The Stylist

A Filthy Little Hello

2011-08-24T12:57:00.000-07:00

One thing I’ve noticed about our culture is that it has become okay for us to use foul words to address each other. Well, actually, I’m sure I’ve noticed it for a while, but it’s started to affect me more recently because I’m seeing the trend played out in Christian culture as well. I particularly feel drawn to focus on women because this is where I see it most often, though I’m sure men participate in this as well. There seems to be a tendency to call each other names and somehow give vulgar words a positive definition. You probably hear it all the time, if you think about it. A popular address nowadays may be “Hey, Bitch,” or “Hey, Hoe,” as if their relationship with that person suddenly makes something about the word “bitch” or “whore” cute and amiable. I don’t really know how this trend was brought on. Most likely through pop culture hip-hop/rap artists or reality TV idols. But I wonder who actually thinks about what they’re saying. As far as I am concerned (and the dictionary, for that matter), those words have very negative denotations and connotations (unless, of course, you’re a dog breeder and are literally talking about a female dog). Since when did we create these exceptions? For instance, it’s okay to greet someone this way and it can be endearing, but if you were to call that same person the same thing when they’re not around, then it is mean and slanderous.

Whether or not the person doesn’t care that you’ve just called them a whore, what suggestion are you implying through using that word? In my opinion this does nothing to build up anyone, rather it tears at their personal beauty, character and respect. Likewise, it does nothing to build up your character either, if you are the one using it. Now I know that our conversational word usage is not of Victorian era propriety, but there is still something to say for being a lady and for presenting yourself with modesty and the desire to build up others. Just like the importance of dressing modestly, it is important to clothe yourself with modest language. Ephesians 4:29 tells us, “do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs that it may benefit those who listen.” If you greeted your friend this way in public, what might those people walking by assume about your character? They might not give two cents how you’ve just addressed your friend, but as God’s children who are called to be lights in the world, what if this is the one and only chance you get to show that particular passerby a little of God’s light? The same goes for Twitter and Facebook. What are you showing your non-Christian friends about the Christian life when you post things that make it look like you are more part of this world than not?

My sisters, let’s illuminate our desire for purity in all areas, including our speech!

In Colossians chapter 3, Paul addresses rules for holy living, which have been extremely convicting to me. He commands that we must “rid [ourselves] of all such things as these: anger, rage, malice, slander, and filthy language from your lips” (Col. 3:8). This list deals primarily with speech that expresses hatred to other people. While a person’s intention may not be to express hate to that person by addressing them in one of the ways I’ve shown, I believe the connotative and denotative meanings of these words are undoubtedly foul and hateful. This should also be a reminder to us also that the same thing goes along with using bad language and cursing in general. While I am not an authority to tell you that this is what you must do to be an exemplary Christian, I do think that we should all strive towards purity in our lives. And our speech is no exception. If you continue reading this passage, there is also an important reminder that is pointed out to us. That we are to “clothe [ourselves] with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience.” We are to “bear with each other” and forgive each other as the Lord has forgiven us (Col. 3:12-14). So, if you are witness to one of your sisters using such coarse language, remember to practice these things. Things like gentleness and, of course, forgiveness.

I know that one argument against what I’m saying might be: “well, I’m just joking. They know that. My friends don’t take it seriously.” I’ve actually heard it before, in my own house. Whether or not you’re intending to joke, however, this does not eliminate the meaning behind the word you’ve chosen to use. You can’t take back the impression you might’ve just made on someone around you. The Bible tells us that there is to “be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking, which are out of place, but instead let there be thanksgiving” (Ephesians 5:4, emphasis added). Thanksgiving means to express thanks to God. My question is: shouldn’t our friends, even our acquaintances, feel that we genuinely thank God for who they are? For who He has created them to be? Using bawdy, vulgar, coarse language seems to me to demean that. Instead of greeting our sisters by spitting out filth at them, let us come to each other expressing joy, love and thanksgiving for who they are and the special influence they have in our lives. For, as sisters in Christ, there is a special dearness that we hold to each other that can’t be seen anywhere else. So, treat each other dearly, remembering this bond.

Instead of filling ourselves with crude language that will undoubtedly, eventually trickle into our own speech, let us remember God’s Word and His desire for us to love each other. Our desire should be to build each other up, in love, with Jesus as our prime example. “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God” (Col. 3:16).

Thoughts On Writing (from and inspired by CS Lewis)

2011-08-18T22:26:00.000-07:00

CS Lewis was, of course, an amazing writer, who wrote with both truth and imagination. What an inspiration! And as I try to make sense of the plan that God has for me, I'm reminded that I have a gift and a passion for writing. Sadly, this summer (aka my supposed "summer to write") didn't turn into much of a writing summer after all. Instead, I've seen much of this summer wasted on re-watching movies that aren't that great and checking Facebook when I'm not working. As I read through this list of rules for good writing by CS Lewis, I paid special attention to the first one in particular. Here are his "rules" sent to a girl who was looking to him for tips on writing (my own commentary is added in for kicks after the "<--"):

Turn off the radio (and the television). <-- why can't I seem to do this this summer!?
Read good books and avoid most magazines. <-- I feel like I do this.
Write with the ear, not the eye. Make every sentence sound good. <-- I couldn't agree more.
Write only about things that interest you. If you have no interests, you won't ever be a writer. <--well, I think I have interests... is too many a problem?
Be clear. Remember that readers can't know your mind. Don't forget to tell them exactly what they need to know to understand you. <-- makes sense.
Save odds and ends of writing attempts, because you may be able to use them later. <-- this is definitely true, yet I somehow convince myself that my "odds and ends" aren't good material and sometimes (usually) just delete them from my computer.
You need a well-trained sense of word-rhythm, and the noise of a typewriter will interfere.
Know the meaning of every word you use <-- something I am learning since I started writing in 3rd grade.

And a very helpful and encouraging quote that has been officially dubbed my quote (maybe of my writing life):

"Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it" ~CS Lewis

Oh, I do hope that I will write. More. Often. Always.

Unproductive Day

2011-08-02T21:03:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I come across a word, and I have to look up the definition. Many times, I will know generally what the word means, but I often times find that the word has a more powerful dictionary definition that I thought. Take the word unproductive. One of the definitions of this word, according to Webster’s is: “not producing or able to produce large amounts of goods, crops, or other commodities.” Usually, when we use the word unproductive, we consider mainly the other definition: “not achieving much; not very useful.” I think that both are very good definitions, but the one that hit me the most today was the first of these, which mainly refers to the unproductivity of land, etc.

I thought of this word initially because, well, today was a very unproductive day, generally speaking. Although I felt relaxed and enjoyed the time I spent reading a new book and lounging outside in the sunshine, something kept telling me I could probably be making better use out of my time. I got this feeling that I was somehow being unproductive. Now, don’t get me wrong. I think that time spent reading a good book and relaxing is perfectly good, but my feeling of unproductivity today stemmed from neglecting to spend time with God. That something that kept tugging at me was someone, namely the Holy Spirit, reminding me that my time spent with God is essential, even on a day spent entirely at home with no obligations whatsoever.

I don’t know why it is, that it’s sometimes easier to neglect spending time with my King when I have a day that is completely free. I have no time restrictions like work or school or commitments that overbusy my daily schedule. Nothing. Yet, relax mode seems to kick in so easily without thought of beginning my relaxing day spending time with Him.

The realization that I had today is that we can feel like we need these relaxing days, to refresh and rejuvenate, but if we aren’t dedicating that day to the Lord, then it is going to be entirely unproductive. You will be unproductive. What crops can He grow within us when our time spent with Him is replaced by sunshine and literature? These might feel rejuvenating, like the things that we need, but they are not nearly as rejuvenating as the time we can spend with the Lord. Only He produces good fruit, good crops, in us. Not sunshine, not a good movie at home.

And, I also realized that having a completely open day like this one can have potentially dangerous consequences, if we do not give it to the Lord first. Time devoted to God protects us from succumbing to our fleshly desires, sins, and temptations. Because, on a day that is completely free from all commitments, our commitment to strive towards living a pure life might just step outside for a day or so.

So, maybe a day without much going on is ok, but the commitment to spend time with God should always be a priority. Let’s not let ourselves become unproductive, but become instruments of productivity for the Lord, allowing Him to continue to cultivate purity and goodness within us.

Clothed in Cloud

2011-07-29T16:13:00.000-07:00

I think that it’s somewhat easy to look around at all that we have and believe that this is our home. More generally, I think that it’s easy to look at the world and what humans have built and think that life here is all there is. It’s easy to do. We are accustomed to the things we have here around us. We like the world’s comforts: our homes, our clothes, our jobs, our money… The world around us can sometimes be like a big, crazy, LA traffic, Las Vegas slot machine, multiple hula hoops type of place. We’re sucked in. Suckers to the world’s pace, plans, comforts, and desires. And it’s oh-so easy to do, I tell ya.

So, because it can be so easy, sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we were walking around in a vaporous cloud, which prevented us from seeing the world too clearly. When we walk around in this cloud, we are constantly reminded of our separation from this world because, well, we are prevented from completely focusing in on the world around us. Sounds pretty good when you think about what this would mean for our relationships with God. The cloud “cover” would essentially help us to focus more on God and less on what’s going on around us. Maybe the cloud would funnel up towards above, which would make Colossians 3:2 a whole lot easier: “Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.” But, there’s also probably a reason why God hasn’t all put us in cloud suits already. I can’t say for certain why God didn’t do this, but I can take several guesses why.

Unless this magical cloud suit is like a one-way mirror--with us only seeing fogginess and other people looking at us seeing us clearly—then, I’d have to guess that this cloud would probably look pretty cloudy from both angles (both us looking out and others looking in). Of course, we are to consider ourselves outside of this world, but if all other people can see is clouds of mist floating by, then what can actually be shown? By looking like everyone else (in the one sense of being human, that is, and not a cloud), we break the barrier of a possible “I’m a cloud and you’re not” kind of mentality. Therefore, what is shown has to come from the inside, where the Holy Spirit is dwelling. That is the difference. Christian, you have the Holy Spirit within you, not a hard-to-see-through cloud around you! Let the Spirit in you help to “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (Colossians 3:12b) so that God may be shown. Have you ever heard the phrase, “the strongest light shines from within”? We aren’t turning ourselves into clouds people can’t see past or actual lights that people can’t look at for fear of blindness. We are showing non-Christians that our focus is something different than the world. And, it can be challenging.

So, if we can’t have a cloud suit or any other disguise that helps redirect our focus from the world to God, what can we do? Walk around with our eyes closed? Seclude ourselves in our homes? Well, I hope you know that these answers are no. Focus on the world is so much more than physically seeing the world around us. Focus has to do with our hearts and minds as well. As Colossians 3:1-2 says, “set your hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things,” and your focus will be on God. Setting your heart and your mind on the above (on God) will take effort and discipline most of the time, especially because, like I said before, we are suckers to what the world offers. However, the resulting effects of choosing to set your hearts and minds on Him will be an indescribable joy and contentment that, I can guarantee, the world does not offer.

Called to Purity

2011-05-24T22:45:00.000-07:00

Charles Wesley once prayed to God, "Make me and keep me pure within." I feel like God has drastically shown me what it means to live a pure life for Him. There are so many elements of my life that have been altered or completely obliterated for the sake of pursuing purity in my daily life. Those people who've known me before and after my salvation could tell you that something is definitely different. Although I constantly struggle with purifying my life, I know that He continues to show me areas in my life that need refining. I'm always learning what it means to live purely. At any given time there is at least one thing that I feel God is showing me that is obstructing a healthier Walk with Him.

As I move through and process what living purely for God looks like, I am stricken with the struggle many young women face in keeping their lives pure. I'm definitely one of them too. And I'm reminded that God has called us to be pure and to live lives that are glorifying to Him. But how the heck are we supposed to do this in a world that really has no understanding of purity?

Purity in this case doesn't have to be just sexual. Elizabeth Elliot says, “Purity means freedom from contamination, from anything that would spoil the taste or the pleasure…It means cleanness, clearness—no additives, nothing artificial—in other words, 'all natural' in the sense in which the Original Designer designed it to be.” Of course, since we live in this world, it is not possible to escape sin and be completely blameless. However, I do believe that it is something we should still aim towards! Merely admitting defeat to our sinfulness and not trying to aim towards holiness is just giving us more justification for continuing to sin. Purifying your life means cleaning it out, and allowing God to do it!

The awesome thing is that we are not left alone to figure out what this means. How do we know what the characteristics of living a pure life are? I sure don't have the answer. But God does, and He's left us His Word and His Spirit to convict us and teach us about what it means to live purely.

As I write this, I'm hit with the desire to dig into Scripture and see what He says about how to live purely. Maybe my next post will be a continuum of this one. I know this might sound obvious, but really reading the Scriptures and thinking about them and actually applying them to your life is really the best way to live. I admittedly don't do it enough. So, this summer, I want to intentionally seek out intimacy and purity in my relationship with God through Scripture and prayer. Hopefully, I'll share my discoveries here.

“Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world, but let God transform you into a new person by changing the way you think. Then you will learn to know God’s will for you, which is good and pleasing and perfect.” - Romans 12:2 NLT

The Cover Up

2011-05-18T20:58:00.000-07:00

One of the saddest things I see is when someone is so aware that their lifestyle needs changing, but instead of changing it they just cover up some things. Throw a sheet over those things there that they don't want so-and-so to see. Oh, and box up a few of of those over there, keep them reserved for tomorrow when they're not looking. They know that these things are wrong, that they're not benefiting their Walk with God, so they hide them from the godly influencers who might just point them out. Because imagine if that happened! Then we might just have to get rid of them!

I'm definitely not exempt from this. I know when I shouldn't be doing something. Maybe I'm watching a movie that I know I probably shouldn't be watching. It's full of cussing, sexual content, and crude humor, and it's definitely not something I should be watching. What is this movie contributing to my life besides potential for sin or temptation in my life? I feel guilty, maybe even switch back and forth between the channels to make it look like I'm not really watching. When someone comes into the room or walks by, my heart races for fear of being caught. I'm guilty. I know I'm potentially leading myself towards temptation, but I do it anyway.

