beauty and breath and bodies and rhythm

listening to people counting

carbs, calories, grams of protein

makes me sick.
but sometimes I do it too.

Then i feel the wind blowing through my hair.
it whispers: there`s something more than that. life is bigger

love is bigger.
God is bigger.

stop counting. it´s eating you.



Today I´m on sick day numero 4. It is old. I´d like my body back please, and maybe a yoga class.
But - alas - I am not ready for that yet. Yesterday I made progress on my book list. I read ALL of Girls of Riyadh in about 4.5 hours. It was glorious. This is why I am terribly near-sighted. Because I read books like a fiend and my eyes don´t have time to adjust to looking far away.

Anyway, I am totally captivated by the stillness I´ve slidden into while being sick. I don´t think slidden is a word. Whatevs. I like it. And so today I almost took a nap on my car just to be outside in the humidity that carries me back to a million other humid memories... strolling along a beach in Spain, one unseasonably warm day in a January of my childhood when my grandparents were visiting, and even my a service project I did in Texas my freshman year of college. I ended up getting a little chilly, so I retreated inside.

This post is pushing close to rambling, but it could be because I just want to get out of being sick, even if that means sending only my words into cyberspace.

Bringing me back to focusing though, I believe life is threaded with meaning and depth and a heartbeat we can feel if we just take the time to settle ourselves out of counting calories or money in the bank or days till Thanksgiving (4!!) or facebook status updates, or whatever it is that I´m keeping tabs on that day. I read in the newspaper today that a large number of my generation is actually addicted to social networking sites. I am not innocent of this. But I do think it´s a little sad, just for our souls, whenever I get a chance to experience the fullness of life outside of a dark room with a bright screen. As I´ve laid in my bed, I had the chance to thumb through a website that reminded me of this beauty - artandmotherhood.com It´s the story of one mother as she captures beauty, pain, and everyday life as an attempt to remember that
she
is
an
artist.

And so are we all, weaving our various tapestries of days and weeks and months into a life.

Reading list

Stones into Schools by Greg Mortenson

Girls of Riyadh by Rajaa Alsanea

Decoded by Jay Z

Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist

So this is my list. Let´s see if I can make it happen...

adulthood. hello?

Preface:

After writing this, I found that it ends up sounding a bit ego-centrical or narcissistic (a word I am still practicing using). I don't mean for it to sound that way, I just wanted to share some observations with you. And they are about me. Maybe someday I will laugh at these very ideas, but I'm okay with that.

Back in the day, which was a Wednesday, I was a sophomore in college. I mean I was a sophomore for more than one day, but you get the gist. My fascination with developmental psychology and consequent minor led me to take Adult Developmental Psych. I was enthralled with the concept of "emerging adulthood" which essentially means that there is no social norm for humans who have been on this earth between eighteen and thirty years. I found it fascinating that people who were in their late twenties still did not feel like "adults". There really was no standard time when people felt like they had crossed that threshold line to be "grown-ups". In fact, the only consistent predictor of it was whether or not the person had their own children. Generally, people who are married with kids feel like adults. I have found this to be true.

Well, this week I realized that I feel like an adult. Despite having a renewed enthusiasm and childlike appreciation of all things awesome (squishy mud, ramps instead of stairs, that extra crunchy leaf, bouncy balls, giant exercise balls, bubble wrap... you get the idea), I have been awakened to a growing sense of self. I can thank my parents (thanks!) for acting as somewhat of a foil for my discovery that I am different. We are family, but I have discovered that our relationship is more one of three separate people than as parent-kid. Perhaps this is because I have somewhat of a range of experiences now that are not shared with anyone. This is quite formative.

I still think the idea that people exist outside of communities that shaped them is a lie. We exist in a web of relationships, links to God, people, nature. However I have started to see my own individuality.

cuentos del primero...

... ¿qué queréis que os diga? trabajo con niños... y dicen unas cosas.... (Claro que escribo con el vosotros aquí... lo echo de menos junto con la ceta y la palabra "coche" en vez de "carro".)

1. Un alumno usaba su gluestick (pegamento en barra) con sus amigas. Me dijo "mine white. she have purple." Él tuvo uno con pegamento blanco, y las niñas tuvieron de morado. Le pregunté si importaba porque los dos pegan igual, ¿no? (de hecho, me han dicho que el color purple en español es purpúla* y hasta los padres dicen librería en vez de biblioteca...). Luego, al mismo chico del gluestick blanco, se le acabó el pegamento. Me pidió otro y cuidé en encontrarle uno con pegamento morado para que fuera igual. Le daba el gluestick y me dijo "It have princess." Y justo como dijo el niño, miré y ¿qué veo? es un gluestick con las princesas de Disney!! Le di otro sin princesas :)

2. Hoy dibujamos nuestras comidas favoritas. (bueno, nosotros no, pero los estudiantes sí) Y un niño dijbujó un helado del mismo tamaño del cabeza del niño en su pictura. que buenoooo!

3. Esto lo cuento en inglés pa que no se aburran la gente guiri... We were looking at a map in Social Studies. The teacher pointed to a four pointed star on the page and said, "This is an instrument we can use to tell direction. Does anyone know what it's called?" One little boy raised is hand confidently and said, "I think it's called a violin."



*por lo visto en wordreference.com, purpura se puede referir a un color violeta-rojo, pero lo del librería tiene que ser puro spanglish.

I'm addicted to you*, Shakira

This is the most beautiful song ever. Like really. It's fine, you don't even have to speak Spanish.

"lo que más"





*"I'm addicted to you" is another Shakira song, but in Spanish AND English. oh my gosh. De verdad - ha salido el sol con este disco.

surprise! it's not what you think...

Can I get a holla if your life has turned out to be nothing like how you thought it would be?

My personal first example of this is that I did not turn out to be long lost princess of some nation in turmoil. And I think we've all discovered that being a "grown-up" is a lot more work than it looks like from 2nd grade.

More seriously though, I can't really think of anyone whose life has turned out like they thought it would even just three years ago. Heck, even two years ago. To me, it seems like days keep rolling in like waves and I keep swimming, but it sure doesn't feel like I'm going anywhere. Then all of a sudden I realize I'm not where I was a year ago or even a month ago. And now doesn't look anything like what I thought it would. The stories that I keep trying to narrate for myself simply fall flat in the daily task of paddling my arms and kicking my feet.

And yet, God meets me - us - in those awkward flailing movements. I have begun to read Stanley Hauerwas' book Hannah's Child and he quotes Sven Birkerts: "there is no faster way to smother the core meaning of a life, its elusive threads and connections, than with the heavy blanket of narrated event."

I had to read that twice. Out loud.
I am learning that it is precisely in the disruptions, hiccups, and breaks from how we think life should go that God meets us. And sometimes, like the disciples en route to Emmaus, we don't even know until after it's over that it was God walking with us in what felt like pure disorientation and hell.

May you meet God on the route to wherever you're going today. And may God give you the grace to recognize it.

quick quote

I created a flickr account this week since I was maxing out my picasa. My browser is set in Spanish, so it automatically started my flickr account in Spanish. This morning it greeted me:

"Howdy Ellen ¡Ahora sabes saludar a la gente en inglés!"

Translation "Howdy Ellen - Now you know how to greet people in English."

Thanks Flickr. And howdy everyone.