tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-169789552024-03-13T21:04:45.326-05:00In This Lesser Worldkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.comBlogger365125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-42174074446104638282017-01-04T16:46:00.003-06:002017-01-04T16:46:49.872-06:00Your Long-Awaited Dream Come True!!Yes, this is really me. I realized after I typed it that it sounds like some weird scam. Well, whatever. This is just to inform any readers who are still interested that I started up a new blog. It's still in the works but I wanted you to be the first (maybe only) to know!<br />
You can visit it here.<br />
http://theroughdraft42.blogspot.com/kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-42216775862214415522015-10-03T10:13:00.001-05:002015-10-03T10:13:39.138-05:00Nothing and EverythingClearly my little blog has been abandoned.<br />
I've been busy and overwhelmed and there hasn't been time or motivation tokeep this up, when really... it's just me blabbering and there are like four people who read it. I've been planning to shut it down but I can't quite make myself do that yet.<br />
But I do hope to make a new blog some time. Soon. Maybe after the baby comes. Maybe after the house is built. Maybe when JJ doesn't need so much medical attention. You can tell. Things have been busy. So that's all I've got to say. If you loved my blog and are sad to hear I'm going to leave, well... you probably should have said something sooner. :D This is goodbye. At least for now.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-20893833145207154362015-02-20T14:42:00.001-06:002022-04-05T16:34:34.974-05:00What Happens in Montana Stays in MontanaWhen I was a kid, we looked forward to our summer vacations in Montana all year. We'd head up there in the old station wagon and spend a week or two with our cousins running wild on the prairie doing things no civilized children were ever allowed to do (you know, with guns and fireworks and probably peeing outdoors). They were our glory days. It was different from what we did at home. The people there didn't know us like the kids we went to school with. We were friends because we were related to each other.<br />
Then we'd come home, and as much fun as we'd had, we couldn't really explain it to our friends. I loved being up there with my grandparents. I was so proud of their organic flour (before organic was the hippest thing to do) and Grandpa's work at the mill and my uncle's mechanic business, and that my dad knew how to ride horses and wrangle cows. But back here in the city, in boring Iowa, it just didn't really make sense. My friends didn't "get" it. And the older I got, the more I felt that way. <br />
Those weeks we spent with our cousins were great. Not only because we got to do all kinds of illegal, unsafe things, but because there's something about extended family. They get you, you know? Like some of those quirks and things that set you apart from everyone else, you share with each other. That's what our family is like. We come from the same places, from those wheat field and wild horse hills. We're all different, but we're all the same.<br />
This last trip up for Grandpa's funeral was the same for me. I have different friends now, and I want to tell them all about all of the funny things that happened while I was up there. I had such a great time. I got to shoot some guns, climb the buttes, drive out in the wild hills on an ATV... you know, crazy Montana stuff. I haven't told most of my friends about much of it. I want to talk about our snowball fight and hanging out at the supper club and the funny things we said to each other. But it just doesn't feel the same talking about it, here in Iowa, where Montana and family are so far away and disconnected from my Mommy life.<br />
So, yet again, I have to just write them all down and remember them for the next time we're all together with each other. When we share our old memories, we bond all over again.<br />
That's what family is for. Preserving the things that are precious, funny, happy and sad. We pass them on to each other because some day we won't all be around. <br />
Sometimes I take a trip and wish I were there for the sake of being there. The scenery, the escape. The whatever makes vacation what it is. This trip (not a vacation), I wish I could be there so I could be with the people longer. I miss my cousins. We don't always understand each other, we all live totally different lives. But we're family, and I love them. <br />
<br />kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-28661350853625643552015-02-16T12:51:00.000-06:002015-02-16T12:51:11.602-06:00Ripping Off MasksYesterday at church the pastor came in to talk to our small group about the plan for the next sermon series/initiative. He asked how we had seen God work through our group or through the church. One of my good friends told about how, when her husband had been very sick, the class had come and helped with things around the house and mowed their lawn all summer. She mentioned that she hadn't wanted to ask for help, but I'd sort of made her. I remembered her finally asking the class to pray for her, and someone said, "Do you need help with anything?" And she was hemming nad hawing and saying, "No, not really." And I just looked over at her, and said to the group, "Yes. She does."<br />
Yesterday as she reflected, she said, "It hadn't really registered to me that I could even ask for help, I was so busy just trying to hold things together." Pastor Bob talked about authentic community, and he said, "Kristin saw past Karen's mask so she could get the help she needed."<br />
I jokingly said, "I ripped that mask right off."<br />
Later I thought about it and realized I think that's what I'm good at.<br />
We did this Bible study book called Restless by Jennie Allen, about how we search for our "purpose" or whatever, and how God wants to fulfill that in us. Whatever. The book had you do some navel gazing and try to put the threads of your past--the good and bad things that made you into who you are--together and see the pattern God was weaving. I didn't really see one.<br />
BUt I've been thinking about it, and yesterday I realized that I kind of like taking peoples' masks off. I don't do it that often, but the older I get, the more I do it. I'm learning the art of it, of being real and (hopefully) letting other people be open and real with me too.<br />
I used to be afraid to. I used to never say anything, even when I could see some deeper need or see that someone was hiding something. I just let it go figuring they'd open up if they wanted to. I thought I was sort of failing when people didn't. But I think, what was happening, was they thought they'd fooled me, just like they fooled the rest of the world. But, while I'm pretty clueless about a lot of things, I'm pretty good at finding fake.<br />
I'm kind of shy. A long time ago I was really shy. In middle school and high school, I would never ask prodding questions or bug people about what was on their minds. I'm pretty good at keeping shallow. I think we all are. But it made me really dissatisfied in some relationships, because I wanted to know those friends better. I wanted them to know me, too.<br />
My best friends were the ones who saw through my masks.<br />
All of our best friends are the ones who see through our masks. Who tear them off and say "No. We're not going to keep being shallow like this. I want to know more than what you made for supper and what your kids did last week. I want to know YOU."<br />
It's work. And I still suck at it because I get afraid. I don't want to make people uncomfortable so I just sort of settle for that place where we just brush the surface of all the things that matter. That's what people like.<br />
But that's what's keeping me (and everyone else) from having meaningful relationships. From true community.<br />
That's what makes me frustrated when we're sitting around talking about TV shows and movies and dinner and decorating. I see your soul sometimes in those shallow encounters, and I don't want to talk about things that don't matter. I want to talk about why you're hiding and what you're hiding from.<br />
I want to be a truth-seeker, and a truth-speaker.<br />
In the age of social media where everyone's busy painting their best faces on for the public world, we need it all the more. We need people who tear off masks. We need to BE people who tear off masks. Our own, and others'.<br />
If we aren't OK with brokenness and imperfection in others, we aren't OK with it in ourselves. And we miss out on the perfect promise of God, that in our weakness, He is strong. That His grace fills all of our emptiness, and that we are complete in Him.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-81373340088285221412015-01-23T09:16:00.002-06:002015-01-23T09:16:41.917-06:00One ManNews came this morning that Grandpa has passed away. It went fast and he lived a full life. HIs tired old body couldn't keep up anymore, after years of farming and fighting. I'm still processing.<br />
In 2013 I sent this to him, right after he moved to the nursing home. He called me to say thanks, to tell me the stuff in the poem wasn't all true but it was nice. And I keep thinking about how I'm glad I bothered. Because those guys just didn't get thanked enough. I'll miss you Grandpa. I'm thankful for all that you've left behind.<br />
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One Man, One Soldier</div>
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<br /></div>
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He walks with courage </div>
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Though now with a cane, but once it was a gun</div>
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Now his steps are slow, but once he marched into war</div>
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Never seeing the man he would become</div>
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Maybe not understanding all he
fought for.</div>
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<br /></div>
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He shuffles slowly down the hall</div>
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But once he ran full force onto the beaches of France</div>
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Screaming out over the mortars and cannon blasts.</div>
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Now that voice that carried commands</div>
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has become harder to hear. His eyes, once bright and soulful</div>
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now wear wisdom, wrinkled and woeful. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Now his steps are slower and he’s always being passed</div>
