When Life Does Not Waltz

I don't have any potent life lessons. I don't have any revelations. I have no wordy, long-winded sermons on anything of meaning. Not right now at least. To be quite candid, my life is not shining with the brilliant luster that I wish it was. It is quiet, subdued, and every piece of me is hungry for some terrific adventure that I cannot find. I could tell you all to Live-in-the-moment, and make every bit of your life extraordinary, and while I might say it some other time, right now I just can't give advice that I'm not living out. I spend a good part of my nights at home, wearing a Snuggie and practically drowning myself in herbal tea. I sometimes wear mittens while I'm inside, because my hands are perpetually cold and I don't like turning the heat up. I look at pictures of food that I won't let myself eat. I go on monotonous runs through a nearby suburb, and eat canned soup for dinner. My motivation is far smaller than any of the things I should be doing, and as a result I waste a lot of time. I'm not proud of it, and I'm trying to make my moments count, but it's so difficult right now. Sometimes it's so easy, beautiful memories form effortlessly and time waltzes to a smooth melody. Now is not one of those times in my life. Time doesn't waltz, it plods, and no matter how slow they seem, many of the days in each month are hazy and blurred, as if they went by too fast for me to use. However, whether it's true or not, I've come to believe that sometimes things have to be like this, in order for greater things to take shape. Life must rest, just like people must rest, before charging into brave new adventures. If you feel like I do, if you relate to anything that I've written here, than you probably know what a scary feeling it is to feel purposeless, even for a short period of time. But fear not. We'll get through it. Hope for adventure, pray for purpose, work for peace. 
-mads

Letting Go and Moving On

As I've come to learn, partially from my own experience and partially from the words of some very wise friends,  dwelling in your past can stall the progress you hope to attain in the future. I understand, dwelling is easy, it requires no effort, no ambition, only the playback button on the faulty video camera that is our memory. Letting go and moving on are often painful, gut wrenching, and even frightening. What will we be when that relationship, that experience, or that season of our life is over? Will we change? Will there ever be anything that makes us feel the same way again? Worst of all, will the memories fade if we choose to let them go? Contrary to popular belief, letting go is not just a miserable time in which you give up, and wait around for that broken heart to slowly scab and eventually scar. In fact, letting go requires time and effort. Tons of it. Life in general is painful, even without the struggle to move on from a momentous event, so if you're struggling to let go and move on, here's what I have to say:
It happened, it was incredible, and your life was changed, but now it's over. And that's ok. A crucial part of letting go or moving on is the acceptance that it is over. You know that wonderful Hallmark-y saying? "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." Though it may sound corny, it is true. It took me the longest time to figure that one out, and actually live it rather that repeat it like a mantra. If you are afraid of your memories fading, either write them down, or trust that your brain will cherish the most important ones for when you need them most. Next, you need to learn that while you may be tied to that event, and it is a part of you, you are not simply a part of it. You have bigger dreams, a thoroughly interesting future, and a complex life. You continue to exist and build your life even when it seems like the best part of it is over. Fret not, there will be other best parts of your life, whether you believe it or not. It doesn't matter if you can't figure a bit of your life out on your own. God knows what He's doing. Last, letting go and moving on won't happen over night. You have to work for healing and growth, and it might take a very, very long time. But never give up, because one day you will wake up and you will feel different, better. Not whole yet by any means, but hopeful, with the shiny shimmers of a bright future ahead. Your memories will have moved from your head to your heart, no longer overwhelming all your thoughts and causing you pain, but quieter, safer, in a place where they can stay forever. On that day, you will have taken one step towards moving on, and the rest will follow when the time is right. Be patient, be hopeful. Thanks for reading,
-mads

Be Nicer Than Me.

You know those people who you simply CANNOT tolerate? We all have them, the people in our lives that every single thing that escapes their mouths makes us want to tear all our hair out and every single thing they do makes us want to jump off the roof just to get away from them. I tell other people to be patient with them, I tell myself to be patient with them, but somehow, when faced with one of these least-favorite people, I forget all too quickly. A situation that is pertinent to this topic occurred today, while I sat in U.S. History, minding my own business. I sit near the front of the room, close to the projector screen. We were watching a historical film about the 13 colonies, in which actors in powdered wigs prance around in front of a backdrop, declaring independence doing all those things that they did back then. Since the nice, quiet girl who usually sits behind me was gone, a certain intolerable individual came from his seat in the back of the room to sit in all-too-near proximity to me in that empty desk, intent on getting the BEST possible view of a movie no one really cares about. At the start of the film I was mildly annoyed just because he was near me, but when his legs hit the back of my desk for the millionth time, and once I realized he was being a brat on purpose, I lost a bit of my cool, whipped around and demanded rather rudely "MOVE your legs. Now." he swore at me under his breath, but I did not care in the least. I was working on pretending he wasn't there when he decided to intrude on my feet with his feet. Why a person would think they need the room under their desk AND mine is beyond me, yet there he was anyway, tapping me feet with his, pretending that they weren't my feet and that I didn't actually want to punch his teeth out. That time I almost lost it completely, and giving him the eyes of death, said loud enough for most everyone to hear, "WHAT IS YOUR DEAL!?" He wasn't thrilled about that either, but I've heard all those words before. So, I was not patient today. I am guilty of being a controlling and cranky teenage girl. On top of it all, the room smelled like feet. I blamed it on him. I shouldn't have been impatient, I shouldn't have yelled at him. I tell you this because I understand, sometimes people are terrible, but learn from my mistakes, and be a nice person, because things will be happier if you do.

