Simple Things... per season... for Haiti

Do you ever run somewhere, anywhere, just to get your heart beating?
I do, with a silly and feverish grin on my face as I dodge the pedestrians and make it to my destination--1 block away--in record time.

...smooth bed sheets, crystallized eyelashes, soft scarves, birthdays, clouds of heat that meet you at the front door, spiced coffee, crunchy snow, bright winter sun, feeling the bitter wind pass by you but not make you colder, anticipation, going outside without a sweater for the first time, cleansing, umbrellas, open windows, giving in and buying old navy flip flops, fresh mowed lawns, turned over dirt, barbecue, wet grass, the smell of hose water, the taste of hose water, fruit kabobs, sunshine through leaves, sun in the late evening, cricket music, sweat in the creases of your elbows and knees, loud and smokey jam-packed festivals, settling down, ordering books, bright leaves on dark wood, thick tights and skirts, cheap spiral notebooks, the smell of pencil shavings...

(This is my list
of simple things
that, thanks to
Soul Aperture,
will donate $1 to
Doctors Without
Borders in Haiti.)

A parable

[somewhere between Mexico and Chicago.]

Nervously you approach the mirror,

because even though you know you

want change, you're afraid of what

that means and what it will look like.

You look closely at yourself. You've

got a few strands of hope, and you've

got plans, a method... you put your

faith in these.

Like anything else new in life, it's

a little scary. And you push onward,

enchanted by the thought of what's

to come. You find the balance

between the heat of potential and

scorching... the tell-tale sign of a

lesson, lived and learned.

You furrow your brow and analyze
each new encounter, twisting and
turning the situations, working with
what you've got and imagining what
it could all culminate to be.

Once it's all done, you nervously step

back to see what's happened. You

realize it wasn't as amazing as you had

hoped, but there's always another day.

You've learned a little something, yet.

You can only continue to grow from here!

A parable of life...

and re-learning

how to curl your

hair at the age of 21.

A momument of sorts

This morning, during one of those "interview your classmate"
activities, I was asked what my pet peeve is. And I honestly
couldn't think of anything.

Then. Oh, then. I had this little run-in at the library.
(Of all places.)

Feeling liberated and without a bag that the security guard
would need to check, I breezed by his desk and smiled
"No bag today!"
I'm pretty sure knows me.

But he still asked me to stand in line so that he could make
sure the book I had was indeed checked-out and accounted for.

Not a big deal. The line was moving quickly. I promptly filed
in line behind a woman, a straight-faced woman in her ankle-
length, black wool coat.

While this woman handed her book over, the guard simultaneously
reached for my book and took it from my hand.
This was the fatal, offending moment.
Because once the guard checked my book, she gave me the most
disgusted look in the world, a quietly, disdainful look, as if I was
a rat that just walked across her lunch.

I immediately tried to forgive her. I admit, forgiving strangers
for their clumsy or rude behavior in the city is both the hardest
and ultimately easiest thing to do.

But she mumbled something.
And the hair on the back of my neck raised.
This, I realized, this is my pet peeve. Ugly comments that drip
from mouths in a catty and decided tone. These challenge
every forgiving bone in my body.

I calmly walked back and asked,
"Excuse me?"

She looked me straight in the eye (rare and admirable, I think.)
"I said... SOME people just still belong in the suburbs."

"Excuse me ma'am, but I've lived her for three years."

"I'm just saying-" and at this point I cut her off because any more
banter and, I know myself, I would not have been able to control
my anger any longer.
"Listen, I am sorry he grabbed my book before yours."

She curtly responded in the middle of whatever else she was saying.
"I accept your apology and you have beautiful eyes," she said, both
just as cold and level as her previous comments.
"Oh, thanks."

I was so confused.

The whole time we conversed, the security guard said "mmkay"
over and over. I think he was afraid that this woman (who did
honestly look a little old and stately) and I were going to break
out our best insults and brass knuckles--street style.

I walked away, trying to calm myself down and consider what
exactly happened. The woman went on to tell the security
guard, "it's true... she does have beautiful eyes."

I believe in equal parts forgiveness and intolerance for poor
manners, especially in the treatment of other human beings.

