And I would rather embrace them intentionally.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Intentional
Strangely enough that’s the word that keeps rolling around my brain after my return from Kenya. It’s strange to me because I think one would come back from two months in a foreign country on mission with words like humility, inspiration, perspective, joy, and heartbreak.
Everyone I’ve talked with about Kenya since my return can vouch for me using those words. All of them, in some way or another, have been a part of the story-telling process, a part of my experience there.
But I haven’t written about them. And even now, writing at this point of my debriefing journey seems an injustice to what really took place there.
The faces, the fellowship, the conversations, the tears of joy and pain.
I’m tempted to reply to the daily question, “How was your trip?” with “You’ll just have to go and see for yourself.” But I’m afraid that response is not entirely glorifying to God. Although...Jesus said, “Go into all the world and preach the Good News to everyone.” He didn’t say, “then come home and tell everyone else about it.” (Or did he? If someone knows where He said this, please tell me...!)
Truth of it is, it’s just not possible to put words to it all. I would fail miserably. And since I don’t like failing, I loathe it in fact, I am just now attempting to publicly tackle my thoughts in writing.
But what keeps rising to the top of the heart and head jumble of thoughts is this word: intentional.
Dave Ramsey always says, “If you don’t tell your money where to go, you will wonder where it went.” I’m beginning to see how that is true of time and relationships too.
(Note: this is not an invitation to tell the people in your life where to go haha...that could get you into trouble, but I think you know what I mean.)
Leading up to my departure in June, I struggled to not question God’s timing in the trip. There were sleepless nights and dreams and deep fears rising to the surface. Yes, I knew His timing was perfect...but I also knew how infrequently His and my timing seemed to line up. For example, every day of my adult life since college has been His timing, not mine. (And gratefully so, even if I don’t always admit it.) But shortly after arriving in country and literally every single day I was there, He showed me how His timing really is quite perfect. His ways are truly sovereign.
He accomplished things I never would have dreamt in ways I never could have seen.
It was apprehensively out of my control. And I began to see that days and hours and opportunities could be easily wasted if not seized or sought.
Things like weariness, apathy, insecurity, selfishness, sickness, or just plain feeling overwhelmed were huge obstacles to remaining connected to the work God had for me there. Now that I’m back home, I’m seeing how there are similar obstacles here, just add in busyness and maybe complacency.
It can be so easy to disconnect. Let life slip by. Passively avoid embracing what’s before you for myriad reasons. Maybe even some valid ones.
That’s not to say we always have to be busy. Goodness knows, our lives are cluttered enough with social media, job stress, finances, etc. But we have to remain engaged. Even when Jesus pulled away for solitude with God, he wasn’t disconnected...He was intimately connecting with His Father...SO THAT when He was with his disciples...the least...the lost...He could be connected there too.
We don’t have to let those possibly valid reasons (excuses?) make choices for us. We can choose to be...
Intentional.
It means “on purpose.”
Those are the kind of days I want to live. On purpose ones.
Those are the kinds of relationships I want to have. On purpose ones.
The kinds of smiles I want to give. On purpose.
The kind of love I want to have. On purpose.
Choosing to live, relation, smile, love...intentionally.
And so my life is currently under a microscope. There is purging and listing and praying and seeking and more listing and circling and thinking and more listing.
Not to be a slave to it all. But to seize the opportunities that God kindly puts before me each day. Because if I don’t choose to pay attention to them, I will wonder where they went.
And I would rather embrace them intentionally.
And I would rather embrace them intentionally.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Prancer and Scurry
I can't believe I'm back in Kenya. This time for 7 weeks! What was a stirring in my heart over a year ago is now coming to fruition. I am so grateful for God's guidance and direction in this. I hope and pray every bit of this journey is honoring and glorifying to Him. He's the reason I'm here, after all.
I left the U.S. on Monday and here it is Friday already. Almost a week of this 7 week trip gone. But rest assured, God is already speaking and teaching. And, as usual with me it seems, He's using some rather unlikely objects to get the message across.
Oh the lessons to be learned from bats. Wednesday afternoon we arrived at an insect research center in Mbita. After checking in, watching a beautiful sunset over Lake Voctoria, sorting and organizing heaps (literally) of medicine, a warm dinner and a hot shower, I settled into bed for a much needed night's sleep. The balcony door was open, so we could hear the softly crashing waves from the lake. We were surrounded by mosquito netting and ever-so-grateful for a place to lay our heads and stretch our legs. Before the lights were even out, my roommate and I heard a rustling noise above us. Seeing nothing in the room, we decided it was of no concern and shut our eyes for some sleep.
