Sick. Again.

My life is like a teeter totter and I wish it weren't.

I can't swallow much. Here we go again.

I wish I could be optimistic and cheerful and bright all the time. But sometimes I just don't feel strong enough. I can tell myself that, "I can do anything through Christ who strengthens me". But sometimes they are just words and I can't hold onto them or believe them and there is this gap between my heart and mind and they don't always want to agree.

I hope I just have a fever and am delusional.

Future

First, let start out with this: God has been so Good to me lately. So good. And that is love. And I feel it right now...in this second. That revelation that God is good to me and that is love.

Moving on....

I have so much admiration and respect for people who see God calling them places and they just drop everything and work toward that goal.
I need to be more like these people and not over analyse.
I need to have less of a "my plan".
Ugh.
I had this lovely fellow, Nick, pray over me tonight and say many things.

Don't sway.
The Lord is immeasurably proud.
Sunflower blooming...life beginning.
A spiritual sense of smell.
Powerful voice to be raised.
Art....
Artsy fartsy school...scultpure, clay.
Pottery. Bowls--
many different sizes, shapes of spiritual senses.
Cafe. Sheep--people gathering there.
A light switch, the future being clear.

I don't know for certain what all this means
but this fellow didn't know me at all.
And yet he knew my heart completely.


I have a plan and this isn't part of it. Not realistically.
In my heart it is the forerunner. Something I truly used to get excited about before I shot it down and couldn't find a way to do it. I still don't know if I can. I know I can if it is really of His will. And even if it's not...if I later recognize this he can use it for good. But I don't want to be irrational. I don't know where I'm going or what I'm studying.
Kevin said many many months ago that college would be last minute.
Why did God have to be right?
Where am I going with my life?

I Don't Blog Anymore

EDIT: I have a question for all y'all...the little banner thing at the top of the page, how do you change that? I did it once but I can't remember how to do it again......much appreciation oh wise ones.


And it's not because things aren't happening...maybe it's because things are happening.
Today I feel like making a list.

• I get burnt out on sewing and being productive
• I am learning that I don't know what true love is, nor what true love in regards to the Lord means. What does it mean to feel loved? To know I am loved? To be able to accept that love and return it to the best of my ability? I am bad at being loved and loving. This has to come to an end. (A good end, I might add)
• I need to be open about my past and apply it to my future as testimony and ministry. However, in the act of opening the blind for outsiders to see in my little window...I in turn will have to close and lock the door on my past--never to re-enter. I can't go back to it if everyone knows of it. The thrill (which is a horrible word, I just can't find another one right now) will be lost. However, this will be fantastic closure and the world will be at my fingertips.
• I made my first scrapbookish painting/collage thing that I actually enjoy...it's not glued down yet because I lost a green ribbon. I think it got caught up in a pile of laundry and is now tumbling in the drier. I hope it doesn't shrink...it was the perfect length for the page. Shoot.
• My eyes are green and I was told that through them shines a ministry I can't see but others can. That was an encouraging word.
• I need to loosen up and let the laughter flow.
• Yet sorrow is better than laughter...and this confuses me. Eccl. 7 I believe.
• My future. Needs to be more open and I have an inkling, almost a fearful one, that the foundation lies in my past. But I am struggling to be sincere.
• I might take voice lessons, but I am incredibly scared and embarrassed.
• I just sneezed and strained a muscle in my back.
• I need to "ruminate" in (on?) the Word.
• I have a lovely bedroom with wall art now.
• I keep procrastinating at things and this is avoidance and this avoidance is the manifest of mistrust.
• I need to be more like a tree man. Harold Eberle is a wise guy. And he supports the point I've been subconsciously living by for years. Be like trees. Sit, recieve from the heavens--light, rain, dry spells and give to the people shade, a place to rest, and beautiful colors. Amen brother Harold. Amen.
• This is the end of my list for now...

Easter, Yoga Bags

Quick up date, lots of pictures!

Easter was fun...we spent Saturday night filling up water balloons for the kids (Quinn, Nolan, Gavin, Chandler, Cameron, & Connor)--and adults. My fingers are raw and still slightly blistered from tying--between Marion, Chandler, and I--over 600 water balloons!

Sunday we all came home from church, put bathing suits on over our shorts and tank tops and blasted each other with balloons. My arm still hurts from throwing so many. I woke up the next morning with a kink between my right shoulder blade and everything! hah

The water balloons were gone in about 10 minutes between all of us pelting eachother...but it was fun and worth it and a great new tradition.

I only had one week of spring break, unfortunately, because my school is on Grossmont College's schedule. So over this time I was able to perfect my yoga mat bag design and have sold the blue bag.

The red/pink/off white bag still needs an owner!

That's about all for now (: Hope everyone's Easter was fantastic...

The Inspiration Behind the Shirt

1st shirt back view
Originally uploaded by courtneeyday

I sewed my first shirt on, I guess, March 9, because that's the day before I uploaded the photo you can see here. My aunt unknowingly inspired me to sew. When I really started sewing she sent me fabric through the mail.

