to-do

the thing i hate about "to-do" lists is that they never end
one thing checked off the list is immediately replaced by another
that's life in the fast lane, i guess

*file taxes- done! i'm such a grown-up
*pay deposit on new apartment- almost, hope it can wait till i get paid on friday. i'm going to have to get used to the constant draining of money from my account. losing the perks of being a live-in assistant
*edit resume and make yourself look good- done! (with daddy's help)
*buy affordable dress suit to look professional for interviews-done!
*have dress pants hemmed since i'm lacking in length- still need to do
*send out resumes- i think i've sent out one?
*figure out what i want to do with my life- this is the one that will keep replenishing itself forever

kiwi moments

the other day i was slicing a kiwi and i was instantly overwhelmed by the memory of the first time i saw or tasted one. i think it's an amazing gift when we can recall experiencing something in life for the first time; when nostalgia is triggered by a song you hear on the radio, the taste of chapstick you haven't worn in a while, or an old t-shirt you find buried in your dresser. it was that kind of moment with the kiwi. i'm fond of this memory because it's one of my oldest and there's really no reason for me to remember it so vividly. i had to have been 5 or 6 because we still lived in our house in Mississippi. my mom and i were having a tea party with my favorite little plastic tea set. i knew this was no typical tea party when my mom brings out this small, round, ugly, fuzzy thing. she says she wants me to try something new. can't we just have cookies, i remember thinking, no way i'm eating this thing. this is a kiwi, mom says. strange name, i'm thinking. then she slices it, revealing the shocking, alien green of the inside with its magnificent white center and black speckles. it looks to me like a large monster eye. i had never seen anything like it. i remember being surprised by the tart sweetness of the new fruit and how anything so green could taste so good. i felt special to try something so unique and mysterious. it seems so simple now, but it was monumental for this five-year-old.

my life in new york has been one giant kiwi. i have days when i'm weighed down with sensory overload and i just can't seem to take it all in at once. i don't want to forget one single sensation of these experiences as they fly by me. i want the nostalgia to stay with me at every turn, a moving picture in the back of my mind. i want to remember how giant the world feels while standing in the middle of time square, lights blazing around me and thousands of people from all over, jabbering in their own languages. i want to remember the feeling of running up and down the east river on the most perfect day, the promenade littered with all types of dogs and their owners, taking advantage of the break from the cold. i want to remember the taste of my first beer in the city and how it made me think of summer and country music. i want to remember the look on sasha's face when she unabashadly hugged me for the first time. i want to remember the first time i took communion in my new church, the tears of pure joy that filled my eyes as i assimilated Christ body and blood. sometimes i find myself stopped in the middle of a sidewalk or in the center of a crowd of people on the subway, and i'm thinking, don't forget this, don't forget this, don't forget this. these moments are so rare, and yet so common. these are kiwi moments. help me remember...

good friday

O come and mourn with me awhile;
O come ye to the Savior's side;
O come, together let us mourn;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

How fast His hands and feet are nailed;
His blessed tongue with thirst is tied,
His failing eyes are blind with blood:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

Seven times He spoke, seven words of love;
And all three hours His silence cried
For mercy on the souls of men;
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

O break, O break, hard heart of mine!
Thy weak self-love and guilty pride
His Pilate and His Judas were:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

A broken heart, a fount of tears,
Ask, and they will not be denied;
A broken heart love’s cradle is:
Jesus, our Lord, is crucified.

O love of God! O sin of man!
In this dread act Your strength is tried;
And victory remains with love;
For Thou our Lord, art crucified!

-Fredrick W. Faber, 1849

a white valentine's day

school was cancelled on account of
snow...
sleet...
rain...
mush...
did i miss any form of water?
that is the kind of day we're having
i won't be caught dead in it
if i can help it

rom. 7

sin exists. I’ve heard it defined in many different ways: missing the mark by a long, long shot.
Like trying to throw a rock to the moon.
Impossible. I’m certain it exists because I’m so familiar with its relentless yanking. The constant friction and collision it makes with my spirit.
I know it’s real because it owned me. I was its slave. It was my master.
Everyone knows his master.
I’m positive it exists because it killed me. It deceived me and killed me.
Everyone knows what kills him.

It frustrates me that people try to take sin out of the equation.
Good luck with that.

Barbara from the 7th floor

I met Barbara in the elevator today. It’s rare that I ride the elevator with anyone in the building, so I like to take that opportunity to meet people.

I almost jumped when the elevator door slid open and I saw her standing there, pushing the “door close” button as fast as she could. She was layered in so much clothing; I could only see her mouth and chin. “You look very warm” was the first thing I said as I squeezed in next to her.

Warm was an understatement; I swear, this woman had more animal skin on her than her own. She was arrayed in fancy leather gloves with fur lining, a very large, pale blue mink wrap swaddled around her entire upper body, but, the best part was her hat. It looked more like a lamp shade made from a skinned fox. It shielded her entire head like a football helmet, leaving only her mouth vulnerable to the outside world.

“I’m Julia” I managed, after slightly getting over the shock of her massive, furry presence.

Her mouth looked at me with a slight twinge of acknowledgement.

“What’s your name?” I tried again, attempting to fill the thick silence as the lit-up numbers slowly decreased.

“Barbara” the mouth spoke magniloquently.

“Nice to meet you.”

Ding. First floor.

“After you,” I gestured out the door with my hand.

Barbara’s fox hat tipped back towards me, as she swiftly shuffled through the door. I followed her as she marched past the doorman and out of the building, all that fur flittering in the wind.

I stopped briefly to examine my own attire- a thin black pea coat and miss-matching brown gloves.

Smiling to myself, I continued on my way.

happy MLKJ day!

yesterday was a good day for work-the best in a long time.

since i work on the weekdays and have the weekends off, i don't see the girls i nanny for very often because of school and afternoon activities. it was an unexpectedly delightful day with them.

the eleven-year-old, let's call her Sasha, was uncharacteristically lighthearted and helpful with me. this is a shock considering the first (and only) time i tried to hug her, she responded with "who died?" it was such a relief to laugh and joke around with her, without dreading to tell her to turn off the tv or put her dishes away.

i also got to spend some time with the 16-year-old, let's call her Penny, when we went out to run some errands. we actually had conversations that didn't consist of me telling her i refilled her prescription or her asking me to fix her computer. i had never felt so relaxed around her. now, here's the kicker. in the cab on the way home, she very deliberately and sincerely apologized for not treating me nicely since i've been here. she said she did not make my transition here from texas any easier and that she was truly sorry. i honestly was blown away by her maturity and humility in the situation. she didn't want to be let off the hook one inch. i was impressed, to say the least.

to top off a great day, my boss, we'll call her Jackie, exclaimed with a real smile how cute i looked in my "new york clothes." considering she only wears Prada, and i almost never receive compliments, i took this one to store for a time of need.

i'm marking this day as a turning point in this journey i'm on. the Lord has shown favor upon my prayers and given me joy in a job that has been bland and lonely. i only pray that my joy will daily be evident to this family, so that they may one day turn and praise my father in heaven!