You know, it probably wouldn't be too bad of a thing for someone to catch me, or us, in things we shouldn't be doing. As Christians, we should be holding each other accountable and rebuking each other gently, in love, so that we can grow stronger in our relationship with God. If we are to desire to be more and more like Christ, then these things got to go! Sometimes we know this, but our own sinful, comfortable desires prevent us from actually saying no. In some cases it's hard to hear the truth from someone close to us, who might just be one of those godly influencers in our lives who you're hiding things from. Sometimes it might be something we don't even immediately recognize we're getting into. So, I guess this is a call for accountability and truth-telling. Not judgement, but love.

So, if I see you starting to push things under a rug when I walk up to you, I hope that I can be a voice that asks you what that's about.

Refuge & Joy

2010-12-29T19:14:00.000-08:00

A day spent at home. The air is cold and the wind sends rain splashing up against my window. I can't believe this weather we're having, but I can't help but feel thankful for it. The back patio looks like a still pond, except for the semi-constant patterings of rain. The house is empty except for my family pets: a dog who is curled up on his pillow and a cat who is busy preening herself outside my bedroom door. I love the sound I'm greeted with in my empty house. The soft pitter-patter of raindrops on the roof, a brisk breath of wind, and the crackling of wood burning in the fireplace. Even the lighting is subdued, a peaceful melancholy. The dark sky casts an almost blue hue in the living room, which gets even darker in places of the house where drapes are loosely drawn. Golden embers are a welcome comfort from the corner of the living room.

I choose the couch closest to the fireplace, relishing its warmth. My bare feet still cause me to shiver against the cool sighs of the house, so I search for socks. Maybe it's the laziness of the morning, but I don't think to care whether these socks match. I don one blue and one pink. They're warm, however. While I'm up, I pull two books off of my shelf along with my Bible at my nightstand. A pen is necessary too, I think. My arms full, I pull a blanket across my shoulders like a cloak and return once more to the haggard old couch.

I'm uncertain of my intentions. Time to write, time to read, time to reflect...? The day is before me, but I do not know the hour. There are no plans ahead of me today. There are no interruptions to be expected. There's just my couch, and the knowledge of a open day. I find myself praying with tears, mimicking the rain outside. They are joyful tears. Tears of understanding that I am loved and forgiven, even though I make mistakes over and over again. Tears because I am a sinner, and I don't deserve this love, but He gives it to me freely.

My prayer brings me to a longing for His word. I feel suddenly parched, as if I have traveled days through the desert without water. I'm moved again to tears by the words He shows me there. New soundings of His desire for my life: to discover what pleases Him (Ephesians 5:10). It is like drinking water, an awakening to the re-realization of His calling for my life, and I am overcome with humility, desire, and passion to become more and more like Christ.

I can't begin to tell you how quick it takes for temptations and doubts to creep at me from the shadows, but His word is my sword. He is my refuge. And they return back to their dark corners, as fleeting crows who have no place to feed. It is in his quiet escape from the busy world, from work, from pressures... that I feel renewed and untouchable. While these times are not frequent, I pray that I might seek His refuge daily, despite my circumstances. I pray that I won't allow myself to journey so long in the desert when I have access to replenishment all of the time. What an amazing thought... He does not hide from me!

The following hours (I think) I spend reading, being encouraged by The Word and words of those who desire to discuss the Truth. Periodically, I stoke the fire and add more firewood, then I re-nestle beneath my blanket and continue to allow God's Truth to penetrate my heart. I find myself so overcome with joy and appreciation constantly, and I can't help but tilt back my head, my eyes smiling up through the skylight, through the frigid downpour...

It's like a song I'd like to hear played over and over again. Murmured words of thankfulness, rain chiming against glass window panes, warm light humming, a rustle of pages turning, the beating of a heart of one who knows they are ever-so loved... "you call forth songs of joy" (Ps. 65:8).

Halloween... what kind of opportunity we make it.

2010-10-31T18:11:00.000-07:00

I feel like I should be taking a nap or finishing up some homework rather than making a blog post, but I got inspired by the Halloween holiday :-) Personally, I just love the "feel" of the day on Halloween. The air always seems so crisp and even more fall-like, as if fall is just now starting. I love the jack-o-lanterns, seeing tiny little kids in their adorable costumes, and enjoying delicious food and sweets with friends and family. My family has always had a Halloween tradition, but I think I lost appreciation for it for a while. My mom always makes a meal that is sure to warm you up and make you cozy: a gigantic pot of chili, fresh baked cornbread, and hot apple cider. The rest of the night we flip from scary movie to movie (the old corny ones, of course!) and take turns answering the door to trick-or-treaters. Sometimes, if it's not too cold outside, we'll sit around our bonfire set up in front of the house and hand out candy that way. When I was in high school or the first year of college, this was the last thing I wanted to be doing. I wanted to be having fun, but what I didn't realize is that my family was already doing an awesome job and creating a fun environment for me to be in. They always encouraged me to bring friends over for chili or hot cider, but, of course, that's not what Halloween was about then. Now, there's honestly nothing more fun, enjoyable, and relaxing than the opportunity I have to be here in our home and welcoming in people for a cup of chili and a not-so-scary movie. The past couple of years, I've been able to spend quality time with my family, baking and serving, loving and sharing.

I guess that I started thinking about this because I feel like our society encourages this holiday to be fun in all of the wrong ways (at least the teen to young adult age group). Instead of looking for fun opportunities like helping at a harvest festival for young kids, spending time with family, or just enjoying a fall evening at home, it's become normal for it to be one of the craziest nights of the year. And it's sooo easy to get sucked into. Even I start wondering sometimes about the fun that others are having at such-and-such party down the street, but then I remember that those things aren't what give me joy in life. Jesus Christ gives me that joy, and only he can fill that. It makes me sad to think that so many of us can forget about him for one night just to indulge in our pleasures. What message are we sending through risque costumes and doing keg stands in a banana costume? Surely not one that reflects God and the better joy and love He offers. Personally, I want to lead by His message. I want people to know me by that and not by that inappropriate picture from some party someone tagged me in on Facebook. I think that Dave said it today at College Cafe, but why can't we make this "holiday" about Jesus? Don't let it be about us. And I don't think I do the best job at it. I know that I'm not even close to making this day about Him entirely, but when I think about the quality time I get to share with my family, friends, and neighbors, there are so many more opportunities to show that love than I ever could have realized.

I hope we can seek to move outside this over-sexualized and super indulgent day and step up into the leading examples God has called us to be to the world.

Word Ramble

2010-10-14T22:46:00.000-07:00

So, I just opened up about 3 different word documents as if to write something... as if clicking "new blank document" would somehow jolt my inspiration. (I'm a typing kind of writer, so I like word documents more than note paper. No idea why.) But, nothing came. Sometimes it just seems like I go so long before I write something else. Maybe because I'm not constant and consistent in my writing like at some points in my life. But I want to write! Sometimes when I catch myself "daydreaming," I feel like I'm really "word dreaming" of the ways words could go together in a sentence---or, no, even a sentence fragment. Or sometimes I hear a word or phrase in class that just, well, uh, speaks to me, I guess, and I scribble it down on the corner of my notes (they're profound, but regrettably to be never looked at again). Oh, and this even happens in different languages! Forget it just having to be words in English that are altogether stimulating. I mean, my "word dreaming" is sometimes in Spanish, and I don't even know it that well. I mean ojalá que ustedes me comprendan. Language is a funny thing. The way my mind works is another one of those things.

Anger's Way or the Way of Love?

2010-07-25T20:58:00.000-07:00

I definitely feel like we all go through periods where we are closer to God and then not so close to God. There are so many different factors that could be coming into play: a lack of godly relationships in your life, disappointment, laziness… and anger. As I was reading through Ephesians today, I realized more than ever before that anger (in what ever shape it takes, i.e. frustration, bitterness) prohibits us from growing closer to God. Ephesians 4:26-27 says, “In your anger do not sin. Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold.” How often do I actually allow a whole day to pass without cleaning up an argument or calming my frustrations? Well, according to scripture, I’m giving the devil a foothold when I stay frustrated or upset with someone. I would like to say that I always turn to prayer and reconciliation in such situations, but I don’t. I’m preventing myself from growing closer to God and giving time to the devil, who needs only that one day to get his foothold in my life.

When I think of my life, I realize that during the times I was angry, I was the most distant from God. Sometimes I think that anger sounds like a kind of harsh word, like it’s too severe an emotion, but when you look up its literal definition it is “a feeling of extreme annoyance.” Common synonyms are annoyance, irritation, antagonism, frustration, fury, and rage. When do we ever consider annoyance as a severe emotion? The last two probably get tied to anger more often than the others. However, when it comes down to it, they are all types of anger. It’s honestly pretty rare for me to feel anger like fury or rage, but I know that I struggle with annoyance and frustration at times, as I’m sure many of us do. Many times that anger leads to sin, which could be tearing someone down through words spoken aloud or in the heart. Anger can lead to “unwholesome talk,” which Ephesians 4:29 speaks against. It is essential for us, as positive examples and lights of Christ, to say things that only work to build up those around us. What am I possibly saying, thinking, or doing when I’m frustrated that is benefiting anyone around me? Nothing. Paul tells us, “be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you” (Ephesians 4:32). By letting the sun go down on my anger, I don’t allow forgiveness! How can I deny forgiveness when someone died for my own?

I’m reminded of Matthew 5:23-24, which says “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.” The offerings we give Him nowadays are prayers, and here we are told that we should seek out amends with our brothers or sisters who we’ve experienced any sort of anger towards before we offer up our prayers to Him. God desires us to have peace with one another. We are called to love one another, which is the ultimate element of peace. How can we uphold commandment to love, if our words and actions through something like anger express exactly the opposite?

We were shown grace in Jesus despite our faults, despite our darkest sins… We were forgiven so that we could forgive… Let’s strive to be more like Him: loving beyond faults, forgiving all transgressions, and in moments anger begins to arise, “search your hearts and be silent” (Psalms 4:4) so that only His love and glory may be shown. So that we might continue growing in relationship with Him, and deny all access to the devil, who is always anxiously waiting.

Maybe There Should Be a New Norm

2010-07-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

Most of the time,

I can’t say the right thing.

Words stumble more

than feet over coarse stones.

I probably think too fast

and speak too slow.

Trying to play catch-up

is not simple.

Or maybe I think too much

and talk less than I should.

Thinking has become the norm

where talking is the alternate

that I’d rather not choose.

Maybe it’s my own thoughts

that cause me to stumble

where there aren’t any

sudden shifts in ground level.

Maybe I should listen less

to my own thoughts

and more to what you, Lord,

are telling me.

Bittersweet Endings... Sweeter Beginnings

2010-05-28T15:41:00.000-07:00

I'm done with GE and on to SDSU... it's crazy to realize that a new chapter of my life is beginning--well, after the summer, of course! It's bittersweet, leaving Grossmont, but I can't even begin to explain the sense of relief that's coming over me (although I might not be feeling that so much in August as I prep for State). But, also, I'm so excited for the changes that God's going to have for me and my life! The new changes He's brought about recently are awesome, but I know that He has even more in store!

It's constantly amazing to me how God as not removed teaching from my desires. It's been blossoming since 7th grade! But recently God's developed my desire. I've allowed myself not to be restricted to what California has to offer teaching (which, most tell me, isn't great, at least right now!). I honestly feel that wherever my eventual teaching career takes me, I will go. And, as I said, it's exciting to think about the possibilities that God has for me!

However, now that I'm moving on to university, I know I will meet with new challenges: people, temptations, trials... I just pray that I never doubt God's plan or act against His will for me. The Holy Spirit is here with me, to guide me and intercede for me when needed. I need to keep PAYING ATTENTION to what He's telling me.

Warning! Fear.

2010-04-18T22:55:00.000-07:00

I feel like I am always experiencing some form of fear. I’m nervous (I use it synonymously with fearful) to raise my hand in class because I don’t want to be wrong. I’m scared to speak in front of an audience. Why? That is an entirely ingrained, unfortunate fear. Sometimes I’m afraid to drive my car because I allow scenarios like car accidents to harass my thoughts. The idea of meeting someone new makes me nervous because what if I don’t know what to talk about with them? or what if they don’t like me? I’m surrounded by this spirit of fear, and I know that I’m not alone.

The dictionary defines fear as “a distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain, etc., whether the threat is real or imagined; the feeling or condition of being afraid.” Why is it then that at most of these situations where fear springs up there is no real “impending danger”? Maybe you’ve heard of that acronym for FEAR: False Evidence Appearing Real. Most of what I fear never even becomes a reality. Most likely meeting that new person went smoothly; I didn’t get in a car accident either; and often times speaking up in class paid off. They are fears with unstable foundations or none at all.

It is worthy to note that fear itself is not an emotion in the first place. I think that a lot of the time we associate it with being an emotion. “I felt so afraid,” or “I was so fearful for her.” Likewise, God did not give us fear. Rather fear is a spirit sent by Satan to torment us. “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline” (2 Timothy 1:7). This spirit of fear (aka “timidity”) that I turn to wants me to feel uncertain because it hinders my relationship with the Lord. God gave us the spirit to be strong, to love, and to trust in His will for us. For what is to come that He has not already planned? That is such a key reminder to help me smother this tormenting spirit. He is for us, not against us; therefore, should we not trust in his plan and remember His righteousness? He tells us, “do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand” (Isaiah 41:10). God sent us the Holy Spirit so that we might seek this strength and trust rather than to sink into the belief of a new and gross spirit called fear.

One of my favorite passages in the bible is in Matthew 6 where Jesus tells us not to worry. “Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?” he asks. If anything, I’d have to say it takes time away. It wastes time, that’s for sure. When I worry, when I fear, nothing gets done to its full potential and nothing brings glory to God. Why go through the days worrying—wasting days away? “Do not worry about tomorrow,” Jesus says, “for tomorrow will worry about itself” (Matthew 6:34).

Stand firm and trust. Do this and we have peace that is unattainable through the world. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives,” so, “do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).

Thank you Lord that we are not obliged to this spirit of fear. Thank you that You’ve given us more: the ability to stand and trust.

Rant

2010-03-21T22:38:00.000-07:00

“Your eyes are driving me crazy, beautiful.” The words make my stomach churn. The look the man gave me as he gave me the once-over three times makes me want to throw up.

Sometimes I wish that I worked in a store that catered only to women, for this particular reason. I’ve had so many occasions where men come in to “shop” because there are attractive women who happen to work at Guess. I don’t know if they realize that we are here to sell them merchandise. That’s it.

The part that sickens me even more is that our society uses this to make money. Let them hit on you if it’ll get you the sale. Flirt back to sell more. I don’t think our company promotes this, but I do think that all too often it is accepted as normal. Attractive women sell.

