2008 Sing-A-Long

At the end of every year, I make a list in my journal of all the SIGNIFICANT events that transpired over the last 365 days. THAT list would be a little too personal for a publicly accessed blog, but I'll provide a little teaser. I've realized when looking through playlists in my I-Tunes that so many moments of this year have had a song to accompany them-- one that I played on repeat during the days when one of these specific situations took over. Therefore, I'll give you the list of significant events, month by month-- but instead of naming the happenings, I'll just provide the relevant lyrics. I didn't write a ton of songs this year, but where they apply, I put included some of my own lyrics. Forgive the earlier months for being a little skimpier on the songs-- there was less happening then!

JANUARY:
I'm a new soul
I came to this strange world
Hoping I could learn a bit 'bout how to give and take
Yael Naim, "New Soul"

FEBRUARY:
We made speculation
On the who's and the when's of our futures
And how everyone's lonely
But still we just couldn't complain

And how we just hate being alone
Could I have missed my only chance
And now I'm just wasting my time
By looking around

But you know I know better
I'm not gonna worry 'bout nothing
Cause if the birds and the flowers survive
Then I'll make it okay
I'm given a chance and a rock
see which one breaks a window
See which one keeps me up all night and into the day

Because I'm so scared of being alone
That I forget what house I live in
...

And You know the plans that You have for me
And You can't plan the end and not plan the means
And so I suppose I just need some peace
Just to get me to sleep.
Caedmon's Call, "Table for Two"

MARCH:
Its time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
Its time to move on, it's time to get going
Tom Petty, "Time to Move On"

But I, I think I've tried to make the best of it
So why would you chastise me for the rest of it?
Escaping and capering to some far off place seems like the grace I need;
I've made a ladder out of confused gray matter and tied up bedroom sheets
I'm leaving this place, I'm going to outer space.
My song, "Outer Space"

APRIL:
I had no choice but to hear you
You stated your case time and again
I thought about it
...
You're so much braver than I gave you credit for
That's not lip service
...
You held your breath and the door for me
Thanks for your patience

You've already won me over in spite of me
And don't be alarmed if I fall head over feet
Don't be surprised if I love you for all that you are
I couldn't help it
It's all your fault.
Alanis Morissette, "Head Over Feet"

Hello blackbird, hello starling
Winter's over: be my darling
It's been a long time coming
But now the snow is gone!
Josh Ritter, "Snow is Gone"

Gotta spend some time, love
Gotta spend some time with me
Gotta spend some time, love
I will possess your heart.
Death Cab for Cutie, "I Will Possess Your Heart"

MAY:
Kiss me once, kiss me twice
Kiss me once again
It's been a long, long time.
Keely Smith, "It's Been A Long, Long Time"

For being brave and following when I ran away,
For showing me that trusting you might just be safe,
For knowing when to kiss me and when to stop and pray
I think I should thank you.

For seeing me as the woman that I want to be,
For recognizing the girl that is simply me,
For letting go and holding on and being free,
I think I should thank you.

For having the respect to treat me honestly,
For fighting to be the man that he's asked you to be,
For thinking of my heart when you are on your knees,
I think I should thank you.
My song, "Thank You"

JUNE:
Freedom is ours to hold
It's just a struggle in your mind to keep your soul
Keep your soul
Beautiful Girls, "Freedom (Part 2)"

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on

I let the day go by
I always say goodbye
I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still
The Weepies, "The World Spins Madly On"

I’ve seen my future slip through my hands
Watched the wind whip through desert sands
Then I remember I’m no ordinary man and I’m
Going somewhere
Going somewhere
Colin Hay, "Going Somewhere"

JULY:
And I ask you, friend, what's a fella to do
'Cause her hair was black and her eyes were blue
So I took her hand and I gave her a twirl
And I lost my heart to a Galway girl
The Town Pants, "Galway Girl"

You belong among the wildflowers
You belong in a boat out at sea
Sail away, kill off the hours
You belong somewhere you feel free
Tom Petty, "Wildflowers"

Even when the rain falls
Even when the flood starts rising
Even when the storm comes
I am washed by the water
Needtobreathe, "Washed by the Water"

AUGUST:
What if we stop having a ball?
What if the paint chips from the wall?
What if there's always cups in the sink?
What if I'm not what you think I am?

What if I fall further than you?
What if you dream of somebody new?
What if I never let you win, chase you with a rolling pin?
Well what if I do?

cause...
I am giving up on making passes and
I am giving up on half empty glasses and
I am giving up on greener grasses.
I am giving up.

I am giving up for you,
I am giving up.
Ingrid Michaelson, "Giving Up"

SEPTEMBER:
I've seen love go by my door
It's never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow.
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin's not right it's wrong
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Dragon clouds so high above
I've only known careless love,
It's always hit me from below.
This time around it's more correct
Right on target, so direct,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Purple clover, Queen Anne lace,
Crimson hair across your face,
You could make me cry if you don't know.
Can't remember what I was thinkin' of
You might be spoilin' me too much, love,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go.

Flowers on the hillside, bloomin' crazy,
Crickets talkin' back and forth in rhyme,
Blue river runnin' slow and lazy,
I could stay with you forever
And never realize the time.

Situations have ended sad,
Relationships have all been bad.
Mine've been like Verlaine's and Rimbaud.
But there's no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair,
You're gonna make me lonesome when you go
Madeleine Peyroux's cover of Bob Dylan, "You're Going to Make Me Lonesome When You Go"

Another day goes by, it goes by.
Still I am far away
From your side, from your side.
And oh my heart, how it aches sometimes
It aches sometimes
And though we're apart
I've got you on my mind.

The end of this road
You'll never know, you'll never know.
And all that we have
We'll never hold, we'll never hold
And somedays I, just can't seem to find
Seem to find
Not a single way
To get you off my mind.

You're on my mind
You're on my mind
You're on my mind.
The Beautiful Girls, "When I Had You With Me"

OCTOBER:
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today
I just want to be ok, be ok, be ok
I just want to be ok today

Open me up and you will see
I'm a gallery of broken hearts
I'm beyond repair, let me be
And give me back my broken heart
Ingrid Michaelson, "Be OK"

Hold on love
Even when I cry all night
Even when I say i don't love you
Just hold on love
So my head gets a little cloudy
And the drink goes straight to my heart
The the words come like a runaway train
In the dark
Just hold on love
Even when I scream and fight
Even when I swear i don't love you
Just hold on tight
And when the darkness falls over
Like a storm cloud in my head
Something inside says it's easier
To push you away but stay and
Hold on love
Even when I cry all night
Even when I swear i don't love you
Just hold on love
Just hold on love
Just hold on love
Azure Ray, "Hold On Love"

Godspeed to you,
Keep the lighthouse in sight.
Jenny Lewis, "Godspeed"

NOVEMBER:
My life,
Has led me down the road that's so uncertain
And now I am left alone and I am broken,
Trying to find my way,
Trying to find the faith that's gone
This time,
I know that you are holding all the answers
I'm tired of losing hope and taking chances,
On roads that never seem,
To be the ones that bring me home

Give me a revelation,
Show me what to do
Cause I've been trying to find my way,
I haven't got a clue
Tell me should I stay here,
Or do I need to move
Give me a revelation
I've got nothing without You
I've got nothing without You
Third Day, "Revelation"

I'll keep lookin' up, awaitin' your return
My greatest fear will be that you will crash and burn
And I won't feel your fire
I'll be the other hand that always holds the line
Connectin' in between your sweet heart and mine
I'm strung out on that wire

I'll still be there
When you come back down
When you come back down
Nickel Creek, "When You Come Back Down"

Someday I'll be good,
Someday I'll be good for you
Well someday I'll run right out of it all
And right into you
Justin Hopkins, "Someday"

DECEMBER:
I would tell you I am happy
If I wasn't so damn sad.
Mindy Smith, "Down in Flames"

Don't give up on me
...It's never too late for reaching out
When things can't be perfect
And everyone starts to doubt
Oh don't give up on me.
Neal Carpenter, "Don't Give Up On Me"

Last night I took the long way home
Clearing my head in the car, all alone
I saw a man walking down the road,
And I could have sworn it was you.

