Komm, Herr Jesu, sei Du unser Gast

I remember the day Daddy came into the kitchen when I was maybe five years old. There is fuzz around the edges of the memory, but it's there--standing out proudly as one of landmarks in my childhood, a moment that would change the way I prayed every day. It was lunch time and Mommy had set the table when Daddy came to take his seat. He folded his hands and said, "We're going to learn a new prayer today." Gently, patiently, he taught his small children how to say The Common Table Prayer in German. A tradition that would shape every meal to come.

The only time I didn't utter the words vocally in the following years was when we would eat at other people's homes and school cafeterias. But always with my family it was those words that had become an integral part of home. If home is where the heart is, then my home is laced with German prayers.

College was a place where you prayed silently before each meal--words internalized, but no less real. One of the things I would miss most from Pfeifenhof (the name of our home, meaning whistle home) was the fellowship in praying simultaneously in German with three other people. Each time summer would roll around I would become eager to sit around the table and offer up blessings.

I did not expect to feel Home during Dead Week and Finals Weeks my last semester of school. There it was though, amongst everything I had never dreamed of.

We sat, two nervous individuals, at a public restaurant with steaming food before us. I hadn't thought of the prayer in my preparations for the meal, but there it was when he asked,

"Do you pray before you eat?"  

Yes.

"Is the Common Table Prayer okay? That's what we normally do."  

Yes, you go ahead and pray, we normally say it in German, so I'll just listen. I don't know what made me say that, normally I just go with the flow.

"Oh, you mean, Komm, Herr Jesu, sei Du..."  

...Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I mean. And I can hardly find the words.

"Well, we can pray in German. You had better lead though, because I don't know if I remember the last part."

And I can't believe that we're praying together over our food in German, and part of my heart is singing at how homey it all feels. It's a good thing the German comes as second nature because I don't know if English would have come so easily in that moment.

Less than a week later we're sitting at a different table, with different food, but a look passes between us and he bows his head and starts saying the words. My Daddy's words, and the words of past years long gone. He's leading this time, confidant and sure. And as we pray for Christ's blessings on our food I'm praying a silent prayer that His blessings be on this, whatever this is.

And that second prayer continues to grow.

"Komm, Herr Jesu, sei Du unser Gast, und segna, was Du uns bescheret hast. Amen."

Hope's not giving up....

This is the story of a girl with a large heart. She filled her head with dreams of fairytales--knights in shining armor, rugged heroes, ladies of high esteem. A place where anything you dreamed could be attained if you worked hard enough. 

She put off one dream (the dream of her heart) to pursue her mind's dream. Instead of being content in her place she went to further her knowledge of the fairytale. The time she spent reading and learning was well spent, but occasionally she would get a glimpse of the other dream. It didn't take much--a weekend or a break from her scholastics spent at home was all she needed to awaken the old dream. 

Her arms elbow-deep in hot water, eyes looking out over the harvested fields, she wonders why she ever wanted more. A breeze pushes through the screen of the window as she dries her hands on the white tea-towel and suddenly she's somewhere else. 

She's a pioneer out on the frontier, or a simple maid in a medieval town. And she is not alone. Instead of preparing for her brother's birthday, she's baking for a child's name day and a husband that's been working hard under the sun. Whomever she prepares the table for, it matters little. The table is prepared--the food a blessing. And that is enough. God is good.

Where did this hope come from? This is the story of a girl that had clung so desperately to hope that she didn't realize when she had let it slip through her fingers for her eyes were squeezed tight--scared to face the truth. She knew the words--God provides--but somewhere along the way she let them grow hollow. Trudging on, day after day, she forgot to offer thanks for the blessings. And the trials. And the rejections, though three there be. 

