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.”

I just skipped a class and blogged.

This morning, the realization that I have less than a month of my freshman year of college left really hit me. Some of my favorite times at Mizzou are days like today, when you can actually hear the birds chirping when you walk outside and see far off in the distance without scattered students blocking the way. Yes, it's Easter weekend and that means there aren't nearly as many people on campus right now. Professors: I recommend not telling your students a set number of unexcused absences they receive for the semester, because I WILL strategically plan to use them ALL before it reaches the end. Today, exhibit A (and one class that I missed accidentally--oops).

It's evident that I love Columbia. One of my good friends questioned me the other day as to why I love it as much as I do. And surprisingly, I did have to think about it for a minute. I had, and still do, express my happiness here due to the friendships and blessings I have encountered in a short timespan of 8 months. Intangible things. However, when I pondered the experiences of freshman year, I found a variety of nouns that fit that appreciation. I know I talk about the people a great deal. And the things I do or picked up in college. Rarely have I solely thought about the places in Columbia. Tangible things.

1. The campus:

This one is fairly obvious. But seriously, Mizzou's campus is BEAUTIFUL. Mizzou: you a dime. This includes my Rock community's home made in Memorial Student Union, aka Memorial or Mem. We. Live. There. You could be sitting in my dorm room one minute and then, after a 12-minute walk, be in the center of downtown. Tradition after tradition, history after history, that's what Mizzou's campus is. The J-School itself is incredible, but I'm a tad biased (well that's ironic).

2. Capen Park:

Without a doubt, guaranteed to provide peace when you reach the top. I'm winded by the time I get there, but I'm also winded every day when I walk up three flights of stairs for my French class. It seems that if someone is struggling on a given day or even myself, the response is usually, "You should go to Capen." Hands down, one of the best places to watch the sunrise. 

3. Cafe Berlin:

You know in FRIENDS how Central Perk is their home away from home that promises a wonderful cup of delicious coffee? Cafe Berlin is that to me. Many wonderful conversations have happened here and it was the topic of the first article I ever had published, so that's kind of neat. Dat apples and sausage doe. 

4. Big Tree:

This is always a place that's funny to tell outsiders about. "What's at Big Tree?" "A big tree." "That's it?" Basically, it's this big open field that is about a 15-minute drive from campus with a really big tree. It's a cool part of Columbia's history and is super old. I went there the other night with some friends to watch the lunar eclipse. Perfect view of all of the stars.

5. My parking garage:

Yes, you read that correctly. My parking garage is on the edge of campus so I go a little out of my way when I park. But sometimes, I'll think of an excuse to drive and intentionally leave to watch the sunset. The elevator also talks there. 

6. Rock Quarry Road:

I don't have a picture of this. But I love it because it reminds me of Pounds Road/Gamel Cemetary (for my Festus peeps), the road that I drove every single day, whether on my way to work or school. A peaceful, beautiful road. 

7. An unhealthy amount of places to eat, that I would probably be judged if I named them all:

• Hotbox (cookies)
• Gumby's (pizza)
• Freebirds (burritos)
• Lakota (coffee)
• D. Rowe's (BBQ)
• CHIPOTLE, CHIPOTLE, CHIPOTLE (my heart)

8. The Schulz abode:

 Lots of intense games of CatchPhrase here. Homemade popcorn guaranteed. Where we can all sit in a circle and worship together, crying and singing. The home of two incredible mentors and the parents of Midcampus. AND MIA!! 

The list goes on. I think I'll stay here awhile. 

Happy Easter weekend, everyone!

reflection.

When I decide to blog, I typically have an outline in my mind as to what I want to say. Today, I have a lot of scattered thoughts. But also, today isn't like most days.

This day marks two years since we lost my dad. And instead of simply saying, "I'm doing okay today," I decided to write about it. For some of you, you may know a lot about the memories and life lessons I cherish because of this man and this could be repetitive. For others, you may have no idea. And even for me, I don't know completely what I'm going to write. But I feel strongly about sharing what's on my heart today. 

Because it is April 10th, I'm going to share with you 10 things on my heart, whether put there by God to share with you or simply a memory overwhelmingly flooding my mind. 

