Watching Over Me

For the past few days, I was at Grandma's house in Bend, OR. It's just a little apartment off of my Uncle Ken's workshop, but it's lovely. It seemed quite a bit bigger compared to the various fifth wheels she and Grandpa had lived in for as much of my life as I can remember. No matter where she was living, going to spend time with Grandma has been a constant joy.

Living in the North Cascades for the first five years of life, Grandma and Grandpa's trailer was always an escape from whatever was going on in the house. As soon as I would hear Noah's voice get just a little bit more frustrated during a homeschool lesson, I would run out the door. My five year old legs would take me down the steps and across the grassy expanse to where the trailer was parked and I would walk in the door to a magical place. Inside the trailer waited television joys such as Mr. Roger's and Lambchops. Inside the trailer was apple juice that came out of the refrigerator that blended into the walls. Inside the trailer was a craft that Grandma would prepare and Grandpa would oversee. Inside the trailer was peace.

When we moved to the city, it meant more than a thirty second commute by foot. It meant driving all the way up to Mount Vernon, past the tulip tower and into the trees that lay just beyond. But in Mount Vernon, there were many things that our acres in the Cascades did not offer. There was a pool and miniature golf. There was also a new trailer, The Hitchhiker II, with its sparkling pink letters on the outside and pale green furniture inside. Mount Vernon held wonderful opportunities for excitement, especially in the summer. We would all pile in the white minivan for the journey that felt so long and we would stop at Safeway. We would pick up fresh rolls and all the fixings for sandwiches and then we would go to the Thousand Trails Park where Grandma and Grandpa would park every two weeks.

Entering the trailer was always fun, the way the door would swing open when we pulled up and welcome us into a weekend full of fun. We would all trudge down to the pool with the sandwiches and eat them under the shade of a tree that stood next to the pool. Then Noah, Kristi and I would jump in the pool while Grandpa sat in the hot tub. It happened so many times over the years and these days were part of my childhood and part of what made me close to my grandparents.

As Grandpa began to grow more weary, they decided to move to California where they could stay permanently in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It was no longer a day trip to Grandma and Grandpa's; those ninety minutes to Mount Vernon never felt so close. I remember the first time we went to visit it was a surprise. We somehow got past the gate to the park and navigated our way in the dark to site #324 where the trailer was parked. We pulled up and knocked on the door and they were overjoyed. Surprises are great, especially the spur of the moment ones like this. The trip had been long from Seattle to Fresno with Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets playing in the tape deck and this was where it ended. It ended in the trailer...dim lights on the walls, hot drinks rushing down our throats, Oreo cookies with milk and thirteen rounds of Chicken Foot.

The last trailer was a few years before Grandpa passed away. This one was sleek and big and had the kind of table that turns into a bed and I spent many nights in this bed the last few years the trailer was around. Each summer for three years in high school, I would fly down to Fresno to spend two weeks with my grandparents. One week in the heat of Fresno with Grandma Nadine and the other in the mountains with Grandma and Grandpa. These weeks were very special and fill up a big place in my heart. A relationship with a grandparent is not something that everyone has, especially a close one, but I have had close relationships with all my grandparents. What they think is very important to me and making them proud is something that I love to do.

I think that's why this last trip to Grandma's was very significant to me. Grandpa passed away nearly three years ago and I have changed so much since then and I wonder if he would be proud of me now. As I fell asleep the past few nights on the hide-a-bed, it was next to a giant stuffed chipmunk named Chipper. This fluffy stuffed animal was a constant joy that Grandpa and I shared and a reminder to me of the love that we shared. I fell asleep with the hope in my heart that Grandpa is looking at me with pride in his heart. Grandpa, if you're listening, thank you for the love you've always shown and thank you for watching over me. I love you!

Madness in a Tunnel

It's funny the way that finals can stir an impenetrable madness within us. For ten weeks we learn so much and then in two hours we are supposed to spit it all back out. Sometimes we spit it out into fifty little boxes on a scantron, sometimes we spit it out onto ten pages of writing and other times we spit it out in a powerpoint presentation defending all that we've learned. No matter what form of proving that we've learned something this quarter, it will still drive us mad. We are driven to a point of insanity where the littlest action can cause huge amounts of hurt, but other small actions can cause huge amounts of encouragement. No matter what your intentions are, you can always be guaranteed that you will inflict some sort of emotion that will make your story just a little bit deeper.

