Muscle, Bone, Tissue, the Like.

This last week, I found out I had a heart murmur. I went to the clinic on a Wednesday. It was just like any old day: cold and bright, very blue, trees with no leaves, and the normal amount of traffic. I was thinking about meeting Amy at the gym after and about what I was making for dinner later---a grilled sandwich with roasted chicken, apple, cheddar, and spinach. It was just a yearly checkup, a physical that I had forgotten

to schedule for, ah, a couple years. I felt the normal amount of anticipation---will they draw blood? Shots? Something else?

During my physical, after a thorough listening (a bit longer than usual) of the thumps and rushing sounds in her stethoscope, the doctor pronounced that I had a heart murmur and promptly scheduled me for an echocardiogram on Friday.

I didn't even know what a heart murmur was except that it didn't sound like something healthy. Heart problems were not an issue I had struggled with before. This was strange. Amy and I decided to skip the gym that day, and I went home and googled murmurs and ate my planned sandwich. I found out that they are this:

"...abnormal sounds during your heartbeat cycle that are often caused by defective heart valves or leaks. A valve may be unable to close completely. This leads to regurgitation, which is blood leaking backward through the valve when it should be closed."

I guess over 90% of people have mild heart murmurs (according to the internet), so I was more intrigued than worried when I arrived at my echocardiogram appointment at 7:45am on Friday morning. I skipped coffee on the way as I assumed caffeine might speed things up a bit and make me jittery. It wasn't until after checking in, after the waiting room, when I was lying down, staring at my heart on an ultrasound screen, that I started to feel a bit anxious. The technician zoomed in and out, highlighting the width and length of atriums and veins, took screen shots of sound waves, and recorded snapshot after snapshot from different angles. I didn't feel like that was actually my heart that she was looking at. It was strange to see the organ that keeps me alive in such a scientific state. I could see valves opening and closing and heat waves where my blood was flowing. I suddenly felt fragile and very real.

After thirty minutes, I began to notice that the technician was repeatedly zooming in on one particular area of my heart. Now, let me assure you, most of the time, it was pretty much the same as when you're looking at an ultrasound of a baby and you're like, "I see it! .....Wait.....nope. I don't. Looks like nothing." But after watching her enlarge and highlight the same picture over and over again, I thought, that's it, there's a problem.

"So, uh," I managed my most casual voice, "How's it lookin?"

"I can't report any findings to you as it can turn into a liability issue. Only the doctors can diagnose." She continued drawing graph lines and taking snapshots.

"Oh, okay. Makes sense." I stared at the ceiling.

"But," She looked at me after a minute or so, "I'm not seeing anything here that's making me run out of the room screaming to the doctors."

"Oh." I felt a bit more calm, "Well, that's good I guess."

After forty-five minutes, everything was finished, and she let me know that it looked like I had a small leak in my pulmonary valve, but nothing was certain until the doctor called. I was hugging my hospital gown to myself because, as we all know, they never seem to put the ties in the right places.

'You'll hear back in a week," she said as she pulled off her rubber gloves and washed her hands.

Drew was waiting for me in the waiting room when I was finished which was a real consolation the whole time---just to know that another body was present and knew what was happening. We stopped for coffee and then went on our separate ways to work.

I was lucky, because instead of waiting a week like the technician had said, I ended up only having to wait four hours. It was such a comfort when I heard the words normal and benign come through the receiver on my end of the call. I was free and clear! Nothing was wrong. Nothing would be affected, and I could continue on living my life just as I had before. There was great rejoicing via text message and phone call with multiple people after I heard the news.

I still felt fragile, though. I still do. Truly delicate because the abstract way I had always thought of a heart, and heart rates, and blood in valves and atriums, and the way it travels in and out is now very actual to me. It scares me how tangible I feel after all of that, but in a good way---I feel very, very alive. I feel rather amazed that God put organs and muscle and tissue inside of me, and they are just things, objects I could hold in my hand, yet they keep me living and thinking and feeling grand emotions. I can yawn because of them and hear people whisper or sing, and I can watch rain on a dark street or feel cold sheets in bed. I am very aware of most everything right now.

This is just a story of what happened last week, and I thought you should know.

