Shattered Prison

“The thing that irks me most is this shattered prison, after all. I'm tired, tired of being enclosed here. I'm wearying to escape into that glorious world, and to be always there: not seeing it dimly through tears, and yearning for it through the walls of an aching heart, but really with it, and in it.”

My whole being aches for home. I long for my family and friends, for a sense of belonging. I long for Marsh Creek, where I know of a spot that has perfect lighting. I want to feel the familiar winding of the back roads and failing light of fall.

My memory is short. Only two years ago I left for an adventure on the other side of the world. Already I have forgotten most of the lessons I learned there--and learning them again is painful.

For two years I have wanted nothing more than to be some place that desperately needed Love. Every single person deserves unconditional love and I wanted to give all I had. I never knew that being a servant of Love could be so lonely. I should have prayed for strength while I was praying for wisdom.

The best part of being broken is that you are never quite the same after you are put back together--the healers always leave a mark. So now the mortar that holds me together is laced with Jason, and my family, and God. Wonderfully, they are all much more beautiful than I am. Having wounds healed by their patients and love has let me stunningly scarred.

I don't know what to say next or where to go, but I know that if every single one of us loved those on the fringe our world would be a much, much more beautiful place.

To work with Love

And what is it to work with love? It is to weave the cloth with threads drawn from your heart, even as if your beloved were to wear that cloth.
-Kahlil Gibran

Here I am, once again an unemployed college student. It's as if only yesterday I were wrestling with the transition from college student to scientist. And now, in a way, it's time for me to transition back. Today was my final day of work. And I cried. I cried a lot. I cried last night and I cried the moment my foot crossed the threshold of the research building this afternoon. I've never been good at letting go.

My experience in that lab as taught me so much--about science, about relationships, and about myself. I'm so blessed to have had a job that I absolutely loved and that was incredibly rewarding. I often spent my long commute thanking God for this opportunity and asking for the wisdom and courage to return those blessings. I grappled with the question, "How could I possible show those around me how thankful I am and how much they mean to me?". What this all boils down to is the classic question, "What does it really mean to love someone?".

In just one short year I have been shown such an out pouring of love and my seeming inability to return that love weighs on me. After much thought, I came up with a catch phrase that could help keep me focussed on loving people.

Love is cleaning up dog poop when everyone else is asleep.

As you may image, this revelation came to me one evening when my dog pooped in the house and everyone else was asleep. I knew if I left it there, my mom would clean it up in the morning. But to love someone means you don't ignore the dog crap on the carpet. To love someone means consistently putting his/her needs before your own and expect nothing in return. I love the way Kahlil Gibran puts it. He basically says to work as if you are serving or creating something for the love of your life.

The wonderful thing I learned at my job is that by working with love, you come to really love your work. I'm not an incredibly open person and am slow to form relationships, but by working with love I found that I genuinely enjoyed getting to know my coworkers. And I enjoyed them getting to know me. Leaving at the end of the day really broke my heart because I have become so invested in the project and the people I spent many years working for.

What an incredible blessing that lesson is. The timing couldn't be better. As I look forward to marrying Jason, I look forward to picking up his dog crap (Well, hopefully that doesn't happen literally. Our apartment has a "no pet" policy and I'm pretty sure Jason has been potty trained). I know it will be difficult, but the great thing about Jason is that he is willing to pick up my dog crap, too. We make a good pooper-scooper team. :)

PS. And maybe I'm excited about working in a new lab in graduate school, but I don't think I have the emotional capacity to mull that over yet.

What happens in the ever after

I love fairy tales. I'm painfully practicle and, although I wear dresses, I usually pair them with chukka boots. But despite my total lack of a "princess" aura, I am utterly in love with the fantasy of far away lands. I grew up watching every disney movie ever made and in response I spent most of my free time with Corrine either dressed as a princess or dressing our barbies as princesses. The years went by and instead of growing out of fairytales, they grew with me. The classic princess made way for a new kind of heroine. She was usually strong-willed and independent and always distinctly different from her peers. Whether she lived 500 years ago, or 1000 years in the future, or in a completely different dimension, she always had a greater purpose. She wanted justice-for her family, the nation, or the entire human race. Inevitably she found her self fighting evil, trekking uncharted territory, and befriending strangers all in the name of the greater good. And along the way, that boy that she hardly noticed before becomes her best friend and confidant. He slowly chips away at her heart that has been hardened by the focus needed to overcome such insurmountable obstacles. Suddenly his bravery, strength, and faithfulness shine in a moment when the heroines own strength and bravery aren't enough. And that's when she loves him back. I really love fairytales.

