The Wrong Way

"Get a picture of the skyline!" she shouted from the back seat. Our Colorado road trip hadn't turned out quite like we imagined it. Four inches of snow in the middle of May with no boots or cold weather gear meant that instead of spending our last two days hiking, we were stuck inside. Determined to make the best of the unusual weather, Lindsey, Dan and I drove into downtown Denver for the day with no real plan but to explore the city.

We maneuvered our way through the city streets, searching for a cheap place to park. We oohed and ahed at the buildings, saying how cute the apartments looked and deciding which 16th street store we would visit first. Our quest for a parking lot was more difficult than expected, somehow we got twisted around near Union Station and before we knew it, we were on the one-way I-25 express lane. To the horror of our faithful navigator, TomTom, we were driving down the middle of the highway, barricaded on both sides and pointed in the wrong direction. When I glanced in the rearview mirror, Denver looked impossibly small. We drove for several more miles before the express lane ended and we steered ourselves back toward the city.

Frustrated by our accidental detour, we decided to try a different off-ramp for our "second try." The exit brought us alongside Coors Field, home of the Rockies. Police directed pedestrians to cross the street near the stadium. Fans sported their Rockies garb and little kids carried baseball gloves. "Let's go to the game!" someone suggested. I turned into an event parking lot and we discussed how much we would be willing to pay for tickets. As college students on a tight road-trip budget, we knew we didn't want to spend more than $10. (Less, if possible!)

We flagged down a scalper who flashed us three club-level tickets priced at $25 each. After a little bartering, we walked into the game with three tickets for $5 each--not a bad deal! We convinced Eugene (the old-man usher--what a sweetie!) to let us sit wherever we wanted, and enjoyed the game from the eighth row. The Rockies beat the Phillies in the bottom of the tenth with a walk-off home run, just in time for the rain to start.

After the game, we spent the rest of the afternoon riding up and down 16th street on the free hybrid city buses. We ate at the Rockbottom Brewery and then sipped coffee after dinner while perusing the shelves of the Tattered Cover bookstore. It was a rainy afternoon, but incredibly relaxing and maybe one of my favorite parts of the whole week. As we sloshed down the street to our car, we laughed about how the I-25 wrong turn had led us to the perfect day, one we never could have planned on our own.

Maybe I'm trying to be too deep (forgive me), but I think that our wrong turn is a lot like real life. Sometimes mistakes shape us into the people we're supposed to be. Sometimes plans are better when they're stuffed away in the glove compartment. Sometimes the unexpected is what makes life beautiful. Sometimes wrong turns lead us to the perfect afternoon.

To Lindsey, Dan, and Nick-- Thanks for a great week in Colorado! And Nebraska, you're still the worst state in the US.

Bittersweet to be released August 1st

As most of you know, I'm a huge fan of Shauna Niequist. She is one of my favorite authors-- her stories and style in Cold Tangerines made me think about writing, life, and joy in a whole new way. If you haven't read it yet, you can borrow it from me! Then, get ready for more Shauna (because you'll want more!) by pre-ordering her latest book, Bittersweet. Since the book isn't out yet, I can't give you a first-hand review, but if it is anything like Cold Tangerines I guarantee you'll enjoy it.

Here's what the publisher Zondervan had to say about it.

"Shauna Niequist shifts her gaze to the challenges and blessings of change in Bittersweet. Drawing from her own experiences in a recent season of pain and chaos, she explores the bits of wisdom and growth we earn the hard way, through change, loss, and transition, and offers her own reflections on what brought her hope along the way."

Sounds good, right?

If you're interested in pre-ordering a copy, visit Amazon.com and receive a discount. Bittersweet will be released on August 1, 2010!

Ekphrastic Poetry: Art Responding to Art

Special shout out to one of my favorite artists and friends, Tyler Hays. I used his watercolor painting for a poetry assignment this semester: write a poem responding to a piece of art. This is one of the few poems from my semester-long poetry collection that I can stamp with a gold sticker. I'm proud of it. Thanks for inspiring me with you art, Tyler!

The Thing About Wishes

by Heather D. Moline

The thing about wishes is that they come free

from genies

on birthday cakes

in a fountain full of pennies.

The thing about wishes is that they are bendy.

They squish and they squash into something

so unlike the something you wished.

Link pinkies with your wishes like a childhood swear.

Brush out the snarls and weave wishes through your hair.

Hold wishes between your fingers

like a flickering fly—

don’t pinch them too tight,

remember

they’re alive.

And just like the bugs you caught in the dark,

wishes want to flitter

and don’t live well in jars.

If given the chance, they’ll scatter and sneak

like crunchy red leaves hitching rides with the breeze.

Once they are snubbed, they leave you alone

with responsible, grown up things that you chose:

taxes,

terrorists,

saturated fats,

earthquakes and heartbreaks

and terminal disease.

The thing about wishes is that they come free

from genies

on birthday cakes

in a fountain full of pennies

but wishes will go if you wish them away,

swept up by the wind and the gray.

You should read this.

Check out my article for Credo Magazine! You can view it online at http://www.CredoMagazine.com - It is titled "Swallowed by Darkness" and appears on the home page.

A lot of really great things have been happening over the last few weeks. Hopefully, as soon as the semester ends I'll find a spare moment to write it all out. Just know that God is good, exams are stressful, and summer is near.

Hold onto hope this week. Thanks for reading.

So, I'm taking this poetry class...

