someday soon

I woke up to the sound of my 3rd alarm the other morning before work (I have a tendency to snooze my first couple of alarms this summer...) with a vision that I haven't had lately. Actually, it's been quite some time. Years, even. Grandma Jenny was well. Really really well. And the basis of the dream was the Grandma had been cured; MS had left her old, frail, and weak body and she had become rejuvenated. More than her body though, she was talking. Her voice was that strong, nasaly sound that I remember, filled with a mix of coffee, diet coke, and the smell of her bold pink lipstick. Her hair was that golden blonde like before and her face was glowing with light. She was talking and loudly proclaiming that she was no longer sick. She was free.

I suppose I'm used to telling my dreams, over analyzing them, and using my somewhat hastily acquired and likely marginal dream interpretation skills from Hendrix dream group in order to figure out what characters, stories, and thoughts pass through my mind at night.

I can't say for certain what this dream meant. I have ideas, I have theories, but really, I think I just like to leave it at this:

I'm at peace with where grandma is right now. I know she's hurting, she's probably suffering, and I can't imagine the turmoil she has been through emotionally and physically as her body has fell way behind her mind, heart, and soul. I hate it. Of course. But, this summer I really feel like I have made peace with my grandmother dying. She is, after all. Yet, I had this dream where she was full of life, energy, and happiness. It's what I hope for her. It's what I hope for everyone; but that feeling of life is something I hope especially for the old, the sick, the marginalized, the pained, the forgotten, and I hope that they feel that way someday soon. Someday the pain will be all gone, and I have finally admitted (and embraced) this feeling of hope for grandma. I can't wait for that day to come for her.

You are Invited...

Pretty much one year to the day, I started and finished my Peace Corps application process. It's now over. Well, it's actually really just beginning, but the application part is done and done. I'm going to be serving in RWANDA, leaving in September.
I will head to an American city for two days (most likely Philly, PA) for a brief "staging" which is essentially a basic orientation.
And then, we will head as a group to fly out to Rwanda (probably out of NYC). We will spend the first three months as PCT (Peace Corps Trainees) in Rwanda going through cultural and language training. INTENSE training it seems. Assuming I make it through (if you know my language skills you would be concerned also...) then I will be sworn in as a volunteer (repeating the same statement the President of the United States takes when they are sworn in...) and I will move to SOMEWHERE in Rwanda where I will live and teach for 2 years. 24 months. A LONG time.
But I'm happy. excited. scared. nervous. A whole ton of things, really.
But mostly, I just want to say thank you to everybody, especially my friends and family for sticking with me during this long application process. I have been upset, mad, happy, crazy...all at different times. So, just thanks. It means so much to me.

the rope

You live your life.

you and your mess

it's littered with bad choices, filled with excuses, you are drowning

And yet it is I that cannot breathe.

miles away and still in the same room you always want me on your side

you are the master of right words and

I believe you.

Believe, believe, and believe

Over and over again like a bad song on the radio that repeats itself I somehow know and sing the lyrics and start saying them to myself all over again.

"It will get better, it will get better," I say to myself

I believe you. And when your words fall like broken glass,

I too break

When will you stand behind your words?

Because words are just that – words.

Trust me. I want you to succeed.

I cannot do it for you. I am pulling, pulling, and pulling only to see it is for nothing

I am pulling a rope tied to nothing.

Only you can make a change.

I will go on loving you. I will always love you.

I will not pull the rope.

Deep down, I keep breaking. I keep breaking as I watch you tempt fate and try this balancing act.

but I'm putting those pieces together once again, choosing to hope that change does in fact live in you.

I will wait. and wait. and wait.

But no longer will I pull the rope.

Sundays in Conway

Sundays are one of my favorite days during the week. I get a taste of everything. Of friends, of God, of outdoors, of school, of relaxation, of coffee, and even a little bit of laundry.
Sometimes it really is about the simple things in life.
I really love my life here.

becoming that person

I get lost in the beauty of everything I see

The world ain't as half as bad as they paint it to be.

If all the sons and all the daughters stop to take it in

Well hopefully the hate subsides and the love can begin.

Pain, poverty, thirst, hunger, longing, loneliness, homelessness, hurt, shattered dreams, and violence

fill the same streets, neighborhoods, homes, cities, states, villages, and countries as

hope, love, community, unity, dreams, goals, motivation, service, help, friendship, and family

in the same place that you will see hopelessness

you will find that one person who keeps smiling when their backs are against the wall

when God seems to be gone

when there is no reason to believe

they will.

It's hard to be that person.

It's hard to believe in this world anymore.

with all of this

war

unequal distribution of wealth

natural disasters

distrust

and every man for themselves attitude.

I have struggled to believe. I have felt hope leave. I have tested the edge of ambivalence. That's a risky road to walk, a scary place to go. It's easier. It's a lot easier, but the road of hopelessness goes

Nowhere.

So, with tragic news each night on TV, with every child that goes hungry, with every woman who is in a painful relationship, with each corrupt government official, with all of these destroyed families, and with my very own struggles, wrongdoings, and sins,

I will pray. Things will get better.

The world ain't half as bad as they paint it to be.

I can try and be that person that smiles and believes. I may try, and I may fail. But with God, I can have hope. And with hope, you have everything.

“I Like Fried Rice.”

It's funny how no matter where I've been in my life, it seems like I'm always missing somebody.

It's like life is a perpetual state of missing.

I don't think this is a bad thing. No, not at all. Who wouldn't want all of the people they love in the world with them, right when they need them, at the perfect moment?

What's important though is to understand what these relationships and people mean.

It's hard to face. Very very hard. Especially right now.

In Perks of Being a Wallflower, there is this quote,

"Maybe it's sad that these are now memories. And maybe it's not sad. And maybe it's just the fact that we loved, and this was the time we could spend."

I've been meditating about this, thinking about it, trying to capture the essence of what this actually means.

I miss Rukia.

It's been so hard. For whatever reason, the past couple of days, I haven't been able to get her off her mind. I close my eyes and I am back in Kissemahn.

We are holding hands. We are dancing. She is whispering in my ear, "Auntie Heather, I will go to Legon." We are practicing numbers. We are drawing our families. We are singing "Sunshine in Africa." We are taking a tro-tro to Legon. We are drinking Coke and Cocktail de Fruits, all at once, because that's the only way Rukia likes to do it. We are in the taxi with Rachel and Mother T and Kwame, and Ruky and Kwame are yelling outside the window to street vendors. We are walking to Rukia's house. I am sitting with her family, they are smiling at me, thanking me, loving me.

And there is one moment that I keep playing in my head over and over again.

Esther, Rukia's mother, told me one day after returning from Legon that Rukia could be my my sister. I told Esther that Rukia would always be my sister. I told her that I loved Rukia. Esther just looked at me, pursing her lips, and then broke into a big smile. She said, in the middle of a sweet, sincere chuckle, "Yes. You are sisters. Always."

