Film going: To the Wonder

Last night I saw the film To the Wonder.

I am still in awe.

This film follows the love and lives of an American man, Niel, and a French woman, Marina, who meet in France and move together to a small town in Oklahoma. We catch glimpses of their lives as their love waxes and wanes through time. The film weaves through the changes they face as a couple and as individuals. Beautiful moments and troubled times. Discontent and sublime happiness. Confidence and doubt. Tied into the tale are a love story between Niel and his childhood sweetheart, Jane, and the quiet struggles of a Spanish ex-patriot priest, Father Quintanna serving his parish in this small Oklahoma town. In much the way our characters seek to find, keep and understand their love, Quintana is reaching out for faith and for Christ, whom he has seemingly lost among the all too real lives of his congregants and the seeming lack of divinity around him. Though the characters overlap and their lives intersect, the stories remain separate and individual. Each unique.

The film is raw. Emotional. Narrated, vaguely, in turn by the various characters as they move through the phases in their lives and loves. As they struggle and question and seek and yearn for that which they cannot find or cannot hold on to.

It is also beautiful. Not just emotionally, but visually as well. The scenes are simple, yet at times take on an almost fairy-tale-like quality. Whimsical and flowing. The lighting and angles are gorgeous. Stark. Brilliant. Elegant. Dreamy. It is we, the audience, are half in a dream. In fact, the entirety of the film might be described as dreamlike. Hazy. The fragments one remembers after waking up. Unfinished and even, in parts, incoherent. Yet the moments are still surprisingly potent; the emotions inexplicably strong.

I recommend it highly...but know that this will be dreamy, emotional, abstract.. and the narrative sparse and elusive. I like that I guess. It was powerful enough to make me weep. So who knows, maybe you will love it too.

What might have been

Yesterday I found an old note from a boy I once loved. Still love, really. Differently.

It wasn't a love letter. It wasn't spectacular or awesome or particularly poetic. It was a simple note from a friend. About a friendship; a shared experience.

And it made me bawl.

Just for 30 seconds. But it was so sudden I was taken completely by surprise at my own emotions. Why did this strike me so powerfully? Why was I so overwhelmed in that moment? Was I sad? Nostalgic? Happy? I think it was all of those things really. But not quite any of them. Reading that note in simple black ink on plain sheets of lined yellow paper, I was completely engulfed, for those few seconds, in the possibilities that existed then that have since passed me by. I was suddenly back in a place that I have left. A time that is completely gone. And with it have disappeared moments and opportunities and potential that were very real for me then. Things that once could have been, but now will never be.

It's not sad, really. It's not a bad thing that life moves forward and some possibilities fade from view. There are always others that move in to take their place. The old cliche, one door closes and another door opens. True enough. Usually. A forgone opportunity is not the end. Some other hopeful potential will find its way into your life.

But still.

Not all doors are the same. Not every possibility is comparable. It would be ridiculous to weigh the un-happened of the past to the not-yet-occurred of the present. The hypothetical can only be imagined and predictions are dangerously unreliable. Yet, while knowing the reality of those possibilities is beyond our reach, it is easy enough to see that the outcomes would have been different. For good or bad. Better or worse. Every "might have been" is an unknown road into a life you will never lead. And while it is important to embrace the present and the opportunities we do have, here and now, perhaps there is nothing wrong with mourning, for a moment, from time to time, the little things that have slipped away. That have moved from the realm of potential into that of unreality.

And sometimes, it's just good to really cry.

magic man

Saturday night was the very definition of gorgeousness. Beautiful music. Lovely people. The unity of so many different people in moments of pure delight. Just pure joy.

I've loved Josh Ritter for a long time (thanks to my friend Doug!). But at his concert, I suddenly felt a new connection to the man behind the music. The man whose music could fill a room with awe and wonder. Whose joyous love of his craft was apparent in every aspect of his performance. Whose gratitude for his listeners and whose enjoyment of being in that moment, on that stage was palpable. Who brought every voice in the room together in a chorus that filled the Rialto Theater with a little piece of love. Because no one there could have helped but love this incredible music man. It felt a little bit like magic. Or heaven.

