I have been sitting in silence for the past forty-five minutes extremely disoriented. After two wedges of this gingerbread-cake-type-thing I made, and the afore mentioned silence, I have finally regained enough composure to write --

Word of advice: avoid the mall at all costs for the next three days.

I got up at ten of eight, which could be considered sleeping in. As usual, I awoke in somewhat of a frenzy; I do that often. It's as though I wake and suddenly realize all the interesting things there are to, attempting to jolt myself out of sleep in seconds. Usually this is not as graceful as it sounds.

After completing a huge vat of plain yogurt with honey and apple spice tea with egg nog (in lo of the the Christmas spirit), I put in Julie and Julia, to settle down for some quality background noise while I began my homework. Following this I scrubbed the kitchen floor and worked my hands (literally) dry in the kitchen, trying to get it to my level of sanitary, but even with Christmas music on, my cleaning flair bunt out after a couple hours (which isn't too bad, I suppose). Feeling productive, feeling good ... about myself ... about my morning ... about the impending holiday. But, oh, then it happened --

A knock at the door (never good when you're indesposed). Let me define indesposed: loose tee-shirt, pj pants, wild-child hair, and well ... I'll stop there. I ran to cover up with a sweatshirt and opened the door to see a lovely boquet of Christmas flowers. "My" I thought. "Flowers for meee, you shouldn't have!" Well, they didn't. The man at the door told me to hold onto them for my neighbor who at the time wasn't home. Yes, if you're wondering, I said it: "I was hoping those were for me." Perhaps had a looked less like a creature and more like a lady he might have had pity, but he just said sorry and left.

Oh well, who needs Christmas roses?

I just finished doing what my Educational Psychology book would refer to as, self regulating. I wrote a list that covered everything I need to accomplish between now and Friday, bullet pointing everything short of this blog. Though I have to admit, accomplishing my list is pretty refreshing. While the completing the list feels Merry and bright, the tasks in themselves are quite the opposite. Personally, I would prefer a list that read:

-Go buy the Steve Madden boots you cannot afford
-Eat lot's of holiday treats!
-Lay around as much as possible
-Buy a plane ticket to Korea (even if it's 2,500 dollars)
-Take a bubble bath

... Well, you get the point. But (aside from buying the boots ... and maybe Korea ... OK, and the bubble bath) the list would not lead to a very fulfilling life. So, I remain a slave to my current master of discipline: the list.

I don't want to feel dread about the week, or section it off in cookie-cutter days, I want to enjoy the here and now, especially this Christmas season. It's just that this week is especially difficult. Mainly because Eric is on a business trip and I miss his company terribly when he's gone. I used to be (pre-boyfriend days) good at being alone, but once you've experienced the wonder of being with that special someone, it is hard to go back. Normally, this would be a good way to feel, but not this week.

I suppose I can look at the bright side (as opposed to the what, the dark side?) I have a place to live, a room to decorate, and in a week I'll be singing "Fa-la-la-la-la" as Christmas will only be a few days away! I don't care if it's silly, even at 22 I am giddy about Christmas.

So, here's to a week of (fun) lists!

Until tomorrow --

Sail away, sail away, sail away ...

So in the last twenty-four hours I have constructed the brilliant idea of going to Korea (or Thailand) in two weeks. You might be wondering how this came about?

It all started a couple weeks ago when I found out I got the last week in December off -- not just off, but paid and off. It's something Mariner's Church does for its employees. I also found out that I was out of school that whole week. The wheels in my head began to turn: Who can I visit? Where? How? But I talked myself out of my silly notions and concluded that I would use that time to study for the CSET.

Of course, this all changed yesterday when I found out I had the Sunday prior to that week off. Something that only happens three times a year. This, of course, led me to the belief that I had to go somewhere. It is my duty; I owe it to myself ... to my youth, to my unmarried life. And since three of my friends are in Korea -- Wallah!

After finding a flight for 600 dollars I was making travel arrangements in my head. Hopes were thwarted when I found out two of my friends were going to be in Thailand that week, but this was quickly remedied upon the new realization that I could go to Thailand. Ocean, jungle, beaches: better. But let me tell you, this excitement died a pitiful death, as both Wholesale Flights and ASAP Flights told me that the cost was really about 2, 000 for the dates I wanted. I still am confused why they so terribly misrepresented themselves. I guess Christmas is popular when it comes to trips to Southeast Asia. Go figure.

What's a girl to do? The world at my fingertips, adventure in my soul (or in this case, Seoul), and no where to go?

Until tomorrow --

I am so tired I can hardly function, but I made a silly promise to myself to blog every day or so, and while I could break the promise, seeing that the only person I'd be letting down is myself, or I could just skip a day, at this point in the game -- one day after I said I'd blog daily -- it would be bad form.

My thoughts tonight are on sleep. Why does not enough sleep make it hard to think? It also makes me grumpy. And restless. I really should get enough sleep.

I don't sleep well, though, I really don't. I toss and I turn for nearly an hour before I fall asleep and I wake up with the roosters. 8 a.m. is a serious sleep-in day for me. Oh, boy! What does this mean? I can see it now, 60-years-old and awake at 4:30 every day. But getting up early can keep a person young. It is a discipline, for one. It shows, or at least assumes, some sort of enthusiasm and zeal for life. And, it's pretty in-tune with society, seeing that businesses generally wake-up early, and successful adults don't usually lollygag in bed.

But, I'm done thinking about sleep. I'm ready to actually partake in it.

Hopefully my post tomorrow will be more thrilling than mumbles on sleep. But I cannot make any guarantees.

Until tomorrow --

I have decided to blog everyday. Yes, this goal sounds lofty, considering my last post was in October and it is now December, but I have very good intentions. While the challenge to myself is to blog daily, if I miss a day I won't really mind (but if I miss two ...), and if I'm on vacation then I am off the hook. Aside from that, here's to starting off the new year early with daily blogging!

Post I

I love to grocery shop. I know I've mentioned it before, but it really does get me that excited. I'm sitting here, in a home that is icy cold, drinking hot chocolate with a snuggly blanket and feeling excitement that I get to grocery shop. Grocery shopping is a very big deal for me. First, I allot a budget for myself to spend at the store, then I think through meals, ingredients I will need, sometimes I even make lists that I rarely use. When I'm there I almost always try to fit flowers into my budget (probably not the best habit), and I find myself excited by things like berry flavored sparkling water for 99 cents or food samples that leave a fragrance to, or not, be desired (depending on the sample that day). The other day I got enough cilantro to open my own Mexican restruant for 50 cents, naturally, this was exciting. I've had better cilantro, though ...

Either way, today is grocery day! (Don't worry, I don't shop on the exact same day every week). Now, if only I didn't have a ton of reading for my 1:30 class and two hours of work to fit in. That's the problem with grocery day, there's rarely time.

Because I'm always looking for good recipes, let me know if you have any!

Until tomorrow --

There's really nothing like something hot to drink. When I wake up, no matter the weather, a hot drink sounds appealing. At night, when the sun has set and the house is quieting down, that same idea comes into my mind. The only problem is: caffeine.

Coffee makes me so jittery that I can feel my heart almost bursting through my chest. On the outside I'll smile at coworkers, friends, really whoever I'm around, pretending I'm not effected, but they know it. They can tell. My eyes get bigger, and at least one leg has to move up and down, I sigh a lot, because caffeine sets anxiety in which makes it hard to breathe. Then there's the talking, when I have caffeine I can't stop. Anyone who knows me well knows that these times are scary ... or annoying. Yet time after time, I always consider coffee in the morning.

You are probably wondering: has she tried decaf? I have, yes, don't worry. But it has the same effect, though fortunately a much lesser degree of it. And while I only try to drink decaf coffee, and only decaf coffee on super early mornings or special occasions, I still can feel that it probably isn't the best tonic to start my day.

I do much better with tea. Not all tea, mind you. The black teas, though they are probably the favorite, have a similar effect (perhaps slightly better, depending upon how European the blend is). But what am I to do, drink herbal tea every single morning? I mean, herbal blends are prefect for nighttime but the morning too? It's a thought. Right now I'm drinking French Vanilla tea, and so far I feel a jolt, but nothing to write home about.

So here's to drinking to my idea of glorious mornings and cozy hot drinks! Even if in reality it makes me revved up like one of those power boats that has their engine shinning for the whole world to see, I still find the thought of it -- and of course the process of drinking it -- more than enjoyable.