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by all the generations behind him</div>
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moving too fast</div>
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All those people who will never
understand</div>
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the honor he deserves, </div>
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the indelible mark his actions made on the pages of time</div>
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in the stories they have never heard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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His tall frame now withers, hunching from age</div>
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And though that tired body has worked itself sore</div>
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The marks made that day have
remained</div>
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The memories of war</div>
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The purple heart on a shelf in his
closet</div>
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The friends who died on the shore</div>
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The family to which he came home </div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>To
remind him what he fought for </div>
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<br /></div>
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He used to fight hard and long, but now he’s tired</div>
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And he already found his hill to die on</div>
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The man who stormed the beaches</div>
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Who limps with shrapnel in his side</div>
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Now walks with careful steps, leaning on his grandchildren</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>who
have always known his sacrifice</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Who
listen to his tales of war and find</div>
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That ordinary men become heroes</div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and courage shows itself in many ways</div>
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--sometimes in war stories and flashes of light</div>
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Sometimes in farming and strife</div>
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Sometimes in the faithful way you
live your life.</div>
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This man, the soldier could teach them all that. </div>
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When they look into his eyes and
listen</div>
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To one man’s journey in history, to
one man’s scars </div>
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Teaching about bravery</div>
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Making his children who they are.</div>
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<br /></div>
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To Grandpa Alvin Rustebakke on the anniversary of D-Day,
June 6<sup>th</sup>, 2013</div>
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-70632569818081259682014-12-26T22:09:00.000-06:002014-12-26T22:09:04.227-06:00Rest - The Innkeeper's Song<div class="copy-paste-block">
Lately I've felt really worn out and tired. I had several big responsibilities stacked up on my plate all at the same time, and I just never felt like I recovered before Christmas hit. I've just been tired. Physically and emotionally, more than ever before. I haven't taken time to feed my soul, and my body has been sore and I've been running around trying to get everything done.</div>
<div class="copy-paste-block">
I was headed to my small group on Tuesday night and I put in a new CD from my husband. Jason Gray's Christmas Album. I really liked the first song, a call to join in Christmas. "Christmas is coming, will you be there?" I felt like i wasn't there. It was two days before Christmas and I just felt empty and blank inside. Earlier that day the shelf on my hutch had broken and all of my crystal and beautiful glass had fallen to the ground and smashed into thousands of pieces. Shattered. And it was about all I could take.</div>
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The next song on the CD was "Oh Little Town of Bethlehem". I'd just been thinking about that song, about how simple and quiet it is, and how it points out "How silently, how silently the wonderous gift is given." And I just wanted to stop and really think about it, about the gift of God and Christmas and the wonder I was missing.</div>
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The first song had a line that said "I don't want you to miss it/I know I have before/like the innkeeper who missed the wonder just outside his door". And I thought about how I've been missing it. It's been a great holiday, and lots of special memories with the kids have come from it, and lots of family time and really nice things. But I've been so tired, and when you're tired you don't feel things the same way you should.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The third song on the album was called "Rest, The Innkeeper's Song". I was driving up first ave when it came on, waiting in the mall traffic and trying to find a parking spot. And as it played, the poignient words hit me in the heart and I just cried. So I'm sharing it with you, even though it's too late now to think about it for Christmas. It matters every day. And I feel this way so often. So worried about getting rest and filling my needs, that I miss those moments with Jesus, those moments when God wants to show me something miraculous or teach me something new. Or just share his love.</div>
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</div>
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I'm thankful that He answered my prayer for having rest, and that He still shows himself to me in the midst of my selfishness. Over and over.</div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<b>Rest- The Innkeeper's Song<i> By Jason Gray</i></b></div>
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</div>
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I found them standing in my door<br />
In the clumsy silence of the poor<br />
I've got no time for precious things<br />
But at least they won't be wandering<br />
If they're sleeping on my stable floor<br />
<br />
There were no rooms to rent tonight<br />
The only empty bed is mine<br />
‘Cause I’m overbooked and overrun<br />
With so many things that must be done<br />
Until I’m numb and running blind<br />
<br />
I need rest, I need rest<br />
Lost inside a forest of a million trees<br />
Trying to find my way back to me<br />
I need rest<br />
<br />
As a boy I heard the old men sing<br />
About a Kingdom and a coming King<br />
But keeping books and changing beds<br />
Put a different song inside my head<br />
And the melody is deafening<br />
<br />
I need rest, I need rest<br />
Like a drowning man in the open sea<br />
I need somebody to rescue me<br />
I need rest<br />
<br />
To Rome we’re only names and numbers<br />
Not souls in search of signs and wonders<br />
But we're waiting for the day of our salvation<br />
The messiah who will be our liberation<br />
We’re waiting, I’m waiting<br />
<br />
I need rest, I need rest<br />
Oh come oh come Emmanuel<br />
With a sword deliver Israel<br />
I need rest<br />
<br />
Tonight I can’t get any sleep<br />
With those shepherds shouting in the streets<br />
A star is shining much too bright<br />
Somewhere I hear a baby cry<br />
And all I want is a little peace<span></span></div>
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-44685871829150373232014-12-16T09:25:00.003-06:002014-12-16T09:25:59.354-06:00Christmas Reading ListI decided to take a break from facebook and its incessant time-sucking and distractions for Christmas this year. To enjoy my family and clear my mind for thinking about Christ and Christmas.<br />
It's going to be a low-key Christmas without a lot of relatives around, so I'm planning to have lots of down time. (We'll see how that goes). Which means I will have time to catch up on some reading. Here's my plan for things to read:<br />
<br />
Walden - I haven't read it since high school and then it was with a begrudging heart, so I want to read it again and see what I can enjoy from it this time around. I'll probably throw in some other transcendentalist poetry while I'm at it.<br />
<br />
Secrets at Sea by Richard Peck. So far everything Richard Peck I've read has been really good. Daniel gave me this book for Christmas last year and I haven't gotten around to reading it Mostly because it's about mice.<br />
<br />
Ephesians - Well, not really read. BUt finish memorizing chapter 2. Because it only took a year to memorize the first 19 verses. I want to finish it before new year.<br />
<br />
Isaac Asimov's Robot collection. Another Christmas present I haven't read yet. It's time.<br />
<br />
Journals of Lewis and Clark - I'll just be happy if I finish a few chapters in that one.<br />
<br />
So what about you? Any good reads coming up? Want to join me with a facebook fast over Christmas?kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-21177248805499932162014-10-16T22:07:00.000-05:002014-10-16T22:07:01.574-05:00Infant Loss Awareness Monthso yesterday was the Infant Loss Rememberance Day. This whole month is infant and pregnancy loss awareness month. Which I have mixed feelings about. In some ways it just rubs salt in an open wound, but I guess there's some healing that goes with it too.<br />
Today someone posted<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/nancy-davis-johnson/the-other-quiet-mom_b_5972990.html" target="_blank"> this beautiful articl</a>e about infant loss. It's called The Other Quiet Mom, and it's about how the grief never totally goes away When you're a mom and probably just a woman in general, you get stuck in these conversations about having babies and kids. You listen, you participate. And, sometimes, when you're a mom who's lost a baby or a child, you just check out. Because something someone said caused your mind to wander off to the worst day of your life, and you just need a minute to breathe, to let yourself grieve, and of course the middle of a casual conversation isn't really the place to do that.<br />
If you ever wonder how I feel about that baby, read this article. Because that's what it's like. Most of the time it's OK, but sometimes, while you're telling your pregnancy stories, I'm just thinking about her and wishing she were here.<br />
