a splotchy two weeks

When a baby panda is born, it takes approximately two weeks for black splotches to appear on his skin and in his fur.

It would take me, according to google maps, two weeks of continuous walking to get half way from Chicago to my home in Gig Harbor.

Two weeks is the allotted amount of time one should give their boss to replace them after quitting. 

It is also, apparently, the amount of time it takes Hugh Grant to realize that he is in love with Sandra Bullock.  

Two weeks from now I will be curled up in a blanket on the family room floor with my puppy on my right, my other dog on my left and the sweet sound of classical jazz dancing through the speakers.

Shortly after this much needed relaxation I will be met by a competitive card game with the family, serious smack-talking insults, spontaneous laughter and if I'm lucky, I might even get some Jackson 5 karaoke.  

I'll be home.

But, I cannot dwell on this thought.

In these two next weeks I need to:

write a history of early christian art paper

write a critical response to a narrative on greco roman lifestyles

take a statistics exam

formulate a debate regarding the apostle Paul's views on homosexuality

take another statistics exam

deep clean my room

take an african studies exam

meet with my study abroad coordinator 

organize all of my books, files, and papers

take an art history exam

meet with my small group

pack the things I am bringing home into duffle bags 

actually debate Paul's views

tutor my darling elementary students who do not speak English

pack my things in boxes that I am leaving in Chicago

do laundry... so much laundry

plan the end of the year event for the club I am presidenting

AND

remember to breathe, laugh, eat, shower, work out, smile, relax and not go completely insane. 

As I read over my list of "necessities" before I go home, I notice my lack of planned God time.

As these next few weeks fly by I need to be conscious of human self-centeredness and focus on the things that are truly important.

Yes, school is important.

Packing is important.

Community service is important. 

But God is the utmost important. 

Matthew 6:25-34

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life... Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life? ... See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all of his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothes you- you of little faith? So do not worry... But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."

Though the urge to stress is present, I will not succumb to it.

Faith has the power to move mountains.

My mountains are many, but in two weeks I will be able to look back and say "Hallelujah!" because freshman year will be finished and I will still be alive.

So let's go

this baby panda is gettin' spotchy

these feet are reaching Mizpah Road, Montana

George Wade is assuring Lucy Kelson that he did not and will not destroy the community center

and I am going home. 

Glory a Dios!

i hear the smell of that color

I love to listen.

I listen to the rain patter against my window.

I listen to the wind whistle gracefully down my alleyway. 

I listen to the gentle wisp a book makes when its page is turned.

I listen to my friends speak in their various accents and dialects. 

I listen to most things.

I love to listen.

Listening is great because though it can be very descriptive, it leaves plenty of room for imagination.

By listening to someone walk, you can tell a few things easily:

1. Their approximate size and stature; a small, gentle individual will make a very different sound than a large, awkward individual.

2. Their shoe preference; a sharp clicking sound will indicate a high heal, a flip and then a flop will indicate a flip-flop (clever, I know), a squeak will indicate some sort of athletic shoe, a clap then thud will indicate a loafer of some kind, etc... 

3. Their speed; obviously a rapid repetition of thumps will be an attribute of someone walking briskly while a slow and steady tap will be an attribute of someone sauntering. 

By these three quick assessments, you can imagine a profile of the person you are listening to.

Their size gives you an idea of their physical appearance, their shoe type gives you an idea of their basic lifestyle, personality, and destination and their speed gives you an idea of their relaxation level (or lack there of).

All of this is to say; I love to listen.

I think this love of listening was born the day that I was introduced to Old Time Radio.

Burns and Allen,

My Favorite Husband,

Fibber McGee and Molly,

Barrie Craig,

and

Gunsmoke

are just a few of these fantastic radio programs.

When I was younger, I would fall asleep listening to these stories and imagining the character's faces.

I would dream-up what their houses looked like, how their neighborhoods smelled, what types of cars their friends drove...

I would wonder at the possibilities!

I would listen to the same tape over and over again, maybe twelve nights in a row, each time envisioning it in a different way.

I love to listen.

I love to listen to the adds that are so unashamedly plugged.

