Earthquakes, Rosary Beads and Chilling in My Panties

In the early morning hours of July 6, a 5.8 magnitude earthquake startled many people out of their sleep across western Montana. It was the strongest quake to rock the state in 20 years and was felt upwards of 500 miles away from the epicenter.

Where was I during this eventful occurrence? Well, to put it bluntly…..I was chilling in my driveway in my panties. 

At approximately 12:30 a.m. when the big tremors began, I was dead asleep in my bed. After jolting awake, I flipped out of bed and went running out into the kitchen. The house and everything around me was shaking with a furiousness I had never felt before in my life. With my husband working out of town, I was completely alone in our house and was utterly terrified. It was one of those moments that’s so shocking you think it must be a dream at first. But then you realize it’s the real deal and flashbacks of every disaster movie you’ve ever seen flood your mind.  

I have vague memories from elementary school of cowering under my desk during our annual earthquake drills. It was pounded into all of us that if and when a quake ever struck we were to get underneath something sturdy or wedge ourselves in a door frame. But I neglected any of these protocols that night. 

My first instinct after running into the kitchen and realizing my whole world was shaking was to run outside. I made it as far as the door into the garage when I realized that the only thing I was wearing was a pair of underwear. That’s right. No bra, no baggy sleep shirt…just a pair of panties.

Since temperatures had been in the high 90s every day for weeks and we didn’t have air conditioning, sleeping with practically nothing on was the only way I could get comfortable. Just as I was about to dash out the door, I remembered my minimalist evening attire and paused. I knew there was a chance there might be other people outside too so I figured I’d better throw on at least a shirt. After dashing back into my bedroom, I grabbed my cell phone and ripped a zip up sweatshirt off the hanger in my closet. 

By the time I made it outside to our driveway the tremors had stopped. The trembling of my body, however, had not. As I stood there in my underwear and sweatshirt clutching my phone for dear life, I glanced down our darkened street to see if anyone else had come outside. But it turned out I was alone there as well. 

Suddenly from down the street to the south, I heard a loud rattling sound. I knew instantly it was an aftershock. The sound rolled swiftly toward me like a wave until I felt the ground underneath me shaking again. The tremor was not quite as large as the first time but was still enough to make me stumble sideways. After the first aftershock had rolled past me and the ground solidified again, my whole body began convulsing out of utter shock and fear. With my hands trembling, I lifted my phone up and dialed my husband’s number. He was in West Yellowstone at the time working on the airport. With the frequent seismic activity in Yellowstone and jokes about it being the “super volcano” I feared that the quake had originated there and I was only feeling the residual tremors from it. I knew my husband was a heavy sleeper but after three tries of calling him with no answer, my heart rate grew exponentially. I tried him at his work cell number instead and finally I heard a muffled voice answer. 

“Andy, are you ok?” I shouted into the phone.

“Yes,” he answered groggily.

“There was an earthquake here,” I said. “Did you feel it too? Are you ok?”

“No. And I’m fine,” he said.

“Ok well I just wanted to make sure you were ok,” I said sighing. 

I knew he was exhausted from work and had to get up in a few hours but I needed him to wake up and be as freaked out about what was happening as me. I mean what if the really big earthquake was still coming? What if our whole house collapsed right into the ground? But he was just too tired to even fully register what I was telling him.  

“Ok well I’ll let you go back to sleep I guess,” I said rolling my eyes.

I’ll admit I was irritated but hearing the sound of his voice and knowing he was alright was all that really mattered to me. After hanging up with Andy, I called my parents next. My mom answered the phone and quickly asked if I was alright. In the middle of assuring her I was ok, my dad picked up the phone. He also asked if I was ok. He told me he was going to walk outside and inspect their house and would call me back in a few minutes.

In the meantime, I decided to go back inside. I went into my bedroom and pulled the box containing my rosary beads out from my nightstand. For whatever reason, I felt compelled to pray a rosary in that moment. 

Having only joined the Catholic Church three years earlier, praying the rosary was still new to me and I couldn’t exactly remember all the parts. After frantically digging through the drawer, I pulled out my handout on how to pray the rosary. Clutching the beads in my hand I went and stood in my kitchen, closed my eyes, and began to lift up my prayers to God and his ever patient mother, Mary.  

In the middle of praying a rosary, my dad called me again.

“Do you want me to come and get you?” he asked.

In my mind, I wanted to tell him yes. But then I thought back to all of the disaster movies I’ve seen and how it’s always the parent who goes to rescue the kid but then doesn’t make it.

“I can drive myself over,” I answered. 

Being an extremely paranoid and anxious person, I couldn’t bring myself to leave the house without taking a few valuable possessions with me. I grabbed a tote bag out of the closet and quickly dumped in my jewelry box with my wedding rings, my external hardrive with all my photos, the bible I received the night I was baptized, and my rosary beads. In that moment, those items were the most valuable things in the world to me. 