Aunt
03.13.08

A brown package from Washington,
where you live these days,
full of color on the inside—
All kinds and textures of fabrics
and an old table cloth with painted
red, blue, yellow, green flowers
and brown swirls.
This was my favorite. It made me think
of you.

I wish I knew you more, my mother’s
sister whom her friends don’t think exist.
The elusive, whimsical, fleeting aunt
with crazy curly bleached blonde hair and red
lipstick and white flowing shirts contrasted by weathered
tan skin speckled with freckles.

She would tell me stories of you cutting
Up bed sheets late at night and creating things.
You were cold in the winter, but you had cute clothes.

I wish you hadn’t run away
To Cabo with your boyfriend—
Bob? Mike? Tom? I can’t remember which one
they all blur together now—
Leaving behind your kids,
your family,
eventually me…
your little niece who loved her auntie.

You came over to babysit me and my blonde
pigtails once.
You put Barbie dolls on the ceiling fan
And we watched them fly when you flipped the magic switch.

You were magical.
You could make things disappear, like
Grandma’s silver engraved coasters
when I closed my eyes.
And you could make a quarter come out of your belly button—
If it didn’t get stuck in your bra.

You could fly away and disappear and reappear
and disappear again, too.
You were magic
then.

I grew up and never told you how much
I really liked you and wanted to be like you
And look like you
And act like you
And talk to you and hug you and spend time with you.

When I was three we spent a lot
of time together in the car while my mom,
your sister, drove you to your
A.A. meetings.
You would let me hold your shiny special plastic coins
and I lost the red one, the last one, in the backseat of
the beat up gold Honda accord and we never found it
and we never took you again either.

I didn’t understand then, but I get it now.
You can’t teach me how to sew because most days
you can’t sew a straight line anymore.
So I learned from your sister, my mom,
And I use the fabric you send every once in a while.
But I could use you a lot more, you know.
To teach me magic tricks.

I made myself a shirt out of that old
Table cloth you gave me.
Someone asked me if it was for sale,
but I said no, maybe another one.
It’s imperfect and funky and it makes me
Think of you.

I grew up to be a lot like you,
Even without you.
Finding comfort in things we both love—
painting, sewing, beauty.
Things some people just don’t see or feel
or understand.
You know,
I could have understood you better than
that hard empty glass.

Aunt

1st shirt back view Originally uploaded by courtneeyday I sewed that shirt...my first one, out of an old table cloth my aunt mailed me from Washington years ago. She was kind of the one who unknowingly inspired me to sew. But that's not the point of this post.

Poetry Submission

It's Spring
Originally uploaded by courtneeyday

I'm taking a creative writing class and my pieces have to be workshopped. I was really uncomfortable with this at first but have yet to have a negative experience. Some people have actual constructive things to say while others just say "it was good". All in all I'm really liking this class.
However, the poetry submissions were today and I gave myself very little time to write my poems. I procrastinated...but not purposefully...I just didn't feel overly inspired to write this week. Or play music. Which is just a drag. I'm feeling the passion come back though, it's coming.
Anyway...I was nervous. I managed to crank out a fresh new poem (which I wasn't overly thrilled with nor did I know how it would be received...) and I expanded my song, "Paper Bag", which I retitled "Truth in Lies" for this project. I wasn't confident or comfortable with either, but oh well...it's not a "failing" class. As long as I submit something at all I will get a good grade. Actually the submissions aren't even "graded" per say...It's rad.
So I was sitting in class waiting to hear who was in my group. I was really hoping I didn't get this one guy in my group. He's kind of edgy and I'm intimidated by him. He went to my old high school and he'd always been kind of a "cool" kid who probably had deep thoughts and an intense writing style. He was in my group and I was sweating the whole time.
We all read through eachother's poems and his were the ones that took the most time to read and pick apart and they were good, a little cryptic, and I enjoyed them. And all the while I was thinking, wow, he must think my pieces are junk.
We started discussing them and we went over his pieces first and I unraveled it just how he intended, which was good to know, because it did take me a few minutes to figure out. I don't think anyone else in our group really understood it. I'm not sure he really understood what he wrote haha.
We finally got to my poems and he was the first to speak saying I was a great writer and that he just wanted to keep reading them over and over and I always intimidated him when I spoke up in class when we pick apart poetry because he feels like an idiot for not knowing anything in this class. Hah! I was worried over nothing. He is not who I thought he was and that's awesome. I think I do this a lot with people--previously steriotype them when I have no real need to worry about what they're thinking of me. I like this guy, it turns out. He's a nice fellow and down to earth. Well, of what I saw today.
I wonder what people think of me. Like he thinks I'm some literary genius because I speak up about what I think things mean in class and I point out details in people's writings I like and don't like...but that's just opinion based. I'm not educated in this (yet) so my thoughts on it hold very little. But here I had these preconceived notions about him and he doesn't even speak.
I wish I could get into people's heads sometimes.

Anyway, these are my poems, if you'd like to read them:

I Helped.

