Happy autumn!
P.S. This is post #200 on lattes & rainy days. Whoo-hoo!!
cemetery/autumn photos by kirsten.michelle
29 September 2008
cemetery walks in autumn
It's not often that we get crisp autumn days and sun around here. Because I had some new photo-editing software demanding that I play with it, I was compelled to go for a walk with my camera yesterday.
Happy autumn!
Happy autumn!
26 September 2008
shadows & light
Each of the options before me makes my heart ache, to tell you the truth.
But I still have to choose which path -- each with its own unique pattern of shadows and light -- will be my path.
But I still have to choose which path -- each with its own unique pattern of shadows and light -- will be my path.
the path ahead photo by kirsten.michelle
24 September 2008
2 memes {4 things & 5 ways}
Since my laptop has only recently come back from the dead, I've had some catching up to do where blogging is concerned. Rebecca tagged me with this meme about fours and I still need to do L. L.'s meme about fives, so here I go, in numerical order for blog post #198 on this, my first blog.4 things I was doing 10 years ago:
* Starting my first year as an R.A. in the Thompson dormitory at Biola
* Grieving the loss of my cousins, Bryan & Mikey (he was nearly 17 years old & liked to be called “Mike”, but he will forever be “Mikey” in my book!)
* Reading roughly 2,000 pages a week (because that's what happens when you're an English major and in an honors program)
* Having late night roomie chats with Christin
4 things on my to do list for today (since I am now home, these are things I've already done):
* Make coffee
* Go to work
* Go to the gym
* Fold laundry
4 things I love about being single (modified from the original 4 things I love about my husband):
* I am free to manage my time and my finances: trips to Ireland, time with my girlfriends, spur of the moment weekend trips, etc.
* That apostle Paul knew what he was talking about. Being single is such a gift. I could list a lot of really cool things about it, but generally speaking, there's something really amazing about it being just Jesus and me (and I love that I've got some really amazing saints to look toward as examples of fierce and holy women of God).
* I've learned to become independent in the best of ways and have learned a lot as a result.
* I get to sleep in the middle of my queen-sized bed.
4 jobs I have had:
* Food server
* Camp counselor
* Customer service rep
* Lead training & support specialist
4 movies I have watched more than once:
* Breakfast at Tiffany’s
* Moulin Rouge
* French Kiss
* Juno
(This list could be way, way longer!! We watch a lot of movies at my house)
4 places I have lived:
* My parents’ house
* A dorm room @ Biola
* A studio apartment in Bellingham
* A duplex with Kaari & Melissa
4 place I have been (this year):
* Winter Park, FL
* San Jose, CA
* Mount Baker
* The naturopath’s office (yes, it is here in town, but I've been there so much, I think it deserves to be called out on its own)
4 places I want to visit:
* Ireland (19 weeks, 2 days & counting!!)
* France
* Greece
* New Zealand
(this list could be a lot longer, too)
4 television shows I watch (darn the expanded basic cable!!):
* CSI: Miami
* Jon & Kate Plus Eight
* Gilmore Girls
* What Not to Wear
4 things you may not know about me:
* I once took a hip-hop dancing class with my friend Peggy.
* I had all four wisdom teeth out when I was 26. The bottom two dry-socketed. Ouch!!
* I've taken the LSAT (but never applied to law school).
* I recently reserved the domain name kirstenhaaland.com (no website yet; just the domain name). I know you wanted it, but that's too bad. I beat you to it.
4 People I'm tagging:
* Kaari
* Sarah
* Tammy
* Christin
5 ways blogging changed my life:
1. Reconnecting with friends from college.
I remember first being introduced to the concept of blogging about 3 years ago. I was a bit of a blog voyeur at first, checking in on Jessica, Rebecca, Jennifer, and Christianne. It didn't occur to me to start my own until a couple of months later. Reconnecting with these friends has not only revived these friendships, but made them even deeper than they were before.