Well, three weeks into school, five weeks into work, and I'm already hyperventilating. When I get stressed, which unfortunately has always been something that I'm prone to, I have a hard time catching my breath. No, there are no ridiculous small paper bags involved, though to be honest, one might help. Just deep labored breaths that turn out to be shallow sips of air. I get these weird knots in my neck; weird because they are so hard that I would almost bet it's new bone growth, and I start feeling overwhelmed by even the smallest of things like, "what am I going to have for dinner." It's interesting because I like to be busy, anyone who knows me well, would probably say I thrive off of some level of busy. But, like anyone, I fizzle when I've reached my limit. One thing's for sure: I am definitely being stretched. Here are somethings I've learned about myself recently:

- I can handle a full plate, but not a stuffed plate (there is a difference).
- I need time to be alone and think during the day.
- If I go weeks without exercising I become significantly moody.
- There's an ugly element that comes with school, almost a selfish entitlement of "I need to do this now," and it can quickly make a person neglect relationships.
- Even if you have a lot to do, it's ok to do nothing, actually, sometimes it's the best thing.
- I really like school, and I really like being busy (note, I said "busy," not "swamped").
- God's in control (I've known this, but it's amazing how often I seem to forget it).

There's no place like living out of your suitcase ?

Lately I have been busy -- not just busy -- zapped. I went from a nothing that was such a lack of something that you could reread this sentence five -- ten -- twenty -- who cares! -- times and not feel guilty because you have all the time in the world on your hands. But now, it's quite the opposite. The fact that I'm even writing this blog feels decadent. If time were a meal, this would definitely be in the dessert category (see my jokes are even getting weirder).

I like being busy -- I do -- perhaps, in many ways, I love being busy. And I went into this Fall with a "Carpe Diem" attitude, however, like I said, I'm zapped. How quickly I forgot the time it takes to do school. The labor one puts into a paper, the agony one using when scrutinizing over the syllubus, it can be all consuming. Then starting my new job (which is a HUGE blessing) is still time consuming, even if it's a good thing. But both those things have not been my real challenge. My real challenge rests in the fact that I have been living out of a suitcase -- this lifestyle can quickly make a person "zapped." Actually, I am quite astonished I have fought it out this long.

While I am forever thankful for the families that have let me stay with them, and know in many ways I'll look back with fondness (?) on this vagabound -esk living situation, I want a home. I want a place where I can put my groceries and clothes, I want to light scented candels, and complain about how "I really need to clean the floors or dust the cabnets." I want my nest, that's safe, and warm, and well-earned. Even if it takes over half my paycheck to live there, I have decided that a woman needs some place to, as Eric's mom says, "hang her hat." Though I don't have a hat, I have shoes, and I would like a place for them.

I know God will provide, and like I said, I'm thankful I've been able to save money, and blown away by the generousity of others who have reached out to me. But I think I'm ready to "go home." :)

Yesterday I made a big pot of spaghetti, garlic bread, salad, and brown butter blondies. The week before I made enchiladas, chipoltle style rice, beans, and chocolate chip banana bread. The list could keep going, because I LOVE to cook. I love the way everyone gets excited when they can smell it, the way food makes a place feel more like home, how all the spices, though I don't often times measure, somehow turn into an exceptional blend of flavor that makes what was once tomato sauce hearty and fragrant. Cooking momentarily consumes me, that of course is before I consume it; something about it shuts out the busyness and takes me into a place of peaceful productivity. I love cooking for the holiday's with special recipes, the recipes of friends long after I've seen them, or for some, long after they have even been in my life. There's something so reliable about that favorite biscuit recipe, or Grandma's lemon pancakes. And, of course, I add my own flair to each recipe, trying to mold it to my own. Naturally, there are the cooking disasters, the bread that needs to be scraped of burnt char and the pancake that tastes like butter masked baking soda, but the disasters are overshadowed by the victories -- the victories, yes, they are far better than any individual victory because you can see the contentment on people's faces as they're eating something that has been prepared for them. It is a simple, yet profound satisfaction to know that your food has brought together family, whether it's family by blood or by spirit, and in that there are laughs, and honesty, and sharing, and rest; this is the cooks reward.

Below:

The house of my dreams ...


(Images from the movie,"Stepmom." The house is located in, I believe, Upstate New York.)

You've probably heard it time and again, "think before you speak." It's not that novel, I mean, obviously you're going to think before words exit your mouth -- it's physiologically necessary. But obviously that's not what it really means.

I've never been an angry person, I mean, common, I certainly don't have the physical means to be angry, and personality-wise I am afraid to be vulnerable or "off the handle" enough with most people to even show a hint of anger. It's not that I bottle things inside if I'm upset, I confront them, even if it's with dragging feet, but for the most part, I think I'm easy going with most people. I recently realized something, though: sometimes I feel downright angry. Now, anger in itself isn't bad, I mean, it's good to recognize when something is unjust or manipulative and to keep your boundaries, protecting yourself. Yet what about anger in everyday conversations? What about anger -- that realness of negative emotion, shown to the people you're closest to. I mean most people don't get angry at their grocer, or the guy down the street. And on a deeper level, most people don't even express anger to the general circle of their relatives or friends. But most people have been openly angry at their best friend, their spouse, parents, or someone significantly close in their life. Why is this? It's there because those relationships are real, they're important, and they're safe enough to be vulnerable and open. However, is anger really the right way?

As I had said before, unless someone does something unjust or manipulative to you, is anger the right way of expressing yourself? Probably not, actually, it can be the worst way. Yet it's not that simple. I mean, feeling as though injustice or manipulation or something boundary shattering is taking place is all a matter of perspective. Classic example (sort of classic): in Father of the Bride (Part I, if you'd like to know specifics), Annie's fiance, Brian, decides to get her a blender as a wedding gift. This gift, which to me would have been slightly dull, but extremely useful and appreciated, was a statement to her that screamed 1950's housewife. To her it was downright manipulative and a slight injustice, but honestly, to me she was overreacting. In all reality though, who cares what I think, that's how she felt, to her it was valid, and therefore she was angry. Because she was close enough to Brian she was able to express this frustration, instead of bottling her negative emotion inside, and in the end this made them stronger. Or, at the very least, they pulled through it in less than eight hours and then resumed to happy. In a sense, her frustration was good, because it demonstrated that their relationship was safe enough to share unhappiness, and in the end, it taught her that Brian was not trying to manipulate her, but he just wanted to give her a useful gift (for the milkshakes she likes). However, did she really have to throw such a fit ... call the wedding off, have to have her father intervene to patch things back up? No.

What I've learned about anger, which is hard to do when you feel as though injustice has befallen upon you, is to stop, think, and then speak. Sometimes the stopping or the thinking takes a little time, but it's neccessary because once you say the angry words, they're out, they hurt, and they can't be taken back (though you can appologize, of course). What I'm trying to come to peace with, is that it's ok -- normal -- to feel angry, but the true test is how you handle that feeling. The key is to ask yourself what the person is really saying, then ask yourself what's really bothering you. Often times you'll find you might not even be angry, or it might not even be about that person, but it could be another feeling, like stress or fear, overtaking the moment; because we all get frustrated, it's something worth asking yourself.

Last night I saw an outdoor showing of Casablanca at Chapman University. They are doing a black and white movie series where they basically put an old, acclaimed movie on the screen (black and white as previous mentioned), pop some movie theater-esk popcorn, put out some store bought cookies, lemonade, and ice water, and people convene on blankets and lawn chairs at 8 p.m. on Friday night. Did I mention it's free? Yes, well that does add a certain charm to it.

It was the perfect evening, not too hot, not too cold, with a calm breeze floating all around. I had forgotten how: 1) confusing Casablanca can be, and 2.) once you get all the details how crazy good it really is. I mean that movie is truly an epic. And I'm a fan of anything epic-related.

What I thought was interesting was how the theme song for the movie, "As Time Goes By," talked about how the world will always welcome lovers ... how falling in love, though good and right, is always in some sense, the "same old story," time does not change love. This was an interesting theme song for the movie because Casablanca was sort of a place where time stood stagnant, a place where there was little certainty in anything, and amidst a war, which Igrid Bergman mournfully claimed to hate, there was little good. Yet there was that simple, time-tested, age-old thing called love, and that seemed to be the film's redeaming color. It was love that saved the couple in the game of roulett, love that ended up getting Ingrid and her husband on a plane out of there, love that, somehow, despite it's painstaken and jiltish ways, seemed to redeam Rick into wanting to vacation from Casablanca in the end, and love, even the influence of it, seemed to soften the bad guy. It seems that despite all the war and agnoy, that "same old story love" still rang true. I suppose the song was fitting then.