I went back out to the garage…this time with pants on….and got in my car to leave. My parents only live about five minutes away but it felt like it took an eternity to get there. I was terrified another quake would strike while I was driving and just prayed that a huge crevice didn’t open up in the earth and swallow me. 

After arriving at my parent’s house, the three of us sat in the living room staring at each other for a while and discussed our reactions to when the quake first struck. Eventually my mom went into her bedroom to try and get some sleep. But I was way too anxious to even think about sleeping.

My dad was reclined back in his recliner watching TV so I curled up on the couch with a blanket and watched with him. Eventually he fell asleep too. I, on the other hand, persisted in trying to calm my heart rate by watching The Great Outdoors and Sex and the City. Sometime around 3 a.m. sleep finally overtook my nerves and delivered a few hours of peace. I woke around 6:30 a.m. and drove home to get ready for work. 

The earthquake on July 6 was nothing compared to what it could have been. No damage, structurally or bodily, was done. Some people slept right through it and others spent the day after laughing about it. But the fact is that the potential for a truly large quake is always there. My eyes were opened that night to the true and sometimes terrifying power of our planet. And in those catastrophic moments, we are all rendered completely helpless. 

Looking back, me running outside in my underwear during an earthquake was probably a terrible idea. But I was grateful that in a moment of such great fear and uncertainty, I did the best thing I possibly could do. I submitted myself to God’s plan and good graces and hoped he would carry me through. Even when choosing a few select items to flee my house with, I barely thought about it before choosing my bible and rosary beads. It is good to know how deeply rooted in my heart my faith is and that even in the worst moments of my life I turn to God to be reminded to “be not afraid."

 

Cherish the Small Things...Like Crustified Boogers

The other morning I was standing in the shower—head tilted back—encouraging the hot water and steam to strip away my cares and ease me into the new day. My morning shower is usually the ten most blissful minutes of my entire day. The normal waves of anxiety and stress that pummel me throughout the day disappear for those ten minutes. But for some reason that morning I suddenly found my eyes frantically scanning the white walls of the shower and the back panel of the shower curtain. What I was looking for was something so small it would be undetectable to most. But for me, it was a source of great comfort and joy. My search, however, left me empty handed that morning.

What was I looking for exactly? To put it plainly, crustified boogers.  

  

Yes, you heard me correctly. Crustified boogers. And no, I do not have children yet to leave me such delightful little surprises. The boogers I was searching for in my shower were those belonging to my husband.

Living in close quarters with another human being, in particular a spouse, has a tendency to reveal the more disgusting and distasteful habits of someone over time. The fact that my husband blows his nose in the shower is one such habit that I was introduced to before we were even married. And while it completely grosses me out most of the time, I have come to accept it and fully expect to hear the action as it occurs each morning while I get ready. It’s become part of my routine in a similar way to it being part of his. 

If I ever find myself wondering whether Andy still blows his nose in the shower, I am most always reassured after showering after him. More often than not while I am shaving my legs, I glance over to notice a small speck or two on the shower wall….remnants of his nasal evacuation process. I always smile when I spy one and then use my thumb nail to gently scrape it off and send it on its merry way down the drain. 

Over time, Andy’s crustified shower boogers have become these curious little reminders for me of his presence in my life. I cherish them because they let me know that he is close at hand. But for the past two months my life has been devoid of Andy’s boogers….and more importantly, of him.

Andy is a civil engineer who largely deals with projects involving airports. What this means is that most summers he is sent away to some little podunk airport in the middle of nowhere to work. The past two summers have been a real blessing as he has been allowed to stay in town. But this summer, and all the way up till November, he will be living and working on the property of the West Yellowstone airport. 

Not a bad gig right? I mean people travel from all around the world each year to visit our nation’s first national park. It sounds glamorous but in all reality Andy is living in a trailer, working 14 hour days standing on sheets of asphalt, and driving each morning to a shower facility designed for fire fighters. And he will be roughly three hours from our home in Helena.  

What his new reality for the next six months boils down to for me is that there will no longer be crustified boogers in our shower. But it’s so much more than that.

With him only being able to come home one or two days a week at best, I don’t get to wake up next to him or bury myself in his arms so I can avoid going to the gym. We don’t kiss each other goodbye as we both leave for work in the morning. I don’t swing by his office to pick him up at lunch so we can run home and watch another episode of Orange is the New Black on Netflix while eating. I don’t get to experience him yelling at me after work for binging on tortilla chips and salsa while I hangrily await him to cook dinner. We don’t get to say Grace together over the meal he has prepared with love for both of us. I go to Mass alone a lot of weekends and still leave a space for him on the end of the pew. 

My life this summer has turned into spending a great deal of time thinking about all of the lost moments and time with my husband. And I hate every minute of it. 

