I Let It Go, BUT...

Most of us don't enjoy confrontation. Yes, there are some that do, and I've met a few of those people in the past. But I think the majority of those I'm acquainted with aren't crazy about having to confront people. I know I'm not. I don't like it. I'll do it when the situation calls for it, but it's not something I look forward to.

This morning I woke up wide-eyed with my alarm. I'd been having a most interesting dream where I was hashing things out with someone that had misjudged me a couple of years back. It was a vivid dream that felt so real, and I woke up rather disturbed about the whole scenario.

At first, I was angry that I hadn't really gotten to say those things I said in my dream. I was thinking that it might have been therapeutic and cleansing in a way to get those things off my chest and clear the air. But at the same time, I was upset with myself that I apparently still think about this situation. Even while I am sound asleep, I'm contemplating what-if scenarios in my head.

I thought I had let it go. I really did. I didn't realize that part of me was still dwelling on that incident, but somehow, I'm still holding onto a piece of the pain. I'm nurturing that fragment, and if I allow it to, it will fester.

Earlier this week, a friend posted this Little Wonders video by Rob Thomas on Facebook. (The song was featured in the animated film Meet the Robinsons, which I've blogged about before.) And today it's a fitting reminder that I really just need to let it go.

Saying Goodbye to a Dream

I grew up secretly dreaming of becoming a ballerina. My sister and I would twirl around our living room floor and practice our “moves.” It was a rather silly pipe dream now when I think about it.

1. My parents were against dancing. I don’t think they would be morally opposed to going to a ballet themselves, but they never would have allowed their daughters to take ballet lessons. Ballet is after all a form of dance.
2. I have no natural grace or elegance. None. No kidding. I’m a chunky klutz that always dreamed of being more lithe and airy than I truly am.
3. I have no “moves.” Seriously, have you ever seen me dance? Few have and lived to tell about it. I’ve got no sense of rhythm or general idea of how to move to music at all. Never have had. It’s rather sad.

So, truth be told, I don’t really think I missed “my calling” to become a dancer. I just think my thoughts on becoming a ballerina were merely a dream aspiration - one that I couldn’t pursue even if I had wanted to. I'm not bitter or angry about it either. It was just NOT meant to be, and the world is not weeping over the loss of the next Pierina Legnani.**

A few years ago, I went to a few ballet performances here in Indianapolis and loved every minute of it. I finally got the see The Nutcracker live and more modern works like Dracula, etc. It was mesmerizing and wonderful! I was ecstatic!

Soon after my friends and I opted to purchase season tickets to the ballet. This was our first time buying season tickets for ANYTHING, and it was exhilarating! We went to one magical performance on our season pass, and then the Indianapolis Ballet Company went bankrupt and closed down. It was so sad. (SIGH!)

But when I think back on it, it was also rather hilarious. It was certainly NOT hilarious that a company went under, we lost our investment, most importantly dancers lost their jobs, etc. But it was comically ironic that the first time we had ever paid for season tickets for anything, the company goes under. Hmmmm...perhaps this is why I’m still hesitant to buy season tickets for anything else? 

Tonight my friends and I are headed to see another ballet, Swan Lake, and I confess, I am giddy with excitement and anticipation. I've been twirling around my apartment all morning in preparation for this evening's performance. However, I now consider myself a patron of the arts rather than an active participant, which I think works out best for everyone.

**DISCLAIMER: I have not become a ballet history expert in the past 24 hours. I just googled something about ballet yesterday, and Pierina's name was mentioned as one of the greats. So I'm still not ready for the ballet category on Jeopardy! or anything like that. HA!**

These Are a Few of My Favorite Things...

Sure is hard to believe, but we are already in the 2nd week of 2011. I’m in denial I guess because I’m still wanting to recap 2010 one more time, and so in line with Julie Andrews, I made a list of my favorite things…

FAVORITE GOD-STORY: My home invasion: GOD kept me safe and provided for my needs!

FAVORITE NEW FRIENDS: My Chancel choir friends

FAVORITE SPECIAL EVENT: Janet (my niece) and Chris’s wedding day

FAVORITE MOMENT: Being there to experience Becky’s sheer delight at meeting Jars of Clay (and Brandon Heath) in person

FAVORITE ALBUM: Mercy Me’s The Generous Mr. Lovewell

FAVORITE MOVIE: on TV Masterpiece Theatre’s Emma + in theatres The A-Team (hey, I love it when a plan comes together!)

FAVORITE NEW TOY: My DROID phone (aka home to my “Angry Birds” game)

FAVORITE ADVENTURE: Rediscovering Dawes Arboretum on my own one sunny Friday 

FAVORITE BIG NEWS: Learning that my parents were ready to go with me to Europe in 2011 - WOOHOO!!

Part 3: Stretching Out

Three years ago, after months of praying and struggling, I left my church and went out searching for something more. I wallowed a wee bit (I confess), visited other churches, and 12+ months later, came back to my former church determined to make a fresh start.

I immediately tried to get busy serving and doing. I’m a doer, one of those people that can’t just sit still. I’m a Martha. I had struggled to get involved in the church ministries in the past and thought that the church membership class might help me get more involved. I enrolled and took a spiritual gift surveys. I guess I should NOT have been surprised at the results, but I was disheartened to discover my gifts nonetheless. My top 2 gifts were leadership and administration. Not missions or evangelism. Not teaching or serving. No. GOD didn’t make me that way. Fact is that GOD made me to lead, organize and direct. Those are my gifts, and I’ve struggled to embrace them as a woman, especially in church.

