eyes to see

I spent a lot of my life convinced I didn't like people. Sometimes, just sometimes, I'd even say I hated them. People did things I didn't like and said things I didn't understand. I couldn't control their actions or words, the volume of their voices, or the amount of coffee they drank to make their breath smell the way that it did. The noise, the hurts and disappointments, (the odors)...for me, for a time, they assaulted me from every angle. I couldn't go out in it without sufficient time for recovery afterward and it seemed wiser, safer, to separate myself from it as much as possible. Or at least limit the amount of time I was out and about in uncontrolled environments and, especially, uncontrolled audiences.

And I liked being alone. A lot.

Yet in the last year, my feelings have changed. I don't know how, and I don't know why, but it fascinates me, the change. The best illustration I have is this:

have you ever loved someone, really loved them?
completely and unconditionally? (as unconditionally as humanly possible)
even the rough bits?
the hard bits?
the bits that get tangled and messy and sometimes leave scars?
have those bits ever become,
i don't know,
endearing to you?endearing because they are part of the person
the person you love?
have you ever been able to look at people,
in general,
that way?
with those eyes?
and love them and delight in them
even when they're stepping on your toes
or elbowing you in the ribs?

That's what it's been like. Lately. Not always, never always (and never perfectly) but the fact that it happens at all convinces me God exists. The fact that my easily-offended-and-flaw-seeking eyes can see more good than bad in the people around me (and not just the ones I love, because they are easy); the fact that I can smile and laugh in situations that used to make me grimace and run away; the fact that I can even handle being surrounded by people, lots of people, for long periods of time and not need to go off by myself for a week to recover...these things are proof.

And so I think, maybe it's not that I don't like people. Maybe I just couldn't get past myself to actually see them before. And maybe it's just that I don't like crowds. Maybe it's just that I don't like big crowds of people, crowds of strangers.

And that's okay.

Number Eight: PEOPLE. Who knew?

... i looked here and there and everywhere ...

Number Seven: GREEN. Because it's the best.

A lament not so much

I.
unexpected drops
the dust finally settles
relief comes quickly

II.
caught in the downpour
i really like dogs and cats
so it works for me

III.
a nice change of pace
light really isn't light, right
without the darkness?





Number Six: RAIN. A reminder that everything can be washed away, everything can be new again. The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning... Lamentations 3:22-23

Poop + Brokenness

My dog and I are more alike than I care to admit. (Though here I am admitting it, so I guess I've proven myself to be a stretcher-of-the-truth.)

She gets excited about breakfast, rolling around in the grass, and loving on little kiddos. She craves affection (though pretends she doesn't), is a fierce protector of the people and places she calls home, and when she likes you she'll let you know. She is stubborn, and odd, and definitely (definitely, definitely) broken.

(She also walks funny and eats her own poop, while I consider my gait fairly normal and would never, ever...well, that's just too gross to even discuss further.)

I've had Lucy for six years this July, and she is certainly, well, special. I fell in love with her immediately, though I don't think she's necessarily the kind of dog who's charm comes across right away. Perhaps that's why I feel such a kinship with her.

On the surface she's indifferent, jarring (that bark!), and a little intimidating (again, that bark!). She doesn't exhibit typical dog behavior, especially when meeting people for the first time, and she rarely, rarely stands still long enough to let someone pet her. If she does decide you're okay, though, she'll love you forever.

Number Five: LUCY. My human-sitting, projectile-vomiting, poop-eating pup. It is perfect that she is mine.



The Story of Lucy
In 2003, when I went to the Humane Society for the first time, I knew I'd be leaving with a dog. I had already put it off for years, my defenses were low, and there were hundreds awaiting adoption - how could I not? Lucy was less than two months old at the time, in a kennel with her brother, and huddled, shaking, in the back corner. The brother was bouncy and excited and licking my hand through the chainlink, but Lucy held back and watched, unwilling to move from her spot.

It was clear she'd already been knocked around a bit, and I knew immediately she was the one. I told the volunteer I wanted to hold her, and gently carried her outside to the small play area. She perked up immediately and was especially interested in eating the ice chips I had in my hand, though she never exhibited typical dog behavior. I fell in love with her right then, as her tiny puppy teeth scraped the palm of my hand and her little tail twitched ever so slightly, threatening a wag.