After three hours of solid sleep, I awoke to this same rustling sound. And when I say rustling sound, I mean it was like Santa's team of varmint reindeer had landed on the roof. There was flapping and scurrying and squeaking galore. For some reason, I wasn't the least bit sleepy anymore! I lay awake here for hours, trying to drown out the sound of our "friendly" creatures.
After hour number two, I decided to name the stinkin' bats in the hopes of making them seem a little less creepy. Prancer and Scurry seemed appropriate. I really have no idea how any there are, but there was definitely more than one and...well, three seemed like a crowd. Two it is.
If you're wondering, there really is a lesson in all this. As I lay there wide awake in the middle of the night, my heart would race every so often as the scurry/flutter/squeak would intensify. It was easy to hear. In fact, it was ridiculously loud. But in the background of the rustle there was a quieter softer gentler sound. The calm crash of the waves on the shore. It was there all along. But I found myself having a hard time hearing it. I felt like God was saying, this is like Truth and lies. Sometimes the lies are so in my face, so easy to hear, that I can lose focus of the truth. I had to work harder to hear the waves. I would find my heart racing as I couldn't help but hear Prancer and Scurry having a grand old time above me, and then, taking a deep breath, I'd tune into the peaceful waves. What a timely reminder as this Kenya journey begins. I have a feeling there will be many occasions where I might need to search for the sound of truth to drown out the lies.
Where are you letting lies run around in your head and steal your peace? Where do you need to settle in and listen to the steady, gentle waves of truth?
Friday, January 2, 2015
2015's Word of the Year
I'm in utter disbelief that it's 2015.
Time again to choose or be given a word of the year.
Seriously seems like yesterday I was sitting around a fire sharing how this word (understanding) was the one to ponder for the next 365 days.
But a few nights ago, I was again surrounded by some of my favorite people, sharing our word for 2015. This morning, I have had the extreme pleasure to be called off work (so far). Everyone loves a few unexpected hours! It has been a divine gift and in an effort not to waste it, I have rekindled one of my favorite things.
It doesn't have a name. (I thought of a few…they were all dorky.) It just involves a sheet of paper, a pen, my Bible, and my crazy brain.
Sometimes there's so much on my mind, or there's an idea I want to capture that I'll jot down phrases and Scripture, maybe a drawing or two.
They are some of my favorite pages to look back on because they represent times I feel like I'm really brainstorming with a purpose. Dreaming. Dreaming BIG (like I did when I wrote this in summer of 2011).
The past few weeks I've noticed God bringing this year's word to me in different places. I didn't want to lose the thread He was weaving, so I finally started to jot it all down.
The word is…TREASURE.
I am excited to see what God reveals…there are so many implications! To start with, I feel like He's laid out three things:
1. Treasure Me.
2. Allow yourself to be treasured by Me.
3. Fully treasure all the gifts I give you.
So. Treasure.
I tried to make it as big as I could, but you might still need your reading glasses. And no, there are no sketches on here yet…consider yourself lucky.
It's a work in progress, but hey, it's only the second day of the year...
Time again to choose or be given a word of the year.
Seriously seems like yesterday I was sitting around a fire sharing how this word (understanding) was the one to ponder for the next 365 days.
But a few nights ago, I was again surrounded by some of my favorite people, sharing our word for 2015. This morning, I have had the extreme pleasure to be called off work (so far). Everyone loves a few unexpected hours! It has been a divine gift and in an effort not to waste it, I have rekindled one of my favorite things.
It doesn't have a name. (I thought of a few…they were all dorky.) It just involves a sheet of paper, a pen, my Bible, and my crazy brain.
Sometimes there's so much on my mind, or there's an idea I want to capture that I'll jot down phrases and Scripture, maybe a drawing or two.
They are some of my favorite pages to look back on because they represent times I feel like I'm really brainstorming with a purpose. Dreaming. Dreaming BIG (like I did when I wrote this in summer of 2011).
The past few weeks I've noticed God bringing this year's word to me in different places. I didn't want to lose the thread He was weaving, so I finally started to jot it all down.
The word is…TREASURE.
I am excited to see what God reveals…there are so many implications! To start with, I feel like He's laid out three things:
1. Treasure Me.
2. Allow yourself to be treasured by Me.
3. Fully treasure all the gifts I give you.
So. Treasure.
