. This one, called "The Grown-Up Boy" has been sent out to TWO agents so far! I decided to focus on acquiring an agent first because you can send the same manuscript to any number of agents at a time and if one decides to take you on, they will solicit the publishing companies for you. This is a good thing for many reasons.

1. They can do all the leg work soliciting publishing companies for you while you can focus on writing.
2. Many publishers won't even look at a manuscript unless an agent represents it first.
3. With publishing companies, you can only send your manuscript to one of them at a time, wait the four months until they do/don't get back to you and then send your manuscript out again... basically, it is a more tedious process.
4. You don't pay agents until they get you a publishing contract for you, then they get a 10%-20% (Usually 15% I think) cut of the money you are paid. The work that they do for you is invaluable though as mentioned in point 1 and 2 and they set up book tours etc as well. In theory, you could have a partnership with the same agent/agency through your entire writing career which would be nice for both parties involved.

God used that Creative Call workbook to make me realize that I need to be more disciplined, focused and intentional in using the gifts He has given me. My creative gifts are not only things that I am passionate about exploring, nor are they only 'side hobbies,' but he wants me to use them for His glory in some manner! I realized that I was looking at my artistic nature as the world does- impractical. The world may admire artistic people, but really, most of society looks at us and expects us to do those things in our spare time as a hobby and then to get real and get a real job! Rarely is the creative life even encouraged as a possibility for a legitimate career!

Little by little over the past two years as I have been pounding my head into a brick wall trying to procure the elusive full-time job with benefits, I have been feeling pulled more strongly towards the Creative life. When I was underemployed in Tucson, I taught myself the recorder. My friend Layne and I started our own folk music band, both singing and playing our instruments. In Tucson and in St. Louis I started teaching cello lessons. Since moving to St. Louis, writing projects have skyrocketed, I've done more collages and sculptures in the past year than I have in the past ten, I learned to knit, paint, took up woodburning, joined the church choir, sang a few solos and I play my cello in the worship band. Through much prayer, angst, tears, confusion, and constant confirmation from the Lord, I am finally realizing that, despite the 'impractical' nature of my calling, I am CALLED to a creative life!

I am still not completely sure how it will look. Since as early as second or third grade I knew these two things: I want to be an author and I want to get married. Both desires have been often thwarted and discouraged at various points in my life, but God continues to reinforce them after every odd twist and turn. For now, the only thing I know to do is put one foot in front of the other in the direction of the Lord, using the gifts he has given me, practicing them, experimenting, filling my days with them. Practically, in 2011, this has led me to join the St. Louis Writers Guild, ask my younger sister to edit my stories, save a small amount of money to now and then buy art supplies I need, develop new writing and artistic techniques, turn my uncle's bedroom into my art studio (Thanks, Uncle Dick! heehee), create and Etsy shop and start sending my manuscript out to agents. Please pray for me as I step out in faith.

For the past few weeks, I have been mulling over many potential blog posts for the future! I plan on writing a couple of essays that will address some areas of my life I have not attempted to broach before as well as a few essays on relevant spiritual/societal issues. Creative Nonfiction was my major and it is the genre that is often used to challenge, confront and vulnerably divulge in ways that can be everything from subtle to jarring, so I have been wanting to return to that for a few entries.

The Frog and Prince

2011-08-18T20:52:00.000-07:00

There was once a small frog who loved a prince, a prince with a bearing of a lion, a king. This frog, she loved with a love unrequited, for the prince was blind to her round, glossy eyes, webbed feet and wide, happy mouth.

At night by the fountain, the prince often reclined on the edge to gaze at the stars. The frog would sit on the lily pad near her lover's head and croak sweet nothings into the air. Never once did the lion prince turn his eyes from the stars to search the water for the sound of the frog. It was just a frog singing its usual song, after all.

One night, the frog dared to leap to the ledge of the fountain where the prince's hand rested. She placed one wet webbed foot on his hand hoping to gain his attention. He jumped at her clammy touch, and when he looked down to see a slimy frog on his hand, he shook her off, sending her sailing through the air to land with a splash into the cool fountain.

For two weeks, the frog lay submerged under the water, her eyes and nose peeking above the water. She barely emerged to eat and hung limply in the water every day, hurt to the depths of her tiny beating heart for she realized how foolish she had been. There were no fairy godmothers or magic kisses. The frog knew she was to ever remain a frog and the prince went about his business completely unconcerned.

In the evening, when the prince came to sit on the fountain she turned her back to him and hid under a lily pad, unable to even look at him. He didn't even notice she had stopped singing.

The end.

Remember that I am Dust

2011-07-18T21:10:00.000-07:00

I forgot how much I like the way clay feels in my hands. In elementary school, I often used air drying Mexican clay. At first, always the deep red clay- I made a dinosaur head for a project once in forth grade, adding real grasses glued to the inside of its mouth after the clay dried. My mom had coached me on how to work the clay to get it to match the shapes I saw in the photo of the dinosaur. I kept the project for years. I may still have it in storage along with the rest of my belongings far away in Tucson.

In fifth or sixth grade, I came across this interesting clay that actually hardened IN water! After forming a tiny little teapot, complete with detachable lid, I placed the piece in a tub of water and after the subscribed time, took it out. I was pleased and fascinated by how hard the clay had become. I know for sure I still have that piece...in my storage unit along with the rest of my life.

It was before high school, but for sure by 10th grade that I decided the red clay was not my favorite. The color was harsh and I didn't like the look of it on my hands- too much like blood, I thought. Sometimes it stained my fingers. I gravitated towards grey and white clays and started making more complicated pieces.

A clay cardinal bird family with eggs and a nest made of sticks for a science project about my favorite birds.

For math class in 8th grade, a rose with removable petals like a modified Russian doll, each section displaying the properties of integers and how they were interrelated.

I made figurines based off of friends, animals or people in my imagination all through high school. My favorite was a marionette type clay figure, joined together with tiny wires I embedded into the joints of limb to make it movable. He had a jovial, laughing face and was fashioned after my dad's features.

The figurines were my favorite to make, but the air dried clay is not known for its strength and all of them broke. No matter how hard I tried to pack them with care, between the many times I had to pack them in bubble wrap or newspaper, stash them in boxes for yet another move and unpack them again...they couldn't handle the stress.

At Pima Community college in Tucson, while I was attending the University of Arizona, I took many art and dance classes for my own amusement. My favorite was a ceramics class taught by a Japanese professor. In that class, I learned to throw pots, bowls etc on a wheel, how to glaze and how to build facial features for figures more realistically. The clay was soft, grey, more pliable with wet fingers, then hardened in a kiln. This clay was certainly more durable than I had ever used. I took great pleasure in watching a bowl form under my fingertips on the spinning wheel and even greater pleasure watching my family eat out of the bowls I had made with my own hands. I also made two figures, one of a friend leaping in the air to catch a frisbee, another of a friend playing the guitar. These were kiln fired and then placed in my garden in Tucson. They broke as I was shuffling my garden items around in preparation for the move back to St. Louis.

The movement of the human body has always captivated me. I love to dance and watch people dance. I like to watch the way people play with their hair or stare off into space, walk across a room, shake hands, check their watches, laugh. When I am struck by a certain pose, it freezes in my memory and I try my best to capture it in clay. I've tried drawing such memories, but they don't translate as easily. With clay in my hands, the figures are absorbed from my memory, through my fingertips and into the clay.

Sometimes, if I don't have an idea, I like to knead the clay in my hands and often the clay will become something that I didn't first intend, as if that bit of clay was meant for that particular shape.

I can sit for hours with clay in my hands, molding and smoothing, without realizing how much time has gone by, the only indication being an indignant full bladder which I have ignored for too long, stiff shoulders or tired fingers. While I know I have improved in technique over the years, still, I have a long way to go. I am my harshest critic. My favorite things to see in an art museum are the statues and busts done by the great artists, so I know my vast limitations.

After almost two years of not making a thing, I am experimenting with a new clay. Polymer clay (Super Sculpey) is unlike anything I have tried. Most similar in texture to the water hardened clay of years past, it is dense until warmed with my body heat after kneading. It is the color of my flesh, and oddly, leaves no visible residue on my hands. Once formed, it is almost rubbery, and after placing in the over for 15 minutes, becomes strong and hard. The clay is easy to form and I have been surprised and pleased by the results so far. It is so mess free that I brought the clay to work and all day at my desk formed a dancing woman in a dress. I will be painting the pieces with acrylic paint. I will be using this clay more often now, but if I had access to a kiln, I would use the wonderful heavy wet firing clay as well because I love the cool, smooth, wetness of it. Polymer clay is dainty. Kiln appropriate clay is more fun to manhandle.

My mom said that working with clay is therapeutic. I agree. For such a tactile, touch-oriented person such as myself, clay is the ultimate medium and I am relieved to have my hands in it again. (Pun intended) I want to say that working with clay makes me feel like I am able to make sense of life in a small way, to literally and figuratively grasp the uncertainties of my life with less discontent, but maybe that is cheesy.

To be honest, I felt strange as I worked with the new clay, like I was accessing some part of myself I had forgotten was missing. This type of moment has occurred frequently since moving back to St. Louis. Time completely slipped away, unencumbered by any thoughts in particular. I just worked and worked, focusing all my energy into the features of my piece, making the clay match the image in my mind. I felt tired, but the happy, productive kind of tired when I was finished. Throughout the process, I imagined God molding Adam and Eve, and me, out of the clay of the earth, adding the cheek bones here, building the hips fuller here...the image in His mind forming under his fingertips, fired to hardness under the heat of his breath...just as prone to breaking as any clay figurine.

Once Upon This Time

2011-07-14T16:59:00.000-07:00

There was once a king with 10 daughters. Each daughter, from the first to the last, was beautiful in body and spirit, well-educated and talented. Some played sports, some danced, sang or played instruments. A few of the daughters enjoyed cooking or gardening. Like all people, the daughters had flaws, but they were good-tempered and willing to learn and grow.

One day, the King decided to find husbands for his goodly daughters, for they had a desire to be married, but would only marry princely men of whom their father approved. The King sent out messages throughout all the world to the princes of noble character.

Presently, three princes arrived. The King happily paired each one with one of his daughters and sent them back to their kingdoms in joy.

There were still seven daughters unaccounted for, though. They waited and waited.

After a while, the King decided to send out another invitation, inviting the noble princes of nearby kingdoms to choose a bride. This time no one came except the messengers bearing the princes' replies:

One Prince responded:
"I am too busy to take a wife."
Another:
"She will be too much trouble- No thanks!"
And also:
"I am fighting a war, a wife requires too much commitment"
And possibly worst of all:
"I can rule my kingdom on my own, thank you."

Upon hearing these messages, the King became angry and the remaining daughters were terribly discouraged.
In hopes that he could inspire the princes to reconsider, the King sent out messengers again, this time with a list of benefits of gaining a wife of such caliber as his daughters.

~She will show you respect and encourage you when you are worn out from fighting or ruling
~She will keep you company at night, be an ear to listen and a voice to challenge you
~She will look after the affairs of your castle so that when you are out fighting battles or seeing to the needs of the Kingdom, you will have nothing to fear
~She will be able to offer wisdom and laughter to lighten your load and your subjects will be happier because of her gracious presence in your kingdom.

Finally, two more princes were convinced and traveled to the King to take one of his daughters as a wife.

Still, there were five daughters left in his household and they were practically despairing of ever marrying. At this point, even the lowly subjects of the kingdoms, the surly men who lived distasteful lives were begging to marry the King's daughters, but the King refused and his daughters couldn't bear the thought of marrying a man who wasn't a son of a King. They tried busying themselves in serving the people of their kingdom and even learned to fight in case the kingdom were ever attacked and there were no men around to protect them. Their father could see that they were still longing for husbands, though, so he sent out yet another message to the surrounding kingdoms, even offering great rewards to those who came to marry his beautiful, kind daughters.

Alas, the Princes still made excuses and sent back this final reply:

A wife is too much commitment. A woman is not worth having in my life. I don't care how fine or virtuous a woman is. They are not worth fighting for or committing to.

A Momentous Walk through the Parking Lot

2011-06-22T20:34:00.000-07:00

As I walked across the grocery store parking lot after work today, I looked contentedly up to the blue sky filled with enormous white clouds. I love the clouds in the midwest. I love that it RAINS here and that even if it doesn't rain, there can be days with massive meandering clouds slowly making their way across the heavens. In the evenings, these clouds are lit from behind by a pink and purple sunset filtered through golden sunlight. Rippling clouds are blazoned by a fiery red in the sun's full morning fury.

Every place I have lived has its own unique beauty and I appreciated the East Coast, South West, South East, but there is something about the midwest that resonates with me the most. Since moving to St. Louis, I have often looked back at living in Tucson with a sense of haziness and distaste, like I simultaneously feel as if I had never really lived there (it was all an uncomfortable dream that I'd rather forget) or if I really had lived there, that I never truly enjoyed it. When these thoughts surface, I check myself and think, "No, I did like some of it, I know I did live there, it was sort of nice for the time I was there."

Looking up at the clouds before entering the local Schnucks to buy some dinner for a picnic at the Botanical Gardens, brought a memory to mind that helped me come to terms with my feelings for Tucson in a small way. When I had first moved there, the whole city, climate, and certain aspects of the overall culture, rubbed me the wrong way. I hated the BRIGHT sun, the lack of rain, the harshness. The entire first year I lived there, I couldn't get Missouri out of my mind. I was constantly dreaming of it, talking about it, missing the weather, people, activities, rivers...everything. The whole first year, I wanted to move back to Missouri because even in that first year everything about my life was harsh- not just the plant life and weather of the region, but the circumstances and relationships in my life.

One morning, as I half-woke and lay in my bed, I groggily thought to myself, "I like it here" and promptly fell back to sleep. That was the random moment that I decided I did appreciate the beauty and strangeness that the Southwest had to offer, but it was also more of a resignation to it than a full embracing. The subsequent years were filled with school and intense circumstantial difficulties which never seemed to let up and increased year after year.

Remembering this made me even happier that I am now back in St. Louis. Looking back at that initial reaction to Tucson, I see that it was never where I was meant to stay. Sometimes I doubt that I should have moved to Tucson at all and instead should have moved back to St. Louis in that first year when I missed it so much. Thinking like that doesn't help, though, and I choose to trust God that it was all part of His grand plan. It seems more fitting that the worst, most intense, and yet most growth-filled years of my life were in a land of such puzzling contradictions- vast beauty in the midst of, and often because of, extreme harshness. When I reflected on this, all in the space of a 1.5 minute walk across a parking lot (thoughts move so much faster than essays about thoughts), it left me with a profound peace that I was never meant to stay permanently in Tucson. I was there for a purpose and a time, which thankfully, has come to an end.

There are so many climates and regions in this country and world that everyone can resonate with at least one of them and choose to settle in that place. There is something so special about finding a place one loves and as I stared smiling at the fluffy white clouds over my head and thought of the picnic I was going to have in the grass, under trees on this beautiful day, I was grateful. Extremely grateful and happy.

Tear Collector

2011-03-24T17:00:00.000-07:00

You keep track of all my sorrows.
You have collected all my tears in your bottle.
You have recorded each one in your book.
Psalm 56:8

If I cried in the womb, God heard me. Each tear was accounted for in his book, His masterpiece detailing my life's story.

I wonder if the entries read something like this:

"July 10th, 1984. 7:49pm Washington, MO- Laelia cried six tears when she took her first breath"

From the moment the cold slap of reality broke into my embryonic reverie, God collected tear after tear, placing each precious droplet in a bottle. A glass bottle? Does it list my name on the outside? I like to imagine it is made from emerald or blue sapphire with a pearl stopper.

"On ____ day of 1987 Laelia shed 32 tears as she was being carried down the hallway towards the operating room. She shed 25 more upon waking up from the surgery."

This book must have my name on the cover- my very own book with my very own name, with my very own sorrows carefully inscribed in God's beautiful handwriting.

There will be entries which have escaped my memory, detailing long forgotten minor pouts or misunderstandings, my angst over getting my hair brushed, or tears shed in my sleep over haunting nightmares.

The nights I cried, afraid of the shadows and evil presences I felt lurking in my room, the days I cried when my parents argued, my sister frustrated me, my friends hurt my feelings, the neighbor boys called me names, were all carefully recorded in His book titled "Laelia's Sorrows"

The tears that dripped down my cheek upon hearing a beautiful symphony, while watching the waves lap peacefully against a grey sand beach on a rainy day, or when being overwhelmed by a sense of God's love all fell into the tear bottle of the Lord.

I like to think that God does not only collect the tears and record my sorrows according to my own human experience. Maybe He inscribes alongside each entry His purpose and insight into each situation. When I get to heaven, God might hand me the book and the bottle of tears as evidence of His unending care for the details of my existance. He will encourage me to sit down and read through the book and I will praise Him all the more, because, finally, I will be able to understand how my loving Father worked out each sorrow for my good.

The Lord might often have recorded carefully in his book,
"Laelia was feeling sad today. They are moving again. She is lonely and scared, but I will make my presence known to her and be with her in such and such a way and use this experience in such a way for my ultimate glory."

and

"Laelia's heart felt broken today. She cried thirteen tears over _____ who pays no attention to her. She will have many years of tears over men who don't notice her, but I will show her how much I love her, how beautifully I created her, and I will pursue her every day..."

Today, Laelia's grandfather died. She shed ___ # of tears. Death stinks and I understand her pain. She does not see him in Heaven with me and cannot understand the reality of his new life here, but soon she will know and in the meantime I will comfort her in many ways..."

In His book, the Lord will detail the tears cried over hunger, fear, anger, frustration, joy, confusion, physical pain, lots and lots of emotional pain, surprise, longing, loss, beauty, remorse, hatred, love, worship...

He understands that I am just dust

and wet with many tears, mud.

I am mud created into a being so filled with intricacies of experience and feeling as to boggle my own brain- mirroring my Creator's intricate nature and yet with a finite mind, unable to make sense of it on my own.

Unflinchingly, with care, complete understanding and love, the Lord takes note of each pain and sorrow

and collects each tear

and records each one

in, "Laelia's Sorrows," His ever expanding book.

Winter

2011-02-07T08:28:00.000-08:00

The earth breathes deeply under its frozen covering
waiting,
staving off panic for the blindness
the cold
penetrating too many layers of its fleshly shield.
Solid ground and treacherous waters appear the same-
all disguised by indistinguishable white.
Having walked this way before, I am not deceived
by the altered lay of the land.
Unsettled though, and chilled
Chilled in more than flesh.
Chilled,
and fighting
the barren, lonely, silent freeze
waiting
as the earth longs for the first hint of Spring.

The Realistic Cover Letter

2011-02-02T12:47:00.000-08:00

Dear upper echelon entities,

This is now the fifteenth application I have submitted to your esteemed establishment. After a total of one year and one month of being a college graduate unable to procure suitable employment, I am resorting to nontraditional measures. Instead of enumerating my various skills and experiences that can be easily determined by reading my resume, and instead of wasting your time (and my sanity) by explaining with simpering posture how much I adore your institution, I am going to cut to the chase, as they say.

There is no doubt that I can perform the duties of this job. Not only have I demonstrated that I have a brain by making it through elementary and high school years with straights A's, but I also graduated high school a year early. In college, I was on the Dean's list every semester in four different colleges located in two different states. This demonstrates an ability to adapt to new environments easily. I studied nursing, art, dance, Spanish, music, Equine Science and creative writing, which displays a propensity for acquiring new skills. In my personal life, I am constantly picking up new hobbies such as gardening, musical instruments, sewing, horseback riding, training horses... The job that you are offering entails greeting visitors, making travel arrangements and answering phones. These duties require very little brain power. If you give me this job, not only will I do it with a smile, but I will write a novel in my head or contemplate a new social theory that applies to the visitors' habits.

If my humble rant does not convince you that I am qualified, allow me to describe my reasons for applying for this position. First, I desire to move out of my uncle's house. I am 26, with a degree and highly skilled, and yet, I live out of my suitcases in my uncle's basement because otherwise I would be out on the streets. My dreams are simple. I desire to live, work and attend church near the Park. Your office is conveniently located in the aforementioned area, and the salary that you offer would allow me to rent an apartment. This job, therefore, would be fulfilling that desire. The other reason I want this job is because I am poor - and TIRED of being poor. I have no health insurance and I am unable to pay my bills. Sometimes it is difficult to buy food. It is said that potential employees esteem honest individuals. If I am being honest, then, the only reason I am interested in applying for your mind-numbingly boring position, is because of the salary, benefits and location. I could say that I care about the work you accomplish there, but then, I would be lying.

In conclusion, while you drip jelly donut sludge all over this carefully crafted cover letter and contemplate, unsympathetically, my future survival, I am slowly losing my grip on reality. If you refuse my application, do not be surprised if you see a woman standing outside your office window staring with wild, irate eyes and ratty curly hair swirling profusely around her head.

Sincerely,
Laelia Watt

Dreaming...

2011-01-25T17:45:00.000-08:00

The strangest thing about choosing to live in St. Louis and making decisions that will plant me in this place as my "home," is that, for the first time in my life I have found myself dreaming of the future. For the first time that I can remember since I was a child at least, I have started seeing my life in a more whole kind of way and imagining how I would like it to look.

When I was little, I knew two things that I wanted to do with my life: get married and be an author.

I knew these things without really having to think about it much, and even after vascilating/questioning/asking God in my 20s whether these things are dreams/goals from Him or not, they are the two things that have remained in the affirmative. I am still not sure if I want/can have children, still not sure if I will ever get a full time job or just use this time to work on my writing, still not sure if any man will ever get around to noticing me, if/when I will be able to afford my own place or have a full time job with benefits...

But today, I feel like God is giving me the freedom to dream again. As I do, I find that my 'visions' have taken on a more permanent, concrete form. In the past, if I ever tried, I could only imagine, at the most, next year! If I was lucky, maybe five years in the future. Now I imagine 10, 20, 30, 50 years from now!

The funny thing about dreaming like this, is I know that circumstances will change, my desires will change, but I feel more free to dream bigger, grandiose, lasting dreams with the willingness to let God step in at any moment.

The most interesting thing about these visionary dreams is that I am suddenly able to see concrete steps in front of me that I can attempt to take right now that might lead me in a particular direction. In the past, I could barely make plans for three months in advance and I always had trouble seeing far enough to know what kind of decisions I should make for the present. (For example, I floundered around in college trying to decide what I wanted to study and if I even wanted to graduate, but re-discovering my long held desire to be an author and imagining what being an author would require in the future, determined what I ultimately studied and gave me the motivation to finish my degree!)

All this to say, I have been dreaming big, yet relatively simply, with St. Louis as my backdrop. For now, this is what has been bubbling up in my mind/heart:

--a home of my own near Forest Park (or Tower Grove but I have grown to love FP so much since moving here)- not terribly expensive, I hope, just the lovely old character type homes that are here with the high ceilings. Decorated inside with a red kitchen and throughout the house, greens, ice/turquis blues, an orange accent wall or two somewhere depending on the house, furniture with clean lines and solid/textured sheer curtains on tall windows(I hardly like patterns anywhere unless it is texture or SIMPLE sparse geometric/organic design), paintings hung on the walls done by family and friends, and lots of potted flowers and plants everywhere!

Which brings me to outside- I would love a yard of some sort, even just a small row type house yard where I can garden like mad and fill it with beautiful plants, trees, restful nooks, bird baths and my favorite wind chime, which resides now in a storage unit in TUcson still...sigh..

And if I have a pet, I would like one Nigerian dwarf goat in some fun mottled color, maybe black and white and I would like to prance around with him in the yard and train him to walk on a leash so I can take a walk and bring glee to the neighborhood children.

I dream of being an author so that I can have a voice that stretches beyond my physical limitations and that God can use to bring vidid stories into the minds and hearts of children (and maybe adults too). I would like to be an author that can support herself on her writing, also, because I would like to set my own hours during the day and be free to do other things such as ministry.

In this visionary dreaming, I am eventually married (hopefully this part comes sooner than later!). I see myself being able to have the time to help my darling husband in whatever it is that he will need help. My dream has always been to be able to support myself with writing so that I could even go to work with my husband if it was allowed...I want to be able to spend lots of time with him! Not sure how that dream will be realized as there are few professions that allow such intrusions and probably fewer men who would like their wives tagging along...but for now, I will dream it.

For some reason, even though there were a few years of my life where I wanted ten kids, lately children do not appear in my dreams. I almost prefer to live out my life loving on the children in church instead of having my own or considering the readers of my children's books as my world of children. We shall see, though. Maybe God will change my mind, but He seems to be the one who changed it so drastically in the first place.

And my dream consists of staying at Memorial Pres for as long as possible, maybe forever and living in St. Louis until the day I die, only leaving it for speaking engagements as a guest author (haha) or fun trips to visit relatives and friends in the rest of the country, South Korea, France, SPain and SOuth Africa. I will throw in a train trip up the west coast and in Alaska too because I have always wanted to do that. I love trains. Maybe I will dream about owning a Railroad!!!

Okay, now I am going too far. And I don't really want a railroad. My own train would be nice though...

(heehee)

And over all of this, regardless of whether it happens or not and through the disappointed hopes and terrible heartaches that life, annoyingly enough, will certainly bring, I will serve the Lord. By His strength and for His glory, I will live my life with the deepest desire to love my precious Lord and to know His love even beyond the end of my days!

