The Engagement

Note!: This is long. This is long and there's a ton of detail and I tend to change tenses. But it's my story and I can tell it any way I want! Read at your own desire!

- How it all began.

Michael planned a most impressive proposal set up. The Sunday before Thanksgiving we headed down to my hometown for some family time and horseback riding. While I attended a friend’s bridal shower, he sat nervously at my parents’ house, waiting for the opportune moment to ask them for my hand. While I waited 20 minutes for him to pick me up from aforementioned shower, he answered the questions my parents had for him and received affirmation that my parents would not interfere in our marriage (such as: if I ever got so mad at him that I went home to my parents, they’d console me and then set me straight back on the road to him, there would be no “wicked in-laws,” etc). So with their blessing he left to pick me up at the shower. Where I had sat for 20 minutes. Irked beyond everything that I had to wait. I’m 25, I'm annoyed patient. I'm not good at waiting. He was very apologetic and begged me not to be mad at my parents (I knew it was their fault). Looking back I now know why he insisted on me not railing at them when I got home. I just figured they wouldn’t stop talking (which is true but not because of them being the, “aging, forgetful, digressing, and generally talkative parents” I thought.)

Wednesday morning he bringsup the idea that we should go horseback riding at my parents the next morning. I immediately want that idea as far away from his thought process as possible, but wanting to be the girlfriend who supports her man and does not immediately squelch any ideas he comes up with, I manage an indifferent, “oh… really?” Oh really. He wanted to, very much, very, very much. We end the phone call and I mull over it some more at work (the “mulling” consisted of me thinking, “How in the world can I convince him not to go horseback riding?”). Later that night he gives me a call, after some small conversation, I can’t help but remember that we’re to be very honest with one another, so this is how the rest of the call went:


Me: Babe (very humbly) I love you, but I’m going to veto the idea of horseback riding.

(You might as well have told him Obama had chosen Giuliani as a running mate.)

Mic: WHAT?!

(Pause.)

Babe, come on, it’ll be horseback riding before Thanksgiving, how neat would that be?!”

(Pause)

Me: Mic, please, I really don’t want to go, I don’t think it’ll be any fun at all. I don’t want to go.

At this point Mic notes to me that he’s almost at my house (we’re going to B&N for something).

We hang up but the conversation continues in the truck on the way over.

Me: Look, I’ll give you four reasons why we shouldn’t go horseback riding in the few hours before we go to Leslie and Richard’s for Thanksgiving. (I hold up four fingers, serious as a heart attack, and tick them off accordingly) One, the horses will be muddy and it’ll take us a half hour to get them tacked up. Two, we have one bathroom for seven people, we’ll be dirty, the natives will be running around chaotically, it’ll take forever to get ready. Three, we’ll be pressed into service, the H.M.S Wakefield is a beastly ship and we’ll be relegated to the galley. Four, the transport system works as such on the ship: Whoever has transportation, transports. We’ll end up with some random kid or food product. Wait, I’ve got five! We’ll be late!

After this he turns to me, grabs my hand emphatically and looks lovingly into my eyes.

Mic: Sarah, I’ve worked 12 hour days these last two weeks, I just want to enjoy my Thanksgiving. Horseback riding is something I really want to do, can we please do it this? I’ll even call your mother.

Me, with an, “I dare you” tone to my voice: Do it.

He calls my mom and I can hear her agreeing (traitor!) over the phone, she’ll even have the horses ready in the morning. I halt their conversation to make sure that the above possibilities are not in the contract for horseback riding. Ultimatums are the only assurance in the household. If you want to do something or get something done, issue and ultimatum and by golly, you’ll get to do it, your way. Their conversation ends with the agreement that it will all go smoothly. (yeah, whatever!)

I turn to him: If any of the above instances occur, I get an infinite amount of “I told you so’s.”

Amazingly he agrees, and slowly the guilt of treating this event so harshly begins to grow. I refuse to apologize yet though. I have the satisfaction of “I told you so” and I am not giving that up, yet the sinking feeling that all will will go smoothly starts to hit me. Slightly grumpily I realize once again that getting my way, no matter what I've gotten, always turns out to work against me in the end. Nuts.

The next morning he arrives 10min early and we fly down to Bremen. I vocalize my apologies for having a bad attitude and silently give myself a good talking-to the whole ride home. I will enjoy this horseback ride. What kind of sister and daughter and girlfriend am I? It hits me that I’m a terrible person. Mentally I hang my head. My boyfriend wants to visit my family more than I do! What kind of message does that send to my parents and siblings? Well, way to go Wake! I promise myself that I will enjoy this time with my family, I do love them! All Mic wanted to do was enjoy the holiday! By the time we arrive I am in full family appreciation mode. This is going to be a good day.

We arrive and the horses are completely tacked up, warmed up, and fitted with halters and lead ropes, something we haven’t done in years. I take note but it’s nothing too out of the ordinary. Mom has the horses all warmed up and ready to go, so we head out to the fields. He's on Doc and I'm riding Shadow.

Shadow is quite possibly the most romantic horse possible. He's a light dapple gray (a light gray horse with dark gray pigmentation in the shape of circles that gives a dappled appearance. Which he is, since he’s a dapple gray. And this description definitely takes the romance out of moment) Arabian/Saddlebred cross (not a National Show Horse) with an amazing personality. Ellie, my 10 year old sister is his primary rider (I should say his “dominant” rider, seriously, she’s a force to be reckoned with) and he obediently listens to every command she issues. The poor ol’ chap is whipped (not literally, although the crop is kept by her side at all times). What this all means is that he listens really well and loves to be ridden by adults, granted Ellie is probably the best and most amiable rider he could ever dream of having. Doc is my brother Caleb’s horse, a good quarterpony with solid conformation and a good head on his shoulders. He and Mic seem to have hit it off magnificently and I think Doc prefers Mic to me, which is actually kinda cool. My man’s got horse sense.

So I’m cantering around the fields, having a great time on Shadow (mom used to tell me he’s the horse any girl should be riding when they meet their man, guess she was onto something) and Michael comes along with me for a quick canter and then veers west over our hayfield. I join up with him down at the low end of the field and he offers up the idea of going on the path in the forest next to us. A few years ago my mother had a terrible riding accident (a horse flipped over backwards on her) on the ridge of that path and although we’re always ones to get back on the horse after we’ve been bucked off, it’s a path we haven’t been to ready to take, although we have walked it numerous times. Michael brings up the fact that Mom said she’d just cleared it and I agree to head on down. I did promise him it would be a good day.

As we head down the path through the woods I notice that it’s really clear. Very clear. And I also notice that the leaves on the path are recently rustled and the multiflora rose bush branches are all freshly broken. Michael shushes me with an exasperated, “Oh just keep going!” All in all though, I’m just doing it to show off my superior tracking skills. And I know all the stopping and pointing out things will drive him nuts. I find it pretty humorous So I mentally take note of who to trust if we ever get lost outdoors refrain from pointing out anything else. Spoilsport. You can definitely tell who's seen Last of the Mohicans in this relationship. At the bottom of the hill (the path goes down into a valley within the woods) we cross the creek and I continue on leading. It’s a wonderful ride and the horses are behaving beautifully. Shadow really is a dream to ride. It strikes me that it’s Thanksgiving morning, we’re riding horses, we’re riding horses through woods that are very special to me (I spent most of my pre-teen through early college spare time riding or walking through these woods), and well, we are close to an engagement. I hear him halt his horse and I do the same, turning around in my saddle to see what’s up. I can’t help but grin at the thought that this might be “the day.” He looks around and without making eye contact mentions that it’s, “Very beautiful out here.” I look around and honest to goodness think, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s November, it’s cold, it’s bleak, and it’s dreary. Beautiful?” But if Michael’s bringing it up, you know it’s for a good reason. I acknowledge likewise and can’t keep myself from grinning that this is getting terribly suspicious. I put the thought aside though, there’s no sense in building up an occasion for something that might not happen. Back to riding.

Michael takes the lead and I’m refrain from spouting off, “Hey you! You don’t know where you’re going, get behind the trail master!” Really there’s no way to get lost and if he wants to lead, so be it. Eventually we get to the end of the trail; the property ends at the edge of a neighbor’s yard about 100 yards ahead. I go to turn around and he stops, telling me we should tie the horses up and walk a bit. Well, hey, if he wants to, why not!? So we dismount and tie our horses up. I ask if he knows how to do the slipknot/safety knot and he retorts like he’s been doing it his whole life. Really there’s nothing unusual about a non equestrian knowing these things, Michael’s a pretty smart guy and he knows things. Plus he’s really good at giving off the impression he knows things. (sidenote: he's really good at that.)

