Iowa Sky

The Iowa sky was so blue -
the grass so green. And the corn hung heavy on the stalks, ready to be plucked.
The summer evening was growing cooler. The slow August days had been enjoyed.
And she left.

In my dream last night she told me I looked pretty.
When she would sit in her green chair as I entered she never told me I looked pretty?
She judiciously told me I looked “nice.”

I clipped her toenails sometimes, and I took the longish hairs off her chin too.
She always lifted her chin up for me, and though ashamed of her state, did not cast her eyes far down or hide her chin.
I was so nervous with a pair of scissors near her thin tissue paper skin, but her chin was so strong-looking and sweet.

The one day before I left for school she sat in her green chair mending my dress I really liked.
She told me that some of my skirts were too short.
She remarked on my abundant wardrobe, and gently chastised me for having so many articles of clothing.
“I don't think this dress jacket is worth it,” she said. “I'll mend it but don't wear it on Sunday or anything.”
But she kept mending my new dress.
I always bragged about the bargains I found, and she listened patiently to me –
even though sometimes I was a little annoying.

She was giving me money.
She didn't have any money,
but she wanted to help me get through school,
and she wanted me to have pretty dresses even if she didn't always approve of their lengths.

I never got that money from her which doesn't make me so sad - except that I wish I could go to her while she sat in her green chair.
I wish I could tell her about what I did that day, and she would hungrily listen,
wishing she could have done the same or at least helped.
And then when I told her I needed her help
or that I wanted to weed her front petunia bed for a little extra cash,
her eyes would have lit up at the thought of helping someone.

thick head

These days are the thickest days, enveloping all my body. Water vapor from a steaming pot all around me lingering and curling around my elbows and calves, neck and hairline.

My brain, for the last two days, has felt the same way. Full of mucus from a cold, words directed at me slosh in my ears. My head is as foggy as the day and feels like it could be tipped over like a weight in a pool in the hot, wet afternoon.

Emily Dickinson poems on a picnic blanket undulated in thick air in the August afternoon with Brie and chocolate and my boy by my side.

August afternoons could be hateful and confusing afternoons, full of shifting legs, furrowed brows, and wet backs. But thick heads in August are peaceful to me. My disorientation is absorbed in a sense of pleasure that transcends all weather and sickness. The lazy days are as cumbersome but delicious as eating a sweet, drippy peach.

Mothering

Remember that feeling you had sitting in the back seat of a car as a kid not being able to understand the conversation in the front of the car? It happens to me even now. But for kids this feeling is pretty normal. It's not even limited to time in the car. Walking around kids are a few feet shorter, they get stepped on in crowds, and they are helpless. Their eyes see a tunnel-version of the world. Lots of waists of adults, lots of other kids, lots of edges of counter tops, lots of big cars, lots of big places. Like sitting in the back seat of a car all the time, a kid is tortured by constantly being a few seconds behind everyone on the news, the schedule, the pace.

With this in mind, I realize that patience with kids doesn't just extend to when they're doing something stupid without thinking about it. When they're naughty, they don't know why they shouldn't be naughty. The world is a cold, grumpy place full of adult waists and big rooms. Why should they listen to adults when slamming and locking the door allow them to play without interruption.

I've also learned that kids do some bad stuff that should probably be overlooked. I discovered that Natlie has been eating cheese puffs on her bed because of the orange greasy marks on her otherwise pristine bed spread. Part of me wants to chastise her. The other part of me tells me to ignore it. It's gross, but it is her bed. And therefore it's her choice to have the nasty stains of her snack where she sleeps.

Besides, I have bigger fish to fry with her.

Also, kids walk slowly. Pick them up and run with them like they're a football. Even if you don't run fast, they think they're going fast because their little legs don't go fast ever! Except when they have cheese puffs they shouldn't have or something.

I've learned you cannot over explain concepts like gratitude, reflection, remorse, guilt. The kid might as well be trying to do algebra because the concepts are far too abstract.

Last but least, try to be a mother with a companion. It's no fun to look after kids knowing you must be the go-to man for the kid all the time. And as my mother said, "Dads are just more fun." I'm far too worried about safety to take Natlie out to a waterfall or on a boat. Get married before you have kiddos, folks.