So enjoy....

a new one,

and another new one,

and an oldy, but a goody :)

The opening band was also breathtaking. The lead singer's voice is out of this world powerful!

Have a listen to Lake Street Dive:

myheart

There is so much more
brett dennen

Where the world is.

I struggle sometimes, finding myself stuck in the space between the glorious, miraculous, heart-breakingly beautiful, incomprehensibly wonderful fullness of the world and the horrendous, tragic, painful, insensibly cruel side of the same. There is so much more than meets the eye. Everything seems so confused and clouded and complicated. And yet, starkly simple. At the core.

Most of the time, of course, I am just not thinking. I am just living. Trying to make my way through each day with a shred of dignity and, if I'm really lucky, something to feel good about. Something accomplished. I spend most of my time oblivious and drifting. Not reflecting and connecting the various threads of life and thought and emotion that pass through any given day.

But I can't ignore it all for long. Neither the overwhelming goodness and beauty I receive constantly from friends and strangers and family and the World and the Divine. That astonishing generosity and love that exists all around. In the giant bursts or in tiny, hidden corners. Nor the terrible, miserable realities that are constant and undeniable and truly unthinkable, unimaginable and all too real near and far and everywhere all at once. And I find I am not always prepared to hold it all within me. I vacillate from one extreme to the other. Crying tears of joy. Calling out curses to the anguish. Laughing. Laughing because there is nothing more to do--because it is ridiculous and tremendous and incoherent.

Mostly, my heart doesn't know exactly where to land. It is tugged and torn in two. Divided between the good and bad. The beautiful and the hideous. The hopeful and the hopeless.

 Hope. Or. Hopeless.

There I hang. Paralyzed. Wanting to reach for the joyous and the great. To fall firmly on the beautiful land of love, prettiness, kindness, generosity. Yet, I cannot turn my back on the hateful and the mean and the indifferent. Needing to look them square in the face and fight with all my heart. Yet I don't quite.

Instead I float. In the middle. Neither loving nor hating the world. NO! Both loving and hating the world. Despising and loving mankind more than I even know how. Discovering great leaps into a better world. Seeing the degradation and destruction we have caused. Unsure how to tie them together. How can they both exist, side by side? Contradicting and cancelling each other out. Why must there be a tragedy alongside every miracle? Is it necessary to accompany every gain with an equal and opposite loss? Somewhere. For someone. Are we just running in place... for every leap forward another stagger back? Is this inevitable? Can it ever end? Do we want it to? Enough? But really. really. ENOUGH!

That's where I always end up.

I believe there is hope. So, SO much hope.
If we want it. Really, really want it.
Enough to accept everything that comes with it.
Even the inconvenience. The sacrifice.
Because there has to be sacrifice.

Yes, I believe there is hope.
And we can choose it.
Or not.

I guess that's why it's hope.
There is no guarantee.
There is no promise.
Instead, endless and never-ending

POSSIBILITY.

Belief in everyone

How much do most of us really know about other people's beliefs? How often do we generalize, stereotype and hold prejudices against certain groups of people for the things the believe, or don't believe in (or that we think they believe)?

If you ask me, too often. And it's sad.

On the blog FIXES from the New York Times, David Bornstein dedicated the latest article to an organization working to improve interfaith relations and dialogue. The Interfaith Youth Corps (IFYC) works with college students to "develop greater respect, comfort and appreciation for one another and their traditions." Bornstein, and the founders of IFYC, believe that in the United States we have embraced many forms of diversity and multiculturalism--we talk freely about race, sexual orientation, gender and ethnicity--but talking about people's cherished believes is still a sticking point. It's heated, taboo and often conversation on faith lacks real understanding, openness and respect.

I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (as most of you probably know). A Mormon. And that does define certain aspects of my life, my character and my worldviews. But I am still a unique person with a personal set of values and experiences and ideas, some of which relate to my religion and some of which do not. Like most people.

The thing is, when I know someone personally I usually have no problem with him or her and others don't seem to have a problem with me either, whatever our differences in faith (and other beliefs for that matter). On a personal and individual basis it doesn't seem like much of a problem to talk to, relate to or even have close relationships and friendships with people who believe differently. I have rarely experienced prejudice, intolerance or unkindness directly (though that is not true for all people, unfortunately). In my experiences, most people are able to talk to and respect individuals, but then can easily turn around and speak about other faiths, religious practices and beliefs in derogatory, limited and sometimes quite ignorant ways.

