backinbloomington

Movie Monday-Sort of. . .

2011-12-12T21:34:00.000-08:00

Hi everyone!

I thought I would share what I was doing exactly a year ago today.
Eleonore was overdue and I decided I should try to "dance her out".
I started doing this on December 10th, 2011 since her official due date was the 9th.

Since I don't normally post on Sundays I am revisiting two of the videos!

More to come in the week ahead.

peace to you,
meredith

"before we turn to stone"

2011-12-08T20:48:00.000-08:00

Well, I feel exhausted.

I did a video last night with my cat Madeleine L'Engle.
I have a mild allergy to Madeleine L'Engle (the cat).
When I hold her next to my face while singing a song, I apparently end up looking like this:

In my Benadryl induced haze, I am having a little trouble thinking theologically, so please bear with me.

Last night we had an amazing Bible Study/Prayer Service.
Generally the focus in the first week of Advent is Hope and the second week it is Peace. It is in this perspective we came to our Gospel lesson, Mark 1:1-8.

¹ The beginning of the good news about Jesus the Messiah,^[a]the Son of God,^[b] ² as it is written in Isaiah the prophet:

   “I will send my messenger ahead of you,
   who will prepare your way”^[c]—
³ “a voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
   make straight paths for him.’”^[d]

⁴ And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. ⁵ The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River. ⁶ John wore clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey.⁷ And this was his message: “After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. ⁸ I baptize you with^[e] water, but he will baptize you with^[f] the Holy Spirit.”

We were struck that the whole Judean countryside came because they heard his message of repentance and therefore came to confess. We started talking about repentance and how that is a part of waiting actively in anticipation.

This has resonated with me so deeply in this season of Advent and the times of transition I find myself in. It would seem that the Gospel on a whole, and Mark in part, makes it clear that repentance, the willingness to say "I was wrong, I'm sorry" is essential for a life of peace.

I see this over and over again in my life. If I am unwilling to humble myself and ask for forgiveness for the wrongs I have done, it is impossible for me to have peace. Completely impossible. It happens quickly. When I have done something that has caused offense to someone the immediate reaction more often than not is to find a way to defend myself and my decisions. And if I don't get myself in check, it becomes defending myself at all costs, causing further offense and hurt. But that isn't even the beginning.

It begins to eat at your insides. Eat them and at the same time disable them. It makes them hard so that the next time you hurt someone, and don't humble yourself and ask for forgiveness, you don't feel it as much. It becomes duller, so it can happen more and more and more.

I've found (by trial and error) that most of the "instructions" in the Bible aren't just for the heck of it.
Not just for kicks, because God "can".

It really is in our best interest for ourselves and our relationships to freely give and seek forgiveness. It's the only way we can truly have peace.

It's hard to humble yourself. It's like dying to yourself. A little death that comes before a whole lot of life. There is so much freedom when you humble yourself and ask for forgiveness. A huge weight is lifted off of you and you can feel again. I'm not going to try and fool you, that it doesn't open you up again and again to the possibility to be hurt again and again. But that is the danger with truly living isn't it? The danger when we choose to fully participate in humanity.

In my short experience on this earth, the peace that can be experienced is far greater than the turmoil. The possibility of deepening relationship, of showing true love, it can be amazing.

I couldn't get this song out of my head with the Gospel lesson from yesterday.

To me it speaks beautifully about looking beyond ourselves at the world around us, and the importance of taking responsibility for our actions "and not waiting for someone else's hand". The specific line that keeps speaking to my soul is:

"but brother how we must atone, before we turn to stone"

It is a simple truth.

If we aren't vulnerable to one another, and are incapable of humbling ourselves, we will turn to stone.

The further we separate ourselves from humanity the less human we become.

Let us all take this Advent season as an opportunity to seek forgiveness where it is needed and to freely give forgiveness as it is asked of us. Not many better ways I can think of to honor the coming of Christ who came to us in a humble vulnerable human form so that he could grant us ultimate forgiveness and redemption.

peace to you,
meredith

Whimsical Wednesday

2011-12-07T22:23:00.000-08:00

I know it's not Wednesday anymore, but we just got done with Bible Study!
I'm kinda running on empty with whimsical ideas, so this is what you get.

peace to you,
meredith & madeleine l'engle (the cat)

Cool it with the Christmas

2011-12-06T19:42:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to figure out a formula or structure to my blog to make it easier to maintain and update each day of the week (I have already decided it is good if I take a break on the weekends).

I thought of headlines for each day, and a preliminary setup looks like this:

Monday-Music/Movie Monday-where I review a recent movie or music that I am currently experiencing.

Tuesday-Talkback or Top Ten Tuesday-I rant about a current issue, or I give you a top ten list!

Wednesday-Whimsy Wednesday-(we have Bible Study on Wednesday nights, so realistically I know all you're gonna get is a funny youtube video/link or a good quote. Something "whimsical" get it?

Thursday-Theological Thursday-I attempt to get deep.

Friday-Photo Friday-Some of my favorite photos from the week.

I make no promises to stick to this. For example, next week on the 16th, Eleonore turns one. Next week is going to be devoted to Eleonore Bay, without apology and exception. Get ready for some gushing.

But today I am sticking with it, and it's Talkback Tuesday. Which is essentially an excuse for me to be unapologetically sassy, and NOT an underhanded attempt to engage in sassy confrontational comment threads, getting more comments on my blog. . .I think.

It's Christmastime. Right?

Wrong.

I will get back to this in a minute.

On Facebook, around media outlets in general and in public, I keep seeing this thing.

People posting comments, or pictures, or links, or saying things that have to do with it being OK to say Merry Christmas.

The overall sentiment seems to be

"F-You, I can say Merry Christmas if I want to. Get out of my F-ing way. I WILL offend you. Intentionally. Thinking intentionally, I might offend you, and I'm gonna like it, so I'm gonna do it."

Some of the people I see this from are Christians, and some are not. Both kill me. Really. But I'm not going to "talkback" to those who don't claim to be Christians.

I'm going to "talkback" to the Christians.

One was shared that said:

"It's okay to say "Merry Christmas & God Bless America"

Absolutely. It is okay. And I know there are those who want to say those things because they believe they bring joy, or they really do want God to Bless America, I in fact share these same sentiments.

And Hippy Dippy alert: I want God to Bless THE WHOLE WORLD. I warned you, so you can't get mad.

But there is the majority, which are the sassy ones/people, demanding justice for our "rights" as Christians.

That idea our "Christian Rights" is another post, for another time.

And it is with those, and that school of thought that I take issue.

So, back to how I started.

It isn't Christmastime.

Not according to Church History, and not according to the Church Calendar.

It's Advent.

You may not have ever heard of it, and that's our (Christians) fault, including me.

Here is the definition from dictionary.com:

noun

a coming into place, view, or being; arrival: the advent of theholiday season.

( usually initial capital letter ) the coming of Christ into theworld.

( initial capital letter ) the period beginning four Sundaysbefore Christmas, observed in commemoration of the coming of Christ into the world.

( usually initial capital letter ) Second Coming.

Origin:
1125–75; Middle English < Latin adventus arrival, approach,equivalent to ad- ad- + ven- (stem of venīre to come) + -tus suffix of verbal action

Synonyms
1. onset, beginning, commencement, start.

And of Christmas:

noun

the annual festival of the Christian church commemoratingthe birth of Jesus: celebrated on December 25 and nowgenerally observed as a legal holiday and an occasion forexchanging gifts.

Christmastime.

Christmastide.

And just for kicks, Christmastide as well:

noun

the festival season from Christmas to after New Year'sDay.

the period from Christmas Eve to Epiphany, especially in England.

Origin:
1620–30; Christmas + tide¹

OK. A lot to deal with there. Mainly what I want to point out is that Christmas doesn't start until Christmas Day. Up to that point we are in the season of Advent, of waiting for Christ to come into the world.

Of waiting, patiently, in anticipation and excitement.

So what if, instead of exercising our "right" to say Merry Christmas,

we exercise our "right" to WAIT?

Wait and patiently exude the hope that we have because this has happened:

¹⁰ But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. ¹¹ Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord. ¹² This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger.”

Luke 2:10-12

If you believe the best way to share this hope and love and your faith is to say Merry Christmas at all costs, after looking deep down and into your soul, then that is between you and Christ, and I have to respect that.

What if instead, Christians claimed the season of Christmas. . .how out of the ordinary that would be. How outrageous, to say Merry Christmas after the commercial hoopla is done, and the presents are opened and the belly's are stuffed, and we are in the midst of returning the sweater we didn't want, or the earrings that are downright ugly.

What would that look like?

A little crazy. A little off kilter. And then someone might ask "What do you mean?"

And then we might have to "be prepared to give a reason for the hope we have within us".

If we're honest, its easier to say Merry Christmas when the rest of the world is saying Happy Holidays. When it's socially acceptable celebrate Christmas.

We get to bask in the glow of comfortable Christianity as the rest of the world acknowledges that it is "Christmastime".

What I am going to try to adopt is this school of thought.

That my Lord and Savior saw fit to come to us humbly, as a vulnerable baby. And in doing that he was still so enigmatic, and so awe inspiring that the Angels came to sing, and the Shepherds came to bow.

It radiated through his humbleness.

I don't think with that kind of Glory He is concerned with Christians exercising their "right" to say Merry Christmas.

But just for the heck of it,

Happy Advent one and all!

peace to you,

meredith

Back to Decatur

2011-12-05T19:46:00.000-08:00

Today was an exciting whirlwind of an adventure.

Deb asked if Eleonore and I wanted to join her and Wolfie on a thrifting jaunt to Clinton.

I figured we should just go crazy, and go all the way to Decatur.
(All the pictures are courtesy of her and her artistic self! )

You see, I have this odd love affair with Decatur. I lived there from the time I was four to third grade and for my freshman year of college. Those are pretty pivotal years in the development of a memory, of a personhood, at least they were for me.

It was hard as we made every turn, and drove past every place to not share with Deb the story that accompanied the particular place or street. We did some pretty great thrifting, and the kiddos behaved quite well.

Eleonore & Wolfgang holding hands in the backseat!

What was more valuable than any physical treasure, was the remembering. Remembering where I was when I first heard of the Iraq war starting on the radio in the car. Remembering the thrift store that my mother would buy me clothes from that I would despise because a peer had told me "only poor people wear thrift store clothes" and I had an incessant need to tell people where my clothing was from, so if I wore it, everyone was going to know it was second-hand. I was going to tell them.

