Dear Julie Andrews

I’ve often thought of what I would say if I were ever to meet Julie Andrews. She was on my list of four people I would like to have dinner with on my college application, along with Emily Dickinson, Freddie Mercury, and William Shakespeare. The two words I wish to convey to her are not of her amazing talent (which is indeed undeniable), but of gratitude. Thank you. That is all.

Thank you.

I was watching Thoroughly Modern Millie last night and was startled as I wiped a tear from my eye. I hear her voice and I think of my grandmother, not as an ill stricken woman who has lost her memory, but as my grandma. I tried to remember how many times we watched The Sound of Music and she had to get up to change the video in the VCR. I tried to recount how many times I had to get up and change the video in the VCR once I learned how.

I couldn’t count.

Of course I couldn’t count. I couldn’t tell you how many times we watched that musical in one week. I couldn’t tell you how many times grandma said that Charmian Carr never starred in anything else that involved singing after The Sound of Music and it was a shame. Or that the Baroness’s hair was not naturally blonde and that she was wearing a wig (whether true or not she said that every time).

I hear Julie Andrews’ voice and I perk up. I recognized her in Shrek after the first word the queen uttered. I knew she was reading in Enchanted the second the book opened at the beginning. I saw Despicable Me and almost had a heart attack because I was taken aback, not expecting her voice to randomly pop in. I have everything from the televised version of Cinderella to Mary Poppins and The Princess Diaries. I have my grandma to thank for my love of not only Julie Andrews, but of musicals and dancing (even though I cannot dance to save my life). But there’s still someone to thank for helping me remember that even though she doesn’t say it anymore, and even though she cannot remember my name or my birthday, or Julie Andrews, my grandmother loved me very very much, just as I love her.

I have not gone to see her since the last time she could not remember my name. She’ll look at me and smile, but it’s not the same. There’s no knowing behind her eyes and she doesn’t reach for my hand anymore. Girls always have dreams of their grandmother being walked down the aisle at their wedding, or at least I did. But that would merely confuse her. I wanted her to see me grow up. I wanted her to come watch me play field hockey in college even though the rules are complicated, I wanted her to see that I’m a descent player and that even though I don’t sing anymore I still come home and join the choir for Christmas Eve. I want her to know, I want her to remember. I want her to be here. But she can’t and she won’t so I have to struggle to keep a memory of the good times we had in sight, of the things she taught me; like the love of music and Julie Andrews.

Dear Julie Andrews,
Thank you for the memories. Thank you for helping me remember.

My Rose

Mom gave me Grandma Ray's engagement ring and my heart skipped a beat. It's beautiful. Grandma and Grandpa had two small stones placed around the original for mom's 21st birthday and now she has given me the ring for mine.

Grandma and I were always close. I stayed with her every day when I was younger. She introduced me to musicals and Frank Sinatra. She taught me not to pick my nose and that sitting too close to the television was bad for your eyesight. She gave me glass bottles of coke as a treat and always allowed me to dress-up in her clip-on earrings with hats that never quite fit. She would shop with us on the weekends because she couldn't drive and she and mom would take turns buying me sugar cookies from the place with the big red sign.

This is how I remember her, with an afghan that was brown and black and a recliner she would let me sit in, with grey curly hair and huge obnoxious but awesome glasses. She was mine. And I was hers.

I love my grandmother very very much.

I cried when mom gave me the ring because it reminds me of who she was before. Before this illness stole her. Before she forgot my name and that I sing because she taught me to.

With this ring I'll remember her. With this ring I'll pass her memory on to my daughter who will do the same. They may not know her, but she will be remembered. She may not remember me, but I will always remember her.

cause I'm a warrior and always will be

Instead of writing the paper, doing the lab report, or studying for the test I have Friday I find myself writing. I haven’t wanted to write. The sensation feels funny because I have been scared to write, to put what I am feeling into words.

Senior weekend. So much stress but it was worth every second to see the girls I care for like sisters smile. I choked back tears as Brian read. I was doing really well until the last two. Heather stepped up and then Ali. I have been blessed to play with an amazing team, an unstoppable, beautiful team. I have played next to my best friends, fought with every fiber of my being and win or lose I have felt fingers grasp the empty spaces between mine and I have experienced tears, laughter, encouragement, and friendship. The last three years have been an incredible ride.

I know I’ll cry. Next year I’ll get back to Hendrix and step on that field with a heavy yet excited heart. Warrior field will always be our turf, where we won the first home game Hendrix field hockey had ever seen, where we lost to DePauw in double overtime on senior day. The memories will always remain. I will always carry my teammates in my heart. Next year will be hard. I know and I look forward to the challenge. For now, though, I want a victory. I want our team to take conference because this is our time and none of us are going to stop fighting. Our team has come so far, we have fought incredibly hard, we can make this happen. If anyone can make this happen, we can.

finding the line

“On the line” is one of the most terrifying phrases an athlete can hear when playing a team sport. One of two things will happen; either you will run, or you will run a lot. Either way you have to make the choice to finish; to push yourself.

There is a hole deep in the pit of my stomach.
Not fill-able.
Not something that feels like it will go away or stop.
I don’t feel wanted.
Sleep escapes me.
Nightmares ensue.
I am tired.
I do not feel whole.
More than anything I want to feel whole again.

