Physical health to boost my spiritual health?

When I came across this blog post and read the first paragraph, I screamed (all in my head, of course), "That's ME!  That's exactly what I'm experiencing."  That's the numbness I've kind of started to feel sink in.  It's a scary feeling to recognize that you have no desire to do the things that used to bring you great joy.  I don't know if I kept saying, "I'll do it later," over this month, but there definitely has been a lack of motivation to do anything because of this temptation to stop caring.

It's interesting that the author was talking about the connection between spiritual health and physical health.  I disconnected with the author a bit at that point, mostly because I'm not overweight (thank the Lord), don't eat that poorly (hallelujah), and have actually been doing better in the physical fitness realm (it's a miracle).  But I only disconnected just a bit.  I have been feeling sluggish and not very well rested for a while now, even though I've been getting enough sleep.  It's interesting, though, because the more frustrated I've gotten with life, the more I'm okay with taking it out via running.  Just the other week I managed to run a total of almost 10 miles in a span of a few days!  Trust me, that's a big deal in Tammy's world.   

Nathan and I have set up a point system for ourselves - the more physical activity we do, the more points we get; the more points we get, the better the reward we can exchange for the points.  For my big 100 point reward, I can turn them in for concert tickets.  The idea is that I can get concert tickets for any of the bands or musicians I want, even if it's in a nearby state or not very close to our area, so we could turn it into a mini road trip.  Hence, the biggest reward on my list. 

But if it's motivation I'm looking for, I might have just found some for myself because I discovered tonight that Sara Bareilles is coming to Rochester!  I love (most of) her music and think she is super talented.  I really want to see her in concert.  I've seen some YouTube videos of her live concerts, and she seems like such a great entertainer and performer.  So I'm pretty excited.  I'll have to work hard and be really disciplined to stay on top of my physical activity, but it's definitely a reasonable goal to reach in order to earn the rest of my 100 points.  I'm so glad Nathan and I came up with a variety of ways we can earn points - I don't have to run my way to Sara Bareilles.  Praise Jesus.

A weekend to quench my thirst.

I had an absolutely refreshing weekend.  It was so nice to get away from campus, not have to worry about work, and not think about my oh so thinly developed Rochester community.  There were so many factors that made this long weekend great:

Meeting with my supervisor.  I love my supervisor.  She's a great listener, has excellent intuition, knows how to challenge me without pushing me over the top, and gives such genuine encouragement.  It was so good to see her and meet with her and just share about what work has been like lately and to ask for help where I needed it.

Spending time with good friends who were willing to listen to me talk about how I was feeling about things going on in my life.  I knew I needed to take a sabbath since I'd be at a wedding all day Saturday, and as you well know by now, socializing is not my go-to life-giving activity.  Well, spending the afternoon with girlfriends who know me and understand what I do and were willing to listen just hit the spot.  I felt bad for rambling and talking so much, but I knew it was something I've really needed for a while now.  They were so great and it was so much fun to visit and be with them.

Fall is here and the weather has been gorgeous.  It seemed like the trees along the road in the Poconos/The Crossings area were at their peak.  There were so many red, orange, yellow, and green colors with speckles of purple flowers everywhere.  It was so beautiful to look at as we drove along.

Singing in a friend's wedding.  I can finally cross that off my bucket list, though I wouldn't mind doing it again.  I've always wanted to sing at a friend's wedding, and what better way to do that than with some of your old college praise team members!  I was so honored to be asked to be a part of it, and am so happy for the newlyweds.  The ceremony was great and the wedding overall was fun and so well done.  

There's so much I left out, but I figured I'd spare you the details (ooh, except for the fact that I got to see Pam, if even for a split few minutes - it was too short, but it was better than nothing!).  The weekend was packed with good company, good conversations, good weather, good travels, good food, and good fun.  Now if only I can get my hands on some butter and bake some pumpkin scones or something, that would be awesome.

Moderate homebody of sorts.

I'm a bit of a homebody.  Not to the truest sense of the word, though.  Maybe 'moderate homebody' is a more accurate description.  I don't prefer to be home at all hours on end.  When a great opportunity arises to travel to a different state or a different country, I'm usually down (if it's feasible).  I enjoy long car rides most of the time, especially if they're to new places I've never been.  I don't really enjoy flying as much anymore, but that's mostly because of the liquid limitations (as stupid as it sounds, I unashamedly love and need my lotion...and lots of it) and "new" costs to check baggage, which I find extremely annoying.

I guess I call myself a 'moderate homebody' because I enjoy going out and traveling on the minimum end of my time.  A special occasion.  Something to look forward to.  A temporary, clearly limited time living out of a suitcase until I can exhale a sigh of relief to be home.  It becomes not so great when I'm traveling back to back to back to back.

But being home can be so boring, some of you may say.  Not so for this moderate homebody.  Home has endless possibilities for me.  It can mean reading for hours on end, or trying a new dinner recipe I've always wanted the time to make.  It can mean crafting some birthday cards or dreaming up some creative ways to send my congratulations on the new baby.  It can mean baking something delicious from scratch, or watching some fun movies from Netflix, the library, or Redbox.  It can mean having the personal time and space to host my students in town for the summer, acquaintances I hope will become friends, or out-of-town friends who would grace us with their presence to visit for a few days.  It can mean cleaning and organizing what I had hoped would magically clean and organize itself.  It can mean quality time with my husband, talking or playing or eating.  It can mean a quiet place to think, reflect, or meditate.  I love it.  I bring the adventures home without having to go very far.

And now that my home is in Rochester, it can mean a lot of other things - exploring a local cafe or shop, attending a town festival, or learning something new.  It could mean visiting museums, the zoo, or art galleries.  It could mean volunteering somewhere to serve my community.  I could take a day trip to Buffalo, the Finger Lakes, or picnic on the "beach" at Lake Ontario.  Day trips to be back home without having to pack a suitcase.

But it seems as though when this moderate homebody agreed to marry a man who grew up and thrives in chaotic travel plans, she signed her summers of moderate homebody-ing fun away.  Well, maybe not away completely.  More like to a limit of one or two weeks?  As this is our first summer together as a married couple, it will be a test of sorts.  Last year we also had crazy travel plans, and since we were engaged it was particularly difficult for me.  It should be easier this time, but we'll have to see.

Now, since you're probably a faithful reader (or stalker, whichever floats your boat) of this blog so far (or you were referred to this by someone else who follows), keeping up with the sparse updates of what's going on in my mind, I'll let you in on a little secret (for those of you who don't already know):  if you'd like to follow my more superficial, day-to-day life adventures with Nathan, you can check out my other blog.  You'll probably find updates of where our crazy summer plans will lead us.  Happy stalking!

Mish-mash of loose ends.

I don't know if it's because I drank a cup of green tea just before bed, or because there's a very loud band playing at the bar across the street and they've left the door open so that it sounds like the band is right outside my open window, or because of the fact that my husband won't be home for the next six days, but I'm suddenly very awake and can't go to sleep.

I've washed my face and in the meantime, the band seems to have put away their drumsticks and guitar amps for now.  But being this awake made me think about things I think about and how I've been having such a hard time writing any blog posts lately because they'd just all be loose ends.  Maybe if I write them down they'll eventually become inspirations for new posts.

