Relentless

We don't imagine bad things happening to us. Illness, death, accidents and loss are anecdotes in a sermon or stories in Chicken Soup for the Soul XVII. And there isn't much to prepare us when the bottom does fall out, because tragedy is an abstract fear until it is all too palpable.

I knew early in our relationship that Joe will be an amazing father. Perhaps even earlier than I knew I wanted to marry him. So even more than my desire to be a mother, I wanted (want) Joe to get to be a father.  When we found out I was pregnant in December, the joy was overwhelming. Truly overwhelming, in the best way possible. I couldn't wait to be a parent with the man I look up to and respect more than anyone. I would lie in bed and think about the little peanut, praying for each little toe and finger I knew I already, we already, loved so much.

But a few weeks later, we learned we would never meet that peanut. And that love would become the sickening kind you feel when you lose something. A silent ultrasound at the ER was one of the worst sounds  we've ever heard and it broke our hearts.

Being told you've lost a baby is a fear every woman has. We know, if nothing else, we have that one thing on men, I guess, and we are specifically designed to do it. When we can't, it's a biological gut punch. And it seems to be the worst thing imaginable. And it is, because I would never have imagined there was something harder than hearing I'd lost my baby.

The doctor ordered a D & C as opposed to waiting to pass the "tissue" naturally, which could take two weeks. And yes, "tissue" is the cold, clinical term that I kept hearing to refer to my lost peanut. I agreed with the surgery because I wanted to grieve and be sad, but to be moving in a direction away from this as soon as I could. Two weeks of waiting for my body to painfully expel something sounded too gruesome for me.

In an episode of Friends, Rachel says, "I really thought I just hit rock bottom. But today, there's rock bottom, 50 feet of crap, and then me."

I couldn't find her saying the quote I used,
but this sass will do. 

50 feet of crap farther than rock bottom, it turns out, is being told you had a cancerous pregnancy.

My "condition" is called a molar pregnancy. It is a rare freak fertilization malfunction that results in a tumor that eventually kills the cells trying to make a baby while still mimicking a pregnancy. Pretty rude, right?

I told my doctor she needed to repeat herself because I had just hallucinated she told me I had a tumor.

" You probably don't have the tumor anymore. We most likely got it all in your D&C, but you'll still need to wait 6 months to a year to try again. You will get a blood test every week till your hormones are normal again. If they don't get back to normal, than you'll have to do some chemo. But it's light chemo."

A series of explicatives ran through my head and thankfully not out of my mouth. Vomit, though, did almost come out of my mouth.

The doctor explained everything again and said I was lucky that I was getting to keep my uterus, "that's the silver lining."

That's the silver lining? That's what I am supposed to tell my 24 year- old self who is facing chemo and being told to wait 6 months to a year, that at least I get to keep my uterus?

The suffering seemed relentless.

After calling Joe, who was already on his way to Florida, I spent the next few days in the same pair of sweatpants watching a  Criminal Minds marathon. Polly rarely left my side-- proving dogs are the best things ever.

Fictional friends 

 I began  wandering around the house one day in between episodes. Polly followed me, curious as to why I left the bedroom, I am sure. I found myself in the room, the one that was supposed to be the baby's room and I thought about all the plans I had already bookmarked in my computer to decorate the room. And all the cute, tiny clothes I was excited to buy. And all the nights I has planned on Joe and I staying awake, taking turns feeding or holding or just staring at the little person who was supposed to live in there.

Real friend.
Yo, mom, I am fine with staying in bed
all day. 

And it was that nondescript day to the rest if the world  that I realized I had been asking God the wrong question.

I was determined to not be bitter or resentful with God. And I was doing a decent  job. But I wasn't praying the prayer I needed to be praying.

I had been asking why instead of asking where.

In Matthew 4:19-20, Jesus comes to Simon and Andrew in the middle of their work day and tells them to follow him and they will become fishers of men. Matthew 4:21-22 has a similar response but I love the syntax of James and John's actions. The bible says, " He called them, and immediately they left their boat and their father, and followed him." It's all one sentence, it's one fluid motion separated by commas so you see that John and James  have no hesitation. They don't even think about it long enough for the bible to document periods; they leave their job, their father, and they go.

