A Christmas Season Away From Home - Changes into Blessings

There's just something about Christmas that I love. Whether it's the chillier weather or drinking hot cocoa (with marshmallows, of course), Christmas parties with ugly sweaters and cute holiday dresses, watching ridiculously cheesy hallmark Christmas movies as well as all the other "staples," or being able to open that playlist entitled "Christmas music" without getting awkward evil glares from the person in the car across from you at the stoplight (what...that hasn't happened to me...), it's just a great time of the year.

For me, however, this year was truly the first without being near my family. 5 months without them has been rather difficult, and this time of year was no exception. Before I moved out here, I cried, night upon night, knowing that this season would be the first without the people I love so dearly. I was lucky enough to snatch up low-priced airfare for Christmas Eve day, but that's so many family traditions I missed during this season.

Blasting Christmas music and decorating the tree, bringing out the ornaments that hold so much meaning and laughing but secretly loving all the "ugly" ornaments I made as a child. Watching "White Christmas" with the family and internally slightly glad that my dad cries when they march out at the end. Baking up a storm with the family...though secretly, I just liked to eat the fudge and andes mints.
And snow. And no, (believe it or not) the midwest doesn't get snow EVERY year. As a matter of a fact, it was 50 last Christmas. But this year there was snow I was missing. The white that falls from the sky, the way it hushes and quiets the land. There's a peace and a gentleness that comes with the snow. 

Dad putting up the Star on the Christmas Tree.
I was able to Skype into the celebrations and watch as they decorated.

I missed a lot this year. 

But through it all, something else shined through. It was something that was always there, but because I've been so focused on holding onto traditions and enjoying the simple things I love, I think in years past I've taken my gaze off of the meaning of Christmas: the birth of Jesus Christ.

Have you ever been in a hospital to meet a brand new baby? Or even just held one in your arms? I'm sure most of you have. Can you remember what that feels like? To have your gaze completely glued to their unbelievably tiny toes and fingers, bopping their little noses with your finger and cooing at them? My gaze has been fixed on Christ this Christmastime like no other.

And this advent season, I have been reminded of that time and time again. I have been reminded that even though there is no snow here, that my family is elsewhere, that I'm missing so many of my traditions...God doesn't change. He is still the same God.  "He is my rock, my fortress, and I will never be shaken." (Psalm 62:2) 

And the entire reason for Christmas doesn't change. No matter where I go, what I do, that doesn't change the fact that it is HISTORY, FACT, that Jesus was born in a little town named Bethlehem some 2000+ years ago just to save the world. 

(Luke 2 is a great place to read this amazing piece of History, by the way.)

I am grateful for this Christmas away from home. Not in a way where I'm grateful to be away from people I love and things I love to do...but in a way I'm grateful God stripped away the things that aren't as important in my life as the Reason for the Season: Jesus.

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The sun is shining, the grass is green. Huh? It's December?

tree tops glisten and children listen to hear sleighbells in the snow

As I'm...oh, I don't know, like too many days behind my Christmas song posting...I figured I'd start back up again with one I guarantee you'll know and love.
Now enter the beautiful crooning of Bing Crosby singing: "I'm dreaming of a White Christmas...."
What a beautiful and glorious holiday song. It is the most covered/recorded Holiday song.
And as Christmas looms closer and closer, we all wish to be "home." This song isn't about anything but simply the longing for traditions, familiarity, a childhood fantasy of the Christmases we were used to before life took us away to a grown-up world.

What most people don't know is the original lyrics to White Christmas included a verse that preceded the main choruses. Irving Berlin, the composer and creator of this Christmas Classic, was away from his family in New York at this time, and simply wishing to be with them instead of Hollywood where he was working on a project. He sat down to his piano, and in the only key he knew how to play in (F# for those musically inclined,) and plucked out the following tune:
"The sun is shining, the grass is green,
The orange and palm trees sway.
There's never been such a day
in Beverly Hills, L.A.
But it's December the twenty-fourth,—
And I am longing to be up North."

Since my recent move to Southern California (I'm just a short drive from Beverly Hills), this verse makes all the difference to me this year. What a testament. Though we've had cooler temperatures than the infamous "July Fry," it still mostly feels like a warm fall day.

The song then goes into the famous chorus.
"I'm dreaming of a white christmas. Just like the ones I used to know. Where the tree tops glisten, and children listen to hear sleighbells in the snow. I'm dreaming of a White Christmas with every Christmas card I write. May your days be merry and bright...and may all your Christmases be white."

