Living out of boxes

I hate packing. I get really, ridiculously stressed out, everything seems like an ordeal, and worst of all, my things become suddenly unreachable in those taped up boxes. I've avoided packing up my art room because it is where I go to de-stress. Throughout the packing of the rest of the house, I would sneak to my art room to work on finishing up some projects. Just before packing up my art room, I did one final painting. Here's a picture of it if you are interested:

We will be heading out Thursday, and, needless to say, I am really nervous. My parents got me a huge Texas star with Texas written around the edge to take with me. This way, there will never be any confusion when people come to our house about where I'm from, and I will always have a piece of home with me. Also, Cary Gay (Mom's boss and my other mother) got us a Texas shaped hummingbird feeder. It is fabulous. And believe it or not, BJ is actually finding all of these souvenirs humorous. I guess he is finally coming to terms with the fact that he married an irreversible Texan.

How to buy a house in the middle of a nationwide housing crisis (or why I keep crying every five minutes)

Due to the fact that I am married to an old man, I am the first in my circle of friends to buy a house. Needless to say, I was totally unprepared for what a hassle the whole process is. A couple of weeks ago, BJ and I went to Kentucky to find a place to live come August. We went through about a dozen mediocre homes before we walked into our (ta-daa) dream home: a small, older two-story cottage that epitomizes the word quaint. It was love at first sight, and to make things even better, it was across the street from the church, so they were really happy about our choice. Our real estate agent (who I love) immediately took us back to the office to write up an offer. The offer was accepted, everyone was gloriously happy, and then money had to get involved.

Basically, two weeks of nail-biting and tears have passed, and we are still in limbo. Things are looking slightly more promising, but it is all so ridiculously complicated. BJ and I are surprised at how attached we feel to this little home we've never lived in. Not so deep inside of me, there is a little girl stomping her feet and screaming "It's my cottage!!! I don't care that there is a housing crisis and our economy is in shambles. I want my cottage and I want it NOW!" (She's a wordy little brat.)

With the stress of the house situation coupled with all of my belongings being in boxes that line the walls of our current house, I am a wreck. I keep crying over crazy things. For example, I was packing our kitchen towels earlier, and I came across some that were my grandmothers. They are decorative towels, so I've never washed them. I held them up to my nose, and to my surprise, they still smelled like Grandma's house. Of course, this sent me into a good long cry, because, as we all know, Grandma would have loved my little cottage.

I say all of this to say that we would really appreciate some prayers. Not necessarily that we will get our cute little cottage (although that would be nice), but rather that we will be able to accept whatever happens. Being an adult is such a drag.

Fat Tuesday Meets Again

My best friends from college met this at the end of last week for a weekend in the hill country. We were at a really great resort in Lago Vista, and we spent most of Friday in Austen. Here are a few pictures of our really awesome trip.

Farmington Church of Christ

I think if we members of the Churches of Christ are honest with ourselves, we have to admit that our buildings are generally ugly. I mean, if you want to have your wedding in the church you grew up in, you might as well plan on a background of ancient paneling, tiny windows, grape-juice stained carpet, and badly upholstered pews (and lets not even get started on the subject of the outside of the building). This is why it was such a surprise to see the Farmington Church of Christ: it is beautiful! While we were there last week, I took the liberty of taking a bunch of pictures of the interior. I forget to take any of the outside, but just think cute white church with a steeple. It is adorable. Here is the newly re-vamped inside of the church:

This is the entry way.



These windows line each side of the church.

I love how simple the baptistry is. Anyways, I just wanted to post some pics (especially for you, Mom). And let us all rejoice that there are a few pretty Churches of Christ out there.

Proud flesh

Tomorrow is mine and BJ's two year anniversary. It has been an interesting two years. We've finished college, BJ has found his calling, we've lived in the big city and discovered we're meant for the country, and we've had countless other adventures, many of which were a little bit painful and some that were bend-over-laughing funny. I can honestly say that I can't wait to see what the third year brings. Here is a poem for BJ. It's a love poem.

For What Binds Us
by Jan Hirshfield

There are names for what binds us:
strong forces, weak forces.
Look around, you can see them:
the skin that forms in a half-empty cup,
nails rusting into the places they join,
joints dovetailed on their own weight.
The way things stay so solidly
wherever they've been set down -
and gravity, scientists say, is weak.

And see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There's a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,

as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest -

And when two people have loved each other
see how it is like a
scar between their bodies,
stronger, darker, and proud;
how the black cord makes of them a single fabric
that nothing can tear or mend.

