Helplessness Blues

Another box. Another dirty rag. Another sparkling shelf. Another "almost full" box. Another empty roll of tape. Another trash bag. Another day gone.

I pull the tape as it screeches over the next box. Week three on the Island of Friday Harbor. The tape sticks to the roll, making it nearly impossibly to find the end. As I roll the tape in my hands, searching for it, I find myself smiling. 

Why would I smile at such a tedious task? Because all day I've been caught in a cloud of reminiscent beauty. I've been down this dusty road of moving before. Three times in High School alone. However, this time was different. Not only was I assisting my parents in salvaging their social connections by getting off an island, I was staying busy at the same time. Two birds with one stone? I think yes. 

The busier I am, Fear's chance of creeping into my tangled thoughts is slim to none. 

I'm just shy of twenty-two years of glory. I've been through enough to callous my heart as well as my hands. But these hands and this heart are leaving for a humid land; a land named Houston. Both will soften. 

I find the end of the tape and continue my task with joy in my heart. Fear continues to play at my fingertips with every closed box and spray of cleaner. However, I feel it. I feel power in patience as I wait, with each passing day, till I leave to share with others what brings me the most joy. 

The image of my face and personality are already becoming a memory in the minds of those I love, who still reside in a town of 30,000 in Idaho. Most wont be there when I return and it makes the edges of my thoughts rougher and the corners of my mouth stiffer. And yet, I'm still happy. 

The tape runs out. Sadness enters deep pockets, once full of love. I grab another roll and start packing again. The sound of the tape sinks into my mind, blocking thoughts of negativity and regret. Everything will work out. 

My bright headphones hang from my ears, playing a song that causes a shiver down my spine. "What good is it to sing helplessness blues? Why should I wait for anyone else? And I know you'll keep me on the shelf, I'll come back to you someday soon myself."

I grin again. For the amount I lose will I gain that much and more. 

Brace-faced with a Five Head

I looked back down at my half-eaten chicken patty sandwich. Nothing was on it. I could barely open my mouth because I tripled my rubberbands in my braces. I had hoped to shorten the tedious process of tooth correction only to employ migraines at the tender age of 13.


 I wasn't even hungry any more. Placing the sandwich back down, I continued my conversation with my friends about the new Gameboy Advanced that came out. I had a Spongebob game. The boy to my right was obsessing about the Platinum Pokemon game. Pokemon was so the fifth grade. I rolled my eyes and pushed my oversized glassed up my large nose. 


Then it happened. HE walked by. I smelled the air as he passed. This was, after all, the first boy that didn't have cooties. His hair was long, brown, perfectly swooped to the left. As I was watching this 13-yr-old supposed "greek god," he flipped his hair as he walked. In mid hair-flip he turned and looked at me; or at least I hoped he'd aspired to do so. (If I'm being honest, he was looking well beyond my large forehead.) Time stopped.


I smiled. Mouth, full of metal, I smiled. He looked at me, smiled back, then walked away. Although it was a courtesy smile, it was a smile. I felt validated. In my bright, purple, butterfly shirt (a hand-me down from someone younger than me) I felt justified.


I was brought back to reality when my best friend had said my name, at least 14 times, "Justine. You have half-masticated chicken meat all in your braces."


My life was over.


And so the awkwardness began. In the words of my friend, Emmilie Buchanan, "I will make 17 cats really happy someday." 

I Love This List

Today: 
I woke up, wrapped in my baby-sister's arms.
I got beat up by Godzilla. 
I cuddled with my littlest brother while watching Willow.
I ran out of breath laughing with my smart-mouthed sister. 
I became reacquainted my #1 fan and looked at her freckles sprinkled on her nose for a long time.
I got my butt kicked by my "big" little brother on a run even though he was easy on my very out-of-shape legs. It was a good talk/run.
I felt pure love for a little boy and his smiling face fogging up a window as he anticipated my arrival at his school. 
I pushed two kids on two separate swings, simultaneously.
I found out what the "spit" is that forms on plants in Washington and I laughed with my sister because my little brother played with it, "BUBBLES!"--aka bug excrement.
I broke up 52 fights between siblings.
I thought about Texas.
I practiced Spanish tongue twisters.
I lost my hearing in my left ear from screaming/laughing children.
I turned my brother into a 3-headed monster.
I held hands with a 7-year-old beauty.
I watched my "soon-to-be" 18-year-old brother walk like 
Shaggy from Scooby-Doo.
I admired my parents...again
I messed with a bunch of baby spiders and threatened to put 
salt on a slug.
I became a little better.
And I loved every minute of it. 

Mechanical Worship

I sat on the lonely, yet familier bench.  Had it really been seven whole days? I glanced around me before the meeting started. One boy was digging deeply for treasures, without success; a mother scolded her child for tangling foreign objects in her blonde locks of 80s styled hair. Four pregnant women walked by me, all gabbing about how they felt and when they were due. Once the meeting started, one man's head, bobbing up and down in his sleep (mind you, this was right after the opening remarks.) I prepared myself for the explosion of sound that would penetrate the noise around him when his head would meet the pew for the seventh time.

Business, business. That's what this was about. Meeting, meeting. Restless children. Crinkling snack packages. Organ blaring the notes of a familiar hymn.

I mechanically opened my hymnal. The poem went in one ear and out the other. It touched my lips as well as the three little girls next to me with no significance. Without intent, the vision of the Savior passed through my mind as a quiet reminder of why I was here. People-watching had to be saved for another time. Bowing my head I recalled several stories of His life. All the Savior asked for was his friends to watch while he went into the Garden to pray. Three times. Then, said He, "Rise, let us be going: behold, he is at hand that doth betray me."

 And this was the budding, quiet reflection of my life and His. "Greater hath no man than this: if he lay down his life for his friends."

My friend laid down His life; for me and my imperfections.

Testimonies were born. I felt a love for the leaders; the kind words that were spoken of a family that recently lost their mother; the tenderness of an elderly man's tears as he expressed his love for his Father in Heaven. Each of the children I had observed before conveyed, with fervent conviction, that Christ lived and that families could be together forever.

My judgmental heart turned to an compassionate one. I was looking in a new light. My eyes had been opened through Heaven's eyes. I realized I had to actively seek it. Just as the blind man had to find the pool of Siloam to wash the clay from his eyes, so did I. And THAT was why I was here. Among strangers; to wash the hardened clay that covered my entire face.

And this gem was salvaged amongst sand, dirt, toil and snare. This good news needs to be shared!

I left the meeting with conviction to become better. I left with the inclination to shake those that don't understand; that see rocks and twigs, rather than gems and jewels. I glanced down and in my palms lay my most prized possessions: greater than riches and health. I had miracles and happiness at my fingertips; all I have to do is turn the pages and share that message with others.