the flour, the rain, and the mouse.

i made brownies the other night.

it was just after 9 pm by that point, the evening winding down.
but then suddenly--i made brownies.

it's what i do when my life starts to get chaotic and feels like it's spinning too fast.
it's what i do when my stress levels start to rise, be it conscious or not.

because something about stirring brownies together brings a little bit of control back to me.

summer 2013 i made a lot of brownies.
i was in ukraine. (ha. member that? me neither.)
in abedinyoni, in an area that hadn't had missionaries for a long while.
and also i had two companions.
both of whom were new and six weeks apart.

not relevant right now, really.
just.
i made brownies.

because i love to watch the transition of the batter--
the way things change and thicken as you add the dry ingredients.
the way things swirl and spin,
all before they combine
with the addition of flour.

i went to the grocery store the other day.
husband is out of town,
(which on some trips is sometimes harder for me than i care to honestly admit.
when my shame and pride get talking.)
i went to the grocery store, and wandered for longer than i should have needed to.
is it possible to forget how to grocery shop?
i forgot where to even find certain things.

does growing up mean you learn how to grocery shop more effectively?
did i miss that class in adulting?
or does it mean you pay a little more for things you know are worth it--
without feeling bad for the cost being more?
even with consciously knowing it's worth it,
still being bothered because of habit to scour for the cheapest price possible?

i like my job.
i do.
i may not be good at a lot of aspects of adulthood,
our new space may be a chaotic mess with boxes and piles everywhere still.
but i like my job.
i like the community itself while still having the autonomy of my position.
i like the variety of older 5th graders mixed with preschoolers.

i'm good at it--most parts at least, considering how new i am.
i'm good at being organized and making sure things get done.
i'm good at writing and usually fairly good with people.
i'm good with kids and can usually charm even the most skeptical of littles.

the weather is turning.
the first cold days always throw me around like a leaf in the wind.
but tonight the rain keeps coming down.
and there's something soothing and grounding in that.

there's nothing quite like a cold, rainy night as the season first starts to turn,
to engulf you with the most perplexing warmth and stability.

then again, i think i just saw a mouse scurry out of the corner of my eye.
(i'm not quite ready for this adulting.)

she pours a daydream in a cup, 

a spoon of sugar sweetens up.

and she fights for her life as she puts on her coat,

and she fights for her life on the train.

she looks at the rain as it pours.

she fights for her life as she goes in a store

with a thought she has caught by a thread,

she pays for the bread

and she goes.

nobody knows.

sun been down for days,

a winter melody she plays.

song of the day: 

her morning elegance, oren lavie.

come down, sweet reverence.

remember when our songs were just like prayers?

like gospel hymns that you called in thin air.

come down, come down, sweet reverence.

unto my simple house and ring.

ring like crazy, ring like hell.

turn me back into that wild haired gale.

ring like silver, ring like gold.

turn these diamonds straight back into coal.

song of the day: the stable song, gregory alan isakov

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

autumn always reminds me of ukraine.

perhaps because that's the one season i had twice--

watching autumn begin, thrive, then turn to winter.

there's something i love about this time of year,

to say nothing of all the beautiful people it reminds me of.

the time and place when our songs were just like prayers.

even the fear it strikes in me of the looming winter--

there's something about that too.

isn't it interesting, how autumn smells almost the same around the world?

because there's something special about the autumn.

(23 october 2015)

winter always reminds me of ukraine.

perhaps because that's the season that felt it lasted the greatest amount of time--

watching winter come, freeze, then melt eventually into the rains, mud, and green of spring.

snow and grey squeezing through the spaces between snugly hooked buildings,

snow-covered fields and snow-rimmed branches.

there's something about every phase of winter that gives unexpected flashbacks 

to ukrainian streets, stairwells, and homes.

the hills in the late afternoon darkness,

the whited grey of the morning commute, 

the deafening silence of late night snowfall.

each take me back to streets and apartments and doors i thought i had forgotten.

isn't it interesting, how winter looks almost the same around the world?

because there's something we can't quite be sure of in the winter.

i hate winter. 

i hate the grey that hangs low and infiltrates everything.

and yet.

some days, there's something soothing in that grey.

something beautiful in the very things i hate.

coal into diamonds, and diamonds back into coal.

there's something in that, eh?

the way a hate can never quite stay saturated.

i've more i could about this.

another day.

