It is so good.

I'm in my sunroom. It's the best room in the house, even aside from the fact that my piano is in here.

Outside, the earth is having a fit, and I absolutely love it. It cannot get better. Freer. I wish I could stand out in the middle of the road and let it flow furious around me. But getting all wet before I teach a music lesson in 30 minutes might prove to be a bad idea.

Instead, I stood outside the front door, under the overhead, and just watched. I pulled my hand out in front of me, in attempt to catch a rain drop. What is it about those two words that make it seem like magic? A rain drop. It's like catching fairy dust. I waited. My wrist was slashed. My elbow caught a splash. I brought my hand back to my side, and watched the ground. The stone stairs began to speckle. Beneath the umbrella of the oak tree a few steps away, only a few spots revealed moisture settling. I waited.

The fantastic fragrance of a summer storm could not be captured and enslaved in a bottle to be showered back onto my skin for a fancy evening. It is of unkept beauty. Wild, and mysterious as the sounds that come from the conflicts in the sky as I type. Thunder. No matter what, it always sounds like unspeakable excellence. I don't remember a time in my life when I was scared of the sound. It's almost soothing. In fact, I think it is just that.

I lent my hand back out before me, and made myself available for introductions with the rain. I waited for it to shake my hand. I presented myself unafraid of the unexpected fall of depth in the shades of the daylight. In fact, I don't think the storm could have been intimidated by me... I was quite happy to greet it, even though it did rattle my beach plans for the night.

I brought my hand back to my side. I crossed my arms. But it wasn't in a disapproving way. I slowed my vision to a leaf bouncing like a diving board just abandoned. The wet spread across the green. It looked fresh. It looked good. Like cool breath to a wound. The healing spread across the leaves around the one. My toes painted pink shifted beneath me, and caught a drop, and then another. The wind skid across the air with messengers of water, like a towel being flipped on the beach bringing a rush of sand. I watched the change take place, and again placed my hand out in front of me, willing to catch whatever should fall into it. Soon, a pool swam in my palm, splashing and running off my fingers. Each drop raced another. The wind stirred and slapped the trees around me. The rain changed directions, and I felt it on my knees, my arms, my face.

And now I'm just sitting in my sunroom, no lights. Just the accompaniment of the sounds my fingers make across the keyboard, and the sound lull of the wringing hands in the sky. I have a sliding glass door opened slightly. Enough to let the sounds of the storm patter louder into this room.

Can anything else sound like rain? If only I could sing like it. If only I could play like it. It's music with no instrument. It's music that just is, and requires nothing but ears to receive it.

With such unpredictability comes a snapping of thunder. It sounds like anger. But it sounds relieving.

And the at times, barely visible blinking of lightening.... like the calming, and diminishing sobs of a child coming to peace with his cry.

So refreshed.

And I've just realized I've hardly spoken for a time now. I've been quieted, hushed.

So much response outside.

It is good. It is so good. Let it be.

City of just love

Alright. So last Friday, Katie and I went to South Street. One of our favorite places to be. We LOVE the city, and have always talked about living in Philly together should we become old crows, single and undesirable. We'd still desire each other's presence and we'd live in our favorite city.



So artsy, so creative and flowing with good stuff. Like Whole Foods, where we had lunch:) And Phileo, a place a of magic. And Sweet Freedom, where everything is gluten free so I can eat and not die. And sometimes, we even get lucky enough to be the only ones left for the street evangelist to yap our ears off when we're already Christians... actually, I abandoned Katie... i'm so sorry...



Katie and I were taking this picture (above) and laughing about how we love how adorable it is to have a garden, and lights on a little porch, which I am adamant about always calling a balcony which is so much more beautiful a word. We would definitely have a place as adorable as that place. We laughed and probably looked like little girls who should have worn our hair in pig tails. Then a rather tall guy with glasses and an overgrown t-shirt to cover his failing pair of pants he held up with one hand said to us, "You guys are SO cute!" We reacted with straight faces, and maybe a little confusion. He walked passed us at that point and said, "No! No it's good! It's a happy thing! Be happy cute!" And we laughed, and he laughed, and we continued on our way in opposite directions. What a city. Happy cute. What a good idea.



And ahhhh... when the evenings prove dull, and void of enough activity, we would go to the theatre. And ohhh. It would be lovely, just lovely. I miss acting:( Sad day.



We had a jolly old time.