I've yearned to star in my own fairytale, and some how it miraculously happened. I've always been stubborn and focussed. I saw my chance to fight injustice through academics. I worked hard and am on my way (hopefully) to a PhD program in something along the lines of Pathobiology/Immunology/Microbiology. My fight is for improved healthcare in third world nations. I've traveled to far away lands and met incredible people. And along the way, that quiet boy on the frisbee team snuck up on me. He leant me his sleeping bag when I was sick and watched baseball with me so I didn't have to do that alone. He stood back as I wrestled with a broken heart. Before I knew it, I was in love with him. He told me that he would support me in my fight and hold me when things seem too difficult. Like every good heroine I gave into this love because I know that we are stronger together and because now that I've met him, I could never live without him. It's only fitting, that in true fairytale style, our story ends with a wedding.

Here's my dilemma. I've spent my life fixated on fairytales, hopelessly disconnected from reality. My infatuation goes so deep that I even constructed my own life to model those in the numerous books I devoured. But every fairytale ends the same way. The happy couple gets married, takes the thrown, and lives happily ever after. What happens in that "ever after" period? No one writes fairytales about the ever after part! How am I supposed to structure my life if the scaffolding isn't there? I guess the scarier question for me is, are the lives of the hero and heroine so utterly boring that no one ever bothered to write down their story? I want nothing more than to marry that quiet boy on the frisbee team, but I'm not ready for our adventures to end. I'm scared that I will only get one fairytale, and that that fairytale is quickly coming to a close.

I don't have a solution, really. I know that I'm marrying a man who loves a good adventure. And I know that I can't sit still. In the end, I will probably have to write my own fairytale that begins at ever after. Until then, I will wait patiently for the final chapter in this current story-the one where I get to marry the boy that softened my heart. I don't know about you, but the anticipation is killing me.

Dear Photograph...

This idea is not mine-but mimicry is the sincerest form of flattery right?

Dear Photograph,
My sister's birthday is still bigger than Christmas, and I secretly like it that way.

Finding our way(bread)

'The lembas had a virtue without which they would long ago have lain down to die. .... It fed the will, and it gave strength to endure, and to master sinew and limb beyond the measure of mortal kind.'

My mind has been racing lately. It feels as if I am living in a snow globe, perpetually driving in rush hour traffic while "Flight of the Bumblebee" plays on repeat from my car radio. It's just one of those times when I am passionately curious about everything and desperate to right all wrongs-It's not a bad feeling, just a bit overwhelming. So please bare with me as I try to link my two prevailing thoughts from today day...

It's clear that the world is hurting right now. I think the world has had a history of hurting, but it's becoming much more apparent to us because America is hurting as well. An article was published today stating that an economic chasm has formed between the different races in America. According to an article off MSNBC, "The ratio of wealth for whites to blacks, for instance, is now roughly 20 to 1...". I realize that all statistics need to be taken with a grain of salt, but this particular fact is still quite shocking. Maybe what's most shocking is the fact that I was shocked by that statistic. I am so completely out of touch with the needs of this country.

So what should I do? Should I donate money to charity? Should I give all my possessions away to Good Will or Salvation Army? Maybe I should give food to the homeless? Maybe what I should do is work on my own feelings of entitlement and superiority. How do I go about removing everyone else's sense of entitlement when I can't even remove my own? The problem seems cyclical-It played over and over in my head like a broken record. So I baked bread.

Yes, tonight I baked bread from scratch for the first time. Here's a secret: Bread seems easy, but it's not. Usually I just pull a slice out of a bag and go. Well guess what, making bread actually takes 4 hours and sometimes your arms get sore from all the kneading. And when it's all said and done, sometimes the bread that was supposed to be light and fluffy is actually more dense and brick-like. But despite it's imperfections I actually loved my bread a little bit. I loved it because it represents hard work and because it has a lot fewer chemicals and because it was a productive use of my time. And then I thought, "It would be really hard to give this bread away..."

What? Why would that thought pop into my head? When I think of going into the store, buying some food, and donating it, I have no such attachment to the food. Why is this bread any different? It's just bread right? Maybe not...If nothing else this specific batch of super-dense, not-really-risen, whole wheat bread was an interesting teaching tool. So here is what I learned today:

1. When we go to the grocery store or a fast food restaurant and buy food to donate or give to the homeless, we really aren't giving much. America pays one of the lowest percentages of income for food out of the developing nations. So we really aren't giving much money. We certainly aren't giving any of our time. And most of the time we really aren't even giving "food". Are those in need not worthy of our time? Of our effort? Why is it that we have designed giving so that it no longer hurts? Giving is supposed to hurt (in the best possible way).

2. Each and every person reading this blog (if anyone reads it) struggles with a sense of entitlement. I guarantee it. I think it's human nature-"I worked hard. I invested smartly. I prepared for the hard times. I should be able to enjoy what is rightly mine". I don't know that there is anything wrong with those statements, but there isn't a whole lot that's right. We are called to love EVERYONE (the unfortunate and the foolish). Love doesn't always look like giving material goods away that you have worked for away, but it does look like sacrifice. I think love trumps justice-and if it doesn't we are all in big trouble.

