oh, it's a hickey

I've seen the way you deal with things
the troubles that this life can bring
if it get to you, I scan't tell by the way you sing
you act like it just doesn't mean a thing
I see you dancing all your, dancing all your, dancing all your days
maybe you can tell me how it is your got that way.
-The Avett Brothers, Dancing Daze

I really do love to dance, despite the fact that I'm not very good at it. One of the most important things I learned in Russia is to not care about dancing in front of people. It's just fun, and occasionally I am overtaken by the irrepressible desire to move with music. Many of you have witnessed this. Recently, I've been sharing this behavior of mine with my baby brother. Long story short, he has been conditioned to dance whenever he hears that Peanuts Christmas song - you know the one. I think dancing is a sort of outward expression of a carefree spirit, and for me, it's become a branch of humor (again, many of you have witnessed this).

Put music to our troubles;
We'll dance them away.
-mewithoutYou, The Ghost

Here is an anecdote that exhibits what I like to think of as "verbal" dancing: earlier this evening I was at a Christmas gathering in Oakwood - my mom's dad's family. My grandfather has six siblings, all of which have children and grandchildren, providing me with half-a-dozen cousins that are my age, give or take a year. Tonight I was the only one that didn't bring a girlfriend or boyfriend with me, which, honestly, made me feel a little like a failure at life. I do realize that this is silly, especially since I'm only twenty, and have, as my mother reassured me, "had plenty of boyfriends," (which is true).

I still found myself feeling a little . . . I don't know, out of place or something. Fortunately, I was able to diffuse the uncomfortable feeling by answering anyone inquiring about the small, but rather noticeable burn (curling iron) on my forehead with "oh, it's a hickey."

That got them laughing.

love as strong as death, jealously demanding as the grave

He won't relent until He has it all. Thank God.

Place me like a seal over your heart,
like a seal on your arm;
for love is as strong as death,
its jealousy unyielding as the grave.
It burns like blazing fire,
like a mighty flame.
Many waters cannot quench love;
rivers cannot wash it away.
If one were to give
all the wealth of his house for love,
it would be utterly scorned.
-Song of Songs 8:6-7

mallory

This is my Mallory. I must confess that I still think of her as the tiny creature that endured the middle seat between Kalen and me on our family road trip down the Pacific Coast Highway the summer before she started Kindergarten. When I remember that she is about to graduate from high school, it freaks me out a little bit.

Just look at how beautiful she is! I want to celebrate her. Mallory is a Sanguine social butterfly - the life of every party; she never meets a stranger. She loves little kids and each one she meets loves her back, especially the boys. Mallory has a good heart. She will excel at whatever she chooses to do in her life, and I cannot wait to see what the Lord has planned for her.

Mallory loves Special K Red Berries. She hates fruit cake cookies. She is always so encouraging to me in a much-appreciated straight-forward kind of way. I love her.

manna for me = community

Manna is a hell of a drug.
-Manchester Orchestra

I write enough about myself, so in honor of Speculation's first birthday, I though I would write about some of my very favorite people - friends and family members that have shaped this plant lady into who she is.

There are so many people that have stuck with me through thick and thin - best friends that have literally come into my closet (I used to hide in there when I was upset - maybe I still do, I just haven't been upset enough since March, I guess...) and sat in my laundry basket holding my hand and listening or pulled me out to make me go out to dinner with them. Others have walked some of northeast Georgia's long switchback trails with me, both figuratively and literally, helping me to navigate some tricky spots and always inviting me to share my heart by sharing hers. Women just a few years older than me have taken me under their wings, sharing their hearts and lives with me. They have offered advice that has led to some of the wisest decisions that I have ever made - and that I certainly would not and could not have made on my own.

My sisters have never failed to make me laugh, whether it was saying just the right thing at the right moment, helping me tear up old Valentines, taking me to the aquarium, or dragging me to Paris for a day. My baby brother has been a huge source of joy in my life. I'm thankful for three beautiful roommates with which to do life. They are some of the most excellent listeners I've ever met. My parents have driven hours, flown across the country, and rented a cargo van in an effort to help me make the best possible decisions regarding graduate school. My step-parents have been endlessly encouraging - guiding me through the process of escaping Italy in time for school the next day and constantly providing a slightly less biased opinion than their spouses are genetically capable of : that I am a clever young woman with a good heart. Half-a-dozen or so supportive grandparents continually teach me what unconditional love looks like.

Old friends and new, close family members and those far away, there are so may people that surround me - people to love and to be loved by. I am so thankful.

My aunt and uncle have opened their home to me on several occasions this fall, which has helped my observations at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta a much more pleasant experience. Last night we decorated ginger bread houses with the children. It was so good to just relax and be a part of their little family. I love spending time with them and have been doing this about once a month since August. I so admire my Aunt and Uncle. They are raising such healthy children (nutritionally, emotionally, socially, spiritually, and intellectually) and I hope to incorporate some of what I have learned from them into my own home one day. They are great parents and I can tell that they love each other like crazy. She respects him and he loves her. I watch them serve and submit to one another and it is so beautiful. He takes out the recycling for her and she makes chocolate-covered strawberries for him. I love sitting around and talking with them after the children go to sleep. These nights have been some of my favorites this year. So thank you, Newton family, for your love and gracious hospitality.

grocery shopping

I love grocery shopping - probably more than anyone should. Seriously. I think I would do it for a living if I could. I love the process in its entirety; I think it can be segmented into three steps:

1. Preparation. I keep a running list on my desk during the week. If I think of something I need, I jot it down. At some point over the weekend, I pull up the Publix Weekly Ad and add things to my list based on what's on sale. Once the list is complete, I toss it in one of my cloth grocery bags and wait patiently for one of my favorite moments of each week:

2. The Big Show. I always start in the bakery and work my way back through the deli towards the produce section before working my way up and down the aisles. Its lovely to have a store that you are familiar with. The list is helpful - necessary, even - but its also important to stay flexible. Blueberries might be on sale, but you might get to the store and find out that they don't look as delicious as one might expect. You might also get inspired on aisle seven. I generally do my grocery shopping on Sunday or Monday because of the penny item. Sometimes its peanut butter or old fashioned oatmeal. I've also seen toilet paper or coffee. Today it was frozen pizza. I hear a lot of people complaining about Publix prices being high, but they always have a wide variety of bargains in their sale paper each week. I'm getting to know the people that work at my Publix, which is nice, and even though I don't usually accept the offer, its nice that they always ask if you need help getting your groceries out to your car.

3. Cool-Down. Don't laugh, but I literally buckle my grocery bags up in the back seat (you can never be too careful with eggs and such). I even love putting the groceries away in their respective "homes." Obviously, I start with perishables, then move on to the pantry.

Perhaps this is selfish, but I hope that I get to go grocery shopping on a relatively regular basis for the rest of my life.

three more days

I just got to get you this good job done
so I can bring it on home to you.
-Ray LaMontagne, Three More Days

Things I'm interested in pursuing over the break:

1. Yoga on Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday at the Y.
2. Visiting the eye doctor [new glasses].
3. Pizza from Little Italy [It's true, we have one in Athens, but it's just not the same].
4. Spending some time at Holly Park.
5. Illustrating a children's book called Carl's Cochlear Implant.
6. Giving blood.
7. Hiking.
8. Watching Seinfeld every night.
9. Sharing a bed with my baby sister.
10. Chasing my baby brother around the house.
11. Family Christmas picture.
12. Running with new puppy.
13. Seeing my family.
14. Consuming 4x an appropriate daily caloric intake in one sitting.
15. Cooking with my grandmothers.

Three more days. Please share your list.

it's not easy

People, people, people, they make it sound so easy
They say just do what your heart tells you to
But sometimes you cannot feel it
Sometimes you cannot hear it
Sometimes it won’t talk back to you.
-from Pretty Girl From San Diego by The Avett Brothers

Do you ever feel like you're just barely treading water? Like you're using every ounce of energy to keep your head in the air so you can breathe? Do you ever feel that way for no apparent reason? Perhaps it can be attributed to some weird reaction between senioritis and anxiety about graduating a year before most of my friends. I feel like I'm losing sight of the vision I've been so sure of for months and years even. I'm questioning the choices I've made regarding my career path. I'm worried that I will, as so many others have, forget the compassion I now feel for refugees, widows, and orphans when I transition from youth to "real" adulthood.

