I will never sleep again...

For the third time, in about as many weeks, I have awoke to the sound of my bedroom door opening. AHH! In my sleep I hear the sound of the door thudding open, and then my heart leaps into my chest, waking me fully. I have leapt up, to first, turn the light on and second, go to close the door. The nightlight in the kitchen illuminates the hallway to my room and I see that no one is in fact in the hallway. I shut the door (this time I locked it, after I heard ANOTHER door in the house open). The first time this happened, the room to my lil kid brother Zach's, (who is not my actual brother, but is still pretty cool and brother-like), was in fact ajar. I was a bit too freaked out to investigate, but that morning he told me he woke up and his door was open. We shared and compared stories, and panicked a bit.

After a couple nights, we both decided that the most logical and probable explanation was that he slept walked. Fast forward a few nights, Zach wakes up to his door opening. I was at my mom's house, so my door probably opened also, but there was no one to document the phenomena (I realize that now I sound paranoid, but it is 4a.m. and I can't sleep, so paranoid it is).

That was about a week ago.

My door opened tonight, just now. I realize that many things could be a logical explanation for this strange occurrence: *ahem* 1: Zach could in fact be sleepwalking, because he was kinda fuzzy about actually being awake for the second time, 2: Zoey the Golden Retriever could have learned that I actually do not like her and is trying to freak me out by a). learning how to open doors and b). opening Zach's also to cover her tracks. 3: Casper is real.

All three of these options make me slightly tired, as I feel the effects of artful imagination take hold, but also a bit creeped out. Sleepwalking Kid? Resentful Dog? Friendly Ghost?

Ya I will never sleep again...

And Band of Horses "Is There a Ghost?", will be permanently stuck in my head.
Good thing I like that song.

UGH.
*shudder*

Alive and Thankful.

This two part story is unbelievable and hits me very close to home. The Doctor who was my mother's OBGYN when I was in the womb, suggested that she abort, becuuse he thought she was miscarrying the pregnancy. Thankfully my mother somehow knew that I was alive and kicking, and refused the "normal" D and C procedure that would have terminated my life. What divine mercy has been intricately working in my own life since before I was even aware! I have a defender that was fighting for me, before I even knew I needed it. Thank you God, Thank you mom. I am alive because of you!

Powerful. I also love Gianna Jessen's call for men to stand up and defend, and for women to never settle for abuse. Great soul reviving stuff right here.

 

The Song of a Broken Record Player That Keeps Repeating...

These happen to be words taken from an old blog. I love it. When I was eating dinner this evening, I was also taking in the ideas of everything I am learning. For some reason amid the barrage of new Ideas, this old one seemed to be the steady bass line in my head. So as one who continually adds to the clutter of your information world, I felt the burden to share it. More like sending it out into the unknown world of people who read this blog, will also help me understand the weight of this reality. 

Glory.

Here you go....

10 Resolutions for Mental Health
October 22, 1976, Clyde Kilby

Psalm 19:1“The sky is telling the glory of God.”

1. At least once every day I shall look steadily up at the sky and remember that I, a consciousness with a conscience, am on a planet traveling in space with wonderfully mysterious things above and about me.

2. Instead of the accustomed idea of a mindless and endless evolutionary change to which we can neither add nor subtract, I shall suppose the universe guided by an Intelligence which, as Aristotle said of Greek drama, requires a beginning, a middle, and an end.

I think this will save me from the cynicism expressed by Bertrand
Russell before his death when he said: "There is darkness without, and when I
die there will be darkness within. There is no splendor, no vastness anywhere,
only triviality for a moment, and then nothing."

3. I shall not fall into the falsehood that this day, or any day, is merely another ambiguous and plodding twenty-four hours, but rather a unique event, filled, if I so wish, with worthy potentialities.

I shall not be fool enough to suppose that trouble and pain are wholly evil parentheses in my existence, but just as likely ladders to be climbed toward moral and spiritual manhood.

4. I shall not turn my life into a thin, straight line which prefers abstractions to reality. I shall know what I am doing when I abstract, which of course I shall often have to do.

5. I shall not demean my own uniqueness by envy of others. I shall stop boring into myself to discover what psychological or social categories I might belong to. Mostly I shall simply forget about myself and do my work.

6. I shall open my eyes and ears. Once every day I shall simply stare at a tree, a flower, a cloud, or a person. I shall not then be concerned at all to ask what they are but simply be glad that they are. I shall joyfully allow them the mystery of what Lewis calls their "divine, magical, terrifying and ecstatic" existence.

7. I shall sometimes look back at the freshness of vision I had in childhood and try, at least for a little while, to be, in the words of Lewis Carroll, the "child of the pure unclouded brow, and dreaming eyes of wonder."

8. I shall follow Darwin's advice and turn frequently to imaginative things such as good literature and good music, preferably, as Lewis suggests, an old book and timeless music.

9. I shall not allow the devilish onrush of this century to usurp all my energies but will instead, as Charles Williams suggested, "fulfill the moment as the moment." I shall try to live well just now because the only time that exists is now.

10. Even if I turn out to be wrong, I shall bet my life on the assumption that this world is not idiotic, neither run by an absentee landlord, but that today, this very day, some stroke is being added to the cosmic canvas that in due course I shall understand with joy as a stroke made by the architect who calls himself Alpha and Omega.

i found this on john piper's website, here is the original link: http://www.desiringgod.org/Blog/2161_10_resolutions_for_mental_health/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+DGBlog+%28DG+Blog%29&utm_content=Twitter

"The Story of an Hour"

"The Story of An Hour"

Kate Chopin (1894)