And now, this picture... notice the bag in front. It's full of apples. Ok, so we walked through center city, and all down Broad St. and Walnut, and just wherever we felt like... there were so many homeless people. I usually had apples or oranges with me in my purse or something if I went into the city in Chicago or St. Louis while I was at school... better than giving money you probably have an idea of where it'd be spent... and Kath and I are health nuts... so we bought some apples from a random store, and paid all together too much for them.

Our conclusion was sad. We probably won't do that again... next time we at the very least need a guy with us... I always had a guy with me in the past, and it's always gone way better than it went for Katie and me.

Basically, someone asked us for money, and we said we had none, but we offered him an apple...

"No, I don't want an apple... but are you gonna be around later tonight...?" As he started walking toward us... we started walking away rather quickly, and did not look back.

We were peeved, and I was regretting paying for the stinking apples.

So then as we passed other people, we were more freaked, and not really quick to think to offer anything. We decided we wouldn't offer unless they asked us for something. And not only that, but we'd be ready to just hand the fruit over. No turning a head to reach into a bag...

So the only other time someone asked us for money was on a curb, surrounded by people, and alongside a street performer. As he approached us, and we handed him an apple. He held it, and said, "I don't want an apple. I don't want it!" And tried to give it back.

Ok, number one, I was mad. I was frustrated. If a guy were with us, we wouldn't have had to take another four apples home with us that night. And no one would have made any comments to us that were gross. It was actually hilarious though as we said a chorus of statements like, "No keep it," and "it's ok!" and "It's good for you!" We are SUCH health nuts.

Then we realized after we walked away pretty fast that he didn't have many teeth. So... our heroic deed for the day turned out to be a sinking ship.

And I still have a few apples in my fridge. Nice.

The other funny event had to occur as well.... We were at the very end of South, and we were just chilling out. It was getting dark, and we were still waiting for Zach and Caleigh to get there. We were tired from walking around all of Philly for already around 5 hours. And there was a guy supposed to be "dead" on the ground, covered with a sheet. We thought maybe the guy was doing some magic tricks or something. There was a pretty large group surrounding another guy on the pedestal, speaking into a microphone. We decided to see what the fuss was about.

As as we stood by, the group dissolved and left Katie and I alone in front of the guy. He might as well have been standing on a toy beach bucket... and he preached to Katie and I... I started walking away... it was one of those things that does more damage than good. More about condemnation than the saving grace of God. And Katie tried to tell him she was a Christian, and he basically said she probably wasn't. And more people gathered around to watch the spectacle.

It was no use trying to tell him that she and I agreed with what he was saying... it was quite an experience.

Anyway, it was a wonderful day that left us with aching, sore, and cramping feet. We later watched Shutter Island, and were rather freaked. And it was such a good movie. We enjoyed it. Good day:)

Duderonomy

Today is Father's Day. My siblings and I used to call our dad Duderonomy. We decided long ago that calling him, "Dude," was far better and more appropriate than "Dad." So we slowly grew the name, and eventually started calling him Duderonomy. Like, "Deuteronomy". But better.

Goodness... I don't even know where to start about my dad. He's my music cheerleader. He did the music thing himself around when he got married. He's the guy who taught me how to harmonize at the brutal age of probably 9 or something. He taught Zach Caleigh and I how to sing three parts for church special music. Making him proud was the best thing on earth. He'd be at the back of the church, always bringing us the extra nod to let us know we were doing ok... and he was always first to remind us if it wasn't for God, we shouldn't be doing it, and it was not worth it.

My dad is the absolute best example of a Christian man I've ever known. He's a living testimony of what it looks like to live in the power of the Holy Spirit every minute. He's a miracle... he almost died a year ago at work. That was the most insane wake up call to me... realizing my dad basically should not have lived through his work accident. What if I had no one to walk me down the aisle, no one for my own kids to call grandpa from my side of the family... even though we already decided we'd use the name "Gramps" rather than "grandpa" for my dad... half in jest ;)

My dad loves my mom. We all know it. No one could ever doubt it. They've been married for 24 years. Eight kids. And he is everything a dad should be. He surpasses what is "required" of a dad to be.

One approving nod from my dad after I perform somewhere is like gold. Yes! It must have been alright then. Or better yet, when he come over and whispers in my ear, "Phenomenal." Hah, he's my music guru... if I don't please him when he was basically my vocal coach till college, what's the point!?

