agarnergirl's Xanga

Saturday, November 07, 2009

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 02:39:53 GMT

these days we go to waste like wine
that's turned to turpentine
'til it's 6 am and i'm all messed up
i didn't mean to waste your time
so i fall back in line
but i'm warning you
we're growing up

And sometimes the words of others are better than my own.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 03:33:59 GMT

...you can do what you want now / knock it outta the park...

I've been carrying on a love affair with words for as long as I can remember.

Three years ago I wrote in my journal that I wanted to tattoo some on my foot. Specifically the words, "oh, you are the roots," and specifically on the top of my right foot.

The words form part of a line from my favorite Bright Eyes song, "Oh, you are the roots that sleep beneath my feet and hold the earth in place," As soon as I heard those words I felt the weight of their significance. Roots have been a spiritually powerful image for me over the past several years. Rooted. Established. Planted. Recently I've also been thinking about the way God uses people - community - to form our roots.

My roots are tangled with the stories of countless people who have reflected grace and beauty to me through their words and deeds. I find myself caught in the middle of a really good story.

I'm ready. The time has come to act on the impulse of three years ago. I want the story of this scar - one that will speak of community - to require the involvement of other people, even in its creation. My sincerest of thanks to those of you who are helping to do just that.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 21:54:14 GMT

...but say today and she will kiss your face and maybe forgive...

I've been experiencing vivid moments of memory. A lot of times it happens when I'm driving. Yesterday I thought about the first time I heard the Dobson High School Symphony Orchestra perform. Each spring the junior high that I was slated to attend hosted an orchestra concert that included its orchestras as well as the orchestras from its elementary feeder schools. The evening culminated with the Dobson Symphony taking the stage. I must have been in fifth or sixth grade. One of the selections they performed was the "Hoe-Down" from Aaron Copeland's Rodeo suite made famous by that, "Beef. It's what's for dinner." advertising campaign. I was in absolute awe. Mr. Pendelton, my elementary school orchestra teacher, walked over to where I was standing and whispered in my ear while pointing to the stage, "That's going to be you someday." My response was something along the lines of, "No way!" I couldn't imagine it. They were so good.

Fast forward to my sophomore year in high school. I remember searching for Mr. Pendelton in the crowd after my first performance at that same concert as a member of the Symphony. When I found him he was beaming. "Do you remember when you told me that I would be here one day?" I asked him. "Of course I do," he replied. I thanked him.

I am so glad I got to do that. Mr. Pendelton died in a car crash before I graduated from high school. When we played the Rodeo suite my senior year I thought about how grateful I was for his encouragement. I haven't thought about that in a long time.

But yesterday I did. As I drove down Delmar trying to remember the bowing pattern for the opening bars of "Hoe-Down" I smiled my thanks.

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 01:37:41 GMT

Fear makes me run faster. I don't make a habit of running at night. Tonight I made an exception because I knew I wouldn't want to wake up early in the morning to get it done and so I ventured out into the drizzly cold and forced my legs to move. I took a route I haven't taken recently and was feeling some pain after the first ten minutes of steady incline. I really wanted to slow down once the terrain leveled out and I started winding my way through the quiet neighborhoods of University City's 2nd Ward. Then I started noticing the creepy Halloween decorations, the dimly lit streets, and the light rain beginning to fall - needless to say I kept my pace. At one point I jumped when someone across the street dumped a bunch of glass into their recycling bin.

I am a skittish night runner and so I plan on sticking with day running. I need motivation, but there are much better ones out there than fear.

This most recent spurt of running discipline is a result of some pretty good motivation. As many of you know this running thing is a wagon I've been falling off and jumping back on for nearly three years. Yikes! That's more falling and jumping than I care to recall. This time the jumping was motivated by a volunteer position I took as an assistant coach with Girls on the Run. The girls refer to me as Coach Andrea which is the weirdest thing for me to hear - I never imagined myself hearing "Coach" in front of my name. One fourth grade girl asked last week what I was doing after practice and I told her I was going for a run. "You're always running!" she announced and threw her hands in the air.

Oh, child if you only knew that coaching you and your friends is what's keeping me running! For now that will be my little secret.

Yesterday I found out about these:

I think I may have found my next pair of running shoes.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 05:44:15 GMT

sleeping is giving in / no matter what the time is...

It's official: I'm obsessed with this album. Obsessed! I know I technically can't refer to it as an album and I know that I'm not technically obsessed with it. It's just that I like to speak in extremes.

It's also official that some sort of cloud has lifted. I don't know when or how. Probably when I wasn't looking. I am thankful for the absence.