Knowing that Mrs. Mallard was afflicted with a heart trouble, great care was taken to break to her as gently as possible the news of her husband's death.
It was her sister Josephine who told her, in broken sentences; veiled hints that revealed in half concealing. Her husband's friend Richards was there, too, near her. It was he who had been in the newspaper office when intelligence of the railroad disaster was received, with Brently Mallard's name leading the list of "killed." He had only taken the time to assure himself of its truth by a second telegram, and had hastened to forestall any less careful, less tender friend in bearing the sad message.
She did not hear the story as many women have heard the same, with a paralyzed inability to accept its significance. She wept at once, with sudden, wild abandonment, in her sister's arms. When the storm of grief had spent itself she went away to her room alone. She would have no one follow her.
There stood, facing the open window, a comfortable, roomy armchair. Into this she sank, pressed down by a physical exhaustion that haunted her body and seemed to reach into her soul.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves.
There were patches of blue sky showing here and there through the clouds that had met and piled one above the other in the west facing her window.
She sat with her head thrown back upon the cushion of the chair, quite motionless, except when a sob came up into her throat and shook her, as a child who has cried itself to sleep continues to sob in its dreams.
She was young, with a fair, calm face, whose lines bespoke repression and even a certain strength. But now there was a dull stare in her eyes, whose gaze was fixed away off yonder on one of those patches of blue sky. It was not a glance of reflection, but rather indicated a suspension of intelligent thought.
There was something coming to her and she was waiting for it, fearfully. What was it? She did not know; it was too subtle and elusive to name. But she felt it, creeping out of the sky, reaching toward her through the sounds, the scents, the color that filled the air.
Now her bosom rose and fell tumultuously. She was beginning to recognize this thing that was approaching to possess her, and she was striving to beat it back with her will--as powerless as her two white slender hands would have been. When she abandoned herself a little whispered word escaped her slightly parted lips. She said it over and over under hte breath: "free, free, free!" The vacant stare and the look of terror that had followed it went from her eyes. They stayed keen and bright. Her pulses beat fast, and the coursing blood warmed and relaxed every inch of her body.
She did not stop to ask if it were or were not a monstrous joy that held her. A clear and exalted perception enabled her to dismiss the suggestion as trivial. She knew that she would weep again when she saw the kind, tender hands folded in death; the face that had never looked save with love upon her, fixed and gray and dead. But she saw beyond that bitter moment a long procession of years to come that owuld belong to her absolutely. And she opened and spread her arms out to them in welcome.
There would be no one to live for during those coming years; she would live for herself. There would be no powerful will bending hers in that blind persistence with which men and women believe they ahve a right to impose a private will upon a fellow-creature. A kind intention or a cruel intention made the act seem no less a crime as she looked upon it in that brief moment of illumination.
And yet she had loved him--sometimes. Often she had not. What did it matter! What could love, the unsolved mystery, count for in the face of this possession of self-assertion which she suddenly recognized as the strongest impulse of her being!
"Free! Body and soul free!" she kept whispering.
Josephine was kneeling before the closed door with her lips to the keyhold, imploring for admission. "Louise, open the door! I beg; open the door--you will make yourself ill. What are you doing, Louise? For heaven's sake open the door."
"Go away. I am not making myself ill." No; she was drinking in a very elixir of life through that open window.
Her fancy was running riot along those days ahead of her. Spring days, and summer days, and all sorts of days that would be her own. She breathed a quick prayer that life might be long. It was only yesterday she had thought with a shudder that life might be long.
She arose at length and opened the door to her sister's importunities. There was a feverish triumph in her eyes, and she carried herself unwittingly like a goddess of Victory. She clasped her sister's waist, and together they descended the stairs. Richards stood waiting for them at the bottom.
Some one was opening the front door with a latchkey. It was Brently Mallard who entered, a little travel-stained, composedly carrying his grip-sack and umbrella. He had been far from the scene of the accident, and did not even know there had been one. He stood amazed at Josephine's piercing cry; at Richards' quick motion to screen him from the view of his wife.
When the doctors came they said she had died of heart disease--of the joy that kills. 
 

 The immediate question I had when reading this was: who, or what is the "Mr. Mallard" in my life? What have I let poison my soul to the point that I will be completely ecstatic when I see it go? What is the thing that hangs as a heavy weight around the neck of my soul, bearing on me to the point of a deep resistance of my own reality? What have I said that I loved, but has become more of a curse than a true love? What have I let control me to the point where I have lost myself?

Good questions. This essay is a cause for me to stop and think. Good timing too. I am thankful for my English teacher. She certainly picks the soul stirrers.

NT Wright On Art & Mission

via youtube.com

I have listened to this multiple times, and it is still causing a massive display of mental fireworks. Wow. I love this.

Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The feeling in the car is tense; we are all coping in our own ways. This trip is filled with emotion and in many ways will change our family forever. My head is foggy and I don’t want to think about the realities of this moment, so I relax and let this sleepy battle give way. I begin to melt as I ponder the realities of this long anticipated parting.

The vibrations of the vehicle continue lulling me into the realm of a wakeful sleep. My body becomes gelatinous as I pass into a more relaxed state, this combined with a head cold, and loud music coming from behind me, have caused the world of sound to fade from my perceptions. My brother is sitting next to me and I can see the reflection of his game boy on his face, Mario Kart seems to have implicitly captured his attention for the moment. The sun is readying its passage to the other side of the world, but is still high enough to sear my skin. Moving away from the window, I lean toward the center and rest my shoulder on the backpack full to the brim of homework needing to be accomplished. I sigh heavily and I think to myself, it can wait.

I look beyond my brother to see the arid Colorado high-desert landscape whizzing past at a breakneck speed. The world seems askew from this seat today. My gaze wanders back to the car and I, turn toward the front seat. The animated look on Hunter’s face is quite comical, though she has always been able to contort her facial expressions as if she were Jim Carrey in The Mask. Audrey looks like a bobble head as she is transformed into a master storyteller; theatrics have always been her best asset. I take in this moment knowing full well that banter between them will not happen again for another year.

The slowing car jolts me awake. I see the outline of the white tent like structure imitating the Rocky Mountains in the distance. We have arrived at the Denver International Airport. Audrey parks and we all get out and stretch our cramped bodies before unloading the luggage. The time from the car to the check-in desk is surreal. We walk in, fiddling with the overstuffed luggage; the line for the flight across the pond is the only one full with travelers. We all sigh in relief as we have made it on time. I pull my brother to the side and we take a seat so that Hunter can check in to her 17-hour flight.

“Mrs. Gonzales, Mrs. Debra Gonzales, please make your way towards the nearest white courtesy telephone. Mr. Duncan, Mr. Albert Duncan. Please make your way…” This loud announcement explodes in my congested ears; the silence that was, is no longer. A couple making their way towards the seat behind us begin to drown it out. The woman hurriedly sits down and is speaking loudly in her British accent to her husband, “they seemed to ask a lot of questions didn’t they?” Before he has a chance to answer she continues on about the experience she just had checking in for this flight. I try to eavesdrop but find my attention wandering. I survey the line, keeping tabs on my sisters as they pass through the zigzag line created by vinyl strips and metal posts. Awareness unfolding at about the same rate as my mind continues to wake up.

The line is eclectic. You can tell the European foreigners from the American travelers; the look on their faces is giving it away. Peace for those going home, and a bit of tense anticipation for those on vacation. My eyes dance over piles of luggage, each one telling a story. Europeans and their choice of elegance over functionality intrigue me. There are many beautiful bags in this line made up of leather, and all very, very old. Bags without wheels or straps, all are awkward and bulky, there is not one with a spot of bungee, or any type of weatherproof fabric on this round of luggage.

