Renewed Vision

I love Christmas. Mostly because I get to make Christmas-y things. Crafting, Graphics... I just love the whole shebang. (ESPECIALLY the lights. Christmas lights are my favorite thing in the entire world.)  I got to create these designs at work, which is fantastic. I didn't think of the design... only copied them and added on a bit.

I'm really excited about this year. It feels like a new beginning. I just had a birthday, which made me so glad to look forward to things. I mean, I get to package up all the things that were less than amazing about last year and never think about them again, right? I'm 28. 28 year olds get to make their own decisions about how they live their lives. I mean, I'm practically an adult. And therefore, I decide that nothing bad will happen this year. At least, that's what I think when I'm feeling powerful. But then I come back to reality and remember that I.AM.NOT.IN.CONTROL. We (as a family) just got some more bad news. Which, to me, is a punch in the face realization that the world keeps moving. Life is still Life.

I'm also a bit sad about the passing of time. Last Christmas was the last time I got to see Meghan healthy and with a full head of hair. I used to write her emails and letters... mostly asking her dumb questions about Canada. About whether or not every kid learns how to curl in school... which, apparently, they do. I've been wanting to write her letters again or see her post something on FB... something like... "hearts n junk" on Adam's page.



I know I'll see her again. But there's still achiness and hurtyness (it's a word; stop judging me) when I think about her and miss her. I don't think that will go away. But as I said earlier, Life is still Life. It keeps moving whether you want it to or not. We pick up the pieces, and carry on as best we can.
 
Sometimes, we'll get to smile.

long time coming

It's been a really long time since I last wrote. Mostly because it terrifies me. I became content to really just stop being introspective about Meghan's death. I became content to let the healing happen. Tomorrow will mark 6 months since she passed away. Two months since I moved to Virginia Beach and started my new job. I can't even begin to describe the amount of heartache and stress my family has been through over the past year. But we're still here. We're still fighting through the days. We still cry. A lot more than I anticipated, actually. I almost thought that I would be fixed after a few months. Almost like my wound had closed up, the stitches were taken out... but the scar is still there.
I'm changed... a much different girl than I was a year ago. My heart is different. I still appreciate design and beauty... (like these... they're my favorite)


But it's different now. It means less than it did before. Mostly because I cherish life. And love. It's waiting.

when you can, dance.

determination.

It's hard to believe that it's been nine weeks since Meghan died. I can still see her mannerisms and hear some of her words. I can still picture her on her wedding day. I can still see her arriving at the RV this past Christmas and how jealous I was of her matching luggage. Seriously. Everything that she owned was so stinkin awesome. It scares me to know that it will become a distant memory one day, and I will forget. That's inevitable. I hate it.

It's hard, too, to believe that it's been five months since I was laid off. It's been a while since I last wrote. Mostly because I didn't know what to say. I don't know how to explain to you what we're all feeling. What I'm feeling, since I can really only speak for myself.

I hate that I was laid off. Yeah, because I don't get a paycheck anymore and that stinks. Yeah, because I don't have the monotony of a job every day to return to and get lost in. But mostly because there's so much emotion involved in looking for a new job that it frustrates me to not know exactly which emotion belongs where. I can't say... "I'm feeling sad because of ______."

There are so many highs and lows, even within a period of one day. It seems as if my emotions are amplified, so that something as simple as the USA scoring a goal at the World Cup will make me run around the house. And a phone call from a prospective employer will make me (again) run around the house. And missing a phone call from a prospective employer will upset me for an entire day.

There are things, however, that keep me moving ahead and help me step outside of my own bubble. I get to volunteer every other week at a soup kitchen. Which means I scoop food out of large pans onto plates. Really, this is nothing noble. The noble thing is the men that I meet there. Yes, most of them have been in jail before. Yes, most of them have been on drugs for years. But they are changed men. They are products of grace. They encourage me and remind me of things that I so often forget. One of which is to take life one day at a time. These guys, some of which are ex-cons, all of which are homeless, are reminding me to take life one day at a time. And that God is faithful. I find hope just being around them.

Adam and I are working to get "For the Love of Meghan" established as a non-profit entity. We want others to be able to benefit from her life and love and legacy in a tangible way. There was an article in the Toronto Star yesterday, which garnered TONS of support. Adam's had two radio interviews between last night and this morning. It's just incredible to see where this thing is going. Obviously, we wish that it isn't a "thing." We would most love to have her back. But maybe our purpose now is to change other people's lives and to encourage them through our pain?

So we move forward. We aren't allowed to stop. That's out of the question. We must learn to heal and learn to grieve and learn to love differently... and learn to never stay stagnant in our lives.

We pray for good news. We pray for encouragement. We pray for hope. We pray for love.

A prayer...