We sat on the itchy carpet here,
17 years ago in this same living
room now changed by age.
I helped you learn to breathe
every third stroke so you wouldn’t
hyperventilate.

Blow out, 1, 2
breathe in deep, 3.
Reach farther, pull deeper, pretend
you’re cutting through the water like a champion.

We sit here now, 8:30 at night,
but it’s a different we.
She looks just like you,
so small and fragile and full of
innocent life and she wants to learn
how to tumble and fly so I’m helping
her learn to land safely in my
arms.

I’ll spot you, trust me,
I’ll help you over the back bend.
You can do it.
Relax, have fun, pretend
You’re floating in the air.

You’re in the other room getting ahead,
filling out paper work cast in a shade of blue
from your computer screen.
You’re making calls to other people’s children all
grown up and in their business suits at
home at this hour still.
Maybe their mothers or fathers sat on their living
room carpets and taught them, too.

Reach farther, pull deeper, pretend
you’re cutting your way to the top
you’re cutting your way out of your
little childrens’ lives—the only ones who will ever accept
you just because you’re you.

I wish I would have taught you
how to
fly
instead.


Truth in Lies.

We’re all just a bunch
of wet,
brown,
paper bags,
trying to carry the weight
of the world.

We’re all just a bunch
of bright,
red,
bleeding hearts,
who cry out for sympathy
but “No thank you, we don’t need help”.

We’re all just a bunch
of writers,
cynics,
and criticizers,
who use words to judge and tear down,
using the pieces to build an altar to ourselves.


We’re all just a bunch
of eyes,
ears,
and minds,
that see, hear, believe anything we want them to
finding truth in our own lies.

What kind of life have we
been living?



P.S. I have been slightly obsessed this week with Patty Griffin (particularly Every Little Bit) and Natalie Merchant (particularly Wonder and Carnival). So great (:

P.P.S. Alexia Hunter will be my new apprentice for small group leadership and I am so stoked, God has blessed me with the perfect partner for this! It is going so well already, she's been leading worship for 3 weeks now and ah! it's great. Praise the Lord...she is well worth the wait!

Today was awesome!

It was a gorgeous day, again, and I was in a productive mood. I am really hoping tomorrow is the same! I woke up determined to start shaping and perfecting the new "piece" for my "collection" (bahhhaha): The Yoga Mat DayBag! It was a success, I stinking adore it! I don't usually get so excited about bags, but this one I totally dig...which is strange, because I don't even own a mat...I just use the ones provided at the gym. I will post more pictures of it later...but this is just my first try, so it's pretty rough and I'll probably try to sell this one for only $12 or $15 because it's definitely not the highest quality...but it still took fabric and a lot of time! Anyway, I'm really excited...my neighbor, who is all into business and things like that thinks I should create a webpage, which he could actually do for me, and sell them and my original DayBags through it. I haven't done this before because I don't know what kind of business license, if any, or patent or whatever for the name, etc....all the legal hoops I'd have to jump through...taxes. Yada yada. We'll see. If I actually did make the site and actually did start sewing basically full time again that'd mean I'd actually have to do it again! Which will be tricky....seeing as I am great at procrastinating while being in control of my own work hours. Ah well....it would, again, beat a real job. Perhaps this is my answer to prayer and I'm just not taking it.

Anyway, I got a great babysitting opportunity first thing this morning as well. Tonight I watched 6 crazy kids and two dogs and racked in the dough. I also took all my coins into the coin machine and was pleasantly surprised to recieve $50 in return! I was starting to stress out this week about this month's car payment and in one day it was completely covered! Praise God or what. He's pretty rad like that.

Anyway, I spent about 5 hours with these 6 kids tonight and had a blast. We played hide and go seek, sardines (which was better, because I knew where all of them were the whole time...I could help one kid hide, stuff the rest in the bathroom to wait for us, and then follow the 5 when they went searching for the kid's hiding place and I chuckled at their misdirection since I knew where whoever was it was hiding), we colored for hours, a few kids played guitar hero, I read books to Quinn and Nat, and we did tumbling and took pictures, and ate pizza and it was a great time!

I don't usually enjoy watching kids this much but it was fun tonight. I almost think it's because there was an ecclectic mix...when one of them was annoying me I could go check on the other ones and spend a few minutes with them haha.

Good day over all and hopefully this productive kick won't end tomorrow!