2. Connecting me with new friends.
If you had told me when I first started blogging that I would find new friends, I either would have laughed, become very, very frightened, or both. It continues to baffle me how I can so deeply love and cherish people I've never even met. There's Terri, with whom I had an almost instant affinity and whose presence in my life and in the world makes me breathe a little easier and feel a little bit saner. There's Heather who is feisty and funny and smart and somehow gets me. Because of blogging, I met L. L. who inspires and encourages me in my writing and in so many other things. There's Nathan, who is just a genius and has such a tender and generous heart. And Tammy. Oh, Tammy! What is there to say but that she is raw and real and hilarious and I love that she's willing to say what almost no one else will.
There are so many others with whom I've crossed paths and connected with who mean the world to me. And now I absolutely cannot imagine a world without them.
3. Awakening to the call on my life.
It was through having this outlet of blogging that I reawakened to the truth that I am a writer. It's come in fits and starts and I still have a ways to go, but after attempting so many other paths in vain, after trying on a number of other ill-fitting identities, blogging helped me rediscover the one that was truly me.
4. A new addiction.
I can't seem make it through a day without checking blogs. Once upon a time, I did other things after finishing work and working out. But I cannot, for the life of me, remember what I did before Blogger (and Facebook).
5. A sense of community like none other.
I don't doubt for a minute that what is shared in this space is real and true; that somehow, the Body of Christ is alive and well in this space. I find in this space so much affinity and encouragement. I am challenged and inspired and introduced to brand new things.
If you're still reading this, consider yourself tagged.
:o)
21 September 2008
bottles of tears & desert places
What a cop out, I thought sardonically.
One sentence from the pastor's prayer reverberated through me: God, You are the answer to every question.
Whatever.
I felt a hard and bitter lump at the back of my throat; hot tears pooled behind my eyes, stinging at the corners. I had plenty of questions. And I had reached out to God with those questions, time and again. Making no effort to disguise my need, I stretched forth my arms and held those hungry questions in my hands. They were hard and cold and He had not offered satisfaction for a single one of them. Starved of answers, they started to feed on my heart, picking at it like buzzards. He knew it and still, He held back and let them nibble at my innards.
At least that is how it felt. Though in my mind I knew God was present and that He cared, in my heart I felt abandoned. And I was so tired of trying to talk myself out of feeling that way.
I don't often attend the monthly evening services at church, but I went that night as an act of faith. I wanted to touch the hem of His robe, to see if His power would course its way through my body and make me whole. But my Comforter seemed out of reach. I imagined Him standing in the shadows, arms crossed and motionless as He took in the sights and sounds of the scene before Him: my arms reaching out for him, my faltering voice calling to Him from a raw throat. If not answers, then comfort please, I begged. Come and find me here.
I wrapped my hands around the edges of the chair in front of me to steady myself. What could I do but wait? I didn't need to know why this was happening anymore or even when it would be over, but could He give me a word, a hope, a bit of comfort -- anything to sustain me? How, God? How is this good? It felt at times as though He loved me in a more generic "I love the whole world" kind of way. I started to feel small and invisible, as if God were too busy with hurricanes, wars, and famines to attend to me.
I started to trust in His presence in the same way I might trust that the Titanic sank: as a true and historic fact, but one that had little in the way of a compelling connection to my present. Nothing could or would change the truth of it, but it was a cerebral truth, one that was acknowledged more or less academically. Asking my heart to believe it was to invite a tension and conflict within myself that was incapacitating. I couldn't make any sense of it, and so I didn't want to encounter it. My heart was a puddle and my head was already splitting; I could not afford nor bear to invite additional strain.
