A new era of things lost and found

In my downtime during this Christmas break, and last summer, and last Christmas break, I have discovered a Pinteresting person inside me. Yes. Yes, I am that girl. I make stuff. And I want to show you the stuff I make. Whoooo, look at me be all artsy and.... and.... yeah! Buttons! Sponge art! Paper mache!

Ahem.

To the point, there is another part of me that loses things--I lose safety pins, and scrapbook paper, and whole barrels of beads and buttons. But I also find things. I find new things to make, easier ways to make old things, and rediscover love of certain crafts--like salt dough!

I'm not going to devote hours to showing you how to do things, at least I'm not that crazy yet, but I am going to put up pictures of my creations. If you're a TRUE creative person (like myself) you won't need directions. You'll look at it and say, "Psh, I can make that with my eyes closed." And I'll say, "You go, girl!" (or guy) because that's what it's all about. Artists steal each other's ideas all the time. So feel free to take my ideas and personalize them.

Here is my first example: Christmas Tag Banner/Garland

For this project I used:
-Red, green & white cardstock
-Rubber stamps (Note: ALL of my stamps come from the "value" section of craft stores. None of them cost more than $1.50.) Different stamps: "V" monogram, "be happy", bird, snowflake, various letters.
-Red, green, white and silver ink pads
-Craft paper punches (heart puch, fleur-de-lis punch)
-Approx. 6 yards (3 yards doubled over) of "hemp" craft twine
-Small-scallop craft scissors

This is the first of many crafty posts, I hope. I'll put more up soon, since I just made a bunch of shabby-chic Christmas ornaments yesterday.

The creative spirit runs free again

Some of you might be wondering, where have I been for the last several months? I know, I know--only 15 people "follow" my blog, and who could say if they actually read it? Nevertheless, there might be someone out there begging the universe to tell me of my whereabouts.

It would be simplest to say, "I've been student teaching," but it would not be an honest answer nor would it be simple because, of course, such an occupation hides a multitude of other situations and events which are probably all worthy of my blog and should be justified by having me write of them. So, to begin.

I have been reading books, such as:
Children of the River
An Ocean Apart, a World Away
The Breadwinner
Shabanu
Stepping on the Cracks
The View from Saturday

I have been designing creative, artistic writing lessons, which often include drawing.
I have been slowly re-learning everything there is to know about grammar. Like prepositions, fragmented sentences, and compound subjects--just to name a few.
I have been making friends with 94 sixth-graders, and a handful of teachers who love middle schoolers just as much as I do--or at least almost as much as I do.

In addition to all of that I have been sleeping very little and doing a lot of walking, talking, classroom-managing, field tripping, and grading. It's been an exhausting, exasperating, exhilarating adventure.

And now it's time to adjourn from this phase of my life, and move on to a more peaceful time. For now. In addition to that, I would also like to move my blog in another direction. See the next entry to discover what I mean by that statement. :)

So long sweet summer

I wonder how many times in the last ten years of my life I have pondered over that line, those lyrics, and sung them in my head, and gotten lost in the song like it was the summer of 2002 all over again.

"So long sweet summer. I fell into you, now you're gracefully falling away."

I know it's not cool to listen to Dashboard Confessional anymore, but I liked them before they were cool, and I'll keep liking them for a while, probably. It's just such a perfect song, which, regardless of how your summer went, always seems to capture the majority of what I'm feeling.

I spent my summer as a stay at home wife. I made candles and washed dishes and decorated the walls. I read too many books to count. I went to the beach and felt totally at peace, and got a sunburn. I procrastinated and slept in and played video games like a boy. I worried about my husband and about money and about being sick and about money some more and about relationships. I thought deeply about student teaching, but did not worry, for some reason.

And two weeks from today (today still being Wednesday) I'll be starting student teaching. It's not in the city I wanted, not with the age group I wanted, but I am hoping it will be a good experience. I am hoping that I can spare the money to get enough "teacher" clothes to wear 5 days a week for three months. (I will miss you, blue jeans.) I am hoping that I remember all the important stuff and forget about prejudices against sixth graders. Maybe.

And I'm hoping that the next few weeks can give me what I need. I hope I get enough sleep and feel at peace when it's over, peace that it IS over, and peace that it will someday come again. I hope that I can go to the beach early in the morning, one more time. I hope that I can do all the crafty things on my list and finish one more book and have time to get all those "teacher" clothes I am dreading.

