why.

The church classic VBS, wall hanging, and, hauntingly enough, homemade vest from my childhood all share this common, most epic story.

Noah's Ark.

But the real question is, why...

Why what, you may be asking yourself, suddenly intrigued because I mentioned a delicately sewn, classy little story vest. Yes, Noah's Ark, tails and all.

There are a few "why's" the world needs to pause and ask themselves whenever they happen to cross paths with this cheery tale depicted in art.

Why #1: Why does it always look like Noah only made it to Africa and North America?

Did Noah only make it to the African Plains and Old McDonald's farm when he gathered his collection of furry friends? Did he lose his "Don't forget to" checklist somewhere on that behemoth and then suddenly decide to improvise and hope God wouldn't notice? Did he gather a variety of 13 animals, after years of building, to suddenly go "Well...at least we got one with a long neck...good enough close the doors."No...you say? No, Caitlin...how could you? After all the VBS and children's church you have lived through, how could you not think that all our furry and feathered (and scaled...) friends didn't make it aboard this fine floating device? How could you not picture them all cuddling and full of joy as one giant zoo full of love? And maybe even a unicorn or two? I will tell you why. Because some genius artist who grew up on a farm and has only ever read a book about African animals has drawn every single depiction of Noah's Ark to date.

Because apparently, Noah only grabbed a cow, a pig, a giraffe, an elephant, a zebra, some monkeys, a horse, a sheep, some lions, an alligator pair, and a bird. Sometimes a bear. Occasionally a hippo or an ostrich. If your lucky, you see a penguin or two. Maybe a deer.

Thats it. Noah quit after that. Because clearly, waiting around for animals was too exhausting. Never mind that he spent half his freakin life building the thing. He just didn't have the energy to sit and put checkmarks on a list as the animals walked onto the boat.

So we ended up with a zoo drawn from the brain of a toddler. Congrats. Why...why are these the only animals ever depicted on Noah's ark? Can't the groundhogs get some love?

Why #2: Why the bird?

Somehow, in more than half the depictions of Noah's Ark, there is a parrot -like-bird. This is nice. I see we are branching out to new life forms that possibly existed at the time. But...just wondering...why is this parrot always piggy backing on some large animal like an giraffe? Do they have a special bond? Did the giraffe save this parrots life in 'Nam and now they can't be separated? Are they Romeo+Juliet-ing it against their parents will in love? Does that just seem like an obvious place for a bird?

"Oh look a giraffe....but something isn't right here. Hmm it has spots...and horns....there is it's freaky tongue. Oh wait I know...where is it's parrot?"

Get it an eye patch and call it Captain Hoof. Because apparently that would be all that is missing the giraffe gone out to sea.

Why #3: Speaking of Giraffes...

Why is it, that even if there is NO OTHER ANIMAL in the picture, there is always....ALWAYS a giraffe? Is this the world's best representation of animal life? Are these animals just commonly found around the world?

"What was that noise in the basement, honey, it sounded like clip clopping..."
"Hmm...we must be getting giraffe's down there. I'll call the exterminator tomorrow."

No. If anything, Noah should have a pair of rats chillin on his ancient shoulders.

wasting my life.

We spend so much of our lives trying. Don't you?

Trying to succeed at our job. Trying to make more money. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying to make a difference. Trying to get good grades and make good friends. Trying to keep our marriage going. Trying to be different but not stand out so much that we break the social norms we live in.

Trying to be a good person and trying to be right. Trying to be educated and smart.

But I feel like I spend so much time managing my "trying" that I quit all the "trusting".

I spend so much time internally examining myself, or comparing what I am doing to what I should be doing at the age of 25, that I somehow have quit believing in what really defines me. Do I have the right job? Do my clothes fit the norm? Do I sound like an adult? Am I making educated comments? Am I reading the right books? Am I teaching well?

What I have realized, this past week, is while most of these questions aren't bad in and of themselves, the root of where they come from is. My deep root fear is, and always has been...

am I good enough?

I recognize I am not. I recognize that to the world I live in...I look like I am wasting my life. 

But realizing when Jesus said "If the world hates you, remember that it hated me first.  The world would love you as one of its own if you belonged to it, but you are no longer part of the world. I chose you to come out of the world, so it hates you."

He was talking about this too. He meant also, that people, family, friends, bosses...many will tell you that you are wasting your life. Wasting your potential. Wasting talent. 

And they will shake their heads and say "remember what's her face? Yeah, then she got all weird and quit doing such and such to do this." They will say "remember when she got all crazy and religious", or "remember when he went to that college or that job, and with a brain like his? What a waste...". "THey could have made so much money, or gained so much respect, or been so famous, or (insert description here)."

I fall for this trap of self-worth. Defining myself by the standards of success my culture has set before me. 

Because in all honesty, what I believe, if I really believe it, will soon make my life look as though it is wasted. If I give up the idea of fitting culture, raising kids a certain way, working a job because I am supposed to, making a certain amount of money, making educated adult like comments, being perfect or faultless, being in charge, being successful in everything I do from relationships to my work here at church, 

I will look like I am wasting my life.

