Someday, you will be loved.

So, letter #2 is supposed to be written to "my crush." Hmph. This could be funny.

Dear ____________________,

I don't have a crush, so you are a blank name. I don't meet many new people, don't have time to get all giddy over people anymore, don't really desire anything meaningless in my life. However, I would like to write a letter to the man I will marry. (I am fully aware of the fact that I probably won't get married, and this very well might change upon meeting someone I would actually like to marry, but this is fun, guys.)

Dear ______________________,

I am already planning the job I will have when I retire from teaching.

I tell you this because there are some things you need to know about me, and the first thing you need to know is that I will love you in the best possible way I can. The second thing is that in order for me to be able to do that, you will have to be okay with me having other passions besides you. I hope you are thankful for that. I don't want you to stand in my shadow; I want you to do the same. I hope our passions coincide, but they do not have to do so in every regard. You must love kids. You don't have to be a teacher. You must love learning. You don't have to have multiple degrees to show it. You must love service. You don't have to love Uganda. You must love parties, but you don't have to plan them. You must love beauty and art, but you don't have to take the pictures or be in the shows. You must love reading and writing, but you don't have to be a published author.

You are going to have to listen to my stories, even when you don't know the faces of the kids I tell you about. You are going to have to deal with me in April and May, when no one should have to be around me. I might even make you grade some papers. You are going to have to go to prom with me, but I promise I won't make you stay the whole time.

(Wow, this letter is actually difficult to write, especially without pre-planning.)

You are probably going to feel uncomfortable the first time you meet my friends, especially if it is with the large group. We have a lot of history together, and people have told us from time to time that we are a tough group to crack. Just ask questions. I will get you ready for them. And, you will love them too. (Or else we won't really work, so that's a deal-breaker.) And you will enjoy playing board games and corn hole and going to Holiday World. You will love outdoor movies at the IMA and cook-outs and dressing up for Halloween. You will love the Artcraft Theater and A Christmas Story and NBC Thursday nights. I can't wait until you are part of the shared history of us too.

And you will care for my mom like she's your mom (because you obviously really care for your mom). And you will give piggy back rides to our nieces and nephews and cheer for them when we travel to see sporting events. And you will love Tara's design sense and Greg's knowledge of business and sports. And you will appreciate my dad's understanding of history and his interesting array of Christmas gifts.

And you will challenge me. And you won't let me settle. And you won't let me slide by. And you will tell me when I'm wrong....and when I'm right. And you will hold my hand in unexpected moments. And you will help me love people better. You will teach me about cars and lawn care and money. Or we will at least teach each other. And it would be really awesome if you could be a self-taught carpenter or handyman. That would be SWEET. :) You will be intelligent and competitive, and maybe we can exercise together by playing games and doing fun things. You might even take ballroom dance lessons with me. I'm not pushing my luck, though.

And, most of all, you will love Jesus a lot. Not in a superficial way, but in a real...tough...messy kind of way. And, you will seek to love me as Jesus loves us, and you will be the head of our household because that's how it is supposed to be. You will appreciate my strength, though, and we will learn what it means to follow Jesus together. We will pray and worship and serve and love together. Even when it is difficult.

I can't wait to meet you.
(Well, let's be honest. On many days, I don't really think I want to meet you, but whatevs.)

Hmmm...I think I have rambled enough, even though I've only scratched the surface. I am sure my expectations are ridiculous, but why not set my sights high? Marriage will be hard enough. I might as well hope for someone amazing.

Love always,
Jacqui

Take a Bite out of Life

Okay, I am going to do it.

I know I am going to regret it, and I also know that I will probably miss a few days, but I am going to jump on the bandwagon (created by Lauren Sedam...I'm not sure how much of a bandwagon it actually is) and do the 30-Day Letter Challenge. Each day, I will post a letter written to a specific audience. Really, I am doing this for me, but if by some miracle, one of my four readers stumbles upon something encouraging, then fantastic. I don't stick with anything when it comes to writing; this is a good place to begin. I will address some letters by name, but I will keep some to myself. It will be challenging and probably too personal, and hey, I'm okay with that.

So, without further ado, (I love that phrase), let me begin with Letter #1.

Letter #1 is supposed to be written to my "best friend."

Oh geesh. Houston, we already have a problem.

Dear Best Friend,

When I was young, you were Lauren Bayly, without fail and without question. You have also been Bekah Manning, Adri Byrd, Nathan Epple, Nick Epple, Sean Booher, Sarah Lantz, and Aubry and Carly Faulkenberg (they go together, you know). And there were moments of best friendship with others, but I don't want to get carried away here.