I love to listen to the music that is played in transitions.

I love to listen to the clever sound effects.

Today, too much time is spent on the visual details. 

Films are coming out with more and more frames per second.

Computer generation is sculpting for us what imagination used to do all on its own.

What has happened to the listening?

It's a fading culture. 

It's my culture.

I love to listen.

I close my eyes and imagine. 

I imagine the impossible.

I imagine the possible.

I imagine beauty that cannot be made by computer technology.

Just by my ears.

George Burns, Gracie Allen, Lucille Ball, Richard Denning, Jim and Marian Jordan, William Gargan and so many more voices have inspired my mind.

I love them all.

I love them all because they cause my ears to melt into stages where imagination is the director, fantasy is the stage crew, awe inspiring impossibilities are the cast and the audience is all those who ever doubted the power of my limitless imagination.

"Say goodnight, Gracie."

"Goodnight Gracie!"

sista love

Today is National Siblings Day.

So basically, today gives me an adequate excuse to brag excessively about how great my sister is.

Not only is my sister the most beautiful young woman in the world, but she is also extremely talented.

Her aggressiveness on the basketball court (varsity as a freshman btw) regardless of her size compared to her opponent is very impressive.

Her impressions of both Snow White and the Jackson 5 (yes, all five of them) are creepily accurate.

Her ability to lead a group of people while demonstrating humility is beautiful.

Her knowledge when it comes to Peter Pan, Harry Potter, and Star Wars is freaking fantastic.

Her empathy for the hurting is grand.

Her attempts to de-vegetarianize me are persistent, annoying, but persistent.

Her dance skills while wearing fuzzy socks on the hard-wood floor in the kitchen, is inspiring.

And her shameless worship is striking.

Now,

Her "I will end you" face she frequently gives me when I throw things at her door from downstairs to get her attention (because I am too lazy to walk up the stairs and knock gently) is terrifying.

Her blaring of Taylor Swift through every speaker in the house is the epitome of misery.

And her clothes stealing is sneaky, clever and quick.... but awful. Seriously, girl, get your own clothes.

All of this being said, I have the best sister ever.

To illustrate more clearly, here are a few short stories...

When Madison and I were younger we would get banished to our rooms frequently. We were very mischievous children. This was fine when we shared a room, but when I "moved out" to the adjacent room, this banishing business became an issue. Heck, I didn't want to sit in my room alone! What fun is that? She also did not like the loneliness  (Looking back, this 'loneliness' probably only lasted about ten minutes, but then... it felt like an eternity!) So, every time we would get in trouble we would master-mind a new way to communicate through separate rooms. One attempt involved punching out our screen in the window so that we could sit and dangle our legs outside, lean out the window to chat. Needless to say, when out mom saw  us two little kids half way out of our 30ft high windows, she was not too happy. After that, we attempted a form of morse code. But we forgot the code. Boo. Our third attempt worked. When our parents were outside doing yard work one day, Madison and I grabbed the power drill from the garage, and drilled a hole in the separating wall big enough to look through. Then, we both covered the hole with a picture and waited for the next time we would get sent to our rooms. (I assure you, that did not take long...) Ah, ha! We had won. We could talk to each other while in trouble. Go team, go.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Not too long ago I had to end a relationship. It was extremely difficult for me. Having to plan ahead of time to deliberately hurt someone I cared about was excruciating. I was in prayer for months over the issue, and was in deep turmoil over the situation. When the day came, and I had to confront the problem, I felt totally alone. That night, I did it. And it sucked. I came back home and ran to my room balling. My family was downstairs but they knew, do not bother Kayla. I don't handle deep emotion very well. So, they gave me my space. When I finally wound up the courage to go down the stairs and get some water from the kitchen to re-hydrate myself from all of the crying, Madison approached me, cautiously. She grabbed my computer and inched towards me like she was walking through a mine field and diffusing a bomb at the same time. She looked at me. I glared back. She said, "trust me." Usually, that means that she is going to throw water in my face or stab me with permanent marker... but that day was different. I trusted her, and I am so thankful that I did. Suddenly, piano music was playing from my computer and I heard my sister's voice... "Iiiiiiiiii don't want a lot for Christmas" then louder "there is just one thing I need, I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree". She continued to sing as I stared. Then with all of her might she belted out "ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU!" and said "take it away Kayla!" 

