Wednesday, July 29, 2009

matter.

This one's been ruminating for a while.  The words are here, sometimes floating and sometimes flitting through, barely making contact, and sometimes planted firmly in the center of my mind.  But up until now, they've resisted my efforts to fish them out and string them together.  They're afraid that I won't do them justice - that my pen put to paper (fingers put to keys) will simply fail.

(How do you capture humanity in one simple paragraph?)

There is a man who often comes into the bakery where I work.  He is so sad.  The sorrow just seeps from his every pore.  I see it in his defeated posture, the barely concealed tears behind his eyes, and the self-deprecating laugh that he uses in a futile attempt to hide his pain.  But though he is sad, he talks.  He talks a lot.  He shares his life with me (probably more than he should).  Because all he really wants is connection.  He just wants to feel like he matters to someone - to anyone.

And really, if we are honest with ourselves, isn't that all any of us wants?








(He matters to me.)

Sunday, July 26, 2009

today.

falling into bed at the end of a sun-kissed summer day.

clean room.

quiet heart.

peace.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

seven.

Day seven of Michele's absence finds me having an incredibly hard time getting anything done right now.  Here are the reasons why:

1) They're cutting down the big tree outside.  Chainsaws, men yelling, chunks of tree falling from the sky, mulchers, and a sad co-worker mourning the loss of the tree.
2) The florescent light above me is rattling.  A lot.
3) My skin still smells slightly of chlorine from my swim this morning.
4) There's a lesson on the many uses of gmail and google calendars happening right in the middle of the office.
5) I'm stinkin' tired.

But, on the plus side, Angela brought me some lemons from her tree today.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

six.

Day six of Michele's absence finds me in an all-out war against the technology of Westmont College.

It may have won this battle...

...but I will win the war.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

five.

Day five of Michele's absence has been peppered with texts and emails from Michele herself - a good day.

...

He comes into Xanadu every morning, sunglasses on and head down.  He orders a small coffee with three cubes of ice, always telling me to keep the change.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.  

She walks in chattering in Spanish with the women who follow her like babies follow behind the momma duck.  She's loud and boisterous and orders oatmeal with strawberries and jasmine green tea - sometimes a bear claw, if she's decided to splurge.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

They walk in and take over the room, children running back and forth, spattering handprints across the display cases (handprints that I will later have to wipe away, smiling as I do so, remembering the owners of these little perfect hands).  They order two yellow duck cookies, one small cinnamon roll, and a large mocha with whipped cream.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

He walks in with a smile and inquires about my day, my weekend, my plans for the rest of my life.  He knows that I'm moving back to Colorado, he knows that my dad loves to fish, and that my favorite pastry is the large poppyseed roll.  I know that he's an electrician, his favorite week of every year is spent at the Channel Islands, and that he has a strong love for cherry turnovers.  What we don't know is each other's name.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

...

We are such:

strange
fascinating

beautiful

...works of art.

Monday, July 13, 2009

four.

Day four of Michele's absence started with a too-early alarm and will end with a too-late bedtime.

This weekend was chalk-full of the stuff that summer's made of.  Sunshine, unplanned adventures, good food, and even better friends.  It makes me glad to be alive and glad to be me.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last week the talented j.shipley took photos of some of my dear friends and myself to commemorate our friendship before the sweet Liane heads back to Singapore for a while.  Here's my favorite:


My friends are so beautiful.  I am truly thankful for them...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Today I am striving for reverence.  For viewing my God as the Lord and King that He is.  I will fall at His feet and worship Him...not because I want to, but because it is what I was created to do.  And not because He needs my adoration, but because He deserves it.

Now unto the Lamb, who sits on the throne, be glory and honor and praise...all of eternity echoes the song: worship and praise him - the Lord of Lords.

Amen.

Friday, July 10, 2009

three.

Day three.  Michele's still gone.  It's still sad.

The sunrise this morning was breathtaking.  I sat in my car and watched the soft light climb up over the mountains and stretch across the sky.  Pale and warm, it was so beautiful.  I felt tears spring up behind my eyes as I watched the Creator at work, painting His beauty across the sky.  In a strange turn of events, I found myself glad to be driving to Xanadu before the rest of the world was awake - otherwise I would have missed this most beautiful morning.

