watercolor windowpanes

dear muffin,

on the playlist today: Jonsi. good stuff. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sVcjArU_qCo

I like this kind of day. it's a rain-on-the-windows, tea-on-the-stove kind of day.

rain is beautiful. I love the patterns it makes as it parades down the windowpane: suddenly, our ordinary backyard is transformed into watercolor. and it's not like the framed masterpieces in a gallery, where you can sit & stare philosophically at every detail for hours. [or years, if you're unfortunate enough to be a grad student.] no; this canvas keeps changing. it's always new.

this weather makes me wish I had an antique writing desk & an oil lamp. not sure what I'd write, but it would certainly be better for having been written in such a setting. seems like nothing but profound thoughts could come out under the influence of a fountain pen and flickering candlelight.

as it is, I have a computer instead of a writing desk and a keyboard in place of a fountain pen. the basement lights can't be called romantic by any stretch of the imagination.

but I do still have the rain, and it makes me want to write.

today is the 17th anniversary of my brother's arrival on earth. to celebrate the occasion, we blew up balloons [thus terrifying the dog], stuffed him with chocolate chip pancakes, and told him we plan to keep him. I think he was gratified to hear this. at least if the number of pancakes he ate is any indication.

it's a strange thought: on this day 17 years ago, my 31-year-old mother was in labor. thrilled to meet her first son, she kept glancing at the clock and wondering when he would arrive.

5 long hours and then suddenly it was over and he was there in the Navy doctor's hands. kicking and wriggling and pink in the face, bellowing his objections to the world.

mom tells me that when she first brought him home, I piled my toys around him in an effort to make friends. [toys being influential in garnering social popularity among little people.] apparently, he was not amused by the wall of technicolor plastic around him. oh well. I tried.

thereafter we went from being to best buds to arch-enemies to dear friends. it's been fun.

funny how we use chocolate cake & curling ribbon to commemorate stories like these. seems like stone tablets & sagas recited around a fire would be more appropriate.

[even as I write this, the clouds are breaking. now my window is filled with sun and floating yellow leaves.]

so. here's to chocolate cake, to years, to growing up with your best friends... to joy.

always,

rory

along came autumn

and so the year runs away in yesterdays many... [tolkien]

dear muffin,

today I was reheating wild rice for lunch. and it hit me.

curled up on a chair, wearing comfy jeans & wrapped in a cardigan, I realized--

it's fall.

just like that.

no warning; no rewind button. no denial. 

yipes.

I knew that school had started, sure. and a chill has crept back into the morning hours. but that's normal for september. right?

september. that month I associate with school & apple picking &... fall.

hold it right there. shouldn't I have to sign a consent-form or something? measure my progress and make sure I'm ready to move on? I guess not. because here we are.

summer, 2011 has been the best summer I can remember. the summers of my early childhood already seem like a distant memory full of dirty feet, mud castles, pool water, neighbor kids, bikes, and skinned knees (when was the last time I skinned my knee, anyway?). but I can still vividly feel the chalk bouncing in my hand as I drag it along the pavement, watching upsidedown through my legs as a dusty pink line follows me. I can transport myself to the moment when the sun begins to sink & mom's voice drifts across the yard, calling me to wash my hands for dinner. 

I spent one whole summer pretending I was named Joy. or Beth. or Amy. (it changed several times a day) I was always eighteen, because that was grown up. I generally had a husband toiling in distant fields and a baby sleeping peacefully in a weedy bower while I cheerfully stirred pieces of earth to make soup.

then there was the summer in between summers. you know, that one where I was sprouting into an awkward preteen, realizing that life was bigger than mud castles and imaginary friends. I was thinking about school, wondering who I was, imagining where the road led. I changed my handwriting every week in an effort to find the one that was "me."

and then there were the graduation-party-summers, which are a happy blur of friends and barefoot dancing and Coke cans dunked in coolers of ice water that freeze your hand when you reach in to grab them. I was growing up, and I knew it. but perhaps I thought I was more grownup than I was.

now along comes summer, 2011: that summer when the world ended (according to mr. harold camping). when I took a college class, and went to a friend's wedding. the one when I stayed up all night and started a blog. the one when my credit card was stolen, and I watched the sixth season of 24 with my brother&sister. the one when I went to ravinia and then talked into the wee hours with friends. the one with photoshoots, free water, expeditions unlimited. the one when I realized how much my church family has come to mean to me. when I realized that it won't all be like this forever.

you know. that summer.

I feel younger now than I used to. younger and less world-savvy than I expected to feel. and yet I feel so terribly old, like I'm standing on the edge of adulthood & looking back at "my childhood years." I didn't know what they were then: I just knew that school was boring and playing outside was fun. getting spanked was to be avoided and daniel was my arch-nemesis. important stuff like that.

