Friday, February 19, 2010
Sunshine
The sun was out today. The sun bathed the city in it's warmth and light, and I was so happy.
Something Beautiful
I spent three weeks in Montana over my Christmas break. It was my first time there since August-since my family moved-and it was good. I got to hang out with mom and dad, Justin, Jared, Joy and Braden. I babysat some cute kids-Charlie, Carsyn, Decker, and Justyce. There was plenty of time for sleeping in and reading and exploring.
Exploring was my favorite.
I drove around to a few of the small towns in the area and saw what there was to see-not much. Southwestern Montana is pretty dead in the hunting off-season.
There was one spot, though, that I was so happy to have found. The shop was called Weaver’s Rug Gallery, and it was housed in a run-down building in the center of Twin Bridges, Montana. Weaver’s was rarely open; they kept no regular hours. At most times, one could drive by and see the letters of the sign hanging in the front window arranged to say “NOPE,” which must be Montana speak for closed. People in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana just do things differently, I guess. I won’t even get into the fact that the grocery store in town allowed my sometimes scattered-brained mom to go home with her groceries, and return later to pay with the wallet she’d forgotten on the first trip. That’s another story, for another time. Back to Weaver’s…
So, one day, when Joy and I were dropping off some packages at the post office, we noticed that the letters in the window at Weaver’s Rug Gallery had made the subtle and rare change from N-O-P-E to O-P-E-N, so we went to explore.
The place was old, dusty, and smelled a bit strange. There were rugs hanging all over the walls, hand-made jewelry dangling off of countertops, and a wide assortment of trinkets and treasures displayed on various surfaces. There was also a man with a distinctly Australian accent (awesome) standing behind a counter in the back. He said “G’day mates!” as we walked in. (Ok, that didn’t happen-but how great would that have been?) So we look around: Nothing of much interest. Most of the stuff was slightly overpriced and slightly too obscure for our tastes. But then, just as I was about to be disappointed and let down by this mysterious and seemingly awesome place, I saw it. I saw the barrel shoved into the front corner of the store, under the big picture window. I saw the barrel filled with buttons, and my eyes lit up. There were buttons of every shape, size, color, and texture…it was like a treasure chest, really.
To be honest, I’m not sure when I became such a fan of buttons. I would think that, after counting thousands of them last Christmas break while helping Uncle Kip and Aunt Jeanette with inventory at the fabric store, that I would loathe them. But not so my friends. There is something about the unique qualities of old buttons that I find utterly fascinating. There’s something so interesting about these little pieces of history. Most of all, I love that each and every button has a story, has a history, has a past.
The bag that I had filled with a vast assortment of buttons now laid crumpled on my floor, and my bounty was spread across the comforter on my bed. As I picked up each button to admire it’s unique beauty, I thought of the path that button might have taken to get to the barrel in which I found it. I thought about how these buttons had been cast off, discarded…thrown into the barrel. They were a little imperfect, a little bit ugly. Covered in stains, dents and rust.
I think I might be kind of like an old button. I’m kind of scarred and dirtied. I’ve seen better days. Like the buttons, I’ve been tossed aside, discarded.
But maybe someone can make something beautiful out of me.
Like those buttons that I found buried in the bottom of a barrel in the little rug shop in Montana, He’s found me here-exactly where I am.
I think God wants to make something beautiful out of me.
Exploring was my favorite.
I drove around to a few of the small towns in the area and saw what there was to see-not much. Southwestern Montana is pretty dead in the hunting off-season.
There was one spot, though, that I was so happy to have found. The shop was called Weaver’s Rug Gallery, and it was housed in a run-down building in the center of Twin Bridges, Montana. Weaver’s was rarely open; they kept no regular hours. At most times, one could drive by and see the letters of the sign hanging in the front window arranged to say “NOPE,” which must be Montana speak for closed. People in the Middle of Nowhere, Montana just do things differently, I guess. I won’t even get into the fact that the grocery store in town allowed my sometimes scattered-brained mom to go home with her groceries, and return later to pay with the wallet she’d forgotten on the first trip. That’s another story, for another time. Back to Weaver’s…
So, one day, when Joy and I were dropping off some packages at the post office, we noticed that the letters in the window at Weaver’s Rug Gallery had made the subtle and rare change from N-O-P-E to O-P-E-N, so we went to explore.
