The Many Faces of Faith

I used to go to church, and I used to love it.

The feeling of having something else to believe in, to have faith in, but life itself is unexplainable, it’s uplifting.

God is portrayed in many different ways in our society today, and he’s a touchy subject for some. 

They say that there are three different events in your life, three different times that you will give your heart fully to him, or believe in him even if you never have before.

1)   The birth of your own child.

2)   The death of someone you love.

3)   Your own death.

I never questioned God until I got to Junior High school.  My first year there was awful, and the years that came after the first proved to be as equally bad.  It was the first time I had ever realized just how mean people could be to one another.  I was picked-on and prodded.  It caused me to begin loosing faith in someone that could create people that treated others, that treated me, the ways they did.

Faith is to roll the windows down, chuck the directions, and deviate fearlessly from the origional plan. 

High school proved to be equally as bad.  I barley remember my first two years there.  I spent all my time keeping my head down, trying to avoid exsistance.  I was convinced that if people didn’t know I was there, they wouldn’t be able to find anything wrong with me.

About mid-junior year I met a boy whom, in the beginning, made my whole life worthwhile.  I felt loved, I felt accepted by his friends, I felt welcome in his home and loved by his family.  Being introduced to new people and new places, and escaping my sheltered little life once in a while, opened my eyes to the idea that there are a lot more people out there that I realized.  And they were good people.  My faith was re-built.

I’ll never forget standing in church that Sunday after he ended things.  I refused to sing, I refused to listen, I refused to participate.  My temporary sanctuary was gone, and I didn’t have anything left to believe in.  That summer I made mistakes, I stopped eating, I pulled away from anyone that I had been close too. I broke-off connections, new relationships, and let go of oppertunities until those people that I had let down found renewed faith in me, and convinced me to give faith one more shot. 

The only light in my life was the only thing that kept me trudging through it; my job.  I got through the day at school just so I could go to work and see everybody.  I was accepted when I was there, I was safe when I was there, I had friends when I was there, and I was good at something when I was there.  The only bad in people I encountered while at work was in the customers, and I found that with a smile and an apology, maybe a free pizza, I could fix that.  I could CONTROL something.  I could figure things out.  I was trusted with important jobs and could get them done better than was expected. 

The happiness attained from my job gave me the faith to keep going.

I could write my whole sob story on here but I doubt anyone has interest in reading it.  This blog is supposed to be about the definition of FAITH, so let's get down to the nitty-gritty question bouncing through my nervous system:

It’s a baby’s name, its an object, it’s an adjective, it’s a noun,
but what is it really?

What is it to you?

I would look it-up in the dictionary but to do so would be a waist of my time, because I believe that definition is wrong.  Faith is like the word “perfect,” it’s a universal adjective/noun/name/object/word/phrase whose definition refuses to apply the same to each individual persons lives. 

Maybe to you faith is hearing an uplifting song.  Or going into a test telling yourself you'll do fine.  Jumping out of an airplane with a parachute on your back, or talking to someone who has passed with the belief that they might be able to hear you. 

Faith is a name,

Faith is a feeling,

Faith is a wish,

To me, faith is something I can’t control completely, but my reactions to things can help it grow or fade dependant on how I let myself feel.  It's what keep me getting out of bed in the morning.  It's what keeps me trying to fix my wrongs and forgive other's. It's what gives me the strength to pick-up and move on when my efforts in life fail.  It keeps me looking for the good in people and accepting t hat there is always going to be bad, but the bad in people itself is another universal and personified definition that also means something different to everyone. 

Life is one big constant test of your faith in people, in events, in God, in anything really.   And the only way to get through it, is to have the faith that you can.  

To Live and Let Stand

"To remember and not yearn for the past, is to deny how you became."

Image borrowed from flickr.com

Just down the path is a pond that I used to go canoeing in at the end of every summer.

Off the edge of that pond is my second home as a kid.  I grew-up there with my best friend, and my second parents, who believed in anything I did.

In the next cul-de-sac is a house that another bestie used to live in, that I built forts in, played dolls in, and licked the bricks on the fireplace for a dare at a sleepover.

Behind my house is a park, newly renovated now, that we used to be spies in, where I played tagged, and found out that jumping off swing led to twisted ankles.  It’s where I got asked out by my first boy, and the paths around it are where I leaned not to rollerblade when walking your dog.

I have invaded the library down the road many boring summers.

The pool in my backyard has seen many games of Marco-polo and mermaids.

The sidewalk down the street watched me and a friend fly off my electric scooter.

The park a-ways-away has seen us crush berries and jump off stones, and creep on skater boys.

The pothole that forms every winter down the street has it out for the frame on my car.

The playground at my elementary school was dominated by the four musketeers many years ago.

The girl’s bathroom in that school up the hall from the lunchroom has seen the braveness of a janitor named Norm, as he rescued a helpless fairy doll.

