Pride and Prejudice

On a whim, I bought Pride and Prejudice at Barnes and Noble about a month ago. I suppose I did so in response to a sudden urge to become more well-versed in the classics. I had always heard reports of how amazing this book is and enjoyed the movies portraying the work, so I figured it was safe to invest 10 bucks in checking out the writing for myself.

As is often the case for me when reading, I experienced a slow start in my relationship with the story. A chapter here...a few days passed...a chapter there...a week expired...another chapter covered. You know, a half-hearted, I-think-I-should-at-least-work-at-this sort of reading habit. Not that the book was boring at the beginning, but my heart wasn't invested and my time was often cramped.

Then, suddenly, something changed. At some point, I was not just hooked on the book, I was mesmerized. I found the language captivating, the story enthralling, and the characters so very real. The relationship woes of folks in 1813 apparently mirror relationship issues of today. How incredible!, I would think to myself as I read the sentiments that Jane and Elizabeth Bennet felt that so reflected my own thoughts on many occasions.

As I wound myself through the story, the character of Mr. Darcy became continually more attractive to me. No doubt, the number of papers and books penned on the subject of Mr. Darcy's character are numerous and my discoveries not as novel as they seem to me. But, I must divulge.

Mr. Darcy, I decided, is the supreme example of a romantic man. He does not use flowery words. No, in fact, he is a bit stilted socially. He does not attempt nor bother to woe women with gifts, flattery, or constant attention. Yet, he is a supremely attractive man because of his character and because of what he sacrifices for Elizabeth. As I read of his extraordinary love toward Elizabeth shown in his remarkable kindness toward her (though she was not at all deserving of his kindness), I found that his actions resonated with my heart in ways I have never before experienced while reading fiction.

While I basked in the refreshing balm this book poured on my feminine soul, I suddenly realized that the reason Darcy's actions seemed pristine was that they were a picture of Christ's love for His bride, the church. Christ sacrificed much for his undeserving bride just as Darcy sacrificed much for undeserving Elizabeth Bennet. Obviously, nothing can truly compare to Christ's sacrifice, but the analogy was poignant in my mind.

I marvel at how "all truth is God's truth". I believe that when any author, artist, playwright, composer, etc. hits on a profound truth, the human heart sings in response. Jane Austen hit on a profound truth of what romance was created to be and how that picture of romance is supposed to reflect the picture of Christ's love and sacrifice for the church.

Wow. That's it. That's how I feel about this book and its story. No recommendation to read the book is necessary at this point. How more obvious could I be that it is a tale worth your time?

Less Stress

My goal for this year has been to get rid of as much excess obligation in my life as possible. I find that I easily over-committ and then kick myself for it the rest of the year. Then, I don't enjoy my job and feel like a piece of taffy stretched far too wide. No more of that this year.

So, thus far, I have accomplished said goal. I only teach one piano lesson outside of school. That's it. No other permanent obligations with ministries, friends, or school. Perhaps it won't stay this way forever, but for right now, it's perfect. I can feel the positive effects already. I have time to exercise, time to read, time to enjoy life. Plus, I am loving my job more than I thought possible. It's a small miracle.

As part of my new goal, I am attempting to get back into good physical condition. I have begun running after work with a colleague. Today, however, my colleague couldn't run because of another obligation. So, I drove home (which is now just four minutes away from school!), grabbed my iPod and made myself jog on my own anyway.

As I rounded the last corner of my route and faced a gradual uphill for almost the last mile, I passed one of the students from my school who was sprinting the other way. I threw a wave like the friendly teacher I should be, wondering all the while what the heck he thought of a sweaty, beet-faced me.

Then, another student jogged past. "Wait a minute," I thought. "Is that a whole hoard or middle schoolers running my way?" Yep. The cross-country team from my school was jogging my route backwards...or at least that stretch backwards. So, I had the pleasure of bumbling past many of my students, trying to look chipper and vivacious while stuffing my angst about what I might look like at this point in my run. After all, some of them looked a bit bedraggled...but I, I must have really looked like a beaten horse due to my less-than-stellar physical condition at the moment.