But my body can hardly handle any sort of confrontation.
My heart is beating inches outside of my chest and my cheeks,
I'm sure, are flushed.

I am disappointed that I apologized for something that I don't
think was my fault.
But I am very happy that we addressed the issue, in spite of
my combined rage and fear of confrontation.

All of this probably took place in less than 3 minutes.

But what is it about these situations that make you
want--need--to tell absolutely everyone around you? Like
this poison has welled up inside and it needs OUT.

"Oh to grace, how great a debtor, daily I'm constrained to be.
Let thy goodness, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee."

On the brain tonight

Oh yes, Jesus still speaks

This is sort of a long story,
because it's been a long time coming.

I now realize that I can trace the start
of everything back to a short, one-day,

bright, fall conference when God

spoke to me deeply about this verse:

"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power,

together with all the Lord's people,

to grasp how wide and how long and high and deep

is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses all knowledge--

that you may be filled to the measure of all the fulness of God."

Ephesians 3:18-19

___________________________________

Then, when Jake and I visited our
friends' church, the church announced
that they'd be rooting their selves in
the book of Ephesians all year. I wasn't
convinced that I had to keep coming
back to that church, but something in me

woke up.
___________________________________

And just two weeks ago, I got an email

from a friend who said this was his prayer

for our semester:

"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power,

together with all the Lord's people,

to grasp how wide and how long and high and deep

is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses all knowledge--

that you may be filled to the measure of all the fulness of God."

Ephesians 3:18-19

___________________________________

For a while now I've been very intrigued

by the practice of lectio divina. It is an art

of reading the Bible, not to study, but to know,

to hold in our hearts. This sound especially

refreshing and life-giving, in contrast to the

scholarly reading and studying I've been doing.

Also, recently I've been approaching the

thought in my mind of maybe, possibly

trying to kill this obsessive compulsive

thing--maybe 2010 is the year to kick it.

scary to admit.

___________________________________

At first I didn't even notice it. I've been

reading through the gospel of Mark and

I prayed before reading last Tuesday that

God would really bring me a lesson.

"Help me to see what you have to say," I asked.

I read right on by this verse and onward, and

then I realized that that was it. God surely

brought me this verse:

"Jesus said, 'You have a fine way of

setting aside the commands of God

in order to observe your own traditions.'"

Mark 7:9

This speaks very clearly to me about me

succumbing to compulsions, because they

really do come between me and God.

___________________________________

At that point in reading Mark, I knew I

should stop to meditate on that verse,

but first I pulled out this awesome book

to see what it had to say about lectio divina.

And you'll never guess what it said (or maybe

you will.) The author writes that lectio divina

is a way to read the Bible deeply so that we

know, not in our mind, but in our heart, God.

She said is it like understanding the wind by

feeling a breeze on our cheeks. She said it is

the sort of knowing and understanding the

Bible talks about when it says:

"And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power,

together with all the Lord's people,

to grasp how wide and how long and high and deep

is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses all knowledge--

that you may be filled to the measure of all the fulness of God."

Ephesians 3:18-19

___________________________________

Time after time He speaks,

God's character stays intact,

how can the world call these

"coincidences"?

These sort of cyclical incidences

always flagpost my journey. They

help me to know that I am following.

I may not be on a set path, but I

am getting closer to Jesus.

What would a year

of brazenly chasing who we already are...

of focusing not on our weaknesses, but our strengths instead...

of maintaining what makes us unique instead of becoming homogeneous...

of celebrating the forward motion of natural talents...

of commending those who invest more time in practicing that in which they already succeed...

of not seeing life's challenges in our failures, but seeing the challenge that is building upon our inherent capabilities...

of intentionally and unsympathetically seeking to grow into who we already are...

produce?

This is a first for us both. I've never written an obituary before and I'm sure you've never had one written about you. But here we are. And I want to say thanks. And that I am terrified. I don't want to ruin this for you, or your wife and many children, or our school and our paper. But before this morning, I didn't know more than your name. And now I know quite a bit. I'm buried under my notes of your legacy. My desk is in front of your office and I've never seen that door open. All I've got are the words of your friends and a very still, very loud picture of you smiling. What are you telling me? What could I possibly write for you? You built everything we have here. They're both inevitable, an obituary assignment for a budding journalist, and death. I just wish I had met you.

