Unedited: Truly Alive

Some things are best written unedited.

I know: writers aren't supposed to write without revising. Editing provides the coherence and fluidity that a first draft simply does not contain. First drafts are too choppy, too raw.

Sometimes, though, that rawness is exactly what a writer needs to communicate.

I've been living a lot lately. Not simply "living" in the ordinary workaday sort of way; living in the "I'm climbing 14,000-foot mountains and traipsing all over this beautiful state and its great outdoors" sort of way. It's a sort of living that only summer can provide, and it's the sort of living for which Colorado provides an unsurpassed environment. Breathtaking mountainscapes, rolling valleys, the neverending panoramic views of wild flowers and sedges and pines... I don't think you've really lived until you've looked into this sort of infinity and been brought to your knees. It's been my privilege to do so continuously for the past two weeks.

Venturing home from these adventures was bittersweet at first: sweet because home is, after two weeks of being away, more welcoming than any other destination could be. It was bitter, not because I had to leave behind a baseball tournament in Steamboat, along with the neighboring mountain towns and views; but because we were forced to creep towards home in what we considered an ungodly standstill of a traffic jam.

Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment I'm humbled and awed by the blade of a leaf, almost brought to tears by the intricate network of life in the forest; the next moment, I forget to notice the obvious beauty all around me because of a line of cars. In fact, my family decided to pull over for dinner in Georgetown, typically a 1 1/2 to 2 hour drive from home, to avoid becoming a permanent part of the parking lot on the road. (This decision was probably best for everyone's sanity and stress levels, in all honesty!)

About an hour later, we left the European restaurant we discovered to face the roads once more. The traffic, though lesser, was still present. Needless to say, we were still a little impatient. Getting home at a decent hour is of utmost importance, after all.

We drove for about an hour before reaching Golden at dusk. Yet again, the line of traffic started to slow. This time, though, our countenances shifted quickly from annoyance to concern. On the left shoulder of the road, a dented car faced the wrong direction, its bumper torn away and left to embellish the pavement. My dad slowed our truck to talk to the seemingly uninjured passengers standing next to the vehicle, urgency and immediacy in his voice.

"I used to be an EMT. Does anyone need any medical help?"

The man's face twitched in a moment of realization before he responded,
"...Uh...check the car up ahead."

A few yards ahead on the right side of the road, a mass of twisted steel and glass balanced on what I suppose you could call tires. Nothing about the object seemed like a car, not when the front of the once-vehicle was only a tangle of wires and metal shards. The screaming woman trapped in the driver's seat was engulfed in the wreckage, surrounded by strangers whose greatest desire was to see her stay safe and alive.

My dad whipped his truck into park behind the accident, then jumped to the scene. My mom and I could only stay in the car, praying for his and the other aids' wisdom and the injured woman's safety.

Time dragged by as we all waited for emergency personnel to arrive. After an eon of seconds, the lights appeared on the horizon, soon followed by the sound of wailing sirens. As soon as they had moved into position, taking over where the good Samaritans had left off, my dad came back to the car and once again pulled onto the winding highway.

The rest of our journey was broken between conversation about the occurrence and a heavy silence. Our sentiments, though, united our thoughts for the duration of the ride. The things we spoke and thought revolved around a central question, though:

Were we stuck in traffic just long enough to be at the scene of the accident at exactly that time?

None of us knows what is happening in that situation right now, nor what the woman's life will look like tomorrow or a year from now. What we do know is that we were in exactly the right place at the right time. My dad was the only one at that place for a while who knew anything about medicine, who knew that he needed to get her head immobilized to prevent any further injury to her possibly broken neck. He'd be the first to say that the situation was and is not about him; he'd also be the first to say, though, that such a use of his EMT experience and training is not accidental, and that it still affects him (in more ways than one) to be a part of it.

Amazing how quickly perspectives can change, isn't it? One moment we were growing weary of a traffic-packed highway, counting down the minutes until we pulled into our own driveway; the next, we were begging the seconds to slow, praying that the woman's moans and blood-stained face signified her life more than her pain.

