this little struggle of mine

I have been struggling for a little while.

A minute struggle, a struggle that in the grand scheme of things doesn't even show a blip on the map.
There's a lot of hurt in the world. A lot of pain. And a lot of tears.
And so maybe, I know that this little struggle is just that--a little struggle.
I've faced harder things, that's for sure.
I've dealt with heavier things, no question.
But this problem--this wall--has crumbled down.
And it's nice. I feel like I can breathe again. I feel like I can just be me, all pretenses to the side. I feel like I'm home.

I couldn't talk to God.

Progressively, over the course of days and weeks, closing my eyes to pray was a lot like trying to eat when you aren't hungry. When you try to run and you havn't had any water. And when you take a test without studying.
It felt forced.
It felt strange.
It felt fake.

I couldn't talk to God because I was holding back. Or rather, I couldn't bring myself to just let it all go.
And the funny thing is, there wasn't really anything in particular to let go. It was just me. Me, my guilt, my emotions, my thoughts, my dreams, my pain, my happiness, my laughter, my tears, all of it.
I was keeping it inside.
Maybe I was scared what I would find if I just put it all out there.
As if God didn't know.
As if I didn't lay it all out before anyway.
But for a few weeks there, it was kind of scary. Uncomfortable. Stifling.

And worst of all, lonely.

It was like being surronded by complete beauty, and then being utterly unaware. I had to force myself to see something beautiful, and when that happens you know something just isn't right. Beauty shouldn't be that hard--not when I am around incredible people, wonderful scenery, and I get to bear witness to the love of humanity everyday.
But.
Beauty was hard.

I can't really explain what happened. And, I can't say I am one hundred percent cured! Aha! Praise God!

No, no. I am not back to where I started. But guess what? I don't think I want to be.

I think this little struggle of mine was a chance to grow, a chance to endure. Faith and God just can't be easy all of the time. And even though life in every sense was wonderful, I didn't have it together with my heart, and my faith.

So, now.

Where am I?

I don't really know. I don't know about the status of my journey.

AND THAT'S OKAY.

I don't find it healthy to identify my spiritual journey in terms of where I am. Instead, right now, I feel wonderful talking to God. I feel honored, I feel loved, and I feel right. Even if I'm sad, scared, worried, at least the words are there. At least, in the very least, I am still somehow manuvering through life with God right there with me. That's all I can really say. But from here on out, there can't be any "status" on how I'm doing with God. The ups, the downs, that's real. It's okay to fall away, even if just for a short while, because coming back makes it so much more worth it.

Here I am, God.
Here I am.
I don't do it right most of the time.
I screw up. I'm mean. I'm rude. I make mistakes. I hurt people. I lie. I am selfish.
But God you give me the opportunity to be a lot more.
And I'm so thankful for that.
This little struggle of mine is small. It's barely caused a ripple in the sea. But You've helped me all the same. Help me find my way home again.
Help me breathe.
Help me just inhale the fresh air of this world, really just take it all in, and then love.
Love, love, love.

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

FOOTBALL

Confession: When I was a younger girl I had a secret fantasy.

No, not that kind of fantasy.

And no, it didn't involve pink.
It had nothing to do with being an actress (but, that was later in my youth, of course).
It was the furthest away it could be from becoming Miss America.
In fact, most girls entering their teenage years might have dreams of seeing the world, or maybe having the hottest boyfriend in school, or even making straight A's just to impress the teachers.
I, of course, was not that typical girl.
Sure, I liked pink. But I liked green better.
I liked ribbons. But I liked my hair back in a messy ponytail better.
And I liked dollhouses. But I liked grass stains better.
I liked boys. But they still had cooties.
And yes, I liked gymnastics, and even the girls soccer team that I was on.
But I liked something else better.

As far as I was concerned, I was going to play football. And nobody was going to stop me.

And yet, I must have known. I must have known the social norms about that sort of thing. A girl? Playing FOOTBALL? I never really mentioned this little plan of mine to either of my parents. I thought they would think I was crazy. And while me being crazy is certainly negotiable, I didn't think this plan was completely out of reach. After all, the Broncos had just won back to back Superbowls. They would be needing some serious talent to continue this run. Maybe a girl could be the answer? Maybe, I, Heather Newell, could play for the Denver Broncos.

So, I coerced Lance to play football with me in any spare moment. Like little kids immersed into their own little fantasy world, a world that only kids could create, we played. We designed secret plays. I would be the quarterback, Lance the receiver, and on our street, on the hot steaming pavement in late summer evenings, magic would happen. At least it would feel that way. When we were feeling particularly reckless, we would wait for our parents to go to sleep and then would play the "sacking game" on the couch. I would pretend to get the ball, and then proceed to try and avoid Lance, who would try to tackle me on the couch. It sounds silly. And looking back, it was. But I was taking this thing pretty seriously.

I remember when I realized this dream of mine, this fantasy was an impossibility. Normally, I don't believe in impossibilities, but ultimately playing football, for me, was not in my cards. I remember going to Lance's first pee-wee football game. The boys were good. Real good. And I thought about myself in one of those stinky, nasty uniforms. I thought about what it would like to be tackled, really tackled, by a boy. And somewhere, at somepoint between the touchdowns, half time snacks, and cheer, after the game I recognized that I just quite simply couldn't play football. And I was sad. I was. But I was okay. Because I knew I could focus my energies and dreams elsewhere.

