moving and ice

This morning, it took us about ten minutes to get down the stairs, then about 15 to get back up. It took us five minutes to walk to the bathroom, and five in the opposite direction. We did that several times. We waited ten minutes before standing up. We almost fell a few times. We checked our e-mail, by typing with the index finger on our left hand -- our right hand is beaten up after a fall. We clicked three times with the mouse, and soon logged out. It was tiring. Despite best efforts, there was no way we were going to the store this afternoon. Going to the store would force us down the stairs once more, into the car, out of the car, to the shopping cart, around the store, through the check-out line, in the car once again, then up the garage stairs, up the stairs to the second level, across to the bedroom, then into the bed. We'll go to the store another day. I'm only five feet, and he has a foot and dozens of pounds on me.

Sometimes, we take mobility for granted. In my case, I take it for granted every day. Today, I'm grateful.

I cried for the first time since I've been back. I needed to take money out of one bank and put it into a second, and on my way out of the first, the teller wished me a happy Thanksgiving.

Ironically, that's what did it for me. That simple outstretch of community, of humanity, was what broke me.

I think we're kind of like ice, sometimes. As long as you keep us in the freezer, we're all right. We'll stay ice forever, solid and cold and clear and hard. But the minute you introduce any heat into the equation, even just a degree of warmth, we crack. Our hard edges soften; our temperature rises; we melt. It isn't easy to keep cold for long.

Sitting in the driver's seat, I got on my cell phone and called one of the most amazing women in my life. She's always been here for me, through thick and thin. She opened the freezer door; I melted. We prayed together, for peace and joy for my family, for physical and emotional and spiritual healing for my dad and, really, for all of us. I was, figuratively, a puddle.

It was beautiful.

growing up

This is it . . . this is growing up.

One by one, I'm going through every drawer in my desk, my dresser and my night stand. One by one, I'm going through every shelf in my closets. I'm determining what's necessary, what's good and then, the largest category, what to throw away. I was such a saver, for years. Now that very quality that I used to love is coming back to eat me.

every pen pal letter
every birthday card
every American Girl magazine
every too-small or too-big sweatshirt
every picture
every half-used package of stationery
every bookmark I got from a teacher
every necklace-making kit
every label-making kit
every Britney Spears and Backstreet Boys and *NSync CD
every shoe box
every Beanie Baby
everything

In the midst of all of it, I'm finding some rather intriguing things, things that show how far God's taken me. I found an old prayer journal. a pastel blue Hello Kitty notebook with a hot pink pen slipped in the side. I only wrote on six pages; I must have gotten bored. I asked God to make me less greedy, to help me pay attention to others more, to give my family some happiness. I prayed for my pen pals, for friends at school. I prayed for Girl Scout trips and for service projects. I crossed off a few of them; I assume they were prayers God answered. Beautiful stuff.

I used to tape old movie ticket stubs on my closet door. I saw everything from "Princess Diaries" to "On Cold Mountain." An ex-boyfriend saw the latter with me; we always picked the longest movies, regardless of whether we actually wanted to see them or not. It gave us more time for making out. In retrospect, probably not one of my classier moments. But that one relationship taught me more about myself than I'd learned in the sixteen years of my life before then. We learn from our mistakes.

We learn from our mistakes.

praying our afflictions

I drove seven hours today. It was actually great. I got to listen to some music, just stare at the road for a while, occupy my mind. I am actually looking forward to my drive next Saturday.

Then I came back to Illinois, home of my family. Things kind of break my heart. Our computer room looks like a nursing home room. There is an IV machine dripping its filtered-out contents into my toilet. There are boxes of medical supplies in all kinds of closets. I'll be cleaning out my closets this week, week one of the last six that this I'll be residing here. You could include spring break, next Thanksgiving and Winter break, etc., but I'll be more of a guest.

I'm more of a guest now, I suppose . . . in my mind, anyway.

Ross's RUF sermon this past Thursday was beautiful. It was God, speaking through him, preparing me for what was to come. Psalm 113 is about praying our afflictions, reminding ourselves of the hope we find in Him and, finally, giving our life away in the way He gave His.

It was a poignant and beautiful message about how, yes, life can be miserable. Our afflictions can be overwhelming. But we need to take heart; this life isn't where we're destined for eternity. Rather, we're getting the chance to be with our Savior forever . . . it sure isn't breaking news, but every time I hear it, I'm in awe.

There's another verse I've been reflecting on a lot, in preparation for the time here with my family. Ross's wife, Jenny, shared it with me. Matthew 25:40 reminds me of how we're truly called to help and sacrifice and throw our lives away for others. This week, I'll try to throw my life away for my family. With God, I pray, this will be accomplished.

all kinds of new ideas

Since I was 10, I've never wanted to do anything but write. What I've wanted to write has changed: poetry, stories, novels, magazine articles, newspaper articles.