And this is just the result of my own limited understanding. I submit my dreams to the One who dreams even bigger...

Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.

Of Mice and Women

2011-01-04T18:03:00.000-08:00

We have mice in our house. They appeared as soon as the weather turned cold. My uncle accused me of bringing them with me from Arizona.

I bought some simple snap shut mousetraps. The "gluetrap" ones seem unusually cruel to me, since the mouse gets stucks and then...? Slowly starves to death? Waits until you smash it with a shovel?

Poison was also recommended, but I once watched a rat die from rat poison while on vacation in Patagonia, AZ. It was the most disturbing and heartrending thing I had ever seen. The rat tried to walk, but would be violently jerked in huge waves of spasms that would sometimes fling it into the porch wall or over a bucket. Its face looked confused and contorted when the spasms hit. Finally, as it escaped, convulsing, towards an opening in the fence, the rat was seized again and his body was flung involuntarily through the opening. It would have been funny, had I not seen the rat poison box sitting near the door and realized the animal was being poisoned to death before my eyes.

I didn't want to use poison for these mice. Anyway, they would eat the poison, then go off to die, so how would we find their decaying body later?

In Tucson, I tried a live, "humane" trap that my friend let me borrow. She had used it to catch 5-7 mice in her house and then proceeded to let them go free in an alley in her neighborhood. All well and good for the mice, but not for her neighbors. The live traps didn't work for me. Mostly because later I found out it was a RAT which was living in my neighbor's wall and not mine. (It climbed up his bedsheets in the middle of the night.) I heard him scream bloody murder through our adjacent wall.

The snap shut kind are not only economical, but highly effective. The same design has been used forever. In the Medieval Home book I wrote about a week ago, the husband described a similar method for catching medieval mice.

If the creatures must die, I say, let it be with as little suffering as possible, as quickly as possible.

Pam and I baited the traps with sunflower seed butter (like peanut butter but yummier and easier on my stomach) and then affixed a quarter size piece of cheddar cheese to the goo. No mouse could refuse such a meal!

We had tried the sunflower butter only at first, but the mice just obligingly licked the traps clean without setting them off. I figured they could easily remove the cheese as well, so that is why I decided to "glue" the cheese on with the goo. My theory was that the mouse would have to apply more pressure to the trap trying to pull the cheese off.

My theory proved correct.

The first mouse we caught was dead in a snap. Pardon the pun. Its head/face was pinned under the bar. Thankfully, there were no guts showing. Death was obviously swift, and even though Pam and I were bemoaning the death of the tiny creature, we were glad they were finally taking the bait. Pam was more composed to pick up the trap and throw it away, dead mouse body and all. Both of us went to bed sad.

We heard the second snap this evening. Pam emerged from the basement. I emerged from the dining room. We met at the top of the basement stairs where the trap is set. Nervous, we grabbed the flashlight.

Pam groaned, "Oh no! It's not dead!"

I looked where she pointed the light and saw that the tiny mouse was held in the trap by one tiny pink paw.

With a half wail I said, "It's in PAIN! What do we DOOOO!!??"

We both determined to transfer the mouse outside, remove its foot from the trap, and decide there. I took a folded white paper bag, gingerly lifted the trap so as not to wrench the mouse's leg and placed it, mouse and trap onto the bag. Pam followed me outside with the flashlight. When outside, I put the bag on the driveway, then bent to take the trap with my fingers and pry the bar open with a fork until the mouse's foot was free. Pam shined the light on the process.

The mouse lay there panting heavily and when I removed the trap, it used a free arm and reached over toward his hurt one, like we grasp a hurting limb.

Pam and I cried out together, "No! He's suffering!"

"I can't bear to see it like this," I said as I looked down on the teeny body. His sides moved rapidly up and down as if in intense pain and terror.

"We have to put it out of its misery," said Pam as she leaned in with the flashlight. "I can't watch it die slowly."

"Me neither, but there's no WAY I am going to hit it with a shovel!" I bent closer to look at the mouse's face. The pinkness of its mouth appeared soft and cute against the gray fur. Normally I would be rescuing a creature like this and nurturing it back to health. Instead, I was partly responsible for its current misery and was planning its subsequent demise. As Pam moved the light a bit, my eye caught something that made me do a double take.

There, on the mouse's cheek, under and to the side of his eye, was a tiny glint of something shiny.

I straightened up with a jerk and bawled, "HE'S CRRRYYYIINNGG!!!"

Pam quickly looked, saw the tear, and then we both raised our heads to the sky and wailed miserably.

Both of us saw it. We would not lie about such things.

Finally, Pam said, "I think we just need to move it to the back of the yard and leave it there for nature to decide. Maybe a bird will eat it."

I agreed. I knew neither of us wanted to deal the final blow and yet, we didn't want to watch it slowly die either. Pam moved the mouse and lay it under the pine tree. We went inside and parted ways. As I continuted watching my documentary movie about Mark Twain, I couldn't stop thinking about the poor mouse and the fact that he was probably dying of cold under the pine tree since he was incapacitated.
Death by hypothermia.

Pam came up later and admitted that she too, could not stop thinking about the dying mouse.

Still, out of necessity, I set the trap again and prayed death would come quickly for its next victim. I don't think Pam and I can handle another sufferer.

2011

2011-01-03T17:00:00.000-08:00

Every New Year, since I was a young teenager, I would write a journal/diary entry summarizing the previous year in regards to what I learned from God or what happened in my life. Then I would write a separate entry looking forward to the New year, detailing what I hoped- to learn from the Lord, to work on, to do.

To be sure, I am still writing these things in my journal, but last year and this year, I have been merging these entries onto this blog. 2010's summary is on the blog only, because I felt it needed to be written openly.

As for 2011, I have no idea what to expect. I am almost afraid to hope for anything in particular.

Why am I bothering to write this entry at all? The things I hope for are spiritual/growth, personal/relational and financial/stewardship related, but I don't even have the strength to detail them here. My heart hurts too much to even voice my longings. What if 2011 turns out as shocking as last year? It was all for the good in the end, but now I question whether I should hope for, plan for, or even ask God for anything in particular when He's going to do it His way in the end anyway?

Sorry, that sounded bitter. Maybe it is, slightly. Mostly, I'm confused.

I praise the Lord every moment of every day that His plans far surpass my own in every possible way, but at the turn of this new year, the thing I am struggling with most is this:

Do the desires of my heart have any place in God's plan?

2010

2011-01-01T10:26:00.000-08:00

Strange that I finally come to terms with 2010 in the last few hours of the year. At the New Year's Eve service, our Associate Pastor, Greg, asked people to share what they learned in 2010. I desperately wanted to verbalize what God had done in 2010, but I didn't know how to sum it up until it was too late to share. My conclusion was this, though; "In 2010, I saw how God keeps his promises- that when he says,
'When you pass through the waters,
I will be with you;
and when you pass through the rivers,
they will not sweep over you.
When you walk through the fire,
you will not be burned;
the flames will not set you ablaze.'

that He is not lying

and when His word says,

'Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.
They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.'

I can trust God to be faithful, and that He truly loves me, because I have seen these promises kept and demonstrated in my life this year."

My friend, Jen, had this quote as her Facebook status today:

"Twas grace that called our souls at first; By grace thus far we've come; And grace will help us through the worst, And lead us safely home...No sweeter subject can invite a sinner's heart to sing, or more display the glorious right of our exalted King." -John Newton

I was struck by how applicable these words are to my experiences in 2010, but also through the years I spent in Tucson. I spent more time singing this year than almost any year of my life, mostly because when I was being pulled into dark spiritual attack or felt so uncertain about my purpose or direction, singing to the Lord was the only thing that lifted my focus back to the Keeper of my soul. When I moved to St. Louis, I still couldn't stop singing because I was so relieved and filled with immense gratitude that God had brought me "home"! His grace imbued this year with meaning and strength when I thought there was none to be found.

And thus, I am left with a surprising conclusion: I can actually find myself praising God for the ENTIRE year. I finally realized last night that everything difficult about 2010 was made into something beautiful and helpful in my life.

Not having a job from January-mid March allowed me to wrestle with God about finding my worth in a job or money (I had been working since I was 13 at least and for the first time in my life, in my upper 20s and with a BA, I could not get a job!)
The free time gave me opportunity to play vast quantities of music with my friends, learn the recorder, get my TEFL certification and think honestly about whether Tucson was really where I wanted to permanently situate my life.

Even though my health had reached a crisis point during the Spring and I had to go through detestable procedures, my lovely doctor was able to discover an issue that had actually been plagueing me for 16 years! For 16 years I had been in excruciating pain every month and during the five years in Tucson, my body went downhill even though I was exercising constantly and eating just as well as I had all my life. I kept going to the normal doctor, knowing there was something wrong with me, but he kept saying I was fine. It wasn't until other issues arose in 2010 that I finally forced myself to go to the OBGYN where she discovered that there was something amiss that explained everything. After she made sure I did not have cancer as well (PCOS has higher chance of endometrial cancer), she just put me on simple birth control to regulate hormones! And let me tell you, for the first time in SIXTEEN YEARS, I feel so...perfectly fine!!! Amazing! It feels like a miracle the difference is so obvious.

Lastly, the joblessness, health issues, spititual attack, the extreme darkness I saw on the reservations where I worked part time from mid-March to mid-May, the restlessness and general unhappiness that increased about being in Tucson all combined to make me desperate enough to go on a road trip in June. I had wanted to go, but hadn't been working enough to afford it. I never liked to use credit cards for anything except school emergencies, but I took a risk and went on the trip. It was on this road trip that God brought everything he had been doing in my life to a climax and made me realize that I wanted to (and should) move back to St. Louis. I got back from the trip on June 28th and by July 28th, I arrived in St. Louis with my few belongings.

The second half of 2010 was like a completely different life. I still didn't get a full-time job, but God brought so much happiness, rest and healing into my life. I spent hours lying in the grass at parks, wandering along rushing streams, processing the new sense of safety I felt and letting the words of sermons I heard sink into my heart. I even attended counseling (thanks to Jen's suggestion!) at Covenant Seminary to process some of the more unbearable Tucson pain. For months, God kept building into my life like this until my spirit went from feeling like the barren desert I had left to a verdant willow tree like the ones I now sit under by the rippling lakes at the park.

I thank God for my friend Layne who played so much music with me, spoke truth to me when things were dark and who planned the road trip that was a pivotal moment in my life. She will remain dear to my heart forever.

I thank God for my parents, grandmother and even Tucson Landlord who either gave me vast quantities of money to make it through July and move to St. Louis or, in the case of Dan, made alternative arrangements to forgive some of the rent I owed him so that I could move to St. Louis.

I thank God for my generous, kind, godly, sweet uncle Dick who has taken me in these many months. He has made me laugh, encouraged me, and just generally made me feel welcome and loved as I get on my feet here. Even as he plans to go to S. Korea, he has generously provided a way for my cousin Pam and I to afford a living arrangement and stay in his house while he is gone.

I thank God for George and Barbara Stulac who immediately embraced me literally and figuratively upon my return to Memorial PCA. Not only have they provided me with a cello to borrow, but they have offered me godly advice, prayers, support, have made me feel loved, welcomed and at home- I secretly consider them my spiritual parents in St. Louis.

I thank God for Greg Johnson, whose wisdom, humility and kindness have made me less afraid to trust again and have inspired me in more ways than I can articulate. His sermons and guidance God has especially used in enormous and miraculous ways to speak into my life and challenge me.

I thank God for the Kenyon family who have opened their home to me and others every week for open house, but especially for Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Years. These have been some of my favorite holidays of my life even! Michelle and Eric's love for each other is such a blessing to observe and John's antics constantly make me laugh. I not so secretly consider them like my siblings. Even adorable, furry Rudy lets me dance around the kitchen with him like I used to do with my dog.

And generally, I just thank God for every person in my church- the George family, Stanleys, Wolfe family, Thompsons, Whitmans who have become incredibly dear to me, my friends Alexis, Arrika, Tasha Kay and so many more- all people who have enriched my life and make me praise God every day for their presence and love.

I love these people so dearly, I wish I could demonstrate how much!

The end of all this is, I can thank God with tears in my eyes, for what He accomplished in 2010. Now THAT is a miracle!

Red

2010-12-27T16:50:00.000-08:00

Red nail polish, applied to quirky toes
reddish lipstick on full, ready lips
green eyes quietly observe
red decorations;
poinsettas,
red candles lining a long aisle,
red ribbons tied around green pine boughs.
Reddest of all are cheeks aflame
and the blood pumping softly
through a ready red heart,
as green eyes rest upon
the warm red face of
the handsomest man in the world.

Medieval Home

2010-12-22T19:27:00.000-08:00

My uncle let me borrow a book that had come from my grandmother's library. It is called, "A Medieval Home Companion: Housekeeping in the Fourteenth Century" (translated and edited by Tania Baynard).

The inside cover flap begins like this, "Around the year 1393 an elderly citizen of Paris married a girl of fifteen and presented her with a book of moral and domestic instruction that he had written to guide her." In the editor's Introduction, we learn that the author's name is unknown, but that he was most likely between 50 and 60 years old. In the author's prologue, he (the husband of the 15 year old) begins sweetly,

"Dear sister, because you are fifteen years old, you beseeched me, the week we were married, to be tolerant of your youth and inexperience until you had seen and learned more, and you promised to apply yourself diligently to instruction and to devote all your attention and industry to keeping my peace and love."

Throughout the book, the husband makes allowances for his young wife's need to sing, dance and cultivate flowers, and in the midst of his long treatise on home duties, makes sure she does not feel overwhelmed. The most interesting thing is, that he also passes along his advice acknowledging the fact that she might be widowed sooner than later (considering their huge age difference) and he wants her to know how to be a productive and loving wife for the husband she might have after him!

This book was such a sweet read, not just for the husband's obvious tenderness and care for the young girl, but also because he gives a lot of advice for the husband-wife relationship that is rather biblilcal and therfore still applicable to us,617 years later! Historically, this book is extremely interesting because it gives the reader little glimpses into Medieval life. I laughed a few times at the husband's comments and the nature of things he had to teach. I was quite inspired from reading the chapters on keeping a garden because, as a horticulturist's daughter, I love to garden and much of the advice the man was giving is still solid, pertainable gardening knowledge. By the end of those sections, I couldn't wait for Spring so I can start my gardens! There was even a brief section about horse care and various recipes.

Here are a few of my favorite quotes:

"Be a good confidant, and always remember to keep your husband's secrets. First, even without his knowledge, hide and conceal his misdeeds, faults or sins, if you know of any, so that he will not be ashamed." (as in, don't go around airing all your 'dirty laundry' and complaining to people about your husband's faults so as to ruin his reputation- a wife wouldn't want her husband to do that to her either, so be respectful.)

"Dear sister, know how to hide your secrets from everyone except your husband, and this will be good judgement. Do not think that someone else will hide for you that which you yourself cannot conceal....and he should also tell you everything...You two, man and woman, ought to be as one, and at all times and in all places the one should act on the other's advice. This is how wise people act and ought to act."

"In summer, take care that there are no fleas in your room or in your bed. I have heard that there are six ways you can do this..."

"If you are in a region where there are wolve's dens, I will on your behalf instruct Master Jehan, your steward...how to kill them without striking a blow, by the following recipe." (you have o read the book for the recipe, sorry.)

"Stuffed poultry: Take your chickens and cut their throats...take a tube, push it between the skin and the flesh, and blow the chicken up." (hahaha- chicken balloon anyone?)

My FAVORITE quote from the book would not make sense if out of context, so you will have to get the book and read it and then I will tell you. In the meantime, here is a long quote that is my second favorite section and epitomizes the husband's wisdom and regard for his young wife, her life with him and concern for her relationship with a future husband after he is gone:

"I believe that when two good and honest people are married, all other affections, except their love for each other, are withdrawn, annulled and forgotten. It seems to me that when they are together they look at each other more than they look at others, they come together and embrace each other, and they would rather talk and communicate with each other than with anyone else. When they are separated, they think of each other and say in their hearts, 'This is what I will do, this is what I will say, this is what I will ask him when I see him again.' All their special pleasures, greatest desires, and perfect joys are in pleasing and obeying each other. But if they don't love one another, they have no more than a routine sense of duty and respect for each other, which is not enough between many couples...Concerning what I have said about being very loving to your husband, it is certainly true that every man ought to love and cherish his wife, and every woman should love and cherish her husband..." (he continues with an explanation from Genesis)

Orson's Monday

2010-12-16T17:31:00.001-08:00

Orson, the polar bear, scampers happily in the snow on Monday morning.

At noon, Orson visits Sunshine Ministries, the oldest homeless shelter/program in St. Louis.

He watches the screen to be ready to buzz in visitors to the office.

He tries to answer the phone, but it is slightly too heavy.

Instead, Orson helps the receptionist by putting calls on hold. He is very proud of himself.

What a busy day!

Good Book Quotes 1

2010-12-04T11:18:00.000-08:00

from "What Did You Expect?? Redeeming the Realities of Marriage" by Paul Tripp

"...true love grows out of the nutrient soil of gratitude."

"The unity of marriage is not the result of absence of misunderstanding, but rather the unity of a marriage is formed as you work through inevitable misunderstandings with patience, kindness and grace."

"...the character of a marriage is established through 10,000 little moments."

"Trust is being so convinced that you can rely on the integrity, strength, character and faithfulness of another that you are willing to place yourself in his or her care."

"...you will entrust yourself to the person who loves you enough to trouble his life with what troubles you."

"Humble openness, coupled with the commitment to admit to and confess wrongs is an essential ingredient to the bond of trust."

"Love is willing self-sacrifice for the good of another that does not require reciprocation or that the person being loved is worthy." (ie: think of Jesus dying on the cross for us- we are to model THAT kind of love to our spouse!)

"He (Jesus) brings you the wisdom and strength you need to be what you are supposed to be, and to do what you are supposed to do, what you have been called to do in your marriage. And his sweetest gift, in an agenda of grace, is that He daily rescues you from you, which is just what you need but are unable to do for yourself." (ie: I am the biggest problem in the relationship bc of my sin and selfishness- don't operate as if the other person is the only sinner in the relationship!)

Winston's Oblivion

2010-11-26T10:53:00.000-08:00

The clouds were spread like pulled cotton batting across the steady blue sky and the remaining yellow, orange and brown leaves rustled dryly in the meandering breeze. I stared wide-eyed at the scene as I walked along with Winston on the end of his leash. His nails click-clicked as he padded along the sidewalk and my footsteps syncopated rythmically to his. Frequently Winston would stop and sniff a row of dried grasses or a painted garbage can, but I didn't hurry him along. We both seemed to enjoy the peaceful day and pleasant walk.

I felt so happy! Generally, I am a happy person, but the happiness that flooded over my heart was one that I hadn't felt in a while. It was a deep, contented happiness, that made me not only appreciate the scene before me, but look forward to the future.

The scenery and my thoughts lead me to ponder *"happiness." The day before, I had heard a man on the radio tell a woman whose husband wanted to divorce her, "God did not create marriage to make us happy- He made it to make us holy." While I understood perfectly that he was challenging the belief that marriage was never going to be perfect and that instead, God is more concerned with making us more like him, his cliche response grated my soul. My first thought was, "Why can't it be possible that he meant us to be both holy and happy?" and then, "His answer seems to insinuate that there is no happiness in holiness."

Americans are especially concerned with happiness. It is stipulated in our country's ideals that we are to have the right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

But what is happiness? Where does it come from? How can we find it? Christians and non-Christians alike seem confused on this account. Normally, we default to the idea that happiness comes from our ability to do whatever we want, to follow our own desires and to be free from responsibility, but there are countless of examples around us every day that prove this is not true.

I stopped walking and looked at the clouds again. I realized in that moment that the happiness I felt this day was related to the fact that, not only did I love St. Louis and not only was I truly happy, as in cheerful, in my present state, but I was deeply happy because for the first time in my life I was in a place where I had determined to STAY.

Suddenly, I was smiling widely as I continued following Winston down the park path. It dawned on me that it was because I had committed to trusting God and following him even through the valleys, that I was able to have a measure of happiness and hope even through my darkest times. It was my commitment to loving my friends and family that allowed us to walk through our disagreements and failures.

It is the idea of committing my life to loving, serving and supporting a husband that made me excited about marriage. The radio man's comment about holiness vs happiness in marriage bothered me because we have the opportunity to be both happy AND holy in marriage. Commitment to God and a spouse brings the attention off of ourselves and fuels our desire to persevere when things are difficult, to heal when our sin would rather hurt, to give us a sense of purpose, fulfillment and gladness in truly loving the other person.

In order to understand what commitment entails, read the many definitions of the word, COMMIT:
to give in trust or charge; consign.
to consign for preservation
to pledge (oneself) to a position on an issue or question; express (one's intention, feeling, etc.)
to bind or obligate, as by pledge or assurance; pledge: to commit oneself to a promise; to be committed to a course of action.
to entrust, esp. for safekeeping; commend
to do; perform;
to consign to custody
to deliver for treatment, disposal, etc.; relegate
to send into a battle
Parliamentary Procedure . to refer (a bill or the like) to a committee for consideration.
–verb (used without object)
to pledge or engage oneself

In these definitions alone, I can say that to commit requires sacrifice, an intention to preserve, trust and fight for something or someone, and to give of oneself for something or someone.

Here is an assortment of synonyms for the word, COMMIT, to help expand the definition: give, dedicate, consecrate, devote, entrust, intrust, trust, confide, invest, put, place, practice, allocate, allot, apportion, authorize, charge, commend, commission, confer trust, confide, consign, convey, delegate, deliver, depend upon, deposit, depute, deputize, destine, dispatch, employ, empower, engage, give to do, grant authority, hand over, hold, intrust, leave to, make responsible for, move, offer, ordain, promise, put away, put in the hands of, relegate, rely upon, remove, send, shift, submit, transfer, turn over to, vest

If I am committing to stay in St. Louis and to making Memorial PCA my permanent church home, then it will require me to give myself to these places and the people in them, to stay even when things are difficult and to see the people/places through so that there will be restoration.

I think of this in terms of sewing. Not committing is like sitting down to sew a purse, for example. When I get bored or have an idea for another project or the sewing becomes difficult, I could stop and leave the project unfinished. Maybe I will start another one and stop midway through that one, until I have a whole pile of unfinished purses. I am left with no purse to use, nothing to really show for the energy I expended in pursuing all these different projects. It would leave me with a sense of failure and I would feel unfulfilled, unhappy and purposeless.

On the flip side, what if I not only committed to finish sewing the first purse so that I could have one to use or give to a friend-something beautiful and useful- but finishing the project gave me the idea to make more purses and to sell them!? Then if I had the goal in mind to finish ten purses in a month and then find a local store that would sell them, not only would the commitment give me something to focus my God-given energies into, but I would have purpose every day, feel accomplished as I looked at the growing pile of finished work and then see the fruit of my labor by selling them and making a profit.

Our commitments to God, people and places do not necesarily have "profits" in the economical sense, but they do in terms of purpose, joy, healing, abundant life and expanding the Kingdom of God.

The struggle I have, that I think most people may have, is that we are afraid to commit because it means letting go of our desire for self-preservation. We see committing to something as potentially too painful (we think happiness is in comfort) and that we will be stuck (we think this will limit our "freedom"). But in reality, if I look at how the world operates and the result of commitment in my life and in other's lives, then I have to admit that commitment has probably brought me the most happiness and true freedom I have ever experienced. Committing to a place, church, people and God brings purpose, determination and strength that leads to greater and more lasting...happiness.

There were two times in Tucson when I seriously considered ending my own life. I will describe one here in order to illustrate the necessity of committing to something or someone:

In 2006, after six months of constant and intense spiritual warfare, a pastor's behavior and ungodly decisions leaving our congregation broken and bleeding-(I was working as secretary and saw and felt a large part of the effects of his sin; the church eventually disbanded completely), my grandfather died, I was in a car accident, my landord's wife died, my parent's house flooded, I moved twice, I was living off of $800/month and worked 50-60 hours/week (do the math), horrible things were happening in the lives of all the church staff on top of the pastor lying behind our backs, accusing us and undermining any work he told us to accomplish, then we lost our jobs because the church ran out of money. By the end of October, 2006, I was raw and hopeless. One day, I got in my still crumpled car with the intention of never returning, either to get lost in the world or drive into a telephone pole. On my way out of the city, I was reminded deep in the recesses of my soul that I had a God in whom I should be placing my trust even, or especially, in this moment. With the last amount of strength I had, I cried out to him to intervene in my life. He led me to a horse show where I pet and cried to the horses all day, then left in the evening with a new vision to go back to school to finish my degree and study horses. If it wasn't for the fact that I had committed my life to the Lord, I would not have chosen to live.

God's commitment, or covenant, or promise to be with and guide me and my commitment to follow him even when it was hard, literally brought life.

Relationships are often difficult. I have always been close to my mom, but in Tucson, she was working a stressful, soul-sucking job that left her constantly weary and depressed for the three years she worked there. It came to the point that she no longer even tried to pick up a paintbrush to work on her art, didn't engage in conversation with the rest of the family and would just come home at the end of the day and watch TV until she went to bed. Through it all, I was frustrated and hurt that she seemed to give up on all of her relationships and I felt like I didn't even know my own mother anymore. I could have abandoned her completely and disassociated from the family so that I wouldn't be hurt by her isolation, but as her daughter and sister in Christ, I was determined to love her through it and pray for her. The Lord eventually brought healing to her life and to our relationship. What if I had broken my commitment to loving my mom? The damage to both of us would have been greater and maybe it would never have been repaired.