If you haven't seen it, or it has been awhile, I'd recommend watching it.

It's Monday again and I find myself looking ahead at the week wondering how it looks so short. It seems as if week after week flies by, and while I'd much prefer a breezy flight than a painful lag, sometimes it feels too fast.

This month I'll be starting school in what might be considered 17th grade. While I don't start for another three and a half weeks, I'm already getting the "back to school jitters," which I literally have gotten every year of my academic life. It's sort of silly to get the jitters, seeing that most of my education will be done in a distance program, but meeting new professors, having them assess my work, and student teaching all seem scary -- exciting -- but scary. For those of you who don't know, the program I'm doing is an accelerated Master's degree at USC. By the beginning of January 2011 I should have a Master's in Teaching with a single subject credential in English. What's cool about this program is it has an emphasis on urban education and closing the "achievement gap," something that I feel passionate about.

I'm glad that I finally have a clearer direction, though there are still lot's of little pieces floating around. Like finding a solid part-time job and the living situation. I think If I've learned anything in the past six months it's that life tends to be lived with lot's of little pieces floating around. In college the pieces were set in place for four years, than growing up, your parents seem to fix them in a stable state for you, but maybe, in a way, the pieces have always been sort of loose. It's just that now I'm responsible for them, I'm fully in charge, that's what's so new. True, a job and a house are essential, at least I have a place to live now and a little babysitting income. Something, after all, is better than nothing,

Lately I have been babysitting a good amount. At first it felt a little weird, seeing that I never babysat while in college, but with the current economy and all, babysitting suddenly seems a lucky profession because it pays (not to mention the cute kids). Although, upon my new venture in the business I've had some thoughts:

Why is it easier to get a babysitting job them pretty much any other occupation? Why, in the field of childcare, is the pay alarmingly low (say below minimum wage, not to name any names)? Both these questions become haunting if the statement, "my kids are the most important thing to me is true." Take scenario 1:

"Hi, I'm Debbie, Lisa, Carrie's mom, said that you babysat once for her old neighbor Tommy, can you babysit for my kid?" Now to work at Cosco you have to go through an application process that makes you think you're joining a Fortune 500 company, but uh-ah, not to babysit. Ok, so sure there are the sitters who do require documents, but not in the through the grapevine knits. My concern is, when I'm a mom, I'll probably be the same way, but isn't it a little odd, seeing that your kids are your highest valuables?

Then the pay, personally, I think the pay should be astronomically high. Afterall, watching your prized children should never be seen as a small or insignificant task. There should be overtime, sick pay, insurance ... so maybe I'm going a little far. But seriously, don't you think of all professions this one should be among the upper echlons of serious?

But that's just me. Maybe I'm bias.

Do you ever feel lonely in your world? Caught in the prospects of "what could be's" and "what should have been's," lonely in "now." I mean, what is "now" anyway?

The way I see it:

Now is the phone call that you can't put off another day ... the load of laundry that is three days waiting ... the dishes that aren't doing themselves ... the thank you note that just has to be sent ...

But now is also, the love of those close to you that will never be the same as it is in this very season ... a relationship with God that pours grace upon your mistakes each day ...

Now, is so many of the "I wish I had's" or "please God's" that you've been hoping and praying for much of your life ...

Hope for tomorrow, by all means; rejoice and mourn in the yesterday's, for that has a time too; but "NOW" (and I'm not referring to the embarrassing "Now" CD epidemic); Now is the time to live.

The Greek Philosopher, Epicurious says, "Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for."

The last couple of weeks have been trying ones, but it's hard to complain when there's so much good in my life. I came down with a pretty bad head cold, which I didn't even know could happen it July, then had some mysterious health problems which no doctor could really figure out, and got stung by a bee, which turns out I'm pretty allergic to, which means I've been laid up in bed all day today with an icepack on my foot watching "Boy Meets World" reruns. Then there's been my being out of work all summer, which has had it's perks, but I would definitely rather have a job. On top of it all, there's the fact that my lease it up in two weeks, and, I decided to apply to USC's Master of Teaching/Credential program for the Fall, and any one who's applied to college's know, it's a job in itself. Of course, being a lover of structure, none of this has appealed to my personality, which has been a challenge. Honestly -- I'm exhausted.

But as I first mentioned, there's so much good. I have had time this summer to decide what it is I really want to do, time to think and relax, and all this mayhem in my life has taught me patience. I have good people in my life, good opportunities, and I can feel God working now, more than I had in past months. With all that said, I really hope a little more structure is near, and that my patience can calmly wait out where I need to be.

So, if you want to know what I'm going to be up to ... we'll see! (but on a side note: your prayers would be good too!)

Lately I've learned something about relationships: you have to appreciate the small things. While I've always had a knack for mastering this in life, in relationships I tend to strive for "over perfection." True that spontaneity and originality are essential spices in life, but, as with any spice, a dash is all that's needed in the recipe.

When I slow down and breathe life in I find that the things which strike me as most beautiful are oftentimes the everyday. In all my relationships I am beginning to recognize a pattern in the seemingly mundane, and it's this: it's not so mundane. Some of my fondest memories are going to the grocery store with a friend and just being goofy, or cleaning up the room with a roommate and having a contest to see who can find the best junk on the floor to make a new invention (hey, I never said mundane had to be dry). Even things as simple as studying or running errands can in time develop a unique friendship. Maybe, I'm learning, it's when you're with people in their everyday, and in your everyday, that you can learn to truly appreciate both their simplicity and their intricacies -- creating a genuine intimacy.

I am lying here somewhat flatly on my bed this hot summer evening waiting for a breeze. But it will not come. Instead, an unusually humid desert heat has been boiling all of me from what even feels as the insides of my toes making me edgier than normal, but mostly, just uncomfortable. Sometimes, but not often enough, and never very powerfully, a sickly wave of air will teasingly graze past me. Yet in this heat "sometimes" is never enough. I have hope, and because of past experiences know that this air will eventually cool and engulf the room (or somewhat fill it), but it's hard to be patient when I have this much discomfort.

This is how I see parts of life like. This is reality. Sometimes we are uncomfortable -- dreadfully so. Everyone around is getting jobs or boyfriends, maybe it's the best grades in the class or their figure looks nicer. We may struggle with one given thing until we feel like all the air is out of us, until we can't imagine a time after that particular struggle; sometimes this battle happens for so long, we almost become numb.

Have hope! Please, if you have nothing, have hope. And if anyone tries to drain you of your hope, don't let them. Stay strong, because you are strong. God will see you through, and when he does it will not only be a testimony of his sovereignty and grace, but a testimony of Christ in you. My prayer for you -- whoever reads this and needs encouragement, is not to fall through the cracks of discouragement, but hold your chin up high. God will not fail you.

I'm sorry I haven't been blogging recently; although to be honest, I don't know who exactly I'm apologizing to.  Perhaps, more than anyone, I am saying "sorry, self, you need to blog more."  Of course I need to do a lot of things more, journaling being one big thing, although there are dozens of others things as well.  Still, I'm not re-joining the blogosphere after a little over a month to tell you what it is I need to do.  Actually, to be honest, there are a lot of things I could tell you (you being my readers, which I presume their are but a few of).  Hi, Grandma ;)  

Today, I will tell you a few things, and perhaps, my beginning musings will get the ball rolling for more blogging.  Hope so ...

At this very moment my stomach kind of hurts, and it's not from bad cereal or any other ordinary stomach aching disturbance, but because I'm about to get a haircut.  That's right: chop, chop ... snip, snip (you get the point).  Ladies and gentlemen, I am going in for (drumroll, if you will) bangs.  My "look" will now feature a dark brown fringe that frames my face, and, hopefully, accents my features (fingers crossed).  I decided to do this today, which I feel is enough time for a decision.  Goodbye forehead, hopefully I won't miss you too much.

I've also been really wanting to plant a garden -- secret garden status with lot's of random flowers and shrubs, of course a swing, and maintained, yet containing slight feral disarray.  The only thing I'm missing for this endeavor is land ... and also a bit of patience.

