how to: care for everyone

How to: care for extroverts                                                   How to: care for introverts

Here's the deal, you guys:

It's never too late for anything.

My dad recently officiated this wedding.

This bride is a 72 year old gal who has never been married. She has taken care of her sister (who has Down's Syndrome) for her entire life, and was recently bound to a wheelchair because of a bone disease.
The groom is a 75 year old former Navy fighter pilot who nursed his late wife through years of heartbreaking cancer treatments before she died.
And now they are newlyweds. The bride's sister was the maid of honor. She got to wear a pink dress and a tiara. The groom wanted everyone in attendance (except my pops) to stay seated during the entire ceremony so that his bride had an ideal view of the whole scene as she wheeled down the aisle.
I just think this whole thing is darling.

Abednego; world's greatest dog

If there is anything cuter than my pup opening up his Christmas present, I need you to prove it to me.

Choose Joy

My dear friend Jensen gave me this for Christmas. It is a perfect gift.
In case you don't have your French-English pocket dictionary handy, it means "Choose Joy: because it's all relative."

I talk myself out of joy a lot. I believe a cynical whisper that says joy is far off and I have to work for it before I can have it. I get confused when I see joy in front of me and think it was supposed to look like something else. I think it's not for me, it must be meant for another person. I try not to touch it in case I'm not supposed to. I tell myself that I don't deserve joy. Not just yet. I think I even believe that if I choose joy, I'm just setting myself up for pain later on.

This is all not quite right. And believing this lie makes me not quite right.

I trust a man who said that He came for me so that my joy may be full, so this gift is a beautiful reminder that His joy is available to me whenever I choose to choose it.

You too. Choose joy.

you didn't know this turned into a photo blog did you?

I'm sorry. I'd love to write something delightful here, but I've got this monster term paper hanging over my head. The semester of hell is almost over. Have another picture. Later.

this is my dad

Nigeria, circa 1980

We're made of the same stuff

This cracks me up more than most things.

Happy Thanksgiving, friends

do you have any idea how delighted I am?

I get to hang out with this guy in Georgia over Thanksgiving break.
When he was 1 day old I got mad that I couldn't hold him, scooted angrily across mom's hospital bed, and kicked him in the head by accident with my black patent leather mary-janes.
He's okay now though.
Tonight he took me on a drive. We listened to terrible music and rode up and down hills. Hills! They don't have those in Kansas.
Do you know what else they don't have in Kansas? Dam stores. Not sure why.

a lot of sister memories for some reason

It's a late night at Miller Nichols library. There's an older gentleman here sitting by me who has been on his phone for 48 minutes now. He's complaining to a friend about some situation in the community. I know the main floor of this library is not labeled a "quiet zone", but come on now. Forty eight minutes of audible complaining? Who can stand it?

I must make sure I have a constant stream of music playing in my ears or I'll have a conniption. 

This song just played on my shuffle. 

Once, almost three years ago, I flew to Florida in the summer to visit my family. I was wearing this outfit:

I thought I looked cute. I thought I looked SO cute. My mom and sister pulled up outside of baggage claim and picked me up. I was so excited to see them, especially in my cute outfit. Those two arrived in a silly mood and spent exactly 4 seconds greeting me with hugs and the next 2 minutes exclaiming over how disjointed my outfit was. 

"The colors don't match! What is HAPPENING with that necklace? Since when do you have those bangs? Is this how they dress in Kansas City? Bethany, really, what's going on here?" 

I tried to explain myself for a little bit, but I got my feelings hurt pretty early and gave up. I told them I didn't want to hear another word of opinion about my outfit and plugged my pink iPod mini into the car stereo, picked this song, and turned the volume up. 

There was awkward silence for 58 seconds. 

Then Deb Talan sang "I don't give a damn. I'm happy as a clam. Nobody knows me at all".

And then the three of us just died laughing in that car. We laughed so hard we cried. 

The air smelled like ocean and we wiped away salty tears from our faces and flew down a sunny interstate lined with palm trees. 

the chicken or the egg, if you will

"The great question in the history of healthcare is still whether women defined caregiving, or caregiving defined women."
-Linda Wright

just another post on my medical terminology class

But seriously. This word is ridiculous.
I love it.

does this make my bag look big?

Be honest.

schmesolution.

One of my new year's resolutions was to be a little more put-together. You know. Wear make-up. Fix my hair. Something.

Well, I'm not sorry to report that it's November and I am sitting in the library wearing hand-me-down jeans, an ancient hoodie (I'm talking middle school, people), and no makeup. To be completely transparent, I didn't shower today. Even contacts were too much for me to deal with and so I'm wearing my glasses.

It's just the way I am. Is this wrong? I refuse to believe it should be my lot in life to spend precious minutes matching colors and painting on powders and blotting lipstick. I don't know. I could be wrong. This is why I left the south. 

My sister came to visit last January. She and Dad drove 12 hours through a snow storm to get to Kansas City. I knew they would be exhausted and stressed when they arrived. As soon as they piled in the door, I greeted them with hugs and offered food, a hot drink, my warm bed, the bathroom, whatever they needed to rest from their long and arduous journey. My sweet sister looked at me with sparkling blue eyes framed with eye-liner and mascara and asked: "Do you have any hair-spray?" 

I blinked at her a couple of times, then turned silently and walked down the hall where I rummaged deep into the contents of my bathroom closet until I came up with a can of old, cheap hairspray. I handed it to her and watched as she stood in front of my mirror and liberally sprayed the liquid glue all over her head, shaking her blonde curls like Farrah Fawcett in a summer breeze. There was a look of tranquility on her face. When she was done, she turned to me and said; "It just doesn't feel right without hair-spray". 