How do you know if your choices are pleasing to the Lord? How do you decide between good, better, and best? Can I honestly place any amount of trust in decisions that I made my freshman year apart from God? Why have I had such overwhelming peace about all of this until now? Are these doubts something that I've conjured up within myself, or are they meant as a way of communication from the Holy Spirit?

appalachian

I know it's hard to see Me darling
let your eyes adjust
if you go blind just trust
you were made out of My dust.
-from Dogs by Page France

Sometimes I get confused about where I'm headed. I expect that that statement makes a lot of you laugh because I've always been the kind of girl that knows where she's headed and how to get there. While it's true that I am blessed with a substantial amount of clarity (especially for a college student) on most days, my mind can get pretty foggy on others. It feels like driving up an unfamiliar twisty mountain road at night; the headlights of the oncoming traffic seem to temporarily blind you and you hope your impaired vision doesn't last long enough to make you careen around a curve and off a cliff. (...better try the emergency brake!)

I wonder if I'm making the right decisions, or if I'm extending grace as freely as it's been extended to me. I worry that the things I desire are not the things I'm "supposed" to desire, or that I'm slipping back into the habits of my old slave-to-schoolwork self. I know that I make the world about myself far too often, and I second-guess many of the ways I've chosen to interpret reality.

I suppose there are a lot of things that I would sort of like to happen, but I think that I'm finally learning to surrender my own personal agenda to the will of the One that loves me more than anyone ever has or ever will. You see, I have a history of holding on too tightly to good things that just were not best for me; my grandmother once described me as "loving hard." It sounds like a good thing, but I'm not really interested in going down any more dead-end roads.

I'm confused about a lot of things, but in this moment, as I type this, and for the last few days really, I have wanted nothing but whatever God's very best is for me. I feel as though I can say that with more honesty than ever before.

My mom and I went to visit Appalachian State University this weekend and I loved it. I won't say too much, but Boone felt ten times more right than Seattle felt wrong. There was space for my heart up in the mountains.

baby teeth

Last night one of my dearest friends came over to my apartment for a pajama party. We made quesadillas and ate fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies [read: cookie dough]. We created artwork and watched P.S. I Love You. We talked, and between fits of laughter, she helped me realize something incredible around two o'clock this morning.

Do you ever question the purpose of some past occurrence? The feeling I'm referring to is different from regret; I simply wonder why the Lord allows certain events to transpire - people or things that change us drastically if he knows from the beginning that they will end in heartache. I posed this question to my friend and she answered with wisdom. She suggested that the absence of pieces of my heart that I felt I had lost is creating space for new things - better things - that God wants to fill me with.

kind of like losing your baby teeth.

This morning I found myself wondering more about the concept of baby teeth. So, naturally, I googled it. This is what I found:

Baby teeth are widely found in the animal kingdom. Fish an reptiles continuously lose and replace their teeth throughout their lives, but mammals have just two sets of teeth. . . . Young mammals' skulls are small, and it's impossible for them to accommodate a full array of adult choppers, so juveniles have cute little temporary teeth to fit in their immature jaws. Once the bones of the cranium have developed to adult size, the tiny teeth start wiggling and fall out. . . . The process for initiating the formation of permanent teeth in humans is not completely understood. Normally, permanent teeth come in at about age six as part of a genetic development sequence whose temporal trigger is not yet known. Perhaps these teeth start jumping ship after being made to chew all sorts of stuff off the floor for the last five years. . . . As the enzymes break down the tooth's root and surrounding connective tissue, the tooth loosens until it's time for the old 'dad and string ploy' to provide space for the adult tooth.

I could take this metaphor so very far, but I will spare you. All I will say is that about a year ago I was (spiritually) walking around with a toothless grin.

In answer to the question of the purpose of baby teeth, I simply have to look at my little brother. Yesterday dad and I took him up to Dockery Lake for a quick 7 mile in-and-out. On our way home we stopped in Dahlonega for lunch and three chocolate-covered pretzels from the Fudge Factory. This is what happened:



Robby's baby teeth provide sustenance for him at this stage in his life, but he will eventually outgrow them. That is not only okay and normal - it's beautiful.

[definitely something to smile about]

pause

Check it out. I just wrote on my friend's facebook wall and had to laugh at the irony of my words. She asked me how life was, and I told her that it was busy but good - flying by - and that I often wish I could press pause.

Oddly enough, I used the same VCR metaphor in a slightly different sense on my second-ever Speculations post, Fast Forward, which I wrote on the last day of 2007.

Thankfully, 2008 has been a year of new beginnings.

basil, meet italian parsley and mint.

Given the title of this blog, I thought it would be appropriate to announce that I acquired two new herbs today, Italian Parsley and Mint, to add to my collection. I felt as though I lived up to my nickname for the first time since December, when it was first given to me. I had packed up my car to head home for the holidays and all three of my roommates accompanied me down for a proper send-off. In the passenger seat, they noticed a box of plants that were coming home with me, and Lindsey said I was like a plant lady instead of a cat lady.

Today on the elevator, one of my neighbors asked me about the plants in my hand. When I told her that they were herbs, she wondered if I used them for cooking. I told her yes, and that they made my room smell lovely as well. She asked if they were difficult to keep healthy. I explained that they like a lot of sunshine and just a little water. She said she was going to head over to Publix to get some of her own.

I guess I am kind of a plant lady.

fifty percent chance of rain

You know how when the sky starts to clear after it's been raining all morning on a day when you have something planned outside in the afternoon, and you're not quite sure if the sun is truly going to come out or not? And you know how sometimes in those moments, you hear a bird singing, and even though you don't speak bird, you somehow know that the song means that the sun is definitely coming out - that it's just a matter of time?

I like that.

sixty and sunny

Today I found myself sitting on the sideline watching my little sister's soccer game: the epitome of the American Dream. Nearby, a parking lot full of shiny gas-guzzling SUVs proudly displaying political stickers on their bumpers glistened in the mid-morning sun. I wondered how many hundreds of thousands of dollars were spent on that specific advertising effore alone, and how far we could have progressed in the way of "fighting the war on terrorism" if we had devoted even a fraction of those funds to the education of boys and girls in Afghan refugee camps in Peshawar.

I listened to the coach, who happens to be a deacon at my church, SCREAM at the nine-year-old girls on his team. What? I mean, WHAT? It's soccer. They are nine. Keep your pants on, dude. It's October. It's sixty and sunny. Enjoy the day (and forgive me, but I've had a year to think about it, and the Love I share with the Living God cannot be likened to a baseball diamond by any stretch of the imagination).

To be fair, I was experiencing these events while reading the story of the first girl in Baltistan to receive an education beyond the fifth grade level. Her name is Shakeela. "I'd like to become a doctor, and go to work wherever I am needed," she says. "I've learned the world is a very large place and so far, I've only seen a little of it." My sentiments exactly, Shakeela.

After listening to the team mom pressure the couple sitting next to me into signing their daughter up for a tournament in Dahlonega next month when he'll be out of town on a business trip and she'll be struggling to find someone to keep the kids that night during her shift at the Ronnie Green Heart Center, I made a commitment to myself, the Lord, my future family, and a group of children not yet born on the other side of the world. I will abstain from participating in this portion of American culture.

So don't be surprise if I peace-out on the U.S. for a while after I finish school. The opportunity for an excellent education has been freely handed to me. I didn't have to fight for it, and nobody told me that a woman's place is to work in the fields - that it's a waste of time to fill my head with knowledge that I will never put to use. It will be a joy to see that others, less fortunate than myself, benefit from that gift: Grace.

"If you really want to change a culture, to empower women, improve basic hygiene and health care, and fight high rates of infant mortality, the answer is to educate girls." -Greg Mortenson

two years and four months ago

Occasionally, I get this sinking suspicion that I am trying to reinvent myself. I suppose much of this stems from the intermittent realization that I am, in many ways, quite different from who I used to be, though it requires an objective viewpoint - taking a step outside of myself - to see the differences clearly. An introspective survey of my last few years can be helpful.