I tried to make it as big as I could, but you might still need your reading glasses. And no, there are no sketches on here yet…consider yourself lucky.
It's a work in progress, but hey, it's only the second day of the year...
What is your word of the year?
What are you dreaming about in 2015?
What acorn dreams is God growing in you?!
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Thankful For What?!
Monday was a beautiful day. A much-needed day of rest after a string of several challenging shifts at the hospital.
The weather was incredible. Rainy and windy and cold. I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof….lingered in bed as long as possible, soaking in the sound.
As I stirred and began my day, the wind hurled leaves and branches and made the trees sway. I could stand it no longer. I had to be out in this glorious display of God's might.
I took my hot tea, wrapped in a warm blanket, curled up on the patio and looked. Simply looked. And listened.
Up. All around. Up again.
The clouds were moving fast. The trees bending and bowing in a noisy display of splendor. The wind. Oh the wind!
He was really showing off now. The stark contrast of the blue sky with the white clouds was stunning. And the colors of fall - of all things in this world. So much color.
And so many sounds if but we would listen.
I tried - always try - to stay silent. It never lasts long. I began to mentally list things for which I'm thankful. It's an attempt to live fully. Because to not fully live is to miss what God has for me (which is one of my biggest fears). And I'm learning how to not miss it...
I've been reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts - a beautifully raw and eye-opening book about Ann's journey to gratitude through listing 1,000 things she was grateful for. Through words that resonate deeply, she expounds on the meaning of "eucharisteo" - the Greek word meaning "he gave thanks." Jesus used this word at the Last Supper, when he broke bread and gave thanks for it (Luke 22:19).
She breaks down the Greek word even more…
euCHARISteo
Charis. Grace.
Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving.
Chara. Joy.
And she asks, "Is the height of my chara joy dependent on the depths of my eucharisteo thanks? So then as long as thanks is possible…Joy is always possible. Whenever, meaning - now; wherever, meaning - here. The holy grail of joy is not in some exotic location or some emotional mountain peak experience. The joy wonder could be here! Here, in the messy, piercing ache of now, joy might be - unbelievably - possible! The only place we need see before we die is this place of seeing God, here and now."
Recognizing His gifts. Innumerable. And unique. And deeply personal. And I miss them in a statement of sweeping gratitude. When I give voice to a general thanks for a day, or for God, or for life…am I missing the gifts? The thousands of gifts He gives - there is joy in the naming. The specifics.
She goes on, "We only enter into the full life if our faith gives thanks...Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever He gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our Yes! to His grace."
It's a way of not missing what He has for me. Facing the fear, embracing faith, I name the gifts.
Thank You for the sound of the wind. Thank You for meeting me here. Thank You for the way my fingers feel wrapped around this mug of steaming tea. Thank You for the blue sky. The white clouds. The colors of the leaves. Thank You for death.
Wait, what?! Death?
Did I really just thank God for death?
My head challenged my heart and questioned it's loyalty. Was this betrayal? But my heart, strengthened by truth and understanding, rebutted that it was - is - actually thankful for death.
Death of old habits. Death of expectations - of self (the hardest to let go!) and expectations of others. Death of pain and old wounds. Death of failures.
Because only in death can there be life.
He reminds us of this each autumn. As leaves change color and fall to the ground, leading to a cold dry winter…the death that brings life and beauty rich in spring.
The death of God's Son. Blood shed to cover the sin of every man. A love so grand to go to the deepest depths…death. So that we may have life…and have it to the full (John 10:10).
Oh that I would recognize what I need to let die! My stubborn will. My desire for control. My negative self-fulfilling prophecies. My ingratitude.
May I learn how to embrace this beauty of death so I can make room for the new. The new gifts He has for me.
And may I keep my eyes open to always see the beauty of His gifts as I name them, as Ann did...one by one.
The weather was incredible. Rainy and windy and cold. I woke up to the sound of rain on the roof….lingered in bed as long as possible, soaking in the sound.
As I stirred and began my day, the wind hurled leaves and branches and made the trees sway. I could stand it no longer. I had to be out in this glorious display of God's might.
I took my hot tea, wrapped in a warm blanket, curled up on the patio and looked. Simply looked. And listened.
Up. All around. Up again.
The clouds were moving fast. The trees bending and bowing in a noisy display of splendor. The wind. Oh the wind!
He was really showing off now. The stark contrast of the blue sky with the white clouds was stunning. And the colors of fall - of all things in this world. So much color.
