NY is for Lovers

And Denver is for quitters.

Thank the Lord for wimps, for the people that wussed out. Because without them, I wouldn't have been able to take my own soujourn away from The Great State. As Monty Python so aptly said, sometimes "Run away!" has its purpose.

I say that with the upmost respect and love, as I probably would've done the exact same thing. Every time I get a different view of the mountains, I ponder just what happened when the settlers were slowly making their way across America when it was fresh and new. They'd already lost a third of their party, their food was dwindling, and a chill was seeping into the night air. They had seen nothing but flat land and horizon (read: Kasnas) for days, weeks, and then they slowly see a shadow in the west. Then some crests. Then they reach where Denver would eventually spawn to witness the great tragedy of mountains that lay before them.

Maybe they thought it was just one or two steep hills. Maybe they climbed one. Saw that The Rockies go on for what looks like forever, even when you're in the middle of them on one of the taller mountains, you can't see the end. And that's when the original Denverites said "Screw it. California can't be that great."

I don't think they missed out on anything. Anything at all.

I hope you're as happy as you're pretending

I have been thinking so much about my past. About the experiences that make us who we are. How we become so disfunctional as people, where our weaknesses and our idiosyncrasies come from. I still haven't figured it out.

But the longer I live, the stronger I hold to my belief that if we were all truly honest - most often with ourselves - we would be so much more truly happy, Truly content. At peace.

I wonder sometimes if Jesus was a subtle person. If He minced words in the years we don't know about. If He was tempted to lie to Himself in His heart. Did He fall in love with a girl who didn't love Him back? When He was a carpenter, did He ever have any angry customers? Did He tell them how it really was - that it was wood, it was bound to warp? That they were making a bigger deal out of a stupid table than they were their own souls? That if they said one more thing He'd shove a manger so far up their rears they'd be tasting hay for a week?

Did He see an aspect of His personality becoming unstable, becoming unhealthy, and did He work to change it? Did He try to figure out another way besides the one He knew was coming? Did He try to justify running? Did He ever think "I will not grow up to be like my mom...my dad...my teacher...my friend...my..."? Was He as intimidated by the prospect of becoming a different person out of necessity, out of knowing it would be so much better for Him and the ones He loved? And did He have to in order to love us the way that He did? He does?

I was reading an old journal, and I'd written down a thing or two that God had told me. I realized I couldn't even remember the last time He spoke to me, and I immediately wondered what I'd done? Am I too far gone? Too old? Has my faith become less like that of a child's? It was along this coal line I was raking myself across when He said "When's the last time you spoke to Me?"

And the even better question: "When's the last time you listened?"

Welcome to existence: everyone's here

This country has become so dependant on things to make us happy, on the fleeting contentment of stuff. If I could only buy that house I want (with all the upgrades of course), then I would feel like I had a home. If I could just buy this dress I would feel less fat. If I treat myself to a nice meal I will feel less stressed. If I could only get that car, it'd make me more of a man. If he would just buy me that ring, I would feel loved.

So what if we don't have the money? What can the credit card company do to us? You only live once. I deserve this. Everyone has one. Just keeping up with the Joneses. I need it. I'll pay it off next week. Next month. Next year. After this last thing, I'll start saving. After this. And this. And this. Oh and...

We are drowning in our desires and our posessions are the stones around our necks.

Oh my God, forgive me for who I'm not

I do love You, Father, in the ways that I know how. I love you for the ways you teach me, for the ways you move in my life and in the world around me. I love you for this outstanding world you've given us - for its severity, its serenity, its perfection in its broken way. I love you for giving me this life, for making me who I am. For the sense of adventure, for my quirks, even for my imperfections. For keeping me humble. For your glory to work through them.

I love you for the people you've blessed me with, even when I don't appreciate them as I should.

I love you for time. For the preciousness of experience. I love you for ability, for mobility, for learning and patience and 70 x 7 chances to try again. I love you for the forgiveness that I know is there - even when I can't accept it.

I love you for the immense creativity you have given to man that I might appreciate, reflect upon, be moved and delighted by, and enjoy. I love you for the advances you've allowed us to make, even if they be our downfall. Because it is astounding to watch, to be witness to genius.

I love you because I don't understand you, and it is my lame attempt to reach you in a meager way I know how. I love you for comfort, for peace, for an end that is really a beginning. I love you for Your Son, for the idea of sacrifice. I love you for your presence in pain. And in praise.

I love you for wanting praise over apology.

I love you for a future, made even better by a past through which you've brought me. I love you for all the things I can enjoy because I was born in 1983. I love you because you will be there in my most frightening moments, my most agonizing thoughts. And you will bring me home.

It seems that love blooms out of season

My feet are freezing, and it feels so good. I've missed my curtains, my photographs, my Mac. Missed Jean and my ten dollar big comfy chair. My silly paintings and the Dave & Buster bunny ears that alight my favorite one. My big thick socks from my great grandmother, my music, even my rather uncomfortable desk chair from which I've been musing for much of the day.

Gazelle intensity is the attitude with which a person must run to become debt free, according to Dave Ramsey. I've become pretty financially healthy; in fact, I'm a little bit amazed at what an amazing position Mike & I find ourselves in just a few short months before we merge into our own family. I realize, though, that it's one of the few things of health in my own personal life.

I always thought that, once I found the man I would marry, my soul mate, life would somehow be easier. Everything would just fall into place because I'd have no reason not to have the perfect relationship with the Lord, the stamina to workout 8 days a week, the desire to be at church every Wednesday night and Sunday morning because I would be so filled with thankfulness for having finally found him - the one I've been waiting for my entire life. I'd love my job, and have no fear of losing it. I'd be constantly thin and happy and beautiful and talented because the rest of my heart had finally shown up.

I forgot about effort.

Somehow I've been caught in a rut of self-doubt and morose-thinking; Satan had to find some other way to attack me instead of using a guy (his favorite weapon of choice for 24 years). I want to take art courses, to learn how to draw and paint. But I haven't because I'm afraid of failing. I want to start a Bible study, to work with the kids at the Children's Hospital, to give hope to the weary. When I've become one. All because I was too afraid to fail. What ifs assailed me. So I didn't even try.

And I have a track record. I've never failed at anything I've put my mind to. Ever! This used to astound me. Until I forgot about it. I've been bogged down with the knowledge that my relationship with the Lord is in failure mode. But that's not how He sees it. He's just waiting.

Well, I'm here. And I'm finally excited about 2009. I'm pumped about changing my eating habits - and more importantly the lie I tell myself that I need food for comfort, for peace, for passion, for *insert excuse here*. I'm in the last throws of putting the finishing touches on my wedding, and I have to be a little smug here, it is going to be out of this world. The wedding to outdo all weddings in fun! I can't wait to see all my old friends, to have them there to celebrate this amazing day! Stephanie and Preeti, Aaron and Jason and Randy and Mindy. People that have helped to make me who I am, and love me despite myself.

I can't wait to earn an even better performance review this year. To start anew with a pair and plan. I can't wait to be there when my best friend has her first baby, when my sister marries the love of her life. I can't wait to give of myself, to stop focusing on Kendra and start focusing on others.

The potential is limitless! And I can't wait to see what the Lord does with my prayers.

When did cancer become cool? And where were all the stars when my little bald head was being treated?!

What a jip.

When you demand perfection, the person you are most hard on is yourself.

It might be a quarter life crisis or a stirring in my soul

I am in possession of, I have come to realize, quite a few "Internet friends". They don't really even know they're my friends. But I'm connected to them through reading their blog, or supporting their start-up craft business, or constantly checking for updates on their comic genius. It's strange how much you think you get to know someone from a screen, some typed words, and pictures. But you do - in a small way.

One such friend just posted her response to a question one of her real friends asked her: what are you most proud of this year? She responded with something for each month, pictures included! which of course made me think what a brilliant entry that would be! What am I most proud of this year? Starting with January...

I've been thinking about it for hours now, which resulted in a tearful breakdown in the tub. It's an entry I can't make. There are less things that I'm proud of for the entire YEAR than there are for just one month. Even now as I write that I'm crying at this fact. What is wrong with my life? Am I just that safe? That boring? That...meaningless?

I am not proud of the fact I've been here for two and a half years and I can't make myself get up on Sunday mornings so that I can build a community of people in this state. I have friends that are comfortable - I met them at work! THEY HAD TO TALK TO ME! And thank God they did or I'd be the loneliest person in the world!

I'm not proud of how life lazy I am. How lacking in risk and adventure my choices have been.

I am not proud of how little I talk to God. About my impending marriage, my job status, my sense of failure as a person, as a child of His, as a good human being! How much I don't care about His Word, defending my faith, restoring my soul.

I'm really not proud that I got back onto Facebook. I mean seriously?! What a waste of time. Am I really so disconnected that I feel I need to be on some stupid internet site that really doesn't even begin to represent who I am? That steals my time and effort on a daily basis because I get sucked into stalking other peoples' profiles who I DON'T EVEN KNOW! I just laze through their pictures as if they're meaningful! Please!

I can't believe I don't have any hobbies. What a pathetic loser I am. What do I do besides work for Ford?!

I abhore that I don't know what I want. I have no goals, no dreams. I always hated that question "Where do you see yourself in 5 years?" Because most of the time, my initial reaction was that I didn't expect to live. And after that 5 second delay, I just made something up. Every. Time. I used interviews just to see how creative I could get with my answers, to see just how well I could hone my ability to BS, to craft my on-the-spot oratory skills. For what? So I can pretend I know what I'm talking about now.

How do I not have a passion?!

This girl started her own business, had three jobs, and started grad school in one year. I can't even say I've found a job I love. And I think - I'll take a risk! I'll find something I love! Let's see what's out there! It might not pay as much...but who cares?

Except for I have to have health insurance. One yearly visit to make sure I don't have cancer costs thousands of dollars. We all can't change the world, right? Most of us have to have the perfunctory positions to make the world go round. But round is making me want to throw up and cry at the same damn time.

What's so amazing about really deep thoughts?

I wish I had some. But I just don't have the energy to write them down.

Classic.

Woman Murders VIRTUAL Husband

You've got to wonder what the cops interviewing this guy were thinking at the time!

I hope He Sees Me In This Dress

Operation Find a Wedding Dress (that's the Word document I made to help me keep track of that nightmare!) made me think of a story I wrote in ninth grade. I searched through folder after folder and finally found it buried in some old AppleWorks documents. I had my first boyfriend that year - my freshman year. My first heartbreak. It changed my entire relationship with Jesus Christ. I did what I still do to deal with the situation: I wrote about it. Earned some awards for this story, actually. I remember that night though - and I kept both the dresses I wore, just for this story. It always made tears come to my eyes.

It still does.



