300

As dorky as it may sound, I hate essay questions that limit the amount of words you can respond in. I understand that admissions boards across the U.S. don't have time to read a novel written by each and every student who wants to attend their school, but sometimes (again, as dorky as it may sound) I dream about being the one small exception to this word count rule and write endlessly about every reason why I want to attend said school and every step in life that has led me to that decision.

I need to get better dreams.

In one particular application for an art school (one I'm still hoping to hear from), I was asked when it was I first got involved in the arts and why it was I wanted to pursue a degree in art. Excited to answer yet disappointed about my maximum 300 word limit, I tried to figure out how to fit a lifetime love of art and an unceasing desire to express my creativity into one small paragraph.

Unsatisfied with any and everything that I wrote because I felt like I couldn't fully express how I felt, I finally threw together the best summation I thought I was going to get out of having such a small word limit.

My answer about the when's and the why's of art and art school was as follows...


"I have loved the arts for as long as I can remember. From coloring on my bedroom wall to arranging bubblegum I stuck under my mother's coffee table to make it look like a hidden galaxy (I got in trouble for that one), I have been coloring, creating, crafting and painting ever since I was little. My love for art grew as I entered middle and high school and much to my mother's excitement I abandoned the bottom of her coffee table and discovered the canvas. Art is the one of the few things that has remained consistent in my life. No matter where I have moved, the changes I have made, the relationships I have built or sometimes lost, art has always been a constant friend allowing me to express myself through the ups and downs on this roller-coaster of life. Unfortunately, I listened to a number of voices throughout the years that said I would never be able to accomplish anything with art, so I pursued a corporate communications degree. As a college graduate, I constantly hear that I should move on and be successful in the corporate world; and while I understand the thought process behind this thinking, I can no longer continue to ignore the creative voice within me that screams to be unleashed. I would even love to learn how to incorporate my passion for art with my hard-earned communications degree. I can honestly say I don’t know what my career options are as an artist, but I so badly desire to learn and be part of a community where I am encouraged to develop the talents and gifts I know I have been given in the area of art and creativity. Art makes me feel alive and I want to start living more abundantly."

300 words exactly. To be honest, I was more impressed with making the word count than my actual answer, but I find myself satisfied nonetheless. It may not be the answer some people are looking for, but it's the truth, and that's pretty much all I've got to write about.


I'll keep you up to date as the details unfold.

pretzels with mustard

On June 2nd of this year I received an acceptance letter to the Art Institute of California in San Diego.

On Sunday, June 13th, I turned it down.

I'm still in a bit of shock.

Am I crazy? San Diego, California?

Don't get me wrong, I love Chicago, but I hate the winters. Seeing as how winter is the prominent season here lasting for about half of the year, I love Chicago about 50% of the time. With the weather warming up and the sun coming out, I have officially began my love fest with Chicago and am pleased as a pretzel covered in mustard to be living here. (That's a good thing for those of you who are wondering. I also like cream cheese on my pretzels.)

None the less... California? It's been a dream of mine to live on the coast of California for at least one, if even a short one, season of my life. None the less, I don't think it is time for that season just quite yet. I researched everything from food to churches, but mostly the cost of living, and it was at that point that I mustered up my best Italian accent and blurted out... "heeey, forget about it!"

I will get there one day, but seeing as I'm only 26 with a whole life a head of me and a lot of debt in front of me, I decided I should stay put (for now) and pay off my debt. Only when I'm debt free can I live completely care free on the coast of California.

With my lease being up in August, a decision to make about Moody, and the thought of California behind me, I recently thought it would be a great idea to add another major decision to my already full plate... I may not be going to California, but what's to stop me from going to art school (other than that four letter d-word... debt!)?

Now, before some of you go all corporate on me, hear me out...



tomorrow.

I gotta go to bed so I can wake up at an ungodly hour to serve coffee and steam milk, but no worries...

along with my internet, the blog-a-day challenge is back on!


to be continued...

without

I don't know why I've been on a seemingly never-ending hiatus from reading Scripture, but today I revisited my dear old friend I'd left sitting on a homemade bookshelf for so long and found comfort in the truths that I had long forgotten.

It's easy to take on the "I don't need to read Scripture everyday because God loves me anyway" stance, because let's face it, it's true. But what I've come to realize (time and time again) is that no matter how true that may be, no matter how deeply, madly and passionately God may love me despite all my mishaps and forgetfulness of His word, I go crazy without it.

I go crazy without relying heavily on the truth He longs for me to listen to day in and day out. I don't care what psychiatrist, therapist, nutritionist, herbalist, naturalist, whatever-ist doctor may say... NOTHING, ABSOLUTELY NOTHING sustains me like His word.

I don't know how it is that I manage to forget so often, but no matter how many times it takes me to come crawling back and beg for forgiveness, I pray that I never forget the beauty of His word and the power of redemption that is found within.