The radio was turned up, louder than it should have been, and the windows rolled down. A song began to play that she had heard a million times--and she loved it all along. Something was different this time around, and words of one of her professors came echoing back, "Read it again, the words won't have changed. But my, you have." How she'd changed, and she didn't even realize it was happening. The song was poignant. Her finger pushed the back button again and again--letting the lyrics be a heavy hammer through the dimness she had been facing. And tears press against her eyes because it's been so long since she's felt anything.

Daylight proved to chase away the darkness and contentment settled in. Peace came over her mind and settled in her heart. Though the days she will face may be difficult, she will not be alone. This is the story of a girl alive with hope. 

"Hope, sweet Hope, how much more can she take being our strength when our hearts run out of faith?... Hope is with me in my time of trouble, when it all comes crashing down she will stay by my side digging through the rubble. She's not giving up, not giving up, not giving up..." [Hope, Remedy Drive]

I don't want your sympathy or pity...

It's time to talk about this thing that I've been carrying around for a while. A thing that I have not addressed because it hurt. And no matter how many times I sang, Blessed be Your name when I'm found in the desert place... I still felt the sting.

A day I will never forget. I even wrote a letter for the box I will one day give to my husband explaining what had happened. And I try not to litter that space with nonsensical things. (Though it's hard not to some days.)

November 1, 2010. I have mentioned this briefly before. It was a Monday night and I had only been on campus for about 24 hours after getting back from a weekend at home. I was working on Greek when I got the phone call from what my caller id said was Mom. Not knowing what she could have wanted after only spending an entire weekend with me, I answered a little annoyed at the disturbance. But it wasn't Mom, it was Josef. And I never heard his voice sound so soft on the phone before.

"Anna boo?"

"Yeah, what's up? Why are you on Mom's phone?"

"Mine's dead." Pause. "Mr. Cushing passed away today."

Pause. He has to be kidding. There's no way. "What?"

"Mom wants to talk to you."

I don't remember what she said. I don't remember much of anything as far as words go.

I remember disregarding my Greek flash cards. I remember laying on the floor; broken. I remember being thankful my roommate was at class. I remember finally crawling into bed and crying more.

When LeAnn returned I had to explain what was wrong. My words did not convey why I was so upset. I didn't know then why I was so upset. I'm still not entirely sure.

The emails I sent to my professors and boss were short. I wouldn't be in class on Tuesday due to the loss of a mentor.

A mentor.


He was a mentor, a man I respected as a teacher, as a scientist. I wrote him a letter explaining how thankful I was to have him as my middle school science teacher. How I couldn't think of anyone that could have made the seventh grade sex-talk less awkward. How his genuine concern that his students were actually learning deeply impacted my view on educators. How much I appreciated him using acid to unstick my glued fingertips. How he would have made an excellent school administrator. How I remember that he shared not only my dad's first name but also his middle name.

It's strange, the memories we hang on to.

I went home on Tuesday to vote, and also to be alone. The hour drive was rough. Voting was harder--it was at a school and one of the administrators was talking about, "the death of that teacher at that rural school." His name was Mr. David Lee Cushing, and he was one of the best teachers I ever had.


Really, I wanted to talk to people that knew who he was. (As much as I love and appreciate my roommate, she didn't know who I was talking about. And she doesn't know what to do with crying, she told me so. I love you, LeAnn.)  But we didn't talk about it. Not really. Mom said she thought it was a heart attack and Dad couldn't remember "what's-his-face's" name. So I went back to school after dinner not feeling any better.

I went back to classes on Wednesday. I think Blanco would have given me another day if I had asked. He made sure I was okay after class, offered some good words of encouragement and extra Greek help. Thursday was when all of my profs asked how I was doing. Numb.


When Friday rolled around I got dressed up after class and went back to Grand Island. It was the day of the visitation. I went into the church hoping, praying, for some closure once I saw the body. But there was no body. It was an unexpected death (and I think that's why I was shocked to tears) and an early burial. He was only 40.