I exchanged niceties with the students I passed while laughing to myself for getting into this predicament. I laughed out loud when I passed one of the coaches, making a lame joke about going the wrong way. He smiled and laughed too, even giving me a high five as we passed each other. I mean, it really wasn't that bad, but was just one of those events that I wouldn't have chosen to occur, you know? Pathetic, I realize.

At least when I'm teaching something in music class and a student feels confused, intimidated or just plain bored (though boredom never happens in my class, I promise), he can simply recall me staggering along the sidewalk in a hopeful jog and the memory will create a momentary amusement.

Ah, the joys of teaching middle school!

Overcast Bliss

I'm a strange person. I love overcast days. In actuality, I suppose there are a number of people who enjoy a drizzly day even if they won't admit it. But, for me, a gloomy day gives me a sense of calm that I never fail to appreciate. Too many gloomy days in a row can be overwhelming, but, in general, a rainy day is welcome in my world.

So, not only is today such an overcast wonder, but it is also the first day I have experienced the new found, free Wi-Fi at Barnes and Noble. Add this place to my roster of computer-outing hot spots. Love it. Could my day be any better? Doubtful, unless Matthew Fox strolled in right now, spotted me, and sat with me for a good hour-long chat. He would notice me, you know. We are both from Wyoming and that makes us two of a kind.

Anyway, the other night, I saw the movie Julie and Julia (or the other way around?). For a movie title that's so confusing, it was a quaint and refreshing flick. Beyond the fact that Meryl Streep made an honestly fabulous Julia Childs, the film also inspired me to get into my blog again...while it also reminded me how narcissistic blogging is. I really have no clue if anybody short of my family reads my blog, but I find blogging therapeutic and fun nonetheless. Way to go, Hollywood, for pushing me to be all that I can be. Maybe?

This afternoon, I am going to return an incredibly overdue movie to the store from which I rented it, chat with my roommate who just returned from overseas, lie down for a nap, ponder the graciousness of God, and prepare myself for another week at school. That's a lot to do on one rainy day where nothing but reading, sipping warm liquids, and snoozing sounds appealing.

Until next time...

I've Fallen in Love

With the East Coast. After spending two straight weeks back there and a total of nearly three weeks this summer in East Coast cities, I am aware that something new is in my blood. I love the subways, the varied people, the ballparks, the museums, the restaurants, and most of all, the rich history back East. I've fallen in love.

Not that I have lost my love of the West. Not that I had never spent time in cities or back East before. Not that I always appreciate the hurried pace of life in the big cities. Not that I'll ever move back there.

Instead, I just felt like I matured as an American by steeping myself in historical sites and iconic East Coast culture. I have an even greater attachment to our great country now and a greater appreciation of how our country began. I hope.

I also know how to navigate subway systems and feel my way around a city like the best of them. (Yet, I still do have a tendency to somtimes over-think navigation or throw it out the window and wander). I know how to blend in a bit more....though my conspicuous camera and eager-beaver tourist face is nearly impossible to hide. I know how to be a good New Yorker and disregard signs when a more common sense approach is available. No need to wait for the crosswalk sign to change to the chipper white walking guy. No, as a fake New Yorker, I know how to burst onto the street as soon as a Taxi is not 30 feet near me and push my way across the street to the tune of honks and squeels. Take that, red stop-signal hand!!

So, here I am back in Colorado Springs. While my being is taking a sigh of relief in many ways, I am like a lover longing already to go back to her beloved. Okay, that's a bit ridiculuos, but it does tell you that I loved my East Coast trip, does it not?

I hope our long-distance relationship works out well.

Perspective

The coffee I made this morning isn't stellar. I think it's been sitting in my cupboard too long. Opened coffee isn't really even supposed to be stored in a cupboard, right? It should probably be in the fridge. Whatever the case, the cup of joe I'm sipping is mediocre at best. Yet, it still made me want to write a paragraph or two before readying for church.

