A Love Letter

I was raised to be suspicious of artifice. So when Dave surprised me with a weekend trip to Disneyland a year or two into our marriage, I was only moderately enthused and mostly just curious. I remembered friends in childhood lovingly poring over maps of their recent adventures, and I was a big enough fan of 'Beauty and the Beast' to have several Belle-themed doodads in my recently vacated childhood bedroom. But I had always rolled my eyes at the 'sheeple' with rows and rows of pristine oversized white plastic video cartons in their rumpus rooms. I was sure that their copies of 'Fantasia' were just for show, whereas my dad had laid the foundation for a lifelong love of classical music by dwelling on the Stravinsky and patiently enduring the Sorcerer's Apprentice. I might be making that part up, but I do still find the Mickey part to be the least pleasurable of the options presented.

I felt a bad cold coming on as we drove down to Anaheim for Presidents Day Weekend. I was pushing Zicam and Cold-Eeze with the abandon of the uninformed - did you know it can make you nose-blind? One of my freshman roommates was nose-blind, and we would always try to get her to smell candles or shampoo until we remembered and felt renewed sorrow at her plight all over again. 

We stayed at the Holiday Inn right around the corner from the park - in walking distance. I remember wandering around Downtown Disney, enjoying the upscale-ish outdoor mall but not quite sure what to expect the next day. We saw 'Constantine' at the AMC there, which was fun. The bathrooms in that theater were memorably lavish, which was bizarre. 

I was fully prepared to go in to observe, people watch, see all the masses enjoying true old-fashioned American commercialism, capitalism in the form of a mouse-eared golden calf - I'm sorry that just got dark but I'm gonna let it lie because I'm trying to write this pretty quickly and it gives you insight into my young opinionated mind. I didn't like Six Flags so I obviously wasn't going to like this any better.

It was an overcast day, but my nose was miraculously clear and I felt excited and ready for the adventure. Main Street was cute and charming but we were here to ride rides, not window shop. Dave was super pumped to show me childhood favorites, and we started with one of his most precious - The Indiana Jones Adventure. We only got so far as the line when I started to notice something, and more importantly, feel something. The rocks felt like a cave. The lights were torches. I was entering a different kind of space and time. I spent the entire ride with my jaw on my chest - it looked real! It felt thrilling! It was, dare I say, magical! 

We came out of the ride into a torrential rainstorm - that weekend ended up being one of the wettest that year in Southern California. But that day was one of the happiest days I can remember. Because all the cynicism and suspicion and ideological dissonance was no match for the careful artistry and idealistic wonder of Disneyland. The bright-eyed enthusiasm for childlike stories and themes, and un-ironic pleasure in the tiny manufactured details, produced a feeling of pure other-worldliness that was intoxicating. Crowds were light, we were laughing and running everywhere, my feet were numb by the end of the day. I was spellbound and have been in love with the Mouse ever since. 

So young, happy, and comfortably dressed.

Luckily, my sister married a guy from Miami who loves it as much as I do, so I get to go to Walt Disney World with my family more often than some of them would prefer. My mom is still not buying any of it, but she does love the Rice Krispie balls so she comes along willingly. I could wax poetic about the joys and pleasures of all things Disney for much longer - but it's getting a bit embarrassing. I'm not extolling the virtues of escapism - we can't live in a Disney World every day. (Well, I know a few Cast Members who might like to disagree but they're special cases.) But there's something about Disney that bubbles up joy in my heart, and I love lingering in that feeling.

So I bought a wallet with Mickey Mouse ears on it. Please don't judge. ;) 

Our Piece

(I am terrible at cliffhangers, obviously, because I keep not answering the question I asked on Wednesday. But some other projects are more important, so I want to share something I did write today, and I'll get to the fun silliness next time.)

In moments of crisis, trauma, and change, life holds up a difficult and important mirror. If our hearts are in a harsh, self-critical place, we may be stunned, shocked and horrified by what we see - a human being so far from the image we were carrying of ourselves in our minds. We see our double chins and dimply thighs, our bad haircuts and pimples, our skinny legs and furry eyebrows. It’s a snapshot we weren’t prepared for, a camera we didn’t notice, in the poor lighting of the DMV or a dingy dorm hallway. 