March Initiative

I heard it throughout my time in the writing program in college, and I still hear it today. In fact, it's what the author at the book reading I went to a couple weeks ago recommended as well. It's what anyone in the writing world knows and advises: write every day. So that's my goal from here on out for the month of March--to write something on this blog everyday. Some days it might be more than others, but it's my intent to get at least something posted here each day. Today, that means a winter playlist. I've heard birds chirping outside the last few days and even wore a raincoat on March 1st in honor of the new month but then decided that was a bit premature (mainly because I was freezing all the way to the gym and back). These songs say this season to me---cold but almost spring.

1. Eagle's Nest by Caroline Smith and the Goodnight Sleeps 2. Broken Horse by Freelance Whales 3. Lindisfarne II by James Blake 4. Just One More Day by Otis Redding 5. I Found a Reason by Cat Power 6. Hero by Family of the Year 7. Big Bird in a Small Cage by Patrick Watson 8. The Bad in Each Other by Feist 9. I Thought I Saw Your Face Today by She & Him 10. Red Hands by Walk Off the Earth 11. So Long Lonesome by Explosions in the Sky 12. Michicant (Bon Iver cover) by Kinna Grannis 13. Threnody by Goldmund 14. Stuck On You by Meiko 15. Song for No One by Miike Snow

Enjoy with some hot chocolate or coffee, and if you don't have a fireplace, wrap yourself up in some quilts, light some candles, and read, knit, eat, talk, or whatever else you love to do.

The Blog, A Scene

There comes a time in every blogger's life when he or she has to decide what exactly their blog is going to be about. At least from a marketing standpoint. Narrow or broaden the audience, and claim a theme. Heartbreaks, relevance, family tales. Now, some might say that this ship may have already sailed, but I don't think it's ever too late to start afresh. Just mulling over the next season for this blog and if things might narrow down a bit. Something beautiful I saw today was this: I was driving down County D, on my way to the library. The sky overhead was white and grey, and there was no sun. The roads were icy enough that I was driving slower than usual, and I could hear packed snow clumping up under the belly of my car. It was a residential area, and I was about a block out from a stop sign when I saw two girls. They were probably twelve or thirteen, walking down the side of the road with their pajama pants and Uggs, one with thick, snarly hair (let's be honest, it will soften out when she's older, and one day, she'll suddenly look in the mirror and think, beautiful), and the other with a saggy sports sweatshirt and long legs. Now, I only saw them for about a second and a half as I passed by, but as my car rushed past, I watched one girl's face suddenly crumple into a sob. It was such a flash of emotion, such an honest and pure look, bright in my eye, that I shifted my glance to the rear view mirror as soon as they were past, so I could watch. In the second I could still see them, the listening friend reached over and took the crying girl's hand. And then they were gone. Two specks in the back window, blending in with the trees, and I was rounding the corner.

The rest of the drive, I couldn't help but think of how grateful I am for togetherness. For that handhold. For friends that listen and give advice or don't. For the ones that have trusted me enough to really cry in front of me and tell me little pieces of their heart. For eating ice cream on the couch and watching Parenthood or making big plates of bruschetta together and everyone grouping together to eat at the table with ice cold waters, fresh mozzarella, and grapes.

I think it is a great thing that each human can know, somewhere deep inside, how to love and how to truly be with.

February.

Starting new things makes it hard to write. I have so much in my head that I could type up that I think everything gets congested. Like too much traffic or more cake in your mouth than you can chew.

I'm watching Elsie in the living room with Omar and Isse, the two Somali boys from upstairs. She's teaching Omar how to add. Is 64 bigger than 51? No, not quite. Try again. Now Fallastine, their mother, just knocked and came in. She is twenty six---young to be the mother of three already. Her head is covered with a brightly colored scarf, and we talk about the blizzard outside. She holds Imron, the baby, on her hip like a sack of potatoes. He ogles at the bright part of the lamp, sucking on his fist and drooling, and the two little boys beg us for grapes.

I think about February as I sit here. This month is an accomplishing month. By that, I mean that I have a hearty to-do list I'm working through and hoping to finish before the 28th. Now that I'm more adjusted to working full time, I'm gradually feeling more room to get involved with other things. Naturally, I'm a starter. Unnaturally, I'm a finisher. I made some New Year's resolutions that require some carrying through, however, so February has become the month of doing. Last week I joined a gym. This next week, I'm hoping to join a small group at church. I've been praying to the Lord about constructing healthier living, and I think these might be some key places to start.

