Romance

Romance

1)      A feeling of excitement or mystery associated with love

2)      A quality or feeling of mystery, excitement, and remoteness from everyday life

This definition of the word “romance” was one I found when I googled the words “definition of romance”. It was a simple act, googling the words. But what I learned from it, and the experiences that have led up to me typing that phrase into a search engine in the first place, was anything but simple.

I came to the realization recently that sometimes, I hold people and things in my life to a standard that was set incorrectly. Standards set by Nicholas Sparks novels and Disney movies and my own imagination are out of the realm of reality. It’s never going to end well if you expect someone to uphold those standards. To expect a man to be Noah Calhoun (The Notebook) or Prince Charming, is unfair not only to them, but also to yourself.

We are human beings. You and I, we’re humans. We’re not Disney princesses, we’re not romanticized heroines who are perfect. We are flawed and we have imperfections and we have characteristics about ourselves that we don’t like.

Guess what?

The ones we fall in love with are human beings, too. They are flawed and have imperfections and have characteristics about themselves that they don’t like. They’re not Prince Charming, and they’re not romanticized, perfect heroes. They, like you, are human beings.

I realized in the last couple of days that I have been approaching the idea of romance in entirely the wrong way. Expecting other people to uphold my standard of romance, or my standard of anything, is like expecting them to be just like me. I wouldn’t want to date myself, and my guess is that neither do you. When I put it like that in my head, the concept was laughable.

Our differences make us the unique and beautiful individuals that we are. I personally fell in love with someone who is incredibly unique and sometimes overwhelmingly so. It’s something that I love about him, but I realized that I was unconsciously combatting that quality in him that I love so much, because I was expecting him to see romance the same way that I do.

As it turns out, he doesn’t. And what I realized is that I don’t really want him to. I thought I did, at first, but now I see that if I got what I thought I wanted, I would be creating the most boring relationship ever. The definition of romance that I found on Google highlights the air of mystery that comes with romance. If everyone we ever dated had the same idea of romance that we do, we would be eliminating all the mystery from our relationships.

Like I said, boring.

So what I’ve learned through all of this is that just because he doesn’t think the way you do, doesn’t mean it can’t be a good thing. I have to learn to let go of some of my preconceptions and accept some of the realities of the thing that is more beautiful than Disney movies: real life.

And maybe when I let go of some of those preconceptions, I’ll find that what fills the space is even better than I had imagined in the first place. 

George

I’ve written and rewritten the post about my boyfriend about ten thousand times, never seeming to be able to get the words right. I’m known to have a way with words, but when it comes to George, I can’t ever seem to land on exactly the right ones. Sometimes I wonder if the right words have even been invented yet.

George and I started dating almost five months ago, on Valentine’s Day. Before that, I have to admit I crushed on him, and come to find out, he’s had a crush on me since freshman year. George is five-ten, with hair that he says is dirty blonde, but so far, I’ve only seen brown, and hazel eyes that I think are gorgeous but which he finds unremarkable. We’ve agreed to disagree on that. He also has a beautiful smile and gives amazing hugs. Despite the fact that I find George’s looks attractive, and always have, what I find that I love most about George are the things that make him who he is.

I’ve always known George was intelligent, but what I didn’t know until I got to know him well is that there’s more to it than that. His mind works in an incredible way which is both creative and analytical. He thinks in a manner unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and it keeps me on my toes, which I love. Besides that, underneath the exterior he presents to the world, George has the most beautiful spirit of anyone I’ve ever known. He’s kind and gentle, with a fierce protective side that I adore. George loves deeply and endlessly. He is a kind heart and a beautiful mind and a gentle spirit, and I love all of those things about him.

If you had asked me three years ago when we first met if I would be dating him now, I would never have dreamed of saying yes. The idea would have seemed beyond the scope of reality. Now, five months into the best relationship I’ve ever had, I don’t think it would be possible for me to be happier. George and I have had our relationship put to the test, there’s no question about that. But being with George is like being at home, like everything has been lined up the way it was intended. He’s one of the most frustrating and difficult people on the planet. He’s stubborn and when he gets an idea in his head, that’s simply the way it is. He procrastinates and ends up doing assignments that are due at 11:55 somewhere around 11:30, but has this infuriating yet impressive way of making an A anyway.