And in the absence of dark things with a looming quality I notice the stringing together of delightful moments - the invitation to a hobbit-themed birthday celebration, the running three miles in the rain, and the generous words of people who barely know me.

I could get used to this.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 16:59:46 GMT

...we let our hair grow long / and forget all we used to know, / then our skin gets thicker / from living out in the snow...

Two days of sunshine in a row? What have we done to deserve this fair turn of our meteorological fortunes?

I couldn't tell you, but I am planning on basking in it for as long as it pleases itself to stay. Sometimes answers are not required.

A weekend filled with honest reflection, one haunted corn maze, and too many pancakes from Uncle Bill's always open establishment joined the sunshine on my ever-growing list of what I am very grateful for.

At the end of my fretting I return to the conclusion that gratitude, rather than thicker skin, is worth seeking and running towards.

And that it how I plan to participate in my own healing.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 01:31:24 GMT

I couldn't resist showing off the man of the hour:

Silas James Dodson

It's only fair since his sisters have made quite a few appearances here over the years.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 17:39:11 GMT

Nouwen hits the mark squarely.

I hope you can somehow identify in yourself the temptation to self-rejection, whether it manifests itself in arrogance or in low self-esteem. Not seldom, self-rejection is simply seen as the neurotic expression of an insecure person. But neurosis is often the psychic manifestation of a much deeper human darkness: the darkness of not feeling truly welcome in human existence. Self-rejection is the greatest enemy of the spiritual life because it contradicts the sacred voice that calls us the "Beloved." Being the Beloved expresses the core truth of our existence.

And this, my friends, is why I find it so very difficult to attack the mountain of new books I would very much like to explore. I am regularly drawn back to the ones that I've already read. Not that I'm complaining - the culling of deep truth requires time and repetition.

This is the time of year when repetition is heavy on my mind. The changing of leaves and seasons happens like clockwork, but I look forward to it as if it were a once-in-a-lifetime deal. We're in the middle of the dying that happens each October. It is a glorious death, at least in terms of color, but death just the same. I'm glad it's part of the story. I'm glad it's not the whole story. I'm glad that after the burial rituals are made complete and the following months of barren cold have released their grip, the first signs of new life will be evident to all - undeniably and obviously evident.

I'm also glad that certain kinds of new life refuse to wait until the literal spring. My sister, brother-in-law, and two adorable nieces welcomed into human existence their new son/brother yesterday afternoon. The arrival of Silas James presents something both new and autumnal.

Silas, I will be very pleased to make your acquaintance in November. In the meantime know that your very existence makes me want to sing. I'll tell you why when you're older.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 02:29:39 GMT

Fall Conference holds a special place in my heart. I hope that it always will.

Nine years ago I went to my first. I remember a couple of specific things about that weekend:

1. I brought about 6 changes of clothes and agonized over what I should wear/change into at various points throughout the less than 48 hours that we were together. Gah! So ridiculous. The good news is that by my senior year I wore the same pair of jeans all weekend and avoided the shower. If that's not evidence of progress I don't know what is.

2. I stood on Saturday night when the invitation was issued to commit/re-commit to following Jesus. Something clicked and I began to get that following was going to mean more than believing - my life couldn't be compartmentalized anymore.

I stood and started walking. I haven't looked back.

Nine years later I got to experience the pure fun of staffing Fall Con for the fourth time. Thousands of miles between me and that Baptist camp on Mount Lemmon, but so much felt familiar. It was such a privilege to be in the same room with students who had their own standing moments last night.

After the unofficial dance party ended and the main session room was back in order I walked outside, looked up at a clear night sky, and took a deep breath of clean, Missouri air.

"Oh, thanks for letting me be here," she sighed.

Wednesday, October 07, 2009

Wed, 07 Oct 2009 21:22:16 GMT

This new book arrived in the mail and I picked it out of the stack. I knew it needed my attention. If the first chapter is any indication it should prove to be a good and beautiful read. I could use something along those lines.

In the meantime I've finally grown tired of seeing the pile of 8-9 partially read books next to my bed. I'm determined to finish The Wings of the Dove and thus end my foray into the world of early 20th century ex-pat literature. I won't let myself move on to Tolstoy and Dostoevsky until Henry James is quietly laid to rest.

It may also be time to resurrect Austen. I've been avoiding her for two years and I don't think that kind of absence is good for friendships. It is my opinion that when one has been assailed by a Willoughby it is necessary to be reminded that Colonel Brandon inhabits the same world.

...when my world is shaking heaven stands / when my heart is breaking I never leave your hands...