Journey of a Lifetime (Or: The Beautiful Short Friendship I Had with a Complete Stranger)

I don't hide my love of video games, but once in awhile, I'll find that I catch someone I know off-guard when the subject comes up. ("You're a gamer?! I had no idea!") I've been playing video games since I was little, and though I don't go out of my way to rub that information in anyone's face, I do regularly wear graphic tees showcasing my favorite games. (If you see me walking around in a shirt with an interesting logo you don't recognize, it's not a new underground indie band or some hip new designer label. It's a video game reference, and it's a goal of mine to strike up a conversation with someone astute enough to recognize it for what it is. Most of the time, though, it goes completely unnoticed... and frankly, that's ok too. Who honestly enjoys small talk, anyway?)

To the uninitiated, video games are a waste of time, at best - and straight-up bad for you (and the world as a whole), at worst. I'm here to tell you: it's not true. I've witnessed some of the most amazing art and experienced some of the most poignant moments while playing video games. One such moment came to mind yesterday (while I was brainstorming what on earth I could write about for the next 29 days... haha. 😓).

A lot of gamers stick to a handful of genres or franchises. When I look for a game, I don't really limit myself in that way (although it does help to know that if you enjoyed the last 3 Uncharted games, you'll likely enjoy the 4th one too). Instead, I look for something with spectacle. Does it have a great story? Is it going to shift my perspective? Are the visuals stunning? How's the soundtrack? Is it a unique concept I haven't experienced before? In short: will it blow me away?

One of the games I kept hearing about over and over again was called Journey. It actually came out back in 2012, but I didn't get around to playing it until 2017. (That is how far behind I can get with my backlog of games. 😬)

It's best to go into any game knowing as little as possible. I'd avoided major spoilers, but I knew it was gorgeous, had a beautiful soundtrack, was "artsy" and "short," and had a unique multiplayer twist: you could run into one other player at a time on your "journey" and experience the game together with them, but you would have no idea who they were until the end.

Now, I'm not much for online multiplayer games - I've dabbled a few times in the past (mostly with Destiny), but you won't catch me getting a victory royale in Fortnite in the foreseeable future. Call me old school, but I mostly play single player games, or local couch co-op. Journey had something different to offer, though, and I liked that if I stumbled upon anyone at all (given the game was 5 years old, that was already a pretty big if), I had no way of communicating with them. I couldn't chat with them over headset or message them, and I wouldn't necessarily have to pay them much attention if I didn't want to. The game is short, so we'd be partners for a little while at best, and that would be it. How interesting.

So, I booted up the game.

You start all alone in Journey, as one small, cloaked figure wearing a scarf, trudging through sand dunes toward a mountain. There is no backstory. You don't know how you got there, or where exactly you're going, or why. You can't speak - only "sing" in a sort of unintelligible chirp with the press of a button. There is no narrator. The controls are basic, and what little you need to know is explained visually and melodically as you go. So, you do the only thing it makes sense to do: press forward toward the mountain.

As my character walked, I remember how quiet and lonely it was... but in a beautiful, majestic sort of way, like when you hike alone in nature. The art style of this game was breathtaking. After a short while of walking through the sand, I saw a figure in the distance. Well, it looked like I wasn't going to have a solo Journey after all.

I ran up to the other being. Had he been waiting? He chirped excitedly, little glyphs bouncing above his head, and he jumped and danced in circles. I chirped back - a two-syllable "hello" (but of course there were no words). We continued on together, with him leading the way. Did he know where he was going?

Every so often, he would chirp once or several times, and I would return the conversation. Sometimes he stopped and looked back, waiting. I have no idea what we were talking about, but I tried to interpret the gibberish into the words I imagined were being said:

"Are you still there, friend?" "Yes, I'm here."

"This way, friend!" "Ok!"

"Marco!" "Polo!"

There was no map, and no way to track my companion. At times, he would run off ahead. If we got separated, I found myself starting to worry. I would chirp out a greeting... but hear nothing back. Had I lost him? Did he abandon our game? Was he waiting ahead? Should I wait for him, or proceed? Where did my friend go?

Thankfully, no matter what happened, we always eventually found each other again. Sometimes he was ahead, and sometimes I waited for him. It felt like he knew what he was doing. There was an exasperation in the chirping and jumping at times, when he was trying to indicate what I needed to do. But he was patient, and guided me along.

By the time we reached the end, we had been through a lot together - a "journey," if you will 😏 - and though it was bittersweet, I found the whole experience impactful in so many ways. The visuals and music were just as striking as I had heard, and who knew I'd find a friend along the way? More than that - who knew we'd find a way to communicate with only "singing" and jumping at our disposal?