I think my dream of playing football evolved into me becoming a hard core fan of football. After I started playing competitive soccer I found a niche, and football became more of a hobby instead. I collected every Bronco sports card I could find, and every year that we went to Broncos training camp, I would study the roster, and I would remember the players, their stats, and their contributions to the team. I could watch football on lazy Sunday afternoons, no problem. I would do my homework during commercials, and try to stay focused as my family and I always had serious debates about the state of the Broncos.

I think I love football because it's a perfect combination of physical competition, as well as strategy. I like trying to understand the plays. I like the absolute talent that football breeds; some of the players are just incredible. But I like football, most of all, because even though the winner changes, crazy plays happen, different players emerge as great, and each play leads to the unknown, it also stays the same. I find the same joy in eating a hamburger while watching the game. I find joy just watching the game play out, trying to decipher what could happen next.

And I like being a fan.
I think being a fan is fun. It creates community, unity, and cohesiveness. And, I like that. I like wearing Orange and Blue, and telling people that God is a Bronco fan simply because when the sun sets, blues and oranges often compose much of the color palette. Why else would God use those colors ; ) ?

And, many people think I'm crazy. That I'm crazy Bronco fanatic.
And I wouldn't say that. Already, I have embraced the Jets due to the influence of my northern friends, and ultimately I recognize that really, football is just a game. Like field hockey, like soccer, it is just a game.

But I keep watching because it's fun.
And I do still throw the pigskin around. These days, I have different dreams and goals, but when I throw that ball I remember what it felt like when I was a little girl and I wanted to play in the NFL. It's a good reminder of how strong dreams are, and that even if your dreams do not come true, everything happens just how it is supposed to.

the wild wild west

Aurora, Colorado to Las Vegas, New Mexico 305 miles

Las Vegas, New Mexico to Sanders, Arizona 287 miles

Sanders, Arizona to Flagstaff, Arizona 153.1 miles

Flagstaff, Arizona to Needles, California 306.5 miles

**Grand Canyon**

Needles, California to Barstow, California 138.5 miles

Barstow, California to Bonsall, California 294.2 miles

**San Diego**

Bonsall, California to Barstow, California 267.7 miles

**Las Vegas**

Barstow, California to Glendale, Nevada 496.4 miles

Glendale, Nevada to Junction I-70 (Utah) 237.6 miles

Junction I-70 (Utah) to Parachute, Colorado 305 miles

Parachute, Colorado to Aurora, Colorado 236 miles

TOTAL 2,722 MILES

I knew this trip was going to be good. Somewhere between awaking at 4 am to get on the road on Day 1, Dad's continous singing and ridiculous dancing to The Who and Bruce Springsteen (which, for the lack of our ingenuity by forgetting to bring any other CDs, we listened to the ENTIRE road trip), and the beautiful scenery on the endless roads in Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, and Utah, I became aware of just how cool this was. This was no ordinary road trip. I was getting the chance to explore. Explore the West, explore the frontier. Okay, maybe that's being a bit dramatic. After all, it is easy to develop some over sentimental and romanticized version of the West, the land of cowboys, horses, and ghost towns, remaining from the crazy days of the wild wild west. Nevertheless, as we rev'd up the F-150 (yes, we took a freaking TRUCK for our epic journey), I knew I would be seeing and experiencing things that were just...beautiful.

After I woke up just past Trinidad, Colorado (the sex change capital of the world, mind you) I began to immerse myself in a new book. It's called Leaving Microsoft to Change the World. It's one man's story of leaving behind the corporate world to help with illiteracy worldwide. It brought me back to Vietnam, and I spent some of the first moments on the road remembering. Remembering the incredible children, the village, and how I fell in love with Vietnam. An interesting thing to think about as we trekked out West.

As we pulled up for fuel in small town, Arizona, we were welcomed to a full service gas station. Window wiping, oil checks, the works. They even pump your own fuel. I had never seen a full service gas station before. Ever. To make matters even more interesting, the man helping us was a Navajo Indian, dad said. My dad can be ruthlessly shy at times, but for whatever reason, always makes friends pretty easily on trips, and talks to strangers for days. He talked with this guy about his life, him working at the station, and living on an Indian reservation. It got me thinking--because we passed reservation after reservation during our car ride in the Southwest. What is it like? How would it feel--are they happy having land and area to preserve the practices? Or are they pissed? Having to just, I don't know, stay secluded and stuck on a limited piece of land. I don't really understand it. But I want to learn more.

****************************************************

The Grand Canyon

You can google image the Grand Canyon all you want. You can find pictures in books, pictures that you might think do it justice. But, when you walk slowly towards this magnificent creation and just stop. And look. The goosebumps are overwhelming, and it's clear no picture could do this place justice. The Grand Canyon is in a word, grand, and honestly, it didn't feel real to me. It was so surreal, it looked like God was painting on this earth and He just kept going. It's large. It's huge. And it didn't look real to me. Seriously. The colors of reds, browns, pinks, oranges, greys, and more unite together and just pop. The crevices are neverending, and the shape of the rocks and the canyon itself is remarkable. It was a moving experience to see the Grand Canyon, and even though tourists were everywhere, license plates from California, Pennsylvania, Florida, Arkansas (GLORY!), and even people from all over the world, I felt strangely alone. I closed my eyes and felt the wind, and smelled the rocks, and could not believe I was in the presence of something so...cool. This is just the begininng of the variety of American landscape we will get to see.

