Summer Solstice

It has been a busy week or so with some big events--life events for some of my friends.

My mind has been reeling with so many different thoughts and feelings. There are things that have a hard time taking shape in my mind and so I have a hard time even beginning to express them. It seemed appropriate that on this day, the longest day of the year and first official day of summer, that I try to sort through some of these things.

This past weekend I went to Wisconsin for the wedding of two good friends. The entire trip felt surreal. I now know people who are going to be living in Wisconsin. I know people living in Illinois and I know people all over the place now--even as far as China. At one point during the reception, I was standing towards the back of the tent, watching the dance floor, with a glass (mason jar) of wine in one hand and the other hand firmly planted on my hip in the traditional Schuett stance. It was like I was watching myself, and saw more than felt myself sway a little. I was overwhelmed by the significance of the moment. This would be the last time I would see some of these people for a very long time, and all I could find myself dwelling on was how I wished a certain boy was there with me. So I was having a moment with myself, reflecting on the places life takes us and the turns we don't expect, when a friend caught me--and I'm sure it looked like I was having a moment with the wine...but it was really just a moment of introspection. The spell broke and I was left giggling, despite the serious overtures of my heart moments before.

This boy I was wishing had been there, he's probably the one you were expecting, the one who writes me letter, wasn't the one I was expecting to miss. This last year has been interesting to say the least, and while a part of me still clings to hope that we, the letter writers, will find a way to be near one another, there is still enormous room for doubt. It would be a lie to say there was no one else this year that interested me. I wish I knew the reason behind the unsent letter in my notebook...the one dated June 1, 2013. I wish I knew why it was still there, why I haven't sent it. It's not like it's full of embarrassing things, honestly it's quite hum-drum. But maybe that's why. Because I feel like I'm telling half-truths.

But then I also feel like I'm telling myself half-truths. A friend asked me this week if I was finding a way to be spiritually fed--despite my ever-present loneliness. I told her yes. A half-truth. Some days I do feel incredibly blessed and like I can feel the Hand of God in my life. But most days I feel aimless. It's almost like I'm the small child who desperately wants to be tickled, but doesn't want to be too obvious about that desire. I want that connection, that passion, that drive to learn more, but I don't want to be obvious about the search...and I have a hard time asking for help because I feel like I should be strong enough to push myself. [Lord, give me the grace to realize I am in need of shepherding.]

A couple weekends ago, one of the older gentlemen I work with at the dealership approached my desk. This particular salesman is one of my favorites, he's funny and smart and incredibly nerdy. We have a lot of common interests, and he listens to me babble on about (girly) things. He even asks me questions about how my love-life is going. In fact, he's known all along about the boy who writes me letters...and he knows about the boy I work with. Anyhow, he approached my desk and instead of asking the usual question of who things were going with the young men in my life, he blatantly asked, "Anna, what is wrong with all the men in your life? Are they all idiots that not one of them would be dating you?" I was shocked. I didn't know how to respond...so I laughed and said that I doubted that was the case. I'm still in shock over that situation...and I still don't know how to respond. It's still taking form and shape.

I've also realized that it has been nearly a year since I wrote any poetry. Why is that? Poetry has always been my form of non-fiction, of autobiography. Why am I letting this portion of my life go unmapped? This is a time of discovery, of hope, of new ground. Why am I letting it slip away?

We had writing workshop this week, and it went well. We spent quite a bit of time on my piece, but we had a lot of ground to cover there. I am excited about the story, about the things that are developing and the way characters are revealing themselves to me while I am doing mundane chores (like dishes and laundry and showering and walking the dog).

When did I become a reluctant reader? I have so many books that I want to be reading, but I'm not...I look at them and wonder what they're about, but I'm not actually reading them. I need to be in the structured setting of school again--good thing grad school is just around the corner!

That's all for tonight...there are still uncertainties, and I don't feel like I've answered any questions or resolved any inner turmoil, but at least I've laid them out.



My chest hurts when I breathe tonight...it's wasting me away...wasting me away. [Anberlin, Symphony of Blase]

Man is a giddy thing...

It's been a good week.

I've had to laugh at myself a couple of times. Let's make a list, shall we?

1. I did the dishes--all of them. Now, I know this seems like a menial task, and it is. There's something about it though. The idea of washing dishes really makes me dread going into the kitchen, but once I start and I put the first clean pot on the towel to dry it just feels so purifying. It gives me time to stop thinking about all of the other things that are distracting me and allows me to get right to the heart of me. That personal reflection time is good for my introverted self.

