In A Mood

I am in a mood.  A mood that will not be made better by any human being dead or alive. The sort of mood where you don't want to be happy.  Where you like scrutinizing everyone in the world because when you are synical, you are devilishly clever.

This is the sort of mood that begins at 9 o'clock AM when your sister barges into your snug room, grabs your iphone and announces that your mother wants you awake.  This is the sort of mood that cannot be alleviated, even when your father comes in and tries nicely to wake you up by giving you a back rub.  Even the shower, which usually gives you such great enjoyment, only makes you happier for a little while. 

This is the sort of mood that can be hidden and almost forgotten about all day long as you go about your day.  Not hidden enough to make you unlazy however (yes that is now a word).  You try to finish your diagnostic essay which is due in less than a week, but you're really bored and you don't care about your essay. 

This is the sort of mood where you really don't want to walk your dog.  You don't want to smile and wave to your neighbor as he walks by with his dog.  You raise your eyes to heaven and thank God when you see the neighbor is on his phone.  You keep your mouth shut and you keep walking.  The dog will not poop.  So you stand, ridiculously to the side of the road chanting "go poop, go poop, go poop."

This is a mood where you feel sorry for every crouchy person you have ever encountered.  You understand the source of Clifford's neighbor's woe. You understand why Lassater despises Shawn Spencer.  You feel like you are the tight lipped, no nonsense chief who doesn't trust Shawn in the least.  You know that grouchy people are just people who don't want to be bothered.  People who are eternally trapped in a bad mood.  So you sit down with your lap top, and you write a blog post about your mood.  You don't bother to give it a happy ending because that would spoil your perfectly good bad mood.  Quite frankly, you are tired of writing posts where you start out depressed and end up happy.  So you stop writing,  and you close with these words.

Fresh Air

During a storm, houses are shuttered up and doors locked tight.  The air is trapped inside.  No light or warmth enters.  Then the storm ends.  The clouds vaporize into the blue sky, and the world cups the rain, using it to turn the plants a splendid shade of green.  The houses open their shutters and doors, and the pure, clean air rushes into the stuffy rooms. 

Writing has the same effect on the brain as opening a window in a dank room.  When no one's around to listen, or when I'd feel like a heel making any poor soul listen to my issues, the blank document sits quietly.  Waiting, watching.  It listens.  It takes in my thoughts.  My fingers fly across the keys, the emotion in my heart spills out.  There comes an appex point.  When I'm so involved in what I'm writing that any interruption would anger me. And then, the Denouement begins.  My fingers slow, the words in my brain that I could not express are on a document that I don't have to show anyone if I don't want to. For a little I breathe heavy, as if I've just run a race.  I feel lighter, the world is brigthter.  The rain clouds reveal that they're only made of vapors that blow away with a slight breeze.  All I had to do was open the windows of my brain to let in the fresh air. 

Sin and freedom

There are days when I despise myself.  There are days when my thoughts are so black I can feel dark nasty goo seeping from my ears.  There are days when I don't feel fit to live and I wonder why God doesn't just strike me with lightning or smash me under a 20 ton pile of rocks. 

I hate sin.   More and more, with every passing day I am realizing how much it holds me captive.  I can feel the chains jiggle with my every step.  It seems sometimes that every word I speak is governed by it and every thought that enters my head is concieved by it.  It presses in.  It takes over my bones and it moves me to do things I regret with all of my heart.   I am weak.  I am so inconcievably weak.  My heart lays itself at sin's feet and does it's bidding.  I am tossed around by the whips the guards bear.  I am beaten and tied. 

I lay in sin's grimy prison cell, curled around my heart.  Tears of pain and shame stream down my face.  I am a weak, weepy pile of skin and bones that can do nothing.  Then there is a whisper.  A soft quiet whisper saying "You, are a child of the king."  Other prisoners, in other cells hear this voice too.  Not all, but many.  They rise and raise their hands.  The guards cannot control them.  For this is an uprising. We sing and shout.  We sing for we know something the guards do not.  The king, He is coming. 

They can beat me.  They may succeed in getting me to betray my Lord.  They may have my actions,  But they do not have my soul.  They only have the weak, embryo version of me.  My shadow.  My reflection wavering in the murky depths.  Someday, someday I will be free of this body that can be held.  Someday my body will collapse and my soul will fly from their prison.  And on that glorious day, My King will stretch out his hand and swing me onto his pure white stalion.  He will take me to his white palace , and I will serve Him.  I will not be held by sin and shame.  I wil not wrong my brothers and sisters.  I will bathe his feet, I will kneel at his side.  The dirt and grime of this world will be obliterated.  I will be the full person God has created me to be.  I will be crazy in Love with my savior. The Longing will end.  The joy will begin.

Home

Home. One word, millions of different images in billions of peoples heads.  For some it's the sea.  For some it's a warm fire with a golden dog curled up next to it.  For some it's green sloping hills that end in a stone wall and for still others it's a long drive way with trees hanging over it. 

For me, it is a tiny, obscure town in the heart of Connecticut.  A town with crumbly rock walls, dark winding roads with no painted lines, and a people group as sturdy and reliable as the rock cliffs that rise up along the roads. 

