Concert Week

I love this time of year.

Not just because I have (in my part-time teaching schedule) only EIGHT DAYS LEFT of school.

Okay.  That might be part of it.

But I really love concert time. It's so exciting and so stressful.  So many details to plan, information to communicate...tasks to accomplish, loose ends to 'tie,' students to motivate and empower.  But the end result (especially when it exceeds your hopes and expectations) is simply magical.  Watching the excitement and focus and pride reflected in your students eyes... Meeting parents and grandparents and hearing wonderful stories about the impact of music and music education.  Feeling the adrenaline rush as the students look at you full of nervous excitement, bows poised, fingers placed...


...and then that rush of relief and exhaustion when it's all over.

Final rehearsals are happening this week, and so far, all is going well. Maybe too well, actually.  And strangely, I'm not that nervous or stressed?  Maybe I should worry about that.  I probably should.

Anyways, if you'd like to see nearly 75 second graders playing Mozart on the violin on one stage....
Or just under 50 third graders performing together on violins, violas and cellos...

...you will not want to miss this Thursday night (May 10) at the North Muskegon FLEX center.
6:00 PM Second Grade Violin Concert
7:00 PM Third Grade Strings Concert

And next week, the Fourth and Fifth Grade String Ensembles will perform some Blues, Beethoven, Irish Fiddle tunes, Dvorak melodies, music from Handel's "Royal Fireworks Music," and more.
Thursday, May 17 at 6:30 PM.

I love my job.

I could say a lot....

...About this man....about his unnatural generosity and humility.  His never-ending love and faithfulness.  About his very abnormal ability to choose love and righteousness over bitterness or cynicism.  About his love for learning and his flexibility.  Though I'm certain that he is human (and allegedly flawed like the rest of us)...the typical human traits of self-promotion and self-defense and self-importance are strangely absent.  He cares about being liked....I think I get that from him.  But rather than try to convince you about his worth and greatness or his many areas of wisdom and experience and expertise, he'd usually rather stoop down on all fours to be your footstool for changing a lightbulb...if that's what you needed...

His name means a great deal to many people.  I grew up knowing that.  My last name was big in a small town.  And I carried it happily, gratefully.  Because without fail, wherever I went, I got to hear stories of how my father had blessed and enriched someone's life with his teaching or his kindness or his care.  I got to hear about his wisdom and his integrity.

I believed them...and I felt proud.  But to me, he was not important because of his ministry or because of his small-town fame... he was important because he was the one who packed my lunches and drew stick-figure pictures on the brown paper bag.  He made me omelettes for breakfast and read Proverbs to us every morning.  He helped me with my horrible geometry homework and listened when I was frustrated or excited or nervous. He told me long, running stories about Charlie Chipmunk every night.  He loved my friends and invested in them too.  He still does.  I could always find him in his office reading or praying early in the morning. And I knew that often, he was praying for me.  Still does.  He fixed just about anything of mine that was broken, and now he fixes things for my children...even cheap dollar store things that should probably just be thrown away.  It's impossible to buy him anything, because he never talks about things he wants.  At family gatherings, when all the adults in the room are tired and just want to sit for some adult conversation, he's usually outside playing with the kids.

As an adult, I still get to hear those gushing stories about my dad often (though sometimes now, I get to reveal my relationship to him in my own time and on my own terms, since I'm disguised by new Corbin name).

He isn't a saintly hero to everyone.  But to me he's the closest human to ever deserve that title.

Happy Birthday Dad.  I love you.

Paris Journal: Day One

Here, I'll share excerpts from the meticulously detailed journal I kept of our trip to France.  Since the journal itself was a gift, I was extra motivated to record my thoughts.  And I'm so grateful.  The memories and the images of our beautiful adventures will remain with me for a very long time, but the details and the impressions are also forever mine to treasure in this book.  Most nights in Paris, I fell asleep, trying desperately to catch up in my journal...my memories of the day trailing off into a squiggly line on the page...turning into dreams.  But I always went back to catch up, because each day was overflowing with treasured moments and discoveries.  I just couldn't bear to lose any of them.

