A Jar of Happiness

Today I have the afternoon off.  Being ambitious, I decided to clean my room.  I mean really clean my room.  I pulled out boxes that have moved from house to house to house with me but that have never truly been opened.  I was doing great, going through things and separating them into "keep," "give away," and "throw away" piles when, true to form, I got sidetracked.

I got to a box from 9th grade or so, and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper.  It was an old jar - probably about 100 years old by now - with "HAPPINESS" taped to the lid.  I opened it up and discovered about 100 slips of paper inside.  On each slip I had written something that made me happy.

Here are just a few things I found written on those slips:

-Hot Cocoa
-That time we went to Disneyland and Jobie made up songs about everything
-Mom and Dad getting remarried
-Camping with Gary and Amanda
-Twins
-That time Cat and I went into Shoney's because we saw the Illinois baseball team had stopped there
-When Mom smooths my hair back
-Guys in football uniforms
-Country songs
-The Harry Potter Series
-Mr. Seal (he was my favorite stuffed animal as a kid...and yes, he was a seal)
-Celebrating Sister Day
-Boiled custard
-Different accents

These are all things I wrote down in 9th and 10th grade, but they still make me happy.  I am going to put this jar on my dresser and add to it.  I think it can do us all good to have a jar of happiness - something to look into when we are a bit down. 

And now I want to know: What's in your jar of happiness?

James 1:17

"The Substance of Things Hoped For"

I heard a priest say once that "faith is the substance of things hoped for."  It struck me as almost lyrical: a poem in the midst of prose.  I was smitten.  I liked the line so much that I did something I never do in church, and in fact is something that usually shocks and offends me when I see others do it (remember how I said I'm trying not to judge? Yeah...It's a work in progress.).  I pulled out my phone in the middle of the sermon and opened up to a "NEW TEXT MESSAGE" page.  Now, I did this to send myself a text of that pretty little quote so I could use it in a story later.  Maybe it could be a character's quote, maybe a theme.  Who knew?  I liked it, and I am always on the lookout for story fodder.

I've thought about that line a lot, turning it over in my mind, whispering it to myself.  I've even meditated on it a bit.  I have never quite found the right place for it, though, and so it remains repeating its gentle rhythm in my mind. 

My mom and I were talking recently and she said something along the lines of, "I just keep hoping."  I made the pretty natural response of, "That's all we can do."  And I was immediately struck with the thought of living a life of hope.  What does that even look like?  Is it a good thing or a bad thing?  Is it positive, always being hopeful, or terribly sad that you are always hoping and never achieving?

And what, if it comes down to it, does that phrase truly mean?  "The substance of things hoped for." 

Merriam-Webster offers the following definition for substance:

             1: essential nature : essence

             2: ultimate reality that underlies all outward manifestations and change

             3: physical material from which something is made or which has discrete existence

      

Substance, it would seem, is a foundation.  Substance is the inside of something - substance is what "makes up" an object.  So if faith is the substance of things hoped for, it must follow that faith is the foundation of our hopes.  Faith is the stool we stand on when we are aiming for something beyond our reach.  So often we want something - whether it's physical or spiritual, material or ethereal - and we can't quite get it.  We have to wait.  We have to have faith that it will work out however it needs to. 

This is something that I am still working on.  Because having faith that things will work out usually means trusting that it will work out - which in my case tends to mean letting go of control.  As my dad said to me today, "You need to trust that God has everything in control."  And this is a hard lesson for me.  But somehow, thinking of trust as faith, and faith as a stool or a building block, I find myself able to relax a bit.  It's almost as if the beauty of the phrase allows me to close my eyes for just a moment and breathe deeply.  It allows me to feel secure on a strong foundation, if only briefly.

So, I sit here typing a message to myself and hoping I can draw encouragement from the phrase I have come to love so dearly.  "Faith is the substance of things hoped for."  I think a life of hope isn't such a bad thing, as long as we stand on a foundation of faith.  Faith in God, faith in ourselves, faith in those around us. 

I hope you can draw some encouragement, too.  Take a moment to close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

Lots of love,



Psalm 33:22



The Hills ARE Alive!

Last week I was invited to go to "The Sound of Music: Sing-Along."  I was excited (especially because some pretty spectacular people covered the cost of my ticket...Thanks Joanne and Mary!!) and ready to sing when I arrived at the Gish house.  Mary moaned a little bit about not owning a nun's habit and not being able to dress up, but we hopped in the Speier's van and headed to the Arlington.  Mary and Taylor and I did a great job of embarrassing the junior high girls (Tati and Jordan) by singing "The HIIIILLS are aliiiiiiive with the sOUnd of muuuuuuuuusic (aah ah ah ah)" at the top of our voices from our parking spot all the way to the theatre. 

Once we walked into the theatre, tickets in hands, we gawked at our fellow movie-goers - the ones who did dress up.  Over there was Maria as a novice!  And there was Captain von Trapp!  And look at the von Trapp kids! 

