Twenty-Seven

Today is my twenty-seventh birthday. And so, I leave you with John Watson's encouraging reflection upon this age.

"She must be seven-and-twenty now,—a  sweet  age,  when  youth  has  lost  its  self-consciousness and become a little sobered by experience." -Dr. John Watson, reflecting on Mary Morstan (The Sign of Four).

When you end up crying in the arms of a stranger at the grocery store...Another Glimmer

Here's a glimmer from 2014. (See previous post for what a Glimmer is.)

It was a Sunday. I'd been in that lonesome Meijer all day, surrounded by people who didn't want to hear about whisks. I didn't want to be there. I wasn't near my quota but I was on the verge of tears. I'd been doing direct-marketing for several months now and occasionally I'd have a Sunday off and I'd go to church. On this particular day I was feeling guilty because I felt like I should have requested a Sunday off, just so I could go to church. I didn't think he was asking me to take all Sundays off, but I thought I should go to church more often. I let the fear of asking for time off stop me. I knew my priorities were out of line. So, that day I felt that I had "let God down."

But God didn't let go of me and here's how He showed me:

I had just done a show to a small crowd and no one wanted these whisks. I stepped behind my display booth and banner as I was no longer just on the verge of tears...

Then one of the people got my attention and had some questions about the product. Trying to stifle my tears I spoke with them. They stepped away, but this girl about my age came up to red-eyed me and said, "I can see you're experiencing a lot of turmoil."

She told me she was a Christian and I told her I was too. She wrapped her arms around me in a hug and as I cried in her arms, she said, "He's got you."

"For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, no angels, nor principalities, not things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor any other created thing, will be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." Romans 8:38-39

***Not related to the glimmer but just to save my professional dignity a little bit, I did go on to sell the most whisks in the nation for 4 days in a row.****

The Power of Exhoration...A Glimmer

What's a glimmer? It's what I call a moment in which a much larger law of the universe is represented. In these moments, that serve as a metaphor or a microcosm, a truth that has been accepted in the mind becomes known in the heart.

Here's the glimmer I had tonight...

I've known that two people are stronger than one, it's kind of obvious and there are a lot of verses pointing to this: Ecclesiastes 4:9-12, Proverbs 27:17. And in addition to the principle, we're told to support and exhort others : Galatians 6:2, Hebrews 10:24-25. But, tonight these truths sunk into my heart.

At Krav Maga class, we were holding plank position. My back hurt and my abs hurt and I arched my back which really isn't plank position. It hurt so much I was seething my breath in and out through my teeth, even emitting soft cries, and whimpering although I refused to drop a knee. Then I heard the matter-of-fact voice of a class mate (also holding plank, I might add.) "Put your butt down." I struggled to flatten my back. He continued to talk me through it, "That's better. Come on, you got this. Put your butt down. Better. More." I felt relief as he continued to talk to me, giving me something to focus on other than the pain, plus knowing that he and the others were experiencing the same thing helped too. Gratefully I listened. If I had been left with no exhortation, I very well may have caved and dropped a knee, or continued with an arched back instead of pushing myself to do the drill properly.  His words let me know I was not alone, and gave me the encouragement to try harder and push myself to the limits and to not give in.

Hardly a flattering moment for me, but still a moment of triumph and a new understanding of what these verses mean.

It even gave me a knew understanding of Christ and what He did for us!

What does St. Patrick's Day mean to me?

I'm an Evangelical Christian. If you are too, then this post is for you.

What does St. Patrick's Day mean to me?

For me, it's not a day for drinking. Drunkenness is a sin (although drinking is not, and is a matter of personal conviction.) For more on drunkenness in The Bible: Ephesians 5:18, Romans 13:13, 1 Peter 4:3.

For me, it's a day to remember Patrick and his life. He was a Briton captured by the Irish and forced into slavery. Eventually he returned to Britain, became a Christian and then returned to Ireland to share the good news of salvation through Jesus Christ the Son of God. He was a missionary. I remember him for living out the words of Jesus, "Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:18-19, NASB)

He lived out his Faith, and in turn it inspires me. "Therefore, since we have so great a cloud of witnesses surrounding us, let us also lay aside every encumbrance and the sin which so easily entangles us, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of faith, who for the joy set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and has sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. For consider Him who has endured such hostility by sinners against Himself, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart" (Hebrews  12:1-3 NASB)
 
One final thought: I said I was an Evangelical Christian. For me, St. Patrick's Day is not a day to pray to a Saint. I only pray to God as I don't see anywhere in The Bible that we are to pray to anyone but God.

