And, I began a new blog with my roommates about the joys of living in community, you can find that blog at
Please become my followers there!
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Blogs
I know that I still have followers on this blog, so I wanted to remind you that I have moved to
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Saturday, October 1, 2011
All is right in my world.
All is right in my world. Perhaps its small, and the accomplishments few, but today, all is right in my world. I am listening to the musical pianist piece that Holly has wanted for years to be played as she walked down the aisle. We have 18 candles lit, and no other lights. Except for the porch light, which for the first time ever is deciding to be more than a motion sensor. I am wearing spandex and socks. To my right is my big map, the one where I can see the world, and so many memories and future ideas flood my thoughts. I just finished reading an email from my dear friend Sarah who is in India, following her heart and her Lord. I just spent the whole day with my parents. At Costco. Showing them my new school. Just being in Portland. Every time I am with them, I realize how well they know me, they know how to react and respond in ways that I only wish my friends were able to. I am blessed. So, so so blessed. And with the cup of tea I am about to grab, I will say again, All is right in my world.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Sunday
My Grammy died. She just turned 86.
The last time I saw her, it was Sunday. We were having a birthday party for her. She was really tired. She kept telling me she didn't know why she felt the way she did. But, oh Heather, you look so good! Look at how tan you are, how summery you look. What are you up to? What did you do today? Where are you going when you leave? And what are you up to? She kept asking. I think she just wanted me to talk, to talk about anything. So she would not have to. So she could focus on breathing. Breathing was really hard for her, on Sunday.
She let me sit and hold her hand. It was so small in mine. Mine once fit securely in hers, and now mine was a wall caging a scared animal. I told her she could rest, if I could just sit and hold her hand. Her left hand, the one with the crooked pointer finger, it gripped mine. Her right hand shook. Her eye lids fluttered. Her beautiful eyelids. I have never seen anything more beautiful than my Grammy. I have always adored her skin, the wrinkles, the lines, the smell of lotion. And I checked, her woman hair was still there on the back of her neck, on Sunday.
I went to kiss her goodbye. She said next time I saw her, she would be feeling better.
"Oh, and honey, I love you so much."
I love you too Grammy. And I know the next time I see you, you will be feeling much better.
The last time I saw her, it was Sunday. We were having a birthday party for her. She was really tired. She kept telling me she didn't know why she felt the way she did. But, oh Heather, you look so good! Look at how tan you are, how summery you look. What are you up to? What did you do today? Where are you going when you leave? And what are you up to? She kept asking. I think she just wanted me to talk, to talk about anything. So she would not have to. So she could focus on breathing. Breathing was really hard for her, on Sunday.
She let me sit and hold her hand. It was so small in mine. Mine once fit securely in hers, and now mine was a wall caging a scared animal. I told her she could rest, if I could just sit and hold her hand. Her left hand, the one with the crooked pointer finger, it gripped mine. Her right hand shook. Her eye lids fluttered. Her beautiful eyelids. I have never seen anything more beautiful than my Grammy. I have always adored her skin, the wrinkles, the lines, the smell of lotion. And I checked, her woman hair was still there on the back of her neck, on Sunday.
I went to kiss her goodbye. She said next time I saw her, she would be feeling better.
"Oh, and honey, I love you so much."
I love you too Grammy. And I know the next time I see you, you will be feeling much better.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Girls of our house
So I live in this house. And its amazing ... the house that is. And if you have talked to me recently, you have probably heard me talk all about it, like its my baby. Like I own it.
No, I am just renting, and its not mine, I am renting it with 8 other girls, though only 6 of us live in it at a time.
I've been so caught up in everything house, that I have lacked to notice anything else. Since spring, I just dreamed and plotted towards the planting of my roots in this house. And it is a physical, material place and thing. And then we got it, but in my head, I got it. It was like I won some super loto jackpot. I did win, I won the opportunity to live somewhere, with some amazing women.
I, somehow in my ventures and descriptions and time consuming projects, honestly failed to share about the women I live with and how honored I am to call them house mates. I have been so pre-occupied with painting and decorating and cleaning mostly, that I let the relationships only one door away slip.
Life will go on if the kitchen is not wiped down. Holly reminded me tonight that I will be doing this, the house cleaning keeping thing, for the rest of my life. This is the time that I need to enjoy not being married, and that its ok to have a messy house sometimes. (Though I struggle to accept that is ok to have a whole messy house... I get the concept:) She is right. She told me that people would rather be with me than to have things put away.
I forget that. I want so terribly to make it nice, for it to be good. I want to be good. I want to be good enough, and maybe if I clean and keep house good enough, I will be good enough. But, I know that I am good enough already, hence the fact I have such amazing friends. And, this really isn't about me. This is about this house of Women, that that we get to share life together. It really is a privilege.
When I am in love with Jesus
When I am in love with Jesus. My world is just right. But I needed reminded daily.
This is the question I keep coming back to. The Holy Spirit prompts me like 20 times a day with " Right now, today, are you in love with me?"
I can't stop thinking about it. No matter how much planning I do, or organizing, I can't seem to straighten anything out in my life. No 3 step, or 10 step programs work. And when I try to find the "core" issue, I don't find it. And when I think I am crazy, and I blow everything out of proportion, I am urged again to think about whether or not I am simply in love with Jesus.
