Talking to Strangers

Two days ago, I found myself in an all too familiar situation.  I was crammed between a stranger and an arm rest, overhead was an over-full bin, my carry-on tucked beneath the seat in front of me left very little leg room, and there was a running engine beneath my feet.  I got ready to headphone it up and hunker-down for some long put-off reading or even a three-hour in-flight nap, when the familiar situation quickly jolted into a new situation.  “So, how goes it?” uttered the next door passenger. 

Not putting down my book, I gave a weak smile and replied, “Oh, fine.” Was my reply, secretly, selfishly, hoping the conversation would end there.

“Where’re ya headed?” The stranger pried.

“On my way to Wisconsin to see family for Christmas….family and a fiancé.” I said smiling.  I certainly couldn’t be rude anymore; the door had opened, so I asked in return, “You?”

“Missouri.  My family is there.” He told me, and he continued to tell me for the next three hours about his family, his past job experiences, his mission, his goals to attend BYU, his outlook on the debt crisis, his food habits, his hobbies, what he likes about SLC, his home state of California, and so many more fascinating  subjects I cannot recall. 

In three-hours time, I’d learned so much about him, and yet it irks me…the most important thing about me, the thing I wanted to share with him, he never got to hear.  Was it me?  Am I hiding? 

As we deplaned, I carelessly commented, “Nice talking with you.  Thanks for making the trip fly.  I’m Katie by the way.”  And seeing I’d probably never see him I again, I attempted, “Have a safe trip and Merry Christmas!”

“Yeah, thanks!  I’m Jared.  Merry Christmas to you too!”

And that was it.  A stranger named Jared.  I talked with him for three hours and never once took the opportunity to say ANYTHING worth real meaning…but then again, had he?

Maybe sometimes, Void, we are just hear to listen…

Merry Christmas, God

Every week, I ask my students to share prayer requests for a newsletter I send to their parents.  Today, I asked each child to share a special Christmas prayer.  Most came up with things like, "Please let us have a good Christmas" or "Please be with me this Christmas." or "Please let everybody have a good Christmas." and the ever popular plethora of requests: "Please help my dog/cat/hamster/cough/etc. this Christmas."  But one little girl had a different kind of prayer.  "Dear God, Be with my family this Christmas," she prayed, "and, Merry Christmas to you!  Amen."  At first I thought it cute...and a little naive.  This young lady wanted to wish God - the Maker and preserver of Life - the one who is the very meaning of Christmas itself, a Merry Christmas.  God is the merriest of us all, so he really doesn't need our best wishes.

But later, I got to thinking this little girl might understand more than I think.  Isn't that exactly what prayer is?  Prayer is how we talk to God.  And if we are talking to God, we may as well talk to him as if he were right in the room with us, because after all...he is.  And since he is here with us...isn't he close to us?  And if he is close to us, than why couldn't we wish him a "Merry Christmas"?  He is our friend and Christmas is His Birthday after all, isn't it!?  Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus, the Son of God...why not wish God a Merry Christmas?  Then I began to wonder what those people said a long time ago on that very first Christmas?


A long time ago...
Angels singing "Gloria...In the highest!"
...Merry Christmas!
Shepherds worshiping at the manger...
...Merry Christmas!
Simeon holding the baby at the gates of the temple...
...Merry Christmas!
Wise men from the far east bringing gold, frankincense, and myrrh...
...Merry Christmas!
Mary pondering all these things in her heart...
...Merry Christmas!


Just as then, today we...


Children singing his praises...
...Merry Christmas!
Families giving gifts...
...Merry Christmas!
Homes decorated in beautiful lights...
...Merry Christmas!
Friends near and far gathering together for worship...
...Merry Christmas!
Grade school children praying Christmas prayers...
...Merry Christmas!


Dear Void, if I may be so bold, it is my prayer this Christmas for you to be merry in the celebration of a child who is the Savior of the world.  It is my prayer that all may say, "Merry Christmas" to God in one way or another.

A Heavenly Christmas...

Void, I'm sure you're already aware, it's Christmas again.  Christmas number 25.  Like all the other Christmases, I've decorated my tree and lit my lights.  I've bought some gifts and have more to buy.  Like last Christmas, I'm scrabbling to get it all done before it arrives.  Like Christmases before it, I'm indulging in sugary sweets, hot chocolaty cocoa, and searching for that first sign of snow.  This Christmas, like last Christmas, I hum to catchy tunes on the radio, tear up during sentimental commercials, and hunker down with a bowl of popcorn for the Christmas movie on ABC Family.  This Christmas I made plans to fly home to see my parents and look forward to special worship services.  But this Christmas is different.  This Christmas, we're missing Grandpa.

We never went to see Grandpa and Grandma on actual Christmas day.  It was usually a few days after.  But it didn't matter.  It was still Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's.  Christmas at Grandpa's was warm and exciting.  We spent the night snuggled in old sleeping bags on the living room carpet.  Every morning, we woke up early to race to our shoes (which we'd obediently lined up by the door the night before) and found a single piece of candy in the left one.  Grandma'd let us decorate sugar cookies and Grandpa taught us chess.  That was Christmas at Grandma and Grandpa's house.

This Christmas is different.  Grandpa is in heaven this Christmas.  What's it like, I wonder, your first Christmas in heaven?  Christmas in God's house can be nothing short of spectacular.  Can you imagine it, Void?  I imagine, a choir of a millions angels, singing praises to Him, the greatest gift of all.  Grandpa's singing with them in perfect harmony this Christmas.  I imagine, a table adorned with every good food imaginable and around it sit the people you knew and loved in this life.  Grandpa is feasting there this Christmas.  I imagine, a tree which stretches high above the ceiling, twinkles in splendor, and sparkles with ornaments of heavenly glory.  Grandpa is seeing that tree with his own eyes, this Christmas.  This Christmas, my Grandpa is the happiest he's ever been and I am glad.  I'm glad he's there, celebrating.

My First Christmas in Heaven

Author:  Unknown

I am having my first Christmas in Heaven

A glorious, wonderful day!

I am standing with saints of all ages,

Who found Christ, the truth and the way

I am singing with the heavenly choir

I--who so loved to sing!

And, oh what celestial music

We bring to our Savior and King

I am singing the glad song of redemption,

How Jesus to Bethlehem came,

And why they called his name Jesus,

That all may be save through his name!

Oh, loved one, I wish you could be here!

No Christmas on earth can compare,

With all of the rapture in glory,

I witness in Heaven so fair!

You know how I always loved Christmas,

It seemed such a wonderful day,

With all of my loved ones around me,

We were so happy in every way.

Yes, now I can see why I loved it,

And, oh what a joy it will be,

When all of my loved ones are with me,

To share all the glories I see!

So, dear ones on earth, I send greetings,

Look up!  Til dawning appears,

And, oh what a Christmas awaits us,

Beyond all our parting and tears!

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

554

Dear Void,
Please LEND me your eyes and your time for an extremely nerdy post.
Thank-you,
Writer

An ODE to Scrabble: A game of NOUNS, adjectives, verbs, adverbs, prepositions and the occational otamatopiea (words like: POOF, buzz, crack)

I SMILED when I woke this morning to yet another Saturday SKY filled with clouds which noted: Fall is a GONER and the chilly STING of winter is here. Time for TWEED jackets and MINX coats once again. With Christmas right around the corner, I can literally hear consumers DEBITING as they strive to CRAM IN just one more gift or ACE that screaming deal. Several TRIPS to the grocery store on slippery PAVED roads to recover various odds of AG, (i.e. RUBY red BEETS, giant green beans, and fabulous FRUITY flavors) I recall memories of past Thanksgivings at my uncle's house, "You kids are making a ZOO out of this place!" He'd often say.  Amidst the screech of a monkey, the wave of an elephant TAIL, the bellow of an EWE, and the occational, "Joey, have you been to the barber?  You've got quite the SHAG on your head!" there was always LAUGHTER and LOVE to be shared.   AH yes, the holidays DO seem to cause my heart to tickle with a QUEER remembrance of the past and an exciting hope for the future. As I sit and sip my cup of JOE (most definitely not TEA) and enjoy a solo game, I cannot help but wonder IF this holiday season will be much different than the last.  OY!  Is that a ZIT?  DRAT...some things never change.

an eternity of Sundays

And there we'll find our home, our life before the throne.  We'll honor him in perfect song where we belong.  He'll wipe each tear-stained eye as thirst and hunger die.  The Lamb becomes our Shepherd King; we'll reign with him.