 But even as he spends an hour refusing to reply with anything more than one-word answers, he still manages to be one of the sweetest and most caring individuals I’ve ever known. The first migraine I had after we started dating, he called and said absolutely nothing for a while on the phone so that I could be in the quiet. When we had to be apart for spring break, he wrote a letter to me (after discarding an unknown number of drafts) so that I could read it through the week. He switched my stuffed cat for his Star Wars BuildABear, and is never hesitant to relinquish one of his shirts or jackets, even knowing he’ll run out of clothes if he keeps giving them to me. He never hesitates to share things with me, even food, which is impressive considering he loves food nearly as much as he loves me. (Maybe more than me, but we don’t talk about that.) He’s the kind of person who will do anything to make life better for the people they care about. I have no doubt that he would lay down his life for me in an instant, with no hesitation.

George has brought countless blessings into my life, from laughter to comfort to the simple joy of being with someone so incredible. I always wondered what it would be like to be with the right person, how that would feel and how I would know if it was right. Being with George has answered those questions for me. Having him in my home, comfortable and finding joy in things as simple as doing the dishes, or being in his home, where I found myself just as comfortable, just being a part of each other’s lives, has brought me a kind of contentment that I can’t even begin to express. Sharing in happy and sad days has brought us closer and I’m grateful. I’m grateful for his tolerance and strength, his protectiveness and his laughter, his ability to turn my day around, to keep me calm, and to share in my struggles, to take up the place beside me and make my issues his own, to take a stand with me regardless of my reasoning, just because it means that much to me. I’m grateful for the way he came into my life, his constant presence, and the comfort that I get from knowing he’s always there. But most of all, I’m grateful for his love, which is unconditional and endless.

If there was one thing I would want the world to know about George, it would be that he is easily the most loving and gentle person I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. He’s more than what he puts out there for the world to see, and the continuing process of uncovering the layers that make him the person that he is has been, and continues to be, one of my greatest joys. I am blessed to call him mine.

Genius, I’ll love you ‘till the sun dies. 

100 Favorite Words

I am a lover of language. It may have something to do with the grueling grammar lessons I endured during my two years of homeschooling. Those two years were difficult and taught me a lot. We did a lot of grammar and sentence structure and The Scarlet Letter.

Perhaps that, in addition to my already established love of books and creative writing, so what fueled me to where I am now. I adore beautiful words, words that translate into thoughts that are deep and intense. So I decided to make a list of my 100 favorite words.

1)      Eloquent: fluent and clearly expressive in speech

2)      Exquisite: extremely beautiful and typically delicate

3)      Ardent: enthusiastic or passionate

4)      Ecumenical: representing a number of different Christian churches

5)      Intricate: very complicated or detailed

6)      Incandescence: light produced by high temperature

7)      Ethereal: Extremely delicate light, not of this world

8)      Demure: reserved and shy

9)      Celestial: supremely good

10)   Limerence: The feeling of being infatuated with another person

11)   Delicate: very fine in texture or structure

12)   Ephemeral: Lasting for a very short time

13)   Flutter: quick, light movements

14)   Eidetic: Relating to or denoting mental images having unusual vividness

15)   Flicker: make small, quick movements in light

16)   Enchanted: filled with great delight or charm

17)   Serendipity: The occurrence of events by chance in a pleasant way

18)   Elysian: Beautiful or creative

19)   Languid: slow and relaxed

20)   Onism: the awareness of how little of the world you will experience

21)   Kalopsia: The delusion of things being more beautiful than they actually are

