What matters.

I always start new blog entries.

But, I never finish them. I did that again tonight.  Started writing some thoughts of my own--then highlighted. And pressed delete.

It's an odd and reoccurring theme.  It's more difficult to finish a thought than it used to be.  I'm always asking more questions than I am giving thoughts.

Here's the basic gist:

It's November.  2013.   I'm 26 years old.  I wonder if I'm supposed to be more of a person at 26 years old than I am.  Should I be more mature?  Have kids?  Publish something?  Cut my hair?  How am I different than I was ten years ago?  Ten years ago I had long hair, no kids, I thought I was mature but I wasn't.  Am I still like that?

I looked through a blog of someone who died of cancer.  What did she care about on her death bed?  She didn't have hair.  Or kids.  I don't know if she was published or had a stellar job.  What mattered to her moments before her death?



What matters to me?


There.  I finished a blog.

Good Snacks and Birthday Parties

So, a couple of back stories (don't worry, it'll all make sense in the end):

-The months prior to my birthday (March 2nd) were a bit hell-ish.  Spencer and I were really looking forward to a break from life, and we created a lot of hype and excitement revolving around this little celebration.  I won't get into all of the details of when March 2nd rolled around, but every single thing that could of gone right, did!  We had an amazing couple of days over the weekend.  Plus, I got some stellar Chicago clothes and drinks, and Spencer kept lavishing gifts on me!

-This part isn't a story, but more so a fact: My favorite, FAVORITE, favorite naughty snack in the world is frozen cream cheese wontons.  You pop them in the oven, and mean while, make a little mixture of garlic sriracha sauce and soy sauce.  It is SO, SO good.

Okay, so the other day, Spence and I were talking and I jokingly said, "I want it to be my birthday again, so I can have anything I want. HA!"  Spencer replies, "Birthday-you is my favorite you there is."  I was a bit surprised, because I was having a spoiled moment, and not really that serious.  So, of course, I ask for an explanation; he explains:
"I love it when you're that excited about anything.  It's just like how much I love coming home, and seeing the soy sauce and sriracha left out on the kitchen counter.  You always put things away, so I know it wasn't left out because you didn't want to put in the frig; it was left out because of how excited you were to eat your wontons!  I love seeing you that happy."

Okay, maybe this is a coupley thing that someone else would look in on, and think is totally silly.  I mean, we are talking about wontons, and my childish desires for good snacks and birthday parties.  But, for me, I was blown away.

1. My husband is the most incredible man.
2. Spencer loves me the way Jesus loves me.
3. Therefore, if Spencer's mortal-man-sin-stricken heart loves seeing me excited and enjoying life that much, how much  more is God pleased to see me joyously laughing and truly embracing every thrilling moment of life!

Yes, trials and seasons can be difficult.  And yeah, there are times and circumstances that it is okay, and just plain honest to admit "this sucks".  However, at the same time, there a CREAM CHEESE WONTONS in the world!  And today, a sweet Summer air was rolling over Wisconsin.  There are the best friends in the world waiting to share good stories over drinks, and there are profoundly moving books that will touch and change your SOUL!  I go through these revelations all of the time, yes, but I am just a person who has to grip so tightly in my fist the mindset that no matter what, life is fantastic!  And, even if tomorrow will be a "this sucks" day, or maybe yesterday was, all the more reason to be completely given to an overwhelming since of gratitude and joy for the precious gifts of life!

We have taste buds for a reason, so enjoy those wontons, folks!

Thank You for my Socks, and for Salvation.

One day, when I was attending Living Light School of Worship, we spent the morning praying and thanking God for things in our life instead of our normal musical worship time. Many words and breaths were dedicated to the gratitude of salvation, the Holy Spirit, being saved, etc -- and rightly so! Thank You, GOD, that You saved us from an eternity without You.

...But I remember really just wanting to thank God for my socks. I love socks, especially Christmas socks! I don't remember which ones I was wearing that day, but it always made me sad looking back on that morning, and wishing I'd just thanked God for what I wanted to thank Him for instead of thinking, at age 18, I needed some profound prayer.

Spencer always tells me one of his favorite things about me is how excited I get about small things in life. Though, its something I think I've subconsciously learned to suppress in myself, because a part of maturing meant I had to offer smiles instead of squeals -- as if signs of overcoming delight was childish and should be outgrown. However, the other day, I listened to a teaching about the pleasures God gives us (http://teaching.onechurchministries.com/?p=930.) We weren't designed to eat only to gain energy, but we were given taste buds so we could go crazy with joy over our sushi and burgers (and to protect us from harmful things, of course)! God called for festivals and celebrations! He gave us oceans so we can swim around like mermaids, and stars to have picnics under!

I don't think God just wants us to live our days, He wants us to love them! That morning 6 years ago, I think God would have been just as touched with my thankfulness for my socks, as he was for my friends' thankfulness for new life. What if we lived everyday like a child soaking up each gift given to us!

