art

what is it about art that stirs our soul? it is something unique, it catches our attention and ties us to all sorts of people and places only imaginable. take a beautiful piece by Monet or Picasso, what were their lives like? what did a day in their shoes look like?

good art has the potential to unleash memories and stirrings within us. it taps through the surfacy thoughts into feelings and emotions that sometimes are so difficult to access. lately i have been obsessed with sabrina ward harrison. her art is more of journalling or art therapy. it is honest and allows for mistakes and oops. she journals her soul in the pages of her books and phrases on her canvases. it moves me, challenges me and makes me think of my creator. it makes me want to go feel deeply as she does and journal and tell about it.

ultimately, good art moves people to create something of their own. it is not a stand alone piece, but a movement of viewing and interacting that prompts others to do something as well. so today, go create something.

i wish i knew a mailman.

as i was running this morning, there was the cutest mailman delivering mail. he was walking through the freshly fallen snow with the cutest acrylic scarf and little messenger bag. its probably the hipster in my to think that an authentic us postal service bag is cool, but hey it is what it is.

mailmen must be the toughest people out there. they have to put up with some pretty crappy stuff. i mean there is the nasty dog that lives on smith street and the snow that never ceases in michigan. in fact, there's probably some people who put mean things in the mailbox just to spite them. sad.

but, here's to you, mail women and men. thanks for your work.

thanksgiving...

this year i have so much to be thankful for. maybe there isn't more to be thankful for, but perhaps i'm a little more aware. in church this morning (after a traditional breakfast of cinnamon rolls) our pastor talked about the importance of not just giving thanks in general but actually saying who you're giving thanks to. you're not married in general, but to a specific person and the same goes to being thankful.

so, dear God, I thank you for the numerous blessings in my life. your love and faithfulness. my family and friends. my warm (or semi-warm) house. my 97 year old great grandmother who still knit me bed socks. my body to run with. my mind to do school and work with. your people to share my blessings with.

Dayenu: that alone would have been enough. but for that alone we are grateful.

a four friends kind of day.

yesterday was a four friends kind of day.

i was walking across the blue bridge by grand valley, it was windy and a bit chilly and the leaves were blowing all over the place. i got that ache in my belly on how it used to be walking across the bridge after class to go to work on those cool, fall days. i remember walking into four friends with yellow leaves blowing in the door with me and a little bell ringing. i can still smell the familiar smell of that place and know exactly where all the cracked tiles were from hours of mopping them.

i wanted to be able to walk right into work, confident and content that i was capable and knew what i was doing. i wanted to eat a monaco sandwich, made just the way i like it and put on the old panini machine. i wanted to grab the cold milk picture and steam up some good milk and make lattes, and mochas and other warm drinks all night long. i just wanted to be in that space, with those funny people all working together to pay for school and make it in this world.

four friends has such significance for me because it was the first place that i actually got to know people who were quite different from me. i now know its a 'hipster' lifestyle that i was hanging out with but back then it was just a bunch of people who didn't shower everyday or wear make-up all the time or have the latest fashions. we were quite the bunch, playing what we wanted to listen to over the speakers, making what we wanted to drink, and giving away left over scones to whom we wanted to.

there were some crazy regulars that made that place feel like two worlds colliding. there were the business men who came in with there business partners all polished and clean, ordering the same drink and expecting you to make it that way. then there were those without a home who came to sit in a warm place for a little while, sometimes buying a drink, sometimes not. we even had one lady who we would tally hot chocolates for. she could pay them sometimes and other times not, but at the end of the day, did that matter?

so, thank you four friends. thank you for being a place that i could discover more of who i am. thank you for being offering me a skill that i have found is my passion. thank you for being a place where a bunch of college crazies could work together on coffee and life and make grand rapids a better place because of it. i miss you.

get shaky...

in australia there was a song called "let's get shaky after school" and it was played constantly wherever we went. whether we were in clubs, the mall, or a coffee shop, this song was always on the radio. i remember dancing at clubs when this song came on and a feeling akin to the feeling a middle school-er has when she skates with the boy she likes at the skating party would overcome me. i got so excited and nervous and filled with adrenaline that my friends and i would scream and shout and, well, dance.

i listened to the song the other day and almost laughed. it is really the most ridiculous thing ever and not a very high-quality song when looked at in perspective. but, like most things, it has memories attached to it. it was practically the theme song of my time in australia which means it brings places, people, and things to the present that are now completely removed from my current life. in fact, instead of breaking out in a dance when i hear it, i now want to shed many tears for all that i miss about that time of life.

it is this way about so many things in life, particularly songs. there is something about them that jog our memories and bring us back to a time when that song reigned in our lives. they connect us to times and places that are long gone or far away. its amazing, really, how our brains can process one little tune and make so much more out of it. it becomes not so much a mere tune, but a musical photograph of memories. if the eyes preserve memories in snapshots and visions, then the ears do so with sound and songs. together those two senses make up memories and visions that no words can do justice to.

