Autumn

Some days I feel magical. Then, other days I feel like everyone else is more magical. And then on really rare days I feel like everyone else is magical, and I am colorless. I may get flak for this, but I always chalk those days up to being somehow related to my womanhood. I am sure they are. Because Aaron never feels colorless - not that he should. But so many women do, don't we?

Today I don't feel so magical, but I certainly can see that everything around me is. So let's talk about that.

Autumn in Arizona is quite different than the chilly, cloudy, cozy autumns in Ohio. But I am still mesmerized by it all the way out here. Right now I am sitting at our kitchen table with every single window in our apartment open around me. Do you realize that that hasn't happened in almost 7 months? The heat usually keeps them closed and sun-blocking curtains drawn, but today they are wide open. And we have A LOT of windows - it's the first thing we loved about this place. Tonight it's a bit breezy out, and the crickets are really at it. Jethro keeps running to the back door to see what's going on out there - such a watchdog. The other night we were woken up by coyotes right outside our window, so I think he is feeling a bit hyper-alert.

Today after work I could feel that it was Ohio football weather - I would say it was around 65 degrees in Ohio talk, but that translates to about 81 out here. (They really do feel the same - it's the lack of humidity). So I knew I couldn't let the opportunity pass. I got Jethro hooked up to his leash and made a mad dash out to the street, and he and I went on a 45 minute run around the mountains up here. The sun set while we were out, and it was purple and pink and orange and magic. By the time we got back to the apartment it was downright chilly out, and I had a good stretch on the porch and got in a hot shower.

Now there are pumpkins sitting on our hearth, and a jar of apple butter on the counter, and the open windows are making it just cold enough for me to need a blanket. Aaron Michael is in bed... he's been getting sleepy earlier and earlier lately. He must be getting old. ;) It's quiet and dim and dark and chilly in here, and even though I don't feel magical, tonight certainly does.

If I were magical today I would have something profound and simple and enlightening to say, or a story to tell, or a verse to tie in my feelings and what-I've-learned-today. But I'm not, and I don't. I'll just let you know that if you're not here, I wish you were, and I wish you could try out an Arizona autumn because it's quite charming. We found this in Sedona two weeks ago.

Perhaps in a few days something will click.

October 13

All day today, I've been thinking, "I've GOT to write a blog today." Because I always write something on October 13. Ever since the real October 13 in 2004. When Pastor Phil died.

But I'm not quite sure what to say; on the 2010 October 13. Sadness speaks for itself and it's not fun to write under, and it's not new. My sadness has changed over the years though. Now instead of being sad for Pastor Phil, who is done with the pain that his cancer caused him and undoubtedly singing God's praises with the best of them, I am sad for the people that knew him and miss him, and the people that might've come to know him. But that's the way it works.

His beautiful wife Carole was remarried a few years ago to Tim, who is just about the coolest guy on the planet. And now in addition to Carole and Phil's two too-cool-for-school boys Jared and Jordan, Carole and Tim have the cutest baby on the planet - and I really mean that. You know how some people think you're supposed to say that all babies are cute, on account of them being babies? No. I don't think so. We all know there are un-cute babies. But Ty is seriously the cutest baby I have ever seen. THE CUTEST. His nose makes me giggle uncontrollably. The adorableness is that overpowering.

Pastor Phil's last words were "I love you Jesus, I worship you." Have you ever, in your life, heard of that being someone's last words? Well you have now. And if it doesn't give you goosebumps, well, you're on your own.

And here's another cool thing that Pastor Phil did for us. Every year on this day, a group of friends that are now scattered all across the map always seem to take a minute for each other. Texts, e-mails, facebooks messages, phone calls. I was part of this group, and they changed my life and made me feel loved even when I didn't comb my hair and I couldn't stop humming Copeland. Even though October 13 was a gut-wrenching day for us, we went through it together and it seems like it just might always stay that way.