It took me back to the way it was,
Falling for you 'neath the stars up above,
I was an innocent girl looking for true love,
And I could have sworn it was you.
Annie Parsons, "I Could Have Sworn It Was You"

One thought, has me turning back
A dozen point the other way
We act upon desire
To reach your hand for higher
And patience isn't worth the wait

You've got knives in your eyes
You would be happy not to change your mind
I can't defend you truly
When I worry about smoke instead of putting out the fire

And if we work it out
Chances are bound we'd be standing around
For no one's better sake
Good-bye
Little Joy, "No One's Better Sake"

Keep your eyes on the prize
Don't be dismayed
Don't be dismayed
Deep in your heart
You must believe
Everything is going to be alright
Everything is going to be alright
Everything is going to be alright
Someday.
Hans Zimmer, Green Card sountrack, "Eyes on the Prize"

Self-Portrait

This is, I think, my favorite picture of myself. It's a self-portrait-- I took it last New Years Day.

I found myself lost last December. As I looked ahead to the New Year, I realized I had completely wandered away from the parts of me that I felt proud of; I had drifted from the essences, from the gumption, from the truth, from the deep-down twinkling. Like a cloud in the sky on a windy day, I had shape-shifted and chased after breezes, leaving wispy vapors where there should have been pictures to name. It's a poetic way to say that I had bought into the idea that many single 20-somethings believe: that I wasn't enough without someone ELSE. And in looking for the "elses," I led my heart out onto ledges, onto tight-ropes, onto rotten bridges. I offered it to sky-divers and shark-feeders-- men that made no promises of safe-keeping. I led it so far away that I'd soon lost track of it completely, and I was hazy eyed. I couldn't see me anymore.

My Dad called me out last Christmas; he said that I wasn't the Greta he knew-- the Greta that knew where she was going, that had dreams, and ambitions, and found jokes all by herself to giggle at. He said, "You seem like a ping pong ball, bouncing back and forth between these GUYS." I pictured myself as the metal ball inside a pinball machine: bouncing, and zinging, and making loud noises, and all the while heading for that clanging pit at the bottom.

Dad was right, and it made me cry. I missed me. I missed God, and I missed ME.

New Years Eve, I went out. I got dressed up in high-heeled boots, and a black dress, and drank wine with some girlfriends and all the while felt frustrated and empty. On a whim, I mentioned to one of them, "I think I'll go for a walk tomorrow. A big walk. I think I'll maybe walk all over the city."

As the night progressed, and I danced, and I watched guys shmooze girls that they didn't know and didn't care about, the idea beckoned more strongly. I would take a walk. A big walk. I would walk all over Seattle. I went to sleep just a few hours into the New Year-- tired, but no longer bleary eyed. I had a plan, and it was the most Greta-like thing I'd had in a long time.

I woke up new.

It took miles to find my way back to me; I walked all day. I got up early, and put on an outfit that was for no one to look at. I wore comfortable tennis shoes, a warm jacket, my blue glasses for LOOKING, and a warm hat which had been a Christmas present from my little brother. I filled a back-pack with essentials, and tucked my camera into my coat-pocket. And I started walking.

I found so many things.










And at one point, I found a No Trespassing sign.

And past the No Trespassing sign, I found a long dock with house-boats on either side. And at the end of the dock I looked across the water to a park I often ride my bike to in the summer-time-- but this time, I was on the other side of the looking glass. I was IN the view I normally gazed at from a distance, and this view was transformed. I was transformed.

And I found a house that perfectly matched the color of my jacket.


And that's when I took my favorite picture of myself.

I like the picture because I didn't take it to be pretty. I like it because my coat matches a house and they are both fabulous raspberry. I like it because my hair is covered up with a hat and my mouth is covered up with my coat, and I like it because even though I covered up my mouth to attain maximum pinkage, you can still tell that I'm grinning. I like it because I could have only taken it after disobeying a rule-- which is a very Greta thing to do-- and because I took it after walking on firm ground for miles and miles, and because I took it after having so many fun conversations with so many strangers, and because I took it after chuckling and congratulating God on his funny, beautiful world all day long. I like it because I took it-- I wasn't asking for anyone else's approval, or validation, or opinion. I like it because it was a silly moment. I like it because I have my glasses on, so I know that I was able to see the world with radiant clarity. And I like that, even with the glasses on, you can see that the twinkling is back.

I woke up that day. It was, and remains, one of the best days of my life.

2008 has been a doozy. No sooner had I gotten a grip on me than circumstances did everything they could to knock me loose again. I have hoped, and hurt, and tried, and failed, and guarded, and exposed. I have been overjoyed, and I have been utterly dismayed. I worried over Grandpa through a health-scare. I entered and exited two different relationships. I swash-buckled my way across Europe with Heidi. I reeled through family distress. I became an aunt for the second time. I started grad school in an effort to realize my dream of being a teacher, and encountered the significant stress entailed. It's been loaded. Several times I've said, "I feel the weakest that I've ever been in my life. I feel crazy right now. I really feel crazy."

But through it all-- through ALL the ups and downs-- it's been ME. I've clutched hold of the dreams I remembered on January 1st of this year. I haven't often FELT as twinkly or giggly or adventurous or delighted as I did in that picture, but I've remembered that that's who I really AM, and that that's the girl I belong to. I've held tight to the closeness with God I felt on that walk, and as the world has crumbled, He has grown in strength and immediacy to compensate.

Tonight the sermon was about hope. I thought, "I could give that sermon." Because, you see, after a year of flirting with soul-marring cynicism, I still am hoping. I'm not writing off men, or love. I'm not writing off family. I'm not writing off ME. After a hard, hard year: I have my head up. I believe in so many things!! I DO, I believe in things! My eyes have cried a lot this year, but damn it, they're clear when they look back at me in the mirror. I still understand the deep-downs. I have been crazy: true. But I have been ME-crazy-- if that makes any sense. In the worst of it, I called people who loved me, and hugged them til the crying stopped, and then we prayed together, and then I was ready to try again.

I feel stronger, I guess is what I'm trying to say. Like-- exhausted. But ready to try again. I mean, not READY. But.

Ready to believe I WILL be ready.

And, as 2009 approaches (she noted with a resilient twinkle in her eye): I'm ready for another New Years walk.

Seven Decades for Several Dates...

For Christmas, Grandpa bought four tickets to Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, which is the current broadway show in town, and without question one of my favorite musicals all throughout growing up. Originally, it was supposed to be a girls' night out, the tickets going to my mom, my aunt, my sister, and I. However, Seattle's "Arctic Blast" has literally snowed everyone in, and Mom and Heidi decided there was no way they were going to make the 200+ mile trip to Seattle when things like this were happening. So, at the last minute, Grandpa decided to call up two of his friends to use the remaining tickets.

Which meant that last night, I went out to dinner and a Broadway show with three very elderly dates.

Gramps, Bill, and Jane are all intelligent, charming, and funny-- but there were several moments where I couldn't help but notice the 50+ year age difference...

Honorable Mention Old People Moment:
(When waiting for the valet to bring around our car.)
Bill: I used to shag cars when I was a college student.
Greta: Did you make pretty good tips?
Bill: Oh yes. We would make... 15 to 20 dollars a night. Which back then... (grins proudly)... was doin' alright.

Third Best Old People Moment:
Grandpa: "Bill, you're a very fine looking gentleman."
Bill: "What?"
Grandpa: "I'm telling you, you're a very handsome gentleman."
Bill: "What?"
Jane: "He has trouble hearing."
Grandpa: "Can you hear me Bill?"
Bill: "I just heard part of it."
Jane: "Probably all he needs to hear."

Second Best Old People Moment:
Bill: "THIS snowstorm is bad, but I've seen worse. Craig, were you in Seattle during January of... 1950?"

And, from last night, my favorite:
Best Old People Moment:
Bill: Did you know, I'm taking fifteen pills a day now? Fifteen!
Grandpa: Well, Jane's been ahead of you there for some time now, haven't you Jane?
Jane: Oh yes. I'm still ahead of him.
Grandpa: (With a victorious glint in his eye.) I only take six.