I was thinking back on my NYC trip a few weeks ago and was reminded of one of the funniest happenings during our time there. Traveling with middle schoolers is both entertaining and stressful. Our tour group consisted of students from Wyoming, Texas, and Colorado. For some of these students, the atmosphere of NYC produced massive culture shock. So, the first evening of herding our large group through the streets of Manhattan was like throwing a bunny into the midst of a horse race and expecting it to keep up. We formed a massive tumor blocking the flowing arteries on the streets. Attempting to board the Subway was crazy too...it took a few times for some to realize that you have to push your way on or you may not make it before the doors shut.

So, there we were, fresh off the airplane, testing our legs on the Manhattan ground, trying to resist the temptation of constantly looking around at everything but the path in front. Yes, we were typical tourists taking pictures of everything mundane just because it was in New York. A nice older woman noticed our group and struck up a conversation with one of our Wyoming students as we waited at a light. She asked him where he was from. He answered, "Rawlins."

I bit my lip to keep from smiling too broad or even laughing. The blank look on the woman's face said it all. She faltered a bit. "Rawlins?" The light bulb then flickered on in the Wyoming boy's mind. "Rawlins, Wyoming."

In a matter of minutes, the needed clarification was there. But, it made me laugh inside. We had been in NYC for just a few hours. The boy's perspective hadn't shifted yet. I'm sure where he's from and where he usually travels, answering simply "Rawlins" is sufficient. He had not realized at first that we were in New York and he'd be lucky if people knew where Cheyenne (WY) was let alone Rawlins, a little town in the middle of nowhere.

It made me think of perspective and life experience and how those aspects so affect our ability to communicate and understand one another. It also made me appreciate anew how traveling adds incredible dimension to perspective. I'm just like that Wyoming boy sometimes with my perspective. But, just like he quickly adjusted, I hope I never lose that ability to adjust my perspective when it is necessary. That's a good skill to have.

Contrast

As I roamed the streets and halls of New York City's most renowned sites last week, my mind was constantly gulping, trying to swallow the massive amount of stimuli being shoved my way. I found myself grasping many truths anew from all that I saw and experienced. Lesson one: Contrast.

Two weeks ago, I was in my Wyoming home. While there, I spent many hours playing with my nieces, baking bread, and working on a mind-numbing bird puzzle. And, though my home town is not the smallest nor the quietest place, it is geographically located in a remote patch of the map. Thus, as I drove back to Colorado at the end of my stay, I was surrounded by massive stretches of lonely, albeit enticing, landscape. Antelope, sheep, and deer were far more abundant than people as I made my way down WY.

As soon as I arrived home that day, I scrambled to do laundry, reorganize and pack again for my departure to New York City early the next morning. In a whirlwind of light naps, coffee sips, newspapers, purse and bag lugging, safety instructions, seat-belt signs, and restless legs, I was whisked to the Big Apple.

It didn't take long to feel the contrast. One day I was in the boondocks. The next day I was in one of the most famous and frenzied cities in the world. You may ask me to choose which I like better. The answer would depend on when you asked. I don't much prefer ice cream first thing in the morning. Late afternoon or early evening, however, ice cream is quite appealing. So, NYC or remote WY? Just depends.

One thing is true, however. Humans are still human in NYC. Brilliant discovery, I know. The difference in style and interests between a Wyoming coal miner and a Broadway artist may be astounding, but they both need food, rest, and companionship. They both get their feelings hurt, feel vulnerable, or have moments of elation.

So it is that this huge and sudden contrast between these two locations made me wish to be an anthropologist.

I am intrigued.

Sunshine

I just came in from my front porch. Ah, delight! The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, and life is looking chipper. I wonder at how a touch of sun can almost instantly transform my mood. It's hard to feel too upset in the presence of such bright warmth.

To me, the sun reminds me of how dependent human beings are. We are not self-sufficient. Even the most accomplished man or woman is not completely independent....not even MacGyver. We need other humans, we need food, we need sunshine. We need God.

Just a simple observation.

Heart or Logic?

My reading habits are a bit sporadic. I go through phases where I read constantly, scolding myself for letting months of undisciplined reading patterns slip by. Then, I experience a lull in my ardor and find I have to push myself to read, if I do it at all. So, I am on a pendulum swing of ambition and apathy regarding the reading of books.

