Through My Lens

Purchased the new 'Swell Season' album -- inspiration for this blog? Absolutely.

Just the sound of their instruments and voices raise words from my deepest to the tips of my fingers.

I'm doing this blog a bit different than my usual -- rather than relying on mere words to form my expression, I'm going to facilitate another one of my joys -- photography.

Consider it a recollection of moments in my life captured in photographs that brew up anticipation and hope for what is yet to come -- perfect for afternoon tea and the music of 'The Swell Season'.

A game of Pretend, anyone?

Growing up on a goat farm gives you plenty of time to play pretend.
As a little girl I mastered playing pretend.
I was a lioness, a school teacher, a circus performer, a singer, a mom.
As I grew older I didn't lose my ability to play pretend.
As my teen years began to creep into existence I would pretend to have a happy family.
I pretended to be a daddy's girl.
I pretended to have a wealthy daddy and a mommy who cooked delicious Czech meals.
I pretended that we went on family vacations.
As I grew deeper into my teens and into my early twenties, I would pretend more.
I pretended to have confidence.
I pretended to be intelligent.
I pretended that boys liked me.
I pretended to be unique.
I pretended to be artistic.
I pretended to be edgy.
To this day, I still find myself playing pretend.
This type of play is spurred on by the society represented in media.
I am being told to pretend to be some kind of woman, some kind of human that I'm not.
I am told to be a size that I'm not.
To have hair color that I don't have.
To carry myself in a way contrary to what is natural.
So at times I give in and I play pretend.
I seem to think that who I am is this edgy, funky, artistic girl that just so happens to have a perfect figure.
Truthfully... I'm not as edgy as I try to portray and I'm not always the most creative person and at times I've gone extreme lengths to attain an 'ideal' figure.
So time and time again I come to a decision to forget what is being whispered into my life.
'Nicole... to be a good wife you must keep your butt as tight as a snare drum.'
'Nicole... your not as good of a photographer as this person... you are doing so much wrong'
'Nicole... this is how you should be acting as a woman of your age'
People keep telling me there is something missing. Something missing in making me completely what I am supposed to be.
But I'm calling bullshit.
I am completely who I am... I just haven't discovered every aspect of myself yet.
But I think that in order for this discovery process to keep marching on I need to claim what I am and what I'm not.
So here's a few things I will share, proudly and humbly:

• I will never know what it's like to be a daddy's girl or to be a young girl calling someone daddy
• My mom hasn't cooked in years -- let alone left her house.
• I grew up in a highly confusing family full of Czechs and Celts without distinct traditions -- the Celts were tainted with the Czechs and the Czechs were tainted with the Celts.
• I have cellulite, yep sure do.
• I don't like to wear bright, attention drawing clothing -- I like the earthtones -- browns, greens, some reds -- more bohemian than edgy.
• I am naturally a redhead although I prefer dark hair.
• I take about 200 photographs to find 10 that I like.
• I highly dislike mushy love stories.
• I, sometimes, feel more comfortable talking to animals than humans -- thanks to the goats!
  
• I love the way getting a tattoo feels -- but I'm not always sure I made the best decision on getting tattoos.
• Sometimes the Quran makes more sense to me than the Bible.
• I have rather large calves and a slight dent in my chest that keeps me from wearing low-cut shirts and displaying any cleavage -- which is very irritating.
• I love to paint -- but at times I have to start over again and again because I'm still not as creative as I hope to be -- sometimes I have to look at other peoples paintings to get inspired.
• My favorite movie is Once.
• My favorite books -- Three Cups of Tea, The Irresistible Revolution, Jesus For President, The Perks of Being a Wallflower, The Scarlet Letter and In Cold Blood.
• I don't like sermons -- not long ones.
• I don't like long blogs either -- but today I'm a hypocrite.
  
• I compare myself to other people... daily.

I could keep going... there's a lot more about me to share -- but I wanted this to be one of the first times I wrote down in words bits & pieces of my character -- in the great story of my life.
I am hopeful to continually accept the adventure of truth, authenticity and life and to turn my back on the world of pretend.

My Ode to Westside Denver

Four months ago I made a journey through prairies, rainstorms,

cattle farmers, rural settlements and sunflower fields into a fully satisfying view of

the Rockies with paintings of an urban sky framing the majestic heights.

As our car rolled into the chaos of this mile high city we soaked in the

new colors that our eyes were being exposed to.

The skyline embraced us.

And the life of an urban cultivator beckoned us.

So here I am living in this city.

Attempting to cultivate love and life in Westside Denver.

Our neighborhood, our home is our new farmland.

