Bread Dough, Bowls, and Blood Sugar

I like to think I'm invincible. True, my struggle to find a job set me back on my self-confidence for a while, but now that I'm working, it's been better. I also recently started baking and cooking again after a 2 year hiatus (being at FB wasn't conducive to working in the kitchen). And I've been loving it! I'm good at it and I like sampling my creations and having other people say they're good. Two silent pats on the back for me!

But it's humbling when you call your mom about 4 times during the course of the afternoon because you've never made bread before and how do you do it? And is it supposed to be this sticky? And how much are you supposed to knead it? And why isn't it rising? Finally, I had something that resembled bread dough in texture, color, smell, and taste. I set about cleaning up the huge mess I'd made (for some reason, baking is a full body experience for me. If a recipe has flour or brown sugar, you can pretty much count on finding it everywhere, including, but not limited too, the counter, the floor, the cupboards, my dress, my face, my hair, and my toes).

Now, unbeknownst to me, my blood sugar level had been silently dropping during this entire process, leaving me as it usually does - light-headed, slightly nauseous, weak, and shaky. I realized it while I was washing dishes, but figured I could wait to eat some protein and sit down in a minute or two when I had finished the chore. However, on one of the last dishes, a large mixing bowl belonging to Rebecca, this low blood sugar contributed to me losing my grip on the bowl and smashing it into about 5 pieces in the sink. I stared in shock for a moment and then noticed the blood oozing from my fingers. I grabbed a paper towel and tried to staunch the bleeding and made it to our first aid kit. I fumbled around until I found the BandAids, trying not to get blood on too many other "sterile" items. I checked the cuts. Not too deep, thank God. Wouldn't want to drive to the ER in my condition. I picked up the glass and took it out to the garbage can in a paper bag, and had one moment of detached panic in which I thought I might faint. Held really still, clutching the porch railing. Buzzing stopped, vision cleared, didn't fall down the stairs.

I have questions. I drop things. I bleed. My fingers are held together with BandAids. I don't know yet if the bread will survive my fumbling attempts.

I am not invincible. Too bad. It might have been nice.

Wouldn't it be Loverly

Tonight I watched "My Fair Lady" (1964) for the first time in my life. I had listened to the soundtrack before and thoroughly enjoyed it, but seeing it was truly a fuller picture. I loved each song in turn and the story that brought the song to life.
And I have to wonder - what am I taking for granted because of my pride? Am I like Professor Higgins? He's utterly insufferable in his pride. He takes credit for all the work of polishing and presenting Eliza and he ends up losing her. "I've grown accustomed to her face. She almost makes the day begin...I was serenely independent and content before we met; surely I could be that way again. And yet - I've grown accustomed to her look; accustomed to her voice; accustomed to her face."
I've lost before and I live on. But pride worms its way back into my life. What am I about to lose? What am I about to realize I can't live without?

Watch the movie, by the way. You aren't likely to regret it!

To Wish Upon a Star

There's just something magical and utterly relaxing about lying out on a blanket watching the stars. Of course, it was made so much better by the Perseids meteor shower that is currently at its peak.

But that sounds so scientific. Shooting stars, people! Brilliant bursts of light streaking across a velvety, diamond-studded night sky. You lie there continually realizing just how small you are; just how potentially unimportant your hopes, prayers, and dreams could be to the Creator Who found it good to fashion this sight.

And you worship.

And then there's the hilarity that could only be produced by these two over-tired Mennonite girls with the same name. Trying to find a place away from lights, trees, and noise to watch. Choosing a seemingly abandoned spot by the road, then realizing lying on the ground behind your car, mere feet from the edge of the road probably isn't a good idea (as evidenced by the panicked whisper aimed at the passing vehicle: "Please don't hit us, please don't hit us!") The completely simultanous gasped expression when a meteor is spotted: "Oh! Did you see that?" The car that seemed to have pulled into the entrance to the park where we were reclining, causing immediate jumping about and the frantic whisper: "Run!"

And we worship.

A cynical, sneering part of me murmured in my ear tonight: "It doesn't really do any good to wish on a falling star, you fool."

And the innocent, trusting part of me defiantly answered: "Yes, it does. It gives back the thrill of hope and expectancy that everyday life is so apt at wringing out of us. So there."

And we worship.

Will You Be There?

"In our darkest hour
in my deepest despair
Will you still care?
Will you be there?
In my trials
and my tribulations
through our doubts
and frustrations
In my violence
In my turbulence
Through my fear
and my confessions
In my anguish and my pain
Through my joy and my sorrow
In the promise of another tomorrow
I'll never let you part
For you're always in my heart"
-Michael Jackson

How Then Shall We Live?

I have a confession to make.

I have ridiculed the passionless way people live.

I have focused on having an honest and happy life.

I have missed something.

I, myself, am lacking passion.

