Dandelions

I feel sorry for Dandelions. Why is it that they aren't good enough to be treated just like every other flower. Yes, yes, I know technically they are a "weed" , but they are pretty like other flowers. I was reminded of this when my niece pointed to the "pretty yellow flowers" on the grass the other day and we just ignored her cause they are not "flowers" they are "weeds" yuck. . . . somehow lovely little dandelions have become a "dirty weed". Children always see them as flowers. I remember wanting to pick them as a little girl just like Julia, and would often gather bunches for my Mom or teacher. And when giving them there was always this 'thank you for the thought, but ewww' look on their face. Soon one catches on that they are just a "weed" so don't stop to admire anymore and worry when they pop up on their lawn. Why is it a faux pas to leave them on your lawn? If you ask me the Dandelion is adorable, bright, cheerful and very unique. How many flowers turn into fun white fluff balls that can be blown everywhere? The dandelion is clearly evidence of how our inner most child and natural appreciation for beauty is far too often squashed.

Fill it up Man.

I confess when it comes to some things I'm a bit of a traditional gal. Being a single woman forces one to have to be a little "nontraditional". I have no choice but to do pretty much everything for myself, which I don't mind most of the time, but I have to confess - some days I wouldn't mind having a man to do little things for me, like: fill the washer fluid in my car, check the oil, pump the gas, carry my heavy boxes and bags, etc. I think how nice it would be mostly when I hear the clunk of the hood of my car closing. It just feels so unnatural for a diva to see and touch the intestines of her car, and it's so dirty opening up the hood (particularly on a wet snowy day). Then again I suppose when I really think about it, it's really unnatural for a diva to be driving her own car to begin with - she'd normally have a chauffeur to do that . . . .
Oh I'm a miserable excuse of a diva! I can't even afford to hire a man to do all the little things for me . . . oh well! I know I can get by, all I'm saying is that it would be nice sometimes, that's all.

sometimes.

Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me and not with others.
Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with others and not with me.
- Perhaps that's what's wrong with me.

Said and Done

So, sometimes . . . ok, most of the time I don't say exactly what I mean to say to people. I water my thoughts down, edit my words, and try not to fully bombard people with my feelings. Well yesterday, it so happened that by accident an unedited e-mail conversation between my friend and I was sent to someone who I ordinarily would re-edit and re-edit my exact words to . . . the conversation was actually about telling the accidental addressee what I was thinking and I was trying to get this person's e-mail address. . . so I would have shared my thoughts, just not in such a blatantly honest way.
Once I discovered that this person was now fully aware of my un-edited thoughts I was embarrassed. It revealed a real vulnerability and weakness of mine in a true unaltered light. . . . I was certainly not ready to be so vulnerable with such a person.
As I thought about it more. . .perhaps full blown honesty was exactly what was needed to get my point across. I really shouldn't be embarrassed, but am - and now it all comes down to pride.

Tired of Me

Sometimes when I'm teaching I think to myself:
'I'm so tired of me - la la la - blah blah blah - jump, run, dance - twirl, swing, clap - shake, tap, snap- etc, etc, etc. I wonder if the adults watching me feel the same.'
I can tell that the kiddies are having fun, but gosh there's only so much toddler entertainment that a grown adult can take.
Then again I do give 12 performances a week - most of the adults only catch me once a week.
I think I have good reason to be tired of me.

Busyness

I've been so busy lately. I think I tend to fill up my life with busyness so that I have an excuse to ignore the things about my life that bug me. Those things still bug me, I just don't have time to think about them often enough to deal with them. I'm not sure that this is a healthy approach to life. Ignoring important personal issues has come to bite me in the behind in recent days. . . you'd think I would have learned my lesson by now. . .

Believing the words I sing

Ever find yourself singing words to a song that you don't believe but so desperately want to? Ever find yourself singing those words louder and louder hoping that your heart will hear them and believe them? I have.

ENOUGH

- Chris Tomlin

All of You is more than enough for all of me

For every thirst and every need

You satisfy me with Your love

And all I have in You is more than enough

You are my supply My breath of life

And still more awesome than I know

You are my rewardworth living for

And still more awesome than I know

All of You is more than enough for all of me

For every thirst and every need

You satisfy me with Your love

And all I have in You is more than enough

You're my sacrifice Of greatest price

And still more awesome than I know

You're the coming KingYou are everything

And still more awesome than I know

More than all I want, More than all I need

You are more than enough for me.

More than all I know, More than all I can say

You are more than enough for me

08/08/08

So this was the fortune in my fortune cookie today. When I first looked at it, I had to laugh because that's exactly the philosophy I've been trying to instill in myself this past year. . . But when I actually saw it printed in black and white on that little white piece of paper from the far East Fortune Cookie Co. it just made me so sad. I really can't imagine having no expectations whatsoever. I guess I equate expecting with hoping and I just can't imagine my life without hope. I think if I wrote the fortune I'd write this:

Expect nothing from noone but God

and never be disappointed.