I guess what I'm really feeling right now is confused. do I want to be a kid still? not exactly. but am I ready to say goodbye? no.

am I excited about being catapulted into the future? maybe. 

am I also sad? yes. yes I am. 

it's all so big and exciting. I feel like a kid walking around a carnival, wide-eyed at the blaze of lights and the smell of popcorn and the shouts of people on the roller coaster. yes, of course I want to grow up! look how much fun it's gonna be!

but growing up means letting go, and I don't like that part.

so. as fall blows in and sweeps us down the path a few more steps, I'm thanking the One who gave me all those summers. the One who's planning all the summers still to come.

and I'm trying to trust that they'll be just as good, so long as I remember why I've even been given summers at all.

always,

rory

land of the free - home of the brave

dear rory,

I kicked it into auto-pilot as I automatically reached for my sandwich, mechanically shoved a bite into my mouth, and instinctively chewed. swallowing required a bit of manual strength as my pb&j reluctantly slid down my throat.

you see, lunch had suddenly became a chore as I listened with all my might to what my dad was telling us. and swallowing had become extra difficult because of what he was saying.

imagine this:

you are aboard United Airlines Flight 93. it is the year 2001. and the date is September 11. you have two sons at home and a wife who is expecting your third child. you are thirty-one years old, went to high-school at wheaton academy, and were known as the soccer player who was always smiling.

your name is Todd Beamer, and your plane has just been hijacked by terrorists.

now imagine this:

your name is Lisa Jefferson. you are a supervisor for GTE and the man on the phone with you is disappointed that you are not able to connect him to his wife. this man is aboard a hijacked plane and quickly relates to you how a passenger has been stabbed to death, the pilot and co-pilot were kicked out of the cockpit and possibly injured, and the plane has just taken a south-easterly turn. he also informs you that he and the other passengers are planning a revolt. they have heard what happened earlier that morning in New York and at the Pentagon and are ready to die if it means saving more lives.

now imagine this:

you hear Todd Beamer say, “are you guys ready….? then let’s roll.” and those are his last audible words.

United Airlines Flight 93 crashed in Shanksville, Pennsylvania. all 40 passengers and crew members onboard were killed. but how many lives did they save? speculation is that that plane was intended by the terrorists for Washington D.C. and possibly for the white house.

my dad knew Todd Beamer. he went to school with him, and my dad was the one who recalled that Beamer was a soccer player, a good kid, and one who was always smiling.

Beamer was not a fictional character. he was a real-life, living-breathing hero. and he wasn’t the only hero on that horrendous day ten years ago.

many others sacrificed their lives in order to save others. many firefighters’ wives went to bed that night without a husband and many moms and dads suddenly became single parents because their loved one had put others first.

it was a devastating time.

but in the midst of the devastation, people came together, worked together, cried together, rejoiced together, and prayed together. our nation cried out to God. during the seventh inning stretch at baseball games, we stopped singing, “take me out to the ballgame” and began singing “God bless America”. people were down on their knees praying to God for help. everyone seemed to sense God’s presence and many turned to Him in their bitterness and sadness.

ten years later, have we strayed from that? have we forgotten what it means to rely on God? it would seem so. our nation has become like the Israelites in which we complain to Him and run to Him in the hard times, but when things seem under our own control, we think we can handle anything and don’t need to be dependent upon Him.

to many, the pain of 9/11 is still fresh. a woman on the news this morning sobbed as she told of the high-school sweetheart she was engaged to being killed in the attack.

I myself, cried as I watched, read, and looked up information on 9/11.

last night, a friend of mine and I were talking about where we were when the attack happened. he said that he had been sitting in his family room watching the news on tv. he saw the second plane hit.

I was at school. only seven years old at the time, I remember that the teachers were rather frantic, but trying to remain calm. whispers of two towers in New York getting attacked reached my ears, but I didn’t understand what that meant. I remember my best friend’s mom made her come home from school early. and I remember the strained look on my mom’s face as she picked me up from school, brought me home, and put me in front of the television. I saw the footage of the towers falling, but I didn’t comprehend exactly how horrible such an event was.

it wasn’t until several years later, as I watched reruns of the towers falling, that the magnitude of the attack struck me. I spent the rest of the night sobbing. Sobbing for all the brave men and women who had died. Even sobbing for all the cowards who had died.

where were you when our land was attacked? do you remember?

I think it is good for us as Americans to remember September 11^th. we need to be on our knees praying for this nation that we love. we need to turn to God not only in the hardest of times, but in the best of times. we need to thank Him for the heroes like Todd Beamer and pray for those who are still hurting.

tomorrow, I plan on dedicating some of my day to praying for our nation. for this land that I love. for our president. for our people. for our future.

and I pray that our nation will remember to honor God and turn to Him at all times.

