Freestylin On My Birthday!

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Photo by Lucy Heath on Unsplash

It was my birthday last week! I had an amazingly joyful day, spending time with friends and family, baking and keeping myself amped up with cheers and freestyle raps. Yes, you read right! Driving to my dad’s house for dinner after work, and then at my dad’s house getting ready for dinner, I was coming up with rhymes about it being my birthday. That was pretty much as deep as they got haha. Here’s one that stuck with me:

Bakin’ chocolate cookies
Eatin’ chocolate cake
And she celebratin’
Because she’s 28!!
28 yup! 28 yup!!

Now imagine appropriate arm movements and head gestures, plus some jumping around, and you’ve got a better idea of how said rap was performed. I had so much fun. I was loud. I felt free. I just let everything else go and focused on the fact that I was alive and had a whole day to celebrate.

The day started off just fine, more on the low-key side. Then somewhere around mid-afternoon it was like a switch went off in my head. I don’t remember there being much of a coherent thought process, but I felt an urgency to be enthusiastic, and grateful, and to create more excitement for myself. It was my birthday! Who better to feel it than me?? So I started, and once I got going there was no dampening the turn up.

It’s been a few years since I was that amped about my birthday, but I plan to continue this trend in the future. Aside from making my day even more enjoyable, it was a chance to just be and tap into the spontaneous, exuberant side of myself. Days like my birthday remind me that even being fluid and carefree can involve conscious decisions.

Anyway, I know you can’t hear my actual birthday rap performance, but I can leave you with one of my favourite songs of late. I love to dance to this one, and often dream of learning the choreography. Hope you enjoy it as much as I do, and have a great week!

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Blessed Assurance, Because He Ascended

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Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

I’m at the end of my day and am just setting aside a moment to blog. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to write about so I thought I’d take a look at the daily prompt and respond quickly to whatever it is. The word for today is ascend.

The first thing – or person – that comes to mind after reading that word is Jesus, who ascended into heaven (and is seated at the right hand of the Father… the rest of the Nicene creed has now jumped into my mind too). I am so thankful for my Saviour and king, who is the reason I live and move and have my being. Without him I would have nothing, and because I have him I lack nothing; in fact, I have every good thing.

I memorised Psalm 16 earlier this year because it’s become one of my favourites. The second verse says: ‘I say to the Lord, “You are my Lord; I have no good apart from you.”‘ I am so often tempted to think that once better things come to me in the future my life will also become better; I am tempted to feel that I am waiting and working for those good things. Verse two reminds me that I have all the good I could ever need or want because I call Jesus Lord. No earthly wealth or relationships can compare to knowing God and finding my joy in him. As much as I might find happiness with my family and friends, and from the comfort that money can buy, as much as they might make me feel secure, they really just point to the ultimate satisfaction and security I have in God.

That is really an incredible concept, and one – as I said – I am still learning. But I do have so much joy and peace because of God. I see his creativity and brilliance in nature; his love in the countless ways he is gracious to me; his generosity in the humbling, inspiring things about humanity, like art and music; and I am thrilled whenever I learn something new about him and his attributes. He is awesome! A good, good father, and so much more. At the end of the day, I can rest knowing that my value comes from being loved by God. I have no reason to worry, or to fear, or to feel inadequate. I should think less about myself and more about others because my future is secure, and God’s goodness is overflowing in me. I am eternally, immeasurably loved.

A Little Dance Music Before Bed

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Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash

The best kind of bedtime is the one I’m able to ease into. I’m not a fan of those frantic days when I work right up until the nth hour, then force myself to stop and get to sleep as quickly as possible. Neither do I like those nights when I get home late and only have time to brush my teeth, wash my feet, face and hands, and schlafen – the way my dad used to instruct me and my siblings when we’d get into similar situations as children. I don’t even really like watching a tv show or movie as the last thing before bed. No, the best bedtimes are the ones where I get an early start: shower, listen to my ‘sleep’ playlist as I put on pj’s, read, and maybe listen to one more song before I really close down.

I developed my sleep playlist in college, when I started having trouble falling asleep and someone suggested to my mum that I create a wind-down routine. The top two songs on there are ‘Solitude’ by Billie Holiday, and Chopin’s Mazurka Op. 17 no. 4. I love them both, but I’d like to wax a little poetic about the perfection that is Chopin’s mazurka.

