even when it is hard

you know, i do this to myself.

and i am completely aware at each moment that i am doing this to myself.i am thinking and considering things over and over again. analyzing them from each angle.and it's blurry. and it's foggy. and it's harder to decipher what is really going on inbetween and around and inside. and the lies i tell myself become easier to believe. i circulate them through my emotions and speech. and what i think upon becomes how i live.

my mind roams wild, runs free. and i let it. i'm hardwiring myself in self-destructive patterns. and i see it. these thoughts reign over me. and i bend my knee in submission. and in these moments, reality is hard to grab a hold of. because these thoughts have stacked brick upon brick and hammered nail after nail. and there is this barrier, this wall. and it separates me from the life i was created to live and the love i was created to encounter. and His truth is far off. and i am disabled by the restlessness inside me.and it takes intentionality. deliberately getting my thoughts in alignment with His word, declaring it over myself.

"there is no miracle drug. there is no quick solution. there is only crying in the arms of the Father."

i am starting there. i have to. even when it is hard to cry because it means i am still broken. when i wish i was whole. but wholeness takes a long time. and it only happens in His arms.

thought i knew

dear children-who-i-can't-even-put-a-face-to,

when you read this, know that i didn't always expect to have children. especially right now at this moment. right now must be spent falling head over heels in love with my Beloved who is fairer than ten thousand. when you read this, know that i didn't always want to make you grilled cheese sandwiches or ice cream sundaes. when you read this, know that i didn't always anticipate your "how come's" and "why not's." when you read this, know that thinking about you so far in advance is painful. because there was a time when i had everything planned out. the library i want for you. the dimples i hope you inherit. the music room i will sing with you in. the nightmares that i can kiss away. the colorful finger paintings i will proudly stick on the fridge. the squeals of excitement as i push you higher and higher on the swings. the picnics we will have on freshly cut grass. and right now i don't have any of that planned out. and it's scary. because for so long i thought i knew. but that thought slipped through my fingers like the ribbon of balloons. and now i am unsure.

but when you read this, know that the most important thing to me at age nineteen is getting a hold of who God says i am - and believing it. and living it.

and when you read this, know that i am so thankful that you are reading this.

sincerely,

your mother who at nineteen is so unsure of the future but is rooting herself in a high, wide, deep, long everlasting love.

picking and choosing

i am a sucker for school supplies. and one week ago i absentmindedly forgot my pencilbox, my beloved pencilbox, around campus. thursday it returned in all its glory. and i am entirely relieved that i won't have to purchase a new one. however, there is an unexpected twinge of sorrow because i do wish, quite desperately, to have a reason - any reason - to drop some money on new school supplies. to saunter throughout staples picking and choosing. there is nothing like fresh inky pens or newly sharpened pencils.

but all that is trivial. yes?

you know, i don't want to write because there is a world of words that can be fashioned into sentences. one of those writers who spews each emotion. passing thought. whose words are many but meaningless. one of those writers who gorges themselves with words. is plump with words. is obese, in the worst way possible. i resolve to edit. and edit some more. i want my words to carry weight. which means speaking sparingly. which means concise explanations. which means losing the excess.

but i love the excess. the nuances that sheer words can suggest. i must saunter throughout the dictionaries of cultures and times gone by, going by picking and choosing. there is nothing like the right word or sentence.

nada. zip. zilch. nothing.

bear no claim

no thing or person bears claim upon my time, my decisions, my emotions, my thoughts, or my body.

i am claimed by the blood of Christ. claimed by His display of violent, immutable love. it is freeing to sit in His lap, kneel before His throne knowing that i need not feel obligated by the expectations or calendar of others. and it is only freeing because He reminds me that i am His. i am His. not defined by commitments or relationships. defined by His love.

and i can bear no claim upon others time, decisions, emotions, thoughts, or body.

this is hard. we deceive ourselves quickly, telling ourselves that we are just concerned about so-and-so. we just want to know how they are doing. want to keep them accountable. and each time it gets easier to do this. but our concern is never about them. we have lost our nerve about who we are. we are insecure. we are afraid. of being alone. vulnerable. replaced. and we have fallen into patterns of manipulation to make sure at any given moment we hold the reins. it is none of my business who you speak to. hang out with. etc. and i have no say in it. i must have no say in it if i want to move away from this tendency to control. it is difficult to release these well-worn reins. our grip is strong. and our hands are stiff.

but there is a more excellent way.