The worst part for me is when people start actually talking about infant loss. People who don't know my story. And they blab and say things that no one should say at all, let alone to someone who's actually lost a baby. Those conversations are ones where I sort of wish I had a knife to stab people with. I once got stuck in the hot tub at a hotel with someone like that. It's kind of a funny story, but it actually isn't. She was "just wondering" if Michelle Duggar actually felt sad about losing her baby. (That had just happened, and Michelle was speaking at the conference we were all attending). She didn't think someone with 19 other kids would be as upset as someone who'd lost their first pregnancy.<br />
Fortunately I had a friend with me. I miiiiight not have been so gracious if I hadn't. Part of me gets so pissed I want to scream, and part of me gets so sad I just want to shut down and hide. So you can imagine. Anyway, I assured that girl that it didn't matter how many kids you had, losing a baby is always painful and you always miss that baby.<br />
It's weird. You just don't know what to say in those scenarios. I didn't tell that loud-mouthed girl my story. I didn't want to entrust that to her, although it probably would have shut her up. The story of your lost baby is a sacred one, and a person can't just spout off sacred things to just anyone. But sometimes, you feel like you should say something.<br />
There's a kind of loyalty, like you have to tell people or else that little baby will slip into the nothingness of unnamed children. But you also know that, in telling people, you risk changing the dynamics of the relationships. Conversations have sort of a jive to them, and saying the name Grace to friends who know me sort of breaks up that jive. People are used to it, I think. I don't know if they mind, but I also sense a sort of hesitation to return to the subject of babies after her name is uttered.<br />
Then there are people who are just OK with saying it. And that's some kind of glorious relief in just knowing it's OK with that friend if it comes up. Three examples:<br />
1) When I first lost the baby, my friends came over and immediately one just asked, "Hey, do you want to talk about it, or do you not want to talk about it?" Let's just get it out in the open. That's a great thing to say to someone, by the way.<br />
2) My husband's brothers are also really sweet about Grace. One of the youngest ones told me that he still counts Grace when he tells other people how many grandkids there are in the family. I didn't really know how to respond when he told me that, but thinking about it now makes me tear up, so it must have meant more than I thought. The more time that passes, the more things like that mean to me. I just don't want her to be forgotten.<br />
3) At gymnastics once there was a gal I knew from church-ish things that I small-talked with every week. She was bulging pregnant ready to pop, and we were talking about it. She mentioned being high-risk and so I told her I was too. Then I , for some reason, told her about why I was high risk. And she nodded her head. "I had the same exact thing." She had the same experience I did. Same diagnosis. And same symptoms of future pregnancies. It was great. Because for once, it didn't make things a little awkward. It just made us better friends.<br />
<br />
So, all that to help you understand how the long grief goes. There's the intense short-term grief of the first weeks, months. Then the year-long one, where you think of every little thing that should have happened. And then, as years pass, it becomes more like wishful thoughts, coming in waves. Some waves are bigger than others. And once in a while, I still almost drown in one and completely break down.<br />
But I want you to know. I don't mind talking about my little girl that is in heaven. And I don't mind crying sometimes about missing her. The only reason I hesitate is so that you don't feel awkward.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-53364215177801924232014-10-13T19:25:00.003-05:002014-10-13T19:25:41.025-05:00Tell Me We'll Be Friends ForeverI had a friend in high school who, from the first day we met, I knew would always be my friend. We had so much in common, we liked the same things, we hung out all the time, and we really were best friends. The weeks went by and we just got closer. The years passed together, and we spent time at each others' houses, after school, in class. I always called her my best friend, even though we both had other "best friends" we probably had invested more in. I never even wondered if we'd lose touch (and that was before facebook), if we'd fight and never make up, if we'd stop caring about each others' lives.<br />
Really I never used to wonder that about any of my friends. Partly because I'm sort of dumb when it comes to planning ahead. Partly because, despite my cynism about how the world works, I'm maybe a little idealistic about good friendships. And partly because, at that time, I had two very close friends I'd known most of my life who I was still friends with. I don't know, maybe it's normal to just expect every relationship to go on forever.<br />
But reality is that most relationships really don't. At least for me they don't. And I know for a fact that I'm REALLY blessed in this area. Like ridiculously blessed. With those two aforementioned friends who are still my friends, my wonderful loyal husband, and a really great family, I just don't need to complain.<br />
BUt I will anylize. Because that's what I do.<br />
What happens to those forever friends who disappear from our lives? My friends from high school are mostly not my friends anymore. Most of them I don't actually even know what happened to them. At the time I thought they were close friends. One of them, I'll call her Ann, would sit and talk with me for hours about deep (for high school) meaningful things. We were like Dr. House and Wilson, always over analyzing each others' lives and concluding why they were the way they were. We gave advice, we told each other secrets. I liked her a lot, but I think, looking back, she might have been a frienemy. Either that or insanely jealous, emotionally unstable, and unable to cope with marriage... That's a whole other story.<br />
Anyway, I had these friends. Lots of them. Some of them were sort of shallow, some weren't. Some were pretty great and (I thought) deep, with good roots. And now, as I look back at each one of them, the things that put us together aren't really common or useful or present in our lives anymore. One girl I went to church and school with (there were like three of them), we hung out all the time and did stuff. Her boyfriend was my brother's BFF... and it turned out, that was a big reason we were friends. So when she broke up with him after college, she sort of broke up with me too.<br />
So I guess this happening over and over, the natural cycle of friendships, has made me think that none of my friends will be my friends forever. Yet I still imagine us growing old together. I still picture our kids as teenagers, friends. I still think it will happen even though the chances of all of the friends I have still being around are pretty slim. So why do I keep hoping? Because otherwise I probably wouldn't keep trying to be friends with anyone.<br />
If I'd known the friends I had in high school were all going to take different turns in life and leave and stop talking to me, or just disappear... I probably wouldn't have wanted to keep them as friends. But they might not have chosen me, either, if they'd known how it would turn out.<br />
Each person we meet changes us in some way, opens our eyes to a new world, to a perspective we hadn't heard. Each person has inherent value, and each person is worth getting to know. While we may or may not know them well, I guess you don't know how good of a friend they'll be until you put the energy in to get to know them.<br />
I have a theory about heart-to-heart friends, that we really only make them when we're young, and once we hit 25, we stop really inviting people in to the intimate places of our hearts. I don't know if it's true, but it seems to me that most people are either happy with the friends they already made when they were younger, (or maybe their spouse), or they're happy with being shallow and not having any close friends. Or maybe no one's actually happy with their relationships. I guess that's also a possibility. I met most of my closest friends before I was 25. Not that I don't want to meet more, but some how it just gets harder, I guess.<br />
<br />
So the friend from high school who I thought would be my friend forever? She kind of still is my friend. Or rather, my friend again. We had a little 12-year hiatus. So it's not the same as it was, because our interaction is all on facebook. We lived a lot of our lives between communication. We experienced the bulk of adulthood without each other. So we don't have the shared experiences a lot of friends do. But I sort of feel like, if we ever did meet up face to face, we'd maybe just sort of pick up where we left off and move forward, deeper, knowing each other better now, knowing how the world works better. Because there is something about true friends of the heart, something that makes you able to forgive their unintentional wounds, something that just wants to believe the best about them, something that connects you even when you've pulled away. Memories maybe? Or maybe we all really want to be known and we're just afraid and messed up and do the best we can with what we have. And sometimes that ends up being called friendship. <br />
<br />kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-74426031953262463492014-09-22T22:29:00.002-05:002014-09-22T22:29:46.139-05:00Lonely HighwayDo you remember what it was like<br />
back when you were by yourself<br />
and you'd skip town some Sunday afternoon<br />
In the spring you'd lave your windows down<br />
and fly past your troubles<br />
heading toward the new moon?<br />
You'd sit there with the radio<br />
and stare up at the stars<br />
Just you and your steel cacoon<br />
and all the thoughts of life and love<br />
could pour out on the page before you<br />
and it seems so long ago<br />
and those days seem so carefree --lost<br />
somewhere in these days' monotony<br />
But sometimes you still get the chance<br />
to kick off your shoes and go for a drive<br />
Sunday night on the lonely highway<br />
You find in the darkness you still can dance<br />
and you see for yourself all the answers<br />
to all the questions you used to ask<br />
and you can't believe you survived those lonely days<br />
