could you repeat that?

I'm 19 years old. So, with logic, you could say that I've been going to Texas for about 18 of those years.

With a sigh of relief, I can happily rest my eyes at night knowing that this horrific experience of a semester is over. In the midst of it, in hanging out with my friends in the moments of relaxation or during those rare moments of a study party transitioning into a dance party, did I wonder, “Why do I think this is so bad?”

Now don’t get me wrong, this semester challenged me. But when I look back at it, it was manageable. I mean, I am typing right now, aren’t I? A lot of variables went into it; I knew it wasn’t a simple equation. I finally figured it out. The lack of familiarity drained me. I compare it to my freshman year and realize there were far more changes that took place then, so how was this year any different? I guess the only conclusion I have is the unexpectedness of it all.

To name a few: apartment living was new, actually grocery shopping and cooking dinner (but let’s be honest, Chipotle is like two minutes away) and taking on new financial responsibilities in general. On top of that, I felt an incredible amount of pressure from school and gained a slightly different circle of friends.

Don’t worry, though. All of my absolute favorite things were still very much consistent. I still had to memorize the same French verbs to conjugate, I still mastered waking up 10 minutes before I had to be clocking into work, I continued the pattern of starting a 6-page paper the night before, or hauling my smelly, coffee-stained laundry to my nearest friend’s apartment. Yes, all of my favorite things. In truth, my moments of solitude cooped up with a book that didn’t bore me to tears, lying around on a Saturday morning watching Friends, or late night spontaneous drives to Big Tree were my favorite moments. Too much of what I do sometimes is me trying to be adventurous, when I’d rather sip on a hot cup of coffee with a dear friend. Sometimes you want to silence the pressures of this world that scream “go, go, go” and instead become one with your couch for the day. There’s a fine line between laziness and relaxation, but that’s for a different day.

If you ask those that know me well, they can attest to me being a crab leading up to the first break. And when we all came back it was noted by many that I seemed like a different person. One comment was even, “Madi is back!” I could take the time to be actually saddened that I let the semester get to me as much as I did, but it’s already taken too much of my time.

So, what was it about a break that was so effective as it was? I mean was it really sleeping in until lunchtime that could repair a few months of damage?  I truly believe that it was the moment I dug out that homemade dumplings recipe, where the edges are starting to curl, with a couple of night’s rest with my dogs at my legs and extra dry legs from multiple baths, that I felt like myself again. I went back to school and when I should have been studying for the Statistics final that I literally failed, I instead invited some friends over one Sunday afternoon and cooked those famous dumplings. Do I regret it? Well, only that I should have made more dumplings.

Traditions. Like going to Texas for the past 18 years.

I’ve gotten not only the privilege, but also the heartache, of watching my grandparents grow older with each visit. 

I can name many of the places for lunch in the Little Rock, Arkansas area. I can show you where my dad went to high school, I can tell you my grandmother’s order at Whataburger and direct you to the nearest Target. I can point to what I order at my favorite Mexican restaurant and guide your eyes to my favorite family portrait that I know is hanging in the same spot since the last visit. Some things have in fact changed; my granddaddy has a dog now, we have lost and gained a few passengers over the years what with life’s curveballs and more recently, we repeat ourselves a little more.

I know I have mentioned my grandmother’s Alzheimer’s before but it’s a subject that shouldn’t be brushed aside.

Things have quite drastically changed with her.

Our visits have went from walking in the door, inhaling the overuse of her lavender perfume in preparation for dinner, to walking in and watching as she pushes herself up from her recliner to greet us. Not many things remind you of your true helplessness more than in moments of watching a loved one’s health as it decreases.

They do what they can to get by, my granddaddy and her. They have been married for longer than they would like and they could name every flaw, quirk and peeve about each other if you asked. Actually, no need to ask. For as long as I can remember, my grandparents have had their own separate “living” rooms, each with a TV in it to watch the shows of their liking separately.

When we aren’t in Texas, we especially hear all about how my grandmother is driving my granddaddy up a wall. But when we’re there, I don’t see it as much. They simultaneously keep to themselves, and completely depend on each other. Like my brother said, they know everything about each other. They may not like each other at times, but they really don’t know how to live without each other.  

During this specific visit, things weren’t drastically different from the last. The picture still hung in its place; I ordered my usual at the restaurant and so on. Except one thing: my grandmother stayed in her recliner in her own separate room more than usual. It got to the point where we were all visiting in the other room with some extended family and my brother had to call her in with us several times.

Later on that day, I went and sat in that chair of hers and tried to see things from her point of view. In front of me was the TV that didn’t know much of a life outside of the sports channel, collectable clocks surrounding me and on both sides, the Dallas Cowboys football schedule taped to whatever will hold it up. I sat there and felt like Anita Lee.

Maybe, just maybe, when the people she loved the most were around her, visiting from miles away, she needed her own space. When we all sat around in a circle, sparking up various conversations, her eyes wandered from one to the next trying to remember what the opening line was in the first place. She may have felt overwhelmed and unable to contribute to the conversation, leading to her shutting down and isolating herself a bit.

And I’m sure that when we said our goodbyes and she hugged our necks, she went back inside and sat down in her chair. Not because she was sad, but because it was familiar. 

the way of suffering.

Sophomore year.

The name of my blog has the word "joy" in it. And if I'm allowed to confess to you all, I've been struggling. I've been living with the absence of joy in this season of my life.

