love is a mixed tape

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i have a 25 minute drive home from work. not too long, just the exact right amount of time to really get into a mixed cd. to let the songs wash over me, free me of deadline-induced stress and coffee-induced anxiety.

yesterday was one of those days. i was driving on the highway, with dusk chasing me outside my window. the air was arctic outside, but my heater was on at my toes, and i was enveloped in my pea coat and scarf. then, i looked up.

the sky was baby pink with swirls of iris. the setting sun gave off a full-sky glow as it sank, illuminating the colors and deepening their brilliance. it was magnificent. the kind of beautiful you want your sunsets to be.

and my mixed cd was playing iron and wine's "passing afternoon." the sunset's magic was intensified. peace and serenity were restored in my weary heart. and i was reminded. of the power of music. to restore, humor, lighten and soothe. to conjure up old memories and heal new hurts.

so i began to think. of the songs that mean the most to me. and i came up with this playlist. now, it should be noted these are iconic songs in my life right now. if i would have made a playlist 10 years ago, it would have included such gems as "jumpin' jumpin'" by destiny's child and "story of a girl" by nine days. both great songs. both should remain circa the year 2000.

so please take a listen:

1.florida: patty griffin. my former co-worker ellie used to listen to patty while we worked on proposals. ellie is the kind of girl you always want to be. she's elegant, kind-hearted and has the sweetest speaking voice. this song reminds me of her, and of my first real job. in my first real office. with my first real co-worker. later, robert and i put this song on one of our favorite mixed cds, and have played it so.many.times in the car since.


2. la cienega just smiled: ryan adams. because ryan adams songs make me feel melancholy in a strangely pleasant way. because this song is haunting and gorgeous. because a few months ago, i went to los angeles and stood at the top of la cienega boulevard and thought about these lyrics.


3. passing afternoon: iron and wine. this is my all-time favorite song. similar to the way i remember where i was when i learned princess diana, JFK jr, heath ledger, and michael jackson died, i remember exactly what i was doing when this song first came on. i was studying with robert. in the secret space behind the book stacks in the library. the clandestine room with leather chairs that only cool kids knew about. this song encapsulates my college years. i love it for this line alone: "there are things that drift away, like our endless, numbered days."


4. california: joni mitchell. i played this as robert and i crossed over the california state line on our road trip a few months ago. with the windows down on our rental car and my bare feet hanging out the window, i threw my hands in the air and robert laid on the horn. i've never felt more alive.


5. cape canaveral: conor oberst. our first road trip as a married couple was to myrtle beach. nothing fancy, especially not in the middle of winter, when we sneaked there for our valentine's day getaway. i played this song on the way down, in the middle of the night after the circus. we had learned all the words by the time we arrived, we played it so many times. this song reminds me of that sweet, nerve-wracking feeling of being on the cusp of something great. we were just starting out and getting our toes wet together, and this song was the beginning.


6. so-so: brooke waggoner. this is one of my little brother's favorite artists. i took him to brooke's concert once, but we got there late and almost missed the entire show. we didn't even get to see her perform this song. this one reminds me of clint, and his incredible zest for life and excellent taste in music. all the concerts we've traveled to together, and all the unexpected fun we've had.


7. shape of a heart: jackson browne. i played this the first autumn we got pablo. i remember dancing in the kitchen in my socks, with his furry body in my arms, tail dangling against my stomach. still unsure how to hold him, still awkwardly wrapping my arms around his torso. we danced together to this song and in the course of those three minutes, i became a mama.


8. the book of right-ON: joanna newsom. see #6. we made the concert this time, in asheville. thanks, clint!


9. something good this way comes: jakob dylan. jakob has had my heart since the wallflowers sang "one headlight." there's something so distinctively beautiful about his voice. so different from his father's, but with that same gorgeous gravel. i also played this song on our first road trip to the beach. it reminds me of salty air, ferry rides, and dinner boat cruises.