My dad's love is so much like God's love. They both can make me cry. They both can stop me in my tracks. They both can fire me up enough to do things I feel I can't. They both are sweet calm in times of heartache. I'll never forget coming home from school for a few days... I needed to come home and recharge a bit. Some rough stuff had been going on, and we had off a few days, so I came home. Without getting into detail, my heart was just aching. I wasn't on the verge of tears when my dad picked me up from the airport. I felt fine. He knew what had happened over the previous weeks to that visit. And I knew he knew. But I didn't talk about it. Until I got home. I saw my mom in the kitchen, and she hugged me. My sisters came over and hugged me. And my dad came over. He gently touched my hair, and put his arms around me, and said, "This is what I wanted to do a few weeks ago." And he held me for a long time. I felt myself tense up... I didn't want to cry. But it was hopeless.... his love weakens me. I relaxed, and let myself rest. I was safe. In my dad's arms. Tears welled up a bit. But it wasn't just the reality of the previous weeks that brought them. It was my dad.

I'll never forget reading the first entry in a journal my dad wrote... we used to write to each other in a journal. When we'd write back, we'd put it under each other's pillows. My mom and I did it too. But when my dad wrote to me the first time, I must have been around 12 or 13 or so. I remember sitting on my bed, and reading it slowly, and stopping half way. I couldn't finish immediately for the water in my eyes. He had written how beautiful I was. He had called me "Princess," which was his nick name for me when I was little. "You know you're a Princess, right?" He had written. I couldn't believe how precious his words were to me. I felt silly, too. A lot of my friends were getting into the "boy crazy" thing, and hey... boys were getting to be increasingly interesting to me as well. As I sat on my bed, I took out my journal, and copied what he wrote to me, and then said, "My dad's love fills the places in my heart that I feel when I think of boys." I was so young, and it's kind of funny looking back that I had written those words. But even then, my dad's love for me kept me from looking for it somewhere else that might have hurt me.

I respect my Dad. It's the worst pain to think I've disappointed him in some area. I try to make him proud. I want to honor him all the time. He's raised my family to be a bundle of 10 crazy people who all love music, and each other, and above all the Lord. I love him so much.

His love reminds me of God's love. He himself reminds me of my Heavenly Father. He's a man after God's heart. A man I know God smiles on and rejoices over. A man I am so glad and blessed to call my father.

To hear your messages, press one

I was asleep. I was in a spinning space between complete unconsciousness and reality when my phone buzzed above me on the top of the headboard behind me. With a single-eyed view of blurry vision, I reached up and located my phone with fumbling fingers.

One new voice message. To hear your messages, press "call." I did.

I didn't know who called... so I waited as I exercised my eyelids like they were doing pull ups. The weight of slumber still only beginning to surrender. To hear your messages, press "one". I did. All these directions... have mercy.

Finally, the message began. I pressed my ear closer. Fuzz... Dangit. All this work, and I couldn't even hear anything.

But then I did. I could faintly make out a voice. There was music playing, adding to the frustrations between distinguishable sounds. The bass was like adding cotton to the sides of my eyes, but translated into imaginary fluff around my ears. I strained to make out who it was. Maybe the person just had a bad connection, or had the phone on speaker.

Then I recognized the voice. It was a good friend of mine. It had only been hours since we had last spoken. Then I realized, she probably had no idea she had called me. Her phone must have been nestled into her purse or something. It all made sense. So then, why did I hear only her voice?

"Lord, give her strength to serve you. Love on her, God..." She was praying! I couldn't help it... I kept listening. The message kept going, revealing her prayers for her daughter, and her sons. I couldn't make it all out, but I understood the names of her children, and a few heartfelt petitions. She continued to pray for strength for the day, as she was heading to work. A pause would follow a string of words. Then she'd lift her voice again, "God, thank you for the opportunity to do this today...." I quieted my breathing, believing the lesser the sound of it, the lesser the cotton in my ears would interrogate the word struggling to hold understood meaning.

At around three minutes, the message cut off. I pushed the "end" button, and stared off. My pillow waited for my head to fall back on it, but it didn't right away. I swallowed, and let my breath contribute to the air in the room. The fan kept flying around in circles, and the sunshine outside crept through my blinds making faces to the darkened space around me.

I stretched my arm out to give my phone to my headboard, and mused at what I'd just experienced. I heard a few moments of this woman's time with God on her way to work. I was a criminal in a sense... but I didn't care. I knew there was something to be grasped by this somewhat silly and accidental situation.

