Seven years later, I remember

I remember the glittering snow that frigid April morning in Blacksburg.  I remember that half of my Ag. Econ class was missing. I remember the deaf girl delivering the news to us that there had been a shooting in the dorm; it always hit me as odd that the most informed person in the class of 200 couldn't hear. I remember seeing an ambulance rush past as I left class. I remember the fear that spread through the seventh floor of Slusher Hall when we heard there might be more shooters hiding in the dormitories. I remember eating ramen with my roommate, Liz. I remember the numbness and the news. We stayed in the dorm all day. I remember watching from across the drillfield as they carried the bodies out to the ambulances. I remember seeing the same things again on the television. I remember when the lockdown ended. I remember that the doors never unlocked again on campus. I remember going to the BCM that night. I remember wanting to be hugged. I remember Sarah running from person to person asking if anyone had heard from Brian. I remember the camera men who allowed her no space to grieve when she finally broke down. I hated them--the media.

I remember waking up the next morning to the list of names being read. The television was so loud beneath my loft bed. I remember locking myself in the bathroom stall to cry.  I remember standing in line to hear President Bush speak. As I left, I remember feeling lost in the swarm of broken Hokies. I remember Jamie finding me in the crowd to ask if I was okay--it was like I was drowning and someone had tossed me a life raft while I was pretending I knew how to swim.

I remember not wanting to leave campus. There was no need for words on campus; everyone already knew. On Wednesday, I remember Trip and Ashley driving our bible study out to the middle of a corn field to just be--it was so peaceful there. Out under the stars, I remember breathing. I remember the candle light vigil on Thursday. No one knew what to do. We gathered there with our black ribbons and flickering candles, but we didn't know why we were there. We just knew we needed to be together. I remember them singing Amazing Grace. We were so lost that night, but we wanted desperately to be found. I remember as the cheer broke out. "Let's go!" Then on the other side of the drillfield, "Hokies!" It continued on for a few minutes. I still can't hear that cheer without choking up just a bit. I remember a rescue vehicle rushing around the field with its lights and siren blasting.  I remember my whole body freezing--sirens, was it happening again? I remember wanting to be hugged.

I remember going back to classes. I remember an English professor as he openly cried in class, asking us if we were okay. I remember Dr. Ellerbrock, my Ag. Econ professor, blessing our entire class with holy water. I remember him telling us, "In my church we bless that which is precious to us. You are precious to me. May I bless you?" All 200 of us stood there in silence as he walked the auditorium. This sacred water--and his blessings--hit our faces and mingled with our tears.

I remember the summer that followed. I remember praying, and I remember God. I remember God stirring a desperation for revival on campus--we needed to be revived. Our hearts needed resurrection. I knew God had a plan to work this terrible evil for good. I came back in the fall with a passion for loving and knowing people. I didn't want to miss knowing anyone.

I remember the one year anniversary. Again we gathered on the drillfield, but this time we did it to celebrate the lives lived and the lives we are living. The drillfield was full of students grateful to be alive and together.

I remember talking with my sister as I began to forgive the media for intruding on such a fragile moment.

I remember going inside of Norris a few years later. I got a migraine almost instantly. I remember the tightness in my throat as I held back tears. I barely breathed. I remember being on edge the whole time.

I remember going to pray on campus with the Dwelling Place interns. We separated into groups and started off.  It was me and several guys. We walked and prayed. Eventually we stopped outside of Norris Hall to pray. The flashbacks started. I could see the bodies being carried out of the building. I wanted to be hugged. I kept praying. Then I felt unsafe, like at any moment someone was going to turn the corner to attack us. We moved on to the memorial. As we stopped to pray again a rescue vehicle rushed around the field with its lights and siren blasting. I lost it. I remember my intern brothers surrounding me like a tight, protective shield. As I wept (rather loudly), they prayed. It was like Jesus himself had come down to the drillfield; I finally felt safe.  We gathered with the rest of the group. The prayer continued. One of the intern leaders prayed for the flashbacks to stop happening. I haven't had I flashback since. It's nice to not have to remember now.


