One Night in Polson

For anyone who has never been to Polson, Montana, I highly recommend a visit.  It's gorgeous.  Rocky Mountains, Flathead Lake, small-town charm, and really good people.

I find it ironic that one of my ugliest (if not THE ugliest) moments happened right smack dab next to one of the most beautiful parts of creation (Flathead Lake - did I mention it's beautiful?) in 2006.  If you read my earlier entry (about my poor neighbors), then consider this my deeply honest and vulnerable follow-up.

For some (or most, maybe?) who read this, it might come as a surprise...and that's exactly why I want to share it.

Because life is not a gymnastics meet.

This memory is personal, and it takes courage for me to share....and yet I am feeling very compelled to do so.  I think this feeling stems from frustration at our society being so full of stigma and judgment for what the rest of us like to call "real life". 

I'll preface by saying that at the time of my "one night in Polson" (that you'll get to read about soon!) I had moved across the country to follow a guy I'd dated only a few months (not Brian), lived with his family, started a new job, moved in with new roommates, and was completely co-dependent... (and even just writing all that makes me laugh in disbelief.)

It was said guy's birthday, Thanksgiving weekend, his sister was visiting from college, his grandmother had been admitted to the hospital....and I was secretly fuming....about a list of things that have nothing to do with birthdays, family or turkey.  And I had no idea it was happening.

And I drank.  A lot.  I drank at Thanksgiving dinner, I drank while playing games after dinner, I drank at the bar we went to after the games after the dinner.  I drank while we played air hockey in the bar............................ and that's ...................................... when .............................................I lost it.  

The air hockey game, that is.

And then my senses.

Losing that air hockey game unwittingly became my window of opportunity to throw the biggest curve ball to said guy that he didn't see coming.  I hurled words at him that I didn't even know I was capable of saying.  Probably every third to fifth word was the f-bomb, my voice was louder than the music, my gestures took up more space than the people next to me probably preferred, and said guy just stood with a look of horror and confusion and quickly pulled me out of the bar (and out of sight from his sister and friends).

And I kept yelling.  And now we were outside.  And in earshot of a cop, evidently, because I remember a police car pulling up and the cop asking us if everything was ok?  I remember simultaneously feeling disconnected from the words coming out of my mouth, and inside saying to myself, "What is happening?!?!?!"  It was absolutely terrifying at the time.  For everyone involved.  Maybe not the cop...

"hmmmmm......"

Anyway, said guy walked me home, put me in the garage bedroom, and went back out to the bar.  Meanwhile, I drunk-dialed Caroline, told her what happened through choking streams of tears, and tried to hold back from vomiting.  In the middle of the night, I had to go to the bathroom and conveniently found that I was locked out of the house....so I had to resort to squatting on the side of the garage ............... peeing ................... in Polson, Montana.

And that's when I knew something was seriously wrong.

Have I mentioned this was my darkest night?

It's been long enough now and life has evolved to the point that I actually can laugh about all this, while still recognizing the serious lessons that it entailed.  [The squatting on the side of the garage always gets Brian :) ]

Why have I shared all this?  Because I heard that same anger in my neighbor's voice this morning.  And it's so easy to judge.  And all I want to do is take her out to coffee, and let her hear some of the most liberating words I've known: "I know, because I've been there."

I want us to do more of this.   Share.  Be real.  Let it all hang out with those we love.

And not be judged, but instead be understood.


...and just for the record, now when I feel like screaming, I try to aim for a pillow instead of the bar :)

Toast & Cupboards

I have a radio crush on this man :)

This morning I heard our neighbors having a fight.  I was sitting at the table, eating my toast, listening to Steven Inskeep talk about something profound (I'm sure) on NPR, when out of nowhere I heard screaming and thumping coming from next door.  I froze.  Dropped my toast, hurried to the radio to turn it off....and anxiously stood, trying not to let my breathing disturb whatever was going on behind the wall.

It was awful.  Screaming....I mean, screaming.  Cupboards slamming.  I could feel the anger behind each pound.  My mind started to race: "Should I call 9-1-1? Should I go over and knock to make sure everything's OK?  Should I pretend I can't hear them? Oh man.  This is not good."  The screaming and the thumping just kept going....

...so I called Brian to see what he would do.  We both decided it at least warranted a trip to the main office of our apartment complex to let them know what was going on and let them decide how to handle it.  So that's what I did.