This is my little rant.

I enjoy my job. I love servicing customers and talking to people because it really does bring me happiness. I try to make the most of every person I engage with not just to sell, but to feel like I can make their day a little bit better in some way. Customers usually respond very happily and/or thankfully in return, but, in today’s case, sometimes my friendliness gets mistaken for something else.

“Hey Beautiful.”

I didn’t think much of the questions this man and his group of friends kept asking me until they became more frequent and directed towards how the clothes might look on him. “How would this one be for a date?” Cheesy pick-up lines. Whatever. I sort of ignored them for a while and minded my own business. The one man in particular asked me for a fitting room, brushed up against me in the process of me opening the fitting room and made a rude sound followed by “your eyes are driving me crazy, beautiful.”

I bolted because I didn’t have another way of reacting at the time. And I was surprised at how startled and emotional it made me. I didn’t cry, but this overwhelming feeling of animosity rose up inside of me along with this urgency to cover my entire body from head to toe.

Why do men like him think that’s ok? This isn’t my first experience of this sort of thing. Is there something in our society that tells men like him it’s ok because they’re the shoppers and we’re the “attractive sales girls”? I’m not sure. But I hate this disrespect, and I struggle with not hating those who offer it.

I am reminded that God calls me to love and forgive them. I do. Despite the gross feeling they’ve caused to prickle my skin and sicken my stomach, I forgive them, I love them.

"And be ye kind one to another,

tender-hearted, forgiving one another,

even as God for Christ's sake hath forgiven you."

~Ephesians 4:32~

I am also reminded of that song by Aretha Franklin, “R-E-S-P-E-C-T.”

Coketown

2010-03-06T00:40:00.001-08:00

I’m up at 12:15 AM and I’m exhausted, but I’m writing, go figure.

I was considering how we love people and what an amazing ability that is. How amazing it is that God gives us that in the first place.

In Charles Dickens’ novel Hard Times, the Gradgrinds are seemingly “immune” to the idea of love. It’s sad to imagine such a place as Coketown, monotonous and all straight-fact without any concept of “fancy.” Can you imagine a place where love is just a myth? Or somewhere where love is replaced by the knowledge of facts (“nothing but the facts, sir!”)? In this place two people weigh factual evidence and calculate percentages on why they should get married. In this place religion is a classroom full of statistics. Church pews are full of utilitarian citizens holding graphing calculators and dictionaries void of “fanciful” language or explanation of emotion. Do these people even know how to smile? If the Gradgrinds were said to laugh, I wonder if it would sound like someone playing the keys to a piano with no strings.

Well, needless to say, I love love. I’m so in love with the love God has given me. I love that He’s given me the opportunity to share it with others. And I dearly hope I will continue to do so. The fact I care to see most about it is that God loved us so much that He sent His own son to die for our sake.

Mr. Gradgrind had "bound the artificial barriers he had for many years been erecting, between himself and all those subtle essences of humanity" (i.e. Love) "which will elude the utmost cunning of algebra until the last trumpet ever to be sounded shall blow even algebra to wreck" (Bk. 1, Ch. 15). I guess the fact is that your algebra, your facts, Mr. Gradgrind, will not matter when He comes. What will matter? The Love we have for and with Jesus Christ, and the love we've shown to others.

What to Expect

2010-02-05T23:22:00.000-08:00

The reality of life is that often times things are unexpected. We hear people speak of how predictable something might've been, but is life really predictable? I don't think it is. And why should it be? Unpredictability brings about change. Sometimes we view change either positively or negatively. Change can make us feel uncomfortable and out of place or it can make us excited and gleeful. But what I'm realizing more and more is that change is a natural part of God's plan for us. One thing happens so another can come about, and all the while growing to where He wants us to be. It's kind of like a plant that has to redirect the course of its roots in order to find hydration. Sometimes its roots are growing straight down into the soil and other times they're reaching slightly left or right depending on where it needs to meet the water source. Sometimes the roots bump into rocks and sometimes the journey is through smooth soil, but they move through each change so that the plant can live a healthy life. If the plant were unwilling to send its roots out in different directions or through different soil, it would die. Did the plant predict a rock to be in its way? Did it expect to switch direction? No. You know what I want to expect though? I want to learn to expect that there will be changes, to understand the inevitability, and find joy in them because it means that something even greater is in store for me. Things come unexpectedly for us, but to God nothing is unexpected. He knows all. If we are with Him then, we should expect the unexpected to be only what's most beneficial to our journey with Him.

***

It sure isn't easy, and tears come so freely. It sure seems confusing, but God knows what He's doing here. I trust that.

Back to School

2010-01-26T22:29:00.000-08:00

So, it's back to school again after having a good month and a half off! And, you know, it feels really good to be back. I forget how much I really enjoy being in school. I can tell that my classes will be tough. In fact, my public speaking professor flat out told us today that "it is hard to get an A in this class" (a sarcastic "woo-hoo" at this). Well, as much as they might be tough and a bit of a heavy load, I'm up for it! Here we go, my final semester at Grossmont College! Yes!

***

One of my prep for major classes that I have to take this semester is mythology. The nerd that I am, I was pretty darn excited for it, I must say. I mean Lord of the Rings is full of allusions to mythology (as well as any other creative fiction out there, really). I'm thinking griffins, centaurs, and minotaurs... giants, elves, and dwarves... you know, cool fantasy-type characters. Ok, so yes, those are parts of mythology that I'm hoping we'll get to, but for now we've begun the semester with "The Creation Myth." Now, this chapter involves comparing different cultures'/religions' "myths" on creation. I have to say, I'm actually pretty interested in those of different cultures/religions. I've been able to compare many of the stories to Creation in the Bible, which is fascinating to me. However, I'm not particularly thrilled with the aspect of this chapter that calls the Gospel of John a myth (sub-heading literally reads "The Gospel of John Myth"). More on this once I actually read the rest of it. I admit I stopped towards this point out of some annoyance.

Well, our first assignment in that class was to do some research on the "myth" behind our first and last names (i.e. history, origin, etc.). This is what I discovered about my name:

MARTIN

Could be taken from the Latin name Martinus,

which is derived from Mars, the Roman god of fertility and war.

Could be taken from the Gaelic mor meaning great

and duin meaning a man (Morduin was a chief and warrior).

and

The name Martin became popular among Protestants

after the protestant reformer Martin Luther.

JENNA

From its Arabic origin it means "heaven."

It could be a variant of the Hebrew name Jean,

meaning "God's grace" or "Yahweh is gracious."

It could be a variant of the Cornish/English name Guinevere,

meaning "white, fair, or blessed."

and

It's African-Mende meanning is literally "small bird."

I thought it was pretty interesting!

Writer's Block

2010-01-18T20:01:00.000-08:00

For about fifteen minutes I stared at a blank Microsoft Word document, watching occasional letters sprawl across the screen before my pinky finger backspaced it into a void once more. My teacher would be expecting a five to ten page story from me tomorrow, and I sat with my fingers on the keys, unmoving, just twelve hours away from the deadline. Procrastination is not a very favorable quality of mine, but on most occasions my best work comes from the pressure of tomorrow’s deadline. This occasion was, apparently, not one of them. The one idea I needed fled from me like a fish that had already figured out the whole hook-and-bait plot against him.

My thoughts strayed towards anxiety as I imagined the likelihood of turning in no paper at all. I could see my teacher’s face as she came expectantly to collect my paper. She would sort of raise a brow and purse her lips before truly coming to terms with the fact that I, Jenna Martin, had no paper to give her. Her eyes would proceed to tell me how much I’d let her down and how much I’d just ruined my future. I could see the disappointment on her face as she determined an alternate student’s work to submit to the contest. My whole class would wonder how I’d come this far just to throw it all away. “She just gave up,” they’d assume. “Maybe she didn’t think her writing was good enough to win Best Creative Fiction.” My future as a writer was blinking like the cursor on my Word document. The book signings, the reviews, and the enormous paychecks were all wobbling off the edge of a pinpoint. I would be another lost writer. My words would remain unread and unheard.

Another half hour ticked by, and I still sat with my eyes and fingers prepared to latch onto that fish and reel it in. The sun had set a long time ago, and my eyes found themselves darting to the time at the upper right hand corner of my computer screen: 2 AM. I fought the haziness that caused excessive blinking and yawning by resorting to a twice-a-year energy drink. The idea would come; it had to.

I flipped through the pages of some short stories we’d read in class, hoping for inspiration in other writers’ words. But where I looked, I saw words that ran about like black ants. I couldn’t grab onto any word; there was no inspiration, no hook. Where was that million-dollar idea that I needed? I was sure that JK Rowling was just sitting around one day when she came up with the idea for Harry Potter. Why couldn’t I get an idea like that too?

Closing another book, a word suddenly popped into my head: self-glorification. What kind of hook was that? I anxiously set about tossing that strange epiphany aside. That wasn’t something I could write about, or wanted to write about. It was nonsensical.

I heard someone laughing at me.

Pride, they whispered. Who is your God, anyway?

I figured my mind was just tired. I punched down keys mindlessly, melding any sentence I could.

Who is your God?

My sentence was weak and amateurish like the beginning of any generic fairytale. Tears blurred my vision before they sank down my cheeks. I was frustrated. I attempted to block out the Voice, but my tears broke down that barrier.

I Am.

It was a stubborn breakdown, but I knew the Voice right away. He was pointing at me, reminding me who my God really was. The idea of success was acting as my God, building up a future wrought in wealth and fame. It was false success, the definition a prideful society had written. It took no account of the awesome fact that God had given me the ability of writing in the first place. I was so impressed by recognition of my own abilities, not the ones given to me to glorify Him.

I’m reminded of the words of Martin Luther, who said, “The God of this world is riches, pleasure and pride.” It took a few hours of writer’s block for me to identify the god I was really worshipping. I’d always believed in God, but I was putting Him off until I really got a shot at success. After the book was done, then I’d return to His loving arms. (Or would I have?) God gives us present success, to glorify Him now. After all, He does promise even more than lot of little zeros on a big paycheck. He gives us everlasting life with Him. That night I realized that I really do want that more than anything.

Now, if I’m ever experiencing another moment where words escape me, I can ask myself, “Is this for me or for God?” How amazing it is that a little bit of writer’s block could make me see so much after being blinded for so long.

Past Uneven Ground

2010-01-06T22:31:00.000-08:00

I've been having so many memories of some bad decisions come to mind lately... Some things about my past are easy to be ashamed of, but you know, I welcome these little remembrances because they make me appreciate all the more my walk with Christ. Then was the uneven path, and I'm thankful that I stumbled because I fell into His arms.

If You Need to Talk

2010-01-03T15:29:00.000-08:00

For about a week, I’ve been contemplating writing about a particular experience at work. It was hard to know whether I should write about it because, well, it was such an emotional experience. However, I figure that this experience was imparted to me for God’s own reasons, and I think it is an important step in my life with Christ.

Last Saturday was a busy day at work. There were hoards of people shopping in our store, yet I remained happy and stress-free. It’s slightly atypical, to be honest, that I don’t have even one moment of elevated stress on a busy weekend as such. It’s a sad truth, but my work does drive that stress in me. I just felt so overwhelmed with thankfulness and joy on this weekend after Christmas. I was having fun directing my associates and talking with them about the holidays, and I felt so blessed to share about our holidays together.

It was about the middle of the day when one of my associates, Ryan, came into work. Up until this point, I’d only met him on one other occasion, and from what I’d seen he was extremely happy to talk with customers. The other managers raved about how good he was at customer service, and his sales showed that fact. So, on this day, I expected this from him. As I watched him, however, I saw some sort of disturbance dwelling in him. His actions were forced; he talked to customers but it was not sincere as usual. I could tell that his head was not at work this day. At first, I didn’t over think this. I had customers and other associates to pay attention to. I tried to force myself to consider that it was just an off day for him. I did wonder, however, why my happiness was suddenly mellowed, and why I was angered by the other managers’ apparent frustration towards him. I was suddenly stirred to say something to him, and as I approached him, I just said, “Let me know if you need to talk.” He looked at me in appreciation before I walked away.

After an hour and a half or so of working on the floor with Ryan there, I took my lunch in the backroom. The store had provided us with lunch for the weekend, and I was just heating up a cup of noodles when Ryan walked into the backroom. He announced in a very monotone fashion that he was taking his fifteen-minute break. As I sat at the managers’ desk, I heard him talking on his phone with someone in a very low tone. All I could hear was sad muttering. When he clicked his phone closed, he popped a cup of noodle into the microwave and sat down at the break table. “How was your Christmas?” I asked him.

His eyes looked tired. “We’re holding off on Christmas until Moms gets back,” he said as he unscrewed a water bottle cap and took a gulp.

It was a matter of concern, I could tell, wherever his mom was before I even asked, “Where’d she go?” The expectation as soon as I’d said it was that she left after his parents had had a fight or something. And now, I feel so stupid for making that guess.

He sighed as if pulling the words together, as if compressing his emotions into a tiny lock box that couldn’t be broken into. I found myself moving to a chair closer to him. “A little before Christmas, she had a stroke,” he told me. “She’s been in the hospital ever since. We just found out she has extreme congestion in her heart. They rushed her off to an intensive care unit. The doc says she has a 30% chance of surviving surgery.”

By no means had I expected something so terrible. As I sat there listening to him and watching him, his emotional lock box broke, and he got up and walked into an aisle of shelves we have in the backroom. I heard him trying to suppress his sobs. This nineteen-year-old boy felt like he was about to lose everything. I remained seated. Lord, help his mom. Lord, please comfort him. Praying was the only thing I could think to do, and as I did I was overcome by the most sympathy I think I’ve ever experienced. I was crying, as if it were my own mom. It was such immense sympathy that it surely was empathy. I’ve never had something so terrible happen to my own mother, but I know that the tears I cried were those of empathy. God permitted me that. I didn’t even have to think, the pain I felt for him was real. I got up, walked to him and put my arm around him.

“I don’t know what your religious beliefs might be,” I said to him, “but just know, I am praying for you. And I will keep praying for her to be okay.” There are many things that I think I could have said now that might have been better, stronger even, but the reality of the situation was that God meant for me to say just that. It might have been simple, but that was what Ryan needed to hear from me.

