Fairytale endings

Sleepless in Seattle came on TV tonight. I love, love, LOVE that movie. To me, a good movie is one that you can watch not once, not twice, but three times in a row. And thanks to TBS and their mini-marathons, it actually is possible to watch this great movie times three. Seriously, best movie ever. Along with While You Were Sleeping. Another great mini-marathon flick.

Emily laughed at me every time this movie came on. I am a hopeless romantic comedy sap. She'd tease me to no end about fairytale endings and happily ever afters and how nothing ever happened like that in real life. She played the cynic... yet she always sat and watched it with me. She'd never admit it, but she loved it as much, well... almost as much... as I do. I know that real life rarely tends to play out like a sappy Meg Ryan movie. That life doesn't keep floating along perfectly after the movie's ending credits. But it's an escape. For two hours I can lose myself in the fairy tale where everyone does, in fact, live happily ever after. Emily got that- even if she didn't want to admit it.

I actually haven't seen it in a long time. Not since Emily died. And even though I've seen it hundreds of times, can quote lines verbatim, and could probably play Meg Ryan's part... it hit me differently tonight. Tom Hanks' character is dealing with the loss of his wife. And I never really paid attention to the lines about grief and loss.... simply because I'd never been there. But one line grabbed at my heart. When his character was asked what he was going to do, here's the line in response:

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out... and, then after a while, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while."

Sounds rather familiar. Hauntingly familiar actually. She touches everything. It still takes me by surprise how intertwined she is in so much of me. Even in something as simple as a sappy movie. Thankfully though, this isn't one of the more painful realizations. It's one of those things that sparks the flame of her memory a little brighter, without getting burned in the process.

I have discovered the antidote to taking yourself too seriously.

Move in with a fourteen year old.

Back to the world of grown-up clothes?

I had a job interview this morning. An administrative assistant position for the executive director of the Columbia Jewish Community Center. Last night I frantically started tearing through my closet trying to find something to wear. It's amazing how you can have a closet full of clothing and absolutely NOTHING to wear. As I discarded outfit after outfit, I cursed myself for not having lost the 20 pounds or so I need to in order to fit into most of my "grown up clothes." No skirts, because then I'd have to wear panty hose. And it never fails that I always get runs in them no matter what I do. And not knowing the company policy, I needed shoes to cover the tattoos on my feet. Dress shirts didn't look right, sweaters were too casual..... my room was quickly becoming a disaster zone.

I finally pulled out a business suit I've kept in my closet, hoping I'd fit into it again someday. Holding my breath and praying with everything I had that those pants would fit... I tried them on. Someone must have heard me 'cause they fit. Guess all that moving and hauling and running around I've been doing has helped a little.

As I ironed my shirt this morning, (you don't have to check your glasses mother. You read right- I can iron. :), anyway.. as I ironed my shirt this morning I decided to go for broke and pull out the fancy black Steve Madden heels. I don't often wear them. It is the epitome of unfair to give a love of fancy high heeled shoes to a girl who is 5'11 (and a half-ish). I've always been sensitive about my height, and people love to make stupid comments highlighting the obvious. "wow, you're tall!" Gee, like I didn't know. But every once in awhile I decide to embrace the tall girl and wear the shoes.

As I looked in the mirror at the girl with her hair done, make-up on, business suit, and high heels, I almost didn't recognize myself. I so often only see the messy ponytail, the faint trace of mascara (if I think about it), ripped jeans, and a comfy hoodie that the woman in the mirror seemed like a stranger. Then I went downstairs and Rachel's eyes widened in shock. This was the first time she's seen me looking like a grown up. I felt pretty confident. Guess I do clean up pretty good.

It's amazing what an outfit can do for your self-confidence. As I walked to the car, I prayed that this would be a scene to be repeated for many mornings to come. Walking out in nice clothes, heading to work. I've missed my grown up outfits. It's been awhile since they've been used.
On the way home from the interview, I stopped in at the vet to pick up some medicine for Laurie's cat. Breezing in and out of the building in my fancy clothes, I pretended I was running errands on my lunch break. Stopped to get gas and didn't mind the guy at the next pump watching me. Pathetic, isn't it?

Later on, after the suit was hung back in the closet and my jeans back on, my high heels swapped for a pair of flip flops, and my hair pulled back out of my face, Rachel and I went to Starbucks. I watched as a woman in a suit and yakking on a cell phone came in. People sure reacted differently to her than they did to us. I envied her, her job, her obvious haste to get back to wherever she'd come from.

Confession. I do not want to work at Food Lion down here. The thought of starting there next week makes my stomach feel queasy. I hate the thought of putting on that ugly shirt and forcing myself to make nice with the general public. I really enjoyed the people at Food Lion in Greencastle. They knew me. They knew me and liked me because Emily was my sister. Because my mom works as a vendor there. I was used to getting my way when I needed it, and being able to make the schedule work for me. No one knows me here. No one knows my sister. And honestly, I'm just plain tired of being a cashier. I should be grateful to have it. But the reality is that I want to wear my grown up clothes again.

I should hear something within a week. I'm trying not to get my hopes up. And I know that this isn't the only job out there. And that if it doesn't work out, it just means that it's not the right one. But it sure would be a load off my mind to get hired soon. I want to get to know that grown up in the mirror a little more.

Boxes, speed dials, and neon signs

Over the last month I've started and stopped at least four different blog posts about the latest change heading my way. I got to a certain point and then I couldn't find a coherent thought to tie it all together. I think in a way I couldn't write about it, because I still hadn't completely sorted out my feelings on it. Then before I knew it, it's come and gone, and I haven't posted a word.

Are you confused yet? I tend to do that.

I've moved to South Carolina. A week ago today, actually. It's been a long time coming- since.... well, about 2005 when Laurie first made the offer. The timing never seemed right. I'd get close to making a decision and then I'd get scared and change my mind. When the economy tanked, I told myself it made no sense to quit a perfectly good job (albeit one that I hated), and head off to a whole other state without one. Then suddenly I found myself without my perfectly good job, and out of excuses. So after alot of agonizing, going back and forth, fretting, and worrying "can I really do this", I decided to do it. And so I did. Packed up all my earthly possessions into a 6 x 12 U-Haul trailer and headed down the road. (With my parent's help of course.)

And now I found myself here a week later with my stuff for the most part unpacked and put away. (How is it that what took about three weeks to put into boxes, only took about three days to take out of the boxes?!) I woke up thinking this morning, "oh man, it's Friday... the week is almost over." Then I realized that this is not a vacation, and I don't have to go home on Sunday.

I find myself thinking of that word, too. Home. A few days ago I was updating my information on my cell phone. Speed dial number 2 has always been set to "home". Speed dial number "8" has always been "Laurie's house". But where is home now? For me, wherever my pillow has been has always been home. Home to me is my childhood in Alabama, the last ten years in Pennsylvania, Laurie's house even before it became my house too. I've even been known to say on vacations that I was ready to go back home, yet meaning the hotel or beach house we were staying at. But the question of how to organize my cell phone stumped me. Do I keep speed dial number 2 as "home", as in where mom and dad are? Or do I change it to where my pillow happens to be and make "home" my new phone number? Argh. As insane as it sounds, it's been quite a quandary for someone like me, who has a nasty habit of resisting change. Even on something as ridiculous as a cell phone.

