On free toothpaste, washing dishes, and overcoming responsibility.

Every time I shrink away from writing a "this is what I did today" post, one of the things I tell myself is that the only people who follow this thing are my friends. If we were looking at each other face-to-face, I would tell any one of my friends everything that I feel compelled to write about what I've done, so in reality, such a post is all good, yes? Yes. So, although I don't want this site to decay into nothing more than a depository of Emily Lynn Harmon's current events (...and now, there she goes to the mailbox...), for this friendly reason and for another I will soon explain, I will now talk about a few things that recently happened in my life.


This week, it has been a challenge to engage my right brain. I've wanted to write more, and not just more but better, but that hasn't happened. So here I am writing something just for the sake of writing something.

Every day this week, I have awakened and soon devoted my thoughts to cookies. "Today, before this day is over, I'm going to make some," I've told myself. Then, I get started on the things I "need" to do and/or following through with plans that I've made. If you're intimately familiar with the state my surroundings, you'll know that "things I need to do" truly means the "things I can't possibly put off or my world will feel like it's tumbling out of control." My life isn't that organized and perfect. It's more like a regular battle against chaos. One of those things that I've "needed" to do, something that directly relates to the cookies, is clean the kitchen. We don't have much room in the kitchen to begin with, but when dirty dishes are added, the surface space fades to nary a square foot. With no dish washer and no hot water in the pipes, washing dishes, for five people no less, is a bit of a challenge. But it's a challenge I didn't want to leave undone before I made cookies. I can function with messes in certain situations, but in a kitchen, especially a cramped one, I find it to be nearly mentally and emotionally impossible to overcome.

Thus, several days this week, I have valiantly begun attacking the kitchen mess, aiming to finish quickly so that the cookie-baking can begin.

I still haven't done it. Those dishes never disappear. It looks like I'll have to get over my kitchen-mess-ophobia if I ever want to make cookies. That, or the Harmon house will likely be homemade cookie-less until we get either hot water or a dishwasher.

I've also been continuing my efforts to shop wisely and thriftily. Every store ad that comes in this house gets scoped out for the best deals, and I diligently search through my coupon depository to find coupons for sale items. When something's on sale and you have a coupon for it, chances are it can be obtained for a pretty low price.

My mom and I went to two drugstores today. While I don't know the exact numbers, I do know that we saved over 50% on everything we bought. The thing I'm most excited about is that we made $2 on some Vitamin D. No joke. We also managed to pick up some free toothpaste. And tomorrow, I believe we are going to acquire a free light bulb. I'm kind of a rookie at this bargain hunting thing, but it seems to be working out pretty well.

As cool as all that is, I'm fighting a battle that all people incur, creative types especially, I think; how should I balance my priorities? The typical responsibilities never leave, and while I am in the middle of a glorious opportunity to learn to not be so duty-bound by them, I have not yet become so untrained that I no longer care about them. I do care about them. Tending to them does good things for my family and me.

But I want to write more. I want to read more. I want to sing more. I want to become a better musician. I want to make things. I want to be a better German speaker. I want to become more learned in Latin. I want to make cookies. And share them with my friends.

Every good writer I've heard address this subject says to forget the laundry overflowing the hamper, look at the dirt laying on the floor, and move on. If what you want to do is write more, then leave it all alone and write. And when you can't leave it alone enough, feel no guilt in trading sleep for playing with words. I know they're right. And I do that sometimes. Regularly, even. But not regularly enough to feel like I ever accomplish much.

What to do, what to do....

"Love is not a feeling in your chest."

I don't usually give much thought to Valentine's Day, therefore would never think to write on it. Consider this an exception.

I have no qualms with Valentine's Day. I have qualms with excessive commercialism, but it and the Celebration of Love are not inherently linked. What I like about Valentine's Day is the idea that there is a multitude making an extra effort to let someone/s know they are loved. Just like on Christmas, more people than usual are thinking about how God made himself like us and came into the world. Love and Emmanuel, the fullness of love, are glories we should always be mindful of and whose worth we should be demonstrating with every breath breathed. But I think it aids our human nature to have days like today set aside for remembrance.

The most common sort of love talked about today is the kind of husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends. But if one is going to acknowledge the holiday, I don't think the love celebrated should be so limited. Which is why it's a day still applicable to me. And which is why this song, so fitting for today, is also applicable to me.