Someone tell me how we're related.

here goes nothing

This weekend, I got to attend the 16th Annual Midwest Child Life Conference. It was my first experience at a Child Life event with Child Life people in a Child Life setting. As I was getting ready for the first morning's session, I felt a little bit like I was headed into the first day at a new school. Luckily, I've done that a few other times in my life (9, actually), so I adopted the old familiar "fake it till you make it" attitude.
I would just like to say that after two days of hearing from and being around Child Life Specialists, I have come to the conclusion that this field is full of incredibly intelligent, beautiful, compassionate, and strong women. Yes, women. The only man I saw all weekend was the tech support fellow who had to run all over the hospital getting microphones and projectors to work for us. This job is to women as fire fighting is to men.
I am both terrified and delighted at all this is going to require of me. I'm going to have to explore the tragic depths of what it means to nurture and support a child through traumatic circumstances. My daily task list could involve anything from distracting a child during a spinal tap, to facilitating a play group for kids receiving chemo, to helping parents explain to their child what their diagnoses means, to holding babies in the NICU when parents have to leave to go to work.
I've had more than one moment already where I've stopped to ask myself just who I think I am to think I could possibly handle this responsibility. I'm not sure. I don't even know if I'll get through to the end of the process. I still have to complete a practicum, then an internship, and then a certification exam before even looking for a job. But I'm excited see what happens and how I learn and grow throughout the process.
Here goes nothing.

this muscle is genius

I just learned the basics of the human cardio-pulmonary system, and that information has me in awe that I am alive.
For every minute of the last 24 years, my heart has worked constantly to pump oxygen-needy blood to my lungs, then bring it back--bright red and full of life--and send it all the way to the very tips of my fingers and toes. Then it starts the cycle all over again.
This muscle is genius.
My choice and consciousness have nothing to do with the process. It just happens, and it has just been happening absolutely perfectly since before I was born. Thank you, dear heart. You're doing a great job. At beating.

One time I put on my mom's stethoscope and listened to my own heart. It was jarring; that unfamiliar, quick, regular little drum I got to hear. My vitality in a sound I could plug into my ears, like a song on my ipod or something.
Hearing someone else's heart is a trip, too. It's an intimate thing. Only the privileged get listening access to that sacred rhythm. My friend Laura is a nurse, and she had a patient whose wife grew worried when she leaned her head against her husband's chest and noticed that his heart beat sounded didn't sound the same as it usually did. He went to the hospital and found out that he needed an immediate quadruple bi-pass surgery.
I love that story.

Reactions to "Runaway" video by Kanye West

Watch the full length video here.

Okay Kanye, here's what I think:

Your new video is a stunning work of art, no doubt about it. What you've done in "Runaway" is going to be important for a long time. I'm pretty sure my kids will be writing history papers on the social commentary you have going on here.

I just have a few questions and comments:

• Your phoenix girlfriend is very pretty, but what's up with the extreme sexual objectification of the woman you love? Thanks for letting her express herself with spoken language for 48 seconds of your 35 minute video, but I feel like she's really just present in this film to dance provocatively to your remixes and celebrate your appreciation for breast implants. Also: that little bit you sang about slapping her around pissed me off.
• Please just tell me what you're saying about race relations in this film. I'm seeing glorification of the Ku Klux Klan and the N-word and I just don't understand. Is this progress?
• Thanks for the ballet scene. It was incredible. I appreciate the honesty in the lyrics of "Runaway". That's some tough subject matter, but it's relevant to your target audience.
• About that Michael Jackson moment: you're saying you're the next MJ. Am I right?
• Your idea of community with all the friends at the long table breaking bread together was beautiful. I loved it. Now, your lyrics to "Devil in a New Dress" are rumored to be offensive to Christians: "You love Jesus, but you've learned a lot from Satan...I see good Christians makin' brash decisions...May the Lord forgive us, May God be with us." As a Christian myself, I'm not offended by your criticism of hypocrisy. I would be offended if you criticised my God, but you didn't. So we're cool.

I know you're always feeling misunderstood by the world, and this video is an expression of that. You're the phoenix who is awesome and complex and constantly needing to reinvent herself. I get it.

Mr. West, you're such an incredible influence on young people in the world. I know you care about the next generation or you wouldn't have had that scene where the free spirit child is running with that gorgeous red cloud behind him. But here's what I think: kids actually don't have to trade their free spirits for cult driven hate costumes like you portrayed by putting a KKK hat on little kid's head. The influence of your media makes a huge difference in how kids see themselves and who they grow up to be, so why use your talents to lock them into a prison they didn't know existed in the first place? You know? Leave the bad stuff for the history books and write something new and inspiring for the kiddies.

no bad news

Friends, I have something exciting to tell you.
Remember how I had an idea of a new career I wanted to pursue a few months ago? I'm doing it. It will take me another year to learn what I need to know and complete requirements for it, but I am on my way to becoming a Child Life Specialist.
I had this job once for about 5 years where I got to work with young people, and I loved it very much. I would like to do it again. There's no kid in the world who isn't going through major transition--all the time--and the best parents and teachers need help from others to pour time and attention into them so they can make it to adulthood in one piece. I want to do that for kids who are sick. So I am going to.
I found out this weekend that I got accepted into a practicum program at one of the finest children's hospitals in the country. It starts next Spring and it is right here where I live.
Now, that's no bad news.

community college

sunday is for singing

no power of hell

no scheme of man

can ever pluck me from his hand

till he returns or calls me home

here in the power of Christ I'll stand

Some bedrock parts of my faith are hymns I can only recall in my grandmother's voice.

bethany vs. fat stack of medical terms

Place your bets.

Hey Sis;

Don't forget. We're going.  If you can get time off of reporting on crazy stuff.
I'm thinking August? Otherwise it might not be hot enough/smell bad enough for an authentic experience.

I can already taste the pains au chocolat and hear the awful French version of my name being spoken. So excited.

How great is my day?

This is what happens when I take a vacation day: homemade macaroons for breakfast.

Review of Aaron Hale's new EP "Ghostly"

Here's something new: my friend Aaron Hale is about to release a new EP and I think you should know about it.

After spending the summer leading worship at various events throughout the southeast, Aaron Hale is ready to settle into fall with the release of a new EP. Although the title may sound appropriate for late October, the theme gives a fresh perspective on what it means to be Ghostly.

The first track majors on ethereal purity and the weightlessness available through forgiveness. "Ghostly" lands in the ear as a pleasant and original tune. The end of this song has a slow swell into repetition of the line "there is hope for me". This message is an inspiring, fuss-less theme that encourages the listener beyond the circumstance of heavy brokenness. "Ghostly" has a deeper personal meaning with every listen.