My fear and discomfort with asking people for things - which covers everything from ordering pizza or helping me in some way - has been recently re-surfacing.  It was going to be the topic of this next blog post, but I've already spent nearly two weeks on it and I still have no closing thoughts.

I still have not been connecting with God the way I used to, and even though I've stopped trying to keep up my old ways, I've lacked the motivation and inspiration to try new ways of connecting with God.  I also realize I lack the faith that God is pursuing me and is with me, even though I know in my head that He is.

Today I led a couple of my freshmen students through a discussion around what's the most difficult part of committing to following Jesus - sacrificing comforts or desires, finding Jesus' purpose for me, or following through with my decisions until they are complete.  And I found myself steering towards the second, as I thought about how I am average at many things and not great or passionate in any particular focus enough to discipline myself to develop my interests and skills further.  I like singing, I like baking, I like planning parties, I like hosting others, I like reading, I like taking pictures, I like blogging, and so on, but I am not particularly dedicated to any one of those things, not even in small ways on a regular basis.  I feel paralyzed and stuck with my gifts and purposes.  It's discouraging and nothing new.

I've also been mulling over my ongoing naivete about best friends.  For some reason, ever since I was extremely young, I had this solid core belief ingrained in me that it was possible and desirable to have a best friend for life.  And maybe this belief was reinforced by shows or movies I watched, books I read, or relationships I've observed, but nonetheless, out of this belief came my deep value over my close friendships.   I knew I would get hurt, and I knew I would hurt them at some point.  But I invested myself wholly because I believed that if we could get past the hardships together, we would make it as best friends.  The hardships would make us stronger.  But somewhere along the way, my belief in lifetime best friends broke.  And as I let myself hope again and gained back my belief, it broke again.  Healing came, but with so many we've come out the other side as friends - some, good friends - but no longer as best friends.  We've stood the test of forgiveness but couldn't stand the subtle test of time and change.  And now, in a completely different phase of life, with no nearby old friends and the difficulty of making new ones, there's this yearning to again build upon the belief that it's possible to have a best friend (different from my husband).  At the same time, there's this part of me that wants to say, "Why bother?"

This year I've noticed that I've reverted back to my usual shy-person-taking-forever-to-adjust-to-her-new-surroundings-and-not-be-as-shy phase that has typically occurred when I enter a new school.  I'm not talking about introversion - yes, I'm still introverted and need my alone time, but this is the kind of attitude people always associate and mix-up with introversion that isn't always true.  Shyness does not equal introversion.  When I'm at the office, I don't really initiate conversations, and it's really hard for me to put myself out there to try and get to know the student workers or other chaplains.  When I'm with my students, no one really comes over to talk to me, and while I try my best to meet new students and keep conversations going, I feel like it's particularly difficult because I don't have any go-to relationships with any of my students that can act as a home base in those kinds of group settings for me.  And it's an annoying realization because I don't want to be shy.  And I wasn't this shy just a year or two ago.  But I can't help it - it's my slow adjustment process to the change of environment.  Can you feel the tension?

Well, there you have it.  My unfinished thoughts for the week.  It seems as though the band across the street have packed up their music for good, and my eyes are ready to stop opening for the rest of the night.

Thoughts on life in Rochester.

So I may not know who I am anymore, have any close friends in the area, or know what gives me rest and life, but there is one thing I know during this season of life besides how I am enjoying married life:  I like living in Rochester.

I think a lot of that credit goes to the particular area of Rochester where I live.  The downtown city of Rochester may not be teeming with life as obvious as the hustle and bustle, flashy lights, and the Starbucks-on-every-corner of New York City, and it may seem a bit run down in some parts, but it's chock full of great things to do, places to explore, and food to eat.

As I was thinking about how to list out the reasons why I like living in Rochester, I started to realize that a lot of them overlap in some ways or are sub-categories in other ways.  But I think there's one over-arching, summarizing phrase (that I heard someone use once, but I now use all the time) to describe why I like Rochester:  it's a big city that acts like a small town.

So instead of reasons why I like living in Rochester, here are some of the reasons why I like about Rochester's "big city, small town" feel (in no particular order):

1. Downtown Rochester has many neighborhoods, and they each maintain their own unique identity without having to go very far.  The South Wedge has a hipster, creative, eco-friendly vibe going on.  The 19th Ward is extremely diverse, varies in socioeconomic backgrounds, and is a bit more run down.  The Neighborhood of the Arts (NOTA) has tons of galleries, coffee places, and artsy-fartsy decorations.  Those are only a few, and it only takes a few minutes to explore one neighborhood from the next.  
   
2. It's big enough to have all of your usual big-name restaurant/store chains, but it's also small enough to have "Rochester only" chains.  You've got your typical franchises like Target, Starbucks, and Applebee's.  You've even got your less common, famous places like Dinosaur BBQ and Texas Roadhouse.  Rochester's even big enough to have chains that I wasn't able to have easy access to growing up in New York City (e.g., Red Robin)!  But then you have these local small chains like Java's, Boulder Coffee, and Colie's Cafe, that are in maybe two or three different locations in the Rochester area.  You can't find them anywhere else!
   
3. On the surface, Rochester may seem boring to some, but when you look, there's way more to do than  typical small towns that only have bowling lanes and movie theaters.  There are plenty of meritorious theatres, museums, galleries, and events to participate in when you're in Rochester.  From concerts to races, parades to festivals, and even open mics and service opportunities, there's plenty happening around the city.  And with things like classes that you could take at one of the universities, Monroe Community College, YMCAs, art centers, or even at a local microbrewery or coffee roasters, there are plenty of communities to join and things to do.
   
4. There are enough famous historical figures and events that Rochester can be known for, but it's not so much that's it's a bit crazy.  We're where George Eastman developed the handheld camera and founded his Kodak company, and where Susan B. Anthony lived and persuaded the University of Rochester to admit women.  We're home of the original garbage plate, and where the first Wegmans store opened.  These are all well-known enough to put us on the map and not to be forgotten, but not overwhelming enough to take over the city.
   
5. Particularly because of where our apartment is located, it's really easy to walk or bike to most places.  And if we have to drive, it's maybe 20 mins tops.  I can walk down to the Genesee Center of the Arts for my photography class in less about fifteen minutes.  The Abundance Co-op Market is three or four blocks west.  The central public libraries are a mere ten minute walk.  The Public Market is a mile away.  Dollar movie theater?  Less than a 20 minute drive.  It takes two or three minutes to get to the awesome Museum of Play.  The public transportation system isn't all that convenient, but the roads are pretty pedestrian and bike friendly.  It's especially helpful that the roads aren't always so congested so that it's scary or dangerous to bike.

So that's all I've got so far.  It's been fun exploring the Rochester area.  And even if the "smallness" and traditions of Rochester may grow all too familiar, the beauty is that it's big enough that there are always new things to try.

And you know what's nice about all of this for me?  It's beginning to look and feel like home.

And yet, I am a little bit skeptical about how much I like it here.  Like what happens so often with new toys, new gadgets, and so on, it's easy to get caught up in the newness of it all before the shiny-ness starts to wear off.  Soon enough you may start finding what was once new has become obsolete and has lost its intrigue, mystery, and delight.

But I'm hoping I grow deeper in my understanding of the brokenness and joys of this city.  I hope I grow a deeper sense of commitment, love, and compassion for the people, networks, and systems within it.  I hope God will help me learn to adopt this city as my own the way He adopted me.   

