Rebirth

I sat in a narrow hallway.
On a red cushioned bench my sisters and I sat together, staring at our feet and the intricately patterned rug that ran the length of the dimly lit hall. The scent of flowers hung heavily in the building, contained by unopened windows hidden behind thick velvet curtains. Silently, I began to count the doors on either side of the hall. One, two, three, four, five… My gaze rested at the far end where my dad and aunt had just turned the corner and were now walking towards us. With the exception of their somber tread, silence hushed the building like the absoluteness of death that filled every one of those small rooms I had now forgotten to finish counting. My dad stopped in front of us and looked at me expectantly. I stared back at my feet as he turned and entered the room behind us.

Only an hour earlier I had been at home with my mom and sisters. A former neighbor and close friend had been over with her daughter to visit us; we had laughed and played as if nothing in our lives could possibly ever go wrong. Then my mom asked me to go upstairs and change my clothes. “Wear something nice,” she had cautioned, knowing all too well my obsession with baggy jeans and flannel boy shirts. I searched my closet to find a long black skirt and cranberry colored blouse, my “church clothes” hidden somewhere near the back. I cringed at the black tights draped over the end of my bed, but knew better than to suggest an alternative with my mother today. Carefully, I dressed and paused in front of my mom’s bedroom mirror to pull my stringy hair back into the half up, half down style. I examined the finished product with a bit of excitement. My, but I looked grown up! I could almost pass for thirteen, rather than my pathetic eleven years and ten months of age. Standing straight and proud, I floated down the stairs to say goodbye to our friends and leave with my family.

Somehow everything was turned upside down. I had left my house a happy carefree young lady, and now sat a shaking frightened child in this depressing hall. What was wrong with me? I had never felt such an unexplainable surge of emotions and fears overcome me all at once. Just a little over a year ago, I had walked through this same funeral hall with my great-uncle, mom, and sisters. I fearlessly stepped into one of those candlelit rooms and looked at the body of my grandma for the last time. It felt so natural, so peaceful. She looked so beautiful, so very lovely. I understood, but I did not fear. Now I felt as if every nightmare that had disturbed my sleep and every demon that had made me doubtful and weak was about to overcome me at once.

My sisters and I all jumped slightly as the creaky door opened again and my dad came back out. “It’s time to go in now, girls,” he whispered for the second time that evening. I felt my youngest sister let out a little sigh as they both stood and walked inside. How could my younger sisters be so much more comfortable and strong than I am feeling right now? My stomach tied in knots and for a moment I thought I would lose my dinner. No, worse than that, I thought I would faint which was not an uncommon practice for me at the time. My dad stared down at me hard. “You need to go in. Mom needs it.” Bluntly I replied, “I know. I will,” and watched as he walked back down the hall with his parents and sister. I was glad it was dim, so no one could see how pale I was feeling.

I continued to sit in the hall, alone with my thoughts. Suddenly, I heard voices, and a large group of people turned the corner at the other end. I had found funeral parlors to be places of hushed voices and gentle movements, but these people seemed oblivious to this code. Energetically talking in an Asian tongue which was periodically interjected by raucous laughter, they passed by me and into the room two doors down from the one I was silently guarding. I settled back into a confused state of depression. What right have they to be so cheerful? I envisioned the inside of their room, music and laughter filled to overflowing. A shiny golden Buddha altar was standing solemnly in one corner and some sort of disco ball was spinning in another. Food and drink was being passed around, and as the group became even happier and drunker they danced around their dead family member and slapped him on the shoulder every now and then for good luck.

I sat bitter at their happiness, angry that they could treat the death of a loved one like some sort of celebration. No. I argued with myself. They are wrong. Death isn’t supposed to be that way. People aren’t supposed to be that way. What way? What was I trying to rationalize? Maybe the perfume of the flowers was starting to poison my young brain. Or maybe the source of my fear lay with the unknown.

When my grandmother died, I was right there beside her. She died in my living room, in the house I grew up in. I had never seen a dead body before, but watching her go made it normal and safe. The body that lay in the room behind me was different. I had not seen my grandfather in over a year. He had spent the last few months of his life alone in a coma in some hospital. We were not allowed to visit him. We were not allowed to speak to him while he was able. My brain began to fire out all manners of ridiculous thoughts and memories. The doctors had said they would have had to amputate some of his body parts had he not died first. He is a decapitated body. He had been diabetic. Needles hanging out of his large, strong hands; the remaining blood on his fingertips gushing out onto the casket. To my memory he had been dead for a year. A rotting, unrecognizable corpse.

Somewhere deep inside me a fear was building around that unrecognizable corpse. As frightening as that mental image was, it was not simply a physical fear I was dealing with, one that I could talk myself out of by being reasonable. It was the fear of a reality. Of having to look on the body of the man who had unknowingly betrayed his family. Of having to separate two memories: that of the grandpa who spoke soft Ukrainian words, told me the most lovely stories, and snuck me cashews and cheese puffs when mom was not around, and that of the grandpa who was ill, told me twisted lies, and made my mama cry.

The last year of my grandpa’s life, he had become a type of an unrecognizable corpse. His mind had decayed, transforming him into a man none of us knew. The strength of his body was not long to follow in wasting away. The man that I had known as a giant in body, soul, and will had allowed himself to be poisoned by lies and permanently separated from those who cared about him.

There was no way I could make sense of the emotions I was dealing with as I sat in that hallway. Perhaps I never will. Sometimes all you can really do is struggle to subdue the fears that will only bring further corruption and selfishness into a bad situation.

I looked up as the door opened again and my mom came out. I could tell she had been crying. She looked at me with pain, guilt, and love in her eyes, and the haze that had plagued my mind since I entered the funeral parlor finally lifted. I put my hand in hers, and together we entered the room.

Queen of the Cats

What an Artist

I drew a pig tonight. On this highly amusing site.

http://drawapig.desktopcreatures.com/

Because, you know, I only have about a billion other things I should be doing. But that is what the middle of the night exists for, right? Here's my pig, I be very proud of him...

To Speak or Not to Speak

So I was sitting in class today, not really in the mood for any interaction...just people watching. That is really my best hobby anyways; I can watch the same person for months if they are interesting enough before gaining any real desire to actually meet them. Well, someone had the nerve to come into class and sit down in the seat RIGHT next to me. One thing that really annoys me more than almost anything else at school is when there are only about thirty empty seats in the class and someone feels that they just HAVE to sit next to me. Unless it’s a friend, then they are quite welcome to.