I know I've played a good game when I'm speechless by the time the credits roll, and that's how I felt at the end of Journey. When it's all over, the game shows you the gamer tag of the person (or people) you played with over the course of your travels. There was just one name listed for me - my friend had stuck by my side til the very end. Even when we had lost each other, he never left.

He sent me a friend request afterward, saying something like, "Wow, I've never played the whole way through with just one person before." Based on his profile, he was clearly from a Spanish-speaking country - so we may not have even been on the same continent together. We never spoke or interacted again, but I cherished my time going on an unknown journey with this complete stranger I'll never meet in real life.

The next day, I started the game up again. This time, I waited in the sand dunes for a cloaked figure walking alone. Now I would be the guide and help someone through their Journey.

Remember, remember!

I woke up this morning to bizarre dreams and a headache at what I thought was 10 ish... only for my phone to inform me that it was 8:55 am. Oh, right. Daylight Savings Time. That's today, isn't it? This is far too early to be awake on a Sunday in the middle of a pandemic...

Not only is it Daylight Savings Time - the universal sign that Winter Is Coming - it's also the first of November. Everyone knows what that means, right? "That election day is on November 3rd, and all the political ads and mail and texts and calls will stop soon?" Well... yes. (I hope.) But no!

It's National Novel Writing Month! NaNoWriMo, for short. I've heard friends talk about it for years. So, what is it?

National Novel Writing Month began in 1999 as a daunting but straightforward challenge: to write 50,000 words of a novel in thirty days. Now, each year on November 1, hundreds of thousands of people around the world begin to write, determined to end the month with 50,000 words of a brand new novel. They enter the month as elementary school teachers, mechanics, or stay-at-home parents. They leave novelists. (https://nanowrimo.org/about-nano)

In short, it's a goal and accountability. Write (every day) for a month - write a certain number of words by the end - and do it alongside a bunch of other writers trying to do the same thing.

"So you're participating in this 'NaNoWriMo'... is that what you're saying? You're writing a novel?"

Oh, no. I don't think so. But if you're a writer, let me tell you why you should consider putting yourself up to the challenge - or at least a challenge, if you don't follow this one exactly.

When I was in high school, I played the flute and took lessons each week. I practiced regularly. I got to be pretty good! And so, I was strongly encouraged by my teachers to try out for All-State: a rigorous audition process to be selected as one of Iowa's finest high school musicians. 𝅘𝅥𝅮 I wanna be the very best, like no one ever was... 𝅘𝅥𝅮

My Wind Ensemble teacher at the time had this challenge, for those of us trying out for All-State: to practice every day for the 100 days leading up to the audition. Every. Day.

Did I practice every day, normally? No. More often than not, but not every day. But it didn't sound too bad. Wouldn't it be cool and prestigious, to be part of the "100 days" club? I'm nothing, if not stubborn. So I made myself a paper chain with 100 links, wrapped it around my staircase at home, and we were off to the races.

On paper, every day for 100 days doesn't sound too bad. In reality, it means practicing today even though I had school all day and there's a football game this evening and I won't get home til late. It means practicing today even though I have a cold and am not feeling great. It means practicing today even though I really don't want to and my heart isn't in it. It means practicing through all of the "even thoughs."

But that first year I auditioned for All-State, I did it. I practiced every day for 100 days. Some days were better than others, but I never skipped. And when it finally came time to audition? I got called back for a second audition! I didn't progress any further from there - so you are not looking at one of Iowa's finest flutists - but I came close!

And you know what? That was the only year I successfully practiced every day for the 100 days leading up to All-State auditions, and it was the only year I auditioned well enough to even get called back.

When you commit to doing something come hell or high water, you learn discipline, and you build the skill of practice. Some people definitely have more natural talent than others, but you will struggle to improve at anything if you never practice it. Discipline, on the other hand, is just a useful kind of endurance to have for all circumstances. "When the going gets tough, the tough get going." Life is chock-full of situations when we're "not really feeling it." Don't really want to go to work today? Do it anyway. Don't want to mow the lawn/do laundry/vacuum? Do it anyway. Don't want to take that phone call or send that email or schedule that appointment? Do it anyway. Discipline builds strength of character.

So, do I see myself writing a novel? I doubt it. Do I think it would be a good idea to challenge myself to write every day for 30 days? Yes, I think that would strengthen my discipline and be good practice for me. I'm not sure I have enough interesting things to say for 30 days, but it's worth it to try... write? 😉

"I got a rock," said Charlie Brown.