While I was standing there alone, trying not to cry, I heard his dad speaking. They sound the same, and when I turned to see who it was I knew immediately it was his father. He was talking to someone about the cause of death--I had heard it was a heart attack (he was overweight). It turns out that he had some kind of disease that causes liquid to fill the lungs, I can't recall what it's called now. They thought he was having a hard time breathing, and so laid down on the floor to try to clear his airway. It was too late when he realized that his lungs were filling with fluid. He couldn't get up. He essentially drowned.

I almost lost it. He drowned. What a painful way to die. I had to leave. I went out to my car and tried to call Claire. I tried to call LeAnn. I knew they were all busy. Finally, I called Cole. He was playing a game with his family, but he took the time to listen to me cry for a good five minutes.

I called Dad, told him I was done at the visitation. I drove an hour just to stand in a room for ten minutes and not even see the body. We went out to eat together. We didn't talk about it over dinner. It wasn't until we were out on the sidewalk and I was getting ready to go back to Seward that we finally talked about it.

He put his arm around me and asked me how it went. I told him the whole story. Sometimes what a girl needs is to just cry into her daddy's shoulder when the world doesn't make sense. When I finally got myself under control (it took a visit to the art gallery where Mom shows her work) I was able to drive back to Seward.

Why is this coming up now? A friend's dad died this last month (July). And she seemed to be handling the death of her father much better than I handled the death of my teacher. The difference is that she had weeks of preparing for that loss and I was blindsided.

Life is a funny thing.

And all will turn to silver glass...

I took Hansi outside today so he could do his doggy duty. It was warm, but not unpleasantly hot. So, while he snooted out a spot, I took a seat on the back step. And for the first time, in a long time, I just watched the land and listened to the whistles and buzzes in the air.

Four acres of land that is ours. Four acres that I really don't take the time to examine very often. When I do spend time with the flora and fauna I'm mowing, and I have my iPod in and I don't listen to anything but the loud hum of the riding mower and the blaring ear buds.

But the earth has a music of its own.

I started thinking about what this land means to my Dad, as part of his inheritance. And I wonder what will happen to it someday. My Aunt's husband always talks about windmills, which my dad has responded to with, "Over my dead body." He doesn't want anything to happen to this place that will "mar the landscape." He cherishes this good green earth. Why don't I think about it the same way?

I haven't worked these fields like he has--I spent my time in another farmer's corn, pulling tassels. Even when I was working I was singing, trying to make myself forget the heat and the thirst that followed me.

Sometimes I wish I could know what my dad thinks when he sees the fields that his father once worked so hard to maintain. I like to think that the fields are part of Grandpa Rob that were left behind and that when Dad walks around them (while another farmer works them now) he talks to his dad about the things he didn't get to say when he was alive. About how his daughter has the same gait as he did (apparently). About the joys of being married--and the hardships. About his son that would make his grandpa so proud. About the four grandchildren he never met. About how he works with computers now, but he did cling to his art for a long time.

You see, they were both artists, just of a different nature. Grandpa was an artist of the land: year after year he would work to mold the fields and livestock into a living painting, one that changed with the seasons. Dad, well, he would paint the landscape, but he was also a sculptor, he too moved the clay into a piece of art.

I think my Oma works her gardens and the yard to so much because she wants to feel close to him, too. She protects the farm, she's wrapped her entire being around its upkeep. When she is outside in this Nebraska sun, I think she imagines my Grandpa coming home from the fields and giving her a dusty hug. I wish I could witness this love.

So tonight, I sat on the back step and breathed deep the air that my Grandpa must have loved so dearly. I wondered what it will be like someday when I bring kids back to visit my parents. And I thought of where I will be in a little over a year. Will I still be breathing in the Nebraska air, or will I be in Iowa City surrounded by suburbs?

I pray that I will never forget the whistling, buzzing, and humming of this place. That I would not forget the beauty of the grass that fights against the weeds every year. The perfect rows of the cornfields. How could this land still suffer Adam's curse? If this is the curse, this land of plenty, then I cannot imagine what it was like in the Garden.