The second track, "Got a Lot to Give" may have been written as a personal anthem for Aaron and his wife Heather (who are in the process of adopting a little boy named Arthur from Ethiopia), but the message is applicable to anyone who wishes to emulate the teachings of Jesus into their lives in order to love those around them in a truer, more self-less way. Aaron captures the struggle to do this. This song communicates the feeling of having much to offer while simultaneously facing the complicated red tape of not knowing "the right way" and not "having the words" to bring about the desired change in one's self and surroundings.

"Wake Within Me" was co-written with Robbie Seay. This talent combination results in lyrics made of alluring poetry about finally reaching light, warmth, and a familiar love after traveling through darkness and despondency. Aaron's voice is the strongest instrument here, set against gentle guitar and keys. This song is simultaneously delicate, beautiful and strong. Aaron's limited patience for over-production serves this song incredibly well. It stands on its own as a lovely conclusion to the EP.

Please visit Aaron's website for more information on his ever-promising music career, adoption story, and of course to purchase your copy of the new "Ghostly" EP as soon as it it released on October 12th!

the best

One year ago today my friend Nanette, the closest mother lady I have out here, was diagnosed with breast cancer. We spent the fall squeezing hands and deciding to smile, then we all got together to pray for her to be healed. I will never forget hearing her husband, Woot (who had lost his sister only weeks before) tell the Lord out loud in front of everyone that he loved her and begged Him not to take her away just yet.
Nanette had me over for tea some time around then and we sat on her back patio and asked each other what we thought about how God does and doesn't heal people when we ask him to, and how He is still good regardless.
Then came surgery, then all the radiation, and then the Winter.
Woot let her sleep in late every morning and brought her breakfast in bed while her stitches healed and the snow fell.
In February Nanette had a birthday and we celebrated with her as she found out there was no cancer left in her body. We sang lots of songs about strong love that day.
And tonight, one year after it all began, Nanette and I ate salads on the Plaza like ladies do and talked about everything in the world but cancer.
How about that?

This happened.

We just died when we saw each other. I love co-workers. Especially this one.

these two

Denis: "So, what did you study in college?"
Jensen: "I majored in English and minored in Women's Studies."
Denis: "Gosh, I wish I could have studied Men's Studies or something like that."
Jensen: "That's what they call 'History'."

What's a post-modern Ethicist to do?

"The disturbingly post-modern implication is that there really is no particular core knowledge or central discipline that constitutes ethical expertise. There is no ultimate answer, no final authority to whom we might turn. Somehow, the answers, if there were any, would come from a discussion that incorporated philosophy, theology, law, medicine, sociology, and common sense in a strange and new amalgam. The ethicist might mix a little Kant, Mill, and Rawls, a little Anglo-American case law, some Christian, Muslim, and Jewish moral theology, a little quantitative sociology, a little ethnography, the results from a public-opinion poll, a little clinical experience, and some self-reflection. This solution, while often practically useful, is theoretically unsatisfying."
John D. Lantos, M.D.

these swirling days

A pastor in florida is acting like a real jerk and the strip clubs in Missouri are shutting down. Fall is blowing in and I have two new friends. I study all the time and I like it. The parents celebrated 28 years of marriage on the same day that we remember the attacks on the world trade center. It's a shame that their anniversary has a sad brush stroke painted over it by the world. I keep getting the chance to go to shows and listen to good music played by delightful friends and this puts me in a perpetually good mood.  We hired on a temporary staff to help with fundraising at work, and I'm suddenly the closing manager again. How did that happen? And why do I love answering their questions and making sure they're well trained and confident in doing their jobs and that the building is securely locked at the end of the night and all of their cars start successfully before I drive off? I get this inner satisfaction.

Undergrads are so cute. Yesterday at UMKC I got stuck walking behind two girls sharing an umbrella wearing their rain-jackets with their jeans tucked into their rain-boots with their backpacks loaded down with books and they were the cutest little ladies I've ever seen. Even if I only saw the backs of their heads.

You guys...

I have to read this book for school.

Pediatric biomedical ethics with an emphasis in palliative care and decision making = sad times. 

Cat-sitting, day 8

Cari went to Italy. I went to Cari's apartment to take care of Henry.
He's pretty curious.

hello world

The weather has turned here in Kansas City. It's cool enough to sit outside the Roasterie on a Saturday evening and study medical terms.

Cool pertaining to the temperature, not my level of social aptitude.

Alex and Ashley got married today. If I had enough money for a plane ticket to Virginia and time off school and work, I would be there. Instead, I sent my well wishes via text message to Ashley, who responded hours later:

Ashley: "I am officially Mrs. Alex Ruhl now!!"

Me: "I love that!"

Ashley: "We're on our way to the hotel. Ooh la la."

Me: "Aw yeah."

I was pretty sure the conversation was over, but then my phone lit up immediately with a new text message and I read the visible excerpt on the outer screen:

"HEY! You should come over after studying."

Which was so weird. I mean, their hotel is in Virginia. I flipped open my phone for further investigation.

It was from Shannon.

10 things I would tell to my 17-year-old self:

1. Don’t stress too much about deciding which college to go to. You’ll end up going to 3 different ones anyway and your best friendships won’t come out of class.
2. Don’t get such an attitude with Mom and Dad about them trying to keep you out of debt. Graduating without loans is the best thing ever.
3. Try to stop working so much.
4. A series of really hard circumstances are about to start coming at you fast, and they’re going to hurt. It’s not because you’re being punished. It’s just the way life is, and it gets better.
5. If you could see what God is trying to work and build into you right now, you wouldn’t be fighting Him so hard about it.
6. Don’t wait until 18 to get the swoopy side-bangs. Get them now.
7. Who cares if you’re driving a 1989 maroon Buick Century with paint peeling off the front bumper. You have a car. And it’s really comfy.
8. Spend as much time as possible with your little brother and be really good to him. You won’t get to be in his life after next year.
9. Stop worrying. Just stop.
10. Hit highway 41 going north until you get to Proctor Rd. Turn right, and keep going until you find Sarasota Baptist Church on the left. Go on a Sunday morning and find the 11th grade Sunday school room. There’s a girl named Michelle in there who is a riot and she actually understands what your life is like because her dad is a pastor and she moved around a lot too. Meeting her and her friends is going to make your senior year. Don’t be shy. They’re going to think you’re really cool even if you don’t think you are.

