Pierced

As Gary snapped pink gloves onto his hands, I tried to find pictures in the blur of tattoo ink all over his arms and legs. His ear lobes, empty of their gauges, hung floppy against his cheeks. Jessie, Julia and I joked around with Gary as he cleaned my nose and prepared the needle; all of us had been there before, for other piercings. Finally everything was ready. He stuck a metal tube up my nose and I squeezed my eyes shut as he pulled a thick, hollow needle through my nostril. The needle hung there for a minute, stretching. Then he pushed a hoop ring in and pulled the needle out.

After three years of begging my parents to let me pierce my nose, I finally got it done! Even though my mom gave her permission, she is not happy about it. She thinks I look like a bull. But that was actually why I wanted a hoop: it’s symbolic. A bull’s nose is pierced so that it can be controlled by its master. I pierced my own nose as a sign that I want to be controlled by my master, the Lord Jesus Christ.

One of the first things that made me want a nose ring were these Bible verses:

"And I put a ring on your nose and earrings in your ears and a beautiful crown on your head. Thus you were adorned with gold and silver…And your renown went forth among the nations because of your beauty, for it was perfect through the splendor that I had bestowed on you, declares the Lord GOD." (Ezekiel 16:12, 14)

"Then I asked her, 'Whose daughter are you?' She said, 'The daughter of Bethuel, Nahor’s son, whom Milcah bore to him.' So I put the ring on her nose and the bracelets on her arms. Then I bowed my head and worshiped the LORD and blessed the LORD, the God of my master Abraham, who had led me by the right way to take the daughter of my master’s kinsman for his son." (Genesis 24:47-48)

The first verses are from a passage in Ezekiel that is an analogy of God’s unwavering love and faithfulness to Israel, even when they are whoring after other gods. The second passage is from the story of Isaac and Rebekah, when Abraham sends his servant to find a wife for Isaac. In both of these passages, the nose ring seems to signify a sense of ownership, but loving ownership.

My Savior shed his blood to make me his own. I am his, just like Israel was God’s, just like Rebekah was Isaac’s, just like a bull is his master’s. I am Christ’s slave, and the silver ring in my nose is a symbol that I serve him willingly, with all the love I have.

DreamWorld

The stars hung bright in the dark sky as I tumbled through the brush, a cup of cider sloshing in my hand. I stood chatting with the college's president and his wife about their time in Kenya, and cold tendrils of silvery air bit at my nose and hands. Eventually I moved into the circle of students around the bonfire, and sat huddled with Julie as we sang hymn after hymn.

By the time we left the warmth of fire and song, the moon was high in the sky--so bright. Julie, Nathan and I walked to the car. Beside us a freshly-harvested field yawned, stretching up to the sky. Grabbing Julie's hand, I ran up the hill, toward the tip of stars. Throwing arms in air, we twirled and twirled. Laughing, we fell to the ground and stared up at the spinning skies.

Like drunk sailors, we tripped back down the hill and piled into the car. Living in this land of visible stars and rolling hills and August-chill is a bit like wandering around in a dream-world. Guess it's a good thing I'm quite comfortable dreaming.

New Blog!

Dear Readers,

Due to issues with picture-posting, I had to create a new blog. The URL is www.talirosewhispers.blogspot.com. Head on over and check it out to follow my travels through Idaho! ;)

Much Love,
Tali Rose

Everything is Illuminated

While in Oklahoma, I picked out this film to watch--despite skepticism from my family. Although none of them cared for it (in fact, my daddy stopped watching halfway through), I thought it was excellent.

It's a story of memories, of collecting pieces of the past. The main character, Jonathan (convincingly portrayed by Elijah Wood), wears big glasses, doesn't eat meat, and has a collection of memories in ziploc baggies tacked to a wall. In a search to find the story behind a photograph of his grandfather and a woman named Augustine, he ends up in the company of a Ukrainian grandpa and grandson. As they journey across the planes of Ukraine, a tale of depth unfolds amidst the bald humor of language confusion, Sammy Davis Jr. Jr. (the deranged dog), and a bizarre music soundtrack. What began an off-beat indie film, ended a poignant tribute to the strength of friendship, the twists of love, and the importance of clinging to memories. For, as Jonathan learned, "everything is illuminated in the light of the past. It is always along the side of us, on the inside, looking out."

