a love story

this week in my social policy class i watched one of the most disturbing videos about the united states of america. it blew my mind. it made me want to swear and scream and cry all at the same time. my heart raged as i saw people being forced out of their homes, pilots being paid less than a manager at taco bell...my eyes filled with tears as i watched a family mourn over the loss of their mother, only to find out that her death brought 80 thousand dollars to Wal Mart who stealthily paid in on a life insurance deal for her. (meanwhile, they struggled to pay all of the hospital bills.) huge companies getting paid thousands, sometimes millions of dollars for their employees deaths? young people going to a FOR profit juvenile delinquency center in pennsylvania? it's madness. it's corruption. it hurts to know about.

as i took a nice rainy drive with hannah to a book store afterwards i began telling her how all of this made me feel. (i am a verbal processor. i need to talk things out, put words onto things and make sense of them.) the more i talked about it, (she so graciously listened.) the more i realized that i was thankful to be made aware of the issues no matter how hard they are to see,  glad to be studying social work even if it means carrying really heavy burdens. my heart began to soften and shift as i realized that this is something i could commit my life to... fighting for people trampled by this system. i want to place value on people who are stamped invaluable. i want to create a circle of hope in this corrupt and broken country. to love people stuck in these horrifying cycles. like kelly's heart beats for uganda and the child soldiers, my heart moans for the corruption of capitalism in this country, "land of the free," as perhaps it used to be.

it seems to make sense, too. i mean, people always ask me about the places i have been (nepal, ecuador, kenya, london, india...) and question whether i feel a deep desire to return to a certain place. normally the answer is no, not really. would i pass up an opportunity to return to any of those places? definitely not. do i want to travel? yes. do i have a really deep desire to spend next summer working over-seas? of course. but, the more i learn - the more heartache i see here, the stronger pull i have towards this country, broken and hurting as it is...

i keep thinking about Henri Nouwen's words - about how we must not refuse to read the paper and learn about the heartache. we must not shut ourselves off from the grime and the pain. Jesus came and immersed himself in the filth of humanity, and in that filth he found the pearl of the kingdom, he set that kingdom in motion...it's our job, too. to reveal that kingdom, marred by our dust. to bring redemption, to hope, to love, to embrace. (Lord, have mercy.)


---> a quick note on the kingdom of God. growing up i always heard the language used that we must "partner in building the kingdom" - build being an emphasized verb. this semester in my theology class however, dr. green is always saying "we don't build the kingdom, the kingdom has already been built. instead we uncover the kingdom, we reveal it. the kingdom has already been set in motion." although for some time this discussion seemed kind of petty and unimportant to me, i didn't see why the language of building vs. revealing as such a big deal, slowly my mind is changing... perhaps even the idea of building the kingdom is fuel for my pride. if i am building the kingdom then it is all about me and my abilities. if however, my job is to "reveal and uncover" the kingdom - then everything is in God's hands, for i only see what he reveals to me. he is already at work on this earth and if he reveals that to me, then by his grace i can reveal that to others and we can join in the movement, participating in that which has already begun - working together towards the day of ultimate redemption.

"Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it." 

Matthew 13:45

disclaimer:// sorry for anyone expecting a real sappy taylor swift kind of love story. the title comes from the name of the documentary we watched. my apologies for any dashed hopes. 

learning to listen.

"Train! Train!" Her little voice squealed and that quickly she pranced out of our makeshift soccer field and up to the towering fence. Judging from her shining eyes you'd think that the train only came once a year rather than multiple times a day. Its low rumbling voice grew louder and soon it rushed past our eyes. Although short, hardly enough cars to begin counting, Lilly did not miss it. She smiled and waved at the destined passengers, loving every single brief second of this encounter.

Emma on the other hand, Emma held her ears with stiff arms. Standing too far back to see the people, she only heard an obnoxious ruckus. The ruckus to Emma was a cheerful shout to Lilly - Lilly knew that the noise meant people traveling places and doing things - Emma heard only an interruption to our soccer game. Lilly wanted to get a glimpse of what was happening, she cared about seeing those inside the train and not just the noise protruding out from it.

This past week life has felt a little bit like this scene. Life keeps galloping past on cold stoic tracks and though I ought to wave and acknowledge and embrace the life rushing by, sometimes all I want to do is hold my ears with stiff arms and wait until it disappears and slips back into whatever path its following. (because quite honestly I don't care.)