The thing that stood out to me most about my time in Decatur were all my different "educational" experiences.

I was home schooled for Pre-School, went to Northwest Christian Academy for Kindergarten, and first grade, was home schooled for second grade and went back to Northwest Christian Academy for the first half of third grade, transferring to Glad Tidings Christian Academy after Christmas.

I kept harkening back to my first experience at Glad Tidings in 1993. I was excited about the change, I thought I had a good handle on things.

Little did I know.

I arrived to school in a hot pink corduroy jumper with a peter pan white blouse underneath. But here is the kicker. I had on Troll Santa Claus earrings, which were highlighted since I had a boy bowl haircut at the time. What went through my third grade mind that morning when I woke up? Perhaps I had a bit of a C'est La Vie attitude about the Santa Claus troll earrings. Or perhaps they were the one thing I had that I felt transcended into popular culture. I might have ridden in the Silhouette Spaceship Van to school thinking, "I'm the freaking s@#t, I have on troll earrings, you will all bow to my prowess". Because who is ballsy enough to wear troll earrings to a Christian school? No one I had encountered in my short time on earth. . .

Everyone else was much cooler (ballsier) than I. I had failed miserably. At recess, Jaclyn Dick and Jessica Dixson came over and started talking to me. They were unmistakably the Queen Bee's. And if I remember correctly, they had their ears pierced twice, and long hair down to their mid backs, GUESS sweatshirts with leggings and keds with scrunchy socks.

WHAT ARE SANTA CLAUS TROLL EARRINGS WHEN COMPARED TO THAT!?!

As they approached they began to probe.

"Do you like Grease?"

All possibilities began to run through my mind. Grease. . .food grease? My father saves bacon grease to pop his popcorn that he gets in a tub from the boyscouts in.

I gingerly raised my eyebrows and stated what I could muster as calmly as possible:

"Like in a frying pan?"

They could have been cruel at this point. I think they only giggled a little bit.

"No, the movie Grease! You will have to come over and watch it."

"Oh yeah, that, sure. I've been meaning to see it. Just haven't gotten around to it."

I immediately boiled with seething rage at my parents. What was this travesty they had committed against me, that I didn't know what this mysterious Grease Movie was?

I knew plenty about Star Wars, I knew plenty about anything Jim Henson had done. I knew the set list that the Moody Blues played at their Live at Red Rocks PBS special that I had been allowed to stay up for so I could "dance" behind the couch to "Nights in White Satin".

None of these things could serve me now. I was like an Israelite who was ungrateful for her manna.

When I got older I would look back on this again and think, "you let your eight year old twirl to a song clearly about SEX but didn't show her GREASE!?!?!?" For the love of God people!

When I did make the trek to Jaclyn Dick's house, she enlightened me on such things as Nancy Drew Mysteries, Guns and Roses, and Madonna. I truly felt that I might go to hell for listening to Guns and Roses. Something about it seemed sacrilegious probably the skulls on the cassette tape cover. But Madonna's Poppa Don't Preach made sense to me.

I could justify that. My father was a pastor, and all of a sudden I had a song if I ever got pregnant and wanted to keep my baby.

Always a good thing for a third grader to hold in her back pocket.

I think I remember sharing that with my Father soon after I got home from Jaclyn's for the first time.

He was calm and sensical enough to not bar me from hanging out with her ever again.

I became one of the "popular" girls at Glad Tidings, despite my boy hair bowl cut and faux pas first day outfit. The way I did this? By telling everyone what sex was.

Yep.

In detail.

When I was in second grade, on a ride home from Champaign where my mother was working at the time, I had turned to her and nonchalantly asked:

"So what is this sex thing everyone is talking about?"

Being a nurse, the practical answer was to tell me what this sex thing was, in scientific and biological actuality.

It was like social gold, this information. Everyone else was still getting the birds and the bees junk from their parents. But I, as I sat atop the jungle gym with my captivated audience shared terms, and procedures like a 10th grade gym teacher reluctantly does in required Sex-Ed. If memory serves me, I shared with much more vigor and tenacity, punctuating certain terms with added thrill and rising intonation.

But, every time I did this, I had to pay my penance. Remember that United Methodist guilt I talked about? Yeah, like being born into sin, I was born into that, and I confessed to my mother every day after school.

Mid spring we found out we were moving to Arthur, Illinois.

(That process is a different story for a different time.)

I remember going to my mother as a third grader, and saying:

"This is my chance, I will be able to have a fresh start and begin again. I won't have to be known as the "Girl who always talks about sex"."

The first day of fourth grade in Arthur came with great anticipation. To my credit, I think I made it to the second day of recess before I blurted out my wealth of information. It worked it's charm, and I was a "popular" girl again.

As we've moved back to Bloomington, I haven't had any instances where I have felt insecure to the point of needing to talk incessantly about sex in correct biological terms. I think with the presence of Eleonore it is pretty clear I hold that information.

But just in case you are with me, in a coffee shop, or at dinner, or at the mall and I suddenly start saying things like "COPULATION" or "GONAD", simply calm me down, and reassure me that my identity is not found in my sexual knowledge, rather my identity is in Christ.

As Henri Nouwen says:

The truth, even though I cannot feel it right now, is that I am the chosen child of God, precious in God's eyes, called the Beloved from all eternity and held safe in an everlasting embrace... We must dare to opt consciously for our chosenness and not allow our emotions, feelings, or passions to seduce us into self-rejection.

This wasn't something I was able to grasp as a second grader, or third grader, or fourth grader, or. . .ok, you get it.

But I think I am beginning to get it.

And it is one of the things that makes coming "Back to Bloomington" possible at all.

peace to you,

meredith

Among our finds?

This beauty for $1.00 which came with a polaroid camera and a leather case!
Perfect to capture new memories with.

an apology and a promise.

2011-11-29T21:39:00.000-08:00

Dear Blog Readers,

I must apologize to you, for my unexpected absence over the past week, and for letting you down.

I would like to say that I won’t let it happen again.

But in all actuality, I kind of hope it will.

In relationships we always let one another down at some time or other.

And I hope your reading and my writing becomes a relationship.

What I can promise is that I will try with all my might to not have any pre-meditated any absences or let downs.

I wish I had something important as an excuse for why I was gone for this past week of blogging, but I don’t. Everyday life was trudging along at what felt like breakneck speed. And by the time I would get to thinking I needed to blog, I just couldn’t bring myself to muster the energy to do a post worthy of you all.

The week was filled with great joys, including Eleonore’s first Thanksgiving, and my Grandmother Molloy’s 81^st Birthday (more on both of these later in the week).

I don’t have much energy right now either if I am honest with all of you. My bundle of bubbly energy is going to turn one soon, and all her developmental advances are causing sleep patterns to be WACKY!

I will leave you with a few photos that were taken while celebrating Thanksgiving with part of Nate’s family!

It is so good to be back in the blogging saddle, and I look forward to sharing more exciting and (hopefully) insightful posts with you on a regular basis.

peace to you,

meredith

Wedding Week Day 5-"Theology" of a Marriage

2011-11-18T20:00:00.000-08:00

After six years if there is one thing I have learned, it is that you cannot label your marriage, and you can't define it.

You might have an understanding of your Faith, that there are non-negotiables, and the rest is up for discussion. I think Marriage (as we are told it should be) when modeled after our relationship with God has to look like that.

When we were married we had our good friend Miles (also the man who hired us both that fateful first summer at East Bay, pretty integral person!) read an excerpt from who else? Madeleine L'Engle!

This was it:
"Ultimately there comes a time when a decision must be made. Ultimately two people who love each other must ask themselves how much they hope for as their love grows and deepens, and how much risk they are willing to take. It is indeed a fearful gamble. Because it is the nature of love to create, a marriage itself is something which has to be created. To marry is the biggest risk in human relations that a person can take. If we commit ourselves to one person for life this is not, as many people think, a rejection of freedom; rather it demands the courage to move into all the risks of freedom, and the risk of love which is permanent; into that love which is not possession, but participation. It takes a lifetime to learn another person. When love is not possession, but participation, then it is part of that co-creation which is our human calling."

We still aspire to this vision of a marriage today, EVERY day. It's a choice. The choice isn't always easy, the choice isn't always fun. But you choose, because you have made a commitment before God to that other person. And when you don't make the right decision, you look to that person, and are amazed when they have the strength to give you the grace you don't deserve, and equally amazed when you have grace to give to them. There is so much freedom, as Madeleine says, in those choices.

For freedom Christ has set us free.

Such a responsibility in this freedom. And not just in the confines of a marriage or romantic relationship. In each friendship, each family member, each stranger, each enemy.

It's exhausting, but we are called to be in community for a reason.
Because it's still going to be exhausting, but when others can help hold up our hands it makes it easier to love others as we start to get tired.

I love you Nathanial Ryan Hopping, and look forward to six-TY more years of holding each others hands up to love each other and the world around us.

peace to you,
meredith

Wedding Week Day 4-The Wedding (Continued)

2011-11-17T21:56:00.000-08:00

Our wedding ceremony was probably my favorite part of the whole wedding.

We were so blessed by the community that came together to make it happen and to support us in our commitment to God and one another.

One of my favorite parts of the wedding was the "soundtrack".

First we had a full praise service-

1.) Come Thou Fount

2.) Great is Your Name

3.) Be Thou My Vision

4.) Though I may speak

5.) Memorial Candles were lit/Grandparents were seated to Motion Picture Soundtrack by Radiohead played by a string quartet.

6.) Mothers were seated to Sheep May Safely Graze by Bach.

7.) Bridesmaids/My processional to Only Hope by Switchfoot

8.) Nate sings an original song I hadn't heard yet!

9.) We recess to what started as The Bridal March but morphed into "Good Love"

It was so randomly and perfectly us.

I look back at the words of "Though I may speak":

Though I may speak with bravest fire
And have the gift to all inspire
And have not love, my words are vain --
As sounding brass -- and hopeless gain.

Though I may give all I possess
And, striving so, my love profess
But not be giv'n by love within,
The profit soon turns strangely thin.

