Served~

So I am baking a cake today. Ever since I can remember, I have had an intense affinity for marvelous creations of the sweet sort. Yes, I love to bake. I mean LOVE LOVE LOVE it. Cakes, pies, cookies, tarts, muffins, petit-poits, cupcakes—all things warm, lovely and filled with homemade goodness.

I’ve often been asked why exactly it is that I have such an extreme and fond affection for rockin’ out the oven. I never really knew the reason(s) myself until my college years. My freshman year (talk about a year filled with transition and emotional turmoil/ growth!), I got a job working in a small, little bakery. My baking and barista days at Magnolia remain my absolute favorite employment to this day. It was more than a paycheck to me. This job opened my eyes…and I began to see that my job * although deceptive to the common eye * was not merely being a menial baker working for 7 dollars an hour. No, instead I realized that I was a counselor, an artist, a designer, a caregiver, a comforter, a nurturer, a lover—and a HEALER. At this tiny bakery, in that small hidden corner of Southern Virginia, we did not sell pastries or sweets by the dozen—we served each customer love—“wrapped individually”—and “made to order”.

I witnessed every day, the simple miracle that was communion…the literal breaking of bread. By simply offering tangible baked goods…we supplied the catalyst that fostered community, that nourished physical bodies, and that fed hungry souls.

I am a visual thinker, so I’d love to paint a picture of what I mean. Welcome to Lynchburg, Virginia, ponopeople…you are now invited to the wonderful world of Magnolia’s.

Although we made an entire batch of muffins at 6am like clockwork every morning…you better believe that EACH customer that came in knew deep within their being that the baker REALLY secretly got up extra early in the morning just for THEM specifically to enjoy that fresh out of the oven offering…because, you know, “I DO come in every morning at the same exact time…and she knows just what I like”. * Yes, ME* J

And yes, I DO remember just what they like(d):

Johnny, the 56-year old retired architect, who rode around on his antique bike, knew that his cranberry orange muffin would be waiting for him at 6am sharp. Scowling as he would grab the sack, he would wait until he got outside and around the corner to take his first bite; a schoolboy grin of such satiety and joy spreading across his worry-wrinkled face *yeah, we saw you Johnny J *

Nona, the kind, soft-voiced woman, who was confined 99% of the days to her home and wheelchair, knew that her sweet tea and homemade “soup of the day” would be warm and ready for her when the hired transport brought her on their one outing of the day. When asked what type of soup she would like (there were always two)…the answer was always the same: With a widespread smile across her withered skin, she would lean close and whisper with childlike glee and anticipation: “Surprise me, dear…you’ve yet to disappoint!”

Linnette, the rotund single woman who was constantly on the latest fad diet (we knew because she heralded her “new plan for the new her” to us daily), would come in on her way home from work (she was a schoolteacher who truly loved her kids). She would shyly make her way up to the counter and order a “lil’ somethin’ sweet”. Because “she really shouldn’t.” This interchange always ended in Linnette being given a generous portion of her favorite treat of the day—handed to her with such care by familiar smiling faces--who really knew that what Linnette REALLY wanted * and maybe even “needed” that day * was a “BIG HONKIN’ SLAB of somethin’ sweet”….so we served Linnette her “sliver” and looked forward to her coming again.

These are just a few of the amazing patrons that I came to know and love during my time here. So many more come to mind, but I must be brief. Basically, I have learned that whatever it may be: An aging man’s momentary escape into childlike glee and joyful appreciation; A shut-ins brief vacation from her imprisonment—and the fellowship that follows; or a hurting woman’s outcry for grace and self-acceptance….we were able to supply---by, yes, simply baking~

Yes, I am baking a cake today. I long and ache to bake a cake today…because I want to serve someone today—and not just a slice of cake~

Love By Any Other Name...

A fellow sojourner had some amazing insight and additional perspective regarding my most recent post. I am copying her thoughts here and encourage anyone who hasn't read it, to do so, so you can truly hear her voice and, that, in turn, my thoughts may also have a place within contextual walls.

Our friend was lamenting over society's convoluted concept of love: " i meant love, romantic love...[..]..i'm not disillusioned, what's elusive is love itself. who could define or measure? our society seems to idealize it therefore many suffer from unnecessary heart breaking."

I sadly agree with her take on the state of society's mindset. I see our present population as having a very unrealistic view of love, therefore making it so elusive that it is cruelly unattainable in the vessel of a human counterpart. She mentioned how we idealize love...as in, making it (love)... (or at least our idea of love), as the ideal, or end objective goal--the dangling carrot we are desiring to obtain and possess.

