Choices

Eternity has been weighing heavy on my heart today. I don't mean to imply that it's a burden; it's the closeness of it that gives it such weight. I don't know why I can feel it so much more deeply than I did yesterday. Maybe it's the fact that I left work this afternoon and could feel a hint of spring in the air- My steps were lighter as I felt the promise of a brighter season in the works.

I attended an event at the art museum tonight. What I found interesting about the evening was this: All the art that was discussed has value because of time. They are priceless, beautiful, intricate works of art with great history attached to them. But the art, at the end of the day, is still just stuff. It will not last. The stories do. And the fact that the history has more value than the object itself is part of what has me thinking about eternity.

I missed a turn when leaving the museum, so I ended up driving a different way home. I drove through the part of town where I almost had my first apartment. I started to wonder what my life would be like now had I chosen to live there instead of at the Lion's Head, where I ended up. A seemingly benign decision like choosing an apartment can have a huge impact. You see, I met most of the friends that I have in Omaha through my church. I chose my church rather randomly out of the phone book. It was really close to that apartment, and the service was early enough that I'd be out in time to meet up with Michaela that first Sunday afternoon to go see Harry Potter. If Michalea and I had not planned to go at 1:00 that day, my life right now might be completely different.

And then I thought about Ann Pleiss. My freshman year at Mount Mercy, Ann and I became friends initially over a shared love for the actor Kyle Chandler and ultimately over a shared love for words and for drama. She is the big sister I never had. After she graduated, I would regularly come to Omaha to visit her, and we would go to Shakespeare on the Green, stroll around the Old Market, and sit in her parents' hot tub. When I was searching for something meaningful to do over the summer between my junior and senior years, she suggested I apply to intern at the place she'd spent her previous two summers. That place was the Arts Council. If it wasn't for Ann Pleiss, I highly doubt I ever would have visited Omaha, let alone moved here.

So then I started thinking about how I even ended up at Mount Mercy in the first place. I got something in the mail from them and readily dismissed it, thinking of it as nothing more than a Catholic school. But Iowa does a thing called Private College Week every August. If I visited three schools during the week, I would have my admission fees waived for all of them. I had arranged to visit Coe and Cornell already. My job made it difficult for me to get away to any place outside of the Cedar Rapids area, so I reluctantly agreed to add Mount Mercy to the list. I distinctly remember talking to Mom in the parking lot before the tour and saying, "Now you know I'm not going to go here..." Yeah. Right.

There's a part of me that understands, at least on some level, why people don't believe in God. But it doesn't take long for me to be utterly astounded by such unbelief. Ecclesiastes 3:11 reads, "He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end." The Kingdom is written on our hearts, and it's becoming more and more alive each and every day. Every day I see evidence that God is real and that God is good in my relationships, in my work, and in my community.The other morning I read one of my favorite chapters, Psalm 139: "For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb... All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be" (v. 13, 16).

It makes me think of my dad's best friend, Paul Nickle (not to be confused with my friend, the infamous Paul Nichols). Paul Nickle grew up with my dad in North Royalton, Ohio. For whatever reason, he chose to go to college at the University of Iowa. In Iowa, he met and eventually married this girl named Linda. Linda worked at the Amana Museum with my mom. My dad decided to make the trek to Iowa City to visit Paul. Paul and Linda decided to invite my mom along. And the rest, as they say, is history.If Paul Nickle had not gone to the University of Iowa, Natalie, Nancy and I would not exist.

The seemingly random choices that we make show me that not only is God real, but He cares about the tiniest details. The details of the day- the encouraging conversation I had with my co-worker Deb, the guitar riff on the CD in my car, the pictures Aroea sent of baby Jonas, the brief spurt of rain drops that hit my windshield as I drove home- all remind me that I am, even now, living in the midst of eternity.

A Good Day

Up until yesterday, my funniest Valentine's Day memory was this: It was my junior year at Mount Mercy, and I was particularly heartbroken and bitter. I was at dinner in the caf with everybody, and I told Eric Chrisman, who was sitting across from me, that I hated Valentine's Day. Without missing a beat, he exclaimed, "Well, I hate coconut and pineapple and I hope they burn in hell." And that was that.

But last night trumps that brief moment by far. The guys in our life group treated us to a homemade dinner at Tom's. It was a perfectly lovely evening, topped off with some fabulous entertainment. The guys made us a CD of songs they wrote just for us. They are very, very funny but very, very sweet. I listened to the CD while driving to work this morning and simply could not stop smiling.

And Tauna sent me an extremely heartfelt gift that made my eyes water... but I can't tell you what it is. It is, quite literally, a secret. I really love that Tauna of mine. She's my person.

Here are some pictures from last night. Happy Valentine's Day!

