the state line
"You can do this," she said, determination in her eyes as a lock from her half-done bridesmaid up-do fell in her face.
"You can do this, Whitney," repeated the rest of the wedding party as they curled their hair in what I had formerly only known as the Old Testament room. I nodded a thank-you to the bride whom I didn't know, and to the other bridesmaids who looked at me with sympathetic gazes.
How I had found myself in the Old Testament room, spilling my sob story to a wedding party of whom I knew one member, on my sophomore year spring break, actually happened to be a long and terrible tale, most of which I do not currently have time to fully tell because I barely have time to eat, let alone write a blog. Essentially, the text conversation went like this:
"Andrea. It's going horrible. I'm going to throw up."
"Whitney! I'm at Grace because I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding here today. Come here. We'll help."
I walked over there, and I told them. I told them of the painful zoo date and of the movie the night before, and of the gas station and the tears and the nausea. I told them everything as the wedding party simultaneously listened in horror and applied mascara.
"Whitney. You have to tell him you can't see him anymore."
"Guys, you don't understand. He came up here for his spring break! He's here ALL WEEK."
"Whitney, do you want to wake up feeling like this for a week?"
Something about that question hit me. No. No I refuse to wake up with dread and nausea. I refuse to sit in my car one more time with conversations that go like this:
-awkward silence-
Him: So....have you ever hit a deer?
Me: No, I haven't.
Him: Me neither.
-awkward silence-
I refuse to use excuses like "I need to go practice piano" just to get away from him. I refuse to eat one more bite of his awful cooking, of which he had spent over $400 on for the whole week. I refuse to sit through one more torturously silent meal. I didn't care what was right or what was cordial or what was kind. I needed out, and I needed out now.
And so with a final nod of appreciation, I left the New Testament room and headed over to Dirks Kitchen, where he was awaiting with me with some brunch that I would have to gag down. But I had a smile on my face. This would be my last meal of misery. This was it. I was ending this week-long spring break date from hell early.
I walked into the kitchen and the stench almost caused me to hurl all over myself immediately upon inhalation, which would have been a gracious yet late answer to my earlier prayers of the week for God to please strike me with an incapacitating illness. No, it was too late for sick excuses.
Having mastered the art of staying alive without smelling or really breathing in the his "cooking" aroma, I stood there watching him cook, when, surprisingly, HE broke the silence.
"Do you feel like it's been a bit awkward so far?"
Despite the emotional breakdowns, the emotional eating, the emotional phone calls to friends, the crying, the terror, the nausea, the bad meals I had endured those three days, something inside threatened to break my no-breathing techniques with a snort at the phrase "a bit". I remained composed.
"Umm....yeah actually I have noticed that...a bit..." as proven through my nausea, and my overall dread of being around the boy.
"I wonder why...we were always fine on the phone," he wondered, but I was far past analyzing this.
I looked at the boy and almost felt bad for what I was about to do. I mean, he did send me a...sweet...Valentine's day basket, romantically stuffed with Cheez-its and fruit snacks. And his weed-like flowers were a nice gesture. And his carefully planned meals for the week were so thoughtful, if only they didn't taste like how my Great-Nana Payne smelled.
The discussion happened, and the only phrase I really remember saying is, "I don't really feel comfortable...ever...seeing you again." My self-confidence soared. I was doing this! My dread faded and the nausea subsided. He had no choice but to oblige, as the only thing worse than a week-long awkward spring break date straight from the gates of Hades, is...a FORCED week-long awkward spring break date straight from the gates of Hades. Even he knew that.
The light. It was at the end of the tunnel, and the only thing stopping me was....brunch. I stared at my food, it stood no chance this time. I scarfed it down without thinking about it. No longer was I concerned with trying to make conversation. Brunch ensued in blissful silence, a phrase I thought I would never use around this boy. I finished my last bite, my offer to help clean up turned down, and with a good-bye consisting of:
"Well...have a nice...semester?"
I sprinted up the steps and into my room, where...
I cried for hours.
^SpRiNg BrEaK 2o1l No ReGreTz^
So, that was my spring break two years ago exactly, and no matter how lame your spring break is shaping up to be, I genuinely hope it's not as bad as that.
Blogs are usually great for 1) updating faraway friends on life, and 2) expressing deep and/or profound thoughts.
Unfortunately, the reason I haven't been blogging much recently is because:
-most of my friends live around here.
-I barely have any friends anymore. The piano is my friend. And actually it's my enemy.
-The only update on my life is that the practice room is oddly colder than it was two days ago.
-My usual only time for dinner is a Taco Soup scarf as I walk through the halls to get to my practice room.
-Deep/profound thoughts consist of: Which would be going out with more dignity? Practicing myself to death, or jumping out of a window yelling "LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THE PIANO DIDNT KILL ME; THE CEMENT DID!!!!"?
So that's why there has been nothing for weeks. Well, nothing but this:
And I wish this picture meant that I've been having numerous romantic-Shane-West-Walk-To-Remember moments, or that I've been running a lot, or that it's been nice enough to wear shorts (it's supposed to snow tomorrow), or anything else great that one could conclude from this picture.