Like this beautiful woman, I too have been affected by such ridiculous and rude expectations....completely cruel in their disregard of my own reality and heart's well-being. I think of this with such an aching, and pray that society *myself included* would embrace love that is fierce with reality...and rather than idealize it, that we would RESPECT it...Listen for it--and then PRACTICE "it"~

I was thinking more about this, what I see as a breathtaking, ferocious love...one that is palpable in life--is felt, and shown, and a force to be reckoned with, rather than some sweet, ethereal cotton-candy coated ideal. I thought of a quote I recently read of one of my longtime favorite authors, Lucy Maude Montgomery. She said: "What had seemed easy in imagination was rather hard in reality."

I think *without getting on a soapbox here* that maybe where things are breaking down, or simply getting lost in translation, is in the illusion *ideal* of love that we humans have bought into. It is fed to us daily through media-meals, romance novels, Hollywood films, even in gazing *short-sightedly* at one another's relationships *not realizing there is always more than meets the eye*. Real love is tough. It's not sweet all the time. It's hard to chew, and often hard to swallow. It is tiring to practice. It is elusive to "catch." It is often hidden due to the fact that real love is quiet and unassuming...not announced with fanfare or regaled with Blockbuster bells and whistles.

Love is indeed a four letter word...but one that I wish was never censored for the public. I wish we had just left it alone and rocked that word in all of its raw and, yes, (maybe) shocking, purest form (no stars here...)~

L-O-V-E. Uncensored. Let's use it to go shock some people...

At Second Glance~

I woke up this morning and looked out my window. It was cloudy, rainy and windy on the North Shore. Boo….big Boo. So, I did what I do best…ran AWAY from the darkness and ick!!! Ran far, far away * okay, DROVE far away .* I decided I would drive and not stop until the sun shone again…which, if you live in Hawaii, you know isn’t too difficult to find. My wheels rolled towards the rhythm of the seas…finally making their way to Waikiki. And, ahh, the sun was resplendent! People were out in full force, thoroughly enjoying the day. Good call, AB, good call.

I knew I should write an entry today, yet I have a rule with myself that I can’t write anything I don’t FEEL—or that is really authentically tugging on my heart or mind. And as of 8-friggin’-AM this morning…not much of ANYTHING was I “feeling” to write about J So….I decided to take a run, praying that along the way something would speak to me (this tactic has never ever failed me , by the way…life just seems to happen and inspire when given enough time and room).

No, it never fails. I was running along the path in this amazing park right on the water. It is a popular venue, making it a fantastic place to people watch. As good as any airport I have ever been in, hands down.

As I ran, I noticed a familiar sight…or familiar event(s), I should say—Wedding Photo-Paloosa! Everywhere I looked, it seemed, there were blushing brides and glowing grooms! To the right, to the left, flanked on all sides—by frills! The lace, the bouquets, the tiaras, the satin, the bows, the chiffon, the BLING!

A smorgasbord of sensory overload….the blinding white garments glistening in the sun as the photographer extracts every emotional image possible from the cooing couple. * Click, click, smile, laugh, GAZE--oh GAZE!-- into each others’ eyes* --and repeat.

One might think that, after every single day (and on every single jog) of being (what some would call) ”bombarded” with adoring couples left and right…that I would be desensitized to any emotional response by now….yet I am not. Like clockwork, every day, and with each couple I come across, DAMNIT!, I can’t help myself but to smile, slow my pace, and breathe it in.

Yes, breathe it in…but what is this “it” I ask myself? Is it love? * swoon*…no, not exactly, for my common sense and logic sadly reminds me that, despite my romantic feminine heart, two out of four of these couples (at least) will not even make it to their second wedding anniversary. So, no, it’s not love that I am smitten with here.

So, then, again I ask: “What is ‘it?’’ I look again at the sun-kissed smiles. I strain my ears to hear the lilting laughter, making its way to me across the sky, as if floating on fairies wings. I look again…and I see all the tangible sights; hear the audible sounds; but I feel and know… HOPE. I look around me at these couples, gazing into each others’ eyes…adoringly clasped in embraces…and know that, to me, it is more than an embrace, far-reaching beyond a shared smile; it is the symbol of what is to come…hope. The hope they have with a brand new beginning. Hope at the idea of a life ahead…together. Hope looking forward to an added chapter of their lives’ books. Hope for a change. Hope for more of the same something that is good and wonderful. Hope for possibilities. Hope for something shared. Hope in belonging. Hope in knowing. Hope in being known..…and it is breathtaking.

Webster’s defines “Hope” as: “a belief in a positive outcome related to events and circumstances in one's life…[..]…the feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best.”

So, yes…I call what I witnessed today hope.