I won’t say that absence makes the heart grow fonder….and Andy and I have spent a great deal of our time together over the years apart. But I will say that absence does make you value the small things….like crustified boogers. It makes you hold each other longer when you do get to hug. It makes you say the words “I love you” a little more slowly and with more meaning behind it. It makes you cut through the mundane details of your day and just ask instead about how the person is actually doing. It makes you really prioritize spending QUALITY time with a person and teaches you to be PRESENT with them instead of just physically in the same room.  Absence in any form or for any reason makes you realize just how little time we get in this life with the people we love. We must not waste or take for granted a single minute of it.  

Journey to the Cross

The other week I had the opportunity to share in quiet reflection and prayer in the chapel at St. Mary’s. Myself, along with the rest of the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) team I am part of, gathered Monday evening to pray the Stations of the Cross together. It was only about my 4^th time of ever praying the stations, but whenever I do, I am reminded of the powerful and emotional nature of the devotion. The particular version we used that night was told through the perspective of Jesus himself and really worked to place you right there alongside each step of his Passion.

For me, it is always comforting and peaceful being inside a church…..especially inside one that bears as much meaningful significance to me personally as St. Mary’s. Although I must admit, I’m not used to being inside the church when it is so quiet. Normally, it is full of booming organ music and voices raised in song, heads sit bowed in prayer down every pew, and the word of God being proclaimed reverberates about the circular space.  The space is always alive with the vibrant and devoted community of parishioners that call St. Mary’s home. 

But standing in the empty sanctuary that night and reflecting on Christ’s journey to the cross, I was reminded again of the immense duty we were all blessed with through his sacrifice. That is to continue the journey he started by spreading the faith, serving humanity and leading holy and honorable lives. Or more simply put, to continue saying “Yes,” to the Father each and every waking moment of our lives. Since my own baptism into the Catholic faith in 2014, I have sought my own ways to continue along the journey that God called me to. 

My first step was becoming a lector during Mass. Several years ago, I realized that one of my many gifts from God was my talents as a writer. As a writer, I understand all too well the power that the written word can have on the world. So helping proclaim the written word of God seemed especially fitting.

This past spring I graciously accepted an invitation to join the RCIA team of St. Mary’s. For me it was an honor just to be asked since this was the same group of people who supported me along the way to my own initiation into church. But I must admit, while I was willing, I felt very much incapable and ill-equipped to instruct others on the faith. There is still so much I don’t know and many things I seem to only understand on a surface level. I questioned whether I would be of any help to new catechumens and whether returning to RCIA was the right choice for me. 

I am a firm believer, however, that God speaks to each of us on a daily basis and is constantly offering up opportunities for us to grow and help grow the lives of others. The trouble is, most of us are too distracted, loud or fearful to notice these things. The day I was asked to join RCIA, I knew in my heart that this was one of those opportunities that God was offering me…..not just the RCIA team. And upon reflecting on my own story and journey to God, I realized that I did have something to offer. I might not be an encyclopedia of facts about the Catholic Church, but I lived the story that each individual who joins RCIA is about to start writing for themselves. I’ve experienced the same fears, doubts, and hesitancies they will experience. I’ve had the same questions and felt the same outsider feeling during Mass. And that’s when I realized that my experiences and knowledge are worth sharing and perhaps might be the most influential of all.

A few months ago another opportunity fell at my feet to join a women’s bible study group. At first I was thrilled; I’d long relished the idea of delving into scripture and pulling from it the deepest truths of humanity. But then I remembered how shy I am and the thought of sitting in a room full of total strangers utterly terrified me. A friend had initially confronted me about the possibility of joining the bible study because his wife attended as well. I took comfort in realizing that I might know one face in the crowd but I was still hesitant. But knowing that community is such an important part of my faith compelled me to set aside my fears and go anyways. So over the past few months I’ve consistently showed up each week, bible in hand, and tried my best to join in the fellowship and bible study. It has been a truly enriching experience thus far. And each week I am reminded of just how much good can come when we allow God to coax us out of our internal comfort zones.   

As I approach my third anniversary of joining the Catholic Church, I gain hope from realizing how far I have come from the mess I was when I first spoke the words aloud, “I wish to be baptized.” But at the same time, I am disturbingly aware of how much more I must do to continue growing in the faith and especially to better love and serve those around me. But I often wonder how I can fit any more into my life right now. How can I be and do all that I know God wants?

But in these moments, where I find myself overwhelmed with such thoughts, I close my eyes and go back to that empty church. I remember that without the small acts of many there would be no churches standing and no faith to adhere to. We all play a role and no role is lesser in the eyes of God than another. From the priest administering the sacraments of reconciliation and the Eucharist all the way down to the office administrator who pieces together the weekly bulletin listing upcoming events, each is doing a part in spreading the faith. Each is great in the eyes of God and each is needed at Mass each week.

For me, nothing reiterates the importance of these small acts of faith we make each day more, than the Stations of the Cross. From Simon the Cyrenian who helped Jesus shoulder his cross, the women who wept for Jesus as he marched and Veronica who wiped Jesus’ face, the stations remind us that we each have gifts to offer and can play a role in continuing the journey that Jesus came to set mankind on.  