The search for Mrs. B.

A few weeks ago I was asked some questions about myself.  They were supposedly simple things:  list your favorite hobbies and interests, some of your favorite drinks and snacks, personality type, etc.  On the surface they were no-brainers.

But after I wrote my typical answers, I started thinking about how automatically I had written them and how, if I really thought about it, I haven't really done or had nearly half of the things in a long time what I wrote on that survey.  Bake?  I've baked once since moving to Rochester, and who knows the last time I baked before that.  Gilmore Girls?  The second season has been in my possession for the past year or two, and I'm beginning to wonder if I wouldn't really miss it if I gave it back to my sister.  I only really sing when we're supposed to in church (if even then), and I think I've played with my guitar and sang for fun about as many times as I've baked since moving to Rochester.  I get sad when I find opportunities like open mics and contests to enter in the Rochester area because I'd sign up in a heartbeat if I hadn't been on this accidental hiatus and wasn't so afraid of embarrassing myself for performing when I haven't practiced.

It seems as though I've fallen back into this weird in-flux season in my life.  It's the season I guess most of my generation continues to sift and swing back and forth through:  the search for who I am.  It can a be a little frustrating to admit that that's where I am, considering I thought I knew who I was and now I have to learn about myself again and can't just declare truths about myself when they very well could have changed over these past couple of years.  At the same time it makes sense, considering how I've been out of my parents' house for a number of years and have been out of college for a couple of years as well.  Oh, and you know, how I've gotten married and such.  That always changes people (or should, at least).

Ever since I've begun to realize that this is the stage of life I have returned to (or maybe I've never left?), I've already begun to accept it and embrace it.  It's brought new life to new dreams and ideas, and the process of just thinking about possibilities is exciting.

Of course, I love lists, but the problem with writing them out is that I have so many ideas that the organization of those ideas would be very difficult.  So I've started a word document for all of my personal life ideas, to give ample space for saving and organizing my word vomit of thoughts.  I have a section for hobbies I want to continue developing and ways I could put them into practice, as well as new hobbies I may want to pursue and ideas for how I could do that as well.  I have a section for my personal relationships and how I can be intentional and creative with developing those near and far.  And I have an interests section that lists fun things I want to learn more about (e.g., photography, art & art history, figure skating) and things that I'm not super interested in at face value but want to learn about because I feel like I need to and want to grow in my knowledge and understanding of the world (e.g., politics, geography, sports).  It also gives me the space to list out whatever resources (especially creative ones) I come across.

It would be very tempting, as I have begun to adjust to being married (though I'm sure I have much to adjust to for the rest of my life, of course) and to life in Rochester, to reach a level of contentment and inevitably grow comfortable and complacent.  But I'm praying that God would continue to develop my desire to learn - about Him, His world, and myself.

The story of the Happy Book.

Once upon a time, there was a high school girl named Tammy.  She had wanted to be an author and write a book since she was nine years old, so she often perused websites that would help her with her writing and her writing life.  One day as she was looking through articles on the Writer's Digest website, she came across an article titled, "Create a Happy Book!" in the Personal Writing section.  She was inspired to make her own, so she picked up a small spiral notebook and started to write.  Thus, the Happy Book was born on January 19th, 2006.

Tammy thought the Happy Book was a brilliant idea.  It was small enough so that she could carry it around with her without adding much extra weight, which meant she could write down things that made her happy when she needed a quick break from homework, was waiting in line or at a doctor's office, was bored on a bus or car ride, or just needed to focus on something that would help pick up her spirits. 

One day, she noticed that she would run out of things to write at the moment, and since she was sometimes in the presence of friends and others, was curious about what made others happy.  So she came up with another idea.  She decided to try sharing her Happy Book with her friends, family, and even strangers!  She asked others around her what made them happy and would proceed to write their initials or name next to it so she could remember who said what and to remember that it wasn't her own entry. 

The Happy Book was bursting with good things.  With her friends and family, it sparked great conversations and brought people together.  She got to learn more about what made her friends and family happy, and in doing so, they were creating happy moments!  Tammy found that the Happy Book created opportunities to make new friends and meet new people because she or someone else would ask what made him/her happy and invite him/her into the conversation.  She also found that the more she and others wrote, the more she saw how the Happy Book documented where, when, and with whom she was interacting and the memories created in that period of time and space.  It was becoming very much like a scrapbook of happy things that bound together memories, common ground, new ideas, the building of old relationships and creation of new ones.

Tammy and her friends and family wrote so many happy things that the list reached 1,000 entries.  But of course, they kept going.  Soon enough, they finished the entire spiral notebook with 2,999.  But of course, they didn't stop there.  Tammy and her community went on to fill 3 1/2 small spiral notebooks with 9,196 happy things!

As the Happy Book began to produce a whole family of Happy Books, Tammy's life was moving on.  She graduated high school and began to make it through her first year of college.  She kept writing in the fourth Happy Book all throughout her first semester, since there were so many things in her college life that made her happy.  But soon she discovered that there were so many things to be happy and joyful about that the space the Happy Books created that she once appreciated was now already built into the contexts she placed herself in and the people she was surrounded by.  She was immersing herself in living out the happy things, not just writing about them.  And in that way, along with probably many other reasons, the Happy Books were almost obsolete and became artifacts of a season Tammy once had in her life. 

I share this story with you, dear blog reader, because there has been very recent consideration that perhaps this is not the end of the story.  Perhaps the Happy Book series is not entirely dead as many thought they once were.  Perhaps is it not 'The End,' but more accurately, 'To Be Continued...'

I leave you, dear blog reader, with this - the inscription written on the first page of each Happy Book on the other side of the title page:

All the things 
that make me happy,
my friends happy,
my family happy,
the world happy

to keep going,
reminding ourselves 
how many little blessings
and BIG blessings
God graces us with
to conquer all the sad things
that burden our hearts.

Hands full.

During the week after my honeymoon I felt useless.  Nathan and I couldn't really dig our feet into unpacking all of our things and setting up our new apartment because we had a conference to attend at the end of the week and another conference to attend the following week.  And with traveling everywhere and doing all things wedding related, I was pretty slow at getting into work mode and preparing for the new school year on a new campus.

Reflecting on that week with some co-workers during our Regional Staff Conference (the latter conference) revealed how much I was hiding behind the craziness of the wedding planning and the limbo and stress of transitions.  Doing so reinforced the idea that I was strong enough to handle being busy with lot of things on my plate.  But now that the wedding was over, all of my things were in Rochester and I was adjusting to married life just fine - there were no major conflicts to justify my worth to others or excuses to say, "Life is hard."  I realized that I felt guilty for "not doing anything" that week after the honeymoon, that it was somehow wrong to rest or slow down by choice.  I wasn't being productive.  I wasn't planning, cleaning, organizing, or crossing anything off lists of things to do.  And it felt weird.  I felt empty, like I had nothing to show the world.  I had the subconscious mentality that I needed to be doing something worthwhile to prove that I deserved to exist another day.

A few weeks ago, the church Nathan and I have been visiting for several weeks made an announcement about the need for someone to help once a month with the powerpoint on Sunday mornings during service.  It seemed really simple.  They'd even teach you how to do stuff, and it would only be once a month.