Just so happens I'm in a dry spell right now. Perhaps it's because I have no book in my possession that is captivating me. More likely, my mind is too preoccupied with thoughts of summer, plans for the future, and mindless distractions like....um....Facebook and day-dreaming (should I admit that?). One of these days, the pendulum will swing to the other side and a zealous yearning for academia will grip me once again.

Though my desire for books is lacklustre at the moment, there is a book I have been working on finishing. Take the Risk by Ben Carson, renowned neurosurgeon, is truly inspiring. My dad recommended it, so I knew it would be well worth my time, and....it has been.

One of the main premises of the book is that risk-taking is healthy but that there are smart ways to decipher whether a risk is worthwhile. Carson patented his own risk analysis in the form of four questions: 1) What is the best thing that could happen if I took this risk? 2) What is the worst thing that could happen if I took this risk? 3) What is the best thing that could happen if I didn't take this risk? 4) What is the worst thing that could happen if I didn't take this risk? Using his own story to exemplify such risk analysis in action, Carson successfully shows the value in thinking through major decisions that involve elements of risk by using logic.

Faced with some big decisions myself and encouraged by my dad to try Carson's approach, I made my way to Starbucks this morning with journal in hand to flesh out my own risk analyses on each of my options. I think it was helpful. I mean, I don't believe I had any new revelations. Being the obsessive person I am, I had already been hashing through a million thoughts about each option for weeks. However, putting the words on paper may have given some clarity.

Here's the problem. I don't know if I can make a decision purely on logic. I think I have to make it partially according to my heart too. Maybe that's cheesy, but it's true. It's like those silly lists that people have for finding a qualified mate (not offending anyone who's made a list, because I have in the past too). As neat as those might be, you'll probably fall in love with some guy/girl who doesn't match the list completely while Mr./Miss perfect over there just doesn't seem to capture your attention. It's much the same with such big life decisions. The "smart" move isn't always the most appealing to your heart.

Obviously, Bible reading, prayer and counsel from trusted mentors/friends is another key aspect to decision-making. And Carson definitely incorporates some of those aspects in his book. I'm just saying, though, that when it comes to the actual making of the decision, should heart or logic rule? And what if the options all seem equally risky with none outshining the other? What then? What if you're in a holding pattern that is growing increasingly aggravating? Not speaking from personal experience or anything [awkward cough].........

Okay, okay. So, I am in a frustrating though exciting place. I just need to know....heart or logic? My goal is to pursue the will of God, but I still have to make decisions. It's rarely done for me. I guess that, since the answer is not clear, I need to wait until it is...and, then, no matter how I know, I will know. Maybe it will be my heart or maybe pure logic. Either way, I must trust that God will guide. Easy to say. Hard to do. Lord, please help me trust.

Purple

The new name is Purple Palace. It's a fitting name for the rental house I live in. If you were to come visit, you would stroll through the front door and glimpse fields of purple. Purple carpet, purplish counter-tops, purple-gray tile around the fire place perfectly complemented by purple-gray linoleum on the kitchen and bathroom floors. Ascending to the second floor would provide you no relief. The purple carpet happily crawls up the stairs and into the bedrooms as well. Supposedly, one man inhabited this house before my housemates and I did. It's a curious wonder how he survived the overt femininity.

Okay, truth be told, I actually like the Purple Palace just fine. The carpets feel somewhat cozy. Imagine a grayish purple rather than a Barney-purple and you may catch the aumbiance. Yet, there is something still stark and cold about the Purple Palace...the albino walls. Bright, undimmed, the-purist-wedding-dress-white walls. No touch of warmth. No hint of color. Albino.

I have concluded that the albino must be vanished. Perhaps it's the feeling of jealousy or longing every time I enter another house that is the telling sign. I find myself drooling over any color of wall...yellow, bright green, mocha, red...doesn't really matter. Once in the presence of such a wall, I transform into a color-thirsty savage who desperately clings to the color-hued drywall for dear life, hoping to never return to albino-land.

A bit dramatic, but you get the point, right? So, I wrote to the owner of our house and asked for permission to have a painting extravaganza (though I didn't use such words with her). Not surprisingly, she readily agreed, informing me that she always thought there needed to be some contrast on the walls. Great! But, what color? Remember, we live in the Purple Palace. Choosing an appropriate color will be no small challenge.