Seven years later, I still honor the lives of those who we lost. I pray for their families and friends. I'm thankful for the professors and administrators who loved us so much. I'm thankful for my "Hokie Hug"--a blanket sent by a church... somewhere. They made maroon and orange fleece knot-blankets and asked their children to hug them for us. I'm thankful for prayers and hugs. I'm thankful for the many people at Virginia Tech who changed my life. I remember the Hokies spread all around the world who still need healing. Seven years later, I remember that God is good and that He who began healing Virginia Tech will be faithful to complete that healing until the end.

Hug a Hokie today.

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.

Self Portrait.

So this is what happens when I get bored...I have to admit, It was kind of a fun challenge.  I haven't drawn a self portrait since middle school.  I found a photo of myself, opened Paint on my computer, and started drawing.  Maybe next time I get bored, I'll actually pick up a pencil and paper...

The Bucket List: 25 Things I Want to Do!

I was chatting with a dear friend the other day about "bucket lists."  She got me thinking. What "things" do I really want to do in this life, aside from the obvious?  So I decided to give it some thought.  I'm sure it will grow and change over time, and yes I know some of these are pretty simple.  (Laura if you read this, I want to hear yours too!)  Here goes..


1- Go horseback riding on the beach. 
2- Go swimming on horseback.
3- Write a novel.
4- See the northern lights.
5- Swim with a whale (though I'd prefer to ride the whale).
6- Learn to surf.  (I think I've almost gotten over that fear of sharks and jellyfish!)
7- Tour the Paris Opera House.
8- Dance in Nalulau, Zambia again.
9- Learn to play the cello.
10- Sit on a stage surrounded by a full orchestra while they are playing. (I stole this one from Momma.)
11- This one is really silly, but here goes... Go on a carriage ride through the city; it can be almost any city.. (I've wanted to go on one since I was a little girl, and never have.)
12- Road trip across the USA.
13- Watch a meteor shower.  (Believe it or not, I've never seen one.)
14- Visit Sequoia National Park.
15- Ride an elephant in Asia (riding one in an American zoo just can't be the same).
16- Explore a castle!
17- See the Phantom of the Opera live on Broadway.
18- Cuddle a tiger or lion!
19- Learn to ballroom dance. 
20- Ride an Olympic-quality horse.
21- Travel to Alaska.
22- Travel to India.
23- Dance at random international landmarks.
24- Ride in a dump-truck with a snow-plow blade in the snow. 
25- Travel the world with a friend and a camera.

Look Into Their Eyes

"When I look into their eyes, I see all the beauty of God's dreams."  ...A phrase that has resonated within me since playing with the Zambian kids in the soccer "field."  One evening Karen (my roommate) and I walked up to the soccer field (a large, flat, sandy area cut out of a hill) to take pictures of the sunset over the flood plain. 

(Sunset over the flood plain..  <3 Africa)

A few of the children from the orphan school came up with us, some of the boys from the village were playing on the hillside, and one little boy was grazing his goats.. The children know how to be loved.  Before I knew what was happening, my arms were full of tiny African children!  We played.  Karen and I took pictures.  But while we were up there, I remember watching the children and being overwhelmed as I looked into their eyes.  When I looked into their eyes, I saw all the beauty of God's dreams.  (I mentioned this in my last post.)  I saw destiny deep within those big brown eyes.  I got lost in the dreams and plans of God! 

About a year ago I was interning at my church in Christiansburg.  Roughly twice a month the interns would travel to different affiliated church plants.  We would leave early in the morning to get to the plat before the service started, help with odd jobs around the church, and then  leave after the service was over.  I remember one morning, before leaving, one of the "prophetic guys" prayed for us and encouraged us to look people in the eyes that day--to not shy away from really looking at them.  And off we went, over the river and through the woods...

That morning there was little to do, so I sat in on the service.  The church was small--maybe 15 people, and they  had the seats arranged in a large circle.  I couldn't help but look at everyone.  As we worshiped, it was awkward--it was intimate.  As the pastor spoke to us, God began to speak to me.  I remembered the challenge: "Don't be afraid to really look them in the eyes.  Something is gonna happen when you do."  In those moments, God talked and I listened.  He said a lot.  I talked to one of the leaders, at the end of church I was handed a microphone and walked around the room telling each person what I heard God say for them.  As I spoke I looked them in the eyes... Their hearts unfolded like flowers before me.  As I looked into their eyes, I saw them looking into the eyes of the Father and felt the Father looking back into them.  It was intimate.  It was humbling.  The word of God awakened hearts, and it all started with looking them in the eyes. 

