If I say something like, “I would love to have a romance without drama,” or “I don’t read Karen Kingsbury books because they are too melodramatic,” the response I will inevitably get is, “but you’re such a dramatic person!”

Maybe it is because I have so many emotions in my life that I shy away from manufacturing them.

Also: Is there anything more annoying than someone ranting to you about their feelings, when it really isn’t that big of a deal, and if they had decided to spend their spare time taking fencing lessons instead of obsessing about the guy there would be no problem whatsoever?

Yes, I guess I am a dramatic person. I still change the radio station whenever one of those “I can’t breathe I’m gonna die because I like you and you don’t like me back” songs comes on. I still refuse to read fat Christian romance novels. There are even times when I ban myself from writing a song or a diary entry about what I’m going though, because I know I will only be helping myself blow it out of proportion.

I’ve begun to use the term “melodramatic” for the manufactured drama that I detest.

That is to say, I am a dramatic person, yet I boycott melodramatic things.

Myself answered, “would you rather be happy, or have a wild ocean life?“

I said, “a wild ocean life.”

Then I went to sleep.

This is a post about what I want out of life, how I came to those conclusions, and how I am pursuing those dreams.

To begin with, I will talk about babies.

What is it with woman and babies? If I spent years studying neurological science in women, or God’s ordered plan for families, or both, could I understand it?

When there was a newborn in the church,  all my friends used to gather in a line, waiting for a chance to hold it. I was, I will confess, never in that line. I didn’t really like babies. They were hot and sticky and I always ended up accidentally dropping them. If being a woman meant that I had to like babies, well phooey, I would just fail at being a woman.

I guess I just thought I would never like babies. Never want one, never need one.

However. About a year ago, my cousin Randy and his wife Shelley had a baby girl named Jocelyn. I went to visit her, and held her, and before long I was starting to have dreams that Jocelyn was my baby. Furthermore, they were very pleasent dreams.

So for what it’s worth, I now have a secret wish for a baby someday.

Of course, the subject of babies leads naturally into the subject of husbands. As odd as it sounds, the main reason I want a husband is for the convenience.

Problem: I’m sick all the time and have a hard time making enough money to support myself.

Solution: Husband!

Problem: I am going to go on the mission field, but am scared of how lonely/depressing it would be to go alone.

Solution: Husband!

Problem: I want to adopt a baby, but still firmly believe that a child should have, if possible, a mother and a father.

Solution: Husband!

If I were planning my romance, it would go like this. There would be a guy, and I would fall for him, but I wouldn’t know if he liked me or not, and no one would know that I liked him, etc, so as to have zero zilch drama.

But in the meantime I would get to know him and realize that he was perfect for me.

Then, one day, he would realize that I was perfect for him too, and he would say, “Hey Emily, let’s get married and jet off to Africa.”

“Okay,” I would say, and we would get married and jet off to Africa.

Impossible, you say? There is no such thing as a romance without drama, you say? Well. A romance without drama is one of my secret hopes and dreams, however far fetched it may be.

But bigger, much much bigger than babies or husbands, is my hope and dream to be on the mission field some day.

Maybe this one shouldn’t be in the same category. With babies and husbands, the hope is one born of natural desire that most women will experience without being able to help it. The mission field idea began with a hope of being involved in  something bigger than myself, which is a natural enough desire. However, after years of random trials and wild ocean life, I realized that the way to be involved, really involved in something bigger than myself, was to give everything to God without holding back.

God said, “I want you on my mission field.” Thus, the desire to be a part of something bigger than myself transformed into a desire to be on God’s mission field, permanently, for the rest of my life.

I have one more dream to share. My dream to finish college.

Although I felt very strongly for a while that God wanted me to get my degree in communications before I went on the mission field, I began to doubt myself this winter. My friend Phebe and my sister Amy both went on long mission trips, returning with pictures and stories of poverty and sadness and people who needed Jesus. I thought, “what am I doing her, going to college, when I could be out there, accomplishing great things for Christ?”

This doubt churned round and round in my brain, and I didn’t know what to do with it. Once I was talking about this to my cousin Randy and he said, “Emily, this is my opinion. I think there are missionaries, and then there are effective missionaries. The effective missionaries are the ones who have spent time in preparation.”