And so many sounds if but we would listen.
I tried - always try - to stay silent. It never lasts long. I began to mentally list things for which I'm thankful. It's an attempt to live fully. Because to not fully live is to miss what God has for me (which is one of my biggest fears). And I'm learning how to not miss it...
I've been reading Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts - a beautifully raw and eye-opening book about Ann's journey to gratitude through listing 1,000 things she was grateful for. Through words that resonate deeply, she expounds on the meaning of "eucharisteo" - the Greek word meaning "he gave thanks." Jesus used this word at the Last Supper, when he broke bread and gave thanks for it (Luke 22:19).
She breaks down the Greek word even more…
euCHARISteo
Charis. Grace.
Eucharisteo. Thanksgiving.
Chara. Joy.
And she asks, "Is the height of my chara joy dependent on the depths of my eucharisteo thanks? So then as long as thanks is possible…Joy is always possible. Whenever, meaning - now; wherever, meaning - here. The holy grail of joy is not in some exotic location or some emotional mountain peak experience. The joy wonder could be here! Here, in the messy, piercing ache of now, joy might be - unbelievably - possible! The only place we need see before we die is this place of seeing God, here and now."
Recognizing His gifts. Innumerable. And unique. And deeply personal. And I miss them in a statement of sweeping gratitude. When I give voice to a general thanks for a day, or for God, or for life…am I missing the gifts? The thousands of gifts He gives - there is joy in the naming. The specifics.
She goes on, "We only enter into the full life if our faith gives thanks...Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever He gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our Yes! to His grace."
It's a way of not missing what He has for me. Facing the fear, embracing faith, I name the gifts.
Thank You for the sound of the wind. Thank You for meeting me here. Thank You for the way my fingers feel wrapped around this mug of steaming tea. Thank You for the blue sky. The white clouds. The colors of the leaves. Thank You for death.
Wait, what?! Death?
Did I really just thank God for death?
My head challenged my heart and questioned it's loyalty. Was this betrayal? But my heart, strengthened by truth and understanding, rebutted that it was - is - actually thankful for death.
Death of old habits. Death of expectations - of self (the hardest to let go!) and expectations of others. Death of pain and old wounds. Death of failures.
Because only in death can there be life.
He reminds us of this each autumn. As leaves change color and fall to the ground, leading to a cold dry winter…the death that brings life and beauty rich in spring.
The death of God's Son. Blood shed to cover the sin of every man. A love so grand to go to the deepest depths…death. So that we may have life…and have it to the full (John 10:10).
Oh that I would recognize what I need to let die! My stubborn will. My desire for control. My negative self-fulfilling prophecies. My ingratitude.
May I learn how to embrace this beauty of death so I can make room for the new. The new gifts He has for me.
And may I keep my eyes open to always see the beauty of His gifts as I name them, as Ann did...one by one.
Friday, August 1, 2014
The Horse (Part II): It's Up To Her
In my last post, I wrote about a fabulous scene from The Man From Snowy River where Jim and Jessica break in a wild horse.
I was reminded of this scene after a recent conversation about my job. And my desire for it to be different.
[Must note, to all my coworkers and patients, L&D nursing is an incredible job…I have amazing coworkers and have had some of the best and most meaningful experiences there. But those of us who do it day in and day out know the struggles, the things that gnaw away at our resolve to do it another day. For me, the overarching desire is to be out from under the weight, stress, and ever-increasing responsibility. I love the relational side and wish that could be the sole part of my job, but that's not the reality. Maybe it's something in my make up, maybe it's changing desires of my heart (ahem, Africa), whatever the reason, it is a constant struggle to balance the weight of charting/legalities with relationing well with my patients and their families.]
I had spent a good part of the conversation discussing why I felt this way and what I was planning to do about it.
And as I reflected about the trying days, the depressing waking moments at 5 am, the struggle to remain positive for 12 continual hours, I realized something: just like a wild horse in a corral, my spirit wants free.
This may not be inherently bad…unless I am seeking out this freedom before it's time. God may open the gate sometime. And it may be soon. But it isn't open yet. And I'm bucking and kicking my way through the day, starting with that 5 am wake up.
Now I've never broken in a horse, but I'd imagine the more bucking and rearing she does, the more rubs and sore spots she's going to have. If she chooses to surrender and submit to being broken, then those wounds won't appear.
What if this time is for me to continue being trained? I think I'm ready to barrel my way through the gate into the wild blue yonder and yet God is patiently beckoning me to calm down, listen more intently to His voice, and continue to learn the rhythms and patterns in His will.
