At some point near the end of December, I chronicle some of the major events of the passing year. I've been doing this since I was 13, and although it still seems a little hokey to me, I'll do this again for 2006. I started 2006 as a completely different person than the one sitting before my computer now typing these random thoughts. I speak my mind more (although still not enough). I've stood up for myself by saying no to people I love and refusing to eat potato chips just because they were "there". I actually purchased...and wore...and took a picture in a sleeveless shirt. I saw both the emergency room and Cancun during the middle of the night (and they both make fascinating stories). I started a whole new year of teaching and finally realized that it's not my calling. I learned that people are human just like me, and that it's okay to open up to them. In that vein, I've cultivated some amazing friendships with some truly wonderful women. I've se

I have very little to write. I've had very little to write for several days now. My journal is collecting dust. The keyboard is feeling neglected. I'm mostly feeling numb these days. I've been on my personal discovery journey long enough to know that "numbing out" is my way of dealing with the crap swirling around me. It's an instinctual response to chaos in my life...and my life is filled to the brim with chaos. I'm also a little weary. I'm weary of this world and all it's messages. I don't need a life filled with physical and emotional baubles. I feel like I spend too much of my time running around--filling my car with purchases I don't really need; speaking words I don't really need to say; shoveling food into my already full stomach; infusing my brain with sitcom jokes; and grading a 3-inch stack of papers for students who will check out the grade and toss it in the nearest recycle bin. The band is falling apart. My summer pants don

You know it's never a good sign when even writing is a chore for me. I woke up at 5:00 this morning, opened one of my book files, and attempted to write. The words were all jumbled up on the page. Thoughts were incoherent. It was too much of a struggle, so I gave up and crocheted 15 circles. So I'm in a crummy mood, which is always a sign that I'm ignoring my soul, but nothing is working. I can't even go for the run I feel like I really need because I need new running shoes and the iPod battery is dead. :( One of my newest projects is a photography journal. I forget where I read about it, but the idea is to take one picture each day that represents something significant about that day for you. I'm not sure I'll ever actually take one picture a day, but I'm attempting. I thought I'd post some recent pictures that made me giggle inside in the hopes that I will rekinder some of those feelings. This is the most artistic thing I can seem to do right now. (Oth

I had an interesting discussion with some students today. We were going over some Latin root words, and being a self-proclaimed Latin geek, I was loving the connections between some English words and their Latin ancestors. The Latin word respiro means "to breathe." This word is the foundation for several of our English words, including respirate, conspiracy, and inspiration. Think about this for a minute. Breath is the very foundation of life. After we emerge from the womb, breathing is one of our first activities. Air must flow through our lungs. I can't help but wonder just how important inspiration is to our lives. It comes from the word for breath! So what exactly is a life without inspiration? I only need to look back at some rough stretches of my own life to get a glimpse. In those moments, depression seeped in. Numbness to the world overcame all sensation. Merely walking through the motions of life took extraordinary effort. When I was seventeen, my life was in sh

My friend, Nadia, and I have been tossing around the concept of living by the senses. She first heard it on the Travel Channel. (You're better off traveling by your senses than by an intinery.) Since then, this idea has become part of my life, as I see more and more just how moved I am by my senses. I'm tired right now, so I will go into this more later. For now, I wanted to share something relating to this topic. My favorite time of day is the wee hours of the morning. I've been this way for as long as I can remember. A few weeks ago, a full moon lured me out from under my cozy quilt. My dog needed to go out, and I found myself captivated by the brightness of the moon contrasting with the black sky. The moon is mysterious and beautiful. It can blind my eyes and light a path. I find its predictability comforting. That morning, I was awed, bathing in it's glow. I could feel the energy run through my body. It was a moment. I threw the dog back inside, grabbed my camera, a

Checking the mail was a fun experience today. I found out that my short story, "Fiona's Secret" will be published in Cantilevers, Florida Southern College's Journal of the Arts. I was fairly confident the review committee would select the story...it's about a woman with a secret that she cannot even mention to her best friend. A guilt plagues her to such a degree that she ends up wishing for her best friend's death and struggling with the dissonance of such a warped perception of reality. Good stuff...definitely worth the time to read...and I'm not just saying it because I know the writer intimately.

