What, Then, Shall We Say?
9 months ago
Monday, March 30, 2009
My Cookie Pants
So, if this doesn't make sense to you, watch the whole episode. It's fan-freaking-tastic.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Surrogacy and Consequences
This is something a wrote a while back. I'm partial to it. I hope you like it, too.
She laughed, but it wasn't funny. After all, her friends on facebook had named her "#1 best mother (potential)." If only they knew. How many people had told her what a good mother she would make? She had stopped counting.
If they only knew that, for her, it would never happen. Eventually they would figure it out.
If only they knew the years she'd waited. If only they knew the plans she'd made – the thoughts of color schemes and whether the child would look more like her or him, the one she loved. . . the one she planned to raise children with. But she had let him down. If only they knew how all of her hopes had been dashed. She'd given up hoping for a passel of children. Even one seemed as far removed as the east is from the west.
She'd been listening to nothing but silence from God on this particular issue for more years than she cared to count.
So she laughed when she saw that rating and heard what others were saying about her, because the only other option was crying. And God had stopped hearing her tears.
But she knew, just like she knew she was to marry her love, that their home was not meant to be childless. So she began to consider other options. Who would help? Who could help? How to do this without waiting longer than she already had? After all, waiting had so far gotten her nowhere. She had waited longer than anyone should be required to wait.
Surrogacy. That was the solution. Even though she lived in Small Town, America, and even though she knew people were going to talk, she found someone willing to stand in for her – to do what her rebellious body refused.
Finally!!! She did what God refused to do for her, the one He supposedly loved. She and her love had a child. And she had made it happen. She had. No one else.
At first she knew nothing but bliss. Even the things that most mothers complain about were done with the joy of realizing a dream come true.
But as with all dreams, reality eventually intruded. The surrogate, the stand-in, still lived in Small Town, America, with them. In fact, the surrogate still lived in the same house with the woman and her love. Still needed help getting her feet back under her.
And the surrogate was not stupid. And she wanted to be more than a stand-in. This surrogate only had one thing that the woman did not – but it was the one thing the woman wanted more than all other things. It was the one thing the surrogate could throw in the woman's face. So she did. Repeatedly.
But the woman took it. She took it because of the child – the child that she knew was hers.
Then a miracle happened. A miracle the proportions of which meant that she captured the hearts of the news media for months. She had become pregnant. The woman, who had abandoned any amount of hope years earlier, was carrying a child. Only God could have made this happen.
Everyone was amazed. And she had never been so happy. Even though she had long ago given up hope, she realized that being a mother was something that God had been preparing her for her entire life.
That also meant it was decision time. Now that she had a "real" child, a substitute wasn't necessary. She kicked the surrogate (along with her attitude) and her child out of the house – knowing full well they could not support themselves.
She forgot. She neglected to consider. To her, the child was a substitute who couldn't compare to the real thing that she now had. To her love, it was his son. The surrogate and her son never moved back in. And their lives were never the same. Pretend as much as she wanted, their lives would forever be tainted by her actions.
By this point, it is probably obvious that this is the Biblical story of Sarah (the woman), Abraham (her love), Hagar (the surrogate), Ishmael (the substitute), and Isaac (the miracle), albeit with a few tweaks.
A couple of things have me thinking about this story this week. First of all, I was reading this book by Philip Yancey that talks about God's silences. Those stretches of time when it is dark. I was reading along, "totally" relating to these silences and their descriptions. Then I was figuratively smacked upside the head.
Sarah was 90 years old when she gave birth to Isaac. Forget modern medicine and 70-year-old women giving birth to twins. Roughly six thousand years ago, a 90-year-old woman gave birth. Imagine the years on her knees praying for such an occurrence. After all, she was probably married when she was in her mid-teens. Picture the story of Hannah without the "quick" results. Imagine the disappointment coming month after month, year after year – the roller coaster of emotions like doubt, fear, hope, inadequacy. Feeling like every time you turned around you let your husband down. Imagine the strain that would put on you, on your relationship with your spouse, on your faith in God. Really imagine that.
Then imagine you're 75 or 80 and someone visiting your husband tells him that you're going to have a baby. Tell me you wouldn't laugh. I know I would. But it wouldn't be funny, not really. But any tears you might have shed would have long since dried.
As the story goes, Sarah gets Hagar to sleep with Abraham, and they have Ishmael. But that wasn't God's answer. His answer was Isaac. More than a decade after a messenger told her that she would have a child, she still had nothing to show for it but a good laugh. But then it happened. Isaac happened, and the world has never been the same.
