mix {day one}

it's finally night. we're finally in bed.

sorta.

i know we'll stay up, talking about this and that and maybe laughing and maybe crying. we've already done both, and there's time for more.

EPCOT  was today. it was hot and sweaty and full of blisters and maybe a bit too much whining from us both.

but there was also 

laughs 

and giggles 

and so much delicious foreign food 

and so many pictures taken with a camera that kept letting the batteries slip out again and again.

 and we're okay with that. 

because it was the first day. 

the first day of six. the calm before the storm of crafting programs and sharpening a hundred tiny pencils and arranging last minute bits of this and that. 

six days until my best friend becomes a Mrs. 

today we held hands and cried. i cried for one reason, and she another. it's okay though. because it's just day one. 

short and sweet in its incredible longness. 

we like this, her and i

this life of change and conundrums and wishing wells. aching feet and blisters and giggling over our traditional picture strips taken in a tiny cramped photobooth for a ridiculous $5 that was too much but just right. 

Alex is getting married. and i'm doing this with her. holding her up, like she's holding me.

it's a two-way street, this wedding. the joining of zach and alex in holy matrimony. 

and this joining of friends to sisters. maid of honour and bride into fellow pathfinders. 

this mix of short and sweet and long.

this mix of perfect. 

amigos

five minute fridays. we write for five, and only five, minutes. no editing, no overthinking, no backtracking. linking up with the gypsy mama.

the word

FRIENDS

now GO...

i wonder where i'd be without them. 

these people who have radically transformed. touched. caressed and pushed and held and gripped my wrist so tight as i slip beneath the surface and pulled me up again.

man was not meant to be alone.

each one of us has the one partner with whom we are meant to spend our lives. 


and i have found my precious true Love and life companion, and my life would not be the same without him to hold my heart. my true best friend is him, indeed. 

but there are those others. 

those other lifeguards that watch your shore, those other hands to hold as roads are raced, those other heads of hair to blow in the wind from rolled-down car windows as music flows through each strand. 

so much shouting. laughter. wisdom. precious ones. 

{via pinterest}

{those tissue bearers. those shoulder-lifters. 

those warm blankets for a wounded soul, those comforting wraps for laughter at the fireside. 


those sisters. those brothers. 


those dearhears that can look back at the page and say, 

yes, we were there. but we overcame. and we sang and laughed and wept and danced and leaped for the pureness of it all. 

together. 

companions. 

my precious ones. 

my sister. my Abby. 

my soul sister. my Alex.

my tender mother. my sweet mother-in-law. 

my loyal father. 

my brothers. my sisters. 

lists too long to name. but i love you. 

my team. 

champions all.

survivors all. 

His all. 

{the fantasy giveaway ends TONIGHT! be sure to enter here before midnight tonight}

Respuesta (Answer)

I have no special talents.  I am only passionately curious.  ~Albert Einstein

Questions are a marvel of mine.

There is something so provocative, so deeply poignant, found within the curious ponderings of the human mind.

It fascinates me.

And so now, as promised, I have come to answer the questions poised to me in this post by so many precious and equally curious minds: Jess, Ashley, Christina, Kelsey, and Hannah.

In short, I will be honest...straightforward.

Read if you will.

What is your favourite type of music? 

Truly, I enjoy all types of music, with the exclusion of heavy metal, excessive rap, and overly "twangy" country. Those who know me know that my favourite artists include Owl City, Breanne Duran, Imogene Heap, and Brooke Fraser. 

If you could travel to three places, where would they be?

Peru. 

India. 

Paris.

What was your happiest moment last year? 

 To chose just one? So incredibly difficult. 

I would have to say the birth of my beautiful niece...holding her and cuddling with her for the first time, only moments after her birth. Such a precious gift, and such a beautiful moment. 

A few of your favourite bloggers?

To make this list is so deeply complicated and so very difficult! 

I love every single one of my fellow bloggers...but those that top my list are Carlotta, Olivia, Rain, Jocee, Jess, Polka Dot, and Grace. 

Your pet peeves?