And we have quickly become part of a family.

A large family full of foreigners, orphans, widows, gang members, single moms,

spunky children, drug addicts and mere humans.

However, within our family, we no longer claim these titles.

We all fall under a category that has been cast onto humanties.

But we are throwing those names as far as east is from the west,

and we are embracing each other as brother, sister, father and mother.

I have never experienced a family like this.

I have never experienced a home like this.

Westside Denver has loved me beyond what I deserve, and my attempts to love in return

shy in comparison to what I have received.

From the graffiti walls that decorate my streets, to the sky lights that guide my

late night bike rides, to the dirty, barefoot children playing in my front yard calling my name,

to the beatiful mothers who have adopted me as their own,

to the sounds of sirens that echo in my night slumber.

Every aspect that makes up Westside Denver has provided me with

challenges, healing, love, life and courage.

I am proud to call you home.

I will stand within your realms, offering who I am to cultivate love and life

within the great, messy, beautful and painful fields of your land.

For at this time in my life, I am Westside Denver.

Look, closer.

There come's a time when you stop and listen.

You listen for your life.

For your breathing.

Do you hear it?

The air circulating through your lungs.

Life.

That's right, you're alive.

You've made it through.

Perhaps even been resurrected from the darkness.

Now look at your feet.

Move your toes.

Stand.

That's right, you're capable.

Capable to stand on your own and run.

Run from your captors.

Now look at your hands.

Are they chained?

Or are they free.

Are they capable of moving in spontaneous motions and directions?

That's right, you're free.

Free to be who you are.

Now look in your own eyes. See yourself.

I've seen my life, my capability and my freedom. I've seen who I am and I'm never going back to who I thought I was.

It Wasn't Me

I have a problem.

Many, truthfully.

But this one in particular is a virile steamroller.

I despise being misinterpreted.

Not only despise -- but it destructs my daily activities.

Atleast until I confront these misinterpretations --

Either with the one who has perceived these misconceptions

or with myself.

I want people to know me.

To truly know me.

And not only to know me,

But to distinguish me.

In spite of this, I canopy myself and prance around in a masquerade.

I put on the veil of humor, crudeness or simple avoidance.

I am tremulous and hesitant to share myself.

I have this fear that someone will point out some inconsistency or flow in my being.

Possibly, I am more fearful to come to the conclusion that I'm not who I think I am.

Perhaps I'm merely a walking billboard of idealogies.

With no depth.

I think I am being challenged to discover me -- my thoughts, my ideas, my beliefs, my likes, my dislikes.

And it's quite enjoyable.

Truly being what I want to be.

Recommendations:

1. Gather fresh chicken eggs into a basket and make them for breakfast.

2. Go to Syria.

The Intersection

And here I am.

Walking in the sky.

Where the sky meets the ground.

Although we can't see the blue,

Doesn't mean the blue isn't around.

We see it when we look up.

But we can't see it at our right.

We are all in the sky.

We are at the intersection of the blue & green.

And underneath us busyiness in the dirt brown.

The layers of the earth each carrying life.

The ants and the rats and the grasshoppers.

And here we are.

Walking on the final layer of the earth.

Where the blue & the green intersect.

We are the bridge between this blue & this green.

And so I say.

When I die.

Lay me in the field where the blue & the green intersect.

Where my death brings life.

Where the flowers can feed from me and grow into the sky.

Where the creatures of the dirt can feast and celebrate.

And my very death can continue to give life to this place.

Where the blue and the green intersect.

We Can Do It

After a recent conversation I became aware of how many people are unaware of

true feminism.

It has been wildly misrepresented by 'anti-feminist' and 'feminist'.

I think everyone should be a feminist, a true feminist.

And because of this, I blog.

Merriam-Webster tells me that Feminism is:

1. The theory of political, economic & social equality of the sexes.

2. Organized activity on behalf of womens rights.

Let me describe to you what I think true Feminism is, and I think it falls nicely into the dictionaries interpretation.

Feminism doesn't mean women are 'naturally' or otherwise smarter or better than men.

It simple means we want the equal right to show our unique intellect as individuals, not as a sex.

Feminism doesn't mean that women should use their 'femininity' to get ahead, be it in the work realm, political realm or social realm. In fact, this is quite the opposite of feminism.

Feminism doesn't condone dressing in immodest manner to build your own personal power over the opposite sex (or same sex) and it doesn't mean that you can use what physical attributes you have to gain status/popularity over another woman. This is quite the opposite of feminism.

Feminism doesn't mean you are 'independent' of men. Being in a relationship doesn't take away independence, rather it encourages it's growth -- learning independence in the midst of dependence. And depending on man for love and support doesn't mean you are not a feminist.