The Contents of My Purse Include

- a barbie water bottle that occasionally leaks all over the other contents of my bag
- Spongebob Squarepants band-aids
- gummy bears
- band-aid wrappers (why are they so packaged all up before use?!)
- my iPod because Natlie loves "Yellow Submarine" and "1234"
- my wallet which is rarely brought out
- my cellphone (my connection to the outer world)
- Natlie's sweater for cool California evenings
- chapstick
- the keys to our gated pool
- the key to our condo
- sun screen (Kid version and adult version)
- my sunglasses
- Natlie's sunglasses
- seven of Natlie's hairties
- old, wet pictures Natlie and I colored together
- a coloring book
- bag of crayons (broken and brand new - the brand new ones having just been picked up after a kid's meal at a restaurant)
- my camera

Waiting

With school close at hand, it's a surreal feeling to not be busy. But I know that right now my duty is not to be the craziest, hardest-working person I know. Oh, to be at peace with peace. Good ol' Sandburg gives me a little glimmer of hope for myself. I'm re-learning to take in each moment without becoming a puddle of goopy boringness. Take in each experience. Loaf, linger, let the days and moments kiss your brow. Friends and family are just around the corner in my life, but I've got some time to rest. I'm in no rush.

Waiting - Carl Sandburg

Today I will let the old boat stand
Where the sweep of the harbor tide comes in
To the pulse of a far, deep-steady sway.
And I will rest and dream and sit on the deck
Watching the world go by
And take my pay for many hard days gone I remember.

I will choose what clouds I like
In the great white fleets that wander the blue
As I lie on my back or loaf at the rail.
And I will listen as the veering winds kiss me and fold me
And put on my brow the touch of the world's great will.

Daybreak will hear the heart of the boat beat,
Engine throb and piston play
In the quiver and leap at call of life.
To-morrow we move in the gaps and heights
On changing floors of unlevel seas
And no man shall stop us and no man follow
For ours is the quest of an unknown shore
And we are husky and lusty and shouting-gay.

Change is around the corner. Engines will throb again. Life will re-gain a schedule. Adventure will return.

hey kid

I thought the world revolved around me. Wait, I didn't actually think the world revolved around me. But I did think that everything had to do with me - I was the connecting point for everything. It wasn't just when I was little. Even now I think that everything going on is because of me. I think that my friends were there for me. I think my family had me because they wanted everything about me. I think pictures with me in them were taken because I was in them. But I am SO NOT the center of the world.

Taking care of a seven-year-old day-in and day-out shows me things. I don't get a few minutes to talk to my friend or Mom on the phone? Okay. I don't get to go for a short walk by myself? I am taking a kid with me this time and she's going to slow everything down? Okay. I don't get to talk to my boyfriend every day? I don't get lots of free time for my own reading, self-betterment, etc? Or what about this more long term realization - I am not going to be college forever? I won't be with people my age forever, and I won't always get to be Miss Independent? My studying and courses will have to be put into practice? I will have to get along with people and live with people that may not even be my age and liking? Oh my goodness. I phrase all these realizations with a question mark because I am still in shock.

But there's nothing better than listening to an old man chat about baseball and trains and how things used to be, nothing better than scrubbing a little girl's scalp during bath time - her black head with white suds - with wet arms and splashed water on my jeans, and nothing more satisfying than holding that same little girl close to me and smelling that same dark little head of hair with a quick, approving kiss.

I can't think of anything better than helping my friend who struggles with what Christianity is. Or peeling a peach for a child's enjoyment. Or playing clapping games with kids I met this morning. There's nothing better than being in a place where I am not the center of attention. The world moves too fast and beautifully to be confused about what's revolving around what.

do you know how big my Lord is?

my Lord is so big that he listens to a seven-year-old Taiwanese girl sweetly sing even though she doesn't always act nicely.
my Lord is so big he let some people have lots of ability to make 3D movies just for human fun.
my Lord is so big he made blueberries small and perfect so I can eat them each morning.
he made water for swimming and bathing in - and we can drink it too.
he made writers who write books and minds that can grow from reading them.
he made cows that give milk to make frozen yogurt on a hot California day.
he made toenails for toe nail polish to go with nice sandels on summer days.
he made leafy oak trees and pokey palm trees.
he made California, Iowa, Pennsylvania, Vermont. my, have you seen all of those places? drive around with some music coming from people made in God's image. watch the different mountains, hills, trees, sunshine.
my Lord is so big he can be in all of those places at the same time, and he can listen to your prayer and mine.
my Lord is so big he can love unconditionally and always.
he made the bright sun that nestles itself behind the Santa Cruz mountains.
he made mathematicians and lawyers and singers and teachers who go to Ivy League schools.
he made every person I see every day. he made them all. not one of them goes unnoticed.
my Lord is so big he gave people have bits of his love so he could shine through them.
he listens to me when I need consolation. he reminds me that he is not simple, but that his love is unconditional.
my Lord is so big.
my Lord is so big he saved me from my sin, and still gives me himself every day despite my small estate.
my Lord is so big he didn't have to do any of it. but he did.

quiet days

A week and a half ago I was becoming an expert on catching the N train to Queens and navigating my way around the streets of New York.

Now I pull yucca weeds for my grandma nearly every afternoon as she watches from the perch of her golf cart.