Every day for the last several months, as I pulled into and backed out of my driveway, I saw the same image: a pile of rocks. I've gone through a range of emotions, with these rocks.

When I decided to have them delivered earlier this year - because yes, this was an actionable choice that I made, once - I was surprised by how small the pile looked to me. Three tons of landscaping river rock sounds like a mountain! ...But the pile respectfully stayed on its side of my driveway, and only covered a third of its half (that's a sixth, for you math wizards out there 😉). "Are you sure this will be enough?" I remember asking my mom naively.

I've had some minor run-ins with landscaping before, so I knew it wasn't going to be a fun time, but I started out as enthusiastic for manual labor as I was capable of being. I began on section one of three with guidance from my mom. When the time came, I grabbed my shovel and a wheelbarrow borrowed from a neighbor, and anxiously braced myself. Let's do this!

I thrust the metal shovel into the middle of the pile of rocks, imagining a scoopful gently falling into the cup and filling it up. Instead, I heard an awful clang and met hard resistance. A handful of cooperative rocks nudged their way onto the very edge of the shovel... and that's it. Ok, I thought. I'll try harder. The rocks were stubborn. They don't naturally roll, as countless songs and artists would lead you to believe. Once they've settled, they're perfectly content to stay put.

My technique improved over time - as counterintuitive as it sounds, it's easiest to shovel rock from the bottom, where it meets the ground at concrete-level - but the task itself never got any easier. Rock is heavy, and dirty, and difficult. Too much in the wheelbarrow, and you can't maneuver it. Not enough, and it's wasted effort. When I finished with the first section that day, exhausted, sore, and covered in dirt, I looked back at the pile of rocks, and was disappointed to find that the pile didn't look much different to me from when I'd started. This was a terrible mistake.

A friend confirmed my worst fears, later on: "Did your rock pile get bigger since the last time I saw it?" 😟

Even as I recruited help for other sections, the pile of rocks remained a constant in my life: always there, taunting me. "You'll never finish," it said. "You'll always have more to work on." "We'll always be here, blocking your path and weighing you down." You're not enough.

I finished my landscaping, recently... but the pile of rocks remains. (There never should've been a question as to whether the pile was big enough, I see now.) From some angles, it looks deceptively small, but I know how much effort is involved in each scoop. I know how much of a burden it is, even at its smallest. It tortures me, that it's still there after I've put so much work into it already.

In a lot of ways, my experience with the pile of rocks mirrors my own sanctification process. My past, my sins, my fears, my worries, my natural tendencies that are preyed upon by the devil... this is my pile of spiritual rocks. Some days, they don't seem like that much. Is this it? Other days, they feel impossible and overwhelming. I try to chip away at them earnestly some times, and other times I just stare at them as I go about my life. Once in awhile, I look at them and question if the pile is actually getting bigger?! But every day they're there, and usually I find them discouraging, not a measure of how far I've come.

The difference between my actual pile of rocks and my spiritual one, though, comes down to Christ. I may be responsible for moving the rock in my driveway, but the rock in my heart will be moved by Jesus as my faith continues to grow in Him. I can try to move it all by myself - but it's really a fool's errand out of a desperate desire for control. The only effort that is truly required by me is trusting Christ to shovel my mess, one scoop at a time. That sounds too easy, and I don't do that perfectly - not even close - but I do keep trying to just trust.

Some day very soon, the pile of rocks will be gone from my driveway. I'll hose off the concrete, and I'll admire the absence of the rocks. I'll celebrate, and I'll remind myself not to start anymore landscaping projects for a long while. In time, I'll forget the rocks were ever there. There will be no trace of them, they won't be a stumbling block and an eyesore, and I won't remember the agony they caused me.

As long as I'm here on this earth, I think there will always be a spiritual pile of rocks (although I hope it keeps shrinking - even if I can't always tell). But I hope that's how I feel about these internal rocks someday, too: here today, but gone tomorrow. A distant memory, a faded image, gone without a trace. "Yet what we suffer now is nothing compared to the glory he will reveal to us later. For all creation is waiting eagerly for that future day when God will reveal who his children really are." Romans 8:18-19

Do you know what you write, or do you write what you know?

Last week, I found my mind requiring entertainment (boredom is not a state I tolerate well). I'm not sure if I was inspired or just desperate, but I pulled up my Hoopla library app on my phone and began the arduous process of searching for the perfect audiobook.

