Creating

I like photography.

I'm just an amateur with a hobby, but love the sound of the camera's shutter, no less. It's like a song of some sort, the clicking away of a camera's shutter as it's lenses and mechanical intricacies attempts to capture a message from the scene around me.



Colors, accents, observing the paints and color streaks of God's handiwork in people, places, nature, down to the simplest of detail, anything aesthetically pleasing--I'm so there.


I love how God is Almighty, too big for me to understand. It's tough following the steps and ways Jesus. It's tough trying to live beyond a label of religion and really dig deep to the point of confusion at times. It's tough loving and accepting people around me that I don't agree with or get along with. It's even harder being reminded that on the flip side, God loves me even if He doesn't agree with the things I do and say, too, at times.


I like the art of words. I sometimes wish my pen would move as fast as my thoughts across a canvas of paper. (Typing helps somewhat to fulfill that wish.) Love how the perfect blending of each letter and sentence intertwined have the power to communicate into the hardest of hearts. How the blending of words can also have the power to construct & piece back together in a person what cutting words of the world have tugged apart. It's no small wonder that the Bible clearly says "The tongue has the power of life and death..." (Proverbs 18:21)

It's amazing how a properly constructed group of letters, glued together with God's great and Holy Spirit can build back meaning into a soul that has known nothing but the meaningless.

I believe that God is an artist, the best one. He is an artist of words as well as of the things that visually captivates His creation. I wonder sometimes what He thinks when He watches each of us experiment, get curious about something, make something, add to something, even try and try again.

I wonder if God feels the same type of feeling that I see in my sister's eyes when she observes my niece's small hands write out the letters of her name or draw out the lines and details of a new picture she will proudly present to her mommy.

Amazed.

My Psalm

So, I hate that weird moment when you’re caught up in a discussion and the topic of talents, what you like to do, what you’re known to do, comes up. I had one of those moments and I think the nudity of my insecurity freaked me out just a smidge as I felt the conversation start to take off the layer of covers that discreetly hid this tiny thing I think is a flaw: I absolutely have no idea what my talent is or what is it I’m meant to “do”.

I’ve had a few distinct moments in my life where a conversation went something like this “Whether it’s being an artist like Jean, a great comedian like Samuel, a teacher and counselor like Leanna, and (here is where the speaker’s eyes shift to me and you can almost see the split second of hesitation as they suddenly are left wondering “um, wait, what can I say for you, Rona?” BUT thinly disguised in the segway of “Um, and yeah, everyone has something to contribute to worship God with! Be encouraged!".

I almost felt bad for that speaker that my presence stumbled them. Almost.

Perhaps I’m too much of an observer, but I can’t help it, I notice these things. And while it’s no fault of the current speaker in the conversation taking place among innocent friends, because I notice them, it makes something in me flinch that I’m not quite clear exactly on what it is that I, am purposed to do.

And as I ponder this in the hot shower on a winter day (I do most of my deep thinking with the bubbles of shampoo stinging my eye), I am reminded by God that I am not a human doing but rather a being, “fearfully and wonderfully made”. Gosh where is that written?

Hold on….oh yes, here:
Psalm 139:14”I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.”

Though truth is told in this Scripture, as the last of the shampoo bubbles drain away with the water and I stare at my toes on the shower tub floor, I still can’t help but say “Yeah, but God, come on. This bites. It’s a little cringing to think that I feel a lack of identity in these types of conversations that randomly come up with people.” And then the Spirit says, "but your identity isn’t in what you do, it’s in who you are.” To which I immediately say “well, who am I? Oh, yeah, daughter of God. Sorry, I forgot for a second, God.

Before you start thinking I'm crazy, please understand that I talk to God so much in my mind that it sometimes feel as if the thoughts are going to leak out my ears and actually reveal themselves to someone.

Though God’s reminded me that I am "fearfully and wonderfully made", that my identity is “Rona, God’s daughter”, I go back and forth sometimes on how much that truth is enough for me. I feel like an untapped source of stuff that just wants to go out and try the things I think I was given. Anytime I feel remotely close to what I think is “it”, I am pulled back by, I’m not experienced, I don’t have the money to pursue it, what if it’s just a whimsical thought like everything else, I lack the discipline to follow through, I don’t want to invest the time because it’s returns will be nothing, etc. And I know I can’t get caught up in that. Otherwise, I’ll never move.

Despite that, I am slowly understanding that if I fall flat on my face moving forward instead of falling simply because my knees got locked and immobilized from doing nothing, it's a far better place to be.

So, God, please continue to remind me of who I am in you, FIRST. I need an solid establishment of my identity in you, day to day, every minute. I need this or I can’t pour anything out for your sake. Supply me with this need God and when my cup is full of what you’ve supplied, I pray that it naturally is in my heart to pour it onto others, too. I pray that I am given the wisdom, guidance, and discipline to keep worship and relationship with you at the top of my priority list and second, that I am given a clear picture from only you as to what talents I have and how I can use that as you’ve meant for me to. Jesus, plain and simple, I need you and always need your help.

