"Remember"

Find the score, "King of Pride Rock" to listen to as you read this.  It's truly magnificent.

"Simba, you have forgotten me."

"No! How could I?"

"You have forgotten who you are, and so have forgotten me."
                        -Mufasa and Simba, "The Lion King," 1995

The Lion King is one of the best made Disney movies.  When they began work on it, it was so hard to find animators that wanted to work on it, because Pocahontas was also in the works.  Even when the studio was partially destroyed by an earthquake, they continued production in a garage.  The animators believed in this movie.  It had the music, the characters, the plot, and the emotion to make it a stellar movie.  You can tell when the creators love something, and it came out on screen.  I also think the movie is one of the most highly spiritual.

You were all with me, sort of, through this last year, and it was a tough one.  This summer was tougher yet in so many ways, but this summer was also a time of remembering.  I forgot why I wanted to be a Christian in the first place.  I forgot the heart of things, and couldn't remember what God's love felt like, or what it looked like.  I had spiritual amnesia. I couldn't remember who I was.

It's easy for me not to get into trouble at school.  I would have to leave my room, and that rarely happened.  But when I got home I just wanted to rebel for the first time in my entire life.  And I did rebel.  But just against the person I had wanted to be.

"Look inside yourself Simba. You are more than what you have become."
"How can I go back? I'm not who I used to be."

I wish I had the Simba intervention, but I had more of a slow intervention.  Things are better now.  I may not be who I used to be, but that's not a terrible thing.  I may not have the brightly colored bows in my ponytail, but I've traded that for a more grown up view of life.  I may not squeal every time I see a new Disney princess item at Wal-Mart, but... no, I still do that.  I couldn't always stay that girl that didn't know anything of what the world was going to throw at me, or how to grow up.  Sure, growing up sucks, but it's not going to stop coming if I complain about it.  It took Simba a while to figure it out, but you can come back.  God is always calling us back to him, and we just need to be quiet enough and listen, instead of shouting our insecurities and worries and begging to have prayers answered now.  We get these false ideas of how God pulls us back to him by all of these dramatic stories, much like Mufasa opening up the heavens.  There is a very, very slim chance that God's going to open the heavens to answer your question on who you should marry, or what college major you should have. It's just not going to happen.  We hear of drug addicts that suddenly 'see the light' and others that have dramatic events in their lives that bring them to the Lord.  That's just not always how it's going to be.  I've reminded myself of that a lot.  And I still don't have a dramatic story.  Never have, actually.

I ended up in the hospital this summer with a terrible, terrible case of tonsillitis, and I kept begging God to show himself.  I was in pain. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't eat.  I even got wheeled to the room in a wheelchair because I had no energy to even walk.  The sad part about feeling appart from God and needing Him desperately is that you sometimes start trying to make deals with Him.  You forget what kind of God he is, and that He doesn't WANT you to have to suffer, but He see's a purpose in it. I don't know why it had to take 6 times to get a needle in my arm, but eh, it's history now.  I'm healthy again.  And sometimes I really do wonder if all these sad and terrible instances can all come down to having the purpose of sharing a reflection on them.  I think it's worth it.

I was challenged by a friend of mine at the end of the school year to make a study of a book in the Bible.  I had told him I didn't even know where to begin to make my way back to who I used to be and wanted to be.  And so I read Romans.  I've always enjoyed reading that book, and tried to study it.  It was really hard.  I'd go two weeks without reading the Bible at all, which sounds ridiculous after being at a Bible camp, but it's what happened.  But I would slowly improve.  It's gotten so much better since returning to school.  And I did have different scripture that stood out to me differently than it had before. And that gave me hope.  Praying became easier.  I finally felt that I could talk to Him without complaining that I couldn't feel Him.  I don't have to feel Him to know He's there.  He IS there, and my lack of feeling or love is not going to change that.  He's in today and tomorrow and yesterday and next week.

I love the end of Mufasa's talk.  I really feel as if it's God talking to me.  God must have a wonderful speaking voice, huh? That's exactly how I'd imagine it sounding.

"You are my son!"

It's a scolding and a gift in one.  I am His daughter.  Of course He cares for me.  I can just imagine it, can't you? God getting just a little fed up with His ignorant children that don't believe in themselves and the gifts He's given and saying, "You are my son! You are my daughter! Don't you know that I love you?!"

I remember, Lord. Thank you.

"Horse with No Rider"

"Horse with No Rider" Alan Menken, Tangled

This piece of score is barely two minutes long, but the title is what I was going for.  We all have those moments where you feel like you've lost your head and you can't see up from down.  You try to prioritize but when everything is just as important as the last, every type of scheme seems to fail you.  You're a wild horse running for no reason other than you're scared or startled into action.  You have no rider to direct your ways.

