The Best Thanksgiving Ever

On Thanksgiving two years ago, the love of my life asked me to marry him.

I already knew I was going to say “yes”. It wasn’t a hard word to say at all when he asked. When he knelt down in the cold grass on a starry night in the country after reciting to me a poem that he wrote and giving me the most beautiful ring.
Not a hard word at all to say, only three letters and one syllable, but the best and most perfect word I’ve ever said. “Yes”. To the best and most perfect question I’ve ever been asked. Followed by the best champagne I’ve ever tasted though not the most expensive, and the best first kiss. And the best second, third, fourth, fifth...

Let me tell you what else has been the best in the last two years of my life.

The best patience, from a man who comes home from a long day at work to do the dishes and help with dinner when I am tired from lupus.

The best affirmation from a man who says he loves my body even though I have gained a significant amount of weight since marrying him.

The best celebrations from a man who rejoices with me in my little triumphs, like when someone buys a piece of my jewelry from my little Etsy shop.

The best sadness from a man who hurts when I hurt.

The best forgiveness from the most important man in my life, when I manage somehow to hurt him in spite of him being the best thing that I’ve ever had.

The best laughs when we share clever jokes, or the most immature jokes anyone has ever heard.

The best meals I’ve ever had, cooked together with love, fun, and plenty of cayenne pepper.

The best tolerance of my flaws; my shyness and my wildness, my indulgence and my hesitancy. My contradictions; my inconsistencies.

The best broccoli I’ve ever had, sautéed somehow with olive oil and curry powder to the most perfect balance of crunchy and tender (he makes the broccoli).

The best wine, $4-$8 from Trader Joe’s, sipped during good TV shows and finished with good conversation with one of the most intelligent men I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.

The best “fights”: low voices, slow sentences, “I” statements and respect for my feelings.

The best cat, rescued by one of the most compassionate men I’ve had the pleasure of knowing.

The best dreams for the future, shared by him.

The best view every day, provided unintentionally by this handsome, handsome man.

The best support and encouragement, offered by him.

The best service, provided for me when I am feeling sick and tired.

The best information, provided by his precision and the way he researches everything.

The best trust, knowing that he always wants what’s best for me.

The best foot rubs.

The best kisses, every time.

The best cuddles.

The best efforts.

The best of everything he has to offer.

The best I ever dared to hope to have.

The best motivation to be a better person, provided just by watching him.

The best love.

The best Thanksgiving ever, November 28, 2013.

Yet somehow, I am sure the best is yet to come.

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Revival

I’ve been needing the autumn; needing a break from the sun stabbing hot and bright into my eyes. I thought that’s what I needed, anyway. I felt that the heat had numbed me and that it was the sweat trickling down my back that subtly irritated my mood. But now I think maybe it’s just me. A few months ago I wrote that I thought I would be a saner person when summer arrived. I was wrong; I stayed the same as I was last winter, if not nestled even further down into the vaguely sour haze I had been hoping to escape. I got my hopes up for fall, too, but nothing’s happening so far. For some reason, every time the season changes I think that I will change too. As if a new view out my window would change my perspective; as if the change of weather would awaken some sense of life and motivation hibernating deep down inside me.

I’ve heard from a couple people now that I’m not who I used to be. I don’t know if they’re really right or not, though I know some things have changed. I’m more tired than I was, and not as easy on the eyes. I guess I don’t create as much as I used to, and I guess I’m a little more raw these days; sensitive. Like the fleshy, vulnerable body of a snail that recoils suddenly into itself at one little poke. And then only very slowly creeps back out of its shell.

I’m not sure what I’m doing wrong; what exactly is making it more difficult for me to do the things that I feel define me. I’m not sure what I need in order to get back to where I was. Who I was.

Maybe I need to shrink. Maybe I need to accept “where I am”. Maybe I need to get out of my head. Maybe I need more space, or natural light. Maybe I need to do more. Maybe I need to do less. Maybe I need balance, or supplements or essential oils or more fiber in my diet or less red meat. Everybody tells me something different.