When I am in love with Jesus, everything else falls into place. Dizzy lines are straightened. The 39 step plans pan our perfectly, without having to follow any of my steps. The core issue is discovered. When I am in love with Jesus, I realize that I am not crazy, and that the very things I blow into big deals, are really not that important after all. When I am in love with Jesus.
In John 21, Jesus asks Peter three times, "Do you love me." Yes is is his frustrated response each time. Its the name of my blog, Heather Anne (that's me) Loves Jesus. Yes, I love him. But am I, in love WITH Him, today ... right now?
So often my answer is no. No, I am not being in love with Him right now. John 14:21 says that if we love Him we will follow His commandments. And 1 Corinthians tells me that love does not demand its own way. How often do I demand my own way? Away from him. Away from loving Him?
This is the question I keep coming back to. The Holy Spirit prompts me like 20 times a day with " Right now, today, are you in love with me?"
I can't stop thinking about it. No matter how much planning I do, or organizing, I can't seem to straighten anything out in my life. No 3 step, or 10 step programs work. And when I try to find the "core" issue, I don't find it. And when I think I am crazy, and I blow everything out of proportion, I am urged again to think about whether or not I am simply in love with Jesus.
When I am in love with Jesus, everything else falls into place. Dizzy lines are straightened. The 39 step plans pan our perfectly, without having to follow any of my steps. The core issue is discovered. When I am in love with Jesus, I realize that I am not crazy, and that the very things I blow into big deals, are really not that important after all. When I am in love with Jesus.
In John 21, Jesus asks Peter three times, "Do you love me." Yes is is his frustrated response each time. Its the name of my blog, Heather Anne (that's me) Loves Jesus. Yes, I love him. But am I, in love WITH Him, today ... right now?
So often my answer is no. No, I am not being in love with Him right now. John 14:21 says that if we love Him we will follow His commandments. And 1 Corinthians tells me that love does not demand its own way. How often do I demand my own way? Away from him. Away from loving Him?
When I am in love with Jesus, I need nothing else. I know love, because He is love. And I want to love the one who is Love. Right now, Today.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Summer Rain.
Oregon Summer rain is my most favorite smell in the world. Well, right next to pure almond extract. I just crawled into bed, and I heard the light plops, I rushed downstairs and onto the porch and breathed as deep as my lungs would allow, and then a little deeper.
Holly says its an oxy moron, to like Oregon summer rain, or to think its special or something. But whatever, it is what it is and I love it. Besides, its not the rain that I love (well, I do love it, but thats not what this post is about) Its about the fact that it is summer, and it is raining while its warm. And it just has this smell. Its thick, and heavy, and grass like, and wet. Wet, a terrible description I know, but it is. Its like when my nose breathes in, my nose hairs get wet in a thick damp way. Perhaps this is not of the most lovely of descriptions, but it just is. Its different than regular rain.
When I was really little, Daddy would wake me up sometimes on those summer rainy nights, so I could go outside and smell it. And I would run into the street and dance around in it. And smell. So I went outside, and I spread my arms wide, and breathed in that thick, cloudy, oregon, wet, rainy air.
Holly says its an oxy moron, to like Oregon summer rain, or to think its special or something. But whatever, it is what it is and I love it. Besides, its not the rain that I love (well, I do love it, but thats not what this post is about) Its about the fact that it is summer, and it is raining while its warm. And it just has this smell. Its thick, and heavy, and grass like, and wet. Wet, a terrible description I know, but it is. Its like when my nose breathes in, my nose hairs get wet in a thick damp way. Perhaps this is not of the most lovely of descriptions, but it just is. Its different than regular rain.
When I was really little, Daddy would wake me up sometimes on those summer rainy nights, so I could go outside and smell it. And I would run into the street and dance around in it. And smell. So I went outside, and I spread my arms wide, and breathed in that thick, cloudy, oregon, wet, rainy air.
High School
I've been thinking a lot about high school lately. How when you are in it, you think you are on top of the world. You are involved in so many activities that it makes toddlers look lazy. And how these activities that you are involved in, they are the most important thing you have ever done. That soccer game you won, it was like winning a gold medal at the Olympics, things are proportioned to be just that important! And they are. At least to you, and your friends, and your parents.
As high schoolers we get this sense that we can be or do anything we want to do. Being pushed to succeed and think upon our futures and grow up. But we don't really have to grow up too fast. We get the responsibilities of doing cool things, while not having to pay for gas or outings or late nights at Sharies, because we are too busy with our events to work. (Not that you can really find a job when you are 15 anyway...)
One of my friends from high school just re-entered my life. So it has me thinking on a lot of this stuff. The emotions from five years ago, my attitudes and views and opinions. I've found that in many ways I have not changed near as much as I thought I had. You change to form the new environment you find yourself in. But once placed back in the old environment, the old you comes back out. But rather than retracting, which I thought was happening, I am a more full person because of this. I am able to embrace my current environment, with past thoughts. And it is fulfilling.
But I was thinking about how full your future feels when your 17, how of all the things were involved in, we really think we can succeed in any of those areas. That we can make a living doing the arts or sports. We love the praise and admiration we receive, and of course that spawns us towards the career we try to pick. And then college comes.
