On Sept.11 most people remember 9-11, but I remember Melissa

Melissa and I at the Concert for Virginia Tech.

I remember when Melissa Cheliras first came to the Virginia Tech Baptist Collegiate Ministry as a staff member.  She'd been there before; she knew her way around, but I decided to make it my mission to be her welcoming committee anyway.  It was a phenomenal decision... Concerts, fish funerals, fairy stone hunting, and tea time; getting to know Melissa was a blast!

Melissa came the year after the shooting at Virginia Tech.  She came in the midst of us trying to process what had happened to our school.  I remember one night she talked about her friend that died in the 9-11 attacks.  Melissa told us how hard it was each year on September 11.  I decided to make sure Melissa remembered that she was loved every time that date rolled around.  I'm not sure she even realized the pattern, but every September 11 she got a text message.  It usually just said, "I love you."

N.C. roadtrip '08 for a Youth Conference

Melissa passed away in February.   She had been diagnosed with cancer that October.  I hadn't talked to her in months.  I'm pretty sure the last time I saw her was actually on the road.  We were both driving towards D.C. and passed each other on the road.  We freaked and called each other, we hung up with plans to catch up sometime.  I was so excited to see her. 

When she died it caught me by surprise.  I hadn't actually thought it would happen.  None of my friends had ever died before; I hadn't even lost a close family member.  I'd not experienced saying goodbye to someone who actively shaped my life, much less not getting to say goodbye.  When Lindsay told me that Melissa was "home," I thought it meant she'd been released from the hospital.  It took a little while for things to sink in. 
 
Sometimes Melissa's words terrified me; she had a knack for asking hard questions.  But more often her words brought me much life.  I remember one time... I was in over my head with meetings, school, ministries, friends, work, sorority, and the list goes on.  I had just signed up for a two year discipleship program with my church.  I had just retired from BCM leadership; I was a Bible study leader.  I loved both groups dearly, but was falling apart just trying to stay connected.  We were in the BCM parking lot.  Melissa said something that still brings tears to my eyes.  She said, "Amanda, I release you to be where God has called you to be."  She released me to leave and told me that I would always be family.  I never came back.  (Now, I don't think I staged my exit very well; I practically disappeared overnight.  But at that point I don't think I could have said goodbye properly.  I was too exhausted.) 

I fell apart for a day or two when I heard the news.  I fell apart again on her birthday, May 5.  Hers was the day after mine.  (She and I had a joint birthday party sophomore year--a bonfire by the river with all of our favorite people.)  It got harder this summer.  I drove past her old apartment everyday on the way to or from Richard's house. 

I miss her.  I know that I'll see her again.  I know she is with Jesus.  I know today she isn't sad because she misses her friend.  Today, I know that Melissa knows that she is loved. 

"Dancers Among Us" (I'm in love..)

Blogging from A to Z Challenge Day 4:  "D" 


So I ran across something on Pinterest a few weeks back... "Dancers Among Us."  It's a photography series by Jordan Matter in which Jordan goes all over the place with his camera and shoots photos of professional dancers doing INSANE dance moves in everyday-life scenarios.  I'm in love.  I'm in awe.  I'm also impatient for the book to finally be published!  It's due to hit book stores in the Fall of this year... I can't wait!  Matter's blog can be found at:  http://blog.jordanmatter.com/.  He shares several of the pics on his website too!


I love this because I love dancing and photography... At the point when I first ran across Matter's work, I knew I wanted to play with dancer photographs, but I' never really tried.  Now I have to!  There was a while that I really wanted to photograph dancers in old church sanctuaries, and beautiful outdoor scenes with dancers are sure to be a win as well.  But lately, I've started rolling around a new idea:  dancers in trees.  Jordan Matter has one beautiful picture of a dancer leaning back on a long tree branch with her leg up in an attitude... it's very pretty, but I wanted to take it a step farther.  I want to find a way to photograph dancers dancing in the trees!  I had no idea how to make this happen until my photography date with my boyfriend (yeah, the one where my shoes got dirty).  He boosted me up into a huge oak tree... 

Richard looking at the tree..

