Dehydration and the Unrelenting Symptoms of Fatigue.

I am weary.

In every sense of the word. I am tired and tried, confused and mislead. I have come across a land I do not know and I have tried to guess the eating habits of creatures I have never seen. I have tried to exist in a culture I am unfamiliar with; one I have never seen. I have found no sanctuary in this land.

I have been ignorant enough to think that I understand foreign soil without ever getting it under my fingernails. And now that I have let it stain the wrinkles on my tired hands, I’m still not sure of the place where I stand. I’ve looked up and seen the seeds I have sown, but the first stages of the crop are yielding a different kind of harvest, one I did not expect to stow in my storehouse.

The clouds have not parted, the Light has not shone brightly, but it is not quite eve yet. And while I sit and look out across the work of my hand, I see a return that only those with eyes to See would acknowledge as important. My mouth is parched with Thirst and my eyelids like heavy velvet curtains. Every movement seems to take more energy than normal. Thoughts of a lighter day take up sword and stand firm on the Rock against the nasty arrows of self-doubt and withering worthlessness.

But when I go to lay my head to rest, I give thanks for the space to expand and contract given to those closest to me.

And when I wake in the morning, I give thanks for another day and the new mercy a new day brings.

But still the symptoms cease to relent. So I drink, still, from the deep Waters and pray for nourishment to come.

Escape Routes and Rabbit Holes

Whenever I get into deep thought, the path I usually follow goes to deep for even my own comprehension. The best way to describe it is mystery scouting. I love finding mysteries and when I think of them, I sit back and take apart every last screw. Like when I look at man made systems, I love taking them apart. Board, by screw by washer by weld. Most of the time, I end up just leaving the mess and just give up, thinking to myself, "Well, we're all going down in flames so it doesn't surprise me that this is such a mess anyways."

At some points, the absurd complexity of the world really bothers me. Like those itches you get in your heel that seem to be something deep down, tickling your bone. This insatiable nagging of the "human cause". And then, I turn off NPR, leave my cell phone and go for a walk along a trail.

And everything becomes clear again.


Things as simple as looking at the trees lining the boulevard outside the window of my office. I look at them and praise God that I don't have it all figured out. And that He does. The gnarled trees look like the twisted nerve endings embedded within each of my fingertips that send sensory signals to the brain, saying, the space bar is here, the comma button here, and the "A" key, over there, underneath the left pinky.

And it sets my wandering mind out to sea on another adventure, determined to find natures workings and their similarities to the human body. Or even just the similarities in a tree, even. Give it Light, Sun and some good soil and it grows.

Over time, it probably doesn't notice just how tall it grows, or how deep its roots dive into the earth. Or how it's life is drawn into those green leaves. How it starts so small and how the veins in those leaves make it grow bigger, stronger, and eventually turn their wisest shades of red, orange and yellow and fall. All to be completely broken apart and fed back into the soil that nourishes the roots that rip up sidewalks that help grow the tree taller and wider and bigger. And that produces the fruit that comes from the flower that came from the branch with the leaves that provides the shade that covers us as we step over that one crack from the root, where the leaf fell.

And to think, we walk by these giants, or even the beginning stages of these natural phenomenons, and don't think twice. Because we are to busy analyzing the world of Man.


Everyone has the ignorance. Including myself. And daily, I remind myself, this is not about me. And hourly I fight with myself. We can learn so much about the Creator when we look at His Creation. Everyone of us has some aspect of nature that absolutely floors us. And if not, go find it. Even city's have sunsets.

Be weary, however, I am not advocating worshiping nature, I'm advocating wondering at it and at how it came to be. It is difficult for me to look out at anything natural, dead or alive, and believe it was produced on it's own. I love chasing it back to it's moment of birth because there are no nuts and bolts, there are no screws, no metal holding it together. Just nature.

Just a Voice in the vast Darkness so powerful that from It's breath, an entire Natural world was created.

And to think, the human heart is vastly more complicated than any natural object...

Selah.

The Whistler

That whistle.

Is it the wind trying to get underneath the crack of the locked door? Or is it a man sitting beside the window? It could quite possibly be the the sound of a child, somewhere far off, screaming from inside a room; underneath the stairwell; into the pillows on the bed.

Either way, when quiet, the Whistle, it's still audible. And that tune, still familiar. As familiar as it always has been.

The churning of the second hand on the clock. the steady humm of the refrigerator, the buzz in ears from the constant chaotic noise of the world. It just seems to get louder and louder, trying to make itself heard over the others before it.