This was our first night in Paris.  We arrived in the late afternoon, checked into our hotel, and anxiously took our first metro trip into the heart of the city.

Once we arrived at "Chatalet" metro stop, we wandered towards the Seine...Notre Dame appeared before us with Palm Sunday crowds and tents for a special Baptism celebration.  We walked a bit, across the river and back, taking in the beauty and shock of it all...the markets, the flowers, the vendors, the language, the architecture, the shops, the bridges.  We came back over the river and walked down the right bank, toward the Louvre.  We were cold and hungry, exhausted and rather disoriented, but mesmerized by Paris and our first soiree in the city.  

A cafe with WIFI allowed us to finally have 'facetime' with the girls and Nana and Papa.  We sat at a little corner table by the window and watched the people pass along the Seine.  We had our very first Parisian crepes au nutella with cafe.  

On the way back to our metro stop, we walked along the river again, and I got to take "the picture I've always wanted" (it was the first of many) ~ Ryan and I on the bridge with the river and the Eiffel Tower far in the distance...evening light sparkling on the Seine.  

The picture isn't really that amazing.  We took a lot better ones later.  But this moment was so beautiful.  Beautiful partly because I was so dizzy with excitement (and lack of sleep).  I also remember feeling emotional, almost upset, feeling the pressure to make every moment 'perfect', and wondering why I was  feeling so sensitive... I was just. so. tired.  Undeniably happy and full of anticipation.  But very, very tired.

We slept soundly that night in our little double bed and awoke on Monday ready to conquer the Louvre.

barely intelligible utterances of excitement

I have a jittery feeling in my sides.  I sometimes feel like flopping my hands up and down and... and screeching.  Every feature of my face smiles.

One of the greatest joys of this trip is the preparation and the anticipation.  Realizing the magnitude of the gift, I want to be able to hold on to as much as possible, to be so intentional that I don't let one hour of it slip by.  My brain is bursting with fresh learning, French phrases and sounds, historical information, stories and art, architecture and Paris, practical information, museum schedules and exhibits, itinerary plans.  I sometimes feel that I'm hardly containing half of the "learning" I am consuming.  And so sometimes my brain just swirls with unintelligible feelings (not words or thoughts)  of pure anticipation and elation.

It hardly seems real.

Sometimes, in my head....when I should be thinking about something else, I'm saying "Ohmygoodness.Ohmygoodness.Ohmygoodness.I'mgoingto PARIS!   THIS. WEEK."

Most of the time I can function and focus and be more outwardly focused.  I can plan for other things, invest in others, listen, be in the moment.  The authenticity and graciousness of the people around me usually keep me grounded.  Some really sweet people that love me even ask me questions about my trip and listen and dream with me...and they are (either genuinely or convincingly) excited too.  Every once in a while, when I am able to be really present in the world around me and the people and the problems and the blessings and the daily stuff...I actually forget for a few minutes.  Then suddenly,  the thought of it just consumes me and I grin and I usually start shaking a little.

Ohmygoodness. I'm going to PARIS.  In a few DAYS!

I'm really sorry about how obnoxious I am.  It'll be over soon.

April in Paris

I'll be posting pictures soon.  Real pictures.  My own pictures.

I actually thought I'd blog more about my upcoming trip as I waited for the time to pass.  All that time just seems to be disappearing.

Instead, this uncanny March weather has kept me too energized and productive and warm and spontaneous (and outside) to turn to blogging. 

However, I have been dreaming and planning...   

...and researching and reading and wardrobe planning and itinerary writing...  

And by this time next week, I'll be sleeping in Paris. 

packing a lunch box, and other small things.

The first time I logged into pinterest, I found this brilliant pin about lunch box ideas.