I've been studying the book of Job in this season in order to find a new lens through which to view my own experience. As I wrote my most recent post reflecting on God's silence throughout the bulk of the book, I pondered in the final paragraph:
I wonder what [God] is doing in the shadows as He listens to Job's friends all but accuse him of some vile sin time and again. I wonder what was in His heart as He watched Job scrape at his sores with bits of broken pottery. I wonder what He was thinking as Job and asked why?, over and over again. I wonder how He held himself in silence when Job requested an audience with God so Job could make his case. I wonder how His heart felt as He counted and collected Job's tears.
The last sentence was a new thought for me and honestly, a bit of a throwaway as far as I was concerned. It's something I tacked on at the end of the paragraph, due in part to the fact that I had recently said to someone, "If it's true that God gathers every teardrop, then there is an Olympic-sized swimming pool in heaven with my name on it." The jest belied how deeply my heart was hurting; I desperately wanted it to be true.
Less than twenty-four hours later, I received an e-mail from Sarah that nearly made me fall out of my chair:
... you came to mind. I started to pray, that god would be with you, that you'd feel his nearness, that he'd protect you from the enemy. And then I prayed something I haven't prayed before ... I don't know if I've ever thought it before. I prayed that you would know that each tear you cry is precious to him, that you would know he's catching them all in his hand and collecting them because they matter to him, because YOU matter to him. I SAW it, you crying, him catching.
Now, this never happens to me ... not ever. I mean, I get images, but I don't think I've ever been woken up to pray something like this before.
And then I read what you wrote ...
But the amazingness did not end there. The day after that, I went to Stuff Christians Like, a blog I look at only infrequently. I read this post about feeling too small for God, and what should I read but:
... every now and then I come across a verse that shakes my deep belief that I am beneath God’s radar. One that I love is Psalm 56:8. Here, in what hopefully makes me look pretty smart, is the King James Version:
“Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”
But maybe you’re not old school, so here’s what the New Living Translation says:
“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”
I think that’s beautiful. Can you imagine that? Can you picture God doing that? Taking His giant hands and tenderly picking up every single one of your tears? Knowing why they came, understanding what they mean, placing them in His bottle, so that He can comfort you.
In the space of a day, I had been reminded twice that truly: He gathers every teardrop. He gathers my teardrops. He spoke to the ache and the need that I simply had no words to describe. I was reassured that my tears mattered to Him, that they had not escaped His notice. He spoke to the need behind my pleas for healing: He answered my doubts about His presence, about what His love for me looked like, about whether or not I really mattered to Him. I had gone from feeling deserted, as though I was an infinitesimal blip in a crowd of humanity to feeling like I was the only soul on the planet for whom God cared.
My health issues continue to be a part of my current reality, and I won't pretend that those don't matter. I suppose from that vantage point, nothing has changed. But the world as I knew it was turned upside-down when our great big God became small enough to let me know that He saw me, that He collected every single tear I cried and regarded them as something precious. There was nothing generic about it; it is by far the most intimate God-experience I've ever had. He drew me to the desert and whispered His love to me there. And everything changes radically when you know for sure that you're fiercely and dearly loved.
One sentence from the pastor's prayer reverberated through me: God, You are the answer to every question.
Whatever.
I felt a hard and bitter lump at the back of my throat; hot tears pooled behind my eyes, stinging at the corners. I had plenty of questions. And I had reached out to God with those questions, time and again. Making no effort to disguise my need, I stretched forth my arms and held those hungry questions in my hands. They were hard and cold and He had not offered satisfaction for a single one of them. Starved of answers, they started to feed on my heart, picking at it like buzzards. He knew it and still, He held back and let them nibble at my innards.
At least that is how it felt. Though in my mind I knew God was present and that He cared, in my heart I felt abandoned. And I was so tired of trying to talk myself out of feeling that way.
I don't often attend the monthly evening services at church, but I went that night as an act of faith. I wanted to touch the hem of His robe, to see if His power would course its way through my body and make me whole. But my Comforter seemed out of reach. I imagined Him standing in the shadows, arms crossed and motionless as He took in the sights and sounds of the scene before Him: my arms reaching out for him, my faltering voice calling to Him from a raw throat. If not answers, then comfort please, I begged. Come and find me here.