Where I see this most blatantly, is in the media (though among peers, coworkers, students, etc it happens too). In politics, of course, but also in TV shows and movies, religion and religious people are usually presented in very stereotypical ways. As a group of semi-ubiquitous characters with the occasional distressed questioner/doubter/outsider. But the reality isn't that way. As Bornstein says, "The worst thing society can do is to continue what it’s doing today: allowing attitudes to be shaped by the shrillest voices, the voices of intolerance, political expedience and xenophobia. 'If we don’t talk openly about faith and bring people from different traditions together, we forfeit the conversation to people who are happy to build barriers.'”

Reading about IFYC, I love the idea. It is true that we are only going continue increasing in diversity and we need to know how to deal with that. David D. Putnam, a political scientist who studies diversity and community, says it clearly: “It’s not just the presence of diversity in your neighborhood [that is important]. You’ve got to actually be doing things with other people in which you have a personal attachment. Diversity is hard, not easy.”

So IFYC helps push this  along by starting interfaith service projects, discussions and activities based on common values. As one Muslim student from Georgetown University explained, "Interfaith work isn’t about watering down our religion and coming to some consensus about things. . . . It’s about building relationships so we can together serve others.”

In the world we live in today, it is important to recognize that no one person, group or religion can succeed alone. If we want to make better communities, nations and ultimately a better world it means working together. And that has nothing to do with being in agreement, whether it is religion, politics or otherwise. There will always be differences. Always. It means knowing how to understand, respect and work with others in productive ways. It means being open to new ideas and it means knowing how to see people as individuals with value, no matter what their background.

One student said,  “it’s important to remind [students] that they don’t have to speak for their whole religion. They’re just there to talk about their faith or beliefs in a personal way.” What more can any of us do? What more can we expect from our neighbors and friends and acquaintances? And why don't we do more of that?

Recently I met a girl, a friend of a friend, while on a trip. She and I started a conversation in which we talked a little about our religious beliefs. She's Catholic and, as I said, I'm Mormon. We talked about things that were important to us about our faiths. We discussed why we choose to practice our religions. In all, it was a wonderful experience for me and I gained a great deal of respect for her and her personal faith. One thing she said to me, as we were talking, that stood out then and even more now, was, "Why is it so hard to talk about religion?" She said it was often uncomfortable to discuss faith among friends and acquaintances, and I have to say, I agree with her. And it shouldn't be that way.

If we want to gain greater love and respect for others, we have to be willing to share as well as to listen. And do so with openness and respect. As I said before, in my experience when religion is brought up I have rarely, if ever, had a negative experience. But it is true that it is often a topic we tiptoe around. Lets not! For most of us, our faith (whatever form it takes) is important to us, and there is nothing wrong with talking about it!

Interfaith travel... you've gotta try it! :)

Soundtrack only, please

Florence + the Machine. 

Yep. Not much to say. I love her voice, her sound, her spunk and her dance moves. I also like this new song.



As for the movie.... well, I'm not completely sold*. But the music? YES PLEASE!

*To be fair

I'm kind of a movie skeptic.

It's just that so many mainstream movies these days are

well, mediocre.

Or just plain crappy.

And that from someone who really 

LOVES movies

(when they're good)!

Something beautiful

I've been listening to some new (to me) music lately that I really enjoy. So this week I'll share a few songs/artists with you, my dear friends. Maybe you already know them, maybe not. Either way I hope you enjoy listening! Also, please feel free to share some of your own favorites too (new or old, really)!!! I'm in a new music mode. I'm bored of my current tunes and looking for something fresh. So, first up:

 Paloma Faith

The other day I randomly came across the Paloma Faith's single "Picking up the Pieces" from her album "Fall to Grace" coming out next week. She's rather quirky, and has a strong, unique voice. Her songs are fairly upbeat but also soulful. I like the retro feel of the music and her voice (and her costumes/hair/makeup). In all, I quite enjoy her and her songs. Hope you do too!!  Here are a couple to try out...