It was so tempting to throw my hand in the air and say, "Me!  Me!  Pick me!  I can do it!" or, you know, just walk up to the person in charge after service and talk to him about it.

Thankfully, in a matter of seconds, I came to my senses and realized that Nathan and I had not actually committed to this church, so it would be silly to commit to something once a month if we weren't sure we would be around next week, let alone the next month.  It also occurred to me that we had made the commitment not to serve in any church capacity for an entire year.  It was a piece of wisdom we received as newlyweds from a number of wise couples we know, to give our marriage the attention it needs particularly in our first year together - which totally makes sense.  But it still feels really weird not to volunteer for things I think are important that I'm perfectly capable of doing

Things have gotten crazy again in my life, but there's a part of me that's hungry for more, as if I'm still not doing enough.  Part of that comes from having so many desires to do things:  I want to keep up with my out-of-town friends and family, build relationships with my neighbors and serve my community, try new things to feed my desire to learn and create good stories...they're not bad things to pursue.  But I think there's a subconscious part of me that cunningly takes all those (and more) desires and says, "Well, you're only really occupied vocationally right now, and most people don't understand how much work you do on a day-to-day basis with InterVarsity, so you need to commit to this, volunteer with this, and find more ways to stay busier than ever so that when people around you can see how important you're making a difference in this world and aren't just wasting you life by doing nothing. 

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who does that.  And I'm not saying we necessarily do it on purpose, either.  I think part of it comes from growing up in a culture where the message is "more is better" - the more you're doing, the better you are because how much you do says how worthy and valuable you are.  I think another part of it comes from our need to be needed and wanted.  Volunteering and committing to work sometimes gives us a sense of purpose and security that we're doing something important.

And I think there's a healthy tidbit in there.  God designed us to build, to create, to work - and it wasn't always a dreadful thing.  But that's the kicker, right?  Since we are broken people part of broken cultures who dwell in a broken world with broken systems, we in America have twisted work into busyness and allow it to distract us from giving the proper attention, time, and parts of ourselves to the people and causes that are sometimes more important in the grander scheme of things.  It is our busyness, not our work, that has become the definition of our value and worth, justification of our existence, and excuse from facing more difficult, though meaningful, conflicts.

But if we truly believed in our hearts and our minds to the very core of our being that we are loved by God and there's nothing we can do to add to it or take that away, then what are we doing?  Why are we perpetuating an idea that steers us in the wrong direction?  I guess I'm just saying (mostly to myself) that we need to keep the proper perspective of why we do what we do and be thoughtful about the things we commit to and not feel guilty about resting.  We need to be careful about how we reinforce for ourselves and others the vicious cycle of overworking and need to encourage rest even more.  We need it not to be lazy or idle, but to take the time to reflect, gain some perspective, and remind ourselves that it's not where our identity lies when we are God's people.

Things are crazy, but no more hiding.

Harold and the Purple Crayon.

I like to read.  I'm not a fast reader, an avid reader, or the kind of reader I'd like to be, but I enjoy it.  I have a lot of books I want to read.  I also have a lot of books I believe I need to read.  For example, I am one of the few rare species that has not finished reading the Harry Potter series.  I got up to the middle of book number five,  and decided it was getting a bit boring or too dark or just simply decided I didn't have time to read it right then.  I also need to finish the Chronicles of Narnia series, the Lord of the Rings, a whole bunch of marriage books, and all the books I bought during one of Better World Book's awesome sales.  And then...because I married a nerd, I've inherited all these other books I've always wanted to read or am curious to stick my face in.

So, with this predicament at hand, you can probably see why I would have such a hard time walking into Barnes & Noble to choose a book in celebration of my husband's tradition of buying a book and eating banana split sundaes the day before the first day of school.  I look around and all I see are books I want to read, books I want to buy, and books I highly doubt I'll get a chance to read in the near future.  I don't know  how long I spent walking around the store just reading wonderful book titles, admiring pretty book covers, and then thinking of our stuffed bookshelves back home.  It was quite depressing, actually.

But then, I wandered over to the children's section.  I thought of taking a look around because earlier in the summer I jotted down an idea I wanted to do for taking sabbath where I would go to the children's section of a bookstore and spend hours just reading the books right off the shelves.  Then I came up with a brilliant idea:  what if I picked a children's book to buy instead?  I definitely wouldn't feel guilty about not being able to read it because duh, I could probably read it in a few minutes.  And it would serve other purposes - like having some books available for kids if we decide to do some babysitting or just have little guests over.  And on top of that, I thought it'd be a good investment to start picking up some of my favorite children's books to build a library for my (very) future kids.  No time like the present to invest in the future.

Well as it turns out, picking out one children's book wasn't any easier than picking out a book from the adult sections.  I found some lovely collections of children's books that I'd love to get my hands on, but they were over my budget.  I found a few books I was familiar with, but didn't think it was worth getting this time around or didn't think it'd be a children's book Nathan would necessarily enjoy as much, and I wanted to take his children's book tastes into consideration.  The closest B&N to me and Nathan is pretty small, so I thought it was a small selection that didn't have many children's books I was familiar with.  But after I convened with Nathan for a few minutes and returned to the hunt in the children's section I started hitting the jackpot.  I found book after book of stories I remembered my mom reading to me as a kid, or books I enjoyed reading in elementary school, or some favorites I remember learning about from Reading Rainbow.

It was a tough decision.  Finally, after who knows how long, I picked a book Nathan had mentioned a long time ago that he liked, which I had always heard about but had never read.  As you can guess, it was Crockett Johnson's Harold and the Purple Crayon.  It was perfect.  It was a book I had never read, it was a book I'd probably enjoy, I knew Nathan liked it, and it was a children's book.    

Nathan read the book to me tonight, and I really enjoyed it.  Harold's awesome.  He's got this great purple crayon and does great things with it.  And as I've been thinking about it, there are some things I admire about Harold that I wish I had myself.  You know it's a great children's book when it doesn't just apply to kids but adults can connect with the story, too.

Here are some of the things I noticed about Harold:

1.  He takes time to think.
2.  He's a visionary.  He knows exactly what he wants to see happen.
3.  He decides what he wants to do and goes and does it.
4.  He's not perturbed by mistakes or unseen events.
5.  He's a creative problem-solver.
6.  He acts quickly when it's called for.
7.  He's not afraid to climb hills that turn into mountains.
8.  He's not afraid to keep trying when he doesn't succeed.

I wish I had a purple crayon like Harold.  Maybe if I did I'd be more like him.

Living a good story.

After months of traveling and craziness, Nathan and I are finally here in Rochester to stay.  I of course miss my NYC family and friends and I appreciate those who continue to send me off with joy and encouragement even though they miss me and know I'm far away.  Thanks for not forgetting me, friends.  But it's time to commit and be in one place for a while.

I've been noticing that one of the symptoms of my life changes/transitions is how I often suffer a bad case of FOMO (fear of missing out) when I think of my friends and family in NYC and what they're up to.  And the fact that I know practically no one - or at least, don't know people very well - in Rochester makes it tempting to doubt why I came here in the first place.

It also feels like I've been living in a lull.  Now, I hesitate to say that because it has such negative connotations and makes it seem like my life is boring or nonproductive.  So maybe “lull” is the wrong word.  Maybe it’s more like a pause button.  Kind of like the pause a comma is supposed to make when you read.  Except this pause feels like it has overstayed its welcome.  