In elementary school, naming your best friend was so important. It was a badge of honor or a badge of shame. You had to nab a best friend because no one wanted to be best friend-less. As time passed and geography changed, so did my need for friends. I wanted lots of them, was blessed with a diverse group of people who challenged me and made me laugh and made fun of me. :) There were times when I could not go to sleep without making sure I had said (or typed) "Good night" to my best friend. There were some best friends who needed me much more than I needed them, which, in turn, made me need them. Strange how that worked. There were some best friends who seemed to understand me implicitly, and there were some who seemed to need understanding that only I could give. There were times (too many, I am afraid) when I lost my best friend. Most of them, in fact, are gone, at least from my direct and close acquaintance. And so, maybe I decided after watching my heart walk away too many times that I needn't put too much hope in a single person, until, if it is to be, I get married someday.

This way of friendship is much less painful, but I fear I do not love as deeply, know people as well, or grow as much as I did before I started teaching. I fear that although there are countless friends in my life who would do anything for me, know me through history, and yes, can still make me laugh and laugh at me, very few people truly know me, if anyone at all. Then again, what does that even mean?

I am thankful for you, best friends, who watch movies and laugh about farting and go line-dancing. I am thankful for you, best friends, who plan trips to Holiday World and the IMA and Memorial Day Cookouts. I am thankful for you, best friends, who gave me a foundation, a home away from home, a more full understanding of human beings. I am thankful for you, best friends, who broke my heart but in the process taught me more and more about love. I am thankful to you, best friends, who watch Colts Games and Thursday night television with me. I am thankful to you, best friends, who care deeply about your relationship with God (and mine) and are constantly seeking growth and understanding. I am thankful to you, best friends, who love food and frisbee and puppies.

Friendship is a clever beast. It is vitally important for a full life, yet it is constantly changing and can easily become a complete stranger without our even realizing it walked away. I desire to learn how to be a better friend again, but that, as they say, is easier said than done.

Love always,
Jacqui

Eat the Cookie

I just ate a bunch of cold, plain rice. With a spoon. Out of a giant Tupperware bowl.

Delicious.




(Oh wait. This was meaningless. I was going to try to write meaningful stuff, but I already changed my status three times within the last two hours; I just could not do that again.)

Welcome Back.

Okay.

It is July 12th. (I think?) I'm gonna start writing again.

I always talk about the fact that I don't write. Or that I don't write well. I always think about what I would write if I did write, but then, I don't. I am afraid that some internet virus will respond to me, but no one will really listen.

And then I have to admit to myself that I really love having an audience.

Too much.

So, maybe I shouldn't talk about writing. Maybe I should just write. Maybe I shouldn't worry about my audience (even though I can't stop doing that). Maybe I shouldn't worry about sounding eloquent or witty or inspiring (even though I won't stop that either).

Being a hermit is really easy for me.

Like...I have no trouble at all staying up until 3am, sleeping until noon, staying in my pjs until 4, taking a shower at 5, cooking some dinner, watching tv intermittently throughout the day, and then doing the same routine again. I have to plan parties in order to avoid making this a permanent routine. Parties require shopping, cooking, and cleaning. Otherwise, I might as well be called Boo Radley.

I really love taking people's portraits.

Like...really love it. The problem is that I hate that I am technically deficient, and I don't know how to get better, save throwing more and more money at better equipment. I want to take classes. I want to take pictures like this:



Do you see how vibrant that color is? DO YOU SEE THAT?

Or this:


See how that black is black, and that white is white? See how beautifully the shot is composed?

I want that.

Hmmm...onto other stuff, I guess.

I am scared of the upcoming school year. Scared.

Like...when I think about it, I get a rotten feeling in my gut. What am I scared about?

Well, I am scared that I will hate the new format of each day. I am scared that I won't have the ability to stay on track and focused and disciplined. I am scared I will spend the entire year playing catch-up. I am scared that a part of my heart will be gone. I have had that feeling before, but it is different this time. I am scared that in only my ninth year, I am somehow getting burned out. I am scared that I will forget to love people again. I am scared that I will be overwhelmed. I could go on.

