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.