Since Erika bought me Michigan by Sufjan Stevens in 2003, I've been a big fan of his. My best friend used to listen to Danielson Famile a long time ago, but I never connected Sufjan with Daniel Smith and his family.
We listen to Sufjan a lot. Yesterday, while reading through a few blogs, I came across the most amazing early Christmas present. Not one, but three Sufjan Christmas albums. These aren't released records, that I know of. If someone knows different, let me know.
Sufjan Stevens Christmas Albums
In case you missed it, here is Sufjan's NPR special.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
NO MORE TV TRAYS
After searching all over for a table to break bread on, Erika and I have finally made the big purchase. I'm very pleased with it's construction. The next time you come over to our apartment for food, we won't be sitting on the couches.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
PET PEEVES
Is it fun to read about another person's pet peeves, or does it just bring you down and make you grumpy? Let's find out. Here are mine.
1. When someone says, "I'm bad with names."
If you say this, shame on you. Have you ever noticed that EVERYONE says this? Did God place a genetic defect in 99 percent of the human race that makes people psychologically unable to remember a person's name? No. He didn't. People are bad with names because either they are not really listening when someone tells them their name, or they are not intentionally trying to remember the name. To anyone who claims this lame untruth, when someone tells you his name, say to yourself (silently of course), "His name is John. John is his name. People call him John." Notice something unique about John. Associate John with another John you know. You will be amazed that suddenly you are not so bad with names anymore.
2. When a friend has a blog or any new contact information, and they don't tell me.
How am I supposed to get ahold of this person? How am I supposed to read their thoughts and share in their virtual ponderings? When someone does this to me, I feel unloved. That's the bottom line.
3. Usage of the (not really a) word, "irregardless."
This is my number one pet peeve of all time. "Irregardless" is not a word. It does not appear in the dictionary. When I spell checked this blog entry, the spell checker highlighted all occurrences of it. The word is just "regardless." I had an English teacher who used this supposed word all the time. An English teacher! It was too disheartening for words. I judge anyone who utters this word.
But of course, kind reader, you do none of these things. Thank you for being so considerate.
1. When someone says, "I'm bad with names."
If you say this, shame on you. Have you ever noticed that EVERYONE says this? Did God place a genetic defect in 99 percent of the human race that makes people psychologically unable to remember a person's name? No. He didn't. People are bad with names because either they are not really listening when someone tells them their name, or they are not intentionally trying to remember the name. To anyone who claims this lame untruth, when someone tells you his name, say to yourself (silently of course), "His name is John. John is his name. People call him John." Notice something unique about John. Associate John with another John you know. You will be amazed that suddenly you are not so bad with names anymore.
2. When a friend has a blog or any new contact information, and they don't tell me.
How am I supposed to get ahold of this person? How am I supposed to read their thoughts and share in their virtual ponderings? When someone does this to me, I feel unloved. That's the bottom line.
3. Usage of the (not really a) word, "irregardless."
This is my number one pet peeve of all time. "Irregardless" is not a word. It does not appear in the dictionary. When I spell checked this blog entry, the spell checker highlighted all occurrences of it. The word is just "regardless." I had an English teacher who used this supposed word all the time. An English teacher! It was too disheartening for words. I judge anyone who utters this word.
But of course, kind reader, you do none of these things. Thank you for being so considerate.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
INTERFAITH HOSPITALITY
This week our church is hosting Interfaith Hospitality, which is a program that helps families that have lost their homes get back on their feet. Twelve different area churches of all denominations take turns hosting the families - preparing meals for them and providing them with a place to sleep for a week at a time. Volunteers from the church cook dinner and stay the night to be available for the families if anything comes up.
Interfaith is something Philip is incredibly passionate about. I am talking passionate. He was involved in the program long before he met me, and dating him meant helping out with him whenever it was our church's week to host, regardless of how uncomfortable it made me.
And it definitely made me uncomfortable. Interfaith was the first event at which I met friends of Philip's from his church. First, we had to cook dinner, which was something that I had no clue how to do back then. (I actually can cook now, which, for my college friends, may come as a major shock. But it's true. Come to Florida and I'll prove it.) So everyone was in the kitchen preparing food, and by "everyone," I mean all these people who I was meeting for the first time. I remember kind of hovering around nervously wondering what to do with myself, wishing that the kitchen was a place where I felt confident and capable, rather than awkward and retarded.
Then we had to meet and talk with the families. I was so terrified that I would say something horribly offensive or not be able to think of anything to say at all.
That night, the families didn't end up eating with us. They just kind of got their food and bolted. So the rest of us ended up having a lovely conversation over our spaghetti in which I became acquainted with a number of people who are now my good friends.
But it didn't stop there. Philip and I stayed the night in these rickety cots, and the classroom we slept in was F.R.I.G.I.D. I had never been so cold in my life. And I could hear all these noises outside, like sirens and cars speeding down the highway. I was jumpy as hell and don't think I had one hour of sound sleep that night. Then we had to get up at 6:30 in the morning to move the families out and load the cots up into the trailer. It was a lot of physical work, hauling bags and bags of belongings as well as around 25 beds downstairs, not to mention vacuuming, emptying the trash cans, and dividing up the linens for laundering.
It was all so uncomfortable and draining that I just balled when I got home. I was sure I couldn't do it, that I was the wrong woman for Philip, because he needed someone a lot braver and tougher. I both admired and resented Philip for being so tireless, for being so comfortable talking with the families, for being so capable.
Now, after two years, I can handle Interfaith. I can cook, I can interact with the families (to an extent; Philip is still way better at this), and I can sleep in the church without freaking out (though at times it's still a little spooky). I have the energy it takes to get the job done. I know the ropes. It just took a compassionate guide and a willingness on my part to keep trying, even though it was exhausting and intimidating.
As I left the church yesterday morning after volunteering for the night with my husband, I watched the families load up into the Interfaith van to go to their various destinations for the day. One mother had to walk to the bus station to get to her job so she'd be on time. And Philip and I left in our two separate cars. These families with three and four kids don't have one vehicle, and we have two. I drove in my car to our apartment, where there are two comfortable queen-size beds - one that never even gets used - while these families have zero beds.
So I just have to feel like, so what if I am uncomfortable and stretched for one or two nights out of a two-month period? So what?
Interfaith is something Philip is incredibly passionate about. I am talking passionate. He was involved in the program long before he met me, and dating him meant helping out with him whenever it was our church's week to host, regardless of how uncomfortable it made me.
And it definitely made me uncomfortable. Interfaith was the first event at which I met friends of Philip's from his church. First, we had to cook dinner, which was something that I had no clue how to do back then. (I actually can cook now, which, for my college friends, may come as a major shock. But it's true. Come to Florida and I'll prove it.) So everyone was in the kitchen preparing food, and by "everyone," I mean all these people who I was meeting for the first time. I remember kind of hovering around nervously wondering what to do with myself, wishing that the kitchen was a place where I felt confident and capable, rather than awkward and retarded.
Then we had to meet and talk with the families. I was so terrified that I would say something horribly offensive or not be able to think of anything to say at all.
That night, the families didn't end up eating with us. They just kind of got their food and bolted. So the rest of us ended up having a lovely conversation over our spaghetti in which I became acquainted with a number of people who are now my good friends.
But it didn't stop there. Philip and I stayed the night in these rickety cots, and the classroom we slept in was F.R.I.G.I.D. I had never been so cold in my life. And I could hear all these noises outside, like sirens and cars speeding down the highway. I was jumpy as hell and don't think I had one hour of sound sleep that night. Then we had to get up at 6:30 in the morning to move the families out and load the cots up into the trailer. It was a lot of physical work, hauling bags and bags of belongings as well as around 25 beds downstairs, not to mention vacuuming, emptying the trash cans, and dividing up the linens for laundering.
It was all so uncomfortable and draining that I just balled when I got home. I was sure I couldn't do it, that I was the wrong woman for Philip, because he needed someone a lot braver and tougher. I both admired and resented Philip for being so tireless, for being so comfortable talking with the families, for being so capable.
Now, after two years, I can handle Interfaith. I can cook, I can interact with the families (to an extent; Philip is still way better at this), and I can sleep in the church without freaking out (though at times it's still a little spooky). I have the energy it takes to get the job done. I know the ropes. It just took a compassionate guide and a willingness on my part to keep trying, even though it was exhausting and intimidating.
As I left the church yesterday morning after volunteering for the night with my husband, I watched the families load up into the Interfaith van to go to their various destinations for the day. One mother had to walk to the bus station to get to her job so she'd be on time. And Philip and I left in our two separate cars. These families with three and four kids don't have one vehicle, and we have two. I drove in my car to our apartment, where there are two comfortable queen-size beds - one that never even gets used - while these families have zero beds.
So I just have to feel like, so what if I am uncomfortable and stretched for one or two nights out of a two-month period? So what?
Monday, October 31, 2005
KYLE LAKE
I got news this morning that a Relevant author passed away over the weekend. Kyle Lake was a young pastor at the University Baptist Church in Waco, Texas, with a wife and three young children. He wrote two books for Relevant, one of which I had the privilege of editing and writing a study guide for. He was electrocuted in the baptismal during yesterday's Sunday morning service.
This is news that comes like a punch in the stomach. It makes me want to throw up. It is too gruesome for words. It makes me wonder what kind of God allows a young, bright, beloved pastor and husband and father to be killed during a celebration of new life in Christ. The irony is sick.