That really struck a chord with me. I had felt before that God wanted to prepare me by sending me through college, and now the same feeling returned. Because truth be told, I love college. I mostly love learning.

What are your secret hopes, dreams, and desires?

It was 11:00 pm. The snow on the road in front of me was sparkly and glittery, so pretty I wanted to make it into a dress and wear it to the presidential ball. This may have been the first time I had ever driven in snow. And when I got up this morning, this was not what I imagined that I would be doing at 11:00 at night.

Also, the stars were out. I was alone. I sang to myself, composing my own songs and pretending I was Taylor Swift only less melodramatic.

i then came across a a house with a snow man in front f it. i then thought it best to knock over the snow man and run. while running to my car i slipped and fell in to a pile of slushy snow. i was so wet and disgusted at my own sight that i then desided to go home. i was not aware of how fast i was going. the next thing i new there was a cop behind me. when the cop came to give me a ticket, he took one look at me and started howling with laughter. i got so mad at him that i ,without think stepped on the gas pedal and drove off. he then proceeded to chase after me again. but this i got a double ticket. it was a miserable night.   p.s< my “boy friend” dumped me. and he said that every time he was with me, i made him want to vomit. please help me. i really don’t have a life and i need new boyfriend or else i might just die

I’ve had my blood drawn so many times now that it’s sort of like, “psh.” No big deal. Except for the fact that I still refuse to look at the needle poked into my arm, or the vial filling up with my blood. And I wished my mom was there so I could hold her hand. Other than that I was like, “psh.”

One of my New Years resolutions, you see, is to GET HEALTHY. This is not so much as a “hmm, it would be nice,” resolution as it is a “I must get healthy or else I will not be able to hold onto a job and/or a life” resolution.

Thank God, I have very nice super duper awesome (insert more adjectives) parents who help me fund health-related ventures. So I now have a natural-remedy-loving Dr. who is going to try to help me become healthy.

When I first walked into the office, I saw a dispenser of GREEN TEA. I was instantly sold.

After talking to her, I felt like there was hope.

When I got home, Jenny said, “wow. Usually when you come home from the doctor you look sad, but today you look happy!”

I am trying to walk EVERY DAY now, which my cousin Stephy has been very helpful with.

We swing our arms dramatically when we walk.

We link arms and skip like we are in The Wizard of Oz.

The health thing is going pretty good so far. I also made a resolution to not say awkward things, which I failed nearly right away. Oh well, I’LL KEEP TRYING.

These are the people who received the brunt of the awkward things I said. I mostly like this picture because it makes my face look like a skull.

I don’t like skulls and dead things. But it is still remarkably interesting, in my opinion.

Photo credits: Steph Coblentz, Shelby Graber

During the ceremony, the preacher flubbed up his wording a bit. He was saying the words, and Dorothy was repeating them after him.

Preacher: And before God and these witnesses…

Dorothy: And before God and these witnesses…

Preacher: I promise to be a faithful and true husband.

(Wait, husband? He meant to say wife, of course, but surely Dorothy would just say “wife” instead of “husband” when she repeated it.)

Dorothy: I promise to be a faithful and true husband.

There was a slight pause, and the whole audience burst out in the most boisterous and true laughter I have EVER heard during a wedding ceremony. It was awesome.

After the wedding, all the single ladies gathered to catch the wedding bouquet. I made sure to stand in the front, and when the bouquet came flying through the air I stretched my long arms in the air, and snatch! The bouquet was in my hands.

Then I felt a little silly for snatching it like a greedy child.

Oh well.

Me with the bouquet. Photo credit goes to Stephanie Coblentz.

Sunday evening Amy gave a presentation at Church about her time in Jamaica. It was super interesting.

Photo credit: Amy Smucker.

Right after church I took Amy to the airport and dropped her off. I mean, Dad took Amy to the airport and dropped her off, and I drove Dad home. Now she is gone, and Ben is at EBI, and the house feels a wee bit empty.

Monday I knocked on Steven’s door to ask if he could take a box of notebooks up to the attic for me. He didn’t answer, but there was a curious breeze emanating from under the door, suggesting to me that a window might be open, and so I went into his room to close the window.

