I've been temping for the last few weeks at a plastics factory, working in the assembly department. Essentially this means that my hands are completely occupied for eight hours while my mind is free to roam about where it pleases, doing what it will.
On my breaks I often have to pull out my journal and jot some things down because my mind has chosen to write a substantial amount of poetry...here's one that I like:
Today
I've thought about you a lot today
And I have some things I'd like to say
But instead I think I'll let them drift away
And I've thought about you a lot today.
I've thought about you a lot today
From smiles to frowns my lips have swayed
But my true feelings won't be betrayed
And I've thought about you a lot today.
I've thought about you a lot today
My heart and mind began to stray
There's a memory dragon that I can't slay
And I've thought about you a lot today.
I've thought about you a lot today
So I bend my knees and heart to pray
And my burdens upon this altar I lay
And I'll think of you no more today.
j. marie
There are some that I'm working on which are better...but this is what I'm willing to give for now. I think it's....complete. Yes.
Enjoy?
Peace and blessings.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 21, 2010
The Jessica Chronicles: Wiper Worries
Things happen in my life. They're funny, ironic, crazy, and sometimes just things. Like, for instance, right after I broke up with the guy I had dated for two years, the first song I heard on the radio was "I Don't Love You Anymore" by Teddy Pendergrass. Go on, listen to it. Seriously? If you don't think that's funny, ironic, crazy, or some combination of the three, you owe me a dime. They're those moments when I'm sure my life is secretly a movie, or some sitcom that I don't know about. I'm sure they happen in your life, too, but I can only write about mine. These are the Jessica Chronicles.
This week in the Jessica Chronicles....
We have huge storms in southwestern Michigan. I know that I can quote some person or other claiming the county I live in as located in the very tip of Tornado Alley. That's not a true statement, but nonetheless, we often have huge thunderstorms, and our fair share of tornadoes.
There was a huge storm the other night. Friday night. The night I decided to transfer my dad's newly purchased vehicle to our friend's house.
Why does a new vehicle need to be taken to someone else's house, you may ask? Well, allow me to elucidate. My family has this thing about getting good deals. My mother is the most skilled coupon clipper in the world, my older brother will die before he buys something new that he could fix, and my younger brother is so often at Goodwill that they now have a place for him to sleep. My dad is a compulsive good-deal-getter. You can see it in his eyes and the way he scrunches his face when he is contemplating a good buy. I know exactly what his face must have looked like when he put in the bid for the old Sunfire that was available in the silent auction at the county jail. (Apparently, they repossess and sell the cars that belong to those whom they arrest...) I saw his face when he found out that his bid was the winning one.
It was ecstatic.
I took him to pick it up and followed him home. Upon getting out once we had reached our house, he informed me that it smelled bad and that the brakes needed work. (Still ecstatic.) He then declared that it should be taken to Bruce (our amazing mechanically-gifted friend who has saved us HUNDREDS of dollars in car repairs) so that all of its various issues could be determined.
I'm trying to become the favorite child in the family, and my attempts include fulfilling the requests of my father.
Thus, Friday afternoon found me making the (what should be) 5-minute drive over to Bruce's house. I was following my friend Tara, with whom I planned on jumping into the lake after dropping off the car. She'd been pushing me to swim with her for days. This trip would be two birds, one stone.
Lovely.
Or so I thought. I had been informed by a friend that it was raining in a town about fifteen minutes to the west of where I live, and that it would be headed my way. It would have been great if he had let me know that along with the coming rain would be a storm that would tear the world at the seams. He didn't, though. I did see the lightning begin to flash in the not-so-far-off distance during our little jaunt around the lake, and was right in the middle of thinking that swimming would be a no-go when the first drop of rain ominously hit my windshield. I closed the sunroof and (manually) rolled up the windows. Moments later it was pouring. Pouring-pouring. Not just the kind of pouring that people refer to when they want to make a story sound dramatic, the kind of pouring when the rain might as well be a cement wall in front of you. I couldn't see a thing.
Naturally, I start fumbling for the switch to turn on the windshield wipers.
...I fumble.
...and I fumble.
...and fumble.
