Roots

I think we must lose ourselves now and again to find ourselves that much stronger, to know ourselves that much more. To have the ability come back to who we were made to be we must be in tune to the fact that we have forgotten who we were, and to come back to who we were made to be we must take the time to remember who that person was, and why. When we take the time to remember who that person was, we inevitably discover things that have been hidden, lost, or completely undiscovered yet. What a wonderful thing to peel back the things hiding us and find the core of ourselves, our heartbeat, our colors. Every time we lose ourselves, we come back a little bit brighter. When the winter melts off the trees and the leaves grow back we’re finally able to see what kind of trees surround us, what kind of leaves they grow.

Before a tree dies for the cold winter season they lose their leaves and leave them at base of their roots. Not an accident, I’m sure.

Find the dancing colors

I think our lives are dependent on beauty. Beauty means that things are living, growing, being noticed and taken care of. Ugly brings death. Beauty brings life. But lack of beauty has been evident in my life lately. Ugly has infiltrated itself into my life and blinded me from good things. Good things that bring joy, like looking out into the brisk mountain air through the window and seeing flurries of snow dance around the waving tree branches while I sit comfortably in a blanket of warm, peaceful air; letting the beauty of sounds, whispers, music, and every day voices be my soundtrack, my comfort, my home; allowing the scents of my surroundings bring me to a place of peace and excitement. Instead, I use my senses to drift me slowly into a nostalgia of days more sorrowful, more joyful, more familiar times rather than living in the reality of the moments I find myself in, feeling all the feelings my Lord has given me, and then thanking Him for the great gift of these senses.

Now I learn to take joy in the feeling of my soft blanket on my skin, engulfing me through the night and keeping me warm from the chilly mountain air, the sounds of my keyboard beneath my fingertips typing out my thoughts and tapping me into the reality of the beauty that surrounds me. I take joy in the thin, subtle smell of cold air, and the sight of the mountains at night when the moon is full, the snow-caps glow softly in the midst of the black sky. Lastly I bring myself back to the simple flavors of a good cup of coffee, or homemade bread, good whiskey, or a good ol’ stinky cheese. These things that once brought the colors to my happiness I have so quickly forgotten to notice.

Today I will notice, and I will soak in every color I can find. Colors make our eyes come alive. Colors mean the light is dancing, and God is Light. To notice the beauty is to notice God. He makes things beautiful. He made my life beautiful.

Remedies

I walked up to the counter at the BBQ place wearing pajamas, a hobo hat, and tennis shoes, and plopped my elbows on the counter that reached just below my chest which made the little skinny girl who hadn’t eaten in three days feel even punier. Looking at the hostess with a reserved joy about finally gaining my appetite back I asked, "Can I place an order to go, please?" After sitting down and looking through the menu for that one thing I wanted, I ordered with my soft, sickly voice, “Can I have a Taphouse burger with Swiss cheese.. and bacon… and fries?” Let me inform you that the Taphouse burger without the bacon is already 1.2 lbs of meat. “And, can I get all the sauces on the side too?”

I pay the girl at the counter and she tells me it will be about ten minutes. I started filling the little sauce containers she gave me with all the sauces. I dab one, taste it with my finger, and squeeze it in until it made a farting noise. I farted some right onto her counter even. “I’m so sorry, I spilled some”. And she cleaned up after me.

Ten minutes later I was handed a giant bag with a giant Styrofoam box filled with a giant burger and a giant mass of fries. I walked out groggily dragging my feet and picking my wedgie. A real lady I am. Now, here I sit in my room, drinking my juice box, watching a girly movie, and eating a big fatty burger. I say this is how you get rid of strep throat.

To be heartbroken

I don't think being heartbroken happens all of the sudden. It's a slow process of one thing after another digging to the deepest spots of where your heart is most tender.

Four steps forward, and three steps backward. It's progress, but it's slow.
Love hurts.

Steady Hands

There’s abounding joy so deeply embedded into my heart. But I have a sadness that drips from my eyes. Even when my eyes are filled with smiles. It’s a longing. I’m joyful for things I know and understand, and I’m deeply sad by things I know, and do not know at the same time. 

It’s a longing in my heart. 

For things to be good and right. 

To feel a hand holding my own. 

To be caught up in a moment that will follow the joys of my heart for the rest of my days.

Music gives me that longing. Music.

What is it with art? There is something deeply spiritual going on that goes much further than an artists fingertips to her work. Maybe it’s the same between God and I. Perhaps there is a place I long to be that I have yet to find between God, the artist, and I, the work of art. Perhaps. 

