A Matter of Love

Imagine something that you've always known would happen. Something that you imagined over and over again what it would be like.

If it happened already, was it just like you imagined it would be?

And if not, be prepared. It probably won't be. Reality is harder and much more glorious than our imaginations.

My oldest sister got married a week ago Saturday. It was happy and beautiful and went by so quickly.

We used to talk about what it would be like when Deanna got married sometimes, about me being the maid of honor, about what her husband would be like, about her kids. More about that than anything else, though. We were the type of people who played orphanage and skipped over playing weddings.

As I stood at the top of the green-carpeted stairs, looking at Deanna and Stephen standing there (looking like a couple out of a magazine, so perfectly complementing each other), I thought of things that we had been worried about getting ready for the wedding.

It doesn't matter now, I thought. I was glad we didn't worry about details any more than we did. It didn't matter. They were getting married, whether we had the tables placed correctly or not. Whether I succeeded in doing lace on the cake or not. Whether the flowers were exactly what we wanted or not. Whether I succeeded in getting pictures of Deanna getting ready or not. Whether we would run out of cupcakes or live on them for the next eight days. Whether anyone got a picture of the marriage certificate or not.

We worry about details too much. If you won't remember something in a year, it's not worth getting upset about. And even if you will.

Who has time to worry about colors when there are wrongs to right? When there are relationships to build? When there is Scripture to read? When there are words to write? When there are little girls to hold? When there are prayers to say?

I love how weddings make you think about what is important in life.

Standing up there near to my sister, I realized it didn't matter if I arranged her train properly (I didn't) or if I was standing opposite Eric correctly (I couldn't tell) or if Kristen whispered, asking if Deanna had remembered to clean her glasses (she did). Or if Deanna had forgotten (I told Kristen she didn't, but I'm actually not sure).

No. What mattered was Deanna and Stephen's relationship and God and our relationship with them and the witness of the guests and the rest of their lives.

Details do matter. They matter immensely-when they affect relationships. When your dealing with details shows how you honor God or love your brother. When it gives joy and beauty, as the alternating soft purple and green napkins, stacks of old books, the perfect song for the slideshow, and the Chantilly lace cake did, then the details are worth it. When moving the tables closer, disposing of the cake pillars, inviting fewer people, deciding what color nail polish to use by yourself, or letting an awesome idea you had for a picture go pleases your sister or friend or brother-in-law, then it matters. (It also matters whether your mother gets to the wedding or not. It does not matter if you have to wait a while.)

What matters isn't your ideas being materialized. It's showing in every detail your love for Christ through your love for others. It's finding your own delight in what truly matters.

Another Happy Story

It happened again.

Last Wednesday was a busy day, but nothing terribly notable. I babysat in the morning, had a wonderful lunch with a sweet friend, came home and talked with Mom and Eric about different plans, went Christmas shopping with Mom, came home to potato soup and muffins, spent time with the family including Stephen, and watched Elf.

Half of Elf, that is. I think the scene when he breaks a poptart over his spaghetti will always make me think of this evening. The door opened, and Eric and Ruthie came back from going to the lights at the zoo. I got up and stood by the fire. Eric said, "You're watching Elf without us?" Deanna looked at Ruthie, and Ruthie was laughing.

This way they're coming in, smiling, with all of us here, kind of feels like...something familiar....

It couldn't be. She had told him he had to wait until after she graduated...I looked for the ring. She had on three. One on the left hand's ring finger.

Ruthie was laughing: "Deanna is staring at me like she thinks something happened."

Someone asked if Eric had asked her a question.

Ruthie laughed. "Maybe."

(Note: to avoid repetitive, boring "someone said something like this," statements, I am writing as if this were exactly how it happened, but some is paraphrase and could easily have been remembered incorrectly.)

"He asked you if you liked the lights?" Mom asked.

"Yes," Ruthie chuckled.

I went and stood by her and hugged her.

"What did you say?" someone asked.

"I might have said yes."

"You did like the lights?" Mom asked.

I looked more closely at the ring. Eric showed it to me online a few weeks ago, and I immediately thought it was perfect for her, with a twist around a little flower. It looked a little different than it had online.

We hugged them both and told Eric good job. Then we made them come in and sit. "You guys both have to tell us the story!" we cried. "You know how this goes."

"I know," Ruthie agreed. "I was here last time."