Skating Into 30

The ice snapped and popped like Rice Krispies under me as my skate blades sliced across it. A single spotlight cast a golden glow about the rink…save for the outer edges where the light couldn’t reach. The dozens of illuminated hotel windows in the background made me wonder if that was how the Titanic looked on its final night as it sat alone and foundering on the dark Atlantic.  In the distance, I could just barely make out the snow dusted mountains rising up around the lake like noble protectors. Overhead, the stars were like thousands of tiny pin pricks in the dark fabric of the February sky.

It was just Andy and I on the rink that night. The thwacking sound of our sticks passing a rubber puck between us was the only proof of our presence in the pristine environment.

That glorious night on Lake Louise is how I rung in my 30^th year on this earth. 

 

When I began contemplating my 30^th birthday months prior, I knew I wanted to do something major to commemorate the occasion. I wasn’t nervous or bitter about the impending new decade. On the contrary, I was excited and willed it to arrive as soon as possible.

My 20’s were a transformative time—to an extent of which I may never experience again in my lifetime. I earned a college degree, met and married my best friend, bought my first house, and was baptized into the Catholic Church. My 20s blessed me with more than I could have ever hoped for in my life. But they were also a time riddled with mistakes, loss, and hardship. I entered my 20s soft and eager to let the world bring all my dreams to fruition. But by the final few years, I’d grown harder and learned that the world, in fact, owed me nothing and the only right I had was to play the hell out of the cards I’d been dealt rather than the ones I thought I deserved.  

In many ways, with or without my consent, my 20s sculpted me into the person I needed when I was younger….and the person I will need to be in the years still to come. For that reason, I am grateful for all the good and the bad my 20s. And that’s also why I was all the more eager to put them behind me and start with the clean slate of my third decade. 

In ushering in such a new and exciting time in my life I chose to venture up to one of the most beautiful places on earth….and one that I’ve longed to see in person for years. A mere hamlet in the heart of Banff National Park in the Canadian Rockies, Lake Louise is known for its turquoise, glacier-fed lake ringed by high mountain peaks and overlooked by the stately Fairmont Chateau Resort Hotel. Because of my love for hockey, I was thrilled at the idea of visiting Lake Louise in the winter so I could skate outdoors on the beautiful rink atop the lake. 

A mere 9 hours of driving was all it was going to take to get us to Lake Louise. But we made a few pit stops first along the way.

Our first major stop was a surprise night stay the Banff Springs Hotel—compliments of my parents. My parents have stayed there a few times before and always raved about it. I’ve seen some stunning photos of it, but like most things, the personal experience was far better.

Driving up to “the Castle” as it is called, all I could think was how this must be how Harry Potter felt up on first seeing Hogwarts rising up through the trees. The sun was nearly set by the time we arrived but the illuminated hotel gleamed out through the darkness. With its stone walls and nimble turrets, Banff Springs truly does look like the Canadian Hogwarts. 

After checking into our room and enjoying a lovely dinner at their 1888 Chop House restaurant, we set about exploring the nooks and crannies of the curious hotel. We walked through a magnificent ballroom complete with chandeliers, stone walls, and floor to ceiling windows. How I longed to be wearing a flowing gown in that moment so I could’ve twirled about like a princess. We also walked down a stone staircase that is supposedly haunted by a bride who fell to her death on it the day she was to be wed. 

In our gallivanting about the darkened hallways, we ran across two other ladies doing some exploring as well as some knowledgeable hotel staff. Thanks to them we were shown some “behind the scenes” sites in the hotel. They showed us a room, now used for storage that contains a 100+ year old painting of the island country of Grenada— likely there since the origins of the hotel. The staff also pointed out a bar area that was actually once used as a Catholic confessional. Tucked behind every corner and down every hallway was another historical remnant, photograph, and mysterious door to somewhere worth exploring.

 Our evening at the Castle ended with a refreshing soak in their hot spring pool. The more my skin wrinkled under the steamy waters, the more grateful I felt for such a peaceful weekend away from it all. 

I woke up the next morning officially 30 years old. But wedged in between all the plush pillows on the bed, I decided that 30 didn’t feel so bad. Plus there was the fresh promise of more adventure on the horizon with our continued journey towards Lake Louise. After grabbing some quick coffee at Starbucks in downtown Banff and doing a little window shopping we were on the road again.

Our final stop before setting our sights on Lake Louise was a quick gondola ride up to the summit of the Lake Louise Ski Resort. It was rather awkward getting in line with snowboarders and skiers while we were merely dawning our jeans, hoodies and shoes, but the views were well worth the spectacle we made of ourselves.

 Just minutes after leaving the ski hill, we finally arrived. And let me tell you….Lake Louise was even more magnificent in person that anything I’d imagined or seen in photographs.