We waltzed down the aisle and found a row with some friends, and sat down - still embarrassing the younger girls.  We sat enthralled at a "Behind the Scenes" short documentary, but we were ready for the main attraction.  When the lights lowered we leaned forward in our seats and clapped with the rest of the audience.  As the opening credits rolled I was suddenly struck with awe: I was watching The Sound of Music on the big screen.  This movie was released in 1965 - 21 years before I was born.  It's a modern-day classic; everyone knows about The Sound of Music.  And I was watching it on the big screen. 

Wow.

But as soon as Julie Andrews came into view my awe was replaced by delight and as the music swelled I glanced at Mary.  She looked back at me with a grin on her face and then took a deep breath and belted "THE HIIILLS ARE ALIIIIVE..."  I laughed in pure delight and joined in.  When Mary, Taylor, and I supplied the first "Aah aah aah aahs" the rest of the audience erupted in laughter.  This, of course, set the three of us off in giggles, and I found it hard to sing along. 

Amazing, right?

The audience was great: people were cheering and yelling out advice to the characters on screen.  And behind us people were playing kazoos during every song.  I leaned over to Mary.  "They have kazoos.  Next time..."

"Next time we are bringing kazoos.  Definitely." 

I was swept along by the storyline, even though I have seen the movie countless times before.  I wasn't the only one, though.  There were audible gasps and claps sprinkled throughout the audience.  There was laughter when we all saw there were lyrics posted for the song the nuns were singing - in Latin.  Mary and I had a grand time translating for everyone in the theatre...Completely ignoring the fact that I speak no Latin and Mary speaks very little.  And when Maria and Captain von Trapp kissed for the first time a group of people behind us set off some poppers.  We jumped, and I turned to Mary again.  "They have poppers.  Next time..."

"Next time we are bringing poppers.  Definitely."

As I was enjoying myself and the movie I was suddenly pulled out of the moment.  I watched Captain von Trapp refusing to give into the Nazi generals and I sent up a prayer of gratitude that I have never lived in a time or place in which my life has been put in such danger for saying a simple word: No.  I sent up a prayer of thanks that I have never had to leave my home to save my life, and I have never had to live in fear and hiding.  I know when I saw the movie as a child that I could figure the Nazis were bad - Brigitta says it very well in the movie: "Maybe it's the flag with the big, black spider that has everyone so nervous."  Anyone, at any age, who sees that flag knows it isn't a flag portraying goodness and light.  But I had never before understood what it really meant to live in that shadow.  Even now, never having lived like that, I can't truly understand it.  And I sent up a prayer of thanks that I can't understand it.

Just as I - and most of the audience - were completely engrossed and heartbroken that Rolfe had joined the Nazis, and were breathlessly hoping he wouldn't betray the von Trapps the poppers shot off again.  I jumped about a mile high in my seat, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Mary had put her hand to her chest. 

"That scared me so badly!" she laughed to me.  I nodded in agreement.  But I was glad, because it yanked me out of my heavy, contemplative mood.  I was back in the joyful, excited mood I had begun the night in.  We finished the movie the same way we started it: laughing and clapping and singing. 

As we danced our way back to the car (still embarassing the younger girls) I was somewhere in the Alps, not on State Street in Santa Barbara.  My mind was drifting along, brought back to Earth by the laughter of my friends.  I joined in, singing along, and we tumbled into the car, just in the knick of time, too, because rain drops were beginning to fall from the sky. 

We all agreed that the evening was almost magical.  As we drove back home I looked at our little mountain range (no comparison to the Alps!) and imagined them ringing with the sound of music.  Back at Mary's house I hopped out of the van and gave hugs all around, then hurried to my car to avoid the rain. 

As I started my car I looked in my rear-view mirror for another look at the mountains.  I could swear they were singing for me.  I smiled hummed back at them, then pulled my car into the road, ready to go home and sleep. 

Lots of love,

Psalm 98:4

"We make every party we go to. Come on, Steph!"

This morning when I woke up I was at my parents' house.  This was because at 4:50 am I had to be there to "watch" my younger siblings while Dad drove Mom to the airport.  It was so nice to wake up to the smell of bacon cooking, get an early-morning hug from a 5-year-old, and hear "Good morning, Girlie" from my dad. 

I couldn't stay, though, because I had to be back at my apartment and ready to leave by 9am.  Why is that?  Because I was part of a team in the Alzheimer's Association's Memory Walk.  The team was Fr. Gordon's Walkers, and was in honor of my Granddaddy, who has been living with Alzheimer's for years. 

Lara would be at my apartment at 9 and together Cat, Lara, and I would pick up Mary and Libby, who would be waiting at Mary's house.  I got home in my pj's (sighing over how nice it was to wake up at my parents') and tried to wake myself up enough to change into some workout clothes.  This was to be a 5k, afterall.  My eyes were drooping as I heard my phone buzz.