This time, Deanna and Stephen had already been sitting on the love seat. "You guys don't have to move," Ruthie said. "We don't have to sit there."












We all objected. Remembering how I had refused to let Eric sit there last time, I said, "We made you guys move last time," smiling at the amusing irony. "It's your turn now." So they took their seats and we gathered around.

Ruthie went first, telling their awesome, pretty adorable story. He had brought her flowers, ostensibly because he was late. After dinner, they went to the Lights before Christmas at the Zoo.

At the synchronized lighted trees, they stopped when a Transiberian orchestra song came on. They had just gone to see them in Grand Rapids the previous Sunday. Eric decided it was time. He asked if she wanted to sit down in a more secluded spot. She objected to the cold seats, so he just asked her. She had no suspicions and was completely surprised. "Wait..is this for real?" she asked.

"I guess I should kneel," Eric said, kneeling, and asking again if she would marry him. Having time to process a bit, she said yes immediately. Then she suggested they sit down.

Before Eric even had a chance to put the ring on her, a man came up. "Excuse me, but my nosy wife informed me that you just got engaged. Do you have a camera and would you like me to take your picture?"

They didn't, so he pulled out his smart phone, took it, and emailed it to Eric. A message said it was using data. "This is totally worth it!" he said, pushing send. They had two kids with them and were the first to tell them congratulations.

The picture isn't of great quality, but the story is adorable and it's fun to have.

Eric had been unusually quiet as Ruthie told her side of the story. Then he told his side. He had been so nervous, but managed to act normal. He was late because the people at the store couldn't find the ring at first.

It was delightful and amusing. (It was also much more involved and special than I made it sound, but if you want their whole story, you'll have to ask to hear it unless I later feel like telling the whole thing properly.)

"Now we can't tell anyone," Kristen said seriously when they had finished the story.

We all laughed. "She knows how this goes!" I said. "She'll be an expert by the time it gets to her."

 Paulie had made some mint chocolate chip cookies.

At one point, Eric said something about how he wanted to do it that day. "Wait..." I said, suddenly realizing, "today is the 18th, isn't it?" Eric smiled and nodded. It was exactly five months after their first date. I smiled. He had done a good job.

Conversation died down for a minute. "We should watch the movie now," Kristen said.

"More important things are going on right now," Stephen said.

"All right, that's done. Back to the movie!" Dad teased.

After we had discussed the proposal story, there was a pause in conversation, and Dad spoke from the couch. "Jeannette..."

Everyone laughed.

"I can only handle two at a time."

I laughed. "What, you don't want three weddings at once?"

"No more engagements this year," Mom joked, and Amy and Ruthie noted that there were only two weeks left in the year.

Conversation turned to Melody, and this time Dad put a number on it: "You're not liking anyone until you're 30."

"Every time the number keeps going up! When Jeannette gets engaged I won't be allowed to like anyone until I'm 40!" Melody exclaimed.

"Melody, if you come live with us, we'll let you like someone whenever you want," Stephen offered generously. Melody is going to live with them and be their slave. However, he went on to say only if she chose the person he wants her to...

Eric gave a counter-offer: "If you come live with us, you don't have to wait and you can like whoever you want. Well, almost."

There were lots of phone calls to be made. Conveniently, Ruthie and I were already planning on meeting the next morning. It was sweet to be able to spend that time with her, and she said it was nice to be able to talk to someone who had been there so she didn't have to explain what had happened with her and Eric.

As usual, I was struck by the everydayness of things. As I told Ruthie, it's sort of weird-your sibling just got engaged!-and yet the world goes on as usual.

Ruthie says, "Truth!"

On Thursday, I saw some people and it was so hard not to tell anyone. In the evening we went to the Armentrouts'. We weren't sure if Eric and Ruthie could come or not, but then Lalita came in, saying, "Everyone calm down - Eric and Ruthie are here!"

They came in and greeted everyone, and while Ruthie hugged Merri, Audrey noticed her ring. "Wait...does everyone know this?!" Audrey asked.

"No!" cried Merri. "Know what?!"

Eric announced to everyone that they were engaged. After much excitement, once again, they sat on the couch, everyone gathered around, and they told their story.

It's kind of funny that a lot of the people who were well-acquainted with the state of their relationship were not expecting it to happen now, while others who were less informed were. I didn't expect it yet, since Ruthie had told him to wait until after she graduates in May, but I wasn't surprised.