Feminism doesn't mean trying to prove yourself as a woman -- you are a woman no matter what anyone says, you have a vagina therefore vagina=woman. A feminist doesn't need to prove their 'feminism' or who they are. They are confident as is.

Feminism is confidence. It is the ability to see equality in men and women. It is in the drive for this equality, not just equality for women, but equality for men as well. Feminism is not about using the unique 'attributes' we have as women to have power over man. It is about honoring that uniqueness and knowing that it is your mind, thoughts and soul that will permanetly captivate people.

Feminsim is recognizing the beauty of woman and clutching onto it so tightly as to not let it get away and shake up the world too quickly. We have powerful abilities as women, we must be careful of how much of it to release onto the whole world. Already woman have released their physical attributes to the world and the world has been devastated by it.

Feminism is not about a movement or bra-burning (although fun and highly recommended) -- it's about a philosophy and lifestyle.

Feminism is best approached not in violent or rash protests or heated debates, but in revolutionary subordination.

Kill them with our love.

Kill them with our patience.

Kill them with our peace.

Kill them with our womanhood -- and all of it, not the physical side that has been advertised, but the inner workings of the woman's spirit.

(don't literally kill them, by the way, but do put to death their negative thoughts about women.)

Feminism should be something so deeply sewn inside of your being that you encounter it on a daily basis -- as you look in the mirror, as you interact with others, as you encounter thoughts about yourself or others, as you watch t.v., as you read, as you play.

I encourage you to add more thoughts to what I have written and to the current thoughts stirring in my mind.

What else do you think Feminism contains?

My Pledge of Allegiance

Can I just say that this 'deer' (representing the deer species) does not belong to America, but to God. America did not create it, God did. Maybe I'm reading into this a bit too much (which is very possible) but this image irritated me a bit.

"I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America and for the republic for which it stands"

No, I do not.

I cannot.

My allegiance is to the only Son of God.

And I would be a hypocrite to either America or Jesus if I continued to say this pledge.

So for the sake of both, I must stop.

As Greg Boyd says, this country follows the "religion of American democracy."

And I am a Christian.

"Like all religions, the religion of American democracy has its own distinctive, theologized, revisionist history (for instances, the 'manifest destiny' doctrine whereby God destined Europeans to conquer the land.) It has its own distinctive message of salvation (political freedom), its own 'set apart' people group (America and its allies), its own creed ('we hold these truths to be self-evident'), its own distinctive enemies (all who resist freedom and who are against America), its own distinctive symbol (the flag), and it's own distinctive god (the national deity we are 'under', who favors our causes and helps us win our battles.)"

This does not make me anti-American.

I love America.

I would die for the people of America, but I will not kill for them.

I would die for the people of Afghanistan, but I will not kill for them either.

It is just that I cannot serve two masters.

I am a Christian.

And the love and life of my Savior looks radically different from what America is portraying.

And because of this, God has made me a missionary to America.

At least for now.

I do not plan to overthrow the American government.

I simply plan to love and to live on the margins of American life.

To bring awareness the way the prophets did.

In complete absurdness and weirdness.

After all, I am a Christian.

For I wear the earth

Our earth is wounded.

Her oceans and lakes are sick.

Her rivers are like running sores.

The air is filled with subtle poisons.

And the oily smoke of countless hellish fires blackens the sun.

Men & women, scattered from homeland, family, friends wander desolate and uncertain,

scorched by a toxic sun.

In this desert of frightened, blind uncertainty, some take refuge in the pursuit of power.

Some become manipulators of illusion and deceit.

If wisdom and harmony still dwell in this world,

as other than a dream lost in an unopened book,

then they are hidden in our heartbeat.

And it is from our hearts that we cry out.

We cry out and our voices are the single voice of this wounded earth.

Our cries are a great wind across the earth.

My heart aches to know this wonderful creation more.

My heart aches for others to experience her as well.

I was formed by the same hands as that notorious black widow spider.

I was formed by the same hands of that enchanting monarch butterfly.

I was formed by the same hands as the whispering willow tree.

I was formed by the same hands as the slithering snake.

I was formed by the same hands as the mighty lion.

I was formed by the same hands as the bacteria invading my rotten yogurt.

And the unity of us all.

Our reliance on one another is undeniable.

Within this one planet God has given us so much.

All the nutrients our body needs.

And we have the hands and the breath that so much of creation needs.

Our homes are given to us by the trees.

And we must build homes for trees, for it's challenging from them to plant themselves.

I am clothed by the cotton that grows in fields.