I'm not here to convince anyone of the power of Scripture. I'm here to claim it's victory in my life... time and time again. Even when it seems that all is lost, there is peace in reading God's promises.

I feel as though I'm at a crossroads at this point in my life; my future lays ahead of me and there are decisions waiting to be made. I've had the hardest time the last few weeks feeling as if I'm even capable of making such decisions. I think I may even be putting more pressure and stress on myself than is actually necessary (if any is necessary at all), but I find myself desperate for clarity.

Once again, today I wore myself out with the stress. I retreated to the only place I feel peace from the chaos of life and the stress of making decisions... sleep. I took a long nap and dreaded the thought of waking up again only to deal with the decisions that would still be there when I awoke.

Sure enough, I awoke, and there they were... staring me in the face. I left my apartment and decided to walk about the city. Once outside, I immediately hated my decision... the large crowds and all the honking began to stress me out even more. Where can I go to get quiet without having to fall asleep?

After a bit I walked back to my apartment and I pulled out my Bible. I sat on my couch dreading the decision of what I would even read. I would love to say I just opened my Bible and there before me was the very verse I was waiting to hear to solve all the answers to my "problems," but that didn't happen. In fact, I think that rarely happens, so if it doesn't often or even ever happen to you, don't feel bad.

It's not you, it's life. Some things aren't always laid before us... we have to search for them.

After not searching hard, but searching more than I thought I would have to since the clouds didn't part and the light didn't shine down on the perfect verse for me to read, I finally settled on Psalm 34.

It was (and still is if you read it) beautiful.

I pulled out a big sketch pad and began to take notes. Over and over again I not only wrote down God's promises, but I wrote down my part in receiving those promises. One of the footnotes about this particular Psalm stated "God promises great blessings to His people, but many of these blessings require active participation."

I realized that I so often want God's blessings without ever having to do anything for them. I know I don't have to earn God's love, I'm not saying that, but I am saying that if I expect to receive God's blessings, then I think I need to get off my duff and do something about it.

I so often ask God for peace, and right there in verse 14 of Psalm 34 it says "Search for peace and work to maintain it."*

Search and work...

two things I haven't been doing while expecting God to answer me.

I still have a lot of decisions ahead of me and choices to make without any real direction. I can honestly say that I didn't receive much, if any, clarity tonight, but I'm OK with that. In reading God's word I received something better than clarity, I received peace...

a peace that passes understanding...

a peace without clarity.

scholarships...

I've been looking all over for them.

The trouble is... I'm a single, white, female with no kids (and no, this is not a personal ad).

I'm not going to claim that I know more or even as much as any other race about discrimination, but I have to be honest, it would be easier for me to find a scholarship for school if I was any race but white (or for those who think I should be politically correct, Caucasian). A few of the scholarships I have found that are at least available to white women are for those who are single mothers.

Let me get this straight... in order to get help paying for school, because let's face it, I'm white and apparently all white people are rich and don't need help paying for school, I'm going to have to get pregnant.

I am so frustrated! So, just because I have tried as hard as I can to live out my morals and values, I can't get money for school? And I'm not even saying that my morals and values are the right morals and values by which everyone should live, I'm just saying that I have morals and values that are important to me and I shouldn't be discriminated against for having them. And just because my skin is white and English is my first language, I can't get money for school... in America?

I hate discrimination. I hate it. And I realize that being a English speaking, white woman this is a touchy subject for me write about because what do I know, right? But let me (or Dictionary.com, rather) define discrimination:

Discrimination: treatment or consideration of, or making a distinction in favor of or against, a person or thing based on the group, class, or category to which that person or thing belongs rather than on individual merit.


With that definition in mind, please know that I am not speaking against those of another race or those who are single mothers. I have friends whom I deeply love, some of which are single mothers, and some of which are a different race, who want to go back to school and I am absolutely in full support of them getting scholarship money to do so, not because they are a minority, but because they are individually gifted beyond belief.

I am just saying, just as I would say to my friends, that I too want a fair shot at scholarship money... not because I'm white, but because I know I have talent, and I know I could go far with it if given the chance.



I just want the chance... simply based on individual merit.

remember cici? (part 2)

Sunday, August 3, 2008

colorless

I held Cici's hand today.

When I started to feel myself get frustrated with a customer, I grabbed Cici's hand, and I held on for dear life.

I don't know if that was a good idea or a bad because there was a combination of emotions involved. On the one hand, I smiled and thought of her smile. For a split second I was back in Uganda, sitting on her door step, holding her hand, and just watching her head go back and forth as she laughed out loud. She had a good laugh... a rare quality these days.

On the other hand, I caught myself wanting to cry. Your heart breaks when you meet someone like Cici. Maybe you don't even realize it in the moment, but give it a week or two and get back into your normal routine, and then all of a sudden one day you realize... your heart is broken... and you can't stop thinking of Cici.