When I stuck my head out of the open window I saw Steven standing on the roof, gazing at the horizon.

“I’m going to town,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, “can I come with you?”

“Yes,” he told me. “Be ready in five.”

So I got ready in five minutes and Steven and I drove to town even though neither of us had any idea how to get to any of the places we wanted to go. We used a map and we never got lost but we missed a bunch of turns.

I watched the Rose Bowl while I was in JC Penney waiting for Steven to try on Jeans.

They won.

Yay! Go Ducks!

Photo credit: Google images.

Well,  I guess that’s all for now. Wanted to put up one more pic but couldn’t figure out how to steal it. Humph.

I am not.

Sometimes I just like to post sad things. I guess I’m Emo like that. Ha.

But no, in all seriousness, I am not depressed. I have not been depressed for a very long time. Prosaic is nice like that.

And then he says, “never mind. Do that.”

I’m not really sure why. But I am not, I repeat, NOT, going to Faith Builders this winter. (you know, Faith Builders, that little Mennonite college in Pennsylvania that I was going to go to, like, tomorrow….)

And yes I did make this decision the day before yesterday. I guess I am a last minute person. Or maybe I’m just a regular person who happens to do things at the last minute.

Now I must say that, not only did I decided randomly and suddenly to not go to Faith Builders, I also decided to QUIT MY JOB.

(A moment of silence, as the crowd gasps at my stupidity.)

It kind of happened accidentally. And I may very likely go back if my health improves. But the sad fact is, I am a completely unreliable grocery store clerk at the moment. I get very tired, so that my legs feel like sticks of string cheese, and my arms feel like they have no more strength than helium balloons.

Now, the big question. What am I going to do with my life until March? I mean, no job, no Faith Builders, no college this term (probably)….

I don’t know exactly, but here’s what I’d LIKE to do.

1. Volunteer EVERYWHERE

2. Finish my novel or maybe write a new one

3. Make friends with people who are my friends but are not that close of friends but will be close friends if I make time for them.

Of course you may be asking yourself how I am going to pay for college if I don’t have a job. Or how I am going to end up being a missionary if I don’t have the stamina to spend 6 hours a day checking out groceries.

Here’s the deal, though. If God says, “do college, become a missionary,” I do college and become a missionary.

If God says “never mind,” I say never mind.

It’s up to him to figure out the money and stamina aspects of these things.

But, like a butterfly, I always flutter on.

I had circles of friends in Colorado, during “Annie,” at SMBI, all my volunteer hot spots in Virginia, Bridgewater College, three different Churches in Virginia, and then, most recently, people from “A Christmas Carol.” You know those groups of people you hang out with multiple times a week. How close you can get. But I always left very anticlimactically and never saw those people again.

In the off chance that I did run into one of my old buddies, it was always very strange. We had been so close, and now we hardly knew each other.

It’s hard to know where you belong in that sort of world.

My friend Esta told me  once that you have to really work hard to keep up a long-distance friendship. I guess she would know, because she’s done it multiple times. And I guess that perhaps I could have kept more friends than I did, had I tried harder. In any case, I stayed friends with her.

As for the others, I stuck them away in a box in my head and tried not to think about them. All of them, approximately twelve separate groups of people, shoved in that box once I had left for good.

I guess it is a coping mechanism. Or maybe it’s just called “moving on,” or “not dwelling on the past.” But sometimes the box bursts open unexpectedly, and I spend the night crying over all those lost friendships.

The first was a note that said:

Dear Paul-
As a gift to you I did not spend any of your
hard-earned money on a shirt at JC Penney
or a sweater at Old Navy or a wallet at Sears.
Love, Dorcas

Second note:

Dear Paul
As a gift to you, I did not spend any money
at Target, Kohl’s, or Ross.
Love, Dorcas

Third note:

Dear Paul,
As a gift to you I will continue to cook from
scratch instead of spending money on
eating out or convenience foods.
Love, Dorcas

When the third note was opened, Mom said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Paul is very hard to buy for.”

Who wrote it?
Who hung it the town bulletin board?
Why did they choose to hang it there?

I pulled it off and took it home. I wanted to look at it for a long time.