10. clean getaway: maria taylor. because the honesty in her voice is heartbreaking. simple as that.


so there you have it! enjoy. i hope these songs bring as much comfort and happiness to your day as they have brought to my 20s. i love how songs are soundtracks, as corny as that may sound. when you can't go back in time, at least you can press rewind.

rest for the weary

i never liked taking naps.

in kindergarten, we had a designated nap time. each of us had our padded mats. mine was cherry red on one side and royal blue on the other. like the underside of a pillow on a balmy summer night, one side of the mat was always cooler, pressing softly against the concrete floor.

but while all the other kids were slumbering for that blissful hour or so, i was wide awake. i tell you, i could not have been more alert if my life had depended on it. as soon as the lights dimmed and the shuffling of little feet began, my mind would start to race. not in the frantic, worried way it does now, late at night when i'm the only one awake, but just race with excitement. with the idea that i was the only one in the room who wasn't asleep. i felt responsible. i felt like i should be doing something. i felt too keenly aware of my surroundings.  i think it has a large part to do with my stutter. even back then, i was a bundle of nervous energy.

and this pattern of not napping continued. my friends would go home and take naps after school. occupied with cheerleading and homework, that thought never entered my mind. but it wasn't because i didn't want to, didn't long to. i watched in envy as my father napped on lazy sunday afternoons. he'd lay across the living room floor, a sunbeam tickling his forehead. i would be on the computer, typing away at microsoft encarta.

then i met robert, and everything changed.

in our seven years together, he has taught me much. how to change a tire. how to appreciate the dave matthews band, pearl jam and ben folds. how to love unconditionally and honestly keep no record of wrongs. and, most importantly, how to relax, and, specifically, how to nap.

robert takes the most excellent naps. it takes him all of .5 seconds to fall asleep, and once he does, he immediately enters this deep, delicious rest, no matter how long the respite. it's a work of art, really, how his arms slide over his head, his chin tilts to the left and his lips part just slightly, letting out a slow, controlled collection of sighs.

through him, i have learned to appreciate the indulgence of rest. we are humans, not machines. i think it is such a lovely fact that our bodies aren't designed to go nonstop. we absolutely have to sleep. so why not make the most of it? our bedroom is tiny, with white walls and two doors that make way too much noise. there's a shed light right outside our window that flickers on at the slightest breeze. pablo is routinely at my feet, spinning around and pawing the covers. but we make it a point to rest in that space. we have a king bed, soft sheets and heavy blankets. i have a heating pad, velvety socks and a well-loved pillowcase. and it's home.

so i urge you, indulge in what makes you feel rested. you'll be infinitely more prepared to take on the day. everything will get done in due time-rushing typically only slows the process. it might mean leaving those last few dishes in the sink. that extra pile of laundry in the hamper. that glow of the laptop at midnight, beckoning you to check your e-mail. because rest--good, solid, sweet sleep, is the backbone of living, playing and working. you can't have one without the other. i've learned this. it seems robert's teachings have also affected another member of the family:

you don't have to take a nap every day, but letting go is such a freeing, beautiful feeling. when i realized i simply can't do it all, it all became more manageable. so try it. linger a bit longer in the bathtub than usual. heck, just take.a.bath. with the days getting shorter and darkness creeping in earlier, relish in these days, and enjoy earlier bedtimes. because you need it. your body craves it. and chances are, you deserve it.

a mustard seed

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 "I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you." -Matthew 17:20

From behind my desk, I watched the clock strike 6:30 p.m. My boss and I were some of the only employees left in the building. We had been working painstakingly since 8 a.m. on a big proposal that, if won, could mean great things for our company. For more than 10 hours, we had hole punched, typed, edited and formatted until the project was complete. The only problem? We were in North Carolina and it had to arrive in Georgia by the next afternoon. We had to deliver it via FedEx. In our area, the last delivery time is typically no later than 6:30 p.m.

We browsed the Internet until we found a self-serve drop box nearby that was open until 7:00. We had less than half an hour. My boss hurriedly scribbled the address on a sticky note. In my haste to get out the door, it fell to the floor and was locked behind me. "Lewis!" I yelled across the parking lot. "What was the address again?" He hesitated for a moment, then yelled back "7027 Albert Pick Road!" With a broken GPS and a terrible sense of direction, I headed toward where I thought the road was. As I drove, I began to pray, Lord I'm not sure where I'm going. This is all riding on me now. Please help me find this place.