A few terrible moments passed as I realized that the switch upon which the control for the wipers sat had been broken off at the base. It doesn't even exist. Awesome. I fumbled again for the hazard lights and stepped on my brakes, hoping Tara could see well enough to not smash into the back of my car. I contemplated just stopping the car and making a dash for hers, but was afraid I would be hit and killed by some driver as equally unable to see. So I began to roll down the window...
...and then promptly rolled it back up when I deduced I was getting wet.
There few a few more seconds of indecision before I gave in to the conclusion that I had to look out the window to drive. Thus, I dramatically threw my purse to the side and thrust my head out the window in a very Angelina-Jolie/chick-in-an-action-film kind of way. I'm pretty sure I yelled, "Move the purse!" in order to help myself along. It was a great plan.
But you know what's not easy to do when there is a load of rain and 80mph winds?
See.
There was a lot of bobbing in and out and thankful prayers that I knew the roads well enough that I didn't have to stay out the window, but nonetheless I was drenched by the time I parked the car and dashed into Tara's.
She stared at me, mouth hanging open, and asked, "Why are you soaked??"
That was the moment I remembered that all the windows back at the house were wide open.
*there was plenty of laughter/screaming in terror involved in this episode of the Jessica Chronicles.
This week in the Jessica Chronicles....
We have huge storms in southwestern Michigan. I know that I can quote some person or other claiming the county I live in as located in the very tip of Tornado Alley. That's not a true statement, but nonetheless, we often have huge thunderstorms, and our fair share of tornadoes.
There was a huge storm the other night. Friday night. The night I decided to transfer my dad's newly purchased vehicle to our friend's house.
Why does a new vehicle need to be taken to someone else's house, you may ask? Well, allow me to elucidate. My family has this thing about getting good deals. My mother is the most skilled coupon clipper in the world, my older brother will die before he buys something new that he could fix, and my younger brother is so often at Goodwill that they now have a place for him to sleep. My dad is a compulsive good-deal-getter. You can see it in his eyes and the way he scrunches his face when he is contemplating a good buy. I know exactly what his face must have looked like when he put in the bid for the old Sunfire that was available in the silent auction at the county jail. (Apparently, they repossess and sell the cars that belong to those whom they arrest...) I saw his face when he found out that his bid was the winning one.
It was ecstatic.
I took him to pick it up and followed him home. Upon getting out once we had reached our house, he informed me that it smelled bad and that the brakes needed work. (Still ecstatic.) He then declared that it should be taken to Bruce (our amazing mechanically-gifted friend who has saved us HUNDREDS of dollars in car repairs) so that all of its various issues could be determined.
I'm trying to become the favorite child in the family, and my attempts include fulfilling the requests of my father.
Thus, Friday afternoon found me making the (what should be) 5-minute drive over to Bruce's house. I was following my friend Tara, with whom I planned on jumping into the lake after dropping off the car. She'd been pushing me to swim with her for days. This trip would be two birds, one stone.
Lovely.
Or so I thought. I had been informed by a friend that it was raining in a town about fifteen minutes to the west of where I live, and that it would be headed my way. It would have been great if he had let me know that along with the coming rain would be a storm that would tear the world at the seams. He didn't, though. I did see the lightning begin to flash in the not-so-far-off distance during our little jaunt around the lake, and was right in the middle of thinking that swimming would be a no-go when the first drop of rain ominously hit my windshield. I closed the sunroof and (manually) rolled up the windows. Moments later it was pouring. Pouring-pouring. Not just the kind of pouring that people refer to when they want to make a story sound dramatic, the kind of pouring when the rain might as well be a cement wall in front of you. I couldn't see a thing.
Naturally, I start fumbling for the switch to turn on the windshield wipers.
...I fumble.
...and I fumble.
...and fumble.
A few terrible moments passed as I realized that the switch upon which the control for the wipers sat had been broken off at the base. It doesn't even exist. Awesome. I fumbled again for the hazard lights and stepped on my brakes, hoping Tara could see well enough to not smash into the back of my car. I contemplated just stopping the car and making a dash for hers, but was afraid I would be hit and killed by some driver as equally unable to see. So I began to roll down the window...
...and then promptly rolled it back up when I deduced I was getting wet.