Come, Spirit, come; our hearts control.
Our spirits long to be made whole.
Let inward love guide ev'ry deed;
By this we worship and are freed.

it is a hymn I haven't sung since our wedding day six years ago, and I find myself struck by what little that 21 year old girl/woman (still feel like a girl/woman, but that is for another post, at another time!) knew of what true, real, hard, life, love looked like and would look like. And yet I/she knew enough that there was truth to these words, that something resonated with what this marriage thing was supposed to look like. What a gift. what joy, what bliss, this deep true friendship and community I have been given in my husband is!
I am so aware of how "lucky" I am. So grateful.

And often times when I laugh so hard that I fart in bed, because of the hilarious things he says, I half expect a parent to come in and tell us to be quiet, that it's time to go to sleep, because I don't know how I got to have a sleepover with my best friend every night, I feel like I must be doing something wrong to have so much fun and get to spend every waking moment with my best friend.

Bet you didn't expect me to talk about farting, but that's how I roll.
Or better yet, how WE roll!

peace to you,
meredith

Wedding Week-Day 3 The Wedding

2011-11-16T23:46:00.000-08:00

We got done with Bible Study and it is late so I am posting pictures now, and more on the wedding tomorrow!

My favorite individual pic of my love.

He still rocks a newsboy cap like nobody's business.

My favorite individual pic of myself.

Tres dramatique, no?

Right after the ceremony, so excited!

Leaving the church!

Our First Dance to "The Luckiest".

More to come tomorrow!

peace to you,

meredith

Wedding Week Day 2-The Proposal

2011-11-15T21:20:00.000-08:00

It was Valentine's Day 2004. I was soooo excited because I had never been "dating" anyone on Valentine's day and this would be my chance to grasp the Hallmark holiday in full glory!

Nate had other plans, or so he led me to believe.

At the time we were both undergrads majoring in Theatre. Nate was at WIU and I was at ISU. We saw each other EVERY single weekend during our dating/engagement, which can now admittedly be chalked up to some OCD on my part.

He was in a production of Phaedre as Theseus.

Right off I was ticked.

I have waited 20 years to have a date on Valentine's Day and I HAVE TO GO SEE A TRAGEDY ON VALENTINE'S DAY!?!?

This seems really fair. . .

and it just kept getting worse.

My family was going to see the show that night, Nate's Mom was coming that night, Nate's brother and childhood friends were coming that night.

Fabulous. Perfect setup for a romantic night. Exactly what I was picturing.

To try to make up for this Nate asked me to come early to his dorm room, so we could exchange gifts.

I had been meticulous about his gift. It had numerous parts, with numerous nuances and meanings.

When I got to his dorm room, he handed me a card made of notebook paper and suggested we watch Edward Scissorhands.

No words. I was fuming on the inside.

I got to the play. I was greeted by my family, Nate's family & friends, and other students I knew. The play was pretty packed and I looked around for a seat. Quickly the director Stephen came and ushered me to a seat they had saved for me, which was weird.

I watched the play. My man was amazing, because he is an amazing actor!

During the curtain call Nate began to take off part of his costume. I turned to my future sister in law and said:

"Why is he taking off his costume? This is sooo unprofessional, it's embarrassing."

Someone brought out a stool and a guitar.

Nate sat down and said:

"I didn't want everyone to celebrate Valentine's Day with a tragedy, so I wrote a song for the love of my life Meredith Joy Owens".

A collective awwww went through the crowd. I too awed.

But then came the last line of the song. . .

"You have changed my life, may I have the honor of making you my wife?"

The audience was hushed, other than the one guy who apparently wasn't in on the plan.

He yelled out:

"OH SHIT!"

That snapped me back to reality, Nate came down the aisle, got on one knee, and officially proposed.

I of course said yes, and we all went out to pizza.

Despite the less than intimate circumstances, it was the most romantic Valentine's Day anyone could imagine!

peace to you,

meredith

I don't have any pictures of the engagment on this computer,

but this was right around the same time!

True. Young. Love.

meredith

Wedding Week Day 1-How we met

2011-11-14T19:46:00.000-08:00

This Saturday (November 19th) will mark the 6th year Nate and I have been married.

WHOA!

To try to grasp how long this is, it would be like making it in the same relationship for all of Junior High and High School. . .

I realize that this isn't the point, but it does give you a tangible way to grasp the length of time.

I have dubbed this wedding week, where I will take time to highlight different aspects of our relationship so far!

Monday-How we met
Tuesday-The Proposal
Wednesday-The Wedding (worked out well alliteration wise eh?)
Thursday-Where we have been
Friday-Where we are going

It was the Summer of 2003. I had come home from my freshman year at Millikin University and had already made plans to transfer to Illinois State University, switching from Music to Theatre. It had been a wonderful year of finding myself thanks to so many wonderful people, and an asset was that many of those wonderful people introduced me to wonderful music. I needed a job, and had slacked off in those efforts. My wonderful friend (and future Maid of Honor) Michelle, suggested that I should work at East Bay Camp on Lake Bloomington. I had been to EBC many times as a child and adolescent, but something about being stuck at camp for weeks at a time seemed suffocating, and I was hesitant. I wasn't working hard at finding anything else, so EBC it was. Miles Price (an amazing friend and future reader at our wedding) hired me to be in charge of implementing a new daily day camp.

So I begrudgingly took my dyed black hair, blunt cut banged, industrial ear pierced, vintage track jacket wearing, Norma Jean/Flaming Lips listening self to the first day of orientation and training.

It was June 6, 2003

All the counselors had assembled, except for one.

In came this tornado with a sideways cap, hoop earrings, thick black glasses, tattoos and a soul patch. He didn't seem phased by being late, and just jumped right into the conversation.

I just thought COCKY,COCKY,COCKY, cute, but, COCKY, COCKY, COCKY.

Well, thinking the cute boy was cocky wore off pretty quick.

We flirted (a lot).

We prayed together (a lot).

We read the Bible together (a lot).

And by the end of the Summer, we were already talking about marriage.

This was overwhelming for me in so many ways. I had a list of I never's that I have talked about before. This was when I knocked the first two out of the park. Nate was the first guy I had ever dated that was shorter than me, and he had experienced a call to pastoral ministry.

1.) I ~~will never marry a guy who is shorter than me~~
2.) ~~I will never marry a minister~~
3.) I will never live in Bloomington-Normal permanently after school

2 out of 3. . .for a time.

I had never been serious enough about a guy to have the "meeting of the family".
I was terrified. A twin brother who was the president of his Christian Fraternity who was engaged to a beautiful petite art major, and a Mother who was a music teacher, but also a ridiculous composer and musician.

The first time I met Jake and Kenz was in Peoria at Ruby Tuesday's. I think I cried most of the way there begging Nate to take me back because I was so petrified.

When I met them, they were great and so nice. But I did notice they looked at me a little odd when we first walked in. I was already PLENTY self conscious about our height difference. I am 6ft. he is 5'8, and figured they just thought we looked funny together. Later that evening we went to meet his Mom and stay the weekend. She too gave me an odd look.

What I found out years later is that Nate said this to his family right after we met.

"Mom, Jake, I think God wants me to marry a big girl."

So why the odd looks? They weren't expecting someone tall, they were expecting someone overweight. They thought I was a new girl, and they were obviously perplexed since he had talked about marrying the "big girl".

He hasn't ever lived that one down, probably never will.

I'm glad God wanted him to marry this "Big Girl". Very glad.

peace to you,
meredith

Can you spot the two love birds?

A staff picture our first summer together.

Photo Friday-Tattoo Inspiration

2011-11-11T20:43:00.000-08:00

I have been debating for so many years now about getting a tattoo. My husband has a few :), and I have been itching lately for some ink. These pictures are some inspiring ones to me, and you can also find them on my Pinterest!

The problem is, ever since I met him, and ever since I have seen his amazing artwork on Nate, I have only wanted one person to do my tattoos, if I ever got them.

That person is Jimmy. He now lives in Eugene, Oregon. And that makes a tattoo REALLY expensive. Although a total bonus would be visiting Mindy Rawlins and The Blair Family.

Trying to justify, trying to justify, trying to justify.

Do these images inspire you as they do me?

Really want this on my body and on everything I own (with even more labels added in!).

What a vital reminder in a walk with Christ about loving everyone,

because we so DO NOT deserve the love we have been given.

But maybe my forehead would be too much? :)

What do you see when you look at this?

If you don't see a hat, you know why this is so lovely and meaningful.

If you do see a hat, go read Le Petit Prince, and have your spirit lifted and outlook changed.

I have always been incredibly drawn to shepherd/sheep imagery when it comes to my relationship with Christ.

This image is a visual representation of something far more amazing,

but it grants a little understanding for my feeble mind.

Mother and Child, Mother Mary and Christ, Father God and His Children.

This sculpture is so beautiful to me,

it encompasses such intimate, passionate, nurturing relationships.

These are just a few inspiring images. Don't worry, you won't see all of them on my person any time soon (ferociously types in search engine "Cheapest Way to get to Oregon").

peace to you,

meredith

Did I give birth to Mike Tyson's Vampire Spawn?

2011-11-10T21:06:00.000-08:00

It happened.

Eleonore bit someone.

REALLY hard.

And she drew blood.

And it was traumatizing.

Probably the most for me.

I knew it was coming. Like a snarky little shadow that lingers a few feet behind Eleonore and I wherever we go, tiptoeing along is "The Possibility My Child Will Do Something Out of MY Control That Can Upset and/or Hurt Someone Else".

If you aren't familiar with the TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE (pronounced tee-pee-mick-wood-soom-mic-tic-wah-o-see) Monster, thank your lucky stars. It is a nasty little booger, and it will get you when you least expect it.

Perhaps I was getting too prideful. Eleonore loves other people. She loves to smile at them, and wave, and brighten their days. She is quite adorable, biased or not, it's true.

But. . .

there are these teeth that most of her peers don't have yet, or if they do, not as many.

A woman from my father's church said it was a sign of intelligence that she has so many teeth, probably COMPLETELY false, but at the same time, like all of you Mother's and Father's out there, I decided in my head, "well yeah, probably, makes sense. makes sense to me". It's just what you do when someone validates what you think about your child, you decide it's true.

In retrospect, if the TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monster feeds on pride and a puffed up Mother's chest like I think it does, it was getting to be a chubby TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monster, and had more than enough energy built up to attack.