The challenge, however, makes me think of an analogous challenge in in my walk with Christ. Having purple carpets makes choosing the perfect wall color difficult. In the same way, factors X, Y, and Z in my life complicate upcoming decisions A, B, and C. Thus, I start to ponder for God how He can work out the mess perfectly. The problem is that I usually can't figure it out or else my formula is so exacting that there would be a greater chance of a termite building the Eiffel Tower than of my plan coming to fruition.

So, just as I tell myself that the wall color will work out and come together, I am reminded that God knows the perfect color to match the specific carpet in my life. In fact, it's even easier for Him to coordinate the incredible details in my life than it is for me to purchase the best hue for my walls. Simple analogy. Yet, profoundly difficult for me to grasp.

The Purple Palace has taught me a life lesson this morning. God uses even the color purple to get through my thick skull. Thanks, God!

No More Basement Singing!

I had a breakthrough this week at school. Well, I don't know if I had the breakthrough or my 8th grade choir boys had the breakthrough....probably both of us. Glorious!

So, I'm not a male. That's obvious and an obvious hindrance when trying to guide adolescent males down the precarious path to great singing technique. Their constantly morphing voices make them uneasy and makes blending them into a united section as possible as herding cats. It's especially hazardous when I only have enough boys to have them sing one part, not a tenor and a bass part.

Without trying to detail all the challenges of effectively training adolescent male voices, suffice it to say that it's HARD. The biggest problem are the basement singers....those guys who have developed rich baritone and bass ranges and believe that the only manly way to sing is in the basement of their vocal range. And though I try to use the "Tenors-get-all-the-girls" line, the basement singers just stare at me blankly or sheepishly or with terror, wishing with all their might that they were in some other class.

Thus, I usually ignore the basement singers because, 1) my techniques don't work and 2) I don't want to cause needless humiliation in middle school.....

But, wait! Why is it that these students thrive on intense sport practices and even intense band classes? How is it that they will take a no-nonsense, you-better-get-competitive approach in football, but when they arrive to choir, it's a coddle-fest? Rebellion started seeping into my bones about this recently. I decided there would be no more pampering! No more protection from discomfort or challenges in choir! I decided to push my students, especially my guys, out of their comfort zones! Those basement singers had no more excuses!

So, last week, I gave multiple pep-talks about courage and about how choir should be like a sport. I reminded my young musicians that their voices were their instruments and that they should not take critique on their instruments personally. Then, I dove in. I worked my male section over and over, making each guy crawl out of his shell and try, especially my basement singers. I pulled out as many tricks as I could to get them to float into their upper range and falsetto voices. I decided to pick on them just a little...in a nice way. I was sure they would hate me forever.

To my disbelief, I was wrong! I was shocked that the one boy who was hovering in his low-range all year to that point was suddenly giving a shot at singing in his upper range...and he was making it! I was so thrilled that I began to chortle and giggle and clap my hands like a toddler at Christmas-time...but I didn't care if I looked like an idiot! All I could see were the boys' faces full of pride. All my badgering gave them a challenge and something to achieve! The girls seemed equally as pleased, watching these boys take on singing like they would a basketball play or a track race.

It goes to show you and me two things: 1) Adolescents like to be challenged and pushed even if they appear shy and insecure and 2) Singing is manly. Period. Especially when basement singers unashamedly sing high. Here's to you, Chris Martin and Michael Buble.

By the way, I think choir should be a sport.

A New Ride

You know how you remember some things from years past with vividness while others are completely forgotten? For example, I will never forget the time growing up when my friend dared me to steal some popcorn from the lady's tub in front of us during a high school football game. So, while the unsuspecting fan turned her back on her popcorn, I snagged a piece. I'm not exactly proud of that memory, but there it is, indelibly ingrained.

Well, just like I have never forgotten that incident, neither have I ever forgotten one of the first chapel messages I sat under at John Brown University. It was a message aimed for the incoming freshman. I don't remember the man's name, but I definitely remember his story. He spoke of taking his son on an excursion to Disney World. After experiencing the first ride, the dad proceeded to escort his son to the next thrill. Surprisingly, the boy didn't want to leave the ride they had just experienced.