Once again the couple in front of me takes precedence in the scattered perceptions I am under; I cannot help but notice the woman’s right foot propped up on her marvelously crafted carry on. A man in a uniform pushing a wheelchair distracts my eyes as he strolls up to the British couple. “Need a lift M’am?” She calmly looks up him and then eagerly nods her head with enthusiasm. The man takes the delicate looking carry-on placing under the seat, while she awkwardly moves her injured self into position. The man notes the water bottle left behind, but she loudly proclaims to him that they are “going to the club so there is no need for it”. I catch his eyes and see that he was only trying to be helpful, but his demeanor is now deflated as he rolls the pretentions woman towards security.

I look back to the check in and note the halfway point of my sister’s journey through the queue. I also see that two families have joined the line; one is obviously well traveled and the other is obviously not. The discombobulated couple has seemingly forgotten one of their bags about ten feet form their current location, A security guard quickly strides over setting his gaze on their bag and yelling toward the line, “WHOSE BAG IS THIS?” The mother looks up realizing she has forgotten her parcel, and her husband trots over, “It’s the babies! It’s the babies, sir!” The guard softens immediately and makes a joke that does not translate well: “Does your baby got any weapons?” The father is noticeably ruffled, but the wife sees the playfulness of the guard and laughs; with this giggle, a feigned friendship is born, they banter back and forth for a few moments and then the guard to continues on his way to ensure the airport is free from weapon slinging babies.

“Mrs. Gonzales, Mrs. Debra Gonzales, please make your way towards the nearest white courtesy telephone. Mr. Duncan, Mr. Albert Duncan. Please make your way to a white courtesy telephone. Mr. Gragorio, Mr. Dominique Gragorio… These names are definitely getting harder for the announcer to pronounce. I chuckle slightly as I note the accent of the voice, she sounds like a German version of the computer from a Startrek episode.

Looking up I see my sister at the front of the line and like a delicate ballerina she sets her 1980’s golden gilded, baggage onto the scale. She already looks European, in her designer jeans, handmade t-shirt, teal cardy, black leather slouchy boots, and a contagious smile. She hands over her paperwork and the woman on the other side of the counter is captivated instantly. The conversation happening 50 feet away from me cannot be heard, but their body language is louder than a megaphone.  Hunter is telling the grandmotherly attendant that she is moving to France, as an Au pair. She gasps, and I see her mouth moving, “Oh you are going to have the time of your life! Enjoy every second.”  They continue to talk for seemingly eternity, animated to the end.

Finally she is done, and she turns around and flashes her pristine smile comprising of perfect teeth, luscious lips, and dimples to boot. Her gait towards me is lighter than when we arrived and I can see the effects remaining from “Grandmother Airline”. I arise from my seat, tugged at by my brother, people watching skills fade away as I become the one to be watched. I take a deep breath and meet her smile with my own. It is time to say Adieu. 

Textile Kitchen Inspiration

I am trying to decide on full length curtains for my new abode. 

Not that I have dolla holla, but it never hurts to dream!

                                         

I think that some light fabric with black lines would be stunning.

                                          

I really think the floral poppies wold make an adorable '50s style dress. Oh how lovely!

 

Kitchen Inspirations, are red and black! Blenders and Mixers, OH MY!

 

 Inspirations this week are brought to you by the letters I for  Ikea and H for Hawthorne Threads

                    

See and download the full gallery on posterous

a pinch of this and a dash of that

There is so much to be said about this moment, right here.

My brain is actually growing immensely for the first time in what feels like forever. It feels so good. I have no idea (still) what I want to be when I grow up, but I am pretty sure it will include about ten more years of school. I LOVE THIS! I am also looking forward to the move, so much to plan and think about, but nothing I can really do yet.... except you should call me if you need a hair did! I could use some cash for groceries. :) I hear eating is nice. 

I am really pondering some exciting clothing lines to be completed over the next few months, as my finals are this week (yes, I accidentally registered for bimester classes not semester classes-it's been CRAZY!). So with classes over I am going to have a ton of time on my hands. I really want to find a fabric wholesale in the Springs that will be cheap until I can actually start selling stuff. Anyone know of any?? 

I am listening to Fleet Foxes right now and I forgot how much I truly love this band. There is something haunting about them and I just love the tinny sounds they produce. It is very invigorating, which is nice because I am going to need it for the crazy amount of homework I have this week. Speaking of which, it is time for sleep, I have to make an adult decision now!

Ta-ta for now. 

Hope this finds you well.

I Timothy 1:3-14

"I thank God whom I serve, as did my ancestors, with a clear conscience, as I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. As I remember your tears, I long to see you, that I may be filled with joy. I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that dwelt first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, dwells in you as well. For this reason I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, for God gave us a spirit not of fear but of power and love and self-control.

Therefore do not be ashamed of the testimony about our Lord, nor of me his prisoner, but share in suffering for the gospel by the power of God,  who saved us and called us to a holy calling, not because of our works but because of  his own purpose and grace, which he gave us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, and which now has been manifested through the appearing of our Savior Christ Jesus, who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel, for which I was appointed a preacher and apostle and teacher, which is why I suffer as I do. But I am not ashamed, for I know whom I have believed, and I am convinced that he is able to guard until that Day what has been entrusted to me. Follow the pattern of the sound words that you have heard from me, in the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. By the Holy Spirit who dwells within us, guard the good deposit entrusted to you."

P.S. I just found this amazing treasury of information: jesus.org So sweet! Anything you have ever wanted to know about Jesus! 

my favorite...

Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge.
I say to the Lord, "You are my Lord;
I have no good apart from you."

As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones,
in whom is all my delight.
The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply;
their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
or take their names on my lips.

The Lord is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed I have a beautiful inheritance.

I bless the Lord who gives me counsel;
in the night also my heart instructs me.
I have set the Lord always before me;
because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.

Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
my flesh dwells secure.
For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
or let your holy one see corruption.

You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Psalm 16 (ESV)

I left the footnotes on purpose...use em.

⁴"Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: ^5(A) Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. ⁶Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. ⁷But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and^(B) pray to the LORD on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare. ⁸For thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel:^(C) Do not let your prophets and^(D) your diviners who are among you deceive you, and do not listen to the dreams that they dream,^{[a] 9}for^(E) it is a lie that they are prophesying to you in my name;^(F) I did not send them, declares the LORD.

 ¹⁰"For thus says the LORD:^(G) When seventy years are completed for Babylon,^(H) I will visit you,^(I) and I will fulfill to you my promise and bring you back to this place. ^11(J) For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare^[b] and not for evil,^(K) to give you a future and a hope. ^12(L) Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you. ^13(M) You will seek me and find me, when you seek me^(N) with all your heart. ¹⁴I will be found by you, declares the LORD,^(O) and I will restore your fortunes and^(P) gather you from all the nations and all the places^(Q) where I have driven you, declares the LORD, and I will bring you back to the place from which I sent you into exile.

