***I wrote a lot of haikus while on my Scandinavian Adventure. I seem currently to be treading in the middle of haiku sea. Sometimes I was inspired by what I saw, sometimes by something someone said, sometimes something that happened, sometimes because my mind is just always turning. The following haikus are from Iceland.***
7.14.16—En route to Iceland
Tiny little dot
Moving fast across the sea
Adventure begins
7.15.16—Iceland Day One (Thingvellir National Park, The Geysirs, Gullfoss Waterfall)
This raging water
May be the most beautiful
I have ever seen
Rich diversity
I am beyond overwhelmed
And simply amazed
Volcano erupt
Mold and decorate the land
Green moss, brown boulders
Little grazing sheep
Roam where you may, all over
Just come when I call
Don’t punish the slaves
Swedish law arrests the “Johns”
We should do the same
We need the church. It’s
Not community, rites. It’s
The Body of Christ.
7.16.16—Iceland Day Two (Reykjavik City Tour, Hallgrims Church, The Blue Lagoon)
I know one language
Right now I feel ignorant
Dumb American
It’s a big small world
People everywhere the same
Yet very diff’rent
Middle of nowhere
Floating salty blue lagoon
Happy accident
Very thorough guide
Thank you for information
Communication’s key
Put me on a bus
If I ever need to rest
Natural sleep aid
Words are our weapons
Our people don’t carry guns
These are our heroes
Modesty? No need.
We are all women here. Still,
Where is my towel?
I was fast asleep
I did not mean to hit you
Forgive me, oh please?
Time to go to bed
Morning will come in three hours
It’s quite light outside
(So what)
For the large organ
For the large bells and steeple
For lines of tourists
(No wonder)
Jesus turned tables
People think the church is dead
Few attempt to come
(Church is)
Alive in people
Thriving when God’s Spirit moves
More than large buildings
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Monday, August 15, 2016
Monday, April 20, 2015
On My Knees
When I left my house on Saturday morning, I wasn’t expecting to end up on my knees three times before arriving home that afternoon. But sometimes the thing one least expects is the exact thing that needs to happen.
In Isabelle’s mind, age three, when someone celebrates her birthday, he/she deserves to hear a loud singing of the “Happy Birthday” song. To sing it quietly in a restaurant is not acceptable.
And so…after a delicious birthday lunch honoring my friend Rachel, Isabelle, Angela, Rachel, and I processed into the restaurant’s parking lot for delicious cupcakes and Isabelle’s rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
To help Isabelle voice the song, I bent down so that I was on eye level with her, which meant that we were looking up at Rachel as we sang. It’s amazing how different the world looks—quite literally—when you allow yourself to see it from a different angle.
As I knelt on my knees in the parking lot, I noticed Angela’s back passenger’s side tire. It looked really low. So I got up, walked to the tire, kicked it, and realized that it was very low. Then I got back onto my knees and checked the tire for a nail or other metal impaling object, but I felt nothing. Yet the tire wasn’t safe to drive on for very long, so we made a plan to get to the nearest gas station.
A few minutes later, Rachel led the way, with Angela and Isabelle in the middle, and me following behind. As we processed down the road in our three cars, I thought to myself, “This is a perfect image of what friends do. When one has a need, the others surround her to make sure she is taken care of.”
When we got to the gas station, I once again found myself on my knees—this time putting air into Angela’s tires while once again looking for nails. As I knelt in yet another parking lot and Angela, Isabelle, and Rachel and I talked once again, I couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation. Gravel digging into my knees and all, it was such a uniquely beautiful moment of friendship.
…
Many years ago, I found myself very burdened for the people in my life. I made it a habit to go regularly into my prayer room and spend time in prayer for those for whom I was burdened. I vividly remember one of those prayer sessions when all I could do was cry—and I was crying so deeply and passionately that I literally collapsed onto the bed. As I lay there and wept, feeling completely helpless yet praying for God to hear the prayers in my tears, I suddenly found myself thinking, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.” No. I’m not Jesus. And, no, I wasn’t offering to die for my friends. But I was laying down my life for them—quite literally—prostrate—praying the most fervent prayers that I could pray—loving in the deepest way that I could love.