I have been swamped with stress. Between classes, the Rock, work and focusing on relationships, I'm exhausted. I feel like a mess, completely worn out most of the time. Is that an excuse?

A couple of weeks ago, I was sharing my story with a dear friend of mine. Whenever I reach a certain part of my story, I briefly touch on it and leave out bits and pieces. That part is usually the time frame  of the extreme joy in my family's life, specifically the Mediterranean cruise we went on. I have mentioned before that I usually shy away from this subject because I think some memories are too special to be shared. But as I told this friend of mine my story, I told a specific part of it that I never actually had said out loud before. Looking back, I think I was meant to share it to fully understand it myself.

One part of this excursion was two days spent in Israel. Yes, Israel. I remember my dad telling me during this trip that I should keep a journal for the end of each day and to prevent forgetting, write about all of the details that I am now struggling to remember. A few parts of this trip included putting our feet in the Jordan River, touching what was believed to be "the center of the world" and seeing the Via Dolorosa. The Via Dolorosa means "the way of grief" or "the way of suffering". The Via Dolorosa is a street that that was the path for Jesus, carrying his cross, on the way to his crucifixion.

By this point in my dad's life, he couldn't make it many places without assistance from his cane; his body was too weak. Whether it was getting on busses or walking on a moderate incline, he had his cane. And yes, he was in a lot of pain. But nothing was stopping him from seeing what was ahead and what he knew was promised to him at the end of it. It worked in terms of stations. The crucifixion path, and still today, had been made into 14 different stations, each station holding significance of Jesus' journey to the cross.

It's hard to fully grasp and conclude Jesus' emotions of that day all in my meaningless blog. But if I were to imagine, if we were to all imagine, the word that comes to my mind is peace. This man, in complete and utter suffering, continued on to make known his purpose.

When I think of this story, and the correlation between Jesus and us, I become emotional.

Jordan River

The center of the world?

Believed to be where Jesus was crucified. 

That day, I watched my dad struggle on that path of suffering. He didn't complain, nor did he wish to turn around. He kept going, as peace and joy flooded his mind.

As I look at how small my worries seem in my life now, I honestly feel silly. There will be stress and struggling in my life, specifically in this time of my life. So what? I have learned that if you dig yourself a hole of self-pity, you will fall into it. I have no need to complain or worry. 

For as I have heard the story of Jesus, and witnessed my father walking that path, they joyfully pressed on, completely at peace with the glory that was promised ahead.

dog hair, nails, and car rides.

The last time I sat down and blogged, I was in Estes Park, Colorado. That post contained a ton of love for people which I am already missing tremendously. I've been back in Missouri for a week today, yet I feel like ten different lives have been shoved into this past week.

The plan all summer was to depart Colorado after work and drive through the night with Heather and Jacob. After leading up to that day for weeks, our anxious hearts finally met Saturday, August 16th. There were a lot of strange emotions I was experiencing. I was going to go to work and try to enjoy the last day and avoid thinking about leaving certain people and the mountains. Unfortunately, on Saturday morning I woke up to a few calls from Heather. Heather had found out that her aunt was in the ICU, and learning this, Heather wanted to leave immediately and begin the 14-hour trek back to Missouri. Thankfully, our supervisor was understanding and instead of completing our final shift at the Y, we began saying our goodbyes at lunch. I have to laugh whenever I think about my friend asking me if I usually cry when I say goodbye and me responding with no; I had tears in my eyes after the first hug. After we said all the "see you soon"s and breathed in our last Colorado air for awhile, we squeezed in (all the cool souvenirs you buy during a summer become a lot less cool when they take up more room in the car than yourself).

We arrived in Festus around 5:30AM Sunday. My mom met me outside, helped me haul my belongings inside, and I headed straight for my bed. I remember laying in my big, comfy bed that wasn't a bunk bed and that didn't require a ladder for me to get into it, with one dog at each side of mine, and thinking, "I have no troubles in this life." Yeah, it was that magical.

When I woke up, I began unpacking from Colorado and packing for moving into my apartment. Luckily for me, I got a packing break that night to visit with my family. Confession: I really missed my brother! And then, on Tuesday morning, I left Festus to transition back into college life, this time a little different than last. A few things were still the same: moving a bunch of excess crap of mine that is questionable as to why I even own, my mom's birthday (poor mom) and it. was. stinkin. hot. Good ole Misery. Oops, Missouri. And because there had to be some spark of adventure to moving into my first apartment and feeling like an adult, it was that my apartment was on the third floor of one of the oldest buildings in Columbia. No elevator. And so this was us:

Nah, I'm just kidding. Praise the Lord that it was already furnished, so all it took was six of us ladies, a few hairbands and our muscles. Boom.

Now, I am very much a get-er-done type of person. An idea enters my mind and if I don't complete the task right then, I go slightly insane. So when I arrived at the apartment, I saw it as one giant project that needed completed, rather than the multiple little projects that it actually was. Oh, I need lights above my bed. Oh, that picture needs hung there. Oh, that floor needs mopped. Oh, we need groceries. One other thing that was different coming into this year than last: I'm a sophomore. Which meant that I was no longer a freshman. So despite my determination, I would have to wait. There were friends that needed welcomed that I hadn't met yet, and visiting to be done with the friends that I had. Committing my time elsewhere was challenging for me because I wanted to finish everything first. Excessive planning can be a huge flaw of mine. But let me tell you a quick story. Last night, I was interrupted during hammering some nails in the wall by Heather's laughter. It was the kind of laugh that is contagious and makes you think, I want to laugh too. It drew in Melissa as well and we both joined Heather on the couch. We then watched as a girl online had posted a video, post wisdom teeth surgery. If you ever want to be reminded of life's simplest joys, go on YouTube and search "wisdom teeth aftermath". Anyway, it was the hardest I had laughed in a while. 