I complain about not being able to hear from God. I complain, wanting answers to burning questions. And they're valid questions.
But God's silence, his timing, is just as valid. I now think/understand/know that my reactions to His silence speak volumes more about me than they saying anything about Him. As with most things, apparently.
And Sarah's reaction – justifiable as it may seem – said much more about her than it ever could have about her God.
No, it doesn't provide the answer for what to do in the meantime. I'm not sure that this particular story is meant to tell us what to do while we wait, so much as it is a suggestion of what not to do.
I'll tell you this, though. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with unanswered desires and questions. It's nice to know there's not a time limit on miracles. And I love knowing that, whether it feels like it or not, God knows what's going on and he's working on orchestrating the world (even when it doesn't seem to be so).
She laughed, but it wasn't funny. After all, her friends on facebook had named her "#1 best mother (potential)." If only they knew. How many people had told her what a good mother she would make? She had stopped counting.
If they only knew that, for her, it would never happen. Eventually they would figure it out.
If only they knew the years she'd waited. If only they knew the plans she'd made – the thoughts of color schemes and whether the child would look more like her or him, the one she loved. . . the one she planned to raise children with. But she had let him down. If only they knew how all of her hopes had been dashed. She'd given up hoping for a passel of children. Even one seemed as far removed as the east is from the west.
She'd been listening to nothing but silence from God on this particular issue for more years than she cared to count.
So she laughed when she saw that rating and heard what others were saying about her, because the only other option was crying. And God had stopped hearing her tears.
But she knew, just like she knew she was to marry her love, that their home was not meant to be childless. So she began to consider other options. Who would help? Who could help? How to do this without waiting longer than she already had? After all, waiting had so far gotten her nowhere. She had waited longer than anyone should be required to wait.
Surrogacy. That was the solution. Even though she lived in Small Town, America, and even though she knew people were going to talk, she found someone willing to stand in for her – to do what her rebellious body refused.
Finally!!! She did what God refused to do for her, the one He supposedly loved. She and her love had a child. And she had made it happen. She had. No one else.
At first she knew nothing but bliss. Even the things that most mothers complain about were done with the joy of realizing a dream come true.
But as with all dreams, reality eventually intruded. The surrogate, the stand-in, still lived in Small Town, America, with them. In fact, the surrogate still lived in the same house with the woman and her love. Still needed help getting her feet back under her.
And the surrogate was not stupid. And she wanted to be more than a stand-in. This surrogate only had one thing that the woman did not – but it was the one thing the woman wanted more than all other things. It was the one thing the surrogate could throw in the woman's face. So she did. Repeatedly.
But the woman took it. She took it because of the child – the child that she knew was hers.
Then a miracle happened. A miracle the proportions of which meant that she captured the hearts of the news media for months. She had become pregnant. The woman, who had abandoned any amount of hope years earlier, was carrying a child. Only God could have made this happen.
Everyone was amazed. And she had never been so happy. Even though she had long ago given up hope, she realized that being a mother was something that God had been preparing her for her entire life.
That also meant it was decision time. Now that she had a "real" child, a substitute wasn't necessary. She kicked the surrogate (along with her attitude) and her child out of the house – knowing full well they could not support themselves.
She forgot. She neglected to consider. To her, the child was a substitute who couldn't compare to the real thing that she now had. To her love, it was his son. The surrogate and her son never moved back in. And their lives were never the same. Pretend as much as she wanted, their lives would forever be tainted by her actions.
By this point, it is probably obvious that this is the Biblical story of Sarah (the woman), Abraham (her love), Hagar (the surrogate), Ishmael (the substitute), and Isaac (the miracle), albeit with a few tweaks.
A couple of things have me thinking about this story this week. First of all, I was reading this book by Philip Yancey that talks about God's silences. Those stretches of time when it is dark. I was reading along, "totally" relating to these silences and their descriptions. Then I was figuratively smacked upside the head.
Sarah was 90 years old when she gave birth to Isaac. Forget modern medicine and 70-year-old women giving birth to twins. Roughly six thousand years ago, a 90-year-old woman gave birth. Imagine the years on her knees praying for such an occurrence. After all, she was probably married when she was in her mid-teens. Picture the story of Hannah without the "quick" results. Imagine the disappointment coming month after month, year after year – the roller coaster of emotions like doubt, fear, hope, inadequacy. Feeling like every time you turned around you let your husband down. Imagine the strain that would put on you, on your relationship with your spouse, on your faith in God. Really imagine that.