…
I haven’t been visiting my prayer room recently. Life and work have hijacked my time and transformed my prayers into words and thoughts prayed throughout the day, every day, with pretty much every breath that I take.
But maybe I should start revisiting my prayer room.
And maybe I should hit my knees more often—
Not necessarily to sing Happy Birthday or to check tire pressure in parking lots,
Although those adventures are welcome—
But to offer prayers of safety, hope, courage, and peace
For the people that I so dearly love—
Three-month-olds, three-year-olds, and 93-year-olds alike.
Join me?
In Isabelle’s mind, age three, when someone celebrates her birthday, he/she deserves to hear a loud singing of the “Happy Birthday” song. To sing it quietly in a restaurant is not acceptable.
And so…after a delicious birthday lunch honoring my friend Rachel, Isabelle, Angela, Rachel, and I processed into the restaurant’s parking lot for delicious cupcakes and Isabelle’s rousing rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
To help Isabelle voice the song, I bent down so that I was on eye level with her, which meant that we were looking up at Rachel as we sang. It’s amazing how different the world looks—quite literally—when you allow yourself to see it from a different angle.
As I knelt on my knees in the parking lot, I noticed Angela’s back passenger’s side tire. It looked really low. So I got up, walked to the tire, kicked it, and realized that it was very low. Then I got back onto my knees and checked the tire for a nail or other metal impaling object, but I felt nothing. Yet the tire wasn’t safe to drive on for very long, so we made a plan to get to the nearest gas station.
A few minutes later, Rachel led the way, with Angela and Isabelle in the middle, and me following behind. As we processed down the road in our three cars, I thought to myself, “This is a perfect image of what friends do. When one has a need, the others surround her to make sure she is taken care of.”
When we got to the gas station, I once again found myself on my knees—this time putting air into Angela’s tires while once again looking for nails. As I knelt in yet another parking lot and Angela, Isabelle, and Rachel and I talked once again, I couldn’t help but smile at the whole situation. Gravel digging into my knees and all, it was such a uniquely beautiful moment of friendship.
…
Many years ago, I found myself very burdened for the people in my life. I made it a habit to go regularly into my prayer room and spend time in prayer for those for whom I was burdened. I vividly remember one of those prayer sessions when all I could do was cry—and I was crying so deeply and passionately that I literally collapsed onto the bed. As I lay there and wept, feeling completely helpless yet praying for God to hear the prayers in my tears, I suddenly found myself thinking, “Greater love has no one than this that he lay down his life for his friends.” No. I’m not Jesus. And, no, I wasn’t offering to die for my friends. But I was laying down my life for them—quite literally—prostrate—praying the most fervent prayers that I could pray—loving in the deepest way that I could love.
…
I haven’t been visiting my prayer room recently. Life and work have hijacked my time and transformed my prayers into words and thoughts prayed throughout the day, every day, with pretty much every breath that I take.
But maybe I should start revisiting my prayer room.
And maybe I should hit my knees more often—
Not necessarily to sing Happy Birthday or to check tire pressure in parking lots,
Although those adventures are welcome—
But to offer prayers of safety, hope, courage, and peace
For the people that I so dearly love—
Three-month-olds, three-year-olds, and 93-year-olds alike.
Join me?
Thursday, April 9, 2015
An Odd Spring Break Adventure
It didn’t occur to me that I could have gone out of town for Spring Break until it was too late to make proper plans. So. I’ve spent the week at home.
I rested Monday.
I took an adventure on Tuesday.
I saw a friend and babysat my boy and girl yesterday. We watched “Big Hero Six.” It was very good.
Today I saw two other friends, visited Massage Envy for a massage, and got stranded in Target during a flash flood warning.
And tomorrow I will…I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll do a bit of nothing. [Update: I stayed home all day and cleaned a bit while watching a “Cold Case” marathon. I also finished a puzzle with my mom.]
It’s been a good week. Nothing overly abnormal except for Tuesday’s adventure…which was, hands down, my memorable Spring Break experience.
