The Beginning of the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I woke up to the whistling wind outside my window this morning. My dad had told me that the crispness of fall that I crave so much was to return today, after the unseasonably warm weather we have had for the past weeks. As I got ready to go to class, I thought "if it feels like Christmas, I'll listen to Christmas pandora." That made me grin. As I left to go to class, I was whipped by the wind and a shiver crept up my spine. When I got in my car, I thought, "if it feels like Christmas, the radio station should have started playing Christmas music." I pushed preset 3 twice... and Sleighride was on. It was the best discovery of Christmas music ever.

Live….
More than your neighbors.
Unleash yourself upon the world and go places.
Go now.
Giggle, no, laugh.
No…stay out past dark,
And bark at the moon like the wild dog that you are.
Understand that this is not a dress rehearsal,
This is it…your life.
Face your fears and live your dreams.
Take it all in.
Yes, every chance you get…
Come close.
And by all means, whatever you do…
Get it on film.
~John Blais, ALS patient

This has been an emotional week for me.

On Wednesday, my client at practicum did not show up (true story, she has been on vaca at Disney World for 3 weeks. Lucky girl.). Since she was absent, I was able to observe another grad student's therapy. Her client was a 45 year old woman with severe cognitive deficits. As sweet as the client is, it broke my heart to watch. She has been alive for 45 years, but she has never been blessed with the opportunity to really live. Her situation brought tears to my eyes. How tragic for her. Almost more so, how tragic for her parents, who never got to see their daughter grow in to something amazing, to accomplish her wildest dreams. To make mistakes, but to learn great lessons to share with others around her. To live.

Life. A blessing I'm determined to not take for granted.

Unending Hope

Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune--without the words, And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.

What is hope? This is a question I've been asking myself a lot lately. I can't help but to reflect. To turn to experiences of myself and others.

In junior high, my grandfather was diagnosed with liver cancer. The doctors told us that it was the slowest growing form of cancer, but that they world know nothing more until they went in and did exploratory surgery. A random fact about the liver: If any portion of it is removed, it grows back as if nothing was wrong. So my family entered the surgery positively, knowing Grandpa would be OK. As the doctors went in, the tumors were far more numerous than they expected, and were located near to vital arteries. Removing the tumors was no longer an option. Chemo was not an option, as Grandpa was in his 70's. I remember hearing the news and my mom, grandma and I drove back to the hospital after eating Jason's Deli for lunch. My grandma burst into tears and hugged my dad harder than I've ever seen someone hug before. My chin quivered as tears streamed down my cheeks, and my mom squeezed my hand. The doctors said the cancer was unpredictable. They gave him anywhere from 3 months to 3 years to live. Did this stop Grandpa? Absolutely not. He had hope that if he didn't let the cancer defeat him, he could outlive the diagnosis. He drove to Cleburne, Texas, Commerce, Texas, Louisville, Kentucky and everywhere in between to see ALL of my volleyball games. My grandparents became the mascots of my cousin's soccer teams, as they never missed a game. Whether they wiped drops of sweat off of their foreheads during sweltering summer heat, or were chilled to the bone during blistery winter games, they never missed a game. 5 years after the initial diagnosis, my grandfather passed away. He had hope that he could make the most of his life he had left. Hope carried him through.

During this time, I took an honors English class in 7th grade. For our biggest project, we had to choose a word and research it. It's definition. It's origin. We, then, had to search for an article that described the word to us and a poem that symbolized the word's meaning. My word: Hope. The Emily Dickinson poem at the top was the poem that I chose. I still love the image of the bird. It continues to inspire me.

I continually come back to Psalm 51 in my daily quiet times. This psalm was written after David committed adultery with Bathsheba. He confesses to God, realizing that he cannot change his ways. That he has no power over sin in his life. But God does. This has been a lesson I've been learning lately. My hope to overcome sin is in God. I cannot do it on my own. But through God transforming my heart, changing me from the inside out, I can. He can.

What is hope? Hope is what helps us to press on. To know times will get better even when they are hard. To know that we were made for something higher. For something more. Hope is what pushes us through.

October was now

In high school, I was a full-fledged band nerd. Not only was I a member of the band, I was 110% into it. Section leader. First person at all of the band socials in my themed costume. I'll admit it, I even had my dad bring me to school an hour early in junior high so I could "practice" in the band hall, which actually meant eating pixie sticks wtih friends and figuring out who was making out in the practice room next to ours. This love for band grew in high school, and my love of band quickly extended to marching contests. I loved the first crispness of fall, and the fact that you finally didn't sweat in the wool uniforms. The rush you felt after you marched a perfect show. Spending all day with your best friends. Our band was competetive, and at the beginning of each competition season, someone would always write on the chalk board "October is NOW!" This was meant to scare all of us into practicing more and harder. For me, it simply brought feelings of bliss.

My love of October only continued throughout my years at Baylor. I adored football season, even though my team was terrible, and loved homecoming and the bustle that fall always brought. Fall break and weekends of relaxation amongst the busyness.

This October, as I adjusted to life as a quasi-adult slash grad student, I knew October would be different. This October brought midterms. I barely remember the month as I was cracked out on 4 cups of coffee, an energy beverage of some kind, and 3-6 hours of sleep each night as I crammed as much knowledge on Neurogenic Communication Disorders or Assessment and Intervention of Preschool and School-aged Language disorders into my head. I didn't feel like myself. It didn't feel like October. It has even brought about a feeling of semi-disgust towards coffee.

To try to counter this different October here in Plano, my roommate and I made several trecks to Waco. We had been reluctant to do this, knowing that Waco would be different not walking up the steps of 1701 S. 10th Street. We knew, however, that we needed to bite the bullet and go back sometime.

