shouts of joy

  If there's one thing I just can't get myself to do... (well, there's more than one, but I needed something more dramatic) it might just be...  thrift store shopping. I'm a terrible thrift store shopper, it's like being put on hold and listening to that crazy classical music when you have a billion and one things to do, bah! I walk in and see aisles and aisles of stuff that have no organization and I know what I want but I'd have to spend hours in that stinky and dusty old building before I find anything that even faintly resembles what I need. But today it was rainy and I had nothing better to do so I told myself it wouldn't be that bad, and I sucked in some fresh air before I went in to dig through the musty aisles. I hate to admit it, maybe it was just a lucky day, but in less than 15 minutes I found a big, gorgeous frame for my board and a few magazines for my collaging. All for less than six whole bucks. I'm not sure if I'll become a regular g

With this whole house decorating exhibition I've been on this week, I've been really persistent on creating a  dream/goal board, where anyone and everyone can creatively express their goals and dreams on the board. (stole the idea from my good friend. Em don't hate:) So this last week I've been trying to figure out what I will put on the board when I finish it. MY goals. MY dreams.  A few days ago I read a blog written by a girl who has suffered from an eating disorder and has written a book about it. Last week she blogged about her body and how she was proud of it. PROUD. Proud that her body did all the things it did. Thighs that allowed her to get out of bed, arms to play tennis and volleyball, and a tummy to dance. Proud of her body. Although it was flawed and would never make the cover of sports illustrated she decided she was going to accept it and go above and beyond and love it. Reading her blog reminded me of my newest favorite song, Beautiful by Bethany Dill

"This life is not my own." So I've heard that before. If it's not mine, then whose is it? If I make great plans to live my life as an offering to God and I die before I fulfill those dreams... is that fair? What then, would be God's plans for those left to mourn my death? "God will carry them in times of trouble, He will draw them near." Oh really? That sounds like hogwash. Just how do you tell someone to cling to what is invisible? "Hey, just hold on to this nothingness, and it will carry you through this tragedy." So I have a friend whose mother died early this morning in a car accident. His parents separated unexpectedly in the middle of last school year. And this morning, the phone call that he received, I can't even imagine. When I heard the awful news, it hit me like a train. I am exhausted from trying to comprehend how and why this happens. Trying to decipher all the routes my friend might take with this hardship. Will it bring him

Went for another bike ride this evening through the great Walla Walla vineyards to get some fresh air and found some cool girls and some grapes. I love that fun is just waiting outside my new front door.

Here are a few pictures of my new house. Still have some unpacking and moving but it's becoming a modern little Paris flat. Took a break from moving and packing and went on a bike ride to the body wall and saw some pretty cool chalk art.

I took the back route to Walla Walla yesterday with my little car jammed to the roof. I prefer the back route although it's only a two lane highway and there's really only one bathroom stop, but I always recommend it simply because it seems shorter. Maybe I've recommended it one too many times because there were a lot of cars on that two lane highway yesterday. I had to pass quite a few sluggish drivers. Each time I'd prepare for a pass, I'd pull over the rumbler strip in the center to check for cars, clear. But I wimp out and pull back into my lane. I go for it again, but no a corner is quickly approaching and so I pull back. I wait a few more turns until I see a straight stretch. I white knuckle the steering wheel and pull out to check the oncoming traffic status. It's clear. "Just do it. Just do it." "Speed now or forever hold your peace." I talk myself into it. As I put my foot to the ground with the pedal in between I suck in a deep brea

Today I was in the mood for a walk and a good phone convo (and it's rare that I'm ever in the mood to talk on the phone), so after finishing up an Indian homecooked meal I left the house with my phone and a decent speed walk. Five years ago my dad built our house in a nice community of houses out in the country, where each house sets back in 5 acres of pine trees and each house must follow the regulations set by the homeowners association. Near the end of my first phone conversation I heard a rooster crow, apparently the homeowners association says nothing about roosters. On hearing the crow of the rooster I couldn't help but let my mind plunge into the memories of my first month in India, when the roosters woke me up to my homesick misery every morning. I suddenly remembered the pain of loneliness that haunted me while I was there, and no pain cuts quite like that. The painful memories of India flashed me back to a similar time (maybe a little worse). The first quarter of

I've been doing some student teaching stuff the past two weeks for a class I have to take when I get back to Walla Walla . I've been in a fourth grade classroom from 8-4 everyday then going back out to camp to do camp programming duties all night and hitting the pillow around 12 and in the morning waking up again around 6. I was so tired last week that I broke down into tears Tuesday while trying to organize a rambunctious group of staff for the Singles camp evening event, BINGO . Camp ended Monday and this morning I went to the school again at 8, excited to be back after a long weekend. And this morning the 4th grade teacher I'd been working with told me I looked revived and fresh , much different than the last few weeks. I guess a good ol' 8 hours of beauty sleep does the soul good.