I've finally stopped referring to my room as the "guestroom". With all my stuff in there it looks like my room. And with Rachel's help I have my fish tank set up, so now it even sounds like my room. My coats are in the closet, my DVDs on the shelf, my magnets are on the fridge, and I even have stuff in the attic. I physically feel like I'm home, now I'm just waiting to wake up and not feel like I'm on an extended vacation.

I've been searching and even applying for jobs already. Food Lion transferred me to a store here in Columbia, but I missed being on this coming week's schedule. So I've got another week stretching ahead of me with not a whole lot to do. I'm trying not to stress about finding a job. After all, I've only been looking for three days. I still have many months of unemployment coming in before I have to worry about "needing" a job right away. But I'm so tired of not working, and I'm feeling rather impatient. In some ways I feel like if I'm actually working, rather than sitting on my duff for most of the day waiting for Rachel and Laurie to get home, then I'll somehow feel useful. Moving here has been a long time coming. I've wanted to be here, and despite my whining, I really am excited to be here. In alot of ways I think this is where God wants me to be at this moment in my life. So I'm simply trying to remember that, and trust that since He's brought me this far, He won't suddenly leave me out to dry.

So here I am. Suddenly in this pattern of waiting again. Seems like the last six months that's all I've done. I waited for the Poland trip. I waited for moving day. And now... I'm waiting for a job. Waiting for a clear sign that says, "MELISSA! HERE IS WHAT YOU ARE GOING TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP. AND THIS IS WHAT YOU NEED TO DO TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN."
(Flashing in very bright colors so that I can't possibly miss it.)

Does it ever really happen that way? I think it should.

Beauty in the light

I love fire.

I love the way the flames seem to dance. I love the way the colors are so distinct, yet at the same time seem to blend so easily into one. Reds, yellows, oranges, blues.... fire can be so beautiful.

I spent this past weekend at a campground with my aunts and my cousins. Sitting around the campfire on Saturday night, I found myself just staring off into the flames. Thinking about how blessed I am to have such incredible people in my family. Thinking about Emily. Thinking about how things are going to be changing so much pretty soon. Just generally getting lost in thought.

I really miss Emily. In some ways, I miss her now more than ever. I wonder if now that the numbness has started to wear off, it's really hit home that she's never coming back. And as I sat staring into those flames, I just plain missed her.

When I was in Poland, we toured the All Saints Cathedral. While we were in the sanctuary, there was a place to light little votive candles. (I'm sure there is an actual term for this, but I can't remember what it is at the moment.) There were three tiers of candles. Most were lit. The church was semi-dark, and the beauty of the candles flickering against the backdrop of that centuries-old church took my breath away. And even though I'm not Catholic, I lit one for Emily. Not because I held any beliefs that by lighting that candle it would "do something." But just out of a need to still have something of her to hold onto. Something physical to represent her. Something I could see.
I know that it's long since burned out by now. But it was there, flame flickering and light dancing for all to see. Lending it's little light to the bigger picture. Kind of symbolic for my sister's life. It doesn't matter that the candle is no longer there. What matters is that it was. Each of those lights represented something. A prayer, a person, a memory. And each person who sees those lights I think carries a bit of the person it honors with them. Not necessarily by knowing who the light shines for. But just in knowing that it's shining.

And for me, that's enough.

A candidate for anger management?

I never realized how many commercials there on TV these days that are related to diabetes. After Emily was diagnosed, I obviously paid more attention when they came on. But it wasn't until after she died that suddenly those commercials were on every five minutes. Ads for glucose meters, test strips, etc. All being hawked by perfectly healthy looking people who made it seem like diabetes was just a slight inconvenience that could be cured by having a color coordinated blood sugar meter.
*sigh*

The latest irritant is a commercial by Bayer.

The commerical bothered me so much I threw a pillow at the TV.

But it wouldn't go away. So I threw another one.

And another one.

When the thought crossed my mind that maybe throwing a remote would make it go away, I realized that there is a distinct possibility that I may slowly be losing my grip on reality.

I could picture myself trying to explain:
"Mom, Dad... your TV has a gaping hole in it because the TV commmerical made me mad"

My parents are very understanding people. I've gotten away with quite alot in my 26 years. But yet, I don't think my being cute and adorable would have gotten me out of that one.

I'll stick to throwing pillows. I have a feeling I'll be seeing those commericals for a good long while.

Random Sparks

It's funny how random little things will spark a memory.

Facebook has opened a whole new world. I haven't spent this much time on the internet since I was a teenager and ICQ was all the rage. (Does anyone even use that anymore?!) Facebook definitely leaves ICQ in the dust. Photos, updates, links, videos, quizzes (which quite honestly I have no interest in, but they're out there), stickers..... it's mind-boggling really all the things you can do. One of the features is that you can create a "fan" page-- you can pretty much be a fan of everything. People, places, restaurants, toys... and food. I saw one this morning for "Dunakroos". Anyone remember those? They were all the rage in the early 90's. They are little cinnamon graham crackers in the shape of kangaroos, and they come with frosting you dip them in. Vanilla with sprinkles or chocolate. They were our absolute favorites. And surprise, surprise.... the icing was the best part. Mom used to get so irritated because we'd eat the icing and not all the crackers. I laughed this morning. It's the little things like this that make me miss Emily so much more. If she was here, I'd have picked up the phone and called her, "Em do you remember....?!?"
But then again--- if Emily was still here I likely still wouldn't be on facebook and never would have even seen the silly things in the first place.

*sigh*

*sigh*

Sometimes I'm so mad at Emily I could wring her neck.

Then I feel guilty for being angry, and I get mad at myself.

When I realize I'm angry at myself for being mad at her, I get angry at her all over again.

Then I feel twice as guilty.

Then I come across photos like this one and I'm no longer angry... I just plain miss her.

The breeze, it is a-blowing

It's a Friday afternoon.

It's sunny, 73 degrees, and a beautiful fall day. My windows are open, and the breeze is clearing out the stuffiness and stale air from the house. As corny as this sounds, I can almost taste Fall. It's slightly chilly, but a comfy sweatshirt and a pair of socks make the afternoon perfect.

Almost.

It's one of those times where everything comes together to make a moment almost perfect. Except for this heaviness that I just can't shake.

Terri's death makes me realize yet again how fleeting life is. In less than a month, she went from being healthy to being diagnosed with cancer, admitted into the hospital, then all to suddenly, she died. In a month. It takes me a month to get around to changing the water in my fish tank.

Heather's latest news makes me ache for my friend. And makes me curse the helplessness that I feel. Cancer is raging through her body and there isn't a dammed thing I can do about it. We met for breakfast this morning, and I had to bite back the platitudes and phrases I know she must be sick of. "What can I do? What do you need? I wish there was something I could do. I know you're going to beat this." But the thing is.... even though all those things are the wrong thing to say....not saying it leaves you with nothing to say. And that's harder. I think I can understand now why all those people said those stupid things after Emily died. Because silence is harder to bear.

I've been so lonely. I've been having a major pity party for myself. These last few weeks I've felt like the people who I thought were closest to me have abandoned me and forgotten me. I've been angry, I've been bitter, and I've been depressed. I lost a job, I lost a Bible Study group, but I didn't really expect to lose the people.

But things change. People change. And relationships change. I'm not really angry anymore. And I decided that being bitter wasn't hurting anyone but me. Sometimes the easiest thing to do is let go. I have good memories from these people. I'd rather hang onto that and keep those thoughts alive, rather than tarnish their memories with bitterness. Perhaps I should have tried harder. Made more of an effort. Sent more e-mails. Maybe not have inserted cutting and catty remarks on my blog on the off chance that they were reading it. Perhaps I should have.... should not have.... perhaps....
But one thing I've come to realize is that the people who truly love you, are the ones that won't make you try harder. Let me rephrase that..'cause sometimes friendship is hard. They won't make you try harder all on your own.

