Mature Love

                Love is such a sought after commodity. People spend their entire lives working to earn it, reading about it, writing about it, dreaming of it, wondering why they don’t have it, and searching for it. It takes so much effort that we’re totally taken aback—shocked even—when we actually see it splayed out before us; raw, vulnerable, all-consuming, and immensely powerful.

                Rebecca is a mother to five, a police officer in a metropolitan school district, and one of my many first cousins. We haven’t bonded much, and our interactions have been limited to hugs and small talk on the rare holiday occasion where happenstance permits us to be in the same location.

                Maybe our personal relationship distance is caused by physical distance, or maybe by age difference, or unique career paths, life choices, stages in life, etc. (Even though I’m sure we could find common ground regarding a certain circular breakfast food/any time of day snack.)

                Regardless of our differences, family and ultimately love brought us together for our grandmother’s funeral. Between the ceremony and the balloon release, Rebecca bravely stood in front of at least 50 friends and family members, and struggled through sharing stories of her childhood experiences with our grandma.

                When tears became too powerful, she struggled to form words. Her sister (my cousin), Isabel, stood, walked down a parting in the folding chairs that formed an aisle, and with a knowing look in her eyes, gave Rebecca a hug and (I think) some strength and support she needed to carry on.

                Once again relentless grief overpowered her speech. This time, her daughter, Madeline, joined Rebecca and embraced her. It reminds me of the time when Jesus mourned Lazarus with Mary and Martha. (John 11) The man with words so important that they’re printed in special ink sat and wept with her. If actions speak louder than words, and Jesus gives the purist form of love, I think both Madeline and Isabel were emanating true love with their brief and quiet gestures.

                Somewhere in the five or so minutes that Rebecca spoke, she said something that stuck in my heart. She said something to the effect of, “I love Grandma, and I love my mom, and I love grandma for the part she had in making my mom who she is.”

                Love.

                I think I know now why those words have had such an impact on me. Not only was Rebecca expressing heartfelt emotion for her mother and grandmother, she was expressing love for grandma in the most mature from I’ve witnessed yet.

                She was saying she loved Grandma—despite her flaws—and she loved her for the way she shaped the world around her. It’s hard to acknowledge that we as human beings don’t simply love someone for who they are; we love them, in part, for how they make us feel. Rebecca expressed such a deep, complex emotion in one sentence. She expressed mature love, in one sentence.

                Some might argue that love isn’t worth the hassle. It’s time consuming, draining, painful, risky. Love leads us to reveal parts of ourselves that are better protected in the inner vaults of our soul. However, there is no risk without reward. Rebecca, Isabel, Madeline, and Grandma proved that all of that risk is worth it for the highest reward.

Just be still.

This post has been a long time coming... And before you brace yourself for some opinionated post that you'll write off (ha, blogging puns) as silly because I'm only 21 and still have lots to learn about the world, just know it's only been a long time coming because I should have written it last week. So there.

If you've been following my blog (Thanks, Mom and Dad!) you'll know quite a bit about my journey towards becoming a writer and my love of the country. Well, it's easy to be a writer when no one knows who you are, and you know you can write basically whatever you want on the internet and no one will care. So these blog posts can be as long and rambling as I wish, because at least I know Ty and my parents will read them. :) The hard part is finding the country.

My husband and I live in Nashville, TN. The "Greater Nashville Area" contains around 2 million people. So, basically you're looking at a 20+ mile diameter that's packed with people. Now you can start to understand why the country and peace I'm looking for is hard to find. In a search for the country, I happened across Long Hunter State Park, one of the many state parks in Tennessee.

Before I go into detail about my escapades out of the city, I need to take a moment to talk about my husband, Ty. He's a pretty cool guy. Want to know why? (Okay, I'm done rhyming... you're welcome.) Ty's probably one of the most supportive husbands there is. He fast-tracked his undergraduate degree so he would be able to move with me. He whole-heartedly supported my "dream" of becoming a nurse practitioner, then whole-heartedly supported my decision not to become a nurse practitioner. He moved half-way across the country with me to a huge city. (Not to mention the fact that he studied abroad in Europe and Central America with me!). He's supported my goals of pursuing writing, he's taken my family as his own, and he's definitely put up with and handled a lot of whining, crying, complaining, sobbing, mess-making, and general hard-to-be-around-ness from me as I work my way through this four month long and counting post-undergrad existential crisis. (Shouldn't I be changing the world by now?) Anyway, Ty is awesome, and not to say we haven't faced our share of challenges as a young married couple and our relationship is all sunshine and roses, but I love him.

Okay, moving on, but still keeping in mind how supportive Ty is, he's also hard working. He's working full time with a realty company helping them sort our their records, and studying full-time as a masters of accounting student. On this beautiful Saturday, Ty was diligently studying, while I was trying to find a way not to distract him. So, I did what any sensible country-girl-who-lives-in-the-city would do: I went on a solo hiking trip.

I'm-hiking-without-makeup-on face.

Long Hunter State Park is about 30 miles south of where we live. My Kansas family is thinking "Oh, just thirty minutes!" No. 30 miles. 45 minutes if you're extremely lucky. So I hopped in the car and an hour later was checking out the trails and the lake.

Here's one of the first views I had. The lake water reflected back the cloudless blue sky, and all I had to do was to sit back and enjoy it.

Which is what I did... from a bed of rocks.

There was this outcropping of stone into the lake, so I (carefully) walked across it to sit by the water.

I saw one bird, which classifies as "wildlife".

Then I got up and walked along a trail. There were a few scary moments when a huge group of men came to the camping area for a picnic, and when I accidentally took a wrong turn and walked through some spiderwebs. But, as Ty says, can't expect to go to the forest and not see any wildlife.

