My Brain is Fried

I knew I was in a trouble a couple of weeks ago when I had this overwhelming and horrifying urge to go for a run.  

I hate running.

But my job has nearly done me in here in recent weeks and a few days in particular were just sending me over the edge.  I had gobs of pent up energy and emotions and they were the kind that were demanding either a punching bag or a stiff drink.  I had neither, which is why the thought of running occurred to me.  I never did go for a run, but I think the shock of that thought occurring to me was enough of a kick in the pants to say to myself pull.it.together.  

So, in light of the fact that I have spent all of my brain power trying to recover from the previous weeks, this is one of those mindless posts that reflects the seemingly trivial moments of life because I am just plumb out of profound thoughts for the moment.  But these seemingly trivial moments have been my saving graces in the past few weeks.  

So, up first - in case you missed it, Ohio State won the national championship.  Turns out when you win a national championship, you celebrate by inviting 45,000 of your closest friends and family over to your house, hire a band, light off some fireworks and generally have a party.  I participated by showing my true spirit and freezing my toes off outside in 30-something degree weather for almost 4 hours.  This was my view from inside The 'Shoe.  Go Bucks.  

    

And this shirt.  Oh my goodness. It's my new favorite shirt.  I bought it for $8 at Aeropostale and it reflects my most-repeated phrase recently in life.  It's probably slightly out of character for me as I really am not prone to uttering this phrase very often, but I walked away from the shirt one week and regretted not buying it, just for the sake of a laugh; so, I went back another week and splurged.      

Rock climbing.  I hadn't ever tried it before, but I thought I would give it a whirl while on an outing with the women from the CATCH program.  (I know, Alex - how long have you and Jed been trying to convince me?!  I'm sorry the first time I went, I went without you!)  I made it all the way to the top and proudly sounded the alarm.  And then I was uncertain as to how to get back down.  

I think this waterfall is my new hiding place in the city.  Even when it's freezing outside.  I fully plan on going here more often when the weather is nicer.  I went here last week when I felt like escaping for awhile.  

In the wake of a particularly few disastrous days at work (at least they seemed that way at the time), I escaped to southern Ohio and visited my brother and his family down near Cincinnati.  I took my niece out to Ikea (her first visit there) and then we went to Jungle Jim's, which is this international grocery store that is a bit of a novelty in the area.  When I turned the corner and discovered they had a smashed penny machine I nearly did a happy dance.  Elvis was looking down on me with pride.    

So, when I recover from the mental onslaught that has recently occurred, I will do my best to return to our regularly scheduled programming.  It just might be awhile, though.

2014: (Belated) Year in Review

I know, we're already 5 days into the new year. This is probably a post I should have done a couple of weeks ago, but I was generally enjoying having two weeks off from work and forgetting that I had a job or any other type of adult-like responsibilities.

The end of one year and the beginning of another always brings about reflection.  Year-end reviews.  Annual reports.  Top 50 countdowns.  Top 10 countdowns.  A look back at the year. The usual lists and posts.  All of which are good and worthwhile, because it requires us to pause and take stock.

I've spent the last couple of weeks thumbing through my journals (something I love to do on a regular basis, end-of-year or not).  I wanted to see what all had happened in the course of the year, in my own words.  I give you a recap of my 2014, month-by-month, according to the things I had jotted down in my personal journals:

January: I spent this month wrestling with my past.  Thank you, www.desiringgod.org for this brilliant blog post that unlocked a host of doors for me.

February: Wrestling with my past precipitated saying yes to New Caledonia.  I was officially accepted to go on February 25.

March: I kissed make-up goodbye for 40 days of Lent.  Wow.  Did this ever turn some things around in my head about my insecurities.  I went for 40 days with not a stitch of make-up.  I realize for some women this is not a big deal, but this was significant for me and brought a whole host a freedom in the aftermath.

April: I experienced the worst physical pain of my life in this month.  I mean, really.  It was awful.  I hope to never experience it again.  And I had to put my pony down.  Double whammy.  Also don't want to experience that again.