I read this quote in a magazine last week: "What a wonderful life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner." It spoke to me in such a degree that I ripped it out of the magazine in the waiting room--a larcenous act I would not normally commit. I look back on the last twenty-nine years I've walked this earth and realize that Colette's words could easily roll off my tongue. My life's tapestry is woven with memories that span from holy to hellish...innocent to scandelous...ecstatic to morbidly depressing. From this vantage point it's a beautiful testament to my Creator and His ability to redeem my soul. Walking through much of it has left me at times shamed and afraid and giddy, but I wouldn't trade those moments because they have all pieced together to form the woman I am today. Still, all these experiences have left me still yearning for something more. I'm starting to believe that the greatest challenge of my life is bucking my capacity to

Inside My Head waTchiNg (dreams around me come true) wIsHing (my turn would spring into view) wAntinG (a life i dare not reveal) wonDeRing (how long will i wait to be real) whiSperIng (prayers each morning sunrise) waLloWing (here in the midst of my life) P.S. I must be in an e.e. cummings mood!

Epiphany in Mexico Carry me away on turquoise waves to the place where all I have to think about is how the sun melts away the layers of my sensibilities Sing to me you ancient spirits your songs of this mystical place where time stands still and I feel once again a part of humanity Greet me in the morning blazing sun burning my skin until the stars caress my soul in the still hours where I finally know I have a vision

My husband and I wasted away most of our Saturday afternoon rummaging through the tool stores. I know that most women would cringe at the thought of this kind of weekend, but I have a lot of fun watching his eyes light up at the sight of air compressors and quarter-inch sockets. These days are always good for interesting conversation and lots of joking around. Lately, we've been discussing the idea of moving from the central Florida area. I brought this up a few months ago, and he's since seen why. The area has changed so much in the last 6 years. Traffic. Too much growth. Attitudes. When he mentioned the idea of moving, I knew this was significant. He is the kind of man who completely thinks through his actions before even talking about them. I know that he will already have a well-thought out plan of action for every objection I have. It's funny how realizing that your wishes are on the brink of coming true puts them in a new perspective. As soon as moving was a possibili

I'm reading the most fabulous book I've flipped through in a while. It's called "On Mexico Time"--the true story (told in essays) of a Los Angeles writer and his painter wife who take a spur of the moment vacation to San Miguel in central Mexico. They fall in love with the place, return to LA to sell their home, and take up residence in the Mexican town. I must take a moment to sigh. I've discovered that there are two kinds of people in this world: those who've been to Mexico and those who haven't. Just listen to them talk about Mexico, and you'll know who's been there and who thinks they know enough from this side of the border. Last night, I was telling my aunt about the book, and her immediate response was, "I have no desire to go to Mexico, and I don't understand why anyone does." This afternoon, I was sharing the book with a co-worker. She stopped me mid-description and asked, "They move there, don't they?" I no

"God has planted eternity in the heart of man." I've often speculated about this piece of scripture and discovered many interpretations. Lately, I'm landing on the concept that God has planted within each of us specific dreams and purposes (or purposi--:)) Is it possible that the eternity planted in our hearts specifically relates to the way we are to contribute to humanity? I do believe that we are all uniquely gifted to contribute to humanity, yet too often we sacrifice what's been planted in our hearts for more palatable dreams. Just listen to kids. They'll tell you they want to be a policeman or a teacher or a pop singer or a basketball star. I've yet to hear a kid tell me that he dreams of eeking by on government assistance for the rest of his life. So what happens on the road to adulthood? My dreams have been through several transformations. I vividly recall the years when I wanted to be the pilot of the space shuttle. How I envied the astronauts eac

I went shopping yesterday for some household items. I left my house at 1:00 with my list for laundry detergent, eyeshadow, toenail clippers, Diet Pepsi, water, and eye makeup remover. I'm really not much of a shopper. I like to get in and get out with what I need. I tend to cringe when someone wants to go "window" shopping. Please, I don't need to be there unless I'm walking out with a bag. Anyway, I wandered around Ulta for over an hour, looking at all the hair color and nailpolish, trying to figure out just what the difference is between styling spray, finishing spray, and workable spray, and pondering the age-old question: is ammonium laureth sulfate better for your hair than sodium laureth sulfate. I left the shoe store empty-handed, which is a shame since I'm in desperate need of new sneakers. The old ones are covered in poison-plant oil. So I ventured into Ross where I proudly walked out with a CD of Mexican music for a friend, and a how-to DVD on Salsa