Even when we don't want to feel the way we do, when we say things we don't mean and when we do things we never would have predicted, the result is this: it happens anyway. I've decided that a quarter of school is like a tunnel. You plunge in, leaving the peace and certainty of what has passed and entering a place where you can only see what's right in front of you. It's a long tunnel, too...about nine weeks of darkness. But a quarter is ten and a half weeks long which leaves us with one and a half weeks of beautiful light.

If there's anything I've noticed this quarter, it's the idea of darkness and light and how, without one, you will never see the beauty of the other. Yes, light all the time sounds like a great thing, but you'll never know how truly wonderful it is unless you've felt the fear of darkness. And yes, darkness all the time sounds terrifying, but you would never know it was fear if it's the only thing you ever felt. I am appreciative of the things that have challenged me this quarter because they created moments of absolute beauty that never would have been so beautiful had it not been for the other feelings of hurt. Many of my weeks have been lived out with a very heavy heart as I realize I am changing, that my friends are changing and that the world I live in is not going to remain the same. There is a constant hope, though, that things always get better.

I think if Spring Break had come even a day later, I would not have made it through. I saw it, not just as a break, but as an escape. An escape from my mind that was on the verge of boiling over. There were thousands of thoughts and words, racing through my brain every second of the day for the last five weeks of school. Questions about the future. Questions about school. Questions about the world. Questions about relationships. All of them questions without answers. By the end of it all, people would ask me how I was, I would respond with an "Augh!" and a shake of my head. And they would nod their heads in agreement-I can tell that I am not alone in my feelings.

So now here I am, at the beginning of Spring Break with a heart that is able to rest a little easier, knowing that a break is the perfect medicine. No, I don't know the answers, but I don't need to...not yet. That's what time is for. Time is for letting life run its natural course and letting it answer our questions. Yes, it is a bit maddening to wait, but life is full of lessons. I like a lot of these lessons, but the one I struggle with day after day is patience. But, it too will come with time. All in due time. All in due time.

A Long Way to Go

I've always respected the grandparents of the world. These are people with 70 years of life behind them, yet they still manage to remain humble and learn new things. Grandma Ruth, though, is one of a kind. She is 83 years old, has a computer that she uses for more than just solitaire and emails me pictures every once in a while. A couple of years ago, she drove to Seattle from Bend, OR alone, visiting a friend along the way.

And now here she is, in the kitchen of the Dahlstrom home, asking where the potato masher is. "We don't have one," Mom calls from the living room. Frustrated by our laziness, she resentfully picks up the electric hand mixer that we use in the mashed potato making process and beats the potatoes into the creamiest of deaths.

She grew up in the era of potato mashers...a time when you had to work a little bit harder. How will I ever be as strong as her when I don't have to work to mash my potatoes? I've got a long way to go until I'm like her, but I hope that someday, I too will have the strength of a woman who grew up with the potato mashers. I love you, Grandma.

Trying

A conversation.

That's all it took

to start the silence.

Trying to recall the thoughts

which have crowded my mind

for the past three weeks.

A tear.

That's all it took

to start the sobbing.

Trying to figure out how

the words could make any sense

in a time of endless wrestling.

A hug.

That's all it took

to start the next step.

Trying to ask God

what the future will hold

in the coming months.

A prayer.

That's all it will take

to finally be at peace.

Trying to let go

of the things that were to be

and grab hold of the things meant to be.

Finally Finished and Just Beginning

I was up late last night. I thought about not telling how late because I know Mom and Grandma may read with disapproval, but I believe in honesty. Yes, I was up until 3:30 writing a paper that has been assigned since day one. But other things came up. So many other things came up.

Friends fell and I lifted them up. I fell and they lifted me up. Statistics became garbled in my head with talk of z-scores and standard error versus standard deviation. "P hat and q hat," what do they all mean? Aly went to jump on some trampolines and the next minute, she's in the ER finding out her world has been turned upside down. Valentine's Day came and went, some friends missing their loved ones and others wishing they had someone to love. Certain plans for the future turned into a murky muddled mass of questions. Words were said that made me cry for hours. Friendships began to slip between the cracks. The last three weeks, all relationships have fallen between the cracks of group and school and emotional overload.