Through these past few days, things have been anything but still. But those rare moments have been the most memorable. Whether it was laughter on the couch, enjoying iced coffee with a new friend or watching Friends by myself, I'm learning to appreciate the moments of quietness more and value the sound of these keys being pressed rather than the sound of nails being forced into the walls. And more importantly, you can't plan those rare occasions that put many things into perspective. I won't forget hugging people wearing my housekeeping shirt in the dining hall. I won't forget laying in bed with both my dogs and enjoying every second of having dog hair on me. I won't forget sweating and climbing the three flights of stairs with all of my CO souvenirs in boxes. I won't forget sitting on the couch with my roommates, rewinding the same part twenty times. 

And finally, I can't help but think, it will be one interesting day when I move into my first house. 

Humans of SnapPack

This entire summer, all of us LTers had one day a week that was not only one of our off days, but also our project day.

Your project group is made up of people from different departments, schools and states. And looking at the bunch that I had the privilege of joining, that was exactly what our group represented; uniqueness in each individual. We weren't all introverts or extroverts, coffee drinkers, athletes, or musicians. Not everyone would choose a jammed pack day of adventure over a relaxing day staying close to the Y. As I'm reflecting after our final project day that was yesterday, it is clear to me how fairly random, yet perfectly crafted my project group was for me this summer.

I wanted to make an attempt at capturing the personalities in each person that contributed to making Thursdays such a joy to look forward to. And also, I want to brag on how beautiful each individual is.

BEKAH. Bekah is original in everything. In her humor, her style, her friendships and even her relationship with the Lord. She's truly one-of-a-kind. 

NATHAN. Nate is a humble, caring man of God. He has a heart for every person he encounters, and desires to share God's love to the lost. (Those calves, doe)

KAILEY. Kailey lives her life to serve. Between serving God and serving others, she is one of the most selfless people I have ever met. 

IESHA. Iesha has the gift of lighting up a room with her smile and laugh. She is incredibly sassy, yet sensitive and reactive to people in hurtful situations. I'll miss watching you sleep. #roommateprobs

MARGARET. Marge is constantly seeking the beauty and creativity in things. There's never a dull moment and even the slightest errand that needs done will turn into an adventure. 

PRINCE. Prince joined our group about halfway through the summer as an international student from China. He is incredibly eager to improve his English and says he's looking for his princess. 

JACKIE. Jackie runs on determination. She always looking to challenge herself, whether it's growing in her faith or tearing it up in athletics. AND HER DIMPLES. 

JOHN. John has the ability to make you laugh when just discussing what he had for breakfast. Every word that comes out of his mouth has purpose, even if it's informing us that it's "9:00"...still.

JEANNA. Jeanna has spunk. She's a tiny person with a huge heart for people. She'll make you feel loved and be vulnerable with you, creating open relationships with people surrounding her.

ALEX. Alex would sacrifice his opinion on something in order to fully let others be heard. He'll make sure you feel comfortable in a situation, before he moves on comforting the next.

JOSH. Josh is passionate and doesn't do anything halfway, including his relationships and musical talent. Also, you can be a mile away and hear his distinct voice. But seriously. 

STEVEN. Steven isn't afraid to tell you what he thinks. He's fearless in sharing his struggles that most of us push under the rug. He's goofy and when he truly loves people, he'll make sure you know.

HI, I'M MADI. 

MARK. Mark continuously pours truth into people's lives. He has the God given gift of evangelizing and doesn't waste a second with it. He has demonstrated to us how a Godly family should look. 

ARIEL. Ariel is blunt and sarcastic. And when you put those two together, you get the truth delivered to you in the funniest way. She's an artist and makes sermon notes a beautiful visual. 

The legacy of the SnapPack lives on. 

my COntribution.

Awhile ago, when I was surrounded by familiarity, I blogged about why I love Columbia as much as I do. When I first arrived in Estes, the culture shock took its toll and my mindset switching to unsureness was almost an immediate response. I remember driving from the Denver airport on my way to Estes with Margaret. I was using my iPhone camera trying to zoom and capture the puny sight of the mountains, all while wondering how she knew exactly where to go. I admired how she pointed out these places on the way as we entered into the mountains, having then realized why she laughed at my amused reaction of the mountains when they were once afar.  Soon after, that place of unfamiliarity would shift into an experience that demanded to be remembered.

It's a strange transition when you go from your eyes glued to the mountains, pointing your finger in awe at the slightest movement from wildlife, constantly clicking "preview" to see the pictures you took, to suddenly having all of it become the "usual". The excitement is slowly replaced by a forgetfulness to appreciate the beauty surrounding you. Aside from the ultimate reason why I came here this summer, I came for other reasons too. I set goals for myself, expectations for how I would one day share my experience with someone and a ton of eagerness to see what was in store. So, I wanted to share a glimpse of my summer with you. I am also a firm believer that if you spend enough time somewhere or with someone, you will grow to love it/them in ways you wouldn't have expected to. And this summer, that happened.