Today I had my final advising appointment of my undergraduate career. That fact hit me like a ton of bricks as I sat in the waiting room of Student Services on the first floor of Aderhold. I remembered looking anxiously across the room at my dad who sat in that very chair at the end of orientation, flipping through course catalogs and C.O.E. promotional materials. I had impulsively decided to change my major to early childhood education, and after that ever-supportive father of mine bullied his way into getting me an individual appointment with an adviser, I had only to wait. That was exactly two years and four months ago.

When autumn came, I changed my major to speech therapy on a whim at best. I only allowed about one week to elapse between the time I first considered the option and filling out the forms in my adviser's office once again. I had absolutely no business making important decisions at that point in my life; I did not consult God and the thought of praying about it did not even cross my mind. After all, it was MY life, and I was free to make my own decisions (and mistakes).

So freshman year, I made the transition from an intended to an actual CMSD major, and like most of the girls, planned to work in an elementary school - the perfect occupation for a wife and mother. I totally deserved to have to start over with a new major - to have all the fruit of my academic toil rot in my hands as I held onto it so tightly, but my God is a compassionate One, and I truly believe that during that year when I closed my ears to the voice of the Holy Spirit, He was whispering into my heart the entire time.

Take all that you have
and turn it into something you were missing
Somebody threw that brick
And shattered all your plans
Yeah.
-Brand New, Sowing Season (Yeah)

Although my academic endeavors were allowed to remain intact, He desperately wanted my attention - my acknowledgment and love - He wanted me. So he caught my attention last November in what I've come to realize was really the only way he could have done so. My word, it was painful - and not just for me. Through the process of healing, He's redirected my career path, albeit just slightly, and given me the most precious of gifts: vision. He's reawakened the wild and free and adventurous parts of my spirit - parts that had fallen victim to the American Dream. These days, the girl I see in the mirror is forever ruined for that life she once so desperately wanted.

I will probably never be a soccer-mom-SLP that works in an elementary school. Instead, I have this picture of myself doing international mission work in some of the scariest places on earth... most recently I've become intrigued with the middle east. I'm reading Three Cups of Tea, and I've determined that, if ever I marry, it will be to the Greg Mortenson of my generation (the truly beautiful thing is, even if I don't, that's totally okay because I can't shake the feeling that I'm well on my way to becoming the female version of him one day). Sometimes I just burst into fits of joyous laughter when I think about the Good I get to be a part of in my life. I'm not reinventing myself, I'm allowing the Lord to show me who I am.

He is jealous for me

reasons why kirby is single

1. as a general rule, enjoys the company of children or old people more than that of her peers (There are, of course, many exceptions to this rule; if you are reading this, you are probably one of them).
2. knows more about current research trends than popular culture.
3. shaves her legs on a weekly basis at best.
4. does not own hair brush.
5. would rather cook with her grandmother and/or shoot the political breeze with her grandfather than attend most parties.
6. enjoys cross-stitching.
7. likes to go to sleep at eleven and wake up before seven.
8. has pooped in the woods/will tell you about it.
9. cannot abstain from using fancy technical jargon in everyday life.
10. goes to UGA, where the gender-breakdown of the student body is wildly disproportionate (70% female, 30% male).
11. loves garlic.
12. and onions.
13. wears old spice deodorant on occasion.
14. does not always shower in a manner that is... consistent.
15. wants to barf whenever she smells perfume.
16. chose a major that affords her class with only one boy.
17. aforementioned "boy" is middle-aged, married, and has children in high school.
18. spends Sunday afternoons making lists like this.
19. big jim has set the bar at an almost impossible height.
20. has somehow managed to surround herself with the most beautiful friends imaginable.
21. Has not yet met anyone bold enough to take her on.

DISCLAIMER: I hope this makes you laugh. (because it's a joke [but every word totally true])

smile

Last night I got super-upset about the images of stillborn babies with anencephaly (terminal condition in which the fetal brain develops outside of skull) my neuroscience professor showed us in class yesterday. Sometimes having a soft heart can be incredibly painful. I called my dad and he prayed for me and shared this verse:

And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. -Philippians 4:7-9

Now, I realize that many of you probably wouldn't choose the word "lovely" to describe the pictures above, but I cannot help but see these beautiful children any other way. These babies have a chance at life. The God of restoration will heal them, and I cannot believe that He's chosen me to help Him do it. As I thought about these things, I was filled with gratitude for the fact that I was born into a family in a country where I've been blessed with the opportunity to receive an education that is equipping me with the knowledge I'll need to offer speech therapy to this population that I know I am just beginning to grow into my passion for. Until recently I've wondered to the point of exhaustion why in the world I was born here, where I have everything I could possibly need or want, instead of in the slums of India or the dump in Guatemala City.

Dare I say that I think I'm starting to understand? In my life, I will be free to travel to terrifying places like Afghanistan (which I fully intend on doing, even if I have to wear a burqua, or better yet, tape my chest and wear a turban and fake beard...).

The Smile Train has established small surgical centers in 75 countries, and as I looked over their list, I noticed several that I already have connections with as a 20-year-old college student. I've been to Guatemala three times and studied abroad in Russia. My Aunt Chrissy and Uncle Bill have lived in the Philippines and are currently residing in Egypt (I need to go visit them soon). My sister studied abroad in Argentina. My church sends mission teams to South Africa and the Dominican Republic. My dad has led several mission teams to Bosnia. I have old friends with serious hearts for Zambia, Uganda, and Mali, and one that is teaching in Taiwan.

I'm excited to see what God has planned.

unsolicited answers. well, sort of

The past three days have comprised one of the most academically unproductive weekends I have experienced in quite some time. I took the GRE on Friday, and subsequently, my brain decided to go on strike. This morning I literally stayed in my bed for an hour or so after I woke up simply because I knew what getting up meant, and I did NOT want to study for that neuroscience test on Thursday. After wasting another hour with my sketchbook and a cup of tea, I decided to get to work. (don't laugh, but this was about 9:45 AM)

Oddly enough, the Lord decided this would be an excellent time to tell me several things, or more specifically, to answer several questions that I had been bringing to Him in prayer for quite a while. Just as I would pull out the flashcards or open my book, He would distract my attention. I would have to write down His words, search for a keyword on BibleGateway, or pull an old journal off the bookshelf to read what I had written on whichever date or in whatever ink color He gave me. It was a beautiful time, and I could feel His laughter as I began to grow mildly frustrated with all the interruptions. There were several instances in which I assumed He was finished, and I would drop my journal on the ground defiantly, only to pick it back up three minutes later.

So often I find myself, in keeping with sound advice, striving to set aside chunks of time to spend with Jesus, but it seems that our sweetest and most intimate moments happen according to His schedule rather than mine. Try as I might, I cannot twist His arm.

summer's last stand

I found myself laughing as I ran out the door yesterday morning into the burst of cool September air, pulling my yellow sweater on with one arm, attempting to step more securely into my shoes, and untangling the twisted straps of my bag while juggling a raincoat and keys with my "free" hand. I was running late for discipleship. Let's take a step back and consider this: Kirby Lee running late??? I'm still surprised by the changes in myself. With all this seemingly misplaced laughter, I'm sure I'm adding to the number daily of people on campus that think I'm crazy.

This afternoon was too beautiful to be cooped up inside, so I headed over to the IM fields, where I sat in my newly acquired thermarest easychair in the partial shade of an oak tree on the side of the grassy hill overlooking Lake Herrick. I'm enjoying summer's last stand. After two cooler, overcast days we've been afforded a sunny one with a nice breeze. The moment felt perfect: the wind tossing my hair into my eyes, the grass tickling my toes, and the afternoon sunlight dancing on my shoulders with the shadow of the tree above me. Autumn is just around the corner, and I'm certainly looking forward to it, but I must admit that I am a little sad about peach season's end.