It's good to be alive.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-86340287720098642552014-09-19T12:14:00.000-05:002015-01-02T12:43:58.524-06:00What's Born from BrokennessI probably write about Rich Mullins too often, but I think that people who encounter him relate and are changed, even years after he's died. Recently they released a movie about his life called <i><a href="http://ragamuffinthemovie.com/" target="_blank">Ragamuffin</a></i>. If you haven't seen it, please do. It's really good. It's not really about his music or really even about his life. It's not made for Christians. And it isn't like a Christian movie. It's a movie about God's "reckless raging fury" of love and someone who was caught up in it, even as he fought against it.<br />
And that's where so many of us are. We don't even realize how much we're loved, how much junk we're clinging to, and what we could be if we knew just how big and wide and fierce that love is.<br />
Today is the anniversary of his death, so of course I got to thinking. Not long after my grandma died, I had a very vivid dream, and I woke up wishing it hadn't ended.<br />
We were all sitting around in her living room (I don't know why so many of my dreams are at her house), and there was just this hushed peace over all of us. And Rich Mullins was sitting there with me and my cousins and friends, just lounging on the couch, playing music. He sang a few songs, only one of which I recognized or remember now. And I still think about that dream, and the longing it put in me to be in heaven, in the safest and best place that exists, singing songs with people in perfect unity and peace.<br />
But I think on earth, in our lesser world, the best things are really born from suffering. All of the songs that help heal our broken hearts are written by someone who related. All of the words spoken in our worst pain that build us back up come from a place of truth, found from hard searching. We can cling to Jesus because of his suffering on our behalf. And that's why Rich Mullins meant so much to so many people. We felt like maybe, for once, we weren't the only one who felt the lonliness and darkness. And we felt like maybe there was hope in the savior he talked about. Because only someone who understood our pain could really share an answer that mattered.<br />
So now, seventeen years after his songs stopped being written, I still cling to some of those answers that came out. I still sing the words on those dark lonely nights. I still search out that reckless "raging fury that they call the love of God". I long for home. And I strive to be God's.<br />
<br />
<br />
-------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
Maybe heaven will be something like this<br />
All of us together in Grandma's living room<br />
listening to Rich playing guitar<br />
and Debby and Daniel will join in<br />
--some kind of meeting of the hearts<br />
and we'll be praising the God<br />
who we finally get to see<br />
with no veils and no sin in between<br />
Everyone there will be allowed to just be<br />
no more striving<br />
no more shouting<br />
no need to give up and start again<br />
made new<br />
Made perfect in the Truth and the light<br />
thinking back on our candlelight<br />
days in the park<br />
and seeing how God's love went and made it all right.<br />
<br />kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-46100431869430273382014-08-26T16:02:00.001-05:002014-08-26T16:02:36.744-05:00My friend, Christy MillerWhen I was a kid, like 4th through 8th grade, I read about every Christian YA series available at the local library. I was at that age when you can read and absorb information at ridiculously fast speeds, and I didn't have a social life. The combination yielded copious reading time. Hundreds and hundreds of books. Maybe even a thousand.<br />
There were countless ones I loved, and if you wanted I would give you a list of them. But, among my favorite were books by <a href="http://kbsnodgrass.blogspot.com/2006/02/lifechanging-bill.html" target="_blank">Bill Myer</a>s. Then, as I got older, I discovered these girly-ish books by <a href="http://www.robingunn.com/" target="_blank">Robin Gunn </a>called The Christy Miller Series. I think maybe my BFF bethany told me about them, but however I ran across them, I was in love with the first book. Probably because it involved Hawaii and I've always had this thing about surfing and Hawaii. Don't ask.<br />
Anyway, I read all of those books and I read them again. As an adult, I purchased them and read them again. Why? They're actually kind of cheesy. Christy's world is kind of idealistic, a little picture perfect, even though she faces real-life problems that are realistic. But there's just something special about those books. You feel like you know Christy, like she's your friend.<br />
Really, she was a lot like my real best friend Bethany. And I'm a lot like Christy's fictional best friend, Katie. So maybe that was partly why I loved them.<br />
The thing I really loved as a love-sick pre-teen, was the romance part of the books. It wasn't really over the top. It wasn't even totally the focus of the stories. But there's this guy. Todd. OK, so he's pretty much everyone's perfect dream of a guy. Unrealistically. But there's something endaring about both of them and the way their friendship develops into love. It takes its time. It's focused on friendship. Even though Christy's full of dreams and hopes, she and Todd are careful and patient, and refreshingly un-dramatic about their feelings. You have to read it to understand. It's kind of Anne Shirley/Gilbert Blythe like.<br />
I recently picked up the compilation series of the books and last night I treated myself to one of them. Todd's away on a surfing competition and no one's heard from him for a long time, so Christy sends him a little card with the Bible verse Philippians 1:5-7 in it. The "confident that he who began a good work in you is faithful to complete it... I pray for you... I hold you in my heart." Then, six weeks later, Christy finally gets a response. On a coconut, mailed from Hawaii. Todd wrote Phil 1:9 on it and said, "I hold you in my heart too".<br />
How's that for romance? Pretty great.<br />
Anyway, the point of all that is just to say how influential those books were in my life. I wanted what Todd and Christy had because I could see it meant more than all of the other quick dating relationships going on around me (And Christy tries those too, of course). Some how, when you read all of them, you see the the way Christy is guarding her heart for her future husband. She writes letters to him and keeps them in a little box and then she prays about him even though she doesn't know who he is. It doesn't sound as good when I write it out, but it's cool in the book.<br />
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And it changed me. I'm thankful for Christy Miller because she introduced me to the idea of friendationship (a phrase coined by my youth pastor later). And because of Christy Miller I didn't want to spend time investing in the wrong people. Because of Todd, I felt like I could hold out for a great guy.<br />
Reading in general made me want to be a writer. But reading these books by Robin Jones Gunn made me realize that fictional stories can have transcendent meaning. That you can learn just as much from characters as you can from real people. And I for one am thankful that I learned from Christy's mistakes rather than making them myself. ;) (And, for the record, my husband is WAY better than Todd. He was in high school and he still is. Except he doesn't surf. Although he would be able to if we lived anywhere near an ocean because he's one of those people who can do anything he tries. Tangent over.)<br />
Eventually Robin Jones Gunn wrote "Christy and Todd, the college years" and finished off the three-book series with their wedding. Now, the best news I've heard in a long time, she's written and is writing the newest installment: Christy and Todd, the married years. I can't wait to read them!<br />
Also I can't wait to have my kids read the Christy Miller series as they get older. Now it might be a little outdated... the original ones I read had tapes, VHS, roller skating, and jean skirts. But hey, truth is truth. And Christy is timeless.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-53610453292557152032014-08-18T22:06:00.004-05:002014-08-18T22:06:43.940-05:00The DarknessIt used to frighten me to drive home from my boyfriend's house on the dark nights. He lived about five miles away from any sort of civilization. Getting home required four miles of gravel roads, passing three farms and a graveyard, along with these two creepy lights shining from the gates of this house that was tucked away where you couldn't see. I don't know why those lights always bugged me, sitting there on the road like eyes in the darkness, waiting for me to pass. They never moved but it felt like they did. It felt like they followed me.<br />
I wasn't the kind of person who thought about the dark much back then. But driving in it had this horrific effect. Now I live on the same road my boyfriend (who I married) grew up on, one house down, one house further away from the darkness.<br />
And when we first moved, a sense of dread would come over me every time I had to crawl that car over the hills at night, through the cornfields with the animals and combines lurking somewhere across the vast unknown.<br />
That's what unnerving about the darkness. It's the unknown. There are things you could see in the daylight that disappear into the shadows after the sun sets, and suddenly you're left guessing about everyday things.<br />
<br />
I used to be afraid of the unknown things, too. I used to turn over carpets and open closet doors and shake out old suitcases trying to get answers to what had been hidden. I used to think there had to be answers to everything. And I used to die inside a little bit every time I realized again that sometimes there aren't answers. Sometimes you can't see what's ahead, and sometimes you just have to walk that way anyway.<br />
So faith comes out in there, somewhere, I guess. And maybe that's all that's changed. Now that I'm 32 I don't fear the unknown as much. I just pull it in and embrace it. Yes, it's unsettling. And it's a fearsome thing to understand that darkness is a necessary part of every single life.<br />
But so many things happen in the darkness that actually become spun and woven into beautiful things. Like chickens laying eggs, the world being set into motion, the seeds growing underground. The owl's lonely hoot, the crickets' song, the fireflies winking. The womb. Darkness all around, yet something being created. Something unknown, something unseen. Something wonderful.<br />
