A very short book review- Redeeming Love

I wrote this about two weeks ago and intended to make it longer but decided I liked it as is. That's why it's so short, and I apologize, but you all should read this book. Afterward I'm going to share some song lyrics with you...

~~~

Redeeming Love by Francine Rivers was published in 1997, takes place around 1850, is based on the story of Hosea from the Old Testament, is one of the big reasons I have been slacking on blog posts, is dedicated "To those who hurt and hunger," and may have changed my life.

Hosea: a man of God who marries a prostitute. She runs away multiple times, but he always brings her back. Like God does for us. We push away the one who loves us; he just pulls us closer.

This book struck a personal chord for me. It was one of several factors that contributed to a huge decision I recently made.

~~~

"I am Understood?" by Relient K

Sometimes it's embarrassing to talk to you
To hold a conversation with the only one who sees right through
This version of myself
I try to hide behind
I'll bury my face because my disgrace will leave me terrified

And sometimes I'm so thankful for your loyalty
Your love regardless of
The mistakes I make will spoil me
My confidence is, in a sense, a gift you've given me
And I'm satisfied to realize you're all I'll ever need

[Chorus]

You looked into my life and never stopped
And you're thinking all my thoughts
Are so simple, but so beautiful
And you recite my words right back to me
Before I even speak
You let me know, I am understood

And sometimes I spend my time
Just trying to escape
I work so hard so desperately, in an attempt to create space
Cause I want distance from the utmost important thing I know
I see your love, then turn my back and beg for you to go

[Chorus]

You're the only one who understands completely
You're the only one knows me yet still loves completely

And sometimes the place I'm at is at a loss for words
If I think of something worthy I know that its already yours
And through the times I've faded and you've outlined me again
You've just patiently waited, to bring me back and then

[Chorus]

The noise has broken my defense
Let me embrace salvation
Your voice has broken my defense
Let me embrace salvation



God bless.

The Piano

This short story is about many of us, including me. A spin-off on the old classic. I wrote it in one sitting. Enjoy.


Once there was a piano. Fresh from the manufacturers, its shiny wood, smooth keys, and elegant design made it a spectacle to behold, and its delicately crafted array of strings and hammers were all perfectly in tune and in pristine condition. She was very proud and very lovely and very excited to make music.

A wealthy family bought the piano and took it home to their beautifully furnished living room. The mother could play and sing quite well, but her children abused it and did not appreciate its worth or the music. They would sit at the bench for half hour each day as instructed and glumly pound away at the keys. The piano would take the wrath because she knew that at the end of the day, the mother would caress her keys again and beautiful music would pour from her. The piano lived for those moments, and felt useless when she wasn't being played at all.

The youngest son, however, had a special gift for playing the instrument, and when he was grown and had a house of his own, his parents gave him the aging piano to keep in his own home. He loved the piano but he had a career now and sometimes the piano went weeks or even months without being played. She felt very lonely and sad, but she always clung the promise of being played again. One day the man she lived with sat in the living room staring at her for a long time. Out loud he said, "I would like to play piano more often, as I once had a great gift for music and I would like to revive that. However, I am going to need a more suitable piano. Besides, the local church needs a piano for their Sunday School room. How would you like to live in a church?" The piano, unable to respond, grew very nervous.

It wasn't long before several strong young men carried her to a van and then to a small church slightly off the beaten path. She was taken downstairs and into a small room with tables and chairs. From then on, she was played once a week as little children sang songs about God. The old woman who sat at the bench every week always complained about how out of tune the piano was and how the church wasn't investing itself in music.

Many years passed. Many different pianists played the old piano each week, and slowly the number of children that came fell. Eventually no children came at all, so the piano players didn't come either, and the piano went years without producing any music. She knew she was old and not very good at producing good music any longer. She felt completely worthless.

One day gave the piano a bit of hope, but it soon faded. More strong young men came and carried the piano and she found herself at a used piano store. The man at the store frowned at her and said she wasn't worth much but he would take her. She found herself in a dark, back corner of the store. When customers came, they never went over to her. Even if they did happen to glance at her, they could see that she was too beat up and worn to be of much worth.