But that Whistle, that whistle stays the same volume. Always constant. Always seems half out of tune and slightly off pitch, but maybe it's not the Whistle. Maybe it's the Ear Drums. The ones that are stretched out, strung so tight trying to encompass the music of the world when in reality, it's the tune of the Whistle that the delicate, stretched skin needs to absorb.

The drum that takes a beating, day in and day out, hour after hour from constant Noise. The beating that leaves it vibrating for years until we are given new skins for our drums by the Whistler, stretched by hand.

I've been going crazy, listening to the humming of this world. Driven to the point of tears. Daily. But tonight, for the first time, I'm letting the humming die out and the Whistle grow louder. I've been searching for so long for the tune of that Whistle, but can't find it anywhere except from His lips. I've been waiting for the Whistler to speak, but all I hear is the Whistle, on and over again. I want to get close to that Whistle, and I want this humming to stop. I want it to make sense, but I'm just a note in His tune.

Alone, I'm useless. But I am the one note that helps make that tune, that symphony complete. Maybe that's why it sounds so out of tune, because so much of his instruments are playing different notes, none in accord. The hand thinks the eye is useless who thinks the shoulder is a waste of space who thinks the foot is annoying.

Interestingly enough, these scatter-brained thoughts all boil down to the fact that I don't know where I'm going, what I am doing here, why I am here, or why I haven't seen God move the way I know He wants to...

So, again, I quiet myself to try and decipher the Tune.

And what a beautiful, windy Tune it is.

The Christina Affect

The world lost a valuable asset yesterday. And I'm not to sure how to fully respond.

The only logical thing seems to be to search for solace in the only outlet I know how: writing. The guilt that weighs on my heart is beyond words and I'm still not quite sure the name of it. I've lost someone every single year since the year I started college, and this trend better not be one to stick.

Christina Li passed away yesterday after complications with what I'm told was supposed to be a simple surgery. Li was a fellow writer and editor, in respective semesters, at the State Hornet when I was there, and was amazing at what she did, the best at what she did. Upon graduation in May of 2010, Li received a job at a small newspaper in Visalia, Calif. and, her last semester at school, Li picked up her camera and became quite the photographer. Her articles were meticulous and her talent for feature writing was unprecedented. Anything she laid a determined finger to, she turned to gold.

To say the least, she was talented. And to say the least, I feel guilty beyond words.. But here goes..

Christina -

I feel like I just barely knew you, and for that I'm kicking myself. I was so looking forward to watching you grow into an incredible journalist, an incredible artist. Your work ethic was unreal and your talent at concentration and selective hearing at any given moment was amazing. I know if I told you this now, you'd just react with, "WHaaaaaaatttt??" in that tone you used whenever something surprised you. Like when you found out about the Jamba Juice in the Union that had been there for six months. But you didn't realize it was there until someone mentioned it when we were walking to Round Table.. right next door. But it really was something I admired about you.

You were all business, but really knew how to have a good time and I feel like you just started your creative engine before you really got to take off and win the races set before you. And I wish I could have celebrated with you in your victories, I wish I would have told you more often just how much I really did admire you. Because the nature of our relationship, we were mostly business and I wish that wasn't so..

I don't want to be overly dramatic, but I honestly feel the burden of that heavier now more than ever. Moments are fleeting, and the moments that I neglected with you I regret. There is a heaviness and a weighted feeling of remorse for not getting to know you better.

Lesson learned.

All the future moments to be had, whether with friends or enemies, will be influenced because of what I learned with you, Christina. The affect of what was and was not shared, taken, had with you will surely weigh on future actions.

The Christina Affect will hang over every movement and word as I promise I will never take any conversation or hang out for granted again.

This is messy, but so is life.

No amount of cheesy lyrics or token grief motto could describe the unease and uncomfortable rage felt towards what happened. I'm not even going to try.

I'm sorry I never really got to know you. I was so looking forward to seeing you grow to be so successful, nothing could hold you. And apparently I was right...

You hadn't even left the dock yet..

I'm so sorry...



in Affect,
A

The Unease Grows.

Contemporary Christian music.

Ya, my sentiments exactly. Everything that those words stand for make me sick to my stomach.

I've been trying to be a good little Christian and listen to the radio stations and cd's, but I can't do it anymore. There is something that gets under my skin when I think about the genre.

"But what about all those worship songs you sing in church, aren't those all from those albums?"

You're right. They are. But even worship songs piss me off. There is a fire in the pit of my belly that cannot be quenched by anything but pure, unedited worship. I don't care if it's someone singing in a corner, out of tune and without electric guitar. Give me that over a $15,000 set up any day.

There is something so heart breaking about watching a soul go after the heart of God. Pure and true. The most intense moments I've had before the Throne of God have been sitting on a log on the beach, singing, "I love you, Lord" over and over till I'm sobbing like a toddler in Poppa's arms.