When Jesus says, "Follow me," it isn't a conditional statement. He doesn't say, "Follow me at your convenience," nor does he say, " Follow me only as far as you are comfortable. Only in leaving our metaphorical boats or even real fathers or families, and asking, "Where to?" can we fully receive and embrace God's love for us. And we wonder why people are unsatisfied in their faiths; because merely liking Jesus isn't enough. Simply accepting Christ in words or even prayer does not a disciple make. We have to get up and go where he calls us to be.

The where just may not be where we wanted to go.

By now, we've all experienced mishaps with autocorrect on texts. There are even blog sites dedicated to these sometimes very embarrassing "corrections." My phone gets hooked on autocorrecting " I love you" into " I live you."  It's not as silly or embarrassing as the " something" coming out as "some thong," but it is a message that has made me stop and think. Do I love Christ, or do I live him? Saying I love him is awesome and important, but he is asking for more than words, he is asking that we live our love out.

Actions speak louder than words, right?

Not a very delicate piece
of jewelry. 

During the French Revolution people wore guillotines as jewelry. Sounds gruesome. But then I think of how many different pieces of jewelry I own that have a cross on it. A symbol we have attributed to purity to holiness and to salvation is actually as gruesome as a guillotine. A cross, The Cross, is all of those nouns, but it is a sign of suffering.   

My suffering seems, at this point, to be not letting up soon. My hormones have not dropped as they were supposed to and I could have another D and C, bumping us back another 6 months. If the surgery doesn't work, I face "light chemo, " which sounds oxymoronic.

This is my cross to bear now. This is my battlefield, and I am fighting for more than my health or my motherhood, I am fighting for God and His promised Kingdom. Because right now it would be totally socially acceptable to break down and curse my Lord. In fact, it would prove the points or reasons non- believers cling to. But even " the demons believe" (James 2:19) and God hasn't abandoned me, so I will not abandon Him.


Being close to Him may bring you to uncomfortable,  socially compromising, and challenging positions, but those are just your mission fields. You don't have to go to a remote village in a third world country to be a disciple. Your mission field may be closer than you think. Like next cubicle over. Or the lady next to me in the hospital waiting room. We have opportunity to worship God and serve Him in our most average and everyday lives. So while we may feel worldly suffering, we should look to the path that allows us to be a light in a place of darkness.


I feel closer to God because of these past few months than I ever have before.
I am devastated to lose a baby Joe and I already loved; but in that loss I have found a greater understanding of God's love. He sent His son to die for us, if anyone knows that grief, it's God.
I am afraid of cancer and chemo and being sick; but I am more afraid of becoming bitter and resentful when God is asking me to take on a new ministry.

I know if I relentlessly pursue God he too will relentlessly pursue me.
I've spent time mad at God. I asked Him to follow me and my rules. Other major world religions involve our reaching to god or to a state of holiness. In Christianity, God reaches for us. His plan is so much more important and awesome than mine, and yet he reaches for me and "calls me by name" ( Isaiah 43:1)  and offers me a spiritual life I don't deserve.

Jesus tells Nicodemus in John 3 that humans cannot do to go to heaven, we have to be. Nicodemus, a member of the Sanhedrin (Old Testament scholar) asks how can he change, how can he become something he's not?  Jesus has the perfect opening to tell this educated, knowledgable, doing man, the man that wants to know what to do to go to heaven but yet comes to Jesus at night so as not to be seen-- our state of being cannot be changed by anyone but God. God opens our hearts and changes who we are and who we are to become. Acts 16: 14 we get that exact active wording with Lydia, " The Lord opened her heart to heed the things spoken by Paul." When we pursue God, He will open our hearts, He will tear down the walls we've built, He will provide us with His love and the path He wants us to take to show more people that love.

My battlefield, my mission field, right now is not one of comfort or contentment.  But then this wouldn't be a mission field. I wouldn't be given the gift of suffering that will allow the Holy Spirit to work through me to plant seeds in other people's lives. I get to be a witness to Christ in the way He wants, nay, He trusts me to be.

Christ is asking me, giving me the opportunity, to follow him. It is my faithful duty to leave my comfort zone and simply say, " Where to?" 