The piano was tired of not making music. She hadn't been played in many years, but she knew that if someone would play her, her music would make listeners cringe. She thought it would be better if she was broken apart and her parts were used for other things, or even just thrown away. She didn't want to sit in the corner and feel like this anymore. She wanted her pain to end.

Then, one day, a man came into the store. He was tall and handsome and his hands looked sturdy and long, perfect for piano playing. The owner of the store saw him and looked very surprised to see the man. "What are you doing here?" he exclaimed. "You are a great concert pianist, and yet you go to a used piano shop to look for pianos?" The concert pianist smiled and said, "Yes, I am in need of a new piano for my home on which to practice for many hours. I need something with good endurance."

The store owner took the man around to the finest pianos he had in his store, but the concert pianist seemed disinterested in all of them. Then he saw the piano in the corner in the back. "What about that one?" he asked. "It is very old and broken in several places. You would not be interested in such a piano." "How old is it?" the concert pianist asked. When the store owner told him the year, the concert pianist smiled knowingly at the dusty old piano. "You are very enduring indeed. How would you like to come home to my living room and play music again?" The store owner gasped. "You want this piano?" I assure you it is not very expensive, but do not be assured of anything else. It is practically worthless. The concert pianist retorted, "Are you claiming I don't know pianos? I'll take it." And with that, the piano had found a new home.

The concert pianist took great care in transporting the piano. When it was finally placed in his luxurious, carpeted living room, the piano felt very uncomfortable and out of place. "I don't belong here," she thought, "I am not worth being played at all, let alone by this great pianist with so much talent." But before she knew it, the concert pianist was at the bench, extending his fingers, and he began to play. He played a simple tune, then said, "Alright, let's get to work." He took out a box of tools, and all through the night, the piano got key replacements, tuning, dusted, and polished. Then the concert pianist played again; this time a much more complex and beautiful piece. He sighed contentedly, said "I knew what you were worth; what kind of music you were capable of. You only needed the right care and the right pianist, didn't you?"

Then he got up and went to sleep after a long night of work, but the piano sat there, bursting with joy at her newfound abilities, her restored hope, and the music she had been wanting to make all along.


God bless

Ichthus

"A sense of deity is inscribed on every heart." -John Calvin


Almost every day for several years I have worn a wooden necklace shaped like an ichthus (christian fish) with the word "JESUS" written on it. I prefer to wear it more than a cross necklace because of the origins of the ichthus and what it symbolizes. In the times of the early church, there was a lot of christian persecution. Jesus was sweeping the nations in secret because if the Roman government found you out, you could be killed. So christians had to be able to find a way to identify one another without showing any outward sign of their faith. Because of Jesus' "fishing for men" analogy (Matthew 4:18-22), they developed this fish sign. If a christian were to meet a stranger in the street, they would draw on the sand half of the ichthus:

And if the stranger also happened to be a christian, they would complete the ichthus with their own foot:

These pictures aren't perfectly to scale but I think you'll be able to see what I mean. Once the two found out they were both followers of Jesus, they knew they could trust each other, tell each other about secret meetings with other followers, and even confide in one another.
If the stranger didn't happen to be a christian, they would hopefully just think you were scribbling in the sand with your foot.

Hence, I prefer wearing an ichthus to wearing a cross because a cross says "This is my faith, unless I am just wearing this for decoration," whereas an ichthus says "This is my faith that I want to share with you, I want to identify with you in a meaningful way."


I was hanging out with my friend perhaps roughly a month ago when he told me how much he liked my necklace. Knowing he wasn't a believer, I told him I'd give it to him if he promised to wear it every day. (This idea came from my friend Beyan who was a camp counselor with me and gave his cross necklace to a camper who really liked it, on the grounds that the camper promised to tell everyone what the necklace meant and who Jesus was.) My friend seemed reluctant to make such a promise, so I continued to wear it daily around my own neck.