I would have let it go this time, since this particular lady seems very kind, cute, and is expecting a baby in a few months. I guess I sort of pitied her, and at the same time found her pretty likable. But today, I was just annoyed. She happens to be the type of person that is completely incapable of keeping her mouth shut for more than five seconds. Maybe it’s the pregnancy. Maybe not. All I know is that I was personally not in the mood to listen to someone babble out their entire life story in the course of three hours. Sometimes I’ve found I can get away with not really listening. Some folks don’t expect you to anyways; I think they like the sound of their own voices. But she is one of those interactive over-talkers. She actually required me to pay attention in order to give feedback which was probably what was irking me the most.

The whole morning made me think back to my old hometown though. I hope to find the time to write out ALL my thoughts and mini-rants on this topic one day as right now they are made up of a billion scrambled egg ideas and emotions, but till then here is one contrast that I have always found interesting.

I grew up in the city. Concrete, asphalt, and tall white corporation buildings is how I best like to describe my hometown. The majority of the folks there are about as cold as the city itself. They cannot really help it I guess; it becomes part of who they are after awhile: thousands of fast-paced, overworked, affected little drones brainwashed into believing they have the ideal American lifestyle. Praise God, my family escaped when we did.

Folks down there are altogether a different breed from where I live now and I must admit it was a bit of a culture shock the first year or two I lived here. Trips to the grocery store of all things were the strangest for me at first. Where I come from everyone lives with a hurried mentality. I think their brains must work something like this all the time, “Hurry-hurry-faster-faster-in-and-out-I’m-late-I’m-late-wasting-time-wasting-money-wasting-gas-wasting-money-wasting-energy-wasting-money-money-MONEY.” At least, that is how I always interpreted those pathetic White Rabbit expressions on their faces, especially as a kid. One of them is likely to rip your head off, or simply just ignore you (if you are lucky) when you try to ask a question or make any kind of friendly small talk in a supermarket.

Around here, that mentality seems completely opposite. Everything is in slow motion. Strangers on the street talk to you for no apparent reason at all. Store owners (or most at least) treat you as if you matter, ask you about your life and actually expect and respond to an answer rather than simply taking your money and getting you out the door in as short a time as possible. I’ll never forget the first time I really experienced this weird friendly atmosphere. My family had recently moved and had almost no food in the house, so my dad and I made a market run to get just enough supplies for dinner. In the checkout line in front of us stood a short little man with long white hair and a rough past written all over his face. We had not been standing there for more than three minutes before he had given us a detailed account of his past twenty years. I remember staring in complete disbelief; my jaw must have dropped clear down to the floor. Certainly this kind of behavior was not normal? In the city he probably would have been assumed to be on a freakishly high level of drugs and had the police called on him for talking like that in public to a stranger. It does not phase me anymore though.

I love it here with all my heart. I had never felt such a sense of home and belonging until the first morning I woke up in the desert. I guess a small part of me sometimes continues to live in that hurried and unfriendly mindset however. Perhaps that explains mornings like this one where I just want to do what needs to be done and get on my way again. I really wish that I could learn how to break free from this mentality altogether and truly enjoy every aspect of my amusing little life and the beautiful people in it. I am so much more blessed than I remember sometimes.

Queen of the Cats

Rainbow

I was on my way to school this morning, tired, cold and somewhat late (I'm too obsessive about little things to ever be horribly late even if it means leaving the house in my pajamas). Well I spent almost the whole drive trying to determine what streets would be clearest to drive on, since we had quite a bit of rain yesterday and I did not really want to risk breaking yet another essential part of my poor little car while plowing through sandy washes. The highway wasn't an option simply because I don't like driving through town, having to look at other cars and buildings and such. Plus I just despise busy streets; I'm one of those annoying folks who would willingly take an extra two hours to get anywhere, avoiding freeways and taking surface streets as much as possible.

Well, I finally reached the street I was most trying to avoid, a beautiful but hilly residential area that I drive through every morning. "The scenic route," my dad terms this little stretch. I made the decision that I would give it a chance, as it really happens to be the only part of my drive to school, aside from the blaring country radio, that brings me any great happiness.

As I drove along the winding little road, dodging debris while maintaining a pretty fast speed, I glanced up at the sky and thought I saw something other than clouds. No, nothing there. I set my eyes back ahead of me, just in time to miss some large menacing car parts (not my own, thank goodness). But out of the corner of my eye, I kept thinking that I saw flashes of color in the sky just to my right.

It started driving me crazy. Every time I looked up to my right, I would see only clouds. Every time I looked down at the road, I would get a glimpse of mocking colors. Then I tried something different. I looked straight up ahead of me, rather than to the right or left or at the muddy ground.

No sooner had I tried this than a little rainbow popped into my vision! It was faded, yes, and perhaps not the glorious, brilliant colors that we have all been awed by before, yet it held its place in the sky with such persistence. It seemed to be waiting just long enough for more sunlight to break through from the thick blanket of clouds, in order to become better illuminated. My own vision of it was limited, yet each glance made me want to look longer, to take in more of that simple beauty. It filled me with much joy.

We all try so very hard to find the things that will bring us happiness, don't we? Some believe they deserve all the good at once. They stare at the supposed source of pleasure and find in all too short a time, that it disappears from sight, nothing more than vapor in the air. Some face so much hardship and pain that they believe happiness will never find them again. They focus solely on the rocky path ahead, and block out the "disillusionment" of beauty that haunts them from afar.

It takes a truly wise person to be able to set their eyes on the path directly ahead of them. They avoid swaying onto the attractive but treacherous trails to their right and left. They focus, refusing to allow blindness to shortchange them, even when a break in the clouds is not to be had. In the end, it is not simply a fleeting happiness they receive, but a permanent, even when sometimes faded, pillar of hope and joy.

Father, I pray you would mold me into this person, and help me never lose sight of the rainbow in my life.

Complications in Paradise

Is it just me, or is this incredibly messed up?

I have a friend who I met at school. She's one of those folks who doesn't really get along well with ordinary people, tends to make far more enemies than friends, and therefore latches onto anyone who will put up with her for more than one school semester (or perhaps week for that matter). Actually she's quite a character and I guess that's why we've become pretty good friends.