There’s something I don’t understand going on. I’m still part canvass. He’s not finished me. Will He? I still feel so much of me is blank canvass, and so little of me has been created. I know without doubt that God has a few quirky ideas up His sleeve about what He’s going to make me into. I feel as though He’s just standing there now, though. Maybe He’s not. Maybe He’s working on the most intricate parts of me right now, His hands so steady that it feels like endless stillness. 

I feel impatient. Yet He is so patient. God, teach me your patience. Teach me to be steadfast. Comfort me and teach me to look to you only for my comfort.

the most comforting arms

I am amazed by my loving God. Every time I seek Him He is faithful beyond my expectations.
Through this summer here in Estes Park God has been consistently reminding me that I am not as forgettable as I have believed all my life. He continues to fill me with His peace. He opens His arms to me when I become stagnant and desire to run back to Him. God is slowly awakening deep desires in my heart.
Most of all. Most of all. He takes care of me. I hesitate writing about how amazed I am by this one thing; how amazed I am at His faithfulness of how he takes care of me. I struggle to find the perfect words to get my heart and point out. They're not there.
When I seek to learn more about my God He continually draws me back to show me that He is always taking care of me, that He always is wrapping His arms around me, keeping me safe, and making sure I am loved, safe, healthy, and in a good place. I look to find new things for God to teach me but once again, I will find him drawing me back and saying, "Look Sarah, still you are fully taken care of by me. I will never stop taking care of you. When you feel like no one else can take care of you, I will always be right next to you providing you with everything you need." Even when I don't feel He needs to be showing me this, He still will be showing me this. It has been the theme in life. When no one else can take care of me, God can. He always is, always has been, always will. And He LOVES it! It's a great joy to Him for me to fall into His arms with full trust as I let him take care of me. I can tell you lists of ways God has done this for me.
My words are failing me. My actions, my thoughts, my feelings. They are all failing me because God is so much bigger than all those things. It's okay, though. I rest in the fact that one day there world will be as it should and no longer this body of mine will fail to express the largeness of my love for my God.
He longs to take care of us all. Let Him. Sometimes we don't even realize how exactly it is we need to be taken care of, but it makes me fee safe to know that many times, only God knows.

Scardy-cat above 14,000 feet

So many of my memories as a child are of me being scared, freaking out, backing away, saying 'no'. I went through a few traumatizing experiences as a child and it caused me to grow up in fear. of. everything. I had to be forced to go on the go-carts with my dad driving, and I made him go much slower than the surrounding drivers. I'd wait to cross the street until I could see zero cars in the distance. I wouldn't even touch the St. Louis Arch when my family drove to see it. I was irrationally terrified of everything around me. For swimming lessons as a child, I wouldn't even jump into the pool on the shallow end. The swimming teachers had to lower me in.
I have learned to grow out of my little-scared-weenie-ness. Mostly. That scared girl inside of me jumps out now and again, though I do a pretty good job of keeping her from ruining some of my fun.
Yesterday I may have gotten rid of her for good on Longs Peak.
Longs is one of the 14ers of the Colorado mountains. That means it's elevation at the summit is over 14,000 feet high. Hiking a 14er takes a toll on your body hiking that much, being that high with the thin air and less oxygen. You have to be prepared with water and food, and be ready for the possibility of altitude sickness. These hikes go well above treeline where vegetation can't grow in the lack of oxygen.
Longs Peak itself is a do-able hike for anyone who can take the physical toll on their body, and if they can look down steep cliffs without letting it mess with their mind. The route Stena, Cameron, Derek, and I did on Longs yesterday, however, took way more mental power than I was ready to give.
It's called the Northwest Couloir and it's a class 4 climb, class 5 being the hardest. Once you get to this part of Longs you are no longer "hiking", you're mountaineering. You're climbing. We all agreed when we saw the climb to go off the Keyhole route and give the Northwest Couloir a go. Finding good hand holds to climb up and trying not to kick down the loose rocks wasn't easy, but it was do-able. It was a rush, and it took a lot of mental strength to not look down at the thousand foot drops beneath us and focus only on how carefully we were making our next move... and wishing we had ropes...
A little shaky, we all made it carefully to the last part of the climb where we would finally summit the peak of Longs. We looked out towards the beautiful view as we were towering high above the rest of the mountains in the park, and Derek goes to scout out our last move. Every stop was nerve racking because we could see ahead of us how steep the climb kept getting, but we rest assured that once we summited we'd hike down the Keyhole route which would be much easier and safer.
Instead, as we're sitting there waiting for Derek, we hear an, "Ooohhhh shoot....." and all looked at each other with fear in our eyes. Derek comes back to tell us we can't really make it up that way without a rope. It's wet, it's steep, and it's dangerous. Our only way off of Longs Peak is to down-climb what we just came up. If you've never down-climbed anything, I'll tell you now it's about 983246387 times scarier than climbing up. All I am thinking about up there is how three people already died on Longs this summer, I'd rather not make it 7, I can't die on my dad's birthday, and.... how the hell do we get a hold of a helicopter to come rescue us? This required backing off things, setting your feet where you can't see, and facing those thousand foot drops straight ahead with the majority of the rocks beneath being very loose.
Every move counted. It counted towards keeping me alive in a very literal sense. Falling or slipping would have meant a steep tumble down and down and down with a very minimal chance of living through it. Two specific moves I had to make terrified me down to my core, the second one being when we heard thunder in the distance. Lightening on a mountain above treeline is probably more dangerous than the steep cliffs beneath.
Finally the four of us made it down safely back to they Keyhole where we decided not to finish the summit because of how draining our whole experience was. We finished hiking down, the lightening never came, and my Sweet Jesus had us all in the palm of his hand.
When I got back alive I looked up that route we did only to find out that people do that route with helmets and ropes. Not only that, but someone had died on that route this summer, and we ended up going up and down the right side of the face, which happens to be the more difficult side.
I was terrified, but we all made it down with a good focus, not letting our imaginations and 'what-if's' take us over. I think the scardy-cat I grew up with has finally left the building.
And I will never do that again, but oh was it fun....