I reluctantly handed her back over so she could be given shots and spayed, filled out some paperwork, and couldn't wait to come back in a few days to pick her up. When I did, I was met with some slightly disturbing news: she had almost died during surgery due to a bad heart. She was doing okay, but they didn't have high hopes that she would live very long and asked if I wanted to choose a different dog.

I said no, absolutely no, and took her home.

Wag more, bark less

My whole life, I've always wanted to be a glass-half-full kind of person. I've wanted to think positively, look on the bright side, truly believe "everything happens for a reason"...

But it was like holding my breath under water...I could do it for about a minute, and then I needed to break back through the surface. And on the surface was the reality that I was not, no matter how hard I tried, a glass-half-full kind of person.

Yet something has shifted in the last few years, and more noticeably in the past few months. As cheesy as it sounds, God has given me a perspective I've never had before, and truthfully it's kind of amazing. To experience things so purely and devoid of all of the heaviness I used to carry around with me. To see things as if for the first time.

And I realize I have a choice. I can get bogged-down in the this-didn't-happen-quite-the-way-I-wanted-it-to -ness of every day life; or I can be deliberately thankful and intentional in noticing the head-pats and belly-scratches as well as making sure I'm doing my best to continually give them. If I can keep my focus there, as much as possible, I think I'll be okay.

Number Four: UNEXPECTED LIFE LESSONS

Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8 (NIV)

Snowflakes that stay on my nose and eyelashes

Believe it or not, this post is not about snow. Though I do love snow and will, one day, devote an entire post to it.

It's about lists, kind of, as a list is all I'm capable of producing today. I happen to love lists, though, so this kind of excites me. The thing I love most about lists is the possibility involved. Whether it's a small task or a life-long goal, there is something so energizing about it being out there, in front of me.



I must confess, though, that most of my life I made lists that didn't take flight beyond the lists themselves. My to-dos, my resolutions, even the way I saw myself or the things I saw myself doing never actually came to any sort of fruition. Looking back, I think it was because I didn't know how to take an active role in my life. I didn't know how to move beyond merely reacting to the things going on around me, responding to the things people said or did (or didn't say or didn't do). There was always such fear. Fear that if I actually wanted something, if I actually *went* for something and I couldn't have it or it didn't happen that I'd have to deal with it being my fault and not get to blame someone else. Everything just kind of *happened* to me and I always felt like a bit of a passenger.

And it's not like that all changed overnight and now I'm this super-woman-master-of-my-own-destiny or anything. That's not what I'm saying. Not at all. But things have changed, my perspective has shifted, and it's kind of glorious to be on this side of it. To make plans and keep them. To set goals and work toward them. To cross things off the list. To do the things I have always imagined myself doing, but never actually did before. More than anything, though, to be able to fail and not feel like a failure.



Number Three: POSSIBILITY. Lists. Being a do-er. Moving beyond fear of failing, fear of looking foolish, fear of saying or doing it wrong...moving toward freedom to actually do the things I want to do and be the things I want to be. And not in a self-help, I'm-okay-you're-okay, kind of way; in a tangible, wow-I-didn't-realize-I-had-been-holding-back-so-much (or, even, that so much was possible) way. Thanks, God.

This was/is my short list for 2009, by the way. Oddly enough, a lot of these things have already happened. It's kind of amazing. And when I say "kind of," I mean - extremely.

Running up Tumamoc (check)
Running up Sabino (check)
Climbing Pichaco Peak (check)
Camping in Sedona (check)
Camping on Mount Lemmon (hopefully this summer)
Completing a tri (July!!!)
Getting into really good shape (working on it)
Finding a church/churches (working on it)
Hiking more (working on it)
Saying yes/being available when needed (working on it)
Committing to a photo project (does this count?)
Never missing a chance to tell people how important they are to me (working on it)

p.s. still with the punctuation. wow.
p.p.s. when i started writing this, i truly intended it to simply be a list of some of my favorite things (hence the title). it didn't turn out to be that, obviously. perhaps next time?

when the desert doesn't feel like "the desert"

When I lived in Iowa (or Evanston) and had never ventured too far west of the Mississippi save for a few ski trips to Colorado, there was this idea in my mind that Arizona, and Tucson in particular, was magic. Magic to the key of never-ending skies, barren landscapes, and Paul-Bunyan-sized cacti. Cowboy boots, silver jewelry, and an always-full moon. Howling-coyotes, biting snakes, and sun that will fry an egg on a sidewalk in seconds.




