writing is a tricky task.

Writing is a tricky task. I dream of having something truly worthwhile to say, something that other people would want to hear. Maybe I could publish a memoir someday? Does a 24-year-old have any right to contemplate writing a memoir? Still, I want to be involved in the craft somehow. But how?

This summer has been both discouraging and encouraging along these lines. In many ways, I have felt thwarted. In fact, almost completely diverted. The writing class I had planned to take in Virginia Beach, which was, amazingly, one about creating a spiritual memoir, ended up starting around the time we left. I’ve also found that I’m not one to volunteer information about being pregnant, despite the fact that this milestone fills my thoughts. This blog is the perfect place to practice, but it haunts me with its archives full of forced word choice.

Other circumstances have recently spurred me on, however. Yesterday I was given several chapters from a book-in-progress about living with hormone fluctuations—my job is simply to provide feedback. I feel an excitement creeping in, because here is a subject on which I could genuinely contribute, not as the writer, but as a person speaking from experience. As a side note, I’ll admit, I wouldn’t mind having my name listed in the acknowledgments. Even more encouraging, the spiritual malaise of my first trimester (and really the last year of my life) is giving way to a deeper, truer relationship with God, and I’ve discovered I have more to talk about than just being pregnant. I don’t want this to become a mommy blog (Baby A, or Wee Strong as we call her, can have her own website); I want to keep talking about matters of the spirit. Hopefully a little deep calling to deep will happen, both the result of and beyond the realm of motherhood.

Finally, I’ve decided that a painful reading through old blog entries might make an excellent exercise in developing my voice. I don’t want to write something just because it sounds good. I want to write it because I mean it. I can detect a false motive in a single word when I read some of my past blogs—I don’t want this to make me feel ashamed, so that I end up deleting most of my entries. I want this to remind me to test the words I use now for authenticity and truth.

What I’m saying is: I have something to say. I should say it.

at which point, life changes drastically (yet again)

Wow. March 28th. That's kind of ridiculous.

But guess what? I have the best excuse ever!!

Baby Armstrong decided to make his/her presence known on April 7, after which I stopped posting, because I didn't really feel like writing about some random thing going on in my life, when the fact is: aaaaahhhhh!!! I'm having a baby!!!!

In case you interpreted that "aahh" as "Yippee, this is so exciting, and I'm experiencing maternal bliss!"--well, that's kind of true to a certain degree, but it's also: "Wow, I feel like crap and I want to sleep all the time, and this is not what I was planning for my life, and I'm not sure I'm ready for it."

In reality, the last three months of my life have been some of the hardest ever. Since finding out, we 1) had to go to the ER, got diagnosed with a "high risk" pregnancy (which later turned out to be a mis-diagnosis), 2) went to Kenya for two weeks, which consisted of me spending most of the time on the couch and/or losing my mind, 3) left three days after our return from Kenya for LT in Virginia Beach, and 4) got adjusted to the violent mood swings, nausea, cravings for ranch dressing, and extreme fatigue of a pregnant woman in her first trimester. Whoa.

Life has leveled out significantly, and I am now one excited mama. I've been feeling the baby move for the first time this week, which is nuts! I am now at the beginning of the 17th week, and here is a photo for your viewing pleasure, taken right before heading off to a sweet fireworks show (there were local and professional shows up and down the beach, so it felt like we were actually in the middle of the fireworks). I'm not actually this big all the time, but we had just eaten a crazy good meal, ala Bobby Flay (Kevin's new muse).






Hey there, little person.

taking a long soak in big differences

For those of you who have never taken the Myers-Briggs personality test (also known as the Keirsey Temperament sorter), let me enlighten you: you must take it. And then you must allow me to enlighten you about you. I think I'm going to be writing more about this in the future.

Did you know that for the four larger personality categories (Artisan, Guardian, Idealist, Rational), there are specific hand gestures that people of the different types tend to use? And that it actually rings true in almost every case that I've observed? It's gotten so that I can pretty much say what personality type a person is, without even thinking about their personality, but simply by watching them.

Did you know that if you are an Intuitive-Perceiver, like me, meaning you are an abstract thinker and you're pretty indecisive, that you are at the absolute bottom rung on the ladder of efficiency and productivity?? And that it's not because you totally suck and you're lazy, but because you have very different priorities than many other people? Glory be!

Did you know that most extraverts are able to figure out what they're thinking as long as they're talking, but become confused if they don't share their thoughts? Did you know that, without time to process alone, introverts get more confused about their own thoughts the more they talk about them? I was wondering (and so was Kevin) why it takes so darn long for me to answer just one simple question.