3. Somehow the Bible means so much more after you make bread. I know that seems ridiculous, but I'm a scientist and we require hands-on experience. When the little boy offered his loaves and fish, when bread was given to the poor-those were sacrifices and gifts. They were donations of not just food, but of hours of labor. There was love for the other in those actions. And maybe, because that bread was no longer yours, you went hungry for the day. A gift like this-one of love, time, and effort-is a much more sustaining gift. It's no wonder Christ chose bread as a symbol for his body. Bread is a labor of love. The sacrifice of his body was not a trivial one! A simple goat on a fire wouldn't do to save and sustain us. His sacrifice, the breaking of His body, is the lembas on our journey of life.

4. It's time that we each make sacrifices that hurt. The president spoke yesterday on the debt crisis. The whole country is fixated on poverty. If all we give each other is a store bought bag of bread, nothing is going to change. It's time we give loaves of home made bread away. If we want to change the lives of those around us for the better we can't just present a facade of charity. Giving, loving, sacrificing-all of these things are going to hurt. And it's time to get used to it.

"I feel like spring after winter, and sun on the leaves; and like trumpets and harps, and all the songs I have ever heard!"
-Sam

I find writing to be easiest during times of turmoil. But writing is probably a little like prayer-over used in times of sorrow and forgotten in times of joy. I wrote while I was happy in New Zealand, why should America be any different?

In the past year I have struggled a lot with discovering my purpose. I want to do what I was made to do. Since graduation, I have experienced a waning of anxiety related to finding my purpose. I'm not sure why I feel less burdened; I haven't done anything differently. What I do know is that life beyond the walls of college, outside the borders of New Zealand, and within the confines of my half-cubicle is better than it has ever been before. And after hours in the car, at my biosafety cabinet, and on the trails/treadmill alone this is what I have discovered:

1. I was made to do things. My purpose is one of action. I was made to work hard and be busy. I was made to accomplish things and to push beyond my comfort zone. As my dad has always said, "the pursuit of leisure is a bad thing". I am purposed to pursue hard work. Rest is only good and healing if we have something to rest from.
2. I was made to move. I have muscles and ligaments and tendons and bones because I was made to be in motion. Exercise is good, but an active life is even better. More walking, more playing with the puppy, more cleaning, more cooking. Less TV, less pre-made food, less laying on the couch, less facebooking.
3. I was made to love. My purpose, as a human, is to love. Not romantically, although that certainly is nice, but filially. I was made for "brotherly love". We were all made to be in loving relationship with other human beings. We were made honor the needs of others above our own. We were made to forgive and be merciful. I can't live this life on my own. If you think putting the needs of others first is too hard, wait until you are alone and then tell me I'm wrong.

It is best to love first what you are fitted to love, I suppose: you must start somewhere and have some roots...

How difficult is change?

Today was one of those rare days when being an over-thinker actually brings peace of mind instead of constant worry (even if that worry is like a sick pleasure). Tonight I had back-to-back "dinner and drinks"-one with my college friends and the second with church friends. Life was physically ushering me from one era of life into another. When I hugged my college friends good bye as they headed home for the summer, I was really saying good bye to a magnificent 4 years of undergrad. The hugs from my church friends were the welcoming embraces of life, post-college. I think the weirdest thing was that I had a markedly better time during my second dinner (with the church group). It's strange because every day I repeat my mantra: "Change is hard". Somehow my grown-up life seemed more fun than my college life-I thought change was supposed to be hard?

I guess the truth is, change has been hard for the past couple months and only now is "change" becoming status quo. But, ultimately, why do we think change is hard? Is it actually difficult? Are we fooling ourselves? After all, during times of sadness and hurt we often long for change more than anything else.

I like to imagine change as the classic physics illustration of a ball rolling down an incline plane. Sitting still at the top of the incline isn't difficult, and rolling down the incline isn't difficult. Both are completely natural. But it's that moment in between, the moment that force is applied to the ball to make it overcome the static friction. That's the moment that is difficult. Why is overcoming static friction so hard? I think change is only difficult when we resist and I think we resist because we don't trust. We don't trust that the new status quo will be pleasant, or good, or what we want. We like having control, and prior to the change we feel as if we are pulling all of life's proverbial strings. So as I approach graduation, I didn't trust that I could find friends outside of Eastern. I didn't trust that my gifts would be utilized in the most God-honoring way. I didn't trust that I would ever find a community that would feel like home.

I think the greatest lesson for me is, change happens. And like a ball on an incline, it's actually more difficult to resist change, more difficult to fight gravity and roll UP and opposed to DOWN. When we are struggling we trust that no matter what, things have to get better. But more often than not, we can't imagine things ever getting better when they are already so good. We need faith just as much in good times as in bad. I think change will always scare me. The unknown is always frightening. But regardless of how I feel, it's time to stop trying to reverse gravity. It's time to trust that I can make wise decisions. It's time to trust that God won't leave me. It's time to trust that a good exists that is greater than my imagination.