Footnotes:

1. Jeremiah 29:8 Hebrew your dreams, which you cause to dream
2. Jeremiah 29:11 Or peace

Cross references:

1. Jeremiah 29:5 : Jeremiah 29:28
2. Jeremiah 29:7 : Ezra 6:10; 1 Tim 2:1, 2
3. Jeremiah 29:8 : Jeremiah 5:31; 6:14
4. Jeremiah 29:8 : Jeremiah 27:9, 15
5. Jeremiah 29:9 : Jeremiah 5:31
6. Jeremiah 29:9 : Jeremiah 29:31
7. Jeremiah 29:10 : Jeremiah 25:12
8. Jeremiah 29:10 : Jeremiah 27:22
9. Jeremiah 29:10 : Jeremiah 33:14; Jeremiah 24:6
10. Jeremiah 29:11 : Isa 55:8, 9
11. Jeremiah 29:11 : Jeremiah 31:17
12. Jeremiah 29:12 : Jeremiah 33:3; Dan 9:3
13. Jeremiah 29:13 : 2 Chr 15:2; Psalm 32:6; 78:34; Prov 8:17; Isa 55:6; Hos 3:5; Lev 26:39-42; Deut 30:1-3
14. Jeremiah 29:13 : Jeremiah 24:7; Deut 4:29
15. Jeremiah 29:14 : Jeremiah 30:3
16. Jeremiah 29:14 : Jeremiah 23:3
17. Jeremiah 29:14 : Jeremiah 8:3

via biblegateway.com

This is where my head has been today. I am reveling in this. A bit ago, I was sent out to the "desert" to fall deeply in love with my maker. I have. I am ever awestruck by Yahweh. And now this. Oh how marvelous. Restoration is bittersweet, but worth every moment.

RELEVANT Magazine - What To Know When You're 25(ish)

What To Know When You're 25(ish)

Shauna Niequist

Wednesday, 15 September 2010 00:00

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Here are the things really worth caring about in your 20s.

When you’re 25-ish, you’re old enough to know what kind of music you love, regardless of what your last boyfriend or roommate always used to play. You know how to walk in heels, how to tie a necktie, how to give a good toast at a wedding and how to make something for dinner. You don’t have to think much about skin care, home ownership or your retirement plan. Your life can look a lot of different ways when you’re 25: single, dating, engaged, married. You are working in dream jobs, pay-the-bills jobs and downright horrible jobs. You are young enough to believe that anything is possible, and you are old enough to make that belief a reality.

Job

Now is the time to figure out what kind of work you love to do. What are you good at? What makes you feel alive? What do you dream about? You can go back to school now, switch directions entirely. You can work for almost nothing, or live in another country, or volunteer long hours for something that moves you. There will be a time when finances and schedules make this a little trickier, so do it now. Try it, apply for it, get up and do it.

When I was 25, I was in my third job in as many years—all in the same area at a church, but the responsibilities were different each time. I was frustrated at the end of the third year because I didn’t know exactly what I wanted to do next. I didn’t feel like I’d found my place yet. I met with my boss, who was in his 50s. I told him how anxious I was about finding the one perfect job for me, and quick. He asked me how old I was, and when I told him I was 25, he told me that I couldn’t complain to him about finding the right job until I was 32. In his opinion, it takes about 10 years after college to find the right fit, and anyone who finds it earlier than that is just plain lucky. So use every bit of your 10 years: try things, take classes, start over.

Relationships

Now is also the time to get serious about relationships. And “serious” might mean walking away from the ones that don’t give you everything you need. Some of the most life-shaping decisions you make in this season will be about walking away from good-enough, in search of can’t-live-without. One of the only truly devastating mistakes you can make in this season is staying with the wrong person even though you know he or she is the wrong person. It’s not fair to that person, and it’s not fair to you.

Counseling

Twenty-five is also a great time to start counseling, if you haven’t already, and it might be a good round two of counseling if it’s been a while. You might have just enough space from your parents to start digging around your childhood a little bit. Unravel the knots that keep you from living a healthy whole life, and do it now, before any more time passes.

Church

Twenty-five is the perfect time to get involved in a church you love, no matter how different it is from the one you were a part of growing up. Be patient and prayerful, and decide that you’re going to be a person who grows, who seeks your own faith, who lives with intention. Set your alarm on Sunday mornings, no matter how late you were out on Saturday night. It will be dreadful at first, and then after a few weeks, you’ll find that you like it, that the pattern of it fills up something inside you.

Don't get stuck

This is the thing: when you start to hit 28 or 30, everything starts to divide, and you can see very clearly two kinds of people: on one side, people who have used their 20s to learn and grow, to find God and themselves and their deep dreams, people who know what works and what doesn’t, who have pushed through to become real live adults. And then there’s the other kind, who are hanging onto college, or high school even, with all their might. They’ve stayed in jobs they hate, because they’re too scared to get another one. They’ve stayed with men or women who are good but not great, because they don’t want to be lonely. They mean to find a church, they mean to develop honest, intimate friendships, they mean to stop drinking like life is one big frat party. But they don’t do those things, so they live in kind of an extended adolescence, no closer to adulthood than they were when they graduated college.

Don’t be like that. Don’t get stuck. Move, travel, take a class, take a risk. Walk away, try something new. There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming. Don’t lose yourself at happy hour, but don’t lose yourself on the corporate ladder either. Stop every once in a while and go out to coffee or climb in bed with your journal. Ask yourself some good questions like: “Am I proud of the life I’m living? What have I tried this month? What have I learned about God this year? What parts of my childhood faith am I leaving behind, and what parts am I choosing to keep with me for this leg of the journey? Do the people I’m spending time with give me life, or make me feel small? Is there any brokenness in my life that’s keeping me from moving forward?”

Now is your time. Become, believe, try. Walk closely with people you love, and with other people who believe that God is very good and life is a grand adventure. Don’t spend time with people who make you feel like less than you are. Don’t get stuck in the past, and don’t try to fast-forward yourself into a future you haven’t yet earned. Give today all the love and intensity and courage you can, and keep traveling honestly along life’s path.

Taken from Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist Copyright © 2010. Used by permission of Zondervan. www.zondervan.com

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via relevantmagazine.com

Oh this is GREAT!!! Life is about BECOMING!! Not about the DOING! And it is so true, be something better today, and you will be proud of what you become tomorrow.

I love my english class...

"The truth is that our finest moments are most likely to occur when we are feeling deeply uncomfortable, unhappy, or unfulfilled.  For it is only in such moments, propelled by our discomfort, that we are likely to step out of our ruts and start searching for different ways or truer answers."

—Unknown

 

Quote for thought.

Fin. Bonne nuit.