As we start walking around, I begin to get a little nervous. We’re walking, not very intentionally, and certainly with a very slow pace. It really can’t be called a pace, it’s more like a shuffle. As I start babbling about not getting out of sight of the horses a lilting tune begins echoing off the hills. To my amazement a bagpiper’s (bagpipes!) tune fills the air and my heart begins to skip and the beats take up my entire being. It’s as though Scotland is here and now. Michael pulls me to face him and looks deep into my eyes. He tells me that he loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. As he gets down on one knee I am struck with the realization that “the moment” is happening right in front of me. The next scenes pass as though in a dream, he’s very pale and shaky and getting down on one knee. Then he pulls a box from his pocket and from it takes a most gorgeous diamond ring. With a very emotionally-charged voice he asks me if I will marry him. The moment has fully arrived. Full of nervousness and joy I stare in shock and say, “Yes!”

I’m going to fast forward past all of the rest of the moment, it’s very precious and whilst I would share it with all of you, I must keep it for my own enjoyment.

The bagpiper switches to another tune, this time it’s, “Amazing Grace” (the first tune was “When Irish eyes are smiling”). We’re jumping up and down (ok, really, I’m doing all the jumping, he just appears relieved and very worn out) and hugging and all of that other lovely nonsense. Then suddenly it hits me like I’ve been run over by a train. I have just committed my life to someone. To Michael. I have just said yes to be his wife. My life as I know it is no longer. I slowly turn to him and as lovingly as possible give him some insight as to what is going on inside me, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around me. “No babe, I’m really going to puke.” With the serious tone in my voice he realized I meant business. We move over to a fallen tree and take our seats. For the next 10 to 15 minutes we sit, I with my mouth gaping open and the blankest of blank looks upon my face, he with his arm around me, occasionally reaching up to close my ever open mouth. I pat his arm and tell him I love him, but I just can’t look at him. Honest to goodness I didn’t know whether I would throw up, cry, pee my pants, or do all three. He continues to sit beside me and hold me close. I hear him speaking words of love and encouragement to me, but I cannot keep them close enough to soak in. Then he says something that pierces through this cloud that has befogged me.

“Babe, we’ll get through this. We’ll get through this together because we always get through things together.”

Slowly that filters through and I grasp ahold of it. “We get through things together.” I’m not alone in this wretched moment. The cloud lifts and I glance over at him. My Michael. Yes, we get through things together. The cloud lifts more and with it joy comes in and I am struck with another solid thought. I get to marry him! He will be mine and I his forever! Oh how lucky and blessed can a girl be? Once again I am free and me and we hug and kiss again and now the real joy of being engaged sinks in permanently. Let the festivities begin!

We sit there in engaged bliss a few moments longer. Jordan, the young man who drove out to the middle of nowhere to play his bagpipe has left; we shouted our thanks to him and received our first, “Congratulations!” in response. The horses are getting restless, Shadow has managed to make his short lead long and has wound himself around the tree to the point that his face is plastered to the side of the trunk. There’s a muddy, leafy, and circular mess where Doc’s been tied up. I think he had it in his mind that if he were to be tied to this tree, the whole of the forest would know he’s been there. We mount up and head on out. The horses need no urging to bring the good news home (really, they’re not that barn sour!). As we make our way back to the homestead Michael tells me that he came down the day before (while I thought he was at work) and cleared the path with Mom, then took the horses on a ride down the path to make sure they were comfortable with it and to work out any quirks they hadn’t anticipated. Can you believe the planning he went through? He and I have very similar if not the same tastes in nearly everything, but he really sought to coordinate something that would mean something to both he and I. Something we would treasure.

When we get back everyone is waiting to hear the news. Like they didn’t know I’d say yes. It is a beautiful day indeed!


The End!

Why do we have weddings?

Hallelujah! This article lays down why we do not want to be engaged for months on end, why I don't care to send out invitations 6 weeks ahead of time, and why I am not turning our wedding into an ordeal. I wish the whole of society would read this and realize that increasing the complexity of a staged production does not increase the significance of the moment. You will not create a better marriage and intensify the covenant moment by upping the expense and extravagance of your wedding. That moment is intense because of what your two hearts are creating, not because of what has been created.

Please, do yourself a favor and give this article a read. Realize that you're only buying into insecurities (that apparently haven't been healed or addressed like you had hoped) and disillusions for creating a production that will impress you (which it never will), your fiance(e) (which it never will because you have kept them at a distance for however many months it took to coordinate this), or the guests, or the gods of marriage (of which there is only One and he cares more about your hearts and what is important to you and Him).

Things that irk me.

I realize that I should be posting something about my amazing fiance and how he proposed and how wonderful it is to know that I will one day take his name and he will one day be my husband and how being engaged to him is the greatest honor in the world.

Well my friends, today is not that day. Today is the day I list off a couple things that have been irking me.

• My name is Sarah. Not Shara, Sahra, Sara, it is Sarah. With the “h” at the end. If I send you an e-mail with my name appearing in the “From:” section that reads “Sarah Wakefield,” end it with “Thanks, Sarah Wakefield.” Have my signature appear at the bottom that reads “Sarah Wakefield.” WHAT PART OF THAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? Why do you send me an e-mail back saying, “Hey Sara….”? I have just spent most of the intro and all of the ending with the “h” attached to the end of my first name. Would you stop using my name in vain?! I just might not respond anymore to people who address me as “Sara.” Do I ever assume that you want me to spell your name any differently than what you have given? Do I take it upon myself to correct you and how you spell your name? Do I think to myself, “Oh, they must have forgotten that Susie is spelled with a ‘z’”? No, I trust that if you are old enough to be working and to be using the computer, you are old enough to know HOW YOU SPELL YOUR NAME!!! Granted when used vocally there is no real tried and true way of determining if they have mentally attached the “h” or not, but that’s not an issue. THE ISSUE IS THIS: when my parents named me before I emerged from the womb, when they then wrote my name on my birth certificate thus determining forever how I should be addressed, they wrote “Sarah” (plus the rest) and they assumed that all who interacted with me on a written level would respect their decision. So yes, that’s what I’m saying. When you knowingly desecrate the spelling of my name, you are knowingly laying insult against my parents.

Great, now you’ve insulted my intelligence and my family.

• YES I want to get married in 3 months. No I do not want to spend my time planning a $30,000 wedding for a year. Don't you realize that the only reason people wait a year is because 1) they don't know if they want to marry that person, 2) they're compensating for years of feeling like they were never their father's princess, 3) they've spent years believing they were a princess and care more about their wedding than investing that time and money in something that will last longer than 6 hours, 4) they're not out of school, 5) that's what everyone else is doing because they are dealing with #'s 1-4 and even 5.
• No, I am not pregnant. No, I have no hidden crimes I am running from. No, I am not an illegal immigrant and thus need a natural born citizen to marry so I might stay in America.
  
• No, I am not rushing him. I am not pushing him into a marriage he does not want. I am not begging to be married right away. We happen to really like each other. We have no reason to wait to get married. It's only going to drive us nuts. Get this: I would much rather get married in City Hall than have an elaborate fest of bows and ribbons and fake ornaments and fake elegant. I want real. He wants real. Together we're planning a very beautiful, very genuine (no curtains to cover up the messy plumbing of the hall, no fancy decorations to pretend it's a party (no one looks at those things in admiration anyway!), very honest wedding. We're signing a covenant between the two of us with our invited guests as witnesses. The covenant is a serious yet celebratory event. Please don't ask me to make my parents pay for something that will not last a lifetime like our marriage will. Flowers wilt, paper disintegrates, ribbons shred, everything gets old. I want to celebrate, I want to rejoice, but I want to do it without creating, without creating the "poser" atmosphere. I want it to be real.

That's all for now.

I'm stepping off my soapbox for a drink. Be back soon. O' wait, announcements and disclaimers.

• I'm engaged!!!!

• I realize that many of you have waited for longer than a year and while school may have not been a factor, something else was. Please know that I respect your decision and am just fired up at all those, Christians and non, who seem so shocked that we're marrying soon. As if we're creating some faux pas. We're a pure, honest, loving couple. We make a great pair. Were we in some sort of world war, waiting 3 weeks would be ridiculous. So back off it, it's nunya. Don't make me go ninja on you. I've about had it. I can't stress enough how irritated I get with people who go on about how long they were engaged, and how fun it was to plan the wedding. Plan the wedding? How about plan your lives together? Who cares about a program? No one is listening to the various instrumental and vocal performers! No one is going to stay in awe of the building you chose any longer than it takes for them to step out of the doors and onto the sidewalk. Your invited guests are there to celebrate sure, but they're not the bride or groom. All I care to do is walk down the aisle, make the covenant with my betrothed, and celebrate. Gussying up a building that I will not look at (as I will be staring intently into my beloved's eyes) for an audience that does not care about the ribbons, bows, flowers, etc, is a waste. I could never do that to my parents. And no, I am not downplaying the importance of a wedding, I'm just questioning and pointing fingers at everything we don't need and everything we do for the sake of appearances.
  