I think I freaked out several people earlier today with my pleas for prayer, but I was at that point.  Too much on my mind and in my head to fathom it without the help of prayer. I'm the type that always has some sort of list in her head of things she wants to do, needs to do, and has to do.  It's the length of the list that stresses me out, no matter when the decisions have to be made, or if they're even in my control. A short list means a happy Lindsay.  The long list of today is what sent her into an emotional breakdown.

It's fairly normal for college students to not graduate in 4 years now-a-days.  But I thought I could do it.  I've tried everything humanly possible to make it work, and my professors were so very helpful in the process, exempting me from a class here, and letting me take another with graduate students.  It was so very great of them, even if it is their job to do so.  But to pull this magnificent feat off, I'd have to take 8 credits during the summer, plus a non-finalized job at camp.  During the school year I'd have to fit 20+ credits into one semester, plus choir, a senior art show, a half recital, and sleep.  I wouldn't be able to have a real job.  During student teaching I would still have to take another class.  Even listing these in a place other than my mind sets my nerves on end.

This is also my pre finals week, or 'dead week' as my lovely friend Alison calls it.  My finals will be fine.  With the amount of literature I've read in my life, I have no problems with tests and the like.  My friend Denise laughs in exasperation when I ask her what she got on the art history quiz to find out that I got 100% without even reading the chapter, just skimming for the answers.  And this has happened multiple times! I thank God for that blessing.  But it's the shear amount of additional work I need to do that's got me spooked.

Human Relations: Text Responses 9-14, Discussions 2-4, Action Plan, Scrapbook of Educational Adventures (made the title up), DRIE on my experience with the refugees, 4 more hours of time with the refugees, and a synthesis of three course topics

Sculpture: assemblage sculpture

Computer Solutions: make up Excel Project

Art History: Presentation on the Americas Before 1300

That actually doesn't look as bad as I thought it would.  But I do also have to figure out how to get my poor couch home.  Sounds silly doesn't it? I'm worried about a couch?! But hey, it's on my list, so it's a worry.  If I can't come up with anything I'll give it to the refugees.  They need a couch more than I do anyway.

Also, the last two days my room has had one of Sarah's friends over for a visit.  She is a wonderful and very sweet girl.  I've worked with her actually, and as pretend janitors, it's always great to be partnered with someone who loves to clean toilets :D. But I really wasn't prepared for her to move half of her previous dorm room into our already packed room.  And to give up, in my mind, what I call a sanctuary, was just another stressor.  She was a wonderful guest, but on top of everything, I have to say, it all drove me crazy to have to shift things in the room so I could get to my desk.

Today had to be the day I lost it.  I could honestly feel my chest tighten up and I thought I was going to have a full blown panic attack.  Last week was pretty bad, but today was a special case for two reasons.  One was personal and one was family related.

My mom is one of the most wonderful people in the world.  It was terrible to have to go home and tell her that there was no way you were going to allow her to walk down the stairs in her condition.  One of the times I came home her face was swollen quite a lot, and she was reacting badly to a new pain medication.  She'd loose control of her speech, and for someone who used to tuck you in every night to  read you the adventures of Laura Ingalls and Rose Wilder, and always know where everything in the house is, it's hard.  I know that people go through these kinds of things all the time, but my mom is only 54... I think.  After shoulder surgeries, electrocution, skii accidents, farming accidents, asthma attacks, and the like, hasn't she been through enough?! Today she had her back surgery.  She hasn't been able to walk around much for months.  She couldn't work.  My mom has ALWAYS been a teacher.  It's weird to be able to call her at any time of the day.  It's weird not to get to hear funny stories about little girls thinking their hair will grow back like Rapunzel if they cut it off with their safety scissors.  She got through surgery well, and the doctors have said it will help, but to be slightly sadistic, I've heard that before.  And so has she.  It took them nearly 5 years to figure out that it was her back that was causing a lot of her problems.  It's not normal for your kids to have to put electrodes on your mothers back to help with whatever the doctors said was wrong that time.  It's not normal that I grew up sitting in a chiropractors office playing with my Gameboy or reading another Black Stallion book.  I got to level 8 in Super Mario Brothers and was never able to finish it.  I just hope this last surgery will help.

