La Bella Vita

I'm reading Genesis. And it's such a solid book. It might be in my top five as far as books of the Bible go. God is so real in the way He speaks through this book, and his character is deeply revealed.  In Genesis 6, God talks about when the humans of his creation greatly disobey him and consistently turn toward evil. Verse 6 says, "so The Lord was sorry he ever made them. It broke his heart." What? Gods heart breaks too? I mean, obviously, but this verse is so blatant about stating that Gods heart was hurting, aching. And he says it loud and clear. His heart was really broken.  Gods heart is just as fragile as mine. And it makes the aching of my human heart, from the actions of another human, seem so futile. I ache for my own sadness, but I do this to God everyday! I don't always listen when he is speaking right into my ears. I neglect his open and obvious honesty about his love for me. And while a silent tear falls from my cheek as I feel I'm not that specia...

I'm finally starting to slow down. I can't say that I have been rushing around aimlessly my entire life trying to accomplish tasks that seem unreachable. But I do have a natural tendency to want to please everyone, pushing myself aside. I'm done. I took a long walk along the beach with a friend the other day... and he said a quote that I will never forget. 1 + 1 = 1. You're probably thinking this doesn't make sense. And anyone with even the slightest mathematical knowledge could agree to this. But in regards to life, this is the answer. Whether you're flying solo, have a best friend, surrounded by a large family, or you are days away from tying the knot - you must always remain '1.' Often we find ourselves caught up in life and in the mindset that we are only 'half' or what we are meant to be without the other people in our life. We become so dependent on being needed, that we forget to need ourselves. We get lost in the mix of how ...

So every year I create a bucket list... I try to come up with absurd things that I think will never happen, and see how many I actually do. In all honesty, I have completed all but one thing on my bucket lists since I have started doing this... and it feels amazing. Here are a few of the things that I have done that have been on my bucket lists in the past: -visit a castle in England (I went to three!) -visit the Leaning Tower of Pisa -visit the Eiffel Tower (France) -learn to scuba dive -scuba dive at the Great Barrier Reef (QLD, Australia) -ski in Colorado -learn to snowboard -spend a summer driving boats -visit Italy -leave the country every year -run a half marathon -learn to surf (I'm not a pro, but when the odds are in my favor... I can get up!) -visit the Great Ocean Road (Australia) -go Whale Watching -climb Half Dome (Yosemite National Park) -study abroad (Avondale College) -graduate from college -make someone vegan -run from Lighthouse Beach to Lake ...

I write when I need to unpack my mind. I write when it's cloudy in my head and the moisture being contained in the white creamy clouds needs an escape. I write when my mind wants to move forward, but the weight from the heavy clouds keeps the movement minimal. I write when it's time to write. The sweat pours down my face and fuses with my tears before the drops of moisture fall gently from my chin. I don't notice the tears. I don't think the world does either. The salt that is created in both forms of excretion is too similar for me to decipher which is which as they together saturate my entire face. It's been six miles. I'll run six more. My knees shake, my blisters burn and the pavement is uneven as my joints smack it without forgiveness. With every inch I move I push past the pain that resides so deeply inside. But this pain is minimal as I place all my energy into beating this inner ache. Six miles or sixty miles, it's all the same. I have to r...

He sits in his chair, not muttering a word as he looks out of the window, tinted from the years of dirt and grease funneling throughout the front office. His chair squeaks slowly as he leans from side to side, but the sound gets lost and goes unheard amongst the rest of the noise in the shop. The drop of a wrench is loud and dominant, but Grandpa doesn’t turn a cheek. He continues to stare off into a place that only he knows. I ask him what he is thinking about. With the shrug of his shoulders he replies, “nothin’ kid.” Next to him sits Axel. Axel’s head sits as high as the arm of Grandpa’s chair and he too consumes the hours of the day by watching the events from this room. His paws are black from stepping in oil and gas, and his fur has an oily texture to it that leave the hands feeling slimy, almost buttery.   The two of them are posed as almost a hood ornament for the business. Together they have branded their seats and their faces through the ding...

The sun, it shone brighter. It’s as if it worked in time with the beat of my heart as it began to rush with even the slightest glance from you. The moon was bigger, to light up the night so I could still see your eyes. And the stars were its followers, providing companionship so the moon wasn’t up in the sky alone. The crisp air of the morning was dulled by the warmth of your breath against my neck. And when evenings grew near and the silence set in, I could hear your heartbeat from across the room. The moments of silence came often, but were welcomed. The silence spoke louder as our eyes met, then our hands, then our lips. And the unspoken passion suddenly screamed louder than a word has ever been spoken.  But the loud sound isn’t piercing. My ears want only more. I gave you all. The notes I play are a melody you know. I ignore it. The words I speak are recycled and overused. I say them only to myself. The pain ...