My prayer today:

Thank you God for my sushi my husband blessed me with. Thank you for a stellar grande-caramel-mocha-add-a-shot frappacino! Thank you for the SNOW! Thank you for good music! Thank you that you made me with the ability to smell, and I LOVE the way the candles in my house smell! Thank you for joy and for cozy blankets and silent nights.

Thank you I was made to love, and not just to live!

Amen.

Fools Who Speak, Facebook Style

Facebook, smacebook. It drives me crazy, and yet I continuously give my eyes and attention to the ever changing billboards aired by my 700 and some friends. You know, because I really DO have over 700 friends, right?

One day I typed on my status "your soap boxes are going to burn in hell!!!" I meant it! My husband advised I delete it, and of course this was wisdom, so I did. But really, those soapboxes will burn in hell. I'm guilty of standing on my own box as well, but when we stand before God, I guarantee we will be no taller because of them. And often, I believe the boldness in our speech arises from the lifeless screen we stare at which has no capability to harm us, not from righteous courage. 1%, 99%. Scott Walker, no Scott Walker. Religion, Jesus.

Facebook isn't a conversation. It's a person holding a poster on the side of the road where people honk in approval, or yell obscenities out of their window in rage. What's the point? Out of the umpteen statuses and videos we've posted, how many minds have we changed or hearts have we softened? Who's been touched by God because now we know who is for or against Scott Walker, or Obama, or natural medicine? Look, I post more facebook statuses than most, but tonight I read this:

Proverbs 18:2 A fool takes no pleasure in understanding, but only in expressing his opinion.

Am I that fool? Am I sitting down to coffee for a conversation with a Christ-like heart, or am I posting an obnoxious bumper sticker? Let our hearts not be mistaken in our motives, and our speech reflect the bold, but humble mindset of God.

I ain't no fool...

It's that Time, Again!

Well, school is back in session. So, of course I'll be dilly-dallying on my laptop avoiding my true writing assignments. Though to ease myself back into the the blogosphere, I'll start off with a poem I'm turning in tomorrow for my poetry 406 class.




James, brother of Jesus


I could build you.
Build you high in the sky
Like a reaching tower,
Or hope gripped in a child’s strong hand.
I could help you plant roots
So that you went deep in the earth
And found your ground,
And when rain falls it’d seep into your pores
And you’d grow, never drown.

But, no.
I did not build.
I did not plant.

I threw fire from my tongue.
It singed your cheek,
And burned your eyes.
Its flame created a chill,
And froze your exposed mind.
I engraved your tombstone
Poured death where you once possessed life,
My small arrows overtook you
One flame at a time.

I praise God
And I curse you.
Bitter tastes
in sweet waters
How can it be?
What a small tongue,
What a great wrath.


I could build you.
I threw fire instead.

What the Bridal Mags don't tell you:

There sure are a lot of things people did not warn me of when getting engaged. Instead, most comments are regarding colors, past weddings, "just enjoy the day" advice, etc. But there are quite a few tid-bits no one mentions, and I think people should be forewarned of what's really to come. I need to take a break from own wedding details, so here are my new incites into the world of engagement:

1. "Don't ask, don't tell" should be applied to conversations concerning any of the following areas: attire choices, ceremony decisions, bridal party, etc. The less people know, the better. Once someone knows something, watch out. Build your ark, because opinions sure will be flooding in.

2. Carry a tissue at all times. Every hint of love, be it a movie, song, McDonald's commercial or what-have-you, WILL make you cry. Hey, be green and carry a handkerchief to catch that bridal snot.

3. Prepare yourself for awkward silences. Dare you stray away from unity candles or tux-ed men, you will encounter a short silence from unsuspecting audiences. Learn to smile, and carry on with conversation.

4. Showers: Amazing, full of love and kind women, and of course, presents! Yet, here's the thing, it's a bit awkward, and no one told me. Former brides agreed after I shared my own experience with them, but there was no forewarning. Say you have 30 women there to celebrate with you - yes, that is 30 hearts FULL of excitement for your new season of life, but that's also 60 eyes that will not stray from you. 6-0. On you. If you're not dying for the spotlight, you need to practice your pageant face and smiles, ladies.

5. Build your writing-hand stamina. Thank you cards are a must to show appreciation to the owners of those eyes previously mentioned, and if you're not one for "fill in the blank" type notes, you need strong fingers to set that pen to motion!

6. You're supposed to care about your napkins. Yes, its true - napkins are BIG DEAL in bridal world. In case your guests become unaware of the purpose of your day's gathering, your napkins are a kind reminder of your names, and the date, and sometimes even the rings you've just exchanged.

7. It's okay to not love the wedding planning process, and it's okay to love it too!! But DO Love the engagement process - DO PRE-MARITAL counseling, and take time for dates with your beau. Your love is changing and evolving into something it's been never before, it needs time and attention, even in the middle of chaos. So whether you're a Type A, Type B, or Type I-Shoulda-Just-Eloped, try to soak in every moment of your pre-wedding bliss, even when it's less than blissful, because in the end is MARRRRRIAGE!!!!

Here is Love...

