Well, I can hardly believe it, but it’s been an entire year since I moved to Oregon! The past is so vivid in my mind; it doesn’t feel like a year ago. Twelve months in Oregon. One year in Eugene. Sometimes it still feels surreal.
It always surprises me how much can happen and change in a year. Circumstances that brought me here are not what keep me here. A different happiness drives me now. But I suppose the most important part is that I’m still happy. Oh and I AM!
I’ve never enjoyed any other place as much as I enjoy Eugene. Mind you, I haven’t lived in too many places, but this is still my favorite so far. And living alone with my dog has proven to be my best living situation yet.
Watching the seasons change for the first time in my life was more magical than I have words for. I only hope this next year will awe me as much as the last. I hope to never lose the joy I found in the beauty of this place. I’ve never appreciated or cared for nature the way Oregon has lead me to. I’ve never looked at the world with as much wonder as I have this past year. I hope to keep the pleasure I felt as I watched creation change, grow, and bloom.
I don’t know where life may lead me in the future. And by the advice of a friend I admire, I won’t worry too much about what lies ahead so as not to stifle the divine plans laid out for me. I’m taking life in shorter increments and enjoying every day.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
dress up doll
What girl doesn’t like to dress up? To feel pretty? To prance around in a dress with hair, make-up, and nails done? Well, I didn’t.
I’ve always been a simple girl. A “plain Jane.” Almost homely. I’ve never been one to take a long time to get ready. Rarely even brush my hair (it lays nicely without). Hardly ever wear makeup; basically only on special occasions. Never wear dresses, ever. Part lazy, never wanting to take the time. Part overly secure, feeling so comfortable in my own skin, never feeling the need to dress it up. Partly insecure, feeling I couldn’t pull of a more put-together appearance.
I have recently had a change of heart. I never envied the SoCal girls with their fake orange tans, long bleach blonde hair, miniskirts, clear plastic spike heels, and caked on make-up faces. I do, however, admire the classy woman with her well groomed appearance, elegant walk, and cute pair of shoes!
In all my years of not wearing make up, fixing my hair, or wearing dresses, I seem to have lost a feminine quality. I look at the women I admire and I realize that I don’t carry myself the same way. I lack the poise they exude. They have a radiance which I do not shine.
I’ve always made the excuse that I’m comfortable. Comfortable in jeans. Comfortable without makeup. Comfortable being me. And while that is all very true, I failed to acknowledge the possibility that I can be my comfortable self in a dress, made up, with a proud stature. I can still be myself in heels. I don’t have to lose my personality when I change my clothes.
While I know I will not live my life in the polar extreme of fashion from where I stand now, I do plan to incorporate more feminine attributes into my appearance.
I’ve always been a simple girl. A “plain Jane.” Almost homely. I’ve never been one to take a long time to get ready. Rarely even brush my hair (it lays nicely without). Hardly ever wear makeup; basically only on special occasions. Never wear dresses, ever. Part lazy, never wanting to take the time. Part overly secure, feeling so comfortable in my own skin, never feeling the need to dress it up. Partly insecure, feeling I couldn’t pull of a more put-together appearance.
I have recently had a change of heart. I never envied the SoCal girls with their fake orange tans, long bleach blonde hair, miniskirts, clear plastic spike heels, and caked on make-up faces. I do, however, admire the classy woman with her well groomed appearance, elegant walk, and cute pair of shoes!
In all my years of not wearing make up, fixing my hair, or wearing dresses, I seem to have lost a feminine quality. I look at the women I admire and I realize that I don’t carry myself the same way. I lack the poise they exude. They have a radiance which I do not shine.
I’ve always made the excuse that I’m comfortable. Comfortable in jeans. Comfortable without makeup. Comfortable being me. And while that is all very true, I failed to acknowledge the possibility that I can be my comfortable self in a dress, made up, with a proud stature. I can still be myself in heels. I don’t have to lose my personality when I change my clothes.
While I know I will not live my life in the polar extreme of fashion from where I stand now, I do plan to incorporate more feminine attributes into my appearance.
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Stronger than strong
Can you imagine burying your child the day before Mother's Day?
Today, just one day before Mother's Day, a family from my sister's church buried their six year old son who died last week after a battle with leg cancer.
Last Sunday, a few days after the boy's passing, their pastor preached on Heaven. I cried through the entire sermon. Today after the memorial service, my sister and I shared stories about the little boy. I cried through that too.
I didn't know the boy. I knew of him. I saw him at the church on my visits. But I didn't not have any type of relationship with him or his family. And yet, I cry.
I cry because it is sad. The situation is sad. The death is sad. These are the moments we question God's plans.
I cry, as do others. But his mom...I have not seen her cry. I know she must, but she is so strong in public. Instead of shedding her tears and asking to be comforted, she keeps a smile on her face and counts the blessings that have come out of the tragedy; the lives who were touched by his story. SHE is the one comforting others as they grieve their share of the loss. She is stronger than strong.
The lower part of the boys leg was removed in hopes of stopping the spread of cancer. And though he spent the remainder of his days in a wheelchair, I can't help but picture him in Heaven, laughing and running, made whole with both legs.
Today, just one day before Mother's Day, a family from my sister's church buried their six year old son who died last week after a battle with leg cancer.
Last Sunday, a few days after the boy's passing, their pastor preached on Heaven. I cried through the entire sermon. Today after the memorial service, my sister and I shared stories about the little boy. I cried through that too.
I didn't know the boy. I knew of him. I saw him at the church on my visits. But I didn't not have any type of relationship with him or his family. And yet, I cry.
I cry because it is sad. The situation is sad. The death is sad. These are the moments we question God's plans.
I cry, as do others. But his mom...I have not seen her cry. I know she must, but she is so strong in public. Instead of shedding her tears and asking to be comforted, she keeps a smile on her face and counts the blessings that have come out of the tragedy; the lives who were touched by his story. SHE is the one comforting others as they grieve their share of the loss. She is stronger than strong.
The lower part of the boys leg was removed in hopes of stopping the spread of cancer. And though he spent the remainder of his days in a wheelchair, I can't help but picture him in Heaven, laughing and running, made whole with both legs.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
blog blog blog
So often I find myself enjoying moments of life and saying out loud "I need to blog about this!" and yet...time goes by with no new blogs. And after this time passes, I've forgotten what was so great that I felt the need to document the moment. So very sad.
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