Monday, September 17, 2012

Those Thin Fashion Scarves and 4 Hours of Sleep

I think I've finally figure out what it means to be in the moment. No,I'm not talking about this ridiculous YOLO non-sense. That is a retarded person's way of justifying stupidity. I'm not talking about seizing the day either. No, this is a much more precious gift. There are moments in our life where the memory of one singular moment in time is so real and vibrant we remember it until the day we die with every vivid detail as though it were a still photograph we had studied for a life time. These moments can be either terrifying, or joyful. Either way we tend to be unable to recreate them on our own. Most of mine have been terrifying. Over the past 3 months I have had moments that have made me catch my breath, and generally made my heart beat almost through my chest. I have discovered the intimacy of simply holding hands. The magic in doing nothing more than touching your foreheads together and simply being that close to someone. Pressing your hand against someone else's as you smile uncontrollably. The way the breeze passes through your hair, and the flush feeling on your cheeks. Intimacy in all it's glory! I have always believed that BYU is a deal breaker. I wanted nothing to do with it. I applied to RICKs. My only college clothing from that particular round of college is a shirt that reads "Forever RICKS". I proudly own it. I am a Penn State fan regardless of the fact that Ricks became BYU-Idaho. I have bet against the Y, and I have cheered on Utah for years. I'm known for being able to play chess with humanity around me. I have successfully avoided having any direct contact with BYU people who weren't related to me by blood or marriage. I will go to Provo if that is where I am to be. I found a reason to forget the angst, and a person who was able to take the bad taste for BYU out of my mouth. Even better was that it was done in the most amazing, yet simple way. Based on the situation with the Major I have always had a skewed perspective of what beautiful is. I understood "beautiful" and "hot" to be the same. Thursday night I was taught that there is a difference. Beautiful is better than Hot. Beautiful is the thing that makes a woman great, and worth keeping. Hot is what turns you on, for lack of better vernacular. All this time I have tried to be what someone else wanted me to be. I've been a pin-up, I've been a beach bum, I've been a sophisticated woman, and a street racing shorty. I had a period where I figured out that I didn't want to be what the next duechebag wanted me to be, but I didn't know who I was. I figured out who I was and I've started living that. But I didn't feel beautiful. I felt "ok". Suddenly here I am looking into someone's eyes listening to Him tell me that I'm beautiful all the time. In my head I'm thinking " uhm, when I help out at football practice I'm sweaty, and gross, and usually not wearing make-up... not only that but you must clearly be forgetting that day you came over while I was sick and you made me dinner and I promptly threw it back up. there was NOTHING beautiful about that.". Looking closely, and trying to get every ounce of communication off the touch I'm getting to confirm it, I can see in His eye's and feel in His touch that He's serious. I've got to admit. I don't know what that means. What does it mean to be beautiful? How do you quantify that? Well, for the man who has been trying to teach me what that means I will move to Provo and bloom where I am planted. Looking in those eyes and watching the strength in the gentleness. . . I will forget the angst. Because You are the only exception.

Friday, September 7, 2012

Aches, Pains, Bills, and Sunshine

Faith is a strange object. It is something we all believe to be a quality held by the best of humanity. Yet if I were to ask a quantifiable definition of the word it would escape the most educated of us. The reality is that no one can actually quantify this almost magical quality. It breathes, and lives, it touches and reaches, it wanes, and strengthens, waxes cold, and hot, it gives, it takes. Much in the same way that life itself is moving and unending so to is Faith. Even if one lacks it in self. There is always someone with sufficient Faith to carry us to our most honorable destinations. Amazingly enough their Faith soon breathes life into our own and our happy arrival is based less upon their superhuman Faith, and more on our own. This "seed" is planted when, and where WE plant it. There is not divine gardner determining who will be a suitable pot. We are ALL given a seed, and as the gardner expected to plant it. How we tend our preciously delicate seed is our own merit. If we so chose we may indeed place it upon the shelf and bother no more about it. We may plant it in the best potting soil known to man! We may simply fill a pot with dirt from some deserted pile and figure it MIGHT have enough nutrients to produce a fruitful plant. We may even drop it in the earth and layer it with fertilizers, hydration, and sunlight. It is our AGENCY to do with it as we please. Though I do not believe we should be startled at the results of our care if we do not tend to things properly. Even if gardening is no where NEAR a talent we have a responsibility to do our best to educate ourselves on the needs of the living thing we are now responsible for. I am NOT a gardener. I kill just about everything I touch. That I have managed to keep a pot full of bulbs alive for more than one season astounds me. I believe the saving graces is my Mother's semi-annual visits. with regular conversations with a person who is a master gardener I have managed. My flowers are not winning awards, but they live. They will get more beautiful as I practice this age old art on them. So too, we must tend to our Faith. Planting it in the best we have. Making room in the center of our hearts we place the small fragile seed, and cover it. Regularly checking in with our own Master Gardener we talk of life, and love, and all things under the sun. Learning to care for our Faith. As we converse we are giving strength to the new growth. As the growth becomes bigger it becomes stronger. It does not shoot up to 60 feet over night. But by small and simple increases it grows strong. It is tender while young and must be protected from the storms that rage around us. Once it is fully grown it will withstand the hurricanes of the negative world in which we find ourselves, and come out the other side beautiful and radiant inside us. I have needed a massage for over 5 months. My arms fall asleep while I'm laying on my back arms at my side. My hands cramp and spasm as I try to give the massage my reputation demands. I ache every day before I ever get moving. but knowing the toll this work takes on my own body I have refused to receive work until I can properly compensate. September is the month when ALL my bills are due. State licensing for my craft, vehicle registration, student loans, phone, liability insurance, car insurance, you get the picture. Adding to this a horrid mistake by a payroll company last year which has left me shoveling out to the IRS more than I would ever believe they deserve. Either way, I'm holding to my budget with unflinching commitment this month, and a massage. . . ISN'T in the budget. A client who is also a friend engaged me in conversation and I stated very plainly that I usually give them the massage I wish I could get myself. This led to the topic of when I had ACTUALLY had my last massage and not the fib I tell clients to get them to take care of themselves. which of course led to my reasoning behind having waited so long. The subject changed again and I thought nothing else of the words exchanged earlier. It is a common conversation for me to have with clients I've been seeing for 2 years or more. I finished up, and left the room so They could dress and went about my remaining duties as if nothing had changed. Typical end-of-shift duties. As I went to the front to turn in my lotion bottle, and see that I had filled out all my SOAP notes the manager on duty greeted me with a look of hesitation. Never a good sign. I asked if I wanted to know what I had done. She responded " there's something for you", and held up a tip envelope. I was confused to say the least, and when I reached for it and she held it back from me my consternation was increased. " You're not going to like this, but you can't be mad at me! it's so you can get a massage from Rick. I wasn't given a choice!" she states emphatically. I snatch the envelope and look at the front. " So Deb can get a massage from Rick" is written neatly on the front. I didn't even need to see the name of my benefactor to know who had left it. "I'm gonna killer her" I state in low tones. I turn to leave and my manager on duty just smiles. My anger is feigned and we all know it. As tears fill my eyes I can not even begin to describe the sense of relief and weight that is lifting from my body. The act was unmatched in kindness and generosity. There is NO WAY the meaning and significance of the act was known to my benefactor. There will never be words to describe the sensation given by Faith rewarded. There are moments in our lives when it may feel as though Providence has forgotten us. In these Abrahamic moments, as the Heavens seem closed to our upturned cries for relief and sustenance, a friend of a more mortal nature steps up and shows us that the miracles in our lives are given BY the divine THROUGH the mortal.