Find your eternity in each moment. - Henry David Thoreau

Scandal in the House

This time it was a "Clash!!! Wobble..wobble..wobble.." [silence] of a dropped and rolling plate as opposed to the "Clump-clump, clump, clump, clump, clump, clump-clump oooooooyy!" of my feet going heels up down each of the individual wooden stairs.

My wonderful roomy, as usual, comes out of his room to check up on my status of survival.

K: "Yes. I did just fall down the stairs again. AND! I ruined my dessert." *Points to chocolate bar smashed on floor*

C: *Rolls eyes and smirks*

K: "You should know this by now..."

C: "It's a Wednesday night, Kate!!"

K: "Yea, and I think I do better with alcohol."

C: "That's because I carry you up the stairs!"

What would he do without me to take care of??? Life becomes less boring.

For Andy.

http://www.ourrisingsound.com/2007/10/03/john-mark-mcmillan-performs-how-he-loves-us-at-the-call/

Watch this video. I get it.

My Friends are Dropping like Flies

Death is just a natural part of life, so they say.

Thoughts of a Pensive Spirit

What a confusing stage of life. It's a dead night here at the hotel and my thoughts wander. This semester has brought on many changes. For the first time since freshman year, I get to have fun in college without the overwhelming weight of twenty credits and fifty after-school volunteer programs. I find myself going out for an evening of fun nearly every night, yet there are times when I come home all laughed out and lay in silence and wonder, "What am I doing? What a wasted night." I understand that each day is a gift from God, meant to be enjoyed...and yet, life lived only for myself has left me empty and dry. I do not know where I am supposed to be or how I am supposed to invest myself into others. I know what to do as a teacher, as a wife, as a mother...but in this stage of nothingness--what am I to do?

Stagnant.

What a nasty word.

I don't necessarily like who I am becoming. But I don't necessarily like who I was either. Everything in life is a balance, they say.

An old mentor was asking after my life in the past year. How do you describe a year in a sentence? How do you really answer, "How are you?" At any given moment, I AM fifty billion emotions and senses and thoughts and experiences. How do you explain that to another?

This respected one believes in me - wants to see me 'thrive.' I don't know what that looks like. I feel like a let down. I can't answer, "How are you?" ...but "How are you not?" I'm certainly not thriving.

I want to thrive. But I don't get it. And I'm scared. And directionless.

Is this all a natural part of the self's preparation for leaving a stage behind to head to the world?

I'm blabbering. I am blabber - it's how I process. I need to figure out who I want to be and do it. I love lists. They are measurable. Where do I start?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4L3k6zc9Ugw

A fountain for the thirsty
A lover for the lonely

This is our God.

He will wipe away your tears
And return your wasted years

This is our God.

"To err is human, to forgive divine" - Pope

It's amazing how little you can hurt someone by holding a grudge. At the time, you feel they are affected by your cold looks and sharp words when in reality it is only the holder of the grudge that gets deeper and deeper into his own muck.

In my crown financial class last week we were talking about the plethora of physical ailments that a certain man has suffered. It is believed that these conditions came from years and years of unforgiveness towards a dispute with his brother over land. No way. Cataracts because of unforgiveness?


Splitting families, increasing risk for heart failure, and adding to the number of unhappy days...this is the power of not letting go.

Yet despite the knowledge we have of the facts...holding a grudge does not really hurt the other like we want it to and instead only hinders our own ability to live...I still can call it no less than divine to be able to forgive.

How hard it is to want another's happiness while withholding your own.

Pope said it all. To forgive is to be an angel.

My closet is the best hiding spot for tears.

It is true that most of life's problems can be subdued in the light of eternity. Small toils and snares compared to what we are living towards.

Today I learned that this has its drawbacks. Sometimes I just want to tell people, "Shut up. My brother just died." I remember the Sunday a week after Andy's death. Nathan and I had been planning a trip to Warped Tour, tickets and all. There was no point in not going, it wouldn't help anything, so we headed there. We listened to the "Weirsman and Beichfunkel" CDs on the way up and back. Nathan was stronger than I was at being able to handle it. I guess we mourn in different ways. We got to Warped Tour and did not have tickets because they had been left in Marshall after the funeral. Most of the admissions workers did not listen to us and gave us the eye of judgment. One man let us in, whether he believed the "sob-story" or not is your call. We got in and people would try to tell us stuff or drunk people would come up to us with funny jokes. Normally we would be lighthearted with the best of them. On this particular Sunday, we just wanted to be left alone. Nathan said we should make shirts, "Our best friend just died. We don't want to small talk." Sometimes you just want people to leave you alone. (I guess it has since been a reminder to treat others as if they need more love than ever on any particular day. We just never know what people are carrying).

Tonight in the library, I felt so dejected that I started to get physically sick. I don't need your snippy comments, I have enough crap of my own. Jerks. (You never know how much of an effect what you say will have far into the future...). I needed to get out of there and into the fresh air and sit down. After a lot of slow breaths and meditations of "You are so good to me," I am finally calmed in spirits. It's weird how the pains of your heart can affect you so--even on the outside.

Rentals.

Katie: Mom, can Mike come over tomorrow while you're gone and fix my computer?
Madre: Are you going to have sex?
Katie: Nooope!
Madre: Are you going to be tempted to have sex?
Katie: Nooope! But we might do drugs...
Madre: Well, drugs don't lead to babies. Ok, then.

Every lament is a love song.

I remember you like yesterday.
I still can't believe your gone.
I remember you like yesterday.
And until I'm with you...I'll carry on.

