Monday Morning

Dear Monday Morning, I have fought with you, welcomed you, and at times slept through you. You are always faithful to arrive about a day early. The weekend passes, refreshing and full of adventures but often lacking in productivity and then you come along and remind me what I failed to do over the weekend. Overwhelmed, I roll out of bed to make coffee and soon enough I have so many thoughts and to-do lists flying around in my head that if I don't let them out, I think I might explode. And although I often dread your arrival, you never cease to remind me of the beauty of a fresh start and picking up where I left off. Today picking up where I left off means sorting through loan paperwork and trying to start my taxes and sending emails I neglected over the weekend. But, Monday Morning, you offer me grace; a few hours before my busy week actually begins, a buffer zone if you will. I'm sorry I don't often welcome you with open arms, for another week to live and breathe is a gift indeed. And you are the bringer of that gift.

Happy Thoughts

I think it is important to recognize what is good in everyday life. Those things that save me and take my breath away and make life worth living. Here are some things just today that have done just that:

1. Looking out at the rain through a coffee shop window, steaming americano in hand.
2. Seeing my art students sell their work and be reminded of the beauty they create.
3. Uplifting conversations over a dinner of wine, cheese, naan, and hummus.
4. Dreaming of changing the world with water, wine, and baked goods.
5. Watching the Lion King and singing along (of course!)

Tales of 3-5-8

These are words inspired as I rode my bus (358) home from work.  I have had the desire to write a poem about my bus experiences for awhile now and I finally have.

Tales of 3-5-8

Greetings from a driver
Though sometimes I feel invisible
Pungent smells assault me
Old and young together
Immigrants, natives, and transplants like me
On and off all day
Eye contact often averted
Personal space no longer my own
Subjected to conversations I'd rather not hear
People fighting, people laughing
Some on their way to a party
Others just riding to survive
Teenagers with no money, loud and unaware
Old women in wheelchairs
Young mothers, exhaustion in their eyes
Hopelessness, heartache, and sorrows
Smiles, joy, and adventure
All ride together
No restrictions, no expectations
Just people going about their lives
Getting from here to there
Who are you?
Where are you going?
We all ride together, yet we all ride alone

Giving up, Taking on

This morning I went for a walk/jog/more walking. I am not, nor have I ever been, a runner. I try periodically, thinking that maybe this time I will enjoy it. Not so. Running is one of those things I envy in people-a skill I would love to have and yet have never been willing enough to keep fighting for. So, I run once in a blue moon, hopeful that something in my DNA will change and that my brain will tell my body that I love this feeling. Yet without fail, I go for a run and end up walking most of it and wondering why I ever thought this was a good idea. This morning was not much different. And although my "run" turned into a long walk, it felt good to be outside moving my body instead of inside sipping coffee on the couch (although I must confess that is what I am doing now).

My "run" this morning was inspired in part by the season of Lent that began yesterday. Lent is a beautiful season in the church calendar where people choose to give things up that are important to them in order to enter into Christ's story before his death a little more deeply. Oftentimes the cliche thing to give up is sweets, as too many of us are highly addicted. Yet, as I learned last night, giving up social networking sites is quickly becoming a popular Lenten sacrifice.

This brings me to my own choices regarding celebrating this season of Lent and entering deeper into God's story. Along with treating my body better by exercising more frequently, I have decided to give up Facebook for Lent. Some may mourn this as a loss, but I am really excited by and eager about this choice, especially since a few good friends have decided to give this up as well. Yet, it is important to me not to just give something up but to take something on as well. And so as I give up Facebook I am going to be very intentional in these next 40 days to connect with the people in my life on a deeper level. I am committing to writing more letters and making more phone calls and spending face time with the people in my life that I take for granted. I think a huge part of God's story is making real, honest connections with people; therefore, this is a practice that I feel strongly about taking on in a much more intentional way.

Sitting in the living room last night with my roommate, Facebooks deactivated, we laughed about how because we no longer have Facebook we are already learning new things-particularly from all the national news articles discussing people giving up Facebook for Lent. It is ironic how much more connected we become when we choose to "disconnect."

Magical Watch

So, being a consistent blogger maybe isn't my forte. Not yet at least. As it is, blogging is an intentional choice to reflect openly on the life I am living and what I see in that life. Oftentimes, reflecting is exhausting and at the end of the day, it is the last thing I want to do. And yet, here I am at 10:30 pm after a long day at work, choosing to stop for a moment and write.

On the bus home, a little boy got on with his grandmother. He was about four years old and was wearing a hat with Mario on it. He was your classic talkative child. Just a little bit before they got off the bus, he turns to his grandmother and tells her about this great idea he has had about a watch that would "disappear them home" by the touch of a button. Right around bedtime, he could press this button and it would "disappear them home" and then they wouldn't have to ride the bus. Brilliant.

I love the dreams and ideas of children. Kids are unstoppable because they have not lived long enough to have been told that they can't do something or that something is impossible. I think this is the quality I love most in children. And I wish adults allowed ourselves to live this way: as if nothing could stop us, as if anything is possible. I can only imagine what our world could be if our childhood dreams had never been shot down. If we had never seen hurt and failure. If we had never learned the words "I can't".

I want to live my life like the boy on the bus who wants to invent this magical watch. I mean, what could it hurt? Children are the most carefree, joyful beings I have encountered. They truly believe anything is possible. We could all stand to be a little (or a lot) more like them.