My heart is still so sore from Terri's death. And I am still helpless in regards to Heather's cancer. Even though I've let go, I still sometimes miss the familiarity of what I've lost. And Emily is the ever present shadow that I don't think will ever leave.

But yet... all these things offer one beam of light. I can still reach out a hand to a friend that is hurting, even if there is nothing to say. I re-live memories of friends and realize that sometimes there are certain ones that you only have for a season. And then the season changes. And everywhere I go, I take a piece of Emily with me. And still...I'm still here. I'm here and can appreciate the beauty that is outside my window at this very moment. It doesn't sound like much in the face of all this sadness. But sometimes a little is still enough to get by.

Seems the breeze blowing through my window has cleared the stuffiness out of more than just the room.

Update on Heather

Heather... oh Heather.

My friend Heather sent an e-mail update yesterday, and it's not good. The chemo is not shrinking the tumor. Her doctors are telling her that she has a rare cancer that will not go into remission. Removing the tumor is not an option, because they cannot remove the cancer cells, and it would continue to grow and spread.

She's looking into a second opinion. They want to do a research study on two drugs that have not yet been tested on humans. The drugs will not cure the cancer, but supposedly will keep the cancer at bay and keep the tumor from growing.

But underneath the research, second opinions, and more tests is the underlying message that she has terminal cancer. That's a hard thing to wrap your mind around. And if it's hard for her friends, I cannot imagine what it's like to actually have your death sentence handed to you like that.

When I spent that day at John's Hopkins with her, it was hard to believe she was so sick. If it hadn't been for the IV pole attached to her, you'd never have known she was ill. She was laughing and chatting and just being... well, Heather. Looking around, I felt so sorry for the people I saw. Especially that girl with the oxygen tank. But not Heather. Not my friend. She was going to be fine.

Turns out she's not. I'd like to believe that God is going to swoop down and perform a miracle. That the tumor is going to disappear along with all traces of cancer cells. And that's possible, I suppose. But the hard reality is that hundreds of people die from cancer. Each one of them has family and friends that are praying for that miracle "swooping" that never comes. I'd like to think that I'm not being cynical... just realistic. Cancer sucks. People die. And if God swooped in on every one of them, then I suppose it wouldn't be a miracle.

Have you seen the new commercial from the American Cancer Society? The one where they show cancer survivors/patients celebrating birthdays and at the end says "the official sponsor of birthdays?" It's a great commercial. And I can't watch it. It about breaks my heart into two. Terri was only 52. Grace was only 6. Elena was only 7. That girl from the cancer ward is only in her 20's. Heather's in her 40's. How many birthdays do they have left?

In my heart of hearts, I'm hoping that God proves me wrong. I want more than anything to be wrong and Heather to be cured. Heather amazes me. Her e-mails are full of a grace and strength and peace that I can't begin to understand. Where my mind fills with "what-ifs" "if onlys" and dark fears, Heather writes of her situation and fears with peace, trust, and faith. I know she's scared. She'll be the first one to tell you that. She accepts her situation and relinquishes control to Him. I want to bargain, plead, and negotiate with God on her behalf. And I'm sure that she's had her moments of pleading too. It's human nature- I think it'd be impossible not to. No matter how strong a person's faith is.

I know He doesn't bargain. I know that sometimes His answer is no. I know that He's always working in ways that we can't possibly understand.

I know that life doesn't always turn out the way we want it to.

But oh... I wish it would.

Things always look better in the daylight...

You'd think I'd have learned by now that hitting "publish" on a post that I've written in the late hours of the evening/early hours of the morning isn't always a good idea. Darkness seems to invite darkness and it never fails that the darkness of night seems to seep into my mind and heart., and thus carries over into my words. I woke up this morning thinking, "hmm... maybe I shouldn't have actually posted that after all". I find it easier to write what's on my mind rather than actually say it. I'm uncomfortable sharing, and showing, emotions. Emotions can't be controlled, and nothing makes me feel more uncomfortable than being in situations that I don't have a handle on. Words can be controlled. I can force words to say exactly what I want and how I want. I can edit, revise, and re-structure as many times as I want, to make sure it says exactly what I want. (I never realized how much of a control-freak I am.) And when you're up late and not sleeping, sometimes all you want is for someone to realize that you're hurting.

But then the morning comes and you realize that it really isn't quite as bad as you thought. As most things do, it looks better in the daylight. Not that what I was thinking and feeling wasn't real... but I think when you allow the darkness to settle in... that's all you'll ever see. Darkness.

I re-read what I posted and this morning realized that I don't want to be that person. I can't honestly say that I feel better than I did last night. That I don't have that same hollow feeling when I think about Emily, and Terri, and other family memebers and friends that have died. But I do feel different. I realized that I don't want to be that person that can only see the ugliness. I don't want to shut off everything and everyone and hide out in the dark. After all, things look better in the light, right? I need to remember that...

They say that's the way life goes...

I was awakened this morning by my cell phone- the obnoxious "whistling wizard" tone signaling that I had received a text message. At first I ignored it. Anyone who knows me, knows me well enough to know that I am neither coherent, nor pleasant, nor functional before 8AM. Then two minutes later, another message. Somewhere in my semi-alert state something triggered in my head that two messages early in the morning means something is not right. Bad news always seems to go hand in hand with bad timing.

The week I was laid off, my friend Terri from Bible Study was on vacation. She was still away the day that the group got together for a surprise lunch for me. The week that I left for Poland, they sent an e-mail around that Terri wasn't feeling well. When I came back, I read in an e-mail that she had been taken to the emergency room and had been admitted to the hospital. My former friends didn't seem to think this necessitated a phone call. (Yes, that is a trace of bitterness in case you missed it. I'm trying, I really am... but being forgotten by your friends is a hard thing to swallow.) I learned that Terri was diagnosed with an very aggressive form of full-blown leukemia. She was admitted to Hershey Medical for 8 weeks of intensive chemotherapy. Halfway through they had to stop because she had an infection and was too weak to handle the chemo. Though the last report I had received, she was doing better.

My text messages this morning were from two friends telling me that she died of a brain hemorrage last night.

Death has a funny way of sucking the life out of your heart. Time seems to be frozen, and yet it rushes by you in a blur. It's a curious place of your brain screaming "no" in denial and yet simultaneously your heart is breaking.

I didn't cry. I didn't yell. I didn't do anything. Part of me wanted to throw my phone across the room. But the other part realized that doing that couldn't erase the words burned into my mind.

The hardest part of death is coming to terms with the fact that someone you know and love is gone. I mean GONE. There are alot of people that I miss. Family that I don't see nearly as often as I wish. Friends that have moved, former friends from work, and friends I've left behind over the years. But yet, it's not quite as painful because even though I miss them- they are somewhere. They are still out there, only a phone call, e-mail, or car ride away. But missing someone who you know is not anywhere on this earth is a whole different story. It's hard to take Terri out of the "missing someone who is somewhere" category, and put her into the "missing someone who is gone" category. I've been thinking about her on an off all day today. It doesn't seem real.

What scares me is that I think I've become numb to grief. Since Emily died, she has become the measuring stick for all future griefs and hurts. And anything that falls short of that imaginary line on the stick gets shoved into a little compartment somewhere. Things like the loss of a job, the loss of a group of people that I thought were friends, and now the actual loss of a friend still don't seem to register high enough on the scale.