It was sacred. This woman's time with God in her car, as music played around the closed quarters of her car. She engaged in intercession over her children. She praised God for her job, and asked for strength and peace for the day.

It made me think about what I do when I'm driving. I usually have either Q102 playing or some other station I trusted to give me the songs I liked to sing to on the road. It's true I miss having a Hillsong CD constantly playing... I don't usually drive a car that I can leave my own stuff in.... let alone a car that can play my ipod. I resort to the radio. I love the radio. But I don't usually like listening to the Christian stations... I get annoyed by them sometimes. But basically... my time spent in the car is much. And I don't use it like this friend of mine did, and accidentally shared with me.

It made me consider what I give up to have time with God. And in truth, I don't give up much. Not enough. His hands are constantly opened, offering me more. And I don't usually take hold of both of His hands. I take hold of worship, and going to church a few times a week... I take hold of devotions and what not...

I was moved. And it's challenged me. And I did saved the message. Maybe someday I'll tell this woman how this affected me. Someday I will.

Two different pairs of arms

Tonight after playing for worship for the youth group at my church, I went upstairs and sat in my mom's Bible study. She's going through questions that moms should ask their daughters, and conversations moms should have with their daughters. Every week my mom discusses with me and Zach and Caleigh the things her group talks about. It's always pretty interesting, but this week especially really got me thinking. In fact, a few nights ago, my mom talked to Bi and I about this most recent chapter a good deal, and it got her and I talking a bit about some things too.

The chapter was about how it's ok to desire marriage and a family as a young girl, and as a woman. People give mixed messages about this subject. Some people don't even care, because they're not the type to even really dream about walking down an aisle, or carrying around a baby. I, on the other hand, have always been like that. Relationships have always intrigued me. Marriage is always a thought that crosses my mind. It's a terrible aching when I see a mother with a newborn. I feel as though for some reason, that infant should be in my arms regardless of who birthed him. I crave holding babies. I can't wait to be a mom. I can't wait to be a wife. I can't wait for all of that stuff. It's just the kind of person I am.

Or is it? Could it be that it is a desire and dream that God placed in my heart? Something He penned into His formula for Shaina Joy? I think it is. I think God knew what He was doing in me when He began to move in me the desire to be a wife and a mother. I've recently started to just allow myself the peace that God is only understanding me perfectly about this aching desire in me.... let me explain.

I get really frustrated with myself that I am wired the way I am. Culture says finish college, start your life-long occupation, save up, and then maybe start looking for a spouse. Society breathes down our necks to get our lives completely in tact before we even begin thinking about any committed relationship. I noticed through my own written prayers in my journals, that I started buying into what culture has defined as a standard... basically, I felt guilty before God bringing Him my heart. I felt ashamed at times. I would so often feel the need to ask God to change my heart.

It's all good and well to ask God for strength and peace and all of that good stuff... but why have I allowed myself to basically apologize for possessing the dreams He placed in me Himself?

Let me clarify a little bit. I am by no means saying it is ok to obsess about this kind of stuff. I'm one of those people who has grown up with lessons on guarding my heart above everything, and wearing purity as a headband and heartband at all times. So as I continue, keep that in mind. Interpret my words if you can, with this as a foundation.

I keep learning over and over not to come before the Lord apologizing for pieces of who I am. I'm learning not to feel bad about personality traits, hopes, thoughts and desires. Instead, I keep feeling Him say to me over and over that I am understood. In His presence I am understood far more than I ever have been by any other person. He has crafted me. He has authored the workings of His creations. What does it take for me to realize this?! I don't need to try to explain... I don't need to beat around the bush when I'm bringing something to Him. Goodness, I wish I could stand before myself and slap my face, yank my hair, and look into my own eyes and say, "Just go as you are!!"

So basically, this chapter my mom was going through with her group was on how culture has reshaped what is acceptable for us as young people to desire. I am such a people pleaser. When someone says, "Shai, relax! Enjoy yourself! Slow down, and just relax." I feel energized and encouraged to do just that. And culture says the same things to me everyday about many dreams I have in my heart. And really... that's ridiculous that I should let my dreams shift because they're not always the norm for a lot of people.

Anyway, my conclusion is that I've come to the point that i'm not going to come to God apologetically about the things He cares deeply for me about. Instead, these hopes and desires are things I can bring to Him knowing I'm fully understood. Things I can lay before Him with a light heart, and not a heavy one.