Even though I've accumulated a mountain of new books over the past few months during my travels and actually haven't increased my reading pace at all because I haven't been reading all that much, I've recently decided to re-read Donald Miller's A Million Miles and a Thousand Years.  I wanted to read it for a bit of inspiration and to go back to the root of the theme of my wedding:  the desire to live out a good story.

As I was reading this past week, Miller said this:

“I’ve wondered, though, if one of the reasons we fail to acknowledge the brilliance of life is because we don’t want the responsibility inherent in the acknowledgement.  We don’t want to be characters because characters have to move and breathe and face conflict with courage.  And if life isn’t remarkable, then we don’t have to do any of that; we can be unwilling victims rather than grateful participants.”

It seemed to resonate with this feeling I've been having these past few weeks.  Maybe it's more like that feeling where you've been running or moving at full speed ahead with such power, force, and momentum that if you suddenly come to a complete halt, you get this really strange feeling that you should keep moving.  That's part of what it is.  But at the same time, I think it's more than that.  I think Miller's quote resonated with me because this pause has fed into my nervousness about this new chapter of life.  I don't have wedding plans or crazy travel schedules in the immediate future to hide behind as excuses for stress.  Now I just have to face the unknown head on, and there's this glitch of hesitancy.  I've already overcome conflict after conflict, and I've moved and moved and moved over this past year.  It's tempting and easy to sit back and become an unwilling victim.      

But Miller goes on to say that the essence of a good story is "a character who wants something and overcomes conflict to get it.”  And so, if I want to live out a good story with my life, I need to move and breathe and face conflict with courage.  I need to be a grateful participant who figures out what I want (in light of what God wants) and would be willing to overcome conflict to get it.  I can't just sit back, get through the day, and bide my time.  Life is precious and as Craig Groeschel said during the Willow Creek Global Leadership Summit, "If you're not dead, you're not done."

I have been saying "yes" to Jesus.  I am married and I am here because this is where He led me.  The windows and doors are open before me and my directions are already pretty clear.  The obstacles and conflicts are inevitable, but with the authority of Christ I can surely overcome them.

Let's do this.  Let's live a good story.

The new Mrs. Bixler.

I don't think I'm in Kansas anymore.

It's been a whirlwind of transitions over this past year, and even though it seems like the tornado has finally flung me to the ground, I'm still feeling the dizzying affects from the ride.  And I don't think it's the kind that will go away in a few minutes once I get my balance again.

The world keeps spinning and life keeps moving, and the treadmill of time doesn't stop for anyone.

People kept asking me after the ceremony and during the reception what it feels like to be married, and honestly, it feels the same way it feels like when you're celebrating your birthday...not all that different.  Well, until you get your driver's permit, or you drink your first alcoholic drink.  Or you feel an ache in your back that just doesn't seem to go away.  Or maybe you start getting sleepy at 9:40 pm like clockwork every night when you used to stay up until 2 in the morning so easily just a few years ago in college.  Sometimes it doesn't really sink in as to how you're getting older until it hits you in those small moments.

It's those ripples that remind you of the evidence that something had dropped into your undisturbed ecosystem of pond life.

Like waking up in the morning only to find you're not alone.  Or not really knowing what to do to "get back into the swing of things" because your normal routine didn't have to include a skinny, 6-foot-3, 22-year-old who writes emails, checks nerdy websites and Facebook, reads a bajillion articles and gets five times more things done all before you woke up at 7 or 8 am.  Or having to discuss whether you should organize your 25 boxes of books on the shelves by authors' last names or by genre, and if by genre, how many sub-genres you wanted to break it down by because you can no longer sort them by the books you've read and the books you haven't read yet.

Yesterday I told my dad he needed to look out for our marriage certificate because we accidentally sent it there instead of our apartment, and he told me, by the way, that he and my family were going on vacation with my cousins and aunt and uncle for the next few days, so if I needed them and called home, they won't be home.

That ripple was a little stronger than I anticipated.  My family was going on our traditional annual vacation and they were going without me.  I don't think I would have even known about it until after the fact if I hadn't emailed my dad.  Talk about marriage becoming a reality.

Of course, it didn't help that my sister called me out of the blue for a silly favor and sounded like she and my family were having such a grand ol' time in the background.  It was a classic tv series moment.  I had a bad case of FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) after that.

Like I said, it's sometimes the small ripples that seem to make the rubber meet the road, not this sudden revelation of reality like someone had clubbed you with a bag of bricks.  I'm not bitter or wishing things were different.  It's just me coming to grips, that's all.

Marriage so far is just what I sort of anticipated so far - not very glamorous or easy, but a learning process that has its pretty sweet aspects and moments, too.  I've been blessed with a good husband and I'm excited about the wonderful story we're writing together simply by being each other's partners and companions and living out our lives as best as we can in following and obeying the Lord.

I may not be in Kansas anymore, but this world is suddenly more colorful, and I'm taking a deep breath as I explore these new hues and shades.  And maybe I'll let a grin emerge on my face along the way.

Must. Stay. Cool. (Physically and emotionally)

One of the many things you may not know about me is that I do not function well in heat and humidity.  It's not a pretty sight.  I don't mind sweating after some physical activity, but I don't like sweating from simply sitting down in my seat.  You'd think since I'm already sweaty, I wouldn't mind moving around because it doesn't make a huge difference.  But no, it deters me from doing anything other than sitting still.  And it makes me sluggish and tired, which makes me feel lazy and less able to concentrate on whatever work I need to get done.  Then at the end of the day I'm sweaty and tired from being unproductive, which then makes me frustrated.

NYC's humidity levels are the almost the only thing I don't like about summertime.  It creates an environment that allows lazy inclinations and stubborn frustrations to flourish and thrive.  It's terrible for having hard conversations, conducive to anger when things are clearly out of your control, and seems to make missing your fiance about ten times harder to deal with.

As I was writing this, here's an excerpt that came to mind:

"The whole commandment that I command you today you shall be careful to do, that you may live and multiply, go in and possess the land that the Lord swore to give to your fathers.  And you shall remember the whole way that the Lord your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that he might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not.  And he humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that he might make you know that man does not live on bread alone, but man lives on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord.  Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years.  Know then in your heart that, as a man disciplines his son, the Lord your God disciplines you.  So you shall keep the commandments of the Lord your God by walking in his ways and by fearing him.  For the Lord your God is bringing you  into a good land, a land of brooks of water, of fountains and springs, flowing out in the valleys and hills, a land of wheat and barley, of vines and fig trees and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey, a land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, in which you will lack nothing, a land whose stones are iron, and out of whose hills you can dig copper.  And you shall eat and be full and you shall bless the Lord your God with the good land he has given you."
---Deuteronomy 8:1-10

My carpe diem disposition (Part One).

So here it is:

Why should we have to wait for tragedy to strike too close to home before we're driven to live the life we would live if it was our last day on earth?

I've read enough of the Bible, have seen enough movies and tv shows and heard enough stories from strangers,  friends, and watching or reading the news to know that life is short.  As someone not directly connected to those stories or situations, we may respond with a moment of shock or horror, but I think to a certain extent we've become desensitized to this reality - especially for those of us, like myself, who tend to be pretty removed from these situations.