WICKED in London

I melted.

(Just a taste... not from the show I saw.. obviously I guess....)

I have been listening to the Wicked soundtrack since my friend Jessica gave it to me my freshman year of college. Seeing the show in person, in the front row, in London was almost unbearably amazing! I cried.

I don't think my life will ever be the same.

The view from here.

Every once in awhile I have a split second of insight. For one small second I catch a glimpse of just how much there is in this world that is completely beyond me--that I have never felt or seen or understood.

And it is actually rather frightening.

Today I spoke with a woman I sometimes see here in Azuqueca. Her name is Laura. I met her outside the supermarket, where she works... asking the shoppers for money as they enter or exit. Laura has a daughter who will turn two this week. She wants to buy her a small birthday cake, but she doesn't know if she can.

After I talking to Laura for a few minutes I turned to leave and suddenly I felt the distance between her daily life and my understanding of what it is to be in that position. I realized, in that instance, that I had absolutely no way of comprehending what it would be like to be a mother, without a stable job, trying to support her family from day to day, not even certain I would have enough money to buy my little girl a cake for her birthday. Nothing in my life experience has compared with that. None of my cares have ever approximated those of Laura, or of so many other people who struggle to get by. I have felt empathy, perhaps. I have felt love or sorrow or pain for the people when I've seen them or heard their stories, but none of that is anything like being in such a position personally. Not even close.

I was listening to a TED talk yesterday by Jessica Jackey, the co-founder of Kiva. She talked about her introduction to poverty and her journey to beginning this online micro-lending system that has now provided over $25 million in loans to entrepreneurs in developing countries. She talked about what it meant to her to actually know the people who we call "poor." Talking to them, being friends with them, she saw them as individuals. And not only suffering individuals, but individuals who had every bit as much life and love and joy and sorrow and intelligence and hope as anyone else. And as much variety too. She wants us to see "the poor" not just as them--those who need our help--some ambiguous group, distant from us--if not in space, in their very being they are distant to us... different--but as true human beings and individuals.

I think she's right. I think we need to know who these "poor" people are, what they think, what they dream and what they know on a personal basis. That is why grassroots development and community based projects, though small, often are the most effective. They are not led by people from far away who see developing nations from a distance and as a conglomeration of people who, though important and even loved, are part of one large problem to be solved. It is easy to see things that way. But I believe that we will never achieve real change while we continue to treat poverty and development as a group issue to be solved by the outside. That kind of development has proven itself misled and wasteful at best. Because really, without being in the situation yourself, however much you have seen or studied, you don't know what it is like.

But I am not just thinking in terms of poverty and development. I am thinking of the myriad of ways in which we fail to understand each other. Not because we don't try or because we aren't compassionate enough or we don't listen enough (though these things happen too, at least for me at times). Rather, because there are limits to how much we can understand about others, ever. A perfect example comes from a close friend of mine. She expressed to me once her frustration in the fact that, though she was able to share so much with her husband and was closer to him than basically anyone else, there were still divides. There are still things that can't be shared and understood fully between these two people whose lives and future are now one. They are still separate beings with different ideas and thoughts and perspectives. Love, marriage, dedication, intimacy, time--none of it was enough to close that gap entirely.

Perhaps all of this is circulating through my mind now because I just finished reading The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. It is a story about and told by Christopher--a 15-year old mathematical genius with a form of autism (though he never uses the word or explains the exact nature of his "behavioral problems" in the book). The book is highly acclaimed, and I add my own positive review. Because it is funny and smart and interesting and captivating. But also because it does something akin to taking you inside the mind of another person. Inside a mind which is complex and beautiful and completely distinct from my own mind. And while reading I was blown away by this trip into another mind and another way of seeing and understanding the world. To an extent I felt I could share Christopher's view of the world. Yet, there is a limit. For example, I was shocked by the way in which he literally observes everything, as he frequently mentions. I tried for just a moment to notice everything around me while walking on the street today, and it was dizzying. I couldn't do it. It was impossible for me to even begin to see the world as this boy might.