Lately in our Bible study, we have been looking at Hebrew names for God that point to his majesty. This week's study is on "Adonai," which points to God as our master. As such, he provides for us, cares for us, defends us, and protects us. He protects us. From what? I am reeling with this question.
I am also tired of blaming God every time something bad happens. There is something so childish about it, and yet I still do it, every time. It seems to be much more helpful to just trust him and allow him to provide for me and others no matter what tragedy life throws at me or someone I know.
So I guess I just turn to God, because where else is there to go? I pray for God to be enough for Kyle's wife and kids and the other people who loved him, like his worship leader, David Crowder. I pray for God's protection on Philip as he flies to California for work this week, however faithless my prayer feels at the moment. And I pray for mercy, that Jesus will come back soon so this kind of shit will stop happening.
Links
Kyle's church
Sermons by Kyle available for download
CBS News article
Baptist Standard article
Brian McLaren remembers Kyle
Blogger Todd Rhoades' thoughts on this tragedy
Buy Kyle's books
This is news that comes like a punch in the stomach. It makes me want to throw up. It is too gruesome for words. It makes me wonder what kind of God allows a young, bright, beloved pastor and husband and father to be killed during a celebration of new life in Christ. The irony is sick.
Lately in our Bible study, we have been looking at Hebrew names for God that point to his majesty. This week's study is on "Adonai," which points to God as our master. As such, he provides for us, cares for us, defends us, and protects us. He protects us. From what? I am reeling with this question.
I am also tired of blaming God every time something bad happens. There is something so childish about it, and yet I still do it, every time. It seems to be much more helpful to just trust him and allow him to provide for me and others no matter what tragedy life throws at me or someone I know.
So I guess I just turn to God, because where else is there to go? I pray for God to be enough for Kyle's wife and kids and the other people who loved him, like his worship leader, David Crowder. I pray for God's protection on Philip as he flies to California for work this week, however faithless my prayer feels at the moment. And I pray for mercy, that Jesus will come back soon so this kind of shit will stop happening.
Links
Kyle's church
Sermons by Kyle available for download
CBS News article
Baptist Standard article
Brian McLaren remembers Kyle
Blogger Todd Rhoades' thoughts on this tragedy
Buy Kyle's books
Thursday, October 27, 2005
UNCOMMONLY GOOD WEDNESDAY NIGHT
Last night was an uncommonly good Wednesday night.
It began with an email I received from an editor letting me know how much I was going to be compensated for a simple music review I wrote. The amount was incredible for a review that would only appear on the web. I have three more review assignments for this publication, which is really encouraging. Lately I have really been despairing in my writing career...feeling like no amount of emails I send gets me anywhere, like no one cares to read the things I write, feeling alienated from other friends because i can't relate to them professionally...So this email was a big bright spot.
Then Philip and I drove out to his soccer game. After more than two years, I know most of the people on his team and can shoot the breeze with them, or shout out their names in encouragement from the bleachers. The team was playing at a different field for a while, which was farther away and full of many intimidating I-can-kick-your-ass soccer players. Now they're back at their old field, where there's a lot fewer people and just a more friendly atmosphere. Philip's team didn't win, but they are never sore losers. I really enjoyed sitting out in the chilly weather and pretending it was fall.
Philip and I decided to go out for Mexican after the game. We got a corner booth and basically stuffed our faces with tortilla chips while he shared with me about some aspects of his work. I really love it when Philip just opens up and talks. He's much more of a question asker. Pay attention the next time you talk one-on-one with him - he'll want to know all about you, but won't say much about himself. So I loved hearing all he had to say. I also soaked in the relaxed alone time. We've got a jam-packed weekend coming up, much to no one's surprise.
We finished out the night by having our friend Aaron over to watch what turned out to be the last game of the World Series. I hadn't seen Aaron in months, not since I was still Miss Larson. Aaron is just one of those people who understands exactly what you mean when you use only a couple words and a certain tone. That is a quality I really appreciate in a human being. Aaron was my friend before I had even met Philip, and now he is more Philip's friend. It's interesting how those boundaries and transitions work. I'd like to write a chapter about that whole topic in my memoir about bumbling my way through dating and engagement.
Anyway, at one point, I passed out on the couch while the boys talked, and then I woke up and we tried to find funny videos on Google Video but were unsuccessful, and then the Sox won, which, in my opinion, kicks ass. I am more of a Cubs fan actually, and Aaron said, "Aren't you supposed to hate the Sox more than the Yankees?" And I said, "No. Girls don't have to abide by those rules." He and Philip both admitted that that's true.
So Wednesday night. Good night. Uncommonly good.
It began with an email I received from an editor letting me know how much I was going to be compensated for a simple music review I wrote. The amount was incredible for a review that would only appear on the web. I have three more review assignments for this publication, which is really encouraging. Lately I have really been despairing in my writing career...feeling like no amount of emails I send gets me anywhere, like no one cares to read the things I write, feeling alienated from other friends because i can't relate to them professionally...So this email was a big bright spot.
Then Philip and I drove out to his soccer game. After more than two years, I know most of the people on his team and can shoot the breeze with them, or shout out their names in encouragement from the bleachers. The team was playing at a different field for a while, which was farther away and full of many intimidating I-can-kick-your-ass soccer players. Now they're back at their old field, where there's a lot fewer people and just a more friendly atmosphere. Philip's team didn't win, but they are never sore losers. I really enjoyed sitting out in the chilly weather and pretending it was fall.
Philip and I decided to go out for Mexican after the game. We got a corner booth and basically stuffed our faces with tortilla chips while he shared with me about some aspects of his work. I really love it when Philip just opens up and talks. He's much more of a question asker. Pay attention the next time you talk one-on-one with him - he'll want to know all about you, but won't say much about himself. So I loved hearing all he had to say. I also soaked in the relaxed alone time. We've got a jam-packed weekend coming up, much to no one's surprise.
We finished out the night by having our friend Aaron over to watch what turned out to be the last game of the World Series. I hadn't seen Aaron in months, not since I was still Miss Larson. Aaron is just one of those people who understands exactly what you mean when you use only a couple words and a certain tone. That is a quality I really appreciate in a human being. Aaron was my friend before I had even met Philip, and now he is more Philip's friend. It's interesting how those boundaries and transitions work. I'd like to write a chapter about that whole topic in my memoir about bumbling my way through dating and engagement.
Anyway, at one point, I passed out on the couch while the boys talked, and then I woke up and we tried to find funny videos on Google Video but were unsuccessful, and then the Sox won, which, in my opinion, kicks ass. I am more of a Cubs fan actually, and Aaron said, "Aren't you supposed to hate the Sox more than the Yankees?" And I said, "No. Girls don't have to abide by those rules." He and Philip both admitted that that's true.
So Wednesday night. Good night. Uncommonly good.
Friday, October 14, 2005
SISTERS
Today is my baby sister Sarah's 18th birthday.
She was 11 when I left Rockford to begin my freshman year at Eastern in Charleston, IL, which meant that I was away during the time that she transitioned from child to teenager. And now, as she transitions again from teenager into adult, I am missing it again, living in Florida.
Despite not being in her day-to-day life, despite having lived in a different city than her for the past seven years as she has been forming who she is - her character, her beliefs, her interests, her tastes and preferences, her style, her humor, etc. - we still have a special relationship. We always feel comfortable around each other when we're together. We always laugh. We always have our parents and our history and our childhood memories in common.
Beyond that - genetics, it seems, has given us certain characteristics that align unconsciously, across the miles. For example, when I was in college, Sarah and my parents came to visit me in Charleston. Sarah showed up wearing the exact same outfit that I was wearing that day - black shirt with a screen print of the Golden Gate Bridge on it, dark jeans, black belt, black shoes. I didn't even know she owned an outfit like that. Our sense of style (then, at least) just automatically mirrored one another's.
Traditionally, I've found it easier to relate to my other sister Alyssa, who is only two years younger than me, because we grew up together - played on the same volleyball team, sang in the same choirs, participated in the same youth group, and so on. But in our genetic makeups, Sarah and I are more alike. We both tend to be more like my mom - more pragmatic than sentimental (though we do hang on to some important tangible reminders of memories) and more into popular style and fashion (Alyssa is very easy to buy clothes for - she'll happily wear anything you give her and tends to default to looking like a hippie - while Sarah and I are much more particular about what we put on our bodies). Sarah and I tend to gravitate toward the same style of music; we both value a stable sense of community (while the community of Alyssa the Bohemian changes every three to four months). So in these similarities we share, especially now that Sarah is no longer a child, we can relate in new ways that are just as connective as the shared past that Alyssa and I have in common.
But all three of us share commonalities, too. We all are artists instead of scientists (Alyssa and Sarah are more about the performing arts, while I hide behind a pen, but we love all artistic expression). We all have similar personalities - fairly shy and quiet (although Alyssa has been forced to come out of her shell quite a bit in her theater community); dry, sarcastic sense of humor; more comfortable in small groups than in large parties; emotional; insecure; continually self-evaluating; academically successful but not obsessed with grades.
Of course, we all have a lot of differences, too (most notably: I grew up loving Barbies, Sarah grew up loving stuffed animals, and Alyssa grew up loving Light Brights and toy computers, of course). But aside from all the differences and similarities, I can't even express how much I love and admire my sisters. They are two of the most amazing, beautiful women I know, and I believe in them 200 percent.