When I got up, I found that in the center there was a dirt-covered, perfectly flat place to stand; it's about 1ft x 3ft... It's perfect for a dancer to jump! And the branches are big enough for a photographer to perch on.


A few days later a found another spot; this one is more of a "tree house."  It has 4 or 5 plywood platforms at varying heights—can anyone else see where I'm going with this?? Multiple dancers!  The wood isn't sturdy, so no jumping, but there is still potential for epic posing. 


Now I guess I just need to find some willing dancers!  Good thing most of my friends are ballerinas and swing dancers! 

Celery

Blogging from A to Z Challenge Day 3:  "C" 

I'm really tired... so this one might be lame and short.  (You have been warned.)

I have one food that I very decidedly dislike—celery.  Some times I wish I could like celery.. and then I remember what it tastes like, and I'm become content again with the fact that not liking it, means not having to taste it.  It's one of those foods that you really should try to like.  It takes more calories to eat celery than there are calories in celery!   I've tried to like it... with buffalo wings, with veggie wraps, with peanut butter and raisins, in soup, in tuna and chicken salad, but alas, I still don't like it.  Anyone know any ways to make celery taste like something other than celery??  

"My Shoes are Dirty Because I Have a Boyfriend!"

Blogging from A to Z Challenge Day 2:  "B"  (Woops... This one's a day late.)  

"My Shoes are Dirty Because I Have a Boyfriend!"  I said to my friend Brittney.  I had to share the news somehow, and in that moment that seemed like the best way to announce it—saying, "Guess what! I have a boyfriend!" is fun, but I prefer to mix it up.. 

The gent's name is Richard.  On the aforementioned day my shoes really were dirty, and it was partially due to him.  I'm a photography dork and a child at heart, so earlier we wandered to the Virginia Tech Duck Pond to feed the ducks and play with my camera.   He lured them closer to my lens, and I chased them away with my clicking... and then we repeated.  It was good fun; though, I must admit very few of my pictures turned out well... And my absolutely adorable TOMS were smeared with mud.  It was worth it.  Richard won points when he boosted me and my camera up into an EPIC tree and then followed!  He even let me take pictures of him!   If the ability to go on a photo adventure with me was really a test, he definitely passed it.  (For the record: there are no tests or point systems actually being given!)  My shoes are still a mess, and he is still awesome.  

We've been going to the same church for years and never met till this past summer.  My first memory of him was at swing dancing.  Our dear friend Kristen made a habit in my earlier days of dancing to find me partners.  I had just finished dancing with someone and walked up to her to chat.  She grabs my hand, and the next thing I know she's placing it in the hand of some stranger.  He seemed as shocked as I did.  I introduced myself, to which he responded:  "I know, you're on the dance team at my church."  He began to question me about what swing moves I knew.  I told him I didn't know what I knew, but that I just knew I could follow.  His response: "Good, then I just try all of the hard moves, and we'll see what happens."  It was so much fun!  He instantly became one of my favorite dance partners.  

My first day at my new job we had our first "date."   He made me peanut butter, pickle, and mayo sandwiches and brought them to my office. (I swear they are actually really good when made the correct way!!)  We've been hanging out now since the end of January.  I'm kinda-really a fan of this guy!  I'm sure there will be more tales to come.. stay tuned!  (Pictures and all that other cute stuff to come eventually...)

Angry Bird

 (Blogging from A to Z Challenge Day 1:  "A")

I apologize to those of you thinking this post would be about the video game, Angry Birds. And I wish I could say this was a funny post about the antics of a grumpy bird..  Alas, today it was me, and not the birds, that was angry.  

History:  I used to rarely get angry.  (I still rarely get angry.)  As a kid I just didn't a knowledge anger as a legitimate emotional response—which by the way isn't actually a good thing.  I did not like what I called "negative emotions," meaning any emotions that were associated with bad things. I liked to be happy and preferred to process the negatives of life privately or not at all.  If by some chance I actually did experience anger, I very rarely expressed it.  I used to always hear people say that if you shut up your emotions, eventually they will explode.  I used to always wonder when I would explode... I thought for sure one day I would snap.  