I'm cranked, are you cranked?

Sitting alone outside, watching the sunset, and eating dinner yesterday on my blanket, I turned around to find a well-dressed woman wearing giant sunglasses watching me from no more than fifteen feet away. I raised my eyebrows.
"You've got it cranked!" she yelled and smiled.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"You've got it CRANKED!" she repeated, motioning her arm in circles while thrusting her hips, "I LOVE it!"
She got in her car and drove away on her cell phone.
Well that was awkward...

make, this day, your daily bread

What is food? It's been described as fuel, nourishment, energy, etc. It's all those things. Mostly, to me, food is a gift. It's yet another way God reveals His marvel to us, His artistry to us, His care for us.
God gives us dirt, and colors, and beautiful foods to grow from His canvass: the Earth. He allows us to be partners with Him giving us the opportunity to plant and care for these things, while He provides sunshine and natural nutrients from His canvass.
Food comes from everywhere around us. It grows, it runs, it blooms. All these things are made dripping with succulent flavors. Crispy, chewy, beautiful, colorful, grainy, and satisfying. Food is an artistic necessity that involves all of our senses. Our bodies are temples, and we are image bearers of our God who provides for us such glorious ways to enjoy our fuel. This body is something I must take care of. To take care of my body is glorifying God in more ways than my mind can understand. To enjoy the nourishment that God has placed on this Earth for us to eat is glorifying to Him. To nourish our bodies, to enjoy our food, and to taste every flavor in our mouth, is glorifying to God.
When I eat I want the deepest colors and I want the richest flavors. I want to use my hands to make my food, and when I do I feel close to God. I feel like His partner in this creative process. He reveals to me how to better live life through mere enjoyment.
Food makes us use our hands. It helps us know our bodies. It brings community and satisfaction.
Eating is deeply spiritual. Knowing your body is deeply spiritual. Even knowing merely when you're hungry and when you're full, is spiritual.

This makes me think of the Eucharist, and how awesome it is. How I think there is so much more to taking the Eucharist than I understand, but I enjoy it nonetheless.
I think it's a travesty when communion is taken through packaged wafers and grape juice. There is something beautiful about bread that has been made by the kneading hands of His people which, in the Eucharist, represents Christ's body. There is something spiritual about a people drinking wine that has been grown and cared for and made by His creation, and holds so much significance in His Word. We bastardize it when we open our individual packages which came from a factory to take a not-so-holy communion.
I do understand, though, that God is bigger than a packaged wafer. He meet's us where we're at... even in our grape juice.
But why skimp if we don't have to? I want to glorify His Majesty in my every bite. He is worthy of kneading my own bread, and pouring my own wine. He is worthy of the extra time it takes to grow a garden, or create from scratch.
I have found such a great worship to my Lord in caring for myself, and glorifying Him through flavors and food.
Slow down. Make something rather than just opening a package. Cut your lettuce rather than buying it in a bag. See this amazing process. Let the sound of the knife on the cutting board add to the sensory experience of meal time.
Yeast, baking soda, salt. It's chemistry, it's art, and it's nourishment. Wow. What an amazing God to give all of this to us.