I think this kind of goes for anything we desire... no matter what it is. I think as Christians we often have the tendency to feel like we shouldn't be happy. For example, if our desires are being fulfilled, we almost question if it's "right." Why, oh why do we do this? Couldn't it be that sometimes we are showered in blessings from our Father? Of course there are times we struggle and wrestle with our own humanity and human hearts.... but there are overwhelming blessings we are showered with everyday.

My point is this: God has written His name upon our hearts. He has authored so many things in us that He rejoices in Himself. And He rejoices when we rejoice in thankfulness. How much of a difference would there be in our relationships with God if we constantly enter into His presence knowing we are understood? I think a lot of things would change.

God has very different arms than culture. His are constantly open. Culture's arms are usually crossed, spectating every motion we make. We're so used to having to explain ourselves to the Crossed Arms, that when we come to the Open Arms, we stand before them explaining ourselves instead of running into them. Blah!

Fruit!

I ate a starfruit for the first time today. It was beautiful. This had to be documented. I made sure I chopped it the correct way. And distributed the joy through the waiting little hands of my siblings. It wasn't my favorite, but it was pretty good:)



Starfruit originated in Southeast Asia, and spread over the years, even to Florida and Hawaii.



Starfruit is also known as the carambola. Starfruits are low in saturated fat, cholesterol and sodium, and high in Dietary Fiber, Vitamin C, Copper, Pantothenic Acid and Potassium. Whooo fruit!!

I've decided to go raw fruititarian for a little while. Sorta for just cleansing and stuff like that. It's certainly not for good. But I love fruit, and since it's summer, I'm just loving the idea of only consuming fruit. I've been researching a bunch for fun, and it's pretty cool. I'll include my thought in my blogs no doubt...

Bliss

One of the best things in the morning is a coconut. Thai.



I'm telling you, there is nothing like a thai coconut smoothie. In the morning. Bliss. Absolute bliss.



There is nothing like listening to someone sing when there is absolutely nothing held back, and the sound is as fresh as a thai coconut smoothie. Perfect vocal texture. Artistic fading in and out at the right times.... like I Just Haven't Met You Yet by Buble and Your Love Is a Song by Switchfoot. Look em up, just experience the audible bliss.

I can't stand a ticking clock when I'm trying to play the piano. It messes with me. And I don't like being off beat... and when another beat is competing, I get frustrated.

Alrighty-ho, that's all. Ahhh coconuts!!

If you see my ankles, i expect to see a ring

People who know me well, know that I relish in the old fashioned. When I was younger, I used to want to be Amish. I thought the way they lived was so cool. I was intrigued by them. Living closeish to Amish country gave me enough glimpses into their ways... that and weekly trips to Dutch Wagon. I love reading books like Little Women, and anything by Jane Austin. There was something so sweet, elegant, and beautiful in the times. Purity was something to be constantly owned up to by everyone. Those who did not, were disgraced.

Of course we often say, "I wish things could be so simple..." and then we consider how things were not exactly simple, just different.

I'm giving a little disclaimer here. I know some things I say might come across offensive, but it is not my desire in the least to offend anyone.

I'm going to just launch into this. I miss the days that I never even experienced. I miss the days when a woman would feel humiliated and embarrassed to wear a revealing dress when out for the evening, like Meg in Little Women. I miss when the society would look down on a girl who flirts and flitters from boy to boy like she's a bee gathering nectar flower to flower, like Lydia in Pride and Prejudice. I miss the times when women were prizes to be won, and a pursuit was like a trek one set out to take. I miss when modesty was of the purest and most beautiful.

I don't know what it would have really been like if I found the days of my life outlined in pages much like some of my favorite authors, rather than typed by buttons on my keyboard. I don't know what it would have felt like to wear corsets and bodices and I don't know the agony of wearing my hair up at every moment of the day. In a lot of ways I love how our culture is, that I can be a hippy if I feel like it. It's true girls can decide to be rather low-maintenance these days.

However... mentioning "these days" leads me to my point. I detest what our culture has carved the people to be. I hate that we've become a consumer society, which led to the downfall of so many things once beautiful. Everything we do has to do with our obsession to consume. We're addicted. We go through withdraw violently when we try to break the spell. We're in a rock solid bubble held together by years and years of travel to come to where we are now. Everything has to be better. Everything is about bettering ourselves. We have to make more money. We have to have a better car. We have to be smarter, more attractive. And the latter has brought me into a bit of a mood this afternoon.