Haha! The rest of the time, I just basked in the wisdom. And tried to say, "Grandpa" loudly enough to avoid being thought of by strangers as Gramps' trophy wife!

The Man in My Life

Grandpa woke me up this morning with a holler. "School is CANCELLED!!"
"Woo hoo!" I cried sleepily, and fell back asleep.

I got up at 8:30. The world outside was dreamy and still and covered in snow. My view down to the lake was obscured by a hushed gray wash. "I think you're snowed in today, sweetheart!" Gramps called. Yet he was bustling, putting on shoes and a jacket.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"I have my haircut," he said.
"Gramps... Can't you reschedule? Our driveway's totally covered."
"Oh no, I've got to go!" he said, determined. "She made it in to work for me, so I've got to go! I'll just clear the driveway."

So we did, together: him with a wide broom, and me with a wide dust-bin, industriously clearing in my pajamas, snow boots, and an overcoat. Before he left, he gave instructions: "Now you dig out around your car, and pull it into the garage. I've got chains for my car, so I'll be fine." I watched him inch backwards up the steep driveway, making sure he cleared it. We waved goodbye at each other, and he headed off. As instructed, I swept the snow away from around my car, and pulled it into the garage.

I went down to the kitchen and made myself pancakes with Grandpa's waffle batter, left over from his elaborate breakfast from yesterday. He called at one point, seeing if I needed anything from the store. "How about popcorn?!" I asked. "That would be yummy on a day like today."
"Popcorn it is!" he said.

When he got home, gray hairs freshly trimmed, I bemoaned the fact that I wouldn't be able to get to the art store for Christmas-present-art-project supplies. He thought out loud about different driving routes I could try and then said, "Well. Why don't I just drive you."

So he did, taking us slowly and carefully through the covered, quiet streets: first to Kinkos, so that I could make copies for the art project, then to Blockbuster, where we picked out this movie, then on to the art store. Grandpa waited patiently while I made my selections, and helped when he had the opportunity. We chatted about many things, and wondered at the swirling flakes that floated ever more eagerly down. Stopped off at the grocery store on the way back, and got some crackers, wine, and Ghiardellis double-chocolate-chip brownie mix. When we got back home, he parked on the street below the house, leaving my Honda's cushy garage abode unrivaled. "Well. I'm glad I drove you," he said. "That way I didn't have to worry about how you were doing."

Back home, we made lunch: creamy tomato soup, and english muffins with ham and melted cheese on top. He told me about the story he's listening to on tape-- a gruesome crime mystery. After lunch, he took a nap, and I worked on my arts and crafts. He woke up just in time to catch me feeling very discouraged about the clumsy results.

"Sweetheart, I think they look wonderful!" he retorted.
I looked out at the snow and wished for a hand-hold, and began to feel a little heart-sick. I called to Grandpa that I was feeling awfully sad about things.
"Greta..." he said. "That's only natural." And he said kind things to ease the hurt.
Then he moved into stories about his trips to Europe with my Grandma. He told me about an amphitheater they had found in southern England that overlooked a cliff over the channel, and I began to forget about feeling sad. "Sweetheart, you'll just have to go there someday, " he said. "It was absolutely one of the most spectacular things I've ever seen."

Then he got out our cheese and crackers and drinks: wine for me, and gin for him. I moved to take a sip, and he said, "Wait wait!" Then finished pouring his. "Now. Cheers to the season." And we clinked glasses.

I cut my thumb trying to free the cheese from its plastic wrap. "Oh, oh, oh," he said, and whisked me upstairs. I thought again about the hand-hold, and felt heart-sick again, and I began to cry. I let Grandpa think it was because of my thumb, and he didn't comment. He put Neosporin on a band-aid, and layered it with a second one when blood started to seep through. "You take these band-aids down to your bathroom now and just use as many as you need. Because you know, you'll get your thumb wet, and you'll probably need another one."

Back in our kitchen nook, we watched the snow continue to drift down, and ate our cheese and crackers. I made the brownies, and he told me about his childhood in Eastern Washington.

Now he's making dinner, and afterwards we'll watch the 6:00 news, and then our movie, and then we'll watch "The Office." Grandpa will cringe at Michael Scott's antics and mutter things like, "He is just an idiot! The things he says!!" But he'll watch it with me anyway, because he knows I love it. When we go to bed, we'll holler goodnight, and when I wake up, he'll already be down in the kitchen and will have coffee ready for me.

I'm 24 years old. I know how to cook for myself, and make my coffee, and get myself a band-aid, and I bet I could even figure out driving in the snow if I needed to.

But Grandpa loves this. He loves taking care of me like this. And every time he does, I feel my heart getting bigger and growing softer in the dearest way. I wish I could express how much this man means to me.

The Shape of an Ending

A two-hour late start for school today leaves me with nothing to do at 9am. The huge ghastly project that was so vehemently decried in the last post was finished last night; there's nothing to do to prepare for school today. There have been many thoughts swirling, battering, racing around in my head over the last several weeks, but for today, it's easier to let the past do the talking.

I wrote this on February 1st, of this last year. It speaks to much of what I'm feeling today.

----------------------------

Last night, I got home to find my Grandpa at his antique desk in our living room, with papers and calendars all around him. This is unusual: Grandpa is reliably watching the news or Jeopardy at 7:30pm. And if he's doing bill-paying or letter writing, he sits on the couch at the coffee table. The desk is more decorative than anything else. "Grandpa, what are you doing?" I asked him, amused. "What is all this?" He mumbled a few things, but didn't directly answer. I went into the kitchen to fix myself a late dinner. I called to him from the kitchen, a few things about the day, and my drive home.

He followed me into the kitchen with a calendar. It was a large Norwegian calendar, with foreign words and numerals, and brightly colored paintings. He and my Grandma always found these calendars on their trips overseas; it is one example of the classy antique European taste they cultivated for over 52 years.

Grandpa started murmering about dates on the calendar. "I found this old calendar sweetheart..." He showed me July 18th: an appointment to examine spots on my Grandma's lungs. We looked earlier; a check-in appointment to assess her knee-replacement surgery when my Grandma had mentioned her recent breathing troubles. In between the two: an appointment for a lung x-ray. We looked at later dates: an appointment with Dr. Henry Lee, the physician that would end up administering her chemotherapy and radiation. We didn't look ahead to the following year, but if we had, the month of October would have marked the date of her funeral.

It occurred to me in the kitchen, that my Grandpa was holding a type of graveyard, in the form of that bright Norwegian calendar. Date by date, there was chronologically depicted each step that would eventually lead to my Grandma's passing away. July 18th was the day I got the call, when working at my church kiosk, from Grandpa, telling me she had cancer. I vividly remember running into the sanctuary and sobbing; I remember trying to be quiet. I remember my dear co-worker Scott telling me to go home for the rest of the day. I remember the angry, fervent prayers later on, the capsizing hope. I remember hearing from my Dad when I was in Africa on a crackling intermittent cell phone call that she was terminal. These moments illustrate the tiny markers, the flagstones in my memory, that led to that ending.

It's odd to remember these unlikely markers. The most clear image of an ending I can remember from my last lengthy relationship was a silver tube of lavender lotion finally running out. Ted had given me that lotion when we were together, he'd sent it to me from California in a spontaneous act of affection, and I'd kept it for a long time, not wanting to use up the sweet present. After we broke up, I was even more reluctant to use it, even though it was such nice lotion, and smelled like soap and summer. What good thing would there be left of us when it was finally gone? But eventually it was. And by then, we had been over for some time.

I remember the marker for Africa ending. i was in the courtyard with Erica, and we were washing our clothes and hanging them on the line. I remember laughing at the surreal experience it still seemed to me: to be in AFRICA, and to be washing our clothes in big plastic tubs that always ended up with floating ants in the water. I said to Erica, "You know what's weird to think... that one day, all these little kiddos will just be pictures from far away. And this will just be 'that one summer I spent in Africa.'" I pictured myself in my 30's, meeting some Deputee that would be leaving for their big summer trip. I pictured myself commenting, "I did that once. I went to Malawi. I spent a summer there." In that Malawian courtyard, with my arms wet and my back warm, it was the most harrowing realization: to think that the children I had come to so enjoy, who I would give piggy-backs to that night, and who I would sing to in an hour or two, would someday only be shiny 3x5 pictures, and that my summer would only tug at my memory in passing.