I was reading Beth Moore's book, So Long, Insecurity, this morning and came across this prayer she had written- just a portion of it, actually.

"Lord, come and treat my heart and soul where they have been shattered by loss. No one on earth can esteem the loss of something precious the way You can. You know the pain. You know the unbearable emptiness that can come with loss. You recognize my attempt to fill the void with things that never suffice. You know how my feelings frighten me and how the enemy of my soul would have me believe that I will never be okay. Make a liar out of him, Lord. Do not let him win. Do not let loss win. Be my gain, Lord. Flood my life with purpose and compassion. Be my strength in weakness.

Please do not let me confuse healing with betrayal. Help me to see any place in my life where I'm hanging on to my grief or anger in an attempt to hang on to what I've lost. Grant me the gift of healthy grief that does not fight the pain or the process of healing. Lord, please help me to see where I have suffered a substantial loss that I've never regarded. Where I lost innocence, grant me integrity. Where I lost a relationship, grant me true intimacy. Where I lost a home, grant me an internal, unshakable sense of belonging. Where I've helped someone responsible for my loss, grant me the ability to forgive. Don't stop until You've made a miracle of me.

Lord, help me to learn how to hang on tight to You when my life is rocked by dramatic change. Empower me to trust You and not to panic or fight for control. Help me to stop confusing a change in my circumstances with a change in my security status. You are my security, O God. You are the one sure thing. When everything around me shakes, You are unshakable. Nothing has the propensity to reveal false gods to me like a sudden change in my circumstances. Help me to see them and surrender them instantaneously. Use change to provoke what needs changing in me, Lord, and to increase my appreciation of the only One who is the same yesterday, today, and forever."

This past 12 months of my life has been marked with dramatic change, unspeakable pain, loss, upheaval, and little rest. I cling to the hope, however, that there will be sunshine in my heart once again. And not just for a moment or two during a day of clouds. The sunshine will be as regular and unencumbered as the sun during a Texas summer.

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. but the greatest of these is love. 1 Corinthians 13:13

*k

Lessons Learned

I can't put a word to what I'm feeling. I feel too much, too often. And not enough. So without the real ability to name what and how, I feel weird.

Sadness, at times, threatens to engulf me. And somehow, sometimes, I can push it away.

Example #1. Last Saturday. I went over to a friend's house to pick up a tank top I had left there. (Let's not be thinking this is scandalous, okay? I had another tank top underneath.) I walked up to the backyard where he and two of his friends were, and he- almost immediately- asked if I was I had just gotten bad news. Sadness is in the way I walk, in the way I talk, and it shows in my eyes. That day, I knew not to hug anyone for too long, for fear of my eyes turning into faucets. Fast forward to a few hours later. I return to said house for a party. Well, rewind a sec. I knew about said party, and made sure that some of my girl friends were going- whenever I go some place, I must have my "safe" people to go with. People that know, that are kind and comforting, and people that know what it means to ask or not ask. Okay, fast forward again. This time, I put on my party face. I forgot about everything I was thinking, and just spent the time hanging out. Just like "before". Sometimes, I feel like it's a glimpse of normal. Like maybe my wound isn't gaping open, and instead is a scar. Back to reality after I leave the party. But for those couple of hours, I can be a real person again... one that isn't hurting or worrying or sad or totally uncomfortable with the idea that someone might start asking too many questions.

I echo what Adam wrote today on Meghan's blog... it's hard to know when it's okay to smile. Or when it's okay to cry. Or what is appropriate.

I get angry a lot these days. Mostly at people and their reactions to what is happening. I get mad that they don't know, and mad if they do know and have dumb responses. So here is some advice to those that are unfamiliar with what to do for a person going through the grieving process.

Lesson #1. Never ever ever ever tell someone who is grieving what you think would be good for them. It's not for you to decide. ie- what you should be doing in order to "get over" it and/ or "move on." Little else makes me want to punch said person in the face.

Lesson #2. Their grieving process has nothing to do with you. It's not about you. This person is doing all they can to make it through the day, much less having to deal with you and your suggestions and/or emotions. Don't even attempt to put your emotions onto them.

Lesson #3. It's a nice sentiment to tell the person that you're there for them, if they ever want to talk. Chances are, they'll talk to you when they're ready... so don't pressure them into talking immediately.

Lesson #4. As soon as the person informs you of the situation, it is generally not advisable to ask the person what happened. As in... how did they die? Not good. You'll get details eventually, and your morbid curiosity is not helpful.

Lesson #5. Short and sweet is usually the best option when responding to the news. Good example: "Man, I am so sad for you. I'm praying for you." Bad example: "I am sooooo sorry. He/She was such a good person. You look just like him/her. I bet you're really sad. Are you sad? I mean... he/she was so young. You must be heartbroken." Grieving persons don't need you to give them words to express themselves. Your seeming empathetic words are not helping at this specific moment in time.