There was a short pause before he said, “Thank you,” and pulled me into a tight hug. It was the kind of hug that I will never forget as long as I live: one that let me know that I was able to really be there for him, one that let me know that Jesus was really working through me in those fifteen minutes in the backroom of Guess. “Thank you, so much.” The hug was so powerful, I cried some more. This time I was crying with joy, joy at the experience God had just given me.

In the next moment that he let go of me, I had regained my composure and told him that he needed to go be with his mom. He didn’t argue with me, but nodded. I walked from the backroom and told the other two managers working that Ryan needed to go home. One of them asked why, and I told her briefly of his situation, sticking to the clear fact that he needed to go to the hospital to be with his mom. Their response wasn’t exactly what I’d expected. Instead, she was just frustrated at him for not telling her, and she didn’t know who else she could get in to cover his shift. I was struck with disbelief at her.

“He was hoping work would be a distraction,” I told her, “you can’t be mad at him.” Then I added, “He needs to leave.”

Her frustration was passing off onto me, but I wasn’t concerned by it. “Call somebody else to cover the rest of his shift,” she told me shortly.

I tried not to pay attention to this apathy she was exhibiting, and instead focused on how glad I was that he could just go spend time with his mom.

I spent the whole car ride home after I left work praying and crying over what God had just done with me. I didn’t entirely understand it, but I sensed power in it, and it made me cry more. I got home and I cried to my mom. I admitted to her that I finally knew that God did have a reason for me to stay in this job. The work was not entirely rewarding overall, but what had happened today was conviction of the power God has in my life. I wasn’t crying because I was sad, I was overcome with emotion with what God was doing through me. It definitely wasn’t my strength that put me there at that break table on that particular Saturday afternoon.

“I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.” ~ Phillippians 4:13

“In the day that I called, you answered me. You encouraged me with strength in my soul.” ~ Psalms 138:3

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” ~ Isaiah 41:10

The Fear

2009-12-31T09:48:00.000-08:00

The Fear

The fear is so deep,

etched through steel

that is cold against skin.

If it weren’t for You,

every word he says to me

would be a lie.

This fear is like a poison

taken in daily;

ruling, feeding death.

Satan told me

that their silence was a lie

festering to its fullest potency;

their words would always

be lies. Truth would always

be the defeated army.

There are secrets

where there is silence;

learn to accept deceit like water.

Drink in Fear’s spells

cast out by flames,

crisping the edges of my heart

while all along, Your river sits,

waiting, ever flowing,

for me to drink of it instead.

"Our Christmas Hope"

2009-12-28T11:50:00.000-08:00

"'Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.'" (Luke 2:10-11)

***

My Christmas was so full of joy this year. I’m pretty sure that every year I say it’s “the best” Christmas, so I will remain consistent and tell you that it was definitely the best. Jenn from work offered to switch shifts with me so that I could have Christmas Eve off, which was extremely generous of her to do. (I was so happy to have both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off!)

That day we went over to my grandma’s house in Spring Valley. It’s a funny thing because she has a hard time distinguishing me from my sisters now that my hair is so dark. I hug her and she hugs me back, but all the while she has this look on her face like she’s trying to pull a name out of the drawer of an 89-year-old file cabinet in her head. I finally just tell her, “Jenna,” and she mutters something about how she can’t believe how old she is. We ate the wonderful dinner that she said was all Uncle Rob’s doing and listened to her talk about the neighbors: who was moving out, why they built that new fence… interesting factoids about people I don’t know (haha). Afterwards, we lingered around the table and asked my grandma questions about her life growing up while secretly videotaping her from the opposite end of the table. I say “secretly” even though the video camera was obviously sitting there with the recording light on. I think she might have just decided to go along with our plan of documenting her past, and I’m happy that she let us (if she did know). My great grandmother knew the Wright brothers, come to find out. You know, the ones who built the first airplane? Pretty interesting stuff, I think. I never knew her journey to California before this Christmas Eve, and I’m so thankful for my new appreciation of where she came from. Born in 1920… you sure would have seen a lot of interesting changes in the world, that’s for sure. And seeing it from the perspective of someone who’d been accustomed to saving tin foil from cigar boxes and gum wrappers to make Christmas tree ornaments is something really special. As we ended the night at her house, we opened presents (a pair of XL pajamas that maybe she thought I might need after all of the Christmas feasting!) while Star Wars: Episode 4 played in the background. Yes, while many families have A Christmas Story on their TVs, we have Star Wars and discussions about Chubaka.

After leaving her house, my family and I went to a candlelight service at FUMC, which proved to be what we all needed on this Christmas: a remembrance of what Christmas is really all about, the birth of Jesus Christ. When we finally got home, the rest of our cars were covered in a thin layer of frost and my grandpa (my mom’s dad) was waiting there for us. I wanted to read some of Luke before we all went to bed (except for my parents, who had to wrap presents), so we pushed the couch over to the fireplace and gathered around its warmth. I had literally just opened my bible when we heard a huge bang somewhere outside. My sisters were convinced that it had come from our back yard and that someone had just broken into their bedroom. While everyone headed out into the back to see what it was, I made my way out to the front of our house where the yellow light of car headlights streamed down the black asphalt of our road. My sister Cristina had just joined me as I saw one of my neighbor’s cars pushed up into the brick wall in front of their house by a white SUV. [oß , this is my best representation of what happened. [ = the wall; o = my neighbor’s car; and ß = the SUV that hit my neighbor’s car. It was obvious right away that whoever had hit their car had to have been extremely drunk. When the police arrived, I realized the drunk driver to be another of my neighbors, the father of some childhood friends. It was suddenly way too personal for me to handle. Christmas Eve and their dad was being arrested by one of my sheriff neighbors for driving under the influence. We went inside, saddened and quieted by the ordeal. I pray there was some resolve for both families.

***

Christmas morning came so fast. I consider it one of the perks of still living at home that my little sister runs into my room saying “Merrrrry Christmassss!” at 8 o’ clock in the morning before bounding into my parents’ bedroom to wake them up. She’s fifteen, but on Christmas morning she’s six again. We all stay in our Christmas PJs and take turns opening presents, making them last as long as possible and watching in anticipation as they open your present. I cherish this moment with my family not because of the presents but because we are all together and we are all smiling with so much joy.

We’d just finished unwrapping presents when Josh came over. He looked so handsome in his red sweater while we all still rocked the pajamas. A little flannel family. His arrival meant a few more minutes of present opening and another trash bag for the wrapping paper. His gift to me: a new digital camera, which I immediately started taking pictures with. I told him that he had to get used to me taking more pictures of him now. After all the unwrapping that could be done was finished, we sat down to a delicious breakfast my mom and dad had put together.

We planned on leaving the house by noon to head up to my cousins’ house in San Juan Capistrano, but that soon got pushed back until 1 o’ clock. We didn’t actually leave the house until approximately 1:53, however. The rest of the day and night at their house went extremely well. I was so excited for the rest of my family to finally meet Josh, and I knew they’d love him right away. We ate some great food and watched a beautiful ocean sunset from their roof; Josh smoked a cigar and I told him I wouldn’t kiss him the rest of the day (I couldn’t stick to my guns on that one, I caved); Josh and I played around on their baby grand piano; I proved that I officially stink at table tennis; and we ended off the night with Josh, my fourteen-year-old cousin Kristen, and my cousins’ boyfriend and his bandmate jamming out with their guitars while the rest of us ate pie and tapped our feet to the amazing music. It was a beautiful day. I am so blessed by my family and my amazing, talented boyfriend. As my sister said as I watched him play his guitar that night, “he made me melt.” I’m not sure about the phrase, but as I watched him I just knew how extremely fortunate I am that God brought him into my life.

Thank you, God for such an amazing and joyful Christmas. Thank you for my family and friends. Thank you for sending your only son to die for us.

Noticed

2009-12-09T23:00:00.000-08:00

Today was the last official day of class, but it also still means we have a week of finals left. I will personally be extremely thankful for the break from school for a little while. However, I wanted to reflect back on some things about my creative writing class this semester. I started out in that class excited because, well, it's creative writing (what's not to be excited about?)! I soon realized how not excited I was because every single day I sat down in that class I heard conversations around me that were negative towards God. While I wasn't excited or thoroughly interested in going to that class, God still held me there. Why? Because he had a plan for me there. To be honest, I was kind of scared but I thought "cool, I get to change someone's life." I'm not really sure that was the best thinking because now that I look at it, I don't think I did change anyone's life. If there was any life-changing events that occurred in that classroom, it was because of Him, not me.

I'm writing about this because today I realized that people in my class are really starting to know me. My teacher had volunteers read their monologues in class, and it was like pulling teeth for people to get up and read. We had a couple of guys read their monologues, and the teacher asked for girl volunteers. Nobody raised their hand or motioned the desire to read at all. That's when I heard someone say "How about Jenna" behind me and another "Yeah, let's hear Jenna's monologue." I could feel their eyes on me, but they were eager to hear what I had written. For lack of confidence in my monologue piece, I politely refused, but I was so extremely flattered that my classmates (those hopeless peers of mine) wanted to hear what I had to say through my words on a page.

I prayed about that class everyday, hoping God might've sent me there for change. For the longest time, I thought that absolutely nothing had changed. Things had remained stagnant, and the class was just as hopeless as ever. But you know, God did put me there. It wasn't a change I could see right away, but it turns out the change was in me. I slowly broke open my boundaries by sharing my writing in that class this semester. God gave me strength, and so the things I wrote became effortlessly filled with hope. And my teacher recognized it when she selected me to read at a campus student reading. God had me expose my writing, yet again, to a larger audience. So, the change happened when I relied on God to write instead of myself, and I can only pray that that hope I have expressed is why they requested me to read today. I won't have regrets, but if I did have one it would be not standing up in front of those classmates one more time.

He notices their need.

Reset

2009-11-13T10:22:00.000-08:00

Well, I'm finally on day 5 of my "reset" that I'm doing with my mom. For 5 days you drink 1 vitamin/protein shake per meal. Of course, it started out difficult. There are temptations everywhere! I tell you, you never actually realize how many food commercials are on TV until you go on a reset. On top of that, my sister happened to discover the hiding place of the leftover Halloween candy and left it sitting on the washing machine. When I went to do my laundry, it was just sitting there staring at me. I'll admit on that second day I had a moment of weakness and caved for five Swedish fish. Only to be followed by a pound of guilt, however. The rest of the week has gone by reasonably well. Besides the weight loss, I feel this sense of clarity that I didn't have before, as well as this newfound burst of energy. There are so many things I can focus on now without having to think about what I'm going to eat. Sounds almost funny that we actually dwell on what we're going to eat for lunch or dinner, but we do. I distinctly remember working out at the gym a few weeks ago, all the while thinking about what I wanted to eat afterwards!

So, here's me saying "I feel good"! Yay!

Thinking About Things I've Left Behind

2009-11-04T17:43:00.001-08:00

“These things will have to go,” is something I heard when I started going back to church. Even at that moment, where I was so very sinful in my life and full of doubt, I understood immediately what “things” would have to go. I didn’t really expect them to just fly out of my life, and I didn’t expect to do anything to let them go either. I was simply conscious of some of the sin in my life; I was guilty. But the “things that have to go” dwelled on me until I was almost unconsciously putting those sinful aspects of my life aside. I say almost because I know I was crying out, and although I wasn’t mindful of prayer, God was helping me. He was drawing me near, into a closer relationship with Him. In order for me to get there, He was telling me that certain things needed to go.

I came up with a bunch of reasons to tell my friends why I didn’t go to parties anymore. I told them that it wasn’t fun anymore, that the thought of alcohol made me sick, and that I always felt like crud the next day, so it wasn’t really worth it. All those things were certainly true, and they still are, but all along the underlining factor was that parties and alcohol were detractors in my relationship with God. They pushed me into this selfist belief that my life was all about what I want and how to make myself happy. You hear it all too often: “We’re young! Enjoy life and have fun!” I believed their ideal “fun” with the parties and drinking and all of the self-centeredness until God said, “Oh, no you don’t.” Those things of human excess were just that: human. It took me a while to understand that what I really want isn’t human. God’s plans for me were so much more than that. Even today, I struggle with giving explanation for my not wanting to go to their party or go out drinking. When really, I just have something way better going on with God that I don’t want to mess up.

I thought that as things started to go from my life, as God started tell me they needed to go, that it would increase in difficulty with each thing that left. I held so much mistaken reliance on those things, those sins. How could I see them go? And it was difficult at first. I had numerous “give-ins” to those things He was working with me to get rid of. I had moments were I broke down and cried myself into depression because I didn’t understand who I was without those people I was leaving behind and without those habits that I attached to them. He’s still answering that for me. I don’t know exactly what God has planned for me, but I do know that Him and I are in a crazy awesome relationship. Without those things I am growing closer into that relationship. I am His beloved. Everyday I pick up the bible I grow a little more. I rely more on Him and not the superficiality that society has thrust upon us.

2009-10-31T00:07:00.001-07:00

Our eyes may cry cheek-stamping tears, but they keep looking forward through the mist as we take each turn in this path.

The Place Everyone Left

2009-09-23T18:06:00.000-07:00

The Place Everyone Left

Jenna Martin

There it is: Exit 45. Home. I flip on my blinker and glide down the off-ramp. I hazily remember to stop at the stickered stop sign, its post littered with garage sale signs and staples, and glance at the overbearing and over-washed sheriff’s car parked overtly in the shadows. Not today, I smile. The road is newly paved, the tread of my tires scooping up fresh asphalt and sending it splattering up against the belly of my car. I wonder who they’re repaving the road for before noting the green metal sign as my headlights flash across its surface. According to it, Pine Valley has no population. I steer onto Old Highway 80, the mile-long drag through town. The streetlights glow gingerly on the black highway, casting Jeffrey pines up like ghostly shadows in the night. The liquor store and the new sports bar are the only other artificial light, their long iridescent bulbs piercing starlight. I note the three cars in the liquor store lot, one of which is pumping gas and has plates from Arizona. One of the other cars I recognize as Al’s, the shop owner, and the other is a truck full of high school boys I don’t recognize. I question why they’re out so late. Ten years ago our bikes were lined up where that truck was parked as we scratched the change out of our pockets for an ICEE. Sometimes Al would let us slide by without a couple of pennies, and we’d slurp on the frozen fructose until our tongues were stained red, blue or purple. I lick my bottom lip, imagining artificial raspberry.