One thing that scares me about working full time is the possibility of losing creativity. I've talked to several writer friends and artists who get home from an eight-hour shift and soon find themselves too exhausted to enter into their imagination. It's beautiful work to be in that expanding, pulsing, colorful place in one's mind, but it is work. And after sitting in a cubicle all day or answering a hundred emails, sometimes its a challenge to even manage a cup of tea and a movie. Something on my to-do list is to find a writing place and time--a pattern to stay in touch. I'm pretty determined not to forget my passions, interests, and obsessions in the midst of calendars and meetings.

Thinking about joy in work, creativity, and rest as I begin this week. How Adam was placed in the Garden of Eden to work it and create names for everything, and appreciate beauty.

Also, here is a bit of winter instrumental for you:

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVN1B-tUpgs&w=420&h=315]

Things That I Have Learned Since Working a Full-Time Job

Not saying I've mastered this list in any way, shape, or form, but I have been thinking a lot about each of these points. There is something nice, while difficult, about the discipline of learning throughout life. Feel free to add your own lessons learned to this post.

Things That I Have (Almost) Learned Since Working a Full-Time Job
1. How to take notes very quickly via notebook and pen (like I didn't master that in Physiological Psychology class...nope, sure didn't).

2. How to walk quickly in heels, pantyhose, and a pencil skirt so as to keep up with boss, co-worker, secretary, or otherwise.

3. Make lunch the evening before! No matter how you feel! No matter how much you convince yourself that you will make it in the morning! You won't! Do it now!

4. Also, breakfast!

5. Go to bed early. 10:00pm. Heck, 9:00pm.

6. Let your car warm up for at least 15 minutes before you get in it. Chances are, the sun will not yet have risen when you're ready to begin your morning commute, and things will be especially cold and frozen over.

7. Keep creativity active in your life. Don't succumb to the cubicle or the windowless room. Write a poem on a posty or draw a picture. Not everything needs to be facts and logic (unless of course you thrive off of that).

8. Process life with people. While this should be happening all the time, it is especially nice when one graduates or begins a full-time job. Is this normal? Am I allowed to work overtime--wait, should I leave early then? Can I take more than one bathroom break? What if there's a snowstorm?

9. Pray. This is one aspect of your life that will never change and where God will always be faithful. Whether you're taking that restroom break, in a meeting, or on your morning or afternoon commute, Jesus is present and wants to talk with you.

10. Grow and cultivate your community. You're probably graduated, and you probably have a lot of time. Why not rest up from finals last semester and then go be with people? There is such beauty, grace, growth, and fruit from interacting with and enjoying the gift of relationships. This might mean you have to pursue others.

11. Don't get discouraged. Being new at a job, it's easy to wonder if I'll ever fully understand what's going on, not have to ask questions, and be confident in each and every decision. People tell me this will come. So I trust them.

12. Be humble. I don't know everything. I'm also not in control of everything--which can be really scary sometimes. Don't try and control each and every life circumstance (rather that be not having a job or having a job). Learn to be teachable, patient, and wait. Good thing God's in charge of the world.

13. Enjoy. College is over, and life as an adult is happening. So much room to be present in each moment and learn things I wouldn't have had time for in other seasons of life. Room for pursuit, room for enrichment and experience, and room for continually deeper relationships.

New Layout!

Time for some transition. Since my life is changing, I figured my blog should change right along with it. I acknowledge that most people dislike when the layout of any certain web page changes--remember all those angry statuses about Facebook's new timeline? But we adjusted. I will admit that things might be under construction here for a bit (you know you're a blogger when you spend two hours trying to refigure a CSS stylesheet and add codes to a function.php file). If you happen to be a pro at computer jargon (particularly CSS), do let me know. I will probably gift you with many gifts for helping me fix some things.

Until then, hang tight! The blog won't stop.

P.S. If you are wondering where everything that used to be on the sidebar to the left went, just scroll down.