Did you know that if you are a "Sensing" person, then the odds are pretty good that you're thinking right now: This is kind of cool, but really, who cares?

What I'm trying to communicate is that we're all different--did you know that? Come on, do you really believe it? Or do you expect people to react like you would to the situations of life? Do you look down on them for not valuing what you value? Do you compare yourself to someone else and think you're falling way short in various areas?

I think we are quick to abuse our personalities--mainly, we force them to do something they weren't meant to do. But I want to say right now, Thank you, Jesus, for making me who I am. I want to be ME.

On that note, thought I'd let you know that sometime in the next few months, I'm changing to part-time staff at New Life. I am actually loving what I do now, but I'm doing too much of it and not enough other stuff. So what I'm going to do with that extra time is take some writing workshops, and I'm going to write for awhile. Just to see what happens.

My work will most likely be published.

On this blog. Heh heh.

first day of spring

“It’s pretty,” we agree.

A moment later, as worn-out wipers disperse the fluffy, perfect little mess, Kevin tests the brakes. Ahead of us, a red car careens soundlessly, over the curb and through a patch of shrubs by the sidewalk, halting ashamedly at the foot of the grumpy house on the corner.

wrestling with a nasty procrastination habit

petty crimes of forgetfulness:
failing to avoid failure, as I
drag and defer.

who drags the sea of days for my wasted time?

does my life leak out
through the crack of my unwillingness?

a little flannery (or a long philosophical post)

"Oh, Matt. There are spaces of sorrow only God can touch. You did a terrible thing, Matt, a terrible thing. But you have a dignity now. Nobody can take that from you. You are a son of God, Matthew Poncelet."

I'm like a broken record, but I'm unrelenting and unapologetic about that. Hopefully there are enough individual nuances to each post, so that even though they all say the same thing, they're still worth reading.

Last night Kevin and I watched the movie Dead Man Walking (see quote). It had been sitting in its Netflix sleeve for over a week, because we knew it would be tough to watch--not exactly your typical Valentine's Day flick. But we both felt up to it last night, because we'd had a pretty restful day, and I can now confidently say that this movie drove my ability to worship Jesus this morning. As with The Kite Runner, I can't openly recommend it, because it is utterly painful and horrifying at times (I would absolutely not recommend it to anyone who has ever been abused in any way). But if you're open to it and up for it, I would say, give it a shot, but read some Flannery O'Connor first.

If it seems like this woman is the one dead person with whom I'd like to spend a day, then I've represented myself correctly. Yesterday morning, without knowing how much it would help me understand the movie, I read an article by her called "The Church and the Fiction Writer" and then promptly stumbled (without even looking) upon an article written about her called "Who's Afraid of Flannery O'Connor?" by Douglas Jones, which I would recommend if you want a sweeping overview of her work. Both wrestle with the question of whether or not Christians must be willing to face abundant horror in order to understand abundant grace.

Flannery O'Connor's characters are total creeps, just exactly the kind of people you would hope never to meet on the street. I've been saying for two years that The Violent Bear It Away is my favorite book in all the world, but I think I am just now beginning to understand why. A spare summary here (don't read if you want to experience the shock of it all on your own): 1) kid is hellfire-brimstone despicable, 2) kid drowns his disabled cousin, 3) kid gets horribly and randomly abused, 4) kid experiences the extension of God's merciful hand into a frightening and horrible landscape of suffering. (All the credit for the fact that I understand this book at all goes to my favorite professor of all time, Cindy Sowers, the one living person with whom I'd like to spend a day, to see if I can find out what she's really thinking).

"The violent bear it away" is the King James Version of "forceful men take hold of it," which I quoted from Matthew 11 in December. God is weaving this verse into my very essence. (Too dramatic?) It's true! In O'Connor's book, the violent boy takes hold of the kingdom of heaven and bears it away. I don't think that's what those KJV dudes meant when they translated it that way, but I know it's what good ol' Flannery meant!

This is where Dead Man Walking comes in. This movie was the bare, ugly bones of the Gospel: that Jesus accepts even the murderers and rapists (though we don't want to know it), and in the end, they probably understand what's really happening better than anybody. And it's beautifully and violently clear--you don't have to derive your own Christian meaning. People are talking about Jesus and thanking Jesus and crying to Jesus the whole time, even while the vicious sin of the crime is available for all to see, reminding us, the viewers, that there's a reason we all need our Deliverer.