Birthdayseason

First it was January 13:

I made the traditional red velvet cake that Jake's mom has made for his dad since she was 16 and he was 17, which she went on to make for all of her children's birthdays, and I now thankfully make for Jake!

This year I got a little adventurous and made a cinnamon glaze instead of my favorite cream cheese frosting.

We had friends over to share the cake. It was one of those amazing, intimate parties where nobody else knew each other but everyone was awesome so they got along incredibly well.

We continued the celebration with a Ben & Jerry's kind of weekend.

And today it is January 18:

Gah! Look at this surprise.

Mondays are Jake's busiest day.

But not only did he walk me to

the train at 6 am, he proceeded

onwards to the grocery store,

bought ingredients for my usual

birthday cake and he made it for

me! Then he cleaned the kitchen

floor and made it to work by 9 am.

I came home to this surprise, while

"Songbird" by Eva Cassidy was

playing on repeat.

This man deserves some loving!

My mom and one little sister visited over the

weekend to celebrate our birthdays. Mom took

us to Chicago Diner. It was scrumptious!

And the next morning we took an early walk to see the ice on the lake. (I've always wanted to see the lake during the winter and I knew this would be the year because we live four blocks from the shore!)

It was stunning! So lovely.

The only thing I could wish is that my dad or the other little sister was with us.

Soon it will be January 28 and we'll be off to Michigan for a music ministry conference and a birthday celebration for the five family members with January birthdays!

I have a hayday at this party because it requires baking 5 cakes! Last year I made angelfood cake for Grandma, red velvet for Jake, and ice cream cake for uncle Mike. Mom made Grandpa a chocolate cake and aunt Jill made me a fruit tart.

Here's a picture that I adore from last year's party. It was taken a day before my real birthday, a day before Jake proposed:

Oh, to think of all the emotions and promises this pictures holds...

Burst

My heart is going to explode

in the sight of this.

Beauty, true beauty.

And love beyond means.

It may be the gallons of sunlight,

it may be family and pictures.

Pictures, smiles, hearts, but no.

I refuse to think it is only these.

It is not only the light, but

my God, the light!

It is not only soft kisses and

windows sweating with steam.

It is the truth in knowing, the

inarguable faith that these

are real. The messengers of

light, they are real, outside of

their perceived presence.

My blood remembers and knows,

beauty is real and it is here.

Or, I may implode.

A plea

Is it odd to enjoy waking up on Fridays to the sound of our building being vacuumed by our building-vacuuming man? Just think of how lush a well-vacuumed hallway looks...

Anyway, please allow me to set the mood:

How do you get to know God?

You personally... I really, really want to know!

One of my goals for 2010 is to know God more.

Jake is Catholic. I am not.

We are both all for Jesus and we worship the same.

And differing doctrines are always a great discussion-starter, they lead us both to learn more about what the church (as in all Christians) believes and why... we go to the Bible for answers, and we ask our friends and pastors.

Still, sometimes this search becomes more of an endeavor to be smart... not to know our Lord.

It becomes clearer and clearer,

as I pridefully and humbly search for

answers and apologetics,

that not all of these answers exist,

at least not here on earth,

and I don't think they should.

As of late, I have been praying fervently for our women's group that will soon start again. This semester, I have been asked to be the leader. I am thrilled because I love these women, we are a great group. But how in the world am I to lead? What a fitting challenge for a woman with a slight fear of failure.

I am certain in the glory of His ways.

The less I talk, the more God will.

The less I answer, the more God will.

But in those moments when I am called, wherever I am called, to speak or act, I pray what comes out of me will be purely of God.

This is important for me as a leader and me simply as a person who claims to follow Jesus.

So, a plea,

would you please honor me by letting me know how you spend time with God,

how you seek to be more like Jesus,

what inspires you,

where you see Him?

I'd love to know.

Home. Food. Safe. Warm.

Home. Safe. Warm. Food.