It had taken a little trial run a week ago, when Eleonore bit my good friend Kelly's baby Kinley. Luckily no blood was drawn, and Kelly and Kinley both took it in stride.

The next time it went full fledged and it was poor Wolfie as Eleonore got her first taste of blood. With a little "milkies", his blankie, and some snuggles with his Mama Deb, he was up and playing with Eleonore once again.

Deb was EXTREMELY gracious. It didn't phase her at all. I was in awe, and shocked that I wasn't getting yelled at, or cursed at, or thrown out by my collar.

Wolfie was fine, Eleonore was fine, Deb was fine.

I wasn't.

I felt completely, and utterly, powerless.

Seeking others advice on the matter for the most part made it worse, and I went to bed feeling like my baby had major psychological issues that I had spurned on by some sort of majorly inadequate parenting technique that had been put into place by my "style" of parenting.

I didn't sleep a lot. Visions of being "the biters" Mom kept dancing through my dreams.

The next morning, Nate, Eleonore and I were sitting on the couch laughing and playing. Nate was tickling Eleonore and we were all giggling, then he started to nibble on her ear. . .
he looked up and we had both made the connection at the same time.

He nibbles on Eleonore's ear when they are playing, she equates this with happiness, and love, so she OBVIOUSLY WANTS TO BITE EVERYONE'S EAR.

I felt such a sense of freedom in that moment, but at the same time my heart was filled with an extreme weight of responsibility.We learn how to love. There is no question. We can't know how to love, unless we see how to love. It's pretty straightforward and simple.If we learn to love from those who love abusively, we abuse, if gracefully, then gracefully, if passively then passively, and the list goes on and on.

This time it will be a relatively easy fix and the TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monster will be thwarted by no more ear nibbles for Dad! It is not always so easy, for many children, the way they have learned to love has done irrevocable damage to themselves, and to the world around them. The vicious cycle continues, because no one gave them grace. Because no one thought fit to name them, like I talk about in this previous post.

I myself am learning to live with the TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monster. They are always there, and always will be. I invite the TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monster to walk alongside me. I am not afraid. I will learn to handle each situation they throw at me with grace. Grace is what slays TPMCWDSOOMCTCUAOHSE Monsters, didn't you know?

It gets most of the other Monsters out there too.

Try it, and you'll see.

Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.

-Eugene O'Neil

peace to you,
meredith

2011-11-09T22:51:00.000-08:00

Tonight we had our Wednesday night Bible Study.

It was a wonderful time of fellowship, study & food.

Some of our community is still around and it is 12:22 AM. What an inexplicable joy.

So my post will just be a quote by my favorite author "on community".

A community, to be truly community, must have a quality of unselfconsciousness about it.-Madeleine L'Engle

You will be hearing much more about her in days to come. She is utterly lovely.

peace to you,

meredith

A photo shoot sneak peek!

2011-11-08T22:31:00.000-08:00

You have already had a sneak peak of one of our photo shoots with Eliza Morris of Eliza & Liz Photography.

I thought I would share the highlights from our last ridiculously fun shoot.

We are so blessed to have found such a talented photographer to capture Eleonore as she grows so quickly!

I am smitten, and done in for all of eternity,

I get to have these two in my life EVERYDAY!

The little details are something that you don't want to forget,

and they pass by, just as quickly as everyone says!

We are a motley crew, but wherever we go,

and whatever we do, we're gonna go through it together!

Every photo shoot we have had so far,

I make sure to get pictures of her in this red hat,

with a white onesie on, and her Deer Ugly Dolly.

It will be so fun to see all the changes but in the same "get-up".

I seriously can't gush enough about Eliza and her work. The capturing of my family, and my memories and these fleeting moments in time are so valuable, and I will be forever thankful.

I am a blessed woman, I know it, and I am completely unworthy of it.

“We can only be said to be alive in those moments when our hearts are conscious of our treasures.”

- Thornton Wilder

peace to you,

meredith

music to the heart and soul

2011-11-07T22:08:00.000-08:00

This Saturday will be a dream come true for me.

One of my favorite musical groups of all time will be playing a show in Bloomington, at a childhood friends apartment.

I have been dubbed a "Superfan" along with my dear friend Lindsay who will be absent this concert since she currently lives in Arkansas.

Lindsay and I first saw Rue Royale in 2007 at Uncommon Grounds in Wrigleyville. We didn't pay much attention or realize what amazing food was there. We were there strictly for the music.

Our fates were sealed, and since then we have tried to make it to every show that has been accessible to us.

Our 3rd concert at Subterranean Winter 2007!

There isn't really much to say about their music, it is better to listen, and feel.

Cornerstone 2008. I had an appendectomy,
so I wasn't there.
There was an empty seat in my honor.

At Schubas, end of Summer 2008!

Fall 2010 in Macomb

Spring 2009
Their Moving to England show at the Hideout

I can't describe their music and even begin to do it justice.

Listen, and if you like what you hear, contact me for the concert details!

peace to you,

meredith

a bosom friend.

2011-11-06T20:28:00.000-08:00

Tonight we had the distinct pleasure of having dinner with my lovely friend Liesl and her mother Susan who was in from out of town.

Liesl is one of my oldest and dearest friends (since the summer before 7th grade, when I first saw her in her Chuck Taylors, and Bogie's Diner Jersey), and she was one of the reasons (other than God of course. . .DUH) that moving back to Bloomington even seemed slightly tangible to me.

There is such enormous beauty in friendship. In tried and true friendship. It's the stuff that Jane Austen writes of, and what Lucy Maud Montgomery describes as having a "bosom friend".

You might as well just see a picture of Liesl when you look for the definition of the term, because she is mine.

Look up "Bosom Friend" in the dictionary,
and this is what you'll see!

She has been with me through so much. And has become a great friend to Nate and a wonderful Auntie to Eleonore.

Sometimes it is a bit overwhelming to see all the beauty she puts into the world, to see how big her heart is, and how free her spirit.

Overwhelming, and at the same time utterly inspiring.

During Liesl's time in Belgium working for Young Life I had the AMAZING opportunity to travel there to assist her with moving back. We attempted to chronicle the adventure with this blog. I think we could easily get paid for traveling together and writing about it. Or maybe I just think we are funny and no one else does. . .nope, we're pretty funny.

Liesl and I enjoying a good "brew" on our German Day Trip!

Life has lots of ups and downs, but there is so much joy to be had in friendship and fellowship.

It is truly one of God's gifts to us.

I hope you all have a Liesl in your life. I can't imagine how empty mine would be without her.

peace to you,

meredith

Back to Do. . .

2011-11-05T21:21:00.000-07:00

I haven't had a lot of time today to muse or ruminate on anything in particular. But as I was singing Do Re Mi with Eleonore today in the car, I was remembering this video.

Nate and I at the beginning
of our time at Streams of Hope

In itself it is an amazing thing to behold. I first saw it in 2009. We were in the process of closing a church while Nate was in seminary. It was an amazingly beautiful, painful, and growth inducing experience which I am sure I will write more about in the future.

The Sunday the church closed I stood to give some of my thoughts. I wanted the congregation to know that we had to decide if our journey as Christians stopped there, or if we were going to go out into the world and be the church, join new existing bodies of believers and evolve as Christians to share the joy & hope we have in the Risen Christ.

This video had spoken immensely to my heart and soul during that period.
God used something as simple as a song from The Sound of Music and a bunch of people dancing to speak to me, that joy still existed & that hope was still alive, even in the midst of mourning.

And, that ultimately, it starts with one person, making a decision.

So I shared this video on that Sunday with the congregation, and I share it with you now, because it still holds so much truth and beauty.

peace to you,

meredith

What on earth am I(we) doing here?-Part 2

2011-11-04T20:39:00.000-07:00

Soon after moving to Bloomington, we were confirmed in the Anglican Mission. It was a wonderful day, and it happened immediately prior to our friend Fr. Greg Lynn's ordination to the priesthood.

We have a wonderful long-distance community in Peoria's AMiA plant, Epiphany. Chris and Elisa Marchand, dear friends from the Chicago area are co-planting a missional community there with Greg and his wife Alicia.

What a wonderful gift to have kindred spirits embarking upon the same journey so close!

Chris, Elisa, Father Greg, Alicia, Nate & Me
at our confirmation/Greg's ordination!

Nate and I with a lot of prayer have wanted to take a VERY slow approach to this whole church planting-thing. We want to be able to give the community what they need and what can bring them closer to Christ, not impose our idea of what the church plant will look like on a community that we have been detached from for five years. This is a problem I think the Christian church gets stuck in a lot. Telling a community what they need before hearing what that community has to say/where they are.

(Before I get bombarded by Christians telling me the community needs Christ, let's have that just be a given. We all do, or Nate and I wouldn't be giving our life to this calling).

So right now what this looks like is a foundational group of people meeting twice a month, (soon to move to every week) at our apartment, discussing the word, our relationships with Christ, uplifting each other, and brainstorming on how we can bring Christ to this community and be Christ to this community. Very soon we will be embarking upon community outreach and eventually we will start meeting at a space, (as we are growing out of our dining room quite quickly. Intimacy is great within a missional community, but I don't want anybody to be able to tell that I wasn't able to shower that day, as being a Mommy doesn't always warrant a shower! :o) ) and having a full service as well as a weekly community group/bible study.

Exciting, scary, and an impossible environment to not be completely dependent upon Christ.

One thing we are praying for is that God would put on someone's heart to come alongside us in ministry here in Bloomington-Normal, in a co-leadership role. It is exciting to be patiently waiting for that, not knowing who that person will be or what specific gifts they will offer. But as God has proven so clearly over and over again, He will be faithful.

This church thing if you have never been a part of it (or if you have), is intended to be this beautiful, messy group of people, growing together, leaning on each other and loving each other so much that they can't let each other stay where they are at, they must propel each other further on in betterment, in hope and beauty and love, to become what we were created to be.

In propelling each other it should catch onto someone else, and someone else, and someone else.

And then our world theoretically shouldn't look the way it does.

But there is something in me that won't allow me to stop looking at what this world can be if we allow the Hope of the Risen Christ to permeate itself through us and to others.

I think the Church (which I claim to be a part of, I still believe in the Christian Church despite it's faults and it's NUMEROUS injustices, I apologize for these, and for the part I may play in them, but I still identify myself with it) forgets about this leaning, and dependence on one another, that we were created to be in community, to need one another, to change the world together.