Thanks, Pastor Phil. I hope you're enjoying yourself. I'm sure you are.

Anniversary One

Today we've decided to open all the blinds in our apartment. We don't normally do this, on account of the heat it usually lets in. Actually, I can't think of the last time we did. But it's very sunny and bright in here again. It feels like a new apartment. And a new day.

My heart is aching a little bit though as we watch the Packers game (and Steelers game on Packers' commercial breaks. I know the rules). It's 52 degrees at Lambeau Field today. Perfection. If I were there I might even wear gloves.Anyway, it's still over 100 degrees here in the southwest. It feels like nothing has changed in years. Like it's been summer since we got married a year ago. There are positive things to it, but I think seasons are good for my heart. They give the feeling that time is moving. Like you're going somewhere and getting things done. And really, you just can't underestimate how much I love a good hoodie.

I just can't help but daydream about OU, with it's brick streets and green hills and rainy days this time of year. Ohio is so quietly beautiful. If you've never been there, go once for me.

BUT. Last weekend my bud and me got to discover another breathtakingly beautiful part of our country. It was our first anniversary - look how He loves us!- so we took Friday off work and road-tripped out to Rancho Mirage, California. Since I work at The Phoenician, we get 50 % off at all Starwood hotels, so we booked a room at the Westin Mission Hills. Our Assistant Director of HR, Stefanie, just started at The Phoenician and came from this Westin. So she called her friends over there and got Aaron and I upgraded to a suite. :)

The drive out west on the I-10 was beautiful...the sky got bigger and bigger the farther west we went and the mountains got taller and the sun got hotter. We listened to the Fleet Foxes Pandora station and drank Sunkist. And then, as we got closer, these huge, white spikes started shooting up out of the sides of the mountains. And then we got closer and realized what they were - wind turbines. I have to say, they were a little unnerving. There was literally no other sign of civilization in sight - but suddently these huge (I can't describe how big, honestly), ominous, strange-looking turbines. It felt strange to look at them. Futuristic. Do we believe in that technology enough to build such huge structures? I know that sounds ignorant, but that's truly what I was thinking. And I want to take you on our trip with us for a little bit.

After we checked in to our suite, we realized that we were playing the greatest game of "let's pretend" ever...as in, let's pretend we have enough money to be doing this. So we put on "Blankest Year" by Nada Surf and jumped on the bed like 12 year olds. And I smiled like a 12 year old. So did he.

We ate at the beautiful restaurant, got drinks at the lobby bar, took lots of walks, sat out on our deck and sipped champagne in our robes, got HEAVENLY massages at the spa, had margaritas at the pool, ordered tons of room service, and even closed the curtains a couple of times to make our room pitch black and put on some movies. It was so perfect.

On Saturday night, we had a knock at the door from room service. They had an amenity for us. The ladies in my HR office had ordered us a box of chocolate and... a boom box? The server walked in, plugged it in, pushed play, and left. And Nickel Creek singing our wedding song came on. We danced.

Normally I wouldn't write about all the details of a trip like this. Because I like to have a little life between Aaron and I that is only ours. But I have been reading Kate McDonald's -er, Kate Andre's blog - about her recent wedding and honeymoon and I've just felt so inspired by it and so grateful and God lets us experience love like this. And our trip just shook my soul and I wanted to write about it. I truly can't believe how much I love Aaron, and how much more I love him every day. On Saturday night we were sitting out on our porch. I had just taken a shower and my skin smelled so clean, and I sat there in my robe holding Aaron Michael's hand. It was completely silent outside. Only crickets and a huge full moon. And Aaron told me something that I will never forget as long as I live. I'm not going to write it in here; because it is a part of our secret life. But it broke my heart and mended it at the same time. It made me cry and laugh, and it made me know that I had always been going to find Aaron, and he had always been going to find me. And that he loves me in a way I will probably never understand. I don't know why I'm so lucky, but I won't question it.