The film was broken up from beginning to end by short shots of the crime, so that I could never forget what had really happened. It helped me remember that murder is real, rape is real. This is important, because it's easy to say that God will accept even a rapist, when you don't have to think about the brutal reality of it. But Jesus looks upon the crime without a filter, weeps and holds the wounded ones, and then extends forgiveness to the criminal. I've never known Jesus' love to be that big, never tried to get it till now. Dead Man Walking made it real for me.

∴

There are other people who have a little Flannery in them:

--Brennan Manning (he writes in The Ragamuffin Gospel: "At Sunday worship, as in every dimension of our existence, many of us pretend to believe we are sinners. Consequently, all we can do is pretend to believe we have been forgiven. As a result, our whole spiritual life is pseudo-repentance and pseudo-bliss.")
--Sufjan Stevens (John Wayne Gacy, Jr. is a song about a serial killer that makes me sick to listen to, but there's the line: "On my best behavior, I am really just like him. Look beneath the floor boards for the secrets I have hid." And then there's Seven Swans: "He will take you. If you run, He will chase you." That's a rather foreboding sort of grace, but I like it.)
--Over the Rhine (Everyman's Daughter: "I carry the inward aching. Like you, I too am naked. I don’t look that good, but this is flesh and blood. I’m everyman’s daughter.")
--Rainer Maria Rilke ("We must not portray you in king's robes, you drifting mist that brought forth the morning...")

I'm always looking for more.

right here, right now

At New Life, we've been talking about "the Kingdom" and what it means to pray for God's kingdom to come and His will to be done on earth, as it is in heaven. This means thinking about things, both big and small, in terms of how God's kingdom might come right here, right now. The bulk of the work is small.

Last Sunday was a big day for me though. A representative from Compassion International brought 100 pictures of children who need sponsors. He also brought along George, a Kenyan man, perhaps my age, who was the first child to be sponsored in his specific project in Nairobi, back in the 80s. Right now, he is getting his MBA and wants to go into public health in Kenya, specializing in infectious diseases.

I got to go out to lunch with George and some others. I also got to man one of the Compassion tables and watch as people searched the faces to find their child. After hearing George's stories about life in Kenya, the impact $35 a month makes, the kind of changes that can happen in a country at the hands of its children--I knew that these flat-broke college students were going to see God's kingdom come in their midst in big and small ways. I'm not sure I've ever been this sure that I am right in the thick of it. Right here, right now.

∴

My second book of 2008 was The Kite Runner. If you feel willing to open the floodgates of your inner sanctum, go ahead and read it. I wasn't totally prepared--that's why I'm warning you. I'm unsure about how to talk about it. The general plotline is a major stretch, particularly towards the end. The prose is often beautiful, but then sometimes I felt insulted by the author, like, "Thanks, but I was catching on to that on my own."

I guess it doesn't really matter, though, because the characters were so real. Since the vast majority of the book takes place in modern Afghanistan, the characters were also in a whole lot of pain, and the things that happened to them were unimaginable; also unimaginably commonplace, as if they weren't that big of a deal.

There is a character named Ali, who had polio as a child and thus walks with a limp, swinging one leg out to the side with each stride. There were little boys. It's hard to even think about them.

The question that rolled through my mind right after I finished the book was: How would I react if I could truly confront the fact that these things happen to real people, not just to characters in books? It was 4AM, during that sick time when I wasn't sleeping much, and I asked God to send me rejected children to adopt someday.

I remember wondering if I'd care as much about this when I woke up the next day.

∴

I think I still care, I really do. Kevin and I chose a Compassion boy named Johnston, who's 14, and just not that cute anymore. My guess is he's been waiting for several years to get a sponsor. The older ones rarely, if ever, get picked, because those little three-year-olds are absolutely irresistible. Still, Johnston, I have to say, it's good to know you. I hope to meet you.

I have to ask myself if I am writing this to proclaim my good deeds before men. If you like me more, whomever it is that reads this, then I guess that's my reward.

But truly, this what I'm thinking about these days. This is what is on my mind. I am overwhelmed and moved by the lonely and rejected, the ones that nobody wants. I want those people to know the love of Jesus through me. I really really do.

what i'll be doing at 4am

As a small window into my life, I thought I'd let you know that I'll be staying up all night tonight. This was not my idea. At Michigan, there is an event called the 40 Days of Prayer that has been happening annually. There is a prayer room on campus open 24 hours a day for 40 days, and anyone from any organization or church can use it to pray. I hear it's pretty cool in there, though I haven't visited. In general, this sort of thing makes me wonder: "Where am I? Cause I'm pretty sure I'm at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor...but maybe not."