A week ago today, for the first time in a decade, I considered doing something else. Crazier still, I think I just might do it.

I'm just as enthusiastic about newspaper journalism as ever. I love shedding light on the important issues of the world and giving citizens the tools they need to be a member of society. There's so much going on, and it would be a privilege to report it all. But I've been thinking about my lifestyle: it's busy, over-programmed, over-scheduled. I do too much.

I used to love it, but now I hate it. I'm perpetually exhausted, perpetually out of breath, perpetually way too much. I hate that I plan coffee dates with friends a week in advance, that I plan my sleep schedule, that I calculate how many minutes it takes for me to eat meals, then try to eat in less time than that. I hate that I don't do homework until the last minute, because I no longer focus well unless I'm on a deadline. I hate that I haven't been to the Rec Center in weeks, but I've been to countless restaurants and coffee shops, typically when I'm en route to some other destination.

God has given me many wake-up calls over the past several years. I listen, for about two days, but I rarely take steps to actually slow my life down permanently.

Well, God, I'm listening.

showing up

Good news first: last time my dad was in the hospital, the Bears lost. To the Colts, of all teams. This time, the Bears won, against Green Bay. And Mizzou is now #11 in the nation, thank you very much. It's promising.

That's another thing God has taught me lately: there's so much promise in this world, but you only find it through Him. Phillipians 4:12 has two interpretations, and I'm shifting towards the second. The first interpretation is the Nike interpretation, the can-do, the slogan-on-a-motivational-poster interpretation: I CAN DO EVERYTHING through Him who gives me strength. The "through Him" aspect is a side note, an afterthought, an addendum to the real deal.

The second interpretation was revealed to me at Fall Conference with RUF. The verse isn't a pump-yourself-up verse; rather, it is a trust-in-God verse: I can do eveything THROUGH HIM who gives me strength. We're not the stars of the show. All we do is show up.

it's been a while

I haven't blogged in a while. But I've been growing. God's been using challenges and experiences and PEOPLE to make a difference.

I've learned countless things about who God is, who He has made me to be and what He wants for His children. He teaches me every day that He never throws us into battle without armor. In my case, armor is my friends. I'm so grateful, because I have the best friends I could ask for. They support me and love me and show me a real picture of God.

I'm finding the joy amidst the trials . . .

fill 'er up

"When you're full of yourself, God can't fill you. But when you empty yourself, God has a useful vessel." - Max Lucado
“Do not be wise in your own eyes." - Prov. 3:7

rain with a chance of sun

. . So I pray

Bring me joy, bring me peace
Bring the chance to be free
Bring me anything that brings
You glory And I know there'll
be days When this life brings me pain
But if that's what it takes to
praise You Jesus, bring the rain.

- "Bring the Rain" by MercyMe

giving it up

My to-do list:

- Give everything to God.

j-thoughts

If there's one thing this journalism stuff has taught me, it's how many crazy people there are in this world. But one of the best things about it is how I get to tell their stories too. I like to think of journalism as the great equalizer: we can tell the stories of the big people and of the little people. It isn't a perfect trade, and there's plenty of things wrong with it, but the principles still stand.

Bottom line? I love it.

i'm always learning crazy things

God never promised happiness, but He did promise contentedness.

Maybe the latter is enough. Maybe it's more than enough.

throwing off the bowlines

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
- Mark Twain

I was reading a good friend and mentor's blog today and she has this quote as one of her entries, below a story she wrote about when she really began living life out loud, her junior year in college. She was in Europe, studying abroad, and she bought a pass that lets you travel from country to country in Europe, called a Eurail pass. It was expensive, but she reasoned that she'd never get the chance to do it again. It was a risk worth taking.

I'm trying to reinvent myself, because I'm kind of sick of this kind of Sarah. I'm turning back into the Sarah I left in Illinois when I first left for Missouri, 23 months ago. I loved the new Sarah, but her life needed more than just a facelift. My life needs plastic surgery, from the inside out.

I'm craving some real, genuine rest and joy and fun and peace. And I think I need to take a journey to track it down . . .

my plant analogy

I wrote this five days ago and never posted it . . .



My mom has several plants in the corner in front of the kitchen sink. They all get plenty of light there, but some grow faster than others. One green ivy-like plant grows the fastest of them all. My mom transferred one of the smaller parts of it into a small flowerpot, maybe the size of my fist. I asked if I could keep it in my room.

Sometimes I water it; sometimes I don’t. I guess that’s responsibility in its most elementary form: giving a growing thing the sustenance it needs.

Most of the plant seems happy. Most of the leaves are the color of Kermit the Frog. But there’s this one leaf that doesn’t seem to catch onto the idea; it’s brown and shriveling. I want it to fit in and be like the other leaves. The plant is doing well; why does that one leaf have to bring the rest of the plant down?