In other news, there was a giant sale at the Westmont College bookstore today.  Angela and I went a little bit crazy, but I refuse to feel guilty for my 4$ t-shirts.

I am wishing you all a weekend filled with soft morning light and the euphoria inspired by $4 t-shirts.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

two.

Day two of Michele's absence.

(I know what you're thinking...wasn't yesterday day two?  And it was...kind of.  But I saw Michele twice yesterday and hung out with her kids, so I don't really count it.)

First things first - today is Michele's birthday.  HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MICHELE!!!!!  I hope you're eating yogurtland right now while you're reading this :).

Anyways, on to the rest of the post.

I was having a hard time focusing in the office today, so I left and ran some errands and then went home to finish up my allotted three hours a day there instead.  There are definitely some perks to working at home - a plethora of available snacks, comfortable seating, and it's socially acceptable to do all your work in shorts, a t-shirt, and bare feet.  It's a little bit lonely, but oh-so-comfy.

So, there I was, sitting on the floor of my little room with papers strewn about and my computer open to an overly-complicated spreadsheet, when I looked over at my bookshelf and saw it.  My college degree.  And all of a sudden, it hit me - this wave of understanding, significance, and, most of all, pride.  I am proud of myself.  Proud of how hard I've worked for that degree and the education in represents.  I'm proud of my dedication, the extra mile I always tried to go, and the integrity with which I did it all.  And it's just a little piece of paper in a simple frame on the third shelf of my bright green book stand, but it matters.  To me, it matters.  

Things in my life are, of course, nothing like I thought they'd be.  It's nothing like the plans that have come and gone so fleetingly over the past 22 years.  But, at the core, life is exactly what I want, and I am exactly who I want to be.  I have a great family, great friends, great potential, and a Great God who rules over it all.  I have my whole future to continue this journey that I'm just barely a few steps in to.  And when I look at my little Westmont College degree, I'm reminded that God has equipped me in every way to complete this journey the way that He wants me to, and he has fully enabled me to be the person that He imagined me to be - the person I so desperately want to be.

Maybe a lot to get from a piece of paper.  But there it is.

Thank you for this gift of life.
  

Tuesday, July 7, 2009

one.

The office is silent save for the steady rhythm of my fingers against the keys.

Michele has departed for a well-deserved vacation, and I'm planning on spending the next couple of weeks in relative silence.  I already miss her (it's true, Michele, I really do!) but am excited for her to have this time of relaxation with her awesome family.

And thus begins my mission of daily posts until she returns.

I embarked upon this post not sure what to write or what I wanted to say.  So I ventured into the archives of my writings and musings from the past year or so.  And this little blurb caught my attention.  How true it is.  And how often I need to be reminded...

Its not about being happy all the time.  It’s about being miserable and still being able to breathe.  It’s about living in, dwelling in, rejoicing in all the moments, not just the ones that make me happy.  I don’t need to be happy all the time. I just need to be.  To really and truly be.  And I think that maybe…just maybe…I’m starting to actually understand that.  What a beautiful thing.

Thank you, Father, for this gift of life.

Monday, July 6, 2009

today.

Today a party of 10 made my life miserable for half of the morning, and then left me a 1% tip.  Literally...1.2%.   In response, I took my time making their very specifically instructed cappucinos and lattes and delivered them with an extra dose of sweetness.  It didn't get me a better tip, but it assuaged my guilt at the anger I felt dripping out of my every pore.

Today I realized that three day weekends are both a blessing and a curse - three days of freedom makes Monday morning a much harsher reality.

Today I fell asleep on the couch, book open in front of me, and dreamed of a different world.  I awoke invigorated and excited, but not much more rested than I had been before.

Today I'm listening to John Denver and remembering days gone by.  I realize that I've listened to little besides country music for the past few weeks - maybe an unconscious preparation of sorts for my move back to Colorado?

Today is bittersweet.
Today I am missing my family.
Today the sun is reminding me of where I'm not instead of where I'm lucky to be.

However, today is beautiful in it's own right.
Today is not done - it has a lot of potential left in the evening light and the laughter of friends.

Today...I am thankful.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

wisdom.

Words of wisdom:

What is lost
makes room.

Going, it opens
appalling empty space - 
desert, or darkness - 

or just room enough
to dance in.
"What Is Lost" - Marilyn Chandler McEntyre