Source: wendolonia.com via Angela on Pinterest

And this.  Another of my favorite (and first) pinterest discoveries.  Perfectly packaged apple slices.

I know, I know.  When did I turn into such a suburban 'mom' who gets excited about lunch boxes?? 

Source: athomewithrealfood.blogspot.com via Angela on Pinterest

Maya loves her apple slices in her lunchbox everyday.  The multi-level appeal of this treat is so impressive to her...it's a puzzle, it's apple slices, it's a whole apple, and best of all,  the slices don't get brown.

And I immediately started packing Maya's lunches differently.  She loves all the food surprises she finds.  We were only a few weeks into the school year when her lunches were getting kind of repetitive and boring.  I'd been a little creative, I thought, but we had (more than) overdone tabouli and sunbutter sandwiches (even if they were shaped like gingerbread men).   Preparing her lunch has become something special for us both.  I write her simple little messages too, just like my Dad used to do.  At first my messages were mostly just stick people, smiles, and "i <3 U," but now that she can read just about anything, my notes are a little longer.  Communication with my daughter through written words is pretty amazing.  Every day, that twinkle in her eyes (when we share something secret and special between the two of us) seems a little older and more 'knowing'.   She is growing. Fast.  

As a mom, a wife, a teacher (really in any life-role), preparing and repairing things for people out of love has to be something joyful and purposeful and faithful (like cleaning dishes, picking up junk, sorting papers, tuning little violins, answering repeated questions, folding clothes, sorting music, sorting dirty laundry, packing lunches, making meals, ironing, etc.) ....or beautiful things like service and selflessness and gratitude and contentment morph into something ugly like martyrdom, entitlement, bitterness, self-perceived underappreciation, and boredom.  Trust me, I know.  Those little things, ways of being responsible, neat, helpful, consistent, and goal-oriented...they are big.  Each task, an important, faithful, act of love.  

  I'm not really good at this.   I'm really NOT good at this.  Instead of actually living my life and doing the small things that make it work pleasantly for myself and everyone else who lives in my house.  I long to read, to write, to learn, dream about the big things, study my French, or plan (and internet hunt for) beautiful and artistic creations....and sometimes make them, or blog about them.  

In fact, I'm avoiding some of these loving tasks (folding clothes, ironing, organizing papers, picking up junk) at the moment.  

I know I can (and usually do) get it all done in a great flourish of energy and inspiration, but I just can't seem to be consistent.  The small tasks become really big ones before I want (or am forced to) tackle them.  Sometimes I feel hopelessly incurable in this regard.  But I know I'm not.  I'm far too optomistic to accept those hopeless feelings.  I think I might need a self- intervention, though. 

So I'm pondering some resolutions, maybe even some rules for myself.  Any ideas from my more practical, responsible readers?  How do you feed the creative, philosophical, word-loving, beauty-seeking, relational, story-loving part of your soul and still manage to be a responsible human being? 

When I do "figure it all out".... I may even attempt to live by my resolutions a while before blogging about them.   That would take some discipline.  

Though....the blog therapy really works for me.  (At least I like to think it does.)

I'm off to fold laundry.  I promise.  I won't be back again until it's done.  

Books I'm reading these days.

Sometimes, I'm not great at concentrating on one thing at a time.  This can be a problem.
It can also make for a great reading list.

If only I could finish one....

For the new year.

I recently read (somewhere? on the internet) that (someone's?) research says.....

...that people who keep their mouth shut about any 'health/ fitness/weight loss/excercise/better food choices' new years resolutions are more successful than those who blab about them all the time.

I really know how to cite my sources on quality research, right? I honestly don't even remember where I saw it, and I don't think I read more than 2 sentences beyond the article title. But I did think about it a bit more.