Those of you who know me well know that leg-shaving is not at the top of my priority list. The way I see it, there are much more important things that I could do with my time. Even reading these sentences, some of you are probably cringing at the thought of hairy legs. Non-hairy legs are the cultural norm for women; it’s what we are expected to show the world. But, truthfully, it doesn’t bother me not to have clean-shaven legs. I’ve even gotten used to the looks that I so often get—the up and down glances and looks of confusion as to why a female would not have clean-shaven legs.
But here’s the deal: it bothers me knowing that my natural legs bother some of the people whom I love.
And so, on Tuesday morning, as I sat in the pedicure chair of my local nail salon, I looked at my natural legs and wondered: Do they wax legs here? It turns out they do.
Spring Break is a time when people tend to spend a lot of money doing things they ordinarily would not do—visit Disney, go on a cruise, rent a house in the mountains or at the shore, redecorate the house, buy a new car.
“I normally wouldn’t wax my legs,” I thought. “It’s nothing I’ve ever done, and it’s likely nothing I’ll do again. What the heck. Let’s do it.” So I did.
As I lay on the table in the little waxing room, feeling the warm wax being gently placed on my skin only to be coldly and harshly ripped away a few moments later, I thought to myself, “Ouch. This sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad.” As I continue to lay on the table in the little waxing room, I further thought to myself, “This is taking just as much time—if not more time—than shaving. Yet. I’m not doing the work. I’m just laying here. Laying here is nice. Except for the frequent hair-ripping that sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad. And my legs should stay non-hairy a bit longer than a regular shave. And that’s good.”
Well over two hours after my leg-waxing adventure began, I left the nail salon with lovely painted toes and hair-free legs. I was one of only two people in the salon when I adventurously agreed to go through with the crazy procedure, but when it came time to actually begin the process, the salon had filled up and the owner was running run back and forth between customers. Right front leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty minutes while the owner did other peoples’ nails. Left front leg, knee down. Right back leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty more minutes. Go buy coffee for me and the nail salon owner. Left back leg, knee down. Then knees. Then done. Thankfully, I had work to do while I waited. And thankfully, I was in a pleasant mood for my Spring Break adventure.
Sometimes life isn’t full of grand vacations to exotic locations. Sometimes work keeps us at home. Sometimes family. Sometimes finances. Sometimes health. But one thing I’ve learned this week is this: There are adventures around us waiting to be had. It could be in rescuing the dog from a thunderstorm at 5:30 in the morning or buying food for the family’s new pet or losing the Easter eggs that you hid in your own backyard or finding a note of encouragement at the bottom of a pile of papers in your really messy office. Whatever they are, there are adventures around us waiting to be had. And who knows…maybe your adventures—like mine—will result in things positive…like clean-shaven legs.
What adventures have you had this week?
I rested Monday.
I took an adventure on Tuesday.
I saw a friend and babysat my boy and girl yesterday. We watched “Big Hero Six.” It was very good.
Today I saw two other friends, visited Massage Envy for a massage, and got stranded in Target during a flash flood warning.
And tomorrow I will…I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll do a bit of nothing. [Update: I stayed home all day and cleaned a bit while watching a “Cold Case” marathon. I also finished a puzzle with my mom.]
It’s been a good week. Nothing overly abnormal except for Tuesday’s adventure…which was, hands down, my memorable Spring Break experience.
Those of you who know me well know that leg-shaving is not at the top of my priority list. The way I see it, there are much more important things that I could do with my time. Even reading these sentences, some of you are probably cringing at the thought of hairy legs. Non-hairy legs are the cultural norm for women; it’s what we are expected to show the world. But, truthfully, it doesn’t bother me not to have clean-shaven legs. I’ve even gotten used to the looks that I so often get—the up and down glances and looks of confusion as to why a female would not have clean-shaven legs.
But here’s the deal: it bothers me knowing that my natural legs bother some of the people whom I love.
And so, on Tuesday morning, as I sat in the pedicure chair of my local nail salon, I looked at my natural legs and wondered: Do they wax legs here? It turns out they do.
Spring Break is a time when people tend to spend a lot of money doing things they ordinarily would not do—visit Disney, go on a cruise, rent a house in the mountains or at the shore, redecorate the house, buy a new car.
