Writing Overload

I feel as though I've done nothing lately but write and design costumes. Throw in the assigned readings and the fact I've been battling a cold all weekend, and it's surprising I'm not dead.

Being assigned to write an hour every day at the time seemed insurmountable. Now it just seems tedious. Perhaps the romantic view of writing has worn off a little bit. I suppose that's a positive way to look at things. However, I do miss the high of writing just because I can and not because I have to. It's a delicate balance I haven't found yet.

On the positive side, my costume designs are 90% done. I have two or three left to figure out and the book left to compile for reference. Oh, and fabric shopping. How exciting! The cast is chosen, and it's going to be a beautiful show. I'm very excited for it.

I know very little else. The business with school and theatre has set in, but is not yet at it's highest level, so that's something to look forward to. No profound musings or internal struggles to report, which is fine, I suppose. Plenty of time for inner angst as the semester progresses.

Until next time.

Semester Sentiments

It is possible that this semester may finally kill me. I usually say that about all my semesters, but this one may take the cake, at least for the first eight weeks. And again for the last two weeks. And I've only made it to 2 of my 5 classes so far.

You know it's a bad sign when the professor dubs his class, "HEL" (History of the English Language).

It is so good to be back in the swing of things, I really do love it here. On a sad note, the bushes outside the theatre office have grown, so it is harder to see out the windows. Aleah, if she were here, would tell me that it's probably a good thing, keep my creeping on passing people to a minimum. I just love to people watch. They are fascinating...

In my playwriting text book that I read last night, the author talked about the difference between wanting to be a writer and wanting to write. Wanting to be a writer draws up a romantic vision to mind: a large desk, book shelves filled, cup of tea, us happily scribbling out a few pages of our latest and greatest. Wanting to write is more disheartening: the frustrations, the pain, the headache, the hours spent writing, the realization that tomorrow it will be exactly the same, yet your love of words doesn't let you stop.

I'll be honest, my mindset towards writing is still pretty romantic at this point. And for now, I think that's okay. I don't have hours to devote every day to writing. Probably a very good thing. Then I'd really die.

It is just a very interesting idea in my head still. Why do I write? Why does anyone write? And what value does my writing have? My playwriting class was asked that question yesterday, and we had no answers. Hopefully I'll find one eventually. Quite the journey I will be taking this semester.

Until next time, why do you do what you do?

Embracing Interruptions

One apartment. Six girls. Another moon journey. Senior year.

I am officially moved into college. It feels good. I came with Josh yesterday, brought up the truck with all of his stuff in it. Mom brought up my car with all of my stuff in it today. Everything is unpacked and somewhat organized. We shall see how long everything stays where I initially put it.

It feels very strange to be back on campus but not in the dorms. I've never been an apartment dweller before (although living with four girls this summer in a house was a good trial run). Five of the six of us are here right now, the last to arrive tomorrow afternoon. So far it's been really good. Not terribly exciting, which is fine. That will happen soon enough.

I actually had a little time to read yesterday, which was rather exciting. My recent addiction to watching Psych while at home curbed my reading habits for the summer. Kinda a bummer, but it's a good TV show. I think my family was tired of watching it with me after four seasons in two and a half weeks.

In the book "Follow Me to Freedom" by Shane Claiborne and John M. Perkins, I was struck by their talk of interruptions: "Interruptions are a theme in Scripture. We have a God who is continually interrupting us, interrupting our routines, our patterns of inequity, the status quo. . .The gospels are stories of interruption after interruption. . .The incredible thing is that Jesus was always available and attentive to the interruptions and surprises, like someone who stops to fix a flat tire for a stranded motorist."

How often do we get frustrated with the interruptions? I am often guilty of being irritated when someone or something interrupts my thought or action. I've never thought about the blessing an interruption can be. Sure, sometimes I go looking for distractions to get me away from what I'm doing, but it is not often when I embrace an interruption with grace and joy.

I think this may be my theme for this semester. See interruptions as blessings, work with them instead of against, be gracious towards and love those who take my attention away from myself. Of course I realize that at times I won't be able to devote all of my time and energy to the interruptions, I am in college after all. Homework and sleep are both very important. But just having a better attitude towards the minor interruptions is something to work towards. Something to be embraced, don't you think?

Until next times, see the beauty in the interruptions.

Moving Motions

Packing is the absolute worst. I have this realization twice a year. And you know what I've decided is the worst thing to pack? Hangers. When they are empty, they are a total pain in the butt.

