Waters

A happy, burbling stream ran through the middle of her forrest. She always referred to it was "her" forrest, although at a scant eight years of age, one could hardly expect her to actually own it. But eight year olds know the delight of possession as well as eighty year olds, perhaps even better, and she gloried in "her" woods.

The stream was a favorite haunt. It's happiness, sparkling clarity and cool ripples made the little girl glad as she built dams and bridges over and around it, she skipped rocks, waded, hunted up crawdads, and was all in all enamored with her little stream. Anyone would be. It was peaceful. Clean. Refreshing.

One day this little lady decided that her normal boundaries for playing in the stream were too confined. So, amply armed with her picnic bastket full of sandwiches and a stout stick and little candle she had grown rather fond of because of their useful nature, our little heroine set off.

For a while the stream was as it had been in her back yard- bubbling, sparkling. But then it began to change...

At first the difference was so subtle that the little girl hardly noticed it. But suddenly it became clear to her that something had changed. The water was murkier, she could no longer see her feet plodding along the stream bed. Occasionally she would stumble and fall right into a huge, unseen hole on the floor of the stream.

Everything was still pretty, but not as much. There was a slight mood change in the water that started to frighten her. The water no longer laughed. It sulked along its way, sometimes hurying and rushing over large, dark objects- hidden by its murky flow.

The little girl was no coward. She pressed on, though now and again her heart stopped out of fear. The way was growing darker. Thick, heavy trees pressed down in an unfriendly way about her. The air was heavy with a pungent, thick odor that made her sick.

Turning around the bend she was confronted by a little cave. Lighting her tiny candle, she ventured in... The stream kept running, forming the floor of the dank, dark hole.

"Why it's not very big!" She exclaimed. Her voice sounded funny, and she whispered her next line, "Surely my stream must stop here. There's no where else for it to go..." But her sentence trailed off in disbelief as she rounded another turn and looked before her. In the faint, tottering light of her candle she saw her little brook join a huge black stream. Black and cavernous, it filled the floor of a vast, hich chamber whose walls were coated with black slime and vermin. Various channels of this rushing river broke off and disappeared into other tunnels, some large, some small. Some fell down huge water falls, others squeezed through tight places. But even with her faint light she could tell that her little river extended far beyond the scope of her imagination, into worlds that were dark, black and impenetrable to her. Only her little candle made it easy for her to see the filth and grime around her.

"Oh! I had no idea it was so big!" Slowly she moved across the huge stream- candle held high, her staff anchoring her. As she moved about the cavern, she began to do a strange thing. She reached up as high as she could and began rubbing away at the black coating on the walls. She worked slowly, occasionally growing discourages, but never stopping. She move from room to room, chamber to chamber trying to make her river, "a happy, clean river."

To this day, that little girl is still there, patiently cleaning, sometimes crying, often despairing. But her little light shows her where to go and what to clean. It sees areas that she can't. And by her side is her faithful walking stick- always there steady, to reassure, to offer support. And so she continues- slowly making "her" river a cleaner river.

The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? (Jer. 17:9)

The purposes of a man's heart are deep waters. (Prov. 20:5)

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path. (Psalm 119:105)

Girly-Girl Apology

I am a girly-girl. The following story proves it once again:

Tuesday my car broke down, so Wednesday morning I had to catch a ride to work with Nate Hornbrook and my brother. No biggie except that their work starts an hour before mine. So I packed up all my beautifying items and decided to get ready in a Purdue Memorial Union bathroom. (The place is almost deserted in the summer.) I did so, and then headed to work.

Worked diligently all morning, pausing only when a blonde, skinny girl wheeled an old cart into the office.

"I heard there were some package here for me to pick up." She was wearing boys' athletic shorts and an old t-shirt- both of which were liberally splattered with paint. I was wearing a long flowy skirt with a ruffled hem and a lace blouse.

"Oh yes!" I said. "There's one over here, and then there's one under the desk. It was so heavy I couldn't move it."

At this point I became aware of the fact that my hair was down and curled, and her hair was pulled back into an economical pony tail. I was wearing make-up. She was not. And she was looking at my as though I was a strange creature.

She went over to the first box and hoisted it with ease. Then she went over to the "heavy" box. She had to strain a little, but she lifted it and set it fairly easily on her cart. This feat caused her to look at me in derisive amusement before exiting the office.

I felt like a girl.

However, my interaction with this certain damsel was not over. I came back from my lunch break early. I was bored. I changed out of my exercise clothes and into my frills once again, and then (because it was so humid and my hair was resembling a haystack) I whipped out my curling iron (which I had brought for that morning) and began to control my wild locks. Just as I started, "package girl" entered the bathroom. She gave me a look of incredulous scorn.