I did some youtube research about breaking in horses and couldn't believe what I found. Check out this incredible video of famous horse trainer, Monty Roberts. It's just under 7 minutes and seriously well worth the time...
Did you catch one of the first things he said about Coronna?
It's up to her.
It completely sets the stage for his relationship with her. It's her choice to listen…or not. Strikingly like our walk with the Lord…it's up to us whether we seek Him...or not. (see the entire Old Testament and the Israelites' stubbornness that is a constant thread throughout the whole thing)
And then…
I will do it with her. I will not force her to do anything.
He doesn't leave her alone. He allows her freedom. Hmm…similar to God's promise to always be with us (Deuteronomy 31:6)…and how He pursues us even after we've run from Him (see the entire book of Hosea).
And…
Her inside ear will find me. Outside ear listens to the rest of the world.
Coronna's hearing is trained. Similarly, we listen to His voice and know Him while we live and exist in the world (see John 10:27-30).
Smaller circle.
Coronna begins to circle closer to the one giving her direction. She seeks him as we seek the Lord, who promises to be found if we would seek Him with all our heart. (see Jeremiah 29:12-13)
Join up - get her attention, draw her to me.
Eerily similar to Jesus' invitation for us to "follow me." He demonstrates His love, His glory, His faithfulness and invites us into an abundant life with Him (see Mark 1:16-18; Mark 2:14; Luke 5:10-11; John 1:35-51, and last but not least John 10:10)
See, we have the choice to be broken in or wounded.
The horse wants to run free. We all want to run free. But if we don't know where we're going, we're likely to get wounded. If we surrender to God's leading, allowing Him to train us, to "break" us so to speak, we will be freer than ever before. He can lead us into pastures greater and grander than we can imagine.
But we have to be ready for them.
We can't go find them on our own, ill-equipped for the trials ahead.
When we allow our Trainer, our loving Father, to do a work in us, we learn to do it with Him. Turning our inner ear to Him while the noise of the world swirls around. We draw into a smaller circle with Him, allowing Him to have our attention, allowing Him to draw us to Himself.
Whether it takes 2 months or 5 years.
Letting go of the stubborn kick that rubs the saddle raw on our backs isn't always easy. And for some (me) it might take a little longer.
We can roam around forever in the great expanse, having a false sense of direction and purpose.
Or we can enter the corral, knowing it's the best plan for us.
And when that corral feels more stifling than freeing, could it be that we have taken our gaze off the One who is able to do immeasurably more than we could imagine (Ephesians 3:20-21)? Maybe it really isn't even a corral, we just see it that way because of our desire to be in a different place.
We want to be free, but we have to continually surrender, trusting in God's heart and faithfulness to bring us through what He has for us, all for His glory.
But, like Coronna, it's up to us.
I was reminded of this scene after a recent conversation about my job. And my desire for it to be different.
[Must note, to all my coworkers and patients, L&D nursing is an incredible job…I have amazing coworkers and have had some of the best and most meaningful experiences there. But those of us who do it day in and day out know the struggles, the things that gnaw away at our resolve to do it another day. For me, the overarching desire is to be out from under the weight, stress, and ever-increasing responsibility. I love the relational side and wish that could be the sole part of my job, but that's not the reality. Maybe it's something in my make up, maybe it's changing desires of my heart (ahem, Africa), whatever the reason, it is a constant struggle to balance the weight of charting/legalities with relationing well with my patients and their families.]
I had spent a good part of the conversation discussing why I felt this way and what I was planning to do about it.
And as I reflected about the trying days, the depressing waking moments at 5 am, the struggle to remain positive for 12 continual hours, I realized something: just like a wild horse in a corral, my spirit wants free.
This may not be inherently bad…unless I am seeking out this freedom before it's time. God may open the gate sometime. And it may be soon. But it isn't open yet. And I'm bucking and kicking my way through the day, starting with that 5 am wake up.
Now I've never broken in a horse, but I'd imagine the more bucking and rearing she does, the more rubs and sore spots she's going to have. If she chooses to surrender and submit to being broken, then those wounds won't appear.
What if this time is for me to continue being trained? I think I'm ready to barrel my way through the gate into the wild blue yonder and yet God is patiently beckoning me to calm down, listen more intently to His voice, and continue to learn the rhythms and patterns in His will.