His way of relinquishment.

abandonment.

i am n o t abandoned. but am abandoning all to Him.

t r y i n g&s t r u g g l i n g.

but abandoning nonetheless. because His love makes it worth it. and His love is better than yellow wheat fields and saturated skies. better than a thousand birds soaring in perfect unision. and His love is sweet. and pure. and faithful. and all things unexplainable.

this belonging, this belovedness

and my break could be longer. maybe it should be longer.

but would i sound childish or strange if i said i've missed this blog?

well, i have.

and all of the beautiful things that people write.

and all of the beautiful pictures that people share.

there are things i will write one day but cannot write now.

i belong to You, Abba, i belong to You.

each moment is moving quickly. each person is passing by.

i belong to You, Abba, i belong to You.

this is what i'm learning. and i don't even get it yet. not fully. i remind myself incessantly. especially before i sleep. when lies collide with truth. when memories are too real. and breathe down my neck into my head and heart. and my insides ache.

i am defined by my belonging. my belovedness.

it is the core truth of my existence.

i am His. and He is mine.

what does that even mean?

what does that even look like?

teach me, Abba, to live out of this belonging, this belovedness.

a little longer.

so i'll be taking a break from this blog.

just to declutter my mind. my life. and allow Him to fill those places.

all of them.

i'm going to rummage through cardboard boxes, dressed in dusty robes. and those secrets i've kept. and lies i've believed. and questions that haunt. will be adressed. confronted.

and i will be loved into wholeness by my Father.

wholeness. gosh, what a great thought. and not just a thought, a reality that He wants for me.

and you.

and it doesn't require striving. or performance. or checking things off. it requires my silence. my submission to His gentle, transformative love.

my being washed and restored by buckets of His pure, authentic love.

my staying with Him, just a little longer.

so that He can do what He needs to do. what He longs to do. with me. in me.

i cannot map out.

looking through my twelvth grade musings i came across many that i was proud of.

but i found one i was very proud of. even if it is old. and isn't written as well as it should be.

reading through this is so strange. because i don't remember writing it. it came from some place i cannot map out. that i venture into each time i write. it is strange, indeed.

and we drive on.

it's been too long since i've seen you: three days and two hours and twenty-eight minutes.. and fourteen seconds. you must think i'm crazy that i remember that, but remember that i am in love and you have been gone.

you smell like your grandmother- old and stale, but only because you kept her company after papa's funeral. she never spent an ounce of money or time on you unless she needed something done. this time she needed her house cleaned out and a shoulder to cry on. lucky for her you are tenderhearted and don't hold onto bitterness like you hold onto me - tightly, with a firm grasp. with fiery eyes.

you kiss me gently on the cheek and i laugh quietly; you say i am beautiful. you take me by my hand and shout: you are beautiful! my face flushes with embarrassment and joy - not too loud, people will hear.

shifty uncertain eyes look into yours - but i'm glad you said it loud enough for that man in the black blazer to hear, he had been eyeing me, and i might have just gone over and..

i am silenced by your warm lips and closed eyes. i was joking, but now i'm just enjoying your embrace.

we walk to your car and you speak of veiled faces and a crowd dressed in black paying respect to papa. the sun was shining like suns shine in children's drawings, smiley face and all. there were no flowers at the funearl. he had written the only flowers he ever needed were the ones in his backyard, in his garden. he loved poppies, the cherry-colored kind, the kind that bewitched dorothy and her friends, had bewitched him. he carried a grace that your grandmother never possessed, never could possess. he kept her tantrums at bay. i'm afraid she'll have to be put away now, you say, in a home where she won't be lonely, where she'll be taken care of.

you open my door and ask me to shut my eyes as we drive away into the shoddy and vandalized city. you say it is a surprise.

i joke about our safety and you press your forehead against mine, breathe in my perfume, and say: trust me.