I Hope He Sees Me In This Dress
Kendra Wetterling
July 26, 1999

“Oh this dress is gorgeous!” I inform the bathroom mirror. I think to myself “You know? I’ve never ever had a short dress before.” I mean it’s not nasty or anything close, it’s just not to my ankles. It’s modestly short, and to die for! “The greens in it match my eyes perfectly!” I muse. If only my hair would do right. “Maybe I should cut it short again,” I think to myself. “Times like these are the best to make changes. . .no wait. . .remember how much you hated it last time. You’ve waited forever and a day for it to get this long. Don’t even think about it.”

Everyone says guys don’t like short hair. Well, the length of mine didn’t seem to help me any. I replay that night for the umpteanth time. It was supposed to be my night. Everyone says I looked gorgeous. I had my hair put up for the first time. I loved it so much. And my dress suited me perfectly. Everyone said they were stunned. Everyone said. Except for one.
He picked me up about an hour before the banquet was to begin. I knew there was something wrong, but he said to wait until tonight and he’d talk to me. I guessed he meant after. It was a horrible drive to the banquet hall. Oh, he said I looked pretty, in a way that sounded like it had been beaten out of him. It was like those stupid compliments the blond snobs at beauty pageants give one another. “Love your hair; hope you win,” as my dad always mocks. When really, they think their hair looks like some sort of bird’s nest and if they win, they’re going to learn where that “skinny little twit” lives and egg her house. That always helps to make one feel pretty. But, I was trying to fool myself into having a good time, so I shoved the tone in the back of my head and tried to appreciate the voiced comment as a compliment. Of course, that idea was blown to pieces by his next remark.

My mom had found these hair sticks that matched my dress perfectly. And since it was a Japanese look, they went well with the whole ensemble. I adored them almost most of all, especially the fact that they snuggled quite nicely in the French bun in which my hair was done. “You wearing chopsticks in your hair?” he said, with a playful voice, like that of a girl trying to make you look bad by not making you look bad. You know, the girls back in first and second grade. The ones that would point out your most obvious zits and say that the dress you’re wearing looks so good for hand-me-downs. Tears stung my eyes as I merely said “No”. I thought I was going to puke at that comment. I couldn’t remember ever being that hurt. But I hadn’t even gotten to the “talk” yet.

The banquet hall is still fresh in my mind. It was just breath taking! Windows surrounded two of the high walls when you walked in. And the sun was setting so the room practically glowed. The carpet was plush red, looked totally new, and the tables were set so elegantly. Everyone was dressed up, and it was wonderful to talk to my friends in an atmosphere outside of school. But always in the back of my mind was the lingering knowledge that I was going to have to endure some sort of speech before I got to crawl into my bed and cry myself to sleep. It felt as though everyone knew what was going to happen to me when this was all over. I just knew they could see it on my face. He certainly didn’t hide it well, but I think the one thing that told me for sure was that he and his “best friend”, who just happened to be a girl, hadn’t talked once all night. But of course, there was that little shoulder squeeze she gave him behind my back.

The banquet was in honor of academic achievements. I went up there a number of times, to tell the truth. But I was too preoccupied to count. He went up there first of the both of us. I told him I was so proud. He gave me a slight, guilty grin in return for my gushing. He could barely look me in the eyes. Especially when he was standing at the front being given whatever award he had merited. It was even worse when I went up there. I usually love these type of things. Everyone knows how nice it is to be recognized and thought well of. So, I was as close to elated as I was going to get as I walked to the front to receive my first award. I saw my parents smiling and taking pictures. And my friends remaining in the audience were all showing their pride for me. Then I looked at him. “What were you thinking?” I ask myself. Again. “Did you think he’d be proud of you? He should have been the one to be most proud. Instead, he couldn’t even look at you, standing up there receiving your awards, utterly humiliated. What a fool.”

And so the rest of the evening went. I went up for the awards. But I don’t remember any of it. I was numb; I had to be to get myself through the night without bursting into tears. Then, it was over. Just like that. But my ordeal had only begun. Everyone was so nice. So complimentary. People I’d never even met were coming up to me, telling me how beautiful I looked, congratulating me on this and on that. I’ve never acted so well in my life. “I deserve an Oscar for putting up with that evening,” I hiss at the mirror. But really, I say it to him.
We got in the car and started heading back to my house. I attempt small talk about the evening, the food, clothes, banquet hall, anything. “Please God. Please. Anything but that,” I remember praying. “I can’t do it God. I can’t. Please,” I pray now. I stop the tears. “Don’t ruin your makeup, sweet thing,” I reprimand myself. I asked what he wanted to talk about, after all the meaningless subjects (the few I could bring myself to think of) had been dissolved. “I can’t talk while I’m driving,” he said abruptly. I stared out the window, willing myself not to think. About anything. Just breath, don’t think. Oh Lord, please. Do not think! Just. . .

“It didn’t work,” I say aloud through my teeth. Never does, you know? We finally, after endless minutes of silence on the way home, reached my house. He parked in the front. Then his whole shpeal began. He still liked me. “Then why did you break up with me?” I say to my reflection, seeing only him, sitting in the driver’s seat of the car. And it had nothing to do with his best friend whom he’d gone out with to “celebrate his birthday” a few days before. “Of course, you never thought I’d find out what I did afterward, did you now?” He’d been thinking about this for three weeks now. I continue to converse with the mirror. “So you just decided to let me know now, on my night? You thought it would be better to lead me on than to just go ahead and do your dirty work? Oh yeah, you’re the smart one.” He said it was something God had laid on his heart for sometime now. I believe it was at that moment that I wanted to turn and slap him as hard as I could. “You could have come up with something better than that.” That had to be one of the worst things anyone has ever said to me.

I began to cry. I couldn’t look at him. I thought I was literally going to die then. “Kendra,” he pleaded. “You had no right to even think of my name, much less speak it,” I mumble. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded. “What do you expect?” I had snapped. “What did you expect?” I question again, tears falling freely now. I got out of the car. I don’t remember walking into the house. But I do remember the floor of my room. I remember screaming with the agony that was ripping apart my heart. I remember the nights I cried myself to sleep. The days I spent questioning. I remember. Oh yes. Do I ever remember.

“Why?” my heart and mind cry. That one little word can be torture. “Why”. One syllable and three alphabetic letters of affliction. That question itself was never answered, except for the pathetic “I just don’t know.” I have to admit, the hurt wasn’t over his not liking me any more. It was more the utter humiliation, the way in which he went about it, the things I discovered afterward about him and his “best friend”, and the total lack of knowledge, facts, and reasons on my part.

I look at myself in the mirror. “I hope he sees me in this dress,” I wishfully think. “Then he’d be sorry.” But pain grips my heart again. My heart and trust had been given two tickets to the “Roller Coaster Ride of Death”, and my confidence had up and decided to follow suite. “What’s the matter with you? You’re not really that pretty,” I convince myself way too easily. “You’re so pale. And anyone looks good with makeup on. Of course, you might want to touch up the powder that came off with the tears.” I search for my powder brush. “What ugly hands too.” I examine them. “I wonder what it would look like to have scars from nails in your hands,” I muse. “If only my nails would grow longer.” My thumbs have become old battle lands from all the picking and biting I’ve done in the last weeks. I hide them unconsciously within the rest of my fingers.

“Not much better,” I say aloud after reapplying more powder. “But at least it’s something.” I stare at the face in the mirror. “So this is what everyone else sees,” I tell the image. “Have I gotten bigger? My hips are huge. Oh man.” I feel so alone. No one cares for me. I’m too boring. Or maybe I talk too much. He was my only friend. I told him everything, and jeopardized my other relationships to make him happy. I am so alone. All the girls have their own little groups. I don’t fit in anywhere. I was meant to be alone. “Oh God,” I plea. I slide down the wall and come to rest on the carpet. Then the tears flow. “I am so alone. Why? What can I do? What do I need to change? The girls don’t like me. And what guy is ever going to like me now? What reason has anyone to like me. Oh God.” My head falls into my folded arms, as it has so many times before. I tell myself not to think, but of course I do anyway. “You’re going to have fun tonight,” a voice within me tried to reason with my head. “You can talk and laugh and be yourself. They love you, Kendra. They truly do. Why can’t you see that?” “Because it’s not true,” I scream inside my head. . . . .

My mind begins to wander. “Anywhere but here,” I think and pray. . . “It’s so peaceful,” I whisper at the field to which I’ve come by one of the escape paths of my imagination. Every single flower sways in the wind. And their wondrous petals glow under the soft sun. The sky is that picture book shade of blue. The wind sounds like the ocean, tranquilly crawling up the shore. It’s so soft and cool and hazy and serene. There are a sea of flowers. I’ve never seen these colors before. “Oh! That one has to be my favorite! Or that one! No wait!” I laugh as I pick up my flowing white skirt and begin to run through the ocean of rainbow. I stoop every few steps to pick flowers. They’re so rich. Funny how it never occurs to me to play the little elementary game of “He loves me; he loves me not”.

When my arms are too full to reach down and pluck yet another bud, I begin to run again, letting the flowers loose as I go. “It’s raining flowers and leaves and colors!” I cry as a child. The flowers, along with the white veil crowning my hair flow behind me; my huge skirt tries hard to keep up. I laugh with joy as the flowers disappear and I reach to pick more. I have a few in my hand when I feel someone come up beside me. I straighten, and I look at Him. The flowers in my hand fall to the ground as I lose all sense. All I can do is stare into His beautiful eyes. They aren't one color. In fact, they’re all the colors.
They’re every single pair of eyes I’ve ever seen all mixed into one set. And they’re more breath taking than one’s first view of the ocean, more stunning than seeing a shooting star, more wonderful than the sun set. His face glows, and I can see my own face in His eyes. It’s glowing too. I can’t speak, I can’t move, I can’t feel or hear or barely even breath. All I can see is Him, and His magnificent, glory encased face.

I fall to my knees, and my dress begins to softly float to the ground with me. My veil shrouds me in a haze of white, and the ring on my finger glows even brighter now that He is near. The next thing I know, I feel arms around me. They lift me up from the ground as one would pick a flower, as I had been doing moments before. I am being held in the arms of Jesus. I can hear His heart beat; it’s the sound of the sweetest music box harmony, this close to indescribable. I look up at him, into His eyes. He looks down at me. My green eyes fill with tears that begin to run down my flushed pink cheeks. He reaches down and wipes them off with His finger, and I see what hands look like with scars from being hammered with nails. Perfect circles. He takes my hand with the ring, takes the band off, and looks at me again. Then, never taking His eyes from mine, He holds out His own hand and puts the ring atop the scar marring the center of His palm. He speaks. “My love, here is my engagement ring.” And He shows me the ring of scarred flesh. Everything I’ve been harboring, all of the hate, the anger, the self pity, self loathing, is set free by the bearer of the key to my heart and soul. The dark and dank prison cell I had locked myself into has been suddenly filled with an awesome light. All of these prison mates of mine run from the brightness. I run to it, asking for forgiveness for being there in the first place. And in doing so, I am led by the hand out into the world again. As I see the light of day for the first time in what seems like forever, I sing songs of thanksgiving. He hears my heart as no one else can, and he says with a joy I’ve never heard in any form before “You’re forgiven, and you’re welcome.”