Some of the trail was particularly neat because of the diverse views. On one side of me was thick forest, and the other side a lake framed by spindly trees.

When I got far enough down the trail, I started seeing people less and less. After a while, I saw a bench and claimed it as my own. For the better part of an hour, I sat down and wrote two fiction stories that came to mind. (Later, when I got back home, I edited them and sent them into contests. Fingers crossed for positive results!)

As I walked around the trail, I came to a dock where I saw a woman sitting by herself. If I'm being honest, I was a little irritated. This is selfish of me, but it was such a beautiful spot, and I wanted it all to myself, and here's this woman setting up camp! I quickly shoved those feelings aside and walked onto the dock. Then, for whatever reason, my shy self started a conversation.

Something Reminisce has taught me, is people sitting in calm quiet spots generally have something really profound to tell you. This woman was no exception. In her words: "I come out here because water's a representation of the Holy Spirit, so I can clearly hear from God out here. I really can just hear his voice. He literally tells me to go left or to go right. It's just that simple."

While talking with Leigh, I got that feeling again, like something really profound was happening. I asked her what the most important lesson was that God had taught her. "Obedience," she said. "I've learned that if you have a thought in your heart, God probably put it there. You just need to listen." Of course we exchanged emails, and as I walked away, I promptly burst into tears. If I don't stop crying in public parks, Tennessee might have to send me back home to Kansas.

When I made it back to my car to head home I was tired. I'd just walked for hours, exposed myself creatively through writing, and came face to face with the Holy Spirit. I want to be clear here: God is everywhere. He's in the dry blades of grass, the falling leaves, the powdery dirt on well-worn trails, the rippling water, the expansive sky, the tiny ants, the people He created, everything. But, in the last few weeks, I've encountered him in ways I never knew was possible. I think if more people experienced it this way--or allowed themselves to experience God this way--there would be so many more believers. Either way, it was amazing and I'm forever thankful to have experienced it.

Because this post is a week late, I'm also including some of this past weekend's adventures...

Saturday, 10.24.15

Saturday was mostly a slow day for me, because Ty was working and I was trying to submit more writing to competitions. Saturday night, though, we got some excitement. We have been hanging out with "Cathedral Young Adults" in Nashville. It's basically a group of 20- or 30-something's that go out to eat and have parties together to build a community with our church (Cathedral of the Incarnation). This Saturday, there was a Halloween party... in a mansion.

When we first drove up to this place, I wanted to turn around. I'm guessing this house was over 10,000 square feet, which is a little intimidating considering Ty and I use a cardboard box as an end table. Anxiety and insecurities aside, we went inside... there was beer, so everything was okay. I even made small talk with a math professor and a quantitative psychologist... so there's that. It was more enjoyable than I just made it sound, I promise. 

Sunday, 10.25.15

On Sunday, Ty had a little more free time (or procrastinated some more of his homework). So, we decided to go out to the dog park. The weather was absolutely perfect, and Papi loved it. It was a win-win. Except for the fact that there was a husky/papillon mix (don't ask me how that worked) that was incredibly more athletic than Papi. So, while Papi should have been making friends with his own kind, he was supporting his ego by making friends with reallllllly tiny dogs.

After the dog park, we went to Centennial Park, where there were a bunch of twinkling yellow lights strung up.

Have I mentioned before how much I like Centennial Park?

While we strolled through the park, we happened across a woman who considers herself "quasi homeless" for "Hearts for Humanity". She said that being "homeless" is her down time. She is trying to slow down and reconnect with nature. She says she has a house but she's trying to do without it. However, once it cools down she plans to go get her car, because it might be too dangerous without it. She also said that her husband passed away of leprosy, and that her six children are all "millionaires". Part of me was wondering if she was eccentric, if this was a coping mechanism for being homeless, or if she was bonkers. I think maybe the first one? Logic says she's bonkers, empathy says the middle one, and hope says the first one. Either way, she was a neat lady to talk to. I wish her all the best in her life, and I'll probably swing by the park from time to time to see how she's doing.

In some ways it's been an eventful two weeks... from seeing new parks, to partying in mansions, to meeting an eccentric humanitarian. In other ways, it's been drudged down by the monotony of school and work. I guess for now I'm just hanging on to the excitement in life hoping that it will color my every day perspective.

10 struggles of a country girl living in the city

There are those women, who love feeling the sun on their skin more than they love the fluorescent lights of a shopping mall, who would rather look out and see the plains than see busyness and plans, who would rather enjoy everything the country has to offer than pay for everything the city has to offer...

Whether it's because of school, work, love, or some other reason entirely, some of those women--those true country gals--find themselves living in the city. And while so many people are flocking to the city, their hearts long for home. There are just some parts of city living that don't sit well.

1) Traffic
I mean, really, would you rather see this:

or this?

2) The View
No, not that awful television show.

This is what I'm talking about.

3) Space
Now I love a good pow wow as much as anyone, but it's not physically possible to be 20 miles away from another human being in the city.. and sometimes 20 miles isn't even enough. Everywhere you look in the city, there are people, peoples' things, or ways people have destroyed the surroundings with buildings, highways, parking lots, you name it.

4) What other people think of the country
Most people have no clue what country living is all about... If one more person mentions how ugly/boring Kansas is, I'm going to have to open a can of good, old fashioned, boring country whoop ass!

5) No cattle, no fields, no cowboys
'Nuff said.

7) Nothing to call your own
When you live in the city--especially temporarily--the only thing you have to your name is your car. If you rent, you're living in some sort of awkward situation between staying in a hotel and having your own house. In the country, you probably had a yard, a house you could paint, livestock, pets, vehicles, and whatever else your heart desired/your wallet could afford.

8) Cost of living
Sure, in the country $700 a month could get you a nice three bedroom house with a yard... in the city you get a dinky one bedroom apartment in a huge complex. (Not that I'm speaking from experience or anything...)