Tonight is my last night home before going back to school for my senior year. Mind blowing, don't you think?

Senior year. You only get two of them, you know. Unless you stay in college long, then you're a super senior. Sadly, that title does not come with super abilities, just more loans.

Four years ago I was going into my senior year of high school thinking that it was going to be the best year ever. Ha. How stupid.

Now I'm gearing up to go into my final year of classes as an undergraduate. Mind blown again. I'm so ready to be there, back at school, back to books and class and friends and theatre. But I'm so not ready for this year to end. It hasn't even begun and I'm dreading it's completion.

And of course, being the procrastinator that I am, I didn't really begin to pack until this afternoon. My brother was in the same boat, asking the hardest question there is: "How do you know what books to pack?" I had no answer for him, that's my biggest question as well. That and why in the world I need this many clothes. A question on my mind after getting two black trash bags ready to take to the second hand store. I think part of my problem is that I pack in small crates and bags, so it seems like I have more than I do. At least that is what I'm telling myself to feel better.

So, senior year. Sounds like an awfully big adventure.

Until next time, look forward to your big adventure.

Inspiration Strikes

It has been thunder storming in Northeast Nebraska tonight. With this particular storm, not a whole lot of rain has come, but lots and lots of lightning flashed across the sky.

Lightning. The most spectacular part of a thunderstorm. Also the excuse my dad still gives me for reasons I shouldn't play in thunderstorms...

Tonight I went with my best friend from elementary school to see the movie "The Help." Fabulous. Go see this movie, seriously. Beautiful. I felt inspired after watching it, like I just wanted to go home and write and write and write. Posed quite the problem since we were an hour away from home.

Inspiration strikes me at the oddest times. Sure, I feel inspired after movies or books or plays, things that move me. But it also strikes after listening to a song, making spaghetti with my mom, drilling holes in walls, driving on country roads, in the middle of storms. It is often very sporadic, my inspiration.

Often my inspiration feels an awful lot like lightning. I never know where or when it's going to come, it is foolish to try and anticipate it. Inspiration flashes, so bright it lights up the night sky as if it were the middle of the afternoon, dancing across the sky in streaks of energy, then disappearing into the dark storm clouds.

Sometimes inspiration leaves all too early. It's here and then gone. Right now for instance, I have enough inspiration to write a blog post and then crash for the next 8 to 10 hours (don't judge me, I'm still on summer vacation...). I should really take advantage of it more when it does strike, prolong it somehow.

But maybe prolonging inspiration, trying to contain it, making it work for me instead of going with it, is like trying to anticipate lighting. Foolish. Perhaps it is better to just allow it to strike when it likes and take advantage of it while it still illuminates something that will soon fall into darkness again.

Until next time, find inspiration, let it illuminate if only for a moment.

Homely House

What makes a home? Family. Love. Warm, fuzzy feelings.

What makes a house? Wood. Nails. Paint. Counters. Windows. Furniture.

I'm beginning to understand why making a house is so much harder than making a home. Sure, this concept was vaguely known to me before, but the last week it has been made so much clearer. My grandma is in the process of a massive remodel of an old building she bought this winter. It's taking a lot more than we realized to get it ready.

I've always taken my house for advantage. It's always been here, livable and safe (except for when my dad is doing his own remodeling, which happens quite often).

My ability to use a power drill will never be taken advantage of, however. Nor my knowledge of hammers, nails, paint rollers, brushes, or power saws.

It's been an interesting adventure, one that makes me very tired. We're on a deadline, and I'm technically wasting time now. Probably should have been at grandma's house an hour ago.

Until next time, be thankful for your house. And your home.

Second Hand Jewels

Taking the old, making it new.

I spent about three hours doing just that. With my mom. Making jewelry. Happy, very happy.

My mom often gets on kicks, something she becomes obsessed with doing, usually under the crafty umbrella. Latest kick is making jewelry. She's recycled this kick from about ten years ago, still has a bunch of the supplies from ten years ago. This time she's been focusing more on taking old and making it new. Or at least she's been collecting the old. Maybe I'm the only one who has taken it and made it new.

Necklaces are my kick. I made five or six tonight. Well, revamped, compiled, restyled five or six. Some I'll keep, some will find other homes. I just enjoyed doing it.

