Month: November 2011

  • On Being Wrong

    So about the depression food I blogged about in my last entry…  

    I was wrong! 

    I had made a bunch of delicious experimental popovers and was sure that I had to throw them out and was freezing them in vain. But guess what I’m chewing on now! Yup. A re-warmed popover. And you know what? It’s still crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside. Although the chewiness is a little more prominent than it was before, but I think I might like it that way. 

    Today, someone sent me a pot of poinsettias.  They were beautiful. They were in a sturdy reusable shopping bag and there was a little handwritten note attached to it on a small index card folded over itself. It was from the father of one of my graduates. And also inside the bag was a little cardboard box filled with little snacks that you would pack for your “I miss you while you’re in college” daughter. Little snack bags of Cheetos (my favorite!), peanuts, some Fritos, and a little ramen packet. I didn’t care that it was chicken flavored. I broke down and cried. 

    I must’ve had a lot of pent up tears inside, because let me tell you, lo! it was like the floodgates opened. I wept. 

    I wept about the thought that someone out there cared about me. That as much as I was pouring myself out and caring for these kids, that someone also thought to care about me. I wept at the feeling of being a child again, and the feelings of innocence and hope it used to carry that came rushing back. I wept at the idea that maybe, must maybe, this world wasn’t such an alienating place and that I could stick my feet out and be taken care of. I wept at all the stress and pain I’ve been through the past few months and how the past few days have been a balm of Gilead for me. I wept at the fact that I could finally love my kids and love my job again, and that it wasn’t all in vain, and that I am making a difference…  

    This crying session didn’t last the 3 minutes it usually does. And I let myself do it. Thanking God for preserving me, as He always does. For protecting me and taking care of me better than anyone ever could, and better than I’ve attempted to do for myself. There’s a lot in this world I have yet to learn, and a lot of things I’ll continue to be wrong about. But with God within me, and beside me, and over me, what have I to fear? What will separate me from the love of God?

    My heart can only respond in gratitude and utter humility. Because I did nothing to deserve it, and I had nothing to offer or promote it.

    Funny how little gestures can impact a life, eh?

    Do something nice for a teacher who impacted your life. I’m telling you, it’s what we live for.

     <insert gratuitous picture of a baby crying>

  • Depression Food

    Depression food uses the staples. Flour. Egg. Milk. Salt. I think most of those things are luxuries in a depression. At least it doesn’t call for much butter (although I added some, not Paula Dean style, however.) Popovers are like depression food having a little party for itself. It’s simple, small, but it looks huge. It kinda blows up in the oven but the actual content… mostly air… 

    I’ve been resorting to compulsions. Weird routines (actually, no routines.) Pistachios. Baking. Avoidance. Weird fits of… stuff. It’s all very messy. What’s happening to me? 

    I made gluten-free brownies again for my kids (I’m thinking I’ll give them something every day of the week until break comes, or until I break.) I made experimental popovers. They were perfect. But I have nothing to do with the whole batch but to freeze them, and ultimately I will have to throw them out (I know my own habits. These are true depression popovers. :P ) I am planning to make spinach pinwheels for guests on Friday (I’m skipping the popovers bc it would seem like carb overload since I’ll probably make banana bread as well.) I just want to bake and cook and bake and cook but I totally lost my appetite. I don’t want to eat anything I make. I stopped coming home for lunch. These babies do not have the siren call loud enough for me to heed… especially if they have to be reheated. 

    I think I’m losing my mind. I won’t let myself count down because 6 full days is still too long. I feel as though I’m holding my head above a rapidly rising water level and the water is starting to ripple into my nostrils. It doesn’t help that I saw that movie.. 127? Something? Hours. The one where the guy gets his arm caught in a boulder and he hacks it off with a dull blade (uh, I’d say spoiler alert, but I’m pretty sure it’s not a surprise.) He says it’s like his whole life was gearing towards that moment. Destiny. I don’t believe in that kind of life. I do believe, however, in Interventions. And Help. And… hope. And if that comes in the form of a dull blade… so be it? Is that how it’s supposed to work? Is cutting through that nerve bundle worth it? I guess you’d never know until you’ve tried. Analogies fail when you try to apply it to real life. Sometimes a rock is just a rock. 

    This year was supposed to be the Year of Yes, and instead it is turning into the Year of BLT. BareLy There. That’s right. Nothing to do with bacon. And the “ly” is so powerful it’s capitalized within the word. I think I’ve tripped over myself so many times, and I am starting to distrust every other decision I’ve been making… I feel as though I’m moving on, but without my arm, or leg, or something I always thought I needed. Does He know what He’s doing? Or am I just stupid?  

     I changed my layout. Just a little. Reflective of the mood. Goodbye yellow Gerbera. Hello, winter. In the meantime, I am hanging in. And waiting. And hoping. 

     

  • Six Weeks Is a Long Time To Go Without A Break…

    “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” 

    Are the promises of God something bankable? Worth staking bets on? Worth taking risks for? When God says that He can heal the broken-hearted, is that real? What does it mean to believe that? How does it look like, even?