This week I'm going to work on listening with open ears, an open heart, and open hands. 

Oh to be less childish, 

more child-like.

ride the train i can't sleep.

This weekend I traveled home to spend Easter with my family and a few extra friends. Home never ceases to be everything I need it to be. It's consistently a source of such refreshment and restoration. Each time I drive the roads between here and there, the roads becoming more and more familiar with each journey, I am reminded how undeservingly blessed I am. How blessed I am to have the dearest family on the face of this planet, how blessed I am to have parents that welcome in the world, to have sisters that like to bake and laugh and dance, to have a brother who is full of surprises and thoughtfulness...(not to mention grandparents who never fail to shower me with hugs and kisses.) Every time I go home I seem to struggle to put everything into words; everything seems far too beautiful for words. While at home I do my best to burn moments into my memory, to stare and take in the way we shuffle about on the wood floors (the wood floors that my little hands helped to lay) while the sunshine explodes on the big glass windows all around us... to burn into my memory the way the birds sing in the morning, I try to take note of the way my grandfather's hand feels in mine as we clasp them in prayer, or the way the sun pierces my eyes and makes me walk around all stumble-y and squinty eyed for what feels like an eternity in the morning (haha) ... and yet, some things are so beautiful that words just slip right off. The most perfect sentences in the world could not pin them down. This is where I find myself so often.

These days I have really been wrestling with what to fill up this blog with, unsure as to who still reads this and how much time I should really put into it... sometimes I just do not have much to say, or nothing seems worth saying. So for now, here's just some snapshots of my Easter thoughts and writings...not much, but maybe it will satisfy those of you who still read this. I'll try to come up with something more thoughtful and creative next time. . . (sorry for the hiatus and lack of thoughtfulness recently.)









Good Friday.

The clouds are painted grey today. Rain hits my windshield in persistent streaks. It is Good Friday and the rain is fitting somehow. I feel like it must have rained on the day Jesus was crucified...the whole world must have cried a grey cloud of tears, slowly stumbling down rolling hills and on into rippling, wailing brooks. It is hard for me to imagine. It's hard to wrap my thoughts around a love so great. Like comparing nameless beauty with fiction, it's hard to grasp the reality of it all.

Saturday.

The rain fell again last night, just before the hours turned into the dawn of Easter. This time we did not run inside to shield ourselves from the downpour. Rather, we let the drops fall boldly onto our faces, into our pores, and all over our clothes. Washing away the remaining remnants of dust and dirt and death, reminding us that we have had much more washed away than we will ever comprehend.

Like children playing in the rain, we are free.


Home.

I want always to remember the way a soft spring breeze dances through the screens and into the warm yellow kitchen - the feeling of bodies bustling around preparing food and occasionally bumping into each other with smiles. I want to remember the way the trampoline squeals and sinks, gracefully bowing beneath the weight of one too many friends... to never forget the way my brother crawls out of his bedroom window and casually walks in the door to surprise us. I want to remember the green - so lush and vibrant. (it too is a reminder of life so full.) I want not to forget the song birds and their melodies that fill the air like water to the soil, though not sufficient alone, quite necessary. Please tell me I'll remember the yellow explosions on the forsythia - and the varying shades of buds bursting forth after a long winter. (spring is coming in close behind fall on the season marathon.) ... I want always to remember my mom's unspeakable hospitality, the way she welcomes and provides for and pleases all who walk through our doors. [I want to learn from her.] I want to remember this time, so precious, so shared, so full of love and joy and anticipation...

praise God from whom all blessings flow.

also, please listen to this song. 

this 

+ 

radiohead's "no surprises" 

=

the soundtrack to my heart these days. 

cloudy days are grey(t)

for the past two days rain has been in the forecast, instead the sun beamed lovingly.


today, however. today it rained.
i awoke this morning to raindrops on the window and puddles on the sidewalk. thunder and lightning rumbled a low, slow, "good morning" to the day. tiny thunderstorms in the morning make me so happy. they're so unexpected. it's like eating pancakes for dinner. it does not happen terribly often - but when you show up to dinner and your mom has pancakes on the table it is such a delight, it's somewhat bizarre, but so so good. pancakes for dinner and morning thunderstorms are fantastic.

