Tongue Tied

Confession: I kinda want to be one of those people who always carries their camera with them. I'm already the kind of nerd that reads her camera's manual and watches online photography seminars taught by middle aged men. It's only logical to take it to the next level. But there are three problems with this: a.) I'd feel like a fraud . I have a very real concern of being a "faux-tographer", aka, someone who thinks  they take good photos but really lacks in actual skill. Granted, I've learned enough to fake it. But I want to be totally knowledgeable about my camera and about how to take good photos. I want aperture settings and shutter speeds and ISO's to flow as naturally from me as the parts of speech or facts about early nineties TV shows concerning FBI agents and aliens. I want to understand bracketing and back focusing and neutral density filters. I want to do more than just take photos. I want to create art. b.) I'm afraid of being soc...

Why does everything have to be an extreme? Why do we have to choose sides over every little thing that comes up and then dogmatically defend our position? Why do we have to be offended by everything? Why do I have to read comments on every blog post/status/news article that I read? Seriously. I'm much less stressed and get into less trouble when I just read books and home decor blogs and hang out on Pinterest. I want to comment too, but I don't want to, because then I'm really sucked in. So, in the interest of venting my own opinions, here's a taste of my internal monologue whilst perusing online thingies this week: "Not everything  is the fault of the white, evangelical Christian." "If you are hired by an organization and sign a contract that states that you will comply with said organization's rules, don't whine when you get fired for breaking the rules. You are free to work somewhere else if you don't like it." "...

Just feeling like some midsummer flash fiction. 300 words. You know the drill. I’m not a fool. I know the odds are against me. I know that at the end of this day, my blood will soak the earth beneath my feet. My eyes will be shuttered. My heart silent. Today is a day of death and destruction, most likely my own. But I’m still here, gripping my weapon, my fingers moist and my breathing shallow. I wouldn’t say I’m not afraid. I’m definitely afraid.  Terrified, even. But not of death. Death I can handle. But I fear living in a world controlled by these monsters. I’ve been a soldier all my life. I have stood on many battlefields and watched countless men die, some by my own hand. Yet, I know that today is not like any other war I’ve encountered. For the monsters we’re facing aren’t the flesh and blood of man, but the slithery steel of something unknown. We don’t know how to kill them, not really. We aren’t even sure they can be killed. We don’t know if our weapo...

1. Vague, "I don't want to talk about it, but I'm gonna put it on FB" statuses. You might just want to put "pay attention to me!" instead. 2. "My husband/wife/baby/mother/dog is the best/hottest/cutest/greatest EVER!" Firstly, you don't want people to agree that your spouse is the most attractive, do you? And if we agree that your parent/child is the greatest ever, that makes it look like our own relatives are crap. Express your love with more imagination. 3. Multiple exclamation points!!!!! Just calm it down. 4. Lol. Are you? Really? 5. Using someone else's status as a place to sell your wares or advertise your business. I'm sure your essential oils are amazing, but if you use me as free advertising, I'm never going to want to buy them ever. 6. Public conversations that should be private, like family fights or telling your spouse to pick up tampons on the way home. 7. Multiple whiny statuses in a day. Once, I'll for...

I try to maintain a certain amount of distance from firefighting tragedies, but sometimes, they can't be ignored. Like 9/11. Like Christmas Eve last year. And like the one in Arizona this past weekend. Nineteen elite firefighters, gone.  All men in their twenties and thirties, men with wives, young children, parents, siblings, friends. So many broken hearts. I watched an interview with Julianne Ashcraft, whose husband was one of the fallen, and she shared how she and her husband had been texting back and forth the day he died, sharing photos of the kids, talking about church, talking about the fire he was fighting. And saying I love you or I miss you a lot. It was just a little too  familiar. It's the same for soldier's wives, for police officer's wives...you ignore it on a constant basis (because if you didn't, you couldn't function) but always in the back of your mind is the notion that your husband might not come home. I wouldn't say tha...

Ah, summertime. Lemonade. Sprinklers. Grilling. Vacations. Fireworks. And nudity. Oh, America. Sometimes I look at you and think, you are like a hormone crazed junior higher with a big mouth. But that would be insulting to junior highers. There is no question that modesty is sorely lacking in our country. Everywhere, and I mean everywhere  you look, people (mostly women) are flaunting their bodies. It's not just at pools and beaches. It's in theaters and restaurants and stores and libraries and churches . Shorts are so short these days I wonder how girls keep hot leather seats from leaving burn marks on their rear ends. We flaunt our bodies in the name of exercise, of health, of beauty, of freedom, of self expression. I can hear all the feminists starting to recoil. "Oh, great, not another woman-shaming post about covering our bodies, furthering our patriarchal society and men's control over our choices." Yes, this post will have a lot to do with w...

I can still remember placing the first stone. It was just an ordinary hill, on an ordinary road, in an ordinary life. And then suddenly, it wasn't ordinary anymore. One rock, it's cold, sharp edges mimicking the condition of my heart, placed on the hill alone. So small, so insignificant, and yet, I could feel the beginning of something bigger than I could imagine hovering in the air around me. With one stone, I marked the moment where simple met extraordinary, tumult met peace, chaos met order. I wanted to remember what it felt to be drowning and suddenly feel the hand of grace gripping me, pulling me from my own tragedy. With one stone, I began my altar. It would become my place of worship. I'd come there to remember you, to think about what we have been through together. Sometimes I could only leave pebbles--small victories and hurdles leapt. Other times, I didn't feel strong enough to lay the boulder that I felt an event deserved. But my altar steadily ...