If you don't mind, I'm going to indulge myself in a tad bit of storytelling here.

When I was a young girl, I grew up in a small town in Minnesota. I could hardly recall a Christmas without snow. Every year during the Christmas season, my town would host a weekend Christmas celebration. And on that Saturday, they would open up the local community center as a "kids shopping" day. Tables were filled with knick-nacks and tokens as kids would buy their gifts for their family members. And on that day the town also hired a local horesman to hook up a wagon filled with hay behind a couple of his horses. And for that day, all day long, he would drive that wagon around town. Children would race and hop on the back for a ride, and he would drop them off at the community center for their shopping. The ground would be white with mounds of snow, the children would be all bundled up in their winter coats, snowpants, boots, hats, mittens and scarves, and the sleighbells would jingle from the horses necks and around the wagon.

Looking back I realize how blessed I am to have had those memories. Those beautiful white Christmas memories. Where the treetops really did glisten and glitter from the snow's reflection in the sun or the streetlamps. And where children listened to the sleighbells jingle from the horses as it drove by, signaling their time to run out and hop on the wagon.

I may not write Christmas cards, but currently I'm writing this. And I truly do wish that your Christmases be merry and bright...and that your Christmases be white. Because there's just nothing like a White Christmas.

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32 Days of Holiday Harmony

Those of you who know me know I love Christmas. I love everything about it. There's a sense of joy and wonderment, of excitement and glee, of rejoicing and peace. And one of the things I look forward to every year is plugging in my iPod and letting my "A Merry Little Christmas" playlist blast through the speakers. Of the nearly 3,000 songs I own, I'm estimating at least 400 of them are Christmas songs. (I kid you not.)

So in the next 32 days before Christmas, I am going to take you all on a journey through my playlist - picking out my top 30 (In no particular order) that you should be listening to this holiday season.

Day 1:
Michael Buble - Jingle Bells! (Feat. the Puppini Sisters)

(Sorry, everyone - looks like you'll have to watch on youtube - but come right back!)
To be honest, I could probably feature the entire album. Let's be honest here: Not many artists have the power to melt a girls' soul with just the sound of his voice... but Michael Bublé is one of them. A number of years ago, he released his first Christmas album, entitled "Let it snow!" with just 6 tracks on it for girls to swoon to. But what every girl in America didn't know at the time was, well, Michael Buble could do better, something he intended to do from the start.
Michael Buble has said that the holiday season is one of his favorite times of the year, and he always wished to put out a Christmas album that reflected his childhood. As a child, the only Christmas record his parents owned was Bing Crosby's "White Christmas." In an interview with "The Telegraph" he said that album would play in the house from late October through Christmas, introducing Buble to the crooning wonders of jazz. Being the first album he remembers hearing, it played a significant role in his musical stylings. After the success of his first Christmas album, Buble sat down and started piecing together what he considered his favorite renditions of his favorite Christmas songs - songs that meant something to him and would eventually mean something to his audience. In 2011, Michael Buble released his long-awaited Christmas album: "Christmas!" - a fitting title.

In his version of Jingle Bells, featuring the lovely and harmonic voices of the Puppini Sisters, Buble brings to life the old-fashioned sounds of a 1940s Christmas.

Day 2:

BarlowGirl - Angelic Proclamation

From the days of "Never Alone" and "Mirror" off their self-titled debut album in 2004, I fell in love with the three sisters' blend of voices. Lauren, Alyssa, and Rebecca Barlow have since been singing together, and just recently announced their retirement. In honor of the music they have produced together, they are my day 2 pick.
The title of this post is 32 days of holiday harmony, and these three girls certainly create some of the best. Between the crystal clear vocals and enchanting sounds of a full orchestra backing their harmonies, this Medley of "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing!" and "Gloria In Excelsis Deo" will certainly get the Christmas magic going.

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3 reasons why Castle is JUST SO GOOD!

It all started one January morning in 2009 as I sat down to enjoy a short break while watching The Bachelor before I had to go back to the Column office. I had ran down during a commercial break and brought up Chinese from the Eagle's Nest, our little "grill" in the basement of our dorm building. I grabbed my chopsticks and started plucking away at the broccolli and beef, hardly paying attention to the TV.