Maybe what I need is a big white tent in the sun, folding chairs dodging cow patties set up on the flattened grass in front of the plywood stage and wobbling podium. Styrofoam plates slippery with the bottled barbecue sauce dripping out the backs white bread buns and smeared on the chubby cheeks of children dressed in their wrinkled Sunday best; potato salad sweating like the red-faced preacher with the New King James Bible in his hand. Maybe I need to put on a calico dress and an ill-fitting bra and join the fat ladies belting out Amazing Grace. Should I sway and clap (just ahead of the beat), or raise my hands toward the meeting of the tent poles? I should close my eyes, of course, and throw out an occasional contribution to the waves of scattered “Amens” that briefly swell after every utterance of Jesus’ name, Amen. Maybe then the faith will come trickling back in like water, with the hymns and pleas to the sinners to repent; with the lukewarm grape juice and broken water crackers and the offering plate overflowing with flapping paper bills weighted down in the middle by the only kind of change that can be produced in an instant; counted out to be worth something quantitative. The only kind of change I can muster. Maybe I need the charismatic congregation; the unquestioning belief that that fleeting feeling in my chest is the Holy Spirit who lives in my heart, wandering my arteries and making my ventricles a resting place. Maybe after the preacher asks everyone to fold up their chairs and stack them at the front, I need him to clasp my hand in both of his and say to me “God bless you” as the a cappella choir sings the most exuberant worship song in its repertoire and everyone mingles while they exit the tent, filled with new resolve and hope as if it will last; filled with passion and eager to spread the Good News.

Maybe I need to join them; maybe I need to get swept up.

Maybe I need a revival.

That’s really all I can think of, at this point.

But I’m still open to suggestions.

Gravity is a Bitch

When I was a young child, I thought that all consciousnesses started out the same. All just waiting together somewhere like so many tiny glowing balls, primitive and barely-flickering, and when a creature was born—a human, a lion, an ant, anything—God would pick up one of the consciousnesses and put it into the brain of the thing that was born. Then I thought that the brain of the thing shaped the consciousness into whatever awareness was appropriate for the creature. So we’d all end up different, because of our different brains; one human is smarter than another, and humans are smarter than dolphins, which are smarter than dogs, and so on; but we all started out the same and it was by chance that I ended up being myself. My consciousness, my experience of life, could have been that of someone in a third world country, or of the president, or my cat, or a dinosaur from millions of years ago. God just happened to pluck it up when one particular baby was born and that baby became me. And I always wondered what it would have been like, to be someone or something different. To have that completely different experience of thought and life.

These days I mostly wonder what it was like to be my old self. No weights, no shame, no limitations, no reason to be angry, no wanting to be small. Smaller than a germ, than an atom, a quark; smaller than the smallest thing and wanting to burrow down through the carpet and the foundation of the apartment building and down, down, down through the earth to its core. And maybe there, in the scorching burning hot lava center—the point of origin—the weight would stop. The weight, the pull; the pull that makes me feel so heavy, like I am magnetized not only to the ground but through it and I am only so lucky that the earth is strong enough to hold me. Otherwise I would be swallowed up; sucked down swiftly, silently into the darkness and with a whoosh of air, gone. I feel it pulling at my bones, but the earth hasn’t broken yet.

Some might call it gravity but its pull on me seems stronger, or maybe I am just less capable of resistance.

Some might call it gravity but does gravity work on the neurons in your brain, the chemicals that shoot back and forth; the sparks? Does it work sometimes more than others? Do its effects increase with age?

Some might call it gravity but I seem to hit the ground a bit harder than others of a similar mass and density. My footprints are deep, it is hard to step out of them; hard to move forward.

Some might call it gravity; well then gravity’s a bitch.

Or is there a metaphysical kind, and it’s that one which pulls my words right back down my throat and into my gut before I spit them out? Keeps the inspiration buried somewhere I can’t get to it? Does it draw smoky lids down over the eyes of my soul so I can no longer see what I need to thrive? So that I bumble about in a haze, grasping at vague shapes that spark something deep in my memory but never quite fit. Maybe that metaphysical gravity is what makes the memories drop; fall out from between the wrinkles in my brain and drift down to the bottom of my skull landing facedown, where I’ll never see them again.

I’m hoping for some sort of micro-evolution; some way for my body and brain to adapt. Like maybe I will flatten out, distribute my weight over a greater expanse so the pull isn’t so strong all in one place. Or maybe my muscles will get stronger, or maybe my bones will go hollow. Maybe I’ll grow gills and take to the water; after all, it’s the next best thing to flying. Or maybe not. Maybe I’m doomed to a slow, sputtering extinction of the will, ill-equipped for the competition of this world. Why not me, Darwin? Why can I not adapt?

Maybe I just don’t fight hard enough.

But gravity is strong.

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Honest Thoughts on Becoming a Curvy Girl

A year ago, I was thin. I weighed just enough to be considered healthy, but little enough to (sort of) measure up to today's cultural standards of beauty (meaning I was just a few pounds above "underweight"). Now I am curvy. Voluptuous. Chubby. Plump. This is something I have never been before, but it is something I am now. Thank you, medication side-effects; thank you, lupus; thank you, seizure that left me house-bound for six months. It is not something I'm happy about, but in spite of my emotional rebellion, my larger body has been teaching me.

I am a slow learner, and resentful, but nonetheless I am learning.

