Once Upon a Time...

The sun bid me farewell not too long ago. Now all I see is the overwhelming bright light coming from the overhead lights at the soccer field by my apartment. Often I look out onto the field from the window by my bed and I think about the years I spent running and kicking and praying for goals and assists and wins. Often I think about how much of my life was defined by those practices and weekends. I think about how much of me could be defined in the smell of sweat and the sound of cheering. Three leaf clovers down my shinguards. Gatorade on my lips. mud on my knee caps. I think about how much of me were those things and how now I am none of them.
I think about the fact that I would sit and read poetry and write, and I think about the joy words brought me- How I once would see characters and hear voices, and how that wasn't strange, but wonderful....and how I don't hear them anymore.
I think about the fact that I used to rollerblade every morning as the sun began to rise high into the sky. Skates haven't touched my feet in years.
I often feel very similar to Alice in Alice in Wonderland. I am chasing after something I cannot grasp- chasing after time both forwards and backwards- constantly growing and shrinking;constantly changing into something different.
When I was little I was convinced that trees could talk and that when I whispered the wind would hear my words and whisper them to the trees. I wish so badly I could believe that still. I sometimes wish that I hadn't any logic at all, and that I could believe in myself like I did when I was young. I wish I could believe in myself period.
I am insecure. I am raw. I am afraid of the things God wants me to do and I am afraid of failure. I feel a deep desire to write, and yet I am afraid to write what I feel and what I know and what is real. I am afraid of what people will think of me. I am afraid I'm not pretty enough or smart enough or good enough. I am mostly afraid that I am losing myself. I am afraid that I will never hear the voices again- that I will, like Alice, find myself in a Wonderland, only that I will not change back into my original size- that I will stay small forever. But maybe that's part of it...that fear- that lack of self confidence that pushes us to be bigger than what we are and what we think we can do. Perhaps it is the losing of ourself and the finding of ourselves that mold us into one self. Am I pushing that idea? Perhaps I am being too philosophical (If I could even be philosophical to begin with...I have never understood a word Socrates has wrote).
Today I wore bibs and boots and waded in a creek and caught fish and held a snake and ate icecream and am now writing a long run on sentence that would make my mother chastize me severely. I can't help but think that the girl who wore rollerblades would have very much liked today. Maybe I haven't lost myself quite as much as I thought.

Old and New.

"We will open the book. Its pages are blank. We are going to put words on them ourselves. The book is called Opportunity and its first chapter is New Year's Day."--Edith Lovejoy Pierce

January has begun to come faster as I've grown older. Did it not seem like just yesterday or at least a few weeks ago that January was here? It's funny how a whole year can seem to pass without us even realizing it. I was sitting at my college group Bible study last night and I began to ponder the idea of living every day without thinking about the next. Not just the idea of being content, but just really enjoying it! January 1st I was already counting down the amount of weeks I had until my semester was over. I have twenty. Incase you were wondering. I came to and scolded myself. "Audrey! You just flew through 20 weeks of your life! You disgarded anything wonderful, anything new and exciting- you didn't think of all the awesome things God could do in those twenty weeks." I'm always trying to "get through things." Why? This was what I was pondering, and I decided that this is going to be my new years resolution.
When I was younger I would write out a list of new years resolutions in my journal. They would normally consist of things like, "Spend more time with God." "Exercise." "Be nicer to my brothers." "Read my Bible." None of these are bad things, however, I would write them down and forget about them. I was recently online looking at some other blogs and a friend of mine said that her teacher had once told her to make 100 resolutions- they could even be silly ones. I don't know that I could make 100 off the top of my head, but I've decided I would make 20- the amount of weeks I was trying to ignore. These are the goals I have for my semester of College:

