(photo by Naomi Smith)

    

        Mom said she wished there was some way I could stay longer.  

     

      Instead, I left her.

                      

      Really, I knew there was a way I could've stayed longer in our two story white house on St. Anthony Street. But I chose not to and now, as I watched the flat dry land flicker past me through the window, I hated myself for it. I was going, she was staying. This, I thought, must be a mother’s pain – watching her necked, dimpled and soft skinned babies – leave her.

                      

      Life is filled with leaving. Like the time the first one left, the second and third all the way through the seventh - Each sibling with a different destination, each with a worthy pursuit. Mom sent them all away with bright eyes – glazed with courage - but her hugs were quick. I helped boot them off too, usually with a sleepy embrace on a dark morning - a morning much like this particular day’s – so early that the dew was still crystallizing as I shivered in the parking lot line to catch the 7 o’clock bus back to Lubbock.  

                   

      I remember watching them leave all those years, we felt them leaving too. The old cement walls in our house grew a little taller with every departure, the stairs above my bed creaked less; silence didn't always feel like a gift. One day, it was my turn to go. I wonder what the rooms sounded like the day I made my way to collage through west Texas’ cotton landscape, an ocean view of white as far as my expectant eyes could see.

       

      Five years later and here I was making the same trip; so familiar. The view was uglier and emptier than ever and my face, faintly reflected in the glass was equally as pail as the dead-grassed-plains. But I had to go back, I had to - one more time.  I pondered the decisions that waited for me in Lubbock.  There were people I knew I needed to say good-bye to, more people to hug. There were things worth finishing before I had to leave, again. 

iGreenPod in the Making

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For all 8 of my followers, here is a look into my business venture. These are the copper molds being used to produce our biodegradable single serve coffee pods. Don't they look awesome?!! Any thoughts? Things are moving forward so stay tuned for more updates on the progression of iGreenPod.

The Three Amigos

As a side note and a beginning thought, I’d like to draw special attention to the last couple of photos I’ve posted. Did you know my family does things like a herd of ants? One ant in an ant herd finds food, tells the rest and then they all follow by traveling out to get the same food. Stay with me. I have a feeling that was the lamest analogy EVER. What I mean is this; One day, one of my family members decided to buy Chaco’s. Before I knew it, everyone in my family owned a pair and before I knew whether or not I liked them, I bought a pair too. Some went for basic black, a few liked the toe strap, some preferred the slip on style and others in my family may not want to wear Chaco’s on their feet but my bet is that it’ll show up as their next tattoo. A few years later, one of my brothers started racing bicycles in college….so the rest of my family started hoarding bicycles. Now we believe in cycling instead of driving cars. We cycle for leisure, competition, birthday parties and family reunions. I don’t have my bike anymore because it was stolen but I left my bike rack on my car for 6 months after just so that I people would think I was a cyclist. This year, some of you will be getting a 2012 Newton Holiday Greeting with a picture of Newton’s on……

bicycles.

When one of my sisters started a new hobby in photography she bought a really nice camera.

Now, every female in my family straps on a camera of the same kind or one of equal quality before we go for walks. Conversations aren’t even interrupted by the camera because they have become a natural integration into our conversation. But I don’t really own a camera. I choose to use the Skype camera on my computer because I can take a picture and save it directly to my desktop without a flash drive or memory card. It’s sort of hassle free. It takes pretty good photos and only a lot of adjusting and readjusting to get the right place in focus. Everything shows up opposite on the screen, which is kinda cool and makes me dizzy. When I move the object right, it looks like it’s going left. I can’t figure it out but without a good mystery life and photography would be boring. I don’t feel like writing any more about my pictures although I’m thinking about posting my pictures on Facebook and I’ll let the images do the rest of my talking. You can send them to all your friends. The more “likes” I get, the more possible it will be to get my Skype photography business up and running. So, I will really appreciate your help. The more supporters I can rally behind me the better. Right now my portfolio is made up of self portraits, in a variety of poses of course, and church bulletins…alright, Let me tell you about The Three Amigos.

