Precious Gifts

     Christmas is coming.   On one hand I'm very excited, but on the other hand I struggle to deal with the frenzy that comes with it.  What is the true meaning of Christmas?  Of course it means different things to different people, but at it's origin Christmas had one pure motive.  Christmas was created to celebrate of the birth of Christ.  In present day this is often done through giving gifts to each other, since Jesus isn't really around to receive them himself.  To me, this act of giving is definitely one of the most important parts of Christmas, but I easily get so caught up in the giving and receiving that I forget the spirit in which we give.  I don't think I'm the only one.  A lot of people forget reason we give, and so Christmas becomes this emotional high that ultimately ends in depression, as all of the gifts are unwrapped, the food is eaten and decorations disappear.  But the joy of giving is not in the items, but that love that they come from.  That love should stay with us all year long.  At the center of Christmas is the greatest gift of love ever given: Jesus Christ.  So the meaning of Christmas brings us to a different question. How do we give gifts that demonstrate our love for others? 
         I've struggled a lot with choosing gifts over the years: not wanting to buy gifts that appeared impersonal, but not wanting to make gifts that turned out to be useless and impractical.  When I was younger I made cards and paper crafts (I even made an origami duck pond for Santa once!), and as I grew older I turned to more substantial items.  I went through a potholder crocheting phase for a few years (I think I made everyone in our extended family at least 4 potholders over the course of time), and a pearl beading phase as well.  However, I think I set the bar high for myself when I sewed eight personalized aprons from fabric scraps for my extended family.  It gave me such joy to see people unwrap their apron: to see the joy on their face over the personalized design, or recognition of the fabric used.  To this day my relatives wear their aprons to cook when I visit, and I remember the love that I poured into that project.  Since then I've dabbled in more Christmas sewing projects: pillows, blankets, scarves, yet I've not quite done anything as meaningful as those aprons. 
       This year will be different.  I'm going off to college next year, and though I don't want to grow apart from my extended family, I know it will happen. So, I want to give all of them something truly meaningful, something that will give them joy, and something that they can keep forever.  To accomplish this I've decided to letters.  Not the card stock kind with the typical message that you sign, but a typed, printed, adorned letter about how each relative has impacted my life, making me the person that I am today.  I feel like this is the right time for such a letter, as I move on in to world of adulthood and take a fleeting glance at where I came from.  I hope that my small act of writing will in some way strengthen my relationships with relatives and hold them strong through my college years.  I hope that these letters will truly be a gift out of love, in the spirit of Christmas.

Post-Election Hope

        America is currently facing some major issues.  Whether you voted Republican or Democrat, Green party or write in, whether you truly support our elected president, or abhorred to the two main candidates, there is no denying that we have gotten ourselves into somewhat of a pickle.  Whether Trump truly supports the violence and hate that has occurred in his name, or not, there is no doubt that violence and hate have increased in the days since the election.  At the same time, can we truly expect one person to have any control over this?  Do we truly believe that a different president could have changed that way that all citizens of America behave, what they believe, and how they live their lives?  I propose that the answer is, no.  It’s impossible for one person to have that much power over each and every person.  We, in fact, are the people and we control the beliefs, the actions, and the trajectory of this nation.   
       I recently read a chapter from the Bible that I feel really spoke to our situation, proposing a solution to some of our greatest issues.
         Romans Chapter 12, the Message (paraphrased version of the Bible)
^9-10 Love from the center of who you are; don’t fake it. Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good. Be good friends who love deeply; practice playing second fiddle.
...
^14-16 Bless your enemies; no cursing under your breath. Laugh with your happy friends when they’re happy; share tears when they’re down. Get along with each other; don’t be stuck-up. Make friends with nobodies; don’t be the great somebody.
^17-19 Don’t hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you’ve got it in you, get along with everybody. Don’t insist on getting even; that’s not for you to do. “I’ll do the judging,” says God. “I’ll take care of it.”
^20-21 Our Scriptures tell us that if you see your enemy hungry, go buy that person lunch, or if he’s thirsty, get him a drink. Your generosity will surprise him with goodness.  
Don’t let evil get the best of you; get the best of evil by doing good.
(emphasis mine)
    I would argue that this is how we combat what is going on in our country.  This is how we "get the best of evil:" by "doing good."  My plea for those who are upset by the happenings in the country not to live their lives blaming others, but live their lives improving the lives of others.  "Run for dear life from evil; hold on for dear life to good."  "Don't insist on getting even," because whether you believe in God and judgement or not, everyone should understand that an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.  We should be the people who "surprise the enemy," whoever that may be, not by returning their evil, but by "buying them lunch," or committing some other act of random kindness.  Centuries of history have proven that doing good is so much more effective than doing evil.  This small passage of scripture holds so many ideas for filling the world with good, as well as a promise of hope for what that can do.  I believe that we the people are in charge of the mood, beliefs and actions of this country, and we need to start doing our part right now.  In other words:        

