Hi

This photo represents the end of one of the most jam-packed 6 months of my life.  I snapped it at a rest stop on the long drive between my current southern home and my northern hometown, two days after arriving home from my second overseas trip in as many months. Although we had been on planes for a total of 20 hours only days prior to this snapshot, the 8-hour car trip meant rest and peace after months of seemingly non-stop action.  It seems that my blogging break was wise, and even if I hadn’t stepped away from social media on purpose, I probably would have been forced to do so by sheer lack of time anyways. We had a full semester of classes as per usual, but sandwiched into our Fall were two excursions out of the country: Germany in October, and Kenya in December. We were so fortunate to afford the opportunities to go on these trips, but we’ve already decided that going out of the country during school (much less twice in the same semester) will not be attempted again. 

Much has changed within my time away. In retrospect it seems that the choices we needed to make demanded much of my mental attention which may have been otherwise diverted had I not taken an internet break. The most notable change is that I left my previous job (with heavy heart to be sure) and am figuring out another possible one.  I have more time now to scrape the eggs off dishes and attempt to climb mount laundry, which is a blessing. Yet we are in a period of waiting, a “limbo” of figuring out details, but as a dear friend reminded me this morning, limbo is sometimes the best place to be. Isn’t there a cliche saying, something like “When you have money, there’s no time; when you have time there’s no money?” Well, if not, consider it coined.

I come back to my little corner of the web a bit tentatively. I enjoyed the disconnectedness. I wondered aloud in my previous post (all the way back in August!) how I would fare intentionally abstaining from social media for a time. I stepped away from it all, the constant give and take of information that is part and parcel of the current digital age. I did not blog nor tweet. I kept my general internet reading at a minimum, and didn’t check my Twitter feed once. And I loved it. I loved it more than I thought I would, which is why my foray back into blogging is bittersweet. As a sidenote, I have noticed a change in my attention span: it lasts far longer than it once did. I have no scientific data, only experience. I find my mind is able to focus and rest more than before, and that’s what I’ve enjoyed most: the mental rest.  There is a speed at which information is produced online that makes it impossible to ever catch up or keep up. I have greatly enjoyed not worrying about that so much.  Now I use the internet rather than the internet using me, and isn’t that the way it should be? I digress… Anyways, I like my mind better this way. It seems more reliable these days. At least for my time in seminary, I will keep things such as they are now: blogging a little, pinning a little, when it suits me. (I do love Pinterest, and all its attendant loveliness. Perhaps it is less of a mental stressor becuase it’s more visual than informational; I can walk away from it without all manner of sound bite information still swimming around up there.)

I have missed writing. (And by that I mean writing for pleasure as opposed to pedagogy. There was plenty of the latter.) A few weeks ago I dove into my blog archives and got all warm and fuzzy inside, remembering things I would not have if it weren’t for my blog. I was grateful for the trip down memory lane. And it reminded me that, as a creative/artsy type, having such an outlet during graduate school is a good thing.  And I’ve heard from more than one source recently, if you want to be a better writer you should… write!  

So, with minor trepidation, I write on.  I’m making no promises–mostly to myself!–of frequency or obligatory digital expectation. I will use my blog, my blog will not use me.

Death by Reference

A fifteen year old boy from my church died in a tragic accident last week. I didn’t know him personally nor ever had the pleasure of interacting with him since we belong to a rather large church. Yet my husband and I attended the funeral, and the somber atmosphere was felt as soon as I walked into the sanctuary.

I found myself tearing up at several points during the service, and even just sitting quietly, waiting for it all to begin. I wondered why I was so deeply affected during the moments my eyes were welling, despite never having met the boy in the casket outside. In part, I was certainly “weeping with those who wept” as part of my church family. Being part of the family of God means all other Christians are family: brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers. I should feel loss when others lose because of this.

The circumstances reminded me of my grandma’s funeral. She is the closest person to me who has died in my 20+ years of life thus far.  And yet, even at her funeral, the harder part for me was watching my mom cry. I remember my mom viewing her mother–dressed in her favorite color, purple–one last time, laying in her casket.  She cried and hugged my dad’s neck tight.  Seeing this caused me to cry and put a hand on my mom’s arm.  It was harder for me to see my mom losing her mom, and also to think about losing my mom.  As close as my mother was to hers, I’m pretty sure that she and I are yet closer. I couldn’t imagine losing her, and that made me weep even harder.

At this week’s funeral, the youngest brother of the deceased said a few sweet words. I noticed a dear friend blotting away tears as the little boy spoke. I began to drop tears from my eyes too, thinking about her two sons, thinking about the younger having to process through losing his older brother.  Then I began to think about what it would be like to lose someone so close to myself, and I gripped my husband’s knee. He probably didn’t know that’s what caused my tears.

