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."

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!

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!

Instead

Instead

When I feel like taking a bath, and I want to stay in until the water gets cold, because it is the only place I can truly be alone. Instead I add bubbles and make up a song to sing.
When I feel like staying in bed for 30 minutes after I wake up, just to think about it all. Instead, I will get up and do Cinderella's morning routine (minus the mice).
When I feel like wasting my time to look at all the pictures on their facebook, the ones I am no longer apart of (or ever was for that matter). Instead, I go and look at photography on flickr. When I look at beautiful pictures, I can't help it but I always cry.
When I feel like closing the door and pushing my back into the heater mounted on the wall. Instead, I will fling the door wide open and dive into the day as if it were deep water.
When I am afraid, and I want to stay quite. Instead, I will tell stories of my childhood to remember who I am.
When I am hurt, and I want to hate. Instead, I will lay in the arms of my Beloved, and let Him whisper my heart back to life and into love!

Today is that day. I am diving in with a humbled heart, and a new tune in my head, with confidence in my beloved. I will not be afraid, I will choose love.
I will always choose love!

remembered or forgotten, this is love

I thought of my stomach as a furnace heating the rest of my body, yet easily forgetting my fingers and toes, as I drank the last of my hot tea. We sat across from each other with blankets draped across our shoulders, as most girls do. Our empty cups now abandoned to the floor, left to be forgotten.

"What is your favorite memory of him?" I pried
I spoke of her husband, they are in their first year of marriage, and yet it seems as if something is missing already. She smiled, and I knew she already had a memory picked out, yet she delayed and then spoke;

"In the beginning of our relationship, he would always help me with the work on the house. I liked this! Now, He is busy and doesn't have much time, you know?"
I saw the pain of her neglect, yet the desire to be understanding of him with the way her head tilted to the side.

"Well, once I was hanging the clothes on the..."
She motioned as if she were hanging clothes on a line. Sometimes we have to play charades, because of our own language barrier.

"Line?" I asked
"Da (yes), on the ...line. He came to help me with this, and as we were working he would move the clothes and make faces at me, and just playing around. It was fun, I don't know why, but this is my favorite memory."

Never in all of my life have I pictured something as perfect between two people in my head, as this. I adore the fact that she didn't say a memory of the time when they went here, or the time he took her there, it was just a time when they were simply together.

She would have her hair piled on top of her head, and wouldn't have any make-up on, because she was just doing chores. How the sun would be alight making everything bright, and all of the particles caught up in the spring wind visible. He would come from around the house, and at the very sight of him walking to her she would smile. He would move the damp towel hanging between them, and kiss her hello, and oh how it would be a kiss like James Stewart and Grace Kelly, for a moment they would forget about chores. She would blush and eventually take another shirt from the basket signaling him to go away or help, and of course he would help. He would do anything to be near her, and to make her laugh. He is addicted to being noticed by her. Every so often he would lift the clothes between them and make faces, completely enraptured by her reaction. Soon they would make a game out of who could hang the most clothes in the shortest amount of time. I can imagine the way they would laugh together.

This is love.

I picture my stomach as a furnace warming my heart, as I drink these day dreams down. Valentines day is approaching, and it has me thinking about "loovvee." Even though I don't have my own someone to kiss through a cloths line, I do hope I will, one day. I am sure it will become a favorite memory among many to me as well. I find myself hoping that he will remember this, and show her that he isn't too busy, and that he certainly hasn't forgotten.

Nuka

I am ruined with a simplistic lifestyle, I am absolutely ruined! I can never go back to the way it was, business as stubborn as a determined woodpecker pecking away at your skull into your brain.
After today I realized, I have been living my life with a constant heaviness, after awhile you forget you're carrying extra weight. Then a hard day will ome along and you mulfunction, but you live and continue to do so, added weight building all the while.
I felt the burden lift today, "how?" you ask.
I sat on a hard wooden floor next to a wood burning furnace, and cracked walnuts for hours.
As I was sitting there peeling back the sharp shell to reveal the sweet golden meat, I felt the weight evaporate with the heat of the furnace. I realized somthing, for once I wasn't rushing, for once I could take my time. I enjoyed cracking the nuts and hearing their stories, and what beautiful stories they were.
In this day I have tasted patience, and contentment, and simplicity, and nuka's (nuts) I declare I will never live under the weight of business again, I have been set free. The Lord has cracked my hardened shell, and He is refining me into pure gold!!
I am ruined
Oh but I am blessed