I've entered into my last set of seasons in Northeast Georgia, and I want to savor every smell, to drink in the colors, to imprint the sounds of this place forever in my mind for easy access next year when I've moved on to the next adventure in my life. Perhaps its this desire paired with the fact that I was fortunate enough to spend six of the southeast's hottest weeks this summer away from home that's making me want to cling to summer for the next few days. But then I remember that Autumn is my favorite -- a season of change.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven:

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,
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. ...

...He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.
-Ecclesiastes 3:1-8, 11

(sorry for ripping off your idea)

for You, Zion, the stones cry out

Skipped Wesley tonight to see a show at the 40 Watt. Now my ears are ringing, my hair smells like reefer, my toes are bloody, and the soles of my chacos are sticky from shuffling around on the PBR soaked floor. I noticed something cool, though. The people all around me were worshiping, and if I might add, much more passionately than a lot of church-folk I've seen; it was quite clear that they were created to do so.

Please join me in prayer for our city.

patience, forgiveness, fruition and such

Patience, hard thing! the hard thing but to pray,
But bid for, Patience is! Patience who asks
Wants war, wants wounds; weary his times, his tasks;
To do without, take tosses, and obey.
Rare patience roots in these, and, these away,
Nowhere. Natural heart’s ivy, Patience masks
Our ruins of wrecked past purpose. There she basks
Purple eyes and seas of liquid leaves all day.

We hear our hearts grate on themselves: it kills
To bruise them dearer. Yet the rebellious wills
Of us we do bid God bend to him even so.
And where is he who more and more distils
Delicious kindness?—He is patient. Patience fills
His crisp combs, and that comes those ways we know.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins

This morning in church Andy Stanley talked about the paths we take and the destinations that they lead to. Sometimes we think about things as isolated events, when, more accurately, they are steps in one direction or another. During the entire sermon, I kept asking the Lord to show me where I was at fault in the steps I was taking, and I grew frustrated when I couldn't come up with anything.

Towards the end of the message, he made a statement that grabbed my attention: "Some of you chose the path of forgiveness a while ago, and you are just beginning to see the results of your obedience." Could this be me? Yes. Suddenly my eyes were opened to the perfection of the plan He had orchestrated. It's been months since He asked me to extend forgiveness. I never expected anything in return.

But apparently I forgot that Jesus is all about restoration; His timing is always perfect, and an old friendship that I had accepted as lost is being rebuilt. Alleluia.

Be at rest once more, O my soul, for the LORD has been good to you. -Psalm 116:7

fruition

–noun

1.	attainment of anything desired; realization; accomplishment: After years of hard work she finally brought her idea to full fruition.

2.	enjoyment, as of something attained or realized.

3.	state of bearing fruit.

—Synonyms 1. consummation, accomplishment, fulfillment, achievement, completion, perfection, result.

a new creation?

Anyone who belongs to Christ is a new person. The past is forgotten, and everything is new. -2 Corinthians 5:17 (CEV)


So I went to Wyoming at the beginning of the summer and our team had a mixed CD to give out while we were on the trip. Naturally, I got a copy, put it on my computer, and forgot about it. But a certain song came on shuffle yesterday afternoon while I was dancing around my kitchen and trying out a couple of new recipes for granola and multi-grain cranberry-banana bread.



Admittedly, this song is not representative of my typical musical preferences, but I had to listen to it over and over again. "Who wrote this?" I thought, "I mean, seriously, somebody else has felt like this before?" I made my roommate listen to it. She understood why the simple lyrics resonated so well in my heart because she's been right by my side for the majority of this journey. But we were apart for three journals (May 15th-August 14th) this summer, and after only a few days together, we were able to see wonderful changes in each other - changes that are a direct result of Grace.

Because our time apart was sandwiched between months of living and doing life together, she was able to see the changes in me quite clearly. But just for the virtual record, here are some of the changes that I am aware of:

1. Mercy. He's been teaching me to Love people in a different way than I have had the capacity for in the past. I'm learning to see past things that make it hard to love people for who they are. The value of empathy seems to be dissolving my tendencies toward judgment.

2. Charismatic... Stuff. Wesley. It's a little crazy, but I like it a lot. I've never been a part of this kind of passionate worship before. The funny thing is, the actual services are only a sort of punctuation for what's going on in Athens. Healing. Restoration. Revival.

3. Peace. I don't compulsively make lists anymore (Well, sometimes I do, but I most of them get thrown away pretty quickly). I don't try to plan out my class schedules two and three semesters in advance. I don't micromanage every minute of every day anymore. I kind of like not being in control. Heck, I don't even know where I'm going to be a year from now. And I'm kind of totally okay with that... weird, right?

4. Restoration. Sometimes progression happens in the form of retrogression. When I was sixteen, I came to the conclusion that the Lord was truly enough for me. That His Love was more than capable of fulfilling the desires in my heart for a husband (If he exists, I shall henceforth refer to him as "Beardy") at some point in the future. Well, we all know what happened next. But in a lot of ways, I find that the wholeness that the sixteen-year-old version of myself possessed is returning. My passion for international missions has been renewed. Old friendships have been restored to their former glory.

5. A soft heart. He is taking away the stony places. I feel things now.

To name a few.

change everything

Use me, Lord, wash me clean I want to be more like You. Change my mind, change everything, For this is my cry to You: that my thoughts be pure and my actions holy that i would speak the truth and love You only

We sang this song at Wesley the other night; the words are so powerful. Bob talked about the passage in Jeremiah 18 about the clay and the potter.

This is the word that came to Jeremiah from the LORD: "Go down to the potter's house, and there I will give you my message." So I went down to the potter's house, and I saw him working at the wheel. But the pot he was shaping from the clay was marred in his hands; so the potter formed it into another pot, shaping it as seemed best to him. (v.1-4)

As an aside, I would like to emphasize how greatly I would appreciate the LORD telling me to head on down to a certain spot with a promise to speak to me clearly and (apparently) audibly there. I hope Jeremiah realizes how fortunate he was.

Then the word of the LORD came to me: "O house of Israel, can I not do with you as this potter does?" declares the LORD. "Like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand, O house of Israel. If at any time I announce that a nation or kingdom is to be uprooted, torn down and destroyed, and if that nation I warned repents of its evil, then I will relent and not inflict on it the disaster I had planned. And if at another time I announce that a nation or kingdom is to be built up and planted, and if it does evil in my sight and does not obey me, then I will reconsider the good I had intended to do for it. (v. 5-10)

While Bob was speaking about this passage, I started praying:

27 August
Ruin the ambitions or plans I've made apart from You. Reshape me. Oh... You're already doing it. You started almost a year ago, and You continue to shape me into this more amazing creature, someone I myself am just getting to know - the real and beautiful and honest and free and fully alive Kirby... Demolish the thoughts or ideas that crop up in my mind when they are not from You. Fill me with your Peace. Help me to know and love you, so that I can trust You and relax as you form me. I want to know you. more. please connect with me. I want to be close to You - nearer than I was when I woke up this morning - more intimate with you. I want to taste and see your Goodness. I really really really want to know You - for You to be much more real than anything else in my life.

"Now therefore I say to the people of Judah and those living in Jerusalem, 'This is what the LORD says: Look! I am preparing a disaster for you and devising a plan against you. So turn from your evil ways, each one of you, and reform your ways and your actions.' But they will reply, 'It's no use. We will continue with our own plans; each of us will follow the stubbornness of his evil heart.'" (v. 11-12)

I think that evil is, simply put, an absence of Goodness (a.k.a. God). So even though a year ago, when this entire process began, I wasn't exactly overtaken by malice and orgies and drunkenness and debauchery, I certainly had plenty of selfish ambitions, and therefore, evil ways. Like Israel, I made my own plans. Like Israel, I ignored His warnings of destruction. Like Israel, I continued to follow the stubbornness of my evil heart.

I held on so tightly to what the had LORD planted and built up that its Goodness was suffocated. He destroyed it. He reconsidered the good He had intended for it. He smashed the emerging pottery into a lump of clay. He ruined me.