My family and I finally arrived home, and we are more than grateful to be here safely. Tonight was (and still is, really) one of those slap-in-the-face realizations: I take so much for granted. Tonight was a reminder that I am alive, and that I have much to live for. It was a reminder that I don't have a clue about how big God is, and that I'll never really comprehend it. It was a reminder that I wasn't meant to "live" my life by wishing that I were in a different moment than I'm currently in. It was a reminder that every moment is sacred, that every second is to be LIVED and cherished.

I'm humbled tonight. More than anything, though, I'm grateful. My heart is raw, but it's raw once again with the realization that I'm alive. (And oh, how I wish that I didn't forget that so easily...) Whether I'm writing or reading or eating or drinking or sleeping or changing the world in one of a million ways... I'm alive, and I intend to LIVE my life in that realization.

I know I can't do it by myself. I also know that I'll forget that. I know that I'll slip and fall and make horrendous mistakes because I'm human... but that's all the more reason for me to try. It's not my strength that allows me to live, after all. The Spirit of God is ALIVE and well, and He's living in me.

And that is the most humbling thing of all...

A Few Thoughts...

"So, what do you want to be when you grow up?"

Sound familiar?

To high school and college students, of course, the question has metamorphosed into "What are you going to major in?" or "What are you going to do with your degree?" but the sentiment remains the same: we should all know exactly what our lives are going to look like by the time we turn eighteen. If you don't, you're certainly not on top of the ball, and the horrendous, unforgiving  job market will swallow you whole.

Aforementioned high school and college students, please feel free to scream in frustration.

I would never argue that we shouldn't have aspirations. Having high hopes is a good thing, a necessary thing. I would even argue that running into life with no dreams, expectations, or goals is wrong. I think the problem, though, is that we allow our goals to become our dictators. We weren't created to live under dictatorships, even (and especially) if we are the sole rulers and recipients of our individualized, totalitarian ten-year plans.

The truth is that not many (if any) of us really know who we are or what we're going to do for the rest of our lives. And why should we? I'm becoming more and more convinced that the plans I make for myself are considerably less than the plans that God has for me. I still have to play an active role in following him and listening to him, yes, but that certainly does not mean that I should dictate every element of my own future. 

My mind was traipsing through these thoughts as I was walking the other day, and I suddenly felt like a control freak caught in the headlights of reality. I've learned an incredible amount about surrender and trust over the past few years and months, but I still try to grasp at the straws of my own back-up plans. In other words, I try to settle for infinitely less than what God can and will do with me if I allow him to.

Ironic, then, that this weekend of all weekends, the pastor at my church spoke about the Israelites' childish lack of trust after God led them out of Egypt. ("You rained down bread from heaven for us when we complained about being hungry? Awesome! We'll just hoard as much as we can in case you don't do it again like you promised you would...")

And it truly is childish, isn't it? I stare at the God of the universe and dare to tell him that I can see into the future better than he can, then attempt to pull myself up by my own bootstraps when I trip over my ideas and ideals shortly thereafter. ("You did what you promised like you said you would? Awesome! I can do the rest of my life on my terms, though, because still I don't trust your competency and ability more than my own...") How long will it take me to really realize that I'm incapable of doing any of this on my own? How long will I doubt that what He says -- all of it -- is true and good? Above all, why on earth do I second-guess his love for me and his motives for doing so? I suppose it all shows how fickle and broken my own heart and soul are...

But I digress.

I was out walking the other day, thinking through all of these things and more when it hit me: I am created in God's image. It's a simple truth that I've known for as long as I can remember, but it's a truth that carries such astounding weight...

Above all things that he does, God simply is. He is love, he is the Creator, he is just, and he is so many other things... but he is. He exists, and he takes such joy and carries incomprehensible value and glory for nothing other than being. It is out of that being that he loves, creates, gives, and acts. It was out of that being that we were created, and we were created in the image of the God who is. I think, then, that before we become anything in particular, we have to learn how to simply be. God takes joy in us for who we are and how we glorify him, and I don't think that we necessarily have to do anything to glorify him. Taking joy in existing, realizing his majesty in the simplicity of merely living: I'm starting to see how much joy and value these things bring to life, and how much joy and value they bring to him.

