Lauren Goes to the ER

See this ID tag? It has my name on it. It has my date of birth. And, in case someone can't do the math on their feet, it has my age: 31.

31 years. That's how long it took for me to take my first trip to the Emergency Room.

What was it that dissolved my resolve to never set foot inside of the place?

A little thing called "a-foot-that-doesn't-work".

Here's the situation: Yesterday I was merrily walking along, enjoying the sunshine. Suddenly my shoe decided it had had enough of walking on it's bottom, and wanted to walk on it's side. My foot apparently does not have a spine, and went along with it. This was a bad decision. (My foot and I are still working out our feelings about this moment...)

Progressively throughout the day I found myself unable to bend said foot in order to pick it up and take a step. I refused to believe that this was a problem. My foot, however, chose this time to suddenly gain some backbone, and made it very clear that it was just not having my attempts at walking like a normal person. It refused to allow me to move at a pace faster than a snail.

It was awkward. It was incovenient. I was in denial. I swore it would be better in the morning.

It wasn't. Hence, the ER.

They were very nice to me. They offered me a wheelchair. I refused it. I said "oh, it's not that bad", and subsequently felt like an idiot trying to keep up on the walk to the x-ray room.

They diagnosed it: Sprain. No fracture. Wrap it, boot it, you're on your way.

Then a very pleasant guy came in and measured my foot. He said "I'll be right back, I don't think we have anything to fit you." (This was the first of many comments he made about my size.)

He came back with these crutches. I said "I don't really need crutches, do I?". He said "You do if you don't want to be back here next week!" I shut up. He tried to find the appropriate height, saying with awe "How tall are you?"
(I suspect he was jealous of my height, since he mentioned it approximately 12 times in the 3 minutes he was with me. The fact that he also mentioned that I can't play basketball for awhile only served to bolster my suspicions...)

And so, here I sit, my foot up, my bag of frozen vegetables near by. All in all my first visit to the ER was a breeze--let's hope it was my last ;-)

Just Because....

...They're Fun: [kara with her sister]

[kara and marisa]

[kara and mom]

[me and maris..love this one!]

[the gift opening extravaganza]

[aunt eileen, the toilet paper bride]

[kooistra/knyfd women...aka "dave's family represents"]

[a bridal party to beat all bridal parties...]

[the beaming bride, admired by her glowing groom]

The Truth Cries

I am convinced that anything on this earth that involves Eternal Purpose will in some way also involve tears.

Why do I think this, you ask? The answer is simply because I spent approximately 5 years of my late twenties carrying a box of tissues in my bag. (Well, not really, though I would have had extraneous fluids under control much more efficiently if I had.)

Now in my thirties, I am living in a space where all of those tears make sense because they did something unexpected: They revealed to me my true & real self. They opened my eyes to a higher calling. They got me out of the way for what God wanted all along--my Eternal Purpose. And I am beginning to understand that tears are never wasted. Tears reveal Truth.

So, why am I thinking about Truth and Eternal Purpose today?

Because I have recently returned from my sister-in-law-to-be's bridal shower, of course. (An obvious answer.) Allow me to explain:

Today I drove myself over to Allentown to celebrate the soon-to-be-official inclusion of Kara into my family. There were many hugs, many smiles, many joyous hearts.

There were also many presents, containing many cards.

I sat near Kara, recording each and every gift into a little notebook, as a very diligent older sister and bridesmaid. Basically, I got a front-row seat to the gift-opening action.
I also got, however, a front row seat to this girl I love--the girl who won my heart before I even met her because I saw the reaction in the eyes of the boy I love when he talked about her. I forget what he said, but I remember how he looked. And I remember thinking "this is it..."















I had a front-row seat when she opened my card, and I had a front-row seat when she teared up over it. Then I lost a little bit of my view, because I teared up too. And I thought--How is it that God has been so good to us?




