Then His arms are around me again and we’re being lifted so high. I’m not scared. Not at all. The field begins to look like a painting, and it’s becoming smaller and smaller. It’s magical. I look up at Jesus again. He is looking down at me as we fly onward and upward. “I love you, Kendra. Will you be mine once again?” “Oh yes Lord. Yes. Please. Forgive me my Jesus. I love you too. I want no other.” His eyes overflow with love, and we begin to float downward. I lay my head against His chest, totally at peace, totally in love with my Lord. I find His heart beat again, and I am swept away in it’s melody. . . . .

I stand up. “I’d better hurry or I’m going to be late,” I say to no one in particular as I straighten the green hem of my summer dress. I look at myself in the mirror once again. Only this time, I see myself in the breathtaking wedding dress. It’s so white. The full skirt flows around me, my shoulders are modestly shown just above the precious neckline and the puffy short sleeves. The veil streams around me, and as I finger it, the stunning ring that I’m wearing glows it’s brightest. My hair is up, and delicately set about my head. My cheeks are pink, my green eyes shine with the new love I feel for my One. I smile, not maliciously, but with pride.

“I hope he sees me in this dress.”

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Fall has plopped down onto Denver with a sudden yellow and blinding dark morning "harumph". I used to hate when it was still dark out and I'd be starting my day with a drive to the airport. But having survived the sunrises of many mornings this summer trying to see through the rays to the road ahead, I have to say I'm happy to finally have my long nights back. Watching the sky as it so subtly turns a brown, then orange, then various shades of blue as a warning that the day is approaching fascinates me.

I realized as I was driving there were emotions flowing through me that were vaguely unfamiliar. Once this was apparent, I set to figuring out what they were. They were good, I thought. Not dread for the trip I was about to take or the impending dealer visits. Not excitement though. No, more like appreciation. Yes, that was it. Thankfulness.

I am so thankful that I have a job that pays me an inordinant amount of money to set my own schedule, my own iteneraries, and my own discussions. I am thankful that my healthcare is close to paid for, that I only contribute a few dollars a month and a co-pay and I'm set for illness, emergencies, and even - God forbid - the return of cancer. I don't have to worry about how I am going to afford to take care of myself, or even Mike eventually.

I don't have a car payment. Or car insurance. Or gas even. I don't have to wonder when my transmission is going to explode and I'm going to have a $4k bill on my lap that I have to pay in order to get anywhere. Gas prices don't even phase me. My cell phone is paid for, the laptop I'm using at 6 in the morning at the airport is paid for. My internet is paid for. I have very few financial worries, especially relative to the general population right now. And I am thankful for that.

I have fantastic parents. I mean, these people are so above and beyond ordinary, so supportive and encouraging, so full of selfless love for me and my sister, that I sit in awe of just how much the rest of the world sucks when compared to my family. It causes me to question why?! What we've done to be so blessed with each other. How our decisions have put us in places to be so blessed in other areas.

I left Texas. I am so thankful that I got out of a place that I always thought was the best place on earth; that I would have accepted as the end all/be all had I not left. I have seen more of the country in the past 2 years than I had in my first 22, and I love it! The adventures I've been on and the strange, marvelous, naturally wonderous things I've seen are just the beginning of a lifetime of pixelated paradise.

I am so thankful God continually saves me from myself. Oh my God! The mistakes I could've made, the relationships I could've clinged to, the values I wanted to discard, the lies I could've continued to convince myself of. My life would be a disaster if it wasn't for His intervention. And I hated Him for it! I was so angry at Him when this guy didn't like me, or this guy didn't love me, or this guy wouldn't stay with me because I was a virgin. I was lonely when I was surrounded by the love of so many friends across the country - across the world even! - and God stood there like a rock as I banged my fists against His chest in my self-made agony. He barred the door, and opened the only one He'd let me through - even if He had to push me through it Himself. Any time I started believing the stories I told myself, He'd make absolutely sure the "Prince" would stop talking to me, would stop going out with me, would stop kissing me. And I'd wonder what was wrong with me...when really, there was no way God was going to allow me to continue down that path.

I am thankful for the pain of having to admit to myself that I'm wrong. That I'm not admitting the truth to myself. I'm so incredibly appreciative that the Lord doesn't hide His honesty from me, even when I wish He would, even when the realities I make for myself seem so much more pleasurable. That's just it though: they're the reality as I wanted them, not how it was. And He never let me lie to myself for long. If not for that agony, I couldn't begin to experience the depth of adoration, of joy, that I can now that I realize what I've been looking for.

I thank God that I can come to Him with such stupid things, such little worries, such trivial concerns, and He will calm me. I can lay them down before Him, and forget so that I can write how thankful I am for this life.

I am so appreciative of color. Of the ways God paints nature at sunrise and in the evenings, in fall when the trees bleed color and in spring when the flowers explode in the Denver sun. The shadows on snow and the layers of green in His fields. I am thankful for the ache that colors cause that remind me I am alive, and it is beautiful. Thank God I can see, can fully appreciate the depth only the eyes can detect.

I am thankful for my ability to feel. That, despite the opposite being so hard to handle, emotions can touch me so deep that I can't speak. That the hollowing fears that I have are counterbalanced with the unfathomable excitement I feel on a regular basis. That I can not justify, but at least move past, my vindictive nature with a level of love that hurts so good. That the tears on my cheeks, whether in joy or anguish, at least prove I have a heart made by Someone who has more depth I can imagine with the same feelings for me.

I am thankful my search is over, but that the true baptism has just begun. I come out of the water of love a changed person, grown, made better by a half I never knew was missing, by a hand that will join me in the fight against an ordinary life. By arms that will protect me from reality - self-made or otherwise - and lead me to face it head-on. By a face I can't get enough of, a heart I can't begin to fully appreciate, a man who will only get better with age.

Yes. I am thankful. And it's not even 7 a.m....

Sometimes I have to wonder if Jesus is less concerned with what our relationship with Him looks like, and more concerned about whether or not we truly have one. Because, based on the normal practice of showing interest about, affection for, trust in, and love of Someone, I'd have to say we have no relationship at all.

Whose fault is that?

"Quasi Wanted Cup Pies!"

This show is liquid, wire-induced joydom with fantasticasm on the side.

Things that make you go "Huh?!"

Or really, more like WTF, Mate?!

I got my head shaved by a jumbo jet

It's a beautiful day today. It has been since I opened the curtians in my hotel room on the 9th floor. Obviously windy and cloudless.

Incredibly productive day. Spent some time with one of my favorite parts managers. We talked about the mice in his house and their subsequent entrapment and death. "Little deaths" he called them. Which made me ponder whether or not that could ever be true. Not that I'm turning into a PETA member-wannabe. But can death ever be small? Can the end of a creature who, without some unearthly miracle, will never be in existence again, be sized up in a description of "smallish expiration"? And if it can, what does that make mine?

I walked around downtown after my last dealer visit. Not a day that can, nor should, be wasted. Such a conglomeration of the old and new. Beautiful buildings and strange 80s eye sores of city art. Early 1900s architecture and "skinny lofts" from the ots. I absolutely love it down here. I romance the idea of living in downtown Denver; but downtown Boise would truly be ideal.

The Bar de Nay finally captured my appetite with their salmon special. It took me 30 seconds to size up the clientel. Friends, couples, one mother and daughter, and me with 4 other men, all of us so obviously travelers. So obviously eating alone. So obviously hiding this fact behind our Blackberries. One is here and gone before I can even finish my glass of Pinot Noir. The quick meal so we can go back to the hotel and work some more. And I think, "Something's wrong."

Every part of me screams how not right this is. I shouldn't be sitting here in another state; eating by myself, working for a huge corporation that, let's face it, owns me. I am in no position to walk away. I have maybe, maybe one month's expenses saved up. There's no moving back home when home is 4 states away. I'm the only woman that I ever see eating alone. TONS of men, and me. And despite a century of movements that have put me here, every fiber in my being screams at the four random men around me that it should be them instead. This isn't my role. This isn't what I was designed for.

Is it?

Because it's a beautiful day. But something's not right.

And I'm afraid that something...is me.

The difference between a hockey mom and a pit bull

Me & my lipstick might be voting after all.

Trail Damage

Freakin' SWEET.

Give me a Hell! Give me a Yeah!

It's happened. I've been sucked into the bottomless black pit that is the wedding industry. Between the crack of knot.com, searching for locations for my sister's impending, and starting on the possibility of mine sometime next year (dood...he even knows how he's going to ask, as if that little mystery doesn't drive me nuts!), I drank that pale pink, floor-length, flower-picking, budget-killing koolaid.

And then I totally rocked the bridezilla hangover, and chucked knot.com to the curb.

It will be the party of the year. It won't be at a church. I will have an open bar. I'm also having felt flower bouquets. We're taking a biker-led carriage to our hotel to finally get it on. The decor will be book-themed. I'm not doing my hair. And my dress is coming from eBay. Some lovely little ballerina-length number, maybe with some butterflies if nothing from the 50s is available. My groom will be wearing Puma's. You're going to wish you were on the coveted invite list!

In the meantime, feed your offbeat bride fetish on these:

God Awful Wedding Crap
Offbeat Bride

But I warn you - one click, and it's all downhill from there!

And with these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart

Don't be a fool.

I love watching birds try to fly against tree-bending winds. You think they'd learn you know? Figure it out.

But we never do.

Somebody give that girl a medal

Every four years I think: "I don't remember this being as big a deal four years ago. I don't remember it stopping the world. And was it ALL OVER the news, Internet, and papers?! I don't remember that either."

This will be, technically, my 6th Olympic "Experience". If you can call it that.

It is my second election in which I can vote.

I remember the year a bomb went off...killing one person. Was that at the opening ceremony? I'm not sure. But I remember being so sad. Like the Oklahoma City bombing. A foretelling of the Towers. I remember Michelle Kwam - wanting to be her (winter Olympics, but along the same line). I remember the skater who hired someone to break the competitions legs.

I remember how anti-climactic it was, walking away from the voting booth at the MSC. Wondering, really, what the point was. If it really counted. But knowing I would do it anyway. It's my right; I need to appreciate it. Right?

I haven't voluntarily watched any of the Olympics. I don't say this with pride; "it is what it is," as we all say at Ford. I'm a little tired of it being on everywhere, because - no matter what's on - if there's a TV running, my eyes are chasing after it. But nothing much has changed in 24 years.

I will not exercising my right to vote in this election. There. I've said it. Am I unAmerican? I don't think so. I'm an American who doesn't particularly want either man being the face of my country to the world. You can think what you will, I've come to comfortable terms with the fact that I don't plan on voting. I don't think a decision in which I have a choice should be made based on the lesser of two evils. So unless Obama convinces me I won't be paying higher taxes and he has the ability to choose new Supreme Court judges worthy of the position, or unless McCain gets a freakin' clue and learns how to use a computer (when asked if he'd ever "Googled" something, he replied "What's that?"), I will be enjoying a nice glass of Pinot Noir and a bath on election day.