I guess some people in college do what they set out to do. But not many. Because in the act of trying to find ourselves in high school, what we really find is all the things that we can be semi-good at. And of course we want to do those things, because its nice to feel that you are the best at something. (even if you come from a high school of 40 kids, being the best still means something:) I mean, I really wanted to do year book the rest of my life. It was so fun! It doesn't make sense now. No body looks at their yearbooks after the signing day. Yearbooks don't happen in college, or work or families or really the rest of life. But it was a good idea, because I was good at it!
"High school, High school, could be, could be, a mini me, of the rest of society..." An old Super chick song that I would blast while driving the minivan down Lancaster Street. Still quite a bit of truth in it. It was a mini me of the rest of society.
I was thinking about how high school was a good thing, at least for me. For a girl whose love language was affirmation, to receive it everywhere I turned, it was a very encouraging time. Now, at this point in my life I may not be involved in three sports, yearbook, student government and a spring play at like the same time .... but I am busy, and I am doing things. And the things I am doing, I try to do them well. Sometimes, its still nice to be extraordinary. I love looking at the girls who are in high school now. They are extraordinary people.
Alyssa and Juliana, you rock my socks off. I am so proud of you two, the things you are involved in, the things you accomplish. You are going to grow into the most amazing women! Thank you for sharing with me last week, and for letting me be a small part of your lives. Take your high school and embrace it, because it won't come again.
As high schoolers we get this sense that we can be or do anything we want to do. Being pushed to succeed and think upon our futures and grow up. But we don't really have to grow up too fast. We get the responsibilities of doing cool things, while not having to pay for gas or outings or late nights at Sharies, because we are too busy with our events to work. (Not that you can really find a job when you are 15 anyway...)
One of my friends from high school just re-entered my life. So it has me thinking on a lot of this stuff. The emotions from five years ago, my attitudes and views and opinions. I've found that in many ways I have not changed near as much as I thought I had. You change to form the new environment you find yourself in. But once placed back in the old environment, the old you comes back out. But rather than retracting, which I thought was happening, I am a more full person because of this. I am able to embrace my current environment, with past thoughts. And it is fulfilling.
But I was thinking about how full your future feels when your 17, how of all the things were involved in, we really think we can succeed in any of those areas. That we can make a living doing the arts or sports. We love the praise and admiration we receive, and of course that spawns us towards the career we try to pick. And then college comes.
I guess some people in college do what they set out to do. But not many. Because in the act of trying to find ourselves in high school, what we really find is all the things that we can be semi-good at. And of course we want to do those things, because its nice to feel that you are the best at something. (even if you come from a high school of 40 kids, being the best still means something:) I mean, I really wanted to do year book the rest of my life. It was so fun! It doesn't make sense now. No body looks at their yearbooks after the signing day. Yearbooks don't happen in college, or work or families or really the rest of life. But it was a good idea, because I was good at it!
"High school, High school, could be, could be, a mini me, of the rest of society..." An old Super chick song that I would blast while driving the minivan down Lancaster Street. Still quite a bit of truth in it. It was a mini me of the rest of society.
I was thinking about how high school was a good thing, at least for me. For a girl whose love language was affirmation, to receive it everywhere I turned, it was a very encouraging time. Now, at this point in my life I may not be involved in three sports, yearbook, student government and a spring play at like the same time .... but I am busy, and I am doing things. And the things I am doing, I try to do them well. Sometimes, its still nice to be extraordinary. I love looking at the girls who are in high school now. They are extraordinary people.
Alyssa and Juliana, you rock my socks off. I am so proud of you two, the things you are involved in, the things you accomplish. You are going to grow into the most amazing women! Thank you for sharing with me last week, and for letting me be a small part of your lives. Take your high school and embrace it, because it won't come again.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Oh to Brunch
On Saturday mornings, at 11, we have brunch. Its potluck style, you bring food to share, the hope is that we all have enough to eat. I think one week I should make crepes. Everyone is invited to brunch, if you live in Portland, or want to come to Portland, you can come.
Today we had quiche, from the left overs of our week. We might make this a tradition ... just like brunch ... and Sunday morning bread. We also had roasted potatoes, fresh fruit, and pancakes. We sat on our front porch and laughed and talked about how wonderful this is.
How its like the old days when women would sit on their porch and spy on their neighbors ... not that WE spy on our neighbors. But, FYI - the people directly across from us are CREEPY! Seriously, they wake up just to rub their disel engines at 2 in the morning, and I swear the women stands in the curtains and just stares at us when we eat at our table. We talked about how we really want to be friends with the young couple next door, their daughter scarlet is so cute! The family to our right with the teenagers are super nice, they smile and say hi each time they get home, I think we should have dinner with them. And how we really want to reach out to the family across and to the left, they have five girls and a grumpy grandpa, and they need Jesus, at least for now we can offer them chalk to play with. And the house of all men that moved in the same day as us? Its not a house of men, its a young couple, the men just moved them in. Go figure. But, like I said, its not like we spy on our neighbors.
Anyways, brunch. Sarah C. and I were sitting on the porch, the side without all the flowers. We were talking about how cool it is that were doing what we said we were going to do. There is such satisfaction in follow through, especially for me. Early back in the spring I started pretending we had the house, and I pretend invited people over for Saturday morning brunches ... but the thing is that we actually do it! We are doing brunch. We are sitting on our porch. We are playing games and reading books instead of always watching tv seasons. We are buying fresh fruit, and eating little meat, and cooking healthy food, and surviving quite well without internet. We are hosting the way our mothers thought us and decorating the ways we want.