so, when i say, "let's get shaky after school" and it sounds completely and utterly ridiculous, it is. for me and my friends in australia, that song meant everything. ultimately, getting shaky after school.

sixty-fourth street...

there is a road by my parent's house that i have grown up running on. it is exactly one mile from my driveway to the first stop sign and made the perfect bench mark for runs. it is mildly hilly, fairly shady, the pavement is full of cracks and patches, and there is virtually no traffic. it has an interesting way of bridging suburbia and rural areas: one side has clipped lawns and cookie cutter houses (with a target and meijer thrown it) and the other is fields and farms, all in one mile.

i cannot tell you the numerous times i have run on it: i've trained for cross country, i've thought deep, deep thoughts, i've survived winter blizzards and i've run there when the world seems too much for me, when i need to cry and be alone. it was mile one of my run and it welcomed me home when i was exhausted from the journey in between.

i know this road. it is as familiar to me as the breath i breath. i know exactly how long it takes for me to get from my house to the first corn field, to the house with the BIG dog, to the yellow stop sign warning sign, and down the hill to the actual stop sign. i know which pot holes are where and at what points i get tired. i can hear my footsteps on the pavement.

this road represents peace and continuity. so many times when life was out of control, it was here that i went. we all have places like this- places we call our own and flock to when nothing seems right, when we're feeling a bit claustrophobic of life. this place also represents god to me-it is my temple. it was on these runs that i would meet God, where i could clearly see what he was doing. it was here, along this road where i could begin to make sense of life, or at the very least, feel God breathing with me with each breath i took. he was telling me to keep going, to keep journeying, feeling and exploring, which was what i often needed most.

so, sixty-fourth street, here's to you. keep being, cracks and all, a peaceful road where people can unwind and have space. where people can experience a bridge from new to old, madness to peace, and chaos to God.

on my own...

there is something to be said about getting to the point where simply hiking a trail is not enough and it must be run...

i was at this point this past week after packing up four months worth of stuff into two very full bags and saying good bye to the girls who loved and supported me during this fourth months in australia. i was suddenly alone.

the familiar parts of the gold coast no longer seemed so friendly and fun when i was alone. the breathtaking beauty of new zealand wasn't as awe inspiring without friends to exclaim about it with. all the same, i found myself there- alone with a rental car and an entire island to explore.

at first i was terrified: scared of my very thoughts, scared of the silence that ran thick through the air when i could not stand one more commercial on the lone radio station. i decided to be overly responsible and drive with both hands on the steering wheel, only stop at pull offs, and no singing out loud lest people think i was crazy. never mind the fact that no one can hear through a car door anyway and the south island does not even have enough people to hear me shouting at the top of my lungs.

i respected these rules for the first few days or so while i drove like a maniac trying to do and see it all. i quickly realized, though, that all the rules i had implemented were simply making me crazy and making me count down the days until i went home. by the third day, rules (and itineraries) went out the window. i drove where i wanted, sang out loud with the windows down, and pulled off the road whenever i saw a photo opp. i'm sure people were frusterated with my touristy driving and would pass me all the time, but i did not care. now, this is not the most sane and reasonable way to see a country, but it worked for me.

that's about the time this running down the trail thing happened. i had hiked (or tramped as they say) so many tracks wandering along, appreciating the view and being a 'normal' hiker. so, when i arrived at this particular trail head, the scenary looked straight out of lord of the rings and not a soul was around. so, with nothing but my runners, some shorts and a long sleeve tee, i decided to take advantage of this opportunity.

i wanted to feel like merry. i had a always liked him the movies and wanted to know just how he felt when he ran through the forest. so, i took off running, trying to imitate his same goofy face and sense of urgency. i ran and ran, pretending to hide in bushes and worry about coming dooms. i even talked out loud in the voice he would use. and of course, sanity thrown out the window, it was the best hike of the island. simply freeing.

History...

Last weekend I went to Sydney and was absolutely captured by it. It has so much to say. I felt as I walked the streets that each building had a story, had stood the test of time and tourists and had served and continued to serve its function well. These buildings had a grace to them that nothing built in the last twenty years can compare.

Some of these buildings were the first ever in Australia, mind blowing. I did a report on Francis Greenway, the first architect of Australia and so have some sort of historical perspective on this, and to see these ornate and intricate buildings still standing, just blew my mind. It seemed as each had its own story and part to play amongst the varied landscape.

I think this is precisely why I love downtown Grand Rapids. Each building has its own unique story and could tell of events from the 1930's, but still stands today with its own little quirks and nooks, not shiny and perfect, but beautiful just the same. Each building has spaces and parts that seem unnecessary today, but which made perfect and logical sense for the purpose built.

Maybe I like these buildings because I can relate. I'm not new (yes, I'm not that old, but two decades have given me enough to realize that I'm aging) and I have my own little quirks and personality. There is nothing about me that is all shiny and perfect, and I think I like it that way. I hope that, like old buildings, people can see that I have lived for some time and that time has made me who I am.

