The Pale White Wings of a Friggin' Bird

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket--safe, dark, motionless, airless--it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the danger of love is Hell.

Thank you C.S. Lewis.

To give you a concrete example of what I think vulnerability in love happens to entail, I'll tell the following "love" story.

Once upon a time I had a boyfriend named Don. I also had a favorite song named "Hurricane Song". I loved them both equally. (Caveat: I originally loved "Hurricane Song" more, but it was never meant to last. You'll find this song in the upper right hand corner.) Anyway, one day, I was driving in the car with Don when the song came on. And I started to sing along,

"I caught the sound of a distant word
On the pale white wings of a friggin' bird."

Sadly, I didn't get any further than that. I was interrupted with, "Did you just say 'friggin' bird?" followed by spouts of laughter. My thoughts were as follows, "Laugh it up sweetheart, you are SO sleeping on the figurative couch tonight!" but what I really said was, "Yeah." To which he replied, "It's frigate bird! Not friggin' Bird!" Followed by more evil laughter.

Turns out they really do say frigate bird.

Thank you Virginia Coalition.

But frigate birds don't have pale white wings. Do they. No.*
*(I hope you're following my outbursts of raging sarcasm into the cracks of my little broken heart, because indeed, that is from which they stem.)

So what do frigate birds have to do with love? Well..the reason (however silly) I fell in love with "Hurricane Song", was because of the friggin' bird. When it suddenly became frigate bird, I was upset. Even a little brokenhearted. Oh yes. I still sing it my way. I always will. But will it ever give me as much happiness as it used to? I submit that it will not.

Thank you Don.

So...even though we had to wade through the sarcasm to get here, this is what I know of love:

Unless we're open to opportunities for growth inherent in not only love, but every association in life, we unconsciously allow our hearts to remain dormant. Closed. Unable to experience joy. We miss out on the moments that shape us into who we're intended to become.

On the other hand, when we get to a point where we see the value in opening up our hearts, and sing at the top of our lungs, we might just find that we've come to a place outside the fear of tragedy. A place where our circumstances do not determine our choices, and our past no longer dictates our future. Love can only disappear when we let our fear and uncertainty overtake it.

Sure, it might happen that one minute you're singing your heart out, and the next you're having to pick up its pieces. But isn't it beautiful? When its all said and done we come away with different colored shards of experience that, when viewed through the right lens, give us a kaleidoscope of possibilities.

Just Words; Redefining Defeat

There isn’t adequate enough, in the English language, a word describing the way I’m currently feeling. As if… someone meant for it to be that way. The best I know how to convey the calm chaos of emotions (I am very much aware of the blatant contradiction) I'm experiencing is with the word defeated.

I wish that in my dictionary of life, the example sentence would look something like this:
She refused to admit defeat and appealed.

Unfortunately I very much recognize the reality of it as:
She felt defeat like she felt tears; as much in her heart as it was in her eyes.

Defeat. Outside the advantage of personal release, there isn’t a reason to share the details behind its existence in my current life’s vocabulary. However, recognizing the potential, arguably inherent, "greater good" it could serve in my future, holds valuable insight.

Yes. I feel defeat slowly consume me like a plume of smoke.

But even in its midst I am aware of the degree of temporariness it holds. Giving up is what penetrates that limitation and extends it to permanence. And giving up is not something I’m accustomed to.

Yes, there is suffering in life. There are defeats. And no one can avoid them. But it’s better to lose some of the battles in the struggles to define your character than to be defeated without ever knowing who you’re fighting to become. I'm starting to realize that maybe, alternatively to the neglect I feel from my Father in Heaven I am really being loved beyond my capacity to understand. Maybe He has something planned for my life that I hadn't intended for myself. Something dripping with magnanimity. But then.... there still exists that pesky word: Maybe.

Then again............. it is only a word.

Kinda like...
Defeat: The means through which our victories over them, bring us to Him.