6 (03.07.08) : Water balloons

6 (03.07.08) : Water balloons
Originally uploaded by courtneeyday

Today was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining and the air was just the right amount of crisp and warmth. The clouds painted the sky lightly here and there but other than that it was blue as ever and the flowers were all bloomed and the grass and hills were all lush and green because of the rain we've had recently. But not today. Today was amazing.
We had class outside and I got a bit tan (: which makes me feel happy and healthy, not so washed out by winter. I think I'm ready for summer now. I was loving the rain, but I'm ready for the ocean again.
Today I came home and made myself lunch and sat outside on a curb in the sun and eventually Quinn came out to play. We made it our mission to fill up a water balloon. We made many failed attempts but finally succeeded.
After many many pictures and lots of fun I finally chose the one above for my picture of the day (:
I hope tomorrow is as good as today was.
Though tomorrow I have to think about scholarships and sewing and making money. I don't want to think about money tomorrow. I just want to play with water balloons and walk around the cul-de-sac with no shoes on and Quinner pulling at my hand instructing me to walk this way and that and to do this and that.
But I'm broke and I have bills to pay now. That sounds so dumb. Like I'm trying to make them up. And it stinks because I'm not. And I've run out of money because I've been lazy at my "business". So now I have to pick up the slack and wonder how long it will last this time...if I can just make it until I can get a job at the college library then I should be okay. I just don't want another job. So I guess I have to try to apply myself to the job I've made for myself--the one I can wear my pajamas too and that I can do at all hours of the day or night if I really pleased. It's an open office in this room of mine where I can make magic happen but often times put it off for the tomorrow or next weekend that rolls right into never.
I guess I don't want to grow up after all.
And I'd really rather not pay for college.

I've been thinking it's funny that I'm a pretty content person as I am, living in this house (which is amazing, I think) but as soon as I step foot into a store with nicer things than I have I want them. What a temptation. Usually it doesn't last.
I was at Lowe's the other day looking at sinks with my mom. They have these new (new to me, perhaps not really new...but I haven't seen them before!) ones with an actual bowl...like it could look like one you eat out of but really big--maybe a fancy thick salad or punch powl, placed ontop of a flat counter. So these sink bowls, the outside of them, you can see, so they can be decorated and different looking and actually be a focal point of the bathroom. I thought it was really neat and I really wanted one for my future house someday. Then I looked at the price and the one I liked--just the bowl--not even the counter top or cupboards underneath--was nearly $1,000. So I was thinking, well, I'll just marry a rich guy...or write a best selling novel and go on book tours before I have kids. Psh! I came home later and seriously who really cares about a sink bowl. You wash your dirty hands in it and you spit toothpaste in it when you're done brushing the plaque off your pearly whites. Who cares about a sink bowl.

I'm not sure what that had to do with much of anything and I don't know what kind of sink bowl I will have when I get older, but sometimes I care and sometimes I don't. I have nice things though. I am biased because I am already well off. Oh who knows.
It's late and I don't want to waste sunshine tomorrow.
Goodnight (:

Color

I have been realizing lately that my life really lacks color and brown can be just so plain and mundane and the same day after day and it's getting dreadfully boring and gloomy and depressing. I tried to find something colorful to wear today and all that I could really find was a too-tight tied-died quarter length sleeved shirt. So I wore it for a bit, then felt constrained (but in color!) and swapped it for a bright red work out shirt and went to the gym.

I'm doing the 365 project. Just on my own...not joining a nifty-net group or anything...just for fun, and because Lauren is and she's motivating me to actually try and accomplish it. Is it bad if I don't think I'll be able to do it and it's only day...3? hah! But, my goal, I have decided, at least for this month (it's still basically a fresh new month) is to capture color.


After deciding this I walked around my house, looking for all things color and all I found was taupe. It is so sad. So very drab and so very sadddd. I have let my mother's love of brown and her love for all things toned down and quiet to overtake my love for color, for brightness. I used to have a perriwinkle painted bedroom with lime green and bright yellow and orange accents. What happened to her? She got lost in a long line of endless shades of brown and dull tans and taupe. No more I say, I will rise above the colorless hue I live in. I will see things differently and bring forth that bright light hiding in the recesses of this home and this world. Yep. It's my goal.


Well...this month at least.


(:

And it's funny, because this will be overcoming a fear. Perhaps. Or I will fail at this months goal and fail, most likely at the 365 Project. I get so anxious when taking pictures when people might see. Like I'm not doing something right, I have a crappy camera, I'm just a poser, etc. I feel stupid. So maybe I will get used to it. Maybe I will grow out of it and then maybe I will be okay.
Okay. Haha what a funny word. Anyway...

Tonight I realized, at The Approach--a worship/prayer event, that I worry so much about not being enough of some particular thing in general (like that...it was kind of oxymoronical...particular....general...). I get this feeling like I should be all or nothing at everything I do. A radical man. If I sing, I should really start playing shows and making cds and writing more. If I take pictures, I should really buy a high dollar camera and learn a thing or two and be really good. If I dress like a hippie I shouldn't wear make-up or shower or shave or eat meat or support capital punishment and I shouldn't ever, ever put styrofoam in the recycle bin. If I love God enough I should just do everything and anything I can get my hands on to prove that I'm on the right track, that I'm making a difference, that I'm reaching more people than the other person over there, in the corner, alone, who doesn't even know Him. Yada yada. I always think I should be more of something and less of something else (the something that I actually am at that time). But I'm realizing, I realized tonight that I'm a balance. I'm not extreme and God didn't wire me that way, perhaps. Or maybe I haven't found that thing that I'm supposed to be extreme about yet. Or maybe I won't. Maybe who knows. Maybe I'm pretty decent and even a little good at a lot things and just because I'm not a professional or radical that maybe I'm just me and that's okay because that's how God made me. Maybe that's okay.
Okay.