I know beginnings have their own shapes too. I can recall many flagstones that would have marked the start of a path, of a journey, of a relationship. But today my thoughts are with the endings. Today, honestly: I wish for July 17th. I wish for something left of that lavender lotion. I wish for a hug from Tikambe, and for Clayton to be swinging from my back. I wish for floating ants in the laundry tub.

I CAN'T STAND IT ANYMORE.

I don't want to do my homework. I DON'T WANNA DO IT. I am tired of filling out templates, and looking up research strategies, and pulling reflective verbosity out of my bum, and reading books, and writing papers, and coming up with creative stimulating lesson plans that will save the world. I am TIRED OF NOT BEING ABLE TO RELAX, and I HATEitchygritchyitchyHATE that I still a c t u a l l y h a v e t o d o o o o o i t.

And Facebook?? Is too distracting.

And Saturdays?? Should not be spent whispering sweet nothings to my laptop.

And The Office Online?? Is calling my name. Constantly.

The problem, people, is that I don't have time to take the breaks I would just LOVE to take. I really have to get this done. I have a lot to get done tomorrow. I am going to church in the morning, and I have core group in the evening, and I'm going for a walk before church with a friend, and in between then I have to do A LOT OF WORK.

And I should save myself tomorrow by doing more now, but I DON'T WANNNNNNAAAAA DOOOOOO IIITTTTTT.


BLECH.

Winter Walk

Last night, after school, I went for a cold walk as the sun went down.

I walked up my hill to the very top, and climbed the stairs of a house that is halfway constructed. I walked through vertical 2x4s marking future walls and I walked past piles of plywood, and I leaned out of the open gaps that will be windows. I found the mountains across the lake, and I found Rainier: breathless, cold, and lavender in the fading light. I thought about climbing, and I thought about cold, and I thought about unfinished buildings. I thought about saws splitting wood that came from the same tree, and of those boards being nailed down in locations far from one another. I thought about leaping, and I thought about flying, and I thought about falling, and I thought about being safe. I thought about past conversations on unfinished walls, and I thought about future families talking, eating, laughing, fighting in these presently plywood rooms.

And then I walked down another road, and I thought about feet being cold, and I saw a mother taking pictures of her babies in a stroller with a fancy camera, and I thought of happy families.

And I tried to follow the sunset over the other side of the hill, because the sun was setting now behind the other set of mountains, and so I ran because it was setting quickly, and the sky was already deep purples and oranges. I found another unfinished house, and I ran up the stairs to get as high as I could. I met the owner of the house on the way up, and he told me to be careful of the 2x4s sticking out over the third floor stairwell, and then he left. I thought of strangers, and I thought of how I must look to people I don't know, and I wondered if he would mind me being in his house if I was something other than a small female in a red wool coat.

I climbed over boards and plywood on the top floor, and leaned out of the vast hole that will eventually be an elegant window, and I offered myself to the air. And the mountains were dark silhouettes, and the city glimmered in the distance, and it was cold, and it was bright. I thought of frost, and how it glitters, and how it is cold, and how it makes things brittle. I thought of Christmas lights and how they feel like bars keeping me out of something this year. I thought of the way that things used to be, and how they have irrevocably changed. I thought of being afraid, and of being too small, and of spinning out of control. I hugged the unfinished wall, and thought of how the sun had already set by the time I climbed to my viewpoint; I had missed it going down, and was only seeing the fading colors of what had been a beautiful day. I looked down at the street, and looked at the sidewalk, and saw that it ended on either side of this halfway built house, and saw a gap of dirt where the path didn't connect. I missed things. I shivered and felt cold.

I climbed down, and went out front, and stood on the hard cold dirt where the sidewalk should have been. I picked up a scrap of wood and tried to etch my name in the ground. I thought of cement being poured, and my mark being hidden underneath, and of people forgetting, and of life moving on, and of people passing through, and of archeology, and of people discovering pieces of lives that have ended.

I walked home in the dark, and I wrote lyrics for a song. And I wished for days that had not already ended, and I wished for a home that was more future than past, and I wished for wings that could carry me away to mountain tops in the distance.

The 100 Secret Senses

At school, we're finishing up Amy Tan's, The One Hundred Secret Senses, which I've decided I love. Remember when I made fancy, applicable-to-life conclusions about Gilgamesh? I have fancy, applicable-to-life conclusions about this book too.

In this book, Amy Tan creates a world of ghost stories, and premonitions, and past lives, and dual identities. And, like any good story that involves other-worldly elements, she creates rules for how characters see the ghosts, experience the premonitions, relate to the past lives, etc. But for every "rule" in the worlds she creates, she provides an exception. Characters that are blood related turn out to not be blood related, or are semi-blood related. We find out that one character sees ghosts, except for the time that she thinks she does when she actually didn't. Premonitions are real, except for the times when they're not. Characters' past lives predict what must happen in the present ones-- except when they don't. Names are shifting and unreliable. The whole book continually asks WHO these people actually are-- and for the most part, we never really know for sure. Tan leaves us with very few SURE answers.

For me, the book boils down to issues of faith. The main character, Olivia, is trying to figure out who SHE belongs to; who her sister Kwan actually is; what Kwan is actually capable of seeing; whether or not her husband, Simon, really is her soul mate. She's looking for a name that will provide her with a history, an identity, a sense of place. But she doesn't get any conclusive answers. In the end, she must decide for herself. She must collect her answers from what she knows, from what she hopes for, from what she wants, from what she senses. She must take a leap of faith, and say-- without any real proof-- that this is what she chooses to believe.

My faith in God has been met with unwavering closeness from Him-- except... when it hasn't. He has answered my prayers in the ways I have asked Him to-- except... when He hasn't. I have felt resounding strength, and sureness, and confidence in my faith-- except... when those feelings have eluded me.

I don't believe God gives us anything as easy as proof. I think He rarely ever spells it out for us. In the end, we must collect our faith from what we know, what we hope for, what we want, what we sense-- what we BELIEVE.

If you're looking for a good book, read this one. The story-telling is unreal.

Caddywampus Clarity

I think I may have had a thought.

I had counseling tonight. Mondays are counseling. I told my counselor that my trip to California to see Beau went well. (My trip to California to see Beau went so well.) I told her that Thanksgiving was hard. (Thanksgiving was hard.) I told her about my reluctant approach to the holidays. (I am reluctantly approaching the holidays.) And then we talked about need.

And we agreed that it seems I really just don't, do NOT, just don't like the idea of needing people. I wrote a blog about this: if that blog was a flag, we waved the blog flag tonight, that PARTICULAR blog flag. In that blog, I wrote,

"Humans are flawed... Humans, even the best ones, let you down, they LEAVE you, they hurt you, and once you need them, you're doomed. No one, and I mean NO ONE that I had needed... had kept me safe. Only God then. Only ever safe to need Him.

And yet... I look at those words that I've written, and I feel shocked.

Really? IS that the truth? Is it completely wrong and foolish to let yourself need others?

I love people, I've always loved people. I collect warmth from kind interactions with strangers the way other people do in front of a wood-burning fire. Does refusing to need people shut me out from that example of God's love and care-taking?

Or... Is that wisdom?"

Does God call us to need each other? Or does He ask to be our only sustainment? Is it "idol-worship" (to get real "Christiany" on us all) if we feel a need for things other than God?"

As my counselor and I discussed this idea of need, those same questions came up. I drove home still clueless, still wondering, still unsure. Is it right to need others, or does that take us away from God? Is it necessary to need others, or is that an unnecessary risk? Is it foolish to need others, or does avoiding it set us up for permanent loneliness?

Then, under a stoplight, in the rain, to the soundtrack of my wiper blades, watching the world through my blurred non-glasses-wearing vision: the light turned green. And I had a thought.

