Dance

I found my old jazz shoes in my closet today. Upon my discovery I recalled that love I hold for dancing. My heart quickened as I touched the worn leather. I had no choice but to slip them on.

I took ballet and tap lessons, as most five year-old girls would. Despite my lack of gracefulness, I loved it. When I heard that my loved dance teacher was going to be replaced, I quit, unfortunately believing that her replacement was bound to dislike me.

There's a place in my soul for dancing. The real kind of dance. Ballet, Lyrical, Tap, Hip-Hop, Modern, and Jazz (being my favorite). I'm not currently dancing. I wouldn't even call myself a dancer. None the less, I'm drawn to it. Something is stirred within me when watching a woman flow along with music. Dancing has been loved generally by society. Writers use dancing to parallel a myriad of emotions and personify many inanimate objects. It has been stereotyped to equal happiness or glee, to which, by human nature, most are attracted.

Six years later, with an urge to dance, I bought a pair of tan leather jazz shoes and attended classes on Saturday mornings. During one of the first meetings, my teacher told my class mates and me: "Jazz is ballet with attitude." With those words I feel in love all over again. My heart was for Jazz dancing. Spinning, leaping, sharp, bold body movements was enough to make me simply giddy. I looked forward to my classes. My heart would leap when I did, and my lips would turn to a smile every time my hair kissed my face while spinning. I remember wanting to appear professional, and was pleased when the teacher would ask me to demonstrate for the "newbies." I still remember the first jazz routine I learned, and dance it out every time Matchbox Twenty's 3A.M. comes on, when I'm safe from another's eyes (but you don't know that(; ).

Why am I writing this, opening the door for all to see? I'm not positive. I suppose after feeling those old shoes hugging my feet once again, I needed to dance out my heart. Seeing as I am a fearful dancer, I'm sticking to my routine of dancing with my fingers and pirouetting with some words.

Captured

The other day while I was painting in an art studio, I was captured by a lovely woman using a purple pastel. It wasn't until she revealed to me her sketch that I knew of this. When I saw it, I was touched. No, she did not put into it a long period of time. No, at her artistic level this portrait was not a challenge. But to see the lines that make up who are on paper, through another pair of eyes is a touching affair.

I have been thinking a lot about lately who I am, and who I want to be. What I am holding in the picture is a paint pallette. I like that remarkably for I know I paint the story of my own life. Recently being out of school, homeschooling, going to college, and having new freedoms to my own choices are all large elements to my current need to ponder who I am.

What I love most about the portrait is that it is fully me. It has no limitations to the various aspects of life that makes me who I am.

The pallette is important, for I love art, in any and every way it may present itself.

But what if that shape for a pallette could also be viewed as a book. It is no secret that I love to read.

Maybe it's one of my journals that I love more than life itself, where I have penned my heart and poetry over and over.

Maybe it's a sheet of music, from which I might sing or press piano keys into song with a love that spills out of my soul.

Or maybe, just maybe it's a plane ticket to my beloved Haiti.

I also love that my face is hidden. It cannot be determined if I'm happy, sad, excited, laughing, crying, smiling, or enduring. I do all these things. The Elisabeth in purple pastel could be too.

Zombies Decked In Holly

I have come to find that ghosts, witches, werewolves, and vampires (with the exception of those in Twilight(; ) don't excite me anymore. I no longer plan out my costume before August. I feel no need to carve a pumpkin. My nagging to decorate the house has come to an end. Scary movies are a bore.

Yes, I was one of those abnormal little girls who loved Halloween and everything about it. I don't anymore. I admit, it was nice making paper bats and skeletons with my kindergartners today, and I loved hearing all about what each one of them are doing to dress up as. Honestly though, I'm enthusiastic anymore...