9) Anonymity
This can definitely be a positive, but it's also hard when every single person you come across is a stranger.

The friends you make in the country are friends for life.

10) Crime
Remember that one time someone in your hometown got busted for making meth?... two years ago? Well, in the city, crime is real, and it's scary, and it happens a lot more often. No more leaving your car unlocked, no more midnight walks, no more going out by yourself.

Let's face it, there are plenty of perks to living in the city... if there weren't, we wouldn't be living there. But, I know my heart longs for that day when I can have a small place just of my own, where traffic jams will be caused by cows on the road and I can have the wide open sky and the rolling prairies all to myself once more.

On the job training

I've been working full time now for two weeks... and I've learned a lot... about life.

In the first few days, I was trained how to look at letters and decide which department should receive them. I learned about all of the perks of working for a big company (free coffee, nacho cheese, and slushies to name a few). My supervisor taught me how to properly enter private information into the computer system, and has me entering at least 450 records a day. I learned how to send mail back to people who didn't fill out the forms correctly, how to use one of the four printers in the office, and how to properly file documents so my coworkers can scan them. I realized that my reputation/name to the higher-ups is "that-girl-who-can-type-90-words-per-minute". I learned that I am but one cog in a giant machine. I realized that there are also plenty of things I'm still trying to learn.

Like how I'm important to the company. Or what our mission is as a company. Or whether I'm saving the world, like I had been my aspirations as an undergraduate. Or how people can do what I do 40 hours a week for 5+ years.

Don't get me wrong, I am beyond grateful to have a job, and if I didn't have a job right now, I would probably be spiraling down the depressing staircase of self-pity and boredom. My supervisors are kind to me, answer my questions, and one even told me that she and the other supervisors were impressed with my work ethic, which made me smile.

However, working in a cubicle, by myself, not having any contact with another human being, or being able to see the sky, is very difficult. Hence, the other lesson: I learned how to make my work bearable, if not enjoyable. For eight hours a day, while I sit in my 8x8 cubicle decorated with pictures of my husband, cattle, and flowers, I listen to podcasts and TED talks.

By hearing their stories, I learn 1000 lessons, live a 1000 incredible lives, all while working and making money. I've listened to several that have changed my outlook on the future... but let me explain.

I had started to wonder if all people just work jobs so they can get their 40 hours in, pay for their nice house, and watch some TV with actual satellite at night. I wondered if maybe I was expecting too much from my life, and if my high expectations would ultimately lead me to disappointment. And then I listened to this guy...

This guy who said, what's the point? This guy who said, why do what other people expect of you? Why work a job you hate so you can MAYBE get a job you like? Why not do what you would do even if you weren't getting paid, and make that a job? Why not follow your passions? Why not put in all the hard work and face all the challenges, just so you can MAYBE get that job you love?

And I listened to another guy...

Another guy, who said, "Do you think the people who climbed Everest did it to be happy? Their stories are full of frostbite, pain, fear, difficulty breathing. If they were searching for happiness, they wouldn't ever do it again, but they do. They do it over and over again."

So then maybe what I'm looking for is the perfect cocktail--a blend of strife, accomplishment, passion, and curiosity. Luckily, I'm living with someone who has found it... in accounting of all things. Ty had it figured out when he was 6 that he wanted to an accountant. I'm a little slow because I'm 21 and just now realizing/accepting it.

What's the point of this rambling? I guess it's kind of a three part announcement. So here goes.

1) I get free nacho cheese at work, in yo face!
2) Ty is working toward his passions, and has an internship this Spring to help him get there.
3) Come this Winter, I'm going to start writing a book. It will be non-fiction, and fabulous. (One of my favorite words. :)

Estoy pensando en Pensacola.

Estoy pensando en Pensacola means "I am thinking of Pensacola" in Spanish. A little cross-lingual word play to start the post!... After about two years of blogging, I have to work to keep things interesting!

To add spice to a blog, we wordplay. To add spice o life, we take adventures. On Friday night, after a long week of work, Ty and I traveled to Pensacola, Florida to escape from Nashville.

Ty is a saint and I'm perpetually exhausted due to a new work schedule, so Ty drove us the entire way through bumper to bumper traffic until we arrived at 1:45 AM. Clayton and Jeanette Flaming were kind enough to stay up for us and welcome us into their home... their dog... not so much. Coco wasn't so excited to have house guests and became easily frustrated with our overly hyper ball of fur. Their dog is an old dog, so if Papi got too close, she'd give him a warning growl and then cough as if to say, "I'm too old for this."

When we got to their beautiful home, I was in full-on zombie mode, so I basically just waddled through their house, fell into the guest bed, and went right to sleep.

In the morning a beautiful light was shining in our hearts; at last we were out of Nashville in a beautiful new place, and ready to start our next (brief) adventure. Fortunately, our adventure started with breakfast. Jeanette brought some great coffee in a cute sea-themed mug, and Clayton brought a feast of locally-produced sausages, omelets, toast, and Jelly that Ty's grandma, Mary Beth, had made. We ate outside watching the squirrels recklessly jump from limb to limb and Papi exploring their acre of property. In the words of Hank Hill, "I tell you what!" nothing can put a person in a good mood like a hot cup of coffee, a full belly, and some fresh air.

Since Ty and I were new to Florida, our hosts offered to take us to some of their favorite places. Our first stop was Fort Pickens, a brick military fort on an island. Fun Fact: Even though it was a Union fort, it was built by slave labor, reinforcing the fact that the civil war wasn't totally about slavery.

One of the walkways within the Fort. Most of the windows were used to stick cannons through. There were also tunnels that they filled with gunpowder, in case they were ever overtaken.

They actually held several Native Americans there. This quote by Geronimo really resonated with me.