I think that makes me heartless. I didn't say a word to anyone today about Terri. Because saying it means I have to deal with it. And dealing with it makes it real. I think part of me is still stuck in that moment of trying to pretend I never saw that message. Perhaps I am in denial. Or perhaps I am simply crazy.

Whatever I am, I am for sure and for certain one thing- I am sick and tired of death. They say that's the way life goes. I say it sucks.

September 11th

I think every generation has one of those "where were you when.....?" questions. Like, where were you when Kennedy was shot. Where were you when the Berlin Wall came down. Where were you when the space shuttle exploded. My where were you when question would be September 11, 2001. I was actually in the car on my way home. I was listening to the radio (mix 95.1- I'll never forget it.) I was only half listening when they broke in about a plane crash in New York. I flipped a CD on, not wanting to hear news. My parents were in Hawaii and my grandparents were staying with us. I walked in the door and my grandmother is sitting on the couch in tears. She said something about a terrible plane crash. A paralyzing fear struck me when I remembered hearing about a plane crash. I thought something had happened to my parents. Then I realized that they were no where near New York. That moment of relief lasted for a split second when I saw the images on the TV. Images I will never forget. We stayed glued to the TV for hours. I watched what I thought was falling debris, only to realize that it was people jumping out of the windows. That was my breaking moment, when I had to walk away.

I think now that's where my aversion to watching the news stems from. Those horrific scenes are forever burned into my mind. And that was just from a TV screen. I simply cannot imagine how people who were actually there can cope with everything they saw.



A few weeks later, my father and I went to see the Pentagon. Perhaps because my dad worked at the Pentagon, it struck me in a more profound way than the Twin Towers. I thought of all the times that I got to visit my dad when he worked there. How important I felt walking through that building, and how proud I was of my daddy that he was one of the people keeping this country safe. And I thought of the men and women who died there that day. And of their kids who walked through those same doors I did and felt the same surge of pride. I stared at the blackened walls and the gaping hole and I felt hollow. In moments like that, the magnitude of what hatred can do threatens to drown every ounce of hope I have.

And now, eight years later... the surge of patriotism has faded. We're stuck in a war that I don't understand why we're fighting. Men and women are dying by the thousands and we've become desensitized to the numbers.

Where does it end?

Hope, revisited.

I still seem to have a case of "Blogger's Block". (see post below). But as I was visiting one of my favorite sites this morning, (in)courage, I got a glimpse of inspiration. Write an entry about hope, win a T-shirt. Nothing creates inspiration like the chance to win something free, right?!

Hope. That's a topic that could produce a hundred blog entries. I could write a blog about hope itself. Eagerly I log in, crack my knuckles, and wait for inspiration to flow from my fingertips.

*sound of crickets*

Nothing.

Oh boy. This case of blogger's block is worse than I thought. How can I not come up with anything about Hope?

To try and get my thoughts flowing, I turned to Google for direction, to find the meaning of hope. Suddenly I remembered having done this before. Have I written a post about hope already?
Checking the archives- yes, there it is. Hope, written Thursday October 23, 2008. I wrote this shortly after my grandmother died. I don't often go back and re-read things I've written. I don't write because I think what I have to say is any kind of spectacular. I write to keep from going insane. And on the roller coaster ride of insanity that's been the last year and a half, this blog has been my safety bar. But every great once in awhile, I'll read something I wrote and I think, "did I really write that? That's not half bad."

Here's what I had to say about hope back then:
According to the all-knowing Internet, hope is "a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life. Hope is the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best."
Isn't that kind of like being optimistic? Not really... optimism is more of.... a thought process that leads to a positive attitude. Hope is a belief, an emotion. You can talk yourself into being optimistic- but hopefulness comes through belief. And faith. I think you can be optimistic without faith, but faith is the very foundation of hope. Emily Dickinson wrote in a poem that "'Hope' is the thing with feathers-- / That perches in the soul."

The verse on my daily calendar today is "Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for He who promised is faithful." Hebrews 10:23. The word that sticks out most to me is unswervingly. That is HARD to do. I can't say that I've been able to do that. I've never lost my faith, but I definitely have lost hope. But that's the beauty of faith. If you lose your optimism, you don't really have anything to fall back on. It's kind of hard to talk yourself into being positive, when you feel like you're in a downward spiral. But even if you lose hope, or feel like you've lost it, you still have faith to catch you as you fall. And you don't have to talk yourself back into hope. Faith lifts it back up.
"Yet this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning, great is your faithfulness." Lamentations 3:21-23

I can be optimistic that 2009 is going to be a better year. I can be optimistic that things at work will change. I can be optimistic that Mr. Right will someday call (soon, preferably!) I can be optimistic that mom-mom and Emily are better now, even if it wasn't the way I would have chosen. I can be optimistic that things will get easier. I can even be optimistic that mom might make chocolate chip cookies. But those things are all based on the power of positive thinking. My hope is based on the faith in knowing that even if that all doesn't happen, He's still going to be there in the aftermath and mess.

So that was me then. Where am I now on the whole hope thing? Well, things at work have definitely changed, although being laid off certainly wasn't what I was hoping for. Mr. Right seems to have misplaced my number. The hurt at losing my grandmother and my sister within 6 months of each other hasn't lessened much. As far as things "getting easier", that changes from day to day. Some days are easier than others. In the chocolate chip cookie department, a few days after I posted that entry, I received a box from my Aunt Pat. Homemade chocolate chip cookies. Who says God isn't all about the details?

So 10 months later, not much has changed. In some ways, things might be a little worse. At least 10 months ago, even though I hated it, I was working. Now I have no full time job, and no idea what I want to do when I grow up. I'm 26 years old, and I feel like I have not much to show for it. And yet I have to ask myself, do I still believe now what I wrote then? That my hope is based on the faith in knowing that even if all those things don't happen, He's still there in the aftermath and mess?

The answer is of course, yes. What good is hope only in the good times? If you can't find it when the proverbial chips are down, I don't suppose you ever really had it in the first place.

I hope 10 months from now my circumstances will be different- and by that I mean different in a positive way. I hope to have a job. Or maybe to finally be back in college. And, yes, having a Mr. Right would still be rather nice. I hope that memories of Emily bring a smile instead of the hollow, empty feeling I get when I hear her name. I hope that 10 months from now I can say that I am genuinely content with who I am.
But if none of these things pan out, I can say with every fiber of who I am that my hope isn't built on circumstances. It's built on Someone who is greater than any circumstance.

Inspiration, where art thou?

I should be writing something. After last week there certainly shouldn't be a shortage of stories, lessons, and heartwarming moments.

Yet the blank screen taunts me.

I want to write something. Anything. Something inspiring. Motivating. Funny.
Anything to erase the blank screen that's been dogging me all week.

I seem to have fallen into the "post mission trip slump". I've been absolutely useless this week. And lonely. I went from spending every day (and some nights!) with a group of 18 people. There was no shortage of laughter, teasing, and really- we came to be like a family. It's amazing how close you can become to people in just a short period of time. And then all too soon, the week is over and I'm stuck with my own company.

The whole unemployment thing seems to have set in more since I've been back. After a week of being productive and feeling like I accomplished something at the end of each day, this sitting around at home has become old. I feel useless. And again, lonely. I miss my friends from work, but somehow I don't think they seem to miss me much at all.

No wonder my search for inspiring is nothing more than a wild goose chase. It's getting lost in a maze of self-pity and moping.