Then imagine you're 75 or 80 and someone visiting your husband tells him that you're going to have a baby. Tell me you wouldn't laugh. I know I would. But it wouldn't be funny, not really. But any tears you might have shed would have long since dried.
As the story goes, Sarah gets Hagar to sleep with Abraham, and they have Ishmael. But that wasn't God's answer. His answer was Isaac. More than a decade after a messenger told her that she would have a child, she still had nothing to show for it but a good laugh. But then it happened. Isaac happened, and the world has never been the same.
I complain about not being able to hear from God. I complain, wanting answers to burning questions. And they're valid questions.
But God's silence, his timing, is just as valid. I now think/understand/know that my reactions to His silence speak volumes more about me than they saying anything about Him. As with most things, apparently.
And Sarah's reaction – justifiable as it may seem – said much more about her than it ever could have about her God.
No, it doesn't provide the answer for what to do in the meantime. I'm not sure that this particular story is meant to tell us what to do while we wait, so much as it is a suggestion of what not to do.
I'll tell you this, though. It's nice to know I'm not the only one with unanswered desires and questions. It's nice to know there's not a time limit on miracles. And I love knowing that, whether it feels like it or not, God knows what's going on and he's working on orchestrating the world (even when it doesn't seem to be so).
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Dotting Your I's and Crossing Your T's
I just notice that I have a tendency to start each blog with a “So. . . ,” as though I’m starting mid-sentence or mid-conversation. I know it’s a bad writing habit. I don’t care.
So, for today’s topic: Graphology. I’m too lazy to pull up dictionary.com and find an actual definition, so I’m going to provide my own definition. Graphology is the study of handwriting. I don’t know anything about graphology. But Marcus does. And Marcus knows graphology. Now, he’ll tell you that he’s just learning, but it’s hard for Marcus to dabble (and he's really smart). I don’t know how he got interested in the subject, but I will tell you that once he did, he bought every book he could get his hands on. And read them all. And then talked to other people who know more than he does and learned even more. And then he solicited requests for handwriting samples, and offered to analyze them. At least, I required him to analyze mine when I sent him a sample. Word to the wise: don’t give him a sample over dinner. It’ll just distract him.
See, he asked for a handwritten (okay, so I know that part’s obvious) letter (like they used to make you write in 3rd grade), on unlined paper (apparently, even the slant of the lines is telling). So I wrote him a 3-page letter on unlined paper. You should, too (it doesn’t have to be 3 pages). His address is:
Marcus Coker
c/o Momentum Dance Concepts
615A Main St., Ste. 4
Van Buren, AR 72956
He’s gotten letters from all over and is very excited about it. Now, I’ve known Marcus for approximately 18 years, so I did have an out. See, if he got it right, I could say that he’s known me so long he could just talk about some of my characteristics, and if he got it wrong I could just say that he’s no expert. See how that worked for me? But honestly, if he were just talking about me, he’d start out with saying that I’m a fun person (we’re fun people). But he didn’t start there. And his analysis quickly found some of my core attributes. In its entirety, here is his analysis [with, perhaps, a little commentary]:
So pretty much you’re a nice person, friendly and warm. It would appear that you fill up a lot of your time with activity of one sort or another. Maybe you should slow down and relax a little [whatever]. There’s a pretty strong trend toward secrecy [and Dad thinks I have to tell everything I know!]…with yourself and with others. Also, a slight tendency to keep emotional things to yourself. (are you left handed? [I AM!!!] It doesn’t make much difference, but it does make some.) if you are, we’ll just say that you’re pretty controlled and don’t get too carried away by emotions [except for those dang Hallmark commercials]…that you tend to be more rational. Something we share…stubbornness [Who, me?]. At times protective, especially about family matters (not the type to air out dirty laundry or that sort). Opinionated [Just because I’m right. . .]. You were right about your t-bars [how I cross my T’s]. With authority. Most of the time. Which means you have a more than healthy work drive. And you can be tenacious.
There may be more (I like to think I’m a person of great depth), but that’s all I got. I have a love/hate relationship with this analysis. It picks up a lot about me – and not necessarily the things that I want people to know. I definitely keep emotional things to myself (often until I burst), and I have at times been known to be stubborn (I recall my brother saying something about me and a fencepost).