Shew.

Still don't feel like I'm finished, but ol' gal is thirsty.

Are You Kidding Me?

Maine is giving it's MIDDLE SCHOOL girls The Pill.

No joke. Apparently there's been a "rash of pregnancies" and so they're offering Birth Control instead of ABSTINENCE!

Middle School!

HELLO PARENTS, how about stepping up as such and taking your role as their PARENT. Quit trying to relate to them, quit trying to be their friend, quit avoiding the discipline.

You have got to be kidding me.

"We are dealing with children," said Diane Miller, a former school nurse said. "I am just horrified at the suggestion." You and me both, sister.

"I know I've done my job as a parent," Thompson said. "(But there) may be a time when she doesn't feel comfortable coming to me ... (and) not all these kids have a strong parental advocate at home." She might not feel comfortable coming to you? Right, and you think you've done your job? You would count yourself as one who is a strong parental advocate?

My frustration level just soared out the roof! Tell your boys to keep their pants zipped and your girls to keep their legs crossed. Open up those avenues of uncomfortable conversation and you will open up the avenues of vulnerability, they will come to you with the sensitive topics if you start talking about the sensitive topics- WHICH SHOULDN'T BE SENSITIVE TOPICS!

This is ridiculous! Middle school? Middle school?!!!!

"This isn't encouraging kids to have sex. This is about the kids who are engaging in sexually activity," Richard Veilleux said. Yuh, okay! Safe sex. That's what you're promoting. At that age when hormones are just starting to rage, you want to offer safe sex. Who doesn't want safe sex? What part about safe sex doesn't encourage sex? Sexually active people will continue to have sex because you're promising (or give the illusion of promising) that they can do it safely. Tell me I can continue to eat chocolate all the chocolate I want without gaining weight and I'm in! Tell my friend they can eat all the chocolate they want without gaining weight and even if I've never tasted that delectable treat before, oh, I'm definitely jumping on that train. (Sarah hits her "I'm-so-hungry-and-it's-after-noon/can't-take-anymore-of-this-agonizingly-moronic- hypocrisy/so-angry-I'm-seeing-stars" shock and keels over..... the smell of coffee awakens her)
CAN WE SAY "STDs"? Birth Control won't stop those! No babies does not mean, "Safe Sex." It just means a lack of pregnancy. And that's can't be guaranteed with birth control! The only 100% guaranteed means of safe sex (no pregnancy, no STD, no emotional bond) is NO SEX!

Oooo, what I would give to have those parents in a room together. Give them a good shaking, a real good dose of backbone, and a whole lotta chastity belts.

I need a diet coke right now.... and some chocolate, fat and all.

Adieu, bella donna.

One of Britain's most fair of ladies has bid farewell. Deborah Kerr, classiest of classy leading ladies of a bye-gone era has passed away.

I remember watching her in "The King and I," every fiber of my being longing to dance as she did in the post-banquet ballroom scene. Many times as a young girl (and once, partnerless, as a young lady on a moonlight and foggy beach) I would gallivant around the living room, stopping only when my lungs and legs were screaming for mercy. I had the honor of dancing in that manner, quite unexpectedly, with a friend during an "Aloha" party, barefoot and carefree, complete with the pang that it wasn't as perfect as it should have been. The friend would never be my knight, as the King of Siam would never fully be hers. It is still a treasure I shall never ever forget, although I do long for the opportunity to dance as she did, complete with her beautiful ballgown. There is nothing like dancing resplendent as a princess, the feel of luxurious fabric twisting and swishing and splaying out at each turn. Ah heaven, the hope you instill in all our hearts.

I remember catching glimpses of "An Affair to Remember" in the movie "Sleepless in Seattle." Finally, years after that first viewing, I rented "An Affair" and bawled my eyes out at the very end. The tragedy, the heartbreak, the hope and despair, all leading up to the most wonderful of endings.

"The Prisoner of Zenda." Oh what a glorious sword fighting, dueling, steal-the-heart-of-the-damsel movie! One of my guilty pleasure movies in which Kerr plays the most enviable role of a honorable, noble, and dutiful princess. (and the dresses!)

Thank you Deborah Kerr, for the heartbreaking roles you played, the dreams you set in the soul of this girl, and for always being a lady.



Movie I need to see: The End of the Affair.

Day in Scotland, compliments of Teitur.

While listening to"One and Only," a song about best friends and lovers, I found myself on a train in the late afternoon, coming home from a visit and journey. Rain beating on the windows, the cloud cover darkening the outdoors, the cold just outside; my head tilted back on the seat, my body facing towards damp and dark, a perfect cove created.

O what a beautiful ache.

Today on CNN

I don't want to be a downer but this time it's inevitable and, for some reason I believe, necessary.

This is what I found on a casual stroll through CNN's website today. I think I want to throw up. It's very doubtful anyone will want to follow the links to the articles but I'm putting the respective link up anyway.

Two young girls (under the age of 10. 10! YOU SICKO) were videotaped being sexually assaulted. Police have identified one, they are searching for the other. May the innocents get their justice; I hope he rots. (just one more reason I know there is a God- so many times I could care less about certain members of homo sapiens and would even rejoice at their death and dance on their grave (were they so lucky to have one) yet it is evidenced by that very presence of hatred that something stronger than that, something akin to a father's love, must exist. If I so feel loved all the time, then that love must cover them as well. Ooo I hate that so much! I want them to be hated, spit on, shunned, tortured, I want their very being to be despised. It speaks volumes to me that even the least have a chance. I want that God.)

Young children at a daycare center were found to have their mouths taped shut in order to silence them. This happened in Russia as well; Iraq orphanages were almost worse. This could be a sign you are not in the career field you need to be, ladies (although the word I'm thinking of rhymes with "witches.") Thankfully I am not God and so He can bestow mercy and grace upon you creeps; hopefully they realize how blessed they are that vengeance is the Lord's and not mine.

A young pup had to be euthanized after it was found nearly burned to death. Someone had doused the animal in gasoline and set fire to it. I would include animals in the innocents, we were given dominion over the earth, an entrusted dominion. We were placed in care of it, not to abuse it at will. The Michael Vick case is still all over the news so he's not included in this list as everyone already knows about it.

Everyone also knows about Warren Jeffs. At the age of 14 I was innocently working on chemistry homework, playing in the band, and babysitting. I was not being raped. No one ever deserves to be treated as having no soul and no heart (unless you are any of the aforementioned assailants), how can one look into another person's eyes and steel themselves against the creation inside? We are a selfish people, fixated on our own desires of success, all at the expense of (hmm, have I mentioned them before?) the innocents.

This young woman tried protecting herself. She had a restraining order issued against him. Yet someone insisted that their interests were superior to all else and she died because of it. Death happens and it happens to all of us. I hope whoever killed her realizes this and takes it in fully, as I've mentioned before, whoever you are, you might get on your knees and repent. I have not the heart to tear you apart thanks to Someone Who cares about you.

Monks are protesting in Myanmar and the government doesn't like it. So what do they do? They beat and kill 9 of the protesters. Someone has the government scared. I read a quote in Money magazine this morning, so Myanmar, listen up.

"There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know."
--Harry Truman

Pay attention to what happens when you try to force your people to listen. Pay attention to the countries that are successful. Pay attention to what happens when unsuccessful countries work with violence to dominate. It. Never. Works. Any country that does not send the message that citizenship in the country means provision and protection, will have its inhabitants fleeing. If they're not safe at home, then where? AND QUIT WITH THE MURDER! Where was your grandmother when you needed a good spanking? Oh yeah, you probably did away with her too!

Touching on the above subject, 50+ people died in Iraqi insurgent attacks. They were all someone's relative, someone's "someone," and fear and selfishness killed them. How meaningless life would be unless someone cared about them. Someone Who would ensure they were loved, that they weren't just another number on the death tally. People, you've been forewarned, you have no idea Who you are messing with. He is mercy and love and justice (although so many times, the mercy and love give him a passive connotation. On the flip side, man's ideas of His justice have given Him the picture of hostility and ruthlessness and of choosing sides.)

I'm done for now. I've worn myself out.

Practiced Christianity- Worship

I cannot enjoy corporate worship as presented (note the "presented") by the stereotypical Protestant (low) church. In fact, I believe it would not be an understatement to say my spirit even rebels against said corporate worship. My soul desires raw, unpracticed, unscheduled, unrehearsed, and unaffected worship and praise of my Lord and Savior. I want a childlike worship of Christ, not a mature worship that is praised for its skilled performers and talented musicians. This includes those who would stand up at the altar and insist all attendees rise and lift their hands towards the Lord. Does not the Lord desire for us to be real before Him?