1. Sheer beauty.

One of my fears entering the summer was that I would reach a point of taking the scenery for granted.  And it happened. I'm not always mindful of the fact that I'm living in the mountains. I've even shown annoyance with the typical tourist stopping to take a picture of the elk standing 20 ft. away. I don't need to comment on the mountains in front of me every second I look outside, but I do need the daily reminder of God's creativity and to give Him all of the praise. Man, I'm going to miss these mountains.

2. Community.

I expected to come here and grow closer with the group of Mizzou students I came here with and make the best memories with the ones I was already close with. However, I was placed in a project group with only two other Mizzou students, which ended up being one of the best parts of my summer. The closest friends I've made here are all in my project, most of them from Kent State, but some not. I also grew close with one of my roommates I was randomly assigned with. Iesha, you rock. Now, without expecting this, I have trips planned in the future to visit Ohio, Indiana and more familiar faces to see in Texas.

I love these people.

3. Creativity. 

I wouldn't label myself as a creative person. I still wouldn't say it comes naturally to me or that it ever will, yet this summer I have challenged myself to grow more in it. Creatively challenging myself, in other words. One goal of mine was to do a silk painting. After assistance from others and a lot of time and patience, I accomplished that goal.

"Whatever may pass and whatever lies before me, let me be singing when the evening comes." It was humbling to ask for help when I had this vision of how I wanted it to turn out, yet couldn't always deliver it that way. Or even that it didn't turn out exactly how I envisioned it was a lesson in itself.

4. Discipline. 

I didn't have as much freedom as I expected out here because of work, causing the time I did have to be used in an intentional way. Also, work can always be a good time if you have a good attitude.

Makin' beds and killin' it.

Like I said, that was a fraction of what this summer has been like. I came out here for a purpose, and all these things happened in between. 

So, as I prepare to return home in exactly two weeks from now, I can't help but leave a bit of myself here, where I learned and grew in various forms. 

Colorado, thanks for this adventure. 

"I seldom end up where I wanted to go, but almost always end up where I need to be." 

10,000 reasons for my heart to sing.

Oh, LT. 

I held high standards for you from the first time someone mentioned your complexity. "It's the best, yet hardest summer you'll experience," everyone said. I pondered that statement a lot, wondering how tears and sacrifice would equal contentment walking away from it all. After over a month of living here, I started to understand. 

It's no coincidence that people come here and tribulations follow closely behind. And my story isn't any different. 

Before leaving for the summer, I faced the realization that there was a strong possibility my house would sell while I was absent. I half prepared for it as a departed, denial taking place of the other half. It's been months and multiple families have looked and were uninterested. God wouldn't do that while I was gone. It'll be a glorious day when I stop assuming (that's assuming I will, though). 

It was about two weeks ago when my mom informed me that by the end of July, the only home I've known would no longer be ours to claim. Not only that, but it would be someone else's two weeks before I would have been home from Colorado, and before I returned to school. 

Anger.

Dramatic? Maybe in context. But with experience? A loss. 

Sadness.

My parents built that house. It screams Victor Lee. 

After the initial feelings passed, I was stumped. My mom offered to fly me home for a few days at the end of July to fully grieve the house and see it one last time. I talked to one of my mentors, stating that God knew I would be here when it would happen. After her pointing out that God also opened the door of opportunity for me to return if I chose, I felt torn. 

The days following that conversation included a lot of shrugging of the shoulders when asked what I wanted to do. I knew I needed to pray deeply and ask God what I should do, because I couldn't decide for myself. And He delivered the message, loud and clear. 

I sat and was journaling about the pros and cons of leaving. It looked similar to this:

PROS- I could fully grieve, sleep in my room one last time, appreciate the uniqueness of every room, etc.

CONS- I would never be inside my house again, I would see it in the state of emptiness, coming back to Colorado would be harder, etc. 

As the ink wrote out those feelings of mine, I felt this sense to stay. Now, have you ever asked God for an answer and you can't tell whether or not it's Him or the voice in your head? That happened and so as I wrote, "I need a sign," the one song I have a strong emotional tie to with God and my dad, rang in my ears. An affirming melody. I then felt this urgency to return to the book of Haggai that mentioned a new house, in which I had stumbled upon the week prior. Random, right? So I did, and the header was, "The Promised Glory of the New House". It read: "'The glory of this present house will be greater than the glory of the former house,' says the Lord Almighty. 'And in this place I will grant peace.'"

Clarity. 

What's the meaning of home? Where you're born, where you're currently occupied, "where the heart is" or is it more to give something such a title? I learned to believe it's where you truly grasp all there is to offer in that given location. Estes Park, for example. The mountains, the sunrises and sunsets, the  people, the experiences, the atmosphere. It's a blessing to call this place my temporary home. With labeling it that title and accepting the gift that it is, it's natural to want to savor it for as long as possible and not give it away. However, it's not something I want to keep to myself. It's meant to be shared with others. For example, my project group. I love those people! We spend the entire day together once a week, sharing our experiences and engaging together in what we do. Or when my mom will be here, I'm not going to make her stay in the lodge room, isolated. I'm going to introduce her to people, show her places that shape this atmosphere and tell what I've learned. I feel blessed here and I want to bless her. 

The same applies to my house (former house). That house has blessed me enormously. My parents blessed me with the childhood of being raised under that roof. I've moved out and am receiving the blessing in other places with other people. According to God, it's time to pass that on to a family who needs that blessing, and the security it has to offer. 

"And in this place I will grant peace." 

And then some. 

LT= less time.