150 Posts

Its hard to believe, but this is my 150th post on this blog. I started this blog the day I changed my name to Gensic nearly two years ago. I can honestly say, the first two years of marriage have flown by. When I look back on this time, I see a frenzied blur of hopes, anxieties, joys, and pains. And this coming month is shaping up to be just such a blur. After are time with BJ's family this past week in Branson, we now have to find a home three states north of where I'm sitting right now, pack, and move in time for BJ to start work August 1st. In addition, I have a Fat Tuesday girls weekend (yay!!!), and I am hoping to get a little time with my family. Today, we are going to Winters to retrieve our dogs and cat from their uncle and grandparents where they stayed while we were gone. Needless to say, its all a little daunting.

Last night, I looked at countless houses in the area we are moving to. It is so much fun to see the homes and imagine moving into one. With each photo, I try to picture what life would be like in those hallways. It is hard to get a clear image, because everything feels so unpredictable right now, but I am hopeful that we can build a good life in our little corner of Kentucky. As always, we appreciate prayers as we embark on yet another crazy month.

Off the unemployment list again

BJ received an official job offer last night from the Farmington Church of Christ in Farmington, Kentucky, and I am happy to say that we accepted the offer. We will be moving at the end of July, so we have a lot to do in a very short time. I'd appreciate all the prayers you can spare as we enter ministry. We're both intimidated and excited at the prospect.

I'd love to write more, but we are heading out in 15 minutes for a week in Branson with BJ's family. I'll write in a week when I get back!

Gus's new haircut

If you will remember, Gus's previous haircut (which was the first he had ever had in his life) went disastrously. Basically, in resulted in a week of starvation, moping, and living in a state of fear every time BJ (aka the Barber) walked into the room. Thankfully, the little guy seems to have taken it better this time. He is eating, playing, and although he still has a healthy amount of fear towards BJ (as all dogs do), he isn't hiding under beds or running from the room.

I've recently started playing with the video feature on my camera. It turns out I'm extremely talented at making stupid, pointless short documentaries. So here is the night after the haircut. You can see for yourself what a happy dog I have.



I'm going to be one of those mothers who irritates people by constantly talking about how cute her kid is when it does weird stuff like spit up or poop. I should probably consider investing in a life-time supply of birth control.

We're back.

We arrived back from the hole yesterday. It was a great week in Menard. We played games with family, ate good food, and me and Mom redecorated my room. So I was busy constantly, but it was all in fun.

My room was still looking a lot like the habitat of a teenager prior to last week. But after a fresh coat of paint, new bedding, a little rearranging, and (perhaps most importantly) carrying out to trash bags full of junk, it is looking pretty good.

Thankfully, it wasn't all just hard work. We also ate lots of food...

played games...


opened presents...


watched movies...


played entirely too much XBox...


and slept...


All in all, it was a good week.

Life in a hole

I am about to leave any moment now for Menard. I love going to Menard because it is entirely peaceful and cut off from the chaos of city life. The only problem is that going to Menard means I'm entering the zone of no internet, and therefore, no blogging. You see, my parents live in a hole. Literally, Menard is a valley. Somehow, living in a hole has had the effect of cutting them off from the modern world. When BJ and I tell people about our childhoods (we both grew up in isolated areas) we get quaint little comments, like "That's so colonial." So I guess I'm going off to a "colonial" existence for a week. I'll catch y'all later.

The road to my crazy life

Today I visited my Site Meter, a resource that keeps track of how many visits this blog receives, where people are located who visit the blog, how long they stayed, what pages they viewed, etc. Pretty much the only thing it does not tell is the name of the visitor. I like to check up on these things occasionally out of curiosity: how many hits am I getting? Do people find my blog interesting enough to stay for a while? and so on. But my favorite tidbit of info is how people found my blog. Site Meter shows the exact source that lead the visitor onto my blog. Most of the time, people find my blog because they were reading one of my friends' blog, and a lot of people come directly to my blog because they are regular visitors. But occasionally, people find my blog by random searches done on Google or Yahoo. I started looking at the search words that lead unsuspecting web surfers into my domain, and I found that is was telling as to the randomness of the content of this blog. Here is a sampling of search terms that direct people to my blog:

• over consumption of water in dogs
• boy and dog praying
• I got peed on
• at our house we have a dog named gus
• we pretty much make our living on crazy

Just knowing that the words "I got peed on" lead people to my virtual front door makes me happy. And also a little disturbed. I think I do indeed make my living on crazy.

Inherited Paranoia

I'll never forget the time I was sick as a child with some minor ailment, and my mom took the opportunity to teach me something about my father. He was, as always, freaking out about all the possibilities this ache could be, and it was in turn freaking me out. Mom took me aside, and whispered to me, "Don't worry about all that. He's just like his mother. He thinks everything is cancer."

My grandmother was an extremely paranoid person, so my dad did come by this quirk honestly. Unfortunately, despite being warned at a young age by my mother, I, too, have inherited this gene, and it is a burdensome gene. Six months ago, I had a constant pain in my lower back. I stayed up night after night worrying about all the types of cancer or terminal illnesses that might make themselves known through back pain. Finally, I went to the doctor. It appears I had kinked up a muscle by worrying too much. That's right. I was suffering from a severe case of irony.