The Lord is neither pleased with a deceitful heart, no false humility. He created me to be as I am, a glorious creation as I am, and I cannot deny Him the praise He is due (and that which I long desperately to give) from an honest and true heart. To deny Him the praise which is unique to myself and only that which I can give is to blatantly disregard my God and flout my sinful nature, my prideful nature. Any praise and worship that is motivated only by pride, the careful examination of the actions of my peers, and the desire to impress is nothing short of utter rudeness and complete disobedience.

There is something to be said for the embarrassment of one's pride and the complete dismissal of pretentiousness as one's heart is brought before the Throne.

May I never be content with drinking milk like a child or speaking like one, but may the heart of a child and a childlike faith never be far from me.

Anselm

Apparently I relate best to one of the most brilliant minds of the Catholic Church in theology.

Sweet!

Wait a sec... I'm not Catholic!

As it is, this is quite interesting to me as I have never been one to delve deep into theology, although as a Christian I am automatically a theologian. Mayhap it is time to find out where I truly stand with regards to all of this.

Here's the Wikipedia entry on Anselm

You scored as Anselm, Anselm is the outstanding theologian of the medieval period.He sees man's primary problem as having failed to render unto God what we owe him, so God becomes man in Christ and gives God what he is due. You should read 'Cur Deus Homo?' Anselm 100% Charles Finney 73% Karl Barth 60% Jürgen Moltmann 40% Martin Luther 40% Augustine 33% Friedrich Schleiermacher 33% John Calvin 33% Paul Tillich 33% Jonathan Edwards 0% Which theologian are you? created with QuizFarm.com

Branded Slavery

So this guy in the UK decides to take a year's sabbatical from shopping for name-brand only merchandise. Quite frankly, I rarely ever, EVER, buy anything because of the brand. I only make purchases based on #1- Do I need it?, #2- Do I like it? If #1 isn't relative (i.e. jewelry, various accessories) then I head straight to #2.

There are allegiances to certain brands, Crest, Propel, Trader Joe's, and Skippy, that I have to say are based on their ability to perform (*chuckle, just had an image of a performing peanut butter), their ability to walk the walk and talk the talk.

This guy, while going to extremes that I'm not sure necessarily apply to myself, does raise some good concerns. It's an interesting article if you're bored- another one of the plethora of articles raising concern over how the earth is treated and how we as humans can do something else better.

Atomic Anguish

Very rarely do I ever read an article that focuses on human deformities. I feel it's an exhibition of someone's struggle in life; their own pain and suffering exploited for the "rest of us." As I am not physically deformed (no one can deny thought that what lies within is never perfect), taking notice and interest in articles such as the aforementioned are something I refuse to do. It's not a matter of denial and it's not a matter of not having the stomach for it; it's the matter of respect, it's my way of saying, "They (the afflicted persons) may not be like me, but they're human; they deserve any respect I can give them." It's the same as children with Down Syndrome and those who are blind; they do not want to be treated any differently.

This article caught my attention and led me to review it for one reason and one reason only: there is blame to lay and someone to fault. The ramifications for the actions in Kazakhstan are just the same as Chernobyl, nuclear fallout in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the pollution infested rivers and lakes which in turn cause cancer and birth defects all over the world (I almost included the young blind man Christ heals in John 9:1-8 as he too could have blamed someone else (his parents) for his lack of sight; maybe I still will. The only reason for leaving him out of the above stemmed from Christ saying, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned..." I also did not include atrocities such as Darfur and the like as the children and adults who remain alive yet brutally disfigured were not born as such. Burn victims such as Yousiff were also born (forgive me for such a terribly incorrect term) "normal" and while the former and latter know exactly where to place the blame, at some point they had a fighting chance at life. Please forgive me for my callousness. )

I wanted to ignore this article on CNN as it was front and (leftish) center on the page. Who wants to be sucked into reading an article for it's "ooo" and "eww" factor"? If I'm going to read something, I want to read it because it's important, because if I do not read it I'll be an irresponsible and ignorant citizen of this world. Which is why after reading the tag-line, I gave myself permission to read more. Fury filled my veins and grief seared my heart. The children, like the others mentioned earlier, and the adults had no idea they were being blatantly destroyed by their government. Their government fully abused them with every intention to do so; they chose a place where the casualties could be dispensable and replaceable and no one would know until long after their "trial runs." Would that I had the fortitude to write what I really think of them, rhymes with "dastards."

Three things run through my mind right now. "God o' God, must they suffer?" "They (the government and the authorities in charge) should suffer as the people have, they must pay." And then, "I know forgiveness is supposed to be there. But how, how does one forgive after that? Not just a portion of their lives have been damaged or disrupted but their entire lives. From beginning to end." I am made aware of how easy it is for me to forgive, of how casually I can give it; how can they forgive? How can they get past an entire life filled with misery, how can the heart even separate itself from the physical damage to begin to mend? The two, in these cases, seem indivisible. To me there is no hope. And where there is no hope life ceases. Where life ceases to be, so does the importance of living. And therein is where I see no Jesus. I see no great plan where "the work of God might be displayed in (their) life."* Deep within I know He is there, deep within I know He cares, I know He is present in their suffering and their wounds are just as equally felt by Him. My soul within knows it but I can't see it. I. Can't. See. This must be where a deeper faith in Him and His love for this world takes the place of my physical vision. I do not sit on the sidelines now but I do have to trust that He is just as in charge and in control of their suffering as He is of my own non-suffering. This knowledge does not decrease the lust for vengeance; I still want to inflict pain and suffering. Just a work in progress I am.

*John 9:3. I do realize Jesus was speaking as this was for all to see Him as the light of the world.

Abbott and Costello

This is the comedy I was raised on. Beats rude and crude comedy any day.

Pirating Princess

Take that Blackbeard! Apparently this chick knew her stuff! Can't believed she survived to be a grandmother!

Sweetly Broken

To the cross I look, to the cross I cling
Of its suffering I do drink
Of its work I do sing

For on it my Savior both bruised and crushed
Showed that God is love
And God is just

Chorus:
At the cross You beckon me
You draw me gently to my knees, and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered

What a priceless gift, undeserved life
Have I been given
Through Christ crucified

You’ve called me out of death
You’ve called me into life
And I was under Your wrath
Now through the cross I’m reconciled

Chorus:

In awe of the cross I must confess
How wondrous Your redeeming love and
How great is Your faithfulness

~Sweetly Broken, by Jeremy Riddle (emphasis mine- nota bene: non-emphasized words are as moving as the ones in bold)

Here is Jeremy Riddle singing it, from YouTube. Now as much as I hate sappy Christian videos as they really make me groan in agony, this one wasn't bad. The kids at this church did a fine job and outside of the "Passion of the Christ" clips (which for the most part weren't a melodromatic groan inducer) and the ending clip, it was a proper good piece.

Lunch Break Epiphany

Epiphanies come in all shapes and sizes; some mind-set shattering (the jolt that comes with touching an electric fence) and some as a second-long fragment of a thought. Today's epiphany lasted a mere 2.5 seconds (or so it would seem) and until I sit down and let it slowly wind around within my mind and develop into something with more substance (although it is substance enough as is), it is as follows (and thanks must be sent in J.K. Rowling's direction as it is so due-- highlighted words are the original flashes of thought):

This is a maddening world, this fallen world with no security and no guarantees, always death. Oh my, to be placed under protection from God's wrath by the covering of an innocent man's blood. God has not changed; He did send Christ however. Oh that I might never wander out from underneath this umbrella of safety. What better place to be than in the shelter of the house whose door has been painted with the blood of a Lamb. A more close-call rescue I will never know.

Title Unknown

With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh –
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.

George MacDonald

Going Home.

My family is out of town this week for vacation. At a beach. On the eastern seaboard. Having loads of fun.

Jealous?

You'd better believe it.

I decided on Wednesday to run down to the farm to give Caleb a little mid-week support (with 11 horses, a Great Dane, Jacks ( Jax, or Jack), and 5 cats (apparently some of them went to God's Great Litter Box in the sky before the Parents went to God's Luxury Litter Box for Kitties on this earth- not that they actually went to a giant cat-poo location for vacation-- yee, sounds gross.. "So, where'd the 'rents go for vacation?" "Oh, the litter box" Right. I'm done) .

So I left work at 6 and did not arrive in B until 9:15. The drive is an hour, max. 15 minutes from home I decided to take Sweet B for a trip down one of the twistiest roads in Fairfield county, the strip of 664 that runs from West Rushville to Logan. The B was looking B-utiful and (hey! license plate name!) a car that red, shiny, sporty, and vintage must be on a road that curvy. So I head down Coonpath and as I get closer to my Aunt and Uncle's place, I decide to pull in and give a quick "Hello! Just in the neighborhood" visit.

