The Balloon

I hold your string.

I hold it tight.

You glisten and sparkle,

In afternoon light.

You're light as a feather,

Yet heavy as lead.

You are orange.

Or wait, are you red?

My legs dangle,

You dance above me.

I watch,

You float freely.

Something catches my eye.

Distracted, I lose my grip.

Fingers loosen,

The string slips.

I jump! Try to catch you.

But you float fast.

Descending,

Into the sky so vast.

I cradle my face in tears,

My heart sinks low.

How sad it was,

The day I let my balloon go.

The sky is unkind.

It's lost in blue and light.

Growing smaller and smaller,

And then its out of sight.

Suffering

My grandmother's two best friends died in the last 8 days. She is 78 years old and her friends were both in their 70's. They lived long lives, and the one even died in her sleep. However, as I have walked with my grandmother through this process of grief, she has asked me many questions such as: Why do people have to suffer? Can't God stop suffering? This had me do a lot of thinking.

One thing I always find interesting about suffering is how people immediately equate suffering to God's doing, when nothing else in life is God's doing. I have seen many atheists and agnostics never acknowledge or question God's existance except when there is devastation. You hear people say, "Why did not God do anything on September 11th?" which is insinuating that there is: a) a God and b) That He is the cause of suffering. Yet, why is He never cause the good of things? Why is He not the cause of found children who are kid napped? Or people who survive cancer? Why is God's existance only validated when we need to blame Him for something?

Perhaps it is because it rids us responsibility. If God is only capable of doing bad things (and preventing bad things) then we can either hate Him or ignore Him. To acknowledge that He lives all the time and is active in every part of lives puts us in a position of obedience and surrender. It is much easier to have someone to blame when something goes wrong then it is to live a dedicated life of service.

C.S. Lewis once said, "But what about free will? Such a easy thing to forget." It is fascinating to me that as human beings, we want free will and the opportunity to make choices, but yet we say that at certain points God is supposed to interrupt and disturb that free will. Such as, it is alright to have free will so we can choose our job, have a medical procedure, decide what we want to eat or move some where. But it's not ok to have free will when it comes to going out and murdering someone. We forget that free will is not a "salad bad" concept-you cannot have it both ways. Either we, as human beings, are completely able and free to do as we please, or we are not. It is obvious, we are free to do as we please. God cares about what we do, but He cannot control what we do. Even if it's something awful.

And that assumption we always make.. It looks something like this: "Because I suffer, God is not good." Which is very fascinating if you even think of athiests saying this, because even in their unbelief they are acknowledging a Higher Power that might rule over our earthly sufferings. I am not sure why as human beings we immediately equate suffering with a lack of God's goodness. Who came up with this idea and why is it something that cradles our anger and bitterness? It seems to me that if we believe in God, we have no other option but to believe He is Soverign and Good and Holy. Because if He isn't, is He really a God worth serving and knowing? God's goodness is not dependent on my life. I would even be as bold to say that God's goodness is not dependent on millions of Jews that were persecuted, or the millions of children that die every year from a illness. God's goodness is seperate from His creation, just as our human hearts and souls are seperate from our bodies.

Lastly, I am convinced that God is most present in times of suffering, we just don't always recognize it. C.S. Lewis said, "God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscious, but shouts to us in our pain." When do most people recognize a Higher Power (whether in a good way or bad?) Very often, it is in times of suffering. We are so exhausted from our carnal bodies and feelings that we immediately look for something more. Crystal Richardson once said, "When you have cried every kind of tear.. it is then, that you have lived." Perhaps in the spiritual realm, the true purpose of suffering is not to tear us away from our God, but to bring us closer to Him.

If hope is born of suffering,
If this is only the beginning,
Can we not wait one more hour watching for our Savior?
(Nichole Noredman)

Airport Reflections

I see you stand outside the airport, luggage in hand.

Time has passed by us like seeping hour glass sand.