Ima try to stop by starbucks.  Let me know if u want something.

I gave a little whoop in my room.  oh man! i would love a tall coffee with hazelnut and cream please! 

My morning was already a thousand times better than the previous day had been.  Lara showed up and the three of us headed to Mary's house, then off to the zoo!  We made our way toward the check-in tables and waited in line, only to be told that if we had already registered on-line we could just walk in.  This made no sense to us, as the line we were standing in said, "Registered Walker Check-In."  This tale was next to the "Non-Registered Walker Check-In" line.  So when we were told we didn't actually need to check in we looked around, confused.  Oh well.  We figured those of us who had raised $100 would go pick up our T-Shirts.  That would be 2 of us.  However, the lady handing out shirts handed one to each of us.  When we told her that not all of us raised enough money she shrugged.  "We have extras."  Neat.  We each got a shirt!  We put them on over our other shirts and met up with our other team members, then headed up the hill.

We got about five yards in when one of us said, "I think I need to go to the bathroom."  The rest of us heartily agreed.  A bathroom break was needed.  We were singing songs and laughing about the Capybaras (or, as we called them, the R.O.U.S.'s) and probably driving everyone around us nuts.  We wandered up the hill, dancing and fake-power-walking.  Music made it's way toward us.  "What is that?"  We looked at the program that had been handed to us as we walked in the zoo.  (Yes...They gave all us walkers a piece of paper to carry with us as we walked.)  "Umm...This is Ulysses S. Jazz, according to the program."  Ulysses S. Jazz was fun, and made me think of The Great Gatsby, and a joke Mary had made a few years before: "A cocktail?  For me?  Why thank you!"

After finding an empty table to sit at (and some free coffee, of course!) we listened to the Pre-Walk information.  Well, to be perfectly honest, we didn't pay too much attention.   After all, we needed to figure out if that guy who had been talking was Gary from "Gary and Catherine in the Morning on 101.7" and that takes an awful lot of energy.  "Let's go introduce ourselves and take a picture!" Lara said.  Mary and I agreed, and Libby and Cat laughed at us as we tripped across the lawn.  When we reached the edge of the stage, however, we couldn't quite make ourselves go up to him and introduce ourselves.  "What if it isn't him?" Lara asked.  I stood there, camera in hand, trying to gether the courage to talk to him. 

"Sheesh," Libby said, walking up to us.  "I'll go talk to him."  She did, and it turns out it was him.  So the rest of us rushed over and joined them. 

"This is so cute," Gary, of "Gary and Catherine in the Morning" said.  "This hardly ever happens to me!" 

Note how he standing...Yeah, silly Gary from "Gary and Catherine in the Morning."

We laughed our way back to the table and finally took a good look around.  No one seemed to be as pumped for this walk as we were.  "We are making this party," I said.

"We make every party we go to," answered Cat.  "Come on, Steph!"

We had to agree.  While our team was laughing and cheering and having a fabulous time, the other teams seemed to be half-asleep, or just plain boring.  I shook my head at them and gave a little prayer of thanks that our team was so incredibly fun, and then noticed they had a designated "Team Picture Area." 

"Guys...Should we go get our team picture taken?  Come on!!"  We jumped up (well, I jumped up, and was quickly followed by Lara, Mary, Libby, and Cat, and then later Sunny and her daughter Melody) and hurried to the "Team Picture Area."  I'm fairly certain there was dancing and stylized running involved.  We got ourselves organized and took a picture.

Not everyone was there yet, so we took decided to wait patiently for them...



Our first try.



Everyone listened to Lara telling us all to smile.

After that was our warm up.  We should have known by the warm up what the walk would be like.  A geriatric aerobics instructor got in the stage and lead us in a series of marching moves and arm swings.  After one song ended she said, "Alright!  Let's do another one!"

...........

"Alright.  That was actually it.  Okay, let's head over to the start of the walk."  Our team walked (read: "hopped, skipped, and jumped") to the starting line and joined in the speedy countdown to the beginning of the walk.  We where whooping and hollering and cheering and grabbing the stickers that were being handed out and walked over the official starting line. 

"Okay, where to now?"  We looked at each other.  There was no set route.  We shrugged at each other.  "Why don't we go over there?" 

We spent the next forty minutes or so (really, it was quite possibly less) wandering around the zoo, taking plenty of breaks.  Like at the gorilla enclosure (our first stop):

Mary was trying to be invisible.

Or the playground:

Lara decided to catch a ride on the turtle.

Libby needed a break...So she sat down in an egg.

This was pretty much how the walk was for us...

After those 40 minutes (total...breaks included) we walked back up the hill.  "So that was what, a .5k?" 

The free food was DELICIOUS.  And even though we weren't exactly tired out from our oh-so-strenuous walk, we did enjoy the time sitting together laughing about who said what just 10 minutes ago and enjoying our sandwhiches and cookies. 

And it was all for a good cause.

