A Perk to the Allergies

Thanks to my allergy pills, I've been having some beautifully vivid and colorful dreams! My favorite (and the one that makes the most sense to explain) happened last night and was strongly influenced by the Discovery series Life. Luckily, we don't have to watch the version with Oprah as the narrator; we get the British one, which makes the series seem that much more educational. :) As a result, my dream was about some exotic (and purely fictional) creatures in their natural habitats, complete with a British narrator. When I first woke up, I really believed those animals existed! And I must admit, I'm sad they don't. So, without further ado, let me describe, in the best way that I can, the brilliant pictures in my sleeping head.

The two main subjects are a hummingbird of some sort and a really fancy flying insect. Strangely enough, they both like the same kind of food--a water lily-type plant--and both happen upon the flower at the same time. Since the bird and the insect are roughly the same size, it's not obvious who will win this argument, so they resort to a unique way of fighting. (Keep in mind that the action is described in an intellectually-charged British accent.)

The bird lands in the water and begins the dispute by lifting a perfectly rounded and glistening water droplet out of the pond. He tosses it in the air and it turns into a bubble. The insect lands in the water as well and begins his own bubble making. It doesn't take long for us to realize that the insect has a much more impressive display. The bird, frustrated and not ready to give up, puffs himself up so that he appears twice as large and closely resembles a fragile glass Christmas ornament. He is a very stunning creature when he accomplishes this feat; however, it will take a few moments for him to deflate and thus be able to fly again, so it is in these moments that he is the most vulnerable to the predators from below. Unfortunately, his grandest display has not won him the flowery food, for more insects have gathered and are laying claim to it. Dejected, the bird swims away and waits to deflate.

Geocaching Tales

I'm so glad the snow is gone and the weather is nice again; it's makes it so much easier (and more fun) to go geocaching. This is our second year participating in this world-wide phenomenon, and I'm really excited to see what kind of travel bugs we find. So far, our most unique tokens have hailed all the way from Japan and Germany. I kind of wish I was a travel bug, so I could go all over the world! :)

The other day, I was taking a walk around the pond by our apartment, and I spotted a side trail that went off into the woods. Even before I knew of the geocaching game, I always loved taking the road less traveled, so it was not hard for me to decide to follow this new one. It was so peaceful back there, almost like I wasn't in the middle of a city. It had rained the night before, so the trees were just starting to turn green and the ground was a healthy mix of mud, dead leaves, and new grass sprouts. I could tell this trail had once had more traffic; I could sense its loneliness. And I couldn't help thinking, "Wow. This would be a great spot for a geocache!" (Once you get hooked to the game, you can't stop thinking about it.)

I continued up the hill, ducking over fallen trees and branches, and came across a soggy spiral-bound notebook. Interesting. A few feet away, I saw a miniature pencil, a plastic necklace, and an empty white container. A geocache murder! (Josh later told me he thought a raccoon might've done it. Can they really unscrew lids?)

So, I gathered all the pieces together, placed them back in the jar, and started the search for the lid. It was about four feet down the hill, deep in underbrush. I'm sure I looked ridiculous hacking through the branches and slipping on the leaves! But I got it! The only problem was that, since I'd found the contents strewn across the trail, I didn't know where it was supposed to be hiding. I tucked it in a tree root, wiped the dirt off my hands, and felt like I had accomplished something.

A few days later, Josh sent me this article about a geocaching scare in New York. Some guys hid one in a parking lot light post, and people, not sure what was going on, reported it to authorities. They closed three businesses down and evacuated the area to investigate! Oh wow! Guess I better be careful when I'm snooping around. I don't want to be reported. Or shot. I suppose I should wear orange ;)

Why?!

I almost gagged when I heard that the makers of Facing the Giants and Fireproof had a new movie. This one, called Letters to God, is exactly that. This review from Entertainment Weekly says it all:

"A bland, pious yet touching faith-based tearjerker. In Letters to God, nine-year-old Tyler (Tanner Maguire) suffers from brain cancer (he's had 30 radiation treatments), but he's as upbeat as Shirley Temple. He fuels his spirit by writing letters to God, which inspires an alcoholic mailman (Jeffrey Johnson) to rediscover his faith. There are so many characters basing their actions on what Jesus would do that Jesus just about deserves a co-screenwriting credit."