Sometimes my life feels like that. Most of me is centered on what’s important: on Jesus, on loving others, on building relationships. But there’s often one leaf -- one part of me -- that drags the rest of me down. It’s the leaf that worries too much, that thinks about itself too much, that stares at the mirror more than at my heart, the leaf that talks too much, the leaf that talks too little.

I want to get out my Fiskars scissors and clip off that one crumbling leaf. It’s bringing the rest of the plant down.

But then I remember why I water this plant. I water it to keep the green leaves green, but mainly, I water it in hopes of saving this rather miserable-looking leaf. If there isn’t room for improvement, then what’s to push us past status quo?




Sometimes when I re-read things I wrote a while ago, I dislike them. That's why I just decided to post this and not re-read it.

In other new, have I ever mentioned how much I hate yelling? And pessimism?

Meredith Gray

I decided your life seems so much cooler if you pretend you're on a TV show. Think about all the cool plot lines we could all make out of our lives! Trouble is, I'm not constantly surrounded by sexy doctors, but you know what, I'll take what I can get.

At the end of the year, during our last Bible Study, Andrea and I had our girls write themselves letters, about things they wanted to remember, and we're sending these letters out now. I'm writing a letter of my own to go inside them, and I'm realizing how much I miss them. That's one of the many things this past year -- this past semester -- has taught me, is how quickly someone can become a part of your life, and what a shock it can be when that all gets erased in a matter of days. You go from seeing someone almost every day to talking to them once every other week, if you're lucky. It's kind of devastating.

And, if I were Meredith Gray, I would say the above aloud, and then be able to link it to every character in my show through a series of clips of each one of them doing surgery or making out (because those are the two things they seem to do most frequently). Good thing I'm not Meredith; I think that narration would piss off my family after a while.

when it rains, it pours . . .

. . and I should have brought an umbrella.

Life just keeps getting messier and messier. But isn't that the story for all of us? Our common denominator is that everyone has something. Everyone's heart has something on it. The magnitude or the significance of whatever's on our hearts isn't what I'm talking about. I'm talking about the common human experience of a whole lotta crap.

Six

Today is my half birthday. 21 in six what-I'm-sure-will-be-short months. I can't wait; I honestly can't wait. 

Being a person

I think the business of being a community journalist is the business of being a person.

I'm on my seventh Monday working at the newspaper and every day I learn something new. Sometimes it's about journalism, but most of the time, it's about humanity, who we are and how we all want so badly to matter.

Today I interviewed a woman who creates jewelry. Not so simple. Her brother died less than two months ago at age 23 from Ewing's Sarcoma, a rare form of cancer. She hopes to donate a portion of her jewelry proceeds and have a benefit for Ewing's Sarcoma research.

If I hadn't asked her about her family, she never would have told me that.

There's the mom whose son is a Marine in the Middle East; she doesn't know exactly where, and she won't for a few more months. I didn't need to imagine how devastating that must be, because she told me. She cried several times in the interview. She's so strong.

Every week, we write something called In Memory, an extended version of the short obits we run for everyone. I call the family, and they tell me their favorite memories, about the person's nature, etc. I wonder how I would even pick up the phone if a reporter called me days after someone I love died.

The owner of a local restaurant took what used to be an empty building and made it into what's now being called a Westmont landmark. It's delicious food, but it tastes better knowing how much sweat and tears went into it. He goes all over the country with his barbecue to win national awards. Sometimes we run a story about the restaurant, sometimes eight inches and sometimes less.

I wrote a story about a movie filmed in town, and there was a sidebar listing films made in Westmont in years past. A few days later, I got a glowing e-maill from an indie filmmaker telling me how much he and his mom appreciated seeing his movie printed in the paper. It was one line, but it made this man happy and his mom proud. I wished I could have done more for him.

When I was in kindergarten, my picture was in the newspaper when my kindergarten class had Hundreds Day. My mom bought a dozen copies. It mattered.

We all want to be noticed. We all want to matter. And that's what journalism is: the business of showing people how much they matter.

I love this shit.

things i've learned

This has been the hardest summer of my life. But God has this crazy way of taking the hardest times and growing us through them . . .



I love two jobs; I love 55-and-60 hour weeks.

When I started working at Ann Taylor, I got a dozen extra moms. My co-workers teach me something new every day.

My dad is falling apart. So is our relationship. I'm trying to stop that from happening, but maybe I'm not trying hard enough.

The more I help my friends, the more I learn about myself.

The less rest I get, the more I realize how important it is. Next semester will be better, because I'm going to rest more.

I love writing letters, and I should write more of them.

Journalism really is what I want to do with the rest of my life. I'm doing it now without getting paid, and I'm pretty sure I'll only love it more when they give me money to do it. I love it.

The more I worry about the future, the less I live today. I'm trying to stop that -- the worrying, not the living.
I'm a country music fan.