Anyways my friend has only had about fifteen serious boyfriends in the year-and-a-half I've known her. None of which have real potential or bright futures...in any respect...at all. In fact, sometimes I wonder if her goal isn't just to date the biggest loser or jerk that she possibly can. But I guess that's just my opinion which doesn't really count for much as I'm not big on the whole dating thing in the first place. At any rate, her latest beau has certainly proven to be the strangest situation I've ever heard of yet. She's been seeing him for about three weeks now, and things have already started to move towards serious relationship status. She seems happy though, and bubbles over with excitement every time she talks about her wonderful new man. Last week was no different; she went on and on during class (which I find very annoying) about how he calls all the time, makes her meals, and wants her to meet his family at Thanksgiving. Then, during break I noticed that she had something else on her mind to tell me, something that was making her visibly nervous.

She looked up at me, determinedly set on saying what she had to get off her chest and stated, "There's something else about him that I put off telling you because I knew you wouldn't like it."
I guess I should mention that I have had quite the reputation in my Spanish class for being the innocent little Christian girl ever since I proudly replied "Nunca" to a question-response communication lesson: "When was your first kiss?".

I laughed, picturing everything possible that could be wrong with the guy based on what I had gathered from reading between the lines. "Try me," I giggled.

"Well...he's married." Yeah, I had figured that much. I had a thing or two I wanted to say right then and there but I let her continue.

She looked at me all worried, as if she was expecting me to shun her on the spot which, of course, I had NO intention of doing. She quickly added, "But it's not really bad like you think. He's getting a divorce." Again I thought of a lengthy speech I wanted to make, but bit my tongue instead.

She then proceeded to explain to me that she knew his wife fairly well. Well...THAT was an unexpected twist. To make matters more interesting, his wife was the one to introduce them and ENCOURAGE her to start dating him. She is even perfectly fine with having my friend spend the night there with him while she's at home.

The whole thing seems so wrong to me. I mean, I know I am not the most ordinary gal myself, but I do know something about how female emotions work. Women are capable of considering ex-boyfriends to be "theirs" up to a minimum of one year, even if they did not really like the poor guys that much to begin with. I would assume that marriage would hold even greater possessive tendencies in that case. Or at least, I would hope so.

She seemed to find the whole situation perfectly normal. I tried to see it from her perspective, to wrap my mind around how this could be right. Call me narrow minded, but I arrived at no satisfying conclusion. I guess I'm a bit idealistic, but there are just some things in the world that I would hope to retain a bit of purity when all else is so tainted. Wishful thinking, I suppose.

Queen of the Cats

Little Ballerina Girl

Have you ever had one of those moments where you happen to witness a single emotion or action of another person that brings an instant connection to them?

Although I can’t really say I’ve had too many of those experiences, I did see something that quite broke my heart about a week or two ago. It’s almost so complicated in my mind that it has taken me this long to process it enough to even attempt to write it down. But, nevertheless, I’ll try.

I guess you can say transportation issues are one of the biggest worries in my family these days. Between two cars, three drivers, and at least five different places we all need to be AT ONCE at any given moment in the day, it gets pretty crazy to arrange everything neatly. Somehow we manage though, and one way is that I am appointed official chauffer to my baby sister two or three times a week after school.

That, honestly, is not too bad because the only place she ever really needs to go is in town for her ballet lessons. The ballet classes are fun for me to watch anyways. The music, mostly all classical piano recordings, is quite relaxing after a LONG day of school. Sometimes, though not often, I even bring along my homework to plod through. But mostly I am just really content watching the cute mini-ballerinas jumping about the room in their pretty pink leotards, giggling and enjoying their happy carefree lives.

On this particular day, I was only half-heartedly watching their warm-up routines, letting my mind wander off somewhere else but, at the same time, trying to make my sister think I was paying attention. It means a lot to her that I stay and watch.

Suddenly, I was brought back to earth by a great excitement among the young dancers. I guess the teacher had announced that they would do some fun twirly French-name-that-I-could-not-pronounce-in-a-billion-years dance step across the room. In a whirlwind they had all pranced to the other end of the room, and there stood huddled together chatting eagerly.

Well all but one of the dancers, that is. One little girl out of the group caught my eye. I had watched her before: shy, sweet-tempered, brunette, rosy cheeked, and a little on the plump side. She is one of those rare but beautiful people who has the ability to both stand out and fade effortlessly into the background at any moment. From the perspective of all the other little ballerinas, she had faded just then; it fact, she might as well have not even been there at all. “How sad,” I thought. As the rest of the group chatted and leeched off each other’s acceptance and “sameness,” she stood off to the side, watching them patiently from the corner of her eye. At first I was rather impressed by the child’s self-confidence. She had no huge amount of pride, in fact, I doubt that the girl has had a single haughty or bitter moment in her life; she seems the picture of all that is sweet and lovable. She stood there and seemed to take the isolation with such dignity. I figured maybe I had read the situation all wrong, let my imagination get the better of me once again.

Then, for just a split second, I witnessed an emotion that for quite awhile I had forgotten how to feel. The little freckle faced girl looked straight up at the ring of her peers, glanced down, and sighed the most silent yet hopeless sigh I have EVER seen. For a moment, the confident barrier was shattered and I almost looked around the room to see if I was the only one who “heard” the depression she expressed just then. Then she just stood there once more, with that same incredible patience, eyes fixed on the ground and hands clasped preciously together until the dance began. For a moment, I nearly jumped out of my seat and grabbed her by those sweet little hands. “Hi there, what’s your name?” I wanted to say so badly. “I’ll be your very best friend and we can have slumber parties and watch movies and stay up all night telling secrets and I’ll never leave you out of any of my silly conversations because you are beautiful and so very VERY loved and please don’t ever forget that, sweetheart.”

Of course, I realized these actions of mine would not have gone over so well with some folks present. So instead I bit my tongue hard and looked away. I can’t even properly describe how I felt in that brief moment. I know how horrible of an age those pre-teen years can be for everyone. With cliques starting to take over social status so completely and friendships now based on a twisted sort of hierarchal female ranking, finding a way to fit in and have some sense of belonging becomes the main goal, an indescribable desire. Imagine that, if a mountain of insecurities wasn’t already bad enough, you had to deal with awkwardness, shyness, difference. What does it really mean to be considered the chubby girl surrounded by ballerinas?