There was an opening ceremonies of sorts, during which one of the organizers challenged us to spend one whole night in prayer. I kind of chuckled to myself. You know how these college kids can be--so passionate and energetic. Hope they have a good time.

So then Katie, this girl in my small group whom I pretty much adore and who has a lovely unique way of influencing people just by being herself--she comes up with this idea that maybe our whole small group could do an all-nighter. I guess I should have seen this coming.

So tonight, I think of myself in solidarity with people like Linn and Glenn and all you missionaries out there who have to go to wakes and all-night evangelistic events. You're brave souls. I'm really hoping I'll survive this, in honor of you.

Last time I stayed up all night to "pray," I was in high school, and I made a pretty impulsive decision around 4AM. It was a weird experience. This is a step of faith for me, that it'll be different.

Now I'm off to take a nap.

maybe in 2008 i'll write about these things

I know I've said this before, but I would like to post more often and get in the habit of writing about what is going on with my work. There are a few things that I'm feeling pretty excited about, so I'm hoping to tell you about them in the next few months.

As a preview:
--I actually started counseling on Wednesday. I have had this sense that God is using this time in my life to give me emotional health and stability. Lately it is very clear that my emotional volatility holds me back from a lot of things, particularly in ministry. The woman I met with asked me questions about my family tree and the timeline of my life, and we unexpectedly focused a little bit on high school, a period of time I haven't thought much about lately. It was kind of strange to go back and think about how some of those events still effect me now.
--I've been mulling over the concept of "women's leadership development" and how we as women are typically motivated to serve in the church. I don't think I'm coming up with any original ideas when I throw out that we're ridiculously different from men. At the risk of generalizing things too much, I'm developing some theories in my own mind about a woman's need for security in ministry versus a man's need for significance. A man might ask, "Do I have what it takes to succeed in this role?" A woman might ask, "Who will go with me?" Bottom line: women need something very different, and I'd like to that difference to become more acknowledged in the fabric of our church. Not sure what that means, but I sure do sound like Elisabeth Elliott right now. Heh.
--We're leading a trip to downtown Detroit for spring break, and I am feeling like Detroit might just be the only place I'd want to spend a week right about now. I have no idea why, but I'm drawn in and excited.

In the meantime, I'm sick as a dog. I seriously haven't been this sick since I was a kid. It started a week ago with a sore throat that lasted for five days, and yesterday, the sore throat seemed to creep up the right side of my neck and then settle in my ear. Unfortunately, I was the CORE retreat by then, so I took some Nyquil last night and hoped for sleep. Before I could settle in, though, I started in with this dry cough that I still have today. No more aching ear, but everything seems to be clogged up, and still, the perpetual sore throat. I've been in and out of work for the last week, without a real sick day that goes from waking up to going to bed. Maybe I should do that tomorrow.

cursed are the ones who can't abide

I'm still swimming in revelations.

This song got me through several very nasty nights in November, and I kept wanting to post it. Strangely, I've never considered Shane & Shane a favorite band, but the last song that moved me this much was by them. (This version was the best I could find on YouTube, despite a bit from John Piper during the long postlude.)

Embracing Accusation

The father of lies
coming to steal, kill and destroy
all my hopes of being good enough.
I hear him say, "Cursed are the ones who can't abide."
He's right. Hallelujah. He's right.
The devil is preaching
the song of redeemed,
that I am cursed and gone astray.
I cannot gain salvation.
Embracing accusation.
Could the father of lies
be telling the truth
of God to me tonight?
If the penalty of sin is death
then death is mine.
I hear him say, "Cursed are the ones who can't abide."
He's right. Hallelujah. He's right.
The devil is preaching
the song of the redeemed,
that I am cursed and gone astray.
I cannot gain salvation.
Oh the devil's singing over me
an age-old song
that I am cursed and gone astray.
Singing the first verse so conveniently over me.
He's forgotten the refrain:
Jesus saves.

I've been meaning to say thank you to the anonymous commenter from my last post. Your note was an encouragement and a surprise to Kevin and me. I've been wondering if I ever met you, because I came to Ann Arbor in 2001.

forceful men

Due to the fact that nobody seems to care to post anymore and I am therefore not sufficiently entertained, I thought maybe I'd post for once. I shouldn't have to do this, though. Don't give me your excuses: that it's Christmas, or that you're writing a book inspired by your blog, or that you need to spend more time with your family, or that you're in the hospital having a baby. I've heard enough. Get back to work!

