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 ...

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. 

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 ...

Faults, fears, ignorances, betrayals, selfish pleasures, anxieties, transgressions and the list is inescapable ... ... what if, for just a moment, we dismissed those minimalistic thoughts and return to the much grander Truth, that we are but a small gap in the whole, however we have the ability to fill our gap with a Light, revealing the Eternal Truth. So we go with our own consecrated efforts to do just that. There is no right or wrong efforts, because the Light that we have grown to love will show us the Way to Truth and Life. Lord, hear my prayer, in this season that has become more about me than You. My heart is heavy. Remind me of my smallness in flesh, and of Your grandness anchored within me. Daily You are present and I have never been abandoned, even when I cried out for relationship. Thank You for never leaving. You have called me to prepare the way and promise to love and comfort me, renewing my strength when I am weak. Again and again You have proven that to me when I...

I appreciate the act of acceptance. Just makes you feel bigger than before, brighter than before, like you have something to give. When you encounter a funny tattoo on a girls leg, and soon enough her smile relates to yours and the tattoo is part of a unique story that becomes your own and acceptance happens. When the truth of his story is revealed and before you can say another word you know by the depth in his eyes that his past is another life which he hardly recognizes and acceptance happens. When you sit down and focus on the eccentric young woman across from you and learn that her heart is more eccentric than her funky dress and layers of jewelry and that she speaks 4 languages to teach mothers in Africa about health and survival and somehow acceptance happens. Somehow the stories behind the frames can mold our perspectives. So often I feel that our outward appearances are overlooked and sadly what is stirring in our hearts is masked by the makeup, jewelry, colorful dresses, shap...

--> This morning I drove toward the sun like a moth flies toward the lamp. I was reminded how gently the sun comes out everyday, so slow and patient. I lifted my hands up as I sang a song that has been my theme song lately, Brokenness Aside by All Sons and Daughters (if you haven't heard it, just Youtube it real quick). My word for the week is Gentle. I’ve challenged the young ladies in our Friday lunch book club to choose 1 word every week. 1 word in which we independently attempt to become more of every day. 1 word that might be challenging to put on every morning, but might add a sparkle to our wardrobe. They choose such hard words every week – Vulnerable, Inviting, Engage. The experiences they share when we meet every Friday are so fun. I’ve been so inspired by them. As the weeks begin their own dwindling spiral to a cliff’s edge, I have begun dwindling toward the edge of insanity. My mind cannot stop, I wake up at night recalculating the 1 million and 2 thing...

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...

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...

She swung the door to my classroom open, as if it were her bedroom and then let it slam behind her. "Hey, can I sit in here and work on things?" Slightly confused by her abrupt, rather authoritative demeanor and immediate action to plop on the futon in the corner, I replied as cool as possible, "Sure." "Also, could I listen to music? Mr. S lets me, so you wouldn't be the only one."  As she began to pull out her phone and ear buds, I quickly reminded her of the school policy that still applies in my classroom: no phones, ipods or other electronic devices to be used on campus without permission. She didn't roll her eyes as far back as I'd seen before, from somewhere she had picked up my vibes and I felt a mutual respect. "Well, I guess I'll just read," was her next response. "Great," I answered, "'cause I just sat down to do some blogging." Since it was my prep period and my heart had been heavy with some pre...

It is unearned love -- the love that goes before, that greets us on the way. It's the help you receive when you have no bright ideas left, when you are empty and desperate and have discovered that your best thinking and most charming charm have failed you. Grace is the light or electricity or juice or breeze that takes you from that isolated place and puts you with others who are as startled and embarrassed and eventually grateful as you are to be there.  Sometimes grace is like a ribbon of mountain air that gets in through the cracks. -Anne Lammott

when did the sun fade? and these clouds that have settled, from where do they stretch? when once the life was green and vibrant trees tall and strong now they droop and weep closing in on this frozen ground filtering through a scale of gray if I could box this up and send it off i would send it to the north pole where I believe it belongs the only thing I can box are a few personal items my thoughts are not those they aren't my own but if I could box them I would categorize and organize alphabetize and synchronize I would box them and send them to the north pole far away I would send them so the riddles wouldn't rattle at night and rock my body to wake stealing such sweet dreams without asking stealing what's mine and replacing with fear oh, how I wish I could box them I would label and address them and send them to the north pole oh, how I'd like to transport this grief and vexation pack it and ship it bury what is rotten and pluc...

The other night a group of us played a game that I'm all too familiar with. The messy tug-of-war battle begins in me every time the playing cards are handed out. The Ace cards representing each member of the murdering mafia, the Queen card is in the care of the one and only Dr. Quinn, the King card lies in the hands of the brave police officer, and every other numbered card signifies each misunderstood citizen. In the past I've been known to open the floodgates of tears during a stressful situation, or release steam out my ears when I've been betrayed. It's a game of bluffing and deceiving, and essentially inviting immorality into a circle of chums. A game I have yet to determine it's value. It's invigorating, no doubt, but afterwards I feel cheated, betrayed, violated, disrespected and absolutely no sort of unity or love towards my fellow groupies. But this time these feelings which erupted through my motions, language, and facial expressions seemed much too fa...

Each passing week seems like an entire year's worth of ripening. The fragile shell is aggravated by the harsh elements and is broken, torn, burned, pulled and pinched. Even so, beyond the fragile shell stands a barrier of protective muscle that fights against each affliction. Through the open wounds seeps fear and is carried to the power house, the life-source, the heart. It's there where fear is circulated and processed through each valve and ventricle and depleted of the waste to pump back out with intense power to refuel the shell with zeal and passion to continue protecting and ripening that which is most important. The heart. My heart hasn't failed me yet and am I ever so grateful. Yet it's endearing whisper is often times hushed by the combative shell surrounding it, denying it's childlike spirit, jokes and games, beauty, and zeal for life and love. Keep flowing heart. One day your shell will ripen and gush with sweet juices from the labor of your loving end...

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.