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Let me tell you a story to add to the list of exciting things that have happened in the last few weeks.  It all begins about two weeks ago when I finally sat down at my computer and took on the task of sending out resumes/headshots. This all happened the same day that I put in my Starbucks application, but these resumes and headshots belonged to my dear husband.  We had been talking for months-or was it years? about putting his face out there to get involved in local acting things. Most specifically, he was looking for film or commercial type work, but we agreed that an agent was also an avenue to persue.  

So, I did what any half-clueless person would do when looking for these things and did an internet search. I can’t even remember how many agencies I contacted or casting-call websites I subscribed to in those few hours. It was at least a dozen. And then, we did what all good actors do: hurry up and wait. Having had a lot of practice in waiting, this didn’t seem that difficult to either of us. God will figure things out in His time, just like He has always done.

Right away we got an email from one agent saying they were not able to take on male actors at this time, followed closely by a couple of potential job offers to be an extra on a tv show that never quite worked out because of rain and timing. At a point when I had figured we would just have to stick with the ‘extra’ work for a while, another email came from an agent down in Oregon City. To be honest, I don’t even remember contacting this agent, but evidently I did. She immediatly set up an audition for Lucas- we browsed her website hopefully. In a few days we discovered that one of our local actor-friends also had an audition that same night with that same agent. It added to the excitement and hopefulness

Monday, we rushed around the house to ready ourselves- mostly Lucas, but I didn’t want to come looking like a slob either. We left the house an hour and a half early, for what turned out to be a thirty minute drive to the hotel where we were to meet for the audition. Room 218- set up with a long table, chairs, and glasses of water was waiting empty when we arrived. In the hallway,  I stood and waited while Lucas paced- a typical scene for the two of us waiting together. At seven, the agent arrived and met with the first potential client: a child model with lovely curly hair. Soon after, our actor-friend arrived so we passed the time catching up and making plans for a double date.

Finally, at seven thirty, the agent called Lucas into the room and graciously allowed me to come in to be with them.  I liked her immediately. She seemed kind, authoritative, welcoming, and enthusiastic. She immediately liked Lucas- doting on his looks and the sound of his voice. After showing us some work, and giving us ideas of how she would help as an agent, she asked Lucas to do a cold-read for her. It sealed the deal. He was barely finished the script when she offered to sign him. I had fallen in love with him all over again watching him act for us and now I was ready to jump out of my seat and dance with excitment! 

Thats when the unexpected happened. She looked over at me, and asked if I was interested in representation. I would imagine that she gathered that I was an actor too after Lucas told her we met at school, more specifically on the stage. She told me I had a groovy look and a sweet face- that would sell in Portland. She also loved my glasses, which greatly endeared her to me. Before I really knew what was happening, I found myself with a script in hand performing for her from across the table. I hadn’t acted since Ebenezer Raised (my senoir recital) at Prairie in 2008. It felt like I had woken up out of some deep sleep and found the world to be a better, happier place. With the joy of having acted still causing all my nerves to vibrate with excitment, she offered to sign me as well. 

You two are the perfect couple- I’ll find work for both of you in commercials, print, and film. Portland will love you.

The first few minutes after leaving the audition room are a bit of a blurr. Really, the whole evening was so exciting that I am surprised I am still in one piece. We sat in the lobby calling family (those who would not be ripped out of sleep due to the nasty consequences of time zones), thrilled beyond words. As Lucas talked on the phone, I reflected on the fact that it was just hours earlier that I had begun to think of possibly finding an agent myself knowing that I simply could not go much longer without theatre and acting. It was as if God was nudging me towards possibilities, then answering a prayer I didn’t even know I had prayed. Amazing. Soon our actor-friend arrived in the lobby and shared her good news. We drove the thirty minutes home with our minds full of possibilities that have not disappeared for a moment since.



Recently, I have been plowing through one of my last classes of my undergraduate degree. It feels good to be getting close to the completion of said degree, but even moreso it feels good to be learning about something that I feel like I needed to learn a logn time ago. The class is called “revelation & scripture”- a misleadng title to silly folks like me who didn’t bother to consider that revelation could be anything other than the last book of the Bible.  It is, in fact, a class about how, when, and why the Bible came to us as well as the theological implications of such relating to the Bible and God’s character. Over the course of 500 pages of reading I have come to have an appreciation for God’s word unlike any other time in my life. In a way, I feel like I needed this class my first year away at school, but God’s timing is perfect in al things, including classes taken by slow-to-finish students.