This picture symbolizes my recent agonizing inner struggle: Iowa, or Nebraska?
You've most likely read my last blog about my desire to move to Ames for CRU. That desire is still there. But some of the logistics...aren't. Financially, it isn't the wisest. Adult things like student loans and purchasing vehicles are on the horizon. Iowa isn't conducive to saving lots of money when I could live at home. And so I've been back and forth on life's metaphoric pedestrian bridge, as it shakes a bit from the wind. I've been standing on the state line for awhile, and I've been leaning heavily towards the right.
Which one, God? (ps please let it be Iowa).
The snow is moving in tonight and that makes me sigh because the world is so on the brink of life. Though I cannot see it yet, I can feel it. Something is happening beneath the brown grass, something is stirring in the dead trees. The birds are multiplying. The sunsets linger longer, as if to wait for the first flower bud. Spring is coming, the air is electric with it. And we, with great anticipation, went on long runs in the 65 degrees on Friday. We put on skirts and we shaved our legs for the first time since Valentine's Day and we let the sun pour onto our pasty skin.
And tomorrow, it's going to snow again.
Jon and I sat in the small, insignificant town of Stuart, IA, and we made our decision. I have unfinished business in Omaha. I have friends to win back that I have abandoned in the name of senior recital. There are people who need Jesus. Precious hands who want to play piano. Weddings to be in, friends to visit, money to save. I haven't done well in Omaha the past few years. And so I will stay. And I'm going to do Omaha right. And maybe next year I'll get to cross that state line, but for now I want to watch the brown grasses of Omaha turn to spring. I want to be apart of watching the Gospel awaken those around me here first. And then maybe He will move me.
Spring will be delayed yet another day, as the snow will fall slowly and gently upon our restless, winter-worn city tomorrow.
But we are never promised spring-like days in the middle of March (especially in Nebraska). We are never promised our spring break dates will go swimmingly, we aren't entitled to moving to wherever we want, when we want. We sometimes get snowy days when we just want sunshine.
But I learned a lot from that terrible date two years ago. And the sweetest springs always follow the longest winters. And learning to be grateful for it all, for snowy March days and prolonged Omaha stays, because the air is electrified with His hand, and I find myself anxiously awaiting the flowers He wakes from the dead trees, and the colors He paints into the waiting and the trusting, and I'm quite excited about it all.
PS I deleted my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter apps from my phone til my recital. So if it feels like I've dropped off the face of the Earth, it's because I have.
"You can do this, Whitney," repeated the rest of the wedding party as they curled their hair in what I had formerly only known as the Old Testament room. I nodded a thank-you to the bride whom I didn't know, and to the other bridesmaids who looked at me with sympathetic gazes.
How I had found myself in the Old Testament room, spilling my sob story to a wedding party of whom I knew one member, on my sophomore year spring break, actually happened to be a long and terrible tale, most of which I do not currently have time to fully tell because I barely have time to eat, let alone write a blog. Essentially, the text conversation went like this:
"Andrea. It's going horrible. I'm going to throw up."
"Whitney! I'm at Grace because I'm a bridesmaid in a wedding here today. Come here. We'll help."
I walked over there, and I told them. I told them of the painful zoo date and of the movie the night before, and of the gas station and the tears and the nausea. I told them everything as the wedding party simultaneously listened in horror and applied mascara.
"Whitney. You have to tell him you can't see him anymore."
"Guys, you don't understand. He came up here for his spring break! He's here ALL WEEK."
"Whitney, do you want to wake up feeling like this for a week?"
Something about that question hit me. No. No I refuse to wake up with dread and nausea. I refuse to sit in my car one more time with conversations that go like this:
-awkward silence-
Him: So....have you ever hit a deer?
Me: No, I haven't.
Him: Me neither.
-awkward silence-
I refuse to use excuses like "I need to go practice piano" just to get away from him. I refuse to eat one more bite of his awful cooking, of which he had spent over $400 on for the whole week. I refuse to sit through one more torturously silent meal. I didn't care what was right or what was cordial or what was kind. I needed out, and I needed out now.
And so with a final nod of appreciation, I left the New Testament room and headed over to Dirks Kitchen, where he was awaiting with me with some brunch that I would have to gag down. But I had a smile on my face. This would be my last meal of misery. This was it. I was ending this week-long spring break date from hell early.
I walked into the kitchen and the stench almost caused me to hurl all over myself immediately upon inhalation, which would have been a gracious yet late answer to my earlier prayers of the week for God to please strike me with an incapacitating illness. No, it was too late for sick excuses.
Having mastered the art of staying alive without smelling or really breathing in the his "cooking" aroma, I stood there watching him cook, when, surprisingly, HE broke the silence.
"Do you feel like it's been a bit awkward so far?"
Despite the emotional breakdowns, the emotional eating, the emotional phone calls to friends, the crying, the terror, the nausea, the bad meals I had endured those three days, something inside threatened to break my no-breathing techniques with a snort at the phrase "a bit". I remained composed.