The challenge - ALWAYS - is to bring the love of the Savior into that mirror. To remember Him, His Spirit, and to see ourselves through His eyes - as human beings, exactly as our Heavenly Parents made us. As children who are not as big as we thought we were. There is no shame in that. There is only love and encouragement. In these moments, I think the Lord is saying, “See? Look at what we’ve done! Look at what we will be able to do! Aren’t you marvelous? Aren’t you coming along nicely? Aren’t we proud?” Because they are. And so are all the people who love and support us. And we are beautiful, and the awkward pieces DO lend character, and those furry eyebrows are even on trend this year, which is truly as ridiculous a concept as it sounds in this context. 

In chapter 14 of the book of Exodus, the people of Israel are in an impossible spot. They have fled slavery, but Pharaoh is not letting them go easily. Behind them is pain, but pain they understand. And now, in verse 10, they see the pain coming after them, ready to take them back into its clutches. And before them, in the darkness, the moon glints on the waters of the Red Sea, an impassable expanse. And they are afraid. Because they are sure that they will die in this place, one way or the other. They will perish bodily in the wilderness trying to fight for freedom, or they will be dragged back into suffering and death by Pharaoh. They cannot see a way forward, but they are desperate to do something. So what does Moses, their prophet, tell them to do? Fear not. Stand still. See the salvation of the Lord. This pain will soon be far behind you. And then this verse, one of my touchstones:

 14 The Lord shall fight for you, and ye shall hold your peace.

I have spent a lot of time and energy fighting and battling against my own weaknesses and pains, and battling and fighting against the weaknesses and pains of others. I have worn myself out trying to be righteous or good enough to save myself and others.

But I have now come to see myself as blessed when I encounter an impassable expanse. When I can no longer put on a brave face in front of what scares me. When I must acknowledge and admit how small and incapable I am. It is in these moments that I can truly let the Lord do His work in me - where I can let Him speak peace to my soul because I no longer have to offer up an answer or a suggestion or throw a measly punch. In those moments, I truly have the only worthwhile thing left to offer - a broken heart. 

All I can do is be still, let this moment of pain pass through me, watch the Lord and his faithful ally, Time, do the work of healing. When I fight, I am fighting against myself. When I surrender, when I allow myself to collapse and let Him tend to me, when I see that all I hold is one little piece of the infinite patchwork of human life, I can begin again to take one step at a time, forward into the dark and glinting sea. The impassable recedes, the slurping muck begins to dry, and I step ever more sure footed, with the awareness that the path is not mine to make, but His. He tells us not to fear, but He knows we will. He is asking us not to let our fear keep us trapped, not to let our fear tell us that we have no choices. He wants us to open our eyes and see Him there, see what His work can be, if we let Him do it. And He is asking us to take a step. And another. And another.

Time, good or bad, will pass. The children of Israel were not walking into peace and ease and contentment - far from it. But they were stepping into a place of growth, where God could teach them and they could build a better world. Which they did, and still do, through a series of mistakes and failings and trials and wrestles and wars and loves and successes and beauties and prosperities and droughts and famines and a never-ending cycle of mundane daily acts of feeding, clothing, sheltering, and moving ever forward.

A little hint...

No one has guessed yet! And I've been very busy today, so I'm not going to reveal it yet, but here's a clue. My love for this was born during a trip we took in 2004, even though I was aware of it for basically my entire life.....

Foraging in the Wild

I used to make conservative choices when it came to things like wallets. I've been sporting a very functional dull green one for a few years, but it started getting all gummy and not zipping very well a few weeks ago, so I decided to find a replacement.

I like to scour places like Marshalls, TJMaxx and Ross for what is basically some department store's castoffs. These orphaned items deserve a home, even if no one should have wanted them in the first place.

For example, from my local Ross:

(This is not the work of one misguided individual with a chalkboard and no dictionary. Multiple people signed off on this. Let's all give them the benefit of doubting that English is their first language.)