The rest of the day, I kept thinking about what I heard.  I don't know what their fight was about, but I do know that anger had consumed someone.  I could hear and feel the loss of control and the pain.....the kind of pain that top-of-the-lungs-screaming comes from.  The pain that uninhibited cupboard-slamming (they ain't made of oak in student housing!) comes from.

And I felt for them.  And I remembered...

...one night in Polson.

Love Never Fails

I recently read in People magazine that the song I danced to with my dad at our wedidng, Love Never Fails by Brandon Heath, is the same song that Carrie Underwood danced to with her new husband at their wedding.  The only difference is she had Brandon Heath there in person to perform it, whereas my dad and I had DJ Philthy rockin' it out in the barn :)

Reading that little bit of celebrity gossip jolted my memory back to that dance, with the song that was so special to me.  The reason I chose it is because I have seen the lyrics proven true in my dad's life.  The man he is today is a result of a lifetime of Love, shaping and molding him....transforming him into one of the most kind-hearted, loving softies of a grandfather that I know.

And to me he is and always has been, Dad.

The man who was the first in his family to go to college. The man who took a metal detector out to the football stands on Saturday morning to find an earring I'd lost the night before...and found it.  The man who drove countless miles across the country so that I could have every opportunity to thrive in the gifts I'd been given.  The man who ran out onto the court grinning with excitement when my high school volleyball team beat the #1 team in the state. The man who worked for the railroad for 40 years to provide for his family.  The man who will brew a canoe full of beer and build a barn for his daughter's wedding.  The man who's been married to the same woman for 36 years.  The man who melts at the laugh of his grandchildren.

These are the reasons I chose this song...

Who do you think of when you hear these words?
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8nQy-aP_Koo

Wait Up, I'm Coming!

Any time Brian and I ride our bikes together somewhere, he inevitably pulls ahead like Lance Jr. and leaves me behind, periodically turning around to make sure I'm still there.

This used to bother me.  I'd feel abandoned and wished he would ride at my pace and just not be in such a hurry!

The other night, though, a "lightbulb moment" hit me...

Why would I try to slow the guy down?  That's just not who he is.

One of the most striking feelings I had when I first started dating Brian was the sense that I was joyfully following him somewhere that was good for me to go.  I don't mean literally, but figuratively...the feeling that I wanted our paths to align, because I knew it was going to be a sweet ride wherever it led!

I think it was especially striking for me at the time because I was not too long out of a relationship where I felt like I was constantly turning around and waiting on the other person to "catch up with me" on so many levels, and I was losing ground on my own course because of it.  There was no challenge, only frustration and a lot of forced encouragement that sucked the energy out of me...and out of him, in the end. (hey, live and learn, right?)  :)

With Brian, our relationship is life-giving.  He challenges me, I challenge him, we keep each other going, and I don't get tired of "racing" with him.  I don't ever have to "wait" on him to catch up with me because he's either at my side or twelve steps ahead!

And this is what I love!  A husband that is capable of leading the way, and a man that I'm happy to follow....not in the subservient sense, but in the joyful enthusiastic sense that inspires and feeds my soul!

So, now when he rides off in his zest for getting wherever we're going, I simply admire the view from behind (no, not his butt, although it is cute!) - what I'm talking about is his essence.  It's just who he is, and holding him back simply isn't an option, thank goodness.

Think Outside the Box

A weekly assignment for one of my classes this term is to do something each week that is outside of my normal routine.  It could be anything - brush my teeth with my non-dominant hand, put one shoe on before the one I normally do, take a different route home from work, etc.

The purpose of this is to exercise our brain and not go on autopilot which inevitably happens in the daily grind.  For massage therapy purposes, it's with the aim of being equally capable to apply techniques with both hands, not just the dominant hand.

A couple weeks ago, I decided my "think outside the box" activity would be to use our back patio door, instead of the front door to our apartment.  That required me to open a metal gate that rarely gets used, and in doing so I discovered that with rain and cold temperatures, the latch had become pretty hard to open.  Since I'm a Yost, I had to of course muscle through it and not back down or alter my course.  With that approach, I successfully tried to cut the tip of my thumb off.  Ok, maybe that description is a little dramatic, but I did see several layers of skin peeled up that shouldn't ever be peeled up, and lots o' the red stuff.

So, this led to my second "think outside the box" exercise, which was vacuuming with my left hand -  while I held a towel in place on my thumb and held it above my heart to wait for the bleeding to stop.

This got me thinking about what it really means to think outside the box.  The reality is, it doesn't come naturally; it takes conscious effort, and it's uncomfortable - sometimes even painful.  But how amazing is it that we can adapt.....and heal.....and be re-wired to evolve out of our auto-pilot box building?