I am overcome with tiredness, and yet my eyes refuse to embrace sleep. Therefore, I decided I will type the thoughts flooding my mind.

I am getting married to the most precious gift of God I've ever tangibly held in my hands: Spencer Towle. As most people in my life know (especially if you've read my blog, ha) - these past couple of years have been a journey of me leaving relationships aside to allow God to strip me bare of strange mindsets I'd created, and proceed to build strong foundations founded in the truth and goodness of God. Spencer came into my life at the beginning of my quest to cast everything aside (apart from Christ), and I held the hopes of a future with him loosely in order to remain dedicated to the task at hand. However, while I "soul searched" and God repaired and restored my depths, Spencer sought God and remained faithful in his resolve I was to be his wife. I constantly wavered in my ability to correctly choose/hear God concerning Spencer, yet I always came back to the thought of knowing there was no one better than him - no man would ever match up to his worth. It's quite a long story as to how we finally ended up dating, but Spencer's incredible patience and perseverance proved to be of worth once we confidently embarked upon the road towards marriage.

Before dating, God spoke clearly to me concerning the 3 most important men in my life: My father, Spencer, and John Lalgee (church leader). God reminded me these men were made in HIS image,and not the other way around. Of course, this seems an elementary idea, but I needed reminded of their significance being valuable, but as a picture of God's character, not a confinement of who He is. I was unaware of the grand importance and revelation to later come with this reminder from God prior to my relationship with Spencer.

Spencer, a pure and righteous man, waited for me - even when he was unsure (as I was unsure) if I wanted to be with him. He chose me, not because of my feelings for him or what he received from me, but because he was dedicated to loving me knowing a rightness in it before God, regardless of my emotion towards him. He loved me before he ever received anything in return. What a picture of Jesus Christ to me! God who called me out and chose me, even when my back was turned to Him. Jesus died for a world who did not yet know Him; His love was sufficient without receiving anything in return, and worth death on the cross that He might one day know us.

Spencer continues to love me with a strong and unconditional love in our relationship. I am constantly overwhelmed at his desire to care for me, pray for me, and help me in every way! When I wrong him, his love remains and he still believes the best in me. This does not mean correction doesn't come, or he refrains from saying what needs to be said - but Spencer is never swayed in his decision to love me. Even after I wrongly chose harsh words or a bad attitude, he tells me I am the most gentle and soft woman he's known. Now, Spencer is an incredibly intelligent man, and its not that he's foolishly blinded by love and unable to see/hear/comprehend my flaws - it's that he's chosen to see me as Christ has proclaimed me to be. I am often moved to tears at his faithfulness to seeing godliness in me, because its what's been spoken over my life a child of God, even if its not evident in the moment. And when I remember what God spoke to me, of Spencer being a mere picture of God's love, I am in awe of the truth of God's unconditional love and dedication to me, His church, and the world.

What a kind, kind God - who has continuously reminded me of His GREAT love, and has now given me a picture of His goodness to enjoy daily! I am in no way deserving of such a godly man (and not to mention a relationship which so naturally clicks and brings SUCH joy and fruit!). I didn't earn this relationship, just as I did not earn my salvation. Both are simply my heavenly Father wishing to lavish His good gifts in my life because of His sweet, strong and faithful love.

Thank You, thank You, thank You God for the most amazing man I've ever known. I've never had a relationship push me so powerfully into the arms of God - I could not be more grateful.

Shew, maybe I can sleep now...

Writing Group Exercise

(Written during my Solace writing group)

My little girls have long torsos; banana curls and ribbons and dresses. They skip around the house as a princess, sometimes a dragon slayer, but always a heroine of some sort. It’s as if they’ve reached the land of milk and honey, where adventures are only but a second away, and harm is locked in a cage with no key. I often envy their bliss and their sense of accomplishment from an afternoon’s play. If only I could conquer as much as they do in a four hour time slot. The blue violets in the back yard are no mere flowers, but majestic tools used to woo fairies and princes into our courts. Seashells become evidence of mermaids nearby, and the corn flower blue chips are the pet unicorn’s favorite snack! I wish I could hypnotize myself into the fantastic worlds they reside in, and have the confidence to save the day time-after-time. I long for simple days made perfect when an ounce of imagination and a small dose of magic. I could be a princess, but I’m too aware of how I might fall short of ruling over a people should I one day become queen. I’d fly on a unicorn, but I’m not sure I’d know where to tell him to go. Too many lollipops give me cavities, and that seashell would only bring to surface memories of that summer a few years ago I’d much rather forget. What I’d give to walk out the back door and see the world untainted by a frozen reality. My little girls, with their long torsos and banana curls – I envy them.