Not Quite Home Anymore.

It's been three weeks since I got back to the U.S.A. I wish I could find the words to tell you about Ethiopia, but everything that happened there and all the things I learned are tied up and tangled inside my little brain. The team that I had the pleasure of traveling and spending two weeks with could not have been better. We bonded so much, and I formed some strong friendships that will hopefully last a lifetime. Ethiopia changed me, just like I knew it would. A little piece (or maybe a not so little piece), was fractured off and left in that marvelous country. Maybe it's because I had never really traveled before, or maybe it's because I'm young and impressionable, but I think it might be that God led me over there because he knows I'll be going back. I've already made some general plans for how I'll get back and when. I'll keep that to myself though, because when these plans of mine become concrete, trust me, I'll let you know. In the three weeks that have passed since my return, I've started my Junior year at Bozeman High. Let me tell you, folks, after experiencing the best two weeks of my life, living everyday to the most, helping people with incredible need, and basically just doing what I love, high school can be a real dragola. When people ask me how I'm readjusting to the "real world," I want to let them see what I've seen in Africa and yell: "THAT is the real world! That." Life is so much more than appearances, money, possessions, meaningless fake relationships, and the million other things that we worry about on a daily basis in our dry and stagnant lives. However, determined not to let my new perspective fade, I've made up my stubborn mind to make the best of this year and to make a difference regardless of where I am, whether it is the place I'd like to be or not. I'm entering this new chapter of my life with an open mind and an optimistic spirit (even if it means working hard to maintain that optimism). So, there will be many more posts relaying my small experiences and adventures, keep your eyes out for those, and read up on them when you can. Remember: Your life is big, and there is plenty of room in it, but it's your job to fill it up. Go.

The County Fair.

This summer. In autumn I will literally have no words to describe what this summer has meant to me. It's just golden. I've shared some wonderful memories with with friends who will undoubtedly be around in my life for years to come. Last weekend, for instance, I attended the Gallatin County Fair in our good old Bozeman. I had never really done the whole fair thing, with the crazy carnies and the precarious rides, but when my best friend invited me to come along with her and our friend Michael (who I had never actually met in person), I knew summer memories would be right around the corner. When we arrived at the fair, we bought a handful of tickets each and made a bee-line towards the Typhoon. The Typhoon is a ride I can't quite describe, other that it whips you in a humongous vertical circle and it's a whole lot of crazy fun, especially if you scream your lungs out. After that one we deliberated for awhile and ended up in front of the Scrambler. Hopefully most of you know what the Scrambler looks like, it's  a classic. Anyway, as we stood in line it started to rain. Nothing torrential, just a drizzle. As we chose our mildly dampened seats, the song "If Everyone Cared" by Nickelback began playing over the speakers. As the ride gained speed, so did the rain. We began humming along, then singing, then positively belting the lyrics to that song as we whipped and jerked in the icy rain that was by this time drenching our every inch. It was like one of those perfect moments we wish we had more often, where despite things going terribly wrong, it all turns into something terribly right. Magic. After we made our way off the ride (reluctantly), the fair continued. It kept raining, and we kept laughing. We gave the carnies something to laugh about when we went through the fun house, and after that were forced to take temporary shelter from the cold on the bleachers in the horse arena with a bag of kettle corn. Our dear friend Isaac showed up and joined our brigade of disheveled youth for  awhile, and we at our kettle corn and shared sprite until we weren't shivering quite as badly. When we were finally all funned out at the fair, Mary, Michael, and I wandered out of the park singing. We climbed into Mike's car, turned on the heater and some pop music, and sang all the way to Mary's. We learned that I am an absolute professional at making hot chocolate from scratch, and after that we watched Aquamarine, and after that, Mary and I tested Michael's patience by having a poetry reading and finding hilarity in everything we said or did. And that was my Fair Experience. I left out a few bits, like the pig barn and the wonderful swings, but I got the highlights in there, and those are what you want to read, anyway. So if you didn't want a story about the fair, and just scrolled to the bottom of post, read this: life is about what you make it.
P.S. Happy birthday, to my lovely mumsy!