To my great surprise, I found the road on my first try. However, my satisfaction quickly dwindled when I looked around me. The road was home to a huge business park. Dozens of office buildings lined its side streets, each with its address hidden behind towering shade trees. The place was empty, as most of its businesses shut down at 5:00. Dodging roundabouts and merging lanes, I entered from the east side. Almost immediately, I found Building 7027. I had less than 10 minutes to go but was feeling pretty confident. Then, I circled the building five times. No drop box in sight.

I swerved in the vacant parking lot and desperately ran up to the door. Locked and dark inside. With less than five minutes to go, I hopped in my car and started the long, sad process of giving up. I searched on my phone for other local FedEx offices, telling myself that this was hopeless. I prayed again. Lord. We have worked so hard on this. Please help me find the drop box! All of a sudden, I looked up. A light went on in a building across the park. A completely random, unmarked building. It was the only lighted building as far as I could see. I thought to myself, if there are lights on, maybe there will be someone in there who can point in the right direction. Immediately, I drove over, ran up to the front door, package in tow, and found that it opened into a vast lobby with nothing but elevators on both sides.

One woman was exiting the lobby from the other side. "Excuse me!" I yelled, but she walked out the door without stopping. Confused and lost, I started to walk back to my car when something caught my eye. There was a little room off to the right, no larger than an office cubicle. As I entered it, my heart leapt. There, nestled in the tiniest of spaces, was the drop box, with a bold, beautiful sign that said "Today's Delivery has NOT Occurred Yet." Tears of relief and thanksgiving welled up in my eyes.


The proposal was successfully delivered that afternoon. I quickly put it in the box and slammed the lid, but not before placing my shaking hand on the cool metal and saying a prayer of gratitude to the Great Deliverer Himself.
 -----
faith comes in all forms and is a pivotal part of many religions. for me, it is belief in things unseen and a hope for my future. it doesn't always come in such a grand way as i experienced that day. sometimes it's a shout, yes. but most of the time, it's simply a whisper. a soft echoing into my soul that speaks peace to my being. it comes in the kitchen, when i'm preparing supper after a long day. in the bedroom, when i'm on my knees in prayer late at night. in the conference room, as my shaking hands grasp presentation papers. and through it, i feel Christ assure me. lead me.


this was a story about faith. an aha moment in my spiritual walk. a tangible, loud confirmation of the power of prayer. but more often than not, faith is a quiet space. it is finding the power to believe in those moments between the ahas,  in the deep, dark crevices of life and the lowest of devastating wells, that faith truly finds its foothold, and its power to move mountains. and i'm so thankful it does. because sometimes, that's all i can muster. the faith of a mustard seed. but sometimes, that's all it takes.

finding the good.

you tell them-we've all got meanness in us, but we've got goodness too. and the only thing worth living for is the good.

-where the heart is

while leaving the post office yesterday, i walked behind a woman. she in her navy slacks and blazer. me in my peacoat and scarf. my steps matched hers on the cold cement floor, both of us making a racket in our high heels, like angry ladybugs flickering over a light bulb.

and i knew she saw me. felt my presence behind her, as much as i felt the presence of the man behind me, walking slower than us, falling a few steps behind.

so it came as a surprise when she opened the door and let its heavy weight sling back in my face, not pausing or looking behind her. talking on her cell phone and hurrying to her sedan. in her defense, perhaps i'm wrong and she didn't see me, in which case my emotions were totally unmerited. but in that moment, with my lunch hour almost over and my chilly hands stuffed into my pockets, i felt my heart sink. i backed away quickly enough to avoid any impact. but what an impact it made.

i turned and held the door for the man behind me and was rewarded with his gentle half-smile. he was older, much older and was taking his time getting to his car. i waited while he shuffled to the exit.

and i realized that humans are humans. we make mistakes. we are forgetful, jealous, rude and unkind at times. but we're good too. and like natalie portman so beautiful narrarates to ashley judd, that's the only part that's worth anything at all.

so yesterday evening, while christmas shopping with robert, i looked for it. the good, that is.

and i found it.

in the bald man ringing the salvation army bell outside the grocery store, wind rippling at his jeans. in his smile and friendly "have a blessed day."

in the sweet woman behind the sushi counter who giggled when i said we didn't know how to use chopsticks. the way she piled extra forks and knives on our plates as if to make up for our lack of skills.