"For the Love of God" by Andrew Peterson

Yesterday we drove all night to Pittsburgh 
Jamie laid her head down in the back 
My little boys asleep beside their sister 
They’re the best I have 

I brought an old recording of your father 
He was teaching men and women how to love 
He carried on about his sons and daughters 
Growing up 

As we drove across Ohio 
At the dawning of the day 
I could hear the tune of truth was in his voice 
And it felt just like I knew him 
Though I never saw his face 
Maybe that’s because I know his boys 
Who live their lives 

For the love of God 
In the name of Jesus 
The groom who gave his life 
To love his bride 

I know you thought you’d never find a woman 
I never thought I’d have to write this song 
But here I am and there you are together 
After all 

You felt like you were buried 
In a city underground 
All broken bits and pieces of the past 
And somewhere she was searching 
On the surface of the mound 
She was digging for a treasure that would last 
Now she’s giving you her heart 

For the love of God 
In the name of Jesus 
The groom who gave his life 
To love his bride 

Now, love is not a feeling in your chest 
It is bending down to wash another’s feet 
It is faithful when the sun is in the west 
And in the east 

It can hurt you as it holds you 
In its overwhelming flood 
Till only the unshakeable is left 
“This new command I give you,” He said, 
“Love as I have loved” 
So brother, love her better than yourself 
And give her your heart 

For the love of God 
In the name of Jesus 
The groom who gave his life 
To love his bride

Happy Valentine's Day, friends.

"Like a lark who is learning to pray."

Is it okay if I'm transparent with you? If it's not, I guess I'm going to do it anyway.

I'm really happy at the moment. All strong emotions tend to spread of their own accord, but happiness bubbles further and more quickly than the rest. It's harder to resist sharing.

The reason why I'm happy is that my voice is finally strong again.

I became sick the day after Christmas. I felt it coming on the day of Christmas, so I suppose that's a more accurate start day. After that, I felt seriously ill for three weeks, well into the month of January. My health had improved greatly by the end of those three weeks, but my voice was still mostly gone for an additional two weeks. After five weeks of relative silence, I was finally able to speak clearly again and carry a tune that spanned beyond half an octave, and not just any octave, but half of my lowest octave.

My voice had returned. I could feel it. Before that point, even when my speaking voice starting sounding like it was approaching normality, I could still feel something in my throat telling me that it wasn't. I knew if I talked too much, what little voice I had would disappear again, and if I ever tried to sing anything, there was always something there blocking it. But whatever it was had finally gone away.

I rejoiced. I didn't have to repeat every word that came out of my mouth anymore. People could finally hear me again. And I could finally sing a simple major scale without sounding like a dying bird. I did expect, though, that after such a prolonged period of non-use it would still be somewhat weak, even though my throat had healed, so I wasn't shocked when singing the national anthem was still far beyond my reach.

I knew it wouldn't get any better continuing to lay dormant, so I began to use it as best as I could, as often as I could without fear of creating damage, and I figured it would be back to the 100% I had come to know faster than you can say "Bob's your uncle."

But it wasn't quite that fast. I kept testing the proverbial waters and finding them to be lukewarm. After a little while, I started to feel a bit of sadness seeping back in. Yes, I know I needed a lot of rehab, but did I really need this much? I've been doing what I can to rebuild, but for days on end there's been no progress. Shouldn't there be progress? And as much as I tried to not think it, eventually "Is this as good as it's going to get?" popped into my brain, and that was not an encouraging thought.

But as of today, I can confirm that all strength I had pre-Christmas has returned (what made this more ironic, is that I sang a lot on Christmas day, publicly that is, more than I had in a while, then woke up the next day as hoarse as a chain smoker), just a few weeks after being freed of illness. Funny how a few weeks can make me feel so defeated. I'm grateful it was only weeks and not any additional months.

I count my voice a gift. I've had others share with me an appreciation of it, and that is a blessing I am sincerely grateful for, but I think it has been a gift as much to me as it has to any of them. Music is a thing that I draw life from, and God knows that. He made me that way. So what a great blessing to be able to make it myself. I can't tell you the number of times I've felt healing begin to displace my wounds as I've sat singing out my hurts. And as much as I enjoy hearing the voices of others, nobody else singing would have done the trick. Mercifully, God has helped me disentangle my identity from my voice, so when it fails, I'm not as fragile as I used to be. I still feel there's hope to go on, whereas I formerly would have been devastated.

But because of God's grace, I am not limited to only enjoying the root of my identity. If my voice ever leaves, it'll be sad, and I'll move on. God will heal. But as long as it's here, I'm going to be happy about it.

Like running into a wall.

The process of writing is different for every writer. What inspires one person might be a hindrance for another. Some may like quiet while others may think better with white noise. Some may be highly organized, filtering everything through an outline before constructing a draft, while others never have any real "drafts," but rather a constantly evolving work in progress until an acceptable end is achieved. (<--- me)

I think, though, there are some aspects of being a writer that all workers in the profession share. The phenomenon commonly known as "writer's block" is one of them.

