We were in Rome! All of us crunched into a tiny apartment that we had rented out. You could definitely tell we were tourists. We had our zip off pants on, our hiking boots laced up, and all 8 of us were sporting Italia sweatshirts. Our day had started out kind of rough. My mom had already wet her pants laughing over toilet paper hanging out of someone’s pants at the airport. And when I had ordered my gelato in the café down the street, I spoke to them in French, not Italian. My dad has a stain on his white t shirt and it was pouring rain, but how could we complain we were staying across the street from the Coliseum.
My dad had come prepared. He had researched every restaurant within a 70-mile radius of our apartment and there was one that he was dying to try. It was a little café at the end of our street with the best gnocchi to grace this world, or so the reviews said. In fact, I had never even heard of gnocchi. I don’t even remember the name of the restaurant but as all 8 of the Van De Walker clan entered the door of the tiny café, every head turned to look at our sopping wet, tourist clothes. The place was jam packed. “I’m sorry,” the waiter said, “we have no room for such a large familia.” And then that’s when my dad said the four dreaded words. “We can sit outside.” We all looked at my father in detest and confusion. WE could not sit outside. It was pouring rain. My dad looked back at us with triumph as the waiter picked up some menus and very confusedly escorted us outside. The waiter didn’t bother to come out into the rain. He pointed to a table drenched in water. We sat down in seats drenched with water. And zipped up our water proof jackets so we didn’t become DRENCHED IN WATER. At least the menus had plastic coverings. I had had it. This was the worst day of my life. The waiter came outside with an umbrella and a few extra for each of us. He explained the food wouldn’t taste as good if there was excess water in the meals. My dad ordered practically everything on the menu from bruschetta to the famous gnocchi. The waiter left and it started to rain harder.
I was freezing and annoyed out of mind and questioning my father's sanity when four waiters appeared at our table, under their umbrellas, with steaming dishes of pasta. There was spaghetti, alfredo, a margherrita pizza, soups and homemade breads. The aromas were to die for. I can smell it now. Ah! All of us dug in with one hand as we held the umbrellas over the food with our other. That’s when I tasted gnocchi. And let me tell you, the reviews were right, it was the best thing to grace God’s green planet. It was smooth, silky, and drenched in pesto. That’s when I heard my brother laugh. We were all laughing. It was raining, and we were laughing. I guess homemade Italian food has that effect.
Sometimes, when I eat a meal, I catch myself saying “this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.” But then I have to put it through some criteria. Would I sit in the rain for this? Kind of like how Dr. Seuss asks about green eggs and ham - “would you, could you eat this in the rain?” Why yes Dr. Seuss, I could eat this in the rain but only if it’s gnocchi from the corner café in Rome.
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Thursday, April 14, 2016
Out Of All The Books In The Library, I Choose YOU
You've heard great things about it. Everyone you look at seems to be reading it and it's been recommended to you several times. But you're busy and hardly have the space in your day to start a book that will keep you up in to the wee hours of the night. So, you pass by the book store once again and think, "oh there will be another good book out soon and maybe I'll read this one over summer." But you keep getting pestered and your mom even tells you that you would LOVE this book. So, you go to the book store and you buy it. You could've gotten it from the library and not paid a cent but this felt like "the book" and you thought it deserved the money and the special care.
As you walk down the street with your brown paper bag concealing "the book," you start to feel more invested after spending just five, short minutes with it by your side. Your walking pace speeds up to a brisk jog and the book follows you right up your apartment stairs, through the door with the broken handle, into your favorite chair with the tear on the right arm. You even forget to water your plant, Hufflepuff, because "the book" has become the center of your life.
The moment has a arrived. Everybody knows this exact feeling; opening a book for the first time and hearing the spine crackle just a bit, as the freshly printed scent of ink rises from the pages. And in that moment you feel as if your whole life has stopped and the book is calling you in and you just have to start reading or you might explode.