Hear heaven's voices sing; their thunderous anthems rings; Through emerald courts and sapphire skies their praises rise.  All glory, wisdom, power, strength, thanks, and honor are to God our King who reigns on high forevermore.

A Higher Throne

by Keith and Kristyn Getty

Ever had one of those weeks?  Monday comes and you're devastated the weekend is over, but absolutely sure the week will fly by in anticipation of the next break from the daily grind.  Tuesday you're a little more positive until sleeplessness hits you about 2PM like a train to a brick wall at 100mph.  Patience goes out the window.  By Wednesday you are in the lowest of lows realizing after two days of solid work you have two to go before glorious rest.  Thursday seems a little brighter by 5 and on Friday the spring is back in your step with visions of TV and friends in your head.  And then, there's Saturday.

Saturday is catch-up day.  Catch-up on sleep, catch-up on laundry, catch-up on friends, catch-up on blogs, catch-up on TV, catch-up on cleaning, and even catch-up on work.  You catch-up because you know the coming week will go much like last.  Monday though Friday you'll endure the hum-drum of everyday life.  Where is the true rest?  Sunday.  Sunday you rest.

Wake up at a reasonable hour, go to worship, fellowship with other Christians, maybe watch some football, order pizza, and go to bed early.  Sunday is a great day.  Sometimes, I wish every day was Sunday.  I find myself praying often, "Come Lord Jesus, quickly come!"

Today as part of my Saturday catch-up I attended Praise Band practice. As I entered the building, I felt the weight of the week on my shoulders .  Then we started singing and the words of the hymn for tomorrow's worship gave me a much needed reminder.  My Lord is coming and he is coming quickly.  Until that day when "Heaven's voices sing" I am refreshed in knowing I will one day have an eternity of Sunday rest in my true home - Heaven.

Today Void, I pray the same revelation for you:  There is a Higher Throne

at the end of the day...

What is it about the end of the day that makes us so sure about things? You know the saying, "At the end of the day... that's the call he should have made." "At the end of the day... I'd pick strawberry over vanilla." "At the end of the day...she's the one I want to be with." "At the end of the day... we're all just people." “At the end of the day…the apple is still going to be red.”

What's the difference? If at the end of the day you decide to be content with what you had at the start of the day, why not just be happy with it at the start of the day?  Of course the apple is still red at the end of the day!  It seems to me you'd save a lot of time if you just realized what you wanted when you woke up, then the end of the day wouldn't seem like such a grand conclusion.

Although, that's what the human mind may desire - a grand conclusion. You'd like to try all the options before coming to the best choice at the day’s end. I wonder if that's why we use clichés like, "Save the best for last," and "The best things are worth waiting for." Why must you prove to yourself what you chose is the best by making all the wrong choices before that one? Is that how we learn what we like and don't like? Is that how we discover new information?

Are we a creation that has to be unhappy before we can be happy? Must we look at things from a backward perspective to see our blessings? Are replays and reruns the 20/20 vision we seek? Maybe that’s why historians preach learning from our forefathers. It also may be why doctors and scientists are so experimental in their approaches. Looking back at the evidence helps us make better decisions for the future.

Humans are reflective. We try and we fail. If we dare try again, we may succeed. At the end of the day, we look back and see our mistakes in a different light:  the light of dusk. As dusk turns to darkness, our many failed attempts to do the right thing, fade into what is now the past. With each new day, the sins of our past show us the way to start anew. 

At the end of this day I know that each day can only get better, because I plan to learn from today.

snowy saturday

For some weeks now I've been longing to wake up late, sip coffee from my moose mug, feel cozy in my chair as the snow falls, and write.  There have been several reasons this has not happened.  Reason Number One:  it hasn't snowed.  Reason Number Two:  the days I get to sleep late are few and far between.  Reason Number Three:  you other writers will understand this, ispiration has been lacking.  It's tough to write when your fingers and your brain tell you there is nothing to write about.  Okay Void, you're right, don't think I can't hear you uttering, "But your blog is about nothing."  I admit, my blog does not have a point or a goal, or a cause.  It's not political, or educational, or even popular.  I would hope it serves a purpose.  It does for me.  Today it fulfills my longing wish to spend a Saturday morning at the keyboard, with my moose mug, while the snowflakes gently fall outside my window.

In Wisconsin, the first snow was an exciting day as a little girl. We'd tear on our hats and gloves, snow pants and boots and run outside just to catch a snowflake on the tongue.  My siblings and I would wait a few hours until there was just enough on the ground to build a midget of a snowman.  But, the best part of the first snow was warming up.  You couldn't go in the back door, "Go around to the front!"  Mom would say.  Inside we'd kick off our snowy clothes, desperately avoid bits of cold snow and puddles of icy water, and race to the kitchen where Mom served us hot cocoa and cookies.  Then she'd set the stove to warm, place the piano bench next to it, open the door, and let us warm our toes in the stove.  Best Day Ever!  It makes me laugh thinking about five little kids sipping luke warm cocoa out of plastic cups, with fifty little toes stuck in the stove.

We're not little kids anymore.  Although we're all over the place, living our own lives, I can't help but wonder what it would be like if we were all together today.  On this day - the first snow in Utah.  Something tells me nothing would change.  That's the blessing of a great family.  No matter how old you get, or how far apart you live, when you're together, life is good.

I can hear the neighbor kids playing in the snow next door...it's all I can do to not throw on my boots and ask if I can play too.

Turns out...I Just Hadn't Met You Yet

It's been two months.  Has it really been two months?  We met the end of July.  Now it's October.  Yes, it's been two months.

Before July I was happy and content.  I was me.  I was living life the way any single chick would.  Top on the list of goals: traveling and professional development.  Top on the list of things to do on the weekend:  relax and enjoy life.  Top on the list of people to spend time with:  Me, Myself, and I.  Why? Turns out...if I may steal a line from song-writer, Michael Buble, I hadn't met you yet.

I didn't know it at the time, but I had another list - "Things Missing From My Life."  There was one thing on the list:  You.

Two months later, my lists have changed.  How?  First, rather than "happy and content" I'm ecstatically happy and unbelievable content.  I've got a bounce in my step, everyday.  Traveling with you, learning with you, relaxing with you, enjoying life with you, I want to spend every spare minute with you, and there is nothing missing from my life because I have you. 

Before you, I wanted to punch all those people who say, "When you know you know."  I did!  I know you don't believe me but I wanted to punch them in the face and scream, "What do you mean, 'When you know, you know?'" How could that be when I'd spent the better part of two months to two years "getting to know" every Joe-Schmo in my life and ending it with the words "I don't know."  As it turns out - I hadn't met you yet.

Before you, I didn't realize how lonely I was.  I didn't know I didn't like doing things by myself.  I didn't know I didn't like being the only single at the potluck.  I didn't know I didn't want to do life by myself.  Before you, I thought I was fine - but I wasn't.  I hadn't met you.

Before you, they were all "cool" for awhile or "nice" for awhile or "cute" for awhile. Everybody was okay and I thought I could get along with them.  Many were funny, or smart, or easy-going.  But not like you, never like you. You're better and I hadn't met you.

Before you, I'd been on lots of good dates, had millions of good conversations, been introduced to countless new experiences, and enjoyed several delicious meals, but I'd never been on a great date.  I'd certainly never been on a perfect date.  And I'd definitely never been on a date with You.  Course not!  I hadn't met you!

Before you, I'd made lots of decisions.  I'd had lots of life experiences.  I'd had ups and downs, overs and unders, arounds and throughs, but I didn't know you were doing that too.  You were?  Well...I hadn't met you, so how would I know that.

Before you, I'd had lots of best friends.  My best friends and I, we'd laugh and cry, adventure and talk late into the night.  I had no idea that those best friends were great friends...and I just hadn't met you.

Before you, I was thankful to God for all sorts of things in my life.  For flowers and trees, for sunshine and clean air, for mountains, for family, for friends, for the kindness of others, for safety, but not for you.  How could I be?  I hadn't met you.

Before you, I prayed for things for me.  I prayed for the day to go well and my sicknesses to go away.  I think I might have prayed for you.  I know I asked God for you, because even though I hadn't met you and I was happy and content, there was a part of me that knew you were out there.  I prayed you were waiting for me.  But I didn't know you were, because I hadn't met you.