I also said I was mad at myself.  I've loved Harry Potter since the 5th grade.  I read the first one because I was out to prove that it couldn't be as great as everyone said it was.  I was right.  It was even better.  Even after my old pastor and church told me I was going to hell for reading them, I loved them.  There are books I like better now, but there's something special about opening the first book and rediscovering the wizarding world all over again.  I've read the Goblet of Fire 22 times now, and it still doesn't get old.  That tells you something.  But I also have a problem with it.  In middle school I discovered fanfiction.  That stuff is awesome.  But it comes in all kinds of forms.  Some of it is so cute you start squealing in public places and people look at you funny.  Others are so beautiful you want to cry. And some of them are disgusting.  But I've read them all.  Well, not the really terrible ones, but I've read some not so great ones.  But I get addicted.  I've mentioned my addiction to stories before I'm sure, but sometimes it gets really really bad.  I spent 8 hours straight yesterday reading a new story I found.  It was brilliantly written, but it wasn't all great.  But I couldn't stop myself.  I didn't even eat supper and then I didn't get to bed til 1:30am and I was so mad at myself for getting to that point that I didn't sleep all night.

Other people wouldn't think that was really any big deal, but I think it's terribly sad.  I'm disgusted with myself.  I wish I could cut myself off from those sites.  Why can't I read my Bible like that? Why can't I pray with that same type of fervor that I have when reading an engaging story? My faith should be my first priority.  Before anything, whether that be school, friends, family, my faith should be number one.  When I missed Computer Solutions today because I was close to tears, I should have opened my Bible, not call to check on Mom and then read more of this story.  That was stupid!

About a week ago, I got an odd message on Facebook.  It was from one of my guy friends here at school, and apparently he has no idea how to ease into a conversation.  He just straight up asked how I came to know Christ.  I gave him the easy answer. "In middle school I read this book..." yada yada yada, And so then he asked "So what does it mean to be a Christian?" I was reading fanfiction at the time.  And for the life of me I could not think of an answer.  After three years of counseling and learning at the most wonderful Christian camp I have ever been too, I couldn't even come up with words for a question I knew I had the answer to, at one time.  The reading had deadened me to any feeling or original thought.  I don't remember all that I said, but I did admit that I was struggling, and that it was hard for me to answer at the time.  I eventually played it off into an average conversation, but the whole question continued to bother me.  Why can't I answer it? I told my sister of the question, and she said, "Well? What is the answer to you?" I wasn't exactly expecting that.  My sister was usually the one that came to me with these questions.  Why was she asking me? Have I really fallen that far?

The Christian life is often a struggle, with ups and downs and twists and turns.  I've known that as long as I can remember.  But above everything, I know that it's worth it.  I don't know how long it will take me to get back up on my feet spiritually after this year, but I know that it will happen.  It's important.  It's the most important thing in my life.  I do know in two weeks all my stressors will be gone and I will be back with my mom and my just as wonderful dad and sister. And the best dog in the world.  And the weirdest cats. And I'm sure something will remind me of another thing that I've forgotten that's stressed me out, but the greatest thing of all is that God's laughing at me right now, saying, "How many times to I have to tell you and prove to you that I got this all figured out?! I love you!What's there to worry about?!"

The Innocence of Bambi

Bad things keep happening.  We shouldn't be surprised.  Jesus will be coming back, and it will get a whole lot worse.  But living in such a nation where the majority of it's populace thinks that they know best or how to fix things the right way, you'd think that things would be a bit better.  A little less horrific.

I'm tired.  I'm tired of poverty and abortion talks and gay rights and bombings and ignorance and selfishness and shallowness.  I'm tired of all the conflicting opinions.  I'm tired of fear and pain and death. I'm tired of all the sin in this world, and the sin in my own life.

The brightest part of my day was when I was at Wal-Mart.  I needed more Sunkist and I also just wanted to get away from everything on campus.  I wandered a while, and I heard all the usual.  Whiney kids and exhausted adults.  Poor people and wealthy people and people of every race, ethnicity, and size. I was beginning to think that Wal-Mart was the last place to go to get away from the 'world' when this little baby boy smiled at me in the pop aisle.  It was the sweetest, most joyous smile I had seen in the longest time.  And it made me so sad.  He has no idea.

I did want this to somehow relate to Disney, and it does.  Look at Bambi.  His joyous innocence is so huge throughout the movie.  One of my favorite moments is when he meets Flower.  Bambi doesn't know that Flower is a skunk.  He just knows that this little black creature is something new in this world he's been born into.  Flower is just another someone that he will get to know.  He sees the butterflies and the water and the clover with a new, excited innocence that I sorely miss.

I saw Bambi in this little boy.  He doesn't know that one day he'll be faced with all sorts of questions in life, and there will be people demanding an answer.  Each opinion will sound more and more correct.  Experiences will cloud his vision and life will cese to be the happy land of bright colors and warm blankets.

