Sure of All I Hope For

"Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." Hebrews 11:1

The past few days have made me incredibly alive to the certainty of all that I cannot see.

On Thursday morning, the Nebraska Arts Council staff and I piled into a ginormous red 12 passenger van, with Suzanne, our fearless leader (and fearless driver) at the wheel. We were headed to Kansas City for a staff retreat. It was comical to be squeezed together throughout the trip, Suzanne making countless traffic blunders as she maneuvered the monster in ways that left me, a far less confident driver, in awe.

That afternoon we went to the Nelson-Atkins Museum Art, and it was one of the most fulfilling museum visits I've ever had because Suzanne gave us an assignment. I usually feel so overwhelmed in big museums, so it was nice to have a focus. I didn't see all of the art; but there was a lot more meaning to the art that I did see. After an official tour, we were set loose with camp stools and clipboards to reflect. One assignment involved color- we had to choose our favorite hue and find three pieces that used the color in different ways. My selections involved an effervescent sunset, a deep grief, and a crisp stroll in the winter.

We had to select one area of the museum to re-visit and reflect on, and I chose the area with the stained glass. I have so much respect for the artform because I had to create a stained glass piece in Art Forms I in high school and it was the most technically difficult art project I ever did. Stained glass is God-inspired- it requires His light for the piece to truly reach its full glory. And because of the religious content of the windows, it was so much more than just colored glass. The pieces had a radiance of truth about them.

My favorite assignment asked us to think about our skill sets and what attributes we bring to our individual jobs. We had to find a piece of art that best symbolized or personified this. I chose a painting of a woman at a piano, head bowed, sheet music in hand. She isn't actually playing. It's as though her head is bowed in reverence to the beauty of the art and the honor it is to be able to create it. The painting didn't speak to my skills, but to my passion. I'm in the arts because I see art as a profound way to shed light on God's kingdom on earth. The ultimate Creator. By creating we add to the beauty; by living life to the fullest in our relationships, community and our work, we also add beauty to the story around us and, whether we realize it or not, aid to usher in the kingdom here on earth.

Thursday night, then, we saw an amazing play depicting the likes of old movie stars like Orson Welles and Vivien Leigh. Yesterday we met some colleagues in the arts administration world, went shoe shopping (dangerous with a staff of nine women!), ate some extremely fancy chocolate, and headed back to O-town.

I was home about ten minutes before meeting friends to travel to Lincoln for an Andrew Peterson concert. As always, it was great. I always hear echoes of heaven in his music. He made us laugh, ponder and sing along. And once again I was reminded of the certainty of all that I do not see.

A birthday blog

Because it is Tauna's birthday, I feel compelled to (gasp!) actually post a blog! It's a shocking kind of gift that I hope she will appreciate, especially because she's one of the only people who reads this thing!

I'm writing on my lunch break, even though I have so much work to do, because I know that any good intentions I'll have tonight will never morph into good actions. Plus, Dancing with the Stars is on and will require my full attention for a large chunk of the evening. Curse my mom for ever getting me hooked on that thing!

My leftover macaroni & cheese is quickly diminishing and that makes me sad because a) it's tasty and b) it's not filling and it's six some hours until my next meal by the time I drive home, plan what to eat, and cook it. There's my night right there: food and dancing.

Which brings me to my next topic: my grandpa. Today is his birthday as well as Tauna's (and my Uncle Joe's, too!). I was telling my work friend Cindy about all the birthdays today and she asked whether I was going to take my grandpa out for a meal this weekend or anything. I think she forgot that I have no family here in Omaha! No, Grandpa is in North Royalton, Ohio, probably watching Fox News and eating lunch, the second big endeavor of his day.

Grandpa is my last living grandparent, so I try not to take that for granted. He is known to drive all my Ohio relatives crazy. But since there are several hundred miles between the two of us, he's not quite so maddening to me. In fact, he can be endearing.