May:  I was offered a promotion and I took it. (I am now questioning my sanity.)

June: I started volunteering with an organization called Freedom a la Cart. It's been messing with all sorts of nooks and crannies of my heart, in the best way possible.

July: I jetted my way across the globe to New Caledonia for two weeks with Jesus Film Mission Trips and I watched God work a miracle in me.       

August: I checked a whole host of things off the bucket list, including going to New Zealand, visiting Hobbiton and going horseback riding on the beach.  An early 30th birthday gift to myself.  So worth it. 

September: I moved out of my parents' house and into my own apartment.  Right thing at the right time in the right location.  (And I had vowed I would not turn 30 and still be living at home with my parents.  Nothing like making it happen a month before that deadline arrives.)

October: I turned 30.  That alone is enough.

November: This was a month spent learning to live with ambiguity and uncertainty, being patient and trusting and begging God to not send me up from here (wherever here is) unless he goes with me.

December: Waiting.  A whole lot of time spent thinking about waiting, in all areas of my life.  Louie Giglio's Advent sermon from 2013 called "Waiting Here For You" marked so many thoughts.

So, there it is - 2014.  Another year gone by yet again.

And as I look toward 2015, I recently wrote down in one of my journal entries:

"As much as I am terrified to pray it, I want whatever gets me more of You in 2015."

Check back in a year and I'll let you know if I got more of Jesus.  I'm positive the answer will be yes.

Because Jesus is always willing to give us more of Him.

Put Me In Your Pocket

She sat propped up in the wingback chair, leaning against the armrest. Her hands folded in her lap, her snow white hair tousled, her eyes growing misty. She suddenly seemed so fragile to me, seeing her wrapped up in that chair.

My sweet friend, Myrt, sat in that chair grieving the loss of her husband, Paul, of 47 years.

And as I sat next to her in their little apartment, she said through her tears, with a far off look in her eyes, “I kept telling Paul, ‘Put me in your pocket and take me with you because I don’t want to be here without you.’”

Put me in your pocket – because I don’t want to be here without you.

I was nearly a puddle on the floor.

For all the years I have known Myrt, she has always joked she wanted to die 5 minutes after Paul. She wanted enough time to make the bed, clean up the kitchen and then she wanted out of here. She also never wanted to live past 80 years. She hit her 80th birthday and by golly, she was ready to meet Jesus. That 80th birthday came and went over 18 months ago, much to her dismay.

As I sat there in her apartment, crying right alongside her, she grieving the loss of her beloved and me grieving the loss of a man I greatly admired, my heart ached deep within me.

Because what Myrt was saying to Paul was the same refrain I've been hearing over and over again in my own heart in recent weeks in my prayers to Jesus.  And what had been echoing in my heart and rolling around in my head was now being played out in reality right before me, this perfect parallel to all the thoughts I had been sorting through in recent weeks.

I was recently set up on a blind date of sorts with a guy who turned out to be pretty great. We went on a string of dates, but we both eventually came to the conclusion it just wasn't a good match. It ended gracefully and my heart is whole.  That’s not so much the point, though, as the reflection that particular has situation sparked in me. I just remember praying over and over again as I walked through that process, “Jesus, I don’t want more of this if I don’t get more of you.” And I meant it. I didn't want to go one step farther in that relationship if I didn't get more of Jesus.

I kept coming back to Exodus 33:15-16, “If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here. How will anyone know that you are pleased with me and with your people unless you go with us? What else will distinguish me and your people from all the other people on the face of the earth?”

If your Presence does not go with us, do not send us up from here.

Because what is the point in going if, Immanuel, literally translated the “With Us God”, doesn't go with us?

And just like Myrt said to Paul, “I don’t want to be here if you’re not here,” I keep saying to Jesus, “I don’t want to go somewhere if you’re not there.”

It’s not worth it. If you’re not in it, if you’re not here or there or wherever with me, I don’t want to go. Put me in your pocket and take me with you. Because if your Presence doesn't go with me, don’t send me up from here. Dear God, please don’t send me up from here, wherever here might be, in whatever season of life it might be.