God bless America!

love,
muffin

beautifully broken

dear rory,

beauty.

that word brings so many images into my mind. ladybugs, mountains, gandalf’s horse shadowfax, the grand canyon, the color blue, a feathered arrow, queen esther, sparkling eyes, crystal chandeliers, natalie portman, chocolate (don’t look at me like that… it’s beautiful… in a way), caves full of diamonds, peaceful streams, long dark hair, gold lockets, old barns, and weeping willows are just a few.

what exactly is beauty?

according to the oxford dictionary, beauty is “a combination of qualities, such as shape, color, or form, that pleases the aesthetic senses, especially the sight”.

in other words, beauty is something that you see on the outside. it is appealing and charming and much sought after.

but wait a minute. is that really all beauty is?

I have a confession: I often get caught up with outward beauty. I want to know what the latest style is, where that person got her scarf, how that lady did her make-up, when I can get my next hair-cut, why I can’t be as beautiful as that person over there, and, in fact, is it really too much to just ask to be the most beautiful person in the world?

however, over the past few years, God has been trying to teach me what true beauty is. He is patient with me and gives me little reminders time and time again.

for instance:

I remember a few years ago, while my family and I were on vacation, we went to a church service at a place called the Tabernacle. it was the children’s night to get up on stage and perform the Bible verses and songs they had been learning in Sunday School.

the third grade group climbed (some of them trudging… looking extremely uncomfortable in their church clothes…. probably wishing they had never been born… inwardly shaking their fists at their parents for making them do this) up onto the stage. you could immediately pick out which kids were the “cool” ones. they were the children who were doing their best not to stick to the program. the ones who were trying to trip the kid next to them. the ones who had their hands in their pockets with their heads thrown back proudly as if to say, “I am not associated with these other losers.”

I watched from my seat as the children lined up. parents darted up the aisles to snap a picture of their precious angels and some of the little girls waved and smiled and twirled their pig-tails. most of the boys just looked uncomfortable. and most of the teachers looked frazzled.

the music started, and the children began to sing the song they had been practicing at Sunday school. only three-quarters of the group were half-heartedly doing the hand motions, a few bold ones decided to go for the more attention-grabbing “everyone look how obnoxious I am” style of exaggerating every movement and over-annunciating every word, and the rest of them refused to sing or do any hand motions at all.

I had seen this kind of service hundreds of times. it was more like a show than church. a show that I could fall asleep while watching.

but as I settled back into the pew, I noticed one child in particular. it was a little boy. he was sitting in a wheel chair and tubes were attached to different parts of him. (I didn’t look too closely to see what those tubes were attached to because I get queasy with tubes and needles and blood and bandages and… well, for the sake of time, let’s just say I get queasy around a lot of things.) I noticed his arms were hanging somewhat limply and his head kind of rolled from side to side. his eyes were big, and his face was shaped a little differently from everyone else’s. obviously, he had some sort of physical disability, and it appeared that he may have had a mental one as well.

I pitied him. he wasn’t what one would consider beautiful. in fact, the world would despise him. he was weak and broken and ugly. he sat there unable to take care of himself. unable and incapable of doing so many things.

but he was capable of singing. or trying to sing.

and so he sang.

and his arm that still functioned relatively well swayed with the music and laboriously did every hand motion it could. the other arm lay uselessly on the wheel chair, but I could see that his hand was flinching as if trying to join the other.

he kept singing and dancing throughout the entire song. easily at first. working harder to keep up his energy by the end.

this child wasn’t looking at the other children to see if they thought he was cool. he wasn’t wishing he had worn his other shirt. he wasn’t hoping the song would hurry up and end so that he could go do whatever he wanted. this child was praising God. and he was using every ounce of strength he had to do it.

as tears filled my eyes watching him, I couldn’t help but imagine that God was looking down on this child and asking me quietly, “isn’t he beautiful?”

and I couldn’t help but think that he was.

when I think of that boy now, I remember that “charm is deceitful and beauty is vain” [Prov. 31:30]. I remember that outward beauty is not everything.

guess what? people grow old, their hair falls out, their teeth decay, fashions change, mountains crumble, ladybugs get stuck between the screen and the window pane and shrivel up, chocolate goes bad, weeping willows get cut down, “the grass will wither and the flower will fade away“ [James 1:11], etc.

a heart that loves the Lord and wants to follow Him always, a heart that only cares what He will think, a heart that wants to know Him better, a heart that is anxious to please Him and not “aesthetic senses”, a heart that is willing to praise Him with all the strength it can muster… now that is a beautiful thing.

I still enjoy outwardly beautiful things. God created us to enjoy them. but something I am learning, is that God often creates beautiful things out of what man would deem unbeautiful. out of hearts. out of sinners. out of dust. out of that child in the wheel chair.

God is so good.

love,
muffin