*****************************************************

San Diego

So, I feel dirty. There's sand under my nails, the scent of salt on the skin of my body, and sweat seeping through my bright orange Hendrix shirt. So, really, maybe I'm clean. Because I feel rejuvenated, relaxed, and joyful. I just got back from a run around San Diego, on Fashion Valley Boulevard, no less, and before that, soaked up all the California sun I could. You see, earlier today we drove through the Mojave Desert and it was HOT. Yet, even with the A/C running, I wanted that heat. So, I pushed the gas pedal harder, anxious for our rendevouz at the beach. I wanted to go fast like the red mustangs cruising passed us, to leave the Sierra Nevada in the dust, and to beat the sun. It was a race, a race I wanted to win. I guess the California sun has an interesting effect on people, or at least weirdos like me.

Yesterday was another sunny day in Southern California. We spent the first part of the day at Sea World. I loved seeing the animals. Especially the manatees and the orca whales!! But, as awesome as it was to see "Shamu" and company, I just found it unsettling to watch the animals perform tricks for thousands of people. Maybe it's all they know, but what if know about the world out there. About the expansive ocean, about the ocean floor--what if they know!? They should be free. I don't know the whole story though. And I did have fun at sea world, I really did. But I couldn't shake the vibe of consumerism and capitalism there. Later, at Mission Beach, we met up with Savannah and her and I had the chance to catch up. I love seeing Hendrix people outside of Hendrix. She took us to downtown San Diego, and her and my family just hit it off, despite our conflicting conversation about Obama and the pending health care reform situation. I guess you can't win them all. Wow, I'm so glad we came here.

*****************************************************

Las Vegas

Vegas is unlike anything I have ever seen: there are so many lights, people, and energy. But I suppose that doesn't separate it from any other big hoppin' city. Las Vegas is all this--and more. It's flashy and extravagent. Frankly, it's sinister. Billboards and cards are all over the place with nearly topless women. The place just screams money & sex. And for a little while, I didn't like it here. I just didn't get it. And then, slowly, I started to feel the fun vibe. People come here to relax and party. And I looked around, and saw people genuinely having a good time. Maybe I don't drink, maybe I don't even party that much, but hell, if I was 21, I could come here. I could come with my girlfriends, and we could have fun. I know it. After all, there was a show that featured HOT Australian men...enough said. I sneaked passed the casino frequently, with Lance riding my tail, to catch a glimpse of gambling. It's a strange world, and it was one of those things where you just can't look away. Vegas is kind of like that. You just can't look away. Now, would I get married there, as I saw some do? HELL NO. But, for a couple days of laying on the roof top pool, walking the Vegas strip, and riding intense rides on the top of our hotel (over 1000 feet in the air!) I had a great time. And as quickly as we came, we left. On our last night, after getting into bed right around midnight, my dad jokingly said we could leave then as opposed to getting up at 4 am. We laughed. And then decided, what the heck, let's just do it. Spontaneity at its finest. We jetted out of Vegas right around the time when most people's nights there had just begun. And we drove back to Colorado.

What a trip!

*****************************************************

It's an interesting thing, to begin a summer exploring the land of Vietnam and then ending the same summer roadtripping across the West. A perfect way to begin. A perfect way to end. And then theres everything in between. I saw beautiful things these past 3 months. Things that have changed my life. Things that have challenged me. As I pack up and hit the road, leaving home for my other home, I'll look out the window and smile.

But as the sun sets, it also rises.

A new day begins.

A new year at Hendrix.

A new year of adventures.

I'm ready.

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

i'm just a summer girl.

"You were given life; it is your duty (and also your entitlement as a human being) to find something beautiful within life, no matter how slight."

--Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat Pray Love

I was anxious about this summer. I was excited about this summer. I was worried about this summer. And I was ready for this summer. To the core, I may be a reckless, winter loving mountaineer, but deep down, I am a summer girl.

Already it is June. Already the temperatures are starting to peak. And already, I am wondering where exactly this summer is taking me.

Starting the summer in Vietnam was...well...beautiful, to say the least. To have such an intense, life changing, and amazing experience in just 10 days, and then return back home was whirlwind.

And when I returned home, I was happy. It was good to be back in the cool Colorado altitude, the company of my family, and the familiarity that coming home always provides. I was thrown for a loop when I lost my job after a week of being home, found myself in the midst of some rocky family business, and in an unsure place with my friends. And yet, I knew, no, I felt that everything that was beautiful was here. It was with me. And just because a few things spontaneously alter my plans for this summer, well, it just goes to show that sometimes plans suck. Plans don't always leave room for the unexpected, for the alternative path, and hell for the right path. Humans are wrong. A lot.

What I have learned in just a short month, has been to find beauty in everything. It's easy to write about, it's even easier to talk about, but being able to find beauty in not just the overt wonders of life, but also the small things. The things that others may not find at first. The things that look like nightmares at first. The things that are covered in what looks to the straightforward mind as worthlessness, when really they can mean the world.

Having some of my plans go kaput is beautiful.

Finding a passion for yoga is beautiful.

Rekindling old relationships with friends is beautiful.

Sunbathing in my backyard with my blind dog by my side is beautiful.
Crying is beautiful.
Laughing is beautiful.

Going to the pool only to be rained on is beautiful.

Having diverging viewpoints about God and spirituality is beautiful.