This compulsive worrying is not limited to just worrying about myself. I also manage to worry about my friends and family. For the past few weeks, my dad has been crippling around with a sore toe. I managed to get in quite a fright over this. I'd never heard of toe cancer, but who knows for sure, right? The pain finally got too much for him, and he went to the doctor. Turns out he had a planter's wort. As pathetic as this sounds, I slept better last night knowing my father just had a planter's wort.

In mine and my father's defense, we really had very little chance of coming out well. My Grandma Pierce was a nut. She actually got herself into a panic once because she thought her San Angelo Standard Times horoscope was telling her she was a lesbian. Yay, I was doomed long ago.

30 hour road trip + intense interview = exhaustion

Well, we're back. Actually, we got back four days ago, but I am just now catching up enough on life to actually sit for a moment and write. Kentucky was a good experience. They were good, loving people, and we really enjoyed the trip. Look how beautiful Kentucky is:


Interviewing for a preaching job is an extremely intense and stressful process. Here is a quick run down of how this interview went:

• Saturday afternoon: arrive and play games with the youth group.
• Saturday evening: have dinner with about twenty people who make up the hiring committee and participate in a small group prayer time.
• Sunday morning: BJ did the Bible class for all adults, and , of course, he delivered the sermon.
• Sunday lunch: we ate with about 50 of the members who had not had the opportunity to meet us yet.
• Sunday evening: instead of the regular service, they set up two microphones: one for BJ and myself and the other for the current minister. Church this night was just one big interview in front of the whole congregation.
  
• Sunday evening after church: we went to Dairy Queen with several of the people we had gotten to know the best. It was really nice.

So if you ever are thinking about going into ministry, here's what you have to look forward to. It is extremely challenging, but also very rewarding when things go well. We always end up learning a little about ourselves and about God's church.

After thirty hours on the road in 4 days, we are pretty much exhausted. As always, pictures of our dogs speak more clearly that I can. This is Gus and Sienna as we pulled out of Frisco Thursday afternoon:

And this is Gus and Sienna around the time we crossed the Texas border Monday night:

Yep. That pretty much sums it up.

Here we come, Kentucky!

Bags are packed, the car has new tires, fresh oil, and a shining clean interior, and, most importantly, the dogs are washed. That's right. It's time for a road trip. BJ and I are leaving in approximately two hours to embark on our journey to Kentucky. BJ has an interview with a church in Farmington, KY, so we're making a four day weekend out of it and circling up to see his parents. I'm pretty nervous, actually. Two whole days of interviewing is a daunting prospect.

In preparation for the trip, I washed the dogs yesterday. Actually, I washed Sienna. Gus, would not get in the tub for me. No matter how much I commanded and pleaded, he just stared at me. I even tried lifting the 70 pound dog. I don't think I need to say that didn't work. So I waited until BJ got home. BJ lifted him up and tossed him in the tub. Then we washed him. By the time we were done washing that mass of hair, Gus was entirely traumatized. Here is a picture of him drowning his woes in his food bowl:

This is Sienna wishing she had more food, because, as always, she finished eating before Gus:

Gus stayed wrapped up in that towel all evening. It was like a small child with their blanky after a traumatizing event. Unfortunately, dogs don't have thumbs to suck.

My art room is growing

Although I enjoyed doing some grad courses in English, I am really glad they're over. I was getting tired of writing and reading, and I was itching to get back into the art room. Since my last day, pretty much all I've done is catch up in the art room. Unfortunately, as often happen in my house (past room mates can attest to this), my art room has spilled out into other areas of the house. I've been doing a fairly extravagant printmaking process for the past couple of months, and, as you can see below, my dining room has had to pay the price:

I finally finished this project late last night. Here is the final product:


I'm hoping to have an art show in my home town before the end of the year. These, of course, would be in the show, and they'd be up for sale. As I've said, this past semester at UNT was fun, but if it taught me anything, it is that I will get a masters degree in art if I get it in anything.

MY HUSBAND IS NOT A HERETIC!!!

There, I've been needing to say that all week. It felt good.

If you're wondering why I might have the impulse to say that, just give me a call. But if you know much about the past year in mine and BJ's life, you can probably guess what's going on.

Creativity in everything

It is impossible to understand what a blessing church is in the life of a Christian until one has gone without it during a difficult time. When BJ and I moved to Frisco, we had a horribly difficult time adjusting, and we just couldn't find a church that felt right after the near-utopia of our experience at Nugent. However, last December, we stumbled upon a church filled with good, loving people, and we've been there ever since. They have helped us emotionally and spiritually through a whole slew of difficult situations.