Lesson #6. Give the person time. Give them space. But also don't stop inviting them. You could say... "Hey, I'm not sure if you'll be up to it, but tonight, I'm going to be watching a movie and drinking copious amounts of wine. If you're interested, you've got a spot on my couch."

Lesson #7. Sometimes, the person just wants to have "regular" conversations. It's okay to just talk about things you used to talk about.

I wish I knew how and what to feel. Or think. Or that I was even able to differentiate between emotions and could source them. But it seems as if- at least right now- I just have general emotion toward general everything.

One day, one step at a time, it will get less painful. It might turn into a dull ache, rather than a sharp pain... but until then, one foot in front of the other.



*k

I miss everything about you

I wrote this on the plane back from Detroit to Dallas. I recognize that it's written more novel-style than journal-style... a bit detached. But it's the only way I could write it. It's long, too.

Meghan passed away last Tuesday, the 27th. Three months almost exactly after being re-diagnosed. Suck. I am on the airplane headed back to Dallas after being in Michigan for 1.5 weeks. We spent a lot of time in Canada- some up at the cottage with people. How terrible for Adam and Marg & Bill. He lost the wife of his youth, they their only daughter. I don't know how they can get out of bed in the mornings, but they have managed each day to get up and press on. Their courage and strength is inspiring.

She died on Tuesday. I got a phone call from Mom a little before 10 am, which I thought was strange. I was sitting in the census training which I had assumed was the Lord's provision for me. (Funny that every part time job I try to get somehow doesn't work out when I'm unemployed.) I didn't answer, seeing that I was in training. She called me a second time, immediately after the first. My first thought was... "shit. shit, shit, shit." I knew before I answered the phone. I practically ran out of the dingy old church fellowship hall into another room and mom told me. I started shaking, was in complete shock & remember thinking that my mom was making it up. There was no way she could be gone. I had just learned how to pray for- and believe in- miracles. And certainly God was going to answer that prayer. I wanted Him to show His power. To show His glory in a way that would completely change everyone's lives. He wanted to show Himself in another way, though. His power extends beyond our own.

After I hung up the phone with Mom, I immediately called Megan (my best friend in Houston). I couldn't choke out the words I knew to be true, but didn't believe. It took me three attempts before Megan could figure out what I was saying. After that, I texted a couple of my really close friends, went back to get my purse, and quit the census job. I am still astounded at the kindness of some strangers. A woman I had just met that morning gave me her card and as I was leaving- I mumbled out... "my sister in law just passed away." She told me to call her if I needed anything. I needed a lot, but nothing that she could provide.

I only remember part of the drive home- it wasn't a long drive... just a couple of blocks. I called my roommate to make sure she was home and to see if she could drive me to the airport. I got home, pulled out my suitcases & threw clothes in. Black dresses. Funeral clothes. Funeral wear. I packed the pants Meghan bought me, and the matching (airbrushed) shirts I had got Adam and Meghan and I for Christmas. Mine was a unicorn, hers was a flying llama, his a narwhal. She was mortified, and probably never ventured to put it on.

I bought my plane ticket. For some reason, my passport was already in my purse. I talked to a friend who volunteered to take care of Ed. I didn't pray a prayer. I kept saying to myself... "Dear Jesus." Not... "Dear Jesus," as in the beginning of a prayer or a letter, even. I couldn't ask for comfort- I didn't know how. The last thing I grabbed before I left was my hat. I didn't want people in the airport to see my pain. I also loaded my purse with kleenex and a book- my escape.

A different friend came to get me to take me to the airport. Chick-fil-a on the way. She was such a blessing, chattering about who knows what, but keeping me from dwelling on the reality of it all. I got to the airport and checked my bags. I tried to avoid everyone's eyes when I walked around. I tried to mutter as few words as possible. Somehow, the day passed. Tears escaped my eyes only occasionally, and luckily, nobody seemed willing or able to acknowledge them. I didn't have to explain to anyone else that day.

I got anxious deplaning in Detroit. I turned a corner in the airport and saw my parents waiting to pick me up. I ran. I needed comfort. We cried a few tears, but didn't lose it. I asked them more questions. I guess I didn't need to ask them if it was all real. We all knew it was coming. But we thought it would be "eventually." We never imagined eventually would be that soon.

Adam and Meghan were married for one day less than one month. I was her maid of honor, Brad was Adam's best man. Him and I were the official witnesses. It was not supposed to be the only wedding. I still have invitations to make and a plan to execute. A wedding binder to make. A chance to be neurotic. I went to sleep that night knowing that Wednesday would suck.