A Poem

by e.e. cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

மி டே

My day in likes and dislikes:

I like bike rides.
I don't like flat tires.
I like Rock Springs.
I don't like sharp stones.
I like curly hair.
I don't like sitting in the salon for three hours.
I like the dog I'm petsitting.
I don't like slobber.
I like walking barefoot.
I don't like blisters.
I like clean houses.
I don't want to clean.

Huntman

Our shadows hold hands as we walk down the street, hand around fingers. The outline of his baggy overalls hangs loose; the frizz on my curls bounces high. Tears sneak into my eyes, catch in my lashes, drip onto my glasses--this is my last day as Hunter's nanny.

Eight months ago, I drove to the front of the neighborhood to meet with the couple who had responded to my nanny ad in the Spring Valley newsletter. I was greeted by the smiling faces of Aimee and Rodney, and I held Hunter for the first time: a little baby in blue footie pajamas.

One month after that, I started watching Hunter two days a week. And I fell in love with him. As I have watched him grow from that cooing infant to a walking, garbling toddler, my love for him has also grown. His smiles make my heart dance; I love the way he reaches his chubby arms for me, follows me around, cries when I walk out of the room.

Now I'm going much farther than just around the corner. This morning I have held him close, kissed him long, dreading saying goodbye. Of course, it is not goodbye forever. But I know that when I come home, he won't know me as he knows me now. I pray that he won't forget me, but he's just a baby...they're not like elephants; they don't remember long.

So as he sleeps now, I stare at his curling hair, his button nose, his chubby cheeks. I will not forget.

Dead Poets

While I was sick, I watched "Dead Poets Society." I love that movie.

Although its message is devoid of Christ, there is much Truth within it. As believers living in this world, it is imperative for us to be able to trace worldly reflections back to their heavenly source. One of the main points of the film is the idea of "carpe diem," or seizing the day. Instead of running mad with that phrase and using it as argument for living however we please, Christians ought see it as inspiration to live for Christ. Here. Now. We must seize every opportunity to show Christ's love to the world.

Life is short.

Our days are but a breath, a whisper upon the earth. We need to suck the marrow out of life, to pulse with the heartbeat of God, to live deliberately for the Gospel.

How can a follower of Jesus be blase or passive? We must be passionate--the conquerors of this world! God calls us to subdue and dominate the earth. How can we do that unless we are brave enough to sound our barbaric yawps over the rooftops of the world?

Be Here Now

Haunting. Chilling. Ray LaMontagne's BBC performance of Be Here Now.

A Week in the Wilderness (Part V)

Home Again

I'm home now, but camp remains with me. Literally. Some sort of infection (probably merca) came home with me. I'll spare you the gory details except to say I have a band-aid plastered across my forehead, a massive red blotch on my back, I'm on antibiotics, and it hurts!

There is so much more I could say about how wonderful VSO was, but I'll restrain myself. ;)

A Week in the Wilderness (Part IV)

The Hike

We spent two days on the Appalachian Trail, hiking through thick woods and fording icy streams. After arriving at our campsite the first night and setting up tents, we ran to the stream that bubbled along beside the trail. Wading into the water, we fought chills and shivers and submerged ourselves in the freezing water. There was a series of waterfalls that led down to a big watering hole, and all of us went down there to swim. When the coldness became too much, we crawled out and curled up on the warm rocks, like snakes basking in the sun.

Later that evening, I set off alone down the stream, hopping from rock to rock. I will never be able to describe the feeling of that little expedition--the simple, wild joy of being alone with the trees and rocks and water. A joy so strong I shouted with laughter.

That night we sat around the campfire together and ate burritos straight from the coals. All of us were dirty and smelly, but I found everything fresh and beautiful. Living with nature is so...free. I love not caring if my bare feet are dirty, or if my hair looks funny. It's oddly exciting to take my water bottle and a water purifier, and stroll over to the stream to get a drink. I love hearing the birds and watching the bugs and just being outside. Of course, I am still drenched in suburbia. As I was going to sleep that night (nice and cozy in a one man tent with Wendi), I spotted a Daddy Long Legs crawling up the side of the tent. Gently, I scooped him up and tossed him out. Nestling back down into my sleeping bag, I closed my eyes and--felt tickley, long legs creeping across my bare stomach!