This is the darkness all around us

But this is how we "overcome the darkness"*

      It's not rocket science.  I would like to commend my Aunt, a professor at the U of I, who hung this poster on her door:

       One little poster is one light that overcomes the darkness, and in the face of many lights the darkness cannot hide.  The small acts of kindness and protection, actively working toward and seeking out what we believe in in a positive, productive way, are what bring light to the darkness.  I beg you, stop blaming, and start making a difference today. 






*This is the "words with light" project Clara and I created, thanks Clara.  =)

A New Home, but the Same Good Neighbors

Hello friends, and welcome to the worst week I can remember.
Reasons:
I'm sick with a cold- and though not the debilitating kind, it has taken my voice and left me with an extremely sore throat. 
I also still can't run, and am having other recurring muscular issues.
I have a stressful audition this weekend for playing in a college orchestra.
I don't have enough time to put into the club I lead, though I am responsible for many things happening in the near future.
Everyone is in utter distress because Donald Trump won the election.
Our refrigerator and freezer have been broken for the past four days.
And, on top of it all, my family is moving today, which I'm not excited about.
Naturally, this week has upset me, to tears at some points, and yet, I'm kind of surprised by how well I'm holding up.  In fact, I'm still my positive, joyful self.  While on one level I don't know how that's possible, I also completely know how it's possible.  Unlike most people, my perpetual happiness and positivity don't come from circumstances.  That's the difference between happiness and joy.  I can have joy even when life is terrible because my hope is not in circumstances, but in God's divine plan to work through my circumstances. 
The fact is, I can see God at work through everything that's happening. My friends and family have been the greatest "neighbors" I could ever ask for.  My mom is extremely stressed with all sorts of problems cropping up at work, trying to take care of all of us, and moving at the same time.  Yet, she has been such a rock for me this week.  The other morning she made me tea, and has done the best she can to fill coolers with ice so we can have cold foods despite the failing refrigerator.  My friend Annemarie has been such a help as well: making me cookies, bringing my family dinner, cheering me up, and offering to help me unpack all of this evening.  In general I'm a very independent person, and so don't often get to appreciate this experience of being completely supported by other people.  Yet, this is an important part of the "neighbor" experience that I often forget.  While it's nice for neighbors to occasionally show that they care, you don't necessarily appreciate fully the unconditional love others have for you until you are so fully dependent that you don't know what you'd do without them. 
Dearest Neighbors, I thank God for you every day, especially this week.

What kind of title is "Who is My Neighbor???"

       I'm sorry I haven't really explained the title of this blog, probably due to the overwhelming amount of other material I've had to write about in the past month.  Yet, despite not having any clear parameters, I feel like my blog posts have largely worked to answer the question "Who is my Neighbor?"  The question itself comes from biblical context. In Luke 10:25 A man asks Jesus what he must do to enter heaven.  Jesus responds with the question, "What is the law?" and the man answered, "Love the Lord with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind." and,"Love you neighbor as yourself."  Naturally, the next question the man asked was "Who is my neighbor?"  And that is the essential question.  To whom must we devoted our love and our being to, so much that we can say that we love them as ourselves?  As we all do, this man wanted to know exactly what he needed to do, because he didn't want to waste time loving anyone he didn't have to.  Jesus answered this question with a simple story- the story of the good Samaritan.