I feel like I was sprinting and fell face first. I want to get up, keep running, but I don’t feel ready. I feel broken. I’m working my way back to the line and sometimes I think that is harder than actually running; convincing yourself that you can run.

God's Rocks

I found God on a mountaintop
In the Arkansas River
On the rocks climbed and repelled
"I found God in a catalytic converter in Topeka on a Monday night"
I found God in Colorado
When I needed Him
When I didn't know if I would feel Him again.

I've had a hard time the past couple of weeks. My dad is well...you know. Maybe you don't. I fail to see a reason to describe the fights in detail or to even cry anymore. But when you love someone with all your heart and all you want is for them to love you back...sometimes it's easier just to pretend you hate them. To take all the destroying, abusive words and focus on your anger, on the feeling in the pit of your stomach that tears you from the inside out. My struggle is as such: I lost God in the constant battle. When I pray for guidance and come up with nothing, where? When things do not and will not change I feel alone. Secluded into the depth of a society only I know.

Courtney text me a couple of weeks ago. "Look at the moon," she said.

I looked up, glancing around myself, and responded, "My view is covered".

"Well tell the cloud to move."

I wish it had been that easy. I wish this communication thing could be as easy as looking for the moon in a clear sky. I wish finding God was not a piece of me that is easily clouded. But I'm a sinner. I thought I'd lost Him. But as per usual, I was very wrong.

I left for Colorado discouraged and frightened.
I left Colorado with the knowledge of a beauty unmatched by anything I have ever seen in my entire life. The children I worked with were unbelievable. The adults were inspiring men of God from whom I have learned and come to trust with my life.

As I searched for ways to describe my literal mountaintop experience a song came on the radio.

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words
That you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

Words

I'm praying tonight. The same routine as always:

"Dear Father in Heaven please watch down from above,

please bless Mommy and Daddy..."

And Daddy.

and daddy.

As I hear his snores in the background I find myself somewhere between appalled and utterly enraged.

I called my mom because I was lost. When she answered the phone she told me that dad was ridiculously upset and threatening to stop paying for my education. When I asked why she said "Apparently you've ignored his presence for the last two days".

"Screw him," I replied outraged, "I've done nothing wrong, I don't even care".

"You should care. We do what we have to do".

"Huh. We do what we have to do," I repeated. "I shouldn't have to do anything".

With this my mother gave me a frustrated grunt which meant we've talked about this before. Our conversation was over, I wasn't fighting with her too.

Why should I tiptoe to not set him off? Why should I respect him? Why should I forgive him? Why should he be allowed to treat me this way? Why should I "do what I have to do" in order to keep the peace?

WHY?

What did I do? Am I that horrible? Have I really done something?

It's taken me twenty years to realize: No. This is not my fault. These are not my problems. I don't deserve this. For the longest time I resented myself, blamed myself, beat myself. And now I struggle because how do I forgive that? How do I go on forgiving him when nothing will change? How do I forgive myself?

Where does the hurt end? Do I hurt other people like he hurts me? Would I even realize if I was?

I'm going to hurt, but I'm going to pray and I'll try like I always do to smile instead of cry. And I'm going to forgive and ask forgiveness. For him and me.

Dear Father in Heaven please watch down from above

Please bless Mommy and Daddyand those who I love

May angels guard over my slumber and when

Morning is breaking please awake me.

Amen

Mighty to Save

I stood out of breathe, drenched from head to toe, knee deep in swampy river water. As sweat dripped from my face I pulled with every ounce of strength left in my body. Grunting beneath the weight of the trailer my wet hands began to lose their grip.

An hour earlier Kim and I were driving children to the put in spot on the Kaskaskia River. Unable to get to our usual drop off because of rain, we ventured as far down the path as possible. When the water advanced Kim continued driving. Because she was operating the twelve passenger van, while I was in a Caravan, I didn’t follow, let’s just say my instinct was van + water = not so hot.

When all of the kiddos were on the River I waited for Kim to back the van and trailer. Here is my thought process: she got it in there, she can get it out. Mind you, when you are on your way to the river you drive through the woods on a small path. This diminutive alleyway is surrounded by monstrous trees. You are eaten by mosquitoes like it’s your job if you dare to venture from your vehicle. Kim was off the path.

Needless to say, Kim got stuck. In the process of backing up she somehow managed to sink both the van AND the trailer into the mud. After some profanity on her end and some nasty thoughts about how I was going to kill her later, we decided to attempt to excavate.

As I got out of my van and walked about 100 yards, I was knee deep, covered in mosquitoes, and staring at my best friend with eyes that said what’s your play now, Sherlock. We detached the trailer from the van, thinking it would be easier to unearth the beasts separately. The car wouldn’t budge, neutral became an enemy, and the big “D” that once stood for “drive” now shared a mocking resemblance to the words “dumb” and “disaster”. Fifteen minutes later, we decided to move to the trailer. Before we relocated, however, we decided to call camp and inform them that the 12 passenger van and the 8 rack canoe trailer were stuck in the mud an hour away. That went over really well. My boss was pissed and not very pleasant, there was already an epidemic going on around camp. Five counselors got sick as well as a dozen campers, people were sent home and all parents had to be called. We had already cleaned three cabins as well as massive amounts of vomit that morning.