After meandering around the fort on a self-guided (and Clayton and Jeanette-guided) tour, we made our way to the beach which was classified as a national park. Funner Fact: If you're over 65, you can buy a pass for $15 that will get you into all of the national parks. (So, there is an exciting birthday after 21 after all!)

Jeanette had packed us all snacks... smoked chicken legs, apples with peanut butter, crackers with peanut butter, vegetables, granola bars, and water. If we ate like that every day, we'd be in trouble! With all that delicious food, we obviously took our chances and broke the "no swimming for an hour after eating" rule.

Can you blame us?

We were very impressed with this "park" AKA beach. The sand was so white it was almost blindingly so, but it didn't burn our feet as we walked across it like it does at other beaches. The water was kind of a bright green with a blue tint to it, and it was cool and crisp. It smelled fresh--not like stale fish and seaweed. The water was so calm, t was almost like a like... All in all, perfect conditions for romping, which is exactly what Ty and I did for about two hours.

Here's the quote of the day from Ty: "You can't expect to go to the forest and not see any wildlife." Apparently, this applies to the ocean as well. As we were walking through the water, Ty says, "OW!" He grabs at his foot, and there was a tiny crab pinching him! He quickly shook it off of his hand and proceeded to suffer with his victimized toe.

After that mishap, we decided to make our way toward the shore and search for shells to add to our collection. As we were searching, I saw a target bag floating in the water. As an act of good stewardship, I bent over to pick it up. To my great surprise, I felt something hard and slimy, and promptly began to scream. What I had perceived to be a plastic bag was in fact a jelly fish the size of a dinner plate! Ty was so amazed he gawked at it floating for what seemed like five minutes. after my brush with danger and almost getting stung (and subsequently peed on... again... see my last post) I'd had enough of the ocean for one day.

Once we'd rinsed off we hopped into Clayton and Jeanette's vehicle and headed toward downtown Pensacola. Downtown is a neat area that is very well taken care of. There are painted pelicans strategically placed throughout the city, pruned flower beds, and buildings without neon lights. We bypassed all of this in search of the Pensacola Greek Festival.

Me and Ty at the Greek Festival. I promise we didn't try to color coordinate.

The Greek dessert we had. And yes, it did taste as good as it looks.

One was a slushy, one was a beer... guess which one was mine and which was Ty's... (Answer revealed later.)

Apparently over 20,000 people attend this festival each year. There's Greek music, children dancing, delicious food (can you say "gyros"?), and even better dessert. We enjoyed our time there and felt slightly closer to our home away from home in Europe. Especially since Clayton and Jeanette were nice enough to treat me to an AmberBock. (For my non-beer snob pals, that's a darker beer.)

Jim Gaffigan said it best when he said:


When we left the Greek Festival, we were stuffed, sun-kissed, and happy. No complaints here.

We were so worn out when we got home that we just took a little rest in bed and worked on homework/writing on our computers. Then, we watched some survivor man and sports with Clayton and Jeanette.

One really cool thing about their home, is that they have one bedroom (the guest bedroom) totally dedicated to "old stuff." There are old pictures, bronzed shoes, handmade quilts, old furniture, some clogs, classic hats, and probably even more things that I didn't notice. I really liked that they valued history so much. Looking at the history hanging on their walls made me appreciate even more how important stories are to families. Jeanette proved this by showing us the ultimate story: the Bible. Her family had a very old version of the Bible in German. It used to be her mother's. Every Bible is significant, but the family sentiment behind this one was unreal.

I think Jeanette's mother must have been a pretty neat lady, not just because she raised such a kind and hospitable daughter, but also because she had kept a "prayer" journal for several years, in which she'd written prayers about everything under the Son. (Pun intended.) It was a really lovely keepsake for the Flamings to have, and I think I might start a prayer journal of my own now.

After lots of conversation, a snack of smoked meat and pizza (there we go eating again!) we fell into our bed, full and happy once again.

In the morning, we went to Men's Breakfast at the Gonzalez United Methodist Church in Pensacola. Ty and I identify as Catholic, but after my encounter with Gram's spirit in the park (read my last post) I've definitely felt more open to other denominations... after all, it's all the same God.

The breakfast, was great, but the people we were eating breakfast with were even greater. Most of them were older than Ty and me, but I still felt totally welcomed by everyone. It was such a loving and happy atmosphere, and I really enjoyed it.

Breakfast was followed by mass ("services"?) at 8:00AM. I'd never been to a Methodist service before, but I was amazed by how many similarities there were between the two churches. I did miss taking Eucharist, but other than that, I still enjoyed worshiping God with my new friends in Pensacola.

Since I'm still adjusting to waking up so early, it was nap time when we got back to their house. I took a short nap, then we got up and ate lunch. Barbecue chicken sandwiches with chips, homemade pickles, olives, and strawberry/blueberry shortcake for dessert.

Sadly, our time was drawing to a close, since Ty and I both had to work on Monday morning at 7 AM. So, we packed our bags, loaded them into the car, and said goodbye to the Flamings.

Because Papi didn't get any beach time the day before, we decided we could make a quick detour on our way home to a small dog beach. Papi totally missed the point. He didn't get in the water. He didn't run through the sand. He basically just walked around smelling other dogs' pee. So we loaded up our dog, and started back to Nashville.

Here's a view of the bay we had while driving.

Around midway home, we decided to stop for supper in a town called Clanton, Alabama. This town was the definition of quaint. There were farmers markets selling peaches, a billboard of their local beauty queen, and several restaurants boasting Southern food. When we drove around down town, there were so many small shops and boutiques. It was the kind of town you can picture yourself sitting on your front porch, sipping some sweet tea, and gossiping with a friend while watching your children playing in the front yard. Maybe someday down the road that picture will turn to reality, but who knows.