I’m no good without you.

Sweet Myrt will say her final goodbyes this week. And I’m sure she’ll keep repeating the refrain over in head, “Paul, I don’t want to be here without you.”

And in similar fashion, I’ll keep saying, “Jesus, I don’t want to go somewhere if you’re not there.”

The Stuff of Bucket Lists and Firearms

Me, on the range at Blackwing

Remember that bucket list I wrote about? I had always wanted to ride horses on the beach, which I was finally able to do this past summer.  But then my friend Alex noted that my list also included "learn how to shoot a gun."

I am thankful for her observation skills.  And I am thankful she is my friend.  And I'm thankful she paid for and went with me to a class Blackwing Shooting Center, one of my new favorite corners of the world.  Nothing like celebrating your 30th birthday by learning how to shoot a firearm.

Mind you, I had never shot a gun before in my life, minus a squirt gun, which clearly doesn't count.

But can I just say, I surprised even myself during the 3-hour, ladies-only course at Blackwing. I LOVED learning how to use a handgun.  I loved the intense concentration it required and I loved completely tuning the world out and focusing solely on that target just down the range.  It was a strangely liberating and empowering feeling.  After I got done, I thought, "Why the heck didn't I do this sooner in life?!"

And it turns out, I'm not too bad of a shot, if I do say so myself.

Twenty five rounds later, all 25 hit the target and a select few make it to the center of the individual targets.  (There was that random stray that hit the very bottom of the target.  I must have zoned out for a second when I fired that shot, but hey - at least it was still somewhere on the target.)

I left Blackwing thinking, "Dang, that was fun - I gotta check my calendar and figure out when I can get back up here to fire off a few more of these things!"

So, thank you to my dear friend, Alex, for helping me cross that one off the bucket list.  I have been introduced to a whole new world that I am thoroughly enjoying (in a non-disturbing way, of course, so nobody needs to be alarmed at my newly acquired fascination with shooting firearms).
        

RIP Not-So-Smart Phone And Other Technology I Should Part With

 I had a moment of silence this past week for my not-so-smart phone.  It decided to die and go to the land of cellphone heaven.  I couldn't even get it to power on anymore.  It just kept flashing the Verizon logo over and over again, almost as if it were sending out its final distress signal.  It lived a good life, being carted around to various parts of the globe.  It was maybe dropped a time or two (or three or four), but I was determined to hang on to it for as long as possible because I hate making upgrades to things like this and I hate paying for them even more.  Which probably explains why I held onto it for as long, a solid run of 4 1/2, if not 5 1/2 years.  We can chalk it up to one part practicality and two parts stubbornness.  Why buy something new when what you've got works perfectly fine (most of the time)?  I did have to activate, much to my dismay and annoyance at a higher phone bill, the smartphone I already had on hand, one I bought over two years ago when I knew I was going to be in Kenya for awhile and it was just going to be easiest to have that kind of technology while traveling, especially for international calls.  I generally go kicking and screaming when it comes to upgrades, but eventually get over it and move on with life.  You just gotta let me stomp my feet for awhile and pitch a fit and then I finally settle into my reluctance.

Note, most of the letters have vanished

There's also my dinosaur of a laptop, which is now over 11 years old.  In the land of technology, that's equivalent to forever.  I bought it the summer I graduated from high school and I've only had to replace the hard drive once.  Otherwise, it has worked like a champ.  Granted, these days it sounds like a small aircraft taking off most of the time because the fan blows quite a bit.  And it probably weighs at least 6-8 pounds, which is a tank compared to what laptops weigh these days.  And most of the letters have worn off due to my constant clacking around on it with long fingernails.  As with my phone, I am reluctant to purchase another laptop until this one officially bites the dust.  I really don't use it that often anyway these days, so why bother spending the money right now?  The IT guys at my office, lovers of all things Apple and current, frequently shake their heads at me and wonder if I was dropped on my head as a child.      