This is what I wrote in my journal when I got home:

I suppose, the fact that God DOES provide this permanent safety net should give me all the freedom in the world to toss my heart around. After all-- it's not a matter of us holding on to HIM-- HE holds on to US. It's not a matter of us refusing to give our hearts away to anyone else with the attitude that if we DID, we would no longer be connected with God... We ARE His. We just ARE His. That doesn't change. There's nothing we can do to sever that belonging, or to break that hold, or to risk that love, that protection, that closeness, that safety. "Nothing can separate us from the love of God." So, if I let myself need someone: so what? If I do, that doesn't mean God goes AWAY, or that I've swapped Him out for something infinitely less sure. It means I've taken a risk-- I've stepped out in faith. And I think God likes it when we do that. And if the person I've let myself need lets me down-- so what? God is still there. Because HE DOESN'T GO AWAY.

Understanding that God is what makes me whole should, theoretically, give me every reason in the world to offer the pieces to someone else. Because it is Him that swims in the cracks. It is Him that can float the intermingling parts into new formations. It is Him that works in risks and leaps and movements-- not stagnation.

It is HIM that holds on to ME-- no matter how reckless my leaping might be.

Beautiful Words

_
Love is tricky. It is never mundane or daily. You can never get used to it. You have to walk with it, then let it walk with you. You can never balk. It moves you like the tide. It takes you out to sea, then lays you on the beach again. Today's struggling pain is the foundation for a certain stride through the heavens. You can run from it, but you can never say no. It includes everyone.

-Amy Tan, The One Hundred Secret Senses

I'm Cool, See?

I have been trying to build meaningful connections with my students. I have been trying to impress upon them my genuine interest in their well-being, and earn the right to speak into their lives.

But sometimes, it works better just to moon walk.

Today I played the "Golden Deer" in Period 4's play. They'd needed an extra body for the part early on, and I agreed to do it temporarily-- but before I could stop them, they'd written my name into the script, and I was committed. In rehearsal, I'd done my deer-prancing with pointed toes. Viola had remembered my ballerina background and ordered me to do a leap-- and when this lady tells me to jump, I jump. Har har. Once I did the split leap.. It was all over. I was the hit of the play. The kids kept talking about how I was the BEST Golden Deer, and it was so cool when I did the leaping thing, and that I was their favorite part. I earned love and adoration for prancing around in gold lame.

Per. 6, the Swing Class, was won over when I did the moon walk. I did it as a joke one day at the end of class, and the kids flipped out. On Halloween, I tried to teach them-- I had extra slippery shoes on that day, so I figured out how to do it not only moving backwards, but staying in place. They couldn't stop talking about it. I was lauded and revered for my throwback to a Thriller dance I'd done in high-school.

How funny, you know? Who ever would have thought that playing a toothless zombie for a friend's senior dance project would set me up to be the Cool Teacher in town? Who ever would have guessed that ten years of ballet would prepare me, not to be the professional ballerina like I'd initially hoped, but the kick-a** Golden Deer for Period 4? I just think it's so funny.

But hey, if doing the moon walk gets me their respect, I'm not complaining. Wanna see my chaîné turns??

Small Victories

Today, 3rd and 5th periods were supposed to perform their plays. These two periods have struggled more than any other; Viola even decided to cancel the audience she'd arranged for 5th period's play, since they were so behind. Regardless, today was the day to perform: ready or not, here they flounder.

5th period starting running through their scenes at the beginning of class for one last rehearsal. When it came time to run Isaac's scene, I watched for what he would do. On Monday, he'd been in a black mood and refused to take any of the direction we gave him. When I finally said, "What's going on Isaac??" he glowered, and said he didn't want to do the scene at all.
Viola told him, "That means you'll get a zero for your grade."
"Fine," he said, and walked out of the room. I followed him, and we talked out in the hall. I finally told him to take a minute to just cool off and come back in. He ended up skipping the rest of the period, which ticked me off.

But teenagers-- especially the boys-- can be moody, and I hoped it would prove to have been a temporary "Black Monday" sort of thing. For all his attitude, I've got a soft spot for the footsie-ing, holstering twerp.

But when it came time to run his scene, Isaac came up to us. "They found someone else to do my part, so I don't have to do it," he said.
Viola was in yelling, wrangling, director mode. "That means you'll get a ZERO," she said loudly.
He shrugged, and his face got hard. "Fine."
"Then LEAVE. You can spend the rest of the class in the office," Viola said. "I don't want you here if you're going to take that attitude."
He shrugged again and started getting his stuff.
Viola sighed. "Do you want to talk to him?" she asked me. I followed him out into the hall.

Isaac is a little guy, and I've heard the other kids make fun of him for being so small. He compensates by wearing big sweatshirts, baggy shorts, and sporting a determined mustache. He has bright blue eyes that either twinkle or glower. I know he cares about his grades: he tries with the homework, and he gets super bummed over a bad test score. One day, he got a C grade on a packet he turned in, and ended up staying after school for an hour to improve it. He ended up getting a revised grade of 161 out of 165-- a high A. When I gave him the packet back, and he saw the new score, he was SO HAPPY. You should have seen it-- it was such an awesome moment for me. He was SO PUMPED that he'd gotten that grade up so high. On the first day that Isaac and his partner rehearsed their scene, Isaac played the king and his buddy Drew played the queen. K-- oh K...-- had scoffed from the audience. "Shouldn't ISAAC play the girl?? Kings are supposed to be GOOD-LOOKING." I chided K, but I saw that it stung Isaac. We've also heard from his little gal-pal that there's something going on with his family at home. I don't know how much of all this was a factor. I'm sure some of it was.

"Isaac... what's going on??"
He shrugged again and his face was sharp. "I don't wanna do it."
"But Isaac, that would mean the highest grade you could get this quarter is a C... And I KNOW you care about your grades."
"Viola's bein' stupid, she keeps yelling, she takes it so frickin' seriously... I don't wanna do it."
"Honestly dude, that's a pretty common mode for directors to take right before the show... I remember I once directed an assembly for the ASB officers when I was in high-school, and it was based on the Wizard of Oz... And I was in this big poofy pink dress, because I was supposed to be Glinda the Good Witch, and the middle-school boys could NOT get their part ready, and I just about lost it. I was like, 'FIGURE IT OUUUUT!'"

He didn't say anything.

I paused. "...I get that you don't agree with exactly how she's acting, but... That's kind of life, you know? There's always going to be someone that you have to toe the line for, and sometimes you'll like them and sometimes you won't. But... it doesn't hurt HER to give you a bad grade. EMOTIONALLY, it hurts us, because we care about you, and we want you to do well, but ultimately... You're the one that the bad grade impacts. And Isaac... I know you CARE about your grades. I still think of you coming in after school and working on that packet. You worked SO HARD, and that made me feel so good, like that was a good moment for ME, as a TEACHER. Because sometimes it's hard to get you guys to try. But you really did an amazing job with that packet."

He looked away, and his eyes were slits. I saw a water drop fall from the side of his face turned away from me.

"You don't have to ace this one, Isaac. I'm getting that the performance stuff isn't your thing. But... if you can just GET yourself through it... That would be really good."

He stayed silent.

"Is there something else going on Isaac...?"

He still looked hard at the wall, and narrowed his bright blue eyes, but there were tears coming out of both of them now. I sighed. "I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better." I paused. "Okay. Why don't you take five minutes, and just... think about it. And if you're not back in class in five minutes, then I'll go look for you in the office, and... we'll understand that you've made the decision to just not do it. Okay?" He nodded. I went back inside.

His friend Jessica asked to go talk to him, and she did. Viola asked how he was; I said he was upset. She went to go find him too. Jessica came back in and said, "I was starting to get him to laugh...! I think I could have maybe gotten him to come back in, but then Viola made me leave...!"
"It's okay," I told her. "Isaac needs to make his own choice, you know?"

Viola came back in. "He's coming," she said. "He's just going to do the crowd scenes."

And sure enough: Isaac did a crowd scene.

He got dressed in the Indian garb like everyone else, and even let our resident India-expert put a turban on him, and during the wedding scene he got up, and danced with everyone else.

And to me, that was a TRIUMPH.