The place was old, dusty, and smelled a bit strange. There were rugs hanging all over the walls, hand-made jewelry dangling off of countertops, and a wide assortment of trinkets and treasures displayed on various surfaces. There was also a man with a distinctly Australian accent (awesome) standing behind a counter in the back. He said “G’day mates!” as we walked in. (Ok, that didn’t happen-but how great would that have been?) So we look around: Nothing of much interest. Most of the stuff was slightly overpriced and slightly too obscure for our tastes. But then, just as I was about to be disappointed and let down by this mysterious and seemingly awesome place, I saw it. I saw the barrel shoved into the front corner of the store, under the big picture window. I saw the barrel filled with buttons, and my eyes lit up. There were buttons of every shape, size, color, and texture…it was like a treasure chest, really.
To be honest, I’m not sure when I became such a fan of buttons. I would think that, after counting thousands of them last Christmas break while helping Uncle Kip and Aunt Jeanette with inventory at the fabric store, that I would loathe them. But not so my friends. There is something about the unique qualities of old buttons that I find utterly fascinating. There’s something so interesting about these little pieces of history. Most of all, I love that each and every button has a story, has a history, has a past.
The bag that I had filled with a vast assortment of buttons now laid crumpled on my floor, and my bounty was spread across the comforter on my bed. As I picked up each button to admire it’s unique beauty, I thought of the path that button might have taken to get to the barrel in which I found it. I thought about how these buttons had been cast off, discarded…thrown into the barrel. They were a little imperfect, a little bit ugly. Covered in stains, dents and rust.
I think I might be kind of like an old button. I’m kind of scarred and dirtied. I’ve seen better days. Like the buttons, I’ve been tossed aside, discarded.
But maybe someone can make something beautiful out of me.
Like those buttons that I found buried in the bottom of a barrel in the little rug shop in Montana, He’s found me here-exactly where I am.
I think God wants to make something beautiful out of me.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Favorite.
“We need not think alike to love alike.”
-David Ferenc
If I didn’t have an opinion regarding this idea, and if I didn’t understand it before, I do now. Now that I’ve lived in Chicago for awhile, gone to Columbia for awhile, lived in an apartment with three other girls for awhile. I think I get it.
Not many people here think like me. Very few understand where I come from or why I believe what I believe. Many think it’s totally weird that I include Jesus in the details of my life…but I try really hard to love them, and I hope they love me, too.
So that’s my current favorite quote.
-David Ferenc
If I didn’t have an opinion regarding this idea, and if I didn’t understand it before, I do now. Now that I’ve lived in Chicago for awhile, gone to Columbia for awhile, lived in an apartment with three other girls for awhile. I think I get it.
Not many people here think like me. Very few understand where I come from or why I believe what I believe. Many think it’s totally weird that I include Jesus in the details of my life…but I try really hard to love them, and I hope they love me, too.
So that’s my current favorite quote.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Storyboards
Go buy Sleeping At Last’s new album, Storyboards. Then find out where they are playing and go to a concert, like the one I went to with Kelly at Lincoln Hall last Thursday. It will be worth your while. Trust.
That's when I realized.
When I ran through the front door, and saw her lying facedown on the floor. When I saw the cup falling from her limp hand, dark liquid spilling out-staining the white carpet. When I noticed the little blue pills sprawled across the countertop. When I yelled out her name, and heard no reply. When I said to myself, “Oh, my God…she’s dead.” That’s when I realized.
When the EMTs and police officers shoved past me, pushing me aside. When I collapsed over the porch railing sobbing from a deep place within me that I hadn't before known existed. When she was loaded onto the ambulance and raced to the hospital-lights flashing, sirens blaring. That’s when I realized.
I realized that day that there is more to life than parties and music. There is more to life than drinking and drugs. There’s more to life than the life that we’d been living.
I realized that day that people hurt and people cry, but sometimes it’s silent. They sing and they laugh, but sometimes it’s a mask. I realized that day that I should have known, that I should have seen, that I should have listened.
When I entered the hospital room, cold and numb. When I saw her sunken face, pale white as the sheets on the bed she laid. When I heard her frail voice say, “Hello.” That’s when I realized.
I realized that day that there is hope-there’s always hope. She lived. She was alive. I realized that day that life is miracle, that life is a gift. That’s when I realized.
This is a work in progress.
When the EMTs and police officers shoved past me, pushing me aside. When I collapsed over the porch railing sobbing from a deep place within me that I hadn't before known existed. When she was loaded onto the ambulance and raced to the hospital-lights flashing, sirens blaring. That’s when I realized.