I dare you to try it.  Just be sure you know basic first aid beforehand :)

Refreshing Honesty?

The other day in yoga class, I had brought a friend and was excited to make sure she was comfortable in the room, getting her mat set up next to me, etc.  It was a crowded class and so everyone was doing some sort of mat re-arranging for a couple minutes.  I asked the woman next to me if it was OK if she moved her mat a few inches to the side and she responded with what I perceived to be a snide, "Yeah, I'm getting ready to right now!"....but in that passive "I'm-a-peaceful-yogi-and-a-little-annoyed" sort of way.  Her facial expression and tone were similar to mine when I was 16 and bringing out my best passive-aggressive attitude.  (a skill I'm not proud of, and am unfortunately good at...)


And it zinged me a bit, I'm not gonna lie.  For the first part of my practice, I had to "let her comment go" and tell myself over and over that it had more to do with her than me...

...and it took me the first 20 minutes of the class to get there.  After class I was so relaxed that I had convinced myself I'd successfully let all my stresses go and was sufficiently "zen" for at least the next hour.

The next day I ran into my friend at the grocery store, and we got to chatting about the yoga class.  We talked about how great the class was, how friendly the teacher was, what muscles were sore.....

...and then my friend very matter-of-factly said, "What was up with that b*tch in the lycra?"

No buts about it - she called it like it was with no apologies.

And I loved it.

And this is when it came clear to me that I wasn't as zen as I thought I was.  Instead of the zen Christian response of "Oh, what woman?  Oh her?  Oh, I prayed for her right away because she was obviously hurting inside, and good for her for taking time to take care of her body, right?  I hope I get to see her next class!"

No, that wasn't me.

Here's the real me:  "Oh my gosh, thank you!  I thought I was the only one who noticed that!  She was bitchy, wasn't she????  And did you see her during the (fill-in-the-blank) pose, showboatin' on her mat?  Geez, what was her problem? Seriously."

What can I say, I'm not proud of it.

 And this has me thinking....why?  Why do I feel the need to badmouth a woman I don't even know, based on one tiny comment made in a hurtful tone at the beginning of a yoga class?

And not only that, but I fooled myself into thinking I'm "over it" and have let it go.  In actuality, her comment (as benign as it seemed) hurt my feelings.  And I'll be the first to admit that I'm more sensitive than the average person and my skin could definitely be a little thicker.  But for now, it's not, and I'm learning how to live comfortably in the skin I have today.

My question is this:  Where is that "sweet spot" of responding to the hurtful ways of the world?  In between the two extremes of calling a stranger a bitch or praying on-the-spot for them and forgiving them right away?

Sometimes I feel like I'm dancing with two left feet in search of that middle ground.

Why I Love Yoga

Lately, I can't get enough yoga.  It's become something I crave.

I can't do this, but wish I could!

One of the best ways I've found to decompress and "get out of my head" is to practice yoga.  Actually, any exercise helps, but yoga is different than any other exercise for me.

The best way I can think to describe it is that it's like wringing the day out of my muscles.  It challenges my body AND my mind in a way unlike any volleyball practice ever could.  When I focus on holding a pose that is pushing me outside my comfort zone, I can literally feel my stress leaving me....bubbling to the surface and being released, leaving me cleansed and lighter than the moment before.  The pose becomes a channel for negative energy to be cleared out and replaced with new strength from within.  It's one of the really beautiful ways I've been able to experience energy exchange within myself....

...and no, it's not just because I live in Eugene, Oregon (a home to lots of yoga-practicing-hippies) :)

All this talk about energy, cleansing, release - I believe it because I experience it.  And the beauty of yoga is that everyone's experience is unique and his/her own.

Not to mention all the physical benefits of yoga - the flexibility, the strengthening.  If I had my yoga teacher's body, I'd wear more spandex to the grocery store. :)

Brian has started coming with me to yoga on Saturday mornings now, so it's also become a shared activity that allows us to spend time together and decompress on our individual mats in the same space.  It also needs to be said that as long as he leaves class with me, I'm ok with him thinking the teacher's hot...which is the case :)

What are you thoughts on yoga?  Have you experienced what I'm talking about?

(Here's where Brian and I go, in case you're interested: http://www.willowtreeyogastudio.com)

Oh Christmas Tree, Oh Christmas Tree...

The joke with our Christmas tree this year was that if it were a human, it would have been made fun of at school by mean kids.  We were happy to bring it into our home and let it fill our apartment with its lovely branches.