We left Clanton and God blessed our trip with the most beautiful sunset I've seen since leaving Kansas. I'm not kidding, this sunset could compete with the sunsets we get in western Kansas. Since pictures are worth more than words, especially when it comes to things like this, here it is:

The picture really doesn't do it justice.

But isn't that how all of life is? We can take pictures, and write blogs all we want, but it's always the moment that's the best part. Memories are just ghosts of feelings--pale impressions really. I'm sure this trip will be something we can look back on and enjoy for quite some time... and this blog really doesn't do it justice.

Heaven's never felt so close.

My grandparents gave me the best gift they could have ever given me.

The night before last, on my way to RCIA, I called my sister to talk. After a nice phone conversation (and a few wrong turns on my part) it became apparent that I was going to be late. I also had Papi with me, so I figured that instead of being disruptive at the meeting I would go to my favorite place: Centennial Park even though it was completely dark outside.

After walking around on some of the sidewalks I had the idea that I should go and walk through the Parthenon because I hadn't yet. On my way up the steps, I saw an older couple sitting together and looking at me, so I said hello.

The asked me what kind of dog Papi was, and they asked me if I could take a picture of them together. We were making conversation, and I asked them if they were touring Nashville. They weren't; they were Nashville natives. He said that they just like to come to a quiet place at the end of a long day of work and just be peaceful. They asked me what I was doing in Nashville, and I told them the truth... the whole truth. Usually when people ask, I just tell them that Ty is going to Lipscomb University and I'm working, not mentioning my change of heart after seeing my grandma struggle with cancer and my frustration with the healthcare system. 

This time I did tell them the whole ugly, painful truth.

The man commiserated with me and said that he really struggled when his mother had passed away, and that keeping busy helped him.  He said that the more he did, the more he could picture what his mom would say about it.

I told him that one of my cousins had told me that when I really needed Gram that she would come and talk to me.

 He agreed. Then, he told me about a time that his wife was in the hospital, and had actually passed away and he had gotten to the lowest point of his life, and he felt his mom say "You're stronger than this." And he felt hope again. Surely enough, his wife survived and was sitting next to him for our conversation.

The man looked at me and said, "I hope this is okay, but I got this feeling like we should talk to you. I can kind of read peoples' spirits, and you have a definite spirit of sadness--a spirit of hope, too--but a lot of sadness. God told me to tell you that it's going to be alright. That things aren't so bad as they seem. He said things that are meant to happen will work themselves out. (When I told my aunt Lisa about this encounter, she told me that Gram was worried about me before she passed away, because even though she knew I was alright, I just seemed sad.)

I was getting chills the whole time he spoke. It was like the words carried a heavier weight than anything I had ever experienced.

He told me about a time when he and his wife were trying to buy the home that they had been renting for 30 years. They had looked to family and friends for a loan, but none of them agreed to help. In the end, the solution that they came up with was way better than them having to take a loan from family. If his family would have loaned him the money, it never would have felt like their own home. He said, God was trying to let me do something on my own to learn my own strength.

He stressed the importance of a good heart and a trust in God... that we should have a relationship with Jesus, instead of focusing on labels (something Gram disliked) like "Catholic" or "Baptist." (Ty and I are Catholic, but before that we largely identified with the Baptist church... Gram strongly disagreed with the concept of organized religion and was a huge advocate for the power of prayer.)

He told me about a time that he and his wife were out fishing, and for some reason that day he had decided to bring a little pellet gun with him in his holster. The woman told me that it really did look like a real gun. Then, another man came up with a towel wrapped around his hand and said "I'll show you my gun if you show me yours." The man I was talking to said that he told this man, "I just got back from Vietnam, and I'm still shell-shocked. If I take this gun out, it's because I'm going to shoot someone... and it has a hair trigger." (I've learned from my Dad that only using a gun for its intended purposes, and not for play is something Grandpa strongly believed in.) They laughed as they reminisced about the man with the actual gun leaving in a hurry.

He said he wasn't sure why he had brought his gun at all that day, since they were just fishing, then he paused and said, "I believe in divine intervention." (If you know my Gram, you'll know how many times she's told me that exact phrase.) He told me that it wasn't an accident that we had met that day. And he told me that there are guardian angels watching over us to help us. (Gram frequently talked about guardian angels.)

He told me another story about how his wife was in a horrific burn accident, and on the way from the hospital, his only prayer was "Lord help me." And somehow, a surgeon from London called and offered to try a new skin-grafting technique on his wife basically free of charge.

Then he said how important it is to have faith in God, and to have a good heart. He said the most important gifts are given from the heart.

Then he said, "I think you just need to go for it. Vanderbilt I mean. Don't back out because you're worried about money, or too scared."

Then his wife asked me, "Why nurse practitioner?" And I tried to come up with  a reason, and for some reason I couldn't really come up with a good one. I said, "I just wanted to find a career where I could help people, and looked on Google and that came up."

She kind of pursed her lips and was quiet.

Then the man told a parable. I might be paraphrasing, but this was it: "There was a fisherman who wasn't catching any fish, and he prayed to God, and said please God, let me catch some fish. Well, the next day he went out fishing and he noticed big storm clouds coming in, but he really needed the money so he decided to go out fishing anyway. Well, it started raining and his boat was sinking, and he was drowning in the ocean, and this dolphin swam by. Then a log floated by. Then he drowned and was at the gates of heaven. He asked God, 'Why did you let me drown?' And God said, 'You saw that dolphin? That was your life. You saw that log? That was your life. All you needed to do was grab on." 

Then the man told me, you just need to go for it, because one day when you're older you'll look back and wonder why you didn't do that, and think of all the things that were going on in your life at the time.

Then his wife cut in and said, "And God will say, 'excuses, excuses.'"