I often wonder what will become of my relationships with my sisters, since most likely, we will never all three live in the same city again. Will the years of distance and missing out on the milestones - or even just the everyday little occurrences - of each other's lives compound to drive us apart, slowly but surely? Or could it be that our shared family story, mirroring personalities, and almost identical sense of humor will always hold us together in a special way that can't be broken down? Or is there just something deep and unchanging about being sisters that will keep us close no matter what our circumstances are or how our values evolve?
I don't know. I do worry about it. I do know that I will not be present as my baby sister blows out the birthday candles in front of my extended family for the last time; 18 is traditionally the last year we do the family party. I do know that I was not there when the whole family minus me went to Chicago last weekend to see Alyssa in her musical. I do know that I will not share a Thanksgiving meal with all of them this year.
But I do hope that despite all this missing out and being away, our deep-as-blood bond as sisters will not change. I do hope that with all my heart.
She was 11 when I left Rockford to begin my freshman year at Eastern in Charleston, IL, which meant that I was away during the time that she transitioned from child to teenager. And now, as she transitions again from teenager into adult, I am missing it again, living in Florida.
Despite not being in her day-to-day life, despite having lived in a different city than her for the past seven years as she has been forming who she is - her character, her beliefs, her interests, her tastes and preferences, her style, her humor, etc. - we still have a special relationship. We always feel comfortable around each other when we're together. We always laugh. We always have our parents and our history and our childhood memories in common.
Beyond that - genetics, it seems, has given us certain characteristics that align unconsciously, across the miles. For example, when I was in college, Sarah and my parents came to visit me in Charleston. Sarah showed up wearing the exact same outfit that I was wearing that day - black shirt with a screen print of the Golden Gate Bridge on it, dark jeans, black belt, black shoes. I didn't even know she owned an outfit like that. Our sense of style (then, at least) just automatically mirrored one another's.
Traditionally, I've found it easier to relate to my other sister Alyssa, who is only two years younger than me, because we grew up together - played on the same volleyball team, sang in the same choirs, participated in the same youth group, and so on. But in our genetic makeups, Sarah and I are more alike. We both tend to be more like my mom - more pragmatic than sentimental (though we do hang on to some important tangible reminders of memories) and more into popular style and fashion (Alyssa is very easy to buy clothes for - she'll happily wear anything you give her and tends to default to looking like a hippie - while Sarah and I are much more particular about what we put on our bodies). Sarah and I tend to gravitate toward the same style of music; we both value a stable sense of community (while the community of Alyssa the Bohemian changes every three to four months). So in these similarities we share, especially now that Sarah is no longer a child, we can relate in new ways that are just as connective as the shared past that Alyssa and I have in common.
But all three of us share commonalities, too. We all are artists instead of scientists (Alyssa and Sarah are more about the performing arts, while I hide behind a pen, but we love all artistic expression). We all have similar personalities - fairly shy and quiet (although Alyssa has been forced to come out of her shell quite a bit in her theater community); dry, sarcastic sense of humor; more comfortable in small groups than in large parties; emotional; insecure; continually self-evaluating; academically successful but not obsessed with grades.
Of course, we all have a lot of differences, too (most notably: I grew up loving Barbies, Sarah grew up loving stuffed animals, and Alyssa grew up loving Light Brights and toy computers, of course). But aside from all the differences and similarities, I can't even express how much I love and admire my sisters. They are two of the most amazing, beautiful women I know, and I believe in them 200 percent.
I often wonder what will become of my relationships with my sisters, since most likely, we will never all three live in the same city again. Will the years of distance and missing out on the milestones - or even just the everyday little occurrences - of each other's lives compound to drive us apart, slowly but surely? Or could it be that our shared family story, mirroring personalities, and almost identical sense of humor will always hold us together in a special way that can't be broken down? Or is there just something deep and unchanging about being sisters that will keep us close no matter what our circumstances are or how our values evolve?
I don't know. I do worry about it. I do know that I will not be present as my baby sister blows out the birthday candles in front of my extended family for the last time; 18 is traditionally the last year we do the family party. I do know that I was not there when the whole family minus me went to Chicago last weekend to see Alyssa in her musical. I do know that I will not share a Thanksgiving meal with all of them this year.
But I do hope that despite all this missing out and being away, our deep-as-blood bond as sisters will not change. I do hope that with all my heart.
Tuesday, October 11, 2005
THOUGHTS
I've been reading some of my friends' blogs today, and I just love their honesty. They just write from their hearts; they don't try to sound all smart and writer-ish, and in the realness, they're brilliant. Often I wish I could just write without worrying about sounding literary and insightful. Ugh. So with that in mind, this is just going to be a simple, what's-on-my-mind post.
1. Lots of people have quit Relevant lately. This makes me feel both triumphant and sad. Carolyn/Won and Jeff/Elizabeth are moving back to their home states and will be close to their families. This makes me feel jealous.
2. I have no writing or editing assignments right now. I'm trying to get work, but it doesn't seem to get me anywhere, so I get discouraged and don't try very hard, which means I get even less work than I might have if I just tried harder...
3. Amy/David are still up in North Carolina on vacation and will be gone all month. It can't be much of a vacation since they're grieving, but I'm sure they're still thankful to see family and friends and enjoy the mountains. Amy called me today stressed because of all the dealings that must be handled with her dad's business. I miss her.
4. Today is my best friend Sarah's birthday and wedding anniversary. It makes me so sad that we are not in each other's day-to-day lives and that I can't be there to celebrate with her. Philip and I were talking last night about how it's easier to stay connected with people who are physically close to you. There are so many wonderful friends in my life who I've grown apart from just because of physical distance. Being everyday friends with Sarah is what I miss the most.
5. I've been brainstorming about writing a book, but I keep putting off making the outline and really getting started. I'm afraid of starting it and then hating every word and feeling like a failure.
6. I want to visit a writers' group that meets here in Orlando once a month. This month's meeting is this Thursday. There are all kinds of good reasons for doing this - accountability, feedback on my work, new friends that are outside my normal circles... But of course, I feel shy and intimidated and reluctant to go.
7. I'm anxious for Philip and I to finish setting up our home. Priority numero uno is getting a dining room table so we can invite people over without giving them TV trays to eat at. My feelings about this have changed, though, since Amy's dad passed away. It doesn't seem as important, and I feel bad for how much I've allowed our unpacked apartment to bother me.
8. I miss autumn.
9. I have such a wonderful husband. I don't say this to discourage anyone who isn't married; I say it to let everyone know that they don't have to settle - that marrying someone who is serving and affirming and hard working and devoted and kind and intelligent and caring and funny and passionate IS possible. Thank you, Philip, for being more than a dream come true.
1. Lots of people have quit Relevant lately. This makes me feel both triumphant and sad. Carolyn/Won and Jeff/Elizabeth are moving back to their home states and will be close to their families. This makes me feel jealous.
2. I have no writing or editing assignments right now. I'm trying to get work, but it doesn't seem to get me anywhere, so I get discouraged and don't try very hard, which means I get even less work than I might have if I just tried harder...
3. Amy/David are still up in North Carolina on vacation and will be gone all month. It can't be much of a vacation since they're grieving, but I'm sure they're still thankful to see family and friends and enjoy the mountains. Amy called me today stressed because of all the dealings that must be handled with her dad's business. I miss her.
4. Today is my best friend Sarah's birthday and wedding anniversary. It makes me so sad that we are not in each other's day-to-day lives and that I can't be there to celebrate with her. Philip and I were talking last night about how it's easier to stay connected with people who are physically close to you. There are so many wonderful friends in my life who I've grown apart from just because of physical distance. Being everyday friends with Sarah is what I miss the most.
5. I've been brainstorming about writing a book, but I keep putting off making the outline and really getting started. I'm afraid of starting it and then hating every word and feeling like a failure.
6. I want to visit a writers' group that meets here in Orlando once a month. This month's meeting is this Thursday. There are all kinds of good reasons for doing this - accountability, feedback on my work, new friends that are outside my normal circles... But of course, I feel shy and intimidated and reluctant to go.
7. I'm anxious for Philip and I to finish setting up our home. Priority numero uno is getting a dining room table so we can invite people over without giving them TV trays to eat at. My feelings about this have changed, though, since Amy's dad passed away. It doesn't seem as important, and I feel bad for how much I've allowed our unpacked apartment to bother me.
8. I miss autumn.
9. I have such a wonderful husband. I don't say this to discourage anyone who isn't married; I say it to let everyone know that they don't have to settle - that marrying someone who is serving and affirming and hard working and devoted and kind and intelligent and caring and funny and passionate IS possible. Thank you, Philip, for being more than a dream come true.
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
OTHERS' PAIN
Lately I have watched as a couple of my friends have gone through times in their lives more painful than I could begin to understand. One friend was anticipating her wedding day, which was only a month away, when her fiance ended the relationship; and last night, another friend of mine who is 29 unexpectedly lost her father.
Confronted with such sadness, I am struck with how insignificant my thin words and tears are to these women who are suffering so much. There is nothing I can do or say to lessen how hurt they feel. There is no magic prayer I can offer, and in these circumstances of distance, there is not even a meal I can cook or a hug I can give. It is a helpless, hopeless, alone feeling to know that they are in so much pain, and there is nothing to do but wait for time to pass and pray in my closet.