I am learning to enjoy experiences regardless of what I look like. I think that I used to believe, subconsciously, that I had to be beautiful (by our society’s standards) in order to deserve to enjoy life. Maybe I still believe that a little. But I’m learning to recognize it, and to recognize (at least on a cognitive level) that that belief is inaccurate. I'm learning that it is ridiculous to let my size stop me from enjoying anything.

I am learning to find beauty where before I thought there was none. In spite of myself, sometimes these wider hips make me feel like I could take on the world, blowing smoke from my nostrils; these thighs thick and solid pillars holding up a body that the wind will never blow over; that waves break against. Curves like a classic painting, and who’s to say they are any less beautiful than the wispy women on television? Just in a different way.

I’m learning to be less afraid of taking up space, as a person and as a woman. By necessity I am learning not to apologize for the room I occupy; being constantly apologetic is exhausting. And on principle I am learning to be proud of being a woman that, however accidentally, does not conform to our culture’s narrow-minded standards of beauty.

I’m learning that even self-love is an effort you make, not a feeling you feel.

I’m learning that I am not the only one I hurt with my self-loathing.

I am learning that my body is more than an object for the visual pleasure of those around me. That is not my body’s main purpose. In fact, that’s pretty low on the scale of importance regarding the functions it performs.

I’m learning that no matter my size I can still look pretty ok, when I wear clothes that fit me well.

I'm learning that both the secular culture and the church culture alike will make snap judgments about your level of promiscuity or "modesty" based on the size of your boobs and the prominence of your cleavage, regardless of whether or not you can help these things. And I'm learning not to be ashamed of my natural anatomy and the way it presents itself as I gain weight, no matter who gives me either judging or leering looks for it.

I’m learning that the only one human being on this planet that can truly make me feel beautiful is me.

But I am learning that, in order to feel beautiful, I must also feel rebellious and fierce. I must feel like fighting. It takes balls to step out into culture where, for a woman, thin = beautiful and beautiful = valuable. Especially when you do not measure up to the first element of the equation. It takes balls to step out into that and then dare to not pick at yourself and actively—constantly—hate every one of your flaws. And sometimes I’m too tired to nut up like that.

But, like a muscle that needs to be worked over and over, consistently and for a long period of time, slowly I’m learning self-acceptance.

None of these lessons are fully-learned. Most of them are just now breaking through the fog in my brain as I get used to being in this body. It’s a big change (no pun intended), and not one I saw coming. And to be honest, I hope it doesn’t stay this way.

But honestly, I also hope that soon I get to the point where I’d be ok if it did.

Home-Thoughts

I walked a few miles today, a rout I haven’t taken in a year or more but one I grew up using. Gravel roads, out in the country where my parents live and where I used to live, too. I used to walk them with my dog, but he’s too old now. I brought him as far as the neighbor’s gate, where the honeysuckle is all the more fragrant just after being hammered by the afternoon’s rain. He ambled around the mailbox, snuffling flowers, but soon grew tired and I had to help him back to the house.

There were days when he’d run with me for miles out here; I miss those days.

The rest of the walk I took by myself. A year ago I might have been afraid to do that, to walk those isolated roads without at least the illusion of protection that the presence of a big dog brings. But now I miss the country so much that I can’t imagine coming to harm here. I grew up here. This is my place; these are my roads. I know where I am here; who I am. I know these acres; their woods and creeks, paths and shortcuts. I’ve climbed the trees and bled on them, too, swam in the ponds and fished the streams, ridden horses over the hills, burned dead fields and quenched the fires so new life could grow. Who would dare threaten me here?

No, I was not afraid to walk alone. Not here. Not now.

Once I was a lanky girl in cargo pants and long braided pigtails; thoughts mostly of horses and colors and birthdays and adventures, with only a vague dread in the back of my mind of the world’s evils. I come back now a voluptuous woman with tattooed skin and short-cropped hair, all too aware of how the misfortunes of chance can wear one down, making her vulnerable enough for society’s female-flesh-hungry claws to sink themselves in to the soft underbelly of her psyche. Guts stuffed back in and scars healed shut I walked that road again and remembered that I am back and that I am stronger for it all; stronger than the girl with the pigtails. But the scars twinged and I wondered.

I sat down in the middle of the road—you can do that here, on a dead-end gravel road in the country—and just stared across the landscape. Pasture, fences, cows, trees. Lush green grass, emerald canopies, streaks of rich browns and spatters of brightly-colored flowers. And space. So much open space. Nothing cramped, nothing crowded; no concrete or walls or hard edges looming up on either side of me or cars rushing by. Just the land existing, unimposing and serene but somehow peacefully demanding of attention to its natural beauty. I took it in and breathed the air and felt the breeze and experienced such a relief it almost hurt. I hadn’t realized before how much my eyes had been craving distance and space; something far-off to focus on. How much I needed openness in my peripheral, just some time with nothing close by at the corners; nothing closing in. And to breathe the fresh-rain wet-grass air while hearing nothing but the wind in the trees and the soft lowing of cattle instead of car sounds and city noises was like the release of a pressure valve in my head. I sat and I looked and I listed and begged for the song that was playing through my ear buds to be true: There’ll come a time, you’ll see, with no more tears…

Tonight I sleep with the old dog by my bed, in the guest room in my parents’ house. It’s strange to sleep in the guest room of the house you grew up in. I could have slept in my own room—or what used to be my room—but the old dog can’t make it up the stairs anymore and I would rather stay with him. I can hear a train far off in the distance, but other than that only crickets and frogs.
And tonight I have many thoughts.