"But, son, the next ride is SO much better, I promise."

"No, Daddy. I like this ride. I want to stay here!"

And so the argument would go until the dad could convince the boy that the next ride would indeed be better. When they would finally reach the next ride, the cylce would start all over. The son would become attached to the current ride and refuse to move on.

The speaker went on to compare this cycle to the cycles of believers. Often, we refuse to trust that if God is pulling us away from our current "ride", He has something even better in store. That story and analogy has stayed with me and always proves a comfort when I am faced with giving something up or heading into something new.

Yet, I still often feel like that little boy: unwilling and doubtful. I don't relish unknowns and don't readily give up comforts. I rarely anticipate the next phase with giddy excitement because I'm busy mourning the loss of something familiar as I tred forward. Though I love the thought of adventure and change and wish to present myself as a bold pioneer, in practicality, I am a horrific transitioner and am just like that little boy.

This concept washes me afresh every now and then. Today is one of those days. I don't know what's happening next year. I feel uncertainty gnawing at me and newness waiting around the bend. Excited? Maybe, but desperately clinging to my current ride. I feel I need a deeper surrender. I am afraid the hands of my heart are white-knuckled in gripping the merry-go-round while Christ is gently tugging me toward Space Mountain. Of course, this analogy breaks down. Life does not always get progressively more fun or exciting, but our walk with God can get deeper and sweeter no matter what the circumstances if we navigate the rides with Him. As we do so, He will lead us through the rides that will refine us the best. I'm not sure what my next ride is, but I'm praying for the faith to embrace it enthusiastically.

Presidents Day

Hooray for having two holidays two days apart. I felt it necessary to have a post for Presidents Day since I dedicated the title of my last one to Valentines Day. But....this post probably won't be about Presidents.

Or, maybe it will. I think that being President would be so incredibly tough. First of all, simply finding balance between work and play would be intensely challenging. You know how there are those jobs where you could always find something else to do? Like my job....if I wanted to, I could dedicate hours and hours to developing stellar lesson plans and creating carefully crafted birthday cards for each of my students (and that just the beginning of the extra things I could but don't do). How much more, then, would this be true with the President of the United States, the leader of the free world. Yikes.

But even more than that, I can't imagine how difficult it is for the President's every move to be endlessly scrutinized. People who agree and who disagree within the media spout off inflated opinions all day long. How twisted do reports and accounts become by the time they reach Americans' ears? I don't know....and, furthermore, how much media is fueled by mere perception of facts, not actual facts. After all, not all members of the media can know the President well enough to know his character and to know all the ins and outs or whys of his decisions. It's just not possible.

So it is that Presidents are more often than not defined by their voices of opposition or by the loudest media voice. It's difficult for reality to be completely known from such a distance. Truly. If I were the President or the First Lady, I think I would be frustrated by that. After living in a world where my reputation could be more "controlled", I can imagine losing some sleep over millions of eyes viewing me via a third party, the media.

No matter who is President, I have a level of sympathy for him regarding this aspect of his life. Yet, at the same, time, the President is the most powerful and influential man in the world. He has chosen this life and has many privileges that accompany the difficulties. He must be willing to be scrutinized because he must be held accountable. Thus, it must be the way it is. I just wish at times that the media would be a crew of superhumans....always knowing what is exactly right and true, never disagreeing, and always delivering a precise picture of the President. I wish that for the President and for Americans. I'll keep dreaming.

Valentines Day

But....this post probably won't be about love, romance, or flowers.

I awoke this morning to glimpse a winter wonderland outside. Frosted trees, lazy fog, and snow-studded streets gave me a surreal feeling. So, after eating some breakfast and pouring myself some fresh coffee, I settled on my bedroom floor (my recent fave location for computer time) and put on some ethereal music to go along with the scene out my window. Howard Shore's music from Lord of the Rings is now engulfing my space. Soon, I'll be conquering foes, helping Hobbits and falling in love (so much for not mentioning love in this post). Or, maybe I'll just continue to sit here in my pink flannel pants and long-sleeved Cathedral Choir T-shirt. Either way, I'm loving this Saturday morning.