What I love about graphology (and similar fields – like face studying on the show Lie to Me!) is that it reminds me that I can’t hide who I am. I am this flawed, growing, learning person that God made. And there’s no hiding that. There’s no pretending. And few of the characteristics listed above are definitively good or bad. It’s how I use them that decides whether they’re good or bad. But, there is inherent value in knowing/recognizing these facets of our character. After all, if I’m aware of my stubbornness, I can remind myself to take a step back and ask whether I should be digging in my heels or letting it go (do I always have to be right?). Because some things are worth digging in my heels for. And some things aren’t.
So what would your handwriting reveal about you? And how do those characteristics combine to create beautiful, unique you?
So, for today’s topic: Graphology. I’m too lazy to pull up dictionary.com and find an actual definition, so I’m going to provide my own definition. Graphology is the study of handwriting. I don’t know anything about graphology. But Marcus does. And Marcus knows graphology. Now, he’ll tell you that he’s just learning, but it’s hard for Marcus to dabble (and he's really smart). I don’t know how he got interested in the subject, but I will tell you that once he did, he bought every book he could get his hands on. And read them all. And then talked to other people who know more than he does and learned even more. And then he solicited requests for handwriting samples, and offered to analyze them. At least, I required him to analyze mine when I sent him a sample. Word to the wise: don’t give him a sample over dinner. It’ll just distract him.
See, he asked for a handwritten (okay, so I know that part’s obvious) letter (like they used to make you write in 3rd grade), on unlined paper (apparently, even the slant of the lines is telling). So I wrote him a 3-page letter on unlined paper. You should, too (it doesn’t have to be 3 pages). His address is:
Marcus Coker
c/o Momentum Dance Concepts
615A Main St., Ste. 4
Van Buren, AR 72956
He’s gotten letters from all over and is very excited about it. Now, I’ve known Marcus for approximately 18 years, so I did have an out. See, if he got it right, I could say that he’s known me so long he could just talk about some of my characteristics, and if he got it wrong I could just say that he’s no expert. See how that worked for me? But honestly, if he were just talking about me, he’d start out with saying that I’m a fun person (we’re fun people). But he didn’t start there. And his analysis quickly found some of my core attributes. In its entirety, here is his analysis [with, perhaps, a little commentary]:
So pretty much you’re a nice person, friendly and warm. It would appear that you fill up a lot of your time with activity of one sort or another. Maybe you should slow down and relax a little [whatever]. There’s a pretty strong trend toward secrecy [and Dad thinks I have to tell everything I know!]…with yourself and with others. Also, a slight tendency to keep emotional things to yourself. (are you left handed? [I AM!!!] It doesn’t make much difference, but it does make some.) if you are, we’ll just say that you’re pretty controlled and don’t get too carried away by emotions [except for those dang Hallmark commercials]…that you tend to be more rational. Something we share…stubbornness [Who, me?]. At times protective, especially about family matters (not the type to air out dirty laundry or that sort). Opinionated [Just because I’m right. . .]. You were right about your t-bars [how I cross my T’s]. With authority. Most of the time. Which means you have a more than healthy work drive. And you can be tenacious.
There may be more (I like to think I’m a person of great depth), but that’s all I got. I have a love/hate relationship with this analysis. It picks up a lot about me – and not necessarily the things that I want people to know. I definitely keep emotional things to myself (often until I burst), and I have at times been known to be stubborn (I recall my brother saying something about me and a fencepost).
What I love about graphology (and similar fields – like face studying on the show Lie to Me!) is that it reminds me that I can’t hide who I am. I am this flawed, growing, learning person that God made. And there’s no hiding that. There’s no pretending. And few of the characteristics listed above are definitively good or bad. It’s how I use them that decides whether they’re good or bad. But, there is inherent value in knowing/recognizing these facets of our character. After all, if I’m aware of my stubbornness, I can remind myself to take a step back and ask whether I should be digging in my heels or letting it go (do I always have to be right?). Because some things are worth digging in my heels for. And some things aren’t.
So what would your handwriting reveal about you? And how do those characteristics combine to create beautiful, unique you?
Monday, March 23, 2009
We're Legal Custodians
So, I'm thinking Monday may end up being Scrubs clip day. It makes me happy. So there you have it.
I have watched this clip about 4 times today and giggled every time. I can't help myself. I hope you love it, too!
Get it?
Tomorrow's Hot Topic: Graphology!!
I have watched this clip about 4 times today and giggled every time. I can't help myself. I hope you love it, too!
Get it?
Tomorrow's Hot Topic: Graphology!!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Things I've Learned This Week
1. I don't get my own personal key to a box for receiving packages here at the apartment. And my mailman thinks I'm an idiot.