Confronted with such sadness, I am struck with how insignificant my thin words and tears are to these women who are suffering so much. There is nothing I can do or say to lessen how hurt they feel. There is no magic prayer I can offer, and in these circumstances of distance, there is not even a meal I can cook or a hug I can give. It is a helpless, hopeless, alone feeling to know that they are in so much pain, and there is nothing to do but wait for time to pass and pray in my closet.
Monday, September 26, 2005
PEACH STATE
Philip and I headed up to Georgia this weekend with two objectives in mind: 1. Spend time with Joe Ware and family, and 2. Enjoy the live music of Sufjan Stevens.
Every time I travel, I remember what a restless spirit I have. Leaving Florida behind felt like shedding a swimsuit coverup, leaving it in a crumpled ring on the floor, in order to dive into the pool. Once in Georgia, I drank in the palm-tree-less landscape and eagerly followed the curves of the hillsides with my eyes. I thought of the mountains that lay just north of where we drove and imagined living there, with acres of land sprawling around a home made of wood - no concrete block or stucco - where we could hike and wade in a creek and sit on a deck wrapped in a blanket sipping on hot cocoa and look out over an autumn-ravaged forest.
I thought of the different beauties of each part of the U.S. - the endless green plane of Illinois cornfields stark against the blue horizon; the dry yellowed hills of Northern California set off by the vibrant trees; the reds and oranges and browns and stately cacti of Arizona. And of course, Florida is beautiful in its own way, too, with its tropical brush and lakes and kudzu draping over trees and power lines, looking like ancient leafy dinosaurs. I just get so restless to see other landscapes, other seasons.
In Georgia this time of year, you can feel the imminence of autumn, although it's still warm. A few yellow leaves blow across the roads, and you know the drop of temperature is just around the bend. The residents are ready; Joe's dad Lynn suggested half-jokingly that we start a fire in the fireplace as we watched Hurricane Rita coverage from the comfort of their brown sectional couch.
The Wares' house is built for fall and winter, with its red brick exterior and warm interior colors. When we arrived on Friday night, Rosemary had made us a home-cooked meal of spaghetti casserole and California veggies and salad with poppyseed dressing; Joe had made us peanutbutter pie.
The Wares are football nuts... at least the men anyway. We all went to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the Ohio St. game on Saturday and sampled sauces. Then Rosemary and I shopped while the guys finished cheering on the Buckeyes. Back at their home, we sat around the mission-style dining room table like a family and looked at wedding pictures.
Philip and I were with them almost 24 hours when it was time to head up to Athens for the Sufjan show. Sufjan is a musician and a scholar and a goofball, which is a great combination of qualities. With his band dressed like a Fightin' Illini cheerleading squad, he delivered his songs about my home state, which somehow manage to be sad and whimsical and celebratory and haunting and beautiful all at once. Between songs, the band did cheers and shook pom-poms and wiggled spirit-fingers. I smiled a lot, but a couple of the songs left me forgetting to breathe at the end. Half-Handed Cloud, a.k.a. John Ringhofer (friend of David Achata and acquaintance of Philip from his Berkeley trip), opened for him, with his own fair share of quirkiness; Sufjan even came out to play drums for a couple of his Old-Testament-themed tunes. The crowd was comprised, of course, of ridiculous bearded and Mary-Janed hipsters, but at least some of them weren't afraid to dance.
In the morning, we set off to return home. And after being in the car for more than five hours, I felt comforted when I saw a sign for Highway 50.
The squad.
Sujan with the Man of Steel (that's John playing the trumpet).
I-L-L-I-N-O-I-S!
A sleepy Philip after the show.
Every time I travel, I remember what a restless spirit I have. Leaving Florida behind felt like shedding a swimsuit coverup, leaving it in a crumpled ring on the floor, in order to dive into the pool. Once in Georgia, I drank in the palm-tree-less landscape and eagerly followed the curves of the hillsides with my eyes. I thought of the mountains that lay just north of where we drove and imagined living there, with acres of land sprawling around a home made of wood - no concrete block or stucco - where we could hike and wade in a creek and sit on a deck wrapped in a blanket sipping on hot cocoa and look out over an autumn-ravaged forest.
I thought of the different beauties of each part of the U.S. - the endless green plane of Illinois cornfields stark against the blue horizon; the dry yellowed hills of Northern California set off by the vibrant trees; the reds and oranges and browns and stately cacti of Arizona. And of course, Florida is beautiful in its own way, too, with its tropical brush and lakes and kudzu draping over trees and power lines, looking like ancient leafy dinosaurs. I just get so restless to see other landscapes, other seasons.
In Georgia this time of year, you can feel the imminence of autumn, although it's still warm. A few yellow leaves blow across the roads, and you know the drop of temperature is just around the bend. The residents are ready; Joe's dad Lynn suggested half-jokingly that we start a fire in the fireplace as we watched Hurricane Rita coverage from the comfort of their brown sectional couch.
The Wares' house is built for fall and winter, with its red brick exterior and warm interior colors. When we arrived on Friday night, Rosemary had made us a home-cooked meal of spaghetti casserole and California veggies and salad with poppyseed dressing; Joe had made us peanutbutter pie.
The Wares are football nuts... at least the men anyway. We all went to a Buffalo Wild Wings to watch the Ohio St. game on Saturday and sampled sauces. Then Rosemary and I shopped while the guys finished cheering on the Buckeyes. Back at their home, we sat around the mission-style dining room table like a family and looked at wedding pictures.
Philip and I were with them almost 24 hours when it was time to head up to Athens for the Sufjan show. Sufjan is a musician and a scholar and a goofball, which is a great combination of qualities. With his band dressed like a Fightin' Illini cheerleading squad, he delivered his songs about my home state, which somehow manage to be sad and whimsical and celebratory and haunting and beautiful all at once. Between songs, the band did cheers and shook pom-poms and wiggled spirit-fingers. I smiled a lot, but a couple of the songs left me forgetting to breathe at the end. Half-Handed Cloud, a.k.a. John Ringhofer (friend of David Achata and acquaintance of Philip from his Berkeley trip), opened for him, with his own fair share of quirkiness; Sufjan even came out to play drums for a couple of his Old-Testament-themed tunes. The crowd was comprised, of course, of ridiculous bearded and Mary-Janed hipsters, but at least some of them weren't afraid to dance.
In the morning, we set off to return home. And after being in the car for more than five hours, I felt comforted when I saw a sign for Highway 50.
The squad.
Sujan with the Man of Steel (that's John playing the trumpet).
I-L-L-I-N-O-I-S!
A sleepy Philip after the show.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
FOILED
Susan, this is for you *imagine me standing on a stage, spotlight shining down, microphone in hand, feedback from the guitars humming in the amps, and my finger, pointing at you*.
So when we got back from our honeymoon, this is what we discovered: our kitchen, looking like 50 rolls of aluminum foil had puked all over our kitchen.
Our looks of surprise and wonder when we first encountered the prank weren't captured on film, so here's me trying to recreate that look. Not too believable, I know, but we really were shocked to see our kitchen in such a state. Notice how even the phone cord is wrapped.
Our fridge, which could still effectively be opened. Beside it, the microwave.
In this image, you can see how our knife set is neatly wrapped, along with our utensil canister to the left of the knives. Also wrapped is our dish drainer and (broken) rice cooker. Also take note of the cupboards, which could still functionally open.
Our junk mail.
Another view of our space-age kitchen.
Our oven mitt and toaster oven, still usable.
*No caption necessary.*
FAQ:
Q: Who did this to you guys?
A: We had strong suspicions that a certain pair of sisters from our church group played a significant role in the ordeal, and we suspected several others as well, including The Sister, Lydia, who had a key so she could pick up some stuff we were giving her (these objects were still sitting in our apartment when we got back, by the way). Lydia broke down when we called her, not entirely, but giggles and strange, exaggerated "who me?" behavior gave her away. Two other suspects who I talked with, however, effectively played dumb and fooled me into believing they were not involved.
The truth came out the following Saturday at church. Shae was giving announcements in our class, and she shared that she had painted her nails a nice color of silver in honor of our marriage. "When I looked at the bottom of the bottle of nail polish," she said innocently, "I saw that the color is actually foil." Her face turned mischievous as she held up her painted nails, and other hands began to pop up around the room - the suspected sisters, Karen and Susan, Priscilla, and then up came the pinky nails of Mark Murphy. *cue "Newman" voice - Murphy.* Six perpetrators in all.
Q: How did you guys feel about it?
A: When we've told this story to certain people, there's been some concern that Philip and I might have been upset or angry to come home to such a spectacle, but in reality, we were tickled. We thought it was so funny, and it was nice to know that people were thinking about us while we were away. Plus, harmless pranks are a sign of intimacy (right, Dianna?).
Our friends also left us one sweet little foil touch, which softened the incident even further. How could we be mad after seeing this?
So when we got back from our honeymoon, this is what we discovered: our kitchen, looking like 50 rolls of aluminum foil had puked all over our kitchen.
Our looks of surprise and wonder when we first encountered the prank weren't captured on film, so here's me trying to recreate that look. Not too believable, I know, but we really were shocked to see our kitchen in such a state. Notice how even the phone cord is wrapped.