Looking back on that part of the conversation, I don't feel like it was Vanderbilt they were talking about... I felt like it was life in general. To do the things that are scary... And I think they knew somehow that I had a decision about school coming up that might challenge Ty and me as a couple...

This whole time while we're talking, I was wishing (silently) that I would have had my camera so that I could take pictures of them, and the man asks me if I wanted him to email me the picture I took of them. (How perfect is it, that two people who have lived in Nashville their entire lives were at the park, at night, with a camera?)

I asked them if they had Facebook, to see if we could connect and I could share the picture that way, and they said no. They expressed how they don't like all of this new technology and how they don't like to "message." (Gram felt the same way... also, she could never pronounce "text" or "texting" correctly. She would always call them "Texxes" or "texan".)

Then, the woman introduced herself. Her name was "Erma." If you're family, you'll understand, but Erma is the name of a woman from back home who Gram spent many hours talking on the phone with. The man's name was "Emreik." Grandpa's middle name was Emerson. When they smiled at me, their eyes literally sparkled with a light and love so bright that it was overwhelming.

As I walked away from them I broke down bawling. While I was talking to them, I didn't realize the enormity of what had just happened, and didn't even comprehend fully what was happening. I wasn't crying because I was sad, I was crying because I was overwhelmed with so many emotions... grateful that Gram and Grandpa had spoken to me in the way they had, thankful that I, for some reason, when I should have been somewhere else had ended up walking through the park and going on a path that wasn't normal for me, sad because I'm missing them both, and amazed at how close heaven felt at that moment.

I talked to Angie about it, and she pointed out to me that it would make perfect sense that I felt close to heaven; Gram and Grandpa are in heaven, which is their permanent home now. They won't ever be able to come back from heaven. So, to talk to me, they would have had to bring heaven with them.

The more I look back on this situation, and talk with family members about it, the more I realize how tailored this conversation was to me. Emreik did most of the talking because I was only in 5th grade when my grandpa died, and I really lament the fact that I wasn't ever able to get to know him in the same way I had with Gram. Erma was quiet, because what I really miss is my grandma's loving presence. Gram and Grandpa know me well enough to know that I would over-analyze every single snippet of this conversation to make sure that it wasn't all just some happy coincidence. No, they wanted to make damn sure that I knew it was from them. 

I wrote down as much of our encounter as I could remember. If I tried to think of it all off the top of my head, I wouldn't be able to. I can't even begin to grasp or understand what happened. It's too complex for my mind to understand, which somehow makes it even more real. If it wasn't from heaven, my human brain would be able to understand it... I'm not sure if it was that God and my grandparents sent me those two special people to have a conversation with, or if it was actually my grandparents talking to me through these people, or what had happened. Whatever it was, it was love.

I'm not sure how I feel in the aftermath of this. I'm still overwhelmed, and a strange feeling takes me over every time I think of it. It's not like everything is all of a sudden happy, but it's something like God showed me how real heaven was. Before this, it felt so abstract and far away to the point of being imaginary. After this, I know it's real--I've felt it. And I feel like our loved ones are so close to us.

I'm glad my Grandma and Grandpa are together again. I'm not sure when the next time I'll talk to them will be... maybe it will be tomorrow, or maybe it will be when I join them in heaven. Either way, I know they'll talk to me when I really need it.

Good Days, Bad Days, Dog Days

Some days it feels like God himself is smiling on you. You know the days; when all the lights are green, you magically get a free cup of coffee, or they get your order right at McDonald's on the first try. On the opposite end of the spectrum are the bad days.. you get injured, laughed at, say or do something stupid, or get lost in the city you've been living in for two months. Then, there are the dog days... dog days are in a category all of their own. They're like bad days, except ten times worse. On a dog day, you might as well have your mail forwarded to "Rock Bottom".

Usually every day is a good day, a bad day, and a dog day all rolled into one. Last Sunday was no exception.

Some of my husband's friends from Deerfield were in Nashville to celebrate a birthday through travel and a concert at the Grand Ol' Opry. We all decided to meet up at a restaurant called the "Little Octopus" for lunch. This place came highly recommended by their AirBnB host. (I think maybe as a joke.) When we showed up it was a very chic restaurant, but when we sat down and looked at the menus, I think we all quickly realized how out of place we were. On the menu between the $10 glasses of wine and the $26 unidentifiable fish platters was a $17 grass-fed beef burger... We left before the waitress could even ask what we wanted to drink.

Being new Nashvillians (Nash-villains?) ourselves, Ty and I recommended a different restaurant. We took the Crandalls to our favorite Turkish restaurant to have Doner Kebab AKA gyros AKA the food of angels. It has a chill atmosphere, a TV you can change to any channel you want--but usually on a soap opera--and has delicious food. IT doesn't look like much, but you can't judge a restaurant by its appearance. (Unless there are rats... always judge by the rats.)

I digress. We got free soup as an appetizer. I had lentil soup and Ty had split pea soup. And, of course, the meal exceeded my expectations. Bridget's fries came out about two minutes late, so to compensate, the restaurant offered them for free and gave her a huge basket of fries. How's that for a good day?

Our Nashville tourists didn't have too many plans, so we offered to take them to Centennial Park to see the pseudo Parthenon. We stopped at our apartment on the way to pick up Papi. I'm pretty sure I've talked about our apartment already, but I'll say it again: It's okay on the inside, but on the outside, it looks pretty sketchy to say the least.

We live in a one-bedroom apartment in a complex that houses twenty different three-story buildings. It's mostly a Hispanic or low income location. We have to walk up cracked stairs and through a dim hallway (some of the lights are burnt out), that is permeated with the smell of marijuana about 40% of the time. Some of our neighbors throw their food scraps outside in front of their apartments to compost. All in all, it's a place to live, with a fridge, a stove, and a dishwasher.