I realized that day that there is more to life than parties and music. There is more to life than drinking and drugs. There’s more to life than the life that we’d been living.
I realized that day that people hurt and people cry, but sometimes it’s silent. They sing and they laugh, but sometimes it’s a mask. I realized that day that I should have known, that I should have seen, that I should have listened.
When I entered the hospital room, cold and numb. When I saw her sunken face, pale white as the sheets on the bed she laid. When I heard her frail voice say, “Hello.” That’s when I realized.
I realized that day that there is hope-there’s always hope. She lived. She was alive. I realized that day that life is miracle, that life is a gift. That’s when I realized.
This is a work in progress.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
too far gone
She will, in fact, get up the courage to do that one thing that she's needed to do for a few years or so now...someday. If that day comes very soon, that would be wonderful. If not…she will live. She’s gone this long, right?
What’s the point in letting go of something when you can't remember what it was like to not hold on? Because..what then? What to you do when you no longer have that one thing-that one constant thing that always comes back.
So what if it's sucking the air right out of your lungs, and so what if the few moments that make you so happy are overshadowed by the many that make you miserable? Is it worth that pain? Apparently, she has decided that it is. Apparently, there is still hope. There's not.
There is no chance of it ever being good-really good. How could it be, when, regardless of what happens in the future, the past will always hang luminously overhead like a dark cloud?
So is this desperation? Is this the point where nothing really seems to make sense anymore?
Damn, she's there. She's so freaking lost she doesn't even know which way is up. Constantly tangled in this delusional web, constantly looking for escape-but hoping she doesn't find it..hoping that somehow she will be rescued. She knows she won't.
Sure, there was a time when hoping wasn't a lost cause and when dreaming made sense. Those days are long gone now, and there's no chance in hell they are ever coming back.
Too far gone. Way too far gone.
Forgetting won't work, because she's tried that at least a million times. Hating it…hating the cause of her pain..now that's a joke. Isn't that the whole problem? If she hated it, then there would never have been an issue at all.
Well shit, that would have been nice. Erasing this whole thing-this thing that has been there for the past four years or so.
Nope, that wouldn't work either. Because then, what would her life be? It's who she is, and as much as that sucks, it's undeniable.
It's like this ridiculously bad day..that never ends. It's like…a joke. It's a bad joke that gets played on you, and as much as you laugh and laugh and pretend it doesn't hurt-it does.
It tears you up inside, but you go on..because you have to.
What other choice is there? There isn't one.
There isn't forgetting, there isn't hating, there's loving…but screw that. Where has that gotten her? Here-and here is nowhere near where she wants to be. Here is hell.
Will she wake up someday and finally be at peace? Will she escape this torture? Yea, she's got to. How could she not? But it's the waiting that sucks, it's the waiting that kills you…slowly.
Piece-by-piece your heart is disassembled.
It's not like breaking-it's not a clean break that can be repaired. No…it's a detachment. The pieces get scattered over the years.
They're lost by now.
Too far gone.
That’s what she is.
What’s the point in letting go of something when you can't remember what it was like to not hold on? Because..what then? What to you do when you no longer have that one thing-that one constant thing that always comes back.
So what if it's sucking the air right out of your lungs, and so what if the few moments that make you so happy are overshadowed by the many that make you miserable? Is it worth that pain? Apparently, she has decided that it is. Apparently, there is still hope. There's not.
There is no chance of it ever being good-really good. How could it be, when, regardless of what happens in the future, the past will always hang luminously overhead like a dark cloud?
So is this desperation? Is this the point where nothing really seems to make sense anymore?
Damn, she's there. She's so freaking lost she doesn't even know which way is up. Constantly tangled in this delusional web, constantly looking for escape-but hoping she doesn't find it..hoping that somehow she will be rescued. She knows she won't.
Sure, there was a time when hoping wasn't a lost cause and when dreaming made sense. Those days are long gone now, and there's no chance in hell they are ever coming back.
Too far gone. Way too far gone.
Forgetting won't work, because she's tried that at least a million times. Hating it…hating the cause of her pain..now that's a joke. Isn't that the whole problem? If she hated it, then there would never have been an issue at all.
Well shit, that would have been nice. Erasing this whole thing-this thing that has been there for the past four years or so.
Nope, that wouldn't work either. Because then, what would her life be? It's who she is, and as much as that sucks, it's undeniable.