I arrived at the Denver airport around 12:30 PM on Sunday, June 1st, the day after the wedding. Prior to that moment, nerves were absent to the point of concernment. However, as I checked my luggage with 2 lbs to spare and shuffled through the security line with bare feet, it happened. My mind started shifting through every possible scenario that could begin the pivotal experience of the summer ahead. Would I sit next to a stranger and be presented with the opportunity to share my mission? No matter how creative my imagination, no such curiosity from a stranger occurred. In fact, I didn't interact with the person next to me at all. And that was the end of that.

Margaret graciously drove 3 hours roundtrip to pick me up, fed me, took me to the closest Wal-Mart outside of Estes Park (which was still an hour away) and her and Heather assisted me in unpacking. So, as a side note, I want to say thank you, Marge and Heather! When I initially took in the sight of Estes and observed everyone in their routines already, I felt overwhelmed. But at the end of my first day there, I journaled about my thankfulness for friendships that involve people with hearts like yours. 

I have now been here for 11 days. And I can't figure out if it seems longer or shorter than that. Time is  weird here, along with other things, such as the weather. Today is also the first day I have been off work and have had the freedom to do whatever I please. 

What have I discovered? To name a few:

1. Colorado is beautiful.

Duh. I'm in awe on a daily occurrence. Mountains surround me and I can't help but praise Him for the panoramic masterpieces. 

2. Altitude effects everything. 

I heard people say it. This included my mother who gets motion sickness from The Joker at Six Flags, seasick on a cruise and dizzy from action-packed movies. You could say I was skeptical. But as a walked up a slight incline, after having my lotion explode due to the increase in altitude, I felt more out of shape than a free-form object. I embraced my shaky breaths and then realized you could blame anything and everything on the altitude and no one would question you. Oh, you're really tired? It's probably the altitude. Oh, you're hungry? It's probably the altitude. Oh, your eyeballs are aching? It's probably the altitude. The coffee sucks here? It's probably because it's concentrated (got ya). You name it and whatever it is, you can always blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-altitude.

3. Having a full-time job isn't glamorous, even with where it's at. 

It's the altitude. But really, it sucks. I said it. An adjustment is an understatement. I work in housekeeping and there have been sights, let me tell you. The day of a housekeeper consists of making lots of beds, scrubbing an uncomfortable amount of toilets and being grossed out at how unclean things are even after you leave. But really, it's not terrible. Yesterday, my crew found an unopened can of cinnamon rolls and cooked them. The best is when you find a cute shirt but when you pick it up, you realize it's a child's shirt. 

But despite it all, you meet someone new every single day, LT or not. To respect her privacy, I'm going to use the name Sally to tell her story. Sally is a crew leader here. At first, I was hesitant to believe the day was going to be anything but dreadful, based off of how unhappy Sally looked. Before too long, she was sharing her story with us. Sally moved here from California due to losing her job, the father of her four children was abusive and ended up committing suicide, and she was an alcoholic. Was. She continued on with her testimony and shared the presence that God has been in her life these past few years. Some people joke and say LT stands for Lots of Tears. No, it's Lots of Testimonies. By the end of the day, she was having me search the cabin for the copy of the Bible and requested that I read her favorite verse. 

So, as crappy as housekeeping is sometimes (no, seriously) it has a lot to offer. 

And those are a few. 

I came into LT wondering what life-changing lesson God would teach me. Especially while I'm cleaning toilets, I can't help but wonder, "What's my purpose here?" Surely it isn't this. 

As of today, I've went on three hikes. I started with Margaret around 10 AM. It was sunny and gorgeous and we went through a lot of snow. After we arrived to Emerald Lake and sat down for lunch, the dark clouds hunched over us and it started raining. And then sleeting. As we arrived at her car around 1 PM, we left with an abundance of pictures, muddy shoes and wet hair.

It's hard to fully grasp what my purpose is or what I'm called to do while I'm here, especially with limited time to do so. However, today was a blast. I had it in my mind that because I'm in such a beautiful place, a spiritual change in me had to mimic that. 

No, maybe I'm meant to enjoy this summer and be a mess in this beautiful place. Maybe not. Like many things, time will tell. 

Texas meets Missouri.

The wedding is Saturday. 

My grandparents from Texas traveled up here to partake in the activities of this week/weekend, aside from the wedding itself. Now, anyone that has ever interacted with my grandparents knows that it requires a mental preparation to do so. I mean that in the most loving way. If you haven't had the pleasure to meet them, let me provide you some background information.

 1. They're Texans, and they'll make sure you know it. 

Whether it's my granddaddy's cowboy attire, consisting of a flannel, cowboy hat and boots, or my grandmother's remarks about Texas' superiority over Missouri, you won't question the pride in their hometown. "Sorry ma'am, we only serve Mr. Pibb here." "Well, in Texas it is ALWAYS Dr. Pepper." Guess what, grandmother? You're in M-i-s-s-o-u-r-i now! 

2. They love us. 

Shocker, right? You can see the excitement portrayed in their smiles with every opportunity to come visit us. Oh, and since I can remember it was a requirement as their grandkid to refer to them as grandmother and granddaddy, so that's what they've always been to me. They were incredible parents, which shaped my father into who he was. Do they love each other? Well, that's questionable sometimes. But for them, the value of family beats everything else.

3. They bicker.

Boy, oh boy, they argue. We've always joked and said that they are the real version of Frank and Marie from Everybody Loves Raymond. 