I'm done (:



Good day

Lesson #1: Crazy Hair and Quirky Kids

I wrote this paper for my creative writing class last week and am posting it just for the heck of it. It seemed to be well recieved by the folks in my workshop group and the professor (who's this rad guy with a mini-faux? hawk and signature converse shoes).

Lesson #1: Crazy Hair and Quirky Kids

I could feel the fresh evening air floating through the old rickety screen door. I couldn’t wait to feel it on my warm skin which seemed to suffocate me. I hadn’t seen the light of day for 72 hours, except through windows with blinds that mostly remained closed. I just wanted to sleep. I just wanted to die. And I’d felt like I was dying a slow death for two weeks, each day slipping more into oblivion, disregarding all responsibilities and disappearing, falling into the four constraining walls of my home. Okay, it may not have been that severe…I’d just battled a bout of the flu for a few weeks. I’d simply felt awfully unwell, like I should be wearing a sign around my neck, hunched over from coughing so much, that read in bold, capital letters, “UNCLEAN!” But, the illness seemed to be dissipating and I knew I was still wallowing in it. So, this was the end. I was rising above it—out of it…a phoenix from the ashes. Only to burn again.
“Courtney, Courtney!” Quinn precariously pedaled toward me on her hot pink bicycle, the training wheels freshly removed. As she neared she stopped and looked up saying, “Courtney…you have crazy hair…” Burn. Do I really look that bad? I thought to myself as I pushed my blonde stringy hair away from my face and glanced down at my big white sleep shirt and two-sizes-too-big gray sweatpants. But, three year old Quinn just stared at me, big brown eyes smiling, with a grin displayed on her dirty face that suggested she didn’t just think my hair was crazy, but that I’d gone completely off my rocker as well. I wanted to retort, “Well your hair’s crazy too jerkface,” but that would have been immature, although not far from the truth. Her short blonde curly locks, pulled up in a messy pink ponytail looked as if they hadn’t been washed in days. And yet, she was the bright light that had guided me out of the house; her childlike charm sweetly coerced me out of my cave of three days.
I couldn’t think of anyone else that could have gotten me up and out of bed besides her—and Baxter of course, the clumsy yellow Labrador retriever that came bounding up to me slightly knocking me off balance. “You love him or Honey better?” Quinn asked, pointing to her other dog, an older and wiser yellow lab mix.
“Well…Baxter...” I admitted, though I knew it was obvious. He and I were thick as thieves. Even if there was a stranger walking around our family friendly cul-de-sac, he’d always come running up to me, disregarding the opportunity to make a new friend and smell new smells. It was fantastic. He was definitely my favorite bundle of uncontrollable fur.
“I love Baxter best, too. He’s so pretty,” she replied tugging on Baxter’s droopy ears as he licked her arm. I laughed, though I didn’t think she’d fully grasped the concept of favoritism yet. One day she’d say Baxter was her best, the next she’d say Baxter was soooo stupid and Honey was super smart and Honey was just the greatest, isn’t she great?
Quinn was one of the most entertaining, strangest children I’d ever met. She was a year old when she moved in with her two brothers, Gavin and Nolan, and her sister, Chandler. I don’t remember Quinn talking much when she was younger, which, I suppose isn’t so strange, seeing as she is only three years old. But the things this kid would do seemed to be years beyond her capabilities. For instance, by the time she was two she was riding one of those razor scooters in circles around the little boys of the neighborhood. She was a kamikaze, fearless, and would very rarely cry if she made a face plant on the asphalt. However, if she didn’t get her way, well then the floodgates would open on up and she would really show us what her vocal chords were capable of.
Quinn was pretty spoiled like that. She had three brothers and sisters to do most everything for her, including talk. She didn’t really speak much at all for a while, and then it seems something in her clicked and suddenly she was talking all the time. Almost as if the words were all locked up inside and now they all come tumbling out in spurts of energy at the same time. But they aren’t necessarily things you’d expect to hear from a three year old. Or from anyone, really.
Take the crazy hair thing she’d said to me. Who would say that? No one besides a child simply being brutally honest, I suppose. And that’s the thing about Quinn, she’s just honest. She just tells it how it is, or, at least, how she sees it. And this captivates me…and cracks me up all at the same time. It’s wonderful.
As I write this, Quinn, clad in a magenta shirt with matching boots, just came knocking on our front door, well, it was more like pounding, with her grandma Helen and asked to stay with us while Grandma goes to pick up the big kids from school. Helen said, “Hey, this was all her idea…she didn’t want to come with me.”
“I just wanted to come check on you…I never stay with you, c’mon let’s go!” Quinn says, racing to see our dog, Rylie…whom she has affectionately decided to call “Carly”, instead.
I suppose Quinn calls things whatever she wants to partly as a result of the way she’s grown up so far. I think she may be a little confused about how names work. Her parents used to call her a little sing-song name: Quinner-Quinner-Chicken-Dinner, which, a la carte, became the nickname, Chicken. If you ask her now whether she likes to be called Quinn or Chicken better, she’ll tell you Chicken. The girl is a riot.
So, she really was just the person to cheer me up and bring me back to a state of living after being sick and miserable for far too long. “C’mon Coooourtney, let’s go play,” She giggled as she pulled at the sides of my big shirt, twisting the white fabric in her small grubby hands. This child had no sense of personal space either. She was always all over the place; pulling on clothes, hanging on jean pockets, wrapping her arms around my waist and pushing and pulling me. Oh, and she’d always possessed this weird fixation for earlobes. She’d randomly come up to just about anyone she knew, sit on their lap, and caress their earlobe. Odd. I knew I couldn’t wear hoop earrings anymore.
That day she tugged and pulled me into the garage and we sat and talked for a bit about some randomness. Then she proceeded to pull out some ping pong paddles and a tiny rubber ball that didn’t bounce nearly at all. “Here, let’s play,” she handed me a paddle, the blue one, and she took the red one and sat down two feet away. At first she made me throw the ball to her so she could hit it with the paddle, but, as I was saying, she’s always all over the place and slightly uncoordinated in doing so, thus she couldn’t hit the ball. We decided to play a rolling game instead. She sat down on the ground and I sat on the step in front of the garage door to the house and spread my legs in a V shape, creating a mock goal area. The object of the game, we decided, was to roll the ball, using the paddle, in between my legs. I had to guard the created goal and would roll the ball back to her. Nolan, her six year old brother, wanted in on the fun after a while. One time I had asked Nolan what the days of the week were, to which he replied, “Well, there’s Monday, Tuesday, Threesday, Foursday, and Fivesday…” He didn’t proceed to “Sevensday”, as I had cut him off with my burst of laughter. This kid was just as entertaining and enlightening as Quinn, so we let him in on the game.
For the next half hour, we all sat in my garage and played the roll-goal game. It was as if, by just watching the energy they were exerting as they chased balls and jumped over one another laughing their heads off, I was breathing in their excess and taking some of their life into my body that had felt so worn out and dead. I hadn’t laughed so hard in weeks.
I sat there and watched them in all their enthusiasm, getting lost in my own thoughts now and again, letting a little blue or yellow ball buzz past my paddle into the goal. I couldn’t believe what I had been missing out on: the simple pleasures that I had slowly begun writing off because I had real business to attend to; school, finances, my future. And yet, I was getting nowhere chasing these goals except sick and tired and stressed and unhappily apathetic towards my life. What a bright future, eh? I should have wanted to go back to my life. I should have been ecstatic that I didn’t feel like crap anymore.
So, it was by chasing a ball around my dirty garage floor with a three year old girl called Chicken and her brother Nolan, that my spirit was rejuvenated. If these quirky kids could get so excited by playing a simple made-up game directed by a pajama-clad girl with crazy hair, I realized that surely I had a thing or two in my life that I could be a bit more passionate about and look forward to going back to tomorrow. But for the rest of that night, we kept playing our simple game with a few paddles and a couple rubber balls. We even added a cardboard box to the mix by the time we were through.