Having my best friend live 45 minutes away is beautiful.

Returning to the Gathering Place is beautiful.

Running in the State Park is beautiful. Being able to run 40 minutes without stopping is beautiful.

Singing in the car is beautiful.

People watching in City Park is beautiful.

Writing letters and receiving letters is beautiful.

Missing my best friends is beautiful.
Eating too much icecream is beautiful.

Driving on I-25 and being stuck in Denver traffic is beautiful.

Watching my brother make mistakes and then learn from them is beautiful.

Reading until the wee hours of the morning is beautiful.

The more I search my heart, the more I meditate on the summer that I have been having, I find myself having few complaints. I am blessed to have what I have in my life. I think the people, the circumstances, the spirit, and the beauty around me is a lot like watching a magnficent sunset over the west to the Rocky Mountains, seeing the perfect golden colors intertwine to remind us of what this glorious Earth holds for us. What God provides. And then to know, that the sun will rise the next morning, with equal beauty, and equal magnimity.

And it's also beautiful to know that the small things do matter. And that when I return to school, and back to my life at Hendrix, saying hi to acquaintances walking near Mills, sending sweet notes to my friends, watching the squirrels run around like hyperactive toddlers, and just enjoying the experience as a whole is what matters.

It's funny because this summer I have had time alone to think. I always value the time I have alone, but this summer I have grown as an independent woman, more than ever before. I've been thinking a lot about change, particularly in regards to the environments that I have been in--from high school, to college, to my home, to around the world--it has all impacted me, and I have responded to change in such different ways. When I graduated high school, and my friends and I took pictures outside the Ritchie Center on the DU campus, I recognized that change would likely happen, but that it couldn't and wouldn't change my relationships with my friends. As far as I was concerned, we were solid.

It's all changed.

The dynamics that I have with my friends at home are all sorts of crazy. Nothing is the same, and 2 years ago, I never would have predicted what has become of my relationships. It's been bittersweet.

And maybe, instead of fighting this change like I did 2 years ago, you can use change to carry you from one life experience to the next.

That's really what this summer is about for me. I am changing, I am digesting the changes that have already occured, and have yet to come. It's all beautiful. It has to be. Because it is our duty to find beauty in life, no matter how small. No matter how slight. No matter how insignificant. Life, and everything in it, is, at its very essence, beautiful. I'm really just a summer girl. Not because of the hot and sweltering sun, not because of the long lazy days with the girls, not even because of the freedom to take spontaneous adventures. No, I'm just a summer girl because it's in the summer where I can thrive in my independence, I can reflect on the change in my life, and I can accept the little things as beautiful. Yes, I'm just a summer girl.

"same same but different"

I rubbed my feet quickly over the hot dry dirt just feet away from the foundation of the house. I looked at the beginnings of a home, taking in the rice paddies in the background, the smell of green everywhere, and the vision of the entire community looking on as we began our work on the first house. As I gazed at the beauty before me, a sight that I really could not have been prepared for, I realized how much it took for us to get to that point. This journey started a long time ago, with Dr. Vernon meeting with Thai last year to talk about details for the trip. Then came the support of the Miller Center, and all of the student interest, and interviews that seemed to last for days. And somehow it came down to 10 of us. Not to mention the travel to Vietnam itself. A bus to Little Rock. A flight to Dallas. A flight to Tokyo—a 14 hour flight, that is. You can find out a lot about yourself on a flight that long—for me, I could probably drink cranapple juice till the cows come home, fall in love with jazz music every time I listened to it, and be absolutely incapable of falling asleep without a pillow. Anyway, following another 6 hour flight to Ho Chi Min City, a 6 hour bus ride to Rach Gia City, and a 30 minute boat ride to the village, we made it. It was an overwhelming feeling to be standing there, to be standing in Vietnam. I still can’t believe it happened, I am still trying to piece everything together and figure out exactly what I am taking with me from that trip, and what I was able to give. It’s not easy, and even after a week of being back home, I am still struggling to find the right words to describe the experience. It was so much more than words could even describe.

Vietnam is a place far greater than what textbooks, travel guides, and even what Google image will portray. It is a place that I think is best experienced when there are no expectations. When you expect the unexpected. I had notions of what Vietnam would be like. But deep down, I really had no idea. I didn’t know what it would feel like to be there, what it would be like to be on that side of the world. I felt it the minute we stepped off the plane. First, it was hot. More than that, once we got into the city, it was entirely different from anything American. And once we made it out to the village, the aura of Americanism was so far removed that we, as a group, seemed to be the only remnants of anything American. One of the best experiences was this actually, because we got to witness and experience how life can be lived so differently and yet so beautifully. Sometimes I think Americans assume they have a monopoly on how people should live, but once you step outside that constriction it is very clear that other ways of living should not only be accepted, but whole heartedly embraced.