And I guess it makes sense to me. When someone declines food without explanation, they are usually left alone. And they usually benefit from encouraging feelings of new empowerment by their own quiet strength. But if they follow up their "no, thank-you" with words like, "I shouldn't" or "I would, except that I'm trying to...." They will be bombarded with "well-meaning" pushy words of "encouragement" about "special rules for special occasions" and "rewarding" one's self...and they will eventually be derailed by 'friends.' I've been on both sides of this conversation, of course. So have you.

So, I won't say anything here about my resolutions for food or excercise or much else, for that matter. :)

But I do have hopes and new resolutions for the fresh year and clean slate of 2012. I love re-starts, re-organization, new disciplines, new hope, and new beginnings.

I'll simply give you one of my long forgotten goals that has resurged in the past week...

Je voudrais apprendre le francais. Non. Je suis determine apprendre parler le francais...cette annee.

So I've been visiting the BBC's Ma France(a free online french course) and pulling out my old 'Conversational French Class' textbook and flash cards. As with many things, I'm now a little obsessed with this new pursuit.

And I have my reasons. But I'm not telling.

Our Little House

When Laura left home to take her first teaching assignment, she stayed with the Brewster family in a town 12 miles away. Every night of her stay was miserable, awkward, cold, and sometimes frightening. The Brewster family was very unhappy, their child neglected, their home a mess, and their words were always bitter and angry. Sometimes there was cold silence for evenings on end, broken only by loud arguments and hateful words screamed all night long.
Although Laura never told anyone about her miserable lodgings, Almanzo came to the little school every Friday to bring Laura home for the weekend. She realized, as she left one world and entered another, that her home was warm and safe because of the love and kindness that her family had for one another. There were no angry words, no selfish complaints, no sharp arguments. Everyone did a great deal of work to provide for one another. The chores were hard and never ending, but everyone helped each other willingly with love and gratitude.


I wonder how much, if any, of this story is fiction. It doesn't really matter. I still love the contrasting pictures of family life.

And I use the images of the two women, Mrs. Brewster and Ma Ingalls to remind myself of the kind of mother I want my girls to remember. The kind of home I want to build. The sort of memories I want my daughters to have of how they felt...when they were home.

I have to admit, I also use the story to teach my girls about the effects of their words too. When I hear them yelling, arguing, whining, I sometimes ask "What kind of words do we want to fill our home with?"

I'm just waiting for the day when they turn around and ask me that same question.

Ingredients: 1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined 1 tbsp olive oil 3 cloves garlic, chopped 1/4 cup white wine 14 oz can diced tomatoes, drained 1/2 cup half and half oregano salt and fresh pepper 1 tsp lemon juice 1/4 cup chopped parsley (I added fresh basil and oregano too) 8 oz angel hair pasta (whole wheat, low carb or high fiber) Directions: Boil water for pasta. Cook according to package instructions.Meanwhile, season shrimp with salt and oregano. Cook shrimp and garlic in olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat for about 2 minutes. Add tomatoes, wine, salt and pepper and cook an additional minute. Add half and half and cook 1 more minute.Add lemon juice and parsley and serve over pasta. Divide equally in 4 plates. Now that we are back into the familiar groove of school, I'm still feeling grateful and happy to be a teacher. I love summer, but I think I'd feel lucky in my job even without those three months off every year! Today was just one of those great days. I felt prepared for the day, more organized (than last year), confident in my role, and surrounded by lovable students excited to make music. Maya is loving Kindergarten. She seems to come home every day either exhausted, or incredibly (obnoxiously) hyper....and full of stories. Some stories come out immediately in the car, others just pop up over dinner, or bedtime...or days later. And some of her stories are just for me, conspiratorially whispered into my ear when Ryan is across the room. She finished her last vowel today in class. And with her mixture of Ryan's meticulous perfectionism...and my...distracted, free-spirited...creativity?....it's a challenge sometimes to get all her schoolwork done in timely manner. But, every paper she does finish looks...impeccable. So our new motto is "Do your best, but GET IT DONE!" Sometimes I have to repeat that motto again and again...for me. Just to stay on task. Between the laundry and ironing, the house-cleaning, the dinners and the dishes, the online coursework and reading and communication, the lesson planning, and school paperwork, the Kindergarten papers, and the places to be, the doctors appointments, and the pretend play, the puzzles, and the storybook reading, and the important conversations and times with friends....I get a little...off task at times, running frantically between jobs, never finishing any. And sometimes, I just end up on the couch, bewildered at where to start. Then there's always facebook! :) But this week, the crazy chaos is manageable. And quite fun. I love my new schedule. I miss the faces and the familiar routines, the musical fun, the shared history that my old teaching role provided for so many years. I will cherish my memories, and 'my kids' there forever. But I'm feeling much more settled, more rooted this year, both as a Mother and as a Strings Teacher. I love my days with just Sophie and our Tuesdays with just me and both girls. We go to ballet and gymnastics, and we play together and read and talk all day. I'm pretty lucky. And next weekend, my Love is taking me away for my belated birthday celebration. Two days and one night in Chicago alone. Just the anticipation is a perfectly delightful gift.

