Opportunities to Say Yes

So many times things come up, and I have the opportunity to participate or refrain. I'm a homebody... so often I am comfortable where I am... whether it be in my little black chair that makes noise with every move, or where I am currently in life. I don't like moving beyond and saying yes to things that are uncertain, to things that take risk, to things that might hurt a little. But usually, I will grudgingly say yes to look good.

Of course it looks really great and kind and servant-hearted of me to go off and rake leaves for some people who live in a trailer park up the road. Of course it seems really great of me to offer my room to a visitor. Of course it seems good to offer to help clean someone's room for them when they don't have the time. But too often when I examine my heart motivation, it's all wrong. It's about me. It's about how people will see me. I want people to look at me and say "wow. she's so sweet. so kind. so thoughtful. so humble. so focused on others." How ironic that this very desire in me stems from the selfish desire to be noticed. To get a pat on the back. To get "brownie points" in the eyes of others. When I discover this attitude in me, my stomach twists in knots. Who am I to try to use opportunities of serving others to elevate myself?

This ran through my head as the sound of crunchy leaves under my rake filled my ears, the squeals of kids jumping in piles of soggy, old leaves bouncing off of the small houses in the trailer park. The cars slowing down to see what 70 college students had to do with a trailer park's leaves. The gentle chatter and singing of students as they bagged leaves, picked up trash, and piled them in a rusted out pick-up.

The other thought was about my own unwillingness to serve. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, the last thing I want to do is find a way to make a difference for someone. I rationalize with myself: too much homework, I need time to myself, it's the weekend, I've been so busy all week, it's cold out, but that would take too much time, but what if it was embarrassing, but what if they didn't appreciate my efforts, but what if they didn't like me, but what if it's unsafe.... they whirl in my head like those fall leaves twirling off of the trees. Once I write down these rationalizations, I realize they are all about me. I whine and argue and complain a little longer until I reluctantly muster up the courage to say yes. I don't have to say yes, but honestly, I am only missing out on an opportunity to be blessed abundantly. And that's the most ridiculous part about it: even when I say yes reluctantly.... God still chooses to bless bratty me above and beyond what I ever could have imagined.

This year has been full of opportunities to turn down God's blessings. He will offer me an opportunity... though sometimes it's disguised as the beat-up, unwanted gift at a White Elephant Party. I whine and complain and ask Him what on earth I would ever do with such a useless thing. And right when I'm about to say no and shove it as far away from myself as possible, I feel a tug on my heart. What if you said yes? Ah, but that would be impossible. Quite impossible. You see... the circumstances........... what if you said yes? And suddenly the answer is clear. This year more than ever, I'm learning the truth behind Child, I want to bless you. But you have to trust me. You have to let me. You have to say yes. The floodgates have opened, and I stand here in awe as the blessings rain down.

Ducks

I love ducks. It seems ridiculous that such a common creature could strike my fancy so much. But really... I love ducks. They make me laugh. They fill me with joy.

This is the fourth time that I have spent extended time down by the lake this school year, and always, the ducks come. Apparently I'm some kind of duck magnet. The second I reach the water, they're quacking at me and straining their necks to see if I have food for them. As they float on the gentle waves from a recent speedboat gone by, they quack happily at each other: male and female. Occasionally the male will wander off to explore between the boats in the canal. As soon as the female gets wind of it, she quacks in protest, until the male makes his appearance at her side. Sometimes, they come strutting out of the water together, waddling out of the grass right up to where I'm standing on the edge. Watching them in their hurried waddle, I can't help but smile. They're so awkward. So funny.

I was sitting at a picnic table in my purple coat, sipping a cappuccino, and spending time with a friend. The wind was sometimes rude in its interruptions, but usually just gently played with my loose hair. The clouds covered the sky... Our conversation was slow. Long pauses. But comfortable silence. The ducks came: waddling eagerly, quacking at each other. They spent time in the shadow of the picnic table, avidly eating the grass with gusto. The clouds opened... and slowly the sun began to shine through. It shimmered off the swollen lake, into our faces. As each gust of wind picked up, the seagulls on the beach would fly into the wind, some being blown back, others rising above the current, and dipping down for fish. Our conversation picked up, would taper off as we sat again marveling at lake, sky, birds, ducks.

Peace. Stillness. And always the echoing quack of distant ducks. A soft smile, a tug on the corner of the mouth, broadening into a grin, and a small chuckle. Days like these leave me filled.

Sucking the Marrow Out of Life

I simply love literature. I love studying it and analyzing it. I love exploring what great writers and thinkers of the past had to say about life. I love the metaphors. I love the way the words just roll off of the tongue, float off the page, coming to life. Though my literature course is now over, I am still processing some of the quotes. I'm still working through them, still pondering them. Like this one:

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately ... I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to put to rout all that was not life and not when I had come to die discover that I had not lived.” -- Thoreau (in Walden)

When I came to this passage, it literally stopped me in my crazy race of life... always in a rush, always in a hurry just to get to the next thing... not because I really want to be there, not because I have any passion for it... but just because that's what I'm supposed to do. 

What would happen if I just learned to say "no" to some things that were draining me... without any cause or reason? What would happen if I really, truly lived my life deliberately...? That every action would have a point to it? If I was truly aware and awake to why I do what I do, instead of going through life just to go through it... just to make it through to the next thing? How would my life be different if I really truly seized every opportunity, rather than cowering and fearing the outcome? What would happen if I actually challenged myself to seize the day? To live life to its fullest? To not waste a single moment, a single day...?