When I do become something or do something, then, I want it to be a reflection and extension of my joy of merely living. I unashamedly admit that I want to live an incredibly full, world-changing life; I also admit that I have no idea what that means or how it will come to fruition. I have no doubt, though, that it will come to fruition, even though my life will almost certainly unfold much differently from how I imagine that it might. In any case, though, I think that what I ultimately do will be much more impacting and God-glorifying if I am aware of how glorious it is to just be alive.

I do not know much, but I know these things to be true:

1. God is nowhere near finished with me. He's already done incredible things with me, but I know that He's not done yet. I'm hanging on to him as tightly as I can, but trying to remember that I can't even do that on my own...
2. I was created first to be, then to become a creator and artist. (After all, every aspect of life requires artistry and creativity of some sort, doesn't it?) I don't know exactly what that looks like yet, but I am being stretched (unwillingly, at times) to continue writing and to pursue music...
3. I'll have to continue my thoughts on the last sentence in my next post, because this one is already fairly lengthy! 

Thanks for stumbling through my random musings with me, prestigious readers! I don't know who all of you are, but I truly do thank you for reading my less-than-consistent posts and giving greater purpose to my writing. It's encouraging to think that my thoughts are considered worth reading by anyone other than myself... =)

Snapshots

Yet again, it's been too long since I've spent some quality time with Mr. Bloglet. So sorry to inconvenience you, esteemed readers. After all, upon reading my whopping half-dozen posts or so, you must be absolutely in love with my writing, captivated by my rambling thoughts, and gripping the edges of your ergonomic office chair seats in anticipation of my next post, right?

*crickets*

...Or maybe not... Moving on!

I've actually attempted to blog a handful of times during the last couple of weeks, but the ability to decide on a particular subject has evaded me. Thoughts end up bouncing around in my brain like a few dozen rogue pinballs, ricocheting off of each other (and, I'm convinced, making small dents in my frontal lobes) until my mentation has successfully woven itself into a grade-A Celtic knot.

Houston, we've lost the ability to type coherent sentences. 


In order to preserve my sanity (and yours, too), I've decided that limiting myself to one subject simply won't do for this blog post. Instead, I introduce to you the mini-blog: a blog within a blog, if you will!


Introduction: In Which We Discover that Lizzie May Still Have Sanity to Preserve (or, "I Get to Tell You What I'm Actually Going to Write About.")


Indeed. As I've suggested, I haven't had a hard time writing over the past two and a half weeks due to lack of writing material; on the contrary, there's a lot that's been going through this little brain of mine. I simply don't always know how to put it into words...

The things I've wanted to (and am going to) write about, however briefly:

• Africa
• ESL
• A lot of other stuff

There's always "a lot of other stuff," of course, so the first two subjects will suffice for the moment.


Mini-Blog #1: In Which I Quote Myself


I can't tell you how strange it is to know that I left Cameroon almost a year ago. I also can't describe how much I miss it, "it" being not just the country, but the simplicity of living, the people (both the natives and my team members), and the joy of just existing in such a beautiful place. And the stars...

Imagine stepping off of a grey concrete ledge onto packed red dirt, the colors hiding behind the night's warm, velvety robe of darkness. The sounds of footsteps on the road and children laughing waft through the stillness which no electric illumination can pierce. And then, as your gaze moves up beyond the impenetrable darkness, past the shadows of faintly illumined jungle, the beams of light begin to reflect off of your wide, smiling eyes. The universe expands as you stare, captivated by infinity, until you're too dizzy with wonder and light and beauty to look at the heavens any longer. It's indescribable, really.

The stars: definitely one of my favorite, most treasured memories from the trip. Another excellent memory (and a more humorous one, at that) I will borrow in part from my journal.

This day last year, my team arrived back in Yaounde, the capital of Cameroon, where we stayed in a hotel to debrief for a few days. We got to the hotel in the early afternoon, which left us some time to explore before dinner. Thus, the following adventure ensued:

"Cathy and I decided to wander around the hotel for a while to pass the time, so we walked to the end of our hallway in search of something interesting. We were in luck, too. Through a clear glass door, we saw an old, slightly rusty spiral staircase snaking its way from our floor to the ground and to the highest floor level.