*For a more formalized study on following Christ, I recommend the Clear Creek Community church app the "Complete" study. For reading on this, Follow Me by David Platt and Not a Fan by Kyle Idleman. Also Crazy Love by Francis Chan.

Don't Mess with (me when I am leaving) Texas

I move very, very soon. My messy mid-packing apartment is a constant reminder of the rapidly approaching departure. Currently, we don’t know where exactly I am moving to; this includes both city and type of residence. Joe has bounced up and down and then up and then down again and then back up this season enough that we haven’t settled on what we should do about the roof over our heads. Polly says she isn’t worried about it.

We totalled up how many miles I have traveled this year thus far: 18,000 miles between January and today. The world is 24,0000 around so I am almost guaranteed to have traveled “around the world” by the end of the season. To those of you who have jobs like George Clooney in Up in the Air, you have far more patience than I. 

Can you imagine if Clooney sat next to you on a flight?
I might not get off the plane.
Oh, come on, even Joe might stay on the flight next to George!

Things I will miss about Texas:

Good Co. barbecue 

Goode Co. on Kirby

Dr. Pepper
My familyPeople saying Coke, but really meaning any carbonated beverage
“Y’all”
Cowboy boots in a non-novelty way
The Guadalupe River. By the way, this is my first summer in 4 years to not be working at Mystic and my first summer in 16 years to realize I can't go back and work there.... or be a camper.

The Guad at Camp Mystic's Waterfront

My friends
Steak
The Galleria
My church
Finding any item of clothing you can imagine can, in fact, bear the Texas flag

I think my sister owns one of these
shirts. They have
the real thing too, if that's what you're
looking for

The Rodeo
St. Arnold’s and Shiner Light Blonde
Swimming in October
Texas Country Music

In honor of my hiatus from Texas (as if four years of college were not enough), I am going to write a few little vignettes about the Texas I know, the Texas that has been created around me and the one we so love to romanticize when we have to be away.


Water from the sprinkler turned to steam on the concrete. Everything was wet and hot. Even the cars’ hoods looked like water as the heat rippled over them.  Somewhere in the distance an ambulance drove by, its siren’s tone getting lower as it passed. Zoe played in the soil with naked Barbies. Her toddling sister slept inside, her hair curling on her forehead from the baby sweat. Later their father would come home with his dry cleaning and golf shoes. Later they would eat Kraft macaroni and cheese and drink milk from cups they bought at the circus. Zoe’s was a pink elephant. Its trunk was the handle and it had long black eyelashes. She made the Barbies do the splits and tried to make them hold handstands in the grass. One of the Barbie’s hair was brown, which meant she wasn’t really a Barbie, but Barbie’s friend Susan. Or Brenda. Some name that was not Barbie and did not have an “i” with a heart on her box. A boy rode his bike, without training wheels, down the street. Zoe wanted her baby sister to wake up so they could fill up the inflatable pool and make the Barbies, and Brenda, go skinny dipping. Zoe liked to go under the water and open her eyes. She could see the pebbles and sticks poking at the bottom of the soft plastic pool and her hair stuck to her face when she finally came out. Her mom did not like it when she put her face under. Her mother, now, was moving the sprinkler to make sure her begonias and monkey grass got enough to drink. It had been many days since she watered the plants so much of it was dead. Little brown buds fell off and ran in streams to the hot, wet street.

The second canoe was smoother than the first. The Guadalupe water was still and green before the dam and we could see turtles heads pop up and the outline of their shells. Sweat prickled on my back like the insects that landed on the water. Their legs twitched and spasmed, then they flew to another spot. Or went to the tall grass on the road side of the river. I asked West if he wanted to turn back before the dam; he said no. We didn’t talk for a while after that, just listened to the sound of our paddles dip in the water and scrape against our old metal canoes. Sometimes my Dr. Pepper cans rattled by my feet. Sometimes West was so silent I could have sworn he was a Hill Country Indian. His bandana was tied around his head and his shirt, long discarded, was tucked into the seat of his shorts over his butt. He stopped paddling and looked at me while he took a drink from his water bottle.
“You’re doing a pretty good job there,” he said to me.
“I like the river.” He smiled but didn’t say anything and went back to his silent paddling. West’s back was burning and I was sure that mine was red, too. Later we would have to take turns putting cold aloe vera on each other’s backs. West would tell me to put it on my hands first before rubbing it in. I wouldn’t say anything. And maybe he would pat my shoulder as a way of telling me he was finished. The dam was upon us. We had to pick up the canoes one at a time and walk them down. Though the water was more shallow, the river floor was clay and dipped down in tubs. West got a leech on his forearm. He pulled and flicked at it till the leech fell off.
“So do you have to suck the poison out?” I asked.
“No, that’s snakes. This will just need to be cleaned. Plus, if I was bitten by a snake, you would have to suck the poison because I would be too weak.”
“I would do that. For you.”
“I know.”
The current moved us for a while without having to paddle except to stay straight. We would need to turn around soon to make it back before dark. Or we would just stay on the river till the breeze picked up and the water turned black beneath our canoes.