Wednesday, the three of us woke early. We had to get up to Canada for the viewing- family only. I almost didn't want to be included in the ranks of those closest to her. The pain so intense, so raw, so unavoidable. But I was. She was my sister. Only for a month, but forever family. We got to the Baker's house early. Reality hit hard when Adam walked into the kitchen. We hugged like we were never going to let go. We did, but not before pain erupted and our hearts were ripped open, exposed, bleeding.

We made the short, two- block drive to the funeral home in silence. I, at that point, didn't want to see her. I didn't want to remember her that way- a lifeless shell. I knew it wasn't her, but just the remains of her. I didn't have a choice, though. Funeral homes don't allow you to choose. Our hearts were completely open when we were in that room- completely unprotected, unguarded.

I thought back to the wedding day as I sat along a wall, as small as I could make myself. I wanted to tell her she was beautiful that day. Her wedding day. But I didn't. I wanted to have a bachelorette party with her, but didn't. I wanted to make her a bouquet of flowers, but didn't. I didn't want to over step boundaries. I wish I did, though. I wish in insisted her Dad walk her down a makeshift aisle. How were we to know that would be her only wedding?

I wrote her three, maybe four times since her wedding. The first one, I practically begged her to keep fighting. I was almost ashamed when I sent that one. I was asking her to stay strong while I wrote that through my pouring, incessant tears. Seems selfish and unfair of me.

We went back to the house after that, and more people showed up. Some brought food. The rest of the day was a blur. We looked through hundreds of pictures of her, and printed them out. We placed some photos on foamcore, and planned to hang some in between the boards the next day. Mom and Dad and I went back to Michigan to spend the night there. Some of the strangest, most real moments of the whole trip, though, were at the border patrol. I know it's their job to ask the reason of your visit. You just don't want to admit that you're going somewhere because someone died. I still don't want to answer that question.

Thursday was another long day. That was the day of the visitation. This is when the family stands in a line, greets strangers, and listens to their asinine words of comfort. Some woman told me that I look exactly like Meghan. I wish I could have punched her in the mouth, but that behavior is apparently frowned upon. Someone asked me how my vacation was when I returned home. Words meant to comfort and move on, but aren't all that comforting. At least it was something else to think about other than the reality of what's happening.

I met Meghan's close friends that day. People that loved her dearly, and were able to know her deeply. They are all completely different from each other. She saw something in each of them and knew how to love them well.

I couldn't stand in the receiving line long. I wanted to run away. I do, however, remember introducing myself as Adam's sister and being consumed with pride for my brother. He turned into an amazing man, worthy of respect. Before Meghan, I thought him to be irresponsible and unfocused. But because of Meghan, she allowed him and encouraged him to flourish. She let him grow up and mature- she loved him well. He is a different man than before Meghan... a better man.

I spent that night in Petrolia- slept a few hours and readied myself. I wasn't sure how to look. What a weird thing to worry about. I mean, I wanted to look nice, but I didn't want to overdo it. Too much makeup, or too much jewelry. But I knew Meghan to always look fabulous. She was beautiful- tall, but not too tall. Dark, exotic features. Perfect eyebrows. And killer hair. Even when she had no hair, I thought her to be gorgeous. But strangely, she didn't seem to notice that. She didn't pay attention much... She just existed beautifully.

There were 8 of us pallbearers. And Adam carried the urn to the front of the church. We stood in the back before the service, and listened to "It is well with my soul." Indeed it is. Or it will be. But my soul aches first. I picked a perfect version of it- Katie Giguere sings it. Just a girl and her guitar. It felt like she was there in the church with us.

6 people spoke during the service. Adam spoke first, and in part of it, he said... "the light that shines brightest burns half as long." Indeed she was bright. I got up and read a prayer. I can't remember much of it. I do, however, remember praying that the family be comforted in their sorrow. I hope they are. I know they are.

After the service, we were supposed to go in to the fellowship hall to eat cold cuts, egg salad and jello salad. What an odd way of doing things. Jello salad? Pretty sure that I don't want any hint of jello salad after my funeral.

We packed up after that and drove up to the cottage. It was one of her favorite places to be. I can see why. That is such a healing thing to do- to go somewhere out of the way, surround yourself with only the people that were closest to her, and hide for a few days. We didn't shed many tears there. We spoke openly of her. We did a puzzle. We laughed. We smiled to ourselves and sat in silence.

In fact, I haven't shed many tears since the funeral. Maybe I'm numb. Maybe I'm waiting until I'm home. I doubt my grief is over. My sadness will be revisited many times over the next couple of months and coming year. I know that. It may be mixed with sadness over my own life and current dilemmas. It may be fear that I cry. What if I go and don't know the depth of love that Adam & Meghan shared? I hope my life is one marked by joy and accomplished goals and fulfilled dreams, as Meghan's was. I hope I face bravely the challenges set before me like she did. I hope I carry myself with grace and beauty, the way she did. And I hope I remember the few memories I have of her. She wasn't born to be my sister, but chosen to be my sister. I can't be more thankful.



