Here I am again, the airport. The effect has the same high on my heart every time I find myself here. I’m exhausted, because I haven’t slept properly in 3 days. We traveled two hours through the Romanian countryside to the Cluj Airport, leaving the house at 5 a.m. My eyes are swollen from the tears that seem to come so easily, and oh how I feel like a spoiled brat when I cry about leaving.
I sit in the small waiting room, looking out of the window as the sun peaks over the skyline. As I watch the deep orange bleed into the rest of the dark sky, the wrinkles in my forehead smooth. I am relaxed here, I am saying goodbye as I sit. The florescent light above an important looking businessman is flickering. There is another man pacing the floor in front of me, I can tell he just bought new shoes because of the fresh squeak that sounds as he carefully avoids the cracks in the floor. There are three old ladies to my left with obviously dyed dark cotton candy hair hovering above their heads. Their bright pink lipstick makes my eyes wander back to the skyline. I am thanking the Lord for the beauty that surrounds me, and just then I hear the song. The florescent light is keeping the tempo, the squeaking, the laughter of the ladies; the plasma screen tv with ridiculous adds is like a strobe light, the flapping wings of the birds flying across the skyline. It’s all being sung for me, oh the melody of goodbye.
The intercom calls us forward like cows or sheep to board the plane, and there is peace in my heart, as the anthem resounds all around me. What a clamorous parade bidding me a fond farewell, and as soon as I step unto the plane, the music fades behind me, and all that’s left is what’s in front.
Some 13 hours later, two flights down one more to go, I sit on the floor in Washington DC. I have a long layover here, so I treat myself to some Wendys, my first American food in 2 months (the dr. pepper was astounding). As I walk back to my gate, a new song begins to sing. There is a track team sitting together on gate D16 all of them laying with heads on each other’s stomachs listening to their ipod’s. I notice their feet swinging with the music.
There is a little 6 year-old blonde girl racing her dad to the end of the hall, she screams “Dad, I have to tell you something!” and he slows down and says “what?” and she races on faster and screams “NOTHING, gotchaaa!!!” she reaches the end of the hall, joy in her cheeks, and victory in her eyes. She is holding her pink croc shoes in each hand, and her dad is laughing remembering where she had learned that little trick.
I smile as the melody begins to build; the window to my left shows an airplane as it is taking off. The feet in front of me that are passing swiftly, and slowly, some meanderingly, others fast, and still others most contentedly. The blinking boarding light keeps the tempo, and the giddy laughter of the victorious 6 year-old is the pitch. The anthem is singing for my return, tears in my eyes and a smile on my face I give my gratitude to the Lord.
It was the perfect end to a perfect season in the perfectly anything but perfect Bazna, Romania. I am ever grateful for the memories I have acquired, the things I have learned, and the opportunity to be apart of it all.
I believe my guitar experience has expanded as I did my weekly sets, singing and playing. I believe my heart has received some of the purest forms of love then ever before in my life. I know for a fact I have learned many things in the presence of the Lord, the presence of the people, and even about myself as I was there.
I am sorry to see the end to such a perfect time, and yet ever excited for the things that are to come. All I know is I’m running, I’m going for it, I am going to live for the fullest that He has for me. All the while, I will sing to Him my gratitude, and He will orchestrate a symphony of goodbyes, welcome homes, farewells, and ‘have a nice flights’ all for me. My heart swells with every beat and every flow of this melody galore.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Into the Blue
You probably already know about my deep love and admiration for my only brother, Wesley. He is most assuredly my very best friend! Out of this bond, there has been a birthing of new interests and passions. The things I see in his heart begin to open up in mine, things I would have never thought twice about had I not seen it so alive in his life. For example: Football, when I was little I hated the game. Upon playing for the first time with my brother, I began to love it. It was a sort of awakening in my heart the first day I caught the ball. I feel it in spurts, once again, whenever my fingers feel the rough surface as I catch a beautiful spiral pass.
One of the passions awakened in my heart through the love and admiration of my brother, was indeed literature. I hated so much to read when I was younger that I don't think I finished my first chapter book until I was well into fourth grade. I was very slow at learning to read, because the whole idea seemed dreadful to me. Whereas my brother, after coming home from his first day of school, sat down and read aloud the newspaper to my mother. She was shocked when she realized he wasn't just making up the words, but was actually reading them. For my brother, reading was never something he learned, he just knew it.
I think I was in 6th grade when my brother read to me for the frst time, and ever since then, I devoured books as if they were chocolate or even saltwater toffee. As a gift, Wesley gave to me the first book he ever read to me, Eagle and Dove, is the name. It is a story of a dove who escapes from the claws of the eagle, and almost certain death, by wit and cunning. I don't know if it was the way Wesley read it, or if it was some secret life-form within the words themselves, but my heart was enamored. I remember the feeling in my chest as I listened to the flow of the words springing from his mouth like a waterfall. I will never forget it, this is one of my most treasured and beloved memories!
"You were trying to get away. But I shall surely have you," he said with hoarse laughter.
