1. Yellow. Nope. I don't like yellow either. One more time.
1. Yellow Labs. There, much better. And I miss my favorite yellow lab, Vaughn, very much.
2. Yelling. Yeah. Yelling. But not angry yelling, fun yelling. Try it sometime. Sometimes we just have a yell fest and make the loudest yell we can. Man it feels good.
3. Yves Saint Laurent--Do they sell that at Bass Pro? I suck. Try again.
3. Yogurt! Yes!! I love yogurt!
***pause*** I had to go to some of my Twitter and Facebook friends for help.
4. Yiddish. As is Michael Chabon. There--I did it! (Thanks Kimberly!)
5. Yummies--oh is that list broad and wide. Like my hips. (Thanks Ezra Poundcake!)
6. Yellow Sunflowers. Okay, so I like a few yellow things. Just not too much. (Thanks Honey. That's Phil to the rest of you)
7. Yahweh!!! Steve Laube, you floored me with this one. Of course! I wish I'd thought of it!
8. Yolk? Like egg yolk? Ick. Phil gets my egg yolks.
8. Yoke? Yes, I think that counts since Jesus said, "My yoke is easy and my burden light.) I came up with that one all on my own!
9. Yahtzee. Another one I came up with!
10. Yearlings. There. I did it again! I amaze myself. I probably amaze you, too?
Thanks for playing? Do you want a letter? Let me know and I'll pick one for you. I might not make it as hard as Y.
I met Jeanne Damoff (pronounced DAM-off) a few years ago on a message board. Yep, she's one of those friends. I have a lot of them, but Jeanne is a bit different.
At first, I thought she didn't like me. She might not know that, but she does now. But seriously, now I understand it was my overactive imagination and nothing more.
We first met at the ACFW conference in Dallas in 2006. I remember laughing with her in the lobby, but what I remember most is feeling overwhelmingly sad when she got a call that someone close passed on. I felt the need to pray and she doesn't know but I was praying silently when I hugged her. I had also signed up to take a shift in the prayer room, I prayed for her family then, as well.
I really got to "know" Jeanne reading her blog and her every-other-Thursday posts at The Master's Artist. Then I found out she takes photographs (like really outanding ones!) And though Jeanne's words are phenomenal, down to earth, and always seem to leave you with an unexpected sense of hope and peace, her photography spoke its silent language to my heart.
This picture of Natalie, Jacob, and baby Lawson Jacob touched me deeper than I realized at first. When I saw it, all I knew was that Jeanne was a great writer, a funny gal who gave points to people who made her laugh, a great photographer, and a woman who loved her family deeply. I sort of knew that Jacob had brain damage, but I didn't know the story and I was didn't want to appear rude by asking. Little by little, the pieces came together. Jacob had an accident, he nearly drowned. He lived. He has brain damage. The photos of him are always stunning, there's so much in his eyes, they speak that silent language, too.
This was my first chapter in the story that is Jacob Damoff.
In August of 2007, I found out that Natalie was Jacob's best friend. I found out she named her baby Lawson Jacob. Soon after, Relief published selections from Parting the Waters.
And this photo then meant more...look at Natalie. I know that feeling of--what do you call it? Blessed pain? Or as Jeanne appropriately called it: Beauty in Brokenness?
Those moments in life, we all have them, or maybe not everyone does?
I have had them. When my grandma died. It was so hard to watch her go, yet knowing she was finally in peace was peace for me. When my uncle committed suicide. The single most painful event in my life, yet knowing the demons no longer could taunt him and that he's resting in Jesus now--overwhelming pain and relief simultaneously.
Is that a taste of what Jesus felt when he commanded His spirit to His Father?
My mind captures images and holds them, the first photo is one that comes to the forefront of my mind often. This is the other one. There's something in Jacob's smile that commands attention.
I often find myself wondering what it's like to be that happy. Then I remember I am, I have only let life drag me down.
Parting the Waters is so brutally honest. The reality of it all is bitter and heartbreaking, yet through it all there is a hope bigger than explanation.
My mind captured an image from the book and will not let go. Jeanne and George had just brought Jacob home after a lengthy period of rehabilitation. Jacob, at this point, was not able to speak. They were at a special chapel service and the pastor, "...at one point said 'God,' Jacob pointed first to his own heart and then straight up in the air. "
Imagine that.
Jeanne continues, "After that day, when someone mentioned the Lord, Jacob pointed. Always to his heart first, then to the sky. He hadn't uttered a single word, but his actions preached a thousand sermons."
* * *
Another aspect of Jacob's story that I appreciate, one that helps me in my own life, is hearing everything the family and community did with Jacob while he was in a coma. I mentioned above that my grandma's recent death has affected me. She was not conscious for a week or more towards the end. I posted the story of the last minutes I was blessed with sharing with her. As Jeanne put it, "What a precious memory you'll always have of singing her into eternity." I still struggle with the last breath she took, at such a meaningful moment. I feel like God gave me a piece of this Beauty in Brokenness we're talking about.