i do.

the door slams like the chiming of bells and we drive on.

this will be where we start a family and invite guests over to discuss fine literature and art. this will be where we kiss until the sun rises. this will be where we argue and make up. this will be where our children will plant poppies in remembrance of papa.

in two parts, really.

this blog is in two parts, really.

i hope that isn't distracting from the importance of either of them.

today was glorious. and silly.

sometimes i'm really excited to be in class. maybe overly excited. that's when i laugh and the whole class knows it's that girl who laughs loudly. indulgently. and without restraint. i do hope it's endearing. and not annoying. like that one girl who asks too many questions. please keep your hand down. and mouth closed. questions are good. but i'd much rather go on with the class.

sometimes i'm early. actually that is always the case. and my books are stacked neatly, one atop the other. my notebook is turned to a blank page. well, not blank - covered in doodles of trees and mythical creatures. (bahaha.) and my pen is uncapped, ready. painfully ready to write all that my professors says.

sometimes i serve myself three plates of food during one meal. there are just too many options. spring rolls. chicken picatta. mashed potatoes. mexican burrito. rice. beans. burgers. ice cream. nine drink choices. and they all look so appetizing. when i sit down, plates dripping with delicacies, i take a bite of each plate as to decide on which to eat first. and whichever one has the prevailing flavors will be eaten last. because i love to leave the table with a good taste in my mouth. with a heavy stomach. and laughter. light-hearted laughter.

sometimes i really love days like today.

...

school is great right now. and i'm learning. about a lot of things. language. and disciplines. and theory. but mostly about myself. and it's not always nice to learn about yourself. because there are ugly parts of us. parts we haven't dealt with. parts we ignore. parts that are hard. or secret. or just hurt. parts that seem impenetrable. unlovable. shameful. but it is good to know that my King can transform me. and all of those parts. out of love. deep, deep love. because He doesn't want me to live in the realm of shame or guilt. in the realm of hiding or pretending. He has brought me into His marvelous light. He has brought me into His realm of grace and forgiveness as i am now. not as i wish i could be. or know i ought to be. and that profound freedom is around me and in me. in abundance. showering down. and covering me. changing me into His likeness. but only if i invite Him to. only if i open the door, welcoming Him to have rule and reign. surrendering my rights. and ways. and thoughts. to the King. trusting that He knows what He is doing. knowing that He is gentle. trusting that He has nothing but love for me. knowing that His love goes deep.

know it to be true

procrastination: 1

stacey: 0

the battle was over before i blogged about it. and i knew it. it's reasoning was irresitable. as was my bed. and drew barrymore in "never been kissed." i finished the paper the next morning (what a hectic morning it was). and then my dear professor decided to post pone the due date until friday. well i turned it in. and i think i did it wrong. but that's okay because i'm not sick anymore. no coughing up mucus. no sinus headache. no overworked nose. (i swear it almost gave up on me). completely rested. because rest is so so important.

"turn to me and be saved, all you ends of the earth;

for I am God, and there is no other."

isaiah 45:22

today i am thankful that my God is big. and real. that He is not made of wood or bronze with eyes that do not see. and ears that do not hear. or hands that cannot deliver. set free. that He orchestrates the most awe inspiring sunsets. and knows how much i love clouds. that He is not sleeping or slumbering. but recognizes. acknowledges. sees me. and you. that He keeps His word. that He is faithful. that i can stand on His promises. and not be afraid. not be afraid at all. that there is no one like Him. that it is holiness that makes Him beautiful. His apartness. His otherness. His sacredness. His unlike-no-other-thing-or-man-ness. He is my beautiful God. my Eternal Lover. and i am His. and i know it to be true. truer than anything on this earth.

tomorrow morning

is it bad that i would rather [insert anything] than start this paper?

this paper that happens to be due at eleven am tomorrow morning.

it must be. i'm sure of it.

and there is this teeny voice whispering...

start it tomorrow morning.

do it.

wake up a few hours early. crank it out.

this is nothing.

double-spaced? easy.

three pages? easier.

and i really just might.

