Ten-ish

Another ten-hour trip means another chance to find the good ishes in the world!

Like that nice man who politely steps to the side as you walk into the gas station store, smiling under his sunglasses and nodding as you pass.

Like that view from the mountains near Jacob Lake (misty green carpet nestled under red-rock plateaus) reminding you of that scene in Cars where Lightning and Sally overlook lovely and empty Route 66.

Like having just enough cash--within cents--to fund your lunch so you don't have to use your card.

Like the pretty periwinkles and the sunflowers that dust the roadside.

Like being relieved when the signs proclaim "Phoenix 36" much sooner than you expected them to.

Like two funny little brothers and one awesome dad who spent ten hours driving to Utah a few days ago, just to turn around and drive you back.

I should spend more ten-hourses noticing the good things.

Easter-ish

This is from the view of the fictitious Rachel, Mary's best friend from childhood.

I had purposely stayed at the back of the crowd in order to avoid seeing Jesus. Watching them lay him there on the wood, seeing them drive the stakes into his hands—the hands I had seen and touched and held before—it would be too difficult.

            Mary’s lot was far worse, however, and she had surely kept as close to him as she could.

            I stared at the ground as I pressed through the alleyways, pardoning myself past the people milling about in the morning air. They didn’t realize that their Lord was dying right now, just outside the city. My swallows came more frequently as I tried to keep the sobs from spilling out of my chest.

            One broke free when I came to a crossroads. The dirt before me still bore an inch-deep scar all along the path through the alley and around the corner. His cross.

            I crouched to the ground and held my face in my hands. The people stepped on the fringes of my dress, stepped right on the cross-made furrow with their filthy sandaled feet. My Lord, I cried within my heart. My Lord, my God.

Courage-ish

I tried to listen to the Senegalese man at the front of the auditorium, but even though he was speaking French, his accent was a little funny and my vocabulary didn't match his.

My friend, sitting behind me, tapped my shoulder. He had to leave for a class. That meant it was almost 4:30. Which meant it was almost 4:50. Which meant it was almost 5:00. Which meant it was almost time.

An urge to use the loo struck me across the face (or, bladder?) once the presentation ended and I was leaving the auditorium. But I couldn't stop! It was too late! I needed to make my way up to the third floor.

I met my old French professor at the elevator. We took up a brief conversation (in French, of course) while waiting for the old lift to make its way down to us. He was pleasant and encouraging when I explained the situation. He left me on the third floor at the professor's office.

I had to wait a few minutes for the previous meeting to end. Then, it was my turn.

My turn for the interview. The interview in French. The interview in French, the language I've studied for years but still don't speak very well. The interview in French, the language I don't speak, for the Les Petits Freres des Pauvres internship in France this summer.

Me? Go to France? Me? By myself? During a summer? This summer? Me?

My heart was beating, my mind was whirling, my thoughts were praying.

But, oh good ish--the interview wasn't in French.

Five-ish

The truth is, five years ago today, I almost died.

It's not really frightening anymore to think about because five years is very much a milestone year point. Five years, ten years, twenty-five years--and then suddenly, the actual event is just a string amidst a tapestry of experience. This is especially true when it is easy to forget that a metal defibrillator sits below my left collarbone and when my heart beats with a steady thump-thump-thump day and night and day and night and day and night. The truth is, one day five years ago it stopped doing that.

Life is a gift, and one that I sometimes feel I don't deserve.

Because the truth is, life doesn't need me.

But the Lord knew that in order for me to become the person I can be, I needed life. That is why I'm still here.

This week, my friends did a good ish by giving me these cute cards--five each, to commemorate the five years. It was a good ish because, again, life is a gift. It is a gift because of what is in it.

Needer-ish

Today I heard a lovely little tale about a girl I know.

She is one of those friendly girls who talks to you like she's known you for years even if she doesn't know your name.

She goes with her family to the Utah Jazz games and sits up in the box. Every time they go, she says hello and how are you doing to the usher girl, not thinking anything of it.

The last time they went to a Utah Jazz game, she did the same. Hello. How are you. Hope you have a merry Christmas.