No, seriously. I'm convinced someone met them and they inspired the characters from that show. My grandmother's famous line: "Oh shut up, Bob!" You could spend 5 minutes with them and think to yourself, what an unhappy life. Nope, probably just them on a good day. 

And the last thing you really need to know is that they're getting old. 

This is where the laughing stops and the sadness begins. 

My great-grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease towards the end of her life. I remember visiting her in Texas, her not knowing me, or even knowing herself, really. And all I could think was how do you forget? What was it like to forget everything? I never wanted to find out for myself and I'm sure that was racing through her daughter, my grandmother's, mind at the time too. Now, as my grandmother is growing older, so is her mind. Sadly, she is following the tracks of my great-grandmother, her mind trying to indicate how she arrived there. Right now it is only short-term memory loss she struggles with. And with this visit, I clearly see the damage. 

It's a sensitive line to be walking on, trying to find when to mention that you had already answered the question she previously asked, or that she already told you that story. Or whether to mention anything at all. 

Last night I had to make a trip to Bonne Terre to borrow my cousin's dress for the rehearsal dinner. I didn't want to travel alone and I knew she would want to join me. On the way down there, we talked about why I was driving there, the wardrobe possibilities for her rehearsal attire, and so on. I picked up the dress and on the way back home, she asked me where we were going tomorrow (tonight). Our entire conversation on the way there, forgotten. I told her and I guess my face gave away what I was trying to hide. She knew I had told her before. Though our current conversation was destined to be forgotten after a few minutes, I still decided I didn't want to push it under the rug; there's only so much room under there. 

I then asked her questions about it. What it was like, how frustrating it was, if she completely forgets or if it's an "on the tip-of-the-tongue" feeling. She told me and then I realized the value of old memories for her. She's almost at the point of having no recollection of present events. People say don't live in the past, but what choice does she have? Talking to her reminded me of the importance of memories and having the appreciation for them they deserve. It reminds me of one of my favorite verses: "The memory of a righteous man shall be a blessing." Proverbs 10:7 You have no way of knowing which memories she will remember, and which ones she won't. Her mind decides that. 

Her memory fading is a heavy sight to observe. She repeats herself a lot and tells the same stories over and over, but I don't mind. No matter how old she's getting, some stories never do. 

tick tock.

Two sets of hands control our lives. 

With His guiding hands, God chooses to participate in more of the "behind the scenes" directing. He'll let you play the part for a while but will interrupt when needed.   

And then, there are the other two fragile hands controlling our lives. They work for time.  

"Okay, I need to wake up at 7:45 to be eating breakfast by 8, dressed and ready at 8:30, and out the door and backing out of the driveway at 8:45." 

Sound familiar? 

Well, if you're anything like me, it sounds extremely familiar. And it freaks you out. Let me explain.

I'm a planner. I make plans to plan. I plan who I'm going to see in the day to come, what my apartment (which I don't have yet) will look like, my to-do list for the following year, planning a time to buy conditioner when I still have 1/4 of a bottle (CAN I EVER LET IT RUN OUT FOR ONCE?), what to blog about after I pressed "Publish" to the previous one, planning a time to sit down and fill out my planner and making sure it's up-to-date, and so on. 

Planning controls me. And sadly, I allow the weaker hands to possess the most power in my life too often. This flaw is a recent realization of mine. Time is nothing to fear, unless you're living outside of it. And even then, there are exceptions. That most certainly would not have come out of my mouth this afternoon. In fact I was talking to my friend earlier, and I quote, "I'm glad I won't be here this summer because I would drive myself crazy trying to plan every little detail about moving and the apartment. WHY DO I HAVE TO BE SUCH A PLANNER ALL THE TIME?" I then went on to tell her one of my goals this summer was to work on planning less. A plan to minimize planning--HA! I even brought this up to some of my friends, sharing with them this compulsive need to feel on top of it and as a result, planning needed to be cut out of my life. And then, as a typical day in the life of Madi Lee, the powerful hands showed me something neat. 

I visited a church here at home tonight with a few friends of mine attend. I wasn't sure if I would take anything away from it. Please, allow me to enlighten you on the topic of the service: "Even the Lord made a plan with goals" Permission to laugh now, because I sure did. Not only did God have his own plans written down, He wants the one's we set to reach fulfillment. 

The plans of the diligent lead to profit as surely as haste leads to poverty. Proverbs 21:5

May He give you the desire of your heart and make all your plans succeed. Psalm 20:4

A lot of you can probably relate to this foolish habit of thinking you need to have every single detail mapped out before you thumbtack it. The example above represents a typical morning for everyone, I'm sure. But you see, planning is okay. Planning is not a sin, nor a flaw. And I shouldn't be ashamed. 

How much you plan doesn't matter, but it is WHAT you plan for that requires caution. Turns out, it's good, healthy even, for me to set personal goals for my summer. And possibly one of them could be planning less on the things that in retrospect, don't matter all that much. I want my apartment to look as Pinteresty as college-sophmore possible, but it can wait. May I also top off the cake with the irony icing of today? I bought a watch today. I was in a hurry to church so I threw it on with the intentions of setting the time later. Turns out, I bought it broken. So for the entire night and until I was home, I was wearing a watch with no time. Maybe they were having issues with their employer, Time, and the hands wanted a break for a bit. I know I do.  

So, I'm sorry Tom Hanks, but I disagree when you say, "We cannot allow ourselves to commit the crime of turning our backs on time." (Cast Away) 

I hope this helped my fellow planners see a God's view on planning more clearly.