These are not God. But they are undoubtedly from Him.

His face is all over them, His embrace in them.

I walked on the sidewalk with poverty, took a long train ride, was disheartened about religious history and reformation, moved through the bitter cold dark, climbed three flights to the studio and sighed.

Safe. Home. Food. Warmth.

It was impossible not to meditate on these things.

May we never forget how truly blessed we are to simply arrive to our warm homes (however tiny) safely.

Jesus said

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life,

what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear.

Is not life more important than food,

and the body more important than clothes?"

Matthew 6:25

Truly

Nothing is as inspiring as looking back on who you were. After seriously almost a day of dreaming vicariously through other people's blogs, I remembered my very first online journal. I traversed back to 7 years ago and read the thoughts of my 13-year-old self.

I was blown away

by how much I remember about being 13, 14, 15...

and by how sassy I was.

Sure, there's plenty to blush about. (bad words, weird phrases)

But I love who I was.

Truly.

And I desperately needed to feel that.

Whenever I heard people "admit" that they were having trouble loving their selves, honestly, I rolled my eyes and thought to myself "yeah, who doesn't." I thought it was a selfish and prideful "struggle."

Then, of course, it happened to me.

I don't know when, but I think it snuck in a while ago, and just now it is rearing its ugly head into absolutely everything.

I am horribly compulsive.

I don't focus well when I pray.

I feel guilty relaxing and activity feels empty, too.

I start too many projects at once because I am obsessed with being efficient and not wasting time.

This is ugly, it spreads me too thin and it distracts me from those who deserve my love and attention... like an adorable husband sitting at the breakfast table alone while I cook two meals and clean the windows simultaneously. (Because I was there and I noticed it needed to be done and I am weak against my compulsions.)

I know, for one thing, it's a lack of God.

But it's also a lack of self-love. There I said it.

I struggle with loving myself.

And this makes it really hard to believe that God loves me.

One thing I observed is that my love for Jake, and his for me, forces us to be together whenever possible. It is light and heavy at once. It is finely sweet, deep and tumultuous... it is different.

I still function on the energy of alone time. We've only been married two months but I've noticed that I need to find, no, I need to make alone time if I want to continue to be the woman Jake loves. The woman I recognize.

I do not believe self-sufficiency, or complete independence, is all good. But we'll work on that next. For now, I need to work on making the most use of my alone time.

Today, for example, I sang praise at the top of my lungs, pretended I was Nancy Drew, prayed and even tried to play the guitar.

Today, God excited me!

Like a living creature stuffed into a sack, something in my heart started to kick and stretch. I am digging around me for resources to feed this creature and, more importantly, I am looking for the drawstring to untie the sack and let the creature out!

I'm writing this today, because I want more transparency. I started blogging to remember things. Read this, my hello, to get an idea.

I'm writing this today, because 13-year-old Taylor inspired me--more than anyone else ever has--and maybe someday 20-year-old Taylor will inspire the future me.

If I want it, I have to start it.

Day 4-Last day... last pictures of my white scarf in Mexico

This was New Year's Eve! All of the other gringos (white folk) came out of hiding on Day 4. The streets were buzzing, tents were going up, and we did little but walk around for 10 hours.

Actually, before getting to el centro we made a quick visit to the college where some of our friends studied abroad. (Holler to Dave and Erin!)

Then of course, another church. These aged churches are so fascinating... all of the art and those annexed chapels! This sign says:

"This is a place of prayer, God listens to you, you should listen to Him, too."

This is truly my favorite kind of prayer. The kind where I don't say a thing.

(Side note: I really wonder how these old churches put electricity in their walls!)

The photos above and below are so "Mexico" to me. The banners, the bug and the church.

Our participation in the "Where is Vincent" photo project. St. Vincent DePaul, the namesake for Jake's school and work, was all about social justice and so we thought this was the perfect place to take Vince's portrait.

We stumbled upon a cafe named Toulouse Lautrec. Named after the same artist as Jake's band! Obviously we had to buy something and support the cause.

And we're back to where I started us, the night service for New Year's Eve at church. It was mythical, so many people and so many candles!