People that interrupt. Men that disrespect/make jokes that degrade women. Theatrical politics. Dripping faucets. Daily drama being made public. Phones ringing in movie theaters/playhouses/etc. 

Your pet loves?

Kisses on my face, forehead, and nose. My niece's smile. Hearing my love call me beautiful. The Book of Isaiah. British accents. Properly used grammar. Inca Cola & Dr. Pepper. Sunsets. Hand-written letters. The smell of new books.  Watching the face of the groom as the bride walks down the aisle. Laughter. My King. 

How do you write so well? Did you take a course? 

I do not write so well. I write my heart on the page, and you may do with it what you will. And no, I did not take a course or any sort of college education, save the classes I took during High School.

Where do you find the pictures that you have in your posts?

Unless otherwise captioned, all photos are taken from WeHeartIt. 

What is your favourite holiday?

Easter, hands down. 

Such love and glory magnified into one single day. The world can barely contain such beauty.

What are three of the books that influenced you and your writing the most, books that inspire you, books that make you who you are?

To only choose three? Difficulty personified. 

Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, J.K. Rowling

Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen

I assumed the Bible was a given, as it and its Authour have transformed my life.

Which people, either living or dead, inspire you the most?

My grandfathers, one who is now with his King, and the other with whom I still cherish this lifetime.

My grandmothers, both beautiful and strong women who have prayed me into existence.

My birthmother. Flooded with courage. 

My mother. My model.

My father. My hero.

My sister. My best friend.

My love. My champion, and my Prince Charming.

My King. My Savior. My God. My Father.

If your house caught fire, which five items would be the most important for you to save?

My Bible.

My stuffed lamb, Lucy, which I have had since I was born. I love her. I am unashamed to admit this.

My laptop.

Other than these things, nothing else matters more than the lives of those whom I love and care about. If they are safe, I am the richest of women. 

White, dark, or milk chocolate.

Yes, yes, and yes. 

What is one without the others?

If you have read to the end of this post, I applaud your endurance...I value your curiosity.

If you have any other questions for me, never be afraid to ask them. There is always room for more answers, even if it takes another post to answer them 

Never stop searching for answers. 

You never know from whom and from whence they shall be found. 

Curiosity is little more than another name for Hope.  ~Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare

Blogginista

"A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely un-happen." ~Edward de Bono

I never set out to be a blogger.

Or maybe I did.

I'm still honestly not sure.

Like I've said in previous posts, this blog is actually the third in a string of online attempts to start some sort of place in which to ramble, think, and process my life...

...not counting my now ancient and long-untouched Xanga and Myspace pages...and yes, I did just date myself and make myself feel incredibly old for almost 21, but that's beside the point.

I never wanted to be one of those bloggers...those that penned their every waking movement and each step they took into an online play-by-play. The same goes for my Facebook...breakfast food choices or private boy-girl-best friend-off and on again drama are simply not topics for public display.

I was only going to post a few mental thoughts, maybe a paper napkin poem or two...maybe I'd post, maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I would share this place with my friends, or I might just keep it to myself forever.

...whoops.

I seem to have accidentally become a blogginista.

I have the sweetest and most precious of friends that I have never met, and yet seem to know me so well.

I have fallen prey to faithfully reading "famous blogs," such as Aspire, Of Horsefeathers, and (life is too short not to) wear red shoes, marveling at their following and longing to be like them one day.

I've started carrying my laptop everywhere, and caught myself overwhelmed with excitement..."I have to blog that!"

I've fallen in love with my corner of the internet.

I draw my heart on my sleeve, and write my dreams up and down my arms.

I'm not writing down every little moment.

But this dramatically elegant gypsy is making her own memories.

Keystroke by keystroke.

Post by post.

Minute by minute.


As I felt the even tide / Deep in my shallow dreams.  / And then, when the empress run aground,  / And my eyes turned blue and green, / I heard a gorgeous sound, / And that's when it became a dream, / When the sky fell in, / When the hurricanes came for me, / I could finally crash again, / And that's how I became the sea. ~Owl City, How I Became the Sea

Lettre

The one good thing about not seeing you is that I can write you letters.  ~Svetlana Alliluyeva


I am a huge advocate for the written word. 


