H20 on two different continents

I am a self-proclaimed water connoisseur. In other words, I'm super picky about my water. I can detect even the slightest hint of a foul taste; this usually happens when I drink out of public drinking fountains. I often wonder to myself if the water has been traveling through sewage-infested pipes or something equally disgusting.

My water must be ice cold. Lukewarm water just doesn't quench my thirst. But if ice cubes are added, the water often takes on a faintly metallic flavor. So I get my water from a refrigerated Brita pitcher or directly from the refrigerator itself. Even then--at least in the latter case--it isn't always cold enough.

So, tonight at my college group, the speaker mentioned that he had recently returned from Africa. While there, he had seen a young girl holding a water bottle. In that bottle was poop-colored liquid mixed with bits of grass and who knows what else. This sight humbled him considerably and made him think about how ridiculously privileged he--and all other Americans, really--is in comparison to those poor Africans.

I feel so pampered and ungrateful...

A hardly necessary post

I use the word "hardly" entirely too often. It has become a habit. But I like the word too much to stop using it, even if it is a bit excessive. "Hardly" sounds so old-worldy but modern at the same time. Very grown-up and literary. It is a magnificent word, and it has been neglected over the years. I'm working on reviving it. Stay tuned.

Words of wisdom

I read today
that
Jesus
didn't come to earth
so that
we could lead
blissful
painless
lives
but to
make sure
that we won't
be
alone
in our pain.

Lucky me

How is it that I have discovered and read two such exquisite, captivating books this summer? I feel so lucky. Going on my list of favorite books ever:

Corelli's Mandolin, by Louis de Bernieres
I Capture the Castle, by Dodie Smith

Coming from a girl who hates coffee

Snuggled in a plush armchair and sipping my blueberry creme frappuccino, I feel very grown-up. My shoeless feet are tucked into the crack between the cushion and the armchair. I have carefully arranged half of my hair into a sophisticated clip and allowed the rest of it to cascade down my shoulders in all its curly wildness. A flyer for Seattle's annual Bumbershoot festival lies on the table next to me, thoroughly perused.

The blueberry and chocolate flavors have faded and now nothing but whipped cream is traveling up my mangled straw. My friend, Mollee, is ordering her drink, and I sit lost in thought.

I don't drink coffee, and every time I leave a place that serves it, my hair smells faintly of coffee beans. An hour later, I'm still absentmindedly sniffing handfuls of hair to see if the odor has faded. Yet, I find myself meeting friends at these places, due to the cozy, friendly atmosphere--and due to the fact that, unlike me, most people actually like coffee.

Being in college, I've found that "coffee dates" like this are practically an expectation. From no one in particular; it's just what you do when you want to escape school and chat with a friend. At first, it wasn't my favorite way to catch up with friends. I could think of a bunch of places I would rather go than a coffee shop. But the relaxing, collegiate feel won me over after a while.

Mollee ambles over to me, her drink in hand, and I smile reassuringly at her as she apologizes for keeping me waiting. I'm excited to talk to her. We haven't talked since the beginning of the summer, and a lot has happened since. Perfect coffee shop talk.

One of those days

I feel like screaming into the rafters until my throat hurts. Except there are no rafters to speak of, so I suppose the plain white ceiling will have to suffice.

Just when I think I'm actually moving on--getting over him, healing, whatever you want to call it--I am proven wrong. Very, very wrong.

My family and I went to a Seahawks preseason game this evening. Football is his favorite sport, so I was already feeling a little blue about the whole thing. But then I found out that the Seahawks' opponents were the Minnesota Vikings. Double whammy. He loves the Vikings. My mind reverted to the last time I had gone to a Seahawks vs. Vikings game. He was with me. He sat next to me the whole time, and his enthusiasm was contagious. I discovered that I actually like watching football when I'm with someone who loves the game.

I sat in my season pass, fold-out seat and hardly watched the game. Caught up in remembering, I felt like crying, but knew I would look a tad ridiculous. Football is a happy sport after all. At least, it is when you're not bent on mourning the loss of someone special.