Sometimes it feels good to love someone just because. Not because they treat you well all the time. But just because you want so badly to love them. And maybe that’s ok. Maybe love them anyway.

Sometimes I feel like I am beautiful not in spite of, but because of, my curves. My golden swells and valleys and this soft enveloping body that holds a long and captivating story, should you be interested to know it. Every line has a reason; every curve, every roll, every scar. Sometimes I feel like I am a beautiful narrative and how dare society tell me that I should be any different? How dare they tell me I should hide it.

But sometimes I feel like I am an ugly failure; the girl who has let herself go.

Sometimes I feel like the human race is a child still learning.

Sometimes I feel like I have some answers; sometimes I feel like I have none.

I know that my eyes are mostly green, if you look closely enough, even though from a distance they look brown.

I know that I live hard.

I know I love decadence; I know I thrive on scarcity. I know I swing between extremes.

I am no one thing. Or two, or three. Nothing is black-and-white. I am devil’s advocate; I am my shoulder angel.

Why don’t we talk about personal things? Why don’t we all write tell-all memoirs?

I feel like we’d all be less ashamed.


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Frankensteining

I used to think I was good at fixing things. But now I’ve figured out what it really is. Really it’s that I’m resourceful, and I use whatever’s around to Frankenstein things back together until they fulfill their function again. And I used to think that meant I fixed them, the things. Now I wonder. Is it really fixing something if it’s just patchwork? If its held together by scraps and glue and wire; if it looks nice from the front but you turn it around and you’ve never seen such a mess? Things aren’t as they were before. Pieces not returned to their proper places; spaces not filled with what really fits.

Sometimes I wonder if anything I ever thought I fixed in myself was just that: just jerry-rigged to work in spite of broken parts; missing pieces. And then I’ve created this whole thing—this ghetto contraption with all these connected patterns—that needs to be dismantled and broken down before the real fixing can begin and maybe I just made it harder for myself to get back to normal.

You know when you take your car in for repairs and the mechanic tells you it’d be cheaper just to get a new car than to get the old one back into shape? Sometimes I wonder if I’m that car.

What is any of it anyway, though—the thoughts, the feelings—with no witnesses? No witnesses but me in my head to the passing feelings of pointlessness, so brief they’re not worth mentioning but so sharp, so penetrating they’re hard to forget. No witnesses to the waves of wonder at the world; no witnesses when the faith runs back in like water, or back out again like a fugitive in the night. No witnesses to the questions of why and how and will I ever? I don’t talk that much, generally, and I don’t write as much as I used to. Sometimes I think it’s just as well; these things are passing, waves on the shore. Some seem insurmountable and frightening, some breathtakingly beautiful, some peaceful and calm. But in the grand scheme of life they all pass away and what were they, anyway?

I think I don’t go through life lightly. I stomp all over it, splash through it, spatter it all around. I puddle jump; sometimes my feet aren’t on the ground at all and sometimes I’m sunk in above my ankles. It gets in my eyes and in my nose and mouth; I can taste it and it’s gritty between my teeth. I wallow in it. I want too much of a good thing; too much of everything that I love (yes, there is such a thing, or so they tell me).

I’m afraid I am not understated; I’m afraid I am not so good at “restraint”. I want more and I want everything; I want to wear a princess dress covered in mud in the middle of the jungle with a machete in one hand diamonds in the other. I want the palace and the ruins, the ocean and the desert, adventure and luxury, to curl up at home and to trek the whole wide world. I want to live off the land and I want to eat the finest cuisine in Paris. I love camping, I love resorts; I love spas with scented oils and I love barns with hay and horses and manure.

I’m almost twenty-five years old and I don’t know what I want to do when I grow up except that I want to do everything and not waste my time fixing broken things. Can’t I just slap on some duct tape and move on? I don’t have time for this.
I am Frankenstein and there’s so much to do; waves to ride and they are passing quickly.

A Revelatory Harmony

I an opposer of the death penalty.
I am a supporter of homosexual marriage.
I am the proud bearer of four (soon to be five) tattoos.
I am a Christian.