Today in church I looked around the sanctuary, and I remembered my "African babies;" I remembered the beauty of God's dreams for them.  But then as I looked from person to person, in the crowd of 300+ people, I saw all the beauty of God's dreams for the people immediately before me.  As I looked at each face, I felt the endless possibilities for destiny; I sensed the works of redemption to be done; I knew that there was an unlimited supply of hope.  And it struck me, why don't I see this every time I look at someone?  What was different about the children in Zambia?  Why do I not always see it?  Is it that I just forget to look?

I felt God whisper... "In Zambia you looked because you needed to look;You needed My heart to help you stand amidst the attacks of hopelessness.  At the church plant, you were reminded to look and challenged to not shy away from loving.  Today you chose to love and then asked to see."

What would it be like if I lived life looking at hearts instead of faces?  Would it be too much?  Could I really handle being constantly aware of what God is doing in everyone around me?  Could I handle that much love?  When I really look into their eyes, it's not about me anymore.  When I truly see as He does, how can I not respond? 

In My Heart There is Zambia...

I had several dreams last night.  In one I dreamed that Felix (one of the Zambian interpreters from Hope Church) came to visit my church in America.  He was talking with several of my friends at the front of the sanctuary.  I walked up to say hello and was greeted with all of the usual "Mbuya" warmth.  I miss Zambia.  In another dream I went to Zambia (but it looked like the backyard of the house where I grew up).  When I realized that I was in Zambia, I fell to the ground weeping and buried my face in the grass because... I miss Zambia.  

A few weeks ago the Pastor at my church, Ron, showed the dance team a slide show of the orphan school in Zambia.  Ron took me to Zambia a year and a half ago; he took me to Zambia again that night.  I recognized several children and some adults.  I couldn't help but cry... because I love Zambia. 

When I was in Greece this spring, all I could talk about was Zambia... because in my heart is Zambia! "For the mouth speaks out of that which fills the heart." (Matt. 12:34). 

The people are beautiful.  The children, dirty, hungry, and sometimes sick, are beautiful.  I remember the little boy that smelled of urine who fell asleep in my lap, during the soccer tournament.  He slept for nearly an hour--probably the safest, and most comfortable sleep he'd had in a long time.  The older boys kept trying to wake him.  I remember that I smelled of urine too after he got up.  It was so worth it.   The little girls had a field day with my long golden locks of hair, little girls who had no hair to speak of.  When they got done, my hair was knotted and dirty.  I think they are still my favorite hair stylists.  I remember the girls of Nalulau taking me swimming!  I remember having to press past the shock of everyone else running around naked... I remember the women teasing me for days.  I want to go back there.  Swimming with them was an honor. 

I remember expecting to face hopelessness in Zambia.  I remember what I saw in Zambia... When I looked into their eyes, I saw all the beauty of God's dreams for them.  I saw destiny in the eyes of the boy who probably wouldn't live to be an adult.  I saw beautiful plans, plans to prosper and not to harm, plans for freedom, in the eyes of the girl who was abused.  I could only see what God has for them, the dreams that He dreamed before the world began, the hope that He still has.  I saw the beauty in the ashen sand. 

"Dear God, When will it be time to go back?  Love, Me."

Sunday's are always the best days for painting...

"The Birdcage" (Left) is almost done.  It probably needs a bird somewhere... or some verses. I'm trying to resist the urge to paint brown leaves all over it... I love Fall too much.  It's trying to creep into my art!

"Fire Breather" (Above) is finished!  I decided to let the profiles be two different profiles... it supports the concept of one being me and the other the Holy Spirit.  I wasn't able to work a bird or butterflies into the flames.. oh well.

Here's a new one (Right)!  The name doesn't fit yet, but I plan to call it "A Crack in the Wall."  In theory this is just the bottom layer of the painting.  It will get leaves, words, and maybe pictures... then I'm covering it partially with an image of cracking stone.  ...the cracking walls of Jericho around the family tree.  God has been speaking to me a lot about my family--past, present, and future--and how this generation is forming a crack in the wall which has blocked destinies for generations.  I'm not sure how it's gonna work, but I'm psyched!