My sadness lingered as we left the stadium and maneuvered through the streets of Seattle to get to our car. I kept imagining what I would do if I saw him walking on one of the sidewalks. Would my heart beat painfully and my face flush brightly as I walked up to say hello? Would I unthinkingly rush up to him and throw my arms around his neck? Would I do nothing but stare, unable to comprehend that he is living and breathing and standing so near to me? Truthfully, I have no answer.

Yes, I miss him. Desperately. But I'm getting to a point where I'm sick of missing him. I don't want to miss someone who doesn't miss me. I want to go about my daily life without his name entering my brain even once. Occasional remembrances are fine, but thoughts of him every ten minutes are getting old.

I have a hard time understanding why I am so utterly devoted to him, when he has done almost nothing to deserve that devotion. Yes, he demonstrated tenderness and an ability to give incredible hugs that made me melt. He graciously shared deep, painful things with me, and I reciprocated to some extent. But, do these things warrant this fierce adoration I have for him? No. This is why I know he and I will not end up together. I want to adore the love of my life because I can see the love of Christ shining out from his eyes, not because I feel good when he and I touch or because we have amazing discussions. Those are important too, but not as important as seeing Christ in him.

There were moments where I could see Christ in him, but more often I saw despair, pessimism, apathy, and other things that did nothing but depress and inhibit me. I can't live like that. I'm only just now breaking free from that pattern, and I feel as if the old me is finally re-emerging.

I've found that there is an unquestionable sense of rightness in our relationship ending. Despite that peace, I miss him with an intensity that frequently leaves me in tears. I guess there's nothing abnormal about that.

Sunsets are my favorite

A sunset
is a goodnight kiss
from God.

A sunset
says
"see,
I have not forgotten you,
my love."

A sunset
captures my gaze
for endless minutes.
Sprinkles of pink,
red,
yellow and orange
arrayed so delicately.
The One
who created this beauty
is my God.

God,
this love is overwhelming
it brings me to my knees.
No other love
has ever felt like this.
In your presence,
I am complete.
I am where I am supposed to be.
Thank you, my sweet Jesus.
I love you.

*Sigh*

He tells me it "feels so right"
and I fall for it.
He tells me that he has realized
how much he truly loves me
and I fall for it.
He tells me I have nearly
all the qualities he has ever wanted
in a wife
and I fall for it.
His earnest, hopeful face gazing at me,
how can I say no?
I know that face so well
and love him so deeply.
Thrusting aside all misgivings--
serious and urgent though they are--
I smile tenderly at him
and agree to become his girlfriend.

A few weeks down the road,
it is he who has the misgivings.
Doubts, he calls them,
and they are strong enough
for him to call off the relationship.
I cry myself to sleep,
relieved that he did the severing
but crushed that I have lost a dear friend.

I can hear his laugh so clearly,
his lips lightly brush my cheek.
His head rests on mine,
and his arms warmly enfold me.
Memories flood my mind
and I cannot escape them
though I try to with all my might.

The summer months are healing me
and his face starts to fade.
I think of him less and less
though still far more than anyone else.
I have decided that
he is someone I could never marry.
A far cry from how I felt a year ago.
And yet, I still adore him.
With all my heart, I love him,
his mannerisms, his hobbies,
his smile, his sensitivity.
And I realize I have a long way to go
before I can truly say he is
haunting me no more.

Do you see?

Darling?
Do you see those sand dunes?
Can we
take each other's hand
and scamper over them
like little children?
The sun-baked sand
will scurry delightfully over our toes.

Darling?
Do you see that water,
the rhythmic waves sliding onto the beach?
Can you
pick me up and run,
then drop me in that ice cold wetness?
I'll pull you in too, you know.

Darling?
Do you see those stones in a circle over there?
Can you
make a roaring fire
and melt away all these goosebumps?
We will make s'mores
and there will be gooey, sticky whiteness
all over our lips.