I don't know what it feels like to lose a loved one.  I can guess, I can imagine, I can try, but I honestly cannot deeply identify.  Emotionally I've lost some dear friends whose friendships I've cared deeply about, but it's a very different kind of experience.  In fact, the worst thing I could probably say to someone who lost a loved one is to say, "I totally understand," because that's a lie, and more often than not (though I can't assume everyone) people, especially if they're in a vulnerable and sensitive situations, do not appreciate being lied to.

Now, I'm not as well-read of a writer as people think I am (because of the assumptions associated with being a previous English major with a Creative Writing concentration and my general enjoyment of reading), and I'm not chock full of a ton of life experiences, but from my general (very general, I must emphasize) sense of the world, death changes the lives of those he or she had been connected to.  Whether people's lives were touched negatively or positively (and sometimes neutrally), they are changed when someone who was connected (even if only by a thread) their life is suddenly gone.

Often a basic storyline provides the sense that at first glance, death smothers the chance of hope.  It's often why I believe there's a sense of regret or guilt or sadness or anger from the one(s) still living - because they weren't satisfied with the way things were and now there is absolutely no chance for it to change.

But then the journey towards the climax and resolution of the story begins to unfold the truth that the character somehow does change - it may be a positive change or negative change, big or small, but it happens - and it happens in a way that makes one wonder if it would have happened if that death had not taken place.

The inspiring stories inspire us because of the positive impact they have and positive change they bring as a result of someone's life and death.  For some it is a life-changing inspiration, but for many of us it's a short boost of bliss to get us through another day.

So I've wrestled with this before and thought, "Well, I'm someone who keeps jumping on the bandwagon of bliss and then jumps off when life gets tough or the daily grind makes me forget.  Would my life look different if I knew I or someone I loved dearly was going to die today or tomorrow?  Heck yes.  My life would probably look better, in fact."

And then I'd ask myself, "Well, why should I have to wait until I or someone I care about comes close to death before I am driven to live the life I believe I want/should/need to live?"  It seemed like to me, the fact of the reality is that we come close to death everyday.  It's actually a miracle we get to wake up the next morning.

I heard this once (though I think worded a little differently):  we often ask God why people had to die, but we should really be praising God for His mercy and grace to let us live!  Think about these familiar lyrics:  Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me!  God is sovereign - He ultimately decides what to give and take away.

This is why uncovering my duplicity became so important to me and why I desire (though it doesn't always play out) to live an authentic life full of integrity and risks worthy to be taken.  In order to fight the disparity of saying I believe something and then not acting upon it, I've slowly been disciplining myself to undergo a lifestyle that reflects the life I would pursue if I had very little time left.  That discipline is why I wrestle with moving past my fears and strive, as difficult as it may be, not to be paralyzed by them.

I've shown this in a previous blog post (a LONG time ago), but I thought it was applicable enough to this particular post.

Houses in Binghamton.

First of all, I have to tell you - I went running in the morning...twice this week.  Crazy, I know.  Now, granted, both runs were not very far and it weren't for very long, but it's pretty significant.  In case you haven't been following my blog for very long or never stalked any of my posts from previous years, I normally don't enjoy running...at all.  And this week was no exception.  But the weather has been perking up ever since I returned from California, and for the past few months (with a number of fast-paced walking excursion exceptions) I've been making excuses like, "It's too cold outside," to justify why I decided to stay inside rather than do some cardio.  So I don't really have that as an excuse anymore, and I really do want to get some more exercise.  And I want to finally get my behavior to match my head that knows it's actually something I need, not just something I should want, especially with my high cholesterol.

I just wanted to tell someone I went running because even though it's not really Oscar-worthy to most people, it's pretty important to me and I'm going to pretend that you're all mentally encouraging me to keep going because I can do it and maybe one day I'll knock, "Run a 5K race" or "Run a 10K race" off of my bucket list (I know, they're actually not that big of an accomplishment to some, but again, this is me we're talking about).

But I digress.  I actually prefaced this post with me running because I wanted to talk about the houses I see when I run or walk around the neighborhood.  It's something I really appreciate about my neighborhood - all the houses are so different from each other.  In NYC a lot of the houses look the same or have the same style or are renovated to look like all the other same fancy houses or just oddly stick out that make all the other houses subtly say, "We're not worthy."  It's kind of bleh.

But I love looking at houses in smaller towns or areas like Binghamton because each house is pretty different from the one next to it, not just by street or area.  A lot of them seem a little rustic or run down, but sturdy and homey.  I know this sounds cliche, but I feel like they've got a deeper sense of character than a lot of houses I've seen in NYC.  And I like that.

Have you ever looked at a house (or car, even) and tried to imagine who lives there and what their life stories are like?  It's something I did all the time when I was little and when I'm not the driver I still do it to this day.  It's really fun.  If you haven't done it before, try it the next time you're on a bus or are a passenger in a car.  What makes it interesting is that even though the things you may see around the house sometimes give hints to the people living inside (e.g. pets, welcome mats, eclectic lawn gnomes, extremely neatly cut green lawns, funky mailboxes), the truth is that what is portrayed on the outside of the house doesn't always reflect what's going on inside of the house.  Don't forget that the responses to conflicts and the development of different relationships are what really makes a story unique and interesting.

That's why it's such an interesting and unique experience to imagine what the stories of people's lives are.  But after you've tried that for a couple of houses a few different times, try advancing to the next level (ha - as if this was a game or contest) and imagine how one house interacts or thinks of another one just down the street that's really different.  How do the people living in the run down, bright, sea green house interact with the people living in the expensive looking, neat, two-story house?  Is there a sense of hostility?  Jealousy?  Camaraderie?  Superficial, too-polite-it's-disgusting kind of relationships?  In the stories you're imagining, what if those things changed?  What would change them?  What would be an development that we wouldn't expect?

Ah, so much fun.  Mmm...makes me want to try my hand at a couple of short stories.  My dad asked me this weekend if I was going to write some stories soon or work on writing/publishing a book like I've always wanted to do since I was 9 years old, and I realized that I haven't written - or even thought of writing - any stories in a couple of years.  It makes me sad to think about how I've diminished my story writing over the years into "silly ideas."

Relentless.

I've decided that a way that could help me take sabbath is by coming up with creative ways to take them and then post them here on my blog to share about my experiences here with you.

During my post-breakdown/forced recovery on Tuesday (when I tried to go to sleep early but couldn't sleep - I hate when that happens), I was talking with Sarah and she gave me the idea of spending my sabbath rearranging my room.

I loved the idea - so I ran with it.  Here's what my room looked like before:

The process was definitely restful.  I knew it would be good because it was a project I could start and finish and enjoy the fruits of my labor.  I watched a couple of episodes of Friends (I've never really watched too many episodes before - more on that in a different post), listened to some music, and ruminated over some TED talks (this one is particularly good!).

And here's what my room looks like now:

Photos don't really do it justice, so I hope you can tell the difference.  If not, that means if you're one of my friends, you should come visit so you can see for yourself!  If you're an acquaintance and we don't really talk, you should stop vicariously getting to know me via cyberspace and actually say hi because I would love to get to know you better.  And if you're a complete stranger, you should just get over it because you shouldn't be stalking me.