Yesterday at school, I was testing my 7th graders on "Ode to Joy". They individually came up to me and finger-picked the melody, a song they've been working on for the past two weeks. I was struck anew by how a piece of music could sound as unique as each person playing it. Though the guitar rendition that I teach is forever ingrained in my brain, having taught it over and over, I am still delighted by new interpretations of the same tune. Yesterday, I heard loud, soft, musical, stilted, fast, slow, connected, disjointed, delicate, and harsh renditions of the same little song. Some students possessed that intangible musical sense, using their fingers and their souls to pour beauty into the music. Some students approached the piece with robotic accuracy, seemingly feeling no connection to the tune. Some students awkwardly grappled with the strings, letting the guitar needlessly intimidate them. Wow. Unique. God created each of us uniquely. How well I see that even when grading students on identical tasks!

As my token show of respect to the day, I wish everyone a happy Valentines Day.

Mysterious Majesty

Nobody looking would have thought I was driving down a patch of road I had endless times before. My eyes alert, I was soaking in the scenery as best I could while sitting at the wheel. Truth be told, I was hardly giving the road any notice. What made yesterday different from any other day of driving along that barren Wyoming land? The piece of black equipment occupying the passenger seat held the key. That new camera. I was suddenly seeing everything anew, hoping to find some unique piece of landscape that would lend itself to a photographic masterpiece.

Suddenly, my scouting eyes spotted him. I think time stood still as we stared each other down momentarily. A majestic white head peered at me through bland-colored sagebrush. I caught my breath. A bald eagle. No doubt. The last two times I had been on this road, I thought I had seen one, but couldn't be sure. No mistaking this guy. He was reality.

I quickly pulled my car over to the side of the road, jumped out, and ran back toward the eagle like a mad woman. He was quite far away by now and I was sprinting steadily away from my vehicle out in the middle of nowhere. Not sure it was the smartest move, but the majesty of the bird demanded my all.

With all the grandeur of a fairy tale, huge brown wings flapped upward. There it was, that gorgeous white head stretched out in front, leading the bird like a beacon to some unknown destination. I clicked my camera, but the fellow was just a speck on my screen.

Aware that I needed to reunite with my car, I hurried back, trying to keep an eye on the bird's swooping flight. When I slipped into my car, I flipped it around and sped back the other way, watching the prey of my vision. As if on cue, the big bird descended onto a large rock a ways off, perched with all the pride and dignity one would expect of bald eagle. I bolted out of my car and tried to steady my camera on the bird. It shook, the zoom maxed out and struggling to stay focused on the distant object. I snapped the camera. His image was captured. I took another picture. Another piece of evidence. Then, our rendezvous was over. He flew. I retreated to my car.

Turning around and continuing my journey toward Colorado, my heart was full. I could not explain to myself what was so magnificent about a bird with a white head. All I knew was that it was majestic. It gave joy to my day. I praised God. I felt it was a gift from Him to me. I think all of nature is God's gift to us. It's majestic because God created it and created us to enjoy it and thrill at its beauties. There is hardly a better example of such beauty than that of the mysteriously majestuc bald eagle.

Layers

Layers. Everyone has them. Funny layers. Serious layers. Scary layers. Obvious layers. Sensitive layers. Tough layers. I'm convinced that people and relationships are complex, in part, because of human layers...layers that are normal and natural or layers that are caused by sin, fear, shame, or whatever else. This theory is not a psychological breakthrough nor should it resemble a nauseating self-help guide. Instead, it's just my simple, unoriginal observation about myself and others. So, it's the name of my blog. End of story.

My unwise layer is exposing itself right now. It's a Sunday night before a busy Monday. It's time for bed and rest so that I will have the energy to keep up with middle schoolers tomorrow. If rest is not found, I will have no patience for those students whose one goal in life is to not do what they're supposed to...those students who delight in annoying me. Yes, facing those students seems like WW III when I'm exhausted.

So, to bed I will go. Future posts may not mention layers specifically but may reveal human layers all the same. My random, whimsical layer will dictate my blogging frequency. I don't know how often I let that layer surface. I guess I'll find out.