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sentimental heart

If you are reading this blog, you probably know me. And if you know me, you probably know that I am kind of a sentimentalist. Okay, a total sentimentalist.

Which means you won’t be surprised to hear what I did yesterday. I went to Discovery Park. Exactly 4 months ago this weekend, I went there  to ruminate about my place in the universe. It happened to be Valentine’s Day, and I had been feeling pensive and lonely. However, with the help of a beautiful sunrise and the crooning of contemporary Christian pop star Bebo Norman (I know — Bebo is cheesy. But he is also dreamy. Have I told you about the moment I shared with Bebo? I swear, he took my hand and there was a connection. Remind me to tell you about it someday), I felt alive and as un-lonely as a girl could feel, on Valentine’s Day or otherwise.

Yesterday was a brilliantly sunny, yet hazy day. What a different experience! That February morning I had felt anxious, heavy-hearted, and chilled to the bone. Yesterday, I was peaceful, joyful, and hot as heck (Seattle is not supposed to be humid! What’s the deal, yo).

So much has happened and changed within me since that melancholy morning. I could list it all out here, but I mean I guess it’s pretty much what I’ve been blogging about since then.

But I will say this: my heart may have been heavy that February morning, but it was also full of prayer. And it amazes and humbles me to see how God has answered each and every prayer I sent up to Him that day. I prayed that I would begin to have a desire for Him and for His word again. I prayed that He would bless my friendships and reconnect me with people who loved Him deeply. I prayed that He would help me learn to trust my heart again, to trust Him to open the doors to the possibility of romance and companionship.

And if you know me, you know that He has answered each and every one of these prayers. Specifically and personally. I am so very, very thankful. And humbled. How can I not trust that He will continue to provide his grace, strength, and guidance in the days and weeks and months ahead?

“She is clothed in strength and dignity; she laughs at the days to come” – Proverbs 31:25

(in keeping with the sentimentality theme, guess who’s had that motto branded to her back for 6 years this week?)

grappling with a sly old fox

Yesterday evening my dear friend, Courtney, and I closed the gap on our current separation (Florida is just about as far as you can get from Washington, unfortunately, and Seattle misses Courtney Jane, and very much so at that) and spoke for a while of life’s most recent blessings and curses. I was halfway through telling her about Sunday’s unexpected adventure when she spoke up and said “Wow, isn’t it crazy how much opposition you were facing that day?”

Until she said it, I hadn’t realized it, but she was so right. For the past 6 weeks I have practically bounded out of bed on Sunday mornings (which is a feat in itself), excited to walk (or drive — bounding can only get me so far so early in the morning) up the hill to hear what Pastor Mark has to say (whether I agree with him or not, he defintely inspires and challenges me). But this Sunday — Easter Sunday, no less — my feet felt like lead. Obie cried and whimpered from his bed in the living room and I thought to myself, “Oh we can sleep in just a little bit longer….”

We slept in so long that I was incredibly rushed to get ready. But I wanted to look cute and wear a dress — it was Easter Sunday and I had a brunch to attend after the service — so despite my lack of time and lack of patience with Obie, I curled my hair and carefully applied make-up. Before I knew it, it was already 11:oo; I should have already been parking my car. It was Easter Sunday! But despite my carefully arranged curls and mascara, something pulled at me, saying, You don’t really want to go to church, do you? It’s going to be so crowded…the message is going to be watered down…you’re just going to have to watch a bunch of baptisms of people you don’t even know. I mean….baptisms…on Easter? How cliche can you get?

I totally agreed with all of that. What also sounded cliche but a lot more appealing was plopping back down on the couch with Obie, a full mug of coffee, and an old episode of Friends. I shook it off. I jumped in my car, drove up the hill, and made my way up to the balcony (where there was plenty of room). Was the message watered down? Well, a bit. Did my mind wander? Yep. Was I annoyed that we were going to have to watch people get baptized on Easter? Totally.

But then a mild-mannered guy in a black t-shirt walked up to the microphone. He started talking about how he had grown up Catholic (check). About he had begun to think very differently about faith when he was in high school (um, check). About how, as an adult, his faith had become just that — his faith. It was a personal thing that he didn’t talk about with anyone, really. He thought it was enough to have this conversation with God on his own. But without the support of a community, he found himself making decisions that were leading him away from God and that ultimately caused him great sadness (and…check).

I sat there, unmoving, as three other people got up and gave their testimonies before taking the plunge. My heart was pounding fast. The voice came back. Sure, these guys have great stories. But don’t go thinking you should be up there, too. Like you could even get up there and share your story. Scaredy cat.