It's interesting timing because I'm going to participate in World Vision's Relentless Act:s, and the first week is  the challenge of recreating our physical environments - I didn't realize.  But maybe this act of sabbath is a good way to prep for Lent.  I was thinking of using that week to decorate my room during that week of Lent so that I'll be aware of important issues.  I'm excited to see how I will encounter God in this way and what He'll say to me.  You should do it with me so we can talk about it!

Anyway, praise God for an awesome sabbath.  Now I have a new space to diligently do my work and actively rest to renew my strength and remember who I am in Christ.

Bless the Lord.

Emotional workaholic.

Nathan made that term up.  That's what he called me today on the phone.  I've called him a workaholic before, but today he said that I may pace myself better task-wise, but I'm always emotionally preoccupied with what else I need to do and who else I need to care for because my job [as a staff worker, as a friend, as a neighbor, as a sister & daughter, and as a Christian] is never done.  I agreed and said that's probably what it is.  And then we hung up and I burst out crying for the second time today.

They say the first sign is denial and the first step to recovery is acceptance, right?

My name is Tammy and I am an emotional workaholic.

My crying perpetuated itself because feelings and thoughts I wasn't aware of were suddenly rising to the surface of my conscience:  I'm so, so physically and emotionally tired; I have been running on empty; I feel like a hypocrite to my students whom I've been worrying about for overworking; I wish a close friend was here to give me a hug; I feel like a failure for not getting this, this, this, this, and this done; my love tank of affirmation is very low; I feel lonely and needy and don't like that I feel that way; this is an all-too-familiar problem and I should have learned my lesson by now.

My name is Tammy and I am a recovering emotional workaholic who relapsed.

I've always struggled with taking care of myself properly.  This isn't a particularly new concept to me - I've been struggling with this since high school.  This time, it's just got a different face.  Even though I'm better at limiting the number of kinds of commitments I make (i.e. joining/leading way too many clubs or ministries), I still have not gotten the hang of setting boundaries and setting aside time to rest for myself is extremely important.  And it's not just about "doing nothing" - I've done that a number of times this week - but it's about personal fulfillment and delight.  It's about enjoying something that's unique to who I am because that's who God created me to be.

My name is Tammy and I don't want to be an emotional workaholic.

The problem is I know what I need to do in my head - it's the action part that slips through the cracks.  Telling me I need to take Sabbath and take time off or develop my own personal growth will not switch on a light as a novel idea.  It's the actual discipline of doing it that needs to kick in.  Funny, I feel like that's a general issue with many of us who call ourselves Christians.  I am no exception.

If I want to align what I know to be true with what my heart desires, then my behavior should reflect the decisions I've made and the beliefs I say I have.  It's a basic conviction I've valued for a very long time.  So if I know I need to rest, then I need to follow through on setting aside time and space to rest, enjoy the gifts that God has given me to share with others, and not feel guilty about it.  I need to set aside a decent chunk of time every week for myself and defend it against the multitude of needs that never stop coming to hang out on the doorstep of my heart and my brain.  

Eh, I think it could be arguable that the first step to recovery is "acceptance."  At least, I don't necessarily agree that it is just the acceptance of myself as a workaholic.  I think more importantly it is the acceptance and acknowledgement of who God is.  When we remember the character of God, it sheds light on our own sinfulness and how we've replaced Him in our lives for something else.  I think when we remember the truths of who God is, the question we should ask ourselves is:  why do we settle for less?

Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and all that is within me,
bless his holy name!
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your disease,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy,
who satisfies you with good
so that your youth is renewed like the eagle's.
--Psalm 103:1-5

If you have time you should check out the twenty questions you can ask yourself to see if you're just like me.

Sedimentary thoughts.

I surprised myself today.  Packing my bags and living out of suitcases for three straight weeks is not usually my ideal kind of lifestyle.  The first few days aren't so bad, but after a while I normally get tired of bustling from one place to another and am mentally ready to come home.  

Strangely enough, I didn't feel like a nomad at all.  Even with the hours of traveling by bus, by plane, by car and by foot, I didn't feel aloof or disconnected.  I was neither dreading nor longing to be back in Binghamton or NYC or anywhere else for that matter, and was as present and flexible as I wanted and needed to be.

It was also weird to find that although my external life was constantly "shaken up" (surrounded by different groups people with things happening all the time), I didn't feel agitated or bottled up from not having alone time to reflect or process information and feelings I had been accumulating.

So I caught myself off-guard when my friends dropped me off at my empty apartment today and I suddenly didn't want to be there all by myself.  The silence felt like someone had slammed on the breaks while I had been peacefully sleeping in the passenger seat of a car.  My "fight or flight" mental and emotional alarms were screaming, "Flight! Flight! Flight!" for some reason, and instead of soaking in the quiet I started oozing feelings of loneliness and sadness.

It was extremely tempting to turn on some music, go on Facebook, give Carrie a call, or watch a tv show to distract myself from the fact that I was now all by myself and did not want to sit in stillness around me.  But my "fight" alarms started kicking in and resisted the temptations to give in.  It looks like my brain decided that if I was going to get past this I needed to face the fears and insecurities head-on and linger in the tension between what I know and what I feel.

And it has helped.  Reflecting and thinking about my actions and feelings from these past few weeks is helping me do a lot of things:  recognize areas I need to ask God for forgiveness; identify the ways God has been gracious and merciful to me - which provokes my heart to be filled with gratitude; give praise to the Lord who is with me and shows me how much I am loved; and shed light on new hope for the future.  Processing is making it easier for me to lift these confessions and delights up in prayer.

So as the residue continues to settle, I am confident that my Lord hears me, sees me, and reminds me to focus on the truth of His presence over the lies of my loneliness.

Ceiling musings.

This past Sunday was a lovely morning - I appreciated and enjoyed the perspective Pastor Kyle took on Joseph's story in his sermon, and over lunch had the privilege of hearing the story of what God has been doing in Mun Joo's life.  She was someone new Sarah Min had met on the church bus that morning, and it was really nice talking with her.

I decided to have a very restful afternoon when I got home to our apartment.  It was quiet after Katy came back from church and went to sleep.  For the past week I was playing Christmas music almost nonstop, but for that afternoon I thought it would be nice to do some low-key things I really enjoy doing, such as reading or playing guitar.

I pulled out the fair-trade quilt I had asked my aunt for last Christmas and brought my laptop with my current reading, Banker to the Poor:  Micro-lending and the battle against world poverty by Muhammad Yunus, to our really comfortable sofa in the living room.

After feeling very productive and relaxed for reading a few chapters, I got very sleepy and did something I haven't done in a long time:  I decided to take a short nap.

Soon after I set my alarm and had fallen asleep on the couch, I woke up to some kind of scratching noise.  I opened my eyes and started sitting up to figure out where the noise was coming from because it sounded so close by.  I looked straight across the room at the front door because it sounded like someone was just outside the door, taping or posting some kind of paper on it.

I was curious as to who it was or what they were doing to our door, but the longer I listened, the less convinced I was that someone was there.  At that moment, I looked up and noticed that a huge chunk of the ceiling paint had started hanging down, with a rip that was slowly moving across the width of the ceiling.

I'm not sure if it was because I had just woken up from a nap or not, but I just stared at the rip, somehow trying to reassure my brain that that's exactly what was happening.  I think I was a little caught off guard but also didn't really know what to do.

