My Quilt Square

I visited my grandma today.

It was a spur of the moment decision; I happened to be in the neighborhood and had a few extra minutes, so I stopped by.  Because it was a last minute thing I didn't follow my normal routine of visiting her.  Usually I stop by Starbucks and pick up some coffee - decaf, because it's always so late in the day.  But today, sadly sans coffee, I followed the now familiar turns and lowered the volume of my radio out of respect for anyone else who happened to be around.  I parked in my usual spot and walked the short distance, wondering, as always, why I even bothered to lock my car. After all, it's not as though my little, red Bug would be out of my sight.

And then, with a quick glance to Grandma's neighbors, I lowered myself to the ground.  "Sorry I don't have any coffee for you," I said, and I touched a hand to her headstone.

This is usually the point when I say (out loud, because I think she would get a kick out of it), "Pour one out for my homegirl," and tip the coffee cup upside down.  We share that coffee as I talk about what's going on in my life.  I alternate between taking sips and pouring some beside her name, and I always feel a gentle swell of pleasure in the knowledge that my love of coffee is something that came from her and Grandpa.  It is not groundbreaking or earth shattering.  It will never save a life or change the world, but it is a part of the legacy I have inherited from her.

I've been thinking about that word a lot lately.  Legacy.  I'll spare you the sordid details, but "legacy" has been something of a hot topic in some recent drama.  Truthfully, "drama" doesn't at all capture the reality of the pain caused, but that's not currently my story to tell.

Legacy, though, that is mine, though I share it with many.  Legacy is like a blanket - a quilt - which lays over many, offering warmth and comfort, and unique in each individual space.  I've been inspecting my quilt square, trying to see clearly which pieces of each of my grandparents have made it into my little portion.

Mama Bear from The Berenstain Bears and Mama's New Job.  LOVE those quilts!

So today I sat at my grandma's graveside and I thought.

I thought about the moment my grandpa mentioned Grandma's great love of Christmas, when my brother leaned over to me and whispered, "That's where we get it."

I thought about jumping excitedly onto the couch when Granddaddy was GOING TO TELL HIS MICKEY MOUSE STORIES!!!!  And then laughing years later when kids I babysat asked me to please tell a Mickey Mouse story? 

I thought about Mimi and her sense of humor - the moment during our Easter service when she just could. not. handle. the way someone was chanting.  She and I covered our mouths with our hands and laughed and laughed and laughed as silently as possible.  Even now I get a flash of that memory when I notice something ridiculous.

I thought about Grandpa's great love of family, the way you can tell he is soaking up the chaos around him when we're all together, and I remembered moments at family events when I just looked around, in awe of and grateful for all these crazy people around me.

Webster's dictionary describes "legacy" in the following way:

I am going to ignore the first definition, because my family has taught me that while money is nice and helpful and certainly not evil, it is by no means the most important thing in life.  So let's move on to the second definition:

Something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past.

This.  Yes.

This resonates with me.  Because when I think of my legacy, I don't think of property or money - unless we're joking about how our inheritance was used to buy Beanie Babies.  

Wait!  This is actually my legacy! ;)

No.  Money, properties, or things are not a part of the quilt laid over me.  My legacy is a strong sense of justice, loyalty, and family.  It is a goofy and silly sense of humor, and a sardonic delight in the ridiculous.  It is standing in front of people and feeling comfortable speaking to them.  It is yelling at other drivers.  It is whistling - a lot.  It is a tendency to assume that I know exactly what's best, even when I have no idea what's actually going on.  It is caring about my appearance.  It is wanting to know who is in church this morning - not to judge...just to know.   It is taking everything so hard.  It is being incredibly self-critical.  It is my storytelling.  It is the sound of my exhale when dismissing something.  It is the shape of my mouth and the slope of my nose.  It is the sound of my laugh.

My quilt square is not perfect, but it keeps me warm.  

And I love it dearly.

Photo credit: Aunt Judy Braun

Fear and Worth: An Update

I know this update is overdue.  Really.  And I'm sorry its taken so long to post.  The thing is, it's taken a long time to sift through the chaos that is my brain as of late.