I was walking around Target. I tried on some random clothes. I've come to the conclusion that college washing machines might as well just swallow my clothes rather than grind them to a pulp to be spat back out at me and my emptied pockets. It's just cruel. Anyway, I'll just say it like it is... I was frustrated with how I looked in some stuff I tried on. I was annoyed, and voiced my irritations to Caleigh about how Target clothing missed the idea that clothing for women should probably consider how women's bodies differ a bit from the bodies of men. But that's just me, what do I know?

The more I kept thinking, the more annoyed I became that I was even annoyed in the first place. I looked around at the airbrushed pictures on the walls, and despaired. Our culture is so foul. So, so foul. The body of a woman is plastered everywhere, like a measuring tape on the wall reminding us where we need to reach. So many times we're left like toddlers jumping and standing on our toes, desperate to match up to the numbers on the wall. Our society knows what it looks like to be "attractive." We know what "perfection" looks like. Now that we know that, we all know what "imperfection" looks like too. Thanks to that, we all live in constant competition with our reflections. We all know that we won't be noticed by the world unless we abide by what we've made the law to be.

I don't mean to sound depressing. I'm not depressed in fact. I'm merely attempting to recreate the scenario of this afternoon. I don't like that so much is exposed to the society. I don't like that men are seen as animals only capable of sex. I don't like that girls cater and solidify that image by acting and looking like bimbos on billboards.

I'm severely and genuinely peeved. And I don't have an answer. Obviously, we cannot go back in time. We can't go back to a time when even women's ankles were scandalous. A time when the hand of a woman was like gold to kiss, a reward, rather than a given like we so easily view it today. A time when people blushed at the mention of sex, rather than howling and laughing and slapping like today. A time when the body of a woman was a mystery of unspeakable beauty, and not something exposed over and over, degraded, and taken for entertainment.

I tire of standing in a river flowing against me. I get worn out. I don't want to size up my worth by my waist line, or how my legs look in high heels. I don't want to be measured by whatever is under my chin... even though my scar is pretty cool ;) I can't help but wonder what life would be like if we weren't all completely commercialized. If we didn't have so many images before us. If we valued virtue over instant gratification. Blah!

Like I said, I have no answer, I'm just peeved.

No name tag here

This partly goes out to Teajay and his relentless pursuit of me writing what he wants to read. And then it's also just out of my pure desire to write it anyway.

Today I had the privilege to be a part of a summer class at BCC, my old school. I took a summer class there a year ago, Teaching as a Profession, a class I adored. I had so much fun in it, and learned a great deal, and still keep in touch with several other students form the five-week class. I also keep in touch with the teacher, Mrs. Furness. She was my favorite teacher in all of my BCC experience. She was wonderful. An absolutely gifted teacher. So encouraging. She pushed when she needed to. She lifted up when she needed to. She was inspiring. We've kept in touch over this past year since the class, and she's teaching the same course this summer. The Homeschooling debate was today, just happening to be the day she and I scheduled to meet for lunch.

I was honored when she asked me if I'd be willing to come in and be there for the debate, to speak and answer questions about homeschooling after the debate. I accepted, 150% willing. I was so excited.

Everyone had wonderful questions. The debate team did a great job with the pros and cons of homeschooling. I was especially pleased with how well the girl did on the con side. She hit the nail on the head about the things you need to pay attention to should one decide to homeschool.

And so, I yapped on and on answering questions for around 45 minutes or something like that. I spent some thought on making sure I didn't happen to find a jean jumper to wear today. Not that I even own one. I had to represent. We homeschoolers are A-ttractive people. I had to convince everyone who was not presently a believer. I figured my new short hair cut was a good move for this purpose, though I did not know I'd have this opportunity. God must have known;) I'm kidding. But I figured wearing sunglasses over my hair when I wasn't wearing them over my eyes would ensure I am indeed cool. And I stole some of Caleigh's earrings too. Can I tell you a secret? I left all of my own earrings and necklaces and what not in IL. In Mark's Garage. Marky, if I come back to you in three months, and you're wearing my rings, I not only will be unsurprised, but I will be frustrated. Not that you'd read this. Anyway, my words are typed, and I will direct you to them if this event should occur.

Continuing on, I discussed the workings of homeschooling. We have the same requirements as any other student. We go through SATs, we have proms, we have sports teams. We have math, and science. We even have paper and pencils. Sometimes.... even pens. But there is so much more that I could never exactly articulate especially in a short amount of time, mostly gathered together by question and response.

