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.

You will find that the world has changed forever...

There is something about the way a poet speaks to another poet. Something about the way a writer can nod and hum to the other writer. There is an understanding that passes between the kindred spirit.

These are our homegrown words. We protect them--we would defend against an army of critics for them. Because they are the pieces of our souls that we don't just let any conversation see.

These are the things that world would scoff at if we said them in the day-to-day. So we hide them. Feed them, nourish them with the scraps we save back. And they grow in secret. We went to show them off because, oh, they grow up so beautifully.

So when you meet another and you can tell in the way they save back words and phrases and ideas. You can tell by the way they live their quiet existence observing, borrowing from the "real" world. But you can see it in their eyes that they aren't full-time residence of the world we call "real." No, their mind is in a world far realer, far fairer to them.

And you may say, "Hello." But what you mean is, "I have a secret, too." Sometimes the trust develops so quickly you're not sure where it began, but you know in your heart, This person understand who I am, who I want to be.


There's something in the way a poet can talk to another poet. Sometimes without words because poetry runs deeper than the words themselves. But even in the silence you understand the struggle of home-grown words.

"I don't speak often cause I don't speak well. Every song I write has a story to tell." [Ginny Owens]

This was over before it ever began...

This year has just flown by. I can hardly believe that I'm home for the summer. The general theme seems to be: "I'm going to miss everybody, what am I going to do without all of my friend? We've made it so far!"

Now. I am going to miss my friends. And I truly can't believe I only have a year of undergrad work left. It's a big deal. And honestly, it probably deserves a blog post--but I'm not going to give it one. Nor am I going to give my pining for my friends a post--I'll see them again, before we know it summer will be over. (I do miss you all, really I do.)

The bigger issue of being done with the semester--packing and unpacking.

It took me a day to get all of my stuff loaded into the pack of the truck with the help of some friends (thanks Andrew, Heather and Heidi). Before I left campus, I looked at the truck and said, "Woah. My whole life fits into the back of a truck." This may be an over generalization, but it's kind of true, when you think about it. Everything I need to "survive" was in the back of a truck. Crazy.

When I got home I had to unload it all into the garage and living room--my room in the basement wasn't ready to handle all of the boxes yet. How is it that a room couldn't hold what a truck could? Because it was full of a crap from the previous chapters of my life--middle school and high school.

So, I spent the first day on break ignoring the impending project and read a book, a whole book. For fun. It was lovely. Today though, the second day of break, I had to venture down to my bedroom... and started pulling things apart so I could put them back together in a more efficient way.

What has happened?

Well, I stripped my bed to wash the sheets and stuff, and then I started going through some of the older boxes that held stuff I had forgotten existed. I threw a lot of stuff away. I figured that if I didn't remember it I probably didn't need it. That said, I still have a huge pile of crap on my naked bed. Stuff that I don't know what to do with.

I went through the old Graduation Cards...that was a nice trip down memory lane.

I found millions of old notebooks with started stories...I'm excited to see what I may be able to do with some of them.

I checked hundreds of pens to see if they still worked...I love the cheap pens that never seem to die.

I have apparently been hoarding music from high school...All State Music...that made me smile, I hadn't realized I had stolen from the school.

I went through a very angsty period in my life...there are many pieces of paper with poems to prove that which I don't really remember.

I. Am. A. Pack. Rat.
(But if I'm throwing most of it away now, does that redeem that quality?)

Here's to big projects. And the start of summer. And books yet to be read. And stories waiting to be told and written down.

"It's hectic in my mind, but I'm gonna leave it behind. I'm ready to let go." [Natalie Grant]

This is not my home...

Now, judging by the title of this post, I bet you're thinking, "Oh, she's going to talk about heaven." Wrong. I'm not. And besides, that would be way to literal. Haven't you noticed that most of my blog titles are a bit of a stretch? They make sense to me, but I understand that they won't make sense to everyone. ... and that's okay. Anyway... so, if I'm not talking about heaven then what am I talking about?

My family came to see me yesterday on their way home from a college visit with my brother. We went out to eat and I once again took notice of how my brother is growing, but he still maintains the old habits; such as, eating his food in compartments. He ate all of his coleslaw. Then he ate all of his fries. And then he ate his burger. There is to be no mixing of the food before it enters the stomach. No mixing. That rule never gets broken. I told him that he was a compartmentalist.

It doesn't take much to get my mom going on a rant about habits. Let's just say that my family is full of habits...and when they're disrupted...well...it's bad. She said that at this college visit, whenever they would meet back in the big conference room, my dad and brother would pick the exact same seats. We used to sit in the same seats every Sunday; and if we could still swing it, I'm sure we would now too.

It always makes me laugh when I notice these habitual things in my family.

Today in Language and Linguistics we moved to a different classroom. (I just realized it was for the VCR.) And that was strange for me. I had to sit in a completely different room...and it definitely through of my groove. (Weird, I know.)