22)   Petrichor: the smell of earth after rain

23)   Vellichor: the strange wistfulness of used bookstores

24)   Caim: Sanctuary, a circle of protection

25)   Amaranthine: undying, immortal, eternally beautiful

26)   Querencia: a place from which one’s strength is drawn

27)   Devastation: Great destruction or damage

28)   Liturgy: a form by which public religious worship is conducted

29)   Virulent: bitterly hostile

30)   Alleviate: Make less severe

31)   Decadent: Luxuriously self-indulgent

32)   Delectable: Delicious

33)   Tsondoku: Letting books pile up on floors and nightstands unread

34)   Emminent: used to emphasize the presence of a positive quality

35)   Eunoia: Beautiful thinking

36)   Sparkling: shining brightly with light

37)   Eutony: the pleasantness of a word’s sound

38)   Illicit: not legal or permitted

39)   Sonorous: an impossibly deep or full sound

40)   Matryoshka: each a set of brightly painted hollow wooden dolls of various sizes, designed to nest inside each other

41)   Epiphany: a moment of sudden revelation

42)   Expressive: effectively conveying a thought or feeling

43)   Mystical: inspiring a sense of spiritual mystery and fascination

44)   Flawless: Without any blemishes or imperfections; perfect

45)   Embrace: hold someone closely in one’s arms

46)   Enthralled: capture the fascinated attention of

47)   Chrysalism: the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a storm

48)   Lullaby: a gentle, quiet song

49)   Tangible: perceived by touch

50)   Opia: the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye

51)   Acquiesce: submit or comply

52)   Felicity: pleasantness

53)   Lithe: slender and flexible

54)   Opulent: lush, luxurious

55)   Palimpsest: a manuscript written over earlier ones

56)   Panacea: a solution for all problems

57)   Quintessential: Most essential

58)   Resplendence: dazzling in appearance

59)   Vespertine: relating to the evening

60)   Malevolence: wishing evil or harm to others

61)   Synedoche: simultaneous understanding

62)   Cadence: a modulation or inflection of the voice

63)   Wonder: a feeling or surprised admiration caused by something inexplicably beautiful

64)   Entropy: lack of order or predictability

65)   Sans: without

66)   Wanderlust: a strong desire to travel

67)   Eschew: deliberately avoid using

68)   Dazzling: extremely bright

69)   Adore: Love and respect deeply

70)   Seduction: a tempting or attracting thing

71)   Exotic: Originating in characteristics of a foreign place

72)   Lavishing: bestow something in generous or extravagant quantities

73)   Gallant: brave or heroic

74)   Aura: distinct atmosphere or quality seeming to surround someone

75)   Mystique: A fascinating air of mystery

76)   Recognizance: a bond someone takes to appear when summoned

77)   Acumen: the ability to make good judgments and quick decisions

78)   Breathtaking: astonishing or awe-inspiring

79)   Archaic: No longer in everyday use; of an early period

80)   Macabre: disturbing in its connection with death and injury

81)   Intrinsic: Belonging naturally; essential

82)   Cadaveric: the adjective form of cadaver

83)   Charismatic: exercising a compelling charm that inspires devotion in others

84)   Komorelu: sunlight filtering through trees

85)   Hiraeth: homesickness for a place you can no longer return to

86)   Solitude: a state of seclusion

87)   Ineffable: too great to be expressed in words

88)   Meraki: to do with the soul

89)   Epoch: a particular period in history

90)   Melliflous: a sound that is smooth, sweet, and pleasing

91)   Strepitous: boisterous, noisy

92)   Fragile: delicate, vulnerable

93)   Paraluman: a muse that inspires artistically

94)   Oblivion: the state of being unaware of what is happening around you

95)   Redamancy: a love returned in full

96)   Denouement: the resolution of a narrative

97)   Supirianation: a frustration with misinterpretation of your meaning

98)   Nyctophilia: a love of the night

99)   Metanoia: The journey of changing one’s mind, heart, or self

100)                       Gazpacho: a soup made pf raw vegetables with a tomato base

Thankful

 Expressing my love for the Thanksgiving/Christmas Season 

 

First of all, I know it has been a really long time since my last post. It’s insane to me that the last time I hit the little orange “publish” button for this blog, the most viewed post had only a little over a hundred pageviews. When I think back on that crazy week of my summer, I am still overwhelmed by the outpouring of love and recognition I received for my letter to Detroit.

That said, I’m back! Junior year swept me off my feet with all the work and extracurricular that appeared from the very first day of school onward. Now, as the first semester begins to wind down and my teachers are panicking and talking about exams, I am finding myself very reflective, and with Thanksgiving approaching fast, I have so much to be thankful for.