2. At least a few people actually read this thing!!
3. I really enjoy writing.
4. Sometimes I'm mature Elliott. And sometimes I'm immature J.D.
5. I still love Un Sospiro.
6. I'm really looking forward to going home.
7. My new haircut is "uber-cute." My male hairdresser from the mall in Illinois told me so.
8. Everyone should be watching Kings.
9. I really miss my friends.
10. Someday, I'm going to get a dog. I want it to be gigantic and brilliant. And it must match these:
11. I am a bright yellow SUV. Not a nondescript black Honda Civic.
2. At least a few people actually read this thing!!
3. I really enjoy writing.
4. Sometimes I'm mature Elliott. And sometimes I'm immature J.D.
5. I still love Un Sospiro.
6. I'm really looking forward to going home.
7. My new haircut is "uber-cute." My male hairdresser from the mall in Illinois told me so.
8. Everyone should be watching Kings.
9. I really miss my friends.
10. Someday, I'm going to get a dog. I want it to be gigantic and brilliant. And it must match these:
11. I am a bright yellow SUV. Not a nondescript black Honda Civic.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Kings and Fear
I was sort of talking with a friend today about fear. In a roundabout way (mostly other stuff, but fear was a theme). For instance, here’s a fear of mine: Weekly, if not daily, I am forced to stare down something that scares the living daylights out of me. What is it? (you ask with trepidation; you’re sure that I’m very brave – I’m not). This thing that I fear is a blank page. It’s a little funny because I essentially write for a living. But every time I come face to face with all that white space on a page (stupid WordPerfect mocking me every step of the way), I feel that familiar surge of panic. I fear that I might not have any words.
I also have “irrational” fears. While I'm not afraid of birds, my latest fear is that I’m only funny when my principle place of residence is
Keeping in mind that I will eventually get back to the issue of fear, let’s start out with some fun news! I found out today that at least 6 people have looked at my blog! That excites me. AND, here’s the best part. My blog on the tv series Kings inspired this super-cool friend of mine to check it out. He checked it out, and is now shouting from the rooftops that everyone should watch it. I tend to agree with him. And I also find this very exciting.
But my super-cool friend didn’t just stop at talking about a really cool new tv show. He went to work and was talking to a coworker about the show, and they started talking about how it’s based on the Biblical story of David. And talking about a tv show let him talk about the Bible and God with his coworker.
I’m often timid and fearful (see, here it is – full circle) when it comes to talking about God, particularly at work. But because my friend had been dealing with God recently, he was able to overcome his fear, look his coworker in the eye, and say that, while he didn’t have all the answers, God had spoken to him. And suddenly God became more real to this coworker. What if my super-cool friend had been too scared, too timid, too self-conscious?
Suddenly, it’s not about me and my fear anymore.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Another Rerun
So, sometimes I'm not the brightest person in the world. This was one of those times: I call it "Two Left Feet."
Seriously? I knew that my mind was completely gone when I looked down to discover, to my dismay, that I truly had two left feet. Well, shoes anyway. It was all I could do to drag myself to work out, anyway. In my defense, the shoes were both trimmed in pink. By the way, I really like tennis shoes trimmed in pink. I think it's a great way to remind myself that I'm a girl even if I'm wearing athletic shoes. And I am NOT athletic.
Back to the point. So I looked down and knew that I had a decision to make. At the time, the weight of the decision almost made me collapse. Perhaps that was just my pounding headache. At any rate, there was a decision. Do I give up and just go home, hiding from the world my idiocy? However, if I left, I would be forced to explain why. I'm not so great at explaining or pointing out my own mistakes.
So, there was a decision. Ooo! I could just not wear shoes while I worked out. No, then people would ask why. I could just go home. Ah, the appeal of just going home. So tempting. But I was already there and would have to explain my hasty decision. Dang it. It was at that moment, as those thoughts raced through my mind in 3 seconds, that I realized the truth of the matter. I, Kara Michelle Davis, was going to have to work out with two left tennis shoes.
I told myself, "Maybe no one will notice." I'll just move my right foot a little bit so that the shoe's not so obviously left-leaning. I have, after all, put my reputation on being distinctly right-leaning. Then I might fall off the board. Oh, well, I'll just hope no one notices. Thankfully, Gaynor is busy with new people for my first time around the circuit. But then she gets back in the middle right as I'm on a machine where my feet are up in the air. Oh, the tragedy. Wait! She didn't catch it that time. Now just two more times around the circuit to keep her from noticing. Every time she looked at me or talked to me, I know I had this absolutely guilty look on my face. I couldn't help it.