Being with the kids was where my heart fell in love, where my deep gladness was met completely. Running around with no shoes on, holding the hands of beautiful young boys and girls, and laughing was perfect. I didn’t feel as though I was there to help them, they were helping me. The kids were reminding me of what it feels like to just live. To just laugh and smile and appreciate the hot sun on my skin. It was glorious. Tam, Kao, Lee, Aun. The best part was that the language barrier didn’t even matter, in fact, it made things even better because we had to rely on our body language and facial expressions to communicate. It was okay that we couldn’t really have a conversation through linguistic abilities, we compromised by teaching each other how to count to 10 in Vietnamese and English and by learning new words. My head hurt so bad after our first day in the village—I spent so much time with the kids laughing that I had a headache. Some of the kids go to the school close to where we were working, while others attend school in other villages and areas in the Kien Giang province. The school we were near was small, rustic, and in very much in need of care. There was dirt scattered across the classroom floor, the desks were cramped together, but when we walked by and heard the earnest voices of students learning, the physical structure hardly phased me. The first time I had to use the school bathrooms though, was an experience that I will never forget. The smell, the sight, my senses came alive after my first bathroom trip back there. There is a little nook, behind the yellow school that you go in and can find two “stalls”. You sit. You squat. And you go. If you need to wipe, bring a piece of graph paper with you, otherwise you are out of luck. I learned pretty quickly how spoiled I have lived my entire life, and I can’t help but wonder what my life would be like if I didn’t have the luxuries that I am surrounded by. Going to the bathroom in a pan-like bowl makes you think about things like that.

Our time at the village was spent running around with the kids, talking with people in the community, working on the two houses, and helping to prepare lunch with some of the women from the women’s union. I had this amazing opportunity twice during our trip, and it wasn’t exactly like cooking with mom. The women with other family members squeezed into one of the huts to cook the meal. The women spend the entire meal cooking and squatting simultaneously. Their squatting ability is unbelievable, and it hurt my knees just watching them! We didn’t contribute that much to the actual cooking of the meal, but I think more important things were accomplished. With Ngih we were able to communicate, and we discussed beauty, womanhood, and other cultural differences between America and Vietnam. Our cultural differences are so bold and so obvious at times—what beauty is to society is drastically different, what relationships mean to the Vietnamese are sometimes different, and how women are looked upon in society can be different too. What I liked best about watching the women cook was watching them create and nurture a love so strong that it expounded throughout the entire community. They take the mealtimes very seriously—this is a time for bonding, building relationships, and enjoying each other’s company. Of all things, I think this is what seemed most important to the community—they love each other, and everything they do is to ensure service to others in the community. With all the children running around we couldn’t really tell whose parent was whose—they were all responsible for the kids, for each other, and for the stability and success of the community.

I don’t really know when it was, when it happened, or how it happened. But there was a point mid-week when I was in the village that I literally forgot where we were. I didn’t forget that I was in Vietnam; rather, I forgot that I was in what we might deem a poor community. Yes, Vietnam and the rural area we were in is a poor area, especially by American standards. But that is because our standards are measured differently, our notion of rich and poor is greatly different from that in Vietnam. The thing is, when I forgot where I was, in the sense that I was in poor area, I realized that POOR is and should not be the defining factor of this community. Support, strength, love, loyalty. That is what is in this community. The bonds between families and children and parents are stronger than much of what I have seen my entire life; this community has inspired me to come back here and create stronger communities with my family, friends, and other people that I have connections with. This community, like my whole experience in Vietnam, has encouraged a journey of self-discovery too. It’s incredible how you can travel halfway around the world and learn more about yourself than you ever could at home. I think that is why I love to travel, why I want to be a traveler. In Vietnam I felt alive. I felt I was more myself than ever before, being a woman who loves to laugh, loves to eat, and loves to be with other people. I loved connecting with people I would never before have had a chance at knowing, and also being able to take this journey of self-discovery and integrate it with a spiritual journey. When I held the hands of a mother of one of the families on a boat ride back to the village, I felt utterly and purely connected to God. God is alive in Vietnam, in this village, and in the people we met. I am reminded of how big God really is, how He transcends every notion we hold. This journey helped me understand a little more about myself, and experience God in a new way. When I mean God, it’s in the most the divine yet personal way. God flows through places, nature, and people. I may not understand much about God, but I think I understand this. I have witnessed this, I have felt it. God is just magnificent, beautiful, and so interconnected with humanity and our entire sense of being.

I want to go back. It was hard to leave, harder than I could have ever imagined. Saying goodbye was felt by my entire body, my heart, and my mind. In 10 days I immersed myself in a place so different from anything I have ever known, but it was still so similar to everything humans spend their lives looking for. I found companionship in the Vietnamese students, and I felt that some of the students we were with understood me more than people who have known me for years. I found acceptance in the village, particularly with the women, who embraced our journey as women similar to their own existence as women. I found peace and serenity deep in the delta of Southern Vietnam, where the trees surrounded my entire vision, and where the sounds of bugs nature swooned my heart. The sounds of the forest were like a song, and I think it was like that feeling of finding a song on the radio that you just can’t stop listening to. The song, though in ways unlike anything I have ever heard, was also somewhat reminiscent of the sounds I hear on warm late nights in Arkansas. It reminded me of everything I love about home, of why I am completely taken by living in the American South.

Oh, the South. Our group spent much of our time at reflection discussing community, and how community is so different in diverse contexts. At the end of our time in Vietnam though, we did make the point that communities that work for each other and are inclusive can actually be found in America, despite popular opinion that America is solely a country with exclusive communities that only work for themselves. These communities, in my own personal experience, have been found in the South. I try writing this without idealizing or romanticizing the South, but I don’t know if I can be completely practical. It’s in the South where I found the group of friends that made my heart whole, where I found a community in Pascagoula that had the strongest and most communal-like attitude that I have ever witnessed, and where I met Roslyn, a homeless woman in Birmingham who has encouraged me to love, and to stay true to my heart. Can you find this in other parts of America? Of course. It’s in Colorado. It’s in California. It’s everywhere, when you look hard enough. I just know there is something about the South, and at times in Vietnam, I was reminded of the communal experiences I have had there.