But for right now, I think Saturday morning brunches are one of my favorite things.
Today we had quiche, from the left overs of our week. We might make this a tradition ... just like brunch ... and Sunday morning bread. We also had roasted potatoes, fresh fruit, and pancakes. We sat on our front porch and laughed and talked about how wonderful this is.
How its like the old days when women would sit on their porch and spy on their neighbors ... not that WE spy on our neighbors. But, FYI - the people directly across from us are CREEPY! Seriously, they wake up just to rub their disel engines at 2 in the morning, and I swear the women stands in the curtains and just stares at us when we eat at our table. We talked about how we really want to be friends with the young couple next door, their daughter scarlet is so cute! The family to our right with the teenagers are super nice, they smile and say hi each time they get home, I think we should have dinner with them. And how we really want to reach out to the family across and to the left, they have five girls and a grumpy grandpa, and they need Jesus, at least for now we can offer them chalk to play with. And the house of all men that moved in the same day as us? Its not a house of men, its a young couple, the men just moved them in. Go figure. But, like I said, its not like we spy on our neighbors.
Anyways, brunch. Sarah C. and I were sitting on the porch, the side without all the flowers. We were talking about how cool it is that were doing what we said we were going to do. There is such satisfaction in follow through, especially for me. Early back in the spring I started pretending we had the house, and I pretend invited people over for Saturday morning brunches ... but the thing is that we actually do it! We are doing brunch. We are sitting on our porch. We are playing games and reading books instead of always watching tv seasons. We are buying fresh fruit, and eating little meat, and cooking healthy food, and surviving quite well without internet. We are hosting the way our mothers thought us and decorating the ways we want.
But for right now, I think Saturday morning brunches are one of my favorite things.
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Our House
The story of how we got this house is crazy, and long. But lets just say that God is good and gives good gifts to his children.
We spent our finals week painting. Every night painting. I think I painted for like 50 hours. I was emotionally drained, trying to cope with leaving school, moving, taking finals, and becoming an adult. And then we moved. And then it was wonderful. I said that I would feel settled when three things happened : When I could sit on my porch, when my map was up, and when all my books were in one place. Well, the night before I left to come to Colorado, to spend this week with Katie, I finished the last on that list. And for all of you who pitched in on getting me the map, thank you!!
Refill that Local Roast Please
So, here I am in Colorado. At Marika's Coffeehouse, in Manitou Springs. Katie is at work, and I spent the day wandering alone. Now, that may not seem interesting to any of the rest of you, but it is amazing. Just what I wanted and needed. I went to the park, and crossed bridges, and sat the the library built in 1910 and read about the history of this area. I wore my Portland rain jacket and my Thailand purse and walked and walked. I talked to Harmony on the phone. I found my bank. I bought some loose leaf tea and herbs for my house. Then I found this coffee shop. I just have a knack for finding the perfect coffee shop where ever I go. It is especially fun to me when I do so after the people I know who live in these places tell me there is no local cool coffee shop ... there always is! (example : Boise, La Grande, Colorado:)
I brought Northanger Abbey with me today. It is the second Jane Austin I am attempting to read. I am never able to read her, because to read her one must appreciate her and her over usage of adjectives. My brain is almost always at too fast a pace to read each word, and I end up skimming and thus loosing 92% of what she is trying to say. I choose to read a book I do not know the story line to, I didn't even read the back. And let me just tell you, Catherine Morland is a most wonderful character, and my brain is at a slow enough pace to read every word.
According to google maps, I am 1,323 miles from my house on 84th st, to this coffee shop in Manitou springs. I could have found a shop like this at home, but there is something about being 1,323 miles away that makes it so much more glorious. Knowing that I will not run into anyone I know ... and yet still feeling overwhelmingly safe.
On the Airplane
It never gets old, this flying above the clouds thing. To be so far off the ground, watching all rehlms of famaliarity turning into specks as I watch. And then we break trusting forth through that thick fluffy white layer into a new world. A white carpeted, soft, tentle, continuing, similar world. The Mt peaks prick through, the suns light abounds. Am I in heaven here in this place? Or perhaps nearer to it?
I wonder on the first person to have traveled through this stratesphere. Was their thrill the same as mine? What sort of wandering astonishment penetrated their thoughts so void of factual understanding?
How marvelous our God to create such a world. For thousands of years this fluffy world sat. Unseen. Untouched. And during those thousands of years, this world sung to the glory of God. Nothing the Lord creates goes un appreciated. Just like the wildflowers in the meadow on a Mt top, never seen by human eyes. They bloom for only a few days, and wilt. Even those wildflowers were appreciated by their creator. In all their intricate splendor, the Lord made and enjoyed them for HIS GLORY!
How much more of this world is yet to be discovered? I rest knowing that it does not need to be discovered by mine eyes, but that all things there belonging to the Creator are enjoyed.
I wonder on the first person to have traveled through this stratesphere. Was their thrill the same as mine? What sort of wandering astonishment penetrated their thoughts so void of factual understanding?