They sat on top of the picnic table with their feet on the bench, just like they had done in high school. They’d eat cafeteria yogurt and talk about their days, uniform skirts tucked between their thighs as to attempt modesty. They had on jeans and boots so there was less balancing involved now. There was also no yogurt, just some beers in plastic cups and a poorly sugared funnel cake. Marcy wore a push up bra that night and it was riding up her back and she was certain one of the straps was twisted. When she got dressed she looked like a sexy cowgirl, she thought. But now, sitting next to Allison and a few hours into the night, she felt like she had tried too hard. You could tell she had tried to look like a sexy cowgirl, and what she really was was a sexy cowgirl’s overly primped friend. Allison, who did not own a push up bra, wanted to get a cinnamon roll and maybe ride the ferris wheel. They got up to find the tent with the cinnamon rolls, but there was a cluster of high school students flirting and laughing too loudly. Marcy suggested they still wait in line, but Allison said she changed her mind about the cinnamon roll and she just wanted to go sit and watch the ferris wheel and finish their beers. Marcy had wanted to finish her beer in line with the high schoolers, but followed Allison back to the picnic table that now had two Hispanic boys playing with one of the prize stuffed animals. It looked like a squid. Marcy almost made a joke about things that look like squids; she decided against it though.  They watched the boys play for a while then looked back wordlessly at the blinking lights of the ferris wheel.

"Never go on trips with anyone you do not love"

 There is a scene in Ernest Hemingway's novel A Farewell to Arms in which the main character, Fredrick, has a conversation with the priest while he is injured in the hospital. Fredrick tells the priest he does not "love much." To which the priest responds: 


"Yes," he said. "You do. What you tell me about in the nights. That is not love. That is only passion and lust. When you love you wish to do things for. You wish to sacrifice for. You wish to serve." 
"I don't know love." 
"You will. I know you will. Then you will be happy."
"I'm happy. I've always been happy."
"It is another thing. You cannot know about it unless you have it." 


Though this is not my favorite Hemingway book*, this scene certainly strikes a cord to any reader. Those who love know, those who do not, won't until they do. 


Another favorite quote of mine is in this novel (I promise this is not a literature lesson, so bear with me): "The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places." 


I once told Joe I knew I wanted to marry him when my plans changed because of him. Whatever silly timeline I had come up with, whatever check list of life accomplishments I had before him, changed when he came into my life. 

Such an attractive couple

And plans have changed again. Next fall I will not return to teaching full time; I will travel with Joe and take care of our marriage full time. I have loved teaching in the way you love things that make you struggle, that break you and make you stronger, and I hope to one day come back to the classroom full time. But for now, my family (however small it is) has to come first. 


But God is good and were we are needed he will find a way to have us there. My boss came in my classroom two days after I wept in his office about how I couldn't teach next year and offered the creative writing class to me through an online course-- I didn't even hesitate to say yes! There will be a presiding teacher to basically administrate the class, but the syllabus, grading, teaching and instruction will be "mine." The Lord has lead me to this school and has a purpose for me here, one I am even more certain of now that we are able to make an arrangement that satisfies all of my roles. 




At Camp Mystic for Girls**  there is always a Sunday we talk about putting God first. It is visually demonstrated through a giant fish bowl, rice and some golf balls. When we put worldly things first, represented by rice, God's will doesn't always fit, shown by trying to fit golf balls in the already full fish bowl. But putting the Lord first, meaning the golf balls, the rice sifts through and the Lord provides. I guess I forgot this in all my crying over what to do about next year. 