• Write. Write until my fingers are covered in ink. Write until I have words floating all in my head. Write until something is finished.
• Form a Secret Society...and actually keep it a secret. Discuss literature and life...and drink cups of tea or coffee. Take time to really love people; to really see their hearts.
• Get on facebook less-have actual conversations more.
• Exercise more often; but do it not to fit into a pair of jeans or a skirt...but to honor God. How can I serve him with an unfit and unhealthy self?
• Don't dwell on getting past things. Don't dwell on reaching the beginning of summer.
• Read more. Learn more. Think more.
• Explore Cleveland.
• Go Hiking.
• Create a piece of artwork.
• Have a picnic with those I love.
• Keep better touch with my family. (possibly through the updating of this blog?)
• Express my friendship to those around me.
• Have a ballin' time with my friends at The Nursing Home. Establish the "Adopt a Grandparent Program."
• Expose myself to different kinds of music.
• Read a How To Book from the Library. Such as :How to tie Knots.
• Cook new things.
• Do something that I would normally never do- whether it be good or bad.
• Keep my clothes from piling up by my bed.... :)
• Take a walk in golden light.
• Make All A's

2009 was one of the most incredible years of my life thus far. I guess that isn't saying much considering I've only been alive 19 years, but it was a goodie, for sure. Before I quit writing, I'd like to shar a little bit of what I learned, experienced, and did.

• I began the year off in Bolivia, South America. I was surrounded by awesome people. We yelled and whooped and then fell asleep and woke up early and worked with children.
• I hiked in the Andes Mountains and visited a prison. I sobbed on a bathroom floor afterwards and asked God why I was one of the lucky ones.
• God put a calling on my life to minister to women who had abortions...to take care of and stand up for the babies that are killed.
• I ran away from this calling.
• I let some situations really get to me...I let them dictate how I acted. I cried a lot. I sat in my closet at school and prayed. I sat in the laundry room floor with a friend and cried. I stood in my shower and prayed AND cried. Through it all, I learned that God is always there
• I felt called back to Bolivia in May. I was blessed with the money and went on a trip of only 10 people. It was the beginning of a lot of healing. The last semester of school had made me feel dead. I had no emotion, no life left in me. The renewing began here.
• God once again reminded me of my calling. I asked him why. He said it didn't matter. I asked him to tell me how. Instead, the wind just blew. I sat on a mountain top and screamed at Him and finally got the peace that I didn't have to know how things would happen as long as I walked in faith.
• I learned that there is no fear in the kingdom of God.
• I held a 3 month old baby in a prison and sobbed. But this baby is what broke down the barrier I had been placing between God's will for my life and my selfish desires. His name was Justin: "Justice."
• I worked at a camp. I was partly running away from relationships. I told myself that I needed to get away from people- that I needed to find myself again in the woods. I found more than myself. I found out what I am capable of. I found out that I am strong. I might have been running away from the struggles of that last semester, but God showed me the struggles of others and blessed me by letting me play a role in their healing. I became a part of a family. They will always be deer to me. (Get it, haha "deer" "Deer Run" :-D)
• I cut down a tree with a chain saw. (Mind, you...it was a small tree haha)
• I canoed every day with five year olds. I would sit and listen to their dreams. I loved hearing their plans and ideas. I wish everyone had the faith of a child.
• I got caught in the woods in a rain storm.
• I got hit in the gut with a paintball...numerous times.
• I caught a 5 lb Big mouth Bass. I named him Joey.
• I slept under the stars.
• I sang in front of people for the first time in a long time. Brando helped me.
• I studied harder for math tests harder than I've ever studied. I made an A in the class.
• I formed new friendships.
• I got my first dog.
• I played games with my family.
• I laughed with my brothers.

I think I've had a pretty awesome year. I've grown a ton, dreamed a ton, and loved a ton. I look forward to seeing what this next year brings. Now if I could only remember to write 2010 as the date.