Dreaming Again

Spring break. Class was cancelled today - a "snow day" on the day before spring break...only in Minnesota. By the way, I'm still in sandals. I decided to live vicariously through my dreams this week and then bring you all back souvenirs from my vacation - Rochester, Minnesota. (oops! I said where I live. Now stalkers can find me. Maybe I should post my social security number as well...)

This week I am lying in a hammock between two trees. Curled up with a loved one, the sound of the lake waters pushing up the shore lulls me to sleep. I stay awake only long enough to gaze at the stars and dream of the heavens. The bugs are being drawn from my flesh to the light on inside the lake cabin. After a while they do not bother me. Thinking there can't be anything better than this.

This week I am tossing a frisbee around the yard. A few failed attempts and demonstrations before we move on to a new sport. Footballs are bigger, but do not fit in my hand. Next, a baseball. At the completion of an intense game of croquet, we pause briefly for brauts, and then close the screen door to begin a long game of Settlers. How could I love anyone more?

His guitar strumming is in time with the golden sparks dancing up to the sky from the fire pit. The sound of the swing set creaking to the right. Laughter from the neighbor's porch up the hill. A small firework goes off. The singing begins. Thinking nothing is missing from my life.

This week I wander through the woods with a friend. An adventurous hike to nowhere, as I like to say. Been at this school for nearly a year and still find new land to discover. We pull tree branches out of the way and crawl through bushes, mud up to our knees. His parents honk at us from the highway in confusion; we are walking back to campus disgusting and happy. Entirely wanting nothing.

His voice on the phone. Week after week. Holding each other together, we remember his life. We remember our own. "I'm two for two!" he says. We cry together and discuss where we will go from here. Time progresses and the calls are less frequent. The truth is, it's only for a short time.

The sound of rain pitter-pattering on the top of the tent.

Healthy pains after an intense work out.

Spooning on the couch with your dog.

Confidence in a difficult task ahead.

Dancing on top of countertops.

Surrounded by comfortable faces.

Cold ice cream melting into warm brownies.


Where will you be this week?

Ridic.

"The best things in life are stupid."

That is how the old saying should read.

Target breadsticks? A dollar more and less seasoning.

Mnms? A dollar more and less in the package.

Boys? Self explanatory.

Humbled

You know, I was thinking tonight, "Why didn't this happen three years ago? Why now with three months? I don't have enough time..."

I realized that had I three years, I would waste 2.95 of them anyway, and only get serious with the last remaining days. Time is urgent now. This is the time I'm given.

Time is a funny concept. I might not even have .5 left. I could only have tomorrow. Or tonight. Who knows what time will dictate. We only have right now. We only have today.

Lord, be King over today.

I need you to show me supernatural. I believe.

Prayer For You Tonight.

You'd think after a suicide and two accidental deaths, I'd be able to encourage those facing loneliness and despair.




I still have no words.


...life is short?

3am.

3am. can't sleep. turns on computer to write. (dangerous. 8am class and long day ahead. but what choice does one have? my mind will not quit to slumber.)


I need to marry someone rich so that I can give. give. give. give.


Give it all away. I want to give my parents the $5,000 they need so that my dad can get a hearing aid and listen to his children on the phone and his grandchildren cry. I want to pay the insurance on our house so that it is secure. I want to assure my parents with a large travel check that this summer will not be the last time we meet until heaven. All I want from my husband for the Christmas gifts of all my years to come is the promise of saving what we can to bring my parents out. Hope.



Money is the root of all evil. Money is the source of hope. Dichotomy. Irony.




If you've ever read realist literature, especially from the age of the Great Depression, than you are already familiar with the story of my father.

Driving home from a wrestling tournament on Saturday, the chronology of life and fate from his post-IBM-layoff period of life was recalled for me. One decision after another to turn right when the success would have come to the left. One week away from so many possibilities. One unsuccessful attempt at rebuilding after another.


The cursed plots always come to pass on the most beloved characters.

A series of bad luck has befallen on one of God's greatest men. Coming to a series of forks in the road, with the free will to choose either path (no direction granted from above), he kept choosing one side only to find the other would have brought us comfort.




The most hard working, worthy man is brought down by old age revealed in the grey appearing on top of his head and slower cognition not allowing him to keep up with the demands of a new and unfamiliar career.

Life is not fair. Who is more deserving? This man gives his all to every company he has ever had opportunity to serve under. Working all day in dark environments, past closing time, he finishes up his tasks at work only to come home and hack away at the computer all night typing in notes of what he has learned for today. Never a devotion greater displayed.




We learned our lesson eight years ago. Now, soon, can we find rest from our burdens and not greater heartache? What more can we do? Reminds me of the David Crowder song.
I am trying to trust that you love him more than I ever could. I am trying to trust that one day the hope we long await will reveal itself to us. I am trying to trust that day by day, slowly, you will strengthen his heart and encourage his spirit.




Send us our miracle.


I want to take it upon myself. I want to deal with this pain, not him. Not the man that stretched himself thin all my days to bless me. Not the one who would give his heart and soul for his children, his wife. Not the man whose one and only desire is to support his family and feel fulfilled in his masculine role. To feel important. To feel sufficient. To feel useful. To feel enough. Not this man.


If I could, I would write him a check for all that I have.

But this would only carry us a few months. Instead I must sit and wait. Like him. Try to speak words of grace and peace. Try.







How much more does your heart break for him?



Hold him, Lord.


(…I can't seem to end this post. My prayer won't end. It will never end until a miracle comes. And even then it won't end as we never cease to sing your praise. We sing your praise now, in sickness and in health, for richer for poorer.


We also sing in pain and despair. I need you to be here now.)


Rescue is coming.


Please, God, let it come.









Humble, unstoppable, tears fall.