The thing that struck me about the tree-hunting experience is that deep in the woods, in its natural home, it looked like a beautiful tree.  It caught our eyes.  It stood with great beauty and strength.

Then we brought it out onto the road, away from the depth of the woods, and it suddenly looked different.  Not the natural, organic beauty that we saw just a few minutes before.  It looked thin and wide and not the “perfect Christmas tree” that we were convinced it was.

How often do we see people in our lives just like this tree.  Perhaps its vice-versa.  Removed from our natural element, we suddenly become exposed...naked branches.  

A friend reminded me of the real reason for Christmas and the irony in my perception of our tree.  Jesus was born for this exact reason. To let our thing, wide, scraggly branches become full, natural beauty in our true home.

May your branches be lovely all year long, and may we learn to love all the thin, wide, scraggly ones, too :)

Sweet Taste of Humble Pie

I wrapped up another term of massage therapy school this week, and I feel especially lighter after this one.

I took a class that, for the first time in the program, really kicked my butt.  I failed a midterm (and initially thought I’d done well on it) and suffered a bit of a bruised ego.  Humility is rarely a fun feeling, and in this case it was extra frustrating because I knew what I needed to do...join the study group. 

I’ve always been pretty independent, and asking for help is still pretty uncomfortable for me, even after the wedding planning process! (I got a lot of practice asking for help there...)  I also happen to be quite the introvert, so reaching out to people I don’t know well tends to make me sweat.  

All in all - I LIKE TO DO THINGS ALONE!

So, I was not excited about the prospect of studying with my classmates whom I barely knew and only interacted with on a fairly surface “classmate” level.

But then I met Tamara.  And not only did she help me pass the class, but she’s also becoming a friend.  Who’d a thunk?

A great study buddy...and as I found out just this past week...one of the few fellow Christians in the massage program.  (Meeting another Christian outside of a church is not a super common occurrence in Eugene to begin with, much less in the massage program!)  

I guess I write all this to share a little glimpse into God doing His thing once again...out of a failed test, I ate some humble pie and got a new friend out of the deal.  

I’ll take that over an easy A any day.

No Cockroaches Allowed

Brian and I listened to an episode of “This American Life” on our way up to Astoria, OR the other weekend.  This particular episode was about people who have a fear of going to sleep, for one reason or another.

One of the interviews was a family from a lower-income, inner city background.  Their living space was infested with cockroaches, and they just couldn’t seem to find a way out of it.  

It had become a somewhat common occurrence for them to have to go to the emergency room in the middle of the night because a cockroach had crawled into someone’s ear...again.  Evidently cockroaches can’t walk backwards out of the ear, so once they’re in they need to be manually removed by a doctor.

The mother of the family talked about it like it was no big thing, just a bit of a hassle that they had to deal with.  “It just goes with the territory...we just deal with it...nothing we can do...no money to move...no money to pay for an exterminator...landlord won’t do anything...etc.”

Obviously there are multiple things wrong with this scenario, and I don’t think I need to go into them. 

I sat and listened to this interview in complete shock and confusion.  “Don’t they know that this is no way to live?  Don’t they know that they have options?  At the very least, put on some earmuffs, right?!?!” 

I just could not fathom anyone thinking that they had to settle for a life of cockroaches crawling into their ears at night.

Then it hit me.

That is exactly how I used to view my struggle with depression.  “Nothing I can really do about this...just gotta suck it up and muscle through it...nobody can help me...it’s just the way it is.”

I might as well have had cockroaches crawling into my ears.

Hearing this story made me even more thankful for the angels in my life who have helped me see that there is another way to live, and that I can DO SOMETHING about it.  Pastors, friends, counselors, doctors....and most importantly, Brian - THANK YOU.  Without these people showing me the hope that wasn’t obvious to me at the time, I would still be fighting a losing battle, just like that poor mother.   

And just for the record, if I ever see a cockroach in my apartment, I know what to do :)

Thankful for Depression?

“Hi, can I get a decaf, sugar-free, non-alcoholic something...and make it quick, cause I’m on my way to the gym!”

That might be a line that comes out of my mouth in the next two weeks...ok, maybe not verbatim, but you get the gist.

You see, for two weeks out of each month, any combination of not enough exercise, and consuming sugar, caffeine, or alcohol can send my brain some faulty messages like “that’s it, just crawl under those covers, close your eyes, and avoid all people and obligations until I say so.”  It may sound crazy, but it’s true.  Just ask Brian.  Yep, that’s right.  “Hi.  My name is Anne.  And I live with depression.”  ...I live trying to be friends with it, that is. 