*k

there's sunshine in my heart.

In the summer between my junior and senior years of college (summer of '04), I enrolled in an independent study graphic design class. I had decided that what the world needed was not another poster, or another record cover, or another logo. What the world needed was some new greeting cards. I've loved letters- getting them, writing them... it was one of the few ways I was able to communicate with my Grandma when I was younger. So, noticing that most of the "christian" greeting cards made me want to vomit, I decided to... remodel them a bit. I created a line of greeting cards that excited me and made me laugh. It's been almost 6 years in the making, but I've finally decided to do something about these cards that have been waiting their turn. Well, dear friends... here they are. I bought a bottle of champagne tonight after posting the cards, hoping to drink it when I sold my first card. (I expected these cards to take a couple of weeks to sell.) And God surprised me. Delighted me. And Loved me. I drank the champagne tonight. :)

I sure do love his love (go ahead... click it! it works!!)




*k

tender heart

To my sheer and utter mortification, I came to the realization on sunday evening that I may, in fact, be tender hearted. Let me back up a bit to explain.

I grew up playing sports. Soccer, t-ball (on the boys team, of course), softball, lacrosse (in the later years), etc etc etc. Although I did own barbies, I recall playing with my brother's GI Joes much more frequently and the barbies were merely used to torment my cousin Ben. (sorry, benjo.) I was the test dummy on all of Adam and his little boy scout friends' push car things (and have scars to prove it). I got jealous of my brother when he got a BB gun from Grandpa George and all I got was a music box and a copy of charlotte's web from Grandma Dorothy. Get the picture?

It started changing around... college, perhaps? I wore my first pair of real high-heels when in Spain (my Junior year, I believe). I remember the shoes. Which is the first thing to note. I remember the shoes. I fell in love with shoes. I took a watercolor class and painted roses. I started, in earnest, watching decorating shows- beginning with TLC. And now I have fabric flowers adorning my headboard, lace runners on most of my furniture, over 60 pairs of shoes in the closet (I don't want to talk about it.), and a basket full of make-up. These things do not make me tender-hearted. They may make me a bit more... feminine, according to worldly standards. But they did mark a change in my patterns and behaviors.

Fast forward to Sunday evening. I'm babysitting an infant, and after just fed her, changed a nasty diaper and rocked her to sleep, I started back on my newest book, So Long Insecurity (Beth Moore's newest). A rather poignant passage states, "... the more tenderhearted we are, the more vulnerable to insecurity we'll likely be. Some people take things harder and deeper to heart than others. It's not a matter of weakness. It's a matter of personal sensitivity... I feel everything. My joys are huge, and so are my sorrows. If I'm mad, I'm really mad, and if I'm despondent, I wonder how on earth I'll go on. Then I get up, pour some coffee, and move on to the next emotion and forget how depressed I was an hour ago." She goes on to say, "Life is really hard. No one can escape it. No one is unscathed by it. But we are not just flailing aimlessly in a universal black hole. There is purpose. There is order- because there is God."

Maybe it's just this time in my life, but I feel like I've never felt before. My heart explodes with happiness, with sadness, with grief, and with love. And all of those can happen within a day. But I take comfort in the fact that, once again in Beth's words, "He knows it's scary to be us." "Let Him tell you you're worth wanting, loving, even liking, pursuing, fighting for, and yes, beloved, keeping."

*k

smile

I found this picture tonight, and it made me smile. It looks like joy and it makes me believe in love.

Randolph.

There are so many reasons why I love my dad. Here are some of them.

1. He is quite a studmuffin. I mean, look at this.



2. He is one of the most caring and compassionate men I know.
3. He makes me laugh. When he tells jokes and when he's just sitting around not trying to make me laugh.
4. He treats Mom like a queen, and never fails to compliment her and tell her how great she is.
5. He is quick to listen.
6. He provides for his family.
7. He's why I've waited so long to get married. I want to find a guy like my dad, and they just don't make them quite like they used to.
8. He (and Mom) raised an incredible man in Adam.
9. He is the best dancer I've ever seen. Seriously, you should ask him to show you some of his moves.
10. He taught me how to ride a bike.
11. He lets me tweeze his eyebrows on occasion.
12. He taught me how to drive a car, and we've both lived to tell about it.
13. He taught me how to fall asleep anywhere.
14. He taught me the value of being wise with your money.
15. He instilled in me the value of planting flowers at your home.
16. He led our family to be a family that loves the Lord.
17. He always brought presents back from trips he went on. Even if the presents were the shampoo bottles from the hotel rooms, he let us know he was thinking of us.
18. He tells me that he's either a) my biggest fan, or b) I'm his biggest daughter.
19. He makes me smile.
20. He encourages me.