How marvelous our God to create such a world. For thousands of years this fluffy world sat. Unseen. Untouched. And during those thousands of years, this world sung to the glory of God. Nothing the Lord creates goes un appreciated. Just like the wildflowers in the meadow on a Mt top, never seen by human eyes. They bloom for only a few days, and wilt. Even those wildflowers were appreciated by their creator. In all their intricate splendor, the Lord made and enjoyed them for HIS GLORY!
How much more of this world is yet to be discovered? I rest knowing that it does not need to be discovered by mine eyes, but that all things there belonging to the Creator are enjoyed.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Stop Freaking
“I didn’t ask you to become new and improved today. That was not the goal. You were broken down and strange yesterday, and you still are today, and the only one freaked out about it is you.”
This is from a book, called Cool Tangerine (I think?) That Lauren gave to Sarah. Anyways, she was comparing life to that of an old house, how there are always things to fix. As I move into an old house, and find things every hour that need fixed, I see the parallel to my life. So many things need fixed. This is the quote written on my mirror this week.
This is from a book, called Cool Tangerine (I think?) That Lauren gave to Sarah. Anyways, she was comparing life to that of an old house, how there are always things to fix. As I move into an old house, and find things every hour that need fixed, I see the parallel to my life. So many things need fixed. This is the quote written on my mirror this week.
Pretending No More
I’m sick of pretending, and convincing, and pretending some more.
I’m so good at it that I convince myself.
Well, I’m sick of pretending to be an adult and everyone assuming I am.
I present myself as so secure and confidant. But on the inside, I am not.
I am a risk taker, I thrive on instant decisions, and convince people through pretending to have it all together.
I convince people that I am confidant.
And that usually convinces me as well.
I don’t feel very confidant.
I feel scared. And insecure.
I am a little girl trapped in this woman’s body, but I can’t escape it.
There are these expectations that I live up to what I appear, so I do.
Continually.
And I just want one day off.
One day where I can blurt out my little girl feelings.
One day where I can trust someone else to make decisions, and totally relinquish control, and have someone else lead.
One day where I can stop being needed.
And I can need others.
But I know that this day will not come.
I know that I must be secure and confidant.
Just as I present.
I must become what I have pretended to be,
But not just pretend to be it,
I must really be it.
I am,
No longer this little girl.
(this was written on Sunday, I already feel dififerent, but I decided that I liked this still and wanted it posted.)
I’m so good at it that I convince myself.
Well, I’m sick of pretending to be an adult and everyone assuming I am.
I present myself as so secure and confidant. But on the inside, I am not.
I am a risk taker, I thrive on instant decisions, and convince people through pretending to have it all together.
I convince people that I am confidant.
And that usually convinces me as well.
I don’t feel very confidant.
I feel scared. And insecure.
I am a little girl trapped in this woman’s body, but I can’t escape it.
There are these expectations that I live up to what I appear, so I do.
Continually.
And I just want one day off.
One day where I can blurt out my little girl feelings.
One day where I can trust someone else to make decisions, and totally relinquish control, and have someone else lead.
One day where I can stop being needed.
And I can need others.
But I know that this day will not come.
I know that I must be secure and confidant.
Just as I present.
I must become what I have pretended to be,
But not just pretend to be it,
I must really be it.
I am,
No longer this little girl.
(this was written on Sunday, I already feel dififerent, but I decided that I liked this still and wanted it posted.)
Thursday, May 5, 2011
On Being an Adult
You know when you are 10 and you are allowed to stay home alone for the first time?? And you feel like you are an adult? And you pretend that the house you are in is all yours?
Then the Parents come back.
You know when you are like 15 and you stay home over night for the first time? And you feel like you like you are an adult? And you pretend that the house you are in is all yours?
Then the adults come back.
You know when you are 18 and you travel across the world, alone, for the first time? And you feel like you are an adult? And you pretend the life you are living is your adult life?
Then you go home and find you are not the adult you thought you were.
You know when you are 21 and you can do things for the first time? And you feel like your an adult? And you pretend that you are an adult. Then, you look at yourself and realize your not as cool as you make yourself out to be.
And you wait for the adults to come back, and you see that your suppose to be that adult.
And you know when you are 22, and you feel like your suppose to be this adult? Because 22 is really old. And for the first time, you realize that the adults are not coming back. That the game is not going to end. That you are the adult.
I was laying in bed the other night. Laughing to myself. Laughing about this game I am playing, where I pretend to be an adult. You know, like when your 5 and you tell someone your 12, and they "believe you." You know they dont really believe you... but it seems like they do, so you hold onto that glimmer of maybe and laugh about it. Well, I was laughing about this game of me pretending to be an adult, and how long its worked! I mean, I convinced someone to rent me a stinkin house! But, what happens when she finds out that I am not an ad--- .... Oh See Thats when it hit me. I am the adult. I'm not playing a game anymore. I convinced her, because I am that adult! I am convincable because I am who I am! And I am still kind of giddy about that.
Then the Parents come back.
You know when you are like 15 and you stay home over night for the first time? And you feel like you like you are an adult? And you pretend that the house you are in is all yours?
Then the adults come back.
You know when you are 18 and you travel across the world, alone, for the first time? And you feel like you are an adult? And you pretend the life you are living is your adult life?
Then you go home and find you are not the adult you thought you were.
You know when you are 21 and you can do things for the first time? And you feel like your an adult? And you pretend that you are an adult. Then, you look at yourself and realize your not as cool as you make yourself out to be.
