writing

May 13, 2005

stairwell accompaniment:Radiohead-No Surprises, Gin Blossoms-Till I hear it from you, Guster-Careful, Derek Webb-Wedding Dress, tree63- A million lights, Damien Rice-Cheers Darlin’, The Postal Service-The district sleeps alone tonight, Remy Zero- Fair, Howie Day-She says, The Shins-So says I, Coldplay-Everything’s not lost, Chasing Furies- Romance Me, Dave Matthews Band- Lover lay down, Counting Crows- Anna begins, Andy Davis- I never see you, Rilo Kiley- With arms outstretched

A musical romance;)

I found myself back on campus today. School. It made me feel young again:). And incredibly excited about the opportunity to be a student once more. Education! I am back on track in the nursing program and I feel forced to rely on my God like never before. Forced? No. Willingly and expectantly relying.

I received a massage today. Not such a random occurrence. I’m on a fairly regular bi-monthly schedule (benefits of being a LMT!)and I think this is unspeakably important. Not only because I believe in the positive effects of massage therapy and want to practice what I preach, but also because I believe it helps me stay in tune with ways I can become a better therapist. To become a client again. To experience the effects that I invoke. Massage and the byproducts of massage continue to amaze me even after nearly four years in the field. I have grown so much as a therapist in the way that I approach my clients and the way that I approach massage in general.
I vividly remember my first massage in the student clinic we had at school. A prerequisite to graduation is the completion of 35 massage hours in the clinic they have set up for members of the community. Prior to my clinicals, the limited experience I had with “clients” included my family members, roommates and classmates. Very few were male. I was undoubtedly nervous as I approached my first client. I recall walking into the lobby to greet him/her with a Amber-sized friendly smile and a handshake. I recall thinking from the initial bone-crushing handshake that this massage would break me in to the come-as-you-are field of massage therapy. (Namaste!) Cedric was his name. If I had ever met The Rock in person I would have to say that Cedric was most definitely a distant twin brother of The Rock. In fact, I was at a wax museum in NYC once (never again) and I saw a life-size wax figure of The Rock. I submit that Cedric was bigger (and cuter…shhh!;)). I couldn’t help (after I nearly broke into nervous tears of student humility) but snicker at my humorous God.
That day I learned that massage therapy was all about meeting people where they are an accepting them without fear or judgment. I spend my days listening to my clients’ endless lists of stressors, aches, pains and emotions. And I never tire of allowing them to spend that hour pouring out their burden (whether I can hear it or simply see how they lighten). Physical touch and the limitless chasms it can span! I often think that one of the main reasons I know that Cat is a similar soul relies on his ability to relate to how I approach the world as a massage therapist. Fellow crusader against the world of personal space! He can see the need people have–the deep want for intimacy and love–and he wants desperately to offer healing. But some days I wonder if even he feels what I feel. Some days I feel like if I did, in fact, have to gift of healing, I would offer my hands as a persistent outpouring against the world we live in. There are days in which I know I have it. Days when I long for Home like never before when I am surrounded by loved ones in the chains of these earthly beings. So crusade we will Cat! And touch will be our outpouring of Him.

I was in Old Navy yesterday. Searching endlessly for that perfect gift. A head-set-wearing employee approached me from behind. “You’re Amber, right? Amber?” I turn to greet the woman who led my Girl Scout troop when I was in gradeschool. Kay Keish. She has two daughters: the older one is my sister’s age and the younger is my age. We went to school, K-12 with them. I was in Girl Scouts with Kay’s daughter Kristen as well as a ccompetitive writing team (I know, I know, I never claim that I was cool! Forgive me, Joy, for ever making fun of your nerd tendencies:)). In middle school a group of about 5 of us were chosen for a group of “talented young writers” (ha, I know, where did all this “talent” go!?!)and we would go to “competitions” to write essays and/or short stories on random topics in a timed period and then have the writing judged. I apparently had mastered the introduction-body-conclusion formula early in life. Our last competition of the year was on a state level and “very important”. I remember limping along the halls of the school we were meeting at with crutches due to a recent dislocated knee. I didn’t feel well. I wrote quickly and uncreatively. Awards were given. Kristen was awarded 1st place for creativity. Back at school Monday they made a big deal about it. Announcing it over the loudspeakers, taking pictures, etc. A week later they found out that the judges had mixed up out random-identification-numbers and I was the one who was to be awarded the prize. I was humiliated. Not only because they stripped Kristen of the medal she was incredibly proud of, but because I was then put in the spotlight with her prized medal in hand–why not just wave the banner: “Biggest Nerd Ever”. I’m not sure why this particular story came back to me as I stood there in Old Navy catching up with Kristen’s mom. I shook my thoughts back to the conversation at hand and Kay was explaining to me how she and her husband had recently divorced after 26 years of marriage. She was saying it with a smile on her face. Was there infidelity? Lying? Some unforgivable marital sin? No. She simply didn’t love him. “We’re friends now,” she says with the same smile. And I can’t believe it. 26 years of marriage. Children. Home. And with a smile and shrug of her shoulder she tries to convince me that she’s better off now. I walked back to my car praying to God that He might one day bless me with a marriage based on love for Him. Lasting love. True love.

It stormed last night. Those spring downpours that K and I so long for! (Archived on Fri. Aug 20, 2004) I sat on the porch as the dark clouds rolled in. The wind blew. God– Your power never ceases to amaze me! And the beauty of it! I have seen the storm. Heard the thunder. Felt the rain. Echoes of Your Kingdom.

And Joy that I can’t have enough.

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One Response to “writing”

  1. AmyLea said

    Awe, man! So glad you had such a great massage. ๐Ÿ™‚ Robin gave both Leslie and I a voucher for a FREE hour massage and half hour facial….but every time I scheduled it with her at her salon, something came up and she had to cancel….and now she’s leaving Ohio and I wont be able to cash in on it. Soooo sad. ๐Ÿ˜ฆ I’m glad you could enjoy yours though; they’re WONDERFUL! ๐Ÿ™‚

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