shouts of joy

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 ...

It's late, some might say it's early, but my bedtime was hours ago and I'm so okay with that. This Sabbath was full. One of my favorite friends, Emily, is back in town and this morning we had coffee while sharing ideas about marriage, family, and weddings as she prepares to become a Mrs. My heart is so full for her. We laughed, cried and sipped our coffee then headed off to ReLive, the young adult church service. I hope married people are still allowed to attend the young peoples ReLive church. I know it's silly, but I ruminated on that thought today. I think they will. After church and a fun conversation at lunch about traveling we went to the beach and played in the saltwater until we were out of breath from fighting against the strong currents. We played some volleyball, a new game I'm learning called spikeball and talked about friends and family and the possible events of our ten year high school reunion that will take place in a couple short years. Tonight I...

She said, "I was too afraid to change." And he answered, " We are afraid to change because we think that, after so much effort and sacrifice, we know our present world. We see that the mountains always stay in the same place. We see that fully grown trees, when transplanted usually die. So we say: "We want to be like the mountains and the trees. Solid and respectable." Even though, during the night, we wake up thinking: "I wish I was like the birds, who can visit Damascus and Baghdad and come back whenever they want to." Or: "I wish I was like the wind, for no one knows where it comes from nor where it goes, and it can change direction without ever having to explain why." It's nice to have dreams that we will have plenty of time in the future to do our traveling, and that, one day, we will travel. It cheers us up because we know that we are capable of doing more than we do. Dreaming carries no risks. The dangerous thing is trying...

The year 2014 has contributed much to my education of the "real" world. Life in the "real" world is hard. There are too many decisions to make. Too many plans to finish. And far too much heartbreak. I'm rather disappointed. In fact, I'm so shockingly disappointed, that I'd consider calling it anger. I'm angry about all of these disappointments. It just doesn't seem fair sometimes. The other week my counselor told me I need to let myself feel angry and upset to prevent melt downs. This is practice. My disappointments anger me. I'm disappointed because I thought teaching would be more social and less isolating. I'm disappointed because my best friend and I don't speak anymore. I'm disappointed because I thought I was where God wanted me.  I've learned a lot about disappointments though. I'm reading from a book I received from The One Project last month. In it Pastor Alex Bryan shares a section on The Great Disappoint...

As I swam the other day, it was an easy decision to not use a stopwatch. After a couple of laps I seriously began to stress and internalize my fear of using the stopwatch. I denied it for another few laps, but with my fish-like movement in the pool I swam through a few of my own recent experiences with others who also could not try due to a fear of failure.  This must be what it feels like to be afraid of trying- easy to deny, but oh, so controlling.  I was afraid that the stopwatch would be too honest, tell me that I'm not fast enough, that I should stick to my day job, or maybe not even that. So in anger of my own fear I timed myself. Mostly, I'm convinced, I wanted to prove to myself that I wasn't like the others, controlled by my own fear, and that I could indeed try hard and work for something, or simply that I could try and that trying isn't failing. So I swam and thought of nothing else except how to make my kicks more shallow, my strokes more full, and my breath...

The weeks add up so quickly, still I can still taste the faint molasses stick of others. I can't believe it's been 6 months since I moved to Oregon to teach. I can't believe it's been a month since my last blog post. It's been less than a month since I had breakfast with my girl friends. But I can't believe it's only been a week since I kissed my sister, my best friend, goodbye. It's only been a handful of days since I dropped the man of my dreams off at the airport and had to drive myself home. It's only a been a nights sleep since I felt together we could conquer the world. When I woke up this morning, just two hours ago, there was a very heavy thing sitting inside of me, pinning me to the mattress. A giant bolder, covered in molasses. And I'd like to offer myself a bit of self-pity, since I have nobody else to pull it from at this moment from where I sit here at my tiny desk in this dark corner. I am alone in this dark corner. Nobody else fe...

As of late, the Walla Walla skies have been a brilliant blue. School is out and substitute teaching is in. The grass is growing in thick and green, trees are blooming and the wheat rolls with grace through the valley. Swimming, running, tennis and decision-making are more time consuming than I predicted. Friends are too far, bike rides and camping trips are too few or none. A month long spring vacation was just what I needed. Southern California was a lovely sight, lush with wonderful people, laughing and hugs, so many hugs - much different and distant than the dust in New Mexico. North Idaho was chilly and relaxing with beautiful lake views, visits with friends, and a dash of snow. Now, it seems that Oregon will cradle my 24th year as I teach at the high school level. Somehow exhaustion has clung through the speed chase and finally burrows deep. Like a season of hibernation. My body has yearned for this Sabbath. And there's much still to come. I cannot wait to see what...

Thus begins the search ... The middle, such an undefined locale. With no beginning and certainly no end. And in all reality, neither two exist. Just as a ship sets sail, the vision of it's departure remains a collection. For a goodbye, what a perplexing scramble of words; never quite tangible and never really gone. Yet, how lucky we are to have something that makes saying goodbye so painful. Changing what is left, without knowing what might become, then calling it good. So we continue searching, as was our first intentions. Love these faces.