oh, procrastination just when i thought i've kicked you to the corner, ended this erratic relationship, stopped you in your tracks. you come with full force. and beg me to be your lover. and it is hard to say no when you sound so convincing. and rational. and when i have sneezed twenty-four times this hour alone. and my nose is runny and pink. the least you could do is give me something in return. softer tissues perhaps. but no. you want my time. and i am sniffly enough to give it to you. just now. this minute. but no longer, i hope.

so funny. so foreign

i find blogdom (the world of blogging?) completely amusing and powerful. and i find it so funny. so foreign that we can be nomiated for awards. it strikes me differently each time i think about it. right now i am thankful. thankful for the beautiful words i have read. and for the lives that people have, whether or not they intended to, shared with me. so as a very green blogger i want to extend my plentiful thanks to Jayne at The Little Passenger. never have i read such lengthy daily entries. but it is the length that i love. your ability to follow through with a thought. and to complete it. then think about it. and complete that next thought. thank you dear! :)

here are the rules:

one. Thank the person who nominated you for this award.

two. Copy the logo and place it on your blog.

three. Link the person who nominated you for this award.

four. Name seven things about yourself that people might not know.

five. Nominate seven Kreativ Bloggers.

six. Post links to the seven blogs you nominate.

seven. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know they have been nominated.

and the seven things a small number of curious folk might be interested in, take a moment to inhale dramatically as you bubble with anticipation:

one.

when writing, i often spell out numbers (see above). it is just so much more pleasing to the eye than numerical characters, wouldn't you agree? i refuse to use those things. refuse! :)

two.

i can eat. not just the normal recommended amount of calories a day sort of eat. but the "oh... this is my third serving at this meal... and, you say, i shouldn't eat ice cream?" sort of eat. anything will do: ethic foods, desserts, celery...

three.

sometimes when i drive and look at the sky, especially by my church, i get lost in its hugeness. it is like some sort of never ending sheet. and it's like we are completely tucked into it. my goodness, it is a distraction when i drive. and one time i forgot the light turned green because the sky was so blue. and i got honked at. but it was completely worth it.

four.

i am entirely hispanic. mostly mexican. and do not speak spanish fluently at all. when i was younger my parents used to speak in spanish around me. but i always knew when they were talking about me. they said things like mijita. or preciosa. or sometimes burra. the last one isn't really that endearing. but that's alright. my siblings all have authentic names: humberto, aristeo, patricia, graciela... and i have stacey. but do not let their names fool you. they are often mistaken for gringos. i fit right in.

five.

i really, really despise high school dances. the nonsense that goes on there is blood boiling. i know the need for affection. the need for attention. and maybe that guy will dance with me. but grinding is not the same as dancing. he is using you to fulfill his insatiable desire to be aroused. and i'm sure you aren't fulfilled the next morning. it may have been fun. no strings attatched. living in the moment. but by no means was it fulfilling. and that attention he gave you was probably because he could see down your shirt. maybe even up your skirt. ::sigh:: please, don't give yourself away so freely. i suppose my feelings towards school dances has more to do with my awareness and heartbrokenness for girls who don't know their worth. more on this in another blog? maybe.

six.

i doodle. incessantly. i have them all saved. because some of them are masterpieces. and some of them are stories.

seven.

when i was in third grade, i fell asleep in class during a documentary on the grand canyon. and i woke up in a puddle of drool. a week later i laughed during story time. and blondie the soccer player had just been power hosed by the water in my mouth. true story. needless to say, it was a rough week. :)

time to nomiate.

emily of emilykatescribbles

athena of let's fly away now

sara of one long road

julia of synonyms for optimisn

angela of unfading hope

rayray of she just smiled

michelle of meesh's mouth

thanks again, jayne.

this is still so funny to me. and foreign.

happy today!

horribly honest

i ask the question of friendships once more. in lieu of recent happenings, or lack there of, i have realized that the relationships i desperately want are just not there right now. and it's okay. because i would rather wait than give myself, my story, my secrets to flighty friends, ones who display gross amounts of selfishness, ones who share, generously, the issues confided in them with others, ones who are immature and exclusive. such behavior sickens me. i will be there for these people. i will listen and encourage.