This morning, I sat down to my school work and did soemthing I have never done before: read the preface and introduction of my Bible. You know, I never thought that part of the book was important. I was very wrong. I suppose now I could encourage you to sit and read the preface, but without having just read 500 pages on the subject, you may not find it as enlightening. Above all, I had never before taken the time to consider the miricle it is that we have a complete Bible today- over 1900 years later.

Just a thought. Now back to my work so I can finish and move on to my next class: Issues in Contemporary Theology.


Forgive me- my last entry was perhaps a little over dramatic. It was written at the end of a long very complicated few days, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I really do know that this decision will be best for everyone in the long run. I am also starting to realize that I am still very young, and that which is important and valuable to elders is difficult for the inexperienced young to understand.

Today is a very different day. The peach blossoms are making an appearence and the air smells like burning cedar. The sun is shining and it is warm enough to go outside without a sweater. I can’t help but feel a lot more optimistic.


Excitement and oppertunity have been coming to Lucas and I at a dizzying pace lately. Since Thursday, we’ve handed out resumes and headshots, filled out applications, looked at apartments, written a paper, considered tax returns, been contacted by an agent, given a job, and been notfied of being considered for a seperate job. It’s really an awful lot of blessings to handle- which, I might add, is not a bad thing in any way.

Oddly enough, despite the enormous joys of today, my mind is turned elsewhere tonight. Just months ago one of my grandfather was placed in an assisted-living home to make things easier for him and for my grandmother. I was already here in Oregon when this all took place, but I knew it was coming and would be good. Now, I haven’t been home, so I cannot really comment on how things are working out, but I have only ever imagined them to be on the eventually-good-for-everyone side of difficult. It really made sense to me, after having seen my grandfather deal with the terrible frustrations and limitations of Parkinson’s disease, that he go to be where people can  him the most. 

Today, my grandmother accepted a spot in the same assisted living home and moved in to be with my grandfather. My brain is telling me that this is for the better- my grandfather will be much happier and at ease with her nearby. There is just this part of me that feels grief over the whole situation.  My grandmother is not frail and old to me- she is not like the women I have met in nursing homes before. It can be difficult for me to concieve of changes so big from such a distance, but tonight my prayers will faithfully, though with difficulty, go back to ‘thy will be done’. In the end, God will care for my grandparents in the ways they each need it, no matter where they are.


Harmonica music always makes me cry. It doesn’t matter if the tune is intended to be happy or sad, it always makes me cry. To be honest, I have no idea why that beautiful and folksy instrument has such an effect on me- its not as if I have something against the little thing.
I am not one to cry easily, or at least I never used to be. Oddly enough, this is a topic that came up last week, though it was not in relation to a harmonica- that thought came later. In women’s Bible study last week, we got onto the topic of humilliation. The topic was not surprising as we have been studying the book of Esther in which Haman, the King’s less-than-reputable second in command, meets the greatest humiliation in his life by havign to honour his enemy in the way he had wished to be honoured. Our Bible study teacher posed the question of what would you rather happen than be humiliated like Haman? As I listened to the answers of a great many women in whom I have much respect, I couldn’t help but feel that personal humiliation was not all that terrible. Wondering if I was completely crazy, I worked up the courage to voice my thoughts: I would rather be humiliated than watch someone else’s humiliation.

Within the few quiet seconds that followed, memories from the last few weeks at Bible study flooded my mind. I had often felt the urge to cry upon hearing other women tell stories that they seemed so composed over. I had even witnessed tears in the eyes of other women while recalling the last year for Lucas and I, while I felt their trials were so much greater. Those few horrible silent seconds where I felt childish and inexperienced were finally broken by the eldest lady in the room. Empathy. She said I was extremely empathetic.

Now, I realize this has absolutely nothing to do with harmonicas. But it was as if she had somehow managed to open a door and let light into so many areas of my life with the use of one word. Suddenly, all my years of being an RA and camp counselor – and the difficulties associated with -made sense. I understood. My emotional attachment to characters in books, tv shows and movies looked different. I have even begun to understand the gravity that seems to pull me towards the theatre.

This same word, causes me to stop and ponder my former definitions of self. Empathy almost seems foreign to me, even though it is clearly not. It explains why I cried the day that Gary got the first cut on his nose from a fight, and why I still grieve the choices of friends. However, empathy almost has this bitter taste in my mouth- like it is a character quality that is supposed to be avoided. I have to say I am at a loss on this whole subject really. Enlightening and confusing.