The first page, then the second page, then the first chapter, and all of sudden you're in the middle of the book and you hate every character and the plot hasn't developed and it seems like a soap opera stuffed onto a page. It's disappointing. You had such high expectations for "the book" and it let you down. You know it's only one book and there are millions of other books waiting to be discovered. But you still feel as if this one has stabbed you in the heart. You gave up everything for this book. ( Well, not really... Only 25 dollars, a cold afternoon, and a dying plant.) But still, you were ready to fall for this one. You were mentally prepared to cry at 4 a.m. when it ended even though you promised yourself you would save the last pages for tomorrow just so you could hold on a little longer.
You close the book that you're half way done with and push it onto your book shelf. There's nothing worse than seeing an unfinished book look at you with judgmental eyes, so you rearrange all the books on the shelf and hide it behind Atlas Shrugged and The Grapes of Wrath just so you don't have to look at it everyday.
When your friends ask you how you liked the book a couple of weeks later, you respond that it just wasn't your "cup of tea." When, in reality, you want to shake them by the shoulders and ask them how they could have ever recommended such an awful story to you because you're still up at night thinking about just how bad that book was and questioning all of humanity because somehow for the fourth week in a row, it's on the bestselling list. How?! But, you keep your composure and explain that you're now on the market for a completely obscure book that will unexpectedly take your breath away.
As you walk by the book store you see "the book" in the window and turn up your nose. After all, if it didn't captivate you, it wasn't worth it to begin with.
You know, bad books are kind of like boys.
As you walk down the street with your brown paper bag concealing "the book," you start to feel more invested after spending just five, short minutes with it by your side. Your walking pace speeds up to a brisk jog and the book follows you right up your apartment stairs, through the door with the broken handle, into your favorite chair with the tear on the right arm. You even forget to water your plant, Hufflepuff, because "the book" has become the center of your life.
The moment has a arrived. Everybody knows this exact feeling; opening a book for the first time and hearing the spine crackle just a bit, as the freshly printed scent of ink rises from the pages. And in that moment you feel as if your whole life has stopped and the book is calling you in and you just have to start reading or you might explode.
The first page, then the second page, then the first chapter, and all of sudden you're in the middle of the book and you hate every character and the plot hasn't developed and it seems like a soap opera stuffed onto a page. It's disappointing. You had such high expectations for "the book" and it let you down. You know it's only one book and there are millions of other books waiting to be discovered. But you still feel as if this one has stabbed you in the heart. You gave up everything for this book. ( Well, not really... Only 25 dollars, a cold afternoon, and a dying plant.) But still, you were ready to fall for this one. You were mentally prepared to cry at 4 a.m. when it ended even though you promised yourself you would save the last pages for tomorrow just so you could hold on a little longer.
You close the book that you're half way done with and push it onto your book shelf. There's nothing worse than seeing an unfinished book look at you with judgmental eyes, so you rearrange all the books on the shelf and hide it behind Atlas Shrugged and The Grapes of Wrath just so you don't have to look at it everyday.
When your friends ask you how you liked the book a couple of weeks later, you respond that it just wasn't your "cup of tea." When, in reality, you want to shake them by the shoulders and ask them how they could have ever recommended such an awful story to you because you're still up at night thinking about just how bad that book was and questioning all of humanity because somehow for the fourth week in a row, it's on the bestselling list. How?! But, you keep your composure and explain that you're now on the market for a completely obscure book that will unexpectedly take your breath away.
As you walk by the book store you see "the book" in the window and turn up your nose. After all, if it didn't captivate you, it wasn't worth it to begin with.
You know, bad books are kind of like boys.
Tuesday, December 22, 2015
To The Girl I Thought I Loathed
Today, I started a friendship over. I forgave and was forgiven. I saw the change that The Lord can make in someone. I was blessed beyond belief by a girl I thought I loathed. Today, was a good day; a beautiful day.