I did some youtube research about breaking in horses and couldn't believe what I found. Check out this incredible video of famous horse trainer, Monty Roberts. It's just under 7 minutes and seriously well worth the time...
Did you catch one of the first things he said about Coronna?
It's up to her.
It completely sets the stage for his relationship with her. It's her choice to listen…or not. Strikingly like our walk with the Lord…it's up to us whether we seek Him...or not. (see the entire Old Testament and the Israelites' stubbornness that is a constant thread throughout the whole thing)
And then…
I will do it with her. I will not force her to do anything.
He doesn't leave her alone. He allows her freedom. Hmm…similar to God's promise to always be with us (Deuteronomy 31:6)…and how He pursues us even after we've run from Him (see the entire book of Hosea).
And…
Her inside ear will find me. Outside ear listens to the rest of the world.
Coronna's hearing is trained. Similarly, we listen to His voice and know Him while we live and exist in the world (see John 10:27-30).
Smaller circle.
Coronna begins to circle closer to the one giving her direction. She seeks him as we seek the Lord, who promises to be found if we would seek Him with all our heart. (see Jeremiah 29:12-13)
Join up - get her attention, draw her to me.
Eerily similar to Jesus' invitation for us to "follow me." He demonstrates His love, His glory, His faithfulness and invites us into an abundant life with Him (see Mark 1:16-18; Mark 2:14; Luke 5:10-11; John 1:35-51, and last but not least John 10:10)
See, we have the choice to be broken in or wounded.
The horse wants to run free. We all want to run free. But if we don't know where we're going, we're likely to get wounded. If we surrender to God's leading, allowing Him to train us, to "break" us so to speak, we will be freer than ever before. He can lead us into pastures greater and grander than we can imagine.
But we have to be ready for them.
We can't go find them on our own, ill-equipped for the trials ahead.
When we allow our Trainer, our loving Father, to do a work in us, we learn to do it with Him. Turning our inner ear to Him while the noise of the world swirls around. We draw into a smaller circle with Him, allowing Him to have our attention, allowing Him to draw us to Himself.
Whether it takes 2 months or 5 years.
Letting go of the stubborn kick that rubs the saddle raw on our backs isn't always easy. And for some (me) it might take a little longer.
Or we can enter the corral, knowing it's the best plan for us.
And when that corral feels more stifling than freeing, could it be that we have taken our gaze off the One who is able to do immeasurably more than we could imagine (Ephesians 3:20-21)? Maybe it really isn't even a corral, we just see it that way because of our desire to be in a different place.
We want to be free, but we have to continually surrender, trusting in God's heart and faithfulness to bring us through what He has for us, all for His glory.
But, like Coronna, it's up to us.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
The Horse (Part I): Strong and Wild
Several years ago I was on a hike with my (then) roommates. We were climbing up a steep hill and one of them said, "Erin, you're like a horse."
Um. Thank you?
I'd rather go for something more petite and feminine. But a horse. They're strong, I guess, right?
And upon inquiry, I discovered that's what she meant. I had the strength of a horse to barrel through the incline and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
While I initially might have been offended at the comparison, it didn't last long because I actually love horses. There's just something about them that intrigues me…yet also scares me. They are so powerful and muscular.
Meandering in a pasture? Absolutely beautiful.
And when they're in a full on run? It's a majestic mix of fluid strength and thundering force.
But when it's unbridled, to be honest, it scares me. They can rear up and buck in a wild stubborn statement of independence.
Dangerous independence.
I am reminded of a favorite childhood movie (let's be honest, it's still a favorite as an adult…I'll admit it, no shame)…
The Man From Snowy River
Yes, it's that good that it deserves its own line. While it wasn't exactly a blockbuster hit back in the 80s, you would have thought it was in our house. Introduced by my sister, hated (yet secretly loved) by my brother, that VHS tape was plumb worn out.
It's an Australian drama telling the tale of 18-year-old Jim's search for love and significance as he struggles to earn back his family farm after his father's death. Of course it involves a beautiful young (strong-willed) woman, but also a 20-year-old family feud, secrets, lies, assumptions, and a prized stallion who winds up missing.
I know, I had you at beautiful young (strong-willed) woman.
Oh, and the soundtrack is killer. It ranks up there with The Last of the Mohicans (nothing beats driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains with those inspiring violin melodies streaming through the speakers).
What I love about soundtracks is that in addition to being stellar music, they always take me back to great parts of the movie. That is particularly true for The Man From Snowy River soundtrack.
