Hump days

Who encourages the encouragers?

Wheel

And if you never stop when you wave goodbye
You just might find if you give it time
You will wave hello again

You just might wave hello again

Good Day Sunshine

4/27/15

Today is dreary, wet, dark, windy, disorganized, quiet...a classic April Monday. I am sunburnt from the weekend's baseball game, so I'm simultaneously sweaty and shivering. What a combination...

These kinds of days used to be spent at a campus apartment in a room overflowing with Neil Gaiman, boxes of saffron tea, half-finished writing projects, skeins of yarn, books upon books upon books,  piles of shoes, West Wing re-runs. 

Now they're spent dutifully in an office, playing dress-up with black slacks and white button-downs, hair twirled up, pearls in my ears. Later tonight, I will drive to my graystone house on the hill and be glad for the greeting of a slobbery dog, for my husband's welcoming smile. 

But right now, I'd rather visit that campus apartment and watch some West Wing.

Butts

I posted a cutesy picture of my husband this week and I think maybe a million people liked it. Same with pictures of the pie I baked. And my dog. My #tbt of our first wedding anniversary. Instant hits.

Then one morning, I posted a Bible verse that cropped up during my readings and commented with a note about bringing peace, working together, recognizing shared humanity, etc. It was not eloquent, it was not long, but I hoped to at least recognize the presence of Christ in the midst of tragedy instead of calling out haters and perpetuating the cycle of online negativity. It was such a far cry from my normal puppy pictures. Surely this would get so many hits. What a conversation we could have! So I posted. And waited. And waited.
And waited.
Nothing.

Finally, a notification. Let the conversation begin!
 
Except....not. It was my mother. I could post about watching paint dry and my mother would click the thumb's up. Might as well have actually posted about watching paint dry for all the conversation it spawned.

I'm a weird Millennial. I don't usually post about politics, religious conflicts, current events, personal slights, family things, etc. I do grapple with these issues, just not publicly. There's enough drama and arguments without my contributions, because Lord knows I used to jump right in and say whatever I thought sounded best, even if I hadn't researched the issue to even develop an informed opinion...especially if I hadn't developed my own opinion. Maybe because of the chaos created from that impetuosity, I spend my opinion coins sparingly. I like to think they are worth more now.

Opinions are like butts. Everyone's got one. Doesn't mean you need to let it all hang out.

What I'm trying to say is that sometimes we forgo very important conversations for very shallow ones and walk away thinking we displayed prodigious skill and intelligence and dazzle everyone with our convincing arguments when really all we did was show off our butt.

Maybe we're just throwing away our opinion coins. Pearls to swine.

What a waste of a good butt.

Welcome back, me

Who knows why I ever started this blog. I'm glad I abandoned it for so long, because now I'm ensured complete privacy by lack of readership.

Hurrah for privacy!

First rule of publishing - alienate your audience.

I'm a closet Mennonite

There is a poultry farm, a dairy farm, a stone mason, a garden nursery and three farmer's stands less than a mile's radius from my house. A horse pasture backs up to my neighborhood. Behind my house is a pond, and beyond that is a farm with goats and sheep.

My office is in the campus of the Mennonite Heritage Center and down the street from a Mennonite Meetinghouse. One of my best friends graduated from a Mennonite high school and sometimes we drive slowly to pass tractors and avoid globs of roadside horse droppings.

Frick, Potshop, Schwenkfelder, Franconia, Wartman, Perkiomen, Groff, Lederach, Wambold, Fretz, Orvilla, Koffel, Weikel, Bustard, Derstine, Limekiln, Skippack, Applebutter, Cheese Factory.....


 .....All names of roads, not lung diseases.

Welcome to Mennonite territory.

Home sweet home.

Speechless (or, Part B)

Does the right word always exist? Does any adjective convey enough power to describe what a life has become, to illustrate its complete transformation? Maybe we need to invent new phrases for a dream that suddenly leaps into reality.

Because, for once, I have no words.

All I know is that my heart's desires are blooming into reality before my eyes, shifting out of tightly furled, half-hoped-for achings and suddenly blossoming to life, huge and vibrant, breathtaking as a leap into sheer air.

I can't tell you how I felt when I shook hands with my new boss as he welcomed me into the company for a position far above my level of experience or knowledge.

I can't tell you how I felt when my mother called me, sobbing, saying that my grandfather was in the hospital - yet again - for cancer. I am equally inarticulate about the day my big sister announced that a baby was on the way. Elation, coupled with fear of the unknown. Has every new baby been welcomed with such a mixture of joy and terror? Indescribable joy and unfathomable pain, sharing the same heartspace.

There are no words for the October evening when my best friend knelt in front of me with a ring for my left hand, voice shaking and eyes shining, but with a full heart fit to burst with love.

That was the moment my heart stopped talking and it began to sing instead.

Sometimes, there are no words left. And that's where the music begins.