And you look a little tired, your hair really grew.

You look different from the last time I saw you.

I think, how could it be? Four months ago?

That we said goodbye and my heart sank low.

It's December now and an airplane brought you here.

And I now my eyes begin to tear-

as I jump out of the car! (We hug)

And the strings of my heart are tugged,

As you scream, I am home! I am home!

I don't think I could say in music, art or poem,

What it meant to touch and breathe and hear,

And to finally be near.

A Philadelphia air port brought me to ponder:

What can replace a friend?

What can make a broken heart mend?

Why do we say so little hello's and so many goodbyes?

Why do we let so much time pass us by?

What makes us leave a place?

Why do we part from a loved one's face?

If we have found true friendship somewhere,

Why do we look for it someplace else?

We pile your luggage into the car and speak:

And I swear, it feels like it did before we were miles a part.

It feels like again, it's just the start.

I close my eyes and I find peace.

I find calm and release.

For the first time in months I smile and sigh,

Because on this night in the airport,

I am yours again. And friend, how you are mine.

First Snow Fall

Yesterday Pennsylvania received its first real snow fall. 

About 4 inches rest on the ground now.

Blank Slates & Beauty

A psychologist of long ago once said that we are all born with a "blank slate." That is, we are completely untouched, uneffected, unmolded, and unmade until we are exposed to culture. It would be the absolute height of nurture ruling over nature. I am not sure if I believe this, per say.. Because there are other factors that have to be considered (such as genetics, which is the biggest one.)

However, I was thinking of the "blank slate" concept in terms of beauty; What if my view of beauty was completely "blank" until society told me what it was?

At four years old, I remember dancing around in this over-sized red dress, with huge pearls around my kneck and a gold clip on earrings. I had a rose in my mouth and I was dancing around to the opera Carmon. I specifically remember looking in the mirror and thinking that I looked lovely.  Was I still a "blank slate" at that point?

Now, at almost nineteen years old I look in the mirror this morning and I am filled with frustration. I cannot get my hair to lay right, I am all out of bronzer, I can't seem to find something to wear that looks decent (despite the selfish fact that I have a closet overflowing with clothes.) I don't know about that day when I was Carmon, but I am certainly no longer a blank slate.

Society has spoken into me what is beautiful. Society has shown me, not only in images-but in movies, books, magazines, ideas, ideals, and other people- "This. Is. It." No room for compromise, and God forbid, no room for individuality. 

In an over-sexualized, over-glamourized world, how do I get back to a blank slate? How do I come to a point where my eyes are completely open and cleared of what culture says is beautiful, so that I can re-create the word "beauty" and thus, finally be at peace in the body that I am in?

There is a person inside of me that aches to know I am beautiful. She is dying to be validated, encouraged, and renewed. Sadly, culture isn't the one that can do that for Her. 

First Semester Of College

Yesterday at 4:16pm I officially ended my first semester of college. It went so fast!

I am attending Lebanon Valley College, which is a small private school in the city of Annville. I was accepted in Elizabethtown, HACC, Lancaster Bible.. but LVC was always my first choice, and when I received my acceptance letter I knew it was where I wanted to be. And now, the first semester is over.

Starting in August, not knowing a soul was very difficult. My two best friends just left for different states, and I felt lonely. I had a ever present hole in my heart. In some ways, that hole is still not filled and never will be-because you cannot replace relationships. However, at the college I have found niches for myself and people I would consider my friends.

The F Word club has been one of my greatest joys. It is a club that discusses and works with the concepts of feminism. Its good to be around people whose goal is not to hate men, but to work for equality for all people. I also got to be editor of the F Word newsletter, which was a wonderful opportunity.. To be able to combine my writing with an issue I feel so strongly about is great.

