Starting Small

Ann Lammott advises writers to start small when they feel overwhelmed by the white page before them. Specifically, she suggests writing about childhood school lunches. I want to write about SO MANY THINGS, big and small and scary and hairy (actually just one thing hairy, my apartment floor, because we can’t afford a flipping vacuum cleaner), and bursting with passion, but I’m too overwhelmed.

So I’ll just write, for now, about the fact that I am HUNGRY. I have been running around since 5:30 this morning, and I PREPARED for the day. I packed myself a nutritious breakfast, lunch, and dinner, but FORGOT flatware. So my dinner is sitting under my chair in class (yes, I'm blogging from class) because I can’t figure out a graceful way to slurp or scoop garbanzo beans using nothing but… myself. Ugh.

I imagine having a dear friend or parent or spouse in prison, behind the glass wall thing would feel something like this. We’ve all seen the movies, where separated lovers, one unjustly condemned, place their hands against the screen, the comfort of seeing their beloved almost voided by the torture of not being able to touch.

Or perhaps the man who lost his leg in war, but still wakes to feel it itch. He reaches, only to touch the bedsheets where his leg would have formerly rested, unable to experience the satisfaction of a good, scratch.

My garbanzo beans are the condemned lover, the amputated limb. And I. Am. Hungry.

Back to school.

twenty-four oceans

Today was the death day of my twenty fifth year. It dies officially tonight at twelve. Tomorrow, when people ask me, I'll answer, twenty-five. I celebrated this death by waking up slowly and having four cups of coffee with my mother, and then by meeting my beloved sister Ali for antique shopping, walking, talking, and of course, crying in an old historic downtown square. My father and brother-in-law came and met us for lunch, and we just... enjoyed each other.

The funniest quote of the day (and there were many) was a toss up. I mortified myself by exclaiming "MOM, DID YOU KNOW THAT ERIKA IS TOTALLY IN LOVE WITH A MEXICAN?" just as our lovely latina waitress set the tortilla chips on the table. I love Mexico, and meant it in complete eager excitement for my friend, but the timing was... poor. (By the way, congratulations my friend). Earlier at an antique store my mom picked up a doll and moaned, "I have this in my ceder chest! I'm antique!!!" Later my mother (who NEVER shops) bought some jeans called "Not Your Daughter's Jeans" at a store around the corner. When she came out of the dressing room to show them off, my dad whispered in her ear. I'm not sure what it was, but the smile on her face made me sure that the self-doubt caused by the antique store was now quite invalidated.

I loved twenty-four, and heartily recommend it to anyone. It has been a difficult year, full of lessons hard learned (though well learned. I personally would have chosen to read a book about, and fixed myself completely beforehand rather than walk the road, but God in His wisdom had other plans). It has been a year of the Lord's steadfast faithfulness, a year of His power and glory, and a year of His strength in my weakness.

It has also been a year of listening to the switchfoot song "twenty-four" about 365 times, knowing that as of tomorrow, it just won't mean as much.

And now tomorrow I welcome twenty-five with open arms, knowing that whatever may come, He wills it so. I am frightened, of course, of many valid things (or at least, I think they're valid), and then some completely irrational things as well, but at least acknowledging it. That's a start.

God, grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

Celebration

Today was a day of celebrations. I celebrated with some of my very good girlfriends. We celebrated knowing each other, and being alive, and fall and pumpkins and good books and truth.

We celebrated by walking at the lake, and then by a picnic at the arboretum. We got cold, so we left after a few hours and went to sit by the fire in my apartment, where we celebrated by talking and laughing and praying.

My roommate and I left around five, and we went to meet some friends of a friend whose parents welcomed us into their home. We ate dinner with them, and heard stories of redemption and hope. We talked for hours with Arturo, originally from Monterrey, who had raised his family in the states, and Hannah, my beloved Mennonite friend who I met in Ecuador studying abroad. We listened and laughed and reveled and ate dessert.

And now I'm in another home, lit only by lamps, celebrating just... being... with two very safe people who know me very well and love me anyway. When peace like a river attendeth my way... oh, it is well with my soul.

i spy

I wrap myself up in a café chair
And hide behind my coffee cup and hair.

Then stand up gracefully inside my mind.
(Of course you’ll think I’m sitting all the time).

I read over his shoulder, word for word.
I laugh at whispers she thinks no one heard.