There are two people I've been frightened to compare myself to lately: George Costanza and Grandpa. George is a complete jerk, and I don't compare myself with him in general, yet there are times on Seinfeld where his neuroses seem vaguely familiar. I quickly shrug this thought off with a, "yes, but you're nice, Nicole..." And then there's Grandpa. He once asked me, now that I'm out on my own, whether I cook at night. I told him that I try to, and then he went on and on about how it's a wonder if I cook that I am able to do anything else! He essentially explains his days like this: "When I get up in the morning, it's time to start thinking about breakfast. By the time I prepare food, eat and clean up, it's time to start thinking about lunch. By the time I prepare food, eat and clean up, it's time to start thinking about supper. By the time I prepare food, eat and clean up, it's time for bed." I make fun of this, but I kind of get his point! If I know I actually have to cook supper, it becomes a huge production. I'm inept in the kitchen, so making the simplest things takes me twice as long! By the time I get home from work, make food, eat and clean up, it's time for bed, essentially. I'm so pokey! I need to learn some efficiency.

My macaroni & cheese is gone. Drat. Happy birthday, Tauna. I hope you like my blog. Happy birthday, Grandpa. I'll be thinking of you when I cook my supper.

The End of the 2006 Wedding Marathon

It's Sunday night, October 15, and the 2006 wedding extravaganza is officially over, assuming none of my friends decide on any shotgun wedding before Christmas. The past four trips to Iowa have been centered around Saturday afternoon festivities that involve lifelong commitment and tasty cake.

In July I witnessed Mindy Lawrence become Mrs. Eric Chrisman. In August, Greta Ackerman became Greta Zude. Two weeks ago, at the tail end of September, Wendy became Mrs. Fedler. And yesterday afternoon, at 1:30 in the afternoon, under a tent in Middle Amana, my Kristie became Mrs. Yoder (let's try to confuse Amana with the Amish even more, shall we?). Yes, there is now a Mr. Kristie in my life, who's actual name is Bill, and he looked just pleased as punch to have that wonderful lady become his wife. She was beautiful, the children were charming, the fall weather was crisp but beautiful, and the love of God filled that tent, and the wind was there to prove it.

Their wedding truly is a testament to the FACT that you NEVER know what's around the corner, something I constantly try to remind my control-freak nature about. Kristie and Bill met on a blind date Memorial Day weekend. THIS Memorial Day weekend. I talked to her that Monday, and she said, "I love him and I'm convinced I'll be spending the rest of my life with him." This was four days after they met, I believe. At the beginning of July, I called Kristie to confirm a breakfast date, only for her to spew out, "I got engaged!" And now yesterday they were married, by her brother, in her parents' backyard, with their children surrounding them. And it was a beautiful, unexpected site.

You never know what can happen in a day.

Things I Forgot I Remember

I was taking a shower in the bathroom in Natalie's Andreas House apartment, and all of a sudden the lights went out. I was temporarily confused until I remembered that this is a regular side effect of motion sensored lighting. So I flailed my arms about to create some motion, and then there was light.

I've forgotten how crowded the cafeteria gets at 12:00. Kathi took me to lunch at the Hilltop (courtesy of the Theater department!), and we walked through a maze of backpacks and noise. I'm glad "our table" is gone. All the kids in the caf looked like punks.

I hadn't stepped foot in Andreas House since Wendy, Staci Mae, Christina, Angie, Emily, Tauna and I all moved out of our beloved B5 over two years ago. It was strangely familiar to be back there. And this weekend I saw all six of these ladies (and Sam of course!) together again, and it was delightful fun. Wendy is now Mrs. Fedler, Staci Mae caught the bouquet, and Emily has the scars to prove it. Tauna wore her cute running shoes on the dance floor, Christina made sure to request the songs that we know and love, and Angie was an excellent "date". And it was good.

I have so much more that I'd like to write. My heart has been heavy today with scary news stories, my strangely stressful workload, the "singleness issue". But, because of this aforementioned strangely stressful workload, it will all have to wait for a later, earlier time.