(side note: this route takes me past my grandfather's old house- it just sold- and THEY'VE STUCK THE MOST-OBSCENELY OUT-OF-PLACE-UGLY-BEYOND-IMAGINATION barn RIGHT SMACK DAB NEXT TO THE HOUSE! It is a grotesque piece of architecture (FAT ol' pole barn next to a classic cape cod with cedar siding and large front porch. Despicable. It makes me tremble with rage. I need to stop, I'm starting to see spots... blast it, it's UGLY. It's so u-g-l-y, it ain't got an alibi, it's ugly. But really, it is. It makes me want to throw up. Oh the abominable structure. YUCK!))

Grr, I'm still so angry! Must move on. Food. Family. Right. So I zip into the Aunt and Uncle's and pop in for a quick hello. Which turns into dinner and a long discussion on whether or not Josh and I are extroverted, introverted (which we are), or just verted. I'm mostly verted. We also discussed various family members and had a great old time just staring out over the pond and weeping willows, chatting about our families.

So the B and I head home, roaring around the bends, flying past the cornfields, whizzing by the herds of cattle. As we crawl up the long hill of the long driveway (no racing up gravel driveways for my B), I heard a faint "HEY!" come from above. "God? Look, I know I was speeding and I know I got mad at that driver on 33 but.." oh wait, Caleb!

Turns out 'Vanna had escaped and Caleb and Jacks were on the hunt. I put the B in reverse and we start to make our way down the driveway, heading back to the road when out of the corner of my eye, a giant black and white monster comes hurtling towards the B. It's "The 'Vanna." She comes galloping up to the B and in a moment of self-preservation, instinct calling to catch the animal, and B preservation, I stuck my arm out and latch on to her collar. Well then Jacks in my lap is growling at 'Vanna for the intrusion into his territory (I'm his territory) and 'Vanna is slobbering to beat Beethoven, and I'm screeching at her to stay off my car and for Caleb to get out of it. Except Caleb's never exited the car and so he has no idea how to pull the handle. So there I am, one hand holding Jacks, one hand desperately trying to cling to 'Vanna, hurling violent threats of dismemberment towards her and yet trying to calmly instruct Caleb to "PULL THE BLACK THING, NO, THE OTHER BLACK THING! GET HER, SHE'S GOING TO KILL MY CAR! BACK UP 'VANNA BEFORE I HURT YOU! NO NOW PULL NO NOT THAT ONE, PULL THE..." and then he got it and whipped out and around to save my B from 'Vanna's claws, literally. She put her two front paws on the B and I nearly kicked her face in, except I had forgotten to put the B in neutral and had both feet on the clutch and brake. After 'Vanna is under control, Jacks and I oh so gracefully make our way up the rest of the drive. Jacks is the perfect dog for my car. Jacks is to my car what my car is to curvy roads.

More to come...

Two of Me.

Last night I had another one of my wedding dreams. In every wedding dream I've ever remembered (I would say about 5+-), in the dream it never fails that I am never present during the ceremony. I walk up the aisle, either tell the groom "Nope, not doing it" or I blank out during the ceremony and arrive back in my body afterwards. I never know if I married the groom or not, although I always lean on the side of not being married, so as not to spend my wedding night with someone who is not my husband. Not once do I say "well, maybe I am married!" and move into a life with the groom (although in one dream I did as I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had married him-- I really wanted to be his wife).

Last night I dreamed the wedding dream, only this time there were two of me- one to make sure all went well with the wedding (say that 5x fast!) and another to be in the wedding. Which body did my mind elect to stay with? Apparently not the one in the ceremony because I had to ask the groom afterwards how it went! For some reason I think I stuck with the "wedding planner body" as some table cloths needed sewing! All I remember is coming up to the groom afterwards and wondering how I handled it and if everything went smooth. The funny thing is I dislike immensely weddings that are a production, so why in the world, when given the option, would I have stayed with the "wedding planner body"?

As my wedding dreams go though, the emphasis on the actual ceremony has become more and more heightened. There are no details covered in the wedding and I dream of nothing pertaining to the wedding except for the very minutes before and during the walk down the aisle. Very briefly do I dream of the reception (many times I'm sitting around a table with the whole family and quietly trying to determine whether or not I am married [quietly so I don't embarrass myself for not knowing]) Also, I never like my dress. This past one had very little attention was given it by me, so possibly the dress was attractive.

Why were there two of me?
Why did I opt for the body running around tying up the loose ends? (i.e: avoiding the ceremony?)
How is it that in every wedding dream, I am never ever there for the actual ceremony?!
Why, for the past 8 years, have my dreams centered so specifically on a wedding?

The built-in investigator wonders what is it that needs attention and healing.
The Spirit inside me must be telling me I need to address something, something in me needs looked over, otherwise I would not continue to dream the same dreams with the same scene running over and over.

I am trying to remember in my dreams to force myself to be mentally aware during the ceremony. I want to ask myself in the dream why I am so eager or willing to avoid it; there is hope that while in the dream state I can answer these questions.

Screech I am not.

Confirmation: I am not a full fledged nerd. This has been disputed at various points in my life but I am here to tell you, I am not a bonafide nerd.




Booyah.

Blocked from Blogging

I haven't posted in quite awhile. It's slightly ironic that I check others' posts frequently and when they haven't posted, I get a little antsy, "Sheesh, come on, it wouldn't hurt you to post every now and then!" yet if I don't post for a month, so what?! I expect to have something new to read every morning; this is assuming however, that people actually read this post and I'm not blogging to a readerless blogging cosmos.

I certainly assume a lot by putting up a post:

• That what I'm putting up is worth even reading,
  
• that there are people who stumble upon this post and stay long to read these random thoughts,
  
• and that people actually find it interesting enough to come back to and stay "in the loop" with whatever is going on in my life (when I actually do post something about my life).
  

Why am I posting?

Better yet, since I really shouldn't care whether or not people read because it is for me, not them, why haven't I posted in so long? And not just a random historical rant, "My Utmost for His Highest" daily devotional post, or news blurb; I wonder what is going on within that has me blocked from blogging about me.

My Utmost- July 9

July 9th.
	THE GREAT PROBING
"Ye cannot serve the Lord." Joshua 24:19 Have you the slightest reliance on anything other than God? Is there a remnant of reliance left on any natural virtue, any set of circumstances? Are you relying on yourself in any particular in this new proposition which God has put before you? That is what the probing means. It is quite true to say - "I cannot live a holy life," but you can decide to let Jesus Christ make you holy. "Ye cannot serve the Lord God"; but you can put yourself in the place where God's almighty power will come through you. Are you sufficiently right with God to expect Him to manifest His wonderful life in you? "Nay, but we will serve the Lord." It is not an impulse, but a deliberate commitment. You say - But God can never have called me to this, I am too unworthy, it can't mean me. It does mean you, and the weaker and feebler you are, the better. The one who has something to trust in is the last one to come anywhere near saying - "I will serve the Lord." We say - "If I really could believe!" The point is - If I really will believe. No wonder Jesus Christ lays such emphasis on the sin of unbelief. "And He did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief." If we really believed that God meant what He said - what should we be like! Dare I really let God be to me all that He says He will be?

Tiny Warrior

This little boy is my kinda big brother. Bravissimo bambino!

He'll have something heroic to carry around all his life, that is priceless; he's a true defender. Can you imagine having done something so brave while so young? I hope he remembers this and carries it humbly and proudly at the same time his entire life. I pray he is entitled to carry it and does not abuse the honor; may he grow up a noble and integrity-filled youth.

Incredulous Bystander

This is so ridiculous. Unfair, uncalled for, diabolical, and I'm outraged. I feel like the tourist on the bus driving through Yellowstone who can only comment on the enormity of it all.


What am I going to do?

The price paid.

What is the cost of freedom?

Is the price paid worth it?

Why is it that I look around and feel guilty to be an American... ashamed at all that I have, embarrassed to admit I have it. I have it all. I'm living on stolen land, living a stolen life, preparing for a future that, by basic human rights, should not be mine.

I have nothing to be proud of, everything to be ashamed of, and so much for which I will never be thankful enough.

I enter this July 4th wondering if I will join the masses emblazoned in the red, white, and blue. Pieces of me want to paint it all over my body and display these mighty colors for all to see. The other pieces want me to quietly offer up my thanks and duck my head in shame for all that we as "Patriots" have done.

What right have I to be a proud American?

I am so confused. Do I gather the beautiful banner and wrap her around me, relishing in the glory and the pain and the triumph that is our history and future? I cannot be ungrateful towards all those that have fought, suffered, and died so that my life may exist. I realize that part of what they fought for was the right for me to air this question out and allow it space within me. I cannot say, "Thanks... but no thanks."