[I stole this idea from Jeff and Sara. You do it too]

all that complaining we've been doing about the weather finally paid off today

You know when you're wearing a yellow dress, white cardigan, and grey flats and you run into another girl at the coffee shop wearing a yellow dress, white cardigan, and grey flats?

It's awkward.

I got a road-trip. You get a video.

3 Girls in a Rental from bethany boatwright on Vimeo.

Hi. I'm in Boulder.

Kansas City was too hot. One hundred and eight degrees, actually, which is far too many.

I climbed a mountain with my friends this morning. This makes a person feel like they've done something worthwhile.

I got a new book

My computer died.

I tried standing on my pride.

Then gave up

Called my parents

And cried.

They said they would love to help me if I would let them.

So long pride.

Hello to this new babygirl:

music by Animal Collective

davidramirezmusic.com

On Monday night at the Record Bar, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of David Ramirez and listening to a few of his songs.

He walked onto the dimly lit stage alone after a lighthearted sweetheart finished her opening act. The crowd was undeniably small even after it doubled when he started singing. I could tell that he didn't trust us, and I later understood why.

David didn't have any other musicians around him to joke with between songs. He didn't have any other instruments to cover him if he made a mistake. No back-up singers if his voice cracked. He had one friend in the crowd, I think. No one bought any of his merchandise before he went on, maybe they did after. The strangers who paid money to get in were chatting amongst themselves before his set and they didn't necessarily stop when he started playing.

He sang songs about pain and loneliness and love and enemies like time that you can't control or even spite. He has this one song about his parents' love that I really like. He has another about the sick feeling of satisfaction you sometimes get when you hurt someone else. Crushed hopes and failed expectations are laced in with some of his love songs.

I am continually impressed with artists (and anyone, for that matter) who can be honest in risky situations. I know those songs are incredibly expensive to David, and he presented them to viewers who could have been indifferent about his work. I thought that was very brave.

David Ramirez - Shoeboxes // LIVE from Brandon Tauszik™ on Vimeo.

Cheers

Last Saturday, I went to a wedding. This Saturday, I'm going to a wedding. My friends keep falling in love and throwing parties over it. I'm so glad Jewel and Greg are married. They really, really wanted to be married to each other. And Dan is my good brother. He fell hard for Kandace (read: hot nurse), which is turning out just dandy.

My buddy Tom and I propose a toast to all you marrieds for giving us reasons to dance.

Photo cred: Amy G. Who else?

This just decided:

Sister trip to France is happening next summer.
Megan and I are going to save our dollars and go back to to where we grew up for a couple of weeks. My french is sleeping in my brain and I will wake it up and give it a work out. Our parents have friends there who will bend over backwards to come get us from the airport and let us stay with them. They will make us our favorite meals and stay up talking at the dinner table until early in the morning. We will probably meet up with our childhood playmates and try to connect on our grown up lives across different cultures and it very well might fail, but the attempt will mean a lot. Babies that I knew are teenagers now. We'll go to Paris for a couple of days and I'll tour the Louvre with genuine interest instead of loathing boredom. My 6 year old self had a low tolerance for the greatest works of art that humanity has to offer. We'll pay in Euros, not Francs, to visit the Eiffel tower, and we'll take the stairs. I really want to take the stairs. We did it that one time and counted to 1300 and something. The slowly elevating view of the city is worth it.

I really should go to that concrete schoolyard with the orange bars and teachers who hit and scream and see how small it looks now that I'm 16 inches taller.

We might do that thing where we speak English to each other because it's more convenient until someone else on the metro makes a snide comment about Americans. Then we'll address them about it in perfect French. That's always fun.

We'll probably bicker. We're good at that. We'll probably laugh ourselves to stomach cramps too. If we go late enough, we can jump the hay bales at the end of our old street. Watch out for stingweed.

I am thoroughly pre-matriculated

I just spent 30 minutes on the phone with UMKC. I am re-admitted for the fall semester, but the website won't let me sign up for the classes I want. I started with the admissions office, then got transferred to registrar's office, then back to admissions, then to another person within admissions, then back to registration only to find out that my student admission status is in"pre-matriculation". Hearing that word was the best part of the whole experience, because I didn't know what it meant. I love learning new words. I quickly hung up the phone and googled pre-matriculation. It turns out it's just a fancy word for "limbo" or "in process". It's going to happen but hasn't happened yet.

{insert wallowing soliloquy about how this is an accurate word to describe my whole life, with a well rounded conclusion on the benefits of being present and engaged in every season}

The end.

Here's a picture that makes me happy to be in Kansas City. I love that star.

"Sometimes it bums me out that I'll never get to see my own guts."

That's what he said. John Mayer. On twitter.

Well guys, I kind of did. A little bit. In my kitchen on a Sunday. If you don't think that blood and guts is cool, just stop reading.

The standard dilemma in avocado consumption is how to get the pit out without wasting any of the wonderfully rich green goodness. My answer to said standard dilemma is to use a sharp little knife for the stab, twist, and flick method. This time, I stabbed a little too hard and the tip of the knife glazed over the pit and straight into my hand. It hurt. I gasped, dropped the avocado, and prepared myself to see much blood spurting out of my wound.

But instead, a soft pillow of white fluffy stuff popped out. I was so confused. When I looked closer, I realized that it was fat. Fat was bulging out of the palm of my hand. I laughed. I actually had to maneuver my skin around to get the stuff back into the cut before bandaging it. It barely bled at all.

Isn't that weird?

(in)cohesive

• It's Saturday. I slept late and ate cookies and watermelon for breakfast.
• I think I saw an accurate picture of motherhood here at the coffeehouse about an hour ago. A beautiful woman sat down with her beautiful daughter, who giggled all the way through her cupcake and pink Jones soda. She told her mommy that she loved her and they laughed together. Then when it was time to leave, the little girl let loose with other-wordly screams that reverberated off the concrete floor and walls and made everyone in the establishment either turn their eyes to the poor mother or try very hard to refrain from doing so for the sake of her dignity. The beautiful woman calmly gathered her shrieking child and the various purses and diaper bags they required and walked out of the shop without steeling herself or lashing out at her daughter. I was impressed.
• I am signing up for a medical terminology class in the fall. Awesome or terrible? What do you think?
• It has come to my attention that I spend about 71% of my day comparing myself to other people, and the rest of the time sleeping. This is a problem because it makes me a very self-centered and insecure person. When I figure out how to stop, I'll let you know.
• This is the question I have right now:
  
• I'll figure it out eventually.
• I'm not going home tonight without a new set of sheets to sleep on.