When I got the chance to move here, I jumped at it. I had been in Iowa City for 8 months. Wasting time, unsure how I got there or where I was going. Unhappy with everything and everyone, especially myself and a job that had me in a basement cubicle, surrounded by beige and florescent lights.

But it was the job, the "I'll take this for now because I have no other options" job, that led me here. For that reason, I can not, for a second, regret the time I spent there.

In April of 2001, I had the opportunity to travel to Tucson to help administer the selection of the next class of Udall Scholars. I had worked on the Udall program all year, and was excited to finally meet the staff I'd gotten to know from afar and participate in the process. It was my first visit to the desert, and the flight in confirmed everything. It really was magic. I remember being surprised at the amount of green, the ruggedness of the terrain, and at the emotion that overtook me immediately.

On the second night of the event, I was approached with a job offer. It wasn't a total surprise as they had mentioned the possibility before I arrived, but I still don't think I was expecting it to be real. It was real, though, and sitting there, in my lap, waiting for me to decide what to do with it.

I took a walk to think about my options, mostly because I was excited to be out of the hotel conference room and moving along a desert wash.* The wildlife captivated me, and I was immediately distracted by birds, jackrabbits, and the awe of being somewhere beautiful and knowing it. Though I didn't consider myself a follower of Jesus at the time, I was in the habit of praying every so often, and I suddenly and overwhelmingly had the urge to ask God about Tucson. About this giant leap from Iowa and family and all that I knew to something so foreign and risky. And I did. I asked God.

Me: So, God, Tucson?
God (through an increase in the wind so significant it blew the hat off my head and peppered goosebumps up and down my arms): Yes. Tucson.

I've been here since, though I have had three failed attempts at leaving. This city, this desert, this place has my heart. And it has my heart because of the people I've met here, the people who have become as much like family to me as my family. You know who you are. Thank you. I love you.

Number Two: TUCSON. A city I love because it holds people I love dearly. The salsa isn't half bad, either.



P.S. I apologize for my overuse of commas. It's out of control.
*Turns out that wash was Pantano, by the way. Between Broadway and 22nd.

take two

Upon further reflection, I realized that I want this to be, more than anything, an exercise in gratitude. I want to recognize, acknowledge, and publicly give thanks for the good that exists in the world, and the good that exists in my life. If nothing else, it'll keep my attitude there, in that place of thanksgiving, instead of letting it slip into the things-would-be-better-if zone. And, because, really, God is so good. He has blessed me so much. I should be bursting at the seams with the sheer weight of it all, overflowing onto everything and everyone I touch. No questions asked. No excuses made. No holding back.

A list. A sometimes-photographic, sometimes-text heavy list. Things I love the most. Things that bless me. Things, for which I should, without ceasing, give thanks.

Number One: PARKER. Precious nephew. Contagious-laugher. Stealer-of-my-heart.

it's a start

I am hesitant to say this, but I'd like to embark on a year-long photo journey, and I'd like to start now. Why hesitant? Many reasons, really, but chief among them is that my time is so full lately. Full to overflowing. So full, in fact, that I never quite know where to start or what to put first.

And, yet, at the same time, it's the fullness that excites me. The fullness that pushes me to do more, to want to be more. (It's also true that more means less somewhere else, but I feel like I have enough somewhere-elses that can handle less.)

I fear not following through. I fear this becomes another quick start, another abandoned project. But I also fear not jumping in, and not going for it. This. Now. So, I move forward.

A photo journey. A photo a day, perhaps a photo a week, to highlight the people I love. The people who make my heart sing, for whatever reason. Sometimes I'll write a few words to accompany the image, sometimes several paragraphs. I may even throw in a haiku or two.

Ready?

Disclaimer: the very nature of this blog is extremely, extremely cheesy. Do not read without crackers (or outloud in a cheesy voice).




I selected this photo because of the lightness. It's simple, cheery, and bright. Despite the undeniable existence of darkness in my life, I hope to always be those things more.