Growing Up

My little sister is going to college this fall.

weird.

She and Kevin and I were all in the kitchen yesterday, milling around and making our dinners, and talking to Mom, and I had several flashbacks of the same picture, at different stages.

Kevin, Sarah, me, lined up at the kitchen counter, playing with tupperware and things, Sarah still a baby in a high chair, while Mom was on the other side, cooking...

Kevin, Sarah, me, lined up on our barstools - Kevin and me turned toward the center, sticking our feet on Sarah's chair because it drove her crazy...

Kevin, Sarah, me, teenagers, all too tall to sit at the kitchen counter to eat, all still doing it out of habit...

Maybe it's a weird thing to think about, but I was definitely struck by how different we looked in different stages... but there is a sense of similarity about it too.

The Gambler

Last thing I learned from my summer internship:

Know when to quit.

Or, as the poet Kenny Rogers might say, "You gotta know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run."

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my church. I love the internship. I love the people I was working with, and I'm excited about the relationships I've begun to form.

However, I knew from the beginning that I needed rest more than anything this summer, and I hadn't quite thought through and accounted for the depletion of emotional resources I always feel at the end of a school year, the intense emotional exhaustion I had gone through this year in particular, and my extensive solitude needs as an introverted individual. For me, it basically came down to either:

a) finish the internship and go into the next school year with no more resources than I ended it with, which is something like -9,000%.

OR

b) quit the internship, but finish school.

Naturally, I chose option B.

So now I'm at home. I'm resting. I'm writing. I'm playing with my brother's 6 month old, 65 pound puppy. I'm going through my stuff and attempting to part with more of it (because I don't need most of it nor do I really have room for it in my dorm room...). I'm cleaning and doing stuff around the house. I'm helping my mom in the church nursery. I'm reading a whole lot of Sherlock Holmes stories. I would highly recommend them to the emotionally drained. There is absolutely zero emotion in Mr. Holmes. He analytically solves mysteries - the only person he cares about is Watson, and that sentiment even only presents itself in the most subtle ways in the stories toward the end of his life. Dear Watson. Kudos to him for not needing any indication of his best friend's affection to be assured of the importance of their friendship to him.

I'm also doing a lot of thinking, and believe you me, it is incredibly freeing to have time just to sit and think and pray and process. I have a lot of mixed emotions about the past school year to sift through, but I intersperse those processing times with Holmes and internet chess, so I am indeed, slowly beginning to recharge.

Dances with Wolves

And I am dancing with the wolves.

Disclaimer: I know this is going to sound a little ridiculous, but know that with every ounce of my being, it is true. No words on paper can fully describe the experience of being with the wolves.

At first, I was skeptical. My brother called me, so excited because he was going to go down to Wolf Creek Habitat and hang out with wolves for a day. I didn’t really understand the appeal, so I turned down his offer to bring me with him. And then he came back and showed me pictures, and I thought it was kind of cool that he had been so close with these wild animals, but I still didn’t get it.

But his excitement was contagious, and I found myself agreeing to go back with him, and our younger sister, the first day of Christmas break.

So we made the four hour drive, starting early in the morning, and arriving around noon. The wolf habitat is set back from the main road, down a winding, narrow road in the mounds, running parallel to a little creek, and surrounded by trees. When we arrived, we stepped into a little cabin with a wood-burning stove which served as the gift shop, to pay our fee to go in and meet the wolves.

At first, all I could think about was how cold my toes were in my ripped up old tennis shoes, and the first words of the woman who owned them wolves were not exactly encouraging.

“I know this sounds weird, but if one of them comes up from behind and grabs you around the neck, just reach back and push them off.”

We held our hands out for them to sniff before we went into the enclosure, and then stood with our backs against the fence door, so they would not knock us over with their enthusiastic greeting. And we carefully made our way to the center where we stood with our backs against a platform so that the wolves could come up from behind and greet us by licking our faces. And at this point, I was no longer thinking about the cold, or about my doubts. I was in a different place.

It is an incredible thing to be that close to something that God created to be wild, and I was on their territory, unfamiliar to me. It was entirely up to them how I would leave it. In a sense, I was powerless, but I was not afraid.

Dyami, the alpha female, was the most enthusiastic of the four. She greeted Sarah and I by nibbling at our noses and chins (which stick out like their snouts – it’s the way they would greet each other), and then she came to Kevin, who I think she must have remembered from his earlier visit. She had taken a special liking to him then, and wolves have very long memories. She at least seemed very pleased to see him again. Then the alpha male, Pejuta, and the beta male, Akki, came to inspect us. These first three teamed up to pull off my hat; they seemed to find it very interesting. I hung onto it though, and got it back. This all happened in a few moments, and just when I thought they were done, in my peripheral vision, I saw one suddenly appear next to my face and sniff at me. This was Tikaani, the omega female, sneaking up from behind after the larger wolves were finished.