This last 8 week session was honestly ... horrible. Over-committed. Yes, I'm passionate in all that I'm involved with... but after a while, I can't give 100% to everything. And suddenly things began to slip. Not completely out of control, but starting to spiral down. And the first thing was my own well-being... crazy stressed is no way to "suck the marrow out of life..." to "carpe diem..." to "live deliberately."

It's in these insane times that I get the crazy urge to skip class. And *gasp* I do. And I sit on my blanket in the sun and just journal or read, or pray. Deliberately. Because I figured that would do me more good than going to class. Not by any means a regular urge that I allow myself to give in to, but one that sometimes is necessary.

This next 8 week session is already so much better. Learning to say "no." Learning to grasp what really matters, and what really doesn't. Learning that I can't do everything. I can't be everyone's hero. But I can live life deliberately. I can take some risks. I can step out of whatever stereotypes and boxes I have allowed others to put me in, or have put myself in. And live life joyfully.

Creating

I don't consider myself artsy or creative. But I love art... I love artists.... I have always secretly desired to paint, craft, sculpt, photograph, and draw like they can. I like their sense of style, I like the way they look at even the most plain and everyday things and bring them to life in a beautiful, fascinating way.

I've always just assumed I was incapable of creating because I couldn't do it as well as others... my people's shoulders were uneven, my horses looked like pregnant dogs, and my still life squashes were always lopsided. 

But then... someone comes along and tells me I can. That if I just give it a try, and put aside my fear of failure.... it'll be ok. Maybe it won't be the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel or the Mona Lisa.... but that's ok. Just try.

The joy and the freedom of watercoloring in my dorm room. Oil pastels. Collages. Snips of paper made into something new. Decorating a bulletin board in colorful cloth to bring it to life and give it character. Trees in different seasons. Scrapbooks. Bracelets. Sketches of random things in my lit notebook. And a bowl... formed, shaped by my own hands... 

And the quiet rejoicing when someone steps in my room and asks who the artist is. NOT ME. Surely not. But my little, weird creations have drawn someone's fancy. And that is what art is, after all... expression. And my little strange expressions are transferred to others. 

I have had to write a bunch of unit plans, lesson plans, and learning activities this past week. Educational resources and activities litter the desktop on my computer... and my dreams. But suddenly I'm realizing that there are ways to be creative that go beyond just art. And so I create and draft new learning activities for students I have yet to even meet. For eighth grade history students, for a class of fidgety third graders... 

Creating is hard work. It drains me... but oddly energizes me too... the thrill of coming up with new ways to teach things,  new ways to look at things gives me energy to get up at 7:30 and keep looking, researching, and developing ideas. But when I come to my final product, I am proud of it. It's mine. It's hours and hours of thought, careful work, planning, and implementation.... and I have loved it, worked on it, gotten frustrated with it, but created it in the end. Success.

As I was in the midst of this creation.... I came across this quote: 

"The whole difference between construction and creation is exactly this: that a thing constructed can only be loved after it is constructed, but a thing created is loved before it exists."
- G.K. Chesterton

And I realized.... I am created. I have been loved before my very existence. I have been loved, but I am a work in progress. Sometimes I'm rather frustrating to work with. But in the end... I will turn out the way the master Creator wants me. And I will be loved. I will be cherished.

 

The Comfort of Familiar Lines

It's been a quiet day of sipping Emergen-C, napping, and finishing my homework... hoping and praying I don't get sick while my roommate nestles in her bed with a sore throat. We decided to watch some Lord of the Rings to relax us, and help us do our homework with a gentle distraction. If anybody knows something about me, it's probably that I am a hopeless Lord of the Rings fan. I am just simply in love. In love with the adventure, in love with the quest, the fantastic characters: the strength of Aragorn, the steadfast devotion and friendship of Sam, Frodo's resilience, Arwen's quiet, fierce beauty, Gandalf's wisdom. I love the scenery, the mysteriousness, the majestic soundtrack. I love that I can simply just listen to what is going on, and the whole movie plays in my head because I've seen it so many times. I love that I can quote it. That I know that it will turn out in the end.

Bekah now sprawls on the floor doing some quality grammar homework, and I eat plain tortilla wraps (yes I know it's weird) while lounging in a bean bag.... she looks up and asks me why LOTR is so relaxing... why is it so comforting?

I pause to think. Perhaps it is the fact that I always watch it with people I love... at home in my cozy basement... with wonderful friends, staying up all hours of the night. No, it goes deeper than that...

I think it is the truth that haunts every scene. The fact that this life is a quest. It's difficult, it's painful, it can be tragic. But it is also full of hope, the beautiful devotion of true friendship, the commitment of unwavering love, and the promise of everything being right in the end.

Every time I set out on marathon-ing this phenomenal story, I know that no matter how happy it seems at the beginning, sadness, trial and death will come. In the times of war and utter hopelessness, I know that that's not the end. I know that there is more coming... and that it's worth fighting for. There is a beautiful, fulfilling end. I just have to keep it in sight... and keep hoping that it's just around the corner.

One of my favorite quotes from the Return of the King:
"But in the end it's only a passing thing, the shadow, even darkness must pass. A new day will come and when the sun shines it will shine out the clearer. Those were the stories that stayed with you. That meant something, even if you were too small to understand why, but I think, Mr. Frodo, I do understand, I know now. The folk in those stories had lots of chances at turning back, only they didn't. They kept going. Because they were holding on to something." -Sam

So even though I've seen it more than 20 times, I set out again on this journey. To experience the adventure, the pain, and the beautiful ending that gives me hope to continue. To hold on, to dig in, to keep fighting.