So why do we have all this set up and get up? Why the lights and the guitars? Ya, it sounds great, but really? Don't throw the excuse of "new believers" around either.

If a soul is ripe and ready, if the seed planted is bursting at the seams, it will find the Water to quench it's thirst. It will hear the Call and it will know it's Creator.

It is not our job to dictate whether or not a soul is ready, but it is our duty as believers to be the hands and feet, the eyes the elbows the ears that sit, wait, listen and obey when He says, "Go."

Yesterday, I was listening to the Kim Walker Pandora radio station at work and stumbled upon a website that held images representing the last century. I broke down and started crying at my desk. There was a sickness that started in the bottom of my stomach. Immediately, the feeling of disgust and rage took over and I couldn't believe how people pay to go to conferences and to workshops and colleges and universities where they can learn about this that and the other when others are simply trying to live.

"Blessed are the weak, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven," has never rung more true than at these moments in time.

Last time I checked, Paul was transformed not through a school of thought, but on the side of a road with a vision. Last time I checked, Christ said, be weary of religion and scorned against the pharisees, skipping class to have dinner with the prostitutes and gang bangers of the day. So, why are we trying to save the rich young rulers when they turned away Jesus' proposition? I curse the day that I was born in this country. I wish I was born in a hole on the Australian outback. That way, I would have nothing to do but expect God to fork over the Manna every morning at my doorstep.

To truly show His love, I believe we must be broken. How can a vase be made of hard, stubborn dried up clay? We have to be soaked and broken in order to be molded again.

I've got to go back to the beginning, to unteach myself from the screwed up ways I am all to comfortable with.

Parting is such sweet sorrow - R&J

Wow, it has been a while.

So much has happened since the last time I posted but I am glad to say that I am getting back on the blog bandwagon. Promise I'll do at least bi-monthly posts.

There has been a lot that has been going on, hence the lack of posting, so I'll pick this past weekend to speak about and the rest will come later.

This past weekend, I took my last trip to Indianapolis for my last National Student-Athlete Advisory Committee (SAAC) meeting in which I was one of 31 representatives, representing the student-athletes of the Big Sky Conference in which Sacramento State competes in.

The weekend was, to say the least, interesting. It was so extremely bittersweet to meet all these wonderful new representatives from different conferences and say my goodbyes to everyone. Of course, I sobbed like a little baby, but this committee has weened me off milk and gave me a big juicy steak to satisfy my professional career's appetite.

It has helped propel me to walk out of the tunnel of graduations ambiguity and onto the open road of the worlds endless career options. All the liaisons to the committee and members of SAAC have been with me through nine bumpy, pot-holed forks in the road, nine meetings filled with heated debates, plenty of piggy backing and plenty of embarrassing moments when we, or maybe just me, got it wrong.

During my time on the committee, I walked through the end of my collegiate rowing career, the start of a new job at the conference in which I was commissioned to represent, the engagement to the love of my life, the move from everything that was familiar in California to the foreign land of Utah, and three deaths in my family that affected me beyond measure.

The amount of growth that was experienced both during those nine meetings and just during the two years time serving the committee will be a time marked with nostalgia and filed away under the "Golden Years" in my memory. It's a time of my life I will be telling my grand kids about around the campfire and common ground I will share with the members of the committee.

The weightiness and importance of this committee will be the common ground in which I will meet it's members, my friends, upon time and time again. The "Remember when..." 's will ring true for years to come.

From NCAA office in Indianapolis, all those room keys from the Westin to Denver, to Atlanta to Washington DC the day before the first black US President's swearing in.. All the NCAA rules and regulations we learned of and all of the acronyms we had to learn. All the interesting people who came to us for our opinions, the first time I realized the NCAA really truly stood up to it's word to serve student athletes, and the two times we lost to DIII in kickball in July (which I'm expecting the new members to win next year..)

Every memory has been put in it's place. Every friendship cherished. Every late night text message. Every meeting's new challenges. Every game of hot seat, every joke and every piece of hot topic legislation discussed. All of it summed up into one great experience. All of it something I will remember years from now.

"Memories are the treasures that we keep locked deep within the storehouse of our souls, to keep our hearts warm when we are lonely," - Becky Aligada

Chapter Three

There is a part of me deep down inside that doesn't want to stay in one place.

There is, however, some truth to being rooted in a place, but I'm not to keen on getting to used to one place or another.

Moving scares me to death and I get very anxious at the thought of living in an unfamiliar place, but at the same time, I am sickened of the thought of life without adventure.

The past few weeks have been challenging. The feeling of "settling down" and getting comfortable has been starting to creep up on me. And although a part of me really wants to embrace that, another part of me never wants to let go of the adventure of life.