Thanks for following the recap of our honeymoon journey. I write this as much for myself as for you. I hope to share some of the magic with you. I want to remember vividly for myself the heat, the light, the colors, the stimulation to my ears and fingertips.

I do believe that too many pictures are a crutch to the memory.

May the words here help to root what we experienced deep into our beings and spur potent memories when they are read again in a few years.

"What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love becomes a part of us." - Helen Keller -

Day 3

A rather relaxed day.

Photos above are in front of the temple and ex convent of St. Augustine. We are early risers and we got to el centro (downtown) before much was open. We wandered to yet another old church and returned here to see the art museum.

No wonder foreigners think our country is ugly. Seriously, these old streets and buildings and their color enchant me! I don't think anything in Chicago is even half as old as most of these buildings. Okay, maybe this one church I found in the far South Loop... but still.

Above three photos are inside St. Augustine's ex convent. Brothers would walk in those halls and circle the perimeter while praying for hours. How meditative it must have been!

Mexico is full of ex convents that look just like this, they were all built at the time of the conquest and therefor reflect European architecture.

Unfortunately, I'm told most of the convents were built unwillingly by native Mexicans. I'm so glad this ex convent was turned into an art museum to treasure Mexican pieces.

These arches are actually ancient aqueducts... another jewel in Querétaro that we only discovered upon arrival. (Have you seen enough of my favorite white scarf, yet?)

And then we spent the evening at two different restaurants! Food is cheap in Mexico. After dinner at La Querida, we came to this place, Tulip. We had a piece of tres leches cake (Sarai, I actually think ours was better!) and a rompope cappuccino. Please click on the picture to see our delicious desserts in fine detail.

Day 2-Motion-sickness paid off

When Jake and I first arrived in Querétaro, the man who drove us from the airport to our hotel told us that the two most visited sites in the state are the towns Bernal and Tequisquiapan.

That was a great tip because we came with the hopes of discovering (and had such little time to plan anything beforehand.)

Knowing nothing about the towns and only a little about how to get there, Jake and I took a taxi to the bus station and miraculously arrived 4 minutes before the bus left for Bernal. Actually, without any doing on our part, we miraculously made it 5 minutes early to each bus station we needed for the rest of the day!

I get motion-sick. Thirty minutes standing on a hot bus as we traversed the central highlands... and I was starting to get a little queasy. So I squatted in the aisle and immediately a young man offered me his seat. Good thing, too, because we became fast friends and I didn't throw up.

After giving me his seat, Diego and his travel-mate Andrés, explored with Jake and I all day. We ate lunch together as soon as we got off the bus, we climbed La Peña in Bernal and somehow found our way through the rural country to Tequisquiapan.

(Pictured above are the aforementioned sunglasses. I really love this picture, I really love my Jake.)

Here is where I found my favorite Mexican candy! Dried mangoes with chili powder... mmmm.

The kind of place where the sky opens up and you can see how truly round the world is! It is absolutely dumbfounding to think that we can know the God who made the planets. That is a huge inspiration for my new year goal to know God more.

Oh, and I climbed this monolith in my favorite flats. I felt a little bad about the shoe abuse but they were so comfortable, save for a little slippery.

Diego just so happened to have a pair of climbing shoes that I changed into once we were at our peak. (We didn't go all the way for a lack of climbing ropes.) They were awesome and I wore them the rest of the day!

The shoes made a big difference and I wanted to make my sister Morgan proud so I took this picture for her:

The following photos are in Tequisquiapan, aka the belly-button of Mexico.

It was a great town!

Very antiquated and a little artsy, I would have loved to see it in the daylight.

The first thing the four of us happened upon was the town cemetery. It was fascinating to walk around, Mexicans are so spiritual about their dead. Then Andrés pointed out that you never see graves more than 100 years old--where do the old graves go?

One grave, more like a mausoleum, had stained glass windows. The glass made a picture of a painter's pallet and some writing below said "My brushes cry for me."

We found an art gallery and the woman who owned it served us coffee while she painted and talked about moving there from Mexico City.

Our second day in Mexico fulfilled all of my wanderlust and dreams to travel, see new things, meet new people and bring myself close to the earth.