Thanks to some really good doctors, nutritionists, and counselors, along with some pretty good literature on my good friend, PMS (or as my doctor diagnosed me as experiencing, PMDD - code for “this ain’t just cramps”), I’ve learned a lot about how my brain operates during this time.

Basically what it comes down to is that my brain just needs that time to be what I now like to call “closed for cleaning”.  If I dirty it up with “the big three” (three of my favorite things, I might add) it’s like throwing gasoline on a fire. 

Thankfully, and with a lot of help from good friends and an incredible partner, I’ve started to go from thinking of my depression as a bi-weekly battle that I dread fighting...to thinking of it as if I were caring for a fussy small child, who just doesn’t know any better.  

And as I’m sure any mother of a fussy small child will tell you....even with some healthy structure and nurturing...sometimes it’s fucking difficult to manage.  *F-bomb acknowledged and warranted in the eyes of this blogger :)

And just like a small child, my depression keeps me on my toes...in a good way.  It forces me to take care of my body and to take care of myself in a better way than I otherwise might.  

So, for now...take good care, vanilla latte and yummy northwest brew...I’ll be back in a couple weeks.

*I realize it’s not necessarily easy or comfortable to talk about (or hear about) depression, because of the unfortunate stigma on it, but if anyone reading this ever wants to ask me questions or talk about depression, I’m happy to listen and/or share with you my own experience.  One thing I know for sure is that silence is its biggest breeder.

Free Exercise

I’m fortunate to work at a hotel that overlooks the Willamette River, and sits right next to an 11-mile stretch of bike path.  I’m also fortunate because the man who loves me most got me a functional clunker of a bike that I can ride around town and not worry about someone stealing it.  (Bike theft is huge in Eugene!)

I love my morning bike commute.  It takes me about 15 minutes, and most of that is on a nice and wide bike path that I share with lots of other morning bike commuters.

The first leg of it is right outside our apartment complex, near a mulch running path that is always full of morning joggers...of all shapes and sizes.  I always feel especially inspired by the brisk-walking-white-haired women who habitually walk together.  You can tell they are doing it more for the friendship rather than the exercise, and that makes me smile.

We also happen to live right next to South Eugene High School, so I get to watch the high schoolers who walk or skateboard to school.  Every time I pass one of them, I think about what it was like for me to be in high school, and I wonder if their experiences are similar.  I look at their outfits and wonder how much time they took to pick it out that morning.

Then there’s the short stretch on High Street, and the same transgender person is always sitting at the same table having coffee at Full City Cafe.  He/She sits and reads the paper, with his/her overstuffed shopping cart of belongings setting nearby.  This coffee shop is right next to the Tibetan shop that sells singing bowls.  Across the street is my favorite McMenamins pub, because they have a backyard with a fire pit.  This entire scene on this one corner of town - that I ride by in five seconds (with a green light) reminds me of how much I love Eugene...for its quirky nature, unconditional acceptance of all types, and all the good beer you could ever want.

About two minutes later, I cross the Ferry Street Bridge which leads into Alton Baker Park, which Brian affectionately refers to as “the goose poop park.”  It’s always full of geese!  

Once when I was riding over the bridge, I witnessed some crazy college kids jumping off into the Willamette.  I stopped and waited with my cell phone ready to call 9-1-1. Didn’t have to use it, thankfully, but I felt for the girl who I watched mentally prep herself to jump because I figured she was only doing it to impress the guy she was with.  

The tail end of my ride is a straight section of path along the river that is completely covered in tall, lush, green trees that arch over the path.  It feels like a bike-path-fairy-land of some sort because it’s so peaceful and centering.  On this stretch, I pass the same woman running, always wearing a black sports bra, black hat, and black shorts.  I always think she looks like an ultra-marathoner on mile 99.  You could drive a truck through the space between her thighs and her knock-kneed gate makes me cringe - and she’s ALWAYS out there running!

In a 15-minute time span, I experience a lot.  I notice little things that take my mind to a place I would never have gone to driving inside a car.  It’s a great way to start and end the work-day, and as Brian likes to remind me, “It’s free exercise!”  ...in more ways than one, this is so true.

What To Do, What To Do...

Decisiveness has never been a strong point of mine, except when choosing dessert.  