I have never laughed out loud from a movie review before. But it makes me sad to know that it's my faith and my God that is the butt of the joke.

Now, I don't remember much about Facing the Giants because I hated it so much, but I do remember the poor, poor quality of Fireproof. The storytelling was too pat and predictable, the character development was extremely lacking, and the script was horrible--no one talks like that. I also seem to remember that, in order to ensure that there was an adequate conversion scene and so we could clearly see how the man's life was changed, we had to suffer through another random plot right at the end of the story. Some of my fellow Christians called it a "plot-twist," but let me assure you, that is not was it was. It was completely unnecessary, didn't fit with the movie AT ALL, and added about thirty more minutes to an already painfully long movie.

I understand that it's exciting when Christians get movies into theaters, that we have the opportunity to share our beliefs. But have you ever stopped to think about who is actually going to see these movies? Yeah. Christians. Christians supporting Christians who believe they're actually making a difference and reaching out to nonbelievers. If I was a nonbeliever, I would in no way be enticed to watch one of those movies. Sap and feel-good sensations do not sell in the real world. The real world is harsh and ugly. Why can't we Christians understand that? Why do we think that the only way to present our beliefs is through blatantly obvious avenues? There is such a thing as subtlety. There is such a thing as theme.

For example, the movie Atonement, though not a "Christian film" (and to be honest, it would probably be frowned upon in many Christian circles), taught me more about the meaning of "atonement" than anything I've ever read or seen before. It was done in such a beautiful way, and because I'm smart (which I fear many Christians don't assume of people), I'm able to tie that newly-discovered definition to Christ's atoning sacrifice. My faith has been enhanced and my mind has not been watered-down.

Now, let's talk about The Passion of the Christ. Mel Gibson had the right idea. His movie was raw and brutal and truthful. And millions of people watched it, not just Christians. The life (and death) of Christ was not a pretty thing, it was not without its complications. So what makes us think we can dumb down God's message so people "understand" it better? People understand heartache and tribulation and pain. Shouldn't we reach out to them from those raw emotions? Don't you think we should show truth through things that will stand the test of time? Don't you think mediocrity breaks His heart?

Memory Loss

On Nightline, they interviewed a man who had slipped in the bathroom and hit his head in such a way that he lost ALL his memories. All 46 years. I can't even imagine that. When he woke up in the hospital, he noticed a beautiful lady standing next to him and figured she knew him because she kept hugging and kissing him. When he was brought home, he walked into a closet and because the clothes appeared to fit him, he figured he must live there.

For the past year, his wife has gone through their photo albums and video recordings with him, explaining each person and each event. Nothing has triggered a memory spark, not even his wedding video or pictures of his child. How sad! He is reliving his life through someone else's eyes. I wonder if he'll ever be able to grasp who he used to be.

On a good note--if anything relating to losing your entire life can be good--he is experiencing incredible days of discovery and adventure. He's basically a one year old in an adult body, needing holidays, food, and animals explained to him. To his family, he brings a new sense of wonder to everyday things. But at a great cost.

What was most heartbreaking to me was when they interviewed his wife and she said, "We didn't just lose all his memories. We lost all our memories together, everything our marriage was built on. I have no one to share those experiences with anymore."

Maybe this doesn't strike a cord with everyone, but to me, this--and all memory-loss illnesses--is one of the most frightening and miserable things that could happen to a person. Being a writer, I rely on my memory, my experiences and observations. I treasure them. Without them, I am nothing, I can do nothing, I can create nothing. And being helpless in my own body terrifies me. That's why the movie Atonement resonates so deeply with me. I must write to remember, and I must remember to write.

Hamsters are my favorite

How could you resist these ads? I wonder if they let the hamsters just have fun in their new environment and then wrote the script to follow the hamsters movements. But in any case, these are really creative and super cute.

I particularly enjoy this copy machine one, because I've had similar experience many times :)

Enjoy!

Ninety-eight years ago...

