The 10th Good thing About Jillian

Jillian. The way I will remember her.

I am still in shock. Today I learned that I lost one of my best friends. I will never hear her laughter on the other side of my phone again. So many shared jokes now have only one person to laugh over them.

I met Jillian when I moved to Nebraska for that fateful winter/spring/summer that would change my life forever. Fresh out of a divorce, with an uncertain future, I had packed everything I had and moved west to research in a laser lab. She worked as a grant writer in that lab. My first impression is that she was quiet. I was not sure what to think. She told me later I did not look like physics. Instead of the mousey quiet girl she was expecting, she met outspoken woman fresh off of 3 months of weight lifting. We were slow to talk but quick to become good friends once we started. Once we become friends, we were almost inseparable during my short time in Lincoln.

That summer we spent together is one of the best summers of my life. We spent many evenings drinking pink wine on her balcony as she smoked cigarettes with the filters torn off. We spent many morning sneaking out of work together to take coffee breaks that may have lasted as much two hours. We ate tacos at the food truck almost every Thursday. We were both hurting people who had grown up to fast. For a summer, we got to be young. We both needed it. She was the first person I told about reconnecting with the love my life.

After that summer, I moved to England to get a PhD. We talked almost weekly. The following summer she flew out to Portland to come my wedding. She was the friend who stayed with me in my hotel room the night before the event. She was there when I woke up the next morning. She was there as I got ready. I went back to England, and our friendship continued through my research and the birth of my daughter. I moved to Kansas when my visa expired. I started writing a thesis. She edited my work. As the end of my program grew closer and I was spending late nights in my office writing. She would take my calls at 2am in the morning to ensure I could walk safely back to my house.

Now, the tears are clouding my vision. I could say so much more, but I am weary. So in memory of the first book I read to help me deal with death The Tenth Good Thing About Barney, here are 10 good things about Jillian.

1. Jillian loved nature. When we talked I heard about blue bird trails and different kinds of plants. As a student of the physical world, I delighted in the education she provided me in understanding the natural world.
2. Jillian was a great conversationalist. Throughout the time I knew her, we talked at least once a month and often once a week. (A few times twice in one day.) No matter the states, or oceans, or time zones or countries that separated us we found time to talk and laugh.
3. Jillian was a great editor. I am sure she would have found many flaws in this post that she would have non-judgementally correct. As a sufferer of dysgraphia, she read my papers, my PhD thesis, my important emails to find the words I had left out or misspelled. She never shamed me for my struggles.
4. Jillian had a wonderful sense of humour. She could always find ways to make me laugh in even the most trying of circumstances.
5. Jillian was the best bandmate I could ever ask for. Yes, we were in a band together. Yes it was called Chains of Humping Snails. No, we never played a show. If we had, it would have featured, the triangle, the open chord of the guitar and science power points. Also lots of silly banter and inside jokes. We would have been a hit. You are all jealous that you never got to see us live.
6. Jillian was kind and knew how to show me she cared. She sent me jeans for my birthday. She sent my daughter a knitted fox. She made me a scarf from the yarn I bought for a project I would never finish. She saved clothing for me from her wardrobe that she knew I would love.
7. Jillian taught me how to make borscht. I know I basically lived on this sour cold soup the summer I spent riding bikes.
8. Jillian believed in me when I could not believe in myself. Even as she was suffering, she still encouraged me.
9. Jillian had a great sense of fashion and wealth of wisdom on skin care. The summer we spent together, we wore each others clothes. When one of us found we could not cope with the trials of life the other would distract by discussing skin care in greater detail than was likely healthy.
10. Jillian was my best friend. I will hold her memories close to my heart. I loved her and she loved me. Friendship is sweetest gift between two people on this side of infinity.

Reblog: It's Time to Have Controversial, Intellectual Conversations in Christian Classrooms

One of my dear friends who also happens to be a brilliant theologian recently shared the following article. In this piece the author describes the theological weakness they have encountered among the Christians with their social group. It opens with a story of a coffee shop barista, who is a professing Christian and attends a Christian university, being approached by an atheist customer who proceeds to ask several questions about how a university can possible incorporate Christianity into classes such as scientist. The barista is quickly overwhelmed and flounders. The author suggests this indicates that she was to as studied in her belief as was her questioner. Based on the details given of this third hand account I am inclined to agree.

You can read the rest of this post on my other blog:

http://stumblingaftermysavior.blogspot.com/2018/03/its-time-to-have-controversial.html

Short Story: Rapunzel - Prologue

The mothers arms clung to her small child. The little girl, not quite two, within her arms stroked her mother face and felt the tears the were wetting the cheeks. Her mother always seems sad. The songs that she sang were melancholy. Even her smile was tinged with sorrow. The child breathed her mothers scent in deeply, feeling secure and loved. The child's father was cold and distant, but her mother could never seem to get enough of holding her.

There was a sharp rap at the door and a woman with glistening white hair held rigidly in place with a hair stick entered the house. The child's mother clung to her more tightly. Her father entered and remained silent. The adults spoke to each other in strained voices. The child did not understand what was being said but sensed that something was amiss.

Her father pulled her from her mother and placed her with this new woman. The woman collected the child, turned heel an immediately left the house. The little girl heard her mother's screams and began to cry. This new woman took no notice, and faster than a human could move they were out of earshot of the only home the child had ever known. They seemed to travel through miles of woods. The child cried herself to sleep. When she awoke she found herself in a small circular room with walls comprised of cold stones. In the years that followed, Rapunzel never forgot her mother and cherished those early memories always.

Reflection: This year I resolve to write more

The morning of New Years Eve 2017, I checked my Facebook and saw the following status from a year ago

"I think I am supposed to reflect on the past year today. What can I say, for me this is has been a cold, harsh year of realities, emptiness, and personal failure. I have my health, my family, some wonderful friends, and shelter and for that I am grateful. I have learned to embrace the lessons in Ecclesiastes. I think that is enough to reflect on."


Last year I began the new year bleak and despondent. This year I feel even more hopeless. Life just has turned out well. My plans have crumbled to dust. Dreams are shattered at my feet. The path I was once following has been obscured by the blowing sands of the desert of life leaving me utterly lost. Each day is a chore and the evenings are filled with sadness. Platitudes have left me weary and nearly inconsolable.

So I have decided to resolve to do something. This year my resolution to write more. Perhaps along the way, maybe I'll eventually write something good. Doing so will not change my circumstances, but  it will provide an outlet to explore meaning. I used to be creative and I need to create again. Even if what I produce is the writing equivalent of a stick figure with a head and no body.

My resolution is try to produce at least 4 post a week. I expect many posts will be less than stellar but as I write more, I might get better. I will not be writing exclusively "blog" style posts. I want to explore writing short stories and poetry as well. So here are the types of posts I will be writing. The labels will be in the title.

Reflection: A standard personal blog post.
Health: A post on fitness or mental health, also written in a blog style
Short Story: Self explanatory
Poetry: Self explanatory
Response: Responding to another post or article
Prompt: A day I feel uninspired and need a journal prompt.
Spiritual: I will not write these here but these can be found at my other blog. I will include links.

When I was a little girl I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. So here one step towards that discipline.