                                 Put your golf balls in first and your rice will fit, too. 

One of my favorite camper photos ever       

Photo Ode to Mystic 


**I went to Camp Mystic since 1998, with a hiatus between 2005-2007, quickly to return to be a counselor. Aside from my parents, I don't think anything has been as impactful and formative as Mystic. The river, the Hill Country, the tradition and the people make you renew your spirit and your body like nothing else can. God's hand has made Mystic as a place for girls to find their faiths, walk in hope and grow in love. 

Camp Mystic Dance 2011; sister and Rita 

Asking campers to back up so I can do the worm
at a Mystic dance party 

A little HBR
That's horse back riding to those of you who have never
filled out a Mystic Activity Card 

Reading at Mystic on CC Day, aka best day ever.
Yeah, I am a freak, kind of. 

My Mystic friends and the directors, Dick and Tweety at my wedding.
You don't go somewhere for 12 summers and not get attached to some folks.

* Read Hemingway's short stories or A Moveable Feast or The Sun Also Rises.  A Moveable Feast is a collection of short memoirs about his time in Paris. Better yet, read it in Paris. You'll never be able to stop loving the city. The title of this post is a quote from A Moveable Feast, and I couldn't agree more. 

UPDATE: Since this post went public Joe was called up to the big leagues again! Another player is injured, so there is no telling how long he will be there; however, it is nice to know that he is the next guy in line when something like this does happen! 

Polly Will Be Signing Autographs Later

Maybe it was the massive American flag. Maybe it was the Air Force flyover during the National Anthem. Maybe it was the Phillies Phanatic dancing to "Proud Marry." Or maybe it was just getting to see Joe smile on the big screen at Citizens Bank Park, but I was completely swept away by the romanticism of baseball on April 9, 2012.

Don't worry, I won't wear
it to a live game. 

And why shouldn't I be--my husband made the Opening Day roster for arguably one of the best teams in baseball history.


Tuesday night I was dressed to work out, but never made it. ESPN ScoreCenter app* kept updating me on the many pitching changes of the last pre-season game and Joe's name was continually not called. I folded laundry and bit my nails to ragged nubs and Polly wondered why I kept moving the clothes she was trying to sleep on.

iPhone photo of field because I can't find the cord
that connects legit camera
to laptop 

"It's been a long day," he said when I answered. I nodded and exhaled ready to get past the small talk.
"It has. How are you?"
"Good. I am good. Do you want to meet me in Pittsburgh tomorrow?"
I started crying hysterically and told him how proud I was of him. After numerous mass texts and phone calls, my parents and his brother "Potty" came over for a glass of champagne while I packed--


for 30 degree weather!


I bundled up in my best version of cold weather spring style (cream coat, tomato colored dress, black tights, black booties) and met my parents and sister Yulie in Pittsburgh. Even though the real show was a few days later when we were the home team, it was pretty amazing to see him run out and knuck with Charlie Manuel. The staff was very nice, kindly leading us to the traveling family room and brushing the dust off our stadium seats (this was a little excessive, but sweet nonetheless).

After Pamela's incredible pancakes

No trip is complete without some eating so I will give a quick run down of the best places we went. Primanti Bros prides themselves on a sandwich made with your choice of meat, topped  stuffed with cheese, cole slaw and french fries. If you have ever seen the videos of a snake eating a gazelle, than you have seen what one has to do to eat these sandwiches.** Totally worth the TMJ though. Pamela's was the breakfast place of choice, Michelle Obama's favorite as well. I ordered chocolate chip pancakes with bananas, also known as all of my favorite things. The pancakes are very thin, like a crepe and the cheesy scrambled eggs were made with Velveeta. I don't remember what anyone else got because mine was so good I didn't look up or breath for my whole meal.

Primanti Brothers 

One of my wife friends, Brooke, suggested I change my flight so I would leave out of Philadelphia. I told her this presented the dilemma of not having a car to get to Philly from Pittsburgh.
"Just fly on the team plane."

Uhm, yes.