I won’t go into detail about my own preteen experiences, but I will say that I know all too well how that little girl felt in that moment. I spent my whole life up until about 10th grade trying to be part of that happy circle, desiring some acceptance, some love from my female peers. Rarely was I ever able to find that unselfishness and unaffectedness that it takes to feel confident beyond the closed mentality of the cliques and sickness of leeched friends. I often wish I could have understood the futility of wanting their friendship then. I realize now that I was running after a dream that did not exist, a perfection that was really only pain. I would have been stronger standing off to the side, watching like an outsider as their silly little worlds crumbled. I did stand to the side, but I also spent far too much time desiring what they had. And now I live in fear that my relationships will never reach a level of trust that I should have normally.

I don’t know what I could have done to avoid this. I don’t know what this beautiful little ballerina girl can do to preserve all that sweetness and innocence through this awkward stage in her life before she either changes to fit in or simply becomes apathetic to it all. There’s got to be some solution, right? If only one person, one single person, would step out in love. Sometimes that is all it takes.

Queen of the Cats

Ultimate Babysitter's Degradation

As a babysitter for the past seven years or so, I have certainly had my share of interesting experiences with kids. Some bad, some good, some downright bizarre...but all interesting. Like the time baby Cassie "fell in the toilet" or the time I lost Katie for a half hour in a game of hide-and-go-seek. Then there was the day three-year-old Brandon decided I was marriage material so proposed to me and sealed the deal by drawing in marker all over the bedroom wall. And who could forget that classic evening when precious little Bennet got away from me long enough to knock over a couple cans of some kind of varnish stuff at his neighbor's house, permanently staining their back porch and leaving me in HUGE trouble?

My personal favorite was the day I walked into the kitchen to find Hailey vigorously scarfing down spoonfulls of what appeared to be sugar.

Me: "What on earth possessed you to eat half a jar of sugar??!!!"

Hailey: *innocently and somewhat hurt* "It's not sugar. It's Splenda."

But none of these quite compare to the humiliation and shock I received last night.

One of my favorite kids of all time to babysit is Seth. He suffers from chronic middle-child syndrome, and is often overlooked amongst the intelligence of his big brother and the angelicness of his little sister. He was expelled from school in kindergarten and grew up with the nickname Seth-amphetamine, which luckily did not stick. Yet, he has the most wonderful imagination, love for outdoors, and ability to create things that I have ever seen in a child his age. The more time I spend with him, the more I love the way he thinks. All he really needs is someone to pay attention to him, and I hoped that he would see the effort I had put into doing just that.

And if he had, he's got a funny way of showing it. Last night he had me sit in a chair and close my eyes tight, under the premise that we were going to play a new game of his which I assumed to be a spin-off of hide-and-seek, his most favorite. All at once, I hear a sound like cloth tearing and feel a strange pressure on both my arms. I open my eyes and find that the lil rascal has DUCT-TAPED me to the chair. For a few moments, I am shocked speechless by the actions of my friend. The eight-year-old takes this opportunity to tape my mouth shut, but not before I yell once or twice for his brother in the other room. Well, darling Gabe takes his sweet time about coming to my rescue, but after a brief fight with Seth, Guardian of the Babysitter Prisoner, he manages to cut me free and rip off the tape (along with most of my hair).

It killed me to do it, but I yelled at my little friend. I think I was more hurt than he was, and not physically either. But whatever. I have come to the conclusion that babysitting is a lousy job for me. I need to find something dealing with...animals. Or maybe rocks.

Queen of the Cats

Through the Eyes Of My Grandma

Yes, so tis my birthday at some point this week.

That said, I received a VERY welcome gift over the weekend. Not exactly unexpected, but with a story that I wish to tell. Because that is just what I do.

*~*~*

My grandpa has been gradually giving me packets that he put together of all manners of papers and articles relating to our family genealogy. It started with my own deep DEEP interest in the subject, although I think it is also in his own interest to pass this stuff onto someone since he is getting older. At any rate, he gives me these neat little folders of photocopied papers almost randomly with one not really relating to or completing the chain started in the previous. I think the idea behind that is that family trees are like puzzles, the pieces took time and hard effort to put together for those who originally attempted to do so, and therefore he is unwilling that I should have everything laid out before me all at once. Which is a concept that I accept and even love.

*~*~*

So for my birthday my grandpa gave me yet another set of papers to add to my collection. I was thrilled as always! I like to have plenty of time free from little sisters and phone calls to mull over that stuff when I get it, so I waited until late last night to pull it out and start reading. The first page was a letter from my grandpa (even though he had given me the packet in person). It explained a few minor details about the family members I would read of. I read that through quickly and laid it aside, ready to dive into a sea of lovely facts figures and names. After glancing over a copy of a newspaper article featuring my Baptist preacher great-great uncle, I reached a mess of papers stapled together, the last of the batch I was given. I read the first few lines...and found myself incredibly confused. It was a poem. I flipped a few pages, and found that ALL the rest of the documents were copied poems written by my great-great grandmother. I was so very disappointed. My grandpa is a sweetheart, and he knows what I'm set on doing in the long run: compiling FACTS. Cold, hard data. Names, places, and dates. That's what I love. That's mainly what I'm good at. And most importantly: I DESPISE (most) poetry. Write some music to it and I'm a happy girl, but I am unfortunately far too literal for most of that deeper stuff and therefore I avoid it altogether.

*~*~*

Why on earth would he choose to give me THIS particular set of papers for my birthday out of all the material he has? At first I almost put it back in the folder and went to bed, but then I realized the childishness in that. My grandpa had a purpose for what he did, and he put that stuff together with me in mind. I knew I would read it through word-for-word even if it killed me.

*~*~*~*~*

Each poem was typed up neatly with a simple, "Composed by Mrs. Martha Jane R." at the end. The first few spoke in reminiscence of her children when they were young. As the mother of 11 children and widowed young, I am sure her world revolved around those kids. These pages remember times past and hope for a bright and fulfilling future for those closest to her. The next few move onto more depressing topics. One poem was dedicated to her granddaughter, a cousin of my grandpa's, who she apparently raised for a time. The first lines read a chilling, "Please do not call me Mamma, dear. Your mamma is cold and still." After struggling through reading a few more poems that were not making sense to my blonde mind, I came across the one that finally brought everything into perspective.