"Shrimp cooked with tomatoes, a touch of cream, white wine and a hint of lemon. This pasta dish is so simple to make and is ready in about 15 minutes, perfect for a weeknight meal."


That's what "Gina" said about the Angel Hair with Shrimp and Tomato Sauce, and I need as many perfect weeknight meals as I can get.

Ingredients:

• 1 lb large shrimp, peeled and deveined
• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 3 cloves garlic, chopped
• 1/4 cup white wine
• 14 oz can diced tomatoes, drained
• 1/2 cup half and half
• oregano
• salt and fresh pepper
• 1 tsp lemon juice
• 1/4 cup chopped parsley (I added fresh basil and oregano too)
• 8 oz angel hair pasta (whole wheat, low carb or high fiber)

Directions:

Boil water for pasta. Cook according to package instructions.Meanwhile, season shrimp with salt and oregano. Cook shrimp and garlic in olive oil in a large skillet over medium heat for about 2 minutes. Add tomatoes, wine, salt and pepper and cook an additional minute. Add half and half and cook 1 more minute.Add lemon juice and parsley and serve over pasta. Divide equally in 4 plates.

Now that we are back into the familiar groove of school, I'm still feeling grateful and happy to be a teacher. I love summer, but I think I'd feel lucky in my job even without those three months off every year!

Today was just one of those great days. I felt prepared for the day, more organized (than last year), confident in my role, and surrounded by lovable students excited to make music.

Maya is loving Kindergarten. She seems to come home every day either exhausted, or incredibly (obnoxiously) hyper....and full of stories. Some stories come out immediately in the car, others just pop up over dinner, or bedtime...or days later. And some of her stories are just for me, conspiratorially whispered into my ear when Ryan is across the room. She finished her last vowel today in class. And with her mixture of Ryan's meticulous perfectionism...and my...distracted, free-spirited...creativity?....it's a challenge sometimes to get all her schoolwork done in timely manner. But, every paper she does finish looks...impeccable. So our new motto is "Do your best, but GET IT DONE!"


Sometimes I have to repeat that motto again and again...for me. Just to stay on task. Between the laundry and ironing, the house-cleaning, the dinners and the dishes, the online coursework and reading and communication, the lesson planning, and school paperwork, the Kindergarten papers, and the places to be, the doctors appointments, and the pretend play, the puzzles, and the storybook reading, and the important conversations and times with friends....I get a little...off task at times, running frantically between jobs, never finishing any. And sometimes, I just end up on the couch, bewildered at where to start. Then there's always facebook! :)

But this week, the crazy chaos is manageable. And quite fun. I love my new schedule. I miss the faces and the familiar routines, the musical fun, the shared history that my old teaching role provided for so many years. I will cherish my memories, and 'my kids' there forever. But I'm feeling much more settled, more rooted this year, both as a Mother and as a Strings Teacher. I love my days with just Sophie and our Tuesdays with just me and both girls. We go to ballet and gymnastics, and we play together and read and talk all day. I'm pretty lucky.