When the phone call was ended Kim was about to cry. She was volunteering for a week, none of this was supposed to happen. We glanced at each other. “What are we going to do,” she asked. My response was immediate, “Get this bitch out”. For forty-five minutes we tugged, pushed, and strained with barely a degree of movement. I could feel every muscle in my body strain against the weight. I was tired and wet. 98 degrees felt like a million and the mosquito bites on my legs and arms were swelling. Kim looked up at me. Her back was to a tree and her legs and arms were pushing with all of her body weight. I screamed I was pulling so hard. Tears and sweat rolled down my face and my teeth were clenched so tightly I feared they would shatter.

“Last try,” she grunted. Just as we were about to give up a white ford truck pulled down the road. He stopped when he noticed the path was flooded. As we walked towards him I tried to picture how pathetic I must look. My face and hat were covered in mud. I was drenched in sweat, water, and mosquitoes, slapping my legs every two seconds in an attempt to mask the pain of more blood sucking monsters. I was so hot I could barely comprehend what was happening.

The next thing I knew he had towed us out, van and trailer. Relief slid over my body like a cool breeze after a hot shower. When the van was secured I called my boss to tell him he didn’t need to drive an hour to come get us. When the man had helped us, he left. Kim offered to take him out for a beer and attempted to obtain his address, but he wanted nothing of us. He came, helped us, and left.

I was ready to surrender. I had done all I could do, I had nothing left to give. This man had everything. He had the chains that fit perfectly onto our van, he had the power to pull our vehicle from the mud, he had the kindness to help two girls who clearly had no idea what they were doing. He had no obligation to us.

We made it to the pick-up point about ten minutes before the canoers finished their trip. None of the campers knew what happened and the two counselors that had been on the river didn’t find out until after we had returned to camp (because our boss had told other staff members).

We made it.

But we didn’t do so by ourselves.

“Put your trust in the light while you have it, so that you may become sons of light.’ When he had finished speaking, Jesus left and hid himself from them.” John 12:6

Sometimes He just astounds me with his greatness.

"No one belongs here more than you"

The tears come crashing as I drive away, I knew they would, and yet… something in me knows that this is for the best. The Nurf wars will have to wait and the marshmallows will inevitably be stale, but baby, we will see each other again. We’ve grown closer than I ever imagined possible.

I pull to the side and pull it together and remember forever is ours.
I bathe in solitude and a loneliness that can only be described by the lack of something.
You have become an everlasting friend.

Not at Hendrix doesn’t mean not at home. I learned that home is where your heart is and since your heart can be many places at once, my heart’s all over the world. Literally. My home’s all over the world. UTA is merely another school to add to the list…Chester, Ghana, Brussels…this is nothin’.

Dear Courtney,

It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into hope
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
And then that word grew louder and louder
Till it was a battle cry
I'll come back when you call me
No need to say goodbye

Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never been this way before
All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to war
Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye

Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it, too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
Till they're before your eyes
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back when they call you
No need to say goodbye

-Regina Spektor, “The Call”

Deep in my chest I feel a tremor. I smile knowing that no one belongs here more than you. You stole a piece of me that I will never have back and I am okay with that. I love you. Whoever that new roommate is going to be, rest assured they will know that they have some very large shoes that aren’t quite fill-able. I sent this verse to Michelle in my first letter to her and I say it to you as you go with fervor and love:

"I always thank my God as I remember you in my prayers, because I hear about your faith in the Lord Jesus and your love for all the saints. I pray that you may be active in sharing your faith, so that you will have a full understanding of every good thing we have in Christ. Your love has given me great joy and encouragement, because you, sister, have refreshed the hearts of the saints."
Philemon 1:4-7

Forever yours,
Laur

I'll kiss the weight off of you

I kiss the brokenness away
Hands held close like an unending summer
I feel the calmness break through
The sweat on her forehead recedes and laughter ensues
I kiss the weight off of you

Come as you are because I see you truly
Your brokenness is elegance in my unending song
Please sing along

This first edition’s binding is tearing softly
But I’ll mend it new
I love you, true
I’ll kiss the weight off of you


I spent Friday evening with a friend. We got ready for Toga and nearly killed ourselves with safety pins. Courtney and I laughed as we walked into the building and realized we just weren’t feelin’ the dance party. As we walked around campus taking pictures I became conscious of the smile lingering on my face. I hadn’t noticed- it has become part of the scenery. We went to I-hop and got food, talked, laughed, smiled. God has blessed me with a beautiful friendship that I am so glad to have discovered.

I spent Sunday with some really cool people, as well. We went out and played field hockey. Maggie, Kelly, and I attempted to teach Stephen, Andres, Stephanie, and Michael how to play. Needless to say it was not so fair putting Kelly on a 3 v 2 team with Michael and Steph while Mags and I played defense. We also had lacrosse sticks- we won’t get into that, it was a mess. But once we were finished running around like crazy fools we sat in a circle. Maggie, Stephen, and I were rolling a field hockey ball around and chatting when the others came to join us. We were on the field for an hour- merely talking. When we got hungry we ran across the street (literally) and got dinner together. At dinner I couldn’t help but smile. I love where I am.