There is always a gap. There is always some level of distance between the life, thoughts, experiences of one person and that which any other person can ever connect to and comprehend. That's nothing new. We have all felt those moments of disconnect. Even with those we are closest to. It can be hard. It can sometimes make us feel lonely or frustrated or strange.

But I think sometimes we also forget. We forget that we don't understand. We don't get other people. And with the majority of the people in our lives we barely skim the surface of their actual being. What does that mean? I don't know. A lot of things I guess. But most of all, I suppose for me it means (as I should know by now) that I need to be more vigilant in questioning my assumptions and my judgments. I need to do my best to know people well, and give them the benefit of the doubt. And also, I need to be grateful for every joy and blessing I have. Because I will never know how grateful I should be.. because I will never know what it is like not to have all I have. And I will never know what it is like not to be me.

And it's weird.

Humans

"Later Lin understood about her grandmother not wanting to think about the past. Auntie, Grandmother's sister, told Lin how the old woman had been raped and left for dead, cut at the neck. Auntie said she found her, the woman's long hair red with blood all about her neck and shoulders. Auntie grabbed her and lifted her. 'You! Sister, wake up! You are breathing!' Auntie yelled. By some miracle, the artery was not cut, even though Grandmother thought she was dead, wished she was, and lay back weak and limp, but she was yelled into life by a woman almost too thin to have a voice.

"[I]t was why Grandmother always wore one of her two scarves. It was why here eyes saw only as far back as they would; not far. . . .

"Lin buried her head against her great-aunt's chest. 'Is it human?' Lin asked. 'To do that. Is it human?'

". . .'Yes. I think it is human. There is so much to a human.'

'Does it have to be?'

'I don't know.' She braided the child's hair. 'But that's enough for now. There's only so much a girl can hear.' Just then there was a gunshot in the distance.

"Later, when they were down in the reddish sand by the water, she held Lin and said, 'I'm sorry.' Crying.

"Lin studied her face, to see what she meant. She looked at her fine nose, her cheek that seemed dented, her eyes. Lin said, 'I know. You're sorry about humans.'

"Auntie nodded, hiding her face."

-Linda Hogan, The People of the Whale

I can barely begin to explain the beauty and the tragedy and the redemption of The People of the Whale. Reading it at times was like being inside the minds and hearts of people both magnificent as well as deeply wounded. This passage sums up one of the overarching themes of the book: the capacity for humans to hurt, torture, lie, and kill--each other, other creatures, nature, society--anything and everything around them. The depths of disgrace to which they can succumb when they are not whole; when they are lost and afraid and have traded in their hearts for a sense of personal survival or desire. It is tragic and terrible.

I too have questioned the ugliness that exists within humanity and even lamented being a part of a race with such a capacity for cruelty; so fallible; so easily broken and twisted and led astray.

And yet.

In life, in this world, (and in The People of the Whale) alongside every act of disgrace there is also beauty. For every broken soul there are others working to rebuild; to strengthen; to teach. Just as the world is full of hatred and woundedness, it is also ripe with compassion and healing. And the horrors and glories of humanity are mingled together and twisted into our histories and our lives in ways that cannot be easily separated and explained. It is all too complex. Too intertwined. Too deeply connected in every aspect of life and our very beings. I wonder if it is even possible to delve deep enough into the human heart and spirit to comprehend the disparate halves of our being and the incongruencies of goodness and evil that are among us and within us.

Really and truly, "There is so much to a human." Beautiful and terrible. Miraculous and sorrowful. I don't really know what else to say about that. I don't know how to accept it, to live with it, to assimilate that reality into my understanding of the world. But I see it, constantly. And I know it is part of me too; that I contain both good and evil; that I have beauty, but also brokenness. In the end I just hope that we can find ways to bring all of that together; that we can heal those parts of us all that have suffered and unify our goodness and compassion and love. I think it is possible. I pray it is.

image: Linda Hogan

mlk jr.

Dear Dr. King,

You make me want to wake up.

Real is better than perfect.

Today I saw someone put this quote up, as if it is good advice:

"Pretend to be completely in control and people will assume that you are."

Steve Jobs

But I think it is terrible advice. I think this is exactly what is wrong with the world and all of us. I've made that mistake (many times) and I know it is nothing but pride and fear that makes us pretend.

