Cold Showers

Today was one of those days that just didn't start how I thought it would. After hunkering down in the Arctic Blast yesterday I knew I would have some shoveling to do before I was able to head to class this morning. My plan was to get up early, shovel and make it to the library at 8:00 so I could do my Greek translation before class. It was a stupid plan from the start: what on earth is motivating about getting up early in the morning to shovel in almost sub-zero temps only to go study Greek? I realized the plan was flawed and slept in until 8:00, still hoping to make it to the seminary by 9:00. I, however, severely underestimated the time I needed to shovel...forgetting that since we had the Arctic Blast not only would there be crud at the end of the driveway from the snowplows, but it would frozen. After battling the frozen crud,I head in for a quick shower (a necessity because I hadn't showered in two days and the class I was going to has a strict "no hats in class" rule). So I turn on the water for the shower, thinking it would take some time to heat up...but it was taking a lot of time to heat up and I began to fret about global warming, water resources and wasting water and, I was reminded of Mother Antonia.


I was in Tijuana a few weeks ago for a Developing Hearts that Yearn for Justice conference on immigration (I know, I know...I am wasting my time writing about life in Holland when I could be writing about this?!). We spent one morning visiting with the Servants of the 11th Hour, an order of nuns started by Mother Antonia. The nutshell version is that she was a socialite in Beverly Hills who after raising 7 kids and having 2 failed marriages decided she wanted to do something more with her life. So she moved into one of the most notorious prisons in Tijuana to minister to the inmates and their families. You should really get to know her. She has taken cold showers for the past 29 years.

So, I bit the bullet and took a cold shower. I figured, if an 81 year-old second-career nun in Tijuana can do it, so can I.

si, se puede

There are certain things in life that always get to me...get to me in the eyes tear up/goosebumps kind of way and you feel overwhelmed, excited, fearful, hopeful and nostalgic for something...something that you aren't even sure what it is because you aren't sure that you have ever fully had it but for a split second you are given a glimpse of what it might be.

THIS has become one of those things.

Watch it. Read the commentary about it. Watch it again. And regardless of where your political views lie, try to tell me that it doesn't get to something in you too.

The Yellow Dress

I spoke at Hope College today and pulled out a show stopper...The Story of the Yellow Dress. Ahh yes...one of my more embarrassing moments from junior high helped me connect with some college folks today. When you start communicating about "the awkward years" everyone can relate. I relayed the story of my 6th grade all-city orchestra concert in which I donned The Yellow Dress. I was so proud of this dress, not even minding that it came from the Roger's Women's Big & Tall Shop (who was the one who thought that was a good name for a store?). I was simply pumped that it fit and (I thought) accentuated my thin(ner) waist line. In case you need more of a visual:

So there I was...in The Yellow Dress, making my way into the Holland Civic Center for the Springtime All-City Orchestra concert. Thinking I was looking festive (nothing says "spring" like a yellow dress!) when I looked around and realized there was a protocol to orchestra concerts: you wear black. Oops. Somehow I was the only one who missed the memo on that one. And when we were reviewing the VHS tape of the concert later it became even more evident to me how much I stood out--I was a bright yellow blob of a person in a see of black blobs. Some called me "Buttercup" for weeks.

You know, I remember at the time being quite deflated. And quite self-conscious. And, even a few years ago probably wouldn't have been gutsy enough to post this picture on the internet or in front of a bunch of college students. I am not sure where this new found freedom in flaunting my awkward years has come from. Perhaps it's because it always reminds me that things change. I've changed. And it reminds me that even when life is awkward, you will eventually grow out of it.