Choir of angels

There she was, waiting for us as we walked in through the resting home doors. A big smile sprung up onto her fragile face. She greeted us kindly and we chatted for a bit as she cheekily joked about living in a prison. I pointed to my head and said with a wink, the real prison is in here. She chuckled and admitted that it really was a nice facility, and it is! There is such an endearing feeling of community there and a spirit so sweet that it draws me back. A group of my fellow students had started a weekly visit to sing hymns to and converse with the residents. This time, though, we were few in numbers. My roommate and I, the two of us, went room to room gathering those interested in coming to the foyer to listen. Then we stood in front of the sleeping crowd and began. We sang as loud as we could so that our lonely voices could reach through the air to those failing, aged ears. Having brought my russian hymnbook, I belted out a couple of my favorites. They liked that. But then, just as my poor parched throat started to completely croak I saw a beautiful little family walk in and they started to watch us. At the end of the song I jokingly invited them to join us. One of them offered to play the piano and we continued to sing. As we sang I heard a voice blend in with ours, then another one in harmony, and another, and another! We raised up in a chorus so exquisite my heart swelled as the pianist tossed his hands across the piano in an impromptu accompaniment so grand tears started to well up in my eyes. I felt God with us.
As I experienced this miracle unfold I couldn't help but remember a quote by BYU-Idaho president Kim B. Clark that had saved me on my mission. It reads, "When we act in faith in Jesus to do His work, He goes with us to serve others and blesses us to say just what they need to hear... What we actually say and actually do may feel a little awkward or not very polished... But the Savior takes our words and our actions... He takes our sincere but imperfect effort and turns them into something that is just right, indeed, into something that is perfect."
I know that when we extend our efforts, however tiny, simple or awkwardly placed they may seem, God will magnify them. He can make breathtaking, fantastic miracles in our lives. And He will if you believe it! I know that is true because today I sang with angels. 

A veteran's war

A young veteran makes friends with an old veteran. The young veteran falls in love with the old veteran's granddaughter who works at a recording studio. One night, after the band had finished recording the last song of the album the young veteran makes a scene by knocking out the drummer, who he felt was making moves on his fiancé, the granddaughter. Later, this is the conversation the old veteran and the young veteran have around an open fire.

YV: So, that guy's not going to press charges.
OY: Oh, there you go, that's a good thing.
YV: Yeah, I guess, I mean, it doesn't change the fact that Amber (granddaughter) still saw me loose it on him, you know. I just couldn't take it, it was just like every time I came around he was there taunting me, there baiting me, you know. And then they're standing there like they just created a miracle because they've recorded some song, like it's the most important thing in the world. That kid has no idea what's important. You know, what's really important.
OV: Yeah. Yeah, I remember when I got back. It was always funny to me how people got all twisted up about stuff that didn't matter. It wasn't important... well, well you know, what happened was important to Amber.
YV: Yeah, I mean that's the worst part of it. I let her down, and I don't know, maybe her mom's right, maybe I'm not good enough for her. I... *shakes head*
OV: Well, Amber's her baby. There's never going to be anybody that's good enough to marry her baby.
YV: What about you? What do you think?
OV: I think you guys made a decision to get married and I think that's a good thing. And I think you're trying, and that's the most important thing.
YV: Yeah, I'm trying so hard.  ...and that's the thing, as much as I'm trying here, it makes me think, just screw it! You know, screw this life! And then I go back...
OV: Wait a minute, wait, hold it, hold it. What are you talking about? Are you talking about...?
YV: No, no. No, I'm saying screw this civilian life... this, this... trying to do this.
*pause*
You know, I hated Afghanistan. You know, I hated it. But at least there everything made sense, you know, like everything. Everything there, like, mattered, you know, it's important. And then it's like, I can't get my mind off of that place, I can't disconnect from that place. It's like I can't, I can't shake it. I just feel out of sync here still.
OV: Boy, you're going to have to decide which world you belong in. It's, ah, it's hard.
(Parenthood, S5 E10)
http://www.nbc.com/parenthood/episode-guide/season-5/all-that%E2%80%99s-left-is-the-hugging/510

Later we learn which world the young veteran chose. He chose to reenlist.
Sitting in my sad cocoon of blankets with my laptop, chips and chocolate in arm's reach, I felt first grateful, grateful that finally, someone had put into words my situation, exactly. Second, I felt a pang jealously, jealously that he could go back. I couldn't reenlist, I couldn't go back.
So then, what to do? What do you do in a world where nothing makes sense and where nothing matters? For a long time, I did nothing. Relationships were strained. Loved ones thought I was home when really I was a completely changed person who was only partially there.
But slowly things got better, like they always, always, always do. Adjusting has been quite the tedious process. It's like untying a serious of knots, missionary knots. Yes, I can be alone now, untie. I can watch TV, untie. I can hug men, untie. Hold babies, untie. Wear pants, untie. Early morning studies, untie. Wait, no, retie. Some knots were loose, some so tight that it hurt my hands and I had to use my teeth. Some knots I didn't even know existed. And through all the awkward, painful, and amazing moments (like riding a bike again) my friends and family were always right there, talking and walking me through it.
What motivates me is the chance, not to go back, but to stay in the fight. The war was not just there but it's here too! Truly, I can still be a missionary... in this weird, unfamiliar, non-missionary way. I can still be an active duty disciple of Christ. I'm so grateful for Him and give Him glory for every single triumph, every miracle, every breathe He gives me in this new life. I can't wait to see what's in store because, with faith in Him, it's going to be... miraculous. 

Library

At this moment I am sitting in the middle of the library, just sitting and feeling every one around me. Every mumble of hushed words being spoken, every letter typed, every tapped pen, every crinkled wrapper reverberates inside my empty frame and fills it with a rich concoction of the mundane. Reflexively, I toss my head to the side as a timid blond gets up out of her chair. Our eyes connected and lingered for an instant. In that time my brain collected what it could. She was fair and wispy. Her eyes were hard and deflective at first but then softened as if to apologize. I smiled a slight smile assuring her that all was forgiven. 

Why blog?

Blogging, it's what we do if we can't fit all our thoughts or doings into a Facebook post or Tweet (not that I've ever tweeted...). It's an essay, an expression, a piece of us cast into the melting pot of humanity.

Just ask yourself, why did all the greats in history have journals? Galileo, Da Vinci, Einstein... Because they understood the power of thoughts. A single thought in the mind of a pioneer can change everything, for everyone throughout the indefinite future of mankind. But a thought is useless if it is not recorded, communicated, and disseminated. It can come as a revelation one moment and then the next pass as if it never were there.  And although I may not be a revolutionary artist, inventor, or scientist, that is why I blog, to somehow pin down the genius that is in us all. To capture the fleeting, beautiful moments of my life, a life I do not claim for myself. 

I'm renaming this blog to "My Vermeer," a name actually I came up with a long time ago in honor of Johannes Vermeer, an artist who took upon himself to paint the ordinary. He elevated perfectly normal occurrences into something worth admiring.
These posts are the pictures I paint.