sometimes jury duty changes your life

"What time is it?"

The man poked my elbow and motioned towards my phone as he said it.  We had been seat neighbors for about two hours, but aside from him offering me a mint earlier (I declined), we hadn't interacted at all.

"Hmm, it's 10:30," I replied.  He nodded.

"How long is this supposed to last?" he again queried me.  Apparently he, along with the rest of the room, hadn't found the endurance to pay attention to the 15-minute shpeel they so kindly rolled for us at the beginning of our wait.

"I think we're here 'til twelve."

"Jury duty.  Man, I tell you.  I can think of a lot o' better things I could be doing right now."  He seemed to be on a roll now that he'd breached the silence.  "I wish I'da known it was gonna take this long.  Woulda eaten a bigger breakfast."   He wasn't talking loudly, but the fidgety lady four chairs down stood and brushed by us, annoyed at the sudden disruption of quiet.

"And how are you, young lady?" my new friend asked as she passed.  She showed no recognition of his sociable gesture and kept walking.

"Ah, well," he turned to me again. "She must not be doin' too good then."

His dark skin didn't look too weathered, though as I later learned, he'll turn 70 next month.  Before he'd asked me the time, I'd noticed him pull out a copy of "Crazy Love" from the basket of his walker.  Now the book was back in its spot and he wore a pair of tortoise-shell shades to block out the sun from the bright room.  He sat with his feet propped up on the walker, hands folded comfortably in his lap.  This amusing individual seemed quite at his leisure to now launch into an inescapable, one-sided conversation.  Inescapable because I didn't have the heart to leave like our neighbor had.  One-sided because, although I appreciated the respite from my [unsuccessful] quest to do something productive on my smart phone, I felt a little awkward carrying on a conversation with a man three times my age while an entire room of bored, anxious, fellow jurors undoubtedly listened and judged.

"You a student?"

"Umm...yeah."

"Where at?"

"Well, actually I'm just doing some traveling right now.  Missions work."

"Ahhh..." He smiled.  "So you know our Father.  Daddy, I like to call Him."

I nodded and gave a small smile.  I was intrigued; so happy to hear a stranger talk about Jesus this way.  But I didn't really know how to respond.  I never do.  God is everything to me, yet the usual Christian responses are just so cheesy.  What was I supposed to say? Amen, brother!  Boy, ain't the Lord good.

"You know, if Daddy weren't love like He is, I wouldn't be worth anything.  I'd just explode all the time, frustrated and all, yet here I am, calm and collected.  He covers all that frustration with peace."

I was eating it up.  I loved hearing him talk like that and I was beginning to shed my initial hesitation to talk to him.  Still, my face only showed a polite amount of interest.

"I used to play the blame game with God.  Gettin' all mad at Him for everything.  But I just finally realized He's large and in charge.  So now I just get out of His way and let Him do what He wants.  What time is it now?"

I looked at my phone again.  "Eleven oh one."

"One more hour!" he cheered.

We continued to talk, him a lot, me a little.  Soon I learned that this man whom I'd known for all of an hour went to Tokyo in 1977 on a Buddhist pilgrimage, loves fried chicken, was planning on getting a beer and meatball sub just as soon as this waiting thing was over, and although he wore a silver band on his left hand, was not indeed married and apparently lived alone.

By 11:15, a lady came in to announce who had been selected for the jury.  By the end of the list, my friend's number had been called: 977.

The room stirred as people stood and stretched.  The man, whose name I never caught, gathered his cane and walker and began to make his way down the aisle.  But just then he stopped, turned to me with his sunglasses and a big grin, and gave me a wave.  And then he disappeared into the crowd, faded blue ball cap and all.  I guess I'll never forget him, because humans make a bigger impact on other humans than we ever dare to believe.

love letters

Brides are the definition of 'lovely'.  They captivate.  They carefully put on display every last drop of their beauty and proudly hold back their shoulders as they grace the aisle, knowing that they are wanted and loved.

The groom is obsessed.

He can't think about anything else except her.  His head spins with how much love his heart feels for her.  Though the onlookers are enraptured by her beauty {'look at her dress!' 'her hair is stunning' 'she's glowing'}, the groom is lost in it.  

That's what Jesus feels for us.