When we walked up to our home, Crandalls in tow, police sirens were adding to the ambiance. "It's not usually like this," Ty told them. Not to mention, our laundry was out and sorted in preparation for laundry day. "I'm sorry for the mess," I apologized. Our dog got all excited and barked at them, saying, "This is my house! Totally my house!" in Papi language.

Leaving our apartment (us, a wee bit embarrassed, and the Crandalls, a wee bit scarred) we made our way through heavy interstate traffic to Centennial Park.

Centennial Park is one of my favorite places in Nashville. It's somehow tranquil and so alive at the same time. There are athletes, lovers, wise walkers, tourists, families, and aspiring photographers like myself taking in the sights. I hope the Crandalls enjoyed it just as much as I do.

Cindy, Bridget, and Ty at the Parthenon.

After a stroll through the park, we parted ways, and left them on the strip to take in some more of Nashville's touristy sights. Ty, Papi, and I decided to take on a sight of our own: the dog park.

Right next to Centennial Park are two dog parks; one for large dogs, and one for small, Papi-sized dogs. It just so happens that the dog park is also Papi's favorite place in Nashville. We've been there maybe three or four times already and there are probably three our four funny stories of things Papi has done or "pals" Papi has made each time. My favorite would have to be the time that another (male) dog showed Papi who's on top... literally. And that's all I'm going to say about that so I can keep this blog appropriate.

The dog park has benches for humans, so I typically sit down and write stories on my computer while Papi mingles with his own kind. Well, this time, there must have been something special about the bench I was sitting on (other than me sitting on it) because every dog in that park just had to come over and pee on the corner of the bench.

Sure enough, a young puppy walked by who hadn't learned to aim yet... or maybe learned to aim too well? And peed right on my leg. It dripped down my calf and into my shoe. Now every time I put on my five-dollar fabulous discount Walmart shoes... I'm going to think of that dog, and I'm going to be pissed off. ;) Here's to hoping that his pee isn't a sort of "x marks the spot" thing, and I won't become a target for other dogs...  I would feel like a mere peon... both literally and metaphorically.

Post-pee selfie. I'm still fabulous... Also, urine luck because you won't have to put up with any more of my wee puns. ;)... for the time being.

Restless

Some of the most exciting things in life are the "first"s... your first steps, first day in school, first dance, first graduation, first date, first kiss as man and wife, first paycheck... etc. My most recent "first" has me feeling philosophical (which I suppose is not a first).

Today was my first day at my first "big girl job".

It was the first day I picked out an outfit for my big girl job. (I decided to rep K-State with this classy polo from TjMaxx... I'm a Maxxinista.)

Today was the first day I sorted mail from over 400 different clients. It was the first day I met someone from the middle east, who has brothers in the army fighting against ISIS. I have a badge that gives me access to a building paved with marble (for the first time). I was granted my own (first) personal cubical with my (first) personal phone with my (first) personal work computer with my (first) personal work email. I have blisters from high heels that I wore to work (for the first time). And I'm looking forward to the first time that I will get my first check from my first full-time job after college.

Wow, that was a mouthful.

But what I'm thinking is a mind-full. (That phrase is patent-pending... or should be.) As I worked on the fifth floor of a giant office building in a giant office complex, I thought of how many busy bees were plugging away alongside me. Were they living their dreams? Were their dreams when they were little to grow up and work for a marketing firm? Did they want to answer calls from disgruntled employees, or file mail, or scan documents, work security, or made id badges, or oversee the entire building? If not, did that become their dream once they starting working there?

I spoke to a woman who started there as a temp and has now been working as the main receptionist for over 19 years. I can't imagine doing something for 19 years if I didn't love it, so I'm assuming she loves it, but you know what they say about assuming... "Assumptions are probably right about 99% of the time." (I like my phrase better.)

Somewhere between the complementary and delicious coffee and the 200th filed letter, a thought so complex crossed my mind. This thought floats around my mind like smoke; it's there and visible, but I can't touch or capture it. Even so, I'll do my best to summarize it.

Maybe the "dream" is to have a job where they can support their actual dreams. Maybe the dream is to have a house that's paid for, a family that's well-fed and well-dressed, a two-week vacation once a year, seven paid sick days, six national holidays off, a bank account that is sufficiently full two times a month, and maybe even a glass of wine with dinner. Maybe those 40 hours a week doing something that's just "okay" is worth sacrificing for the actual dream.

Maybe that idea is "smoke" to me, because that's just not me. Somewhere between turning down a great educational opportunity, watching my grandma suffer through cancer, being married for a year and a half, and traveling I've learned enough about myself to realize that I want something different for my life. That makes me feel kind of bad, because that life I described earlier sounds beautiful. It would be comfortable, loving, peaceful, and is what (I think) the majority of the population wants.

But I want adventure.
I want to see a million and one places, and still be planning the next trip.
I want to kiss under the Eiffel Tower.
I want to cry with the victims of the holocaust.
I want to serve Jesus's people.
I want to capture and document everything beautiful about the world, and write about the bad things, just to acknowledge that they exist.
I want to change someone's opinion about something.
I want to argue politics.
I want to eat way too much cake and call it "taking in the culture."
I want to show my family just how much I love them.
I want to work hard at something, and taste the success afterwards.
I want to be restless, because I am restless.


I want to be so miserably lost that I find myself, one piece at a time... starting with this job.

Great Opportunities = Impossible Decisions

Kelsie and I do not always make the right decisions when it comes to life. I have now learned that after we missed our tram in Europe (for the 20th time) or moved to a huge city with no fallback. I wish that we could make the right decisions together but now it has come to making the most important decision: what do we do from here?

We have learned that HUGE city living is not for us (It was in Europe but the public transport...amazing).

We have learned that it may not always be immediate when it comes to finding a job.