In October of 2014, an electrical fire broke out at my house. I never knew how devastating something like that could be. I like to think myself a spiritually grounded person, and I think most of the time,  I am. But as a sixteen-year-old girl growing up in lower middle-class, 21^st-century America, I can be pretty materialistic. Losing nearly all of my clothes and most of my possessions while trying to navigate my sophomore year of high school was not easy. Life at home became increasingly difficult, because tensions ran really high. Moving is stressful when you are prepared for it. Imagine having to pack up a house that is smoke-damaged, waterlogged, and half ruined, all in a weekend. Having to sort through and clean everything, on top of buying new things and handling the many generous donations we got, on top of moving into a too-small-for-us home…well, overwhelming is an understatement.

That was just over a year ago now, and earlier this month, we finally got to go home. I am so joyful to be back in our house. The house that I call home may not look like much, but it was my safe haven when I needed that more than anything else in my life. It represents a stability that I am so grateful to have. There are still boxes everywhere, and we aren’t nearly as organized as we would like to be, but we’re getting there. The house is starting to feel like ours, more than it did even before the fire. I think an experience like that is such a teachable moment. Being back home, I take so much more ownership and pride than I did before. I can’t take it for granted anymore, because I know what it’s like not to have that. I never appreciated our 1,200 square feet more than I do now.

The holidays have always held such significance for me. I am one of those people who absolutely adores Christmas. It arrives 23 days after my birthday each year, so the month of December is always a joyful time for me. When I was younger, we would spend Thanksgiving with my Maw-Maw, and holidays without her are always hard. But as I prepare for Thanksgiving this week, which we are spending in our home, I am beyond grateful. I love holiday preparation; the food, the decorations, the music. Thanksgiving afternoon was always spent decorating my Maw-Maw’s Christmas tree, and I love that tradition. It’s things like that, in my opinion, that make the holiday season so special. There’s endless nostalgia surrounding Christmastime, and I relish those sorts of things.

So this week, we are working through the boxes to make shopping lists, and organizing cabinets to house groceries. We’re making room for Christmas decoration, solely for the tradition of it (my family and I aren’t even staying in town for Christmas this year), and I’m setting the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade to record on the DVR because for my dad to miss the football game would be treason in the Mattheis house, and we can’t have that. On Thursday, I will be making a pie from a recipe that I have never needed to write down, because my Maw-Maw taught it to me when I was so little that I had to sit on the counter. This coming weekend, I will get to hang all my ornaments on the tree, and hang my stocking, and put the jingle bell collars on my dogs. We’ll put out red candles and change the scent in our wax warmer to something more Christmas-y. Soon, I’ll get to start wrapping Christmas presents, and we’ll make Christmas treats and I’ll wear my candy-cane earrings.

All of that is happening, and this week, I am so much more thankful for what I have than I can recall ever being. I am truly blessed, despite my struggles, and because of them. So I take this opportunity to wish you and yours a very happy and blessed Thanksgiving.

A Letter To Detroit From A National Youth Gathering Participant

Dear Detroit,

My name is Cassie and I'm from a small town in North Carolina, where our largest building is Wal-Mart. I have always wanted to experience life in a big city, and you did not disappoint, but rather exceeded my expectations. You see, I was expecting a city filled with broken dreams and shattered glass, a city devoid of life and hope. I expected a scene of desolation against the backdrop of a dead city.

But you are not dead. You are so very much alive. You destroyed all of my preconceptions the minute I set foot on your gorgeous riverwalk and was exposed to the cultural diversity and breathtaking views you offered me. I saw the opposite of what I expected; I saw bike riders and people reading books and children playing in the fountain. I saw so much life, even after mere minutes of being there. And that first night, my group ventured into Greektown, and Monroe became my favorite street in all of a minute. It was still daylight out, but the criss-crossing lights that hung above the street had me hooked at first glance. I was entertained and enamored by your people, your mannerisms, and your atmosphere. (Not to mention the food, which is absolutely delectable).