I needed this weekend. I’ve been so frustrated and stressed that I haven’t seen the moments- the smiles that I no longer notice because they’re simply there. I smile so much more. God is so good. I know I’m where I need to be. Sometimes you don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone, but sometimes you don’t know what you have until you stop, breathe, and look around you.

I wrote the poem for you. Whoever you are. Wherever you are. Someone loves you this much.

Now I’m gonna smile and I’m gonna sing because I know through Him I have everything.

Reverie

"Heather?!" I wake up screaming, petrified. "Heather? Heather!" The sobs grow stronger until the clatter of a sprint stops. My hand is grasped, my forehead kissed.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," she says soothingly. "Shhh, I'm not going anywhere." I can tell she means it because she's looking at me with utter concern. She looks toward the girl on the other side of my hospital bed. I hadn't noticed that both of my hands were clasped. I didn't know the girl who was holding my other hand. She was beautiful, with shoulder length brown curls and a warm, seemingly meaningful smile. When I woke up screaming for Heather she held tightly, tears welling in her eyes, "Lauren! Lauren, it's okay, she's here, she's coming. She hasn't been gone but a minute, shhh honey". I should know who she is, I know I should know her, but I can't remember.

When I awoke in the hospital I didn't know where I was or why I was there. Apparently when you get hit in the head hard enough these things are hard to remember. There have been a few people in and out that I don't know. Ali and Courtney came in with two other friends. Each was close to their height. One of them had straight brown hair, while the other had ringlets of beautiful red curls. I was supposed to know them- they seemed to know me pretty well. The girl with the curly red hair knew a lot about my favorite musicals. I was impressed by her knowledge.

Later, after most had left, I fell asleep with Heather and the same girl's hands tucked safely in my own. I debated on whether or not to pull my hand away, but from her interaction with the other girls I thought better of it. This is someone who means something to me- these are all people who mean something to me.

As I slowly fall into sleep I hear a voice in the background. She speaks solemnly, "When she's asleep I always pray that she'll wake up and remember me...". The voice fades away and is replaced by Heather's. She whispers, almost softly, "She will, honey, just give her time...". The voices recede to nothingness and I lose the conversation in sleep.

In the morning I hear the calm girls voice in my head; jumbled conversations, warm wordless smiles, funny faces, pajamas, Taylor Swift, Sundays at Starbucks. With sleep still in my eyes I turn my head toward the chair in the corner. She is reading a book and drinking tea- she likes tea. I groggily lift my head and she looks over, straight faced, shooting love and question from her pretty blue-green eyes.

"Michelle," I say almost serenely. She smiles.

When I wake up from my dream I know I've been screaming. My biggest fear is not knowing, not understanding. All I have is love and that will have to do.

This is what skydiving in a bathroom feels like

3.12.10

I take a sip and my world starts moving. Literally. The ship has been moving for about an hour. We walked from our cabins to dinner where I, being twenty and looking twelve, had my mother order me a drink. You are not this much of a light weight. I told myself as I stood up and lost any sense of balance I may have. Until my dad said “big turn” I hadn’t realized the ship was the reason I stumbled.

I had forgotten how much my brother makes me laugh until he spun me in a circle and ten minutes later I almost had water coming out of my nose. Talk about a tummy laugh- I have missed him. I also hadn’t realized how truly challenged I am at post card writing. I pick up a card, write “Dear (fill in the blank),” and utterly fail because there is not enough room to write out a life story on a very tiny note-card-type thing.

I brought four books for school and two for pleasure- sadly, I think only one of the pleasure books will be read.

3.13.10

The hand dryers in the bathroom make you feel like you’re skydiving. The intensity of the air coming out makes your skin move. I doubt I will EVER eat calamari again. However, Calamari is the reason I discovered the skydiving hand dryers in the bathroom. I choked at lunch today, ending up in the cool-hand-dryer bathroom to be sick. Needless to say, appetite gone. I went back down to the room and laid in bed for awhile reading and watching Horton Hears a Who on television. I woke up from a nap around dinner time and went to the casino to meet mom and dad for dinner. Drinking age on the ship is 21- last night they had no problem serving me, but when I ordered at the casino A. they asked how old I was—this has been a common misconception. I AM NOT 12! B. My mom said she would get it- we could tell by the look on the waitresses face that she was uncomfortable with the arrangement.

My first question (which I didn’t actually ask- sometimes I like to think I’m BA…I’m not- this is unfortunate) was where exactly am I going to go? My second question was made up of two parts, do you not realize that I am a. a college student and b. with my parents? I know she was merely doing her job and I shouldn’t be snippy, sometimes it would be nice to be treated like an adult- I was mistaken for a prospy three times in one day a couple weeks ago. No. Joke. (The drink was delicious btw).

We stopped in Nassau today and saw Atlantis. There was also a man walking down the street with a shotgun, that was pleasurable. I got a really cool bracelet, bag, and dress. They’re very pretty, I like them very much.

3.14.10

Mom’s wait ahead of their children in the bathroom and, when it’s their turn, push their child into the first open door. I think my mom recognized the potty dance. I never really noticed until now.