but give them myself, i will not.

i remember loneliness. loneliness was the blanket that covered me most mornings. most evenings. most in betweens. i used to hold it tightly not too long ago. for years i think. no, i know. sometimes it appears on the edge of my bed. in the backseat of my car. when things get frighteningly overwhelming. when i feel rejected. excluded. replaced. not good enough to laugh with. not good enough to share time with. not good enough. and in my teenage angst i grew bitter towards these people who showed me with their actions that i was not good enough to call up and make plans with. that i was not worth a twenty second phonecall. a five word text message. and they, the bane of my existence, knew nothing of this bitterness. because i hid it well. and smiled. and made jokes when they would let me. yes, i accepted this. and i hated them for it. and you can see the cycle. yes, this cycle that i sometimes surrender to even now. and everything in this cycle hinges on hiding everything.

let us face the truth here and now. let us be direct with each other. horribly honest. we were not made to hold in this junk. to hide all of this muck behind our eyes, glazed with false joy. life is beautiful. and equally ugly. and the friendships we commit ourselves in must consider this truth. they must take into account that we need to be candid with one another. and we need to leave room for others to be candid. uncontrived, unrehearsed friendship. that is what i want. and it's okay if it takes time. i've got time. time to spare. :)

and my stomach is aching with hunger.

i shall be merry and eat!

happy labor day. (is that what they say today? i do hope so.)

and i had no answer.

dear children-who-i-will-play-hide-and-seek-with,

if i am not a teacher when you are reading this i must explain why.

it was the twenty-seventh of august and a blistering afternoon as i walked into room 105 with haste. the class? intro to education. the teacher was poised and carried herself with grace. her eyes glowed - warm and welcoming, interested and engaged. she rattled off the requirements, pacing leisurely. eyes still glowing, but now stern. soft but stern. she asked: "why are you taking this course?" and was bombarded with answers such as: i've wanted to be a teacher since i was four, or my mother was a teacher, and before her, my grandmother, or i have helped out in sunday school, or i intern at the ymca. and i had no answer. no passionate, or even slightly enthusiastic response. of course i said something. but it was nothing of consequence or commitment. and with an approving glance, she moved to the next student. my answer had nothing to do with a profound longing in my soul to affect the lives of children in a classroom setting. because that desire is not in me. not now. maybe not ever. thus i dropped my liberal studies major. and i am now a worship and the arts major. worship leader emphasis. i am most complete when in His presence. and am honored to usher in His presence. and am amazed when people engage with Him. there is no thing like it.

that is the story. my story. and your grandfather is worried because he is unsure of the job opportunities i will find. he is concerned that i do not see the reality of my decision. he anticipates the dire situations i might find myself in if i do not declare a "useful" major. a "practical" major. one that will provide for my future. but i know my God. and He is real. and He is entirely more aware of the reality of my decision than even your grandfather is. than even i am. and that is a relief.

sincerely,
a girl who has made a life altering decision to trust that His plans are far better than mine

heart brims with expectancy

these entries are getting scarce, i am full aware. but bear with with me. between starting a new school year (homework already. really?), huge youth event, trying to be a member of this school community and watching gilmore girls (i kid) i'm just not sure i know what to say. or if i have the time to say.



besides that there are lots of changes. good changes on the horizon.

and i am in love with my research methods and study of scripture professor. truly and madly. i kid. i really really kid. (is that something one kids about? probably not.) he is married and has children. and i am no way attracted to his silver hair or his santa clause-like list of credentials. nor am i a homewrecker. perhaps a better way to put it would be that he is like a grandfather. one i dreamt up. i never met either of mine, thus the dreaming. one i love but am not in love with. one with a resevoir of knowledge. yes, that is it. the man can spin a tale. and is a painter of words. and commands attention with his command of language. and has a generous smile. the kind the does not expect a smile back. yes, that is it. but even though some (rudy) reiterate, jokingly of course, how unprepared i am for this class and all it entails. and even though i concede that i may not be ready for this class and all it entails. my heart brims with expectancy. because i am going to be challenged. :)

and i find that music theory and aural theory require an increasing amout of effort. that means practicing these things daily. key signatures, relative and parallel keys, rhythmic dictation must all be second nature to me. i should be able to read this language, these archaic symbols that connect me and beethoven in the most miniscule way. children in small towns in large countries - here, alive in the world, as i am - are learning these things. and the movement of music, this inexplicable gift bestowed to and within us is so worth my time. i want to make music one day. one day.