Drift

Like a clot in the back of my mind, molassesleak, watery haze, I wade through an aurous-lit kitchen. Idle statues through windows, chalked, flushing vermilion in this early morning rise. We would lay our heads in the trees, under the heaviest of pillows, just to sleep.

Mechlin lace folded, the wood table, a sweetness still hangs. Scent of cloves. We can’t keep it back, clouding over like a hum in our hands. Carried like stars, it glows up and over our ears, until all we hear is light pouring across the sky.

This is the reflection of tears: mirror undercurrent, quivering water in the brain. Not amniotic, but gradually, a thawed constellation.

Shading over everything, we bow without watching to gods who aren’t watching.

How to breathe with all this quiet filling my lungs? Faces like soil, our skin leaking rivers.

Update Before All the Other Updates.

It's finals week. Students are huddling for warmth by the fireplaces upstairs in the Billy, and most have a cup of coffee attached to their side like an IV. Books surround people in piles. As I look out over the dining hall, I see that simple carbohydrates are the choice dietary habit of the day. It's been pretty cold for about a week now, and the ice was extra hard and slippery on the street this morning. Even with heavy-duty Sorel boots on, I slipped on my way out to the parking lot, and had to go back inside for a more substantial coat. In spite of all this, I am feeling fairly peaceful.

I just want to say that I have now completed my first final of the week, turned in a 13-page paper for the same class, and am now about to meet Jake for coffee. I am tired, caffeinated, and don't really have any more thoughts than that.

Phone Haters.

I'm currently working on a piece of non-fiction about talking on the phone. I've known both people who love it and people who would rather text out a painfully long story or question than verbally speak it over a telephone. Before I continue writing, I want to get some feedback: what is it that you like or don't like about talking on the phone? Feel free to be blunt and honest (even if that means you comment anonymously).

Musings from a Book Store

This is just an excerpt from my journal this afternoon while sitting at Barnes & Noble. I thought I would share it.

New journal today. This is an exciting moment.

I am people watching from the Starbucks cafe at Barnes & Noble. There are all sorts of people, mostly older, mulling about and paging through books. In front of me, there is a man in a leather jacket with a long, gray-blonde ponytail. A woman holding an empty coffee cup is standing next to the table, talking to him about someone they know and "identity issues."

Now a man with a cane strolls up to the cashier at the cafe and only says "Cheese pizza," as he hands her his Visa. Some more older men. Finally, I see a young person! She has an artistic, sparkling purse slung over one shoulder and long brunette hair. A guy sitting at a table drinking fizzy juice out of bottle keeps staring at her, but she doesn't notice.

I can smell flatbread and paninis cooking on the grill, and they make me think of green peppers, Dubliner cheese, and pita bread. I'm eating broccoli cheese soup, and I got a slice of Godiva chocolate cheesecake in a to-go box for good measure.

The store is already decked out in Christmas colors even though Thanksgiving hasn't come on and gone yet. It's mostly reds and golds and centered around stands of specialty chocolates or gourmet caramel corn. There is a stand of shimmery tins of Christmas tea to my left. "Holiday" flavored. From where I'm sitting, I can see a big sign next to a table by the door that says The Hobbit, and it makes me excited all over again for all the literary movies that are coming out soon: The Great Gatsby, Anna Karenina, Les Miserables, Life of Pi, and all the others. There are a lot of great movies coming out in the next year.

It feels good to have some time alone today. Just wanted to say that.

Another woman with a cane! She is trying to hobble down the two steps that lead from the cafe. I'm concerned. She made it. Slowly. I like her neon yellow shirt. It's nice when elderly people no longer care what people think of them and wear anything. It's nice when younger people do that too.

Oh! New development! A store clerk is rushing by. He has on a red and green striped tie that has little bells attached all over. He looks like he is on a mission.

Identity?

The facts: My roommates and I are all about to graduate from college. We are going to get new jobs. Soon we will be moving. There has been much discussion about a new apartment or house as of late. The days of four girls in one tiny bathroom are coming to an end. Amidst this transition, Elsie and I were talking about identity a few weeks ago and how we sometimes fear getting lost in all the shuffle or forgetting who we really are. We fear getting caught up in what the world wants us to be or believes we should demonstrate ourselves as. First and foremost, our identities are in Christ. But beyond that, we started wondering.