The corners of those streets saw two young patrols, one a great captain, one always tricked into caller, keep its children safe.

The pizza shop up 42 saw an outstanding crew, and a group of friends and memories that were the sole reason I made it through high school.

A house in Lakeville saw a group of kids who needed a break form life once in a while, supplied by two people who always cared about them.

A dirt road in Prior Lake saw spinning cars one night, twirling around in the gravel with scared, yet excited passengers.

The taco bell saw them many nights after work.

A look-out called Trout run saw me through the times that I needed to be reminded that the world is so much bigger than me.

The caribou down the road is where I met with friends to talk about life.

And my bedroom is the picture of my personality, my sanctuary.

I could write so many more memories.  That flicker through my brain as I realize I’m leaving my home this summer. To truly move onto something new, somewhere new.

Everything I know, everything I love will always be in this town.

All my memories, all my pieces.   This place BUILT me.

And I don’t want to leave it.  Or the people it still has.

I can’t imagine what it’s going to be like, to not be able to come back to my old house in a year.  To not be able to walk in my own room.

I can’t walk into the pizza shop I loved nowadays without being told to leave  if I don’t plan on buying anything.

Sometimes I wonder if it’s just me that makes these kinds of connections with the places I’ve been, if I’m the only one who has this much trouble letting things go.

It seems sometimes, like it is just me.

Wake me-up, Arizona. 

“Your actions, not past, but present and future actions, and your actions alone, should determine who you are to people.  Not what is said of you by others.”

R.I.R(egret)

I hope everyone finds the irony in this sentence impeccably clear and easy to decipher:

“Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.”

I am deathly afraid of Dying.

I was sitting in the Hayden courtyard at Arizona State a few days ago, a sketchbook in my lap and a lot on my mind. I thought about how my life is going.

Going on vacation across the country from all and any of your problems allows a person to sit back and look at them from very, very far away.

It is the best view.  

Your head is clearer, you're not pulled in the directions of the moment, and there is no rush to make an urgent decision on the matters at hand.

One of my good friends and I are not, at the moment, getting along so well.  In fact, we are not even talking.  Our friendship began falling apart when life for her became foggy and strings were pulled, tearing loose and falling apart. I noticed her moods change, I noticed her values change, I noticed her obligations take a different course even before the turmoil between us started churning. And I felt I was left behind while she moved forward in a new direction without me.  I’m not saying I need to be at the root of every decision, and first on the list to hear of news, but the things that go on in other’s lives are important to me.  I like being one they can talk to and come to for advice, and being cut-off so abruptly I just found myself missing her. 

I can’t help but wonder, if she misses me.

I have always said, and I feel others would agree: that I’d rather people feel indifferently about me, than hate me to the point of wanting nothing to do with me.

The situation made me think about all the connections I’ve made in my life.  Will it be enough?  Am I a decent enough friend that people would miss me if I ever were to end-up six feet under due to some uncanny event?

How would they remember me, talk about me when I’m gone.

Will they have good memories, good things to say.  Will they even bother to show-up for the funeral, or find better things to do?  Did I try my best to do enough good in other people’s lives?  Did I make positive connections with people, did I help them when they needed help, was I self-less enough to impact them in some way, shape, or form that they have the ability to care for me like I care for them.

Did I tell people enough that I love them.  Did I remind them enough how much they mean to me, that I missed or was thinking about them.

Was I a good Friend? A good Person? A good… Anything?

I love people, and at the same time, they drive me absolutely bonkers.

But it is people that make life here worth every second of every minute of every day.

And that, that is what I am afraid to leave behind me.

I am not worried about all the technology I’ll miss out on. Hell, I don’t even know how to use half of the stuff we’ve got now.

I’m afraid of missing out on my kids’ lives, my grandkids, their kids and grandkids.

I’m afraid of possibly gong into a second life without being able to remember all the people I love and care about so much in this one, without having them with me. Without knowing them. 

I’m afraid of the END.

I’m afraid of the end of friendships.

Of Family.

Of Experience.

Of Love.

Of Moments.

Of Time.

Of Life.

And though it’s something unavoidable.  Something so unbelievably out of my control. Who I am while I am here decides who I will be remembered as when I can be here no longer.

Though it may be pointless for me to fear something I can’t change, it’s even more pointless to change the fear of fearing what I cannot change.

Because it keeps me Living.

It keeps me Breathing.

It keeps me aware of what does and should really Matter.

Of who and what I want to BE.

And, for the most part,

It Keeps me Sane. 

Live, Laugh, Love, and Impact.  

It's plain. It's simple. It's all we've got. 

Coming HOME.

I'm sitting in the airport waiting for my flight to Phoenix, Arizona.  I had no problem getting through security despite all the new techniques that have been installed, and a nice old lady in a blue suit helped me read the screen to find and direct me to my gate. 