And just like that, my awful night became magical.

Two tone def sisters belting out Mariah Carey.

I was crying, we both were... but not because we were sad.

My father was also crying. (they jury is still out on whether we was crying out of joy, out of hysteria, or the pain his ears were experiencing)

Now, that's love.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Madison, I am so thankful that you are my sister. Not just because you're smokin' hot, but because you are an angel (when you're not trying to kill me).

You are my best friend.

We go together like rama lama lama ka ding a de ding de dong.

Aww (:

Happy Siblings Day!

Mark your calendar, Madison. Sisters Day is August 4th. That's a Sunday. You better bring your A-game.

the myth of certainty

Death is an interesting thing.

Some fear it.

Some embrace it as an unpleasant reality.

Some welcome it.

It is a blessing to be able to study here at North Park University in Chicago, but I am most thankful to have had the opportunity to take multiple classes by Dr. Joel Willitts.

Now, I am not making the connection of Willitts to death because of the difficulty of his courses. This being said, his courses do challenge me in serious ways... but that's besides the point. 

The connection, rather, is that of Willitts's wisdom that he shared with my class today.

He came to class with a heavy heart.

A heart burdened by the the events that took place yesterday.

He had a friend pass away after a lengthy battle with cancer.

He was vulnerable with us as he shared about this very personal experience. 

Being a biblical scholar, Willitts often blows my mind with the amount of knowledge he has on the Bible. 

Every time I think I know something, I very quickly learn that I know nothing.

This being said, Willitts always offers me perspectives and interpretations that cause me to pause, and reflect on what this whole being a Christ-follower thing is really about.

Today, in respect to death, Willitts again impressed me.

I have never been so moved in a classroom.

Never, has an instructor spoken to my heart in the way that Willitts did today.

He said (speaking on 2 Corinthians 4)
"Certainty is a myth, really. Not just in Christianity, but in life. The reality is how life would be if I couldn't live in the light of truth like this. Not just how unfulfilled  but how miserable life would be if cancer is all there was. I choose to believe, I embrace the uncertainty but the uncertainty and doubt in no way undermines my faith. For, to whom shall we go? I offer the hope of Paul, not the certainty of truth... for it is more than one can wrap their head around logically."

Wow.

How encouraging.

And beautiful.

Certainty is a myth...

To doubt is natural....

But, to choose to believe and to embrace uncertainty leads to hope.

and truth.

and life.

"So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal" (2 Cor 4:18)

It's eternal!

It's life!

It is something that we cannot wrap our heads around logically, but it is truth.

We, as humans, want to doubt. It is in our nature to question. We don't want to accept what is unknown. It is much easier to respond with anger than to lift things to a higher power with the notion of it 'being taken care of'. 

Why rely on uncertainty, when we can so simply agree with the world?

The world makes sense, right?

Death is final, so we better YOLO it up.

When you die, you die.

hmm.

We can choose to mourn.

We can choose to doubt.

We can choose to reject the unknown.

We can choose to be "certain" and worry about earthly problems.

We can choose to be depressed, because that's the socially correct response.

Or we can believe. 

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day" (2 Cor 4:16)

I choose to believe. 

just a few

Sunshine on daisies and walks in the moonlight

Speaking in Spanish and climbing up great heights 

Roller blades, seesaws and giant tire swings

These are a few of my favorite things. 

Forts made of bed sheets and huts made of driftwood 

Peter Pan and Tinkerbell, Maid Marian and Robin Hood

Running so fast pretending I have wings

These are a few of my favorite things.

Fresh fruit smoothies and karaoke with my sis

Predictable romantic comedies that end with a great kiss 

Cold winter days where you dream of the spring

These are a few of my favorite things. 

When a series finale ends...

When the cafeteria is out of pineapple...

When I feel so sad...

I start to remember my favorite things,

And then I don't feel so bad!