Scoff if you must, but I adore So You Think You Can Dance (this is not as much of a change of subject as you might think, stick with me). This dance to Coldplay's Fix You really hits home for me, especially where I am at in my Faith journey right now.

*I am not about to get into what the words to that song mean, I have my thoughts, but that isn't really what this is about.

I think this is how we are supposed to look in the church relationally.

We move in sync at certain times, and at others we show our individual gifts for the community.

And sometimes we are utterly unable to move, unless we are lifted by one another.

I am quite fond of the 45 second mark where the "jumping" begins.

Sometimes it feels like in the church or in our relationship with Christ that we are doing such futile things in a season of waiting, that we might as well just be jumping up and down.

But that jumping up and down is leading to something amazing, and may we all jump with such vigor and intensity. . .

watch and see what I mean.

peace to you,

meredith

What on earth am I (we) doing here?-Part 1

2011-11-03T20:43:00.000-07:00

I thought it might be a good idea to share with everyone what we are doing "Back in Bloomington".

In simple terms, we are "planting a church".

There are different ways I like to describe it.

I prefer "starting a Missional Community".

But I do like the imagery of planting. Of nurturing something, of sustaining something, of having responsibility for it. But normally you don't see the planter burrow down into the soil with the seed, and get their fingernails dirty, almost drown when there is too much water, and feel the seed break from its casing to take root, becoming entangled in them, becoming one.

So perhaps we should go with "Planting a Missional Community".

We knew from the beginning of our relationship that there would come a time in our lives when God would call us to be a part of a new church start/plant/missional community. We were just waiting for the when and where.

It finally became clear to us this Spring that we were to plant a church with the Anglican Mission in America (AMiA). Nate had done an internship at an AMiA church his last semester of sminary, and that is where our connection was first fostered.

Through a series of events God made it clear that we were to plant a church in Bloomington, Illinois.

This was not what I or Nate had expected.

In fact it was on my list of "I will never's".

When you realize that your three main "I will never's" were:

1.) Never marry a pastor (Being a pastor's daughter and grandaughter, I wasn't interested in "the family business".

2.) Never marry anyone shorter than me ( I am 6 feet tall)

We know how those two turned out, as I have been married to a 5'8 (he says 5'9) pastor for 6 years on the 19th of this month!

3.) Never move back to Bloomington-Normal

I wasn't doing to well with my "I will never's", but I was still being stubborn enough to claim that last one.

Have I learned to "never say never"?
In some capacity. . .not completely though :o).

So we packed up, and moved from a three bedroom house to a one bedroom apartment,

and we were officially "Back in Bloomington".

And what happened next?

Find out tomorrow!

peace to you,
meredith

P.S.

Our amazing photographer Eliza Morris of Eliza & Liz Photography took some new pictures of Eleonore and some family pics for some church planting stuff and we got a few back today!

Here is a peak at one of the pics!

Back in Bloomington #7-Hopping Halloween History!

2011-11-02T20:39:00.000-07:00

In my quest to do a post a day, I have to apologize, that this one isn't especially wordy or introspective, but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless!

Halloween is one of my favorite Holidays. It's dramatic, it's fun, it can be educational, mostly it's fun.

Nate and I first committed to Halloween as a couple his first year of Seminary at Trinity. We had met an amazing hip and funny couple, The Blairs, and somehow we all decided to get dressed up and go out to dinner. It was History in the making. Since that first year we haven't missed one Halloween until last year when it was our first year apart from the Blairs (they live in the Portland area now, they are THAT cool and hip). It seemed like an appropriate mourning period. But with Eleonore being here we figured it was time to "get back in the saddle".

The following pictures show our History with the Blairs as well as our first Halloween with Eleonore!

Enjoy, I know we did!

Halloween 2006-Sonny & Cher

Halloween 2006-Lucy & Ricky with Sonny & Cher

Halloween 2007-The Flinstones!

Halloween 2007-Barney & Betty

Halloween 2008-Linus, Luci, Charlie Brown & Sally

Halloween 2009-The Wizard of Oz

Halloween 2010-In Mourning

Halloween 2011-Olive Oyl

Our Sweet Pea!

Popeye, Olive Oyl & Sweet Pea!

The beginning of a beautiful tradition with the Kocourek family!

And many more to come!

peace to you,

meredith

Back in Bloomington #6-Hair

2011-10-30T23:17:00.000-07:00

I am committing to a post a day during the month of November as a practice in discipline. As it is 12:05 AM on November 1st, might as well get to it!

During this journey we are attempting to save money every way possible so that I can continue to be the full time caregiver for our daughter Eleonore.

I thought I would take one for the team in August, and with the seriousness and determination of Rosie the Riveter attempted to dye my own hair for the first time in close to five years, blonde streak and all.

Sometimes saving money doesn't help the family "team" because there is something to the old adage "If Momma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy".

I was frustrated, and knew it was going to take a lot of money to fix my mistake. It got me thinking. . .

hair.

Such a vast aray of things span from this topic. I feel like I could write a book under the headline.

But what to write about? Haircut disasters?You have already read about the adventure that was my eyebrow journey in Jr. High. What about the bikini wax that I got a few days before my wedding resulting in me using the word Ooftah for the first time. . .well, the bikini wax can wait for another time.

In Jr. High I am quite confident I was a glutton for punishment/self humiliation.

Right before a sleepover, I decided to "trim" my own hair. It was about shoulder length at the time. And maybe I didn't "trim" it. Maybe I thought it was a good idea to add layers as well. Thirteen year old adding layers to her hair with blunt kitchen scissors=brilliant.

I remember it not looking that bad in my opinion, but when my dear friend Laura called to see when I would get to our friend Lauren's house, I shared the news that I had trimmed my own hair. With great exasperation she exclaimed that we would need to fix it as soon as I got there. When I did get there my friends seemed to be waiting with baited breath. . .

Shannon grabbed the scissors.

They thought it made the most sense to begin at the highest layer I had cut.

To me this was near my chin.

To Shannon, Lauren and Laura, it was near my eyes.

They made me turn away from the mirror and made the first fell swoop.

A simultaneous squeal was let out and as I tried to turn around, I was quickly shoved into the bathtub so they could finish their deed (you might be asking how/why I didn't fight back? Lauren and Shannon would go on to be part of the State Championship Softball Team for Normal Community High School, they were strong. I did the plays and was on the basketball team because the school hoped there might be an ounce of potential in this 5'11 beanpole. There wasn't.).

When they finally let me rise out of the tub, it was a sight to behold.

I said we needed to call my parents immediately (I have always struggled with guilt, some people think Catholic/Jewish guilt is the worst. It's not, United Methodist guilt is the one that bites you in the "tookis").

Shannon, brave one that she was, called my parents.

I quote:

"We gave Meredith a haircut, it looks amazing. She looks just like Cameron Diaz."

My Best Friend's Wedding was a Jr. High Sleepover staple

I couldn't agree more.

Cameron Diaz with poop brown hair that she let someone inebriated fashion into an uneven boy butt-cut.

Just like Cameron Diaz.

My parents didn't let me get it fixed for a couple of weeks. . .

I had to wonder if that was how Cameron Diaz got punished for bad behavior.

My hair eventually grew back, and in between now and then I have had a few impulse bang cuttings, but never anything that would harken back to the dramatic drastic nature of the "Cameron Diaz" cut.

The dye job was my first disaster in quite a while.

I've questioned God a lot in this journey.

A whole lot.

About a lot of things.

Our conversations are probably entertaining on the outside looking in.

And for the life of me, I didn't understand, while on top of all the other "learning experiences" we are going through, the cherry on top would be my hair.

Eleonore in her pilot cap that day.

Mindy gave her a yogurt bite

"tear drop". See why I need this woman in

my everyday life?

I was moaning and groaning about this to my dear friend Mindy who was "Back in Bloomington" from Portland visiting her family and friends. Sidenote-I am praying for God's guidance and provision in Mindy's life, while praying for this I also understand that God wishes to grant us the desires of our hearts, my desire is that Mindy moves back to Bloomington and works in community and ministry with us. If you would like to pray that too, it would be much appreciated. No really, pray that. I want her here! While we sat at The Coffee Hound, an incredibly awesome looking young woman in a blue hawaiian print caftan walked by pushing a stroller (check out her blog, you would be intimidated too). She saw Eleonore through the window in one of her "signature" pilot caps, and exclaimed through the window that she would have to come in. She introduced herself, her husband and her adorable 10 month old son Wolfgang. I couldn't help but stare at her hair. It was amazing. Half black and half bleach blonde. I had to ask where she got her hair done, and she said "Oh, I do it, I do hair". She gave me her number and we agreed to do a play date. I was so intimidated by her, I didn't know what to do. Eventually I mustered up the courage to text her (lots of gumption in texting, right?), and we did set up a play date.

There is nothing more to say other than God is faithful in ways we can never imagine. Not only do I have someone to do my hair and EYEBROWS (and do them INCREDIBLY well), I have an AMAZING new friend, as does Eleonore, as does Nate in Deb's husband Greg.

A bunch of "wild and crazy guys" out and about Halloween Night!

God continues to show me that Nate and I cannot and will not do this alone.

That not only is He in every little detail, but community will be in every little detail.

And it might not look how we expect it to.

It might look even more amazing than we can imagine.

The church is a living breathing organism if we allow it to be, of sharing gifts and talents to lift each other, and sustain one another.

Friendship and laughter are amazing gifts Deb has given me, and her talent with hair is just "the cherry on top."

I am convinced more than ever that God is in the details.

Seriously, can you not when you see how fabulous my hair looks?

peace to you,

meredith

Wolfgang and Eleonore enjoying their community!

Back in Bloomington #5-Albert

2011-10-12T23:06:00.000-07:00

I wrote this over a month ago and wasn't able to finish till now.

There has been a lot weighing on my mind lately. I think any parent is in a constant state of looking at the world around them with a newfound lens of "What does this mean for my child?".

It can be overwhelming if you take that too far. It can consume you.

But there is a fine line and a grey area where for brief moments you can see with the hopefulness and the heartache of a child. Which I have come to see as life in its purest form.

My husband as his "Day Job", works as a residential counselor at a Boys Home for addiction and behavior rehabilitation. His "Night Job" is church planting, which is why we moved back to Bloomington.