Cynicism v. Truth

Sometimes I think I, and maybe others can relate, mistake seeking the truth and wanting to live in truth, as cynicism. I know it may sound strange....even oxymoronical, but hear me out.
I know this person who is always wanting to seek the Lord's heart...in doing so, they don't like to do a lot of things that maybe a group of us want to...like they won't go see a movie they know is probably not good. I have mistaken this, before, as them just being negative and stubborn. On other occassions they have interrupted a converstation by saying, "Hey, isn't there something better to talk about?" when a group of us are talking about someone that isn't present. I have previously mistaken this for the person wanting to control conversations and only talk about things that interest that person...or I've taken it as an isult that our conversations aren't "good enough" for that person. I've found, also, that in everything, my friend analyzes and digs deeper...sometimes shooting down ideas or theories I think are right and refuting them with principles I hadn't thought of. I've been known to take this as flat out criticism of my lack of knowledge....istead of this person providing or reminding me of valuable truths.
I have possessed this notion that this individual was just cynical...no fun...boring and dull and stubborn and judgmental as they make me feel like crap sometimes. But that's not the way they are at all. That's my flesh, my earthlyness talking. And that is a testament to that person standing up and really saying, "Hey, I'm going to be counterculture...I'm going to live differently than you." This person is being stubborn: stubborn as to persevere through everything to know the truth deeper and not be afraid to point out false ideas, theories, or beliefs people possess when it comes to the written word.
And my feelings getting hurt was just me being prideful and stuck in my ways...which aren't always necessarily the Lord's. But it's hard sometimes to really have that drive to seek the truth fully. It is so easy, on the other hand, to just listen to what someone tells you is right...maybe a college-aged leader, or pastor, or respected elder in the church, or even peers, and just trust them to tell you the truth without putting up a fight.
It's harder to form a counterargument...it takes effort. But, I suppose in order to know the truth fully, we're going to have to get pretty good at forming counterarguments. Because the only way to find out if something is really irrefutable, is to make sure there are no counterarguments. Sure, there are some situational things...but everything has to be taken into account when deciding if it's right or wrong to go to this movie, or listen to that music, or hang out with these people, or talk about such and such or so and so. Sure, we're never going to get it all right. But if we just blindly accept the things we hear from the group we are much more likely to not be living in the right, I think, because true Christianity in whatever state you or I are presently at, is still the minority.