Can I really be honestly proud to be an American? Can I dare not to? Do I separate myself from the masses who would blindly and wantonly wear these universally known colors and think that my thankfulness is much deeper and more sincere than theirs?

This is almost parallel to how I feel about mainstream Christianity and my honest desire to know Christ and be known for loving and following him- without hating/despising/looking down on all others in utter ignorance.

Corn-fed (by that I mean hear it and believe it and then speak it)Christians (funny they're all Americans--except for that crazy "I am the new Christ" South American or Mexican) make me so angry! They only believe because they've listened and they only speak that which they've heard or read from mainstream sold-out-for-celebrity-status Christian authors. Where is the "real" Christianity? It's really not that much work to seek and find and question until you do. Put some elbow grease into it people.

I'll clean this all up later. Thanks for letting me vent.

SONO GIUSTA!

I WAS RIGHT!

Rome, America, correlation? Oh yes. The Colbert Report has verified my findings here. Or you can watch it here

G.K.C

Here dies another day

During which I have had eyes, ears, hands

And the great world round me;

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?

G.K. Chesterton

6-6-44, cont'd

It's awesome (read: awe-inspiring, shocking, puzzling) to me the idea that we were right and they were wrong. Hear me out: in no way do I condone the Nazi treatment or mentality towards those of non-Aryan blood; it's just amazing to me that one group (Allies) could be so right and the other (Axis) could be so wrong. For those citizens who, by the determination of their leader's association and pact with the Axis powers, would have been called the "enemy," I have much sympathy (and empathy). It's just the same nowadays, countries being judged by their leader's political inclinations. How is it, that in a world that so questions the existence of God, or a purpose/Natural Law for all, can be so aligned with an idea and find themselves facing half of the world against them.

The good guys vs. the bad guys. And the kicker is this: they were really bad. Vile, evil, and determined to destroy all that prohibited their idea of perfection. To think that even evil longs for perfection as well. Therein lies another puzzlement. Both good and evil long for their idea of perfection. They strive to create worlds where their "utopia" exists. Why such the need for perfection, for a perfect world and existence? This has turned into a much different post than I intended.

So "good/right" (that which is selfless and desiring happiness for their neighbor- I don't think I would receive much argument against that definition) desires to live with best intentions for all manifested in everyday life, striving for an utopia for all. "Bad/wrong" (that which is completely selfish, desiring that the self be served first and foremost) almost expectantly assumes that those around must sacrifice in order that aforementioned "self" receive their utopia first, others might benefit from that when self has arrived in utopia, not before. (keep in mind I still maintain vast amounts of sympathy for those who were forced to fight for "wrong," it takes a strong soul, stronger than mine, to accept death instead of fighting for that which is wrong.)

Is it not amazing that we were faced with "good/right" and "bad/wrong"? How often are we faced with such blatant examples as we had in World War II? How often do we really get to fight for "right" and do it freely? So often I am reminded of how the United States is much like the Roman Empire: absolute domination in the world, a formidable opponent to all who would seek to strike against it, their citizens having the keys (citizenship of Rome/US) to the world. We have such awesome opportunities as Americans, opportunities we take, I take, for granted. Aside from the Spanish War, Panama, the Philippines, Vietnam, and now even Iraq and Afghanistan (not forgetting that while the war itself is failing, we still are doing quite a bit to help those developing countries, let's keep that in mind), we have waged war against the most formidable foes, the "wrong," and won. No doubt that had we lost the War for Independence, we would still have the same opportunities. Again, not saying that as Americans (also demonstrated by the Romans) we are always right, or even slightly right, but we have the keys to strive towards the "good/right." We've had the opportunities to show the world what "good/right" is all about, that it is necessary for life.

Thank you Allies, thank you for persevering towards "good," for laying your lives down for the "good," even as we now take advantage of that, even as we now abuse that.

Thank you Christ.

6-6-44

During high school I used 6-6-44 to remember D-Day/ Operation Overlord. I also know that the 25th amendment is the one stating the vice-president shall assume the presidency should the president become to "sick" to retain the position. "Sick" starts with an "S" which looks like a 5, hence 25th amendment = sick president. I actually did that for all the amendments and for quite awhile had them all memorized. Not so much anymore....

Right, turning back around and heading from that tangent to the main subject. (Seriously, my attention span needs some thorough examination, the places my mind wanders to when triggered... Mmm, Roy Rogers, did you know his name was actually Leonard Slye? I read somewhere that he grew up so poor that he used to run barefoot over fields of cut corn, building up callouses so he didn't need boots. Ack, I'm doing it again!)

Point is this: Yesterday was the initiation of Operation Neptune (heading into Operation Overlord) and it has been 63 years since they first landed. One of my absolute favorite film productions is Band of Brothers.


Talking about BoB can be my way of honoring the soldiers who landed on the beaches and those who fought before and after. Growing up I've always watched war movies, read the books, (remembered little), and latched onto whatever else I could find to connect me with that era in history. Through all of that though, little has stirred me like Band of Brothers has; little else aside from visiting the "sbarchi" ("disembarkments" in Italian) and battlegrounds. I'm sure in real life Maj. Winters is not as great as he seems in the movie (although, I did read his autobio and was even more impressed), but the entire time I'm watching the series I can barely keep it together. This interpretation of what happened really does break my heart. It's the cinematography, it's the script, it's the lighting and costumes; it's how true to life it feels. Deep inside I am torn between weeping and "hurrah"-ing; knowing their lives are in peril and death so near, all the while so proud of them and wanting each of them to make it home to freedom and joy.



In BoB, the enemy is not portrayed as vile, demon-possessed fanatics, fighting for an vile (evil), demon-possessed dictator. Not that you actually see much of the enemy, really it's only when they're getting spiked by a bayonet or killed in some other manner that you catch a glimpse of their humanity. There's a scene where one of the men from Easy Company comes across some POWs and overhears one of them speak with a familiar accent. Turns out the "German" was from Jersey (I think.. Bronx maybe) and had grown up only a few neighborhoods from the American soldier. The German's parents had paid heed to the Der Fuehrer's request that all Germans of pure blood return to the Mutterland and so he joined up with the German army. Not five minutes after having this conversation, the American soldier leaves to catch up with his Company and having gone a ways, hears gunfire behind him. The POWs had been killed as a answer to the squadron leader's question of, "What to do with them?" Aside from their brutal and uncalled for death, I greatly appreciate the demonstration of the enemy's humanity. They were and are real people too: following what they thought was right.

If you ever have time to sit and appreciate Band of Brothers, and have not had the pleasure to do so yet, I highly recommend it.

Celtic Knot

Deep within I seek to find
a hand-hold to the depths of mind.
Where it begins
Where it ends

Something to grasp
Something to hold
Something to make sense
of all I know.

Yeah, it's a pretty elementary poem, but it's all I've got right now. Deep inside I feel like a Celtic knot, no beginning and no end! Joy abounds within me, great delight as well, yet part of me is cast in vast loops and turns and twists. I wish I could step within myself and bring out a great clarity of self. I really want to write right now, I want to pour myself out on paper (err.. screen) and write something beautiful and true.

Something beautiful and true... that's really what I want to convey! Thinking now I am reminded that there is so much within me that I want to share but yet want to keep tightly secure, as precious gems. It is true though, my heart is like a treasure box and many gems have been poured in lately. Right now I feel as though I'm running my hands through the loose jewels, letting them trickle down between my fingers into the pile. This started out with each gem making up but a mass of color. However, as I write, these little pieces have become less overwhelming as a whole and more intricately precious as individual pieces. Now I need to sort through them, pick each one up and cherish it, and then appreciate the beautiful mosaic they are needed as a whole to create. Mosaic in a treasure box? Mmm..... oh yes.

That resounds within me. Yes, it is a beautiful mosaic and when I step so closely to it I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the intricate pieces. Making out the picture at this point is not necessary, the gems themselves are a delight and joy to behold. The gems take on a whole new value of worth if you move forward and just reach out and touch them, if you just grasp that they are real and tangible. They were poured in separately in some cases, or many together at other times, meshed together as a mass in the box, and then hand-picked so that each specific piece would create a whole new exquisite dimension of beauty. I love this picture they are creating, I love how I cannot pick out what it will be.

Sometimes locating neither the end nor the beginning of a Celtic knot is important, sometimes all you need to do is just start. Start at any point, no matter where on the end/beginning spectrum it is located, and go. I may not be progressing with any discernible pattern or path or even sense, but I've started.

Sometimes you just need to go.

Or type.

Sizzle

I can't help but brag. The Sweet B is hot.

Way hot.