In my search for a passionate life, I have lost the vision for the passion I claimed to want. I promote a life that is laid back; that doesn't take too many things seriously, and has fun simply because life is good. But somewhere I lost the intensity of loving God and of bringing His kingdom to earth.

I've stopped feeling deeply and too often I just get by.

I've stopped bleeding for the wounded and too often I just shrug.

I've stopped laughing simply because I'm loved and too often I'm cynical.

I've stopped living my life abandoned to God and too often I'm trying to impress.

God, forgive me! Please renew a right spirit in me. Show me how I should live. Let me help be Your hands, feet, and voice to my new community, I beg you. Lead me to the people. Bring Your kingdom today and everyday.

Life is Mostly Edges

Let me start this post by saying that I love going shopping at Ollie's. Often times I've found a book off my "must-read/own" list for a fraction of the cost of buying it new. (You have no idea the excited noises/dances that happen when I find a book, followed quickly by the profound silence that comes when I am perusing a book and am instantly drawn in). I found Life is Mostly Edges by Calvin Miller at my local Ollie's earlier this summer, and I've just finished reading it. I highly recommend it. He has some profound things to say, and says them better than I could attempt to, so I will simply quote the last lines from the book. Enjoy!



"Like autumn leaves
My final triumph is set to swirl upward into the sky.
And the song will come on forever.
And I will take possession of the distant real estate
I've always owned.
And I will live among the far pavilions I have always loved,
Where the parent stars themselves were tracked
By wounded feet.
And there standing free in golden light
I'll shake an unfamiliar hand and find it wounded.
And there I'll be reminded
This life I lived was never mine."
excerpt from The Singer by Calvin Miller

Reflections and Goodbyes

I wish I could say that I can't believe 2 years are over already, but that would be untrue. This whole FB experience has been very long, and Fall 2008 seems like an extremely long time ago. In fact, I can hardly believe it has only been 2 years (not even a full 2 years, actually).
I showed up at FB, petrified and white knuckled, not knowing what in the world I was getting myself into, and simply positive I would never learn everyone's name, and that I would do my work and hide in my room, safe from everything unknown. Imagine how I felt when I realized what TAP intensives included! Boy, was I wrong about being safe! Part of the reason that this journey has felt so long is because of the intensity. Living in the same building with people, breathing the same air, doing the same homework, eating the same food...it's intense. I've gotten to know these dear people better in 2 years than I did my "home" friends in 18. I do know everyone's name, and a bunch more about them (wanted and unwanted lol) that I never could have imagined. Intellectually, I have learned an indescribable amount, both in and out of classes, and have had my horizons/categories/worldview broadened, blown, and matured more than I thought possible.
Now, with graduation rapidly approaching, I'm facing the end of this 2 year journey. We will part ways; go to our separate communities and continue living. Our lives, at least for most of us, are done intersecting. We will begin (again) to have shaping life experiences that don't include each other. Our lives will grow apart. When and if we see each other again, we will be different people. How in the world can we have spent 2 years speaking into each other's lives and getting to know one another to just walk away now? In one of my very first journal entries in my first semester, I mentioned that these people felt like my family; that it felt like I'd finally come home. In some ways, this is still true, although I've been reconnected with my own biological family in miraculous ways since coming here. It's the hard things we've gone through together that will bring a group of people close. Together, our class has faced family members dying, impossible homework assignments, and most painfully, classmates leaving prematurely. The tears we sobbed and the questions to which we begged answers drew the group together in ways that laughter and ice cream outings never would have.
These ladies - my mentoring group first and for most, then my dorm, then the rest...they know a lot about me. They've heard my life story, my victories and failures, and my life plans and biggest hopes and dreams. And I, in return, have heard theirs. They've seen me joyful, and they've seen me grumpy. They've seen me when I first get up in the morning and don't want to talk to anyone. We've cried and laughed together more times than I can count. Our late night conversations will stay in our memories long after they end. Yes, we can email. It's not the same, but it's all we've got. So thanks, ladies, if you're reading this. You've kept me sane for the past two years!
These men - It's easy enough to tell the girls how much they mean to you, but it can be a bit awkward to try and tell the guys. In many, many ways, these men have become the brothers I never had. They have been infinitely patient with me as I learned what was okay and what was not in relating to them :P I have the utmost respect for them, and cannot even count how many times I've remarked to the other girls what good (and good-looking) ;) guys we have in our class. Seriously, guys, you're all truly amazing. I am proud of you; pleased to know you and claim you as friends.
With all endings come new beginnings...some of us will begin new jobs; some will return to old jobs. Others will even go on to get more training. Some will go to their home communities, and some will find new places to call home. So here we are, preparing to be scattered abroad, and we take a look back at what has been and pronounce it good. Then we look to the future, full of uncertainties, remember our God, and step boldly forward.