Polar Bears in the Snow

I wonder what the thought process of the artist of the puzzle I did today was in its creation;  “Polar bears in the snow… genius!”  Some kind family member probably got the courage up to save the puzzling world from pure agony and kindly hinted that perhaps they put some clothes on the polar bears, or maybe something in the snow.  “Oh, great, like speckles?  That will make it artistic and fancy.  Great idea, thanks Gertrude.  I’ll name a polar bear after you.  That one in the middle.  We don’t want to make it too easy, though, because these puzzlers like a challenge, you know, so I’m going to make this picture star shaped; oh, and I’ll make the edges of the actual puzzle different than the edges of the box.  They’ll love that.”

Well thanks for your efforts, Gertrude, but it was still pure torture.  I know because yesterday was better than putting that puzzle together today, at least in the middle part.  And yesterday was an epically bad day at work, in addition to following weeks of building stress and exhaustion from the busiest time of year in retail, a week with a cold, and three weeks after a surgery I’m supposed to be recovering from.  Perhaps I subconsciously thought it would make me more grateful for my awful time at work through the excruciating process of putting white piece after white piece next to each other to see if that one fit, or that one, or that one…. 

Well it worked, I suppose.  Piece after piece, I kept mulling over all the stuff that happened yesterday and how it’s going to affect the future, and every bloody white piece that didn’t fit I thought, “how cheesy and ironic, that this trial of spotted snow/polar bear pieces – my chosen activity of the day – is like those times in life when nothing can go right.”

True, isn’t it?  We all work our little butts off to do the right thing and make a good living, and how much of that time are we just trying every single somewhat-distinctly correct looking piece of life to make it all work together?  I mean, every single one.  every.single.one.  And then when we do find that perfect piece sometimes there’s no question about it but sometimes it doesn’t look at all like we thought it would, so we second guess our decision, putting it aside to make sure it’s the right one by trying all the other possibilities first.

But oh the elation to get to the last few pieces, that you know must go SOMEwhere, and the likelihood of getting to put a whole bunch of correct pieces down in a row – well just the thought causes a whole bunch of mini-celebrations.  This is the point when you as a puzzler might look like a crazed, wild animal upon the discovery of a winter’s supply of food; eyes wide open as eyes, head, body and hands dart back and forth with your last ten pieces, putting them in place with a double finger tap for finality and a ridiculous grin across your face.

Well, of all the analogies that are overused, there might be some better ones I could have applied to my situation right now.  Running a long race, or any sport analogy for that matter all bring out similar points of perseverance and keeping on keeping on.  But there’s some value to this somewhat boring analogy, and it appeals to those who are not athletically gifted like myself.  

Firstly, the most satisfying puzzles to complete are almost always pictures of something beautiful. I suppose you might be able to argue the sports analogy side and say that if you are a good athlete you’ll end up a beautiful person, but we all know that that’s a petty and depressing way of looking at life.  What if life was really made up of all those times that you painstakingly tried every piece to fit into this one area of life, so that when you finally came across that plain-as-day piece that looked like every other one, you rejoiced?  If each piece had that significance, frustrating though it may have been, how much more special would your trials be to you once you realized how beautiful the final picture was?

Because, secondly and more importantly, every piece in the box goes somewhere.  Every. Single. One. I might want to forget yesterday or the fight I had with my husband this week, or the time I had to do this or that or the other thing that seemed really bad, but those experiences are a part of life and they came in my box, and they make up my puzzle.  My beautiful puzzle.

Any maybe we have more than one puzzle.  Or our lives are actually crazier than we realize and we’re filling out 10 puzzles at once.  In any case, despite my imperfect analogy, I suppose I feel better about my bad experiences lately.  At least I’m not putting that puzzle together.

Sunset After the Storm

Your love is brighter than the sky of a setting sun

That comes in the calm after a summer storm.

Each hue is more complex than I can comprehend,

Together making the most inexpressible combination

Of bright, fiery orange that somehow leads to pink,

That stretches to the violet majesty reaching over us.

I face towards the east, I look straight above

And gasp, and exclaim, "it's beautiful!

Look, family, look, friends, look, husband,

Have you ever seen anything so wonderful?!"

We stand there gazing at the royal hues,

Mouths agape, eyes alighted with wonder,

When someone walks toward us, facing West.

"Look," we exclaim, "look this way, look up!"

He turns his head, his gaze open, barely looking at us but through, it felt.

"Look!" We say, "you don't want to miss it, look up!"

He blinks twice, then turns West again, continuing to walk.

"Don't waste your time on him," someone says,

"This color might leave soon, we don't want to waste it."

But I can't help it, I must turn around. The look on his face....