Darling?
Do you see that perfect sitting log behind us?
Can you
hold me close
and sing our favorite songs with me?
The crashing of the waves
are the perfect background track.

Realizations - Part 2

God is so good.

I've realized that I can actually say that I believe this no matter where I am in life. I believe it when I'm crying and overwhelmed with misery, and I believe it when I feel as if my life couldn't get much better.

Thank you, Jesus, for granting me such unfailing trust and faith in You!

Realizations

I never understood
what was meant by
"when he's happy, I'm happy"
or
"when he's sad, I'm sad"

But, oh how I comprehend it now.
Perhaps more than I ever wanted to.

His frown makes me want to cry.
Either that, or I must find a way to make it better.
Now.
If I can't make it better,
I join him helplessly in his melancholy.

His smile.
Infectious, endearing, hypnotizing, vibrant.
Better than a thousand brilliant sunrises.
All disappointments of my day are gone.
And I am undeniably happy in that moment.

I never understood
how one could
drown in one's tears.

Now I do.
Because I have.

They come like torrential downpours.
They hover at the corners of my eyes
threatening to spill over at the slightest provocation.
A word, a song, a picture, that familiar voice,
all equally painful, equally debilitating.
For weeks, my cheeks are delicate and raw
irritated at the constant flow of salty tears
and incessant dabbing of tissues.
Is it possible to be on the verge of tears
for months on end?

Michael

Michael furiously dribbles the ball up the driveway and slides next to the hoop, delivering an impressive layup.

"Yes! 42-40," Michael says triumphantly.

"NOPE! No, that doesn't count, Michael," I retort. "You traveled big time a few seconds ago, and you know it."

"No, I didn't! That's what you always say! It's not fair!" Michael's eyes start to glisten, and I know that he's almost to the boiling point.

"UGGGHHHH! I am so sick of you saying you didn't do this, you didn't do that, when you DID! Brendon and Sean saw it too, right boys?" They nod their heads vigorously, and I turn back to Michael. "See? We all agree that you traveled. And that means that the score is definitely not 42-40. It's our ball."

Angry tears spill over Michael's cheeks, and he forcefully throws the basketball against the asphalt, causing it to catapult a good fifteen feet in the air.

"STOP IT! That's it. I quit. You are so immature!" I stalk into the house through the garage, intending to tell my mom all about Michael's poor sportsmanship and lack of self-control.

End of argument 29 out of hundreds of similar arguments.

My brother, Michael, and I never related well to each other while we were growing up. I always connected with his twin, Brendon, and of course, Sean was the baby of the family, so he and I got along fine.

I don't know what it was. He and I were always arguing, to the point where one of us cried and the other went and tattled about the incident to our mom.

Fast-forward six or seven years. I'm twenty, Michael is seventeen. Somewhere along the way, he and I have managed to make peace with each other. No unkind words have been uttered for some time. The dynamics of our relationship have completely changed. I look back to the old me and the old Michael, and I see significant differences in us now. Good ones.

I realized today, really for the first time, that I can talk to Michael about pretty much anything, and he will have something--helpful, mature, witty, whatever--to say in return.

For the first time in my life, I am on the same page with my brother, Michael. My relationship with him is all the more precious to me when I think about how we used to relate... and how far we've come from those awful accusations and derogatory statements.

Counting my blessings

Do you ever have days where you feel as if you're going to burst with gratitude for God's irreplaceable role in your life? For me, this past year has been like that. Every time I turn around, it seems, God is teaching me another valuable lesson, allowing me to experience amazing things, practically placing great opportunities in my lap... and on and on it goes. There are three main things that come to mind when I say this.