I became enthralled with my feet. As I made it around the circuit for a longer and longer period of time with no one noticing, I became rather emboldened. I mean, how can these people not realize that I am wearing TWO LEFT SHOES!! Nobody else was – I checked. Finally, I made it around my three times, and stretched. Again, I was tempted to remove the shoes at that moment, but I figured that I had gone that long avoiding discovery – I'll try to keep this up. So, I left the shoes on until I got into my apartment. How nice not to have my right foot being tempted to conform in the wrong shape.
I've never appreciated the differences between left and right shoes before, but make no mistake, that distinction will remain unappreciated no more!!! Perhaps, there is a lesson to be learned in all of this – nobody cares how I look as much as I do. That's actually kind of nice to learn, because sometimes I really wonder about my outfits. Anyway, the moral of the story is: when packing your clothes in the morning for a late afternoon workout, turn the light on so that the distinctions in tennis shoes with pink trim will be more readily apparent, thus avoiding the problem of the two left feet.
Now I like to refer to this event casually as "the time I wore two left shoes." However, I have to explain myself when I say it. I guess that's the price I pay for oversharing.
You're welcome, Marcus.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Can't Help Myself
This is truly one of my all-time favorite moments on Scrubs. It's up there with Guy Love, Julian the Manatee, Geography being my Achilles' Heel, and Billy begin my favorite Ocean.
Of Kings and Men
I can't help myself. I love snazzy titles. Sadly, this post will not be as snazzy. However, I have two things I felt like writing about. First of all, how many people saw the premiere of Kings last night? I got SO excited when I realized that it was loosely based on the story of David. I realize that it's going to be modernized and fictionalized and probably sanitized a little; however, I sort of feel like any mainstream forum that would get people to look just a little closer at Biblical stories has my vote. I mean, if it gets people looking closer and learning more, maybe it will be a way for God to draw people closer to Him. Which is kind of exciting. I realize I may putting too much on this show. I'm okay with that.
SECOND - although I took piano lessons from first grade until I graduated high school, and most of the lessons were classical music, I can't say I'm a classical music afficionado. In fact, I'm not. However, my last year of piano lessons was spent in an attempt to come close to mastering Franz Liszt's Un Sospiro. It's, like, 12 pages long. With tiny notes. Sadly, it is one of my regrets that I never actually learned the whole thing. I did learn about the first two minutes of it, and have provided it for your viewing pleasure below as well. The thing is, it showed up on the tv show Kings! David sits down to play it on a piano from the same year as the song was written. Never before (except maybe for Beethoven's Fifth Symphony and maybe Vivaldi's Four Seasons) have I been able to name a classical song before someone told me what it was. Sitting in my apartment, all alone, I yelled out, "That's Liszt's Un Sospiro!" So exciting. It's like a piece of my past, a piece of me, was part of the show. Of course, I never did it justice, but I loved it just the same. So here it is for your viewing pleasure.
SECOND - although I took piano lessons from first grade until I graduated high school, and most of the lessons were classical music, I can't say I'm a classical music afficionado. In fact, I'm not. However, my last year of piano lessons was spent in an attempt to come close to mastering Franz Liszt's Un Sospiro. It's, like, 12 pages long. With tiny notes. Sadly, it is one of my regrets that I never actually learned the whole thing. I did learn about the first two minutes of it, and have provided it for your viewing pleasure below as well. The thing is, it showed up on the tv show Kings! David sits down to play it on a piano from the same year as the song was written. Never before (except maybe for Beethoven's Fifth Symphony and maybe Vivaldi's Four Seasons) have I been able to name a classical song before someone told me what it was. Sitting in my apartment, all alone, I yelled out, "That's Liszt's Un Sospiro!" So exciting. It's like a piece of my past, a piece of me, was part of the show. Of course, I never did it justice, but I loved it just the same. So here it is for your viewing pleasure.
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Older Stuff
Well, so this isn't the first time I've started writing. I did several years ago, too. I found some of my older stuff, and decided to post it again here because it sort of inspires me. It lets me see where I was, it lets me realize that sometimes I get stuck in a rut, and it postpones me writing something just yet. I mean, isn't picking out a pretty picture and background enough for one day?
So, I may be posting new things, but I may also be posting old things. This one's an oldie. I called it "Wreckage."