There few a few more seconds of indecision before I gave in to the conclusion that I had to look out the window to drive. Thus, I dramatically threw my purse to the side and thrust my head out the window in a very Angelina-Jolie/chick-in-an-action-film kind of way. I'm pretty sure I yelled, "Move the purse!" in order to help myself along. It was a great plan.
But you know what's not easy to do when there is a load of rain and 80mph winds?
See.
There was a lot of bobbing in and out and thankful prayers that I knew the roads well enough that I didn't have to stay out the window, but nonetheless I was drenched by the time I parked the car and dashed into Tara's.
She stared at me, mouth hanging open, and asked, "Why are you soaked??"
That was the moment I remembered that all the windows back at the house were wide open.
*there was plenty of laughter/screaming in terror involved in this episode of the Jessica Chronicles.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day Flowers
Today is Father's Day. :)
Unfortunately, my father is several time zones away from me today, and I haven't been able to reach him on the phone, but I'm loving him anyway.
I'm particularly inspired to think of him and appreciate him because I'm sitting in my backyard.
I have made the claim before that my backyard is the best in the entire world.
...it may be a slightly schmaltzy statement, but I'll hold to it. All of the brickwork, the patio, the burm with the pond...that is entirely the work of my father's hands.
He is an unceasingly talented man who can make or fix just about anything.
The credit for the beautiful landscaping...that is the work of my mother's hands.
She should probably also receive credit for a portion of my love for the beautiful outdoors. There have been many afternoons when I've been beckoned outside to sit in the sunshine with her and enjoy the flowers. We certainly do.
Can you blame us though?
I took these pictures because I came home one day and was just floored by how beautiful it all was.
This beauty...
...this is the work of my Father's hands.
My Father in Heaven.
Pictures never do his masterpiece justice, but I hope that with these photos you can catch some small glimpse of that simple, beautiful work of His in nature which will forever fascinate me. When I have moments like this, moments where I am so forcefully, violently struck with the beauty of creation that I can scarcely function, I can't help but think that God does this just for me. I like to think that He has me (and you) in mind when He's crafting the intricate petals of the flowers, when He's letting the sun play off the sky in such a way that it creates such a brilliant blue that it can't be matched except by the vibrantly green rolling hills and fields that swoop up toward it.
It will never cease to inspire me.
My father on earth has worked so that I have the most wonderful best yard in the world in which I may contemplate the world that my Father in Heaven crafted just for me. (And you.)
Thank you, Dad.
Thank you, Lord.
Unfortunately, my father is several time zones away from me today, and I haven't been able to reach him on the phone, but I'm loving him anyway.
I'm particularly inspired to think of him and appreciate him because I'm sitting in my backyard.
I have made the claim before that my backyard is the best in the entire world.
...it may be a slightly schmaltzy statement, but I'll hold to it. All of the brickwork, the patio, the burm with the pond...that is entirely the work of my father's hands.
He is an unceasingly talented man who can make or fix just about anything.
The credit for the beautiful landscaping...that is the work of my mother's hands.
She should probably also receive credit for a portion of my love for the beautiful outdoors. There have been many afternoons when I've been beckoned outside to sit in the sunshine with her and enjoy the flowers. We certainly do.
Can you blame us though?
I took these pictures because I came home one day and was just floored by how beautiful it all was.
This beauty...
...this is the work of my Father's hands.
My Father in Heaven.
Pictures never do his masterpiece justice, but I hope that with these photos you can catch some small glimpse of that simple, beautiful work of His in nature which will forever fascinate me. When I have moments like this, moments where I am so forcefully, violently struck with the beauty of creation that I can scarcely function, I can't help but think that God does this just for me. I like to think that He has me (and you) in mind when He's crafting the intricate petals of the flowers, when He's letting the sun play off the sky in such a way that it creates such a brilliant blue that it can't be matched except by the vibrantly green rolling hills and fields that swoop up toward it.
It will never cease to inspire me.
My father on earth has worked so that I have the most wonderful best yard in the world in which I may contemplate the world that my Father in Heaven crafted just for me. (And you.)
Thank you, Dad.