Armed with the spiritual gift knowledge, I tried to get involved in the church ministries again, but alas with the same results as before. So I decided to look elsewhere and get actively serving outside the church. I joined up with LDM (Lutheran Disability Ministries) for 5 weekend SonRise Retreats from November through April and loved it. My spirit soared as I rediscovered what “church” should look like – a community, a family of believers coming together out of the bonds of sin and into the arms of Christ to serve together and spread the light of the Gospel in both word and deed. I experienced more community in those weekends working mostly with high schoolers and college age adults than I had encountered in years of attending church.

Then a friend suggested I join her and some of her fellow choir members for monthly hymn sing-a-longs at an area senior living center, and I decided to try it out once and loved it and kept going back for more. Again, here was community in action - a community of senior citizen saints that included me! I was blown away by what GOD was revealing to me and teaching me outside my own concept of church.

I was glad to be actively serving again, but I was struggling with my own church again, and I found myself right back where I started 2 years ago. If I couldn’t find ways to serve at my church and couldn’t find avenues of fellowship there, was worship truly reason enough to keep going? What's that saying about trying the same thing over and over, hoping to get new results? AHEM!

I debated for months and wrestled with GOD about it, but HE just wouldn’t let it go. My friends thoughtfully listened to me and encouraged me. My parents lovingly counseled and prayed with me. And finally, I faced facts. For whatever reason, I have not been able to settle down in my current church assembly, and it is time to move on. I believe that GOD wants to use me elsewhere.

My friend encouraged me to join her church choir and sing with them on a regular basis. This is the same friend that got me singing at the senior center. It sounded great, but I wasn’t sure I could make the switch. I was raised Baptist and was going to a conservative non-denominational church that was once aligned with Baptists, and so attending a Methodist church seemed like a pretty big stretch.

One day my sister shared her own family’s struggles with finding a church and said: “Attending church isn’t like a marriage, Mel. You aren’t committed for life.” I thought long and hard about what my sister said and about all the ways GOD had been leading me over the past few years in such unconventional styles. HE has stretched me, broadened my horizons and broken down my reserves. It’s been quite an adventure, and now I feel HE is leading me into another one.

I don’t know what the future holds, but this is just one step along the path. I'm just following the LEADER, and we'll see where HE takes me. Here I go…

Part 2: Admitting Flaws

OK, I admit that I’m not perfect. I’m completely and heartily flawed, and some of the loneliness I have experienced in church is my own doing. I got burned a couple of times and simply stopped trying. I gave up. Plus, I had my own baggage, and that was probably the root of my problem.

I was jealous of what those paired off people had. I wanted to belong to another person myself. Most singles do. Most of us aren’t single by choice. Fact is that I have yet to turn down a marriage proposal. HA!

I didn’t like the fact that a whole month of services was dedicated to marriage and the family. I didn’t have a family or the marriage, and so I sat through the sermons for a year or two, but then I bailed out each year afterwards. It didn’t apply to me. After all, where were the sermons on singleness or sexual purity? Fact is I didn’t want to spend a whole month studying something I wanted and didn’t have. It sounded like torture!

I was distracted and ticked off when I would sit behind a couple that were massaging each other in the service. I was irritated with their inappropriate behavior, and I struggled to concentrate on the message. Fact is that I wanted someone rubbing my back, too.

I got tired of answering the same questions all over again: why aren’t you married, have you ever been married, aren’t you dating? So I started getting creative with my responses. Sarcasm became my ally, and I let bitterness take over at times. Fact is that I was annoyed with my single status, annoyed that no one had my back, annoyed that GOD didn’t write me a personal letter explaining my single status so that I could hand out copies when asked.

I secretly envied the newly engaged couples and the wives with their sparkly anniversary rings. I struggled to relate to the housewives and soccer moms. I didn’t understand spouses complaining over dirty laundry on the floor, home improvement projects, or lack of alone time. Fact is that my desire for marriage and my idolatry of the same tainted my views of their situations, and I wasn’t always good friend material.

I can readily admit that part of my church issues and struggles have been my own self. AND I CAN DO BETTER. I know I can. I still can. I wasn't content with the status quo then and I'm not now either, something’s gotta give...

Part 1: Churching Singles

My friend Stephanie once shared a quote with me, and those words have stuck with me over the years: “Church is the loneliest place for a single woman.” I don’t know who originated those words, but I believe them to be true with all my heart.

I’ve battled the loneliness myself. It takes a lot out of a person to attend week after week alone. I pump myself up on the drive to church with worship tunes and arrive in the sanctuary with my spirits high. I search out a familiar face, in hopes of sitting with a friend and often do, but I also long to meet other people and expand my circle of friends. I seek out more accountability not less. I want to build on my connections and mingle with other singles and married couples alike.

I’m a pretty friendly person, and I love meeting new people. Normally, I don’t mind starting conversations with complete strangers, but over the years, I’ve become intimidated to do so in my own church. I’ve had people shut down the conversation and look for someone else (anyone else) to talk to when they found out I was single. Literally, I’ve seen the light go out of their eyes and watched them scan the horizon for someone else to talk to. It is as if upon learning that my marital status was at empty, meant that the conversation or burgeoning friendship could go no further. FULL STOP! She’s single, hence we have nothing in common – walk away quickly. HA!

I attended a singles Sunday school class, but it was not for me. It felt more like a college age class, and I felt too old and grown up there. Yet somehow, I didn’t feel gutsy enough to try the other class for singles or newly singles where the median age was about 15-20 years older than I was either.

I volunteered in the nursery and child care ministries for a while, but unfortunately, I’d usually end up missing all of 3 services because of a lack of workers, or I’d make it to the last service after the worship had ended. It was discouraging.