My classes this semester were good. (Except for Statistics which I dropped two months into) My favorite however, was my Sex And The City class. It was an English FYS class which discussed mostly women's issues-things like beauty, relationships, and marriage. I absolutely loved it and I am sad its over. I also was blessed with forming a connection with the teacher, Dr. Walker. I believe our relationship will easily continue outside of the classroom. She is a amazing person.

I enjoyed my job on campus-which was giving swim lessons to children over at the pool. Anyone who knows Coach Mary, knows this: She is one of the kindest people you'll ever meet.

I won't be back at LVC till January 14. Until then, I am ready to enjoy break. In only 24 hours I have snuck back into my late schedule. It's 2:23am as I write this.

My first semester is over, and I can't believe it. To sum it all up-I am very grateful. It was a challenging, wonderful, good, interesting, hard, rewarding 4 and a half months!

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Winter

Old Wooden Reindeer

I remember the old wooden reindeer we would put in our front yard around this time of year. It would be a brisk, winter Saturday and Travis and I would wake up knowing today was the day we would decorate the house. I'd punch "2423" into the shed lock and we would drag the wooden reindeer up to the front yard, arrange them, and watch them come to life in our imaginations.

Years later. I went outside my house tonight and saw the wooden reindeer laying in the backyard, on the ground, in a pile of leaves. I looked at the old, worn wood-their simple faces-their broken parts, and I grew sad. It was more than the reindeer, though. It was what these delicate decorations represented. 

Family happiness, that now rests and struggles to even live for a moment is in a pile of winter leaves. In the back yard, forgotten. Muddy, and covered in flaws and sins. Worn, and tired. So very tired.

What can mend broken hearts? What can replace a families love? My greatest fear is that nothing can, and until the reindeer come to life again I will always feel this broken and this lost.

Praise The Lord

Praise the Lord when you wake up.

Praise the Lord when you lie down.

Praise the Lord at school.

Praise the Lord at home.

Praise the Lord to your neighbors.

Praise the Lord to your teachers.

Praise the Lord to your friends.

Praise the Lord in the seasons of warmth.

Praise the Lord in the seasons of chill.

Praise the Lord in contentment. 

Praise the Lord in pain.

Praise the Lord in compliments and fame.

Praise the Lord when you're alone.

Praise the Lord when you're surrounded.

Praise the Lord for what He has done.

Praise the Lord for what He is still doing.

Today and tomorrow and in all ways,

Praise The Lord.

This does not speak much for my writing, but it is a personal reminder for myself.

Missing A Friend

Winter air freezes (heart.)

Thoughts of you (remind.)

Seeing your house (hurts.)

Loss haunts me (persistantly.)

Tonight I walk (alone.)

Do you miss (me?)

Are you lost (preoccupied?)

Am I just (forgotten?)

Will it all (unfold?)

Will we be (okay?)

Childhood days are (far.)

But you, are (farther.)

Oh, airplanes fly, (away.)

Time passes me (by.)

How it pains.

(thinking);

I seem to (miss..)

You much more (than;)

You might miss (me.)

Oh mighty wind (and,)

Cold fading fast (evening.)

It will ice (by)

The dawn of (morning.)

But not as (fast)

As my melancholy (heart.)

Place To Call Home

(Photo taken when I was driving through North Carolina, this past August)

I have had different people call me a "home body." I always found this really funny because I am a very busy and social person who enjoys being with people. Also, because the majority of my "To Do Before I Die" list involves traveling-

• Adopt a little girl from China. Ride a bicycle down the Great Wall.
• Write poetry in a Paris cafe. Sip wine in the Eiffel Tower.
• Adopt a little boy from Africa.
• Spend time in Greece. Especially the islands, like Karpathos.
• See Jane Austen's house in England.
• Ride horses in Montana.
  

And so on.  I cannot wait to devote time to traveling, and whatever opportunities I can get I want to take. Yet, I have still been called a "home body."