A few months back, he wrote me a love letter.  I've typed a portion of it below.  Please read it out loud and let his words wash over you...and realize he doesn't condemn you for a thing.  The only thing he requires of you is to rest in his love.

I'm standing at the altar in a little white chapel.  It has vaulted ceilings just the way you like it.   The crowd is glowing.  All of our loved ones are packed in there, anticipating the beauty of love to commence.  There are even people we don't even know well...they just knew this would be a wedding to remember.

I see the back doors open and my heart skips a beat.  Is she coming?  No, of course not.  It's the bridesmaids.  My friends behind me smile in encouragement.  The flowergirl is sprinkling red roses.  Everyone is in their places now.  It's quiet.

The soft, beautiful music begins.  Everyone stands to their feet and turn to welcome the bride.  My bride.  You.

Then the doors open...there you are.  I haven't seen you since last night.  There you stand, illuminated.  Your intricately designed white gown graces your figure perfectly.  Your hair falls in wisps to frame your face.  Your smile is bigger than I've ever seen it.

And then I see your eyes, eyes that have tears spilling.  Eyes that captivated me while I formed them.  Eyes that gazed at me with trust as I grew you in your mother's womb.  I love those eyes.  I can tell by the look in them now that you realize it was me all along who loved you.  And now you're mine, for forever.

you will not be the same

"You can promise that I will come back?"

"No.  And if you do, you will not be the same."

~ The Hobbit. J.R.R.Tolkien

Take on the world.  Take wise chances.  Go get your dream.  Don't look back; if you keep looking in the rearview mirror, you'll crash as you travel forward.  New year, fresh start.  I can't wait to find God all over again.

here, planet earth

A few nights ago, my mom and I were at the post office.  As usual, the line was long-ish and there was only ONE GUY on the cash register.  We weren't in any hurry though; dad was waiting in the car and we were making our way to a chamber strings concert at a local university.

As we stood in line for about 10 minutes, I watched the man behind the counter efficiently get us through the line.  He stood perhaps 5'7", middle-aged with glasses, white buzz cut for hair, and as we got closer, I noticed a bit of a lazy eye.  He greeted every customer with a nod of the head and seemed to be well-practiced at his job.

It was our turn.

Mom gave him the mail, and as he began to process the envelopes, I debated whether or not to make small talk with the guy.  I knew that all the people in line behind us would be observing our transaction as carefully as I had watched the ones before us, and it occurred to me that if I said something encouraging to him, perhaps it would inspire someone else to reach beyond themselves, too.

"Are you having a great day?" I decided to ask.

"I am!  I'm just glad to be here, " he answered, carefully sticking a bar code to an envelope.

"That's great.  I guess we all should have that attitude, huh?"

He smiled at this, then continued.  "I was out of work for 7 months this year.  I had liver cancer.  But they cut it outta me and I'm all better now.  So like I said, I'm just glad to be here."

This time, the phrase had different meaning.  By "here" he didn't just mean at his so-so job; he meant here, on planet earth.  He was thankful to be alive.

Are you thankful to be alive?  Your life might be great, or it might not be anything you want it to be.  You might be depressed or discouraged, or you might be living the dream.  Whatever your place in the world, let's just remember to thank God for the breath in our lungs because it means we still have a reason to be here.

journal entry

This is from my journal on 9/11/12:

"I feel like I'm almost starting over, now that I'm 19. Spiritually, I've been at a loss to know who God really is. Worship? Church? Reading the Bible? What's the point? How much is really how God designed it? How much is useless human invention? I need to know. I'm basing my LIFE on this stuff...I'd like to know what I believe.

I heard someone on YouTube say (while she was drunk), 'If you're drunk, who cares how much black makeup you have on, you're sad anyways, because if you weren't, why would you be drinking in the first place?'

That's my generation, people. Doesn't anyone care?"

...become blameless and harmless, children of God without fault in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world. Philippians 2:15

life

It's funny; I've never watched Titanic before.  According to two of my coworkers, I haven't yet fully known the epitome of female emotion.

Um, ok.

Until today...because I watched [the first half of] it today!  I'll finish it tomorrow when I'm ready to emotionally embrace the ending...tear.

What an incredible story.  It makes me think about something called life.  Life: our existence.  We don't know anything else.  We've seen death, felt death, tasted death, but truly no one who is alive has known anything different.  Life...what a precious, fragile thing.