The next morning we cleaned up camp and started hiking again. Although we had to go frustratingly slow, it was an exciting hike--especially the life-threatening parts on the side of a cliff! Halfway through the hike, we stopped at a waterfall that formed a natural water slide. So fun! Why don't I live in the wilderness all the time?

A Week in the Wilderness (Part III)

Downy

His vertebrae are fused together. His body eats proteins, so he can't build muscle. A week after his doctor gave him clearance to do any type of physically activity, he was stuffed in a van on his way to high adventure camp. Throughout the week, I watched in amazement as he fought against his disabilities and participated in almost every activity.

On the last day, he and I swam from a rock outcropping where everyone was playing to shore. Although he had to stop and rest several times, he finished the distance swimming strong. As we pulled ourselves out of the water and plopped onto the ground, he was brimming with excitement, delighted at his ability to accomplish what was so physically challenging.

When I asked him what his favorite part of the week had been, he answered promptly: the last twenty minutes of the hike. Suddenly he felt like he was strong, like he could keep up with the fastest of the campers. Over the week he had grown--physically and spiritually--and it was so encouraging to see how a week in the wilderness can transform.

A Week in the Wilderness (Part II)

The Cliff

Canoe paddles in water--stroke, stroke. Across the lake as the sun hung low in the sky. And then there it was, looming above me. The cliff. They'd been talking about it all day. Forty feet. Bare rock. Deep water. Jumping off. I was nervous, but I was going to do it. Scrambling up the side of the cliff, I quickly reached the rocky surface and glanced over the edge.

Forty feet is really high.

Fear like I have never known before ripped goosebumps all over my skin, and shook my whole body. All I had to do was step over the edge, just one little step! But I couldn't do it. I was petrified. While camper after camper strode by me and leaped over the edge, I stood back, fighting against myself. Michael prayed with me, Peter cajoled me, all my friends down in the water (so far below!) screamed and shouted and encouraged. Time after time I crept to the edge, ready to jump, and slunk back shaking with sobs, terror, and frustration.

I couldn't do it.

It was such a humbling reminder of my weakness, of my inability to be complete alone. Jumping off that cliff was, of course, unnecessary. But it served as a reminder that although I like to think myself self-reliant and independent, I'm not. I need Jesus to lift me up, to give me grace, to hold me tight when the cliffs of life set me trembling and crying. How thankful I am for the persistent love of my Saviour!

A Week in the Wilderness (Part I)

I spent the past week being counselor at Venturescape Outdoors in North Carolina. It was a beautiful time of freedom in the wilderness, of doing life with the other campser, working together, exploring God's creation, and just loving one another. Because it was such an incredibly wonderful week, and I have a lot to say about it, I'm going to share my experiences in several different posts.

The Cave

Tendrils of cold air snaked out into the humidity and drew me to the entrance of the cave. As I lowered myself through a small hole in the ground into the chill darkness of the underworld, nervousness crept around my stomach. Dots of light from headlamps bounced off the slippery rocks and flickered across the cavern walls. At first I stepped hesitantly, unsure of myself in this strange surrounding of clay and slick rock. After a few moments, however, I began to relax and became perfectly comfortable walking, crawling, climbing through the cave.

I loved the feeling of power in my hands as I lifted myself onto a particularly high rock, or the thrill of stepping over the entrance to a deep hole that could kill me if I stepped wrong. In certain places we had to wriggle through tunnels; in one spot we crawled on elbows and knees through stalagmites and stalactites and freezing, muddy water. At one point, we all sat together in an open area and sang hymns, the music resounding around us. When we reemerged into the sunlight, every one of us was drenched in mud and guano (bat poo--gross, eh?), and covered in smiles.

From Triathlons to Food

It appears I'm never going to post about my triathlon, since I'm still having picture trouble. If you'd like to look at some photos from that weekend, feel free to check out Jessie's blog.