Ephesians 5:2

In Which a Workout Video Kicked Our Butts

Hey!  What are you up to at around 5?

I opened my phone and read the text.  I set down the Moon Sand I had bought for work (yes...you read that right) and typed back my response.

idk...i was thinking about doing a workout video but it can wait.  why? whats up?

I silently hoped Mary would want to do something.  I have to honest here: I had done the workout video the day before and was struggling to move like a normal human being.  I was looking for any excuse to avoid it today.

I wouldn't be so lucky.

Im babysitting and dont want to drive all the way home before log.  *Note: "LOG" is a youth group both Mary and I are involved with, and there is a planning meeting every week.* Ill do the video too!!

My heart dropped a bit.  Sounds good, I wrote.  We continued texting a bit, just talking about workout videos and the like, and then I went to see a client and Mary went back to babysitting.  I got home at about 4:45 and changed into workout clothes, still holding onto a thin hope that maybe, just maybe, Mary would want to do something other than the video. 

5:00 rolled around and I checked to make sure the DVD was in the player.  5:05 came.  I filled a glass with water, remembering the previous day.  5:07 came and I texted Mary.  Are you going to be here soon or should i go ahead and start without you?

Go ahead!  I'll be there soon!

My last hope was gone.  I sighed and turned on the DVD.  "Alright," I muttered to myself as I took a deep breath and tried to get my aching muscles to move.  "I'll do it." 

I was 12 or so minuted into the video when Mary walked in.  "Oh, thank God!" I stopped following the DVD and paused it.  Mary laughed. 

"Tough workout?"  She sat on the couch. 

"Come on!" I said.  She groaned.  "Mary, come on.  You said."  Now that I was in the workout I needed to finish it. 

"I don't know if I want to do it."  She shook her head. 

"Well I don't want to workout with someone just watching me do it."

"Alright!"  Mary got off the couch and stood next to me.  "Let's do this." 

We worked out side-by-side in silence for about 30 seconds, when Mary asked, "Wait, is that supposed to be Carmen Electra?"

"That is Carmen Electra.  And that guy is her trainer."

Just then the trainer said, "If you're doing this right it's going to be difficult to talk.  Well, if you're doing it wrong sometimes it's still difficult to talk."

"Did you hear that?" I breathlessly asked Mary.  We looked at each other and busted up laughing. 

The trainer changed exercises.  We were on our backs doing hip raises.  "I don't think I can do this!" I gasped.   We tried, though, until the trainer said to do the same thing, but this time with one leg off the floor. 

"For reals?" Mary asked as we did the first raise.  "For reals?  For reals?  For reals?" 

I collapsed on the floor, laughing.  "Mary!  I can't do it if I'm laughing!" 

"I'm sorry!  But it's really hard!" 

We moved onto hands and knees, doing leg lifts and push-ups and a number of other torturous exercises.  Mary looked up at the TV, "Steph...Even Carmen is having trouble with this."  It was true.  Carmen Electra was obviously focusing and struggling with the workout. 

"I'm shaking," Carmen Electra said on the TV.  "That's good right?"

"Yes," her trainer said.  "If you are shaking that means you are pushing your muscles to their limit, which is what we want to do." 

"But what if my muscles don't shake, they just don't work?" I asked the TV.

Mary laughed.  "I can't work out because they won't move!" 

We laughed together breathlessly.  The laughter turned into groaning when the exercises got tougher.  The trainer on TV started struggling, too. 

"AAHHH!" Mary yelled. 

"Take heart, Mare," I said.  "There's only about 10 minutes left."

3 minutes later I was the one yelling. 

Finally, finally, the section of the DVD we were working out to ended.  I struggled up and pressed the "Stop" button.  There was no way we were continuing this workout.  My body just wouldn't do it. 

"That was good."  Mary said.  I wiped the sweat that was dripping down my face and nodded.  "That was good.  I mean, at least we laughed.  That's a bit of an ab workout, at least."

I nodded again.  "Yeah."  I was breathing hard, my hands on my hips.  "It was good." 

We looked at each other and laughed again, both of us wiping sweat from our faces. 

I got a text from Mary this morning.  It said, "Sore.  lets do it again today"

The length of this torturous workout?  30 minutes. 



Hebrews 6:11-12

The Judgement to Love

Every once in a while we hear the same message over and over and over again.  The first time we hear it we may think about it for a bit, nod our heads at what we see as the "value" of the lesson, and then move on.  The second time we hear it we focus on it a little more as we think, Sheesh.  Maybe I should pay a bit more attention to this.  After all, I've heard it twice now.  The third time we hear it we figure we've heard it already so yeah, we drop a minute or so of our time on it and then move on, comfortable in the knowledge that we've done our duty and thought about this oh-so-important message for as long as we needed.  If we hear it again after that we tend to feel annoyed - or at least I do - and the message becomes a burden.  Seriously? we wonder.  Again?  Well I'm not wasting anymore of my time on this junk.  I know it already.  If we hear it anymore we ignore it.  Haven't we already wasted enough of our time on it?  We ignore not only the message, but the uncomfortable feeling that maybe we really should spend pay more attention to it.