'The dove realized at once that the only way out would be through wit and cunning. To beg and lament would not help, she knew, for eagles have no feeling for doves. But the eagle might possibly be receptive to gratitude. So she said, "If you let me live, great eagle, then among all the doves who fear and hate you, there will be one who will be grateful!"
'The eagle, who had already lifted his claw to seize the dove in the crevice, stood back again on both legs and said, "It pleases me that you are not begging for your life but trying, instead, to bargain with me sensibly and quietly. That tends to influence me in your favor, since I enjoy talking with sensible birds. But do not think that it will save you. It will, at most, only delay your end. By the way, I must add that your gratitude does not mean a thing to me. The gratitude of doves does eagles little honor!"
'The dove, who had anxiously withdrawn deep into the rocky crevice, noticed while the eagle was talking that there was a slight breeze blowing on her tailfeathers. Feeling around, she found a small hole in the wall of the rock, and behind the hole, she reasoned, there must be an empty space. She also noticed that the back wall consisted of light gravel and that it was possibly to enlarge the hole with her strong tailfeathers. If she could widen the hole enough to slip through, then she could escape from the eagle. But for that she needed time.
'She thought quickly. With mere chatter she could not hold off the eagle long enough. She had to intrige him in a different way. And then she remembered Sheherazade, who saved her life by telling stories for 1,001 nights.
'I don't need that much time' thought the dove. 'Two hours are sufficient. By then the hole will be large enough to slip through. But can I divert the eagle for that long?'
This question went through her mind just as the eagle said, "The gratitude of doves does eagles little honor."
The clever dove connected her first story to this sentence. "Great eagle," she said, "you have changed the saying! It really goes: The gratitude of spiders does people little honor. You probably know the story....."
Oh how the words of this book brings me back to a time where I was careless and free. I will never forget those times. When my brother gave this to me as a gift, I found an inscription inside on the first page:
"...I give to you this book so you can remember, that you and I will always escape from the eagles of life and find ourselves flying again, free, and alive, into the blue."
One of the passions awakened in my heart through the love and admiration of my brother, was indeed literature. I hated so much to read when I was younger that I don't think I finished my first chapter book until I was well into fourth grade. I was very slow at learning to read, because the whole idea seemed dreadful to me. Whereas my brother, after coming home from his first day of school, sat down and read aloud the newspaper to my mother. She was shocked when she realized he wasn't just making up the words, but was actually reading them. For my brother, reading was never something he learned, he just knew it.
I think I was in 6th grade when my brother read to me for the frst time, and ever since then, I devoured books as if they were chocolate or even saltwater toffee. As a gift, Wesley gave to me the first book he ever read to me, Eagle and Dove, is the name. It is a story of a dove who escapes from the claws of the eagle, and almost certain death, by wit and cunning. I don't know if it was the way Wesley read it, or if it was some secret life-form within the words themselves, but my heart was enamored. I remember the feeling in my chest as I listened to the flow of the words springing from his mouth like a waterfall. I will never forget it, this is one of my most treasured and beloved memories!
"You were trying to get away. But I shall surely have you," he said with hoarse laughter.
'The dove realized at once that the only way out would be through wit and cunning. To beg and lament would not help, she knew, for eagles have no feeling for doves. But the eagle might possibly be receptive to gratitude. So she said, "If you let me live, great eagle, then among all the doves who fear and hate you, there will be one who will be grateful!"
'The eagle, who had already lifted his claw to seize the dove in the crevice, stood back again on both legs and said, "It pleases me that you are not begging for your life but trying, instead, to bargain with me sensibly and quietly. That tends to influence me in your favor, since I enjoy talking with sensible birds. But do not think that it will save you. It will, at most, only delay your end. By the way, I must add that your gratitude does not mean a thing to me. The gratitude of doves does eagles little honor!"
'The dove, who had anxiously withdrawn deep into the rocky crevice, noticed while the eagle was talking that there was a slight breeze blowing on her tailfeathers. Feeling around, she found a small hole in the wall of the rock, and behind the hole, she reasoned, there must be an empty space. She also noticed that the back wall consisted of light gravel and that it was possibly to enlarge the hole with her strong tailfeathers. If she could widen the hole enough to slip through, then she could escape from the eagle. But for that she needed time.
'She thought quickly. With mere chatter she could not hold off the eagle long enough. She had to intrige him in a different way. And then she remembered Sheherazade, who saved her life by telling stories for 1,001 nights.
'I don't need that much time' thought the dove. 'Two hours are sufficient. By then the hole will be large enough to slip through. But can I divert the eagle for that long?'
This question went through her mind just as the eagle said, "The gratitude of doves does eagles little honor."
The clever dove connected her first story to this sentence. "Great eagle," she said, "you have changed the saying! It really goes: The gratitude of spiders does people little honor. You probably know the story....."
Oh how the words of this book brings me back to a time where I was careless and free. I will never forget those times. When my brother gave this to me as a gift, I found an inscription inside on the first page:
"...I give to you this book so you can remember, that you and I will always escape from the eagles of life and find ourselves flying again, free, and alive, into the blue."
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
olive
Claudius and I have a little bit of a disagreement about olives. He believe black olives are the best, and I think green ones are. So occasionally he will bring it up, and express his love and devotion to black olives, and I will stay stubbornly favorable to green.