And now for food, since that is the logical progression of any working mind... Good food paints life with color. Just think how much better a hot summer day is with watermelon juice dribbling down your chin, and little black seeds dotting the sidewalk around you. Picture coming home after an afternoon swim and grilling up some hamburgers--to be eaten with oh-so-crisp and fresh lettuce, tomato, and onion. Imagine playing catch in the early evening sun, and coming in for a big bowl of ice cream. You see, food (good food)gives people a reason to gather together, to stop being busy and crowd onto the benches of my kitchen table, to talk and laugh and EAT.

When I wake up in the morning, my first thought is of breakfast. While I run or bike or swim, I dream up what I'll eat the moment I get home. During breakfast, I plan lunch. At lunchtime, I think of ideas for dinner. (And, of course, there are all those snacks in between!) There is such excitement in preparing food!

This morning, after a nice jog with Mollie, I had a piece of cheese toast topped with onion, tomato, and a fried egg, along with a couple slices of watermelon. Already I've gotten the chicken out to thaw for today's lunch: Oat Chicken Pieces, broccoli, and cantaloupe--oh, and blueberries! Mr. Ibarguen just brought a carton of just-picked, garden-fresh blueberries. Noon can't come too soon. ;)

Urgggh!

I have spent the last hour working on my blog. I got on this thing to write about my triathlon. First, however, I decided I really wanted to change my background. Simple, right? For me--not so! After forever and a day, I somehow got that to work. But now my computer is being all weird about uploading photos. So...don't hold your breath till the pictures are up, because it might take awhile. But stay tuned!

Freedom, not Independence

"God's work in our lives doesn't lead to self-independence, but to a further realization of the need of dependence--strictly on Him." (Tyler Burgett)

Santa...or Grace?

The pale green undersides of the oak leaves twisted in the wind as the black clouds unfurled. Rain drops smacked against the windows of my car; Ella began to fuss in the back. As I chattered on to distract the girls from the storm, we somehow landed on the topic of Santa Claus.

"If we're good," one of the girls stated, "then Santa will bring us presents. But if we're bad, we don't get anything."

For whatever reason, hearing that Santa Claus philosophy from a little girl broke my heart. It's what we all believe, isn't it? Even as Christians preaching grace, how often we run back to the "Santa Claus" God, thinking--if I'm good, God will love me more; if I'm bad, he'll turn from me.

But that is not the Gospel! While we were yet sinners, Christ loved us. It's such amazing news because we don't have to do anything. That's the gritty beauty of it: while we were drenched in the blood of our damnation, Jesus Christ shed his pure blood--for us. Mysteriously, breathtakingly, that outpouring cleansed his chosen people, and because of that grace, we are made alive, free, without condemnation.

So why do we chase after Santa Claus? Why do I try to earn salvation, when the only way it can be mine is by Christ earning it for me? Father, breathe your grace over me. Let it fill the holes in my life, and shine out of me pieces of your love.

Off We Go A'wassling

A'whatling? A'nashvilleing! Yes, I'm leaving for Nashville at 5:00am tomorrow. And I haven't finished packing. I need to wash some grapes. And I left my water bottle at a wedding gig.

Don't miss me too much.
I just might return with pictures.

The Dog Race

The dogs are led out in muzzles and jerseys, dancing and pulling at their leashes. Boys in blue shirts lead them into gates: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, and white panels shut them in. A voice comes out over the loudspeakers, quiet at our picnic table, and bored--not excited, like me--announcing the names of the dogs. Jessie, David, Shane, and I stand against the chain-link fence, leaning toward the track, waiting. "Here comes Swifty!" proclaims the voice, and a little car-like creature with a stuffed bunny attached to it shoots by. The gates swing up and the dogs are out, not running but flying. We chose number six, Phil's* Shane, (sure to win with a name like that). At first he was last, but half way round he surged forward and overtook the other dogs. My hands were in the air as he rounded the bend, my voice growing hoarse from cheering--and then he was there, the finish line, and he was first!

Out of the eight races we watched, Phil's Shane was the only dog we chose who won. But that didn't diminish the excitement of the races one bit. As soon as the dogs shot out from their gates, I was screaming at my dog, willing him to win. Who knew my heart would have become so entangled in a dog race? If you've never been to one, you ought to go. It's fascinating, it's fun, and it's free!

*Apostrophe added for the benefit of myself and any other grammar freaks out there. ;)