Just a few days ago, this same friend commented once again on how much he liked my necklace. I told him the same thing again and once again he seemed not-so-sure he could make such a promise. But I knew he liked it and I felt a little push from God that said, "Give it to him. He needs it and you don't." I realized I was being selfish because obviously I like this necklace a lot too, but I took it off and put it around his neck. I told him it was his now and he said pretty excitedly, "I'll wear it every day that ends in Y!" I told him Jesus looked good on him, and he told me Jesus looks good in him, which is so true.


It's true for everyone, really, and not a lot of people realize that. Many say, I am content in my own faith and where I am, or I am content not believing in a god because what has God ever done for me? or even I am content not knowing exactly what I believe, because I am getting along fine in life as is.
Etc...

But the truth is, everyone is dying and in need of a savior. There are people in this life that might save you from something bad happening, even from dying, but no one can save you from dying altogether. It's bound to happen at some point. What we need saved from is beyond this life. If you don't believe in Heaven or Hell, fine, but just remember that what you believe doesn't determine reality.

The truth is, (and I mean that phrase quite literally), Jesus looks good on and in everyone. Because, believe it or not, you and him are meant to be together. Like soul mates, like two peas in a pod, like long-lost twins.

(This is what my necklace looked like only with a black chord not a gold chain)

God bless.

Good Weekend

I had a good weekend.


Friday:

Class. Hooray, hooray.
Then I went home. I got to hang out with my Mom and brother for a bit which was nice. We chilled out and ate dinner and listened to my brother practice piano for about an hour until it was time for us to leave for my high school's football game, at which I was participating in the alumni marching band. I got there right at the last minute, but one of the first people I talked to was my beloved old band director, Mr. B. He took one look at me and told me my hair looked like a rug.

I loved seeing people and getting to catch up with some old friends. I also found that I could still play the flute, which I was a little worried about. Standing on the field at half-time, I kept talking to Sierra in between songs; something that would have been strictly forbidden if I was actually in marching band. I also enjoyed remembering old times with Erin and how we used to be friends with this one group of people back in middle school, and how most of us have all gone a bunch of very different directions with our lives.

During third quarter, I enjoyed cookies and talking to people in the band from the other school (including a girl about six years younger than me...I feel so old) with Mary Kate and my sister, then going up into the stands to find my mom. I found her with my brother and my mom's friends, including Darin and my first grade teacher Angie (sorry for being disrespectful and using your first names instead of Mr./Mrs. so&so...it's the internet, that's all). It was good to see them and they also made a huge fuss about my hair, and asked me a lot about school. It was great seeing them and catching up. Darin took my picture with my mom...

As I was leaving, I saw Zach's family, so I went over to talk to them for a few minutes, also about my hair (it's a really big deal, apparently), and about Debbie's new job. I love that whole family and it was really good to see them, as always.

A few cool facts about the football game: it was homecoming weekend (which is really dumb because apparently there hasn't been any away games yet...) so we got to find out who was voted homecoming king and queen. Turns out they're both band kids, which we were all really excited about. Congrats to my friends King Paqui and Queen Nikki!
The end of the game was pretty exciting, and depressing. We all got super excited because there was like 40 seconds left in the game and the score was 28 to...something in the low thirties. And we scored! So we were winning. Then the other team scored. Then the game ended. It was rough. I forget the exact end score.

After the game I walked back to the school by myself, praying under my breath, and working up the courage to talk to Zach once I got back to the band room.
He was there, wayyyy in the back corner, taking off his band uniform and stuff, so I went over and stood there waiting for him to notice me. He looked up and I said "Hi." and he said, "Hey." I asked if he wouldn't mind talking if he had a minute, when he was done, and he said, "Well, I have to drive Paqui to his [own] party, so maybe if I have time." Well, I waited there and talked to Sierra about her Happy Birthday balloon and the trophies in the band room. Zach was done before Paqui because Paqui was making this big deal out of deciding to make a speech about Cleaning Up Your Area as a way of respecting our beloved band room. Then he ran around like a crazyperson picking up trash and fussing about how people just leave stuff everywhere. So I got to talk to Zach. I asked him how school was going, how he was doing, about his date to the homecoming dance. He didn't ask me anything about my life, but I told him anyway that I was doing well, very well. Then I told him that I was asking him this stuff because I do indeed care about him a lot and it bothers me that I don't know how he's doing when he doesn't talk to me, which is always. He nodded like he understood, and said without much conviction that he was pretty busy with school and didn't have a lot of time to talk. I pretended like that was a very legitimate excuse and said that the ball was in his court and he could talk to me whenever he would like, because I will always be ready.