And next weekend, my Love is taking me away for my belated birthday celebration. Two days and one night in Chicago alone. Just the anticipation is a perfectly delightful gift.

A post from the past that seems fitting today...

"So many pieces of who I am and what I value have been acquired through years of watching and listening to my big brothers. They have, in ways that I'm sure I don't even recognize, shaped me...my understanding of family, of love, of friendship, trust, parenthood, faith. In unique ways, they each continue to challenge and sharpen my understanding of who I am, how I perceive and think about the world, and how I know and love my Creator.
Different seasons of my life have particular memories of times spent with each one of them..."

(And since today is his birthday...I pick brother David to celebrate.)


Some of the only times in my life that I've felt physically strong, athletic, fast, were the hours I spent practicing basketball in our driveway, learning to dribble and shoot with David, or attempting to copy his jump-rope routine to become a higher jumper. Along with my dad, it was David that taught me to kick a soccer ball, shoot a basketball, serve a volleyball, bump, set....and well, (I watched him) 'spike'.

He made college seem magical when I visited him for 'Little Sibs' weekend. I have a truly terrible memory (I'm realizing this more and more), but strangely, I have remarkably solid memories of those weekends with David, just going to his classes and drawing in my sketch book, 'hanging out' with his friends, playing in a sibling 'game show' with him on campus (we didn't win, and I still remember the 2 questions we got wrong), having my presence announced in his dorm by loud shouts of "Woman in the hall!!"...I was probably about 10.

I fondly remember sitting in his classroom as a high-schooler, feeling proud, happy, and actually challenged to think (too often a rarity in high school). My friends loved and respected him so much, and I loved knowing that. He shaped a lot of my friends' lives too.

And in more recent years...I smile when I think about running back and forth between our houses to borrow a vaccuum, an egg, a spare key, a lawn mower, dinner, to share cookies, to use a shower, to return a run-away dog, to ask a question. He always seems to be close when I'm locked out of my house, my car won't start, I'm stuck in the snow, or I've run out of gas. David has rescued me a lot. He does that well. Only, it was way easier when we were neighbors. I do miss Forest Hills.

And now, I get to watch the way that he loves my daughters and they love him. His eyes shine when he bends down to hug them. Sometimes they run for their hug, but sometimes they giggle and run away. He is the self-proclaimed "Yes Uncle." He explained it to me once, "if they ask me for something they want, I say yes." I laughed and rolled my eyes a little, I think. It isn't really true, I hope.

And once again, I get to sit in his 'classroom' sometimes. Lately, he's been preaching about love from I Corinthians. And I feel like I hear him just a little differently than most of the people who hear his teaching, because I'm lucky enough to know how he has always shown me love in his own quiet and steady, always dependable, never selfish, frequently rescuing, and even tender-when-necessary way.

Happy Birthday David. I love you.


I posted a similar blog post back in 2008. I've used several quotes from the original, but added and deleted some as well.

I took this picture back in June...

Ryan and I were on a date, leaning against the lighthouse, watching the sunset and the boats coming in the channel. The pier was crowded that night, and as this boat came closer, almost every eye followed it. And I couldn't resist taking a picture (or three). I never guessed that in just a few months, I'd be one of the lucky people enjoying a sunset cruise on that very boat. And I wouldn't have believed you even for a second if you'd suggested that I might be the one holding the wheel. If I hadn't been so nervous about hitting the pier or another boat....I'd have really enjoyed the view of the channel from a different angle.


I can't say I didn't enjoy it though...a thrill I won't forget for a long time. Which is probably good, since it probably won't be repeated for a long time either.

Love...

...is enduring. It isn't fragile. It is....

...patient .
(PATIENT: "longsuffering, having a 'large soul'--BIG enough to absorb insult and injury like Jesus.")