April 14th, 1912. The death of the Titanic. And I know this because I'm obsessed, and because I'm obsessed, we'll will be going to this fine tourist attraction. When I discovered this, I nearly peed my pants (Josh can attest to it; he was there calming me down and resigning to the fact that he cannot escape this place). But it works out perfectly, because we were planning on going to the Smokey Mountains this fall anyway! Of course, most of the vacation will be spent in the National Park, in the campground, and on the hiking trails, but as long as this beauty of a tourist trap exists, I have got to check it out!

p.s. If this had been open before our wedding, I would have seriously considered getting married there. On the Grand Staircase! And I would've had a Rose-like dress and had a string quartet and it would've been marvelous. But since Josh is not as big a nerd about such things, I'm sure he would've convinced me otherwise ;)

Purely the Music

Easter services. One of the two times in a year when the church is completely packed with people. What a perfect opportunity to entice people to continue attending, right? Which is probably why our worship pastor added the Beatles' "Let It Be" to his repertoire. Normally, I wouldn't have a problem with that (it's a lovely song), but the way he was singing it, I couldn't understand a single word. It's called enunciation! If they hadn't put the words on the screen, I wouldn't have been able to recognize the English.

This is not the first time something like this has happened. Our leader has a terrible habit of dropping out during the choruses of new songs, making it very difficult for the congregation to learn the new melody, and of adding musical and synthesized embellishments that are distracting to the true purpose of the morning--worshiping God.

Maybe some people wouldn't be as picky about this kind of stuff as Josh and I are, but we, coming from very musical backgrounds, find it dissatisfying and frustrating when people think they can bring mediocre music to church. I mean, we're worshiping God! Shouldn't we bring him the best?

Please don't get the idea that this post is meant to completely bash our church, because it's not. Grace is doing a wonderful job of transitioning into the media world and making services (and their website) relevant to the younger generations. They have a fellowship hall complete with a book store and coffee shop, and every week, our pastor preaches powerful, life-applicable lessons that tie in well with what people are learning in Sunday School classes. No, our church is doing a fine job. It's purely the music I have an issue with, mostly because I know he can do better.

I'd like to bring up some of my concerns with someone at the church, but I haven't the slightest idea how to bring it up or to whom I should speak. Any suggestions?

Remember When It Rained

Something about the smell of rain, the low rumbles of heaven, and raindrops disturbing puddles inspires me to write, to be. The rain is smacking the tarp we use to cover our bikes and it reminds me of all the camping trips that were visited by falling water. There was the time we were hiking in Montana and were attacked by a mountain storm complete with lightning and hail--and believe me, getting pelted with hail while wearing a tank top is not a pleasant experience. There was the time we set up camp in the unbeknownst lowest part of the campground only to experience the scariest thunderstorm of my life--the lightning was so close, the thunder roared at the same time it lit the sky--and to later discover that our camper had become an island.

But today, the storm is different, is calm and soothing, like those CDs that lull you to sleep. Today the thunder rumbles just often enough to remind you that it's there, the rain drips off the tree twigs in little reflecting balls, and the air has the greenish hue that means it's spring.

The moment the rain began, I stepped onto my porch and let the drops decorate my hand. Cold and fresh. Just like the refreshing showers on humid Florida days. Florida was so strange sometimes. It would be bright and sunny on our side of the street but raining at our neighbor's house. We could even see the line on the road where the raincloud ended and the sun began. And the rain came quite often, sometimes even on a schedule. About 3:00 in the afternoon, when the humidity was at it's highest, the moisture would turn to rain for ten minutes or so before allowing the sun to return to its reign. That's definitely something I miss about that place, the common rainstorm. Minnesota doesn't experience nearly enough of them. At least not the harmless ones. The good ones here often include clouds swirling in intricate patterns and the sky turning green, which is, of course, very impressive (and entices me to go outside and take pictures) but also very dangerous (which, I admit, is the real reason I go outside).

But, as I said earlier, today is not one of those violent days. And since it's not, I will stand out on my porch and watch the water stream down the road in gullies, listen to tires squish on the pavement, and smell the color green. Oh spring, how I love thee.