When it comes to deciding which direction to go in my life, it’s rarely been crystal clear.  Truth be told, I’ve always felt like something was wrong with me because the thought of committing to a career path or a long-term goal has always given me the heebie-jeebies - similar to how I react to big, hairy spiders. 

In high school, I thought I wanted to be an attorney...then I found I’m not gifted in debating, and tend to be lax with rules.

I had teachers and coaches tell me someday I’d be an English teacher and volleyball coach...then I realized I’m not a big reader and the coaching door has never really opened for me.

In college, I wanted to be a corporate trainer...then I realized I have little patience for “corporate speak” and I refuse to be expected to wear panty hose.

More recently, I put to rest my long-lived idea of going to seminary, and lasted one semester before I realized I appreciate job clarity, especially when money is leaving my bank account.  

Now I find myself in massage school (something that’s been in my mental hopper since I had my first massage in high school)...and it feels good...and it feels calm...

...which makes me wonder: “What’s wrong?”  

Shouldn’t I be feeling a strong sense of doubt right about now?  Shouldn’t I think another direction looks more attractive?  Shouldn’t I wonder if it’s really worth the time, energy & money going into it?

Oddly enough, I think for the first time in my life, I feel pretty content...which is really nice, and ironically a little uncomfortable.  

Which is why the night before my first class for this term, I had a little meltdown and a great cry.  I asked myself all the questions I listed above.  Through the tears, and Brian’s listening ear, I discovered my answers were thankfully “no” to each one...so I stopped crying and felt free to simply be excited for class in the morning!

My dad worked for the railroad for 40 years.  Forty years!!!  The same company, the same job track, the same environment...for 40 years.  When I asked him why he did it, he simply said that he always had seniority and the pay was good, and he was able to be an available dad and be a part of his kids’ lives.  He also told me not to do the same thing...the 40 years, that is. (Thirty was too much, in his words.) 

If I had half the discipline my dad had (& has), I’d be living a different life right now...and as grateful as I am to my dad, I’m thankful for the road I’ve taken.

Not all of us can be like Pete Yost.

For me, it’s been a spotty trek, and mostly I’ve learned a lot about what I don’t want to do.  And because of that, I guess I’m finally starting to get a clue about what I do want to do...at least, for now...but who knows, I could always change my mind, right? 

I Love My Husband!

This blog is meant to be a space where I simply write about my thoughts, whatever they may be week to week.

A thought that is always running through my mind is this: I love my husband.  Brian Vander Naald really is the best thing that ever happened to me, as Ray LaMontagne so eloquently sings.  I look at him and I feel so blessed by God.  He is a man that I completely respect and admire in his character, his faith in God, his sense of humor, his deep friendships, his laughter, his love for me, his thoughts on life & his response to life, the way he makes me a better person and challenges me to grow in ways that I might otherwise avoid, how he gets along with my family and friends (everyone loves him!), and the list goes on and on.  

He is my partner and my best friend, and I sometimes feel so overwhelmed with love for him that I can’t help but say it, write about it, and live it out.

People sometimes ask me, “So, how’s married life?”  Aware of their perception of me as a “newlywed” and potentially naive about the hardships of marriage, I look at them straight in the eye and say: “Awesome.”  

We are not blind to the struggles and trials that will come our way.  We argue, we don’t always get along, we snap at each other, and we’ve had nights of sleeping separately.  Like I said, we know our relationship will always take a lot of hard work.  We are not perfect and neither is our love, but we are loved by a perfect God.  Our marriage is a gift from that God, to which I gladly say “I do” each and every day.

A Muddy Glimpse Into Human Nature

I am a big fan of people gathering in large crowds to do something fitness-oriented.  I don’t care if it’s a fun-run, a 5K, a marathon, a triathlon, whatever - I am always charged by the energy that people bring to the event.  

That's Brian in the red shirt!

The Warrior Dash (hopefully you’ve seen the photos) included people who had obviously trained hard, with muscles bulging when they walked, while they sported their crazy viking costume or something of the like.  There were also those that looked like this was the first time they’d gotten off the couch all summer, and they were just out to have a good time and get to the beer tent afterward!

It was only possible for spectators to see the last three obstacles, the final of which was the barbed-wire lined mudpit.  Like I said, it was the last obstacle; most people were dog-tired once they got there.  I stood and cheered everyone on, as if I knew them, and it was interesting to me to watch HOW each person approached the pit.  