there is something incredibly beautiful about grey days. granted, a whole bunch of grey days in a row can definitely drive me crazy but today - today, with grace, my attitude was not one of scorn. i drove into Boston on this grey afternoon and marveled at the magical view of buildings lined up, side by side. their different colors and textures and sizes form a magnificent collage of life. i thought of how nice it would be to live in the city someday...to have a roof top garden and ride my bike everywhere. i thought how nice it would be to live so close to others, to share life and favorite places. i longed for more time and energy to explore the intricacies of this city so close to me. . . (how ironic, because when i first met Boston, we hated each other. ask my mom. :) )

a thick cloud of fog hid the heads of each of the buildings as though they were playing a stationary game of hide and seek - or maybe they were all on really unsuccessful blind dates.


i love how grey days make every color stand out with so much more confidence:
the pale yellow lettuce seeds were a brilliant contrast to the moist brown soil,
like easter eggs nestled in the most perfect hiding spaces.
the red on the trees is deep and majestic -
the flowers outside my dorm are sprouting into the most delightful pink attire.
all of spring is like a treasure hunt.


hope your day, (if grey,) is grey(t) !

i can't focus.

sunlight floods into this upstairs room in the library. bon iver drowns out the thoughts not related to school, his magical harmonies help me to focus somehow.  my email occasionally "dings" notifying me that something is calling for my attention - network outage, pay day announcement - deletedeletedelete. to my right sits a girl from my science class, twirling her hair and wearing a white hat... she's probably working on the paper that is due on Tuesday. the grassy quad, finally free of snow, is home to people kicking a soccer ball around. (i like sitting here because i can watch what's happening outside. i hate sitting here because i can watch what's happening outside.)  a man in purple sits at a desk across the room, he looks like he's meditating. two others sit at tables behind me. dear hannah v comes in, taking the seat where hannah becker sat just half an hour prior.
people-watching.

on Sunday i spent two hours people-watching for my research methods class. i sat on a couch in pleasant street tea company and scribbled notes about everything i saw. just now i transformed those scrawled notes into conclusions and narrative observations. whenever i intentionally watch people and intentionally notice things, i am reminded how much i miss in day-to-day life. i am not a very observant person.



i stitched a heart onto my (free!) yellow shoes yesterday, i told genny i did it "for the observant." perhaps each time i look down at my feet i will remember to look around more closely. to search and find the little hearts stitched on those around me.



we need each other.

both genny and the woman who made my sandwich today reminded me of this. last night at dinner genny sheepishly told me that as we were walking to theology class in the morning i exclaimed, "it's SUCH a beautiful day!" and that one little statement changed her whole outlook on the day. this left me speechless; i barely remember saying it. (i'm always saying what i'm feeling and hardly even thinking about it - most times i think it's a problem, haha.) today at lunch i asked, "how is your day going?" to the woman whose head i could barely see behind the piles of bread. "...this morning was wonderful. there were so many birds singing this morning at 6am it was like God was declaring his day..."

i missed the birds. (and the frost.) but this small statement reminded me that today is God's day.
he declared it this morning whether i heard it or not. hallelujah.

"I want to beg you as much as I can... to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves...Do not now seek answers which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them.

And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will gradually without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer... take whatever comes with great trust, and if only it comes out of your innermost being, take it upon yourself and hate nothing." 

edit//: guess who is finally going to get to see the west coast?! looks like i'll be hiking the john muir trail in the sierra mountains (northern california) come september... eeeeeeeee! 

*i guess this is dubai

[a collection of thoughts both spoken and written over the past few days...]

the sun is deceptive, the blue skies a tease. though the stage is set for spring, the warm temperatures have flown the coop. winter is arrogant; it's stealing the show. somewhere back in january it finally defeated its stage fright and now its quickly becoming dictator. like a stubborn child its stomping its feet - enjoying the spotlight far too much.

a mountain of muffins!