But this, as it turns out, is wonderful news. You see, its not the end of the story. I am being reshaped. recovered. rebuilt. renewed. redeemed. reclaimed. restored...

ruined for anything less than Him.

the rain

It rained in Athens today. Most people, had they been caught without an umbrella like I was, would have quickly decided to invest in one, especially considering the fact that this weather is supposed to last all week. I did not, however, reach this conclusion. On the contrary, I found the experience of walking home from Aderhold in the pelting rain quite thrilling. I took off my raincoat and wrapped my bag in it to keep all those hundreds-of-dollars-worth of textbooks dry and suitable for resale in December.

After a few minutes, I found myself running down the stairs between the music and art schools, splashing in the deep puddles of water that collected in the pavement's uneven places. I couldn't see myself, but I know I was just beaming. Fortunately, I didn't really see any other pedestrians, so I don't think I frightened anyone. I think they were all sensible enough to seek shelter and wait out the downpour. Just as I was walking into my building, I passed a girl that was heading out. Sopping wet, I couldn't help but smile an enormous mascara-running-down-my-cheeks smile at her. She smiled back.

I shivered with laughter as I caught myself habitually wiping the slippery soles of my chacos on the doormat in the threshold of my air-conditioned apartment building. I walked to the elevator, leaving a trail of rainwater in my path, and a puddle where I stood as I slowly ascended to the sixth floor. I let myself into our apartment, peeled off my soaking dress, pulled on some yoga pants and a t-shirt, wrapped my hair in a towel, put some water on the boil for a steaming pot of overly-steeped black russian tea, and sat down to write this.

She puts her hands against the life she had
Living with ignorance, blissful and sad.
But nobody knows what lies behind
the days before the day we die.
-The Avett Brothers, Die Die Die

This time last year, I was one of those sensible people that would have found a quiet vestibule in the closest building and sat down to read a textbook until the rain subsided. I was desperately attempting to transform myself into someone that I was never meant to be. I missed out on a lot of opportunities to walk in the rain because I was afraid of getting a little wet. But this year is already so different. I wanted to come back to school. Classes don't stress me out. Sometime in the last year I stopped micromanaging my schedule and my life. Yesterday I bought my first football tickets. As I reflect on these things, I find gratefulness welling up inside my chest. God is gracious.

I'm glad it's yoga day.

more distinctive colors

The weight of lies will bring you down
And follow you to every town
Cause nothing happens here that doesn’t happen there
So when you run make sure you run
To something and not away from
Cause lies don’t need an aeroplane to chase you anywhere
-The Avett Brothers, Weight of Lies

Yesterday when I was driving to Athens I heard this song for the first time and these words caught my ear. Suddenly two lines had summed up the way I had been feeling about Seattle for the past couple of days that I couldn't quite put into words. In February, I wrote a post called
Ready To Stand. In it I talked about all of the new things I was trying at that point in my life; everything from yoga and climbing to painted fingernails and piano.

Seattle was on the list. It was important and healthy for me to try all of these things, and some of them I've stuck with and have grown passionate about. Others of them have fallen away along my journey, Seattle being the most recent. If I'm honest with myself, I know I am not a city girl, and a view of Mt. Rainier, although gorgeous, couldn't cut it for me. As I grow into the person that the Lord created me to be, I'm learning that I cannot, am not supposed to, and don't want to fit a mold. (Me, unique? How incredibly lovely!)

"Mackenzie, the pattern of color and light is unique to each person; no two are alike and no pattern is ever the same twice. Here, we are able to see each other truly, and part of seeing means that individual personality and emotion is visible in color and light."
"This is incredible!" Mack exclaimed. "Then why are the children's colors mostly white?"
"As you near them you will see that they have many individual colors that have merged into white, which contains all. As they mature and grow to become who they really are, the colors they exhibit will become more distinctive, and unique hues and shades will emerge."

-from The Shack, by William P. Young

So I think I've resolved not to waste time worrying about what's going to happen next year. This morning I woke up to an orange sunrise and the smell of fresh basil in my new apartment. I am so grateful for my precious friends sleeping the rooms next to mine. My old habit of incess ant planning almost cost me the opportunity to live with them again this year, but the Lord is gracious and righteous; our God is full of compassion. (Psalm 116:5)

Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails. -Proverbs 19:21

a surprising direction

Faith never knows where it is being led, but it knows and loves the One who is leading. -Oswald Chambers

I went to Seattle yesterday. Yes, for one day, or more accurately, ten hours. The night before Big Jim and I left, I was feeling nervous, and so I asked a friend to pray for me. He reminded me of one of my favorite passages in Matthew 6 by asking a simple question: Does God not feed the birds? Almost immediately I began to feel the anxiety lifted off my chest and I was able to sleep in peace, reminded of the Lord's sovereignty over this situation.

The next morning on the plane, after wasting some time playing bejeweled, I began to pray, asking the Lord for clarity during the day. I wanted to love Seattle, but I was also afraid that I would. You see, I can be incredibly stubborn, and although I know that His plans cannot be thwarted, it's still a nicer experience to listen from the beginning than to rebel and undergo correction. I wanted to hear from the Lord while I was in Seattle, one way or another. Was I supposed to go there?

"Come near to me and listen to this: from the first announcement I have not spoken in secret; at the time it happens, I am there." -Isaiah 48:16

When we arrived on campus, I didn't feel that magical spark that I expected. I didn't dislike what I had seen so far by any means, but I also didn't love it in the way that I wanted to. The Speech and Hearing Sciences building was beautiful - covered in ivy and full of character. The weather was atypical for even an August Seattle day - sunny with a high of 75. I enjoyed the meeting with some of the faculty members, and I have no doubt about the quality of this program. But UW's campus reminded me so much of UGA, and although I've grown to love my school, I've always said that North Georgia would have been a more natural fit for me if only it were a little further away from home.

This is what the LORD says - your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel: "I am the LORD your God, who teaches you what is best for you, who directs you in the way you should go." -Isaiah 48:17

As our day on the west coast drew to a close, I found myself with an unexpected feeling. I wanted very badly to visit Appalachian State, the school that my friend Brooke (she is going to laugh when she hears this) and I have joked about going to for the last six months or so. Mom and I are planning a trip to Boone at the end of September.

It seems He is directing me.
It's just that the direction is a little surprising.
I will keep you posted.

change

Growth means change, and change involves risk, stepping from the known to the unknown.
-Author Unknown

As wise man (my papa) once told me that life is a series of transitions, strung together by our responses and adjustments to them. Change is always happening - sometimes in a slow and steady drumbeat - flowing like the seasons; they are expected, predictable, offering ample warning, so that we can prepare ourselves. But sometimes change catches us off guard, and suddenly we find ourselves violently jerked out of the little world that had become ours. We are forced to find a new normal.

I'm beginning to think that change itself is neutral - that it can't, in and of itself, be good or bad. Let me clarify, the positive and negative effects of change can certainly be good or bad, but these consequences are dependent on, well, our dependence, on the One who is never surprised by change. Change is always an opportunity - for growth, for grace, for building new relationships and strengthening old ones, for discovering our passions, and for learning about ourselves and the intentions our Creator has for us.

a large basket of Lorings

Yesterday I went to Jaemor Farm Market with my grandmother. This is how it made me feel:

Day after day from all those miles and leagues of flowers there rose a smell which Lucy found it very hard to describe: sweet -- yes, but not at all overpowering, a fresh, wild, lonely smell that seemed to get into your brain and make you feel that you could go up mountains at a run or wrestle with an elephant. She and Caspian said to one another, "I feel that I can't stand much more of this, yet I don't want it to stop."
-from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis


Over the course of the last week, I made two different plans for my Sunday, both of which involved hiking, both of which fell through. Turns out the Lord had different ideas. I didn't get it when I stepped on a nail a few days beforehand, nor when my parents offered their sound advice. He's guiding (I considered using the word "forcing" here) me to follow his will by eliminating my options, which is exactly what I asked for.