I wrapped my hands around the edges of the chair in front of me to steady myself. What could I do but wait? I didn't need to know why this was happening anymore or even when it would be over, but could He give me a word, a hope, a bit of comfort -- anything to sustain me? How, God? How is this good? It felt at times as though He loved me in a more generic "I love the whole world" kind of way. I started to feel small and invisible, as if God were too busy with hurricanes, wars, and famines to attend to me.
I started to trust in His presence in the same way I might trust that the Titanic sank: as a true and historic fact, but one that had little in the way of a compelling connection to my present. Nothing could or would change the truth of it, but it was a cerebral truth, one that was acknowledged more or less academically. Asking my heart to believe it was to invite a tension and conflict within myself that was incapacitating. I couldn't make any sense of it, and so I didn't want to encounter it. My heart was a puddle and my head was already splitting; I could not afford nor bear to invite additional strain.
I've been studying the book of Job in this season in order to find a new lens through which to view my own experience. As I wrote my most recent post reflecting on God's silence throughout the bulk of the book, I pondered in the final paragraph:
I wonder what [God] is doing in the shadows as He listens to Job's friends all but accuse him of some vile sin time and again. I wonder what was in His heart as He watched Job scrape at his sores with bits of broken pottery. I wonder what He was thinking as Job and asked why?, over and over again. I wonder how He held himself in silence when Job requested an audience with God so Job could make his case. I wonder how His heart felt as He counted and collected Job's tears.
The last sentence was a new thought for me and honestly, a bit of a throwaway as far as I was concerned. It's something I tacked on at the end of the paragraph, due in part to the fact that I had recently said to someone, "If it's true that God gathers every teardrop, then there is an Olympic-sized swimming pool in heaven with my name on it." The jest belied how deeply my heart was hurting; I desperately wanted it to be true.
Less than twenty-four hours later, I received an e-mail from Sarah that nearly made me fall out of my chair:
... you came to mind. I started to pray, that god would be with you, that you'd feel his nearness, that he'd protect you from the enemy. And then I prayed something I haven't prayed before ... I don't know if I've ever thought it before. I prayed that you would know that each tear you cry is precious to him, that you would know he's catching them all in his hand and collecting them because they matter to him, because YOU matter to him. I SAW it, you crying, him catching.
Now, this never happens to me ... not ever. I mean, I get images, but I don't think I've ever been woken up to pray something like this before.
And then I read what you wrote ...
But the amazingness did not end there. The day after that, I went to Stuff Christians Like, a blog I look at only infrequently. I read this post about feeling too small for God, and what should I read but:
... every now and then I come across a verse that shakes my deep belief that I am beneath God’s radar. One that I love is Psalm 56:8. Here, in what hopefully makes me look pretty smart, is the King James Version:
“Thou tellest my wanderings: put thou my tears into thy bottle: are they not in thy book?”
But maybe you’re not old school, so here’s what the New Living Translation says:
“You keep track of all my sorrows. You have collected all my tears in your bottle. You have recorded each one in your book.”
I think that’s beautiful. Can you imagine that? Can you picture God doing that? Taking His giant hands and tenderly picking up every single one of your tears? Knowing why they came, understanding what they mean, placing them in His bottle, so that He can comfort you.
In the space of a day, I had been reminded twice that truly: He gathers every teardrop. He gathers my teardrops. He spoke to the ache and the need that I simply had no words to describe. I was reassured that my tears mattered to Him, that they had not escaped His notice. He spoke to the need behind my pleas for healing: He answered my doubts about His presence, about what His love for me looked like, about whether or not I really mattered to Him. I had gone from feeling deserted, as though I was an infinitesimal blip in a crowd of humanity to feeling like I was the only soul on the planet for whom God cared.