There were a number of times when I have said hurtful things to my best friend, Hilary. She always chided me and we worked towards healing and forgiveness, but what if she wasn't committed to making our relationship continue on a healthy path? We would have allowed bitterness and anger build up or just given up on each other and gone our separate ways. Then neither of us would recognize the sin in our lives and pursue healing and neither of us would have the utter happiness and pleasure of having each other in our lives.

The week after I considered these thoughts, I found this quote that aptly described this idea: Read here

I want to add another idea, echoing a phrase I heard in a sermon recently, that it is also not how much we commit to something, but to WHAT were are committing that makes the difference. You can commit your life to serving yourself or Satan, or commit to an abusive relationship, a place that does not quite feel like "home" or a church that does not hold Christ as Lord in everything they do....

Considering those cases, it is a good reminder to consider to WHAT you are committing and be sure it is something that is worth giving your life for. Proverbs 20:25 says, "It is a trap to dedicate something rashly and only later to consider one’s vows." Therefore, carefully consider your commitments, but then enter into them with determination, faith, and joy!

All throughout scripture, God makes it clear that life is rife with pain and sorrow and He doesn't even pretend to convince us otherwise. "In this world you will have trouble..." One has only to look into the relationships and circumstances in the lives of people in one's circle and know this is true. I know well from my own life that nothing and no one is perfect. I sin constantly and despair is like an old friend. As I write this, I fully expect to have days when St. Louis aggravates me, or to come into conflict with a friend eventually, or to walk through painful things with the people in my church. I know fully well that nothing, not marriage, a job, home, or purpose, quarantines me from the utter pain and sorrow that life can serve in abundance. But at the same time, I know that pain is not the full measure of our lives.

If I look at my life, the sum total of it, relationships, church, places and all, has been filled with beauty and joy! I venture to say that the pain in life is so shocking just because it was not meant to exist, but also because it does not even come close to pervading every moment of our days.

Like Chuck Colson states in the quote above, commitment offers us a means to happiness. It is counterinutitive to our "self focused" and "free" society, but like he mentions, it is aligned with the paradox of the Christian life. We commit to living our lives for Christ and he gives us life in abundance. And Jesus doesn't even leave us defenseless in the midst of our commitment to following him into our homes, life, marriages and churches. Jesus says, "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33) He is the one who offers peace, courage and victory, even amidst the hardships we face.

So, then, BE HAPPY (Romans 15:13)!!! Commit.. and take God at his word! Through our commitments we will find peace, love, strength and...happiness. Enter in, assuming there will always be difficulties, but be unafraid and undeterred. Life is hard with or without commitment, but according to God's promises, he makes our sorrows lighter, offers greater healing, deeper and more abundant joys and a more lasting purpose when we commit.

*I didn't differentiate between "joy" and "happiness" because the arguments about which word is more spiritual or circumstantial just annoy me, so assume the terms are one in the same throughout this piece

The Pursuit of... Commitment?

2010-11-19T18:11:00.000-08:00

"By abandoning commitmet, our narcissistic culture has lost the one thing it desperately seeks: happiness. Without commitment, our individual lives will be barren and sterile. Without commitment, our lives will lack meaning and purpose. After all, if nothing is worth dying for (the anthem of the '60s anti-war protesters), then nothing is worth living for. But with commitment comes the flourishing of society- of calling, of marriage, of the church- and of our hearts. It is the paradox Jesus so often shared when he bid us to come and die that we might truly live."

Exerpt from:
"The Lost Art of Commitment: Why We're Afraid of it and Why We Shouldn't be" by Churck Colson with Katherine Larson (article in Christianity TOday magazine.

More on this later....

Orson's Church Visit

2010-11-17T19:35:00.001-08:00

Orson likes the piano...

This piano is closed. "Is it ever used?", he wonders to no one in particular.

After all the playing, Orson is thirsty. He is frustrated. How to turn the handle and drink at the same time?

He loves the beautiful windows

And especially loves the bowls arranged with different flowers every week- amazing that someone found green hydrandreas in the middle of November....

Alexis' bandaid is an exciting shade of green- She cut her finger on a broken bowl. Orson balances precariously on her thumb

Living dangerously is what polar bears do best- Orson runs madly along the back of a church pew...

Whew! What an exciting time at church! What will Orson do next? Oh, wait and see, wait and see...

Polar Bear's Adventures

2010-11-16T18:17:00.000-08:00

Recently, I bought a teeny polar bear from the St. Louis zoo. I love tiny things so I couldn't resist the display of miniature lions, polar bears, elephants etc, all for a mere 75 cents each. (I must go back and get a lion and elephant next- wish they had a grizzly bear) Anyway, I carry the polar bear around in my purse and show it to people that I don't think will roll their eyes at me for being a 26 year old with a toy in her purse. So far he has been passed around at Bible Study amid "oohs and ahhs" and made to break dance by my Associate Pastor on the back of a pew during a wedding. That alone was adorable, and the polar bear proved to be a limber dancer. Last week, my friend Alexis had this genius idea: "You should take pictures of the polar bear in random places!" I was immensely inspired and tickled at that idea, so I have commenced my chronicling of mini-polar bear's adventures. Here are the first few. Next I will post a series of photos of a day at church.

(Polar Bear) Visits the Brentwood Blvd Starbucks

(Polar Bear) Tries his hand...or paw.. at driving a car.

He can't reach the pedals....among other things

P.S. I am open to suggestions for names. I tend to call little bugs/toys/stuffed animals/cellos that I love by the name of "Frederick" but I think he needs a different name. Maybe "Orson"? It means bear...

Applicable

2010-11-07T13:41:00.000-08:00

Love without return is like a question without answer. ~Unknown

All I have to say

2010-10-28T12:46:00.000-07:00

'At this, she bowed down with her face to the ground. She exclaimed, "Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me—a foreigner?.... May I continue to find favor in your eyes, my lord," she said. "You have given me comfort and have spoken kindly to your servant—though I do not have the standing of one of your servant girls."' Ruth 2:10,13

I'm a Soldier Now

2010-10-22T09:16:00.000-07:00

This song is from the movie, "Spirit, Stallion of the Cimarron." Don't laugh- I LOVE this movie and this song makes me cry every time- so encouraging for me.

SOUND THE BUGLE by Bryan Adams

Misc.

2010-10-20T10:30:00.000-07:00

1. This day is absolutely beautiful! Beautiful, beautiful....

2. I played "my" new cello yesterday. I felt extremely rusty as I have technically not really played much at all since the end of May. In June I went on a road trip, July I was packing and moving and then I sold my cello. A guy in my church who plays for the worship team let me play his cello after church one Sunday, and when I went to dinner at a friend's house two weeks ago, she let me play her cello, but that is the extent of how much I have played since August. My uncle and my cousins really enjoyed hearing me play yesterday. I enjoyed playing it even more! I am so relieved to have access to a cello. Good timing too- I need to start practicing for my Tucson best friend's wedding and my mind is so befuddled this week. Playing my cello has always helped me "re-center" myself, after praying of course. Praise God!!!

3. I am nervous about tomorrow night. Why is not knowing HOW things will change so scary for me lately, even with "little" things?

4. "Gone with the Wind" is a HORRIBLE story! Horrible! I can see why it is a famous classic movie for its major overall themes, historical context, great acting and visual array, but it is a terrible story. Many years ago, I saw the movie and I don't remember thinking much about it except that it was long, depressing and that I liked the dresses. (FYI-This is coming from someone who LOVES old movies and even sat through an amazing 2.5 hour SILENT movie) I watched "Gone with the Wind" two nights ago to refresh my memory about the story and I kind of wish I hadn't. If you want to see a story depicting how to do everything WRONG in relationships, then watch it. I was so struck by how much selfishness, pride, blindess to other people's needs, greed, double-mindedness/heartedness etc. completely destroys anything good about life. Relationships (God, friends, family, lovers) are our life-blood and when those are not pursued with good intent, then we will be miserable. Horrible story. I never want to see it again. Too disturbing.

5. Today I want to give up looking for jobs. It seems so pointless.

Random

2010-10-19T13:21:00.000-07:00

These are five random things on my mind today:

1. I am thinking of my family. My little nephew Zacharias (Bess and Aaron's baby) had a fall photo shoot- so cute!! Also, my older bro and his wife are expecting #4. This is my family thus far: Esteemed parental units, Jonathan and Jennifer. Siblings and their chillins: Mike and Daniele- Anna, Cate (catherine), Noah and (#4). Erica and Charlie- Henry and William. Bess and Aaron- Zach (zacharias). And my youngest brother, Brendan, who thankfully is not married as he is only 14 and better NOT beat me to the alter!

2. I am thankful for an older brother with good taste in friends. Strangely enough since I have been back I have crossed paths with two of his past friends- Greg Johnson who is now the Associate Pastor of our church and Bob Stulac, son of Sr pastor of our church. Greg, besides being a familiar face to ease the adjustment process has been super nice and welcoming and is my small group leader, and Bob, who I just saw today, let me borrow his cello to practice on for as long as I need it!! Amazing! I feel very blessed.

3. I have excellent cousins- all 18+ of them. :)

4. I practically live at Forest Park. When I can afford to live on my own, I planned on living near Tower Grove Park or Forest Park, but now I am definitely going to try for Forest Park. I am obsessed with being there. I wish I could live IN the park- maybe build a little house near the bend in the lake between Art Hill and the boat house. There is a rock beach of sorts, a nice grassy knoll and two bridges. One is stable, the other is this wobbly suspension bridge that fascinates me despite the fact it is unnerving to walk across. Everyone could come visit me and I would have an enormous back yard complete with zoo, art and history museum and a lake view. :)

5. The present I received last week still warms my heart and makes me smile every time I think of it. I have shared the fruit with my uncle and cousin, eaten some of the basket's contents every day and I STILL have some left! It's like the "loaves and fishes!" I still WISH I knew who sent it.

Call Me Ruth

2010-10-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

Ruth loved well. I wonder now if that is why I have been drawn to her all these years. If you pare down the story to the basic motives of Ruth, then she followed Naomi to Bethlehem because she loved her mother-in-law, for love, she chose to forsake her people's gods and follow YAHWEH, for love she worked hard in the fields to provide for herself and Naomi, she loved Boaz and married him.

It could be argued that she did all of this and married Boaz for duty alone. There is a large amount of duty and service in this story, but I find it hard to ignore the fact that Ruth's duty to her mother-in-law was fulfilled and she could have left her side along with Orpah at the beginning. Ruth could have followed Naomi to Bethlehem without taking YHWH as her God, so she must have grown to love God too. And when Boaz says to Ruth, "You have not run after the younger men, whether rich or poor." to me, this indicates that she had the option to NOT choose Boaz which says to me, she loved him. Boaz also loved her which is obvious from the fact that he took care of her/protected her, complimented/affirmed her, gave her gifts, was so surprised and pleased when she lay at his feet (what is the modern equivalent of that anyway? I never completely understood that), then worked so hard to win the right to redeem her. If that's not love, then I must not know what it is.

Since I identify so strongly with Ruth's heart, I know it would be hard for her NOT to love a man who took notice of her, offered her a place of safety and cared for her so thoughtfully. In love, there is a great deal of duty and service- love is an action, after all- so the fact that Ruth had a great sense of duty actually solidifies my argument that she LOVED deeply. Ruth loved God, Boaz, and Naomi.

The story of Ruth and Boaz has been my favorite love story for many years, but recently I have realized that I like the story for a plethora of reasons. I have often felt, especially since about two years ago when I was in the midst of living in Tucson, that my life sometimes mirrors Ruth's. Her responses to the people around her generally typify my responses to God in my spiritual life. Ruth's loyalty and devotion to those she loves is familiar to me. Like her, I do not love perfectly. I am sure there were days, especially before she landed in Boaz's field that Ruth told God, "I am so tired! We are barely eating- these men are freaking me out- I don't feel safe- my back hurts-" But for love, and survival, she pressed on. Like Ruth, I have come from a difficult place/time where there was spiritual darkness, death, periods of famine, drought, struggle, pain. Like Ruth, I followed God to a new place and have been doing odd jobs to get by. I can now imagine that even though Ruth's life was hard at first in Bethlehem, like me, she also felt it was paradise in comparison to where she had just been. The St. Louis area is more prosperous than the one I left, like the dichotomy between the two places Ruth lived. Strangely enough, I too am living with and helping (trying to anyway) an obscure relative- Ruth, her mother-in-law, me, my uncle. Like Ruth, I also like older men. :D

The thing that strikes me about Ruth's life the most lately, ties in with my previous post, "Exceptional Lover." I realized from looking at the book of Ruth again that this woman lived her life day by day, loving and serving as she could and never knew the full impact from her life. At the end of the book, we learn that Ruth and Boaz's son, Obed, was the grandfather of King David. This means that Boaz and Ruth were ancestors of our dear Lord Jesus. That is some legacy! Also, millions of people, generations later, read about her life, her love, and her and Boaz's wonderful love story-- and praise God for it!

I am encouraged in terms of the conclusion I made at the end of the aforementioned post. If, like Ruth, I spend my life loving and serving those around me, marrying and loving my husband, following God, then even if I do not know the effect of my life, then I can trust that God will still be receiving the glory and working through me. Ruth is proof. Her marriage alone was orchestrated by God, not just to bring joy and happiness to everyone involved in the space and time in which they lived, but the effect of that love is felt generations later in the offer of salvation to the entire world. (I am suddenly reminded of the end of a poem I wrote a while ago.)

This brings new depth to Ephesians 3:20-21 for me:
"Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us,to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."

WOW!!!

2010-10-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

Wow...WOW! Do I feel loved today? Um, yes...YES, I do! First of all, this week, God has really been showing me his love in little ways every day that have been wonderful. Last night, I felt quite loved by my small group and woke up this morning feeling encouraged.

THEN, I went upstairs and there on the dining room chair I usually sit on, was a large box addressed to ME!! There was no return address except for the name and address of "The Fruit Company." Of course I opened it right away and then just stood there staring into the box. There was a a beautiful gift basket inside- one of those fancy ones all wrapped up like a still life- with nuts, FRUIT, candy, dried fruit- all displayed with a green ribbon tied around it! My first reaction was that I wanted to cry, but I was still too surprised to cry. I searched around the bottom of the box for the card. I opened it and was shocked again. The only words on the card were, "You are loved." No name, no explanation, just the most wonderful three words:

YOU ARE LOVED.

!!!!! I think I will frame that card and keep it forever.

Who in the world sent me this amazing and thoughtful gift? It was so perfect, so timely (and so yummy! haha)that it was as if God himself ordered it for me! I mean, just last Saturday I wrote about how I had been craving fruit all week AND just yesterday I listened to a song over and over again on youtube- "YOU ARE LOVED" by Josh Groban. AND of course I am always running out of money for food so the fact that this basket came means I not only had food for the day (or two or three) but it is delicious, amazing food! All those things combined to make an already meaningful gift just utterly...indescribable?? I have no words...the creative writer has NO WORDS to describe how this makes me feel. Oh, yes I do...LOVED! I FEEL SOOOOOO LOOOOVVVEEEDDD!!!

DID I mention it has an entire PINEAPPLE in it!!!??? I think I am going to pass out. There was also a bottle of sparkling pear juice (yay!) and you can be sure I will be using the basket and the ribbon when I am done enjoying all the edible things. :D

I emailed my older sister, called my mom, tried calling the company (they were instructed not to reveal the name of the sender!-bummer-but so mysterious!)...so I still have no idea who bestowed this special gift on me. I REALLY want to know! But if I can't figure it out, then hopefully "THEY" will know how much I am absolutely overwhelmed by and filled (literally and figuratively) by their love. THANK YOU whoever you are! I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Halloween Costume

2010-10-15T09:57:00.000-07:00

My friend from small group is hosting a Halloween party soon and as I LOVE getting dressed up, I am so going. Unfortunately, I have no idea what to BE and I have limited resources. First I wanted to be a Bollywood movie star because I love Indian culture and I have always wanted to wear a saree/sari, but 7 yards of fabric is kind of pricey! Then I thought I could just paint my face so I looked online for ideas and saw one of a simple lotus flower design that struck me. I have a small lotus flower hair comb that I have been wearing often lately so I thought, "Hmmm...why I am being drawn to lotus flowers lately? I wonder what they symbolize?" Soooo....I looked it up and was speechless when I read this:

"Lotus flowers...represent having gone through a hard time and the person is now coming out of it. Like the flower they have been at the bottom in the muddy, yucky dirty bottom of the pond but have risen above this to display an object of beauty or a life of beauty as the case might be. Thus a lotus blossom can also represent a hard time in life that has been overcome."

and this:

"The Lotus Flower grows in the deep mud, far away from the sun. But, sooner or later, the Lotus reaches the light becoming the most beautiful flower ever.

The Lotus flower is regarded in many different cultures –— specially in eastern religions — as a symbol of purity, enlightenment, self-regeneration and rebirth. Its characteristics are a perfect analogy for the human condition: even when its roots are in the dirtiest waters, the Lotus produces the most beautiful flower."

I have decided to just "be" a lotus flower for Halloween then. Not sure how I am going to pull it off exactly, but it involves face paint, jewelry and (??).

hhhmmmm....CHOCOLATE!!!

2010-10-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

When I discovered I had a milk intolerence, I dealt pretty well with the change. Cheese was probably the hardest to avoid since it is quite prevalent in American food, but ice cream wasn't my favorite desert anyway. I prefer fruit ice pops or italian ices. (Although, I do love mint chocolate chip ice cream.) Milk in my cereal or in a glass was suddenly out of the question, but I discovered that rice milk tastes way better to me than normal milk, so the change was welcome. Thankfully, after my high school years, I grew out of my milk intolerance to the extent that I can eat cheese in SMALL quantities and for some reason, I can eat tons of yogurt! (I love yogurt!) But I still drink rice milk and have to avoid ice-cream.

Eggs are an allergy that I have not grown out of in the least. I should probably say I have an egg intolerance because I can eat eggs that are baked into cakes and it doesn't bother me at all. However, if I eat a plain egg, a quiche, a custard (think meringue pies), potatoe salad with pieces of egg in it, or even a salad dressing with eggs as the first ingredient...bad things happen.

Those were my only food allergies...until two years ago around Christmas time. In general, I don't have much of a sweet tooth and I rarely craved chocolate, unlike many women I know (including my older sister and my pastor's wife) who practically survive off of chocolate, but I do LOVE dark chocolate. I could even happily eat the unsweeted baking chocolate squares. :)

Maybe every few months, I would have chocolate once or around the "chocolate holidays" aka: Easter, Halloween and Christmas. I loved the chocolate oranges that came out around Christmas.
This particular Christmas in 2008, though, something changed. I wanted chocolate like a fiend! I discovered the Chocolate Christmas Stars (DARK CHOCOLATE!!! YUM!!! Did I mention I ADORE dark chocolate?). I ate those chocolate stars with a vengeance. I was eating chocolate wherever I could get my hands on it. It was as if I was making up for lost time. As if women are hard-wired to crave chocolate and since I generally didn't before this in my life, my body suddenly rose up and said, "Gosh, darn it, Laelia! You are a WOMAN! FEED ME CHOCOLATE!!!" So I did.

Wow! It was delicious! But after a week of this sudden chocolate fest, I started developing upper respiratory symptoms. Since I am prone to upper respiratory infections, I thought, "Great, I'm getting sick," but I didn't feel sick. My voice sounded funny because my throat was swollen and I was having trouble breathing, but everywhere else felt fine. I told my mom this and she said, "You've been eating more chocolate than normal. Maybe you are allergic to it. Try holding off for a while to see if the symptoms go away."

How silly! I am not allergic to chocolate! But I took her advice and tried it anwyway since she often pinpoints things like that accurately. After a week of avoiding chocolate, I was back to normal. Two months later, around Valentine's Day (oh, another chocolate holiday!), I decided that maybe Christmas was a fluke and I should try eating chocolate again to make sure. I had four Hershey's Kisses after dinner and that night, I had to sit up in bed because my throat was swollen and I was having trouble breathing lying down... so sad.

A few times over the past two years, I have had people say that it is impossible to be allergic to chocolate- that it is usually something that is put in with it and not the actual substance. No one has really been able to explain why this is impossible exactly. It puzzles me because if I can be allergic to eggs, milk, Tylonal, Benadryl and latex, and other people can be allergic to gluten, shellfish and even COLD, why would chocolate be exempt?

Without describing every instance in which I forgot/didn't care in the moment that I was supposed to avoid chocolate, suffice it to say, the symptoms were always the same. In the meantime, I am hoping I become "un-allergic" to chocolate as quickly as it came. One thing I so, SO, SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO LOOOOOVVVVVEEEEEE is chocolate and coconut. Cocunut macaroons drizzled with chocolate and the candy bar called Mounds (DARK chocolate with coconut YUM!) are the most delectible things I can imagine. Out of everything I can't eat, I miss that combination the most. In fact, I miss it so much, today I couldn't help but buy Mounds to "test" and see if I am still allergic. Hopefully, I will not see any symptoms, but if I do, I will just take an allergy pill. It was SO worth it!!

Here's hoping!! :D

Springtime?

2010-10-11T13:25:00.000-07:00

Often, I get an urge to write when I am not sure what I am going to say. Postings like "Pardon My French," "On Being Alone," "Now Hear This" and "Overcome" started that way. I feel this rising within my spirit like some voice is coming up within me needing to declare itself...always my own voice, not some freaky "other" or anything, just a part of me that doesn't otherwise get expressed if I don't give myself the space and freedom to allow it to come out. When I am able to put words to these rising inklings, the experience usually results in more freedom and confidence. The feeling is as if what I said or wrote had some grander purpose to being expressed than only putting words on a page.

This moment, I sat down to write about another intangeable "something." Throughout my life, I have gotten these feelings/senses that I can't quite describe without sounding too mystical and odd. I can compare it to the same quickening in my spirit that comes at the end of winter, just before Spring comes full force as the first crocus breaks throught the ground. This feeling always precedes an important lesson or more often, some big change, a good one, that is to come.

I felt this quickening, "Springtime," something big is going to happen, sense before I went on the road trip this summer and which ultimately drew me back to St. Louis. On the way to church one Saturday evening, I had this feeling again to the point that I had to pray, "Okay, Lord, I sense that this service is going to be unusual for some reason...I hope it is a good thing..." That night, the sermon spoke into things that God had been teaching me in Tucson. It was like God sat next to me that night and said, "Laelia, this is what I was doing all that time. It was painful, I know, but now do you see?" I did, and could not stop crying! I cried and cried the whole sermon and after...cried to a friend...cried as I wrote in my journal about it later and went to bed that night...andit resulted in healing and peace.

The reason I am writing about this now is because I simultaneously had the "Springtime" feeling coupled with the "must write from this intangeable voice" feeling. So, I apologize that this makes no sense whatsoever. The rising need to write about an obscure "something important is going to happen" feeling makes for a rather ambiguous topic. haha

But for some reason, I wanted to document this moment. I feel as if I am waiting for something monumentous, something beautiful, that will bring joy, life and gladness...but I have no idea what it is! Kind of random....also exciting...and a tad scary. All I can do is pray and trust God that, like all the other times, this too, will be a "good thing."

PMS

2010-10-09T08:53:00.000-07:00

I feel blah today. I am not looking forward to giving my student her cello lesson because I feel stuck, like I am not really doing a good job as her teacher. I am feeling really discouraged about the fact that God is not bringing me a full-time job. Most days I can remain hopeful and continue searching/applying, but some days I can't even think about jobs.

What REALLY has been annoying me lately is TALKING about jobs with people. I appreciate everyone's desire to help me think of options, but after ten months of applying in two different states and having conversations with 100 different people about how horrible the "job market" is, how "this economy" is effecting everyone, how "there are more qualified people than you who have been having a harder time," I just can't take it anymore! UUUGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!! Can someone just discuss MUSIC or ART, HORSES, or even the reasons why you love yellow gumballs over green ones with me???

I DON'T CARE what job options are out there or how "horrible" the stupid market is! AT THIS POINT it just sounds like a figment of people's imaginations!!!! The fact that others are worse off is obvious, but it doesn't change the fact that I am still having a hard time and I need a job as well! My uncle is moving to South Korea by January! If I don't get a full-time job soon, how am I going to save up to live somewhere? I have no health insurance! If I don't get a job with benefits, I am going to have to pay for my prescription out of pocket! I am SO SO TIRED of nickle and diming to the point of having to decide, "pay this bill on time or buy food for today?" I am thankful for the things I have and the people around me, but I haven't bought any clothes in over a year and everything I have has holes in it! There are like three things I own that don't. My shoes are falling apart and I really want to be able to make the payments on my sponsor child (who is worse off than anyone in this country!) and be able to send her a Christmas present!

I want to be able to buy the plane ticket to my best friend in Tucson's wedding or just plain be able to go to the Shaw Nature Reserve without having to consider how much gas I am using to drive there.
I am craving fruit and veggies right now. I want a peach really badly...or a whole fruit salad with pineapples. I love pineapples.