Previous St. Patrick's Day posts:
Personal Reflections on St. Patrick's Day
Happy St. Patrick's Day - Bad situations with good results


Note:
NASB = New American Standard Bible

Where does poetry come from?

Poetry is formed in the human heart like diamonds are formed in the earth.

Diamonds are formed 90 miles deep in the earth in places where temperatures reach 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit. 

Poetry is formed in the depths of the heart, at times when passions blaze hot.
  
Diamonds are formed under great pressure with the weight of the earth pressing down on them. 

Poetry is often formed under the pressures of life and great mental duress.

Diamonds are expulsed from the depths of the earth by volcanic eruptions. 

Poetry spews forth when the pressure is too great, and can no longer be bottled-up but has been kept inside just long enough. Or the emotions well worth, like oozing lava,  and with them comes sometimes a poem or two. 

But  this is not the only way diamonds and poetry are made.

Diamonds are are also birthed when asteroids crash into the earth. Poetry is born when something touches your life with great impact.

Diamonds are formed when ocean meets earth.  Poetry is sometimes formed when a new thought takes hold in your mind and the realization is crystallized.

Diamonds and poems can appear clear and bright, like a star, distant and cold, yet burning white. The beauty of diamonds belie the extreme conditions under which they were formed while poetry captures them in a frozen moment. In a poem flashes facets of human passion, thought, and feeling crystallized into a drop of beauty. 

Diamond Formation Information

Bills are Blessings

Lately I've realized that I have had an abundance of blessings poured into my lap.  I finally have a full-time office job with fun co-workers who "get" my weird sense of humor. I bought my own car. I started Krav Maga where I am learning to fight and it's great to have a safe place to channel one's anger. The first day I went, the instructor told us to get angry and hit the pads as hard as we could. I was hooked and signed up for the membership after the class. Back in the fall of last year, I purchased a smartphone. Now, with monthly payments needing to made for all these blessings, (which I would not have if I was not blessed to have a job to be able to afford these things), I realized that I love bills. Wow! All these bills! I'm so excited about having bills, it's like my proof of adulthood. "Look at me, I'm being a grown-up!"

Yes, I am thankful for these bills. They are a blessing, I might not always be able to have these things, but while I do, I am so thankful to God for providing them, and even if they are taken away I know He will provide for me and I am thankful for that as well.

Through my storm He reached out to me

I was reading some of my journal entries from this past year. It's interesting to look back and remember where I was and how I've grown.

I found an entry from a little while ago that I want to share. A few months ago I was feeling restless, unsettled, useless. With a need to do SOMETHING to fight it and fight my fears of growing into a boring old adult, I ran out into the warm, dark, night air and swung myself up into the maple. I enjoyed the feeling of pain as the sawn-off branch jabbed me hard in the torso and the rough bark scraped my wrists. I climbed higher into the tree and then stood still, leaning against the slender forked branches. I looked straight ahead and I saw a full white moon through a square frame of leaves and a lattice of trees in the distance. This little square was the perfect size for the snowy moon and it's white aura. The lovely shape of the leaves, black against the deep dark royal blue of night. Behind the leafy frame of pointed maple leaves, flat against the night sky like a delicate Chinese papercut rose the crisscrossing arches of tall trees beyond in other yards and behind the moon according to my depth perception. I took in this little picture and silently was thankful to God that in the middle of my restless, caged-up feelings, He gave me this picture. It was as if it was saying to me,"I'm here. I made this picture for you. Just you. It's tiny and personal. Just the way I often remind you I am here."

You see, for a detail-oriented person, the details mean so much.

ISFJ and the agony of having extroverted intuition as your quaternary function

As I've said before, I'm an ISFJ.

This means that my fourth and least developed function is Extroverted Intuition. The websites I've read have said that as such, our intuition can steer us wrong. Joe Butt says, "ISFJs are easily undone by Extraverted iNtuition, their inferior function" (Humanmetrics.com: ISFJ).

Now, that's my weakest function. That's what I'm bad at. My intuition is a funny thing, and I'm only vaguely conscious of it. Sometimes I'm not sure if what I'm listening to is my extroverted intuition or my women's intuition, or something else entirely.

There are times when my intuition is spot on, and there are other times when I can't trust it. Is that all in my head? Do they actually not like me? I'll walk around with an uncomfortable feeling, it isn't right, how can we regain peace? Then I turn to prayer.

Sometimes I'll think of something to say in a situation and then I'll get a feeling: don't say that. If I do say it, sometimes I regret it, sometimes not.