Over the week, I saw your bad side. (the area around 8-mile road was pretty sketchy). I saw your homeless, your penniless, your dirty and your somewhat terrifying drunk Tigers fans. I saw your houses adorned with neon yellow signs that read, "Will Demolish". But I also saw your beauty. I saw your culture. I saw your parks. I saw your police; on boats, cars, horses, and bicycles. I saw your sports. I saw your riverwalk. I heard your music. I saw your street drummers and the guy playing the trumpet in Greektown. I saw your public buses, your taxis, your people mover. I saw your graffiti and your mosaics. I saw your alleys and your crosswalks. I saw Astoria Pastry Shop every single night I was there. I saw your stunning architecture and I ate your food. We rapped with a car full of your people as they drove beside us on our walk back to our hotel one night. I saw one of your artists sketching on a street corner and my dad bought me a rose from one of your people selling flowers on Monroe. I saw your Times Square and your Broadway. I heard your concerts and experienced your weather. I felt your rain, your breezes, and your sunshine. I sang in your streets and weeded your flowerbeds. I talked to your citizens. I heard your spoken word and the testimony of those who belong to you. I served and worshipped and learned and laughed in your city. And I fell in love with it.

I saw your life. I saw your hope and your future, but I also saw your present and it is so far from dead. I want to bring every single person who said to me, "Detroit? Why are you going there? So you can get shot?" and I want to show them the Detroit I got to see because there are a million reasons to see everything you showed me.

I came to see your for the first time as one in 30,000 teenagers. We all blended together for you, I'm sure,with our brightly colored tee-shirts, inordinate amounts of cheerfulness, backpacks and water bottles, not to mention the fact that we all seemed to know each other. You may have tired of our endless happiness, constant singing, or our multitude of high-fives and clothespins. Perhaps by the end of the week, you were ready to back to being "too-cool-for-you hipster" and leave the Disneyland vibe behind. You may have been ready to have your streets back at night, and not packed with teens singing the National Anthem for no reason at all. I'm sure your restaurants were ready to return to normal dinner crowds instead of being overcrowded by people clad in neon orange.

But I want to say thank you. Thank you a million times for putting up with the ELCA Youth Gathering 2015, because it wouldn't have been the same without you. Thank you for proving me wrong, and for showing me just how alive and vibrant and wonderful you really are.

I love you, Detroit.

Until Next Time,

Cassie

To Be A Missionary

What does it mean to be a missionary?

I recently had the occasion to ponder this question, and am still trying to work out the truest answer it has. Having been lucky enough to feel called to any sort of career this early in life, to have an end goal, and be able to plan my life out (although they say we plan and God laughs) has been a blessing. I see friends struggling with a lack of purpose in many ways, having no idea what they want to do. On the other hand, many people change their majors once or more in college, so perhaps my friends will be better off in the end, not clinging to a previously formulated plan.

However, feeling called to be a missionary has come about after several decision changes following the call I heard at 12 years old, which was to be a nurse in the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). Since then, I have cycled through several options, all of which have stayed within the parameters of the medical field. I thought for a while that I wanted to be an Emergency Room physician. (Thank you, six seasons of ER watched consecutively.) I also considered family medicine, and becoming a full-fledged Neonatologist as opposed to a NICU nurse. And then, it came to me. Missionary medicine. A way to satisfy my wanderlust and travel the world, while quenching my desire to work with the human body, AND doing the Lord's work, which I have developed a passion for. It sounded, and still does, like the best idea ever.

So after this revelation that came as a result of prayer and thinking, along with talking to my mom, a lot (She was very patient about it, usually.), I was on top of the world. I knew what I wanted to do, I could look at what schools I would want to go to, and the kind of credentials I would need. Oooh, and what countries I wanted to mission in! Bangladesh and India? Yes. Saris, here I come!

Wait. Hold up, Cassie.

What does it mean to be a missionary? The thought occurred to me one day out of the blue, and while it did not burst my bubble or dim my enthusiasm for my new life plans, it did bring me down off my pedestal a bit. It made me stop and think.

I cannot go into such an endeavor because I want to wear a sari (although I totally do. The picture included here is of me trying one on with the help of author Kimberly Rae, aka one of the coolest people I have ever met.) I cannot set out to be a missionary, doing the work of the Lord in foreign countries, healing people and helping them, if I myself have no clue what  a missionary is.