When I was younger, I never believed that I would be the first three things, because I was the fourth.
Now, all four seem in harmony to me.

I'm just now coming to terms with all this.

My place is only to love everyone, not to judge those different from me.
My place is only to protect the innocent, not to punish the wicked.
My place is only to heal the broken, not to administer whatever version of violent justice the government is seeing fit to dole out at any given time.
My place is only to be the person God made me to be, and to live in freedom within the convictions He has given me.

I am a human, and I will err.
I choose to err on the side of love.
And I choose to lean into the heart that I believe God gave me: creatively, theologically, physically, verbally, boldly.
At least I'll try.
That's all for tonight.
Sleep tight.
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God Didn't Choose My Spouse. I Did.

I know lots of people think it’s romantic—-and correct—-to believe in destiny, or “The One”, or that God will lead you to marry one specific person.

I don’t believe that.

I believe there are 7.125 billion people out there for you. It’s who you meet, and of those people, which ones are interested in you, and of THOSE people, which one you decide to make it work with. Some people will make you happy and make you grow in a good way. Some people won’t. But you are ultimately responsible for your decision. It was not written in the stars. It was not divinely chosen.

That doesn’t sound quite as romantic, does it?

Well, I think it’s even more romantic.

I did not marry David because he was chosen for me. I married him because I wanted to.

The Holy Spirit provided me with the wisdom (through wise counsel, observation, self-awareness, intuition, and education about the character of Jesus) to choose the kind of person that I would be happy with.

Maybe God even had a hand in orchestrating our meeting because He thought that we could be happy together and learn from each other, and He wants us to be happy and grow. He delights in our delight and maybe He thought that David and I would delight each other. Who knows, maybe that happened. I’m not going to put God into my little mind-box and tell you exactly what He did and didn’t influence.

But I know that He did not tell me to marry David specifically. There was no big sign, no undeniable confirmation that this was “God’s Will”, no Bible verses I could point to and say “this means I should marry David”.

I married David because I wanted to.

I married David because he is brilliant. I believe God wants me to learn.

I married David because he makes me laugh. I believe God wants me to laugh.

I married David because he enjoys many of the things that I enjoy, and appreciates my interests. I believe God wants me to be able to share the things I love with others.

I married David because he introduces me to new things. I believe God wants me to be continually discovering His blessings and wonders and seeing joy through other people’s eyes.

I married David because we have stimulating discussions and debates. I believe God wants me to think and wonder and explore; to argue and even to be proven wrong sometimes, in the interest of growth and learning.

I married David because he sees (and tells me about) all kinds of beauty in me (even/especially when I don’t see it). I believe God wants me to know how beautiful I am.

I married David because he loves me. I believe God wants me to experience His love through other people, including that special, intimate, romantic kind of love.

I married David because I love him. I believe God wants me to practice His love on others, including that special, intimate, romantic kind of love.

I married David because he seeks God. I believe God wants me to be with someone I can seek Him with.

I married David because we have fun together. I believe that God wants me to live a life peppered with fun and joy.

I married David because we don’t agree on every little thing. I believe that God wants me to learn from different viewpoints.

I married David because we agree on the things that really matter. I believe God wants me to have unity with my spouse.

I married David because we are both broken, imperfect human beings. I believe God wants me to experience the beauty of forgiving, and being forgiven.

So I guess you could say that it was God’s will that I marry David. Not because God commanded me to, but because God wants all of these wonderful things for me in a marriage, and David is a person who happens to provide them.

Ultimately the only things I think that God really wills for us in marriage is 1. that we both want to seek Him (i.e. are "equally yoked"), 2. that the other person brings us joy (because, ideally, marriage is an earthly reflection of the love that the Trinity has for each other/amongst itself: preferring one another, and rejoicing in one another), and 3. that we learn to love one another like Christ loves us, and marriage is an amazing lesson in how to love.

And, how to be loved.

"It wasn't written in the stars," my husband said. "We wrote it there ourselves."

Maybe God wants different things for different people; for different marriages. Like I said, I'm not going to constrain God to my little mind-box. But we have a choice. I chose. And I love my choice.

Who Wants to Fall in Love with Me?

There’s been a New York Times article circulating social media lately called “To Fall in Love with Anyone, Do This” based on a study by Dr. Arthur Arron. In that article is a link to the 36 questions two partners are supposed to ask one another, followed by four straight minutes of eye contact. I thought it would be fun for me to answer these 36 questions on my blog. Here we go.

Q1: Given the choice of anyone in the world, who would you have as a dinner guest?
A: Not sure if this means alive or dead, so I’ll answer both. Alive, Pope Francis. Dead…sorry for the cliché, but if I were being totally honest I’d have to say Jesus. I know; shut up.