In high school our judgement is so clouded. We live for the moment and can't seem to observe the future. All we care about is making friends and being the best. I was so caught up in being validated by my peers that I lost sight of the true goal in life; to love others as we wish to be loved. So, I pushed and shoved and connived and stabbed and lashed out and killed the souls of my class mates. But one girl, in particular, I could not stand. Maybe it was the way she wasn't afraid of me or maybe it was her blonde hair and perfect skin. I was jealous. I hate admitting it, but I was. She could make anyone laugh and even though people said she was insecure, I saw a fearless girl with her head held high ready to fight anyone who crossed her path. It's probably the reason I wanted to hurt her so much. So when I got the chance to take her down, I did. And I loved every second of it. I was cruel and ruthless and a typical teenaged girl. I was what I hated. I detested everything I had become. After senior year ended, I was certain that I would never talk to this girl again because we had both made each other bleed out.
You can imagine that it came as a surprise to me when I got a text from her asking me if I wanted to grab coffee sometime. The first thing that I thought was that she just wanted to rehash all of our fights and start the nastiness over again. But my heart had softened and I no longer felt the hatred and angst that had been so strong just a couple months earlier. I needed to apologize. "Yes, why not! Can't wait to catch up." What had I gotten myself into?
She walked into the coffee shop and she glowed. It was the first thing I noticed about her; the way she smiled like she belonged. She sat down at the table and struck up conversation like we had been friends for years. We talked about classes, her adventures in the dorms, her friends. We shared stories and laughs and I apologized profusely and asked how she could even want to have coffee with me. She replied with a simple statement that left me speechless, "Jesus took everything and everyone away from me so that I could love again and acknowledge my helplessness." Was this the same girl I knew in high school?
Jesus blossomed in her like I had never seen in anyone before. She was a new person with a spirit and heart of beauty and fire. She was a profound daughter of God. I can't quite describe it, but I was filled up by her joy. She made me want to run, dance, and shout the glory of His name. She left the coffee shop after hugging me goodbye and telling me to keep in touch. Then, I sat in my car and sobbed. I didn't know why I was crying. I just was. I saw God's handy work in a person right before my eyes. It was incredible and moving.
Forgiveness is a masterpiece. A weight was lifted today. My anger was replaced with peace and friendship. She gave me a gift that can not be bought or seen. She gave me the gift of her love back into my broken places. And not once did she take credit. Jesus healed both of us through each other.
So, here is to the girl I once detested. Here is to the girl I once saw as someone who I never wanted to be. Here is to the girl who once tore me down. Here is to the girl I once threw my words at without a second thought.
Here is to the girl saved by His grace. You are my role model.
John 16:33
In high school our judgement is so clouded. We live for the moment and can't seem to observe the future. All we care about is making friends and being the best. I was so caught up in being validated by my peers that I lost sight of the true goal in life; to love others as we wish to be loved. So, I pushed and shoved and connived and stabbed and lashed out and killed the souls of my class mates. But one girl, in particular, I could not stand. Maybe it was the way she wasn't afraid of me or maybe it was her blonde hair and perfect skin. I was jealous. I hate admitting it, but I was. She could make anyone laugh and even though people said she was insecure, I saw a fearless girl with her head held high ready to fight anyone who crossed her path. It's probably the reason I wanted to hurt her so much. So when I got the chance to take her down, I did. And I loved every second of it. I was cruel and ruthless and a typical teenaged girl. I was what I hated. I detested everything I had become. After senior year ended, I was certain that I would never talk to this girl again because we had both made each other bleed out.
You can imagine that it came as a surprise to me when I got a text from her asking me if I wanted to grab coffee sometime. The first thing that I thought was that she just wanted to rehash all of our fights and start the nastiness over again. But my heart had softened and I no longer felt the hatred and angst that had been so strong just a couple months earlier. I needed to apologize. "Yes, why not! Can't wait to catch up." What had I gotten myself into?