I spent the afternoon tanning on the Lido deck with mom after I had lunch with my dad. We cleaned up and went to dinner at six, where we continued to have a dance party over desert. Then mom, dad, and I went to the comedy club. (Nick has already found a couple girls from Alabama to fawn over. However, he did say none of them were as pretty as Michelle. This is not a joke.) Marvin and Michael were hilarious. We stayed for their PG and R-rated shows. Tomorrow we head to St. Tomas and we’re beachin’ it, which should be nice.

3.15.10

I had never seen such blue ocean water in my entire life. Nick and I went snorkeling!!! It was so much fun. The fish were amazing- the colors, the clear water, the beautiful beach, it was incredible. The experience was absolutely lovely. Our taxi driver was CRAZY. My mom said last time was worse, which is insane! I cannot even begin to imagine the roller coaster ride she must have experienced.

I was able to call Ali and Jeff while lying on the beach. Unfortunately, my shins and feet were exposed and the rest of my body was under an umbrella. Aka my legs were fried like a chicken. We literally stayed on the beach all day, it was glorious. When we returned to the ship we cleaned up and went to dinner.

3.16.10

St. Maarten was stellar! We went on a tour of the Dutch and French sides of the Island. Nick ordered his first Heineken on the Dutch side. He hated it- his face was hilarious.

3.17.10

I don’t quite remember Wednesday. I was not feeling well. The ship was moving far more that it had in the beginning of the week. Also, I had changed my motion sickness patch, (for those of you who don’t know, I get motion sick trying to run on a treadmill and watch TV), everything seemed blurry or wobbly. Both, I can assure curious minds, are equally unpleasant.

3.18.10

I woke up around ten feeling energized. The ship seemed to have stopped rocking as it had been yesterday. I put on my swimming suite and cover up and made my way to the Lido deck to meet mom. When the elevator spoke to me (in a very kind, formal, tone) I stepped out in search of my mom. As I searched I became frustrated. I knew she was going to be there at precisely 8:00 a.m. in order to get chairs. However, she was nowhere to be found. I called her room and, to my surprise, she answered the phone. Apparently it was too hot. So I went back down to my room to change clothes.

I met mom and dad for lunch. We went to the Scarlet dining room to sit down. In the middle of lunch I again excused myself. I started feeling nauseas; I also had a vague headache that was driving me mad. Apparently I don’t do very well on ships in rough water. The most frustrating part was that I had been absolutely fine until Wednesday. I ended up taking Excedrin, napping, and getting up just in time for dinner at 6. I felt better with food in my stomach. Mom, dad, and I again ventured to the Comedy Club, where we heard two more fantastic comedians. Kim Harrison and Al Ernst were absolutely hysterical in both of their shows.

3.19.10

I’m watching Scooby-Doo on Cartoon Network and I’m fairly certain Thelma just said “according to his Facebook profile…,” I wish I was joking. I woke up around lunchtime today, met up with the rents and grabbed a bite to eat. We picked up the necklace that they bought me yesterday, it’s very pretty; white gold with pearls. Dinner tonight was cute. The wait staff lined up on the staircases and while I was expecting a rendition of the Vontrap Family’s “So Long, Fairwell,” we were entertained with “Leaving on a Jetplane”. However, they changed the words to “Leaving from the Funship, we hope that you’ll be back again”. Stellar. Our waitress was such a sweet woman.

4.5.10

Overall we had a very nice trip. Dad and I got into a huge fight on Friday into Saturday about housing, however that was the only one and the topic is now void since I will indeed be living in the village. My family and I had the same flight back. The plane stopped in STL and from there went to LR. I am now sitting in the apartment that I call home, in the state that I love, at the college that is surely changing my life- I’m loving every moment, but spring break was a lot of fun.

It's Raining Here Tonight

It’s raining here tonight.

There’s lightening.
I’m scared of storms.

Last time it stormed like this I stayed in Ali’s room until it died down. I hide behind protective hands because I am a child in need of protection.

Wait.
Rewind.
Play.

I am an adult, I need to learn to take care of myself.

I take myself back to the day the tree fell. I was a child. I was in need of protection. I was five feet away from being hit with a massive branch. A couple twigs broke off and slit my arms, one cut my chin. I was afraid.

So I take myself back to the day I had to pretend I wasn’t afraid. Fourteen seven year olds, clothes soaked through to shivering bodies, a child on my back and five on either arm. “Don’t be scared,” I said, I think more to myself than to those frightened children, “God’s taking good care of us. We’re almost there”.

Talk about practice what you preach.

The light flashes and I am vastly aware of the greatness of my surroundings. I close my eyes and breathe, just as I did the night camp flooded, just as I did in my father’s arms the night the tree fell. My mind is full of “No, I can’t, I don’t like storms, uh uh,” but I know I just need to breathe. I just need to open my eyes and let the rain fall around me, soak me, embrace me.

The water cycle is bigger than a tree falling.