This past week one of the boys from the home were on an extended home visit. He was also two weeks from completing the program/graduating High School. A young man who knew what he wanted to do with his life, who all the other boys looked up to.

While at home, his mother caught him drinking, told him she was taking him back to the Home, where inevitably the leaders would be told, and he would have to start the program over again. In his compliant nature, he packed up his things, went to the car, then told his mother if he was going to be there for a longer time, he would like to have his slippers. He ran upstairs to his room, took out a shotgun, and killed himself.

As a parent the questions seem endless. For a while I thought my crying would be endless.

That boy was someone's Eleonore.
That little boy. . .

And then my view broadens, and my questions as a Christian become endless.

This decision was made in a split second.

In that split second, where was the Hope that is central to the Christian Faith?

And then I begin to judge.

I begin to judge the church, I begin to judge those who call themselves Christians. I begin to judge myself.

How often am I guilty of not exasperating myself in my need to share the Hope that is Christ Risen?

It is of course much, much more complicated than judging and asking those questions.

I was on pinterest the same week. Oh man, I love this website! So fun and inspirational.

One of my "boards" is a place to put all of the lovely quotes that are fashioned into art on said site. The one that hit home in light of this boy's death was this:

Practical and straightforward in it's nature, this Albert Einstein quote struck through to the base of the problem.

If you tell someone that they aren't good enough, will never be good enough for the love of Christ, and you judge them by this, and don't share what is CENTRAL to the message of Christ, they will never be able to experience the Hope and Love of Christ. If you don't name them for what they are. This idea of naming comes from my favorite author Madeleine L'Engle, and it consistently and persistently rings true with my theology and world outlook.

I see it as an epidemic in our society. We are not naming the children, who are becoming unnamed adults, and we ourselves are not claiming our names.

I have a friend who recently started a sports team. She shared with me about her confusion of community within this sports team.

"I feel more a sense of community on my team, than I have in a church in a long time."

And I can't do anything but nod my head in agreement and apologize for the Christian Church and what it has become (which is a full time job when it comes down to it).

If we Christians cannot hold one another up in the knowledge and hope of the risen Christ, then how DARE we look upon the world in judgement.

I struggle with this on a daily basis. The house that sits across from ours is not the "loveliest". A seven unit victorian mansion that has seen better days, and holds so much sorrow and heartache.

I often don't recognize the strung out that enter and exit this place. Some of the men who are tenants work on the house to pay their rent. I noticed that they had been staring at me quite a bit (I do say "Hi" when I see them and make eye contact, as they are neighbors) but this was getting uncomfortable (seeing them in the reflection of the window staring etc.) I feel completely safe, more than anything I don't want other women being treated this way.

Nate went over to talk to them about it.

The landlord proceeds to say:

"She's a pretty woman in a poor neighborhood, she needs to get used to it."

No words are fit to respond to this.
I become enraged.

It's a perfect example of a cyclical cycle that if we aren't careful we can all find ourselves trapped in.

Because no one named the Landlord, no one cared and nurtured him and taught him the value of humanity, he cannot name anyone. In fact he allows people to live under his roof and continue in processes that not only don't "name" but actually "un-name" them, consistently de-humanizing themselves. And in the process he is de-humanizing himself. Thus a woman doesn't have humanity, she is thought of as an object to look at, un-naming her (me), and when I am "un-named" if I'm not careful, it takes away my ability to name, and so I begin to only see those men with eyes of disgust and hatred, rather than seeing them for what they are, un-named, un-nurtured, children of God (there is nothing wrong with being wise and safe, but it is still important to see them as human).

When I do this, and enter into this cycle, am I any better than the influence and judgment that brought this young boy to a place of ultimate hopelessness and desperation, where he thought his choices were gone?

No, I'm not.

Where does it stop/start?

With YOU and with ME.

Making a decision, to exasperate ourselves in sharing the Hope of the risen Christ, and letting that define how we care for EVERYONE we encounter.

This decision becomes even more vital when I see my child, and I see that my influence will directly decide how she values humanity and values creation. It's a scary and yet ultimately hopeful privilege.

Einstein hits the American Christian Church on the head once again with this one:

If people are good only because they fear punishment, and hope for reward, then we are a sorry lot indeed.
-Albert Einstein

Let us make a decision to start filling the beautiful creation of God with the Hope we have been given, let us not be "a sorry lot".

It might be crazy what we see.

peace to you,
meredtih

Back in Bloomington #4

2011-08-24T20:22:00.000-07:00

I have been looking for a place to get my eyebrows waxed now that I am back in Bloomington. That combined with my friend Alicia Lynn's blog post mentioning her eyebrows caused me to recall a specific eyebrow adventure of mine. What follows is an account of that very eyebrow adventure.

Self inflicted pain was never a forte of mine.

I was a big sissy.
I couldn’t even pluck my eyebrows.

I shaved them.

With a pink Lady Bic.

Now in my defense, I figured it would work for the following extremely logical reason: my Grandmother constantly carried a Lady Bic in her purse, even hid away a couple in the glove compartment of the Maroon Lebaron she and my Grandfather drove. She did this so that at any given time, situation or place, she could easily remove her lady stache.

This caused me to not only shave my eyebrows, but also my lady stache, from the 7^th grade on. It seemed practical and functional. Like a lawnmower cutting the grass or vacuuming the carpet, it was extremely satisfying to see the instant results.

Only a few times did I actually lather up with some Skintimate Raspberry Rain shave gel on my lady stache. To be truthful it burnt quite a bit with added things so I preferred (who are we kidding, prefer) dry face shaving as it also exfoliates a layer of dead skin cells quite easily.

Once I started in on the eyebrows as well as the lady stache things got a little “hairy” (pun highly intended).

This is how I felt about not having luxurious eyebrows.

As a 6ft tall 120 pounder during the summer between 7^th and 8^th grade, with a Louise Brooks bob and bangs that while highly stylish in the fashion world, were not intentional, just "practical", not much was needed to draw attention to my person. Add in the dark circles under my eyes genetics and allergies had kindly thrown me, plus pale skin and dark hair and I looked more like a Bosnian refugee than the blonde bomshell I was on the inside.

So what makes the most sense for a girl like me to do?

Shave off her eyebrows.

I didn’t start out with that goal in mind. A mix between Elizabeth Taylor and Cleopatra (really the same thing since my visual was from Elizabeth Taylor AS Cleopatra) was my desired result.

what junior high girl doesn't want to look like this?

I was perched on all fours on the formica bathroom countertop staring intently into the mirror, pink Lady Bic in my hand, and I was convinced that a life changing moment was about to take place.

This would be what would catapult me from not being asked out by anyone to being asked out by everyone. I didn’t need boobs. I didn’t need calf definition. I didn’t need clothes from Abercrombie & Fitch ( I had 5 different outfits total that I rotated each week. I thought that if I didn’t wear the same thing on Friday and then Monday that no one would notice. . .) I didn’t even need blonde hair. (What would have served me well was the knowledge that all I needed to say was “Yes you can feel me up even though there is nothing there to feel.” and I would have had them).

I knew that the key to winning any of the tall boys hearts was defined Elizabeth Tayloresque eyebrows!

I triumphantly began:

a little off on the left one,

a little off on the right,

a little more off on the right.

Wait. . .are they even?

I need to do a little more,

wait, wait, wait. . .

oh, oh, oh, oh, OH MY GOD!

The right one was gone.

Well two eyebrow hairs remained. The early hints of my extremist behavior emerged as my twelve year old self thought "Oh what the hell! (I probably felt very cool for thinking a swear word). I can draw on my Cleopatra eyebrows and no one will be the wiser."

So I shaved off the left one as well.

Oddly enough I don’t remember my mothers reaction. Maybe she felt self loathing since she herself used a lady bic for her lady stache and the generational curse had seeped its pink plastic flower fangs upon me.

I spent hours in the bathroom that summer. Trying the Cleopartra brow, the skinny tattooed brow, the lipstick brow, the eyeshadow brow, the lipsmackers brow, the stickers brow. You name it, I put it where my eyebrows had been.

My friends were as gracious as one can be expected to be when you are forced to walk around with Jr. High Meredith PLUS painted on eyebrows.

Taunting me in front of the neighborhood boys as we ran rambunctiously around the Pleasant Hills subdivision (right behind College Hills mall, now the illustrious Shoppes at College Hills), my friend Laura simply said:

“Do you guys notice anything different about Meredith?”

These were the same boys that were friends with me I believe for the sheer fact that they felt guilty for calling me Lurch the majority of my 7^th grade year when I would take my lunch tray up.

They had their chance, they had ammo they could have obliterated me with in a single blow.

Instead Simon just said “I don’t know, is your hair different?”

To which I said:

“No silly, I have no eyebrows! These are painted on!”

Yes, as a good Christian girl, I knew honesty was good, but maybe in Jr. High God gives us grace about it not being "the best policy". I guess I hadn't developed my theology of grace yet.

I told them I had plucked them as I knew to reveal the women of my families secret of the lady bic was right next to denying God, or beasteality.

By the grace of God almighty, my eyebrows grew back.

__________________________________________________________________

Every now and then in the bathroom a disposable plastic razor will taunt me.

It will speak in a women’s voice with a French accent “Sink of zee power you could hold een your hand” One minute I could look in the mirror with a full set (albeit not that thick due to that summer) set of eyebrows on my face and the next they could be gone. In a matter of mere seconds.

But I resist the urge, pick up the razor, and destroy the lady stache that I just noticed on my upper lip. And as I smile in the mirror stache free I pray to God I have the willpower to make it to my eyebrow waxing appointment. And my husband, who I do let feel me up, does as well.

Back in Bloomington #3

2011-08-09T17:20:00.000-07:00

Scars, both emotional and physical, begin to heal with time.

This is a promise that I hold to be true.

Mustn't we all?

If we don't, then we can't make it through the pain, or the puss, or the stitches, or the staples.

We try to ignore that we were inflicted with the incision wound (be it with a scalpel, an inanimate object, or an unkind word) but when we look down, or up, or inside, the wound is there. . .
but it is beginning to heal.

Growing up, I always thought that one special day I would find out why God had made me the way I was (physically).

I would find out why God had made me with huge feet (size twelve by 6th grade, now a solid 13), taller than most boys and until the latter half of my senior year in high school, flat chested.