I know I'm almost there when my sleepy eyes open and all is dark.  When I look out the mini-van window and see trees and weeds and rocks.  When an exitement fills my heart along with an uncomfortable longing to just be there.  We pass the little brown cottage with red shutters.  The big white church with green shutters.  The grave yard in which half the occupants are elevated above the others due to the slope.  The big house with the even wall..... Every turn gets us closer.  Every hill makes our hearts swell.  Then we see it.  The white picket fence glows in the moonlight along with the garden path through Gramma's flower garden.  The big, beautiful, white colonial comes into view.  The screen door opens and out poors warmth and love in the shape of my wonderful, beautiful family.  The cousins, the uncles, the aunts and the ones who started it all circle us with the love they never fail to give. 

I've lived in half a dozen houses, loved dozens of people, and tried to make anywhere that my family was my home.  But everytime CT has been my true home.  It doesn't matter how long it's been since I've been there or how much I've forgotten.  We get to those 40 acres of wood and I remember.  I hear it in the whisper of the trees and the dribble of the brook.  Home, you are home.

We are babysitting our piano teacher's two dogs this week. That makes three dogs that must be fed, walked, and scolded.  This morning Chewbacca Fatone (get it?), who slept with me, decided to get me up at 6 a.m.  Now he is sitting on my bed sleeping.  Bad dog. 

Dogs are like children.   The only difference is that when a child pees on the floor you can't scoop him up and plop him outside.  Also, children are intelligent, so they can choose whether to be bad or not.  Watching dogs takes the same skill set as watching kids.  You have to be quick, patient, filled with caffine, and on alert at all times.  Also you have to know what you're dealing with so you can have a plan of action;

Dog #1
Name; Chewbacca
AKA; Chewy or Baccy
Description; Full grown grey/brown cocker spaniel with brown eyes and no tail.  Short hair.  Pudgy.
Motivation; food
Notes; If food is out, he will find it.  His tracking capabilities are unmatchable.

Dog #2
Name; Charlie
AKA; Baby
Description; Ruby red Calvalier King Charles Spaniel.  Buldgy brown eyes.  Long fur and tail.  Looks something like a teddy bear.
Motivation; Affection.
Notes;  If he's being held, he's content.  He gets anxious when no ones around.

Dog #3
Name; Pippin
AKA; Brat
Description; Nearly grown ruby red Calvalier King Charles Spaniel.  Short silky hair and a long tail.
Motivation; Envy
Notes;  If you want to get his attention, pick up one of the other dogs.  He doesn't like it when his people give affection to others. 

Preforming daily activities with these three stooges is difficult.  Each has their own special dog foog.  Charlie and Chewy get their's with lowfat yogurt on top.  Pippin can't be fed with Chewbacca because he eats slow and Chewy will eat his food.  Also there are only two food bowls so you have to wait for one to finish before feeding another one.  When they go out to the yard to do their business Chewy has to go on a leash because he'll eat the plants in the garden if he goes unmonitored.  Throughout the day Pippin will yip and nip at Charlie.  Sometimes he needs rescuing.  They all insist on sleeping with us.  So, we each get a dog.  I get Chewy, Em gets Charlie, and Ethan gets Pippin. 

In short, I feel for Mr. Fredrickson...

He had a kid and dogs to deal with.. not to mention a bird.

Nothing

Sunlight flows into my room along with the unusually cool summer air (global warming? right).  My dog barks from downstairs. The spoiled thing is cross with me for leaving him in his pen.  He'd rather be here, getting his muddy paws all over my pink sheets.   Birds tweet outside, my fan slowly turns above my head.  A train's whistle sounds in the distance.  The world goes on just like it has for centuries.  And I sit here, lounging in a moment in time.  Trying hard to resist its flow. 

I have driver's ed, Spanish 2 and Biology to finish (yes, I am a procrastinator and have an unfinished 10th grade course).  I have a bed to make, a collage to finish, and a stomach to feed.  But I don't take care of any of those things.  Instead I sit here on my bed and write a bog post about nothing.  I don't want to move.  I don't want to face the rhythm of the day.  I just want to sit here quietly and listen to the birds chirp and my clock tick.

I have nothing interesting to say really.  This is just another day in my life.  Nothing monumental has happened to me recently.  I haven't had any God sent epiphanies.  So what's the point in me blogging? Why not?  I say.  If I waited for something interesting to come along, then I would never blog.  This is just a post that proves I am alive and content. It is a post that I liked writing.  It is a post that you might not like reading.  It is a post about nothing.  Farewell.

How To Be Happy

My friend Scout once told me that the key to happiness is getting excited about everything. 

"For example," said Scout, "Here I have a glass of water."  I looked at her blankly.  "You see, generally we would take such an object for granted, but think of it like this; more than half of your body is made up of water.  You need water to survive.  You can kill someone with water.  You can use water to save lives by putting out a fire.  It is made of hundreds of molocules.  We swim and splash and play in it.  There would be no life without it, and you have it in a glass!" 

Scout, you are absolutely right.  It's time we started getting exited about everything.  So, this summer, I will get exited about things. When I go to the beach, I will lay on the sand and wonder how anything so soft can be made up of millions of little pieces of rocks! When I let the waves crash over top of me, I will remember that I am sharing that water with sharks, and dolphins, and sea turtles!

When I play with my dog,  I will examine his little paws and feel his soft snout and think how crazy it is that God made animals to look cute to us (honestly, our dog is the cutest in the intire world)!  When I curl up by a summer bon fire, I will contemplate how the same thing that destroys forests and homes can give me such comfort.  While I stare up at the stars, I will not even be able to fathom how far away from me they are.  I won't be able to fathom how much God loves me (or why for that matter) or why he placed our world in the perfect location to view the universe. 

That is all.  Toodaloo :)