Now, I ask you, have you ever seen a spiral staircase leading to who knows where and NOT wanted to investigate? I think not. The only thing that we did, naturally, was open the door and climb the staircase to its peak. There were doors that led into every floor of the building, but we weren't interested in any door but the one at the top of the stairs. (After all, you don't just climb a spiral staircase PARTIALLY and then abandon the thing. You have to keep following it until it reaches its final destination. Anyone who has ever climbed a spiral staircase knows these things.)

Only when we reached the top level did we realize that the doors at every floor could be opened only from the INSIDE, not from the spiral stairs. That wasn't much of an issue, though, since stairs DO go both upward AND downward. We went all the way back down to the ground floor, opened the one-way-openable door at the bottom, and circled back to the hotel entrance."

Little did we realize (until we'd taken our classic tourist photos in front of the hotel) that our going out that door had set off the hotel's obnoxiously obvious, flashing alarm system (sirens included).

Whoops. 

But hey, have you ever set off a security alarm in 4-star African hotel?

Mini-Blog #2: In Which I Don't Have an Appropriate Picture Yet

TESL.
Extended: Teaching English as a Second Language.
AKA: My life for the past six months.

I finished the TESL certification programs through FRCC this past semester, and I am now officially certified in ESL for both K-12 and Adult/Abroad environments. That doesn't mean much yet as far as finding a job goes, but my certificates will help to open up a lot of doors once I have my bachelor's!

As part of my practicum, I volunteered to teach a High Beginning/Low Intermediate English class through Intercambio, a local non-profit organization, from mid-April to June 15th. I started teaching to get my certificates; I finished teaching because I had a commitment to fulfill, yes, but more importantly: I fell in love with it. I've had six students: Juana, Patricia, Judith, and Susana (the women in the class) are all from different parts of Mexico; Rufino is from Guatemala, and Htun is a refugee from Burma.

I'm astounded that time flies so quickly. I'm also a bit taken aback by how much I miss teaching already... In some ways, I'm glad that the semester is over: I need to give myself a break from doing too much. At the same time, though, I'll miss seeing, teaching, and laughing with my students every Monday and Wednesday night. I have so much respect for them, especially for the two men, who showed up without fail. Would you be willing to come to a 90 minute language class twice a week after working a full-time, labor intensive job all day, sacrificing time with your family to do so? I don't know if I would, honestly. They're committed, though, and they're actually forming an awesome friendship along the way. It sounds like the beginning of a joke, honestly: "So, there's this guy from Guatemala and this guy from Burma..."   But it's not a joke. They're two of the best friends I've ever seen, and I've gotten to be a part of helping them communicate with each other and the rest of the world.

And I'm only 19. How does this happen? How am I so privileged?

Thank you, Jesus...


Mini-Blog #3: In Which I Finally Wrap Up This Eternally Long Blog Post

Well... I guess that's about it for today. I could keep writing for hours about other various topics, but that would be pointless for two reasons:

1. I'd end up with carpal tunnel.
2. You would simply stop reading, bored with the deluge of my never-ending blah-blah-blah.

Mini-Blog #4: In Which You Get Annoyed That I'm Still Typing

I lied. Sort of.

My only excuse for writing this fourth and final mini-blog is to ask for suggestions. I can write about anything and/or everything that pops into the labyrinth of my mental regions, but I'd like it to be enjoyable for people other than yours truly.

So... what would you like to read about? Simply post a little comment below with a few ideas!Type out random words for me to ponder and expound upon! Start a lively discussion about penguins on my facebook wall! Really... anything will do. Nothing's off-limits: spiritual, humorous, wacky, thought-provoking, or entirely random... I'm just in the mood to be spontaneous and creative and hone my writing skills in the process!


Thanks for sticking with me through this novel of a post! Hopefully it was interesting enough to keep you from chewing on your socks out of boredom... =)