Before you, I wasn't quite sure if there was anyone - no really, ANYONE out there who thought like I did.  I was fairly certain I was the only person on this earth who was anything like me.  Turns out...I just hadn't met you yet.

Now that I've met you, my whole life is different.  I've been on great dates.  I've had wonderful conversations. I've been not-single at the potluck.  I thank God for you and I know for certain there is another person in the world who thinks the way I think.  Why?  Because you are my second green light (See "Jerk-o-meter"), that's why.  You are my second green light and I've met you now.  And you've met me.  Buble and all those other people were right after all - we just had to meet and after that...we just knew.

I realize some members of the Void may wish to punch me in the face.  It doesn't matter.  I've met my You now and I love him.

Teacher, I need you!

It doesn't make a difference if you're five, fifteen, twenty-five, or ninety-five, life will keep throwing you curve balls.  I don't say that to be negative, I say it because it's true.

Yesterday, I dried the tears of a second grader on the playground after an everyday mishap.  His alligator tears over what was perceived as cruelty, could have been avoided had he only come to me for help earlier.  At that moment I found myself saying something to the effect of, "You need to come tell a teacher the minute something like this happens.  A teacher can help you understand what's going on, and fix it.  Do you think you can do that?"  The child nodded between sobs and continued into the building.

This little kid's problem stuck with me.  I knew what I'd said, "A teacher can help."  Hours later, however, I found myself wondering...aren't we all just trying this life thing out for the first time?  Isn't every new situation, new to us, scary to us, unfamiliar to us, and sometimes overwhelming?  Why is it that no matter how long we live, or how outgoing and adventurous we might be, there will always be a day we feel uncomfortable, sad, hurt, lonely, or just down-right anxious?  You cannot tell me that some of the bravest men in the world were not scared as they witnessed flames of enemy fire.  You cannot convince me a young mother who sees her toddler tumble down the stairs is not frightened to pieces on the inside while her voice remains calm.  We all have fears to face for the rest of our lives.  Life wouldn't be life without fear.

The truth is, Void, we all need a teacher.  Young or old, we all need someone with experience to tell us what to do - or someone to make some kind of logical suggestion.  Problems in this world will never go away.  The world is imperfect.  As a result of its imperfection, our world is soiled with jealously, lust, hate, greed, ugliness, obsession, unhealthy lifestyles, hurt, pain, laziness, meanness, and all other forms of malice.  Finally, you throw your hands up and cry with alligator tears streaming down your face, "Why do I even try to fix things?"  That's when your Teacher comes into the picture.

The Teacher says to you, "Do not worry.  You don't have to fix this.  I will.  It's been my plan from the start.  I've called you by name, you are mine, and I can make this go away." 

At first you are surprised,  "I wasn't expecting or asking for someone to help me.  I just want to sit in my sadness, fear and confusion and try to figure it out for myself." 

"No," He says to you.  "I won't let you do that.  You see, I love you and want you to be okay.  Even when you don't ask for help, I'll come running.  That's just the way it works.  Now stop worrying and let me fix this."

So you do.  Like the little boy on the playground, you wipe away your tears, swallow your sobs, nod and go back to what you were doing before. You go about your daily life waiting for the next opportunity to take your worries and struggles to your Teacher, because you know he has the answers.  You know he's got the perfect resolution already in mind.  You know your everyday mishaps, your unfinished tasks, your uncomfortable situations, your feelings of hate and greed, can all be fixed with the powerful Word of your Teacher - Jesus.

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine.  When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you.  When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.  For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior."  ~Isaiah 43:1-3

sweet, sweet summer

Good-bye bonfires.  Good-bye crickets.  Good-bye Hotels on Hotwire.  Good-bye camping in thickets.  Good-bye care-free days.  Good-bye sleeping in.  Good-bye barbecues.  Good-bye goldfishes to win.

Farewell to the hot days of summer we love.  Farewell to the cool splashes in pools which we dove.  Farewell to the fireworks, the carnivals and candy.  Farewell to the ice cream man who's ever so handy.

So long, starry nights.  So long, sail boating.  So long, grizzly bears in Yellowstone, still hunting.  So long, many hours of sunlight.  So long, mosquitoes.  So long, keeping the crops away from the crows.

Adios, lawn mowing and sprinklers running.  Adios, sun bathing and long hours reading.
Adios, traveling, sight-seeing, and dining.  Adios week-night parties, chatting and wining.

Summer is over.  It is done.  It is finished. 

We must say, "Good-bye." and "Thanks!" and "We'll miss you!"

Because before we know it, our lives will have started and we won't remember summertime bliss.  Which each of us held at our fingertips.  But every so slowly, so slowly it slipped, right through our fingers -  and vanished. 

That's it.

Void, take a moment, just a moment to ponder:  the wonders of summer.  With each moment I hope you grow fonder and fonder of the uniqueness encapsulated in summertime greatness.  Smiles on faces and life in the midst.  Recall relaxation, celebration, and joy.  And as you remember, begin to look forward.  Look for the signs of summer's return.  Friend, it will be here...

...before the blink of an eye!

are you a Mushy?

Do Hallmark commercials turn your eyes misty?  Does a romantic comedy have you sniffling?  Will a sports flick cause you to cry uncontrollably?  Could an inspirational quote create a lump in your throat?  Might a hug from a small child recall nostalgia?  Would a Packer win within the last 30 seconds of a game bring tears to your eyes?  Do you fight back emotion at the sound of beautiful music on a cool summer night?  When you see an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand, does your breath catch in your chest as you smile at the sight?

If you've answered "Yes" to any or all of the previous questions, you my friend, are a Mushy.  As a Mushy, you may have been roused with emotion by the mere reading of those questions.  It's safe to say, that as a Mushy, you are on the verge of tears right now because you can think of a specific time and place when you were in an exact or similar situation.  Mushies are people who carry tissues with them at all times:  to church, to the movies, in the grocery store, listening to the radio, weddings, funerals, parties, reunions, graduations you name it - if you're a Mushy, you require tissues.  A Mushy is a person who is not afraid to cry in public and often lets the tears flow freely in private.  A Mushy knows how to cry tears of joy, sadness, anger, and relief.  Dear Void, tonight it is my pleasure and pride to admit to you, I am a Mushy.

I've never considered my being a Mushy to be a bad thing.  I'm sure my teachers were not always sure how to understand my frequent teary spells.  And to my parents:  Thank-you for putting up with the floods of emotion which seemed to be at their peak for a good portion of my childhood.  But for myself, the over-exaggerated emotion has never really bothered me.  At the end of a love story, I can't help but feel what the characters are feeling.  It's natural for me to stop singing on the last stanza of the final hymn, just to compose myself.  I'm happy to say the sound of my mother's voice on the other end of the phone gets me every time.  I find myself swallowing a lump in my throat when I see a sunset, or listen to rain out my window.  Mushiness is a big part of my day.

I once read that the same  diaphragmatic reflex which the body uses to laugh is also used to sob.  I find it slightly ironic for two very different emotions to be expressed in the same physical way.  For that reason, I also find it ironic that a person who shows too much emotion can be considered "weak" where as a person who shows little to no emotion is "strong."  Emotion is the very trait which sets the human race apart from all other creatures on Earth.  Having emotion makes us unique!  Don't hide it!  Flaunt it!  If you want to cry, cry.  You want to shout?  Do it.  You need to laugh out loud?  Please, don't spare us. 

To Mushies everywhere - it's a stoic world out there...let's show 'em what we're made of!

night time is for sleeping

For a writer, a sleepless night is merely a blank page with endless possibilities.  For a driver, its an open road, a full tank, a working radio and no agenda.  For a singer, a sleepless night could be like The Song That Never Ends.  It goes on an on my friends.  Some people...  For a teacher, a sleepless night means a buzzing brain with too many agendas.  Tonight I will make my sleepless night into a canvas on which I will paint words.  Perhaps the challenge will turn this night from restless into restful.

What could I paint tonight?  I certainly will not bore you with the logistics of classroom management or the intricacies of lesson planning.  I would never dream of giving you a summary of the last two chapters in the book I just read.  I couldn't possibly give you a run-down of my day complete with meal plans and errand runs.  Those pictures are all too...dull.  No Void, this is a sleepless night to remember.  Let's make it memorable.  Let's tell a story.

There once was a lady who just couldn't sleep.
Try as she might her body wouldn't leap
into Sleep's waiting arms.

She asked herself, "Why must you stay awake?
There is not even one good sake
why you shouldn't fall for Rest's many charms!"