Of everything I learned and experienced in Vietnam, there are a few things I know I am taking with me, and forever will change the way I live my life. I am motivated to take more seriously the communities around me, and to be willing to value these communities more and more, contributing by helping those around me in whatever way they need. I am ready to try to live a more simple life. I don’t think simple is always more beautiful, I just think that when you take out the clutter, when you remove the things that are merely distracting, you can find God, find love, and even find yourself. I am forever carrying with me the faces and laughter of the children. They are why I want to do what I want to do. I am determined to see the world after Vietnam. I want to see how other people live, how other people feel God, and how other people see the world. This world is big. That much is clear. Another thing that sticks out in my mind is realizing how different it is to be poor in America and to be poor in Vietnam. I have heard over and over again how global poverty is much worse than poverty in America. While this stands true from a material and hunger standpoint, it was Mother Teresa who noted that poverty in America, poverty from her experience in New York City, is a deeper poverty. They might have more “things” than the poor in other countries, but in America, they are often ostracized. The poor are not always welcome in America; they are even ignored, putting them on the margins of society. I am certainly not promoting the idea that the global poverty experience is easier, I just am reminded from what I have seen in Vietnam that poverty is not a concrete word. It means more than one thing, and it isn’t the same for our world, different countries, and even individuals.

It’s so Hendrix-Lily. It’s so PFC. It’s just so typical. On paper, we were the ones bringing the help. We were the ones materially, physically, and emotionally supporting this small little village in rural Vietnam. And of course, it became much more. The relationships we built were reciprocal. We may have brought some physical help, but I think the more important thing we were able to give to this community was just showing them that we cared. That we value the Vietnamese people as people, as equals in this great world. I think they might have expected to see a sense of superiority with Americans coming into their village, but they didn’t. We treated them as the same, because they are. When it comes down to it, we are all the same. In return, they gave us so much more than we could have imagined. They welcomed us with open arms, with great hospitality. They taught us their language, their beliefs, and their ideas about life. They opened their hearts, and this instigated a relationship, a bond. We got so much in return, so much more than we could have ever provided, and I know that everyone of us has been changed by Vietnam. We aren’t the same people anymore, and I have enjoyed the ride and know this has altered my worldview forever.

One day as work came to an end, I came back to our meeting place in the village holding hands with Tam. We sat under the tarp they put up for us to eat meals under and we chatted away like old friends. Like everyday during the rainy season in Vietnam, the rain came like clockwork. Just before 4 o’clock the clouds shifted a little and it began to rain. The rain fell from the sky in a trance, for just a few moments I could do nothing but stare at the rain around me. The sun didn’t move an inch, it was glowing on us just as before, only now we were surronded by the harmonious sound of rain hitting the soft soil of Earth. We looked at each other, and like an obnoxious 5 year old, I raced towards the opening of the sky to catch a few raindrops to throw on Tam. We had a rain fight, and before I knew it, we were all dancing in the rain, throwing water at each other, and laughing like crazy. Even Alex Vernon managed to sneak up on me and get revenge by dumping a bowl of water on me. We were soaked. We were drenched. We were happy.

Happiness is like the old man told me

Look for it, but you’ll never find it all

But let it go, live your life and leave it

Then one day, wake up and she’ll be home

Home, home, home
-The Fray, “Happiness”

homecoming

newell's grocery store.

welcome to colorful colorado.

stormy and sunny sky in eastern colorado.lance in his new hat from vietnam.

cherry creek state park
green grass.chillin.
BBQ.

welcome home.

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.

mi familia

I have really good friends.

The kind that will go to almost every field hockey game to cheer you on, even if they have no idea what is even going on.

The kind that will take crazy pictures and videos with you, and will add them 20 minutes later on facebook.

The kind that sing at the top of their lungs right along with you, so nobody can actually realize how bad of a singer you are.

The kind that laugh at your jokes, just so you think for a moment you are some kind of funny.

The kind that will hug you, listen to you, laugh with you, all because they love you.

The kind that take the good with the bad, and love you because of exactly who you are.

The kind that want to share life with you, because they know that life is beautiful and is even more beautiful when shared with other people.

Exactly two years ago I decided to choose Hendrix College as the place to go to school and get some higher education. I knew it was a risk, but I felt so right about it, so at peace about it, that I couldn’t ignore that feeling. I knew God was taking me somewhere special, but I didn’t know it would be something like this. I didn’t know how much my life would change from Hendrix College.

I have found what makes my heart go wild, I have seen things I never thought I would see, and I have been places I never thought I would go. I am so lucky, so blessed. My life perspective has completely changed and I feel more myself than I ever felt in my entire life. At Hendrix I found a home away from home. I am happy here, and I could not have asked for more.

One of the best parts of this home?

My friends, obvi.

We have become a family. How could we not? We eat breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. We talk about classes together. We do homework together. We watch movies together. We have conversations for hours on end about anything and everything. We dance together. We live together. My family of girls here is something I wouldn’t trade anything in the world for. Just a few weeks ago we had a discussion about how things would have been different for us if we did have boyfriends. If we were in relationships at the beginning of college, we thought about how this would affect where we are now. Of course I want a man, but really, that will come when the time is right. The time may not be right at this current season in my life because I am exploring my life with a great group of friends. It is them that keep me sane, keeps me laughing, and makes everyday so much better than I could ever imagine.