We were brought straight up to our room, and after dropping our bags, we rushed to our window that overlooked the lake. Save for my honeymoon in Fiji, I have never had such a phenomenal view from anywhere I’ve stayed. Below us lay the large public skating rink as well as 5 smaller rinks being used for a pond hockey tournament that weekend. I could have sat by that window for days and just savored every detail. But being the adventurous types that we are, Andy and I had every intention of hurling ourselves quite literally into that beautiful landscape and taking it all in.

After enjoying a tasty dinner at their famous Walliser Stube restaurant, Andy knew perfectly well that the only thing I wanted to do next was to finally feel that ice under my blades. So after tugging on a few more layers, snuggling a beanie down over my ears and packing two small gear bags with our hockey skates, gloves, sticks and a couple of pucks, we headed outside to the rink. 

We were stunned to approach to edge of the rink and find that not another soul was skating. It felt like this big frozen gift God had delivered just for me. Never before have I laced my skates up so quickly. My first steps onto the rink were a bit shaky and hesitant, but then it all clicked for me. Before I knew it, Andy and I were skating full speed back and forth across the rink trying to outrun the rather unnerving sounds of the ice crackling beneath us. We passed a puck back and forth between us….often losing sight of it amongst the shadows our bodies cast. 

At one point, I paused near the middle of the ice to catch my breath. With my right arm hugging my stick I tilted my head skyward to see the faint glimmer of the stars peeking through. The night was still. And beautiful. And peaceful. And perfect. I smiled a smile larger than any I can remember and willed dozens of prayers and words of thanksgiving up to God. I swear I could’ve skated around that rink till dawn. It was just one of those moments you don’t want to end. But eventually we packed up our gear and decided to call it a night.

The next day—our only full day at Lake Louise—was jam packed with activities. We spent the first few hours of the day snowshoeing up a rather steep trail which offered glimpses of the towering peaks surrounding the lake. I was rather grouchy and winded by the end of it, but the body always feels grateful for a workout by the end. 

After cleaning up from our hike we met with a photographer to capture some priceless pictures of us in the area and, of course, skating together on the lake. Looking back at the photos now, the beauty of them almost seems too remarkable to be real. But I tell you, it is truly that real. 

The rest of the day was a blur honestly. But we spent a good share of it on the ice because that was where I most wanted to be. I wanted the memory of skating outside with such an amazing backdrop tattooed on my mind for forever.

Before I knew it, our trip had come to a close. Some part of me wanted to drain our bank accounts and max out our credit cards so we could stay as long as possible. The weekend had been too beautiful and perfect to be over already. But I knew it was time to really embrace turning 30, which meant returning home and start working my ass off to make my 30s truly the best years of my life.

I will forever hold my birthday evening of skating on Lake Louise close to my heart. But I know I will return again…..and again….in both summer and winter to take in all the gloriousness it has to offer. 

New Year, New Determination, New Plan

“It has to start with love…”

A couple of weeks ago, I found myself sitting in Mass with my husband listening to the priest deliver his homily. While I can’t remember all of the specifics of what he was discussing, I know it had something to do with learning to heed God’s call to live a more selfless and Christ-like life. That notion is one that is frequently brought up at Christian churches each week….but during that particular Mass our priest said a phrase in relation to it that especially caught my attention. He explained that in order to execute any of the wishes God has for our life, it must first start with love.

Now, I know I should have been thinking about my baptismal Christian calling during such a reflective moment, but instead, I was thinking about my path towards becoming a writer.

Seven years ago when I moved my college graduation tassel from right to left, I had zero plans for what I was going to do with the rest of my life. I’d just received a bachelor’s degree in English Writing but I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it. All I knew at that moment was that I loved to write. And I hoped that—somehow—that love would be enough to sort out all the unanswered questions.

In the past seven years I have stubbornly pursued my love for writing by taking on assignments from local newspapers, regional magazines and anyone else who threw writing opportunities in any form at me. I’ve landed cover and feature stories as well as respectable by-lines at times. I’ve also done dismal, thankless work that rewarded me with neither payment nor byline. But through all of it, one thing has always remained…my love for the work. 

Not having been able to make a real career out of writing yet, I’ve long been on the hunt for a more full-time job that would bring me some sort of comparable satisfaction and reward. The past year, in particular, has been fraught with rejection on that front despite many tireless efforts, however. As I found myself quickly approaching 2017 and my 30^th birthday I realized I’d become a haggard and desperate mess. I felt worthless, stuck, and incapable of doing anything bigger with my life. I felt like a failure. 

But one day I was finally over it. I woke up and reminded myself that I wasn’t a failure, or worthless, or incapable. I was the exact opposite of all of those things. I was the girl who rode my bicycle 100 miles in a day just to see if I could do it. I had joined a hockey team as a novice player where I was the only girl and didn’t know another soul on the ice. I’d secured a 4.0 GPA throughout college, which involved acing several classes many told me couldn’t be aced. I’d found a way to continue my love for writing while still working 40 hours a week at another job.  

In the midst of all my recent failures and rejections, I realized that the issue all along has been that I kept trying to put the controls for my happiness and success in someone else’s hands instead of my own. Why was I letting strangers try to elevate my life when all along I’ve had the skills and tenacity necessary to do it on my own?