We then have my stereo.  Which I got as a gift for my 16th birthday.  That now makes it 14 years old.  Also, still working like a champ.  It even has a cassette deck as a bonus.  Don't judge.  And don't roll your eyes.  I get that I live in a world that clamors for the latest and greatest and is appalled that I have the same box TV that I had when I was in high school, but maybe this is my small way of taking a stand (albeit a lame one) and pushing back on the world. 

I am well aware of my love/hate relationship with technology and all things social media these days, the constant beeping and buzzing and chirping of machines that we have somehow allowed to rule our lives. 

I have a quote from a book I read once, on a Post-It note stuck to my mirror that says ,"How do you know have ADD or a severe case of modern life?"  I think various people think I have lost my mind when I say I don't have internet in my apartment - or TV - or microwave - or cable. But I love it.  I really, really, really relish it.  I like unplugging from the world and occasionally being unreachable.  I like falling off the map, off the grid, and out of reach. I get to slow down and literally disconnect.  I know someday I'll eventually have to make the trade and buy a few technological appliances that work, but I'm going to stick with the faithful ones I've got right now.

So, farewell, not-so-smart phone.  You were smart enough for me and that's all that mattered.        

Learning to Breathe

Learning to breathe

I'm learning to crawl

I'm finding that You and You alone can break my fall

I'm living again, awake and alive

I'm dying to breathe in these abundant skies

- Switchfoot, "Learning to Breathe"

  __________________________________

My doctor told me recently that I have been "unconsciously dysfunctional."

Thank you, doc.  And welcome to thirty, Courtney.

In all fairness, he said it with much graciousness, gentleness and compassion.  And what he was really saying was that I have been very much unaware of how my physical body does not work properly, especially when it comes to things like stability and breathing.  I continue to have troubles with my back and it's become a source of great discouragement and frustration.  He suspects that over the course of time, and probably due to my years spent riding, I picked up a few bad habits along the way when it comes to how I physically move and function.  I had been blissfully unaware of such issues.  And now I'm paying the price.

He went on to say that we need to move me from unconsciously dysfunctional to consciously dysfunctional to consciously functional to unconsciously functional.

Story of my life summed up in one single statement, the constant migration between awareness and ignorance, functionality and dysfunctionality.

One of the key things he's been emphasizing is the necessity of learning to breathe properly.  I apparently breathe a lot through my chest and the upper half of my lungs instead of really learning to breathe through my belly.  The domino effect this creates is wreaking havoc on the rest of my body.

Sometimes I wonder if my whole life I've been inhaling and exhaling all wrong, both literally and figuratively.

Because maybe here - on the eve of turning thirty - I'll finally start learning what it really looks like to breathe.

The Stuff of Bucket Lists and Dreams

I think I started my bucket list back in middle school at some point.  I started making a list of things I wanted to accomplish, see or do in my lifetime.  Own a Great Dane. Travel to Italy, Ireland, and a host of other corners of the world.  Learn how to shoot a gun.  Learn how to drive a stick.  Go to the Kentucky Derby.  It's a random assortment of things and I have filled several pages since starting that list, with each year things getting added and checked off. 

Riding horses on the beach had been on the list for quite a while.  I don't know that I had a specific place in mind, I just wanted to ride horses on the beach somewhere on planet earth. 

The possibility presented itself when I was making plans for my New Zealand trip.  I dismissed the idea after awhile, though, because the place where I looked was too far away and transportation was going to be a problem because I didn't want to have to rent a car.  I was a little bummed about the fact that it probably wouldn't work out after all, but I let it go. 

While in New Caledonia, I had mentioned to one of the staff members with Cru, Don, who was based in Auckland along with his wife and son, that I had been wanting to go riding on the beach but would probably have to pass on the opportunity.  He offered and said they would actually like to go too, so why don't we all just go together?  He didn't have to work hard at convincing me. 

So, that weekend when I arrived in Auckland, we made plans to head to the beach that Sunday. They would pick me up downtown where I was staying and then mosey on over to Muriwai beach, on the west coast of New Zealand.  His wife, Melody, said the west coast was much more "wild and woolly" than the east coast of the island.