I miss my Bible study girls, and I can't wait to see them again.

I miss my sisters and I can't wait to share a house with them again.

Being a Pi Chi makes me really excited and I pray that God gives me the leadership skills I'll need for this August.

I'm starting to learn about sports. Someday I'll understand them, and I hope that someday is sooner than later.

I want my wedding theme to be black and white with red accents, and I want a polka dot wedding cake. I know some of my bridesmaids. I want a big wedding. That is all I know, and I'm glad I have years and years to figure out the rest.

God has been so good to me.

I'm worried about my sister and mom. I need to love both of them like Jesus calls us to love.

Driving isn't so hard. I just needed some confidence. Next on the to-do list? Directions.

I need to take more pictures. First, I need to have days worthy of taking pictures. I can't wait to have those. I need a new camera.

I really, really value my cell phone. I also really, really value AIM. Both are lifelines, total lifelines.

The only things that can really make you happy in life are Jesus and the relationships He gives us. That's it. That's really it.

86 days

86 days until I'm back in Columbia. I'm already counting down.

This won't be such a bad summer. Maybe.

Brand new

I'm so thankful that every single time I screw up, God grants me His grace. Brand new. Every minute of every hour of every day, He forgives me. I ask and He gives. I'm crazy about Him.

I'm trying. Not always succeeding, but I'm trying. Every day, allowing God to renew and renovate my life. I want to learn to see the world the way God sees it, I want to learn to think like God thinks.

Romans 12:2 -- I want to stop conforming to the way of the world and start conforming to the way of God. Brand spanking, fabulously new.

Bad things come in three's

On Thursday night, at RUF, one of the freshmen from my Bible study said "Bad things come in three's." So, depending on how you count, they could be over . . .

Depending on how you count.

1. My dad in the hospital
2. My car ignition
3. The Bears
4. The bad car accident on Thursday
5. My broken heart -- life breaks hearts, doesn't it?

But thoughout it all, I have a much longer list of ways He has blessed me. My dad is alive. I have good car insurance. No one died in the car accident -- not even a broken bone. Gail. Sarah. Andrea. Ross, Jenny and Avery. Everyone who cares about me.

This morning, I spilled milk on the stairs on my way up. The first thing I thought of? Today is Saturday. The last day in my unlucky week. Saturday to Saturday, one week. I think tomorrow's going to be much better.

He doesn't give us anything we can't handle, right?

Right?

Mountains

What do you do when things don't go as you planned?

My dad is in the hospital, again. Six years ago, when I was 14, I went through the very same motions in my brain. Fear for my dad's life. Fear for my life as I know it. Fear for my mom, my sister. Trusting in God. Then, the picking up of the puzzle pieces begins. It's going to be a long road ahead. I feel like I did six years ago. Just as little control over the situation, just as little ability to keep my life together.

A country song goes like this: "The Good Lord gave us mountains so we can learn how to climb." It's true. But somehow, I still don't feel good at climbing, even though I've been climbing for a long, long time.

Digging a hole and falling in

It's the first day of classes. I'm already in over my head. I swore I wouldn't be. This semester would be different, I promised God, myself and others.

Oops.

I'm sitting in a stairwell in Middlebush right now. I bought a piece of cake from Starbucks and I'm eating the crumbs from the bottom of the bag, checking my e-mail, and cross-referencing my calendar. I volunteered to go cover a city council meeting tonight, then write a story about it. But my car doors are frozen shut and I was supposed to go to a friend's surprise party tonight . . .

Oops. Oops again.

Forget digging a hole. I've already fallen in.

Better days

It's 2007. It's going to be a better year.

This next semester, I'm going to do just what makes me really happy. Things that make my relationships stronger, things that help me get closer to God, things that make me smile, things that make me feel rested.

Things that I don't like or don't want to do just won't be done. Of course I'll do homework and all that stuff that I don't like, and I know I'll probably end up doing things I don't enjoy, because we all have to do it sometimes. But I'll try my best, get it done, and go back to the things that make life worth living.

Especially in my sorority, I'm only going to do things I have fun doing. Instead of being Assistant Membership Director this year, I'm Outreach Chair. I'm doing this because I'm excited about it -- I get to write, design and publish our parent and alumna newsletters. Even though I always wanted to be an exec board member, I am never going to run for a sorority exec job again. God called me to something else, and He tried to tell me so many times, but I just didn't listen to Him. Now, I'm going to.

I'm also excited to take care of my health again. I've been going to physical therapy a lot over break so far, and my occupational therapy starts tomorrow. I asked my doctor this morning if I did this to myself, if I caused all the tension in my muscles. His answer? Less stress never hurt anybody. I'm really going to put my health first -- doing the stretches I learned in therapy, exercising and eating right and sleeping enough.

It's going to be a good year. I'm looking forward to peace.