And you wait for the adults to come back, and you see that your suppose to be that adult.
And you know when you are 22, and you feel like your suppose to be this adult? Because 22 is really old. And for the first time, you realize that the adults are not coming back. That the game is not going to end. That you are the adult.
I was laying in bed the other night. Laughing to myself. Laughing about this game I am playing, where I pretend to be an adult. You know, like when your 5 and you tell someone your 12, and they "believe you." You know they dont really believe you... but it seems like they do, so you hold onto that glimmer of maybe and laugh about it. Well, I was laughing about this game of me pretending to be an adult, and how long its worked! I mean, I convinced someone to rent me a stinkin house! But, what happens when she finds out that I am not an ad--- .... Oh See Thats when it hit me. I am the adult. I'm not playing a game anymore. I convinced her, because I am that adult! I am convincable because I am who I am! And I am still kind of giddy about that.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
ipodless transportation
I walked down 82nd St. The street where the prostitutes are. Where sex trafficing takes place. Where shootings happen. The street that is as famaliar as the cold-e-sac I grew up on. I thought about how a priority before next fall will be the purchase of an ipod, because after all if I am going to be spending that much time on buses, I want to drown people out and listen to something. Right? I don't know. I have gotten use to life with out one. From that day whe my ipod was stolen in S. Korea. I have to say, I remember much more of the trip without my ipod, becuase I was able to focus on where I was and listen to the sounds around me, and to my thoughts.
I was on the bus today, trying to fill out some Geology packets, watching the druggie lady who really needed a fix, and listen to a conversation in the back of the bus. Andre was telling another young woman about his church, New Directions (which reminded me of Glee, and I got slightly distracted and missed part of the conversation.) She said she had heard of it, and that her friend volunteered there, but they didn't go to church. He told her about how great it was, and that she should come visit. And she said she would. She would go to that church and ask for Andre.
Then Angela got on board. She was a beautiful woman, about my moms age. The bus driver commented on her shoes and how brave she was to walk in her three inch heels. She explained that she had worn those high of shoes for 50 years and why stop now? It was her Sunday best and she was coming from church with her two grandchildren. Andre came to the front and started talking to Angela. He asked her if she were coming from church. She was. He told her about how he needs to go back to church, its been two weeks and that is not good. "Oh thats not good at all!" Angela chimed in, she explained to that honey that he needed to be at church for his well being. And he agreed with his head hung. She told him he neeeded Jesus. He knew. She told him of her church, Immanuel Luthern, and how he should come visit. He said he would. He would go to that church and ask for Angela.
As he depared from the bus, she yelled after him that Jesus loved him. Then she sat there, holding onto her two grandchildren and she prayed for that man. She prayed out loud. She prayed fervently. She prayed with emotion. I wanted to talk to her, I think I should have, but I did not. I didn't know what to say. I wanted her to know that she inspired me. That she was a witness with her life and I could tell it just oozed out of her. What a priviledge for those two kids to spend time with such an amzaing woman. I praised the Lord that there are still good people in this world, and that they are in Portland sharing the gospel.
Last Sunday, it was Easter, and a woman was riding the bus, and standing there as each person got on, reminding them that it was Easter and that our Lord was risen!
Then on the way home, on the max. There was a young mom and her 18 month old son. He was in a stroller and very antsy. They had had a long day, and she was exhausted and needed some help, and a break. He kept trying to get out, and with each wiggle he would irritatingly interupt her precious day dreams that took her away from the dull reality she found herself in. She finally broke and ripped the object from his hands that he had disobediently taken from under the stroller. He cried and them screamed "I HATE YOU." I hardly beileved I heard right. I had to look, and he said it again. Barely understandable because of his young age, but that was most certainly what he said. He said it 29 times inbetween Lloyd center and 60th St. 29 times the toddelr told his mother that he hated her. She just told him to stop, then looked back out the window and ignored him. --- Where on earth did he learn to say that? Why was she taking it? Where was the grandmother Angela?
I prayed for that woman. I was reminded that there are Christians in Portland, and that they are ministering, but there are more, like this young mom, who need to hear.
I was on the bus today, trying to fill out some Geology packets, watching the druggie lady who really needed a fix, and listen to a conversation in the back of the bus. Andre was telling another young woman about his church, New Directions (which reminded me of Glee, and I got slightly distracted and missed part of the conversation.) She said she had heard of it, and that her friend volunteered there, but they didn't go to church. He told her about how great it was, and that she should come visit. And she said she would. She would go to that church and ask for Andre.
Then Angela got on board. She was a beautiful woman, about my moms age. The bus driver commented on her shoes and how brave she was to walk in her three inch heels. She explained that she had worn those high of shoes for 50 years and why stop now? It was her Sunday best and she was coming from church with her two grandchildren. Andre came to the front and started talking to Angela. He asked her if she were coming from church. She was. He told her about how he needs to go back to church, its been two weeks and that is not good. "Oh thats not good at all!" Angela chimed in, she explained to that honey that he needed to be at church for his well being. And he agreed with his head hung. She told him he neeeded Jesus. He knew. She told him of her church, Immanuel Luthern, and how he should come visit. He said he would. He would go to that church and ask for Angela.