I have two favorite tracks on it. One is "Jessica's Theme - Breaking in the Colt." Which, thanks to my sister, I heard lovingly pounded out on our piano just about every Sunday morning. :)
There's a terrifying scene at the beginning of the movie where a pack of brumbies (free-roaming wild horses) run through the woods resulting in a tragic accident.
Just watching it causes my heart to beat hard in my chest, echoing the pound of the horse hooves.
It's a significant scene for me because later in the movie - when my favorite song plays - Jim and Jessica break in a wild colt. It's an incredible scene. It's not just any horse they're breaking in. But a wild one. It snorts, it whinnies, it breathes hard and fast as its eyes go wild.
You couldn't pay me to enter the corral with that thing.
And they set out to train that wild horse's spirit to submit...surrender. My fear meets reality and begins to subside as they work with the horse, building trust, breaking down walls, and eventually she submits.
I know my roommates didn't have this vision of a horse in mind when they made the comparison. But is there a part of me that is like a brumby? Is my spirit wild and untamed?
In my next post, I'll break down the spiritual implications that literally made my jaw drop…
Um. Thank you?
I'd rather go for something more petite and feminine. But a horse. They're strong, I guess, right?
And upon inquiry, I discovered that's what she meant. I had the strength of a horse to barrel through the incline and keep putting one foot in front of the other.
While I initially might have been offended at the comparison, it didn't last long because I actually love horses. There's just something about them that intrigues me…yet also scares me. They are so powerful and muscular.
Meandering in a pasture? Absolutely beautiful.
And when they're in a full on run? It's a majestic mix of fluid strength and thundering force.
But when it's unbridled, to be honest, it scares me. They can rear up and buck in a wild stubborn statement of independence.
Dangerous independence.
I am reminded of a favorite childhood movie (let's be honest, it's still a favorite as an adult…I'll admit it, no shame)…
The Man From Snowy River
Yes, it's that good that it deserves its own line. While it wasn't exactly a blockbuster hit back in the 80s, you would have thought it was in our house. Introduced by my sister, hated (yet secretly loved) by my brother, that VHS tape was plumb worn out.
It's an Australian drama telling the tale of 18-year-old Jim's search for love and significance as he struggles to earn back his family farm after his father's death. Of course it involves a beautiful young (strong-willed) woman, but also a 20-year-old family feud, secrets, lies, assumptions, and a prized stallion who winds up missing.
I know, I had you at beautiful young (strong-willed) woman.
Oh, and the soundtrack is killer. It ranks up there with The Last of the Mohicans (nothing beats driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains with those inspiring violin melodies streaming through the speakers).
What I love about soundtracks is that in addition to being stellar music, they always take me back to great parts of the movie. That is particularly true for The Man From Snowy River soundtrack.
I have two favorite tracks on it. One is "Jessica's Theme - Breaking in the Colt." Which, thanks to my sister, I heard lovingly pounded out on our piano just about every Sunday morning. :)
There's a terrifying scene at the beginning of the movie where a pack of brumbies (free-roaming wild horses) run through the woods resulting in a tragic accident.
Just watching it causes my heart to beat hard in my chest, echoing the pound of the horse hooves.
It's a significant scene for me because later in the movie - when my favorite song plays - Jim and Jessica break in a wild colt. It's an incredible scene. It's not just any horse they're breaking in. But a wild one. It snorts, it whinnies, it breathes hard and fast as its eyes go wild.
You couldn't pay me to enter the corral with that thing.
And they set out to train that wild horse's spirit to submit...surrender. My fear meets reality and begins to subside as they work with the horse, building trust, breaking down walls, and eventually she submits.
I know my roommates didn't have this vision of a horse in mind when they made the comparison. But is there a part of me that is like a brumby? Is my spirit wild and untamed?
In my next post, I'll break down the spiritual implications that literally made my jaw drop…
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Learning From a Watermelon
I just had the most wonderful (large) bowl of watermelon, thanks to…well, Walmart. But mostly my sister.
A few weeks ago I was over at her house helping prepare Sunday lunch. Cutting watermelon fell next on the to-do list and I inwardly cringed.
Not because I don't love watermelon. It's honestly one of my favorite summertime fruits.
I have memories of sitting down to supper and seeing a huge bowl of perfectly cut and de-seeded (thanks, Mom) watermelon pieces. As all the dishes were passed around the table in clockwise fashion (do families still do this? I sure hope so…), we would secretly attempt to pick out the best pieces. My brother and I still tease my sister about doing it most, but deep down we all know we did it too.