in the store clerk passing out fresh cranberry oatmeal cookies while we shopped. in her unassuming red sweater and black slacks, begging us to try one, explaining how they were freshly baked.

in my kind neighbor. paralyzed from the waist down and lying in bed for two years. her overwhelming gratitude for my notary services. talking about the importance of coupons, sharing the love of Christ with me through her eyes.

in my mama, greeting me this evening with more brightly colored tights and a new oreo dessert. making her home a place i want to come back to, again and again.

there's so much good--so much beauty--in this world, that i sometimes don't know what to do with it all. so i do what i can. i gather it up and spread it. some of it i keep in my heart for times like today. when people slam the door in my face. when people disappoint and hurt me, or worse-when i hurt others. it's my own little cushion from life's hard blows.

it's just that simple. trust in the kindness of people. there are certainly some rotten ones out there, but unlike apples, a few can't spoil the bunch. because the bunch is inheritently, totally,

beautifully.

good.

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learning to listen

it hit me around 11:30 one balmy august night.
my eyes burning with fatigue and the reflections of car lights on the highway, i drug myself over the side porch and into my home. there was robert, sitting patiently on the couch, the couch that used to be imprinted with my shape too. the cushions molding to our relaxing bodies as we watched mindless television, not so mindless of each other's comforting, sweet presence.

and there was pablo. eyes half closed, perched up on his favorite pillow. one paw under his chin. looking so bored and lifeless. in the split seconds before they felt my footsteps on the wood floor and heard the squeaky door fall behind me, i watched them. and i longed for them.


i had been pursuing my master's degree in raleigh, north carolina at a university two hours away. the university i followed robert to, where i spent my undergraduate years with my nose in the books, heart in the future.


life was good there. i learned about the importance of internships, the kindness of quiet professors, and which hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the campus street had the best late-night pizza.


but going back was a different story. the same gentle teachers. the same bleach white halls and freezing cold classrooms. the same courtyard near my favorite english building,with its sweet-smelling trees that dropped their blooms on the sidewalk every spring.


but something had changed. in me. the campus was two hours away--one way. that equaled eight hours of driving a week. and some people might love that. for some, the act of driving is freeing and wonderful, like a movie escape with a radio soundtrack.


however, i had already had a taste of life outside of college. a life of early evening suppers on the back deck and a 10-ish bedtime. of savoring my life outside of work and truly looking forward to my nights.


so, to come home near midnight with the realization that life had happened--real, exciting, sweet life--while i was listening to delilah on the radio or trying to follow along to an audiobook, just broke my heart. i would come home to a clean house, folded laundry and a tired, lonely husband. my family had eaten with nanno without me. my sweet grandpa sat beside an empty chair.


so, two semesters in, i started praying. and i felt the Holy Spirit intercede in my heart stronger than I ever have in my life. never before has something been laid so heavily on my soul.


the morning after that lonely night, i made a decision.


i quit and for a split second i felt bad about it.


but then that guilt was replaced by the most freeing, exhilarating emotion. i can't even describe it. i woke up early that morning and went outside to my front porch swing. with my bare feet dangling onto the cool bricks, i called mama, knowing she'd be awake. i poured out my heart to her and told her of my decision. and like a good mama (and Lord knows, i have a good mama), she understood, cementing my decision.


that was a wednesday. on friday, i applied to johns hopkins.


three weeks later, i was accepted. to the university's first m.a. in communication program completely online. that is correct. not only do i not have to drive eight hours a week anymore, i don't even have to leave my desk at home, with its cherry red paint and tin pail of my favorite books.


all because i listened. to that voice inside me. and whether you call it the Holy Spirit or jiminny cricket, it is powerful.


so i urge you, please listen to yours. it is tiny, but if it goes unanswered, it will grow and before long, it is all-consuming. i am infinitely happier and more at peace with life now. my nights are spent loving on a husband and puppy, and i don't feel like i sacrificed anything at all. if anything, i have been given so much in return.


i used to think the perfect education would make me happy. that having that degree by 23 would somehow change something within me. but tonight would have been a school night. and i have plans to go christmas shopping with robert. to stop by and see mama and dad and hear about their day, and hopefully--yes, hopefully--get in bed by 10. such a different world than before, but so.much.better. {for me}.


and like a hot shower on goosebumped skin, it warms me from the inside out. because i get to spend my days with these folks:

and that little voice makes me want to shout with happiness.

glory days.