A Little Pink Cross

For those of you who have never noticed...there is a small pink cross on the side of I-70. Hundreds of people pass by it daily. Hundreds of people speed by on their way to basketball practices or school or work and they have no idea why the cross sits there. Then there are those that cannot keep from looking at it as they pass. There are those that cannot keep their eyes from shifting to that small marker as they drive around the corner.
I am one of those people. It is because of this marker that I didn't get my permit until I was almost sixteen. It is because of this marker that I cried for nights and doubted God's ability to hear my prayers. Because of a little pink cross on the side of I-70 I get scared when it's raining and I have to drive. I can't tell people this. Why is it that we are afraid to show emotion to other human beings? Why are we so afraid to be weak? It has been almost four years since Emily died. It's funny how I live my every day life and I forget that it happened..I forget that someone who was like my older sister left and went to Heaven. How can I forget but just as easily remember? Christmas Eve was the last time I ever saw Em...and it is this memory of her that I hold on to. This blog really has no moral or idea behind it. I'm just sitting here- remembering and wondering how different things would be if it hadn't been raining...and if this and if that. I'm sitting here wondering who I would be if I hadn't been forced to hold my best friend in my lap and say, "It's going to be ok...It's going to be ok..." knowing full well that it would never REALLY be OK.
If you're ever driving down Lebanon Road and see a little Pink Cross- know it has a story behind it...and wrap your mind around this one- There are hundreds of people that pass by that cross and don't know my story, but they have a story of their own. The person ringing up your groceries- the lady driving slowly in front of you on your way to the 5:00 showing of The Blind Side. They might have their own crosses in a ditch somewhere...and maybe...they're afraid to drive at night. We all have our Little Pink Crosses.

*2004*

In the spirit of remembering...here are some photos that take me back. Emily took them of us (Bekah, her sister Molly, and myself) a few months before her wreck. I think they are a really good representation of who I was and who we were as friends.

Homeschooling: A changing culture

I refer back to the title I chose for my blog- that of thought, of seriously considering or reflecting upon something. This "something" that has most recently been engaging me in thought is the ever changing culture of Homeschooling.

I am a homeschooler. I have, over the course of many years of questions, probing, and jokes learned to say this with confidence. I have withstood years of being asked questions similar to "Do you have friends?" "Do you think you will be OK in the real world?" And don't get me started on the amount of times I have had to explain what a co-op or tutorial is. When I was younger I would get frustrated with these people. They treated homeschoolers or those "homebound" kids as something that was foreign. I realize now that we were. Their questions were no different than those that I would ask someone from a different country. Homeschooling, in itself, is a culture and one that only homeschoolers can truly understand.

One of my favorite questions came from a fellow freshman student at Lee University my first week of classes. "Do you like...all get together and read books at parties?" The seriousness in his tone made me laugh at his ignorance. It was because of comments like these that I did my best to avoid the topic that first semester of college. My fellow homeschooled peers and I tried our hardest to not bring up the fact that we had been educated at home. In those cases when it was brought up, people would remark, "you were homeschooled? I would have never guessed that!"

Let's face it. When most people hear the word "homeschooler" they get an image in their head and this image isn't always a great one. Smart. Unsocial. Starwars. Ok, so two out of those three aren't bad. I personally am a huge fan of Luke Skywalker and kind of wish he would show up in real life. That, however, is irelevant. The only reason I bring up this social image and label is because as the culture changes- so does the label, and so do the reasons for homeschooling. These are both negative and positive- due to the social environment we live in.

I was brought up in the homeschooling community that actually meant community. Parents chose to school their children for a myriad of reasons, but the most prominant one was simply that they wanted to be hands on and involved in their child's education. A homeschool Co-op in the nineties meant exactly what the name implies. "C0-0p" - cooperative. Every mother/father worked together to provide social opportunities for their children, but more importantly this was a place of community- where mothers could commune with other mothers who were experiencing the same pains and joys that they were experiencing. Pains? You better believe it. Being a homeschooling parent is one of the most difficult and demanding jobs there is...and one that is not paid for. This, however, was the passion of everyone in the community- to enrich their children, their lives, and eachother. It was a family. Highschoolers were friends with elementary students. You might find this odd, but this was something that I personally benefited from greatly. I believe I matured faster than other children might have because I was welcomed in by older students as well as parents. I had numerous sisters, brothers, mothers, and fathers.

I recall visits to pumpkin patches at the age of 12- running around with sixteen year olds, being followed by four year olds. We defended, loved, and cherished one another.