Then my roommate glanced at the television and started freaking out. She had seen a favorite actor of hers on a commercial for a new dramedy. I had seen the commercial a couple times before, and although I admit it caught my eye, I didn't think much of it. It was this show starring some guy named Nathan Fillion. Kind of a quirky girl herself, she was engrossed in this show called FireFly, which he starred in. She kept raving about this actor. Our tastes often didn't match, so I was quite reluctant to think he might be the great actor she said he was.

The commercial was for a show called Castle, about novelist Rick Castle (Nathan Fillion) who starts following around the reluctant and annoyed Detective Kate Beckett (Stana Kanic). The night it premiered, I decided it was worth the watch - just because the writer in me was intrigued by what the show might hold. So that night, my roommate and I sat and watched the premier together. We laughing over the quips and annoyed glances Beckett and Castle shared, and trying to guess "Who done it." And, as the saying goes, the rest is history. I was hooked. She was right, Nathan Fillion is probably one of the funniest actors I've seen since FRIENDS...and it's hard for anything to beat FRIENDS, in my opinion.

To be honest, although I was hooked on the show, I wasn't sold on it. I just enjoyed watching a mystery every week, trying to figure out the mystery. It also helped immensely that it provided a great source of laughter every week. It was refreshing to have a mystery show that wasn't all about the drama, and provided many lighthearted moments amidst the tragedy that murder really is. And despite all of that, I wouldn't have said back then that Castle was the show to watch.

But just like how true love grows through time, getting bigger and stronger, so are my beliefs that Castle is truly a great show. And as time went on, we learned, piece by piece, a little more of the character's hearts. Castle's character is very perceptive, not only at figuring out the crime, but also seeing into someone's heart. His taking to Beckett was rather cute in the beginning, but it quickly grew into developing a heart for her and her story. Learning about Beckett's past was a huge draw to the show, and has since played a pivotal roll in the storyline - even 4 seasons down the road.

1. Major reason #1 why I love Castle? The writers. 

Over the past four seasons, the writers have developed a plot and a story so thick that it's difficult to imagine where it's going. You have your standard week's episode - A murder has been discovered, and Castle and Beckett work together (with their team, of course) to solve the mystery. By the end of the show, the case is closed and Beckett and Castle grow a little closer in their relationship, while still offering humerous bits that make the audience either giggle in between the hum-drum serious moments or completely split with laughter that it makes them miss the next couple lines.

But the ongoing plot the writing team has created is so deep it's difficult to uncover and unravel. Part of the thrill of a mystery show is that you try to piece together what's happening, seeing if you can guess what happened before it's revealed. However, the mystery that is Kate's mother's murder seems to take so many twists and turns that you cannot predict. And that has affected Kate and Castle's relationship, and even Kate's emotional journey in dealing with her hurt and her drive.

One of the hardest things to do as a writer on a television show is create an evolving love story that can't really resolve. In a novel or a film, you have a beginning and an ending. And somewhere between the beginning and the ending, the two end up falling in love and having some sort of conclusion to their story, whether it tragic or a happily-ever-after. On a television show, you have a beginning. But until that final episode airs, you don't have an ending, and most don't even know until just months, maybe just weeks, before that time comes. So what we end up watching is the beginning and the middle. It's difficult for a show to resolve that love story tension without feeling like that story has ended.

Yet, the writers have somehow managed to develop these character's love story to a point where we are satisfied - to a certain extent. For the first several seasons, we shouted at the television while watching them be with other people when we know they are perfect for each other. And somehow, after the last year's cliff-hanger episode, their relationship transformed into something new - something a bit deeper. Yes, feelings are still left unspoken, but at least understood. No, that doesn't bring their relationship to the point many of us want to see, but at least to the point where we feel some sort of satisfaction - at least for the time being. The writers are brilliant to create the story line they have to create that sense of satisfaction and at the same time creating outside forces that make it nearly impossible for the two of them to finally get to that point. And until that mystery is solved, we will sit by, satisfied that there's a shared understanding, but that it will take time.

2. Major reason #2 why I love Castle? The acting.

Now, I'm just going to say it right now. I was not originally a big fan of Stana Kanic. I just thought she sometimes couldn't deliver lines up to the standard Nathan Fillion demands. I think it was simply just how she speaks. But I've realized that I think many actors are great, despite how their voices make me cringe a little inside...actors like Drew Barrymore, Mary Steenburg, and even sometimes Meryl Streep. So despite my slight annoyance with Stana Kanic's voice, she consistently delivered great episodes, pulling out a heart-wrenching scene that makes your heart feel with her, or even simply delivering the annoyed glances at Castle that make your heart flutter as you chuckle. (Just a note: Stana is not originally from the US, so it makes sense that she's not as quick on the quips, compared to, say Lauren Graham and Alexis Blidel's bantering on Gilmore Girls.)