I can still remember one of the first times I got angry and let it out.  I was mad at my friend John (a paramedic) for not letting me walk on a badly sprained ankle.  It was a pride/independence issue... He was right, and I knew it.  But I was mad; I didn't like his solution, which was carrying me everywhere.  He scolded me.  I sat down, steamed, and started spewing.  My friends had never seen me angry before.  They started laughing.  When I realized what was happening, I'm pretty sure I started laughing too... Though I still hate being angry I usually laugh about it afterwards. 


Today:  Today I got angry.  It surprised me... I got angry while I was teaching.  I'm not used to having to disable anger, while being unable to walk away from the situation, while also having to express myself in front of people.  I got angry and all eyes were on me—eyes of kids I love and adore.  The last thing I wanted was to lash out, to communicate anything but love to them.  It was just me and Jesus standing there in front of them, and I'll admit I couldn't really locate Jesus in that moment; I sure hope they could see Him.  I hope He was standing in front of me... 

I was frazzled and frustrated.  It took a long time to diffuse, and the anger oozed into every situation.  I couldn't see my other relationships in love.  I was fearful and agitated.  I couldn't rest.  I couldn't find Jesus.  I came home and started spilling my woes to my awesome roommate and her fiance.  They listened and then sent me to my room to pray.  I got upstairs and knew what needed to be done—it was time to start repenting and forgiving.  I had a little come-to-Jesus meeting on my bed... That being done I felt a lot better, and the day began to look up again.


I can't remember the address, and I'm choosing to be lazy and not look it up, but... I remember reading once about Jesus getting angry with the Pharisees.  His first action was to heal someone in the crowd. I want to walk in such a way that when my authority as a teacher is being challenged I can respond by healing someone in the class.  I want my mouth to be full of grace and mercy and for my discipline to be laced with love and instruction.  I don't want to be angry, but if I am I want my first action to be healing.

 

Cussing, Cursing, & Four-letter Words: Potty Mouth Ponderings (No potty mouth words were used in the making of this post!)

It all started with a conversation:  A friend and I were chatting about an interaction we had with another friend recently.  The line of conversation went immediately from, "Was he/she cussing?" to, "Is he/she a Christian?" 

I've never been a fan of cussing.  I never really did it.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I could count on one hand the number of times I've ever cussed... One, two, three, four... yep (five, if you count that Shakespeare paper about Hamlet).  One hand, and there are stories to go with each of those.  (Number 1 for instance:  Kindergarten.  I came home from school and taught my Dad the word I learned in the bathroom at school.  My family still laughs about the "chalkboard incident.")  

Several of my Jesus-friends do it—which I don't particualrly like.  Several of my other Jesus-friends use not doing it as a standard/evidence of being Christian—which I don't agree with.   As a whole, the American church frowns upon cussing, cursing, and using four-letter words, but why?  Why do people do it, and why is it bad?  Why do I object to those words?

Often when it comes to language usage, culture is the one setting the standard of what is crude… But there are so many different sub-cultures with all of their own opinions (even within a single church conregation, there are sub-cultures).  (Luckily, I've yet to find a culture that shuns me for limiting my vocabulary.. Am I better safe than sorry?)  Examples: In South Africa, saying “crap” is the cultural equivalent dropping the f-bomb in America; whereas, here it’s synonymous for “poop” or “darn.”  In my house, as a kid, saying “that sucks” was grounds for major punishment (and not because we were complaining).  What makes curse words worse than their less-offensive synonymous counterparts? 

The only rule-like scripture (and I forget it's address) that comes to mind is, “let no foul or unwholesome word come out of your mouth.”   What makes a word rank or unhealthfy?  If "out of the fullness of the heart, the mouth speaks," is it that which is in our heart what defiles a word?   Are the words an indicator of what fills our hearts, or are our hearts deciding what fills the words? Or both?  If "the power of life and death is in the tongue,"  then what kind of power is found in a potty mouth tongue?  What kind of power is found in the tongue spouting out lesser, culturally-accepted, but still crude words?    

How do I judge and sort out words?  What is the fruit of a word?  How do I determine the spirit and the soul and the flesh behind a word?   The word of God is like a double edged sword discerning between sould and spirit... How do I judge words with words?  In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God... Words. 