The liquor store stares at Frosty Burger, the only fast food establishment in town, on the right side of the road. The normally red cartoon letters give a black stare in return. I glance at the shape of the Betty Boop cutout nailed to the wall next to order window number one. Back then she beckoned us forth, urging us to order our soft serve, swirl ice cream in one of those cones that oddly reminds you of foam board. Betty Boop with her roller skates and blue server outfit; she always made me want a server with roller skates to bring our melting, chocolate-dipped cones and greasy French fries to our table. Instead, my sisters and I would sit eagerly next to our parents, our jelly sandals kicking the air beneath the mosaic table, until some voice grumbled out our order. And then we were off, stumbling and weaving our way through the people in line to order, to claim the bounty waiting for us at window number two. The lady at the window was the same lady as always, a fleshy woman with matted red-orange hair and bloodhound eyes, and she never failed to remind me of the orangutan I saw at the zoo once. Being the oldest, I was the one who carried out the collection, handing items to my two sisters as the orangutan watched us indolently from her cage. Hands full of delectable goods, we ventured back to the table, licking the melting ice cream from the rim of the cones. By the time we’d reach our parents, my mom would be shaking her head, her eyes laughing over the chocolate and ice cream that had begrimed our shirts and coated our fingers. I crack a smile in Betty’s direction, considering how many times my mother must have had to wash our clothes.

Glancing at my speedometer, I realize how slow I’m going, but there is no one on the road to enforce the 35 miles per hour limit. The word enforcement makes me snicker, as I spy a couple of hollow sheriff’s cars parked in front of the baby-blue police station with its blinds shut snugly. During the daylight hours, the blinds are still closed most of the time while the police officers and firefighters utilize their discount at Major’s Restaurant next door. Nowadays, they’re probably the only business the place gets. The restaurant looks aged like an old photo that is blurred and wrinkled at the edges. It attempts to retain its 1950s era motif with the vinyl records and James Dean posters nailed to its poodle skirt blue walls, but it always revealed just that: an attempt. I push past Major’s, the post office, and the overgrown, feathery meadow behind them, which is ethereally shimmering with gold from the light of the moon. There is the trail ambushed by cattails and sage that we used to ride our bikes on. On summer weekends you could hear the Mexican mariachi music dancing from the park gazebo. It was broken up periodically by children’s laughter and squeaky swings. Sometimes if we were tired, we would stop and watch the festivities, salivating over carne asada and frijoles and listening to a language that was altogether unfamiliar. The trail was our private access to town, a rebellious escape from the road our mother warned us to stay glued to. I want to push back those wild shrubs and track our tire marks that must be imprinted somewhere in the hard soil.

I drift back from thoughts of dirt-caked socks and goat-heads flattening bike tires and have the urge to pull into the clubhouse parking lot just in front of the meadow. The freshly painted white stucco and evergreen wood trim encases the community building like a homemade quilt. I can still smell the itchy sawdust and cool paint lacquer of the two wooden benches on either side of the door as I put my car in park. Who knew that a bunch of twelve-year-old girls could construct such sturdy benches! I hear my dad’s peeved muttering about the futility of turpentine to remove the green paint tiptoed all over our driveway. Adds character, I say about the girl-scout footprints chronicling our messy commission. Would those girls have built another bench since then? The smell of wood brings me to the aged piano inside attempting to stand upright in its own dust. Simple C-major chords fuse into New Age cadences as I listen to one of my piano lessons from five years ago, the notes echoing off the walls of an empty dance floor and spraying dust from its strings. It may have been past its prime, but it still had a voice. You could probably hear that piano for blocks if you really listened. I think of worship songs raising the building to its fullest capacity; the Sundays with churchgoers’ cars overflowing the clubhouse parking lot; and the same wrinkly couples with their years-worn bibles and soft, joy-filled smiles gleaming at me with all sincerity. It seems to be the one time of the week where Pine Valley really has a population. I remember youth group in that church, a group of girls already dealing with persecution and an order of acne on the side. The same group of girls I’d kick a ball around with at soccer practice the next day. And when we made the transition into high school, some of us went to public school while the others went to private schools; some of us held onto faith while others faded into popular secularism. I wonder about them, where they went when they left this little bubble in the mountains. I wonder if any of them wonder about me.

My car engine purrs and I’m snapped back into the dimness escaping the light of my headlights. Tires once more finding the familiar texture of Highway 80, I move on past the Mountain Market, the one car in the motel parking lot, and the sleeping elementary school all on the left side of the road. The school looks so much smaller than it did ten years ago: seven white, dwarfed buildings set in a horseshoe around the blacktop. The distance between chain link fence and building seemed like a mile. These days they call it half an acre. Inside those same buildings I wrote my first words and eventually my first story. On that playground with trees for goal posts, I knew people, people who’ve grown up and moved away to cities and suburbs, to amused, refulgent lights and nameless crowds. In those grounds I learned facts, I learned fiction, and I learned about myself. I, too, grew up.

I turn off main street Pine Valley and wind through an array of houses, all structurally diverse yet all homes. My car surges with a burst of adrenaline when we hit the incline. My house with the blue and white siding is just in the middle of this hill. I see the front porch light like a beacon guiding me home through the waves of night. Pine needles crunch beneath the warm rubber as I pull into the driveway. I’m quick to turn off the ignition and hear the last cracklings of the car engine before opening the door. One foot out and I breathe in the crispness of the September night air and descry the symphonic crickets. Bella, I breathe. The names written in the sky sparkle with bright pride. City lights can’t outshine them here. I turn my head away, dizzied from the awesome vastness of the heavens. This is worth driving 45 minutes for.

The dry manzanita tickles my arm as I hop over a line of industrious ants on my way towards the white, oak door of my house. Pulling back the screen door, I pause and stare back at the pine and oak trees whispering soft secrets to each other, shot up like shadows backlit by stars, and the mountains like undulating waves of obsidian. I smile. This town within the belly of crags is still steadfast. This home is still my cradle, even if everyone else has left.

THE END

Sometimes you write about nothing when your uninspired.

2009-09-22T21:21:00.001-07:00

So here’s an attempt to get myself writing. I figure, if I can muster up the words for a blog entry, I can muster up some words to write a poem for my creative writing class.

The poem is supposed to start with a picture: a sketch of our bedroom when we were twelve years old. I start with the general layout like an architect. There’s a window there, a doorway on the opposite side of the room. My room isn’t an exact rectangle, there’s a little bit that recedes where my closet is. Then, I draw and label my furniture as I remember it when I was twelve. Yet I don’t remember the exact placement of my furniture. Is it so bad that I moved things in my room around… a lot? The next step, my teacher tells us, is to label other things that might have been in your room. She gives the example of posters that we might have had up on the wall. I never had any posters. I had two framed prints on my wall: one was a Monet and the other an O’Keefe. The walls behind them were pastel pink, reminiscent of a baby girl’s nursery. I kept two journals on my nightstand and my Harry Potter books close by. I had a wide armoire and a tall dresser, which I used to hold old paint brushes I’d borrowed from my dad and a pad of watercolor paper. My clothes got shoved into the armoire. I label these things and consider their general irrelevance to my life now. She moves on to the next step, which is to draw other places or things outside of your bedroom that remind you of that time in your life. I draw a tree and label it ‘the park’ and a building with a small bell tower, which I label ‘the clubhouse.’ I can’t think of anything else to draw, and instead start bullet points beneath ‘the clubhouse’: youth group, piano lessons, the bell everyone wanted to pull, and the benches that we made in girl scouts. We’re sent home with this “memory map” that is supposed to inspire us into writing a poem about it. But for the life of me, I am uninspired by this “map” of my memories. Instead, I find a bitter edge in my thoughts. Nothing is good enough; nothing is inspiring enough. Who was I when I was twelve years old? I don’t know.

I consider that I may have had too high of expectations for this creative writing class. I thought it would reel me back into writing, that I would be inspired on the drop of a dime. And instead I find myself at the opposite end of the spectrum. I’m confused because I don’t know what environment is going to be right for me to be creative in. I thought it would be this one. I’ve considered myself a writer for most of my life, and yet here I am unable to construct a simple poem. I even wonder if this is what I should be doing. I think that I need to go pray.

Moonlight

2009-08-21T11:58:00.000-07:00

Part 1: Visitors

There has always been something about night that is far less invasive than the day. Everything is awake with the day. It is loud, chaotic, and bright when some desire the still tranquility that is night…

Lud smiled at the mass of plasma sinking beneath the horizon as he stroked the piano keys rapidly. He slowly decelerated until the light of the day faded into the muted white of the moon. He paused to acknowledge the moon’s perfect, round reflection shivering on the surface of the lake outside his window. The humming of the A-minor chord beneath his hand faded into the silent darkness of Lud’s home. He closed his eyes and breathed in the cool, summer air drifting through the night. Lud bit down hard on the rod connected to the soundboard of his piano and let his hands fly up and down the keys. He relished in the vibrations of the different chord variations, the alternating between major and minor, and the music that resonated deep within him. An intruding vibration was suddenly at the back of his ear—a dull knock on the door. Releasing his jaw clenched on the sound rod, Lud stopped his playing abruptly and gazed towards the door uncertainly. He hadn’t had visitors since the doctor suggested his move to this small town. Would the critics already have found him?

Before he could consider his next actions, his housekeeper Marie was already lighting an oil lamp and opening the door. After what seemed like brief introduction, Marie had taken the hats and coats of the two figures and led them into the parlor adjacent to Lud’s piano. Igniting two more lamps, Marie rushed to Lud’s side and urged him to see to the guests—or unknown critics, for all he knew—seated in his parlor. He could hear Marie in the distant corners of his perception muttering something to a proper, straight-backed man seated in an armchair. Lud could not help but notice his formal vest and coattails and wondered what he was doing in a town such as Heiligenstadt in such attire.

Upon Lud’s entrance to the room, the man stood and introduced himself. “I am Franz Brunsvik,” the man spoke sonorously, his words deep like the notes of D-minor, “and this is my niece, Giulietta. We have traveled from Linz to Vienna to hear you perform, Herr Beethoven.” It was only then that Lud noticed the dark-haired girl seated on the sofa. “It was only when we arrived in Vienna that we discovered that you cancelled two of your performances. Letta was sorely disappointed.” The dark-haired girl nodded earnestly. Lud tried to discern more of the girl’s features, but they were lost in the shadows of the room.

“What can I help you with, Herr Brunsvik?” Lud had grown accustomed to his own voice speaking from the back of his consciousness. It were as if his soul deep inside was pouring out of his mouth. He heard his words like they were his thoughts, and if his mouth hadn’t been moving, they might have been.

Brunsvik seemed surprised to hear Lud’s speech so clearly. However, his words seemed to lack emotion. They were straight, unlaced, and depleted of any desire to communicate vocally. “I would not have called on you so late if it weren’t for the determination of my niece to hear you play just once before our journey back home.” Brunsvik spoke apologetically as his eyes lingered on Letta.

Lud’s eyes also lingered on Letta with her dark hair worn loose in an unaccustomed fashion around her face. He imagined how soft it would be should he run his fingers through its waves. And Letta’s eyes found his. Only he was not quite sure that those light-hued eyes could even detect a flash of color. Blind. Her eyes could not hold onto his—they were out of focus—but he could not escape the sensation that somehow she was seeing him. Lud shivered as her eyes shone like ice and pierced through the wall he’d so carefully constructed around himself. He found himself taking a step towards her.

Brunsvik noticed Lud’s gaze, and suddenly felt a need to explain. “Letta desperately wanted to hear you play. She’s so much more attuned to music than most because of—“

“—because I am blind, I rely on my ears to show me what I cannot see.” Letta’s voice was soft like trickling rain, yet it resonated deep within Lud’s mind. “I have heard people say that you can paint pictures with your music. Can you show me one of these paintings?”

His eyes blinked furiously as he tried to thwart his eyes’ fixation on the young woman speaking to him. Like a moth drawn to a bright light, Lud was drawn to her pale complexion and pale, dancing eyes. He traced the chemise around her neck to where it was gathered around her slender waist and then to the porcelain hands folded on her lap. Letta was something Lud was very unused to. She was unconventional in her beauty, which made her all the more irresistible.

Somewhere in his periphery, Brunsvik yawned.

“Marie, make up the guest quarters,” Lud requested to his servant perched somewhere near the entryway. He then turned to his guests, “It is late, and I can guarantee the accommodations here will be much more suitable than any inn you’d find in town. I will prepare something to play for you tomorrow.” He added the last bit with a quick glance to Letta, who sat with a content smile. For a second, he could almost feel her staring at him again, but he hastily dismissed the ridiculous idea.

“We would be honored,” Franz Brunsvik nodded. He yawned once more, and Marie offered to lead them up to their rooms.

Lud followed them to the banister and wished them goodnight. He watched the swish of white chemise dust the stairs before he turned, extinguished the lights, and walked back to his glossy, black piano.

***

Amazing Gift

2009-07-22T20:35:00.000-07:00

I’ve been helped in so many amazing ways this year with the relationship I’ve repaved with God. At one time my path with Him was smooth… He helped me lay the bricks in a straight and orderly fashion, all directed towards His plan for me. A couple years ago, the bricks were misaligned and the mortar was cracked. Most of the time, I chose a more perpendicular, dirt path that appeared to be quicker and more popular. Occasionally, I’d come back to the brick path I’d laid out under His hand. I would feel my old desire to walk near to Him and recognize the lifting of heavy weight off of my shoulders, but in the end I saw myself alone on that brick path. I let others convince me that I didn’t want to be alone on that path, that I wanted to be on the socially accepted dirt path. But, I was never alone on that brick path. He was always there, my family was always there, and deeper, more significant relationships with people were only a short distance down the path. I used to want things quick without having to put in much effort. For a little less than a year, I’ve been replacing missing bricks and filling in the cracks with new mortar. As I kept going, my relationship with God grew strong. I’ve been listening to Him and, in return, He has been listening to my prayers. Every so often, I still find a brick here and there that needs to be replaced or a crack that needs to be patched, but I expect the path to be imperfect and so does He. I recognize the places that need to be fixed and God helps me fix them in order to continue fulfilling my relationship with Him. He has rewarded me in so many ways since then. His gifts are truly awesome. I’m happier in my relationships with my family and friends, I feel more fulfilled on a daily basis, and I’ve become more inspired. And recently, He brought Josh into my life.