Nathan Fillion, from the very first episode, has proved he is an actor worth paying attention to. His ease and comfort in his role as Castle is both extremely believable and fantastic. It probably helps immensely that it seems Fillion has brought his own personality to his character as Castle. Everyone in high school always loved the smart alec and class clown, and Fillion takes those titles and rolls it into an hour full of laughs. But Fillion knows when to dial down the inner-child and start acting his age in those serious moments.

But I think one of the greatest reasons the acting works in this show is that the cast has chemistry. The difference between real-life chemistry and the chemistry we're talking about is that actual chemistry can be explained with numbers and equations. But this chemistry can't be explained, because it just works.

The way Fillion and Kanic interact with each other translates from the script to the screen with a sense of honesty and an delivers to us that inexplicable bond. Their jesting and verbal sparring, their quiet shared moments of love, and their ability to communicate with each other through a single glance proves that whatever that bond is, however that chemistry works, the two work together like peanut butter and jelly.

Now, however, I will take the time to say that I'd be doing the show a great disservice if I didn't mention the chemistry of the cast in its entirety.
Aside from the Fillion-Kanic connection, the relationships of the cast all together are something akin to a loving, yet sometimes dysfunctional, family. Seamus Dever, who plays Detective Ryan, and Jonathan Huertas, who plays his partner Detective Espisito, act like brothers. The kind that battle over the dumbest things, but would follow the other into a gunfire. Their relationship plays out on screen exactly what you know most cops and their partners do. Because when you entrust your life to someone when the danger is high, their forms a bond that cannot be broken.
Tamala Jones plays Lanie, the M.E., and features as a great female companion to the lone Detective Kate Beckett.
The other key members of this family is Castle's mother Martha, played by the incredibly talented Susan Sullivan, as well as his daughter, Alexis, played by Molly Quinn.
Together, they prove that family isn't always who you are related to, but those who are an important part of your life.

With that said, I wanted to add one more reason that I love this show.

3. Major Reason #3 I love Castle? The fiction.
Technically, I suppose I could have inserted this under the "writing" category, but it's different enough to separate it.
One of the key factors in creating a good story is making it realistic. You wouldn't insert a cell-phone reference in the civil war. Or even in the 1950's. In that matter, you need to be careful in how you create your story, because if it's too unrealistic, the audience begins to realize that it isn't real.
But part of creating fiction is that it is just that: fiction.
Part of what I admire about the writers is how they tie in different themes to certain episodes. Just in this season, there's been a superhero themed show, a ghostbusters themed show, and coming up, there will be a 1940s themed show. The writers have done an admirable job thus far of writing fantastical, yet very believable story lines in these themes.
Typically, it'd be hard to see any other show on television doing themed shows like this. But somehow the cast and crew of Castle pull it off so very well that I am probably more excited about this show than a 24-year-old female should be.


So there. My top 3 reasons why I love Castle! 

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I am deficient! Praise the Lord!

So while taking a small side-break from reading technical words in a product support log, I stumbled upon this video. (If you catch the "radio" portion: you'll find my friend Goose behind the microphone.)

First of all - I want to give props to Tenth Ave North for this amazing video of Lifelight! What a great band with a great perspective!

Second - there are several things that were said in this video that struck me.

I may not be in a band and sing or jam on the guitar or drums in front of thousands of people. But I do perform. As a dancer, especially during my years on the Northwestern College Dance Ministry Team, I struggled with finding that very same line that this band refers to between performance/entertainment and ministry. I'd struggle with wondering "Do I have an issue with pride?" "Is my dancing boastful?"

I sit here thinking to myself, I know there are times I was. I know there are times when I thought to myself that I am the best dancer on the team and I wanted to outshine everyone. I am ashamed and irritated at myself for those times.

But there are also times I realized that I was doing just what this band was doing. I was performing - not that I wanted others to notice just me, but the dance as a whole. I wanted them to feel something. I wanted God to use the dance to break down walls, to open up hearts, to show his love through this magical thing I do. I've seen how dance can become this incredibly powerful tool to change lives. What a gift it is that I have - that I may dance and entertain an audience only for them to realize a new facet about God. "The performance is there to make ministry happen," Mike Donehey says.