As grad school interns, we're supposed to be collecting evidence of our students' work: evidence that will show we're impacting their learning. But most of the moments I'm most proud of have been when I've succeeded in just getting a kid to TURN THE WORK IN-- or in this case, to DO the performance. I can think of two boys that I hassled, and prodded, and encouraged, and spent hours working on drafts with so that they would TURN IN an essay. By the time they finally got them in, they were weeks late, and the boys only got between 25%-50%. But: they TURNED THEM IN. And that was such a great moment for me. We were only able to give Isaac 50% for his performance grade on this-- but he was IN the performance. He wore a green turban. He did the clapping dance in a circle. He came BACK into the classroom.

They're not much, but these small victories are seriously the moments that make me feel the best about teaching. I think of one of those two boys I'd mentioned, Adam, getting the paper back that he'd finally finally FINALLY turned in, and reading the comments that I'd written. His paper was ghastly-- truly-- but I'd written how proud I was of him for doing the work. Normally when Adam gets another failed assignment or test back, he crumples it up and throws it in the garbage. When I gave him that paper back, he looked at the comments for a long time, and then he carefully put the paper in his notebook. I LOVE that.

5th period made it through their performance-- and they had a small audience after all, of about 6 upperclassmen! They limped their way through, and during the last scene we all-- Viola, the kids, and me all together-- just cracked up because it was so haphazardly thrown together. But they actually did really well-- the play really came together pretty well! We had them all write their names on grading rubrics after class so that we could give them a score, and Isaac gave me his. "Thanks Isaac," I said, distractedly, collecting the others.

He started to walk away, but he looked back at the same moment I looked after him. "Thank you," I said. He gave a little nod of acknowledgment.

Small victories. But dang, do they make me feel good.

And... SCENE

Now: a return to the teaching blogs. Only because I'm required to do one teaching-related-blog per week. Plus: I know ya love 'em. Right?

This last week, we started trying to put together a play of The Ramayana, which is the Indian epic we just finished reading. Early in the week, Viola had mentioned that she might need to leave early. "That's fine!" I said. "I can take 5th period. It would probably good for me to get more face time with them before Matt observes me anyway."
But Viola hemmed and hawed, suggesting another teacher come lead the class, or that she get a sub. Finally, she said, "I'll just stay. It's fine." I admit I was a little disappointed-- I'm comfortable enough with our kids now that I'd love to start "stretching my wings." Plus, I was a theater major-- and we were running scenes! Obviously though, I respect Viola's leadership-- I'm her fourth intern, and she knows what to do with us.
I did ask her though, "I hope you feel comfortable leaving me with the kids... I want you to feel like you can trust me to do a good job with them!"
"Oh, absolutely I do!" she said. We left it at that.

Then I got my chance after all. :) When we started running scenes, I think Viola quickly realized that directing was something I'm very comfortable doing. I was giving the kids blocking (stage directions), and explaining that levels and placement on the stage can indicate more or less power, and I was giving them character directions, and all sorts of things. Working the scenes became very naturally shared between us-- she gave the kids a direction, and then I gave a direction, and us both supported the other. We only disagreed at one point: I encouraged the kids to build " the rickety bridge across the ocean" using chairs and tables, "And then, you know, just carefully traipse across them!" That was the only time Viola pulled rank.
"Liability!"
She was right, and we all knew it. We good-naturedly deferred, the kids giving me a, "Daaang," sort of grin.

Later at lunch, Jane the theatre teacher was complaining that our school sub wouldn't agree to cover her 6th period. "It's his birthday, so he's leaving early..."
"Greta could do it," Viola offered. "She was a theatre major! She was great working with the kids today."
Aww! "I wouldn't mind!" I said.
Jane paused, considering it. "Okay. That would be great."

So then I got to teach a theatre class all by myself! We ran the freshmen's mini-play, and then I worked with the seniors on their scenes. I got to direct almost every kid in some way or another, and I felt really good about how the scenes improved. Jane came in at the end and said, "So how'd it go?"
One girl, who had seemed frustrated that she hadn't gotten more attention earlier, said, "It was BORING."
Talk about raining on my parade. Jane reprimanded the girl, and then watched me finish giving direction to the seniors.

After class, I went to the student who had made the "boring" comment and I said, "Kaley, is everything okay? You seemed a little upset at the end of class."
She looked caught off-guard. "I'm okay."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure you had a chance to talk to me, if you had anything on your mind. My feelings were a little hurt when you said the class was boring, because I really did my best to make sure everyone had a chance to perform, and that you all got feedback."
"Sorry," she said.
"It's okay. I want you to know that I value your opinion, and that I'm open to talking with you, but I also appreciate your respect."
"Okay."
"Okay. Have a good afternoon."

I finished up with Jane, telling her the directions I'd given the kids. She nodded enthusiastically and affirmed the notes I'd given them. The week culminated with me teaching almost ALL the classes on Friday, because Viola was getting grades in, and she figured I could do it-- that I could run the scenes. And I did it! Even with the hard classes! YAY!!

And what's GREAT about that is that the kids are starting to get used to me as Viola's co-TEACHER, not just her assistant.

I'm loving the one-on-ones, as far as dealing with "attitudes" go. There was a lot of 'TUDE on Friday so I had several more chats, and the kids are just SO much better to talk to and relate to when you're chatting with them one-on-one, than when they're just trying to be a spectacle in class. I haven't mastered the en masse classroom management yet (though I'm definitely getting better), but because I've built relationships with most of these kids, it is SO GOOD talking to them one-on-one about their behavior in class. The conversations are typically polite, and open, and I'm usually able to joke with the kids a little, or at least show them that I empathize with what they're dealing with.

"Okay guys, we're going to do a theatre warm up to get us all a little more energized. Let's start in the neutral position-- arms at your side, legs shoulder-width apart, weight evenly spread-- K? Can you drop your arms to your side?"
(K has her arms crossed, and is SCOWLING. She LIFTS her eyebrow in a challenge when I ask her to drop her arms.)
"Please?"
(Rolls her eyes and flings down her arms.) K was my main antagonist on Week One, but she's been great since then. The fact that she was being contentious over standing in the "Neutral Position" obviously indicated she was in A MOOD.

After the circle broke up and the kids were getting into their groups, I called her over.
"Hon what's up? You seem kind of off today."
"I'm having a REALLY bad day," she said angrily, and started to tear up.
"Okay... Okay. I know how a crappy day can affect... everything. I'll try not to ask too much of you today, but if you are involved in something we're working on... Can you give it your best shot?"
She nodded.
"Okay. Do your thing. Feel better."
And off she went.

Anyway: point being: I love the one-on-ones.

I AM SO LONG WINDED. THIS BLOG IS SO LONG. MY BLOGS ARE SO LONG.

Speaking of: it turns out that this is La vie d'une fille's 100th blog. The centennial blog. Bam.

Also, the two songs rounding out New 2 were picked yesterday: Eddie Vedder's "Hard Sun" from the Into the Wild Soundtrack, and then Michael Franti and the Spearhead's "Say Hey" which is AMAZING!!!! Watch the video. It will make you so happy. Let's all move to Jamaica.

Annotated Song List

I've started a new tradition for myself: as I find new songs and purchase them on I-Tunes (yes-- I always pay for my music. Not because I'm that ethically impervious, but because I'm not savvy enough to find the places to get it free)-- I put them in a playlist titled simply "New." I file them in there in the order found, and when I've got about 17 of them, I burn a CD. What results is a CD that is indicative not only of my current music tastes, but also my mental state of being during the accumulating. I have a "New 1" and am finishing up "New 2." I sort of like it.

So, in honor of a rainy Friday evening during which I feel no compulsion to do homework yet still find the need to kill time before I head out to meet up with my darling girlfriends: I give you: my annotated "New 2" list. Links are provided when the songs were findable.

New 2 might be distinguished for being an especially odd assortment.