God gave me the most amazing gift, which is to have a relationship that is centered around him. I know this from how effortless it was for our relationship to start (we didn’t have to try to make anything happen, He made it happen); I know this because when we’re together we are entirely who God intended us to be, ourselves; I know this because through him I see God. When he smiles, I know that it is God whom he smiles for. When we are in conversation, I hear God in the words we speak and in the silence. When he puts his arm around me, I feel God’s touch. When we hold hands, it’s like our fingers are intertwined pieces of thread that belong to the greater woven blanket that is His Love. And being with Josh, we are happy, we are silly, and we are excited… I feel refreshed and ecstatic with every day that comes our way, and trust in the days beyond our present reach.

At first I caught myself wondering if this was all too good to be true. How is it that this wonderful person could suddenly come into my life? I honestly didn’t expect it. But thinking those things was showing doubt in God, not embracing Him and thanking Him for how generous He has been to me. And he has been GENEROUS. Josh is everything that I need and everything God wants me to have. He knows that together we will grow even closer to Him, and that is what is so amazing and thrilling! I thank God every day for bringing Josh into my life.

Is it easy to slip into regret and consider the brick path that I left abandoned for so long? Yes. But I’ve also learned that I do not need to intoxicate myself with regret because God has already forgiven me for straying. He has forgiven me, and now I am secure. Regret would be reconsidering how my life has come to its present position… and my life at present is better than I could ever have hoped for it to be. I have a loving family, an amazing boyfriend, and an even more awesome God.

***

Dear Josh,

I know that He will reveal new colors to us everyday, and I look forward to every single sunrise that opens our days together and every single sunset that closes them. You are intelligent, thoughtful, passionate, and full of hope, and I appreciate you for every amazing quality and idiosyncrasy that God has given you.

~Jenna

Stroll

2009-07-22T14:24:00.000-07:00

Our toes tap the keys...

Dancing forward across pebbles

we feel their smooth edge, yet

never release our faces

from the flourishes streaked across the sky—

ever-changing, dreamy masses

throbbing with the thump of footsteps—you

hear the symphony of birds,

the gush of wind through oak leaves,

the shore drinking up the rich water…

...But all the while fixated on fluffy, wild things, which

match our step as they jaunt through the sky

and smear a trail against the heavens-cape.

Ants tickle the cobblestone trail,

but never once distract us from the walk

that we’re taking, hand-in-hand with clouds.

Fall Out

2009-07-12T11:05:00.000-07:00

As you grow older, I guess you get used to the cycle of friendships in your life. You’re friends, and then you grow apart… it’s not that complicated. The difficult part is having to be the one who has to make the decision to end the friendship. Being the person I am, I usually give too many chances and wind up getting walked all over, but I’ve been strengthened over the past year. Too often was I the “yes man,” who just went along with everything and didn’t want relationships to change. I worked extra hard to make relationships with people work when they really just needed to end because they were unhealthy.

So, I gave one last effort, and I was hit head on with their true colors. I needed to see those colors, so God showed them to me. Is it disappointing? Yes. Half of you wants to consider how many years you wasted being that person’s friend, while the other half wants to remind you that most of what you went through with that person was good. I’m not going to dwell on the past where I should have seen some visible signs that this friendship wasn’t healthy. I’ve worked to be a good influence, and we helped each other through immense periods of growth. We are clearly going in two separate directions now, and I can only pray that they choose a better road then the one they’re on.

Lake Havasu

2009-06-28T23:32:00.000-07:00

The Journey There

The drive to Havasu was long. We were excited though as we commenced our journey out to Arizona. It was just Cristina and I listening to country music and chatting about life with no worries weighing us down. I never realized how barren the route would be on the way out Highway 95. It is a two-lane highway right through the middle of the desert, one of those roads that leave you surprised every time you actually see another vehicle. After a while our talking slowly drifted off and the only sounds you could hear was the hum of the car radio and the dull roar of the engine as I accelerated. I knew that we were both getting lost in our own thoughts. It was easy to do staring out at nothing but miles of hot asphalt and cactus-cluttered sand. Only when I happened to see a speed marker did I realize I’d been going fifteen miles over the speed limit.

When we were finally 30 miles away from Lake Havasu, the rock faces became larger and more brilliant like reddish brown sentinels of the water source below. As the highway wound its way through the rock, we’d catch glimpses of sparkling water. Before long that same water was stretched out before us. The Colorado River was speckled with boats and jet skis and lined with hotels and other business establishments. We’d finally reached it.

The first step outside of my car was shocking. It was like taking a nonstop flight from Greenland and stepping off the plane in the middle of the Sahara. Well, that might be an exaggeration, but it was a drastic change in temperature nonetheless. We left our house at 7:30 AM, where it was 48 degrees, and arrived in Havasu around noon, where it was a “balmy” 110 degrees—do the math. It was so hot that all we could do was laugh and then hurry into the air-conditioned lobby. First thing after checking in to our room? Change out of those jeans!

The Boat

There’s nothing quite like a day spent on a boat. There are miles of water stretched out before you just waiting for you to choose that direction. No lanes, just the ability to drive free. It took us a little bit to warm up to this particular method of transportation. For some reason going 30 miles per hour seems a lot faster on a boat than it does in a car (go figure!). I think that as soon as we sat back and appreciated the speed, the sun on our shoulders, and the awe-striking surroundings, we felt right at home with our little boat.

You might think that being on the water might be cooler than on land, but this wasn’t the case. It was exactly the same 100-teen-something in the parking lot at the hotel as it was it was on the lake. As the boat would speed up, you’d feel that same hotness in a flush of air, streaming past your eyes and through your hair—a massive blow drier that removed all traces of cool within minutes of being in motion. But for some reason, I loved this heat. It was almost like my pores craved it, even if it was pretty intense. I found myself absorbed in the heat gushing around me and lolled against the bench seat in the bow of the boat with my head leaned back. I watched the billowy clouds above in their incessant morphing, and couldn’t help but wonder whether these brilliant masses of water particles shift shape in order so that everyone can find something meaningful in the cloudscape.

Although the roars of myriad boats and jet skis are prominent on the lake, I still felt a much-desired attachment to the nature around me. The water was revitalizing, the perfect refreshment during a period of extreme heat. The rock faces that carved out the brilliant Colorado River looked ever so like fortresses standing high above the water. Their turrets were projected so high into the sky that they seemed like fingers reaching, stretching towards the heavens. They were regal and yet retained a sort of Spartan rusticity—the Castle in the Rock. From time to time small, rocky islands seemed to float right alongside of us with mesquite trees rustling in our speed. It’s amazing to me that life could squeeze itself through solid rock. What tenacious roots they must have to slowly chisel their way through the quartzite. And its efforts had clearly paid off with its ample water supply and fresh, soft green. It makes you consider the lengths that life will go to in order to achieve the best life possible.

And, of course, the day on the boat was not only good for viewing nature at its finest. It was one of the best days I’ve spent with my family in a long time. Just open water to cleanse us of all worries and concerns. I don’t think I could have spent a better eight hours than that. We laughed and rested beneath the blaze of the Arizona sunshine, cooled off in the friendly blue water, and then laughed some more when the heat made us loopy. At the end of the day, my cheeks were sore from a transfixed smile… I knew it’d been a blessed day.

(To be continued...)

When It Rains It Pours

2009-05-12T22:43:00.000-07:00

Oh, how it pours. Like a rock wall crumbling into tiny black pebbles and then melting at your feet, soaking them and making them as cold as ice. The past week it's been raining... hard. And I think those pebbles might have beaten me down and soaked me through a little bit. But, "raining?" you wonder, "but it's a sunny 80 degrees outside. Where are you getting rain?" Well, I could be a smartass, but I'll refrain and just let you know that it is purely metaphorical rain that I'm experiencing. Dark, ominous clouds; vociferous, raging thunder; a barrage of lightning bolts; and thousands of gallons of glacial water... that kind of rainstorm (just for some imagery).

One of the worst things about this rainstorm is its overwhelming properties. It's like it takes control of your life. First, you no longer want to go outside (you don't think you have any courage left), and instead you confine yourself to the inner chambers of your emotions. If you look through the window, you shudder because it looks so cold and formidable. Secondly, you take a keen interest in, well, nothing. In fact, you abandon all of your previous desires, interests, or goals in lieu of becoming an apathetic

homebody. Thirdly, the only enjoyment you experience is when the rain stops long enough for you to crack your window open and let some fresh air inside. The rainstorm consumes you... (maybe you turn into a snowman... you sure might be cold enough!)

...but it only does if you let it take over. It's easy to let yourself slip into confinement, and sulk yourself into a depression over why rainstorms like this can hit you so hard at the worst possible moment. But maybe it wasn't the worst moment possible. Maybe it was the best moment possible. Maybe it's meant for now because it will leave the best, most long-lasting positive effects on you NOW. Maybe, just maybe, your time to learn from and adjust to such rainstorms is at the present.

So, for a few days I really wasn't able to see that it was 82 degrees outside and sunshiny. It was cold; I held a constant chill. And then I prayed. The next day it was like I'd been defrosted. I could feel the sun's warmth tickle my skin. I could feel myself wanting to smile. But most of all, I could feel myself becoming assured.

Everyone experiences their rain. It might be a slight trickle or by the bucket full, but we all have our rain. But maybe instead of closing our doors and opening up our umbrellas, we just stand in it with our arms open wide. Take it, feel the chill, and then feel the sunshine growing in your heart when God answers you.

***

Please pray for

*My parents, who've lost a good part of their livelihoods recently

*My uncle, who is recovering from a sudden stroke (thank you God for answering this one so quickly)

*My Aunt Pat, who will be passing on shortly

A Bucket of Friendships

2009-04-27T22:14:00.000-07:00

Lately I've been considering the friendships that I have with people in my life, and I realized that a couple of strong relationships that I had with friends have weakened over the past few months. I had to stop and think to myself, "Is there something I'm doing?" The answer was "yes." I was doing something. I was seeking out the truth, insight into myself, and a more fulfilling life. (I say was but I should be saying I am because I'm still on the same journey of truth and understanding.) And this journey led me to realize certain things about some of the relationships I'd formed with people.

I didn't want to realize these things at first; I wanted to ignore them and let these relationships continue to coexist with my internal exploration. But when I did try to keep them in a safe place, untouched by realization, I struggled to keep my footing on this new path I was choosing to take. These relationships were dispersing temptation by the bucket-full and usually came with a free ounce of "coolness" on the side. What I didn't recognize was how superficial and unhealthy those relationships were for me. They just proved to be distractors on my way to becoming a stronger and better person.

The difficult part is understanding that your strong friendship with a person is passing. Trivial relationships were easier to say goodbye too. But I'm still not so sure that I know what's best in this situation. Should I attempt to mend our friendship? or just let it go like I might supposed to be doing? I think that any strong friendship has to come with acceptance first of all. Acceptance of who each other are as individuals; acceptance of each other's believes; and acceptance of the improvements we're each trying to make. How can someone accept all of your mistakes in the past but have no confidence in you when you're attempting to improve yourself? Again, I wanted to disregard this fact and to continue with what I'm doing. But this relationship was affecting me. Their apparent dislike for my new chosen path became an obvious hindrance in my journey. How am I supposed to improve myself and partake in this journey if my friends don't even think I can do it?

Of course, these things have been on my mind almost constantly lately, but it already seems as if God has sent a reply: he's been gradually building a support system for me that is based in faith. People who will respect me and my journey and who are enthusiastic about my seeking truth. Real, healthy relationships that I can learn from.

In Pursuit of Adventure

2009-04-14T21:40:00.000-07:00

I’m only 20 years old, and I need more adventure in my life. I think that I probably put too much focus on things like work and school that I forget that I’m barely an adult and am by no means an old lady confined to her rocker. My friends and I have the same problem: we’re growing up too fast! I want a to have a little more excitement in my life. And by excitement I don’t mean getting wasted and doing things I either won’t remember or will regret the next day. I think that at my age people consider parties the only way to have fun. I want to do things that go against that standard that’s been sadly created for my age group.

So, I started to brainstorm about fun, adventurous things I could do, and I decided that the best things to do for fun are the things that you truly and deeply want to do. What are the things I’ve always wanted to try? I could probably name hundreds of thousands of things, some of which sit on my list of “things I want to do before I die.” So, why aren’t I doing those things now? You might think, “Sure, but you have your whole life ahead of you,” but do I really? I don’t know what life will have in store for me later. Maybe I’ll have a new list of things to accomplish, or maybe I won’t be able to do all the things on my list because I ran out of time. I don’t want to run out of time. Therefore, I need to start NOW. No more excuses; just living for right now; and doing things that I WANT TO DO.

They don’t have to be extravagant either. I mean, some of the things on my list to do don’t seem overly exciting. I’ve always been curious about sushi (and I mean the raw kind), so I decided that I needed to try some, and you know, it wasn’t so terrible. I want to ride a motorcycle—trying to make that one happen currently. I want to go white water rafting (and will hopefully go this summer!). Of course, I also want to go to Ireland, and I always have (this might take a while longer to accomplish seeing as I need the funds first!). I could name off more things, but I won’t tire you with those. And you know, I don’t think I know half of the things I want to do. I’m pretty sure that they’ll just sort of pop up and I’ll be like “Yeah! I want to do that!”

I haven't quite decided the route I'm going to take, or what I'm going to do for adventure next. But it's going to start now, that's for sure. I'm going to start enjoying life more and experiencing things that I should be experiencing. I might make a fool out of myself in some cases, but I'm alright with that. Being foolish can be an adventure in itself.

Some quotes to remember:

“People rarely succeed unless they have fun in what they are doing” ~ Dale Carnegie

“And in the end, it’s not the years in your life that count. It’s the life in your years.” ~ Abraham Lincoln

“Many people die with their music still in them. Why is this so? Too often it is because they are always getting ready to live. Before they know it, time runs out.” ~ Oliver Wendell Holmes

Heat

2009-03-25T23:00:00.000-07:00

The Great Desert

The air is hot--

fermented hot--like chiles

soaked through.

Take a bite and melt

down like butter--

fusion seems less cruel

in cooking.

Laser fingers prodding like children

yearning for the salted snail

to foam,

Then iron daggers brazing

thews--dissimulate--

Hide--

beneath the brown gaze

of towering, sweating antiques.

The air packs on

more hot saddlebags.

A Fork In the Road

2009-02-23T20:54:00.000-08:00

I traveled down a straight and narrow road, and

at the end of this road, there's a fork...