Vulnerability

Making oneself vulnerable takes not only a lot of energy, but also a lot of trust. Whenever I make myself vulnerable it feels as though I've deliberately set off enormous sticks of dynamite blowing up my security walls into a million teeny tiny pieces; The security walls that I tend to build up around myself to protect me from pain and judgement.

Vulnerability requires a swift KA-BOOM!!! A willingness to suddenly stand with no walls to hide behind. Just me, with all my walls crumbled to the ground around me, With nothing to protect me from the shots that may come my way. The explosion leaves me standing there long enough for the rest of the world to peek out from behind their own walls to see me.

As an artist I suppose I see it as part of my job description to explode my own walls. In my opinion the most powerful art comes out of vulnerability. Really though I know it's not just my job to be vulnerable because I'm an artist, but more so because I'm a human being.

I wonder what the world would be like it we all regularly blew up those walls with dynamite or dared to NOT even build them in the first place. I don't put a lot of hope in that though, because apparently dynamite is not easy to come by. And bricks are produced in surplus. For some reason though God tends to hand me the dynamite quite a bit. Not only does He hand it to me, but He asks me to light it and watch the walls that I've worked so hard to build crumble.

Pretenses

Sometimes slapping a bandaid over a wound can give the impression that we are healed. Yet when the bandaid is ripped off we realize that by covering the wound up it has only gotten worse.

I've been slapping bandaids all over my wounds for a long time now.

Falling into Distance

I feel far away.
The distance is long.
The distance is empty.
I've unknowingly created the distance
one millimetre at a time.
And now the harder I try to run towards You
the further away I feel.
The millimetres have grown into Kilometres.
I try to take one step forward
yet I find myself leaping 5 giant steps back.
My perception is skewed.
How is it that You are standing
in front of me,
behind me,
beside me,
around me,
yet all I see and feel is that long, empty distance
between us?

Running Reflections

I've been thinking a lot lately about the great "race" that I have qualified to run. The race that Paul refers to so often in the New Testament. I've been feeling so deflated lately. Just so un-energized. For months now I've honestly been teetering on just giving up on everything "race" related. I'm slowly realizing why, as I begin to examine the vitals that will help me to persevere in the race.

The other day as I was out for my daily run, I was just struggling to get through. This was the week I had to double my running time from the week before. Day one was hard. I was into my last 4 minutes and my knees were aching, my calves were weakening and I was slowing way down and ready to just give up. I then felt the wind on my back and was suddenly reminded of this scene from the movie Facing the Giants. Now, I'm not one to even watch football movies, let alone remember anything from them. And I'd almost forgotten about this scene until it randomly came to mind while I was running. Thinking about it got me through my final 3 minutes.

What a beautiful picture of the Coach who stands beside us cheering us on to persevere as we head towards the finish line.

Mallards

5 years ago today a beautiful mallard duck crossed my path. It was a bright sunny March day, much like today. There was still a little bit of snow on the ground, and if you listened closely the birds were chirping sweet little spring melodies. It was a lovely tranquil morning. Inside I felt far from tranquil. In my heart there was a tremendous weight, the heavy weight that only grief can bring. I didn't know how I was going to get through the day and I just kept praying that somehow God would get me through because I knew that my own strength wasn't enough.

The night before our family sat around the dinner table as my grandmother shared what exactly she had put in my grandfather's casket. She mentioned that she had put in a stuffed animal duck. My sister was baffled. And kept saying "a duck? you put a duck in the casket? why? I don't get it." My grandmother's reasoning made sense to me because I was the one who had given Tutty that duck. It was a stuffed mallard, and I brought it home one day when he was sick, because I knew how much he missed watching his ducks at the cottage. He kept that duck by his bed until he died. The duck represented Tutty's love for nature. My sister felt it an inappropriate gesture nonetheless and ranted about the "duck" for the rest of the evening.

The next morning as my sister and I were walking to the limousine that would take us to the funeral home where my grandfather's casket was waiting for his funeral procession, a beautiful mallard with a glistening emerald head waddled across the snowy path in front of us and then spread his wings and flew into the sky. I was just so amazed that an actual duck would appear out of nowhere. Neither of us acknowledged the duck at that moment because we were trying to be silent, but for me that duck was God's way of saying, "It will all be okay, I'm carrying you." In that moment that duck was a symbol of God's love for me. It gave me hope that I could get through that day. After the day was over my sister asked me if I had seen the duck. She said that she felt as though that duck was a sign from God and that she now didn't find the stuffed duck so odd anymore.

I have to admit, I just can't look at mallards as just ordinary ducks anymore. Anytime I see one, I stop not only to remember my grandfather, but more so to give thanks for the love and faithfulness of my loving Father. The Father who always provides us with exactly what we need in order to give us the hope and the strength that carry us through this life.

Measuring Up

Knowing that I will never ever measure up is something that I will always have to face. Understanding this ultimate truth is the challenge of life. Understanding that no matter how hard I try I will never ever meet any of the real standards that I so desire to meet. Understanding that it is the desire to measure up that so often causes me to fail. Understanding that disregarding this fact will be the cause of my downfall. Understanding that the temptation to ignore this knowledge is the strongest weapon that can be used against me. Understanding that it is only through my understanding of never being able to measure up that I can comprehend the true meaning of grace, mercy, and love.