What to look for? Something non-fiction to encourage a renewed mind? No... that genre must be selected sparingly. I wanted to escape, not dissect myself. Something popular and current? No... I was already reading The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, the Hunger Games prequel, on the side. (I've finished it now - highly recommend!) And so, I scrolled through and stumbled upon a classic I'd never read, but have some familiarity with due to its movie equivalent: The Great Gatsby.

It felt like the right choice. (Remember the start of this year, back when people threw parties without a second thought, and many of them were themed around "the Roaring Twenties"? Feels so long ago, now...) I approached the book with skepticism all the same. What is this, high school English lit class? Do I really want to read a literary classic? Is it going to require too much concentration to understand, too much analysis to appreciate, too much... thoughtfulness? Yet, it's regarded as one of the greatest novels of all time. That, in and of itself, should be enough to warrant a listen, should it not?

So I settled in with only middle-of-the-road expectations. I've been out of school awhile now. Give me a world to be immersed in, not a lesson to learn. Of course, I got more than I bargained for: both.

I won't spoil the book for you, in case you haven't read it yourself... but you'll be pleased (or perhaps disappointed) to know that humanity hasn't changed all that much in a nickel short of a century. Many of the themes of the book are still as prevalent today as they were when it was written. We're still selfish, and proud, and greedy. We long to recapture the past (what a poignant thought, in 2020 especially). We're still broken, in a fascinating, starry-eyed sort of way.

Not wanting to miss anything, I consulted SparkNotes for ol' Gatsby - I have plenty of my own takeaways from the book, but I enjoy the perspectives of others and the opportunity to catch things I missed. It certainly helped! But I also found a lot of attention given to little details I scarcely noticed: the symbolism behind a character clumsily knocking a clock off a table, places in the book being representative of groups of people and ideas of the time, weather indicating the emotional tone of the story. I applauded the exhaustive examination, but for me, it begged the question... was it all intentional?

Did F. Scott Fitzgerald write the perfect book, and carefully pepper all of these themes and motifs and symbols throughout his novel? Was it purposeful? When he finished, did he marvel to himself at his own genius and pat himself on the back? I imagine him chortling: "Congrats on a job well done, old sport - you'll have your readers perplexed long after you're gone!"

Or... did Fitzgerald just write what he knew? Did he create a lovable story based on a collection of his own life, his own experiences, his own observations... and it just happened to become a lasting masterpiece? Did he really mean anything by the clock being knocked off the table, or was his character just nervous, and Fitzgerald looked around his own study for inspiration? Perhaps a friend came over earlier that day and bumped into a table, giving him the idea. Was it blisteringly hot one day, when he wrote? When he started working on the next chapter, was there a chill in the air? How much emphasis did he really put in specific settings in his novel - or did his characters just need some different places to go?

I'll tell you what I do know. Fitzgerald's book wasn't particularly popular during his lifetime. It didn't become a classic until after his death - during WWII, as part of an initiative to distribute books to soldiers abroad. (More information about the history, if you have the interest and the time: https://blog.bookstellyouwhy.com/the-great-gatsbys-rocky-road-to-popularity)

I suppose I'll never know how much of the deep analysis of every detail on SparkNotes is real, and how much is happenstance. At the end of the day, it doesn't really matter. That teaches me a lesson all its own: it's human nature, to search for meaning in every moment. We long for everything to matter, for things to happen for a reason, for significance. When you look hard enough, you can find most anything you want. The ever watchful eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg stare on.

Please Don't Stop the ~Music~ Makes Me Lose Control

I've always loved music. For the most part, I love all genres equally. (Except for a lot of country music... sorry to all you boot-scootin' types!) I can jam to classical music just as well as I can jam to R&B. Musicals hold the same place in my heart as pop and rock. I find it fascinating, the way music can break down walls, transcend time and space, and communicate so much about life.

In high school, I had a hipster friend who introduced me to my first mash-up. I feel like mash-ups are a relatively unknown and underappreciated art. You can probably guess by the name what they are: "a recording created by digitally combining and synchronizing instrumental tracks with vocal tracks from two or more different songs." More simply put: a fusion.

This was my first introduction to mash-ups, and it's still one of my favorites (Green Day vs. Oasis vs. Travis vs. Eminem "Boulevard of Broken Songs"): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wvwzDogVBf8

These mixtures take a lot of work to make! Finding songs that have a similar tempo, a similar melodic structure, sometimes even similar lyrics and tone... and then carefully splicing them together in all the right places to create something new that's cohesive? I can't imagine the level of creativity it takes to do this. I'll be the first to tell you that sometimes, it doesn't work. But when it does, it's magic!