Much like a particular Robert Frost poem, one is well worn with footprints and another is far less traveled. However, this adjoining, less trodden road, which leads in the opposite direction of the other side of the fork (of course), is full of hills and uneven gravel. Compared to the other road (which is smooth with freshly laid pavement), it is the undesirable route. There aren't any signs to give direction, anyway. How would I know where I was going? An old, rock road that leads to nowhere... that's definitely reassuring. No thank you. I look to my left, and the newly paved side of the fork has several new signs: only 5 MILES TO FUN and only 10 MILES TO A LIFE IN PARADISE. Oooh, I can smell that ocean air already!

As I feel my feet begin to float towards the left road, I hear familiar voices and friendly footsteps up ahead. "Are you coming?" they sing. "Hurry up!" they beckon. I see the seashell-cluttered sand bordering the road. I imagine the rising and falling of the waves and the warmth of the sun. "Yes, I'm..." I begin to sing back, but my voice trails off. It's suddenly as if the heat of my imagined sun has lit my heart on fire. I can hear it pumping and pumping, expelling its last bits of energy to smother the flames. My head aches (no doubt my brain cells are bursting under the pressure). The smooth road now appears like charred fuzz in the distance, and the elegant voices are now a violent ringing in my ears. My whole body writhes in protestation.... Stop.

It seems like eternity passes by before my eyes rediscover their purpose and start to blink into focus. The ringing in my ears fades into a feathery whisper. I pull myself out of my collapsed state and regain my footing on the solid ground. My composure strengthens, but the sight in front of me puzzles me. Where was the path I'd seen before, the one that would lead me to a tropical paradise? (The fun path.) This view in front of me surely wasn't that:

The sand with the seashells? All I saw now was dirt littered with beer bottles and cigarette butts.

The smooth, repaved road? Cracked and broken, now looking much like a graffitied wall that had fallen in defeat.

And the voices of my friends? Imposters. Just a bunch of people looking to pull me onto their bandwagon. They weren't anyone I recognized...

I stared in disgust for a moment before I turned my back on the left fork mirage. I retraced my steps to the sharp point where the V-shaped fork commenced and pondered returning to where I'd come from. Before the idea could really sink in, however, I happened to glance to the right side of the fork: a road less traveled, and much rockier, and with no destination. Suddenly it seemed a whole lot better than the choice I was about to make. I couldn't explain it really. It just felt, well, right. I clenched my fists and bounded towards the right side of the fork.

I stepped onto the road seconds later and felt the rough gravel crumble into velvet sand beneath me. As I walked a few steps further there was a t-shaped post with two arrows attached to its base: 5 MILES TO A NEW BEGINNING and ____ (blank) MILES TO A BETTER LIFE. I proceeded down the road without hesitation. The walking seemed effortless, as if walking on a cloud, and I could feel the rightness of the road around me. I was walking on the road less traveled, and I knew it was leading me to my proper destination.

I could hear wind chimes around me, and before I could even look, I could feel their grace around me--an unyielding rope of friendly, loving, and supportive faces carefully leading me there.

...and we continue on the right road to indescribable bliss...

***

Simply Happy

2009-02-16T13:15:00.000-08:00

Living life more simply... it sounds almost scary. Simple seems like almost not enough. I mean, what words to we attach to simple? Plain, minimal, only the most essential... maybe boring. But maybe living simply doesn't have to mean living in a hut in a jungle somewhere. Living simply doesn't mean having to be completely devoid of human civilization for two years like Thoreau did. I just think that there comes a time when people begin to consider what are essential contributors to their happiness.

I think that a lot of times people's happiness becomes misconstrued. There's superficial happiness which is happiness from the exterior or when you're expected to be happy. You smile with your co-workers about your raise at a job you hate. Drug addictions lead to superficial happiness. You're betrayed by the feeling they give you, but in the end they're just leading you to isolation and depression. There's achieved happiness where your efforts pay off with great rewards. Working hard at that job supplies you a generous income, which in turn buys you your first home. And there's pure happiness. I believe that pure happiness is God-given. It is clean and free of impurities. It cannot be effected by status or by any other societal standards. When a mother gives birth to her child and sees them for the first time, that is pure happiness. God gave her an amazing gift and with that insurmountable joy. It is unaffected, and it is automatic. You don't have to think about it, it's just there inside of you. Your soul is alive and singing. Genuine.

Pure happiness is simple and free of complications. Whenever I hug my mom or dad, that for me is pure happiness. No matter what outside force affects me, those hugs will remain untainted. Whenever I sit down to write like this, I'm enthralled and joyous with inspiration. I'm using God's talent that he gave to me (my own gift, much like the mother's child).

So, back to simplicity. Simplify, simplify, simplify. Those were Thoreau's famous words. Living in a house that could fit five families inside of it doesn't achieve pure happiness. Addictions surely don't lead anywhere good. Even seemingly not harmful addictions like television can stray you away from happiness. We just need to cut out these obstructions that get in the way of living life happily.

***

Saying Goodbye to the Holidays

2009-01-04T19:07:00.000-08:00

There's something really bittersweet about the holidays coming to an end. All of the Thanksgiving leftovers are gone; Christmas lights are unplugged; all of the Christmas trees are brittle and burned; and all of the New Year's confetti and hats are packed away until next year: the bitter part of the ending of the holiday season. The sweet part? That we have a new year to do with what we please. We can make something new for ourselves: get a new job, work out a little more (that's definitely one of my resolutions!), go back to school, or make new relationships with other people.

My holidays were just so special this year, I feel, that it's almost difficult for me to put them behind me. With the economy in its current rut, the holidays proved to be a lot simpler than most. However, I think that I was able to discern a stronger meaning of the holidays from the simplicity. On Thanksgiving most of our family was able to get together at my house. The conversation and good food were more than enough to satisfy everyone. We took turns going around the table to say what we were most thankful for. I love my family. On Christmas Eve my pastor gave a sermon about rediscovering the true meaning of Christmas. Maybe we needed to throw away some of the excess that was distracting us from that true meaning: overly expensive presents, extraneous invites, and stress might be some good considerations. I think that our Christmas did carry the true meaning. It was about spending time with our family and acknowledging the day that Our Savior was born. It involved relishing in the time we had together, whether it was cooking in the kitchen with my mom or working on a puzzle with my dad. And New Year's? Well, I got to spend it with some of my best friends and be a little bit silly.

Last year was such a great year. I traveled the world! I made new friends, I got a new job, I'm getting closer to my career... I don't want to see those experiences go behind me. However, I realize that this upcoming year can bring just as many amazing experiences for me. Like I said, I'm still kind of overwhelmed at how bittersweet it all is. Another year gone, another year to come... another year to grow older and wiser (we always do).

Please (Don't) Wipe Feet Here

2008-11-24T21:49:00.000-08:00

There is a phrase that people use when they refer to someone who is easy to exploit or mistreat, and that is a doormat. Excuse me while I dust off the dirt people left behind when they stepped all over me; I've become a doormat. It's not an easy thing to admit because, well, it doesn't really have many positive connotations, does it? Some common adjectives to describe a person in this category: weak, submissive, easy... I don't want to consider myself any of those things. I prefer to think of it in these ways: I'm nice, a good listener, and care about others. However, if you were to add "too" in front of those (as in "too much of a good listener"), it would probably be more accurate. It's difficult to see the weaknesses in what you want to think are strengths.

I used to think that avoiding conflict was the best policy, that you should avoid it at all costs. It was always better to just give the other person what they need in order to maintain "peace" and "order." However, I realize now that all I did by avoiding and not confronting the issue was fabricate a new label for myself: the doormat. I wove my self with tough threads and stamped a big "Welcome Home" on my forehead and then invited everyone over to dirty my surface and stamp at my soul. The threads weren't tough enough. I was pained by every stomp and every dirty footprint, but I prolonged the role because somehow everyone else seemed so happy.

It's difficult to come to terms with the fact that you can be too nice or too much of a giver. Those things seem like such important qualities in a person. Doesn't everyone want a friend or lover like that? I've realized lately that they can be negatives because I've given too much of myself away. And for what? Some dirt, mud, or (in the most unfortunate cases) crap is left behind to remember because know one offered to clean it off. I'm just a doormat, after all.

Sadly, it was a "Love Inventory" we did in my sociology class that brought most of the light to this realization. I ranked unnaturally high in the "self-sacrificing" category. I wanted to hide, to shun, my paper once my teacher remarked, "You don't want to be too high up in the sacrificing category, or else you are a doormat." Yeah, she spelled it out plain and simple. Doormat. I wanted to scream with frustration. Was the emptiness I felt a response to being that kind of person? Um, yeah, I'd say so.

And I don't want to fell empty anymore! I'm not going to disregard my good qualities like being a nice friend or a good listener. When it comes down to it, I just have to find a way to say "enough is enough," or more simply use the word "no" more often. Why should I give up something when the other person is not willing to do the same for me? There's a balance that needs to be met between selfishness and selflessness, and I want to get there. I fear the prospect of becoming someone's puppet, so I'm not going to let it happen. I need to face things head on and address my own thoughts and feelings on issues. I'm not going to just waste my life being stepped all over. So, do me a favor and please don't try to wipe your feet here, there won't be a mat to catch the dirt anymore.

Calling All Inspiration

2008-09-22T21:24:00.000-07:00

Beyond the school essays and mild blogging I've been doing lately, my writing has been at somewhat of a hiatus. I started thinking the other day about how I really haven't sat down with a novel, imaginative idea to write about in a while. I did conquer my wariness of poetry of the summer, and still carry a journal full of tidbits and minute ideas to write on. However, a few years ago I used to absolutely love enthralling myself with writing "books." While the books were not always finished, I carried out the story for pages and pages. In fact, I had two books (brothers of each other, if you will) that each contained at least almost 200 pages. So, I found myself thinking: why don't I write stories anymore? I guess that the easiest answer to that question is the new chapter I've entered in my life. Along with my fusion into the life of a college student came an alteration of views, a maturity, and a stronger independence. I have found college very rewarding in that I definitely know that I want to study English. Every and any English class that I have taken has been my favorite class of the semester. I've learned rhetoric, analysis, arguments, and compare and contrast backwards and forwards, but while I was learning those things I neglected my imagination.

If anything I believe I have grown in my capabilities as a writer since I've entered college. I've gained my own perspective, like any writer or artist should. I've written better essays and research papers than I ever have in my life. It feels rewarding to be accomplishing so much in college, but I've realized lately how much I miss the conjuring of characters, settings, themes, and plots on a page. I miss the feeling of satisfaction I'd have when I looked at the bottom of a word document and realized that it was comprised of 100 pages. I miss the fact that at one time I could write down my weird, fantastical dreams and imaginings and turn them into reality. I've written a lot about reality lately, but maybe I just need to escape my reality now and then by turning to a fictional story as my relief.

I told my mom that I want to plan on traveling to Ireland this upcoming summer. Whether or not that will actually happen, I'm not sure, but I'd love it to! I honestly feel like my inspiration to write such fictional stories as I did when I was younger has disappeared. Perhaps being on the Emerald Isle amongst the folklore and beautiful scenery will provide me with the spark that I need to start a novel. I have so much desire to write a novel. It's just a matter of coming up with the perfect idea. For me, it has to be original. I don't want it to resemble another author's work--it needs to be unique. Whether that's possible or not, we will see. (That might be too high of an expectation, I wouldn't doubt it.) And, I want my readers to be able to see my passion for writing through the print.

My dad tells me that I could start anywhere, that ideas are seemingly endless. "Why not draw from your experiences this summer?" he asked me. Well, of course I will want to draw from those experiences; how could I not? It's just that I don't want to write an autobiographical novel about my travels. I want to express the beauty and wonder of the world (different countries/cultures) while at the same time I want to introduce a whole other reality. I'm basically waiting for that one idea to jump out at me, I told him. "Well, don't wait too long because you don't want your youthful ideas to wither."

Point blank: it's time to be INSPIRED. I need to be. Where is the spark that will jump-start my writing career?

Stress Management

2008-09-18T21:28:00.000-07:00

Today was officially dubbed my "stress management day." It's funny because I didn't really consider it as such until it was practically over. But now that I look back on what I did, I realize that it really was a day to relieve some of the stress I've acquired since being home for the past month. (Wow, it's really been almost a month since I've been home!)

I slept in until 9 AM, which surprised me because I would usually sleep in until at least 10 after going to bed at 1 AM. But no, I woke up at 9 perfectly awake and sleep-satisfied. And then I proceeded to make myself a bowl of cereal.... haha, no I'm not going to give you a outline of my day. Seriously though, I watched 40 Year Old Virgin (what's better than a good laugh to relieve some stress?) and flipped through the channels and watched bits and pieces of boring, insignificant shows. I did get inspired to go traveling again because I got myself stuck on the travel channel for a little while. That Samantha Brown really makes you want to go to Portugal, I'm telling you!

I did some laundry and small chores to get my life in "order" a little bit. Then I abruptly stopped that and decided it was a perfect time to go sunbathe in my backyard. I made myself a strawberry margarita and laid out on my patio furniture for a good half hour before I was so sweaty and hot that I couldn't stand it any longer. I could imagine myself turning an unflattering lobster-red as I laid there dripping in sweat. Well, I guess it wasn't that bad. It was actually pretty relaxing to just lay outside listening to the birds chirp and not have anyone around to disrupt the tranquility of it all. In fact, you could hardly hear cars driving by my house because I'm pretty sure that almost everyone was either at work or in school for the day! Since I felt all sweaty and gross after that (although a little bit more tan!), I took a long shower, which is difficult to do in a household of four women. (Hallelujiah for warm water for more than 10 minutes!)

When my sisters got home from school, we all watched a movie (Penelope). We laughed, we cried, blah blah blah... and ate some honey and cinnamon tortillas (mmm mmm good). Then when they left again to go to their school's open house, I flipped on some musica and did a mini work out. I topped off the day with some good old-fashioned television in my froggy boxers and soccer jersey sipping some yummy soup.

So, how's that sound for a perfectly enjoyable day? I'd say it was pretty damn "stress relieving." In fact, I've been smiling most of the day :-)

2008-09-13T15:09:00.000-07:00

I'm not quite sure how it's possible to discover so much aggression towards an individual. More and more lately, I find myself having to calm myself down and remind myself to remain patient and mature. I guess I pretended to be "fine" for so long, that now that I should be fine, I'm not. I catch myself wanting to scream sometimes because everything has changed so much. (Haha, so here goes another blog on "change"! Does that mean something if I keep coming back to this topic? Maybe that there's a lot of it, or maybe that it's difficult for me to accept it? I don't know.)