1.) Somehow, Someday: Ryan Adams.
I've never just gotten myself "hooked" on Ryan Adams, but this Gold album is GOOD. The chorus is strong, downward strumming chords, and the words say, "Ain't no way I'll ever stop from loving you now"-- which is wonderfully reminiscent of the OTHER "Somehow, Someday" song that I know of from West Side Story. You remember? The part where Maria and Tony clasp hands and tearfully promise that they'll be together somehow... someday? When I was 14, I agreed to paint my neighbor's extra long driveway with a "sealer" and spent an entire week working on that driveway in the hot July sun, listening to the West Side Story soundtrack nonstop on a walkman. West Side always makes me think of sealer and extra long driveways. Did you follow that then? Ryan Adams=> West Side Story=> Sealing my neighbor's driveway. You got that? Good.

2.) Grey Days: The Concretes
I sort of don't know why I put this song on New 2. I don't like it as much as I thought I did. Never mind.

3.) California: Mason Jennings
My friend Caroline told me about Mason Jennings. He has a very odd, very endearing sort of voice. This song is about saying goodbye to his girlfriend who's moving to California. I woke up with the song stuck in my head the other day, and decided it deserved a spot on the New 2, even though I've had it for a little while. My favorite line is: "Don't you know baby, I'm a leading man: I dig down deep when I say I love you." I like thinking that his girl wants to go be an actress, and he's saying, "But hey baby, ain't I good enough for your love story?" It's a wistful song. I relate to the wisting.

4.) Someone Should Have Told Me: Reserved 16
This one's actually by Beau-- he wrote it, even though it's sung by a girl, from a girl's perspective. My favorite part is when he sings "erstwhile" during the chorus just because I love the word "erstwhile." Who says "erstwhile"?? I also like when the girl sings, "Should I dress up for Halloween as the homecoming queen that I used to be? Or should I dress as the new girl, new world that Autumn slowly unfurls?" The Homecoming queen line makes me think of Annie (who, it should be noted, was Homecoming queen) and I like listening to songs about autumn during autumn. And I like listening to the beau every once in a while. You can find it on I-Tunes! (Plug. PLUG.)

5.) Godspeed: Jenny Lewis
Here's where the playlist starts getting emotional. My new amazing friend Kelsey recommended this song when I was having a particularly hard night, and I downloaded it as soon as I got home from her house. The chorus goes, "Godspeed to you: keep the lighthouse in sight." The first several times I listened to the chorus, I thought: alright. Lighthouse. Nice image. Whatever. But I suddenly became much more attached to the song, when I pictured looking AT the lighthouse from WITHIN the storm. Godspeed is right.

6.) Your Love is Strong: Jon Foreman
The Switchfoot frontman is apparently putting out a solo EP, which is where this song comes from. He basically just sings the Lord's prayer-- which is sometimes just really helpful to hear. His chorus is simple, and anchors down an aching heart when it's slipping: "Your love is, your love is, your love is strong." I heard it on the radio one night when, again, I was having a hard time. I cranked it and cried.

7.) Free: Shawn Mcdonald
I love this guy. Heidi (my sis-- has it been so long since the Europe blogs that I have to re-specify she's my sister??) recommended this one. How are these lines for you? "I know the heaviness that’s making me cold/ Is stealing my youthful soul and making me old/ You said your burden is light and your load is no more/ You said your ways are right and in you I would soar/ I want to be free." Plus: it's great sometimes when a song makes you think of a person you love love love love love. Heidi=lovelovelovelovelove.

8.) What's Been Going On: Amos Lee
This song has a hook that kills-- it makes me think of being on a swing at night, reaching up for the sky with my boots. Another segment that makes me think of that afore-mentioned best friend: "There goes her old beat up car/Outside of our old favorite bar/ She's probably in there playin' her guitar/ With stars in her eyes." How appropriate is that for our Nashville songwriter with a gig at the Bluebird? Love you Annie. :)

9.) Revelation: Third Day
I posted this one in an earlier blog. Normally I snobbishly dismiss Third Day as trying-to-be-a-hardcore-Christian-band-but-are-really-sort-of-Creed-wannabes, but the lyrics to this one just reflect the words on my soul. I'm not going to write them all here, because that almost feels too exposing. But. You should listen to it.

10. and 11.) Warwick Avenue, Scared: Duffy
Duffy gets the next two. My cool Uncle Ken describes her as, "Sort of like Amy Winehouse, except not a train wreck." Her Warwick Avenue is just a GREAT song-- "I'm leaving you for the last time, baby"-- such a good line! Especially because she growls it out to a beat that sounds like she's WALKING AWAY. And "Scared" is just relatable. Because. Sometimes. I feel scared.

12.) The Best Things in Life are Free: Good News Soundtrack
This is when the playlist starts getting really random... Viola started humming this song the other day, and I freaked out because "Good News" is a classic from my childhood. Specifically: this is the movie we always watched with my Grandma Bean. Even as a kid, I recognized that the leading man is a total jerk and plays June Allyson like a PUTZ, but there's a GREAT dance number in a soda shop (to warn: it's totally not PC), and this song is just so dang sweet... And I won't lie: when Peter Lawford starts singing the verse in french, it gets downright swoonworthy.

13.) Last of the Mohicans: Last of the Mohicans Soundtrack
In keeping with the soundtrack theme... I started humming this tonight at dinner, and got so excited thinking about this movie THISISTHEMOSTAMAZINGMOVIE!!! Gramps has never seen it, and I went into rhapsodies describing when Daniel Day-Lewis is RUNNING through the forest, and when he KISSES Madeleine Stowe... When I went to my funky arts high-school, we had to do a project that somehow conveyed our "foremost characteristic," which we took various tests to determine. My defining characteristic turned out to be "Passionate," and I ended up doing a solo dance to this song. I still remember wearing a purple dance dress with a long flowing skirt, and performing the dance on a big dark stage. Listening to it makes me still feel as though I should be running, and spinning, and leaping into a dark unknown world.

14.) I Will Find You: Clannad
Another one from Last of the Mohicans. This is eerie, and Irishy, and betrays the hopeless romantic in me once again. It's deep in there, however it may have attempted to conceal itself recently. "No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a long, long time/ No matter where you go, I will find you/ If it takes a thousand years." It sounds like a prayer, and I suppose it's one I've uttered in some voice, in some way, in some part of my heart. Don't we just want to know that we'd be worth that kind of searching after...?

That's all I've got for New 2 so far. Quite the odd bundle. And if you get into the "psychoanalyzation" of the playlist, it gets even odder.

But I've never claimed to be normal, so there you go.

The Eternal Part

Tonight, I blew off my grad school paper and went to a prayer vigil for Ben Towne. I got there a minute or two late, and walked into a hushed, packed sanctuary. There must have been around 1,000 people there-- for this little boy. For this family.

They had dimmed the lights, and lit the front with candles. We sang quiet worship songs, and a pastor read Psalms intermittently. He focused his brief talk on Psalm 88-- the darkest Psalm. This is the Psalm with no easy answer at the end-- no provisional resolution. It expresses unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine the Townes are feeling something close to unfathomable sorrow, and despair, and pain. I imagine that they are finding no easy answers. Nor were any of us.

The worship was contemplative, and it was easy to pray and think throughout. At one point, I looked around the packed sanctuary-- at all these people, at all these believers-- at all these souls who were hoping for a miracle from their Lord, but ready to trust Him even if it didn't come-- and I wondered. I pictured Ben's little soul. I pictured it already stretched between this world and another. He has begun to comfort his mother, telling her not to worry, that he loves her. I wonder if he is already more Heaven than earth.

I pictured the souls in that sanctuary-- these combining, pleading souls-- I pictured them floating like wisps above us all and then pictured them gathering comfort and love, and rushing off to the Townes to deliver them. I pictured the eternal parts of us-- the parts that existed long before, that will exist long after, that exist even now, because isn't that what eternity means?-- and I pictured those reflective souls crowding into the Townes' home. There were so many of us in that sanctuary, we would be crowded up against the walls of the Townes'. We would be spilling out the windows, blooming out of the chimney, filling every corner, infusing from wall to wall the Towne home with comfort. With love. With hope for a miracle. With weeping empathy. I tried to picture Carin walking through all those comforting souls, and being warmed by them. Like a whiff of cinnamon. I pictured Jeff being wrapped up in them, like a wash of sunbeam. I pictured little Ben being cradled like a dear lullaby.

