What are you Grateful for?

This past weekend, after I made a grumpy face and some grumpy-ish comments in regard to all the work I had left to do with the rest of my day, a friend dismissed my grumpiness and asked me instead "What are you grateful for?" [Nothing like a little pressurized perspective taking, as I always say...] I answered him with some generic things, I peeked into some things that were maybe closer to my heart, and then I thought we were done.

I should have known that when God is trying to get your attention, you are never done--because, little did I know that this question would follow me through my week, perched on my shoulder, overlooking the wide variety of things that I have been called to do, reminding me:

God is just so so good.

You see, here I sit at the end of my doctoral class work, on the cusp of the next big step: comprehensive exam & dissertation. Here I sit, reflecting with awe and amazement and overwhelming peace on the journey that I have been brought on. I kicked and screamed my way through most of it, and still God was gracious to me: How many people can say that they have had the luxury to study completely unneccessary things, fascinating things, things that have made them so much more than who they were and who they had any hope to be?

On Wednesday I sat in my writing class and wrote following this prompt: I am a writer who...

I am a writer who...

Needs to believe I have something to say. There is enough in the world without my voice if I am just repeating someone else or filling up space.

I need to believe that I know what it is I want to say, to see clearly a path before me that I follow step by step.

I need to feel like my writing makes sense, like it leads people forward and makes them think, makes them comment, moves them further down their own path.

I need to write beautifully, poetically, engagingly, wittingly. I need to feel like my writing is aesthetic in its contribution. That it is more than ideas--that it is Art.

I am a writer who needs to write.

And I thought--since when did I become a writer? And I found that yes--a writer is who I am, and who I want to be. And I reflected on how I have been given time to develop this new aspect of my life.

Later that afternoon I sat at a piano with a 6 year old boy, who told me that it had been the worst day of his life. Not only had he been hurt 51 times at school, he had to leave home for his piano lesson before finishing the game he was playing. It was such a bad day, there were tears in his eyes and woe in his voice. And I listened to him, and I asked him questions, and I said "well, let's make it better with some piano playing", and at the end of it all he said "The piano is really challenging and interesting!" with a grin on his face and joy in his eyes. My heart squeezed a little bit at his preciousness and I thought "A teacher. A teacher is who I am, and who I want to be." I reflected on the time that I have been given to pursue the art of teaching, an art I never anticipated I would be a part of--and wouldn't be, if it were not for the gracious leading of a God who knows me better than I know myself.

And, later that evening, I had an unprecedented 2 hours to sit at a piano by myself and just play. I watched my hands move, watched my fingers know where to go, listened to the sounds that emerged, and thought to myself "How is it possible that I can do this?!" And I reflected on the years that I was given the time to just play play play, the years where 2 hours would have been a tragedy of a practicing day, so that I can now sit down at a piano and say "I am a musician--an accomplished one. It is who I am, and who I want to be."

So, I sit here now, reflecting on how beautifully God has woven together the pieces of what--on the surface--might look to be a scattered path. Reflecting on the expectation that what is next is most likely going to be something I never could have expected. Reflecting on the overwhelming gratitude in my heart for the shaping of a life that does not need to be so cool--but is.

And so my heart sings with the Psalmist (and probably some choirs of angels too),

You are my God, and I will give you thanks;

you are my God, and I will exalt you.

Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good;

[pause. Selah. reflect.]

his love endures forever.

Amen,

[and amen].

35 Years Ago Today...

...these 2 got hitched.

A few years later they had this adorable child.

(Who just continued to get cuter and cuter it would appear....)



Eventually they added another, not as cute, but with a bigger heart.
And then, before 'ya knew it, they'd added this little guy--
who stole the show with his curls and his laughter. Through the years they've shown their adorable, big-hearted, and laughing children how it is to live life committed to one another and what it really means to be adorable and adored, big-hearted and generous, and how to keep laughing through it all.

And, they've produced a beautiful family:


I'd say they're pretty lucky.

Happy anniversary kids.
It's fun to watch you live in your golden years,

so make the most of it ;-)
We love you, and are grateful for all you've done for us!

Convalescence? Nah--Conference!

So, the good people at the ER told me in no uncertain terms: Elevate. Ice. Crutch-it-up. Driving and unnecessary weight-bearing is not conducive to the healing process. Be a good girl.

I took this to mean: If you can find supportive shoes in your closet, wrap that dang foot up and go about your life. Crutches optional if you can manage without them.

So that is what I did: Because here's the facts--I had places to go! The Pennsylvania Music Educator's Conference was calling, and I was supposed to be there. I did, however, realize that driving myself to Pittsburgh and back was probably not a wise idea and so I gladly hopped (hobbled) into the car with these lovely ladies and our poster-presenting paraphernalia.
We took a mandatory McDonald's pit stop, because what is a road trip without fast food?

[I found that I actually enjoyed my bacon egg & cheese bagel, but maybe that's because I was inexplicably so hungry...]

We arrived in Pittsburgh in no time at all.

We set up our posters, because the only reason we were there was that our work had been accepted for the "poster session".
Now, let me tell you something about poster sessions:
They really are quite silly.

You stand next to the poster that took you 36 to 48 hours to make for exactly 1 hour. You avoid the eyes of the people who walk near you, because you are unsure if they just want to look, or if they want you to spout off everything you did in your study while their eyes glaze over.


It is awkward.
And yet, we Penn Staters know how to turn silly-awkward situations into silly-fun situations. It is one of our gifts.
So...

...we engaged in a small photo shoot while waiting for our spectators to meander over near us.




















[We had plenty of time, as no one seemed all that interested in our wing of things]

[I only ended up talking to one guy outside of my department through the whole thing...]




















[he at least seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say....]

[and asked questions that implied he had stood in my shoes himself, and was trying to redeem the situation...]

[I appreciated that my 6 hours in the car that day were not for naught, because I think I changed his life with my scholarship.]

Before catching my ride back,

I took a moment to reflect on the fact that I was returning to a sea of I have so much to do.

It's that time of year kids, but guess what?

It's my LAST season of end-of-semester class work EVER.

And, since my foot is feeling better by now, I'm kicking up my heels with glee.

Join me--it's fun ;-)

Just too good to not...

If you know me at all, you probably are already assuming that I have listened to pretty much none of the "doctor's orders" I received today. Until tonight. I realized that I needed to go and get a posterboard thingie for a presentation I have tomorrow, for which my ride to Pittsburgh is picking me up in the early AM. I was going to drive myself on over to Wal-Mart, but found that I was regretting my lack of listening. Hence, I called/gchatted my battalion of friends until I found a willing/available compadre to take me.

Here was his good fortune for agreeing to shuttle me around--

--the opportunity to accompany me as I shuttled my way through the store in this crazy thing.

(The welcome man at the door convinced us that this would be a better idea than those crazy crutches...He probably was painfully embarrassed for me and my lack of crutch-walking grace, and felt that he couldn't allow it to go on...)

I have to say--it was kinda humbling, kinda fun.

It caused me to laugh anyway, and laughter is always good! ;-)

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.