the poop train

In rare bouts of weirdness (I am delusional- that is not rare) I like to talk about poop. C'mon. It's good for you. And healthy. Two to three times a day, guys. Stop acting like bodily functions don't happen to you daily. And stop acting like you don't LOVE pooping. You do.
Get on the poop train. I have an incredibly pointless and plot-less story. I'm a writer, I've got all kinds of this shit up my sleeve. (That was on purpose. It's like a pun.)
Onward.
One fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. I didn't know him well (or at all, really). I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live for a month and I got an offer from a strangely normal person to watch his dog, George, and his house while Mr. Normal was away doing what he does. We'll bypass that weird story for another time. But yes, I posted myself on craigslist for a place to live and found one. Sketch-free, even.
Once again, one fine day I was house sitting for a man in Seattle. In my morning regularity I made my way to his bathroom and, as a regular person does every now and again, I clogged it. The toilet wouldn't flush. You know that terrifying thing that happens when you flush the toilet and instead of the water going down it just starts coming up so slowly, but sooooo quickly, and then you stare at it kind of squatty and wide-eyed, like a football player ready to block a play (but really you have no idea what you're doing) until you realize that that is not actually going to prolong the raising of the toilet water. It's still comin' atchya. That's when everything on the floor frantically ends up in the bathtub to prevent... soiling, if you will.
Perfect timing for my dad to call. So you know when your dad calls sometimes and you answer with, "DAD! I clogged the toiletandit'sallcomingatme and I don'tknowwhattodowhatdoIdo!?" No? Well, if you did I bet he wouldn't spend many, many precious toilet-water-raising moments to laugh hysterically at you. Mine, on the other hand... did. And then, gasping for air, suggested to call a plumber.
A plumber?! So when Greg gets back in a few weeks I hand him his plumber bill and say, "Hey dude, I took a shit and clogged your shitter. Sorry man. Here's your bill. By the way, thanks for letting me live in your house for free." Nope. Not going to happen. So I grabbed the plunger, which apparently had saliva glands, or something, because it slobbered on me from the knees down before I even allowed it to touch the flooding toilet. Not much in my life would make me kill for a shower. Until I got soaked by a pre-used toilet plunger.
Knees wet, crack free, I fixed it thank you very much. The flood ceased, and other than where the plunger spat on the floor (and me), the bathroom floor was dry as bone.
My poop train day didn't finish. Nohohoho. No there.
So, you know when you go sit at a cafe for seven hours and you drink so much coffee that, a) you're sweating like a pig, and b) after the third cup your bowels are a-churnin'? (Sometimes I am a lady, I promise). Well this was one of those days. Bathrooms at this place are one-holers. And gender-free. They don't discriminate over in Seattle.
So, you know when you suddenly realize that you could be really embarrassed about something, so you stop dead in your tracks like a deer in headlights and want to shrink into a mouse hole? That's what I did when I walked out of the bathroom after... you know, and saw a line of four attractive men waiting in line behind me to get in. Stop. Stare. Almost throw up in my mouth. And then laugh a little while I made eye contact with each of them.
At this point there can be no more shame. At this point I can't see a stinky bathroom with a skidmark behind me. At this point I choose to see four attractive men all here to look at me staring at them like a deer in headlights. Milk it. Smile. And walk away confidently. Bowchickawowow.

How to go mad in three days

This week's lesson: NEVER. live. alone.
Staying at my newlywed friends' apartment while they're away on their honeybunnymoon and I have officially spent the last almost-three days with very little human interaction, and spending the majority of the day alone (and going mad). Scratch that. All of the day, minus the small encounters in grocery check-out isles and what not. By the way... Colorado Whole Foods = babes at the register... just sayin'. Give me a reason to go out looking good, and that reason would be Whole Foods. Bowchickawowow.
Anywhiz. Spending three days alone may make you go mad in the hizzhead forcing... someone (me?) to cook up extremely strange food combinations while watching three movies.. in a row. Perhaps eat WAY too many digestive enzyme chewables (they taste like strawberry), and start reading horoscopes online whilst taking quizzes off of Seventeen.com. Sometimes you just need to know if you could date Justin Beiber. Or, am I about to get dumped? Oop. Too late for that one Seventeen.
Seems depressing? Nah. I just spent the last twenty minutes laughing out loud with myself like a teenager at a sleepover. Mad, you say? Probably. Hopefully my "normalcy" comes back once I get the hell out of here. (hahahhahhahhaa..)
Speaking of getting the hell out of here, it is suddently hailing like the end of the world out there and I might be a little terrified.
Moving away from the window.
Pray for my safety.... and my sanity I think...