Thank you, Lord.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Springshine
I have had a rather lovely time the last few days. They have included nothing particularly fascinating...in fact I've really only just risen, gone to work, and then had quiet evenings at home, but they've been so fulfilling. I spent a little time last night admiring the lake and a wonderfully interesting pink sky (yes, pink) with my grandmother.
Tonight....*sigh*...tonight I had my dinner outside, enjoyed the presence of a good friend, cozied myself in my hammock chair under the trees and did some writing. (Oh, how refreshing!) I finished the rough draft of a few poems, and then just did some journaling...which ended up as praying and...just thinking. It was amazing. Right now, I'm wrapping up my night after having fun chatting with some friends, listening to a mixed melody of the rain and "Wish You Were Here" by Starline Drive. Such peace.
I don't live a life that would ever be characterized by quiet...but I do have my quiet days.
Since they're rare, they're precious. I'm quite fond of them.
Have yourself a lovely evening.
And perhaps some coffee. :)
Psalm 131
O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty;
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,
Or in things too difficult for me.
Sure I have composed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child rests against its mother,
My soul is like a weaned child within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD,
From this time forth and forever.
Tonight....*sigh*...tonight I had my dinner outside, enjoyed the presence of a good friend, cozied myself in my hammock chair under the trees and did some writing. (Oh, how refreshing!) I finished the rough draft of a few poems, and then just did some journaling...which ended up as praying and...just thinking. It was amazing. Right now, I'm wrapping up my night after having fun chatting with some friends, listening to a mixed melody of the rain and "Wish You Were Here" by Starline Drive. Such peace.
I don't live a life that would ever be characterized by quiet...but I do have my quiet days.
Since they're rare, they're precious. I'm quite fond of them.
Have yourself a lovely evening.
And perhaps some coffee. :)
Psalm 131
O LORD, my heart is not proud, nor my eyes haughty;
Nor do I involve myself in great matters,
Or in things too difficult for me.
Sure I have composed and quieted my soul,
Like a weaned child rests against its mother,
My soul is like a weaned child within me.
O Israel, hope in the LORD,
From this time forth and forever.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sort of Sorting
If you haven't noticed, I decided to spruce things up around here a bit by visiting this site. Give it a go, Chels.
I've got a laundry list of things to do, including sorting through all of my belongings for our upcoming garage sale, cleaning and detailing three of our vehicles, preparing things for my friend to move in, running to town to apply for any jobs available, working out (but no laundry, interestingly enough)...all while dancing to the various and sundry different songs that will present themselves to me today.
Yes...that's how I function.
Despite my busy day, I'm here to sort some things out in my head. Or perhaps the sorting needs to go on in my heart...I guess it depends on your opinion of where my spirit makes its home. Regardless, here comes the sorting.
I am a Christian. If you're here and you're reading this and you don't know exactly what that means, allow me to explain. I believe in one God, a God that came to earth in the form of a man, Jesus Christ. I believe that Jesus lived a perfect (yes, wholly perfect) life in order that He could be the only person deserving the glory of God and Heaven, and that He sacrificed His perfect relationship with God the Father, taking on the sins of the entire world and sacrificing Himself. I believe that His sacrifice on the cross makes it possible for you and I to enter as those who are blameless into a relationship with God, and that belief in this is all that is required to spend eternity in Heaven.
There is really...SO much there that I could write on and on and on and on and on about...but for right now I'm going to focus on the fact that I have a relationship with God. A relationship. We are not friends on facebook, or in a campus society together, but nonetheless, He knows me. The thing with relationships is that I am forever inconsistent. I have shifted in "best friends" since I was a little girl. I'm not good about keeping up with my friends which are not directly in front of me. Neither am I very good about spending time daily focusing on the relationship which I have with the Lord.
This lack of attendance to my Savior leaves me frustrated and yearning. I am frustrated because I know things are not as they should be. I am yearning because I have knowledge of how things should be, I've been there, and having strayed from the point of contentedness in the Lord, I long to go back.
I long to once again come boldly before the throne of grace, knowing that I belong.
My spirit yearns to again be sensitive to the whispers of the Holy Spirit as they move the strings of my heart.
I love the Lord. I miss running to Him as my Father and best friend. It's been too long.