There should always be things you shouldn't plan. Some things you can't, some you shouldn't. I'm now going to eat some Oreos and dunk them in milk. I might have 4, maybe 5, but who knows? Sometimes, you just need to be surprised. 

FOR SALE: my emotions because I don't want them

I have never been much of a mover. 

Now don't get me wrong, as soon as I carried the title of a licensed driver, I was always out-and-about. You name it: driving to work, late trips to Steak-n-Shake with friends, driving back roads, or for the sole purpose of being out of the house, I was anything but still. 

By this point, my college friends are probably questioning this, considering my entire freshman year consisted of mooching off one person for a ride to the next. Like I said, I have never been much of a mover and that includes walking out of my way to my car--HA! 

Anyway, as far as welcoming the "new kid" at school, I could never relate. I've lived in the same house since I was a baby, went to the same church, same school and even kept the same friends mostly. 

Things have changed quite a bit. Moving now seems to be the theme of my life lately.

To keep everyone updated, my house is for sale. This is fairly recent and still an adjustment. I respect my mom's decision but it's only normal for me to feel this way after calling this place my home for so long. On Thursday, I came home from school and stared at the piles upon piles of my crap and questioned how I miraculously fit 5 trash bags of clothes into my square of a dorm room. In exactly two weeks I'll be in Colorado, which I'm still wondering how I'm going to pack my summer on just a plane (without paying an extra fee, that is). So when I laid on my bed on Thursday night, seeming as if my belongings were suffocating me, I had a slight freakout. Unpacking from my dorm+packing for a potential move+packing for the summer+packing for my apartment that I'll move into when right when I come back= OH, that's what a heart attack feels like. Not even Jesus music was soothing me in that moment. Somehow, someway, I survived that night. And it was in that moment when I accepted the fact that my life is now an organized mess. 

On Saturday, we finished moving Austin and Danielle's belongings before they officially move into their apartment as Mr. and Mrs. Lee. Though Austin has been moved out for quite some time, it was an odd transition to think that in two weeks he'll be married, making memories under his own roof with his own family.

As far as my friends, Luke will be departing the country on May 30th to spend the summer in Spain. Kim and Lauren are back from Missouri State, Laura recently moved from her apartment to a house, Elena moved from her house to a new house, I still miss Clarisse enormously and wish I could kidnap her from Brazil, aaaaand as of tonight, I was reunited with Olivia, after she spent the last 9 months in Switzerland. And those are the lives of my friends. We're all moving different ways, yet still in sync. Now I could dedicate an entire blog post bragging on my friends, but I'll save that. I'm now sitting in the exact same spot on the couch (with Olivia at the other end) that I was at when Clarisse visited over Christmas break and I wrote the post, "Home, Bittersweet Home". 

It's times like these when I feel as if college hasn't happened, Olivia never went away, and that my home will always be a place I can come and go as I please. I don't know as if I've figured out what the lesson of this past week has been for me. I've heard it repetitively from adults that this is the stage in your life when everything changes, and rarely anything stays the same. Yet, it's much different living it. 

Because if you didn't intentionally place flour on your face and pose for a picture, were you really a teenager girl?

So, as sit in this exact same spot as I did months ago, pondering the trails of that day and enjoying the missed company of that friend that day, I'm still digesting everything. I'm excited for this summer and I'm proud of my friends for the adventures they are so willingly partaking in. Some would say with experience that change is great and maybe I would have been better off sitting on the other couch tonight.

But ya know, sometimes you really don't feel like moving. 

a short story on this gloomy day.

I feel that lately I've encountered many people that seem to feel as if they're unremarkable in some way, needing someone to reassure them of their worth. This common theme reminded me of my sweet friend, Martin. Martin, however, is not real. He is a character in a short story I wrote last year. Because it's a gloomy day, and you're probably not wanting to get out of bed (if you're having a Wednesday similar to mine), enjoy this short story about a deaf man in a big city, struggling to feel important. 

My presence, slowly approaching; back to reality. I never want to awake from a dream. I struggled to remember her name. Jenna, I think? She reached out, longing for happiness that she stood confident of receiving. Her beautiful eyes reflected a remarkable man. Was I him? Her figure hurriedly blurred away, and I could feel my blood start to boil. I always seem to wake up before I fully see what my destiny holds. By that time, I had already forgotten what it took for me to get there. 

            Louie, my personal alarm clock and my reasoning for continued employment, slobbered on my face just like any other morning. My eyes fully opened to his tail wagging back and forth. I still doubted Louie’s intelligence from time to time and so, I looked down the hall at those tiny hands that seemed to hold too much power for its fragile appearance. 7 AM. Right on time. Like always. At least my vision remains immaculate. I stood up and reached for what might as well be rocks, and shoved them in my ear. You would think I would get use to the irritation but I never do.  Louie trailed behind me as I grabbed my uniform. Martin, it read right above the left pocket. Why require all city transits to dress the same anyways? If I were on my way to work, the last thing on my mind would be the pattern of the bus driver’s shirt. I guess I am different though.

            I arrived at the lot at 8 AM. I drive the same bus every day, and I have no trouble seeking my bus out among the rest. I remember my bus number 63 pretty easily; after all, most people typically do not forget their age. Driving away from the lot, heading towards downtown, I looked in my rearview mirror, with nothing really worth looking at. So instead, I focused ahead, and found myself thinking about my dream, disappointed with the San Francisco views ahead of me: Nothing.