Then, something Donehey said makes complete and utter sense. He says "None of us are coming into this festival with pure motives. All our best motivations are tainted, all our best songs are still deficient. So that actually gives me great hope. Because at the end of the day I don't believe it's our putting on a perfect festival our putting on the perfect show our writing a perfect song it what's going to change people's lives. It's the belief that a perfect God is going to redeem it!"

What a life-changing thought for me. Nothing I make is perfect. No choreography, no leap or turn, no dance, is going to be perfect. Despite my desire to use dance to point people to God, I still go into a dance, or choreography session, with tainted motivations. They may not be all about me anymore, but to some extent, I bet that I'm thinking some of it is about me. But what a beautiful thing redemption is. What a beautiful thing to realize that no matter what I do, it will always come up deficient...because I am not God...but in the end, God redeems it! God redeems my work, my artistry, my talents!

May I always be deficient - in order to show God's proficiency!

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Traditions

There's something that warms your heart when you come upon the familiar, the traditions. For instance, the tradition (as of late), to stay up early in the morning working on things that will be all undone tomorrow. Hence, my state of consciousness at this late hour of 3:30 in the morning. Forgive me for any grammar errors. I've discovered I am a great deal poorer at editing at 3 in the morning than I am at 3 in the afternoon.

Today, I looked back upon years past and discovered that whether I recognized them or not, there are many traditions that I have without making them traditions. They are something that everyone has this time of year. For me, however, I've discovered that some of them have not necessarily been out of a forward-motion thought process...it's simply become.

Traveling to my grandparents has always been something I look forward to every Christmas. But there are little things that I've realized have become traditions, become those little things I look forward to that mean more to me than I sometimes want to admit.

For the many years we lived in Hawley, we would travel to the farm during the night after Dad finished preaching the Christmas Eve service. (Often, it was our Christmas eve program, filled with cute costumes and even cuter kids that forgot their lines - except for me. The kids would be showered with gifts and were given a brown sack filled with peanuts and chocolate goodies.) The White Oldsmobile was packed and as soon as dad locked the church doors, we would be on our way!
As I sat in the back seat, even before my sister was born, I would lay down in the back seat and lean my head against the door, gazing up into the sky. I remember vividly the tall trees that lined the road, dusted with a soft sprinkling of snow. I remember years with stars that filled the sky so brilliantly that I could gaze at them for hours. The "monster" - a face that appeared in the stars if you look closely, was a favorite of mine to spot. Every now and then I'd let out an "Are we there yet?" - until finally my eyes would fall so heavy and I'd fall fast asleep. I'd startle awake when my dad turned that sharp turn onto the gravel road, that for years has been known as "Grandpa's Road." It was then that I'd exclaim "Already? It just feels like 5 minutes!" to which my parents would reply "The drive always goes faster if you fall asleep." (I literally thought I could speed up time by falling asleep.) I would then unbuckle my seat belt with excitement and lean forward onto the middle portion of the front seat - the full length one seat with a divider in the middle. The rule was that once we got to Grandpa's Road, I was allowed to take off my seatbelt. Partially, I'm sure, it was because I was so excited and antsy at this point that a seatbelt could hardly constrain me.

Today, I found myself listening to my favorite Christmas album (since receiving it in the 6th grade), gazing out the window, peering at the snow-laden ground beneath me and the brilliant stars above me - that is, once we got close enough to McGregor for there to be snow on the ground This winter has been severely lacking in that form of precipitation. Mom and dad were sitting up front as usual, chatting away or just listening to a tape (yes, cassette tape) of Lorie Line. My sister took up the backseat, which has been her designated seat for several years now. (She, like me, likes the back left.) I sacrificed the back for the middle, yet made myself quite comfortable enough, now curled up under a blanket and fluffing a pillow beneath my head. As we pulled onto Grandpa's Road, I unbuckled my seat belt as I have in years past and watched out the front window in anticipation of seeing the lights of the house that we will soon greet. Dad drive around the curvy windy road, and soon we are rounding the last curve in the driveway. I get my first glance at the house this year. It's not as decorated as normal, but it still has lights. There's a small tree on the new porch, complete with its own dusting of snow.