I could go on for days. Really, I could.

Happy birthday, Big Poppa. I love you.

*k

Okay.

Last week, I heard a sermon that talked about encouragement. Strange that the pastors for the past two weeks have known that I need to hear more about that subject. One of the points was that God will give you encouragement in unexpected places. So even though this may be trite or silly, I still find that it gives my soul a little bit of hope.



the Lord delights in those who fear him, who put their hope in his unfailing love.
Psalm 147:11

I win. Fortune Cookies say I win.

I have one good news.

Quick update- Still haven't found a job, but am in the hunt. Stalking jobs like prey on the animal channel. This I learned from Ed.

First good news, I'm getting a sister!! No, Mom and Dad aren't pregnant. That would be super-weird. Adam popped the question, and him and Meghan are getting married! So excited about that, and also really excited about visiting Canada. Never been up there, so I've actually been emailing Meghan my questions about Canada. Such as... do they have libraries? Does everybody play hockey and/ or curl? Is it always snowy in Canada? Anyway. Really excited to be getting a Mrs. Meghan Warnerbaker. (Wonder if she'll combine names?)



Second good news. We got the For the Love of Meghan bracelets in! These will be used as fundraisers for her- minimum of $5 donation (shipping not included), maximum donation of a bazillion dollars!! Email me (comment if you don't already know my email address) if you're interested- you can obvi buy more than one, too!!



Anyway, super excited to be sharing those two good things.

*k

sunny day in winter

I love the way these make me feel. It makes me feel like winter's not the worst thing ever, like bad news won't stay bad, and even though gray sounds sad, it's actually quite beautiful.














*k

And the punches keep rolling in.

It snowed on Thursday. Unexpectedly for me... I don't watch much news, and the only weather news I see is what comes up on my iGoogle homepage. So here it came... about 8 inches of it. Ed loved the stuff. And I love watching Ed play. It brings joy to my life.





So Friday morning rolled around, and of course, the streets were not plowed. And then my power turned off, leaving my stranded. I parked in the garage that night (wouldn't you, if it was snowing?)... but I got locked in. Once I figured out how to manually release the door, I went in to work. And promptly got laid off. !??!!?!?! I went home to regroup, and have no plan. But I feel better about the steps I've taken. With only 4 months of employment under my belt, this situation is all to familiar. But I'm reminded of a verse I just posted:

Romans 5:3-5

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.



and some friends sent some encouragement. I <3 them.

*k

ps. know of anyone looking to hire in the dfw area? anyone?! bueller? anyone?

Heartfelt thanks

I can't wait to get pictures from Meghan of her walls FILLED with hearts. Thanks to everyone who participated/ is planning on participating. As you might have guessed, one way I am deal is through doing. (Another is through writing, which is weird. I have a hard time expressing myself verbally, but am totally willing to share with you through written words.)This may end up being a long post, as there are two things I want to cover. But hang in there.

First, my feelings toward my brother and Meghan. The more that I talk with people about this, the more they are impressed with how Adam and Meghan are handling this situation. Obviously, I know Adam better, so I'll start with him. My heart bursts (sometimes, it feels literal) with pride about how strong and courageous he is. I've grown up knowing that when you love someone, you love them when they're sick and when they're well. Dad and Mom taught us kids this. But Adam- wow. He met Meghan when she was well, but know he loves her more deeply despite the fact that she's sick. I've said it before, but I want to meet and marry a man that is a perfect combination of my Father and Brother. Adam has shown grace and poise through this all, and is still able to have joy in his life. Meghan, I got really excited about you when you guys were still in Korea. Adam wouldn't talk about you for the first couple of months that you were dating (probably because he knew I would freak out... in a good way, and he didn't want to be bombarded by a million questions). I love to see Adam happy and settled, with a woman that challenges him and is fun and joyful, strong and courageous. I get excited when just the two of us get to hang out and have jokes that Adam gets creeped out by. (I hope we can hug and murmur into each other's ears for years to come.)

Secondly, as I mentioned before, one way I handle is to do things. So one of the first projects I decided upon came naturally to me. I've been working on making flowers for the past couple of months, so this was another great way to make some crafty goodness. So here they are. A bouquet of some kind of silky and satiny flowers. I can post about the steps to flower-making later, but here they are.




















Leaving you with some truth-

"We also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us." Romans 5:3.

*k

The Heart Project

So. There are times in my life when words get stuck in my head and can't get out until I use them. Sometimes, they'll be rolling around for DAYS... I've wanted to say that crafting, for me, is somewhat cathartic. But then I looked up "cathartic" and found out that it in actuality meant... "an agent for purging the bowels. a laxative." so... crafting, for me, is not cathartic. soothing, but not cathartic. But I digress.