One thing I have learned is that the more you force the words, the more elusive they become. So in place of words and listening to me whine, I leave you with something even better. Pictures! A sampling of some of my favorites.


Building #8- to be completed Sept. 2010


It will look something like this: (This is Building #6)

Habitat for Humanity- this is why we volunteer ~ Wordless Wednesday

Agata Biel. 15 months old.

Future resident of Building #8, Gliwice, Poland, thanks to Habitat for Humanity.

The luxury of a wet wipe

Saturday we had a BBQ with the families who will be living in Building 8. Some of the kids from Building 7 also joined us. We had cut up a watermelon and gave it to them while we were waiting for the grill to heat up. They were so cute. And of course, kids with melons means spitting seeds, sticky hands, and messy faces.

This little one stole my heart. I was so tempted to sneak her away and bring her back with me. If I thought I could have gotten away with it, I would have tried.

When she was done with her piece of melon, she had a mess that was a little beyond a paper towel. So I grabbed the wet wipes Terri had brought. I handed it to her, and she looked at me, then looked at the wet wipe in her hand with a surprised look on her face. She wiped her hands, then tentatively brought it to her face. I didn't think much of it, until I saw her about ten minutes later, still running the cloth over her face. Then it clicked. She probably hadn't seen one before. I imagine wet wipes are probably considered a luxury, if they even have them around in Gliwice. And I started to feel a little bit of pity for these families with messy kids and no wet wipes. And it made me think of all the little things I take for granted. And how blessed I am compared to a great many people. But yet, sometimes we place way too much importance on these little luxuries. I've seen poverty and visited families in houses that should be condemed. I came home to my 4 bedroom house that's three times bigger than the apartment I helped build for a family of 8. I look at my bedroom that is overflowing with "things" that I can't bear to part with, and clothes that I haven't worn in years. I'd like to think that these trips will radically change me, but yet at the end of the day, I'm just your spoiled average 26 year old American Girl who spends way too much time on her computer, her cell phone, and is still attached to her "stuff".

But I'm realizing that stuff isn't everything, as cliche as that sounds. These families that I pity because they live without the luxuries of laptops and wet wipes are some of the happiest people I've ever met. As I look at the smiles on these faces, I think perhaps I am the one that should be learning from them. Wet wipes aren't everything you know.

It's good to be home

I arrived home last night, after a really, really, REALLY long day. We left the hotel in Gliwice yesterday morning at 6:00 am, traveled to the airport in Krakow, and hung around the airport until our various flights left. Going home I wasn't traveling with the rest of the Chicago group, so after we checked in, we said our goodbyes before we headed to our separate gates. I hate saying goodbye. I flew from Krakow to Munich, Germany in a plane with propellers. Propellers. So small that we had to climb one of those rickety metal sets of stairs to get into it. Lots of praying going on for that hour or so. When I landed in Munich, I only had less than an hour to catch the next plane. And of course, the gate I needed was on the opposite end of the terminal. I took off on a run, and arrived sweaty and out of breath, and annoyed that I couldn't browse through all the cool stores I was flying pass. But now I have another stamp in my passport as proof that I really was in Germany. We boarded the plane, sans propellers, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Homeward bound at last.



Dad picked me up and I directed him to the nearest place that served hamburgers. I love Polsih food, but I must admit that after 10 days I was glad to see some beef again. And ice. I don't know how people from Europe can drink lukewarm beverages. Ugh. I do wish that I could have smuggled some kielbasa home. Man, that is the best stuff ever. Nothing here even comes close to it. But I doubt the US customs people would have let that go by undetected. *sigh*



So now I'm sitting in my living room, getting my internet fix, and trying to ignore the suitcase of dirty clothes sitting in front of me. Perhaps if I ignore it long enough it will unpack itself.

I must admit, I am glad to have my phone back. I felt quite adrift not being able to call and talk to family and friends. And not having my computer to be able to update and share a story right away was frustrating. Some nights when I got to the internet cafe I was too tired to think straight, and I know there are stories that I'm missing or forgetting. It makes me appreciate the luxuries that I have.


I have about three hundred pictures on my camera, so the next few days I'll be trying to catch up with those. I've tried to quickly update about the last three days in the posts below. I'm sure once I start looking at the pictures, I'll be adding more stories.

Last work days in Poland

Friday was a pretty great day. Funny how you just start getting into your groove, and then you have to leave. I can't say that I was particularly enjoying putting up the interior walls, but it was getting easier once we got the hang of it. I still avoided that level at all costs. I was working with a small group that became known as "The Phun Team". We had alot of type A personalities on this trip. And there's nothing wrong with that but they can be... a little intense. I was much happier working with the relaxed group. 19 different personalities is one of the great things about these trips. And sometimes 19 different personalities is also one of the worst things about these trips. But it all worked out, and we really got alot done. I think our team set one of the records for being the most productive. That's not the reason why we're there obviously, but yet it's rewarding to know that were able to get so much done. Getting these people into their homes is what our motivation is, and if this overachieving, type A personality group can help make that happen sooner... then that's just icing on top of the cake.
Our cement floor team was awesome though. They got every room in the downstairs flats done. At one point they told Damian, our site supervisor, that there were only three bags of cement left. His eyes bugged out of his head, he exclaimed "Oh Mein Gott!" and whipped out his cell phone and started quickly calling for more cement. The truck arrived later that afternoon, much to his relief.

Damian is amazing. He and his family will be living in one of the downstairs flats. He has been working as the site supervisor on the last three buildings. He's applied for a home in each one of them, but it took until this year before they made the list. During that time, his daughter was diagnosed with some kind of glandular cancer. She's now in remission. Damian is not only responsible for overseeing the construction of these buildings, but he's responsible for the training of the unemployed workers. These men are learning the construction trade. So they can only do one thing, and then they have to be trained on the next task. On top of that, Damian is also responsible for the influx of volunteers from all over the world. And us volunteers are by no means professionals, so we all have to be shown things. Add the language barrier into the mix and I'm surprised the man still has hair on his head.

Saturday was only a half day of working, and much more laid back. "The Phun Team" was finishing our last wall. We would have finished it completely, except we realized that we hadn't cut out a block for the overhead door beam. So we had to take some blocks down and do that. Oh well- we almost did it!
Then we had a BBQ with the families that had been working with us all week. A group of little kids from the other buildings came over and we had a blast playing with them. They found a friend in Russell, who is an overgrown kid himself.
The gratitude from these families is what touches me the most. I know that volunteering isn't a huge part of their culture, and they don't really understand why we come so far to help people that we don't know. But heart language is universal even when verbal language is not, and some things don't need to be translated- like hugs and smiles and tears. And that's why we keep coming.

I wasn't having the best time earlier this week- I think that was pretty evident. But as the week went on and I got to know these wonderful people, I stopped dwelling on myself. Amazing how your attitude changes. I'm thankful for this amazing opportunity to do something beyond myself.

Late nights make for unpleasant mornings....

My original plan had been to get to the internet cafe on Saturday to catch up with the last two days on the jobsite. I was going to eat dinner with the gang, update the blog, then meet up with everyone at our favorite cafe for some coffee and dessert. Instead our dinner gang ended up being the "let's stop here for a quick beer" gang. Then one turned into two, then two turned into three...... need I say more?

Lesson learned: it is impossible to keep up with Europeans.

