Daddy's little girl

"Take care of all your memories for you cannot relive them."- Bob Dylan 

It's been 8 years today. 8 years since I've heard you speak or seen your face light up when you laughed. It's been 2,920 days since I've held your hand, always calloused and permanently stained from working on your cars. It's almost been a decade since I've heard you say,"I love you" or call me your little girl. 

The memories I have of you I try to keep as vivid as I can, like the way you used to sit (usually your right leg crossed over the left, your right arm propping up your face if you were leaning) or your scent (I still open up your cologne every now and then). 

I remember waking up at any time during the night and always finding you at the kitchen table holding a cup of Jamaican Blue coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I remember your spontaneity as you told all of us to pack up and get in the RV. I remember your goofy hats and your even goofier shirts. I remember mandatory NASCAR Sundays and your never changing oldies music choices. 

 In these last years you've missed birthdays, promotions, holidays and big moves, weddings and family reunions. You've missed graduations, first cars, first car wrecks, performances and monumental trips. You weren't here for mom's big fight or for her victory, or the birth of your first beautiful grandson. 

Although these memories are sweet I hate that I can't picture your face in those moments. 

In some respects this has gotten easier. I don't cry at the mention of the word cancer and I can talk about you freely in conversation.  Time has offered it's healing and in it's place created distance- I can't remember the last time I dreamt of you and now I have to strain to remember the feeling of your scratchy beard kisses. It breaks my heart to admit that these things are starting to fade so I'll keep clinging to what I have retained and further engrain  them in my thoughts. 

We'll never really get over this-only through it and that's all I can tell myself right now. Just make it through today. 

I miss you, Dad.

I love you with all that's in me. 

- your little girl 

This is not a suggestion

"And that as you lay down your life, truly you will find. And that as you pour out a blessing upon those who have spitefully used you- upon those who have abused you, upon those who seek your life and your reputation- you will become free.
And so beloved, when you are so weak and so vulnerable but relying upon me, then you are made truly strong. So lose your life, my child. Dare to lose your life and you shall gain that higher thing which is life and peace and communion in me."- 'Journal of the Unknown Prophet'

To those of you who don't know me, I don't hate people. I have faith that most are good and truly do have good intentions. It's not hard for me to love those who despise me because of my faith or those who don't understand my reasoning. It's not a struggle for me to love souls from any walk of life.

                    But there is one person on this earth that I absolutely hate.
Not like a playful or exaggerated hate like, "Oh my gosh, I hate mushrooms." This isn't just a strong dislike or preference. This hate is a burning in my belly, like a "We better not meet in a back alley" kind of hate. I hate his character, I hate his intentions. I hate that I allowed him to take parts of my heart and I hate that the pieces he left for me are still broken and in need of restoration. This festering hate has been present for several years. I've been gripping this grudge for so long my hands ache...

                Two months ago The Big Man upstairs told me I have to love him...
                                                      And I said no.
In my stubbornness I told the God of all creation that I didn't trust Him with that part of my heart and I claimed that I could fix this on my own. I disobeyed and completely ignored what He commanded all of us to do... To love. Needless to say, he didn't agree with my answer and has continued to pursue the shattered pieces that I have been unwilling to give up.

"Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart."(1 Peter 1:22)

When I first read this scripture I was blown away. Are you freakin' kidding me? I can't just say that I love him and get it over with? I have to want to love him? I have to love him from a heart that doesn't hold a grudge, a heart that has forgiven his offenses?... I have to love him in the way that Christ loves me?...

His love for humanity was so fierce that He died so we could be closer to Him, we have all rejected or failed Him at some point in our lives but He still runs after us. He wants to capture every heart, including the one I hate. His call to love wasn't a suggestion- I have to love with a furious love. I have to look past the wrongs and grow to forgive him and myself.

I do not love this man. Not yet, anyway. But I understand that I have to. I'll work on this forgiveness thing and strive to possess a pure heart that is being refined by Christ.

"And as you lay down your rights, beloved, and as you lay down the fear and the insecurity, and as you stop in your futile attempts to defend all you hold dear- so the torment shall cease and the peace shall arise and you shall find that that which you were unable to protect, when it is given into my hands- I will protect."- 'Journal of the Unknown Prophet'

Loves of Late

My months in France came to a bittersweet end this week. It was a life-changing experience filled with amazing people and memories I won't soon forget but after a two day commute including four flights and very interesting nights in airports (I was left with a stranger's child at one point...) I was so glad to be home.

I've recently read a post by Sprinkle of Glitter (seriously, she is a delight.) full of inspiring 'Loves of Late', encouraging others to say what they're loving at the moment. Since I'm state-side once again I thought a similar post was a great idea!


My dear sweet friends and family.
I was greeted at the St. Louis airport with texts from one of my closest, "Are you still on the plane?", "We're past security!", "Do you have a lot of stuff?", "Eek! Missssssssouri!", a huge hug and helping hand with my luggage. I then came home to my mom and brother waiting for pictures and a retelling of recent adventures.
They're the best.

Fall.

You can't even imagine my excitement as I trekked around my home and got to admire the changing leaves, the crisp clean air all with a pumpkin spiced latte in hand. Now to enjoy bon-fires, haunted houses, and Halloween parties. Quite the welcome!!

The familiar.

My adrenaline rush comes from being in a completely different place, where I don't know a soul and am forced to figure things out on my own. It's exciting and scary and so so rewarding to look back on! I've been asked if it gets lonely venturing out on my own and my answer to that will never change. Absolutely not. I've always been a pretty quiet person, it takes me awhile to get close or to trust someone, but since I've placed myself in foreign territory it's forced me to get out there and talk. People are generally good and aren't near as scary as I thought. And since this discovery I've met some of the greatest people from all over the globe! I love hearing about their lives, their different ways of thinking, experiencing their culture. These are cherished memories and I don't regret a single thing.