Oh snap...

Jared Wilson, over at the Gospel Driven Church posted a blog on Mad Men and Ministers. So Funny!

 

Mad Ministers

I saw someone on Twitter this week compare AMC's artful series "Mad Men" to the biblical book of Ecclesiastes. I see it. But I'm seeing something else, less reflective but more indicting. This is no "Gospel According to Mad Men" -- I'll leave that to Chris Seay -- but I do see in the characters certain male archetypes, rich in their falleness, that have parallel to certain ministerial archetypes. If this smacks too much of "relevance" or you have no reference point for "Mad Men," feel free to move on. But I think the show reminds me of some different pastoral types.

The Don Draper

Named for "Mad Men"'s main mad man, this is the prototypical rockstar pastor. Having once earned respect with astonishing success, he now commands it at every turn. He keeps everyone at a manageable distance and keeps his assistants and acolytes both demoralized but starving for his approval. A classic narcissist, he believes his own hype. And you better believe it too. This pastor is the toast of many towns. But he will crash and burn eventually.

The Peggy Olsen

Named for one of those Draper acolytes, always under his thumb but desperate for his smile, the Peggy Olsen type of pastor is passive aggressive, envious, secretive, and manipulative, but all from a place of sullen weakness. This pastoral type is in ministry for self-validation, to fill some void that has not been filled by the gospel. The Peggy Olsen is a sweetheart but driven personally by the burden of the Law. This pastor's prime engine runs on equal parts shame and envy.

The Roger Sterling

Named for the silver haired and silver tongued senior partner of "Mad Men"'s ad agency, this is the pastor pathetic in his desire to coast on the fumes of an old success. Roger Sterling landed Lucky Strike as a client once upon a time and parlayed that into some serious bank; he's been in autopilot ever since. He doesn't care much for doing anything now. He just wants to bask in what he's done before. This could be the pastor who wrote a popular book once upon a time or led his church to serious growth once upon a time or steered a massive building campaign once upon a time. And now he's coasting into retirement.

The Pete Campbell

My wife and I have decided that Vincent Kartheiser is a brilliant actor because we absolutely hate Pete Campbell. In my second ministry position I worked alongside a guy who was pretty much exactly like Pete. He was better than me; and he knew it. He reminded me often. He was superficial and smarmy. He stunk of ambition. This is the pastor in ministry not for ministry but to leverage any bit of power or position or prestige he can get out of it. This pastor tweets every day about how awesome he is.

The Bert Cooper

The senior senior partner of Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce may be the only redeeming pastoral type from the show. He has seen hard-won success but isn't content to coast; he looks to the future. A pragmatist in the best sense of the word, he won't allow his personal feelings to get in the way of doing what's best for the company (as when he okayed the agency's dealings with a Japanese automaker over Roger Sterling's vehemence). The Bert Cooper is a pastor equal parts entrepreneur, folksy father figure, and "Art of War" chess master. He's also flexible, content, and even-keeled.

We need more Bert Coopers, probably.

Thank you for indulging me this throwaway post.

 

Who is your paster like? Does he fit into one of these types? Obviously we would like to say that we all have a "Bert Cooper" on our pulit, but do you really? I have been around a lot of "Don Draper's", "Peter Sterling's" and "Pete Cambell's" in my day, and I am hoping that will change. Praying for the leadership at the church I go to, tonight. Hoping that the Lord will saturate all churches and maybe they will be more Jesus like! Ha, that would probably be best. Psh. Forget about Bert.

 

 

Sunflower Property Management | 1115 North Weber Street #3

via sunflower-management.com

possibly my new abode! how stinkin cute!!!!

HOME.

...is where the heart is.

REALLY?

I have to disagree, cuz my heart is in the west coast right now, but I am NOT.

I have for almost a year, been living with a family that has been my saving grace. This family found me before I was saved. They saw a transition and they have become a part of my life. I lived out my "rehab" in their home. For the past year, I have been learning how to live. Learning how to make great decisions. Learning how to not only wish to make great decisions, but act on them. I have learned to be.

 

Wow. Do you know those moments when you realize the story is over, but you wish you could keep watching the movie, or keep turning the pages just to keep it going? I am there. This story is over. But that is not a bad thing! I am moving forward, not sideways, or zig-zaged, or backwards. Nope. I AM MOVING FORWARD. For the first time in my life I am proud of who I am, I love the people in my life, I enjoy the moments we have shared. And I am going apartment hunting tomorrow!

It has been awhile since I have lived alone, and I crave it. I am so happy with the motion. I am not being left behind.

This is so good.

AH! I am really giddy right now. Gonna go do a happy dance now.

 

I want to ride this bike. It is green and very, very lovely. Here's to wishing!

via etsy.com

The Trinity Foundation - A Letter to Paul the Apostle

Presbyterian Church in Asia Minor

Committee on Missions

Paul the Apostle

co Aquila the Tentmaker

Corinth, Greece

Dear Paul:

We recently received a copy of your letter to the Galatians. The committee has directed me to inform you of a number of things, which deeply concern us.

First, we find your language to be somewhat intemperate. In your letter, after a brief greeting to the Galatians, you immediately attack your opponents by claiming they “want to pervert the gospel of Christ.” You then say that such men should be regarded as “accursed”; and, in another place, you make reference to “false brethren.” Wouldn’t it be more charitable to give them the benefit of the doubt-at least until the General Assembly has investigated and adjudicated the matter? To make the situation worse, you later say, “I could wish those who trouble you would even cut them selves off!” Is such a statement really fitting for a Christian minister? The remark seems quite harsh and unloving.

Paul, we really feel the need to caution you about the tone of your epistles. You come across in an abrasive manner to many people. In some of your letters you’ve even mentioned names; and this practice has, no doubt, upset the friends of Hymenaeus, Alexander, and others. After all, many persons were first introduced to the Christian faith under the ministries of these men. Although some of our missionaries have manifest regrettable shortcomings, nevertheless, it can only stir up bad feelings when you speak of these men in a derogatory manner.

In other words, Paul, I believe you should strive for a more moderate posture in your ministry. Shouldn’t you try to win those who are in error by displaying a sweeter spirit? By now, you’ve probably alienated the Judaizers to the point that they will no longer listen to you.

By your outspokenness, you have also diminished your opportunities for future influence throughout the church as a whole. Rather, if you had worked more quietly, you might have been asked to serve on a presbytery committee appointed to study the issue. You could then have contributed your insights by helping to draft a good committee paper on the theological position of the Judaizers, without having to drag personalities into the dispute.

Besides, Paul, we need to maintain unity among those who profess a belief in Christ. The Judaizers at least stand with us as we confront the surrounding paganism and humanism, which prevail within the culture of the contemporary Roman Empire. The Judaizers are our allies in our struggles against abortion, homosexuality, government tyranny, etc. We cannot afford to allow differences over doctrinal minutiae to obscure this important fact.