I joined a small group Bible study for a few months. Here I thought I could really get to know the people in my church, but it didn’t work out that way. I was too different. I tried to get to know the couples in our group through conversations, but no one would really talk to me. In fact, I’d often feel like everyone was talking around me. I was the odd ball out. I didn’t come as part of a matching pair, and apparently this party was for complete sets only.

I tried some of the ladies only events at church. We are all women after all, and so it should be easy to make conversation, right? Oddly enough, it was much more difficult than I thought it would be. The singles and married women didn’t mingle all that much at those functions, and when I tried to start a conversation, that “shut down” mode thing happened again when I explained that I wasn’t married, didn’t have kids, didn’t drive a mini van, etc. Suddenly, they saw their dear friend so-and-so across the room and needed to go catch up with her. It was frustrating because deep down I knew that we might have much more in common if both of us could just stop getting hung up on my empty ring finger.

As for the single men, well, it’s hard to meet them at church when most of the Christian men of my acquaintance that are my age or older have dropped out of church altogether. Sadly, I know so many great single guys that are absent from the church. Perhaps they found it a lonely place to be, too, and opted for other outlets to meet their social and spiritual needs.

Personally, I have found it hard to acknowledge how lonely it can be out there in the church without sounding like I am complaining or whining, but I’ve encountered other singles that have felt the same, and so I know I’m not alone. There are more of us puzzle pieces longing to fill in the blanks, but we find that we don’t fit into the bigger picture. In a way, we’re aliens living in a sea of matching units. We’re not wired the same way. We’re not part of a matching set or even a clique. Yep, we’re broken and incomplete, but in fact, aren’t we all?

Now I know that there is no church here that will ever be a perfect fit. I’m just not gonna find it this side of Heaven, but I firmly believe…WAIT! Let me rephrase that: I KNOW WE (as the CHURCH) CAN DO BETTER!

Europe, Here I Come!

My Grandfather (my Mom’s Dad) died in combat in World War II. He was killed near Berlin, Germany and buried in the Netherlands American Cemetery in Margraten. My Mom and her younger sister were small children when their father left for the war, and neither of them have ever been to visit his grave. So we’ve been talking about making this journey for years.

BIG NEWS!! Last weekend, we made our reservations for a river cruise along the Danube and Rhine Rivers for next year and included a 3-day extension in Belgium so that we can visit the cemetery in nearby Holland. It’s all very exciting! My Mom is over-the-charts excited already, and we've got months to go. But I love her enthusiasm (after all, I definitely get that from her), and I can't wait to tour Europe with her, my Dad and my Aunt Peggy. It will be another great adventure.

We’ll be starting our trip in Brussels, Belgium and then making our way to Amsterdam, where we’ll catch our river cruise. We’ll be making stops in Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic and Hungary as we make our way along the rivers. I can’t wait. I’m thinking that I might need to get another camera before our trip just so that I will have a back-up. It’s important to capture every moment, you know.

Little Class Goes a Long Way

Growing up, I didn’t really feel there were many advantages to my small, private, Christian school education. In fact, I would say that the reverse was my focus. I fixated on the negatives and the downside of being outside the norm. I wanted to be like everybody else -- dress similarly, know the same people, etc. But that wasn't in my cards.

From kindergarten through 8th grade, my sister and I were bussed 30 miles from home to a medium-sized Christian school along with fellow students from our church and surrounding areas. I think originally there were about 25-30 students per grade, which was a perfect size really. But then when I was in the 5th grade, the church that held my school had a large number of families leave the church, and they pulled their children from the school rapidly. Over night, I lost several great friends and classmates. And every year after that, our numbers dwindled down even further. I think there were 5 of us when I graduated from the 8th grade. It was sad.

As a further twist, the families at my church decided to make a big switch after my 8th grade year, and so for high school, I attended an even smaller school. The transition was hard at first, but I soon adjusted, and four years later, I graduated at the top of my class of 3. Yep, you read that right. There were 3 of us that marched that May evening in 1992, where I gave an inspirational, sentimental, suck-up Valedictorian speech. HA! Hard to believe it was more than 18 years ago now that I walked down that aisle with my 3” inch bangs and my cheap white pump shoes. Those were the days...

This weekend, I mused with friends who could relate that one advantage of graduating from a small Christian school is that it can sometimes be easier to keep track of your former classmates. Hee hee! Yes, I am proud to say that I have kept in touch with both of mine: Doug and Keven have not been forgotten. And I haven't forgotten the other "kids" from school either. I’ve found and been found by a lot of former classmates and alumni from both schools on Facebook. It’s funny how memories flood back when you get a friend request from an old chum. Oh the stories that could be told...

So maybe it was NOT a perfect childhood. Maybe it was a bit quirky and dysfunctional in a way. Maybe it felt a bit isolated and off at times. But during those years, I made some long-lasting attachments in our minute, tight-knit community. Friendships were forged that are following me still, and today finds me grateful -- grateful for every one.

I’m sure there are other advantage to a smaller-sized graduating class or school. Can you think of any? Feel free to share!

Jumping Back In

Reconnecting with friends on Facebook has brought back incredible memories about Camp Spearhead. It’s a good thing. My two years serving on a weekend ministry during my college semesters and then as a summer camp counselor were filled with immeasurable joy. It was hard work, back-breaking at times, but it was well worth the effort, and I am forever grateful for my experiences there. Camp Spearhead will always have a special place in my heart.

But all this reminiscing--recounting old stories and sharing pictures--has made me miss the experience even more. So much so that I decided it was high time I got back into serving those with special needs again. I’ve been thinking about it for years, but I hadn’t done anything about it until now. Shame on me! So recently I made a few calls and jumped back in with both feet.