"In a dry and thirsty land, Lord you are the rain." [Casting Crowns]

Home sweet home...

Some things that I learned while house sitting:

1. Light bulbs burn out at the most unlikely time. Don't let it throw you off, even if they are unusual sizes.

2. Eventually, toilet bowl seats break. It has nothing to do with you--it just happens. And if you freak out enough and have enough nightmares you're bound to find out that the owner of said toilet broke her gramma's a week earlier. You'll feel better.

3. Cats are strange creatures. They're adorable, but they're strange. Don't let their cute appearance fool you--they play dirty. I've never had so many scratches.

4. Neighbor ladies and lovely, make a point to meet them before the last day of house sitting.

5. If you live in the country and house sit in town over the Fourth of July, don't be alarmed if it sounds like a war just erupted on the front lawn--it's apparently very normal.

6. If a cat is hungry enough in the morning and you're still sleeping he will lick and bite your elbow. And then you're arm. And he'll try to get to your face, but if you're lucky his whiskers will wake you up.

7. Some cats like helping you make the bed.

8. Some cats can open doors--beware.

9. You may think your barky dog is annoying, but you'll miss his cuddling.

10. People in town mow their lawn in columns, they don't go around in circles like you do on a four acre lot. Don't be scared of breaking your pattern.

11. People will come and pray over your house when you're not there, and they'll leave you a little flier telling you that they're praying. It's a nice gesture, but also kind of creepy.

12. The guy that checks the meter will knock on your door at an ungodly hour. He's just doing his job, be nice and try not to look like the living dead.

13. The garbage guy makes a lot of noise, and actually picks up early in the morning--it's not just a myth!

14. It's nice managing your own home. The day-to-day chores are actually enjoyable if you turn the music on loud enough. It's also easier with just one person to care for.

15. Don't forget about the plant. You will kill it in three weeks. You will turn out to be your mother's daughter. You will regret this gene.

16. Thunderstorms are scarier when you only have the cats and no weather alarms (no matter how much you loath that weather alarm, you do feel saver with it).

17. Reading seems to be more difficult to focus on while staying in another person's house...mostly because you can't figure out how to make the tea because you don't know where anything is.

18. Falling asleep on the couch with TVLand playing is incredibly easy. And waking up to "The Nanny" can be jarring.

19. It's harder living in two places in one town than two places across the state from one another.

20. Sing in the shower as loud as you want. There is no one for you to disturb.

"This is home, now I'm finally where I belong."

How did You go and make me pretty?

My friend, Leesha Harvey, is an aspiring musician, and she's awesome. You should go look up her music, it's great. I don't know if it's on iTunes or not... but you can do a free download of her new album, and then donate to get the lyrics and some awesome photography! Go here! (The title of the post came from one of her songs, hence the plug.) (Lisa, I think you would enjoy this.)

It's funny, I was originally going to talk about music here--one song particularly. And then, while I was getting ready to start the post that song played and that line just struck me, and it had to be a post title.

So, the main event:

This morning in church we sang "Blessed Be Your Name." Now most people know that song, especially if they attend a church with contemporary worship--it tends to be a favorite. So, it's not strange that we sang it or anything. However, it got me thinking. If there's one song that has been a theme in my life, it's this one. I mean, there are all kinds of songs that I can listen to and remember a period in my life that was totally in sync with it, but this song in particular has been with me through many storms.

Maybe there's someone out there that isn't familiar with the song. (If so, go find it on YouTube, a ton of artists sing it, feel free to get a variety!)

I just want to share with you all my journey with this song.

I grew up singing this song: Sunday mornings, and some Wednesday nights when I was in middle school and high school, and Church camp. It's been a huge part of my churchgoing experience. Most you know how it is: you sing a song so many times it can start to lose meaning. Not so with this song, not for me. It speaks to several different times in one's life that it is always relatable in new ways.