*~*~*

The poem, entitled, "Just Jake" was written in memory of her late husband who died of (from what I can tell) unknown causes at a very young 43. Their oldest child, the son who would go on to become a Baptist pastor, was only 18 at the time. Yet, this poem speaks not a word of bitterness towards God or her husband, or fear of life, or anger at all the many things that had gone "wrong" for her. No, it simply stated a love that was so great that it overcame the obstacles she had been faced with. It referred to her long journey, but with the joy that she was traveling back to her love rather than dwelling on the fact that her journey would be without him.

*~*~*~*~*

It was at this point that I broke down and cried. And suddenly, I knew why my grandpa had given me this to read.

*~*~*

Many folks have spent the majority of their lives genealogy searching; obsessing over those dates, tearing their hair out when something does not fit, spending hundreds of dollars on genealogical services, living in a sort of addiction to finding out where they came from. I find this all very fascinating. Yet what was I focused on-what are many of the family tree seekers I have known focused on finding? Birth dates, death dates, social security information (does help sometimes), birth certificates, baptism certificates, marriage certificates, death certificates, cemetery headstones, anything that will add to a nice neat and most importantly COMPLETE list of all the facts and figures that only you and perhaps a precious few ancestors after you will find interesting.

*~*~*

The truth is that you can find a hundred generations of cold hard facts and still not understand who you are-where you came from, yes, in the most literal sense, but still not who you are. You can even obtain a beautiful and complete collection of family pictures dating back to the dinosaurs, and still not get the point. In the end, dates are simply numbers, and old photographs, while interesting, are cold and lifeless.

*~*~*

What I learned through the eyes, the heart even, of my great-great grandma is a more priceless treasure to me than any stack of facts my grandpa has given me yet. All that other stuff means very little to me now, compared to being able to actually understand the heart of this woman I am related to. Maybe I was able to find a strength and a will in her little poems that I found encouraging to my own life. Maybe I saw a love and a silliness in her that no photograph of that era would ever dare depict. Maybe, just maybe, I will be able to see some of myself mirrored in her a few years down the road. I pray that I do.

Queen of the Cats

Romans VII

Started thinking about this song in my math class a couple weeks ago. What else is there to do in a four-hour Saturday morning lecture class, right? Couldn't remember the name of it and nearly ripped out all my hair trying to find it online. You'd think with ALL the "Keith Green Lyrics" sites out there, I would have had better resources to work with. So I basically just spent the past hour listening to various CDs of his in desperate search of this one song. Bottom line is I found it, and now I be quite pleased. Tis a grand song. Enjoy...

Romans VII

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The very things I hate, I end up doing

The things I want to do, I just don't do

Lord, it seems so sad, why am I so bad?

When in my heart I only want to be like You

~*~*~

The very ones I love, I end up hurting

The ones I want to help, I pass right by

Now I want to be finally set free

The grace You've shown, the love I've known

Please let it shine through me

~*~*~

I want to love them the way You do

I want to serve them by serving You

~*~*~

Lord, how I know Your tender heart must be broken

By all those unkept promises I've made

The question still prevails, please take away the doubt

About how You forgive and still You live

Inside me when I fail

~*~*~

I want to love them all the way You do

I want to serve them by serving You

I want to be like You, Jesus I do

~Keith Green~

Tsk, tsk...

So, I come home Friday night, apparently smelling like my friend's dog, which I spent the greater part of the afternoon playing with. I walk in the house and find out my cat is still there, and since it is about midnight, I am given the duty of kicking the poor darling out into the cruel dark night. Well, she takes one whiff of me and knows I had been showing love to (OH MY GOODNESS) a canine. Heaven forbid. Then to top it off, I have to be the one to pick her up with my doggie-dander hands and throw her (dramatic emphasis, I would NEVER actually throw a cat) out into the cold. Let's just say she was NOT a happy kitty. So now she will not so much as look at me, let alone let me pet or play with her.
Ah well, she'll get over it. Tis the beauty of kitties. Just feed em and give em their space and they usually come around.
Don't you wish more folks were that easy going?

Queen of the Cats

A Frying Pan On My Head

*I expect no one reading this to understand the title. :-)*

So I guess my so-called “sheltered” upbringing has finally come back to bite me in the butt. (I state this with my tongue soundly set in my cheek. Read on if you dare…)

For the most part, I love the way I was brought up. I really do. I loved being homeschooled for twelve years and having no social life to speak of. I loved boundaries and rules. I never rebelled as a teenager. I guess you can say, I have always just been plain abnormal. But somehow it worked for me then.

One thing my mom stressed above ALL else, was manners. My gosh, I still remember the distress and anxiety I experienced every single time we went out to eat at a friend’s house. My heart still sinks at the thought of those tedious hour-long lectures about minding every minute detail of my behavior and speech. I still shudder at the memory of those horrible drives home after I had not lived up to my mom’s expectations, and the cloud of utter disappointment that hung around the house for days afterward. I knew every time I messed up I had become an embarrassment to her. I wanted to be perfect in her eyes; I wanted to be better than all those other little daughters out there in the world.

It took a heck of a long time, but eventually…I did become what my mom wanted me to be.
But now, as a young adult, I wonder how much this really benefited me, socially and psychologically.

Socially, I do pretty well for myself. I don’t necessarily enjoy being around others all the time, but I am really good at faking it because my mom made me. “Speak well, act friendly, listen, and NEVER walk away until THEY are good and done talking.” I did not dare disobey this command of hers, and having it hammered into me for so long has actually made me a more bearable person than I probably would have been otherwise.

Yet sometimes, I feel as if I’m still living in the past as far as her rules go. My own stubbornness combines with the remnants of the fear I held onto for so long, and becomes an obsession that is almost ridiculous.

I am nearly incapable of calling an adult by their first name, even if they are no more than five or six years older than me. Sometimes this causes people to be offended or freaked out. Yet I cringe when forced to and often avoid calling them by any name at all. After all, that was one of my mom’s main rules, and it still rather kills me to break it.