And just like that I redefined a word that Encarta would have me believe meant failure. And it's through that redefinition that I came to understand that there is no real defeat in Christ. Not really. Though there seems to exist those fragments of life that feel an awful lot like it, defeat does not equate with failure. True... words like misery, diminishment, and solitude exist separately in each. But the volume at which we suffer is decided by how we choose to respond.

Which brings us to another word. The answer to "How?".
Valiantly.

Because when words like defeat loom over us, as ominous clouds in the sky sometimes do, there must also be those such as these:

Survival.
Resolve.
Defiance.
Recover.


Hope.


Without them… evasion, retreat, and eventual surrender take over and leave you empty; a blackened cloud without the sweet release of precipitation.


Because even in HIS moment of defeat, pleading that the cup be lifted from Him, feeling complete abandonment from HIS Father in Heaven, He suffered valiantly for a greater good.... and was willingly lifted on the cross on a hill in what I imagine, was dripping with a glorious rain.

What else can I say but, "Bring the rain!

...........and then give me a chance to see the sun with new eyes... His eyes."

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And if none of that helps you, when you find yourself in a similar situation, repeating the following works too:

I am not yet as Job. I am not yet as Job. I am not yet as Job. :)

Be Kind To An Idiot Week

There's absolutely no such thing as an idiot without cause.
It doesn't exist.
All stupid people in this world are that way for a reason.

We've all met at least one of them. And most of us believe that those people should be required to wear a sign that says, "I'm stupid". Maybe it would save us a few brain cells.

Well, I have some good news. If you're really observant....and have a great sense of humor... you'll find that they actually exist, and can often times...save. your. life.

For example.
True story.

I live in Utah now. And for those of you who have ever been, you know what I mean when I say that drivers here, exceed the bounds of insane and approach the outer edges of suicidal ineptitude. Well. Sometimes, despite your better efforts, you get caught in a little game I like to call "freeway survivor"... better known as "rush hour". The other day, that was my unfortunality. And it just so happens that I am a not-so-good-at-dealing-with-stupid-people kind of person.

Case in point. I found myself confronted with a little red sports car who believed that he was "above" waiting in traffic, and he displayed that belief by weaving in and out of cars going 110 miles per hour. I then found myself becoming increasingly infuriated with this man. The descriptive words for my stress levels went from Yoga to Ulcer in 0.25 seconds. And then... he cut me off, barely missing my front bumper, causing me to slam on the brake pedal.

Now, normally, at this point in the story, I'd have to be explaining the toll that the anger, stress, malice, and dwelling on the aforementioned emotions took on my otherwise peaceful insides. Instead, I get to explain why that isn't the case!

You see, in swerving in front of me so quickly, I was given an up close view of this man's license plate. And there it was. It may as well have been bright, blinking, and neon ----> Here is an uncensored excerpt from my immediate thoughts, "Oh. Alright. Well that explains things." The mad literally turned into pity. As if my knowing that he was stupid made it alright....even...funny! (Kinda like when you're about to get mad at and then slap the person who just spit on you but then you turn around and realize that person is 4 months old.) He couldn't help it. I smiled the whole way home.

Like I said. All stupid people are that way for a reason. So whether it's the Utah sticker on the back window of their Escalade, the "Support Hilary Clinton" t-shirt, or the Burton snowboard sitting in the corner of their room... Go easy on 'em.
Yes.
Though they populate the vast majority of our once intelligent ecosystem... I say...take it easy.

ATTENTION STUPIDS: I'm feeling extra kind towards you today, so let me give you some advice.

1) B. Y. U.

Tennis Shoes Among the Nerd"ite"

I wanted to share a funny moment I had with Don last night because it just provides insight into what I deal with on a daily basis.......

But first, I have to introduce you to the topic of conversation: Yes, my brand new Steve Madden sandals that I am so proud of and wear every day despite the freezing temperatures and my body's inability to keep my feet warm no matter what time of year it is.


ME "I love my new shoes."

DON "You should go buy another pair."

ME "Huh?"

DON "That's what I did."

pause

ME A more entertained "Huh?"

DON "What.... I didn't want to be sad when the first ones wear out!"


The best part, is you think I'm kidding.....