What Kind of Week Has It Been

Every time I go to an Andrew Peterson concert, I get a little obsessed with the whole AP gang for about a week or so afterwards. Today was no different. I spent way too much of my lunch hour reading blog posts and watching funny videos like this one. Yes, last night Charlotte, Matt and I went to Lincoln to see Andrew Peterson in concert along with his friends Andy Gullahorn and Ben Shive. This was my ninth AP concert since 2000. And the music and the stories never get old.

Meanwhile, I still haven't had my cry. There just hasn't been time! Last night's trip to the Capital City was the culmination of an extremely busy week. Last Tuesday was one of the busiest day of the Nebraska Arts Council's year: our Governor's Arts Awards. The event went well enough, considering the massive snowstorm that hit us. And I enjoyed going on a State Senator Scavenger Hunt at the Capitol, trying to meet up with Senators whose constituent escorts were kept from their duty by the snow.

And speaking of politics, I went to see Obama at the Civic Center with Charlotte on Thursday. The line was insane, and the energy was palpable. I really hope he beats Hillary.

It was back to Lincoln with Matt and Luke on Friday for a Caedmon's Call show. It was a good concert because they played all of my favorite songs from their new Overdressed record. So, I give it an A.

Oh, but it doesn't end there... On Thursday morning I had pancakes at Wheatfields with none other than Lisa Jensen. She was in town from Minnesota all last week helping the new Half Priced Books store get ready for their opening. I'm very excited that this store has come to Omaha. I have heard great things about it from the Pleiss sisters. I was even more excited to see Lisa, whom I haven't seen in years. It was fun to catch up and share stories.

I dropped Lisa back off at her hotel and hit the road for the other Capital City, Des Moines. I had lunch and went bridesmaid dress shopping with Staci Mae and Kristin. And we had success! Yay!

Staci and I then went down to Waukee for Wendy and Clint's Basement Grand Opening party. Staci was going to leave by 7:00 to head back to Cedar Rapids, but (oh, darn), the weather was treacherous and she had to stay the night. We played a lot of the Rock Band video game before going to bed way earlier than the rest of the household. We're really cool like that.

So I drove back to Omaha very tired and cranky, listening to Andrew Osenga and Jill Phillips, drinking way too much Dr. Pepper. I could've cried along that I-80 stretch, what with some haunting songs and my lonely heart and all, but tears don't mix well with driving.

I got back to Omaha to find my roommates gone and Annie, Aleeta and Tabitha cooking lunch in the kitchen instead. The guys came over for homemade Valentines and homemade food and I slipped away after dessert for a nap before Matt arrived to accompany Charlotte and I to Lincoln for the Andrew Peterson show.

Andrew shared a quote that I think I'd heard before but must've have forgotten: "Being spiritual is really nothing more than paying attention." That is so true. Sometimes I pay so much attention that my heart just hurts. This is the deep place, beyond words, where my need for tears and my need for worship come together. And I felt it deeply in the closing numbers of the evening. First, the lament:

"And the man of all sorrows, He never forgot
What sorrow is carried by the hearts that he bought
So when the questions dissolve into the silence of God
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
The aching may remain, but the breaking does not
In the holy, lonesome echo of the silence of God"

And then, the rejoicing:

"And in the end, the end is oceans and oceans
Of love and love again
We'll see how the tears that have fallen
Were caught in the palms
Of the Giver of love and the Lover of all
And we'll look back on tears as old tales...

Cause after the last tear falls
There is love"

In Need of a Good Cry

I have been on the verge of tears for several days now, but they haven't come. I've been in this melancholy sort of mood and I just feel this need to have a good, loud, puffy-eyed kind of cry. I can't remember the last time I let it all out. I got a little sniffly at Faithwalkers, but that's about it. That hardly constitutes a good, solid sob fest. I guess it's good that I can't remember- a true sign of the shedding of this depression- but I don't want to be so solid that there's no room for the Spirit to break me a little bit every now and then, either.

I've just been sad about some things in my life as of late, things I won't go into because they're a little too close to my heart. It's not the depressed, angry sort of sad I've been accustomed to over these past years... it's just sad. That's all there is to it. I just have a case of the blues. And I just want to cry them out. I even stayed in on Saturday night, just because I was in a mopey sort of mood and didn't feel like being social. I should've watched some incredibly sad movie that would've triggered a waterfall of emotion, but instead I started Season 1 of Friday Night Lights and swooned over my TV boyfriend, Kyle Chandler. And though that did not solicit any tears, it was a mighty fine way to spend an evening.

Last night we had people over to watch the Super Bowl, and that was as fun as it could be considering that I have no interest in football whatsoever. It was fun to have everyone over, but I was tired and just sort of out of it, not too mention a little sick to my tummy because of all the junk food I'd consumed over the course of the weekend. When I went to bed after all was said and done, I was certain that I was just tired and messy enough that the tears would start rolling. I put on some melancholy music and cuddled up under my covers... and promptly fell asleep.

Oh well. I'm sure it will all come out soon enough. That's just part of having the blues.