Several of you have asked about my birthday post, in particular the third photo, so I thought an explanation was due. No, Mrs. Choi, the script was not written on skin (though that’s my favorite guess and perhaps the grossest guess, too). We found the date scrawled on the ceiling of our hallway after my brother and a friend tore down some very old, very gold, very crusty wallpaper. I don’t know what happened on December 6, 1940, that warranted the notation on the plaster ceiling but I love imagining what Lincoln, and the rest of the world, may have been like during that time. The day that will live in infamy occurred only one year and one day later and forever changed the makeup of our society. Whose initials are recorded in our hallway? We don’t know. But the date is a familiar one, to some degree. Thirty-seven years later I was born in a very different part of the country. And 61 years and two days later, Jeremy and I moved our first home.
In case you were wondering, our house was built in 1915. The Prairie Box is elderly and beautiful.
The subject line has been my motto for many years. So I truly don’t know what got into me when I decided it would be fun to get up early Friday morning and join the crazy masses on a shopping spree.
The alarm went off at 5:30 am. Dad was out back, headlights blazing into my kitchen window, by 5:45 am. And we were off with warm McDonalds biscuits in our hands for an early morning adventure.
My goal was to avoid sections of stores that appealed to me — afterall, I was aiming to Christmas shop for others — so I consider it lucky that I came home with only one item for myself (hey, boots were marked down by 50%!). Sears was handing out doughnut holes to keep patrons fat and happy. Target was insanely busy, but as Dad pointed out, we enjoyed a lovely sunrise through their front windows while waiting our turn in the checkout line. Bath & Body was an estrogen extravaganza with my father as the lone carrier of male hormones in the shop, whereas Penneys was full of shoppers of every sex and ethnicity, most looking a bit brainwashed and weary by all the “doorbuster” items blocking the walkways. Or perhaps that was just the way I felt; Penneys was our last stop.
Dropped off at home by 8:45 am, I was giddy on a shopping high and gushed over my savings and purchases to my sweet husband who fulfilled his husbandly duties by nodding along and attempting to feign enthusiasm.
The coolest thing about the morning was that I got to be with my Dad. There’s not a lot of time these days for us to hang out alone, without the Wee One in tow, much less to head off for an adventure together. I realize that my Dad is the ONLY person who would have enjoyed this early morning hustle-and-bustle with me… and that made Black Friday even more fun.
Maybe, just maybe, this will be the one day of the year I can stand spending my morning hours in something other than my favorite pasttime, sleep.
Is there ever a good time for something bad to happen?
Today I was thinking about all the rough patches I’ve been through in 2006 and, one could say, I’m not very happy about all of it. And yet, there’s never a permissible time for suffering to enter my world! I developed rheumatoid arthritis about ten years after becoming a type 1 diabetic. This health development found me saying stupid comments like, “What’s going to happen when I turn 36? Cancer?” And even if I hadn’t miscarried a pregnancy this year, but had experienced one next year I would’ve had a terrible attitude about it as well: “2006 was shot, and now 2007 is too!”
The funny thing is that I should expect suffering. The bible says as much, and frankly, I don’t know of a single human being that hasn’t suffered in his or her life. We all go through rough patches. Loved ones die in sudden car accidents, friends deal with affairs and divorces, we’re diagnosed with diseases and challenging conditions, our children struggle with school and relationships, our mentors and heros fall off their pedestals. Life happens, suffering happens.
And still, I’m surprised by the bad times.
But, a day is coming where there truly will be no good time for a bad time. I’ve said before that I look forward to Glory, to the day where I meet my Creator face to face and find myself wholly redeemed by Christ. I’m not sure how others get through the suffering they face, but I know that I find hope in knowing that someday this life of difficulty will be replaced with a life of complete fulfillment. One day I won’t need my insulin pump in order to survive. One day I won’t need to take medication in order for my joints to work properly. One day my soul will quit struggling for joy and all my relationships will work harmoniously.
One day. Someday. No more bad times.
I love the excitement of an election night… The close races, the chance for power and control of our government, the hard work of running for a position being replaced by the hard work of being elected to that position. I’d stay up all night to watch the results if I could. Still, there is something fun about waking up the next day and seeing how the votes played out.
Among my life goals of learning to decorate a cake and learning to play the guitar is the notion of working on a political campaign. Oh yeah, I totally wish I was down at the Cornhusker or Brewsky’s tonight. : )
* SPOILERS. Don’t read unless you’re caught up with Season 3.