When the Stage is a Piece of Paper

I'm taking a creative-writing poetry class, and of course most of our time is spent reading and analyzing poetry, specifically modern American poetry. Our assignment over the weekend was to examine a book called 100 Notes on Violence by Julie Carr. Paperback, and full of 100 poems (notes) concerning, as obviously stated, violence. I read the pages and cringed at its content; I squirmed in my discomfort as the words took me into the minds of the criminal, the accused, the innocent and the victim. Often her poems ended abruptly, as if she couldn't bear the weight of finishing her sentence, so I had to in order to conclude what was implied. I didn't want to finish her thoughts; I didn't want to take myself into the dark places the pages were directing me to. Every "note" left its mark on my mind, and dare I even say, my soul!

I watch TV shows full of violence, and barely bat an eye. Spencer Reid (from Criminal Minds) was my biggest crush until replaced with a real-life Spencer. Mr. Reid spoke to me of serial killers, molestations, and rapes sparing no gruesome detail. I watched unashamed. And once the show was over, I went to bed unaffected.

Though news programs, tv shows and movies deal with the same content as the poems I read for class, why do my eyes so quickly want to shoot away from my page as if tortured by its thoughts?

Words on a page require a reader, not a passive listener or watchman. One must take action to read and comprehend the ideas and notions. Words are merely words until given a voice by its reader. If I write "snow" on a paper, it lies in waiting until someone comes to breathe life into it - and suddenly it's given emotion, life, a story, a face. Snow - this evokes joy from memories of sledding; dread, from ideas of prolonged Winters; certain people flood my mind in correlation with these white and magical flakes. Words on a page draw its reader in a deep way that impacts the thoughts and mind of the one who allows the letters to run through their head making connections along the way.

A piece of paper becomes a stage drawing the most unsuspecting passer-by, for one cannot pronounce the words in their mind without making a relationship with the page. "Snow" - its said with your own voice, in your own mind. My writing becomes your reading, my thoughts run through your head. What a powerful tool we hold in our hands as we write, and what a magnificent stage we form in the minds of those who glance upon our words.

Laid Bare

Okay, I'm being vulnerable. This is a poem I'm turning in for my class. Ehhhhhhh.... (PS - I don't write poetry, ever! I'm simply being forced to now...)


Laid Bare




Unable to open my eyes
Paralyzed, I lie

I was hoping for the day
But was awakened by the night

I reached for noon
Instead midnight fills my hands

Now My eyelashes, brown curtains,
darken an already black night

Daunted by the dark,
terrified of dancing shadows

Unknown, lurking, creeping
stars too dim for real light

The sky howls its song
as I gasp for every breath

Still and Surrendered
Lowly humbled by this valley

Sun in my dreams,
moon in my present

The In Between - On Display...

I'm single, sort of. I mean, I still attended the "Single Ladies" event with my church and I'd file my taxes as someone who is single. However, I am dating someone. So...can I just openly admit that sometimes its just plain awkward to be in such a transitional time as woman attempting to live a Godly life? No one ever talks about this, but it's driving me crazy! And before I'm overloaded with much appreciated advice, let me preface what I'm about to say with this: I am soaking in this time, and taking it one step at a time. I am not wishing beautiful moments away, nor running towards or away particular seasons of life. However, I am hoping to discover the exact purpose in this season that seems to hold no real solid place on paper or even in life, sometimes.

So, I know (in theory) the roles of a wife. And God radically changed my life with the joys of singleness from 1 Cor 7 - as a single woman I am only concerned about the things of the Lord, it says! However, once I marry my interests are divided and I'm concerned with how to please my spouse. Paul goes on quite a bit about this, feel free to read for yourself! Soooo...where am I now? Are my interests only half divided? Or I've only been dating a couple of months, so are they just maybe 1/4 divided? And the other 3/4 of me dedicated and concerned with the Lord? Seriously, where do I even fit?

Not even to mention following and leading and submitting! The man, in a dating relationship, is learning to lead. Okay, I guess I don't need to say "man". I'll just throw out names, it is my blog anyway. Spencer, Spencer is the man!! Hoooooooorah for the loving and caring and compassionate and intelligent and amaaazing Spencer! Alright, done. So, Spencer's learning to lead, and I'm learning to trust him in this. I love when he stops a conversation to say we need to seek God and pray first. Or when he says what he thinks is a right reaction regarding matter A, B or C. But....when I disagree - where do I fall on the spectrum of a sassy-Beyonce or a gentle wife?
On Spencer's side: Christ laid down His life for the church, literally. And now He asks that the husband love his wife in the same way. Which is a pretty lofty thing to ask, to love like the Man who loved us enough to leave His Father and home where He was King, and walk the earth as a humble and lowly man. Alright-point taken, but still... Spencer's a boyfriend, not a husband. And in return, the wife's call and (re)action is to allow the man to lead and guide her just as Jesus does us. WHOA. Okay, first of all: hard! And second of all (and back to my many questions): How does that apply now? I'm not promised anything, and I'm not in the union of a marriage... there's not a ring on it. So, do I half follow? Do I follow only when I think its best and safe? Do we go back to our fractions and I follow 1/4 of the time? I mean, okay - I'm being a bit sarcastic here, but honestly - what is the balance when you're dating in a way that is purposed towards marriage, but you're not there yet? Dating isn't natural, and its not "Biblical" in the sense that it's not talking about or required. The routes to marriage change with each and every generation in their big or small ways. So, this is what our culture and society has chosen: How do we master it in a 100% Godly way (besides the obvi's like no sex and no screaming at the top of your lungs at eachother)?