But most importantly, I hope I find some secret grain of wisdom in the next few months, with an age group I didn't ask for, in a city I didn't ask for, just side-effects of the adventure I asked for.

If the walls of this room could talk... would they lie?

A partial quote from a favorite song by Ryan Adams is being used this week, because Ryan Adams is the the voice in my head when no one else is around. Not because the voice of God is elusive or that I favor Ryan Adams' voice over the voices of people in my life, but because I've spent so many years listening to his music in solitude that it has become habitual.

I have been trying to find a decent way to say what must be said without causing alarm for anyone. But there's also a part of me that loves being dramatic, loves to cause alarm, only to crush the feeling of shock with something anticlimactic and dull. So here it is: Joey and I are spending the week apart, at least until Thursday. Because we're having a huge fight!

Not really. More accurately, moving to Waukegan has squandered what little money we had to begin with. That, in addition to Joey having less hours at both jobs this last week, and the continual need to put gas in the car because both job are now a half hour from home, have contributed to the need to not spend any money until Friday. Joey will be staying with a friend back on campus, and will be here at the apartment--without the car, all alone, listening to Ryan Adams.

The only thing that makes this tolerable is that before marriage Joey and I spent most of our relationship apart. And I really mean most of our time, and I really mean very far apart. We're talking 2200 miles while I was at school for nine months of the year (for two years), and 70 miles while I was at home. [So to all of you people who complain that your sweetheart lives thirty minutes away or that you only get to see each other on the weekends, please shut up. Unless they live in another country, or they don't believe in e-mail/phone/etc. communication, you have no space for complaints.]

It will not be entirely difficult to get back into the routine of talking on the phone. And this is not the first time we've been apart since we've been married. Last August I was on a leadership retreat and was gone for a few days. But this will be the first time I will have to sleep in our bed by myself--although it is a wonderously comfortable bed. The other night, while mostly asleep, I described it as being made of "clouds, marshmallows, and angel wings." And it's just a mattress on the floor. No box spring. No bed frame. (though I wish we had both, because all normal adults do.)


So now, I get to do what I've wanted to do all year, and that's be a housewife. I will continue unpacking, there are only a few boxes left. I will hang things on walls and wash dishes and bake cookies and... maybe I'll even sew something. And I will miss my dear husband, all day, every day, until he comes home.

In transition

I'm about to head out the door, for a second drive up to Waukegan with a car full of boxes. Having just barely made the rent an deposit, I became depressed and didn't pack as much as necessary this last week. So we did a lot of it today, and yesterday. The furniture will be moved on Tuesday. Everything else will trickle up there in the car, box by box, bag by bag, until this apartment is empty and the new one is full and waiting to be transformed into "home."

The process has been painful. The anxiety I thought I could leave behind for the summer practically flung itself back upon me. It's been hard to sleep an hard to eat and therefore also hard to stay awake when I have things to do that require... well, awakeness, and energy. Four separate times we found a place to live and began the process and then the plan got shot down. We wasted a whole month, getting run around in circles by a little old lady with an apartment on her property. And we looked at a place with bugs in it on the third floor of a creepy building, with rickety stairs. We looked at two places with a potential roommate, and then that also fell through. (It wasn't an upsetting experience, and there are no hard feelings, but it did mean we had to start over.) My trust in God has been such a rollercoaster over the last few months. We found something good and then it was taken away, and that happened FOUR times in less than two months.

You always know that if God takes something away, he has something better in mind in the future. But God also lets people become homeless. He lets their spouses die. Bad things happen to good people, bad things happen to those whom God loves. That was my fear: that God wanted to teach me something through loss, and that's why we couldn't find a place to live.

Thankfully, that isn't how it happened. Instead, I had to let go of some pride, as did my husband, and we had to ask for help from friends. Like knowing that God has a plan, you also know that God gives you friends for a reason. Not just because they're fun to be around, not just because they give us joy, but because sometimes they actually represent God's provision and grace in a tangible way.

The car is almost full. I have to carry down my picnic basket full of tea things. After dropping this stuff off at the apartment we're going to get some last-minute anniversary things, and tomorrow I will have been married for a whole year. Insert mushy comments here.

Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place

Less than three weeks from today I will be living in a new apartment, in a new city, with new bills to pay and new people to meet. Strange as it may seem, this is as close to the real world as I have ever gotten. Living on Trinity's campus isn't exactly like living in a safe bubble--not nearly as much as people think, especially if you rent an apartment. But, it's all I've known. I have always lived with my parents or on campus. This is the first time I'm living somewhere that isn't either of those things.

It's a rattling feeling. I'm excited, but I'm also a little scared. I can't wait to move all of our stuff out of here and into the new place, and at the same time I am avoiding packing. I don't know what to pack first. I'm afraid I'll put something at the bottom of a box and I'll need it tomorrow. I'm afraid I'll put something fragile in a box, and that one box will somehow manage to fall apart and break everything inside. Also.... I really just don't know where to start.

When I sat down today and realized for the billionth time since we got approved yesterday that yes, we are moving, a song came to mind. 'Anatevka' from Fiddler on the Roof. It decently sums up my feelings at the moment. I am happy to be leaving, happy about the situation, but living on campus has been wonderful. I have loved being close to all my friends that are still on campus, and have loved going to classes. Now that I'm leaving, and I'll be student teaching this fall, everything will be different. It's just a little bittersweet..


Anatevka
A little bit of this, a little bit of that.
A pot, a pan, a broom, a hat.

Someone should have set a match to this place years ago.
A bench, a tree.
So, what's a stove? Or a house?
People who pass through Anatevka don't even know they've been here.
A stick of wood. A piece of cloth.

What do we leave? Nothing much.
Only Anatevka.

Anatevka, Anatevka.
Underfed, overworked Anatevka.
Where else could Sabbath be so sweet?
Anatevka, Anatevka.
Intimate, obstinate Anatevka,
Where I know everyone I meet.

Soon I'll be a stranger in a strange new place,
Searching for an old familiar face
From Anatevka.

I belong in Anatevka,
Tumble-down, work-a-day Anatevka.
Dear little village, little town of mine

On suffering

You know when you're experiencing something really painful, really difficult, really challenging, really heartbreaking, someone always says, "Well, it could be worse." They say, "At least it's not cancer" or "at least you look good" or "at least it's only temporary." And you agree. You accept that you don't have too much to be upset about, you accept that you have been deeply blessed, or that you had least have it pretty good. You never wish that it was worse just so you would have a reason to complain.

But I do.

See, like most women, I hide a lot. For clarification: I hide things, thoughts, feelings, from the world. I keep them to myself. I do not ask for help. I do not express my pain. Lately, I haven't even written these hurts down in my "regular" journal.

Now, I'm also unlike most women, in that I'm not afraid to ask for help. I say what I need, I am very specific, and if someone tries to tell me that what I need is not correct, I usually ignore them. I may not be old and wise but I know most of my own needs and I do not appreciate well-meaning older people telling me otherwise. This is not because I'm stubborn, because I am controlling, because I am whiny, because I am pushy. (Although I possess all of those qualities to some degree.) This is because I have learned the value of both independence, and dependence. I have spent years depending on only myself (internally), and as a married woman I have learned to force myself to depend on someone else--not for everything, but in the right times and places. I have learned to submit to someone else doing what's best for me. I have learned to just say what it is that will help me the most, instead of hoping that someone will telepathically see what it is I need and magically fulfill it.

This has been a process. Don't hate the process. There is nothing wrong with just saying what you need.

The problem is when people actually try to fill that need with something else. I want to give examples, but I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, so I will make something up. Here. I'll tell you a story.

We see a girl in college, and she wants to go home for the weekend to surprise her mom for her birthday. She just doesn't have enough money for the train ticket. She is paying her own way through college for the most part, and will end up paying back her own student loans, so the $50 round-trip train fare is just not in her budget. The girl calls her aunt (her mother's older sister) and tells her the plan, and asks if she can help her with the train ticket. The aunt gently says that she cannot afford the ticket either, something about living on a limited income. The girl sits at school all weekend feeling sad. She mails her mom a handmade card, and calls her on the day of her birthday, wishing the whole time she could be at home. A few days later she receives flowers at her school's post office--they are from her Aunt. The flowers are inexpensive carnations. The card reads: "Sorry I couldn't help, dear. I have been thinking of you and your mom all weekend. Hope these make you smile!" The girl wonders why her aunt could not have offered to send the flowers to her mom, and say they were from her. The girl wonders how she could afford to have flowers delivered, an expense of at least $30, which could have covered more than half her train ticket. She doesn't ask her aunt, so as not to offend her, and writes a simple card thanking her for the flowers, just to be polite.