Snow Patrol vs. The Police "Every Car You Chase" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mGU4ZRstxpY

Eurythmics vs. The White Stripes "Sweet Dreams are Made of Seven Nation Army" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hT5eJwgAtvY

Weezer vs. The Black Eyed Peas "Feeling the Sun" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OL98W3edFa4

Clean Bandit vs. Earth, Wind & Fire "Rather It Be September" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oZnf5Uckdug

Backstreet Boys vs. Panic! At The Disco "Everybody's Victorious" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CAIaxBrgMKY

Santana vs. Camila Cabello "Smooth Havana" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1--H6uhmqvc

Bee Gees vs. AC/DC "Stayin' in Black" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrlWWrSwaB8

Daft Punk vs. Red Hot Chili Peppers "Lose Yourself to Californication" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B6hAGk6s20E

I have so many more I could share... that's just a few I really think exemplify the beauty of this craft. It's like they were written to go together! I also have some I love for the way they mix genres that seem like there is no way they should belong in the same mash-up. (And yet...?!)

The Chemical Brothers vs. John Williams [Star Wars] "Galvanize the Empire" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M87NeUD5XiU

The Black Eyed Peas vs. Mozart - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6KpvuUS4U8w (language... you've been warned)

LMFAO vs. Hans Zimmer [Inception] - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyjz3lekieQ

Ariana Grande vs. Taylor Swift vs. The Phantom of the Opera "Phantom Looking Woman" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VcMBPyxBQS4

Ed Sheeran vs. Disturbed "Shape of the Sickness" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PeeDCnoG3k

TLC vs. Hamilton "The Schuyler Sisters Want No Scrubs" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NxC7Gqmok1s

Imagine Dragons vs. Carrie Underwood "Cheating Warriors" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-0ttPenkwg (closest I can get to country, y'all!)

Fergie vs. Parov Stelar [swing] "Fergie's Booty" - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iwDKnXMZ8NQ (more language)

Lady Gaga vs. ...a Renaissance Faire? You really just have to give it a shot, and the lyrics are the absolute best - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2zpbcW-h-c

(Pro tip: the comments section on all of these make for a great read!)

I love all the original songs by themselves, too. At the end of the day, I know mash-ups aren't for everyone. They're weird! But in a world and a time when we are so focused on our differences, a mentality of 'us vs. them', and all the things that separate us... I think we should be a little more open-minded. It doesn't have to be this or that; sometimes, it can be both. And both can be better! So I challenge you to try more both, more and, and more together. Dip your French fries in ice cream. ;) And if you find a great mash-up I need to hear, by all means, hit me up! I'm always looking for more and would love to swap you.

My Little Dog and I

My latest thoughts have wandered
As they so often do
To pondering how relationships
Reflect the love of Christ
Different bonds reveal different things
But sometimes I think
God's love is best mirrored
Between my dog and I

My little dog, she does not worry
For food, nor water, nor bed
She trusts
I will take care of her
And I provide
What she needs when she needs it

Though we don't share the same language
She understands my tone
And I hers
She recognizes my voice
And I know her bark,
Her growl, and her sigh

She longs to follow me
Wherever I go
But when I must leave her behind
She believes in my return
Patiently, she waits
With eager eyes and a wiggling tail

When I come back
She shouts for joy
And scampers around the room
Her licks and nibbles and whines
Tell me how much she missed me,
How glad she is that I'm home

In times of distress
Her eyes search mine
She comes to me to be kept safe
I hold her
My voice soothing and hand gentle
And we comfort each other

But best of all is when we both are tired
And lay side by side
Her, nestled in the crook of my arm
The world stops
Our hearts swell with love and peace
And for a short while
I can imagine
What eternity in heaven might feel like

Just my little dog and I

~

Some inspiring verses:

1 John 4:16
Matthew 6:26-32
Romans 8:26-27
John 10:27
1 Peter 1:8
2 Corinthians 1:3-4
Philippians 4:6-7
Psalm 4:8
Revelation 21:4

Nostalgia sure ain't what it used to be

Last Mother's Day (2019), my sister and I bought my mom a year-long "subscription" (for lack of a better word) to StoryWorth. (Not affiliated or promoted, just stating facts!) Once a week, your loved one gets some kind of insightful question about their life to answer, and they can respond via email or the website. They can even upload pictures to go along with each "story." So the idea is, after a year, you end up with a book of endearing memories that transcend time and space. (À la Seinfeld: yada yada yada... you get the idea.)