I can't help but hear the soulful voice of Carole King, "Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?" I wonder sometimes whatever happened to the idea of traveling, but still having a place to call home. Call me crazy, but after I unpack my suitcase from a wild adventure, I want to know I have a home somewhere.

Wherever I am, I want to be present there. As of now, I am in humble Lebanon county. Is there something better out there? Maybe. But the minute I start living my life for the next "better" is the day when I end up on my death bed realizing I never really enjoyed each moment of my life, but was always looking for the next experiential high. 

There is something to be said for being able to be in a place (at least for awhile anyway) and not be itching to get out.  It's not a sign of settling. It's mastering something not many can; contentment. 

The last highway is only

as far away as you are from yourself.

-Over The Rhine

Walk With Travis

Yesterday was the first day in three months that Travis was fine. No crying, no fears, no worries, no slip ups. He was absolutely fine. By the time 10pm rolled around I wanted him to go to bed just so nothing bad would happen. His eyes just closed now and it's 12am. The day was fine.

Him and I went for a two mile walk late this evening. It was dark and brisk, and the fall air was inviting. Travis ran in front of me up the street and said, "Let's be alive, ok?" I watched his puppet run.. his awkward hands.. and listened to his deliberate voice. I was overwhelmed by God's mercy and the depth in Travis' honest, simple words. He had no idea what he was saying. He probably never will.

Yes, let's be alive. Whatever that looks like, let's do it.

A Letter To Depression

Dear Depression,

Exactly a year ago you came to my door. You knocked, and I ignored. Then you rang the door bell obnoxiously. Ring ring ring. I turned the TV and radio up louder, but nothing could drown you out. I was finally pushed to open the door. You stayed a long time. You were an irritating, dis-respectful visitor. You put your feet up on my coffee tables, you didn't ask when you wanted something to eat, and you spoke of issues I had no interest in. Your company was annoying, and your presence was darkening.

I could not convince you to leave. You became the ever present shadow in my living room-the dark figure in the corner of the room. I tried to ignore you-I thought of you as a piece of furniture. But unlike a coat hanger, you had soul. You had personality. You had spirit. You had possession. 

I would sleep on the sofa in those days, too scared of my own bedroom. I would live and breathe art-paint was under my fingernails and poetry was scribbled on the corners of newspapers and napkins. I was pure expression and honest thought. I was so alive, yet so fucking dead. 

Those days passed by slowly. Eventually though, I started drawing smiles on my foggy, rainy windows. I began taking walks. I began answering my phone. You didn't leave yet, but your presence was quieter. You spoke fewer words and you asked for less things. We interacted very rarely during those days.

Then one morning in March, five months after diagnoses, pills, and emotions-I woke up. I went to go butter my toast, and I turned around, and realized you were not there. I searched the house, calling for your name-"Depression! Depression! Where are you?" You were gone. You left no note (you never were that considerate), and you took your coat and belongings. All that was left was the screen door you didn't close properly. 

I went throughout my day without you. Then, day by day I continued. I went months without you. I wondered about you sometimes. And now, a whole year later, my house is filled with light and your presence is not missed. I swear to God, I barely give you a single thought.

Depression, I raise my glass to myself, for surviving the visit you made to me. But with all my heart I say, I sure as hell don't miss you at all.

[Written exactly one year from the day I was diagnosed with a clinical depression. I am grateful for what time has healed.] 

Who Is Woman?

Who Is Woman?

Is she ruler of the world?

With hips created to birth,

And a womb fashioned to carry.

Arms skilled to rock,

A tongue made to scold.

A heart born to love.

(Maybe she is.)

Is she the one on television?

Letters dance behind her name,

Power following her like a parade,

Getting ahead has no shame.

A signature for success,

A model of new times.

(Maybe she is)

Is she the one in the kitchen?

Feeding the hungry,

Caring for the ill.

Sweeping the floor,

Wiping the teary eyes,

Baking the apple pie.

(Maybe she is.)

Is she black? Is she white?