Because Kara fulfills the final daughter/sister slot in our family, and because Marisa has the other one similarly filled. Because: I couldn't ask for two better, sweeter, kinder, gentler, lovelier, beautiful on the inside and the out, caring women to share my family with.

Now (to get back to the story), up until this point there were only we women at the shower, and there was only a little bit of a tear in my eye. Enough to know that this was a special moment.




But then. In walked Dave. And in marched tears of the lip-quivering variety in the trying-to-keep-herself-together Lauren.











And I thought "HOW IN THE WORLD AM I GOING TO MAKE IT DOWN THE AISLE IN THIS BOY'S WEDDING?!", and re-lived for a moment my walking down the aisle in Keith's wedding (for which I was a lip-quivering mess, to the point where Dave had to look away and where Keith has not yet forgiven me for causing him to get emotional...)


So, on my drive home, after I got myself under control, and all the gifts were opened and loaded into a variety of cars, and hugs were given in multiple iterations, I called Heather. And I told her what happened. And I said "I don't understand--it's not like I was sad. It's not like I was even aware of being overly happy. I was just suddenly crying." And she said, with such shoulder-shrugging matter-of-factness that I felt slightly irresponsible for not figuring it out myself--

"Well, of course! You're a truth-crier."

A truth-crier. A felled-by-moments-of-absolute-beauty crier. An acknowledgement-that-Eternal-Purpose-is-happening-here crier. Higher calling, and all of that.

Happening in this marriage, happening in this building of a family, happening. Here. A Crier of Truth.

Sometimes tears come from a place that we'd rather not be in, and sometimes tears come and take us by surprise. Sometimes there is so much love, tears become our only possible response.What just might make it magical, however, is that tears come to tell us:

Truth is crying.

Ok kids, I've given you sufficient time to peruse the photos of last time to figure out what it is I have recently acquired (other than those guitar skills of course...)


Have you figured it out?

Maybe this will help:

Taken eons ago, in the middle of the Adirondacks, in front of a fireplace in the month of July, the following photo is one of the few I have in my possession that document my very first pair of...

...glasses!

I got them while at Rutgers, after I realized that people walking toward me that I thought I knew were not people I knew after all. It got to be far too awkward.

They served me well until I found them, completely flattened and with no glass remaining, in my driveway during my Princeton days.

They were then replaced with these delicate frames:

...which look nearly the same.

These babies were my friend and companion for a good 5 or 6 years, but over the past 6 months or so I began to notice that even while wearing them,

people walking toward me that I thought I knew....

Awkward, part II.

And so,

New Glasses!

(Don't get distracted by the cake...or by Yi-Ting, who told me I look like a librarian.)

The answer to the question posed to you faithful followers is:

New glasses are what I have acquired recently.

Hooray!

An Update--Because I'm Sure You Were Wondering.

Those of you who are followers of this peek into my little life may remember that recently I resolved to learn to play the guitar (with a little help from the Chinese, and a little thing called a "New Year's Resolution"...)

Lest you think that I forgot:

Here I am in a re-enactment of my very first guitar lesson, with a little help from my good friend and teacher, Mr. Docker. (Otherwise known as Kenneth.) (Sometimes known as Robert.) (Occasionally referred to as "Robert Kenneth"...)

(Here is Robert Kenneth, attempting to ruin my blog with some sort of creepy depiction of an e minor chord. I'm not sure where he got his teacher training--I probably should have checked his credentials before we got under way.)

Unusual teaching techniques aside, I have successfully accomplished the e minor chord (so as to accompany myself when I feel the need to sing Have You Seen the Ghost of Tom--always a hit), as well as a D Major chord--because you never know when Are You Sleeping is going to come up. (In fact, I can even play Are You Sleeping in French--that's how good a teacher that Robert Kenneth Docker is.)

So, dear followers, you may rest assured that even though I recently spoke of reducing the amount of keeping in my life, I do keep my promises. I am resolved to resolute successfully. (Actually, I really just want to be the next Joan Baez...)