Honestly, as much as I love and rely on technology for communications with the world beyond my own doorstep...


...there is something so heartfelt about a hand-penned letter, placed in a hand-licked and carefully address envelope, and slipped into a mailbox. 


It requires patience and love and a steadfast hand. 


It's a discipline and a virtue, one of which I am a devoted follower. 


I received my first penpal at the tender age of 11 with a little girl I met through a Christian children's magazine...


...and then continued with my letter-writing delights at the age of 14 with a guy friend I met at Family Camp, with whom I still have a wonderful friendship with to this very day.


And now, I have just recently begun a new mailbox-connected friendship with my beautiful friend Grace of Puddles of Memories. 


There is something so entrancing about the idea about sitting down at a table, taking a pen between my fingers, and allowing my thoughts to flow out from me onto the page...


...sharing everything, no matter how trivial, with someone who waits in a different part of the country to hear my soul's musings. 


There is magic in the art of the pen and paper. 


The computer has its delights and its requirements, that is certain. 


But the whispered mystery of the written word...


...novels made of paper, fragrant with ink and unspoken promises of lands to come...


...the scritching sound made as my pen traces across the blank page of a eagerly-waiting journal, aching to fill its empty spaces with teardrops and overwhelming joys...


...letters written in the careful hand of a patient and tender friend... 


These things have held me spellbound all my life.


And regardless of technology,


I would rather hold the words in my palm. 


The art of art, the glory of expression and the sunshine of the light of letters, is simplicity.  ~Walt Whitman

Précieux (Precious)

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. ~C.S. Lewis

What makes something precious?

What is it that gives something such inestimable value that it is lauded enough to place upon a special pedestal for the world to gaze upon in wonder?

What gives someone such value?

Is it shared experience...the catch of mutual laughter, or the bond of a deep unfettered grief?

Is it the miracle of unity...the way that two people can look across a room, catch an eye, and feel the same little rush from head to toe and back again, without a single word shared?

What is it that brings simple, everyday objects to such a place of requirement in our souls...in our hearts...?

Is it the whisper of legacy behind a father's tarnished pocketwatch?

Is it the memory drawn forth in honor of a friend who made his way to heaven before us?

Things of value are few and far between anymore.

Everything is now. Everything is needed right at this moment.

Legacies are fading fast. The need for things that are precious...the sweet pain of memory and recollection...it is melting into the woodwork faster than we can hope to catch it in fleeting fingers.

But I refuse.

I refuse to let memory fade. To let things become commonplace. To let the mundane overtake the remarkable.

More than ever, we need our precious.

Precious friends.

Precious memories.

Precious joys, precious pain.

Life is precious....

...don't let it slip.

God gave us memories that we might have roses in December. ~J.M. Barrie

Step

When you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. ~Nora Ephron, When Harry Met Sally

My best friend got engaged on Tuesday.

I still have a hard time believing it...after all, it's something we've both been dreaming of for the past two years of our best friendship.

I guess the reality of the whole thing is just a little hard for me to grasp -- I can only imagine the thoughts racing through her head and heart at this moment!

There's something about the first step a couple takes together...something so incredibly intimate about the lowering to one knee, the stifled gasp as she presses her hands to her mouth, and the stammering of that single word that will change their lives forever.

An engagement is so much more than just a sparkling diamond ring and the giddy smiles of two people in love.

It's a vow of its own.

It's the voice of a young man as he gazes into the eyes of the girl of his dreams...the whispers of his frantically beating heart, saying:

"Baby, I'm not going anywhere. And in a short time, I will give up EVERYTHING and take you as my other half. My perfect fit. My missing puzzle piece. I want to love you as Christ loved His church, how my King loves His bride. So be with me forever."

The wedding is the woman giving of herself -- the passing from girl to woman, the taking of another name, the change from "Miss" to "Mrs."

But the engagement is the man's surrender.

The lowering of himself. The ultimate humility.