Alright, sooooo....I don't know if anyone's ever pondered these things, but I'm guessing (or atleast hoping) others have - but I've never heard it talked about it. Two cents, anyone?

The day came, when I was hoping for night.

This morning I was lying in my bed dreading the action of sitting up and putting both bare feet on the hard ground. I continued to cover myself with a comforter and suffocate under my 5 pillows (excessive, I know) when I noticed sunlight finding its way into my room. My curtains are hanging sturdy, guarding my eyes from this brightness, but it is daylight outside now; the sun will shine and the light will seep into my dark room even though I use fabric in attempts to turn the day back into night.

As I bitterly stared at this long and thick line of sunlight shining on my wall, God spoke to me ever so clearly: I cannot change or alter seasons; I cannot hurry the Autumn along to Winter, nor change the day back to night. It's getting cold out whether I voted for or against the change of temperature. My only option is to put a sweater and gloves on and hope the heat in my car is still working. I may adore the cold or I may despise it -- either way, the temperature is dropping and will continue in the same patter for a while. But after Fall and after Winter, come a new season: Spring. And I can't rush or wish any time along. I can pray I survive the cold and that my sweaters stand strong against the snow, and I can even pray this season isn't a long one, but I cannot suddenly step outside of Autumn, or outside of the daytime. There is a time for everything, and no matter how long I look at the calender or clock, or whether I understand the reasoning and science for such changes -- it is Fall and it is day. I will prepare for the sunlight and dress for the cooler temperatures. It's my only option, and I will embrace it because it is where God has placed me.

Socrates the Cat, Peas and Nuts

I laugh, a lot. I laugh to myself, I laugh out loud and I laugh in an obnoxious loud cackle-like way.

So, remember Socrates the cat? The cat who was staring at me in what appeared to be a condescending and judgmental way? ...But I concluded he was just pondering self-worth and great wisdoms, so I didn't take it personally. Well, poor Socrates. I sit down in my car a bit ago, heated by the warm Autumn sun (what?) and notice a large sheet resting on my windshield. I hop out and grab the paper; Lord, please say the owner wasn't watching, because Socrates' picture was largely in the middle of the flyer, with a huge "LOST" stated above and...well, I laughed. The letters "l o s t" even have a sad face in the "o", and ya know, it is upsetting. Poor Socrates, all alone in the streets of Racine that are full of hoodlums, possums and very sexually active dragonflies (I felt like I was in the book of Exodus for a while--the locusts substituted for dragonflies, everywhere). To my defense, such laughter was unavoidable! Socrates had the same grumpy look in the picture, as if he was frowning at the very thought of my existence! His eyebrows (if cats have such a thing?) are hanging low over his bulging blue eyes and he looked as i f he might attack if you get too close to his thought bubble. I doubt Socrates is lost. I bet he's chosen to go on a walk-about through the streets, teaching and lecturing those thirsty for knowledge.

As I'm chuckling to myself on my drive away from this piece of paper and Socrates's former home, I wonder if anyone else would find these events funny?

There are "two peas in a pod"; there are 2 nuts in a shell, normally. But, there are lots of peas in a pod actually, and I don't think there are ANY peas in my pod. And sometimes the nuts I cracked open at Lonestar only housed one nut. Am I that one nut? Insane and giggling to myself; Incredibly content and amused, yet oblivious to the petrified on-lookers. I'm not bothered by the thought, but I have noticed I'm the only laughing in my classes at things I perceive to be blatantly humorous. I laugh, alone. It doesn't take away from the humor, but I do think hilarity would strengthen, should other bah ha ha's be added to my own.

Oh well. Farewell Socrates. I hope you make it home.

Over and out.

Coping Mechanisms

I live in a state over a thousands miles away from my hospitable and beach-y hometown. I no longer hear crowds roar as "TOUCHDOWN - PIRAAATES" is proclaimed from the football stadium, not too far from my home. My parents are not a drive away and "Salmon Wednesdays" at their large wooden table are not listed in my day planner. My sister and brother-in-law aren't around the corner to tell jokes or steal my clothes. I never pass the neighborhood where I totalled my first car, my ever-growing elementary school is too far to catch a glimpse of and my favorite sushi place only tempts me in my mind-never because of its nearness.

I live in a new home now. I attend a university much different than the one I attended before, mainly because the one I first attended I saw every day for 20 years before I sat as student in its classrooms. I used to work in the office I visited as a young girl, and instead now I drive to a brick building void of memories. I have friends, but I'm not sure I could pick them out in baby pictures or name their 12-year-old woes.

I am surrounded by unfamiliarity. Nothing feels known or experienced, just...new. The food on my plates feels funny on my tongue, and my winter clothes feel odd layered on my body. I'm used to watermelon and sundresses, and now I have soup and heavy jackets. I love these new tastes and sounds, but sometimes I shockingly recall- this isn't what I've always known.