Today, I came across an amusing example of how I deal with writer's block when it invades my process.

I needed to reference an old document which I no longer had saved on my computer, so I pulled out my brother's external hard drive which he so graciously lets me share. I quickly found the document, and began browsing through it. When I came to the bottom, I laughed out loud at what I found:

"Writer's block is like running into a blocked Platform 9 ¾. Like wandering into darkness. Like a strait jacket around the brain. Like a chalkboard eraser to the mind."

I could think of nothing related to the task at hand to write, so I wrote about the only thing I could think of: how I couldn't think of anything to write. I could publish volumes on that subject.

What amuses me most is not that I wrote that, but that I saved it. I usually erase things like that as soon as I type them. Maybe I subconsciously knew that a year later, on a quiet February evening, I would appreciate the laugh.

Getting linky with my blogging friends; or joining "The Saturday Evening Blog Post."

It's after midnight, but let's pretend it's still Saturday.

I was made aware of "The Saturday Evening Blog Post" today (it's still Saturday, remember?) thanks to my friend Jen. "The Saturday Evening Blog Post" is a first Saturday of the month feature on Elizabeth Esther's blog, where she invites bloggers to share their favorite post from their own blog from the month before.

I thought, and still think, that this is a great idea. Bloggers need places to share with each other. And who knows what goodness you may find out there from someone you don't know?

So I selected a post, this one to be exact, and cast my lot in with the 58 others who posted before me and the yet untold number to come after.

So go check out "The Saturday Evening Blog Post." I've read several of the linked posts so far, and there's some good stuff in there.

The end of me and what I know and what I found once getting there.

I attend and participate in a weekly Bible study with some very good friends. We - a bunch of kids fresh out of high school - started out under the umbrella of the church that we were all involved in at the time, but a lot has changed since then. Our group kept meeting faithfully (it's been...ah...six years...at least), but we don't all attend the same church like we used to. We're not even officially affiliated with that church anymore. Our meeting place has hopped all over the Boro. The faces have also changed over the years. Some people have come and gone, and they have always come and gone with our blessing. But our core is essentially the same, and the ever faithful Charlie Chase still guides our discussions and offers us wisdom we couldn't possibly have gained in our scant twenty-something years.

Before I go on to say more about the Bible study, I want to let the attention dwell on Charlie for a moment. Charlie is a man in his fifties, old enough to have been a father to each of us. As his two kids are a part of our group, he actually is a father to some of us, and he's kind-hearted enough to treat the rest of us like we are his own. Whenever we all get together, he remarks on how happy he is that his "kids" are all in one place. As eager as he is to be a father, he's not an overbearing one, which proves he's eager to be a good father. Everybody is always free to share what they have to say, and just because he's a fifty-something-year-old adult does not mean to him that a twenty-something-year-old adult has nothing to offer. Charlie respects. Charlie is also a man that does not let money define him. He spends his days installing phone lines and fiber optic cables, but if you ask him what he does for a living, he'll tell you he's a teacher. He's never made a dime teaching anyone anything, but that singular role is more important to him than all others, save those of husband and father. Often times college students (which is what we all were when we started out) end up leading themselves. I think this is a symptom of two things: 1) we're adults now, we think we can take care of ourselves, and in our want to assert our place in the world, that's what we do; and 2) we're adults now, so the older adults don't want to have to take care of us anymore. They wash their hands of responsibility. Just leave leave them to themselves, they think, they've been taught the basics, they'll find their way eventually; we don't need to help them anymore. We have a gift in Charlie Chase.

Turning attention back to the group, under the guidance of Charlie and the Holy Spirit, we study one book of the Bible at a time. Sometimes we make it through a chapter or two a week, other times we make it through five verses. However much it is that we study, the Bible is all we ever study. There are many people out there who do great work putting together Bible study materials for people to use, and I have used them to my benefit before, but never has a Bible study grown me as much as just reading the words on the page and talking to other people about what we know and what the Spirit has revealed to each of us. It's a life-giving practice.

Our time together this week granted me a particularly alive shot of life. We are currently making our way through the book of Joshua. This week, the Israelites took charge of the city of Jericho. To briefly recall the details of the occasion, Joshua is leading God's people. A messenger, often translated as the "commander of the army of the Lord," comes to Joshua and tells him that the city has been divinely granted to him and his people. They just have to follow a few instructions: have all the armed men walk around the walls of the city once a day for six days, walk around the city seven times on the seventh day, have the priests blow their trumpets during the seventh day's circling, then have the army give a shout while the priests give a long blast after the seventh time around. This was supposed to knock down the walls. And wonder of all wonders, it did. If that's not crazy enough, God's next instructions were for the armed men to storm inside the city and destroy everything, both living and non. The only things to be kept intact were those of silver, gold, bronze and iron, and they were to be given to the Lord, not kept by the individuals who found them. Other than the land, the people were gaining no spoils from this conquest.