So, I cry at the sound of a harmonica and empathy is on my mind (and apparently my heart) as I sit down to schoolwork yet again. I am happily working away with the goal of finishing schoolwork, getting a job, and moving into an apartment of our own.


My morning was consumed by school work. Two-hundred pages read, six pages of notes, and three hours later I was ready for a break. Gary lovingly agreed, though I suspect his motives were steeped in a desire to have my pen as a play-toy. So, in reward for my hard work, I ate lunch over a copy of Martha Stewarts Cupcakes- a book that is a beautiful as it is informative. Afterall, tomorrow is my dear husband’s 29th birthday and what is a birthday without some kind of cake.  I assessed all my options and narrowed it down to three: applesauce cream-cheese cupcakes, chai-infused cupcakes with honey, or triple citrus glazed cupcakes. I didn’t want to fuss with cream cheese, and the chai was a odd-sounding recipe overall, so I eventually picked the citrus ones. We had everything in the house to make these lovely little treats with the exception of the lemons and limes, but I, after havign been in the house all day pining for the sunshine, was happy to drive the 30 minutes to the nearest grocery store.

When I jumped into my mother-in-law’s car the radio was set to a familiar station: one that, for all intents and purposes, is Christian, but they claim to simply be playing positive family-friendly music. Before I could even get off the Island, a familiar song began to play. As the chords and words of How He Loves by David Crowder Band, I felt something stir up inside of me.  So there I was, driving down the road at 55 miles an hour (forgive me for the lack of metric, but I am trying to learn imperial to fit in) with a memory of this song that I couldn’t identify. I felt a great weight, sensing the memory involved a large group of people and a great deal of personal honesty.

I thought about it all the rest of the way to the grocery store, in the grocery store as I picked my citrus, on the ride back over the sound of other music, and all through the making of those citrus cupcakes. I still have this looming sense of a lost memory as I prepare to ice those cupcakes and then return to my homework. It bothers me on a level that is difficult to explain- it is almost like mourning because the sense of the memory feels significant but the memory itself is gone.


Sitting in front of the fire place, with a kitten sleeping at my feet, and my husband drinking tea across the scrabble board, I realized that was exactly the life I have always wanted. Nothing more. Nothing less. Sure the circumstances that brought us to this afternoon were not exactly picture perfect- we’ve both been sick with killer colds for several days- but that moment exactly was perfection.

Warmth, companionship, responsibility, tea, enjoyment, simplicity and laughter.

For all the day-dreaming I have ever really done about what my life would be like someday in terms of my husband, our house, our family, our occupation, that’s what it all comes down to in the end. And, in that moment, it didn’t matter that the fireplace is really my in-laws, or that our family currently consists of just us and a cat, or that I was losing terribly at scrabble.

Honestly, in that moment, it felt like that was the way God intended the world to be from the very start.


Weeks ago I began reading Stanislavski‘s auto-biography My Life in Art. I stumbled upon the book my second day back here in Portland when Lucas and I went in search of acting books at Powells. The book sat unassumingly on the bottom shelf- an orginal edition from 1924 that only cost $1.25 in its day. The description on the back of the book intrigued me regardless of the fact that I do not really adhere to the methodical techniques of Stanislavski. For $10.95, I could not pass up the oppertunity to meet a great dramatist in his own words and learn where he found his inspiration. I admit, the book is taking a lot longer for me to read than usual owing to the fact that it is a translation from nearly 100 years ago. But, for every day it takes me, I am finding more than enough beauty to make up for the other books laying in wait on the shelf.

After days of being couped up with a terrible cold, my father-in-law put a chair outside for me to enjoy some sunlight this afternoon. I hesitated slightly before turning to Stanislavski again, thinking maybe lighter reading was called for in the late-afternoon sunlight. Stanislavski was the right choice. With the sound of birds and crickets nearby, I turned the pages, reading slowly until i found the beauty for today. As Stanislavski closed a story on a famous Opera preformer and closed, quite literally, another chapter of his life, there it was. Though I doubt it was written as such, I read it like a prayer with all of my Artist friends in mind.

Let the artist live, let him be enchanted, disappointed, happy; let him suffer, love, and live through the entire gamut of human emotions, but let him at the same time learn to recreate his life and his emotion into art.



a tea for everything

More Pictures

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