I step out of the van, just I have done for countless previous years, as Grandma opens the front door to greet us. We gather our first handful, then step into the house, barely able to set our things down before hugs and kisses abound us.
The house smells its familiar smell - firewood. Added to that smell is the smell of Christmas goodies - mini-cupcakes, cookies, food in preparation for tomorrow.

Dad and I quickly unload the van - a "chore" that started once Naomi was born, that has simply just become "one of those traditions."

The old massive bulbs that once dawned Christmas Trees of past have since been replaced with new LED lights, but yet the tree still appears the same as it does every other year, as it's sparse of full branches, yet plump and is just tall enough to graze the ceiling.

Oh, there are other things that have changed. The Christmas tree is no longer squished in the corner of the living room with the windows looking out. The rocking chair and its matching ottoman have been reupholstered. The wood fireplace was replaced with a more energy-efficient corn-fueled fireplace, which has been out of order for the past several years. (It's just one of those things on "That List of Stuff that needs to get fixed but still hasn't yet.") Tiki and Patti, two trusty old dogs, have passed on, leaving their mark on the legacy of Davis Family dogs. But Girl, an addition to the family when Diane and the girls moved up 7 years ago, greeted me as I exited the van. My "bed" is no longer upstairs, as it is currently occupied. But I have been quite comfortable on the pull-out "bed" from the chair in the entry-way living room.

Tomorrow, after the church service, a tradition of other sorts will take place. Over the past 5 years or so, my cousin Tiffany and I have battled it out to see who can "wrap" the other's gift the best. It started with duct tape, a few "mixed up" boxes, and stress relief pills. Yes, I was the instigator, I will admit to that. Since then, we've discovered that packing tape is far more irritating and impossible to unravel, expanding styrofoam insulation should be done in layers and takes hours and hours and hours to dry, nor should you use water to attempt to get it off in the event it should land on your skin, ice melts quickly under water, both wood and plexiglass boxes can be broken by slamming it on cement really really hard, and sometimes an adventure that brings you on a trip down memory lane is fun - as long as you can remember your shared memories, since that's where your gifts will be located. We have done basically everything short of cement. (Just in case you're wondering about some of these things, the rule of the game is simple: One must not use any tool or cutting device or any kind, nor may anyone else assist you in the unwrapping and obtaining of one's present.)

One may ask, how does one come to do such terrible things to their cousins for Christmas? Simple. It runs in the family. Our parents used to do similar things to each other as well. Although, if I must admit this as well, we have taken things to much higher levels than they ever did. I guess if it runs in the family genes, it must escalate...I can only dream of what our children will do. (YIKES!)

It's as I look back on years past and make the connection that I sit here today doing the exact same thing that I realize just how blessed I truly am to have these traditions. There is snow on the ground, and with the severe lack of snow this year, my heart smiled the biggest smile as I caught my first glimpse of it on our drive up. Seeing all the Christmas lights up on houses, especially Grandma's as we pulled in, was heart-warming. Hugs and kisses to go around, health and happiness, joy.

But perhaps the biggest tradition of all is the one I've been familiar with all my life.
The birth of my savior. The one who has brought me through bad Christmases and terribly tough times. The one who has come to my rescue more often than I'd like to admit. The one who has forgiven me for the countless mistakes I've made and given me a stamp of approval for admittance into heaven. The one who, 2011 years ago, was born in a town named Bethlehem and grew up to become the one who saves the earth from itself.
Tomorrow (or rather, today), we celebrate because God sent HIS son to us, because he knew we needed him. And that tradition is by far the greatest and most worthy reason to celebrate!
So as I look around at my family tomorrow, laughing and making jokes, opening gifts and sharing hugs, I will sit back and think how grateful I really am for all God has done for me. He has blessed me.

May you be as blessed as I am. Not only to have such a great family surrounding you during the Holiday season, but also to realize what the biggest blessing truly is - the gifts of love, forgiveness, and joy that can only come from Jesus Christ and the Heavenly Father.

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I miss this - a dance teamer's Saturday.

Hours before the dawn breaks, I board a bus wearing warm-up sweats, my hair already pulled back ready to be set in a tight bun. I lug a large bag filled with the many items needed for the day and a garment bag keeping my precious costumes away from anything that could damage them. As the bus starts its trek, we grab our pillows and blankets and try to catch a few snoozes before arriving. Towards the end of our trip there, our routine music fills the air and we sit and think of the routine. Visualization is somehow extremely helpful.