But these days, functional no longer satisfies. I want to giggle. I have taken on the 'fun part' of Marie Kondo's work - I want 'my' things to spark joy, without having to go through all my old things to throw/give them away. I'm not a hoarder, despite what you might assume given the twitch in Dave's eye every time I open my closet door. In fact, I'm much better than I was when we were dating and my bedroom looked like a suburban gorilla nest.

So I went looking for a new wallet that had something to say, something a bit more exciting than 'I am an adult and this carries my dollars, stamps, and the shame of my rapidly-filling 'Frequent-Cookie-Buyer' card'. And so I have a new wallet. And it. Is. FUN.

But it's also a bit revealing of one of my most embarrassing enthusiasms. Not that the thing itself is embarrassing, but my level of glee about it is a bit too intense for an adult woman, propensity for cookie-buying notwithstanding. But it will make me giggle every time I pull it out of my purse for a long while, I bet.

So, can you guess? Will you try? I'll show you on Friday, embarrassment or not. ;)

Pretty Much Just Water Slides, Part 3

Shortly after I turned 30, I realized that water slides are fun. Now, I have yet to go to one of the big stand-alone water parks with the super high slides that my mother-in-law once said seem to be designed for feminine hygiene purposes. (It's a douche that gives you a wedgie!) But I started with the tame offerings of a Disney World hotel kiddie pool a couple of years ago and worked my way up to, last week, riding in a tube with David down the 'Whiplashing Whirlwind of Possible-Lingering-Injury', screaming a few choice expletives and trying not to lose my contact lenses.

Many people spend their youth believing they're invincible. They take risks, strike out, goof around and then, eventually, settle down and develop more caution. I did this backwards. I was so careful and cautious. No risks, or at least very few. I wrapped myself in safety, taking it as some assurance that fear and pain were optional and I could opt out quite happily. Didn't try anything I might fail. Didn't do anything when I couldn't foresee a happy ending. And it did produce a happy life, for a time.

But then, you learn. We all learn. Fear and pain are not optional - they are standard features. No, they are essential components - parts of the engine that drives the whole human experience. Rejecting those things means a flat life, lived on level surfaces, and it means you're all the more shocked and dismayed when a chasm opens up beneath you. If you have no experience with the dynamic of falling, then the fall hurts you twice because you haven't yet grieved the notion that you might never fall in the first place. And after a few tough years in a row, I just didn't fear that sliding, sinking, falling sensation so much anymore. It's not that I was numb to it - far from it.

It's that I knew eventually I'd splash down into a pool of water that buoyed me up again, that I could wipe the sopping strands of hair from my face, blink my contacts back into place, and rise up to climb again. Also, I started to look at my whole life, this entire human experience, as a place where we come to play. To learn, to test our mettle, to laugh and scream and sputter and get scared together. Can I see it as a safe place, rather than somewhere to be scared of? I don't mean to imply that we come through unscathed. Bones and hearts are broken, and there is no shame in resting on a lounge chair or sitting in a warm, bubbly pool. But if I'm able, can I move from the comfortable placidity of the Lazy River to the thrills of the highest, scariest slide, trusting that it's still all been designed to create joy? There is still fear in that slide. There is, as my mother-in-law intimated, discomfort in our most sensitive places. But there's a unmatchable thrill in trusting that the water will carry your body safely down, that eventually you will land, that you will come up and out, that you will take a moment to breathe, that there's more fun to be had.

Sooooo, I have a cold.

Here's a video of a baby goat in a costume.

Death Row and Water Slides, Part 2

Huntsville was green and pretty that day - I remember waiting outside while our professor made arrangements for our security orientation. The prison itself is beautiful old red brick building, and looks more like a high school than a prison. There were 'trusties' mowing and gardening outside - throughout our prison tour we didn't encounter anyone in any kind of confinement, and instead watched men going to and from education classes and exercise. This unit is where many Texas prisoners are transferred to be released from the system. Our tour guide was a guard who had worked at the prison for many years, and who personally had overseen many executions. I have the vague recollection of a mustache, a paunch, and a Texas drawl, but I don't think his appearance or voice would fall outside of whatever you might imagine a longtime Texas prison guard to resemble.

