In All Honesty, No

I had lunch with my mom this weekend, and it came out that I have a negative self image. I personally have known this for a long time, but I guess that was the first time I expressed it to my mom in so many words. So she gave me this book to read by Josh McDowell called His Image...My Image. The end of each chapter has application points to work through, and being the underachiever that I am, I just give them a cursory glance and half answer the questions in my head. Chapter 3's question talks about Psalm 139:13-16:

For you created my inmost being, You knit me together in my mother's womb, I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made, Your works are wonderful, I know that full well. My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place. When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body. All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.

It then asks if you believe this of yourself, if you can "honestly thank God for making you the way he did". And then I realized it: my answer, in all honesty, is no. I can thank Him that I wasn't born with some kind of debilitating disease, that I'm not confined to a wheel chair, that I'm relatively normal; but I can't thank him for making me just as I am. There is deep seated pain, bitterness and frustration at God for making me the way I am. Why couldn't I have been born with normal bone structure? Did I have to be this big? Why did I get fat? How come I'm not as smart as my brothers? Why did I get the high blood pressure genes from Mom's family, were the bones from Dad's family not enough? Why should I thank God for all the things about myself that I despise?

I have been lying to myself for a long time. I've been asked before if I was angry at God for everything that's physically wrong with me. I've always said "no" and talked about Amy Carmichael and how I knew God made me this way for a reason. And I do know it. I just don't believe it. My brain says "no", my heart and every fused bone in my body says "yes".

I want so dearly to make a fist, and snap my fingers the way everyone else does, and go to the store and buy shoes with a heal, and not have to worry about the width not being right, and eat salty food and not have to worry about my left ventricle. I thought I didn't have a problem with it, but I guess I do. I can't thank Him...at least not yet.

Memories

I was sitting on the couch this evening, thinking about how I should be upstairs working on a paper (theatre history, ick) when one of my house mates picked up a house photo album from my first year of college. Flipping through the snapshots I was reminded of all the good times with the girls in the house. From K.'s 21st birthday dinner at Chili's to the end of the year party in the limo, (the end of which found me and one other person sober) it was good memories all around, even the frustration with the couches was a blast.

So I just thought I would share a picture that I find particularly enjoyable from that year. I think it's one of those that requires a little bit of explanation. If you are among the millions of Americans afflicted with poor eyesight and can't see, it reads: "Laura-Stop stealing my underwear and eating them! Please. -heart- Mo Dude" My reply reads: "Mo, I'm sorry. I was hungry. -heart- Lau[squiggly][squiggly]" I don't remember how that joke got started, it certainly was not rooted in fact. Whatever the case, it still brings a smile to my face, and an ache of nostalgia to my heart, or stomach, or phalangeal nerve. It's funny how random things become when you live with people, but I guess that's why God made Eve in the first place.

It's hard sometimes, remembering how much fun we had my freshman year of college, and then being harshly reminded by my current situation that the good times are over, but I guess it's better to not focus on the fun that we had and look at the fun I can still have with my current roommates (despite the deplorable lack of certain amazing roommates due to marriage/graduation/natural progression of life).

Anyway, I hope you've had an enjoyable time trodding down memory lane with me and seeing a stick figure picture depicting my underwear eating self.

P.S. Sorry I haven't posted anything substantial in a while, I did write a soul-baring post, but it wasn't very complementary to someone, so I felt that I really shouldn't post it for the world to see, not because I didn't want to express my frustrations, but because I didn't want to speak ill of someone in public (I don't know why I think that makes it okay that I totally thought what I did, still do to be honest, but well, you know what I mean). Oh yeah, Mississippi was great, but I will wait on my pictures (which have yet to be turned in for developing, but I'm lazy, what can I say?) to post about it.

And Here I Am Again

Sitting here at 5 o'clock in the morning has brought me to realize that I have horrible time management skills. And at this very moment, I'm only making my dilemma worse by once again delaying work. My problem is, I think, that I hate the class for which I am working. I think the professor is an idiot, and I wish I didn't have to take it. I think the assignment is a load of crap.

But the more important question is: why didn't I do it this afternoon? I had several hours where I was just sitting around contemplating doing my homework, but never actually doing it. What is it about the night that is so enticing to me? Is it the silence? The empty feeling of a house gone to sleep. I know it's not watching the sunrise as a work. I'm hating myself at this moment for a number of reasons, but mostly because I have to be up in another four hours.

Unsure

I leave for Mississippi tomorrow, and I am unsure of what I will see. I am conscious that this trip, although brief, will not be easy; most things aren't if they're worth anything. I've seen pictures of Pass Christian, Mississippi before and after the hurricane. Total devastation. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but seeing it live and in person, even weeks after Katrina...let's just say that a picture, no matter how good, won't capture everything.

That being said, I'm taking along a camera, to capture my experience, and I'm sure they'll be up here soon. So frequently you see pictures of devastation and despair. I want to bring back pictures of hope.

This trip will be hard. Seeing my family's home after hurricane Charlie last August was hard enough, and the damage to our house and neighborhood, as bad as it was, cannot compete with the flattened homes in Louisiana and Mississippi.

More to come...