So, when it comes down to my personal situations, I was the one being cynical. I was the one looking at the bad instead of being absolutely blessed by the example of someone who would stand up for the Lord.

Dry...Not the Weather

So I've been sick for a while, and stressed (which has probably prolonged my ailments...eh?) and just feeling distant from everything and everyone--including God. I've just lacked the motivation to do anything besides sleep, eat, and sleep some more. I've been dry. Part of it, yes, is because I've been sick. Another part is because I've just been tired. For some reason I think I need to do it all all the time. Like God is not proud of me when I take a moment for myself, to breathe. To be "selfish". But I guess it's not selfish, taking care of myself. Taking time to listen. Between school and ministries I just feel bogged down. I'm always going, going, going. And on one hand I love this! I love being busy because it leaves less time to sit and think about life and where I'm really at on my marathon with God.

Walking with God, lately, has felt like a marathon. Yet I'm not even to the actually marathon process. I'm just in the intense training part that is the vast majority of what it takes to actually part-take in the activity. I'm tired a bit. I just want to stop trying and just sleep. Rest. And I have...for two weeks of being sick. Now it's time to get back on the horse...but maybe, get back on the horse and be still and silent and maybe not start running, maybe not jump the gun and feel the thrill of busyness.

I've decided to stop doing one of my ministries, the after school club, Higher Ground, for Jr. Highers. I don't know 100% if I really need to quit it. If I'm really being asked to, or if it's me saying I just can't do it all. But that's not me...I always want to be the best. I'd love to be able to do everything on my own strength. I don't know. I don't stinking know.

I don't know where to draw the line. I don't know what balance is. I don't know when it's me not trusting God enough. I don't know if it's wrong that I really need money, a job, and that I can't find a way, yet, to make enough and still do all these ministries and go to school. I get so discouraged and so confused when I know people somehow think I'm less holy, or less Godly because I say I need a job, I need money..."Well you don't really NEED it...you could just trust God a little more". But am I expecting for Him to just hand me a lump sum of cash on a monthly basis without me working for it at all? I don't know. Should I expect that? Should my faith be that high? Because it's not. And I don't know what I think about all this. I'm just tired of not feeling like I'm enough. And you know what...I'm not. I wish people would see that more. That I can't do everything and what I can do in excellence I should do...and put all of me into it...not into these random things that, now, people are just expecting me to do. If it's for me....then it's not good for me to be walking in it. I kind of feel like screaming right now. Torn between people and a divine guidance that I'm not entirely sure is, in fact, divine.

Maybe I'm just lazy. Maybe I just need to step it up. I know in lots of ways I do need to step it up. But right now I'm just confused at what to do and what to focus on.

On the other hand...I had been feeling really dry, as I may have already said, and I was putting off reading my Bible and putting off praying because I was just tired. I just didn't want to do anything anymore. So I picked it up a few nights ago and opened to Hosea--about the Israelites turning away and God accepting them nonetheless. That's me on so many occassions. It's what I need to hear...being drawn to the desert. Taking everything away...and being restored.

It was a filler-upper.

State

I got accepted to college today. San Diego State University. The state of my mind, on the other hand, is disarrayed.

18

Sorry for the 18 rant but...my mom got married this year of her life. When she turned 18 the church bells rang. Isn't that crazy? When you, or if you are 18...can you even imagine. Hers was a different world than mine though. And I am blessed for that. She had to grow up way too fast...

18

Sorry for the 18 rant but...my mom got married this year of her life. When she turned 18 the church bells rang. Isn't that crazy? When you, or if you are 18...can you even imagine. Hers was a different world than mine though. And I am blessed for that. She had to grow up way too fast...

Older.