It was a beautiful trip. Here's to many more years.

The outside of our suite

Bella Vista, the restaurant


Part of our room...


Where we took our walks


The Pool


Sunny!


My guy :)

Just put it on my tab

If I were rich, the first thing I would do is buy one of those robes that makes me look like a marshmallow. It would be like having a big pillow wrapped around me at all times. Well, at all times that I would be at home. Because I would wear it at all times. Also, it would be bright blinding white and never get a shade muddier.

The second thing I would do is buy plane tickets home for Christmas for the rest of my life. You should never, ever, ever, EVER not be home for Christmas. And if you ever have to be, don't let Christmas come. Make it wait a year and then make it a double Christmas the next time December bumbles through. But that's a moot point - because I'm rich and I just bought plane tickets home for every year from now until Jesus comes back.

The third thing I would do if I were rich is find the most uppity, luxurious, VIP's-only spa in town. Then I would book so many appointments that it would take me an entire day to get through them all. I'd have a mud bath (what do those do again? Not that I care. It's a mud bath.) Then I'd get cucumbers put on my eyes and have green stuff lovingly and smoothly applied all over my face, and I'd have a big white pillow-robe on, and puffy white fleece slippers on, and some music twinkling in the background with song titles like "Seascapes" and "Irish Flute Trio." Then I'd get an exfoliation, and then I'd take a bath in a tub full of rose petals. Then I'd have a mimosa brought to me in a big champagne glass with an orange peel dangling off the edge. And everyone would talk in really quiet whispers. And there would be a waterfall bubbling somewhere close by. Then I'd have a massage with stones and whatever else would make my muscles groan in protest and then with a deep sigh, give in.

The fourth thing I would do if I were rich, after recovering from my spa day, is start putting pegs in my world map. The first peg would go in Jerusalem. Then Thailand, and then probably London. After London I'd just play it by ear. If I happened to be craving cheese, for example, I'd go to Paris. And I am always craving Cheese.

The fifth thing I would do if I were rich is buy a pair of shoes for every day of the week. This is of utmost importance. I would need black, shiny black, black with some quirky detail (Wednesdays are for the quirky details), brown, brown with a hint of red, gray suede, and yellow wedges, because I'm that kind of girl.

The sixth thing I would do if I were rich is fill my schedule every day with things rich people do. I would go to Yoga with other rich women that never wait long enough between hair appointments to have their dirty blond roots show through. Oh, and I would never wait long enough between hair appointments to have my dirty blond roots show through. And I'd leaf through magazines on park benches with dangly hoop earrings in and always smelling like Spring and a freshly-showered, sugary expensive person. And I'd meet people for lunch on verandas, but I'll just have the salad thank you. And I'd run after the taxi in my heels to make sure I wasn't late for my pilates class. And I'd have a glass of wine and a bath every evening. Except after spa day. I'd had enough of baths that day. And I'd constantly be clicking away on my smart phone. That clicking, by the way, is from my freshly manicured nails.

The seventh thing I would do if I were rich is buy feather and down pillows. Six, at least.

The eighth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy this painting and put it above my fireplace, which of course is on a brick wall.


And every night I would look at it and I would hear Carly Simon swooning
"In a pine forest cooler
than the rest of the island
lives a young fisherman
with eyes like the sea..."


And the ninth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy Bob Evans, plant a franchise in Scottsdale and place a standing order for an apple pie, extra apply, to be sent to my front door each evening.

Here's the thing though. I'm not rich. I probably won't ever be. But even if one day I am, I probably wouldn't do all those things. Or I would, but they would take me about a week and then I'd shuffle back inside my house with my tail between my legs, because I could feel my brain start to atrophy and my heart start to get bored already. I hope if I were rich, I would give most of it away. C.S. Lewis says there ought to be things we'd like to do but can't, because of how much we give away. Looks like there's no spa day in my near future.