Yesterday, we went grocery shopping, and as we ventured to the deli I saw his eyes lite up when he saw the selection of olives available. So he ordered 100mg of black olives and was about to leave when I ordered 100mg of green olives. He gave me this face like I was blaspheming the name of olives. I just laughed and we went our way shopping in Koufland!
Later that night after dinner, Noami and a few others including Claudius and I were all relaxing and telling stories. I told them all about Claus' reaction to my buying the green olives and they laughed. He then boldly asked me to go get the olives. When I returned with the containers, he took mine and picked out a decent looking gloriously green olive and stuck it in his mouth. His reaction was like a two year old who just had a taste of lemon or vinegar. I have never seen a 30 year old man make a face like this. I am laughing just remembering it! After he choked down the olive, he was out of breath and exclaimed "THAT COULD KILL A DOG, KIRSTEN!!!" We were all laughing. So I stuck one in my mouth, and I will admit it to you, it was pretty disgusting. Green olives taste much different here then in America. I don't know if it was my pride or something in me that loved the disagreement, but I acted as if I had just eaten a golden egg or a chunk of the finest chocolate :))! He freaked out and snatched the black olives from my hand. Before eating them he kissed the tips of his fingers and waved his hands in pure joy and excitement.
Who could have thought olives would bring out the child-likeness in a man? I don't know, but I love it!
Yesterday, we went grocery shopping, and as we ventured to the deli I saw his eyes lite up when he saw the selection of olives available. So he ordered 100mg of black olives and was about to leave when I ordered 100mg of green olives. He gave me this face like I was blaspheming the name of olives. I just laughed and we went our way shopping in Koufland!
Later that night after dinner, Noami and a few others including Claudius and I were all relaxing and telling stories. I told them all about Claus' reaction to my buying the green olives and they laughed. He then boldly asked me to go get the olives. When I returned with the containers, he took mine and picked out a decent looking gloriously green olive and stuck it in his mouth. His reaction was like a two year old who just had a taste of lemon or vinegar. I have never seen a 30 year old man make a face like this. I am laughing just remembering it! After he choked down the olive, he was out of breath and exclaimed "THAT COULD KILL A DOG, KIRSTEN!!!" We were all laughing. So I stuck one in my mouth, and I will admit it to you, it was pretty disgusting. Green olives taste much different here then in America. I don't know if it was my pride or something in me that loved the disagreement, but I acted as if I had just eaten a golden egg or a chunk of the finest chocolate :))! He freaked out and snatched the black olives from my hand. Before eating them he kissed the tips of his fingers and waved his hands in pure joy and excitement.
Who could have thought olives would bring out the child-likeness in a man? I don't know, but I love it!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
cancer
When I saw where they had made the incision, a lump began to grow in my throat.
I have been fortunate enough to have never had a close encounter with cancer of any kind. I believe my grandma had a cancer, but she lives many hours away, and I never actually saw her suffering. Growing up, whenever I thought about cancer, I thought of some parasitical sickness that sucks the joy, health, life, and beauty out of you until you are left with a broken family, and a broken spirit unto slow and painful death. I always imagined, in a morbid kind of way, how it would be to wake up and your hair to be left unattached lying on your pillow. The horror of the first time you would see yourself truly naked and exposed. I can't imagine anyone going through cancer or having to stand next to a loved one as they are fighting this losing battle. I like how Ben Gibbard says it "love is watching someone die.."
Well it wasn't so with Lenuta (lay-new-st-ah). She is a mother of many, with five children that are flesh of her flesh, and 7 that she has taken in from homelessness. The first time I saw her, I was hit so strongly by a beauty even an eagle couldn't capture with just one glance. I sat and stared at her for minutes, my mouth open. Her bald head confidentely hatless, left for everyone's stares. I don't know if it was the confidence that made her beauty so renown, or if it was her stark bold eyes. I tried to decide wether it was the way her skin glowed even on a cloudy day, or the way her eyes smiled at the little esoteric realities. This is beauty inexplicable.
She is a victim of cancer, and yet she holds none of the traits I had ever imagined. Her spirit is everything but broken, wild and untameable, yet easily peacable and patient.
I was shocked when she lifted her shirt that day to show me the incision that left her only half a woman, and I was awed as I realized she was more of a woman then I had ever seen in my own gender. Mind you, it was no facade, I have seen her daily for the past month and a half, and not one meeting has left me less amazed.
I have beheld a beauty that can withstand even the most perverse sickness. I have come to the conclusion that it isn't the smile of her eyes, or the glowing of her skin, or the essence that surrounds her, or her confidence, nor all these put together that proclaims her undeniable beauty. I believe it is her spirit within that has withstood even to the face of death that is the declaration of her beauty. I have never beheld Christ's beauty through flesh with my own two eyes, and when I say that I mean TRULY Christ's perfect beauty, and I believe He is radiating through her very essence. I feel the intimate bond she has with Him, and I too know she doesn't fear death, not in the slightest!
So I will say, "SHINE ON!" That others might behold and give glory to the One, as I am glorifying Him now.
I will not desire beauty, but I desire HIS!
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