In my last post about Ruthie, I would have been more direct about Eric and being part of our family if they had been engaged. I love having it official, to be able to talk about it freely, to say "Eric's fiancee" rather than his girlfriend, to not worry about saying too much to anyone who asks about their relationship. And it makes me smile.

Late Wednesday night when I went to bed with Kristen, she wanted to pray as usual, and she added a prayer to her list. "Pray what everyone will be excited what Eric and Ruthie got engaged." That is one prayer that will certainly be fulfilled.

Some of mine already have been. A few people have told me, "Congratulations!" Then they're unsure if they should. I say that I accept congratulations, as I did for Deanna and Stephen. I'm getting a sister, after all. I think that's worthy of congratulations. I've been considering how unpleasant it would be if your siblings married someone you didn't approve of or didn't like, and then feeling very blessed. I've always wanted to have a sister-in-law that wasn't a friend just because she's part of the family, but that I would have been friends with anyway. My other brothers will (hopefully!) marry someone significantly younger than I, so whoever Eric chose would be a unique relationship.

And I cannot imagine anyone better. As we've said, everyone loves Eric, and everyone loves Ruthie, so everyone loves them together. We feel quite blessed.

Workshopping Fun

This semester has been filled with classes I really enjoy. My favorites are Visual Communication, which I took on a whim and loved; American Sign Language, and signing with people has been really fun, and I can't wait until we're beyond simple vocabulary; and Creative Writing.

Though there have been different issues with the class (a post on that soon, perhaps), I have loved doing workshops.

Workshopping consists of everyone bringing twelve copies of their work and giving one to everyone, including the professor. Then, one by one, the author reads his work aloud, and everyone discusses it. "What is this about?" the professor will ask, or, "What was your favorite line in this poem?" Grammar, diction (word choice), tone, imagery, line breaks, are discussed. At last the author is allowed to speak and give a reply or ask questions.

I thought this would be rather intimidating. Having a professor, who is an interesting, cynical kind of man and ten peers who think very differently than I saying whatever they think about something that I have written--I figured it would be rather unpleasant, even if profitable. The slightest criticism of your work can be hard to take, for good writing is personal.

The first poem we were assigned was to be about a place. Immediately, I knew what I wanted to do. As soon as I left class, I began to write. I set up the scene:

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

But it was to be 20 lines long. Writing like that, I wouldn't be able to do it within those limits. (Turns out that 20 lines was the minimum, not the limit, but I along with the rest of the class didn't know that at the time.) Besides I didn't really like it. So I started another one.

My Retreat

Swish, swish, shoes through the grass

Snap, snap, twigs underfoot

Twist, twist, snake through the trees

Slowing, slowing, the world and me.

Chirping cicadas all around

Soothe my mind with comforting sound.

Up ahead I see the log

Where once I sat and wept aloud.

Then it was high,

Now broken down.

Still damp and green with moss,

A place to sit and mourn a loss.

Yet I go on as setting sun

Slides through layer and layer of leaves

Quickening again, driven by pain of thought

Towards the place I know I ought

Not intrude, those industrial mounds.

Yet I go to gaze in the pools

And there in the silence my passion cools

In companionable solitude.

It wasn't quite what I wanted, however. The tone wasn't right. So I went there, to my "thinking spot" in the woods behind our house. There I was inspired to write again.

Heavy, so heavy

The thoughts in my head

I escape the walls

Pass the wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds. Pass the inviting swings

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots

where I once sat and wept

Feeling alone.

Once too tall to swing my legs over,

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence

Comforting, the sounds from far away.

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I stand alone.

Then, while I was there, I wondered what I would have written should I have finished my first poem. So, I finished it.

Too many people, too much mess

I slip out of the house and into the yard

Past the garden and barn

And the neighbors’ field

Into the covering of trees

Where at last I yield

Voice to my yearning

Sound to my pain

Here where I come

Again and again.

I don’t want to leave

But time slides past

And I know they are calling

And will miss me at last.

The silence comforts my restless soul

The sounds are a balm, yet I must go.

A quick moment of panic when I think I’ve turned wrong

And do not remember the lay of that log.

I right myself, and it brings a smile.

I must depart, but just for a while.

Lovely, I realized: I now have three poems for the same assignment. How was I to decide which one to do?

I consulted my sister, and she liked the second one best. I dubbed it Isolation, printed twelve copies, and took it to class.