I will be a huge bratface princess and say that flying privately is freaking awesome. Hospitable friends of my father have let me go to on their planes, but this plane was Delta without security, lines, other passengers or waiting. I cannot say that it was not sans motion sickness (me) or flight anxiety (Joe), but it was really great and the team is very lucky to be able to travel that way. And I am lucky I got to mooch.

Highlight of the flight? Joe is basically a fraternity pledge and has to carry different players stuff, so I tried to be as invisible as possible while he did his rookie stuff. A former Astro  was walking down the aisle of the plane and stopped to introduce himself, something that was very uncalled for and very polite. I jumped up, and I mean jumped up, and smacked my head on the low ceiling over the seats.


I only hope he forgot my name and has doesn't associate Joe with the head trauma patient.


Philadelphia was incredible. I choked up several times thinking about how happy I was for Joe. I thought about a particularly rough time last season when I visited him in A ball. He was hitting then and not getting enough playing time to even show what he could do. The stress of no playing time only made his at bats less than ideal, perpetuating the cycle.
"I don't even know what I am doing here. I don't like being treated like a little boy. Tell me I suck, tell me I need to retire. Hell, release me," he vented that morning. My heart broke for him. I prayed to God that I would sacrifice anything, anything at all, if he could feel like he had a purpose again. Because even that early on, I knew Joe was ultimately where I felt my greatest purpose and that is what happens when you love someone in a real way-- you fight for their happiness more than your own.


So when Joe smiled walking down the "red carpet," high fiving fans that lined the field and a boys' choir sang some song about Philadelphia-- I was singing songs of praise that what I had asked for in Florida less than a year ago had been answered.


Joe played in that game. Allowing one run, but holding his composure as he always does.


Tonight Joe was moved to AAA and had to take the longest route possible to Buffalo, NY to meet up with the team (Philadelphia to Detroit to Buffalo--what?). This is not to say that Joe won't go back up with the big boys, nor is it to say that he will. We don't know what the rest of the season holds.




But Joe has played in  Major League games, he has played in a Major League Opening Series game and God has used him to make an inspirational story that can make even a cynic smile.

Worn out from all of her publicity 

*I only have this to know Phillies game stuff during baseball season. I get alerts but don't get a lot of them. What I do understand is "FINAL" means the game is done.
** I looked at some pictures to put with this snake-eating-gazelle comment and decided that they were really too gross to post on here. Save yourself your breakfast and don't Google Image it either, I sure regret it. 

The Post with No Pictures

Opening Day is Thursday and as of this post, we don't know where Joe will be this year. More than likely, the big bosses have already made up their minds so it is just a matter of time before we know. I will be seeing Joe this weekend, be it in Pittsburgh (Majors) or Providence (Minors) I am holding my breath to find out. Today at church the sermon was about anxiety, and no better message could have been made for me today. Worry, said Ben Young our pastor, is looking in the future with the worst case scenario in mind, it is looking into a future without God.  And I know that whatever happens with and for Joe, God will be there no matter the outcome. I only wish I was there to be supportive. Giving major (pun intended) news via text or even phone call is not quite the same as in person. 


On Saturday we celebrated one of Joe's best friend's, Adam Z, birthday. Everyone brought their dogs and we all, canine and humans alike, enjoyed the sunny weather and new homeowner Derek's pool. Adam Z sacrificed birthday boy lounging and boiled big, fat crawfish. Crawfish, like many shellfish, are cooked alive so we had a giant cooler of pinchy little guys. Lize and Bryce and I became nine years old and poked them till they got in fighting stance-- claws up and out. What is it about things being small and aggressive is always funny? Lize's dog Duke got in a small tussle with one and I am sad to report the crawfish (kind of) won by a massive pinch to the snout. Duke flung it in the air and homeowner Derek got rid of it so we wouldn't have another incident. Polly would not have bounced back as fast as Duke had she been the curious dog of the day. Poor thing did come home with blisters on her paws from running all day. She hardly even made it to her bed before conking out when we got home. 
(I am a terrible photographer and rely on Bryce to document such things as this--- and the pictures aren't on Facebook yet for me to steal and claim as my own artistry)




All of this excitement also put me to bed early and all to aware that Joe was not there. I guess it is like never feeling as lonely as you do in a crowd when you're all alone (yeah, Wade Bowen lyric*), it is never more obvious that Joe is gone than when I am somewhere he should be. His good buddy Brian "Viernes", too, was notably missed and something feels off with the group's absences. When people ask, "How is married life?" I say, "Kind of like being single." But a really pathetic kind of single-- not the fun girl who says things like, "I don't have time for a relationship" or "I am just not into boyfriend/girlfriend labels." Not that I want to be this girl, I just want to be with my husband more. 