First, after a year of hanging out with a guy and learning to love him with everything that is in me, God shut the door--very firmly and obviously--on that friendship becoming anything more. Although at one time I was convinced that he and I were perfect for each other, I gradually came to realize that we weren't. So, end of story, right? Hardly. Despite the fact that I know he and I shouldn't be together, I still absolutely adore him. And I have to deal with seeing his face on campus this coming school year. I can only imagine how much I will ache to talk to him the way I used to. I am still grieving, but in the midst of this aching I feel, I have such a wellspring of joy inside me at the thought of God's infinite mercy and His love for me that knows no boundaries. And I know for a fact that I'm not alone and everything will be all right. What a blessing to have that reassurance!

Secondly, this summer I have had the privilege of working with 1st and 2nd graders. God has instilled in me a deeply felt love for these children. They have been my constant companions this summer. I spent eight hours of each day (M-F) with them, making crafts with them, playing "freeze dance" with them, eating snacks with them, playing tag with them, etc. My eyes have been fully opened to how precious children truly are, and I am so thankful for that.

Lastly, I recently received the news that I am now officially an intern for World Vision! This is such an amazing opportunity, one that was quite literally orchestrated by God. Everything just fell into place. I can't explain it any better than that. I am so thrilled to be interning for World Vision, and I can't wait to see how God will use me there.

There are 87 keys on my keyboard

This always happens to me. I sit down in front of my computer, resolving to rid myself of this itch to write, and... nothing comes. Nada. Zippo. A big fat wordless void.

Big fat wordless void, you have bested me tonight. But I intend to fill you with grandiose verbiage as soon as I can. So there.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't grown up in a Christian home

Since I was six years old, I've known the story of Jesus feeding the five thousand. Same with the story of Esther, the story of Jacob and Rachel, and even the story of Jesus' very death on the cross. I learned and relearned these stories a thousand times in Sunday School, at various Vacation Bible Schools, at youth group, at youth rallies, etc. I learned them until my heart became calloused to their messages, and I regarded them as stories from the Bible and not much more than that. I was so familiar with them that they no longer held much meaning for me.

But now, as I have been reading through the Bible with more purpose, understanding, and maturity, I have discovered that no modern-day storybook can compare to the Bible in its collection of amazing stories. And I wish that it hadn't taken me half of my lifetime to see it. I think, maybe if I hadn't been inundated with these stories from all directions I would have learned to appreciate them for what they are: remarkable testimonies--in all shapes and sizes, involving all different kinds of people--of God's enduring love, justice, and deliverance.

Maybe it took me so long because I was accustomed to the stripped down versions of Bible stories that hardly did justice to the story's true message. Queen Esther saved her people by appearing before her husband, the king, unsummoned. What a brave servant of God! The end.

Anyway, I suppose it doesn't really matter now, because I've finally started breaking out of that apathy I was experiencing. And I certainly am very grateful for the way my parents raised me, and I wouldn't trade my upbringing for any other upbringing in the world. But a small part of me occasionally wonders how my attitude toward the Bible would be different if I hadn't grown up in a Christian home. If the stories would be more real to me, more awe-inspiring.

Impulsive Entry #1

Why do I have to love him so much? I ask myself this question daily. A few months ago, I always asked it while sobbing uncontrollably, heartbroken that my friendship with him can never be the same again. Now, I ask it with dry eyes and a mournful grimace, missing him more than I want to admit and wishing I could just move on.

I find myself mourning the loss of his friendship, and then I doubt that I ever really had it at all. Sure, I told him all about my day and the hilarious or awkward things that happened to me, but he almost never reciprocated. I would talk and talk and talk and my incessant chatter would be met by his bemused smile that always affected me so. But half the time, when I ceased talking I was met with... silence. He didn't have much to say to me, or if he did, it was inevitably about how crappy the SPU music department was or how he was exhausted from getting too little sleep. Two topics that I was very familiar with by the end of the year, thanks to him.

But then I think of all the other conversations he and I had. The ones about majoring in theology, and how we both wouldn't consider that as our major because learning dry facts about God and the Bible would only serve to harden our hearts to a true, intimate relationship with Jesus Christ. Or the ones where we discussed how we hoped to raise our kids. Or those lively conversations where we would alternately debate over and agree about certain theological doctrines that had been discussed in my theology class. All these conversations, more than anything else, are what led me to love him, because I saw his heart for the Word and for living a conscientious, godly life.

