Mirror

I am not usually a big fan of poetry but this poem written by Sylvia Plath in 1961 really captured my attention:

Mirror

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see I swallow immediately
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike.
I am not cruel, only truthful–
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect is faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

What should we do?

I was on my way to get dinner tonight when I pulled up next to a homeless man holding out his hat for money. He had wet his pants and was staggering away as a police car pulled up next to me. All I could think to do was pray.

There has to be something we can do. I felt overwhelmed. I know there is something that we can do to help, but I have no idea what to do.

I am…

Restored.
Delivered.
Loved.

I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

10-9-10 Death

I saw a dead man today. A freshly dead man. Not sure if that is a good word to use. Newly dead? Just passed? Kind of a touchy subject. I have seen a dead body before, in a coffin at a funeral.

This man had just died. He was hit by a car. I don’t know this man’s story but I feel strangely connected to him. I saw him for less than a minute. Laying on the ground, eyes open, blood in a pool around his head. A flurry of questions rushed to my head after I passed his body.

1. Who was this man? Was he homeless? Will someone care that he is no longer here?

2. Why? Why God? I feel like that is the only person that could give me an answer. Why did he die that way?

3. Why was I there? Why did I see him?  Sometimes I think we come upon things and have no idea how it will effect us in the long run but we know that it will change us. This is one of those times.

 

A lot of thoughts are running through my head. I may return to this place of mystery, of death and life.

Childhood 2: My Parents

I don’t even know where to start when I talk about my parents. I’ll just give you some memories that really stand out to me about each of them.

Daddy:

My dad knew how to make me feel safe and secure. When I was little I was never afraid of monsters under my bed or in my closet like a lot of kids were. I remember that he told me monsters used to live in the house but when he moved in he ate all of them. It was a perfect explanation of his belly and calmed my fears. He would also check for snakes under my sheets before I got into bed.

He always played with me too. He didn’t mind getting down on the floor and picking up a Barbie (he always picked the prettiest one). He also didn’t mind playing Pretty Pretty Princess(I wish there were pictures of this), he always won.

I remember when he would wake me and my sister up early to go fishing. My dad was my hero, and still is one. When I got a little bit early he would wake me up to go golfing with him,  I was the “caddy.” It was also how I learned to drive, he won’t let me forget the time I ran into the flower bed trying to get to the bathroom though, or the time I ran into someones cart…whoops.

He calls me his “boy.” Probably because at a young he taught me things that little girls would not normally learn. He also taught things to my cousins and sister. One thing I’m sure we all benefited from was his belching lessons. I can burp on command if the need arises (which is never). And for laughs I can say words as I burp, most specifically the word “Buick.” Not sure why we learned that one but it’s sure funny to see a little kid do it.

I still call him Daddy at 22. I can’t really tell you why, other than that Dad just doesn’t fit him. If you looked at him you’d probably think he wanted a boy that was the star on the football field and basketball court. But if you know him, you’d know he has a soft spot for his little girls and wouldn’t trade either of us for that boy. He’s always been a hero to me. Maybe it’s that he destroyed all the monsters for me and protected me. I think a lot of it is the love he showed me. It didn’t matter to him if he looked silly wearing a plastic crown, he just wanted his daughters to know how much he cared.

Mom:

I think the first real memory I have is when I feel off the bleachers when I was three (I’m pretty sure I was three anyways) right after my mom told me not to sit the way I was. I cracked the back of my head open on the rails. This is the worst injury I’ve ever had. This memory reminds me now of the saying “mother knows best” and my mom definitely did.

One of my favorite things was making Christmas cookies with her. We would make snickerdoodles with peppermint and sprinkles. I loved rolling the cookie dough through the sprinkles. That could be the reason I’m a better baker than cook. I didn’t like the kitchen as much when she was just making dinner.

She used to work as a bookkeeper when I was little and I got to go to work with her a lot. I remember sitting on the floor next to her desk and drawing on copy paper (the big old papers that were green and white). There was a spiral staircase in the office that she worked in and I would always try to jump from it and scare her.

