March 27th, 2010

I simply have to write about it. It's not every day that I experience something so invigorating that no word can better explain it but "wow." Opening night of Crazy For You-- last night, but only a few hours ago--made me so grateful to be alive. I'm thinking back to sixth grade, when St. Mary's put on Guys and Dolls and I was left in awe of the theater business. All that time, effort, and all those smiles on stage sent shivers down my spine and a bittersweet wave of sorrow violently crashed in my gut. I feared that I would never be a part of something so significant, that I would never find the courage to grace the stage and feel the magic of being someone other than myself, that I would never truly realize that who I am behind the footlights is who I really am. I am joy. I am exhilarated. I am giving my all. Oh, I am drunk on life. I am aware of my troubles, but I don't care because the good outlasts the bad. No words can express the way God seems to cradle my heart in His hands right now. My glass runs over as He pours the drink, unaware that He has given me too much. The songs forever lurk in my mind, and I don't care if they play on forever. It is the time of times; I am in the present moment, taking not one breath too soon. I feel small and big at the same time, part of an eternity, a shrunken image of what Heaven means. We are one up there and I never want it to end.

Short Story

I'm going to tell you about the time my mom entered me in a watermelon-eating contest. You see, when I was a child, I think it's safe to say that I was completely worthless. My mom signed me up for a bunch of activities so I could find my knack, but something always went wrong. She made me take ballet lessons, but I bit the instructor's hand when she tried to help me with my pirouette. So, my mom signed me up for swimming lessons. I bit the instructor when she tried to help me do the doggy-paddle. My mom even put me in a karate class, but I bit the teacher when he tried to help me with my kicks. Mom finally began to notice a pattern, and suddenly had this brilliant idea.

You see, her thoughts went something like this: "Gee, my daughter really enjoys biting things. Maybe this means she would enjoy chewing and swallowing too." So what did she do? She signed me up for a watermelon-eating contest. That's what she did. And guess what? I don't even like watermelon! I'm more of a cherry Pop-tart kind of girl. But my mom entered me in a watermelon-eating contest at the county fair never the less. I didn't even know this was in store for me. I thought we were just going to see the lamas...but no.

I found myself sitting next to this tubby little boy on a stage with all sorts of people watching me. Then, these middle-aged women brought in the watermelon on a platter. I looked at my mom as if to say, "Are you serious? You want me to eat this thing? It's got seeds in it--black seeds--and Junior over here looks like he wants to consume me." But my mom just gave me an encouraging look, mouthed the words "just do what you're good at," and made a biting motion with her teeth. So that's just what I did. I bit the judge who disqualified me for hiding my watermelon under the table. Mom never entered me in a contest of any sort ever again.

April 2nd, 2010

My niece Elizabeth is deadly afraid of me and I don't know why. You'd think that being her godmother would automatically put me on her good side, but apparently not. I never saw her cling to Caroline with more fear for her life- she was looking death in the face. I finally managed to carry her down into the basement where the Wiggles were dancing across the TV screen. Caroline plopped down in the little Cabbage Patch Kid's bean bag chair I gave Emma for Christmas a few years ago and Elizabeth managed to curl up in her older sister's lap, afraid to take her eyes off of me in case I made a sudden move. She fell asleep as the Australian quartet danced a waltz and I attempted to pick her up and carry her upstairs. I failed; she woke up and screamed her lungs out. She fell asleep a second time and woke up screaming when I touched her again. Finally, when they both fell asleep, I managed to carry the youngest up both flights of stairs, careful not to breathe too heavily. She woke up briefly when I lowered her body onto the mattress, but she fell back to sleep after I wound up her snow globe/ music player a couple of times. Caroline was much easier to handle, limp as a sack of flour as I carried her up the steps and lowered her onto her bed. I went on Facebook for a bit before I heard Elizabeth squeaking. I tried the snow globe technique again, but she wouldn't have it. She climbed out of bed and walked to the top of the stairs, where she stood transfixed although she continued to wail away. I tried talking to her and noticed that her hair was askew. Since you can always count on Marnee to have things lying around her house, I found a pack of hair clips on the top steps and selected a blue one to put in Elizabeth's hair. She actually let me touch her head, which was the big turning-point of the night. I kept putting those clips in her hair until I ran out, and, being a year old with only so much hair on her head, she looked kind of ridiculous. I started to pull some out, but she kept pointing to them. I put them back in her hair and when she started crying again, I found more. They were everywhere. I carried her downstairs and she started to cry again, but we couldn't stay up there forever. I found at least three more clips or barrettes to put in her hair and they seemed to magically materialize whenever she started to bawl. When Marnee walked in, I had to explain her daughter's new do.