Out With The Old, in With the New

There'’s a new resident of the tree outside my window. The female cardinal (who I fondly call Clementine) that used to live there disappeared some time last week, and now there'’s a new bird who is at this moment giving me the evil eye and puffing up his chest. Methinks he's not used to having someone watch him. I actually don'’t know if it'’s a male or a female, or what kind of bird it is for that matter, but I'm in the naming process right now anyway. Martin maybe, or perhaps Carl. I like naming things if you hadn'’t noticed, maybe it's from reading Anne of Green Gables too many times (if that'’s even possible), or maybe I just like being familiar with my surroundings. He'’s gray with a white belly, and he's really pretty. He seems a little suspicious of me, 'cause he stares at me and puffs himself up a lot. I'’ll try not to begrudge him the spot in my tree; I was rather fond of Clementine, she'’d lived in by window off and on for almost a year now and I liked watching the bright red gentlemen callers that stopped by from time to time. I have a suspicion that Martin/Carl/the Godpigeon (he's not a pigeon, but I love the Animaniacs, so perhaps the scientific inaccuracy would be permissible) drove her away. He is, however, starting to grow on me, and he'’s irresistibly cute when he grooms his feathers. I have officially welcomed him to the window shared by the tree and room 5.

There's also this lizard that crawls across my window screen from time to time. I've named him Gary. I don't know that it's the same one every time, but well, I'm assuming it is, because that would be cool. It interesting how many little animals are drawn to my window into their world. I do enjoy watching them though, even the little moths that somehow find their way in between the screen and glass and can't seem to find their way out. I don't usually name them though, I know they'll probably be dead by morning, so what's the point really.

Sometimes I wonder if they watch me as intensely as I watch them. I have been know to stare at Clementine for several minutes at a time (usually when I should be writing a paper, but that is besides the point). It's really relaxing to watch these creatures who just live in their simple lives and don't worry about much of anything. Their routines are always the same, no all nighters for them. They are constant, but still alive, and I am happy to share my window with them, as I glance into their world, and they glance into mine.

Are We Missing Out?

I saw a program on PBS this summer about the new hydrogen cars and was completely fascinated by the technology that would enable to cars to operate with water as the only pollutant. Then I got to thinking about the advances in technology in the last century or so. Just think that a hundred years ago, most people would still have been driving a horse and buggy, and the fastest cars went an astonishing 20 miles per hour or something like that, and did you hear that two brothers from Ohio actually got something to fly!?! There were so many things that were brand new to people a hundred years ago, things that would have tangible affects on their lives. Refrigerators, electric lights, airplanes. Looking back at the last century, I wonder what it would have been like to live through that; to see cars become the primary mode of transportation and progress from the Model T to the Taurus; to watch Neil Armstrong walk on the moon live; to see a TV for the first time; to hear the voices of the actors on screen; to put a gallon of milk in the fridge and know it won't be spoiled the next morning.

I wonder if my generation has missed out on being astonished by technology. We've become so used to the leaps and bounds that are so common today that they aren't leaps and bounds...just the natural progression of science. I heard that they mapped the human genome (whatever that means), but what affect does that have on my life? They put an ice and water dispenser in my freezer door, now that's something cool, but not earth shattering. I barely remember the advent of the internet, but I only remember it, I have no idea what life was like before the internet. They invented a car that has no pollutants. Okay, so when are they going to invent a car that runs on air?

We have become jaded, unsatisfied and unimpressed by the technological advances that are daily changing our world. I really think I'm missing out.

Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

-Robert Frost

Some time last month, my voice teacher asked us to bring in our favorite poem to use as text. I have never had a favorite poem, so I began searching through poetry I'd read in high school to find a few lines of verse that tickled my fancy. I plowed through some Emily Dickinson, contemplated Alfred Noyes, cringed at Sylvia Plath, then came to Robert Frost. I paused. I remembered sitting in Mr. K's class reading assorted works of Robert Frost, only half paying attention, knowing that it was English class, and I could easily get away with making something up when it came time to produce some sort of work that indicated I'd been paying attention. I remembered that I liked it. Of all the poets we read, I liked him the most I think. I don't recall why exactly, just that I did. I read a few of the familiar titles, "Mending Wall," "The Tuft of Flowers," "Out, Out--," then "Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening."

Having not seen it for several years, I read it again, seeing if it could pass as a 'favorite poem'. I found that not only did it pass, it became a favorite poem. When I got to class and recited it, I felt a little silly. Everyone else had chosen a poem that had some deep and profound meaning, something horribly valuable and grown up to say. Mine was just simple and calm. I liked that it made me feel peaceful inside. I liked how it was quiet and sad. On the walk home from class, I thought, why does this poem grab me? As I thought, a picture came to mind.

A little girl in her pajamas and slipper socks sits next to a window, knees pressed against the side of the radiator, elbows resting in the valleys on top. There is the soft glow of a night light shining near her, comforting her fear of the dark. But at that moment, her focus is not on the gloomy room behind her. Hands cupped under her little chin, she stares out into the dark night, watching the snow fall gently over her play land, tucking it in under a white blanket. The old gray maple tree outside her window doesn't look as sad now that he's covered in white. She knows she shouldn't be awake, her bedtime came and went hours ago, but she cannot pry herself from the transformation happening before her eyes. Tomorrow she will put on her coat and too big boots and play in it, make snow angels and snow forts, and maybe even a lopsided snow man with a crooked carrot for a nose. But tonight she'll just watch.