I also must mention that questions have been raised about the contents of your letter, as well as your style. The committee questions the propriety of the doctrinaire structure of your letter. Is it wise to plague young Christians, like the Galatians, with such heavy theological issues? For example, in a couple of places, you allude to the doctrine of election. You also enter into a lengthy discussion of the law. Perhaps you could have proved your case in some other ways, without mentioning these complex and controverted points of Christianity. Your letter is so doctrinaire, it will probably serve only to polarize the differing factions within the churches. Again, we need to stress unity, instead of broaching issues, which will accent divisions among us.

In one place, you wrote, “Indeed I, Paul, say to you that if you become circumcised, Christ will profit you nothing.” Paul, you have a tendency to describe things strictly in black and white terms, as if there are no gray areas. You need to temper your expressions, lest you become too exclusive. Otherwise, your outlook will drive away many people, and make visitors feel unwelcome. Church growth is not promoted by taking such a hard line and remaining inflexible.

Remember, Paul, there is no such thing as a perfect church. We have to tolerate many imperfections in the church, since we cannot expect to have everything at once. If you will simply think back over your own experience, you will recall how you formerly harassed the church in your times of ignorance. By reflecting on your own past, you might acquire a more sympathetic attitude toward the Judaizers. Be patient, and give them some time to come around to a better understanding. In the meantime, rejoice that we all share a common profession of faith in Christ, since we have all been baptized in his name.

Sincerely,

Charles Phinney

Coordinator, Committee on Missions

July / August 1988

via trinityfoundation.org

This brightened my day. Makes me take a look at my stance on church. Am I going because, they are nice and tolerable? Or am I going because the word of God is being preached? The ruffling of feathers in this day and age cannot even compare to the Matthew 18 worldview that Paul lived by.

Fading away...

Elijah was a man who had a deep friendship with God. The evidence of this is breathtaking. 1 Kings 19:1-18 outlines a story not of might or firepower, brawn or fierce judgment, but one of loving compassion. God had just declared himself to the people that He is truly God, with the demonstration in 1 Kings 18:36-38 and the fireworks that ensued are nothing in comparison to a measly fourth of July party we might have now. God proved himself in a powerful way, yet in chapter 19 we find Elijah at the lowest point in his life.

The Lord then feeds him a heavenly food, one that nourishes not only his belly, but also his soul. His heavy heart is lifted and he continues on. God directs him to a cave and then brings tremendous acts of weather power to him. But God is not there. He has left Elijah in a cave, alone so it seems, to let the brute force of the storms have their way with him. But suddenly the winds cease. All is quiet, and a whisper is heard. The heart of Elijah is comforted, he hears God, covers his head, and moves closer. God speaks. He consoles him, He reveals that he is not alone, that there is a remnant of others who believe, there is even one who will take his place. All is not lost.

What I often forget when studying scripture is that the “superheroes” of the Bible, are actually God empowered humans. The story of Elijah is a masterpiece of humanity. Elijah was at the bottom of a deep pit emotionally, he felt alone and misplaced, so far from God. “Self-doubt, depression, even suicidal thoughts are possible after mountaintop experiences” -Arnold & Beyer, Encountering the Old Testament. As someone who has dealt with depression, I have deep sympathy for Elijah. When faced with the stormy clouds of depression, it feels so alone, so useless to continue on and so vividly dark. It truly is a cave-like experience.

When God speaks to Elijah softly, it is all he needs. God understands the darkness of his soul; all it takes to move him is a tender touch. A whisper is tender, intimate, and usually reserved for lovers. God began whispering to me and I have never been the same. I was in the darkest of all dark places, and yet he tenderly whispered showing me that I have never been alone. This type of intimacy is unraveling me and I am slowly fading into the Glory that is intended for me.

The Art of Birdwatching

I have recently added two new things to my life. One: TweetDeck. Two: A subscription to the blog over at InterVarsity Press entitled Strangely Dim

Today the two converged and the following is a re-post. Ah twitter, thank you for shaping the world I live in!

 

The Meaning of a Tweet

Many thanks to Dave for his kind introduction. Many thanks to Dave, Lisa and Christa for giving me a little platform here at Strangely Dim. And many, many thanks to you, dear reader, for giving me a chance when you don't know me from Eve.

As the web editor at IVP, I spend a good deal of my time writing copy that packs a lot of meaning about books or authors in short spaces. But the shortest of these short-form communiqués has to be the tweet.

Recently one of our authors (don't even try to guess, I'm not going to give any hints who it was) said that he didn't believe anything that had any real meaning could be said on Twitter. What determines the meaning of a tweet? Is it the content? Is it the format? And is this kind of broadcasting of short thoughts really so revolutionary in the history of the world?

In his book, Flickering Pixels, Shane Hipps defines media as "anything that stretches, extends, or amplifies some human capacity." If we accept Hipps' definition as at least somewhat accurate, then it seems that media forms are not simply passive tools but active reservoirs; we pour into them the meaning from our lives for the sake of passing it on.

Viewed this way, I see tweets as little micro-compressed extensions of our lives. Just like lives, tweets are

·       Fleeting. There are so many of them, a single tweet flows down your screen sometimes before you've even had time to read it. So too are lives, passing before our eyes more quickly than we can grasp and competing with so many others for prominence, each one pregnant with meaning and potential.

·       Speaking. Each tweet speaks to the world, whether or not it expects to get a response. So too the details of our lives speak to the world about us--and yes, even what we ate for breakfast can communicate something. Why else would people carve words into a tree or spray paint a message on a highway overpass or tatoo symbols on their bodies? These kinds of shout-outs to the world may feel meaningless in one sense, but their meaning lies in the very human outpouring of a desire to speak into the world, to have a voice, to declare something, and ultimately to be heard and understood.

·       Fickle. Tweets, like people, can be beautiful, funny, mean, lewd, misleading, spiritual, profound or mundane. They are conduits for all the things that lie in the human heart, which is perhaps one reason why I find these little missives so fascinating.

·       Constrained. In a tweet there are only 140 characters available to work with. We can't cram every word ever written in. We have to make choices to communicate most clearly, deciding what we want to say at the expense of what we can't say. The same is true with life. Most people have around eighty years to work with. Like a tweet, we are constrained by the boundaries of what is and what is not, what we choose and what we don't choose.

Working within constraints is one of the things I love about writing. I can't use every word in the universe; there's really only one that is best for each idea I want to convey. And part of the fun is figuring out which words to use and which not to.