Homeschooling is a phenomenon uncracked even by the ones who've held nutcrackers our whole lives, aka us who have been homeschooled our whole lives. It's a procedure that cannot fit on a trifold board used for science fair. It's something that is more of a lifestyle than a word to come after, "hello I'm..." on a name tag.

In fact, Teajay and I were discussing homeschooling this morning before I left to go do the whole shindig. I compared those who are truly homeschoolers, to those who just wear the "hello, I'm..." name tags. The name tag people are like Christians who just go to church. They expect church to be the determining factor of their identity in faith. As if church makes a Christian. Instead of Christ makes a Christian. PShhhh. Please. True homeschoolers embrace making every opportunity life-changing somehow. We see the good things in the sometimes odd opportunities we have. For example, when a senior in high school has the opportunity to take a Latin class when there will be 6th graders in the same class. Crazy, right? Right. But it made a difference in my life when I was a 13-year old 8th grader, taking the same class as Adrian Rogers, who was an 18-year-old senior. He treated me and my friends like we were the same as any other person. He showed me how to treat people who weren't my age the same as anybody else. He made an imprint on me. Crazy, right? Right. He showed me we were all in the same water, and sometimes even in the same boat. He showed me what it was to push each other on towards the goal.

The goal was always to be the best we could possibly be. To be real. To be pure, and loving. To glorify God with the heads he's given us. To embrace diversity and personality. To be different, to be similar. To shop at thrift stores and find the weirdest and most amazing clothes you've ever seen, and to be affirmed by those around us for being ourselves. To be thankful and sincerely grateful for the examples we had to model ourselves after, while expressing ourselves in entirely different ways. To find joy in intelligence, to the point that we'd secretly adore our new pair of glasses because it might add more intellect to our everyday appearance. To find Borders to be the best place on earth sometimes. To find hilarious humor in pulling all nighters to pull the good grades on exams cut out for college seniors, and not high school sophomores. To find that you actually have a lot in common with your siblings, to the point you actually enjoy being with them ( or him or her) and even write love notes when you prepare their lunches. To get excited that you understand Shakespeare as if it were the words you spoke everyday.... because maybe they are. To love science fair because you got to do something that's possibly never been done before, even to the point of enjoying looking at bugs or worms for hours and hours. To share car ride with other people who wear more than a name tag and discuss how freaking hot Dunkin Donut's coffee is, and speak with an Indian accent for an entire hour. To share your heart with those around you and to shed your own limited wisdom, to gain more from another. To pray with a teacher, because she genuinely loves you, and was praying for you everyday already. To become a teacher yourself, and take part in the journey with someone else much younger than you. To walk into the place I used to take classes and realize what I have a Greenville is entirely wonderful, but what i've left behind is absolute gold. Just like the BCIT stage:)

We learned to have pride in the things we did. We learned to work hard, and pursue like we were all flames of fire seeking water to be put out, yet only to gain more flame and more passion. We learned to make learning a journey, and a journey with constant celebration.

We were joined somehow. Those of us who didn't just wear a name tag. Those of us who weren't Churchtains. We were all under the same ceiling of scholastic stars. We reached for them. We followed them. And the brightest of those stars was God, our parents, and our teachers, and the people who set us an example of what we could be with the blessings we've been given. Those stars provided light in a world jumbled with blocks and road gaps, and places that have lost electricity in the ways of the world.

Graduating a year ago with some of the most beautiful, wonderful and precious people I've ever known was amazing to me. To have our parents, and not just someone in the school system (not down playing the wonderful role someone in the public school system plays), hand us our diplomas was such a beautiful thing. Being able to praise our God for his goodness, for his blessings, for his love in our lives during our graduation was matchless.

Speaking today reminded me of the awesome blessings I've been given having been homeschooled my whole life.

My thoughts are somewhat out of focus. Maybe I'll continue this soon. Teajay, I hope you were relieved of any painful anticipation.

Zip

There is nothing like running when the clouds are full, and the earth sends stirring breath to help spin the ground under you, while the humidity was swept away by fickle storming, and the sky is a blue that makes the colors in my eyes jealous. Nothing.