“I normally wouldn’t wax my legs,” I thought. “It’s nothing I’ve ever done, and it’s likely nothing I’ll do again. What the heck. Let’s do it.” So I did.
As I lay on the table in the little waxing room, feeling the warm wax being gently placed on my skin only to be coldly and harshly ripped away a few moments later, I thought to myself, “Ouch. This sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad.” As I continue to lay on the table in the little waxing room, I further thought to myself, “This is taking just as much time—if not more time—than shaving. Yet. I’m not doing the work. I’m just laying here. Laying here is nice. Except for the frequent hair-ripping that sort of hurts. But it’s not too bad. And my legs should stay non-hairy a bit longer than a regular shave. And that’s good.”
Well over two hours after my leg-waxing adventure began, I left the nail salon with lovely painted toes and hair-free legs. I was one of only two people in the salon when I adventurously agreed to go through with the crazy procedure, but when it came time to actually begin the process, the salon had filled up and the owner was running run back and forth between customers. Right front leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty minutes while the owner did other peoples’ nails. Left front leg, knee down. Right back leg, knee down. Wait at least thirty more minutes. Go buy coffee for me and the nail salon owner. Left back leg, knee down. Then knees. Then done. Thankfully, I had work to do while I waited. And thankfully, I was in a pleasant mood for my Spring Break adventure.
Sometimes life isn’t full of grand vacations to exotic locations. Sometimes work keeps us at home. Sometimes family. Sometimes finances. Sometimes health. But one thing I’ve learned this week is this: There are adventures around us waiting to be had. It could be in rescuing the dog from a thunderstorm at 5:30 in the morning or buying food for the family’s new pet or losing the Easter eggs that you hid in your own backyard or finding a note of encouragement at the bottom of a pile of papers in your really messy office. Whatever they are, there are adventures around us waiting to be had. And who knows…maybe your adventures—like mine—will result in things positive…like clean-shaven legs.
What adventures have you had this week?
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Need for Speed
My grandmother owns a 1988 Crown Victoria.
Most of the time, the car sleeps in G-mama’s carport.
Occasionally, it is woken up so that it doesn’t fall into a slumber from which it cannot be revived.
Even more occasionally, it is taken for a checkup, fill-up, or spin around the neighborhood.
Today, after knocking down countless telephone poles, running into buildings, crashing into cars, and getting stopped by the police twice, I decided to transfer my “Need for Speed” from the sheik Porsche on the Play Station 3 to the boat-like Ford in the driveway.
My cousin Stephen and I pimped our ride all the way to the gas station where we spent a whopping $2 to fill the tires with air.
Reaching speeds of almost 35 mile per hour, the 1988 Crown Vic provided Stephen and me with a shaky ride through the streets of G-mama’s well-established neighborhood.
Stephen applauded my bravery and unwavering faith in our classic ride, yet he wasn’t ready to test the car’s strength and stamina and take it to the car wash.
Just before my aunt and grandmother became concerned about our whereabouts, Stephen and I navigated the car back into its bed and let it return to sleep.
Call me crazy, but I never doubted that the Crown Vic would get us home safely. The Porsche, though? I’ll be lucky to make it 10 seconds without crashing into a barrier. I guess it’s a good thing that my need for speed is satisfied with a real life adventure of 35 miles per hour.
Most of the time, the car sleeps in G-mama’s carport.
Occasionally, it is woken up so that it doesn’t fall into a slumber from which it cannot be revived.
Even more occasionally, it is taken for a checkup, fill-up, or spin around the neighborhood.
Today, after knocking down countless telephone poles, running into buildings, crashing into cars, and getting stopped by the police twice, I decided to transfer my “Need for Speed” from the sheik Porsche on the Play Station 3 to the boat-like Ford in the driveway.
My cousin Stephen and I pimped our ride all the way to the gas station where we spent a whopping $2 to fill the tires with air.
Reaching speeds of almost 35 mile per hour, the 1988 Crown Vic provided Stephen and me with a shaky ride through the streets of G-mama’s well-established neighborhood.
Stephen applauded my bravery and unwavering faith in our classic ride, yet he wasn’t ready to test the car’s strength and stamina and take it to the car wash.