I am so thankful for what he is teaching me (finances, shalom), and even more thankful for the farm market. He knew I would love it. I wanted to look at and smell and touch and taste everything; I never wanted to leave and I cannot wait to go back next week when the Georgia Belles (white flesh peaches) are in. I brought home a pint of blueberries, fig preserves, homemade granola, four kiwis for Madison, and a large basket of Lorings which I cannot wait to share because even I couldn't possibly eat them all before they ripen.

this is me

My business is not to remake myself, but make the absolute best of what God made. -Robert Browning

I feel sexier in a climbing harness than I ever did in a prom dress or heels. hands down. I'm obsessed with fiber. I love peppermint tea, and teapots in general, for that matter. Sometimes I sew patches on blue jeans and old sweaters. I like birch trees and easter lilies. I listen to music much too loudly and have a mild bilateral low-frequency hearing loss as a result. My dream car is a solar-powered subaru outback. I'm growing my hair out again. I keep cloth grocery bags in my car.

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.

Plaid gets me every time. So do messenger bags, suspenders, scruffy faces (thanks dad), deep voices, and nerd-talk. I have too many shoes, and keep my favorites in the trunk of my car next to my jumper cables. I enjoy yoga and meaningful song lyrics. I love to sing and dance (but I'm sorry if you've experienced either of these). Becoming a vegetarian wouldn't be that huge of a lifestyle change for me, but I could never be a vegan because I like milk, yogurt, and cheese too much.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful, I know that full well.

My plants are my pets. I'm terrified of fish, splinters, abandonment, and aliens. Forgiveness is the most beautiful concept that I have encountered thus far in my short years. I like to wake up early. My favorite subject is anatomy, but language is a close second. My aspirations for this school year include: becoming a decent slackliner, deepening a few friendships so that they will certainly last when I move away next year, and learning more about backpacking, lead climbing, healing, and Jesus. Recently I've developed a slight interest in the middle east.

My frame was not hidden from you
when I was made in the secret place.
When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,
your eyes saw my unformed body.

My favorite color is green. I love peaches. My temporomandibular joint (jaw) pops every time I open my mouth. I like poetry and art museums, but wish I knew more about them. I prefer windows down over air conditioning. I have control freak tendencies and sleep with a stuffed dalmatian named major nelson and I secretly like the song "I Hope You Dance." I figure I should be worried about graduate school for next year, but I'm really not.

All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.
(Psalm 139:13-16)

If He wants me in Seattle, He will make it happen. If not, I will go to Boone and hike every weekend and love it. (Until today I did not truly have peace about this)

This is me; I make no apologies. I was created this way.

floating on the Lion's breath

Journal Entry from July 3, 2008:

She felt frightened only for a second. For one thing, the world beneath her was so very far away that it seemed to have nothing to do with her. For another, floating on the breath of the Lion was so extremely comfortable. She found she could lie on her back or on her face and twist any way she pleased, just as you can in water (if you've learned to float really well). And because she was moving at the same pace as the breath, there was no wind, and the air seemed beautifully warm. It was not in the least like being in an airplane, because there was no noise and no vibration. If Jill had ever been in a balloon she might have though it more like that; only better.
-from The Silver Chair by C.S. Lewis

In May I was driving to the airport to visit my friends, Robby and Joanna. It was sometime around 4:30 AM and still very dark. Where Are You Going by DMB came on shuffle and, ordinarily, I would have skipped it because, truth be told, I don't much care for the song. As I fumbled for the button, I felt a strong impression that I should not change it. Perhaps it was the Holy Spirit; I hesitate to say so because I'm still only learning that kind of discernment. At any rate, He had my attention, and as if the aforementioned song was the question, the answer came next: Breakfast in New York by Oppenheimer, a song that I had quite recently begun to associate with my trip to Russia. (I am a little embarrassed to admit that I had been thinking about graduate school before the answer came, a gentle reminder not to get ahead of myself, or, more importantly, Him, as well as a promise to go with me to Russia).

My trip is entering its final stages, and I've noticed that an attitude of mild disappointment and frustration has built up over the last few weeks. I have not been able to feel His Presence as I so often do in Athens (He is moving there). I haven't heard from Him in powerful or obvious ways, and I know that I've passed up several opportunities to share with some of my new friends. But this morning as I read this passage from The Silver Chair, I realized that I have been floating on the Lion's breath, figuratively speaking. Regardless of what I feel, the Lord has most definitely been here with me, protecting both my body and heart - teaching me through the stories of Narnia and through conversations with the people I've met this month. As always, He is good, and I am thankful that He has opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of that truth today.

DAS-vee DON-yeh

A wise friend of mine made a prediction when I first found out that I was going to Russia to work as a camp counselor. She said that she could "totally see me giving my heart to Russian children." Little did I know how right she would be. I gave it away yesterday as Susan and I left Dubinina. I was okay, and up until about half an hour before we left, you couldn't have told me that I would cry. But when one of my little girls asked me to promise that I wouldn't forget about them it was all over. The tears started pouring down my cheeks. How could I forget the beautiful little ones that had so touched my heart and shared their lives with me? How could I forget jumping rope and swimming in the freezing cold pool? How could I forget my Russian lessons and dance competitions every night? How could I forget their beautiful eyes and their sweet smiles and cheerful laughter?


I will never forget. I'm back in Moscow for two days - home on Monday. I promise to fill in the blanks in my story as soon as I get a chance. I'm looking forward to seeing you.

bears, beets, battlestar galactica

After a lovely week at camp, Susan and I were invited to spend the weekend with our new friend Vera. She and I were co-counselors with group 6 (boys and girls ages 9-11). Her english is excellent. Friday was my birthday, and her parents prepared a special Russian meal with beautiful vegetables from her mother's garden. We even had cake! After dinner we played UNO for hours. It was great practice for learning our Russian numbers and colors. Vera's parents understand a lot of English, but speak very little. There was a moment when I looked up at the evening sky (which was oddly still very light even late in the evening) and thought about how beautiful this scene was. What a beautiful gift: a portrait of peace between two countries that have been enemies for most of the last century. I remember a lot from the evening, mostly laughter, but I do not remember feeling the presence of any kind of language barrier.

Today we spent some time with our friend Rusilia. We had lunch at her house: Borsht. It was delicious. We also saw a lot of Yoshkar-Ola. It is a nice city. There are trolley buses and lots of wonderful food. Our professor told us that we would probably lose weight here, but we doubt it. We've been eating a lot.

I've enjoyed this weekend of rest, but I must confess that I am ready to get back to camp. One of my other co-counselors, Katya, is also studying speech therapy. It should be interesting to see how our relationship works out since she speaks even less english than I speak Russian. Our other co-counsleor's name is Andre Georgovich. He speaks a substantial amount of english, so that is helpful.

Camp has already become a second home for me, and despite the mosquitos, I am ready to get back. Hopefully I will be able to write more soon!

стоп

стоп means stop. It's actually pronounced that way as well. That is how the signs at intersections are marked in moscow. My Russian alphabet skills have come in handy so far. The weather here is gorgeous, and since my flight got in about eight hours before everybody else's, my professor, Gwynn, and I are being given a private tour of the motherland's capital by a local guy that works for CCUSA.

Almost all of the metro stations have some kind of monument marking them. My roommate in the hotel is another program participant from Australia. Should be interesting. Can't drink the water here. No windows in the airport, but the city is much brighter than I had imagined.

Once again, this 800 year old city boasts a fascinating blend of ancient and contemporary architecture. So far we ate a restaurant called my-my [moo moo]. I had some weird Russian wild mushroom salad and these little cheesecake things with strawberry dipping sauce. I really need to pull my camera out and start taking pictures.

After lunch, we walked up the street to see the old KGB building and a beautiful little russian orthodox church. There are hundreds of some kind of tree here that are giving off small wisps of cotton-like seed pods, so although it is a clear sunny day, it looks like its snowing. Next I believe we are headed to red square. I'm excited to see Lenin and the Kremlin.

I'm not sure when I'll be able to post another entry, but I will try to do so sooner than later. Certainly I will have had some time to be able to offer a better sample of writing.

breakfast in new york

Breakfast in New York
And I know that we’re dreaming
Drunken conversations and the things we were scheming
To get out of this town and take a trip underground
-Oppenheimer

Spent the last two days in the big apple. The city is surprisingly beautiful in the summer - trees line many of the streets, and the park is full of thick green grass. It's hot. 102 yesterday. In Yoshkar-Ola it was snowing, so we're looking forward to perhaps some cooler weather in a few days.