sundays are for resting. this (school) year i have set out to make sundays a true day of rest - no homework, no worrying about homework, nothing. sundays are for catching up with people, for calling home, for creating things and being. sundays are for singing and dancing, for playing music and making good food. sundays are for book clubs and tea. (ok, who am i kidding, every day is a day for tea.) sundays are for reading and writing, for knitting and sleeping. as i have set out on this journey, it's no wonder that God commands us to take a sabbath - to take a whole day to rest. now that i have begun, i can't imagine not doing it. taking a whole day off is so vital to my soul, to my well-being - to everything. it works wonders, my friends. after taking a whole day off on sunday i am a lot more refreshed to head into a new week - to start doing work again, and doing work well. (because i've learned something about myself this year - i strive to do things whole-heartedly, and if i can't do that, if i am fighting my attention span and simply "getting by" - if i am doing something half-heartedly, i would rather not do it at all. i don't know if that's good or bad, but regardless, that's what i'm finding.) taking a day to rest also reminds me that i cannot do life on my own. it forces me to trust God more.
you should try it. really.

yesterday John David and i talked about this transitory life. i lamented about how i long for a state of constancy - to be in a place for 12 months out of the year, to not have to uproot and leave every time i really start to love a place. . . he spoke of life consistently being poured through our hands - like sand. or perhaps like snowflakes, then leaves, then rain...as badly as we want to hold on to one single snowflake we mustn't. for not only will it melt, but our clenched fists will also cause all of the other unique and beautiful snowflakes to bounce off of our hands, missed opportunities. we must learn that life is constantly changing, constantly sifting through our hands - and we must learn to embrace that process. knowing full-well that our longings for the constant will one day be fulfilled... but for now,

like sun beams we shine on and into the lives of others - the beam matters not, only the source, the sun. being known or remembered must not be our goal. only Christ. we send little rays of sunshine, little snowflakes into the lives of others, but we must know they are fleeting. we are vessels carrying a message dearer than the world can understand. we are vessels- not the heroes, not the healers. we are rays- not the fire burning passionately for the world. we are whispers in a sea shouting of the world to come. 

"We cannot tell it because it is a desire for something that has never actually appeared in our experience. We cannot hide it because our experience is constantly suggesting it, and we betray ourselves like lovers at the mention of a name. Our commonest expedient is to call it beauty and behave as if that had settled the matter...The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things- the beauty, the memory or our own past- are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited."

C.S. Lewis

The Weight of Glory

*the title refers to a band name. all credit goes to the one and only hannah jeane becker. on friday afternoon some friends and i played at our "sophomore sunshine party." it was a a hilarious blast. the name we played under? "i guess this is dubai." it was really funny, and really really enjoyable. and what's even more hilarious is that we might be "opening" for another (really really small) music performance happening next month. hahahahaha. i played my cello a bit, but mostly just sang and played the tambourine occasionally. 

a box of tea tags.

inspired by our dear friends nina and sarah, genny and i set out to collect all of our tea tags this semester - partially to see how much tea we drink, and partially to save the earth. (by re-using them to make cards and fun things like that. :) ) we put them in this little box and each time i open it i am a little bit astonished at just how much tea we have consumed in this short half of a semester. this little box is filled with remnants from all kinds of tea bags - black tea, mint tea, green tea, herbal tea, chai tea, earl grey tea, ginger tea, you name it - we probably have it. some of these teas are strong and dark, bringing energy to my soul and a glisten to my eyes. others are dreamy and smooth, preparing my weary self to sleep through the night. some go well with with scones and breakfast, and others are best alone. this motley medley of tea tags reminds me of life so much, and more specifically - the break i just returned from over the past half week or so.

driving home last wednesday night i laid eyes upon a week not yet crowded with plans, just the way i like it - open and willing to be filled. the week beckoned to spontaneity and gave a warm welcome to last minute adventures. my father also got a glimpse of my week waiting to be filled and he soon threw out a plan; he recommended that i spend some time landscaping, earning money so that i can pay him the necessary amount for school, for car insurance, for car inspection...all of those fun things.

my first reaction was complete refusal, but recalling all of the times in the past where the wisdom of my dad trumps my little ideas - i knew better than to say no. fathers are wise; this i continue to learn. so i agreed; i decided to go and do some landscaping with Fred, one of the sweetest 79 year old men i know.

so each morning save one, i awoke and set out to do some basic landscaping with Fred for about 4 hours. i quickly remembered how much i love being outside doing "manual labor" - doing work that shows immediate improvement, doing work that beautifies and improves the state of something so quickly. i spent the mornings raking and trimming, picking up leaf after leaf after leaf - piling the debris into the little trailer, unloading it in the woods, and then repeating. it was so satisfying. the air smelled like spring, the sun gently pulled back the clouds and nudged me to take off my jacket. i loved it.

more than that however, something unexpected happened. as each morning passed, fred began to tell me more and more about his life. it began with conversation of japan. the news continues to break my heart and the days surrounding the actual event left me stunned. . .