Lastly, I have a poem I've been wanting to share.  I hope it captivates you as it has me, regardless, I thought it was a good find.

"You Who Never Arrived"

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of
the next moment. All the immense
images in me -- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and un-
suspected turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods--
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house-- , and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me. Streets that I chanced
upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled, gave back
my too-sudden image. Who knows? Perhaps the same
bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, separate, in the evening...

~Rainer Maria Rilke

Now that's poetry.

Even though my room is prone to easily becoming cluttered due to a lack of storage units (dressers, desks, etc.) I have grown to love my space.  It is not so much the room itself, especially since my roommate and I have dramatically different stylistic tastes, and I would rather my windows overlook something more picturesque than La Mirada Blvd; it is more the things in my space.  The books, journals, pictures, bedding, jewelry box all have little stories behind them and make my space more of a home.

I think what it is, is that deep down I'm a "nesting person."  I showed the early signs of this from when I was in the single digits (1-9).  I would always find place to "burrow."  Though it may have been a slightly odd practice, it made me feel safe and I guess in my childish way, domestic.  I remember having this huge field with all this Minor's Lettuce growing about, only I thought it was called "Minor's Lice."  My best friend and I would pile that stuff up for as long as our attention spans would permit, and we'd make a literal nest out of it.  Don't worry, the nest had a key component in our make believe game.

When I'm grown up, because let's face it, I really am not that grown up yet (or don't feel it).  I am going to have a office in my house.  Maybe the day I get my own home office will be the day I officially grow up.  Either way, it's going to be lovely.  Even if it's the size of a closet and overlooks an ugly highway.  I'll find it's closet-like size endearing, and the lights of the highway perhaps in certain moments semi to fully romantic, and it won't be so bad.  You know why?  Because it will be my little nest.  With things ... things that aren't just lame materials, but things that remind me of places and people I love.  I'm looking forward to that time in my life, but until then, I'll remain content with my half of the bedroom.  

It's funny how other people, who never knew you, who aren't even talking about you, who lived long ago, can sometimes describe you better than you can yourself.  This is SO me, and when I saw it, I felt once again that satisfied feeling that I really only get from reading; the satisfied feeling of realizing I'm not that weird: someone, somewhere, long ago felt this too.  So here's the wonderful excerpt: 

"You'll probably have a good many more and worse disappointments than that before you get through life," said Marilla, who honestly thought she was making a comforting speech.  "It seems to me, Anne, that you are never going to outgrow your fashion of setting your heart so on things and then crashing down into despair because you don't get them."

"I know I'm too much inclined that way," agreed Anne ruefully.  "When I think something nice is going to happen I seem to fly right up on the wings of anticipation; and then the first thing I realize I drop down to earth with a thud.  But really, Marilla, the flying part is glorious as long as it lasts ... it's like soaring through a sunset.  I think it almost pays for the thud."

"Well, maybe it does," admitted Marilla.  "Id rather walk calmly along and do without both flying and thud.  But everybody has her own way of living ... I used to think there was only one right way ... but since I've had you and the twins to bring up I don't feel so sure of it." -Anne of Avonlea 

When God closes doors

Have you ever heard the expression, "Like a bull in a china shop"?  It basically means you're awkward.  But I think it means more than that.  A bull in a china shop is really in a fail-fail situation, unless the bull no longer remains true to its bull-like nature, it is going to knock something, if not everything, over.

Lately, I've felt a little like this.  What I mean is, God just keeps closing doors.  And he's not gently closing them, he's pretty much slamming them shut.  For the most part I'm thankful for this, I certainly don't want to invest in something that is not where I'm suppose to be, but in another way, I'm frustrated.  More than that though, I'm tired.  Tired of trying and failing.

There are huge blessings in my life: health, family, friendships, boyfriend, even my living situation, but my time is where it becomes tough.  I have so much of it, and every time I try to find a way to use it, God slams the door.  I've been on countless job interviews, and don't even get call backs, and I tried signing up for a summer class but was shot down because I don't have the prerequisite, yet the level that I do need it completely full.  I work a job that often forgets to pay me (don't worry, I eventually get paid), and barely gives me enough hours to pay my bills ...

Alright, enough venting: I know things will work out.  I am confident God is shutting these doors as a means of protecting me, and that he has another door -- a far better one -- waiting, somewhere around the bend.  Just pray that I can be patient and thankful for what I do have, because let's face it, when we're not in God's will, we are pretty much as unsuccessful as a bull in a china shop.

This piece of haphazard artwork is taken off some random blog.  Thank you, random blogger.  Yes, it looks like paint splattered meaninglessly on a canvas, and in its essence, that's what it is.  But -- I'm going to be honest with you -- that's exactly why I like it.

Tonight I went to see the Secretary of Education speak at Biola.  What I walked away with were four words: "Life is not linear."  It made me feel better.  A lot better, as I tend to be too linear. 

So, here's to messy paint; here's to a messier life (hmm ... well, maybe not quite "messy").

When it comes to love I have very high ideals.  It's not that I think love is perfect, that would be impossible in a world of imperfection, but I do desire for it to be perfect.  I have memorized the bulk on Shakespeare's Sonnet 116, because I think it's one of the most beautiful testimonies of love.  "Love is not love which alters when alteration finds," in other words, love cannot be altered.  "It is the star to every wandering bark," this verse being one I'm particularly infatuated with, as it paints love as even the guide to the wanderer.  Then there's my other favorite love poem (or a favorite), "Brown Penny."  In this poem Yeats says that man will always want to figure out love, for he will be thinking of love until "the starts have run away and the shadows swallowed the moon."  Yeats concluded that "one cannot begin [love] too soon."

Now, I'll be the first to admit poetry is beautiful, these words have been a comfort to me many of times.  Their very romantic nature and rhyme sparking my imagination and drawling me into the possibilities of such a noble love.  To be honest, I have been guilty of this philosophy in regards to many avenues of love: songs, books, movies, quotes.  The more epic  display of love, perhaps the better.

But really?

What about tangible love?  The kind that we can touch, not read about; the kind that why can make cry, not watch cry on a silvery screen; the kind that we can choose to treat how we must, not read words that tell us just how we should feel.  What about that love?  What is that suppose to look like?

Like most things it goes back to God.  Sometimes I forget that God has others love us as a means of showing us what God's love is like for us.  It has been through people that love me dearly that I have seen aspects of grace, service, and encouragement that has blown me away.  It makes me think: if others can only show me a fraction of God's love, how much does God really love me?  Wow.  He must love me a lot.  For it is only in him and through him that the words of those poems, or the lyrics in sentimental songs can even began to take flight.  It is only in him that we can really know love and, therefore, show love.

I close with 1 Cor. 13, and though it's been read many times, it's powerful.  More powerful than Shakespeare or Yeats, and something worth thinking about on a grey Tuesday like today.

Click on the link:

 http://www.blueletterbible.org/Bible.cfm?b=1Cr&c=13&v=1&t=NIV

Isn't it amazing how one thing can change your life completely?  Taking a simple test in the career center about colleges and discovering the one you end up investing in; inviting a friend to a church group and their life becoming completely transformed; trying a cigarette once and somehow it turning into an addiction; fumbling with your cellphone and spinning off an icy cliff -- you're never able to walk again.

Our lives are fragile.  Every little decision and act is woven into an intricate scheme, and as we make so many decisions and partake in so many actions it's crazy how one thing can toss us in a dramatically new direction?

Are we people that can say, "I wish I'd never cared about checking my cellphone, if only I'd known," or "why did I even want to smoke?"

Or are we people who can say, "when I broke my legs I found who my real friends were, and most importantly, it was that action that brought me to Christ."  Acclaiming the good choices, "choosing that college allowed me to meet some of the most important people in my life, no dollar could ever buy the experience that I found."

So, perhaps you're thinking, "these are random examples, what on this green earth are you talking about!"

What I'm saying is what I previously said -- that we are truly fragile.  Our lives move so fast that our decisions often times happen before we can even process all the consequences.  But thankfully there is a greater plan.  Thankfully, God is the great redeemer.