Being his friend stretched me in ways I had never been stretched before. I matured and grew spiritually more significantly in the past year than in my whole entire life, I think. And of course I don't attribute it solely to him; I know that God works through people and relationships to teach his children lessons. And maybe I just need to realize that most of all. That God used him at a specific time in my life, and that time has expired. It's over. God wants me to take what I've learned and use it in new situations, with new people, in new relationships.

I'm trying to do it, and it's slowly happening, but it's hard. I'm too prone to looking longingly at last year and wishing that I could enjoy that same camaraderie with him in this coming year, minus the awkward, ill-timed romantic aspect of it all. And who knows, maybe I can, but I highly doubt it. I've heard it said that once a friendship progresses to a romantic relationship, it's not possible to revert back to what you had before. Perhaps that's not true in all cases, but it's certainly true--on my end--in this case. I just need to accept that and get over it. Stop mourning someone who is no longer a part of my life to the extent that he once was.

Transformers

I went to see Transformers this evening with a girlfriend of mine. This was one of those movies that would usually never entice me, and I certainly don't make a habit of paying $9.25 to see movies like this one. But, from the moment I first saw the trailer, there was something about it that excited me. Maybe it was the way the transformers transform from cars to robots to planes to... whatever they feel like transforming into. Or maybe it was the fact that Shia LeBeouf was in the movie. I've always had a thing for him, ever since the days when I compulsively watched the Disney Channel's show Even Stevens.

No matter the reason, I decided that I really wanted to see Transformers in the theater. So I did. And it was amazing, just like everyone said it was.

Why was it amazing? Well, for one, it wasn't as insanely cheesy as it had the potential to be, if that makes any sense. A successful script being crafted with only toy transformers as inspiration? Let's face it, pretty much every other script that tried to go off a popular toy has done terribly. But this one just did a fantastic job somehow. Personally, I think it's largely due to Shia LeBeouf's genius acting contribution, but that's just me. :)

Smile, Laugh, Embrace

Smile sweetly,
for you never know who you are blessing
with that beautiful smile.
Laugh heartily,
for what better way could you pass the time
than by laughing with abandon?
Embrace tightly,
for it is a moment to be cherished
and all too soon it will be nothing but a memory.

Smile sweetly at me,
tell me with your eyes not your words
that you smile because I am here with you.
Laugh heartily with me,
for I do not believe
there is anything better than a good laugh
with the man I love.
Embrace me tightly,
so tightly that I feel safe and warm
and entirely yours forever and ever.
Sing to me tenderly,
serenade me with your guitar
and I will forget that anyone else exists.
Sway with me gently,
move your feet to the rhythm of the music,
let me rest my head on your shoulder.
Love me wholeheartedly,
do not hold back
do not cling to fear and uncertainty
but love me with everything that is in you.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today..."

Every girl goes through this time in her life, when marriage is suddenly on her mind and to think of it is nervewracking and more than a little scary. Two friends of mine got married this summer. Not two of my best friends, just two good friends, but nevertheless I was slightly uneasy as I watched them say their vows and marry the loves of their lives. That could be me in a few years.

My dad traveled extensively in Europe before dating and marrying my mom. While he was traveling abroad, he sent my mom letters (they had been friends in college), claiming that he just wanted someone to talk to, that she should regard their relationship as strictly a friendship. He even asked her in one of his letters if she had a boyfriend, intending to congratulate her if that was the case. She didn't have one and was in fact starting to grow very attached to my dad, but she didn't tell him that. He kept sending her letters over the next few months, and hilariously, he sent her a fake love note that arrived at her doorstep on Valentine's Day. When he got back from Europe, they started dating, and got married within a few months.

Every time I look at my mom's scrapbook of the letters she received from my dad, I get this crazy longing to have a similar story. For one, I love receiving letters in the mail. Email is great and certainly very convenient, but it just doesn't have that same feel to it as a letter does.