Compare the Rose of old to the younger version of herself.  Young Rose is vibrant, fully clear-minded, able-bodied.  Her concerns are small; she knows little of what the world truly holds.  Her beauty is flawless, untainted by the years that would ultimately carve themselves into her face.

Fast-forward to the centenarian whose memory is wearing thin.  Frolicking around the deck of a ship is no longer a fact of life.  She doesn't lower her lashes at the mystery of a caring young man, for he isn't a mystery anymore.  Her bones carry weathered skin from years past, and truly she is a wealth of matchless worth, yet the current generation casts her aside like a forgotten toy.

One day my beauty will fade.  Today, I feel the eyes of men assessing what they see.  Today, I look expectantly to the future, having not a clue what it truly holds.  Today, I have hope that my life will be a story worth telling when I'm old and gone.

But one day, when I'm old and still here, my outward beauty probably won't be a drawing card for people.  And that's okay, it's not what matters anyway.  But I don't want people to look at me as a 'once-upon-a-time'.  I want to be someone who cares, someone who's still in touch with the world and the current generation, someone who can love them and speak wisdom into their lives.  I want to get closer to God with each breath and one day breathe in and be with Him.

My 100th birthday will be here before you know it, and I want to live all those years in between exactly how God wants me to.

you've probably thought about this too

via

I begin writing so many posts that I never actually publish.  For some reason, I often feel as though my words will just seep through the cracks of this hugely extensive social networking world, forever to go unnoticed by anyone.  So why bother fitting my thoughts into a coherent and publish-able work of art?

But I've been finding that it's the little things people say that you actually remember.  People won't let you see who they really are, not if they can help it.  The last thing they want to do is stride out to center stage, into the spotlight where nothing is hidden, and whip their cape back so the world can scrutinize their every last flaw.

It's the small unguarded comments, the raising of the eyebrows, the "humphs" that come from their throats, that whispers this is me.  Without those simple moments, we might all look the same with our safety masks on, not one of us differing from the next.

So this is a "humph".  It's not much.  But in 10 seconds I will click publish and maybe, someone will hear it.

7 billion is a lot of people

Did you know that as of August 7, 2012, the world population was calculated at 7,031,379,406 people?

I would like to point out that your average Starbucks has a fire code limit of maaaybe 50 people. 75 at most.

Ever thought about how many people you pass on the road?  Then multiply that by the rest of your city.  And the rest of your state.  And country.  And continent.  Then add that to the other 6 continents.

When it all comes down to it...

There is an unfathomable number of human souls gracing  the face of this earth.

I can't even grasp it.

Then to make your head spin a little more, God has a purpose for every. single. one. of those people.  Not one of those 7 billion have "no purpose".  (Not to mention the trillions of people before and after us.)

They're all here for a reason.

The lady in pink at McDonald's who had no hair and the man who called her white trash.

The two old men at the doctor, one with a walker and one with retardation.

The girl at work waiting for her baby to come.

The waiter who gave us chips and soda for free.

The teens on the lightrail posing for photos and swearing like sailors.

God specifically created all of those people for a purpose, just like an artist paints a picture.  What made him paint that picture?  It was on his mind.  He was captured by the beauty of the scene, the story it told.  I think God's "painting hour" is his favorite hour of the day.  I think he gets all of his other chores done as fast as possible just so he can sit down and put all of his heart and joy into his paintings...us.

You are a wonderful painting, friend.  You stand out in the art gallery.  You bring tears to the eyes of viewers simply by the complexity of the story you tell... Thank you for being you.

in search of eden

"You can't go back to the garden," Miranda said.  "It's never going to be perfect here again.  And if you waste all your energy trying to make believe or to look for the perfect place or the perfect person or the perfect life, you'll miss the good while looking for the perfect."
-In Search of Eden, by Linda Nichols

a poem

As I always saw it, there are no rules in poetry.  Perhaps I'm wrong, but it sure never made sense to me.  It's like a puzzle with half the pieces missing.  But whether there's rules to poetry or not, there is no mistaking the utter boredom that plagued me to read Robert Frost in high school.