I ask myself constantly, "How can I do it all?" I don't really know. All I know is that I take it one day at a time, I make plans far in advance and I somehow manage to get everything done and still spend time with the ones I love. As I cried to my friend Leanne on Tuesday night, she told me she respected how emotionally invested I am in my relationships. I am glad I'm invested in my relationships, even though it exhausts me. It's a good kind of exhaustion. The kind of exhaustion you feel after staying up until three playing games or running a really fast mile (not that I know what that feels like, but I hear it feels great). After the exhaustion comes joy. That joy came with the sun.

The beautiful 60 degree warmth that Seattlites long for has been lingering in and out over the past few days. Somehow, in these moments of sunshine, all is forgotten. The books are put on hold, the petty arguments are left behind and people enjoy one another. I flit in and out, visiting old friends and catching up on a nearly finished quarter. The sun has a certain magic about it that stretches the hours into long days. I'm thankful for these long sunny days that give me hope for spring. As I finish up papers and prepare for studying for finals, I dream of next quarter. I long for long days, a schedule designed entirely to spend the most time possible in the sun and a heart that has grown a lot in the last month.

Closing the book on this quarter, I'm taking away a lot of lessons. Not just countries and capitals and terms like GDP and food security. I learned that friendships aren't always easy. I learned that it takes a lot of love to forgive. I learned that I can't go through this life on my own. I am ever grateful for friends. Friends who have ears to hear, advice to give and time to hold me.

Opening on the book of Spring Quarter, I am exhilarated. A fresh start will be good and I am excited to see what's next. I'm not sure what else to say, other than I am excited for the possibilities that it will hold. It is uncertain and I, for some reason, am really happy for that.

Too Much

In church today, we were asked to think of how God could use us. How God could use us. We are tiny broken humans who only exist for a blip in time, yet God wants to use us for the greater good. He says it right there at the end of Matthew: "Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." Through many conversations, much prayer and a few life-changing decisions, I have come to understand something very interesting about Jesus and the great commission. He doesn't expect us to be perfect in order to spread the love of Christ. All he asks is that we do it. As my roommate pointed out, Jesus didn't walk with high rulers and rich kings, he walked with the helpless, the poor and the broken. And now, He is walking with us.

So there I sat, in a beautiful building surrounded by people who all share the same faith as me. And nobody is getting in trouble; nobody is being persecuted. We are being encouraged and supported to go and live a life of Christ in spite of our brokenness. "It's okay to struggle, just don't walk away." I was told that struggling was good, that it actually brings us closer to God. So where is my struggle? I attend a top rate college for practically nothing. I live with my best friend and we still love each other very much. My family gets along ALL THE TIME. I am taking classes that make me want to learn more every time I leave. I am blessed with almost too many friends. I am not afraid to move into the action God calls me to. I am on a leadership team that has strengthened my faith more than anything else. I live in the land of opportunity. There is no struggle. The struggle is in the lack of struggle. How do I use all that has been given to me? Where does God want me to go from here? The struggle is a lack of direction, a fear of the unknown.

Maybe in three years, I will be in Uganda distributing food to remote villages. Or maybe I will be in an office in Seattle, filing papers and making phone calls asking for donations. I fear the mundane, I strive for the adventure. But God often puts us in the places we don't see fit. He put me in Ballard High School, not Kings. He put me in a classroom at SPU learning about political issues in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, not on a Broadway stage. He has different plans and we need to accept them. We need to stop planning our own lives. As pointed out last week: "Stop trying to live the Christian life on your own so that you may realize you can only achieve the position to which God has called you to when you call on God." Yes, it's a lot to take in at once, but break it up. Stop trying to live the Christian life on your own. Only when you call on God will you be able to achieve the position God has called you to. God calls on us, but it is important to call back to Him.

It was when I was applying to my new major that I realized my total lack of direction. The question on the application: What do you want to do with this major? A harder question could not have been asked. That's the dreaded question of the college student. What will you do with that? I don't know, it's just an interesting subject to me. What kind of a job will it give you? I don't know, I'll probably go work for a non-profit somewhere. What area? I don't know, I'm open to going anywhere. Do you want to be a missionary? Maybe...I'm not sure. I DON'T KNOW, I DON'T KNOW, I DON'T KNOW. Yes, I have found my struggle, I have found my brokenness. God has given me so much, but I have no idea how to share it. God has changed my life, but I'm having trouble acting on that change.