When I was in second grade my mom went back to school to become a PTA. She went to school in a different town a few hours away. It seems weird to me now that I lived almost a year without my mom. The year seemed to take forever but she always came home on the weekends to be with us.

I grew up with ear infections and tonsillitis all the time(or it seemed that way), so I spent a lot of time at home sick. I remember my mom taking me to McDonald’s for happy meals when I was stuck at home. I would always get a plain cheeseburger and a milkshake. She knew how to make me feel better. She would also take me for ice cream cones after I had to get shots. My mom was always a soothing presence growing up. Somehow she just made things better. She still does, it’s something I really admire about her.

My parents taught me a lot of values growing up. They gave me encouragement and strength, gentleness and kindness (fruits of the spirit much), love and compassion. I hope that someday I will be able to show my children love they way my parents showed it to me. I love them and am so thankful I was blessed with the most amazing parents I could ask for.

Savages

I grew up in a small town in Southeastern Colorado. My high school mascot is known as the Savage. Many claim that it is known as the Noble Savage, but I lived there for 18 years and had never heard that term until this year (I’m 22 now) when the identity of our mascot is at stake. Growing up in Lamar you look forward to becoming a Lamar High School Savage. There is a certain nobility in becoming a savage to those of us who have lived all our lives as Savages. The name to us is more of a great warrior and an Native American one at that. Growing up we did units studying the culture of the Native Americans and taking field trips to view hieroglyphics. The culture is of course respected by all, but not all respect us for it.

As I stated the identity of the mascot is at stake. The Denver post reported it. “Williams [CO state Senator] introduced a bill this week that would require all public and charter high schools with Indian mascots to “either cease using the American Indian mascot or obtain approval for the continued use of the American Indian mascot or another American Indian mascot from the Colorado Commission of Indian Affairs”

Read more: http://www.denverpost.com/ci_14243392?obref=obinsite#ixzz0e3wdLdeQ

Now many people have stated that they would love to see the Savage stay. As I have stated to those in Lamar it is a NOBLE character and held in the highest esteem. But the the word Savage has very derogatory meaning to those outside the town. Those that love our mascot have even tried to convince others to just change the name. Keep our Chieftain figure and adopt a tribe (if they’ll have us after the terms we’ve used for so long) and use their name. The Cheyenne, Arapahoe, Kiowa, and Apache tribes are still influential in communities around Lamar and I’m sure would be perfectly happy to share ideas. Even changing the name to something as simple as the Chieftains would be an easy compromise. It would ruin the towns savage roots and they would have to change much. I mean the high school newspaper is already the savage Cheiftain (that’s an easy fix) and the yearbook is the Chieftain.

I am not against the mascot I grew up with. But I am against those who don’t seem to understand the effect it has on people outside of Lamar. Some want to say that it doesn’t matter anywhere else but when a town is picked out of an entire state and probably most of the country for it’s offensive mascot don’t you think a change should be made? You can’t explain to everyone what being a Savage truly means to you and expect them to understand it, let alone believe it. You can however understand hate. We are all victims of it at some point or another. And that’s what the point of changing the mascots name is about.

It is hateful to those who were wrongfully called savages when they were really fighting for what was rightfully theirs. It is hateful to say that it doesn’t matter what other people think, especially when you want people to think what you say matters. It is hateful, not to mention ignorant of those who can’t even step into someone else’s “moccasins” to see what such a term as Savage can mean to someone other than yourself.

So, in my opinion we need to step out of our comfort zone, our home town pride and see how the other half really lives. And, pay tribute to the mascot we represent in a respectful and honorable way.

understanding

I’ve always been the kind of person that has to think before I speak. I am not a quick thinker if you ask me a serious question. I have to mull things over so that I can give you an intelligent answer.

I am also not quick to ask questions. It’s not because I don’t have any.