And so, I have words for two of the greatest blessings in my life:

Firstly to my beautiful Alex:

Babe, you are the most incredibly strong, beautiful and passionate young woman of God I have EVER had the honor of knowing.

You blow my mind every day with your drive and your willingness to do anything for the Kingdom of God. You are the most wonderful best friend I could have ever asked for, and you bless me more than I could ever begin to say.

Also, you are insane. You are my Heathcliff, my mad little gal-pal. You make me laugh. You listen. You have this amazing ability to laugh with me and then cry with me, all in the same conversation. You write songs with me, and you manage to keep my head on straight.

And I love you.

You truly are the Jane to my Lizzie; you better know this by now. I could not be more honored to have you as my best friend...and I look SO much forward to undertaking this journey with you. I love so much, dear one.

And to Zach:

I have been praying that God would bring someone like you into Alex's life ever since she and I met. She deserves an amazing man of God who loves her with everything that he is, and is willing to give his life for her, if the need arises. Someone who will treat her with tenderness and adoration, and still manage to bear with her complete and utter insanity.

And I believe more than anything that you are indeed that man. Thank you for bringing a smile to her face and love to her life again. Thank you for loving my best friend with such a pure and selfless love. You are indeed her Mr. Darcy. You have wooed and romanced her in ways that continue to blow my mind. Your selfless and strong care for her touches my heart daily. I love you, and I cannot wait to get to know you better and better in the many insanity-packed years to come.

God bless you both.

Stay strong in love, and stay true to one another.

Alexandria and Zachary -- March 8th, 2011 -- Just the Beginning

Bliss

Now a soft kiss -

Aye, by that kiss,

I vow an endless bliss.

~John Keats

My bliss is vast.

My bliss is leather-bound books...

Volumes of elegant poetry and dramatic prose, rich with the scent of age and wisdom.

It is wide open fields, bedecked with wildflowers of every hue and every type.

It is silver necklaces and delicately crafted earrings.

It's soft rose petals caressing my nose and acoustic guitars.

The scritch-ing of a pen against paper.

The Princess Bride and Chocolat.

A Jane Austen novel and a large leafy tree.

Red velvet curtains and the smell of a theater in those final moments right before a show is set to open.

Fluttering silk scarves and bare toes in the grass.

The feel of a new pair of heels and the whisper of a friendly word.

The tenderness of a lover's kiss and the lilting encouragement of the prophet Isaiah...

...the list goes on.

My toes in the sand as soft waves overtake them, and the twittering of birds along a soft forest path

An arm around me and a shoulder to weep upon, or words spoken in unison and the subsequent laughter.

Windows rolled down and music blasting.

Clear nights with stars that blaze and speak to my soul.

A pile of blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor, and someone with whom to share the snuggles.

A kiss on my cheek and fingers run through my hair.

Flickering candles and painted toenails in ten different colors.

Hot cups of coffee and fairy tales.

Late night conversations with my best friend, laughter that carries across the country.

A text message reminding me that I'm beautiful and that I am loved.

Whispers of Narnia and Hogwarts and secret lands yet undiscovered.

Memories of late nights in Peru and the smiles of brown-skinned children as they cling endlessly to my legs and hands.

On these cold February days, when all seems dead and empty under blankets of snow...

...I cling to my bliss

For warmth.

For light.

For color.

For hope.

For love.

World-Turners

The people who influence us the most are not those who detain us with their continual talk, but those who live their lives like the stars in the sky and “the lilies of the field”— simply and unaffectedly. Those are the lives that mold and shape us. ~Oswald Chambers

This is for the ones who live...

...who stand up when the world is sitting down...

...who fight when everyone else has fled the battlefield.

I wish you knew exactly how you

Inspire me.

I wish I had the right words to convey

How much you

Amaze me.

Maybe it's the way you stand alone,

Moving the crowd

Instead of them moving you.

Maybe it's the way you love from day to day.

From the simple word

To the more precious gesture.

You live the love.

You inspire me to push upward.

Onward.

Heavenward.

You're more than just my friends...

...more than just my family...

...you're my heroes.

You're my favorite kind of inspiration.