Having graduated from highschool as a homeschool student of 12 years, I am able to look back and reflect upon my own experience and the rapid changes in the Homeschooling culture and community. Homeschooling has gone from hands-on to just another private school setting that meets once or twice a week. Parents who once took an interest in their child's education now have no desire to teach a six week educational course and have no desire to help out with homework at home. They expect the teachers at these unnamed tutorials to be the actual teachers and grow angry and undone with them when their child has an issue with their homework. People see this as a failure on the teacher's part, but let's be real here- what teacher can teach over 200 pages of chemistry homework in an hour on one Monday afternoon? It is entirely impossible and that's perfectly fine! The purpose of this teacher was not to be the sole educator- but rather, a tool for the homeschooling parent to utilize and enhance learning. These tutorials were meant to provide structure, community, and help teach a subject that the parent might not be the most learned in.

For example: My mother is not a scientist. She is what I like to call a "full blooded English major." She thinks in words...not numbers. I suppose the old saying, "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree" could be used to describe the way my brain works. It's just a fact. We are not as gifted in this area of learning. When I was taking Advanced Biology: Human physiology and anatomy, however, she did not throw the book at me and count on my wonderful science teacher to explain to me everything that I did not understand. She sat down and studied the text book with me. We learned together. THIS is what I see true homeschooling is.

I do not mean to bash those who choose to homeschool in this new culture and fashion. I still find homeschooling mothers to be the most admirable of human beings. I am only noting the change in the homeschooling culture- how community is slowly turning into more of a bussiness or an enterprise- a structured system of learning...and I'll tell ya what...that is not the culture I grew up in.

My mother has spent many years in leadership in what was once a CO-OP, but is now something very different. I have seen her give up hours of her time writing curriculum, planning events, interviewing families and teachers...and I have seen her pain when she would talk of the changes being made...it hurts her that this generation of mothers do not want the same thing she and my friends' mothers wanted in the nineties.

So these are my thoughts... they are of no real importance. I am a 19 year old homeschooled girl who is simply witnessing a change in society and in the culture I grew up in. I periodically go back to the church that was always dubbed "school" and I often see little ghosts of myself and my friends. I say hi to many people that have been there for many years, but the majority do not know my face- they do not remember the way I would trip when running to the play ground or remember the time I won the state award for my story. I feel sorry that these kids didn't get to experience homeschooling in what I would consider its "prime." But again, that is a very relative term and opinion. But all these changes make me wonder, will I homeschool my kids if the values continue to change?

A person I once knew..and know still. A friend.

"A true friend is one who, when everyone else is smashing pumpkins comes to the door and helps you carry yours in." -Taken from my journal. Dated Oct. 29, 2005.


My first best friend's name was Lauren Elizabeth Dyer. My mother kept Lauren and her brother Ben each summer while their parents worked. I would wake up early each morning and lay on the couch, still groggy with sleep and wait for the knock on the door. Her arrival was what I lived for.
We were absolutely nothing alike. She was tall and athletic and made boys cry. She was brave and outgoing, but somehow quiet and peaceful. I was short, skinny, shy, and timid. There is a picture of us I keep in a little memory box. We are wearing matching turtle necks of a deep red. Over them are over alls, accompanied by tan boots. Together, somehow, God knit together a perfect pair. And though our friendship was only for a season-it was pure and innocent. We were sisters in every sense of the word and would spend every day and night together in the summer. We would go on adventures and pretend we were maidens in need of a prince to rescue us. Yes, we somehow learned the whole "damsal i distress" routine at the age of seven. We would lock ourselves in my father's closet and cry out for our prince. My toe headed four year old brother would then come storming into the castle and save our lives. For this, we were forever indebted. Other times, we would climb up into our "friendship tree"and we would talk about God and dreams and boys. Lauren was the first person to hear me say that I had a crush on a boy. I remember her telling me, "You like Patrick Jones." "No I don't. I just think he's cute." "That means you like him, Audrey." And I believed her. I laugh quite hard sometimes when I think of the many summer afternoons we would drag my doll bed out to the end of my driveway. We would flip it over and convert the white wooden rocking crip into a table. FOR SALE- was always written on a white sheet of paper. We would sell pictures we had drawn, cups of water, sour apples picked off of my neighbor's tree. Dusk would always come quickly and my mother would come out and pick up the paper cups we had scattered around the yard as we chased eachother with water. Our only profit was our laughter...and I like to think that was better than any money we could have made.
The Fourth of July was my favorite. Our families would come together and Lauren and I would lay in the grass and look up at the stars and the fireworks in awe. In those moments of our lives- everything was perfect.
And then one day things change. Puberty hit and different roads were taken...and I often saw her walking down my street with another girl, and I wished that girl was me...and then they moved and I never saw her. But I thought of her fondly. I still do. I'll be walking and see a basset hound- or a swing- or I'll drive past the lot where the old movie store used to be and I'll think of her. It is in these moments that I question the reason for rejecting these memories. Lauren was one of the best friends I have ever had, and yet, I never tell anyone about her. So, now I am. Her hair was brown. She could lick her arm-pit. It was disgusting. She stood up for me.