While it didn't seem fair, I knew that God had a purpose for everything He did.

So whenever I was called Lurch everyday as I took my tray up after lunch in the cafeteria during Junior High (hell must be a lot like Jr. High, right? I heard you all say yes as you were reading this, thank you for the affirmation), I said in my head "God made you this way for a reason, one day, when He reveals it, they will all be sorry, really sorry". In fact if someone got too close as I was taking my tray up, they would probably be able to hear it coming through my gritted teeth.

I kept waiting. . .and waiting. . .and waiting for this big reveal.

I imagined numerous times posing in front of the bathroom mirror with full makeup and slicked back hair, that it was going to be me as a high-fashion model (and maybe although too old, I'm still holding out hope for this one. . . :) ).

In fact, while we were living in Chicago, my dear friend Lindsay was with Elite Model Management. This meant I was able to peruse the other models with Elite when she wanted to show me new pictures in her portfolio. I noticed that I had the same measurements as the Plus-Size models. Lindsay and I figured I should see about doing Plus -Size modeling. I went in and spoke with an agent at Elite, had my polaroids taken, the whole bit. Then he had to discuss with the other agents about my marketability. I waited for the phone call, all the while thinking, "Is this it God? This is why I am 6 feet tall?"

It wasn't.

I got a call from Stephen the agent, and he shared with me that while my measurements were indeed the same as the other plus-size models they represented, I did not look "plus" enough. I looked too small.

Lindsay and I during our time in Chicago!

WHAT?!?!?!?

My whole life, I am told I am too tall, too big, too me, to do things, and then the one thing I should be fit for, I am TOO SMALL ?

Needless to say, Nate had a night class, I had probably a little too much of a bottle of white wine, an entire loaf of french bread, and watched Georgia Rule a HORRIBLE Jane Fonda/Lindsay Lohan film while I intermittently muttered things at God about this highly ironic turn of events.

But. . .
I got over it.

I must have been slightly masochistic about the whole situation, because when the Bridal Show was happening at The Merchandise Mart (this is where tons of dress designers come in for an expo of sorts) Lindsay suggested I try freelance modeling. She said that the Designers were always disappointed because the normal fashion models didn't have "Womanly" bodies (I wasn't flat chested anymore).

I figured this wouldn't be the big reveal of why God had designed me the way He had, but might be a little "pick me up" to get me to the big reveal whenever it was coming.
Just a nice little self esteem boost along the way.

Well. . .we got there, and Lindsay basically became my agent. She was already booked through Elite with Jessica McClintock for the whole weekend but she knew not all the designers came with models.

Three different designers had me try on dresses, only to have them not even go over my hips.

The fourth designer had me try on a free flowing wedding dress. After some adjusting of the chestal region, I sucked in my breath, zipped it up, and triumphantly threw back the fitting room curtain! Everyone was overjoyed, until. . ."We also need you to model the prom-wear" the designer calmly and cheerfully said as she handed me a mermaid style satin red gown.

I began to furiously pray.

"Maybe it will be stretchy, maybe it isn't as tight as it looks, maybe it will fit. . "

Optimist that I am/was, I took a go at it. When it was apparent that I couldn't breathe and I hadn't even attempted to pull the zipper up, I decided to raise my white (or red as it were) flag.

I went to take the dress off, and I was stuck. Absolutely, irrevocably, stuck. With my arms straight up in the air and my control top tights showing, the dress had situated itself in my middle region, in a way that my left eye could peek out of the arm hole, but that was all of my face that was left uncovered. Looking like an Amazonian Cycloptic Lobster I gingerly began to call "Lindsay, Lindsay, could you come here for a moment?"

She obliged.

I shimmied, I shook, I jumped, I twisted.

Lindsay tugged, she pulled.

We prayed.

And eventually, by the grace of God, the dress came off, unscathed.

I walked out, again told a designer that "I'm sorry, it didn't fit" and bid them adieu.

Lindsay had to leave for another appointment, but always the encourager she suggested I try a few more designers.

I went to a very high end Italian Design House and they gave me a beautiful (at least) $15,000 gown to try on. I was delusional enough to think that if they exclusively did wedding dresses, I might be in luck.

I didn't have Lindsay this time.

What I did have was a thirty-plus pound dress that I had pulled over my head because God knows it wasn't going to go over my hips.

Lo and behold, it wouldn't zip.

Lo and behold, it is pretty hard to lift a thirty pound dress off of yourself, over your head when your arms are contorted just so.

I did a lot of praying that day. Only this time I literally found myself on my knees as I prayed, hoping that odd body contortions would help disperse the weight, making it easier for me to lift the dress above my head.

When I did, again, by the grace of God, get the dress off, I began my fifth defeated exit of the dressing room . I told the designer it didn't fit, and in a thick Italian accent he repeatedly said "Just one, can't we just get one that will fit her? Try them on and see if you can't just get one."

Really?

Are you kidding me?

You didn't see me under the curtain making all those crazy movements?

So I gave it my best.

And none of the dresses fit.

A defeating/deflating/crushing day,
but. . .
I got over it.

Lindsay giving me a black cashmere Burberry scarf she had received at a fashion show didn't hurt.

So skip a few years, and I am in a hospital birthing room. I have at least ten nurses around me, my midwife, and my husband.

I am standing, squatting on top of the hospital bed, COMPLETELY naked.
*to this day, neither Nate or I know how I got naked. Really. It just happened.

And all these nurses around me are abuzz, saying "Did you know she hasn't had ANY pain medication!" and "Look at those hips, she was built for this" and "look at those feet, she has such a good strong base for giving birth".

Inside I was sure that this was it.

This was to be the big reveal.

After two hours of pushing after a nineteen hour labor, squatting, standing, getting on all fours and some attempted hand maneuvers by my midwife, God spoke to me.

Clearly.

"This is not going to happen how you thought it would, you will have a C-Section"

You have to understand that I had never been more excited about anything in my life than having a completely natural child birth (OK, wedding night was pretty exciting, and as a result of that going well, I was found in an exciting place again, just different).

I had read tons of Ina May Gaskin, I had watched and made Nate watch The Business of Being Born, I had re-read The Red Tent the week before I gave birth.

I wanted to feel everything that my body had been made to do in the act of giving birth.

In that moment, it would have made sense for me to be angry, frustrated, and defeated.

But I wasn't.

I looked over at Nate, and we looked at each other, God had told him the same thing.

My midwife came back in, after she had slipped out for a moment, where she was praying about the same thing.

I am so extremely thankful that God spoke to Nate and I before someone else attempted to make the decision for me.


Midwife Lila & Eleonore

And so preparations were made, the Dr. was called, and during my last contraction as I sat on an operating table, I was given my first taste of drugs in the entire process andI won't lie, people use them for a reason, it was nice.

A beautiful baby girl came out.

The incision that was made was stapled up.

Are you surprised that this wasn't the big reveal about why I was made the way I am?

I was too, but. . .
I got over it.

There may never be any "BIG REVEAL".

Because each day God is teaching me to see that it is what he chooses to do through me and in me, not my physicality and physical appearance that matter.

But ughhhhhh I am human, and I want the "BIG REVEAL".

As I was taking a luxurious, relaxing bath tonight, I saw that my C-Section scar is healing and fading.
And inside the scars are healing and fading.
Scars of a Junior High Girls insecurities.
Scars of a Young Woman's insecurities.
Scars of a First Time Mother's insecurities.

They only fade with the growing knowledge that my Savior is my Healer.

And in time He will make all things new.

Even me.

But for now, He doesn't get mad at me for crying in the bathtub as I mourn a birth experience that didn't go the way I had planned it.

He is simply there.

Yep.

That's what He does, and He does it well.

peace to you,
meredith

Back in Bloomington #2

2011-08-03T20:02:00.000-07:00

The past few days I have had the opportunity to see some extended family on the Owens side of things!
Being back in Bloomington means being blessed to be near my parents in Pontiac, IL.

Grandma Sue Ella

My Grandma Sue Ella Owens is having an extended stay in Pontiac due to falling at my Fathers Church in May and breaking both ankles. She normally resides in Montana.

Due to this, we have been able to see her, she has been able to see Eleonore, and extended family have come to visit her!

The first treat was my Great Aunt Rae her sister who lives in Michigan. I have always viewed my Aunt Rae as absolutely lovely. Just a lovely older woman. I also had a special affinity for her husband, my Great Uncle Ron before he passed away. And then just yesterday we were able to see my Aunt Cindy and Uncle Joe from Oklahoma. Aunt Cindy is my Grandma's eldest of five children, and at sixty-two, I can only pray to look as good as she does, I think her skin is smoother than mine! She has become a Southern Belle from her humble roots in Rantoul, IL, and is another lovely woman in my life.

Great Aunt Ra

All this has my mind whirling a bit. With family extended all over the country, the meetings are more infrequent than everyone would like. And, oddly enough, as I continue to get older, so does everyone else.

I wonder with my Aunt Rae if I will see her again in my lifetime here on earth. I wonder this with my Grandma Owens at each visit from Montana.

Is this morbid?

Perhaps.

And I have to admit, it does make it hard to focus on the present, and the person, in the short time that you get with them.

So, all I can do is try to focus more, try to listen more, try to experience more in these brief moments, and be thankful for the blessing that they are.

With seeing some of the Owens family, I was trying to remember the last time EVERYONE (all five siblings) were all together, and I think it was my Grandpa Albert Owens funeral.

For my Father's birthday a few years ago, and for personal recollection, I wrote a recount of that experience.

How my fashion philosophy has been formed (to some extent)

My love of fashion started at an early age and I believe can be coincided with my obsession of JC Penney catalogs. At about age 5 I would take the JC Penney catalog into my room and look at all the pages and make up stories in my head about everything.

I would choose outfits I would wear for specific occasions and to this day I can still recall some of them. (I think I suffer from “selective” photographic memory. Useless information to minute detail I can retain for years, but anything I need to remember like the fact that Seattle is indeed not in Oregon will continue to evade me).