It’s official now. I am now a volunteer with Lutheran Disability Ministries Inc. (LDM), an interdenominational ministry with a mission of “equipping the Church to minister with people who have developmental disabilities.” I will be serving as a camp counselor on a few upcoming SonRise Weekend Retreats, and I’m rather excited (perhaps elated is a better term) about this opportunity--interacting and bonding with new faces, meeting others in my area who have a heart for those with special needs, sharing GOD’s love, exploring the great outdoors, etc. I’m psyched.

I confess that I’m a bit nervous, too, since I am going into this blindly. My last summer at Spearhead was in 1996, and if you can do math, you can see that it has been a LONG time, a REALLY LONG time. So I feel a bit rusty now 13 years later, but I think I can work through it with GOD’s help. I’ll miss the familiar faces and dear souls that I was privileged to call my friends in South Carolina, but I’m optimistically hoping to gain new friends, stories and experiences along the way. It’s all an adventure, and I’m holding onto HIS hand with all my might.

Rekindling a Memory

Whenever I feel a bit down or am battling a migraine due to the surly clouds overhead, I think back on a happy memory. I take myself back to another moment in time and revel in it. And let me clarify, I’m not talking about returning to a previous life. I don’t believe in reincarnation, thank-you-very-much. HA! But I do like to think back to a delicious moment in my actual past and savor in it for just a minute, and somehow it helps the present discomfort.

When I was in England, I caught myself breathing in the air, listening carefully and surveying my surroundings with just such a purpose. I wanted to remember everything about that moment. I wanted to fully recall the sights, sounds and smells of that instant so that I could return there again in my memory. My England adventure was full of such moments, but there are other priceless moments I can vividly upload in the widescreeen of my mind if I just shut my eyes for a moment:

My Mom and my Aunt Peggy learning to Waltz off of a library DVD—the giggles that followed brought us all near tears!

Holding my nieces and nephews for the first time—the excitement over holding such beautiful bundles never gets old!

Exploring Biltmore House on the special rooftop tour—so fun to get a behind-the-scenes tour and realizing my hidden dream to give tours myself one day!

Watching my sister come down the aisle to meet her husband-to-be—my attempts to hold back the tears were nearly thwarted when I saw her struggling, too!

Boating around the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore—the spray of the freshwater on my cheeks, the delightful blue green hues of the water, etc.!

Hiking up to the top of Chimney Rock—breathless from the hike and also from the incredible panoramic views up there. Truly amazing!

Yes, I love collecting memories. But these memories are a reminder of something more. My memories are full of the often behind-the-scenes providence and loving kindness of a gracious Heavenly FATHER. If I look carefully with my eyes wide, I can still make out his hand prints throughout my past--guiding, holding, sustaining, delivering. HE was there in the past, HE is here in the now, and HE will continue to be the ONE PERSON consistent throughout the entirety of my life. I am blessed beyond measure with each and every moment HE has given me on this tilted planet we call home.

Thank you, LORD, for the gift of memories. I am so grateful. Help me not to dwell too much on the past, but to embrace the present and look ahead to the future YOU have in store for me.

Call Me Old-Fashioned...

But some Sundays, I miss hymnals. I really do. Recently, we learned a new song in the morning service. The worship team and praise band sang it through once, and then the congregation joined in. The lyrics were deep and meaningful, and since I'm all about the lyrics, I was excited to learn a new song. There was just one problem: the harmony outweighed the melody, and I struggled to follow.

Now I'm not my sister -- the gifted musician, perfect pitch girl, who hears a song once and can jump onto the piano and play it for you. Yeah, that's not me. AHEM! But, I can read music and do a bit of sight reading. I started out as a soprano with the church solos, spent 10 years or so as an alto, and I think I've finally settled down as a mezzo soprano--able to be either a soprano or an alto. But I definitely need to know the melody before I can get the harmony right. So in this case, since we don't use hymnals any more, I didn't have the music and with the harmony being so dominant, the melody was lost on me. I was a bit sad, and so now, I'm determined to learn the song on my own.

Don't get me wrong here. I love worship songs and choruses. Love them. I enjoy the beautiful nature scenes with the lyrics displayed on the flat-panel screens on the walls. I love the worship band and the praise teams. The whole service is all wonderfully orchestrated and framed together to lead the congregation as a whole into the heart of worship. For instance, today we sang 2 of Lincoln Brewster's songs, and my heart stirred within me as the congregation proclaimed again and again GOD YOU REIGN! I was struck with an overwhelming sense of my own insignificance as we sang about our CREATOR, REDEEMER and SAVIOR. I am deeply touched by music like that. And then we finished out the worship service with a melding of 2 old familiar favorite hymns. I loved that blending of the old and new all in one service. It's a bit like life...

As most of you know, I've grown to really enjoy modern Christian music the past 16 months or so. It took me a while to get there, to embrace the "beat" if you will. I'm still picky about my favorites. I don't always like the trendy tunes, but sometimes I do, and these days I'm not often found without my MP3 player in my possession. It travels with me, ever ready. Whenever I start to feel distressed, down-hearted, bored, lethargic or lonely, I plug in my favorite ear buds (SkullCandy is the best) and within minutes, I can't help but feel my spirit lift. Right now I have a playlist entitled "Mood Changes," which as you can guess is to help me get back to focusing on what is real and true. I listen to those songs that remind me that I am not in this alone, that I have THE GOD of the universe within me, urging me on and beckoning me to trust.

Yes, GOD has really brought me full circle the past few months with my musical choices. HE has opened my ears (as it were) and revealed HIMSELF in contemporary song. I will always love the hymns and choruses I grew up with, but I have a growing passion for the music of my own generation as well. I am blessed with both.