I’m not good at making friends…I’m okay at keeping the ones I have though. At least I think I am, but I’m probably not the best at it.

I realize that I am a lot stronger than I think I am. I have never lived alone. Ever. I just spent 9 days by myself and couldn’t feel better about it. The first few days were rough without my husband around. Now I realize that I don’t need him to survive, I just prefer to have him with me.

I’m not good at being supportive. Not because I don’t want to be. Mostly because different people need support in different ways and it’s hard to figure out where they the support or if they’ll accept it.

I’m good at making excuses…

To be continued….

Childhood 1:My Sister

My sister taught me a lot growing up. She was my role model. Kristen is her name. She is four years older than me. If you ask her about the day I was born she’ll tell you about waking up and finding our Aunt Lisa on the couch with her pants unbuttoned. My Aunt told her it was more comfortable to sleep that way. My Aunt then took her to the hospital, they didn’t have scrubs small enough for my sister to put on to come and see me, but they did have a small doctors lab coat. I don’t remember her saying anything about me when she remembers that day but I’m pretty sure from that day she knew she would show me something.

Kristen was my teacher growing up. I had an easel chalkboard in the corner of my room when I was little. If it wasn’t nice outside you would find us sitting in my room playing “school.” My sister was always the teacher and I was always the student. By the time I was in kindergarten I could write my name in cursive and print, I could read small books by myself, and I could add and subtract. She was also the one who taught me how to tie my shoes and ride a bike. She was the only one who really knew how to teach me. My parents pretty much just had to potty train, my sister was my tutor after that.

I loved doing things with my sister. In our basement (which was unfinished at the time) we had a big playroom. It was full of Barbies and stuffed animals and the Barbie Jeep, which I only got to play with on occasion. We used to play for hours down there. Before I learned to ride my bike I used to cruise the neighborhood in my red car, those cool little pedal ones, and she would ride her mountain bike. We also had a huge tractor tire in our backyard as a sandbox. We built forts and motes.

We will probably forever laugh about how she called me a queer, and I compared being queer to being like Michael Jackson(and how I confused up Michael Jackson with Michale Jordan a lot). She’ll probably never forget the many times I slept walked into her room. Or when I used to sleep with her and we would put bread and pretzels in water until they got really soggy and then eat them. We were interesting. Paula Abdul was awesome to dance to. Ace of Base was the best to sing too. And a yellow boom box played all of our favorite songs. The time I stepped on her crocheting needle on New Years Eve. When she got her first car. When Scooter pooped in her car. Playing in a refrigerator box at Patsy’s house. Cheerleading camp (neither of us turned out to be cheerleaders).

I have always looked up to my sister. She definitely taught me a lot growing up. I admire her so much. I love her so much, even though I don’t say it nearly enough. She made my childhood wonderful and was the perfect big sister for me.

A Cord of 3 Strands

Matthew 18:20 “For where two or three come together in my name, there am I with them.”

Genesis 2:24 For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.

I find marriage such a beautiful thing. Today in church our pastor brought up Matthew 18:20, when two or more gather in my name there I will be also. It started me thinking about what a glorious thing Christian marriage is. When a man and wife come together in the Spirit they are joined in Christ’s name forever. Jesus is always with them. They came together in his name to become one, and the two will never be apart from Christ.

Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: If one falls down, his friend can help him up. But pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.

Colossians 3:13-14 Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them all together in perfect unity.

Mark 10:9 Therefore what God has joined together, let man not separate.

What I learned Today.

Today I learned that I will never be a “good wife.” I will never know just what to say and when to say it. I will probaly not say it loud enough even if I do find the right time. I’m probably never going to make my husband happy. Or permanently happy that is. I don’t have the ability to be everything, and I don’t want it. I can’t be perfect, I can only be me. And me, is a little messed up. However, my husband and I are firm believers in Jesus. He is where our salvation lies, where our happiness lies. And I can be happy with that always.

So, I can never be a “good wife.” But I do know that I can be a loving wife, and I think that matters most.