Then, I went to Poetry Writing and someone was sitting in my chair! Now, I don't actually care, it wasn't a big deal, but it was still a displacement.

And then it hit me.

I am so my daddy's girl.

I like my routine, and I get flustered when it's disrupted.

At least I don't compartmentalize my food. That would be silly.

"Now's the time for letting go. I surrender all. Can You hear my call, when I'm at the end of myself? Is this where You begin, when I'm caving in." [Remedy Drive]

Why do I do the things I do?

In my Language and Linguistics class we have started talking about grammar. (This is where most people tell me I'm crazy for being and English major. Who likes grammar?) Well, we've been discussing the difference between writing and usage. Most of the time, when someone says, "They have really bad writing skills," they mean the usage, not the writing itself. Someone can be an excellent writer--usually characterized by complete and original thoughts and ideas--but then their usage can be sour--comma use is poor, spelling is bad, sentence structure is lacking, ect.

Now, I've always regarded myself as a decent writer. (Can you see a bit of that confidence coming into play? Really, if you're writing and you think it's worth reading, you have a least a little bit of an ego.) In the middle of class though, I started to have a mental break-down. Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Do my usage skills suck? Should I switch my major? Do all of my colleagues cringed when they read my papers? Did I proof-read that paper for Dr. Ashby very well? What about the one for Dr. Gernant? What would I do if I didn't write? That's the basic idea of what this internal melt-down looked like.

Then I had to go to Poetry Writing. Now, I love that class, it is one of my favorites. I'm normally fairly vocal about my opinions in that class...but yesterday I just couldn't do it. Those feelings of self-doubt, that Ling and Lang instilled in me, were leaking over into my poetry. Now, I did speak a little, but not nearly as much as I normally do...at least it felt like less.

After that I had to work. While I was working I needed to finish a paper for Dr. Thurber, before our meeting. The entire time I was stressing out about how I wasn't using perfect MLA formatting... (I hate formatting, by the way.)

Once I got into his office though, a deep calm seem to rush over me. There's just something about that man that soothes the frayed nerves. We had an excellent conversation about my independent study. He would read to me little bits of what I had written in previous papers and then he would tell me how well I articulated it and would ask me to expound upon what I had said. These are papers I had written at least a month ago, so it was kind of hard to recall exactly I had meant when typing them.

The meeting lasted a half an hour. And when it was all done, Dr. Thurber told me he was very glad to see where I was going with this research into Tolkien's Middle Earth. Deep sigh of relief. I am where I am supposed to be. This is at least part of what I was meant to do. Praise God for gentle reminders.


"If you're a ship and you're lost in the ocean, I'll be the wind in your sails, give you motion. I will guide you home. If you're too far out that you can't see the shore line, I'll be the lighthouse shining in the night time. I will guide you home. I will guide you home. When the night is long, when the storm is strong, I will guide you, I will guide you home." [Remedy Drive]

It's still winter in my wonderland...

It's snowing! It started yesterday and isn't supposed to stop until tonight sometime....yay! (just kidding)


But, for the first time ever, all two of my classes have been canceled! yay!

So today, I fully intend to be super productive!

I started this blog this morning, and I am pleased to announce that it has in fact been a very productive day.

I did the following:
Wrote for an hour (Can I just say how absolutely relieving this was?) for my Poetry class that was canceled.
Watched a video about English in America for my Language and Linguistics class.
Worked on British Literature III homework that isn't due until Friday. (I'm working ahead? What?)
Read for Young Adult Literature. I love "The Book Thief."
Read a little for my Independent Study. I also love "The Fellowship of the Ring." (obviously)

Yeah. Woah.

And I went stir crazy, trapped in my room. I'm sure my roommate appreciated that. Ha.


We had nachos tonight in the cafeteria! They were so yummy! And then, we lost power! That was exciting.


"One angel put a flute to her lips and another started shaking her hips."
[So Elated, Angels and Shepherds]
Disclaimer: My roomie wanted me to specify that this is about Baby Jesus being born. Yeah.

So it begins...

The first week of the semester is over, and it's been kind of intense. I have five English classes this semester, and three of them are literature classes, one a reading intensive Language and Linguistics class, it's easy to say that I am going to absolutely love my Poetry Writing class. Poetry is going to be my detox class.

It's funny, with the start of this semester I find a new kind of peace.

Last night I watched Despicable Me with some friends. Afterwards we were all talking and at 11:11 I said, "Make a wish!" Both of the girls with me wished about a boy. And I thought to myself, "I don't have anyone to wish for." And that was okay. As much as I want to be on that path to wife-dom and motherhood, I am at peace with the fact that I am not right now.

Over Christmas break I did a lot of cooking and cleaning, and now I am learning time management--patience. I am learning my "God-lessons" as I like to call them. When I'm in the thick of it, and I'm fighting with God about how well I need to actually learn a lesson, I find myself thinking that he must surely be learning his own "God-lessons." And I know that we will both be better for this wait.

"Some things are certain." [Arwen]