By 12:30 I was pleading to be taken back to the hotel. That night was when I regretted most not having a better grasp of Polish. I'd forgotten my card with the name and address of the hotel, and I couldn't tell a taxi driver where to take me. Center square is a good 20 minute walk from our hotel, and I knew if I tried to walk back by myself I would have been in MAJOR trouble with the various "Dad's" in the group. It was well after 1:00 by the time we made it back. When I got to my room I cried when I saw my suticase overflowing with all my junk. I packed as quickly as I could. I'm amazed that everything arrived in one piece. Needless to say, there were some tired and grumpy people getting on the bus yesterday morning. I was in better shape than some- I'd stopped drinking earlier in the night so at least I wasn't hung over, I was just tired. But even so....

Lesson learned: sometimes it's okay to put your foot down and say no.

One of the funniest parts of the evening was at dinner. A few days before some of us were at dinner with Sam and Dorota, one of the other translators. We wanted to buy the beer glasses because the logos with the various beers were so cool. We asked Sam to ask the waiter if we could buy them. Sam shook his head and said that they wouldn't sell them so we should just steal them. we protested and said we couldn't do that. So Dorota asked for us, and the waitress said she couldn't really sell them, but if we gave her 5 zlotys, (about $2), we could take them. So Saturday night they had different glasses and we asked Sam to ask the waiter. He didn't really want to, but we weren't going to steal them. So he asked. Sam and the waiter were going back and forth in Polish and the waiter went to the bar, and then came back a few minutes later. He whispered very low in Sam's ear and then walked away. Sam said, "he says that they cannot sell the glasses. But it would be quite alright if you put them in your bags and took them. And it would be quite nice if you could leave some money with the bill."

Lesson learned: it is okay to steal the glasses as long as you leave some money.

More on our last two days at the jobsite to follow.

Heading towards the finish line

So it's Thursday. Well, here it is Thursday. Thursday evening to be exact. I have no idea what time it is where y'all are, and to be perfectly honest, it's really not significant. Wherever I am is what time it is. Therefore, it is Thursday evening at 8:40. I've finished an excellent dinner at the city square- Poland's version of a Greek Gyro. I have no idea what it was, and I'm perfectly happy with that, because it was wonderful.

Today I ended up laying cement bricks. We developed a system. I spread the muck and gunk, and someone else deals with the numbers and levels. It's all good. :) I feel much better because I feel like I can actually say I accomplished something.

One thing has resonated with me this week. Ana Cryz from the Habitat Office in Poland came earlier this week and spent a few days with us. She's the National Global Village Coordinator for Habitat in Poland. (In English- she's a head high muckety-muck) And wonderfully friendly. We talked for a little while and she was telling me that volunteering is not prevalent in Poland. Alot of that comes from the days of communism, etc. It's just not common. So when they hear of Americans coming all the way over here, they truly think we are crazy. (Anna doesn't, obviously, since she works for Habitat. Although after spending three days with us crazy Americans, she may have changed her mind!) But she asked me, why we give our time, our money to come to a place like Poland. I felt somewhat uncomfortable, because in alot of ways, this trip is somewhat selfish. It is not a hardship to come here. I come because I love to be able to give my time and what little talent I have. But at the same time, I've had the opportunity to experience a totally new culture. A place that I otherwise would never have come to. And not only once, but TWICE. So yes, I'm doing "good". But I'm getting so much more in return.

It's given me alot to think about this week. I watch the people here and I compare it to the people back in the States. It's different, yet people are people no matter where you go. I wish that I had made more of an effort to learn Polish. One of my favorite parts of the day is breakfast at our hotel. Breakfast is included, and we stop by the front desk to get a ticket for the restaurant. The woman behind the desk speaks no English. We've been practicing saying our room numbers in Polish, and she gets the biggest smile on her face when we say it. This morning I said it and she exclaimed and laughed and I think she said something along the lines of "perfect".

It made me realize that one of the basic human emotions is a yearning to be understood. This trip has taught me that, and I don't mean specifically language.

So there you have it. It took almost a week, but I think I've got the attitude change I was looking for.

More tomorrow. I miss y'all.

Update from the jobsite- day three

I seem to be having some technical difficulty uploading photos from my camera, so those will have to wait until I get home. But in the meantime, here's a brief update from the first three days on the job.

This year has been quite a different experience on the job site. Last year the building was still in it's beginning stages, and we spent the first few days moving materials rather than actually putting them on the building. And because it was in the early stages, we didn't see alot of the future homeowners. Many people aren't aware that Habitat offers a "hand up", not a "hand out". These families receive a no-interest loan, and part of the requirement is to put in at least 750 labor hours. So this time around, we have had the opportunity to work with many of them. I've become especially attached to one of them- Sebastian. He is deaf, and uses sign language. I've taken a few classes in American Sign Language, and still remember some of my signs. Sign language is not universal, but some of the signs are the same. I managed to convey that to Sebastian, and we've had alot of fun this week. He is one of the hardest working people there, and so grateful to Habitat, and to us.

So what are we doing this week you ask? Well I shall tell you. We have two main jobs this week- building interior walls with concrete blocks, and laying cement floors downstairs. I must admit I am having some trouble finding my niche. I quickly discovered on Monday that laying blocks is not one of my strong suits. Handing me a level is like asking me to solve an Algebra equation. It simply ain't happening. I don't have the skills for precision work. I tried, but it was taking more time to correct my mistakes, so I decided to go downstairs. My biggest frustration is that the local people definitely haven't bought into the whole "equal opportunity" thing. There are some things women don't do. And one of them is laying concrete floors. I helped shovel the concrete all day yesterday, but that was the extent. Which is fine, I was happy to have something to do. Today however they didn't really need a shoveler, so I spent most of my day adrift. Which of course is also frustrating.
But tomorrow is another day.

We've spent the last couple nights in the center square of Gliwice. I love this place. There are many outside cafes surrounding the square, and I could spend hours taking in the people. O'm even getting a better grasp on the language. I can almost count to ten!

I'm glad that I am here. I feel like I am part of something important, and for that I am thankful and very blessed to have this opportunity. But at the same time, I am very anxious to be back.

More tomorrow- hopefully after a slightly more productive day.

Blue skies and falling tears

Yesterday we went to Auschwitz concentration camp. I really debated about whether I wanted to return again this year. Obviously it's a difficult and painful thing to see and hear about. But I decided that I needed to go.

This time was so much harder. The tears started the moment I walked through that gate- which, as I'm sure most of you know, is not the norm for me. Last year I walked through the grounds numb. This year I walked through with eyes blurred from tears. I cannot comprehend the evil that took place on the very ground that I now walked upon. That the bright blue sky with sun that warmed my back and dried the tears on my cheeks also looked upon human suffering that the mind cannot fathom. I felt like the sky should be dark and gray. I could not take pictures. I know that people need to know. They need to see. But I tell you, you simply cannot grasp the full impact from a photograph. Trust me. Being there is haunting and chilling, and I decided yesterday that I don't think I can ever return to that place.

But I think I will carry those images with me forever. And that's not a bad thing, I don't think. We have to keep those horrible memories alive, because to forget is to open the possibility of an atrocity like this happening again.

We cannot forget. Yet I wish I could understand.

It's moments like these when I wish I could speak with God. Some clarification would be most welcome.

Made it- finally

Well I've made it here- finally. I suppose eventually we all have to have a "bad" travel experience.
Thursday my plane from Dulles was delayed for an hour or so. Which wouldn't have been so bad.... if I wasn't already sitting on it. They said they were getting some kind of error message on the external power something or other. And that it wasn't a big deal if the mechanics couldn't fix it because we didn't really need it to fly to Chicago. To me, anything that has the phrase "external power" sounds pretty darn important.