Jesus told us not to worry, but Lord, that is so very hard when there are bills to pay or people sick.  Not worrying is a tall order, but when you think about how your life can and has changed, many of times that change dramatically spurred by one action, one begins to realize that worrying is just not worth it.  In fact, unless worrying can motivate a person to succeed on a given project or in a situation, worrying is almost always useless.  Let's face it, when it comes to life, there's only so much we can do, then it's God

It's that basic, yet it's so much easier said than done.  But then again, look at all the good things you have.  What of those things were brought about by worrying?

I used to really like shopping.  Don't get me wrong, I still love it, but I think the initial junior high/high school passion for shopping has become realistic.  I have determined that to shop one must spend money, to spend money one must have money, and even if there's money aplenty, is a new shirt really the best way to spend it? 

Ok, so I'll be the first to admit that not many material things beat the beauty that is felt when wearing a new shirt, and I have more than once kept my grocery bill at a painful low to save clothes shopping money, but after awhile one begins to realize that the glory of a shirt fades -- the new shirt becomes old.

Like I said, the love of shopping, is still there, but I have discovered that shopping is not really that satisfying.  Which brings me to my next point: a satisfying afternoon.

Today I read for four hours all nestled up on the couch, and it was one of the best afternoons I've had in weeks.  I slept horribly last night, and being able to sit on the cushions, the sun and breeze filtering through the screen door, far outweighed the shopping trip I had thoughts of embarking on after church.

Maybe part of maturing is realizing that simple can often times be better.  I went through this phase, well, high school, where shopping, going to the movies, or eating out all ranked high.  Now I realize that buying your own groceries, curling up with a book, or hanging out with your best friends far outweighs them all.

On a completely unrelated note, I have the most beautiful yellow daffodils next to me, which I would say is a direct order for:

"Daffodils"

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

~William Wordsworth

My eyes are burning because I'm so exhausted, but I can't sleep.

I used to think that atheists were people who just really hated God.  They hated him so much, they denied him.  That's what I used to think.

Tonight Christopher Hitchens debated William Lane Craig in, what I found to be, a compelling debate.  True Christianity won beyond atheism.  And, truthfully, I do not say that solely because I'm a Christian, but rather, that the only atheist arguments were refutes to the Christian arguments set-forth.  The atheist argument had no logical argument or solution of its own.

I could go on about the logistics of the debate, but with sleep deprivation plaguing me that's the last thing I want to do.  Really, I want to say that I was wrong.  Not all atheists hate God so much that they deny him.  Not all of them are too weak to believe.

Some atheists are strong -- strong in their ideas; some of them, like Hitchen's, believe atheism sets people free from false and often times binding beliefs.  The unfortunate spin, is that by adopting atheism, a person, in turn, adopts a belief set of their own, hence diminishing the ideology of their own freedom.

From what I've heard from Eric, and what I witnessed during the debate, I believe Hitchens is a complex man.  I believe that he wants what's right, what's good, and what's satisfying in this life.  Christian or not, who doesn't?  But as I heard him up there, so much tension toward religion in general, so much conviction in his idea of godlessness, I saw not an evil person as I thought I might see, but an intellectual, passionate, atheist guru.  

The thing he was missing was hope.  I wish he knew. 

The joy, the hope, the freedom in Christ.  I wish he knew.

"Grow Up"

Open arms, or hold on tight,

There's never been a better time to be alive,

Look to the stars, second one to the right,

There's got to be some place where dreamers can thrive,

I've never been to Neverland,

But I've always liked fairy tales,

And here we are in this land,

Without pixy dust and magic spells,

"We'll never grow up!"

Those Lost Boys scream and shout.

"We'll never grow up,"

Who needs life's clout?

High heels and stripped ties,

Wedding rings and baby's cries,

We work so hard, we give so many tries,

We love so hard, then somebody dies,

Though I'd like to see a Mermaid's tail,

To fight Hook amidst the seas stormy swell,

I'm convinced this life has more to tell,

I'd like to try, even if I fail,

You see, Peter, he ran away,

It must be lonely, not growing up,

At times it's tempting, but I'd rather stay,

For this life has more than enough to fill my cup,

Maybe I can fly, but in a different way,

And find life's joy, despite life's pain,

I'll keep my imagination, no matter what they say,

And I'll grow up -- to loose, but to gain.

Have you ever looked at yourself and thought, "boy, I'm ugly."  I don't mean the reaction that one may formulate upon looking in the mirror after a night's sleep or a messy cry, I mean -- ugly inside.

I know we are all made in the image of God, for His glory; as a result, I am confident that I am not a waste, but rather, redeemed in Christ.  Regardless, my sin is so ugly.  I find myself being selfish, judgmental, immature, prideful, and jealous.  And the worst part is, though I can change and improve, my sin is a perpetual part of my humanity.  Where is the hope then?  Where can one find hope when they know they are doomed to sin?

We can only find it in Christ.  To be a believer is to be redeemed.  We sin, yet the Lord gives us grace.  It's simple, but it's remarkable.  

What do we do then when we sin toward others?  When we perpetually reflect our fallen nature onto our relationships.  How can we ever grow with people, be loved and desired, when we are so messy and, at times, ugly?  Who really wants to be with a selfish, judgmental, immature, prideful, and jealous person?

I don't know.

Maybe the best answer I can give is a quote from Les Mis: 

"The supreme happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved; loved for ourselves--say rather, loved in spite of ourselves (167)."

Lately I have had an abundance of emotion.  I am completely and utterly overwhelmed.  This is not where I saw myself after graduating, but in so many ways my life is far better than I could have ever anticipated.  True, it's exciting, but some aspects are not exciting.  I have to remember, amidst it all, God is faithful.

This past week has been a flood of job opportunities.  After three months of nothing more than part-time work, the gush of work has had a tumultuous effect.  I want to work -- really want to work -- but landing a job fresh out of college takes time; have I ever learned that.  I'm beginning to realize that even though you think you're done after college there are so many other big choices ahead.  With jobs come the potential of moving.  Moving is not half bad, especially when it's inevitable with a running-out lease, but leaving people is the worst.

I listen to "Moon River" a lot lately.  I don't know the exact story behind it, but I've heard people tell me a synopsis of what their google research has informed them it is.  But I block that out.  To me "Moon River" is written about two people looking for what's good and right in life -- what's good and right to them -- their dreams.  Hoping to sail the "Moon River" that dreams are caught on.  It's about two people -- huckleberry friends -- both of them drifters, wanting to go everywhere in hopes their adventures will bring them somewhere.  They want to see the world, to experience life, but maybe what they really want is that "rainbow's end."  Maybe what they really want is what we're all looking for: someone who can not just be our companion, but a true friend that can be a home.  Home being something you have to find yourself once you've grow up ...

There's something about this song that comforts me.  Sometimes, when listening to it, I feel very Audrey in the rain.

My 25 Things (as noted on Facebook)

1.) I absolutely love dead dandelions. Every time I see one I have to make a wish. This ritual dates back to the toddler years. Although they are arguably a weed, to me, they are the best of all flowers.

2.) There are certain things that will, inevitably, always make me laugh. Y2K is one of them. I find it hilarious how it was such a hype and then ... nothing.

3.) I have a folder with a hideous rocket-ship that a kid that I have no recollection of except that his name was Jeremy gave to me in the third grade. Though it has spent the majority of its life hidden under my bed, this folder contains little stories and poems that I considered my most sacred and top secret possessions for the majority of my childhood and adolescent years. 

4.) I cannot, will not, eat cooked carrots. True it sounds trivial, but they honestly make me gag. My dad offered me 10 dollars to eat one once. Honestly, I tried.

5.) I have a secret talent of spouting off random first and last names at lightening speed. This is compliments of my grandma who taught me a game called "Rolly Polley." In this game you bounce a ball in a chalk diagram of spaces, with each bounce you list something in the previously declared category. I had a knack for the name category.

6.) I find the line "Let me be your freedom" in "All I Ask Of You" from "Phantom of The Opera" haunting. 

7.) I am convinced I would have been kindred spirits with the Bronte sisters, particularly Charlotte.

8.) The first thing I ever baked by myself was an apple pie. I forgot the flour. The first thing I ever cooked solo was a delicious dish I created for Mother's Day. The entree consisted of room temperature berry yogurt with chunks of butter tossed in.

9.) Disregarding talent, If I could be anything -- my unrealistic pipe dream if you will -- is to be a fantastic singer. I'm talking Sarah Brighton, topnotch musical caliber. 

10.) Often times when I'm talking to people I punctuate in my head.