And in all of that, I have to trust what He said was true. He is the vine, we are the branches. He will sustain everything we need, everything to fulfills, everything that brings peace, joy and life. None of it can be manufactured by any amount of success, recognition, education, like-a-bility or money. I have to quit trying so hard and start trusting in the absence of that trying.

It is not that any of these things are bad. Being educated, making wise choices, earning a living, taking care of family, being successful. I suppose it is mostly about how important that is to you, and if you let that run your life. 

So maybe I am measuring success wrong. Maybe from now on, I should take our culture's idea of success, compare it to what I am doing, and if I look like I am wasting my time trying to communicate the love of my God, giving up something "valuable" or being too devoted to being last place, I will know I am wasting my life...

in the exact way I was supposed to. 

So...here I go...continuing to waste my life. 

wish me luck. 

angels on your pillow...

Tradition has always held deep meaning to me. Not because it is the way things have to be done, but because it feels like coming home after a long time away. Do you know what I mean? Like putting on your favorite sweater. Like egg nog on Christmas eve, like Catch Phrase and sweet potato casserole every Thanksgiving. Like my family repeatedly saying "Caitlin, what part of no don't you understand". It feels like dancing a familiar dance

...one two three one two three...

 And I easily remember the steps as I fall into a place that is cozy and full of memories. 


As long as I can remember, since I was a little girl, my Mema would always tuck me in with a kiss goodnight and say, "angels on your pillow", just before she would walk softly from the room. It became so familiar, so homey, that I almost forgot about it, zoned it out of my brain, like it was second nature. Almost, until today. 


My 93 year old Great Grandmother passed away today. She was an amazing, tough old lady, full of life through to the last second. In one of her surgeries over the past few days, the doctors came out and said she had the "bones of a 30 year old" and they were shocked at how well she was recovering. Yup...she was too stubborn to even let her body get old. 

My first memory of my dear, stubborn  Great Grandma is from when I was around 4-5 years old. My mother, grandma and I were driving to Pennsylvania to visit her and Muffy, her cute little white dog. As per my usual fashion, I tried to roll down the windows on the highway and when I was told "no", I decided a better option would be to open the door instead. One of my finer moments, I believe...


Later that night I snuggled in for bed in my Great Grandmas home, and as she was tucking me in and walking quietly from the room she whispered, "angels on your pillow"...and I knew where my grandma had borrowed the phrase. It is a piece of my family. Like a family heirloom, or an extra hug. An extra note in the symphony of my families story, the one that adds flavor and harmony. 


Yesterday, her daughter, my Mema wrote this...

"I don't know if Mom will understand, but please tell her I love her and give her a kiss for me.  I know that 'angles are on her pillow' and surrounding her.  She is in the Hands of Our Father and Her Father.  He will keep her with Him.  "

In these sweet and sorrowful moments that have come to pass, I am grateful for this family that God built. I am grateful for the chance to have a "favorite sweater" kind of feeling. To have something hidden in my family, even though it is simple and silly to any onlooker. But I have something to hold onto...I am a piece of a small puzzle, and we fit together a certain way. 

Great Grandma left a lot with us. Courage, bravery, happiness in simplicity, and the genetic stubbornness that winds through our family like a cord. She even had a hand in my blue eyes. But she also left us with a "cozy sweater", with traditions that belong to our family, and something for me to tell me children as they grow and drift into dreamland. A small piece of what makes my family mine...

So, dear great grandma, goodnight...sleep tight...sweet dreams...and angels on your pillow. 

54 years.

54 years ago:

Dwight D. Eisenhower was President.

Russian was still under Communist Regime.

Kansas won the NCAA Basketball Championship

West Side Story debuted on Broadway.

Humphry Bogart died.


54 years ago it was 1957.
54 years ago, my grandparents said "yes" to one another. And have been saying yes everyday since then. 54 years ago, my grandparents made a choice that has forever influenced my life and made me believe in marraige, in love, and in relationships as God has intended them to be.

54 years ago, my then young grandparents chose each other. Till death do them part. And have never looked back. They had a cheap wedding that was rich in love and cake. They had a one-room-one-light-bulb apartment where they learned of their first pregnancy, my mom, in their kitchen.

They embarked on a journey marked with trials, children, joy, tight finances, and millions of questions and smiles. They didn't do everything right, but they left all that to God.

They did what they could, with what they had, where they were at.

And someday, I will tell my children about them. I will tell my children about their love and marriage. About how they hold hands at 74 and ride their bikes. About how they chose each other even when they didn't feel like it. About how they sacrificed what they had to in order to take care of their children, and especially their grandchildren, like me. About how they have the mommy they have because of the the grandma and Pap she had.

All because, 54 years ago, two people said yes. The world is forever changed, and the life I will lead is forever in the hands of Jesus. 54 years ago, my life was changed. Even before I existed...God had a plan. I am in awe...