Alex & Ashley: engaged

I met Alex about four years ago when he started working at the Chick-fil-A I was managing. We were both 19 years old. We became fast friends and he never ceased to amuse me, or anyone else around us with his ridiculous humor and terrible but heartfelt love songs that he would sing--constantly--while breading chicken. We had several classes together at UMKC and he would irritate me to no end by making better grades on tests than me when I never missed a class and he failed to show over half the time.
Alex is one of the kindest people I have ever met.
My favorite memory of him is a toss up between the time he took a high school co-worker to prom after her boyfriend bailed on her, and the time he arrived at work with a variety of allergy medecines for me as I suffered through my first allergen-laden mid-west Spring. He's a winner.

Well, Alex met Ashley last year and he was perfectly smitten. I was smitten when I met her too, actually. This girl has a smile that takes over her face and any room she happens to be in, and she loves to have fun almost as much as Alex does. They're perfect for each other.

Last Sunday, Ashley asked me to take some pictures of her and Alex, which worked out pretty well because Alex had already asked me to help him propose to Ashley that same day. Pulling off this proposal was a little complicated because--ever the showman--Alex wanted to make sure it was perfect and included live music (courtesy of his talented roommate) and a balloon drop. Also, it had to happen outside--with an 85% chance of thunderstorms--at sunset. Luckily, Alex asked all the right people and he asked us nicely.

The proposal went off without a hitch, and afterwards we all toasted champagne and ate pizza. It was so fun to be part of their special day and capture the memories.
Here's the story:

Porn kills

"After all, a series of news reports have highlighted, in scandalous detail, how some financial regulators earning six-figure salaries were watching porn at work as Wall Street imploded. So, as it turns out, did employees of the National Science Foundation and the Interior Department--including those were were supposed to be inspecting oil platforms in the Gulf of Mexico."

Declan McCullagh, House Votes to Block Net Porn on Government PC's

a handsome brother, a wedding kiss, and an elderly engagement

Hello to all. It's a friday night, and I'm at my local Americano-maker. I'm averaging about two a day this week. I wonder if the inside of my stomach is stained black yet. I'm not sure why I thought of that just now. Gross.
I had a great time in Florida over the weekend. True, it rained every day I was there, but no matter. I've been to the beach before, and I'll be there again. There were a few highlights. I'm sure you're dying to know what they are.

• Ben Boatwright. I got some quality hang out time with the brother. Whenever I fly home, he's my resident chauffeur. I just tell him where I want to go, smile sweetly at his eye roll, tell him how much I love him, and buy him food at a local drive-thru to keep him inspired to keep driving me around. I really miss this guy when I'm in Kansas City. Every time I see him, he gets more handsome. I mean, look at him! All you high school girls out there: he's 5'8, 200 lbs, and taking numbers. But you better be classy. I mean it.

• I got to attend my dear old friend Joyia's wedding. Joyia and I worked at Chick-fil-A together for forever, forever ago. The last time I got coffee with her was about this time last year, and she was all "I just started dating this guy and he's nice and all but I'm really not sure and I think I want to move to Alabama and I just don't know..." Next thing I know, she's madly in love with a diamond on her finger, planning a beautiful wedding. Props to the groom for executing one of the best wedding kiss dips I've seen. He went even lower than depicted here. Great form. Well done.
  

• Right after the wedding, I ran home because my parents were hosting a 4th of July party at our house. This shindig started small and quickly ballooned to a guestlist that may have exceeded 60 people from my parent's church. I walked into our house and immediately wanted to crawl into my introvert hermit shell and hide there for the remainder of the evening. I didn't know any of these people! And they all knew me! I panicked. I felt like a pastor's kid again for the first time in 5 years. I didn't know what to do. I searched for Mom, she was laughing with her friends. I searched for Dad, he was laughing with his friends. I searched for brother, he was manning the grill. Then I decided to chill out and get to know these nice people. Halfway through the evening, Dad made everyone be quiet because he said someone had an announcement to make. Then old Bobby Lee declared his love for Marilynn, and asked her to be his wife. Right there in the kitchen! It was so cute. Just look at these snow-bird-love-birds. Precious.

Well, that's all. I think I'll go get a life now. Cheers.

"Independence and self-sufficiency really just doesn't cut it if we're going to talk about biblical humility"

--my dad, preachin'.

Yesterday fouled

But that doesn't matter today because I am flying to Florida in 5 hours to be with my family for the 4th of July weekend, and I spent my bad day's evening doing this:

photo credit: Amy freaking Guerreri

Proof that sometimes I am amused by feline affection...but mostly just that I really love Amy and she really loves her Sam. Plus she gave me wine. And he kissed me first.

Later, Kansas City. I'll be back Monday night.

there's blood in the water

Not much to report on today, buddies

So here's a video of me getting my nose pierced. Enjoy.

sometimes Christians are stupid

"We tend to like our Christianity weird. The weirder the better. May I suggest that there is enough weird stuff in the bible to keep us going for a very long time? Don't go looking for anything more...Sometimes Christians are stupid."
--Mike Pilavachi

show us how you really feel

This is a blog about my deep appreciation for male displays of affection and emotion, and it all starts here:

My talented friend Amy took this photo of our friends Ryan Cork (sound engineer extraordinaire, dedicated husband to Claire) and Noffy (lead singer of The Sailor Sequence, dedicated boyfriend to Lisa). When I first saw this picture, I was simultaneously chatting with Cari, who was telling me about a scene she saw on a reality show (read: the Bachelorette) where a father called his son "my love".
"That's the sweetest thing in the world", Cari said, "I love confident men."
I could not agree more.

I hate the social pressure imposed on guys to not be able to show emotion about as much as I hate the social pressure imposed on girls to be as thin as possible. Those two characteristics are simply not the essence of masculinity and femininity: girls have curves, and boys have feelings.