LORD, thank YOU for changing my heart, for broadening my horizons! It really is ALL ABOUT YOU...

Doing the Friday Happy Dance

I’ve been doing the Friday happy dance all morning. Picture Steve Urkel! It’s not a pretty picture since I can’t dance, but I’m filled with glee and don’t really care. Not sure why, but my heart is light and carefree despite the gloomy weather outdoors, and I’m mentally doing cartwheels and somersaults as I go about my day. Those cartwheels are quite a chore for me even though they are just mental cartwheels. See, I never learned how to do cartwheels. Seriously, my P.E. teacher worked and worked with me, but it never took. Honestly, I don’t think I missed my calling. It just wasn’t meant to be.

A N Y W A Y, I’m quite elated that today is Friday. No big plans for the weekend or anything, but I’m ready to catch up on the essentials that keep this girl ticking: sleeping, reading, writing and getting creative. Sounds good to me!

As an indication of my current mood, I just randomly composed new lyrics to the tune of “Good Morning” from the 1952 musical classic Singin’ in the Rain. Are you ready for this? I don’t know. I think you will be quite impressed, and it took me all of 15 seconds tops to compose this. This could be my first Tony Award nomination, and I’m sharing it with just a select few. Are you touched or what?

It’s Friday. It’s Fri—day.
It’s great to make it here.
It’s Friday. Yep, Friday.
WOOHOO!!

Just blew your mind, didn’t I? HA!

That tune brings back some awesome memories. Those of you who knew me back in my college camp counselor days may recall that I was quite a morning person back in the day, especially during the weekend retreats. When I was at Camp Spearhead and removed from the restrictive dorm life, I was in my happy place, and every morning, I would jump out of bed just glad to be alive and FREE. It was at this time during my life that I was often heard singing the “Good Morning” song to help wake up my fellow counselors and the campers. The campers seemed to like it. In fact, I remember taking musical requests on occasion as I cheerily buzzed about the cabin. Thinking back, I’m guessing that my fellow counselors probably wanted to strangle me to end my chipper morning tune, but to my knowledge, no one ever tried to kill me. At least, I never knew of said plot to end my reign of morning musical madness.

To Mary, Cris, Brandi, Suzanne, Moldy, Jeanette, Frankie and BBJ: If you ever had to enter therapy or seek any medical treatment due to my musical whims or first-thing-in-the-morning cheerfulness, I feel somewhat responsible, and I wish you a full recovery. I’m sorry. If it helps any, looking back, even I am curious where I got the strength and stamina to energetically bound about the cabin like I did. Seriously. Do you recall how much sleep we would actually get at camp on those weekends? YIKES! Nowadays, I wouldn’t say that I am an early morning person any more. I’m more a mid-day person these days. Well, maybe not quite mid-day...but I’m not usually bubbling over until after 9 AM if that is any consolation. Maybe I have mellowed with age? HA!

Happy Friday! Enjoy your weekend!

Love of Language or Love Language

Melanie likes words.
Melanie likes learning new words.
Learning new words makes Melanie smile.

I’ve always liked words and expanding my vocabulary. I think that love of language was inherited through both of my avid-reading parents. One of my Dad’s first jobs with Gannett was in the editing department, and even later while he worked in the printing department, he was forever finding typos and grammatical errors in the local papers and the USA Today.

As for my Mom, she does daily crossword puzzles and has for as long as I can remember. She loves looking up new words, and a dictionary is never far out of reach. She received a new crossword puzzle dictionary for Christmas a few years ago, but she still can’t part with the old, more familiar, tattered one, and so she uses both regularly. She and my Dad have been known to photo-copy the morning paper crossword and then both work on the same one to see which one will finish first. Makes me chuckle.

My parents love word games. Growing up, we played a lot of Boggle and Scrabble. I personally loathed Scrabble for years, probably because my parents are so good at the game, and I was often forced to participate in such a family-bonding ritual. Today, I enjoy the game and can hold my own, but my parents continue to whip me most of time. Thankfully, I’m much less likely to burst into tears over Scrabble tiles these days. AHEM! This is a big plus for all involved, believe me.

The other night I called my retired parents in Michigan just to check in and see how they were doing, and I caught them in the middle of a Scrabble game debate. Hey, Mel, can your Mom count both of the double word squares? My Mom had the word “fearing” and both the “f” and the “g” were on a double word square. I told them to look it up in the rules, but I didn’t see why it wouldn’t count. It made sense to me, which of course, was NOT the answer my Dad wanted to hear. Some help you are, kid.

I do love words, and lately, I’ve been getting my daily fix from word calendars or A.Word.A.Day (AWAD) emails. I love trying to use a new word in random conversation, which is sometimes a bit of a challenge. Today’s word made me laugh.

infundibuliform (in-fuhn-DIB-yuh-luh-form) [adjective]: funnel-shaped.

Ommmm...I love big words, and this would be a great Scrabble selection if one could remember how to spell it. Fabulous! But in conversation, wouldn’t it be just as effective and perhaps less formal for one to say “funnel-shaped”? Using it in a sentence is quite a chore...

I recently discovered that my favorite flower, the infundibuliform calla lily, was more commonly seen in funeral arrangements rather than wedding bouquets in the past century. However, today this refined and elegant species is enjoying a surge in matrimonial popularity as well.

My tongue is tied in knots now. HA! Get it? "Tied in knots" like tying the knot refers to a wedding. Completely an accidental pun. Go figure!

120 Days Until Mel Goes Global

In 120 days, I'll be flying over the ocean for the first time (and hopefully only the first of many such adventures ahead). It's true. In 4 short months, I will finally be on my way to England to get that first stamp in my passport.