I can't count the number of times when the smallness of humanity--our weakness, neediness, lack of understanding, ability, resources--has stunned and humbled me. Not because it is sad and terrifying, though at times it is that too, but because it is magnificent. Because it is incredible that, in all our silly, weak ways, we manage to make it through. We overcome and we survive.

It's a miracle. Life is a miracle. And when we pretend that we are "completely in control," that we have it all together, that we don't need each other and God and help every day and every moment, not only are we faking and lying and deceiving ourselves and each other, but we are diminishing the beauty of our successes. We belittle those pieces joy and love and perfection that pass through our lives to make them worth living, despite the fact that we don't have it together and we're not in control. None of us. We need help. We need each other. And I think there is nothing more beautiful in this world than recognizing our own littleness and loving it. Accepting help when we need it and offering to others what we have in abundance to give. We all lack something. But we all have gifts too. I think we've lost touch of that in the world--the fact that we need to exchange and share--that no one can have it all on his or her own, but that we benefit from others and that everyone has something important to give. The more we try to pretend that we're fine on our own, the more we lose out on sharing and receiving from one another. And that's a pity.

So I will tell you now, and always, I don't have it all figured out. I don't have everything completely under control. I don't understand so many things, so many more things than I do understand. I need help and love and blessings. And it is my greatest desire to offer some small benefit to another person; to lift, to aid, to touch, to bless another life. Because life is so much more beautiful when you're in it together with someone(s). For me, that's whole point.

Happy Christmas

Love, peace and joy to one and all. And another favorite...

I

John Lennon!

The best promise

"Truly He taught us to love one another,

His Law is love, and His Gospel is peace.

Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother,

And in His name all oppression shall cease."

I love this version of "O Holy Night" sung in two sweet voices. Though I love most Christmas music, this has to be one of my all time favorites. The message of hope, love and peace; of praise and rejoicing; of brotherhood and unity--it is gorgeous! Every time I hear the lines "Chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, and in His name all oppression shall cease" my heart swells with joy and hope. I am reminded of the great promise that the Savior Jesus Christ lived, died and was resurrected for each and every person to be born on this earth; that He loves us all; and that through the infinite power of His atonement He will redeem, comfort and save us. The Savior will bring peace and through Him we will be freed from the inequality, the hatred and the destruction that is so prevalent in the world we live in. He has overcome all things, and through Him we can too.

But I also love the first lines, that remind us of the part we play in His plan: we must be good to one another; we must love and care for all people; for "His law is love, and His gospel is peace." I believe that the Savior will free all humankind from pain, suffering and death, but to do so He will use us and teach us to be holy, to love and to forsake all of our hatreds, prejudices, selfishness and pride.

Listening to this song makes me want to love a bit more deeply and do my best to spread peace in any and every way that i can. And I love it!

A dream or divinity

It was strange, but but for some reason this evening, while I was at an activity tonight with some Spanish friends, I suddenly realized that I was glowingly happy. Really. It's strange, because I didn't even realize it until I thought, Wow! Why can't I stop smiling? I just wanted to sing (which I actually did since we were practicing for our choir... which will perform on Sunday!!!) and give everyone hugs!

There are many contributing factors: I talked to my sister today. I received a beautiful card with inspirational quotes I definitely needed to read in the mail from an amazing woman who I love dearly. I had a great day with my classes (things seem to be much better this week now that they are done with their exams...). And I have been feeling extra blessed, protected and loved lately, which is rather amazing.

But mostly I think it is because this weekend I experienced this:

The pictures I took cannot even begin to capture the magnificence of La Sagrada Familia or any of the other incredible Gaudí creations I was lucky enough to experience with weekend in Barcelona. But I know that being surrounded by this incredible and truly inspired beauty touched my soul and changed my view of the world by exposing me to something so ethereal and yet so grand and magnificent. There is no way to see this inexplicable masterpiece and deny that there was something greater than man behind its creation.

I am still stunned. Just thinking about it leaves me speechless and jubilant!