11.) I have the biggest crush on George Bailey from "It's A Wonderful Life" ... maybe it's just Jimmy Stewart in general. One of my favorite movie scenes is when he tells Mary he doesn't love her than they kiss. Turns out he does love her. Gets me every time.

12.) I think a lot; so much so that I have been told on multiple occasions that I think more than anyone the particular person who is telling me has ever known. I have also been told I am the most romantic person. I don't know if I agree, but I've learned to embrace it.

13.) Someday I really want to own a used bookstore, then I can sit on the top floor and write. The store will have lots of nooks, a staircase, window seat, a children's story hour, epic book quotes on small portions of the walls, and lots of dust. I also want to live in a house with a garden and a creaky wooden gate (kind of like Miss Honey's house in Matilda).

14.) Scotland and The Lake District are the two most beautiful places I have ever been. They are possibly the first two places that could not have been improved by imagination.

15.) I love thinking about femininity; especially the idea of feminine inner/outer beauty going right or terribly wrong. I am particularly fascinated with Eve and Helen of Troy.

16.) Growing up a hobby was sewing pillows. Yes Pillows. I would give them to teachers, treasured friends, and family members. Though I've grown out of this, the skills still dwell within.

17.) My favorite book of the Bible is Revelations. I also love the beginning of Genesis. I am pretty fascinated with where we came from and where we're going. Though I suppose the Gospel is the most pivotal point in there.

18.) I will go to ridiculous lengths to visit a new state, even if it's just driving in for five minutes (airports don't count). This method was done with both Mississippi and Arkansas. My goal is to see everything worth seeing, read everything worth reading, experience everything worth experiencing, before I run out of time. I know I'm only 21, but I tend to get very excited about life and very anxious to soak it all in.

19.) Growing up I idolized Liesel in "The Sound of Music." I thought 16 going on 17 was so wonderfully mature.

20.) When I get nervous I excessively apply Chapstick. 

21.) Here is goes: Disneyland, though fun, is just ok. I'm sorry, there's no "magic."

22.) Animal movies are usually the only movies that really make me cry. I get all chocked up every time I watch an animal family drama. It's embarrassing. I think it first began when I made a tearful scene at a showing of Lassie when I was about six. For this reason I try to avoid these movies, and refuse to watch "Old Yeller."

23.) I am extremely self competitive. Some may argue competitive. I'll admit, I do get pretty into board games ... 

24.) I don't really like TV. Unless it's shows on DVD. 

25.) The longest I've gone without showering is a week. I was backpacking. I don't know if that makes it more or less disgusting. 

I have a lot of big things to blog about, but I'm going to wait a couple days, as I know it will all make more sense then.  Instead I'm going to talk about something frivolous (well not really): Spring.  For my list lovers: "What I Love About Spring":

1.) Mowing the lawn again, and the absolutely wonderful way it smells afterward.

2.) Yes, you allergy haters may disapprove, but ... the blossoms that float on the breeze.

3.) For those who are not in Southern California culture, the first wearing of skirts and dresses without tights.

4.) Spring colors!

5.) Though I'm a firm believer that any time of the year is appropriate to become "twitterpaited," it's a pretty defining pastime of the Spring.

6.) The anticipation of summer. ;)

7.) The sun is out longer, which means more time to play after work.

8.) Green!  Oh, how I LOVE when nature turns green!

9.) Easter 

10.) Spring break (RIP Spring break)

11.) Flowers.

12.) Birth (cows, chicken's, pigs; it's all very "Charlotte's Web).

Hmmm .... all of this Spring talk makes me want to watch "Planet Earth."

I have been as mad as a hornet (always loved this expression) for a fews days now.  My foot, the one that broke just over a year ago, has decided to act up out of virtually nowhere.  I am running considerably less than the fall, albeit still running, and do not consider my days remotely arduous, yet still -- constant pain.  

This may all seem very trivial, even unimportant, but I absolutely love being active.  It boasts my mood, not to mention gives me valuable time to exercise and think.  I constantly thank God for exercise, but with a lame foot, especially after round two, I'm feeling discouraged.  

I don't want to visit the doctor because I know it isn't broken (believe me, that would be very obvious).  But at the same time, something is not right.  I'm kind of at the point, where I'm like: heal or break, preferably NOT the latter.

Oh, there are far worse things, I know.  Besides, no one likes being around a Hornet.

There are few things in life that scare me more than trust.  It's not because I have a 100% do-it myself mentality; It doesn't even root in control; it's just trusting can turn out so very painful.

The analogy of trust that always pops into my head is that somewhat trite game that's played at summer camps and team building retreats where one person turns their back to another person, then continues by falling on them.  The idea is that the person falling, simply does just that, and the person catching, simply does their job.  It's basic.  The rest of the group usually cheers or nods approvingly (depending on the energy level of the group) and in some roundabout way this proves trust.

Now, I'll be honest with you, there's at least 100 people I'd fall on, but to me, that is not trust.  Trust is more than a single action, it's a lifestyle that exhibits consistent faith in something.  To trust God is not to know the outcome therefore agree with God, it's not to say it, or do it once, or even twice; it's a way of living that constantly chooses to walk out in faith and hope, trusting God will not forsake you and will teach you what is best.  Trust is vital to religion.

Unfortunately, trust, is also vital to relationships (not to the same degree as religion, however).  I say unfortunately, because in friendships and intimacy you are no longer putting trust into a perfect, benevolent creator, but rather a broken, confused individual.  That's when it becomes tricky; that's when it can hurt.  

There has to be a middle ground, a safe place of trust, or maybe it's something developed and proved over time, regardless, it's so hard.  Still, if you place all your trust in God, then even if you loose the trust of an individual, you will ultimately be just as fulfilled.  But just like falling on the individual in the "youth group trust game," you can't treat it as a gamble or an eventual failure, or else you aren't going to be able to successfully fall.

I remember one time in high school I (with a group of friends) repelled off a bridge.  It was a class, so we were all looking out for each other, and one of the head guys was the one at the top encouraging me.  With embarrassingly shaky hands, and admittedly not the strongest of legs, I slowly made my way down the cement portion of the bridge.  Honestly, I was so nervous I was dizzy.  Once I made it to the part where I had to let go of the cement bridge, flip upside down, then re-level out, completing the last three-fourths of the bridge by lowering myself through the rope in mid air, I became terrified.  I did not, could not, let my now almost dancing (from shaking so hard) feet leave the cement safety.  It was all happening so fast, and I couldn't exactly predict what was going to happen next; most of me believed I'd flip upside down at lightening speed and bang into the bridge, suffering a concussion.  Then I remember the guy at the top, he made complete eye contact with me, and kept a calm steady voice, telling me exactly what to do and that I could do it.  Somehow, amidst my minor hysteria, I believed him.  I saw that finishing my decent off the bridge was the wisest thing that I could do, and that competent or not, I was going to have to brave it.  So I did, and it really wasn't so bad.

Maybe, eventually, I have to let go of the cement. 

I often wonder, when I look back on this time in my life what am I going to think.  Most likely there will be thoughts of I should have worried less and enjoyed things more, but who knows what other insights will strike me.

Often times I look back on a few years ago, the days when I just began college.  The concept in many respects seems lighthearted and easy: four years of planned higher education, plenty of friends my age, and the endless college joys such as eating a huge burrito or running five miles at midnight (ok, random).  I'll be honest though, it really wasn't the easiest time.  There were many days when I felt homesick and lonely and wasn't even really aware of it myself, there were papers that seemed pointless to write, embarrassing moments that were relentless not to vanish, and many weekends spent car-less and stranded at school.  But there was joy from the difficulty.  The homesickness taught me to reach out and make life lasting friends, the awful papers developed in me perseverance, the embarrassing moments showed me that I shouldn't take myself so seriously, and the car-less weekends made for some of the most memorable moments I had in college (climbing the fountain, taking hordes of butter from "Common Grounds," making up weird dances in the dorm room, ironing at 2 a.m. ....)

Looking back on those years I don't have a spirit of "man, I wish I would have done things differently," even though I am fully aware there were many improvements that could have been made.  Still, I see in the hard times so much growth and good that came through; there were memories created that were so special and unique to that time in my life.  Maybe, hopefully, it's like that now.  I'll look back, ever so tenderly remembering the struggles, but rather than harboring a spirit of dissatisfaction, smiling at the joy and experiences that were borne from such a time.