Love is kind.
(gentle, tender, affectionate. It wishes well.)

It isn't envious,
or boastful,
or arrogant,

...or rude.
(Loving means to give myself up...not ever taking something from others rashly.
Love gives graciously...even when they don't deserve it.)

Love does not insist on its own way.
It is not irritable.
It is never resentful or bitter.
It never delights in wrongdoing.
It always rejoices in truth.

~These are words that cut me deeply. All at once, they produce sorrow and regret, inspire change and hopefulness and bring awareness of my continual need to be transformed.

Mostly, I fail on this love rubric in ridiculous moments of insignificance. Finding that I am just a little bit under appreciated and slightly used, I add a few things to my secret "list of ways others have wronged me and/or those I love." And then, when I am too small to bear this burden of (insignificant) injury, I speak or act out of resentment and my own increasingly irritable mood. I suppose I'm just acting out of boredom and selfishness, when I allow my mind to discover small injuries in which to plant resentment. Sometimes the injuries are bigger, and it's easier to justify my angry list making. In those circumstances, I probably plant my bitterness a little deeper and even nurture it happily, feeling SO right in my anger. I do this destructive planting, with full knowledge... that LOVE cannot be nourished in my life, cannot grow or bear any fruit...if my heart makes room for any of these things that it 'is not.'

This "Love is not _____ List" may be one of the most practical sets of words to meditate on.

But really, my favorite words come later.
The words that help me understand just a little bit better just how wide and how long and how high is the the love of Christ...

Love
PROTECTS...

Love...
...bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.

Love never fails.

I just can't get over this beautiful picture of love
protecting,
sheltering,
building,
and holding up.

Hoping (instead of despairing).

Enduring... without end.

How ugly and small and foolish....seem all the selfish, delusions of "love" that I am so prone to run toward. How disgusting is my selfishness and pettiness, my doubt and worry... in light of this enormous and powerful picture of LOVE.

I think Paul was kind of ranting on the many ways that love (was then, and) is so often misrepresented and mistaken for cheaper versions of 'happiness' and shallow attraction to things and relationships that seem like they will satisfy. The word 'love' is even used to disguise and justify our most hurtful, self-gratifying, manipulative, destructive acts.

This misrepresentation of love, this epidemic blindness to, and distortion of love sometimes make me feel hopeless. When I look around and see too many broken things, I tend to put people and circumstances and problems into compartments in my mind that to me, are beyond the reach of love. They seem unsolvable and too ugly to be healed by love, so I try to harden my heart around them so that they don't hurt quite as much, and I am not surprised and disappointed by the destruction and loss. But no matter how I might harden my heart and forget what I know to be true....

LOVE still...

...bears all things,
believes all things,
hopes all things,
endures all things.

Love never fails.

...thoughts I needed to remember from this morning's teaching from I Corinthians 13.

"Joy is the infallible sign of the presence of God."

~Madeleine L'Engle

dreaming...

...someday one of these fabrics could be transformed into bedroom curtains, window seat cushions, duvet covers, or throw pillows maybe...

In reality...
I've been wanting to find something old to repurpose as a jewelry organizer. I wanted it to be unique and have character..with lots of little 'cubbies'...possibly even drawers...and something I could hang on my wall. Then I found this brilliant idea on Etsy (made by "Bluebirdheaven"). I already have my printer drawer (found at an antique store for $12), it's partially cleaned out, but it needs a little more time before mine will be ready to hang.

This post is looking like something I cut out and paste into my "book". I do have a real journal... one made out of paper that isn't published all over the internet. It's mostly for me...a place to collect ideas, recipes, memories, reflections, prayers, quotes, book 'reviews.' But sometimes really good friends kindly browse its quirky pages and make me feel grateful and embarrassed. I'm on my second "book", the first one is filled to capacity. Maybe my third book will look something like this one...

If I had these...