Far too long.
I've got a laundry list of things to do, including sorting through all of my belongings for our upcoming garage sale, cleaning and detailing three of our vehicles, preparing things for my friend to move in, running to town to apply for any jobs available, working out (but no laundry, interestingly enough)...all while dancing to the various and sundry different songs that will present themselves to me today.
Yes...that's how I function.
Despite my busy day, I'm here to sort some things out in my head. Or perhaps the sorting needs to go on in my heart...I guess it depends on your opinion of where my spirit makes its home. Regardless, here comes the sorting.
I am a Christian. If you're here and you're reading this and you don't know exactly what that means, allow me to explain. I believe in one God, a God that came to earth in the form of a man, Jesus Christ. I believe that Jesus lived a perfect (yes, wholly perfect) life in order that He could be the only person deserving the glory of God and Heaven, and that He sacrificed His perfect relationship with God the Father, taking on the sins of the entire world and sacrificing Himself. I believe that His sacrifice on the cross makes it possible for you and I to enter as those who are blameless into a relationship with God, and that belief in this is all that is required to spend eternity in Heaven.
There is really...SO much there that I could write on and on and on and on and on about...but for right now I'm going to focus on the fact that I have a relationship with God. A relationship. We are not friends on facebook, or in a campus society together, but nonetheless, He knows me. The thing with relationships is that I am forever inconsistent. I have shifted in "best friends" since I was a little girl. I'm not good about keeping up with my friends which are not directly in front of me. Neither am I very good about spending time daily focusing on the relationship which I have with the Lord.
This lack of attendance to my Savior leaves me frustrated and yearning. I am frustrated because I know things are not as they should be. I am yearning because I have knowledge of how things should be, I've been there, and having strayed from the point of contentedness in the Lord, I long to go back.
I long to once again come boldly before the throne of grace, knowing that I belong.
My spirit yearns to again be sensitive to the whispers of the Holy Spirit as they move the strings of my heart.
I love the Lord. I miss running to Him as my Father and best friend. It's been too long.
Far too long.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Cornfield Craziness
I live on a lake.
It's beautiful, serene, and juusst populated enough so that the happy cheers of those people that are tubing and knee boarding can be heard without getting too obnoxious. It provides for the most beautiful backdrop to an already picturesque backyard, and I won't even try to get into the benefits of that sunsetty time of day. I love (LOVE) living on a lake.
The thing about living on a lake is that cities don't generally spring up around small bodies of water, seeing as how they aren't consequential enough to provide any source of living like one of the Great Lakes would.
Therefore, I live on a lake...in the country.
This is a fact about which I am generally quite pleased. There have been a few periods of time in my life thus far when my abode rested within city limits, and I must say that I found it far from my liking. I'm all about enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. I'll take cornfields and forests over freeways and buildings pretty much any day.
(By the way, Dennis, I'll take them on without a shotgun. But thanks for your concern. ;))
However, a lack of metropolis is equal to a lack of accessible activity, and that is the very reason that I was at Wal-Mart at two in the morning last night, streaming bubbles through sky in order that some of the other late night shoppers could hack them to pieces while LARPing with their recently bought battle-axe and sword.
Yup. This summer can only get more interesting, I think.
And you know what, John? I did have a good time. You kind of stomped on my soul a little bit with your open mockery...but it's making me smile now. You made it into my blog. Ha.
I think I will keep dancing "to the beat of my own drum," thanks very much.
Peace and blessings.
Oh, by the way, get ready for the debut of some of my poetry. Oh yeah. I'm embracing the blog world.
It's beautiful, serene, and juusst populated enough so that the happy cheers of those people that are tubing and knee boarding can be heard without getting too obnoxious. It provides for the most beautiful backdrop to an already picturesque backyard, and I won't even try to get into the benefits of that sunsetty time of day. I love (LOVE) living on a lake.
The thing about living on a lake is that cities don't generally spring up around small bodies of water, seeing as how they aren't consequential enough to provide any source of living like one of the Great Lakes would.
Therefore, I live on a lake...in the country.
