shouts of joy

Sometimes I daydream about those quiet mornings at Starbucks on E Main Street. The mornings when I sat front row as the dance of snowflakes took place across my windshield at 4:50 am as I waited for the doors to open. Where I'd shuffle inside and frantically begin writing before the sun made its debut, halting the silence of those early morning writers.  Sometimes I daydream about those lazy afternoons they call siestas when I'd sit on a blanket and write in the San Martin plaza. While families sipped their cooling terrere I would soak up the details to wring them out on paper; allowing me to again soak up the gibberish that never did make it back out.  Do you suppose that somedays we take in more than we put out? And other days we quite possibly put out more than we take in. I've had a reverie or two (or 20) consisting of palm trees and sunshine, ocean breeze and sandy bottoms. It quickly collides with the phenomenon of my absolutely wonderful existence -- pine trees and t...

It’s that moment when the happenings around create just the right mixture. Those feels from the deepest parts, thousand foot trenches of soul, begin making their debut — surfacing to the smoothed surface. It only took one word to achieve a maximum heart rate and tears that boil over the brim.  But there’s no dark trench to sink into, instead there’s a spotlight, magnifying the moment.  When teaching such fragile lives, my subconscious has made its attempt to keep them protected by shutting off the switch to vulnerability. If they don’t know about the power of our emotions, perhaps they can be “strong” adolescents and adults. This locking up of such things has revealed dire consequences. A separation. Of self, others, and worse of all my Maker. It’s been so long since these feels have seen the light. But this training, it requires all of me: the disappointments, the failures, heartache, and brokenness. Only when it’s all out there, will I reach the summit I longing admire fr...

The keys have been clicking away in my classroom the past few weeks as the quarter closes in and students are vigorously polishing up their final writing pieces. They don't know what that clicking and clacking sound does to my heart. It beating anxiously. A true test of my patience to wait for their work to be done. Will they choose to become author's one day, will they dive into their own personal writing, maybe try their hand at the upkeep of a personal blog, or will they squander deep in research and publish academic journals for a multitude of learners. Sigh.  When I feel their excitement pulsing through the room my heart skips a few beats.  Their energy is nudging me to sit down and orchestrate my own piece. I find my writer's mind standing on a mountain top, the wind tossing my hair around, and I peer out over the valley, a microscopic river below me. I want to jump. Jump off my mountain top into a piece so intentionally crafted. I want to soar from the top, throu...

The mountains in my little town are snowcapped right now. They make this smoggy, old Los Angeles suburb feel almost like a mountain town sitting in thin air surrounded by brilliant blue skies. They've got me pausing at every window, drooling as I step into the sun and look up. Because the mountains point up. They never fail to remind. They never fail to remind that they have a hard job, thus their peaks are undisturbed and their lakes are serene; their enemies are many and their companions few. But oh, how these mountains have been masked by the seasons of smog -- just a contented haze that makes life in these valleys small and comfortable. Small and comfortable. Two features I admired at first glance. A lot of folks seem more than happy here. Establishing such greatness for themselves. Oh to be, 30 and poised, confident, satisfied, and qualified, and well on my way to my own greatness. I look around and people make it look so easy. Greatness. So attainable. But the mountains tell ...

A Pilgrim is, according to Eugene Peterson, a person who spends their life going someplace, going toward God, and whose path for getting there is Jesus Christ - the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:5-6). Another definition calls a pilgrim a traveler in a foreign land.  When I journey through seasons of dissatisfaction the clouds blow in and the storm seems dark and unbearable. In those moments everyone disappears. I'm desperately lonely, uncertain, stumbling through the days with tear brimmed lids. It seems that nothing can go right; I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time, working the wrong job, and hasn't it been forever since my last blessing? Since last I received affirmation for my efforts? Nothing I do can put me in the right direction. I've exhausted my passions to set things right, turn things around, and focus myself. But that's not what this was ever about. A pilgrim will never know her way through this foreign land. This is part of the journey, n...

Sometimes all it takes is one dream. Reminding us of where we've been.  Where we are.  And to where we will go.  Just one dream,  from a restless sleep.  That's all it takes sometimes.

Growing is rarer than not at my age.  It is intrinsic -- unnatural, however the adverse is almost always true.  But THIS, this is nearly obsolete.  A thing only I can incur.  They don't believe it's possible,  for if they did they'd do it too.  Or perhaps they don't know there's something else.  Not something else, something better. Better is calling.  Are you the best?  Your best?  I mean, if you are, why in all of God's creation did you stop here?  Nobody deserves to settle here --  call it quits right here.  I run to escape this anarchy. Stride after stride.  Lost thought after lost thought. I can't recall the why after shouting the what  all day, every day, each month, for so many years.  I run to collect my thoughts -- design them -- then call them mine.  For every mile is one mile closer to toward the stillness.  I can barely remember that tra...