He sits back in his chair and sighs slowly, almost as if to say he’s satisfied with the feeling of the seated position after a long day’s work. He chooses a particular armed chair in the room, one that is bathed in sunshine in the mornings. He stares off to the right, past where I’m seated and looks out the window as a story unfolds of a life that has been only mildly uncovered. His placid expression and the valleys of aged skin reveal a story of their own before a word is even spoken. He is 675235. He is a descendent of Florence Nightingale. He is Athol James Briden, who says his “memory isn’t as bad after all”, as he pulls together pieces of his life on this warm summer morning in March. The softness of his words flows gently around me. The story of his youth began in Mastodon, New Zealand, where he decided he someday wanted to be a nurse. But a job at the local printers took precedence as becoming a male nurse was rare in his time.   “I was work...

Today I Skyped with my journalism teacher from Sydney. She is a bit of a legend. Not only is she knowledgeable and educated in the area of writing, but she has a way of bringing you out of your shell. She makes you feel capable. She makes you feel as if your writing is one step away from being heroic, mythical, distinguished. This is what she told me today. 'Brit, you can write. I know that. But sometimes you need to step out of a writer's mind and just type. Type what's in your heart. Don't try to write with sophistication. Write so that a person of any age can read your work. Write so that anyone can understand your view. Make it effortless.' I had never thought of this before. I guess when I sit down to write my thoughts, or in this case a profile piece about an undiscovered psychiatric nurse and his story, I dance around my words. I try to make them relevant. I don't just spill... More importantly, I don't just live. Until recently. This is my ...

It's a summer night, the sky closes in to swallow another day, and I can feel the sun kissing my back as I walk slowly down this desolate beach. The sand scratches in between each of my toes as I curl them slowly back and forth. The smell of the sea is fresh, and the breeze that flows from it's steady wave is warm, dissolving my goosebumps almost instantly. My hair flows gently into my face and I reach to pull the strands away with a solo finger. And as I touch the surface of my aging skin, I can feel the warmth gather behind my eyes. I hold back a form of flowing water not pleasing to you. But I have to be real. I have to be raw. And suddenly the warm trickle falls down my face. I realise that this time, I am alone. My heart begins to rush, and I can feel it's steady pound trying to break free of my chest. I stop and slowly open my lungs to consume the warm ocean air. I release the deep breath little by little and gain a portion of control once again. My spin...

And the hardest part Was letting go, not taking part Was the hardest part And the strangest thing Was waiting for that bell to ring It was the hardest part I could feel it go down Bittersweet, I could taste in my mouth Silver lining the cloud Oh and I I wish that I could work it out And the hardest part Was letting go , not taking part You really broke my heart And I tried to sing But I couldn’t think of anything And that was the strangest start I could feel it go down You left the sweetest taste in my mouth... I will find rest in the shelter of Your wings. I will find rest in the shelter of Your wings. I will find rest in the shelter of Your wings.

I've been reading through the Bible lately, piece by piece. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't thoroughly enjoying it. Each little story, each little piece is so beauitfully placed and written to help us understand God's character more and more. And as I finally put the puzzle together for myself, I realise the significance and relevancy of God's character in our everyday lives. I just read Numbers 22 - 23. I'm a bit disappointed that I have class in a few minutes, because I could have kept reading. But how awesome is this passage! Balak summons for Balaam, begging him for help in destroying the Israelites. And instead of Balaam taking the payment and immediately cursing the Israelites, he goes and prays to God. First, how amazing is it that he isn't even tempted by a reward. He pushes it aside and says, 'please, I must talk to my master.' Second, when God instructs Balaam not to kill the Israelites, he obeys. First off. As the story goes along,...

Sometimes I just have days when I feel like God is screaming at me. It's not an angry scream, and he's not doing it because I'm not listening. He's just trying to make a point, in a voice that he knows I understand, in a voice he knows I'll listen to. It seems every time I open up the word I learn more and more about myself that I didn't know before. I recently learned how pathetic I feel that I haven't actually read this book I've known for 23 years, all the way through. What I render to be even more absurd, is how I've made large and obscure claims in the past about what 'religious category' I fall into, without even reading on a deep level to discover for myself. Maybe pathetic is a strong word, but I'm constantly falling short, and I can only blame myself. I've got so many questions. But do they need answers? These thoughts have been running through my head. I love running, but they just won't seem to stop. It seems ev...