The Heart Project.

If you know Meghan, love Meghan, don't know Meghan, but are praying for her, thinking of her... whatever, think about participating in this with us? It's super-easy, will require about... 15 minutes of your time (if you're a slow cutter and writer), and will mean the world to her.

Step One: Find fun paper- wallpaper scraps, scrapbooking paper, computer paper, whatever.

Step Two: Cut a heart out of said paper.

Step Three: Write your name on said paper.

Step Four: Send to Meghan so she may hang on her walls and have tangible, everyday reminders of how much people are fighting with her and supporting her.

Step Four point One: If you don't have Meghan's address, leave a comment with your email address and I will send it to you.






All images were found on Marthastewart.com, of course.

<3

it hurts.

Really, there is only one way to describe the way you feel when you get a second cancer diagnosis. The simple way would be to say that it hurts. The more in depth way would be to say that it feels like your insides are being ripped apart slowly, and by someone who has a dull set of scissors. I guess that's a little graphic, but I think it helps paint the picture.

And I think one of the hardest parts about this all is that you wish there was something you could do to help. Like I said before, you wish you could take part of the pain away and handle it yourself. You walk around every day, with a lump the size of a mountain stuck in your throat, threatening to burst at any moment in time. So you almost hope that people don't ask how you're doing- so you won't have to lie- and so the dam won't break. But at the same time, if they don't ask how you're doing, you get so angry at them for being heartless and insensitive. It's hard to describe your feelings, and hard to be able to decipher what feeling belongs in which compartment. You might be sad, which literally makes you a couple inches shorter, due to the fact that you're carrying around the weight of the world. You might be hopeful, which leaves your eyes glistening. You might be thankful, but still have a lump in your throat.

Anyway. When I get really stressed out about things, I like to have a to-do list. I like to have an action plan. So here's what I am doing, and what you can do as well.

-Sending flowers is an easy and a nice way for Meghan to know you're supporting her. Since I'm a crafter and I feel that crafting is a soothing way for me to handle and deal, I'm sewing flowers. I'll post pics of that, but only after Meghan gets them in the mail. She likes to cheat sometimes and peek at presents.

-It is always meaningful when someone makes something special that shows or says how you feel. In this instance, I think it would be lovely and wonderful- even if you don't know her personally, to write your name on a heart and send it to her in the mail. How great would it be for her to hang hearts all over her room with names of people that love her?

-Snail mail always rules. It's personal and requires effort and means more. And it's a simple way to brighten anyone's day... even if it's just a postcard.

-Financial help is pretty obvious and definitely useful. Meghan has at least two hours of driving everyday for radiation in the winter across extremely windy farm late in a boxy v-6. which might not mean much to you but to her and her family that means gas chomper. The average for Canadian gas in Ontario right now is $3.64 per gallon (.96 per liter.) that adds up quickly in car that gets under 20 miles to the gallon.

-Email. But not just one to say you're sad. Its nice and true, but it is much more beneficial if your intention is to talk (about anything and everything) rather than to tell her what you are feeling.

-For right now we need to keep phone calls limited. While it's quick, it can also be exhausting for the Baker's. They need rest, so please be respectful of them as a family. If you want to send something get in touch with Me (via the comments with your email address) and I'll send you her address or email.

-Lastly, don't run away. This may be hard on you, and your way of dealing with it might be to forget about it, to isolate yourself from others, or to pretend like it's not there. Don't do this. Meghan needs your love and support, and you need a network of people as well. Don't run away from your friends. Lean on them and let them help you through it. Be vulnerable with the people in your life...

-Pray without ceasing. Pray for comfort, for peace, for strength, for patience, for hope, for miracles.

Please use this link for monetary donations, we appreciate all of you and your support in whatever form you choose;

<3

punch. in. the. face.

So when I started this blog, it was intended to be a design blog. But it's morphed into a bit more than that. At times, it's a collection of fun things I've been doing, things I love to look at, or things that make me smile. Other times, it's a record of what I've been up to lately. And at other times, it turns into a bit of a release of sorts... I named it punch in the face for many reasons. One of which was that it related to my thesis at the time that I was in grad school. But now, it seems a bit appropriate in relation to everything I tend to do or be involved in. Sometimes, you get news that hits you like a punch in the face. It sucks the wind out of you and leaves you broken, bullied, bruised, swollen and hurting.

We got news on Tuesday that Meghan's cancer has metastasized and is now in her brain. She finished treatments in July from breast cancer- treatments that included a single mastectomy, chemo, radiation and other things you never wish upon anyone. Not even on people that cut you off in traffic, people that say terrible things about you, or people that offend and hurt you. You wish, at times, that you could take the physical pain of others upon yourself. Or perhaps dole it out to a number of people that can help carry the weight.