I grew up with a father whose heart is so soft toward the Lord that he can barely pray to bless the meal without crying, and he DEFINITELY can't pronounce his love for me or anyone else in my family without coming close to real weeping. Do you have any idea how deeply that affirmed me and my other family relationships growing up? I love it! There's nothing wrong with it!

So to any guys reading this, for whatever it's worth: show us how you really feel. It's fine.

Just go ahead and die laughing

He is Nathan Johnson.

unaccompanied error

When I was 11 years old, my parents put me on a plane with my 13 year-old sister and 6 year-old brother bound for the United States. We were in the process of moving from France to Holland and my folks decided it would be easier for everyone if they sent us to our grandparents to play with our cousins in the summer sun while they stayed behind and packed up our old house and moved everything to the new house, and then joined us when the big job was done. Effective thinking, for sure, but it required us 3 to buck up and make the long trip without them, left under the care of the airline officials. We had to wear these big pouches of paperwork around our necks with U.M. in huge letters on the front to declare to the world that we were unaccompanied minors. It wasn't so bad, really. We got to ride on the cart with the old people through the terminal. We got to spend our layover in a big playroom with tons of toys.
When said layover ended, a flight attended dropped us off right between two gates and told us to have a nice trip. Megan and I looked at each other and slowly guided our little brother into one of the lines, unsure if we had picked the right one. The gate attendant quickly took our boarding passes, ripped off his portion, handed us back the stub, and we boarded the plane. Shortly after take-off, a highly pixelated screen showed our little airplane leaving a diagram of France and headed toward a target in the United States labeled "Memphis"...we were supposed to be going to Atlanta.
Megan and I started whispering frantically to each other that we must be on the wrong plane. As scared as we were of this happening, we were too shy to ask the attendants such a silly question. So we bribed our baby brother with candy to confidently proclaim that he was wondering if this plane was going to Atlanta or not. The attendants laughed, the nearby passengers smiled at the quizzitive little boy, and Megan and I chided our little Benji for even asking. Of course we were on the right plane.
It's been a family joke for years, but today I feel vindicated: because a destination-sized mistake really could have happened. It happened to these kids. Way to go, Delta. You needed some good PR.

the woes of wednesday

Kaytlyn: "What day is today?"
Amy: "Wednesday."
Kaytlyn: "It's ALWAYS Wednesday!"

Blakely: "Happy Tuesday. It is Tuesday, right?"
Me: "Was that a joke?"
Blakely: "Nope. Not a joke. Who am I? Where am I? Is this gonna be forever?"

WHAT'S IT GONNA TAKE, GUYS?!?!

At work, I sit in front of a big window. An aquarium window. I’m the fish. As grateful as I am for this opportunity to watch the weather, there is a major downside to this seating arrangement that breaks my little heart at least once every other day.
The kamikaze birds.
On a typical day, I will be sitting at my desk, working on my computer, stopping every so often to look upon the outside world and smile, then go back to my computer screen and check on accounts and write emails and answer the phone and WHACK!!! I look up just in time to see a fresh smudge against the aquarium glass and a lifeless bird fall from the window into the landscaping on the front lawn. Then my heart sinks and I jump up and run over to the window, look down, and see a gasping bird with its neck bent at an unnatural angle, wings spread wide against the dirt, eyes darting back and forth for about 5 minutes, until it slowly dies.
It just kills me. I know it’s because of the dark window tint that the birds see a reflection of the sky and trees, but what can I do about it? I’ve tried closing the blinds, thinking that might cut the glare, but then I sit in darkness and hear the thud, which is even creepier.
It’s just that birds are so trendy right now. They symbolize freedom. They can fly as high as they want, anywhere they want, so why do they keep flying into my aquarium window? Lord, make it stop!
I don’t want to have to watch them die anymore. I don’t want to scoop their little carcasses off the walkway on my way in to work every morning. I don’t want to notice the absence of said carcass the next day, and know for sure that some evil cat has come along and devoured the pour little thing.
On the bright side, not every bird dies. I can generally tell by the loudness of the sound it made upon impact coupled with my rough estimation on body size whether or not it will survive. Some birds are just stunned for a good ten minutes and lay on the ground regaining their composure before standing, and then flying away. Some birds make it out alive, but will never fly again. So tragic. My life.

For another story by another Boatwright on saving birds, go here. She's cooler than me.

that whole home thing

If you've known me well at all in the past 4 years, you've witnessed my constant argument with this word and what it means. I've gone nine rounds with "home", and I'm no closer to walking into my current front door and throwing my keys on a little table in the hall under a framed cross-stitch reading "Home Sweet Home" and feeling at peace with the phrase.
What is a home? Does everyone have one? Do I have one? Do I need one? Why do I want one so badly? How do I make one? Is 'home' some sorry human excuse for what only heaven can satisfy? Is it a place? Is it a feeling? What the crap!

The only idea that quiets me down when I'm clawing for answers is thinking about heaven, and singing this song.



"I realized then that home is not some familiar place you can always return to, it is the rightness you feel, wherever you are, when you know that you are loved."
--Maria Housden

that's pretty good for a first memory, right? 18 months?

I recently broke my own record for earliest memory. For the longest time, my earliest memory was of sitting on my new white steel-framed bed, watching my mother stencil paint a scene from Little Bo Peep, including her un-lost sheep. I was two years old at the time and had just graduated from the crib. I slept in that white steel framed bed until I was 11.

My record-breaking memory came back to me a few weeks ago when my mom and I were visiting Children's Mercy Hospital. If you ever think it will be a small thing to visit a pediatric hospital like I did--be forewarned. It takes guts to sit your grown up able-bodied self on a bench in the lobby of such a place and watch suffering children come and go with smiles on their faces and laughs in their bellies. I needed to get my bearings for about 3o minutes before I could keep going on the tour of the facility.
Suddenly I remembered being strapped to a bed in hysterics with orange walls all around me and big big people leaning over me. I turned to my mom and asked what that was all about. She looked at my incredulously and recounted that when I was 18 months old, I had a terrible ear infection that spiked a dangerously high fever. My grad school dad and typist mother took me to the hospital where the mean doctors put an IV first in my hand and then, after I pulled that one out, in my head. I was so terrified and agitated that they had to tie down my arms and legs to the crib for the second IV attempt and Mom couldn't handle watching the awful scene so she stepped out in the hall and cried until it was over.
It was somehow easier to stand back up and walk through that place after realizing that I'd a similar experience to some of those kids, but then lived for 21 years without remembering the incident.