    In Luke 6, the parallel statement is, “Blessed are ye that weep now, for you shall laugh.” I was so taken aback by this that I searched through various versions of the verse (v 21) and found that the key words are the same. Weep. Laugh. 

    Is that the right words of comfort to tell someone who’s crying? “There, there. Someday, you’ll laugh again.” I mean, I’ve “bootstrapped” it before, but I doubt the passage is telling people to just deal with it and get over it. Why are these people weeping? Because they lost someone/something they loved? Because they’re distraught with sin? Because their donkey stepped on their toe?

    And what is this “blessedness”? When does it happen? What does the word “now” apply to? (“Blessed are ye now…” as in, you are blessed now, or “Blessed are ye that weep now,” as in you might be currently weeping?) 

    All this to say that sometimes, life sucks. It finds us cowering in a corner or (even worse) stone-facedly roboting it through the day. Sometimes, it demands too much of you. It’s like getting calls from the creditors. Always reminding you of what you owe, what you lack, and the sacrifices you have to make. (Not that I’ve received these kinds of calls, but it’s empathizable.) 

    Luke’s version also says, “Blessed are you who are poor.” (versus Matthew’s “poor in spirit.”) And what if we are poor because we gave it all to God? Is it worth the wait? Or does this also happen “now”? 

    This is the rich young ruler, who could not be poor for God. Could not give it up. Could not risk what was tangibly his. And then the intangible spiritual poverty might also come from this. From having stuff taken, or from giving it all away. He could not face the fear of surrender. The fear of becoming poor, useless, needy. 

    Why are the poor poor? I guess even as there are different levels and reasons for poverty in the realm of society, there are different levels and reasons for poverty spiritually. I doubt Christ meant “poor” as a blanket statement. 

    Speaking of poverty, I am definitely not poor in terms of pistachios. The shelling (and eating) of these nuts are bordering on compulsion. I even have a hand-made pistachio nut disposal made out of paper on my desk (ingenious in its simplicity, really, in my honest opinion.) This recent addiction is, I think, I coping mechanism. At least it’s keeping me away from worse habits. 

    Blessed is she who shells pistachios now, for she shall be comforted.

    I had to revise this from: Blessed is she who shells pistachios now, for someday, she may realize that it was the right thing to do. 

    I don’t want to live in the “someday’s” or “may’s” with God… but I realize I do it. I cling to my narrow vision of the present and rob myself of what I can have in the now. It is a scary thing to choose to be happy? Is that even possible, in the midst of pain? Am I sounding super dramatic? Will I be ok?

    Yes, yes, and yes. And yes. 

    In the meantime, I am very close to the 45 nuts that the container says is the serving size.

    And it’s not even noon yet.


  • Mucking, and Cows

    I’ve realized something.

    This school year, I’ve been mucking it. I’m not quite sure what mucking involves, but I know it involves big boots and a lot of grime. I’ve been on survival mode since the summer, and really, I don’t think I’ve recovered fully from some of the late Spring trauma that came this way. And how it seemed to last forever. And the realization it took to get me out of the pit. But the scum is still under my nails. No, it’s somewhere in my heels and I’m dragging it around. And around. And around. I’m stronger, but still faltering. 

    And yet, it’s ok. I know the trajectory of my flailings and although it’s not clean, and straight, and uncomplicated as I would like it to be, it’s ok. Me and Him… we’re gonna make it. And if these are lessons, come. Do it. I always grew and (sigh, in faith,) I will look forward to learning more. And lately, it’s not been so bad. There has been moments when everything is clear again. (Although it’s been rough recently. Blame it on Sucktober. See prev post. Or was it the post before that? Eh. Who cares. It’s NOVEMBER.)

    Sanity is like a herd of cows. (Pun intended.) “Coming to oneself,” is like the cows coming home. Cows and dogs and sheep and goats. Except the moment the door opens again, out they go, gallivanting into the green green grass, deaf to the commands to stay put. Except for the dog, who hears and decides not to obey… And usually, it’s the darkness that calls them. These are not your nyctophobic quadrupeds… 

    So I’m missing a few cows. And basically, they’re out all day. Chompin’ on the grass. Pooping on the lawn. Hanging out in some various other state/country/Canada far away. Hiking in the foothills of Shenandoah. Learning new languages on Rosetta Stone when it should be me learning Portuguese and German and Italian… the goats and sheep are out too… and the dogs… well, by this point it should be clear that I’m struggling with maintaining something important up there. 

    But, as this site’s title implies, God owns the cattle on a thousand hills. And all my lost cows are His. I am also assuming that He owns the cowbell, or whatever these people use to call the cows home. So. In the meantime. I will wait, and do my best, and realize that the human heart and mind and mood are really poor indicators of what’s real. Self-reports, as I’m learning even from my own declarations, are ever the more further off the mark. 

    I miss my friends. I miss my family. I miss… a lot of things. And I desire a lot of things. Like for this year to be over. The whole school year. Bam. Now. 