(24 january 2016)

out of my stony griefs, Bethel i'll raise.

i've been thinking a lot about mountains lately: cold mountain, mountain walks, mountain drives, mountain tops. high on a mountain top. mountains tend to be used symbolically as temples. going up to the mountain to be alone with God. mountains and temples, after all, are intended to bring us to God--or perhaps to allow us to bring ourselves to Him.

cold mountain is the name of the region on the west end of the city of kharkov. (quite literally, the name of the area is холодная гора.) i served there twice while in ukraine. once on one side of the шлях (a large boulevard, of sorts.), then later on the other side. once near the beginning of my mission, once at the very end. and being sent back to that mountain--going back up the mountain? it was one of the hardest things i've ever done in my entire life.

i went up to the mountain because you asked me to.*

i never expected to have to go back to the mountain. the first time there was one of the darkest, emptiest, most desperation-filled experiences. and just the thought of the place and time consumed me (and the companion with whom i shared the bulk of it) with a trapped and paralyzing horror. the kind that accompanies when looking straight into various corners of hell that took turns opening around us. stuck. like skating round a tiny piece of ice without ever actually moving. but we did it. learned some powerful lessons. and we moved forward, leaving the mountain as a mostly-dark piece of the past. a piece we fully intended to remain forever in the past, though it took months to recover.

 

until i was called to go back.

i was asked to go back up the mountain.

and so i did.

i wish i had concise words to describe the mountain or why it was filled with such hopelessness and sorrow. what it was that made the days so dark, God seem so far, or the sensation of being trapped in mud while chipping away at a thick block of ice. two and almost three years since my cold mountains, and i'm still sorting through that small box inside my soul--the smallest box that weighs the heaviest. only in compiling all her pieces and all my experiences with her, can the mountain ever be fully understood. all this time, and i'm still learning what the mountain taught me, what she's teaching me, and what she was supposed to teach me. 

it was among the hardest things i've ever had to do. but i did it. and in doing so, i'd like to believe that my character was lifted. my second mountain was different than the first in a million ways, but it still required me to look those former demons in the face and defeat them. i came to know God and His nature in the mountain. and found that just because you go to the mountain, doesn't mean God is there. i've never felt farther from God or seen so much of satan and his grip than i did in that place. but as God came and i saw Him, i've never been closer to heaven. we must swing low before He lifts us higher.

and isn't it the same with our relationship with God? He can't be restricted to our understanding of a singular moment in time. He is the sum total of every experience we've ever had with Him or without Him, including those we hardly remember. He's infinitely more than we give Him credit for, His omniscience and omnipotence much more profound and capable than perhaps we truly realize.

we go to the mountain, that we may see. to look out upon the valley and the winding path of the canyon roads. each and every curve is purposeful, wrapping around the mountain grandeur. inside the curve, though, we don't see the whole canyon and the way she leads to the top of the mountain or opens into the plentiful valley. we can't see unless we keep going. and when we reach the top, light penetrates all that waits below.

i drove to the top of a mountain today, looking out from one mountain peak to another in curves without patterns that never seem to end. here i sit--to listen to the wind on my soul. a wide variety of nature's admirers have come and gone, though rarely do they stay. most park their car, truck, motorcycle, or bike and swiftly pull out their phone to snatch their glimpse of this glorious vista. some take a few selfies, or ask me to take photos of them together, then jump back in their car and keep driving.

i'm still here. only two individuals have been here longer than me: an old man and woman in a golden truck. at first, he stayed in the car and she sat for awhile on a nearby bench. then she came for him, coaxing him out of the warmth of the car for a small spell on that lovely bench. they're both back in the car now, but they're still here. me and this older couple at the top of a mountain. it's getting colder now. but we're still here.

seek and ye shall find, we're told over and over again. but in our seekings, do we even allow for anything more than a quick snapshot before hopping back onto the road of life, without even giving second thought to that very view we leave in the hands of a camera to capture? have you truly found, if you haven't actually seen what you've found?

i know i usually don't, and i daresay i'm not the only one. i seek and strive and struggle towards that mountain top, hardly leaving space for God to get a word in and show me what i'm seeing. i wish i was better at stopping to feel the glory of the wind itself--autumn chill and all. to listen to the wind on my soul, the tune of which only God really knows.**

go up to the mountain, because He asked you to. and when you get there, stop and stay awhile. let Him show you around--show you your own land of flowing milk and honey.*** even if it's cold, it's still worth the view. i promise.

we go up to the mountain in order to find God. but in order to truly find Him, we first have to let Him be found. we find God when we bring ourselves to Him, when we arrive at His temple with open hands and hearts.

high on a mountain top--this is where i see.

and that older couple? they're still here. 

still see(k)ing.

(but while you're there, who's to say taking a moment for a shamelessselfie is a bad idea? certainly not me.)

*up to the mountain, patty griffin.