My prayer is that over the next couple years, direction will be found. More importantly, my prayer is that over the next moments of my life I will be able to share my blessings with those around me. "To whom much is given, much is also required." The next step is to call on God, to ask him to use me in my brokenness--in the selfishness of my blessing--to spread the love of Christ to which He calls us.

Hope in the Red and the Shiny

Winter quarter has hit everyone with a storm this year. Figuratively speaking, of course. The weather itself has been rather warm and typically full of drizzle. But the students at SPU, the people in my life, are struggling. Each day presents its new difficulties and we are struggling to hold on. Hold on to what? To life? To school? To relationships? To God? The biggest question of all time is the question of why we must hurt. Why we must feel pain. Why do we believe in a God who would allow us to be wounded by emotions and friendships, even though we believe so wholeheartedly? It's not an easy question to answer.

The play that SPU just put on was one of the most extraordinary and beautiful plays I have ever seen. It was the account of the Pan Am flight that crashed in Lockerbie, Scotland and a story of grieving. The mother of a boy who had died in the crash has been grieving for seven years when her husband takes her back to the site of the crash. Rather than searching for peace, she searches for vengeance and that search is what made way to an interesting point. The women living in Lockerbie say this: If it were always night, you would not see the beauty of a sunrise. If it were always light, you would not see the beauty of the stars. If you could not hate, you would not know how it would feel to love.

Without pain, you would not see healing. Without sorrow, you would not see joy. Without a winter that makes your soul ache, you would not see the beauty of a spring that brings redemption.

I have been in the middle of all of this. Between my roommate, my neighbors, my band, and my classmates, I've heard a lot of stories of hurt and questions of why. I am not complaining about being in the middle, I'm grateful that my class load isn't too hard and that I am happy right now. If I weren't, who would they talk to? There aren't many of us around who are doing just fine right now and those who are hurting don't want to burden another already in pain. So when someone needs to talk or to be held, I invite them over, make them some tea and sit.

I was frustrated the other night when there were six people in my room and I had to keep leaving the room to fill up our tiny hot pot. Our tiny hot pot that we bought in October (we each paid five whole dollars) and has since been used many a time. I've forgotten about it a dozen times and my roommate has to remind me that there is boiling water about to burn our room down. It's dangerous. Not only dangerous, but also disgusting and turning a color that isn't white. It's more like orange and it looks like the inside of our hot pot has been rusting and we've slowly been drinking rusty tea. I cleaned it out, filled it up, boiled it and repeated three times. I told the people sitting in the coziness of room 465 that I just need to cough up thirty bucks and buy myself a nice, not rusty, not hazardous, hot pot.

Yesterday, I worked all day and came home rather exhausted. It was my dear friend Becky Jo's birthday, so I brought some cake home with me to give to her, but she wasn't there yet. I was sitting in my room with the door wide open and then Becky Jo's roommate shuts my door for no good reason. I knock on her door and ask if I can come in, they scream "Go away!" and I have no idea what's going on. All I want to do is give her some cake and tell her that I love her. About two minutes later, Becky Jo runs into my room with a giant gift in her hand and says, "This is for you!" I am puzzled now because Becky Jo is giving me a gift on her birthday. But, heck, I love to get a present, so I rip off the paper and what is inside? A brand new, shiny red hot pot.

"Now you don't have to leave all the time when you want to drink tea with people," she tells me. I was exhilarated and, to me, it was so much more than a hot pot. It was a "thank you" for listening and hugging and holding and praying. It was encouragement that, even though I am busy and tired, I can always make time for my loved ones who need it. It is things like this that help us get through each day. Yes, we're still hanging on for dear life, but at least we can know what we're hanging onto. We're hanging onto hope. Through slices of cake, tears on your shoulder and shining red hotpots, we will be able to survive to the possibility of the brightness that tomorrow might hold. If not tomorrow, then the next day. And if not the next day, then the day after that. The point is this: hope doesn't disappear forever. So sit down, take a break from whatever is holding you back, boil some water and sit down with a friend. They need it. And so do you.