But now, it's time to seperate the men from the boys--i.e., would the real followers of Lauren's Little Life please stand up?

Because what else have I acquired recently, other than some wicked guitar skills?
(To be continued...)

Easter Tidings

Welcome to my friends Emily & Aden's house.

I was welcomed there myself just yesterday, in order to celebrate an event that truthfully I cannot wrap my mind around: Easter. When Christ defeated death. When everything changed. When hope was made complete.

We were also there to eat, and to gather with a group of fine folks also in Emily & Aden's world. We talked, laughed, and ate together this extraordinary--not to mention cheese and carb-laden--feast:

(I think there are some vegetables hidden in there somewhere....)

It is good to dwell in the rich blessing of life, decadent food, and Easter hope--together.

when more than was lost has been found

when faces called flowers float out of the ground

and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-

-it's april(yes,april;my darling)it's spring!

yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly

yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be

(yes the mountains are dancing together)

when every leaf opens without any sound

and wishing is having and having is giving-

but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense

-alive;we're alive,dear:it's(kiss me now)spring!

now the pretty birds hover so she and so he

now the little fish quiver so you and so i

(now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

when more than was lost has been found has been found

and having is giving and giving is living-

but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing

-it's spring(all our night becomes day)o,it's spring!

all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky

all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea

(all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)

~ee cummings

Recently I encountered this poem in the form of a song at my friend Emily's voice lesson. I sat at the piano while she and her teacher talked about some things not involving me, and read the text--over and over and over. I kept returning to "keeping is darkness and winter and cringing". Keeping? Is that how I should try to explain my state of being over the past who-knows-how-many years? Keeping? Holding. Hording. Controlling. In the words of cummings, Downward. Doubting. Never. [pause for breath and reflection...] Doting and Nothing and Nonsense. Keeping. Trying to take care of myself, by myself. Not trusting that Someone Else has offered to do it for me.

Perhaps it struck me at this particular moment more deeply than it otherwise would have, because I had recently felt a corner change somewhere in the deepest part of my being--an arrival in a new place. A place that felt like the opposite of keeping--a place of breathing-wishing-having-giving-living. A place where more than what was lost was indeed found--a place that involves trusting God instead of trying so hard to figure out how to please Him, how to get the answers right, how to keep myself safe [doting. nothing. nonsense. replaced with day, life, breath, found].

I've been thinking of this poem because--well, it's april (my darling!). But I've also been thinking about it because it's an important weekend for any follower of Christ.

Tonight I walked the steps of Christ--from communion at the last supper to the tomb--in a meaningfully symbolic portrayal set up throughout the building used by my Church. I watched the wine spread through the bread I dipped in it, in anticipation of the blood that was about to flow. I stood in the garden of gethsemane, and wondered at the depth of the darkness and at the vision it would have taken to know how to walk out of it. I sat in Peter's dark night of the soul, and remembered what it was like to deny--to question if this was the Person I thought I knew, to wonder if He is worthy of standing up for after all, not knowing who to believe; to feel betrayed by the turn of events, yet understanding deeply that it is I who am betraying, not knowing what to do. I looked at my thumb covered in red ink that I couldn't wipe clean, and couldn't get away from the taste of vinegar on my tongue and in the back of my throat. I tentatively leaned a 96 lb. cross on my back, and got out from under it before it got close to uncomfortable. I looked at criminals hanging next to Christ, and wondered who it is that I see as criminals hanging near me? Who do I write off--unlike Christ--while I go about my life focused on the weight I think I bear? I sat next to a giant cross and listed all of the ways I miss the mark--all of the sin that fuels my days. And then I picked up a hammer and nailed the list to that cross with finality, because the cross made the mark that took it all away. It is finished.

I don't have to try and keep anything anymore.

All that I thought I'd lost is Found.

And when Jesus said that faith could move mountains? I believe those mountains are dancing.