Our fridge, which could still effectively be opened. Beside it, the microwave.
In this image, you can see how our knife set is neatly wrapped, along with our utensil canister to the left of the knives. Also wrapped is our dish drainer and (broken) rice cooker. Also take note of the cupboards, which could still functionally open.
Our junk mail.
Another view of our space-age kitchen.
Our oven mitt and toaster oven, still usable.
*No caption necessary.*
FAQ:
Q: Who did this to you guys?
A: We had strong suspicions that a certain pair of sisters from our church group played a significant role in the ordeal, and we suspected several others as well, including The Sister, Lydia, who had a key so she could pick up some stuff we were giving her (these objects were still sitting in our apartment when we got back, by the way). Lydia broke down when we called her, not entirely, but giggles and strange, exaggerated "who me?" behavior gave her away. Two other suspects who I talked with, however, effectively played dumb and fooled me into believing they were not involved.
The truth came out the following Saturday at church. Shae was giving announcements in our class, and she shared that she had painted her nails a nice color of silver in honor of our marriage. "When I looked at the bottom of the bottle of nail polish," she said innocently, "I saw that the color is actually foil." Her face turned mischievous as she held up her painted nails, and other hands began to pop up around the room - the suspected sisters, Karen and Susan, Priscilla, and then up came the pinky nails of Mark Murphy. *cue "Newman" voice - Murphy.* Six perpetrators in all.
Q: How did you guys feel about it?
A: When we've told this story to certain people, there's been some concern that Philip and I might have been upset or angry to come home to such a spectacle, but in reality, we were tickled. We thought it was so funny, and it was nice to know that people were thinking about us while we were away. Plus, harmless pranks are a sign of intimacy (right, Dianna?).
Our friends also left us one sweet little foil touch, which softened the incident even further. How could we be mad after seeing this?
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
THE JEWEL OF THE CARIBBEAN
I'm realizing I should have written about our honeymoon right after we got back, when the excitement was fresh and the memories were consuming my mind for a good week after we had returned to Orlando. We've been back in the "daily grind" for a month now, and sometimes it's even hard to believe that we spent a week on that island at all. I can't seem to put myself back in that beautiful green place, when I'm sitting here at my computer by myself writing emails and doing interviews. Even the pictures sometimes don't seem real.
We spent our honeymoon on the island of St. John in the U.S. Virgin Islands. A little more info about the island from Wikipedia: "St. John is the smallest of the three main United States Virgin Islands (USVI), a United States territory. St. John is located in the Caribbean Sea about 4 miles east of Saint Thomas and 4 miles south and west of Tortola, part of the British Virgin Islands. It is roughly 20 square miles in area and has a population of 4,157. There is no airport on St. John, so access to St. John is by boat."
Philip and I had agreed that we wanted a destination that offered both beaches and mountains/hiking trails. St. John was really ideal for us. Two-thirds of the island is national parkland, so it's really unspoiled and natural. I can't even tell you how quaint, tropical, and beautiful the island is. There are no stoplights, no chain stores, no Friday's or Chili's. There's just narrow, winding, steep, two-lane roads and pure local goodness when it comes to stores and restaurants. Everyone knows everyone, and the mood is incredibly laid-back.
After a really long day of travel and waiting in the San Juan airport, we finally found ourselves on the ferry over to St. John. When we arrived at the dock, our hostess was waiting for us. Sandy West, along with her man Bear, are the owners of the T'ree Palms guest house, and they are the sweetest, toughest people we've ever met. Cropped gray hair, a tanned, muscular body, tattoos, and the warmest smile and hug greeted us in the St. John darkness. Sandy had picked up our rental Jeep, and we followed her up the crazy roads to our home for the week. The higher we climbed into the hills on the dirt roads, the more intimidated I became. It was beginning to look like this honeymoon was going to be a lot more hardcore than I had anticipated.
But when we arrived at our villa, it was clear that we were going to stay in pure paradise. We had our own pool and hottub, a deck overlooking Fish Bay, a hammock, and a cozy two-bedroom apartment all to ourselves. Standing on the deck looking out over a billion stars, I was speechless. Philip and I were beat, but Sandy had bought us some sandwich fixings and encouraged us to eat and take a dip in the hottub. "You don't have to get up early tomorrow," she reminded us. So we took her advice.
The rest of the week was truly and adventure. We tooled around the island in our rugged Jeep Wrangler (Philip always drove - four-wheel drive was frequently in use) and explored the beaches and trails and local nightlife. Sandy owns a snorkel boat called the Sadie Sea, and part of our rental deal included a day-trip. Her son Ben was our captain, and we spent five hours with him and only three other people touring the north side of the island and snorkeling in three different spots. Ben was full of tall tales of pirates and rich celebrities. We also snuck onto the Reef Bay hike - a three-mile trail that begins in the center of the island and ends at the beach. The national park guided hike was full, but Sandy encouraged us to show up anyway, and sure enough, we were able to sneak on the taxi. We learned about plant and animal life on the island and the history of its inhabitants. We even saw ruins of a sugar mill plantation and the sugar mill itself.
We spent time on three different beaches and did some more snorkeling closer to the shore. We staked out a private spot on the beach at Cinnamon Bay and later learned the rocks that shielded us from the rest of the beach-goers are called "Lovers' Leap." We hiked a hidden trail down to the beach at Reef Bay and saw only three other people on the beach. There, we hiked around a bed of rocks to discover what beach lay around the curve. It was a little spooky, since we didn't know what we would find and we were so secluded from any other human life. When we got to the bay on the other side, I insisted that we snorkel. After a few minutes in the shallow water, I spotted a rather long, narrow fish. I was excited to see such a big one, and I began to follow it. Before I knew what was happening, Philip was grabbing me and dragging me into the shore. I popped my head up out of the water - "What?! What is it?" He then informed me that it was a baracuda, and an even bigger one was following right behind the one I saw. He didn't want us taking our chances of getting hurt when we were so far from help. So thus ended our Reef Bay snorkel outing.
Checking out the local restaurants was a trip. On Bear's recommendation, we visited the Lime Inn on all-you-can-eat-shrimp night and Morgan's Mango on half-price margarita night. Our host at Lime Inn, whom we later learned was the owner, only had one arm, and the other was a hook. Seriously. I had ordered the snapper, and it came out as the whole fish - head, tail, and all. Our host saw that I was struggling to figure out how to get the meat off the bones, so he came over and with his one arm, cut my fish for me.
One night, we decided to go out dancing and brought only a credit card with for beverages. On our way to "downtown" Cruz Bay, we passed a dive bar that was featuring a live band. The Backyard, as it was called, had been dead every other night that we had passed it, but on this night, we decided to stop in, since it seemed to be where the party was. When we got up to the bar, we discovered that it was cash-only - bad news, since it was a good 20-minute drive back up to our villa to get our money. But then the bartender said, "But everything's free tonight. The owner just got married, and he's throwing a party. It's completely open-bar." I couldn't believe it. Everything in the bar was totally free. So Philip and I took advantage of the deal and danced to the band with the rest of the island. So much fun.
On our last day, we had a massage therapist come out to our villa. She set up her table on our deck, and there is nothing like getting a massage in the breeze to the sound of birds chirping! Then we took a driving tour of the east side of the island, where we got to see the Annaberg sugar mill ruins, Coral Bay, and the very secluded beach at Lameshur Bay, only accessible by Jeep trail. There we took a nap and spotted a deer. By the time we left, no one else was around, so we were able to change into our dinner clothes right there in the open. As our final horrah, we ate at Chateau Bordeaux, situated on the tallest point of the island. With a view overlooking Coral Bay and many of the British Virgin Islands, we enjoyed a delicious meal of baked ravioli and swordfish.
It was really hard to leave. We felt so at-home there, cooking meals in our little kitchen, sitting in the hottub every night under the stars, chit-chatting with Sandy and Bear, walking around the quaint roads of Cruz Bay, and boucning along in our Jeep. I was in tears as we drove away from the villa. God was just so good to us. We felt His blessing every day, as every experience was positive and exciting. And it was just such a welcome release of all the wedding stress and chaos. We left our computers behind and turned off our cell phones. There were no appointments or errands or craft projects. It was just me, my husband, and an amazing island to explore. What a gift.
*Sigh.* Okay. Time to do some editing. *Sigh again.*
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
20 REASONS WHY OUR WEDDING WAS GREAT
I've been putting off writing about the wedding because it's overwhelming to think about summarizing the whole amazing experience for all you nice readers who couldn't be there, but it's time to just jump in and do it. So here you have it.
They say your wedding day is the biggest day of your life, and speaking for myself, as a woman, the woman that is me, it was. I don't say this to put more pressure on any unmarried folks out there. I recognize that there is a lot of pressure on people already to make their wedding day THE MOST beautiful, wonderful, fun, incredible day they've ever experienced, and frankly, people don't need that kind of stress.
Philip and I had set out to make our wedding day beautiful, wonderful, fun, and incredible, but we strongly resisted putting pressure on ourselves to make it THE Greatest Day Of Our Entire Lives.
But let me tell you something. It really was. Hands down.
And it's not necessarily because we devoted the last eight months of our lives to planning it. It just kind of happened that way.