My brain plays tricks on me. I hear a raspy voice, and I turn around to see my old highschool friend. A car in the distance approaches, and I wait patiently for it to come close enough so I can wave to my Dad's ol' golfing buddy. Certain flips of hair, laughs and hippie shoes often assure me I'm seeing visions of home, but here's the thing: It's never my old buddy. It's never my third grade teacher or my gymnastics coach. It's a cold stranger, to which I hold no bond or memory.

I know I live in Wisconsin, and I know I don't have scrapbooks filled with the people and sounds of this winter wonderland, but my mind always seeks to familiarize the unknown around me. I can't seem to leave the adventure a mystery, or men and woman as strangers. Instead, I subconsciously cope by giving memories to the nameless immigrants walking this land. It's a sort of mental "blankie" I suppose; imaginary friends to help me feel secure when I realise all that's around me is foreign.

Yes, without my command, my mind chooses to cope by filtering the unknown into my only realm of known. I wonder when the day will come that I feel safe without recognizing what surrounds me, or is it I'll always live in this discomfort until I form a ground-work of memories that suffice for my desire for familiarity. I wonder...

Over and out.

Smell the Roses

I decided to write down my favorite insignificant details of my days. Here's my compilation of the week.

Sunday:
While working the closing shift for Caribou, a girl wearing a shirt straight out of the Spice Girl's Movie (white, belled out sleeves, and a perfect triangle view of her stomach revealed) came in with a pie. She sat at a table with another guy for a while, joking and laughing as many coffee-date couples do. At the end of the night she kindly offered me a piece of her home-made apple and cranberry pie. I accepted. I felt dangerous and alive, because of course-this pie could be made of apples straight off of the Wicked Step-Mother's Farm, and I just don't know what prince is out there to save me from my comatose sleep. However, rest assured folks...I ate some pie, and I survived. Taking baked goods from a stranger: check.

Monday:
a.) It's raining outside, and the dreariness from outdoors has carried itself into my class. However, when I look over at the young man answering the Professor's question in my Pol Sci class, he's wearing sunglasses. It's raining. It's dark. He's wearing sunglasses. Longish hair, a big fleece jacket, 90s jeans, and terrible 80s sunglasses. Good ol' Wisconsin.
b.) Taking place again in Caribou, some regulars of ours: Terry and Terry come in. A couple in their mid 50s, 2 Northern Lite Caramel Lattes. Terry (the guy one) shows us pictures of him on a cruise, paying $20 to drink a shot of his favorite liquor (he chose Crown of course) with, GET THIS, an amputated toe in the shot glass. If you let the toe touch your lips, you get a certificate. Who wouldn't complete this task for your own piece of paper to hang on the wall? I mean, really...

Tuesday:
a. I need to make a sitcom of the special helpers I come to know through my girlie expeditions to the gas station. I often put air in my tires, aaaand...let's face it, I need my dad because I seem to fall short in these handy-man, do-it-yourself areas. And women who are all-powerful and have conquered such duties, don't judge me. I could probably put together an award winning Punky Brewster outfit in a matter of seconds. No one will get that reference, *sigh*. Anyway, on this special Tuesday, a man who wore a sleeve of tattoos on both arms and a few more as a scarf for his neck approached me. I saw different languages, women's faces and words I'm not sure I wanted to understand. He graciously took the air pump out of my hands and did his thing with his special air-measuring tool. It was at this moment, I decided I should start taking pictures of the different men who offer help in these situations, because their range from Mr. Roger's to drug dealers on the corner is quite amusing....
b. Fall arrived on this day. Only in one tree; One red tree in a seemingly endless row of towering and dancing green trees. All the leaves twirled on their way to ground, and the one crimson dancer seemed to laugh as if it knew a secret of what was to come, a secret the other trees had to yet to hear.

Wednesday:
I made eye contact with a stranger at school. It made me realise what great lengths I go to avoid eye contact with people I don't want seeing into these two green windows of mine. Somehow, there is something so massively different than looking at someone, and looking into the eyes of someone.

Thursday:
a. I saw sunglasses kid in the hall. He's still wearing his sunglasses. It's still not sunny.

b. My philosophy professor went on the rant of a lifetime. How he jumped onto his soapbox, I am unsure... We were just explaining a rather small assignment of a 1-page paper in response to a philosophical theory. I wrote down a couple of my favorite quotes.:
"Most of you are not going to graduate."
"If you marry someone, you either go up or down. You marry up, or you marry down."
"You aren't going to be a classical pianist unless you were playing from the age of five. Be realistic, there's a Chinese boy who has been forced to play since he was five."

Friday:
a. I saw a large cat on the front porch. He looked like Socrates, if Socrates was a cat. He peered at me with judging eyes, but I bet he was just pondering the mysteries of the world and of himself, so I didn't take it personally.
b. Sunglasses kid was in class today. No sunglasses.