And my hands are made to plow and cultivate it's growth.

The unity of us all.

I don't want to miss it.

I don't want to live out of step from it all.

I don't want to live outside of the rhythm of this wonderful home God has made.

I don't want you to miss it either.

I want us to love this place we call Earth.

And I want Earth to love us too.

One Girls Prison Story

He leads her up the familar stairway

He claims that evidence proves she is guilty of theft

As an officer, it is his responsibility to enforce the law -- in this case, she must go to prison.

She fights the accusations but before she knows it she is in her prison cell.

The officer is there, keeping an eye on her.

His eyes curious of this thief before him.

He approaches his curiousity, hidden behind bars of steel.

Intolerable of theft, he demands justice... now.

And he takes it into his own hands.

Asking that she lay on her prison bed.

Pressing his lips on her bubble gum bonnebell lips.

Guiding his hand over her stomach -- quickly unbuttoning her pants.

She lays there, uncertain of his actions.

Until finally he forces his justice on her.

She finally speaks.

Her first words during this entire encounter.

"Uncle Mino, can we be done playing cops & robbers? I want to go play barbies."

Shut up & Go

STOP COMPLAINING ABOUT THE CHURCH AND BE THE CHURCH YOU WANT TO SEE

What kind of church do I want to be?

• One whose doors are never locked
• One that is hospitable and inviting -- into my home, my life & my heart
• One that roams the alleys, country clubs, forest and prisons -- loving all of creation (perhaps preaching to the birds as Francis of Assisi)
• One that is not afraid to encounter the life-shattering depths of Scripture and share it with others
• One that encourages questions -- without always needing an answer
• One that serves with my own hands -- not just my pocket books
• One that encouranges imagination & creativity in a dull world of robots

There is more I'm sure, but for now -- this is the church I want to be. What kind of church do you want to be?

Life Before Death

*this blog is credited to Shane Claiborne and the inspiration his thoughts, words and life have been to me.

Why are we waiting for eternity?

Eternity has begun.

It is not waiting for us.

We shouldn't wait for it.

We preach the coming of Christ to redeem us.

We preach the beauty of a heaven with no sorrow.

Yet all around us all of creation is groaning for liberation.

I am sick of hearing about life after death.

I want to know life before death.

I want others to know life before death.

It is obvious we cannot wait.

We must storm the gates of Hell on Earth and free the captives.

We must hear the whisper of God in the baby refugees and the crack addicts.

We cannot let our hope for redemption become stale.

We cannot let eternity slip through our fingers.

The time is now.

May God help me storm the gates of Hell. May God help me use only what I need and deliver me from my greed. May God teach me to love all people, Muslims and Evangelicals, Liberals and Conservations, The poor and the rich.

She

This past weekend Ben's dad and brothers came to visit us.
One night, I took his brothers, Jake and Eli to see a movie.
On the way back to Sterling, I was messing around with Eli when he said,
"Dad... Nicole's eating my brains, She's attacking me!"
Nothing unusual was said. This is how Eli and I interact. I pretend to eat his brains.
But something extraordinary hit me when he said it this time.
She's attacking me.... She.
I stopped to soak in what I just heard. He called me 'she'.
I've been called it before. But never has it resonated so profoundly.
I said to myself, "That's right Eli... I am a she."
Pride flooded my spirit.
Often I hate being a woman. There's unwanted monthly visits, extreme societal pressures, pregnancy (if I so choose), menopause (of which I have no choice), undeniable stereotypes, inequality in many spheres and a smorgesboard of sexual jokes.
But at that moment, I smiled.
I grinned.
In the word 'she' is a great part of my identity.
I am woman, hear me roar.
I am the carrier of indeniable beauty.
I am the womb that gives life.
I am the strength that fights for love.
My own uniqueness as a woman is irrefutable.
But there is a common bond, a sisterhood of similarities that make women exceptional.
I can't name this common bond. I don't think it's motherhood, I don't think it's compassion, I don't think it's beauty.
It's something greater, found in our creator that we haven't completely captured.
Whatever it is, I will carry it with pride.
As I grow older and my feminity continues on the journey, I will not forgot the joy I experienced when he called me she.
As my "dairy aire" becomes more bodacious, as stretchmarks decorate my body, as my breasts become more at rest, as wrinkles make their home around my eyes and and lips... I will hold my head high.
I am a flower blooming. I am continually growing into a woman.

I am a she.
I am her.
And so I go on, sharing this feminity with the world.
In hopes that it will reach the darkest crevices of the world and provide light and life.
And as for now, I smile. Admiring what my creator has given me.