I open my eyes. I'm in my queen sized bed. I'm in an air-conditioned house. Here I am, thousands of miles away, with all of the comforts in the world, right. in. my. room. I have more clothes than I know what to do with, a room larger than Rukia's home, and an excess of food downstairs in the fridge.

I miss this girl. I miss her. It breaks my heart not knowing when we will meet again. Do I move forward, recognizing that seeing her again is highly unlikely? Or, can I hope, and believe that our lives will cross paths again?

Or maybe, that's not even the right question. Maybe, instead, I must ask, how did Rukia change my life? What did she give to me? What was I able to give her? How do I carry her within me, knowing that what we shared was a bond that overcame language, age, and cultural differences, and that maybe that's where the story ends? Maybe that's enough.

This is different from adjusting back to life in America. This is missing a 5 year old from Ghana that changed my life. this. is my heart breaking.

I told my mom that Rukia is crazy. She's sharp as a whip though; she's got this zest for life, unlike anything I've seen for someone her age, she's just got it. She's so special, anyone will tell you, and though she certainly is wild at times, she's a good soul. And, I think what hurts more than anything—more than me missing her—is that I don't know for certain that she will have a chance to really succeed in her life. She is now enrolled in a school in Kissemahn (!!!!) but as it so goes in Ghana, this is only for now. If the money runs out, if the family needs her to do chores, she will be out of school in a second.

She lives in the small town of Kissemahn, Ghana. She lives in a home the size of my room with about 5 other people. Her mom has very little money. To the government, she is probably nothing but a number.

But, to anyone who meets her, there is no doubt, she is something special. She has the potential to do great things.

So, I will keep praying. Praying for her, for her family, and that she can get an education. I will also remember that as I got to know her, we loved. We had great times together. What it means for me now, I'm not quite sure, but that was the time we could spend, and my God, I am forever grateful.

You Say I’m Lucky to Love Something that Loves Me

I watched an old best friend get married this weekend. MARRIED. Her horse carriage that brought her to the aisle was stunning, and watching the groom's face—not just the bride's—brought tears to my eyes. I don't know Dusty, the groom. We've met a couple of times in passing. But, as I watched Kristen and Dusty exchange vows on a secluded ranch upon a hill, surrounded by trees, green, her loved ones, and the fresh Colorado air, I knew she was just following her heart.

I think it's a good reminder about what in the world we are all doing here.

God—the way I see, feel, and know Him—is a God that moves, lives, and goes.

He moves, lives, and goes with us.

And, I know it's important to take life slow. To hold it, to touch it. But, when I feel God, I just want to move. Faster. And, I just want to go.

I know people say slowing down is good. It really is, and I learnt and lived that in Ghana.

Still, there's something about vigorously savoring each day, unafraid of change, fearlessly finding new people, things, and places. It's how I've tried to live my whole life. Even as a young girl, I was never idle. I wanted to play at the park any chance I could, I wanted to explore, I wanted to find. I didn't really know what I was looking for, but I never was interested in daintily brushing my dolls' hair. It just wasn't me.

Even with struggles, challenges, and obstacles, there's no reason to stop.

Maybe I'm not going down the aisle anytime soon.

But, I'm glad Kristen did. Because she's happy, and she followed her heart. What an honor, for myself and our friends, and her family, to watch someone commit themselves wholeheartedly to somebody else. Especially, for this person to be someone we all care about.

I hope one day I will.

And, I hope it will be beautiful whenever marriage for me comes along.

But, no reason to wait around.

There are experiences—each day—to be had, people to love, and life to be shared.

When Kristen and Dusty came back down the aisle, as Mr. and Mrs. Warner, everyone was beaming. It was good moment.

It was love.

Whether it's at a wedding, at a lone gas station, at the small corners on a college campus, on the streets leading into downtown, in vast and faraway places, or right in your own home, it's everywhere.

Go, and find it.

American Honey

Amurrrrrrica.

I've been back for a month.

I've been feeling, experiencing, seeing, and questioning a lot.

These are figments and pieces of my thoughts, emotions, and feelings as I have adjusted to America again.
They all come from my cute, gold, flowery journal.

Peace and love.

-----------------------------------------------------

It just took over 72 hours for it all to really start sinking in. I can’t really pinpoint what triggered it, but I was at the gym doing crunches, and then BAM! Someday by Rob Thomas came on my IPOD and I glanced around and saw white, and I thought of Rukia. Closing my eyes, it was like I was in Ghana again, back in another world. The tears came fast; I headed to the bathroom to be alone. I was supposed to stay for Pilates, but I couldn’t do it. I wanted to explore; I didn’t want to be trapped. Maybe I was afraid of being alone with my thoughts. Whatever it was, I left. I got in my car and headed home. Soon, I was on my bike. I wasn’t headed anywhere in particular, but I found myself at the soccer complex near my house, just off of Arapahoe Road. The fields are green and lush, reminiscent of the soccer fields I played on just a few hundred feet away, just a few years ago. Now, where I once adorned shin guards and blue and white for Colorado Storm Soccer club, stands Target, Best Buy, Dick’s, and Sunflower Market. Hello, infrastructure. As I bike over a creaky wooden path and park my bike against the old brown bark of a tree, I just stare. Immaculate and well groomed fields are everywhere, as kids of all ages are learning the game of soccer. Coaches, players, parents, everywhere. Will everything always go back to Ghana? Because my mind reminded me of how almost one week ago, I too was playing football, in Ghana, mind you. I played in Kissemahn park, on rock filled dirt, with stones marking the goals. I played with Godwin, with Daniel, with Forgive. My friends. My children. Football rules. Period. Grass or not, they will play. One game, two different experiences, two worlds.

-----------------------------------------------------

Relatively speaking, I’ve suffered little in my 21 years of life. I’ve grown up comfortably, I successfully graduated high school, and I’ve found great opportunities at Hendrix College. I’ve always had a roof, a family, a support system. I’ve fallen in love with God. And, I have friends that are unquestionably my soul mates. They get me. I’ve had struggles in my life, no question. Life is hard. But SUFFERING. What does that mean to me? I have been a witness to suffering: The Gathering Place, Pascagoula, New Orleans, Vietnam, Birmingham, Conway, Kissemahn. Suffering is everywhere. I have seen pain and true brokenness. And, I have also seen some that have nothing and possess everything. I pray I have the heart to feel, eyes to see, and to find solidarity from the suffering in this world.

-----------------------------------------------------

Summer always has a certain smell, feel, and vibe to it. I think a lot of that is a true sense of FREEDOM. Less responsibility, more time in the sun, and lazy afternoons. Or was that what summer WAS? Summer was always about the pool, friends, family, and relaxation. I’m struggling to find any of the above. Other things are looming, and adjusting into the fanciful expectations of summer after months and months in Ghana is challenging. I’m not alone, I know that, but sometimes even with all the love and my family around me, it’s been hard not to feel that way.