We talked about it with friends, boyfriends, family, to see what they thought. The whole conversation ended with a group of us making lists about what makes up who we are and then trading. I have to admit, it was difficult at first. I started listing out facts about myself: I'm 5 feet, 4 inches tall, I grew up in a suburb, I am right-handed, etc. And then, after I exhausted facts, it was even harder to stay away from simply listing likes and dislikes. Not that those are bad, but I wanted to get deeper. Who am I really?

I ended up writing things out that I had never truly realized about myself. And once I got past the first couple of pages, it was hard to stop. I capped it at five, but I think this is an exercise that I could probably revisit every sixth months and come up with a whole new slew of characteristics.

I always think that it's really constructive for people to push toward self-awareness, so I would encourage you, if you've never done something like this before, to give it a try. Your list can look like anything. Mine ended up as boxes (see picture below), but maybe you'll write in pictures or one-word descriptions or write out everything vertically. Take your time. List both the good and the bad. Let it come out over a few days or weeks. Be patient with yourself. I can guarantee you'll be surprised.

A Thank You to Blog Followers.

To those who have been faithful in following this blog, and therefore, this journey of life over the last three years, I just want to take a post to say thanks. I really appreciate you. Or even if you have been semi-faithful in following this blog and only check it, say, twice a year, once in February when you are sick of winter and resort to the Internet and once in November when life gets hum drum, thank you to you as well. Or maybe, you don't even follow this blog, and this is the first time you've laid eyes on it. Maybe you tend towards fashion or decorating blogs, or blogs on cars, or blogs about the latest technology and gadgets. I get that. And fully support. Maybe this is the first time you've started reading a blog on life. So thanks for checking this out.

The Valley

Streets, thudding with the beat of light,billowing pale, worn fires off the side of roads. A summit in the back, brown rain from prayer dust circling the hordes, their holy shawls. I left the black behind, worlds screaming with leftover souls. We hunt to feel a calypso pulse, anything like pressing water to our faces.

Sole of my cracked heel scratched with the heat of withering blood, on their hands, dead mist. Their eyes, hollow, watch while I do not fear.

Rippling, the tar hammering hues, you've always known I'd come. Deep, the water breathing out like a lung, at the edge of the lake, it flickers; rolling novas in a sea-flushed forest of color. Everything we came for. And then,

the sheer-hushed ivory morning, lacing our eyes up to the sky.

© Lauren Bernhagen 2012

7 More Saturdays Left in My College Career.

Today, it is the weekend. After a long hard week of tests and presentations and loads of homework, I have finally made it. I felt that I should at least recognize this achievement via my blog. I also, felt that I should recognize that I made it through this week without any sneezing, coughing, headaches, or sore throats. This is a great accomplishment as all three of my roommates caught the same cold in the last two weeks, but I have an immune system made of steel (I haven't had a cold in years) and am quite healthy. I feel bad for them though. Especially Kirsten, she had it the worst. Currently I am sitting at the desk, getting some little things done that I had put off this week due to school. Nothing too demanding. It feels good to check some of them off my list.

There are two mothers waiting for their students over by the fireplace in the Student Center, and the bit of sky I can see through the window looks stormy. No one is really around because it's early morning on a Saturday and college students sleep in on the weekends. I feel cozy and warm thanks to the space heater under the desk. Here is what I am looking forward to this weekend:

A nap.

Going to Side Show tonight with Kirsten and Jamie.

Having post-show ice cream pie and games at our apartment with Kirsten, Jamie, Elsie, Drew, Joe, Skyller, and hopefully Max if he can.

Church with Kirsten. Between all the traveling and weddings we haven't gone together on the same Sunday for some time now.

Seeing Amy. We don't know what we're doing yet, but it'll be something good.

Time to write/journal.

Cleaning. I feel sleepy and thirsty, so now I'm going to get some water, turn on some music, and read a little Pharisectomy (which you should check out because it's the greatest). Have a nice Saturday.

Lo

Some Days I Love the Midwest.