I've found myself in this cycle lately.  In so many places I've heard this message: Don't judge.

It comes up in many different contexts.  I've heard it in a sermon at church.  I've heard it from a friend telling me a story.  I've heard it from a visiting monk speaking about his beloved monastery at Mt. Sinai.  I've heard from the parents of children I work with.  I've seen it played out on TV.  Just today I heard it from my dad.  The words may be different but the underlying message is the same: Don't judge.

I went through the "message cycle" and finally realized I couldn't just continue to ignore it.  Now let me be frank here: It's never comfortable to take a true look in the mirror.  At least it's never comfortable for me.  I'm too worried that I won't like what I see.  And if I pay attention to this message of not judging I'm forced to confront myself.  Am I judgemental? 

I don't know if I am brave enough answer that question.

So, instead of answering I decided to skip that part all together.  Really healthy, I know.  Instead of dwelling on whether or not I am an incredibly judgemental person I've decided to act as though I am.  (Do you see how this saves me?  I can keep hoping that I'm not...)  I've thought about all the times in the past I've heard people talking about judgements.  I've thought about conversations I've had with my priest about judging.  I've dwelled on this a lot lately.  And I've realized the response to judgement has been in front of me all along.

Love.

I'm not talking about love in the sense of the gooey, happy feeling we get when we see those we care about.  I'm talking about the choice we make to act in love.  I'm talking about the choice to be kind and loving even though it may unpopular, or that guy really might be frustrating.  Some people call it Agape.  Some people call it "doing the right thing."  It's the same thing: Love. 

It can be hard to love.  We love our families and our friends, but we have a hard time loving the neighbor downstairs who causes a fuss about the parking situation.  We easily love some of our colleagues but just can't stand that new guy who thinks he's so great when really he just gets on everybody's nerves.

I spoke with my priest about this a few years ago, and what he said to me comes up often in my mind.  He told me two thing: 1)When you make a judgement say a prayer for that person, and 2) The cycle has to stop somewhere.

So often we feel judged, or are judged, by a person and in response we turn around and think poorly of someone else.  Or we feel that we need to be better than everyone else, so we think the worst of them.  I am struck by a story Fr. Pavlov (the visiting monk from Mt. Sinai) told:

      There were two monks in their monastery.  When the heiromonk entered the room of one he found it to be extremely messy.  Instead of judging he thought to himself, Wow.  This monk spends so much of his time in prayer and in the pursuit of the spiritual life that he has no time left for cleaning his room.  He moved on to the next monk's room.  He found it to be spotlessly clean.  This time he thought, Amazing.  Just as his spiritual life is clean and clear, so is this monk's physical space.  He judged neither man.  We, in this day and age, in our ignorance, would judge both. 

I was struck most by the end of the story: ...in our ignorance, [we] would judge both.  I know I would.  But this would be a perfect chance for me to use the advice I was given.  Choose to love by saying a prayer.  Sometimes we are given insight to a situation, and it could be horrible.  But rather than using that insight to judge, I hope to (and I have been told I need to) use it for love: pray, and if necessary, act.

And I need to try to end the cycle, at least in my life.  I can't control what others do, but I can love them, and try not to judge them.  And I think I will be able to find some peace there.  As my dad told me this morning, if I'm the one responsible for deciding who is right or wrong, or for deciding who goes to heaven or hell, no one will make it, not even myself.  Because my own standards and judgements (that are quite possibly incorrect) will get in the way of grace.  I can relax a bit, knowing it isn't up to me to do anything about it but choose to love.  And so I will make the effort to make the judgement of love. 

And maybe someday I can look in the mirror without fear.  Maybe.

1 Corinthians 13:1

Daydreams

Sometimes I wish I was somewhere else. 

Don't get me wrong - I love my home and I love my family and friends and the people around me.  I know if I really did leave it would be extremely difficult, like transplanting a tree whose roots are intertwined with countless others.  Possible, but terribly, terribly painful.  But sometimes I just want to leave and explore and maybe stumble upon an adventure.  What's so surprising to me is that in one day - in a span of about 3 hours - I can daydream about being in two entirely different places.

One thing I love about my job is the freedom to meet my clients (read: preschoolers I work with) at places other than a house or preschool classroom.  As it's October plenty of parents (and I) feel that going to the pumpkin patch would be a fun, seasonally appropriate thing to do.  Here in Santa Barbara the only true pumpkin patch is Lane Farms: a smallish family-run farm that has pumpkins, a hay ride, scarecrows, a corn maze, and farm animals. 

As I walked around Lane Farms with my 2-year-old client and his mom and aunt I lost myself in the whimsy of the farm.  Now I realize true farm life isn't sentimental.  I know it means being up before light and down after dark.  I know it's a physically demanding life, and that - more than other occupations - farming begs the mercy of the weather. 