Because you don't just talk.

You live.

Fingertips

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restored and sorrows end.

~William Shakespeare

I have been blessed with amazing friends.

It blows my mind sometimes.

Even in the busy crush of life, the dramatic push of overwhelming emotion, and the shatterglass of confusion that makes up every day of human existence, I have people in my life who take the time to remind me that I'm more than just another nameless face in the crowd.

There come those moments where the ocean waves threaten to push me right off the edge of the cliff...that one pivotal disappointment that makes my once-sure footing suddenly feel like I'm balancing on thin air.

...and it's then, when I'm unable to stop myself from toppling headlong into emptiness...

...it's then that I feel your hand catch mine.

Sometimes, it's your whole hand -- a long conversation until 2:15 in the morning even when you know that you have to get up to work the next morning at 5am...taking my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor for no better reason than I'm sitting on the sidelines...discussing Jane Austen over Pad Thai and hot coffee on a late night, cross-country phone call...spending hours strolling around an amusement park, catching up on three years of moments...

Other times, it's just your fingertips that grip mine and pull me up -- the brush of your lips against my cheek when I'm crying...the feeling of your ankle draping over mine during a moment when I'm confused...a simple text message or wall post that says "I love you" or "Wish you were here"...that simple, wordless hug when both our worlds are shattering from the inside out...

At those times, I realize that it's your fingertip moments are the ones that stick with me the longest.

The ones that mean the most.

The ones that changed my life.

There is [a] friend in the life of each of us who seems not a separate person, however dear and beloved, but an expansion, an interpretation, of one's self, the very meaning of one's soul. ~Edith Wharton

Coffee

This morning, I had my first cup of coffee in a very long time. It was like getting reacquainted with an old friend.

I don't know exactly what is it about a cup of steaming java, but there's something so soothing and familiar about the feeling of the ceramic cup in your hand.

...the fragrant steam floating up from the mug, brushing its warm fingers against your nose.

...the sharp, smooth flavor of that first, perfect sip.

It's comforting, at any season of life.

There are so many "coffee-flavored" aspects of life. Perfectly simple, and yet essential. Somehow, they end up filed under "forgotten wonder," and their existence fades into a misty sort of consciousness until they eventually disappear altogether.

It's the simple, seemingly insignificant things -- beautiful things that we tend to overlook until we realize that they've disappeared and we want them back in our lives again...

...that little ray of sunlight that breaks through the window each morning to dance on the pillow and whisper secrets in your eyes.

...the sweet kiss of a lover, barely a brush against your check.

...the reassuring hug of your best friend that speaks volumes without a single word being spoken.

...the breath of ocean-scented wind as it sweeps your hair like a velvet curtain over your eyes and caresses your sun-tanned shoulders.

...the words of God, locked away in the secret corners of our mind that bring life when we feel like we're fading away.

So maybe it's time to re-evaluate our lives...

It's time to inhale the scent of steaming coffee, blink away the fog...and live again.

Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art... It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things that give value to survival. ~C.S. Lewis

Outside/Inside

Strength is my weakness.

There is something so imperative, so crucial about strength to me.

I have to be the strong one.

I have to endure things for others that they themselves cannot seem to handle at that moment.

In that split second when your world is falling apart, when your heart is breaking, when you're at the very end of your rope, I have to be there.

I have to be strong for you.

If I love you, I carry stuff for you. It's the way I've always been, and I can't see myself changing any time soon.

But. I gotta be honest.

I'm a coward.

Behind this mask of strength and endurance, I'm shaking like a frightened puppy during a thunderstorm.

On the outside, I'm calm and put-together, focused entirely on making sure that you are alright and that you know that you have someone to lean on during this -- the darkest moment of your life.

But inside, I'm screaming. My mind is going a hundred miles a minute, throwing things together and tossing them out in a split second. Nothing makes sense. I have to keep telling myself...

...over and over and over again...

breathe. breathe. breathe.

Rain pelts my face, blinding me, mixing with my tears of sorrow, frustration, and guilt. The laughter of my own cowardice is shrieking in my ears.