It was radiant, like embers in a fire that had too much fuel.

And so I turn,

And so I collapse onto my knees, and cry with wonder.

This light, this color that I had clung to and thought so beautiful...

It was only the fingertips! There it is, in front of my face --

Too bright to look at but setting the sky aflame -- the source.

Shades of every pink and orange tropical fruit, blend across the heavens,

Brighter the closer they are to the source.

It is too complex to comprehend how the hues combine together;

How deep they reach into the heavens;

How widely they stretch across the sky;

How minutely they connect to create such a beautiful sight.

I see the people who had been behind me, their faces to me,

They look so dark, I can barely see their features.

The light is so beautiful; I walk forward.

Those who know me and love me, notice my turning and try to stop me,

In this way, they end up walking with me too, seeing the same sight I do.

We pass people who are standing still, looking up, some looking down,

Some lying down, sleeping, with blankets over their eyes.

I notice as we pass, how the sides of each individual that are towards the light

Are beaming a deep reddish, orange; 

A reflection. 

I look at those with me,

They are more beautiful now than I have ever seen them, 

their faces aglow with that secret ember I saw in the man before.

We smile big when we catch each other's eyes -

The warmth and the joy we feel are uncontainable, 

we must share it with each other.

And it is a joy to do so;

we could go on like this forever.

But the others.

The dark faces, the unknowing, the sadness of seeing only the tip.

I am happy just being in the light, just sharing the feeling with others,

But I must go. 

I know deep down, I must let others know.

I can't ignore everyone who doesn't understand the beauty of it,

I must share my knowledge with them,

I have to.

Because the light is so beautiful.

Because it makes everything shine in Its realm,

It makes everything else beautiful too.

Planet Wrong

This time last year I was experiencing pure elation as I finished college and got ready for what I was sure would be so much better than the torture I had endured thus far from school.  Then I graduated, had a lot of time off (which I thoroughly relished and did almost nothing useful during), and then got a promotion which *BAM*... sucked the life right out of me.  It took a month or two, but I realized something when I started repeating the college phrase, "I want to hang out, but I just don't have time," with only one job, not a job and school, or two jobs like my husband.  How could I not have time after what I just went through?  At this point I realized that I had in fact, been wrong.

Yes, I was wrong, and yes it does hurt to admit it.  With all fairness, though, I'm not sure many people can actually warn you of what's about to hit you when your done with school.  I had plenty of people trying - arguing against me telling me I'd miss it or that they were jealous of the classes I got to take, etc. - and all I did was stubbornly stand there like a two year-old exclaiming that I knew myself and I knew that I didn't like homework, and I knew I would do better with just one thing, not two, plus a marriage and cats.

Well, I probably actually do do better with two things, in fact (including a marriage and cats, and probably more).  And as much as I swear that I hate homework, I became reliant on it; having a deadline for to be able to complete anything, the completion in itself being a reward, as well as it's fulfillment to feed/supply my self-worth.  So between the admittal of being wrong in all those ways, plus not having the thing that my self-worth was reliant in... I went into a bit of shock/denial/pity-party that I think I am still going through.

Not that I have anyone else to blame; I knew the moment I realized I was repeating that phrase that I had mentally convinced myself to live on the wrong planet, and therefore, naturally, I had to figure out how to get off and where to go.  But I didn't want to.  After all, it's hard to get off a planet that no one else lives on because there's no one to watch and learn from.   Not to mention lonely, and humiliating (it is called Planet Wrong, after all).

So what did I do to fix it? How did I get off the lonely planet Wrong? Where did I go, straight back to Earth or via other planets?

Nothing.  I didn't.  I stayed.  Sorry, folks.  After great writing and artwork, you thought this was going somewhere profound or helpful, but the truth is I have no freakin idea how to get off this dumb planet. It has a mean gravitational pull, and sometimes, when I've worked the hardest to get away from it and I relax a little, I get pulled right back into it, and look across the universe to normal human life wondering what it's like to live on planet Earth. 

Which brings me to why I am writing this tonight, specifically, since I am honestly still having a hard time coping with lonely Wrong.  I came across a quote in a book tonight, that's been a soothing balm for my freaked-out self of late. The book is  North of Hope by Shannon Huffman Polson, and it's about her journey through grief at her fathers passing, intertwined with her physical journey down the same river he was killed at.  It is so beautifully written, that as morbid as it might be, I find myself entranced by every page.  This quote introduced the chapter that told about a day of cleaning out her father's house, when she finally relinquished control of the situation and just plain broke down.

