We were tagged (together)

My cousin Crystal "tagged" us together. I had to get clarification on what this meant, but now that I know, here you go:

Four Shows We Watch:
1. American Idol (both)
2. White Collar (Tyler)
3. Medium (Sundy)
4. Pushing Daisies (Both--yes, it's off the air, but we watch reruns)

Four Things We're Passionate About:
1. The church youth program
2. Good cheeses & whole foods
3. Good music (We each have our own standards for this one)
4. Moderate politics (no extremes, people, right or left)

Four Phrases We Say A Lot:
1. "Babe." (Sundy to T)
2. "Honey." (T to Sundy)
3. "Sad about it." (Both)
4. "Oh" (with an upward swing on the h)

Four Things We've Learned from the Past:
1. Patience (still learning).
2. Forgiveness is the mightiest sword (Sundy).
3. Work hard (T).
4. You've never met an ordinary person.

Four Places We Would Like to Go:
1. Southern Africa (multiple countries :)
2. Chile
3. Washington DC

4. European tour (must include Mozart's birthplace, Salzburg)

Four Things We Did Yesterday:
1. Visited Herbert Hoover's childhood home
2. Weeded the garden.
3. Watched Evita.
4. Went to McDonald's (ice cream cones) for the first and hopefully last time in Oregon.

Four Things We're Looking Forward to:
1. May 15th
2. April 2011
3. Chelsey's wedding
4. Tomorrow's jog

Four Things We Love about Spring:
1. Longer days
2. Tulips
3. In season veggies & fruits
4. Frolicking mules

Four Things on Our Wish List:
1. Children
2. Medical school/Internship
3. New bedroom furniture/decor
4. A hand blender

Four People we tag:
Jeff and Robin

Sarah Hall

Marcie Molnar

Lacey Jean

My Spring Break

I'll show you the end from the finish line. . .

Treatment plans, DSM IV-TR diagnoses, Genograms, etc.

97 pages on what makes a healthy couple and how to do effective couples' therapy ad nauseum:

This paper (for one class) is over twice as long as my master's thesis will be:

Yes sir, I had it professionally bound and have looked through it over and over again, admiring all the toil and brain power. Turning it in tomorrow.

This is the look of relief after spending over 50 hours on this fantastic little project:

I'm too pooped to go into further detail. I am glad Spring Break is over so I can go back to school. . .

On second thought. . .

Tyler: [Working in the garden] Sun. . .

Sundy: [Working on homework outside by the garden] Yeah?

Tyler: Are you sure that you're more scared of ants than snakes?

Sundy: Wahhhhhhhhh!!!!

ANTS!

I hope this leaves you squirming as much as it does me. I. . .HATE ANTS. This is a time that calls for all caps.

I haven't always hated ants, and maybe I really don't . . . No, I do. It started in Texas when as a little girl I realized that my baby sister was sitting on a castle: an anthill home to bazillions of angry, red, fire ants. She was splotchy for days.

Then there was that intoxicating cream cheese frosting with chocolate sprinkles carrot cake that a recent convert made my trainer for her birthday. . .except that before we left our flat that morning, the cake didn't have sprinkles on it. Our mights, minds, and strengths were stronger than usual that day because we knew what was waiting at home.

Me: Hey, I don't remember the cake having sprinkles on it [from the door].

Sis. Hiatt: [moving closer] Yeah, and they're moving around, too. . .

You already know the end of this story, but can I just ruminate on the horror of discovering a colony of black African ants throughout our entire flat? They marched in straight-lined legions from under the beds, across the walls, over the floors, up the table legs and chairs, 3 inches deep into the honey jar, and yes, to their final destination: our treasured remains of carrot cake.

That's the thing about ants: they're smart (they sure do know how to feign dead0; they have good taste (only the sugary sweet stuff tempts them); they look so innocent.

But not in this house. We have been cleaning out our cupboards, disinfecting our counter-tops, emptying our trash, and setting out poison traps for MONTHS and to no avail. I get my Raid ant-killer out often and squeal with terror as I get 'em. I squash them with my hands (I'm an ant mass-murderer). I don't take delight in this. I cannot handle opening a drawer and seeing 15 little black dots pretending to be dead until I draw near and they scramble.