The thought of Cici can break your heart in a split second... but in that same second, the thought of Cici can mend your heart. How can you not smile when you think of someone like Cici? How can that smile and the thought of that woman not mend your heart?

As I go back and forth between emotions on the inside, I continue with my usual jokes and laughs on the outside. Cici wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to remember her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her. She would want me to come back to her, but she wouldn't want me to cry for her.

And so I decide... I do Cici no good standing here crying into people's coffee on her behalf. In fact, I do two parties no good... Cici, and the coffee drinkers.

And so I decide... I will go back to visit with Cici. I will go back to hold her hand and rest my head on her shoulder. Though she is blind, she has the qualities of a good mother... times 10... maybe even 11. And though I would want to hold her in my arms, she would want to hold me in hers. She would feel my skin and tell me how beautiful I am.

I don't know that I've ever really, truly believed that until I heard it from the lips of a blind woman... the lips of Cici. Maybe it's because it had nothing to do with what I look like. Maybe it's because even though she couldn't see me, she saw me exactly for who I was. She really saw me... and so few people do these days. They see the skin that I am in and they leave it at that.

Cici sees beyond the skin. I was not white, nor was she black. I was a woman (and still am... praise the Lord), who traveled to this third world country intending to "save the day" and love on it's people, who realized... even those who "save the day" (or think that's what they're doing) need to be held... need to be loved. I wanted to be loved... in the same ways that she and all women do... and over this, we bonded. In the connection between our colorless hands... we bonded.

And with this, I accepted her compliment... not because of pride, or even because I agree with her... but because her definition of beauty is not the same as the world's... and I think that this is the biggest compliment that one can get... so I accept it.

And now that I am away from her, I close my eyes and I see her more clearly than ever. It is amazing how much you really can see someone when you can't see them at all. She is just as beautiful now as she was that day on her door step.

And so... I stop crying and I smile, because I know I will see her again, and I know what this means...



I will go back to Africa!

remember cici?

I'm thinking of Cici today, so I thought I'd share a flashblack...

Sunday, July 27, 2008

Cici

She was blind.



Up front a man is complaining about having to wait for his drink... and the woman behind him complains about having foam on her no foam latte... and the lady in the drive-thru wants a 40 cent refund.

So what do I do? I stop dead in my tracks and I think of Cici.

I think of Cici and my heart drops into my stomach.

She was blind... she is blind.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself.

She was a school teacher... a good one, and still is a good mother, but her husband beat her so badly that she went blind.

She stumbled out of her tiny little house that day and welcomed us into her home. I sat next to her and I held her hand. "I want to see you," she said, and she grabbed my face. She told me I was beautiful. And then she smiled.

She had no idea... she was the beautiful one. She had dark skin and bright white teeth... long eyelashes and big, thick lips. Her hair was cut short... almost completely shaved. She wore a long, auburn colored dress and her feet were bare... my favorite footwear... especially when in Africa.

I try to figure out how to put 40 cents back on this lady's card, and I think of Cici. I try to understand how this man thinks he is going to have a bad day because he had to wait for his drink, and I think of Cici. I watch as Lindsey removes the slightest bit of foam from this lady's drink, and I think of Cici.

"Welcome back to America," I think to myself... and then I think of Cici.

I want to hold her hand again. I want to carry her daughter on my back. I want to sit next to her while we pray. I want to walk bare foot with her and hang from the tree outside of her house. Mostly, I want to hear her laugh and I want to see her smile.

She has the most beautiful smile. Her husband beat her until she went blind, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. Her tin roof is full of holes that allow the rain to come in and soak up her dirt floor, and yet she has the most beautiful smile. She can never teach again, something that she loved to do, and yet she has the most beautiful smile.

So I'm at work, and I look at this woman in her comfy, air conditioned car, and I glance over at this man in his nice suit with spiffy sunglasses, and I quickly check out the woman who can afford to pay $4 for a cup of coffee, and I wonder... why aren't they smiling?



I wonder... why aren't they smiling? And I think of Cici.

I am torn between wanting to smile and wanting to cry. I want to smile for her, but I want to cry for them.

They have no idea... she is the beautiful one.

I could try to explain to them how beautiful she is, but I know it will do no good. Someone who doesn't have time to wait for a cup of coffee doesn't have time to listen to a good story... especially on a Sunday morning... they might be late for church. So I go about my day, and I wear a smile, and I think of Cici. And I pray that she knows...

she is the beautiful one.

poor connection

After attempting three shy of a million times to get my internet to work, I was able to get on tonight right before midnight. With the shotty internet I am working with at the moment, I can not guarantee a blog a day, but I will do my best as I am out and about to post as I get the chance. Changes are coming, I can promise you that, but things are a bit crazy right now, and fixing the internet is the last thing on my mind. Hope to check back in tomorrow!