While I was at my mom's over the weekend, she asked me for more of my memories that she could write about. (Kind of defeats the purpose... but I let it slide.) I reminded her of some basic facets of my childhood... but I think this prompt is what sunk me into a deep nostalgia rut. The word 'nostalgia' itself is a very telling word: 'nostos' (Greek), meaning "return home" and 'algos,' meaning "pain." So essentially, "homecoming pain" or "homesickness."

Everyone feels nostalgia now and then, but I find it to be a little like quicksand: if you stand in it too long, you start to sink and get stuck. What started as some thoughtful reminiscing about a favorite Disney/Pixar movie then reminded me of another movie, which reminded me of one of my favorite college marching band shows. I started thinking of so many different tunes and drill and form and moments. Band camp, and rehearsals, and (a very few) unbelievable football victories, and (a lot more) heartbreaking football defeats. Memories of playing the fight song everywhere, chants, roving... but at the end of the day, always coming together as one united group and singing "The Bells of Iowa State." From there, it was a short trip to high school marching band memories, and then flashes of so many different instances of people and places throughout my entire life. Most of these memories are happy, and great, and wonderful... but the more I thought about them all, the more I felt sad - a deep heartache. I miss being a part of these things. I miss the hard work and the joy that came with it. I miss the people. And behind it all, is this loss - this feeling that all of these things are gone now, and can never be recaptured. They live on only in memories, because they can't be experienced again. In a way, they're dead. And how strange, to have all these full sections of my life that are completely unknown to some of the people I know now!

Maybe it hurts just a little bit more than it normally would at this moment, because we are all living in this uncertain haze. Will there be football in the fall? What will sports look like? What will amusement parks look like, or international travel, or theater? A lot of the 4th of July celebrations were cancelled this year. The state fair is cancelled. What will school look like? When will it all go back to normal? ...Will it ever go back to normal? "Lord, how long will this go on?" (Isaiah 6:11)

There are days when the pain brought on by all of this unknown is just too much to bear. We are all grieving, and if you've never experienced grief, let me tell you that it can be a miserable process. Sometimes you're fine, and sometimes you're not. Sometimes you think you've accepted it, and then the next day you feel like you're back at square one again. You deny, and you rage, and you cry, and you bargain. And then eventually... you wake up one day and realize you're in a good place. You don't remember getting there. You wonder if it will last. ...But for now, you're ok. And you will be ok.

I'm not there yet, with COVID. Some days, I'm still in the denial phase. (I'd love for it to take the hint and get lost.) But even though I can't relive all the weird patchwork echoes of my past that have shaped me into the person I am now, I can trust that there are going to be more (different, unique, but just as lovely) memories I'll make in the future... and life will eventually feel normal again, whether it looks the way I'm used to or ends up being a bit different. This is all part of a grand plan, and I'm just along for the ride. (And for the record: don't hesitate to ask me about anything marching band-related. I would be delighted to show you my favorite memories! 😉)

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

As I sit here in front of my computer, desperately wanting to write but afraid that it's been so long that maybe I've forgotten how or lost my touch, I continue to wrestle with the one word that seems to follow me around and torment me wherever I go: should. It's like my shadow - I can't get rid of it, no matter how hard I try. And "should" frequently turns darker and heavier, the more time and thought I give it.

You should write a blog post. You haven't in awhile. Why do you even have a blog, if you're not going to write in it? What are you doing with your life?

You should do something productive today, like laundry, or cleaning, or landscaping work. It's not going to do itself. You wanted this. What will people think of you, if you can't keep up your house?

You should be happy. Things are finally looking up for you! You own your own home, you have a great job, you have amazing family and community and are developing the kind of close friendships you've desired for years. You have almost everything you've ever wanted... why can't you be content? What's wrong with you?

Sometimes, my "shoulds" push me to go just a little bit further, like someone training for a marathon. But more often than not, they show me all the ways I haven't measured up to expectations, like that student who gets 99/100 on an exam and can't celebrate the A for the sake of that one question they should have known the answer to. It's exhausting, never being enough. It's empty. It's "like chasing the wind," according to Ecclesiastes. And Solomon, the author, would know - he, too, eventually had everything, but came to the end of himself and instead of finding satisfaction, found discontent. "Everything is meaningless," he repeats over and over throughout the book.

We are hard-wired to seek perfection, because we were created in God's (perfect) image. Our souls long for it, because they were designed with perfection in mind. But even when we had it, back in the beginning, we weren't satisfied - we thought we wanted more, and the devil capitalized on that:

One day [the serpent] asked the woman, "Did God really say you must not eat the fruit from any of the trees in the garden?"