"When a man finds that it is his destiny to suffer, he will have to accept suffering as his task; his single and unique task. He will have to acknowledge that even in suffering he is unique and alone in the universe.  No one can relieve him of his suffering, or suffer in his place.  His unique opportunity lies in the way he bears his burden." Victor Frankl, Man's Search for Meaning

And here's where I write something meaningful to summarize my thoughts of this quote: well crap.

Because let's face it, how many of us do a good job of actually dealing with the stuff we deal with? Throughout all of history people have been awful at dealing with their problems, blaming Sue, Juan, Frederick, Joseph, Ming, and Leisel for their own problems, complaining, and never fixing them themselves. No culture or time period is exempt (from what I know of history), so who is THIS guy to tell me to do anything different? Who are any of the hundreds of people that have said that same thing, do they think they are more special than the rest of us?

Maybe they are, if they're happy/content.  

Or maybe they're just born "leaders" (which I say with respect :D) that just want to tell other people what to do in order to feel fulfilled themselves.  

Or maybe they're both.

....

But perhaps I shouldn't be looking at them and yelling at them about how they're wrong, or that I don't agree.  Perhaps I should look at my own planet and think about making it a little better.  I mean, if I'm going to be stuck on here for a while at least I could put in some pretty flowers and garden gnomes or something.  It may be planet Wrong, but it's my planet Wrong.  Speaking of which, I should be able to change the name whenever I want since it's my planet, so maybe I don't want it to be known forever as "Wrong."  I should change that.

Maybe someday I will rename my planet.  Maybe someday I will figure out how to get off of it.  Or maybe someday I will make it so nice that perhaps I won't feel the need to leave it so much.  

But I think for now I will just plant some flowers.

A blog about words... oh how refreshing

It's been a very long time since I've written a blog.  I don't say that modestly, or to try and apologize for a few days off or even a week or two; basically I haven't written for four years, and even then that was only like my sixth post of real importance in the blog that I created specifically for my trip to Nigeria.  Well folks, it's been four years since getting back and I'm hoping that now is the time that I can start writing again, and writing about things that are just as important as those six or so posts.

Today I was thinking about the power of words.  SUCH an overused topic, I know I know, so why did I gain a new perspective today?  Perhaps because I need some sort of intellectual outlet since it is about the time of year I would have started new classes if I hadn't graduated last spring.  Or perhaps because I at last have the freedom to devote my time to reflecting on whatever topics I choose, whether leisurely or aggressively.   Or maybe because I have found that my calling is to write and this would be a good segue from years off of writing to a more regular, deeper journey of writing.  Or perhaps because the presidential election has brought out all the hiding slandersauruses who emerge to watch the bloody gladiator matches of rhetoric.  Yes, that's it.  Maybe partially the first three, or maybe largely the first three, but definitely because of the slandersauruses.  Definitely.

I could probably write you a wonderful, college-level paper on the history and behavioral patterns of slandersauruses (not joking, I could probably write a good one), but instead I think I will just focus on what these fascinating creatures have inspired me to think about lately.

For some reason as I was working on a creative project at work today I started thinking about a time when I was a customer at a different store, and how the positive attitude of one random sales associate improved my whole day.  Not today or the day before, but recently I have had a major problem controlling my mood at work, letting the customer's mood determine mine, which is probably why I started thinking about this.  This is a bad idea, but like I said I was having a hard time controlling it.  For quite a few days I seriously was actively aware of my mood and could not figure out how to fix it, control it, or make it anything but worse.  Which of course is more discouraging, at least for me, the one who apparetnly tends to strive after control.  So when I thought of this one person, at whatever previous time in my life, in some random store, that I  distinctly remember making my day better, I stopped thinking about trying to fix my mood and marveled at a new insight to the possible consequences of my words and attitude to my customers based on what I was often mirroring in them.  Not that I'm like that all the time or have had serious problems being the positive, helpful, cheerful, patient employee that I strive to be in the past, but that other people's (slandersaurus's) words were bringing me down that much.

And that I couldn't bring myself out of their sad pit of slander.  My intention is not to focus the blame on other people here, but actually point out what an important, and different revelation this is to have.  The main point of this blog site, as I wrote originally five years ago and believe in today, is in serving other people.  This is what Jesus calls us to do, and what he did as an example for us to follow.  But I'm not sure I've ever connected that mission with the use of my words.  Serving = verb, words = noun.  As simple of a contradiction as that.  So it kind of makes sense in my grammatically-correctly-obsessed head (that was so not grammatically correct, by the way) that I would refuse to combine the two different parts of a sentence as synonyms, if you will.  But what I discovered today -- or rather now, as I write this -- is that perhaps they are supposed to make up a sentence together; a complete, grammatically correct sentence that serves as a lesson for greater meaning in life. 

I serve others with my words.
My words serve others.