It feels like that. What I get in response to my needs, it feels like that every time. It feels like someone sees my need, listens to what I say, and then they spend time and energy giving me something I don't even want, let alone need! They replace what I need with some nicety, some Sunday-school answer, some sugary advice, some platitude, some proverb, some meaningless favor. It feels like this every. single. time.

So let me explain why I wish it was worse. Why would I ever wish something more painful upon myself, why would I want more hurt and struggle?

Because people see it. For the girl in college, wanting to go home for her mom's birthday wasn't a big enough need. Nobody thought it was that important. It was sweet, but not important. If her mother was dying, it would be a different story. If the girl needed to get home for a relative's wedding or getting her braces off or updating her driver's license, it would be a different story. Someone would fill the need.

In this same way, my needs are also unseen, and unimportant. I need to move into a new apartment? "That's easy, look at this website." I'm sick and don't know what's wrong? "Go to a doctor, they'll help!" I'm having a bad day, and would really like some encouraging words from a friend? "Here, -insert overused Bible verse looked up on some Bible site-. Smiley face."

My needs are not important enough for anything that requires effort. I can handle it myself, as long as you keep giving me advice.

At least that's what you think. That's what you see. That's what happens on the never-ending merry-go-round of Facebook. I express a feeling, I get tawdry advice in return. I express some happiness, I get questions and cynicism. I express a deep need, and I get more advice and more cynicism and nothing useful.

Although, the problem really isn't in other people. Not all of them. I know the people I have befriended on Facebook. Most of them are loving and kind, patient and gracious, and generous--to the right person, with the right need. I have struggled with health issues all year and there are only a few responses. 1. "You should see a doctor!" Because, you know, I've never been to one. I had no idea that seeing a doctor could help with sickness. Thanks for telling me, if you hadn't said that I would just sit here feeling so confused! The other response: "Maybe you're pregnant!" Let me tell you, here, on the big scary internet, that NO. I am not. It's actually unlikely that I will EVER be pregnant. I have put that in God's hands, but you have no idea how much it hurts me every time someone asks that just because I am feeling sick.

And that is just one struggle. That is one reality that has been sitting with me since I was 17 years old and every time it's mentioned (unless I bring it up myself) it's like someone jabbing you in the ribs and saying, "Nyah, nyah, you'll never get the thing you want! Remember that? Remember how much it hurts? Neener neener!"

I feel like if people knew just a third of what actually happened in the last year they would stop giving me useless advice. If people could see my heart, and how tired it is, after everything that I've been through just in the last few months even, they would probably nag me a little less about responsibility and maturity. THE WORLD sets the standard for success, the standard for health, the standard for maturity and responsibility. But GOD sets the standard for the health of my spirit, the standard for the passion in my heart, the standard for how much I trust Him. God sets the real standards. The ones that matter.

So maybe the next time I request prayer about something, just tell me you're praying. That's what I need. When we're sitting down together, face-to-face, you can tell me a funny story about how my needs relate to yours. Or tell me something like not believing in prayer. Don't mess with me, don't tell me stories. Just pray. Or don't.

And maybe the next time I say how exhausted I am, how high my fever is, you'll tell me to feel better instead of playing a guessing game of "What's wrong with Katie?" or recommending some treatment (or telling me to go see a doctor), or asking if I'm pregnant. When you are in the room with me, with my body THEN you can tell me what you think is wrong.

Maybe the next time I am hurting, and express that hurt, you'll remember that this is the surface. There is deep pain beneath it. Maybe you'll remember that whatever I say on Facebook is just a tiny piece of reality, that whatever I say I need, it doesn't even express half of what I really need.

And if you can't meet the need, don't replace it with something else--other than prayer. If you can't buy the train ticket, don't send me flowers.



PS. No, I'm not going to actually tell you (the internet) what's going on. That would hurt. A lot. And would cause more drama than anything else. The end.