I turned 18 three days ago. I don't know how I feel about this. I don't really care, I guess. "It's just another day". My motto. But that day does signify time passing. This year I have changed so much. I was sitting in Starbucks reading on my birthday and...I made some careless motion. Completely insignificant, haphazard. Yet it was my mother. It was the way I moved my chin...I can't even explain it. But as soon as I did it, I knew that my mother does that. That's her mannerism. And now it's mine? I have always been the miniature Sharon, which has mostly just been an annoying thing people say. But within this year I have so much seen my mother in myself. My mom is an amazing woman. But she's my mom and I am the way I am largely because of her. And yet, other people live differently than my mother lives. So, just because I haven't come to realize that before I've slowly morphed into her, does that mean I am stuck on the path of Her? I don't think so. Not necessarily. I have also realized this past year that I am entirely different than my mom. I have unrealistic desires and passions that I really do want to pursue, even if it takes spurts of effort here and there...I'd love to record a cd. I'd love to purchase a professional camera and capture everything I see. I'd love to be the kind of mom mine is...the kind that stays home all the time because she truly like us--she'd rather spend time with us, my dad, brother, and myself, than spend time with her girlfriends (her ya-ya's). But I so desire to be the mom someday who's constantly capturing these moments with film, with words, with songs. I really want to inspire my kids to be artistically freeeee. It's a weird thing. But I have a passion for this. A desire...that I think my grandmother always had. But her life was ladden with her own issues, problems, financial, relational, etc. Let's face it--they were dysfunctional. I want to be functional, and supportive of my kids. If I have any. I guess I have to work on the whole husband part first. Which oh my goodness I can hardly imagine. Still. My mom, at the birthday dinner, said that next year "she [I] will be blowing us off for her boyfriend". I haven't had a Valentine date ever. Why would next year change that? Just because my commitment to stay single will be over doesn't mean I will miraculously fall for someone when I haven't had nearly the slightest inclination to do so in the past four years. Part of me wishes it would happen. Another part of me screams NO NO NO!!! I like myself just the lonely way I am...free to think and write and support myself just fine...without that potential worry of "What does he think about what I just wrote, or sang, or painted".

I don't know what I want. I am torn between two worlds. Each has it's ups and downs...and yet neither really matter so much at all because, after all, they are just worlds. For now I will stick here...with those dashing fellows up there...my family.

The future looks bright though. Scary...frustrating...positively unpredictable...but beautiful.

Why Hellllloooa There....

I've been thinking a lot lately. About life. Jazz like that. And about the undeniable crazy cat lady in my night class who has bright red in-a-box-from-Target hair, with thick bangs, wrinkly skin, hot pink striped socks, and old beat-up, worn-out, old, old, old dusty white reebok sneaks from the 90s. Thinking thoughts like that. And about how the best chips are the ones I save for last; the ones that are all folded over and extra crunchy. And how elbows are often so pointy and good for jabbing people when they least expect it. Maybe in the jugular so I can get that last folded over, extra crunchy chip at the bottom of the crinkly bag.
I miss my great grandmother and I miss my great aunt. And I miss my voice and I long for the times I only hear about: The whole family of 16 crowded around the old organ with someone strumming away on guitar, someone plucking away at the old bass, someone humming away on the harmonica, and countless cool kids singing under my great grandfather's instruction.
But I only hear about it and I only wonder how different my life would be if I were a part of then.

Retraction, kind of.

Sorry for the last post. I had a personal vendetta against the media that day.
I still kind of feel the same way...but toned down a bit :)

Dead Celeb.

I think I'm being cynical.
I think I'm having a downright cynical day.

I sign into myspace a half hour or so ago to find all these bulletins posted "Heath Ledger is Dead!!!???!!" yada yada.
My first thought was, yes, sad. Death is sad. I looked up a news story and he died of a drug overdose...supposedly. For all I really know he's partying in Tahiti right now. For all any of us know. Yet people seem to really care. And it's rather ticking me off. Perhaps that's wrong. Perhaps we should care and feel compassion for every single one who dies that we hear of. But if, in a few moments, I posted a bulletin that my great grandpa died and I was seriously distraught, no one would repost that. There would be no flood of bulletins, no flood of compassion. And they would know my grandfather just about as much as they know Ledger...a figment of their imagination...a man made up in their own mind. Because the man they see on the screen isn't Heath Ledger. That man was conjured up by multitudes of writers wanting people to peek into the window of their mind. And the Ledger we all saw was a pretty face. I dare say. Let the dead bury the dead. Go talk to your kids and brothers and sisters about overdosing and why you ought not do drugs to be "cool" because being dead isn't so cool. Really.
That is just the thing. Folks think he is the cream of the crop. He's hott, so that of course obviously signifies he's cool, and thusfore is worthy of being idolized. No. No no no no.
It's sad that he did die the way he did...but idolizing the man is ridiculous. He died by overdosinging (likely) and that is not glamorous or cool or worthy of being idolized. Jesus died on a cross, for us, and that is worthy of being worshipped. People get things so confused. They didn't know the man. I get things confused too. All the time. I know I do idolize and put things before the Lord who so amazingly died for me. Who gloriously died. To save me from the very things I idolize. The very thing that, if I let it, will be my destruction. Yes. I get confused too. Don't we all.

Another celebrity died today
Lower his body down into the grave
One night's drug over-dose
And now we're one down to look up to now
And idolize and expand our litany of shrines

Don't look down
Don't follow him now
Look up
Don't look down
A body lowered to the ground
Look up
To the one riding on the clouds
Reigning over all of us
Look up
Forever on a throne he sits
Brighter than Hollywood's shining awards
You, oh Jesus, are worth so much more
Than what we've been looking at.
Than who we've been looking for.