However! Upon watching the commercial for Disney's Christmas Carol (which is, like, the third version they have done), I realized something: I still love Christ-mas as much I did when I was a little girl. My love has never wavered for Jesus' birthday. I still love the ever green trees, the lights, nativity sets, the church services and functions, and the music! Oh, how I love me some Christ-mas carols! I love the lady standing outside of the grocery store for the Salvation Army and being able to drop change into the hanging tin. Saying "Merry Christ-mas!" rather than "Happy Holidays" in public is always so much fun!

Halloween... is, well... to put nicely, not of God. I loved the modern day changes that softens the edges of its... non-Godly-ness. It fun. But dangerous.

I remember, it was a few days before Halloween when we still lived in California, my good friend Maddie asked me, "Do you celebrate Halloween? My family doesn't."

I was baffled. "You do celebrate Halloween. We just mapped out our trick-or-treating route."

"No! I don't really. I don't worship bad things and stuff."

That's when I realized that Halloween isn't all candy and warlocks. It has a deeper, historical meaning and is potentially dangerous. Today, I don't see Halloween so evil -- that is if you do it right, as long as it's lighthearted and certain precautions are met.

It's crazy how God works and weaves little loves into our hearts. Christ-mas is of God. It's his human birth into our world of flesh! And I love it! God is forever and always - like when I was a little girl and is in my life now. That is why I love it so much, and I always will.

Well, time to dig out those Christ-mas decorations. (;

It. Is. Cold!

I awoke to the sound of my friend Janessa yelling, "Elisabeth, Elisabeth, come here! Hurry!" So, I rolled off Janessa's bed and meet her in the hallway. "It's cold, it's sooo cold!" she exclaimed as we raced down the hall and past her older brother eating breakfast at the table. Together we leaped through the back door and danced around the pool in our beloved cold front.

Notice the long sleeves and blanket we felt were necessary at Janessa's brothers' soccer game this morning. It was that cold. Welcome, Autumn.

I'll live

You know you're in a predicament when after a while the only thing people can say back to you is, "Wow, I'm so sorry," and roll their eyes (of course, you're not supposed to see the eye rolling part).

I'm finding it difficult to come to terms with the fact that people fall out of our lives. I've been trying to push the many situations of people just leaving, out of my mind. I could blame it on the fact that I don't like it when life changes, but I won't. I'm taking full blame for being selfish and stubborn.

I know I'm not the only one feeling this way.

... Or maybe I know no such thing. Maybe I am the only one out there who wants the people she loves in her life to stay there and never find new friends, or never move, or never choose people over her.

But I doubt it.

I do know that I can handle it better than I do. I don't have to fall into the traps of jealously from knowing that everyone's fine and I clearly haven't moved on.

It's a problem, but I know I'll live.

I know in most of these situations God wills them to leave. I know then, it is supposed to be that way. I know that I should be happy for them, but sadly it's hard, even when I see a remarkably positive difference in them.

But I know... My college professor will assign another creative writing essay, and I'll engross myself in words, thesauruses (yes, plural), and caffeine. I'll surround myself with my wonderful, loving friends. Experiment with my music. Loose myself in a book. Wrap myself up in the coming winter season.

I'll live.

To Stop Singing & Start Worshiping

For those of you who are unaware: I am a youth worship band's lead vocalist & pianist. We play on Thursday nights to open of our youth group (and we rock). Always being attracted to the idea of being a worship leader, I enjoy it immensely.

There's this unbelievable "click" I have with God through music. It's indescribable, something you just have to feel. Last night, however, my leadership skills held none of that said "click." I suppose I had become to used to it. I had counted on the set and worship time to just fall into place as it usually and miraculously does. Last night, it just.. fell.

Most of the band couldn't play due to instrumental issues, so it was just the acoustic guitar, my keys, and my voice. The first song I lead was disastrous. I lead it out of order, couldn't see were my left fingers where playing because of where the mic stand was, which lead to a panic-overload in my brain and I lost where I was as far as playing the right chords. It was horrific. I remember describing it as my "personal hell." Finally the song ended, and not on a good note. Literally.