One time though, a friend told me that he couldn't meet me as planned, his parent's wanted to talk to him about something. I could easily explain it away as not a big deal, but my gut wouldn't accept that. Whenever I thought about it, I began to shake. My legs trembled. I felt cold and my heart felt strange. The fear overwhelmed me, I could logically explain it away and make sense of it in my head and come up with some non-dire explanation. But I couldn't accept that. It turned out my intuition was correct. My friend admitted that something was wrong, and agreed to tell me in a few days. During those few days of anxious waiting, my brain pondered and I figured out what had happened ahead of time. I was calm when the blow fell. I felt almost nothing, my heart was a lump of dead flesh. Now, on Funky MBTI Fiction I read that the fourth and weakest function "often only turns up under extreme stress or anxiety." This was a case of extreme stress and anxiety and this issue that my intuition cued in on was not the only anxiety I was facing at the time. I remember hunching up in a boxed in corner of my bedroom sobbing on the phone to my best friend...

Another facet of having extroverted intuition as the fourth from your longest and strongest suite (to use a bridge term) is not always knowing what to say to people or being able to understand their meaning. ISFJs "aren't quite as good at reading others as their extroverted counterpart. The ISFJ needs external indicators to understand what is required from them and can sometimes get wrapped up in  their own internal world and forget to check their Ne." (ESFJ vs. ISFJ)As a side note on this: it also really stinks when you realize your world in your head isn't real, and the characters in your story aren't quite so pure and noble as you thought they were.... This has happened to me, and it seems to have also happened to Dr. John Watson (aslo an ISFJ) in BBC's Sherlock, 

When I'm in a conversation usually, feelings of warmth and support are there, but they stumble out of my mouth in awkward words, too deep, not deep enough, not quite what I meant to say or how I wanted it to sound. Or I keep quiet out of fear of saying the wrong thing. Later, my brain catches up to my heart and I think of a much better way to say it. (Guess why I like writing?)

I really don't understand my fourth function, I'm just trying to give some examples of what it's like to have extroverted intuition as your weakest function. Try performing brain surgery on yourself...it's like that...

The Middle-Kingdom and Middle-Earth

I just returned from a month in China. It was an amazing journey! It wasn't all a easy, we had work to do, but things like that draw you closer to people and I loved living with my wonderful room-mates and meeting lots of sweet people. It's hard being home now, with the wind out of my sails, my new friends dispersed, wondering what's next, playing over the past and asking, "what could I have done better?" I think I've learned a lot about myself, but I'm still processing. We'll put all that aside now and have a little fun!

While in China, I found a few things that reminded me of Middle-Earth.

My first weekend there, I visited The Temple of Heaven. I was excited to find a GREEN DRAGON. (Or at least, I assumed it was a dragon...)

Oh, wait, there's like a thousand of them! (And these are dragons beyond a doubt!)

Actually, there are dragons everywhere in Beijing!

This doorway reminded me of Hobbit architecture:

The gates had very large red doors with big gold studs. The door handles were placed so high, I felt like a tiny hobbit. Here I'm on tipy-toe.

And at Beihai Park, I spotted this round green door!

I also spent quite a bit of time in subterranean tunnels built by expert engineers. While it wasn't the Mines of Moria or the kingdom of Dale, but rather The Subway, the trains sped through the tunnels like fierce little dragons. It would be death to fall in their path...

That's all for now!

Confessions of an ISFJ

Confessions of an ISFJ:

1. I have no idea how to handle unforeseen social situations.
I think this is because I am a Sensor and I rely on my past experiences to guide my behavior. In a situation I have never experienced before I don't have the data of previous similar experiences needed to construct protocol. This causes me to him-haw or just gape stupidly while my brain wildly tries to figure out what to do.

2. I give myself a little talk before going to a social event, creating occasion-specific rules for myself. "You will not mention____. You will not push yourself forward. You will be quiet and not interrupt. The less you say, the less stupid things you'll say and regret later." Or, "You will exude quiet confidence, you will stand up for yourself and what's right." After any social event, I need time alone to analyze what just happened and create more rules for myself. (After typing this, I found this related quote on Funky MBTI Fiction which said ISFJs and ESFJs will "reevaluate their behavior, relationships, work experiences, and lifestyle to determine if it needs improvement.")

3. I once I wrote ten pages of sheer description of a painting for an assignment when only five where required.  Some were a little daunted by this assignment but I wasn't much because I was glad I didn't have to draw a conclusion or defend a theory. Child ISFjs might not be capable of summary, but instead feel the need to include ALL details (funny personal story). For more on ISFJ writing tendencies (almost all true for me) : http://andreajwenger.com/2010/03/06/isfj-writing-personality/

4. I like to go to the store as opposed to shopping by catalogue or online. I like to actually see and physically touch the items I'm thinking of buying. I think this could be a Sensor trait.