Camp, the week of Planned Spontaneity. Part II

This is part two of the previous post, so I'll just keep going. After Wednesday night, which was quite possibly one of the worst nights ever, we still couldn't keep food down. It was thought to be a 24 hour thing, but alas, we were in it for the long haul. On Thursday Rach and I looked like walking death, and we felt about the same. We took command of the couch in the lodge and stayed there all day, too tired and queasy to do anything else. Thursday however, granted us a gift. That evening, while I was talking to Timmy in the lodge, thunder and lightning shook the whole place and rain and marble-sized hail began pelting down. It didn't matter then how hungry or sick I was, we jumped off the couch and raced out the door. After a couple minutes we found the rest of our friends (great minds think alike?), and danced, splashed and laughed together in the storm. It was a dose of life's most potent medicine. And it was marvelous. We showed up to dinner soaking wet, freezing cold, and blissfully happy. I was healthy enough to attend chapel that night, and when we sang my favorite old-school camp song, "The Slinky Song," I nearly fainted from the lack of food and the effort of singing. That night we did our third and final interpretive dance, and it was fabulous. Friday morning, we still had not eaten. Rachel was still feeling rotten but I thought I was better so I ate a biscuit at breakfast. The nurse was getting worried, so Rachel was going home a day early. I was going to stay, that is, I was until I barfed up the biscuit and all the water I drank. So I was going home too. As we packed up our stuff I sat on the floor and cried. I didn't want to say goodbye yet. I never do. As we waited for Rachel's mom to come pick us up, we watched the rest of camp play water games and dance on the field, and an honest tear rolled down my face. I was missing my favorite part of camp. When we left, our friends hugged us and I wished so badly that I could have stayed but two entire days without food were taking a toll on me. As we sat in the van, Rachel and I looked across at each others tired faces, and I knew we had to go through this together, even though it was absolutely horrible. It was supposed to happen, for some bizarre reason or another. When we finally got home, I felt so much better already and for the first time in days, I ate a snack and didn't vomit it up. I'm not sure why I got better when I got home, but it happened.This was just a few of the crazy things that fell from the sky that week in addition to the vast amount of things I learned from God. I could write a whole book about last week, but I'm sure two blog posts is plenty for you.

Camp, the week of Planned Spontaneity. Part I

Each year, I am stunned by all the crazy surprises and memories that get packed into my week at Clydehurst camp. Every single year, I think I know what to expect, until those expectations are blown out of the water and replaced by things I couldn't imagine and will remember forever. This year was no different. I don't even know how to begin the description of the week, so I'll start at the beginning; on the bus ride up, Rachel and I ate peanut butter, chocolate chips, and raspberries. Rachel and I became friends last year on the way to camp, so we celebrated one glorious year of friendship with the best portable food ever, peanut butter. Getting to camp was no big deal, saw some old friends and finally got the cabin I had always wanted to stay in. Before bed, when we were waiting to brush our teeth in the bathroom, Rachel and I chose that moment to become infamous. We made our counselor think up a story on the spot so that we could bust out our interpretive dance moves in our sports bras and pajama pants in the middle of the cabin floor. Our dance was complete with start and end poses, individual and group bows, and stage presence. A tradition was born, and we decided to do a dance every night. Later that week we would be known by most of the staff as THE interpretive dancers, and we even did a show or two for the two staff members who did nightly cabin checks. Another tradition, though not formed by us but by the camp, and maintained for the health of the campers, was night meds. It's exactly what it sounds like; meds, at night, for those who take meds at night and remembered to bring their pills. Night meds is where Rachel and I met many of our friends, including Timmy. We met Timmy on Sunday night, but we really didn't become friends until Monday evening, so I'll come back to that. On Monday we took the hike to Trinity falls, where Mikaela, Rachel, and I held hands and dunked under the freezing falls of icy mountain run-off. On the wet hike back down, I twisted my ankle. Badly, and it made one of those liquid-y popping noises that you never want to hear. I kept walking on it until after lunch, when it began swelling, so I got it wrapped up. That evening was July fourth, so we found our new friend Timmy and ate watermelon and watched fireworks. Then night meds, then interpretive dance, then bed. Tuesday was fun but  non advantageous, other than cramming my swollen ankle into my sneakers to play Capture the Flag, and of course, another dance. Wednesday came, and I thought it would be just another day. However, after another fun day, I was feeling a little queasy before dinner. I ate anyway and was told it would just settle. I was walking with Rachel down to chapel when The Sick hit us like a semi. We made a bee-line back up the hill to our cabin and then took turns barfing up lunch and dinner. That night, when everyone was out staying up late and having a grand time, Rachel and I learned friendship in its truest form, while we held each others hair back and vomited a minimum of ten times each. It was that night that we also learned what a true friend Timmy was. I would say Mikaela too, but we already knew how wonderful that girl is. Anyway, he risked trouble of many kinds to be our friend that night. First he stood on our porch, which is against the rules of the camp, and secondly, he risked getting what we had, which would have kept me off of any ones porch, especially on such a fun night. This concludes part one. Please read part two.