I eat strawberries from our garden for lunch and watch the sun set, reflecting in undisturbed pools of water on the soggy cornfield after days of rain.

There are no fast-way bakeries or American Eagle outfitters here. Now I look to the west and to the east, and nothing changes for miles.

I talk to my grandma at the dinner table. She comments on the food - how it tastes so fresh.

Tomorrow morning I'll wake up early and eat some cereal and drink some coffee. I'll wear what I want, and my day will pass slowly and flavorfully. I'll work, but I'll enjoy my meals. I'll get nearly eight hours of sleep. And all of it will be peaceful.

But a sliver of me wants that razzle dazzle of New York back. Bring back the jazz, please.

empire guard

a nervous new guard in full maroon garb of a uniform
finds the elevator and steps on -
glancing
around at the Starbucks cups and sharp eyes of America's
elite work force.

the elevator stops, the guards moves his eyes back and forth,
smooths out his uniform front, looks up,
and jaunts off into the mirroring marble lobby -

golden hearted as the gilded edges of the lights around him.

dresses and high heels flutter in the light
and reflect on the marble floors.

state of mind

When I was younger I thought of New York as the coldest place in the world. Cold in the sense that I felt alone. I thought that girls with fluffy bangs and shiny and loud polish on fake nails wearing short skirts filled the streets of New York. I thought of it as stale - like everything smelled like burnt coffee and appeared a tinge more orange than the rest of the world. I imagined New York to be a place I would want to see maybe once or twice, and then I thought I'd never really want to see it again.

Coming here was invigorating. Walking outside of my apartment building there are people of every race filling 34th Street - some business men, some hipsters, some poor, some rich, some working, some unemployed, some tourists, some who know nothing besides the city, some fat, some skinny.

There's no way I would ever want to give up the chance I have here, but when I walked back to the Empire State building today from the train, I realized that New York is as cold as I had originally thought.

If I were to live here I would have to have a true safety net of friends. I would still only talk to eight or nine people on a regular basis, and I would have to look at my phone, iPod, or newspaper on the subway (today I read The Thorn on the train). I smiled at a business woman today, and she didn't even notice.

New Yorkers aren't mean, but they are terse. They get where they need to go and make no time for laggers. I want to savor life a little more.

If I don't savor moments, life becomes an orange blur filled with exhausted days running on possibly burnt coffee.

lunch break

hungry journalists, and the 99 cent pizza place waited a block away,
past the smoke of hotdog stands and hoards of dawdling tourists on 33rd Street.

dollar bills in hands for cheesy slices.

a long and narrow corridor led to the large circles of pizzas on a small counter in the back -
and a languishing Indian server looked at the eager customers wearily.

two greasy slices on an undersized paper plate on a tray too large.

journalists talked curiously to one other as they chewed,
a hungry eater wore unsatisfied eyes,
the servers gawked, and so we slid off the slimy stools.

I thought I had overcome the sensory overload I experienced so much when I go to new places. I don't like the unfamiliarity right off the bat. I don't like the ignorance I feel when I'm out of control of what I smell, see, and hear.

But the small Hispanic woman sitting next to me on the bus coming up from Baltimore reminded me of how much I miss out on if I close my eyes and ears to what happens around me. I quietly watched her as she pulled her tote bag down from the rack above halfway through the trip and pulled out a spicy chicken sandwich rapped in a single piece of foil. Carefully she peeled back the silver foil and took slow bite after bite. I couldn't see her eyes beneath her hair, and she didn't look around as she ate. The smell consumed all of our seat and the ones around it.

The black woman sitting a few rows in front of us toted a daughter dressed in a small frock-like school uniform. The mother darted her eyes to the back and then the front of the bus continually; she wore a hairnet all the trip up to New York and finally - at the end of the trip - pulled it off as if it were a clump of hair stuck in the drain she didn't want to pull out.

The lights outside of my room illuminate my desk and bed even at night. It's slight but always noticeable, and in the quiet at 3:00 in the morning I hear every siren outside and the mattress beneath me becomes harder on my sore back.

Tonight a vendor outside the Empire State building tried to sell me sugar-coated cashews. His accent lured me in, and I stood and talked to him for a while. His wife stood and watched our conversation - smiling without any words - but I knew she was thinking about our conversation because she graciously watched our conversation unfold.

The guard just inside the building smiled at me like dad-like men used to smile at me when I was younger and I wanted a piece of gum or something. He asked me how he could help me, standing chipper in his dark red suit. "I think you're the person I want to talk to."
"What? Well, I don't know about that." He smirked. He couldn't help me because he's just a guard. I wanted help from a man in a deep red suit. Alas.

The older girls who ask questions during class are quick to come up with good words and calm as the sea when they pose them to the speakers.

I don't want to ever give up getting overdosed by what I see or hear or smell.