"Of course we may eat fruit from the trees in the garden," the woman replied. "It's only the fruit from the tree in the middle of the garden that we are not allowed to eat. God said, 'You must not eat it or even touch it; if you do, you will die.'"

"You won't die!" the serpent replied to the woman. "God knows that your eyes will be opened as soon as you eat it, and you will be like God, knowing both good and evil."

The woman was convinced. She saw that the tree was beautiful and its fruit looked delicious, and she wanted the wisdom it would give her. So she took some of the fruit and ate it. Then she gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate it, too. Genesis 3:1-6

"Fantastic," I can hear you saying. "So I was created to crave perfection, but I can't achieve it, I'll never be satisfied, and everything is meaningless. Is that the point you're trying to convey? Isn't that hugely disappointing and discouraging?"

Well, yes. It is... if the story stopped there. But Jesus came, lived a perfect life in this imperfect world, and became a sacrifice for us because we aren't capable of meeting God's standards. His blood paid - and continues to pay - and will pay - for all our imperfections. So every time I feel like I'm not enough, and I "should" something else, I can remember that Christ is enough, so I don't have to be. And thank goodness for that, because I can't.

"Ah, ok," you say. "Then I don't have to do anything. No obligations!" ...Technically, if you believe in Christ, then yes. But my friend James says "faith without works is dead."

You say you have faith, for you believe that there is one God. Good for you! Even the demons believe this, and they tremble in terror. How foolish! Can't you see that faith without good deeds is useless? James 2:19-20

So no, I'm not saying there should be no more "shoulds." But the devil definitely still manipulates "should" from a healthy guilt into a false guilt to try to trap us. False guilt isn't true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, or admirable. It's instead focused around fear of disapproval. That doesn't benefit anyone, especially myself! Go back and re-read my "shoulds" from above - don't you see how they all spiraled into self-defeating lies?

Let's re-write them so they're based in truth:

You should write a blog post. You always have such rich insights to share with others, no matter the size of your audience. Your thoughts are valid and useful!

You should do something productive today, like laundry, or cleaning, or landscaping work. God has blessed you with such nice things, and it is good that you appreciate them and take care of them so diligently!

You should be happy. Things are finally looking up for you! You own your own home, you have a great job, you have amazing family and community and are developing the kind of close friendships you've desired for years. You have almost everything you've ever wanted! But it's ok to still struggle sometimes, even when things are going well. God will always meet you where you're at.

To close, a small bit of wisdom that allows us to come full circle: I can't make my shadow go away, but I notice it less if I focus my attention up at the light instead of down on myself. "Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things." Colossians 3:2

Adventures in Quarantine: #coronafails

Today is my last opportunity to write a blog post for the month of April. (Hard to believe it's been that long since the last time I wrote!) There has been a lot of news and lessons in the last month - and although I haven't written on my blog in awhile, I have still been writing through other means here and there. I'm going to keep it light today, and talk about some of my corona failures. If God has been teaching me one thing these last few months, it's that it is ok to fail!

A lot of people have been taking on new hobbies during this quar-ant-ine. (You'll see what I did there, in a minute.) I decided to throw it way back to childhood and start an ant farm! ... Involuntarily. In my kitchen wall. 😒

On the bright side, my kitchen is SO CLEAN right now!

I've also been working on my baking skills! ... Out of a box. (It was still more work than you'd expect - the only effort it saved me was measuring dry ingredients.) I'm not winning The Great British Baking Show anytime soon, but these scones maybe weren't a total failure. I think I nailed it... don't you agree? 😏

 

(Hey, they tasted all right! A win is a win!)

And last but not least, I tried my hand at fixing electronics - the obvious next hobby to try in isolation. (I've done some minor internal maintenance on gaming systems in the past! It wasn't completely outside my realm of possibilities.) Some buttons on my TV got busted in, so I figured it was an easy fix to take the TV apart, find the buttons, and put them where they belonged.

Turns out, tube TVs are a little harder to navigate than a NES. I busted the casing. ... And then not only was unable to fix the original busted buttons, but pushed in another one to boot! Oops.

That was a bummer. But tube TVs aren't too hard to come by these days (I guess no one wants them anymore? 🤷), so I picked one up for the low, low price of free! No VHS/DVD player included, but I can still go hunting whenever I want... so I did.

This is your reminder that life is full of peaks and valleys! You won't appreciate the peaks, if you don't have to go through any valleys first. Success isn't everything. Celebrate your failures too, and see what you can learn from them.