Ohmuhgash

I drove a truck today! It was so well with my soul. I believe I've always wanted a truck as my personal vehicle. I've always wanted a red truck, and I even had the name Roger designated in my heart for this guy of a vehicle... it hasn't happened yet, but I'm still young, and the dream lives on.
Anyway, I drove Seb, Steph and Cal to the shore today. Ocean City! Beautiful day, freezing water, but amazing all the same. I am tan. I'm observing my hands as I type, and even my hands are darker. I'm pleased. After being on the beach since noon till about 10 p.m., ohmuhgash, I better have changed color.
It was awesome. My short hair even curled nicely. I always loved my long beach hair. But it was actually rather easy with it being shorter now. I only needed to keep my sunglasses up so the stinkin' bangs would submit to staying off my sunned face.
I met up with some friends as the three Post-Prommers (actually one was just along for the ride) roamed the boardwalk.

As I drove all these Cinderella Licensed drivers, I had a window down and just sat quietly as I rolled on through the silent pines. I decided I'm going to really like this summer, and I'm going to be free and just let life take me where it will. I've felt rather aimless as I don't have a solid job... I'm tutoring a ton, and teaching some music lessons, enough to keep me floating. But I don't have quite as much structure as I'm used to in my summers. But I think I'm going to like the spontaneity of this summer. I'll learn to like it more. Kind of a last hurrah before I go to having a ton more structure all the time in my life... I graduate in a year... from college... with my Bachelor's... what?! And so... bring on the beach babe. Bring it. Or take me with you when you go:)

And the motto of the day was this: Ohmuhgash.... :)

Cannot be contained

Yesterday, Bi and I went for a walk... we were training:) Anyway, as the two of us are living our last months of being teenagers, we of course have to talk about things like love.

Lately, I've just been thinking of love as something that cannot be contained. It cannot be exactly grasped. It can't be put to a formula. In Greek, one word can't even describe it... it has many names. And in English, I think it just has many ways of surpassing what we understand in our culture. I don't think love is exactly what we expect. I don't think it has a way of being in a "safe zone" or something like that. I think love is like stepping out on a tight rope. It's always gonna be an adventure if it's genuine.

Sometimes I think it's even better to love than to be loved. But only under the circumstances that you are loved. That might sound confusing. As long as you know you are loved, loving is the easiest and most freeing, wonderful thing in the world. I love to love.

And a lot of people laugh at "Love Languages," but when they laugh, it makes me really mad. Because I think everyone knows the pain of feeling completely unloved. And feeling unappreciated, or misunderstood for the overflow of love you have, is the most heartbreaking experience. I think I've become a very keen observer of others around me, to find what their love language might be. And then I try to communicate that way. I started getting to know one of my friends friends, and it was so obvious to me that his love language was words of affirmation. It's gotten so much easier for me to detect some of the love languages. For example, when physical touch is someone's... that's usually pretty evident.

Trina and I are obsessed with love languages as well. We're so excited to put love language stuff on our wall and stuff when we room together next year. We're both primarily words of affirmation, and then I'm physical touch almost just as high when I took the "love language test." It was kind of surprising to me at first, then, it completely made sense. I feel it absolutely devastating to reach to hug someone, and then they don't realize it, and kinda just pat my shoulder or something as their response. What rejection! I hate that. I love to have arms around me. I love to sit close to my friends, and people I care about. Trina's close second love language is quality time. So I make sure I communicate that to her too, and always look in her eyes when we talk. She makes sure she touches me, or hugs me, and we always verbally affirm each other, and write little notes to each other when we remember to. It's awesome. And so beautiful a friendship, because I know she tries so hard to communicate to me in ways I catch with my whole heart. It's awesome.

Laura and I had an awesome conversation over a year ago as we sat in the empty cafeteria at the old BCC together. We talked about when our love language is not shown, or reversed, it feels like a hate language. For example, if I'm words of affirmation, and someone calls me something, or verbally or facially dismisses me or puts me down, it's the most devastating thing. If I walk over to someone, and plan to hug him or her, and that person doesn't accept it and just stands there, I feel like they might as well have slapped me. If I give my heart a stage and speak from the deep of what I'm feeling or thinking, and I get a clipped answer like "Well, no. It's not like that, you're just over-analyzing." I feel absolutely crippled. Laura and I also make sure we communicate each other's love language. It's so important.

My parents started using our love languages in each of us in the family a few years ago. My mom always says she's proud of me, especially when she detects my apprehension in something. It's like I go from a deflated ballon, to a balloon the size of spongebob at the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade when I hear that.

And so this concludes my first June issue. I love love.