This idea certainly isn't new. How about the book of Proverbs? "When words are many, sin is not absent, / but he who holds his tongue is wise" (10:19). At seventy-eight characters, including spaces and punctuation, eminently tweetable. What about memorable speeches? We don't remember the whole speech. But the short quotes are bite-sized, so they stick. "Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country" (seventy-nine characters). Long? No. Meaningful? Yes. Or how about song lyrics? "I have run, I have crawled, I have scaled these city walls, only to be with you. But I still haven't found what I'm looking for"--128 characters. Tweet it, baby.

This highly lauded poem by William Carlos Williams could be tweeted with 51 characters to spare:

so much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens.

Or this Japanese Haiku:

old pond . . .

a frog leaps in

water's sound

Simple. Beautiful. Tweet-worthy.

Of course, the short form isn't appropriate for everything. The Odyssey doesn't work very well in tiny chunks (though someone somewhere is certainly trying to tweet through it as I type). Verses from the Bible can be taken out of context and twisted beyond recognition fairly easily. Twitter, like any other media form, needs to be used with discernment, a quality many users will, unfortunately, lack.

It's that potential for misuse that may turn you off to Twitter. Or maybe it's because you think it's impersonal, or you think most of the people using it are idiots and you don't care what they have to say, or you don't like computers, or you think Twitter contributes to the general deterioration of Western society and our ability to comprehend and engage in longer forms of communication, or any number of other perfectly acceptable reasons. But please, let's cross "I don't like Twitter because it doesn't mean anything" off our lists, okay?

Posted by Rebecca Larson at August 25, 2009 8:46 PM | TrackBack

 

A bit deeper into the world of clarity, we all must go! Onward fellow communicators, let us begin to see the potential of change that this tool, when wielded well, may actually create. Birdwatching takes a whole new meaning, as I "listen to the music" of humanity's soul, through the 140 character limit of twitter. 

Persistence in a Nutshell

via mikeanderson.tumblr.com

If only our devotion to what we say we loved was akin to this!

I found this via: M!ke Anderson • crazy squirrel (via nicluvio)

Ray Ortlund: Christ Is Deeper Still

This is moving. Am I living under the law, and finding comfort in it's checklist, yet sinning? Or am I living in the grace that is so refreshing and ultimately freeing? Am I living like a forgiven woman, or am I following the rules and finding no freedom. Hmmm...Deep pondering will ensue.

http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/rayortlund)" target="_blank" style="color: rgb(136, 136, 136); font-size: 22px; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,Sans-Serif; font-weight: normal; text-decoration: none;">Ray Ortlund: Christ Is Deeper Still

---

Under law, under grace

Posted: 08 Sep 2010 09:45 AM PDT You are not under law but under grace.  Romans 6:14 If I am not under grace but under law, then the terrifying question in my life moment by moment is, Am I sinning?  Answer: Yes. If I am not under law but under grace, then the heartwarming question in my life moment by moment is, Am I forgiven?  Answer: Yes. Grace makes all the difference moment by moment. Under law, under grace is a post from: Ray Ortlund

today is made of owls and red nail polish...

One day a house I will have.

A space for making things,

and a space for not making things.

I love that day.

But today is made of owls and red nail polish,

so today is not that day.

I love today,

I look forward to tomorrow.

Take Stock.

Two blogs have made me stop today. In leu of my sister jumping on a plane and MOVING to another country, I have been thinking. A bit of a self check really. The fist thought I had when she had gone was I need to pick up a copy of John Piper's book: Don't Waste Your Life. What am I doing? What are my motivations? Why am I loving school so much? You know just the basics. Well this morning in my blogroll I was taken even at a more basic level.

How am I specifically setting my life up? This digging hurts a bit. But a breath of fresh air it has been. David Billingslea sets a perfect stage for a deep and altering thoughtful moment:

http://thebillingsleablog.blogspot.com/2010/09/goodbye-comfort-hello-joy.html#

After that beautiful bombshell went off in my mind, I read Dia Hankey's blog, he is on part five of a series I would highly recommend called Guidance. Today's post is all about Godly Councel. He deeply goes into what the people surrounding your life should be. I faced the questions: Who is speaking into my life? Who have I given permission to tell me the truth? 

http://thebillingsleablog.blogspot.com/2010/09/goodbye-comfort-hello-joy.html#

I know most of you who read my blog may not be blog junkies like I am, but if you have time in the next week to read them I would more than highly recommend it. These two men have turned my world upside down, and I never want to go at it alone, so feel free to join me! 

 

Take Stock.

Two blogs have made me stop today. In leu of my sister jumping on a plane and MOVING to another country, I have been thinking. A bit of a self check really. The fist thought I had when she had gone was I need to pick up a copy of John Piper's book: Don't Waste Your Life. What am I doing? What are my motivations? Why am I loving school so much? You know just the basics. Well this morning in my blogroll I was taken even at a more basic level.

How am I specifically setting my life up? This digging hurts a bit. But a breath of fresh air it has been. David Billingslea sets a perfect stage for a deep and altering thoughtful moment:

http://thebillingsleablog.blogspot.com/2010/09/goodbye-comfort-hello-joy.html#

After that beautiful bombshell went off in my mind, I read Dia Hankey's blog, he is on part five of a series I would highly recommend called Guidance. Today's post is all about Godly Councel. He deeply goes into what the people surrounding your life should be. I faced the questions: Who is speaking into my life? Who have I given permission to tell me the truth? 

http://thebillingsleablog.blogspot.com/2010/09/goodbye-comfort-hello-joy.html#

I know most of you who read my blog may not be blog junkies like I am, but if you have time in the next week to read them I would more than highly recommend it. These two men have turned my world upside down, and I never want to go at it alone, so feel free to join me! 

 

Dizzying Effectual Praise

Push It

"Push it. Examine all things intensely and relentlessly. Probe and search each object in a piece of art; do not leave it, do not course over it, as if it were understood, but instead follow it down until you see it in the mystery of its own specificity and strength."
ANNIE DILLARD

This is what I do. In my head I am constantly "pushing the envelope" of my understanding. There is never a dull moment in my cognitave reasoning. The wheels are constantly turning. If you think that no one cares about that thing you said two days ago, then you are wrong. I have analyzed it, compared it to the string of other things you have said and placed it against the backdrop of the random memories I have cataloged about you. I have turned it into something beautiful inside of me, I have found depth and beauty in the simple phrase you spoke aloud and thought nothing of.

This is sometimes found as obtrusive. I know. Not many folks like to actually be heard, and the few that do, never want someone to ask them why they said it. I get it; you want your privacy. You see this as a moment in which I have walked into your "life bubble". Well thank the Lord that I have come to see my gift as just that, a gift. The world I see is completely upside down from yours. Inside my mind your world is turned on its head. There is nothing wrong with this perspective, so please don't hate. I have been given this world, and I hold it sacred. This is Holy Ground. I will take off my shoes now.  