I am living on the Gold Coast. It is a lovely place, but was built mainly in the last 30 years or so. When my friends and I go out, its to a coffee shop with new machines and counters, with unwobbly tables and plastic chairs. When we ride bikes to the beach, its past very square and modern houses. Everything is new and polished, there is nothing that has any sort of history, which makes things lose some of their appeal. I mean, every building is modern and perfect (except for my apartment it seems) and has no cracked walls or history. It has a quite 'plasiky', consumerist feel and maybe that is because it was built for tourists.

So, here's to us who have history. Those of us who have ups and downs in relationships, who have parts of history that like that cracked door out back, we prefer to hide. We have flaws and things that aren't quite right. Yes, we're not perfect, but we have depth and character and feelings. We were made not just to last for today, but for eternity, which is the ultimate meaning of history.

Let me count the ways...

To my brother, a dear quantifier.

I'm realizing more and more that I am a quantifier. I like life that can be summed up in numbers and terms, additions and subtractions, yes and no. But, life isn't like that.

I love tests. I get so much satisfaction from filling in bubbles that match with numbers that answer questions. So systematic. So much logic. Papers, on the other hand, drive me nuts. There is no right or wrong answers, just words and paragraphs to wade through, to contemplate, to think about. There isn't one magic letter or number to circle, but rather a story to struggle through, viewpoints to consider. There is nothing quantifiable about papers. They take thought and imagination, and frankly a lot more work.

We quantify things all the time. We have reduced our bodies to calories and cells. No longer do we consider what we're actually putting into our bodies, we worry about how many calories or grams of this or that our food contains. We are so much more than cells and calories, we are imaginative, alive, and brilliant. Our souls are connected to this, our minds are in tune to our bodies. Our bodies cannot be quantified to something simplistic like that.

We quantify experiences to dollars and cents. Instead of truly enjoying the ride and journey, we worry about how many dollars this cost or how many hours of work was needed for it. It is easier to rationalize things this way. It seems easier to keep track of things that way, somehow a way to be responsible. I'm learning that this way is not the way, it creates fear and worry and leaves no room for generosity and love.

We like to know answers. We like concrete concepts and rules, but often this just isn't the case. Daily I am being taught that life cannot be quantified. In order to live fully, we must accept that there often is no black or white, but rather a grey worth considering and wrestling with. We have to be ok with that. God did not call us to a black and white life, in fact I think he loves ambiguity, the not knowing. It is what makes us trust him.

So, today I will live qualitatively. I will think about issues in regards to long answers. I will talk to people and not see them as having one position or another, but having a position that may have valid points, even if it is not mine. I will be ok with not knowing. Today, I will not simply be content with filling in bubbles, but will write an inconclusive essay, a poem up for interpretation.

a page turned...

This is officially the first time I've "blogged". Funny.

In my journey through Australia, I feel like I've turned a page. The first two months were a time of discovery, learning, and just acclimating myself to a new place. I'm sure people looked at me as the tourist, the dumb American, and I'm positive I was ripped off. All a part of the journey.

This first season of the journey was summer. Everything had a glow to it, a sense of newness and warmth. It was like summer camp as a kid, figuring out who will be a good friend, HOW to be a good friend, where everything is located, if I fit in here or there and what I want to spend my time doing (study or go to the beach?, which usually ended up being a combo "why, i'll study at the beach!). I pranced around like a tourist, photographing every moment until I retreated at night to my beach resort type home, decorated in pastels with pictures from the 1980's. It was all quite romantic.

I had taken a two month holiday which meant that I didn't work, think, or do much of anything but beach, run, and hang out. I realize that this was a needed and good time. I was able to enjoy myself, my friends, and this magnificent place that I'm in. But, well lets face it, I'm not very good at relaxing.

Now, fall has arrived. Fall is my favorite season, by far. It still has the playfulness of summer in it, hints of summer nights here and there, but there is a depth to it that summer just can't compete with. Fall brings about change and reflection and a deep energy from the soul.

This season is good for me. I've begun to think about what an amazing opportunity it is that I have here. I've begun to reflect on who I am when all that I know is completely removed from me. I realize the survival techniques that I cling to when I am uncertain of the future and what I do to relieve mild panic attacks.

Fall brings about a familiarity, a routine. Routine is good for me. In fact, I love routine. I will never claim to have a routine here, I don't know if that exists, but I am beginning to explore the deeper things of where I am. I'm beginning to explore myself, which is not an easy task. I'm realizing how connected everything is. There is no body, soul, and mind separate from each other, but rather they are all intricately connected, so when one is not right, they all suffer.

I've taken time to reflect on my journey so far, and I've come to this: I am blessed. I am blessed to have parents who were willing to risk sending their only daughter across the world. I am blessed to have connections to friends and family that wouldn't have been possible even 3 years ago. I am blessed to be living among some of the most generous people in the world. And I am blessed to have a God who is constantly beside me, telling me "No worries" (he's become Australian) when I get scared and encouraging to think outside of myself.

So, to leave you with this:

"Nothing is more practical than finding God, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you're in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evening, how you will spend your weekends, what you read, whom you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything."

Fr. Pedro Arrupe, S.J.