(I wrote this post a few weeks ago but never published it. I’m still in the throes of writing my thesis, but there is definitely light at the end of the tunnel. And it is getting closer. I’ll let you know when I surface.)

I’ve had the same bedspread since I was 14. That is going to change this summer, for obvious reasons, but for now I am still camouflaged by my bed when I sit on it in jeans.

Which makes me think of… (it doesn’t really, but I’m trying to somehow tie this post together) Anna Karenina. I finished it just in time for the discussion we had on Wednesday, and I do not think that anything I have read has affected me as strongly since The Deathly Hallows. (If you are tempted to laugh at that, please re-read the entire Harry Potter series and then get back to me. But that is a different discussion altogether.) The novel is incredibly rich, and I highly recommend it; please do not be scared of its 940 pages. Even if you take a year to read it, which I almost did, I think you will find it worthwhile.

One of the most rewarding aspects of the book is Tolstoy’s incredible grasp of the way people work. I found myself in every character he wrote, because no matter how evil and selfish some of the choices that the characters made were, Tolstoy refused to “villainize” any character–he showed their thought processes in such a way that it honestly left me wondering whether I would not make the same choice in their situation. This is the danger of all our evil; it is so easy to convince ourselves that it is good.

Song for today:

I am tip-toeing to the edge.
I am standing on a precipice.
I am overlooking an uncertain future.

Every future is uncertain, but sometimes it is more obvious than others.

It may not seem uncertain. I do know (as much as we can know): when I’m graduating (hopefully), who I’m marrying, when and where I’m marrying him, and where we will live.

But I don’t know: when I will be done writing my thesis, where our money will be coming from, what it will be like to be married, or what it will be like to live on our own. I don’t even know what tomorrow will bring, let alone the next new, uncertain year. I suppose this is part of the faith we’re asked to have—faith that tomorrow or the next day will not bring us more than we can handle.

I tend to underestimate what I can handle, though, so often I look at what the day has brought me and assume it is too much. Like today, when Gil assured me I could squat the weight he had put on my shoulders, and I whined and whined that I could not possibly, until I finally tried a little harder and did it. God does that to me almost every day; you would think, by now, I would have learned to not whine and to just push—but no.

Speaking of days, they are rushing past. Every morning I wake up (unwillingly) and stare down a marathon to-do list. I have to make choices like: will I work on my thesis, or will I do the reading that is due for this afternoon’s discussion? Will I chat with friends today at lunch or will I work out, since it is the only time today I can possibly do it? I hate that these are decisions I must make. I wish I could take everything just a little bit slower. I wish I could take spoonfuls of these last school days and roll them around on my tongue like the chocolate ice cream I just remembered I have in the fridge. Instead, I am gulping them down, because it seems that is the only way to fit everything in them that needs to be done.

I wish, I wish, I wish… and yet, I know I can handle this too. It may not be easy, it may not be certain, it may not be picture perfect, but it is a part of this life I am living, and it is full of blessings I forget to remember. Lord, help me remember. And help me push.

… does not mean it is not toil; that life is toil does not mean it is not beauty.”

-  Anonymous

When you are my brain, and you are (supposed to be) writing, you…

… take pictures of the books you should be looking through…

… find yourself captivated by every person you see, every blog you surf to, and how the light plays off of everything around you (including your feet by your window)…

… and you chase wispy ideas around and around until they either hide forever in your nooks and crannies or manage to find their way onto the page.

And, in the meantime, you apply yourself to every possible project that is not the one you must turn in. (Poems? Written. Websites? Designed. Wedding details? Attended to. Room? Organized—and then unorganized again. Emails? Responded to—mostly.)

Sound familiar? Please tell me I am not the only one who operates this way.

And now… back to the attempt. Wish me luck, and determination.

“To dream about losing a tooth represents man’s innermost worries — concerns about dying, aging, weakness, destitution and loneliness.”

- dreamforth.com’s dictionary entry for “toothless”

… In that case, I suppose dreaming about losing multiple teeth means that you are well nigh dead from worry?

This is my new recurring nightmare. I actually dreamt it twice last night, both times totally convinced that it was real—that this time my teeth really were falling out and we wouldn’t be able to get them back in. These dreams usually include a rushed trip to the emergency room, or the emergency dentist (I’m not sure if emergency dentists really exist), or the emergency something.

Now, to be fair, last night was also the first night that I had worn my retainers (which are supposed to be worn every few nights) in a couple of weeks. So it seems reasonable to infer that the aching mouth I woke up with this morning could have had more to do with those dreams than “concerns about dying, aging, and weakness.” But the dark streak in me finds that interpretation appropriate nonetheless.