Recently, at the NC Synod Assembly I attended, there were two missionaries that spoke to us. One is living and missioning with his family in Senegal, and the other is doing the same with her family in Argentina. I have so much respect for these two people, who both have spouses and children, and who are making major headway in Africa and South America.  As I listened to them speak, I could literally feel myself buzzing with excitement. As the first missionary told a story about their Muslim neighbors inviting them over for a slaughter (American speak: barbeque), I couldn't help but listen intently. The story ended with his recollection of the slaughter-feast-thing, and the fact that the Muslim neighbor had asked him, a Lutheran pastor and missionary, to pray before the meal, knowing full well that he was about to pray to our God. I definitely got chills. I saw pictures of his young son walking literally hand in hand with a young African Muslim boy, neither of them the least bit concerned about their differences or afraid of the other. Complete and total peace, captured photographically on the streets of Senegal.

And I have to admit, the idea of the whole thing sounded so appealing to me. The opportunity to see that peace manifesting itself in person, to be witness to something so much bigger than anything I've ever seen, is something that I can't even wrap my head around, while at the same time, want so desperately.

So I guess that still doesn't answer the question. I recently went to visit my grandparents in Tennessee, where I got to ride horses and see dogs that adore me and go kayaking and just generally live the life of the retired-which is amazing, by the way. But that's beside the point. My grandparents have this friend, whom I've met several times before, and who calls me a Communist, but that's the result of a conversation about my activist efforts...again, beside the point. The actual point is, this year, he and I had a conversation about the fact that I want to be a missionary. His exact words were, "You're not going to be one of those missionaries over there, are you?" Now, considering I'm a Communist, this shouldn't have been surprising to him.

I found myself on a strange side of things in this conversation. Up until that point, the idea of my being a foreign missionary had never been met with anything but, to be frank, somewhat gushing support. My church family is all very pleased by the thought, and I had already gotten used to people being excited by the prospect, as opposed to...well, somewhat disgusted. So here I was, sitting on the ground surrounded by gravel and dogs (not to mention dog hair and slobber stains on my shirt and my face), explaining to a man that I like and respect that yes, I was going to be one of those missionaries.

His argument was that maybe they didn't want my religion. And mine, which I stand firm on, was that they should have the option. In explaining my position on missionaries, I found that the answer to my initial question was within reach. To be a missionary?

I think maybe it's really about being willing. Not only to do what you have to do, to do the Lord's work, and to share the good news, possibly to people who had never heard it, ever. (A thought that seems, to me, a lifelong Christian who had Bible stories read to her from the time she was a baby and whose first public performance was Amazing Grace at barely three years old, REALLY foreign) Not only that, but also to humble yourself. To be willing to sacrifice what you have, and even what you could have, for the good of more than what you can see. I think a missionary is, in its most simplistic of definitions, a member of the body who is willing to do what she can to BE the body, to be the hands and feet of Jesus in a place where people need that. By such a definition, I was a missionary at eleven years old when I attended "Mission Project Lenoir" (Now LAMP) for the first time, and spent hours scraping old paint off of a lady's front porch railing. I was a missionary then, and every summer since, in my own hometown. I was a missionary with my team in Manchester, Kentucky last summer. And I can be a missionary in my day-to-day life. It's not necessarily about being in Bangladesh, or knowing statistics on human trafficking that would make your skin crawl. It's not about having an MD or the medication to treat malaria. It's not about praying over a slaughtered lamb in Senegal, or traveling Death Road in Bolivia because your god-daughter lives at the end. It's not about distributing Sunday School materials in Spanish to churches that didn't have them. Not that those things aren't good and worthy and wonderful, because they are. And they're so worth it, if you ask me.

But in the end, I believe that what it's truly about is being willing, being open, and being available. Doing what you can, when and where you can, to the best of your ability, to spread Truth and the Word to people who need to hear that, no matter what the reason is behind the need. So, I guess in the end, maybe my answer has been right in front of me the whole time, hasn't it? Maybe my answer lies in the people who surround me every day. Because maybe we are all truly missionaries, in our own ways.