I've been talking about taking this journey since I first fell in love with everything English at the ripe old age of 7. My Mom woke me up that warm July day in the wee hours of the morning so that together we could watch Princess Diana marry her Prince Charming and live happily ever after. OK, so the story didn't quite have the happy ending we imagined, but no matter, from that moment on in 1981, this dreamer wanted to visit Great Britain and see that magical land of history, pageantry and literature.

My quest to learn all I could about the fair isle of England began all those many moons ago. I researched everything I could about England, even doing a grade school research project on the island and memorizing a list of the monarchs in succession. I read the English classics, filling my head with passionate tales or moody masterpieces like Persuasion and Jane Eyre. I consumed British poetry, drawing life from the pen of great romantic poets such as Elizabeth Barret Browning or the stirring ballads of Alfred Noyes or Lord Alfred Tennyson. I reveled in the delicious vivid language of William Shakespeare, devouring each scene of his great works such as Hamlet and The Taming of the Shrew. I heartily fell in love with British musicals, vicariously living life in song through Camelot and My Fair Lady.

And now it is nearly time for this voyage to begin... [sigh!]

Divulging Past Wrongs

Getting your college degree should be an exciting momentous occasion. Mine was. I attended Bob Jones University [BJU] and graduated in 1996 with my PR Journalism degree. I enjoyed my college years, especially the last 2 as I was totally immersed in Camp Spearhead and Special Olympics. When I stepped off that stage with my diploma in hand, I was ready to emerge into the world around me.

Well, it wasn't long after graduation that I learned just how differently the rest of the world viewed BJU. First there were the rules. Was there really a light bell? Yes, that one was true. Were women always in skirts? Yep. Did you really have to get permission at 22 years of age to leave campus in your own car? Right again.

Then there were the dating regulations. Everyone wanted to know if the sidewalks were really painted pink for girls and blue for boys. Nah--that one's not true. Was there really a place called the Dating Parlor? Sadly, that is affirmative as well. Not that I ever visited much. AHEM! Was there really such a thing as the six-inch rule? Quite true. Again, I didn't have any experience with that one either.

I was peppered with questions everywhere I went, and it got a bit old, but most of the time I didn't mind too much. However, sometimes those questions turned more poignant. People wanted to ask about race. Was interracial dating allowed? Did the university promote discrimination? Those questions were harder to answer, and they bothered me.

I'm Caucasian. I'm blonde with pale skin and green eyes. Yeah, I'm really white. It's genetics in action. Growing up, I was never taught that one race was better than another, but I do recall being taught that the races shouldn't mix. My pastor's wife even went so far as to lecture me about a crush I had on a boy named Dominic. He was full-blooded Italian, and my pastor's wife considered him a different race and off limits. Even then I thought that was completely ridiculous, and I remember my sister and I discussing it at length with some of our friends.

I went to college, and the same rules applied. I couldn't date outside my race. Well, dating at BJU was pretty much non-existent for me, and so I didn't mind the rule much at all. Sure, I thought it was over-the-top and had nothing to do with Scripture, but it was what I had gotten used to growing up after all, and it didn't personally affect me, and therein lies the key. It should have...

After college, I was challenged again and again about that rule from my non-BJU friends. They wanted to know how I could attend a school where there were such racial issues. Did you know about the rule? Yes, I told them, I did, but it didn't affect me personally, and it was then that I started thinking about my answer more in depth...

What if I had attended a college where I was one of only a few minority students, and I was told from day one that I could only date those of my own race? What if I had been told my options for love were limited? If I were Korean, I would need to find another Korean to see. If I were Indian, I would need to find a fellow Indian to date and so on. And not only that, but if I were bi-racial, I would need to select my race on day one and stick to those people in my racial dating pool, so to speak. That disgusts me now, and yet that was actually happening to some of my dear friends at BJU, and I had no idea what they were facing.

A few months ago, someone forward me a link to check out, and it got me thinking about this topic again. The site was started by some former BJU students who wrote a petition to the school president to ask BJU to publicly acknowledge the university's past of racial discrimination and then apologize for those wrongs done in the name of Christianity. It took me just a few moments to determine without any doubt that I personally needed to sign the petition, and so I did.

A couple of months later on November 20th, BJU issued a statement about race, complete with the following:

BJU’s history has been chiefly characterized by striving to achieve those goals; but like any human institution, we have failures as well. For almost two centuries American Christianity, including BJU in its early stages, was characterized by the segregationist ethos of American culture. Consequently, for far too long, we allowed institutional policies regarding race to be shaped more directly by that ethos than by the principles and precepts of the Scriptures. We conformed to the culture rather than provide a clear Christian counterpoint to it.

In so doing, we failed to accurately represent the Lord and to fulfill the commandment to love others as ourselves. For these failures we are profoundly sorry. Though no known antagonism toward minorities or expressions of racism on a personal level have ever been tolerated on our campus, we allowed institutional policies to remain in place that were racially hurtful.

I was glad to see the university own up to the past mistakes, which paves the way for a more harmonious future. I think that was primarily "our" objective at collecting the signatures on the petition: apologize for the past so we can move forward. But personally, this has still been plaguing me, and so I think I need to do the same...

Dear Friends:

I wish I had known then what I know now...Hindsight being 20/20 and all. Back then I went along with the tide, afraid to rock the boat or upset the status quo. I chose to keep my thoughts and opinions to myself. Looking back, I'm quite sure there have been many students over the years that felt discriminated against while attending BJU and that breaks my heart. I am so sorry. Please forgive me for going along with things as they were and not speaking out. Please forgive me for not showing more of Christ's unconditional, non-discriminatory love. I'm sorry if any of my actions or lack of response to what was going on caused any pain or hurt to anyone.