I have offended the few boys who have tried to take me out on dates, because I refuse to let them pay for me and do nice things and don’t seem to appreciate their kindness. I was always taught to look after myself and others, but not to accept favors in return. My mom drilled into me the ideals of kindness and generosity, but never taught me how to receive them myself.

Be cheerful, show Christ’s love, do not bring your problems into other people’s lives. Perhaps never specifically stated, these concepts were shown through my mom’s words and actions every day and had a huge affect on how I have lived my entire life. I interpreted her outlook as “when in doubt, laugh.” And I use that to an extreme. There are times when laughter is appropriate, yet I give the appearance of taking everything lightly and thinking it trivial or amusing.

I guess, in short, I took the lessons I was being drilled on, morphed them into something scary, and held onto them for dear life. But now I sit here and question whether or not I am right in doing so to the extent I have. What would it really mean to let go of my compulsions? Would I be disgracing my mother? Letting go in reckless abandon of all the fears and meticulous pains I took as a kid? Becoming the rebellious child I was “meant” to be? Would I be changing into someone new…someone scarier than the person I was while they controlled my actions?

Or would it mean I am simply ready to move on…to grow up. Am I holding on to these silly obsessions because I refuse to admit that I no longer depend solely on those who raised me?

Despite what many of my friends believe, I was also taught independence and never felt imprisoned by rules and regulations. Yet somehow, I seem to have taken all the many good lessons my mom taught me and created my own unattainable set of laws and judgments to live by in addition to hers.

My mom is an incredible woman. She is truly everything I could hope to become as a strong, loving, and compassionate person. She tried her hardest to mold me into a beautiful girl and child of God. All these changes I make and things I choose to hold onto are fully my own responsibility from now on. No one can determine or force my behavior and I cannot blame anyone for my fears and obsessions, as convenient as that would be.

I do feel like I let these silly things overwhelm me though. I wish there was some easy way to discern what will be acceptable and be the most helpful to those around me. Because I feel like I’m just not there yet. I always feel like I’m just not quite there yet.

Father, I pray for discernment and freedom from unedifying self-condemnation and obsession.

Queen of the Cats

Fire in the Night

"I've started to feel really lonely again, and I don't know why. It's really stupid. I'll be alone and all I can think about is how very much I want someone to talk to, someone who cares and really wants to be my friend. Then, the moment I'm around these people I only find excuses to get away. I think something's wrong with me. I want fellowship, but it scares me when I get it. I'm tired of this feeling of loneliness that I can't seem to shake anymore. It's around me all the time lately. I feel like there's something big I'm missing, something to cure me of this once and for all. I've been keeping close to Jesus...although, I have felt spiritual battles stronger of late. I don't understand, mostly because I've never really had trouble making and keeping friends before. There were times in my childhood that I became discouraged from lack of really GOOD friends, but at least they were there. Now I have even better friends around me than I could ever imagine, but I make no attempt to take advantage of this gift. I avoid them, I'm rude and reclusive. I don't always come across this way, thank goodness, but I constantly struggle with feeling it. Sometimes I feel like I'm crying inside and there's no one to listen. And you know what? Most of this is probably all my fault...maybe no one's listening to me because I don't let them or want them to. But I don't want to become the person who's always forcing her problems and emotions on other people; that's not who I am at all. I'd rather hold everything in and unload on my trusty blog or in prayer to my Father than have to talk to an actual person who could let me down, break my heart, or get annoyed with my presence. I don't like to admit this, especially about people...but I've been disappointed a lot, especially in the last year. I tried so hard to hold onto friends I thought I could trust, then rushed into pouring out my heart in large chunks hoping for some relief and support. All I got was hurt again and again. Now I'm just really tired of trying.I give tonight's heavy heart to Jesus, because He alone understands."

*~*~*~*~*

*~*

*~*~*~*~*~*

I wrote this section of a blog October 15, 2006, almost a year ago now. It's funny that I happened to come across it just now while looking through some old stuff, because I'm struggling with these same emotions now, today, and lately. It's actually more depressing now when I think about it, because to me it marks yet another year that I have neglected to surrender every aspect of my life, heart, and emotions to my Savior. Another year passes and I still daily battle the gnawing pain of loneliness and emptiness. Another year that adds to the bitterness I feel in regard to those around me, the pain I sometimes want to cause them simply because they are near. The distrust of adults and leaders who are there to help, the frustration with my peers, the hatred of the world and all it has become.

*~*~*

My own isolation is not just an isolation that is physical, for I somehow feel that type could be remedied; no, much more complex is the isolation that is mental, that is emotional. The type that leaves you void of feeling when around others because you fear having to face the dark painful corners of your own heart. The type of isolation that wears a mask of happiness, of normality. The type of isolation that blinds you not only to the fact that the majority of the happy and normal faces you pass on the street are actually battling these same lies, fighting this same darkness, but also that blinds you to the path that leads out.

*~*~*

I love camping, nearly everything about it. My favorite part, however, is enjoying the campfires, especially while camping in the winter. The flames are so lovely to stare at. They dance and flicker with every breathe of the wind, every dry crackling of the wood beneath. They draw moths to their light and folks to their warmth. They hypnotize and satisfy, casting a simple contentedness and joy over all those surrounding like a magic spell.

*~*~*

Yet turn your back to the flames, take a few steps, and what do you feel now? An instant chill consumes the entire body, extremities first then reaches even unto the depths of the heart. A darkness so vast and so hopelessly empty, yet at the same moment filled with all manners of unspeakable terror. The gloom stretches out straight before you, the shadows of the closest trees still partially illuminated by the fire you have turned your back on, yet beyond that...nothing. But something inside desires that nothing. Some lonely, desperate part of you finds the bleakness so inviting and the danger so curious. We are drawn by the curiosity. We reach out to the invitation.

*~*~*

Loneliness is inviting. It is safe. Moreover, it is addictive. And I am it's addict. I have been since I was a very young child. I love the Lord, yet I have spent most of my life trying to run from the fire in hopes of finding some bit of earthly acceptance that will redeem and satisfy me. The conclusion I have come to: I will never find what I am looking for in this world. Not in a friend, not in a spiritual leader, not in my family (whom I love dearly), and not even in a husband. The only chance I have at a worthy life and fulfilling transformation is to latch fully onto Him before it is too late. To forsake all others and follow my Savior. To desire His love and unrelenting acceptance above all else. And I truly do.