In the past few weeks, I have become fully aware that life can throw curve balls at any time it would like, and that trying to live a "normal" life definitely has its hiccups.

Normal is in quotations because I am extremely bothered by the fact of a normal life, but at the same time in some other compartment of my heart and mind, there is a very big fear of the unknown.

When looking back at the path I've walked down thus far in my short 22 years here, I find that recent years have been a lot of uprooting and leaving behind familiar forests where I've earned a few rings around my trunk. But I've learned that in every uprooting, there is always the divine hand of Christ behind the pick and axe that have torn me up and graciously replanted me.

Lately, I've been trying to explain to Aaron what God has typed out in my heart but I've got nothing more than, "It's where I've been led." Very similar, if I might add, as to the reasons why he joined the army. Its sort of funny how human emotions can get so messy and spill over, covering up every other type of logic including the illogical requests of a righteous God.

The other night while journaling, I found something I'd scribbled down a week or two earlier. It read:

"There are two kinds of people in the world:
The ones who rise from the ashes and the ones who suffocate in them.
There is no question whether or not the fire will burn."

Moments like this are moments when I know God is with me because over the next few days, events unfolded that were slightly out of my control. And I had a choice to either suffocate or rise above.

A couple of days earlier I had suspicions that someone was tampering with the lock (a weak one at that) on my sliding glass door that faces the street and sidewalk. It's about 10 feet from a fairly busy sidewalk where lots of people often walk their dogs or go for jogs. I've found countless smoked cigarettes on my lawn and figured it was just people throwing them onto my lawn from the sidewalk. Gross still, but there really isn't anything I can do.

Earlier that night when I had read that in my journal, I had bought two plastic lounge chairs to laze around in during the summer months and get outside where I like to be.

The next day when I came home for lunch, there was a coke can sitting in front of one of the lawn chairs with smoked cigarettes filling up half the can and cigarette burns and ash on the chair as well as the ground and, of course, more cigarettes on the lawn.

Nothing was tampered with in my house but it had confirmed my suspicions of someone hanging out on my porch. I honestly don't mind that someone has taken my porch as a lounge area for them but cigarettes are my worst enemy and I HATE them.. In addition, it's unnerving to know that my porch is a hang out spot when I live by myself.

I contemplated leaving a sign just asking the person to clean up after themselves and not get burns on the chair, but instead I freaked and had the police come out and take an extra patrol on my street. Not very Christ-like.

It got me thinking of how much I wish that Aaron lived with me. I feel so much safer when he is around. I don't get cat-called on the street (not saying I'm uber attractive, I just feel uncomfortable walking down the street in a dress because I've had some shady characters say/do some pretty vulgar things which wouldn't happen if Aaron was by my side)

The first thought into my mind was to embrace what was happening and show them Christ's character, but my frightened flesh got the better of me.
Fear:1
Love:0


The second semi-epic event was my car breaking down on the Friday before last on my way to the gym.

One thing about Ogden that everyone has got to understand are the hills. Ogden sits at the bottom of, you guessed it, Mount Ogden. I live across the street from the mountain. Literally. So in order to get to and from my house, hills are a requirement. Anyone who's taken a ride in the good ol' S.S. Nessy knows that the little four-banger tank doesn't have a whole lot of power.

So in coming up a hill near my house, the engine cut, and thank the Lord, I was able to cruise onto a side street off of a main boulevard in a stretch where side streets are sparce.

Long story short, and two mechanics later, I got the car back just in the nick of time to pick up Aaron from the airport this last Friday, the 28th. He's been here since and it's been, well, weird.

It's weird have a "nine to five" and having him here. I've only known him when I've been in college so it's odd to me to not be in college and hang out with him. It's been nice living by myself and having him here though. It feels like we're married. When I was at work yesterday, he cleaned the whole house. And I don't mean just a little wipe here and there, but pretty much reorganized the whole darn thing.

I should be able to work from home for the next week or two till he leaves on June 13, but until then, I'm going to soak up every moment.

What's on our agenda? Glad you asked.

- Hike to the top of Mt. Ogden, off the trail
- Buy hiking shoes for said hike
- Play copius ridiculous amounts of soccer and tennis
- Go to REI, maybe get camping gear
- Hang my photos I finally put in frames
- Attend Real Salt Lake soccer game June 9
- Attend mewithoutYou show June 5
- Stay on top of blogging
- Eat in and buy veggies from the local marketplace down on Washington Blvd.


Bold indicates what we haven't done yet.


Till next time,
the Adventerous A's.


"I'd rather be a failure at what I love than a success at something I hate."
-George Burns