I need a hug more than anything.
I am really tired lately.
I feel so ugly today.
I miss my dog, Sugar!
I miss my parents and my siblings!
(I don't miss Arizona at all!)
I am upset my Bible Study might be changing just when I was settling into it. Now I have to get used to a new leader, new place, new schedule! I am praying.
I wish God would put skin on himself and come down and hug me instead of being way out there. I know he's there and hears me, but sometimes I just want to FEEL him!

WAAHAAAAA!!!!

I think I am going to a wedding today. I don't even know the people getting married, so I feel a little intrusive, but the bulletin said everyone in church was welcome to attend the ceremony. I love watching weddings and I have always wanted to see what one looks like in our sanctuary. It will be good to get out of the house and think of happy, beautiful things...

Overcome

2010-10-06T13:04:00.000-07:00

Blood drips from the end of my sword,
down the blade
onto my clenched fingers
as I raise my arm
and glare victoriously
out across the silent valley.
Finally, silence!

Only Death weeps.
It has lost the battle.
I grin, throw my head back
and laugh.
I laugh long and hard
until the Shadows slink shamefully away.
After the retreating forms I shout,
"Take that, bastards!"
And I laugh some more, relieved.
Relieved that I am stronger than I expected.
Relieved that the Enemy is more of a coward than I,
that the battle is over,
for now,
and I feel the sun breaking through the clouds

1 Jn 4:4 and Jn 16:33

The Lord's Prayer

2010-10-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

On Sunday while laying on a blanket in the grass at the park, I thought a lot about the Lord's prayer. In my new church (Memorial Presbyterian) we pray the prayer as a congregation at some point every service. There are a million reasons I love my new church and reciting this prayer and doing communion every time we meet are two of those reasons.

In the past, when I read the section of the Bible where the disciples ask Jesus how they should pray and Jesus responds with this prayer, I always wondered why He chose these particular phrases and themes. Knowing that everything Jesus said or did was purposeful and quite deep and beautiful, I figured it was not something he just threw together to give the disciples a mantra to recite.

For the past ten months, my life has been turned and jostled in ways I never would have imagined- inability to procure a full-time job, no more school (thank GOD!), diagnosis of PCOS, move to St. Louis (PRAISE, PRAISE GOD!!), and still no full-time job. There have been many days when I literally did not know if I would be able to eat, let alone pay bills. There were days I had to repent to the Lord for various things, forgive someone in my heart. There were days I was tempted- to despair, do something I shouldn't, or to believe lies that Satan was trying to feed me.

I have had to learn the hard way to look to the Lord for provisions and grace, literally moment by moment. So many times this year I didn't have food in the kitchen and no money to buy more. Just last week this happened and as lunchtime was nearing, my brother called and invited me out to lunch. On Sunday, I was $35 short of being able to pay a bill. I had been telling God about it all weekend, but when it came time to pay the bill, I was still short, so I paid as much as I could and just said, "Well, somehow God will still take care of me even if I can't pay it." Then I checked my email and a family from church had last minute asked me to babysit for them that night. I did it and was paid exactly $35. NO ONE had any idea that I needed $35 by Sunday, so it was all God. Through these moments this year-too many to recount- God has made himself present in tangible ways, always reminding me to hope in Him, trust Him, and most of all, thank and praise him in all circumstances.

After months and months of praying, seeking God's face, stepping out in faith when he gave me any glimpse of a direction- or even when he didn't- the Lord's prayer has become most profound. All of my prayers are encapsulated into that one. Everything God has taught me, everything that I have found REALLY matters in life are described in that prayer.

In the Christian world, we often remind each other that "we are not promised tomorrow" and that "we should not worry about tomorrow," but how often do we let those truths change our worldview completely? The Lord's prayer is profound because it is a prayer for "today" and states the most important things about life in such a succinct way:

Praise God
Desire His kingdom
Desire God's will
Look to God for what you need today
Have a repentant heart
Have a forgiving heart
Desire to follow God's way
Ask God for protection
Acknowledge who God is

So, the most important things in life that Jesus encapsulates in this one prayer have to do with our relationship with God, our relationship with others and provisions that are necessary for survival in the moment. It kind of puts everything I have ever worried about or let dominate my thoughts and prayers look a little piddly to say the least.

Here is my version of the prayer I wrote out in my journal while lying happily in the warm sun:

"My dear heavenly Father, I praise and honor your Holy name! Please bring your kingdom. May your will be done in my life and on the earth just as your will is done in heaven. Please provide food for me on this day and please forgive me in the ways I wrong you. Just as you forgive me, please help me to forgive those who wrong me. Keep temptation far from me today and just plain keep me from evil altogether because the kingdom and all power and glory are yours forever."

The Strange Effect of Art Museums

2010-10-01T12:54:00.000-07:00

Wandering the quiet, low-lit halls, alone with my thoughts; I study the fascinating subjects, rich colors, brushstrokes, and read the sensuous descriptions of the paintings before me. The sculptures, with their smooth, marble surfaces cut expertly into folds of lace and seemingly rippling muscle or soft skin make it difficult to heed the warning signs, "DO NOT TOUCH!" THere are paintings of soft sunset light caressing contemplative faces and grand vistas of cool, breathtaking lands. I want to dance with the joyful dancing man on the ferry-boat in the American art section or bathe with the figures in the Impressionist's. The human body is probably one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen- a few of the paintings make me proud that I am a woman with the same womanly mystery and grace. In the Egyptian display, even death is made beautiful.

I leave with an intense desire to roll down the luscious green grass on Art Hill and swim in the cool fountain. The sun feels unusually tantalizing and warm, and a tentative breeze weaves between my toes. I feel keenly it is too bad we inherited shame of nakedness at "the fall" because my clothes suddenly feel inconsequential. If there was a man at my elbow, it would be difficult for me not to make out with him, and I think that a delicious meal of savory, aesthetic delectibles would not be out of place either.

And I realize that the essence of art is man's attempt to capture the inexplicable experience of what it is to be human. I understand the necessity of art in a way that I hadn't known before.

I walk back to my car wondering if I should return to the art museum more often to be reminded of this,
or if I should limit my excursions for fear of becoming too aware of my already heightened senses.

Happy Birthday, Dad!!!!!!!

2010-09-28T14:30:00.001-07:00

In honor of my loving dad's special day, I wrote him a ridiculous poem. As usual, my dad and I were having a silly conversation a week ago, making each other laugh, discussing my not so nice past poetry teacher.... Somehow dad mentioned the phrase, "me and my mollusk" which the alliteration and absurdity of it made us both crack up. Then I said maybe I would use it as a title for a book or better yet a horrible poem, then get it published and make millions just to spite my mean poetry teacher. We chuckled some more and ran with the "Me and my Mollusk" idea. So, this poem is for you, dad. Thank you for the many years of hilarious conversations and tons of love. I am so glad you were born.

"Snail Tales"

Me and my mollusk
stole a painting of Jackson Pollock's
while perusing the Guggenheim last May.

The painting on display
had caused my mollusk much dismay
and offended him to his mushy core.
The brush strokes could have been made, he whined,
with the trails that his grandfather slimed.

Assuring my mollusk this was not the case
and that Pollock was the best artist in the place,
I steered him to a nearby Dali.
Soon, by golly-
Docents and pudgy police stalked us,
me and my mollusk,
eyeing us warily.

Upon arriving home, my mollusk divulged,
the reason for the unsightly bulge
beneath his slimy snail tail-
There, the painting of Pollock's
that had so offended my mollusk,
was hidden safely away.

{ for a visual of a Pollock painting that is in display at the Guggenheim see here }

Exceptional Lover

2010-09-27T11:04:00.000-07:00

For someone who has many diverse talents, I am quite insecure. As a general rule, I can dance, sing, play the cello and recorder, sew, draw, make scultptures or a bowl out of clay, ride and train horses, babysit ten kids at a time and potty train a three year old like an experienced mother, write creatively, handle my finances (when I HAVE finances to handle, that is), clean houses 'til they shine, teach ESL and other subjects, read and analyze a piece of literature or discuss a concept and then write a twenty page analytical essay discussing my argument.

Not only that, but I can memorize all of the muscles and bones in the body, research and discuss the hormone-mimic effects of pesticides and antibiotics on the endocrine system, work in a research lab as easily as I can work as a secretary in an office, haul bales of hay on a farm and muck stalls like a pro. I can row a canoe through mild rapids, swim, make people laugh or cry, speak with ease and alacrity before an audience of ten, one hundred or one thousand people. I have inherited my dad's green thumb and general landscaping abilities. I can decorate a house, discuss politics, social justice issues, or inane subjects such as why I like clear toothbrushes over solid ones.

I love so many things and it is easy to apply myself to activities and subjects that I love. And people wonder why I had such a hard time deciding what to study in college...

One may assume I give this run on list with a sense of pride and arrogance, but that one would assume incorrectly. In fact, when I think about these things, it is almost with a feeling of frustration and overwhelming inadequacy. Why?

Unfortunately, ever since I was a teenager at least, I have had this strange obsession with trying to determine my "exceptional ability." It is a philosophy of mine, mostly rooted in my Christian worldview, that every person is born for a purpose and that each person is uniquely gifted/created in some way to live out that purpose as only they can to bring glory to God.

About the time I came to this conclusion, I started noting the things in others that made them unique-

Some, like Yo-Yo Ma, a world famous cellist, spread joy in the world through their amazing musical talents. Bach, a genius composer, dedicated all of his pieces to God and centruries later, we learn of the man, his contribution to the world and about his relationship with God.

Some, like Charles Dickens, my favorite author, challenge the social status quo and are still relevent generations later. C. S. Lewis was an author who used his gift of words for the Lord, to challenge, inspire, teach and entertain readers.

Some, like Thomas Edison, discoverer of electricity, Edward Jenner, inventor of smallpox vaccine, Albert Einstein, father of modern physics, and others like them used their scientific/philosophical intelligence to better our physical lives in some way.

In my friends' lives, I see people who excel in teaching, caring for others in the nursing field, pastors who make a difference in hundreds of people's lives at a time, artists whose work is displayed in galleries, musicians who tour the country inspiring crowds with their uplifting music, scientists who study the genome of plants to better the crops for people in third world countries, engineers who design things I couldn't even dream about, friends who are already published authors or excel in the area of motherhood/fatherhood/spousehood (Is that a word?)....

But in all of these things, I noticed that there was something about these individuals that they did "exceptionally." That they were able to accomplish in such a way that focused their energies and purpose into one strong beam of light in the world.

In comparison, I have often felt like an explosion of pixie dust- whimsical, but completely unconcentrated to do any good.

For years, I have thought seriously about this. While driving in the car, "What is it that I can offer to the world that is unique to who God made me?"
While sitting in the coffeeshop, "I can do so many things, but nothing really exceptionally...I can think of so many people who do such and such a million times better than I can... While walking in the park, "How did God make me specifically to make my mark on the world?"

I have a slightly creepy affinity for spending time in graveyards. Besides the fact that they are peaceful, often beautifully landscaped, and few people visit them so I can be alone for a while, I like to read the grave markers. I often walk among the stones and wonder about the former lives of the people who are buried there. They lived and breathed like I do now, with hopes and dreams, sufferings, love interests and heartbreaks, and, like mine will some day, their lives suddenly ended. Walking in graveyards is an effective way to remind oneself of life's frailty. Even there in the graveyards, I wonder, "Is this person remembered anymore? How did they spend their lives? For good (others/God) or evil (self/Satan)? What mark did they uniquely leave on the world/for God's Kingdom?"

One morning a couple of weeks ago here in St. Louis, I lay in bed half asleep. Often, I like to linger in that half-awake/ dreamlike state and wonder about the world or my life, or pray, or just think of nothing. That morning, I found myself asking God again in frustration, "I have been wondering for years, WHAT is it exactly that I do exceptionally? What is it that you have made me to do in this life that will bring the most glory to you?"

And to my surprise, God finally answered. I am not sure if he said it aloud in my head or if it welled up from within, but the answer came in one word,

"LOVE"

My eyes flew open! I was fully awake now. "LOVE?" As I pondered what that meant, I grinned to myself, "OH!!!! LOOOVVVEEE!!!! God has made me unique in the ability to LOVE deeply and exceptionally! Ahhh!!!!" It made total sense, especially as I thought back through my life and how God often works in my life, chooses for me to speak into people's lives and when considering my MOTIVATION for everything I do.

I DO love! I love a ton!! I LOVE like crazy! Out of everything I can do, everything I have ever done or tried to do, LOVING is what I do best! Even my Myers-Briggs personality type, INFJ, is known to love and understand people exceptionally well! God has, in all senses, made me to be a person who loves exceptionally!

I love people easily and deeply, even going into sudden fits of rapture when I look into a friend or family member's face. I have been known to be sticken with such a huge wave of love for a stranger that I stop in the middle of a conversation and hug them and SAY that I love them. This happened once when my mom and I were talking with a curator of a blown glass art gallery in Sedona. We were discussing art and I inconveniently felt that wave of love for the happy curator. I suddenly threw my arms around the lady and said, "Oh! You are just wonderful! You are so kind and beautiful and I love you!" The lady was taken aback, but thrilled, and then hugged me back. My mom just laughed. She knows how I am.

For the next couple of weeks, I tried on this new revelation. If "loving" was the thing God made me to do exceptionally in this life, what does it look like practically in my day to day? What kind of ministry should I do? Since I have so much love to give, maybe that means God will actually give me a husband to shower it upon as well as upon others in my life...or He won't and I will focus it all on everyone else somehow.

At the same time, I knew that I do not love perfectly, just like I do nothing else perfectly. There have been times I have made the choice not to love when I knew I should, or acted in anger, hatred or jealousy instead of love. This was a sobering thought, that even my most "exceptional ability" fell short, but at the same time, I felt liberated because the love that I have flows from an understanding of God's perfect love for me and not really of my own ability. He is the only one who can do anything perfectly, especially when it comes to love, and this reminded me that if I am to live into my life role as "Exceptional Lover," that I will have to remember to stay rooted in the One Perfect Love.

A second revelation dawned on me after I heard a man describing how this young girl of his acquaintance grew up to champion the St. Louis city area officials to have prayer rallies for the city. Immediately, I felt my original inadequacies rear and I thought, "Here I am, 26 years old, and I have done nothing like that. I barely finished my BA degree, let alone inspired a growing city-wide prayer event. I have nothing to show for my life."

God used this moment and my subsequent reaction to make me realize that I have been incorrectly attaching finding my purpose with being recognized for it. While praying about it, God asked me, "What if you never go down in history for what I have called you to do? What if your name ends up on one of those forgotten gravestones and not in the history books? What if your call to 'LOVE' will show no grand, recognizable fruit in the here and now like for that young girl? What if you live your life and it looks completely ordinary on the surface and only I (God) know the full impact of your purpose?"

And I realized at that moment that finding my calling, purpose or "exceptional ability" might mean that I live my life quietly loving people for the rest of my days. Maybe at times, it will be recognizeable, but I think mostly I will love and love, and only those who are loved will know the difference it makes in them. Only God will know the full story and know the full impact of the love He flows freely through my life.

For the fisrt time in my life, I know what I am put on this earth to do.

For the first time in my life, I understand how God has uniquely created me to bring glory to Him.

For the first time in my life, I realize that even if I never become a published author or a world recognized cellist or am in the news for performing a life-saving procedure, that it doesn't mean my life is not making just as much or more of an impact.

For the first time in my life, I feel that I have a specific call and that to be an "Exceptional Lover" will give everything I do purpose and direction...something to work towards and lean on God for.

And for the first time in my life, I am at peace about my purpose.

On Being Alone

2010-09-13T11:00:00.000-07:00

The frog's buldging, liquid eyes stare at me from the surface of the shawdowy pond. Sitting on the roots of a willow tree, enveloped by its weeping branches, I stare back, glad for the creature's company. Since moving to St. Louis, I visit Forest Park at least four times a week, sometimes walking around the zoo, sometimes following the path along the ponds.

Always alone, I walk on the enormous hill in front of the art museum or sit by the expansive fountain at its base and swing my feet over the water. I lay in the grass under a tree and stare at the cloud formations in the sky or the birds soaring silently overhead. I talk to God, my constant, invisible company, so evident in the beauty and life around me.

In the evenings, I climb the fountain across from the boat house and stand on the edge of the pool watching the kids swim near a sign that says, "No swimming in the Fountain." When the sun goes down, I stand transfixed, staring into the water display that shoots beams of light and water into the sky in an ever changing pattern of colors. Other times, I like to stand quietly on a bridge watching the tiny fish make patterns of circles on the surface of the slow moving stream as they nibble gnats that hover above the water.

My favorite spot, however, is a thick, graceful willow tree not far from the boat house and bordering the main pond. I have always adored weeping willows and this one does not disappoint. I often visit the tree in the evenings when the sun is setting and creep quietly through the branches to sit under the swaying canopy. Just barely, I can see the full pond through the leaves. I watch as the light changes from blue to pink, purple to black and the shadow on the water of the weeping branches deepens.

I am always alone. This evening, though, I feel alone.

Being alone is usually not scary for me. I often go out to dinner alone or see a movie in the movie theatre, visit art shows and fairs, the zoo and parks...alone, and it rarely phases me. Hilary, my dear Tucson friend is often horrified to find that I do such things alone. "No! I can't bear to think of you going to see a movie by yourself! Don't go!" When pressed, she tells me why, "I could never do something like that. I would be too nervous."

But I am not nervous! Nervous in my own company? On the contrary, it gives me time to think, to recenter myself, to daydream and staves off lonliness. If I have to be alone, is it better to be stuck in my room with the walls as company or to surround myself with beauty, animals and happy people to watch? The answer seems obvious.

But this evening, as I realize how grateful I am that the frog remains staring at me, I am feeling the weight of being too much alone. I think of the moments compounding into years and years of being alone. As a child, I have memories of playing my cello alone under pine trees, wading in streams alone, spending hours in the car with family alone with my thoughts. In college, I walked the campus graveyards alone (sounds creepy, but I rather like graveyards), did my homework alone in the Chinese garden of the Missouri Botanical garden. Went home alone after weddings of friends and most recently packed up my house in Tucson all alone and moved, alone, to St. Louis.

As much as I love the company of lots of people as well as the moments I spend by myself, I think of a different kind of company. There are a few people in one's life whose company is often better than being alone and better than being surrounded by scores of people.

I think of my best friend, Chrissy, whose heart and mind connected with mine in such a way that we would spend hours laughing until our bladders, literally, gave out...Who would just as easily weep with me in her driveway as we discussed the pain of having broken fathers...who would play hymns on the piano and we would raise our voices together to praise our Lord...who, even after four years of not seeing one another face to face, felt so familiar that it was as if we had been growing together all along.

I think of my best friend, Sarah, whose heart and mind connected with mine in such a way that we would feel perfectly comfortable sitting in silence together as having a deep, spiritual conversation...who would visit Farmer's markets with me and enjoy summers filled with fruit smoothies and evenings swinging on swingsets, or take Sunday afternoon naps together and insist that, "God must sprinkle sleepy dust on Sundays"...who later married my cousin and is now family as well as friend and still manages to love and encourage me miles away in South Korea.

I think of my best friend, Hilary, whose heart and mind connected with mine in such a way that we would pray for our future husbands together, walk through spiritual darkness and uncertainty together...who would train a wild baby quarter horse with me or watch a foal being born and marvel at God's creation...who would sit on my couch and color in coloring books for hours, making dry and hilarious comments until we were rolling...whose paintings covered the walls of my house and who shared my love of literature...and when we were angry or hurt, we would discuss or cry it through until we were bosom buddies yet again.

There are situations that are worse than being alone- such as being in a room full of rowdy people I don't know or trying to converse with someone who so obviously doesn't "get" me.

But there are relationships, such as the ones I shared with Chrissy, Sarah and Hilary, that are better than being alone, better than being surrounded by scores of friends and family.

I always imagined marriage to be like that. A bosom buddy like my dear best girl-friends, but different, and I could go home and sleep with him or do dishes for him, pray with him and love on him, be silent or laugh with him. I think of the love described in Song of Solomon or between Ruth and Boaz and suddenly I want it so badly, for the first time, in a long time, I feel...alone.

I think of him as I stare into the water at the buldging, liquid frog eyes peering above the surface. I wonder if this "he" even exists and if he does, on this particular evening alone under the willow tree, I wished he was sitting with me on the roots of my favorite tree, watching the sunset's reflected light fade to black on the water.

Now Hear This!

2010-09-09T07:39:00.000-07:00

Don't label me a dreamer
Though my eyes peer above the clouds,
My feet are buried in the ground.

Don't mistake this reverie
as the ravings of a raging fool-

Simultaneously,
I feel the earth shudder
and the nearness of the sun.

It's the middle I'm concerned about.

You reprimand for lofty dreams
and ridicule stability
But somewhere in between my head and feet
...lies my heart.

Don't label me emotional
though I laugh and weep with ease
and spread love eagerly
as tossing scented petals in a passing breeze.

I am reminded of a flower-
roots sunk low, gripping dark earth,
The bloom's beauty facing endless sky
...and in between, the stem and leaves

Without which-
the roots, pointless,
the petals, impossible.

No one begrudges a flower;

And how much more intricate am I?

Dirty Dishes- in Five parts

2010-09-08T08:10:00.000-07:00

1
Caked with rancid butter,
leftover beans from last night's dinner,
or soaking in soapy water-
Dishes beckon from the bottom of the musty sink

Mostly, my mom beckons from the kitchen,
or pokes her head in my bedroom doorway
and invokes an incessant request,
asked of me every night for fifteen years-
more like a statement requiring obedience,
"You're going to do the dishes tonight, right?"

2
No matter that I am almost quarter of a century in years-

It has been my job to wash the dishes every night
for as long as I have been able to reach the sink.

No matter that I had rarely put up a fight or refused-

No matter that I had six hours of homework due the next day-

No matter that I prefer to wash dishes in the afternoon-

They must be DONE! And done before bedtime! Why?

"I don't want to see dirty dishes greeting me in the morning."

A familiar, chafing, phrase.

3
Moving into my own house was a freedom I cherished.
No one told me when to do the dishes...or how...
I waited a week at a time before finally washing my dishes

and it was pure bliss.

I woke up to dirty dishes in the sink-

AND I DID NOT CARE!

I washed one dish in the morning
three in the afternoon,
none at night.
I discovered that MY favorite time to do the dishes is in the afternoon
around 3:00 or 4:00pm
Or after I get off of work.
It gave me time to process the day...and then left my treasured evenings free

4
Age 26: Living with my uncle in St. Louis

I still wash the dishes for the house-
When I please-
Usually during the late afternoon, around 3:00 or 4:00.
One day I did not have time to do them.
We chat as Uncle washes the dishes before bed.
I briefly feel nervous and wait for a reprimand or a guilt trip to fall from his lips
Hesistant, I offer to do them for him.
Without hint of annoyance or displeasure,
He says in passing while rinsing a cup,
"No, it's fine. I can do them very well myself. I just don't like to wake up to see dirty dishes in the sink."

I am relieved, but oh, THAT PHRASE!
I thought of all the times my mom had used it
and wondered again why it bothered me so much.

5
I never cared to notice before, but the next morning,
I come to the kitchen expecting to see
the cups, plates and pots,
piled high in the dish drainer.

Instead, there are stacks of dirty dishes in the sink AND clean ones in the drainer!
Briefly, I wonder, "I thought I saw my uncle finish the dishes last night?"

Yes, I had watched him place the last clean plate on the top of the stack where it still remains...

Although I had woken to the breakfast remains on the counter every other day in my uncle's house and had not been in the least affected by it,

This morning,

A tsunami like revelation engulfed me
as years of memories flooded my mind...
countless images...

And suddenly I realized why I hated the phrase,
"I do not like to see dirty dishes in the morning."

I did the dishes every night and STILL saw dirty dishes every morning!

The first person awake in the house was always my dad, then my mom, then the kids.
They saw the kitchen clean- the fruits of my labors-
But by the time I saw the kitchen in the morning,
the family's breakfast bowls and spoons filled the sink,
egg remains dried to the skillets,
jam smudges on the counter,
coffegrounds on the stove...

My small group leader from church had recently been discussing life's FUTILITY.
This morning, I felt the fullness of that word.

All my life, I was forced to do dishes when it pleased someone else.

Cleaned the kitchen every night until it shined,
during a time most inconvenient for me,

And woke every day to a mess I did not make.

Did anyone ever stop to care if I do not want to wake to see "dirty dishes in the morning"????

Happy Alive Day, Aaron!

2010-09-07T09:36:00.000-07:00

This month, one year ago, my brother-in-law Aaron's heart stopped while he was driving in Tucson. He died twice and was resucitated before reaching the hospital. The doctors weren't sure if he would make it and Aaron stayed in the ICU unconscious for a week with tubes and machines strapped all around and in him. There was viable fear of major brain damage or memory loss. We all prayed like crazy and had prayer chains going all over the country.

My heart broke for my darling younger sister, Bess, who waited prayerfully by his side until Aaron pulled through. I was, and am still amazed at the strength and courage she displayed during that time. After weeks in the hospital and a couple months of recuperation and surgeries to implant/fix a defibrilator to his heart, Aaron was home free!

We all praised God for allowing Aaron to stay with us and to remain the husband of my sister and the father of their little baby boy, Zach.

We praise God this month for the fact that we can celebrate Aaron's continued LIFE.

I love you, bro!

Happy Alive Day!