My health issues continue to be a part of my current reality, and I won't pretend that those don't matter. I suppose from that vantage point, nothing has changed. But the world as I knew it was turned upside-down when our great big God became small enough to let me know that He saw me, that He collected every single tear I cried and regarded them as something precious. There was nothing generic about it; it is by far the most intimate God-experience I've ever had. He drew me to the desert and whispered His love to me there. And everything changes radically when you know for sure that you're fiercely and dearly loved.
08 September 2008
in which she waxes medical
Thank you, friends, for coming alongside me in this place. "Thank you" sounds utterly pathetic in proportion to the love, prayers, words, and shoulders you've offered me, not just today, but over the course of the past year and a half. I'd rather not be morose and something I dislike only slightly more is putting said morose-ness in this space.
I have so many thoughts zooming about in my brain about how beautiful the Body of Christ is, about how He whispers to me so quietly in these spaces sometimes, and about how much I am looking forward to the resurrection (Creation restored!! A working body, YIPPEE!!). I've got symptoms and root causes on the brain and already have a few ideas of how I could write about that. I'm thinking about God's presence, about the enemy's assault on our souls, and about the myriad of lessons being embedded and burned into me right now. Those will be forthcoming, I am sure.
I have an update, so I wanted to share. I'd just like to say that I have the best naturopath in the world. I called today and spoke with Tracy the wonder-office manager who, incidentally, has known me since birth and also (because she is so terrifically engaging) knows my woes as well as my naturopath does. I explained what was going on: ever since changing my thyroid regimen, there's been a domino effect. Everything else was falling out of line (not surprising since, where many important aspects of health are concerned, the thyroid is running the show). So the message was relayed and I discussed options with the good doctor.
Without getting into the gory details, several things have been terribly off since my thyroid started getting back in shape. Or should I say: the last time my thyroid started getting back in shape. Where thyroids are concerned, I'm pretty sure I've got the wackiest one in town. It's dangerously down. It's up way too high. It's down again, but not too bad. It's up, way way too high. And it's starting to take a dive again. The most recent blood work (taken a week ago) confirms the thyroid hormones are trying to see just how low they might go. The antibodies are still present (boo!!), but the good news is that those numbers are dropping.
Bleh.
This is where the awesome naturopath comes into play. Since the supplement I took the first time that worked so well eventually sent things sky high and scary was obviously not an option, we are opting to take advantage of modern medicine. I have a new prescription that is designed to regulate this very moody thyroid of mine and will follow up with Dr. W in 2-3 weeks. If it works like we're hoping it does: the scary weight gain will cease and desist, I'll feel a rebound in my energy, and these other things that are out of line as a result will follow suit.
There are two things that impressed me about my naturopath today:
1. He didn't question the wisdom I have about my own body. He asked me my thoughts on what was happening. How many doctors do this? We've been working together on my thyroid for about two years now and when I told him that all these things fell out of order with the most recent regimen change, he didn't question it. Having been to my fair share of doctors who think I don't have a clue, this was a breath of fresh air and is one of the reasons I keep going to him.
2. He prescribed an honest-to-God synthetic prescription medication as treatment this time around (and it's something that is known well for being an effective treatment). It would have been great if more natural remedies were working, but they just weren't working with my specific set of circumstances and challenges. Having witnessed the occasional raised eyebrow from some medical doctors when they hear I'm seeking treatment from a naturopath, I genuinely appreciate it when health professionals (no matter their branch) don't get so sidelined into thinking that their specialty is The Only and Holy Way of Health that they won't explore the wider array of options available for treatment. It helps affirm for me that I'm in partnership with someone who has my best interests in mind.
So that's where I'm at. And I just realized this might be one of the most mundane posts ever written, but I think I'm going to post it anyway (she says with a grin).
Love to you, and many thanks again.