That was the first real conversation we had since we broke up. It helped with closure, I think. It sucks when it ends so bad and then we can't even make up as mere friends because he doesn't want anything to do with me. He was polite to me that night, when I talked to him, and I was laughing nervously the whole time, and smiling way too much, but I could tell that he didn't really care about me at all anymore. And now I am more okay with that than I was. Because at least I got to talk to him about it. I don't think it will bother me so much anymore.

Then I went home, loafed around on the internet for a while, looked at some of my sister's senior pictures on facebook, and went to bed.


Saturday:

I got up, took a shower, had pizza rolls for brunch, packed up all my winter clothes, hugged my mom goodbye, and left. I drove two hours to camp, stopping once along the way to pee in a disgusting gas station bathroom and purchase a bag of Combos for a late lunch.

Upon arriving at camp, I went to the office where I was bombarded by a medium-large dog named Duchess. Duchess was a jumper, licker, and nipper, and very, very excited to see me, a stranger. I went in to the main room where Claire, Chris, Ashleigh, and Lee (whom I remember but who doesn't remember me) were sitting. We chatted, then were like, okay, time to get to work!

I might mention that the reason I was at camp was to work a total of two hours by taking a group of seventh-graders on a retreat to the challenge course.

There they were, a bunch of stranger middle schoolers, up at the lodge waiting for me to entertain them. To the challenge course we went, and as I got to know my little group of twelve, I was intrigued by the group dynamics that would probably be of little interest to the average joe.

Later we chowed down on baked ziti and garlic bread. I said my goodbyes and was gone as quickly as I came.

I love it there, and miss it. It was good to be back, and breathe in the air, even for such a short period of time. Gosh, I love the smell of the air there...

I drove back to school, and hung out with Gavin for a while. One thing I love about him is that we trust each other enough to share our insecurities, tell each other the things we don't like about ourselves, and then we accept and love those very things about each other. Strangely beautiful.

When I went back to my room, I realize that I had left my phone back at his place, so I messaged him on facebook, saying, you should give me my phone tomorrow. And he was like, well I'm taking it to you now. It was kind of late at night so I didn't really want him to but he did anyway. I went outside and there he was with a scooter...you have to laugh a little when someone comes over to bring you something you left at there place--on a scooter. It was funny. He's funny. Then I went to bed.


Sunday:

I got up, surprisingly awake, and went to Pastor Chris's church. I met up with Chris, Cody, and Kaitlyn there, and we sat together in the back. Pastor Chris had a great sermon based on the story of the workers and the daily wages (Matthew 20:1-16) and about how Jesus "paid the price" for us, so no matter how many "hours we work", it doesn't matter, because we all, as Christians, get the one ultimate payment.

After that the four of us went out to lunch with Pastor Chris at Applebee's. Pastor Chris seems a little weary, but he's going on vacation on Tuesday so I'll be praying that he gets the rest and recharging he needs.

Then I came back to school and took a long nap, and loafed around in my pajamas all day. I took a shower and wrote a paper and now I'm writing this blog and soon I'll be going to bed.


God bless

A Time for Everything

I've gotten into a bad habit of starting posts and not finishing them. This is one I started earlier this week that will probably never end up getting completed. But please enjoy it anyway! God bless.


Ecclesiastes 3:1-8
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.

This is one of my favorite Bible passages. Often we forget that sometimes it is okay to do one thing at one time and another thing at another time. 