This is what we humans call counter-intuitive. Marching, trumpeting and yelling will make a city crumble? Maybe if the city was made out of lincoln logs and stood about two feet high. And who destroys free stuff? We keep free stuff.  This mandate of destruction is even more nonsensical in light of the circumstances the Israelites were in before this. Once they gained freedom from their captor Egypt, because they made some poor decisions, they ended up wandering in the wilderness for 40 years. There wasn't a lot of food out there in that wasteland. Nor was there a thriving marketplace where goods were produced and exchanged. The clothes they had when they started were the only ones they would come to see for four decades, and while it was good that they supernaturally didn't rot and wear out, I'm sure their eyes were longing for something new.

After all those long years, always changing in that they didn't have a home, yet never changing in that they did the same thing, ate the same thing, looked at the same things every day, here came the promise of Jericho. A home, protection, food, material things to make their lives more comfortable. But they had to destroy it all. Why would God command something like this?

If I were them, a home with big sturdy walls would have made me feel safe. I would soon have come to rely on those walls as my only source of safety. If some ill-intentioned persons challenged their strength and they ever failed, my peace of mind would fail with them. Having all of that food right there in front of my face without having to wonder from where my next meals were going to come would also have been nice. And the less I wondered, the more settled I would have become, and the more settled I would have become, the less prepared I would have been for any moment when that food might have run out. New things, creature comforts, would have also been lovely. They make one feel comfortable, which is why they're called "creature comforts." I would have been content to let them fuel my comfort. Then one day, should I ever lose them, my comfort would disappear just as quickly as those things did.

The Israelites, as a people, lived in a culture of nonsense that lasted a lifetime. But maybe he led them around like nomads to help them learn that he would provide for all of their needs. Then once a whole city was granted to them, he first took away all temptation for the Israelites to look to their own abilities to help them succeed at life by having them do nothing more aggressive and challenging than walk around and make noise, and he then took away all temptation for them to look to the city as their ultimate source by having them destroy it. The fancy self-contained, self-sustaining city would have distracted them, and if you track their history through the old testament, Lord knows they didn't need any other excuses for distraction. They were good at finding them and fixating on them, even when God worked really hard to eliminate distractions to aid their focus. Maybe all of the wandering, and city-circling, and comfort-destroying wasn't such nonsense after all.

As we were talking about all of these things Wednesday night, and Charlie was gently, persistently leading us to draw these own conclusions for ourselves, I began to think, my life hasn't been nonsense for nearly as long, but in this latest stint it has been so for about seven months, which in my short, ambitious life is approximately six months and 29 days too long. But what if God is removing distractions? What if he's trying to help me to look beyond the success I can bring myself? Because I inevitably fail from time to time, and when success is all about me, my failure to bring it is depressing. What if he's eliminating the temptation for me to find comfort and security anywhere but in him? What if he's helping me realize that he is the ultimate source of all good things I could ever want, not a house that gives me shelter, or things that make me feel like I have some sort of claim in this world, or food that gives my body life, or relationships that boost my self-esteem, or a job description that proves to the world I'm doing something with my life.

My life may look like nonsense, but I think God's in it. Yes, God is in my life, and if he's in my life...friends, that is the most encouraging thing I could ever know.

I walked away from the hospital, our latest meeting place, Wednesday night with a little weight removed from the heavy burden I insist on carrying through my life -a burden God is slowing convincing me to release - and a rejoicing spirit.

Here's to nonsensical living!

Grocery shopping joy.

(Pre-script. Only someone like me would blog about the wisdom of the mind in the stories of Solomon and Harry Potter one week, then grocery shopping the next. Life is a many splendored thing.)

In a post last month, I shared with all you faithful readers what had been keeping my brain preoccupied since Christmas. I also told you that if my preoccupation ever amounted to anything, I would come back with an update.

Thus, here I am.

I went grocery shopping yesterday with a mission to find a bargain. I scoped out sales and matched coupons to those items to reduce the price even further. (I sound like such a mom.)

After visiting two stores, here are my stats.

Total spent = $38.47

Total saved (according to receipts) = $38.47

50%! I saved exactly 50%. And I didn't buy anything that the eating of which would make me regret my life.

I think that's pretty nifty. And not bad for somebody who's never attempted anything like this before.

Off I go now to prepare for my next challenge: drugstore shopping. My mission is to find my mother some supplements we have not been able to afford lately, but that she needs to be a happily healthy person again. I hope the return of that person is soon.