I've never spent any time here in the summer, nor have I been to the upper west side. It's like an entirely different city altogether. Columbia is like a little garden. The campus is quiet. I have a great view out of my window in my room on the east side of the eighth floor. Dad flew up here with me yesterday and we visited the Museum of Natural History and ate sandwiches in the park. I've really enjoyed getting to know my travel-class-mates: Renee, Susan, Amy, Denny, Jacob, Taylor, and Darcy. Last night we went to a Mets game. Renee, Darcy, Amy, and I made a trip down to Herald Square this afternoon. Tonight we're going to eat at a cuban restaurant a couple blocks from here on Broadway.

Tomorrow is going to be the longest mega-day of my life. I'll wake up at 5:00 AM, catch the M-60 bus at the corner of Broadway and 116th to La Guardia - fly to Atlanta at 9:00 AM, arrive around 11:30 AM, meet dad at Hartsfield, depart for Moscow at 4:30 PM, arrive at 10:30 AM the next day. My plan is to sleep as much as possible.

I miss you all and will update as soon as possible.

Lena Gomolka

I come from a long line of bag ladies. My great-great grandmother, Lena Gomolka, arrived on Ellis Island shortly after World War I at the age of nineteen. All of her belongings were packed neatly into half-a-dozen-or-so mismatched bags. She had spent the previous several years of her life working in eastern Poland's potato fields, where her first baby was born. Apparently, after giving birth in the middle of a field, she wrapped him up like a papoose and kept working. She passed away shortly after my father was born in 1964, so I don't know very much else about her youth, but when she got older, she had beautiful long white hair. She outlived her husband, Peter, by 25 years, living on her own despite the invitations of her children into their homes.

And not one motion her gesture could I forget,
the prettiest bag lady I ever met...
Pushing her cart in the rain, then gathering plastic and glass
She watched the day pass
Not hour by hour, but pain by pain.
-mewithoutYou, Paper-Hanger

Most of the ladies in my family have carried painful burdens in their bags: alcoholism, abusive husbands, divorce, depression, sickness, poverty, prejudice and racism, heartaches, teen pregnancy, and the curse of the extra-wide polish birthing hips. But they have also carried joy and laughter, a love for singing although we are terrible at it, resourcefulness, olive complexion, large green eyes, and a knack for baking and gardening.

Although I carry some of the things I've inherited from Lena, like her pride and independent spirit, the Lord has helped me to drop the pain of the many of life's troubles along my journey. He's filled my bags with peace, confidence, climbing shoes, joy, education, memories with great friends, books, a huge and loving abnormally-configurated family, grace, passions for problem-solving, mountains, children, and so many more things.

Please share what you know about your heritage.

Россия

As most of you know, I'm heading to Russia soon. I kind of can't believe it's actually happening, and sooner than I think. Looking back on the last month or so, I've realized that I've learned a lot about Russian history. It's quite interesting, and that, coming from a self-proclaimed science nerd that will be the first to admit that she doesn't know squat about history, is a monumental statement. Unfortunately, I will have infrequent internet (at best) since we will spend the majority of our time in the rural Mari El Republic, but I will make every effort to type posts when I can. If this proves impossible, I will put them up when I get home and backdate them. I'm serious.

I've never been away from home for this long, so if you want to send me a letter (please please send me a letter!), here is the address:

Kirby Lee
c/o Camp named after Volodya Dubinin
Respublika Mari-El
Yoshkar-Ola
157 Komsomol'skaya Str of 321
424006 Russia

Our professor has advised us that it takes about a month for mail to arrive, so if you'd like me to get it before I leave, please make sure you send your mail by June 10th.

Россия = Russia

western sunrise

I woke up early this morning - somewhere around 4:45 or so - and couldn't sleep anymore; I had too much on my mind. I walked into the kitchen and read emily dickinson for a while before resolving to take a walk on the beach and watch the sunrise. I even made a facebook status about it. (surprised?) Unfortunately, I dilly-dallied and before I knew it, the day had dawned. Somehow I missed the sky's fading from deep navy to pale blue, and suddenly I remembered watching the sunset over the water a few nights past. We're on the west side of the island.

It was just as well, though, because the thought of venturing out in the dark alone kind of scared me a little. Embarrassed by this childish feeling, I got dressed and began my walk. It was lovely to be alone in the quiet of the early morning coast; the sounds of the sea can hardly be called a distraction, and a gentle breeze swept away the South Carolina mugginess. I started to sing, but kept glancing nervously up and down the beach, wary of spectators, before I realized that I didn't care if anyone heard me.

Occasionally I would reach down to pick up the tiny seashells that the ebbing tide revealed - treasures for the hands of the tiny Russians that I'm certain will change my life in a few short weeks. God is so good, for as I turned back toward the place where I started from, the brilliant sun burst out from behind the eastern treeline. So often I expect very specific things from him, but when I hope in his promises, I am never disappointed.

fire-flower cordial

I saw Prince Caspian for the second time today; here are some of my thoughts:

I suppose I've always sort of imagined myself to be most like Susan Pevensie: harnessed with logic and sensibility, the one that matter-of-factly offers the scientific explanation for why the river has eroded its way into a gorge over the course of the last 1300 years (much to the annoyance of her siblings), the one that struggles with faith because practicality is so much easier. I admire Susan. I would love to be the beautiful girl that gracefully rides her horse (or bike in my case) in a long flowing skirt through the woods - the skilled archer that carefully aims before launching a deadly arrow into the side of her opponent - the one who kisses Caspian in the end.

Listening to the whispering in my ear, soft but getting stronger...
-mewithoutYou, Four Word Letter (Pt. Two)

Yet as I watched the film, I felt the LORD telling me that He wants to make a Lucy out of me. I am not meant to be the one that runs into battle screaming "FOR NARNIAAAA!!!" with Peter and Edmund, though that would be my preference. I am not meant to be the one who carries a bow and quiver with a magical horn slung over my shoulder. Rather, I am meant to carry a small but treacherous dagger and a diamond flask of fire-flower cordial concealed at my belt. This, for me, is such a strange spiritual undertaking, yet it is one that He keeps confirming. (He must have anticipated the doubts I would still have at the end of the movie, wondering if He was really talking to me or if I was making it up, because there was a beautiful Regina Spektor song at the end of the movie - just in case I didn't quite get it)

Therefore, the promise comes by faith, so that it may be by grace and may be guaranteed to all Abraham's offspring—not only to those who are of the law but also to those who are of the faith of Abraham. He is the father of us all. As it is written: "I have made you a father of many nations." He is our father in the sight of God, in whom he believed—the God who gives life to the dead and calls things that are not as though they were.

Against all hope, Abraham in hope believed and so became the father of many nations, just as it had been said to him, "So shall your offspring be." Without weakening in his faith, he faced the fact that his body was as good as dead—since he was about a hundred years old—and that Sarah's womb was also dead. Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what he had promised.

-Romans 4:16-21

big jim

And I'm still waiting to meet a [guy] like my [dad] who's closer to my age. -mewithoutYou, Nice & Blue (Pt. Two)

Yesterday I woke up to an alarm for the first time in a while. The obnoxious ringing jerked me awake at 5:30, and within seven minutes I was driving down Thompson Bridge Road in the eerie early morning darkness. At 5:47, I pulled into the driveway of my dad's house, he hopped in the car, and we headed to the Y for spin class. I had taken my first dose of a typhoid vaccine the night before, and unfortunately my stomach couldn't handle the intensity paired with the live virus, so halfway through I went to walk on the treadmill while he finished up. About 25 minutes later, dad walked up to me and said "hey kirbylee, feeling up for some dips?" (He's helping me strengthen my arms for climbing.)

When we got home, I agreed to help out with some yard work, so we drove to Wal-Mart to purchase some grass seed, red mulch, and ivy. I didn't have any old clothes with me, so I had to borrow some of his. I like working with my dad, and yesterday had wonderful weather for working outside. There were moments when I considered dropping out of school to become a migrant worker.