I still don't know what I'm specifically going to write, so here goes nothing:

1. Allow plenty of time for laughter. 

I can't tell you the countless times my dad would make me laugh until my cheeks hurt. And I also can't tell you how many times that happened when I was in a "crabby Madi" mood. One time I remember driving and he was in the passenger seat and we went by a speed zone and I thought it took your picture. So, like any giddy, teenage girl would do, I stuck my tongue as we drove by. He laughed at me for a couple of seconds until informing me that it doesn't take your picture and then mocking me of the ridiculous face I had made. It's one of my fondest memories. 

2. Enjoy the silence nature has to offer.

My dad LOVED hunting. I use to go hunting with my dad. I think a lot of people would laugh if they knew that. I seem like one of the last people to go sit for hours in silence and wait to potentially kill an animal. Let's be honest, I would have went even if I had known beforehand we weren't going to see any deer. We would usually take the trailer with the four-wheelers on it, unload everything, and drive really fast to our destination (usually beating the sunrise). We would sit in (almost) silence and grow excited even at the smallest of sounds we heard in the woods, usually a squirrel. Darn squirrels. One time, we were sitting in a tent and my dad was growing anxious awaiting the sight of a deer. And there she was. He whispered, "Get ready." I looked at him in awe. "You want me to try?" So I slowly pulled up the gun, shaking uncontrollably, and I fired. I missed, he laughed. We laughed (see number 1). And we sat in silence a little while longer. 

3. Talk about your fears.

I lost count of the number of times my dad had to go to the hospital. But one time, it was just us two in one of those boxed rooms, those white walls torturous in their stillness in the midst of change. He asked me if I was scared. I answered and asked him the same question. I weeped, he weeped. We held each other's hands, in no hurry to heal the pain we were feeling. 

4. Allow time for adventures.

When my dad knew his time was near, he asked each of us to choose one place to go on vacation and that's where we would go. I choose New York, Austin chose Washington D.C., and my mom chose a Caribbean cruise. Then, as a family we went on a 12-day Mediterranean cruise, where we saw Greece, Italy and Israel. I still find it hard to mention this trip because of the pure joy it brings. So I'll keep that one to myself. 

5. Offer people your sincerity.

Even if it's a short 5-minute conversation, talk! My dad would always engage in a conversation with someone. He was once volunteering at a toy drive and this lady came in desperately wanting a bike for her son. Unfortunately, the bikes were all taken by the time this lady had arrived. My dad pulled out some money and told her to buy her son a bike. Could this lady have used this money on something else? Probably. The lady in charge of the toy drive came running over and said, "Victor, you can't do that." "I just did." Break the rules sometimes. It's priceless.

6. Find ways to show your love.

I always felt loved by my dad when he made me biscuits and his famous homemade gravy. Yes, food made me feel loved. It wasn't always him saying "I love you" when I felt his love the most. 

7. Be a learner and a teacher. 

Before every Sunday school class, he would sit in his recliner throughout the week and focus his attention on the lesson for the week. I watched him sit in his comfy clothes, absorbing and studying, to then in a buttoned up shirt on a Sunday morning, transporting those lessons from his mind to a room full of teenagers. It was always a beautiful observation. 

8. Be honest.

I could always approach my dad with a question and knowing I'd receive the truth, even if I didn't want to hear it. I think his honestly shocked some people sometimes, but when from most people I've talked to, it was one of their favorite things about him. 

9. Keep singing.

This is meant to be interpreted figuratively and literally. My entire family has a passion for music. Sometimes, when the emotions were too high too powerful to put in words, we would play a meaningful song. I'm not saying everyone loves music, but if you do, share that with your family. Sing with them. As for figuratively, it reminds me of the song that always brings deep reflection of my dad. In 10,000 Reasons, the lyrics: "Whatever may pass or whatever lies before me, let me be singing when the evening comes." You can still sing through tears, as he did (also a double interpretation there).

10. We will serve the Lord.

My dad's favorite verse: "Choose this day whom you will serve. But as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. Joshua 24:15" As oddly as it sounds, I am so thankful for the 10 days my dad was in the hospital before he passed. It was only a few days in before he lost communication. But he could still hear. And we would play music and talk about Heaven and he would tap his foot along to the music. He was still serving the Lord and throughout his sickness, he never stopped. 

How lucky I am to have my greatest inspiration on this earth to be my own father. Thank you, God.