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* Here goes… You’ve been warned.
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1. Mr. Eko’s death. I’m fine with major characters being killed off. I liked Mr. Eko, but I’ve read differing reports on the actor himself. One report states that his parents both died last year and that he’s returning home to film a movie. Another states that he was something of a prima donna on set and wanted a short term gig anyhow. Whatever situation is true, I don’t really care. What bothers me is one of the final scenes regarding Eko’s confession. By all accounts, Eko had become a man quite learned in the Bible… He acted as a priest for some time (even traveling to Australia while in the ministry) and he knew his scripture (remember his beating stick?). So how in the world could this “minister” of the gospel confess NOTHING before his death? That whole speech about doing the best he could? Crap. Obviously the writers know nothing of the true gospel of Christ. Eko, my one hope for a character who could respresent redemption, fails in every way during his final hour. Blah.
2. I don’t like the newbies. Especially the girl. I’ll give her time to grow on me, but for pete’s sake, couldn’t they make her hair and makeup look more island-ish? Picture perfect hair, makeup and gleaming white teeth annoyed me more than a little last night.
3. I totally don’t trust Juliette. I love the actress—she’s the perfect person to play a duplicitous Other. I have hope that Jack, Kate & Sawyer will soon get away from the clutches of this crazy cult, but for now, ya can’t trust anyone. (Can you tell I take this show very seriously??)
It just doesn’t get scarier than this folks. And no, I’m not referring to Jeremy’s deliciously cheesy smile, or to the fact that I, the anti-cheerleader in high school, actually dressed my child as a cheerleader for Halloween. I make one freaking scary man, folks. In fact, I was tempted to click on Flickr’s “may offend” link because my facial hair frightened me so badly.
Kudos to Mike & Amanda on the tres cool Reformation Day/Halloween Party. Good costumes, great munchies, fun decorations—what more could you ask for?
I’m going to go out on a limb here and buck the old school tradition of not talking about miscarriages.
I miscarried my 2nd child last week.
I was so excited to share the news of my pregnancy with friends near and far via my blog. I was going to wait another few weeks and then spill the beans—it’s such beautiful news to get to share. But then something went wrong with the growth of the teeny baby within my womb. And then, before I even knew it, I wasn’t pregnant anymore.
My heart fiercely aches right now and I must admit I don’t understand God’s plan for my life. Getting pregnant was a delightful surprise to Jeremy and me and I cannot comprehend the ‘why’ of miscarrying. So for now, I will be content to share a bit of myself with the rest of you. I might share more, I might not. I might need to move on and blog about something else briefly after posting this, then again, I might not. My general policy when suffering is to do what feels good (within limits of course). Friends and family have been unbelievable in their support of us, I try to eat chocolate at least once a day, and I cry and talk when I feel like it.
But I miss being pregnant. And I suspect I’ll miss my 7 week, 6 day old little bean of a baby until I step into Glory one day.
You would think a blog post entitled “Pumpkin Patch” would contain photos of pumpkins. This one does not. It’s become quite challenging to take time to be comtemplative in my photography as I am usually responsible for the well-being of Livia, an active and eager-to-explore almost two-and-a-half year old. A few weeks ago we went to one of the many local pumpkin farms and had a wonderful time. The weather had just turned very fall-like, with a high temp of 52 and drizzly rain expected all day. But in Nebraska you can’t let the weather hold you up. So away we went to the Roca Berry Farm to enjoy a hayrack ride, mazes and wandering bike paths, one funnel cake shared between seven people, and of course, a little pumpkin for my little Punkins. And if Liv tries to tell you about how her mom took her in a haunted house? (She’ll mention words like dark, scary, round and round.) Don’t buy it. I’m mean really, what kind of mother would intentionally introduce her toddler to something like that? Key word: intentionally. Ahem. Let’s just say that next time I’ll know better.
Singing for their supper, er, dessert are Jason, Renae, Joie, Brook and The Artist Formerly Known as Livia. Note: 10 points if you can name what they are singing about.
Whoever thought the Aerie Girls were a good idea on CW’s Tuesday nights… well, they were WRONG. Ugh and double-ugh.
Please, CW, I beg of you to ditch this concept. You’re making guy viewers embarrassed to be watching these shows and you’re making girl viewers embarrassed to be girls!