In particular there was a black dress. This lovely slender woman with long blonde hair, long legs and a toothpaste smile wearing a large brimmed black hat was leaning against the side of a building, one leg slightly bent peeking out from under her hat with a look that signaled to me anything could happen and she was ready for it all. In my five year old mind this was due to the fact that she was wearing a classic black sheath dress with cap sleeves. In a dress like that everyone must look like that and be ready for the unexpected. But I had to delve deeper. In my imaginary story, I was wearing the dress and with semi realistic expectations had grown up to have long dark not blonde hair. But I had everything else, the legs, the smile the hat. Little did I know then that I would always have baby teeth and that thanks to my mother and father both, calf definition would be something that would always evade me. But as a five year old noone could tell me what I would look like. The only event that I could think of to correlate with a black dress was a funeral. And the only person in my life at the time that I didn’t think I would care if they died was my Grandpa Owens. I had trouble understanding why he didn’t play with me like Grandpa Molloy and why he just sat in his chair watching T.V. during my visits when there was so much to be explored in his old Victorian house (I would learn later that he had had brain surgery, as well as very traumatic experiences during WWII).

So I made up a story that I was off to Grandpa’s funeral as a young woman and perhaps I might meet a man there to help me with my sorrow, but I would tell him I wasn’t really sad that I was just acting because Grandpa was never nice to me. This was all well and fine and my story kept me entertained for a while. Then bedtime came and I was racked with guilt for having Grandpa Owens die in my story just so I could wear a black sheath dress and meet a nice man. One disappointing thing that wasn't worth the guilt was that the men in my stories never had faces because the men in the JC Penney catalog were extremely unattractive in my opinion, especially the underwear models, which didn’t help when I was doing my imaginary wedding night stories (but don’t worry, those didn’t come until I was 6 and a half).

I couldn’t fall asleep, and for about three days I was positive that I was going to kill Grandpa Owens with my imaginary stories and so I would compulsively ask how he was everyday.

The reason it only lasted for three days is because on the fourth day a new catalog came. And my imaginary house needed a new bedroom set, so Grandpa’s death was lost somewhere between maroon satin comforters and country blue duck quilts. I think I chose the maroon for that particular bedroom.

When my Grandpa did die I was a sophomore in high school.

When we got to the hospital he was already pretty much out of it but this would last for three days.

When we got to the hospital there were already others there.
It might be wrong to say that I had never really had a relationship with my Grandfather, but I didn’t. There was a hug when I came in and a hug when I left and as I got older I would simply situate myself in the kitchen in front of that TV or on the porch swing to read the newest book I had gotten my hands on.

I would sit paralyzed when he came in to the kitchen from the living room and saw me there, thinking he was going to hit me or something. And my mind would go a flutter with my retaliations from scolding him to throwing Grandmas strawberry shaped cookie jar at the wall, to say to him, look buddy I got the Owens temper too so you better know who you’re dealing with.

Of course my Grandfather never laid a finger on me. My imagination took that route because he had spanked my father and Aunts and Uncles with a belt and growing up I figured he could do it to me as well. Only one time did I start actually moving toward the cookie jar when he came in. Because he got very close to me and then turned the TV down and said it was too loud, even though I knew everything that was going on with the plot line of Murder She Wrote blaring in the living room. He said “it’s too loud” again in exactly the same monotone cigar scratched voice as he ad the first time, and went back in the living room.

I was sitting in his hospital room scared that someone was going to find me out. They would realize I was an imposter and perhaps my Aunt Dana would jump up, point and yell, “you never really loved your Grandpa, get out of that uncomfortable orange vinyl seat, you don’t deserve to sit there.” That never happened though. Instead, during a lull in the conversation, my mother said, “do you want to hold Grandpa’s hand?”

I thought perhaps I could communicate NO to her with my eyes. That for once the mother daughter bond could allow me to telepathically connect with her but good old Mom insisted and I realized that if I didn’t perform this task they would immediately find me out. And what worried me most about that was perhaps not getting to eat at the hospital cafeteria. With family histories of horrible health and a mother who was a nurse for a while, plus a father who was a minister and would make numerous hospital visits, (although I only got to go into the hospital on rare occasions. The majority of the time I got stuck in the Omni with my older brother Brian and I was left to his what I considered evil torture, but I would get rewarded for good behavior with a Nehi soda. Even then I could convince myself that cheaper things, close to generic sodas, could be just as spectacular if I just willed them to be. I can still do that with Payless shoes if I try with all my might). I developed an appetite for overly processed overly priced things. I especially appreciated the dinnerware that was disposable yet had no insignias, only little abstract swiggles. This unified a lot of the cafeterias as if it was their own logo, the sign of economy bulk bought paper goods.

So I held my Grandpas hand and something happened.
I started bawling like a baby.
Staring at this close to catatonic man who had smoked Dutch Masters and worn zip up boot loafers and turned the kitchen tv down. In that one moment he did have his eyes open. And whatever overcame me was a combination of this.
Of growing up in an instant for being so near to death.
Realizing that this man gave my father life.
That this man was my Daddy’s Daddy, and that he really had loved me regardless of what my imagination or myself had led me to believe.

I leaned over him crying and said
“I love you Grandpa.”

I think one of my Aunts or maybe even my mother saying “well of course you do”.
As if it might have been silly to say that then, like Grandpa knows plus he probably can’t hear you. But I think he did. Because right after I said it he squeezed my hand. And in his eyes I knew that he was saying it too.

His was the first of many funerals I would sing at.
I didn’t get to wear a black sheath dress.
I wore a polyester black top and a paisley print skirt bought from the Famous Barr that had just come to our local mall.
I didn’t meet any nice men, I didn’t get to wear a hat.
But I got to watch my father do the funeral of his father.
And I got to be a skinny white girl in the back of the funeral home singing “Swing Low Sweet Chariot”, something much more fit for Ella Fitzgerald, or if we need something more modern to attach it to, Jennifer Hudson .
Nonetheless, I sang it, because it was my Grandfathers favorite song and I cried while I did. It was one time I would perform, not do so perfectly, and be ok with it.

Because having told my Grandpa I loved him, and knowing he loved me was much more happiness and contentment than a $39.99 JC Penney sheath dress ever could have given me.

Besides, now at 23, I would rather have a Chanel one anyways.

(originally posted/published May 29, 2007)

*I would also accept many vintage black dresses, just in case anyone is needing to know!

peace to you,

meredith

Eleonore Bay with her
Great Grandma Sue Ella

Eleonore Bay with her
Great Great Aunt Ra

Back in Bloomington #1

2011-07-28T22:03:00.000-07:00

So here I am.

Back in Bloomington.
I swore I would never move back here.
Pride is a funny thing.
But what is beautiful is that God doesn't let our pride continue to consume us.
He loves us enough to break down those things within us that cause distance between us.

The process is hard.
The process is weird.

But for myself, and my family, it is vital that I find the joy in every single part of this journey to obediently follow where God has lead us!

Today I stopped an attempted swipe at Old Navy at Eastland Mall. This is when a customer tries to steal a large pile of clothes on display by putting them in another shopping bag. I find this THRILLING! I have often thought (especially once I had LP training during my stint at Anthropologie if God had called me to be a P.I. I would have been pretty satisfied. Getting paid to stalk people, instead of just Facebook Stalking for personal pleasure? YES PLEASE! As it were, right now I have been called to be a wife, mother and friend, so I shall go on Facebook stalking, and doing my own freelance pro-bono store detective work here and there.

Myself and two of my "anybody's" that allowed
me to be their fringe friend.
I am most likely wearing extra pheromones in this
picture to no avail.

What is funny about this, is it is EASTLAND MALL. This isn't weird to most people, but if you grew up in Bloomington-Normal this place was the you know what. You walked around from about 6th grade on if you were anybody, (and lets be honest, I wasn't, but I was a pretty professional fringe friend with some anybody's), hoping and praying a group of boys might be walking around, and if you were lucky they might make some rude comment about one or more of the girls in your group's physical attributes, and then you would go into Victoria's Secret to spray on "Strawberries and Champagne" or "Pear Glace'". At one point in my adolescence Victorias Secret even sold a "Pheromone Kit". One of my dear friends actually bought me this kit, because they knew I deeply believed this was my ticket to a Jr. High Boyfriend, the "Pheromone Kit" from Victoria's Secret. . .

One time the clouds parted and God's favor seemed to be shining upon me.
I was being driven to the mall by my Mother, with a BOY.
A cute boy. A boy I was pretty sure I was going to marry.

We don't need to name names here.
Lets just call him: BOY.

BOY had already romanced three of my other friends (but actual romancing with holding hands and kissing and stuff). These girls were the anybody's that I was the fringe of.

Maybe I should have noticed that he hadn't held my hand, or tried to kiss me (I probably would have puked all over him from sheer excitement, that or peed my pants).

BOY did allow me to buy him a rather expensive Illini ball cap at the hat store. BOY also allowed me to pump forty dollars into arcade games for him to play.

What BOY didn't allow me to do?

Walk beside him from place to place in the mall.

Seriously.

I had to act like we weren't together, and walk a certain pace behind him. . .and I obliged.

The funny thing is, I can't remember when I realized I wasn't going to marry BOY.

You would have thought it would have been then and there, when horror upon horrors, some of the anybody's that weren't in my circle of friends started walking towards BOY in the corridor of the Mall. I was panic stricken. I was going to catch up with BOY, and I didn't know what to do. He stopped to talk to the anybody's (many of whom he romanced as well), and I diverted my eyes and my lanky 5'10, 110 pound body into the first possible store as to not embarrass him further. Oh, Foot Locker? Great, great. I can really feign a lot of interest in Foot Locker, perfect. Then BOY started hanging out and walking with THEM, when MY mother was his ride home! It was an adolescent hot mess. I don't even really remember how it ended, nor do I remember the ride home, or if he was in the car.

I should have realized it then.

So here I am, back in Bloomington, back at Eastland Mall (this time as I walk down the corridor I have an amazing husband that asks to hold my hand as we walk, while we push or carry our beautiful baby girl!).

Husband who walks next to me!

This will be my "mall" as we build our lives in Bloomington.

And that is weird.

If God calls us to be here through Eleonore's adolescence, it will be her "adolescent mall".

And that is really weird.

Beautiful Baby Girl Eleonore

I can't be sure of much on this crazy journey, but I will stake claim on these two things:

1.) Eleonore will know to kick any guy who ever tries to make her walk behind him in the "goods".

2.) If my prayers are reaching God's ears,Victorias Secret will go out of business before she reaches adolescence (and mother's everywhere will sleep a little easier).

peace to you,
meredith

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