I was scared when I had petrified seven year olds clutching at me to calm them. On the way back to the cabin we sang songs in an attempt to out scream the storm. After an hour or two we finally got them clean, dry, and under the covers. As I reached to turn off the light I felt a tug at the knee of my pajama pants. “Can I stay with you, Trixsta?” The voice was small, her blue eyes glistened with the tears that would come if I didn’t answer accordingly. “Five minutes,” I gave her a small wink, turned out the lights, and scooped her into my arms. As I walked into the common area I saw the faces of my co-counselors drop as I brought a camper into our social setting. Her head was on my shoulder so I took the opportunity to shoot a death glare at the objections. The storm was still ravaging outside, I was scared to be alone, I wasn’t leaving this little girl. She buried her head in my shoulder and, moments later, fell asleep in my arms. All I did was put my hand to her head, whisper “shhhhhh” softly, and held her to me. I realized she felt safe in my arms and smiled to myself.

Feeling safe, warm, and loved is all I want when I’m scared, too- hence staying with Ali until the storm died down. As an adult, I’m finding it hard to be scared. Not to express the emotion, but to reconcile. Should I be scared? Is it okay? How do I make the feeling go away?

I am scared that my cousin, who is in the hospital with no feeling in her legs and tingling in her arms, will never walk again. I know that as hard as I pray, my will, my want, and my fear is not enough to make her muscles move again. That scares me. The fact that she’s a year younger than me and this disease was sporadic scares me. I trust God, just like that little girl trusted me- but I’m still scared. I never took that child’s fear away, I only made her feel safe.

It’s raining here tonight. The wind is howling and I cannot hide the shiver that runs through me. I am scared, but I guess that’s okay.

Past Tense

I feel alive and blessed.

People pass by and I smile. I smile at them, with them, and for them. I smile for myself. Because for awhile I was drowning in books, paper, language, and illness.

While my backpack still weighs more than I do and to be frank, Spanish is still kicking my ass, my throat is no longer sore and I can finally sleep fully through the night.

I’ve found strength in my weaknesses. I’ve found truth and blessings that lie beneath the surface. I was in a downward spiral, but a couple people helped me pick myself back up again.

I read a journal entry that I wrote two weeks ago. It read:
I’m drowning in work and time. I’m drowning in a relationship that I can’t seem to keep afloat. I feel like I’m losing my mind and now I’ve lost a penny and the tears come crashing. How do I tell my best friend- how do I not lose Jeff- why can’t field hockey be simple-how am I going to finish my work for deadline-and where exactly does school fit into this-how do I do this?

I’ll start at the beginning.

Bible study has changed. This is neither here nor there most of the time, however, last week I found myself torn. I don’t know how the subjects came about, but we discussed judgment, pre-marital sex, and alcohol. To say the least, I was hurt. I was hurt by how we discussed judgment—something necessary for ourselves, yes—but not something to be placed on others. Who am I to judge others? Or as Sophocles said in Antigone, “which of us can say what the gods hold wicked”?

I was hurt by the inability to see others, including myself, past their actions. I know I’m not perfect, I know I make judgments on a daily basis, but I can’t explain the feeling that came over me during the discussion. First utter confusion followed by anger. We had just discussed how judgment is wrong when someone said, “but THEY ARE wrong”. My face construed in an awkward glance and my brain started working overtime. Finally, after filtering brain-mouth tendencies, I spoke. “I refuse to judge someone I love or don’t know. Will I tell them that I don’t necessarily agree with them, yes. But beliefs can’t be forced and opinions don’t change lifestyles…” I paused. Before I could continue someone else started talking, “yeah,” the voice interjected, “it’s like the whole drinking thing”. Discussion soared and I felt judged merely sitting in the room. I said “I don’t think it’s bad every now and then,” and if looks could kill I think I would be six feet under a couple of times. My statement was met with “I just don’t think I need alcohol to have a good time”. I wanted to scream I DON’T EITHER!

At the end of the evening, after a discussion with Meredith and Courtney, I felt better. I prayed and felt some relief, but I still felt angry and I still feel a little sensitive.

I can’t judge others because I’m a sinner, too. I refuse to judge my friends who do have sex before marriage because I know that when you love someone it’s hard to withhold. And I won’t say drinking is wrong, not merely because I’ve done it, but because not all people think they need alcohol in their systems to have a good time. Not all people who drink do it excessively.

I couldn’t get this out of my mind. I couldn’t get the looks out of my mind.

Following the whole debacle I continued fighting with Jeff. The distance is becoming difficult- we haven’t seen each other for a month and as of now won’t for at least another month. It’s hurting both of us. He’s in a position where he can put our relationship first, I’m not. But I love him, obviously I don’t want to fight.

The thing that sent me over the edge happened over the weekend. I lost a bracelet that I made out of a penny from my best friend. I would have preferred I lost every book in my possession. This however, was the last thing I could take. I felt worthless, deserted, perpetually damaged, and brain dead.

“Nothing can keep you from the love of Christ, sweet girl.” This is written on the back of a receipt laying on my nightstand. I was fumbling around with my phone charger and was so frustrated I yanked it out of the wall, simultaneously knocking everything off of my nightstand. Go life, right? The crumpled receipt was the first thing I picked up—followed closely by my Bible.

My journal entry for the next day said I can’t lie and say I’m not still having a hard time. I’m sick of fighting—I don’t really know how to make that go away. School is overpowering and spring season starts the day we get back from spring break. I’m overwhelmed, but I’m getting better.