Seriously.  Chaos.  

I've been processing a lot of new stuff, and - in case there was ever any doubt - it all circles back to my writing.

The other day I was making some guacamole at work and was imagining out what I would say if I were speaking to a group about writing.  (Incidentally, this is not just vain daydreaming, folks: Doxacon.   August 2017. Washington, D.C.  Be there.)  I kept coming back to the idea of talents, specifically the biblical parable of The Talents.

For those who are unfamiliar, there is, in the Bible, a story Jesus tells about servants who were given talents (a type of money).  Those who invested and used the talents were rewarded, while the poor sap who was so afraid of losing it he buried it in the ground was definitely not rewarded.  He was cast out into a place of weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Just a quick side note here.  At the time this parable was told, weeping and gnashing of teeth were expressions of grief.  As with anything biblical, there's a plethora of ways to interpret this story, but the most straightforward seems to be this:

We are given talents.  If we use the talents we are further blessed.  If we hide our talents we become grief stricken.  

I am a writer.  Writing is one of my talents.  It always has been.  In elementary school I crafted stories out of those, "write a sentence for each spelling word" assignments.  In high school I could certainly write essays well, but the creative writing was where I excelled.  And I have always, somehow, known that someday my words would be in print.  Back when Border's bookstores were still around I used to go and find exactly where my book would sit on the shelf.  It was my sacred ritual.  I couldn't leave the store without at least visiting my books' future home.  Even now, in the jumbo makeup store that has since taken its place, my eyes flick to that spot on the wall as I enter.  

My identity as "a writer" has always been there, whether I have actively used and invested (in) my talent or have hidden it away, buried deep beneath the surface.

Remember this picture?

Taken right after a rare manicure, apparently.

I posted it a few months ago.  I gave it a silly caption about being nervous to send my work off and said that even though it didn't necessarily count as a submission, it was the first move of a game called, "How Many Times Do I Get To Submit This?"

Well, I have an answer.

One.

One submission.

In a twist I was not even remotely expecting, my first submission resulted in representation.  I went to a conference to meet my tribe and to gain some guidance from a real, live agent as to how I should go about taking my next step.

Now, barely three months later, I am googling terms like, "comp titles," and asking my agent - my agent!! - questions that must seem obvious and remedial.  I am telling my friends and family that, oh yeah, we'll start pitching at the end of this month, and will see where things go from there.

What.
Is.
LIFE???

I am so excited - SO EXCITED!!! - I can hardly think straight.  It's difficult to stay in this current moment.  And I am terrified.  Which is why I haven't posted anything about this until now.

#truth

I am afraid.

I am afraid that I'll talk about this most recent update - signing with an agent - and then, poof! it'll disappear.  Deals fall through all the time.  I am afraid this will be one of those.

I am afraid that I have forgotten how to write a book.  The book I've written is the first of a series.  I have to write the rest of it.  And what if somehow I can't?  What if I've forgotten what it takes to put one word after another after another after another...?  What if I only had one book in me?

I am afraid to put myself out there.  In writing one must be real, must be true.  Even in fiction.  Especially in fiction.  I am afraid to show people my insides and have them find me wanting.

Which leads me to my main fear, the one that drives the others:  I am afraid I am not worthy.  I am afraid that there's been some crazy mistake.  I wonder, Who am I to be so presumptuous as to assume that my work is good enough?  

BUT CLEARLY IT IS.

I'm shocked that someone believes in this story enough to help it get published.

BUT CLEARLY THEY DO.

I'm just Steph, standing here, holding this freaky, little story - and it is a freaky, little story.  But I am also a writer.  And it is time for me to uncover my talent, and to take that risk of using and investing it.  Who knows how long this ride will be?  I certainly don't.  But I promise now that I will ride it out.  I will keep sifting and processing and facing those fears.  And though I and my words are works in progress, we'll get there someday.

Taking a page from Stuart Smalley's book now.

Current goal.