        In short, the story goes like this: A Jewish man was stripped, mugged, beaten and left for dead on the side of the road.  Many religious leaders and fellow Jews traveled that road, but instead of stopping to help the man, they looked the other way and walked on by.  A Samaritan, however, the enemy of the Jewish people, chose to stop, to dress the man's wounds, and to care for him in every way possible.  The Samaritan brought the Jewish man to an inn to be cared for in the next few months with the Samaritan's own money.  He did not let boundaries of race or religion or friendship or time stop him from caring for this man, as he would have cared for himself.  According to Jesus, this is the definition of a neighbor.  A neighbor is someone you love despite opposition, despite labels despite prejudice and despite circumstances.  Everyone is a neighbor, no matter what.  Therefore, we must love every person in the world as ourselves.

       And so, this blog is about my experience with my neighbors in the world: Learning to love and being loved in the most amazing ways.  Through this blog I am discovering who my neighbors are, and how they affect me; I'm discovering the meaning of the deepest kind of love. I hope that by reading you will be inspired to go and do likewise, to love despite opposition, and to appreciate the unconditional love your receive everyday from others.  Love your neighbor as yourself.

A Real Blessing

The past week has been the biggest emotional roller coaster I've experienced in a long time.  It started out with a really great morning run on Monday, in which I actually ran (yay!!!) with my team, followed by half a race on Tuesday (I was too scared to try and run the whole thing, not wanting to push myself).  Wednesday, I was able to enjoy a great long run, and Thursday I ran an entire workout!  Slowly dreams of running at state inched their way back into my heart, maybe I could make it if I just tried hard enough in these next few weeks.  Quickly I pushed these thoughts away, wanting to focus on the blessing of the moment, of every hour spent running with my team.  The week culminated in celebration as my teammates and I ran to a park for shared laughter, games and ice cream.  By the end of that week I was so happy to be running with my team: laughing with them, exploring with them, sweating through hard runs with them and eating well earned ice cream, together. 
The following day we all traveled to St.Joe for a meet, and I thoroughly enjoyed running with my friends during the warm up, giving them encouragement for the race ahead.  I ran  some more during the race, trying my hardest to cheer in all the right places, full of excitement for how well they were doing.  Our cool down run together was just as great, relishing in personal bests and a race well run and we laughed and sang as we jogged through the streets.  Then I tripped unexpectedly, crushing my foot against the sidewalk and wrenching my ankle.  "Ow!" I exclaimed, more out of surprise than pain.  "Go ahead guys, I'm just going to head back" I called, not too far from the school, and unworried about walking it out. I figured that the pain would probably disappear quickly, just like every other time I've rolled an ankle.  But by the time I got back to camp pain was shooting through my foot and ankle.  Taking off my shoe revealed an already purple and swollen mass.  I quickly sat down, and got some ice, then pulled my assistant coach aside to show her what had happened.  We both stared down at my foot for a few seconds before I blurted "It hurts really bad."  As soon as those words left my mouth I realized the severity of what had just happened.  Soon I was trying to choke back tears as the hopes of running in a few races before the end of the season slipped away- pushed away by my ballooning foot and ankle.  My swelling emotions took a nosedive, leaving me sitting on top of the water cooler in the middle of camp with tears streaming down my face and sobs wracking my body.  Yet, it was not long before I looked up to see the worried faces of all of my friends, sliding their hands into mine, hugging me, holding me.  My teammates are so supportive. 
For the next few hours I was tenderly comforted by friends who should have been rejoicing over great races, but instead were drying my tears and holding my hand.  It was amazing to see how much they cared; I felt so loved.  And though it now looks like the season is gone for good, I realize what a blessing those few runs with them were, and really what a blessing an entire season with them has been.  I cannot express how much love and gratitude I feel for them, for their support and love for me. Though I'm not able to run with them, we are still a team, together.  That is the biggest blessing of all.

To Run Again

"Enjoy this because it's probably the last time we'll actually be the same speed!"  These were my words to my mom as we headed out for a run on Sunday, my first real, pleasureful run over a mile since July.  I was so excited, even to go slow.  I had waited so long, pining for the chance to pound the turf, and completely restricted.  Before this day I would never have run with my "slow" mom. But today my recovering injury put us on the same level, and I was content with that.  Our little jaunt of celebration seemed right.  She has been, after all, the greatest support to me through this injury process.