My group of friends are in one word: quirky.

But my goodness, they are fun. Our little family is filled with exciting, interesting, brilliant, and some of the most beautiful people that I ever met.

Ali: I remember reading a field hockey article about her during the summer before freshman year. The article spoke to how talented she was in the goal, and it made me question why the heck I ever thought I could play college hockey. How could I play with someone so skilled, so talented? Needless to say, I was intimated even before we met. I remember the first week of preseason Ali and I didn’t talk much, but when she threw up due to the heat and dehydration during practice I felt a great sense of concern. I don’t know when it really happened, but over the course of the season and towards the end of first semester we started to become really good friends. I always wanted to sit by her on the bus, and we slowly got to know each other. And, once I met her mother, I was so glad we did. I think Camille is just fabulous.

Anyway, once Ali and I became roomies halfway through freshman year I knew it was legit. We always have so much fun together, and I feel so comfortable around her. I can ask her anything, do anything, say anything, because once you live with someone all those barriers come down. I rely on Ali more than I do a lot of people, because I know she always has something to say that provides a new insight or perspective that other people may not think of. She doesn’t think of the world and of life in the typical way, Ali can see an issue or situation, and approach it in a way that I would never think of. Ali is a passionate person, quite a bit more subdued than myself, but I think that works well in our relationship. I do the stupid things, Ali laughs, and we just crack each other up. Ali inspires me because she speaks her mind, and holds nothing back. She doesn’t care what people think, and I think God put that influence in my life so I could learn from her. Luckily, I have.

Ali is reminiscent to me of the blue of the ocean, not limited to one hue, but has layers and layers of colors, ranging from turquoise to a deep, enticing navy blue (hello, this will be my wedding color someday LOVE IT). Ali is a complex person, someone who doesn’t give away everything about herself at first meeting, but someone that you can learn something new about everyday. I love that, it inspires me. Ali has a big heart, and I feel so lucky to have even a little piece of that, she has changed my life and I know that she has come into my life for a reason. She is my field hockey soul sister, my roomie that somehow puts up with my quirks (yes, write a handbook, Michelle will need one!), and one of my best friends. I love you Ali.

Jordana: One word: Habitat.
Sorry, but that WAS the best OR trip. Ever.
I remember meeting Jordana on that trip, and after just one evening of a bunch of us girls gallivanting around the roads in those beautiful Arkansas “mountains” I knew we would be great friends. The first thing I remember ever thinking about her was how cool her name was. What I didn’t expect, was for such a cool girl to behind the name.
After OR trip we started hanging out, and I was so happy to meet someone like her. First of all, she laughs at stuff that I say, which is a major plus. More than that though, she has this vigor and approach to life that keeps you coming back for more. Jordana is from the city, but she doesn’t think she is better just because she is from a super duper cool place; in fact, I admire how open she has been to embracing the wonderful state of Arkansas. Deep down, I think she has a little southern girl in her, even if she never admits it. Jordana and I were immediate friends, and I have had some of my best times at Hendrix with her. Everything from Wal-Mart trips, to Jewish dinners, to walking around campus, has been infinitely more fun because of Jordana. If I need a boost, I go to Jordana because she genuinely cares about people and what they are going through. Sometimes I think Jordana should write a book. Not only is she an amazing writer, but I think she would have good stories to tell about herself, and other people. She seeks to know people, not to merely know people for the sake of it. It’s a quality about her that I love.
When I think of Jordana I can’t help but think of her personality being similar to that of a red scarf. Okay, laugh. But keep in mind that I adore scarves. They keep you warm and fuzzy, and can be made from the most elaborate material that tells a story. I don’t think of a plain red scarf of course, I think of a scarf that you would find from a vendor in the city. A scarf that has intricate gold patterns, and has been beautifully crafted—it is one of a kind, one that nobody else would have. I think of red because Jordana is bold. Not overbearingly so, but enough where she stands out (I also think she looks good in red, but that is beside the point). Red is a color of love to me, and Jordana has a lot of love to give. I never thought one of my best friends would be a New Yorker. Especially a New Yorker without an intense accent. Oh well, weirder things have happened. Love you, Jorgy.