The usher girl broke down crying.

You've been such a friend to me, she said. You have no idea. Thank you.

Everyone says, "You never know the impact you could have." And yeah, sometimes that's true. Sometimes you'll go through life never knowing what impact you made in someone's life.

But it's the times when you do know--when you figure it out somehow--that make a difference. Because when we have those times, or see other people have those times, that's when we realize that people do notice us; that people do care. I guess it all goes back to what the Dollar Giver said a couple weeks ago: people just need each other.

So accept it when people try to fill your needs, and then try to fill others'. We're all just a bunch of Needers, after all.

Tiny-ish

There is a tiny town smack-dab in the middle of Utah called Manti.

And when I say tiny, I mean tiny. You drive through canyons to get there, past miles of wide fields, waving at sheep and cows as you go. The houses come only as often as the fence posts end. Then, suddenly, you are THERE. Tiny shops line the tiny street for a block or two until the buildings end and the fields and the sheep and the cows begin again. It's a quaint place. It's open, and empty of noise or busyness. Surrounding the valley is a guardian row of distant yet not-too-distant mountains.

On a hill in this tiny town stands a white castle, one tower on each end, its grounds garnished with a few trees and short white benches. Above the entrance, the castle proclaims in all-caps "HOLINESS TO THE LORD," then, "THE HOUSE OF THE LORD."

The castle is a temple. I went there yesterday with a group of young adults--a group of friends, as a church activity--and felt the magnificence that is there. The beauty of the edifice itself inspires, that is true; but more importantly, there is a feeling of peace there. Of comfort. Of perfection, even, as much perfection as can be achieved in this world. It was amazing...in a tiny little town on a tiny little street, we found the greatest, largest, grandest thing of all: a closeness to the Lord of all creation.

A Dollar-ish

There we were, sitting on a couch facing the counter in the car wash building. We were waiting for my mom's ivory Lexus to make its way through the maze of giant car mops. The woman at the counter turned and asked my mom and the lady on the other couch for some change to pay for her 44-ouncer. She thought she put a dollar in her purse, she explained. That's what happens to your money when you have teenagers at home, she went on, joking but embarrassed.

Before my mom could pull out the money, the other woman, closer to the counter, handed the woman a dollar.

As remarkable or unremarkable as that may seem, the more interesting part of this story is what this woman said afterward. The woman at the counter accepted the dollar and said thank you, and the Dollar Giver said these things in the ensuing conversation:

"Just pass it on to someone else."

"I just love people."

"We need one another."

She then mentioned that she was writing a book entitled Connecting the Dots, all about this good will type of thing, I assume.

Isn't that beautiful? Clearly, the Dollar Giver understood the value of her fellow man. She understood that no matter how small a dollar might be, it was worth it to give to someone in need. She understood that the Dollar Receiver was no "worse" than her. She understood that human beings do just need each other.

And by understanding those things, she helped me understand them, too.

Amazing-ish

College life is a good life.

A hard life.

A busy life.

But a good life.

Nonetheless, the hard-ness and and the busy-ness can be overwhelming at times. And the smallest, simplest changes in the smallest, simplest day can just explode my chest with gratitude.

On Friday I was looking into the future from my seat at work. My view was a little dreary: a dissertation in French 322 coming up, with the outline due Tuesday; a presentation on the dissertation after Thanksgiving; and the French final that would follow just a couple weeks later. Basically, I was looking through a pair of French-colored glasses, and let's just say it wasn't très beau.

After I finished my homework for my religion class, I internet-ed on over to Gmail to check out my inbox. Two little blessings, packaged and tied in lovely ribbon, sat waiting for me: one from my creative writing professor, the other from my rhetoric and civilization professor. The first said that class was cancelled at noon that day ("WHAT. YES!"). The next? That no homework was due that day, and no homework was assigned for the weekend (*speechless*).

Suddenly, in one fell swoop, my noon o' clock was empty! Saturday wasn't full of rhetorical readings!

And one thought came right to my mind--this is a great blessing from the Lord so I can spend time on my French outline.

Amazing.