Q2: Would you like to be famous? In what way?
A: I’d like to be famous in that I’d like to do something so great for society that no one could help but hear about it, sure. And if I could, I’d like to do it through art, writing, or photography.

Q3: Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?
A: Every time, unless it’s to one of my parents or my husband. Why? Because I’m an introvert and much prefer texting, so I can really think about my words. This is also why I’d rather just sit across the table from a new person and write notes to each other rather than speak. Seriously. All first dates should go down that way.

Q4: What would constitute a “perfect” day for you?
A: There are two answers to this question, and I will answer both. The first answer is the one where I hypothetically have unlimited resources (i.e. money and energy): This day would probably take place somewhere in Africa, perhaps Tanzania. morning would begin with a sunrise photography venture in a wildlife reserve during which I would take pictures of animals. In the late morning I would be transported by helicopter (so I could see the landscape from above) to the nearest place where animals unable to survive in the wild (due to injury or previous captivity) are cared for. I would descend from this helicopter by parachute, and I would play with any animal who was willing. Preferably included would be a lion, a leopard, an elephant, a rhino, a monkey of some type, a giraffe, a zebra, a very large python (10’-16’), and/or baby versions of any of the above. However, if none of the above were available, I would be quite happy with whatever was. In the afternoon would be a safari during which I would get to observe animals in their natural habitat, and this safari would include a two- or three-hour stop during which I would be provided with supplies to draw or paint scenery and animals. The evening would be spent participating in bonding/celebratory rituals with a local bush tribe, and I would fall asleep in a luxury camping tent either in the rainforest or on the savannah. I would be taking pictures this whole time, and my husband would be accompanying me.
Now for the second answer, the practical answer. The answer in which I have my normal amount of money and energy (both rather limited). Ideally, the weather would be in the mid-70’s. In the morning I would sleep until around 9:00am, and would wake to a breakfast of vanilla crepes, eggs benedict, a mimosa, and black coffee. This would probably be followed by a trip to the zoo, where I would look at lots of animals, get Dippin’ Dots, and either take the Sky Tram or go out on one of the boat tours. After that would be lunch at either Unforked or Panera, eaten out on the patio. If I was worn out after that, I would go to my parents’ house in the country and rest with the dogs until evening. If I still had energy left, I would go to Worlds of Fun and ride roller coasters until evening. Either way, in the evening I would eat pasta and drink wine, again preferably outside on a patio. And again, throughout this day I would be accompanied by my husband.

Q5: When did you last sing to yourself? To someone else?
A: Myself? Like, five minutes ago. Every time I do the dishes or shower. To someone else…last week, to my dog; a song from the Lord of the Rings soundtrack that I’ve sung to him since I was 13 years old.

Q6: If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or the body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of y our life, which would you want?
A: Honestly, the body of a 30-year-old. I’ve experienced what it’s like to have an active mind but a disabled body, and it sucks. I’d rather be physically capable of doing what I wanted, even if what I wanted was stupid, than be mentally longing for all the things I couldn’t physically do.

Q7: Do you have a secret hunch about how you will die?
A: Nope.

Q8: Name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.
A: Well, since my “partner” in this instance is anyone reading my blog…1) we both are interested in how I would answer these questions, 2) we probably both have eyes, and 3) we can probably both count to 3.

Q9: For what in life do you feel the most grateful?
A: My loved ones.

Q10: If you could change one thing about the way you were raised, what would it be?
A: The only thing I’d change is that I wish I’d had more arts classes in elementary and high school. I was raised pretty awesomely for a girl in an average-ish-income family.

Q11: Take four minutes to tell your partner your life story in as much detail as possible.
A: Ok, I’ll try to do this fast. I was born in Wichita and lived in Portland at some point where I got stuck on a rock in the ocean at high tide with my mom and our two Dobermans. Most of my life between 4-11 years old was spent in KS, mostly Overland Park, where I had lots of pets and loved playing on the swing set with my older brother and my stuffed tiger Peploava that my parents gave me when I was baptized at 4 years old. At 7 years old I met my BFF with whom I swam in creeks, participated in Native American Blood Brother ceremonies, danced and sang and and got into trouble and dyed dogs purple. I was 11 years old when the planes crashed into the World Trade Centers, sitting on my parents’ bed and watching on their little TV. Shortly after, I moved to the country on 20 acres where I loved to romp around in the woods and creek with my dog Caspian. I rode wonderful horses (and some awful ones), worked at stables and at a pharmacy, and was diagnosed with Lupus in 2006. This has limited me greatly ever since. Due to repercussions of this illness I struggled with an eating disorder and self-harm issues for a couple of years (16-18 years old), but overcame them both with help from professional counseling, my wonderful family, and God. Between Johnson County Community College and MidAmerica Nazarene University, I began work on a college degree in Psychology. After a few dating relationships and learning about what I did NOT want in a man, in 2013 I started dating my future husband, in whom I found everything I DID want in a man. On a beautiful starry Thanksgiving night he proposed to me and I made the best decision of my life in saying yes. On the evening of June 21st 2014 the two of us had an absolutely beautiful wedding and became husband and wife. Nothing significant has happened since then, but I’ve been greatly enjoying time spent with my husband and our cat, and I plan to finish my degree.