When I was first told I had to wear a back brace I didn't think it would turn into a two year ordeal. But while I was in that thing, the song was able to speak to that wilderness. "God, this sucks. Why am I having to go through this? Yet I love You. Blessed be Your name." And I guarantee you that when I was finally released from the spine doctor, my heart was singing (along with my mouth)

"Blessed be Your name 

When the sun's shining down on me 

When the world's all as it should be 

Blessed be Your name"

I found out last year that the lady that took my senior pictures, a family friend, has a rare lung disease. Basically, her lungs are turning into smooth muscle, which means no breathing once it gets too bad. She was pregnant when we found out. I was home for the weekend, or something, and Mom told me just as I was arriving. I remember going down to my room. I was angry at God. Why would He let that happen to her? She is one of the sweetest ladies I know, and she needs Christ in her life. While I was in my room, I was laying on my bed, staring the ceiling, choking on tears. Suddenly, this song popped into my head. And I sang. At the top of my lungs, not thinking about the people above me.

 "Blessed be Your name 

On the road marked with suffering 

Though there's pain in the offering 

Blessed be Your name." 

Over and over again.

"You give and take away 

You give and take away 

My heart will choose to say 

Lord, blessed be Your name." 

The idea that the life within her womb could have brought her closer to death made me feel ill. And still I sang, even though it hurt.

When I found out that my middle school science teacher had died, I was alone in my dorm room. I don't remember where LeAnn was, but I'm glad she wasn't there. I had been studying Greek. And then I wasn't. I was laying on the floor crying my lungs away, until I couldn't hardly breathe. Then I climbed up into my bed, and cried some more. I tried to sing again. I thought maybe that this loss would be easier to bear if I could honestly still sing, "Blessed be Your name, God, even though this isn't fair." But I couldn't make my lung work anymore. So I went home for the visitation. And after I spent five minutes in the room, I went out to my car and cried some more. I called my friend Cole and cried to him for a while. (Cole, I'm still incredibly thankful for your silence when I couldn't speak, and for your encouragement when I was breathing again.) When I hung up with him, I stared at the roof of my car, and I was finally able to sing again. 

"When the darkness closes in, 

Lord Still I will say 

Blessed be the name of the Lord" 

(Someday I will be able to write a more in depth blog about this, but right now I can't.)

While this song speaks to me in my joys, I find it is a megaphone to my sorrows. And today when we sang it in church I wasn't either. I was neither joyful nor sorrowful. I simply was. And that was okay. For here there may be sorrows sown, and there will be joys reaped. I'm learning that through it all, the good and the bad, God is making me beautiful. I don't understand, and it's painful, but He's doing it. And I love it. So, I will sing with arms raised and heart abandoned because I know that threw it all, even when the way is tough and my heart is numb, "Blessed be Your name!"

"I will remain silent. Time will not heal the loss. Look to the One before us. Journey this road to the Cross. And we walk, we walk. What else can we do? Though the road seems that much harder, now that we're walking without you." [Leesha Harvey]

Maybe our stories won't be told by firesides...

The line that titles this blog is part of a sentence from the paper I presented on Friday at about 2:50.

I have a lot of thoughts jostling around inside my head right now. I wish I could put them all into an order...I know that they are connected, I'm just not entirely sure how right now. Maybe I'll make a list... hm. It's worth a shot.

1. All you have to do is breathe. So keep breathing. Go on breathing. Keep on breathing. (Superchick) This was the motto of my day on Friday. Leading up to my presentation I was getting more and more anxious... until the girl before started talking about Buddhism and how it should be applied to Christianity... then I started squirming my chair... (There's something unsettling about listening to someone explain how they're being sucked away from the Gospel. Sorry, but there really is something absolute about the Gospel, I know our culture likes to shy away from that right now.) and I realized that at least the things I was going to say weren't blasphemous... or heretical. And once I was on the stage, and started reading, it was fine. This is something I am passionate about. I have a firm grasp on this. I can do this. I am doing this.