For example, laughter. "A time to weep and a time to laugh." Laughter is such a good thing; a beautiful gift from God. How thoughtful and kind of him to give us such a thing! Imagine a world with no humor, a world where we could not express ourselves if something brought us joy. It's such a small thing, but such a huge thing and most people would agree with me that it is not a bad thing, but a good one. However, in certain situations, we all know that it is inappropriate to laugh. Seeing someone get hurt, watching someone cry, feeling rather down yourself... laughing is not the answer. But crying might be. Crying is also a good thing. I'm sure almost all of you have experienced a crying experience that brought you much relief and even comfort. And on the other hand, and this is less heard of I would think, one ought not to cry when it is a happy time (unless they're happy tears.) There comes a point where you need to release yourself from your misery and laugh again, let your tears dry.

Other "times" in this passage might be harder to understand. "A time to love and a time to hate." Really?? Isn't every time a time to love? When would it be appropriate to hate?

Let me answer that with another question. When would it be appropriate to love sin? When would it be appropriate to love hatred itself? When would it be appropriate to love ugliness, cruelty, or violence? When would it be appropriate to love death?

And yet, there is "a time to be born and a time to die." Ah, death, what a sticky topic. Some would call this the "circle of life," but I think there's more to it than that.

Dear Squirrel,

I met you this morning and I'm glad we hit it off so well.

I was walking along on the sidewalk, admiring the morning dew on the grass which looked like millions of diamonds scattered across the lawn, when I saw you there, prancing along the sidewalk. I got pretty close to you but not too close; you wouldn't have allowed that. I was so amazed at how silent your feet were that I wondered if you were perhaps wearing tiny socks.

You were very handsome and even though I'm not always a huge fan of squirrels (you guys sometimes scare me), I took a liking to you instantly. You had big brown eyes and soft-looking gray fur and a nice bushy tail. And I got close enough to see the way you walked; it is really very much like prancing! You were absolutely lovely. As I walked along, you scampered around the corner playfully, and when I passed said corner you were running behind a flowerpot as if to say, "Can't catch me!"

I continued my journey but kept watching you. You kept a safe ten-ish feet away from me, but we were traveling parallel to one another, and I watched you with my head turned. You darted along then dove into the bushes, and I could see you for a moment but no longer than that. I silently bid you farewell, and perhaps if I ever see you again I won't even recognize you, but please know that I delighted in our encounter and that I will not soon forget you.