**the wind, cat stevens.

***cast not away therefore your confidence, jeffrey r. holland.

my slc. | october's gold.

when i am among the trees,

especially the willows and the honey locust,

equally the beech, the oaks and the pines,

they give off such hints of gladness.

i would almost say that they save me, and daily.

i am so distant from the hope of myself,

in which i have goodness, and discernment,

and never hurry through the world

but walk slowly, and bow often.

around me the trees stir in their leaves

and call out, "stay awhile."

the light flows from their branches.

and they call again, "it's simple," they say,

"and you too have come

into this world to do this, to go easy, to be filled

with light, and to shine."

when i am among the trees, mary oliver.

your soul you must keep, totally free.

walking home down second has become my new favorite pastime. 

the square around president's circle. 

the gentle calm of a friday afternoon. 

the stairs leading down at the steepest part of the hill. 

color. so much color and quaint charm in these houses. 

the golden autumn sun and crisping air. 

greens interspersed with gold and rust. 

the grassy space with two people out with their dogs playing. 

bean's traveling playlist on spotify. 

silent smiles shared with the man at the coffee shop on the corner. 

the dragonfly in the wind. 

glorious homes hidden behind hedges and giant blueberries. 

silent smiles shared with the older man who lives a few houses down and is often out on his porch swing.

the wind on my soul walking home. 

let it seep into your bones.

this beautiful neighborhood.

these beautiful things.

remember this.

til my soul is in flight.

from the mountains down to the sea.

i get lost in my mind.

can i tell you about today?

i don't know who you are.

but i need to tell you anyway.

// i love talking about hearing aids and i think they're the most interesting thing in the world lately.

// at work today, i got to take a russian call for front desk. because the other russian speaker at front desk was already gone for the day. (sorry, joel.) so i got to talk to the most pleasant russian man about his son's course. спасибо, Эмили. спасибо вам большое. << those are the words i treasure. and therefore this part of the day alone put me on cloud nine. also, i love middle-aged russian men from ukraine. like this one i chittered with today. because. because this is why. this is the answer.

// after that call i had the moment. the moment that told me, this is why i'm still studying russian and why i learned it in the first place. so that i may communicate. so that i can talk to people like him. so that i get to have experiences like this. i do it for this. << that is the answer.

// pushkin. just. aleksandr sergeevich pushkin. i don't even know where to begin. he just. he gets it. the beauty of what it is to be human. i realize that he and lev nikolaevich tolstoi are both long since dead. but i actually want to be best friends with both of them.

// that table outside the library and jfsb that i spent summer 2010 studying on. i still sit there to read sometimes, while the weather's still nice. and today i did. me, the sun, the shade, and some reading about aphasia. (^^the previous two photos to this point are from that time. and apparently i used to wear jeans.)

 

 // georgie face sharing the beautiful music he's made with me. byumintbrownies, postits, and chitterchatting.

 // we finally have a fan in our apartment. the ac doesn't work and it's been like hades for us on the third floor. firstworldprobs, we know.

// to be wonderstruck. encounters and observationists. feeling winds of movement. of change. loverly.

// making frozen chocolate covered banana pieces with megan beth. (yes, they're real real good.)

(this is actually my favorite photo of all time of meganbeth. it epitomizes her.

the dreaming eyes, the wild hair, the arms wide open,

the legs in motion, but also firmly planted. all in autumn.)

// that golden almost-autumn sunshine that lasted all the day long. the wind that makes your hair tangle and flows through your fingers, breathing life into your heart and soul. breathing perspective. i listen to the wind, to the wind on my soul. because this time of year always makes me think of хтз, megan, and especially our саша and томара.

// megan beth and i. we took a sister drive. driving through fresh and clear mountain air. with all the windows down, the sun roof open. because this is what is needed. it is good for the lungs, the head, the heart, the soul. fresh air, changing leaves, and sunshine. and it is in fact, one of the best decisions we've ever made. hippieish mountain music and all. provo canyon is my favorite. because sometimes your soul just needs to breathe. and there's something about the mountains that makes a person feel whole.

// as we were parking, we passed by a girl in our ward who is mutual friends with spencie spence elder sunshine and had just seen him. he works at the creamery. so we spontaneously went to visit him and got ice cream too. and. he loves me. i love him. we have the weirdest most darling relationship of sister mother brother son siblings, who also share cold mountain. sometimes i forget how much i love. i forget how much those connections mean. also. raspberry lemonade ice cream? crowd favorite.

because god really is good.

and somehow, someway, everything really does work out.

let me run through a field in the night, let me lift from the ground till my soul is in flight.

and i'll start to soar.

this is what mother and daughter look like.

(almost two years after meeting one another for the first time--in this life, anyway.)

so yeah, maybe we (especially me) have severe crow's feet at the age of twenty-three.

but.

all of these lines across our faces tell you the story of who we are.

we all have a story to tell.

and it's worth every line.

song of the day: flight, sutton foster & megan mcginnis