It's like this ridiculously bad day..that never ends. It's like…a joke. It's a bad joke that gets played on you, and as much as you laugh and laugh and pretend it doesn't hurt-it does.
It tears you up inside, but you go on..because you have to.
What other choice is there? There isn't one.
There isn't forgetting, there isn't hating, there's loving…but screw that. Where has that gotten her? Here-and here is nowhere near where she wants to be. Here is hell.
Will she wake up someday and finally be at peace? Will she escape this torture? Yea, she's got to. How could she not? But it's the waiting that sucks, it's the waiting that kills you…slowly.
Piece-by-piece your heart is disassembled.
It's not like breaking-it's not a clean break that can be repaired. No…it's a detachment. The pieces get scattered over the years.
They're lost by now.
Too far gone.
That’s what she is.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
It's the little things.
I just want to share for a minute about how God blessed me last week.
It was the first week of the semester. It was stressful. It was chaotic. For a few reasons, it became necessary for me to change my schedule drastically and try to switch a couple of my classes. I needed to take a science lab course, but they were all full. I needed to have this all figured out in two days. I needed a freaking miracle.
On top of general annoying scheduling issues, I had to buy books. So I was forced to spend way too much money to purchase these necessary evils. I was discouraged and frustrated about the whole situation.
Ok, so it's Thursday of last week. I was sitting outside of my Social Problems In American Society class, just waiting. I got online. Out of habit, I immediately logged onto Columbia's class scheduling tool. To my absolute amazement, there was a science course open. One spot-that's all. I selected it, and it was done. AH relief. I promptly electronically dropped my Media class. Reasons being: I was now registered for too many credits, as my science was four, and I hated the media class already.
Another slightly annoying problem-I had just ordered my media book the night before. No big deal, I could try to re-sell it and hopefully get a decent price. Little did I know...
When I got home from class I logged on to check my email, and what do you know..the bookseller from which I had purchased my Media book sent me an apologetic note explaining that they could not send the book because it was not available after all, and my account would immediately be refunded. Really? That happens?
Thanks, God. Thanks for taking my crappy week and my crappy attitude away and blessing me. I needed that, and You knew it. So thanks.
It was the first week of the semester. It was stressful. It was chaotic. For a few reasons, it became necessary for me to change my schedule drastically and try to switch a couple of my classes. I needed to take a science lab course, but they were all full. I needed to have this all figured out in two days. I needed a freaking miracle.
On top of general annoying scheduling issues, I had to buy books. So I was forced to spend way too much money to purchase these necessary evils. I was discouraged and frustrated about the whole situation.
Ok, so it's Thursday of last week. I was sitting outside of my Social Problems In American Society class, just waiting. I got online. Out of habit, I immediately logged onto Columbia's class scheduling tool. To my absolute amazement, there was a science course open. One spot-that's all. I selected it, and it was done. AH relief. I promptly electronically dropped my Media class. Reasons being: I was now registered for too many credits, as my science was four, and I hated the media class already.
Another slightly annoying problem-I had just ordered my media book the night before. No big deal, I could try to re-sell it and hopefully get a decent price. Little did I know...
When I got home from class I logged on to check my email, and what do you know..the bookseller from which I had purchased my Media book sent me an apologetic note explaining that they could not send the book because it was not available after all, and my account would immediately be refunded. Really? That happens?
Thanks, God. Thanks for taking my crappy week and my crappy attitude away and blessing me. I needed that, and You knew it. So thanks.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Faith, Love, and Hope: My Favorites
“We always thank God for all of you, mentioning you in our prayers. We continually remember before our God and Father your work produced by faith, your labor prompted by love, and your endurance inspired by hope in our Lord Jesus Christ.”
1 Thessalonians 2-3
So this is Paul, Silas, and Timothy writing to the church of the Thessalonians. What would they write to the Christian church today, I wonder? Age old question, and not really the point of this post.
I'm in love with the way this passage shows what a beautifully constructed piece of literature the Bible is. I love it. I just love it very much.
I’ve been pondering on the idea of “work produced by faith, labor prompted by love, and endurance inspired by hope.”
When we have faith in what we are working for, we work at it with all of our hearts.
When our lives are consumed by love we are eager to labor tirelessly; spreading that love, sharing that love, and increasing that love.
Only through hope in Christ am I able to really endure the struggles of my life. Only knowing that this world is not all that there is for me keeps me going.
What a beautiful passage. Agreed?
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