Glad I can keep it real with you! Until next time...

Death, where is your sting?

I couldn't tell you the last conversation my dad and I had before he passed. I'd like to tell you that it was some inspirational speech, or that we sat down and reconciled everything that had ever gone wrong in our relationship, or that he said all the things he knew he was going to miss getting to say to me in my future. Life doesn't always work out the way we'd like. One day he was fine, and the next morning, I woke up to my mom asking me to watch the dogs because the ambulance was coming and Dad was probably dying.

My dad had ALS. Even when you know death is coming, it isn't any easier to accept. I remember sitting on the floor, praying that it wasn't his time yet. There were conversations we hadn't had. He hadn't walked me down the aisle yet. My kids hadn't met him, he hadn't helped me with my house, we hadn't gotten to travel to an ISU bowl game together... I'm not ready, I thought.

It was touch and go, but he rallied for a little while. We were hopeful... but it soon became evident that he wouldn't be coming home. We moved him from the hospital to hospice. By that point, communicating was difficult - it was hard for him to breathe well enough to speak, most of the time. He had a couple of really good days, in hospice. So many friends and family came to visit him. He knew a lot of people, and was loved by many. He really lit up, getting to see so many of these people he'd built relationships with throughout his life.

I couldn't take that joy away from him. My friends brought puzzles - we worked on them together outside his room as he socialized. At the end of that second good day, he was worn out. We'd talk the next day, I thought. Besides, what do you say to someone who's dying? How do you even start that conversation?

If I had to guess, our last talk was probably pretty simple that evening. "Jess!" he would've gasped excitedly. I would've said something about how nice it was, that so many people came to see him. He would've talked lovingly about his friends, some of whom he hadn't seen in years. I would've told him I'd see him tomorrow. We would've exchanged 'I love you's. And I would've left, wondering when we were going to have our real conversation - the one I was certain we would have before his time here was done. Tomorrow. I was sure of it.

That tomorrow never came. He was never really conscious again, after that day. The few moments he was, he couldn't speak - because he couldn't talk with his breathing machine on, but couldn't breathe enough to form words without it. The hospice nurses made him comfortable. He wasn't in pain, but he seemed to be straddling both worlds: his body tethering him to this one, but his spirit longing for the next.

I remember being kind of mad. Mad at him, for not giving me that conversation. Mad at myself, for not initiating it. But looking at him, I knew I couldn't keep him here for a chance at a conversation that would never happen. I gave him permission to go... but his body was holding him hostage here. His breathing machine, to be more specific.

Sometimes, letting go is the most merciful thing you can do for someone. I don't know if he was cognizant, when I said my last goodbye to him and finally said some of the things I had imagined that we'd talk about together. By then, his eyes were unseeing - just fixated ahead. He couldn't squeeze my hand. He was breathing, but there was no longer signs of life in him. The hospice nurses will tell you that your loved one is aware in times like this, but I can't be sure. I trust that he heard, and he knew.

He was given a lot of painkillers, and we took him off the breathing machine. Our pastor sang Amazing Grace. And my dad was released, and he slipped out of this world.

I'm not here to tell you any of it was easy. Not in the slightest. And it's still not easy. But through all of it... I wasn't afraid. I didn't have to fear for my dad's spirit. I knew he was a Christian. Death was not the end for him. In fact, in a lot of ways, death was a relief for my dad, and for us. He didn't have to suffer anymore. He wasn't stuck in a failing body. He was free. I miss him, but I know I'll see him again someday. When we're reunited, there will be endless opportunities for conversations, and there won't be disappointment or sorrow. Our relationship will be redeemed like it never was here on earth.

So, as I sit here, the coronavirus filling up my news feed, panic spreading like wildfire... I am here to remind you that this is not the end. As children of God, fear has no power over us. Not fear of disease, not fear of sickness, not fear of death.

"The Lord is my light and my salvation - so why should I be afraid? The Lord is my fortress, protecting me from danger, so why should I tremble?" Psalm 27:1

Fear is of the devil.

"For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1:7 

Don't be reckless. Take precautions as needed. God doesn't tell us to be foolish. But this is a reminder that one of the best parts about being a Christian is not having to fear death. We are free in Christ Jesus. We are temporary residents here. Our days are numbered, and being afraid of some virus or the end won't add a single day to our lives. Use the time you've been given, and go out and live. Have conversations with people. Jesus has already overcome this world. It is finished.

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have summoned you by name; you are mine." Isaiah 43:1