She walked into the coffee shop and she glowed. It was the first thing I noticed about her; the way she smiled like she belonged. She sat down at the table and struck up conversation like we had been friends for years. We talked about classes, her adventures in the dorms, her friends. We shared stories and laughs and I apologized profusely and asked how she could even want to have coffee with me. She replied with a simple statement that left me speechless, "Jesus took everything and everyone away from me so that I could love again and acknowledge my helplessness." Was this the same girl I knew in high school?
Jesus blossomed in her like I had never seen in anyone before. She was a new person with a spirit and heart of beauty and fire. She was a profound daughter of God. I can't quite describe it, but I was filled up by her joy. She made me want to run, dance, and shout the glory of His name. She left the coffee shop after hugging me goodbye and telling me to keep in touch. Then, I sat in my car and sobbed. I didn't know why I was crying. I just was. I saw God's handy work in a person right before my eyes. It was incredible and moving.
Forgiveness is a masterpiece. A weight was lifted today. My anger was replaced with peace and friendship. She gave me a gift that can not be bought or seen. She gave me the gift of her love back into my broken places. And not once did she take credit. Jesus healed both of us through each other.
So, here is to the girl I once detested. Here is to the girl I once saw as someone who I never wanted to be. Here is to the girl who once tore me down. Here is to the girl I once threw my words at without a second thought.
Here is to the girl saved by His grace. You are my role model.
John 16:33
Wednesday, November 4, 2015
A Different Kind of Mom
Hey, mom,
I just wanted to say I miss you.
I never thought that those words would come out of my mouth. Thinking back to all the times I stormed to my room because you wouldn't let me do something or that one time you let my brother get away with calling me names, I can't believe I'm saying this. But yeah, I miss you more than you could ever know.
Remember all those times I said I would never call you at college because I was mad? Remember when I told you that I hated you?
I'm so sorry.
You are the other half of me. You make me laugh like none other and you are always there to give me the advice I need. When I call you crying, I can image you thinking, "oh no, here we go again." But you help me through my tears and sobs anyway. You are strong and kind, thrifty and head strong. You are everything I hope to be. I guess that explains why I DO call you everyday.
I wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize what a remarkable woman you are. But college has made me see that being apart from you is the best thing that has come out of this experience. Yes, I miss you. Now, I realize that you worked so hard everyday and you made my childhood the best that it could be. From six hours away, I'm finally able to see the great mother you are so much clearly now. Ironic, I know. I miss shopping through the supermarket isles with you. I miss your ranting phone calls in the middle of the day about how disgusting my room is. I miss your obsession with holidays and the fact that you never pass up an opportunity to go to a museum. I miss you not being there to ask me if I really need what I am about to buy. I miss your beaming smile in the front row of every production I've ever been in. I miss the smell of your house when it's fall. I miss your "suck it up" speech when I came home complaining about boys. I miss you.
But I don't need you.
I wish I was still young enough to need all the counseling you gave. Unfortunately, I've grown up and have new issues that need dealing with that I can only work out on my own. I know that I can't blame you anymore for my mistakes. And when I need to say "no," I can't have you do it for me anymore. I now need to set up my own doctor's appointments. I don't need your cooking anymore. Growing up means you don't need your mom anymore.
Now, I just want to be you.
I want to have your drive and intelligence. I want my life to be something you are proud of. Just because I don't need you anymore doesn't mean I don't miss you. It means I miss you more. You are no longer a mother of a teenage daughter struggling through heartbreaks. You are now a mother of a woman who is desperately trying to find her path. Your role is so different now. Instead of being a guider, you, now, are a watcher. Sometimes I wish I could just tie a rope around my waist and hand you the end so you could lead me in the right direction. But I'm grown up, mom.
You did your job. Congratulations! You worked hard and then you let go. Thank you for the lessons, the tears, and the laughs. My life in your home was epic. Thank you for letting me hurt through this college experience alone. Thank you for listening, but at a distance. It's helped me grow and become more faithful to The Lord and myself.