Q12: If you could wake up tomorrow having gained one quality or ability, what would it be?
A: Again, there are a couple of answers to this question. One is supernatural, and the other is practical. The supernatural answer would probably be the power of invisibility. The practical answer would probably be exceptional self-discipline. Seriously, who knows how much more I could accomplish with an iron will??

Q13: If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future or anything else, what would you want to know?
A: Because I’m kind of scared of the future, I wouldn’t really want to know the answers to that. I’ll just let them happen and do the best I can. About myself, I’d just like to know exactly what I need to work on to become a more successful person in general. Maybe I’d like to know whether or not I have the potential to be a great artist or writer, or whether I should just give up on that.

Q14: Is there something that you’ve dreamed of doing for a long time? Why haven’t you done it?
A: Publishing a novel. I haven’t done it yet cause I just finished writing my first novel recently and I don’t have it edited yet. Hopefully soon, though.

Q15: What is the greatest accomplishment of your life?
A: I’m going to answer this based on merit and discipline rather than opportunities that were handed to me. My greatest accomplishment based purely on merit and discipline…I consider that to be training my horse Spirit. From a 3-year-old bucking bronco (when I was 13 years old) to a 14-year-old trail horse (when I was/am 24), it has taken courage, discipline, and literal blood, sweat, and tears to bring him to where he is today. Of course this is not without the help of riding trainers such as Anne Shafer and Shane Irvin, but I am still the girl who has continued to mount that horse, ride his bucks and spooks, and be on his back through all kinds of situations through the past 11 years, and I am proud of that.

Q16: What do you most value in a friendship?
A: Acceptance/understanding.

Q17: What is your most treasured memory?
A: Oh, so many. Riding horses with my mom, father/daughter banquets with my dad, getting into scrapes with my best girlfriend, singing along with my brother while he played his guitar, so many conversations with my husband, the day my husband proposed to me, our wedding day, visiting senior citizens and underprivileged children with my dog Caspian, my trip to Kenya in 2012, so many moments in between…how am I supposed to pick one?

Q18: What is your most terrible memory?
A: Hmm. There are a few there too, though not nearly as many (thank God). Many days where triumph and tragedy occurred simultaneously (isn's that just how it goes?). No specifics here, I’m afraid (though if you really want specifics you can email me and ask). Let’s move on.

Q19: If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are living now? Why?
A: Hmm. On a daily basis? I would spend more time outside. Talk to more strangers. Paint more. Ride my horse more. Go to monasteries and pray and sing in them, and read the Bible. Why? Because those are beautiful things. How about things I wouldn’t change? I would keep spending lots of time with my husband, because who shows me more of the love I crave in ways no one else can? I would keep letting the cat sleep in my lap even when there were dishes to do. I would keep gossiping with my mom, because who else will listen to you rant about absolutely anything and still be on your side? I would keep telling my dad about any little injustice, cause who else would get that angry on my behalf? Not even me. I would still drink wine with dinner in the evenings, I would still drink a beer while I work on art projects some afternoons. I would keep taking advantage of every experience that time, money, and energy allow.

Q20: What does friendship mean to you?
A: Unconditional acceptance and understanding, combined with forgiveness and FUN!

Q21: What roles do love and affection play in your life?
A: Roles that keep me afloat. Cuddles and encouragement from my husband. Advice and well-wishes from my mom. Defense and anger-on-my-behalf from my dad. Conversations from my friends. There is a lot of love in my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without it.

Q22: Alternate sharing something you consider a positive characteristic of your partner. Share a total of 5 items.
A: Ok, I’ll share a total of 5 things I appreciate about you if you share 5 things you appreciate about me in the comments, ok? Ok. Here we go.
First of all, you’re reading my blog. That’s awesome. It makes me feel great that you’ve even gotten this far. You know people’s need to be understood? Yeah, I have that. Thanks for indulging. I truly, sincerely appreciate it.

Second, I don’t know who you are, but you have pretty eyes. You know how I know? Because every eye is beautiful. With the irises like a painting. Even if you just think you have blue eyes, or brown, you know you have lots of colors in there? You do. Look in the mirror, change the light, and watch them dilate and contract. Just watch. You have beautiful eyes.