Just before my aunt and grandmother became concerned about our whereabouts, Stephen and I navigated the car back into its bed and let it return to sleep.
Call me crazy, but I never doubted that the Crown Vic would get us home safely. The Porsche, though? I’ll be lucky to make it 10 seconds without crashing into a barrier. I guess it’s a good thing that my need for speed is satisfied with a real life adventure of 35 miles per hour.
Monday, August 27, 2012
Why I Look Like A Tomato
My staff members say that I look like a cantaloupe instead of a tomato. But I think I look like a tomato—even if I do have on an orange shirt with seed-like holes in it. “Why do you look like a tomato?” you might ask. “Because I went floating on the lake without sunscreen,” I would say. “And I loved it.”
I’ve lived by the lake for two and a half years now, but I hadn’t been into the water until this weekend. Thanks to some adventurous friends who showed up at my apartment and waned to swim in the lake, I finally ventured into her waters…and it was awesome.
Dressed in my orange fish bathing suit and a bright orange life jacket, carrying a lovely blue noodle, I jumped into the lake’s refreshingly cool-warm waters and floated. I can’t float without a floatation device. After trying many, many times and even going through informal floatation lessons, I just can’t get my body to float. My butt sinks. But not with a life jacket and a nooooodle!
I wish that I could adequately describe how I felt floating on the lake yesterday. For someone who is always thinking and connecting one piece of the world to another and for someone who has tremendous difficulties relaxing, I floatingly sank into a place of total rest and peace as I put my complete trust in those floatation devices to keep me in contact with oxygen. I let the water take me where it would. Every once in awhile, a friend would gently grab my arm or leg and steer me back toward the dock so that I didn’t float too far away. But for the most part, it was just me and the water in this lovely, freeing unison of life. One of my friends said that I looked like I was waking up each time I sat up to be social. I said that I’d felt like I was waking up. In those moments, I had been completely relaxed, thinking of nothing but the present, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin, silently praising God for the amazingly beautiful day and experience and the feeling that I was floating on God’s unfailing love. It was like nothing I can describe.
And so…today…I look like a tomato. Or cantaloupe. Either way. I’m a very happy tomato or cantaloupe who is extremely grateful for her apartment on the lake, her wonderful landlords, her adventurous friends, turtles, fish, water, lifejackets, noodles, and sunscreen (even when I don’t use it, get burnt, and end up looking like a tomato).
I’ve lived by the lake for two and a half years now, but I hadn’t been into the water until this weekend. Thanks to some adventurous friends who showed up at my apartment and waned to swim in the lake, I finally ventured into her waters…and it was awesome.
Dressed in my orange fish bathing suit and a bright orange life jacket, carrying a lovely blue noodle, I jumped into the lake’s refreshingly cool-warm waters and floated. I can’t float without a floatation device. After trying many, many times and even going through informal floatation lessons, I just can’t get my body to float. My butt sinks. But not with a life jacket and a nooooodle!
I wish that I could adequately describe how I felt floating on the lake yesterday. For someone who is always thinking and connecting one piece of the world to another and for someone who has tremendous difficulties relaxing, I floatingly sank into a place of total rest and peace as I put my complete trust in those floatation devices to keep me in contact with oxygen. I let the water take me where it would. Every once in awhile, a friend would gently grab my arm or leg and steer me back toward the dock so that I didn’t float too far away. But for the most part, it was just me and the water in this lovely, freeing unison of life. One of my friends said that I looked like I was waking up each time I sat up to be social. I said that I’d felt like I was waking up. In those moments, I had been completely relaxed, thinking of nothing but the present, feeling the sun’s warmth on my skin, silently praising God for the amazingly beautiful day and experience and the feeling that I was floating on God’s unfailing love. It was like nothing I can describe.
And so…today…I look like a tomato. Or cantaloupe. Either way. I’m a very happy tomato or cantaloupe who is extremely grateful for her apartment on the lake, her wonderful landlords, her adventurous friends, turtles, fish, water, lifejackets, noodles, and sunscreen (even when I don’t use it, get burnt, and end up looking like a tomato).
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