At one point we were sitting side-by-side at the top of the small precipice in our backyard planting ivy that will hopefully grow down and hold the bank below. We laughed. We talked. We had a little system going. Patti came outside and captured this image of us.

Today, I got a flat tire on White Sulphur Road on my way to the Y. I called my dad, and he promised to come help me when my aerobics class was over. Sure enough, when I walked back out to the parking lot, he was sitting in/on the back of my car with the trunk popped. As I approached, he announced that I would be changing the tire, under his supervision since, technically, he'd already taught me how a year ago. The natural response probably would have involved some amount of grumbling, or even whining on my part, but the more I think about it, the more I am thankful for this experience. I changed a tire myself today. How many 19-year-old girls can do that? Thanks, dad, for being such a good teacher.

I am so very thankful for my father. When I was in elementary school, he would come in and read books to my class. I always remember him spending time with me. He is my friend. He offers great advice. I have learned a lot about the way that God loves me through my relationship with my dad. I am proud that he is my dad - proud to be seen with him in public - proud that, though he loves so many, he loves me special. I'm even proud that I look like him - flat spot, oval-shaped face, cow-lick, forward-growing hair and all! My dad is the greatest.


What is your's like?

christmas break

School is out! Yes!

Oddly enough, I've spent the first few days of summer on Christmas break, if you will. My dear friends Robby, Joanna, and Trey have welcomed me into their cozy home in Wake Forest, North Carolina. It's been a restful visit so far - while Robby's been at work or class, the three of us have taken multiple naps, watched Nacho Libre, obtained a piercing (yep) at the mall, gone for a stroll around campus, read Anna Karenina (for me), and Terrify No More (for Joanna), changed diapers, met some friends, and talked and talked and talked. Last night Joanna made a delicious chicken & veggie pizza with homemade whole-wheat crust for dinner. Afterwards, her friend Tiffany came over and, with Robby as our trainer, we all worked out in the living room.

I love being here; as a direct result of their hospitality, it already feels like home - as though this were a friend's house that I've been coming to after school since I was a kid. In a summer full of adventure after adventure, it is good to begin with this kind of get-away. I'm remembering how crazy Robby is. I'm getting to know my new friend Trey. Joanna-my-friend has been transformed into Joanna-the-mother, while somehow remaining Joanna-my-friend.

friday

My favorite part of the day is in the morning when the sunlight is just beginning to filter in through east-facing windows. I like these precious moments when I feel alone in the quiet, when everyone else is sleeping still. My hair is tousled, my breath is horrendous, my eyes won't fully open, and my fine motor skills are compromised. Regardless of these deficits, I like to shuffle into the kitchen and make myself some peppermint tea with cream and sugar - to sit still for a few minutes while it steeps.

My favorite part of the week mimics this brief repose. I love the moment when you finish your weekly duties and can just take a deep breath before the weekend activities begin. Due to the lack of urgency and pressure, Fridays are often my most academically productive days. The long drive down 129 towards Gainesville is best on a sunny Friday afternoon. I like to crank up the music, roll down my windows, and just drive. This semester I've discovered that campus is different on Fridays, too. It's quiet.

My life feels kind of like a Friday right now. I have only one exam left and then school is truly out for three months, excluding study abroad, which in my opinion, does not count. This is the first summer in three years that I will not be sitting for classes, and probably the last for the next three years, as most graduate programs require summer coursework. I am enjoying it.

Who has not found heaven below
Will fail of it above
God's residence is next to mine,
His furniture is love.
-Emily D.

greenest green

Celebrate we will
'cause life is short but sweet for certain - hey!
We climb on two by two
to be sure these days continue
Things we cannot change
-Dave Matthews Band, Two Step

I don't want to grow up. I want to spend a thousand more Georgia summers wading in the creek at Wilshire Trails, catching water-spiders and crayfish. I want to lick a dripping softball-sized scoop of cake batter ice cream supported by a waffle cone from Bruster's as I walk along a shady path of the nearby park. I want to feel the sun's warmth as it bursts out from behind a giant cloud, and welcome it's retreat as another passes beneath it. I want to savor each cool, muggy morning and see the heat waves rising from the asphalt as I climb with sun-burned shoulders into a stifling car after a day at the pool. I want to wake up from a nap in the hammock on the side deck of my dad's house to the smell of fresh-cut grass, walk lazily into the kitchen, pour him a tall glass of ice water, bring it outside, and watch him drink it all in one thirsty gulp before he starts the mower up again. I want to catch fireflies after dark and listen to the crickets' song as I fall asleep.

This is where I have always been coming to. Since my time began. And when I go away from here, this will be the mid-point, to which everything ran, before, and from which everything will run. But now, my love, we are here, we are now, and those other times are running elsewhere. -A.S. Byatt, Possession

I refuse to spend the beginning of my young adulthood mourning the hasty end of my adolescence; to spend countless hours dwelling on the past is no better than wasting days dreaming of the future. I will disregard the present no more. It's important to walk slowly sometimes - to wear a skirt that blows in the wind - to dance when you feel like it - to laugh until it hurts - to read novels and sit outside in the sun - to stay up late talking to your best friends - to feel the bark of your favorite tree with your bare feet - to notice Spring's greenest green and let it surprise you every time.

bittersweet

Summed up in one word, year two of college has been bittersweet, a fact made plain by my attitude toward its end. Last year, I started moving out before spring break; I was so out of that little shoe box. But apartment 306 in McWhorter Hall has become my home, and the three beautiful women that I share it with, my family. I've grown to love UGA - the turtle pond, the lacebark elms that line East Green Street, discipleship, Lake Herrick, the (free) climbing wall in Ramsey, my sister living just down the road, aerobics classes, and even the faculty of the communication sciences and disorders department. The idea of the next few weeks of school and leaving for the summer is sort of symbolic for me. It's like a small scale trial run of what's about to happen in my life in the next few years. Leaving for five weeks in Russia forces me to think about leaving for three years in Seattle. While I'm excited about the next chapter, I do not want this one to end just yet.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to leave my family. We're parting ways for the summer: I am going to Russia, Becca to Spain, Lindsey to Italy, and Danielle is taking classes and working stateside (she went to New Zealand last year). I love these girls so very much. I wish I could capture and share with you an image that would convey their individual beauty, but it's taken me eight months to see the depth of who they are, and I am still uncovering new and wonderful things about them every day:

Yesterday after class I was sitting at my desk removing the bright pink polish from my fingernails when I heard the kitchen door open. "Hello?" she called from our living room, and appeared a moment later in my doorway,"I knew you were here because I could smell the fingernail polish." In spite of our desperate need for an academically productive afternoon, we began to talk, and continued to do so for about two hours. We talked about everything and nothing - like old friends that hadn't spoken in years and needed to catch up. We took some personality quizzes online, and I had to answer some of the questions that she couldn't figure out about herself.

When I opened my window to let some fresh air in, I could smell the summer. As I adjusted the plants on my windowsill, I heard her say quietly, "You're pretty, Kirby." That's what she's like. She sees beauty in things that others overlook. Last night, we were sitting outside the art school before the graphic design exit show and she noticed an overgrown tree stump. I'm pretty sure she's going to bring her sketchbook back there to draw it between classes sometime this week. She asks brilliant questions. Her favorite Disney princesses are Mulan and Belle. Her favorite cereals are Kix, Honey Bunches of Oats (which she calls H-Boo), and Multigrain Cheerios. She drinks her tea with Splenda. She loves scarves and big fat juicy oranges, but shudders at the thought of touching rotten fruit. She drives a manual transmission and puts little card pockets in the front covers of most of her books, which she also labels. Apparently she wants to organize them in some fashion and keep track of who borrows them. (She just came into my room, laid down on the floor, and told me that)

She doesn't realize how amazing she is and she lacks confidence, but I kind of like that about her; she is genuinely humble, which is a precious rarity, in my opinion. Last night I watched her paint flawless Victorian letters on a project for her upcoming portfolio review. For a moment, it was as if I saw her through the Lord's eyes. Beautiful.

She's going to hate that I wrote this about her.