We're all members of the same race, humanity. We are brothers and sisters, and as Christians we are really all part of the same family. Sadly, we are a highly disfunctional family at times, but in HIM, in our Heavenly FATHER, we truly are united and will one day become the family HE wants us to be. So this is your sister speaking, and I want you to know that I love you. I really truly do. GOD bless!

Too Much Reading Isn't Always a Good Thing

I was flipping through some old photos the other day of my parents' backyard, and suddenly I had a funny thought. In fact, I just burst out laughing thinking about it. I guess I'm nostalgic this month or something...

My sister Barbara, who is 2 years younger than yours truly, was my constant companion growing up. We were pretty much inseparable, and for the most part, we got along pretty well. We rode our bikes everywhere, explored the large drainage ditch next to our home, wrote stories, operated our own Krieger Hotel complete with a check-in ledger, managed our own drive-through restaurant in the back room, dressed up in old costumes, held club meetings with our neighbor Misty in the clubhouse above her Dad's shed, and played often with the kids in my Mom's daycare which she ran from within our home. Our summers were full of fun and adventure.

Well, I was a big reader at the time. I rode my bike 3 blocks to the library at least once a week and came back with a basket full every time. I regularly filling my head with imaginative stories especially mysteries like Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, etc. So I blame the following story on excessive reading in my impressionable years. AHEM!

Apparently, I got my sister and a couple of the little kids to go along with me on this project. We got some old shovels out of the garage and dug some gaping holes in the backyard. We then buried a couple of shoe boxes and played cemetery out there all afternoon. We used a few pieces of old paneling that my Dad had in the basement to make cemetery markers. We labeled them using a big black magic marker reading: "Here likes Jake Smith," etc. and then stuck those in the ground. OK, so it was a bit morbid, but we weren't concerned with that. We were having fun digging holes, burying boxes, attempting to fill the holes back in again and then marking each "grave" accordingly.

So just picture this scene with me, my Dad gets home from a long day of work and finds his lovely backyard lawn full of lumpy holes and dark paneling cemetery markers. Funny thing is that I don't remember much about the rest of the day. I remember the afternoon of mortuary fun, but after that, it's all kind of a blur. I'm sure I got a well-deserved spanking especially since I was the ring-leader and, and I probably lost my reading privileges for a week, which would have been sheer torture to me at the time. [sigh!]

See what too much reading can do to you? Be careful.

What Do I Want to Be When I Grow Up

It's such a hard question. My answer for the last 18 years or so has been that I wanted to write, and I still do. I am. But what kind of writer do I want to be?

I always thought I wanted to be the next great female novelist. I was going to be the Jane Austen of my time. I was going to be published by 30 and change the world of literature as we knew it. It would be dramatic, fierce and compelling. I would challenge, make people weep and bring about a insurgent revival of character development in novels.

RIGHT! So that didn't quite pan out. I tried numerous times to get a novel started. I made it through 6 chapters on one attempt, but that was as far as I ever got on any of my novel attempts.

1. The perfectionist in me couldn't just leave my draft alone. I would strive for the perfect phrasing of every line. I was working and reworking each paragraph as I writing it, and I couldn't leave well enough alone. When I should have been just bursting to get the story down on the screen or page, I would get hung up on a particular line and just couldn't move on until it was perfected.

2. I didn't think writing about what I knew was very interesting, and so I kept trying to delve into the depths of my imagination. Well, that didn't work out all that well either. Something was missing. My heart wasn't in it, and I grew discouraged. I never stopped writing entirely, but I didn't share my thoughts with anyone.

Skip ahead a couple of years...here I am 34 years old, and I'm no closer to my earlier dream of becoming the next great American novelist. I don't know what the future holds for me, and yet somehow, I'm OK with the status quo, too. I'm writing. Some of which appears here on my blog. And while I may not be captivating you with my prose or changing the course of destiny with my gripping conviction, I am writing. Writing what I know (which isn't much), but it is my experience, my firsthand knowledge of the world I am encountering daily. I'm enjoying it and rediscovering my love of words. Thanks for joining me, my friend.

I Love Autumn!

Every year about this time, the excitement starts to build. Maybe it's the sight of candy corn at Meijer that gets me going, but whatever it is, I know that fall is on the way, and I get psyched. Yes, I think autumn is my favorite time of year.

THE WEATHER: I know everyone thinks it gets cold or chilly too fast, but come on, it's lovely and refreshing. It's just jeans and sweater weather. [Say sweater weather 5 times...it's quite a tongue twister. HA!] I guess I'm still a Michigan girl. I still seem to have the cold water of the Great Lakes flowing through my veins, and so I love the cooler temps of the fall, the crisp autumn air, the swirling wind, etc. It's wonderful!

THE OUTDOORS: I love to rake leaves into piles and crash into them. Can't get enough of that awesome crunch sound! And who doesn't love a hayride (besides Kristen--sorry to bring it up, but I know you have your reasons)! I think I went on at least one hayride every year in Michigan, and then at camp, I was on a hayride at least twice a week. I loved that. We'd sing loudly and just have a great time! Of course, there is the downside of having to pull pieces of hay or straw out of my hair for the rest of the day thanks to the boys (you know who you are), but those were still really good times!

I love the smell of fall, too. There is just something in the air (beside pollution) that tickles my nose. That fresh scent lingers in the great outdoors. I love bonfires and roasting hotdogs or marshmallows, too. It's delightful.