And I pictured the eternal parts of us that must already know heaven, that must already know the ends of our own stories, and I pictured Jeff's and Carin's souls at the front of the pack, watching over their grief-stricken selves below. I imagined them remembering the pain of this moment. I thought of them looking at their son below, and preparing themselves to catch him.

Jesus wept, you know. He lost a dear friend, and He wept. But what always surprises me about that story is that He didn't weep when He found out that Lazarus had died: He wept when he saw everyone else in such devastating grief. It says, "When Jesus saw her weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled... Jesus wept." I wonder if Jesus had only really experienced the "catching" part before-- this part on the Heaven side, the part that must be more welcome than goodbye. Before He was human, he must have always experienced more of the celebration when a soul passes into Heaven than the grief. But as a human: He saw it. He must have realized the incredible pain that exists on the earth side-- on the temporal side. On the side that can't see ahead, that doesn't have a glimpse of the eternal. He realized the immense pain that a family could go through during a death... And it made Him weep.

I hope, even as Jeff and Carin prepare themselves to say goodbye, that they feel some sense of comfort from all those praying souls. I hope that Ben's pain is eased; that as the scales begin to tip towards Heaven, he is less imprisoned by earthly pain. I hope the eternal parts of this family remain intertwined, and that some part of Jeff and Carin are able to hold Ben on both sides of the curtain. And I pray that, even as they weep, and even as we weep with them: there is comfort in the knowledge that He did too.

Sometimes there are no easy answers. Sometimes eternity just feels too far away-- even if it is all around us.

Ben Towne

This blog was written on Aug. 25th, 2007. This last week, Jeff and Carin found out that, after a hellish ordeal of chemotherapy, radiation, and excruciating pain that was endured in the hopes of ultimate healing, their son Ben has four new tumors: three on his brain and one on his liver. On their Caring Bridge blog, they wrote that they were in absolute despair. It makes me wonder what on earth God is doing-- something I've asked lately in reference to my own life. This blog asks that same question.


I found out this week that the two-year-old son of one of my pastors at church has neuroblastoma cancer. The Towne family took Ben to the hospital on Tuesday for tests when he was diagnosed with cancer, and apparently, the family hasn't left the hospital since then. The Sunday before the Townes were to receive this earth-shattering news, Jeff, Ben's dad, gave a sermon in front of our 4,000+ member church. I remember him saying that he wished sometimes that God would do something flashy to get our attention-- that He would perform some incredible work, or do something to scare us into understanding His power. He ended his sermon with saying that we needed to understand, simply, that Jesus is enough.

Two days later, the Townes moved to Children's Hospital, and are now keeping vigil over their two-year-old little boy, who does not yet have the vocabulary to articulate the pain he's in.

My friend Annie was expressing that she doesn't know how people without faith in God get through situations like this. But I have to wonder: is it harder to go through a situation like this without faith-- or with it? I'm trying to put myself in this heart-rending situation, imagining that I am an atheist, and that I don't believe in miracles or directed, predestined paths; that there is no one watching out for me, there is no one battling for my soul, there is no dark spiritual force wreaking havoc on my existence, there are no angels to save me from it. There is simply chance, science, and if you're superstitious, luck. If my little boy were to be diagnosed with cancer, I would have no higher power to turn to, no reassuring father to cry out to, no faith that there might be some greater plan at work, no hope in a miracle. That would be difficult, incredibly so. But there would also be no one to blame.

At the end of the rope, in the most desperate of circumstances, the atheist may at last cry out-- taking the chance that there might be a God who would reward his last ditch effort at hope-- his extended olive branch in the form of a prayer. At the end, the atheist might be able to pronounce a plea: "God, if you exist... help my son." But if the cancer wins, the atheist only received what he expected: nothing. Nothing miraculous. No reward for a faith in what was- must have been- nothing. He is angry at the air, angry at the world for turning, and forcing the sun to go up and down too many times. He is angry at the doctors for not doing enough, angry at the medicine that didn't work, angry at himself perhaps, for hoping that a figment might save his son. But his world remains only devoid of one important presence; the other presence at question was never there to begin with; of that he can now be sure.

Jeff Towne is a pastor, and his wife is involved in the church as well. They have inspired and taught and loved hundreds of middle and high-school students over the years. How does a situation like this rock the faith of a family that has been so devoted to God for so many years? I'm reading Job in my Bible right now-- he's the guy that every terrible thing in the world happened to-- and I haven't gotten very far yet, but at one point, Job asks his wife, "Shall we accept good from God, and not trouble?" Is that the logic then, for the Towne family? Do they go along with the will of God and just accept it? Can they hope, expectantly? There are parts of the Bible that say things like, "If you have but faith as small as a mustard seed, you can throw mountains into the sea." Do they ramp up the faith even more then, and hope with all sureness that the stage-4 cancer their son is battling will relinquish its hold by the power of the Mightiest Force of All? Will their faith save him? If they pray enoughenoughenough to their father God, will He listen to their petitions and save their son?

I don't know. I've heard stories of things like that happening before. I've also heard stories where the person did die, even with great faithful prayers being made on their behalf. God knows I prayed for my grandma.

Then the terrifying logic comes into play, or at least it did with me. You start debating with God, arguing your case; petitions are given up in favor of cold reason. God MUST save this boy; it wouldn't make any sense to do otherwise. You convince yourself of all the good that could happen in God's overall plan were He to grant life. If Ben Towne were to be saved, think of how many people might come to faith through that miracle! Think of the testimony Jeff could tell to all those church members, think of the newspaper readers that would read about how the faithful family experienced a miracle with their son Ben-- how many of those readers would give a mental nod to God? Think, God, think! It makes SENSE for you to save him! Why would you take this boy from us, when you could do so much by SAVING him?


...But what if--after the petitions and the prayers and the debating-- He doesn't?

Is this where the absence of faith is an easier burden to bear? How do we reconcile with a God that allows cancer to take a two-year-old boy? We're back at the end of the rope, but there is no final hope in a prayer offered this time, because prayers have already been uttered countless times, by countless people. At the end, for a man of faith.... There is....

What?

Too many questions.

Where were you? Why? How COULD you?

Are you even there?

What happens to faith in that moment? And how do we manage faith in the mean time? Do the people praying for Ben Towne pray with expectancy, feeling assured that a miracle will occur? And if a miracle doesn't happen, does that mean God isn't there?

Do they pray for God's will, trusting in whatever that is? Even if that means trusting in what seems like senseless cruelty?

Or do they pray in the safe way, like Doubting Thomas-- hoping it works out, but with a degree of skepticism that if the chemo and treatment can't heal him... Well, then God probably won't either. ...What then? Do you just STOP trying to figure out what that says about God?

I am praying for Ben Towne. I don't know how much faith, or hope, or expectancy to invest my prayers with. It scares me. And if it scares me, how much more must it scare the Townes?

There is a famous hymn, written by a man that had lost his home and wealth in a fire, and subsequently lost his daughters in a shipwreck. He wrote the hymn as he sailed across the ocean, over the vast watery grave of his girls. The words of the Psalm go:
"When peace like a river attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say
It is well, it is well with my soul.

"Though Satan may buffet, though trails may come,
Let this blest assurance control:
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul."

Those last two lines: Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and hath shed His own blood for my soul-- those words have enabled me to feel comforted by God when I wasn't sure I wanted to be on speaking terms with Him at all. When I mourned my Grandma, people said all kinds of things to me that were meant to be comforting. However, I'm not sure any of them provided the peace that those simple words did: that Jesus knew exactly what was happening, and He knew my pain. He sees it, and understands it, and came to earth to die so that I could be saved from it.

God knows what it is to lose a son. I suppose, if anyone could relate to Jeff and Carin's fear right now, it would be the Heavenly Father. And this is when I return to what Jeff spoke about on Sunday, and hold on to the knowledge that, even in these darkest of times, Jesus is enough. He has to be enough, because He has walked this gauntlet already, and we are already saved.

So I am glad after all, I suppose, to believe in God at a time like this.

Please join me in praying for baby Ben and the Towne family.