-----------------------------------------------------

Walmart.

Why?

Out. Of. Control.

-----------------------------------------------------

Back in Colorado for the summer. Only this time, this transitioning period is new. Unmarked territory—full of tension. Tension, not in the wow, I feel uptight and uncomfortable sense, but rather in the I’m a crossroad, becoming sense. I’m coming off a whirlwind experience in Ghana. In a couple months I will head off to my senior year in college. I’m a woman. Don’t be fooled, I am not afraid to jump in and make sand castles with the kids, or even take part in an occasional puppet show. It’s just, I’ve grown up too. So, fitting here has been hard.

-----------------------------------------------------

Amidst the excitement and joy of our family as we took pictures outside the Ritchie Center in Denver, I glanced over and saw a woman in beautiful African garb. Complete with the headdress. I got so excited, I tugged at my grandma, wanting her to see the beauty of Ghanaian fashion. She smiled and seemed excited too. More and more, I am wishing I made my diva dress into a Ghanaian women’s outfit. I just don’t think I could ever be that fabulous. I mean REALLY. It was nice to see the vibrant colors, styles, and designs again. So beautiful.

-----------------------------------------------------

I’ve been sad, anxious, and confused. Unsure of where God is leading me next. Yet, fully aware of the passion inside of me. There is so much ahead. It’s insane, really. There’s also so much here.

-----------------------------------------------------

As I was asking God for peace in my heart, I realized that even if I don’t fit, it doesn’t mean I don’t belong. This is home. It always will be. So, as I deal with this tension I can find grace in knowing I am here for a reason. I am home. And it might just be as sweet as American honey. Like the wise and poetic Lady Antebellum says.

-----------------------------------------------------

I talked with a Liberian woman, Ida, who has been a favorite at the Gathering Place for years today. Her accent, her dress, she was a give away. I knew she had that West African woman spirit, seriously. The minute she mentioned plantains, I had to approach her. We had an instant connection, and for me, an instant admiration. A Liberian refugee, bringing her children her to America and making a life for her family here, I was truly humbled. I asked her how in the world she adjusted to this crazy American life. She scoffed, laughed, and simply said, “I didn’t really have a choice. You do what you have to do, and you just keep on loving God.” Two days later, she brought me and the rest of the family area staff fried plantains and a Liberian stew. West African women might just be some of the strongest, most intense, passionate, and kind people you will ever meet.

-----------------------------------------------------

God never ceases to amaze me. On the same day that I got to talk on the phone with the children of Kissemahn, I got to spend all day with 4 children at the Gathering Place who I developed close relationships with two years ago. I finally got to see them again—Betty, Jesus, Janet, and Lizzy. Needless to say, the blessings and beauty of this world come unexpectedly sometimes. That’s the best part, isn’t it? I forgot how much I loved being called Auntie Heather, and I forgot how great it was to hear prayers in Spanish. Life is beautiful.

-----------------------------------------------------

Maybe if all of America knew about Ghana time, life would be felt a little more. Are people that rush around, barely looking away from their closed tunnel vision, numb to what is going on around them? Why don’t people say hi to each other more? Why don’t we just STOP and just enjoy? Hospitality goes a long way. I know this. I know this, because the other day, as I got into my car, absorbing all of the thoughts racing through my mind, a man in a wheelchair waved. I felt loved. I felt the way it felt when people spewed out “Akwaaba!” and “How are youuuu?” in the markets of Accra, or even walking towards Blessed Bless to get an egg sandwhich. Yes, hospitality is a gift, and something I hope offer more to the people around me. My family, my friends, and complete strangers. It might just slowly help the world become a better place.

-----------------------------------------------------

I feel like I am trying to vicariously live my Ghanaian life through the Black Stars during the World Cup. When the camera crew shows the flag, and Ghanaian football enthusiasts I get teary eyed. Do I need counseling? No, not really, but it's funny that I feel much more strongly about rooting for a team that I lived in that nation for over 4 months, versus my OWN nation, in which I have lived for well over 20 years. Ghana makes you do funny things.

-----------------------------------------------------

It’s Father’s Day. I feel even more grateful and blessed with a wonderful father than ever before. My dad is a silly man, most people would tell you that, but they would also say that he seeks to understand me than a lot of other people. We are close, not because he knows the intricate details of my life, but because he has a deeper understanding of what makes me happy. My dad came to Ghana for me. It was the most wonderful act of love he could have done, and now, he understands, more than anyone, how weird, strange, and hard it is to live back in America. That makes things easier. Even in just that week and half in the land of the Black Stars, he caught a glimpse of Ghana, and what it’s like to live in a completely different part of the world. He gets it. Sometimes I just need a hug when things feel overwhelming here. And he knows that. So, I’m extra thankful today. I also have a wonderfully supportive stepdad in Randy, and a wonderful Grandpa too. How did I get so lucky? The men in my life are strong, compassionate, and loyal. They have the things that I hope to find one day in a man, and I think that’s a pretty cool thing.

-----------------------------------------------------

 

Hidden Treasures

It's no secret my family tree is complicated. If you have ever been my friend, you have probably been confused. That's mostly because, yes, my parents are divorced but also both sets of my grandparents are also divorced. My parents are remarried—so voila! 6 sets of grandparents. Confusing? Yes. A blessing? Absolutely. It's also no secret to those close to me that my Grandma Genevra (my dad's mother) is my kindred spirit.

 

From the time I was little and as I grew up, she was a guiding force in my life. From little things to big things, I learnt a lot from her. So much of me is from her. It runs that deep.

For the past 7 years Grandma Jenny and the rest of our family has had to deal with MS: multiple sclerosis. It is the hardest thing I have personally dealt with in my life. Which, says a lot, because I am not the one suffering directly from the disease. But, that's not what this is about. Not today.

 

I'm writing because tonight I reconnected with her, and not in an expected way.

 

Grandma is practically paralyzed on her left side now. She has very little control of her body—no longer can she form many coherent, words, sounds, or sentences. Just last week when I popped in to see her at the nursing home, I watched as she tried to brush her teeth. A struggle, and also an impossibility for her now, she must solely rely on others for her care giving.

 

When we went to Josh's baseball game in Highlands Ranch she could barely see. Her back hunched over from her depleted muscles kept her from keeping her head up. It's getting harder to take her out. But, Gary (essentially my grandfather) does it every single weekend. The mountains, Denver, Boulder, you name it. They go.

 

I was thinking about all of this as Lance and I dug through some stuff in the garage. We were having a garage sale, and dad wanted us to sift through some boxes. I found old china, my old dolls, and old kitchenware. Nothing totally unexpected.

 

That is, until I found one of my Grandma's old purses. A stylish, sophisticated, coffee cream color purse, it screamed Grandma Jenny.