They say hindsight is 20/20, and I'll admit -- it's true.  I can look back and immediately pick out a list of at least twenty things I could have improved on to make that time in my life meet my idea of "more enjoyable," but really, the memories are good the way they are.  It's funny how in our struggles or amidst the standard trials of life we fail to see the direct correlation of uniqueness, joy, and wisdom that often times comes with them.  Life can be hard, and we don't easily forget that, but there's so much good, and those memories have a way of always being remembered.

GRE

Oh boy, every time I hear that phrase my stomach lurches and my mind brings me back to my two day seminar entitled "Taming The SAT," as well as two endless mornings in an under-heated classroom attempting to take the SAT.  If you haven't already guessed, I do not have found memories of the SAT, and the idea that the GRE could be somewhat reminiscent makes me a bit anxious.

Regardless, I have always been up for a challenge, even if I know it is most likely a doomed challenge, seeing that I have about as much of a knack for standardized tests as I do baseball (which, if you grew up with me at all, you would know this is no knack whatsoever).  I can't help but want to study for this test, hoping that maybe if I do so, I'll surprise myself and excel.  After all, aside from "Taming the SAT" I think I studied for about twenty minutes for the test.

Though I am not per-say excited about studying for the GRE itself, I have to admit something very nerdy: I am thrilled to study for the English Lit. subject exam.  Yesterday I spent about three hours reading through the questions, and though the majority were painfully tough, though I have never been an English major, and though I have a lot of studying to do, I was having a fantastic time basking in the literature trivia.  I wonder if they have a game for people like me?  Honestly, I could answer literature trivia and analyze poems and passages eight hours a day, five days a week.  I really don't know why, I guess it's the same reason that some people could sit and read political articles, or others want to talk about sports nonstop -- we're all a little too interested in something.  Lucky for me, there's an exam that praises my interest (a luxury that the afore mentioned do not to my knowledge have).

So with reluctance mixed in with a bit of excitement I will study to take the exams.  I'll just think of this in the same light as my half marathon endeavor: a challenge.  I probably won't take the exams until late-summer/early-fall, therefore I'm determined to study really hard; something I did not do in the slightest for my SAT.  Study hard maybe, but I still am steadfast refusing to take any class remotely resembling "Taming The SAT," or any class for that matter (even if they do provide cool souvenir pencils and water bottles to make you feel better about forking out a few hundred).  If I'm failing, I'll do so on my own. 

The Little Things

Writers, poets, and all of the sort seem to spend large quantities of time talking about the "little things."  True, this is a generalization, and true, many, if not most, try tackling a big question, such as "what is love?" or "why are we alive," but regardless, it's with the "little things" they try to define this.

Allow me to define "little things" so I can stop putting them randomly in the sentence leaving your wondering eyes to stare at the two words in unfriendly quotes.  They are the simple things in life.  Perhaps a poet will devote a whole poem to a rose, or an author talk for numerous pages about the grassy knoll she so dearly loves.  Yet, I am convinced, that it is through these little things that we come to the big things in life.  Or, maybe, the little things aren't really so little.

Take for example friendship.  To be best friends with someone is one thing, to share the binding words, and refer to one another casually as his/her best friend is standard, but it's not really this that bring so much joy.  The joy comes in the friendship.  The moments you spend laughing over ridiculous things, when they always return your calls, or the way they are there to eat breakfast with you every morning.  It's nice to have this.  So nice, in fact, that maybe returning a call or sharing a meal isn't so little.  To me, these things are vital, and big.

Perhaps this is why I am so fond of the, to what some call, simple things in life.  They happen to be the things that allow me to understand and begin to grasp the truly big things; they are the building blocks to something truly divine.

Random Thoughts Of The Day (rather mundane thoughts)

1.) I have decided that I like old fashion names.  I just do.  There's a part of me that realizes that these are the common names of women in their mid to late 80's, but I think many of these names are beautiful.  My favorite name, which has been for a couple years now, is Jayne (notice the cool spelling where I incorporated a lovely "y").  Another older name that I like is Louisa.  Ok, maybe you're thinking "The Sound of Music" and pretty soon I'm going to say Bergetta, but no, I'm not going to go that far.  Then there's Karoline (I prefer "k's" to "c's").  And, of course, Emma and Ella are sweet.  

2.) Everyone is always at school and it becomes wearing after awhile.  I miss people and I get sick of my own repeating thoughts.  This makes me really want a vacation, so I can surround myself with people I love, but a vacation is impossible when I work six days a week.

3.) Housework is hard work.  Making nice meals, keeping groceries in the fridge, and cleaning is more challenging than a person might think.  In order to shop economically, it took me an hour and a half to bounce around to different grocery stores today.

4.) I have discovered that I like so many simple things not for the fact that they are simple, but because they open up a world inside of me.  For example, foggy days make me think of a whole expanse of foggy-day-related thoughts, and that, not the fog alone, is what makes the foggy day so exciting.

5.) I run out of my main stream of energy by 4 p.m (so, I do get a second wind after dinner), this makes my new job a challenge, and night Bible studies equally tough.  Sometimes, I wish the whole world would wake up at 5 and go to bed at 8:30 or 9 (don't hate me for saying that).

6.) The time has come to read Anna Karenina.  I've been wanting to read it for years, even started it, but the length intimidates me.  But perhaps Anna can keep me company while everyone else is finishing their education.

7.) People keep telling me I should write a children's book.  I've always been more drawn to intricate novel writing, but maybe writing a children's book would be cool.  My dad let me read this really funny one he found in a cereal box about when businesses started giving away free dinosaurs to kids.  I never have imagined writing such a story, but I suppose it's an option.

8.) Lastly, I have taken to entering online writing competitions.  This may or may not benefit my free time.  Yesterday, I finished my first short story for the Writer's Digest entitled, "Cody."  Hey, competitions seem like a lot less work than the hassle of freelance, so we'll see.

9.) As tough as some things are, I'm really thankful and content in a lot of important things right now.  That's a blessings.

"Dandelions"

Glass clinks, wind blows,

Damp grass, shrinks beneath toes.

Nothing but light, dancing through sound,

Nothing but me facing the ground.

To ants they must seem the tallest of trees;

To grass, they illuminate like snow covered seeds.

Heals and boots they fail to see,

Surely they don't know this is no weed to me.

I grab the blossom, pinch it in the tips of my hand;

A white string of song begins to escape like sand.

Breath it nudges; wishes fly --

This wish of mine sails straight to the sky.

Fill

What do we fill ourselves with?  I have been thinking about this a lot lately, trying to decide how I want to fill my time, especially now that I have more time than I have had in a long while.  Time is a funny concept, in the sense that we can not purchase more of it, or give away huge chunks of it that we don't feel like living through (or even sleeping through) on a particular day.  It just passes, whether we want it to or not.

How I choose to fill my time says a lot about who I am, what I love, what I value, even my opinion on how important time itself is.  About a month ago I had a blank canvas of time, I could have filled it with anything from a job to a trip around the world (so maybe money would not have permitted the latter).  Since then I have steadily created routines, certain weekly things that I want to fill my time with.  Though right now my time is only routinely filled with about a 25 hour/6 day a week work week, a weekly Bible study, and church, my other time seems to be quickly cluttered, or in a positive light, enhanced.  

I throw in that hour run every other day, because it makes me feel good, and aside from the joint smashing effects, it's healthy.  I try to read or write daily because it's something I love and it's a way I can continue to learn and develop thoughts outside of an academic setting.  Then there's job searching, looking for that ideal job is important unless I always want to pursue my current part-time occupation (I'm going to answer that with no, this is not an until retirement career).  Spending time with my girlfriends is important because they help shape me and ground me, and of course it's important to contact my family regularly to stay in touch with them.  Then having a boyfriend takes time, without it how could two people connect and grow in a relationship?  Of course there are the trivial, yet necessary time guzzlers of life, like eating, bathing, sleeping, and the last one I probably invest too much time in, but getting ready -- the head to toe preening ritual that I devote at least an hour to daily.

With all that said, with all that time taken, or rather filled, it doesn't leave much time.  I know I can fill more of my time, I know at this point in my schedule it is possible to be far busier, but are we really suppose to fill every second of our time to the point where we're actually stuffing things into time?  Yesterday I was thinking about volunteering somewhere once a week, and though at this point that it conducive to my time, there is a point where I become guilty of trying to overfill my time.