2. On Tuesday, I just couldn't get away from all of the distractions--the tangible ones like the TV and my computer. Do you ever feel that way? Like technology is strapping you down and making you waste time and sucking away your productivity? I do. And it's everywhere. I needed to get some writing, and I wanted to--I needed to unplug and just be with the pen and paper for a while. So...I decided that I was going to soak my feet in the tub. I basically moved my "office" (I don't have an office, who am I kidding?) into the bathroom. For obvious reasons, my computer can't sit with me on the edge of the tub. My iPod did come with me though so I could play some music with its small speaker and cut the silence. It was a strange thing, going to the bathroom to get away from all of the distractions. I just wish it was more comfortable to sit on the edge of the tub....

3. We're having a garage sale! I have a lot of stuff (and a good part of it can just go away). About every summer I try to do a deep clean of my room...Last summer I got about half way done and gave up. So, now with a garage sale date in mind, I've been begun the purge again. I went through my dresser yesterday...and I threw away a multitude of old socks and underpants. Seriously, why do we (maybe it's just me, but I doubt it) horde old socks? It's not like we wear them...they just take up space while the elastic really gets bad. The same with old underpants. Seriously, what do we think is going to happen to them? There isn't a fairy that comes and takes those things away like the tooth fairy...they just sit in the drawers. And most of them don't have pairs anymore either. That's just sad, put them out of their misery.

4. Last night, Daddy came into my room to see the progress...and his one comment was, "You have a lot of stuff...and you've hit your limit for bookshelves in this space." How very true. Three large bookshelves take up a lot of room. My response was, "I have enough stuff for an apartment." I really do...and the idea that "a place of my own" might be in the cards in the next year or so is really exciting. I mean, words cannot describe how fantastic that would be. Granted, I would miss eating with the folks because they do food really well...but I would really like not having to retreat to the bathroom to get some alone time to write.

5. Writing Workshop on Wednesday was wonderful. (Do you like all those w's? I do.) I knew this was going to be different then any writing experience I have had. How did I know this? Because my cousin is part of the group, and I knew she would be asking hard questions about my story. Questions with answers I had never articulated to another person. I also knew that she was going to make me really get into the grit of it--she's a teacher after all. She's used to pushing people to get good stories. This week was no exception. There were a lot of questions, and that is partly because we're getting to the meat of this story. These young women that I'm working with are truly inspirational. I love reading what they've done and sharing with them what I have. Rachel and Kaitlin have been a blessing to me this summer, more than I had anticipated...and I hope that this writing relationship will continue.

6. Rachel asked me how much I thought I would post here...I told her I was hoping for twice a week. Ha. We'll see. So far I'm not doing so hot, but I'll get there. I'm just warming up.

7. I marked all the wedding dates in my calendar, the ones that I have so far. Holy weddings, yo. Every day I get more and more behind my peers in the relationship/wedding/baby scene.... But mostly I'm okay with this. I'm not ready for all of that just yet. There are a lot of things I need to get done independently before all of that happens. Funny how our perceptions of ourselves change.

"The one who's always, and never, alone...does she even know she's the girl with the red balloon?" [The Civil Wars]

Hold Me Fast, I'm a Hopeless Wanderer

I did not forget about my blog, honestly I didn't. I thought about coming here to relieve some of the unbidden stress, and I thought about it often. Sometimes we get going with things and we let other thing move to the back burner...and eventually they fall behind the stove. I didn't forget this was back here, but it would have taken work to move the "stove" and get the "pan" out again. What a mess.

So what has me back here, almost a year after my last post?

Thanks to my beautiful cousin, Kaitlin, I am part of a writing workshop--we should really think of a better name, like Tolkien and Lewis's Inklings. In this writing workshop there are three members: myself, Kaitlin, and Rachel.

This workshop has been just what I needed. Over the last year I've felt the itch to write, to create--the itch never goes away. And over the last year, I'm ignored the tugging, distracting myself with other things that also needed attention. I've been working on Morning Star, and Rachel and Kaitlin have been giving me awesome feedback...and I get to hear their voices as well! The stories they are weaving are important, and I hope they recognize how much I appreciate their honesty in all things.

Kaitlin is also getting married (yay!) and she asked me to be her Maid of Honor. This came as a surprise to me, I was going to be happy if she asked me to be a Bridesmaid. I am so honored and happy to work with her throughout her engagement. (There is a point to this bridal tangent, promise.) I don't think she realizes how blessed I am to take on this responsibility as it distracts from my own loneliness (I'll write more on this at a later date).