5. I've discovered that violent emotions will shut an INTP and an INTJ down. It will NOT create sympathy, they'll just leave the room as fast as possible and possibly think less of you. (Personal experience)

6. When I'm at an event I pick one person as my special buddy to stick to. Sometimes we part for a little while to chat with different people or play different games but I will come back to them and check-up on them or go and "stick to them" when I feel out of place elsewhere. They're my anchor for that event.

7. Don't forget my birthday. Doing so says, "I don't love you."  We don't want to ask people to do anything special for us, but forgetting our birthday hits upon deeply rooted convictions about love we're unaware of ourselves. If you do something for one of us ISFJs on our birthday, we will think of you with more warmth than we already did. (I'm guessing this principle is translatable to other special occasions instead of birthday, an ISFJ may have special inviolable traditions or ideas of how something should be celebrated.)

8. Sometimes my feelings take over. I will figure out what I think I should do and then when I'm confronted with the actual situation, I follow my heart anyhow. This is not for areas of major moral dilemma, just small things. For example, being placed on one team but switching to the other so as to be on the same team as your significant other.

9. I use emotion to communicate what I want to say even if I can't get the right words out. If I'm irritated, everybody knows. It's not so much in what I say, but in how I say it, or how I move, or huff, or glare.

10. I feel very honored when someone confides in me and comes to me for emotional support, advice, or protection.

11. Sometimes I look forward to danger or distress with anticipation because I like to protect people. So, if there's a weird guy annoying a friend and they ask me to help them, I am thrilled. I'll walk with that friend, I'll invent honest ways to break-up a conversation between him and her, whatever. So, if you're in trouble and I can help, I really enjoy helping or defending you, even though it's unfortunate you're in a tough spot. I find myself day-dreaming scenarios of potential problems and how I can be a hero in them. (This also prepares me for problems when they arise, since I don't think on my feet very well...?)

12. I seem shy and timid  but then suddenly I'll let my wild side show which shocks people. I even tone it down so as to freak people out less. According to Dave's video (link below too) this is caused by the ISFJ's secondary function: Extroverted Feeling (Fe): "This is why the ESFJ and ISFJ have the gold star for being the most crazy, bi-polar.....by day they're in a traditional job and they're very good at it and then at home all that extroverted feeling is allowed to come out."

13. Change just really freaks me out. When first confronted with a novel idea, my response is "NO." Five minutes later, I'll already be warmer to it than I was. I just need some time to think a new idea through and become used to it. If it's a request for help, this scenario may be reversed.

14. Defender mode. I scare myself sometimes....I growled at a soccer ball once while playing defense. I actually growled at it instinctively. Another time we were playing with larps and I was defending an imaginary king. A friend noticed that once my opponents got past me and attacked the king I would switch from just warding them of but not fulling engaging in combat to fighting madly like a berserk maniac to save and avenge my king (who didn't even exist).  If I've got someone to protect something just wells up inside and suddenly I'm not that timid and shy little person, suddenly "I've got the eye of the tiger, a fighter, dancing through the fire, I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar. (Katy Perry, Roar)."  

15. I wear comfortable, protective footwear so I'm ready for anything. Some studies suggest ISFJs tend to wear practical, comfortable shoes.

In Conclusion I'd like to say that just because another ISFJ does something doesn't make it right! These are not excuses for fits of rage or following your heart. If you are an ISFJ, I hope this helps you understand yourself better/gives you something to relate too. With some of these, I don't know that they're particularly ISFJ traits, but rather they are ways the ISFJ functions are exhibited in me in conjunction with my upbringing and my own function percentages/balance. Therefore, some ISFJs will relate and some probably won't but that doesn't make you any less an ISFJ.

If you're reading this and you are not an ISFJ, I hope this helps you understand your ISFJ better.

These are things that I've noticed about myself and seem to fit with what I've learned about ISFJs on these websites:
ISFJ Profile on TypeLogic by Marina Margaret Heiss and Joe Butt.
Portrait of an ISFJ at PersonalityPage
Sensor Feeler Thinker Intuitor on Sherlock Character Analysis tumblr. This one helped me see how the functions play out in an ISFJ.
ISFJ vs. ISFP by DaveSuperPowers, video on youtube This one says ISFJs can be crazy.
Type Contrast: ESFJ vs ISFJ on Funky MBTI Fiction

Confusion, Counselors, Cats, and Comfort: An anecdote on MBTI types and emotion.

Continuing in my mini-series on personality types, here's another little snapshot of personalities playing out in my family. Enjoy!