Saturday:
I drank a "Susie" for the first time. 2 Shots Espresso, a splash of Half&Half, and white chocolate. God bless coffee shops.



Over and out.

The Fairy Tales Alive in My Mind

Today, three geese were squawking as I walked into Parkside's large brick building. It was as if the birds had something vitally important to share; Soon after, they flapped their wings and flew so closely by, that I felt I could grab a hold of one wing to be wisped away.



I couldn't help but continue wondering what message they wanted to bring. Was a storm coming? Is there a warning to be given, or a message to be delivered? And where were they flying to once they noticed no one wanted to listen to their words? There were 4 or 5 geese standing atop another building with feet dug into their ground, but these 3 geese, perplexed with their reports, did not remain in the cold wind but flew away from the deaf listeners.



I just watched, confused. Mind racing.



I longed for heaven in this moment. And I don't know that I can even cleverly sum up this feeling with my small words... As the geese flew by, I thought of reaching up to ask for a ride into the grey and damp sky, but I knew they wouldn't understand such a favor. Never before have I been frustrated by the language barrier between man and animal, but today..I wanted to understand, and be understood. I wanted creation to cry out in a way that I could comprehend their exclamations. Life is more than what's standing tangible before me, this I know. There are pictures beyond what my natural eye can see, and words spoken in small whispers that I long to tune my ears to hear!

I want to hear the wind howl, and understand the tone of its words! I want to see heavenly reflections in tear-shaped raindrops falling from the skies. I want to hear prophetic notions from birds of the sky!

I wish to expound upon my strange thinking, but I feel it only digs my hole deeper into insanity. I will leave it alone, take as you will :).

Over and out.

Just....words.

It's not a poem, or a put-together thought or a proper blog... Just words I suppose.

I'm not sure who I'm becoming, but I know its far from who I've been
The colors I see have brightened, and my thoughts have come to rest in a dream-like state
I have nothing but love and ideas to give
And words bring more comfort to me than a warm touch

Unknown hours no longer produce fear
In fact, I laugh at the days to come
A morning coffee overrides a night's sleep
And innocence seems more attainable though I am stained

I feel free to fly away
I feel rooted deep within the ground
A plucked string plays melodies that wisp me away from my standing
And a kite captures the wind in the way similar to how I float upon Your promises.

I am able to sail
I am able to soar
I am not afraid,
I am not afraid.


Over and out :).

What do you see?

Here's the thing. I should be doing 1 million things besides 'this' right now. I was meant to drive to V&C, but there were some car issues. Reading and good ol' school work awaits me, laundry is in the utility room needing it's cleaning process to somehow come to an end, my room is a hot mess and I could always get online to do some insurance work. Instead, I'm taking a moment to sit and ponder with my computer and singing friend (Bon Iver, of course).

Last Monday as I was making my bed (which I'll sadly admit, has become a rare chore I complete lately), I found a little strip of paper resembling a fortune from a fortune cookie. I said a quick prayer much to the effect of "Lord, please let this be prophetic!" before laying eyes on this mysterious message. It's contents I knew would be a complete surprise to me because I'm not a Chinese food type girl, and I really have no clue how it found its way into my sheets. Reaching, hoping and praying - I read the words, "You will find a new challenge this week". Oh? A new challenge? Great, just what I wanted. Well, as they say, "Careful what you pray for"...I mean, okay - what they really say is "careful what you wish for", but I needed to make this phrase applicable for my story, so work with me here.

Last Monday seems so far away, for what I've seen and learned since then I can barely begin to type into this small box. I learned in my philosophy class (greatest class ever, by the way) that the way we perceive ourselves to look physically, is actually a bit distorted in comparison to our true outward appearance. We don't see what others see, we see a mirror image of ourselves because that's all that's available to us. I got to thinking, what if I find myself better looking than I am? Or what if the flaws I secretly wish away are less noticeable to others? How will I ever know how other's see me next to how I see myself? Who correctly sees me for who I am? Is my perception of my appearance right, or others'? Who is the judge of this? Through a series of events, tears and sit-ins in the corner of Starbucks - God has spoken to me of who I am in a way that no mirror, picture, nor person can hold any opinion to.

You see, often our realisation of short-comings begin to taint our idea of ourselves. I've made mistakes and I failed. I've fallen flat on my face and tried to come to grips with the scars I figured would not fade. In where I thought I was having wisdom in lessening what I thought of myself, God said I was hiding what He made and what is beautiful in His sight. A mistake or a scar does not become the image of who we are. We are not defined by our failures or losses, and we aren't even defined by our victories or the times we have overcome - we are defined by the words of God, and what He's done on the cross. If He says He's nailed my sins to the cross, and taken away my debt - I am free, and I am sinless. There is not a record of where I've fallen short, and there should be one in my mind. I don't have old habits to fear or hide from. I don't have to walk in worry of falling into the sin I once knew, because it's gone. It's erased and its no more - its not a trap to fall into once again, because my feet are on firm ground. Something happened in the past few days where I cried out to God, "Where is my safety net? You've taken it away and I feel I have no net to catch me if I fall..." He quickly responded to me and said, "Your obedience to Me is your safety net". It's as simple as that. I can run and skip and dance, and if I'm choosing obedience I still may fall -but I fall safely into Him. Maybe my writings here to too vague to hit home with anyone else, but this has radically changed me. I was gripped and paralyzed by such a need to avoid mistakes I felt so prone to, but if I continue in obedience, I find rest and peace with Him. I do not have a disposition towards anything but success and God's glory when I am given to His purposes. God is FOR me and has defined me by His perfect and loving nature.