At the end of July I injured my achilles tendon.  The doctor warned me that recovery would be slow, most likely taking me out of action for the whole cross country season.  My last cross country season.  I was so upset, so angry, but I rose to meet this challenge in a new way, and grew up a little bit throughout the next month and a half.  But I certainly could not have done it without my mother. When I doubted God's plan for my season, she filled me with faith.  When I didn't know how I would heal she bought special creams and stretching blocks.  Most importantly, she prayed, holding my foot in her hands every night and asking God for guidance and healing.  Her arms were the ones that comforted me, her hands those that dried my tears.  Her words were the words that lifted me up through little notes, or small praises and encouragement.  My mom was by my side through it all, hurting more than I did in that way that only mother's can.

 And here she was, still beside me, running, and smiling between heavy breathes as she watched me, grinning from ear to ear.  So slow but still running.  It felt wrong in so many ways, too slow, too brief, my shoes heavy with new orthotics and my breath short.  But in more ways it felt so right.  The movement, the steady pounding rhythm, sharpened awareness of beauty all around.  I was filled with hope, that maybe I would run with the team this season, maybe I would even compete!  The window of desire that I had closed in the pain of hopes that do not come to pass, was now open and the air rushing past brought new dreams in with the old.  Gratitude flowed from my heart out through my smile and into my stride.  Gratitude for the people who had supported me, the team that still loved me, and the God who was healing me faster than anyone predicted. Gratitude for my mother. I felt like pumping my fists in the air saying "look ma, I'm running!" but instead I just beamed at her and trotted around the neighborhood.  It felt right to be running with my mom. Though I may have once called her "slow," her love and support throughout the whole injury process certainly justified her presence in this celebration of healing. 

Constructive criticism please!

Sisters and Braids, How We Connect

I have two sisters.  The younger of the two has beautiful, golden streaked curls, though sometimes she doesn’t think so. Often she asks me to braid them for her, to tame them and make her look more like me.  It is always a bittersweet thing to do; to caress them and yet contain them into a simple plait. The older has equally beautiful, long, silky, chocolate brown hair.  However, it's not as often that Olivia asks me to do braids for her.   Perhaps because our relationship is a little rocky. I am often short with her, and maybe she tries to avoid these moments.  Still once in a while she asks, and I oblige.

    As I was doing my daily devotional time on Saturday morning I was interrupted by a knock on my bedroom door. 

 “Come in” 

 a nervously smiling face appeared as Olivia’s timidly hunched form emerged into the room. 

 “Can you do my hair?” 

  Irritated at being interrupted my reply was curt. 

 “Sure, what do you want?” 

 “mmm...I don’t know.” 

 “Okay, well I’ll do it in ten minutes.” 

I responded, and her slim form slipped away as the door clicked shut.  I let out a long breath.  Why did I always have to be so irritated at her timidity? Her unassuming requests were far from offensive, even if they did always come at the wrong time.  She is so different from my take charge, positively exuberant, demanding self. And yet, somehow, that always strikes a nerve with me.  Why is she afraid to do this, why doesn’t she just hurry up and do that, why does it take her so long to get it done?  It drives me crazy, but it shouldn’t.  We are sisters.  I love her.  She irks me.

    Finishing up with my prayer time I walked into her room and she came along behind, still in her pajamas, that half excited, half scared look on her face.  It still irritated me, but how could I really blame her?  In a few hours she would be running in her first cross country meet of the season, her first ever race on team Uni, and she knew I had high expectations for her.  I promptly picked the items up off her desk chair and plopped them on her bed, motioning for her to sit down.  Then I got to work, pulling together a few strands of her silky, brown hair.  As I braided I asked her blunt questions. Was she nervous? 

 “A little.” 

What was her goal time? 

“16:30.”  

"That’s a good goal." I said, a smile creeping onto my typically serious face, surprised by her uncharacteristic ambition.  Pulling one strand after another into the braid we both started to relax, finally falling into comfortable silence instead of strained.  Soon she was offering up a little more information, confessing her hope for her friends and teammates.  As she talked, and I braided, her shoulders began to straighten and her head to rise in comfort and confidence.  Her often humbly hunched form taking courage in my increasingly warming presence.

By the time I had finished, her hair was pulled from two directions into a single plait laying against her slightly straighter spine.  I was more relaxed and content with her, and she, surer of herself, adding a new strand of strength to our relationship.  I’m glad I chose to love her and help her,  giving her the willpower needed for the race ahead but more importantly, breathing fresh air into our relationship. 

Constructive criticism on my writing is very welcome!!