Raise the roofie

Why do people seem to think I am such an easy target? I think I have you all fooled... I am not an easy target. I seem nice and naive, but I know exactly what's going on beneath that schmoozy smile of yours. I know what you're thinking between those ears of yours. You think I don't know, but I know. My good vibe radar is always on and it works pretty damn good if you ask me. How do you think I've stayed safe after all these hitchhiking and traveling shenanigans? I've invested in my trusty good vibe radar, and all has been well since.
It was even working for me that one night that Quality Beer bar was opening.
Saturday night. Opening night. And Rachel's last hooh-ha before she left for the Peace Corps in Rwanda. My good vibe radar is working just fine. By bad vibe radar starts blowing up when I start attempting to order my first beer and Tall Strange Man starts talking to me. Tall Strange Man has a charm, but it's a forced charm. He eyes my Illinois tattoo and says, "Hmmm, based on blah, blah, and blah, I'm going to say that you're frrrrommm.... Chicago?". Well yes, how ever did you know?
And then there's me, "I'm nice, I'm too nice, blah blah blah, look at me be nice to you even though my bad vibe radar is flashing in my face".
"Wow, well I used to live in the Chicago area. I used to live in Naperville. You know Naperville?"
"I know Naperville. It's snooty. I like to call everyone who lives there Naper-villans. (Hehe)."
"Well, my all time favorite story from living in Naperville was when I was looking out my window from my apartment one day, and this GIANT yellow Hummer pulls up and parks on the street. This girl opens the door. This teeny tiny girl in this teeny tiny short skirt opens the door and she can't get out because her skirt is too short!"
Oh. my. god. Rachel? Help me? I elbowed my friends chatting on the other side of me. I turn around after they get my attention (with my beer sitting there on the bar open for play of course). And then I decide to let him finish his story because I'm too nice. Remember?
He continues, "Well, I watched this girl for a good ten minutes while she's trying all these ways to get out of her giant Hummer in her tiny skirt, but she just cant get out without her skirt coming up. So I watch her look around, hike her skirt up, turn around, and jump out of the Hummer... she was wearing a THONG! Can you believe that!? I just couldn't believe I got flashed by a girl in a thong in Naperville. I just love that story. I just love it."
Man. I really know how to attract the good ones.
"Well that's just great. Sounds like Naperville to me."
"You know, I live in Mohamett, but I come to Champaign on the weekends to play. I'd love to hear about your traveling stories. I'd like to take your phone number."
"I'll think about it." I replied. And turned around.
And around and around and around.... is the room spinning? Nope. That's probably the roofies kicking in.
One of our regulars from Pekara spotted us at the bar and came over to tell us how much he loves coming in there, and how great of an atmosphere we make the place. He want's to buy us all a round of drinks. Rachel and I are, of course, ecstatic. This is ourr looovvaahhh. He comes in looking all handsome working at Corkscrew (a wine place in town), smiles, and tips us a couple of bucks each day. So here I am trying to turn on my charm, which really isnt working about half-way through my ONE beer where the room is spinning and I can't quite see which face of his is the one talking to me.
"Excuse me," I say to him once I finish my beer, and ask a friend to escort me to the bathroom since I'm not quite sure I can make it alone.
I smile, giggle, and walk away saying, "Hehehehe, I think I think I'm going to throw up! Hehehe!" And I do. It's on my shirt, it's in my breath. But mostly in the toilet. And I walk back to our looovvaahhh thinking things will be okay now. Of course! Who doesn't love a girl with beer on her shirt and vomit on her breath? Oh, and, isn't this drunk feeling supposed to go away once you actually get it out of your system? Maybe not when there's a roofie in it. I drink beer. I can drink more than ONE beer, and I have never. ever. ever. felt like this before. This. is. terrible.
Rachel decides that now is a good time to take me home where I stumbled into my sister's house, and couldn't go any further. I couldn't bring myself to change my clothes or brush my teeth. I made it all the way to the bathroom only to feel my body get terribly heavy, and feeling so nauseous I can't keep my eyes open. So I lay down in front of the shower for the night, and sunk into the ground hoping I'll feel better in the morning.
Morning came. Laying there on the bathroom floor, and I was sick on the couch drinking ginger ale and crackers all day praying that I could just vomit out my insides so I don't feel like this anymore.
A hangover from one undigested beer? Or a hangover from a Tall Strange Man roofie?
I never would, but ladies, don't ever go out to a bar without someone you trust with you. Kapish?

bittersweet

There is always, always, always a sadness in my heart when I leave an old destination and head out for a new one. Seattle was once my saddest departure. Champaign has crept it's way up to the far lead. Let's just get this out there... I sort of love humidity. I love my jogs down University Ave drooling over all the beautiful houses (perfect for starting a small hostel in...). I love nights at the Blind Pig where I always end up meeting new people. And of course running into people I'd rather not meet again. I miss my family. And I miss watching girly movies with my sister. I loved waking up every morning early to the birds chirping over my tent. I loved being able to get anywhere on my bike in ten minutes or less. I loved walking downtown and inevitably running into someone I know, and of course love. I even miss working at Pekara and greeting my regulars with my most friendly smile. I miss getting roofied at the new bar in town... err... actually I don't miss that. Should I even tell that story..? Yikes.
I thrive on hospitality. It's a bit hard to be hospitable to people in a new setting. I'll find a way. I always do.
I'll see you again soon Champaign.