So they fixed it or did whatever they had to do and we landed in Chicago without a hitch. I met up with the rest of the team, and got ready to wait for our 9:40PM flight to Krakow.

hahahahahahaha.

Seems like our plane was slightly delayed. Like, not taking off until 3:30AM delayed. There was a problem with the plane they were flying in, so they landed in Warsaw and sent another one. But by the time that plane arrived, the flight crew wasn't allowed to fly without sleeping, so our flight was delayed.

Which is perfectly fine with me. I'd much rather have my pilot awake.

So we hung out in the Chicago airport for a loooooong time. Airport chairs are not conducive to sleeping. The biggest concern is that only 10 of us were flying from Chicago. The other nine were arriving in Krakow from various places, and would arrive without knowing we were delayed. Thank goodness for cell phones. Terri arranged for someone to meet them and take them back to the hotel until we got there.

But the plane arrived safe and sound. We got to our hotel, and after a shower and a meal I feel like a new person. I kept a running journal, which I'll try and add here later. They charge to use the internet, so I don't want to be too long.

I hope it's only lingering lack of sleep that's causing it, but I really just want to go home. Today was kind of our "free" day in Krakow. I hope once we get to the jobsite my attitude will straighten out, but right now.... I'm a little homesick. Okay, alot homesick. Perhaps I just need another Polish beer, haha.

My minutes are adding up, and if I go on complaining, I'll be out a fortune... so I'd better sign off.
We're going to Auschwitz tomorrow. I was really debating about whether I wanted to do that again. That was hard last year. I decided to go. After seeing that again, that should fix the whining for sure.

Then off to Gliwice to work!
Stay tuned- hopefully I'll be checking in a day or so with a better attitude.

Ready for takeoff. Somewhat.

Well it's finally here. I've been so busy being anxious, nervous, and downright terrified of the flight, I've kind of forgotten to get excited about the trip itself. Now that I'm quickly approaching the point of no return, I am starting to get excited. I'm looking forward to seeing some old friends from last year, and can't wait to meet the new ones. I can't wait to see how much progress has been made on Building #8 in a year. And I can already taste the borscht (spelling?) and kielbasa. Breakfast however, I am not looking forward to. I'm a banana and chocolate milk in the morning kind of girl. Lunchmeat and coleslaw at 6:30 in the morning doesn't do much for me. This year I'm prepared with a jar of peanut butter and some pop tarts.

So the anxiety's lessened somewhat.

Somewhat.

I just keep telling myself that by this time tomorrow I'll be there, safe and sound and laughing at myself for being such a giant baby.

Stay tuned!

Links to the Poland Trip Blog

Sooooooooooo...... in 1 day, 15 hours, and 16 minutes I'll be joining the rest of my team and heading to Poland!

This year the team travel blog will be written by my roommate, Andrea.
Check out the link here. You can also catch up on last year's blog here.
I'm also putting a permanent link to these two blogs on the sidebar.

Since I'm not writing the team blog this time around, I'm going to try and keep up on my own blog. I enjoyed writing the team blog last year, but I found it a little difficult to write from a team perspective and not just my own. It is all about me after all! HA!

I'm not sure how often I'll be able to get to the internet cafe, but check back periodically! The team blog will definitely be updated, so be sure to check that out too. I think you can actually get on an e-mail list and be e-mailed when a new entry is posted. Isn't technology wonderful?

And say a prayer or two for the flights, would you? I'm trying to be a big girl, but I'm still half terrified out of my mind of flying.

Finding Him in the cancer ward

There was a girl in the oncology ward today that I cannot get out of my mind. When they first walked in, I only saw them from the back. I saw a man, probably around my parents age, supporting a woman with an oxygen tank. She was very short, very slow, very, very thin, and very frail. Her hair was mussed and I assumed it was this man's mother. Then she sat on the bed and I saw her face.

She's probably in her mid to late 20's.
She's my age.

I have seen sick people before. I spent a day in the hospital with Emily when her blood sugar sky rocketed. I visited my grandmother after her surgery and while she was going through chemo.

But I have never seen someone who looked so close to death.
And so young.

She's my age.

It rattled me. I can't get her out of my mind.

She sat on the edge of the bed for about 10 minutes. Then the nurse helped her bring her legs up and on the bed and get her situated. That little bit of movement exhausted her. It was so painful to watch her struggle to make that move. A movement that I take for granted every day of my life. She closed her eyes and I watched her chest heave up and down as she tried to catch her breath. As an asthmatic I know what it's like to struggle to breathe. I know how terrifying it is to feel like you can't pull enough air into your lungs. I know what it's like to have to conciously tell yourself to take a breath. But that all seemed like nothing compared to her. I have no idea what her name is. I don't know what kind of cancer she has. But she broke my heart.

All day yesterday I was worried about going with Heather. I do not like hospitals. I get a weird buzzing noise in my head the moment I pass through the doors. The sight of an IV makes me feel faint. I wasn't sure if I'd be able to sit through 6 hours of watching poison drip into my friend's veins. But siting in a room full of people whose survival depends on a variety of posions and toxins being pumped into their bodies suddenly makes you grow up and get over yourself. I won't say the buzzing noise went away. And I still felt sick. But I knew that would go away the moment I walked out of the door.

That girl doesn't have the strength to even stand up, let alone walk anywhere.

I've been anxious for weeks about this upcoming flight to Poland. Stressed out and frightened to the point where I sometimes can't think of anything else.
I'm afraid to go on vacation. How ridiculous is that? I bet she'd trade my irrational fear for the very real fear she faces every second.

I looked for God in that room today. I searched for Him in the eyes of that girl. That girl who could easily have been someone I went to school with. I looked for Him in the worried face of her father. I looked for Him standing behind Heather, Heather who now wears a hat and a wig because cancer took her hair. I looked for Him in the pale faces, the dark circles under the eyes, the bald heads, the IV lines, the clicks and beeps of machines, in the shadows in the eyes of the nurses, and the bedside vigil of family and friends.

I know this sounds like such a downer. But then again, cancer is no laughing matter. I wish I could say I found Him, but today He was a little harder to find. I couldn't help but wonder- Why Heather? Why her? Why any of those people in that room? Why does He allow such a horrible disease? Why does He allow such terrible suffering?

I know there aren't really answers to those questions. At least not answers that can satisfy. But yet, find Him I did. I found Him in those very places I was looking for Him. Because love is stronger than death. Cancer can steal your hair, can sap your strength, can tire your spirit and weary your soul. It can exhaust your family and friends, and it can ultimately take a life. But the one thing cancer cannot destroy is love. Love is what covers the bald heads and drips in the IV lines. Love is the light that battles the shadows behind the eyes, and it is the rhythm behind the clicks of machines. It's what sustains the caregivers, the doctors, the nurses. Love is God, therefore everywhere you see love, you see ultimately can't help but see God.

At least that's how I see it.

(in)courage

I highly, highly recommend y'all checking this website out:

This new site was just launched today. Their purpose is simply to provide a place to be a source of encouragemnt to women. And they're asking us to blog about what encourages us.

If I'd read this question yesterday, I probably would have started off with my faith, my family, and my friends. I'd have listed songs that speak to me, and poems that touch the heart. I'd have cited Scripture and quotes from favorite authors. I'd have described beautiful sunsets and the sound of crashing waves.