Comprehending and being able to acknowledge that I will never measure up is the single greatest gift I've ever received.

little white confessions

> I watch all of those cheesy Disney teeny bopper shows on Saturday mornings (Hannah Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody, Corey in the House, That’s so Raven etc.) And I kind of enjoy them.

> I'm an introvert who poses as an extravert.

> Sometimes when I have a long break between my classes I take a nap on the floor in the Kindermusik studio on the kiddie cushions - feels like kindergarten nap time.


> I’m dreading turning
30




> I’m the queen of the organized mess.

> I kind of like the smell of skunk.



> Everything I learned about acting I learned from regularly watching Victor Newman.





> I think that the best place to practice singing is in the car. . . . and sometimes when drivers are really annoyed by the traffic I provoke them by acting out my arias – hand gestures and all.

> I buy more Tim Hortons Coffee when it's roll up the rim season.

> whenever my niece asks me to play with her, I try to talk her into playing doll house, even though I know she doesn’t like it, because when I was a little girl I never had a cool doll house but always wanted one.

> I’m a total romantic who completely believes in old fashioned courtship – (pretty much explains why I’m still single.)

>I think that ice cream tastes better when secretly eaten out of the container . . . I sometimes eat my Mom’s ice cream out of the container and don’t tell her.

That's not what feet are for.

Foot in mouth - again!
Originally uploaded by craft-dabbler

I seriously need to stop doing this with my feet ! ! !

In the wings

The other day I had the most wonderful moment as I was waiting in the wings just before my entrance on stage in La Boheme. It was a moment of overwhelming gratitude. I get so excited when I finally get to perform for an audience - excited to finally share after so much hard work. There's just nothing that beats sharing a character, great music, and a story with an audience. As I was standing there thinking to myself 'well this is it, it's finally here - performance time!! Yaaaay!!' I couldn't help but thank God at that very moment for providing me with the opportunity to do what I truly love to do. I even got a little choked up thinking about it. There's no other place I'd rather be than on the stage. There's no other place where I feel more like myself. (Weird when I'm usually playing characters who are nothing like me) I suppose I feel that I'm doing what I am designed to do. . . I don't know. But I do know that I wouldn't be doing it if God hadn't provided the opera-tunities. I wonder how many people actually get to do what they truly love to do? I wonder how many people even know what they are made to do? I wonder how many people feel that loved by God? So undeservedly loved by the Creator of the Universe - the God who knows each of us so intimately that He graciously gives us the opportunities, the gifts, the endurance, and the discipline that not only glorify Him, but also provide for us such personal joy and fulfillment. I can do nothing but give thanks for all He has given me.

Cheese

Last night I was cleaning up my e-mail box. Deleting e-mails from almost 2 yrs ago. (I'm the type who tends to let it all pile up.) As I was reading a few notes I had sent to some friends in the past I realized that I am just one big slab of cheese. Yup, I said it - I am cheese! When I gush I don't ever realize in the moment how cheesy I sound, but after time has passed I'm almost embarassed by it. Of course being the big cheese that I am I cried when reading some of the letters. . . I don't think my cheesiness will ever change though, it's definitely a part of who I am . . . I just need to embrace it. If I have to be cheese I hope I'm at least like a big hunk of brie. . . hard shell, soft smooth interior, not sharp, goes nice with berries, watercress crackers and wine, doesn't smell like feet. . . .

Sometimes I wish I was 2 too!!!

The more time I spend with toddlers, the more I love 'em!! Sometimes after a day of teaching or after a visit with my niece I think to myself, 'wouldn't it be nice to be 2 agian.' :)

Ten Reasons why being a toddler just rocks!!

1. Everything you say or do is absolutey adorable and people are smiling around you all the time.
2. You can act silly or crazy and not be judged by anyone.
3. There's so much to learn and so much to explore.
4. Everything is an adventure, from going to the potty to combing your hair - everything!!
5. You're not afraid to try anything.
6. You get to play with the coolest toys.
7. Giggles are common.
8. You're not afraid to say what you think.
9. The songs you sing are fun fun fun and silly:)
10. Your imagination is starting to flourish and the simplest things can be the most extragagant.

Hiding in Thee

(Painting - The Psalmist- Gwen Meharg)

O safe to the Rock that is higher than I,
My soul in its conflicts and sorrows would fly;
So sinful, so weary, Thine, Thine, would I be;
Blessed be the Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,Thou blest Rock of Ages,I’m hiding in Thee.

In the calm of the noontide, in sorrow’s lone hour,
In times when temptation casts o’er me its power;
In the tempests of life, on its wide, heaving sea,
Blessed be Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.

How oft in the conflict, when pressed by the foe,
I have fled to my refuge and breathed out my woe;
How often, when trials like sea billows roll,
Have I hidden in Thee, O Thou Rock of my soul.

Hiding in Thee, hiding in Thee,Thou blest Rock of Ages, I’m hiding in Thee.


Hymn - William O. Cushing