That epiphanous moment was the one in which I finally pulled out and played the one card I should have been playing all along. It was the card I’ve had crammed way down in my back pocket for years because I was too scared and disbelieving to play it. It feels like it is my last hand to play but it’s the one I’m willing to put all my chips on. The card has my name and my name alone on it and when I laid it down, I did so with sheer love.

This past November I launched a business plan of sorts to get my life, career, and self-esteem back on track. It involves numerous parts and pieces---many of which are still in the process of being completed—but I feel confident that I know what is necessary to get the job done. The goal at the end is to launch a professional, trustworthy, and passionate writing business that I can hopefully make a more substantial career out of. 

The plan began by consulting with my graphic designer aunt about crafting me a unique logo and business card. Our initial meeting together began by looking at logo ideas and me telling her how I planned on hiring a marketing agency to build me a website. By the end of our meeting, however, she had me convinced on building the website myself. 

Over the past two and a half months or so I have struggled through the excruciatingly frustrating process of building a website without having a prior clue about how to do so. But with Google as my right-hand helper, I managed to piece together a simple and rather pleasant looking first site to display some of my writing and to reach out to the far corners of cyberspace for further opportunity. Today I officially release it out into the world with my blessing and dearest of hopes. And it is an especially opportune time as I recently celebrated the 4 year anniversary of this blog which is the time of year I like to reflect on my most recent writing accomplishments.  So be sure to check it out at 

http://laceymiddlestead.com/

 

While my business plan is still very much “under construction,” the completion of my website is by far the biggest burden off my back. And at the end of it all, I know it will be the piece I am most proud of. There is still much to do however, including getting my business cards printed out, hard-copy portfolios made, newspaper ads designed and perhaps more business attire purchased. The process is taking longer than I wanted or hoped but I am committed to presenting a polished and professional product regardless of how long it takes.

 So I present to all of you this day, my humble website and a sneak peek into the larger plan I will be launching in coming months. I still have no idea what the future holds for me and my career as a writer but this time I’m the one calling the shots and leading the way…..and I rarely let my own self down without one hell of a fight. 

In closing, I’d just like to thank my parents and grandparents for their endless support and encouragement of all I do but especially my writing. Thank you to my husband who has picked me up off the floor (quite literally) on more than one occasion in recent months and convinced me to keep moving and giving it all one more try. And thank you to my Aunt Wendy, for your creativity, patience, guidance and for always believing in me more than I believe in myself.

Graceland Part 2

“If you could have dinner with anyone, living or dead, who would you choose?”

At some point in time we’ve all been posed this question. While it is often asked as a form of entertainment in a group or party setting, I believe our answers to it our significant. Who we would choose speaks immensely about who we are, where our passions lie, what we are afraid and curious about and what we are desperate to have guidance on. 

It’s been a long time since I’ve been asked to consider my answer to that question. Honestly, I can’t even think of any of the people I would’ve picked in my earlier years when I was asked—although the list has undoubtedly changed. But I think for most of us though our answers would be different each year depending on our age and life circumstances. 

When we’re younger, we want to meet the heroes in the books and movies that help shape so much of our conception of the world. Or we want to meet someone famous like a rock star, president or someone from the royal family.  We want the chance at our own celebrity moment and to be able to brag to everyone afterwards about who we just met. But as we grow older and start to see more, hear more, do more and learn more about what this life can really be—all the good and the bad of it—I think we find ourselves more desperate for answers to the big questions. And the chance to have dinner with anyone on earth that has lived a large, full life and that possibly has the answers to those big questions is an opportunity I think we would all jump at. 

As I find myself a mere two months away from celebrating my 30^th birthday I realize I am filled with nothing but big questions on life and all that God still has in store for me. When I imagine actually having the opportunity to sit down and talk with anyone on earth for a few hours, several considerations come to mind. Like who is someone that could teach me how to deal with the hardships, disappointments, and strings of failures that life is often wrought with? Who could teach me how to be successful and what the true definition of success really is. Who could teach me how to make peace with my past and instead move forward with hope and fearlessness? Would could teach me how to be truly happy at every moment in my life no matter my circumstances? Who could teach me more deeply about God and how to live my life more according to his will? 

So who would my dinner guest of choice be today?  There’s only one major name that comes to mind—Mr. Elvis Presley. I know that he would not only be able to answer all of my questions but his answers would deliver me from all the fear and doubt I am too often burdened with. My recent trip to his Graceland home in Memphis, Tennessee only reaffirmed that for me. 

In Elvis’ short 42 years on earth he achieved more than more of us could in 100 years. He earned countless awards and recognitions and will forever be honored with the title of the King of Rock and Roll. But when I think of Elvis, I think most about his compassion, generosity, humbleness, and unconditional love for all mankind. And during this Christmas season, I have found myself thinking about Elvis a great deal and the kind of example he still sets for us on how to live our lives.