I've been bombarded with these things over the last week, besides serious health problems back home.  I watched this film called "Skin" for my Human Relations class, and it rocked me.  I hate how race played such a huge problem for such a long time.  I wish that race was the main part of the story.  Have you ever heard of the 'power of a single story?' There's so much more going on in every single person's life.  And I hate that these struggles and problems are overshadowed by politics.  I did a film analysis over it, and I wrote:

Here I am trying to figure out what to do with my time this summer, and here she is thinking she’ll never see her mother again.  These students may be the same.  They may have been taken from their parents, and wondering if they’ll ever see them again.  It makes me think of simple school things, like lunch conversations.  Here this young child will have to listen to a more privileged student, whatever their color, talking of their meaningless struggles like picking out the prettiest prom dress, while the other is wondering how many more hours of work they’ll have to put in at home to make their father happy.  It doesn’t even have to do with race.  I can see my sister right now in my head, sitting at lunch and listen to her friends talk of dates to prom and what they’ll wear, and she’s worrying about our dying grandfather and our broken mother that hasn’t worked in over a month because of her back pain.  She’s thinking of the homework she has to do and the practices she has to attend while pretending that she’s fine for her family’s sake.  There’s so much more to what’s going on in student’s lives! All of these movies and readings and quotes all seem to come back to that ‘power of a single story’ idea.  I just hope that when I’m a teacher, I can look past any type of barriers, whether it’s parentage or color or culture, and know what struggles they’ve faced and have yet to see.

It's not that things like the bombings aren't important to me.  I looked through the pictures and my heart cried for all the unnecessary pain that the people have been going through.  But these things happen every day in third world countries, and where are the tears for them? I hate that this is happening.  Pray for Boston, but also pray for the world! In Criminal Justice, my professor brought up the case against the abortionist doctor.  I looked up an article (in class but eh) and I almost cried out in class at the horror of it all.  He broke the backs of just born babies and threw their bodies in a closet. What kind of horror is this?! But Facebook posts are NOT going to change these laws and decisions. And quite frankly, I'm sick if seeing them.  I love the people who post them dearly, but I still don't want to see the posts.  Go DO something about it! Please!

I have two gay friends that I love, and one of them is practically the male version of me as far as Disney goes, but I am not going to spend my life fighting for them to have the right to marry, even though I do love them.  Marriage isn't a life or death thing.  Even though I hate the whole separation of church and state thing, I think that we need to separarte the whole idea of same sex marriage and Christianity and politics.  Making it illegal isn't stopping anyone from being gay or lesbian.  A law doesn't change what they believe.  David didn't change his mind about praying to his God when a law forbid him to.  A law won't stop people from being gay, and I think that some people thing that it will.  There are some gun laws, but does that stop school shootings? No.  You know what will? Hearts. If people only cared like they were supposed too! Dr. Hiigel, one of our Theology professors told a friend of mine how LBGT people could be used for the glory of God.  Send the gay men to free women from the sex trade! Think of that? Doesn't that idea have so much potential for good?! I think about all of the children in schools that don't know where their next meal is coming from, and whether or not they will get to keep their home. Will their mother be deported?  Will they have to go into foster care? We need people that CARE! I think of my grandpa in hospice care.  Thank God for nurses that are there for that.  Ackley is such an amazing place for these kind of people.  Grandpa always has visitors from so many different people that love him.  Could people do that for my mom? Stop asking her when her surgery is and just ask her if there's anything you can do for her.  Let her know that you care, and that you hate to see her hurting.  Even though there is no blood and there are no signs of physical pain, please know that there are plenty of unseen tears that show it clearly.  She probably wouldn't like me writing about this.  Mom likes to show the world that she's tough, and she is. She's taught me so much, and I don't think words can express how grateful I am for her, but a heartfelt word always means something.

Please think before you speak to someone.  Everyone has a story.  I see my young, white professor teaching me Human Relations, and I think that she has no idea, but then on my paper, she lets me know that her father died when she was roughly in college. She hasn't had an easy life either, no matter what her smile tells me in class.  I see all the ugly comments people make online.  I spend way too much time reading eonline articles and Yahoo articles.  The comments are the worst.  The language and the way they treat absolute strangers is absolutely disgusting. Those are real people.  They live lives and pay taxes and take their kids to school.  They may drive a car or use a Mac or take college classes.  They may be 13 years old and think that the world should bow down to them.  They may type so badly that you think all they're doing is hitting their head on the keyboard until it looks good.  But they're still all just people.  The celebrities in the news are people too.  They eat food, they drive cars, they wear clothes.  They probably had some sort of schooling. They have moms and dads and maybe siblings.  Who cares that Selena Gomez broke up with Justin Bieber? She must have had reasons.  Who cares that he threw up on stage at a concert? People get sick.  Who cares that Beyonce and her husband visited Cuba? People visit there all the time.  There is enough darkness and cruelty in the world without having to rip down people that are just living their lives! Who cares that Taylor Swift dated a bunch of guys?  So did probably the majority of girls in your class, and you probably know more truthful stories about them than anything thats been written online.  We are all people with feelings and minds.