Secondly, I would love to marry someone who is as adventurous and free-spirited as my dad. Someone who isn't afraid to do the out-of-the-ordinary, the things that might make people raise their eyebrows in a quizzical expression. A few examples: he wants to build a putting green on our porch that overlooks the road; he wants to buy a sailboat and sail it in random parts of the world; he started a nonprofit organization that anonymously donates money to people struggling with cancer. If I sat here longer, I could come up with more things. Basically, he's just unpredictable in a very stable way, and I love that about him.

I now have a better understanding of what I need in my future husband. It's great to finally have some clarity about that. I've realized in the past year that I want someone very much like my dad, with a few other traits thrown in that my dad might have but doesn't strongly exhibit.

For instance, I have realized that I absolutely must marry someone who is optimistic. I'm optimistic and idealistic by nature, but I've found that when I'm around people who are negative I take on a lot of that negativity. I don't like who I am when I'm negative, so I'd rather marry someone who is optimistic and happy-go-lucky.

Also, as I said before, I'd love to marry someone who is spontaneous and fun and suggests that he and I go on random "adventures." Someone who is humorous and can make me laugh easily is a huge one.

I'm one who is easily swayed by someone's words. If they can speak eloquently and with conviction, I all too easily believe everything they say and believe that they live it out. Well, that's not always true, so I need to marry someone who--for the most part--does what he says he'll do and acts on his convictions/beliefs. I say "for the most part" because I realize that we all struggle with following through with what we say.

I want to marry someone who I can be friends with first and foremost. Someone who I find it incredibly easy to relate to and carry a conversation with. Recently, I've observed a lot of older couples and the thing that is most apparent to me in their relationship is the strong bond of friendship they enjoy. They aren't as "in love" and passionate as they used to be, but they still very much enjoy each other's company and love each other more deeply than they did decades ago because of everything they've been through together. I want to marry someone who will take an active interest in my interests/hobbies and who will let me do the same for him. I want to marry a best friend, the person I would call up to tell petty everyday things, things that don't even matter in the long run but that are part of my life nonetheless.

I also desperately want honesty and vulnerability with my husband. Not to the point of telling each other every teensy-weensy struggle/concern he or I might have, but just as a daily practice to be open and real with each other.

Selflessness is another huge "must have" for me. Obviously, we all struggle with self-centeredness, and I don't expect the man I marry to be "superhuman" in this area at all. An evident effort to be selfless is good enough for me. And, likewise, I will try to be selfless.

In the past year, I've realized how much a marriage is like a friendship. It's just a more permanent, more lasting, deeper, more intimate bond than the average friendship. But, really, almost all of the major aspects of a marriage are based on friendship. And that's comforting to me for some reason. Maybe because I know that I can be a good friend. I can be there for someone, pray for him, talk to him, be silent with him, reassure him, laugh with him, praise God with him.

Suddenly, the idea of marriage isn't looking nearly as scary as it was a few minutes ago.

"Impression'

You are a handprint on my heart
That is not yet permanent.
For the hand has not left its print;
I clasp it tightly, refusing to let go.
I know that once I do
It will forever be just a handprint
With no trace of your strong, wide hand anywhere.
A hollow, lonely handprint
Left with bittersweet memories that linger endlessly.
But for the time being
It is twisting and settling into place,
Forming its eternal impression.
Its weight shortens my breath,
Leaves me crying with grief.
The tighter I cling to your hand
The more I suffer,
And the more firmly embedded your handprint becomes.

And yet, I hold on tighter.

Knowing you has changed me for the better,
But this handprint is a high price to pay for that change.
I cannot pry this handprint away from myself.
Love holds it securely in place
And not even the eventual fading of that love
Will result in its disappearance.
People come into our lives for a reason?
Yes, I believe they do.
And they leave our lives for a reason as well.

You have unwittingly left a handprint on my heart.
And it will be with me always,
Though you will not.

I must let go.