The lady was tired but her mind was a tizzy.
The voices inside - making her dizzy
until she opened her book.

The book proved a smart remedy to quiet the noise,
until the words, THE END, stood there in a kind of a poise
as if to say, "Madejya look!"

On to the next prescription of sorts,
perhaps a cold beverage and a peek at ports
on the giant, world wide web.

Ah, that wasn't working, there's only one thing
that'd cause watery eyes and the lady to sing
of the glories of bed.

That thing was to write everything in her head
down on paper for it to be read
by anyone, anywhere under the sun
who might have the same kind of job which was undone.

As fingers hit keys and the scroll began,
a yawn escaped from her lips and ran
through her body at last!

Sleep had arrived, the long wait was over.
Eyes heavy, she fought to finish...
But alas, Sleep was too fast.

Jerk-o-Meter

Okay, it's true.  I'm single.  I've been for awhile.  I'm okay with it, you can be too.  Recently, I've found myself dodging and darting the infamous question, "Why are you single?" The first couple times the question has no effect.  Most times the question makes me laugh quietly to myself.  You see, nobody goes around asking anybody, "Why are you married?" After several different people, from all walks of life find reason to ask these ever so exasperating four words, a girl begins to wonder herself, "Why AM I single?"

You won't be surprised to hear it doesn't take long for me to come up with an answer.  To the questioners I reply with something light-hearted, "Oh, I'm not single, I'm choosy!"  or "I've never been efficient, I don't plan to start." or "Well, it's like this, I see it one of two ways.  I can have single girl problems, or I can have married girl problems.  Either way, I'll have problems.  Right now, I like this kind."  [That last one I can't take credit for.  It's from a book I was recently gifted - Even God is Single (so stop giving me a hard time). by Karen Salmansohn.]

But at home, in the quiet of my own thoughts the truth is made aware.  Is it because of the series of failed relationships I've been in?  Is it my tremendous decision making skills?  Do I just have an unrivaled amount of bad luck?  Perhaps I'm cursed.  No, it don't think it's any of those things.  I have a strong feeling my singleness is due to a highly-trained and super-sensitive Jerk-o-Meter.

After countless bad dates, months of mayhem, a few too many one-minute conversations, and unwanted sideways glances, I've become a serious weeding machine.  It's not that I don't want to be with someone, it's that the pickings are slim.  Lucky for me, the Jerk-o-Meter never lies.  I just turn it on, scan the surface, begin listening, and then wait for the light.  Green light means go ahead.  Red light means stop.  It's that simple.  No buttons to push.  No games to play.  It's either red or green.  No in between.  No maybes.  None of this, "I'm just not sure."  Best of all, no time wasted.  Once red has been spotted I turn off the meter and go looking elsewhere.  The Jerk-o-Meter is the way to go.  What a handy feature!

I have to be honest with you, Void, the Jerk-o-Meter, although Grandmother-tested and Father-approved, is not faultless.  It needs a back-up.  After the Jerk-o-Meter has done it's job, another meter kicks into gear.   The Match-o-Meter.  The Match-o-Meter is only needed when the Jerk-o-Meter has given the green light.  It's not often a girl meets a non-jerk.  When she does, she'd like for it to work.  For me, all too often the Jerk-o-Meter gives the green light but the Match-o-Meter illumines red.  Ultimately, not one but two meters need to shine green.  Two green lights, that's what I'm looking for.

So, question:  "Why am I single?"  Answer:  Daily Double.  I'm waiting for the second green light.

Hey! It's my Anniversary!

My cable company sent me a card yesterday.  I know what you're thinking - by "card" I meant "bill."  Nope, this was an actual card.  It was a Thank-you card, thanking me for one year of service to them as their customer.  I have been living here in this duplex, in this city, in this state, for a whole year.  This has not happened in 6 years. 

Contentment flooded my veins as I held the card in my hands.  I stared at it a moment, trying to grasp the feelings I was having.  In many ways I felt like dancing.  In other ways I felt like crying.  Mostly, I wanted to yell down the street, "Hey everbody!  It's my anniversary!  Come celebrate with me!"

My celebratory state soon wound down and I entered a period of deep thought.  It's been a year.  In that year I moved 2,000 miles from the place I called "home."  I left my entire family for my new family.  I made new friends and neighbors.  I've been away and back a few times.  Along with working like crazy, I've had time to recreate in all sorts of areas.  I stayed warm in winter and cool in summer.  I tried my hand at landscaping, gardening, cooking, cleaning (which I hate, by the way), budgeting (which I hate slightly less than cleaning), and blogging (which I love).  I spent way too much time on Facebook and not nearly enough time in face-to-face conversation, but in all it's been a successful year.

A successful year... or has it been?  Suddenly, without warning, a "New Year's Resolution" virus invades my brain as I realize how many things I haven't finished.  You wanted to get a dog.  You wanted to start rock climbing.  You were going to get a new bike.  You were going to lose 15 pounds.  A head board would be nice and those pictures in the extra bedroom are STILL in boxes.  You still live on mac-n-cheese, spaghetti, and pizza.  Your piano gets dustier with everyday you don't play.  You had friends over...maybe twice?  And your...STOP!  I scream, inside my head, before this gets completely out of control.

I take a deep breath and in a few seconds life is good again.  It's surprising to think how damaging only a few negative thoughts can be on a person's ego.  I go back to focusing on the bright side. Turns out, all of the things I was planning to do with this year, in this house, on this block, in this city, were set aside by more valuable things.  Things like, connecting with parents and students.  Spending time with family and friends.  Learning the culture of my surroundings.  Learning about me.  Taking in sunsets or the crunching of snow beneath my feet.  Reading more.  Listening more.  Giving God more.  Timeless things.   Priceless things.   Memories which will never be rewritten. That's how I spent my year here.

Today, on my anniversary, I celebrate one year of joy.   One year, I spent checking things off a list I didn't know was mine.  A list I clearly didn't write.  It's because of that list I refuse to make resolutions for the upcoming year.  The pre-written list is better anyway.  Last year, was proof.

"I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a future." -Jeremiah 29:11

raindrops on roses

My backyard's been rather dry lately.  By "rather dry" I mean brittle.  By "brittle" I mean walking on what should be soft, lush, green grass is like walking on a field of prickly, pointy, poky needles.  Tonight I gave the lawn an extra drink of water, thinking it would soften up the deathly glare.  Ten minutes later it began to downpour.  Ironic?  Perhaps. 

The impeccable timing of the rain tonight got me thinking...what was the rush?  Why did I choose to run a sprinkler on a lawn which was ready for a good dousing when the sky was giving hints possible rain?  In the same way, how often have I jumped to conclusions in a tough situation?  How frequent is my "need for speed" when it comes to getting chores and other errands done?  How many millions of times have I disregarded God's timing and regarded my own as a "better" bet?  What is so hard about slowing down?

All these questions make me wonder an even bigger question, what is it about our lives today, that make it so necessary to HURRY!?  Parents enroll toddlers in Kindergarten.  Teens look for the next short-cut to college.  Adults search for get-rich-quick schemes on the Internet.  Lovers leap into marraige like it's a fair ride.  It's as if we all have a time-bomb inside of us just waiting to go off and we're done for if we don't Hurry It Up Sally.

I'm guilty of this in my own life.  I'd say impatience with myself is the biggest fault within me.  I have never been very good at relaxing in my own station of life.  Enjoying each day as it comes has been no talent of mine.  To some of you, on the outside, you don't see it.  But it's there inside of me.  Always looking for the next great thing to happen; many times trying to beat it to the finish line.  Seems to me, as soon as I set out the sprinkler...God sends the rain and I wonder why I worried in the first place.

So Void, next time your lawn is prickly, remember, a shower is probably on its way.  Try to hold off your power to water and see what God has in mind.  He could be sending you a downpour...or a monsoon...or a flood.

in as few words as possible...

Internet browsing with StumbleUpon.com is a recent"addiction" I'm adding to an embarassing collection.  I'd say I could store it in my addiction bank along with coffee, Facebook, shopping for a dog, and organizing things (also recent).  It's become a habit of mine to Stumble before I hit the pillow every night.  StumbleUpon has led me to places online I never knew I had an interest in before:  art, music videos, crafts, and a lot of useless, mindless, but interesting information.  Tonight as I was Stumbling, I caught myself falling into a trap which kept me occupied for the next 45 minutes.  