My "Job" Years- That's with with a long "O"

2010-09-04T09:30:00.000-07:00

I moved to Tucson in Fall 2005. I started calling my time in Tucson "my Job years" in 2006. The immense amount of stress, loss, spiritual and physical attack, change and depression I felt by the end of that year made me step back one day and think to myself, "I can now identify with Job. And through all this, I have seen God, like Job did." I even printed out a portion of verses from the book of Job that completely encapsulated my experience. I framed the paper and kept it hanging in my living places for the remaining of my years in Tucson- my bedroom in the house on Adams, bedroom in my parents' house while I was in school and in my kitchen in the Barrio. I packed it carefully into a box to bring with me when I moved to St. Louis and I plan to hang it in my new place here.

This framed quote became a daily reminder, not only of what God had shown me through that horrible time in 2006, but what He would continue to show me through the horrible times that were to follow.

You may think I am being overdramatic. And maybe I am, but I don't think so. One thing I learned during my years in Tucson is this: God is with me.

God was with me when I had little money for food or bills despite working 50-60 hours per week. I often went a few days at a time barely eating a thing and going to work hungry and weak.

God was with me in my car accident that totalled the car I inherited from my dear late grandmother. When I was so depressed I wanted to kill myself, when my grandpa died...when a spiritual leader in my life lied, blamed, gave up on his mission and burned me and others so badly, it took two years to recover and forgive him. When my family's life crumbled financially.

When I had no strength to go through the motions of following Christ and told God, "I still long to follow you, but I just don't have the strength to do it anymore," He said to me, "When was it ever by your strength that you were in a relationship with me in the first place?" And for three years, I learned to rest in His precious GRACE and was Healed by His patient pursuit.

God was with me when he filled my life with more goodness than I could have imagined: finishing my BA degree, training horses, riding, art, dance, sewing, writing classes, playing/singing vast quanties of music for churches and weddings all over Tucson, watching my dear little sis get married to a godly man, watching both my best friends from High school get married, getting to know my maternal grandmother in a deeper way, befriending my bosom buddy Hilary and watching her love story unfold as well...

And God was with me when he disciplined me and challenged me to deal with sin in my life

And He was with me when He taught me how to forgive and face the sin in other's lives which had hurt me

And He taught me a confidence and faith that I had never known before.

God was with me and my family when my brother in law was lying in an ICU bed for a month. We waited to hear if he he would live at all, let alone have brain damage...

I saw God when my dear sis was standing in the hospital hallway with tears in her eyes and her one month old baby in her arms and she said, "The Lord's will be done."

I saw God in the many outpourings of prayers, visits and gifts that people showered on our families during that time...

God was with me when I was so swamped with school I thought I was never going to make it through. ...And when I fell off the horse two weeks before graduation and I couldn't walk without a cane for a month.

He was with me when I had no work after I graduated, was depressed and health issues reared. I had hateful procedures done and waited for a month to find out if I had cancer or not, while working in a spiritually dark school district... and God gave me the grace and strength to face each day.

He was with me on the road trip I took with friends which allowed me to face my past pain from moving and refocus my life in a new direction and place.

God was with me in my last month in Tucson when I struggled financially. He provided miraculously. I saw God provide in random side jobs, a gracious landlord, generous parents and grandmother. He also provided miraculously, someone to buy my cello in Las Cruces, NM on my way to St. Louis!

He was with me as I prepared to make the move to St. Louis and to move and pack all by myself. I saw God in my friend Layne- who showed up to help me load, and in my mechanic Jeff who prepared my car to be safe for the trip and gave me a discount

In Tucson, those "Job years," I learned to say like Job did after contending with God:
Then Job answered the LORD and said:
“I know that You can do everything,
And that no purpose of Yours can be withheld from You.
You asked, ‘Who is this who hides counsel without knowledge?’
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
Things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.
Listen, please, and let me speak;
You said, ‘I will question you, and you shall answer Me.’
“I have heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
But now my eye sees You.
Therefore I abhor myself,
And repent in dust and ashes.”

The Sound of Music

2010-07-29T16:08:00.000-07:00

The HILLS are alive with the sound of music....
After being in flat Tucson for five years and now driving around St. Louis again, I am shocked about the various hills I come across on the highways or around town. I don't remember noticing them before! The fact that Tucson is flat (minus the massive, beautiful mountains) wasn't a bad thing, it was just different and something I unknowingly got used to. Now the hills of St. Louis are a sudden point of fascination for me because they seem so enormous in comparison haha.

When I was just outside the city, on a portion of the highway that I remember driving on years ago, I came to quite hilly portions, some that my car was pointing up and a 40 degree angle or so, I briefly wondered if they had moved the highway to a different location or something! You don't notice some things until you have something to compare it to, I guess.

RAY a drop of Golden Sun....
I am happy about the sun in St. Louis. I dreamed of it the entire 5 years I was in Tucson frying under the intense sun there. I always missed the soft golden light of the sunsets and the bearable light even at midday. The day after arriving here, I drove around Brentwood (part of St. Louis where my uncle lives) and suddenly realized how unusual it was that I was running errands in the middle of the day in the summer!

...Raindrops on Roses...
Yup, it rained!!!!! I bought new windshied wipers and an umbrella for the occassion, then went to Forest Park to walk around and go to The Muny. I walked through dewy GRASS, under massive trees and I had tears in my eyes I was so happy. THen I went to the Muny free seats and sat there for two hours under my umbrella. It started raining an hour before the show (The Sound of Music!) so the crowd all pulled out their umbrellas and laughed and talked as the rain fell. The show was postponed an hour, but the theatre continued to fill and I looked out on a sea of umbrellas and parkas. It was wonderful! The rain stopped, they dried the stage and the show began!

Tour of St. Louis #6- Rivers in Missouri

2010-07-21T18:03:00.000-07:00

This is the Current River in Southeast, MO

So, this is not just about St. Louis, even though St. Louis is bordered by both the Mississippi and the Missouri rivers. This is an ode to the beautiful and plentiful rivers of Missouri. Ohh!!! How I love them! WATER, WAAATTTEERRRR!!!!! I miss it so much! I grew up along rivers or the ocean, but especially spent a good portion of my life submerged in rivers or canoeing on them. When I was little, my parents took me to otter releases along the MO rivers or on canoe trips. In high school, just for fun, my friends or youth groups and I would go on MILES long canoe trips. In college in St. Louis, I took a camping and canoeing class (counted as a gym credit- score!) where, after learning all of the proper techniques, went on a two day camping and canoeing trip. By the time I took that class, though, without sounding too prideful, I was already the best in the class (ahem)because I learned how to steer a canoe at the age of eight and had at least ten years of experience rowing. All thanks for this goes to my very skillful dad who taught me in the first place. Even my professor was impressed. :D There are few "sports" I can even a smidgen say I don't horribly stink at, so please afford me this one moment of gloating...heehee.

Anyway, besides that, I just love RIVERS and I love how clean and (mostly clear) a lot of the MO rivers are, so I am vastly looking forward to going canoeing when I get there. Lord, JESUS, let me get there!!!!

Tour of St. Louis #5- Forest Park

2010-07-12T22:45:00.000-07:00

I was surprised to find out, and maybe you will be too, that St. Louis' city park is 450 ACRES LARGER than NYC's Central Park!

http://stlouis.missouri.org/citygov/parks/forestpark/

Forest Park, besides being a lovely green location in the middle of the city, is home to the St. Louis zoo, art museum, history museum, science museum, a boat house, The Muny....and so much more!!! haha... I sound like an ad. But really, it is a pretty awesome park. There are beautiful pavilions and a glass greenhouse called the Jewelbox, the Shakespeare Festival is held in this park....There are hay rides and ice skating...

Tour of St. Louis #4- The Shaw Nature Reserve

2010-07-10T15:50:00.000-07:00

When I was growing up, Shaw Nature Reserve was called "The Arboretum" and so my family still calls it that. I change between the two names...This place is beautiful any time of year. The arboretum has everything from prairies to forests, streams, cliff views, a river, fields of daffodils in the spring....

http://www.shawnature.org/

This is literally my favorite place in the world. Yes, I know I haven't visited every place in the whole world and I am sure there are more exotic places, this place holds more peaceful beauty and wonder for me than most places I have been or seen. It would take too long to explain all the reasons why I love this place so much, but I often see the various vistas in my dreams. :) After I was born and before we moved from MO the first time, my dad had a job at the arboretum as a maintenance mechanic. As part of the job, we lived on the land in a little house for a time and when we moved to a different house we continued to visit often before we moved away to South Carolina later. For the next six years while living in SC and New York, I would often get images flashing into my mind or have dreams of certain vistas that were so beautiful, but I couldn't remember where I had seen them. I thought I had made them up until we moved back and I saw the place again.

When I was younger, it was my dream to get married there, but they didn't allow larger, non-educational groups to hold functions. BUT RECENTLY, they relocated historic Missouri buildings onto the property near their educational building and might allow business or other non-educationally related groups to hold meetings or dinners... :D In other words, now there's a slight possibility of holding a wedding there!!! oooh! Now all's I need to do is find the man....

Tour of St. Louis #3- The Muny

2010-07-07T20:22:00.000-07:00

http://www.muny.org/

"Meet me at the MUNY! The Muny in For-est PARK!" Oh, I can still hear the happy TV jingle.... :) I LOVE musicals and this is the place to see them! The Muny is an outdoor musical theatre in the large city park of St. Louis. Every summer, various acting troops come to perform musicals of every kind for a week or two at a time. I have seen "Seven Brides for Seven Brothers," "Singing in the Rain," "Brigadoon," my cousin Pete's favorite, "The Music Man" and more! Usually my friends and I would go and sit in the free seats. Yes, this also has a free option! They actually built into the theatre a whole section in the back that is free to the public! The tickets are pretty reasonable still. The next closest section is like $8 then $15 etc etc. Once, my dear friend/cousin Sarah had gotten I think $45 tickets for free from her dad or something to a show called, "42nd Street". It was AMAZING! Especially because I had never been that close to the stage before! haha.

This summer they are playing, Show Boat, Cats, Sound of Music....

Grant's Farm Tour of St. Louis #2

2010-07-07T10:02:00.001-07:00

http://www.grantsfarm.com/

Description from their website:
"There are many exciting animal encounters possible at Grant's Farm, the 281-acre ancestral home of the Busch family, located just south of the city of St. Louis. The Farm is home to more than 900 animals representing more than 100 different species. Grant's Farm, operated by Anheuser-Busch, Inc., has been a St. Louis tradition for over five decades. More than 24 million guests have visited this popular family attraction during its history.

The Farm takes its name from our 18th President of the United States, Ulysses S. Grant. In the 1850s, Grant founded and farmed a portion of the 281 acres. Today, this land is home to Grant's Farm and is preserved as a living symbol of the Busch family's love for animals and Anheuser-Busch's (aka owner company of Budweiser) commitment to wildlife conservation and preservation. Admission to Grant's Farm is free to all ages. Reservations are not required."

One thing I love about St. Louis is that a lot of things are FREE, more of which I will include on this tour! :D We used to come here al the time when we lived in Crestwood (one of the subs of St. Louis). This is where they put the Budweiser clydesdales out to pasture and there is a tram that takes visitors through a safari like experience complete with zebras. At the end of the trip through the property, there is a large petting zoo with huge turtles, goats, rabbits, elephants and birds. There is also a museum type area in a barn with old carriages.

Tour of St. Louis #1- Missouri Botanical Garden

2010-07-06T00:05:00.001-07:00

In preparation for my upcoming move to St. Louis, Missouri, which I am super excited about and pray that the move falls into place, I am going to post blogs about my favorite things about St. Louis.

http://www.mobot.org/

Photo not taken by me of the Japanese garden (with a Dogwood tree in the foreground! My fav!):

Things I love/remember about the MBG:
1. My parents used to perform puppet shows here.
2. The Japanese festival is awesome.
3. When we lived nearby, I used to sit in the Chinese garden and do homework
4. The orchid show
5. the flower arrangement show
6. The local art they display in the upstairs lobby
7. new fond memory- friend Layne and I enjoying the gardens together and dripping in sweat bc of the humidity haha
8. the many times my family and I walked the grounds, playing and taking pictures sitting on sheep statues or shaking hands with the people statues

A Pilgrimage of Sorts

2010-05-30T23:12:00.000-07:00

YAAAAAAAAYYYYYY!!!!! After five years of living in Tucson and rarely leaving its expansive desert boundaries, I am going on a TRIP!!!! I so wanted to leave this summer as a "Thank God I graduated, let me celebrate" kind of trip, but at first I had Spain or South Korea in mind. Those places, alas, were too grandiose a plan for my half a sememster, substitute teaching salary, so instead, I am going on a road trip to the East Coast with my dear friend Layne and her sister Rachel (whom I have yet to meet, but I am sure is lovely).

The trip idea started out last semester because I was writing a paper about my paternal grandparents' home our family calls HOTR (Head of the River). It is a place that we visited every year since I was born and where I lived for 4th and 5th grade. The large Watt family met there for family reunions every summer and it was the one place out of my nomadic childhood/adulthood that we continuously came back to no matter where we lived at the time. Layne and I were talking of this subject one day, I reminiscing about HOTR and she in turn talking about places in Vermont she missed. The trip was born from this conversation.

To make a long story short, I opted out for a majority of the time after, thinking I would not be going because if I went on a trip, I wanted to save my money to visit cousins in South Korea. Then when it became apparent that I wouldn't be going to SK, I said no to the road trip because of finances. Last week, though, I was so desperate to go somewhere and had been increasingly desiring to join Layne on the adventure so when she suggested I get someone to live in my place for the month so I could afford to go on the trip, it was like the sky opened up, light poured down over our Time Market pizza and angels sang "Hallelujah" all around us!

I feel silly that often I forget how easy it is for God to make things happen that we think are impossible. Even this time, I saw circumstances as so insurmountable that there was no way out of them. How am I going to go anywhere? How could I find someone to take over my rent in time? etc And when I cried out to God, He reminded me of the fact that he is always there right by my side listening. Then, when I least expected it (in WAYS that I never would guess) he rushed in, like a man bursting suddenly through a concrete wall and says "TA-DA!!!!"

I think God really likes those "TA-DA" moments. He often works that way, throughout scripture and pretty much all the time in the lives of people around me. Sometimes it is infuriating because it means we have to trust Him down to the last possible second when things look so bleak we are almost ready to completely despair. Mostly, though, His method of showing up when we least expect it is what demonstrates his perfect timing and absolute power over the impossible.

It certainly makes life more adventurous.

Music?

2010-05-15T14:10:00.000-07:00

In light of my previous post, I wanted to document that these things are the results of "finding out every day" a little of my possible purpose.

1. MUSIC MUSIC MUSIC

Ever since I graduated, this is all I can think about and one of the main things that has kept me sane! My friend Layne and I started playing together and visiting more concerts, music festivals etc. I have the opportunity to join in with a quartet (think classical music). We have been practicing every week for the past month or two and play in a wedding today. When praying and asking God how I am supposed to use my creative writing degree skills, I clearly got this answer: "Write songs" And since then I have written about four. I prayed and asked GOd to help me think of melodies for the songs... I have music for one so far... interesting development

2. LIVE in Tucson

It struck me last week that this is actually a purpose in my life. Our pastor at The Village always stresses a certain passage in scripture where the people choose to live in a place, put down cultural roots, build gardens, marry their children off, have babies so that 'the land' will be inhabited and overflow with GOd's people. When I first heard that, I remember thinking, "WOw, that would be great. I want to stay." Since Tucson has so few jobs and is falling apart financially, socially and always has been spititually decrepit, at first I was feeling like it would be wiser to leave. But oddly enough, I love Tucson and I long to see it thrive and soar instead of crash and burn. I long to see God's people fill this place...and it dawned on me that maybe the reason God is asking me to stay and live here instead of move to Spain or anywhere else is that He actually wants to see Tucson thrive too...in the aforementioned "root-taking" method.

To Wrap Up:
So here I am now...before with no purpose or direction and now with two things to focus on! I am working on music, writing songs, enjoying all of the musical opportunities that arise and I look forward to seeing where it leads. I don't know yet what form it will take, but God is challenging me to trust Him with it. I also need to trust God with the purpose to stay and put down roots in Tucson. It is easy for me to stay because I am sick of moving and I love it here anyway, but sometimes I get discouraged because of the lack of employment situations. I now have to trust God that if He really wants me to stay and LIVE here, He must provide the means.

I am quite excited about the future now...

Finding Out Every Day

2010-05-02T00:20:00.000-07:00

I can't figure out how to add this song to my blog, but the title of this post is from this song.

This song has been encouraging to me in many ways at various times in my life over the past two years, but recently, as I flounder about after graduation wondering what the heck I am supposed ot do with my life, this line has helped me take one day at a time and trust that God will make things clear little by little:

"What you were made for, no one can say, but you're finding out every day"

And it is true...while no one around me is able to look at me and say, "Laelia, this is your purpose...", as I have chosen to look to God daily and trust that He has a purpose for me, every day I have discovered a little piece of the puzzle. Every day I feel a little less directionless and every day I learn something new about God, myself, life in general, that is helping me see a little more clearly.

This mindset has helped me feel less frantic too. Before I was almost at a panicked state: "I MUST KNOW RIGHT NOW what I am supposed to do or I will explode in frustration and purposelessness!"

Instead, I face each day as God intended: "This is the day that you have made, Lord. I choose to rejoice and be glad in it. Your mercies are new every morning. I look forward to what you have to illuminate to me today."

So, cheers to today!

A "Listy" Blog Post

2010-04-06T14:36:00.000-07:00

Lately, I have been overwhelmed by the "unknowns" of my life, but I feel God reminding me of two things:
1. take one step at a time, take one day at a time-even if I don't know where the heck I am going- (and this includes deal with the things he brings to mind that I need to deal with one at a time)
2. SING! (Play, write, live, love etc) I was in line at Trader Joe's and saw a beautiful card with a Chinese quote next to a bird. It said, "A bird does not sing because it has an answer. It sings because it has a song." I bought the card and will hang it in my house because I felt GOd used it to remind me to sing more, play my cello and recorder more, just plain live out of my heart and soul whether I have an "answer" from God or not about what exactly I need to be "doing" with my life!

TOday, God suggested while I was praying that I think about things I know for sure and hold onto them. Then I read my friend/cousin Sarah's blog where she mentioned she has been writing a lot of lists lately and it remined me that I make lists when I feel overwhelmed and stressed so here is a life-stress induced list:

1. God loves me
2. God is powerful and has a plan for my life
3. Nature (and life) is beautiful
4. Nature (and life) is sometimes harsh
5. When I am substitute teaching, I am generally unhappy. But I am happy when I can speak into the lives of the students (individually or as a group), motivating/inspiring them forward to look at life differently
6. I am happy listening to people in general and inspiring them to see their lives or situations differently-to see the possibilities-giving them fitting advice
7. I love beautiful things such as earrings, dresses, flowers, earrings and dresses that remind me of flowers, music, the wind chimes on my back porch, birds, artwork (my mom's, my friend Hilary's-who is unfortunately, blogless-, my friend Sue Cepin's), the fake flower wreath on my front door, the garden in front of a house I walk by on University Blvd, godly, gentlemanly men and passionate, kind, godly women, butterflies...flowers...a clean and organized house, a nicely decorated house, fruit (amazing creations), a cool spring day in TUcson....and did I mention flowers?
8. I do not like feeling purposeless. I am worried about my "not quite right" health these days.
9. I have a lot of talents and gifts that I can use for something. Not sure what yet, but I must hold onto the hope that I will happen upon it soon enough.
10. Music is amazing. I feel like life is not as chaotic when I sing, or play my cello/recorder.
11. I forget that I am worried about the direction of my life when I make music for church or with my friend Layne, or when I inspire/encourage someone.
12. I love God, my family and friends far and near, my dog Sugar and my church.
13. I also love flowers and I love that my name is a flower (see flowers above-Laelia-Cattleya hybrid) :)
14. I don't like odd numbers. So I added this line for that reason alone.

Fall Out of Love?

2010-03-27T13:51:00.000-07:00

The above is a close up of my cello, Frederick, that I took two years ago. Over the past alomost fifteen years of playing, I have had various dreams about my cello. One dream I remember that I was trying to play my cello and the strings were all made of different colors of thin ribbons. As you can imagine, this didn't help with the sound. I had that dream during a time when I wasn't playing my cello much and I missed it a lot and felt that I was losing touch with it. Last night, I had a disturbing dream that played upon some recent valid fears. First some background info:

On Wednesday, I brought my 150 year old cello to the shop because I have been having problems with the "A" string suddenly lowering so close to the fingerboard that it vibrates against it when I use the bow and makes a horrendous noise. I also suspected the sound post (located inside the cello undernerneath the bridge) had shifted. Lately, I have also noticed more cracks appearing and that the front of my cello seems rather flat instead of rounded as it should be. Noticing all of this, I kept getting a vague feeling of foreboding inside of me that Frederick's days were numbered.

As I said, I brought it to Zoran's violin shop on Wednesday. Besides the fact that Zoran is like, the ONLY luthier in town, he is also one of the best in the state or maybe even region? He has won gold medals for the cellos that he makes and he fixed my cello last year so well that I was even happier with it than I had been before I brought it to him. (Which is really saying a lot considering how much I love my cello!)

Anyway, Zoran had some bad news. He said in his slightly Croatian accented speech, "Laelia, I hate to say it, but I think it is time for you to...how do you say it? Fell...fill..out of love with your cello."

I looked at him..."You mean, it is time for me to FALL out of love with my cello? Are you serious? What do you mean exactly?"

He went on to point out all of the conflicting issues with my cello-things that combined to make small issues not so small anymore. Basically he told me that it is time to start preparing myself to part with Frederick. He doesn't know for sure how long I have before things get even worse, but Zoran knows his cellos. He put it to me this way, "Laelia, you can be in a relationship with someone with beautiful eyes, but if they have a lot of issues, you have to ask yourself if it is worth all the pain and constantly trying to fix the issues? Or you can be in a relationship with someone who has beautiful eyes AND has no issues. It is time for you to start thinking about getting a new cello."

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!! :(

I had a dream last night that my cello was crushed on accident by someone I knew and they tried to tape it up with duct tape.

Lemon Abbey

2010-03-13T13:26:00.001-08:00

This is the name of the group my friend Layne and I have formed just for fun. We came up with the name in a Irish pub one evening from words we saw on signs and bottle labels around the pub. We liked the way it sounded and the imagery it brought to mind. Since our names our often butchered, we thought it would be better to have a "band" name so that when we play at open mic nights or something, we don't have to cringe and roll our eyes when we are announced. After we agreed on the name, we discovered that the name Lemon Abbey is perfect for other reasons:

1. It has a lyrical sound to it
2. "L" and "A" are the first two letters of both of our names
3. the combination of lemon (sunny yellow, fresh, quirky) and abbey (deep, spiritual) kind of fits both of our personalities and matches the music we try to play/sing
4. It sounds folksy which also matched the music we play

We've just been having fun making music together for church and open mic nights, but we might try to play on 4th Ave and maybe sometime for weddings if we work on more music. Mostly, it has been fun getting to know one another better, seeing how we both collaborate with and encourage each other and I feel like we have grown as a result! Not only relationally and confidently (every time we play is one step closer to not getting as NERVOUS!) but I feel like we have grown musically. Every time we practice or play, we are honing our voices and instrument playing and discovering what music we really feel passionate about performing. Maybe it is just my imagination, but I feel like we have gotten to be better musicians just from the past month or two of playing together. This is encouraging because we both love music so much, and sometimes, at least for me, it feels like it is easy to stagnate in your music. (kind of like a musician's version of writer's block) I am thankful for Layne and how fun it is to play together. Yay for Lemon Abbey!

Springtime: An Ode (of sorts)

2010-02-27T14:30:00.001-08:00

Yesterday, I invited my dad over for dinner because my mom and brother are out of town. To my utter delight, he sweetly brought me a bouquet of Daffodils! I realized that they were the first bouquet I have had in my house since I moved in and I was so happy to see the bright yellow flowers, I almost had tears in my eyes. I remembered at that moment how much I adore...and miss...flowers. In Missouri, daffodils would pop out of the ground all over the place in the Spring. We have family pictures of us as children sitting surrounded by fields of daffodils. The Daffodils look nice in my red kitchen with the yellow cabinets.

My dad also gave me the giant yellow pansies that are blooming like crazy in my backyard right now. I love pansies. They are such a ubiquitous flower, but I never tire of them. I always imagine their round, cheery faces greeting me with little piping voices, "Hello! Hello! What a beautiful day!" Even if it is not, in fact, a beautiful day. I respect them highly for their strength and fortitude, because they survive in harsh circumstances. In Missouri, they often bloomed early, then would be pelted with snow or freezing rain. I always thought, surely they will not bloom again. Most of the other plants froze to death, let alone stopped blooming after such weather. I would look at the colorful blossoms weighed down and frozen under thick ice in the garden and think there was no chance such delicate blossoms would survive. But the sun would come out and up came the stems, holding the undamaged blossoms up high! And just to spite the weather, they'd push out another bloom or two! I was nervous that pansies wouldn't do well here in Tucson with the hard, bleached dirt, but to my pleasant surprise, the flowers are not true to their name! Why do we call weak people "pansies" anyway?