    But if I can remind myself of not just tomorrow, but the dreams of tomorrow’s tomorrow’s tomorrow…. I can do this. My net is cast far. I guess it’s like riding a bike… I’ve been wobbling over the pebbles I’m trying to avoid, but perhaps… perhaps if I look up, it’ll be ok. Or, I could wipe out, forget to unclip, and splatter myself all over the road. And you know what? I think that won’t be the end of the world. 

    I’ve been writing more. That’s either a bad sign or a good sign. (But not a useless one.) 

    And if you find a cow or two ambling around that belongs to me, please return it. I’d be grateful. I’m pretty sure there’s one up in Michigan that I’d like to claim in person. Until then…..

     

     Don’t eat me…

  • TH Diaries: Jesus Cares

    I was singing the hymn, Jesus Cares. You know, the one that goes, We have heard the joyful sound: Jesus cares, Jesus cares! Spread the tidings all around: Jesus cares, Jesus cares. Bear the news to every land, climb the mountains, cross the waves; Onward! ’tis our Lord’s command; Jesus cares, Jesus cares. 

    OK, except the words are really Jesus Saves, but I didn’t realize that til right about the time I started writing out the lyrics. 

    So, back to the TH Diaries. It’s been a while. I promise, the whole hymn thing is applicable. (If you’re wondering what “TH” stands for, it’s super top secret, so… you won’t find it. Heh heh. Alls you need to know is that it’s about me hitting the road. Literally.) 

    I started running again. Since yesterday. It’s difficult to say no to perfect fall weather running. And I mean, perfect. Yesterday, on my quick run, I had one objective: enjoyment. I didn’t care about the time, didn’t care about the mileage, didn’t care about the fact that I hadn’t eaten… my body had been screaming for some time: Run me! And although that call is very confusing coming from someone like me, I obeyed. I think my body remembers the adrenaline rush and started to crave it. And also because there’s a lot I needed to get off my chest. 

    There are some people who like to be occupied when they run. Music, conversation, thoughts. When I run, I just like to be. I like to breathe. I like to smile and talk to myself. I like to pretend I’m having conversations (today, Oksana ran with me! We had a good talk and some laughs.) I like to close my eyes and feel the wind through my ponytail and the air going through my lungs. I like the feel of the breeze. I like to let my thoughts just work themselves out or fly out behind me. I feel that if you’re miserable, it’s not worth it. (Sometimes it’s the right kind of misery, though.) 

    It was a beautiful day. And even more beautiful were the hills. They’re positively orange/red, and in the setting sun, they looked even more blazing. The air was cool… and quiet. Peaceful. I was so zoned out I didn’t even hear my own footfalls. I closed my eyes and just let myself go. (This only works when there’s a straight trail ahead.) I figured I’d stop when I couldn’t go anymore. 

    I didn’t need Oksana’s griping. I didn’t need food. A canteen of water and chia seeds worked out just fine. It was marvelous. I don’t know how far I went in total, or how much time it took. It was fun. I want to go again. 

    Today was community service day at our school. It’s a nice day apart. And I love doing community service. Nothing better to get things in perspective than when you’re helping others. And once in a while, manual labor is awesome. I’ll be achy tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it. I was raking and weeding and chilling with my students and I realized that this was exactly what I needed. Blue skies, peace, and perspective. And now I’m home. Early. It feels good. 

    Tonight will be Bible Study, and people, and friends. 

    (Thought you’d never see that picture again, huh? Guess what! I thought I’d never be such a running snob that I’d notice that her posture is all wrong… She’s setting herself up for injury… ;)  Forefoot strike it, girlfriend!)

    There’s a lot in life that I would like to get a handle on. Because this Christianity thing… what is it if it’s not lived out? If I can’t take this overabundance of love I’ve discovered in my heart and let it work through me and change me? If I won’t take hold of the promises of this Man that I’ve committed to follow? What is my life if I do not live what I believe? Don’t I believe? Yes, yes I do.

    And yes, all this while raking. I’m telling you, it’s good stuff.

    If I could be as lucid as I am now than when the sun isn’t shining, and the sky isn’t blue, and the weather isn’t perfect…  

    But if my life attests to anything, it’s that Jesus cares. About me. 

    It still breaks me inside to think about why, and what He had to do to reach me. To change me into someone who I actually don’t mind being alone with. Someone who has peace. I never thought I’d have it. And that He cares enough to keep teaching me new things and calling me higher. Anger and meanness had abounded, but Grace has abounded and continues to abound. 

    And to my dying breath, I will hold to the knowledge that God does indeed move the world for people. It is as though for just a little bit, you are the axis. The center of it all. The apple of God’s tender eye. And in the knowledge of those moments, I found Him. And I will never, ever give Him up. 

    Update: Another good run. Tired from the exertion already put in. I must’ve had a lot to mull over because at one point, I was talking out loud. Shouting, actually. Weird. Luckily, no one was around. But I think I came to a good decision: I’m going to get some froyo. By myself. Yum. 

    TH Archives:
    Day One
    Day Two
    Continuing Saga 
    Week Four
    Race for the Run