Today, I felt very much like a seven year old again as I sat impatiently waiting for Macy to arrive at the little coffee shop on the corner. It had been three months, and I was ecstatic. A hug. A squeal from within. coffee and rain drops on our heads...running down my nose. Giggles. Oh! how many girlish giggles. And we talked of serious and silly matters..and we ate sweet potatoe fries, and we bore our souls effortlessly. And time passed quickly and soon I had to go. We parted with "I love you, be safe, I'll be praying for you."
And I have. And as I do- I pray for Lauren too.

"A bosom friend- an intimate friend, you know- a really kindred spirit to whom I can confide my in-most soul."

In Bloom.

I am reflecting. I have, as of late been seriously considering the aspect of time in all of our lives.
I truly wonder what God had in mind when he created life. There is such a very fine line between being excessively busy- to the point of going through the motions of life- and being idle. Obviously I do not intend to be idle, for "idleness is the devil's workshop," but I also have no desire to continue living my every day life in such a way that I am physically, spiritually, and mentally exhausted and see no gain. I want to cherish my life. I want to live with all that is in me. I want to suck the marrow out of life.

Time passes quickly. This is such a cliche statement, however, one cannot deny its truth. And in the passing of seconds, minutes, and hours comes a change. I have always wanted to watch a flower bloom. You know, actually see the pedals open up and blossom into something beautiful. I think, however, God made a flower's bloom slow for a reason. We are so much like the flowers, in that our bloom is slow. We do not realize that we are undergoing a great metamorphosis until suddenly we have changed into this new person we never knew existed. We ask ourselves how we became this way, but we cannot point to one instance that shaped us or caused us to bloom. It was running around a yard talking to imaginary friends- hearing their voices and pretending you were someone else...and then one day not being able to hear the voices...and not liking who you were. It was a mixture of sunny days at the park watching highschool boys play Ultimate Frisbee. It was being too insecure to play yourself. It was learning that change is good and that if you take the wrong interstate exit, you can always turn around. It was getting bad grades on papers and beating yourself for it, but still not being able to remember the comma rules. The bloom came with the passing of laughter, tears, fears, and sorrows, hatred, anger, and love.

I have bloomed. I am very much the same little girl who would run around in mismatched outfits and make daisy chain crowns and mud "soup," but in the same thought- I am nothing like that girl. I have grown. I have lost friends to silly things. I have seen friends die, and then there have been those, who have alianated themselves to such an extent, that they have almost died to those around them. I have had girls lay in my arms and sob. I have put their burdens on my shoulders and carried them. I have also learned that I cannot carry them- that's Jesus's job...not mine.

Mostly, in my blooming process- I have become vulnerable.
If you notice a flower in bloom- It is open- revealing it's seeds- revealing the deepest part of itself- the part where it was first created. I am like a flower. Time continues to pass and with each day, I slowly open up. I wonder, if those around me notice that I'm in bloom.