and i am thoroughly scared for vocal instruction to start. eeks!

bloglite

now introducing bloglite. lighter in tone, subject matter, etc. enjoy. :)

the other day i ventured into forever21. two stories. ::swoon::

this one had their faith21, love21, and heritage 1981 (my favorite) lines. as well as a floor dedicated to low prices in red ink. it was "confessions of a shopaholic" all over again. except, a reality. my budget was set. and there was no going over. and i had to say no approximately thirty-four times. i promise i am not materialistic. it's just that i gave away all the clothes i hardly wear. and ended up with only five tees. anyways, i ended up buying quality pieces that will have (fingers crossed) a long "shelf life." they are necessities, i argue. much like rebecca bloomfield on the sales floor:

"oh! gloves! i need these, as it is winter... and i have hands."

i must admit: i watched this movie on a friday evening and erupted with laughter. the next morning i watched it again. incredibly worth it. this was at my sisters house, when we each ate a medium sized pizza and a bowl of ice cream. never was i more content with such an ample consumption of food, such honest company, and such a well-crafted chick flick.

fact: as i am now a raging "gilmore girls" fan, i will be be sitting in a movie theatre this week watching "post grad." oh, alexis bledel, don't let me down!

, i remind myself

i am unbearably absent-minded. and it is a detriment to my growing up. because i have broken and misplaced too many things. things that are not mine to lose or destroy. mind you, i am trying ever so hard. but all my planning and organizing and attempts at being someone other than a young girl lacking focus have gone awry. slow down, i remind myself. because it is in my hurriedness that i get lost in thought.

lighter note?

music camp was fantastic in every aspect. and last night i devoured a watermelon that revolutionized my taste buds. so cool and sweet. and fear is not on the horizon any more. all i can do is breathe in steam. drink plenty o' water. rest. articulate and anunciate so i could be understood without the raising of my voice. refrain from clearing my throat. cut down dairy products. avoid coffee and soda. never push through. that is all i can do. and it isn't much. but i need not fear sickness or physical ailment. for my beautiful King has conquered it. and He is delivering me. right now. every time i wake up with worry on my mind. there He is.

"i sought the LORD, and He heard me,

and delivered me from all my fears."

psalm 34:4

p.s. today is my last day of summer. classes begin tomorrow. and there is a swell of excitement rising in me.

an overstatement

commuter: an individual who frequently travels between two places and fails with awe-inspiring accuracy at fashioning friendships of any sort; socially inept to the point of loneliness - a point that drives said individual to the car (parked far away from the others) to read a book... and not interact for fear of humiliation and rejection.

yes, i do commute. and yes, i am guilty of eating the majority of my meals in my car when the few people i do communicate with regularly are m.i.a. i also must admit that the above definition is an overstatement. the fear is real. as is the rejection. but the language is elaborate and inflated like a muscle-man suit on halloween. it is okay, i get it. and i realize that people are unaware of how exclusive their groups really are. they live with each other. eat with each other. study with each other. skip class with each other. etc. etc. etc. and i admit that i am largely uninvolved in this community that many rave about. i want to. not out of desperation, because i do have solid friends whom i spend time without outside of this school. not out of a need to be the center of attention, because i cannot withstand such a pressure. but out of a basic human longing to get a joke you are telling. and laugh with you. but there are so many of you, and only one of me.

don't get me wrong, i am not throwing a pity party.*

i am quite happy - satisfied with both my schoolwork and current relationships. but as i was waiting for time to pass between university registration and lunch (a whopping forty-five minutes), i came across this passage in "a tree grows in brooklyn":