I can do spiders and snakes, high-crime neighborhoods, and graduate school, but get me around some little black ants and I'll be wringing my hands, chills down my spin, letting out horrified squeals of consternation and panic.

Maybe this would qualify for a specific phobia; it is causing marked impairment (in my desire to be in the kitchen) and significant distress .

Turning 27

Oh, how the years go by. Tomorrow I'll be 3 years closer to 30. I haven't seen any gray hairs as of yet. On my morning walk, in the cool of the trees and river path, I thought about what I accomplished as a 26 year old.

I came up with the following:

• Applied, got accepted to, and started graduate school.
• Finished my year of AmeriCorps service.
• Made two Amish quilts.
• Locked up my keys 5 times (Twice in the house, three times in the car): a new record.

And that was the list. . . [Crickets chirping].

If I was a goal oriented person (which I semi-am), I would feel that this last year was not my most productive. But as I am a relationally-oriented person foremost, I've continued thinking, and while all the rest are works in progress (aka lifetime pursuits), I none-the-less consider the following as productive pieces of my mortal probation:

• Started the healing process after our miscarriage
• Reaching outside of myself to make new friends
• Trying to stay connected with old friends
• Learning and loving more about my eternal companion every day
• Mourning with those that mourn
• Self-recognizing blind spots and pride in all their secretive and entitling ways
• Continuing a love-affair with the Word of God
• Keeping hope for the future
• Living in the moment (every now and then)
• Forgiving old hurts from myself in all my foolishness and others in all their humanness
• Eating healthier
• Doing something physically demanding every day
• Grappling with life's questions, heartaches, pains, and mysteries with continued faith in the Healer of all wounds.

I'd like to say that as a 26 year old I became a mother. Maybe I did. I feel different. I'd like to say that at 26, my husband entered his first year of medical school. He didn't, but I've seen more and more reasons why he already is a healer. I'd like to say that I rid myself of all bad habits, social blunders, and selfish ways, but I didn't. And good thing, because what would I have to look forward to in turning 27? :)

Frogs and Mules

Have I told you about our backyard pasture? Well, technically, it's not ours, but the tiny yard we do have backs up to a mule pasture. I love to draw the curtains and let the every now and then Portland sunshine stream into our happy kitchen. . .

You can see the actual pasture here (behind us):

I can't explain the happiness I experience when I look out back and see "our mules". They come up next to the gate; we've even fed them apples. I delight in their daily habits--when they whinny and hee-haw like donkeys, when they gallop in a pack (there are 5 of them), when they trot back and forth, back and forth, when they curl up on the ground for some warmth.

Tonight, on Valentine's day night, we got home and as we walked up to the front door, I heard the croaking chorus of frogs out in the pasture. Just like the country. Of course, the 2-4 frogs that seem to live under our house and inside our dryer vent aren't as thrilling, but the effect of far-off frogs was pleasing tonight.

Simple things. Happy things. Frogs and mules.

One year ago

On Feb 2nd of last year, I'd had a pretty great day at work and came home to have dinner. I wanted to check on some insurance information and went to open a drawer when I felt the sensation of water coming from inside me. I was 14 weeks pregnant at the time--way too early for my water to break, way too early for labor, way too early for all my dreams of being "mommy" to be dashed.

After calling the on-call doctor and being told it may not be too bad, to wait it out and call the doctor in the morning, and after trying to get in touch with my doctor all the next day for an ultra sound that would finally be scheduled two days later, I went to bed with the blessing Tyler gave me as my only source of peace.

In the early hours of Feb 4th, I learned deeper meanings of the words loss, pain, numbness, cold, emergency room, toilet, placenta, baby, suffering, and anguish than I had yet to experience. Tears and screaming escaped without warning. Love and compassion poured down and out from my eternal Father, eternal companion, and my eternal family and friends.

Grief is something you travel on your own. It doesn't matter who else "had a miscarriage" or "lost a loved one" when you are the one who is hurting. Sympathy is not needed and empathy does not exist, for each person's suffering is unique, save Christ only.

How grateful I am that the Lord entrusted me with a little time to learn the honor of motherhood. How blessed I feel to have deeply personal experiences that assure me of life beyond the mortal grave no matter how awful and dark that grave may be.

I made this quilt to symbolize the baby we never held in our arms, but now hold with our hearts. It was our miscarriage, never to be replicated, never to be forgotten.