 

Giddy, I opened it up.

 

It's amazing—it smelt of Grandma. Her scent, like I remember it, a mix of Chanel No 5 with the sweet smell of rose blush. I hadn't smelt her like that in years. I kept digging.

 

This purse was clearly hers before she got really sick and the MS took a turn for the worse. She had a Colorado MS magazine, and a letter from her doctor too. She had two pairs of sunglasses, big, and diva-esque, as per usual. My Grandma always exuded classiness.

 

Grandma also kept everything. Old receipts, letters, notes, and God knows what else. All in her bag, too. I even noticed in her old checkbook how her writing progressively got shakier and shakier as her muscles gave out more and more. An old billfold. Pictures. In one of them, she is completely glowing. It's Christmas time and she is looking admiringly at Kaitlyn, my cousin and one of her other granddaughters. Strong, vibrant, protective, and compassionate.

 

There was an envelope in her purse too. Dotted with various phone numbers and miscellaneous information, I opened it up. She had an article cut out, a check from my uncle that never got cashed, and old pictures. One of the pictures was when she couldn't have been older than 22. She is wearing a gorgeous red dress with black heels, holding a pair of white gloves in her hands. She is posing next to a grand piano, with her hoop earrings, bright red lipstick, and glowing smile. I never knew this young woman. I only knew her as my grandmother, and yet here is evidence of a life well spent as a beautiful woman. I felt like she was really here again. I grew up wanting to be like her. I still do. Finding this purse and finding mementos and remnants of Grandma before MS made me incredibly happy. Sometimes it is hard to separate the disease, but it can be done. MS doesn't define her.

 

I struggle with what has happened every day. She always crosses my mind at some point. When I see someone sewing. When I want breakfast for dinner. When I see CSI come on. When I go to the library. When I play sports. When I watch old ladies work in the their garden.

 

No, she's not dead, but in dealing with this disease you lost a lot of that person—inevitably.

She isn't gone though. I was reminded of that as I perused through her old belongings. For the first time ever really, I am at peace. I don't feel anger. I don't feel so sad. It is what it is. I still have with me everything she taught me. She let me dream. She let me know anything was possible. She held me. She showed me the small things in life and told me that these are what makes this world beautiful. And love too.

 

Always love, she would say.

 

So that is what I will try and do. For so long I have been angry about what happened to her. But years have passed, and time keeps going. God is working in my life, and in hers, and I am finally letting go. I can't change what has happened, and I can't change what she might be going through. I can still love though. I can always love. Here's to love.

kids

I am lucky. Every morning or afternoon that I decide to take a run here in Colorado I often have clear skies, perfect temperatures, and the mountains as my backdrop.

When I am on my runs my mind does one of two things. On some days it might be running in circles, thinking about everything I could possibly think of, while some days my mind finds balance, and I don't think about much at all.
Three days ago it wasn't one of those days where I had a peaceful run. My run was spastic; I really was all over the place. Some of that was due to the issues Lance has been having, some of it was rooted in dealing with an assortment of emotions after finally being home and leaving Hendrix, and actually some of the thoughts that circled in my mind were about what I wanted to do with my life.
I've spent a lot of time trying to find the perfect descriptor, the perfect way to encapsulate what I want to do after college. I've been looking for the right label, the right career.
And just like clothes and everything else in life, labels just really don't work for me.
I don't really know what my future is going to look like. I can admit that. I do know, with full certainty though, that whatever I do after Hendrix, kids will be involved. I've got a lot of learning left to do, but in my nearly 21 years of life, many of the moments that stand out have been with kids. It's also true that these moments with kids has brought new insight into my life, with some kids teaching me more about life than I could ever learn on my own.
On the corner of Colfax and High Street turn right. Park 2 blocks away. That way, you can get in a nice brisk walk to clear your mind. You will pass an elementary school on one side, and one of Denver's historical districts on the other. Scratch that. Before you really see the historical district, filled with Victorian architecture, you will probably be distracted by the fading homes along the sidewalk. Not quite projects, but not quite comfortable living, it's hard not to wonder what it must be like to live in these Capitol Hill Apartments. You will walk in and immediately head to the third floor. This will lead you to the family area section of the Gathering Place. Smile at the women you pass in the stairwell. You can't imagine the battle they are fighting. When you enter the family area, the colors are vibrant, toys are everywhere, and there is laughter. This laughter comes in the midst of pain, loss, and fear—more than I could really ever understand. Yet, there is laughter, and the kids seek this.
I seek this too.
Lizzy, Janet, and Jesus taught me how to love God even when it is hard to comprehend the trials we all face in life. The prayed with me—in Spanish and English—and made me feel a part of their small family.
Betty showed me how to be a friend. She especially showed me how to smile and how to be kind always.
Ezekiel, even though just being a little guy, taught me how far a hug can go. Ezekiel means "God will strengthen" and I always felt my spirits lift when I was in his presence.

Being with kids has always been easy for me. Okay, that isn't completely true. How can I forget the crazier moments, the moments that made me want to scream? I've watched kids who cry the minute the garage door closes, I've had kids hide from me, and I have also dealt with rather intelligent kids who try and bribe their way out of bedtime. So, it hasn't always been easy. But even with the kids that are less than delightful, I still find myself wanting to be with them, wanting to help them.

Kids love easily and want to be loved back. That's what I want to do, I think. I want to just be in a position to love—to show kids out there that someone does care. I want to help kids know that they too can get an education. More than anything, I want to assist them in fully realizing their potential. Somehow, I want to show kids the strength they have inside, and how they can use this in life to find their calling, to reach their dreams.

I don't know what you call that.
But, it may just be my calling.

This is what I was thinking as I glanced up at the endless sky, more blue than I have seen in quite a long time. No, it wasn't a day that my run was calm, smooth, and effortless. My calves were spotted with a mixture of dirt and snow, my legs were sore, and my mind was buzzing. But, I guess when you think about the things to come, about what to do in life, and about the blessings and opportunities God provides, it's hard not to get just a little excited.

Betsy & Janet at TGP

http://www.the-gatheringplace.org/

warriors in the big city

Think of New York City.

Think of the big buildings, the bustling people, and the noise.

The sounds of feet quickly passing through the blocks that seem endless, of taxis honking to make it through the city, and the small shops on corners that might just have the best pizza that money can buy.

Think of this, all of this, and then think about the Hendrix field hockey team among all of this.

Yes, the field hockey team went to New York, and my oh my that was some kind of adventure.

Our time in the city was just a small part of our trip over Fall Break, and from the moment we left Hendrix (at 4:30 am mind you) I enjoyed every moment. With the field hockey team there is never a dull moment. Never.