It's the creator in me. I was created to create. I've blogged about this before. It's just one of my very favorite things to think about. I create because my creator creates. He is especially good at taking something old and giving it new life. Or me new life, as the case may be.

Nothing is too tarnished and beat up for Him to love. That is a beautiful thought. He takes my crappy, tarnished heart, gives it a polish, puts it on a new chain, and makes it new. I had forgotten that it was gold until He came along. He never forgets those things, always sees the beauty behind the dirt and grime.

Hopefully my few hours of spending time with my mom means the beads and charms and chains get a second life. They were loved by someone before us, hopefully with this new life they will be loved by someone else.

Until next time, what second life have you been given?

Likable Characters

You can't act someone you don't like.

Some very wise words from a very wise actor and professor who is letting me crash on her couch tonight. I journeyed to one of my many homes to watch a play she is acting in, Tennessee William's "Suddenly Last Summer." The jury is still out on whether or not I actually liked the play. Gave me a lot to think about, but not sure if I liked it. I figure that's okay since Karen, who has been working on the play the past couple months, still is unsure if she likes it.

After the show, Karen talked to Hannah, Shelby, and me about our confusion, questions, and thoughts. She related to us the struggle she had finding a way to like her character, Mrs. Violet Venable, a very domineering, very high class woman desperately trying to hold together the image of her recently deceased son that she worked so hard to create in the first place.

As an actor, the goal is to make your character one that the audience can sympathize with, can relate to, can like. But how can you like a woman who controlled every aspect of her son's life, who is now trying to keep her niece from telling the story of his life and death, going so far as to arrange for her to get a lobotomy done? No one wants to like that character. Yet, at times during Karen's performance, I felt a desire to side with Mrs. Violet, to see things her way, to empathize with her. Karen found the part of Mrs. Violet that she liked: the love a mother has for her son, the desire to do anything to protect her son. Because of that, it made it possible for us to like her to.

The whole idea of not being able to act a character you don't like strikes me as true beyond the stage. How often do we try and put up fronts, keep others from knowing the real us, make characters of who we wish we were. But do we like those characters? Is that why they never work? Why people see through them, because we are incapable of acting the parts we don't like?

There is something so freeing about the truth, as scary as it is. The truth that people hide, the masks we try and put up, the characters we attempt to make real -- all of it seems like such a wasted effort. How much more likable would we be if we liked ourselves, liked the character we were? In a perfect world, I suppose. Something to ponder though, isn't it?

Until next time, what character are you going to be?

21 and Counting

21 years old. For some reason, I expected it to be a  bigger deal. Probably would have been if my life style was different. However, on my 21 birthday I helped renovate my grandma's house, had supper with all of my family, and watched TV with my little sister. Really exciting.

I find it very interesting the emphasis we put on the 21st year of our lives. Because let's be honest, no one who wants to drink waits until they are 21. Just like no one who wants to smoke waits until they are 18. No one who wants to play a mature game or watch an R rated movie waits until they are 17. Sure, these are blanket generalizations, there are exceptions.

Without these "rules" we are supposed to play by, would the same emphasis be put on such birthdays? Without these off-limit substances or activities still be as appealing? I can't help but think about this.

My birthday was boring, but I'd rather be boring rather than wake up and not remember anything. My real birthday celebration begins today as I head to Orange City to see a play and help a friend with a city wide story time. I'm excited to see my friends after a summer in Waco. Beyond that, I'm not very exciting. Big news, right?

Until next time, happy un-birthday. ;)

Left and Found

Leaving truly is the hardest part of ending a moon journey. And the hours of limbo on planes and in airports.

But being with family, that part is pretty easy.

It is becoming very, very clear to me that family is something made wherever you are. I have a family in Orchard where I grew up. I have a family in Orange City that I learn with. I have a family in Waco that I serve with. I have families all over the stinking place.

And I know that's a good thing.

Being home is a blessing, even if it's one that sometimes I don't appreciate. No one knows me better, which truthfully, is a bit scary. They've been there for me through everything. So, if you're reading this, thanks.

I don't know what my two and a half weeks at home really involves at this point. A couple quick trips here and there and everywhere. I'll follow the moon's leading for my journeys. First stop is Orange City for Friday and Saturday to celebrate my 21st birthday with stories and theatre. A trip to the zoo with my little sister will happen before school starts. We'll see where else I'm lead.

I know little else at this point. I fell through a floor today. Apparently rotting wood doesn't support much, the bottom half of my left leg got to see the basement. That was a fun adventure. Hopefully that doesn't happen again.