"i always wanted to be on a sports team like that. i'm not exactly sure why, but i always thought it would be fun to have 'glory days.' then i would have stories to tell my children and golf buddies. maybe these are my glory days and i'm not even realizing it because they don't involve a ball. "

-the perks of being a wallflower

i was halfway through reading this book when it hit me.

maybe these are my glory days and i'm not even realizing it.

because they don't involve my own home.

they don't involve babies.

they don't involve the perfect career.

they don't involve a master's degree {yet}.

they don't involve a cure for my stutter.

but that's ok.

because these are my glory days. and i refuse to let another precious one slip by without grasping it. holding onto it and relishing it. one day these days will only be a memory.

whatever preconceived ideal our "glory days" seem to lack, makes them that much more glorious. because they're ours. and what a sad thought to think that mine might pass me by while i'm out looking for what it is i'm supposed to have, when everything i need is right.in.front.of.me.  

but comparison is hard. and easy to fall into. i'm a daily victim. so, even if just for today, i'll try to focus on what makes my life glorious.

today it was listening to pearl jam on my way to work, chasing the sunrise. the surprise blueberry muffins my co-worker brought in. the sleepy kiss from robert on my way out the door. pablo's cold nose on my warm cheek.

love. that pretty much sums it up. love.

my best laid plans slipped right through my hands

this is a post about good intentions thwarted. about how sometimes, no matter how methodical and planned are the events that shape our lives, chaos can sneak in. disappointment and heartache can rear their ugly heads. but sometimes--just sometimes--our plans can change for the better, opening us up to new ideas and experiences that our carefully-penciled-in-life might have missed.

i bought my pansies on veteran's day.

on that cool november afternoon, i packed pablo in the car and took myself to wal-mart, perusing the greenhouse-guarded plants with care. i wanted a hearty, strong flower, one that was accustomed to, and thrived in, the cold. i remembered mama telling me that pansies were one of the only flowers that could withstand cold temperatures. i thought to myself, hmm. that's a bit ironic, given their name.

so i picked out the largest bucket of pansies available, being sure to select the one that still had many unopened buds, so i could watch it bloom. when i got home, i divided the bucket into two little pots to hang from the lamp post outside our cottage. and i loved them.

call me crazy, but i get so much enjoyment out of taking care of flowers. i think it stems from my nurturing side, but every morning, i would get up and drag my sleepy self into the cold of the sunrise. watering pail in hand, i would gently soak their soil, excited about seeing their little blooms perked up in the daylight when i got home from work. and they always were.

but yesterday morning, my good intentions were the cause of a very bad situation. like any other morning, i watered the flowers, then headed off to work.

i came home excited as usual, certain the buds would be stretched toward the sun. but they were not.

they were hanging down, dried and shriveled. i ran out of my car and pressed my fingertip to the soil. hard as a brick. how could this have happened? i wondered. i watered them just this morning.

then i looked down. the water had turned to ice and had essentially frozen the roots of the flowers. it had all but killed them.

i quickly took the flowers off the post and brought them into my warm cottage. oil heat is expensive, but there's nothing quite like flushed wooden floorboards on chilly feet.

i placed them in front of my fireplace and let them thaw overnight. i wish i could tell you that this morning, they were back to normal and perky as ever. but they weren't. they're getting there. the heaviest buds are still drooped over, but the smaller ones have returned to their upright positions and have started opening up again. the ice melted and served as water for them.

sometimes you can't plan life. God taught me this in the form of little butter yellow and black pansies. sometimes it hands you a curveball and it's all you can do to keep your head above water. sometimes what we think is best for our life can choke it--or worse, freeze it in place.

so i'm learning. to be open to change, even though it's probably the one thing i hate more than anything else in this world. to let the natural ebb and flow of my days be a bit more sporatic. and to give it time. to let the ice that sometimes hardens over my life melt. and give way to nourishing water. time heals. people change. and life is unpredictable.

perhaps that's why it's also so gosh-darn beautiful.