It's been far too long since I last posted. I suppose life will do that to you...snatch your time away. So will my dear old friend, Procrastination, who has brought me here to post rather than work on graphic design or study for Saturday's German exam.
It's officially the week of finals. It is also my last week as an undergraduate. Countdown to Colorado officially began two days ago. Oh yes, and precisely one week from today, I will be graduating.
I think it's safe to say that this is a crazy time for me, though I'm certainly not alone. I'm teetering somewhere on that fine line between whatever this stage is that I am currently in and whatever it is that comes next. Apparently, neither stage is very well-defined. It feels like my life is just about to be flipped upside down. I can see myself scrambling, chasing after the pieces, scattering like marbles.
Marbles seem the perfect metaphor for life. (Marbles also remind me Toodles in one of the greatest movies of my childhood. Brownie points if you know the film.) I imagine myself with a little bag of marbles. The bag is linen or perhaps made of a vintage handkerchief. Why? Because it suits me. The bag is stitched intricately with ocean blue thread and filled with marbles of different sizes and colors. I can imagine each one as it represents some aspect of my life, whether a person or a responsibility or an aspiration.
There are some marbles that I wouldn't mind trading, but others are essential to my collection. Either way, they're all headed for the floor, because someone it about to spill my precious little bag and there's nothing I can do to prevent it. I await that telling moment when I will scurry across the floor, frantically trying to keep my life together.
Things will be lost along the way, rolled into some out-of-reach corner. Things will be discovered as well, beneath some cabinet. The collection will change. I'm just wondering what it will look like.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Five Dollars
This past Sunday we were leaving for church and, as always, I went to kiss Pop goodbye. I'm a little bit of a weirdo, I guess, but I just cannot leave without giving him a squeeze and kissing him on the cheek. Should I go without a proper goodbye, I tend to feel unsettled and have to convince myself that it's going to be alright.
I'm on a tangent.
As I hurriedly kissed him and turned to go, he stuffed five crinkled dollars into my hand. Forty-five minutes later I was sitting in mass, awaiting the arrival of the collection basket, watching as it weaved in and out from pew to pew. Something came over me. I felt like a little kid clinging to some prized possession, buzzing with an eagerness to share it. Though it wasn't even my money, or much money for that matter, I was excited to be sharing in the act of sharing.
It was in that moment that I was taken with a new sense of joy in raising support for the coming summer. I was so excited to place a little piece of myself (or my grandfather) in that basket so that it might bless someone else...so excited that I nearly spilled the entire basket on my mom.
I recall one Christmas, back when Target still allowed bell-ringers from the Salvation Army, we were leaving and we passed by that iconic red bucket. I was probably thirteen and was receiving an allowance of seven dollars once every two or three weeks. I had a five dollar bill in my wallet and the sudden urge to give it away. I slipped it in that little slot. It was exhilarating.
I had forgotten what a joy it is to share in that way. Raising support can seem so burdensome and invasive. Who am I to ask another for the money to pay for my summer? My tendency is to believe that it is wrong to have my trip paid for by the funds of someone else.
It's not about me though, is it? It's about serving Him and serving others through Him. There are certainly perks for me in the process, but it's not about me. It's about Him working. If I don't trust Him to bring support in, then I am stealing the joy of another who wants to experience Him. Contrary to what I tend to believe, I am not stealing by asking for support, I am stealing by neglecting to ask.
And it only cost five dollars to remind me.
I'm on a tangent.
As I hurriedly kissed him and turned to go, he stuffed five crinkled dollars into my hand. Forty-five minutes later I was sitting in mass, awaiting the arrival of the collection basket, watching as it weaved in and out from pew to pew. Something came over me. I felt like a little kid clinging to some prized possession, buzzing with an eagerness to share it. Though it wasn't even my money, or much money for that matter, I was excited to be sharing in the act of sharing.
It was in that moment that I was taken with a new sense of joy in raising support for the coming summer. I was so excited to place a little piece of myself (or my grandfather) in that basket so that it might bless someone else...so excited that I nearly spilled the entire basket on my mom.
I recall one Christmas, back when Target still allowed bell-ringers from the Salvation Army, we were leaving and we passed by that iconic red bucket. I was probably thirteen and was receiving an allowance of seven dollars once every two or three weeks. I had a five dollar bill in my wallet and the sudden urge to give it away. I slipped it in that little slot. It was exhilarating.
I had forgotten what a joy it is to share in that way. Raising support can seem so burdensome and invasive. Who am I to ask another for the money to pay for my summer? My tendency is to believe that it is wrong to have my trip paid for by the funds of someone else.
It's not about me though, is it? It's about serving Him and serving others through Him. There are certainly perks for me in the process, but it's not about me. It's about Him working. If I don't trust Him to bring support in, then I am stealing the joy of another who wants to experience Him. Contrary to what I tend to believe, I am not stealing by asking for support, I am stealing by neglecting to ask.
And it only cost five dollars to remind me.
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