One Sentence is a place for people to publish true stories in a sentence.  Funny stories, sad stories, horror stories, or love stories, in just one sentence.  What a fantastic idea.  As I read, I couldn't help but think of my own stories.  How could they be summed up in a sentence?  Try it.  It's a good challenge.  Afterward you'll find what you've written to be quite excellent writing.  At lease to you it will be.  Ryan, creator of the site, will have the final say.  Because the site is not a free-for-all, much like Facebook, Twitter, or even this blog, each submission needs to be approved before publishing.  As far as good ideas go, this guy sure had one.  Congrats man, you have unveiled to the virtual world, the power of being brief.  Grandpa was right when he said, "Keep it simple, stupid."

Charge!

Every morning I roll out of bed with the same goal in mind.  It doesn't matter if I roll out at 6AM or noon, the same routine ensues.  I squint and fumble for my glasses, shuffle into the kitchen, prep the coffee maker, head to the toity, brush my teeth and smile as the inviting aroma wafts into my nostrils.  I pour myself a cup and curl up into my huge, over-stuffed chair, draw the curtains, and take in the morning (or afternoon) moment.  After, and only after, do I feel I can face the day.  A daily charge, perhaps?  I think so.

Coffee, I'm not ashamed to admit, has become my morning charge.  Even on warm summer days a cup of coffee brings me comfort before the start of a new day.  But, the coffee charge was not created to last 14-16 hours.  Unfortunately, throughout my day I turn to other, less comforting, but just as effective forms of recharge.  Mid-morning I reach for that ever-so-tempting protein bar.  Lunch I'm all over the apple salad with green tea.  In the afternoon I'm lucky to catch a quick walk or stretch.  By evening, I'm in desperate need of some carbs topped with something tomatoey.  Before I know it, the day is done and I'm ready for the biggest re-charge of all, hitting the pillow for 6-8 hours before doing it all over again.

All daily life really is, is recharge after recharge.  Gathering energy to turn into something useful.  I'd compare our bodies to a toy car running on battery.  Sometimes, my battery gets so low, the daily recharge doesn't seem to do the trick.  As if something outside myself is sucking the energy out of me so quickly a million cups of coffee or apple salads couldn't fix it.  That's when I know I need a super-charge.  My super-charge usually includes lacing up the hiking boots and capturing the world at 10,000 feet.  Other charges include: finding a good book, hearing inspiring words, beginning a creative project, hosting a dinner, taking a second to think, or striking up a conversation with a stranger in the grocery store.  Sometimes it's purchasing a plane ticket or taking a long drive.  Once in a great while, the only super-charge I have enough stored energy for is a good curl up in bed and sleep forever.

The super-charge is powerful.  No doubt a super-charge every other week would keep me going day-to-day.  But, if I'm totally honest with you, Void, (which I try very hard to be) super-charges aren't quite enough.  When the weight is so heavy and so burdensome there is only one charge which can remove it.  The Ultimate Recharge.  The Ultimate Recharge comes from opening my Bible and finding comfort in the words, "I know the plans I have for you.  Plans to prosper you and give you a future."  Or, "Never will I leave you, never will I forsake you."  And better yet, "I have summoned you, and called you by name; you are mine."  His words, Jesus' words, my Father's words.  Can it get more electrifying?  The Ultimate Recharge is "The Way and The Truth and The Life."

Only after an Ultimate Recharge, may my normality return.  Life is good again.  Whatever weight which was extracting my energy ceases.  My body is free to turn energy into productivity.  My mind is free to make sense of the world.  My soul is calm, collected, and uncharacteristically quiet.  The Ultimate Recharge is what makes the everyday life worth living because in the end I know I'm going to a place where I won't need a daily charge.  In the end, I'll be in a place where energy never runs out and hyper charge is normal.  In the end, I'll have eternal batteries.  That, Void, is good news.

written

a writer is a writer when he knows exactly what to say,
about the weather, or the movie, or the events of the day.

a writer is a writer when he can call you out by name,
unveil emotions from deep inside you and show you his the same.

a writer is a writer when he causes ink to come to life,
bringing breath to imagination, sinking in like a knife.

a writer is a writer when he frightens you to pieces,
sleep - unacceptable when you're succeptible to his devices.

a writer is a writer when his writing makes sense,
even with errors of spelling, comma, or tense.

a writer can rhyme,
a writer could chime,
a writer may never make more than a dime.

a writer I am, a writer you are.
there's nothing else to it, don't dig in too far.

a writer is a writer when he dares to admit,
his writing is just a simple outlet,
for all of the words built up inside,
dying to escape from the jail of his hide.

tonight this writer is writing,
only to write, no other reason, just writing...
and writing...
and writing.

Clutter-brained

The scene is a psychologist's office.  The young female doctor sits patiently taking notes, as I, the patient, recall to her the facts.  Scene ensues:

Me:  Like I said before Doctor, the Restlessness began on Wednesday, in the bedroom.  After a desperate attempt to rearrange the mangled members of an over-stuffed closet space, I realized my short shopping trips over a year had mutated into a massive monstrous problem.  "Where have all the hangers gone?"  I thought to myself, in a frustrated tone.  Frantically I began my purge.  A ripped pair of jeans here, an old tee shirt three sizes too big, there, those nasty flats which hadn't been worn in 8 months...before I knew it three hours had passed and I was 40 hangers richer.  Let's not even think about how rich the numerous Goodwill customers would be after hitting the jackpot with my recent donation.

DR:  Interesting.  Tell me, what happened next?
Me:  The closet explosion led to a short recuperation from my cluttered state.  Two minutes later, I made my way into the extra bedroom and began work on the extra closet.  How many paperweights does a person really need?  Let's be honest with ourselves.  By the end of the evening I had sorted and stacked, tossed and packed, for 6 hours through two closets.  Finding treasures and recalling memories all along the way.  Declutter is a perfect fix to any Restlessness making residence in one's mind and body.  Wednesday was a productive day.

Dr:  And did you feel better after that?  I mean, did the Restlessness go away?
Me:  No.  Much to my dismay, I woke up Thursday and the feeling was still there.  What else was there to declutterize?  Plenty, I thought.  I made my way to my classroom.  In the blink of an eye the cupboards had flown open, posters, projects, and paints erupted onto the floor.  My raid began.  8 hours later, I was half-way finished.  Feeling on a roll, I showed up Friday morning with the same goal in mind.  Friday came and went, decluttering turned into rearranging.  Needless to say, the process is still influx.  About 3/4 of the job completed I see the result of my Monday will be a satisfied sigh of relief.  Yet, I don't feel Restlessness leaving anytime soon.  What can I do?

DR:  I think you're doing well.  Keep doing what your doing.
Me:  Keep decluttering?

DR:  Yes.  Let's make a list. 
Projects to complete before the summer is through:
1.  Classroom (it will take at least two more days)
2.  Kitchen cabinets
3.  Basement storage
4.  Yard (front and back)
5.  E-mail accounts
6.  Facebook friends (it's true...my apologies in advance)
7.  Cell contacts
8.  Jewelry
9.  Desk
10. Trunk
11. Hopefully you won't need a number 11.

Me:  Do you really think this will work?
DR:  Perhaps with each project the gigantic weight of unease will become less and less, until finally you are so exhausted it will disappear all together.  In the event of complete and utter relapse, I may suggest you start at the top of the list and try again to repress the Restlessness which takes over your very cluttered brain.

Me:  (Sigh)  Thank-you Doctor, you have been very helpful. 

Taking my list, I leave the office feeling light as a feather and direct as an arrow.  I have a lot of work to do!

too many layers

"A grownup is a child with layers on." ~Woody Harrelson

Perhaps it's because it's summer.  Perhaps it's because it's the time of year I enjoy relaxing in the sun with a margarita in hand.  Perhaps it's because I don't have to be grown up when I'm not wearing my "teacher hat."  Perhaps it's the people I choose to hang around lately.  Perhaps, it's how I spend my time.  Whichever of the "perhapses," the fact is - I have been feeling a little less grown up lately.  I have been asking myself, What is a grown up anyway?  As I sat with a table of adults last night, each of us enjoying conversation, laughter and obnoxiousness, the answer was obvious:  Nobody.  Nobody is a grownup. 

My grandfather had a great bit of advice, "You're not grown up until you've learned everything there is to know.  So, I guess I won't be until I'm dead."  He's right, you know, my grandfather.  What wise words.  Although I'm sure he believed some of us are a bit more grown up than others.  There may be levels of adulthood.  "May" is the wrong word, I should have used "are."  There are levels of adulthood.  But, it begs a new question:  At which level am I? and Is there a stopping point?  As I write you tonight, dear Void, I do not have the answer.  I think perhaps, am somewhere in between.