As he depared from the bus, she yelled after him that Jesus loved him. Then she sat there, holding onto her two grandchildren and she prayed for that man. She prayed out loud. She prayed fervently. She prayed with emotion. I wanted to talk to her, I think I should have, but I did not. I didn't know what to say. I wanted her to know that she inspired me. That she was a witness with her life and I could tell it just oozed out of her. What a priviledge for those two kids to spend time with such an amzaing woman. I praised the Lord that there are still good people in this world, and that they are in Portland sharing the gospel.
Last Sunday, it was Easter, and a woman was riding the bus, and standing there as each person got on, reminding them that it was Easter and that our Lord was risen!
Then on the way home, on the max. There was a young mom and her 18 month old son. He was in a stroller and very antsy. They had had a long day, and she was exhausted and needed some help, and a break. He kept trying to get out, and with each wiggle he would irritatingly interupt her precious day dreams that took her away from the dull reality she found herself in. She finally broke and ripped the object from his hands that he had disobediently taken from under the stroller. He cried and them screamed "I HATE YOU." I hardly beileved I heard right. I had to look, and he said it again. Barely understandable because of his young age, but that was most certainly what he said. He said it 29 times inbetween Lloyd center and 60th St. 29 times the toddelr told his mother that he hated her. She just told him to stop, then looked back out the window and ignored him. --- Where on earth did he learn to say that? Why was she taking it? Where was the grandmother Angela?
I prayed for that woman. I was reminded that there are Christians in Portland, and that they are ministering, but there are more, like this young mom, who need to hear.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Removed yet not exempt
A tornado touched down in the city where my sister and her family live. And I don't really like that one bit.
We have been talking in my British Literature class about suffering, and how far removed we are from it ... until it affects us personally. We have come to the conclusion that this is the way it must be, or we would be in constant grief over the death or suffering of someone. We must find a way to distance ourselves from pain, so that when it does affect us ... it can reach us. We have been talking about natural disasters and wars, and how we feel for those affected, but then our day continues. We see the commercial of the starving African children, and then the channel changes. Does that mean that we have a callused heart? I think not ... it just means we are protecting our heart.
I've been storm tracking, seeing the abundance of tornado touch downs in the south lately, and I've been more interested than ever before. Until this year, tornados were something that belonged in movies, in "Twister" or "Wizzard of Oz." Now I read of them and know that real people are affected. And then today. Today the tornado touched down in Madison County, right where my sister lives.
I was there about a month ago, visiting. Alabama, its a real place. There are real, breathing people there. And of those people, my sister, and her husband - away on his base, and my four neices and nephews that are so dear to my heart I barely believe that I can love my own children someday more. When I was there it rained, non-stop, not an Oregon rain, but a scary rain .... a rain that howls. In a sermon on Sunday, the Pastor said he believed the sound of howling wind is the closest thing we can understand to the groanings that the scriptures talks about. I think about that little apartment where my sister is, and of the earth groaning around her. And I want to be there.
I remember being a little girl and running to the arms of my sister when I was scared. It didn't happen very often, but it did happen. She was my comfort. I remember being so young, and having croup, and she rocked me on the front porch. When I was in Alabama last month, we found ourselves at the windows, night after night at 2 am, watching the lightening bolts and listening to the thunder crack and whip. And it was comforting that my sister was there.
One of the articles reporting on the storm in the south quoted a man saying that tornados were something he expected to happen in Arkansas, not MIsssissippi. I scofffed ... but cought myself, I do the same thing. We always expect it to happen to someone else, not to me, I'm exempt. Well, this tornado may be 2000 miles away, but it hits very close to home. I am not exempt.
I know that these events could scare me. The enemy would love to terrify my heart into believing that a natural disaster is creeping at the door of my life. And you know what? Maybe it is. Mt. Hood could blow up tonight, and I would be covered in ash. But I am not going to fear disaster. I am not going to fear fear. I serve a good God. A very good God indeed. And he has said that he has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and sound mind.
We have been talking in my British Literature class about suffering, and how far removed we are from it ... until it affects us personally. We have come to the conclusion that this is the way it must be, or we would be in constant grief over the death or suffering of someone. We must find a way to distance ourselves from pain, so that when it does affect us ... it can reach us. We have been talking about natural disasters and wars, and how we feel for those affected, but then our day continues. We see the commercial of the starving African children, and then the channel changes. Does that mean that we have a callused heart? I think not ... it just means we are protecting our heart.
I've been storm tracking, seeing the abundance of tornado touch downs in the south lately, and I've been more interested than ever before. Until this year, tornados were something that belonged in movies, in "Twister" or "Wizzard of Oz." Now I read of them and know that real people are affected. And then today. Today the tornado touched down in Madison County, right where my sister lives.
I was there about a month ago, visiting. Alabama, its a real place. There are real, breathing people there. And of those people, my sister, and her husband - away on his base, and my four neices and nephews that are so dear to my heart I barely believe that I can love my own children someday more. When I was there it rained, non-stop, not an Oregon rain, but a scary rain .... a rain that howls. In a sermon on Sunday, the Pastor said he believed the sound of howling wind is the closest thing we can understand to the groanings that the scriptures talks about. I think about that little apartment where my sister is, and of the earth groaning around her. And I want to be there.
I remember being a little girl and running to the arms of my sister when I was scared. It didn't happen very often, but it did happen. She was my comfort. I remember being so young, and having croup, and she rocked me on the front porch. When I was in Alabama last month, we found ourselves at the windows, night after night at 2 am, watching the lightening bolts and listening to the thunder crack and whip. And it was comforting that my sister was there.