I know I'm smiling in this picture, but really my fingers are on fire.

What a lovely way to burn.

Thank you Tennessee!

It's about time. I thought this day would never come.

Now I'm really looking forward to hearing his platform and stance on Iraq/Iran. Will he step up to the plate? Can we finally have an honest, legitimate, and plausible answer to the war? Mr. Thompson, I'm ready to hand you all the eggs in my basket, don't let me down, you have "President" written all over you; I'd like to see you in my history books. Please, I really want to get excited about this election, be the catalyst!

May 15th My Utmost for His Highest

May 15th.
The HABIT of RISING to the OCCASION

"That ye may know what is the hope of His calling . . ." Ephesians 1:18

Remember what you are saved for - that the Son of God might be manifested in your mortal flesh. Bend the whole energy of your powers to realize your election as a child of God; rise to the occasion every time.

You cannot do anything for your salvation, but you must do something to manifest it, you must work out what God has worked in. Are you working it out with your tongue, and your brain and your nerves? If you are still the same miserable crosspatch, set on your own way, then it is a lie to say that God has saved and sanctified you.
God is the Master Engineer, He allows the difficulties to come in order to see if you can vault over them properly - "By my God have I leaped over a wall." God will never shield you from any of the requirements of a son or daughter of His. Peter says - "Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you." Rise to the occasion; do the thing. It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Him self in your mortal flesh.

May God not find the whine in us any more, but may He find us full of spiritual pluck and athleticism, ready to face anything He brings. We have to exercise ourselves in order that the Son of God may be manifested in our mortal flesh. God never has museums. The only aim of the life is that the Son of God may be manifested, and all dictation to God vanishes. Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others.

My Tornado Dream

I usually look forward to having dreams. Nearly every night I go to bed and pray I get to dream (those other nights I don't think about dreaming, I end up doing so.. go figure). I can remember a few dreams that have filled me with terror, a very heart wrenching dream where I woke up crying, four where I was so moved in the dreams that I could barely keep it together the next day, one dream that has been forever seared in my memory because of the joy in it (in the case I would get Alzheimer's, I wrote it all down), and then there are my tornado dreams.

Call it the curse of the Wicked Witch of the West, bad food, or my mind trying to communicate with me, but I hate tornado dreams. Number one, tornadoes and I have an agreement: They stay in cornfields and wide open spaces (in real life and in dreams), and I don't have to worry about them ravishing through wherever I live, sucking me in and killing all my horses. And family. And friends.

I hate tornadoes.

COSI helped very little. The wind tunnel they use to show how a toothpick can shatter a 2x4 only served to increase my fear, forget toothpicks flying through the air, what about all those 2x4s? Nothing, absolutely nothing, causes me to stop breathing like the sound of tornado sirens or black clouds (yes, I know, green clouds are the ones with the tornado, hush). It's uncanny though, this past fall Columbus had several "funnel clouds" come right around Westerville and where was I? On the balcony, trying to figure out where they were. I had the tv on in the living room with the weatherman urging everyone to seek shelter away from windows, preferably in their basement or bathroom, and there I stood, outside, just eagerly waiting for some action. I think the thing with that occasion was the fact I had only 25 feet between the bathroom and I, so safety was right within my reach.

Right, on to this particular dream. (keep in mind I'm still terrified of tornadoes- in case you missed that)


For some reason I was lined up in a parking lot along a street festival, maybe a car show (#1, what the heck? A car show?), and the tornadoes were just sweeping through the festival at will. My MG sat lined up with the rest of the cars facing the street. At some point my row of cars and everyone in them nearly got swiped away. In the next scene I got a glimpse of the makeshift rescue station and everyone in the cars next to mine and I had our pictures posted on this board with the letters MIA boldly placed above. I instinctively knew that we were being worried over and mourned and knowing that I wasn't hurt at all made me happy and eager to share the news, for some reason however, I couldn't. I managed to survive that particular tornado by putting my car in reverse and backing up just in time. After it passed I moved forward into my spot again. At some point I remember making communication with the people around me and possibly my family, but we weren't allowed to leave our spaces.

Then, at the tail end of my dream and the very end of the storm, this huge F5 tornado came directly at me from the left and while I was trying desperately to get my car to move, it picked up my car and I inside it. Fear instantly raced through me and I covered my face as the B and I were swept around this tornado. It was dark gray inside and sounded as though a million freight trains were driving this monster. While this is all happening, I am still remembering that I might be impaled at any moment by a toothpick, 2x4, or telephone pole, yet at no point did anything strike the car or hit me. I distinctly remember being absolutely terrified and crying out to God to save me. At no point though, did I feel as though He assured me that it would turn out alright. I would hope that being a Christian, I would trust Him even as I face death; this was not the case. While I begged Him to save my life and my car (I guess I really love my car!) peace seemed to evade and even avoid me. "God, God, please," I cried over and over, even shouting to be heard above the roar. I thought of death and knew that I would be with Him should I die, yet no trust or peace filled me. I still remained stricken with terror. I knew, my mind told me so, that He was there, but if His presence was, I felt it not. Desperately I wanted Him to hold me, to soothe my worried heart, and to take care of helpless and hopeless me. I feared surviving this tornado and then plummeting to earth and being shattered to pieces. Terror filled my soul and I wept.

Then, suddenly, my car was slowly eased to earth and came to a stop, hovering inches above the land. I stepped out lightly from the B, my bare foot landing on a cushion even before the car had touched ground. All was well.

End dream.

It seems to me as though I am walking on water right now with my spiritual eyes firmly fixed upon Him. In this test of faith I do not question His existence or desire for me, I am just learning to keep walking, to rest assured that He will provide. This, I believe, is quickly becoming my first real test of Faith: While I may not see Him or feel His presence, I know that I must keep walking, that I can keep walking, and that He will do all that He needs to when His perfect will so determines. This is my tornado.

National Expansion

A little over two weeks ago I went up in the St. Louis Arch, formally dedicated as "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial." As fantastic as the view is from the top (at 630 feet tall), I found myself more in awe of what is below the arch, the "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial Museum." I love museums. Nothing fascinates me more than to wander around a museum and peering into the portholes of time, catching little snapshots of history; the time before me.

The Gateway Arch's museum is very well constructed. A bit confusing because although there existed a definite trail to follow through history, the period displays were scattered around their respective time, one needed more time than I had to fully appreciate the quality of material culture this museum contains. Displayed properly, as this museum exemplified, material culture and the historical descriptions can be very captivating. Many times artifacts are set out with minimal explanations to give context to the object; most times a description is all that accompanies the material and one is left to fill in vast gaps with an (usually incorrect) idea of the importance and necessity of the object. I felt like a kid in the candy store, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at nearly everything, so much to read, so much to see! I'm pretty sure Brandine and Cricket had about enough of wandering around, so I didn't get to spend nearly enough time there.

Inspiration to dive more into American History did find a place within me (I've mostly concentrated on European happenings) and I'm eager to delve back into my native history. As we were leaving I happened upon this quote, which left me speechless and still.

"At the rate of progress since 1800, every American who lived into the year 2000 would know how to control unlimited power....To him the 19th century would stand on the same plane as the 4th - equally childlike - and he would only wonder how both of them, knowing so little, and so weak in force, should have done so much." Henry Adams, 1907

Would that I could hear his thoughts now.

What will be my "so much"?

This is why I love my Jax.

My 10 year old Jack Russell Terrier, Jax, is quite possibly the greatest chap, err, dog, that has ever graced this earth. He's accompanied me on long 4 hour horseback rides, sat on my lap as I've driven the horse-trailer hours to and from events, kept my bed warm (and taken up 3/4 of it) during the winter, and when it storms outside he's right beside me. Every time I come home, he props his paws on my lap and begs for my attention, giving no heed to whomever else may call his name. To him, I am numero uno. The big cheese. The Mac. The Queen B. I am his and he couldn't be any happier to be mine.

My Jax couldn't care less about the others who inhabit his abode (oh yes, he reigns supreme in the Wakefield house. Our Great Dane is his serf) when I'm around. All others can just "sod off" when there's an opportunity to bask in the glory that is me.

Well, so he says.

When my ol' Pops first brought him home, the poor pup was so terrified that he scurried up to my room and sought refuge on my bed. He was, and is still, the most adorable pup that I have ever seen. I just patted his little head and scooped him up next to me and we've been BFF from that moment on. We even eat our meals together. Just don't tell my good parents, I still think they believe I inhale all my food more quickly than my brothers. Tee hee. Ok, so they may be on to me... I mean, every time we sit down for dinner, Jax takes his proper place right by my seat, hidden slightly by the corner of the table. Usually I can slyly flick the morsel down or, if the timing is just right, I just casually drop my hand down and he'll get it. Not that I condone begging, but when it's Jax, you just can't resist those big brown puppy-dog eyes. I'm a sucker for those eyes. They just plead with me, "Sarah, love me, feed me. Feeding is love. Look deep into my eyes, don't you remember the memories we have together? All those evenings of playing fetch, how I never once tired from showing you how fast I could run, how I always let you throw that stick (insert a jaunty little wag of the tail). Remember how I've always let you rub my tummy, are you forgetting how I've always followed and protected you, I could be gone tomorrow! (his eyes flicker back to my plate) Mmm, roast beef tonight aye?"