THE FOOD: Candy corn is pretty awesome! I should look up the WW points for it. Hmmmmm...1 oz. is 2 points. I wonder how many pieces that is? HA! I love pumpkin stuff -- pumpkin pie, pumpkin ice cream, pumpkin muffins. YUM! I love going to an apple orchard and picking my own apples. I miss Michigan's apple orchards. Apple-picking make me think of caramel apples and apple cider and... OOPS! Diet Girl is digressing here. Somehow this conversation is going to lead back to donuts, I just know it, and I just can't have that!! Hee hee!

THE SEASON: With fall just around the corner, that means that Thanksgiving is coming up fast. Only 10 weeks from yesterday. WOOHOO!! Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday despite the over footballization of the day. Uh-oh! I think I just made a new word. Anyway, I love Thanksgiving: counting my blessings and the gifts GOD has placed in my life, spending time with family, eating tasty food, taking an adventurous walk with my nieces and nephews, playing board games if it's cold or going to the park if it's not, making memories and capturing them on film, etc. Yeah, it's a favorite day of mine. I really enjoy it.

Well, autumn is on it's way this year, and I'm ready.

Biker Girl Rides Again

I took another long and invigorating bike ride last night. I struggled on the way to the Greenway and couldn't figure out what was wrong, and then it finally dawned on me why. I was riding against the wind. HELLO! That is a factor when you are on a bicycle, and if I am going to be biker girl, I need to remind myself of these obvious facts. Hee hee! It did however make for a better ride on the way home with the wind pushing me onward. Now that I liked.

Riding a bike makes me think of my favorite spot in Michigan, Mackinac Island. I just love it up there. My last visit was nearly 2 years ago, but I have such good memories of the island going way, way back. I like the simplicity of it. There is lots of tourist stuff, naturally, but in a way, you still feel like you are stepping back into another time or something like that. I love how there are no cars on the island so that all the traffic is by foot, bicycle or horse. And yes, following horses can make for an interesting bike ride. SPLAT! (No more details needed, I'm sure.)

I never get tired of visiting that spot, taking the ferry over from the mainland, seeing the sights, riding the 8 miles around the island, enjoying the varigated colors of the water, admiring the rock formations, etc. It's all just incredible.

OK, now I'm thinking about Mackinac fudge, and that just won't do. [sigh!] I'm off to eat my morning yogurt now. WOOHOO!!

Sarcasm Is My Gift. What Is Yours?

I enjoy the Flair* application on Facebook. It’s just about the only application that I enjoy. The other applications on Facebook I could definitely leave behind. They just clutter my space and sometimes annoy me. But with Flair, you get to select your Flair (i.e. your slogan pins to display), and there are a million to choose from, and they keep me laughing.

My current favorite piece of Flair reads:

Sarcasm is my gift. What’s yours?

I love that line. Sarcasm really can be a gift, but I continue to learn that people have their own levels of sarcasm tolerance...

My Dad is really sarcastic, and as a teenager, I didn’t always appreciate it like I do now. I thought he was spiteful, and his words stung. Now case in point, I was probably one of THE most moody adolescent/teenage girls ever. [Yes, that just might be my claim to fame: Melanie put the melan in melancholy!] I was always reflecting and over-analyzing life, retreating into my bedroom to read books, riding off on my bike alone, journaling about my future dreams, sobbing over the poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning, brooding over the Bronte sisters’ writings, day dreaming and writing romantic stories. Yeah, I was quite a piece of work, let me tell you. A real social butterfly.

So throw a sarcastic Dad into the mix with this jumbled ball of emotions that I was, and you can just imagine the scene. I was overly sensitive about everything. I would cry at one harsh word. I was always running from the room and back to my haven (my room) or running outside to escape on my bike, sure that my parents could never understand what I was going through. At times, I would get quite mouthy with my parents, too. And do you know how my parents would punish me? They would take away my library card. [Key up the sad music...] Nothing but pure torture for my little dramatic soul. My lifeline was removed, my best friends (my books) were confiscated, and I was forced to join the rest of the family to play Yahtzee or Scrabble. Life was cruel.

So let’s flash forward twenty years...I am really NOT that girl any more. Yes, I can be dramatic. I can be intense. I can be reclusive at times. I can get wrapped up in a book and forget the rest of the world for hours. I can lose myself in a BBC production and reemerge convinced that true love will forever elude me and be melancholy for about a minute before bouncing back. Gone is the girl who cried over sarcasm or spilt milk. In fact I use sarcasm regularly, maybe too much. [Have you guys noticed?]

I have a couple of friends that actually think I am down on myself when I laugh or make fun of my own antics. This is totally not the case. I’m not depressed. I don’t have low self-image just because I can mock myself well. My use of sarcasm is a coping mechanism. By choosing to laugh at myself, I am overtaking the drama of the moment and not wallowing in self-pity or anger. Laughter is my antidote, like breathing. It is my attempt to keep sane amidst the highs and lows of this treasured existence GOD has given me, life. [And I'm NOT being sarcastic here. I do treasure life!]

Now I recognize that there are sad or tragic moments that we all must face, and I am well aware that there are moments when sarcasm is not appropriate. I’ve been guilty of that a time or two...trying to diffuse the moment and get someone to laugh when they just aren’t there yet. As Proverbs 14:10 says:

Each heart knows its own bitterness, and no one else can share its joy.

Yes, I still believe that sarcasm is a gift. [Thanks, Dad!] BUT it is a gift that needs to be used wisely, cautiously, sparingly and sometimes not at all. Like I said I'm still learning...

*NOTE: For those of you familiar with Office Space, I am pleased to report that I have more than the required 15 pieces of Flair. I know, I'm an over-achiever. Hee hee!