I was sitting at the table talking to my mom about my emotional state.

My mom, an INFJ--this type is also known as The Counselor-- was listening, offering advice, and probing my heart.

As an ISFJ, "often unable to either hide or articulate any distress they may be feeling" (Joe Butt, TypeLogic), I sighed, "I don't even know what I feel." Numbness throbbed in my chest, partially obscuring my sadness and anger which was also strangely mixed with a dash of hope and excitement.

Now, both my dad and I love cats, and it's a bond that we have. On seeing I was sad, he reappeared with one of our cats which he wordlessly handed to me. It was like he was saying, "I can't fix your emotional problem, but have a cat. Cats are comforting."

I couldn't help chuckling as I hugged our gray cat. I had found the INTP solution to emotional distress: Apply cat directly to problem.

This thought caused further mirth as I pictured sticking my cat onto certain people's faces.

From my experience, INTPs are not comfortable with emotions in others, they don't know how to delve into them and explore them out. I think emotions distress them, they want to fix them and turn off negative emotions in others if they're not too overwhelming. The volatile and violent expression of emotions, like screaming in rage, will turn the INTP off, he'll just leave the room. Since mine were quietly expressed in this instance he was willing to try and comfort me.

~I read this to my dad before posting and he laughed.~

Pens and Personality : A Polaroid from the Past

Did you know that a simple pen can give great insight into personalities? My mother discovered this one day.

Our mom home-schooled us and one day she had us all at the kitchen table for a writing assignment. She gave us each a brand new pen while explaining the assignment. Suddenly, our personalities came to life before her eyes through the different actions we chose to take with our pens.

I began to ask for more specifics about the assignment. I'm the first-born, a conscientious Melancholy and duty-fulfiller ISFJ. I wanted to know exactly what was expected of me and I wanted to do it right. The pen was just a pen to me at that moment.

Our resident performer, the baby of the family and a Sanguine, stood up on his chair --not an unusual occurrence in those days-- and began waving his pen about like a baton, grandly and loudly telling us what he was going to do. He's an ENFJ, but back then it was just obvious that he was an extroverted Sanguine and acted more like an ESFP.

My mother then looked over at the quiet INTJ, the middle-child and a Phlegmatic. He had taken his pen apart and the pieces were neatly laid out in front of him. From many little incidents, this one included, it was obvious to us that he was the "engineering type."

Photo Credit: Edana A.

Please note: I don't know how The Humoral Personality System relates to Myers-Briggs. From my own experience, I wouldn't say all INTJs are phlegmatics nor are middle-children all Phlegmatics either. The same can be said with all the other personality types expressed, especially in connection to birth order. Not all ISFJs are necessarily Melancholy, but I suspect that Melancholy is either the prime or secondary type in their personality since Introverted Sensing is an ISFJ's primary function.

A real life example of Sensing vs Intuition

I'm not at all an expert on Myers-Briggs, but I've been reading, studying and exploring this personality system and there are times when I can see it playing out in my life. We didn't learn about Myers-Briggs until these last few years but looking back I have some fond family memories of our distinct personality types being clearly exhibited. I'm an ISFJ (Introverted Sensing Feeling Judging) and one of my brothers is an INTJ (Introverted Intuition Thinking Judging). Therefore, I'm a sensor (S) and he is intuitive (N).

The Myers Briggs website defines the differences between Sensing and Intuition by asking these questions: "Do you pay more attention to information that comes in through your five senses (Sensing), or do you pay more attention to the patterns and possibilities that you see in the information you receive (Intuition)?"

Sensors identify with these statements: "Paying attention to physical reality, what I see, hear, touch, taste, and smell. I’m concerned with what is actual, present, current, and real. I notice facts and I remember details that are important to me."

Those who rely on intuition identify with these statements: "Paying the most attention to impressions or the meaning and patterns of the information I get....I remember events more as an impression of what it was like than as actual facts or details of what happened."

Here is one anecdote that demonstrates the difference between a Sensor and an Intuitive:

When we were young, my mom read Bible stories to us from a children's bible. After the story she had us each recount what we could remember. I usually did quite well, (granted I had the advantage of being two years older than my INTJ brother and five years older than the ENFJ one, however they had their own abilities).

I remembered almost all the events and details in the story, even down to specific words. One time, after listening to a shorter story, I began to retell it word for word. Of course I didn't make it all the way to the end like this, but I got most of it word for word with a little help, then my mom read it again and had me try again since I was so close and I got it pretty much spot on. We were all shocked and amazed, myself included.