This is a fact about which I am generally quite pleased. There have been a few periods of time in my life thus far when my abode rested within city limits, and I must say that I found it far from my liking. I'm all about enjoying the sights and sounds of nature. I'll take cornfields and forests over freeways and buildings pretty much any day.
(By the way, Dennis, I'll take them on without a shotgun. But thanks for your concern. ;))
However, a lack of metropolis is equal to a lack of accessible activity, and that is the very reason that I was at Wal-Mart at two in the morning last night, streaming bubbles through sky in order that some of the other late night shoppers could hack them to pieces while LARPing with their recently bought battle-axe and sword.
Yup. This summer can only get more interesting, I think.
And you know what, John? I did have a good time. You kind of stomped on my soul a little bit with your open mockery...but it's making me smile now. You made it into my blog. Ha.
I think I will keep dancing "to the beat of my own drum," thanks very much.
Peace and blessings.
Oh, by the way, get ready for the debut of some of my poetry. Oh yeah. I'm embracing the blog world.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Home Sweet...Where Am I?
So...I'm home for the summer.
Just home. In Michigan. Surrounded by cornfields, Amish people, and lakes.
Home.
There should be a great deal of nostalgic significance behind that word, or behind the fact that I'm here, but for some reason or another, I feel that something is lacking from my "home" experience. I can't quite wrap my head around why, but this past week has not felt like home. I feel as if I've lost home.
(Take a brief, unrelated pause with me while I contemplate the phrase "wrap my head around." Who came up with that? Considering it literally...man, it would be so painful. Anyway...)
There are a good many reasons why this summer will be different from others, potential explanations for my strangely twisted gut. For one thing, neither of my brothers will be filling the nest with me this summer; one of them will be working at a camp in Arizona, the other at a camp in Florida. The flow of our family banter is seriously affected by the loss of even one member, and thus the prospect of missing two of them for several months is a bit sad. This doesn't feel like a complete explanation for my feelings of loss, though.
Can I better explain my feelings? When I took the exit off of I-80 and drove into "my town," I expected to feel the flurry of excitement and comfort that generally greets me upon seeing the familiar street signs and businesses. I expected to want to shout and roll my windows down and take it all in. I expected to be pleased at the sight of home.
My expectations were...not fulfilled.
Instead of comfort I felt an agitated distress. Instead of familiarity I was struck with the impression that those streets and businesses were exactly like the streets and businesses of a thousand other towns. I recognized them, certainly, but they were no longer my own. Sturgis was just another town, it was no longer my town.
Why has this happened? I'm now feeling a bit lost. I want to be home, but I'm not sure where that is or what it consists of. Surely I'm not longing for Virginia...but maybe.
What?
Just home. In Michigan. Surrounded by cornfields, Amish people, and lakes.
Home.
There should be a great deal of nostalgic significance behind that word, or behind the fact that I'm here, but for some reason or another, I feel that something is lacking from my "home" experience. I can't quite wrap my head around why, but this past week has not felt like home. I feel as if I've lost home.
(Take a brief, unrelated pause with me while I contemplate the phrase "wrap my head around." Who came up with that? Considering it literally...man, it would be so painful. Anyway...)
There are a good many reasons why this summer will be different from others, potential explanations for my strangely twisted gut. For one thing, neither of my brothers will be filling the nest with me this summer; one of them will be working at a camp in Arizona, the other at a camp in Florida. The flow of our family banter is seriously affected by the loss of even one member, and thus the prospect of missing two of them for several months is a bit sad. This doesn't feel like a complete explanation for my feelings of loss, though.
Can I better explain my feelings? When I took the exit off of I-80 and drove into "my town," I expected to feel the flurry of excitement and comfort that generally greets me upon seeing the familiar street signs and businesses. I expected to want to shout and roll my windows down and take it all in. I expected to be pleased at the sight of home.
My expectations were...not fulfilled.
Instead of comfort I felt an agitated distress. Instead of familiarity I was struck with the impression that those streets and businesses were exactly like the streets and businesses of a thousand other towns. I recognized them, certainly, but they were no longer my own. Sturgis was just another town, it was no longer my town.
Why has this happened? I'm now feeling a bit lost. I want to be home, but I'm not sure where that is or what it consists of. Surely I'm not longing for Virginia...but maybe.
What?
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