I'm snowed in, however, and have lately been thinking of things I'd like to post about, so I'll cut you some slack for now.

I've been describing my semester (yes, I still think in semesters) in terms of the difference between a chisel and a sledgehammer. These are two metaphorical tools that God uses on my hellbound devotion to spiritual greatness.

Over the years, He's been kind and gentle: "tink tink" goes the chisel, oh so softly. Lately, it's been otherwise. He's coming at me with the ferocity of a rescuer, crushing that little beast within with a sledgehammer or a jackhammer or a hammerhead shark. What have you. At the risk of seeming melodramatic--oh forget it, the whole point is not worrying how I "seem"--this has been ridiculously painful. I'm really attached to my little beast. I feel comfortable with it, though it does trap me and keep me perpetually depressed.

I believe God is teaching me to be happy. I've never felt I deserve to be happy unless I prove I have the discipline and maturity to handle it well. BUT "the splendor of a soul in grace is so seductive it surpasses the beauty of all created things" (The Ragamuffin Gospel, Brennan Manning).

Find the overarching theme here:

"Her world has collapsed. The God she had fashioned in her own image, so pleased with her piety, has vanished." (TRG)

"Many of us do not want the truth about ourselves; we prefer to be reassured of our virtue."

"A vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven. [They came] marching behind the others with great dignity, accountable as they had always been for good order and common sense and respectable behavior. They alone were on key. Yet she could see by their shocked and altered faces that even their virtues were being burned away." (Revelation, Flannery O'Connor).

"I tell you the truth: Among those born of women there has not risen anyone greater than John the Baptist; yet he who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he. From the days of John the Baptist until now, the kingdom of heaven has been forcefully advancing, and forceful men lay hold of it" (Matthew 11:11-12).

Could it be that "spiritual greatness" is of very little consequence? After all this time?

The forceful men and women taking hold of the kingdom are the tax collectors and prostitutes, the dim-witted disciples and the little kids; these are the people who truly know Jesus.

Oh.

blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.

Little Girl

I’m walking on the sidewalk under golden shade as school lets out. Half a block behind me walks a little girl. I first notice she’s there, because her shoes scuff the sidewalk with every step. She shuffles along, heading for home.

I approach the crossing guard, brilliant and orange. She smiles at me first, then looks back and calls the little girl by name. We part ways here, as the little girl steps into the street and the crossing guard plants herself firmly in the intersection, poised with her STOP sign. The streets are empty in every direction.

The guard is silent and smiling, her only job to protect. This little girl’s life is extravagant beauty, infinite worth. The drawings and pencils in her backpack, the color of her shoes, her thoughts of home--defend and shelter them. This is one little girl in the universe, and she is crossing the street.

the new look

Pretty much everything in my life needs to be simplified. My header's still lame.

on it being worth it

I do indeed have the nerve to carry on posting without more than a nod to the fact that, yes, I did just get married and begin a new life with a man, who is now my husband. The picture will have to suffice. Or if you’d like to watch our slideshow, you are very welcome.

Life is moving forward. Right now I’m trying to deal with the fact that we’ve just painted our living room a color that can only be called peach. We were going for a nice neutral tan.

Also, September was the craziest. I’ve been fighting fatigue and a cold, and as I sit here, I’m wondering if it might even be strep throat, because I heard it’s going around. I find it hard to feel like I’m thriving.

This morning I woke up feeling very dreadful--as in, dreading the day ahead. Sunday mornings are sometimes difficult for me, because they involve a lot of people, particularly a lot of people whom I don’t know. And I knew I’d be picking my friend Ying up, to bring her to church. She’s from China, and I’ve known her for a year; she’s a sweet one. But today I dreaded the language barrier and the pressure to keep the conversation rolling. And how do I debrief with her about church? She has told me that she believes almost everything the Bible says about Jesus, but how do I help her move forward in faith? Frankly, not only have I been fighting a cold, I’ve been fighting an attitude problem. Today I thought to myself that I’m sick of this whole others-centeredness thing. Overrated.