To celebrate the recent rain that will bring more flowers in the coming Spring, here are some of my favorite flower pictures that I took over the past year:

This is the truth

2010-01-22T13:48:00.000-08:00

My mother, Jennifer Grace Watt, painted this picture and sold it at an art auction benefitting the UofA art museum. Dad, Brendan, Mom and I walked around the art museum across from the Center for Creative Photography. We ate the catered Mexican food and admired the beautiful, the eccentric, the downright ugly artwork that hung on the walls. One piece sold for over $1,000. It was half the size of most paintings and was a wash of two different greens...that is all. Only green on canvas, something I could have done with my eyes closed, holding a ridiculously long paintbrush with my teeth and painting from across the room. How ridiculous! The art world bemuses me at times. There was one piece, a painting of a water lily flower or gardenia, painted with oils, still glistening with fresh paint that held me captivated. It almost looked alive, as if moved by the wind and shining in the sun's rays with vibrant colors and depth. I wanted to buy it, but it sold for $200 or so. Many paintings, drawings, sold for $30, $70 or $80. My mom's mixed media painting, drawn from a photo of a native american woman and altered to represent the depictions of Mary from Renaissance art was titled simply, "Madonna" and sold for $100.

Sitting at the kitchen island surrounded by colored pencils, gouache, pencils, paintbrushes, my mom had worked on the painting for hours. Bess and I even pitched in at the sketching level to make sure the upper right hand edges of the pot were symmetrical. When I look at this painting, I see my mom with the sun illuminating behind her back as she leans over the art in progress. She is content and engrossed in the motion of her own hands, the shapes and colors forming and blending before her. At that moment, I see my mom over a succession of years, when I was five, seven, twelve, fifteen, twenty, creating beauty at every stage of her life and throughout every stage of mine. A self portrait that hung in her apartment is what inspired my dad to meet her for the first time.

And it makes me sad that she has lost her dream to be a famous artist. And it makes me sad that she struggles to make time to create even a little piece of art. Does it count that she is famous to me?

New Mercies

2010-01-18T20:20:00.000-08:00

Last night I went to bed extremely tired and discouraged. The thought of facing another week having to look for jobs, with hardly any money left and just feeling bummed about things in general was weighing on me as I climbed into bed. This past weekend was so encouraging- I saw some friends, went to an amazingly beautiful wedding, went to a party, went up to Mount Lemmon Sunday morning to spend some time in nature with God and in QUIET, had a lovely, blessed time at church that evening, but for some reason, by Sunday night bedtime, I found myself hoping I would just not wake up in the morning. Part of me just wanted to keep sleeping through all of the "unknowns" in my life.

Then I remembered the verses in lamentations 3 that say, "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." I determined to put aside my dreary thoughts and believe that the verse was true so I went to sleep hoping for new "compassions" from God in the morning.

The next day, well rested and happier that it was a cloudy outside, I woke up better, but still not looking forward to the day or the week. Then my dear friend Layne called. All day, we spent time together, laughing SO hard, playing our instruments and singing together. We walked to 4th Avenue with my dog, Sugar, stopped in at the new Sky Bar (which is SUCH a lovely plave, by the way) and ate Brooklyn pizza outside on the sidewalk chairs. A darling little girl took a fancy to Sugs and petted her, talked to Sugar and us, held Sugar's leash and walked around showing her to strangers..she was so CUTE and very well spoken! It was such a joy to watch her enjoy my dog so much, to chat with her and Layne throughout lunch and to watch a man and his tiny daughter feed some crumbs to the nearby hopeful pidgeons. We cracked up at one point because the tiny girl picked up some crumbs her dad had thrown and ate them right off the ground! Five-second rule, I guess. :D

During lunch, Layne and I discussed our dreams to travel and then we hit upon an idea to possibly play at open mic nights together to get us practicing more. So we went back to my house and played together for hours! For the past few weeks, I have been praying for more opportunities to sing just because I miss it and I really wanted another reason to play my cello outside of church because I no longer attend an orchestra, so playing with Layne was glorious because it fulfilled both of those areas! (Besides the fact that it was wonderful to laugh and grow in friendship with a dear sister in the Lord.)

We were both so tickled with the results of our playing together, and I think my landlord was too. He had to work at my neighbor's triplex all day and a little in mine too and he seemed pleased to listen to us have so much fun! Just goes to show that when God blesses us and we bless each other, everyone around us is blessed. Actually, that idea sums up the whole day.

I am so thankful because God totally made these verses more real in my life through my struggle last night and the gloriousness of today:
"I remember my affliction and my wandering, the bitterness and the gall. I well remember them,and my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion; therefore I will wait for him." The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him; it is good to wait quietly for the salvation of the LORD" Lamentations 3:19-26.

Thank you, LAYNE!!!

The Small Things

2010-01-07T00:26:00.000-08:00

My Shakespeare professor was showing the class a drawing of the inside of The Swan theatre in England. He said, "This is the only existing representation of the inside of an Elizabethan theatre. It is a prized rendition, drawn by a theatre-goer named Johannes de Witt. He drew it in 1596, then sent it to his friend back in his home country. The only reason why we have a an inkling as to what the theatres of the day looked like on the inside is because of this one drawing that was found in a dusty library in another country."

Hearing this information, I was suddenly struck by an idea. Here this guy Johannes probably went on vacation to London one day, and being a doodler, decided to draw the scene in the theatre while he watched a play. Maybe he was bored, or maybe he was drawing it for the sake of his friend, Arend van Buchell, who had wanted to join him on the trip. Maybe Arend became ill or didn't have enough money for the trip, or his wife's baby was due and Johannes had to go alone to London and decided to draw pictures of the sights to send back to his friend.

Regardless of why he decided to draw the picture and send it to this friend back home, I was struck by the idea that Johannes would never have guessed that his little sketch would be so highly prized for scholars hundreds of years later! His small act, drawing a sketch of a theatre, is so important to drama scholars today! Maybe Johannes thought he would be remembered by some other act or endeavor, or maybe he felt he lived an insignificant life and would not be remembered outside of his family when he died. I wonder what he would have thought if he had known that he would be responsible for providing a valuable sketch of historical significance, and college students over four hundred years after his death would study his sketch in classrooms and learn about the artist.

I wonder what things we do every day, throughout our life that will have lasting significance. What impact will you have spiritually, historically? Will it be because you are making a difference in someone's life that will be felt for generations afterwards? Anything could come from the fruit of our lives... the smile we give the grocer, the neighbor kid's bike wheel we fix, the comment we make to jog an idea in a writer's imagination, the letter we write to a politician or a sponsor child, the song we write in a moment of struggle, or the sketch we doodle while watching a play....

A Brand Spankin' New Year

2010-01-02T12:16:00.001-08:00

Today is only the second day of 2010 and already my life feels different. Normally, the New Year has little affect on my state of mind except to make me look forward to new things and be thankful for the past year, but this year feels different already. Most likely this overwhelming sense of newness has to do with, not the changed calendar year, but the fact that I am now a college graduate, I have no job at the moment, I am healing from my fall off the horse, and I am making plans to leave the country by the middle of this coming year.

My two major goals for this year are
1. to visit my cousins in South Korea and
2. to move to SPain to teach English

Everything I am doing from now until the summer, such as getting a job and a going through a TEFL certification program, is working towards those two goals.

Besides that, these are the three "resolutions" I have for spiritual, physical and mental purposes:

1. Read my Bible every day, at least open it and read a few verses, if not a whole chapter.

Over the past two years I suddenly stopped reading it every day like I had been for 10 years and I would like to do that again because God's word is more important to my life than anything, but my habits say otherwise lately.

2. Take a walk every day or at least five "30 minutes or more" walks a week if I end up taking a dance class two days a week. Also, stretch before bed every night.

I love stretching and I was in the habit of doing it before bed from age 13-22, but for some reason I stopped being consistent with it. I was going to just say, "walk more often" but I was challenged from reading a friend's blog in which she also described wanting to walk more, but she was way more specific about how much and when she was going to do it. So, I decided I need to be more specific as well otherwise I will never do it. We might even walk together once in a while!

3. Write every day and develop habits, such as carrying a little notebook for ideas and reading more authors' work, and treat writing as a career.

My professor, Ander Monson gave this advice to me in an email: "Your job is to read and write and train yourself now that you've graduated. Is it worth your time to do so? You have to answer that question, and the way you answer it will tell you what you have within you." This was the best advice he could have ever given me, I think. I am going to print out his whole email and hang it on my wall or something because it helped me narrow down what I need to do to take writing seriously and to really soul-search and ask myself if I do have it in me to take the necessary steps. My inward answer was "yes" and "I really want to try" so that is the reason for #3.

Lord, I give you my hopes, dreams and plans for this coming year. Thank you for last year and all of the ways you astounded me along the way with your goodness. Thank you for helping me become more disciplined in certain areas last year and best of all, thank you for giving me the strength to finish my degree-May it bring glory to you-and thank you for the teachers who shared their time, knowledge and advice with me-bless them, please. For this year, 2010, Lord, I lay at your feet all of my goals and hopes and I pray that you are honored in them and that you help me develop the habits necessary to accomplish each thing-reading your word, walking, writing. And I commit to you those three resolutions and the plan to visit South Korea and live and work in Spain and I ask that you "bring them all to pass". As always, please show yourself in a new and wonderful way this year so that I may draw ever closer to you. I love you. Amen.

My brother Brendan is most certainly far from ordinary

2009-11-17T13:54:00.000-08:00

First we posed for this picture:

I saw it, and was like, "Hey! You never make a normal face." and he cracked up. Then I said, "Fine, we'll both make a face this time." He agreed,so we took it again. We both cracked up when I saw the second one:

I punched him in the arm and said, "Thanks a lot!"

Vagabond

2009-10-23T13:35:00.000-07:00

I am grieving. No, no one has died. Nothing tangibly tragic has occured to cause me to grieve, no, I am grieving the loss of a sense of place in my life. It is strange to grieve the loss of a place, and not the loss of a person or thing. In America, we seem to have grown out of a need for a sense of place. Because of the ease of travel and instant communication over long distances, families disperse like chaff in the wind as soon as they're old enough to leave the nest. There is also an emphasis on non-traditionalism, newness, the excellencies of change. We want a change of scenery, a change of situation. We are quick to separate from the past, assert ourselves over history. We are different! We will move on!

My family had moving down to a science. I am grieving the years we spent wandering the country. I bottled up my anger and hatred of moving and I stuffed it down inside. Every time we moved, I put on a strong and happy face, but inwardly, I cringed and whithered inside, waiting for the tears to fall when I was alone in my room packing boxes with my memories. I survived. I learned how to meet people quickly and adapt in ever changing, completely foreign situations. I saw new and unusual things, explored each new state and town with my family. At least I had my family. I have loving parents and siblings who are my dearest friends.

But I am grieving the loss of a sense of place. Do I feel at home in Arizona, in the desert surrounded by mountains and under a sun that feels like an interrogation lamp searing any sense of orientation from my brain? Do I feel at home in Missouri, the land green, the air thick with humidity, the rivers swollen like contented bellies with water that flows clear and blue? Do I feel at home in South Carolina or New JErsey? New York? Seattle? California? Virginia? Or any other place I have lived in or visited for any length of time?

My mom reminded me that as a Christian, our true home is in Heaven and we will never feel completely "at home" anywhere in this world. While I understand the implications of that idea, I am not willing to accept that there is nowhere in this world that I can settle in for the time being. I know many people who have found places they love and lived in the same house or town for thirty, or fifty years. The concept is ridiculously foreign to me, but I hope to experience it for my own life. At least while I am alive and on this earth, I long for a sense of place. The nomadic life is not appealing. I have tried it for twenty-five years. Now I want to find a place that feels like home, where I can live and learn, growing accustomed to the weather and the tides, the people, building memories upon memories in every square inch of a place. I still desire to travel and see the world, but I want a place in which I can look forward to returning and resting.

I had a taste of a place like this in the house my paternal grandparents lived in and where we had family reunions every summer, so I know it is possible. I have this desire to find a sense of place, so I know the nomadic tendency, although it may be inherited, is not fixed irrevocably in my blood. When I approach this subject with the Lord, He reminds me of Psalm 37:4 which says, "Delight yourself in the Lord and he shall give you the desires of your heart." Finding a place to call home is a desire of my heart.

Sigh

2009-10-12T13:25:00.000-07:00

I feel so sad right now. It is not the kind of sadness that is gut-wrenching in its intensity, nor is it one of those, "Oh man, I just got a papercut" fleeting sadnesses. This kind of sadness sneaks up on me, little by little. One circumstance or internal struggle is met and I face it, or ignore it, thinking it can be bested. Then a new one surfaces unrelated or related to the first, and I am slightly bemused by it, but I trudge on unvanquished. Unfortunately, there are only so many of those urchins that I can fend off by myself. Lately they have been coming in droves, weakening my resolve. No sooner do I fight a few hundred off, but the next come crawling up my pant leg. I am trying to pray, but one of the little sadness buggers made its way to my ear, disguised itself as an awfully convincing truth and is whispering, "You may ask God for help, but He sure ain't hearing you." I know it is a lie, but at the same time, it feels so true right now. I could really use some prayer...and/or a really strong hug.

English Lesson

2009-10-01T08:35:00.000-07:00

Some people should not be teachers. My "Structure and Meaning of Words" professor is one of those people. She is not actually a professor, she is a Russian born graduate student, named Tatyana. I like her name, I like her voice and her proper, precise speech. She is pleasant and has long blonde hair. Tatyana, who asks us to call her by her first name because she is not a professor, knows a lot about the rules of English and the root structure of various languages, but she cannot teach. My mom, who has been a teacher for about thirty years for good reason, says that a teacher's job is to excite the students about learning. The teacher's job is to present the material in a way that those who do not naturally care about the material will take an interest in learning for themselves.

The inverse of this equation would be that a bad teacher is someone that makes you hate a subject you normally find interesting. This is the case with Tatyana. I signed up for this class, mostly to avoid a worse class and because the time fit in my schedule better, but I was excited about the subject of the class. I like studying languages and specifically the roots of language, where words stemmed from other languages or situations, the meaning behind our words and how they changed over time, the changes in pronunciation. Those are things I like to study on my own when I find an interesting word or name. I was looking forward to studying such information in the "Structure and Meaning of Words" class. Instead, this is my most infuriating and mind numbingly boring class.

Tatyana stands in front of the class behind her computer, back straight, facing the class with a straight face. The Power POint slides to her right are filled with information about phonological words, listemes, and language rules. All of the definitions and even the examples and tangents are taken straight from the chapter we read before coming to class. Not only are the slides redundant, but the teacher doesn't deviate from the slides. She reads each point word for word. No one is listening. Well, the girl with the long brown hair pulled up in a ponytail is listening. She is the only one to raise her hand when the teacher asks a question. I try to listen, but mostly I am not. I write about not listening instead.

I hear, "Gabrielle's father is an axe-murderer."

That sentence brings my head up in curiosity. Tatyana says the sentence again to demonstrate the structure of the English language. It is the most interesting thing she has said so far.

I am disappointed. I am disappointed because the teacher is so uncreative. Surely she could lecture without taking the exact phrases from the chapters. Surely she could move from behind the computer. Surely I could pay attention in a class that is all about a subject I enjoy outside of school. But, no, I am not interested. I wish my mom could give her lessons in teaching. Tatyana cannot teach.

My head lifts again when I hear Tatyana read a new sentence two different ways, "'He said,'Frankly, I do not want to go to class.' or you can say, 'Frankly,' he said, I do not want to go to class.'"

I raise my eyebrow and think to myself, "You and me both, kid. You and me, both!"

Pardon my French

2009-09-01T14:28:00.000-07:00

I am beautiful, gorgeous, actually.

Well, maybe, according to the magazines in the grocerly line. If I lost fifty pounds I will be really and truly beautiful.

Maybe they're right.
So, I am beautiful if I lose fifty pounds!
And well, if only I was four or five inches taller like the models on TV.

I guess I am beautiful... if I lose fifty pounds, were four or five inches taller,
and as the ads in the salon windows say, if I was a little more tan and not so white.

I might be beautiful if I lose fifty pounds, were four or five inches taller, if I was more tan... and you know, I saw that celebrities are getting plastic sugery now!
So I guess I could be beautiful if I lose fifty pounds, were four or five inches taller, if I was more tan, and maybe if I downsized my nose, made my full lips fuller, turned my DD into EEE...

and maybe I can at least be slightly pretty if I wear contacts and have surgery to turn my big green eyes into even bigger brown or blue... and if I straighten my curly hair and grow it out longer.

You know, now that I think about it, if I could just lose fifty pounds, and if I were four or five inches taller, more tan, and if I downsized my nose, upsized my lips and chest, wore contacts to change my green eyes to brown or blue, straightened and grew out my curly hair, then and and only then would I be really and truly beautiful!

On second thought, in response to this, I will use one word I have never before used in my life:

BULLSHIT!

Like the Weather

2009-08-06T14:59:00.000-07:00

I like to think that changes are easy to handle, that they are good, that I like them. In all actuality, they scare the crap out of me. Sure I like to know new people, visit new places, have a growing family, learn new things, experience adventures, but sometimes I would rather shut myself into my little house, close my eyes and hum to myself pretending nothing unusual is happening.

Change cannot be avoided. The moment we are conceived, our lives are determined by change. We change physically in the womb and once we are born, we change physically until the day we die. Even our bodies, once we no longer inhabit them, will be effected by change and deteriorate in the ground. The Bible says that once we reach heaven we will be changed in the twinkling of an eye.

We are born with particular abilities and personalities, but even those are effected by change as we grow in maturity and intelligence. The thoughts that crossed my mind as a teenager are not of the same interest to me as an adult.

We cannot escape from change. The world around us changes each day. The sun rises and moves across the sky, the moon follows. The clouds that were in the sky yesterday are not in the same place today, nor are they the same formations or even the same clouds! The birds that sang a few hours ago change their tune as night descends. The water standing in a puddle in the morning will be kissed by the scorching afternoon sun and the puddle will be dry by evening with the former droplets now dancing in the air somewhere.

While living in Missouri, I welcomed the intense thunderstorms that would rise up and shake the earth or the sweet Spring days. I could feel in my spirit the change of seasons before they even arrived. In the Spring, my physical being quickened inside of me, warming like the ground beneath my feet, while in the fall, my spirit would nestle down in quiet waiting for the world around me to change. The feelings were as tangible as the change of weather and I appreciated them because I felt it prepared me for the change ahead.

In Tucson, it is harder to be influenced by the change in weather because it is less drastic as in other places. I don't feel connected to the physical changes around me. They just happen and I just go along, sometimes shocked at the jarring heat or lulled into a stupor from the virtually undynamic fall and winter. There are changes. The changes are only more subtle.

The weather in Missouri reminds me of one aspect of change and the weather in Tucson reminds me of another. There are times in life that changes are drastic like the oncoming of a tornadic storm. In the morning, the sky can be clear and sunny, but by the afternoon, the air is damp with heavy humidity, the sky has turned green and before you realize where it comes from, the tornado has dropped down on top of your house. Change can be like that. For once, it seems that I have a handle on things. My life goes along blissfully and I think I actually can see clear enough to know where I am going. The next moment, something completely unexpected falls down in front of me and I have to reevaluate life or head in another direction. Other times, changes mirror the weather in Tucson in that life is marked by small, incremental changes. The changes seem insignificant at the time, but once I stop and look back on where I have been since the changes began, I see that a whole year has gone by and it felt like just yesterday I looked at the world in a different way!

I don't know why life is defined by change. Maybe it is God's way of reminding us that we don't know everything, that He can handle anything that life throws at us, that he orders even the most impossible, jarring, ridiculous of situations, or maybe it is His way of demonstrating that while all life is marked by change, in contrast He is the unchanging, forever loving, consistent God. He is the only true constant! That is the most comforting to me, that despite all of the unsettling changes that occur, I can always know that God loves me the same as He did the day before. The only thing that changes is my understanding of His goodness.

Thirst No More

2009-07-30T11:17:00.000-07:00

The intense thirst surprised me the most when I first moved to Tucson. No matter how much water I drank, my throat was still dry and every fiber of my being begged for more. It is so dry in the desert that any water on my skin evaporates before I knew it was there. After some time in the desert climate, I realized that either my tolerance for thirstiness increased or my body acclimated itself to living off less water because I could go hours and hours without drinking anything.

While this tolerance is more convenient, it is also dangerous. People in Tucson constantly warn newcomers to keep drinking water even if they don't feel thirsty. Apparently it is common to forgo water so long thinking you are not thirsty, but in actuality dehydration sneaks up easily and before you realize it, your body can go into shock because it needs water so badly.

When I am under the intense, bright sun of the desert and my thirst increases, I think about these verses:

Revelation 7:13-17
Then one of the elders asked me, "These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?"
I answered, "Sir, you know."
And he said, "These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore,
"they are before the throne of God
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will spread his tent over them.
Never again will they hunger;
never again will they thirst.
The sun will not beat upon them,
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd;
he will lead them to springs of living water.
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes."

Bored metaphors and similies

2009-07-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

Blah blah blah... I am slowly going crazy, crazy going slowly am I, slowly going crazy I am, am I crazy going slowly?

My eyes are watering.
My eyes are watering like a wet frog newly emerged from under a lilypad.
A lion staring at his lock of hair is not as bored as I am.
Boredom sits in my mind like a cackling evil cricket.

Light Blue

2009-07-22T12:40:00.000-07:00

The light blue shirts are always the same shade. I wonder if they all go to Wal-Mart together to be sure to buy the same color or if they hand out color swatches in their gang meetings. Do they have to wear light blue every day? Are their wardrobes full of light blue t-shirts folded neatly in their drawers, one for every day of the week? I see the young men walking down the streets, heads down, with purpose in a sauntering sort of way. They look up surprised when I say hello and wave. So far, the faces are friendly. They smile back in little smiles and quickly drop their heads again.

My heart goes out to the boys and the young men who choose to be in gangs. I understand the allure of being in a brotherhood, a committed community, but what about the danger?

Light blue seems an odd choice for a gang.
I wonder if they ever talk about changing colors.

I wonder if they kill people often.

The Odd Day Poem

2009-07-21T13:01:00.000-07:00

Life is full of lima beans
squished in salty butter
and sometimes there is ice cream
served with peas and pepper

An Insufficient Tribute

2009-07-20T12:38:00.000-07:00

She nurtured me with her heart, soul and body. Thank you, Mom, and Happy Birthday.

The Way it Sometimes Goes

2009-07-16T11:09:00.000-07:00

In the midst of miserably contemplating the fact that my car had broken down and so many other things were going wrong, I suddenly had the biggest urge to go to the downtown library and borrow a book about interior decorating.

I Heart the Man from the Post Office

2009-07-15T11:35:00.000-07:00

I glanced at the man who walked into the post office while I was waiting in line for my package. He was tall and strong with a strong jaw and he was wearing sunglasses, but it wasn't until he took off his sunglasses that I gave him a second look. His eyes were amazing! There were dark and soft, which made him suddenly all the more handsome. We glanced at each other a few times, then I left and sat in my car to excitedly open my birthday present from my friend in South Africa. My car window was down and I was listening to music as I admired the soft towel with my name embroidered on it that my friend Brenda had sent me. The man with the nice eyes came out of the Post Office door. As he walked by my car, he looked at me and said something which I missed because of the music. I turned it down, looked at him and said, "huh?" The man smiled and said, "You is beautiful!" I felt my eyebrows raise in surprise while I smiled back and said, "Thank you very much" as he walked to his car. His use of "is" made me chuckle, but I think English was not his first language. I grinned happily to myself all the way to work. That man made my day. He made my whole week!

Two sentences/day

2009-07-13T14:23:00.000-07:00

In order to develop discipline in my writing and to follow the advice, "Write every day," I have decided to write two sentences per day. This is not much, I know, but I need to start small or I will never keep it up.

Life is (Better Than) a Fairy Tale

2009-05-24T10:26:00.000-07:00

I grew up reading fairy tales like a drowining person inhales air when they finally reach solid ground. The adventures, magic, good vs. evil, the emphaisis on quality of character and beauty in the stories thrilled my already overactive imagination and my naturally romantic heart. Unlike most girls though, I did not read the watered down Disney versions of fairy tales. I read the original, hard core Brothers Grimm or other old fashioned fairy tale stories. While I highly enjoy Disney stories too, there is a vast difference in style and sheer number of Borthers Grimm stories. They fill volumes and volumes of books. I remember taking out thick books from the school library. They looked older, more worn and drab than the books that my schoolmates were borrowing. Each volume was a different color-dark maroon, navy blue, emerald green- and all of the pages were yellowed and the spines of the book were slightly worn. The outside of the book may have been uninviting and the thickness of the books may have been daunting to most kids my age, but I reveled in the richness of the stories found inside.

Lately, I have noticed a trend of a cynical view of fairy tales in our culture. I hear so many people say, "Well, life is hard. It is not a fairy tale!" or I read articles that disparage the desire that little girls or little boys have to imagine themselves part of a fairy tale. (Old fashioned fairy tales also have more tales that have a male as the main character, but both old and new have the males as the rescuers and fighters for the good which young boys act out in play all the time) I once found a book by a Christian author called, "Keeping a Princess Heart in a Not-so-Fairy-Tale World." I was so excited to find a book that melded my obsession with Fairy Tales and my passion for the reality of God's love! I bought the book, brought it home and started reading it immediately, only to find the same cynical, dreary view of life! I was so disappointed! I didn't even finish reading the book as I felt it was wrong on so many levels. Someday I will write my own book so keep an eye out for it, but for now, this entry is an attempt to lay out my feelings on the subject of life and fairy tales.