As she was washing her hands I ventured to strike up a conversation (you know, be friendly!) "This humidity is awful!"
"Hmmm, yeah." she answered. She couldn't really understand. Her hair was completely smooth and straight despite the 90% humidity. "Do you have an interview or something?"
"Oh, no." I replied. "I just have to work the rest of the afternoon and I feel so much better when my hair looks nice." After that comment there was no chance of ever renewing a conversation. She snorted, looked at me in scorn, and walked out the the bathroom.

Later that afternoon she came into the bathroom at the same time I did. But I darted out of my stall before her, washed my hands in a mad rush, and whirled out the bathroom before she exited her stall. There was NO WAY I was going to endure any more derogatory stares in my general, frilly direction.

I am such a girl. And I look like it.

I apologize...

(but not really... I kinda like it!)

The Basics

I have this insane desire to lie and make this blog entry more entertaining than it is currently promising to be. But I'm not a very good liar. I have a tendency to let my imagination run away with me, as a result, no one in their right mind would ever believe my fabricated story. So, as a bad liar, I must content myself with telling the boring truth. I shall stick to the basics. However, rest assured that no matter how boring my life may seem to you- I'm enjoying it quite well, thank you very much.

Friday was a hoop-lah at Jason's for Matt Crabtree's birthday. Jason has those speakers that I've always heard about, but never really knew existed- you know, those speakers that move and thud in and out while the music is playing. It was quite exciting. Liz Deckard taught me how to salsa and Leah tried to show me how to "rap dance", but, as Amanda said- I am "soooooo white." It was great fun, although Jason does insist on spraying lighter fluid onto his fire despite all obvious warnings that common sense might indicate. However, Dan Fox was there to protest in a very fatherly way and so felt that I really didn't need to fill that position. (Some people are born dads. Dan is one of them.)

Saturday I worked. If it hadn't been for the 4th of July weekend, I might believe that I was now incapable of sleeping in. (I'm up every morning at, or before 7 a.m.) However, that weekend sufficed to show me that I still possessed that art. Unfortunately I will probably not be able to practice it until the week before school starts... Saturday night the whole fam drove up to Monticello and watched "Pirates of the Carribean" and "Cars." We didn't get home until 3 in the morning. It was great. I didn't know that my parents could stay up that late... You should have heard my father during "Cars"- he haw-hawed with the best of them.

Sunday morning- just a leetle bit of difficulty getting up after a late night. But it was Sunday, and Alex's birthday, so we all rose and shone with a good will. I was sick almost all day, so spent it napping, but in the evening the Wickerts came over and we all made smoothies and ate chocolate-chocolate chip cake with chocolate icing and chocolate sprinkles. Our mother raised her children well. We love chocolate.

Monday I worked about 13 hours total so there's not much to tell about that day. And now it's Tuesday. I'm happy because today is only an 8 hour day. Whoo-hoo! Tonight, if it stops raining, I shall clean out the car. And go to bed early. Whew- this 8-5 thing is making an old woman of me...

So, that's it. Those are the basics.

Pics from the Summer

BAPTIST BEACH BASH OF 2006!!!! Whoo-hoo! This was the greatest 4th of July- EVER. All ten of us had a great time- sleeping until noon, laying around on the beach, oohing and ahing over the fireworks. Notice the "tumultuous" surf in the background- Lake Michigan was like an ocean without salt. Yes, I was the whitest person there, and no, I did not burn.

Taste of Chicago! Whoo-hoo Chicago tastes GOOD. I tried alligator, goat, and my first steak sandwich. Cheesecake and dark chocolate covered strawberries finished off the greatest walking gourmet picnic known to man. (From left to right) Josh: Chris's best friend, Bethany: my long lost buddy from elementary school and now an interest of Josh's, Me, Chris: also referred to as "my honey" whenever I want to make my sister gag.

More Chicago- it was a sweltering day. My hair got absolutely enormous, and I did the whole sweaty/gross thing. But it was lots of fun. Chicago is one of my favorite cities. Too bad my dream apartment there costs about 4 million dollars... I tried to make Chris promise to give me one, but he wouldn't. I think he thought I was joking... I also tried to get a light house later that weekend, and even though I told him EXACTLY what to say ("Yes, Courtney, I will buy you a lighthouse.") He didn't say it with much conviction.

There was another pic of the fam, but it has disapeared. I can't find it. Bummer. It was adorable. Very wacky. My fam is about the greatest one going. I have had a blast since I have moved back in. Can't wait for next year when I'm living there 24/7.

So, those are just some random pictures. Nothing special, nothing spectacular, but definitely representative of my greatest summer ever. I have never had so much fun with my summer. The break is great. Friends and family are super-fabulous. Life is incredible!

w00t-w00t!!!