When we got to Westchester County Airport we headed to our hotel in Stamford. If anyone on the team hadn't realized it before, they would certainly realize it now—Ellie Karvoski is a hilariously bad driver. Cutting in front of other drivers should always be expected with Ellie, and if you are trying to caravan with her, well, good luck. We made it to our hotel in Stamford and the hotel was wonderful! On our field hockey trips you never know what you are going to get with our lodging facilities, but Ellie got us the hook up this time! The Hampton Inn was great and not only did I get awesome roomies for the trip (Brandie, Stephanie, Lauren, and Julia) we got a sweet room! We got the suite because we needed an extra pull-out couch with 5 people in our room, but there were certainly no complaints here. Our room did have some problems—lack of working lights and a malfunctioned door—but hey, a small price to pay when you got sweet digs.

The hockey we got in this weekend was good hockey. I think it was a good experience for us to come to the Northeast and see other competition out there. And honestly, I am happy with where we are at. Even though we lost both games, the first one against Manhattanville in overtime, and then the second against Mount Holyoke 3-0, the bottom line is that we can compete. Really, we are right there. That is a very positive our team can take away from this trip, and looking forward it seems to me that we can be real contenders in our conference. Our record doesn't do us justice right now. For the past couple weeks we have been losing games that could have easily been wins. That has been complicated for me. It's complicated because we are IN these games. We aren't getting blown out which shows the big steps we have taken. But, to lose that many games not just by one goal, but really by just a few plays. If anything had gone differently, these games could have gone our way. We are so close. So close that it's amazing, really. We are a third year team in Arkansas that can compete with established teams, and I think that is a great thing. I think it is a testament to how hard we have worked, the commitment we have put forward, and the culture we are building with our team. I like where we are going. I do.

Away from hockey this weekend, our team definitely made some great memories. Fun car rides, deep talks in the hotel room, the assassin game, those crazy sock puppets, Katie dancing in the train station, Kelly singing at our team dinner, having great food at Ali's house, "This is so much fun" game, getting lost, the city, pretending to do homework, pillow fights, taking pictures, and everything in between.

After this trip, like I have learned the past couple of years, I know I can count on these girls for anything. Really, that's what it comes down to. Being on the field hockey team is a big commitment—bigger than probably most people even realize. Practicing every day, in any type of weather, and then sticking together throughout the whole season is just a small part of being on a team. It gets even tougher when trying to balance life as a college student too. But, I wouldn't trade it for anything. I can close my eyes and remember that moment when playing hockey in college became a definite "no." I remember thinking that walking away from field hockey was better for me anyway, and that really it's just a game. And yet, here I am. I can also remember that moment when I changed my mind. When everything worked out exactly how it should have, and I got a chance to keep on playing. It is just a game, but it's also a group of friends, a team, and community, and that is something I will have with me forever.

I love field hockey.

Sweetly Broken

When you go through rough times in life, they always say there are stages you go through, stages that you progress through, as your attitudes, emotions, and the situation itself changes.

Last year, my sophomore year, I spent some of those months and weeks angry and mad. I remember feeling lost, confused, mad, and pissed. Pissed to the point where in the midst of crying in a Starbucks bathroom, trying to read the face of my best friend, and trying to sort out of all the feelings I had after our meeting with that man, that I couldn't find any other word other than a bad one to say. I tearfully spatted, "What the fuck?"

And that pretty much summarizes how Michelle and I were feeling.

I was in a hole. A hole, that I wasn't sure I could get out of.

We were lost.

I was lost.

Christianity, and God, and what was being done right in front of me, was just not making any sense. Beliefs that I had maintained were being challenged, and I was being turned off from a brand of Christianity that brought me to a breaking point.

Thank God, I kept praying. Thank God, He gave me such supportive and wonderful friends. And thank God, He brought us to Greenbriar. Greenbriar isn't perfect; nothing manmade on this beautiful Earth really can be. But it was what I needed. It was what I was looking for you. And though I had lingering questions, my faith was not so much of a stumbling block, as much as it was like an ocean reaching land, just wanting to get a taste of something real.

God helped me get through the muck. The confusion. And now, have I figured it all out?

Oh no, oh no. But that's not really the point.

My love for God, and the recognition of His love for me has become even more real, more than ever before. God is big. He is more than what us humans can even comprehend. And He knows that I've been to a dark place, that I've had my moments, that I've almost walked away, and that I've had a struggle. A big one. And yet, through it all, I've always felt loved. Never alone. I really, truly believe He has been with me the entire time because only His grace, only His love could get me through the hard times.

And it's not as if the hard times are over. Because believing something, having faith, it just isn't easy.

And you know what? It shouldn't be.

Just this summer I've had to see, witness things that made me want God to fix, and that even made me frusturated with being faithful.

I've wished God would bring more resources to my friends in Vietnam--a better bathroom, an accessible way for the children to receive education, and an awareness among the world of the extent of poverty.

I've wanted God to find a way to protect the women at The Gathering Place. I've wanted him to just provide, because ultimately, isn't that what our gracious God does?

And then I've relalized--sometimes slowly, sometimes right in the moment--God is with us. He is with the children in Vietnam just like He is with the children in Denver at The Gathering Place and just like He is with me. I can't even begin to understand How big his love is for them. In Vietnam, despite lacking in some resources, an abundance of love was in all of the people we met--we were welcomed with graciousness into their communities. And at the Gathering Place, despite women living in projects or on the street, many women exude faithfulness unparalled by many; I have sat at a table with a women and her 3 children and prayed with them, as her child asked for blessings for the hungry and the strength to get through the week.

And that is God.

God knows the need.

God knows the world--and He is with them.

And, when I looked over at Thelma this morning, I was reminded that it is important to care for each other, and to pray for each other, but that it is equally important to trust that it's in God's hands too. With Him, change will come. And I was reminded of this from Thelma because of everything she reflected.

Thelma can be immediately spotted when you walk into the massive sanctuary at church.

Maybe it's because she's a loud woman.

Maybe it's because she's a big, black woman.

Maybe it's more so because she's the only loud, big, black woman at church.

But also, because of the way Thelma comes to God.

Today, as I carefully walked in the middle of the congregation, I glanced at her. And right before I nudged my mom to tell her that my angel, Thelma, was in attendance today I saw her weeping. She took out a kleenex, removed her big ole glasses and wiped her tears away. Putting the tissue down slowly, she then raised her hands, high and with gusto, and sang the worship sonds LOUD and with the some serious soul power. Seriously. She seemed to be struggling, but I saw her give that to God. I couldn't believe I has just witnessed something so purely genuine, and beautiful. What an incredible, moving testimony to faith.

Through all my frustrations, anger, and doubt, there came a point where I could simply embrace God and just that. And deal with the implications, the doctrinal sensibility, and understand what makes sense as I move forward with my spiritual life and my relationship with God. In church this morning, I didn't focus on the words being uttered that would my spark my critique. I tried hard not to judge the message too quickly. And I avoided being angry at the call for evangelical unity. You see, I have spiritually diverged significantly away from Fellowship Community Church, but at the end of the day, I just wanted God. And singing, from the very deep rooted love in my heart, with my eyes shut for God to paint a picture, I felt that today. And that, was just what I needed. Sweetly broken I may be, but I am just so in love with God. And so joyful that even through tribulation, love can overcome anything. Love really can move mountains.