A cool thing happened though. While I was sitting on the couch in the parlor, waiting for the first service to end, I watched two little boys. They’re brothers, Max and I-wish-I-knew-the-other-one’s-name. Look alikes and the spitting image of their dad. The older one was talking to the younger, and the little guy just put his hand on his brother’s chest, with so much trust and affection. And the older brother really seemed to want the company and attention of the younger one, and it was like setting a bone. I remembered why we’re all so gung-ho about love. It’s what we need and want. It’s what Ying needs from me, it’s what I want to give her. It makes the work I do more worth it than I’m aware. Ying is worth every spare moment that I give her, every awkward interaction. I want her to know that she is infinitely valuable.

august 12, 2007

Monument, CO

i'm a settler

Oops. I just read through my New Year's resolutions, which I posted earlier, and I'm very sorry to say that not one of them has been kept by me. I'm blaming it on the about-face my life took on February 2nd, when I decided to get married, and on the rather intense unsettledness that has characterized my days ever since.

I should define "unsettled"--in my mind, it's that feeling of never being quite where you know you will perhaps be at some unknown point in the future. Errrrr.

All that to say: exactly three weeks until I will be Meghan Armstrong. Whoa nelly!

living with women

As I’ve contemplated getting married, and even as I have looked forward so much to getting to live with Kevin, I’ve also been feeling a little grief as I say goodbye to this era of my life that has been “living with women.” Sometimes when Jen and I are going to bed around the same time and debriefing about life, I feel like crying.

So this is an ode to my six years of living with women in the form of a list of all my roommates:

Jenny Kreinbrink : 315 Hayden House, East Quad, freshman year
Ariane Boese : Africa, 2002
Lindsay Horan : 424 Tyler House, East Quad, sophomore year (this had to have been the biggest room on campus)
Karen Ostafinski (bedmate) : LT Orlando, 2003
Heather Lieder : East Madison Street and Sagebrush Circle; junior and senior years, as well as my first year as a working person
Meredith and Carey : Florence, Italy, 2004
Jess Hibma (bedmate), Jen King, and Kristin Roelofson : LT Virginia Beach 2006
Jen King : Medford Street, 2006 – 2007

Each of these lovely women put up with me as I walked in my sleep, talked in my sleep, and generally made a mess.

And I can’t leave out all the people with whom at one time I shared a front door and refrigerator space: Jenni, Michelle, Carlee, Vanessa, April, Katie, Sara, Nicola, Judi, Anna, Julia, Kendra, Jineane, Kristen, Natalie, Dana, Kendra G., Kaitlyn, Julie, Shawn, Hayley, and Charis.

Many of them (more specifically, my most recent roommates) put up with my obsession with the Food Network, my awkward yoga poses, my guilt-induced, anal-retentive recycling habit, and/or my falling in love with a guy who lived across the street.

the gray kitchen

Kevin and I closed on our condo on Friday and boy, am I excited. We immediately began on some simple improvements like paint and hardware, and in three days, the kitchen looks like new. We painted it a lovely gray and added new brushed silver cabinet handles, and that was all it took. Fortunately, the thing is 7x7' so we painted it in no time flat.

Today I got to unpack my wedding gifts and put them on shelves and in drawers. It truly feels like this is OUR place, and I have never had that feeling before.

Our next project is painting one wall in the dining room, and I couldn't figure out what color to use until the gray kitchen was finished. Now it's begging for a subtle blue-green with some black shelves to make up for the wretchedly lacking cabinet space in the kitchen.

I think the reason this is exciting for me, along with the wedding, is the fact that I'm getting a chance to create a space; create anything, really, for the first time in awhile. Even though I pretty much hated photography during school, I miss all my art classes and the accountability that they provided. The deadlines were what I hated and what I felt stunted me, but I should have appreciated them more. Now we have this deadline of putting our home in order by the time we get back from our honeymoon, and the deadline is making things happen.

great great great

I'm very excited about the wedding. Despite the fact that I'm a horrible planner, I can see ways in which my personal style is coming through without too much effort. There will be bright and geometric table runners, modern flower arrangements, photographs involving sweeping vistas, live music, my great great great grandmother's gold cross and my parents' backyard.

And then, of course, there will be Kevin.

my apologies

I had such good intentions of updating every week, and now that I've proved to be so wretched at it, I bet no one even reads this. I do dream of a time when life is not quite so busy, but will that time come? Maybe I'm more of a blog-reader than a blog-writer. Just the same, here's some stuff:

--the little condo on Kellogg is soon to be ours, if we can work out a plan to get a radon mitigation system installed.

--whoever's out there reading this, you must read Gilead by Marilynne Robinson. I think I'll post some quotes next chance I get, because it's just so lovely. And won the Pulitzer Prize.