If this picture proves anything...

...it is that I am going to age very, very well.

Thanks for the genes, Mom. You're the best.

a little nonsense

I have one of those battery-powered Colgate Pulsar electric toothbrushes.
It's the best.
Lately the brush has been acting up, I'm sure the battery is slowly dying or something.
On two different mornings this week, I have rinsed off the brush, loaded it with toothpaste, set it against my two front teeth, switched on the power button only to find nothing happens, and thought to myself "Crap. Now I can't brush my teeth."

...until I remember that MY ARM STILL WORKS.

Just had to tell someone.

I like my school! I like my sister! I like my hair! I like my hair-cuts!

It has come to my attention recently that I am incredibly bored.
Back in December I wanted nothing more than to be done with school so I could simply go to work and come home and go grocery shopping and do laundry and play with my friends on the weekends. As it turns out, I'm bored to tears. No really. The desk life is not all it's cracked up to be, ladies and gents. As much as everyone tells me I'm so Pam, I cannot only do what she does and then go for a run after work to be satisfied with my life.
I thought I loved school because it was the alternative to going to work. It turns out I just love school in general and I DESPISE not learning. Hate it. So I'm taking a class this summer, because I'm really interested in doing this kind of thing.

In other news, Danielle Lorraine graduated from high school last weekend! I just really really love this girl, and I'm so proud of her. She continually astounds me with her strength, hilarity, and concern for others in every situation. She is the complete embodiment of 2nd Corinthians 4:8-9 and I can't wait to see what God is preparing her for in the future. It's going to be big.

Oh, and I graduated too. Did I tell you? It was the biggest nuisance, that whole ceremony, but my Mom got a kick out of it and I got a visit with her out of it, so you know.

Last picture for today: my cousin Katie delivered her sweet baby girl Jadyn Elise this morning! Say a prayer for this little half-pint, she could have used about 9 more weeks in her momma's belly, but she must be the daughter of a Marine or something because she's doing really well and even breathing on her own.

I know I'm just a cousin to this baby beauty, but I've decided that I would rather be her aunt. That's a lot more fun. Jordan and Katie, take note. Just slide me over on her family tree. I have got to get down to Mississippi to kiss her little baby toes sometime soon.

worry no more part deux

Update: it's not going very well. However, I am going to start doing this every morning and I expect to see improvement in 4-6 weeks.

See more funny videos and TBT Videos at Today's Big Thing.

worry no more

I have decided that I do not want to be an anxious person any more, ever again.

When I was a small child, my dad sat me down on the coffee table opposite from him on the couch, looked me gravely in the eye and explained exactly what an ulcer was and how I was too young to have one. I also remember my mother telling me that I could "what if" myself to death if I really wanted to. I went to school that same day and literally made myself sick because I was so afraid of my teacher. I'll spare you the details. It involved vomit in a classroom.

I am very talented at talking myself into needless despair, convincing myself that I am somehow inferior and undeserving of every good and perfect gift everyone else should have.

One night Amy was all worked up over something or other and I said "Jesus says not to worry". She looked up at me with bright clear eyes and said I was right. I really don't think she has worried about anything since. The next week she spoke my words right back to me in a fitting situation, and I really didn't appreciate her input. Not when I was so set on worrying.

I hate seeing people I love full of angst. There's no need for that. Their light and momentary troubles are no match for the glory that's holding them.

I have just got to figure out a way of making myself believe what I tell my friends; that tomorrow can worry about itself, and that if God cares enough about the birds to make sure they have enough crumbs to make it through the day, He's got me covered too.

I'll let you know how it goes.

here's to you

Tuesday night was splendid, but Wednesday morning was less than inspiring. It mainly consisted of spilling coffee on my white skirt, grumpy drivers who wouldn't let me into their turning lane club, small animals getting murdered by large vehicles in front of my very eyes, hearing of a friend lose their job, slow computers, and flash flood warnings that insighted visions of the Missouri River spreading its banks through downtown Kansas City a la Nashville.
By midafternoon, I decided that the only way to spend my evening was in my upper room reading my favorite author, Marilynne Robinson, and enjoy listening to the rain and thunder without having to feel it. I mentioned these plans to Cari, who informed me that Marilynne herself was going to be at the Kansas City Public Library and she had an extra reservation she could share with me.
Hot diggity.
Do I sound like a very boring person yet?
It's just that Marilynne wrote the most beautiful book I've ever read, Gilead, where she threw out life-changing sentences like rice at a wedding:
"Nothing true can be said about God from a posture of defense."
"Love is holy because it is like grace--the worthiness of its object is never really what matters."
"I’m writing this in part to tell you that if you ever wonder what you’ve done in your life, and everyone does wonder sooner or later, you have been God’s grace to me, a miracle, something more than a miracle."

So the clouds parted and the sun came out for a time...until I left work and the sky unleashed its temper all over me and I found that I have not a single hooded jacket or umbrella in my closet. No matter. I got a picture with Marilynne and she signed my book.