Silver Gratitude

I've been thinking about it.
They say that stress and trauma can cause gray hair...
In my life, that's something that I choose to believe, because I refuse to believe it's caused by old age. :)

But despite all that, and in spite of the one in charge for making them happen, I feel confident in myself and in my abilities. And even though I need a list to get me there, I'm proud of my accomplishments. I trust that there is a greater good at work in my continued sacrifices to the Lord, and know that as I continue to do my best, everything that happens will be for the best.

And even though it may not make any sense... I think I'm proud of those silver hairs.

I know most of them are in response to my time in Lugazi, I could point out the one that resulted because of Kato and the many that resulted from Alma....

In fact looking back over my life, I realize that it's because of me my mother's hair has gone gray. And it's probably because of all of us that God's head is all white. (I have no doubt that one of them grows specifically in my honor.)
But I don't think they would have it any other way.
And neither would I.

My Holy Eight Ball Wish

Today, I looked in the mirror, and freaked out because I'm old.
Yeah.
I have gray hair.
A lot of it. I'm 22 years old and I have laugh lines.
More importantly, I'm 22 and I'm calling my wrinkles laugh lines.

There are a lot of things about myself that I'm starting to come to grips with.

Like how I think I may be a hypochondriac.
But only when I’m playing Frisbee.

Or how my head is always too hot, and my feet are always too cold.
Which "logically" results in my turning the heater on full blast with the window rolled down.
In the dead of winter. I don't even know why they bothered putting the little guy with an arrow pointed at his head in my car.

I'm obsessively compulsively disordered.....
In all walks of life.

Example: To Do lists. I don't function without them. And what's worse - I become compulsively ecstatic when I get to cross something off.
But you know, I was talking to Dana today, and I think I may have uncovered the most blasphemously inconvenient truth about myself that I've been secretly wishing could happen for a very long time:

I would like to have a sit down with God to discuss some current events or "non-events" in my life.

He has all the answers right? Can't He just pencil me in? Provide insight as to what point exactly I'll stop feeling like the new lead character in A Series of Unfortunate Events?
I mean, will I ever get married? Was it really fair that Murphy violated my right to a "no cat" existence? And why can't I find a job? Huh? Why'd I lose my job in the first place? Maybe He could even explain the whole presidential election thing to me...Really? John McCain and Barack Obama? Really?

I know what you're thinking. Why don't I just try a magic eight ball?
I did.
It wasn't helpful. I swear even the eight ball Gods are against me.

The Cat in the Hat (Or More Like My Bedroom)

If you know me, you know how much I love cats.
If you don't know me, after reading this blog, you'll understand about the laughing coming from the above mentioned people...
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I'm not typically the kind of person who believes in bad luck, or any luck at all really... but last night, after coming home from a weekend trip to Bear Lake and finding out that a C-A-T had been living there, and when I say living...what I mean is uninvitedly wreaking havoc on my otherwise humble abode, I had ample reason to become one.

That's right. My next door neighbor's cat somehow spider-crawled her way into my bedroom before I left, got herself locked in, and continued to show her disapproval for having no litter box... no food... and no friends.
For three days.

She was however very pleased with the sleeping conditions...

Here is a list of reasons why I'm not so happy about any of this:
1. My sheets. Because now I'm going to have to burn them
2. My clothes, now contaminated with asphyxiating cat pee and cat poo
3. Being deprived of clean, non-urinated oxygen
4. Having a massive sudden loss of brain cells as a direct result of #3
5. The unfortunalaty of not owning a vacuum

I think it's pretty obvious which character I am in this story book. An ironically 6 foot tall goldfish who doesn't like cats... and never will, because, not unlike my aquatic friend the goldfish, my life is like a giant toilet bowl. And it'd be fine if we just left it at that - but no. Now my life is like a giant toilet bowl surrounded by hungry pawing tomcats.
Maybe Seuss should write a book about that.

Next week, I'm entering the make a wish foundation. Click here to donate.
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No animals were harmed during the making of this blog.
(Although I know a certain felonious feline who should have been)