I'm still going to buy a blindingly bleached pillow-robe the first second I can.

Happy dreaming. Just don't forget how silly it is.

Faces

This afternoon I drove home right into the middle of a huge storm. I can't describe how beautiful that looks out here in the desert. It was perfectly sunny as I left work, with big white, puffy clouds above me, but as soon as I got out on the highway I could see the palm trees start to blow sideways and I could feel the wind shifting my little Cobalt to the right and to the left. And then on the horizon - right up towards our side of town - the sky was a deep, bruise blue.

I tried to listen to the Hugh Hewitt show - he usually keeps me company on my drive home - but I couldn't get the station in. I think the storm was messing with the signal. So I pressed play on the CD player, not remembering what was in there, and Brooke Fraser's "Albertine" started up. You've got to hear the first few bars of that song - if there were ever a perfect sound to drive into a storm to, it'd be that.

Last week I googled around until I found the story of that song. I had already deduced that it was about a girl named Albertine, and that Albertine was somehow disenfranchised. The bridge says "I will keep my word - I will tell them, Albertine!" ...and how can you not google that? I was dying to know the rest of the story.

Apparently Brooke was visiting Rwanda, and met an orphan named Albertine whose mother, Angelique, had been killed in the genocide; which the Rwandans refer to as the "day the world forgot us." (Sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it?) So Brooke made a promise to not let the world forget about Albertine. I'm certain Brooke can tell that story much better than me - but surely you already feel the beauty of it.

It makes me think of faces. There are four faces so far in my life that have done a certain something to me. All four of them are little kid faces, with impossibly big eyes - in all four cases - and even more impossibly adorable cheeks. All four of the faces belong to boys, and each one of them are a child I've connected to in some kind of volunteering capacity. I met Diego and David in Ecuador two summers ago, when I was there teaching English and living in an extremely impoverished neighborhood. They lived there with their sweet mom Germania, their sister Kati and a handful of adorably mocha-skin-colored cousins. For the first few days that I was in the neighborhood, Diego followed me everywhere, and after chatting with him a bit I realized he had a wise-beyond-his-years sense of humor. I tought him some English words and he loved reciting them back to me. "Book." "Friend." "Water." Every evening after I had been volunteering all day, I would saunter up to the internet cafe that his uncle owned, and we'd sit at an old Macintosh monitor and giggle. I always made him tell me what he'd learned in school that day, and then I'd tell him to go get me some ice cream and he'd just laugh.

After about a week there, I bought him a soccer ball, because about two minutes after I had stepped off the plane I could tell it was his heart and soul. He loved it and I gained instant popularity among all cousins and neighbors - but mostly with his little brother, David.

David had chronically messy hands, and his smile stretched outside of his face beyond his ears. That sounds improbable, but you wouldn't say that if you'd met him. He had the kind of giggle that sounded like he couldn't control it at all - like once he started, he couldn't stop and it rolled out of his belly like a long sigh. I've never heard a giggle like that one - it was the same kind of uncontrollable, slightly hushed laugh that someone gives when they're being tickled and wish they weren't. He couldn't help it. Everything made him so full of giggles, they just spilled. He clung to my neck so much that by my second week there he looked like he had hooked on for good - teeth flashing, wavy brown hair going in every direction, giggle filling the air.

David's favorite thing was hearing his name pronounced like an English-speaking person would pronounce it. (He of course pronounced it "Dah-VEED.") So every night he made me call him "DAY-vid" and the tiny giggles would string out on a chorus line all the way down into the mangroves.

One day, David fell asleep on my shoulder while I held him as we took a long walk, and my heart hasn't been the same since then.

On the six-week winter break between fall and winter quarter of my junior year, I volunteered three nights a week at the Haven of Rest in downtown Akron, OH. It's a shelter for women and children, and it's a lovely alternative to freezing temperatures and scary alleys. It was during my time there that I met Joshua.