The aspect of these articles, this aforemementioned book and the overall cynical attitude towards life that bothers me the most is that the premise is wrong! In the article above, the parents are bemoaning the "princess fever" because it teaches their children to have "diva" attitudes. To me, the issue is not fairy tales, but the WAY we tell the stories today. Today, we focus on the end resutlt-the priviledged Princess! In the old fashioned stories including Disney versions, most of the story focused on the journey to the point of the hero or heroine having their dreams realized. The women (and often men too) that were the main heroes of the tales had excellent character that was polished and sharpened during rough times. Only at the very end, in the books devoted to a few sentences and in the movies a minute or two, the marriage takes place or the evil wizard is bested. For some reason, our culture has decided to bypass the REASONS and JOURNEY to the stories' happy endings and only focus on the end result. Then we turn around and complain that fairy tales are unrealistic and don't teach our children anything substantial. The fault does not lie with the stories!

Take Cinderella for example. In both the Brothers Grimm and the Disney versions, Cinderella is disowned by her family and treated as a common slave in her own house! Her mother DIES, her father marries a new woman who treats her like trash and her father LETS IT HAPPEN! Cinderella spends her days scrubbing floors on her hands and knees and sleeping in the soot in the firelplace! So glamorous! In the end, the mean stepsisters cut of parts of their feet to fit into the shoe and then at Cinderella's wedding, birds peck out the step sisters' eyes as consequence of the their evil nature. No frills there! :D

Then there's Snow White. Her mother also dies and her father takes on a nasty wife (hmmm there's a moral here). The new step-mother is so jealous of Snow White's goodness and beauty that she sends her out into the woods with a hunter and instructs the hunter to murder Snow White, rip out her heart and bring it back! Thankfully, the hunter has compassion on Snow White and lets her go, but Snow White wanders around the forest alone until she finds a little house. This part cracks me up. In the book I mentioned by Nicole Johnson, she makes this story sound like it has no bearing on our modern daily life. Snow White goes to live with these small men who are so unkempt and roudy. In the Disney version they have names like, "Grumpy" and "Sneezy," "Dopey" and "Sleepy." She lives her life out amongst these kindhearted men, but I wonder at people who glorify this fairy tale heroine as having a priviledged life. Here she is stuck in the middle of the forest hiding from a wicked relative who wants to cut out her heart and she spends her days taking care of seven dirty men who are constantly in a bad mood, getting sick, are ignorant and lazy! (Mothers with children should find this scene familiar!) To top it off, the stepmother finally finds her and almost poisons her to death!

There are so many more examples, but these stories are the two most recognizable. When I write my book someday I will include many more examples and lots of stories that are not as familiar, but for now, these will do to quickly illustrate my point. The important thread in the fairy tales is the emphasis on quality of character. There is a CLEARLY defined division between good and evil. Even though evil seems to have the upper hand during most of the story, the hero/heroine maintains a passion for being kind and wise, compassionate and understanding and it pays off in the end. If anything, these stories show the value of having a good attitude despite your circumstances! Cinderella is a servant to her own family and Snow White takes care of snivelling, needy people, but they do it cheerfully and do their jobs WELL. Imagine how much more miserable they would have been if they faced each day grumbling and complaining about their lot! I love that Snow White's attitude rubs off on the Seven Dwarves in the Disney version. It is such a testament to the fact that when we do things with a cheerful attitude, even if our circumstances give us nothing to rejoice about, our attitude can rub off on other people and make everyone's life (including your own) seem so much better!

One point that I want to make before I wrap this up for now is the element of magic and mysetery in fairy tales. This is always the aspect of the stories that so many people have the most difficulty with and this is also why it is so important to me that these stories are not discredited as much as we do. It breaks my heart that we are so cynical that we have lost our sense of WONDER. Yes, life is difficult and at times so discouraging that we can't imagine there is anything wonderful about it, but how dismal would it be to believe that there is no hope beyond what we see in front of us at the moment! A sense of wonder is the reminder that life is filled with beauty and adventure and that there is some way that our circumstances are for a purpose! Best of all that there is a chance that around the next corner is a change for the better!

In many of the stories, there is a champion acting FOR the hero/heroine as well as the evil figure acting against them. In the Disney stories it is usually a fairy god-mother/fairy of some sort, but in the Brothers Grimm stories, there was more of an emphasis on God who came to the rescue through various means such as doves in Cinderella. If you are a Christian, this aspect of the stories should excite you even more! We may not have a fairy god-mother who pops up now and then to get us out of a tough spot, but we have something EVEN BETTER!!! We have an all-powerful, all-loving, always present God who is our champion against every foe, our help in times of trouble and in good times is there to be our loving Father. He is so powerful that he puts the fairy god-mothers to shame with the things he can do and provide. God is there to help us foster a cheerful attitude during those difficult times and there to comfort us during the painful times. He is the KING of fairy-tale endings! Not only does he promise that all things will work FOR THE GOOD of those who love him, but he promises us a glorious, adventurous eternal life surrounded by beauty in His loving presence!

This subject is an important one to me, not because I think fairy tales are the answer to life's problems or that we need to believe they apply exactly to our situations, but because I think the stories are an imaginitive way to foster a longing to an even greater truth. Not only that, but I think our increasing cynical attitude that "life is not a fairy tale," as in it is full of drudgery and no one ever comes to our rescue, is false and dreary. It also discredits the purpose of fairy tales as a genre. They were meant to spark imagination as well as TEACH children the importance of having quality character. No matter what life throws at us, having a strong, noble character is crucial to a more fulfilled life. Best of all, the fairy tales suggest that there are forces out there acting for and against us which displays the truth about good (God) vs. evil (Satan).

Like fairy tales, our lives are filled with mundane tasks, people who are bound to hurt us and push us down, situations that seem overwhelmingly impossible and evil around every corner. Like fairy tales, our lives also have the possiblity of growth of character, compassion from those around us, amazing adventures and "magic"! Like the characters in fairy tales we have the opportunity to choose our attitude and choose to whom we will align ourselves-to the good or to the evil. Like fairy tales we have Someone who is championing for our good, but unlike fairy tales, He is more powerful than anything we can imagine!

These stories emphasiized a hard, cruel life and the difference between having a good, wise character as opposed to an evil, coniving one. Intermixed was always a thread of love and mystery. I suggest that we embrace this attitude of love and mystery and restore our sense of WONDER about life and all that is brings us, because in reality, our lives are not only like the fairy tales we read in books or see in the movies, but they are BETTER than a fairy tale!

Unknown

2009-04-12T22:43:00.000-07:00

Somewhere in the world is the reason for

the clanging bells,

the laughter on the silver note

the rainbow streamers dancing in the breeze

he has worlds of adventure sailing in his eyes

aged sages and
Socrates' fellows reside in the chambers of his heart
His touch warms
like the spring sunlight
on the glistening face
of a frozen winter's lake

It is he whose familiarity sparks a fire of recognition-
as when flint hits a steel-

and the fire.

Oh the fire!

Generations will feel the warmth of the blaze

Desert Abundance

2009-04-11T14:02:00.000-07:00

Silence-

every fiber straining to hear a sound.

As a balm lifts poison from a rattlesnake wound,
the discordant city noise dissipates into the wind

Silence-

thoughts rise to the distant mountain peaks

A breeze rustles tumbleweed into a saguaro,
as a shy lizard scampers from its heated desert stone

Silence-

drawing out the song of the wilderness

A dove coos softly from a setting purple sky,
entreating all who hear the soft plea, to stretch and explore

Grand Possibilities-

The Gardener

2009-04-11T13:45:00.000-07:00

Love is the rose?
So many suppose
but it likens to something that dies.
Love is the rose
Temporary
Beauty and shine to dazzle the eyes?

Who tends the rose
with clippers and hose
giving drink and trimming stray branches?
Who tends the rose,
with patient care
in lifeless winter, never blanches?

Though leaves are bare
He feels no despair
when he sees naught but dry twigs and thorn.
Though leaves are bare
he waits for Spring.
The death of blossoms he does not mourn.

Love is the Lord,
Majesty still stored
in the heavens and trees and flowers.
Love is the Lord;
like gardener
tends, and in dark winter never cowers.

We in our love
with gardening glove
must continue to tend and protect.
We in our love
fight winter chill.
Persistence and patience will perfect.

Cest la Vie

2009-04-11T13:39:00.000-07:00

Here → • ←
I am
In the place
I was before.
Have you seen my hat?
The map is defective-

This crossroad looks familiar.

Old pictures show me laughing then.
Laughing still, but eyes hold unknown glint
Of sadness, or..."What the hell?"....time slipping
So where does the story end up? Don't tell me!
Without the search, discovery holds no SUPRISE.

Crescendo

2009-04-10T22:02:00.001-07:00

Crimson thread weaving through time,
tying thoughts,
buried in the confused past,
to the wind;

rising, dancing

in the shimmering light
exposing dragons that rear their heads in shame.

There, there it is!
There!
Thus cries the captive, weighed down by ignominy of forgetfulness.
There is the sound I listened for in the dark recesses,
that resonated freedom from this confinement.
She reaches out

Towards the tremor that woke the light of life,
Echoing the childlike hope
the adolescent struggle
the blush of femininity.
Crimson thread lifting
note
by
note
the weary body of the languished captive,

draws forth the ancient dance
and wraps
wings of sound

around

long forgotten beauty.

Segments from "A Discourse on Hands"

2009-04-07T17:32:00.000-07:00

(These are segments from a piece I wrote for my non-fiction class-We had to write about an obsession, talk it up as much as we could in a sensory manner and include research, so I tied my "obsession" with hands to the overall importance of the sense of touch. It is more than 10 pages, so I just included a few parts)

Hands are one of the most sensitive areas of the body. Not only are there over one hundred touch receptors on each fingertip which allow you to feel even the raised letters from the ink on this page, but hands are useful for wielding a hammer, playing an instrument, threading a needle, throwing a football, and hurting, helping or caressing another person....

My dad's hands are strong and stocky and very rough. He is a horticulturist, so all his life he has worked in the sun and rain. Working in the dirt, shoveling and raking and spraying has made his hands incredibly strong, with cracks and scratches and calluses on them from the manual labor. The ring finger on his left hand is only half. When I was a child, my dad was working with a saws-all and the blade slipped and cut off his finger. Not long ago, he was walking on a pile of gravel, slipped and his hands flew out to catch his fall, but that little finger got jammed on a rock and broke. My dad had to wear a splint on that poor beat up finger for a while, but even when it healed, he couldn't move it as well as before. My mom's hands are quiet and olive toned. They are gentle hands, a little bigger than mine, slightly wrinkled and always clean. Unlike my dad's perpetually dirty rock solid hands, my mom has smooth pink palms, close trimmed white fingernails and cushioned, soft, velvety skin. Her fingers move nimbly over the keys on her flute and hold a paintbrush delicately when she is working on her artwork. I remember sitting with her on the couch when I was a young teenager and I was playing with her hands, moving the malleable skin around, noticing small sun spots, admiring her silver and turquoise rings and realizing my mom's hands were as familiar to me as the look of her face.

I know the hands of everyone who is close to me: Michael, my older brother's are very white and bony, with long slender fingers and lots of black hairs on them. My sisters' hands look at lot like my mom's hands with some characteristic differences. My older sister, Erica's hands are whiter and she wears simple and modern silver rings, her fingernails are more tapered, but she keeps them cleanly cut like my mom does. My younger sister's hands are less white than Erica's, having some of the olive in her skin tone like my mom, but her fingers are slightly thicker, looking like they still have some leftover baby fat on them, though the rest of her body is slim. Brendan, my younger brother at thirteen, has enormous hands, already dwarfing my dad's and gaining in strength and meatiness, but they are white and soft. The hands of my best friends, grandparents, cousins, guys I had crushes on, fellow orchestra or band members as they played their instruments- I could relate them all in great visual detail including how they looked when moving or what jewelry they were wearing...

Humans need touch more than the American society as a whole is willing to admit. There is a quote from a movie called, “Crash” that typifies our need for touch:
“In any real city you walk, ya know, you brush past people, people bump into to you.In LA nobody touches you - we're always behind this metal and glass. I think we miss that touch so much - that we crash into each just so we can feel something.”

Americans in general have an aversion to simple forms of touch, preferring to respect others' “bubbles” and not wanting to appear overtly sexual. Ironically, some psychologists suggest that Americans' awkwardness when it comes to simple forms of non-sexual, physical affection contributes to our obsession with sex. Humans need touch to survive and to be healthy mentally and physically, but without enough of it as in the case of most Americans' lives, people resort to extreme measures and, “just to feel something,” spend every moment of the day inundated with sexual images in advertisements, insinuating sexual acts in jokes and conversation and acting them out with various and a sundry partners.
This may seem like a stretch to assume that Americans are not "touchy" enough, but I think it is evident in our resulting behaviors and attitudes and many studies come to the same conclusion....

In other countries, it is more common to make contact with people throughout any given day. People in every major country were studied based on how many times two people touched each other during the course of a short conversation; the kinds of touch included patting on the shoulder, a hug in greeting or departing, a handshake, platonic kisses, resting a hand on the arm etc. In South American countries and African countries and even many European countries except for England, the subjects made contact over one hundred times, while Americans only twice.....

The sense of touch is the only sense that we would die without. If a baby or adult loses the sense of sight, smell, hearing or tasting, adjustments to the way of life can be made and the person can function well in the world. Without the sense of touch, however, we would not be able to feel our bodies at all, so standing would be impossible, let alone sitting up or walking. We would not be able to feel the tongue in the mouth to talk, or feel our mouths at all to chew food. Without the sense of touch, humans would not be able to determine if their body is freezing, on fire or being speared with thorns....

Touch relieves stress and communicates in ways that mere words can't. It is amazing how much touch affects my state of well being more than words do. One night, I was very upset, feeling overwhelmed and lonely and my parents kept trying to assure me that I was loved and cared for. I knew this in my head, and I tried to let the information and their words ease my troubled heart, but it just wasn't sinking in, until my mom, not usually a very affectionate person, suspected what may get the message across clearer. She purposefully got up, walked around the table, and put her arms around me in a hug. Without consciously reacting, I immediately felt my entire body relax inside and my mind eased and I felt loved. Another night, after a particularly bad and stressful day, I went to the movies with a couple of friends even though I didn't think I could be very relaxed. As soon as I walked up, a girl-friend came up and greeted me with a friendly hug, and again, I felt my stress dissipate and I was so thankful and was immediately happier....

Hands are my favorite part of the body. Most people, when noticing physical attributes of a member of the opposite sex, they are attracted to a combination of the eyes, smiles or body shape, height or hair color, but I would add....hands. I love to look at men's hands and I especially like them when they are long and slender and strong, but any kind are interesting to observe...

I have discovered that the habit that annoys me beyond description, and makes me nauseous, is the biting of fingernails. I want to smack a person's hands if they sit next to me and perform this desecration to their fingers. If I sit next to them during class, I can't concentrate on the lecture as they diligently work away their fingernails to nubs. If it is a guy chewing on his fingernails I am not attracted to him in the least. I have even caught myself checking a man's fingernails before I continue in being interested in him. If his fingernails are clean cut, he's a catch! If they are ragged and chewed down to the skin, or grossly long and dirty, I run away....

If we were born without the sense of touch, our brains would not even be stimulated enough by the feel of our parents' hands, nor could a baby feel the nipple of the mother's breast or a bottle to elicit the nursing reflex, so death would be imminent... I came across an experiment that had been done decades ago, before humane restrictions were put on such things. Two babies who were not wanted by the mothers were put into two separate rooms. A nurse went in every day to feed and change each baby, but one of the babies would get lots of smiles and rubbing and touching while the other one was dealt with unemotionally and only touched to move the diaper from off the bum. That baby died within a few days. Without touch, humans will die or be severally underdeveloped when they are older. Children who grow up with little or no physical affection, have trouble making connections with other people when they are older and are mentally underdeveloped...

In an improvisational dance class, my classmates and I ran around the room acting out scenes and dancing wildly without saying a word to one another. Often, our antics would require crawling over each other and holding hands. One of the days we all played silly games on the UA mall. Red Rover required us to stand in two lines holding hands. I stood at the end of a line next to a tall guy with nice long fingered, strong hands. Since we were at the end, no one from the other line ran over to try to break though our grip, so I stood there innocently holding hands for at least twenty minutes straight with this guy I hardly knew, and it was wonderful. I wasn't attracted to the guy, but it was so calming and comfortable to be holding hands with him, his warm, dry, strong hand holding mine. It was the only time in my life I had held hands with a guy and it was for a game! If anything, it made me look forward to when I can hold hands with a man I know and love....

A lot can be determined by the look of hands. You can guess what type of work a person does by paying attention to calluses, ink stains, cuts, creases in their hands. A string musician will have calluses on only certain fingers of the left hand, a business person or teacher may have smooth, clean hands or a horticulturist hands, like my dad's may be permanently lined with dirt and a mechanic's with grease. Character is shown a lot through the hands. A very emphatic, decisive person may move their hands in bulky more aggressive movements or a quiet person who doesn't want much attention paid to them may hardly move their hands at all or very slightly when talking. A flamboyant or passionate person may wave their arms around dramatically emphasizing their points with the fingers or a relaxed, down to earth person may move their hands languidly and emphasize only certain phrases with stronger movements. Much can be determined by a person's habits from their hands as well. Cigarette stains are obvious. If the fingernails are long, brittle and dirty, or the nails are shorter, cut simply or with fingernail polish or fake nails or if the nails are chewed down to the nub, various assumptions about that person's habits can be made....

I love the feel of hands, whether holding fellow female friends' hands when we are praying for one another or holding a child's hands when we are walking in a crowded place or the feel of man's hands surrounding my own smaller one, or my grandma's warm soft, hands or my dad's rough, solid ones. I love it all, unless, of course, their hands are slimy, or their fingernails are chewed off....

I love that hands can be used as a connection between people in conversation or to tap someone on the shoulder to get their attention, or to show care and concern by laying the hand on an arm. The sense of touch is one of the most important ways we experience our environment and are stimulated emotionally, physically and mentally, forming stronger bonds between loved ones, friends and strangers. The sense of touch permeates our entire existence and without it, we would not be able to function in the world properly. The sense of touch is necessary for relieving stress, building strong emotional connections to the world around us and we would die without it. Run in a meadow and feel the spongy earth beneath your feet; lie in a soft bed and feel the weight of your body pressing down on the mattress; let the water from a stream or faucet run between your fingers or feel droplets trickle slowly down your body; stand in the sun and feel the warmth of the rays and let the breath of the wind caress your face. Instead of holding back out of fear or awkwardness, rest your hand on a shoulder in reassurance, brush your fingers against a stranger's arm to catch their attention instead of calling out to them. Hug a friend and feel the tightening muscle around you and warm skin press against yours, feel their heartbeat or the rising and falling of the ribcage as they breathe. Hold hands with someone you love- or a stranger- and be glad for the gift of touch.

Don't Rush

2009-03-27T12:53:00.000-07:00

click...click...click

The librarian scrolled down the page with excruciating slowness. I was standing at the desk waiting for her to find a copy of "Frankenstein" that I knew the Mission Branch had. I had found the book while at work and put a reserve on the copy so that they would have it ready by the time I got to the library, but there had been some mix up and instead of the library reserving the copy from that branch, they had ordered it from another branch. Since the book would not be there for another few days with that odd route, I was trying to find the copy I knew they had in hand.

"Well, here is an illustrated comic book-like version of Frankenstein," the librarian suggested helpfully.

"No, that is not the one I need," I said, "I need the classic version by Mary Shelley."

click...click.click....click.........click

"Here's 'Frankenstein Lives' by Bruce Richardsen."

"Nope, that's not it," I countered, wondering if she had even heard what I just said.
She clicked on that book anyway to show me that it was not in fact at the Mission Branch library. Good to know.

She went back to the previous page. "Here's the cliff notes version."

"No, I don't need that."

click...click "Here's two movies about Frankenstein, but you don't need that."

"Nope," I replied trying to sound happy. "I know you have a copy. I just saw it on the catalogue computer over there." I pointed at the desk a few feet away. "I put a reserve on it earlier today. It had a picture of an old town on the front."

"Okay, well, let's see." The librarian went back to the search results again, this time allowing me to see the screen more fully. It was the same screen she was on before and instead of sliding down to the book she had last looked at, she started at the top of the page again. "Here's an illustrated version of Frankenstein!"

click....click..."We have one by Bruce Richardson, but it doesn't have a picture of a town one the front"

"And it isn't by Mary Shelley," I thought, exasperated.

...clickkkk......clicckkkk....."Here's two movies."

AHHH!!!

The lady was sweet, older, and with a slight accent. She looked at me hopefully, like maybe this would be the moment my face would light up with glee because she found exactly what I needed. Inwardly I moaned.

I shouldn't have needed to be in the library for this book in the first place. I had a copy that I bought at the beginning of the semester because it was on our class booklist, but when I went to look for it this week, it was nowhere to be found. I looked everywhere, but since I had to read the first sixty pages by Friday, I decided to borrow it from the library until I found my copy. It was now Thursday afternoon.

Reminding myself that this lady was not the reason for my initial frustration, I managed to calmly state, "Can I show you which book I found on the other computer?"

"Well, this computer and that one are the same." She told me. I knew that of course. The difference would be that I would be the one searching for the book!

Instead of saying that, I replied nonchalantly, "Yes, but I remember the exact words I typed in and what the cover looked like."

She agreed that I should go over to the catalogue computer and when I found it, she wanted me to raise my hand and she'd come over. I went straight to the computer, typed in the title, scrolled down the page and found the book. It took all of five seconds. I raised my hand.

Normally, I would find the books myself. I know how to use the call numbers and where they are located in that particular library, but this copy was only listed as "Teen paperback." I had no idea where that section was and there were no signs that indicated where to find the Teen Paperbacks. When the lady finally noticed my raised hand, she stopped in her tracks and jumped towards me, like, "Oh! Her hand is raised. That was fast." and she hurried over to me. I showed her the page. She went to the standing swirly racks that were right behind me and started seaching there.
"This is the Teen Paperbacks and classics section. It should be here somewhere."
She and I searched the "S" for "Shelley" section over and over, but couldn't find it. I offered to look online again to make sure I had read the location correctly, but she suggested that I go over to the far wall and look there.

"Sometimes these books get put over there too," she replied as I walked away towards the wall of teen books. I wondered why the classics where in the teen section in the first place. They should be in a section of their own. Teenagers are not the only ones that read classic books.

I perused the authors' last names quickly, "H"..., "J"..., "L". Not there yet.
"M"
"P"
Ah, finally! The "S" authors. I looked at each book, down each shelf until, just as the librarian came over to help me there, I spotted the tiny paperback book wedged between two thick hardcovers on the bottom shelf.

"Yes! Here it is!" I exclaimed, relieved. So much work for such a small book.

"Oh, good! Let's go check it out. I'll cancel your reserve for that other copy and you can take the Quilling books that came in for you too."

"Sounds good to me," I said, smiling at her. "Thank you SO much for your help. I really appreciate it." I meant it, but was relieved to have found the book so I could go home and start reading it. Finally.

Mercy Responds

2009-03-03T16:58:00.000-08:00

Lay your heavy head upon my breast,
soft like the clouds
rising and falling with the wind.
Wrapped in gentle arms, let me hold
your sighing,
sad,
shuddering body
wracked by
unshed tears
and long-held lies
that pain with surfacing newness.
Hear my heartbeat,
rhythmic and slow,
beating for you.
A lullaby lulling
your
restless
heart.

These years of silent stoicism-
receding sorrow of salty tears like waves of the ocean
before a tsunami.
Feel our hot tears
mixing,
gathering on your hair and cheeks,
rushing
unrelenting while purging the wasteland.

Weep not, nor mourn your burden alone
in the dark, cold, world
devoid of sympathy for the weary.
Come.
Weep, wail, cry, mourn, sorrow in my ear
as my hands, caressing your features tenderly,
soothe your sobs to whimpers;
and then you rise.

Hide My Head in a Waterfall

2009-02-20T22:52:00.001-08:00

"Make sure to read to page 761 by Monday and write a commentary about the author's method of oraganizing the table of contents page..." My teacher's voice droned on and I stopped listening. Read to page 761? The syllabus says we're only supposed to be on page 435 this week, but now he says read to page 761 and knowing that I am only on page 371,my mind goes numb as I contemplate the endless barage of words that I have to cram into my head by Monday. On average, it takes me about an hour to read 35 pages. With that in mind and barring any distractions, like my mom knocking on my door to remind me to do the dishes or my eyes drooping or the chance that I remember a more pressing paper that needs to be written, I should finish the book in about twelve hours. If there's an average of 350 words per page and I have 390 pages to read before I am caught up, that is a total of approximately 136,500 words.

Words, words, words.

The Non-fiction teacher says excitedly, "By next Tuesday, I want you to read your four classmates' workshop pieces, then comment in at least 200 words, giving them suggestions. Then I want you to read the "Chores" piece and write your own essay in about 1000 words about a task." The total number of words in the workshop pieces is about 140,000 words, plus the 200 word comments I will make for each of them, plus the published nonfiction piece and the piece I have to write= 144,200 words by Tuesday.