"Afraid. You're afraid. Coward."

I have to allow myself to shut my eyes, wrap my arms around you, and lock out my fears.

Inside, I'm on my knees, eyes closed, hands raised as high as they can go.

I'm screaming at the top of my lungs to the thundering skies...

"TAKE THIS, JESUS! I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH!!! I NEED YOU!"

And then, He comes for me.

In my mind, Jesus has a roll of duct tape and a warm blanket.

The duct tape is for Satan's mouth, to keep the lies away.

The blanket is for my heart.

And for yours.

Labor of Love

Tonight, I spent some time with my mom's side of the family, planning for my grandparent's 50th wedding anniversary celebration this coming fall. If you were looking at us from a distance with no knowledge as to who any of us were or what we were doing, you would think we were an odd little group.

There were eight of us, clustered around a small crackling fire enclosed inside of a large metal dish.

My aunt and uncle, not quite two years married, holding hands in two separate deck chairs, looking at one another as if their entire worlds revolved around their beloved partner.

My mom, sitting in her chair with her day-planner in her lap, her red hair glowing like a sunset in the light of the flickering flames.

The three teenagers -- Abby, Rae Marie, and I -- sitting in age-order on the padded porch swing, giggling and waving the smoke out of our faces.

And then there was my grandma and grandpa, the origin of this tiny cluster of loving people. They were the ones that drew my closest inspection.

Grandma, with her little basket-purse and crown of carefully styled grey hair, her smile and laugh more familiar and warm to me than a summer sunset. And Grandpa, with his fading grey comb-over and his unmistakeable sense of humor that reminds me of little girl sleepovers and snuggles around the iron stove in their basement.

My grandpa is in his early 70s. He grew up on a small farm in Illinois in a tiny rural community where he milked the cows at 4am and walked to school in the winter. He loves Jesus with all his heart, and is determined to bring as many people to know Him as he possibly can. He is the humblest, quietest man I know.

This is the man of whom I possess my earliest memory. The man who sang silly songs to my sister and I, and told us jokes that made my grandma shake her head and say, "Oh, Kyle!" The man who taught me that early morning breakfasts of "gobledy-gook" and orange juice was the secret to a happy morning. The gentle hands that swung a wood-splitting ax and poked flaming coals to warm the house, but that were always eager to hold the Bible and remind me of the goodness of God. The man who showed me that ticking Grandma awake at 6am was fun, and that "sleepin' at the foot of the bed" was a secret delight. He took me to my first movie in a theater -- Chicken Run -- and promptly fell asleep twenty minutes into the film...but that's not surprising, considering his ability to "drop his marbles" at any time and through anything.

My grandma is in her late 60s. She attended the local high school, and can still sing almost all the words the fight song. She married young, just like I did, and still loves her husband with all her heart after almost 50 years of marriage. I've seen the way she looks at him...I want to love my husband the way she does. When I was little, I used to stand next to her in church and listen to her sing the hymns; I wanted to sing about Jesus as beautifully as she did. She is an amazing woman who loves Jesus with all her heart, and has taught me so many things about being a godly woman and a godly wife.

This is the woman who read books to my little sister and I, recording them on cassette tapes that I still love listening to, even today. The woman who made me tiny models of all the characters from Winnie-the-Pooh (my favorite since I was a baby) by hand, and played the record of the same name when she changed my diapers or bathed me in the metal sink in the basement. The woman who made me dresses, quilts, and jumpers, hand-made with love poured into each stitch. She taught me how to sew; even though I didn't show a lot of appreciation for it then, I look back on those moments now and wish I could get them back. Grandma made us puppets out of brown paper envelopes and various bits of bric-a-brac, recorded Shirley Temple movies when they came on TV, and watched Milo and Otis with us over and over and over again.

Grandpa took me on my first missions trip to Costa Rica when I was 13.

Grandma held Hawaiian tea parties on the back porch with our American Girl dolls and Macadamia nut pancakes.

My grandparents are my heroes. Two of my greatest examples.

I want them to be proud of me.

Because I am proud to be their granddaughter.