I guess getting older has made me see all the things I fear don't always become what I feared they would. And I guess it's helped me see that God--who works in unspoken nights, who never sleeps, who knows all and sees all--does not want me to fear, but to trust.<br />
So now I find there's this kind of wonder in driving in the dark. I head out of the city, away from the glare, and over my shoulder I see all of the things I knew behind me in the dim rear-view mirror. And ahead, the stillness of night. The fireflies, the owls, the beauty of quiet. And me, open heart, trusting the God who works His best in the dark.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-6110583985656821322014-08-12T22:50:00.002-05:002014-08-12T22:50:36.630-05:00PrayIf you know me, you know I'm not someone to jump onto bandwagons. You also know I don't really like reading the news. But last week the news became unavoidable. And I stopped being able to ignore the bigger problems with the world. With what's happening in Iraq and Ukraine, I have a sense that the world is on the cuff of a huge change. I can't really explain the feeling. I've never before wished that I knew more about end times prophesies, but I find myself wondering, trying to recollect vague memories of teachings I've heard about the kingdoms.<br />
Anyway, facebook filled up with news about Iraq and I felt a big burden to do something. I knew my only recourse was prayer or giving money, and without knowing who to give money to or what to do, I turned to praying. I can't even explain how this was different than other things I've prayed for. I feel as if the whole world is relying on us to push back the evil, and we aren't doing our jobs because we're comfy here in our USA wealth and peace and we don't want to think about discomfort. I know that the balance of the kingdoms don't lie in our feeble prayers, but I also know that people who want God's kingdom to come don't sit in their couches, read a news article, and then go back to playing video games or watching the Big Bang Theory.<br />
I know this requires prayers, fervrant, serious prayers. And what I've done so far has been so small. There really isn't much to do, except ask others to join me. We cannot stop praying for God's people who are suffering. We cannot stop praying for His peace to reign.<br />
So I asked others to join me for a day of prayer and fasting (if they wanted to fast). I was surprised how fast my facebook event caught on. It spread and lots of people "attended", praying together with me. I think it was good. I hope it was.<br />
I confess I didn't make my full twenty-four hour fast like I thought I would. I wasn't even feeling that hungry, but I was getting a serious headache, and I knew that I wouldn't have a chance to pray after seven because I'd be in a meeting, so I decided to eat three hours early. It was so easy to convince myself that was OK. And it was, but it makes me sad that I'm not a little bit more resolved about some things.<br />
So here's one prayer I wrote for Iraq. Maybe it will inspire you to join me this week to continue to pray for peace.<br />
<br />
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Lord</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are so many things happening in the world right now,
so many forces at work. So many evil men claiming power, oppressing the weak,
killing others. I admit it is overwhelming and I sense my own
limitations in every news story and every thought I have. I don’t know how to
pray so often I just don’t. I feel helpless and useless and I listen to a lie
that I’m insignificant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t know how it works. I don’t know that a soverign,
unapproachable God who dwells outside of time and space, changes his course of
action because of prayer. I don’t know that it does anything. But I do believe
that you told me to ask you, so I ask. I believe that you promised where two or
three were gathered in your name, you would be there with them. I believe that
you are powerful and good and strong. I believe that you work things together
for your good. And I believe that you are trustworthy. So I lay my heart before
you. </div>
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I confess my disinterest as sin. I confess that I prefer to
ignore the news and move through my day, living in comfort and peace that is a
blessing from you. I choose to not pray or I pray half-heartedly. Lord, change
my heart. Change me to care about the things you care about. Give me faith to
believe that my prayers do make a difference, that they are worthy. And Lord, I
ask you to hear my prayers. I acknowledge you’re sovereign, and that you hold
all things in your hands.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So Father, I want to ask you today to be with those who are
suffering because of their faith in you. They are numerous—countless. They are
faceless to me, but Lord I know they exist and to you they are each so valuable. I know that they rely on the
prayers of faithful believers who are dwelling in safety and peace. And I don’t
often even care. But today I just need to ask that you’ll forgive my
indifference, and hera my pleas. Save these children. Save your people from the
hand of death and destruction. Give them your peace—the peace that comes from
you and not from the world. Provide their needs, and speak your Word into their
hearts. May they find unity with each other and solidarity as they suffer. May
they demonstrate your love to their accusers and, through their actions, shine
your light in the darkest of places. Father, renew their strength. Give them
your power to speak your truth. Allow them to act in love in the face of
oppression, giving to others as you have given to them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ask that you bring your peace to this land, stricken with
war and darkness. Cover your people there. Cause those who don’t know you to cry
out to you, the One True King. And bring your salvation to the middle
east.</div>
<br />
Amen.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-55797629403554529282014-07-17T17:41:00.001-05:002014-07-17T17:41:13.883-05:00The PizzaIn my family there's an epic story that gets told and retold almost every time we're together.<br />
The truth is, it's a dumb story. But my younger brother can't stop telling it. He likes to remind us about it, and bring it up whenever there's occasion. Now we bring it up as a joke on him, but we're still telling the stupid story.<br />
It was one of those nights when mom was gone or sick; can't remember. she wasn't there so we were having freezer pizzas, which we hardly ever did. One of them happened to be particularily nasty-looking with bally sausage clumped in the middle and melted between some sparse cheese. The other one was OK, so we ate all of that. Then, because we were still hungry, my dad took the gross sausage culprit and went to the bathroom with a knife. His words were, "I'll scrape this poop off into the toilet where it belongs."<br />
Being eight, six and four, it was hilarious.<br />
And ever since then, no one has forgotten.<br />
Every family has one of those storytellers. The ones that remember the details no one else cares about. The one who brings up the embarrassing moments at the most awkward times, like when your first boyfriend is over, or at a meet-the-parents kind of thing.<br />
The truth is, we would have forogtten about that pizza twenty years ago if it hadn't been for David, always telling it to us. The phrase he uses is, "Remember that pizza?"<br />
We used to all giggle. Then we'd ask what about it. Then we'd laugh again. Then we'd have to tell it to whatever company we were in. Now we all just kind of roll our eyes or resign with a little smirk. It's funny, but it's not the story itself that's funny anymore. It's the remembering.<br />
So tonight, while my girls were eating and one of them said, "Remember that..." I realized they're the right ages. They'll have some night with Dad that they always remember. They'll have TV shows they watched and talk about, movies they quote, songs they sing. The rite of siblinghood, I guess.<br />
The thing about the Pizza, though, is that the whole thing happened in only five minutes. And it was such a regular day. So mundane, really. Dad making freezer pizzas. Americans do that every day all over, and most of them don't go back and remember that "one time".<br />
But I want my kids to have those "one times". I think they will remember stupid things, silly things that we do. And I think that they'll end up with their own pizza story. That's how it works as generations grow. we share our memories and stories with each other. I hope that we aren't all too absorbed in media and phones to have moments like that, forgotten and thrown away. I hope that my kids get to laugh hard together for thirty years about something stupid. Though hopefully it's not about pizza with dog poop on it.<br />
<br />kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-4997914538863931002014-07-15T22:29:00.003-05:002014-07-15T22:29:44.032-05:00The Flight of the Robin<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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Robin and I met because we were in science class at the same
lab table. We became friends because we had the same birthday. And we had one
of those epic friendships. Where you do all kinds of stuff together and you
talk about whatever’s on your mind without filtering it, and you just exist as
yourself, comfortable, because weird was status quo between us. Seriously, I think I knew she was best friend material when I noticed that she wore a bracelet made out of a melted toothbrush. That's how awesome she was.</div>
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We were both fringe people, I think. I think that ended up
being what made us better friends than the rest of our groups. There were two
groups of people we hung out with together. One were the church kids. They all
went to church together. Except me and Robin didn’t. I went to another church
and she didn’t go to church. The other group were the smart kids. They’d all
gone to elementary and middle school together. Robin and I had come from
separate schools, but separate from theirs too. So they had some kind of camaraderie that we weren’t part of.</div>
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We all got along fine, but I think that both of us always
felt like we didn’t truly belong. So we sort of had our own thing going even
though we ran in the same circles. We were with the brilliant kids who got
great grades, but our grades didn’t make us salutatorians (well, maybe she was. I don't remmeber now). We were both in the
music ensembles, but we didn’t live and breathe it like some people did. We weren’t
first chair material. We were both religious people who knew God, but we