You wish you understood why. You cry yourself to sleep knowing that there is a road that you must walk, pain that you must endure, and hope beyond hope that the light at the end is brighter and shinier than it was where you started. When things happen like this, you wish you understood what you know in your heart- that God is good. You hope that you will soon understand it in your head, but also know that you will never understand His goodness and His love- and that's the beauty of it. You can't understand why or how, but you trust Him.

If you pray, pray hard.

Bring Your Mallard to Work Day.

Maybe it's a holiday I created. Whatever. It makes for a good Tuesday when Glen is perched atop your desk. (Glen is Mallard's real name... Mr. Glen, to be precise.) I got Glen recently in a box of Christmas goodies from two of my besties. Glen arrived to them via another friend who got him from a well-meaning, although quite odd, stepdad. Stepdad might be overdoing it, too. Let's just say mother's husband. So, let's follow this chain. Glen came from a friend of a friend of a mother's husband. Got it? But I do know the secondary friend... and the mother. Just not the husband. Regardless. Today is Bring Your Mallard to Work Day.

First thing in the morning, I had to take a photo of us getting ready to leave. Ed was so freaked out by Glen that he wouldn't sit down next to him. The lunchpail had to be used as a buffer. Even then, Ed eyed Glen with a mistrust and almost a hint of disdain.

Then Glen and I were off! I still have a hard time actually touching Glen. You see, at one time, he was a living, breathing Mallard. (I'm saying Mallard, when in fact, I have no idea what he is. Should you happen to know what kind of bird Glen is, please inform.) And now, Glen is stuffed. With fake eyes and stuff. It's gross.

Regardless, Mallard and I are here. At work. I had to carry him in to the office, and I must say... I walked faster than normal. And normal is pretty fast. You see, when I was young, Randolph (my lovely Father) would always tell me... "Kelly, walk with purpose." And so that is what I do. I walk with purpose.
(Glen getting ready to walk in to the office.)


(Glen waiting on the elevator.)


(Glen getting settled in for a long day.)

You will find below comments that happened on National Bring Your Mallard To Work Day. And Reactions. And Occurrences.

10:02am... "Kelly, is there a bird on your desk?"

11:12am... By the way, Glen smells bad.
11:40am... "WHAT IS THAT??! IS THAT A DUCK?!!" (photo taken after Aaron befriended Glen.)

1:53pm... "So do they send all of their friends... birds?" (In reference to the gift of Glen for Christmas from my lovely and thoughtful friends.)

2:45pm... "What kind of bird is that? Looks like a pretty good bird."
Me: "To eat? or to befriend?"
Other Person Who Shall Remain Nameless But Will Have Every Word Capitalized To Indicate Their Importance In My Work Days: "No, no... To befriend."

3:26pm... Someone stole the Mallard.

****Glen has been located based on the comment to follow****
4:10pm... person one: "oh my gosh, you just touched it!!!"
Person Two (Again, Indicating Importance With The Capitalized Words): "It's okay, I'm going to wash my hands."

4:28pm..."Your bird is on my desk, but I don't really want to move it because they kinda freak me out."(Glen after he was located. Silly duck. Ducks don't do CADD.)

4:51pm... "Hey, nice duck."


Glen and I after a long, hard day.

Again with the talented friends.

This is the same talented friend that made the headboard. He makes cakes for people. Last year, his most notable cake was most likely an armadillo cake for our friend, Joncowboy. This year, the cake was for our friend Amber. She's a princess.

And lucky for me (and you!), Rickybobby took process pictures so now you, too, can make a princess cake.
Bake the dang cakes. In this cake, the bundt is a very important tool.

[upon receiving a bundt cake from Mrs. Miller]
Maria Portokalos: It's a cake! I know! Thank you! Thank you very, very much.
[whispering to Aunt Freida]
Maria Portokalos: There's a hole in this cake!

Assemble the cakes. The more frosting, the better.

Again, more frosting, please!

Once the bottom two layers are properly iced, bundt it up!

Apparently, they ran out of frosting here and had to go to the store. It's also a good idea to let the cake rest a little bit, so it won't crumble all over the place.

Make sure you have the right tools. And enough frosting. At this stage, make sure your frosting is dyed the correct color that you wish the skirt of the dress to be.

Frosting has been properly applied.

Now, frosting must be properly styled.

Start piping on the decorative details of the dress that are necessary. You can also use sprinkles and glitter if the piping isn't your forte.

Skirt complete.

omigosh! I'm a princess!! Ta-daaaaa!!

Add your message to the platter.

And then let that girl chill.


*k