When I come home and sit on our porch, he will yip and yelp (ever politely, he is a gentleman) until he finds me, then he'll plop down beside me and try to mesmerize me into obliging him with a long belly rub. It used to be that if I went out to the barn, he would go too. If I headed down to the woods, he would be right beside me, happily searching out any pesky woodland creatures that my disturb my trek. Now he moves more slowly and carefully, knowing that he cannot be with me like in the old days. It's still fun though to walk up and down the stairs, the little pitter-patter of his feet following me as he climbs behind me. As soon as I pull in the drive, he's right by my door, eagerly awaiting me, ever the proper host. If he's in the house being held captive by my conniving siblings, all I have to do is holler "JAX!" and he comes running. He is precious.

So, anyway, there's a reason for this post. Here is a prime example of why I love my Jax so much. This little fella exhibited all those characteristics which make up a true Jack Russell. (FYI, I am only particular to Jacks because of my Jack, I know there are plenty of other members of the canine species that do the dog justice, I just happen to have the best.)

My Utmost For His Highest

(The following is an excerpt from My Utmost For His Highest, Oswald Chambers.)

May 1st.

INSIGHT NOT EMOTION

"I have to lead my life in faith, without seeing Him." 2 Corinthians 5:7 (MOFFATT)

For a time we are conscious of God's attentions, then, when God begins to use us in His enterprises, we take on a pathetic look and talk of the trials and the difficulties, and all the time God is trying to make us do our duty as obscure people. None of us would be obscure spiritually if we could help it. Can we do our duty when God has shut up heaven? Some of us always want to be illuminated saints with golden babes and the flush of inspiration, and to have the saints of God dealing with us all the time. A gilt-edged saint is no good, he is abnormal, unfit for daily life, and altogether unlike God. We are here as men and women, not as half-fledged angels, to do the work of the world, and to do it with an infinitely greater power to stand the turmoil because we have been born from above.

If we try to re-introduce the rare moments of inspiration, it is a sign that it is not God we want. We are making a fetish of the moments when God did come and speak, and insisting that He must do it again; whereas what God wants us to do is to "walk by faith." How many of us have laid ourselves by, as it were, and said - "I cannot do any more until God appears to me." He never will, and without any inspiration, without any sudden touch of God, we will have to get up. Then comes the surprise - "Why, He was there all the time, and I never knew it!" Never live for the rare moments, they are surprises. God will give us touches of inspiration when He sees we are not in danger of being led away by them. We must never make our moments of inspiration our standard; our standard is our duty

The Time is Near!

If this happens a third time, I'll know it’s a full fledged conspiracy. For the second day in a row I left my deliciously healthy lunch at home. Yes, twice.

It was the same lunch.

Carrots, purple (seedless) grapes, and a (the greatest sandwich in all the world) peanut butter and honey on whole wheat. Doesn’t that just scream, “Healthy food, right here, delicious and nutritious!”? Oh, but it does.

Too bad I left the same lunch on the same counter two days in a row. How the hell am I supposed to be eating healthy when my carefully and deliberately made lunch refuses to join me at noontime? Heck yes I’m ticked! I’m trying to get ready for swimsuit season, to run multiple 5ks, a 10k, a 10 miler, a half-marathon, and hopefully a marathon in October. I can’t do that when I don’t have a flippin’ lunch!

It’s definitely a conspiracy! How else would you explain the absence of my lunch? I believe it to be the scouting party for the FVBEPM (funded in part by the CACFACU National Alliance-Chickens against the Chick-Fil-A Cattle Union*) -Fruits and Veggies Board to Explore the Possibility of a Mutiny. When you forget your lunch too, you’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. Sure you think, it’s only a small bag of carrots and a cupful of grapes, what’s the harm in them staying at home? Well my good people, you’re hearing it right now, these small uneaten doses of healthy nutritious goodness are operating on a small scale. Next it will be at potlucks, bbq’s, and holiday get-togethers. Then they’ll try to broaden their scope, refusing to be dished out at restaurants, encouraging the digestion of sweets, delicacies, and (gasp) “junk food.” (For the record I have nothing against junk food, but it took me 6 years to regain control over Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies, Sour Cream and Onion chips, and refrigerated cookie dough. I'm not about to lose this fight.)

Again, I’m getting a sense that you all are a bit incredulous. If we die because our arteries all clog up and kill us, you can all go down knowing I was right. What better way for veggies and fruits to survive if we are all gone!? Herbivores unite! Let us stock up on our ginko biloba, ginseng, and vitamins and remember our lunches!

On a more serious note though, while I won't say I have an eating problem (truly, I love, love, love, love, love food), for all of college I did struggle with my weight. Each time I groaned about the fit of pants or the number on the scale, my mom would urge me to, "Wait until you're out of college honey, it's just the stress." And she was right. My metabolism has levelled and I'm not packing on the pounds like before. However, I'm now an avid fan of running. As I've mentioned before, I'm definitely not athletically inclined (I do dabble a wee bit in casual flings with volleyball, softball, soccer, racquetball, and..um.. Frisbee), so now that I've really stepped up the pace (chuckle) with running, I'm super excited! I'm actually running. I can actually say that running 3 miles is an easy run! For once I have something to take pride in (plus I even give the appearance that I do for the most part) and when the nurse takes my heartbeat, I can respond to it's slow and steady thumpa-thump that, "Yeah, I run." AND NOW SOME BACKSTABBING VEGGIES ARE RUINING MY LIFE!

Over dramatic? Melodramatic? Bah. A little frustrated that I want to up the ante on my physical tone and endurance and stupid little murderous plants are foiling the product of my blood, sweat, and tears (oh yes, there has been blood and tears)? You'd better believe it.

Just for that I did remember my lunch today and I packed twice as many carrots and grapes as usual. Vengeance baby.



*Yes, I believe there is a direct correlation between the CACFACU and SNAFU/FUBAR)

Jim takes on Dwight. Woot!

Must love "The Office." On a serious note though (hmm, serious and The Office... that's an interesting thought) the acting here is just really great. It's amazing to me how well Jim impersonates Dwight. Now that is getting into character.

Dum-Dums

The mailman brought me a Dum-Dum(R) today, a cherry cola Dum-Dum(R). We have a great government-postal service and client relationship. Everyday around noontime he trots on in with the mail, delivering numerous surveys and misc mail paraphernalia and most days I'm sitting here at the desk, ready to recieve "The Bundle."

Actually, he's a really jocular mailman. He seems to find something to pick on me about everyday. Typically it's something to do with my hair or my dress. Right, the mailman, picking on what I look like! Two things though:

1. My hair is of the curly/messy wave tress-type. This means that the time spent on my hair in the morning is less than the time I spend brushing my teeth. I frankly just don't care sometimes. Most times I just pop out of the shower, put some "product" (aka gel/mousse), run a comb through it and leave. Three options for "doing" my hair exist. The ponytail (low or high), the braid (French or single), or just letting it rest in whatever curly/wavy state it may be in.
2. We have a very low key office environment. When I first started here, I dressed business everyday. The problem was that no one else did. By dressing business everyday, (ok, biz casual) I created a division between myself and the others. In essence I gave off the vibe that I was "better" than them, more sophisticated, and much more serious. This lasted maybe a month. I gave in to my co-workers passive aggressive dressing tendencies and have now joined the ranks of the jeans and hoodie wearing mob. I would like to point out though that I do dress biz cas quite a bit... usually... like once a week.. or semi-monthly.

The mailman does not agree with me. Everyday it's the same thing (unless he catches me on my semi-monthly biz cas day), "Gosh, look at you, what is this?" Essentially he means I'm a mess. When I do manage to braid my hair or put it up, I get the following, "Well finally! It's about time you started looking like you're working! Now all you have to do is dress like it!"

When I manage to put on some dress pants or a button down top, I get this, "See, now you're talking, now it really looks like you're doing something... except you're goofing off on the Internet. Gosh, what do they pay you for?!" And then he has the audacity to question mail I'm sending out!

Today though, Mr. Postman brought me a Dum-Dum(R). I think it's really neat that in some precious way, he is trying to do his best to make sure I'm doing my best.

I think I'll wear my hoodie tomorrow. Rebel me.