Until next time, thank God for the blessings you take for granted.

Unexpected Magic

My last night in Waco. This has been a day full of lasts. I guess this week has been full of lasts. If you really think about it, life is full of lasts. Guess that's how things work, what begins has to end, no way around it. Bummer, right?

More than once I have been asked if this summer was what I expected. No. Not even close. Truthfully, I didn't know what to expect. I came down hoping to play some part in the theatre, even if it was a small part. I ended up dedicating more than my time to the theatre, I think I lost my sanity a little too. What little bit of sanity I had.

I love lists, that's clear. So to close out my summer in Waco, I'm going to list some of the unexpected blessings of my ten weeks here.

1. My family. Even from states away, I have been blessed my them. They truly are wonderful, to let their oldest daughter to spend her summer in some strange city in Texas with some strange people.

2. My Waco family. This community is one of a kind. Mission Waco is a wonderful place, and the people here I got to work with every day were fantastic. I didn't expect to feel so loved so soon or to be missed so much when I leave.

3. My Huxtables family. The cast I worked with was fantastic. They made my summer here so fun! Being able to do what I love for a summer was a dream come true.

4. My fellow interns. Things were rocky once in awhile, but for the most part, the summer was smooth between us. We meshed well, living and working together. They were always here for me, and I was truly blessed by the 5 of them.

5. Stories. Never before was it more clear that stories are important. People desire to tell their stories, to have people listen to them. I was blessed by the stories I got to hear, the parts of hearts that were told to me, entrusted to me.

6. Children. Getting to work with the kids this summer was so great. They were crazy, but I wouldn't change it for anything. I learned so much (even if it was further proof that I am not meant to work with elementary kids...then again, the youth weren't much better...). They always brought a smile to my face.

7. Youth. Yes, even the bratty teenagers were blessings. It took a bit to get through to them, but working with them was still a joy. A hard, rough journey, but one that I came through feeling stronger and proud of them.

8. Poverty simulations. Going through poverty simulations, then helping as others went through them, was such an eye opening experience. It in no way compares to real homelessness and poverty, but a taste of what they go through was such a valuable experience.

9. Stevie Walker-Webb. For a boss, he was the best. I learned so, so much working with him in all our theatre endeavors. Every headache, tear, laugh, and success was because he let me try and fail and learn with him. That's how theatre should be.

10. God. He is amazing. Nothing this summer would have been possible if it wasn't for His love and grace. I'm here because He wanted me here. God is good all the time.

These are kind of broad, blanket statements. But within the last ten weeks, I've wrote a lot of blog posts, so all the detail are there. It has been an amazing journey, and tomorrow when I am on that plane, there will probably be tears. But for now, I'm trying to think of the happy things. I still have time here to spend with people I love. That's where I want to focus right now.

Until next time, where are your unexpected blessings?

Prayerful Endings

The prayer flags are finished. One of my roommates Ranya has been working on the prayer flags for her friend all summer, painting the verses and quotes on the fabric for weeks, sewing the panels. Now they are done, strung up across our living room.

I kind of feel like those prayer flags. I'm done here in Waco after tomorrow. All summer I've been worked on, invested in, loved, and trying my best to do the same for others. But now, our work is strung up, the final product of the summer is visible. It's coming to an end.

I don't like endings. Never before in my life has this been more clear than the feeling I've been walking around with for the last couple days. I think the only time my desire to stay somewhere has been even close to this was last summer in London. It feels like half of my heart will be left behind in Waco.

Yesterday when we wrapped up the final performance of Huxtables, that same bitter-sweet feeling flooded over me. So thankful for the work we did, everything turned out so well, I have so many wonderful friends here. But with the end of the show, my work here was coming to an end. When I mentioned the fact I was going home on Tuesday, most of the cast was surprised, as if they assumed I would just stay here. Even Stevie said it felt like I would be here forever. But he's not even going to be here after a few weeks.

But as much as my heart aches at the thought of leaving, something inside of me knows I'll be back. The people I have met and love here are not seasonal friends. The lessons I've learned here are not one time learning objectives. The work I've done truly has been good work. The Lord truly has blessed my summer in ways I could never have imagined.

Endings are supposed to be new beginnings. It's hard for me to think about new beginnings when I don't want this journey to end. It has truly been a magical moon journey.

Until next time, try to remember journeys must end.