After four baptisms, the campus pastor announced that we’d be entering into a time of prayer and worship. As I bowed my head, I felt completely weighted down. An tumultous stream of dark memories came flooding through my mind. I brushed a few tears from my cheek.

But cutting through my litany of confessions and the barrage of my iniquities was this strangely creeping feeling of peace, slowly engulfing me. I began to feel like this was the last time I would need to revisit these memories; it was time to let it all go and let Jesus do what he’s so good at.

The pastor was still talking. “We’re going to do something different today. We’re going to keep the baptisms going. If any of you feel the Spirit moving in your heart, you are welcome to come up here.” My head jerked up.

What? 

“As you are praying, remember that you are dealing with an audience of One. It’s not about where you are.” You are wearing your Easter dress, Erin, don’t be silly. 

“It’s not about what you’re wearing — in fact, we have towels and sweatpants for you here backstage.” Of course they have sweatpants for you. They’re hawking mass-produced Christianity, here, Erin. What a production. 

“It’s not about the production, or the people, or the day. It’s about you and Jesus.”

I looked down at my dress, spotted with tears.

The feet that I stood on still felt like lead. My entire body trembled as I made my way down the stairs, through the hallway, down the aisle, and to the front of the stage. The man in front of me turned and offered a smile. “Nervous?”

Incredibly.

Somehow I made my way up the steps and into the pool. And when the pastor turned to me and asked if I had confessed my sins, I silenced the opposition. If only for a moment. “Yes,” I trembled, my throat constricting.

And, in my Easter dress and cardigan, before a room of strangers, I let go. And from the water I emerged, sputtering and grinning, mascara running down my face. The building exploded in applause.

It was wondrous and magical, yes. But we all know what happens when you think that mountain-top experiences will last forever.

As I walked away from the church and to my car, I began to think about how the experience I had just had was the antithesis of how I’d imagined my potential baptism — had I not just written a huge exposition about this very topic to my friend, Tim, a fellow former Catholic? About how I wanted to be surrounded by a community of people that I knew and trusted? About how I wanted it to be very personal and planned? About how I wasn’t even sure that I should or needed to be baptized and that it frustrated me when people made me feel as though I should?

The last three days have been a roller coaster ride of doubt and jubilation, anxiety and peace.

Last night I realized I had completely spaced out on checking in on an editing project (why-oh-why did I give them that old email address? I’m never going to remember to check it). This morning, my car got a flat and I had to replace all four tires (why didn’t I listen to Mom and Dad when they told me to go to Firestone 6 weeks ago?). This afternoon I scrambled to file my taxes, deposit a check to cover said tires, clean up puppy pee, return a demo modem that I’ve had for two weeks too long, and take a conference call where I proved once again that I am not cut out for media relations.

Did the voice come back? Oh yes! You can dunk yourself in water but you can’t escape yourself, missy. Sly devil.

But wait. There is another ancient, much-loved, almost-forgotten voice that now surrounds me, and as with happy chords of  Built to Spill and Elliott Smith that have been softly and surprisingly winding their way into my daily dose of Pandora, I’m reminded of ancient hopes and dreams, the longings of a fledgling soul.

(Ask me if part of me wonders if it was all an exercise in futility and I’m trying desperately to convince myself otherwise. You betcha. But hey, you know what? At least I’m honest about that much.)

Valentine’s Day Wandering In Discovery Park

Last Saturday was Valentine’s Day. Originally, the plan was to take Obie to Discovery Park and celebrate our undying bond of puppy love, but due to his last-minute “fix” a few days prior, the poor guy was sequestered with lots of blankets and toys to comfort him as he healed. When I woke up that morning, I decided that since Obie would probably sleep the morning away as it was, I’d go to Discovery Park on my own.

Well, not completely on my own. I’d take Bebo Norman.

I had been feeling the need to get out into nature and to the water and the mountains and sky because while I am in no way against Valentine’s Day, this year I was feeling a bit funny about the whole thing and felt the need to get out of my head and close to something greater than myself.

It had been a while since I had listened to this particular album, and I had thought I was setting myself up for a morning of worship and praise songs. What I had forgotten — part of the reason for my love of Bebo — is that, like myself, Mr. Norman is a hopeless romantic.

So for two hours I walked through trails of trees and along craggy bluffs overlooking the ocean, listening to Bebo sing about love and heartache and about the yearning to find someone who fits just right, the one you can talk to and laugh with and cry with…the one you can stick through anything with because you’ve committed yourselves to a love bigger than you.

Eventually I ended up here, at this lighthouse:

As I sat on a rock, overlooking the water, I thought about what the lyrics were saying. And thought about the hope that I’ve had since I was a very little girl that I would find someone to fall into step with me. Someone to adventure with and take my hand and sit and watch the sun rise.