"Though our feelings come and go, God's love for us does not."

--C.S. Lewis

the blue eyes

I have to take long slow breathes
I throw my head back and dip my long hair slowly in the water
Submerging my face, closing my eyes
Holding my breathe so that I can hide from the world
And wishing, praying, hoping
And fighting
Fighting hard
The anger is hard to recognize, clinging on, making it impossible to say goodbye to
It sticks never ceasingly to my heart like the sweet humidity of summer in Arkansas
Only this isn't sweet
It's bitter
It's anger
She should not have this
That damn disease is creepingly seeping into her, robbing her of her dignity
Of her expressions
Of her voice
Like a meticulous robber of a bank, wearing the black mask, it has no face
But it steals
Slowly
Painfully
And I'm mad
Why? WHY HER?
And the anger takes over and build resentment
It's building a bridge, a bridge that I hate to cross, a bridge I drag my feet to get to, but a bridge that I am afraid I will cross
I find it hard to even look as she eats
Hard to listen, her voice jumbling together with the tender melody she used to loudly express herself with, but now is reduced to mere mumbles understood only in quiet moments
The disease takes more and more, sucking, like a parasite the life I used to see in her
Soon, who will I see?
I get so mad
SO frusturated
Where did it take her?
Give her back
NOW.
And then I look in those blue eyes
Blue like the color of the sky on a perfect day
Blue like the quitessential color of paradise
I found her
She's there
I recognize her, I see her spirit, in her blue eyes
They may struggle to stay open, struggle to see, but there she is
Genevra
My grandmother
The woman who has taught me to live and love and to never resort to anger
NEVER.
And the anger needs to go
She is saving me again, it is her that is able to whisk away the anger with just a small touch
We hold hands and I am made whole again
I struggle and fight
And I fight more
It's in my bath, in the midst of sobs, where my tears meet the water holding my body, where I find peace
The anger is trickling away
Away and away and away
Slowly
but surely
I love her
The anger has to go
And then there can only be love

alive

It was a spectacular day.

Not in the normal day to day activities but in something more.

It was the weather. It was the feeling in the air. It was the atmosphere. It was everything.

I went running this morning at 7 and the feeling of the wind meeting my face was exactly what I needed. To see the sun glistening over all of Arkansas, and all over the world is humbling, it makes me feel alive. That's why I think I loved today so much. It made me feel alive.

I feel alive when I am laughing so hard, I can't stop. When my brain starts losing oxygen because I havn't taken a breathe--when my abs are actually getting a workout from my deep, raucous, and obnoxious laughter. Laughter makes life so real, so in the moment.

I feel alive when I'm in the mountains. Whether we are driving and passing the undescribable views, or whether we are climbing to the peak, and the snow capped Rockies are the backdrop to my world. It's those damn mountains, with their jagged edges and sentiments of tranquility that remind me of how human I am. And also, how grand God is. The world is at our fingertips, and we are only one small part. When millions of trees, animals, and flowers are surronding you, and all you can see for miles is the forestry of the mountains you know this. You know that you are small, so small. But you are loved. So loved.

I feel alive when I sing. I'm not good. I'm not the next Kris Allen. No, by any vocalized standards, I'm pretty bad. But, driving along the long stretch of highway and singing "Come on Get Higher" or "Fearless" especially after a Sunday morning after church is just amazing. With your hand reaching for the world outside the window, it's like you can breathe in life. It's like you are in another realm of happiness.

I feel alive when I am with kids. They touch my soul, they know my soul. Nothing makes me happier when I see an adorable child and they smile back at me. It's like confirmation for everything I love in this world. They love without any hesitation. They energize me, they bring me lots of smiles, and they warm my heart.

I feel alive, really alive, in the presence of love. When I have that connection with someone, where you can feel their heart. I do mean that. I love when you can be completley yourself around someone else, and they can do the same, that is love. When you witness love, between a mother and child, between friends, between complete strangers, that makes me feel alive.

This year at school has come to an end and I couldn't describe how many moments I have truly felt ALIVE. Practically, everyday. I live in one of the most beautiful states, learn from incredible educators, engage in conversation with amazing people, and have had the chance to grow, but not in the way that is linear, in a way that it is a journey and this is just apart of it. Saying goodbye was much harder this year. My friends, are just, apart of me now. It hurt my heart more than I expected, but I'm looking up. The end of the school year is opening up the door to a summer where I will be challenged, and where I will be exposed to something totally new. A summer where I really can expect the unexpected. I can already taste the sweet scent of hot summer air. Here's to being alive.

This world makes me feel alive.

And even when it rains outside, even with the sun is not shining, still let it shine.

Feel alive. Be alive.

i want to fall in love

"God has set within you a femininity that is powerful and tender, fierce and alluring. No doubt it has been misunderstood. Surely it has been assaulted. But it is there, your true heart, and it is worth recovering. You are captivating."

--Stasi Eldredge, Captivating

I want to fall in love.
It’s pretty simple.
I want a man to look me in the eyes, and not just look but see. And not just see, but know. And not just know, but understand. Not just understand, but adore. Not just adore, but love.
Is that a lot to ask?
I mean, really?
I want a man to hold me in his arms so that when I need to escape the sadness and cries of the world I can go to him. I want to melt like a little marshmallow in sweet, enticing hot chocolate. I want his arms to protect me, to nurture me, to embrace me.
I also want to hold hands.
Not the hand-in-hand friendly old fashioned kind of way. I want our fingers to hold onto each other and we can walk with an extra bounce in our step, because together we can do anything.
We can go to parks. To anywhere.
I will go anywhere.
I want a man that laughs at my jokes, can make me laugh too, and will smile just because he wants to. I want a man who will ask deep questions, and will know that none of us have the answers, but will have the discussion because we like to be sophisticated wannabe intellectuals. We’ll even go to Starbucks, just because we love the aroma of coffee and the sensation that envelops your mind when you enter a coffeehouse.
I want a man who will want to eat ice cream for no reason at all and even better, will eat it and watch football at the same time. Even if he doesn’t like the Broncos, I want a man who appreciates the fun in just relaxing and watching the game.
I want a man who likes to read, because he’ll have to something to do when I read Nicholas Sparks.
I want a man who will travel. Travel to Wal-Mart—or if he is a anti-consumerist and looking to rebel—the Farmer’s market. But also I want us to travel far away. New York. Mississippi. Canada. Europe. Africa. Asia. I want to see the world and I want my man to see it too. We will see it differently, and we can relish in our unique perspectives.
I want a man who balances my extroverted, crazy, ridiculous personality and can tell me when I need to take it a decibel level down.
I want a passionate man, a man who stands for something. A man who sees life as an adventure and wants to go on it with me. A man who loves God, and will share this love with me so we can spiritually grow together. I want a man who deeply loves, a man who shares his dreams, a man who makes me whole.
I want Dennis Quaid.
Ha. Joke.
I want a man, but maybe I want the wrong man. Maybe it’s an idealized, unrealistic man—a man that is constricted by the norms of society, a man that is a puppet to my limited vision and understanding of the world. A man who exists on the big screen, but not here. Not in this life.
I could believe that. I could believe that I’m living in the clouds. I could forget what I yearn for and instead search for what doesn’t make my heart move.
But I can’t.
I can’t honestly and truthfully abandon what I am looking for in a man because I have seen love like this.
I’ve seen the adoration that is shared between my parents and step parents.
I’ve felt the mesmerizing look of my grandma to my grandpa.
I’ve exclaimed at the husband and wife who come into Dairy Queen every Sunday after church; he holding onto his cane with all his might, and using his other hand to touch the hand of his wife. She of course has a walker, and needs that touch of love to make it to the next step.
I’ve witnessed the completely smitten and affectionate glances between the Farthings’s at church. He even sang karaoke to her at the Valentine’s Banquet, as she looked on with tears rolling down her cheeks.
It exists.
Love does exist.