This isn't specific to me because I'm a writer, and this doesn't only pertain to me serving when I want to; whether I want to or not, my words affect other people, either negatively or positively.  And that's not new news, especially for Christians who have heard the lesson over and over again of controlling our tongues.  But that controlling our tongues moves past a personal struggle with sin and becomes a part of our mission that Jesus calls us to do - how many of us have truly connected those ideas in our head?  That I don't have to actively do the one thing I was called to do (the one thing I'm best at) all the time to reach others, but just by speaking (and writing) my positive, purposeful thoughts I am carrying out the job that Christ assigned to me.

I often have worried and stressed about carrying out the work Christ has given me through the gift of my strengths, when I often feel like I am not doing anything at all along the lines of that specific task.  More clearly, I never write, but I know that is what I am called to do.  It is a relief to think of serving other people simply by crafting something I use all the time, everyday: my words.

The fate of the world, Thomas Edison, and leaving it all behind

I think that God knows that we can’t handle really knowing what’s going to happen to this world. This thought is not completely foreign to me, but it is still being tested. I haven’t ever gotten to know this concept as well as I should and I never will, honestly, because it is so incredibly difficult to not worry. I know I’m not the only one going through this, and on top of that, I am not the only one going through ignoring my worries either. And if people ignore their worries like I do, then they are doing it because there is simply too much to handle, and they don’t know what to do with all the worries they have built up. This is probably why Jesus was a couple bazillion steps ahead of us on this concept and told us almost as soon as he could in his life to not worry too much. [Sidenote: Isn’t it strange to think about how involved Jesus is in even the structure and nature of our souls? Not only does he know each one piece by piece, but he made them – he even drew up the plans! Not coincidental at all that he would know how to fix them. Who would you go to to fix your lightbulb: (A) Thomas Edison (B) Edgar Allen Poe.]

I was watching the news tonight which reported to America about another two natural disasters today, not to mention the ones that people are probably still fighting, like the fires in California. Now I don’t watch the news that much, but I am pretty sure I’m being accurate when I say that the last few times I’ve seen it, every single time there has been another natural disaster reported, added to an already existing one and/or some sort mixture of human fatalities. And, yes, I realize that it’s the news, and they’re supposed to report things like that, but it’s not that they’re reporting it, it’s that it’s happening. Did we really used to have another natural disaster every day when I was five? Thinking about the fate of the world is what got me started on the above thought, or I guess what got me thinking about it again, at least.

When I was in Nigeria I got to do something that not many people I know get to do. I got to ignore the extreme problems of the world first hand. I got to live surrounded by worry and sorrow in such a natural way, that I had absolutely no choice but to ignore it partly because it’s not as bad as it sounds, and partly because it is. It’s been a month since I’ve gotten back to the States, and a month before that that I wrote my last blog because I’ve been struggling with my whole experience and writing it down for you. It’s like a term paper that I don’t want to mess up; in a way the end of something, in a way, the beginning. And I’m sorry because I still can’t explain everything that happened between the last time I wrote and now. I got really sick after getting back, finally just finished taking anti-malaria pills, work full time between three jobs, try to see Richard everyday, started exercising regularly (something I’ve never done voluntarily in my life), and have gotten involved in church activities and such since I’ve been back. While I was there in the last month I experienced third-world life in a different light, took a trip to a different part of the country and then experienced Nigeria in a different light, made a difference to little kids in a more immediate way, and actually worked on projects almost every day I wasn’t packing for something. That wasn’t that hard to say, but I still feel… wrong, almost, because for a while I couldn’t get over the fact that (a) people were walking around living normal lives, ignoring the worries and extreme troubles of the world and (b) that I couldn’t walk around and have a normal life and ignore the troubles of the world like I had first hand just a little bit ago. (I think there’s just something about at least being there that makes you think you’re doing something to help.)

A friend and past teacher of mine created this ingenious adaptation from Jesus’ statement that is really only what we really need, into something that helps us to pay more attention to the original Author. He told me that perhaps God doesn’t want us to worry about the big things in life, but to just work on our faith, love, and relationships each day. Perhaps God wasn’t joking when he said that he wanted us to love our neighbor and be hard workers and faithful to him, and respectful to the government. This thought makes me want to cry with relief! I think all along I have been setting my own standard too high for what needs to be accomplished. God knows I can’t do anything all by my lonesome.

So in this long and very, very rambly, and random, and jumpy blog, I just had to tell you that God is in control. Jesus is coming soon and it makes me sad for all the people that will suffer until he does, and I want to worry about it sometimes, but God knows that I can’t handle it. So I’m writing this for my own good, to remind myself, as much as I’m writing it to you, perhaps so you can see it for the first time.

Good night world.