Most people know Elvis as one of the legends of music history whose voice, stage presence and show attire were always larger than life. But unlike many celebrities today, Elvis’ life wasn’t always so grand.  In fact, he had the most humble of roots. He was born in a two room shack in Tupelo, Mississippi and spent most of his youth dreaming of the day that things would be better. He has even been quoted as saying “When I was a boy, I always saw myself as a hero in comic books and in movies. I grew up believing this dream.” Fortunately for Elvis, God did have larger plans for him and his dream did come true. 

 

By the time Elvis finally passed onto his true home he was known and adored worldwide but never once did he forget about those less fortunate than him or take for granted the blessings bestowed on him. During his lifetime Elvis gave away houses, cars, motorcycles, jewelry, clothes, and money—many of which were personal items of his own--as though they hardly mattered to him. He was also a frequent contributor to numerous charities in the Memphis area and elsewhere including the March of Dimes and St. Jude’s Hospital. Elvis also held a number of benefit concerts, including one in Hawaii that raised funds for the USS Arizona Memorial. 

While touring Graceland two months ago, I saw numerous framed checks Elvis wrote in making donations to different businesses and charities. Many of these donations Elvis made on the strict conditions that his name was never to be released as the donor. Elvis understood that the point was to do good deeds for the sake of doing them…not for the notoriety of it. Like it is said in Matthew Chapter 6 of the Bible, “Take care not to perform righteous deeds in order that people may see them….when you give alms, do not let your left hand know what your right is doing.” (Matt 6:1-4)

Outside of his charitable giving, Elvis was also very much a man of God. His spiritual journey began as a child where he listened to the preaching and gospel music at the Assembly of God Church he attended with his family. But Elvis’ interest in religion and search for meaning and truth in life continued throughout the course of his life. This involved delving into the study of numerous faith denominations and ideologies. He was an avid reader who sought answers from books like The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran and the Impersonal Life by Joseph Benner. And if you’ve ever heard or seen any of Elvis’ gospel performances, you’d know that through every word of those lyrics he was seeking and praying to God in those moments as well. 

 

One of our last night in Memphis, I had the opportunity to tour Graceland at night. As I was walking down the sidewalk between some of the out-buildings, I was struck by the deafening silence of the grounds save for the faint chirping of crickets. I found myself wondering if Elvis ever wandered the grounds on nights as still as that and contemplated the large questions we all have about life, love, and God. I’m not sure that Elvis found all the answers to his questions during his lifetime, but for me, the way he lived his life has certainly been the answer to many of my questions.   

Elvis achieved an extraordinary amount of fame, fortune and success in his 42 years on this earth. But he lived each day of those 42 years with thankfulness for all he had as well as determination to pass on the blessings of his life to others. He was never too wealthy or famous to share a few kind words with a common man. He never stopped seeking out truth, meaning and ways in which he could become a better man.  Elvis is a man who nearly 40 years after his death continues to elicit adoration, curiosity and respect by the masses. He is the man that, given the opportunity, I would gladly sit down to dinner with and discuss life. 

  

Graceland Part 1

“It’s been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in….”

This quote was one of the opening lines in the iconic movie, Titanic. Decades after the sinking, the character, Rose, shared with a scientific crew what it felt like to be one of the passengers on the ship’s maiden and only voyage. A few weeks ago, I shared in a similar experience when I stayed at the Guesthouse at Graceland Hotel in Memphis during its opening weekend.

It’s been nearly 40 years since Elvis Presley left the building for the final time—having been called home for some much needed rest. Since then, family, friends and adoring fans have fought to preserve the musical and humanitarian legacy he left behind. 

Tours of Elvis’ beloved home, Graceland, began in 1982. Over time, the property across the street became dotted with touristy shops offering every type of souvenir imaginable plastered with the King’s face. Up until recently, the only accommodations available for guests making the pilgrimage to Graceland were a Day’s Inn and the Heartbreak Hotel. Both were similar to the types of establishments Elvis had to put his guests up in while he was alive—never having had a formal guesthouse on the grounds of his home. But a comfortable and luxury guesthouse was something he always dreamed of.

Some 30 years in the making, the Guesthouse at Graceland is Elvis’ dream finally brought to life. And I was there to share in that historical moment.

My dad has been a lifelong Elvis fan…and not the kind that likes to collect corny collectables and grow out his sideburns for Halloween. He is the true kind of fan who has come to know, admire and respect Elvis as much as a person possibly can having never met him. Four years ago, I made my first trek to Graceland with my dad and he showed me around and brought Elvis, his home and the life he lived to life for me far greater than even the most knowledgeable tour guide could. A year ago, when we first leaned that construction was starting on the Guesthouse, we both agreed that being there for the opening weekend was a must.

