shouts of joy

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...

The other day, I took a bus from Pasco, WA to Portland, OR. Being the person I am, I marched up the steps of the bus with my backpack slung over my shoulder and tossed it in a vacant seat without any reservations. I listened to conversations around me as we waited for others to board and found them entertaining. But when we finally rolled away from the station my nerves began to escalate so I tried to sleep. Sleeping didn’t last too long and I began planning my next move if our bus was attacked. If a shooter was on board what I might do, or if the bus driver took a wrong turn down a dark alley, or if someone tried to take my bag. While I calculated my moves I played it cool by playing around on my phone and reading a book. With my hidden fear I sat quite alert for the rest of the 5 hour trip. Busses just aren’t the best form of public transportation these days. The common person flies, the more adventurous common person takes a train, and anyone else who can’t afford the alternati...

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...

As Sunday should be a time to catch up on grading and lesson planning I fell into the cyber world of blogging instead. As I was mulling through from blog to blog I found a letter written with such sweet peace by Glennon Melton on momastery.com that I'd like to share.  "If your hands are too full to grab that idea out of the air- let it go. To have your hands full is a ludicrous blessing. So if you must- if you must let go of the urgent to tend to the important then  do it, you lucky dog.  Let it go- smile and let that idea or opportunity pass onto another sister knowing that more will come. There is always more on its way – more opportunities, more ideas, more love. Think abundance- always think  abundance . Belief in abundance is the source of all generosity and peace. Know that there is enough. Know that you are enough. Know that you have enough. Enough time, enough talent, enough love. You can’t miss your boat. It’s yours. It stays docked till you’re ready. ...

There are many days that go by that I wish my awkward teenage students would just sit down on the edge of their seats and selfishly drink in the words that I have to say. But not just take the words for what they are, but read in between the lines that will give a glimpse of my story. No,  our story. I wish they would read between the lines of a young 20-something girl who wakes up every day before the sun with a passion that she doesn't quite have figured out and goes to bed every night seemingly a failure, still unsure. But one thing she knows is that she wants to love consistently and be loved just the same, to have a family of 5 or 6, a devoted husband and a warm community to raise her children with, and most of all to understand the love and patience of the Savior. I wish they'd read in between about the girl who fights their same battles of accepting and loving herself before others, trusting the power of prayer, standing up for what is truth, living out grace, ...

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...

8am and the weather man said we'd have rain all day , all week, and I sit here comfortably with my legs crossed in the big pink chair in the formal living room. Admiring through the floor to ceiling window, I see the green of the forest and sunbeams stabbing through the swaying branches of the sky-bound pines. The sun has arrived so unexpectedly as if to say where is your faith?  and that gives me a very real sense of hope. Maybe our story isn't finalized when the weather man announces it on the local station. It's a tragedy that we cannot predict for ourselves, instead we rely on a man or woman we don't even know to tell us what the future will unfold. Yet, why would I trust myself? The voice inside my head repeats, You are good, but that's not good enough, because good enough is not perfect.  As I look outside again to see that the sun is still there, I know it's deceiving. Although it looks as if the sun could warm a body, it's a lie. There's no he...