God calls us to love one another.  Can we all do that please? And maybe more people will have the innocence of Bambi, without ignorance.

"... Trapped."

"You just feel... trapped." 
- Jasmine and Aladdin, Aladdin

I've never felt more trapped in my life than I have for the last several hours.

I got a message from my dad to call him.  It turned out to be about my FASFA information, but then he goes on to tell me that they've found yet another tumor on Grandpa, and it's on his lung.  It's spreading, and he may only have a month left.

I feel terrible to admit that besides a small amount of fear, I instantly thought of what would happen if he passed while I was in L.A., and I'd have to leave this tour that I've been so excited for.  Then I thought about him missing Val's graduation. And also Maddie, Mason, Paige, and Seth's graduations.  And now my brain's going into hyperdrive of all the things in our lives that he'll miss.  I forgot to think of him.  Grandpa Harold is such a wonderful grandfather.  He is so proud of us grandkids that he cries nearly every time he sees us, and this was years before the cancer.  He's such a hoot.  I remember when I was young he set newspapers on fire trying to make pancakes.  He currently has two pet foxes at my house, and he's had all different types of forest animals throughout his life.  His deer are the most well known.  I took one to show and tell when I was a first grade student.  He brought it all curled up in a picknick basket. :) I need to find that picture.  I'm lucky enough to have had as much time with him and his deer as I have, being the oldest grandchild.  But I'm also incredibly unlucky, and trapped.





I'm back at USF for my spring semester, and it's going really well, for school stuff.  But now I'm trapped by distance, ability, and time.

First of all, Sioux Falls is a far ways away from Grandpa.  From home, he lived about 10 minutes away.  At the hospital, he was 45 minutes.  Now he's 4 hours and 32 minutes away, according to Google Maps.  It's so hard to take that drive on any old weekend.  Nine hours of driving in one weekend is hard to do.

Second of all, is that I have no money.  With no job for the month of January, and having to quit at Hobby Lobby, I'm practically broke.  I have enough money to get home.  Probably not enough to get back.  And then I don't get paid until the last day of the month for the one job that I've been able to keep a hold of, Events Team (college janitor, basically). So even if I got back home and then back to school, I would have maybe 5 bucks to my name, and I don't have a real meal plan.

Third, is that I promised my grandpa a great many things in my life.  I've promised to come and see him at home, back when he was well and able.  I promised to do a painting of his beloved tractor.  I promised to sing at his church several times.  And now I really can't do most of those.  The singing thing got away from me.  I am a busy gal when I'm home, and to go to my grandparent's church was just a hassle I didn't want to deal with, or I didn't have any music ready.  I will probably feel guilty about that for the rest of my life.  The painting you'd think is still possible, until you get a good look at his tractor.  There are so many little gadgets and hoses and pumps on a tractor that I would never be able to finish that in any sort of time.  So my Uncle Tim helped me come up with another idea.  I was going to paint 4 pictures in the form of a barn window on a large piece of canvas.  Then Tim asked why don't I just paint right on a barn window? GENIUS.  It will be homey and with the glass I can use the photo as a stencil and really get all the detail quickly and efficiently. But I'm trapped with that too. The barn window my uncle got me is at home, because we were going to exchange one of our actual barn windows.  Home is 4.25 hours away, like I said, and now I have no way of getting a barn window in the city.  I could go hunt for one, but that will cost money that I don't have.  Plus, if I use the money I do have, that may keep me from going home when it really matters.

I'm just incredibly trapped, and I'm feeling it.  Psalm 139 has helped me to feel some peace, but I just hope that something will turn the tables on this tragedy.  The beautiful thing of all of this is that Grandpa has used all this to talk to the nurses and staff about God and his faith.  He is one of those rather crazy old men, but he loves the Lord very much, and that's what my confidence is in.  God's waiting for him.

"Healing Incantation"

Flower, gleam and glow 
Let your power shine 
Make the clock reverse 
Bring back what once was mine 

Heal what has been hurt 
Change the Fates' design 
Save what has been lost 
Bring back what once was mine 
-"Healing Incantation," Tangled

God is so good to me.  I don't say that enough.  I really don't.  He's blessed me in so many ways, and in so many ways I haven't even begun to think of.  But there's been a lot of healing in the last week, and it wouldn't be right to ignore it.