 

"Baptism" (Left).  Still in the early stages... It kinda looks like a whale. It will be water-like eventually... The idea came from the following quote: "The freedom of it, to be tossed effortlessly into the air, practically a sacrament to kids whose own fathers could barely hold themselves up sometimes; to hear the whoosh of the water as it covered their heads, to feel that moment of confusion when the rules of the world were suddenly undone. No wonder they'd been baptized in it: the way that water changes lives." (Vows, 67)

Button Bling!

I stumbled upon the Amy Cornwell Designs blog recently, and I found this post:  DIY Wrap Button Ring (i.e. Tuesday Tutorial on Wednesday!!).  I love crafty things... so I decided to try it out!  I bought dark brown wire and wooden buttons.  (The wire cost roughly $3, and the buttons were $1.)  Here's what I came up with!

Ponies and Pictures!

Miracle of Miracles... I forgot the date!

"Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles... like he did so long ago, at Jericho, God just made a wall fall down!" (Fiddler on the Roof).

I have an odd knack for remembering details... like dates, days of the week, conversations, interactions, etc.  Sadly, this didn't really benefit me in History or Science courses...  But for varying moments in my life, I can list off absurd amounts of detail.  Sometimes these are good details, and other times the memories aren't so pleasant.  And for a few dates, I see them coming a long way off, feel them while they are here, and wave, with a sigh of relief, as they leave.  

One such date was June 19th.  June 19, 2005 was a very bad day.  In the past few years, God has done a lot of healing in my heart in regards to the events of that day.   As I received more healing, I began to increasingly forget to remember.  Now, it's not a big deal.  I remember the events of that day with something better than a mere passing thought; I remember it with redemption!  (Does redemption feel like broken wings?  No.  It soars and flies, and then it sings!)

All that being said, recently I forgot another big date!  

I've been wondering what this September 23rd would be like for quite a while.   As usual I anticipated it's coming... and on that date, I remembered it only when mentioned that night at a local Bluegrass show.  As I heard the date announced, I chuckled to myself... I'd almost forgotten!  I was so proud for just a moment, and then I went on with my flat-footing fun!   You see, I was anticipating the three-year and four-year "anniversaries" of my only two breakups, neither of which was remotely pleasant.  Can we say victory??  Yes we can!  

Tonight after a long, happy day, I sat at my kitchen table, eating cookie dough and drinking milk (just cause I can), chatting with my roommate, Karen.  Seemingly out of no where I burst into laughter!  God corrected my memory calender.  "Karen!"  I exclaimed, "I forgot the date!!"  As I sit there giggling, a song from Fiddler on the Roof starts playing through my head... "wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles.."  I thought I'd forgotten the date, but I REALLY forgot the date!  Those breakups happened on September 21st of 2007 and 2008... not the 23rd.  I totally forgot the date.  And, what's more, September 21st was one of the best days I've had all month, in a month God told me would be filled with redemption!  Miracle of miracles... I forgot the date and focused on better things!!  Like Jesus!  And what He is doing in my life now!!  Miracle of miracles, I'm free to forget!  I think another part of Jericho just fell down... 

Painting is good for my heart...

"Psalm 1:3"

"Fire Breather"

"The Bird Cage" (Cages aren't ideal, and idols are cagey kings.)

"Dancing Shoes"

The last three are unfinished... "Fire Breather" needs a face, "The Bird Cage" needs paint, and "Dancing Shoes" isn't sufficiently messy just yet... and I've got another painting rolling around in my brain... baptism. 

"it soars and flies, and then it sings."

I started this poem in late May; I'm still not sure it's finished. It's happened as a response to some.. stuff. I was in a nasty funk, sulking in my room.  I didn't know how to get out of the mood, which plunged me into a worse mood.  I grabbed my sketchbook and instead of drawing, I started writing.  I found that as I allowed the rhythm of the words to come out I began to break free.  As the poem changed, God changed my heart with it. 

Stormy skies.  A scattered heart.

I still struggle through this last part.

The hatred gone, but an ache remains.

Are shakings merely growing pains?