I saw the following entrance styles into the mudpit, and in my head came up with the following categories of “warrior” (or otherwise):

1. The Unprepared “Worrier”: Exhaustedly walks/jogs up to the pit and appears to be caught by surprise that crawling through a mudpit was part of the race...and a look of dread runs across their face.
2.   The Real Life “Warrior”: Intense, serious, buff, out-to-win, ex-military, crawler-through-mud extraordinaire...oblivious to anything except the finish line in front of them.
3. The Friendship Warrior: Runs up to the pit, smiling with their friends, cheering each other on and laughing hysterically with their friends while trudging through the mud...taking it in stride when their shoes get stuck in the mud, grabbing it and continuing to crawl barefoot, not worrying about how slow they are. (This is the category Brian falls into...)
4. The Class Clown Warrior: Runs and jumps into the pit as if it were a swimming pool, and then proceeds to roll around and “backstroke” through the mud, smiling the whole time, oblivious to anything except entertaining the crowd, completely covering themselves in mud, head to toe.  Obviously unconcerned with time.

I was thoroughly entertained and felt like I got a good glimpse into people’s personalities by watching how they approached the mudpit.  What kind of mudpit-crawler do you think you would be?  Come on out to Oregon next year and we can find out together!  (Brian and are signing up again soon!)

Has Anyone Seen My Ground Prong?

Today at work I was charged with the task of meeting with an Oregon OSHA consultant and taking him on a tour of our property to see what kinds of improvements could be made.

What was one of the major pitfalls?  Missing ground prongs.  You know, that third thing that sticks out of electrical plugs that is sometimes there and sometimes not?  Evidently we have several cords and vacuums that should have prongs and don’t - thus creating a fire hazard.  Ok, got it.  We’ll get right on it.

The big picture thinker in me was a bit struck by the absurdity of so much focus on a tiny piece of metal.  Like I said, I get that it’s important.  It just seems so very far removed from what really matters.  I’ve worked in enough jobs over the past few years, though, to learn that sometimes it really is those tiny, seemingly absurd details that can make or break someone else’s big picture.

Real life example from my days as a legal assistant: A woman with MS is riding as a passenger in a car and gets hit by another driver.  Less than a week later, the same thing happens, by a different driver.  Neither accident is her fault.  

Big picture thoughts that immediately come to my mind: How will this woman respond to and accept these difficult life events that have just simply happened to her? 

Small picture details - (or can I say, “ground prongs”): 100’s of pages of medical records, countless phone calls to insurance adjusters, heated depositions trying to conjure up any and all skeletons in her closet, lawyer’s fees, doctor bills...the list is a mile long full of... 

...you guessed it - “ground prongs.”

I have always struggled with this dance.  This dance between focusing on the big picture ideas and concerns that are at the heart of people and life - and the other side of life that focuses  on “ground prongs.”  

Truth be told: I’m not a “ground prong” person.   I’m an “electricity” person.  And I have that affirmed to me just about every day.  (Like when my mind wanders to thoughts like what I’ve written above - after doing an OSHA inspection.)  However, I have come to realize that it takes ALL kinds of people to reach the conclusions in life that we are meant to reach.  And that’s a beautiful thing...almost as nice as a fully intact electrical plug.

Are you more of a “ground prong” person, or an “electricity” person?  Or, better yet, have you been in a job that has required you to have a focus that differs from your natural tendency of focus? 

Straight Out of Deliverance

Last Saturday morning started out as a wonderful weekend morning.  I slept in and awoke to  Brian in the kitchen asking me with enthusiasm, “Can I make you waffles?” as he simultaneously hands me a cup of coffee.  I accept both the coffee and the waffles with groggy gratitude and, with a sleepy smile on my face, tell him I love him.  


We’re talking postcard morning, right?


After breakfast, we decide to go on a hike.  We’d like to check out a new hiking area, but not travel too far out of town.  Thankfully, Eugene and the surrounding area is conducive to that.  The Coburg Hills look like the perfect option for this morning.  We print off some mapquest directions, throw some Clif bars in a backpack and are out the door in no time.  


We are headed to a nearby town called Marcola.  People stereotypically hear dueling banjos in their head any time “Marcola” rolls off the tongue.  It’s home to beautiful landscape, and in general, people who are content with the simple things in life.  



After running into a dead-end that mapquest suggested shouldn’t have been, we turned the car around and explored a little further.   It was a beautiful day; the sun was shining, the air was fresh and crisp, our windows were rolled down, and we were simply enjoying the scenery that is Oregon.  

We end up on Boiler Creek Road.  This road turns out to be another dead-end, in more ways than one.  