I havn’t had a boyfriend.
Sure, you could count Donny in 4th grade, Erik in 6th grade, Matt in 8th grade, and Corey in 11th grade, but these weren’t real. These relationships had hardly anything other than the fleeting emotion of a teen crush. I haven’t been involved in a serious relationship with a boy—a meaningful relationship. I know it’s a matter of time and that it will happen when it is supposed to happen. Mommy tells me this quite often. But patience is hard.
I can’t help but wonder, is it me?
What am I doing wrong?
Am I not pretty enough?
Am I just too loud and overbearing?
Am I just downright uncool?

What is the reason that I have yet to be pursued , to be adored, to be loved by a boy?

I am trying really really hard to come to terms with it.
To accept that it will happen.
To trust God.
Again, easier said than done.

For now, I will keep my eyes and heart open. I won’t lose faith and I’ll hope that one day I’ll have a real good story to tell my grandbabies about how I met good ole gramps.
I’ll try and realize that right now I am blessed with the opportunity to explore life, the world, and my heart. I am on a journey at Hendrix, and right now it may not be the time in my life to have a man. I have the most wonderful group of friends, here and at home, have a family that is the rock in my life, and am seeing the love of God more and more everyday. I’ll try and understand that a man will come in due time. At the right time. When it is meant to happen.

And…
If I’m 30 and still single, well maybe by then gay marriage will be legal in many places..ahem…Michelle? You game?
Ha. Joke again.

I’ll try and not worry. When I see a couple with that special spark in their eye I’ll breathe in, smile, and know that timing is everything.
I’ll continue to watch The Bachelor with my girls, laughing at the absurdity of what that show demonstrates about “falling in love.”

And I’ll walk and gaze at the sky as I always do, say a prayer, and look at the beauty around me. And know, that I am never truly alone.
Ever.
<3

redemptive love

He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it. ~Clarence Budington Kelland











People talk about gifts that God gives them and blesses them with—strength, passion, love. Some of these are like flowing rivers, constants that shine through people all the time. I know people like this. When I think of determination I think of mommy, when I think of strength I think of Grandma Genevra, and when I think of courage I think of my dad. There is just something about associating beautiful characteristics to the people around you. What happens when these characteristics are not enough? What happens when words cannot evoke the perfect sense of feeling, the right description of qualities? More importantly, are these words just a figment of our imagination, a creation to attribute others with boxed in traits?

Regardless, God does equip us with abilities and with His love, so that in our lives we can exemplify His love. Lately, what I have witnessed is His power to give you feelings and abilities you may have never known existed.

When I first found our my dad had gotten in trouble, I didn’t know what it meant and to what extent he was in trouble. My parents were already divorced and when my mom told me that dad was coming over to dinner, I knew something was up. Dinner? Talk? What words were going to be exchanged? I feared more words would be splattered like a snowball thrown against a barren tree, in which the snow would fall and spill over, like our family. When he came it was weird. But it also felt okay—my parents were cordial, warm even. We ate and sat down in the living room and he spoke. It’s a blur now—the words from his mouth are beyond me, like a fuzzy dream that no matter how hard you push to remember, you just can’t. He came to tell use he got a DUI. Drinking Under the Influence. He got it a couple days prior to this. He had been driving in his beloved black ford truck, and drinking beforehand, when he slammed into the side of the road. Nobody got hurt. No other car was involved. He didn’t even get physically hurt. His car was totaled. And because of the offense he had to spend the night in jail.

He had to go to jail.

Jail. My father. My daddy. In jail.

My whole body went numb. How could he do this?

God it was so bad. But it was bad enough that is happened. I couldn’t concentrate for the next few days, I was completely lost and wanted nothing more than to escape. It was worse though, how I responded. I was angry, disappointed, sad, but mostly angry. I tried to tell him everything was okay and that I wasn’t mad at him. I tried so hard not to be. Everything started to return to some sense of normalcy, but I felt I was carrying a heavy burden. A burden that weighed heavily because I was still so angry. Everytime my dad and I would disagree or argue, I would throw everything back in his face. I would use my anger as a weapon and try to feel better from my dad’s guilt. It was awful, and I cringe when I think about how I used to be. I am not proud of that person, and I am disappointed. I think apart of it was how high I held my dad up; I put him on a pedestal, I wanted to be everything that he was. So, when this happened, it all came crumbling down. Yet, maybe I had to go through all of that to learn who I didn’t want to be. Maybe going through that opened my eyes, trust me, it opened my heart.

It took years for me to forgive. To truthfully release the anger in my heart, the burden on my back, and the regret in my soul. I don’t recall exactly when it happened, but I knew God had given me an attribute that I never knew I could have—the ability to forgive. It was a long road there. I went through emotional hell, and put my dad through it too. I blamed his mistake, and his alcoholism for the divorce. Granted, it was apart of it, but his issues were in no way the only reason my parents’ marriage fell apart. They fell out of love, they weren’t happy. The drinking was more of a result of the unhappiness, if anything. The words of bitterness leaving my tongue were not me—I knew that—but it kept happening anyway.

Yet, healing and forgiveness came along one day. It didn’t happen in an instant, it was a long time coming, but when it came everything changed. My world wasn’t a battle as much as it was a sincere effort to find love. The best part is that my heart transformed. You might say I woke up, and I smelled the coffee! I didn’t use my anger as a means to build a wall up from my dad, instead, it tore the wall down. God gave me the ability to forgive my dad. I thank God for that.

