And It Was All Yellow...

Responding to Blake's Tag

2006-03-14T00:54:00.000-08:00

Four Jobs I've Had

1. TCBY Sales Assistant - Maryland
2. Office Assistant - Art Dept. - Hardin-Simmons University
3. Home School Teacher - Mali, West Africa
4. Chaplain of Girl's Dorm - Baylor University, TX

Four Movies I'd Watch on Repeat

1. How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days
2. Elizabethtown (with a box of kleenex)
3. Hotel Rwanda (maybe not on repeat - but an excellent movie)
4. Memoirs of a Geisha

Four TV Shows I Love

1. LOST
2. Alias
3. Grey's Anatomy
4. CNN Headline News

Four Vacation Locales I'd Like to Hit

1. Thailand
2. Australia
3. Mali, West Africa (with Jason)
4. St. Lucia (again)

Four Websites I Visit Daily

1. www.yahoo.com
2. Jason's Blog
3. Craig's Blog
4. Everyone else's blogs

Four Foods I Enjoy

1. P.F. Chang's - crispy honey shrimp, beef with brocoli, sweet & sour chicken
2. Chic-Fil-A chicken sandwich
3. California Pizza Kitchen pizza
4. The Olive Garden - chicken con broccoli (or something like that)

Four Changes I'd Make to the Apartment

1. New Carpet
2. Re-Decorate the Guest Room
3. Paint the Entryway
4. A DOG!!!

Four Beverages I Like

1. French Red Wine (any of it)
2. French White Wine (moilleux - sweet wine!)
3. Pina Coladas - especially when Kathy makes them
4. Favorite Drink of All Time Anywhere: HOT TEA!!!

Two Tags

1. Kathy M.
2. Jenn (you should start a blog)

Ashes to Ashes

2005-02-09T09:34:00.000-08:00

Today began much earlier than most of my days. Working with college students allows me the freedom to stay up late and sleep in late. Not today. Today I woke up at 6:20 and headed to Calvary Baptist Church. Today is Ash Wednesday.

This was only the second time I have participated in a service to usher in the Lenten season. Both years I have found it to be a thirty minute span of the clock that is utterly holy. I love the readings and the liturgy and the time of silent confession. I also love the ashes. I love the mark they leave on my forehead and I love the words that are read over me as another person's finger marks me with the dust I was created from, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust." It is a sacred moment and yet I always seem to be trying to control a little smile that wants to break the somberness of the moment. I see others around me with tears in their eyes and on their faces and what I want to do most is smile. My desire to smile speaks to me the newness of what I am partaking in. I feel a fresh wave of love and commitment to God and the only way I can express that love is to smile.

I have never given up anythin for Lent. And this year will be no different. As I sat in that holy space this morning, however, I felt the desire and the draw to add something to my life. To add a spiritual discipline. I am excited and even a little nervous about the next forty days. My prayer is that I will find more holy moments among the ashes.

Random Thoughts

2005-02-05T15:56:00.000-08:00

For fear of being removed from Mark P's list of blog friends, I post again. :)

I think I have discovered the reason I rarely blog. I feel that if I am going to blog something for people to read, then it needs to be good, and a lot of days I don't feel like I have anything good to say. Tonight, however, I am going to bypass that and blog whatever randomness comes to mind - in the popular bullet style no less.

* I am finishing up what I consider to be an excellent read, Nickel and Dimed. This is a powerful journey of one woman's struggle to live on minimum wage. It has greatly changed my perspective on the men, women, and children who live below the poverty line. I think I have always felt compassion towards these faces, but reading this woman's story has created within me a new respect for them and a desire for their justice.

*Senior-itis has set in (didn't know that even happened in grad school), and it is all I can do to make myself sit and memorize an assortment of random characters called Hebrew. Only a few more months!

*I am beginning to feel more strongly that pastoring may be in my future. It freaks me out and surprises me to even read that. I am meeting with my favorite pastor in town next week to talk through some things and honestly can't believe how excited I am at the prospect! :)

*Going back to Africa this summer! This time to lead a group of Baylor students. I met with the group for the first time this past week andthe excitement is setting in for this too! It is going to be a wonderful two weeks.

Life is moving along - just as it should be.

Dedicated to Craig

2004-10-25T23:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it has been four long months since I have blogged, as my friend Craig recently pointed out. It is time to try to get some creative juices flowing again and to release my thoughts through these computer keys.

Jason and I are in the City of Angels right now - attending a conference and celebrating our one year anniversary a little early.

Today we went to Universal Studios and it was super fun! Really, it was that fun. :) Tonight as we walked out of the park I saw a little girl in a stroller. She was holding a red balloon in her pudgy little hand. Unbeknownst to her parents, her little fingers loosened and the helium filled balloon began to slowly make its ascent into freedom. I remember days when I wore pigtails and bows in my hair - losing a balloon can be a traumatic experience. But not to this little girl.