However, once in every other rare blue moon, I'll have inspiration to write a poem. *gasp*

This post inspired me and what follows is my creativity dump for the weekend.  Enjoy putting the puzzle together.

perfect love pushes fear

from all we hold dear

though nothing gives to be afraid

fear keeps dropping tears

being all alone in this

was not, no, what’d i miss

let’s take the i out of the me

one man can’t himself kiss

who could know the depths of love

than thinking like a dove

no one understands the pain

of leaving life above

fill me up with something more

than empty, senseless shore

giving isn’t easy

if void makes up the core

one more makes five

even dead, odd alive

meaning beyond imagery

of things set to arrive

the little twig

I sat in the grass, no lights except the stars, the trees making a cozy, roofless cocoon.  In front of me was a stick, no longer than my hand, which I proceeded to break off into little pieces.  I felt so safe, close to God.  My stick was getting shorter and shorter, so on a whim I raised one of the teeny bits of tree to my lips, kissed it, and said, "Catch it, God!"

When I threw the piece of wood to the sky, I felt like He did just that: caught it.  So I did it again.  It was so wonderful...I had never kissed God before.

There was one last little twig in my hand.  I kissed that one too, but this time, I held it close.

"I don't want to let You go."

He said, "I don't want to let you go, either...and I never will." (Hebrews 13:5)

DIY jewelry board

DIY, say whaaa?!  But, my friends, I present to you my newest brain-child that I literally just finished.  I'm pretty excited, if you can't tell.  And if one of you pins this on pinterest, I might just scream for joy. (Disclaimer...all photos taken with my phone...)

Gather: Black acrylic paint ($0.59 at Michaels!)
Double-sided tape
Scissors
Sponge/paintbrush
Wrapping paper
Mod-Podge (optional)
Also: Ruler to cut your paper

...and a bulletin board. 

Step 1: Paint the edges of your cork board.  Repeat coats until fully covered.
(Acrylic paint dries super fast!)

...and about 1/2-1 inch into the cork to make it more seamless.
Apply mod podge, if desired, to make it shiny.

Step 2: Take random pictures of the summer evening behind you.

Step 3: (sorry, no pictures) Measure and trim a sheet of wrapping paper to fit snugly
in your board; apply double-sided tape to corners and edges of cork,
then carefully press the paper to the tape.

Step 4: (boy, I stink at taking accurate step pics) Push thumb-tacks into the pattern,
however many you'd like, to make little hooks for your jewelry.

Done! Hang your creation and add jewelry to your delight.

in which i spend a 4th without fireworks

The good news: they're finally teaching those dang fires a lesson.

The bad news: there shall be no fireworks tonight.

Fireworks.  The glittering bursts of flame that celebrated the freedom we'd so ardently fought for.

Fireworks.  The show of wonder that children love/hate as the sonic booms resonate within their tiny lung cavities.

Fireworks.  The mandatory display of patriotic affection without which Independence Day cannot be called such.

You shall be dearly missed, my firey friends.  At least I have you on my $4 T-shirt to help ease the pain of loss.

Until next year, I bid thee...farewell.

from the olden days

Anybody else grow up on The Three Amigos?

I felt like this needed to be shared.

In other news, Andy Griffith has gone to heaven.  I'll miss you, my whistling friend!

if you don't have anything good to say

Let's be clear about something: I have a fake tan.

Well, partially.  I've been trying to lessen the effects of my farmer's tan by using that foaming tan stuff they have in every aisle at Wal-Mart.

While it's been working rather nicely, I mistakenly left a glob of it on my ankle the other day...resulting in a shameful little patch of brown that will henceforth reside beneath these sandals.

What I'm really trying to say is that I don't have anything to say.  God's working, I'm changing, and all is well even when it's not.

Happy Summer.

"...narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it." (Matthew 7:14 NKJV)

weekend pictures...midweek

Okay, so I realize that you've probably all seen these on instagram already, but posting them two or three times can't hurt one bit.

1. Friends.  I love you, Morgles.

2. Mom and her baby.  We went to see Madagascar 3...and I'm telling you, it is worth every kernel of popcorn.

3. I want to always be in love with my husband.

4. My babysit-ee gave me a concert...what a sweetie!

5. Flowers + sun = what I mostly take pictures of.

6. Refer to 5.

7. Brother and I went for a walk that included a lot of laughing, possibly illegal playing-on-elementary-school-playgrounds, and pondering the meaning of the name 'hopscotch'.