I’ve said goodbye a thousand times

And written out much more in lines.

I despise the longings and the whist,

My mind poisoned by what is missed.

Like mist, like fog, like vapor—gone.

Just trust. Remember why ‘twas wrong.

Then why, my heart, do you mourn?

And why this sense of being torn?

Does redemption feel like broken wings?

No, it soars and flies, and then it sings.

So sing, little heart.  Now, sing a song;

Sing out loud and clear and strong. 

Bring life into this bending reed—

Not strife, not fear, nor spiteful deed.

When healing comes, walls shall melt,

And then with truth I’ll be rebuilt.

Not like a tower strong, an island rock,

But as a raindrop or garden without lock.

Freedom feels like a small child’s song—

Like love, like peace, like nothing’s wrong. 

Confessions of a Former Military-girlfriend

So many letters, so many emails, colossal phone bills, and an obsessive presence on instant messenger… We dated for two years and ten months.  In total, he was gone for a year and six months.  He was in Iraq for seven months; I was eighteen when he left. I was so young.  I didn’t even know how to begin to wrap my mind around his job.  I didn’t try to.   I supported him; I had to.  I never wanted him to go into the military. 

For reasons unrelated to his military career, we broke up roughly a year after he returned from his deployment. I still loved the Marines; I’d grown fond of their shenanigans, as well as their odd militant ways.  But I was free of the questions looming over head and lurking in the shadows of my mind.  I didn’t have to fight to ignore them—they were gone from my life.  And life moved on.  I packed up my USMC hoodie and hid the letters in the basement.  I threw away the addresses to all the various military bases and untagged a bunch of pictures.  We still chat from time to time; we’re still friends, but life really has moved on. 

Over the past few years I noticed a resentment stirring within me towards American pride and patriotism.  I’ve cringed at the sight of “support our troops” written out on signs, pasted to cars, and at the sound of it echoed in churches.  I hated the patriotic songs—“blind patriotism” I called it.  Blind to what?  Even I didn't  know.. I hated my country.  And I grew more apathetic than ever towards my government.  I didn’t know why. 

Recently I crossed paths with a military gent' who believes God called him into the military.  When he spoke about it, I believed him, but I couldn’t grasp why and lacked the gumption to ask.  Days later, those ghostly questions, unanswered, arose again…  Only this time I let them come.  I felt them, turned them over in my hand again and again and again.  This time I wasn't afraid of what the answers might be.  I wasn't afraid to grapple with them until they told me their names.  I had nothing to loose this time and only answers to gain. 

While I cleaned stalls at work, the battle raged within my heart.  I needed to know the truth.  I could feel the answers, knew they were real, but couldn't discern their shape.  I believed him; I could not deny the conviction with which he carried himself.  But I couldn't comprehend my God calling him to that.  How could war be acceptable when it ruins even the victors' lives?  The guilt and shame, only seen in the vulnerable moments when love takes down the wall.  How could it be God?  I’ve seen what it does to them.  I’ve seen a man red-eyed and scared. I’ve seen him twitching in his sleep as the haunting dreams come.  I’ve seen him broken, seemingly beyond repair.  All for what, and why? Why call it good and godly when it ruins men’s lives?  Why would God commission one of his sons to a life of death—a life of killing to not be killed and dying within himself every time he kills? 

I had to have answers this time, and I had to have them from the source of truth.  “God, why would You call one of Your sons to a life of death?”   As I asked the question, He echoed it back.  Why would I send my son to die?  Do you really not understand that?  Immediately I understood.  More words reverberated through me... the first Adam, the second Adam, now a third. Dying for the bride, trusting in the resurrection. Greater love has no man than he who would lay down his life for his friend.

I didn't know how to respond.  My paradigm had just been shaken.  As I stood there silently in the barn, He continued to speak.   How could you not understand?  You’ve seen what it does to them.  You’ve seen a man red-eyed and scared. You’ve seen him twitching in his sleep as the haunting dreams come.  You’ve seen him broken, seemingly beyond repair.  I understand now; compassion overwhelms me.  I understand a Son willing to sacrifice Himself for the lost and broken, trusting His Father to heal every wound inflicted in the process.

I understand the commission and the response.

I am moved.

It was my world for three years, and I never understood it until now.