Is quiet? Does she put up a fight?

Is she a teacher? Is she a preacher?

Is she married? Or alone?

Is she beautiful? Is she smart?

Does she follow science? Does she love art?

(To all or any: Maybe she is.)

Who is woman?

Let her be what she is,

And let her be what she is not.

Let her thrive,

And let her fail.

Let her be great,

And let her be greater still.

Who is woman?

A body of no other creature;

A purpose of no other soul.

(Holy words read)
And man shall not live alone.

Let her be strong,

And let her be weak.

Let her be traditional.

And let her be unique.

Watch the Woman!

As she waltz's through pages of history.

She is swift and steady.

She is able and ready.

And the pages long to read,

Here, you may see-

Woman being who she was meant to be;

Wild! Beautiful! Completely free.

Beautiful People

Beautiful people, forgive and forget.
Their eyes look like children.

The Race

You must prove that you're enough.

You must prove, `Yeah. I know my stuff.`

Get the A, win the race, make the date.

Lines like, `Your confidence determines your fate.`

Keep the room clean, stay the right weight.

Don't laugh if its not right, never be late.

Sharpen the pencils, always maintain the smile.

Be smooth, be smart, have style.

The day is a mad rush,

And maybe your just a lush:

For simplicity, for stillness.

But for now, its not here.

Don't show tears, don't show fears.

Run the race right,

Or you'll be a sorry sight.

(Is that me?

What am I destined to be?)

Look good, play the game,

Get the recognition, achieve the fame.

And at night go to bed-

With no peace in your head,

And a regret on your lips,

For all the friendships,

you don't feel like you have.

Or all the trips,

you should be taking.

For all the time,

you feel like you can't find.

For all the serenity,

you want so badly.

And you'll sleep-

These thoughts will creep,

Till morning; when,

It's time to do it all over again.

The Victor Family (Part 2)

(Taken at Conrad Weiser Homestead. All pictures by me.)

The Victor Family

(Taken at Conrad Weiser Homestead. All pictures taken by me.)

The Victor family is Kaola, Harold, Alana and Malachi. They are very special to me. This week Harold goes away for the military, so they asked me to take some pictures for them.

Meg and Ryan

(Meg and Ryan, engagement shoot. All pictures taken by me.

My first paying photo shoot!)

Art Time With Travis

To California With Love

I have not forgotten you,

Have you forgotten me?
Are we swimming our seperate ways,
In a long wide sea-
Of endless possibility?
Well baby, I think I always knew,
That this would either make or break us,
it would make us old or make us new.
Maybe we'll feed each other another line,
about change not being that hard,
or about being, `just fine.`
Or maybe the truth is,
we're just caught in being
destroyed and saved,
all at the very same time.

Lebanon

And He loveth the earth.

Animals, children, nature, people. How could I not recognize beauty in those things? In the midst of darkness, how could I ever not see the light?

Coffee With Rachel

My Aunt And I

Drinking new kids of tea,

Singing sit-com songs,
Resting on front porch swings,
Taking pictures of you and me.

Laughing at the same joke over and over again.
Taking life slower,
Free spirits and open minds,
Lovers of theater and worlds of pretend.

Getting lost in the same kind of music,
Fancy drinks, strong perfumes.
Later mornings and later nights,
Being called a dreamer and a mystic.

People who probe and people who pray,
Writing poetry in dark cafes.
Clothing of expression and jewelry too big,
People who have something to say.

We are connected at the soul.
Perhaps that's why, there is this
deep hole;
When you're not near,
When you're not here.

I try to chase this sadness down,
Yet am only led to
a realization and a frown:
That this hole may never be filled,
while this is true still:
That I am here, and you are there.

Yet, I have hope because I believe
that sky can't separate:
nor road, nor state,
or even fate,
people bound in spirit.
And even when far apart,
We dwell together always,
In the depths of my very deep heart.

Spring