Yet, even knowing this, the simple beauty of the farm drew my mind away from the chaos of balancing work and home and stress, and into a pleasant, if instantaneous, daydream.  For a split second I was miles away, walking in the sunshine and watching a tractor working.  I looked up at my client's mother and asked, "Can you imagine what it would be like to live like this?" I gestured to the still tractor.  She wrinkled her nose.

"I know, right?" she answered.  "It would be terrible." 

Not quite what I was thinking. 

I nodded and made a non-committal sound and turned back to her son with a small sigh.  Thoughts of farm life would have to wait until I was no longer working.

However, as soon as I left Lane Farms I was rushing to get ready for a concert with the girls.  At 6 o'clock I pulled into my friend's driveway and within 15 minutes we were on our way to the Santa Barbara Bowl.  We arrived at our seats in time to hear the opening act sing her last 3 songs.  This was a surprise, because the opener started exactly on time - unheard of in music.  I don't have much to say about her...I'm sure I would have enjoyed her songs, but her voice was breaking by the end of her 40 minute set.  She also announced to the crowd that this was her first official show.  I turned to my friend.  "If her voice is this tired after her first show on her first tour I don't think she will last very long."  It will be interesting to see what happens with her carreer.

But the opening act (whose name I just can't remember) is not what triggered my next daydream.  No...Jason Mraz did that. 

If we are focusing on quality of voice, well, Jason Mraz's voice was almost stronger at the end of his set than at the beginning.  And he had a way of singing and interacting with the crowd that almost made it seem like he was singing directly to Section G, Row J, Seat 14. 

Let's ignore his commanding stage presence and skilled dance moves, the emotion of his singing and lyrics that reach out and grab the heart-strings.  The moment that stands out most clearly in my mind is the moment I have come to expect at every concert I attend.  Every person in the audience was standing and singing the lyrics back to Jason Mraz.  He stopped singing and closed his eyes and listened to the sound of thousands of people serenading him with his own lyrics.  It was that moment when I had the wistful thought of, 'I wish I was on that stage right now...' 

Suddenly I was gone.  I wasn't standing in the audience.  I was in another city, standing on a stage, listening to the sound of thousands being touched by my words.  

Somehow, not even three hours after wishing to be wearing a sun-hat on a farm I was now dreaming to be living the life of a musician. 

But, in all honesty, when the concert ended and I yawned, exhausted from the work week and the excitement of the evening, I was simply happy to be one of the girls.  Stumbling from laughter and - for the moment - carefree, I was happy to be me: A child development specialist living a quiet, sometimes stressed, mostly happy life in Santa Barbara.

Psalm 139 :7, 9-10

A Bit of Whimsy Inspired by the Season....

"How very refreshing," the yellow Upright sighed to his friend across the field. 

"What is?" came the response.

"The rain, of course.  After standing in last week's heat this is wonderful." 

"Won't make things easier for tonight's game."

The first Upright thought for a minute.  "Perhaps not for the players, but the fans will be entertained."

"If they're not too miserable from being soaked through."

"Well, I will be entertained," replied the cheerful Upright, set on staying positive.

"I guess I will be, too," said the grumpy Upright after a moment's pause. 

The two stood in silence for some time, one determined to enjoy the rain, the other determined to resent it. 

"You know," said the first, "I bet there are a lot of fumbles tonight."  Caretakers were starting to appear on the field, taking care of game-day business. 

"Of course there will be," the second scoffed.  The lights came on in the stadium, highlighting the raindrops.  The wind picked up speed, whistling where it had been whispering.  Both Uprights shivered.  "Not so refreshing now, is it?"

The first Upright stood in stony silence, unwilling to be provoked. 

The grumpy Upright grew uncomfortable.  He watched fans filing into the stadium, loaded down by ponchos and raincoats, blankets and towels.  Unable to distract himself he finally spoke.  "Hey, want to bet that there's at least one missed field goal tonight?"

After a few more moments of silence he got his response. 

"You're on."

Glass-Blown Fairytales

While in Nashville visiting Amanda and Elijah and their twin daughters Aida and Sophie, Manda, the girls and I met our Granddaddy at Cheekwood (the botanic gardens of Nashville) and saw the amazing glass art of Chihuly.

Now let me be honest here: I was much more excited at the prospect of being with Amanda and her daughters for the day than looking at plants and glass. Don't get me wrong - I expected the exhibit to be interesting and cool, but I wasn't planning on falling in love.

I was suitably impressed when we arrived at Cheekwood and the girls cried, "We are at Cheekwood!  We are at Cheekwood!"  My nieces are so clever to be able to recognize the road leading to Cheekwood.  Manda pointed out the first Chihuly display as we drove into the parking lot.  "It's macaroni and cheese!" Sophie yelled from the backseat.  She had a point: it looked like an enormous pile of mac and cheese - giant yellow, orange, and white tubes twisted and intertwined, climbing higher and higher. 