My INTJ brother had trouble remembering the details. His detail retention was probably about 50% of mine. My mom started to switch up the exercise and asked us to summarize the stories. He was able to summarize a story into a few succinct sentences. I couldn't summarize for the life of me. I was unable to grasp the central thread of the story, the bare bones plot. My best attempt was arbitrarily leaving out details and side-stories which I hated to do. But he found the point of the stories and could extract the major plot-line from amongst the details.

Here's a picture I created to demonstrate. The Sensor sees lots of little details that comprise the big picture. The Intuitive person sees the big picture of which the little pieces are a part of. These are all pictures I took in Iceland at Úlfarsfell.

My Museum of Memories

Memory is a funny thing. Certain things we retain, and others we forget. Mark Gungor compares men's brains to boxes and women's to ball of wire. See the video on Youtube.  BBC's Sherlock has a "Mind Palace" which is like some extra deep place he'll go to retrieve information stored there to solve cases.

I've decided that my mind is like a museum. It's not a particularly well-ordered and logically laid out one either. Additionally, it's got a lot of cluttered rooms and a few with almost nothing in them. My museum contains little movie clips I play over and over, snapshots of the past, and other artifacts of memory. Some memories I frequent more often, they're on display. Others are stuck in the back rooms, not particularly special, just tossed into a corner somewhere. Others are like precious, fragile treasures I hide away to protect and keep them alive, I can't share those moments right away and hardly dare look at them myself lest I damage them with rough handling.

Yet time tells on my memories and like the Mona Lisa, they fade. Rusty old swords lie in some corners. It doesn't matter how hard I try to preserve them, whether by sharing, secreting them away, or playing them over and over. The closer I look at my museum pieces, the more I notice the decay, the blurred detail on a picture, or the missing page in a manuscript. I cringe at the faded paint and the empty casing were a gem used to be lodged but has now tumbled out of its setting. I might find it eventually in some unexpected corner...

Some of my memories I don't like, they're the ugly paintings. In these cases, time is often my friend. With time the garish colors fade, the wine mellows, and the pain no longer stings the same. And they say hindsight is 20/20 vision. I can see the good that came from pain and I can savor triumphs without the suspense and agony of the moment. Success memories are like award plaques, medals, and trophies in my collection.

My memory paintings attempt to capture a moment
in time, but what is a picture to the moment itself? If I write them down, the actual moment slips away like sand through an hour glass. It's like pressing a leaf: some of the colors are preserved but the leaf is dry and brittle, and not as bright and glossy as it once was. Artifacts and crumbled journals help us see the past, but they can't take you there. Still, I catalogue my treasures and I write my journals, but it's not the same.

I cannot share my memory museum, I walk these halls alone. When I share a memory it's like giving someone a postcard from the gift-shop. It's a photocopied memory that I let others see. Just as my memories are removed from the actual moment, so too my attempts at sharing them with others are removed another step further from that moment.

It's part of  my personality, I think, to capture and preserve, document, and convey. I'm always writing or taking photos. As a Sensor (Myers-Briggs), I learn from my past experiences, through physical sensations. And I want to share what I experience. How do I capture golden drops of sunlight that flicker through my lashes on a balmy summer morning? I add another artifact (a sensation) to my collection like one adds a painting to a gallery wall. A painting expresses something of its subject, but it's not like being there, in the scene in my mind, experiencing it the way I felt it. So I describe, like a painter paints, I add my own interpretation, how I saw it, and I try to express just what that moment felt like to me.

Anxiety: Lighting Strikes My Heart

Anxiety grips my heart like lighting in a storm. Searing pain wrapping and lashing around my heart, squeezing it. The shaking tremors that engulf my body are the thunder. My tears are the rain.

Yet God is the master of all storms.

"Cast all your anxieties on him because he cares for you." I Peter 5:7

Because He cares for you.

The Heart is a Muscle

The heart is a muscle. Both the physical heart and the emotional one. Our feelings may really stem from a part of our brains, yet we say that feelings rise from the heart. Why? Because it pumps our blood which is a symbol of passions.

There is no life without the heart to drive the circulation of blood through the body.  There is no point to life without love. “And if I have the gift of prophecy, and know all mysteries and all knowledge; and if I have all faith, so as to remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And if I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profiteth me nothing.” I Corinthians 13: 2-3.

The heart is a muscle.

A muscle that is overworked aches and knots up. Sometimes it’s a dull ache. When injured, torn, or stretched suddenly the pain is searing, shooting through you. So it is with the heart. When this muscle is used wrong, it aches, it burns, it feels like it is being ripped in half. Sometimes it feels like a heart-attack. 