8. And speaking of sweeties (4.), look at this one!  Woooeee she's a cutie!

just breathe

via pinterest

Earlier today, I was walking my dog to the park.  The wind was warm and there weren't too many people out.  I had just crossed the street and was trying to make my dog go left instead of right, when a car pulled up beside me.  Curious, I turned around to see a girl of about 8 or 9 years hop out, her smiling eyes on Zoe.  She wore a thin little blue dress that barely covered her orange swimsuit, and her choppy hair was blonde and tangled.

'May I pet your dog?' she breathed, eyes still fixed on my 5 lb canine.

'Of course,' I replied, amused at her fascination.  As soon as Zoe noticed her, it was all tongue and tail and please-please-please-rub-my-belly from there.  Sure, listen to the stranger, ignore the owner.

Meanwhile, her mom rolled down the window and thanked me for stopping.

'She saw your dog and just had to pet it,' which was, of course, followed by the usual 'how old is she,' 'she's four,' 'wow, full-grown and so tiny' conversation.

It didn't seem like Little Miss Sunscreen was interested in leaving anytime soon, so I let her continue to awkwardly lift the dog and tenderly kiss her fuzzy head.

She was so happy.

There was nothing in the world right then that could have possibly made her happier.

I think I saw scars on her arms.  Her teeth had gaps.  Her hair was shorter than most girls prefer it.  Who knows what that precious young soul had seen in her few years?

Yet, none of that mattered, because that was then and this is now.

As we said our goodbyes, part of me wished I had stayed longer.  But I think God set me up with that sweet little girl to remind me...just breathe.

summer

I have to say that summer just gets my blood pumping.  The thought of sun and ice cream and sweet, warm night air just makes me smile a little without even trying.

Recently, my family and I had the chance to get away for the weekend.  We stayed in a little cabin tucked into the hills of New Mexico, surrounded by a brilliantly clear sky and hundreds of aspens.  There were s'mores (lots), coffee (lots and lots), wind (too much), and Apples-to-Apples-playing late into the night.  In the morning, the sunlight filtered so perfectly through the trees, it seemed like a fairy forest.

It was just what we needed...a little r&r.

But all that time away got me thinking.

This is just so wonderful, so perfect.  What if something bad happens tomorrow?  What if this is my last day on earth with these precious humans I call my own?  What if, what if, what if. Oh, how it sours the moments of happiness.

But, no.  I found that it was no use.

Give your entire attention to what God is doing right now, and don't get worked up about what may or may not happen tomorrow.  God will help you deal with whatever hard things come up when the time comes. Matthew 6:34 (MSG)

So bring it on, summer.  This is going to be a great summer.  And even with what good things you bring, God will always bring something better.

in the back

Hey bloggy world!  Wellllll, that was a nice little hiatus.  Did we all like that?  Good, now back to business.

First on today's agenda: SUMMER.  Memorial Day is just around the corner and so is pool/popsicle season.  Somebody say "cannonball!"

Second on our list (why I keep saying we, who knows): Currently I am staring at my checkbook and wondering why there are so many entries from DSW.  Apparently one can't have too many sandals...(?)

Third:  I have indeed spent a whole lot of time in my backyard.  I think about that a lot.  It has seen all of 16 years with me, and I guess I'm just grateful it's always been there for me.  For better and for worse.  Just like a good hubby.

Did I just compare my backyard to a husband?  I might need prayer.

some may call it luck, fate, or even an act of God, but these brownies are perfect

Me and brownies go way back, but this recipe from foodwishes.com really takes the cake.

1/2 c butter

1 1/8 c sugar

3/4 c cocoa

1/4 t salt

1/2 t vanilla

2 lg eggs

2/3 c flour

1 c chocolate chips

Melt butter over med-low heat until melted and hot.

Whisk together sugar and cocoa in a large bowl; add melted butter.

Add salt, vanilla and one egg; whisk.

Beat in the second egg.

Mix in the flour with a spatula; when almost blended, add chocolate chips; finish mixing.

Bake in an oiled 8x8 pan at 325 for 30-35 mins, until a toothpick comes out slightly dirty.

They should turn out dense and fudgy, not at all light and cakey.  Just the way I like them.