Surprisingly this day’s display of beautiful brides does not particularly produce an intense aching in my soul…nor am I taking away from this jog a picture of love. No…. "bah, bah, rah, mama”… *unlike Lady Gaga, I don’t necessarily want a romance*…But I WILL take some of that hope, please….and thank you~

Soooo Fired~

I have not written in a few days. I had not thought much about this fact until I was reminded by a friend (in love, of course), that I had better get with the program and become consistent in my postings, as it is: “technically my job come April.” I have been contemplating this turn of events, the fact that I am, in essence, supporting myself solely through my writing this year—making me an actual, “writer” of sorts. This title makes me laugh, and simultaneously overwhelms the bejesus out of me. Therefore, I am officially announcing my resignation…no…I am taking it one step further and am absolutely firing myself, termination effective immediately!

I have decided, however, that I would be willing to accept a lesser position, as “field researcher” and “fact gatherer” for an elite and special task force, who operates under the mantle: “Ponopeople.” My first reaction when I was approached with working with this underground group was that surely there was someone better qualified for the job than myself. Yet, those who have been involved with this mission from the ground up assure me that they have weighed the costs and handpicked me precisely due to the fact that I am such an unlikely candidate. No one would ever suspect that I work for this operation and am familiar with its inner-workings. Think about it…a mere civilian…unassuming and boringly average.

Uncanny...how illogical it seems that I am to be trusted with such a fantastic mission…therefore making perfect sense. This mission: * which I have chosen to accept * : to go into the world, seeking out ponopeople across the globe, and writing their stories…I will keep a log of my own thoughts as I go through the rigorous training involved… revealing the many lessons I am sure to learn along the way…recording and storing every bit of data I come across, in hopes of returning to homebase with a wealth of information with which the Ponopeople can collectively use to their advantage in their greater mission: Finding that fine balance of Goodness, Rightness, and Life~

If you are receiving a copy of this memo, you have been deemed as a vital and integral member of this mission: your name appearing on a top-secret list. I am counting on you to be my contact(s)…my inside links into the Ponopeople realm as I wander…my connection to the core. I have complete faith that you are also up to this task. And on we go. This memo will self destruct within 30 seconds…*and if it doesn’t, by some chance…rest assured that just means that it * ahem * must be written in that, um, new invisible “only-you-can-read-this-ink” that they have only recently just come up with *do you sense this is INCREDIBLE ink?* that so few people know about in the world…*

……30, 29, 28, 27….

An Old, Familiar Question~

I was talking to my mom on the phone today. Joy was being shared. Surreal circumstances had brought us to our current conversation. We were talking about this opportunity that lies before me; this tremendous God-gift that seemed to fall from the sky into my lap, as if beckoned by Aladdin’s genie of the lamp. I can almost hear Robin Williams’s shrill shriek of mirth as he conjured up this miracle of mine (insert farcical fanfare here___________).

After this brief, Zack-Morris inspired interlude occurs inside my head, the phone call commences once again. We continue our praise and thanksgiving for the sponsors who are sending me on this adventure, as well as acknowledging the One who placed it upon their hearts to foster an interest in this obscurity-born ink flowing from my pen.

At one break in the conversation, my mom stopped suddenly and posed to me a single question: “Andy, Have you ever wondered, ‘Why you?’” I paused to ponder this. “ Everyday.” was my loaded reply.

Everyday I come into contact with situations that I ask: “Why Me?” There are times (such as this present scenario) when I softly, humbly, whisper to the Heavens, in utter gratitude, the inquiry, “Why Me?”

Conversely, in moments of disappointment (a love lost, a heart divided, a friendship broken, or a trust dishonored), I earnestly beg to know and understand, “Why Me?”

Humorous occasions (the trip over the non-existent something on the sidewalk, the bodily function that so rudely forgot to ask permission before it escaped from my possession, and pretty much every single self-written, sleep-inducing speech of my entire freshmen apologetics class) call for the hilarity-induced howl of disbelief (yet not really, for I am quite often ridiculous), “Why Me!”

But the most vivid season(s) of my life have taken place when the pain is so palpable that I can almost feel the heat of my heart—burning, blazing a trail of barbaric proportions…the fire licks and spews; the stench of a soul being seared is almost too much for my stomach to handle. It longs to purge the repugnant pain. It writhes beneath the crushing weight of it all as I raise my angry fist to the sky, crying out in agony and rage at the injustice of it all, “ WHY ME?”

I have yet to receive an audible, or even measurable answer to these question(s)…I use the plural here because they are all very different queries in my mind. I understand that I am not “owed” an answer. I understand that I may not need an answer. I understand that I may never understand. I understand that I do not have to understand—and that this life is a song with a harmony made of many distant chords—strange melodies that may not always sound to the untrained ear as right—and yet the beat goes on~ And that is all the understanding that I need~

Everything...and Nothing~

Today I am pausing....I am taking a deep breath...and I am re-thinking this whole thing.