In Which I Look At A Song

I'm putting a plug for a facebook friend into this blog.  Forget the fact that we've only met in person once.  I am excited for him.  I am so glad he is following his dream, and since I, myself, am a bit of a dreamer I fully support him.  And will do what I can to help.  And so I am putting a plug for Antony Bitar in here....

I know a few songs about getting butterflies in your stomach but I can honestly say this is one of the best.  Yeah, I can go into how much I love his use of staccato with the piano, or the syncopated rhythm (I do so love variety in my music!).  I can sigh about the whimsy that enters the song with the strings.  I can mention the fact that the melody lends itself nicely to tight harmonies and is perfect for humming along.  I can tell you I think it's awesome that he stayed true to himself during the video process - I was pretty stoked to see that prayer rope on his wrist in the video.  And I can wax poetic about Antony's voice, itself, with its smooth and, strangely, comforting tone.

But I won't.  The reason I think this song is amazing is really because of two lines.  See, songs that talk about getting butterflies tend to be cute, and this son is no exception.  The difference here is that with all the imagery Antony puts into the song - you can easily put yourself in the singer's place - there are two lines that cut through and strike my heart.  It is because these two lines this song is - officially - the top played in my iTunes library...By a lot.  They are, "It's the feeling you get when your eyes first meet, a little glimpse of what it feels like to be complete..." and "...lead you to your destiny and really show you all of me..."

As someone who is very single I can attest to the drive of these concepts.  I know when I see someone who does, in fact, give me butterflies my imagination soars and I create a future.  It's amazing...Suddenly you feel strangely more alive.  Or at least more awake.  As if, suddenly, you are aware of so much more and can feel so much more.  And, let's be honest here, who doesn't long to show all of us to someone?  We want so badly to be able to have that intimacy with one person - one person who will see us and accept us and tell us that maybe, just maybe, we aren't so bad after all.  Mayhap we do deserve the butterflies they give us.  We want to connect - God didn't make us to be alone.  He made us to be with others. 

It's undeniable:  Butterflies are fun.

So, without further ado, please enjoy the song, itself!  Here is "Butterflies," by Antony Bitar:

On Heroes

I just saw Captain America...I know - finally.  You would think a Disney fanatic such as myself would have seen this before.  Somehow I just hadn't gotten around to it.

Now it's no secret I love superhero movies.  What's not to love?  They are action packed.  There's always some sort of romance.  They address pretty solid themes (the classic good vs. evil comes to mind).  The hero is always attractive and has an interesting, and - yes - sexy attitude that makes him just plain irresistible.  So we have discovered, once again, how deep my waters really run. 

Anyway, I was watching Captain America, and thought that while I still love Ryan Reynolds, not only does Chris Evans give him a tough run for his money, but the movie itself was about a trillion times better.  Don't get me wrong: I enjoyed Green Lantern very much.  I know if I watched it right now I would still enjoy it.  But it's like the difference between eating a store bought, packaged cookie as opposed to a warm, homemade cookie.  You enjoy the one you bought at the store, but you'll typically choose the homemade cookie every time.  And while I was considering this and trying to push that strange guilty feeling away (I promise I wasn't saying anything horrible about Ryan Reynolds!) I thought about just what it is that makes superheroes so amazing.  Some people would claim that there is nothing super special about superheroes.  Strip away the suits, cars, weapons, radio-active spiders, kryptonite, etc. and what do you have? these people scoff.  Well, I have an answer: 

The ultimate self sacrifice. 

Superheroes are amazing because they always put "the other" before themselves.  Wow.  Think about it.  In every superhero movie you have seen the hero has at least a small moment in which he or she makes the conscious decision to sacrifice him or herself for the love interest, the city, the nation, the world...It seems this trait is what makes superheroes so gosh-darned special. 

Well, DUH, Steph! you say.  We all know that.  Talk about stating the obvious.

It is obvious - or it should be.  But we tend to view these characters as complete and utter fiction.  Now I know they are.  I realize there is no such person as Steve Rogers/Captain America, Hal Jordan/Green Lantern, Clark Kent/Superman, Bruce Wayne/Batman, Peter Parker/Spider-Man, etc.  As much as I love viewing the world through my fantasy lenses I know there is a difference between daydreams and reality.  My point here is this: we shouldn't be so shocked at the idea of people who are willing to give themselves for someone else when we have the opportunity to witness this everyday.