Love, your new friend,
Maryann

Dreadlocks

I started this post about a week ago, so I'm sorry the times don't line up. I'm finishing it now. Enjoy!
~~~

As I mentioned two posts ago, I was getting dreadlocks. And I got them. Two days ago.

And I LOVE them.


Here's the story in pretty much its entirety:

Once upon a time on a warm, but somewhat rainy late summer afternoon, in the building of Priebe, we looked in a pamphlet for a picture of Betsy With Dreads. We found said picture and I said in passing, I've always kind of wanted dreads. I didn't really think about it. It was something I had thought about last summer but pretty quickly decided against when someone told me I wasn't allowed to wash my hair for at least two weeks before I got them.

When I said my in-passing comment, Betsy looked up with a twinkle in her eye and said, I could do them for you! Which planted a seed that grew into a tree within about 5 minutes of talking about it. This was something I really wanted to do. And the two weeks of no showering beforehand was a myth. I texted my mom asking her, "Would you still love me if I got dreadlocks?" She replied, "Yes, but I would not enjoy your hair." Knowing my mother would not hate me, despite her utter distaste for dreadlocks, there was nothing stopping me.

The next month (or two?) was slow going, with boring, sad, normal hair as I anxiously prepared and as Betsy and I talked and later corresponded via facebook about what I needed to buy and what I needed to do to get ready.

Finally, the day arrived. The night before I had emailed Betsy asking if she wanted me to wash my hair right before she came so that it was wet. I got up the next morning, went to church (without showering), and came back to find that she had replied, no, wash them in the morning, so that they're clean but dry when I get there at noon. Well shoot, because morning was almost over. Nevertheless I got in the shower and washed my hair for the LAST TIME as normal, organized strands.

Betsy arrived at my university (the day after I moved in and the day before classes began, a.k.a. two days ago) after a many-hour drive from nearby state, almost two hours late (she realized an hour down the road that she forgot the special dreadlock combs and had to turn around and get them). My hair was clean but dry, hanging loosely to the sides which I hate, I much prefer having my hair up. We forgot a "before" picture, but whatever.

Here was the process; the order of events that commenced:

1) I sat on the floor with Betsy sitting on a couch right behind me. That's all I had to do pretty much the entire time.

2) All my hair was put into an unknown number of tiny ponytails. [Update: the number of ponytails, and hence, dreadlocks, is 65.]

3) Choose a ponytail. Sprinkle on "Lock Peppa" which looks like cocaine and smells like spearmint and eventually burns your throat like death when you breathe it for hours. Take the scary dreadlock comb and back-comb (tease) the snot out of the ponytail until it is a little hot-dog-shaped poofball. This is a dreadlock. "Crochet" it with a crochet hook to get loose ends in, and then roll it in your hands like play-dough.

4) Repeat #3 until all the tiny ponytails are now poofball dreads.

5) Take a fingerfull of wax and roll each dreadlock in it, once again like playdough.

6) Take pictures. Get called "Sideshow Bob". Get strange looks.

Initial final product:

Now I maintain my dreadlocks by crocheting them, waxing them (which I am a slacker about), rolling them, blah blah blah etc.

I have now had my dreads for approximately 10 days. I have washed them... once. But they look and feel (minus the itchiness) amazing, and I hope they last a long time.

On a more personal note, having dreadlocks has given me a boost of confidence that I didn't quite expect. Because they're abnormal in this suburban university culture, everyone notices them, and the more outspoken people usually say something about them, or ask me questions, or even touch them. It's like I'm suddenly more interesting because I have weird hair, which is something I wasn't last year: interesting. So even though the majority of my family disapproves, I love knowing that in people's eyes, no matter what they associate dreads with, I am automatically different; unique at first glance. Perhaps I get "judged" a little, but in general people now see me as someone worth getting to know. Before I was another face in the crowd, now I am, "Wow, who's that girl with the crazy hair? She might have something to say for herself." Maybe this is an exaggeration, but surely it's an improvement on my previous anonymity. This was definitely a good life-choice.

If any of you have questions about my dreads, please feel free to comment and I will answer them!

Thanks again to my awesome friend Betsy for all her time and effort in doing this for me. I love you!


God bless.


~~~
UPDATE:
I've had my dreads for about 2 and a half, almost 3 months now. They get washed twice a week and maintained daily. I still get compliments on them, but my roommate and a few of my other friends have said they can't remember without dreads. I myself look at pictures of myself before this whole thing and think I look so weird with normal here.
They've come a long way in these early stages. Although this isn't the best picture of me, you can see how much skinnier they are here.

I'm really nervous for Thanksgiving because my grandfather HIGHLY disapproves of my hair, and I don't really want to be around when he sees it for the first time, but I kind of have to be there. Oh well.

On the brighter side, I am still loving the dreads. One thing that's kind of an odd unexpected perk is... and please, no one condemn me for saying it this way, but I feel like I'm more accepted by black people. Before I was just a white girl, now I am a white girl with dreads which automatically makes me more a part of black American culture, since obviously a lot more black people have dreads than white people (at least where I live). So it's nice to have a whole lot of extra people actually smile and say hi to me (whether I know them or not), whereas before I was just a stranger in the crowd. Most people notice my hair, but it's black people who really like that about me, and give me a better chance to be my friend. I get more stranger-compliments from black people than from white people, and a lot of those compliments are also accompanied by some variation of, "How do you get your hair to do that since it's not nappy?" I'm probably the whitest chick around, but now somehow I "fit in" better in even more social groups.

I love the way my dreads smell (especially when they're wet--weirdest smell ever), I love taking care of them, I love when strangers ask to touch them, and most of all I love having something unique about me. Yay dreadlocks!