And Francie did cry [...] because she was lonesome and nobody wanted to play with her. The rougher children found Francie too quiet and the better behaved ones seemed to shun her [...] So in the warm summer days the lonesome child sat on her stoop and pretended disdain for the group of children playing on the sidewalk. Francie played with imaginary companions and made believe that they were better than real children. But all the while her heart beat in rhythm to the poignant sadness of the song the children sang while walking around in a ring with hands joined.

my teachers, in loopy cursive, would always comment that i worked well independently. and it's true. i am rory gilmore at chilton during her second year. and i sit alone at lunch. and it bothers me some. but this is, as emily gilmore would put it, a habit i learned from my parents. who taught me, without words, the finer points of a hermit lifestyle. the advantage of not having friends over, mine or theirs. solitude was encouraged. there were too many children. and paychecks were stretched. and time was noisy. and they never set the example.

but i am going to try and burst out of this shell, no matter how lame this hermit metaphor is.

and i may make forever friendships. and i may get your joke. and you may even get mine.

*and please, i beg of you: do not befriend me because you read this. go about your business and feel no pity. or ugency to smile at me and ask me to sit with you when you see me scrolling through my phone. thank you. :)

p.s. today was good. i promise. i just felt introspective. and the length of this introspective post is so unbearable i will not read it through for misspellings. enjoy.

just as tenacious

today i am aware of my new obsession: cleaning. constant scrubbing. wiping. polishing. everyday is cleaning day. i am now my mother. taller but just as tenacious. i used to look on dishwashing with utter disgust. vacuuming was noise that interrupted my television show. windex just smelled funny. i am on the way to a more domesticated self. my husband will be proud. and clean, for my sake and sanity.

tomorrow is the first day of music camp. and i am shaking in my boots. quite literally.

sweetsmelling savour

"Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children;

and walk in love, just as Christ also loved you

and gave Himself up for us, an offering and

a sacrifice to God as a fragrant aroma."

ephesians 5:1-2

this surrendering of life by the king of kings is likened to a fragrant aroma. the king james says "sweet smelling savour." throughout the old testament, particularly leviticus and numbers, when offerings were given up they too were described as pleasing and soothing fragrances. rams and bulls are not required any longer as an offering of repentance. so what is my sacrifice? what is my "sweet smelling savour" unto God?

"therefore, i urge you, brothers, in view of

God's mercy,to offer your bodies as

living sacficies, holy and pleasing

to God - this is your spiritual

act of worship."

romans 12:1

it is my life. poured out into the Father's hands.

the decision to grow up

i have made the decision to grow up in small steps that mean a great deal. on tuesday i drove to ikea, purchased a desk, drove it home and assembled it. two phillips screwdrivers and twenty screws later (mother insisted the drill was too dangerous) i hung van gogh's "mandolro in fiore" above this new work area. three days later, i am still glowing with pride. radiant i tell you!

my next small step towards adulthood was to clean out the garage with my mother. we made a dent in this monumentous task. meaning? my fourth grade mission with screens in the windows, a kiln and fountain made of clay and plaster o' paris walls had to be chucked along with the cottoncandy pink tissue paper kite i made in third grade. its polka dotted blue tail with bows will be missed dearly. that being said, my mother gave me two bins to sort through. and it has been a joy to slowly mull over every single report card, award, picture, art project, spelling test, happy [insert holiday here] card my parents insist on keeping. there is this picture of my mother that is fresh and alive, that captures all my breath. i wish i had a scanner so you could see it. there is nothing like it in all the world.

i never learned how to ride a bike when i was younger. one fall, and i threw in the towel. that was when we lived in little mexico and our neighbors were samoan with children named after precious things like jade and ruby and pearl. my father said to hell with it and i never learned. earlier this summer i said that the streets will be mine. and after borrowing jenny's "miss huffy" bicycle and riding with michael yesterday afternoon i realized that the streets will not be mine. grass i can do with an exagerrated ease. but the pavement is strictly a challenge right now. a fear, if you will. it will be mine, just not right now.

and, as if this blog is not long enough, i vow to only purchase items of clothing that color me confident. items that i will wear a thousand times and still feel incredibly beautiful and immeasurably uncommon each time i wear them. that is all a young lady really longs for: to know how uncommon she truly is. and to feel it deeply.