Third, you have a consciousness, and that is even more beautiful. You have thoughts that no one else has EVER had, did you know that? The way you think, the colors you think in, the words. They’re unique. Write them down, paint them down. Make a scribble. No one’s eve made that before. Appreciate that. I do. January: what color is that to you? To me it’s sunshine yellow, but in a pale, pastel sense. What is it to you?

Fourth, you probably like foods that I don’t. I don’t like tomatoes, I don’t like guacamole. Usually I prefer deserts with chocolate or caramel or vanilla rather than fruit. But maybe you don’t. Maybe you agree with me in some ways but not others. Isn’t it great how we can all enjoy different parts of the world in the way things taste? If it were all up to me, so many things would be missed. Thanks for appreciating things that I can’t.

Fifth, what would happen if we made an art project together? With the different ways we think, I’ll bet it would be something pretty cool. Email me if you want to make something. I’m serious; I’d love to make something with you. Email me at nevadaville_spirit@yahoo.com . Collaboration is inspiration, and I bet there are a bunch of things that I couldn’t do without you, specifically.

Q23: How close and warm is your family? Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?
A: My family was very close and warm, if you couldn’t tell from the rest of this post. I don’t know how other people’s experiences would compare, but I think I had a pretty great one.

Q24: How do you feel about your relationship with your mother?
A: I love it. Even the generational gaps are just amusing, not divisive. I wouldn’t change a thing.

Q25: Make three true “we” statements for each. For instance, “We are both in this room feeling…”
A: We are both using the internet. We both have foods we like. We both long for connection.

Q26: Complete this sentence: “I wish I had someone with whom I could share…”
A: “…A Chipotle burrito.” Just kidding; I want it all to myself. Seriously. Back away.

Q27: If you were going to become a close friend with your partner, please share what would be important for him or her to know.
A: I am a Christian in a sense that I love Jesus and I wish that everything in my life could align with what He would wish, even though I know it doesn’t, and I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. Also you should know that I love new experiences of all kinds, so let’s go do things, please. I won’t judge you if you don’t judge me. Though, unfortunately, if you do judge me I will probably judge you. Sorry. I don’t mean to; it just happens. I’m working on it. Give me time.

Q28: Tell your partner what you like about them; be very honest this time, saying things you might not say to someone you’ve just met.
A: If you have thick eyebrows, I probably like that. That’s usually something I like, in men and women. Also, I’d never say this to someone I just met, but…honestly, I like your legs. The muscles in legs are just cool to me, no matter how much or little you have. Watch them move. I just like legs, ok? Shut up.

Q29: Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life.
A: So one time at a Halloween party I was dressed as a Roman goddess, and my dress had a drawstring neckline. I was 13 years old and I was talking to this guy I had a huge crush on, plus two other guys, and the drawstring around my neck came undone. I kept chattering away while their faces all turned red, and finally one of them shut me up and told me to look down. I looked down to see my exposed bra and pale stomach in all their adolescent dorkiness (it was a big drawstring neck). I ran to the bathroom and hid there for the rest of the party until my mom came and picked me up.

Q30: When did you last cry in front of another person? By yourself?
A: I think it was last week, in front of my husband. By myself, it was earlier that day. It was an emotional day.

Q31: Tell your partner something you like about them already:
A: You’re reading my blog. I like that.

Q32: What, if anything, is too serious to be joked about.
A: Rape, child abuse, and abortion. Don’t even try. It’s not funny.

Q33: If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?
A: I’d probably regret most not having told my dad how much I appreciate his unconditional defensiveness. Why haven’t I told him? I don’t know. You know what? I’ll tell him next time I see him, cause that’s something that should be said in person.

Q34: Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?
A: Assuming I’m already wearing my wedding/engagement rings…my stuffed tiger Peploava. Because she is the embodiment of my entire childhood, plus many tearful moments in adolescence and even young adulthood when I needed something to cry into and a memory to share, and because she was given to me by my parents at my baptism when I was four years old; all sorts of meaning there.

Q35: Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?
A: Oh gosh. I don’t know if I could answer that one. Blood family, or does husband count too? This is a terrible question. Let’s move on.

Q36: Share a personal problem and ask your partner’s advice on how he or she might handle it. Also, ask your partner to reflect back to you how you seem to be feeling about the problem you have chosen.
A: Hmm, the problem I’m struggling the most with right now? Honestly, my body image isn’t very good. I’m terrible at dieting, and (due to lupus) I don’t have the energy to exercise as often as I would like. So, tell me in the comments. How would you handle that?

Now, stare at this picture of my eyes for four minutes straight:

Are you in love with me? No? Good, cause I already have a husband who I am madly in love with and whom I would allow to beat your butt if you tried to compete with him (not that you could even if you tried). But I hope you had fun reading my answers, and I hope you take the time to answer the questions yourself, either in the comments here or on your own social media outlet, cause vulnerability to other human beings is what makes the world go ‘round.
Good day, everyone!