Several hours later we arrive at our home for the next 10 or so hours. The smell of hairspray and makeup wafts through the school and an electricity ignites the air. Sensing the nerves and the excitement, we walk through the school to our designated room.

The next hour, we scramble to get our hair done and our makeup on. My hair is slicked back with ridiculous amounts of gel and hairspray - which is discovered to be an equal rival to cement. No, there is no way my hair is coming undone on the floor today. To add to that, my coaches paste a strip of rhinestones to the top of my head along my part with eyelash glue - that I know will take me at least an hour and three shampoos to get out.
Makeup is caked on - foundation, three or four layers of eyeshadow, fake eyelashes, eyeliner, bronzer, blush, and two layers of bright red lipstick.
My tights and first costume are already on, in addition to my warm-up sweatpants and jacket.
With a nervous flutter in my stomach and hairspray fumes filling my nostrils, I begin to stretch out to the soft music playing in the background.
Before I know it, we're rushed off to our floor-check time. The next 5 minutes none of us talk, except the coaches, who demand to move 4 inches to the left or stand on just outside that line. We're lucky if we even have time to run through the routine.
We walk quietly in a straight line back to the room. Remember 3rd grade? Exactly like that.

Back at the room we sit in a circle, close our eyes, and imagine our routine as the music is played.

In between, we grabbed bananas, apples, carrots, or celery to keep our stomachs from growling.

Then it's time for the Parade of Athletes. We line up for our entrance, our arms glued to our sides, smiling straight up to our parents and other spectators. We're proud to wear the name "Centahnas" - it means something. It's not just a dance team - it's family. A family of sisters who love to dance - so much so that we're willing to put our bodies through hours of scrutinizing work to create perfection to music.

Soon it's performance time. We line up in the shoot, completely silent, doing some last stretches and trying to perfect our technique on the things we forget and the things we don't do perfectly. My stomach flutters and my legs feel like jello. I get in "the zone"...that moment when I hear nothing else and think nothing else except a keen awareness of our impending routine. I hear nothing around me, just myself counting in my head "5-6-7-8", thinking of the routine.
Then before we're announced, we gather, peering into the gym. Our parents, flooding the middle section of the stands with red white and blue, cheer loudly for us. "CENTAHNAS! CENTAHNAS! CENTAHNAS!" They hold up letters spelling our team name.
And now, the "Century Centahnas with 'Paint it Black'. The choreographers are ...." and as we're announced, we run out onto the floor, quickly finding our spots and getting in our first pose. We wait as our heart pounds, preparing for that first beat. "What's my first move?" I think.

The music starts, my body starts moving, and for the next 3 minutes, my heart pounds, adrenaline shooting through my body as I smile, wink, and make cute facials way up into the crowd. Before I can feel it, the music ends and I land in my final pose. I wait to hear "5-6-7-8", and I get up with the rest of my team to quickly and quietly move off the floor.

Now it's time to get ready for the next routine - quick change costumes, change hair-pieces, change shoes! We do this 2 other times for more routines, and finally we sit to watch our competition. They're good. But so are we. They practice hard. But so do we. They practice for hours and hours. So do we. They love to dance. But so do we.

Once everyone finishes, all the teams gather on the floor in their respective circles and jam to the music played on the speakers while the judges scores are tallied. When it's finally time for them to be announced, we sit on the floor, crossed our arms and holding hands as we wait in suspense. We scream, jumping up and down, when our name is called. Sometimes we placed really well, 2nd and 3rd, sometimes we placed not as well, like 5th. But we're still proud of how we danced! Our parents flood the floor with their cameras, ready to snap several hundred photos of us with our trophies.

And finally, it's time to pack up and head home. It's around 6 pm. The three hour bus ride back is filled with everyone watching the routines on their home cameras, watching how they did and how everything looked. Constantly analyzing our every move, we make mental notes to remember that for the next practice.

And somewhere around 9 or 10, we finally arrive home, exhausted from the day, but proud of how it went.

This is where I belong. I belong in the land of dance competitions - spending a Saturday at a school filled with parents sporting their child's team's colors, dancers wearing their costumes and warmup sweats, a land filled with the aroma of sweat, hairspray, makeup, and the air filled with music and the cheers from the crowd.

This is familiarity. This is exhilarating. This is long and tired hours. This is so much hard work all coming down to one day of competition - about 9 mintues worth of dancing and hours worth of waiting and watching. This...this is home.

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