Picking up the pieces

Well, long story short: Today has been a really bad Fathers Day. Just kind of disappointing. I went to sleep at about 3am last night. All good and well until 8am rolls around this morning, and I realize I have to work from 9 - 4. When I got off at 4, I decided to head up to Idaho to see Grandpa. All good and well until I hear about some horrific storm that I will have to drive through. At that point, I decide to turn around and go see my sister instead. All good and well until I decide to stop and visit my niece's grave. I get out of the car and am sitting there for a bit. All good and well until a car pulls up behind mine, (literally about 15 yards away from me) a guy gets out, breaks my window, and grabs my purse.

Was there much of value in there? Nope. $21 in cash, and even less attached to my debit card. A pack of gum, hair brush, pair of socks (not brand new, gently used) a book, a dozen pens, and a half dozen chapsticks (not cherry, thank you) I feel slightly vindicated that my purse looks a lot like a laptop bag, and I am pretty sure the dude who stole it is pissed off that he took that and left the ipod on the seat, because it sure will not pay off.

I am oddly ecstatic that I had my journal with me at my niece's grave. Not because I think the tweaker who broke into my car is interested in my deepest thoughts, but because I have been so faithful in writing in this journal. This is my first successful journal I have ever kept. Usually, I last all of about two cookie-cutter entries before the journal joins the other discarded, failed journals in my drawer. Not this one. I am going on two months, and it is nearly full. I am so proud of myself, and so happy that it was not stolen. I can handle having to buy new gum, chapstick, and paying the $18 to get a duplicate license. I don't know if I could handle losing my journal.

While I was vacuuming up the pieces of glass (which literally flew EVERYWHERE in the car!) I realized how ironic the phrase picking up the pieces is. This is not a hugely traumatic occurrence. It happens every day, and to be honest, I was asking for it to happen by leaving my purse on the front seat. I usually am not that careless, but part of the problem is that I trusted too much in the goodness of people today. I assumed that everyone else in the world would be celebrating Father's Day, and not plotting to do evil. I assumed that people pulling into a cemetery are there to find peace or mourn the dead, not scoping out cars for valuables. I assumed that my car was safe because I was so close. None of those proved true.

I feel more violated that I want to admit. The things in my purse are all completely replaceable. I have a passport, so proof of citizenship and identification are non-issues. I have my beloved journal, the record I am keeping for future generations. I am just angry that my purse is likely sitting in a dumpster a few blocks from the cemetery at this point; discarded as worthless by the thief, but infinitely valuable to me. I am angry because I got that purse in Australia. My sister gave me the yellow wallet for my birthday. Both are truly irreplaceable. I am angry that my lips are feeling chapped, and not only do I have no cash to buy chapstick, I have no cards to use either. I am angry that this happened to me. But, there is still a silver lining.

I heard the infamous still, small voice. I absolutely did not heed it, because it told me to just go straight to my sister's house, and then to just visit fast, then leave. I followed it not at all, but I heard it. This is possibly the first time I have recognized that voice, and the knowledge feels nice.
My journal is here. It seems so trite, but I am so grateful for it.
I am fine, and they didn't steal the car.
I still have my ipod, thus my music. It is shocking for me to think about how much time I spend listening to music. I fall asleep to hymns, and they play all night long. I listen to music in the morning while getting ready, I listen to it any time I am in the car, and then once I get home at night. The cycle repeats daily.

The situation is more annoying than I can express, but there is still much to be grateful for, and thankfully the pieces I have to pick up were mostly vacuum-safe.

Purpose

Well, I love to go on night drives. They calm me and make me a much happier person to be around. I have never thought much about why I love night drives until I was asked last week. I honestly did not have an answer at the time, and it kind of bothered me.

Tonight was a gorgeous night. I could tell it was going to be pretty at sunset. It was not a red-orange-pink sunset, but a simple blue. Just the bluest blue imaginable. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the moon was nowhere to be seen. Those kind of sunsets turn into beautiful nights. The kind that make the mountains leave a black outline on the sky; the kind that make your heart feel like it's fallen out of your chest.