The first thing that made it fantastic was that when I woke up that morning, I was physically unable to do any more planning or preparing. The day was here. Even if I had wanted to squeeze in a few more wedding crafts or nail down any more details just a little more fimly, I couldn't. Too late. It's wedding time. So just the pure relief of knowing that I would be spending zero time on the computer or phone and be making zero stops at Joann Fabrics made the day great even from the first minute after waking.
The second thing that made it great was that I started it in prayer. I laid in bed for a good half hour talking to God and reading Psalm 23: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want." I told God I was done making requests. Philip and I, and a bunch of other people we love, had spent lots of time over the last few months asking God to give us nice weather that day, and to allow everything to go smoothly, and to show up at our celebration and move in people's hearts. Now that the day was here, I told God I was done wanting things to be a specific way, and I was releasing control. I had done all I could to prepare, and now the whole deal was in His hands. I would accept the day however it rolled out. I should not be in want.
The third thing that made it wonderful was that God did answer those bygone prayers for nice weather. It was warm and sunny, with just a little bit of a breeze. Phew.
The fourth thing: I did not get a headache. I get headaches easily, and I had a number of factors working against me that day - among them: heat, direct sunlight, dehydration (I didn't visit the ladies' room for about 12 hours), and my hair being tightly sculpted with more than 100 bobbypins. But I felt physically great the whole day. Phew again.
The fifth: The building in which myself, the moms, the bridesmaids, and a number of female attendants got ready was about a five-minute walk from the garden in which the ceremony took place. The walk was paved and shielded on both sides by trees and hedges. We all made our way toward the garden at the same time, me on my dad's arm, with all my girls fluttering around me. Everyone was buzzing and beautiful. At a certain point, my dad, my personal attendant, and I had to stop and wait, since Philip was up ahead, ready to walk his mom down the aisle, and we didn't want him to see me. So there the three of us stood in the shade, talking quietly, hearts pounding, me marveling over the beauty of the day and of everyone I had seen so far. It was a Moment.
The sixth: I rounded the corner of the hedge to view the ceremony site for the first time. There everything was, just the way we had assigned everyone to set it up: all the white chairs in neat rows, filled with smiling faces; Aaron and David sweetly playing the music; the two floral arrangements standing austerely on either side of Danny and Jodie; all the attendants lined up and elegant; and my groom, looking handsome and expectant and young and mature all at the same time. I fixed my eyes on him and made my way down the aisle.
The seventh: Everyone stood for me. I knew, of course, that this would happen, but I guess I forgot. When they all stood, I began to cry. I was surprised and humbled and flushed with the intense feeling that I had incredible value. While this is something I know in my mind - that I have great value - and while my loved ones do a wonderful job of reminding me often, actually feeling it so strongly, all at once, down to my bones, down to my very core, is something so beautiful that I can't describe it.
The eighth: Somewhere between Aaron leading out the worship and Danny and Jodie beginning their message, all my butterflies vanished, and I became very relaxed and very happy. The music, the jokes, the encouraging looks of my bridesmaids behind me and my parents seated in the front row, just put me right at home.
The ninth: Taking communion with Philip. We did it privately, and we both softly prayed out loud with each other. In the faint background was David's song, and it was just a moment that we shared alone, with all those people there watching, but silent. Later we were told that unbeknownst to us, two butterflies fluttered around us while we prayed.
The tenth: The kiss. Everyone cheered. I felt embarrassed, but also pleased. My smile about broke my face as we walked down the aisle as husband and wife.
The eleventh: The receiving line. What a rush to hug so many people in a row, and to be told so many times in a row how beautiful you look, and to hear so many congratulations and see so many glowing smiles. Wow.
The twelfth: Running around downtown Rockford with my new husband taking pictures and feeling like the prettiest, most blessed girl alive.
The thirteenth: Sitting and having a glass of water at Cliffbreakers with my husband, waiting to be summoned to make our entrance into the reception. Waiting, on your wedding day, is a great pleasure. On a day that races by faster than any other day, a chance to wait for a bit slows it down, gives you a chance to catch your breath, to remind yourself what is happening.
The fourteenth: Walking into the reception on my husband's arm to see all the gorgeous decorations, to see all the tables filled with people I love, to again, see it all as we had arranged for it to be, looking even more amazing than it had in my mind's eye.
*The fifteenth: During dinner, my most favorite baby in the world, Ana Achata, sitting in a high chair at our table, reached out for me. Her father brought her over to me, and in my arms, she laid her head on my shoulder and hugged me. She wanted to stay like that for a good two or three minutes. To her, it didn't matter that I was wearing this strange poofy white dress or fancy jewelry or more makeup than usual. I was still her friend Erika, and she wanted to hug me. It was awesome.
The sixteenth: Dancing with my dad. At the end of the song, my dad said to me, "You'll never know how much I love you until you have children of your own," and his voice broke. We both cried.
The seventeenth: Mangling our wedding cake with my husband. The pink ribbons on our cake were supposed to be made of frosting, but after trying to cut through them, it became apparent that they were real. The knife pulled them down, along with the smooth edge of the cake, and we were busting up laughing at our inability to cut a cake properly. This led in nicely to me smashing the cake all over Philip's face, followed by him kissing me to spread it to my face as well.
Not the eighteenth: The Dollar Dance. Philip's line was like 10 times longer than mine. What's up with that?
The eighteenth: Watching everyone bring about Dance Party 2005. I have never SEEN such lively dancing at a wedding reception. It made me happy. Very very happy.
The nineteenth: Feeling more beautiful than I've ever felt in my life. I wasn't walking; I was floating. I danced recklessly, because it's impossible to look bad dancing in a gorgeous wedding gown. Don't tell me if this is not true.
The twentieth: The getaway. We walked out to sparklers; my aunt and uncle's convertible Beamer was decorated ridiculously; everyone was waving and cheering as we drove off into the night. It was by far the biggest rush of my life.
Sunday, June 26, 2005
ORGANIC LIFE
Today, Philip and I had a conversation about living more organically.
He is California road tripping with his best friend Ben as a final bachelor adventure. On the second day of their jouney, they stopped to see another friend, Daniel, who is participating in a program called Mission Year in Oakland. Basically, Daniel lives with four other young adults in an apartment and has become a contributing and relational part of the local community, through teaching and community service and talking to people he bumps into on the street.
After going to church together, the boys played disc golf and then went to a local market to buy dinner supplies. Philip told me that he suggested that to save time, they buy a tub of hummus, but everyone attacked him, insisting that the hummus be home-made. So they bought the individual ingredients for the home-made hummus and other Mediterrainian munchies and got to work cooking together. When they had finished, they enjoyed the fruits of their labor together and stayed up late into the night talking and watching a 25-minute Mission Year promo video Daniel and one of the other Mission Year guys had shot. Philip told me that they fed seven people for the price of two people to go out to eat somewhere, and it was "GOOD."
This is what I mean by organic. It's often spontaneous, but it's not rushed. It leaves space for "the plan" to evolve; it leaves space for conversation. It incorporates moving your body; it incorporates nature. It involves being together; it involves food with ingredients you can identify. Is is creative; it is musical; it is visual; it takes a little sweat and a little thought. It requires moving at a pace that allows you to hear God speak. When you live organically, you live with purpose, you live with laughter, you live with ever-growing humility and hope. You buy less; you throw away less. You walk more. You serve more. You dance more. You listen more; you ask more questions. You heart breaks more often. People become essential. Rest becomes essential. Prayer becomes like breathing.
Per our conversation, we decided that our first intentional action toward a living a more organic life will be to learn how to make home-made pesto. Pesto is one of God's greatest and most profound gifts, and what could be more Christ-like than carving out time to create it ourselves, with our bare hands, all-naturally, and then enjoy it with friends as we talk and laugh and connect into the night?
He is California road tripping with his best friend Ben as a final bachelor adventure. On the second day of their jouney, they stopped to see another friend, Daniel, who is participating in a program called Mission Year in Oakland. Basically, Daniel lives with four other young adults in an apartment and has become a contributing and relational part of the local community, through teaching and community service and talking to people he bumps into on the street.
After going to church together, the boys played disc golf and then went to a local market to buy dinner supplies. Philip told me that he suggested that to save time, they buy a tub of hummus, but everyone attacked him, insisting that the hummus be home-made. So they bought the individual ingredients for the home-made hummus and other Mediterrainian munchies and got to work cooking together. When they had finished, they enjoyed the fruits of their labor together and stayed up late into the night talking and watching a 25-minute Mission Year promo video Daniel and one of the other Mission Year guys had shot. Philip told me that they fed seven people for the price of two people to go out to eat somewhere, and it was "GOOD."
This is what I mean by organic. It's often spontaneous, but it's not rushed. It leaves space for "the plan" to evolve; it leaves space for conversation. It incorporates moving your body; it incorporates nature. It involves being together; it involves food with ingredients you can identify. Is is creative; it is musical; it is visual; it takes a little sweat and a little thought. It requires moving at a pace that allows you to hear God speak. When you live organically, you live with purpose, you live with laughter, you live with ever-growing humility and hope. You buy less; you throw away less. You walk more. You serve more. You dance more. You listen more; you ask more questions. You heart breaks more often. People become essential. Rest becomes essential. Prayer becomes like breathing.
Per our conversation, we decided that our first intentional action toward a living a more organic life will be to learn how to make home-made pesto. Pesto is one of God's greatest and most profound gifts, and what could be more Christ-like than carving out time to create it ourselves, with our bare hands, all-naturally, and then enjoy it with friends as we talk and laugh and connect into the night?