Levels or layers, whichever you chose to call them, Woody was right when he said what he said about grownups.  Some of us just have more layers covering our inner child.  However, it makes me wonder:  How many layers are too many?  What if we keep layering on and layering on until the bottom layers begin to suffocate the child beneath?  The sparkle of mischief.  The gallons of glimmering joy.  The speck of overwhelming optimism.  Most importantly, the priceless sound of laughter.  What a sad place the world would be without the laughter of children!

I implore you today, Void.  Don't take yourself too seriously.  Seriousness is the first step to a layer too thick.  The world is already a serious place.  Tragedy, heartbreak, war, politics, work, money, and even the weather...all subjects too serious for your fragile first layer.  Keep your child inside alive.  Learn new things.  Have fun everyday.  Dance in the rain.  Laugh lots.  Smile often.  Rejoice in the small things.  Take each trouble with a grain of salt.  Be alive!  Pray continually.  Throw off your layers once in awhile.  The world needs kids, like you and I.  Perhaps, we'll all begin to feel more like ourselves again.

Itchy Feet

It all started when got on the plane for a short stay in Wisconsin after a long school year.  I could feel it crawling down my spine and into my legs as I boarded.  Sitting on the plane, gazing out over the clouds, the feeling grew stronger and moved into my ankles.  I got off the plane, and the feeling was in my toes.  It's an uncomfortable feeling.  A restless feeling.  It's an itch.  There is an itchy feeling in my feet.  I have been diagnosed with Itchy Feet.

At first I told myself it was just a summer itch.  I thought the symptoms would go away after a day or two.  But as I relaxed at home day after day, the feeling wouldn't go away.  I thought if I began to research, maybe that would sooth the restlessness.  I began to read up on forgein countries, places of interest, excitement, and the unknown.  My itch quickly became a dull ache which I knew could only be soothed with one thing...I must travel!  Yet there I sat only reading about it.

Days later, I took a drive to the Minneapolis airport to pick up my brother after a two week adventure in China.  His stories turned the aching in my feet to an actual throbbing pain.  So many amazing and spectacular things he shared with me!  What an interesting place to visit and take in!  I began to wonder...what are you doing standing around for?  Go somewhere!!   My feet were killing me.

Lucky for me, a short family vacation is a short-term fix.  Turns out - I have never been to Chicago.  We are here.  We are visiting.  We are tourists.  We are loving it.  Glad to be here, scratching my feet.  But I can already tell this remedy is only temporary.  My traveling bug is on its way to remission.  But will surface again.  The funny thing is, for some reason that possiblilty doesn't bother me.  Itchy Feet is the best kind of diagnosis I can imagine.  Bring it on!

I’m okay, God

I am sitting at Gate C1 at Detroit International Airport. A mother and daughter of 4 sit across from me. Mother looks as if she has been traveling for a few days. Her eyes are heavy. Her smile is faded. Her shoulders sag. Her young child in tow is wide-eyed and full of energy. “What are we doing, Mama?” the inquisitive girl asks her exhausted parent.  

Mama replies with more patience than I could muster, “We are waiting for them to tell us to get on the plane. Do you think you can do that?”

“Yes!” the little girl exclaims. In a flash, she grabs her toy Delta airbus and takes off into a crowd of deporting passengers. Mama, in surprise, jumps up, turns to watch her young girl nearly trampled by several 200 pound men, zooming roller bags, and deadly pairs of 6-inch heels.

“CJ!” She calls out, “CJ! Be careful!”

From the midst of the crowd a small, clear, voice emerges, “I’m okay, Mama. I’m okay.” 

“I know you’re okay. I know,” a stronger and clearer voice reassures, “But you must stay close. You will get hurt if you aren’t close to me.”

I can’t help but watch this scene and make a comparison to my own life. How many times have I been little CJ? I find myself asking God, “What are we doing now, God?”

“We are waiting, my Child.” He replies. “Do you think you can do that?”

“Sure,” I say, “For a minute.” Then I’m zooming off to spend my time waiting for the next thing. And God calls out to me…”Whoa! Slow down! What are you doing!?”  


“Just waiting, God. Like you told me to. But I got bored. I have to do something with my time. But, I’m okay, God. Don’t worry.” An ignorant voice answers.

“You are okay. But you need to be careful.” My Father says sternly.

“OK,” I sheepishly respond.

Then, as a mother cradles her toddler in her arms for safety, my God holds me to his chest and whispers, “Just stay close to me. You will not get lost. You will stay safe. You will be surprised by how quickly the time will go, if you just listen to me. Believe me, you are much better off.” 


In my mind I think, “But God, this is not exciting! This is not what I want to do today. I’d really just like to play with my toy airbus in a crowd of strangers…even if I do get trampled.”

“I know,” God says with a smile. “But I will not let you get trampled. Even if that is what you want.”

My heart swells with joy when I remember I have a protector bigger than the world I live in. A person who knows when I say, “I’m okay,” what I really mean is, “I need you and I always will.” How can I help but smile when the words he declares, prove true in my everyday life? He says to me, “I have graven you into my palms, you are mine.” Happy tears of relief and love spring forth as my whole life begins to change. What can I do but shout from the roof tops, “You are a great God! Thank-you. Because of you, I am okay. I am okay, and I can do what you say. I can wait.”

fish sticks and fry sauce

Everybody has pet peeves. Some find nails on a chalkboard completely repulsive. To others it’s the sound of chewing. I've met people who hear the sound of cracking gum and it causes the hair on the back of their neck to stand straight.  My list isn't very long and tonight I hadn't really thought about my list of pet peeves, but in the interest of this entry, here goes. I am annoyed by dust, commercials, dial-up Internet, dog hair, cats, red lights, people who run red lights, very-windy-and-blustery-days, sweat, messy handwriting, and cherry popsicles. Tonight I add one more peeve to this pessimistic list: smoke detectors.

These useful home additions wouldn’t bother me at all - if they actually alerted me of danger. If the intended purpose for these inventions was accurately carried out, I don't think I would have a problem with them. I think I wouldn't even notice them, to tell you the truth. I rarely look at the ceiling. I might even venture to say, I would love smoke detectors, if they existed for their meaningful purpose.  Unfortunately, this isn't the case in my small, two-bedroom duplex. Those sneaky little detectors remind me of their awful existence weekly and this makes me hate them.

At least once a week, I am in the kitchen, minding my own business, beginning to enjoy the fact that I can make more than spaghetti and macaroni, when out of nowhere...BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

But I don't hear BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

I hear, "Your pizza's burning again. HA! HA! HA!"

I don't hear, "You better turn on the fan and open a window or you'll inhale smoke."

Instead I hear, "Your cookies are roasting, and I'm going to tell the whole neighborhood about it!! Hee! Hee! Hee!"

I find myself rushing to the aide of the smoke detector, waving my towel wildly in circles, thinking, "Please shut-up, Please, shut-up! Please, oh please, oh please."

When the device finally decides to quiet its alarms, I heave an exasperated sigh of embarrassment, pull my crispy meal from the billowing oven, open a window, turn on the fan, and recline to devour the charred...something.  It’s not bad enough my dinner has turned to ash, but my pride has taken a fall as well.  Now my neighbors and anyone within hearing distance knows I cannot cook.

Maybe it’s not the detector which gives me annoyance, but rather the action which causes the detectors alarm in the first place.  If I knew what I was doing, the detector would not go crazy, and I would not get annoyed.

Tonight the detector gave out its shrill warning cry once more.  This time, I had had enough.  After a wild wave and gentle dismantling, I removed that detector from its home on my ceiling.  It now sits on my kitchen table, unaware of its surroundings and unaware that I am in the midst, learning to cook, and smoking the place to pieces.  Ahh, and for once I can sigh, smile, and eat my meal without the rest of the world knowing my fish sticks are black as night…except, of course, for you, dear Void.  You know.  And for some reason I am not annoyed by that.

getting a hug...