Nights like this make me ancy. I need to drive on nights like these. On nights like tonight, I feel like there is nothing in the world but me, the sky, the mountains, and the Lord. Nights like tonight thoroughly convince me that there is some sort of plan. Nights like these are not some interplanetary happenstance that I stumbled upon. It's part of the plan.

On nights like these, I see so vividly my role in this plan. My life has purpose and meaning. I live for these nights. I want to soak them up, because I know it will not last, but while it does, I am happy. Nights like these convince me that if it all ended right now, it'd be ok. You see, I am more content than I have ever been.

Uncle Sila!

Well, one of my sisters is pregnant, and she found out on Friday that it is a boy. They are naming him Silakivai, after my oldest brother. My 4-year old nephew is more than happy to tell everyone who will listen about his new baby who is coming soon, and will be named "Uncle Sila"

~~~~~~~~~

One of my sisters recently realized that the top on a tanning bed is meant to be pulled down over the top of you. This same sister once engaged my mom in an argument about whether "a quarter to 5" meant 4:35 or 4:45 (a quarter=25, right?)

~~~~~~~~~

Well, the inevitable has happened- I am beginning to plateau. School is not quite as new and fun, and not having as much expendable income is becoming old. I think Melancholy is probably the perfect way to describe this feeling. I knew this day would come; that I could not surf along on the high of making a life change forever. I just wish it had not come so soon. Nevertheless (I love that word, but spell checkers don't) I know that I am doing the right thing, and I am so excited for the way things are headed!

I started training for this volunteer program called CASA (Court Appointed Special Advocate) that works with the Guardian ad Litem's office (What I want to be when I "grow up") It is a pretty long training, and all volunteer, but I am so excited and hopeful to begin! I know it will be so fulfilling, and I am excited to finally have the ball rolling.

Anywho, this was kinda a disjointed post, but there's an update for anyone interested!

Grab Life by the Horns

I think that's a quote from some Dodge trucks commercial, but I really like the sound of it.

I am a firm believer that we are the creators of our own destiny-Our lives are exactly what we make of them. I was recently talking to a girl who, because of experiences she had with a few stuck-up white people, has decided she does not like white people at all. Immediately when I heard that, I was saddened.

Saddened at the loneliness this girl must have felt to make her respond like that. Saddened at the people whose own close mindedness had fostered a close mindedness in this little girl.

I realized that I am a fixer.

I have a compulsive urge to fix things. Not the broken faucet or the broken cabinet, but people. I feel helpful and calm when I can fix people or their situations. Does it matter that these people don't want to be fixed? Not at all. They're gonna be whether they like it or not!

Which is why I was dumbfounded when this girl told me her story. I had no idea what to say that would fix the situation. Looking back, I realize there was nothing to say. It's a problem she's got to sort out herself. Any advice I could give her would either be too vague, too personal, or too harsh.

What is the difference between me and this girl? Our stories are different, but our personalities are alike, and our experiences similar. What is the axis on which all this turns?

Perspective

I am hardly what I would consider old. I do not think I am any sort of expert on life and living, but I do know that I have gained a lot of perspective since I was a teenager. The world that I thought I understood has changed in so many ways since I was 16, and on my way to conquer it. I wonder how much more it will change as I grow older. I feel like the "perspective" I have now will seem like nothing when I am 50, but it is all-encompassing now.

I guess that is the essence of life; to learn, gain perspective, and wisdom. I hope to continue to gain all of them throughout my life. I guess that is part of the reason why I have registered and paid for school. There is no turning back now. I'm all in.

Random thoughts...

Well, I read a book about overcoming OCD the other day. Am I a coffer full of knowledge and insight into overcoming OCD? One would hope so.