I have an interesting relationship with guilt. Growing up in a protestant home (an odd mixture of Assemblies of God and Southern Baptist), I was always told the Catholics are guilt-ridden. Hmm, I disagree. My biggest enemy sometimes is the overwhelming sense of guilt and shame that I carry through my life. It goes something like this... Last night, I went out with some friends to this fabulous piano bar. We sat in the front and listened to the music, laughed at the antics, carried on screaming conversations, danced when the mood struck, and drank vodka and cranberry juice. I stayed longer than I planned, especially when my friend and I sat in my car talking until 2 a.m. That's it. I had a ton of fun. I'm really more of a homebody, so this was a refreshing change of pace. I'm probably good for a few months now. So this morning I woke at 11:00 (way past my usual time), and it hit me. Am I really a bad person? Why is it that hanging out with my friends, dancing, and imbibing j

I'm feeling a little melodramatic right now. I've seen two doctors now. One (my GP) gave me two options for what's going on on my leg. The other (dermatologist) said one of the previous options was more likely. I prefer that diagnosis, but it's funny how the mind works. Even though I want to believe the dermatologist, my mind keeps searching for other signs that my GP is right. Maybe I am a hypochondriac. When something is awry, I immediately begin searching for all the possibilities. Last December my right foot started going numb. My final conclusion was that is must be MS. After several encouragements to "not stress" and a painful EMG, I received a "You do have some nerve damage, but I don't think it's MS" conclusion. I said all that to say that I know the way I think. I want answers immediately and with assurance. I've been face to face lately with my desire to control all aspects of my life and coming to grips with the fact that I ha

Quick note before I run off to the doctor. I slept cradling my Bible last night; I'm feeling fairly despondent. This morning I wanted to read SOMETHING, so I did my usual "What day is today--let's find that Psalm number." Lo and behold it is the 23rd. Usually I skip over that Psalm because I've heard it so often, but for some reason I read it. Here's hope: "He restores my soul." I'm not there yet, and who knows when I'll feel restored, but it's a promise now.

When I decided to start this blog, I intended for it to be a reflection of the lessons I'm learning on the paths of my life. I haven't written anything lately because I couldn't think of anything worthy of a post. I've been in a crummy mood. I feel stagnant. I'm having a hard time seeing anything praisworthy around me. Right now I really want to just hop on a plane and fly as far away as I can. The more I think about it, the more I realize that if I'm going to be true to my ideas here, I need to be honest. So here goes... I have an infected spot on my leg. I know this isn't a pleasant thought, but it's there. It's really gross. I'm worried about it constantly. It's embarrassing. It's not healing quickly enough for me. The spot has grown larger in the last 5 days. This spot is a physical representation of the festering wound inside my soul. There is a place in my soul that is wounded. I've done a fantastic job avoiding it--covering it

One of the greatest lessons I've learned in the last year is the power of gratitude. It's not that I'm an ungrateful person. Even in the wake of the challenges I've faced with a mentally ill mother and confused father, I always managed to focus on the gifts around me like an open family (I love them!), supportive friends, and God-directed opportunities. What's struck me lately is how easy it is to lose sight of joy in life. Ecclesiastes (one of my favorite books of the Bible) says "A man can do nothing better than to eat and drink and find satisfaction in his work. This, too, I see is from the hand of God." This is an amazing idea--that God has given us the gift of ENJOYING our lives. I've had the first part down. I work hard. I eat. I drink. I even find some satisfaction is what I do. However, I never really grasped the concept that God wants me to enjoy my life. The more I consider this, the more I see that God places in my path moments to celebrate

at the bottom of a bag of peanut butter m&ms i see the emptiness and the white plastic i wonder why i ate the entire bag i realize my soul is still empty i sense my stomach is sickly full i wish it was the other way around - A.B., 2006

When I left my house at 6:15 yesterday morning, my shoes were clean. I liked my shoes. They were comfortable. They fit my feet beautifully. They received many compliments from my 8th graders. They're not clean anymore. Yesterday, I went on an 11-mile hike with 39 8th graders, two other teachers, and a parent. It was an interesting terrain through pine forests (where we were all on the look-out for flying pinecones), over stagnant creeks, and dried-up marsh. We walked through sugar sand, jumped over stumps, and crawled under fallen branches. I shook my head when the girls screamed at the sight of a banana spider 20 feet over our heads. I laughed at the students' analysis of the excrement filled with undigested berries. (Is it a deer...a hog...a bear...or Sasquatch?) We all complained a little, especially when we thought we were near the end. I am thrilled to say that I made it to the end. We all did, complete burr scratches, tick marks, filthy pants, and sweaty t-shirts. That