I stare across and drink in love from eyes
Not meant for me-- I find this most unwise.

I listen to your heart and to your feet.
I see her drum her hands to match your beat.

I climb inside my body once again
And take a sip, and shed a tear and grin.

balloons drifting out of my head.

Have I thought about all the things i need to think about today? I thought about plane tickets, and about hippies with low pony tails, and about cuticle cream, and how I'd like to meet the inventor of cuticle cream. Not because I need some (though I do). Just because I bet he has an interesting story. A story about a wife with bad cuticles. And he told her they were bad and she did not appreciate it one bit. So he invented this cream, and frankly, she didn't appreciate that either. But he made a lot of money and bought her a ridiculous wrinkly dog, and when she saw the dog with a bow on it's head, she forgot about the source of their riches, and when her husband made insensitive comments, she found comfort in her pup, who never commented on her cuticles.

And I've thought about China and about washing my hair, and I've thought about being lonely and scared, and I thought about the mountains and resting in them. And I thought about swimming in my mind.

And I thought about how I wish I had someone to walk with at the lake, and how God satisfies desires of all things. And about writing this versus not writing this, and about how long past the due date you can eat turkey (I might should have thought more about that).

And only now at 9:57 pm am I getting to the tiny light flecks that some people have in their eyes, to the word "berry"-- a nice little word that sounds quite like what it is. And to hospitals with people saying hello and goodbye, for a long time. And about how my dad hugs me so tight sometimes, and doesn't let go till after I do. (If you are a dad with a daughter who is grown, which you probably are not, because no dads read this blog that I know of, please continue to hug your daughter very tightly. I promise you, to her breathing is less important. Hug her tight enough, and then tighten a bit more. Good.)

And I'm thinking about truth that sets me free, that allows me to live on a plane just an inch or so above the earth. Only an inch, but it makes such an incredible difference. The difference between anxiety and joy, between pressure and peace, between selfishness and love.

I was asked today if I think too much. As long as there keeps being so much to think about, I've at least got to try to keep up.

Today I...

…woke up at 4:56, four minutes before I was supposed to leave to take my roommate to the airport. I jumped off my bed into some clothes, splashed something that I hope was soap onto my face, grabbed everything I could think of for my day, and ran out the door with her at 5:03.

…decided to put on loose powder in a traffic jam. I’ve had some pretty bad ideas, and this one just saddled right up to the others. Less than two seconds after opening the powder the jar jumped from my hands, bounced from the passenger seat to the floor, and I found myself trying to see through a thin film of Beige 1 dust. (I know- I'm really Ivory 2, but I pretend) Twenty minutes later, I was locked in the Starbucks bathroom doing laundry- trying to shake, wash, and then scrub the powder out of my clothes, and off of my teeth.

…had breakfast with a beautiful friend who is leaving to do mission work in Nicaragua. I wanted to jump in her car and go with her. I bet they don’t care at all if you have powdered pants, whereas I’ll probably be gently reprimanded at work.

And it’s only 8:44 in the morning.

slivers

Today…

I read about Jesus and the masses. He was tired and frustrated, yet filled with compassion for the people who sought him. I am tired today, and mildly frustrated, and thankful that Christ in me can fill me with compassion for those who come across my path.

I drove one exit too far to go to work so that I could turn around and drive into the sunrise for a bit, and the rings of my eyes turned gold for a moment.

Javier, a ten year old boy, came in to take his medicine. I asked him how his birthday was- he turned ten on Monday. He told me they didn’t do anything for his birthday. I asked him if he got any gifts, and he said no, that his mom said they don’t have enough money this year. I nodded and hugged him. Inside I wished I could buy him anything he ever wanted. Instead, I told him I had met some children his age this summer who lived in orphanages, and who didn’t know when their birthdays were. We talked about how good it is to share with those who don’t have, and he perked up and ran to class.

On a lighter note… The headmaster of my school brought in a premature, tiny baby possum, with no fur or eyes.

I’ve had China stuck in my head all day long. Yes, the country. I don’t pretend I can contain it all, but I’ll be answering the phone, or handing out a tardy slip, and all the sudden I’m sitting on the roof eating sushi, or laughing at the Chinese air conditioning system (which for our city, meant men pulling up their shirts to let their bellies hang out), or near-fainting at the magnitude of the city apartments.

Slivers... so far.