Mary, run -- that king wants to kill your baby son. Run, Alien, run These days of our open arms are done. Peace on Earth, Peace on Earth! Good will to Men. Run, Black Child, run -- that man has a badge and he has a gun. Run, Schoolyard, run We just gave that angry man a gun. Peace on Earth. Peace on Earth. Good will to Men. Good will to Women. Good will to Children. Good will. --The Brilliance

The first day of school is right around the corner and I doubt our education system. With every passing year the organization and scheduling becomes easier and more defined. The outline of our curriculum becomes stronger. And our boundaries are more blunt. I doubt this is the best. Actually, I am convinced that this is worst thing we can do for our kids. We teach them the right ways, we keep them from the wrong ways, and we manipulate their thoughts to be like ours. "Think outside the box!" We demand, but we provide examples and books on how to think outside the box. "The sky is the limit!" or "Shoot for the stars!" But what's beyond? "Use your imagination!" And they ask, "What is imagination?" What we really mean is, "Here are the boxes kids, now package all your thoughts into these boxes. If they don't fit, manipulate them until they do, transform your thoughts and ideas to fit into these boxes of our society. T...

Stitched up tight is how things should be.  Tenderly mended,  Even doubled-up over time for an extra strong stitch. Sometimes the strings come loose.  They rip out when there's a pull on the fabric. One side of the seam is pulled, while the other is yanked in an opposing direction.  This is when the stitching tears. The material shreds; the thread breaks.  Now there is neither material, nor thread. How can the stitches be replaced?  What will keep any material together now? I wonder if stitches can ever be remended.  Oh, what it would be like to have some stitches now! How much love we could hold in our pockets,  if they weren't ripped out.  We could hold the love,  and it would bind us closer. How close would we be bound?  I can imagine, one day, we will.

Blank space is so intimidating after a long stay in the un-blank. It's been a long time since an empty blog post stared me down. I know it's needed. I've been expecting it, But now it's as if there's this unspoken void, Like an acquaintance, our journeys are nothing similar. Yet, so complimentary, But I'd prefer to avoid those facts. It's like peeking into my old cave, Seeing some old, forgotten remnants, Feeling some long-lost emotion. The art - left on those once blank walls - is hardly recognizable, Such dark depictions, now a blur. So I meet with my acquaintance, Since we have so much in common. Then I'll clean out the blank space To create a place I need now. Next time we meet, I predict it will be peaceful.

The lists haven't changed a bit. They sprinkle my desk like a colorful doughnut, neon pinks, greens, and blues; a "To Do" list on several, a "To  Buy" list on others, a few quotes, and classroom codes and passwords.They cover my desk and remind me that I am perfectly organized and absolutely a big hot mess all in the same post-it note and at the beginning of a new year none the less. There is so much to celebrate here. I love to see the faces of new students and old students peek in my room from time to time and their laughter reminds me that our relationships are the most valuable. Reminding me of former students who have pieces of my heart, who have moved on, some I will see again and others I will not. The time and energy put into a life will always have a piece. The more the time, the bigger the piece, and so it will be. Let me remember this for as long as I teach, or work with people. It's been different this time, working with people that is. This ...

This morning I took a few friends to the airport before majority of our broken community awoke to finish up the week with a hustle and bustle as the Christmas holiday approaches. The past week has been hard on our Inland Empire community and it was so nice to see everything clean and peaceful after last nights rain. Because I was at the airport early to drop friends off I was ready for school early, too. I took my free time to my favorite coffee shop in Redlands and enjoyed the darkness of the morning with a hot drink and the regulars. On my way to school I drove past the home of the shooters from last Wednesday's mass shooting just blocks away from our school. The streets were wet and the wind had blown the bright leaves across lawns and sidewalks while people were sleeping. The streets were empty and houses and apartments still sleepy. It's so hard to believe that such horror could come from such a picturesque neighborhood, quiet, and innocent. The recent events and news cove...

I'm perplexed by the emotions that love brings. As a feeler of emotion, I feel each one, each feeling that love has shared with me including the feelings that I feel like I should feel, but don't. You know what I mean? I heard a sermon yesterday on the story of the Prodigal sons. Let me start by defining for you Prodigal. Prodigal: Profuse, wasteful, reckless expenditure of money or time So we look at the story of the prodigal sons. One took his money from his father and spent it profusely, wastefully, and recklessly. He left his father, milking his father of all his inheritance, without a care in the world. He expended his entire inheritance on what he thought would bring him joy, happiness, love. At the same time, the other brother stayed with his father obeying the commandments requiring him to do good, be good, obey, and respect in order to be grated an inheritance when the time has come. This brother was staying with the father in order to receive his fair share ...