I'm sitting in a small, log-built coffee house in a little town somewhere in northern Wisconsin with Amy right now. Job searching. We have apple cider, and there are candles and jars and books for sale all over the place along the walls and in shelves. Also, in front of me, there is a Christmas corner packed with lights and tinsel and pine boughs (gotta love Christmas year-round in the small, northern towns). A man with glasses on top of his head is sitting there by the ornaments, looking very seriously at a book and pulling on his mustache. This morning we woke up to a bit of drizzle and fog outside. The lake was ideal and stretched out in a vapor right up to the pines. I have to admit, we were up very, very late watching movies, making homemade pizza, and figuring out how to turn the hot-water heater on in the basement of the cabin. So we both ended up sleeping until about 11:00am. It was slow waking up, but after spinach and feta omelets and slow-drip coffee, we were on our way into town.

I feel near perfectly content right now.

On a completely different note, I've been thinking about Christmas and New Year's a lot lately. Very much looking forward to seeing old friends and having our families all together eating and drinking and laughing. Secret dream: would love to spend the holidays in a rented lodge or chalet with a bunch of family friends some year, maybe make it a tradition. We would snowshoe, go sledding, cut down a Christmas tree the old-fashioned way, make pies and all sorts of good meals, and sing carols at night by the fire. Just a thought. If you'd like to join me in this ambition, let me know.

In honor of this goal, here's a New Year's song that the Woodbury crew has been playing on repeat lately. It was also Alyssa and Justin's first wedding-dance song. Happy rainy day.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bvep2m2wNv0

Are You Treading Water Today?

Maybe today is just hard. You might be anxious about something. You might be thinking about the future and wondering how on earth you're going to make the decisions you need to make. Maybe your healing from something that caused you pain in your past, and you're frustrated with how long it is taking. Maybe it's a pain day. You might be angry at someone, confused, stressed out, lacking energy, tired. Whatever it is, do you feel like you're in the water, barely keeping your head above the surface? I felt some of this this morning. I woke up late with a sore throat, emotions from a dream I had last night weighing heavily on my mind, a test and speech looming up in front of me, and pressure from past hurts sitting on my heart. Bleary-eyed and willing myself not to swallow, I stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water and a cough drop. Time to get ready for school. A whole day stretched before me. It was like I had slipped into the middle of a sea and was treading water, already tired before I had barely begun.

You might find that you're good at treading water. At least at first. You've done this for years, built up muscle against the waves. You're momentarily great at keeping yourself alive and moving. But it never lasts. No one has unlimited strength, and each person is fighting a hard battle in his or her heart.

Often, I end up treading. If you're like me, you're on autopilot to depend on your own strength, push through the stress, suppress the worries. It's not until I consciously remember God that I notice it. It's like I've been in the water alone all this time, completely blind to and unaware of the vast and mighty ship resting in the water next to me. Before, there was nothing but clouds and grey, and then suddenly, sun, and a colossal shadow across the navy ocean. It takes a lot of effort, but if I turn and swim, grab on to one of the rope ladders, and allow myself to be pulled up, I can finally rest. I collapse on the planks of the ship, completely out of breath from the physical exertion of working to stay afloat. I can relax now. I don't even have to steer the ship. I can just lay on the deck, breathe in heavy, ragged breaths, and watch the reflection of sea in the sky while I learn to be at rest.

When I asked God for help on my drive to school this morning, He answered. He taught me how to accept peace from Him. I stopped trying to swim and tread and struggle on my own and finally just climbed on the ship. I've been finding that I need to do this every morning, mainly because when I first wake up, I sometimes forget that I can claim truth.

This comparison is not supposed to be a Jesus Band-aid. Oh, you're hurting? Well let me just slap on a bandage with a picture of the Jesus-boat, and you'll be all better. This is simply an illustration, a parable of sorts, one image of the great love and protection God offers. It starts when you stop trying so hard, humbly acknowledge that you're not strong enough, and let the Lord heal, care for, and steer you.

You have always been loved, you are loved, and you will always be loved. If you have any questions about this or how it works, send me an email or set up a coffee date with me and let me tell you about the hope you can have every day.

Bathroom Edition.