The road is not always fun and games

I did. I pulled over last night numerous times, calling my dad in tears to check the weather again... and again... and again... and...
There is something eerie about the sun setting where you can't see it. The only thing I could see was the glow it gave the cumulus clouds that sparked with a flash of lightning off to my left. The roads became scarce after entering I-76. There were only rolling hills and highway in the distance. No tail lights ahead of me, no headlights behind me. Deserted exits from the highway were few and far between. The rain was loud. My car was being whipped around by the wind, and every once in awhile I'd hydroplane a little bit sending a shock wave of terror through my veins. Totally. alone.
A wet night on the highway is no place for tired eyes. When the storm finally passed me I pulled off at the next Walmart I found and marched into civilization to buy a snack and a redbox movie. Parking off in a tucked away corner, I situated myself in my car and let the glow of a lighthearted movie on my laptop finally lull me to sleep in my little Abigail Von Wedge. And I sort of loved it...

Welcome home you dirty hippie

I love being greeted into a Rainbow Gathering. "Welcome Home!" everyone shouts, and everyone crowds around to give you a hug and you always part with, "lovin' you sister, lovin' you". It's so sincere. They are lovin' on you. They're lovin' on each other. They're lovin' in the woods.
My greeting yesterday was the same. But rather than a forest full of hippies, I was surrounded by a forest full of trailer trash and dirty punk kids... and then that one guy... who was fabulously flamboyant, but insistently straight. They were all sitting in the oven that they built into the dirt. There were sticks jutting out of the ground with tarps and blankets draped over to make what was the main kitchen where makshift tables were set up and a tent FULL of food was standing next to it. I met Crab, Captain Rainbow, Taco, and all the other so-and-so's. Those are their "family names". Their given names like Jack and Conner were what they called their Babylon names. Of course it's kind of hard to remember a bunch of names like Joe Shmoe and So-and-so. But it sure is fun to try.
As soon as I sat down in the kitchen to make myself comfortable the eleven year old fat girl started pestering me to go swimming with her. Her mom was mean to her and always said 'no' to things, so anyone who is remotely nice about something (like myself), even if they're saying no, she takes it as an almost yes and will do her best to manipulate, bat her eyelashes, and get all up in your face until you say yes. And I wasn't having it. Until she asked if she could tattoo me with a sharpie.
"Ehh, Okay." What's the worst she could to? "Just nothing on my face." I told her. So she sat in front of me, looked me up and down, opened her sharpie and went to town on my arm. She started drawing a cross. Well that's sweet, I thought. I can dig this. I stared off into space for awhile, and when she finished I looked down to a giant cross on my arm with a blacked in snake slithering around it, and the words, "We love you" in chicken scratch nearly up on my shoulder. Oh god I hope this comes off tomorrow.
I decided right from the start not to stay for a long time. I didn't like the vibes. I'm big on the vibes. Gotta trust my vibes. You know? So I hiked up to the meadow where all the overweight people told me NOT to go because I'll HATE the hike (which actually wasn't that bad). I pitched my tent there and hiked around a bit, helped make dinner, and contributed my two jugs of water to my Rainbow Family. That was going to be it for me until the next morning.
The only other young girl at the gathering was not friendly by any means, and all the young guys (well, the ones that actually spoke every once in awhile) just talked about smoking pot and how they want to stay in he woods forever doing nothing. Not my idea of a productive life.
Later in the night we gathered around the fire for a drum circle, a time of discussion and suggestions for the gathering, and I skipped out to bed right before the "om". I've got different idea of spirituality than these folks, and I didn't quite want to hold hand with them around the fire chanting and making myself vulnerable to a spirituality that I'm not sure I am completely comfortable with. I walked back to my site and prayed my own prayers to my own God and fell quickly to sleep after journaling.
Until.. that is... around midnight a couple of drunk kids walked back to their tent which was right next to mine screaming and yelling at the top of their lungs to the people on the other side of the meadow for a GOOD twenty minutes. I heard one whisper now and again "I think people are trying to sleep man," and the response to that would be, "GET OFFFFFFF MY PORCH MOTHER FUUCKKKEERRRRRRRR. OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOH OH OH OH. YI YI YI YI YI. OIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII. WHERE YOU AT BOY!"
Twenty minutes.