It felt like I must've been in some kind of tv show or movie where the viewers are watching, yelling at the screen, "Why are you just sitting there?!  Get out of the way!  Do something!"  But I wasn't listening because I was in some kind of daze, somewhere in between the fact that I knew what was happening but couldn't really do anything to stop it so all I could do was watch.

Suddenly the rip finished tearing across the ceiling and a good chunk of the paint crumbled to the ground below, taking down a couple of plants with it and leaving a mess behind.

It was weird.  Here I was, staring at the ceiling for what felt like forever, fully aware that the paint was ripping and yet I was still shocked when it all came down.  You could hear my shock amidst the silence.  What a weird response.

It was a loud crash.  I half expected Katy to pop open her door and come see what all the commotion was about, but she didn't.  I sat there for a good few minutes, thinking about what I should do before I got up, examined the mess, and then went to wake Katy up to tell her what happened.

After Katy gave me our landlord's number and I left a message for our landlord, I carefully cleaned up the mess.

Later on that night after Sarah came home she opted not to watch a movie in the living room because there was still more that looked like it was ready to come down, and last night when Lauren Kirst and I decided to watch a movie there, Sarah suggested we open a couple of umbrellas and hold them over our heads while we watched, just in case something else fell down.  Her suggestion reminded me of a scene from Gilmore Girls and made me smile :]

Tonight is another tranquil evening.  I ventured back into the living room with my fair-trade quilt, Muhammad Yunus, and a hot cup of creamy, cinnamon and peppermint hot chocolate.  I lit some candles but opted to leave the Christmas music off - to fight the common fear of silence, conquer the fragility of stillness, and bask in the joy of God's presence and the soothing process of unpacking some of my thoughts.  I'm sitting in the same corner of the couch I sat in just a day ago, staring instead at a partial ceiling exposed to its bare plaster-y flesh in this cold, cold apartment.

The more I stare at the ceiling in this silence, the more it looks like a metaphor of life.

So far, there is one thought and feeling I've accumulated from this gentle evening: realizing how much you miss someone is common but recognizing that it stems from a desire to enjoy their company with you and not from a desire to avoid being lonely - well, it just warms my heart.

Unless that's just the hot chocolate speaking.

Latest food stories.

I posted a picture of these pumpkin scones on Facebook the day I first made them.  I wanted something different for breakfast and decided to make these scones.  I also made another batch for the E-board Nomination Committee as a "dessert" for our brunch.  They tasted delicious with the locally made strawberry cranberry preserves I got from Apple Hills Farm.  My mouth's watering just thinking about these beauties.  

Pumpkin scones

There wasn't a really exciting story to go with this curry.  I just had a craving for curry when I decided to make this chicken curry for me and Sarah for dinner.  It was my first time making it and I kind of cooked off-the-cuff from the recipe I looked up, so all the vegetables weren't as soft as how my mom makes it.  Ah, I miss my mom's curry...

Chicken curry

When it comes to pancakes in the McNamara house, I don't really make plain pancakes.  I'll try to find whatever's in the kitchen to make them.  With these pancakes, it was an occasion where Sarah had been working hard through the night to finish writing a paper - she was awake when I went to sleep and still awake when I woke up - so that morning I wanted to make her breakfast so she wouldn't have to worry about being hungry.  And I just wanted pancakes.

These weren't from scratch (sorry, Nathan), but I had to improvise a little because after I pulled out the Bisquick and found some coconut and chocolate chips, I discovered that we ran out of eggs.  Wa wa.  Thankfully, Google came to the rescue and I was able to put together an egg substitute out of water, baking powder and oil.  I'd make them again!

Coconut chocolate chip pancakes

This tuna casserole recipe is one my mom really likes to whip up on days where she doesn't feel like doing any intense cooking and wants to just make something easy but not Chinese-y.  The recipe calls for frozen peas, but a) I'm not a big fan of peas, let alone frozen peas, and b) I didn't have any.  So I chopped up some broccoli and zucchini and threw those in instead.  Best substitute for frozen peas, hands down.

Tuna casserole

I actually made this whole casserole for myself.  People have told me that they often don't like to cook when they're just by themselves or when it's just them and one other person because it's just sad/pathetic or too much food, but I love it.  I love leftovers.  Sorry, for those of you who aren't fans of leftovers.  I think they're great for lunch or dinner because then you don't have to cook again.

I had turned off most of the lamps and lit our indoor Christmas lights and some candles when Sarah came home and asked if she could have some of the food I just made.

"What's in it?" she asked after she started eating it.
"It's super easy to make!  You just need a can of cream of mushroom soup...and I put broccoli and zucchini instead of the frozen peas it called for.  And I used whole wheat egg noodles..."
"What?" she said, her eyes widening at the food she had been putting in her mouth.  "I didn't even notice a difference!"
I laughed.  "You like it now, don't you?  I told you whole wheat pasta could be yummy!"

Another cool part about this dish is that it tastes delicious cold.

It's back.

Have you seen those commercials or movies that show time freezing except for the main characters?  You know, the whole people-stop-moving, wave-your-hand-in-front-of-someone's-eyes-to-see-if-they-blink thing?  I wish that could happen to me.  I'm pretty much selfishly asking the world to stop for me.  But it's not so I could pull funny pranks or prevent bad things from happening, or even to change things to tip the scale in my favor.  I just wish the world would slow down so I can have more time to think and process.

Speaking of such, let's give a warm welcome to my introverted personality, which has come back in full force.  Not that I suddenly stopped being introverted, but there's definitely been a good chunk of time where my extroverted side was dominating so much that it felt like my introverted tendencies had taken a vacation.

Not only has my introverted personality returned, but it brought home the unwanted baggage of hyper-sensitivity and sluggish functionality.  Over the past several weeks, thinking and mulling over things has made me want to cry, and sharing things with others didn't really make a difference.  It feels like a lose-lose.  And then I get frustrated at myself and feel like such a stereotypical girl for crying so much.  I appreciate having one good big cry to let everything out - it's a freeing sensation and emptying in such a way that I feel like the space has been cleared to be filled again.  But crying really hard more than once within a short period of time?  That's just annoying.

I think the last time I cried so often and was on the verge of tears so frequently in such condensed spurts of time was probably my senior year of high school.  It's funny because a major difference between how I responded in high school and how I'm responding now is very different.  Back then I kept asking myself and asking God the question of 'why' - why this road, why me, why now.  But at this point in my life things haven't been a matter of knowing the reasons behind circumstances or the purpose of putting me through such grey areas.  I know and trust that God would be glorified, that He keeps His promises and that good will result in some shape or form that I may not ever recognize or understand.  I'm okay with that.

Instead I find that I keep asking myself and asking God the question, "Am I doing the right thing?" or, "Is this what I'm supposed to be doing?" and every time I ask it in my head, I immediately know I'm asking the wrong question.  It leaves the bitter taste of wanting answers with questions I know I can't ask lingering in my mouth.

Ugh.  There's just been so much going on in my head.  And it's frustrating because it makes it that much harder for me to stay present and work hard to be productive for things that have to get done right now.  It holds me back from moving forward.

If there's anything I've figured out so far, it's that this whole ordeal continues to fuel more of this hunger and thirst to know God and follow Him with my life.  And I know it'll be worth it all.