The tour began with the oldest cell block in Texas, dating from 1849. I'm 5'9", and a cell for two people would have been too small for me to stand tall or stretch my arms in. They had even set mannequins in antique prison garb inside to demonstrate and give us a feel for the times. We also had an opportunity to be shut into 'the hole' as a group for a time - a small, black-walled box of a room that would occasionally house dozens of prisoners at once as punishment. There were nervous giggles, rather than horror or solemnity. Our guide was knowledgable and matter-of-fact, and gave us accounts of famous prisoners and an eleven-day hostage siege in 1974. Then we proceeded to the space used for executions.

Three cells, a short hallway, and a green room with a gurney. 'Death Row' doesn't actually house prisoners until their time of execution - they arrive shortly before their appointed time to die. In 2010, they told us about the prisoners' last meals - made from whatever the kitchen already had in stock, and produced in bulk. If the person wanted a burger, they got four burgers. The guard explained that it helped 'slow down and calm' the person. Apparently in 2011, they did away with providing a particular 'last meal'. There's a table with a couple of Bibles and a Quran. The person can request a chaplain. And when the time comes, they are escorted down the hall to the execution chamber. Some go willingly. Some must be dragged.

I was surprised by my lack of emotional reaction to this experience at the time. I had always been firmly anti-death penalty, but I found myself hearing such a sensible understanding coming from this guard, and felt so much more aware of the process and rationale behind it. We crowded into the chamber, some of us touching the gurney. We could see the observation room, divided into two halves. There was a microphone coming down from the ceiling to allow the prisoner to give last words, and the guard directed us to the Department of Criminal Justice website where all these last words have been recorded for the public. And he talked us through the process of an execution and told us about his own emotional experiences and ability to compartmentalize so that these moments stayed on the unit, rather than following him home.

We filed out again into the crisp sunshine, piled onto the hired school bus, and headed to grab fast food and tour the nearby Texas Prison Museum, which houses, among other artifacts and interactive exhibits, 'Old Sparky', the formerly employed electric chair. Then it was back onto the bus for the ride home, chatting casually about nothing much with my classmates. Finally, I loaded up a bag and headed to Great Wolf Lodge to eat dinner with the weary adults and water-logged kids who had been mightily enjoying themselves.

When my mom asked about the trip, I remember saying it had been interesting, and I remember, for the first time in my life, defending the death penalty as rational and necessary. After spending all that time thinking about it, I felt like it all made sense. And my mom flushed red and her eyes widened and she was completely bewildered and probably horrified. But I didn't really want to discuss it so I just squeezed into my swimsuit and headed out to do my thing.

Dave asked, for the inevitable umpteenth time, if I would finally do a waterslide. 'Asked' might be a weak word to use - he had been pretty much begging me to do things like ski and rollerblade and rollercoaster and waterslide for the entirety of our almost 10 yr relationship at the time. I'm a chicken. I didn't like to have anything without an engine and brakes between me and the ground. But I decided it was time to try it. I was brave. I'd spent an entire day in a prison! I'd touched the gurney in an execution chamber! I could do this!

I got halfway up the first flight of stairs before I started to shake. I was looking down, a very short way down, into the churning water where the slide would exit. The riotous echoes of kids yelling and splashing, the muggy chlorinated atmosphere, the chaotic motion of water and people had me swaying and rooted me to the railing. And I had my first real panic attack. I sat down hard on the concrete stairs, breathing fast and shallow, and was sure I would pass out. I'm not sure who helped me leave the stairs, I'm sure Dave was there and maybe my sister Abby, but I remember shivering until my teeth rattled.

Within two days, I was against the death penalty again. I still am. In my opinion, it has no place in a civilized society, and it's a practice born of our baser desire for revenge rather than the better angels of our nature. In truth, I wish I could fully live my convictions and become a vegetarian, because of my distaste for killing. But I've also convinced myself that I could slaughter a hog or a cow or a chicken to feed myself and my family if need be. Of course I could. I'm brave.

On Friday - Waterslides and what's changed since then.