So why did I cringe when she asked me to cut it?
Because while it might be one of my favorite fruits, it is also one of the most unruly and annoying ones to cut. (For the record, mangoes rank high on both these lists too, but it's small size makes it greatly more manageable.)
After the years of having perfectly cut watermelon pieces served to me, I had to eventually cut it on my own. Just like my mom did…cutting the end off, then keeping it on its side cutting circle after circle, then each circle in half, then removing the rind and cutting the flesh into pieces.
Welp. It doesn't work for me that way. It never has.
The large humpty-dumpty rolling piece of juicy rind and flesh seems to laugh in my face at first cut. Then each cut after that turns into downright mockery the more slippery it gets.
I know it's partially due to the fact that I don't have my mom's famous watermelon knife to use. But even with the sharpest of knives, I feel like a culinary idiot cutting the dumb thing.
And no one likes to feel like an idiot. So I stopped buying them. Literally, I cannot tell you the last time I bought a watermelon. It was at least 4 addresses ago.
Until today. Because, a few short weeks ago, in my sister's kitchen, she stepped in and shared how she now cuts her watermelon in a different way. Giving me an invitation to do the same. It was one of those moments where I wanted to hold onto my pride (seriously?!) and be annoyed that my older sister was - once again :) - telling me how to do something. But I let my pride go and listened.
So after years of passing by one of the most delectable fruits around, I stopped and picked one out today. And gave myself the freedom to cut it a new way.
It was lovely. No slippery circles or chopped off fingers. I have finally admitted to myself I will never have my mom's watermelon cutting skills. But it's ok. I tried doing it a different way and now have my favorite summertime snack back.
As the juice splashed everywhere (perfect sign of a perfect watermelon), I wondered what else in my life I've been avoiding because of the way I do it.
Are there things I could simply revamp to make them more enjoyable?
I'm currently pondering making my bedtime routine technology-free. Books and writing only. No phones, computers, apps, tweets.
What isn't working for you?
Your morning routine? Your devo time with God? Your finances?
A few weeks ago I was over at her house helping prepare Sunday lunch. Cutting watermelon fell next on the to-do list and I inwardly cringed.
Not because I don't love watermelon. It's honestly one of my favorite summertime fruits.
I have memories of sitting down to supper and seeing a huge bowl of perfectly cut and de-seeded (thanks, Mom) watermelon pieces. As all the dishes were passed around the table in clockwise fashion (do families still do this? I sure hope so…), we would secretly attempt to pick out the best pieces. My brother and I still tease my sister about doing it most, but deep down we all know we did it too.
So why did I cringe when she asked me to cut it?
Because while it might be one of my favorite fruits, it is also one of the most unruly and annoying ones to cut. (For the record, mangoes rank high on both these lists too, but it's small size makes it greatly more manageable.)
After the years of having perfectly cut watermelon pieces served to me, I had to eventually cut it on my own. Just like my mom did…cutting the end off, then keeping it on its side cutting circle after circle, then each circle in half, then removing the rind and cutting the flesh into pieces.
Welp. It doesn't work for me that way. It never has.
The large humpty-dumpty rolling piece of juicy rind and flesh seems to laugh in my face at first cut. Then each cut after that turns into downright mockery the more slippery it gets.
I know it's partially due to the fact that I don't have my mom's famous watermelon knife to use. But even with the sharpest of knives, I feel like a culinary idiot cutting the dumb thing.
And no one likes to feel like an idiot. So I stopped buying them. Literally, I cannot tell you the last time I bought a watermelon. It was at least 4 addresses ago.
Until today. Because, a few short weeks ago, in my sister's kitchen, she stepped in and shared how she now cuts her watermelon in a different way. Giving me an invitation to do the same. It was one of those moments where I wanted to hold onto my pride (seriously?!) and be annoyed that my older sister was - once again :) - telling me how to do something. But I let my pride go and listened.
So after years of passing by one of the most delectable fruits around, I stopped and picked one out today. And gave myself the freedom to cut it a new way.
It was lovely. No slippery circles or chopped off fingers. I have finally admitted to myself I will never have my mom's watermelon cutting skills. But it's ok. I tried doing it a different way and now have my favorite summertime snack back.
Are there things I could simply revamp to make them more enjoyable?
I'm currently pondering making my bedtime routine technology-free. Books and writing only. No phones, computers, apps, tweets.
Your morning routine? Your devo time with God? Your finances?
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