habits

I have been sleeping in the same bed since I was 13. No joke. It is a wooden framed daybed, and I have grown quite fond of it. The mattress is probably conformed to the shape of my body by now, and the springs are a little squeaky, but at the end of a long day or after being away, there is nothing like sinking into my squeaky little bed.

I sleep on my stomach. It's really the only way to sleep. And I am a heavy sleeper. Once I am out, I am out. My phone has rung in the middle of the night, right next to my head, and I don't hear it. Thunderstorms? Nope. Not even the air conditioner which runs right outside my window can keep me awake.

I was thinking about my sleeping habits because the days are growing shorter until I am a married woman, and sleeping seems like a big thing to work out. I have to sleep under the covers, usually pulled up around my head, even in the middle of the summer, which means that then there has to be a fan running. Ceiling fans are preferred, but when lacking, a circulating floor fan will do. I cannot sleep under the covers during the day, no matter how cold it is--if I nap during the winter, I sleep on top of my covers with a different blanket over me. I find that I can't get into bed at night if it hasn't been made in the morning.

Lucas thinks some of these things are ridiculous. But I have been doing them for 25 years...how do you break 25-year habits? I guess I will find out soon enough. But still...I've been wondering how many of my idiosyncrasies will have to go 79 days from now.

morbid curiosity

Last week I saw the saddest thing, and I'm going to write about it even though it's a little gross, so skip ahead if you would like...

I was leaving my apartment last week and on the sidewalk leading to the parking lot there are always leaves and such on the pavement. I happened to be watching my feet (a habit I wish I could break--wouldn't you rather look the world in the face as you walk instead of studying the ground?) and noticed some weird little grayish-brown blobs on the sidewalk. I of course wanted to know what they were. (I was a little afraid it was dog poop.) On closer inspection I found that they were little, featherless, baby birds. Dead on the sidewalk. They hadn't been eaten by any animals. They must have just fallen out of their nest prematurely and been left by the parent birds (because really, how is a bird going to put its baby back in the nest?).

I can't explain why, but it was just so sad to me to see these little completely helpless denuded little bodies, probably about the size of a half-dollar, with beaks and wings and little feet (yes, I studied them fairly closely with a sense of morbidity and curiosity). I've been trying to think of some metaphor to relate this experience to something in my life, but I can't, and believe me, I've been processing this since last week.

It's strange what things stick in our minds...

All I can think about is those little birds that never even had a chance. And that probably no one else even noticed they were there.

what i think

I am at the Willow Creek Arts Conference this week. It's always one of the highlights of my year. There is something so comforting about being surrounding by people who are all artists of varying degrees, to be in community with right-brained people, to feel the collective sigh of appreciation over a great piece of art.

So here are some thoughts. I think art is the most subjective subject ever created. Even artists can't all agree on what constitutes as art. The great tragedy of this is that if artists don't value each other, the chances of the world at large valuing us is increasingly diminished. Art is frequently viewed as frivolous, an extraneous form of expression, by people who don't "get" art. For me, art is like breathing fresh air when you've had months and months of coldness, rain, or excessive humidity...that fresh air just sweeps through everything in you and restores the soul to a place of hope in the goodness that really does exist in the world. Art does that for me. Without it, I would be even more cynical than I already am.

I also think that art has the power to change the world. No, really. Hang with me here. Art in all its forms--film, literature, painting, sculpture, music--can impact cultures and political systems. I just finished writing a paper on the effects that a new kind of criticism can change our perceptions of the environment and the role we as humans play in its destruction, restoration, and preservation. Everything is interconnected, and the more we realize it, the better off we will be. Art gives us a reason to appreciate the beauty of the world. It gives us reason to take notice of God's miraculous creation and to place our lives in the context of something bigger and better than ourselves. We cannot isolate ourselves from the world. Not in any manner--politically, socially, environmentally. We live in this world, and ultimately it's God's world, not ours. What have we done? How can we rectify our human history? How does art change our perceptions?

These are the questions I ask myself. I also have a rant about the state of the English language...but I will save that for another time and post.

where to start...

I have been meaning to write this post for the last two weeks and just haven't worked myself up for it. It's one of those posts I've actually been dying to write, and somehow the moment just never seemed right. So instead of waiting for the moment to feel right, I'm just going to write.

This was my first weekend away from home. For almost four years I have been a part of the CCC family, and this was my first weekend away. I didn't hate it and I didn't love it...it was what it was.

I'm not a huge fan of change. I know, shocking, right? But really. I can roll with the punches as well as the next guy, but ask me to voluntarily change something major about my life, and I'm a bit resistant. I've known this was coming since December, and still...it's a little like leaving my world behind. Not only am I no longer working as an Arts Director, I am now attending Luc's church in Plano--which is hugely exciting for us! It is unfortunate, though, that it requires me to say goodbye (for now) to a place that has changed me in a few short years.

Life really is all about people, isn't it? It has taken me the better part of 25 years to realize that it's our relationships in life that make all the difference. Working in ministry really opened my eyes to that, for better or worse, and there are so many relationships I would never have experienced if not for being here and being part of CCC. God really always knows what He's doing, He has proved that to me consistently, and bringing me here was one of those situations that I knew was too coincidental to be mere coincidence. I am fully convinced that He brought me here to meet the people I did, establish the friendships I have, find myself and grow into that person, meet my husband, and continue a journey of faith and trust, pushing me to the limits of my self.

I'm not a huge fan of goodbyes, either, and so while I could name drop for another whole post, I won't. So many people have contributed to my journey in the last three and a half years, and it would be too hard to say goodbye through a blog post. So thank God for the internet, which allows us to follow each other's lives even though our paths may not cross again.

Oh, and what am I doing now, you ask? I just started working for a small publishing company in South Barrington as an assistant publisher for a local magazine (finally putting that English degree to good use). I'll be around. I'm still the go-to girl for proofreading, if anyone needs something edited. I actually get paid to do that now...

It's been a trip.
Where to start?
Where to end?