Sophie has a point, doesn't she?  

When we walked up to the "macaroni and cheese" and I stood there in awe.  The sculpture was humming - apparently they light up at night, so this was an electric display - and I imagined it was singing itself a little song of contentment.  I hurried to keep up with Amanda, Sophie, Aida, and Granddaddy and we wandered across a dewy lawn to a pond full of glass "Walla Wallas." 

The Walla Wallas in the pond.

I expected them to float into the air at any given moment.  Or maybe if I looked away, but turned back quickly enough I could catch them flying around.  I tried, slyly.  It didn't work. 

My main moment of amazement, however, was on the other side of the pond.  It was a piece called Sunset Boat and this is where I fell in love.  Red, yellow, orange and white glass filled a boat to the point of overflowing.  Points shot out while spirals slithered within the boat.  Globes rested quietly in the middle of chaos and I swear I saw a fairy dancing on the water.  I was smitten.  Even after walking away and looking at other pieces I saw the Sunset Boat in my mind.  I had to go back and look at it.  I felt the subtle sting of tears as I borrowed Amanda's camera and took a few pictures.  I needed, somehow, to keep this boat with me. 

I was in love.

Sunset Boat

Eventually, however, we needed to move on.  (I mean, really, we had two 3-year-olds with us...They needed to keep moving.)  In the house at Cheekwood were some more glass displays: chandeliers. 

I was struck still again by a huge white, champagne, and gold chandelier that immediately brought to mind Christmas.  Glass ribbons and spirals hung midair and I could almost hear sleigh-bells ringing (despite the warmth and bright sunshine outside).  Chihuly's blend of elegance and whimsy was magical.  I was transported to a different time and place.  I'm sure it was only the presence of Amanda, the girls, and Granddaddy that kept me from completely losing myself and becoming "that weird girl" that stood at each display much longer than was necessary. 

A close-up of the "Christmas" chandelier

The stairwell with the "Christmas" chandelier

Another chandelier.  Amanda loved this one.

I know fairytales aren't real...But as I have mentioned before I am inclined to want to believe in them.  And at the Chihuly exhibit at Cheekwood I found something that allowed me to do so: Glass-blown fairytales. 

All of the pictures are from newspaper articles or other blogs.  The use of cameras was prohibited inside the house at Cheekwood and I don't actually have a camera.  So special thanks to those people from whose blogs I snagged the pictures. 

Genesis 1:14-19

Celebrating Life

Today I had the opportunity to celebrate the life of a wonderful man. 

I looked around the park in awe, marveling at my god-brother's talent in making a space simultaneously elegant and welcoming.  I offered my help in setting up, and had to chuckle at how dismal my party-arranging skills are compared to his (we all have our talents, don't we?). 

I stood, mesmerized by the slide show - 54 minutes long - that made me smile, cry, and laugh.  I got butterflies in my stomach when a song that my god-brother and best friend and I sang came on, followed by satisfaction that I was able to do something to help, no matter how small.

I looked around, unsurprised, as a seemingly endless stream of people came in.  So many people were touched by this one life.  So many people wanted to pay their respects.

I felt happiness for my cousins and their growing catering business.  The food was delicious and I was proud of my family and their ability to build their business from the ground up. 

I felt joy at seeing my younger brother laughing with his friends.  It has been years since they were all together, and anyone could see they were practically revelling in each others' presences.  Later Mary and I would spend time with them all, joking and laughing and enjoying the day.

It was bittersweet when I greeted the family, asking them how they were doing and knowing that whatever answer they gave would be only a half-truth.  Knowing that no matter how "fine" they said they were it was too soon to be completely true.  Wondering if it would ever be true again. 

I felt extreme gratitude that my dad is still with us.  He is such an anchor and rock in my life, and in so many others.  Many heartfelt prayers of thanksgiving have been sent heavenward in the past month. 

And I felt love and pride mingled with sadness as a 17-year-old stood in front of the group and spoke about his dad.  I stood in awe as I realized that although I have seen him, and loved him, as the 4-year-old he was when I met him, this 17-year-old is now a man: a man I am proud to call my friend.  I cried as he reached out with only a few words and touched lives just as his father did.  And I listened as he hoped everyone present would take something away with them. 

I did take something...I took a firm desire to live my life to touch others.  I took with me a hope to be a vessel of God, to shine love to people, the same way this man shined love.  I took a need to celebrate life, mine and others, and to give thanks for every part - the beautiful, the painful, the bizarre, the sorrowful, the joyful. 

Memory Eternal, Bobby.  You are missed, and very dearly loved.

Psalm 30:5

Who Falls Off an Airplane?? - or - Adventures in Air-Travel

I have just had the (wonderful) opportunity to visit my sister and her family for a week. So many beautiful things happened this past week, and I will write about those soon. But, considering the fact that I spent two full days in airports and on airplanes, I would like to take a moment and focus on just that: airports and airplanes.

