all good things must come to an end.

In 1999, my family moved into a new house.  Ever since then, I have had the same bedroom - a bedroom that would be the cluttered mess of a teenager's room.  It then became the disorganized (but no longer cluttered) home of a college student transient.  Now it is an empty shell.

The furniture remains, but all the things that made this room "home" for the last eleven years are gone, save for the big bookshelf that holds my library (I can't bring myself to put my books in boxes in the basement.  An attachment disorder, perhaps?).

This officially is no longer my home.  Next time when I come, I'll stay in the guest room.  Sigh.  Things sure do change when you grow up.

coffee with dad.

Yesterday morning was the kind that happens slowly.  Waking up before my alarm, I meandered downstairs to find my dad.  These mornings are so special - it's when the emotional side of my dad comes out.  I cherish these moments because they don't happen often.  We talked of life and church, family and death, all the while sipping our coffee.

Today is the one-year anniversary of my uncle's death.  The uncle that was my dad's closest brother and friend for their entire lives... gone.  I tear up just imagining what it could possibly feel like for his family.

Sometimes things are just hard, and there's not much we can do.  On the classic Leave it to Beaver, Beaver once said, "Sometimes things are just so messed up that all there is left to do is cry."  Sometimes that's all we can do - just remember, cry, and move on, knowing that we will continue to go back to those memories, treasure them, and repeat the cycle.

looking back.

journal entry:
"September 1, 2005
Since I last wrote, I really have been praying for God's will to reveal itself.  And WOW! Has it ever!  I want to go to Bible School.  YES, I wrote that right:  Bible School.  No more elementary ed. crap for me after this year.  Studying the Bible is the most intriguing, satisfying, eternally rewarding thing that I could possibly do!"

My oh my.  I was at Northwestern not even two weeks before I wrote that, I already knew I needed to leave.

And then I did, in fact, go to a Bible college.  The rest of the entry would have been a good encouraging reminder for me during my time there.  If only I would have remembered this entry when I really didn't want to be there, when I doubted my decision to transfer - maybe it would have changed my perspective.  All in hindsight..

Piano: my lost love.

I used to love playing saxophone.  I loved to knit.  I took up guitar for a short time, and enjoyed that too.  But, most of all, I used to love playing piano.

While I wasn't the most dedicated piano student, I always loved playing.  The  majority of the time, it was a chore to practice - something Mom would make each of us do before we got to play, or before we got to use the computer.  So we would sit at the piano, staring out the big front windows of our house on Pecan Street, wishing that we were outside rollerblading with all the neighbor kids.

But for being a chore, I grew to love it very much.  Only when I stopped having to play in competitions did I realize how enjoyable it could be.  For the last five years, my piano playing has been extremely rare, save for the one semester I had piano lessons for an undergrad music requirement.

Last night, however, I played for several hours.  Oh how I've missed the feeling of the keys beneath my fingers, beautiful sounds filling the air (though not quite as beautiful as they once were..).  It was my emotional outlet, and I didn't even realize it.  Last night I searched through my mom's music library and found some of the old pieces I played in high school.  When I began to play them, muscle memory kicked in, and I was amazed at how much I remembered - It was a central part of who I was back then, and I just discovered it's still there, deep down somewhere.  The love for playing music did not disappear when I lost access to a piano, it was merely suppressed.


I kept playing and playing until the wee hours of the morning, letting out all of these feelings, so many thoughts that I've pushed down for so long came out in music.  It used to be a way that I processed things, the way that I coped with the incredible stress of my high school years (years which were even busier and crazier than my time in college, if that's even possible).

"You don't know what you've got til it's gone" is so true in this case.
If only I had access to a piano now in Chicago... I guarantee I would be happier, more at ease, and more content, simply because I would have the outlet to think through the hard things and release emotions that I cannot express in words.  Sigh.  Someday I will have a piano again - someday. :)

goodbyes.

Today was the last day I worked for the Lane family.

As I played with the kids today, I couldn't help but think that it was the last time I will ever see them.  Sure, there may be occasional visits, but never on a regular basis like it has been.  How much did they grow and learn since I've taken care of them?  Have I actually made a difference in their lives?  What have I taught them that will stick with them?  Anything?

I just pray that these kids will know Jesus someday.  To grow up in a family that wants you to succeed at all costs with your motivation being only the money and prestige that success brings... is a meaningless existence.  I pray for these boys so often, and I'm just glad that I'm passing them off to more capable, Christian hands.

Wouldn't it be wonderful for all children to grow up learning a biblical worldview?  If only...

home.

Is home the place to which you return at night?  Is it a building, an apartment?  Is it where your family is?  Is it where you grew up?

Graduating from high school and moving off to college marks the beginning of a long period of transition.  Somehow, that period of transition becomes even more real after college graduation.  In that time, where is home?

Recently, I have started calling my apartment in Chicago "home," while Green Bay is now just where "my parents' house" is.  It has been a bit of a mental switch, but I've been wondering if this switch in terminology is really necessary.  Can this apartment really be home if I know I will only live in it for a short time?

I suppose I see "home" as a place where you are comfortable.  Where you can lounge around, have guests, and make it your own.  Home is a reflection of who you are.  The way it is decorated, the way it smells, the neighborhood it's in - it all comes together to help define you and and continue to shape you.

What is home to you?

live in the light - listen to the Spirit

"If you are walking in the light, there is no harking back, the past is transfused into the present wonder of communion with God.  If you get out of the light you become a sentimental Christian and live on memories, your testimony has a hard, metallic note.  Beware of trying to patch up a present refusal to walk in the light by recalling past experiences when you did walk in the light.  Whenever the Spirit checks, call a halt and get the thing right, or you will go on grieving Him without knowing it."

My Utmost for His Highest - August 13
Oswald Chambers

How often do I ignore the voice of God or mistake it for something else?  How often do I pretend like I don't hear, simply because I don't want to do what He says?  It is a result of this ignorance that I no longer am aware of God's voice.  I have chosen to ignore it, so it has gotten quieter and easier to ignore.  Yikes.

"Sanctification is not my idea of what I want God to do for me; sanctification is God's idea of what He wants to do for me, and He has to get me into the attitude of mind and spirit where at any cost I will let Him sanctify me wholly." (August 14)

Somehow we think that sanctification is a beautiful thing (it is, but not in the way we want).  We think that it's easy to look at, easy to experience, because it all happens inside our mind.  Sanctification is merely a thought process, right?  Turning our mind continually to God?  Nope.  That would be too easy.

Instead, sanctification comes through doing those hard things that God tells us to do (at least until we choose to ignore His voice).  It comes through trial, through hardships, through stumbling and falling - those painful things we try to avoid are the very things that will make us grow, that will teach us to be more like Christ.

It takes a real shake, rattle, and roll to get me to take things seriously.  It takes a harsh reprimand, a strong reminder, to bring me to repentance, to make change.  If only that gentle whisper were enough, things would be much easier - but I would forget it more easily.

Listen to the Spirit - Live in the Light.