In my last post I told you about a 13-year-old-boy.  I’m going to tell you about a thirteen year old boy again-but a different one.

It was Sunday and the 13-year-old-boy called attention to a title on the bulletin, “The Three Amigos.” Perhaps more significant to me, but as I reflect on the story of The Three Amigos and the uniqueness of this boy’s short but full history, I am curious.

Loyalty, companionship, comradery and adventure – all words that ring true to the story of The Three Amigo’s. Where have those things been true in his life? Where have they felt absent? Maybe it explains the way he is quick to attach himself to a person, almost cling to them.

He pointed to the title and then to himself, me and my 32-year-old-boy who sat on the other side of me. That day, we were The Three Amigos. We were a part of him.

He’s the kind of boy you’d imagine finding on a baseball field. His tan skin would never get burnt-just more tan and his hair would turn increasingly sun-bleached. He’s the kid you identify on the football field by his shoes. He wears football cleats 2 sizes too big-not because he has to but because he chooses to.  Sitting still could be his biggest nightmare and when he tells you that he hates you what he really means is, you’re the only one I trust to hold my anger without retaliation. That’s why his voice was all the sweeter, off-tune and mumbled, when he began to sing beside me in church yesterday. I hope this boy will someday fully understand that the one he was singing to is,

The One big and kind enough to hold all of his anger. I hope too, to be a part of him for longer.

"Melonie Park Rocks my mind around to flip it to love god
and to make good choices" (Melonie Park is our church)

A Boy,

13 years old.

Last Sunday I sat in a pew lined with Texas Boys Ranch boys. and boy, was it interesting. There was a 4 year old boy to my right, a 13 year old boy in front of me, another 13 year old boy beside the 32 year old boy on my left and a few 6 and 7 year old boys down the way. The 13 year old boy in front of me wouldn’t stop tapping the 4 year old boy sitting next to me on the head with a spongy torpedo until the 32 year old boy told him to quit. The 4 year old boy liked it when the 13 year old boy hit him on the head. It made him giggle. And when I pulled him back in his seat, hoping he might be still, he asked the 32 year old boy if he could play games on his iphone. When the 32 year old boy said no, the 4 year old boy asked him if church was almost over.  And when church was finally over, the 13 year old boy sitting in front of me (who got up to go to the bathroom about 5 times during the sermon) shoved his way past the other boys. He kept handing me a blue piece of paper. I disregarded the 13 year old boy’s paper because he had been doing nonsense type things all morning. The blue paper fell and the 13 year old boy put it in my bible again. I went home and forgot about it. I found it today. This time, I read it. And while Michael Haverdink’s testimony was an awesome one, it’s the raw thoughts of a 13 year old boy that are imbedded in my heart tonight. Just as loud and full of meaning.

How true are his words? I don’t know for sure.

But, I am sure that he wanted me to have it. 

And I do have it. And I’m thinking of that 13 year old boy and his precious life.

I spent my semester working SO HARD-no, playing hard with the most entertaining, encouraging and energetic team for my Advertising Campaigns class.  we had good times and learned stuff too.

here's some special insight into our campaign for Cardinal's Sport Center

Campaigns Internet Video

the team that raves together, stays together.

                                                  EPIC                                                   

we were planning for an epic ski trip. the kids were 

stoked and so were the leaders. our first day on the

slope was pretty sweet. lots of falling, laughing,

belly-crawling, hopping - i learned a lot of ways

to get cruising. 

i broke my wrist. 

for those of you who think wearing a cast is glorious,

it is.
quite, quite glorious. but besides getting to choose the
color of your cast, wearing one isn't really fun. it itches,
kinda smells, your roommates put your hair in ponytails
for you (nice ones of course) and you can only give one
handed high-fives.

but,
this tragic, tragic experience gave me the opportunity
to experience the church's love in a vibrant way.

i saw it; was overwhelmed by it.

that's pretty epic.