"isn't that something about Japan," he said.
"it's terrible, i can't imagine..." my voice trailed off.
i had no words to say. words only seemed to diminish the weight of sorrow that hung in the air. i did not want to belittle it, i did not want to mar or make light of the issue by feebly tacking words like "sad, bad, unbelievable" onto the event. those did no justice.

i stood and twirled the large rake in my hands. (i'm always fidgeting.) he continued...

"i was in Japan once, when i was in the korean war... it looked like something out of a movie - destruction. where once there was a city, only a few chimneys remained. when we arrived on shore, there were caskets everywhere, caskets with the names and places of where people belonged but would never again return to..." this was only the beginning.

morning after morning the stories continued --- he told me of women and children up to their knees in the slop that soldiers discarded, looking for food -how he tried to feed them but was warned not to, for they might over-take the truck. he spoke of a typhoon with waves like mountains that stretched on for a day - he described to me a young boy they found in the mountains, "his ears looked like 2 pieces of fried bacon, shriveled in the cold." he spoke of a baby crawling in the street, she came out of nowhere. his friend's face was run over by a truck - "if i had a shotgun i think i could have killed him, he looked so miserable." he spoke of regrets. . .

these stories hit hard. my hands stopped sanding, my rake stopped moving - my ears hung on every word that came out of his mouth. my thoughts turned to God, and his deep love for all of these people. how can this be? and what do i do? my heart marveled at this man, so strong, so kind, so friendly and welcoming and courageous - so brave and loving, in spite of all that he has seen.

my heart weighed heavy with pain for the world. with the pain of the world that i have never seen, and perhaps never will. my heart ached. ached for a world i'll never know. for people lost.


...as i would drive away from each morning and into the rest of the day, i drove into sunshine - into blue skies and life. i drove away from the silent mornings and into afternoons spent playing tennis, playing soccer and ultimate frisbee and whiffle ball. i drove away from those mornings and into afternoons spent lost in books, afternoons spent baking and dancing and biking and listening to good music. it was bliss. it was everything i longed for - sunshine and warm weather and grass. sunroofs and singing and bare feet...

it didn't seem right. it seemed unfair in some sense.  


like the box of tea tags, break was an odd collision of opposite spectrums of life. it was painful and raw and heart wrenching, it was beautiful and joyful and good. it was dark and black and strong, it was herbal and sweet and soothing. it was colorful and glorious, it was terribly grey and too hot to drink all at once.

i'm still processing it all. (so i apologize for the unfinished thoughts and lack of good sentence structure.) i'm still trying to figure out what it all means. how do we live well in the midst of this clash? what do i do with this ache in my heart? how do i live well here, in this society and culture so contradictory to what my heart tells me is honest and true and worthwhile? what does love look like? how do i go about praying about this and for this and through this? 

last semester i saw so much of the goodness of God, the beauty and joy that comes from knowing him and seeking him wholeheartedly. this semester i am seeing a lot of pain, some pain is close to home on this floor - some pain crosses continents; it all hurts just the same.

but i know, i know that God is good, and i know that i am called to live in the midst of this tension. i am called to love in the midst of adversity. to seek wholeheartedly when throwing in the towel seems to be the easiest option. so i will not ignore the news, i won't belittle the realities of war. i won't stop reading the news, nor will i pretend that hell is not breaking loose in the middle east. i will face it all. i will learn to walk alongside, to walk into, to immerse myself in the grime knowing that God is good and beautiful and faithful. because he is.

Growth!

grilled cheese and tomato soup 3x over break :)

mmmmmm.

also. look what i picked up last night... 

(the little speckled bowl was a "surprise glaze" - maybe someday it will be used for birthday cereal or something; it looks like  a party.)

one more mug will be coming in a few weeks, it's not quite finished...

want to come over for tea? please?