BUT, it is nice to know where the nearest Starbucks is...

Babies.
Since I've been gone two of my friends have been incredibly blessed with gorgeous baby girls and my sister-in-law is almost due with my first nephew! Ahh!

Oh Springfield, Missouri. I never thought I would include you in a 'Loves of Late' and yet there you are.

For a little while, at least...

Paris

Paris. The capital of love. Ville de lumiere. One of the most beautiful cities in the world. 

                                     And I had 96 hours to discover it all.

 Fresh off the train, I trecked to the nearest Starbucks and did a bit of shopping. Then gradually made my way to Sacré Coeur. As soon as you enter Montmartre there are people waiting to snag you in a deal and get you to pay some outrageous price for generic Paris memorabilia. I loved it. 

 After ditching my backpack, I found my way to Montparnasse Tower and was blessed with a gorgeous view of the city!

You can't send a dancer to Paris and not expect a dance picture. Impossible.

By mid-afternoon on day two I had given all of my money to the stores on the Champs-élysées. Come on, people. That street housed the LARGEST SEPHORA IN THE WORLD. What was I supposed to do? Not spend money??

 Day 3 was made for walking. I had met up with a few people from the hostel and we walked. all. day. long. We zig zagged our way from Pompidou to the Eiffel Tower- thats about 10 miles. I definitely didn't have to worry about my calorie count for that day.

 Ah! A monument that needs no introduction! After our 12 hour hike, it was so nice to sit in front of the Eiffel Tower and just sit. We watched the other tourists for a awhile and gazed at our finish line.

 Wrapping up my Parisian pas de deux was the view from the top of the Effiel Tower. There is really nothing I can say except "wow".

                                                     96 hours well spent. 

The Slaves

The most significant part of my days in Paris approached me at the Louvre while standing in front of  Michelangelo's Rebellious Slave and Dying Slave.
I was close enough to touch the same piece of stone that this extraordinary man labored over, the same piece of stone that he made plans for and felt. I stood in front of his craft, his passion, his life. What was he thinking as he cut each unwanted piece away? Was he satisfied with his end result? Did he ever imagine that hundreds of years later people would still be traveling the world just to stand face to face with his creations? Am I too far away or not close enough? Where did he want his viewers and how did he want these men to be percieved?

I wanted to hold their faces in my hands, I wanted to touch the marble that took hours upon hours to polish and perfect. I craved to trace every detail after discovering the precision needed to create the realistic lines and the attention to usually unnoticed details in the human form. I'm pretty sure I spent a solid ten minutes just staring at their feet(You guys probably wouldn't want to come to museums with me...) It's incredible to think that he chisled away those small lines and shaped a stone to look like an actual moving being. And the muscles too, think about how long he had to study and know the marble so that he knew exactly how it would break to create movement in a shoulder blade or calf muscle.

I was blessed in that everyone else in the room seemed to be distracted with the other pieces and left me in a comfortable position to stand in amazement without feeling like a bother. I know that slot of time was reserved just for me to stand in wonder and to realize that He wants us to be enslaved in that wonder every minute of every day with His creations, His people, His works of art. I need to be amazed at the little details of life that I tend to under appreciate and recognize the care and labor He put into our surroundings and circumstances. I hope He highlights the fine lines in my life and pray to be more aware and conscious of the little things that come together and put life into His perfect motion.

I wish I could say I had another mind blowing experience with the Mona Lisa but that was not the case. Maybe it was the atmosphere(there were literally hundreds of people shoving their way to catch a glimpse. Think of it as a touristic moshpit.) or because it was so distant and covered with glass. Maybe if I could see the brush strokes and the rises and falls of the paint I would have the same bewilderment as I did with the slaves. Although I didn't get the urge to weep with adoration in front of the most secretive woman in history, it was a pretty epic end to my Parisian tour.

Can't wait to show you the rest!

"I am gonna bless your socks off!"

"...you will be filled with my joy. Yes, your joy will overflow!"  John 15:11

How awesome is that?? God, my crazy big infinte God, has promised me, little insignificant me, overflowing joy and all I have to do is accept it...

So, why is that so hard?

Accepting joy has always been difficult... I've been scared that if I feel one ounce of happiness, that my world will turn to crap and I'll just be let down and disappointed. It's just easier to start off being disappointed then to get my hopes up for something that might fail.
This mind set has got to go.

I realized that I have no reason not to trust Him, He has never disappointed me. He has never failed me. I have never been without His love. Even when I was in absolute darkness He was there waiting to let His glory burn bright in my life. In my relationship with Christ I have been the inconsistent one, the one that has failed and disappointed, not Him. And for some insane reason His love can look past my failures and promise me this beautiful gift of joy. Who am I to refuse or doubt it?

This morning's quiet time chat ended with me in complete awe at His reliability and an excitement to fully embrace His promise of joy.
My reassurance comes from His conclusion, "I am going to bless your socks off. All I want is for you to thank me for it, love me for it, trust and know that this joy will only come from me. You can search the whole world over but you will only find this joy in your surrender to my will. Press deeper into my Spirit, dig deeper into my word, then sit back and see what I can do. This is only the beginning."

Time Traveling

We ventured to the Eco Musée last week! The little ones loved it and it was a blast to see how the Alsacians lived way back when. One of the houses there was built in the 1400's! Think of how much that house has been a part of, how many families it's held throughout the years... It's mind blowing, really. So glad we got to see it!