It's Sunday and I've taken a short lunch break from researching and working on a couple of essays. I made my usual lunch meal - mixed herb salad, with slices of avocado, tomato, and bites of Morning Star's buffalo style chik patty. Sometimes it is accompanied with grapefruit from my favorite, San Jacinto Farms, and other times when there's nothing else in the fridge it stands solo. Today I took my break, fixed up my heaping salad and sat down at the couch to enjoy a few moments of not studying. A few minutes passed (probably only seconds but when you're brain is unwinding it feels like forever) and I found myself scrolling through my Instagram feed, moving to open the Facebook app and realized that this was not restful nor relaxing, instead I noticed that my eyes were feeling tired and dry and that I felt more exhausted and overwhelmed. So I put my phone down and sat in the silence and crunching of my salad. It didn't take long and I was on my phone again lookin...

It's easier to look back right now. I look back and see an open door full of opportunity, sorta like the one I see right now. But looking back it was easier then. The view isn't full of overwhelm, but it looks more like freedom. It was a beautiful frame of broken pieces being liberated. She didn't know that then. But now, looking back ... that was easy ... easier than what's ahead. People tell me that my anxiety about the future beyond next week is related to maturity, "When you're my age you'll see it differently." "It changes when you turn 30." "Don't worry, it gets better." (what?) Okay, so if you're right, if it is maturity, what am I suppose to do for the next four years? And shouldn't their be some kind of progress? And why does the idea of anything beyond the next couple of weeks make me want to run far away toward solace? If it is maturity, wouldn't you expect to see some "maturing" from age ...

Don't you know we want to laugh We want to laugh from our bellies till we cry. We also want to cry, Cry so hard together that our tears become a single stream. Do you know that we want to ask questions Asking questions to understand the words that were never said. Did you know our dreams make a braid of bright, bold, and daring Tightly woven into a contagious flu? We want to embrace for no reason and every reason.  We want to talk about anything and nothing. Didn't you know we want to ache, We want to know loss and emptiness Because we want to also know joy in full. Did you know we want to make noise, go out with a bang, But we want to be still and hear the beating of our own drum. What we need and what we want we don't know,  But we know we are creatures craving contradiction. 

To stay is a false hope. Nothing stays anymore. Everything coming and going like the sun and the moon. Like bell bottoms and skinny jeans. They're hot then their not. Like my bikini bod and my busy bod. Ebbing and flowing like 23 to 24 to 25 to 26, a stark contrast to a seven year-old who wishes to blink to 16 and operate on her own agenda. Already one week in to 26 and it's around to stay for another 358 days. I'm getting comfy in these digits. Good things come in 25's like quarters and gift cards, but better things come in 26's like 26 third graders, and 26 mile races, or 26 mile backpacking trips, and 26 friends in a one-mile radius, and 26 papers left to write before graduation.  I never thought it would be so easy to slide into such tight digits, but here it is. 20 something never felt so great. This may be the best year yet and I doubt if anything will ever beat it. 

I spend a lot of time in the car down here in this over-populated SoCal area. It's not as bad as I thought it would be. It can be rather peaceful with the windows rolled up and everyone blocked out for some quiet time. However, I'm learning that although I'd prefer to have quiet time in a more beautiful setting than my car and as much as I enjoy my quiet time, it is possible for so much quiet time to be a poor use of time for my emotional, spiritual, and physical well-being. It's easy to analyze too much, to add up all the little things and make them a bigger deal, or even wish things were different, to be jealous or calculate defeat. It doesn't always contribute to my positivity, sitting in the car for so many hours a day deep in my own thoughts. But I'm also learning that there are some Christian songs that really speak to me and get me excited and hopeful, I play them on repeat in the car and I sing along and dance along. I get excited with this new song by L...

It's an overcast day in the Inland Empire. I'm drinking coffee at a local shop and beginning my work on finals for my last quarter. I'll be graduating in June as Kristina R. Rhuman M.A. As I use this weather to do what it calls me to do - contemplate - my arms are sore as I type from the spin class I went to this morning, strange it's my arms and not my legs. I excepted to see my friends, but saw no familiar faces. But it didn't bother me much, because I know those faces aren't far away. If I call they will come. And that is more than enough. I've lived here in the IE for 9 months now. My skin is sun-tinted and my freckles are loud. My hair is longer and sun bleached from the days spent at the beach. When I think about turning 26 next month I feel determined and scared. Even worse is my thoughts on June, where will I go when my student loans are no longer deferred and Cambodia calls me to come home.The past 9 months have gone by too fast. I'd like 10 ...