My older brother has made a conscious decision that if it comes down to it he will lay down his life for someone else.  My younger brother has made the same conscious decision to put his life on the line for another.  I guess they must have something in common...

I know the police, especially in LA right now, get a lot of bad press.  And there is something to that: there are ordinary people on the police force - ordinary people who make good, and bad, decisions everyday.  And, like most ordinary people, they make mistakes and falter and fall.  Yes.  There are true "bad cops" out there.  Unfortunately we shine a light on these ordinary human beings, focusing not on their humanity but in their inhumanity.  We throw up our arms in outrage - how dare the police do these things??  And to a certain extent we should.  It never does to have people in positions of authority using their place for harm.  The trouble is we focus so much on these bad pictures that we forget about the good.  We forget about the men and women who every single day strap on their guns and badges and walk around understanding that if it comes down to it they will make the ultimate sacrifice that day.  How quickly we forget that without these amazing men and women we would be lost, and in serious danger.  We're so quick to judge them, to see them as villains, when in reality when we see those black and white cars we are looking at a true Batmobile.  When we see the blue uniforms we are looking at a real Superman suit.  Every day we see honest-to-God superheroes.

It's interesting...If we villainize cops, I think we can easily say we dumb-down fire fighters.  I do it, too.  I look at a fire truck and don't always see Spidey's webs - the tool to get around town.  When I pass a firehouse I have to admit there are times when I see a calendar, with an attractive guy for each month.  It's horrible!  I can't even begin to count how many times I've heard, or been part of, a conversation that goes something like this:

Well, I was running late but there were fire fighters in the store so it wasn't all bad.
That's the best!  I love looking at those fire fighters.

In our rush to view fire fighters as the golden boys we forget that they are much more important than eye candy.  Every time they receive a call they know they are heading to an emergency.  And while most of the situations may be medical emergencies many of them are not.  Structure fires, accidents, goodness - the hills of Santa Barbara seem to be on fire all the time.  All these situations are dangerous, and the fire fighters not only hold a hose in their hands, but the knowledge that they will risk everything to protect another person.  Everything.  We somehow miss the superhero when we see them.

I see heroes everyday.  I have true heroes in my family.  And I pray everyday that they will be safe.  That the people they protect will not require that sacrifice, because I know my brothers will make it.  I stare at the women who love them in awe - it takes a special, strong, heroic woman to love a man who has made the decision to be a superhero.  I hope the people who cross paths with my brothers will treat them as heroes, rather than villains, or calendar boys.

How can you be sure they are heroes? you may be asking me right now.  Well, it's because I know if they see this they will respond with the same response all the superheroes make: "I'm just doing my job."  And they will - even if they job means laying down their lives for another person. 

God bless the heroes.

"In Brightest Day, in Blackest Night..."

Am I in love with Ryan Reynolds?

Well, let me think about it for a minute or two.  You see, I went to see Green Lantern recently and was a little surprised by how thoroughly I enjoyed myself.  The movie itself wasn't particularly new in any way, although it did have some clever aspects to it.  The acting was - well, it was a superhero movie, so there were some outrageously cheesy lines (and deliveries), but overall it was fine.  It's not going to win any awards, and I'm sure the critics aren't too impressed.  In spite of all that, well, like I said: I really loved it!

I was immediately struck by how the heroes were powered by the Force of Will, and the villain was "an entity of Fear."  It's such an interesting concept, and yet somehow makes perfect sense: We are only held back by fear.  Without fear, with our will, we are able to accomplish anything.  (Well, not really anything, I guess.  I can't just pull a giant racetrack out thin air.)   But really, doesn't it make sense to think that "will is the driving force that powers us"?  One character even says that "will is the strongest force in the universe," and that when it is harnessed it can be used to power entire planets. 

