Rose Garden watchings and musings

I’m sitting here at the Rose Garden. Instead of a solitary hike (which my mom deemed, unsafe for a young lady like myself), I opted for pretty scenery and reflective space. I set up camp in the mini amphitheater with my blanket, lil’ buddy (my ipod), book and journal. I read for a few minutes and was quickly drawn into prime people-watching all around me.

I watched the group of kids running across the lawn, running and screaming for as long as their lungs would allow to see who could scream and run the longest in one breath. The oldest girl was the true winner and won time and time again. The younger ones, took several breaths and ended up running out of eyesight every time, but convinced themselves they had won.

I watched a couple young girls put on a talent show on the stage. Performing 10 second performances of break-dancing and singing.

I watched a young boy and girl for a while, following their play and conversation. I watched the little boy jumping down the oversized steps beside me, with his face bright with adventure. His mom calls out, “Jason, what are you doing??”

OOF…OOP…OOF…

With each jump he lets out an OOF…

He looks back with a big grin and yells, “CLIMBING!”

And continues his journey.

A young girl is following after.

He keeps looking behind to make sure she is following.

Oof….oop….oof.

She has the same smile of adventure on her face as she follows where the boy leads. His excitement is brimming when he leads.

She calls out when they reach the bottom, “follow me!”

…

He stops and sulks into the grass, his face visibly fallen. He slowly gets up walking after her, but with no enthusiasm. It’s clear her doesn’t want to be led. His joy comes in the leading, in the adventure of forging the trail, in knowing that someone is following his lead.

I wonder to myself as I continue to watch them play if I too often default to my own lead- and my own independence. If I should step aside now and then and allow myself to be led.

...And now, the clouds have moved in and I’m sitting in the sprinkle of rain, wondering if I am going to stick it out. It seemed that just when I got comfortable and settled, enjoying the sunshine and warmth-clouds moved overhead. Though it’s still sunny, I am still sitting here in the midst and mist of rain.

I love how metaphorical weather and seasons can be and singers know it.

“it never rains when you want it to”

“for tomorrow may rain, I’ll follow the sun”

Change in weather always throws people off a bit. When it’s 90 degrees for a week straight and then it drops to 65 just like that, people don’t know what to think of it. I’ve noticed that the day the weather changes in any drastic way, first snow, or downpour after a dry spell, first sunshine after weeks of rain- those are the days the coffee house is busy. Not just for beverage needs. People need to discuss the change. They need to know that other people are experiencing and witnessing the change happening around them. Change is easier when you know you’re not alone.

Change is always difficult because it means, well, just that-change. Sometimes it’s welcome change. Other times change happens and we don’t want it one bit. We liked the way things were, settled and comfortable. I'm going to have to go back to change is easier when you know you're not alone and thank goodness we are never alone.

Remembering...Brian

All it took was a glance to the date on my computer screen.

Seven years ago today, you were still a teen

Early morning July 3^rd, the dawn was breaking

And your own life you were taking.

I know you had your reasons

I would have told you that life is worth living

And that we all have our seasons

I hope at the very least in that last moment

You knew you were loved

By a great and loving God above.

This day comes around every year,

And the strength of your character becomes that much more clear.

Boy did you carry that sense of life

That passion inside that flowed from your hands

onto paper, walls and canvas

you believed that love could change the world

Can this?

Poetic words spoken from your lips

Into our ears, hearts and histories

“Live to love” you said,

“Create love and be free”

It took losing you for so many to finally see.

It’s undeniable, the strength you carried

From your first breath until the day you were buried

In all your ways you breathed humility

And in the end I’m reminded of life’s fragility.

I wish you were here.

There are so many things I’d like to tell you.

And share perhaps over a beer

Your life has touched mine and others

Many mothers, friends, sisters and brothers

If there is anything to gain

I want you to know your life was not lived in vain.

One last and little secret I can’t forget.

Remember those prank calls you used to get?

Your favorite songs

played to you by a random somebody

All those years ago,

yeah, that was me.

Much love, friend.

Brian Betz (1983-2002)

oh ingrid, you say what i can't

Ingrid Michaelson....i can't get enough.

listen to this demo of her new song, 'walk away'.
beautiful. words. voice. harmonies.

"but i really know, that forevers, they come and go, so i'll hold on tight to letting go, 'cause i don't know when this love will walk away..."

oh ingrid, you say what i can't**

**words of a crazy Jenny Lewis fan at the Roseland, who also kept dancing and shaking her hair on me.

almost poetry

(I apologize for being so verbose; this was written in a late night, sleepy state.)

some thoughts that resemble poetry..

I am a tattered and torn person in the process of becoming

Who it is I am meant to be

Into the image of the one I long to see

Transforming and changing

Imago dei.

If only I was cleanly cut with no jagged edges

Made to fit perfectly so,

Here and there.

Into the dreams I’ve so carefully drafted

Through the paths I’ve chosen

and will find again in pages unwritten

I’ve learned that the pieces don’t always fit just so

I’ve learned by going where he leads

and learning to let go

Must I still be learning?

I’m in love with our world.

That hurts and breaks

And in my hands I feel the warmth

When I hold them up to the wounds

In our world that is fallen and broken and crying out for hope

Daily I see pieces of a flawed and imperfect humanity

Yearning for redemption

Aching for heaven’s waters to spill over the earth and wash it clean

Yet, in the midst of a scarred world,

I can’t help but find myself in awed moments

Grateful for heartache,

That echoes within

And calls out to others

in a melody

that we all know

I am astounded by the immense weight of hope in the midst of suffering

In spite of dire odds and circumstance

We remain a people

Clinging to slivers of hope

And remaining faithful

As we lean a little more into

the next page

and into a love that is with us

until the end of the age.