How about you? Have you ever had a teeth falling out dream? Did you derive any meaning from it?

_______

Just for fun, two songs about teeth:

Happy Monday!

The last several days have, in many small and somewhat insignificant ways, reminded me of the Creator’s hand in our lives.

This is the smallest and certainly most insignificant example, but it is the only one of which I have a photo.

I found these adorable teacups and saucers (and a creamer, which you can barely see in the background) for 25 cents each at St. Vinny’s today after stopping there on a whim; I also found a couple pairs of pants which fit marvelously (a precious occurence). Thank God for little miracles.

I see strands of hair every day. Dozens and dozens of them litter my floor, I’m sure hundreds are in my hairbrush—not to mention the uncountable number I catch glimpses of in the mirror, still attached to my head.

But this particular strand, which fell off in my fingers as I ran them through my hair, caught the light and gave me pause.

As I looked at its deep orange sheen, I thought about how fascinating hair is. When it’s on someone’s head, it looks more or less uniform in color; but take a closer look at individual strands, and you’ll see a different story. On my own head I’ve seen blonde, brunette, and red strands in all different shades—I’ve even seen a few white hairs. I thought about how strong hair is, how beautiful it can be, and how it can contribute to each of our personalities. Like every part of the human body,  it’s a small miracle when looked at in the right light.

I’m sure I speak for most of us when I say that I am quick to be dissatisfied with my body—my skin is too broken out, my posture too crooked, my hair too frizzy—but haven’t we each been given an amazing gift? Wasn’t each of us made exactly as we were supposed to be made? Doesn’t that make each of us a walking miracle, beautiful in the eyes of the one who made us?

I believe so; but that does not mean we will see it. Our world is filled with creations that ought to have us trembling on our knees in constant amazement, but which we daily pass by  (or walk around in) without so much as a thought. And I suppose that’s how it must be—that’s how we creatures live our lives here and now. But still… it’s worth taking a moment, now and then, to notice, and wonder, and give thanks.

Once again, I reached the end of today without taking a photo. I only remembered as I was falling asleep without meaning to and without having gotten ready for bed… the idea for this photo was the only thing that got me up.

That ring has been on my finger for a week now—and what a week it’s been. It’s amazing what a bang a decision that has been quietly making itself for months can produce when it’s externalized. Suddenly, I’m allowed and expected to plan a wedding. Suddenly, everyone can see that I’m entering a new chapter. Suddenly, I can’t pretend my life is not changing.

This week has been a rollercoaster ride from joy and excitement down into fear and anxiety up into giddy planning… and so on, and so on. Gil, meanwhile, has walked beside me steady as he ever is—constantly patient, constantly a grounding force. (Although he has been sick this week—in sympathy with my sudden spike in stress, he hypothesized. ) My calmest moments are when I remember that the entire reason we’re doing this is to spend the rest of our lives together.

And meanwhile, there’s school. Lots of it. And there’s my thesis. And there’s taking pictures every day. You see why I’ve almost forgotten so many days now.

But as crazy as the last week has been, I do feel like it is balancing out. The rollercoaster is slowing down, mercifully, at least for a day or two. The wedding details which most needed to be hammered out are being hammered out. My brain is shifting focus back to schoolwork. A few impromptu talks with friends and family have helped remind me of how much I have to be thankful for—and it’s a lot.

And with that thought, now I really will go to bed. Sweet dreams.

Gil and I have this thing with driving. He gets behind the wheel–where I have asked him to be–and I’m immediately tense. Suddenly I’m like a mother with her teenage son, painfully aware of the almost five-year difference in our driving experience (which doesn’t reflect our age difference; he grew up and graduated highschool in a country in which he didn’t have the paperwork to legally drive).

It’s one of our less graceful areas. There’s nothing like near collisions (mostly imagined) to test a relationship.  But with every trip I build a little more confidence in his driving ability, and on every trip he extends grace to me once again for my passenger-seat driving.

Not unlike the rest of our relationship, and not unlike this life in general, it’s a messy process; but I think it’s a good road we’re on.

This is it.

Now. Right now—this very moment.

Not ten minutes from now, when you sit for ten minutes in the back room.

Not tomorrow, when it’s light again.

Not next year, when you’re done with school.

In this moment you decide: bow your head, bend your knee, weep for the love you can’t give, or continue to snap, and bite, and flail.

Choose to see the soul inside the bag of meat and bones in front of you, or choose to criticize its shirt and hair.

_____

At the shower, they asked us to write a recipe for marriage.

I included ‘forgiveness’ but now suspect I should have written it in larger letters. (And joined it with ‘humility’.)