weren’t part of the pastor’s kids inner circle that understood things that we
didn’t. So being different made us the same.</div>
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I was clueless and it took me a long time to realize that
she and I were more different from each other than I thought, too. We were so
similar. We liked so many of the same things. And we thought the same way. And
I always knew there was a sadness that followed her around but I didn’t really
put it all into place until later. I always felt like there was something I
didn’t know about her, but I didn’t realize that her hiding was a way of
protecting herself.</div>
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We spent four years together in high school, but after I got
married I felt a rift developing. Too clueless to see that she’d sort of shut
me off, I pursued our friendship thinking it was me. I know it partly was, but
I guess part of it was her too. And I wish I’d known what to do then. But it
seemed like I’d lost her. After a year or so I stopped trying. I missed her
horribly, but I sort of figured things had just ended and there wasn’t much to
do to change it.</div>
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I’ve written about her before on here. I just never wanted
our friendship to end. I’d pray for her sometimes. I’d think of her often, and
I kept most of the things I had that reminded me of her. Batman and Robins,
pictures, stupid notes we’d written, moose slippers. They hurt to see but I
didn’t want to forget her either. So I just kept her in my heart.</div>
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I’d just prayed for her a few months ago, and just sort of
decided to let it all go, when out of the blue I got a message on facebook from
her. What a surprise. What an answer to prayer. I thought I’d lost her forever,
but that's not true anymore. I know this, because she sent me a picture on
facebook of a Batman and Robin monster keychain… and I think that just sealed
the deal. Things are different, but in a lot of ways the same. And I’m
overjoyed to be sharing life again with her. The moral of the story is, if you
don’t want to give up on someone, and even if you do want to, just don’t. </div>
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-74339027300324110462014-07-07T19:08:00.003-05:002014-07-07T19:08:29.534-05:00The Broken Songs We SingThis week has been a helluva. It just seems to get worse for people around me, and it just... feels like the darkness is getting a little too close. The last two weeks have been so full. Good and bad, mixed together, but f course the bad comes out stronger, uglier and seemingly triumphant. I'm really tired of bad news.<br />
It's not just that two things got stolen from me. Because I know they weren't that big of a deal. It's just more and more bad news. People are dying a lot in the local news. I had to report my stolen kindle to the police today which made me so sad. But it's not even a big deal because there are some people I know whose lives aren't ever going to be the same this week.<br />
And sometimes there just isn't much to say while we stand around in the aftermath, the ripples of the troubles floating out around us. Sometimes ther'es not much to do when brokenness encroaches when we realize again how hard this life is, when reality hits too close to home.<br />
We stand there, hands in pockets, staring into space, thinking maybe there are answers out there, maybe if we think harder or prayer harder or just cry a little more, some how it will patch itself back together and then, maybe, maybe things won't seem quite so black. Maybe it's just a little blip on the radar in the scheme of it all. But that doesn't make it any less dark.<br />
And maybe we'll never be the same.<br />
What's there to do for that friend whose life just isn't going right? For my relative who's marrying her girlfriend and whose family emits the hatred vibe toward her? Whose husband lost his job? For the little girl who grew up among us at church and is now going to bury her husband of five weeks? For that family of fifteen kids whose mom won't ever kiss them goodnight again?<br />
Anger and rage surround the questions that burn in my chest, and they mostly just come out in tears or in painful questions I can't answer. Sometimes I wonder why I believe in anything. Sometimes I question if what I do believe is really just some well-crafted lie that people made up to make themselves feel better. And just when I get to that point, I step back and remember.<br />
Love gets the final word.<br />
It isn't really a consolation when you're in the middle of the pain. It doesn't really change how crappy it all is. But it opens up a door that lets a little light in. Jesus gets the final say. And he's going to wipe tears from our eyes and tell us it's all all right.<br />
He's going to build a new kingdom of perfection where sorrow dies, where lies are not believed, where love and light dwell eternally.<br />
And even while we wait, He's good. His promises are true, no matter how we feel. I wouldn't have been able to say that seven years ago. Maybe not even five years ago. But the song that grief sings is temporary. And when joy seeps back in, you look over your shoulder and find those dark days were covered in something inexplicable, something mysterious and untouchable, and yet so reachable, so personal. Something that heard all of those lonely cries in the night, something that worked behind the scenes, moving people to do the right things, patching the broken pieces of your heart into something new and beautiful. Something that spoke to you at the point when you were ready to give up and let go. Love. And there, in that place where grief drops off and love takes over, we find fortitude and Strength, we find Hope, and we find Peace.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-2922423182912189552014-06-06T13:12:00.001-05:002014-06-06T13:12:25.757-05:00The Swisher HouseMy parent's flight got in late last week so I took a little hike in their truck down the gravel roads a couple miles to where we used to live. Things are so different out there. 3 more houses have burned down (weird, right?). The neighbors up the road's property has become a storage/junk yard for farm machinery. The little farmer down the road plowed down the house and made it into a field. Trees aren't the same. The fence around our yard was gone.<br />
I love that little house for what it was. The haven of my childhood. I had such happy memories there, so much of who I am grew in that house and in the barns and fields surrounding it. So I wrote this.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>The Swisher House</b><br />
<br />
There used to be a tree in that ditch a quarter mile down<br />
and i imagined a badger lived there<br />
or sotmimes made it into my fort<br />
And we used to hang ropes off of the cypress trees<br />
to make them into swings.<br />
The gravel was thicker, and all the walls were whiter on those barns<br />
The corn cribs' door stood open for us and we'd climb into the rafters<br />
<br />
There used to be a fence around the yard that kept the dog from chasing cars<br />
And there used to be children and goats and cows and pigs<br />
Dad's '77 truck parked in the driveway<br />
and the grass was always mowed<br />
and it seemed to me<br />
things used to be a lot less close.<br />
<br />
Now the quiet farm rests in the final hours of its years<br />
the days passing around<br />
as the weeds and wild grow higher<br />
Driving by I get the feeling it hasn't seen kids in a while<br />
No grass forts or campfires<br />
or bare feet running through the sprinkler.<br />
It looks so much smaller<br />
yet still so familiar.<br />
And I can still cast a glance out the window and hear<br />
the mewing of brand new baby cats<br />
and the howling barn dog<br />
the pigs sqealing in the barn<br />
My brothers and me and all those years<br />
of quiet cold nights<br />
and slow summer days<br />
and tractors and horses and games in the grove<br />
The world fresh and wide<br />
Me and my imagination running wild.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-46748826629815265312014-04-19T21:53:00.001-05:002014-04-19T21:53:48.199-05:00The Resurrection - MarthaI guess this is my tradition. My Easter poem. It took me a long time to write it this year and I'm not sure it's even that good, but it's stuff I've been thinking about embodied in a bible character.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
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The Resurrection - Martha</div>
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<br /></div>
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Three days gone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before Jesus even came</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And in those days all hope drained from me<br />
while he prayed I wondered if I’d put my faith in the wrong place</div>
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Because He could have come sooner</div>
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he could have kept it from
happening</div>
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I’d met him on the road shouting out in my despair</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Where were you Jesus, if only you had been there</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was something about the glory of God</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">
and promises for the future</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I didn’t care about it then because my brother was gone</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And my whole future and life went with him, sealed inside
that stone grave</div>
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Now Jesus stood there at the tomb and joined the weepers</div>
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Before he opened up his arms and prayed</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I wondered about my wavering faith, </div>
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put in the wrong things, lost in
the wrong place.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Then the Lord called my brother from the grave</div>
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We were too busy being appalled to know how to rejoice</div>
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<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We took
off the grave clothes and watched him walk</div>
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And Jesus was there among us</div>
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Laughing at the sunlight, wiping tears from his eyes </div>