January 10th, 2010

I went to sleep last night feeling wonderful. Not a wonderful like "I just did something totally marvelous that no one on Earth could surpass it in excellence if they tried to do it with the most powerful political, cultural, and spiritual figures on their side," but wonderful because I just discovered that I am not special and no one is. This information might come across as pessimistic and contrary to what we've been taught by public television and child psychologists, but there is no doubt in my mind that it's the truth. "Special" is a term that never agreed with me since before I knew the real meaning as defined by Marianne Williamson- "different". I once thought of myself as someone special because I let other people inadvertently convince me of this. But now I realize that I am not better or worse than anyone else- we are all equal with equal worth and equal potential.

"Remember that you are unique just like everyone else!"- plaque

March 11th, 2010

  The SPOTS troop performed two skits for the Comfrey junior high today, and the responses were very reserved. I knew that seventh and eighth graders wouldn't raise their hands to ask questions about anorexia and depression even if we bribed them with Tootsie Rolls. They're at that age where they know all the routes to becoming the subjects of condemnation. Saying anything, either reluctantly or with confidence, is like asking for attention. The goal of so many 13 or 14-year-old is to let no one else know that they need love. They think that by being quiet, they are strong. That's how I lied to myself during those years. I convinced myself that I could fight my own battles when all I did was hide in a hole.
  Depression is a hard thing to classify, a hard thing to talk about, and a hard cross to bear. It's hard to admit it, and people tend to find things that make them more comfortable with the problem. Instead of breaking free, they decorate the cages.
  There are three levels to every person: there is the light, the darkness that shuts out the light, and the pictures they draw on the dark canvas to cover it up because they think that that's what they're supposed to do. Cover it up. Don't look at the dark tunnel because there's no end. It just gets deeper and deeper, and then you lose yourself completely and you might actually get to the point where you abide in this darkness because a small part of you knows that the light is coming and it scares you. Light can blind you. It can burn you. But it can also help you see what was lost in the darkness. It can warm you, guide you, and show you everything real. In the darkness, you're stuck imagining what's around you. You fall asleep, you're caged, and you don't know who you are or what you're doing. And then there's the surface. The false smiles, the defense mechanisms, the medications, the psychologists. Your facade falls to pieces and that's when darkness comes into play. The common mistake people make is that a person needs to cope with the darkness by painting over it. What people don't realize is that the pitch black room one might abide in is a cover itself. There is light, which can't cover anything. It can only enhance everything real. I wish everyone knew this; I wish I could show this to people in a way that will make them suddenly wake up and find this light that leads to God.

August 1st, 2010

I had a thought last night that went like this: think less and do more. I've decided that no thought is real until you do something with it- say it out loud, write it down, use it for inspiration of some sort. Make sure no thought is left behind. So here I am, about to present my thoughts on paper. I love my life. I love my friends, I love summer, and I love myself enough that I can surely say that I am stable. I am at peace with the past and recognize that only the present is relevant because the future doesn't exist and never will exist because once it's here, it's not the future but the present. Also, the more you live in the present, the more you accomplish because you're not in a hurry to get on to something else. I should have known this my whole life, for a poster hangs on my wall that heralds the message:

"Enjoying. Paying attention. No hurry to get on to something more important. Whatever we are doing is important, experiencing each moment along the way. Time is a gift."

Who would have thought that the answer was right in front of me all along?

I just simply must express how wonderful my life is no matter where I look as long as beauty is in my eye and my mind is wide open. It's too the point where it's too much and I'm left with no choice but to take everything in pieces. I wish I'd seen the value of people so much more in high school; I wish I'd dared to laugh louder and harder and taken more risks, befriended people who I wanted to befriend without caring about what people thought. But God kept giving me more and more chances and just look at all He's given me! I am so grateful that it almost moves me to tears if I dare to think about how much my life has improved. I am at peace.