So, the 911 call that the firemen heard was that there was a car hanging off a bridge. It wasn't exactly like that, but it wasn't far off. I would say that it was one of the scariest experiences of my life, but I didn't get scared until it was over. And then I was shaking. You never think things are going to go differently than you had planned. Until they don't.
I was just on my way to class (after a morning where I got so drenched on a walk that I was as soaking wet as if I had taken a shower – fully clothed) going around a corner on the highway, when there was water in my lane and another car in the lane next to me. I couldn't move over, so I just decided to power through. Mistake. When deciding to power through water, one must be certain that they know what to do in case they hydroplane. This person [me] did not. I jerked the wheel one way, and then whipped it back the other way, and was trying to do it again (apparently it's not like on a video game) when I realized I was doing a 180 turn on the highway. The back end of my car drove up a concrete piling. When things stopped moving, I tried to catch my breath and control the shaking.
Some amazingly nice people (one lady was named Carla) stopped to see if I was all right. Because my plan had been to go to class, and then come straight back to get work done, I had felt no need to take my cell phone with me. So I asked her to call someone to get help for me. So then the police came, and then the firemen, and then eventually the tow truck. Everyone kept asking me if I was hurt. I didn't get out of the car until the police got there and told me I could go sit in their car instead. I had managed to hold it together pretty well until I got out and turned around and looked at what had happened. No wonder people kept asking me if I was okay. The enormity of what had happened doubled me over. It helped that the policeman came back to tell me I could sit in the car, because I didn't want to cry in front of him, so I had to pull it together as best as I could. He, and everyone else at the scene, was very nice. The onslaught of rain that day had caused a lot of wrecks all over town, so I think they were just relieved that things went as well as they did for my accident.
You see, although the enormity of my wreck doubled me over, there was actually not that much damage to my car. Once the wrecker got my car off the concrete piling, only the left rear bumper and the exhaust pipe looked slightly amiss. Yes, there were a couple of other problems, but seriously, the back of my car almost looked as if nothing had happened. And I wasn't hurt! It was as though God had placed a big cushion around me and my car. Of course, because I tend to obsess, my next thought was that God must have something big for me if He was going to protect me that much. Most people probably get excited by that thought. I just kept thinking how inadequate that makes me feel. I suppose that's the beauty of being a child of God. We're not adequate, and that's why He chooses us – so that He can be enough.
It is days like that one when it is hard for me to live away from my family. I always worry about something happening to one of them, but I never think about anything happening to me. But my invincibility cloak seems to have fallen off. And I just wanted a hug from my parents and to curl up with my head in my Mom's lap. And of course my best friend now lives in Thailand, and it's the middle of the night when it happens (where she is) and she hasn't given me her cell number yet, so I couldn't call if I wanted to. And of course, I don't have my phone, so I can't call my friends in Tulsa, either. But apparently I'm an adult, so I tried to act like one – get the car towed, get the insurance claim filed, get the rental car, etc. I'd like to say that now I'm fine and the only remnant of my accident is a distant memory and an insurance deductible. But I'm not that strong. And I can't stop thinking of my family or my close friends without getting teary-eyed. People lose so much more and make it. I didn't really even lose anything, and I'm still freaked out. That's humbling. And yet, I'm so thankful for how God protected me. I'm so thankful to be loved, and I'm so thankful for insurance. Seriously.
So, I may be posting new things, but I may also be posting old things. This one's an oldie. I called it "Wreckage."
So, the 911 call that the firemen heard was that there was a car hanging off a bridge. It wasn't exactly like that, but it wasn't far off. I would say that it was one of the scariest experiences of my life, but I didn't get scared until it was over. And then I was shaking. You never think things are going to go differently than you had planned. Until they don't.
I was just on my way to class (after a morning where I got so drenched on a walk that I was as soaking wet as if I had taken a shower – fully clothed) going around a corner on the highway, when there was water in my lane and another car in the lane next to me. I couldn't move over, so I just decided to power through. Mistake. When deciding to power through water, one must be certain that they know what to do in case they hydroplane. This person [me] did not. I jerked the wheel one way, and then whipped it back the other way, and was trying to do it again (apparently it's not like on a video game) when I realized I was doing a 180 turn on the highway. The back end of my car drove up a concrete piling. When things stopped moving, I tried to catch my breath and control the shaking.