And I gotta tell ya, I won't feel one bit of guilt.

Misery by Good Charlotte

$104,655.60

This man placed an ad in the Washington Post, paying the above to speak out against the liberal BS abounding in the media and defend himself and his fellow conservatives against the barrage of insults flowing their way. Honestly, I believe it's money well-spent. So much so that I'm posting the text myself. Wish I'd thought of it first.

Maybe you're a conservative Republican?

In today's America, ask a growing number of high school and college students, their teachers and professors, the self-anointed media elite and/or hard working men and women of all ethnicities, the question, "What is a Republican?" and you'll be told "... a rich, greedy, egotistical individual, motivated only by money and the desire to accumulate more and more of it, at the expense of the environment, the working poor....and all whom they exploit..."

I am a Republican - and I am none of those things....and I don't know any Republicans who are!

WHAT I AM, first and foremost, is a loving husband of some 52 plus years, the father of four, and an American who's proud of his country...and his country's heritage.

WHAT I AM is the grandson of immigrants who risked everything, including their lives and those of their children, to escape tyranny in search of freedom.

WHAT I AM is a man who grew up during the Depression and witnessed first hand the effects of the Stock Market crash and the soup lines that followed. I watched as both my parents and grand parents, who had very little themselves, shared what food they had with a half dozen other families who had even less.

WHAT I AM is someone who worked his way through college by holding down three and four jobs at a time and then used that education to build a better life.

WHAT I AM is a husband who, at age 24, started his own business for the "privilege" of working 60, 70 and 80 hours a week, risking everything I had, including my health, in search of a better life for myself and my loved ones.

WHAT I AM is a businessman whose blood, sweat and tears....and plenty of them..., made it possible for me to provide a secure living, not only for my family and myself, but also for literally hundreds of my employees throughout the years, employees who in turn were able to buy their own homes, raise their own families and give back to their communities and their country.

WHAT I AM is a man who believes in God; a God who has blessed this country ... and all for which it stands.

WHAT I AM is someone who knows, if you doubt miracles exist in today's world, you need only to look into the face of those who received them ... and the eyes of those who give them.

WHAT I AM is an American who's proud that his President embraces a belief in God; proud of a President who understands, as "politically incorrect" as it may be, there is evil in this world, and for the security and safety of all freedom loving people everywhere, it must be confronted ... and it must be defeated.

WHAT I AM is an American who takes comfort in the knowledge that our President refuses to allow decisions concerning the very safety and security of this nation to be governed by the political whims of foreign governments.

WHAT I AM is tired of hearing from leading Democrats who see only negativity in America , racism in her people, class warfare in her society and "political incorrectness" in her character.

WHAT I AM is a former Democrat who now understands that it is the soldier and not the reporter that guarantees us our freedoms of the press, speech and dissent.

WHAT I AM is a man who believes in the sanctity of life. A man who is repulsed by the pandering of the political left for votes, at the expense of the unborn.

WHAT I AM is a husband and father who believes in the sanctity of marriage and the preservation of the family unit.

WHAT I AM is a ex-movie goer who is repulsed by those insecure, socially inept, elementary thinking, ego-inflated "entertainers" who have appointed themselves "experts" in the fields of national security and geo-politics and then use their forum to attack this nation, its leaders and its actions, much to the delight and encouragement of our enemies.

WHAT I AM is an American who understands the difference between "censorship" and "choice." Evidently, these individuals do not, because when these same "celebrities" receive public ridicule for their offensive actions, the first thing they yell is "censorship." What they seem incapable of understanding is that the right of free speech and dissent is shared equally by those offended, as well as those who offend. I support and will continue to support those films and performers whom I choose to and refuse to support those I don't. It is my right as an American, a right I will continue to enthusiastically exercise.

WHAT I AM is a voter, tired of politicians who, every time their voting records are subjected to public scrutiny, try to divert attention from their political and legislative failures by accusing their opponents of "attack ads" and "negative campaigning;" and the news media who allow them to get away with it.

WHAT I AM is a Catholic who loves his God and his Faith, and who's been taught to respect all religions whose teachings are based in love, peace and charity. As such, I am embarrassed and ashamed of those individuals in both private and public life whose decisions and actions are devoid of any sense of character or morals; individuals who are only driven by what's best for them, rather than what's right, often times at the expense of many, including our national security.

WHAT I AM is a realist who understands that the terrorist attack that murdered hundreds of innocent Russian children could have occurred here, in our heartland. That's why I sincerely believe America needs, now more than ever, a President who sees with a clear and focused vision and who speaks with a voice, when heard by both friend and foe alike, is understood, respected and believed.

WHAT I AM is eternally grateful to Ronald Reagan for having the bravery to speak out against Communism and the courage of his convictions in leading the fight to defeat it; and to George W. Bush for the vision, courage, conviction and leadership he has shown in America's war on terrorism amidst both the constant and vicious personal and political attacks both he and his family are made to endure.

WHAT I AM is a human being, full of numerous faults and failures, but a man, nonetheless, who though not always successful, has continually strived to do "what's right" instead of "what's easy." A man who is challenging the religious leaders of all faiths to not only preach to their congregations the fundamentals of "what's right" and "what's wrong," but to also then hold them accountable for their actions in both the public and private sectors.

WHAT I AM is disgusted with the Courts who, on one hand, call the murder of a pregnant woman a "double homicide," but then refer to the abortion of her baby as "pro-choice."

WHAT I AM is someone deeply troubled by a political party which embraces a candidate whose primary "leadership" qualities center around his protesting of the Vietnam war and his labeling the honorable men and women who fought in it, (50,000 of whom gave their lives in that action), as rapists and war criminals (John Kerry). That same political party then stepped forward this year to block the appearance of a true Vietnam war hero, retired Admiral and former United States Senator, Jeremiah Denton, (a man who spent seven years and seven torturous months in a North Vietnamese prison), from speaking before an open session of the California Legislature as part of that state's 4th of July celebration. The reason Democrats gave for refusing to allow this American hero to speak before their state legislature was because of the "conservative" nature of his views. As an American, that troubles me deeply....as well it should you. (Are you listening Mr. D?)

WHAT I AM is a man who feels the need to spend ONE HUNDRED & FOUR THOUSAND, SIX HUNDRED & FIFTY FIVE DOLLARS ($104,655.60, tax paid) of his own money, to purchase this advertisement in order to set the story straight. Some may say this money would have been better spent feeding the world's poor. At the risk of sounding self-serving, as an American and as a Republican, for the last six decades of my life, I have done exactly that ... and more. Following the examples of my parents and grandparents, I have used my earnings to feed the poor, shelter the homeless, provide housing for the elderly and medical care for the sick ... and continue to do so ... and I'm not alone in that work.

WHAT I AM is someone who is paying for this announcement at my sole expense in hopes of opening the eyes of those led blindly by ill-informed elements of our great nation, who through either ignorance or malicious intent, repeatedly attack and belittle those of us who belong to a political party that holds true to the belief, "The rights of the governed exceed the power of the government." For those interested, I am speaking only as a tax-paying individual who is in no way associated with the Republican National Committee, nor with any of its directors or delegates.

WHAT I AM is a man who understands, "the American way of life" is a message of self-empowerment for all.

WHAT I AM is an American who is grateful that our nation gives each of us the opportunity of self-determination and the right to benefit from the fruits of self achievement.

WHAT I AM is an American who wants to preserve that way of life for all who seek it.

WHAT I AM is blessed to be an American .... and proud to be a conservative Republican.

From my sleep behind the wheel

I have some GREAT thoughts on my many drives through the various states I call my work home. I write pages and pages in my mind as I try so hard to follow the dotted yellow line leading me to wherever home might be that night. Books to paint pictures of the scenery of my life. My head. My heart. I should buy a recorder, to try to keep them from becoming yet another relic that won't be here in a hundred years; just a part of the disappearing hunan existence - gone before 10,000 years after the last one of us dies, should the earth be left without us.

A large topic of conversation lately has been generational, which makes any normal person prone to thought. I've been pondering quite a bit what it means to be a part of this generation. How we've gotten to where we are, depending on the government to bail us out of debt because we can't maintain the self-control not to buy things we actually can't afford. When we became so lazy that our relationships are maintained through pictures, lyrics, and texts written flippantly on pages and pages of pointless websites screaming to be touched. Why we complain so much about what should be done, and yet do nothing. What happened to bring America to a point where presidential candidates will be decided on the lesser of two evils, to make the rest of the world think we're a fat, lazy, laughingstock of a country (and they're right), to bring us to our once-honorable knees.

It's made me think about what I should be doing to step out of this mess and make something of it. But before that, I need to know what I believe. So that's what I've been thinking about lately...and that's why I thought I should write down.

I believe in God, Jesus, and His Holy Spirit. I believe He is the only God.

I don't believe the point of Christianity is to convert. And I don't believe it's within my responsability, much less ability, to do so.

I believe there are things, ideas, occurances, that will never be explained, and that we will never understand.

I have faith that there is nothing - no pain, no loss, no science, no religion, no death, no law - that will make me turn away from my belief in Christ.

I believe God brings purpose in and out of everything.

I believe people can change; I believe most choose not to.

I believe one person can change their world. And ours.

I don't believe in karma. But I do think that attitude and outlook have an impact on the chances you take for yourself.

I believe life is truly what you make of it.

I know firsthand that bad things happen to "good" people. I think they're made to be good things by how we handle them.

I don't think people are inherently good; but I think we want to find it.

I believe in the separation of church and state.

I believe abortion is wrong; but then again, I've never become pregnant because a man violated me, so I don't feel as though it should be my decision.

I know that if a guy really, actually likes/loves you: you won't have to harp on him to call you every day. He will on his own. Cause he wants to.

I think we lie best to ourselves.

I believe that if we could strip down politics and put someone in the Oval Office that is simply, embarassingly honest, this country could be great again.

I believe that politically correct is wrong.

I think affirmative action is a joke.

I support capital punishment; and I think rapists and child molesters should get harsher sentences.

I think unions are an outdated necessity and should be stopped.

I think divorce is too easy, and marriage is even easier than that.

I don't think homosexuality is right, but I don't think it's any more wrong than any of the other sins we commit...and I don't believe it's the church's "responsibility to rehabilitate" them.

I think kids are having sex at way too young, and that it's parents' - not school systems' - responsibility to teach babies not to have babies of their own.

I believe churches should butt out of issues, and butt in to peoples' needs.

I believe, that with God, I can do anything.

I want to stop talking and start doing.
I Woke Up in a Car by Something Corporate

Guilty Cubicles

Not gonna lie, I've had a real crappy attitude this week. Ok, maybe for more than just this week. I've been hating work life for a while. It gets worse when I have to fly out of state. Its so much more difficult finding adventure out of town when the greatest adventure you've come in contact with is sitting on his spot on his couch playing video games and saving the TEN seasons on South Park for when you return again. He's saving up fish recepies (because he's being uber uber supportive of your new eating habits) for when you get back. And your apartment feels less like home than his arms.