The privacy I supposedly disregard is a farce. You are always more transparent than you think you are. It is not worth the lie. Lying never is. The uptake is that freedom is found in honesty, so I will say it. I will speak for the masses. I will uncover the paintings, I will continue to search out the Manet's, Aivazovsky's Monet's Davinci's and Rembrandt's. My world keeps spinning faster and faster, as the search for wisdom grows avidly. You can't keep up and that's ok, this rotation will come 'round soon enough. This revolution's gonna bring some Glory.

I'll keep thinking in circles, you keep to your lines. The end will bring us together, for our goal is still the same.

The song I sing until this day: "You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you." (Ps 16:2)

Winds of Change

When the fierce winds of change have come swiftly, leaving behind a trail of unknown realities, I like to surround myself with the familiar. The known causes me to find freedom to change. One of my favorite things to do, when I feel lost in the evolving seasons of my life, is to hike. It allows me time to think as I go, this time saved for deep pondering, gives me strength to welcome the unknown. I gain perspective as I move toward a goal and the rhythm of the monotonous invigorates my brain; physical activity unlocks my soul, reminding me what it means to be human.

The Pikes Peak Incline, in Manitou, Colorado is my favorite climb because I find comfort in its severity. The trail is made up of a one mile ascent, where you gain 2,200 ft in altitude, at a 45 to 50 degree angle, adding in the switchbacks of Barr Trail, the simplest way to get back down, you will have covered over 4.5 miles as you arrive back to your car. This old railway track is only sufficiently maintained; its aged rail ties held into the side of the mountain with rebar and enormous water pipes you must maneuver around.

This hike takes me just under an hour to summit, giving plenty of time to reflect, ponder and wonder at creation. I have a hiking play list on my ipod that is specifically packed with thought provoking lyrics and slow moving melodies so I can step in sync with the beat. Arriving at the trailhead after a quick warm-up you cannot help but to set your gaze to the top; if you try and take it all in at once though, the sheer enormity of it you will cause you to quickly give up. It is amazing what happens when the steady pace kicks in as I begin thudding; step, step, breathe, step, step, breathe, an overwhelming need for air causes the focus to move my feet. I feel the blood pumping in my thighs as I use them to force my feet to movement; ten minutes in and, the blood no longer pounds in my ears causing my motion to become gentler. I feel my lungs deflate a bit, my breathing regulates and I inhale deeply the vanilla scented pine trees that surround me.

For some reason this specific trip feels reminiscent of a journey into the land of Victor Flemming’s adaptation of The Wizard of Oz, the color shifting from black and white to a dazzling color. The farther up the trail takes me the more I begin to see: the flowers on the side of the trail, the sharpie stained rocks with young lovers marking their affections, proof of a deep and intimate moment . Perceiving that I am not alone on this journey I begin to consider the movement of other people in sight, I am gaining on a couple of ladies, This excitement is short lived as an older gentleman who is thoroughly weathered and approximately in his late 70’s, with his grandson in tow, adeptly passes me, “on your left!” his words ring out. I try for a moment to keep up, but my untrained calves begin cramping causing a slow in my steps, my rapid heartbeat once again reverberates in my ears.

Slowing down I turn around to asses the ground I have covered, the climb has revealed a view of the mountain city, I can now see pieces of the rugged red formation of the Garden of the Gods in the left of my vision. The thick trees that surround me fade out as the sign of city life interferes with this natural growth pattern. The human developed structures break way and the cityscape continues to the horizon. The metallic glint of roofing materials sparkles and shines in the “great plains” as Katharine Lee Bates described in her lyrics for the song, “America the Beautiful”.

I turn back and steadily make my way up, passing weary travelers, and the rhythmic pace works to my advantage. In the middle of the trail, at the false summit the monotonous stair stepping tempo becomes a slow and tedious climb as you try to bring your knee to your face, stretching yourself to reach the next rail tie. This middle point is no laughing matter as many hikers opt out of the trail here and take the switchbacks of Barr trail back down the mountainside. If you can convince your body to maintain balance and push your muscles into obedience, the trail once again levels out, to the same rhythmic stair stepping routine as you were faced with in the beginning. Finally without much ado you grace the summit, although you feel there should be an amazing overture or round of applause, the people who have already made it to the top, just simply nod there heads at you in approval

I stop at the top long enough to catch my breath and then turn left to follow the switchbacks down the mountain, As I make my way down, the momentum of my journey picks up. My feet have come to know this trail as I have traveled it many times, the path being a sweet moment of familiarity, I usually jog down it, swiftly passing many fellow hikers. I am once again surprised when someone clips past me at a breathtaking pace. I watch this young man, like a mountain goat adeptly navigating a precarious cliff face; maneuver the steep path with a graceful knowledge of what steps to take next. Just as quickly as he has passed, he is out of my sight, continuing on his journey.

My mind takes a new turn, as I relate what I just saw to my own need for a familiar place. The concept I am faced with challenges me as I begin to ponder the truths of change and stability. I have often heard people relate obstacles in their lives to mountains they must journey. Once, a friend shared with me one such journey. She arrived at the bottom of her Mountain of Patience and had not learned her lesson well, so God took her hand, and they trotted right back around to the same trailhead. Here she was climbing this mountain afresh, struggling through it, trying to truly understand the reason she is on this expedition, instead of pushing through to the end and finishing, but never understanding.

I flashed back to the runner that had passed me, and once more arose the sense of pride I had when I passed others, because I knew the trail so well. “What if the lesson is not to do well on this climb?” I think to myself. What if being so caught up in doing well I had missed the actual joy of this trail? My thoughts flash back to the view of the halfway point and how the beauty of that moment invigorated me. I saw the city as a bird would; I am reminded of the strawberries peaking through the green luscious landscape on the side of the hill I had passed not but twenty minutes ago. “What if my goal changes from getting to the end quickly, but to enjoy this climb that I am on?” What if instead of running from the change I am faced with, I embrace it? Let the change do what it is meant to do, change! Let my view be altered, let my life be moved and enjoy it while it happens.

By this point the gears that compose my thoughts were in full motion, I had completely lost momentum in my physical journey. I sensed once again the warm vanilla scent of the forest I was in; looking to my left I saw an aged pine tree. Walking up with a determined motion, I buried my nose into a crack in the bark, and breathed deeply. The smell tantalizes my senses and my heart beats happily as I revel in this moment of transformation. I once again headed down the mountain, with a new focused center. I will not only hike the trail, but I will completely live it. I will use every sense I have to take in as much as I can. Ever since that day I have seen the world with a different lens. I took a few steps back and am amazed at the bigger picture I am faced with.