Over the course of the past several months, through the reading of certain books and class discussions, I have been reminded of the beauty of wonder. To wonder is to live in awe. It is to escape much of the worry, responsibility, and anxiety that walks with us daily. It is to remember the God of creativity and stand in awe. To live in wonder is to live intentionally with open eyes.

Tonight I saw this wonder. I saw it in the face of this little girl as she watched her red helium filled balloon rise into the sky. She did not cry. She did not scream. She did not make a sound. Instead she stayed her eyes on that red treasure as it rose higher and higher. She seemed awed that it could rise so high. She wasn't worried about losing a prize. She was awed at the wonder of what that little red balloon could do.

This is the wonder I want. I want to live my life seeing the wonder that penetrates this world. The wonder that beautifies the losses and the gains of this thing called life.

Strong Lungs

2004-06-21T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am not a swimmer - meaning I have never been on a swim team, and while I can run miles and my lungs are trained to know what to do, a lap in the pool quickly leaves me without breath.

There is a song that has been out for several years now entitled, "Breathe." This song has been sung by so many people in so many places that I think I involuntarily tune it out when I hear it.

I thought of this song last Wednesday. I was sitting on a porch with a group of teenagers. For some reason the breeze on my face and the interaction with these students brought the song "Breathe" to my mind. The words of this song played repeatedly in my mind: "This is the air I breathe, Your holy presence living in me... And I am desperate for you my God..."

As I looked into these faces and listened to their words I was reminded of that season in my own life when Bible study seemed so easy and Sunday school answers were indisputable. To breathe in deep was as easy as splashing in the shallow end of the pool. It was fun and simple, as was life.

The older I get, and granted I'm not too far down this road, the harder it seems to breathe. I often feel like the weighted questions of life and the uncertain circumstances of this journey keep me anchored in the deep end and as I work so hard to tread water my breath grows more and more labored and to breathe is more work than play.

I sometimes find myself wishing for days in the shallow end to return to me. These lighthearted days echo the mild truth, "ignorance is bliss." Yet I can't seem to move from the depths that threaten to drown me if I do not pump my legs and flail my arms and above all in my desperation for God's continued presence- breathe.

Healing the World through Sweet Tea and sidewalk chalk

2004-06-09T13:42:00.000-07:00

Last week my husband, Jason, and I began the morning by reading a portion of "Celtic Benediction" together. The day was Wednesday. The closing prayer for this day reads:

O Sun behind all suns
O Soul within all souls
grant me the grace of the dawn's glory
grant me the strength of the sun's rays
that I may be well in my own soul
and part of the world's healing this day
that I may be well in my own soul
and part of the world's healing this day.

The final four lines struck me and I carried them with me for the rest of the day.

That same evening my small group joined together to throw a block party for all the kids in the neighborhood. Thirty minutes after the party started kids started migrating down the street following the smell of hot dogs and the sound of laughter.

I love evenings like this. There is something about playing with kids who the world labels poor, needy, and "less fortunate" that reminds me that I am alive. One beautiful, young, ebony face reminded me strongly of this as I helped her fill her plate with hot dogs, chips, and cookies. Her dirty clothes and matted hair only endeared her more to me. Her lack of speech as I first met her grew fear in my soul as I wondered and imagined about her daily life. She seemed so withdrawn from the world and her shyness tempted me to believe that within the walls of her small self there lay a burden and sorrow much more aged than she.

The night progressed and I felt like I was in a haven free from much of my daily worries and stresses. I conspired to lure my new little friend out of her shell with sweet tea, bubbles, and sidewalk chalk. No child can resist the joys of magical bubbles that appear from that plastic wand, or the bright colors of chalk on the sidewalk. She was soon laughing and playing and running with the other kids. Maybe I had imagined the sorrow. Maybe she was simply shyer than most children. Regardless, as I noticed her beautiful brown eyes, and her innocent smile, and shrieks of child laughter - I recalled the Celtic prayer from earlier that morning.

Lord, make me "well in my own soul and part of the world's healing this day."
The laughter of this child's voice in the air - the result of attention, love, hot dogs, and bubbles was the sound of healing.
The mystery of this moment is that the healing I expected to occur within her was felt most deeply within me.

This is community. As I blew bubbles, squirted ketchup on hot dogs, and poured glasses of sweet tea - my prayer was that God would work his wonder and use me as a source of healing in this corner of the world. What resulted was a wellness within my own soul.
What a beautiful mystery - to administer healing is to receive healing - this is the community of God.