This first workshop, I rather cringed for some of the authors as people said what they thought. Even though it was all said in friendly critique, I imagined what I would feel if someone said it about what I had written. But to my surprise, I was excited and grinning as I left class and headed towards my brother and two of our friends, who are often studying outside of my class when I get out. I had loved it.

I like reading poems aloud. Both my creative writing professor and my American Poetry professor told me that I read well after I read a poem. It was fascinating indeed to hear what people said about my poem. I took notes.

There were some interesting comments: it reminded them of "a young lady marooned in a wilderness," "that scene in Forrest Gump" (which I now want to see) or "something from Alice in Wonderland." The tone was "sad" and "beaten-down."

One girl, who seems quiet but talks often because she is very literary-minded, talked about how it's someone who wants to belong but is struggling, and needs to find that one person who accepts her, a like-minded person.

They liked the imagery sense of the woods. Someone said you're not sure how to get there, but you know where you're going.

The professor said that the line "huge with open seat before its tangled roots" was "very interesting diction." That amused me.

He also asked what they thought about the last two lines, "Damp, damp, is every seat, so I stand alone."

One guy who is amusing in his comments, a communication major, but more of an article writer than a poet, said, "I liked it."

"I liked it, too," the professor replied. "But what does it imply?"

Someone said something like it wasn't the end. The professor sometimes speaks in a mimicking voice and he did now: "Get ready for part two! Isolation: the sequel!"

In one of the critiques we have to write for each person's poem (I love getting them too), one of the girls said that was her favorite line. She also said, "During the workshop, I could see you smiling to yourself because we were trying to analyze it, and you were originally writing about your backyard." That was true. It was so funny-I just wrote describing things, and they found them to mean all this profound stuff I never would have thought of.

The only thing that they really said I should change was elaborating on what "the sounds from far away" were. One guy said he would not change a thing. Another said, "I feel that it's complete and well written. The only thing is the comforting sounds aspect."

I find this often happens when I write under inspiration-I don't have as much that ought to be changed. When I am not writing under internal compulsion, it needs more revision.

The professor had a few more suggestions, such as the removal of two lines. Here's the revised, with changes in bold for those of you who don't like reading just for the sake of reading, which is probably most everyone, and for those of you who have better things to spend your time on that this lengthy whatever-you-call-it, not really an essay, which is all of you.

Isolation

Heavy, so heavy, my head                                     Professor said to remove "the thoughts in"

As I escape the walls,                                                                                                  and add as

Pass my wild garden, full of green,

tall weeds, pass the inviting swings

Amid manicured grass,

Into tangled opening.

Once again, treading the pathless path.

Familiar the place, familiar the solitude,

familiar the feeling.

Over there, that fallen log

Huge with open seat before its tangled roots         Removed the part about weeping alone 
Once too tall to swing my legs over,                                                at professor's suggestion

Now broken down.

Beyond, mown path, yet tall, itchy growth.

Comforting, its silence,

Comforting, the clanging and beeping of the backhoe     Elaboration on sounds as desired 
Invisible beyond the trees,

Comforting the murmur of cicadas all around
And faint voices calling my name.
Yet I go on as setting sun                                                                         Added these two lines 
Slides through layer and layer of leaves.                                   from one of my other poems

I do not return, not yet.                                                   After changes a transition was needed

Damp, damp, is every seat

So I walk on, alone.     Professor "liked the intention" of the last line, but "not sure about wording"

The second poem we workshopped was an ode or list poem. I wrote one about Kristen which I have already posted. This time, I wasn't inspired at first. Even though I was later with the idea, I still didn't get the execution quite right.

I knew they would have a lot more to say about this one. The first was just an anomaly since everyone happened to like it almost as it was. This time, workshopping would be less pleasant.

Once again, I was surprised to be leave with a grin because it was so much fun. Yes, they had suggestions on what should be changed, but I knew it needed them, and it was still fascinating to hear. My favorite things were two statements, surprising coming from my professor. One, he said, "I have a low tolerance for sappy [that is very true], and it wasn't raised until like the third stanza." The other was surprising because he usually wants people to give better imagery, more specific descriptions. "As far as descriptions and sounds, there is not a bad moment."

So I have been enjoying this class. But since my professor is always saying that nothing is completely good and they should touch on the less positive aspects of things, that shall be the topic of my next post.