I lost it Tuesday night in my suite at The Hampton Inn downtown Boise (they also hook me up); crying at how much I hated my job. Hated telling people "no". Hated customer concerns. Hated being the whipping girl for a sucky economy and that sucking sound you hear from the automotive industry. "If I just had a light at the end of the tunnel," I told my mom, "I think I could survive this." But thing after thing just kept going wrong starting with losing Janice to another position in Detroit. She is, by far, my biggest role model at Ford Motor Company. I am honored to be able to claim knowing her; I think she will ring more change to this company than anyone else knows, and I've lost her to the General Office.

No one knows when I will get out of this insanely geographically challenged zone. No one's sure whether or not we will get our twice-delayed promotions. No one knows if this century old staple of a company can truly survive. I finally broke down and admitted to God that I needed some help; I couldn't continue to shoulder this on my own.

Two days later, it was announced that zone managers will no longer have ANYTHING to do with after warranty assistance. No more financial decisions. No more angry customers! No more dealer pressure because the only answer is no! Now, I can be the consultant, the sales person, the professional developer and process-designer I was hired to be! This gives me a completely fresh start, more time to prepare quality dealer contacts, and a new positive perspective I never thought possible!

So as I sit on the second floor balcony of Borders, enjoying my favorite marble mocha from Seattle's Best, writing in my blog via my company-provided Crackberry, waiting to herald the final book in Stephanie Meyer's Twilight Series by attending the midnight release party complete with dorked-out homemade t-shirts, I have to say that I am floored by the Lord's answers to my prayers. I am humbled by His presence, wholly undeserving, but extremely greatful nonetheless. This life of mine is nothing short of constantly surprising and quickly changing; and with God's hand assuredly involved, I'd not have it any other way.

I've got a glow today for everyone I know

Now that most of my meals consist of fruits, veggies, and nuts from the nearest grocery store, I've been eating in my car in the shade quite frequently. It's an incredible respite from otherwise jam-packed days of driving - visiting - driving - talking - driving - one last visit - driving and talking some more. I'm not sure what I think about the fact that I'm pounding down the equivalent of 1 POUND of carrots in juice form, but it's amusing. On some strange, very deep, highly disturbing level.

But every time I choke down some celery with just a bit of peanut butter so as not to cancel out the nutrition but allow myself not to gag and wonder: why the hell am I doing this?! I think...because by the time this is over and it really matters: I'm going to look really good naked. And if you look good naked, a white dress will be a piece of CAKE!

It's enough to make those fishies taste like filet!

P.S.

Swear, last one. I can't wait to cross #22 TOMORROW!!!

OH MY GOSH!!!

Ok, Mike. For my birthday, here is what I want: to fulfill #80 on the list.

Movies on the list so far:
Twilight (we will need to buy tickets WAY in advance)
The Day the Earth Stood Still

And this.

Blindness

My next obsession.

All heros are really just villians seeking redemption.

Say whatever you want 'cause I can laugh it off

Oddly enough, I told my dad some of my thoughts this morning of what I'm going through in my head. His response?

"Stop focusing on you. Look at the bigger picture. And see outside yourself."

Ouch.

Gotta love how it's somehow all on me

I have days where I am freakin' brilliant. I look back at what I've done in my job, who I've helped, what I've developed, the tools I've used and created, the technology I've become familiar with...and it's very difficult for me not to say, "Damn, I'm good!"

Which, of course, makes up for most other days when I have no idea what the hell I'm doing.

But this, like almost everything else, got me to thinking. I started learning Japanese in my car as I drive from dealership to dealership. It's something I've always wanted to do. I've started developing my manga collection (now that I have the funds to support it) because...I like them. I feel good about myself when my dealers tell me they'll call whoever they need to, buy whatever I need them to, in order to ensure I keep my job. I feel beautiful when Mike tells me I am. I feel loved when my dad calls me. What makes me who I am? And why does it sometimes feel like it's slowly slipping through my fingers?

Why do we do what we do? Make the same mistakes? Need the same things? Search for God knows what? Why is it always, always, all about "me"? Are we so innately selfish that we can't truly survive without some sort of gratification?

Hold me. Love me. Praise me. Keep me. Encourage me. Shower me. Take care of me. Teach me. Show me. Entertain me. Thrill me! Hug me. Feed me. Forgive me. Touch me. Look at me! Want me. Need me. Take me! Sing to me. Play with me. Write about me. Paint me. Photograph me. Give me. Drive me. Humor me. Listen to me! Don't forget me.

Save me.

The broken window and the pretty blue sky

Beautiful.

So this is where You are,and this is where I've been

I've been thinking a lot lately about Jesus; who He is, what He stood for, what He stands for now, what it means to Love like He did, what He's wanting from me right now, and down the road. What traits make Him Jesus. And God.

Funny how it never occurred to me to ask Him.

I stumbled upon a website called Planet Cancer yesterday. It's like facebook, but for cancer patients and survivors. On the website was a group called "Hodkin's Lymphoma...the Golden Children". Their slogan was "The cancer everyone says you'd want." I had to laugh, because that's exactly what my doctors said, exactly what I quote when I talk about the blessings that came about through it. I had actually said that earlier that afternoon in explaination of my survival.

"If you had to pick a cancer, this would be the one you'd pick."

Are you kidding me?!

I've never really sat back and thought about it. But no, it doesn't make it any freaking better. In fact, it's rather insulting to tell someone who's losing their hair...their eyebrows and eyelashes, and pretty much any semblence of normal skin color because the medicine you're giving them you're just hoping cures them before it kills them.

God forgive me, I'm not belittling the major ways that He intervened in that time of my life. I know that bad things happen. It's the world we live in. But don't sit there and tell someone "It could be worse", when you yourself have never experienced a bone marrow test. When you haven't had pencil-sized needles stuck through your tail bone sanz anesthesia because, at that time, it was too dangerous. When you haven't spent hours screaming as you clawed at your own skin because the chemo was causing internal hives. When you haven't spent weeks upon weeks in front of the toilet. When you can eat. Cause yes...there is worse. But until you're there, it does not matter.

Sometimes, I'm just not ok with being a cancer survivor. The weight of it, the realization that you've lived through hell, knocks me off my sane feet. It's rare, but it does happen. I was amused by the group, and it made me think. But I was still ok.

I went to the dry cleaners this morning, and there's a nail place right by it. I parked and was throwing my things together in my arms when I saw the little girl in the doorway, quietly poking a fake flower pen in a small pot by the cash register. I think she was six or seven. Not a hair on her. Her tiny little head was peered over examining the fake flowers as I watched her, shocked. In her little white sundress and sandles, she looked almost normal. Exept for a girl that age should have some damn hair. And should have a healthy glow, not a yellow pallor only caused by chemotherapy. I'm not sure how long I sat there, watching her. She was so beautiful. So fragile. Such a statement.

And everything in me said, No. No, this is not alright. I am not ok with this. Every part of me ached to wrap my arms around her and kiss her little bald head and whisper, "I made it; you will too. Just be strong. Everything will be alright."

But I can't say that, because I don't know. There are never guarantees. And right now, I'm just not that strong.

The walls of my memory divides the thorns from the roses

I'd hit a new low last February when I went in for my yearly "womanly" check up. A doctor came in who wasn't the docter that Jen had recommended for me, wasn't the docter with whom I'd made the appointment, and certainly was NOT a doctor I'd seen before.

I burst into tears.

I had recently moved to Denver, I was incredibly lonley, was fighting with my then boyfriend, and pretty much felt like the world thought I sucked at life. So, like millions of other people in the US, I got on an anti-depressant. The lowest dose possible. I became a statistic. But screw that, at least the lows weren't as low as they felt when I wasn't on it!

Approaching a year and a half later and I decided I didn't need them anymore. What I didn't realize was exactly how much I was depending on a little white pill to control my emotions for me.

The first week was spent in a dizzy haze, constantly feeling like I'd just gotten up to quickly when I was still sitting down. I had to drive across the state of Idaho and back in this condition. And perhaps I was so focused on how icky I felt that I didn't realize how easily angered I was.

Now, I only have split second spells that let me know I'm still detoxing, but I'm having to teach myself how to get angry, and let it go, all over again. I've cried 6 times in the past 8 days. I sat hurling numerous f-bombs at my computer because it wouldn't send an e-mail when I was still trying to work at 9 pm. I headed straight to Mike's house when I flew back in from Idaho, and as Rich Mullins lulled me into cruise control, I just started balling. For no reason. And I couldn't stop. For miles.

This isn't me. I'm emotional, I admit. But most of the time it has nothing to do with anger. Most of the time, it's an overwhelming appreciation for life, a joy in the little things, a pain of how great and big and wonderful this world is. Not this searing, ear-splitting scream of some woman I don't know, who is, frankly, kind of a bitch.

Mike wrapped his arms around me on the floor of his office after I'd slammed my fist into my keyboard a second time (cursing included), and said "You know, sometimes when my boys get angry, I tell them: don't let it bother you. Which seems like a no ****, sherlock. But really, you're the only one that has control. You're the only one who can let it go. And there's no point in getting angry over things you can't change. It's 9 o'clock at night. Normal people do not work this late. And you're not an Outlook guru. So just put it away. Play some Zelda. Do something you want. And let it go."

And, of course, as he said it, it totally pissed me off. Why would I CHOOSE to be feeling this way?! But after a few seconds I had to admit how right he was. I was going to have to get a grip, because no one, and no meds, would for me.

So, that's what I'm trying to do. I'm not enjoying it, I feel like a basket case, and I still get mad. But at least I know I'm taking responsibility for my life, my actions, my emotions, and doing what I can to make this one life count for something more than internal tirades.

It deserves so much better than that.

Now all the demons look like prophets

For once in your miserably sadistic, pathetically hypocritial existence, do the right thing and quit screwing with her head.

Walk away like a man you're not would.

We could be immaculate

I have plans, you know? I have things I'm saving for, events I'm describing in my imagination, ifs that are becoming assumptions. I have plans for my job, where it will go, when it will end, and why. I'm taking my mom to Boise, my dad to Rapid City, Jennifer to Moab, and Mike to Seattle and San Fran this year. Mike and I. We have plans. We think about the future, make decisions sometimes based on what we're thinking will happen "one day". I mean, I have plans!

Then I realized just how ludicrous this was. How arrogant to think that I could, in any way, predict, pattern, propose to God what will happen in my life. I depend on my job to live; I could lose it as easily as Ford's stock waves like a very highly-financed tide. I love my apartment, my place, my Denver. What would happen if this pain in my breasts isn't because I sleep on them? What would I do if it came back? How could I survive not being able to work, not even being able to make it to the bathroomby myself?