My mom and Aunt Deanna wanted to host a Bridal Shower for Kaitlin, which I was very happy to help host. (This gave me an opportunity to create decorations from papercrafting, which I loved.)

So last night we hosted this lovely party that beautiful Rachel and her mother were invited to. After several guests had cleared out, after having a lot of fun, it was mentioned that Rachel has a blog. (Which I was very pleased to receive an invite to read.) She sheepishly smiled and admitted to this blogs existence, so I told her that I also had a blog, but it had fallen into disuse.

When I got home from the party and was able to take a moment for myself, I perused her blog...and then I came back here, to this space. And I thought to myself, You silly girl, move that stupid stove and start writing again. You know you'll feel better when you do. 

So here I am, I'm back, and I sincerely hope I am more faithful to this space. I will do my best.

"How fickle my heart, and how woozy my eyes. I struggle to find any truth in your lies. And now my heart stumbles on things I don't know. My weakness I feel I must finally show." [Mumford and Sons]

Stretching out the fingers...

I should be more prolific.

Somedays I am overwhelmed with creativity.

I sit and sew and sew until my fingers are dry from the textiles and burned from the iron. If I didn't have a job that required me to go to school with the little ones at 7:45 in the morning, I would sew until the hours of the morning when everyone else in the house is sleeping soundly and unaware of the humming of the small machine that has stitched together the pieces of quilts and purses and clothing and pillowcases. And it feels like I just keep the thread running, much like the sentence before that describes it, while my eyes watch the magic of the machine shape usable things.

Or, maybe I'll sit and knit and knit until my thumb is bruised for pushing the needles back and my wrist hurts from the twisting. But I can see the single strand become something strong and useful--something important for the winter chill that is sure to come. Just yesterday, I made two hats that will be gifts on Christmas morning, and I began work on a scarf.

I don't always sit, sometimes I stand and bake until my feet hurt and the house smells like cupcakes or brownies or cookies. These things take little time, and I can watch them rise in the oven. Others may smile as they bite into one even as they reach for another.

These things are my therapy. If I really want to feel better about whatever might be dragging me down, I need to set creation-idle hands to work on a new project. These things I can watch form and see to completion.

I'm still not writing the way I should be. I'm not always making myself present. Because, honestly, most days I get home from the school with the little ones and I just want to sleep or do nothing. I find myself drained of creativity...and I'm not moving forward like I want to be. I can't see the pieces of my own quilt coming together, or all the stitches in my scarf, or the ingredients in my cake to see what flavor I will be. My life feels like it's standing still.

As my life is still, so is my writing. When I create the words come easily, something about the workings of my hands activating the workings of my mind. And then I run into the issue of time.

I should be more prolific.

I say this despite the two unfinished quilts strewn about the living room and the unfinished scarf in my bedroom...and the several unfinished stories on my hard drive.

I should be more prolific and finish these things to make room for new things.

What kind of love is this?

I read a post on tumblr a few days ago that really struck me...a Jane Austen quote that I'm not sure I'd ever read (and if I had, I surely had forgotten it), "I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong." [Northanger Abbey] Something in me responded to the idea that some people do everything halfheartedly, even love, and then I was overwhelmed by the realization that I am much like this quote--my attractions are excessively, annoyingly, strong.

While I was blow drying my hair this morning I was thinking about a conversation I want to have with someone....and how I want to tell them that I don't do things by halves. I don't do something with the heart unless I've thought it over and really felt around it--this doesn't mean that I don't get hurt, it means that I get way to involved sometimes. The point of this internal conversation was that I really do like this individual. In my mind I thought, "I am not in the business of doing things by halves...and that can be hard. But I am comforted by the knowledge that I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves either."

I worship a God that doesn't do things by halves. Who would have thought that such a moment of clarity would come when I was pummeling my ears with the sound of rushing air? There I was, still damp, blow dryer in hand, and completely overjoyed at the revelation that God doesn't do anything half way.

His love is all encompassing, and all forgiving. He is so fully committed that He sent His Son to die for my pitiful, wretched soul--so broken by sin that it seems impossible for a perfect being to love.

It occurs to me now that His full commitment makes my "no halves" thing seem really pathetic. I may think things through and really allow myself to get hurt because of it, but I don't think I would actually die to prove my devotion to another person. And then one begs the question, am I willing to die for Christ, for His good news, like He died for my soul? I hope so. I hope that if that day comes, He will give me the strength to be so completely committed.