2. Oh, I feel so tired. I cannot hardly keep open my eyes. (Plumb) Sitting in a van for hours with two professors... I was beyond exhausted. I hadn't slept much all week, and once I was done presenting it just washed over me, this weariness was a tsunami to my thirsty soul. Over dinner, Prof. Reek told me I looked tired... and when I told him it had been a long week of late nights he told me he understood... I don't think he could have. And so, I went to bed early last night, and woke up late this morning. And I took a nap today. And it was good.

3. Why does our brokenness keep whispering? It's telling us we're not anything. (Remedy Drive) Over the course of this semester I have had to deal with self-confidence issues. And presenting a million times had made me think that I wasn't any good at what I love... and I was beginning to doubt why I'm studying English with the intent of being a professor... and every once in a while God drops something my lap--a reminder that I am making the right choices for right now. Things like talking to Dr. Thurber. And things like this presentation and having a girl tell me in the bathroom afterwards that I did a very nice job. I can't let the failures guide my life, rather I must let the success stories speak for me. Speak for me.


4. What you say and what you do are different things. (TobyMac) My cousin didn't call me on my birthday. He didn't even write on my Facebook wall. He used to call me every year--and I always cherished hearing his voice. I used to think that he and I had a special bond because we both wore back braces. He's married now. And he lives far away. I just pray when I get married some day that I won't become as distant from my family as he has. I miss him very much. Yesterday was his birthday. I didn't call him. I thought about it. But I settled on writing on his Facebook wall. Maybe I'll send him a card. Yeah. I think I'll do that.

5. A whole new world... (Aladdin) If you ever have the chance to ride in a car with two professors... do it. And do it as often as you can. You will learn more in that time about their area of interest than any other time in your life. (maybe) And you'll also learn how deeply they care about their students (at least on a smaller campus). I was so anxious to be done with my undergrad...but I'm sad now to be leaving these professors because I know how much they care about every single one of their students. I pray that someday I will care as deeply for my students while they discover what it means to be an adult. I caught a glimpse of what my future could be, and it could be beautiful.

6. We all long to belong. We all need to be needed. (Krystal Meyers) It is said that chivalry is dead. Wrong. As long as Prof. Reek lives there will still be chivalry in this world. He tried to help me into the van (fail). I tried to take my hand back, but he REALLY wanted to help me into that van. He did help me out of the van, which was better. Every door was opened by him, or someone else, and held until I had passed through. And when he was unable to help me with my coat it was, "One of you young men help Anna with her coat, please." I didn't think they would actually do it... but Grant informed me I had been "gentlemanized." It was nice...why did women ever fight against this? Were they nut jobs? (ha.)

7. People not only can surprise you, but they will. Nuns can be feminists.... I was not expecting that one.

8. Faith is never taught, it's just something they catch from watching you along the way. (Mark Schultz) Dr. Thurber casts a long shadow... and he is not the end-all-be-all power that I imagined him to be. I am sad that he will not be the Dean anymore... but I am ecstatic that he will be teaching more classes.

9. Don't waste, one day is all that we've got to give and take. (Adie) I was asked if I felt like I got a good education from my public schooling. Yes. But I was also in the AP classes getting college credit. School is really what you make it to be. If you're there to learn, then you will. If you're there to screw around, then maybe you won't. The success or failure of a school does not rest solely on the teachers, it also rests on the students. I was told that my parents probably did a lot to motivate me. And then Dr. Holtorf said, "I think she's self-motivated too. I think so anyway."

10. We want to feel Your wind in our lungs. There's a little girl at church. Every Sunday her daddy holds her during worship. And every Sunday, while we're singing she puts her little hands up in the air and she opens her mouth as wide as it will go. She can't be over 3 years old... and I don't know if she's actually making any noise when she opens her mouth and bobs her head along to the music. But whenever I see her I pray. Papa God, don't let her spirit for You fade away, make it grow stronger day by day. Raise her up to see Your face, and teach those around her to see Your grace. Teach my heart give all things up, like her little arms reach to something she can't see to touch. One day, when I have children, help me to be an example that allows for such reckless abandon.  