I think I would put them on everything. It could be dangerous...I don't know if I would know when to stop. I just love how they give everything a place and a name.

This is where Ryan's unique personality and my own have been woven together. His love of structure and pattern and predictability is usually at odds with my scattered, unpredictable intensity-for-too-many-things to maintain a lot of order. But labels are one of many things that bring us together. We both treasure the beauty and function of labels.

When we were newlyweds...moving for the first time (from Vermilion, OH back to MI) we had a lot of time to pack. We put everything (except large furniture) into matching plastic bins. No mismatched cardboard for us. We watched for sales and snatched up all the green bins in Sandusky and Vermilion. Ryan created four computer labels for each box with highly detailed lists of all the contents, stating where it should go, and exactly how much it weighed. The scale sat next to the desk, so each box could be weighed before being perfectly labeled on four sides.
It was delightful.

We never get to enjoy such silly pleasures any more. We just have too much stuff...and too little time. We may have lost a little of that enthusiasm too.

But fresh labels still provide a little rush.

thinking about sewing something to wear...

I love this idea.

This creative designer/blogger was inspired by this Anthropologie shirt
to make her own...out of a regular dress shirt.

I was already to try it when I realized that I just cleaned out our closets! I donated to Hope's Outlet all the shirts that would be candidates for such a project. Rrrr.

Musical spontaneity remains

when children are not ‘redirected’ or ‘hampered’

by adult intervention.

They may not always need

our ‘approval’ or guidance

for making their music.

(paraphrased from the book "Songs in Their Heads" by Patricia Campbell)

Take out the first word 'musical' and insert...artistic, playful, creative, intellectual, social, linguistic, etc...

and the statement remains as convicting (at least for me.)

Though I'm a big fan of approval in general (guidance too!), I love this reminder of how gentle, purposeful, and careful must be the work of parenting and teaching.

One more reason I teach and make music...

...lastly and most importantly, I believe, music and music education help develop a child’s sense of being, her consciousness, her ‘self.’ Madeleine L’Engle, who is best known as the award-winning author of A Wrinkle in Time, believes that one of the greatest responsibilities of educators is “to give the child a self.” Instead, educators, parents, coaches, administrators, and counselors often struggle to give them something drastically different (and I would argue, inferior), a ‘self-image.’ Is our culture’s preoccupation with giving children a ‘self-image’ a good idea?
By giving a child a self instead, we are not giving them “something static, tied up in a pretty parcel and handed to the child, finished and complete. A self is always becoming. Being does mean becoming.” (Madeleine L’Engle, A Circle of Quiet)
This concept of ‘becoming,’ of having a self, of consciousness is a defining human capability. Overcoming the selfish self, the self-image, means that we are becoming more real, more human, more loving. We become more conscious and less self-conscious. Consciousness is authentic sensitivity, awareness of being. Self-consciousness is superficial, affected, and selfish. L’Engle explores this truth and its connection to creativity in A Circle of Quiet (one of my favorites of her non-fiction), “So, when we wholly concentrate, like a child in play, or an artist at work, then we share in the act of creating. We not only escape time, we also escape our self-conscious selves.”

Some reasons I teach and make music.

...the inherent and unique ability of music to bring order to consciousness for those who engage in ‘musicing.’ Just as writing helps bring clarity and order to my thinking...music also helps clarify my thoughts and feelings which cannot be expressed with words.
...music provides opportunities to experience “flow” (motivation which occurs when exciting challenges are perfectly balanced to match and extend ability) which spurs self-growth and self-knowledge.
...the distinctive power of music to “refine and extend” our ability to feel. By intensifying our felt experiences, music allows us to deepen our connections with the world around us, to broaden our capacity to love, and ultimately to strengthen and enrich our humanity.

I think these ideas capture a small (and somewhat cloudy) glimpse of the true masterpiece (the 'big picture') of the way that we were created to create...like our Creator so generously intended.