Things did get better.

I didn’t want to go to Bible Study last week, for all the reasons I was hurt the week before. I don’t like feeling strapped down. I don’t like when people look through me as if they know—I’ve been through that. Never again.

After a long debate between brain and heart as well as a conversation with the very lovely and intelligent Courtney, I went to Bible Study. Discussion went well and because the group was smaller it was more personal. A couple of people had to leave early, so near the end there were only four girls left, myself included.

I needed this. I needed the personal conversation. I needed to hear the people who I felt judged by tell me that their lives aren’t perfect, either.

Talking to Jeff yesterday I explained my frustration. I miss him, too, but I can’t always put him first—I have the rest of my life for that. I am also unable to do anything about seeing him at the moment. I was going to surprise him this weekend, but my car broke last week and because I don’t know if Ernest is reliable as of yet I’m not willing to drive him three hours. The largest part of the discussion was the “I miss you, too, so don’t take it out on me” portion. Sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a wall. At least we got somewhere.

As far as the penny is concerned I’m still super upset. A friend told me that if she’s more important than her great-grandma’s china, I’m more important than a penny; the relationship behind the object is far more important than the object itself. Still, I want to find it.

I realized through all of this that I have been waging a war against myself. I was dying on the inside by not facing my problems on the outside. I tend to do this a lot. I’m blessed to have friends who lead me back to Christ’s love. I wrote a piece for camp that says camp isn’t merely a place, but a lifestyle. I think the same goes for being a Christian. I also think that when you get too distracted you can forget where you came from. God works in mysterious ways.

“But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
2 Corinthians 12:9-10

"for such a time as this"

I am alone again inside the walls of thought. I scurry through one scene after another.

God, grant me patience, acceptance, love. Above all let me love like you.

I turn to find a window, broken glass. Things are broken, feelings are broken, I…am broken.

I pick up a shard and reach inside my memory like the glass has an electric current. I see the hug that lasted five minutes, I was spun in a circle and the world felt right. I discard the piece and pick up another, the same chemical reaction stretches through my veins. I see a field, a fight, a hidden tear ripping from the inside. Quickly I release the shard as if it were poison. Glancing at the pile of brokenness on the ground I reluctantly reach down for another flake. My cousin’s casket; I feel the dirt under my feet, the dampness of my face, my longing for a friend.

I reach and release now with vigor and ease. “Until we meet again” floats across my computer screen. The faces of my friends pass by like shadows. My brothers first football game, my first field hockey stick, full summers of camp all traced through my memory, vicarious. The week we thought mom had cancer; lies, beauty, happiness, sadness, anger, resentment, fear, excitement, it all lies within this wreck of glass.

One by one I take each bit and set in on a table, each electric shock bringing a thunderstorm of new smiles, tears, laughter, and pain. Finally, down to the last snowball that landed in my pocket, I have reconstructed the broken glass to its original state. However, one long remain of frame is missing. I search the floor and realize I have been standing on it the entire time. As I reach down to pick up the, now three, broken pieces, I pause. I hold the pieces in my hands, close my eyes, and squeeze the rough, wooded surface. Digging deep into my skin I feel the blood trickle down my palm. But I am longing for a pain that never comes. I unclench my hands and the wounds are healed. My body is engulfed. Encompassed by energy so forceful my heart starts to pound in my ears. When I open my eyes I see Him, carrying my cross.

I am alone again inside the walls of thought. Everything I have seen has taken its toll and I can no longer stand. I lean my head against what should be a wall. My face falls like a puzzle piece under a chin. I sit in a corner crying, remembering. From the other side of my body a small hand slips into my own. I feel the cool skin and long hair and I know I’m home. I open my eyes to sunshine through a not so broken window. I look and I see that I have been put back together and I did not do so by myself.

_______________
I want to love like Him. To be the one who helps someone else put together their puzzle of broken glass. I want to take the painful shards out of broken hands and mend them as if they were new.
I want to love like Jesus.

A Sign from Heaven

I made her cry
it broke my heart
She called me her best friend
I smiled
Those three fingers she raises
the words she understands
exudes
composes

Cannot speak but loud she yells
Seeking understanding
Demanding respect, attention

She grabs my hand like it’s her property
and won’t wake up for anyone but me
She tickles with a sly smile
and waves her hand under her chin

Frustrating
Exasperating
She choked me and made me hers
I had no choice
She takes my breath away
Every laugh
Every smile
Every Tear
The world’s

I want to love
Like her
with
Those Three Fingers

Tears and Hiccups

I remember when I had a 103 degree fever; he carried me up two flights of stairs to my room and got the thermometer.

I remember when I pulled his flag in outpost and he got so angry his face turned red because he wasn’t planning on letting me win.

I remember when I was taken off of the soccer field in an ambulance. As I was lying on the ground, my neck held sternly and placed in a brace, he was holding my hand. My trainer was asking “who is that holding your hand? Yeah, it’s Jeff. Is he your boyfriend? Yeah…how long have you been dating? Wow…”. I wanted to fall asleep but I couldn’t lose his image. He was blurry and fogged like a windshield on a cold day, but the light from the sun reflected around his figure. He tried to get in the ambulance. They said no. Instead my mom rode in the front. I only know this because he let go of my hand and I could hear her voice the entire ride to the hospital.