It's strange how leaving a place changes your view on it. I'll be the first to admit that, while in Waco, I complained about how boring it was. I thought it was slow, and that there was nothing to do (which there isn't, I still stick by that). Since I've been gone, however, I've grown to appreciate the pace of life in Waco. Life moves slower down there. People aren't in a hurry and aren't so stressed and fast paced. When you go to George's on Saturday night, you know it will take an hour and a half to get seated and eat, but no one gets worked up about that. You savor that time, soaking up time with the company you're eating with, watch parts of the Big-12 games on the TV's around you, and smile at the waitress as she brings you your food later. People appreciate each other's company because there is not as much to do.

It helps me to realize what life is about. People. Investing in them. Learning from each other. Laughing with them. Waco does that right. I appreciate that.

Maybe it wasn't October itself that I've always loved. Maybe it was treasured time with friends. Maybe it was simplicity. Maybe it's something that will return.

The Run

The humid, hazy morning air was heavy in my lungs. It pumped in and out as my legs started moving almost mechanically. "Little Secrets" by Passion Pit blasted through my headphones, my feet gliding in rhythm to the music. The sidewalk curved. Cars zoomed by stressfully rushing to work. My legs kept moving, determined to discover another great route. A route that would become my own, just as route in Arlington had.

Running is my release. It's the first thing I think to do as stress or change hits and upsets the certain schedule of my life. My run in Arlington has seen me through a lot. Breakups. Uncertainty about my future. Fights with those I love. Running clears my head. It's all I know to do when dealing with doubt.

I turned to avoid crossing a busy street, nervous that the frazzled drivers would not take pity on the runner. I saw businesses opening for the first time. I sprinted through the Plano West school zone to "Here it Goes Again" by OK Go. I came to a crossing of a street, and had a hunch that it would take me back to where I started. I checked my stopwatch. 14:53, a perfect halfway point. Although risky, I turned the corner and continued to jog.

I looked in awe of the mansions that surrounded me. Each house seemed to have it's own personality, all centrally plotted on a large, green plot of land. My legs continued their rhythmic movement, beginning to fatigue as "I Wanna Be Sedated" by The Ramones blarred on. This was my pace song. Perfect timing.

Afraid to look back at my stop watch, exhaustion crept up my body, starting in my toes and creeping up through my thighs and into my back. The intersecting street that would take me to my car was no where in sight. The road curved. Deep down, I had a feeling I wasn't sprinting astray, but I just wasn't sure. "Keep running, 2 more songs" I told myself.

I was out of breath. My lungs started to ache as they gasped for air. I was ready to give up. The synthesizer of "Sweet Disposition" by The Temper Trap started. And then I saw it. The intersection. The stoplight. Park. A smile started to form on my face. I doubted, but I knew it would be ok.

My life feels like this run. A lot. I'm running on the trail of life, praying that I'm following Him. In His will. That His will rule my life, not my own. I turn, feeling that He wants me to. And then I doubt. I wonder if this is really it. I get tired. But just as I think I'm wrong, I'm ready to turn back, and I wonder why I turned in the first place, I see that intersection. I get to the street I know I'm going to. And I realize that if I focused just a little more on my faith and a little less on my doubt, life would be ok. Life would be more enjoyable. He will lead me where He needs me to go.

This semester, my practicum assignment is to work with adults. On Wednesdays, I work with adults with developmental disabilities. It's basically like working with hormonal 8 year olds. They make for some chuckles, but that's for another entry.

On Fridays, I work with older adults that have suffered from strokes or other neurogenic problems. It's a couple of hours of sitting and listening to the stories and wisdom that the older people have to share. We talk about life before their strokes, and play a lot of bingo. I don't feel like it is a population I will work with when I start my career, but it is an experience, nonetheless.

Yesterday, in our large group, we talked about jobs. First jobs, careers, and jobs that we wished we had chosen to work at. The last discussion was the most interesting. As each man or woman shared what they would have done with their lives if they could go back and change things, I noticed one key thing: most all involved helping people and persuing passions that has been suppressed a long time ago. One man wished he had been a history teacher so he could be a positive male role model for teenagers. Another's first job had been at Red Lobster, and he wished he could open a breakfast resteraunt, since his passion was cooking. Another had been an engineer up until the time of his accident, and couldn't see himself doing anything else. As I become an adult, I realize how rare that is, to find your passion and persue it wholeheartedly.

The most memorable, for me, was a lady who wished she had been a writer. She wanted to write commedy novels so she could make people smile. I suggested she should start a blog. I think the suggestion was partially to myself, as I shared that I would major in English so I would have an excuse to read classics, write, and teach or go to seminary. Maybe that's why I have a blog. As a creative outlet.

Can you persue it all? Can you help people while persuing other passions as well? Or is wishing and wondering what would have been if you had done something else inevitable? I think it's interesting that you won't ever know.

Hello, Autumn

September begins.

In nature, fall seems depressing. Leaves fall. Plants die. The world grows cold for winter.

Not for me. To me, fall brings a certain comfort few other things can bring.

The clean-start and joy of yet another semester. My next to last fall of school. Ever.

Crisp, cool, refreshing runs that cleanse both my mind and my body.

Football. Professional and college. Need I say more?

Thanksgiving. Precious family and friends. Remembering the uncountable blessings that have been showered upon me.

The predictability, the comfort of fall are more welcome this year than ever. As I adjust to life after college, even the little things that can be expected and planned for serve as anchors. They solidify that I will adjust. That life goes on for us all, myself included. That the beautiful colors of fall can continue to color my life, even though I'm not in Waco.

So, Welcome Autumn. I'm glad you're here.