After reaching the end of the road, with no trailheads in sight, we turn the car around and continue on our way yet again.  About thirty seconds after heading back down Boiler Creek Road, a man suddenly appears out of nowhere in the middle of the road about 50 yards ahead of us.  Sort of odd, right?  The odder thing is that this mystery man proceeds to take a tree that had already been propped up against another on the side of the road, and lays it down over the road - yes, blocking us in.  Watching this transpire, my mind went from confusion to shock to fear in about five seconds.  In the spirit of the morning’s adventure, though, I turn to Brian with a curious smile on my face and say, “Well, looks like we’re about to meet a local!”  

This local happened to be a man in his gray-haired years, greasy and slicked back to almost reach his shoulders, wearing a poncho and some ratty cut-off khaki shorts and sandals.  His skin was tan and leathery, and his body moved in a way that suggested he’d been in the woods most of his life.  

As our car slows to a stop in front of the man’s strategically placed obstacle, Brian rolls down the window only to hear these words slung toward us “We take care of thieves on our own up here!  The police don’t come up here!” At that moment I realized I wasn’t the only person who felt afraid.

Thankfully, he wasn’t armed.  And, upon closer inspection, he actually had a soft look in his eye that comforted me.  

Brian and I did our best to assuage the man’s anxiety by explaining we were simply looking for a place to hike and nothing else.  He puffed his chest a little more with some wordplay, but at this point we knew he was harmless and just a little out of touch...

...and one hour later, he let us go.  

This whole experience was timely in the sense that we had just led a Bible study earlier in the week about responding to situations in life where our plans have been thwarted.  Do we say, “Damn it!” or do we say, “Sweet!”?  And if it’s the former, how do we share about that struggle with both God and the people in our lives in a balanced way?  

It turns out that the mystery man’s name is Tom Brandt, and he is an old logger and artisan.  At one point he even ran for Lane County Commissioner. Despite our less-than-aggressive attempts to work our way out of the conversation and OFF of Boiler Creek Road, he kept talking...and the tree stayed in place in front of us.  

We heard all about his land, his story, his passion (albeit misguided) for effecting change in “The Man’s” relationship with the land, and running down thieves off his property.  I don’t even remember all he said, only that the whole time I was thinking two things: 1. This man is lonely. & 2. How do we get him to take that tree down without making him angry? 

I’m sure Tom Brandt, our said “plan thwarter”, has no idea that in his odd way, he is allowing people the opportunity to practice some flexibility.  Thanks for that Tom...really glad to be stretched in that way and come out unscathed!

Anyway, inside Brian and I were definitely both saying “Damn it!” on some level to this quirky glitch being thrown into our plans.  What resonated more with us, though, was how lonely this crazy kook must really be.  Even though he took away our morning of hiking, we had to believe our listening ears were more important for him than a hike would have been for our legs that particular morning...or at least that’s what we’re telling ourselves, damn it.

How would you have responded to dear old Tom Brandt?  Do tell!

Entertaining the Soul

“Do you think I could be a blogger?”  I frequently ask Brian this question, and he frequently (always, actually) answers confidently, “Yes.”  

“But what would I write about?  Why does the world need another blog?”  He, again, confidently responds: “The world might not need it, but I think your soul does.”

All together now.... “Hmmmm.”  

My knee-jerk response: “Why write, just because it’s good for my soul?  I mean, shouldn’t I have a goal in place - a theme and a direction for the blog to go, a set list of categories to write about - I mean, really, shouldn’t I hope to get a book deal out of this someday if I’m going to put time into it?!?”

All together now... “Oh Anne....”

I remember a conversation I had a few years ago with my very favorite college professor, Eleanor.  She was telling me about a spiritual direction training course she was taking at the time, and how much she loved it.  Her husband, Chuck, couldn’t understand why she was doing it if she wasn’t planning on hanging a slate up on her door to be an official “Spiritual Director”.  Her answer: “I am simply entertaining my soul.”  And that was reason enough.

 I’ve often wondered what the difference is between blogging and journaling.  (That, I know I can do.)  All I keep coming back to is that there is something to be said for putting words down on paper that you know other eyes will see.  Free expression, driven by intention, and monitored by that little voice that resides in us all - that seems to me to be what blogging is about.  To have a voice.  To be heard.  To validate thoughts.  Who doesn’t need that?  

Writing has forever been a space for me to express myself comfortably.  And Brian is right - it is good for my soul.  Entertaining, even.  And that is reason enough.

Have you ever thought about how you can simply entertain your own soul?  When is the last time you did that?