She wasn't kidding. 

It was rugged terrain, with the cliffs just dropping off into the ocean.  The roar of the waves could be heard from a distance and the sand was charcoal black, proof of the island's volcanic history. My eyes watered on occasion from the salty air.

It happened to be somewhat chilly that day, something I hadn't really factored in when packing.  The wind was blowing off the ocean, dropping the temperatures even more.  By the time we got around to riding, I had managed to bundle into a pair of jeans with leggings underneath, a long sleeve shirt, a fleece jacket, my ScottE Vest, a windbreaker and scarf.  I was just wishing I had earmuffs and gloves. Probably not the wisest idea to go riding on the beach when it's in the middle of the winter in the Southern Hemisphere. 

But you throw caution to the wind in pursuit of your bucket list, right?

It felt good to be on the back of a horse again, at least mentally.  My body was saying otherwise, though.  I think it had been at least 5 years since I had last ridden and probably another 6 years before that.  And there have been a whole lot of back problems since then so I had fleeting moments when I thought to myself, "My doctor would probably not be very happy to know I'm doing this right now."  Especially after the horrific pain I had gone through this past spring and the fact that I was still experiencing some troubles. But thankfully, I made it through the ride somewhat pain-free.  Minus the protest from my knees from having my stirrups too short.  

When we got to the end, some storm clouds had rolled in and rain splattered my face.  But a picture-perfect reminder greeted me when I went to climb down from the flea-bitten gray mare, a sweet closing to what had been a sweet two weeks of life.  I looked up and there was a full rainbow stretched across the sky.  It was just the reminder I needed, a reminder that God's faithful, his promises are true.  

And I was living my dreams.       

 

Picture-perfect ending to my bucket list ride

 

Me, Don, Melody and Jack getting ready to ride

Don't Miss the Josephines of This World

I have found the older I get the more I enjoy being by myself.  I love going to the movies by myself, catching a show on Saturday mornings. (The latest was The Fault In Our Stars. I cried through most of it.)  I like going on roadtrips by myself. (Eight hours in the car to Missouri with nothing but me and some music? Sign me up.)  I like traveling overseas by myself. (The sweet bliss of two days in New Zealand.  I'd do it again in a heartbeat.)

I haven't decided if this is good or bad yet.  

I think a large part of it has to do with my singleness.  I made a decision a long time ago that I couldn't - and wouldn't - put life on hold even if there was nobody beside me.  There was too much living to do in the meantime and I didn't want to miss it because of fears.

That resolve has grown over time.

I think of all the adventures I would have never gone on because nobody was with me.  I wouldn't have moved out to Missouri to go to school.  I didn't know a soul when I went.  I would never have gone to Kenya. I didn't know anybody the first time around to Kenya. (On the second trip, my boyfriend at the time was supposed to go with me.  When he told me he decided not to go - and then proceeded to break up with me the next day - he asked me if I was still planning on going even though he wasn't.  I think I must have looked at him like he had just asked me the dumbest question in the world. Duh. Of course I'm still going.)  I would never have gone to North Carolina.  Or New Zealand.  Or a whole lot of other places in between.

I was reminded of the value of this resolve this past Saturday, this idea that there is so much life you miss when you choose to sit on the sidelines, even if no one is next to you.

My mom had free tickets to the zoo, asked if I wanted them.  I had checked with a couple of friends but no one else could go.  I decided to go anyway, mainly because I love the zoo and because I was looking forward to the time alone.

I got there right as the zoo opened and wandered around for a bit, checking out the new Heart of Africa exhibit and some other exhibits nearby.

I eventually ended up at the beaver exhibit.  There was no one else around except for this elderly woman on her scooter.  We struck up a conversation, small talk really, about the beavers and what not.

She then went on to explain that she was at the zoo for the first time as part of her bucket list, anxious to meet Jack Hanna, our Director Emeritus, known world-wide.