I'm going to be a mother. I'm going to work for five years after I get married, save up, and then have a couple babies and be a wife and mother! Right? What if I can't have children? What if we can't afford for me to not work? What if WWIII occurs before then?!

I am going to continue to live this fairy tale, with my wonderful friends and my Love, who is right out of a book sometimes. I am going to learn and grow and be faithful. I am going to finally make love and go on a honeymoon and learn how to live with another, very different, human being. Aren't I? Or will my plan crash down somewhere between Rapid City and Denver tomorrow? Will Mike be mugged in a completely random gas station robbery? Will something actually happen to make those government "Are You Ready?" campaigns not seem so stupid after all?

The infinite arrogance to think that I can plan. To think that it will go the way I want it to, that I can forecast and save and map my future. The unknown is the only known there is!

But at least I know who I'm not knowing it with. That, that makes it ok.

Still playing lost and found

I've always thought I'd look back and wish that there were things that I knew, truths that were inherent in my small child heart that now, as I grow and mature and learn and - let's face it - get old, are a simple part of being. Instead, I realized today how happy I am that there are things I didn't know, lies that I believed, and an innocence that I maintained for as long as possible. So I thought I'd start that list now.

Shaving was a thing Daddys did!

I'm glad I didn't know how unhealthy most foods really are for you, or how important it is that you go to the doctor.

I'm happy that loving books with more pictures than words never once made me feel less educated.

Imagination is one of the greatest gifts for which anyone can ask.

I am unimaginably thankful that I never knew there was a bad way to touch.

Praise God for faith like a child; I still believe in "The Guys," as I used to call them.

When my parents came home after finding out I waas dianosed with Hodgkins disease, my mother was crying. I was so confused, just wanting to fix it, so I asked my dad, "Is mom having another baby?" "No, sweet pea. If mom was having another baby, I'd be crying." My grandparents laughed at this, so I thought I should find it funny too. And for the longest time, I thought it was because my dad didn't want anymore kids. It was only recently that I realized: this was after his birth-control operation... Talk about layers!

I'm alright with believing for the longest time that everyone waited til marraige.

I wish that I could still believe that, to be beautiful, everything had to have some green.

I'm perfectly satisfied with still believing my stuffed animals have feelings, too.

I wish the only monsters I cared about now were the ones I swore lived in my bottom drawer.

I miss carrying around a backpack with survival mechanisms for what I believed would keep me entertained at the age of 12 should I suddenly be the last person in the country.

I would be alright if I could still believe my mother had the most beautiful singing voice in the world. And my dad is the strongest man.

I miss believing in eternity, instead of analyzing it.

I wish that my most treasured collections still consisted of pretty rocks, glass beads, stickers and sticker books, and strands of ribbons; and that my diary still had a lock.

When I was little, they didn't have to put levers in trunks in case someone got "stuck" in one, they could get themselves out...

I am SO ecstatic that we didn't get the Internet until I was in 9th grade.

When I was little, America won all its wars.

And had no flaws.

I miss when tea and scones with Mom could solve all my problems.

Fords were cars, not "vehicles". My dad's passion, not my paycheck.

I couldn't tell that you were lying.

I talked more to Twitches.

Malls were entertainment, not necessities.

Makeup was fun.

Relationship problems consisted of Mrs.Townsend taking away a "love letter" written with Crayolas from Robert Hill in first grade. I will never forgive her.

Fairytales could come true; and sometimes, still do.

And all the believers stand behind him and smile

I can't believe it; I'm watching the Philadelphia Democratic debate.

Ugh.

But next stop, Vegas please

I'm goin' to Vegas in 4 days!!!

Got your chin held high and you feel just fine

When I flew in from Texas a couple weeks ago, I still had my earbuds snug with my music on while making my way through the airport and to my car. Somehow, no one notices you watching them when there's a soundtrack. I just didn't notice this went both ways.

I made my way up the escalator and had just hit the second floor when I smiled at the security guard standing between the crowd waiting for arrivals and the elevators leading to the terminals. "I know you!" he exclaimed. "You travel a lot; I see you all the time!"

I got in the priority line of security on my way to Boise this week and had the same young man check my boarding pass and ID that often does, so I was less surprised when he said, "It's nice to see you again this morning, Ms. Wetterling. You look very beautiful today."

I arrived at my hotel Tuesday night. The hotel manager was so happy to see me. "You're back!" she exclaimed, "So glad you could stay with us again." She didn't even bother asking me if I wanted internet access and how many keys I preferred. She gave me the access code, and 2 key cards.

And when I ate breakfast Wednesday morning, one of the two ladies at the Hampton making sure breakfast runs smoothly smiled back at me when I said good morning; "You cut your hair. It looks good!" She's young probably late 20s, early 30s. I introduced myself when I saw her the next day. In a little bit of broken English, and with an embarassed handshake, she told me her name is Lia.

It's no surprise to me that I remember these people. There aren't that many security personnel at DIA; and the people at the Hampton Downtown Boise I can count on one hand. But they remember me. And I think the thing I am so curious about is: why? If I could solve that, what revelations would that bring?

There is no better lossthan to lose myself in you

Oddly enough, Mike and I got more out of the lengthy discussion we had after the Easter service we attended about how unimpressed we were with it than we did the actual sermon out of which we gained very little. Buzz words are so catchy, and it seems now that sermons have to be condensed, dumbed-down versions ("Hi, I'd like a tall Light Sermon, no conviction, one Sweet-n-Lo, with non-fat Scripture passages, please.")

I have refused since it came out to see The Passion. I am in no way discounting the impact it could have, nor the importance of knowing, and appreciating, what exactly Christ went through that I might be writing about Him online over 2,000 years later. What I was vehemently opposed to was the College Station-sanctioned new rule that, in order to be a good Christian, you had to see that movie. Twice. And cry. Both times. I can't handle brutality. I can't watch it in normal movies, and there is no way I could sit through two and a half hours of my Savior being portrayed in His final days. My heart is not that strong, I admit it.

So I was less than thrilled when the ending clip of the service included scenes from that movie. But there was this film of "Jesus," white as we might portray Him now, and sitting there, naked and alive after three days in hell. For the first time...ever...I saw Jesus in my mind, opening His eyes, sitting up on the stone on which His formerly dead body was placed, and waking up to the realization that, yes, Lord, it is finished.

In the movie, He sat there, serious, withdrawn, almost like a portrait. In my mind though...no. Jesus sits there, letting reality soak in, letting the darkness be shed from His mind, from the past, from His cavern of a grave sight. I imagine light beginning in His eyes, pouring over His body as He examines Himself, alive once again on an earth His Father loves, a place He came to save, a place that was no longer doomed. It flows through the cave, lighting up the walls, the orange-brown dancing for Him, no small change from the boundaries of Hell He's been enduring since His human death.

But His face. Oh His face. It's not somber. Not serious. Not really even pensive or thoughtful. It's brilliant! His eyes shine like the heavens when they open up to take Him back. And He's smiling! Celebration is running through His veins, tickling His toes, stinging His eyes. It is DONE! He is through! And He came back to tell those He loves, to allow His story to spread, to introduce His final miracle. He is in the flesh, and its on fire with the knowledge that His task is finished, He can beam knowing that He has saved us all, given us all the chance to see His Father, to be taken with Him when we die. Laughter, the likes of which we will not hear until we are in the arms of the angels, pours from His lips. Praise no one can understand but God flows from His heart. Love that is indescribable, inconceivable, undoubtedly whole and perfect radiates in the light that has moved mountains - not to mention that stone between Him and the ones He has come to see.

And when He walks out that tomb entrance, naked and shining and laughing, He never once, not once, looks back.

He's developed one...little...glitch: a personality

My excitement knows NO bounds!!!!

You've got the music in you

Stephanie Jeter is coming to visit me!!!!!!!!!!!!

Even the angels are losing sleep

You know when things are so good that you're almost afraid of a very large shoe dropping? I am so in love. I mean my heart hurts, I can't get enough, he notices things I didn't even know I wanted someone to love about me, he drives to Denver at 9 pm just to see me after he's seen me all weekend and had to drive back to Fort Collins for a meeting! in love. If I had known this is what it would be like, feel like...it's just...no words!

So, I've been waiting. For that shoe. You know? And I wondered, in all that praising God for this Gift he's given me, what if He took him away? What if His plan for our lives doesn't turn out the way we've planned?

I posed a question I love to ask to Mike on Valentine's Day: if I got cancer and had 6 months to live, would you marry me? He didn't let me finish at first, saying "I'd stay with you." I smiled, "Ah, but let me finish..." Usually I get mixed responses mostly started with thoughtful silence. I had barely gotten the sentence out of my mouth when he said,

"Yes! Absolutely, positively yes."

I almost started crying (little did I know that would only be the first time that evening). But I remember that because - what if it really did? What if it comes back? What if the treatments I took cause something else? Or worse...what if something happened to him? What if I lost him to the myriad ways we end our lives on earth?

Would I thank God then? Would I thank him for the precious moments I got to spend with this man? Would I revel in the fact that I experienced true love? Would I hold up cherished memories to a God that both gave them to me and took away any chance for more?

It's so easy to praise Him now. To ask forgiveness for the years I've spent not trusting His plan, His purpose, my decision to wait, the inkling that there is someone out there for me. But what would my response be to the loss of him?

I don't know. So I think I'll focus on watching out for a really big shadow in the shape of a sole...

On second thought...maybe I'll just donate it instead. That shoe was so last year anyway...

Lost myself again

"The Bible is pretty vague in quite a few places. And I don't know if I'm right about this, but I have a theory. God didn't spell everything out for a reason. I think He wants us to wonder, wants us to search for the answer. Because by doing so, we truly find Him."

Mandles

I plan on getting Mike one for Valentine's:




Totally kidding! That's so NOT in the cards. But mmmm...Burrito Fart scent...

Let me play among the stars

Oh my God, I am loved!

Whenever she's happy is worth every minute that we've saved ourselves

The thing that we Texans don't understand is: there's not just this iconic, dreamy thing called "snow". There are different kinds of snow. "Snow" does not cover what happens during each and every storm. It's about as broad as the word "rose".

You look up at the white sky in the dead of winter and the black birds form these odd trails, like hair left on the tile in the shower. Disturbing, but somehow natural. There are flakes that stick together before they even hit your sight so that by the time they float down to land they're as round as doll house cotton balls. They linger, they take their sweet time getting to wherever they want to go, and it's usually not where you'd think.

There are the flurries, the tiny white lightning snow that would pound your car if it was big enough; but it's not. So it's a little pathetic.

When it's too cold to actually snow (yes, that is possible, I discovered...a la South Dakota), there are the fake-out flakes. They look more like debri from some construction zone, and there are so few of them that your constantly questioning your brain's statement that "Oh. It's snowing." Psych!

Snow you can't see through because the bottom dropped out of the sky, and there's so much of it you can't even tell what kind of flakes you're looking at! Those are the storms for laying down and avoiding...