Now, I wait. I'm anxious to get there but the weather outside the window I’m seated by looks beautifully intimidating: gray in the distance with sun peaking through the clouds. It's the ever-changing Minnesota weather that brings me all the seasons and unpredictability. I'm headed for sun but it's decently warm today. Only a light spring coat is needed.

The airport reminds me a little of my high school. There's more diversity in these hallways than a global confrence. I hear Spanish, German, French, Aribic, Russian, and some other international dialect that I can't desipher being spoken in the seats around me. I see different cultural dresses being worn and foods being eaten. It's kind of cool. Like I've been thrown into a melting-pot of colors and personality. I can't help but wonder where everyone here is headed and why.

There's a man across form me who is sound asleep. Partly why I chose to sit here. He is dressed in a three-pice tux, his hair is combed and his shoes shined. Despite his exterior ambiance he looks beat to exhuastion. He has big bags under his eyes and he's frowning in his sleep. I wonder when's the last time he's been home.

Galmourous and exciting as it is to hop on a plane and discover somewhere new I couldn't do this all the time. I see little kids getting restless and crabby, teens bored and sleeping with thier iPods blasting, and adults exhuasted and busnissesmen stressed. This is no place to live out your life. I feel bad for him, the man sitting across from me. He almost gives you this sense of being lonley. I wonder if he has a family waiting for him in Pheonix, and he's just returning home from some kind of a business trip. Or maybe he just kissed his wife goodbyeand this is his flight to a conncection in Pheonix that is headed somewhere further. 

As fun as it is to sit on a plane and talk to the person next to you, to go out and discover the world, all the attractions, scenery, and cultrue it has to offer, to head off to new places and see all the new hings, I feel it's impecibly important to have someplce to come BCAK to.

A family, a home, a job, a pet, even weather. I'm excited to be leaving everything for a few days, to see a new state and the boy I have waiting for me across the country, but I'm even mor thankful to have a place to come back to. A place where my seeds were planted long ago and continue to grow. I'm excited to get home and lay in my bed, to be woken-up by my dog, forget to seal the toothpaste in my bathroom and to hit that pothole down the street that will eventually be the end of the frame on my car. 

“Home is where the heart is.” I dont care if you live in a penthouse in New York City, or a cardboard box in the middle of the sidwalk, where you come from will always be more important than where your headed. 

Fame And Un-Fortune

Work was impeccably slow tonight.  In fact the only reason i have time to do this right now is because I was sent home a half hour early. 

Borrowed from gossiphall.com

We get this thing at work called “load.”

Definition: Many large boxes of crap that employees like myself get to walk around and put in it’s rightful places.

One of the boxes always contains a heaping pile of magazines; everything from “People” to half-naked girls in precarious positions. Today, three of the cover stories had the feud going on between Miley Cyrus and her father... I’m not a huge fan of the Disney-kid-gone-bad celebrity.  So for my own entertainment, I flipped it open to read of her demise.

All three articles held the same main point; Billy Ray Cyrus blames the show “Hannah Montana” for collapse of relationships within his family. I don't have too much time to get into this, but I'll do what I can. 

Growing-up, I danced around my room and sang into a hairbrush in the mirror. I would dress-up and pretend to be a dancer for some famous singer, on a Broadway stage in New York City.  I would hold fake press-conferences with my friends, or wear sunglasses in public as a disguise to hide from the paparazzi. 

It was always fun pretending to be famous.  My life felt exciting and dangerous. 

But I doubt, in all honesty, that life in the spotlight is all that it’s cracked-up to be.  Raising families, traveling, marriages ending, drugs, money feuds, contract and music label fights, addictions, rehab, and the complete and total loss of any chance at privacy.  Your day-to-day struggles and worst moments exposed and published for all to read.  The mocking and judgment that those people endure is never ending.  And as nice as the money and the attention would be at times, all the other things you’d have to endure wouldn’t make any of it worth a cent. 

Sometimes I wonder, how it would feel to know that you left this world with a bang.  With people everywhere knowing your name, recognizing you, like Michael Jackson. Or Marilynn Monroe.  No longer here but recognized and known well after their deaths. For their talents and their stories.  

I feel compelled to make a mark somehow.  To leave a significant footprint of some kind.

But that footprint, that mark, will be something positive.  I wouldn’t want people to remember me as the once-innocent celebrity that was caught smoking a bong, or the girl who can’t seem to keep herself out of rehab for abusing substances (I used to be a fan, Lindsay Lohan.) 

They say “bad press is better than no press” In hollywood, but how is that promoting anything good at all? That’s not the kind of attention  I want to be remembered for. I’d rather live a long, happy, healthy quite life where no one but close family and friends knew me than to leave a negative legacy.

How to do it, how to become known, to become remembered, is a question all on it’s own.