I seem to experience death by referencing losing someone else closer to me than who has really died. I don’t know why. When I write that down, it seems odd, like I’m taking away from the one who is no longer. Yet I don’t know what it’s like to feel that type of loss, and for some reason my mind just begins this referencing, unwittingly.

I’m only in my mid-twenties, and as a friend reminded me recently, the day will surely come that I will be the one experiencing deep, personal loss. A little like, “you’ll understand when you’re older…”  I think that’s true.

Our prayers go out to this grieving family. I long for the day that every tear will be wiped from our eyes.

Father’s Day ‘11

Happy Father’s Day, to all the dads in my life.

To mine:

To my dear father-in-law, and to the future father of my children:

To my friend, who’s faithful fathering is an encouraging inspiration:

To my little brothers who’ll be fathers one day.

One sooner:

one later: 

To my spiritual father, who has always pointed me to my true Father:

I’m grateful for all of you!

(All photos in this post were taken by Kori Hoffman)

Glow

I love how the morning light made this photo glow.

As a still pretty newbie photographer, shots like these that have some special aspect just by catching light at the right moment are rare. I don’t have too many. But I really love the way this one turned out. Again, this shot is SOOC except for a tiny bit of sharpening. I wanted to leave it as is because, well, it isn’t often that I can do that.

Peony Petals

The wedding shower in my hometown last weekend was a success. The bride was all aglow. It was a joy to see my dear friend smiling, eating good food, and getting to spend time with friends she hasn’t seen for a long time. 

My sweet sister-in-law (who has recently begun a blog of her own!) gave the bride a lovely green vase as her shower gift.  In her typical creative-thoughtful fashion, instead of wrapping the gift she filled the vase with a beautiful bouquet of flowers and set it in the middle of the table. The bride got to enjoy the vase immediately as it fulfilled its intended purpose holding lovely blooms.

The peonies were so beautiful and fragrant, we couldn’t stop smelling them! The peony has been one of my favorite flowers for some time, but they are not always easy to find. Having access to some that weekend, I had to steal one for an early morning photo session the day after the shower. The light was perfect that morning, and my parents’ new white rocking chairs provided a nice backdrop.

I decided to leave the photos pretty much straight out of camera, only sharpening a couple the tiniest bit.

Monet said that he owed becoming a painter to flowers. Perhaps I can say the same concerning photography. I just can’t seem to keep my lens away from them…

Paper Flower

I really love flowers.

Even fake ones! I think I have a disease.

Clicking the photo above will take you to the tutorial where I learned how to make these cute little things. I found it right in time for traveling to my hometown this weekend. I’m throwing a bridal shower for my best friend from high school who’s getting married in July.  I’m going to make a few of these for fun and just throw them around the desserts, appetizers, drinks, and gifts for decoration. She likes hand-made things so I hope she’ll like them!

These buds are so simple. You really just cut out a spiral of paper and curl it around a pencil or Q-tip, or in my case, a pointer finger.

Simple creativities like these make me smile.

Cold Spaghetti

I made spaghetti for dinner last night.  It was a quick meal, thrown together not long before needing to leave for Sunday evening service.  The pasta was still quite hot when I lumped it into tupperware to refrigerate, so I put it out to cool. Topped partially with a lid, I left it as we went to church then out for milkshakes with dear friends. We arrived back home later and I eyed the capellini and sauce. I checked the temperature, and of course it was completely cooled.  I ate a small chunk of the cold spaghetti, and instantly thought of my dad, transported to my parents’ kitchen island, standing, surveying littered leftovers.

Leftover consumption by my dad has always been a fine art. I can’t even begin to count the number of memories I have of him eyeing a bounty of tupperware, contemplating his coming dinner, which would always end up a funny concoction of the week’s previous meals. But there was always something about leftover spaghetti. It was special. I remember him many times heaping the pasta into a bowl.  It was ready for the microwave, yet he took his time, choosing other bits of this and that to complement his main dish.  All the while, he would pick at the cold spaghetti tupperware from which he had already dished his leftover dinner. My mom would wonder aloud if he’d be hungry for the cooked spaghetti after eating all the cold. I giggled to myself last night, as I did whenever I witnessed this taking place in my parents’ kitchen.

As I lidded my cheap Ikea tupperware full of cold spaghetti and memories, I wondered how many moments like this bring dad to mind that I don’t even notice. For a split second my eyes got misty, thinking maybe I wouldn’t be able to recall all the things that remind me of him till he’s gone. Cold spaghetti is just one. Hootie & The Blowfish (whose song we danced to at my wedding) is another.  A memory mushroom bloomed for a minute, as one recollection of him led to another.

I get to see him this weekend. Maybe we’ll get to eat cold spaghetti together. Even if we don’t, I’ll have to tell him how much I love that he does that.