There's wet snow, that immediately melts and ruins any semblence of a hairdo you had that morning. It gets on your shoes and in your car and is just plain ugly when it gets down too it.

But then, my favorite, when it's so cold that it takes the flakes 30 seconds to melt once they've landed on something and you can watch as each flake plasters its tiny body to your windshield. You can see how different each one is, how clip art and photographs and the Christmas decorations on your tree have been modeled on some likeness of this miniscule, beautiful thing wasting away on the glass in front of you. It's like movie snow, but it's real. Effortless. Intoxicating.

And gone.

These are my hands, these are my faults, these are my plans, these are my nasty little thoughts

How do we all learn to fold clothes in such completely different ways?!

Go on baby and go to my head

It hit me today that I'm technically dating a pro athlete. Never saw that one coming. ;-)

Story of my life

Mike called me this afternoon, and our conversation went from the every day normal (if you can call it that) to planning...and booking!...a road trip to Albequerque in two weeks for one of his soccer games! After 30 minutes of co-Googling and planning, it was decided, and I was told I would be given homework.

"Homework?!"

"Yep. I'm giving you an assignment. I've wanted to do this for a long time but I haven't had anyone I wanted to do it with, much less a roadtrip. I want you to make a CD for the road, a soundtrack for your life. You can just put a bunch of random songs on there if you want, or you can put a song to each time period. Like, I'll be putting a song on mine for my birth, and then going on from there."

I was so excited that I finished mine an hour later. I needed 2 CDs. I have led a very musically beautiful life.

Audiobiographical CD - Birth to High School Graduation

1. Down in the Valley: My mom sang this to me when I was growing in her tummy, and did the same with my sister, so I heard it twice around. This version is by Emily Singleton; my mom sang it better.
2. Heaven Came Down: Mom used to sing this one to us before we went to bed. We used to try to talk her into 5 songs...but she'd say 1, and every night we'd compromise for 3.
3. Oh Sherrie, Steve Perry: So this was the first of a few food phases I apparently went through as a bald-headed child. I would not eat until my parents put this song on and I would anchor one foot, using my "belzin" as my parents referred to my bald head as my sonar, and dance in circles. Then eat the lemon chicken that was my dinner every day for months.
4. Unchained Melody, The Righteous Brothers: My dad would sing this to us at night, and sometimes during special times in the day too. :-)
5. He's My Son, Mark Schultz: A prayer to God a mother makes while her child is dying from cancer. I can't listen to it without crying still.
6. If I Stand, Rich Mullins: Everything happens for a reason. And I survived.
7. Life Class (Nancy's Museum Fantasy: Dad used to watch a show called Thirty Something and this song was a part of the soundtrack we'd have playing through our house. I learned this song on the piano and we hid it from him until I got up on stage to play it at my recital. It gave him wet eyes.
8. Spam, Monty Python: A Wetterling household staple.
9. The Color Green, Rich Mullins: "Be praised for all Your tenderness by these works of Your hands - songs that rise and rains that fall to grass and bring to life Your lands. Look down upon this winter wheat and be glad that you have made blue for the sky, and the color green fills these fields with praise." This song will always transend my life.
10. Hallelujah, Newsboys: My mom says she thinks of me every time she hears this song. I first heard it in Junior High, and wanted it to be me.
11. 1979, Smashing Pumpkins: My first boyfriend was in 9th grade. I dated a senior, which was the scandal of the school. He loved the Smashing Pumpkins. I didn't love him. But he hurt me all the same.
12. Closing Time, Semisonic: My first job was when I turned 16, for Jackie Vagle. I helped her open her first Once Upon A Child - a children's resale shop. I loved working there, and I loved her. She was from Great Britian, and she had this fantastic accent. We were incredibly close. I still miss that sometimes.
13. Nights in White Satin, David Lanz: Hardest song I learned in my 13 years of piano. Still the only one I can play. It hurts me good just a little bit every time I play it.
14. Everything You Want Vertical Horizon: Listened to this song recorded on a tape in my first car; the '89 Honda Civic SI, with a sunroof and manual transmission. DD. Drove that car until Ford gave me a new one, almost 2 years ago. Loved this song too.
15. One Man Army, Our Lady Peace: I lived for this band in high school, even before they ever had a big hit. This was my theme song for whenever I needed/wanted to kick butt and take names.
16. For Nancy, Pete Yorn: Mad crush on this guy and his guitar. This song still makes my feet sprout wings.
17. Follow, Delirious: Watched this band live at Six Flags with Zach Nance. First person I ever told that I heard the voice of God. I will always hold a special place in my heart for this band, and for the meaning behind this song.
18. Hanging by a Moment, Lifehouse: The quintissential high school song. Danced to it at Junior Prom. Probably the best one I went to (I went all four years of high school). The dress my senior year, however, left them all in the dust. ;-)
19. These Times, The Normals: This song sent me off to the greatest adventure I thought I'd ever have: college. First time away from home, first time as a number, first time with a roommate. There were so many first times about to occur that there is no way I could've been prepared. But this song kept me grounded in the one thing that mattered, because it is the one thing that never changes.


Autobiographical CD - Freshman Year of College to Mike (ie. today)

1. Let Go, Frou Frou: I freaking love this song, and probably always will. Definitely outlines college in general for me...there were so many things I learned, so many habits I "let go". So many ways I grew and changed. And all of it was beautiful, even in the breakdown.
2. A Lifetime, Better Than Ezra: Saw them in concert on Northgate at a bar that I can't remember the name of for the life of me now! It was my first "going out" experience.
3. Grey Street, Dave Matthews Band: I truly discovered Dave my freshman year. My first love. He came to visit me and I downloaded all of his CDs. I couldn't believe what I'd been missing! I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I loved him, despite God telling me to let him go. I gave Him the finger and stayed with him anyway. My freshman year was Grey Street.
4. Stay or Leave, Dave Matthews: This song was on repeat my first semester of sophomore year. I hardly left my room. I'm not even sure who I was then, besides one giant ache. I don't remember much of that time, but I remember this song. I even made it the muse for an art project in my Music Appreciation course. I think it was after I drew that I finally let it go, and started blossoming into who I would become.
5. Bigger than my Body , John Mayer: I finally decided that I was...and it was all uphill from there. I was listening to this song when I left for Foy's cabin in a tiny town in west Texas. We fit 15 people into a 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom house. Lisa and I shared a bed and secrets; I fell in love with her that weekend, and will probably love her forever. We went to the creek behind the house and threw ourselves into the freezing creek by letting go of the rope swing. That's when I woke up.
6. Monotone , Splender: My F-you to the entire College Station population, and what they thought I should be. I wore what I wanted, went where I wanted, did what I wanted, and started becoming who I wanted.
7. Ready Fuels, Anberlin: Summer in Houston! What a great time that was. I interned at MCFA, commuted 40 minutes to work each way, lived in my first apartment with Lisa, May, met Nathan Smith, became best friends with Aaron and Preeti, discovered photography, held a pancake party. I also worked out every day and discovered that...damn. I'm sexy. It was a whole new awakening...
8. This is the Countdown, MAE: I think this song might describe the entire year of 2005. What an idiot I was...and what a realization when I finally did read between the lines. Should've known I would hit the ground running.
9. Me and the Moon, Something Corporate: Honestly, the lyrics of this song don't fit, but the chorus does. I put this song on repeat in DD and drove for an hour with the windows and the sunroof open, cursing the world. I lost count at 50 cuss words, and I can promise you if you multiplied times 10 it still probably wouldn't cover all the things I screamed. I was angry. That's the only time I've ever done that. I slept incredibly well when I got back to my dorm.
10. City of Blinding Lights, U2: Theme to my blog site, and my life. Starting my senior year.
11. Lucky Denver Mint Jimmy Eat World: Now, I've been listening to this song since my junior year of high school. But it took on a whole new meaning when I packed my life and left everything behind for the Mile High City. I think I wore out my first iPod with this song. And yes. I know where the Denver Mint is.
12. Australian Table Wines, Monty Python: I listened to the Monty Python CD on one of my incredibly long drives in my new territory as a zone manager and discovered where my dad had gotten his much used saying "That is a ______________ for laying down and avoiding." Growing up has its perks.
13. Lazy Eye Silverspin Pickups: Jen and I blasted this song on the way to downtown Sante Fe her last night as an unmarried woman. It was my "getting over a major breakup" song. It worked.
14. Calling Out Your Name, Rich Mullins: This one, however, worked better.
15. White Houses, Vanessa Carlton: ROAD TRIP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! One of the best weekends of my LIFE. 1500 miles in 4 days with the best friend I've ever had.
16. Hard Sun Eddie Vedder: I was listening to this song when Mike and I started talking, but really...it was playing when I asked him the question that had been posed to me by a guy who I'm pretty sure just wanted my virginity as a trophy: what happens if you get to your wedding night and the sex sucks? We've been dating ever since his answer...
17. The Diary of Jane, Breaking Benjamin: A 24 year old can still rock out. Besides, I have a diary (journal) and the coincidence of this song is uncanny...
18. In Your Eyes, The Vitamin String Quartet: I will walk down the aisle to this song one day.

Sinking into sweet uncertainty

I have a secret thrill I sometimes sink into during the dead of winter when I'm traveling. It's too cold to leave my hotel, and the people I want to call (hello Stephanie & Preeti) are already asleep because they're an hour ahead of me, and my WOWIO account has locked me out because I've already downloaded my allowed 30 books this month. When that happens, I go to Craigslist. It started as a search for housing in Denver, then perusal through stuff for sale for any interesting furniture. But then, I discovered the "Missed Connections" area. I love these.

Sometimes it's a note to a girl in a car that was crying, and even then he thought she was beautiful. Another woman left her dad a letter the day he died with a picture of the two of them when she was little. One guy even swore that if he ever saw the woman trying to get into a fight with him at the library he'd throw a book in her face! There are poems and goodbyes to relationships lost and questions as to whether or not it's time to end it (it being relationships, not life - I'd be calling the authorities if that were the case).

Then I found one...to the beautiful girl in the elavator at DIA. Chin up. It will get better. It always does. And I wondered if it couldn't have been meant for me.

Which is the romance of the whole idea...wishing someone would see you and try anything possible to find out who you were, to reach out in this unconnected world and attempt to touch you in one of the few ways we know how anymore. It can be binned in the same categories as PostSecret, or blogging, or facebook and MySpace even. We are trying so hard to stay in touch, to feel like we will somehow leave a piece of ourselves, that we will not be forgotten.

Hoping that maybe...somewhere...we caught someone's eye too.

You're as close as it gets without touching me

Um...so...I have a boyfriend!

They'll paint them red, those things you said

Most of this week was spent with the hoity toity of the Western region of FCSD. Freakin' stresses me out. I've always hated it when people travel with me, knowing that if they actually saw how I worked they would know I was doing it all wrong. So this week, I said "Screw it" and was myself. It worked out fairly well.

But after 4 days of talking cars and trying to look good, by the time I dropped the last person off at the Boise airport, I was so ready for silence.