Thursday, June 23, 2005
WEDDING VS. HONEYMOON
In the past week, two different people (both Christians, by the way) have commented to me that the honeymoon is more important to plan for and allot funds to than the wedding.
The first, a woman, reasoned that the family and friends who would attend the wedding and reception wouldn't appreciate all the effort and cash spent on throwing a great party for all of them to enjoy, so why bother? They'd just complain about the food or the wait service, so forget them. Spend your energy and money on planning a fun honeymoon, and make it about yourselves.
The second was a guy. Now, I understand that men, in general, are more excited about the honeymoon than the wedding itself, because nonstop sex in an exotic locale captures their attention more than frou frou bouquets and one-day-rental tuxes with backless vests. However, this guy I was talking to spoke in terms of "we," as in, both he and his (female) fiance agree that saving up money for the honeymoon and spending time planning it is a higher priority than the wedding itself.
Is it just me, or is that a little jacked up?
I'm not really one to think on the spot. No, I just kind of chuckle awkwardly and look at the floor if somebody says something that for whatever reason rubs me the wrong way. Then I think more about it later, come up with what I should have said, and then tell the blogosphere. So here it is.
Why do we get married? Is it so that we can jet over to Hawaii, play on jet skis, and swim with the dolphins? Do we invite others to our ceremonies just because they'll get ticked if we don't? Is the wedding just something to get over with, so that the real fun can start in the Heavenly Bed®?
No, we get married so we can become one, so God can supernaturally and mystically bind our lives and our bodies together for life; and we do it in the presence of witnesses who love us and who we want to share in the mystery and the joy. These are not pesky people whom we have to begrudgingly feed and entertain before we can get started on the fun stuff. We don't invite them because we're expected to. We invite them because their presence makes the experience deeper. And we include them by planning a meaningful ceremony that will engage their attention, by being involved in and prayerful about selecting the words that are said and the songs that are sung. We thank them and celebrate with them by throwing a great party, with beautiful decorations, delicious food, dancing, laughter, and hugs.
I'll go on lots of vacations with Philip, but I'll only marry him once. We'll travel the world over, but I'll only say "I do" one time. I'll wake up with him in paradise many times in the course of our life together, but I'll only bring all our loved ones together under one roof in the lovely, joyful, exciting occasion that is a wedding once in my life.
To me, all of that is worth spending the time and money on.
The first, a woman, reasoned that the family and friends who would attend the wedding and reception wouldn't appreciate all the effort and cash spent on throwing a great party for all of them to enjoy, so why bother? They'd just complain about the food or the wait service, so forget them. Spend your energy and money on planning a fun honeymoon, and make it about yourselves.
The second was a guy. Now, I understand that men, in general, are more excited about the honeymoon than the wedding itself, because nonstop sex in an exotic locale captures their attention more than frou frou bouquets and one-day-rental tuxes with backless vests. However, this guy I was talking to spoke in terms of "we," as in, both he and his (female) fiance agree that saving up money for the honeymoon and spending time planning it is a higher priority than the wedding itself.
Is it just me, or is that a little jacked up?
I'm not really one to think on the spot. No, I just kind of chuckle awkwardly and look at the floor if somebody says something that for whatever reason rubs me the wrong way. Then I think more about it later, come up with what I should have said, and then tell the blogosphere. So here it is.
Why do we get married? Is it so that we can jet over to Hawaii, play on jet skis, and swim with the dolphins? Do we invite others to our ceremonies just because they'll get ticked if we don't? Is the wedding just something to get over with, so that the real fun can start in the Heavenly Bed®?
No, we get married so we can become one, so God can supernaturally and mystically bind our lives and our bodies together for life; and we do it in the presence of witnesses who love us and who we want to share in the mystery and the joy. These are not pesky people whom we have to begrudgingly feed and entertain before we can get started on the fun stuff. We don't invite them because we're expected to. We invite them because their presence makes the experience deeper. And we include them by planning a meaningful ceremony that will engage their attention, by being involved in and prayerful about selecting the words that are said and the songs that are sung. We thank them and celebrate with them by throwing a great party, with beautiful decorations, delicious food, dancing, laughter, and hugs.
I'll go on lots of vacations with Philip, but I'll only marry him once. We'll travel the world over, but I'll only say "I do" one time. I'll wake up with him in paradise many times in the course of our life together, but I'll only bring all our loved ones together under one roof in the lovely, joyful, exciting occasion that is a wedding once in my life.
To me, all of that is worth spending the time and money on.
Monday, June 20, 2005
BAD BLOGGERS
Philip and I are bad bloggers. By "bad," I mean that we never blog. If you come here and want to read something new, I'm really sorry. My current excuse is that our wedding is in 39 days. THIRTY-NINE DAYS. Holy crap. I gotta go.
Sunday, May 15, 2005
HEAVEN AND EARTH
Last night, our twentysomething group from church had a wonderful time at our vespers service at Bethune Beach ("vespers" is an archaic word meaning "evening"). It just seemed that God was smiling on us the whole time. The weather was beautiful - sunny, with a robust wind - and the attendance was very surprising. We had new people come out, college kids who were back in town for the summer, and even our PASTOR'S family. I mean, I know pastors aren't super-stars, but to have the head pastor of the church come out to support an event felt significant. We had the perfect amount of food, and we even had a gifted guitar player named Aaron show up, so I didn't have to struggle my way through the chords of praise songs; I could just concentrate on leading the singing. And Philip did great at delivering the devotional message.
The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.
However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.
While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.
But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.
That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.
The sunset was almost mystical ... creamy ... it put me under a bit of a spell. There's nothing like a sunset over the beach. A group of us went for a walk all the way down to the National Seashore ... It must have been a couple miles. We talked as the waves washed over our feet and the stars slowly filled up the sky. The night was just one big amen ... friends and nature and food and coversation and worship ... it was joy.
However, upon returning to Orlando, Philip and I overheard something that made us instantly mourn. People very close to us had made a destructive decision that instantly sent our spirits into sadness. Then on my drive back to my house, I called my dad, who shared with me his discouragement over an ongoing situation with my grandma. The reality of life was heavy on me as I lay in my bed thinking.
While there are moments of extreme beauty and togetherness in life, there are also harmful choices, lack of self-control, and selfishness. Here in this life, we will always have to deal with the foolish things that we do, and that those around us do. There is just no escaping sin. And these situations are always complicated. They're not black and white; they're not isolated. They're messy and intertwined; their stories have multiple sides and ripple back through generations of problems. And as I thought through the two situations in particular that I was confronted with last night, my heart was low. I was confused about how I should respond. I was heartbroken for the people most directly involved. It was pain.
But I tried to recenter my thoughts on my evening at Bethune Beach, which had given me a slight taste of what heaven will be like ... when the scenery will always be breathtaking, when friendships will always be rich and fulfilling, when the food will be delicious, the ideas inspiring, the songs thunderous and moving. When there will be enough time to do the things you want to do. When there's no more mess or maintenance. When there's no more rushing ahead because there's no more waiting - it's all happening, right now, in surround sound on an IMAX screen. When we're in the presence of perfection, light, beauty, wholeness, goodness, power, life ... the very presence of GOD HIMSELF, in the flesh.
That's the hope I have as a Christian. That's what allows me to fall asleep peacefully and not despair over all the brokenness that surrounds me each day. That's what gives me a clue as to how to respond to difficult and painful situations ... and what allows me to enjoy a night like the one at Bethune Beach even more deeply and fully.
Friday, May 13, 2005
TWO YEARS
Yesterday marked two years since Philip and I met and began dating. To commemorate, we drove out to the Orange County fairgrounds, where roadies were setting up for Cornerstone Florida. C-stone FL debuted in 2003, and Philip and I met there when we both helped set up the Relevant Media Group vendor booth.
Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.
I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...
But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.
And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.
He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.
I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.
And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.
And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.
There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.
Driving onto the grass next to the tent area, Philip and I were both hit with the powerful realization of how much had changed in the time since we drove up on that grass two years ago. All at once, I just began to ball. Blowing my nose in an Arby's napkin, I couldn't even express what was making me cry so hard at first.
I was just thinking of all the change... all the friends we had lost, all the friends we had gained... the places Philip had lived and I had lived... the job changes... his grandpa's stroke and my grandpa's death...
But most of all, I was thinking of the me who I was two years ago, lonelier than I'd ever been, trying to twist and struggle into adulthood without the near support of family or good friends... flubbing and faking my way through my role as a young professional, not even valuable enough to the company at that time to be a full-time employee... living in the spare bedroom of a Best Buy manager, my personal belongings not even numbering enough to fill up my Saturn compact. God, it's making me cry again now.
And then Philip came along, and everything changed. And kept changing, and kept changing. I have a church home now. I am a writer now. I am planning a wedding. I have friends. I am busy. I have a place to live that belongs equally to myself and my roommates, where I am free to keep my own schedule, use the rooms as I please, put my food in the fridge, and decorate to my tastes. And I have a best friend, someone to share life with... to talk with, explore with, cry with, learn with, laugh with.
He was my savior two years ago, the beginning of a whole new life for me in Florida, one that is full and fun and messy and hard and beautiful.