You have realized that I don't need the "teenage girl" mom anymore. You have become a "college woman" mom. And you are doing a beautiful job. Thank you.
Oh, and I miss you.
I just wanted to say I miss you.
I never thought that those words would come out of my mouth. Thinking back to all the times I stormed to my room because you wouldn't let me do something or that one time you let my brother get away with calling me names, I can't believe I'm saying this. But yeah, I miss you more than you could ever know.
Remember all those times I said I would never call you at college because I was mad? Remember when I told you that I hated you?
I'm so sorry.
You are the other half of me. You make me laugh like none other and you are always there to give me the advice I need. When I call you crying, I can image you thinking, "oh no, here we go again." But you help me through my tears and sobs anyway. You are strong and kind, thrifty and head strong. You are everything I hope to be. I guess that explains why I DO call you everyday.
I wish it hadn't taken me so long to realize what a remarkable woman you are. But college has made me see that being apart from you is the best thing that has come out of this experience. Yes, I miss you. Now, I realize that you worked so hard everyday and you made my childhood the best that it could be. From six hours away, I'm finally able to see the great mother you are so much clearly now. Ironic, I know. I miss shopping through the supermarket isles with you. I miss your ranting phone calls in the middle of the day about how disgusting my room is. I miss your obsession with holidays and the fact that you never pass up an opportunity to go to a museum. I miss you not being there to ask me if I really need what I am about to buy. I miss your beaming smile in the front row of every production I've ever been in. I miss the smell of your house when it's fall. I miss your "suck it up" speech when I came home complaining about boys. I miss you.
But I don't need you.
I wish I was still young enough to need all the counseling you gave. Unfortunately, I've grown up and have new issues that need dealing with that I can only work out on my own. I know that I can't blame you anymore for my mistakes. And when I need to say "no," I can't have you do it for me anymore. I now need to set up my own doctor's appointments. I don't need your cooking anymore. Growing up means you don't need your mom anymore.
Now, I just want to be you.
I want to have your drive and intelligence. I want my life to be something you are proud of. Just because I don't need you anymore doesn't mean I don't miss you. It means I miss you more. You are no longer a mother of a teenage daughter struggling through heartbreaks. You are now a mother of a woman who is desperately trying to find her path. Your role is so different now. Instead of being a guider, you, now, are a watcher. Sometimes I wish I could just tie a rope around my waist and hand you the end so you could lead me in the right direction. But I'm grown up, mom.
You did your job. Congratulations! You worked hard and then you let go. Thank you for the lessons, the tears, and the laughs. My life in your home was epic. Thank you for letting me hurt through this college experience alone. Thank you for listening, but at a distance. It's helped me grow and become more faithful to The Lord and myself.
You have realized that I don't need the "teenage girl" mom anymore. You have become a "college woman" mom. And you are doing a beautiful job. Thank you.
Oh, and I miss you.
Monday, October 12, 2015
Find Your People
I was sure I wanted to be rich. Isn't that a shame that I spent my young years pondering the jobs that would make me the most money? I thought about clothes. I thought about cars. I thought about beautiful apartments. Too bad that growing up doesn't go according to plan. I had everything planned, down to the relationship my roommate and I would share in our dorm room. I knew what club I was going to be the head of and I had all my emotions marked out for each day; I would only feel homesick for a week and then I would start to fall in love with the place I was about to spend the next four years. I had college organized to the T. Well, I screwed up. I'm lonely and pathetic. I have been homesick for much longer than my allotted one week. College seemed much better when it was all in the future and stuff of dreams.