I needed that more than anything. It’s a funny thing to feel anger leaving your body. It’s like taking the first jump into the pool on a scorching hot summer day. It’s refreshing and nothing has ever felt so good. That was the beginning of my challenge. Forgiving my dad and investing new joy and love into that relationship became a priority that topped all other things. We went golfing, to Chipolte, and of course spent many lazy Sunday afternoons throwing the football around outside. With anger subsided I could tangibly see all the beauty that my dad’s heart entails—his witty sense of humor, his devotion to his family, and his strange personality that always embarrasses me, but I have grown to admire, and at times emulate. The challenge of forgiveness did not completely diminish though, because I could feel it in my heart. Not the forgiveness I found to give to my dad, but the forgiveness of myself. Forgiveness, you see, can at times be two-fold. It goes both ways.

I forgave daddy.
I did.
But me?
How could I put him through that?
What kind of daughter does that?

I would watch my friends with their dads and I would feel horrible. Like, something was eating at my insides. Because I felt terrible for not supporting him when he needed me most, and for letting him down.

This was something I had to reconcile. I prayed. Over and over.
But my heart wouldn’t budge.
I was holding myself in contempt and didn’t think I deserved to be forgiven.

To this day I feel a tinge of guilt for spewing anger at my dad when he made that mistake; that mistake that changed him, and made him better. I feel guilty for choosing anger instead of love.
But somehow along this journey I have found peace. I have found solace, and it brings tears to my eyes, because it has been the most redemptive and freeing emotion that I have experienced. This peace has set me free. God once again, has provided that which I though was impossible.

I have forgiven myself.

As the cans of beers have slowly dwindled away, due to my dad’s steadfast commitment to get his drinking under control, my heart has slowly, but surely come to find contentment. God is so good, and I am so blessed to have been through all of this. It’s taught me about myself, daddy, life, and God. As I relinquished my guilt, I can look back and literally see how God was working in my life. Right around the time I was able to forgive myself, was the time I really found Jesus. God works in funny ways like that.

I’m embracing my life fully knowing and at the same time, being utterly unaware of God’s magnificence and His abilities. I have experienced the beauty of His love and power, and I now know that anything is possible.

My dad is one of my best friends. He is quirky, funny, weird, hilarious, loving, and strong. That man, he is so strong. The things he has been through are unbelievable, and yet through it all he becomes a better person everyday. I am lucky, so lucky, to have him as my dad. I wouldn’t be me without him. I wouldn’t be loud. I wouldn’t be fearless. I wouldn’t be strong. My dad got me through not just this struggle, but just about every other struggle I have faced. My dad is my hero.

No regrets.
No bitterness.

It’s the only way to live. <3>

a puddle of thoughts

Michelle splashed in puddles today.
She wrote some poetry about it, and conversly, was reminded of this piece that I wrote.

I wrote this one year ago. Literally, to the day. Hello, that is freaking cool. Ironic. And a reminder of how much can really happen in a year.

It was the first "blog" I ever did. : )

I woke up this morning to the sound of pattering on the window. It didn't occur to me that it could be raining outside, but as I glanced out the window I quickly realized that I would be wearing my black and white polka dotted rain boots today. I threw on my winter jacket that always reminds me of the slopes at Copper Mountain, and walked to the cafeteria so I could make my infamous egg creation (ahem, for those unaware, this consists of a couple scoops of scrambled eggs, salsa, green peppers, tomatoes, and cheese.) Yes, I take my food seriously.

As I walked to the cafeteria and encountered a multitude of puddles I couldn't help to reminisce when I was little. My grandma would pick me up every Wednesday from Ponderosa Elementary School. She would wait for Lance and I, and once we got settled at her house we took our weekly trip to the frozen yogurt shop. She would always encourage us to get something healthy, but being Grandma she never said anything when I got the item with the most chocolate. We would go to the Hampden Library and check out books..and movies...and have a movie marathon that night. My, how time goes. We don't have sleepovers anymore. My grandma has lost her ability to walk and cannot even function independently on her own anymore. Luckily for us, God has blessed her with a strong heart. She doesn't give up, and I can only hope to get that from her one day. Anyway, that was a tanget. The puddles I walked through today on the way to breakfast reminded me of one particular instance when she picked me up. I must have been in 2nd grade or something, and it had rained quite a bit one afternoon. As I was walking towards her welcoming and gentle arms I came upon a huge puddle. Unlike many of the other kids who were splashing and crazily jumping in all of the puddles, I stopped. I looked for an alternative path and chose to walk around the puddle refusing to get wet. My grandma embraced me into a hug that I will always treasure. She looked at me with her deep blue eyes and told me, "Heather, honey, you are so cute. You aren't like the other kids who are jumping around. You went around the puddle. Just wait till you are older when you won't want to stop jumping in puddles." I had no idea what she meant by that. I thought she was crazy..why would I ever want to get messy and wet in a puddle of rain?

10 years later I get it. I mean, at least metaphorically it makes sense. Jumping around in puddles is about more than just getting wet. To me jumping in a puddle means taking a chance. It means taking risks, trying new things, and being a little crazy. My grandma predicted it right on target. As I am on my journey here at good ole Hendrix College I had a realization this morning. I love jumping in puddles. I love being crazy. I love growing in my experiences and in my relationship with God.

Ever since I have been at Hendrix you could say I have been jumping in puddles since I got here. I got involved in field hockey at the college level, am involved with things I never could have imagined, and have seen things that I would never have thought of before. I can't really describe it. It's not a physical change that I am going through. I would say my journey has been greatly spiritual, emotional, and quite frankly, soulful. I don't feel like the same person anymore. I don't walk around the puddle--I don't try for perfection all the time, and I am enjoying the journey more now. I have realized that the JOURNEY is what really matters. Because in the end, we choose who we are. Before I was so wrapped up in not messing up, I never wanted to make any mistakes. But now...I don't know. I feel so loved by Him. I feel His presence everywhere and know that it doesn't matter if I make a mistake. My Maker is with me always; He loves me for who I am and not what I do or do not do. Hendrix has opened my eyes. To other people, to the world, to diverse viewpoints, to LIFE. God has had this whole plan for me. To think about it is so overwhelming..

Michelle made a great point when we were talking last night. We talked about what it took for us to both end up at Hendrix, living next door to each other on 3rd floor Veasey no less. God planned for us at every moment--from Michelle going to the college fair and discovering Hendrix, to me finally deciding to come play hockey at Hendrix and take a chance on Arkansas. Everything happens for a reason. THERE ARE NO COINCEDENCES. I think that has truly become apparent over the past few months. It has been so hard being away from home. So hard. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my dog. I miss those freaking mountains! But..going to Hendrix was a lot like jumping in the puddle. I could have taken an easier route and stayed in CO. I could have done that. I would probably still be happy. But I came to Arkansas. I jumped in that puddle and I could not be happier. Goes to show that Grandma's always know what they are talking about. Always.

In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps. Proverbs 16:9 NIV