A dog that doesn't know how to play.

A computer that is losing battery power.

A door closed early in the evening for sleeping.

Light from a small lamp bouncing off of blank walls.

Eyes refusing to look into mine.

Crumpled clothes fallen on a cold floor.

A hurried good bye.

An empty coffee mug in the morning.

A mirror void of reflection.

Unfilled corners of a room.

A talented teenaged boy.

A reunion following shoddy correspondence.

Small-town businesses at night.

New pavement.

Rain Poses No Threat for Festivities

by Adrienne Belz

Despite a rainy start to the day, Covenant College's annual musical festival, Bakertree, swept up the campus in a flurry of activities this Saturday, April 17.

Covenant students Melissa Wise and Ashley Pierce perform a Colbie Callait song. Photo taken by Adrienne Belz.

Musicians found center stage in Covenant's cafeteria throughout the afternoon. Student musical groups sang one or two songs in five and ten minute slots while crowds sat in chairs and on hay bales.

"Bakertree is a great opportunity for younger musicians like us to perform because it's laid-back and goes all day," according to Robbie Brown, a student performer.

Student artists brought out their pottery, jewelry, and paintings for their peers and faculty to buy. Freshman Stephen Bates said, "The art is fantastic. It feels so good to buy real art from your friends and support them in what they do."

The festival was going to be outside on the two front lawns of campus, according to sophomore Peter McCrory, the concert coordinator for the campus actives board (CAB) who planned most of the event. But light drizzle in the morning forced tables and stage inside the dining hall and outer lobby for the day.

McCrory expects that more people would have come had the day started out brighter. CAB emphasized the art from students more this year though. According to Scott Schindler, a senior at Covenant, the closed space of the lobby brought a market-like feel for the students walking around.



Besides the art and music, the campus activities board also set up inflatable obstacle courses, set out potted flowers, and handed out gold fish as prizes.

Students also enjoyed a chalk drawing contest as well as a cardboard castle contest and a pie-eating contest.




The day culminated in a picnic dinner for the student body and an official full concert by Third Lobby, Covenant's own product.

Annie Huntington, a freshman, said "Today has been such a great break from all the work at the end of the year."

Matt Brown from Third Lobby Interview

Some House

A shelf of books with a glass cover on the front porch is the first sign that we are at an interesting little abode.

"It snowed the other day, but we pulled most of them in and saved 'em before the three feet of snow covered the porch," explained Posie, Annie's good friend in Cambridge.

Posie and Levi spill into the front door of their house, tumbling in different directions as soon as the door comes undone. Posie runs up the green carpeted staircase to her mother's room, and pulls her down soon after disappearing.

"I was just reading about the Mexican War. Have you ever learned about the Mexican War? I never had. It's scaring me!" exclaims Mrs. Lewis as she came down, her big eyes engaging me without my consent, but I happily listen.

Mrs. Lewis's long grey curls topple all over her head and fall around her shoulders. Posie runs up and hugs her around the waist - a waist that meets the shoulders of an eleven-year-old Posie.

Annie and Mrs. Lewis catch up as we all stood on a Persian rug in their living room, an little burnt golden (that's not a color, but I just made it one) arm chair, olive walls, some rock n' roll guitarist seeping out of the kitchen painted in orange and blue in the back.

Outside again, before we leave, we discuss the books we've been reading at college.

"Have a lovely visit, girls!" said Mrs. Lewis.

We walk home to Annie's for fresh chocolate chip cookies and milk with Posie and Levi

The Cambridge sunshine lightly balming us inside and out as we make we our way back.

Awesome

I like to think of myself as a concise person. At the dinner table in high school I minced my words so I wouldn't lose my three brothers' looming gazes too quickly. Stories found their best parts quickly. Words found their place in my mouth. And I succeeded at sounding like I knew what was saying. I cast certain words to the wayside, eliminating them for their ambiguity or meaninglessness.

Teenage boys are the only people that can use the word "awesome" because it's just silly to use casually unless the speaker is talking about Halo or blue frosting-glazed poptarts. That's an obvious one though. I don't like the word "yummy" because I feel like I'm trying to be this cutesy college-aged girl eating goat cheese or some other health-food snack made by Kashi.

Words like "weird" bother me because anything from a soccer kick to a cup of tea could be described as weird. Let me assure you - I use these words far too often. And so I am losing speed in my speech. My tongue spouts sentences like, "Wow, this book is great. Some of the characters are weird though, and I don't really understand everything, but the writer is an awesome author."

Other words irritate me too. Somehow adverbs find their way into sentences, completely changing and totally disproportionalizing them.

Let's shelf these words. It's not a snooty recognition to abolish their use. I would like to retain my older brothers' listening ears. I would like to be intentional and creative with my conversations with you.