Joshua was a skinny, wriggly, wide-eyed African American boy who had an adoring mom, though I forget her name now. During most of the time I hung around the Haven of Rest Joshua had a cold, and he always had a little bit of dry skin around his mouth and nose. That's still how I see his face. Huge, curious eyes; mouth open because he couldn't breathe through is nose; and dry skin.

He was about three feet tall with lanky arms, and he gave the best hugs. He was extremely quiet, but he started clinging to my leg after the first day I protected him from the mean kids in the playroom. After that day I had earned his trust, and we were best buds. We played with every single toy in the shelter, and every time I walked in the door there was a happy screech and a running hug. Every time I smooched him goodnight I felt a cement lump in my stomach - and now I do again, picturing his little arms and legs and sniffly nose.

And then there is little Sam. Little Sam is the tender-hearted little artist that Aaron and I sponsor through World Vision. He lives in Uganda, and is 9 years old. We've never met him, but his little face absolutely knocks the wind out of me. He likes to draw us pictures (mostly of soccer matches) and his favorite color is pink! We will meet him one day; of that I'm sure.

Something supernatural has happened to me when I've seen these faces. It happens even now when I recall them to memory. They've sparked something in me that makes me want to yell. I want to hug all of them and give all of them everything, and force all of them to understand just how impossibly much I love them - how even I don't understand how much I love them. How their faces make my stomach hurt and I cry when I go too long without seeing them. How Aaron doesn't even mention them to me because it throws me into fits of tears and hiding underneath my covers. How it makes me physically ill to think of them going without something, or having a tummy ache, or not knowing just what incredibly magnificent, humongous stories they all are and how I'm on the edge of my toes waiting to see the rest of them. How I feel like someone has kicked me in the chest when I think about how desperately I want to be with them. To help them.

I still send Diego and David a little present just about every month - with a letter telling them I love them, to do good in school, and to enjoy whatever little toy I'm including. I get e-mails from their Mom on occasion. I know I will see them again.

I haven't seen Joshua since January of 2008, but I pray for him, and his mom and baby sister. I send them love.

And I've never met Sam, but we will.

There are still faces I see every day that spur my heart to action - feeble and awkward though those actions may be. I give Rosy, the woman who washes dishes at The Phoenician, hugs in the hallway when her arthritis is acting up. I share family pictures with Julia, and I hurt for Pati, who fights with her daughter. But I still feel something else.

It's when I listen to "Albertine;" or when I think of Diego, David, Joshua and Sam that I get a little shiver that comes from somewhere outside myself. And suddnely I'm right behind the starting line; jumping up and down to keep my muscles loose; shaking out my arms to keep them ready and the adrenaline is spilling out so much and so fast that I know I'll almost take off before the gun. This is where I am now. I'm waiting for God to give the go-ahead. When our circumstances are right and He waves the flag, I'm leaving nothing but a trail of smoke behind me. I can almost feel the new faces that are going to break my heart.


Face of Diego.

Face of David.Face of little Sam.

Feeling Blue

Today I had a conversation that just made me blue. I'm not honestly sure why. It wasn't a sad conversation, and the topics covered weren't sad. But it just made me blue. Sometimes I tend to think that everyone views the world the same way I do. I don't mean that they come to the same conclusions I do. I mean I tend to think they view facts the same way I do. Sky's blue, money isn't everything. We move forward. Doesn't everyone think that? I guess, no. And people who are older don't even think that way. That's what troubled me today, I think. Even when I find myself confused about some moral dilemma or nervous about what financial stability actually looks like I always try to remind myself that I'm young and I'm not expected to have it all together yet; and that in truth I'm probably doing a bit better than what's normal at my age. But when I meet someone older who still has whacked out ideas about money and family and kindness and priorities, I just get... blue.