Poetry is not my thing, I've decided. This semester I'm in a poetry class and most of the time I sit there, staring blankly, listening to everyone's intelligent responses to the works and feeling like all I've got is red roses and blue violets. The professor is one of my favorites, though. She is teaching me to appreciate the art. Despite my love-hate (mostly hate) relationship with poetry, I finally crafted a poem that I'm proud of. I think it's funny and honest and has a good voice. But let me know what you think...

P.S. Since poetry is always better when it's read aloud, read this one with gusto! (Every little bit helps.)

Woman Stoops A League, Or Two

by Heather D. Moline

He’s a good one by any reasonable woman’s standard.

His teeth are white

mostly

and only a little crooked with g a p s between the canines and incisors—

but surely nothing a little minor cosmetic tweaking can’t fix.

And he tells jokes. Good ones, even.

So good that he can entertain hisself,

laughing and spitting,

but only sometimes spitting on me.

He smooches fine.

Sort of soft or sweet or sticky-like.

I tell myself, be thankful—

you gots yourself a tame kind of man,

not a wild

kinky

lick your toes

kind of man that some women gots to handle.

And I suppose a smooch is nicer

than him jammin his tongue at my tonsils

like they’re his grape lollypop.

But sometimes I wish he’d plant a good one on me

like Patrick Dempsey or that Matthew what-his-name

in the movies

instead of smearing me with

them crooked teeth and fountain jokes

that are ‘posed to be just fine

by any reasonable woman’s standards.

My Little Brother

When he was a kid, Ryan was chubby and shy. He liked Kix cereal with no milk and chicken nuggets with barbeque sauce. If it weren’t for Mom, he would have eaten those foods—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—for the rest of his life. Unlike me, the child who would run off with any stranger who smiled, Ryan only trusted a few special people. He liked our immediate family, the neighbor boy, Sam, and the checkout lady at the grocery store who he insisted on calling “Grandma.”

When he was eight, Mom let him start taking violin lessons. In middle school he started taking guitar lessons. He practiced diligently and would accept nothing less than perfection from either of his instruments, a testament to both his determination and patience. His music gave him confidence, but not arrogance. Over time, his shyness disappeared completely. (Now, we can’t get him to stop talking!)

He graduated Salutatorian in high school, delivering an honest and humble speech. And although he is incredibly intelligent, Ryan isn’t one of those obnoxious students who get an A without any effort—he studied hard for his special spot on that graduation stage. But he would never tell you how smart he is. He isn’t proud, at least, not that kind of proud.

Smart and artistic, Ryan played almost every sport—football, soccer, basketball, and baseball. His baby cheeks were long gone. In high school, he dedicated himself to running and lifting to prepare for the baseball season—the sport he loved most. But he wasn’t an attention-starved-athlete. He cared deeply for people. I’ll never forget his freshman year when he went to basketball camp and conditioned with the team for months during the summer. Then, right as the season was about to begin, he made the difficult choice to leave the team. The coach begged him to stay, but Ryan had made his decision. He wanted to have more time to serve with the kids’ ministry at church.

Serving others has become a passion in Ryan’s life. I was reminded of this when I called to wish him Happy Birthday today. He is nineteen. I chatted with him from my Indiana Wesleyan apartment, while his voice echoed from his Spring Arbor stairwell. (I wish we weren’t so far apart.) I asked him about his presents. He told me that he was programming his new ipod Touch. I assumed it was the one he had been saving up for during the past several months. But Ryan explained that when the earthquake tore apart Haiti, he didn’t feel right about buying such an expensive item for himself. He gave all of his savings to disaster relief, instead. He went on to explain that after he had given the money away, he received his present from Mom and Dad—an ipod Touch, a complete surprise to Ryan. They bought it for him weeks before the earthquake.

I told Ryan that I was proud of him for sacrificing his hard-earned money for people he had never even met. But he shrugged it off. In his mind, it was just a small thing. He was just doing his part. (He’s probably embarrassed that I am even telling this story, but I don’t care. I want to brag about my brother. I told you, he’s humble.)

Ryan is currently studying Youth Ministry and Psychology at Spring Arbor University. He wants to help others for the rest of his life, and I know he will. I couldn’t be more proud of my brother and the man that he has become. It is clear that God is at the center of everything he does. He might be younger than me, but I look up to him in many ways (and not just because he is a foot taller than me.) I love you, Buddy. Happy Birthday. I’m so glad you’re my little brother.

Ho Ho Home

This morning I made the drive from Marion, Indiana to Toledo, Ohio, singing along with the Trans Siberian Orchestra and Bing Crosby. ("Ho Ho Ho and Hit the Highway," my newest ipod playlist.) I can't believe that the semester is over. Like, seriously over. As I reflected on all of the papers I wrote and pages I read and tests I took and coffee I drank, I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream from joy or cry from exhaustion. So I scream-cried, not caring if the WalMart truck driver could see me. I made it. The semester is over. I worked harder than I've ever worked, and it felt good. Tiring, but good.

When I got home, I gave my G6 a well-deserved oil change and watched court tv and napped on the couch and helped my mom with the no-bake cookies (a reasonable cookie for me and my horribly-inept-domestic-abilities to tackle.) Christmas break has already been wonderfully relaxing, and it has only been a few hours. I'm taking the next few days to fill my lungs with cleansing, deep breaths because I know that the parties will start soon and I will be in a perpetual sugar-cookie coma until January.

I'm thankful for the break--even though I know it will go fast. I'm thankful for how God has brought me through my busiest semester so far. Thankful for the laughter from friendships. Thankful for the comfort from family. Thankful for my own bed. Thankful for this time of year and the Savior who loves me unconditionally.