Sadly, the only thing I have accomplished by reading the book is recognizing that I obsess about things. Irrational and ridiculous things. I swear that my obsessions are worse off since I read that book.

Now I'm obsessing about how I obsess about things. I'm hopeless!

~~~~~~

I feel like I am standing on the brink. I am stuck in this rut in my life--not entirely miserable, but also not entirely content. My toes are dangling out over the edge, and my future; the fulfillment of 23 years of desires, is within sight. All I need to do is take the leap of faith.

I feel like Indiana Jones in the Last Crusade. I cannot watch his leap of faith scene. It makes me tense about my own situation. So much rests on me going forward, but the way is deceiving. I can see the glowing chamber that is my future. Even though my trusty guide is urging me forward, I am not sure.

I recently realized that my entire life has been leading me to this exact point. The precipice I stand at is the culmination of years of preparation. I have been unconsciously working toward this day literally forever.

I also recently realized that this feet-dragging I am experiencing is only a problem of perspective. Someone above or below (or even to either side) of Indiana Jones would be able to see the situation clearly, without the deception Indy experiences. They would urge him forward, confused about why he pauses.

I, too, am merely a victim of perspective. From where I am at, the way seems impassable. Yet I have a guide, the Spirit, that is far more knowledgeable about these things. My guide is telling me to move forward with faith. I have no real options but to do so.

The back story

Any time I see skid marks on the road, I wonder about the story behind them. Was someone driving too fast, and a deer darted in front of them? Were they on their cell phone when traffic all-of-the-sudden stopped? Were they driving too fast when their exit snuck up on them? Most of the time, I am left to my thoughts to ponder the story behind the skid marks; it is not often that I get the whole story.

The most disconcerting skid marks are the ones that head straight off the edge of the road. Those have back stories that I do not care to know. Those almost always end in tragedy. My dad and brother left skid marks like those on the freeway once. Driving past there, I have this morbid urge to look for the skid marks. There are plenty to choose from, so I usually pick a pair and assume those are them. The physical reminder of someone's worst drive ever.

It is not often that our choices leave such blatant physical proof. If you choose to drink, short of a biopsy of your liver, the alcohol will have left few physical side effects. Not so with tire marks on the road. They are a testament to the raw power that 2 tons of steel and metal rolling down the road at 65 mph can possess.

Skid marks make me grateful for modern-day advances in brake technology. They are a humbling reminder of our own mortality. I cannot look at a set of skid marks without the urge to slow down; wherever I am headed will still be there even if I am 5 minutes late.

Every image sends a message, but every image also has a back story. The back story is rarely public knowledge. It's the stuff deep family secrets are made of; the stuff of legends. I think often, we are extremely concerned with what message we are sending out to other people. Maybe we should be more concerned with the back story; the real story. That's what will matter in the end.

April showers

April showers bring May flowers

Rain, rain, go away. Come again another day

Down came the rain and washed the spider out

The rains came down and the floods came up...and the house on the rock stood still.

Well, it is raining tonight. Not the usual Utah drizzle, but pouring rain. It's a little intimidating to see this much rain on my way home from work. The first thought that ran through my mind was annoyance that it was raining, until I realized that April showers bring May flowers. Then I was actually kind of happy. It's amazing what the difference of attitude makes. Earlier, my attitude was annoyance because the rain symbolized winter to me, and I was ready for winter to be over months ago.

Remembering that nursery rhyme changed my mindset. All of the sudden, rain meant sunshine and flowers-- the beginnings of Spring! It was such a shock to me to realize that my entire attitude could be changed by something so simple as a nursery rhyme.

Something that I viewed as a nuisance, an annoyance, was suddenly transformed into a wonderful reminder that winter is not forever. Rain went from being the bane of my existence to being a source of joy.

I wrote that last night, and it has rained off and on today also. I have a much better attitude about the rain today. I am focusing more on the fact that I love the smell of rain, I miss the smell of slugs after it rains, and I mostly just love summer.

Spring is here; Summer must be on its heels!