The following questions are just a small smattering of the ones I have posed to the ambitious *and often overly optimistic* Andy Beth:

"What the heck do you know about taking a whirlwind world tour?"

"What evidence do you have that shows you that you can pull this thing off?"

"What are you planning on accomplishing at the end of this journey?"

"What exactly are your specific goals?"

One Word Answer is Sufficient for all these queries for that rambling redhead: NOTHING. *Yup, you got it!*

I know NOTHING about trotting the globe. I have ZERO tangible evidence *especially if we are looking at MY track record!* that creates any illusion that I am "qualified" for this job (or any job for that matter). I have NO measurable objectives for which to shoot once I embark upon my way. And NONE of my thoughts are specific---much less my goals...random, yes...specific...not exactly~

I realize these truths as I am sitting down before a stack of guide books. THE LONELY PLANET, FROMMERS, FODORS and NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC tower over my head, offering guidance. The pages of these books lay open on the table before me...spines spread...fanning out like proud peacocks, flaunting their exquisite plumage. I survey the scene, noting the massive collection of charts and maps so rudely leaving not one inch of visible surface......

And I decide to make myself some elbow room, damnit!

I am here. Now. Drowning among these "preferable" and "helpful" suggestions. The experts are confusing me...their voices are conflicting, and their numbers too many. They are too loud for my sensitive ears. I close my eyes and cup my hands upon the sides of my head *the hilarious protective measure of fatherly Vince Vaugh ala "Old School" invades my imagination..."EAR MUFFS!"*

And now...nothing.

So there you have it. I Confess! I have no idea where exactly I am taking you! I have not a clue as to what we will be doing! Who we will meet is a mystery and sweet, suspenseful question mark. Here lies our unwritten book! What you will be reading is the random musings of my heart and soul...and I pray I may serve you well in relating whatever message we are supposed to find together. I came across this quote while wading fruitlessly in the midst of my afore-mentioned, overwhelmed agitation:

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware.” – Martin Buber

And now I see...Nothing....is everything.

E Komo Mai, friends. It's going to be one great adventure~

Official Itinerary~

Official Itinerary! Come with me, all you ponopeople, help me seek and learn how to better cultivate life...your comments, additions and truths along the way enrich this forum, and challenge us all to flourish and flow...Mahalo to you all~

~E Komo Mai~

April 3-May 5= Barcelona, Spain based...hoping to squeeze in several small trips via Eurorail...just call me Rick Steves~

May 5- June 1= Kas, Turkey *many thanks to Sevki for the gracious lodgings @ http://www.hotelbarbarossa.com/ ~

June 1-June 20= Cairo, Egypt~ *Sarah is going to teach me to Bellydance...right, Sarah?* ;)

June 20- July 22= Wellington, New Zealand~

July 22- August ?= Los Angeles, USA *making heads or tails of the scribble I have been blessed to subject you readers to, regarding the above mentioned far-away lands :) *

A Soul Divided...Commits~

Decisions.

They bombard us on all sides. They sneak up on us from behind. They look us boldly in the eyes. They whisper in our ears. They scream in our faces. They pull our hair out. They block our paths. They open doors. They pave our way before us. They are no respecter of persons. They are equal opportunity employers--And they terrify me most days.

I have been faced with many big decisions of recent days...coming at me in rapid succession...beckoning me to begin...choosing.

During this time of transition, I have been reading Elizabeth Gilbert's newest book, the follow-up of her bestseller EAT PRAY LOVE, entitled COMMITTED. One of its passages directly spoke to my soul...I remember stumbling across it and reveling in the warmth of fellowship...sensing that I was not alone. The following words fed my fearful soul and provided the satiety of solidarity...being together in the triumphs of made choices, as well as the trials of timidity in approaching them.

She writes that, "the problem, simply put, is that we cannot choose everything simultaneously. So we live in danger of becoming paralyzed by indecision, terrified that every choice might be the wrong choice...{}....Equally disquieting are the times when we DO make a choice, only to later feel as though we have murdered some other aspect of our being by settling on one single concrete decision. By choosing Door Number Three, we fear we have killed off a different--but equally critical--piece of our soul that could only have been made manifest by walking through Door Number One or Door Number Two. "

I understand far too well what it feels to look at myself in the mirror and tangibly sense the dichotomy of my emotional state. I am an emotional-thinker, a woman-child, a scared lion, a brave mouse. With all of these "pieces" of me...I wonder which decision(s) are good, best and right. I feel it not fair to be forced to choose between them. In the midst of my personal pity party, I am rudely interrupted by an astounding realization which rocks my world...the fact alone that I have options...freedoms, and chances in this gift called life...is the answer.

Again, as I lift my face to the unknown ahead, I feel the fragile balance of life's fluidity assuring me, and whispering in my ear: "Let it Flow"~