My friend Elaina, said this to me, "Reading Parting the Waters reminded me that we understand so little of the way our brains work and to presume that someone doesn't comprehend is not a good plan. Even in dementia and Alzheimer's, they're still themselves. They just have trouble piecing everything together. I believe she heard you, Michelle."
Jacob has given me so many gifts, I can only imagine the crowns in heaven adorning his head, and I bet he'll have that big smile each time another is placed for the blessing he's been to a number so great, only God can know.
Order Parting the Waters here. Join Parting the Waters on Facebook (and send Parting the Waters Flair!)
Dream 1. (note: I drive an old beater 1994 gray Lincoln Continental, Phil has been a 2000 Chevy Prizm) So. The dream is, I'm driving my Lincoln. I pull up at my destination, pop the trunk, and get out. Someone is driving by slowly, it's someone I know, and they say, "Wow. How on earth did you do that?"
"Do what?"
"Fit Phil's red car in the trunk of your Lincoln?!"
"I don't know, it's what we always do when we have to move the car."
Dream 2. I was not the bartender, but s/he wasn't available. There was a customer sitting at the corner of the bar, I was standing where bar lifts up (where the bartender would enter.) I am shaking a stainless steel martini mixer. I pour the contents into a martini glass and then I slide the glass over to the bald, black man and realize it's Maurice. He gulps it down, asks for another, gulps that one, asks for another and has like five drinks this way. Finally he says (in pure Maurice fashion) "Listen." His one eyebrow is raised, his head is cocked, he's going to give me the what-for. "Is there any reason I can't have my ice IN my ice water?"
Now I'm totally confused. He wants me to stop shaking and pouring his ice water? Seriously? "Well, sure. I suppose. It just really never occurred to me to do it any other way. This is the way I always do it." I start looking around for an appropriate glass and find and over-sized clear plastic beer mug (fashioned to look like a chilled mug, only the kind that you'd get as a souvenir with a t-shirt in it, and it was huge.) The establishment actually used it for a napkin holder. When I looked at it, I looked back at Maurice and he nodded an elitist "yes" with his eyebrow still raised. I dumped the napkins out, washed the Charmin-like residue of napkin fuzz off the rim and inside of the cup, filled it with ice then water and handed it over.
That was it. Dream 3. We were swimming and cold. We didn't want to sit on the grass, so people figured out that the brick road held heat. I joined three others already sitting on the road and a really tall guy walked behind me. I looked to see who it was and he seemed to be a mixture of people so I can't say for sure who he was. He looked down at me, smiling, and said, "Damn! Those are some nice boobs you got!" And squeezed the one with my Mickey Mouse tattoo. I playfully backhanded him and told him to shut up.
We did some more remodeling stuff this week. Here's a before picture. It's at a different angle, but you'll get the idea. This picture was right before Zane's birthday party (thus the shiny thingies hanging from the banister.) Here's Phil sanding the pine walls, you can see over to the right, I've got some whitewashing finished.
And a totally not complete photo, but an In-Progress photo. I got ahead of myself and painted some of the trim white just so I could imagine how it would look when it's all finished. All of the trim will be white. The walls will be "Barely Beige."
What do you think?
You can see all of my tackles here. And all of the remodeling posts here.
I seriously couldn't wait to post this story. Phil and I must have laughed for a half hour about it when it happened around 2am and then again just as hard when we woke up. And this is one of those stories that will be around a lifetime!
Remember that our bed is in the living room because we're remodeling? There's a door we let the dogs out of in there, so when Patches got up at 2am and scratched to go out, I was not a happy camper. Okay, happy that she's a puppy and not piddling on my floor, but it was -23 degrees overnight and our poor furnace is not keeping up. I also don't sleep with much between me and the covers. Can you say COLD?
Plus, I think I'm getting sick. Phil didn't know I was letting the dog out so he asked, "Honey? Are you okay? You've been making a lot of noise and you're not sleeping good." I was all stuffy and my head hurt and I was having bad dreams.
But I stopped whining long enough to let the dog out.
Then I let her back in.
Before I could get back to bed, she was already on my side, snow-covered paws walking circles in my little comfy spot. I was not about to lay down on a snowy bed.
So I found a nice fleece blanket (soft!) and rather than turn the obnoxious bright lights on, I opened my cell phone as a nightlight.
I accidentally hit the voice command button, so while I'm trying to straighten the fleece blanket over my snowy side of the bed, the voice command lady saying with her robotic voice, "Please say a command." Pause. "Please say a command."
Phil: "Butthole."
Robotic lady: "Please say a command."
Phil, louder: "Butt. Hole."
Robotic lady: "I'm sorry. Did you say, 'Call Phil?'"
Before I get to the second verse of the year, a recap of the first is in order. (More about verse one here and here.)
Scripture Number One: Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen. Hebrews 11:1 (Holman Christian Standard)
Here's the last photo you saw of my Scripture art
And now...my Scripture Art as it will remain
I believe I've committed this verse to memory, though probably not word for word. Understanding ideas is far more important to me than getting every word correct. And of course, the spiritual battle is raging. However, I'm leaning on a verse I learned back in January of 2006--Exodus 14:14 says (in my version) Shut up and the Lord will fight this battle for you. So my lips are zipped, my mind is active with Scripture, and my hands are busy making art. God has me right where He wants me, in His right hand.