When our plane finally touched down in the land of the Delta Blues the day before the hotel officially opened, I believe all of us (my dad, mom, husband and I) were all brimming with excitement. When it was time to catch a cab to check in to the hotel the next day, it was all I could do to keep from hanging my head out the window to catch the first possible glimpse of the hotel. When it finally came into view, it echoed so much of the look of Graceland. With the front paying tribute to Graceland’s colonial architecture and a long driveway that wound up to the doors, it really felt like we there to be guests in Elvis’ own guesthouse. 

 My eyes widened and mouth dropped open when we first walked inside. The lobby was stunningly lavish with touches of gray and fuchsia. With unique wing back chairs, mirrored ceiling and exquisite floral centerpiece, I could tell immediately that the Guesthouse was designed to reflect the unique and trend setting style that Elvis exhibited his entire life.     

  

 From record shaped end tables and blue suede drapes in the bar, light sconces with Elvis’ initials down the hallways, a heart shaped gas fireplace out by the pool, lightning bolt lights in the Founders Room and even a grand staircase designed to model the stairs leading up to Elvis’ private quarters at Graceland, every thoughtful detail of the hotel whispered Elvis. I say whispered because the touches were obvious but not overt. One of the guest speakers during the weekend explained that Elvis was and remains the type of person that you only need a minute detail of to recognize. Whether it’s the corner of a glitzy cape, an oversized gold ring, some aviator frames, or lush slicked back black hair, a true Elvis fan can spot him from a mile away. It doesn’t take much.

  

 

Nearly every feature of the hotel was subtle…..except for the one I nearly stumbled into within my first twenty minutes. I was lagging behind my parents as they wandered down one of the hallways towards the hotel’s theater. Quickening my steps to catch up with them I suddenly looked up to see a large group of people walking down the hallway toward me. My heart quite literally stopped when I realized that the front runner of the group was Miss Priscilla Presley herself. Dressed to the nines in stilettos and a brightly colored dress, she was absolutely beautiful and moved towards me with a grace and determination that shook me. The moment was over so quickly but it was one that I will never forget. 

Priscilla was intimately involved in the design of the Guesthouse and worked to make sure that a tasteful tribute was paid to Elvis’ life and career. “We didn’t want it so Elvis-themed and Elvis everywhere, because you can see that at Graceland,” said Priscilla. “He wouldn’t have wanted a hotel full of his picture.” After three nights at the Guesthouse, all I can say is, well done. Elvis would not only be stunned….he would be immensely proud. 

Over the course of my weekend at the Guesthouse I was privileged to listen to stories and conversations shared by members of Elvis’ band, two of his movie co-stars, a girlfriend from his early days and others who had the opportunity get to know Elvis on a more personal level. They didn’t talk about Elvis the performer who jumped about the stage in flashy jumpsuits. They talked about the real, down-to-earth Elvis who kept his band members up till all hours of the night regaling them with hilarious stories. They talked about the humble Elvis who desperately only wanted to make one good film in his career so that the industry would quit making fun of him. They talked about the Elvis whose fascination with police led him to acquire not only several personal badges from cops but also a ticket booklet and light for the top of his car. 

 

When I told people I was going on vacation to the opening of a hotel I got a lot of strange looks. Yes, my family and I also visited Graceland and paid our respects to Elvis at his grave, but we really did go for the hotel. Because for Elvis fans and the city of Memphis, the Guesthouse is more than just a hotel. It is the glorious beginning of a new era for Memphis and the Elvis legacy. Not only will the hotel work to clean up the rather dismal and run-down part of the city that is home to Graceland, but now when fans from all around the world travel to pay tribute to Elvis, they will have the kind of luxury accommodations that Elvis would have wanted for his visitors. 

 

I am grateful to my dad for not only making the trip possible for my husband and I, but also for raising me to respect and appreciate Elvis for all that he was. He was far more than a singer. Anyone who visits Graceland and sees the hundreds of signatures on the wall near the entrance to the grounds will see just how many people his life continues to touch even 40 years after his passing. Take a walk down the Hall of Gold at Graceland and you will realize that he accomplished more in his 42 short years than most of us could do with 100. Watch one of his recorded concert performances and you will see a singer who literally dripped passion for the work that he did. Spend a night at the Guesthouse and you will understand that a person who inspired the building of such a grandiose hotel isn’t someone who is dead and gone in the grave, but rather very much alive in the fans that refuse to let him go. 

 

During my tour of Graceland, I found myself lingering in Elvis’ racquetball court—a room that has been transformed into a monumental display of all of his posthumous awards and several of his stage costumes. With his Aloha from Hawaii concert playing on a screen nearby, I fought back pooling tears as I looked up and around at so much success by a man who remained grateful, generous and humble up until his last breath. But I teared up even more when I looked to my right and saw another girl wiping away tears for what I knew were the exact same reasons. 

 On my way out of the racquetball court, I glanced up at an award I never noticed before. It was engraved with the words “Before anyone did anything, Elvis did everything.” I smiled knowing how immensely true those words were. Those words lingered in the background of everything I saw and heard during my weekend in Memphis. 

 

Elvis you may have left the world before anyone was ready……….but you have never left our hearts.