The Story

I cannot tell you how much I love hearing people’s stories, hearing where they come from, what their world looked like and felt like growing up, and learning about little and big experiences that have shaped who they have become.

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been
And how I got to where I am
-Brandi Carlile

I truly love it. I could listen to people tell stories all day. It’s such a privilege to glimpse into that part of someone; especially since a lot of life stuff doesn’t come up in daily conversation or maybe it’s too long of a story or too dark of a story to share. Every other week at our home community through Imago Dei Community, one or two people will share their life story, their testimony with everyone in our community, as a way to go deeper with each other and to see how God has shown up in the midst of the joy and the pain. I just love the image of a group of believers sitting in a room with the sole intent of knowing each other and knowing God more. To sit in the presence of another person’s life story, all the beauty, messiness, brokenness, and soul-I just eat it up.

What I love most is that I believe in each of our stories, we recognize pieces of ourselves in each other. We recognize ourselves in the experiences of others, the feelings of others, and the brokenness of others. One of my favorite Over the Rhine lyrics is "pain is our mother, she helps us recognize each other". Our stories connect us in ways that we might never have imagined. I’ve seen how the sharing of stories in our home community has encouraged more boldness, realness and an uncovering of what has been kept hidden and how in this sharing people are growing and learning; learning that they are not alone and they never have been, alone. I have been getting goose bumps a lot lately and surprisingly, not because I am cold. When I hear something incredible or see how certain life pieces just fit in my own life and in the lives of others, it’s as if my body is telling me to

stop.

Take notice of this.

And so I do.

And in that moment of recognition, my faith deepens as I remember that our lives are only a small part of a much greater story being crafted and I know the one who created it all and He is good.

My dear friend Courtney posted this as a facebook status and I’ve been marinating on it all week.

He said, "Why don't you spend your day floating down this river with me?" and I said, "Well that would be GREAT, but do you know where it goes?" and He said, "Yeah I know the way....I created it."

what's next..? enjoy today..

It’s a bit surreal, the whole being done with school. Of course everyone’s question is “…what next?!” ha. If only I knew... That was the easy part when I graduated from the U of W; I knew I wanted to go into social work and so I could forecast grad school in the future and it was great to be able to tell people my plan. Oh, and my parents are all about “the plan”…everyone must have a plan and not just one plan, but two or three as back-ups. I’ve tried to function around plans, I have, but that’s just not how I roll. My plans consist of not having a plan.

I’m a fly by the seat of my pants kind of girl and I kind of like that.

So…with that being said…here I am, graduated and done. At the moment, I am content in taking some much needed down time; to hang out with friends, to take walks, to tote my camera around, to ride my bike, to sleep-It’s been wonderful.

I’ve been mulling some thoughts around to write about but that will come later I guess. I thought I’d throw in some pictures of my last week or so since I’ve been taking my camera with me everywhere.

After graduation = happiness

my favorite ladies and boys came down to ptown!

Fro Yo..or frozen yogurt with good peeps

when I have time to look around on my walks through the neighborhood, i see the coolest things, yeah positive propaganda!

found these cute little birdies on my friend leisha's houseboat in Scapoose, OR

the houseboat. i could so live here.

perfect Sunday afternoon.

forever a cheese.

there was fishing, but not by me

seriously, water feeds my soul.

the new bike, isn't she pretty in that golden sun?


I've been exploring Portland, via bike and loving it!

i pretty much love trains, tracks, sun and portland

shadow trees

my absolute favorite time of day


the view from a bike is the best


this makes me feel like i live out in the country, i like that.

i was born to explore. i'm a happy girl

i am my father's daughter

(whoa, haven't blogged in while! it's been a little wild with GRADUATING, hooray!!...but get ready for a lot more writing because i've got some tiiiiiiime...)

I’ve been thinking about my Dad lately. Maybe it’s Father’s day coming up or maybe it’s just that I have a lot of time on my hands now.

I was having breakfast with my dad and step-mom not too long ago on the island. Visits with my dad are few and far between, they always have been. But still we both try and make time for that relationship and try and restore what’s been missing all along. I was thinking back to that breakfast and how we are more alike than I know.

The server walked over and made some pleasant conversation about the weather and tides. She turned to take our order, my step-mom abruptly ordered a long and complicated meal with substitutions and specific requests, hardly making eye contact and with a bit of a huff. The young server, clearly overwhelmed and visually nervous about what order may follow next looked my way. She was a sweet girl and throughout my step-mom’s order, I was trying to decide what to compliment her on, she had a great necklace, boots and haircut. I told her I couldn’t hold in a compliment that I loved her antique necklace, cowboy boots and cute haircut. She smiled big and accepted gracefully. I ordered French toast and coffee. She let out a breath of relief and looked to my dad, “Canyon Combo with coffee, please.” She smiled big and turned away. My dad looked at me and says loud enough for the server to hear on her walk to the kitchen, “She was a very sweet girl. I think we lucked out and got the nicest server that works here.”

…once our food arrived, I noticed my dad pouring generous amounts of syrup over his pancakes, bacon and eggs and I smiled. My step-mom was quick to comment on how absurd this was and who would put syrup over everything on their plate? I smiled, recalling to myself my secret love of syrup on both eggs and bacon.

At times I feel like I know strangers on the street better than my dad, which breaks my heart a little, but there are other times, like at breakfast when the littlest things will remind me that I am his daughter; our mutual love of syrup, uncomplicated orders, and kindness to those that serve us. They are small things, I know, but at the time and even now, it’s those little things that my dad and I have in common that mean the world to me.