I guess it works something like this, if I'm relating back to the empty canvas that is: splashing paint all over my canvas with various shapes and pictures is a lot more interesting and fulfilling than a plain white expanse, but too much color, too many crazy shapes and varied pictures, and my canvas starts making everyone who looks at it dizzy -- for good reason, too.

We all have stories; we store them inside ourselves, letting them out when it feels safe or important, but no matter what we do with them we know they're there.  Our stories are our experiences, in more respects than we're comfortable with, and our experiences become so much of us, for better, or worse. 

My grandmother's hands wouldn't be so wrinkled if she had not spent so much time facing them to the sun, drowning them in dishwater, tangibly working through life, but it's in those wrinkles, in that time of joy, and purpose, and strain that life was experienced, that a story unfolded.  Our stories are like this.

They are extended rhythms that have both pleasant and ugly melodies, but they make something beautiful when pieced together.  Sometimes our stories pound in our hearts so heavily we can hardly breathe, other times they quietly rest within, but sooner or later we all want to be heard.  It's antihuman not to be; such a cold and desolate experience is against life's very nature.  So we tell our stories the best way we can, sometimes softening the edges, or sharpening corners, depending on who and how we want to paint our lives.  And sometimes we find someone we trust, a friend that meets us in our deepest parts, and in that connection we really let them in, sometimes cautiously, sometimes vibrantly, all the while hoping they will like it.

Latest Career Move ...

"Latest career move," hardly, but a part-time smattering of a job, yes.  I am the proud (?) employee of Reading Town, a Korean reading tutoring franchise that is conveniently located 10 minutes away.  Though a pay check is far from insight and my hours seem to be more weekend than week heavy, it's a job, and it's a job doing something I love -- reading.  The unfortunate spin is that they are just opening and because of this their cliental is low and my max weekly hours may be in the single digits.  Along with that, the business is only open about 30 hours a week, but if in the chance I eventually worked that many, finances would be golden.  Regardless, it is truly a blessing to have a job -- smattering of a job be it -- while I look for something that is more structured and settle into post college life.

Valentine's Day Tip

In the spirit of Valentine's Day, and because over the course of my college years I have witnessed friends and personal mistakes with "confessions of love" letters, here is a perhaps not "all inclusive" ten point list to follow when ... er, "spilling the beans."

10 Things To Avoid When Confessing Your Romantic Feelings For Someone In A Letter:

1.) It is a common theme that most spend at least six to eight sentences explaining simply why they are writing the letter -- this length of an explanation is highly unnecessary. Unless you think the person you're sending the letter to isn't sharp (which I'm assuming the target of your admiration would not fit under this category), then it is useless to take up that much space explaining your feelings. Try to keep this portion of the letter to a two sentence maximum, and I'm not referring to those sentences that have two to three commas and a semi-colon. Keep it short.

2.) This point is an outpouring of the former; do not exceed one half of a page (a full half) in the length of the letter. If you follow point 1, this shouldn't be a challenge. The key is not to flood your "adoree" with so much emotion and praise before you know if the sentiment is returned.

3.) DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT give them a way out. This is unnecessary. Back to the pivotal point 1, we are assuming they are sharp, and with that being the case they can find their own way out. A written way out only weakens your argument.

4.) Do not bash your intentions with phrases akin to "I hope this doesn't ruin the friendship"; "I hope this isn't awkward"; "This is hard for me to do." Saying such things only make the fears more true. As difficult as it may be, refrain.

5.) Never say: "I know you probably would never like me." This is suicide.

6.) Do not waste space making an excuse for why you decided to write a letter instead of breech the topic in person. Letters can actually be quite romantic; let them believe the letter proclamation was due to romance, not because you didn't have the guts to tell them face to face.

7.) Don't get so caught up in how you feel that you neglect being direct and fail to point them to the next step. If you want to know if they feel the same way, make that question clear and let them know the appropriate way to communicate this to you (instant message, phone, in person, follow-up letter, etc).

8.) A brief anecdote related to when your love began to bloom is appropriate. However, a detailed description that borderline discloses the fact that you have been arguably obsessed with them for the past (fill in number) of years is, and will most likely come across, as creepy. That is unless you are 100% sure your "honey" feels the same, and I'd imagine if you are going to such editorial lengths, this is not the case.

9.) Do not sound too formal, though on the same note do not make it too light. The perfect declaration of love (assuming there is such a thing) will be sober, yet charming. One without the other is problematic.

10.) Perhaps the most monumental of all points: Do not EVER come off as angry at your paramour. An aggressive love proclamation is the worst idea of nearly all ideas. It is in no way their fault that you are THAT tormented. And, if by chance it is significantly their fault, a love letter may not be the conversation you're needing to have. If you happen to be angry at your prospective lover, cool off, think it over, and decide whether you're going to choose to be joyful or agitated over your festering love. If you happen to choose the latter, DO NOT write the letter; just don't.

I've decided that I'm not very good at being "not busy" ... hmmm, well in certain aspects I'm good; here me out:

It is a convicting truth that I define myself far too much based on success. While it is true that we need a job to pay the bills, an education gives you an advantage in the job industry, and accomplishing goals shows a healthy follow through, these things aren't me -- they are not my worth. Point easier understood than accepted.

Unemployment has been a real challenge for me for the very fact that I feel somewhat scattered and aimless without "success" or the "pursuit of success" to help in defining me; for this reason my unemployment has been a blessing in showing me that having a season lacking in accomplishment does not make me a failure. In fact, it makes me healthy because it allows me time and space to discover what things should define me.

I was talking with a friend the other day and she was pointing out how a professor was telling her that we don't always need to fill our time to be successful. This was a weighty matter for me to consider coming from a life where ambition and hard work are essential components to a whole person. While the above values are positive, even highly estimable qualities, a person harboring both those qualities can, and most likely will, have seasons in their lives that seem, or even are in many tangible ways, unsuccessful. Though that hinges on what being unsuccessful is really defined as. Perhaps, the professor was right; actually, I know the professor was right, this time of unemployment, my unstructured days, are in many regards successful. (This is where the part that I'm good at comes in.)

What I AM good at is being productive. Never once during the days of my joblessness have I resorted to TV or a movie (not that doing either would be an altogether bad thing). I spend my time keeping myself occupied and productive doing things, that for the most part, I truly enjoy. Over the past couple weeks I have increased my cooking and baking skills greatly, as well as had the time to feed numorous people. Though I'm not reading as much as I should be (I suppose I feel a tad guilty filling the days with fun reads) I have had time to read a few books, a luxury that I did not have while in school. Then my writing; though I have not been producing the best work over the past few weeks, I have been doing a fair amount of writing, and, if anything, I've enjoyed it. My spare time has allowed me to connect with and serve people in new ways, process ideas that have been floating for months in my head, and get my post college life in order. In many ways, unemployment has been a blessings.

I guess it's going to take a little more than a blog post and a few weeks of unemployment to truly show me that I am not defined in my work. Possibly, as I'm sure is the case for many, this will always be something I struggle with. Still, these past few weeks have shown me God in a new way. This time has been a firsthand experience that has taught me on a deeper level how exclusively my identity lies in my faith and the overflow thereof. It is such a comfort to not simply know this, but to begin to feel it.

Because I have not posted a list in quite some time, and because by now my (few) readers know I'm "list happy," I decided to delight the blogosphere with one:

"12 Random Things That Make Me Feel Alive" (not that I don't normally feel alive, but, you know ...)

1.) Listening to musicals or Frank Sinatra (really any swanky singer from that era).

2.) Having long conversations about hypotheticals, specifically ones that incorporate fictitious characters.

3.) Having company over for dinner.

4.) Wearing shorts after a long, cold winter.

5.) The way it feels when someone you care about feels just the same.

6.) Waking up when it's still dark to travel somewhere you've never been before (coffee is preferably involved in this process).

7.) When really sweet old people talk to you for a long time and grab your hand as though they are reaching for a little bit of your youth.

8.) The last page of a good book.

9.) Writing poetry or stories with no intention of anyone ever reading it, but the faint hope that you might be the "next Emily Dickinson."

10.) Being hugged -- really hugged.

11.) Spontaneously changing plans and going somewhere last minute; this process usually involves some level of scheming.

12.) Running then jumping in the pool -- if this can't wake a person up, I don't know what can.