My last post was last Thursday, and all I could talk about was how frustrated I was.  I was on my fourth day without the use of normal hearing, and it was making me miserable! You really don't know what you've got til it's gone.  I got desperate, and drove a half hour to the nearest Wal-Mart for something to help me on Monday night.  It didn't help the first time.  It  kinda made a caffeinated beverage kind of fizzing in my ear, and then you're to use a a syringe to  squirt the wax/unidentified objects out.  It didn't work that time, like I said.  I thought I'd try it again Thursday night.  I let it sit and fizz, and then went to the bathroom to try to drain it.  This funny colored chunk fell out, and I was so excited.  I thought I could hear better! I did it again and another piece fell out that was not very big. I was getting excited  because I had proof that it really was coming out.  I tried it again and a LARGE piece fell out! I was sure I could hear! But then I did it again and all of a sudden I could hear the rushing water of the sink, and I almost cried in relief.  You have no idea what you've got until it's gone.  Last week, I probably wouldn't be able to hear the snoring in this house.  The week before that, it probably would have driven me up the wall.  This week all I can do is be thankful that I'm even able to hear it.  I feel great that I can hear questions and answer them in a better way than, "What?" The chunks that fell out, to give you an idea, when all rolled together, would be the size of the average marble.  No joke.  I'd post a picture, but it's on my phone, and I want to go to bed some time tonight!

I had another healing moment this weekend.  For those that don't know me, the majority of my high school friends dumped me when I transferred to Sioux Falls.  For reasons that were silly and deeply hurtful for the loyal golden retriever I am.  But there are two that I still love, and their names are Kendal Gast and Mayra Mucino.  Kendal is my baby brother, and we used to Skype all the time.  I give him advice, and he just lets me talk when I need too.  I can't believe he's graduating this year!! There's so much good about Kendal, but it's hard to put into words.  Mayra is a different story.  We slowly built our friendship through our high school years.  I was on her 'do not like' list freshman year.  I was rather obnoxiously happy and nice to her rough, Cali attitude.  But how we've grown up! We got close when we were dating these two boys that were cousins to each other.  When they broke up with us, we leaned on each other, because most of our friends, mainly mine, didn't understand.  Of course, it's pretty normal for high school girls to feel misunderstood, but that's what drove us together.  We have a lot more to our friendship now.  We've gone to Lifelight Music Festival together three times I think, and the last time as just the two of us.  I've seen her grow in her faith, and she's given me great challenges to grow on too.  It's hard to keep up a friendship living so far away from each other, but she's one of those gals I'm not going to let go.  When I got in my accident last January, I was so scared.  I was all alone and knew it wasn't a good idea to call my mom.  So I texted my three high school best friends, and Mayra jumped in a van and came to be with me through the police report and while waiting for my dad.  She just dropped everything to make sure I wasn't alone.  I don't think that she has any clue how much that meant to me.  It meant the world.  It really did.  The other two gals never answered the texts. Never asked me how I was. Mayra is a treasure, and a better friend than people give her credit for.  But back to the healing.  I got to take a drive to Iowa Falls with Mayra and Kendal, and that was the healing I needed.  I was feeling so trapped in my situation and the different pressures of home and my paraprofessional.  Mayra and Kendal let me be myself, completely myself, for the first time in quite a while.  I didn't have to be overly happy, and I didn't have to have a sob story either.  We just were.  Those kinds of friendships are pretty special.  

The last thing I want to talk about as far as healing, seeing that it's past my teacher bed time, is Grandpa.  We were with him all afternoon into the evening this Saturday, and I was so touched by our community.  It's why I love small towns.  Grandpa is doing so much better, and is having some feeling back in his legs, but it's the other type of healing, of people and prayer, that makes all the difference.  My grandpa is just a piece of work.  I love him so much.  And so does everyone else.  There was a literal line outside his room door of visitors from all aspects of the community.  His pastor came in and said a beautiful prayer that I happened to miss.  I know it was beautiful from all the Kleenexes that were out when I walked in! He had his choir friends come in and sing to him.  Out of that whole day, the only thing that threatened to make me cry was just the amount of love there is for my grandpa.  My Grandpa Lewie was just as great, but I never got to see him in the hospital.  This actual vision of a LINE outside a patient room just touched my heart deeply, and I think it's proof of living a meaningful life.  That people truly care for you.  You can be the best theologian in the world, but if no one's there to help you when you pass away, or just when you're struggling, what was the point of all that intelligence? I'm not bashing knowledge. I wish more people would take the time to really read the Bible and to take classes and really learn as much as they can about what they've dedicated their lives too.  But without love, it means nothing.

      God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. - 1 John 4:16b

"Lack of Education"

You listen good to I, because it's either education or elimination!Now, if you're so foxy and old Chief is so dumbThen why does that hound get the fox on the run?'Cause he's got the hunter -and the hunter's got the gunKa-blam, elimination!Lack of education!- "Elimination-Lack of Education," Fox and the Hound

This is a random collection of thoughts that I can't seem to get off my mind and I just want to share.  I've been feeling lonely and then don't want to be bothered in turns, so that leaves me very contemplative. 