I've been so extremely stressed out lately, it's ridiculous. I know that no person should be going through as much stress as I've put on myself. For a while there, I was nervously seeking some form of employment and nobody seemed to want to hire me. I just found out that I forgot to take a bunch of prep for major classes, so I might have to stick it out at Grossmont for an additional semester, which doesn't make me too happy. I think most of all, however, I've been stressing out about the different relationships I have with people in my life. I've already talked about how so many people in my life have changed, well it's become a huge concern lately because I haven't felt even slightly connected to most of my friends that I had when I left. My mom says I'm paranoid, but I think I was just accustomed to being around people constantly on SAS that now that I have so much alone time, I've become lonely. And, I know, aww how sad... no, I'm not depressed or crying about it all the time... it's just a realization that I had recently. People need other people around them, and although I have my family, I'm having friend withdrawals.

Which is why... I'm super excited to go to Becca's tonight and see some people I haven't seen in forever!!!

I'm Not Afraid of Change

2008-09-05T14:02:00.000-07:00

The assurance that I had in my previous blog about everything and everyone being the same when I got back is now staggering to me. I did expect everything to be pretty much the same as I left it, but now I realize how naive I was in thinking that way. I want to be able to say how disappointing it is that people (and things) can change so quickly, but then I realize that it is just a part of our natural existence, change. I wanted to yell out, to scream, because I felt like everyone and everything was suddenly not on my same playing field. But, the ultimatum is that just as people grow and age, they change. It was difficult to come back home after being gone for nearly three months and realize this because all you really want is what you had before. Things at home won't wait for you though. To believe that everything can remain at hiatus while you're out on the adventure of a lifetime is naive. I'm quickly and surely becoming aware of this.

And just as people around me are changing and adapting to the new lives their fashioning for themselves, I have also been changing over the past few months. I've been exposed to new cultures, new places, and new people who think, act, and believe differently than I do. It's opened me up to a wider acceptance of others. I've now seen countries richer and more stable than the United States and then those at the opposite extreme: barely standing. I learned that if Europe could choose our next president, it would be Obama in a heartbeat. I also became more aware of myself as an American and how other nations view me in that sense. I have quite possibly changed in these matters, and I think that I might have acquired some new wisdom and possibly come home slightly more European (haha).

So, in this sense, I guess I can understand the changes that have been going on here at home. However, I'm not going to lie and say that they weren't shocking at first. My uncle contracted the West Nile Virus around the same time that I was visiting its origins. Trying to understand that a loved one might die is overwhelming. Seeing him grow stronger is the miracle behind change. On a friendship level, I've come home to discover that some friendships have been altered or have disappeared entirely. People's feelings have changed; their opinions of me have changed. So, what can I do? Just continue my mission to respect and appreciate everyone for their individual thoughts, desires, and characteristics.

It's sad to consider that some of these relationships with people might not be mendable. However, if I can create some form of mutual respect with those people, I'll take it.

As cliche as it might sound, everything does happen for a reason. It might seem difficult right now, but we're all meant to gain something from what we're going through.

***

I could talk more about my voyage abroad during the past few months, but I'll spare you and provide the link to my other blog so you can check it out for yourself:

http://web.mac.com/jennamartin13/Jennas_Page/Welcome.html

Across the Universe

2008-06-13T23:00:00.001-07:00

I'm about to head off on the journey of a lifetime. It sounds sort of cliche, but it is nothing but the truth. I'm headed off on a journey abroad that will (I have no doubt) change my life. It is bittersweet, indeed. I feel like I have formed so many relationships here at home, and it's difficult to say goodbye for two months. However, I'm a strong believer that I will come out of this experience as a better person, which means I will be nothing less than a better friend, acquaintance, or whatever you want to name it.

As I sit here trying to persuade myself to go to bed, it's hard to imagine that tomorrow is the beginning of this journey. It almost seems like a dream. I feel like I might just wake up and have another week to wait. But no, tomorrow is the day, and I'm ready for it. Most might describe themselves as anxious, nervous, and excited. I might be excited, but I'm definitely not nervous, and I'm very surprised by that! I just feel like for the first time all my stars are aligned. I have no fears, no doubts... I'm pure confidence (and not in a cocky way).

All I can hope is that all the amazing people I've met before this journey will be there when I get back (and I have full faith that they will!).

I wish everyone the best!

I'll see you August 22nd.

Love,

Jenna

Material World

2008-06-07T20:06:00.000-07:00

If you go to any mall on a Saturday, you're sure to meet with obnoxious hordes of people. It sometimes seems almost like some sort of sick ritual. We've turned "family time" into going to the mall for a couple hours every weekend to lay down some cash on material things. It's like the newly adapted hunter-gatherer of the 21st century--or the shopper-gatherer. Shopping has almost literally become our version of hunting. We search, compare, compete (or fight in some cases), and finally make our attack on the last pair of Steve Madden shoes on sale for $49.99 at Macy's. But really, what a waste of energy!

I'm not going to deny my occasional splurges on things here and there, that would be hypocritical. After all, materialism is part of what makes us Homo sapiens. We've always been attracted to material objects, since our creation. What do you think art is, anyway? It's one outcome of our materialism... But what made me write this is the relatively extreme lengths materialism has reached in our society today.

As my mom, sister, and I entered the glass doors of Bloomingdales at Fashion Valley, I could not help but feel out of place. The store was modern, classy, and well-designed for the most part. I found myself in awe as I looked down at the cleanest marble-tiled floors ever. If there was a little smudge distracting from your reflection, you almost expected a team of janitors to come to the rescue. It was pretty amazing, I have to say. Ok, staying on topic... So, the store was pretty, but the customer service... well, there was none. I don't recall one single "can I help you?" or "hello" during our visit. I really tried to give the store a chance. I mean, I really wanted to like it. (After all, from an artistic perspective, the place is beautiful.) We were looking for a dress for my sister's graduation. We finally found the area that is supposed to be the "Juniors" section, and I immediately started to flip through the racks. I found a dress similar to one I'd seen at Charlotte Russe and showed it to her. After remarking that it wasn't that great, I glimpsed the price tag, which came right after the letters "BCBG." A $300 summer dress similar to one I'd seen for $25!!! My gag reflex was really acting up. So, I'm shocked, frustrated, and somewhat pissed at how ridiculous that is when I saw this woman walking down an aisle. Her chin was held abnormally high, as if she was trying to achieve a perfectly flat plane from head to toe. Occasionally you would see her head turn left or right, depending on which anxious, salivating sales associate she was addressing. (I swear those associates had dollar signs for pupils.) Now, I'm no detective but the enormous rock on her finger right down to the Prada shoes on her feet spoke of wealth.

I watched her for a few moments, and my previous urge to barf had suddenly been replaced with the desire to laugh. She was the poster child for ridiculousness. Indeed. She thought she was royalty, and all I could do is wonder how having hubby's credit card made you suddenly the queen of Bloomingdales. The sad part was that she did not look remotely happy. Shopping had simply become the hunting ritual, just something that needed to be done. Her face looked as if it had dismissed all recognition of happiness. Her ability to just pull a $800 handbag off the shelf and buy it was as easy as snapping her fingers, yet no emotion. This was purely business.

I think I just largely became aware of the expenses we put in to unnecessary material possessions. Why do people feel like they need the Coach bag rather than a generic leather handbag? We end up spending ridiculous (this is obviously the word of the night) amounts of money on these things that 1) could cost us less elsewhere and 2) aren't necessary and 3) do not really bring us satisfaction as human beings. Personally, I would much rather return to the time when art was the ultimate material possession rather than stupid name brands created by some escaped psychopaths whom are held as idols. I mean, come on, P. Diddy could make a shoe-string, pasta necklace and his gurus would pay mad money for it. Pathetic.

"Driving Rain"

2008-05-25T11:41:00.000-07:00

The past couple of days it has been cloudy and rainy. Although the weather lately has been slightly reminiscent of The Day After Tomorrow, I welcomed the change. I'm having a difficult time adapting one day to 100 degree weather and then 45 degree weather the next day, but the rain has been pleasant. Normally I'm steadfastly "sunshine crazy," so it is just slightly atypical.

As I drove to pick up my sister from school, the rain became torrential. My windshield wipers could hardly move fast enough, but I loved it. No, I did not love the likelihood of crashing on the freeway as I fought to keep my car from hydroplaning... but I loved the splatter of water against the roof of my car, the looming, black clouds hanging over the mountain tops, and the goosebumps that crawled over my skin as my heater kicked on. For some reason, I found peace in the steady hammering of rain. Maybe it's because the sound temporarily suppressed the sounds of the artificial world that I felt peace. It was like I was completely ensconced in my car with the rain as my shield from the outside world. However briefly, I had my own place to think and to find resolve.

When I got home I had half the mind to just sit outside just allow the rain to drench me from head to toe. The other half of my mind, however, (the "reasonable" side) argued that I was just recovering from a cold and my two weeks of fighting it off would prove fruitless. So, reason took ahold of me, unfortunately so. I now wish that I hadn't listened to Reason. However, the rain still made my soul content just as it moistens the soil. I needed the cool tranquility of precipitation just as nature needed to stock up for the harsh summer to come.

***

"Why don't we drive in the rain,

Straight to the eye of the hurricane

Go for a ride in the driving rain..."

~Paul McCartney's "Driving Rain"

***

So much nature writing lately! I call it a newfound appreciation for the amazing environment I'm surrounded by. Not many people nowadays are lucky enough to tell people that they literally have National Forest right behind their houses. (Or, what's more, an actual mountain!) In any case, I've lived in this quaint town in a valley sheltered by the mountains for my whole life. I've adapted to 4,000-5,000 feet elevation and can honestly say that I've shoveled snow, climbed a mountain, and seen mountain lions saunter past my house. I've been shaped by this environment. I honestly believe it's contributed a large part of who I am today. It is the essence of my inspiration.

A "Thoreau" Inspiration

2008-05-19T10:47:00.000-07:00

As I listened to my mom talk about my pastor's message yesterday, I came to realize the enormous amount of stuff we take for granted. Sometimes I feel like we are focusing way too much on the negatives and too little on the positives. For example, the economy SUCKS right now, we all know that, but we forget about the things that don't suck. I am healthy, I have an education, I can still have a good time with my friends, and play the piano, if I'm so inclined. These thoughts also lead me to consider mine and Daryl's conversations on Thoreau. Suddenly intrigued, I reread some passages from Walden and I became envious. I did not become envious of his desire to live without society for two years, but because he had discovered the key element to happiness: enjoying life in its natural state.

I, personally, still consider myself awed by the sunset through my rear view mirror as I'm driving home. I find music in the birds chirping outside my window. And I indulge myself with brief walks through town, taking in as much fresh air as humanly possible. Thoreau made me realize, however, that I have not taken the opportunity to just sit and observe nature--it made me jealous and possibly disappointed in myself. After all, us modern humans are a new breed, but we did at one time survive on the existence of nature. At one time we were more intact with the nature around us, but technology and human advancement has somehow deemed this contact unnecessary.

I now realize the urge that I have to crawl into nature, spread myself out on a rock, and just breathe in my surroundings. One of Thoreau's most notable observations in Walden was the ant colony. For hours and days, Thoreau peered over the abundant creepy-crawlers, awestruck by their lifestyles. How near and how far apart they really were from us humans. Wouldn't God want us to enjoy His creations? He didn't just create Man, after all. And what inexpensive enjoyment it would be! Unless you believe in the saying "time is money," for which you might disagree on giving up any of your time... But what's an hour spent with nature? If anything you'll grow wealthier with appreciation of Mother Nature's accomplishments. This knowledge, to me, might be the most valuable thing we can attain.

Ahh... to take a moment and just listen, watch, and be at peace. To lay upon a rock heated by the sun, to watch the friendly lizards basking, to feel the cool summer breeze as it drifts through the trees and ruffles their leaves, to hear a stream gurgling as fawn and chipmunks splatter themselves with water... to experience such a tranquility that has been untouched by the machines and weapons of mankind... it sounds just perfect. If only I could have my own cabin near a pristine pond where I could carelessly observe the castles God built in the sky.

^That's where I want to be!

Confusion

2008-05-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

I realized today that what I think is "right" is not necessarily the case. Most of the time in life, what we perceive is the "right" thing is really not. Life is always introducing us to alternatives to what we think is the correct way to go about something. I've found myself befuddled as I consider the intentions behind my "relationship strike" and even some other aspects of my life. Is it simply fear that is the driving force behind such convictions? It's difficult to say. Sometimes everything can seem so perfect and so right, and then walks in a whirlwind of confusion.

I've found myself experiencing an internal battle. Maybe it's my pride that prolongs my belief in the strike because the other half of me fears that if I don't involve myself with someone that opportunity may never arise again. It's only a month until I leave for my two-month venture into Europe. What if I don't act upon this and I live on in regret? I did achieve a fairly decent-length "strike period"... Maybe my "strike" led me to someone sooner than I anticipated? It might be possible. On the other hand, what if I'm just confusing the signals?

At this point I'm honestly considering letting my emotions take the lead in this situation. If they tell me something is right, I will follow their lead (and vice versa). However, at this moment in time I'm utterly confused and hoping for a moment of enlightenment soon!

***

Considering getting a tattoo (sooner or later). If I get one it will probably be a word of particular meaningfulness to me and then translated into Celtic. I think that would be very cool. Coming up with the word will be the task. Therefore, I don't anticipate some "ink" in the upcoming months. Maybe I'll go to Ireland first, just to reinforce the idea behind it.

Night

2008-04-14T20:24:00.000-07:00

The sun quickly shields itself behind a mass of mountains as night takes control of the sky. Diamonds twinkle heavenly upon that velvety, black cape as the moon, that ethereal orb, calls down to nature. The coyote howls, the owl hoots, and the trees creek as they shift upon their roots. While mothers lull their babies to sleep and children's minds dance with thoughts of all that is wonderfully imaginary. The graveyard, commonly envisioned at night, peacefully slumbers--souls comforted by their loved ones' tranquility. A lone artist flourishes by candlelight; a novel image suddenly grips his pen. A CEO savors his time to focus on all that was disregarded in the office, a life without the briefcase. Monsters and demons refrain from their taunting, for this night has disregarded them. Everything exudes its calm. The night has become harmonious, and the world is an orchestra of melodious peace. The man on the moon smiles as he conducts the last dip and wave of his baton.