I like that concept.  I like the idea that we are in control of our actions.  How very autonomous of me, right?  But really, it gives me a little bit of peace to think that the only thing keeping me from doing something that I want to do is, well, me.  Okay, so money can be tight, and obviously I have to go to work so I can pay my bills.  But when it comes down to it, if I decide I want to go to Harry Potter Land I can - I just have to come up with a plan to save for it.  If I decide I want to go back to school, I can.  If I decide I want to go sky-diving, I can.  There are so many things I have always said I wanted to do but somehow over the years they just haven't happened.  I never quite got around to them, or something else always came up.  And while the excuses - or "reasons," as I called them - were always good, I have been bothered by a little voice in the back of my mind that whispers, That's not why...You're just scared.  That's why.  This idea that my own will can give me the power to do these things - that it can give me the power to overcome fear - is one I like to have in my head.


Obviously seeing superhero movies is good for me. 


But Will vs. Fear cannot be where the thoughts stop, because for me, as a Christian, well, that isn't the end of the line.  Do I have my own will?  Yes!  I absolutely do.  Is my will the driving force that powers me?  My answer would have to be, "yes...to a certain extent."  But even that meshes with the movie.  The ring is what gives the Green Lantern his power; without it he is just a guy.  Hmmm...that sounds familiar.  Except, in my life, the Thing that powers my will is really a Being. 

There is a lot of talk in the movie about accepting the fact that you are afraid, but then overcoming it - courage.  Acknowledge the fear, but rise above it.  Don't engage it.  It makes me think about what my parish priest has said about it Christian life: it isn't about how few times you fall, but rather how many times you stand back up.  There is a moment in the movie when Paralax (the "entity of Fear") is battling Hal (the Green Lantern) and seems to be winning - as usually happens when the superhero and villain face off.  Paralax feels Hal's fear - my stomach clenched: would Hal actually lose? - and begins whispering to him.  "I can feel you weakening.  I feel your fear.  I am going to win.  There's no way you, an insignificant human, can beat me.  I will destroy you and your entire world..." He goes on and on.  How many times have I heard the same types of whispers in my head?  "I can feel you weakening.  I feel your fear.  I am going to win.  There's no way you, an insignificant human, can beat me.  I will bring you down.  I will keep you in despair.  You will never be able to stand up from this..."  It's odd how similar the whispers in the movie are to the whispers we all hear in real life.  And then Hal does something to beat the fear far enough back that he can get out of his crouched position and stand up: he recites the Green Lantern Oath.

In brightest day, in darkest night no evil will escape my sight.
Let those who worship evil's might beware my power...Green Lantern's Light!!

It drowns out the whispers.  It deals a harsh blow to fear.  I have something I say in those moments, too: Lord, Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.  Over and over and over again.  It drowns out the whispers.  It helps me stand back up.

Now, I wish I could say that these parallels I found between the movie and my spiritual life were the only reasons I enjoyed the movie - other than pure entertainment, I suppose.  But if I am honest I have to admit they weren't.  So what else could possibly have drawn me into the movie? 

Ryan Reynolds.

Or, more specifically, his tush. 

I know, I know...All that talk about my spiritual life and here I am, admitting that I kept getting distracted during the movie by something as physical and superficial as a nice butt.  So much for keeping my eyes on the prize. 

But, and I may be wrong to think this way, I don't think it's a terrible thing.  I don't necessarily think that it discredits what I said before.  I think it's absolutely amazing and awesome - in the true sense of the word - that we, as humans, are created to have those "higher" and noble emotions and feelings (love) but are also created to have baser and more primal feelings (lust).  And maybe I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that my feelings toward Ryan Reynolds more closely resemble the latter - after all, I haven't met him and I don't actually know anything about him, so there's no way I could love him - but I do think that it was okay for me to send up a silent prayer a few times during the movie.  Lord, thank You for Your amazing creation.  I really appreciate it.  Then I would have to try to bounce my thoughts back to the actual movie. 

So I guess the official answer to the question I asked at the beginning of this post - Am I in love with Ryan Reynolds? - would have to be, "No.  I'm not.  But I really, really appreciate him."  And really, I think that's okay.  After all, I had other things to think about after the movie. 

I kind of love this.  The Oath is part of what makes it so great.

Photo cred unknown.