Only Today

She put out a shaking hand into the darkness. "'You, O LORD, keep my lamp burning; my God turns my darkness into light.'" Her mouth was dry as she said the words again. Nothing seemed to move around her. The darkness pressed in. Unable to see her hands in front of her face her movements became clumsy. So dark... like night...

But it was 3 in the afternoon.

The tumor had been there for years. It didn't seem serious. Why remove it? She lived a happy, caotic childhood, and had been the "beauty" at college. Playful, intense, driven- life was a golden road for her to walk on, and she ran. Nothing spectacular happened to her. She was not destined to be known around the world, but happiness came to her, and that, in and of itself, is spectacular.

She married- a tall dark, serious boy who became her anchor while she became his sunshine. Life was generous. Two little boys, a third on the way. And then this.

The tumor was an amaloid tumor- so rare that only a select few doctors knew about treatment and even they were just experimenting- random guessing- hoping that something might be done, but not sure what.

The little baby inside of her could not withstand chemotherapy.

She loved her baby. She refused chemo.

Each day was lived quietly, normally, without a fight. Her boys were taken to the park. Dinner was served. Laundry done. Family visited. No fuss, no fear. Just one day at a time. Only today.

She may not have tomorrow.
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We fall into the habit of saying, "Well, I'll just do it tomorrow." and "Maybe another day..." But life is not created like that. You are not guaranteed tomorrow.

I don't like preaching, and it's an age-old adage: "You do not know what a day shall bring forth." But occasionally reality interupts our triteness and displays the truth.

We are a vapor.

Our lives are brief.

Eternity is approaching.

You may not have tomorrow.

Show me, O LORD, my life's end and the number of my days; let me know how fleeting is my life. You have made my days a mere handbreadth; the span of my years is as nothing before you. Each man's life is but a breath. (Psalm 39:4,5)

Frivolous Randomness

I have just spent the past two hours pouring my creativity into various e-mails. If you don't have one in your inbox- don't worry. You probably will tomorrow. I love writing e-mails. It is my firm conviction that the art of correspondence is dieing out and that cell phones and e-mail are killing it. A hundred years ago people used to write copious amounts. Being a good letter writer was something to be known for. And people tried to be interesting and imbibe some of their own personality into their letters. But now we simply call each other and blurt out a line or two, and then hang up. Or we write 3 line e-mails lacking in personality. I don't like that. I tend to ramble in my newsy e-mails. I hope they're entertaining to read, perhaps not, but I try... However, as a result of my earnest endeavour to create interesting e-mails, this blog entry may be rather dry. My meagre amount of creativity has been sucked up. I'm not going to apologize. That takes too much creativity.

This weekend was great- one long party. Friday night Mom and I watched the 6 hour "Pride and Prejudice" for the umpteenth time. Saturday was shopping with the siblings. Sunday was church and "The Taste of Chicago" with my honey and some friends (fun, fun!), then Monday and Tuesday were two beach-filled days at Mike's house. I didn't even get burnt, just a little crisped. And I got to wear my new bathing suit, which is always an adventure. Now it's Wednesday and I'm back at "work" slightly more tired and sunburnded than I was on Friday.

I've decided that being bored is not good for me. I get horribly insane urges. Today I want gumdrops. You know, those ones we always used to eat as kids that were generic and covered in sugar? Yup. I want some. That's an okay urge. I can't really satisfy it, and it doesn't have any dangerous qualities. But then there are others- such as parasailing, building an entire lego town, and lawn mowing, which are not normal to me. I've started wondering things such as, "Perhaps I'm schizophrenic and I just don't know it. Perhaps I have other personalities and lives that I just don't know about..." and "Would I really be killed if I stuck my finger in a light socket?" Some are amusing- such as my desire to clean stainless-steel appliances, while others are scary- like wondering what it would be like to be hit by a bus, still others are rather random... does "Fiji water" really come from Fiji? And who came up with the name "Fiji"?

Yes, being bored is bad for me...

Okay. I need a little help. Advice. Whatever. Suppose there was this person that you really liked talking to. You like that person. However, that person has a tendency to be nervous when with you, and talking is very difficult. You try the whole "chit-chat" thing, but are well aware that that person doesn't really like chit-chat, or doesn't know how to do it. So- here's your dilemma: you want to talk, but doing so always seems stilted. The other person is quietly embarassed, yet also wants to get to know you. What do you do? Keep talking? Shut up? Talk occasionally? Voice frustration? Building friendships is HARD! Whew.

It's gorgeous out today. No humidity. Perfect. I think I shall go for a run tonight...

Okay. This is one of my random blog-entries.

I feel as though today has not been lived in vain. I have succeeded in filling the world with still more superfluous nonsense. Yesssssss!