To say my life is a *little* chaotic is an understatement. So far we've had two surgeries in the family, complications from the surgeries, loopy arguments that I hope are related to pain meds, torturous boredom, morning duty at work, and now a family feud. This is all on top of teaching 80 8th graders each day on less than 4 hours of sleep each night. My bones are literally aching right now. But that's not the point. The point is that I have a choice. I can choose to give into the madness swirling around me. I can feel sorry for myself. I can fight back. I can blame the world. It's a fight sometimes. The people in my little universe are so caring that they will listen to me vent to the point of wallowing...and some of them encourage it. (Not you, NS!) However, this afternoon, in the middle of a little self-doubt about my abilities as a teacher--and a human--two students gave me a wonderful gift. "Miss, I don't get it. I never liked writing before. I hated it, but w

I LOVE the movie "What About Bob?" It's one of those flicks I can watch over and over without tiring of the jokes. One of my favorite scenes is when the family is having dinner, and Bob just raves over every part of the meal. "Mmmm, this chicken is scrumptious." You've got to try this. I was driving home from the grocery store today munching on a Reese's Big Cup (love those things!) when I realized that I was just chomping through one of my favorite treats. So I pulled a "Bob." Out loud I said, "Mmmm." Yes, I even rolled my eyes into the back of my head. I was stunned. The candy actually tasted different. It was something I never tasted before. Yes, I was honestly enjoying the bite in my mouth. The experimenting began. I tried just using the vocals. Yes. I just rolled my eyes back. Yes. What a wonderful thing this is. I ate my dinner tonight this way. Wow! I've never eaten a Cuban sandwich quite like this one. I've mentioned b

As a teenager, I loved the Psalmist's words: "I will praise you for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. All your works are good; I know this full well." Every time I thought my nose was too big or my hair too blonde or not blonde enough or never combed the right way—you get the point—I would look in the mirror and remind myself that I was a work of the creator of the universe. Why is it that something so real to me during that time was eventually swept under the rug of my own insecurities? How did it lose meaning? These words are alive and new within me today. For too long, I've been comparing myself with other people, making mental notes about how I measure up to their good qualities. I've kept lists of the traits I want to model in other people. Out shopping with my sister, I'd take one look at her and chastise myself for not always wearing matching shoes and belt. (Note to self: buy more belts.) I totally bought the line when my dear friend told me that ev

I vividly remember telling my mother that all I wanted out of life was to be a real person. (I had just finished reading The Velveteen Rabbit, and Skin Horse's words were rolling around in my head.) I honestly set out to be someone reliable and honest and true to herself and her beliefs. What wonderful aspirations I had! Then reality set in. I wanted to be honest, but I didn't want to hurt feelings or lose a friendship. I wanted to stick to my beliefs, but they waivered in the face of my crumbling home life. I wanted to be reliable, but I often questioned if I was even there for myself. Speaking of myself, how could I be true when I didn't even know who I was? Last August I started what became long term therapy. In one of my first sessions, we did a little visualization. I was supposed to be on the beach with myself. This was difficult. What did I look like? How would I know it was me? Did I even want to find myself? I desperately wanted to wrap my hand around "my hand

"Feelings suck." My counselor laughed. "You really are an emotional person," he said. "Emotional people are unreliable. I don't want to be like that," I countered. "Emotions are what help you experience life," was his final answer. I really do hate feelings. They're a nuisance. I'd rather wrap them up and hide them away in the attic of my mind. In fact, I've got a storage unit filled with repressed anger, fear, worry, and joy. I anesthetize my mind. I shut down at the first sign of an emotion. It's a beautiful existence filled with no ups and downs. Or so I think. I tried an experiment the other day. A particular issue reared its head, and I confronted it. In the past, I would have ignored it and then reacted in a passive-aggressive manner. I'd make a sarcastic remark. I'd find a way to criticize. I'd ignore or not speak. Instead, I faced the rage within me head on. I went for a drive and realized that I was trying