Me, brave? Really?

Today was my second time to donate blood. My first experience, back in February, left a lot to be desired. As you check in, you read this binder with all the possible side-effects...you know, queasiness, dizziness, and the like. Turns out, I have it all. From the first needle-prick, my heart races, and apparently all the color drains from my face. And yet, today, I found myself back in the blood-sucking chair, with iodine being rubbed on my arm and the dreaded plastic bag hanging empty from the arm-rest.

It was odd, really, because Dee, one of the techs, actually remembered me. I don't know how many people they see each week, much less over a period of five months, but apparently our time together in February was quite memorable because she seemed to well remember my last experience. She even remembered that, "Girl, you always have the cutest shoes!!"

Again, as soon as the blood began to trickle down the tube into the bag, I felt the room begin to spin. I was instantly leaned back in the chair, cool cloths were placed on my forehead and neck, and I was instructed quite firmly to wiggle my feet and "cough deeply."

Another donor, experiencing none of my symptoms, looked at me a little amazed. His expression turned to one of respect after Dee proclaimed (to everyone in the room), "Hey, this girl is BRAVE. This always happens to her, but she always comes back!" (Sidenote: Ok, I know two times doesn't really qualify as "always," but I do intend to donate again.)

So, here's the deal. I've never considered myself brave. I didn't even think about the dizziness or the 2 or more hours it takes me to feel "normal" again after they drain me dry. I signed up again because I know there's a very real need for blood. I have blood. I have O+ blood, which granted isn't quite as awesome as O-, but it's still in fairly high demand. My blood could save lives. And so I give.

It's not bravery. It just makes sense.

Reality Check

This morning, after my alarm went off for the fourth time, and I could no longer ignore the fact that I really DID have to get out of bed, all I wanted to do was complain. I wanted to whine to my snoozing husband that HE didn't have to get out of bed yet, and I wanted the world to know that at that very moment, I thought life to be quite unfair.

But then out of left field, all I could think about was "Do all things without grumbling and complaining" (Philippians 2:14). Oh, and "So whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do it to the glory of God" (1 Corinthians 10:31).

Talk about (ahem) conviction.

So I bit my tongue. Literally. The urge to complain was just that strong.

As I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, I was surprised that I could genuinely thank God for the opportunity to get up this morning.

A Glimpse...

My husband is fishing at the coast this weekend with his brother and his cousin, and so this is my first weekend completely alone since we got married eleven months ago. After a fitful night's sleep without my sweetie, I woke up this morning determined to redeem the time, lonely or not. So I began to clean. We try to keep our apartment tidy, but it'd been awhile since it'd been "deep-cleaned."

First was the general straightening, and then the vacuuming. The bathroom needed cleaning, too, but first I decided to pull out the dust-rag. When I started cleaning, I had put on a relaxing CD, courtesy of my mom-in-law. The gentle sounds of wind-chimes and piano filled the apartment as I went about the room, gently dusting picture frames and figurines (including the faceless angels my husband so humorously pokes fun at).

This may sound ridiculous if you weren't in my head at that precise moment, but as I tenderly lifted a framed photo of me and hubby-dearest and began to wipe the dust from its edges, the gentle music swelling in the background, I suddenly had a glimpse--of the future, of all our memories yet to be made.

I pictured myself dusting the pictures on the mantle seven months pregnant with our first child, filled with expectation. I saw myself dusting, while children played noisily in the background. I saw myself, dust-rag in hand, looking back on a lifetime of memories.

The pictures in the frames changed and aged as my glimpse took me further into the future, but two things remained the same--a deep and inexplicable peace and my love for my husband--my family. In each glimpse, in each potential memory, I never once felt regret, only an overwhelming sense of...abiding love.

I can't wait until I can get more than a glimpse of what tomorrow holds, and yet I'm learning to treasure the "todays" that I'm given. The memories that I, that we are making now will be the days we look back on in photographs on the mantle, the memories that make us pause and smile. As our first wedding anniversary approaches, I'm amazed at how quickly this past year has unfolded. It reinforces how fleeting time is, and how precious.

Then I was back in the moment, dusting the picture frames, alone in my apartment. But that glimpse has forever changed how I feel about dusting. Now I can't wait for Daniel to get home tomorrow night!

Rocking Out

Remember CDs? You know, those shiny discs that were so popular before iTunes downloads became the easiest, quickest way to get music directly onto your iPod, which holds the equivalent of, oh, a billion CDs?

Well, I do. I keep all my CDs in this massive black binder of a case--hundreds of them. (Well, ok--I'll be honest. I used to keep them all in this massive black binder. Now only about a fourth of them are actually IN the binder. The rest are in stacks around the bedroom and in my car. Now I see why people like iPods (I have two, btw...iPods, that is. I know--oooh, the excess!).

But--CDs are still cool. Like, when your computer crashes because, you know, it gets flooded...and even though your documents are fine, your music files are corrupted...all is not lost! Because you still have the CDs. Which is where I am right now. I am in the process of re-loading all my music onto my NEW (well, new as of Valentine's Day) Macbook, which has replaced my crummy, waterlogged Dell.

In the process, I found some of my "old school" CDs that I hadn't listened to in a million years--or maybe five. Don't you just love that feeling that you get when you pop in one such CD, start bobbing your head along to the catchy rhythm, and then surprise yourself by remember ALL of the words?

Especially when it turns out the CD is just as rockin' awesome it was "back when?"

I do.

Anyone else remember Jars of Clay? LaRue? Mark Schultz? Considering Lily? Point of Grace's old stuff?

Awesome. Awesome. Awesome!!

This makes my final afternoon at work this week so much more enjoyable!!

Rock on, bloggy-friends...