And in the midst of my musings, I looked across the water and realized that from where I sat in front of the lighthouse, I could see West Seattle and Alki Beach. Turning to look behind me, I could make out Golden Gardens and Sunset Hill. And I thought — how is it that I managed to wander to the one spot in Seattle that I have a view of two of my favorite spots in the city?

At that moment, the sun seemed to shine a little bit brighter, filtering through the low mid-morning clouds. In the distance, beyond Alki and the West Seattle bridge, Mt. Rainier started to peek through in all of his magnificent beauty:

And on my iPod, Bebo sang:

Take my heart, and wring it out

In Your hands and watch it all collapse

Take Your Love, and drive it in

Into my soul, and never leave again

‘Cause I am so afraid

That I’ll find myself alone

Looking for a savior, looking for a home

I am so afraid

That I’ll find myself alone

Looking for a savior,

Looking for a home

So don’t leave me here alone

Don’t leave me here alone

And well, what can I say? I felt the farthest from alone I’ve felt in quite some time. I felt a bit humbled. And small in the face of such beauty and promise. And reassured that somehow, if I keep following my feet, I’ll wander my way to right where I need to be.

a day of tiny miracles

last saturday i traveled to kelso, washington to meet the amazing breeders at voyager eskies & poms…and to meet the new eskie puppies — one of which will be coming home with me in less than a month.

to be honest i was a bit nervous when i got there because while i grew up with dogs, i was never instrumental in training them and, as i’ve recently learned from reading cesar’s way, have never learned how to display that calm assertive energy that lets a dog know who is pack leader.

who's the boss?

yet once i was there and in the presence of these tiny little snowballs, all of my nerves melted away! what friendly, curious, beautiful pups.

eskie...or polar bear

i get the feeling that i am about to get schooled.

i was a goner!

once i left their home in kelso, i decided to go adventuring to the southwest washington coast. it was a gorgeous day and i followed the setting sun to long beach, where i discovered the skeleton of a gray whale, around the same spot that mr. clark (of lewis and clark) would have found a similar skeleton back at the beginning of the 19th century.

gray whale on long beach

 

the rest of the evening i spent traipsing along the beaches

i followed my feet to the beach

 

and marshes, 

oysterville is much prettier than it sounds

photographing seagulls

silly-gulls

and water

beach ripples

and flowers

flowers of fall

and photo-ready landscapes,

boat in the marsh

doing my best to capture the tiny miracles that were presented all around me, so naturally, so quietly, just waiting to be dicovered.

it was a sparkling evening, and it left me feeling full of hope.

 

moon over the marsh

a stampede of slippers

wee me

the other night i was watching tv and chatting with my roommate when we were suddenly distracted by an ad featuring jubilant children wearing pajamas and slippers running down the stairs, squealing, and diving into easter baskets. against a backdrop of bright colors and cheerful music, a series of individual tots then began popping up to extol the wonder and magic of the holiday:

“ooh! look at THIS little piece of crunchy choc-o-late!” exclaimed one little munchkin as he unearthed a piece of candy from the piles of plastic grass and all but jumped off the ground in excitement.

this ad aired several times throughout the night, and i really should have grown tired of it like any self-respecting adult would do.  instead, each time i saw those slippered feet scampering down that staircase, i all but clapped my hands.

why was i so intrinsically enamored? certainly part of it can be explained by the uncontrollable hormonal responses i’ve recently been experiencing each time i see a small child.

(i should really get a puppy.) 

or perhaps i was romanced by the nostalgia they were selling; it’s easy to get caught up in memories of my own childhood of running down the stairs, following a jelly bean trail left by the easter bunny leading straight to my own glorious basket full of crunchy choc-o-late.

(i really do love choc-o-late.)

but it was so much more than that; what struck me about the ad was the unfiltered emotion on each one of those glowing faces, and the transparency with which they expressed it. 

a little girl sat on a stool grinning with her basket in her lap and, swinging her legs, she threw out her arms and said, almost in disbelief, “i’m just so HAPPY right now!”

and i thought, yes! yes you are and yes i am and can i join you in that joy?

and how?

frederick buechner, the great writer and my personal hero, often advises to “follow your feet.” because, he says “if you want to know who you really are, as distinct from who you like to think you are, keep an eye on where your feet take you.”

a child running down the stairs in her slippers to chase after easter candy left by a magical bunny? is this what it comes to? am i longing to run after all that is pretty and sweet and pastel in an attempt to reclaim my innocence and naivete? not quite. it’s less about the object of belief and more about the depth of faith that it took to experience life as a child with so much wonder. it’s about the pursuit of the belief that something miraculous has occurred.

and with that, i slip on my fuzzy slippers.

and i follow my feet.