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And that was when I glimpsed that glory, </div>
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the Resurrection and the Life </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Now it’s all changed in just moments, with news they’d taken
Jesus away</div>
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And tonight I saw his body, lifted
from the cross</div>
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Broken and breathless, bleeding still</div>
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and I don’t really know what I can do or say</div>
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and I’m afraid that the thing I once called faith</div>
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was just ambitious dreaming</div>
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<br /></div>
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He said he was the resurrection, but now he’s not here</div>
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To bring life or speak those words of hope</div>
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And I’m trying to remember what he said</div>
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Remember the moments, those pieces of heaven that came and
touched earth when he was here</div>
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My brother, the rejoicing, the grave clothes on the ground</div>
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the palm branches and praises</div>
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The woman anointing his feet for his burial</div>
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I thought he’d meant something metaphorical</div>
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But I guess I was wrong again</div>
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And then the words that I’d spoken came back to me</div>
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If only you had been here.</div>
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Where are you now, Lord</div>
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When all of the rulers plot against
us</div>
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When your friends ran away to hide</div>
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I believe in the resurrection, but you had me thinking I wouldn’t
have to wait</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You were going to be with the Father</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you left us behind to find our own way</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I am again, worried and troubled about so many
things</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And though it’s dark</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Though the hope you held in your very hands has faded from
my heart</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I still believe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I believe you’re the resurrection</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m waiting through this time</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whoever believes in you will live even though he dies.</div>
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-18272969551650464432014-03-24T21:18:00.000-05:002014-03-24T21:18:15.162-05:00Spring Break 2000There isn't really a good way to describe my relationship with my brother-in-law. I've tried before to write a sort of tribute to him, or to somehow explain what our relationship is like but I Think it sort of baffles people, even people in our family. I actually met him before I met my husband, back my freshman year of high school and I feel like he's always kind of looked out for me like a big brother does. Some how we became friends while he was away at college. It's just hard to explain except to say that he's my brother and I think of him like a brother, and if he were my real brother he would be a model big brother. The kind that gives you wet willies and kicks you and then manages to offer sage advice about some profound problem in your life all in the same afternoon. That's what makes you what you are. We have lots of really great memories, and truthfully, they come from broken places in both of our hearts, and I think that's what made us friends anyway. We sort of "get" each other in some way not everyone does. It was really great that I actually got to marry into his family and have him as my real brother.<br />
So spring break my senior year was pretty great. I think it was the kind you'd call "the glory days" when you look back on it. Just me, my boyfriend and his big brother, bumming around town, staying up all night playing Nintendo and drinking mountain dew. Epic in the true sense of the word.<br />
Now that it's spring break here in town, I started thinking about it. And I wrote this, which is the first time I've felt content with the tribute aspect of it, the first time it's sort of explain the relationship we have.<br />
<br />
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<br />
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Spring Break 2000 </div>
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<br /></div>
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If there were pictures of us then, we’d look back and see</div>
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A wounded soldier’s healing heart standing there with me</div>
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Squinting against the sun, putting patches on the scars</div>
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Asking questions to the lonely stars</div>
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<br /></div>
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And I never figured out why you made time for me</div>
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With all of my quirks and immaturity</div>
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But I’m glad you did because I needed you</div>
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While I navigated my way through</div>
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Romance and God and moving forward</div>
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And whatever I was heading toward</div>
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On those spring break nights just us three</div>
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Driving at dusk down highway thirty</div>
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<br /></div>
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And we stayed up all night playing games and drinking mountain
dew</div>
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It wasn’t until later that I knew</div>
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What God was making me into</div>
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In the quiet slow days of my favorite spring break</div>
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<br /></div>
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That spring break came right as the cold snap broke</div>
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And we could go outside without our boots and coats</div>
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So we took off toward downtown in your beat-up car</div>
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We hit the skywalk and the used bookstore</div>
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And I found myself there in the music and fresh air</div>
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<br /></div>
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We rode out on the gravel roads and sang along</div>
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To some of your favorite songs</div>
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There was a kind of freedom there with our hearts on our
sleeves</div>
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Becoming who we were going to be.</div>
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And there was strange communion in our lonely souls</div>
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Figuring out how friendship goes</div>
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While we drank tea and talked about dreams</div>
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<br /></div>
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Sometimes I miss it, mostly I don’t</div>
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But whenever the spring wind blows</div>
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I look back at those memories with you as my friend.</div>
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We’re longer away from lost than we were back then</div>
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Still grasping toward the light</div>
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Still looking for a fight </div>
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But found at the door of God’s mercy</div>
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Wrapped in the grace by which we’ve always stood</div>
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And you were one of the ones who walked with me as I grew</div>
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While His riches of grace came into view</div>
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Through a haze of self-doubt seen by few others</div>
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You were my friend. Now you’re my brother. </div>
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-11715730691535447542014-01-09T21:42:00.001-06:002014-01-09T21:42:26.090-06:00NothingFor a long time Blogger has been glitchy and hasn't let me post the things I've written. I don't know why. Not that I have much to write and I know all four of you don't sit around just waiting for me to say something.<br />
I'm thinking about changing things. Make a more directed blog that has something to do with anything instead of this randomness. But truthfully, blogging is kind of a waste of time for me. I'm not out to self-promote or get some huge following of readers, and I don't really write on here as my only outlet of writing. I don't even know why I've kept it going. There have been good seasons and mostly just nothing seasons where I have nothing important to say.<br />