I never thought I'd stay here, but that night at the fairgrounds two years ago, I met the one. I met the reason I'd end up sticking around, even after my time at Relevant was done. And with him, we've built this whole world together... and it just keeps changing. It'll change again in two months, when we become husband and wife and I leave this suburbian house for Philip's cozy downtown apartment.
And so I mourned for all the change last night... even though much of it was good, because change - even good change - is difficult, because it forces you to sacrifice things that are comfortable and familiar, even if those things oppress you.
And I mourned for that girl I was two years ago, who was so lonely and lost and confused. I released the pain of growing up and letting go. I said good-bye to all the other roads I might have taken, because I took THIS road, and it lead me here, to where I am, where I belong, at Philip's side, serving together in the ways we serve now.
There is something wonderful about mourning. It's cathartic, cleansing. Jesus said the mourners are actually blessed - happy. I agree.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
LIFE MAKEOVER
I have a cousin who is wise. She is not exactly my cousin... her mother is my dad's first cousin, so she is whatever that makes her to me. She lives in South Carolina and studies the earth and pours her life out for students and climbs rocks. In her last email to me, she said this:
"Sounds like you are coming to a real point of transition in your life. Of course you will be transitioning from Ms. Larson to Mrs. Hueneke, and also the transition into new work in the writing world/new books you may be authoring. But also a transition in setting up how you want to go about your life. You are in between zones right now... the single, fulltime-for-relevant past and the married, writing-as-career future. And this is the time where you can kind of step back and think about what system you want to operate under. You get to renovate your soul, do a spring cleaning. Assess what is functional (like, really functional for who you truly are) in your life and throw out what is not. Might as well make these changes too, while you are changing everything else! ... So yeah. Exciting times. It sounds like your soul is yearning for a change, a makeover in how you do life. And what a perfect time to do that, when its all changing anyways."
I was thinking about these words as I drove to Philip's apartment this morning, the apartment that will be my home in three months. I was thinking about these words and listening to the Garden State soundtrack. In the film, when Natalie Portman's character meets Zach Braff's character, she says, "Listen to this song. It'll change your life." And she puts the headphones on his head, and it is the song, "New Slang," by the Shins. The song, of course, doesn't change his life; his life is already going through massive transition. His mother has died, and he is somewhere between the past and the future, between college and a successful career, between hope and despair. He has broken away from his parents but hasn't started his own family yet. Sound familiar? No wonder we twentysomethings connected so strongly with the movie.
A makeover in how you do life. Think about what system you want to operate under while you are going through change anyway. Throw out what is not functional. I would like to think that is what I did with Relevant. I wasn't running away; it was just not functional for me to continue working there. And it is not functional for me to continue living in my house, with disrespectful people whom I don't enjoy being around. I don't know how long this life of sitting at home by myself on my computer writing about things I only half care about will be functional for me... There is still something in my heart crying out to be brought to life. Part of it is this aching to be Philip's wife at last, to make it official, complete. To make our home together, not have to clean up other people's messes, fall asleep together, create a comfortable and safe space that is ours.
But that is not all of it. Walking away from Relevant was the first step to getting somewhere. Becoming Philip's life partner is the second step. But I know this longing will still be there after these steps have been taken. I don't know what exactly it is pointing to, but I suspect it has something to do with writing things from my heart, with music, with young people. With finding a balance between work and play. With spending enough time in the sun and enough time working hard. With exercising my body and my mind, reading books, stretching and moving my muscles. I believe my life is moving in this direction. I do.
Chelsea, yours is too. As you wait for your husband to return from war and hang in the balance, your next step is coming too. Step one is being together and building your home. Step two is him finishing school. One step at a time, moving in the right direction, toward connection, balance, using your gifts and talents.
And we are okay in the meantime. We really are. We have what we need to survive, even to laugh.
P.S. Friends and readers, read my "cousin's" blog: www.refiningfireburns.blogspot.com.
"Sounds like you are coming to a real point of transition in your life. Of course you will be transitioning from Ms. Larson to Mrs. Hueneke, and also the transition into new work in the writing world/new books you may be authoring. But also a transition in setting up how you want to go about your life. You are in between zones right now... the single, fulltime-for-relevant past and the married, writing-as-career future. And this is the time where you can kind of step back and think about what system you want to operate under. You get to renovate your soul, do a spring cleaning. Assess what is functional (like, really functional for who you truly are) in your life and throw out what is not. Might as well make these changes too, while you are changing everything else! ... So yeah. Exciting times. It sounds like your soul is yearning for a change, a makeover in how you do life. And what a perfect time to do that, when its all changing anyways."
I was thinking about these words as I drove to Philip's apartment this morning, the apartment that will be my home in three months. I was thinking about these words and listening to the Garden State soundtrack. In the film, when Natalie Portman's character meets Zach Braff's character, she says, "Listen to this song. It'll change your life." And she puts the headphones on his head, and it is the song, "New Slang," by the Shins. The song, of course, doesn't change his life; his life is already going through massive transition. His mother has died, and he is somewhere between the past and the future, between college and a successful career, between hope and despair. He has broken away from his parents but hasn't started his own family yet. Sound familiar? No wonder we twentysomethings connected so strongly with the movie.
A makeover in how you do life. Think about what system you want to operate under while you are going through change anyway. Throw out what is not functional. I would like to think that is what I did with Relevant. I wasn't running away; it was just not functional for me to continue working there. And it is not functional for me to continue living in my house, with disrespectful people whom I don't enjoy being around. I don't know how long this life of sitting at home by myself on my computer writing about things I only half care about will be functional for me... There is still something in my heart crying out to be brought to life. Part of it is this aching to be Philip's wife at last, to make it official, complete. To make our home together, not have to clean up other people's messes, fall asleep together, create a comfortable and safe space that is ours.
But that is not all of it. Walking away from Relevant was the first step to getting somewhere. Becoming Philip's life partner is the second step. But I know this longing will still be there after these steps have been taken. I don't know what exactly it is pointing to, but I suspect it has something to do with writing things from my heart, with music, with young people. With finding a balance between work and play. With spending enough time in the sun and enough time working hard. With exercising my body and my mind, reading books, stretching and moving my muscles. I believe my life is moving in this direction. I do.
Chelsea, yours is too. As you wait for your husband to return from war and hang in the balance, your next step is coming too. Step one is being together and building your home. Step two is him finishing school. One step at a time, moving in the right direction, toward connection, balance, using your gifts and talents.
And we are okay in the meantime. We really are. We have what we need to survive, even to laugh.
P.S. Friends and readers, read my "cousin's" blog: www.refiningfireburns.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
MURTLE THE TURTLE
Writing is a brutal way to try to make a living, and I'm a little bit T.O.ed at God for making writing the one thing I'm good at and the only pursuit out of which I could make a viable career.
Consider: To write, one must be alone with no distractions (i.e., other humans around).
To write, one must be a self-starter, disciplined and able to find one's own motivation (i.e., outside of a boss' watching eye).
To write, one must be willing to face a lot of rejection, criticism, and general skepticism from a pragmatic world that scoffs at the idea of making a living with the arts.
Okay, so we've got loneliness, lack of motivational assistance, rejection, criticism, and overall cynicism. Sounds like a trip. At least I have a window to look out of now.
But what would the world be without the written word? The world needs writers ... to make you smile, think, cry, remember, laugh, hurt, heal ... which is why I think I won't discourage my nine-year-old cousin from aspiring to the ranks of authorship. Below is a short story she wrote, which her mother, my aunt, emailed to me. After reading it, tell me if it isn't worth it for some people to abandon the nine-to-five for a pen and paper. Or a laptop, as it were.
***
Once upon a time in the bottom of a pond lived a small turtle named Murtle. Murtle loved to bask in the sun on a rock. In the summer she would swim around in her pond, but in the cold winter weather she would swim to the bottom of the pond and burrow herself in the mud for her long winter sleep. When it was summer again, she would do the same old thing, but she didn't seem to care that she does the same thing every year. Murtle loved to do the same things alot!!
THE END
Written by Brooke Marie Schmitt
***
Consider: To write, one must be alone with no distractions (i.e., other humans around).
To write, one must be a self-starter, disciplined and able to find one's own motivation (i.e., outside of a boss' watching eye).
To write, one must be willing to face a lot of rejection, criticism, and general skepticism from a pragmatic world that scoffs at the idea of making a living with the arts.
Okay, so we've got loneliness, lack of motivational assistance, rejection, criticism, and overall cynicism. Sounds like a trip. At least I have a window to look out of now.
But what would the world be without the written word? The world needs writers ... to make you smile, think, cry, remember, laugh, hurt, heal ... which is why I think I won't discourage my nine-year-old cousin from aspiring to the ranks of authorship. Below is a short story she wrote, which her mother, my aunt, emailed to me. After reading it, tell me if it isn't worth it for some people to abandon the nine-to-five for a pen and paper. Or a laptop, as it were.
***
Once upon a time in the bottom of a pond lived a small turtle named Murtle. Murtle loved to bask in the sun on a rock. In the summer she would swim around in her pond, but in the cold winter weather she would swim to the bottom of the pond and burrow herself in the mud for her long winter sleep. When it was summer again, she would do the same old thing, but she didn't seem to care that she does the same thing every year. Murtle loved to do the same things alot!!
THE END
Written by Brooke Marie Schmitt
***
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