Thankfully, in the next song, all I had to do was sing. It was a song I know very well and have lead before. I was more than happy to have a break from the keyboard for once. As Travis strummed his guitar behind me, I sang. And that's when I decided that it was just for God. I instantly gave up on the people facing me. Hoping that, instead of noticing that I was a good musician (which I didn't give much evidence for that night), they could see that I wanted to be a worshipper and nothing else. I pray that they could have seen that, and chose to worship the Lord as well.

So, I sang, and I sang, and I sang. Closing my eyes for most of the song, I declared the lyrics to the Lord. I'm not saying that I lead the song well, for I honestly don't know. I wasn't paying any attention to that at the moment. The song ended and I walked off the stage, still embarrassed, but knowing that in the end I choose to worship rather than to sing.

I walked to the back of the room, not even wanting to see the reaction of the 40 teenagers. That's when Mr. Tom, a great man of God who was going to preach to us that night, walked up to me and placed a firm grip on my arm. He told me of how great I was, how much guts it too to lead worship, how proud he was of me. I was grateful for his words, but it was what I saw in his eyes that made me fight back tears. I have heard those words before. Honestly, I expected one of the adults there to tell me such that and I still find it hard to agree. But Mr. Tom's eyes held the fierce, powerful kind of sweetness. It was all I could do to not cry. In my lowliness, desperation and gratitude, I embraced him and thanked him. He doesn't know how much his words helped me.

I proceed my evening by slouching into a folding chair in the back, next to a kid I didn't know well to listen to Mr. Tom speak the Truth. He spoke about giving to someone in such a way to not persuade that person to give you something in return, but to persuade them to give to SOMEONE ELSE because of your actions. Then he asked the frightening question...

"WHAT ARE YOU GIVING COMPLETELY TO GOD RIGHT NOW?"

I had to think for a few minutes about how that applied to me personally. Then I thought that that most active answer would be: through leading worship. That's the Holy Spirit unraveled the rending I was doing to my own soul and laid it out for me in my head...

I wasn't giving that first song to God. It didn't even occur to me to open in prayer. I wasn't thinking of Him. And I'm still ashamed to admit that I, that person the Lord has entrust to lead a group of his followers in worship, wasn't envisioning His face in Heaven. That's why I received that "personal hell." I gave it to my self by not "acknowledging Him in all my ways" (Proverbs 3:6).

I feel better about the night. I'm at peace with it. I met God there, through failing and falling. He taught me, and I am a better worship leader today because of it. I love Him more after going through the pain I didn't on that stage (I hate calling it a stage).

As I'm sure you can understand, I am going to start giving it ALL to God. Not the just pure chords and lyrics, no. I'm giving it all. I'm giving my heart, my mind, my soul to Him in those songs. I'm giving it all to those whom I blessed beyond measure to worship with. I am going to stop singing for the sake of singing and I am going to worship.

Hello, Autumn...

The first signs of Autumn have presented itself...

All the kindergarten students in the class I work with are already planning Halloween parties and contemplating costumes. I miss the excitement and magic of Halloween dearly, but I receive my joy through them.

There is, of course, the seasonal Starbuck's Pumpkin Spice Latte, which I have yet to consume. The consistency, however, is comforting. I appreciate it abundantly!

There is the warmly familiar sight of the Autumn Pottery Barn magazine. You know you'll never actually buy anything, but I am emotionally attached to flipping through the red, yellow, orange, brown pages.

There is the reunion of those friendly scarecrows that find their early way out of your neighbor's garage and onto their lawn.

Yes, Autumn has sneaked its way into 2009 early this year. The colors and familiarities please my eyes so. The smells, such as my beloved Pumpkin & Spiced Apple reed incense diffuser, the crisp, sharp smell of changing leave and winds reach deep down into me. I look forward to Falling deeper into Autumn.