We have learned that opportunities may not have to be sought out if it's not the right time.

We are not wasting our time here by any means but moving forward, I can say that this probably wasn't a step in the right direction.

This is all that we have learned and it has been a crazy two months. After two months in Europe, we saw light at the end of the tunnel. Now all we see is December and moving back closer to home.

Currently, I am working for a realty company that, I promise you, will one day own your local Dollar General if doesn't already. Which is random. They are paying me well and I need to understand accounting but mostly it is data entry, validation, and formatting. Not what I expected to be doing as my graduate career grew closer and closer. (read previous post for Kelsie's line of work)

But where do we go from here? Where do I want my family to be and is it the same as her wants? There is no definitive answer nor will there ever be. We are lost with no map. As you my already know from our escapades travelling, we are great at getting ourselves lost. Kelsie and I always found our way back but it was some of the most annoying and tiresome times in our life.

But now who knows what "back" is...

Where do we belong anymore?................................

All we have learned is that it is not Nashville. There are so many places left to try in this gigantic world to try and we have narrowed it down by ONE big city. How many decisions will it take before we make the right one? Probably a million more, but I do know that Kelsie, Papi, and I will find some place that equates to enough good to weigh out the bad, one of these days so we don't have to move again...for a while

Next weekend, we will be going to Pensacola, Florida where we will hopefully get away and relax for a while. Much needed because our last vacation was essentially Costa Rica. Hopefully it will be decent beach weather, if not we can visit some new places. Then I will tell you about our first time in Florida

Quick detour of topic.... 

I would like to to say thank you to my wonderful wife for never giving up on the job market here, she worked harder than any other person I have ever seen work before. She definitely makes me proud and I can't imagine why she doesn't have 40 job offers right now.  

Back to topic.....

Kelsie and I both have jobs that pay well enough to get the bills paid, we are planning that trip to Pensacola and I think we are trying to get Kelsie where she can get to Stillwater, OK in January. I am planning on having a spring internship here in Nashville. I hope with LBMC and then I will move back to Oklahoma and maybe go to school too. Depends on my experience with Public Accounting. 

We are putting together a map, I just hope it will get us back to where we want to be....

Until next time.....thanks for reading. 

Winner Trumps All

Remember pep rallies from high school or junior high? Everyone would pack into the gym, a few people in skirts would hop up and down, and everyone would yell. The girls would shout: "Jump! Shake your booty! Jump jump! Shake your booty!" And everyone would shake their booties. (Wow, I'm realizing this was great preparation for going to a strip club... problems with how we raise males in society?... We'll save that conversation for another day.) Moving on.

Well, I'm pretty sure we're all glad that we can leave some things from high school in the past. But, Ty and I recently experienced a "throwback". Except, this throwback somehow launched us into--what I consider to be--adulthood. Yes, we attended a political pep rally for presidential hopeful, Donald Trump. I'm going to throw this out here: I'm not a huge Trump fan. I don't think he could ever win the presidential race against Hillary or any other democrat. He makes some great points, but mostly he's a sideshow. What I do like is his suggested tax plan. Small excerpt of the tax plan? No one pays taxes if they make less than 25,000 a year as an individual or less than 50,000 as a couple. After that, you enter brackets starting at 10% taxation and going up. I'm of the personal mind that everyone should pay 10% and be done with it, but that's not really a popular idea. Anyway, I'm hoping whoever wins the candidacy will at least consider implementing his tax plan.

Unfortunately, being involved in politics has become a huge game of "What can the government do for me?" If you disagree, riddle me this: Why has Bernie Sanders gained so much support? His biggest ideas are free college and higher wages. Sometimes what's best for everyone involves a little sacrifice and a lot of hard work. That's why I'm supporting the Republican candidates, Fiorina, Carson, and then Trump in that order. So we showed our support to the Republican party, and yes, Trump, by standing in a line of over 4,000 people, in the cold weather, in the rain, in Franklin, Tennessee. On the bright side, there was a band playing music, so at least we had something to listen to while we tried to stay warm.

Also unfortunately, there were too many people there to fit into the building where he was speaking. So some those of us who hadn't gotten there two hours early (Ty and me) had to listen to him over speakers. We did get to see him through a window.

Here's the shot from that.

Ty and I found a quiet spot out of the rain to sit and listen to him over the speakers. This was our view. How oxymoronic that we had such a serene view to hear about politics.

I was hoping to hear Trump state what he believes, tell us his ideas on policy, etc. And he did some of that, but mostly, it just took me back to high school, when people would stand crowded around, and clap and cheer. Part of me was afraid, too. People have such strong opinions about politics, that I was worried a riot might break out, or that people might get violent. My faith in humanity was restored when people handled themselves respectfully and peacefully.

Here's my hopes that in the months to come, our nation can peacefully select a president that will lead us with integrity, and guide us along the path to becoming a better nation.

(Un)employable!

Some things in life get us down... feeling lonely in a new city, a loved one passing away, applying for over thirty jobs, being turned down for over thirty jobs, getting lost, Okay, this post is taking a really depressing turn and needs to stop. So here's how:

I got a job!

I'm the new "data entry membership clerk" with a company located in Franklin, Tennessee. It's not the full-time writing gig that I'd like to have someday, but it's employment. Hopefully it will lead to great things... like a paycheck.

I will start on Tuesday or Wednesday after my background check comes back, and then I will be a working woman from 7AM to 4PM Monday through Friday. I also get to dress up, which I'm actually looking forward to... I even bought a new pair of dress pants and dress shoes in celebration/preparation.

Some things in life lift us up. Like mass on Sundays, seeing a cute couple strolling through the park, a funny joke, a friendly chat with family, ice cream, and even getting a job. Because really, does it matter if over thirty people turn you down, if one accepts you?