I remember when he walked out and my heart stopped. He slammed the door to his apartment, punched the wall down the stairs, condemned the car door and screeched off.

I remember when he came back ten minutes later and tried to hide the tear by placing his head in my lap and repeating “I’m sorry”.

I remember yesterday, when all I wanted was to hear his voice tell me that everything is going to be alright. I was lying on my couch in tears. I miss my friends so much. I called once. He didn’t answer the phone. I called twenty minutes later. Still no answer. I text him “where are you,” but it really read “I need you. You never miss my calls. You always call or text me back, I’m a mess”. Not a second later my phone rang. His groggy voice was met with my sweet surrender to tears and hiccups. Fifteen minutes later, when my eyes were dry, I apologized. In my mind I could see him raising his eye brow, considering whether or not he was in love with a crazy person. “You’re not a lunatic. You’re going through massive amounts of change right now. Half of your friends are abroad, I’m three hours away, you just started school, and workouts; you’re allowed to be vulnerable right now.” And then it hit me. A random time, I admit, nonetheless it was in my face. He loves me. I woke him up from a sound sleep that he never gets, I’m possessive and moody, I have come to expect him to answer my calls or at least explain why he cannot get to them. I am INSANE and he is telling me that everything’s going to be alright. He is telling me that he wishes he could be here to wipe my tears away and hold me until I fall asleep. He is telling me that it’s okay to be crazy.

He loves me.

Minutes later we’re talking about other things and I am laughing. I am perfectly in love with the man who can take my teardrops and hiccups, even when inconvenient, and turn them into smiles and laughter.

"We laugh and laugh, and nothing can ever be sad, no one can be lost, or dead, or far away: right now we are here, and nothing can mar our perfection, or steal the joy of this perfect moment."
-The Time Traveler’s Wife

A Tell-Tale Serenade

I cannot describe it, this feeling of excitement running through my bones. I don’t know what’s in store, but for the first time it’s a thrill. I’ve never been one to accept defeat, but I’ve always been a person who shies away from things. I enjoy being quiet and watching other people. I adore the simple times when I can talk to my best friend for hours. I love the people around me, passionately. While none of these qualities are absolutely awful, in larger group settings I feel something is missing.

If there were one thing I would change about myself it would be my uncanny ability to fall into the background. I am vastly aware of how quiet I can be and extraordinarily attuned to the moments that are considered opportunities (by some), which I greet with sheer terror and silence.

I was watching The Bachelor, which is not a show from which I would generally take a life lesson. However, as the girls were vigorously preparing to meet their dreamy ken doll I became immensely aware of their choice of words. First, they spoke like they already knew him, which is ridiculous. But then they spoke with confidence. Carefree, I know what I want, confidence. I believe I was bothered by this because confidence is a quality I lack.

I play the silent game because I don’t like listening to myself talk without a purpose. I enjoy talking with my friends because it does not feel forced. Aka group settings: not my forte. I love a good party, but I’m not one to get up and sing at live band karaoke. Nor will you see me partaking in any activity that draws attention to me. I’m quiet and generally I like myself that way. Generally.

Ali and I Skyped last night for four hours, three minutes, and thirty seconds. Together we made a list of things we want to do this semester. Starting with sane, ending with crazy, filled with all things in between, this is what we came up with:

Go to Memphis and party like rock stars.
Make a book.
Drink lots of coconut rum.
Get Smirnoff ice.
Watch The Tenth Kingdom with Lexy and Brandie in one day.
Look hot for Formal.
Finish Coach’s gift.
Play field hockey at least once a week.
Make sure we don’t miss our 8:15 classes (unless we are throwing up or have a fever).
Eat meals in our apartments together at least once a week (and by once we mean twice because there are two of us living in different places).
Photo shoot with our ear flap hats!
Par-tay once every two weeks (cause everyday’s a party, let’s be real).
Limit our sweat wearing (except in apartments).
Work out six days a week. No excuses. Play like a champion.
Lauren sing at Live Band Karaoke.
Beat the Impossible Quiz.
Ali confess her undying love to a squirrel in a tree.
Frolic through the fountain.
Go to the City Museum.
Camping!
Watch Dr. Horrible’s Sing Along Blog.
Glee-a-thon!
Lauren have an intellectual conversation with a lamp post.
Highlight hair with a fantastic color (washable).

To say the least, this semester is going to be interesting. I’m excited to start classes, to be with Ali and my other friends at school. I look forward to spring season and working out six days a week. Overall, I want to learn what it is to be comfortable with myself, not to change necessarily, but to plunge into an unknown.

"Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt."

-Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

I’m learning my role and expanding my horizons.

So Much of You I Find in Me

All the love I have to give

I give to the world through
words.

Pounding through my chest,

out

my heart.

All the want I ever need

I see

in you,

most glorious poem
of the sun and moon.

I breathe you in
my fresh, exhilarating friends

whom I've known,
whom I love

you are my greatest mystery,

my greatest adventures,

my dearest friends.

My poetry you shall ever be.