Lauren: I met Lauren for the first time when she visited as a prospective student and field hockey player. She was quiet, actually, really quiet, but I didn’t think it was weird. I just figured she was really shy and who wouldn’t be scared on their prospective visit? I was so excited when I heard she was coming to Hendrix, not gonna lie, I definitely facebook creeped her and thought she would be a great addition as a player to the team, but also as a friend.
As it turns out, I was right. I never anticipated growing so close to Lauren but I am so glad I did. I cringe when I think back to one of our first team practices—after it was over, I rushed up to Lauren, asked if she was a Christian, and then invited her to our women’s bible study. I try so hard not to be awkward sometimes, but I guess you can’t really help who you are. And then when Lauren came over to Ali and my room after the epic Olive Garden adventure (3 bowls of pasta, yo) something was there. Little freshman Lauren was watching a movie with us, and it just seemed so natural. Needless to say, we all started hanging out together and our friendship grew quickly. I love that I can call Lauren “Lil Beast” because it makes me feel motherly. She calls me “Beast” and though it doesn’t exactly make me feel like a WOMAN if you know what I mean, I know that us having these nicknames was just the start of our relationship. The great thing about Lauren is that everything she puts on the field is exactly what she puts into life. She is determined and passionate. It has been motivating for me to have her in my life; she makes me want to work that much harder, to finish that much stronger. Lauren is like the little baby in the group. Not just because she is a freshman…I don’t know that is just how I see her.
Thinking of some engrossing metaphor for Lauren was hard. I meditated about what Lauren makes me reminisce about, and then I finally thought of Lauren as a tire swing. Yes, that sounds weird and strange but Lauren has a child-like quality about her. She is a little kid at heart, and even when she is freaking 90 years old she will still be watching power rangers with her great grandchildren. When I see a tire swing, I think of long summer nights just going back and forth on the swing, loving the sun, and embracing exactly where I was in life. Lauren does this—she clinches every day as a chance to love others, as a day to live life. Green is Lauren. She is happy, heartwarming, and has a spirit of vitality. Lauren is youthful, but despite this, still has a sense of maturity that you can see in her when you really get down to it. I have learned a lot from Lauren and I am thankful for all that she has done for me. I love you Lil Beast.


Michelle: If you’ve ever met another person where you have had an immediate connection, an indescribable connection, a connection so strong that you knew it was fate that you were to meet, then you might understand what I felt about Michelle when I first met her. She was the girl who lived next door—in the big, spacious study room no less. I recall sitting in my room feeling ready to make friends. I don’t know why, but I got up, closed my door, and started walking around. Right away, I saw her room open with a bunch of people sitting on the couch. I remember thinking I should go introduce myself. What else did I have to lose? When we discovered later that we were on the same OR trip, well, the rest is history. We were instant friends—our first night of the OR trip was spent laughing. Literally. She laughs so hard, and so loud, and it sounds like a squeal. But her laugh is like music to my ears. I can’t even describe how our friendship evolved, it kind of just did. We danced to Pussycat dolls, took weekly shower sing-alongs, and talked about life in a way that was new and refreshing.

There was one time that Michelle slept over in my room one night. We stayed up till gosh, early in the morning, just talking. We talked about everything. It was amazing, and one of my favorite conversations ever. After that, I think I began to know her on so many more levels and I began to realize what a strong yearning Michelle has to find beauty in life, and it has affected me more than she would probably ever realize. Michelle radiates love and God. She really makes the people around her happier, and has this astounding ability to just live. So much of how I have grown since the beginning of freshman year is because of her. Soul mates, I do believe, exist. I also believe Michelle is my soul mate.

Michelle makes me think of a pink flower. It wouldn’t be a big, obnoxious flower that draws attention from all of the smaller flowers. It would be the flower that is yearning for sun, growing steadily, and exuding a bright pink. It would be the flower that you would never want to pick; it would be just too beautiful. More importantly, if Michelle was a flower, it wouldn’t be just found in gardens. It would be grown in the wild, where the sky was limitless, and the fields of green were vast and boundless. I love you Michelle.

Rachel: Can I just say that the fact that Rachel was Mrs.Frizzle for Halloween this year speaks to what an awesome person she is? Yes, hella awesome right thurrr.

I met Rachel through my old roommate. We hung out a lot the first few days of our college experience. Rachel was warm and welcoming from the moment I met her, and I remember loving how red her hair was. I would soon discover though, that there was a lot more to Rachel than just her kindness and her red hair. Rachel is brilliant. She loves history, which immediately brought us together. She is also from Arkansas, something she FOR SURE needs to be proud of. Represent my friend. I think I realized we were going to be great friends once she, Michelle, and Jordana started hanging out more.

One of favorite things about Rachel is the way she plays Apples to Apples. Or rather, the way she ridiculously plots against everyone else in Apples to Apples. Ha. You can find out a lot about a person in Apples to Apples and anyone that has trump cards like festering wounds is someone special. I love that she plays goofy, it is absolutely ridiculous and hilarious. Rachel is pretty much like that outside of Apples to Apples, she embraces being eccentric, and I think it has made me even crazier. I feel perfectly fine acting insane around her, and I’ll admit that I think Rachel is just as crazy, she just hides it better. I also love who Rachel is in the very core of her being. She truly has the best of intentions, and she is kind to everyone around her. I believe she is gorgeous, stunning, and I wish she gave herself more credit. God has provided her with so much beauty, and I can’t wait to see where life takes her, and what she does with all of the gifts she has.

When I think about Rachel, I can’t help but think of the glorious Arkansas Razorback. Rachel holds so many similar qualities to the razorback…ha, just kidding. Actually, when I think of Rachel, I can’t help but think about the tips of the Rockies. The Rockies are so awe-inspiring, and so mysterious, and honestly, Rachel is mysterious too. She isn’t mysterious in a way like an Edward Cullen, but rather she doesn’t always express how she is feeling. Still, I know Rachel, like me, has a special place in her heart for the mountains. Rachel exemplifies the color of baby blue, someone who is gracious, kind, and stands out no matter where they go. I think the mountains perfectly accentuate the color of blue, especially, at the peak of the mountain, and I think Rachel is finding that peak in life. But maybe it really isn’t about getting to the peak, as much as it is about the climb. Rachel is climbing, and she is going somewhere spectacular. I love you Rachie Poo.