I mean, it isn't like I won't be able to handle it. I don't want to just handle my life, though. I want to love it. I need to have the attitude that it will be an adventure worth taking, a fitting change of pace since so many faces will be missing from my daily regime. I want to lead by service, by love, by joy, by passion, and I want, somehow, to know that I have challenged my students to be better students, better thinkers, better readers, better writers, and better human beings. I want to be exhausted. I want to get better. To be better.

But, what I really want is to be there for people, like I used to be. I want to give people attention and love who aren't easy to love. I don't want to be too busy for people anymore. I wouldn't mind if people needed me again.

I'm turning thirty in September.
Maybe that's what really scares me, for some reason.

Long Time Coming.

Ooops. I forgot to write stuff.

Stuff.

Phfew. Check that one off of my list.

Pieces of the Quilt

I used to dance on the top of my brothers toes. Twirling me around the kitchen, he would be able to avoid having to do the dishes. He always made it seem like a privilege for me to "get" to put away the silverware. That was my job--putting away the silverware.

I had a best friend from the time I was four. She lived diagonally behind me, and we met while in our respective backyards. One time, in the middle of summer, we sat on the edge of her pool, fully clothed, and splashed our way into sopping wet bursts of laughter.

My sister borrowed a dollar from me when I was very young. She never paid me back.

One time, we found a stray dog on the street going to our old pool. It was a tiny little white puppy, with a scratchy pink tongue. We cared for it for a few days and named it Woodland. (The name of the street...totally lame name.) I fell in love with that dog so fast, and it crushed me when its owners retrieved it.

For my sixth birthday, my grandmother bought me these cut-out dolls. I opened the present right after school, before my party, and for some reason, I said I "knew I wouldn't like it" when I opened it. I was immediately banished to my room and spent the rest of my birthday "grounded."

My dad built me a swing-set in our backyard. The coolest part was that one of the swings was actually a boat bumper. I would sit on it and talk my way into "pumping" high. I would convince myself that I had super powers.

I found empty bottles of alcohol hidden in an upstairs closet. My dad just couldn't break that habit; my mom just couldn't stand it any longer.

I had many Barbies when I was younger. I played with them all the time. One day, they went missing. Some clothes were left, but all of the dolls disappeared out of my playroom. That mystery has never been solved.

I threw up at Chuck E. Cheese while standing in line to get into the ball pit. The characters were all real then; they weren't robots dressed in ridiculous attire.

I collected stickers with my friend Erin when I was little. We would trade them. She lived in an actual log cabin, and I went to the symphony with her family. She also introduced me to God.

I loved the Pirates, Pittsburgh's baseball team. We got to sit in my dad's company's box seats and watch games. I didn't even know football and basketball existed.

I met Chris, one of my best friends through childhood, while playing a game with a hula hoop in kindergarten. He was brilliant. He had a computer. Mostly, we traversed through our imaginations together.

I don't know why I started typing this. I had no intentions when I sat down. I just started typing bits and pieces of my collective memory, and these are the first moments that came out. I wonder why we hold some pieces so dearly, while others vanish after a short time. As I am constantly thinking and wondering what it actually means to grow older, wondering what it means to be me, I am flabbergasted as to the transformation that must happen in every single life. How seemingly unimportant scraps of time have a profound impact on our perception of ourselves and the world. And, at the same time, it is amazing to me that I can continue to push forward, pretending that I am utterly unaffected by yesterday, only holding onto the promise of tomorrow.

The Sound of Silence

I am at my mom's house, so I have internet access for a few hours. My mind has been on full-throttle, but I have been living inside my head so much. There are no sounds from apartments, there is no television, I learn about nothing (unimportant as it may be) from anyone I know on Facebook, and I don't really talk to anyone on the phone. I have been stuck in a new place, stuck only because I am freaked out by all that isn't the way I want it to be, and I have felt pretty alone.

Yet, I don't waste hours watching television or learning nothing about people on Facebook...so, that's good, right?

All I know is that at this point in January, I have already felt the doldrums of winter settling in, and usually that doesn't happen until February. Yikes.

I have resolved to pour my heart into re-designing my classes and learning to see all of my students as children of God before I see them as failing statistics. I have resolved to be more thankful and not dwell on all that will make me uncomfortable in the coming years due to gross spending inadequacies in the state and federal budgets for education. It isn't supposed to be about me, right? Oh yea...I have also resolved to cherish the remaining months that I have with the class of 2010. Our days are numbered, and I am fighting all urges to take a year off of teaching so that I don't have to learn to be at school without them.

This was a sad post. Or boring.
Sorry.

Winter does that to me.