Scramble

I may as well be honest and say that I dread having kids. I’m female so I think I should have some degree of fear every time I think about having kids.

First off, I don’t have a high tolerance for pain. When my sister gave birth to my beautiful niece, she did it with no anesthesia. But that’s my sister and not me. My sister is by far, half man, and has the strength of 10 horses. I don’t even think I have the strength of a pony.

I know that raising kids is full of grief and and at the same time, full of unexplainable joy. I think my mind is still encapsulated on the grief part.

The other day, I spent time with my niece, Nevaeh. She’s six and doing well in school, smart as a whip, and beautiful to boot. Shining personality and I don’t say this because she’s my only niece. (Well, maybe a teeny bit)

My weekend started just the right way with a game of Scrabble with this 6 year old wonder. She’s doing great in the subjects of spelling and reading, but math was going to need a bit off work. Little did I know that Scrabble may just very well be a good practice for both subjects.

Before we immersed ourselves in a game of “Scramble” as she put it, we decided to poke through her toy bin to discover some new toys to play with. I tried to choose a cute puppy, but she kept adamantly insisting that the dog was disobedient and would not listen to me. (I know that this was just her attempt to get me to pick this ugly looking cat instead....and I hate cats)

After much debating, she gives one final attempt to steer me away from the idea of playing with this doggy toy and tells me that the dog had a dirty spot on it. And as I ask her what this diry spot was on this toy she lays down the truth about this poor pup's skin condition.

It's leprosy.

Leprosy. This kid is beyond hilarious and too much for me.

“Scramble” was fun. I watched as she formulated words and put forth efforts into adding the points, doubling and tripling them as each covered square indicated. Every time I get to spend some real time with Nevaeh (time in which my smiling face is, for once, not covering up the 100 mile- a -minute thoughts of what I need to do after I leave), I always feel as if the day was well spent when I rest my head at night. Almost like the one thing important thing to get done today got done.

My mind was actually focused on her and I found myself observing every feature on her face, the long and skinny toes that were proudly a part of the cutest feet that were growing way, way too fast, to the concentrated and thoughtful expressions of her face that communicated to me how even her brain and the thoughts it formulated were growing up and discovering the world.

She’s not my kid and yet she makes me hope that one day, my kids will be just as enthralling as her.

my space, not MySpace

So.

This is blogging. Online journaling. An open piece of online paper. A blank canvas with a choice of words to color the page.

I can see how this can be fun.

I've debated doing this for quite some time. Posting thoughts, posting written work. Much of the words that swam around in my mind ended up in books and books of journals, diaries kept since childhood.

But as 2009 came charging around the corner of the my life, and God knows, I'm about to turn 30 this year, I thought, hey, why not? Life isn't getting any longer. I'll take advantage of time and do something a little different, with a maveric touch. Always wanted to post a thought, always wanted to write, always wanted to have my space that wasn't MySpace.

Thoughts on High School Reunions

Obviously, I wouldn't be writing or delving into this subject, if at the moment, my own high school reunion was not coming up.

Well, duh, it's coming up.

Am I going? I don't know. I really don't want to spend the money to see a whole ton of people that I honestly was not too close to. I still stand by the theory that people go to these things out of curiosity to see who is doing what, how successful they are, and who got fat. Not to toot my own horn about how great and genuine my husband to be is, but I think he's the only who is honestly going because he genuinely wants to say hello to a few friends and not for any of the above reasons I mentioned.

I'm the one who wants to go and see who got fat. Hey, I'll admit it!

High school was not the most pleasant experience for me. And this isn't a knock against high schools or reunions. (I'd much rather go to my college reunion.) It was just that for me, I don't want to re-visit the bad choices I made, the feelings of struggle in my own identity & security, and the ex-boyfriend who I stupidly let influence my life too much in high school. Much of my high school years I felt very, very alone. I think that if I had had a much closer relationship with my parents, or some foundation, maybe it would have been different.

Not to bemoan my lot in life at the time, but sometimes I look back on my high school years and wonder how I could have gotten sunk so low emotionally and still survived. I wonder many times what God was trying to tell me back then and what He though, especially when I was wallowing in my own self-pity mess and making one bad decision after the other. I often wonder why I didi not have someone older or wiser around to encourage me & why I didn't permanently stay the way I did.

The picture of my emotional state at the time of high school was one of bleakness painted on a canvass of stark white. No color. No vibrancy. The way the color of emotion would even start to reveal itself on the canvas of my life at the time was when depression, sadness, insecurity, and rage would emerge. Needless to say,, it wasn't very positive.

My husband to be, on the other hand, did not have that type of experience in high school at all. His high school canvas was filled with color, vibrancy, excitement, and stages of changes in life that made it fun for him. And yes, you guessed it. He's ok with going to the reunion.

Our experiences were like night and day.

My friend emailed me just recently to ask if I was going to the reunion. She just received the e-mail from another mutual classmate of ours. She shares much of my same feelings.

I think that secretly, whether or not you had a great high school experience or not, people are still curious bout your lot in life and how every one's life turned out compared to theirs.

Period.