I woke up at an ungodly hour - and forced Cat to wake up at an ungodly hour so she could drive me to the airport - and was on a plane by 6 am. The flight to LAX was pretty smooth, ignoring the fact that I set off the metal detector at the airport, but they couldn't find the reason...Or the fact that although I did renew my license I didn't do it with enough time to receive my new one before the trip...And the fact that the plane was so small it felt like we were being flung around by every gust of wind - and it was a very windy morning.

I was determined to be cool, calm, and collected. I wanted my nameless fellow travelers to see me as a sophisticated woman who doesn't bat an eye at the aspect of flying somewhere new. The problem was that I am more curious little girl than sophisticated woman. My eyes were wide, darting around, trying to take everything in.

There are fascinating things to see everywhere, but airports, I have found, are amazing places for people-watching, finding character fodder, and all-around observation of the silly, sweet, tender, and ridiculous. For example, I after being at LAX for 10 minutes (including sitting on the runway) I had seen 2 street-sweepers (runway-sweepers?), 2 vending machines for iPods and the like (no joke), and Jude Law look-alike. I know he was a look-alike, and not actually Jude Law,

This is really Jude Law, NOT the guy I saw standing at the airport...

because he was standing at the gate waiting with the rest of us poor shmucks who hadn't made it in time to snag a chair. And as I still had about an hour and a half before boarding for my next flight I wandered about 20 feet and found a Starbucks. With coffee in hand I went back to wait to board the flight, humming along to the piano version of the one Phantom of the Opera song they played over and over and over and over...

My layover in Chicago was shorter, but I discovered quite a few things while waiting:

-I must have little minions or something who love me, because the first thing I saw upon leaving the plane was a Starbucks! YES!

-I could have gotten a flu shot, or for $30 more, a pneumonia shot. Nice...

-All of the workers I encountered had a serious attitude problem.

The return trip, however, was where my main excitement happened. I had given up the hope of ever appearing elegant or sophisticated, and hoped instead to enjoy my Milk Duds and a book and see if I might discover anything in the other passengers that might suit a story or something. Imagine my dismay when I sat down and realized my row-mate was a man who chose to take part of my seat and apparently felt that personal hygiene was optional. I curled into the window and (luckily) lost myself in my book. The flight was smooth, and I was only disrupted by a few snores from my neighbor - really, it wasn't too bad.

However...when we landed, and my neighbor decided he would be first off the plane I decided to be patient and wait. After all, I reasoned, I didn't want to rush and (knowing me) fall and hurt myself. When I finally got to the door of the plane I smiled and thanked the flight attendant and stepped to the top of a small flight of stairs. Careful, Steph, I thought. You don't want to fall...That would be embarrassing and potentially painful. I made it down the first two steps with no problem. But then I put my left foot down and slid forward. I still don't know how it happened, but somehow my foot slid through the front of my sandal, popping the upper out of the sole. I slid down the last two steps, frantically grabbed the handrail, and held on for dear life. I somehow landed on my feet on the tarmac, my rear about 2 inches from the concrete.

Fabulous.

The rest of the passengers, waiting on the tarmac for their carry-ons that had to be gate checked, turned their eyes away from me...Afraid to see my embarrassment, I'm sure. I laughed at myself, picked up my shoe and held it up. "My shoe broke," I announced, wanting to be sure they all knew I am not simply a clutz. "It was my shoe. My shoe broke." People nodded, obviously not believing me. "You okay, miss?" an airport employee asked, laughing at me.

"My shoe broke," I answered, loud enough that everyone could hear me. It didn't matter. They continued ignoring me. "My shoe broke," I muttered as I hobbled across the tarmac trying to put the upper back in the sole. I walked through a wing of the airport with one shoe on, laughing and shaking my head. I pulled out my phone and texted my friends...I needed to share this with someone! Other travelers saw me and gave me a wide berth, wanting to avoid the crazy lady with one shoe on who was muttering to herself. I finally fixed my shoe and slipped it back on, and followed the signs to my gate. I slowed to a stop as I looked out a giant window...There was a crystal clear view of the plane I had just fallen off. I shrugged off the knowledge that it was not only the other passengers of my flight that had seen me fall but anyone who happened to look out that window. I kept walking (and had yet another Starbucks) and then stopped in my tracks. There was another giant window. "Great."

I took the escalator down to my gate (I was understandably a little nervous about stairs) and made my way to a chair. I stopped again. "Oh, man!" People around me looked over then quickly away, wanting to avoid any contact with a crazy lady. There, taking up the entire wall, was yet another giant window with a clear view of my plane. "Wonderful!"

My only consolation was the hope that people may not have looked out the window at the exact moment I fell off the plane. Well, that and the fact that there was a man waiting at the gate who was doing yoga right in the middle of the floor.

Yes...There was someone who was really doing this.

So I wasn't the only crazy person in the airport that day.

Job 8:21