Tikaani, though the most timid of the pack, seemed to like me (we think because I am the smallest), and would come to me and let me scratch her belly for long moments, and kept eye contact with me. Staring into those orange eyes was completely unreal. It was like we understood each other. It is so affirming to be chosen as a companion for a few moments by one of these incredible creatures. Each time one of them approached me to lick my face or lean against me to ask for a belly rub or grab the wrist of my sleeve to pull me along somewhere, I felt so privileged to be among them, that they would even want to interact with me.

Each of them had distinct personalities. Each of them had a clear place and order in their structured hierarchical society. Each of them had a sense of family. Each had an aura of intelligence around them.
Toward the end of the visit, each of us were given a piece of peppermint to put in our teeth, and the wolves would grab it out of our mouths with their teeth. They love peppermints! And they were so gentle. Over-enthusiastic Dyami knocked my candy back into my mouth on my tongue, and then Akki reach into my mouth and picked it up, and I barely felt a thing.

I cannot describe in words how incredible this whole experience was. I had been completely used up, at the end of my reserves, emotionally, mentally, physically, and spiritually, after a far too long semester at school, and I had no idea of how badly in need of healing I was.

But God did. And the wolves did. And I feel completely restored.

The Fast and the Furious

This past Saturday night, something happened that I never in my life thought would happen. I was pulled over for speeding.

I know what every single one of you who have ever ridden with me is thinking right now, especially the three of you who were with me on that record-breaking trip from Indy to Taylor – “Finally! She’s had it coming since she started driving at 18.”

And now, those of you that are wondering why I didn’t start driving till I was 18, just know that I tried at 16 – I had a very traumatic-at-the-time-hilarious-now automatic fail on the driving test. Ask my brother or grandpa about it – it’s one of their favorite stories.

But anyway, I had just started on my seven minute trip home from work, and turned onto Backwater Road… it has a real name, but I don’t know what it is – a number of some kind. For those of you who have never had the pleasure of driving on Backwater Road, the speed limit is 35 mph almost the whole way, even on the completely straight stretches. This is to avoid drivers flying off the treacherous curves and sinking forever into the backwaters.

Another thing about Backwater Road – my dad taught me from a very young age that everyone speeds on that road, so naturally, wanting to follow the crowd, I keep up a pretty steady 55 mph on the straight parts, slowing to 40 on the treacherous curves to avoid flying off the road and sinking forever into the backwaters.

So, back to Saturday night, I began acceleration, and just as I passed a car about to pull into the empty Dekko plant parking lot (who I assumed was a teenage couple wanting to make out or sell drugs), blue and red lights started flashing on top of the car, and a siren went off. Man. I need to work on my night vision.

So I stopped in my lane (there was no room to pull over), and not having had experience with this sort of thing, I unbuckled my seat belt to reach for my purse, figuring I should try to find my license. The officer walked up to my window, which I quickly rolled down (after turning off my music – I figured he didn’t want to hear the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack while he was writing my ticket – M.I.A. would probably take away from the mood).

“Do you know why I pulled you over?” he asked, with a friendly smile.

“I was speeding,” I said matter-of-factly, never being one to successfully play dumb.

“Yeah… I clocked you at 46 in a 35. Now are you on your way home from somewhere?”

(I was sitting there in my black uniform pants and bright blue polo shirt, hair in a ponytail, waitress apron still on, and probably smelling strongly of pizza).

“Yeah from work,” I answered, trying to figure out how I was only at 46 mph.

“You’re probably really just wanting to be home,” the officer said understandingly, “And there’s about… oh three posted speed limit signs that you passed, but it’s so hard to go 35 there.”

I nodded in agreement. That was a good one.

“Well I am going to have to give you a warning – 46 in a 35 is a little much just for a verbal, but no ticket. You were wearing your seatbelt, right?”

I nodded.

“Well good! Now I need your license and registration…”

Stupid girl that I am, I opened the glovebox and the first thing I pulled out was a huge wad of napkins… next I found insurance cards. Then the officer found it.

“It’s that one there – in your left hand.”

Well spotted, officer. I then spent about ten minutes hunting through my purse for my pile of important cards, amongst which my license was (at least I really hoped it was in my purse…). In the meantime I found out the policeman’s name was Officer May and he lived in North Webster with his wife and two young kids. Nice guy. I finally found my license, and he wrote out my warning (which I thanked him for), and then sent me on my way (I drove 30 all the rest of the way down Backwater).

When I got home and told my family the story, Kevin and Jared were highly affronted.

“If that were me, he would have given me a ticket without stopping to ask questions!” Kevin grumbled.

Never have I been so thankful to be young and female. :-D

Regardless, I have decided to become a more cautious driver. Though highly inconveniencing – I now must leave three minutes earlier to make it to work on time, increasing my total driving time to ten minutes.

…and we may have to actually leave on time now on Sundays to make it for coffee before church starts.