This coming Sunday, our preacher is going to be out of town for the Pepperdine lectureship, so BJ is getting to step back into the pulpit for a week. This is perfect timing because a lot of the churches that BJ has applied for are requesting recordings. Since this little fill-in gig is rapidly turning into an audition for several job prospects, BJ has been putting a lot of time and effort into his preparation.

Last night when I came home from my closing shift at Micheal's, BJ asked me to listen to what he had down so far. I was happy to oblige, but as soon as he set down at the computer, his shy bone kicked in. The next thing I knew, BJ had the lights off and me laying down with my eyes shut so that he wouldn't get self-conscious. We giggled a little over the absurdity of the situation, but the trick worked, and BJ was able to recite the first third or so of his sermon to me.

While I was laying in the absolute dark listening to BJ's words said with his own peculiar accent and inflections, it occurred to me that being his wife is a role I absolutely relish. Hopefully this isn't overly prideful, but I am extremely proud of my connection to a man that can articulate God's word so giftedly. Laying on the bed after a long, tiring day at work and listening to a sermon is exactly the way I want to end my day, and I want to end a whole lot of days in the same way. Being casually mentioned in sermons when the point calls for it is a fascinating experience.

There is a sense of rightness about it all, like this is in fact how BJ and I should spend our life. It is a feeling similar to how I feel when I paint a watercolor or write a perfectly worded line of poetry; like I'm living the way God wanted me to live, I am becoming the creator he intended me to be. It occurs to me that being BJ's wife requires a huge amount of imagination. In order to appreciate his words and ideas and to help him develop them more fully, I have to be creative and in tune with the Creator in a way that little else requires me to be. It is as if my training in art unknowingly prepared me to be a preacher's wife, to not only hear the words of a prophet, but to see them clearly and realize them fully.

I've been reading Madeleine L'Engle's Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art, and it has been helping me better understand my role in life as an artists. What I am finding as I read it is that being an artists is an all-encompassing vocation that will shape every aspect of my life. Here are a few words from the book that articulate far better than I can the realization I had while listening in the dark to BJ's sermon:

"What do I mean by creators? Not only artists, whose acts of creation are the obvious ones of working with paint or clay or words. Creativity is a way of living life, no matter what our vocation or how we earn our living. Creativity is not limited to the arts or having some kind of important career. Several women have written to me to complain about A Swiftly Tilting Planet. They feel that I should not have allowed Meg Murry to give up a career by marrying Calvin, having children, and quietly helping her husband with his work behind the scenes. But if women are to be free to choose to pursue a career as well as marriage, they must also be free to choose the making of a home and the nurture of a family as their vocation; that was Meg's choice, and a free one, and it was as creative a choice as if she had gone on to get a Ph.D. in quantum mechanics."

A True Gus Moment

Today, I tried out a new yoga tape. The dogs are pretty good about staying out of my way when I'm working out. They just stare from the side-lines. Yoga sequences usually end with a really relaxing pose that is held for one or two minutes. At the end of the yoga sequence I was doing today, I had to lay flat on my back, arms by my side, with my palms facing up. I had my eyes shut, but I heard one of the dogs moving. I opened my eyes to take a peak, and Gus was laying himself down perfectly parallel to my legs. He then laid his chin perfectly in the palm of my hand and stared at me with those huge brown eyes. We just laid there relaxing together. It was an absolutely perfect moment in my day.

(As a side note: if Tony is in the room when I am doing yoga, he usually attacks me.)

Thirty is rapidly approaching...

BJ has now entered that precarious state we know as the beginning of the end. He turned 29 years old on Friday. One more year of his twenties. What's weird about this is that I vividly remember my mom's 30th birthday. BJ is old enough to have an eight year old!

As always, I got a little carried away with presents. I really, really like getting BJ presents, and I believe in a nicely coordinated wrapping scheme. This year was lime green, teal, and navy blue.

BJ was kind enough to wear white and denim so he didn't clash:

Of course, we also gorged ourselves on a lovely meal. Missing from the picture is steaks and slap-me-naked cake (I'll leave it to your imagination on the cake):

Kayla spent the weekend with us, which was a lot of fun. We went out for BJ's b-day, ranted and raved about church, politics, and a whole slew of topics, watched The Office, shopped with no money (but still managed to buy a few things), got mistaken for being twins, and planned a get away for all of our Fat Tuesday friends. It was an awesome weekend. Yay for birthdays, food, color-coordination, and college buddies!

If you are my father-in-law, don't read this post for a week.

BJ inherited many wonderful traits from his father, but there is one trait BJ acquired in this fashion of which I am not so fond: an irrational love of science fiction. It doesn't matter what it is, books, movies, horribly acted TV shows, they love it all so long as it is sci-fi. Usually I disdain this trait, but this week it has served me well. My father-in-law's birthday is coming up next week, and I have found the perfect card. Here it is in video form. Enjoy!