Some amazingly nice people (one lady was named Carla) stopped to see if I was all right. Because my plan had been to go to class, and then come straight back to get work done, I had felt no need to take my cell phone with me. So I asked her to call someone to get help for me. So then the police came, and then the firemen, and then eventually the tow truck. Everyone kept asking me if I was hurt. I didn't get out of the car until the police got there and told me I could go sit in their car instead. I had managed to hold it together pretty well until I got out and turned around and looked at what had happened. No wonder people kept asking me if I was okay. The enormity of what had happened doubled me over. It helped that the policeman came back to tell me I could sit in the car, because I didn't want to cry in front of him, so I had to pull it together as best as I could. He, and everyone else at the scene, was very nice. The onslaught of rain that day had caused a lot of wrecks all over town, so I think they were just relieved that things went as well as they did for my accident.
You see, although the enormity of my wreck doubled me over, there was actually not that much damage to my car. Once the wrecker got my car off the concrete piling, only the left rear bumper and the exhaust pipe looked slightly amiss. Yes, there were a couple of other problems, but seriously, the back of my car almost looked as if nothing had happened. And I wasn't hurt! It was as though God had placed a big cushion around me and my car. Of course, because I tend to obsess, my next thought was that God must have something big for me if He was going to protect me that much. Most people probably get excited by that thought. I just kept thinking how inadequate that makes me feel. I suppose that's the beauty of being a child of God. We're not adequate, and that's why He chooses us – so that He can be enough.
It is days like that one when it is hard for me to live away from my family. I always worry about something happening to one of them, but I never think about anything happening to me. But my invincibility cloak seems to have fallen off. And I just wanted a hug from my parents and to curl up with my head in my Mom's lap. And of course my best friend now lives in Thailand, and it's the middle of the night when it happens (where she is) and she hasn't given me her cell number yet, so I couldn't call if I wanted to. And of course, I don't have my phone, so I can't call my friends in Tulsa, either. But apparently I'm an adult, so I tried to act like one – get the car towed, get the insurance claim filed, get the rental car, etc. I'd like to say that now I'm fine and the only remnant of my accident is a distant memory and an insurance deductible. But I'm not that strong. And I can't stop thinking of my family or my close friends without getting teary-eyed. People lose so much more and make it. I didn't really even lose anything, and I'm still freaked out. That's humbling. And yet, I'm so thankful for how God protected me. I'm so thankful to be loved, and I'm so thankful for insurance. Seriously.
First Post Nerves
Honestly, I think blogging borders on the narcissistic. However, I’m blogging now, so I feel that I can say that. Obviously, I have chosen an obtuse title. It just came to me, but it seems to epitomize where I am. In some ways, I’m just lost, with no idea where to go from here. In others, I’m found. And yet in other ways, I’m still trying to figure it out. Lost. Found. Seeking. That’s me.
I want people to read my blog. I do. I want them to comment and really enjoy it. Otherwise, I’ll feel like it’s a waste. But blogging is dangerous. Blogging requires giving up part of yourself. Being a little more open than I often like to be. But I feel compelled to write. I am not making a commitment to write so many times per time frame. But I commit to writing. I’m still figuring out what I want to do when I grow up, but I know that I should be writing. So that is what I’m going to do.
Of course, I’m on facebook. So, of course, at when the new year came around, I made a list of resolutions. Of course, I gave myself an out. I said it was a list of things I would consider to be resolutions if I were going to make them. I like it that way. Now, it feels more like a challenge to see how much of it I can do, instead of the burden of yet another to-do list. I say all that to say that on that list, I wanted to write at least three things I could be proud of. This first blog will not meet that standard. And yet, I hope that I’ll post more than three times by this years’ end. We’ll have to see. But this blog, this first post, gets me closer to meeting that challenge. So here I go.
I want people to read my blog. I do. I want them to comment and really enjoy it. Otherwise, I’ll feel like it’s a waste. But blogging is dangerous. Blogging requires giving up part of yourself. Being a little more open than I often like to be. But I feel compelled to write. I am not making a commitment to write so many times per time frame. But I commit to writing. I’m still figuring out what I want to do when I grow up, but I know that I should be writing. So that is what I’m going to do.
Of course, I’m on facebook. So, of course, at when the new year came around, I made a list of resolutions. Of course, I gave myself an out. I said it was a list of things I would consider to be resolutions if I were going to make them. I like it that way. Now, it feels more like a challenge to see how much of it I can do, instead of the burden of yet another to-do list. I say all that to say that on that list, I wanted to write at least three things I could be proud of. This first blog will not meet that standard. And yet, I hope that I’ll post more than three times by this years’ end. We’ll have to see. But this blog, this first post, gets me closer to meeting that challenge. So here I go.
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