I am who He says I am, I am not what my past holds record of.

Over and out.

If all the raindrops were candy drops and gum drops....

I don't have anything profound or revelatory to share, and I won't go into some metaphor to secretly disguise my thoughts towards certain situations. I just wanted to recap my life for a minute, for no one's benefit but my own. I need to reflect and process and thank God.

Pro's of life:
I am in school for something I LOVE.
I am living with a beautiful and Godly family.
I have an awesome job at the coffee shop I frequented all of last year.
My church family and leaders are the abundant blessing of God in my life.
My professors (so far) seem to be incredible, and God in a very strategic and evident way shaped my next semester.
It's becoming Fall, my most awaited time of the year is here!

Sadness's of life:
I am poor. Ooooooh, how I am poor (in American standards, not the world's).
I am now in debt, which is lame.
I have no family by me. They are all 1000 miles away.
I desperately miss my family, I miss my home.
I miss my friends.
In a fury to bring tears to my eyes, my car died. And it costs lots of money to rebirth this clunky junky.


The other day I was praying and recognizing what a life lived with God is. These past Fall days I have whimpered and moaned at the testing of anxiety and patience in my life. It is difficult when one feels alone and without all needed resources to successfully make it through the day. It's hard; It feels like I'm trudging slowly through swamps and black mud that stains my shoes and attire. Yet somehow, through my tears, my heart greatly rejoices in what my hours are filled by! In the morning, I learn! I learn and I soak up knowledge of subjects and topics so dear to my heart. In the afternoon, I make and drink coffee. The times passes with giggles and giving people their espresso for the day. I then come home to a family who may not be my own, but cares deeply for my well-being and growth. Somehow God has changed the capacity of my emotions and the depths of my heart to hold both trials and tears, as well as the utter joy and enthusiam towards my current paths! This is life.

Childish as this may appear, here's how I'm processing my current situations:
If I could paint a picture of my life right now, I'd paint a dark and dreary storm. Grey skies would be unleashing treacherous winds and raindrops large enough to flood the ground my feet stood on. Trees would be knocked down, and maybe even some birds and cows being tossed into the night air (you know, Twister style...). I'd be standing in the middle of this painting with the evidence of the storm in my wet clothes and long windblown frizzy hair. Yet, my purple rain boots will dress my feet and protect them from the cold. A large Mary Poppins style umbrella will hang magically above my head to keep dry atleast the tops of my shoulders. ...And I'll hold an icecream cone tasting a bit of sweetness in the middle of this storm. I don't need an icecream shoppe to enjoy my treat, nor do I need to be weeping to follow suite with the rain.

I think this storm will continue to pour until it floods, and I'm sure an ark will become my new home among the waters. This is the season of life I'm in-learning to be content in all circumstances. Learning to embrace bits sunshine (or icecream) in the dreariest of days. However, one day-the dove will bring an olive branch and I'll find green life and land again. Thank You God for the life this rain will one day bring, thank You for the icecream and umbrella, and thank You for Your different seasons.

Okay, I went back into a metaphor which I said I wouldn't. Sorry 'bout that.

Over and out.

The Stoplights of My Life...

Green means go. Red means stop. Yellow means....

What does yellow mean? Is it commanding a driver to slow down, for the dreaded color red is quickly approaching? ...Or is it a hint to speed up in order to avoid a forced halt. Yield, or speed. Be cautious or be hasty. Yellow lights overwhelm me with nervousness. How does one know when the banana shade light will turn into an apple? My mind freezes in a quiet panic from being forced into a quick decision of which pedal to choose, gas or break?. Escape death dangerously, or prematurely come to a stop? What do I choose? What's safest; most efficient; what's best?

Even when a light paints itself green, I anxiously await the turning of yellow. All enjoyment from freely driving at a set speed is completely lost from my fear of the green too quickly morphing into yellow.

Red. Now there's a color I'm comfortable with. Stop. Sit. Don't move. Wait - whether its a patient waiting or an agitated one - there's only one option. Red means stop, and there's no getting around it. No choices to make, or fears to have. Just...waiting. I like red. Hey, I love red. It's when the red turns to green, and then to yellow that I'm left over thinking each move. It's a constant watching of the traffic lights, really. ...But when you're driving a 2 ton vehicle that can cause great harm, red lights give a great sense of comfort. Especially when you're driving through unknown land. However, in order to get from one place to the other - green and yellow must be present.

The Lord is near, be anxious for nothing. Green means go, red means stop. Yellow means....

Over and out.