What Is New and What Is the Same // Colombia 2017

 The sun is brighter here.

 There are flowers and green grass in the middle of February.

 And the air is thick with pollution. It smells like cigarette smoke, exhaust fumes, and other smells all foreign and unfamiliar.

 But especially in the mornings, the smell of fruit just sliced will break through the smog. 

 I touch each palm tree as we walk through the busy city, and it feels smooth and fake, so unlike the rough bark of the trees at home. 

 I touch the flowers, these magical winter flowers, and they are the same softness of petals I recognize. 

 Things that are new and things that are the same.

 At times, I forget what is new and what is the same. 

 The pineapple is the same, but so new, so juicy, so unbelievably fresh and sweet. 

 A city is not new, and lying in my bed, I almost forget this foreign city is new between the horns and the gunned motors and the city that is incapable of sleep- until an unfamiliar Colombian melody blares. 

 Streets that are clean, streets full of garbage. 

 Then a man walks up-hill, a full garbage bag larger than his body strung across his shoulders and almost trailing the ground. 

 Then another man opens his door and water floods onto the narrow side walk as he mops his entryway. 

 And I am wearing shorts in February. 

 "We're right above the equator in Medellin," people say. "That is why it is warm in February." But it is still magic, just like it would be magic for them to visit us and see the white snow and frost and feel the cold and see their breath. You can see your breath. But not here. 

 It's magic. 

 New magic is palm trees.

 Old magic is seeing my breath and the clear point of icicles. 

 Spanish words dance around me and I touch another palm tree.

 Each finger on a palm tree is a kiss for the Colombia that I may never see again. 

 Almost three thousand miles away, and there is the same moon and there is the same sun. 

 Almost three thousand miles away and they sing Amazing Grace and Holy, Holy, Holy, and request songs from Sovereign Grace. 

 We rotate from singing in Spanish then English- new then the same, but really all the same worshiping the same God. 

 This same sun, new but the same but new, is so bright I can feel it warm my icy being. 

What I've Been Listening To

 Music, for me, is a necessity for life. It's like food. A day cannot go by where I haven't listened to music or sang a song. Because of that, I am constantly looking for new music, so in hopes that this will give you some new songs to listen to, here is a list of eight songs I have been listening to recently. 

1. "The Secret Place" by Phil Wickham and Madison Cunningham

  I love Phil Whickham, so I'm not sure how I missed this song on  his new CD, but I discovered it just yesterday and instantly fell in love. There's also an acoustic version that I shared below.  

2. "He Will Hold Me Fast" by Keith and Kristyn Getty 

   This has become a song I turn to when I am struggling because of the sweet melody of the hymn "Be Still My Soul" combined with the promise that He will never leave me. 

3. "O Children Come" by Keith and Kristyn Getty and Ladysmith Black Mambazo

  Also on their most recent album, this song I found to be so much fun and full of character. 

4. "Alone" by Hollyn

  I first heard this on Christian radio, and it took a while to find out who sang it. I love her spunk, originality, and words. 

 5. "A Silent Cause" by The Paper Kites

  Earlier this summer I got to see The Paper Kites in concert with some of my friends. They are one of my favorite groups because of their unique folk style and poetic words. This song is one of my new favorites of theirs. 

6. "Thy Will" by Hillary Scott and The Scott Family

   This song was featured on one of Spotify's lists, and I first heard it a few days before graduation. The verses echo my feelings of graduating, this summer, and my future, and the chorus is simply "thy will be done" repeated again and again, and it is exactly what I need to hear. 

7. "The Driver" by Bastille

  I don't always like all of Bastille's songs, but this one felt like it was grabbing me. I love his voice, the music, and the fact I have never heard a song like it before. If you can't tell, I am big on originality.  

8. "Try Everything" by Shakira 

   I do not listen to Shakira, nor endorse her music, but I have to say that even though it is on the fluffy side I love this song that was featured on the movie Zootopia. I haven't been able to get it out of my head for the last few days. 

un-love-ly

Redefining beauty through a photo assignment

Dead Roses: Roses are the epitome of beauty, yet they are quickly dead. I wanted to capture roses not in their glory, but in their fall when they are tossed into the garbage and forgotten forever. In taking this photo I realized that beauty can also be looking back on the loveliness of life.

Ruined Mascara: When I asked her to leave her make-up on while she took a shower, she only grudgingly obliged. While I took the picture she was uncomfortable, impatient, asking when I would be done. She didn’t like the pictures I showed her. Can she not see how lovely she is even with mascara dripping down her face?

Kitchen Sink: “Sorry the house is such a wreck,” I hear people say. “I’m sorry for the mess,” I tell my friends. While we should keep our houses neat and clean, why are we so quick to apologize for the clutter? Why are we so quick to judge the messes of ourselves and others? Life is messy. It is un-perfect like a dirty kitchen window.

Dandelion: No one likes them. They are weeds. They spread quickly. So I wanted to take a picture that portrays my love for them— the beauty of this weed, this forgotten flower that children wish upon.

Sun and Rain: In the movies, when someone dies it begins to rain, and at the funeral they are all in black with black umbrellas. But rain can be good, too. It waters the earth. It makes us grateful when the sun reappears. It allows me to take pictures of the rain drops glinting on the trees.

Distracted by Creativity

                                                                                

 Job applications need my attention. 

 I have homework due tonight.

 But shatters of a poem flash into my head.

My sister and I are cooking dinner..

A thank you note needs to be written.

But the discovery of new music distracts. 

Thousands of words, colors,

Swirling, demanding my focus,

Commanding my thoughts.

God wants me to be productive.

God wants me to delight.

To be Mary or Martha is a choice I often make.

But I think He will allow a stolen moment

to focus my camera lens on a flower,

to scribble flashes of a poem,

to marvel at my reflection and see Him

chasing the butterflies He made,

creating unique and complex personalities.

This distraction permeates my soul.

It is how He helps me 

be distracted by Him.

Listening to Painting

 I always liked drawing. The lines and colors didn't call me the same way words danced in my head, and it wasn't the same thrill as reading an old, musty book with my mother's maiden name written on the top of the first page. But I still enjoyed my colored pencils on a white piece of paper.

 Until my sister did it better.

 Drawing and painting for her was like reading and writing for me. A pencil in her hand was like a magic wand, every stroke making the image in her head come alive and also cursing my joy of art.

 Over Spring Break, my friend and I were trying to think of fun craft projects for the weekend. I had an idea for a painting showing a scene from a story I am working on. And suddenly I found myself dipping my brush in paint and liking the results. In those moments, I was more curious to see what I could do instead of protecting myself from a potential failure. The desire to portray my story in another way was suddenly more important than my desire for perfection. For the first time, I did with painting what I have always done with writing; I allowed myself to listen, and then express what I heard.

 I did not know I was still mourning the loss of my art until I painted that weekend. As I mixed different hues of blues to create an ocean, I felt joy in the brush and healing wash over me, healing from a wound I didn't know I had.

 My sister can paint beautiful scenes, create people out of lines of shading. But so can I. My paintings may never look like hers, but when did it become about the quality instead of the joy?

 So this summer I think I will paint. I will paint with my sister on the back deck, asking her questions, getting her advice, watching her work. And I will paint alone to see what I can do. To feel that joy I thought I had lost. To heal.