I want words laced with life...





And now for your listening amusement, a song my older brother used to sing to me:  (The singing doesn't happen till about 3min in..)

No, of course I'm not considering applying for a summer job on a dude ranch...

No, of course I'm not considering applying for a summer job on a dude ranch... Well, actually that's not true.

I got the idea several years ago from one of my sorority sisters. (Yes, I was in a sorority... but that's a story for another day!)  She worked as a summer rangler on a dude ranch--a retreat center of sorts.  She taught riding, played with kids, led trail rides, and cared for horses.  Sounds great, right?  I've wanted to do the horse thing out West for years, but I never felt like I was supposed to move long-term, and before now, my schedule never allowed it.  In late May I move out of my current apartment and have no idea where I'm going, and currently I have no job commitment for June-September... This could actually work!

I've found a several beautiful ranches.  And I'm kind of starting to fall in love with one... it's a Jesus ranch. (Have you ever heard me talk about how much I love mixing Horses and Ministry??   ...Probably not, but feel free to ask me about it!)  Honestly, one of my biggest concerns about working on a ranch was the faith aspect.  I've worked with camp staff that didn't love Jesus; it's a hard environment.  And then there is no guarantee that I would be able to attend a church/ interact with other Jesus-people.  I don't actually know what that would be like for a whole summer; maybe it's something I should just get over and do, but then again, maybe it's wisdom.  But this place!!  They want ranglers that deal Jesus.  I really like this idea...

PS:  They got major points from me on the application.. They require summer staff to sign a form saying they won't date other staffers while working on the ranch!  Maybe it's weird, but I like the idea of not having to deal with romantic pursuits while chasing my romantic wild west Jesus dream! 

I think I could deal with a view like that.

But there are just two problems... 1- Being a grown up.  When I get back (that is if I go),  I have to be sufficiently employed.  Meaning I have to have a grown-up job here in Virginia.  Job hunting 3 months in advance could be difficult, so could job hunting from the other side of the country.  2- I have to submit the application by Sunday!  Via snail mail... which means ASAP!

<3

I miss flying.

My head is throbbing as I sit here at my computer... maybe I've been on Facebook for too long, maybe I'm holding down emotions, maybe both.  But I miss it.  I miss riding.  I don't think I even care about the competitions anymore... I have more ribbons than I could ever dream of counting, and certainly more than I care to display.  I don't really want to be the best rider.  I don't think I even care about taking lessons and improving.  I just want to ride. 

Have you ever really ridden a horse?  Not just a pony ride or a guided trail?  Have you ever sat atop a 17H warmblood as it thunders over earth?  Do you know the moment, the question, when it waits on your permission to explode?  Have you ever felt a horse explode?   Have you ever flown?  ...then it's only you, the horse, the wind, and God.  Everything goes to silence; it seems like the world stops turning on its axis.  Just me, the horse, the wind, and God.  I miss the dance.  I miss the strength and power and grace.  I miss flying.  I think it's infused into my bones.  When I see a horse and rider going, my muscles still quiver with excitement and they start to talk.  A million movements at once--hold, turn, rotate, look, sit, rise, lean, tickle, pull, nudge, follow, squeeze, release--the dance.  I miss the take off--the moment where the horse has to decide to trust me and I have to trust him too...  Never a question of will we make it, but rather will we try?  Will we try to fly; will my steed be trusty and so shall I?  Will we simultaneously decide to leave the earth and head towards sky? After learning to fly, it's no wonder being grounded is a punishment..  Sometimes flat work felt like punishment, but right now I'm pretty sure it'd be so good  I'd cry.  I can still feel the movements beneath me; I haven't ridden since July.  The rock of the walk.  The sweep of the trot.  The canter.. the indescribable way we float.  I miss the smell of horse.  I miss the smell of hot leather in my car.  I miss the way the dirt settles on top of my hands while I'm grooming for a ride.  The creaking of leather as I mount and settle in.. shifting my weight from side-to-side, testing to see if the girth is tight enough. ...

I miss flying. And I don't really know how to begin again. Trust, trust, trust, trust... hope.