Ready to Run

The earth is blanketed in white snow and all the colors are muted by the brightness of the snow, I feel claustrophobic. I feel trapped and unable to break free of my surroundings. Its been more than 7 months since I took my last substantial road trip. My last trip was to Canada and oh how beautiful it was. I caught a plane into Seattle and then from Seattle drove into Canada. How lovely the coastline of Washington is! I remember standing on a small outcropping of rock over the water and it took everything not to jump in. Actually, I remember what kept me from jumping in, it was that there was no way from the water back up to the cliff I would have jumped from. I remember smelling the cold clean air from the ocean breezes and rains. The trees and ground were wet from the falling showers and the vegetation my favorite colors of green. The rental car was a smooth ride and had a powerful engine, helping me feel a greater control of leaving behind what I had left at the airport in SLC.

For some reason I am again feeling anxious to leave behind my current surroundings. My self-diagnosed ADD is flaring and I am getting bored with my routine. Every now and then I arrive at a point and feel like I am close to acheiving something new, but right as I begin to approach I wander away for whatever reason, lack of discipline, boredom, fear, does ADD count as a reason?, or impatience.

I want to feel the cold winter air burn my lungs as I breathe heavily from a heavy physical exertion. Skiing, snow-shoeing, snow-mobiling, pulling my sister on the dog-sled, whatever... I need the air burning my lungs so that I can feel alive. I want a new landscape in front of my eyes so that I can behold new beauty. I'm desperate to break free from the same limitations that have been my so-far lifetime companions.

Pearls of Great Price

People talk about what makes a good friend, what makes a true friend, what makes a best friend.  Even I have participated in such conversations.  I've spent a great deal of time considering the worth of a friend.  At times in my life I've been confused about what defines each one.  (But part of me wonders how much value lies in making each distinction.)  I could list by name those who have been most true to the title of friend.  I could talk about the things that they have done to qualify them as such.  I could talk about the length of time that they have each been in my life, but I don't know that the length of time is necessarily a qualifier.  But what I am sure of is that there exists genuine love, trust, and service.  Of course, we want to be our best selves for our friends, but at times we inevitably fail, and forgiveness is required.  A friend still loves us even when we are at our worst or weakest and knows us well enough to remember our heart and recognize that sometimes the flesh is weak.

A friend of mine is someone with a good heart.  Every person in our realm of experience is there for a purpose.  Some people last longer in that realm than others.  But whether you are a sincere and genuine friend that lasts though my lifetime or if you are a sincere and genuine friend that lasts for only a short stage of life, my gratitude and love for you is not altered.

True, there are different kinds of friends.  Some understand my heart more than others, and there are some whose hearts I can understand more fully.  There are some who in my darkest and weakest moments that I seek and trust more readily.

So I think it is a short list of qualifiers that equals a friend:  sincerity, trust, love, service, and forgiveness.

Tied in a Knot

This week I was at Smith's Marketplace running some errands for work.  As I got out of my car, I saw a young man about my age, "walking" briskly along on crutches through the parking lot.  It wasn't until he was cleared of the obstructed view from the other cars that I realized he only had one leg.  I looked over my shoulder to see where he had come from in such a hurry and saw that he had just come from the bus stop.  I was a little slow to realize that because he was missing his right leg, consequently must not be able to drive.  He looked like a college student, wire-framed glasses, a little unshaven, outdoor performance jacket, and jeans.  His pant leg was tied in a knot.  He had a tall slender, seemingly malnourished frame so his wrinkly pants seemed to hang off him.  I was quite affected by the site of him, especially the knot in his jeans and the fast pace.  His pace was out of the ordinary, especially for someone on crutches.  I wondered what he was hurried with and why he might be hopping along so quickly.  I wondered why if he had such a permanent condition of not having a leg, why he would only tie his pant leg in a knot instead of hemming it or some other more permanent fix.  I was quite perplexed.  But the pant leg tied probably in haste, matched his hurried style.

I happened upon him again while inside the store and saw that he was slow to make eye contact or exchange a smile.  His demeanor was humble and wholesome.  My thoughts had been of him since having first seen him in the parking lot, and I was glad to get to observe him for a little while more while we shared the same grocery isle.  His countenance tugged at my heart and I was unable to focus on much else after.  Not because I felt sorry for him, but because I was intrigued with the ora that radiated from him.  It was uncommon.

When I first realized that he was without a leg, immediately I felt a sacred sense of gratitude in my heart (and pit of my stomach).  It seems silly, but the first thing I thought of was how much I love soccer and how greatly blessed I am to have strong healthy legs that carry me to and fro on the soccer field.  Not just carry me through the necessities of life, but allow me to enjoy the extra frills like soccer.  I felt spoiled.

I don't know where this young man was going after he left the store, what his life is like, or what kinds of obstacles he faces daily.  But from what little I saw of him, I admire and am impressed with him.  He has my respect.

A Time to Be Born

Quero tentar escrever em português.  Alguem me falou que este blog é para mim mesma, então meu primeiro post de verdade vai ser em português.  Não gosto de saber que as pessoas vão ler meus escritos e julgar minha maneira de escrever.  Eu já sei que estou muito particular sobre as palavras que saem de minha boca.  Então não gosto de ter mais uma pessoa prestando atencão as palavras que eu falo.  Gosto quando elas apreciam minhas palavras, mas não quando só se preocupam em analisá-las.  Isso é para eu fazer, não elas.

Bem, realmente me alegro com a oportunidade de escrever.  É agradável ter um lugar em que posso pôr meus pensamentos.  Daqui vou continuar com um outro post.  Este post pode ser considerado um "preface."  Mas, fiquei com a idéa que daqui para frente, se eu estiver com um pensamento que não quero que a maioria das pessoas saibam, vou anotá-lo em portugues.  kkkk Gostei disso!

Então sejam bem vindos ao meu blog!  Boa leitura!

beijinhos