What's weird about all that emotional vomit I just wrote is that I really like the person I had this conversation with. He is an older guy I work with that is tons of fun and a blast to talk to - most of the time. He has the exact same political leanings as me and we both love to listen to Rush, so we have a lot of fun with that. But I don't know... something today rubbed me the wrong way. I was telling him how I struggle with the irony that Aaron and I are young enough and not-tied-down enough to travel now, moreso than we may ever be at other times in our life, but this is the time that we don't have the money for it. And that when we do have the money for it, we will most likely be more tied down, older, and possibly parents? (My best friend Amy just fell out of her chair. Not now, Ame. I'm ranting.) Why does it have to be this way? And my friend's response was, more or less, get a second job! Do whatever it takes to make more money now! When I told him that I thought it was more important for me to spend time with my husband and work on building a good marriage, he told me there would be time for that later.

I think he was somewhat kidding, but just let me say this, since I'm on a bit of a whine kick. When I'm having my general weekly freak-out that I'm "not doing enough" (not volunteering enough, not writing enough, not singing enough, not donating enough, not saving enough money, etc. etc. etc.) there really is no talking me down. You cannot help me. The only thing I want to hear when I am in a mood like that is that I'm not lazy, and that even though I'm not doing everything, I'm at least doing something. I'm helping support Aaron and I. I am investing in a marriage. I am trying to invest in my community. I am investing in my own health. I am learning. I am doing ok. So when someone's response to my freak out is "well, if you feel like you're not doing enough, do more" I get SAD. Don't say that! I don't want to do more. I am exhausted! I just want to reap the benefits of doing more.

Ohhhhhh, sigh.

Sorry to bum you out, if I have. Just feeling a bit blue today. I think another part of it is that I was looking at some photos of my old college roommate on facebook earlier and I just miss her so, so so so so very much. I miss both of them. They are beautiful and I want them here.

Well shucks. I'm such a downer. I am going to eat some spaghetti and read some more of The Girl Who Played With Fire. Hope you're having a cheerier night, friends. I'll be better tomorrow, promise!

Control

If you already have a video game, why do you have to buy an updated version of it every year? That is the question of the hour, as my husband and my brother sit in front of me pushing buttons, yelling at the TV, and completely ignoring me. Madden 2010. You have overtaken my living room.

So. As my reading obsession continues, I just finished Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I can't get over it. I can't stop thinking about it. And I should have done this before I started reading it, but this morning I put the sequel to it, Catching Fire, on hold at the library. Hopefully the 24 people ahead of me read quickly...

I don't want to give a single thing away, but the main theme of the book has been overtaking my thoughts this week as I raced through the chapters. What do you think we crave the most? In general? What do you think gives even the most faithless, restless or bored among us a feeling of meaning? What are we most angry about when it's taken from us? I think maybe It's control. You can call it different things or characterize it differently - you can call it money, or power or good looks or whatever, but I'm confident I could always convince you that it comes back to some form of control. Isn't that weird about us?

In that way I keep finding these really interesting threads between all the books I've been reading lately. Hunger Games is about control being stolen. The Secret Life of Bees is about how you get along without it, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is about a people who have too much of it, The Shack is about how the desire for it distances us from God, and Mere Christianity offers an explanation for both why we want it in the first place and why, ironically, we would actually be freer if we didn't have it (and the One who did was God, of course; not other men).

I guess I could explore the topic a little more but I don't know what I'd say. I'm certainly finding, the more I think about it, that the situations in my life that leave me the most anxious are ones where I am wrestling with some translation of a loss of control. I don't know that that's bad, though, unless I am keeping something from God. And maybe I am. I don't know. But it's an interesting way of looking at the world; to imagine us all just scrambling around trying to control everything. It's easier to understand why some people act the way they do, I suppose.

I guess I'll just keep mulling this over. Maybe I'll come to some blog-worthy conclusion soon. For now though, I'm going to take control of the next hour of my life and start the second book in the Stieg Larsson series. Let's see what Salander's up to...