Father, help me; I am once again in need of grace.

Queen of the Cats

Hey Diddle Diddle

Did the cow truly jump over the moon, or is that just a huge conspiracy?

My answer:

Yes, silly, of course the cow jumped over the moon. For if he hadn't, then how on earth would it come about that the little dog would have any reason to laugh, or the dish be so led as to sweep the flustered little spoon off to magical lands unknown? You see, the whole entire basis of these childhood dreams and fantasy worlds we have been made to envision would be at dire jeopardy if you remove or doubt the existence of this one solitary jumping cow!!!! Shame on you, my DEAR sir, for even suggesting such a blasphemous idea!!!

Perhaps I do have too much time on my hands after all.

Queen of the Cats

1 Chronicles 16:23

You have stolen my heart.

I'm captivated by you.

Never will you and I part.

I've fallen deeply in love with you.

*~*~*

This is the chorus to one of my favorite songs. You know as both a teenager and a piano player in training, I practically eat sleep and breathe the music in my life. Music is a form of expression, a thing of great beauty and grave power. Music inspires where ordinary words fell short. It calls to action where the speech of persuasion failed. It touches a place where all other attempts to melt a heart were in vain.

*~~*

I love my music almost to the point of obsession sometimes, this song included. However, I have found a serious problem entering our youth groups, churches and personal worship times as well. Read that chorus over again, and what feeling does it give you? Ahhh, it is a love song. How sweet! Any girl's heart would skip a beat at having this sung to her, would it not? Mine would. Yet my church and a great many others sing this song to God, the All-powerful Maker and Creator of the Universe. Sure you can change all the "you"s to "You"s and call it worship, but in reality what truly distinguishes this from a love song between a boyfriend and girlfriend or married couple? I won't say nothing, I cannot in honesty say nothing does. It is the heart of the worshiper that God looks at in musical worship, verbal prayer, and silent praise. The depth of your words are not what matters, but the offering and surrendering of your soul. This I believe with all my heart and is why I continue to vote this catchy tune as one of my favorite worship songs.

*~~*

All the same though, think of how far most modern worship has fallen from the solemn and majestic words of the hymns of old. Consider one of my favorite hymns, Abide With Me...

*~*~*

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide

The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide

When other helpers fail and comforts flee

Help of the helpless, O abide with me

Thou on my head in early youth didst smile

And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile

Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee

On to the close, O Lord, abide with me

*~*~*

I copied only a couple verses out of the eight that Henry F. Lyte penned in 1847, just before dying of tu­ber­cu­lo­sis. Yes, some of the words are outdated. Yes, the song in its entirety carries the exact same tune throughout, no catchy guitar solo or keyboard interlude, no funky or dramatic bridge to break up what seems to be monotony. But very few things in this world other than God's own precious Word, still have the power after all these years to bring such rippling waves of hope faith and repentance over the sea of believers and even unbelievers that hear these inspired words of truth. Even I, who have read the lyrics to this song many many times before, still get shivers when I realize how freakishly it is speaking to me and about me. And here it is, well over 150 years later. I wonder if Mr. Lyte or Miss Crosby or Mr. Newton knew the powerful affect that these simple show-less verses would have on the world over 100 years in the future. Their songs speak of God's majesty, His pure redeeming grace, His Godliness, His unrelenting forgiveness and mercy. Their songs cry out of personal weakness, rebellion, failure, backsliding, but always the fear awe and ultimate praise of the All-knowing, All-powerful God of creation.

*~~*

In comparison, what do the majority of our praise songs have to say? "I love you, yes I love you." Funny, I remember crooning those exact same words to my cat...and a piece of beef jerky (yum). "You are holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy..." Yes, the angels may sing "holy, holy, holy" for all of eternity but somehow I think it will sound less chantish than this does.

*~~*

Still do not get me wrong. There are some incredibly gifted worshipers and songwriters today that God has truly inspired to write beautiful and touching music. Only, when I personally am praising God, I like to know that not only am I singing to my Lord and Savior, but that every word and thought behind that song no matter who it is being sung to will point directly to God, no guessing required. Early hymn writers were by no means sissy Christians. They endured hardships, sicknesses, and oppositions that many of us will never know in our lifetimes. They knew what kind of God they worshiped (and still worship to this day) and their music reveals this in a way that very little music has dared to come close to since. Where modern day worship leaves a sort of emptiness, almost a certain lacking in itself, the words of hymns proclaim in pure beauty and simplicity such lines as...

*~*~*

When Christ shall come, with shout of acclamation,

And take me home, what joy shall fill my heart.

Then I shall bow, in humble adoration,

And then proclaim: "My God, how great Thou art!"

Hey I kinda like this!

Your Birth Month is November

Tolerant and inspirational, you are wise beyond your years. You are universally sympathetic and a great humanitarian. Your soul reflects: Compassion, friendship, and secret love Your gemstone: Citrine Your flower: Chrysanthemum Your colors: Dark blue, red, and yellow

What Does Your Birth Month Mean?

I Pledge My Love

Cannot Hide My Love

Second Circle

~*~

Holy Spirit, I need Your touch more than ever before

Oh Jesus, I need Your love and I'm desperate for more

~*~*~*~

When I feel Your presence all around me

When I feel Your arms as they surround me

~*~*~

I cannot hide my love

I cannot hide my love

My feet will have to dance

I cannot hide my love

I cannot hide my love

My heart will have to sing

~*~*~

I am so in Love with You, my Lord my God

I am so in Love with You, my Lord my God

Contrasts of a Life

A life without a purpose:

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Constantly searching for the one thing that will make it all worth while. Blindly grasping for an earthly source of redemption, something great enough to fill the void that burns a hole in every human heart. Quickly wearing out all options of happiness and worldly fulfillment by putting on a front of humor, beauty, or peace while running after wealth, power, recognition, love that only the world could offer. Watching everything you worked for and held onto slip through your fingers as you realize that all is vanity and none can satisfy, not even family and people you once loved. A life without the purpose of serving and loving an eternal heavenly Father is as worthless and heartbreaking as the tears that fall every night when no one else sees. Truly, if there's nothing missing in that life then why do those tears fall at night?