A Time For Every Season

2004-05-30T21:38:00.000-07:00

Two weeks ago I was in the town of Atlanta, Texas visiting my husband's family. I love going to their house. Having moved so often I never experienced a "home" such as theirs. It is complete with a pasture in the back yard and relatives on each side of the fence.

This past visit Jason's aunt Judy (who lives next door), had one of my favorite things in her utility room - a litter of puppies. These four little balls of fur were the highlight of my weekend. I love dogs - especially puppies. I love the awe I feel as I hold their tiny bodies in the palm of my hand and hear their small squeals. Their unopened eyes are a window into a life so new that they have yet to see this world that is now theirs.

I returned from the weekend to hear the shocking news that my friend, Becky, who is in my life group lost her mother suddenly that day. Her mother had just visited our life group a few short days before and was so full of life and sass that it seemed surreal that someone such as this could have so suddenly passed from this world to the next.

Days later, my friend Meghan and I took her sixteen month old to the Waco zoo. There must be little else that can make one feel as alive as watching the joy of a child experience life for the first time. The thrill in her laughter drafted a smile on my face that I could not erase for days. Looking down to see her small fingers gripped white around my index joined me to the wonder and vitality of young life.

Yesterday my husband, Jason, and I returned from Atlanta, Georgia where we visited my parents (confusing I know - Atlanta and Atlanta). As my eyes read and reread the e-mail on my computer screen the disbelief filtered through every inch of me. My wonderful friend, who has already lost her aunt and both her mother and father in a year's calendar has now been diagnosed with cancer. My heart aches for her and my soul questions, why, why, why...

As I grow I see more clearly the truth of the words that the writer of Ecclesiastes penned - there is a time for everything - there is a time to be born and there is a time to die.

The season of birth is easy to embrace. To hold a puppy or to share in the innocent joy of a child is to know birth in its most beautiful form. The season of death is one that is often approached with both fear and angst, and rightfully so. It is times like this, however, that I must draw to mind autumn. I love autumn. I love the metamorphic beauty that appears as leaves clinging to trees fill with color before they fall gracefully to the ground. This season is in many ways the most beautiful.

I don't imagine that I will ever rejoice in death. My hope and prayer is that I will simply be given the grace of God to see the season of Autumn in its truest form. My life will inevitably be filled with seasons of birth and seasons of death. May the beauty of both be evident as the colors change from green to yellow to red.

Yellow Flowers

2004-05-19T20:22:00.000-07:00

Packing boxes. Moving trucks. Tears. The comfort of my three favorite stuffed animals in my suitcase. Tears. Last trip to my room. Parties with friends. Tears. Every two or three years... tears.

I hate goodbyes. Sometimes I try to convince myself that because I have journeyed through so many of them in my twenty-seven years, I should somehow be "good" at them or should be "used to this" leaving and parting. Maybe, instead, it just makes me worse at them because I have files of countless memories encoded with the tears and pain and emptiness that accompanies the word, "goodbye."

There have been a few goodbyes that have since remained more monumental than others. The first of these milestones marks the finality of my eighth grade year as my family and I packed up and moved from Alaska. I thought my heart would never recover.

The second marker was during my two year time in Africa. My housemates had just moved and I don't think I had ever or have ever since, felt more alone than the moment I stood before the doors of my mud house, preparing to enter this somewhat familiar world... alone. As I stood there with the tears streaming down my face, all I could do was cry out for God. I asked him and pleaded with him that he would not leave me in that forsaken place alone. I begged for a sign of his presence there with me in the loneliness. Entering my house for the first time in two weeks, I was amazed by the miracle of what I saw. There, blanketing my bed, my floor, my kitchen table, covering my beloved mud house were tiny yellow flowers.... How they arrived there at that time and that place I will never know. But I do know where they came from: The hand of God. Yellow flowers have always been my favorite because they are the happiest flower. They will forever remain my favorite because the sight of one reminds me always of God's presence with me. God is in the goodbyes.

This stage of my life is another page on the calendar marked with goodbyes. As I send off friends into their promising futures, I do so with a bittersweet taste in my soul. Having never defined "home" as a place, it is to me the people I share and live life among. This is home. To say goodbye to home is and always has been to say goodbye to a piece of me. It is also to carry a piece of their uniqueness and this home forever with me.

Change has always been hard for me. Fortunately and thankfully, God has always provided yellow flowers for me in the friends and faces he paints in the portrait of my life. The goodbyes of the past remind me that the goodbyes of the present and those that will come in my future are by the hand of God somehow the seeds for more yellow flowers to yield.

Thank you God for the flowers and friendships you have poured upon my life. Thank you even more for your unwavering presence within them. Thank you that the pain of "goodbye" is synonymous with the life of "hello."

2004-05-16T19:21:00.000-07:00

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