It was a blistering hot day in July.  A few friends and I were out rummage-saling for furniture. I had just moved to Utah.  The living room was bare the bank account was too, so rummage-saling was the absolute only option.  It had been a few hours and a few cheap buys before I spotted him - abandoned on the side of a dead-end street, dirty-white in color, saggy from the heat of the Utah sun, and smelly.  It wasn't his appearance which caught my attention but rather the gigantic sign he held in his arms which read, FREE in bright-red letters.  We stopped, took a look for creepy crawlies, had a seat...and whoa!  This chair was perfect.  Dirty and old as it was, after one sit I was in love.  I couldn't let a poor neglected, over-stuffed, comfy spot go to waste.  Ten minutes later, Old Stuffy found a new home in the truck bed.  Once home, after a good shampoo and disposal of a few cushions, that old stuffy chair found a perfect place in my living room.  Today, it's the spot from which I write to you. 

Remember I once mentioned writing is therapeutic?  Today is one of those nights I am writing only to write.  Why not write about an over-stuffed chair which has given me so many comfortable moments in these last nine months?  You're right, there is no reason not to.  I will.

This chair is more than a just a chair for sitting.  It serves many purposes all of which include, but are not limited to:  lounging, dining, working, writing, chatting, paying bills, contemplating life, texting, facebooking, sipping tea, reading the funnies, and the ever so popular sport of napping.  Yet, with all these uses, this chair serves an even greater purpose in my life these days.  Many times, this chair has served as a hug.  Now, don't start feeling sorry for me.  Just listen and you'll understand.

This chair has huge arms.  I can curl all the way up in its pillows and surround myself with its warmth.  Unlike a person, this chair has never-ever let me down.  It has supported my weight and my many, many, meals of spaghetti, without a single complaint.  Never have I gone in for a sit and been rejected.  When I come home after a long day, exhausted and ready for a place to rest, this chair is waiting for me with open arms.  On rainy Saturday mornings, I enjoy lounging with this chair, sipping tea and quietly thinking, the chair thinks with me.  When I argue with the chair, I always win.  When I talk to the chair, the chair doesn't give unwanted advice.  When I ask the chair life altering questions, the chair silently lets me know I shouldn't worry.  I love this chair...and I think this chair loves me too.

Of course, a chair is no substitute for the human hug.  I hate to write it, (and please don't tell my chair) but in the sad event I'd get rid of the chair or the chair became stolen or lost, I would not be too heart-broken.  So, really whatever feelings I have for this chair are, in actuality, very minuscule compared to my feelings for the many people and passions in my life.  At this very moment, however, I find this chair and my place in it to be the very best possible place I could be on this earth. Curled up, cuddly, warm, happy and safe, in the hugging arms of my Big-White-Over-Stuffed-Free chair.

Do you have such a "chair" in your life, dear Void?  It is my hope you do.  For, for anyone to go through life without a place to feel such warmth, would be a very sad life indeed.

No time to write.

7:11 AM Wake up.  Take a walk.
7:32 AM See an older man walking his dog, think about writing about being dogless.
7:47 AM Return home for tea and an egg sandwich.  Make coffee. 
7:56 AM Finish breakfast, think about writing about breakfasts.
7:57 AM Start an episode of "How I Met Your Mother,"  think about writing about On Demand television.  Also think about changing cable plan.
8:20 AM Shower, get dressed, do hair, get coffee, write offering check, grab Bible.  Think about writing about rushing.
9:12 AM Check mailbox, start car, read mail, drive to church, sing in the car.  Think about wirting about Salt Lake City drivers.
9:27 AM Arrive at church, greet friends, sit down to Bible Class just on time, engulf self in Romans, chapter 3.  Think about writing about unrighteousness.
10:35 AM End Bible Class, talk to a parent, chat with a prospect parent, smile at a new-comer, sit down next to friends in worship.
10:47 AM Think about writing about what it must be like to be a parent in a church service.
Noonish Stroll out of church in conversation, congratulate and welcome newly baptized family, chat and laugh with church-goers, wish "Happy Mother's Day."  Make plans for lunch with friends.
1:33 PM Leave for lunch with friends, end up at The Training Table, order the Guac burger.  Decide to write about fast food.
2:59 PM Return from lunch with friends, call Mom to sing, "Happy Mama's Day, To You!"  Leave a message.
3:14 PM Home.  Re-heat coffee, enjoy with my Bar Harbor moose mug.  Gaze at the falling rain.  Listen to the rain.  Soak in my coffee.  Think about writing about coffee.
3:17 PM Realize I have stuff to do.  Pay some bills, organize finances, research insurance, figure out life.
6:22 PM Think about writing about organizing my life.
6:23 PM Call Mom back.  Tell her "Happy Mother's Day!"  Talk about how I spent all day organizing my life.  Ask her advice about my life.  Talk more about what I've discovered about my life today.
7:23 PM "Oh, how are you, Mom?  I haven't even asked about you yet." 
7:25 PM Mom has to go...Dad made her dinner.
7:25 PM Think about writing about how great Moms are.
7:27 PM Get writer's block.
7:32 PM Facebook.  Putz on computer.  Organize life more.  Sort laundry.
8:55 PM Realize hunger.  Drink water, begin school work.
9:00 PM Stop to check Facebook.
10:43 PM You really need to write about Facebook addiction.
10:44 PM Close the computer, re-begin school work.
11:32 PM Pack school bag, make lunch, prep coffee, set alarm for 5AM, brush teeth, floss, wash face.
11:43 PM Think about researching skin acne treatments.
11:44 PM Lay down to write before bed.
11:45 PM Research skin acne treatments.
12:02 AM Still not tired. Acne is gross to write about.  Play some electronic Scrabble.
12:15 AM Lose electronic Scrabble.
12:34 AM Winner!
12:35 AM Too tired to write about the sensation that is Scrabble.  Skim TIME's Special Report about how Osama Bin Ladin is dead.
12:55 AM Yawn.  Time to sleep.  Writing will wait.
1:11 AM Mind will not sleep.  It's been over a week since you wrote.  Void misses you.  You miss Void.
1:26 AM Finish rediculous entry. 
1:27 AM Post.
1:28 AM ZZZZzzzzz......

in these 15 minutes

On Mondays I like to get to school extremely early.  I take that back.  To some it may seem extremely early, but I enjoy a good early, relaxing morning.  There is something special about the freshness of a new day which causes my brain to work more efficiently.  Even in college I found proofing and finalizing a paper in the early morning hours, was much more effective than pinching myself to stay awake late into the night.

This Monday I walked in the building at my usual 6:30 AM and began the tasks of the day.  I made copies, set out worksheets, straighted the classroom from Friday's craziness, prepared my Bible lesson for the morning...and Wha-lah!  It's 7:35 and I'm ready for the day.  I've got 15 minutes to reflect before faculty devotion.

I smile as I gaze out the one window in my classroom and see the sun shining in a perfect, cloudless sky.  Today is going to be a great day.  I'm calm as I contemplate the excitement which will envelope 14 little faces as they enter the classroom this morning.  My heart jumps a little as I think of the many opportunities I will have to be part of their lives today.  I anticipate the frustrations and the joys.  In these 15 minutes I find myself taking time to say a prayer.  I take 15 minutes to talk to my Lord and I know He is listening.

In my prayer I take time to say thank-you.  Thank-you for this day.  Thank-you for this sunshine.  Thank-you for all the blessings in my life.  15 minutes is a lot of time to think about how blessed I am.  I have a roof over my head, a job I love, a beautiful state to live in, fabulous friends who care, a family that loves me, and above all, a Savior, who will never leave me.  Thank-you Jesus, for this day.  Thank-you Jesus, for these 15 minutes.

my shoes fit me

The drive to and from my work is about 20 minutes each way.  In the mornings I enjoy listening to a local radio station for news, gossip and an occational catchy tune.  My evening commute is spent on the phone with family members or friends I haven't heard from in awhile.  Today was a usual day.  On the drive home I called on a good friend I'd chatted with a little over a month ago.  The conversation was nothing out of the ordinary.  There were similar jokes exchanged, usual questions asked, familiar chuckles heard, and as always, my friend left me with something to chew on. 

"Wouldn't it be crazy if we could swap lives just for one day?"

At the time I laughed it off, not really grasping the depth of this thought.  But now, as I attempt to put my thoughts to bed, I find the notion to be the extreme of deep. I begin to wonder...what would it be like: to walk in the shoes of a stranger?  to think differently?  to feel differently?  to see differently?  to literally wear some other person's skin?  I've often prided myself in the skill of searching to understand others by imagining myself in their place.  But to physically lace up the shoes of another would be a whole new set of sticks.