A life with a purpose:
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Constantly searching for the people who's hearts are breaking so that they may be comforted, encouraged, and understood. Blindly reaching out to a Father that does know our suffering and wishes only to be given the chance to hold us tight. Quickly ready to show the joy and comfort of the Lord Jesus Christ despite a difficult past or circumstances of greatest earthly poverty and pain. Watching and waiting for the day when all these things shall pass away and we will forevermore be united with our perfect Saviour and Holy Lord in a reality that will never pass away or be corrupted. A life with the purpose and promise that I was blessed to see in forty young children in Mexico last weekend is one that not only is evident in their hearts and actions, but shines through in their smiles and eyes. Truly, if you love the Lord more than these you will be willing to go and feed His sheep.
Praise the Lord. Gloria a Dios!
Queen of the Cats

Ultimate Christian Emo

For the Moments I Feel Faint

*~*~*~*~*

Am I at the point of no improvement?

What of the death I still dwell in?

I try to excel, but I feel no movement

Can I be free of this unreleasable sin?

*~*~*

Never underestimate my Jesus

You're telling me that there's no hope

I'm telling you you're wrong

Never underestimate my Jesus

When the world around you crumbles

He will be strong, He will be strong

*~*~*

I throw up my hands. Oh the impossibilities!

Frustrated and tired, where do I go from here?

Now I'm searching for the confidence I lost so willingly

Overcoming these obstacles is overcoming my fears

*~*~*

Never underestimate my Jesus

You're telling me that there's no hope

I'm telling you you're wrong

Never underestimate my Jesus

For when the world around you crumbles

He will be strong, He will be strong

*~*~*

I think I can't, I think I can't

But I think You can, I think You can

I think I can't, I think I can't

But I think You can, I think You can

Gather my insufficiencies and place them in Your hands

Place them in Your hands

Place them in Your hands

*~*~*

~*~*Relient K*~*~

To Sum Up My First Semester of College

Looking back on my journal notebook from last semester's English class... not really much worth reading, just a couple things to share. Keep in mind that all these entries were written in about 15 minutes each. Just some thoughts to start class with. I guess this is a good way to prepare my self for a new semester. Glance back in life then move on...

August 21, 2006

Friendships are such difficult things for me to maintain. It is quite amusing, actually. I am capable of talking; in fact, I am rather too good at it once I get my momentum going. And I enjoy people so very much. My sister often says I am quite incapable of saying negative things about people (which is rather debatable, in my opinion). So how is it possible that most of my friends now or only ever have been more like acquaintances to me? The Bible says that "to have friends, one must show himself friendly." Perhaps that is where i begin to fall short. I am a friendly girl, but I lack the ability to be outgoing. Shyness creeps in and I choke and snap shut like a clam no matter how great my desire to speak. I feel God around me constantly, tugging at my heart and pushing me to reach out to someone, to show compassion, friendship, and love to a heart in need.

Father, teach me to be more like You, to see things through the eyes of a stranger, and to show friendship the way You would.

August 28, 2006

Moving on is one of the hardest things to do in life. Even for those rare and gifted people who claim they live solely "in the moment" and never dwell on the past, there has been times however invisible to the casual observer, when the depressing feeling of regret has crept upon them. I struggle with this often. Naturally, I understand that feelings of guilt have been put on my spirit by my Lord to cause genuine repentance and remorse for my wrongdoing. What about those emotions following the repentance then? Sometimes they feel even worse than my initial reaction to sin. Those feelings are put there by my ultimate enemy not to convict me, but to condemn me of a crime I have already been forgiven of. The only way to be free, is to cry out to God to protect me from Satan's wicked deceit. It is never easy to move on, but the truth found in God's Word and in His voice speaking to my heart can begin the liberating process.

Praise you Jesus for offering me a way to be free from myself!

September 18, 2006

The grace of God is His most incredible and beautiful gift to mankind. As mere mortals, how are we to deserve anything less than destruction, utter damnation, or to be zapped into nothing in the blink of an eye. Even my slightest sin stings my conscience and brings me to a certain level of depression and defeat. Yet God in His holy perfection, the same God who died for me in the first place, continues to pour out upon me an abundance of His blessings and miracles. I sin, I repent, God forgives and never looks back, and we continue our walk hand-in-hand as if there was nothing to ever draw our spirits apart. I live off this grace of His; I need it and desire it so desperately that when I am separated from it even in the slightest, I fall completely apart. My mind does not function, my heart hardens. I live in hypocrisy and bitterness. With God, there is the pain of conviction, but even greater is the fulfillment of living a life worthy of His calling and continued guidance.

I am NOTHING without you, my Father!

Queen of the Cats

Lost in My World

I live in a little house in the desert. I live far out from all civilization, away from the people, the noise, crowds, and movement. Far from the crying, screaming, pain, and anguish my fellow mankind is faced with in the day-to-day. I live in a little cerulean blue house, the tackiest of all colors for a desert home; it sticks out like a sore thumb against the shadowed landscape. My little house is set far out in the midst of a vast and sparse valley. From my front yard I can see for miles in all directions. I can see the sun rise over the edge of the horizon in the cool of the morning and I can see the sun set behind the golden brown mountains at the end of each day. I can watch animals, wild and untamable as some believe myself to be, chase and kill, fight and fall. I walk around my home and collect the few bones that remain of what was earlier a whole being, a beautiful life. I live in a little house in the desert. From the window I watch as the shadows of unknown beings pass down the highway a mile from my home. The highway I despise more and more with each coming year, for I swore never to return to it, and its constant reminder of the past I have left haunts me day and night. The people I loathe even more. I cannot see them each individually, but I know that they laugh at me. I know that they point their fingers and tease, calling me a failure and an outcast, one who's perfect life could suddenly turn so pitiful and useless. I hate them. I live in a little house in the desert. I close my door and lock all my windows, shutting out the world and its cruel ways. I ran away many years ago, frightened yet living in the perfect knowledge of the path I should choose. I turned and walked the other way. I do not cry now. I do not fear. I close. I close doors. I close windows. I close my heart in bitterness and anger. This is all I know; this is all I will ever feel.
The sad part is, the lives they live out there are, in their own way, as pathetic and worthless as mine is. What cuts to the depths of my soul is that there is no one to warn them of the cruel dangers that inhabit my body and mind, now that I live in a little house in the desert.

(Inspired by Cowboy Jon on my very first horse ride yesterday :-)
Queen of the Cats