            Something lingered differently about this morning. Maybe it was that image of happiness embedded in my brain which left me desperate and envious of that stranger’s contentment. If he was a stranger.

Along my route, I continuously greet every passenger with a smile and a simple hello, and usually the most I receive is the corners of their lips curving, instead of making the motions of what I would love to see. A smile is nice, but it lacks the influence as words. Today, I’m going to start a conversation with a passenger. The next one.

“Hello.” She was very put together, from her perfect golden curls, to the absent wrinkles on her clothing. She looked about late twenties. She walked up as if she was taking a mental picture of every image laid out in front of her. She walked slowly. Unlike most passengers, her head was not held high with confidence, clutching a briefcase to her side. What were those papers in her hands covered in red ink? Newspaper ads?

“Good morning” her lips displayed, smiling like she meant it. “I’m lost” she seemed to laugh. My mother’s exuberant laugh use to fill a room with joy.  If I try hard enough, I can focus and hear the echo of it in my mind. 24 years old. Young age to lose both parents, along with a basic foundation for remembering them.

 I caught a glance of the papers she held in her right hand and recognized my apartment building name circled. In her other hand, I automatically identified what it was. I remember when I first moved to the city, escaping the memories I left behind me. Yes, I knew exactly what it was. Hundreds of lines, curved and straight, blue and red, intertwined with one another. I was so scared then. “I don’t mean to be nosey but I noticed my building name on your newspaper.”

“Wow, small world. That’s my new building! I moved in this morning.”

“Well, welcome to San Francisco. So what can I help you with?”

“As you can tell, the map will be my best friend for a while” she smiled again. “Could you possibly drop me off at the closest laundromat? I’m trying to learn my surroundings.”  

“Of course. It’s just four blocks down.”

***

My nightly trip home always provides peace and allows me to reflect on my day. I often joke to myself about how I get paid for free therapy. Today was different. I didn’t even ask her what her name was. I wonder what she ran away from to bring her to this chaos alone. Poor kid. Well, I guess she isn’t a kid; I’m just getting old. I’m getting old.

I usually finish my shift around six, perfect time to come back and fill me and Louie’s stomachs. Walking home, I looked at my watch; 6 PM. Like always. My life is so predictable. Walking in my building, I thought to myself why I ever chose an apartment without an elevator. Or at least, one on a nearer floor. Mine is on the fourth. I started walking up the steps; First floor, second floor, third floor, and then suddenly I felt little shove. It almost knocked me off my balance for a second but then I turned around to face her.

“You walked right past my door and I kept saying hi and you didn’t answer! I’m the girl from the bus this morning!”

I often forget others aren’t magically placed in my mind and know everything about my life. I forget people didn’t walk in that small room as my mother let that gun declare her destiny. I forget how loud it really was. I forget. 

“I’m sorry. I’m...deaf.”

“You’re…deaf? You talk so well though!”

“I lost my hearing when I was 24 years old. It’s easy for me to talk and I had to study lips for a long time before I could easily read lips.”

“Oh my goodness. I had no idea. I’m so sorry. My name is Renee, by the way.”

She held out her hand, and waited. It took me a while before I realized Renee was accepting me. In return and appreciation, I reached out and shook her hand.

“I’m Martin.”

“I know” she smiled and then pointed at my shirt, answering my confused expression.

“Well if you ever need anything, I’m just on the next floor. If you knock, my lab will make sure I know of it.”

            “Thank you, Martin! And if you ever need anything, you’ll have to knock extremely hard. I sleep through anything. Maybe I should get a dog of my own” she smiled.

            “Have a good night, Renee. And thank you.”

            “For what?”

            I suddenly felt a glimpse of meaning in my life for the first time since I can remember.

            “Not asking how I lost my hearing.”

***

            I laid in bed that night finding myself reflecting on my entire life. I was remembering things that I hadn’t until now. I found myself thinking back to the day dad had his heart attack. Maybe I expected too much out of mom. She gave up. I can honestly say I’m proud of myself. I never gave up. “Goodnight Louie.”

            I never want to awake from a dream. There was smoke and there was that girl again. This time, her eyes looked frightened. I had to help her! I had to hel.. I’m awake. It was just a nightmare. I lay there panting. Why do I still smell smoke? I looked down the hall to find Louie pacing back and forth at the door. What is happening? Then, the second my feet hit the floor, I felt it. I began to run sensing the warmth with each step I took. I ran down the steps, falling halfway. Please, don’t be too late. Please.

            “Renee!” I screamed. My fist began to ache and I looked down to blood merged in with my wrinkles. “Help! Somebody help!” Then somehow, someway, my adrenaline gave me the strength to kick down the door. Or maybe even it was the big man upstairs. When the door flung open, it was almost if the room was split into two sides, Heaven and Hell. The fire was close but I still had time. I ran over to her, Louie right behind, to find her slowly opening her eyes. Her mouth opened in terror and I can only guess the horrifying noise that followed. I held out my hand to her, and focused on her eyes glistening. In the flames, I recognized my reflection. My reflection.  

***

            Louie, going crazier than usual. “Okay, okay, I’m going.” I opened the door to see her standing there, smeared mascara left under her eyes.

            “Renee! They released you!”

            She began to cry. “You didn’t only save my life. You saved my son’s.” She placed her hands on her stomach and gave it a grateful pat. I stood there, my entire body numb. She smiled, “I found out he was a boy today before they released me. I’ve decided to name him Martin.”