I may not be in the business of doing things by halves...but thank God, He is definitely not in the business of doing anything halfway or incompletely. The story is still being told, and because He fulfills all His promises I can rest easy tonight knowing that He will come again and reclaim what is His. The story isn't over yet.

You never stop learning the important lessons....

I've been learning a lot about myself lately. Working in an elementary school has certainly lent to this "growth spurt."

For example, I've been learning about the kind of parent I'll be. I mean, we all hope to be the stellar parents that the Hallmark movies show us, but when it comes right down to it we're human and we're bound to make mistakes. That doesn't mean I can't learn from the parents at my school--the good and the bad.

Some parents make a point of coming to eat lunch with their kids once a week--I think this is a neat idea, though maybe a bit unrealistic depending on the work situation. I do think I'll try to make it at least once a month though...just so I can see how the kids all interact together.

If a teacher tells me my child may have a learning disability, I will be the first one to sign off on the paperwork--I'd rather know the name of the beast and face it head on then let it terrorize my child out of fear that it may be difficult to tame.

Medical issues. We'll get them taken care of. 

We're going to read. I'll read them bedtime stories and then I'll work on their reading with them--like my parents did for me. 

If the teacher or administration says my kid has a behavior issue in school I will believe them. Kids aren't always perfect angels. 

And I think I'll figure out some way to make sure the teachers knows he/she is appreciated. (We have parents that bring their teachers things to keep them motivated and inspired--calendars and sticknote pads with quotes, etc.) 


Most profoundly though, I've learned that I have a love for broken things.

Some of the kids I love the most--care about and worry about the most--are the ones that have behavior issues and struggle with reading and math. Now, this comes mostly from working with them the most. I can't tell you how sick I feel though when a little girl is so lonely at home that she can hardly bear the thought of going into a crowded classroom where she has no friends--and she's clutching at my fingers, hoping that I will just listen to her. So I get hugs from the kids that need the most love...and I can't say that I mind.

It's funny, these same kids that are stealing my heart now are the kids that drove me nuts when I was in their classes with them. I always hated how the troublemakers got the most attention... but when I look back on it, they probably needed it more than I did. I didn't go home to a mom that was so preoccupied she couldn't read me a story. I didn't go home to a sister that told me she hated. I didn't go home to find out that my dad was going to jail. My home was always filled with love and support.

I didn't understand that then. I'm glad I'm still learning now.

This dusty barren land had given all it could yield...

It was recently pointed out to me *cough*LeAnn*cough* that I haven't blogged in a while. I knew this was true, and I had been meaning too, honestly. My new job has left me exhausted once 3:30 hits, and I've fallen into my old napping pattern... But I keep hoping that my body will adjust to the schedule and that I'll be able to get to bed a little earlier so I can stop napping in the afternoons.

Over the last few months I've noticed that I thrive on hope. I'm sure that most of you already knew this, and it was probably something I knew for a long time but hadn't yet come to realize the entirety of its scope.

This morning it really struck me how deeply this hope runs.
I've been hoping for rain--desperately.
I've been hoping that my cousin would recover from her botched surgery well.
I've been hoping that my other cousin would pull herself together and just be okay.
I've been hoping that this "maybe someday it'll work out" would just work out.
I've been hoping that our little first grader with behavior issues would get the attention she deserves at home so she can grow into the creative girl I see lurking behind the tangled hair and eyes that haven't learned to read yet.
I've been hoping that the writing bug would just take hold of me again and never let me go.
I've been hoping.
Hoping.
Hoping.

I even surround myself with literature that emphasizes the idea of hope and I wrap it around me like a warm security blanket. And I even hope that someday my life would echo those virtues that fictional characters so easily embody: strength, loyalty, nobility, honor, courage and faith.

So it's no surprise when I see small glimmers of these things in real life that I get excited and want to capture the moments. 

I have all of this hope, all of this want, but I'm still content.

Even if the rain comes just as harvest season is about to begin, at least there is moisture.
Even if my cousin had 20 units of blood transfused and got E. coli in a hospital, at least she is alive.
Even if my cousin moved back to the wretched situation that keeps throwing her to the wolves, at least she is talking to me about it and being open about the hardships.
Even if "maybe someday" isn't today, at least I have letter writing to pass the time.
Even if our little first grader was in the office again because of a tantrum, at least she is reaching out and she hugged me later and didn't want me to leave her.
Even if I'm not writing as much as I want, at least I know the story is still alive in me and it's just setting its roots a little deeper.

"Oh, Dear I never saw you coming. Oh my, look what you have done. You're my favorite song, always on the tip of my tongue." [Civil Wars, Tip of my Tongue]