Onto 2009 Scripture Number 2
"I will praise the LORD who counsels me--even at night my conscience instructs me."
The only reason the pickled watermelon rind she sent Phil last year isn't in there any longer is because while we were out of town one weekend, our power went out for a few days and when we returned, we had to throw everything away. I held it in my hand, hesitating. I thought about emptying the contents and keeping the jar. Then I thought Jill'd think I was stupid, so I threw it away.
The only reason the video of her that was recorded on my phone just a few days before she died isn't there any longer is because my phone broke and the video couldn't be recovered. It's the same reason her phone number isn't programmed in there, too.
Jill's blog is still here. I pretty much have the few entries she posted memorized.
Her email address is still in my contacts. Sometimes, I want to email her and tell her things.
She's still so much a part of my life. Pink ribbons don't give me some feeling of achievement. They don't make me feel like I'm doing something or saying something or raising awareness for something. The make me hate breast cancer and death and they make me miss Jill. I hate those freaking pink ribbons. There. I said it.
I had a weird dream this morning, I know one part of it was her trying to make me laugh. We have a private little joke about black licorice.
My head was severed, decapitated throughout the whole dream. At first, I was in pain. I don’t know how it happened, I only know I didn’t want to have a severed head. There was a little blood, but if I put my head back on right and held my neck still for a few minutes, the blood would clot and stop. Until someone touched me or I moved my head, which I tried to avoid. Brian Keene and several others (I have no clue who) were sitting on the floor in the living room. I think (maybe) they had cards. Alethea Kontis and Kelli Dunlap were there, but in a different part of the room, Alethea was sitting on the couch, Kelli on the chair.
Brian had a neon yellow and black fine-tip Sharpie that was twice as long as a normal pen. I walked into the room and it was the one thing that interested me. I asked him if I could try it out and he laughed and said he knew he should have hid it from me. He handed it to me and I wrote my name on a piece of paper a few times and made a suggestion to myself that it would be good for this scrapbook I was working on.
So I got out the book to see if the Sharpie would work Brian came over to me and leaned in to look at the photos and jostled my head and it almost fell off again. I dropped the book to steady my still severed head. Alethea, bless her heart, kept trying to help me put my head on and make it pretty while Kelli tried to make me laugh instead of panic.
Brian turned the scrapbook to some pages I wasn’t sure I wanted to share. They were my Viet Nam photos and I didn’t particularly like reliving those memories. Brian asked questions about them and I explained who the people were and what parts of the country we were in, all while holding my neck.
I was in the Army. My head was still decapitated. I was supposed to be show up at 7pm to a drill of some sort with my fatigues on and my bag full. Except my belonging weren’t clean. The barracks had several washers and dryers near the far end of the building, but everything was full. Phil and Zane were sleeping, they didn’t have to attend this drill with me, but I was already late and fearful of the consequences. And I couldn't figure out how I was going to do PT with my head severed, I knew it would fall off.
I thought I'd post a little along the way. Mostly because Kay posted today, so blame her.
Now I don't draw, paint, or whatever as beautifully as some people, but I like to do it. Oh how easily I am entertained with crayons, paints, pencils, glue and all that other fun stuff!
I found my sketchbook/journal at Barnes & Noble. A more perfect combination couldn't be made. On the left is lined paper and the right is blank. The paper is heavy and has a little texture (which means I touch it a lot.)
I started by writing the verse on the left and then see where the verse is slanted on the right? I did that the same day, all with my praying-in-color markers.
Today, I added the sticker on the left that says "Faith" as well as the other on the right from my scrapbooking stash. Also, the yellow strips with the flowers were scraps.
Then I broke out the watercolors (that Zane got for Christmas but isn't interesting in using.) The rest of the stuff was painted today.
That's it so far. I'm feeling pretty good about this and I pray I can be diligent.
Beth Moore posted on her blog a few days ago asking if anyone wanted to join her in memorizing Scripture, two a month, in 2009. I usually catch those kinds of posts late, so I was surprised to see my comment was like one of the first twelve. (See...the no procrastination is going well so far)
There's still time to join--and it doesn't matter if it's the first of the year or the end. Join in any time.
So. Because I'm me, I have to put my own twist on things. It's difficult for me to do what everyone else is doing or the way they're doing it. I have to somehow make it my own, and then it has meaning and value for me.
Beth suggests buying a pack of those bound index cards, and that's a fabulous idea (and I would never, ever chastise you for doing just that) however, I want more room to move and grow. I want to do mine incorporating my creative side. I want to learn how to be creative with God.
I think a sketchbook will work well. So that's what I'm using.
The verse that will start of my year is Hebrews 11:1
Now faith is the reality of what is hoped for, the proof of what is not seen.
I'm not sure how I should document this journey.
We're supposed to pick our first verse and work on memorizing from the 1st - 14 and then the second from the 15 - end of the month. So maybe I'll post my verse on the 1st and 15th and then post a photo of my sketchbook on the 14th and the last day of the month?
Is anyone else doing this? Let's hold each other accountable, or at least cheer each other on!