That was before I spent the day sitting in the oncology ward at Johns Hopkins with a friend while she received a round of chemotherapy.

Suddenly encouragement looks a little different. I looked around me today and saw husbands sitting with their wives, wives with their husbands, daughters with their mothers, a father with his daughter, and friends sitting with friends. I watched nurses treat their patients like people and not an ID number. I saw tears being wiped away as well as shared smiles and laughter. I saw nurses wearing buttons on their scrubs proclaiming that "Cancer Sucks", and I laughed. I looked at the faces of these people, faces of people fighting for their lives, and yet they still smiled. I thought of the anxieties of my own, which pale in comparison, and I felt embarrassed.

Yesterday I would have answered this question with what encourages me. After today I think the question shouldn't be "what encourages you?", but "what can I do to be an encouragement to someone else?"

Battling Anxiety

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." ~ 1Peter 5:7



Lately I've turned into one giant bundle of nerves. Between majorly, and I mean MAJORLY, stressing about the flight to Poland this Thursday, and worrying about life and choices- like finding a job, managing my money, dealing with unemployment, trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up, wondering if it's possible to go to school full time, what school to go to, where I want to live, who I want to be...... between everying I'm just one anatacid pill away from turning into a giant ulcer.



And I've got one more worry added to my ever-growing pile. Heather asked me to go with her tomorrow to her chemotherapy appointment at Johns Hopkins. I said yes right away. Heather is... well, alot like me. She rarely asks for help from people. So when she does ask- it's important. I told her I'd do whatever I had to do to make sure my schedule was clear so I could go. And I meant it- but I'm scared.



I haven't been in a hospital since that day in November 2 years ago when Emily almost died.

I do not like hospitals. Between my asthma and the fact that I am the biggest klutz in the world, you'd think I'd feel right at home. I practically spent half my childhood in the emergency room for one reason or another. But to this day I get this weird buzzing in my head the moment I step foot into one, and from then on it's a constant battle not to pass out. Add needles and IV's and tubes and plugs coming out of people and I'm just about done. That day in November was, up until that point, the worst day of my life. I had to leave poor Emily's room every 15 minutes or so and walk outside.



I want to be there for my friend, but I'm not so sure if I can handle it. It's a pretty selfishly rotten person that causes a drama-queen-esque scene in the middle of her friend's chemo session because IV needles make her feel "oogey".

Oy.

Vacation Highlights

Dad and I on the jetski. This was before the infamous oyster shell incident.

This is what happens when you don't wear shoes while on a jetski, tip said jetski because it's low tide, run into a bed of oysters, and don't listen to your dad when he tells you to pull your feet up and float. :)

Me and my Sarah

My Great Uncle Tom, my Grandma, and my Great Uncle John

My mom and our friend Eileen. I didn't get a picture of Mike and the amazing ribs he made for us. Yum.

Sarah, me, and Rachel at Planet Hollywood in Myrtle Beach

Long story- I was being anti-puzzle. This is a re-enactment of the moment I "caved".

My two favorite funny girls

Rachel and Sarah

Aunt Pat, Uncle Mike, and my parents at the winery.

Me and Sarah

Can't go to the beach without taking a pretty sky picture

Double Rainbow!




Uncle Mike and Sarah. The wind was blowing the sand across the beach. It was so very cool.

Sarah. Not that I'm biased, but doesn't she have the most beautiful smile?

'nuf said

What a Sky ~ Wordless Wednesday

As Diana so eloquently calls it.... Emotional Vomit.

I have been home alone for approximately 4 days, 15 hours, 6 minutes, and 20 odd seconds.

And I've been lonely for approximately 4 days, 15 hours, and 6 minutes.

The 20 odd seconds was long enough to discover that suddenly.... I do not like being alone.

Which is a new emotion for me.

Perhaps it's the lack of full time employment that makes the days seem so much longer. Perhaps it's the feeling of being "in limbo" and not really doing anything productive. I leave for Poland in three weeks and one day- and I must confess I'm not in a huge hurry to be job hunting, at least until I get back. Maybe by then I'll have figured out what I want to do next.

So maybe it's the endless days stretching ahead that's got me down in the dumps. Maybe it's the constant re-hashing of what I should have done differently at work. Perhaps if I'd tried harder to not let my boss get to me, I wouldn't have been the one to get laid off. Maybe it's the missing my friends at work. Maybe it's the constant dwelling on "what on earth do I want to be when I grow up" that's getting to me. The quieter it is, the more I hear myself, and frankly I'm tired of my own company.

But what's got me laid low tonight is missing my Emily. I haven't really enjoyed being alone since she died. But the few times I have been alone, I had something to distract me. Like work. Now all I seem to have is time, and time makes me think, and when I think, I think about Emily.

Used to be when my parents were going away somewhere, I'd be counting down the days. Not because I was glad for them to be gone... but simply because I just enjoyed being alone. It made me feel like a real "grown-up". I could go where I want and not have to worry about calling. I could cook to my heart's content and make as many messes as I wanted without driving my poor mother batty. I could watch endless episodes of M*A*S*H and stay up until the wee hours of the morning without disturbing anyone. Until Emily came home. Then suddenly my peace and quiet turned into a whirling tornado of hysterics, dramatics, antics, and any other "ics" you can think of. And Emily always believed that she was rescuing me from boredom by showing up. After all, of the two of us.... I definitely was the boring one. If we were flavors of ice cream, Em was the Ben and Jerry's flavor "Everything But the Kitchen Sink". I'm plain vanilla.
I used to plead with mom and dad not to tell her they were going away. But somehow she always found out. She had some sort of radar or something. "Dorky sister, sitting at home. Must help".

I'm all alone. And I'm waiting for her to come bounding through the door, armed with doritios and soda, endless episodes of Friends DVD's, and whatever her latest "ic" of the week happened to be.

And every second that passes that the door stays closed, my heart breaks just a little more.

They weren't kidding when they say "alone" isn't all it's cracked up to be.

Oh how I miss her! Just when I think I'm starting to feel better, just when I think I really might have found the answer to "how high is up?" something comes along and sends me crashing right back to where I started! It's not FAIR!!! NOT FAIR NOT FAIR NOT FAIR!! I want to scream and cry and kick my heels against the ground and smash something into a million pieces. I want to shake my fist at God and tell Him just how royally ticked off I am! I want Emily back, I want to be employed, I don't want to be alone, and I want things to be back to the way they were. And I don't want to feel this alone anymore.

It sort of worries me that I no longer like being alone. I'll never be able to live by myself. I'll be the crazy woman with 50 cats or something. With lace doilies on the armchairs, knitting strewn everywhere and a house that smells like peppermint. You know, to cover up the cat box smell.
(And right now my parents are praying that this peppermint smelling house of cats is far, far, away. Can't blame them. Who wants to be known as the parents of the town's Crazy Cat Woman?)

Am I ranting? Why yes, I do believe I am. Better than exploding I suppose.

I guess the silver lining in this whole being laid off thing is that now that I have time in abundance, I'll soon be on my way to join the rest of my family at the beach. The best antidote for driving yourself crazy is to instead be driven crazy by your wonderfully insane family. And I say that in the most loving of ways. :)

Because seriously, another week of this alone crap would send me to the looney bin. After re-reading some of this, I think I may be halfway there.

But I do feel better after "throwing up" a little on here.

Now I'm just debating about whether to publish this, or keep it hidden in the drafts folder.

hmm....

Oh what the heck. Everyone knows I'm nuts anyway. Why hide it? ;)