I stayed at my old stomping grounds, which is not downtown, but across the street from a massive entertainment center. So for the first time in the year and a half I've been traveling to the city that is now close to my heart, I walked to the pottery painting store nestled between the restaurants and movie theater. I haven't done that since fall of my senior year at A&M. It was nostalgic, and sad.

I spent 5 hours sitting in my own thoughts, or lack thereof, painting another fairy. I did two in college, and thought, "How fitting," when I was trying to pick one out (Jen made fun of me for this later, but I'm alright with that). It occured to me once during the hours of painstaking painting how little I'd thought, and how quickly time had passsed; I was reminded why I loved it so much in college.

It started snowing while I was there; it's been unusually cold in Idaho. Beautiful, small flakes that the wind wipped down onto the ground. When I left it had lightened a little, but was certainly not done. The accoustics that snow provides is fabulous. You walk outside into a silence all its own, without the echo of light and people and city noise, just the "fwomp fwomp" under your feet as you mark your path in shadows through the white of the ground. I love that sound, and I love looking back to see the handiwork of my feet. I know the cliché, and I hate to use it - but it's the smallest things in life that make it so worth living. I never want to lose that sight.

If I could tell the world just one thing it would be that we're all ok

If I hear one more thing about the elections I'm going to scream.

My questions are starting to settle

I've been fascinated by the commercials of the History Channel's Life Without People. I had no idea, however, that their deductions were based upon what happened at Chernobyl and the surrounding areas, as they have now been evacuated for over 20 years. I stared Googling to find more, and found these photos...what would happen if all the sudden the government forgot about you? Turned off your water. Closed your city. This woman motorcycled through it...and I have to admit, it's like nothing I've ever seen.

We have no idea how good we have it; and how quickly it could all go to hell in a hand basket!

Would have cut it myself if I knew men could climb hair

There have been too many lessons in the past six months that I have not written down. I wish that writing helped those times when the pain cuts so deep you can feel it in your wrists, you hips. Even your hair hurts when you wash it. You become numb just to get through it. But in that pain, and the healing, the realization, the beauty of prayers answered that comes afterward, are the greatest changes that take place.

I started saying how I felt. Instead of keeping the ache of being ignored inside, I stated simply and with an astounding lack of emotion: I want you to want me like I want you. I call when I want, not when he does. I say what I think, about his smile. About his subtle boasting. About the way this feels. I even told one guy that I thought he was scared. That his excuses were weak and inaffectual. And damn it! It felt SO good afterwards - so what if it resulted in nothing! I said what I wanted!

Being completely vulnerable, unabashedly open, painfully honest, is no less hurtful than "trying" to protect your heart, attempting to see the future to avoid any potential mistakes, any potholes that could lead to heartbreak. The difference is the end product is so much more excruciatingly pleasurable! You can't avoid hurt. Rejection is impossible to see through your hazy crystal ball of analyzation. So why try?

Be exactly who you are. With the weird Japanese comic quirk and the teddy bears on your bed. With your awkward after-kiss snicker and your laugh that is way too loud. Dress like a bohemian and work for the Man. If you don't really like sports, don't say that you do. If you love indie films and he prefers big budget, well? Celebrate the differences and compromise. Don't ever belittle your values, your faith, your decision to wait. Don't make excuses for ways you know he's not right for you, because nothing you ever do will make him so.

And one day, you'll meet someone. You'll be stunned at all the ways he is what you wish "he" had been. The similarities you share will shock you. The way you're able to be yourself because you've been practicing for so long will put you at greater ease than you ever thought possible. He'll love your laugh. He'll tell you how happy it makes him when he's simply able to make you smile. He'll want to spend every moment he can with you, not you and his friends, not you and the football game. Just you. Doing whatever it takes to be next to you. He won't mind the weird way you dress; in fact, he'll compliment you on it. He won't be able to stop kissing you on the face. He'll hurt your feelings, and instead of the silent treatment, you'll tell him, you will both learn, and it will be over in 5 minutes rather than 5 days. He will go out and buy a movie to watch just because the day before you told him it was one of your top 10. He will listen to your music.

He will love you for you, cause that's exactly who you've been since he met you! You'll never have to worry whether or not you meet his expectations. You'll never have to feel insecure because it was he who pursued you in ways you thought were only in movies. You can be the woman, and allow him to be the man...because it doesn't bother you when he doesn't call. You won't worry where he is because you know he's not flirting with anyone else. You won't have to stalk him via facebook or MySpace because you spend too much time with him to worry.

You'll feel God smile and playfully roll His eyes; while you've doubted this entire life you've lived, He's known what He has in store for you. And He just has to laugh at how surprised you are now...despite the million other ways He's always shown you He is there. Words of praise will not be enough. Hope doesn't describe the half of it. But no matter what happens, you'll learn. You'll change. You will find your own happiness. Your own way to find the Lord through it all. And eventually, He will be looking at you through the eyes of the man He made for you...you'll know; no one's ever looked at you that way.

Until now.

Now I know your ways 'cause they're just like mine

Change is the rhythm to which life dances. I find the changes in my life and the changes inside me to be utterly astounding. The growth and realization life has brought to me brings such joy, such meaning to existence. I wonder sometimes at the things we miss every day. There's a steeple on a building at DU that I pass a dozen times a week. It's gold and it stands out among the gray and brown of the world man has made. Not a day goes by that I don't look at the mountains that I know are only a hint of the miles and miles of glory that lies to the west of them. That soft warmth of a small kiss that seems to disappear with time because we take for granted it will always be there - when we are so far from God that He has to use our experiences, the people in our lives, to show Himself to us.

I wonder how much I've missed worrying about the future, about what "this" means, or if "this" is how it is, trying to remind myself that reality states it won't always be "this" way. Instead of basking in the glow of now, soaking up the beauty of surroundings even if it's snowing and my boots are ruined because I still have to work, praising that, right now, in this moment, in these arms, at this dinner, with these friends, in this sunlight, drinking this wine, on this barstool, in this car, in front of this fire, with this heart:

Life is perfect.

Lucky Number Slevin

If a person is the sum of all their experiences, then after today, I must be damn near perfect!

They think that it's Greek when it's Pig Latin

I decided to walk over to Flicks to see "Juno" followed by "Atonement". This is a "dinner theater" at which you can order things like baked brie and Pinot Noir and a fabulous chicken & spinach lasana with Italian soda and eat it in front of a fire place right outside your theater. It's a new incredible Boise find. Stho arthsy...

Unfortunately, the order in which I saw the movies was really, really stupid. Walking back to the Hampton in the snow didn't even help how depressed the last movie made me. What a freakin' downer!

Fortunately for me..."You've got mail!" Whatever happened to that, by the way?!

I've dated more in the past 6 months than I have...oh...let's see...MY. ENTIRE. LIFE. Seriously. I'm not quite sure what happens when you're all the sudden single and finally at that age where "the marrying kind" is more appreciated, but someone give me a stick. Finally that whole "you're not someone guys date, you're someone men marry" shtick MEANS something!

Anyway. All that to say, I like e-mails. They make me happy. :-D

On that line, I started thinking about this amazing new year I've started. As I walked into South High School, where Pathways is held every Sunday, I couldn't calm my heart down. I've not had that kind of excitement, of expectation, walking into church since I had a crush on some guy who's name I can't even remember now in college - where everyone went to church because it made you cool, because then you'd get out of College Station with a degree and a ring.

South High School is this gorgeous 1920s brick building that sprawls out of Wash Park. There's a clock tower and places where statues once stood against the aged walls with the trails where ivy grow in the summer still holding strong. A gargoyle oversees the main entrance. The service is held in the auditorium, old wooden seats adding to the sweet odor of beautifully-made structure. Giant cast-iron lamps hang from the too-tall ceiling, red velvet curtains line the stage and mouldings protrude from every corner whispering in swirls the stories they've seen.

They even project stained glass on the white walls. God, I love that.

I've never felt so at home. All I could think the entire service was how much I was supposed to be there. I actually talked to the girl next to me. Rachel. She moved to Denver from college in Michigan even though she's from Boston JUST BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO. No job, no plan, she just came here. I can see the loneliness in her eyes that I felt; still feel sometimes. I asked for her number; we're going to lunch next Sunday, and I can't stinkin' wait. I've been praying for her all week.

I signed up to work with the youth group. I rearranged my travel schedule so I can be at a crash course on Tuesday nights to dig deep into how to study the Bible, to dig more out of it in personal contemplation. I figured out 10% of my income and how to divide that out each week for the rest of the year. Not. Kidding.

Someone please tell me who this is, and where Kendra has gone?!

Actually, scratch that. This person is so full of an inexplicable joy that we'll keep her around...for a while...

Honestly, I don't know what else to say other than thank GOD He finally slapped me out of the funk I'd fallen in before Christmas. Too much introspection, too much self-focus. I was so frustrated that I wasn't being given someone to love, when there's a whole world out there in such dire need of it I ignored.

Not anymore.

This is going to be a really good year.

All the world is waiting for the sun

I knew when I woke up in Boise, opened the window shade, and saw the sky turned gray with snow that George was totally going to blame my arrival for the weather. He swears up and down that I bring the strange weather with me every time I come. So I walked with some expectation through the airport, pondering changing my shoes but giving up the idea for Starbucks (read: lunch) instead.

I sat with Pat, as I usually do, crammed in between the cashier's office and parts department because...hey...it's where I like to be - in everyone's way. We just watched as the sky bottomed out and all the angels grew new wings, dropping the fleshy white pieces of their old ones onto Nampa, Idaho.

So hypnotized we were by the feather rain that I was startled when someone came up behind me. "I knew you had to be here! Look at this weather! It never snows like this here!"

"Hi, George!"

Do you like that?

Somebody's discovered video embedding...and instead of going to bed before my 8 a.m. flight, I'm listening to this song on repeat instead. Oh. The humanity.

;-D

Get to church cause you're a good girl - and I never told you that

Something about actually waking up to worship God despite what every cell in your body is telling you to do ("PRESS SNOOZE, YOU MORON!") makes my morning french-press coffee taste just a little bit better. Perhaps it's expectation, or the fact that had church not woken me up, it'd be lunch and not breakfast time. Better yet, maybe it's the Lord's tiny way of saying "Good show, lazy bum."

Any way you look at it, this is dang good coffee.

I will never be your unemployed boyfriend

Apparently, I'm Jim.

Rogue Wave

I freaking love this band.

Heaven is a switchboard that you want to fight

I started reading Sex God by Rob Bell last night. It was a gift...long, but pretty good story, I have to say. It's the first Christian/spiritual book I've ever picked up and after the first chapter thought, "This book could, actually, change my life." It came alive in my hands. I can't wait to curl up with it again tonight, and I've only read through the first chapter and a half. It touched some place in my heart I didn't know existed.

When its finished, and that won't be long, I'll have to start reading all the books he references in the back, along with his little added witticisms and stories. Borders awaits, babeh!