Come to find out, she was a British immigrant, having immigrated to the States back in 1953.  She had enlisted in the British military when she was just a little over 17 and then served during World War II.  An organization called The Twilight Wish Foundation was granting her wish that day, setting up a personal meet-and-greet with Jack later that day.

I was fascinated by her British accent and what little bit of her story she had already shared with me.  I asked her if I could tag along and show her around the zoo.  She kindly accepted and off we went.

I loved every minute spent with her that morning.  She was a sassy, chatty, little Brit, full of spunk and no-nonsense attitude.  All 89 years of her life unfolded as we walked - or as she said, "motored" - around the zoo.  She had this endearingly candid personality about her.  She kept telling me I could go off on my own whenever I wanted, but I told her I had no agenda for the day and I enjoyed her stories too much to part ways just yet.  I think we were probably a couple hours into the morning before I finally learned her name - Josephine.

About three hours later, after many stories and nearly walking my legs off, I deposited her at the stage area where she was scheduled to meet Jack.  I shook her hand, thanked her and walked off into the crowd, completely unaware of the mini-celebrity I had just spent the morning with.

I told my mom about the adventure and the chance encounter later that afternoon.  She then sent me a text message that evening, saying my new friend, Josephine, had been plastered on the news, with a special segment given to her meeting with Jack Hanna.  And then there was a segment about her on the radio Monday morning.  Numerous new outlets had picked up the story.

And as I reflected later - I just kept having this recurring thought:

Don't miss the Josephines of this world.

(And not because she was all over the news or somehow famous in her own little way.  That has nothing to do with it.)

But simply because she had a story to tell.  And it was worth hearing.  And it was worth entering into.

Don't miss the world around you just because there isn't a boyfriend, husband, girlfriend, wife, family member, friend or whomever standing next to you.

Because if you wait for someone to go with you then you miss people like Josephine. You miss the ones who have their own stories to tell and maybe are likewise looking for someone to tell their story to.

Don't miss the ones who have their own adventures to go on.  Join them.  Go and live this life.

Then you will find out you're not so alone after all.

To catch the full interviews and new stories with Josephine, check out 10TV's interview with her, as well as an article the Toledo Blade did on her from 2011, sharing the details on her Honor Flight.
      

On Loan from Middle Earth: Do Not Touch

I've decided there are varying levels of fan-dom when it comes to literary and cinematic works.

Let's use The Lord of the Rings as an example, since it is one of my very favorite books and movies.
 
There are those reluctant LOTR fans, the ones who merely partake in reading or watching the trilogy because a friend or family member has coerced them into watching it.  They find, though, they eventually love Sam and Frodo and Aragorn as much as the next person. It just took them awhile to warm up to them.  (I have frequently been the one coercing the reluctant fan.  Except sometimes it backfires and in my zeal and love for the movies, I overwhelm the person and they just wind up more annoyed with me than delighted with the films.)

There are those momentary fans who are obsessed for a fleeting moment with the trilogy, but quickly pass them by and move on to the next book or movie.  They get caught up in the hype of the movie debut and the midnight showing, but rarely return to it after that.  It's a passing fad for them. (My tolerance is low for such people.)

The dwarf who greeted me at the airport,
with a sign that said,
"On loan from Middle-earth.  Do not
touch."  Noted.  

We also have the purists, the ones who so dearly and deeply love the written and cinematic versions that they own all the film scores and all of the extended editions and all of the books and dare anyone to speak ill of either Peter Jackson or J.R.R. Tolkien.  They harbor a pure love and affection for the magic of it all.

Lastly, there are the fans who I deem just all together weird, the ones who arrive at the midnight showing of the movie dressed in Hobbit costumes, complete with hairy feet.  They have watched every minute of every film extra created about the series and they can even tell you what's contained in the appendix of the trilogy, like the fact that Sam would go on to be mayor of Hobbiton for many years after his return from Mt. Doom.

I fall somewhere between the latter two.

