Awake-ish

The little boy in the airport was dead OUT. Asleep, asleep, in the deepest deepest sleep. His mother cuddled him for a while, then lay him beside her with his head in her lap. His back curved over her leg and his arm hung, totally limp, off the bench.

I was so tired. The sun told me it was the morning, but my body moaned, "Oh my gosh, I didn't get more than a wee four and a half hours of sleep last night, and now I have to do daytime all over again..."

The boy woke up with the happiest smile on his face. Wherever he had come from, however far he had to go, he was beaming and ready to go.

The lesson for the girl working in France for the next two months: Wake up with a smile.

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.

Bad-ish

My tagline says "Good ishes happen every week." Which is quite true. Sometimes, though--well, most of the times--bad ishes happen during the week, too.

Honestly I don't really have bad days, but Friday was a bad day. (Mind you, the evening was much better. We're talking about the day, however). Granted, most everything of the bad-ish-sort was my own fault.

I woke up late when I wanted to wake up early. I got interrupted in my scripture study by two texts--one from my mother and one from Verizon Wireless--both telling me that I need to send in my broken phone or else pay for the new one they gave me. Panicked, I set to work trying to figure out how to erase my old phone and send it in, figure out where to send it and how. Then my mom was like, you can go get your passport today. My cousin was going to the post office to renew his, it was a perfect time. But I also had to do homework and finish writing an essay for an internship application. I did almost no homework. The application essay didn't get finished until Saturday. I waited in line at the post office for about an hour in vain--no passport for me yet.

Perhaps it is because I am just me, perhaps it is because I am a girl, perhaps it is because of both ("me" rather implies "girl," you know)--but I was stressed and upset and down as all this passed throughout the day.

But as I said before, it only lasted a day.

Bad ishes are temporary. They are much more temporary than good ishes, because once they are gone we are much more apt to cast off the memory of them, as it is unpleasant. A bad day comes along every once in a while, but it is only that.

Only a day.

Happy-ish

Today I have been so happy.

The reason this is such a good ish is because weeks can get crazy in college. Trying to get homework done, going to bed too late, waking up too late, having trouble concentrating, wanting to be a better person, visiting people, wishing other people would visit people, wasting too much time, not taking enough time, trying, deciding, praying, walking, listening, practicing, writing, doing, living, breathing--

There's just so much to life, and sometimes, I am sad or worn down. I know that I don't have the worst life ever. Not even close. But for me, for where I am right now, for who I am right now--sometimes it's hard.

Yet here I am, sitting in my friend's apartment, tired, but softly, freshly, oh-so momently content.

Not everyone is happy. Not everyone knows that they can be happy, or how to be happy. So how could I not be happy that I get to be happy?

Who knows what this week will bring. Who knows!

It doesn't matter though. Not yet. Because right now, I am happy.