This might be TMI, but I think that bathrooms are some of the most peaceful and thought-provoking places in a home. I was thinking back this morning on all the bathrooms in all the different places I've lived: the large, spacious bathroom at home, painted a flush rose color with a bathtub separate from the shower; the annoyingly small bathroom in my first dorm room which automatically turned a loud fan on at the same time as the light; the ugly tile and long counter space that we somehow made attractive when we were on Res Life on The Row (this bathroom is just a blur in my mind, I barely remember it since so much happened in the busyness of that year); the bathroom we have now - a shower curtain with birds on it (put a bird on it!) and a turquoise vase with flowers resting atop the toilet. Once I was in a bathroom at a friend's house in Des Moines that was painted a very calming blue, and I decided right then that when I have my own, paintable bathroom, it will probably be some sort of the same color.

I think I enjoy bathrooms a lot because they are one of the only places you can go and be guaranteed alone time. A great many conversations with the Lord happen for me there which I don't think is blasphemous in the least because He is an intimate Lord and wants to be in every part of our honest, mundane life. On days when I've just cleaned the room, swept and scrubbed the floor, machine washed the brown shag rug, and sprayed everything with 409, I'll occasionally take a magazine or my Bible and journal in there later in the afternoon or evening, light a candle, and just sit on the floor and breathe.

There can also be community in a bathroom too. I have great conversations with my roommates while we are spraying hairspray and brushing makeup on our cheeks. And I know that someday I will talk with my husband if we are both in the bathroom at the same time.

Anyways, it's one of my favorite rooms. I like to make and will continue to make the atmosphere in the bathrooms I own restful, soft, and welcoming. After all, you enter a bathroom several times everyday. A lot of processing can happen in there.

Hello, How Are You.

There are several disciplines I've been wanting to implement into my life as of late. The greatest of these: actually starting the challenges and carrying them through. By blogging this out, however, it will mean that people will know I'm working on these practices and will hopefully ask me about them and help hold me accountable.

The first discipline I want to put into action has to do with cultural greetings. A few years ago, I was talking to a friend of mine who was living in the same dorm as a student who had just moved to America from India.

"I've been trying to help him get accustomed to American culture," she said as we were pulling out our notebooks for Abnormal Psychology class.

"How so?" I asked her, genuinely interested in what was specifically different for him here and hard to adjust to.

"Well, like explaining to him that people shake hands here when you first meet. Or that when people ask 'How are you?' in America, they don't always want to actually know how you really are."

At first, I was taken aback. She was right. A lot of the time we really don't want to actually know how people are. How cold and selfish our American culture must seem.

Over the next few weeks, I became more and more aware of how often this exchange happens. It is especially apparent on a college campus. When in passing: 'Hi, how are you?' 'Good, headed to class, how are you?' 'Good!' End discussion and both continue on, hurrying off in separate directions. Now, as a disclaimer, I recognize that if you stopped to have a deep conversation about one's emotions with every passerby, you would never go to class, do homework, eat, sleep, or anything else.

However, I think it is possible to be intentional with your words and what you are asking and saying to those you greet. It has to be a combination of brotherly love, discernment, and deliberate intentionality. I once had a girl at college, someone I knew but not particularly well, come up to me in the hallway one day, and instead of saying hello-how-are-you, she flat out asked, "Are you stressed?" I don't know if it was the look on my face or my posture, but somehow she recognized that I was feeling something. I was really blessed by her words. By the fact that she taken the time to notice my expression and had asked me something so specific and pointed about what I was experiencing.

I want my words to be seasoned with salt. I don't want to just blab out chit chat unless I actually mean what I'm saying. The 'how-are-you's' of people who don't actually want to know how I am have begun to grate. Not that they have bad intentions; it's just the way of American culture at present. It's the worst when I hear the same question coming out of my own mouth in a rush before I even know what's happening. By the second word, I'm already picturing myself trying to grasp at and pull the words back in as the student or professor I just asked walks past me with a knowing look. They're aware that I don't actually want to know.

So here is the discipline. I want to think before I speak, genuinely ask people about specifics, and if I don't have several minutes to actually catch up and listen, I want to say something else. Greet them with hello. Or set a date for later (this would involve actually getting out calendars and both parties writing it down. Just yesterday I saw two girls in the cafeteria exchange smiles and waves from across several tables and then a Hey girl! We should get coffee sometime and catch up! AKA I just want to be polite and say something minimal to keep the good feelings between us. I'm committed but really, I'm not.)