Education.  I've kinda had enough of it.  At least, the observing part.  I've just completed my... 10th-ish day of class, and I'm just hoping the next week passes quickly.  It's not that I don't like the school, Mrs. Knox, or even the educational field.  It's just that I've been put outside my comfort zone for too long and I'm feeling it.  I've heard the sermons about how that's good, and as Christians we should be outside our comfort zones, but this doesn't seem like one of those situations.  

It's one thing helping at AGWSR.  I know how everything works, and since 90% of people know my family, they're always willing to help or let me know what's going on.  Things are organized, and have a system.  The teachers aren't afraid to ask me to help in specific ways.  It's 100% opposite at Starmont.  Mrs. Knox is great and all that jazz, but I have been so confused of what's expected of me.  And I'm a person that HAS to have something to do 24/7 or else I zone out.  I've been reading on my phone in the classes that I do nothing in.  I have NO idea if she's upset by this or not. I finally talked to Autumn about it last night and she said that it probably does bother her.  I won't do it again.  I tried knitting one day, but high school students instantly put you on their 'odd' list when you do things like that.  So probably not the best idea.  The student's projects are almost all independent projects, and I just don't know how to help.  If someone was to ask for advice, I could do it, but no one ever does.  Except in painting class and that's a pain in the butt.  I presented my artwork last monday, and the students are supposed to do a piece reflected off of it.  And I don't know how to get them to do it in the right direction.  Like, for instance, there's a gal that is coloring a landscape in graphite, but she swears to me it's watercolor.  It's a graphite pencil. If I'm wrong, great for her, but I'm still confused.  I also have a whole row of guys that were going to paint Nike and Fox symbols until Mrs. Knox caught them and made them at least print them, since I taught about printmaking.  There's also a gal that practically wants me to do her piece for her.  All I tell her now is to 'just go for it,' 'it's your piece not mine!' It doesn't help that I honestly, with no disrespect, thing she paints like a 5th grader.  I'm also frustrated with the lack of supplies and the fact that NOTHING is organized! It's all piled higldy-pidgely. I'm not a very organized person, but people can at least FIND stuff! There's a layer of dirt on almost everything, and I'm sure that the fire code is being broken in at least 10 different ways.  I just want them to have the real art experience, but Mrs. Knox just doesn't teach that way, and I can't change that.  I just have to learn from her.  I am learning, but I wish it was in a greater way.

Anyway, I'm just frustrated over all.  I don't like not knowing what's expected of me.  Can't help it, so might as well just get through it.  

In other news, I'm on my 4th day with no hearing in my left ear.  It's VERY frustrating.  Like everything else in my life right now.  It skews your perspective on where sound is coming from, and you can't focus on a conversation.  It also heightens your feelings of isolation because you can't hear anyone else.  I'm so used to it now that I can't even really tell if I can hear again or not.  I just want to hear.  

My cousin Courtney had her baby today, named Hayden Hartwig.  Good news.  But the paintings she was having me do for the nursery aren't done. Shoot.

Grandpa isn't doing so hot.  There's a lot of things going on this weekend, and I have been told that I HAVE to visit Grandpa before heading home.  It seems like no one but Aunt Nancy knows what's going on.  But no one will contact her.  Families are frustrating aren't they? 

Frustration.  Too bad Disney hasn't done a rendition on that.  I just pray for peace, and that everything will work itself out.  It will eventually, right?

"Love is a Song"

Love is a song that never endsLife may be swift and fleetingHope may die yet love's beautiful musicComes each day like the dawn 

- "Love is a Song," Bambi

 I think this has been the most crazy last week of my entire life.  That's probably not true, but it definitely feels like it.  I'm not used to so much change in such a short amount of time!

Friday afternoon I made the drive to Village Creek Bible Camp.  I had such a great time! All my best friends were back together again, and it made me so incredibly happy.  After such a long time away from having friends and hugs, it was exactly what I needed.  It was hard to leave Val, who's not exactly happy that I haven't seen her play basketball, but I'd been planning this and my other week plans since July, and I couldn't change it.  I hadn't laughed as much as I did that weekend, and our small groups were wonderful.  At school I have one person I can share things with, but she doesn't understand me, or what I need.  Sharing with people who really know me was an amazing relief, and very therapeutic. Specially for Bethany.  We're kinda at the same point as far as school, what we're going to do with our lives, and friends at school.  We also kinda have similar ways of coping with our loneliness.  She's wonderful and I love her very much!  Katie and me made a deal that she would only push me in the snow if I was fully dressed in my winter gear.  She kept her part of the deal, but I never managed to knock her down... Maybe it might be the fact that she works with cows and I work with paint. Possibly. 