I have so many thoughts zooming about in my brain about how beautiful the Body of Christ is, about how He whispers to me so quietly in these spaces sometimes, and about how much I am looking forward to the resurrection (Creation restored!! A working body, YIPPEE!!). I've got symptoms and root causes on the brain and already have a few ideas of how I could write about that. I'm thinking about God's presence, about the enemy's assault on our souls, and about the myriad of lessons being embedded and burned into me right now. Those will be forthcoming, I am sure.
I have an update, so I wanted to share. I'd just like to say that I have the best naturopath in the world. I called today and spoke with Tracy the wonder-office manager who, incidentally, has known me since birth and also (because she is so terrifically engaging) knows my woes as well as my naturopath does. I explained what was going on: ever since changing my thyroid regimen, there's been a domino effect. Everything else was falling out of line (not surprising since, where many important aspects of health are concerned, the thyroid is running the show). So the message was relayed and I discussed options with the good doctor.
Without getting into the gory details, several things have been terribly off since my thyroid started getting back in shape. Or should I say: the last time my thyroid started getting back in shape. Where thyroids are concerned, I'm pretty sure I've got the wackiest one in town. It's dangerously down. It's up way too high. It's down again, but not too bad. It's up, way way too high. And it's starting to take a dive again. The most recent blood work (taken a week ago) confirms the thyroid hormones are trying to see just how low they might go. The antibodies are still present (boo!!), but the good news is that those numbers are dropping.
Bleh.
This is where the awesome naturopath comes into play. Since the supplement I took the first time that worked so well eventually sent things sky high and scary was obviously not an option, we are opting to take advantage of modern medicine. I have a new prescription that is designed to regulate this very moody thyroid of mine and will follow up with Dr. W in 2-3 weeks. If it works like we're hoping it does: the scary weight gain will cease and desist, I'll feel a rebound in my energy, and these other things that are out of line as a result will follow suit.
There are two things that impressed me about my naturopath today:
1. He didn't question the wisdom I have about my own body. He asked me my thoughts on what was happening. How many doctors do this? We've been working together on my thyroid for about two years now and when I told him that all these things fell out of order with the most recent regimen change, he didn't question it. Having been to my fair share of doctors who think I don't have a clue, this was a breath of fresh air and is one of the reasons I keep going to him.
2. He prescribed an honest-to-God synthetic prescription medication as treatment this time around (and it's something that is known well for being an effective treatment). It would have been great if more natural remedies were working, but they just weren't working with my specific set of circumstances and challenges. Having witnessed the occasional raised eyebrow from some medical doctors when they hear I'm seeking treatment from a naturopath, I genuinely appreciate it when health professionals (no matter their branch) don't get so sidelined into thinking that their specialty is The Only and Holy Way of Health that they won't explore the wider array of options available for treatment. It helps affirm for me that I'm in partnership with someone who has my best interests in mind.
So that's where I'm at. And I just realized this might be one of the most mundane posts ever written, but I think I'm going to post it anyway (she says with a grin).
Love to you, and many thanks again.
reprise
I'm in this place again. Turns out the relief was short-lived and I am back where I started.
Frack!!
Add a failed laptop power cord (can't even turn the thing on), some very creepy guys who think they're all that and a bag of chips (do I have to deal with this right now?), a gaping hole where a really cute cat should be (I miss how he would cozy up my lap when I read a book), and some seriously misplaced hope into the mix and you have one very tired and emotionally volatile woman. If I could figure out how to do it, I'd infinitely prefer to run away. But I can't, so here I am.
And that's about all I've got.
Frack!!
Add a failed laptop power cord (can't even turn the thing on), some very creepy guys who think they're all that and a bag of chips (do I have to deal with this right now?), a gaping hole where a really cute cat should be (I miss how he would cozy up my lap when I read a book), and some seriously misplaced hope into the mix and you have one very tired and emotionally volatile woman. If I could figure out how to do it, I'd infinitely prefer to run away. But I can't, so here I am.
And that's about all I've got.
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