Like a muscle, the heart needs time to heal from its injuries.

Like a muscle, it needs to be strengthened by slowly increasing what it can bear. Something happens, testing its strength, it lives on through despite the pain, but now it’s stronger than before. Something worse happens, again it hurts, but it lives on though. Something even worse happens and it is ready to be stretched to that limit. If this even worse thing had happened at the heart’s original strength, it would have been too much for it.  You would have died of a broken heart or become as hard as stone.

The Details

Moss, Iceland

It is in the little things that I see God. In the tiny flowers, shiny acorns, lichen on rocks, and the multicolored sheen of a feather. When the timing and details work out. When He brings the right person along to comfort my lonely aching heart, or a stranger to get my vehicle out of a snowy rut, disentangle my gauchos from my bike chain (yes, that really did happen) or someone to walk me home in the dark. How could all these details that depend so much on the right timing or the right words at the right time have worked out just fine unless He was orchestrating them?

It's in these details that I see God's love and provision for me. It's also in the details that I learn of His existence.

Did God create the universe? Elementary! His fingerprints are all over creation. All evidence points to not only His existence, but His hand in crafting the universe and it's diversity.

On the molecular level, the intricacy of the details that have to work out just right for life to exist is astounding. There is no way they could have happened by chance.

If in my petty, day-to-day wishes, I don't get what I want or think I need, then I obviously didn't need them. He cares enough to teach me to be strong.

It's always been about the details for me. Small things are hugely important. It could be a beautiful day, and everything could be going my way, but if harmony was broken in some small way, it is as if a cavernous rift had opened.

Little things often upset me. The robe my mother gave me when I was a child was beautiful but it was itchy, and so was the long underwear. I cast them off, refusing to wear them ever again. I was a fussy baby: too hot, too cold, my clothes not soft enough. I fussed instead of slept unless my parents cradled me in their warm arms and I knew I was safe. How safe I find myself under the protection of my Heavenly Father!
When the details work out just so, it's like God is comfortingly laying his hand on my back, telling me that He is there, watching out for me. And who am I out of all the people in the world that He should care for me? Yet He is there, caring for all his children down to the minutiae of their lives, just as in mine.

Gullfoss, Iceland

As water flows over a cliff, it separates. The water descends in pieces, each sheet of water drops alone, yet together they sound the mighty roar of the cataract.  So may we all sound God's glory and might. Waterfalls speak to the mighty and terrifying power of God. Yet, they are made of tiny drops, and each drop is made of molecules, which are made of elements, which are made of protons, electrons, and neutrons, which, as some have begun to say, are made of something smaller still.

The details.The overwhelming, comforting, astonishing details! How I love them and how I love God for creating them and showing me His love through them.

A Visit to the Library

The fourth floor of the campus library. Silence is the law. The only sounds are the turning of a few pages.

Yet I could hear the books screaming at me. As I walked by they flashed their golden words, like official badges, like name cards, like the skirts of flamenco dancers, trying to cause me to pause, pick them up and take them home. Like dogs at the humane society, row upon row, yapping, barking, baying, whining, pawing for someone to stop and pay attention.

I had wandered there for some time, mingling with the books like one does at a social gathering.  

This introduction was made to me, "If you have never met Sherlock Holmes, you have already wasted too much time. Take this slim volume away immediately to some sequestered safehouse and begin your involvement."* "Oh, fine!" I cried in a whisper, mentally throwing up my hands. I clapped the book onto my stack.

 From rows away I heard the Icelandic literature calling me, while golden letters on a binding caught my eye as I marched to answer the call.

I mentioned that this was a campus library, and that is the beauty of it. Shelves of classics and books about the authors. Books in French, books on language, oh what a glorious colloquy of the ancients! For now that I have my degree, I actually have time to read these books.

Reference:
*The quote is from the Foreward in A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Editor: Sandy Lesberg. Peebles Press International, New York:1975.

Scotty is my favorite Star Trek character

I grew up watching Star Trek, but I didn't have much choice. It was my dad's favorite TV show. As a teen, I became a bit anti-Star Trek. I didn't like Captain Kirk all that much. He was supposed to be the handsome one in the show, and I didn't think he was handsome, plus I didn't like his character. He was selfish at times, and always having relationships that only lasted the length of one episode.  So I didn't like him. I didn't like Bones either. He always had a frown on, and he didn't like Spock.