Add one more to the list

I am also grateful for this beautiful work of art from a girl I knew once upon a time in college. She is an incredible woman, and I have been inspired by her since we first had a class together a few years ago. Now, she is a beautiful mother and an inspiring artist who has created this lovely tribute to a some strong, faithful, independent, and generally amazing women who inspire her. I love it!

The women in my life have always been a vital part of changing me, influencing me, inspiring me and helping me in basically every conceivable way. I am convinced that there is a power in sisterhood that we have only barely begun to tap into or understand. I love that. I love the power and influence of good women in my life! And as most of you who might read this are women, let me say, thank you, my dear sisters, for your love, your examples, your laughter and hugs and encouragement. Thank you for sharing; for talking and listening and for sometimes knowing how to sit in silence. Thank you for your patience and your advice. I love you!

We're Going Home

For some reason I was thinking about the song "Two of Us" the other day, and it brings me so much joy to listen to it! I think this is my favorite Beatles song! And lets be honest, that's saying something :)

It is a random connection, but this song reminds me of Christmas last year. I would listen to this song in the car sometimes as I drove all over Utah County for my job. I was always busy often hurrying from one place to another, bringing name cards for the Angel Trees, meeting with organizers and volunteers, picking up gifts, delivering materials, helping at the warehouse. There were so many different things to do for Sub for Santa and Angel Tree. I LOVED those days, even though they were long and tiring and there were a million problems to deal with (and it was cold outside), because I really felt like I was accomplishing something that would make life a little happier for children and families during Christmas. I think those few months will always stand out to me as one of the best experiences of my life. I am so glad to be reminded of it now as we're entering into that lovely holiday season once again (can you believe it's already here??!?!?!), living somewhere far away and doing something quite different. It's strange how quickly things change!

And so, a seemingly unassociated song that I love and will always remind me of my long drives around Utah County last year for United Way!

You never know

Of all things I saw in Washington, DC last month, this might have been my favorite.

I went to see the monuments and museums; to partake of the incredible history that has been preserved in my nation's capitol. And I loved it all. But nothing can compare to the convergence of moon, clouds and sunset forming a kind of loveliness that can only be called gift from a loving God.

But the butterflies come in as a close second!

Verghese the artist

A few days ago I finished reading Abraham Verghese's novel Cutting for Stone, a story wrought with human frailty, but also with the human ability to overcome, to love and to be redeemed. I was powerfully affected by the depth of the characters-- their capacity for love and for hate, to help and to harm; their incredible strength as well as their incomprehensible weaknesses; the paths they choose and the places and people they are led to by destiny, fate, or the intervention of divinity. I was also stunned at the beauty and emotion Verghese evoked in medical settings, images and terminology, something I am usually rather wary of, or even slightly disturbed by.

Then, I unexpectedly chanced upon this TED video. And I am not surprised to hear the sincerity and tenderness with which Verghese speaks of his patients and the powerful role of touch in the relationship between doctors and patients. I see in the rituals of medicine Verghese talks about the same nuance and skill, the same comprehension of the human heart and human connectedness that he uses to so beautifully craft his novel. And I fully believe that for Verghese, medicine is an art. And that he is asking that we treat it that way. He asks that doctors be careful and loving with their patients; that they seek to understand before they attempt to treat; that they know and love each person fully; that they take pains to make their work beautiful and every case important; that they take pride in knowing that they have not only invested their intellect, but also their hearts in this work; that they will know they have used their gifts and talents to their full extent in order to heal and to comfort. For thus does medicine become truly sacred. A true form of art.

And it inspires me to be an artist. Wherever I am, whatever I do, I want to invest myself in my work in such a way that it takes on deeper meaning; that I can feel pride in what I have created. For me art, in any form, is terrifying. It requires vulnerability. It requires that we put everything we have into what we do, and that if it doesn't work, we must confess our failed. But it is also only giving our all that we can ever do anything truly great, that we really succeed. And I do not mean that we do something important in the eyes of the world-- that we will be recognized or lauded for our work. But when we use our whole hearts, our whole minds, every gift we have been given, then does our work, and our lives, begin to be a true representation of ourselves. Of the unique individuals we are. I am not there yet, but I hope that one day, I can look at my life and see something worthy of being called art.