More and more words. Then my poetry teacher assigns a chapter to read and an assignment to write. We listen to a recording of a famous poet reciting poetry, the words filling my weary head until I no longer even hear their meaning. The sweet literary analysis teacher assigns a chapter to read and fills the classtime with hundreds of words, extrapolating meaning from poem after poem after poem after

words, words, words...

Hours of sitting in class, hearing the professors expound upon deep meanings, themes, subtleties, nuances of the words found on the pages of classic literature. Every spare moment- while eating lunch, waiting for the CatTran, waiting for class to start, sitting in my dark bedroom for hours spent reading, reading, reading...

I sit down to write a Non-fiction creative writing piece for class. This is a genre that requires the author's voice and thoughts and character to show through the words on the page, but I stare blankly, numbly at the blinking curser. The depressed words of DosPassos fill my mind. I clear them out. Where is MY voice? Trying again, the satirical voice of Johnathan Swift, the pseudo-humble words of de Crevecoeur's "American Farmer", the poetic voice of Alexander Pope, my proffessors' voices all build, build, BUILD, blocking out any words of my own that are lost somewhere in the din.

Words, endless words. I love words, but lately I hate them. Even in my sleep I am writing words that are not my own. I dreamed I was writing a story about a man who murdered someone and was living a dark, hopeless life. In my dream, I read the story out loud to my little brother, the description of the detailed murder filling me with horror even as I read it. Dream me was shocked to hear what I had written. Where were these words coming from? They are not my own, I thought to myself, and yet I kept on reading, adopting them as my own, resigning dream self to the reality that these had to be my words. When I woke, I was unsettled and decided I should not read DosPassos before going to bed.

Too many other people's words in my head; I can't hear my own.

I long for silence. Sitting in my favorite spot on Mt. Lemmon on Sunday, I let the ripple, gurgle, of the creak water fill my ears. No words! Silence and gentle trickling lulled my mind, gave it rest. If there had been a waterfall nearby, I would stand underneath and let the roaring, crashing water fill my ears with deafening noise to pound out the millions of words, words, words. If I could lean into a warm chest and be surrounded with quiet, strong arms and hear nothing and feel nothing but the rise and fall of breath, the beating of life gently pulsing underneath, then the tiresome words would disappear. If I could wrap my arms around the muscled, quivering neck of a gentle horse and breathe in the sweet hay-horsey scent or feel the rolling motion of a flying stride underneath me, I could leave behind the weight of millions of words. The silence and warmth of life, with the promise that it won't be scared away again by the torrent of stranger words, would coax my own voice to timidly return.

Mine for a Moment

2009-02-02T21:30:00.000-08:00

There you were, your sweet self passing by, first slowly,
happily.
Mom and I watched you walk on the park's yellowed grass;
a small boy, out on your own, headed who knows where.
We wondered
to whom you belonged, and looked around for fam'ly
We hoped someone took note of your determined stroll.
At a run
you started towards the passing cars. Realizing
that you were alone and headed straight for danger,
we ran too
calling sweetly, then running, faster, to catch up
and grab you gently just before your little foot
stepped onto
the road and an SUV passed by our noses.
Still no one came to claim you as their own. A sweet,
sweet, brown boy
with deep brown eyes and barely taller than my knee.
Unafraid,
you followed these white stranger ladies speaking soft
asking where your mommy was; you answering back
gibberish.
Too young. Content to walk with us under shaded
green trees, content to be with these stranger ladies,
following
us over the hill. Bright white fluttering fair tents
and blue, green, purple, shirted milling populace.
My mom said
"See if he'll hold your hand, we're coming up to a crowd."
I hoped you would not rebuff my proffered hand, but,
you reached up
and took it gladly. Your tiny brown hand in my
very white one felt warm and darling. I loved you
that moment.
I was proud to walk through the crowd, possessively,
holding you as if you were mine, my own little
baby boy
bumbling along. Too soon, we met a policeman,
brown like you, but big and broad. He looked on, amused,
I thought then
at seeing us walk up to him with you in tow.
Listening to the story of our fateful find,
he noted
your red chapped cheeks and hoped you weren't neglected.
He recorded our names while I stood there with you.
Mom offered
to adopt you if no one came. I was dreaming;
Maybe you would grow up to be strong, big and kind
like this man.
We walked through the noisy crowd, mom and policeman,
me and sweet you, your hand still warmly held in mine.
Still chatting
gibberish as we noted the tents and displays.
I secretly hoped no one would come so we could
take you home
and you could be mine. For a moment I hoped, but
a lady leisurely walked up and said, only
slightly shocked,
that this was her boy. Her son's boy to be exact.
My heart dropped. Your face did not change at seeing this
intruder.
The Policeman questioned the irate grandmother,
noting, like my mom had, that only one minute
earlier
they saw her casually looking at displays
obviously unconcerned; or just unaware.
She said her
son was supposed to watch “his boy” at the playground.
Though still doubtful, the policeman nodded to me;
I let go
of your small hand. Before the grandmother laid claim,
I gave you a sad smile and watched as you gladly
took the hand
of the big, broad, policeman. You wobbled away
with him and with the lady who claimed to know you.
My heart ached.
Now a mere bystander, my hand still warm with the
pressure of your hand. I watched you disappear and
wished you were
mine forever and not just mine for a moment.

Butterflies

2009-01-28T16:38:00.000-08:00

Silent souls in silvery, shimmery gossamer
glide gleefully through the garden;
lifting loftily, laughingly in faltering flaps
as they flit from flow'r to flow'r.

In iridescent irises, rambling roses
tube tongue uncurls tentatively
sipping sweet, syrupy nectar voraciously
to nourish the fragile frame.

Princely purples, wedding white, vibrant orange;
Clownish colors catch the morning light
adding artistic articulation of movement
to the delicate dancers.

Impermanent

2009-01-19T20:44:00.000-08:00

Impermanent
The sun came up today.
The sun came up today behind the Catalinas.
The sun came up today behind the Catalinas, shyly peaking over the ridge and bursting forth
in all it's morning glory.

The sun stayed up all day.
The sun stayed up all day in the wide bright blue, called sky.
The sun stayed up all day in the wide bright blue, called sky, slowly gliding along illuminating thoughts of busily living world.

The sun went down tonight.
The sun went down tonight behind the Tucson mountains.
The sun went down tonight behind the Tucson mountains, gently falling, sending last rays of hopefulness
beaming over the ridges.

The darkness fell this day like darkness falls on days that the sun goes down.
Tomorrow the light will brighten up the day like all days upon which the sun rises.

I woke today.
I woke today and forgot to praise my God.
I woke today and forgot to praise my God for the light shining steadily and the
newly minted day.

I lived today.
I lived today moments idly passing by.
I lived today, moments idly passing by, blissful, with the radiant sun beaming,
shifting overhead.

I slept tonight.
I slept tonight with peaceful slumbering thoughts.
I slept tonight with peaceful, slumbering thoughts, thankful for the day lived and still hopeful
for the sun's return.

The darkness fell this day like darkness falls on days that the sun goes down.
Tomorrow the light will brighten up the day like all days upon which the sun rises.

The sun will rise
The sun will fall
Whether I rise
or whether I fall,
Praise be to God.

Brendan's Great Find

2008-12-24T21:18:00.000-08:00

My little brother is excellent at finding things. I remember when he was barely three years old and I had lost my hair bow. Looking everywhere and finding nothing but more frustration, I had turned to Brendan out of desperation and said, "I don't suppose you know where my bow is?" To my surprise, he understood me and cheerily replied, "Over dere". Pointing and walking over to a spot I had passed more than once, he picked up my bow and held it in the air. I was dumbfounded. Over the years, the scenario has played out multiple times. My almost daily question, "Has anyone seen my...?" is heard so often, my family is surprised I haven't lost my own brain yet. Still, my brother has proven himself an excellent finder. I often think that when God decided to give me a little brother, He must have said, "Hmmm, Laelia loses things frequently, I should make her new brother good at finding things". And so, Brendan was born. Now that he is almost thirteen, he has figured out how to use my scatterbrainedness to his advantage so when I ask him to help me find lost items, the first thing he asks is, "How much will you pay me?" Darn.

Lately, I have had reason to admire his amazing finding ability even more. A few days before Christmas, Brendan and I were sitting on the couch together, watching an old episode of Captain Planet on my laptop. He was slightly fascinated by the cartoon that I grew up watching, but was absentmindedly stuffing his hands between the couch cusions. Suddenly, he pulled out a red bracelet and dangled it in front of my face.

"Hey! Where did you find that?" I asked, shocked and happy to see the bracelet Brendan had made especially for me. It disappeared a few months ago and I was too embarrassed to tell him I lost the gift he had worked so hard on making.

"I was just reaching my hand down between the cushions and here it is." He grinned mischievously and added, "I was looking for money."

We both laughed and I told him, "Thanks. I've been looking for that for months."
Brendan shook his head and said in a mock-disgusted voice, "Thanks, Laelia, losing the bracelet I made just for you...How could you? I see, you just didn't like it." I protested that of course I loved it, but he ribbed me about it more until we were both laughing again.
Still impressed at the ease with which he found my bracelet, I remarked, "You have always been so good at finding things. I don't know how you do it."
"Maybe I should hire myself out to people," Brendan said joking. He motioned with his hands to add emphasis to his claim, "I can find anything! Can't find your jewelry? I will find it! Can't find your grandma? I will find her!"

I laughed so hard. "Your grandma!?"

He was on a roll by this time and said dramatically, "I am now going to find the meaning and purpose to life!" He reached his hand down between the couch cushions and started searching around with a big grin on his face.
Laughing even harder, I said, "Now THAT would be amazing! People spend their whole lives looking for the meaning and purpose of life. Most people never find it." Brendan pulled out a folded yellow post-it note and started to unfold it. Raising my eyebrows in doubtfulness, "If you found the answer in the couch written on a post-it note, I would be really amazed." I said, still chuckling at his antics.

Brendan looked at the paper and read out loud, "The Pursuit of God".

I stopped laughing.

"You're kidding me. It doesn't say that." I said and leaned closer to read it for myself.

There it was, the words, "The Pursuit of God" written in my own hand writing. I had written down a friend's book recommendation a month earlier and the papr must have fallen out of my pocket while I was sitting on the couch. And the paper with the book title was found, by my little brother, just as he said the words, "Now I am going to find the meaning and purpose to life!"

When it finally hit me, I laughed. I laughed so hard my face started to hurt. I laughed so long, Brendan looked at me in shocked amusement and commented that he had never seen me laugh so hard. I laughed so hard I had to run to the bathroom because my bladder was about to give out on me. And I kept on laughing.

The meaning and purpose of life is found in the pursuit of God? It was true!

Of course! Of course my brother would find the answer to the meaning and purpose of life written on a crumpled yellow post-it note and stuffed between the couch cushions.

"Aha" Moment

2008-12-15T20:37:00.000-08:00

I was seven or eight years old when I realized that I was alive. Completely unaware of any looming revelation, I was sitting in the backseat of my family's long, blue station wagon that we nicknamed, “The Boat” because of its immense size. My parents joked that driving that huge station wagon was like maneuvering a cruise ship. With the ceiling fabric sagging like the skin of an elderly woman and the very cushioned blue seats, the inside of “The Boat” was reminiscent of my grandmother's lap, cozy, safe and warm. Sitting in the car and looking out the window was where I often did my best thinking.
Waiting in the backseat of the silent car for my mom to come out of the house so we could go run some errands, I contentedly idled away my time by daydreaming. My mind was in deep thought as I contemplated the strange pine trees in our yard. The trunks were the longest and skinniest I had ever seen on a tree in my eight years of experience, and way at the top, beyond the reach of three ladders, there was an odd puff of greenery. There was not a branch or nub to be seen for dozens of feet up the trunk until the lame profusion of pine needles on sparse branches jutted out desperately. Those pine trees always puzzled me. I thought them ridiculously ugly even years after we moved from South Carolina.
At the same time, I watched a squirrel skitter around in our yard then climb part way up the trunk of the pine tree. I had always wondered whether the squirrels ever attempted the nosebleed climb. It seemed a pointless and dangerous endeavor in my mind. It was probably extremely windy at the top, and with hardly any foliage to hang onto, the squirrel would likely be blown off to plunge the hundred feet to the ground. I would have suggested to the squirrel to try a different tree, but he didn't seem to like the idea of climbing much further either, turned, and scampered back down. I had my answer.
In the midst of my musings, I suddenly became aware of myself sitting there in the car, looking out the window, thinking these thoughts. It was almost as if I stepped out of my body and saw myself from outside of the car, like watching my life play out before me on a movie screen when I hadn't even realized I was being filmed. It was an odd feeling. I lingered on this sensation for a while and started thinking about the fact that I was alive. It had never dawned on me! I was alive like the tree and the squirrel, and like the tree and the squirrel, one day my life would end. I was living a unique life and someday I would die. This thought wandered through my mind for a while, and I focused intensely on it, not wanting to forget this new idea. The moment passed when my mom came to the car and started it.
The reality of life and death is a strange concept. More often than not, people walk through their day never once contemplating the brevity of life. It is relegated to the background as an unwelcome, but necessary guest; like a difficult uncle, who must be invited to your wedding since he is part of the family, but is conveniently ignored during all the merriment. His presence is unnerving, but you can't avoid greeting him at some point. So death stands in the shadows waiting to be acknowledged.

(This is a piece I wrote for class this semester. It may someday be a part of a series of similar moments, but so far I just have this one and another I will post later)

A Surprise

2008-11-07T21:25:00.000-08:00

On my way to Virginia, I had a brief layover in Dallas. While waiting outside gate A24 for my second plane to Norfolk, I noticed a very tall black man, in his twenties maybe, leaning quietly against the wall across from the gate door. I noticed him because he was quite impressive looking, his massive frame alone made him stand out, but he was also very handsome and had a calm demeanor about him. The man was wearing dressy hip hop clothes and maybe an earring in one of his ears. I couldn't help glancing at him multiple times while we waited to board the plane.

When we boarded, I sat down and briefly saw the man take a seat and then, rise a moment later, apologize politely to someone and then move to another seat. He must have accidentally taken someone else's seat. That was the last I noticed of him until we landed in Norfolk. I called my cousin Peter as I walked out of the plane to ask where I should meet him. Since I had no clue as to where I was going, I just followed the crowd form my plane hoping they were going where I needed to meet my cousin. Just when I was becoming a little nervous that I was going in the wrong direction, the man I had noticed earlier showed up, walking near me. It seemed the perfect moment to ask for directions before I went too much further. I turned my face, craning my neck to look his face, since he towered over me, smiled and said, "Excuse me, have you been here before?"

He looked down at me with a friendly countenance, "Do you mean at this airport? Yes. What do you need?"

"Well, I am supposed to meet my cousin at the passenger pick up area, but I don't know where it is. Am I heading in the right direction?"

He smiled at me and answered, "Yes. Just keep going straight down this hallway, and it is on the floor below us."

"Oh, thank you." I said. "I just wanted to make sure so I wouldn't be wandering endlessly around."

He gave a little laugh. We kept walking for a few paces. After a brief interlude with a stranger it is an unspoken custom to subtly increase the distance between you by walking faster or slowing your pace so you are no longer walking side by side. This is to avoid awkward conversation or worse, the awkwardness of walking so closely in silence. As we walked along for a few seconds, I realized we were still keeping the same pace, so, noticing the wet streets outside, I said, "Oooh! It's raining!

"Do you love the rain?" he asked.

"Yes! But it doesn't rain much in Tucson, where I'm from."

The guy smiled again. "I don't like the rain much. I play football."

Having seen guys slipping and sliding around the field during football games, I answered knowingly, "Oh yeah, that would make it more difficult. Well, you should come to Tucson. You could play football, like, every DAY there."

He laughed again but said, "Well, I like it where I am in Texas right now."

I nodded and we were quiet as we just stepped onto the escalator. Since we had been talking about it, I was suddenly curious about something, so turning back to him as the escalator brought us down, "So, do you play football for school or something?"
Another slight smile played across his lips as he said, "No, I play for the Cowboys."

Now I am not a sports person in the least, but I did know that the Cowboys were a professional football team. Embarrassed and laughing at my own ignorance, I turned away to regain my composure. It helped that I heard him chuckle as well, so I turned back to him and said admiringly, "Wow! That's impressive!"

He seemed glad I had said so, but by that time we were at the bottom of the escalator and it was time to part so I thanked him for his help, he said, "You're welcome" and we both said goodbye and went in different directions. When my cousin, who had taught me the rules of football when we were younger, picked me up, I told him the story. He was excited and amazed (and I think a little envious), but I hadn't asked the man's name so we determined to look through all of the Cowboys team member photos to find out. There are sixty players. Forty or more of them are black, so that narrows the choices down a bit. I will let you know when I find out. In the mean time, I am very excited about my little run-in with a sweet, professional football player.

Night-time Thoughts

2008-11-03T21:47:00.000-08:00

It is 10:47pm on a Monday night. I am exhausted, have had an incredibly odd, wonderful and eventful day and despite all that, the usual urge to write has hit me at this highly inconvenient hour. This is in no way going to be an interesting post, as it is not a story and quite self-focused, but I had to document this moment, nonetheless.

My parents tease me about the fact that I am not very productive in the morning. I've had friends in college who would go to sleep early so they could wake up early and finish their looming project or homework assignment. I never understood that method. First of all, I barely think clearly enough to stumble to the bathroom when I wake up, let alone write a paper or do math problems. Besides that, it appears to me that going to sleep with the prospect of waking up early to do homework is akin to self-torture. If it were me, I would have trouble falling asleep knowing I have this "thing" waiting for me when I wake up, at an earlier time than normal no less. Most likely, even if I could fall asleep, my dreams would be haunted by that lingering project. I would have nightmares all night of going to class without the assignment finished. Even if I realized it was only a dream, the reality that I still had the project waiting for me in the morning would be just as distressing. Either that, or I would be so worried about sleeping through my alarm and therefore not having time to work on the assignment, that I would wake up multiple times at night sure that I heard the alarm go off!

All that to say, I like my sleep and I am a night owl. It is when the world is quiet and dark, when the day is ending, that my mind is most active. So, here I am, writing this pointless piece about how I am inspired to write when I "should" be sleeping.
Sometimes I wonder if I got into the habit because I am a part of a large, noisy family who tend to greet the day ealier than I care to experience it. My dad has always woken around four or five in the morning, pittering about the kitchen cooking his strange breakfast concoctions, making coffee, reading. He is usually at work for two or three hours before I even wake up. My mom is one of those unusual people who can "just wake up" before dawn, and, who sometimes greets sleeping individuals a little too loudly and cheerfully at 7am, insisting that it is late, and "The day is almost over!" This is also the person who fizzles out and is sleeping peacefully by 9pm.

This is not to give the impression that I can't and won't wake up early. Over the summer, I worked at the UA farm doing heavy, manual labor by 6am. I can admit the merits of seeing the sunrise and hearing the chorus of chirping, morning birdies. I still prefer my natural habits.

The fact that I come from a big family, may contibute to my love for the later hours. Our house is always filled with at least four or five people chattering, the occasional arguments, music, laughter, little brother and his friends playing, phone conversations, dog barking, the drone of the television at night, the... Well, you get the idea. At night, though, after around 9:30, the house is so quiet! This is when I am most productive. I once reorganized my family's entire back room, huge, heavy furniture and all, by myself until 4am. (That late hour is very rare, though. I normally lose all cognitive powers by midnight at best.) I clean my room at night before bed. I read, do homework, write stories, do the dishes, pray, read my Bible, catch up on emails, write in my journal (apparently post on my blog) between the hours of 8:30 and 11:30 at night. Even though my eyelids are drooping at this moment and my pillow is calling my name, the urge to create, be productive, enjoy the silence and solitude for a little longer is overwhelmingly strong!

Now it is 11:46. My mind is dimming and my body is begging me to give it rest, or else! It is time for bed.

Disheartened Fraternity Boys

2008-10-09T17:54:00.000-07:00

Following my Intro to Horse Science class, I always walk to the university Cat Tran stop across from the Harvell building. After going to that same stop two days out of the week at least fifty times this semester at around the same time of day, one begins to notice things. The older and very tall man from India is there often, standing quietly looking down the street in the direction of the Teal tran's route. The row of motorcycles behind the lava rock wall always hold my interest for a few minutes at least. I like the orange one with white blazes on it and I always wonder what the person is like who rides the black motorcycle. Its kickstand is always propped up by a smooth, black rock and the seat is patched with gobs of black duct tape.

As I walked up to the stop, I noticed two guys waiting there. There was nothing unusual about these guys in particular except that I knew immediately they were fraternity boys. The fact that I could tell right away, puzzled me. I hadn't seen these two before and there was nothing marked about their appearance that tipped me off. I just knew. It was also strange to see them waiting at that stop. Usually when I catch the tran at that time, there are very few people at that stop and we continue down the road to pick up people from the Education building. There, at least fifteen people get on, mostly frat boys from the fraternity near the University Medical Center building. They pile on and drape their arms and legs all over the seats, filling the air with their odd and sometimes awkward conversation. Some days they talk about the hot Russian teacher or how they “own” their girlfriends, whatever that means. Most days they talk about sports, their speech riddled with “like”, “yeah, man”, “dude” and an array of unpleasant four letter words that would make a sailor cringe. They are harmless and otherwise sort of pleasant, and, although the cat tran drivers have told me some stories of those particular frat boys' rude behavior, I always see them pleasantly thank the drivers as they descend at their stop.

So, it was odd that these two fraternity boys were standing at a stop far from their usual place and it was odd that I recognized them as guys from that fraternity in the first place. They must have some sort of “frat boys from near the UMC” demeanor. I stood next to them in the shade, listening to their conversation. I had nothing else to do. My Creative Writing teacher had given us the assignment to listen for metaphors in everyday conversation, so I listened for that reason too, not really expecting anything spectacular. The tallest guy was saying something about a test.
“Yeah, dude. That test was hard.”
“Oh, F-in s***, man, I know what you mean,” responded the other guy.

This was not sounding promising. The conversation continued as the taller guy commented on how the teacher grades. Suddenly, tall guy said,
“The way the teacher grades is kind of F***-in unfair. I always have trouble with his tests and then knowing he is a hard grader is just disheartening.”

Whoa! I stopped listening. “Disheartening?” Did I really just hear the word, “disheartening” come from this guys' mouth? What a beautiful word! I marveled at his use of it. It sounded vulnerable. He wasn't just covering his annoyance with the usual steal-coated cuss words. I marveled at the fact that this is probably the best and longest word I have heard any of them speak. The sound of his voice saying the word echoed in my head a few times as if to convince me that it really had been spoken. It wasn't a metaphor, but the conversation was worth listening to if only to hear him use that one interesting word. I wondered if he secretly liked to use soft, literary, interesting vocabulary, but chose to hide his passion with jagged, angry words.

My reverie was soon broken. As if to make up for his moment of “weakness” in using such a telling word, he hammered down another hard F-bomb in the next sentence and continued with a tirade of unsavory descriptions of his attitude towards those #@***!!!?**@ tests.

Ah, well a moment like that can't last forever.

Stories

2008-10-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

There is a woman in my church who is fighting breast cancer. I have known Elsa and her sweet family for over two years now. Recently, Elsa requested that I help her write her story. When she explained her desire to write children's stories that would be used as resources to teach the complexities of cancer to children with parents struggling with cancer, my skin was covered in goosebumps and my soul pressed on me in a definitive, "YES, I will help!" Here is a godly woman with a husband and two small children, staring death in the face every time she goes to the doctor, and she is asking me to glimpse a part of her life, share in it, help tell her story.

Is there a more humbling experience than to be asked to join someone in telling their story? Our stories are unique. No one has the same memories or experiences. Even two people sharing the same experience will process the event differently, feel differently because our history and personality colors the way we view life. We are careful with our stories. Most people do not share every deep thought and every memory upon meeting a person for the first time. We make friends with people who can be trusted with our stories, who can identify with our experiences, not scorn. We marry those with whom we want to live our stories.

This request is humbling. I am in no way an expert on the publishing world and yet, she is asking me to help her navigate through it. I can't identify with her struggles, for not only have I never had a husband or children, but I have never had to walk through something as horrifying and deathly as cancer. I feel inadequate, but she is thankful for the help. It is humbling to be trusted with her story.

Here goes...?

2008-10-03T17:39:00.000-07:00

This is my second attempt at creating a blog. I tried to make one last summer, but it remained empty and unused for a few weeks like a blank canvas awaiting the first brush stroke of the artist. Not that I consider my writing on the same level as an artist, but I was neither inspired to write, nor did I think anyone would be interested in reading a thing I had to say. It wasn't long before I deleted that blog.
This time may not be any different, however, I do have a plan. Since I am majoring in Creative Writing, I have found that having a place to write out vignettes or random stories and memories has helped trigger ideas for the creative non-fiction pieces I need to write for class. I also noticed that it was helpful for me to get feedback on the Facebook notes I had written, which I later used to refine and expand certain pieces for a final draft. We are encouraged in our classes to write whenever anything comes to mind and to also find people to read our ideas. So, the purpose of this "blog" is two-fold. I will write random stories, all true unless otherwise noted, and hopefully people will read them for their own enjoyment or to give ideas and comments. This is not an egotistical move on my part, for I certainly do not always consider my writing worth the time it takes to read it, but here goes...