My favorite characters were Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott. Now, everybody likes Spock, except Bones, so I'm not going to go into why he's a cool character.
Mr. Montgomery Scott (Scotty), on the other hand, is rather under-appreciated. So here is a list of reasons why he is my favorite character:

1. He has a Scottish accent.
2. He is the ship's engineer. Nothing screams manly to me quite like "mechanical engineer," except for "soldier." 
3. Always ready for a fight, but yet not entirely without self-control.
4. He doesn't fall in love with every pretty girl. And when he does, it's cute puppy love, yet he's ready to stand by her no matter what.
5. He's brave. One time they needed to test a certain drug that would put a person to sleep, but it was dangerous because there was no surety that the person would wake up --ever. Scotty agreed to be the guinea pig and be put to sleep, while saying that he wanted to wake up in time for the fighting.  

Now in the new movie, Star Trek, Into Darkness (2013), the characters were pretty much the same as the originals. Kirk is an egotistical flirt. Bones still has the propensity to swear. Spock is still logic "man." And Scotty is still my favorite character.

What I really like about Scotty in Into Darkness, is that he stood by his principles, yet is loyal to his Enterprise friends.

Kirk was having questionable explosives loaded on the Enterprise for a questionable mission. Everyone questioned the mission, but Scotty acted.  When asked to sign the papers approving these explosives and thus putting the ship in danger, Scotty refused. A refusal could not be brooked by the captain, so Scotty resigned. He left the ship and the ship left without him. He stood alone and acted on his principles.

However, despite this, he didn't bear any hard feelings towards Kirk deep down.  Kirk called him and asked him to check out a clue for him, and despite calling him "James Tiberius perfect hair" and giving a solid verbal refusal, as soon as the call was over he got up and did what was requested of him.  Such a funny scene!

In the original series, Scotty is played by James Doohan. In the 2009 and 2013 films, he is played by Simon Pegg.

Savor the Flavor...of Books!

Certain books strike me as having different flavors.

Books and food. It's not a bad analogy really.  The reader ingests and then digests the material, retaining nourishment for the mind. To take the analogy further, sometimes a person doesn't digest the materiel very well and then just regurgitates it (typically this happens in school). With food, the eater ingests it and it is then digested in the body for nourishment. Sometimes it only makes it to the stomach; after summary digestion it is regurgitated. While some food is unhealthy "junk food,"  there are also unhealthy "junk books."

But, back to the flavors. Two of the first books that struck me as having a flavor were The Lord of the Rings and The Story of Rolf and the Viking Bow. After those realizations, I pondered a bit and made comparisions between other books and food.

Here is a list below of different books and their flavors:

The Lord of the Rings, by J. R. R. Tolkien - Ice cold lemon water. It's pure, refreshing, and wholesome. The flavor is magical yet with out an sugar added. I think I made this connection because the first time I had lemon water, it was at an outdoor dance. The atmosphere was almost magical. We were all dressed prettily in long elegant gowns we had sewn. We wore no shoes and felt the cool grass beneath our bare feet. Strands of lights illuminated the yard. Light, classy refreshments were served on a side table. And there in a clear dispenser was the ice cold lemon water, so rejuvenating on that summer night.

The Story of Rolf and the Viking Bow, by Allen French - Cold Icelandic spring water. When I'd first read it, I'd likened it to fresh spring water, but now that I've been to Iceland and drank the water there, I insist that it is Icelandic spring water, like what comes right out of the tap over there!

The Complete Richard Hannay, by John Buchan - Espresso. Rich earthy flavor, strong and warm. It also has the same effects on me as too much caffeine in my system! I get hyper. When talking about Richard Hannay, I start talking really fast and excitedly (like when I drink too much coffee). Similarly, I also want to do some sort of physical activity, like ride a bike and feel the wind in my face, exercise, fight, lift weights, run around, jump over things or dive under them! These books get my blood pumping! 

Cyrano de Bergerac, by Edmond Rostand - This one I don't associate with a flavor, but rather a sound. Imagine the sound of a violin rising to the stars in a lonely crescendo in the night air under a full white moon. If I were to pick a flavor, I think it would be some sort of wine. Something that's not quite as sweet as rosé.

I asked my friends on facebook if they associate different books with flavors. Here is what they had to say:

A Song of Ice and Fire series, by George R. R. Martin - "The milk at the end of a bowl of Honeycomb."

The Little House on the Prairie, by Laura Ingalls Wilder  - A bowl of stew. A second friend chimed in, agreeing with this description.

Sherlock Holmes series, by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle  - A cup of steaming of black tea. 

The Girl of the Limberlost, and The Harvester, both by Gene Stratton Porter- A thick mint milk shake. "Refreshing but something to let melt in your mouth a little."   

Sense and Sensibility, by Jane Austen - An ice cream parfait in a fancy glass. She found the book to have different layers.