My creative writing class has reminded me why I have wanted to teach it and why I love to write. I submitted my story this week for my workshop in two weeks. I went with a piece I wanted to revisit from my thesis. It is easily one of my most controversial pieces and I fully expect for at least 6 people to hate it after the first paragraph... but hate isn't a bad thing, it is an emotional reaction and I want my readers to feel something. It makes me think more and more about writing a collection one day, or even a memoir about all the baseball stuff from my perspective. My friends from college liked this idea when I mentioned it in the summer, so long as I include them in the story and then write one about college. The latter might have to come much later and let the statute of limitations come into play for some incriminating tales.... mostly just so things that need time to be funny can do so. 
(If I put pictures with this paragraph I would either be a major creep in creative writing class or a very hated member of my college friend group)


But a baseball story, told from the stands with a hot dog in fluted paper balancing on my knee, might happen. I guess that will be something I worry (or not worry, thanks Ben)about later. For now, I will just not-worry about how what to bring on my trip to either Providence or Pittsburgh. Charlie Manuel**, give me a call if you can and let me know what you think I should pack. 


*Wade Bowen, Texas Country singer/songwriter. One of my favorites. 
**Charlie Manuel, Phillies manager.


Since I didn't have any cool pictures dealing with content, here is one just because.  This is what I wake up to if Polly stays in the bed with me: 

She has absolutely no sense of personal space. 

The Shortest Distance Between Two People (and cheesy things like that)

I love how my head fits in the slope of Joe's neck and shoulder. I don't believe in "The One," but simple things like puzzle piece body parts make it very clear God places people in our lives  for a purpose. Joe's purpose is for me to lay my head on his chest-- the soft ba-dum of his heartbeat in my ear and his voice to seeming to echo off of it-- and feel at home there forever and ever.

Except  baseball season takes him 1,000 miles away.

A month into our marriage, this time has come. I will not sugar coat my feelings and say things about being stronger and "the course of true love never did run smooth"* I won't, because being away from him physically hurts. If you have ever come off of serious painkillers, the slow disorientating lull-ish pain, that's what it feels like being apart. A feeling that grew familiar with our dating last season, but seems to have amplified in some culmination of the newness of our marriage and the flouting of the distance in the off season.

I wish I had found this for our cake

I once told Joe that it seems better to remain small to the world, this is after seeing Country Strong**. I told him that in trying to be big to the world, or rather maintaining this status was the tragic flaw of people-- and the tragic flaw of our society for perpetuating it. What love does, though, is make your world shrink to a beautiful microcosm between you and that person. You are big to them, they to you, and that is all that matters. If you can find this in another person: be willing to admit every flaw you have, forgive them for all of their flaws, be willing to admit all the things you want and then put everything they need as a higher importance. It's that simple.  None of the "I deserve this" or "I have a right." No, it isn't about your rights-- it's a servantile love that mirrors the love of God, and the kind of love that lasts.  Romantic comedies, women's magazines and society's definition of success tells us to demand, tells us we deserve something from someone. God tells us to give ourselves and our needs up to take up another's cross.

This is all to say that baseball season has a specific cross to bear with it. So though I curse the distance, Joe is called to be there. And I know his Christian presence has to change people, his example has to affect and inspire. I can affect and inspire by supporting my husband and respecting him and loving him more than myself, which I do--

          And in the end, my head is on his shoulder no matter where we sleep at night.


Happy one month anniversary to the love of my life. You inspire me and build me up when I fall. I pray I do the same for you, always.

* quote from Shakespeare's A Midsummer Night's Dream. One of the most misunderstood quotes in Shakespeare. I'll explain another time, however.

** great movie starting Gweneth Paltrow. You have to watch it understanding what we do to each other as human beings, in the public and private spheres of life.



All photos except cake toppers courtesy of Kelly Hornberger Photography