This is going to be hard (I've developed these habits since I was little), but I think I can do it. If I ask you how you are, but then rush on, be patient with me and perhaps, lovingly remind and ask me if I actually want to know. I want to be present in my speech, love well, and truly claim purpose in the words that I say.

Keep Calm.

Graduation is happening in less than three months. Most of my friends graduated this spring, so if you're reading this and are graduated, feel free to reply with your thoughts. I've been thinking a lot about what life is going to look like after homework and with the addition of a full-time job. I keep saying to myself, Finally, time to do all those things I haven't had time for while studying 24/7. 

To me, graduation looks like more time to pursue writing, hobbies, people, Jesus, sleep, work, and church community. It also looks like more monetary responsibility, less easily obtainable community, and loads more time that I will have to choose to be intentional with. Sometimes I wonder if I'll have so much time that I won't know what to do with myself. For instance, a graduated friend texted me today and said she had reached the pinnacle of her unemployment this afternoon and had watched Zoboomafoo with her dog on the couch. On the flip side, however, this same friend has taken advantage of pursuing various hobbies and has been running, reading like never before, and cooking the loveliest things. The other day she made me a dessert with some sort of warm, homemade vanilla bean glaze poured over strawberries. It was beautiful.

At other times, I get concerned that working a job forty+ hours a week will be exhausting. A couple of my friends haven't been hired at full-time positions quite yet and have been juggling several jobs at once. It's hard for me to imagine waitressing, freelancing, nannying, and whatever else all at the same time (those are my imaginary post-grad, pre-career jobs).

I'm also praying a lot about what type of job to apply for. So many options and unknowns. I don't feel worried about getting one because I know the Lord will provide for me no matter where I work or don't. I just know a season of decisions is now upon me, and while I generally feel good about what I decide, it often takes me a long time to make the actual decision.

If you're graduated, what's life like for you? Different from your expectations? Exceeding your expectations?

On the 7th of September, the Deluge

Note: This is a fictional piece.  She didn’t know when they left.

When the words, a slew of them, went fluttering up, back into the mackerel sky. Everything was still the same, she thought: the suitcase smelling of mold, cinnamon, and cologne, filled with books, and Mother still calling on Tuesdays from her rocking chair.

But she wasn’t threading words like string anymore. She wasn’t staring hard at the way the rabbits paused at midnight when she came home or at the various wood grains on the tabletops. The way some people had long fingers and some people had short. The words now lay on the plane of her cerebrum like dead fish on a dock, under a mass of cloud. They sat there, feverish above the grey water, stinking and sweating in the open air, gasping for want of life.

Slowly the trees began wilting and the night stopped brandishing violent beauty.

She knew something had to be done.

After a long wait, weeks (or months if she was honest with herself), it was decided that enough was enough. She decided to throw away the gems and golden spices, the carved sculptures and heavy timepieces she had strapped to her back, two buckles each, and then moved out of the mud. She calculated the cost. It was worth it. Laying out what she had left, goblets and buckets, glass dishes and bowls made from clay, she sat on a rock to wait. She lay on her back and watched for them.

She counted a bird, then a beetle. There was a toad with a million lumps, slippery, that hopped near her, around in the wet, bright grass. The sun was not there behind the black trees. She would sit on the smooth, silvery slab of a stone all day if she had to. The words would come. Patience.

The mist hung.

And then, without warning, it happened.

There was a cracking sound, and then a noise similar to the rustling of water.

Like a ripple in the sky, flashes of rainlight, the words started falling from the clouds. They came quickly - in sentences and pages, whole stories in fact. The letters got stuck in tree branches and some missed the cups altogether and fell in little tumbling rivulets off the boulder and into a stream. Where certain words landed, plants and flowers began sprouting out of the ground. She was surprised when a whole building, beautifully carved, sprang up to her left after a page sank under the grass.

She was collecting them in her arms, grabbing and holding as many as she could fit between both hands, pouring them into the bags and saucers and boxes she had cleverly laid out. There was a song in the air, arresting and lovely, that made her pause. The words were on the wind too, between everything, the strains of an aria or a woman humming. The deep vibrant notes of a man singing opera.

This was the start of the great flood she’d been waiting for.

She walked near the woods, plucking script out of the puddles.