love, honey-san

When I was home a couple of weeks ago, I had the pleasure of borrowing my dad's spaceship car. Okay, it's a Toyota Prius, but it's very spaceshipey. I drove it the 7-minute ride to the beach for some solitary sun-bathing.
When I got there, I opened that little compartment between the driver's seat and passenger's seat to hide my cell phone when I spotted a slightly crumpled piece of paper that had my mother's handwriting on it. Nosey as I've ever been in my life, I picked it up and read the whole thing.
It was a love letter! From my mother! To my father!
The realization of what I held in my hands rendered me immobile for a short minute. It was a bit saucy, that letter, which both horrified and delighted me at the same time.
I put it away--exactly as I found it--and walked out onto the blinding sun and sand.
My parents have been married since 1982. That's 28 years of a variety in terms of good and bad. I'm not entirely sure they really knew each other when they got married, but I'm not entirely sure anyone does.
They definitely signed up for the black diamond of marriage slopes, moving all over the world with 2 little girls, following God's voice wherever they heard Him calling. I remember living in a tiny little Parisian apartment where the washer was stacked on the dryer in the kitchen and the carpet was so rough that I skinned my knees on it. Long distance calls to the USA cost big bucks if my Mom ever needed to talk to her mother about a how to be a good one on a bad day, and there was no e-mail. I'm sure my dad wondered more than once if he was doing right by his little family. He spent 8 years building a church out of nothing, and then watched it crumble from a hospital bed before feeling peace enough to move on. Those were hard times, and I don't remember much candlelight or romance when Mom had to leave our whining selves with friends to go to the hospital and sit through scary, foreign procedures in support of her husband. 'In sickness and in health' becomes less cliche when it's reality.
Life eased its burdens for a few years, but there were plenty more mountains for them to climb on little energy after we moved back to the states. I'm sure it would have been easier for either one of them to decide to go it alone after a while. I definitely did. I took off to Kansas City by myself when things were hard. But they didn't.
My world makes sense because my father loves my mother. It's the foundation on which I build everything else.
I know well enough that there have been several years in their 28 where they were married just because they were married. I heard some ugly fights from the inside of my bedroom door more than once, as every child in every family does.
Being a professional Christian doesn't mean you're not a human anymore, and there's nothing more exhausting or debilitating than trying to keep a perfection gloss on your life. We all gave up after a while.
Somehow, somehow, they made it to today together. They made it to three grown children and nearly 30 years and they're still writing love letters to each other, just like in the beginning.

I'm just so grateful.

If this were my town

I would be so very very sad.

Pray for Nashville.

the weekend of dad

I pulled off an epic weekend.

It involved most of my favorite things: Rod Boatwright, airports, surprises, birthdays, Ben Boatwright, dresses, events requiring a date, the beach? (since when do I love the beach?) dancing, Donna Boatwright, walks, and watching people I love be loved by others in public.

It was the weekend of Dad.

Une Confession Publique

It's time to confess a secret I've been hiding and snickering about for several months now. And you read it first here on the blog.

I work in communications for an international media ministry, and a lot of my work is fielding written responses from donation partners all over the world. Even though my team and I are only supposed to get e-mails in English from the U.S.A, the U.K., and Australia, sometimes letters in unknown languages land in our inboxes. In this case we have to determine where they are from in order to forward them on to the appropriate regional office.

The first time this happened to my co-worker and long time friend Genavieve, she got an e-mail written in French and sent it to me to read and translate for her, since I speak French. This allowed her to find out exactly what the issue was in the email so she could forward it to the specific staff member in the Europe office who could handle the issue, which was a much more streamlined process than sending it to a generic european inbox first.

Gena was so impressed with me that she tried her luck further with a Dutch e-mail, knowing that I spent two years living in Holland when I was in middle school. My Dutch proficiency was barely conversational when I moved away, and I've lost nearly all of it since then. However, I did manage to get the gist of what the partner was saying and relay it back to Gena.

News started to spread in the office. "Bethany is a master linguist, she can help you with any foreign language question".
Next came a letter in Afrikaanse, a language very close to Dutch that is spoken in South Africa. Then one in Creole, a near-French dialect spoken in Haiti. When these e-mails landed in my inbox from my team-members with "Help?" written in the subject line, sending them back undeciphered was simply not an option for me.

Enter Google Translate.

It's a fabulous little Google tool that is not entirely accurate (don't even think about using it in a language class) but adequately useful. I started entering the mystery text into the translation field and having it do the work for me to generalize what the letter said, then responding to my co-workers with "Oh, this is just someone telling us how awesome we are" or "this person needs to change their monthly donations" or whatever else the letter said.
The requests for translations have gotten more and more obscure since then. I've "translated" Croatian, Estonian, and even Bulgarian.

I am legendary.
And somehow they all have no idea.

So this is my public confession. If any of my co-workers find my blog, they have full permission to call me out during morning prayer.

Till then, I'll keep my office identity of omni-lingual genius.
Dank je wel.

Pieter

Last night over dinner, I sat next to a new friend from out of town.
Out of the country, actually.
Pieter Boersma is the leader of a baby house in Mozambique. His ministry is dedicated to rescuing babies from abandonment, usually because of AIDS. I was telling him about how my old roommate, Tiffany, came back forever changed from a summer spent changing diapers, pushing toddlers on swings, and generally falling in love with the babies at the baby house that Pieter founded with his wife, Rika. Pieter responded by saying:
"It's so strange what God does. They're just babies you know, but everyone who comes is really impacted. I've learned a lot more about God by caring for orphans these last years than by sitting in church my whole life."
www.allnationsmozambique.org

Grandma Vencie

Hey Grandma,
I just saw your note about your sister. I'm so sorry! Are you doing okay?
I love you and I'm praying for you!
-bethy

...........................................................................................................................

Thanks Bethany,
You remember Aunt Libby. Cancer is brutal.
I had an awesome experience last Sunday at church.
A young man sang.
I bowed to my knees and cried Holy. When he sang it at one point my body started shaking and I could have cried or shouted for the Spirit of the Lord said to me, "Let her go on and be with the Lord and with Mama and Dad”.
I knew then that it wouldn't be long.
I just wanted you to hear my heart.
Love you Bethany and would love to hear how the Lord is working in your life.
Grandma

*published with permission

Aunt Bev

I got a wonderful surprise yesterday.

My mom called to inform me that while spectating the World Synchronized Ice Skating Championships in Colorado Springs, her sister Beverly got stuck at the airport due to an overbooked flight to Cincinnati, and since there were no flights available for the next two days she had to drive 9 hours to Kansas City to catch a flight out early this morning. This meant that I got to show her around Kansas City and host her in my home for an overnight stay!

The first thing you need to know about my Aunt Beverly is that she is a slightly above average 50-something:

She's hot.

"You mean you belong to this gene pool, Bethany?"

Why yes. Yes I do.

Aunt Bev is a Synchronized Ice-Skater. For real. This is her team:

Synchronized Ice Skating is a very serious sport. Did you know that? Imagine synchronized swimming, but on ice. Bev is sure it will be an Olympic sport so very soon.
Do you need a visual? I can provide.

We just had the best evening together, she and I.
Aunts are wonderful because you can tell them things you wouldn't tell your mother and they laugh with you like a sister. I couldn't have asked for a better Sunday.