fortunes

last Sunday, on a lazy afternoon plagued by desperate hunger and no desire to expend the energy needed to make food, I settled for some good old, slightly questionable Safeway Chinese food. My sweet and sour chicken-- as greasy-good as I remembered it-- was accompanied by the usual nondescript fortune cookie and cheesy fortune.

"you will receive unexpected support over the next week. accept it graciously."

good, I think to myself. my best friend is across the world with no means of communication. I sure could use some support for the next few days. 

and support I got. from my boss, recognizing that I was stressed out and offering to help in any way she could. from conversations with friends in the early morning slowness of the store we work at. from time spent with roommates I had felt I was growing apart from. from family. from bad jokes told by customers. from always patient answers to my never-ending questions at my new jobs. from small children looking for a friend and a lap to sit in. from firemen, even. from all angles imaginable.

looking back on it now, I wonder: did I see all these incredible acts of support, however small, because I was already on the lookout for them?

if my fortune cookie hadn't set my mind on the lookout for types of support, would I have noticed these things or recognized the value in them? had my fortune cookie alerted me to the possible presence of, say, danger, would I have noticed a completely separate set of events from what did stick in my mind this week?

such suggestion is more powerful than we think. if we are prompted to look at things in a certain light, we are naturally going to find it easy to pick out the things that validate that way of looking at it. if we think our lives are boring and miserable, we are going to only notice the things that validate this view-- and if something doesn't, we will warp it so that it does. if we are told from the start that all homeless people are dangerous and just want money to buy alcohol, every situation or behavior in which a homeless person is involved will be evaluated in that light. if we are told that women are less capable and intelligent than men, we will only notice instances where this is true. and on, and on. 

I wonder if any of us even know what we are being told to notice and what ideas are being suggested to us that influence the way we perceive situations. not everything is written so clearly on a tiny piece of paper folded up inside of a cookie.

what is necessary, not what is courageous

this story from msnbc.com is incredible. 

peace is not made by politicians lying to each other over expensive meals, saying anything and doing nothing. this is the real way to wage peace: face to face, door to door, person to person. step by step, leading by example.

waiting

it all looks like it is shaping up so nicely, falling into place so easily. almost as if everything is going to work out.

i'm just waiting for it all to fall apart.

The things our heart does when we aren't watching

I was miserable for two months last summer. I was somewhere far away (well, far for me-- across the country instead of across the world), without the people I loved, living in places that were vastly opposite from the accommodations I was used to, trying to do something that was not comfortable for me with people that I didn't know. I lived in towns where, at best, my dining options consisted of KFC, McDonalds, or Sheetz (the local chain of gas stations which, if you are unfamiliar with, is glorious). Wal-Mart was the height of civilization, not to mention the ultimate goal for employment for many of the people in the areas I visited. I drove a 15 passenger van with no air-conditioner down rural country roads, some of which barely resembled roads at all, and saw more trailer homes and houses on the verge of collapse than I ever imagined existed in the United States. I hated being away from my family and friends, hated the lack of decent fruit, hated not seeing the Seattle skyline, hated missing the 4th of July with my roommates, hated the humidity, and hated the job I was given. Miserable, I longed every minute to be home.

Somehow, I still miss West Virginia.

While I was there, I never would have thought that I would long to go back just a few months after I had left. Driving toward the Seattle skyline on my way home from the airport the night I got back, I felt completely at peace and ecstatic to be home again. Eight months later, the relief of home has worn off. My mind is free from the stress of my trip and the joy of return. With my heart relaxed into its normal state, I have discovered that, completely unknowingly, I have left part of it in the hills of West Virginia-- in the very trailers and fields and ramshackle towns that my heart seemed to hate just last summer.

I find myself now longing to see fireflies flitting in and out of the thick darkness of a humid summer night. To see the green of open fields against the blue of a cloudless sky. To have someone tell me to "turn on the only paved road and when you see the boat in the yard you're there." To not be looked at funny when I pronounce "Appalachia" the way my friends there taught me to. To get a swirl cone from the Dairy King. To order my sandwich from the gas pump at Sheetz. To drive across a covered bridge. To see Jan and Ralph and Dougy and Dan and Kim and Kris and Mike. To hear Mike describe how he makes the perfect pepperoni roll. To visit Matt and Betsy, and play with Serena and Mia (oh, my heart misses those girls so deeply...) To watch high schoolers replace a rotted trailer floor. To see my tough Sierra try to act so cool all the time. To hear stories. To see love. To be loved.

How did this happen without me even knowing? And now what do I do?