One of the articles reporting on the storm in the south quoted a man saying that tornados were something he expected to happen in Arkansas, not MIsssissippi. I scofffed ... but cought myself, I do the same thing. We always expect it to happen to someone else, not to me, I'm exempt. Well, this tornado may be 2000 miles away, but it hits very close to home. I am not exempt.
I know that these events could scare me. The enemy would love to terrify my heart into believing that a natural disaster is creeping at the door of my life. And you know what? Maybe it is. Mt. Hood could blow up tonight, and I would be covered in ash. But I am not going to fear disaster. I am not going to fear fear. I serve a good God. A very good God indeed. And he has said that he has not given me a spirit of fear, but of power, love and sound mind.
Monday, April 25, 2011
We went for a walk
We took a walk today, me, myself, and I. We walked past my dream house, and an orange house, and a house with a breakfast nook. While we walked spring was above my head, and beneath my feet. We discussed amongst ourselves the neighborhoods, and the diversity that lies from one street to the next. How there is a sense of security when strolling in an over grown ally behind large gabled houses, but a sense of defense when walking down a broad street, on the sidewalk in front of an "apartment" complex where the name is scratched out.
We talked about how there is a class distinction here in America, here in Portland, though we assume it to be a foreign thing from our historical missions teachings. We fought between ourselves of whether we felt we were in a certain class, of whether we considered ourselves to be "higher" than another. One of us said no, absolutly not, there is no distinction, not here, not in America. Another one of us said yes, I think there is ... there is a feeling of entitlement. Me ... Ya, I feel it. I find myself feeling like I am exempt, like I am entitled to more. But I am so far removed from the reality of truth.
I, myself and I, we are applying now for DHS help, so I can live and eat. This is the very program I am attending school to better understand and change so that people are not dependant upon it. Am I exempt or entitled? I think not. One of me says, yes I am ... but the other part of me catches this attitude and wants to rid the other half of it. I don't want to feel entitled, I am not better. The Lord, he does not see class. There is no difference in his mind between the dream house, or the orange house, or the named etched out apartment complex.
We returned from our walk, and we picked a little bit of spring from the park where the homeless sleep. Its the same spring that grows on my safe bubbled campus. We put it in a clean vase, me, myself and I. We put that little bit of spring in a vase.
We talked about how there is a class distinction here in America, here in Portland, though we assume it to be a foreign thing from our historical missions teachings. We fought between ourselves of whether we felt we were in a certain class, of whether we considered ourselves to be "higher" than another. One of us said no, absolutly not, there is no distinction, not here, not in America. Another one of us said yes, I think there is ... there is a feeling of entitlement. Me ... Ya, I feel it. I find myself feeling like I am exempt, like I am entitled to more. But I am so far removed from the reality of truth.
I, myself and I, we are applying now for DHS help, so I can live and eat. This is the very program I am attending school to better understand and change so that people are not dependant upon it. Am I exempt or entitled? I think not. One of me says, yes I am ... but the other part of me catches this attitude and wants to rid the other half of it. I don't want to feel entitled, I am not better. The Lord, he does not see class. There is no difference in his mind between the dream house, or the orange house, or the named etched out apartment complex.
We returned from our walk, and we picked a little bit of spring from the park where the homeless sleep. Its the same spring that grows on my safe bubbled campus. We put it in a clean vase, me, myself and I. We put that little bit of spring in a vase.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Rocking in La Grande
White House Coffee is located on 4th st. in downtown La Grande Oregon. Its an old plantation style house, remodled, cooler than any shop I've found yet in Portland. And that is saying a lot. In side there were rooms, one with books and a sliding ladder. The lady makes her own chai from scratch, she learned how when she was in Philidelphia. They serve stumptown coffee, which if you are anywhere away from Portland is a comforting home like feeling. They serve their coffee and chai in local handmade blue pottery cups that you can take home with you for only $10, too bad I just bought one at the Saturday Market! But the best part ... the best part of all, is that it had a porch. A massive covered front porch. White washed, with black trim and a bright red door. Twelve black rocking chairs surrounding black Ikea tables. We sat in those black rocking chairs and rocked. We rocked and drank our chair and coffee, and ate pastries acquired from the bakery on Second st. It was 62 degress and raining. Muggy, but under our covered porch, we were dry. We talked about weddings mostly, Sharells. And ours. About how wouldn't it be amazing if we could own a coffee shop like this? About how cool my mom was for learning to text! About Sarah going to India. And of what kind of people must have lived in that house when it was first there .... why was the house first there anyway? We talked about church, and school, and high school, and friends from high school. We talked about feeling old, and the season of life were in. And we kept rocking. We had no where else to be, rare yes, but we had no where else to be. So we just kept rocking. I love Saturdays when they are just as they should be. Sleeping in. Discovering a coffee shop that adds peace to the world and restoration to our souls. A Saturday with some of my closest friends, at a coffee shop, in La Grande.
Rocking and having no where else to go.
ripping love
your ripping me apart your tearing at my heart I'm shredding, bleeding, oozing your rubbing, digging, scraping you clean... and clean... and clean your purity is untouchable your love is unstopable rip me love, rip me apart please dont stop tearing at my heart
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