This morning I packed up my tent, peeled the snails off my tent, and hiked back into the woods. I hiked down the hill and thought, well this doesn't look familiar. And hiked back up to the meadow. Examined the area a bit. Well maybe I just don't remember what it looked like. That's probably it. So I hiked back down again. I got the same spot and thought, well crap, I can't go down there. That doesn't look familiar. Once again, hiking all the way back up to the meadow, back to the Quit Your Bitchin' Kitchin' (as they liked to call it), and asked for help from a brother who walked me all the way back to the fork in the road where I got lost in the first place. Yep. I went the wrong way and would have ended up in the middle of nowhere Iowa in the middle of nowhere in the woods!
One hundred miles later I am in Omaha at a Starbucks where I washed myself and brushed me teeth in the bathroom, and got myself some beloved coffee. Welcome to the open road.
Nebraska, I hate you. I've got 450 miles of nothingness ahead of me until I hit Colorado.
And Champiagn, actually, I miss you lots. And all the people you have there. I'll be back.

in time of trouble...

"The Lord is near to me with my broken heart, and he saves me with my contrite spirit."

"for in the time of trouble... He shall set me up upon a rock."

"I will set my dwelling in and among you. And my soul will not despise or reject or separate itself from you. And I will walk in, and with, and among you and will be your God, and your shall be mine."


How?
To know that the Lord will never forsake me, but to feel worthless and rejected. There's not much I can do here. All I have the desire to do is wake up and cry as I look into the sky. Wish for the black hole to swallow me, because somewhere in my heart I think that no one will remember or care much anyway.
But the Lord, He'll set me up upon a rock. I am His.
These words are helpful words, but they have not sunk into my heart. There's something there that's taking up too much space. There's a feeling in my heart that refuses to let these words comfort me. No matter how much I desperately want, and how much I desperately need them to comfort me.
Why must such terrible feeling exist? Why does it seem like there's nothing I can do about them?
My sister, Kimberly, encouraged me to not let being forgettable become part of my identity. But I've been forgotten for so many years, and I'm afraid it may already have. I'm afraid it has become part of my identity since childhood. Making this feeling all the harder to shake.

And.

there is
nothing
I
can
do.

How can God comfort me now? Where is the rock He's going to set me on? I feel like it's just been thrown at me. For the first time a feeling so deep has left me feeling hopeless about it's departure from my life. Usually there's a glimmer.
Not today.

unforgettable

Last Autumn I was living in Seattle with a sad feeling that sunk deeply into my heart. I don't quite know where it came from, but it was so heavy on me for an entire four months.
On one particular day I'm sure I had been crying, lying in bed all day, and reading. My dad called later that day to see how I was doing. He has this way of asking questions, digging deep, and helping me figure out the root of my feelings, or just my feelings in general. I only remember two things about that conversation. One: the phone was slippery and wet from all my sobbing tears which felt absolutely disgusting on my cheek. Two: I had discovered the root feeling of so many tears over my lifetime.

He had been asking me questions of, why do I get angry when "this" happens, and what triggers my sadness, and so-on. Finally, there was a short silence.
I answered to my dad in tears, "I'm afraid of being forgotten"...
I swear he could feel my despair through the telephone. His voice quivered, "There's a giant hole in your heart there, isn't there?"
"Yes." I realized.... and I lost it.

I am afraid of being forgotten. Every once in awhile that wound gets rubbed back open and bleeds a lot, and hurts a lot.
Right now, it hurts a lot.
My biggest fear in life, and I don't say this lightly, is being forgettable. I don't even ask for some great big space in peoples hearts. Just to simply be there.
And more often than not I feel as though I have failed. I feel as though I am perhaps the most forgettable person in peoples lives.
I don't say this as 22 year old woman waving, smiling, "DONT FORGET ABOUT ME FOLKS!"
I say this feeling small, like a four-year-old not loud enough to call out to her friends who have trailed so far ahead of her in a vast cornfield, "guys, hey, I'm back here, please don't forget about me".

Hey guys, I'm back here...