If you can't tell, it's kinda been a blast :).  I also finished a painting for Sue that she's giving as a gift.  I won't be able to post it til next week because of that reason.

That Sunday, Katie, Alison, and I left for Alison's house to spend New Years there.  Before we could take off, however, I get the news that Grandpa Harold is at Mayo with two tumors, most likely cancerous.  One is wrapped around his lower spine, and for a time if he moved at all he'd be paralyzed.    It looked really bad for a while, and that whole time he was on his apparent death bed, I was watching people jump in a freezing lake and getting pummeled into the snow.  If he had passed I would have been so bitter.  I was told to go ahead and take my time with my friends, but it's hard to smile and ice skate when your Grandpa may be dying.


I have a great relationship with my grandpa.  He's the only one I have left, and even though he can be terribly embarrassing, I love him very very much.  I don't think you could find a more proud grandfather.  He stops by our house all the time with Grandma just to see us and cry over how amazing we are.  No joke.  I just want one more time to talk with him and let him know that I don't put my friends over family ever.  And how much I love the unique childhood he helped to give me.  Grandpa had a heard of deer when I was young, and every spring we'd go out into his field and find the fawns.  There are few memories as a child that I hold more dear than parting the grass to see a curled up little baby there in it's nest.  I love the pictures that I have of those memories.  But who I really feel sorry for right now is Val.  I was the first Vincent grandchild to graduate without Grandpa Lewie.  It was extremely hard for him not to be there. Val would miss both grandfathers, and I desperately pray that doesn't happen to her.  I'm going to Mayo Saturday with my family to finally see what's going on.  Mom just texted me to tell me that it's treatable but not curable.  That leaves you with the mystery of time.  What is it and how much do you have left? I just know that you have to accept the time you're given.  I've made so many promises of paintings for him and visits that I never bothered to take.  I have to take the time I have left to make it up for him.  Hopefully he'll make it to his birthday in February, and I'll be able to give it to him special.  He also helped my dad to see how important camp was.  Last summer my dad didn't want me to go.  He had so much work to do at home, and I think he just felt abandoned, or that he'd missed his chance when I was in high school to really take advantage of me living there.  Grandpa reminded him that I was essentially a missionary, and that there was no greater thing I could be doing with my summer.  I'm really thankful for that.  It was the best summer of my life.

I was going to go into the silly things that happened on the route to Alison's and the time we had there.  I was going to talk about my first day as a paraprofessional student, and how confusing it was.  But I just can't.  I'll write about Starmont tomorrow.  Tara gave me a book called "The Gospel in Disney," and it's a wonderful book; made to order for someone like me.  I wanted something relatable, and so I picked the sermon on the movie Fantasia, and it was rather spot on. It analyses the segment called "The Sorcerer's Apprentice." It's a Mickey Mouse segment, and it's very well done.  But the author uses it to sort of explain why bad things happen, but yet we have a God that loves us so infinitely.  He pegs it down to three reasons. You may have your own ideas or even have studied this more in a real academic fashion, so no arguments please.  This is just what Philip Anderson has to say.  The first is the gift of personal freedom.  The second is that God has structured the world with certain dependable laws, of moral and of medical and of science.  The third is life's relationships.  I found the whole thing rather fascinating, though I'm also content with saying it's because of sin in the world.  But that's not what got me.  With the struggles with my relationship with God, I constantly forget that He loves me and actually cares.   He cared that I had a monster headache all day, He cared that Autumn's car wouldn't start.  He cares about Val's basketball, Mom's back, Dad's work, and Grandpa's health.  Sometimes I think when we pray we're trying to convince God that we're worth Him stepping in and solving all the ills in our lives.  The thing is, He already knows we're struggling, He just wants us to go to him first.  My relationship with God should be like the relationship I have with my mother or Katie.  With Mom, we can talk for several hours, telling each other what problems we're having and how unfair they are.  We should both take a step back and ask ourselves if we've talk to God about them before we call each other up.  Every time something ridiculously 'Lindsay' happens, I automatically want to tell Katie.  I may be upset about it, but she has a way of making the not so good things seem hilarious and put a smile back on my face.  Why can't I just chat with God and laugh with Him? He's got to laugh at some of the situations I've managed to get myself in.  I would!

I've got school tomorrow, then a drive back home.  I love long drives, though I often pretend I don't.  Correction, I love long drives by myself.  I love to sing at the top of my lungs and blast the music through my ears.  But the best times are when I shut everything off and just start praying out loud.  I'm looking forward to it tomorrow.