That sounds bland, but now you know. Some day I'll start a new blog with a pretty background and cool buttons and links and stuff. Something more appealing. But right now I'm too busy writing books.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-12301309359600545842013-12-28T20:11:00.001-06:002014-01-09T21:39:06.616-06:00Winter WarmthIt hadn't been snowing or very cold in Minneapolis when we left, headed home for Christmas break. But the closer we got to Iowa, the more trecherous the conditions became. The 80's Cavalier struggled to stay on the road, amidst the strong winds and the slippery roads. It was hard to see, so the rough-housing that Nathan and I were acccustomed to had to stop. No more teasing or half-arguing conversations.<br />
He focused while we drove, each mile seeming to take longer than the last. "Are we going to your house or mine?" he asked. I was engaged to his brother, and hadn't seen him in four weeks, so I had no intentions of going home until I'd seen his face. "Your house," I said.<br />
So Nathan decided he'd take the back way home. More direct, he'd said. Better roads, he'd said. I don't know what he meant by that, because it became clear that the back way wasn't better. We pushed through the drifts, the fingers of snow growing across each country highway with their ominous white claws. "We're not going to make it," I said.<br />
"Shut up. We'll make it."<br />
We were about one mile north of the farm, the warmth of the wood stove, the shelter from the wind, when I spotted a car in the ditch. Nathan spotted them too, only he didn't think they were in the ditch. He thought they were in the road. And so he veered toward them, solidly wedging that tiny car into a huge drift.<br />
We pushed a little before he decided it was a lost cause. He got out to help the people in the ditch, who ended up being his dad and a neighbor girl.<br />
After quick evalutation, it becae clear that there would be no pulling the cars clear tonight. We would walk.<br />
I had my clothes for a month of break in the back of the car, so I added a pair of socks and pulled a pair of sweats over my pants. I bundled up in what winter gear I'd brought along, and then, the four of us stranded passengers headed toward home.<br />
The wind had been so fierce, it had been hard to open the car door against it. Now, we walked through, completely exposed to the prairie wind, whipping across the fields.<br />
We made it to a farm house, worried a little about frost bite and freezing, and we stepped onto the porch. This was before everyone carried cell phones, so the father sent me into the vacant house to search for a phone to call home. When I tried to call, nothing happened. And then, headlights in the driveway.<br />
TThankfully, country neighbors are an understanding bunch. We got a ride home in their truck the rest of the way, and arrived at the farm, only partially frozen.<br />
I'd pressed through it all, knowing I would see my love when we arrived. But he did not come to greet me like I'd expected. We came inside, and his mom told me that he had gone to my house in town to wait for me to get home. He'd have to stay the night there, and I'd stay the night at his house. Safe from the storm, but apart from each other.<br />
I think about that night so often, when we arrive at my in-laws on wintery nights and find warmth in the fire. It's a vivid memory, every part of that night and the following day. The warmth of a home in the middle of winter, that welcoming feeling like you're home, even though it's not your home. That's something I want to offer to others. It's something I cherish, and even though we don't have to travel more than five minutes to get there anymore, it still feels like coming home to a long-lost friend when we go home to the farmkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-45841975401401870392013-12-24T11:53:00.003-06:002014-01-09T21:39:06.618-06:00Hope. (or Why I don't Care about Duck Dynasty)I don't care about Duck Dynasty right now, because my husband's out in the cold fixing a car for some people who are one month away from losing everything. Because my friend's husband lost his job unfairly and was unfairly denied unemployment and they don't know how they're going to pay for anything. Because my best friend wants to be wrapping up presents for children she hasn't been able to have. Because there are Christians in Syria and Iraq and all over the world who are mourning the loss of their brothers and sisters who were brutally murdered for being Christians. Because there are orphans just wishing for a mom and dad. Because there are families that asked for snow boots and coats for their kids instead of toys.<br />
I want Christmas to mean more than things. And I want us to not be distracted from what matters by worrying about what a TV network decides to do with a show that we were all surprised it ever even allowed to air.<br />
<br />
Do you know why we put out lights at Christmas? I don't really know where the idea came from. But, in the bleakness of these cold days (sub-zero here), when darkness takes up most of our free time, and it's hard to go outside at all, we can drive at night and see these bright cheerful things shining out, telling us it's OK. It's not the end of the world, even though winter sometimes feels like it. There is hope.<br />
The thing about hope, though, is that it's so closely linked with disappointment. We hope for these things that don't happen, for presents we don't get, for blessings we aren't blessed with.<br />
But it isn't just a word that we put on an ornament. Hope is more than a feeling. When you're hoping for the right things. It's just that the way Christmas is these days, it's taught us to hope for things, for people or relationships, for brighter futures and for happiness. And it's not bad to hope for those things. It's different than completely setting your Hope in something.<br />
I like lights at Christmas because they remind me about the Light of the World. Hope of glory. Hope for home. For heaven. For everything. Jesus is Hope. And if I can just wrap my mind around it, anchor myself there, instead of in things or people or dreams, then I can find real joy. Because hope in Jesus, is kind of like hoping for spring. The answers, the truth, the way we want it, might not always be right there, right when we want it. But we continue to hold on to Him because He will make things right. He will keep his promises. And spring always comes, even when it seems like it never will. It just does. That's the hope that doesn't disappoint. The light in the darkness and bleakness and hopelessness. The hope that makes joy possible. I want it for me so much. And I want it for my friends who are fighting with the darkness right now. I want it for you. Not just for Christmas, but for eternity.<br />
kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-32146406584332521232013-10-21T14:22:00.001-05:002013-10-21T14:22:16.883-05:00Things I don't Like [confessions of a displaced rebel]Some day I'm going to write a song to the tune of "These are a frew of my favorite things" only it will be "these are a few of my least favorite things."<br />
On the top of the list will, of course, be Pintrest, the devil in disguise.<br />
And then there will be another slew of things that most people in my place in life actually really like, and I sort of feel guilty to admit that I don't like them. Here's one. Pregnancy pictures. Gross. I mean, even the sweetest ones, I just don't like them. OK, get your family portrait done when you're pregnant. Whatever. But don't go out of the way to point out your huge belly. I know I probably risk offending my photographer friends, but... I seriously would never want to look at my own pictures of me being pregnant (ie fat), or (even worse) my husband doing weird, unnatural things to show his adoration. I know, some people like it. I do not. (Sincere apologies to those this offends. Personal preference, right?)<br />
<br />
And another thing I don't like. Downton Abby. HATE. I watched whole first season waiting for it to get better and it just... didn't. It's like watching the freaking Kardashians dressed up in WWI. There are good things, but mostly, you just sort of want to strangle the whole manor. I do not understand the obsession, the absolute obsession, women have with that show. WHY!<br />
<br />
And, for thirds, I'll just say, I hate Orange Leaf. I know, pretty much everyone loves it. Froyo at its best. But... ew. It doesn't taste good. I like the retro look of the place and the cool chairs and all that, but it's COLD in there, and there are TV's and that bothers me. Also, I just don't like how it tastes and I think they're ripping people off with their toppings and pay by the weight thing. Plus... it's just froyo, man. Not heaven in a little orange cup. Except, I have to make one concession for those little jelly balls that pop in your mouth and seep out liquid. I sort of like those but it is not worth the $7.<br />
<br />
All right. Now I've let it out. My dark confessions of things I don't like that almost everyone else does. Now you know. Stay tuned for next time, in which I will discuss pictures of "catz". Not impressed.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16978955.post-76562419014337284302013-10-06T20:55:00.000-05:002013-10-06T20:55:33.240-05:00Joyhe told me to fight for you<br />
but somewhere in these darkening days<br />
you got away.<br />
I forgot where to find you,<br />
in all of those little moments like washing dishes and bath time<br />
and piles of leaves outside.<br />
I missed you there in those quiet moments before bed<br />
wrapped in those blankets, the little giggles and tired sighs<br />
And in the morning, in those bright little eyes.<br />
All those momentary glimpses<br />
like polaroid pictures<br />
waiting to be glanced through<br />
and put away again.<br />
You were there, peeking out<br />
pulling at my seams,<br />
wishing I would seek you and find you there<br />
I wanted you<br />
but not badly enough to fight<br />
and you got buried there in the middle of the night<br />
When the questions and doubts clouded in<br />
amidst the weight of all my sin<br />
Things I never could carry<br />
but liked to pretend I could.<br />
You fight, but I fight harder<br />
and the bitterness eats away at the places of my heart<br />
that I hide from everyone but Him.<br />
And that is where I'll find you, where I'll find you there to stay<br />
in the middle of these darkest nights<br />
in the battles I never should have fought<br />
there in the middle of these tangled knots.<br />
You, pulling through, shining the smallest light<br />
like the breaking morning<br />
after the biggest storm.<br />
You, struggling to be seen in blessings and brokeness<br />
in those beautiful smiles<br />
in tears, and pain<br />
amidst every struggle<br />
in sunshine and falling rain<br />
Joy. I'll fight for you now.<br />
I'll never forget your name.kshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01952260281193686120noreply@blogger.com1