fell to sleep, and fell to peace

This morning I woke up with an overwhelming peace.
I lay in bed last night with a sudden urgency to pray. There was a sense of uneasy spirits in the air around me, and I prayed to be protected in my heart, mind, spirit, and body. It's been a long time since I've had that uneasy feeling, but it has happened often, and I do believe that our spirits are so vulnerable when we sleep. Nightmares used to terror me since I was just a little girl.
My sleep had been very peaceful for so long... until this moment last night. And then I prayed. I prayed for sweet dreams sent from God Himself.
I'll be honest, dark dreams have occurred so often that there was a tinge of faithlessness about God actually protecting my dreams last night. But as I fell into my sleep I was met with a fantastical dream where I was standing inside an airplane flying over the Earth. Not just any airplane though, a skydiving airplane. I was so calm here in this place. I didn't know what to do, but I felt the need to jump so I did. When I jumped the leap sent me into such a peaceful soar through the sky where I remember seeing such beauty surrounding me. There was no heart racing adrenalin or anything. I smiled and took as much in as I could in this short moment.
As I neared the ground I remember not knowing if I had a parachute on, but I trusted that the Lord would guide me even though I was just the slightest bit fearful. When I found the parachute I didn't know how to land, but knew to trust my instincts and do what came naturally as I landed so quickly on the green grass of the Earth.
I remember smiling so big, wishing I could do it all over again because of how peaceful it was, and I didn't quite get to see enough of the beauty that was everywhere. It was such a comfortable, and new place as I was free falling through the air.
A crowd of people ran up to me asking me all these questions about it thinking, of course, that it was like any other skydiving experience you'd expect. I explained that it wasn't at all like a normal experience. It wasn't all what they thought. This was different. What I had done was wonderful.
Whatever I had experienced up there put a very, very deep peace about me. And peace is the only word I have because of its overwhelming hugeness in my dream. The peace was not ending there at my landing, but just beginning.
What a wonderful feeling to wake up to. What a wonderful God to protect my sleeping vulnerability and gift me with such great things.

Always... I mean... Never ride with strangers

Whenever I'm in an absolute blissful time in life, I know that a year from that moment I'll be looking back with deep nostalgia with my head in the clouds... "a year ago today..." I'll think. I know, I know- I must live in these precious moments that are now, or else I won't have the joy of wonderful memories.. blah blah blah.
I do know that, and I am continually learning how to take captive these moments of now. But last night I was thinking of all the adventures I've had because I'd been gutsy (maybe stupid), trusting my wonderful God, and... not having a car.
It's been over a year, with the exception of a couple of months, of not having a car. Last January after the long haul from Seattle to Chicago in 40 straight hours, my car was stolen in Chicago with almost everything I owned in it. Of course I cried, that sucks! But two days later I was laughing while I packed my remaining belongings into my adventure pack. No, I did not go mad after my car was stolen. The hilarity was that it was a blessing.
Three days before I walked up to an empty spot in the road (the place where my car was violated and then passed into another life.. poor mary-jane) I was packing it up telling my dad, "How did I get so much stuff? I wish I could get rid of it all and fit everything into a backpack, but there's just certain things you can't get ride of." Unless of course one parks her car on Hazel and Wilson downtown Chicago.
Thus began my trek across the country, again, but this time with mostly strangers.

I've told the story of my car ride with that psychotic woman from Denver to Fresno (emphasis on the "no"... meaning, "no, don't ever go there"), however, all in all it was a blessing to have her graciously give me a ride, and I have a lot of fun telling that story. Just don't ask me to tell it in person. Oral story-telling is not my strong suit.
Two months later, after living in San Luis Obispo for awhile, learning how to make all kinds of food from scratch, seeing a new kind of community, learning that the sun shining every damn day is really a terrible curse, and enjoying everyone in that hostel so very much, (and inventing nackers), it was time for Aaron to come visit me in California and whisk me away to Branson. But I desperately wanted to go pick him up at LAX. The problem was that I was about three hours north of there.

As always, craigslist to the rescue. In California there is not a shortage of laid back people to offer a seat in their car. In this case from SLO to LA Jeremy would offer his seat to me free of charge and I would talk his ear off of my travels as we drove down beautiful highway 101. Jeremy was on his way to a work conference and offers rides on craigslist now and then because he enjoys helping people out. Like most people share with me when I've caught rides, Jeremy told me, "I'd rather it be me giving someone a ride than let someone who might want to cause harm give a ride." A noble cause. Much appreciated.
Jeremy picked me up right at Hostel Obispo, and when we neared Santa Monica he felt compelled to help me out. He asked if I had enough to eat for the next couple of days (knowing I was totally broke), and said that if I couldn't get a ride to the airport the next day to call him. When we finally got to Santa Monica Jeremy took me to lunch for some gyros. Afterward he dropped me off at my Santa Monica hostel, got my pack out of the trunk for me, he handed me $20. Blessing after blessing.
"I can't take this from you. You've already helped me plenty!" I told him.
"Please. I'd really like for you to take it. It's a lot more to you than it is to me right now. Please."
So I took it with a huge smile and a lot of gratitude. I went to check in to my hostel wondering if this experience was really more helpful to me, or to Jeremy. He shared with me that he was very inspired by my stories and where I had gone, what I had done. I am continually inspired by the hearts and the generosity of humanity. It's part of the reason I love taking the risks I do.
Really, it helps me love Jesus even more. I get to see a small portion of what He sees in us.
________________________

On a side note: let this be a lesson to you... rid yourself of mary-jane!
Hehehe... Just kidding.
I named my car mary-jane out of complete naivety, by the way.
The end.