I do own the trilogy and all of the film scores and all of the extended editions and I do get a little cross when people do not love them as much as I do.  I currently have a map of The Lord of the Rings hanging on my apartment wall, one of the few things I have hanging. I have lost track of the number of times I have watched the movies.  I even have extra copies of some of the movies still in plastic wrap in the DVD case, even though I have ones already open.  I bought them with the intent that should my first copy ever go bad, I already have another copy on hand.  (And it was on sale super cheap so don't judge.)  My friend, Jonathan, gave me all of his extended edition collections because he was upgrading his own collection of the trilogy to Blu-ray.  I gladly accepted his gift.  I have read the appendix to the trilogy, but I have never showed up in a Hobbit costume anywhere, nor do I have plans to ever do so.  I'm not that kind of fan.

When I would talk about going to Hobbiton and all the things I loved about the books and the movies, my mother would ever-so gently say, "Do you hear yourself?" Which was a polite way of saying, "You do know this is not normal, right?"

Yes, Mom, I know.  

While I was making plans to go to New Zealand, at the very top of the list was to visit Hobbiton.  I figured there was no way I was going to that corner of the world and NOT going to visit the place  It would be a crime not to.  I didn't care what I was going to have to pay or how far I was going to have to go. I was going to figure out how to get there.

So, I did.

I booked a tour through Bush and Beach, which is a great tour company by the way.  The tour included everything, (lunch, pick-up, drop-off, tickets and souvenir voucher) which made my life very easy.  They picked me up in downtown Auckland at 7 a.m. Saturday morning and we drove two hours south to Matamata, where Hobbiton is located.  I got geeked out long before I even got on the tour bus as there was a large stone-looking dwarf greeting me at the Auckland airport.  I could barely contain myself even then.

Me, in front of Bag End

We thankfully arrived in time to be the first tour of the day, which meant few other people were around and the Shire was empty.  The movie set sits in the middle of a working sheep farm, which makes for a picturesque view of the New Zealand countryside.

We were ushered through the set as a group, with the guide pointing out fun facts along the way.  This is Sam's house.  This fence looks a hundred years old, but it's only six-years old, built specifically for the movie and aged accordingly with some sort of goop that includes yogurt.  This is the bridge that Gandalf drives across in the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring.  And this tree above Bag End is actually fake.  And those vegetables in the garden are real.  And this hobbit-hole is built to Gandalf's scale, not Frodo's scale.  And these hobbit-holes don't appear in the movies.  And there are 44 hobbit-holes total.  And the green dragon carving inside the real Green Dragon tavern took two Maori men two hundred hours to carve.  On and on went the details, with me taking pictures of just about everything and walking around in a slightly stunned state because I couldn't believe I was finally walking around Hobbiton.

Which, unfortunately, caused me to feel like I missed the entire thing.

Panoramic shot of Hobbiton, complete with the party tree and the party field

I was so busy taking pictures of this, that and the other that I missed just being there and enjoying it for what it was, this little slice of my favorite books brought to life.  I'm so glad I went and I really did love seeing it all, but I have a small pocket of regret that I didn't stop long enough to really linger and soak it all up.  I mean, hello, I was at the freaking party tree in the freaking party field and I didn't stop long enough to process that I could have my own 30th birthday party underneath the party tree in the party field, just like Bilbo had his eleventy-first birthday there.  I was in such a foul mood later that day after I got back to Auckland that I had to work hard at getting a grip.  Again, not normal.  

I'm trying to look on the bright side and use that as a justification to go back some day.  I plan on marrying somebody with a good deal of spare change so that he will take me on the 14-day tour for our honeymoon, which will only set him back about $6,000 for each of us (not including airfare).

That will qualify him as super fan and my favorite person.  And if I can convince him to build us a hobbit-hole to live in, we'll be set for life.

              

Always This Sweet Reminder

 Jonathan's sunflowers bloomed yet again this year.  

I am always grateful for the reminder of new mercies, new years, new seasons, new moments.   

And every year, they keep their faces turned to the sun, following it each day as it blazes across the sky.

Just like Jon followed the Son.  

I want the same to be true of my life.