"Umm....yeah actually I have noticed that...a bit..." as proven through my nausea, and my overall dread of being around the boy.
"I wonder why...we were always fine on the phone," he wondered, but I was far past analyzing this.
I looked at the boy and almost felt bad for what I was about to do. I mean, he did send me a...sweet...Valentine's day basket, romantically stuffed with Cheez-its and fruit snacks. And his weed-like flowers were a nice gesture. And his carefully planned meals for the week were so thoughtful, if only they didn't taste like how my Great-Nana Payne smelled.
The discussion happened, and the only phrase I really remember saying is, "I don't really feel comfortable...ever...seeing you again." My self-confidence soared. I was doing this! My dread faded and the nausea subsided. He had no choice but to oblige, as the only thing worse than a week-long awkward spring break date straight from the gates of Hades, is...a FORCED week-long awkward spring break date straight from the gates of Hades. Even he knew that.
The light. It was at the end of the tunnel, and the only thing stopping me was....brunch. I stared at my food, it stood no chance this time. I scarfed it down without thinking about it. No longer was I concerned with trying to make conversation. Brunch ensued in blissful silence, a phrase I thought I would never use around this boy. I finished my last bite, my offer to help clean up turned down, and with a good-bye consisting of:
"Well...have a nice...semester?"
I sprinted up the steps and into my room, where...
I cried for hours.
^SpRiNg BrEaK 2o1l No ReGreTz^
So, that was my spring break two years ago exactly, and no matter how lame your spring break is shaping up to be, I genuinely hope it's not as bad as that.
Blogs are usually great for 1) updating faraway friends on life, and 2) expressing deep and/or profound thoughts.
Unfortunately, the reason I haven't been blogging much recently is because:
-most of my friends live around here.
-I barely have any friends anymore. The piano is my friend. And actually it's my enemy.
-The only update on my life is that the practice room is oddly colder than it was two days ago.
-My usual only time for dinner is a Taco Soup scarf as I walk through the halls to get to my practice room.
-Deep/profound thoughts consist of: Which would be going out with more dignity? Practicing myself to death, or jumping out of a window yelling "LET IT BE KNOWN THAT THE PIANO DIDNT KILL ME; THE CEMENT DID!!!!"?
So that's why there has been nothing for weeks. Well, nothing but this:
And I wish this picture meant that I've been having numerous romantic-Shane-West-Walk-To-Remember moments, or that I've been running a lot, or that it's been nice enough to wear shorts (it's supposed to snow tomorrow), or anything else great that one could conclude from this picture.
This picture symbolizes my recent agonizing inner struggle: Iowa, or Nebraska?
You've most likely read my last blog about my desire to move to Ames for CRU. That desire is still there. But some of the logistics...aren't. Financially, it isn't the wisest. Adult things like student loans and purchasing vehicles are on the horizon. Iowa isn't conducive to saving lots of money when I could live at home. And so I've been back and forth on life's metaphoric pedestrian bridge, as it shakes a bit from the wind. I've been standing on the state line for awhile, and I've been leaning heavily towards the right.
Which one, God? (ps please let it be Iowa).
The snow is moving in tonight and that makes me sigh because the world is so on the brink of life. Though I cannot see it yet, I can feel it. Something is happening beneath the brown grass, something is stirring in the dead trees. The birds are multiplying. The sunsets linger longer, as if to wait for the first flower bud. Spring is coming, the air is electric with it. And we, with great anticipation, went on long runs in the 65 degrees on Friday. We put on skirts and we shaved our legs for the first time since Valentine's Day and we let the sun pour onto our pasty skin.
And tomorrow, it's going to snow again.
Jon and I sat in the small, insignificant town of Stuart, IA, and we made our decision. I have unfinished business in Omaha. I have friends to win back that I have abandoned in the name of senior recital. There are people who need Jesus. Precious hands who want to play piano. Weddings to be in, friends to visit, money to save. I haven't done well in Omaha the past few years. And so I will stay. And I'm going to do Omaha right. And maybe next year I'll get to cross that state line, but for now I want to watch the brown grasses of Omaha turn to spring. I want to be apart of watching the Gospel awaken those around me here first. And then maybe He will move me.
Spring will be delayed yet another day, as the snow will fall slowly and gently upon our restless, winter-worn city tomorrow.
But we are never promised spring-like days in the middle of March (especially in Nebraska). We are never promised our spring break dates will go swimmingly, we aren't entitled to moving to wherever we want, when we want. We sometimes get snowy days when we just want sunshine.
But I learned a lot from that terrible date two years ago. And the sweetest springs always follow the longest winters. And learning to be grateful for it all, for snowy March days and prolonged Omaha stays, because the air is electrified with His hand, and I find myself anxiously awaiting the flowers He wakes from the dead trees, and the colors He paints into the waiting and the trusting, and I'm quite excited about it all.
PS I deleted my Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter apps from my phone til my recital. So if it feels like I've dropped off the face of the Earth, it's because I have.
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