What am I doing wrong? I've asked my college counselor numerous times if what I'm feeling is normal and she replies with the obligatory statement, "just wait till you find your people and then it will feel like home." No. The problem is, I've found my people. And I don't like them. The people I'm supposed to get, don't get me at all. I've surrounded myself with people who I thought had the same ambition as me; make lots of money and put criminals in jail. That's just the problem... Life isn't about the money. WHY IN THE HECK DID I THINK MONEY COULD FUFILL ME? I don't want the penthouses and the fancy cars and the status. It took me two months out of my eighteen years to realize that you only get one shot at this life so why waste it on always hoping for the next big promotion. I wish I liked college, I really do but I just can't stand everyone lallygagging around waiting for their lives to start. I'm tired of everyone getting drunk every weekend because there is nothing else to do in Nebraska. I'm sick of being asked if I smoke weed just because I'm from Colorado. I'm really done with being asked to "netfilx and chill."
So my real question is: why does society put so much emphasis on higher education when half of my class mates are destroying their lives one alcohol poisoning at a time? I'm lost and confused and I'm not going to know the answers anytime soon. I guess all I can do now is try to find more people that supposedly will make me feel at home. All I know is that I don't want to be rich.
What am I doing wrong? I've asked my college counselor numerous times if what I'm feeling is normal and she replies with the obligatory statement, "just wait till you find your people and then it will feel like home." No. The problem is, I've found my people. And I don't like them. The people I'm supposed to get, don't get me at all. I've surrounded myself with people who I thought had the same ambition as me; make lots of money and put criminals in jail. That's just the problem... Life isn't about the money. WHY IN THE HECK DID I THINK MONEY COULD FUFILL ME? I don't want the penthouses and the fancy cars and the status. It took me two months out of my eighteen years to realize that you only get one shot at this life so why waste it on always hoping for the next big promotion. I wish I liked college, I really do but I just can't stand everyone lallygagging around waiting for their lives to start. I'm tired of everyone getting drunk every weekend because there is nothing else to do in Nebraska. I'm sick of being asked if I smoke weed just because I'm from Colorado. I'm really done with being asked to "netfilx and chill."
So my real question is: why does society put so much emphasis on higher education when half of my class mates are destroying their lives one alcohol poisoning at a time? I'm lost and confused and I'm not going to know the answers anytime soon. I guess all I can do now is try to find more people that supposedly will make me feel at home. All I know is that I don't want to be rich.
Saturday, March 14, 2015
To A Daughter Leaving Home
Linda Pastan
When I taught you
at eight to ride
a bicycle, loping along
beside you
as you wobbled away
on two round wheels,
my own mouth rounding
in surprise when you pulled
ahead down the curved
path of the park,
I kept waiting
for the thud
of your crash as I
sprinted to catch up,
while you grew
smaller, more breakable
with distance,
pumping, pumping
for your life, screaming
with laughter,
the hair flapping
behind you like a
handkerchief waving
goodbye.
As I read this poem, I can't help but get a little teary eyed. I know, pathetic. "To A Daughter Leaving Home" reminds me so much of my own mother and the way she cares for me and follows me into the future. The way Linda Pastan connects the young child riding a bicycle to a grown woman fearlessly taking on the world is simply brilliant.
It's true, I will skin my knees because I'll fall off the bike. I will definitely ride too fast but my mom will always be right behind me, ready to bandage my bruises.
Sunday, March 8, 2015
Youth and Love
"As for Hamlet and his attentions to you, just consider it a big flirtation, the temporary phase of a hot-blooded youth. It won’t last. It’s sweet, but his affection will fade after a minute. Not a second more." Act 1 scene 3
Listen, young women. Men are not genuine. Men only lust after you. All men will rape you. NO!!! You need to hold onto the fact that the world is filled with many wonderful, caring, and strong men. Just like Laertes, from Hamlet, warned there are those who only want to use you for their own gain. However, do not let a great man slip through your fingers because you are afraid. Be cautious but leave your heart open.
Listen, young women. Men are not genuine. Men only lust after you. All men will rape you. NO!!! You need to hold onto the fact that the world is filled with many wonderful, caring, and strong men. Just like Laertes, from Hamlet, warned there are those who only want to use you for their own gain. However, do not let a great man slip through your fingers because you are afraid. Be cautious but leave your heart open.
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