I bet wearing a different pair of shoes for a day could be a great adventure.  In another pair of shoes, I could easily see the things I've always wanted to see.  In other shoes, I would find my self standing in places I've never stood or running in races I'll never run in.  I could meet people I wouldn't otherwise meet.  In newer, nicer, snazzier shoes, I might even enjoy life from a different point of view.

On the other hand, wearing other shoes could also be painful.  I might find myself sitting on a curb I'd never imagined myself on before.  I may end up stubbing my toe on things I didn't know existed.  I could see myself wearing holes in the soles by choices I'd make.  There is a strong possibility I'd end up loathing my new kicks and wishing for my comfortable old ones back.

The truth is, Void, as I lay here in bed mulling it over, I find I'm content in the shoes I wear now.  I like them.  I'm proud to call them mine.  It's no lie - they do give me trouble from time to time.  Sometimes the laces are a little too tight.  Sometimes they don't always go with the outfit right away.  Sometimes these shoes have a mind of their own and I feel I have absolutely no control.  But in the end, they fit me.  They work for me.  They keep my feet dry.  They don't hurt or give me blisters.   I hate to be selfish, but I don't think I'd give my shoes away to anyone.  Not even for a day.  My shoes I wear are a gift.  They were given to me so I could live life in them.  Other people's shoes don't always fit. No, I'll stick with shoes that fit.

sorry, gym, we need to break up

I ended it with Gym today.  It was only a matter of time.  I’d been seeing less and less of him lately. Yet, he still insisted on taking things from me.  One might argue he wasn’t being any trouble.  Of course when I did seldom see him the time we spent together was meaningful and good for me, but the things he took were too important to me.  It’s true, I’ll admit it, I cannot sacrifice my money for Gym.  My conscience won’t let me. 

This isn't the first time Gym and I have had this fight.  About a month ago I tried to approach the subject of seeing other people and exercise venues, but Gym wasn’t ready yet.  He begged and pleaded with me, “Please don’t leave me!”  So I said I would stay - if he promised to take less of my belongings.  He agreed…he would only take $26.95/month instead of the regular $32.50.  Part of me wanted to say it wasn’t worth it, but my more sympathetic side decided he’d had enough disappointment for one day.

One month later I was out $26.95 and I had not seen one minute of Gym.  However, Canyon, Mountain, Trail, and Sunshine, had my complete attention.  I felt dishonest.  I felt awful.  I felt it was silly to keep leading Gym on by allowing him to take my money when he was not getting any attention in return.  I was feeling badly about it too.  Gym should be able to see how he was helping me.  If I never showed up for any of our dates, it just wasn't fair.  I did what anyone would have done.  I left him.

It was a longer conversation than I would have liked it to be.  Again, he tried to coax me into staying longer.  He apologized up and down for not being what I’d expected.  He even suggested a break!  He would agree to not see me for up to 6 months if I agreed to give him just $7.00 a month.  That was the last straw.  I had to be firm.  I had to be assertive.  I had to stick to my guns.  Finally, I just told him flat out, I didn't love him and I wanted to see other Gyms.  That was it.  End of conversation.  Now I’m free.

I happen to believe a girl needs to be in love with her Gym if she's going to stay with it.  This Gym was just not the one for me.  Next fall I'll begin the search for a Gym I can be myself with.  A Gym that has everything I need and makes me feel like a million bucks.  Until then, I'll stick with the places I know I already love.  Hello, Mountain.  Hello, Trail.  Hello, Canyon.  Hello, Sunshine.  Hello, FREE!

come share my easter joy

Because the sinless Savior died, My sinful soul is counted free. 

For God, the Just, is satisfied, He paid the debt and pardoned me. 

-Behold the Throne, by Shane and Shane

Easter tidings
Among the
Sighings, on lips of
Tall and small ones.
Everyone:
Rejoice in knowing,

Jesus
Opened holy gates for old'uns and the
Young'uns.

I can tell you
Someone loves you, more than

You may ever know.
One day soon your eyes will
Understand, the
Richness his works
Show.

Today is Easter Sunday.
On this day we rejoice.
Down from the cross came Jesus,
Away with sin and disgrace.
Yours is the gift of heaven, an everlasting place.

Glory be to Jesus, the risen Christ, and Savior of our race!

what are you waiting for?

Life is full of waiting.  Take a moment to stop and think.  You wait:  at traffic lights, in grocery stores, at Starbucks, on the phone, in movie theatres, at restaurants, in amusement parks,  on Black Friday, for next week's episode, in the post office, at the doctor's office, maybe at your office, always at your shrink's office,  sometimes at the gym, and worst of all for the longest of all (after waiting to grow up),  you wait in airports.

Naturally, all this perpetual waiting you do everyday catalysts a sense of urgency from the masses.  For nobody really likes to wait, do they? "Do it faster!"  America screams.  "Okay!"  the people say. And a smorgasbord of "make it quick" inventions begins to accumulate:  Seven lanes of traffic, Speedy Check-Out 10 items or less, DRIVE-THRU, touch-tone phones, texting, buy it online, Hulu.com, McDonald's, send it Express, WebMD, the home gym, and online check-in with Delta.  Wait!  I'm talking so fast I'm exhausted.  Aren't you?  Unfortunately, even with high-speed, double-decker-dosage of 4G Internet, there you are still stuck in wait.  In a century when technology has infiltrated so many portions of human life and nearly everything can be available at the touch of a button, still you wait.  Perhaps it's only nanosecond, still it is waiting.

Whether you are waiting for your turn with the cashier at check-out, the next best seats behind home plate, the love of your life, or for your life to begin, you are waiting.  However, you only wait until you get what you waited for.  After that you can stop.  Or can you?  How long is it before you find yourself waiting for something else?  And after you get that thing what is the next thing you will wait for?

Void, are you a skilled waiter?  If you are not you may be surprised to find you will become an award-winning champion at the sport.  Much of life will be spent doing just that - waiting.  In the meantime, remember this: somewhere out there, a person, much like you, is doing the  Exact.  Same.  Thing.  And she is living up every minute of it.  That person, dear Void, is me.

more to life...

My work is done, the house is clean, the yard is raked, the garage is swept, the groceries are put away, and now it's time to blog.  But, what more is there to say?  Has it not all been said already?  My list was brief, short and sweet, yet mostly boring.  If you are reading this and continue to do so in the months to come, you will find my life is just that - mostly boring.  I work.  I clean.  I do life like any other single gal in Salt Lake City.  I live.  This day, however, I noticed a certain reflection as I went about my daily tasks.  Today is a day I stop and remember, there is more to life than life itself.

Today is Good Friday, the Goodest of Fridays.  Today, my Jesus, erased all my feelings of hopelessness and doubt.  Today, my Friend of friends, was pierced for the wrongs I have done.  Today, my King, showed the world how to truly love an enemy.  Today, my Savior, died to pay the price for me. 

Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for his friends. -John 15:13

Every other day is a day to work on the important things.  Every other day is a day to stress.  Every other day is a day to experience something new.  This is a day to remember the gift of his love.  His love for me.  His love for you.  In a few short days I will see his love and glory and splendor and might as he rises again for me.  For my life.  He died so I could live.  I'll live it until the day he comes back to take me to my real life.  The life without work, or raking, or sweeping, or weeping, or stress.  The life I receive trumps all joys on Earth.  That life will be perfect.

Christ has died.  Christ is risen.  Christ will come again! 

something new...

years ago, a diary was private.  a diary held private thoughts recorded over time by a person intending to put thoughts into written words.  a diary was not intended to be read by others.  a diary encapsulated the secret, pensive feelings of the author.  yet, in time, many diaries have found the path to publication.  i suppose that is all a blog is really, a published diary.  a freely published diary.

i have kept a journal for years.  stacks of oddly shaped notebooks scatter my closets.  i find writing to be therapeutic and refreshing.  i enjoy re-reading previous entries, often rejoicing in how much that girl has grown up.  as the stacks begin to grow taller, i begin to wonder how many more stacks i can store before this hobby becomes a condition otherwise known as "hording."

therefore, i have made the decision to leave the journals where they lay and start anew with this blog.  in many ways, this blog could be the end of my wonderment.  by storing my journals on the void we call the Internet, i may continue my therapeutic ramble without the constipated mess in my limited closet space.  and maybe, just maybe, someone out there will find joy in re-reading entries with me a time or two.  perhaps...perhaps, not.  it does not matter, i have started a new journal.  a new journal mostly for me, but also for you, dear void, also for you.