11. She was watching as they were dancing and thought "Someday I wanna be like that." She was watching her momma singing as they were dancing hand in hand. And though she can't recall the song, she was watching. (Mark Schultz)  During the return journey on Friday, we stopped at a Cracker Barrel. I went in to use the restroom before we took off for the last leg of our journey. While I was drying my hands, a little girl and her mom were in a stall. I can only assume the little girl was finished and waiting for her mom. I heard a, "Wait, stay here please. Can Mommy go potty too, please? Please don't open the door." That could be me someday... and I smiled to myself as I left the restroom.

12. In Christ alone, my hope is found. Hope is a constant in a world full of morphing despair. I am ruminating over my paper, replaying the themes and the quotes. Maybe our stories won't be told by firesides...but maybe they don't need to be. Maybe the greatest part of our story has already been told. And truly, it has.

13. The sweet by and by. There is a song that talks about the singers grandma singing "The Sweet by and by" all the time... and when I'm old, I want my sweet by and by to be "Be Thou my Vision." yeah.

This list could go on... but I do believe I will spare you. (At least for a little while.)

"Be Thou my vision, Oh Lord of my heart, naught be all else to me, save that Thou art! Thou my best thought, by day or by night, waking or sleeping, Thy presence my light."

God is bigger than the boogie man...

My brother turned seventeen last week. He's officially taller than I am. When we were younger, we used to fight like no one's business. There was hair pulling, biting, hitting, yeah, the works. We were nasty to each other... but under that level of rawness there was a deeper love that went straight to our bones, the very essence of who we were.

I used to sing to him when he was terribly scared. I would tell him everything would be okay, that Daddy would never let anything happen to us because he loved us so much. (Not that there was ever actually any danger, anyway.)

Well, on Monday I got a phone call from him. He rarely calls me... and I was watching Stargate with a friend. (Yes, every Monday I let my inner nerd out and watch my sci fi show.) It was a really intense episode emotionally, and I didn't really want to talk to him just then. But I answered anyway. He said that he was driving home from Boy Scouts. (He's almost an Eagle Scout, woo!) He also said he almost hit five animals, and that he was kind of freaked out by it.

He's always been afraid of the dark and the nightly noises. Which always reminds me of the quote "heed no nightly noises" which comes up in The Fellowship of the Ring as well as other places. I told him he would be fine. And that I needed to go. After hanging up, I almost instantly regretted it. If we had been younger, I would have sang for him, I would have sang the Veggie Tales song, "God is bigger than the boogie man" and I know it would have made him feel better.

The next night I was walking back to my room in the dark. While I wasn't actually freaked out, I was kind of bored, and cold, so I called him. He, surprisingly, answered. And he talked to me the entire way back to my dorm. He told me silly stories that made me laugh and started retelling an episode of Magnum P.I. for me. It was sweet.

I'm glad that I have him. And while I sometimes feel like I'm protecting him, I don't think he realizes how much he is protecting me. I don't think I always realize. But he is. He protects my heart from bitterness and depression. He saves me from self-loathing. I am so thankful for him and his laughter and ability to make me laugh, even when I'm royally ticked off.

Just the other day I was flipping through a notebook and found scrawled on one of the pages: "Beauty is more than skin deep. And your skin is beautiful so you've got both things going for you!" --Josef

And I found a video he had recorded on my computer over Christmas of him dancing while I was listening to music in the kitchen while baking.

I miss my Bud Nub. Desperately. He's the best little brother I could have ever asked for.

"God smiles on my little brother. His love is making me stronger. Inside and out he's better than I am." [Taylor Swift]