Mazurkas are Polish dances, though this piece doesn’t exactly conjure visions of people partying in my mind. In fact, I don’t really think of anything while it’s playing; it’s the kind of music that clears my head. I am captivated by its lilting melody, its almost saccharine sweetness. Arthur Rubinstein’s interpretation is perfection: most of the time gentle and light, but with enough vigour and passion to keep the experience interesting. I’ve listened to it hundreds of times, and still marvel at the way he makes the piano sing. I grew up playing the instrument, and even at my most coaxing, delicate moments I felt like the sounds I produced were plonking and clumsy.

As Rubinstein performs it, the mazurka is 4.5 minutes long. It starts with a basic, four bar, four note melody, a little melancholy. There’s a brief pause and then we get into the body of the piece, which takes that same melody and uses it as the basis for a number of rhythmic and melodic variations. It lifts and twirls, with trills, grace notes and little runs, always with steady chords underneath the movements, grounding them. There’s a portion kind of like a bridge in the middle that introduces new material, and then we return to the familiar melody and some more variations. The music ends at the beginning, tidily, with the same first four bars, but with so much more emotion; it’s like we’ve become intimate partners because of the way we’ve seen the melody move.

When the mazurka comes to rest, I feel completely at peace. Rarely am I able to play it just once – maybe I never have? And I am always overcome with gratitude for such incredible gifts in this world – composing and performing – and with amazement at the skill of Chopin and  Rubinstein. The mazurka makes bedtime magical, and reminds me too of the awesome God who made it, and all music, possible.

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change.

James 1:17

 

 

 

 

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The Name My Mama Gave Me

linh-pham-221033Photo by Linh Pham on Unsplash

I was getting ready to write about how people love to shorten my name, and how I actually prefer my whole name and don’t like when they do that…. when I realised that I’ve never introduced myself here. So hi! I’m Gabrielle. 🙂

I didn’t like my name when I was a girl, and used to pester my mum about the other names she planned to give me – Stephanie or Joy (Matthew for a boy) – and why she hadn’t used one of those. Apparently when I was born she was supernaturally inspired to name me Gabrielle instead. I thought it would have been great to be a Joy. I still really like that name.

My family and people who have known me longest call me Gabrielle or Gigi (which I love). In kindergarten and primary school everyone called me Gabrielle. For whatever reason that shifted when I got to high school, and people started calling me Gabby. There are, of course, a few exceptions to this timeline – some of my oldest, dearest friends call me Gabby – but for the most part that was a name that became more common in high school.

Even then, most of my primary school classmates – my school was k-12 – moved on with me, influencing new students to call me by my full name as they did. ‘Gabrielle’ was still in the majority. That changed when I went to college.

Though I always introduced myself using my full name, everyone called me Gabby. I didn’t mind, until my senior year, when I realised that most of the people I interacted with called me Gabby, and now Gabrielle was in the minority. What if for the rest of my life most people called me Gabby? And I died and that’s what everyone but family and old friends knew me as? By then I loved my name and wanted everyone to use it, but people were calling me Gabby left right and centre! I remember one moment in particular when someone told me they didn’t realise my full name wasn’t Gabby, which no doubt affected my name-for-life crisis.

Now I’m asserting myself as Gabrielle. Gone are the days when I didn’t have a name preference. When I meet new people, if they try and call me ‘Gabby’, I correct them. So many automatically shorten my name without my permission, which is especially irritating when I hardly know them. If we’ve just met, or have a more professional relationship, how are you already comfortable enough to use a nickname?

So yes, I’m Gabrielle, not Gabby.

Can you relate? Do you find people often shorten your name?

It Feels Good to Feel Good!

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I’ve been feeling gradually more light and happy the last few weeks. Nothing has changed in my routine, I haven’t gotten any news in my work or personal life, but there’s joy humming in the background of every day. It feels like I’m getting my old self back, from this new personality where things were all so heavy. In the last couple of years I’ve been dealing with job stresses, multiple moves and relationship transitions. Together they were bogging me down and I had to fight to feel happy, to have peace. There has been a lot of learning – about outside barometers of success I didn’t realise I so thoroughly imbibed, about trusting God, about perseverance – and I knew that I was changing, I hoped for the better. In the process though the sillier parts of me slipped further away, which I don’t fault myself for, but I did remember the way I used to be and wonder if I would ever be able to access those parts of me as easily.

So what’s brought me here? And where is here? I’m wondering now as I write this. I realise this post is really introspective, but it seems like it’s only going to get more so.
What’s brought me here:
1. Time – to learn how to handle life’s difficulties, to wash over wounds.
2. Watching my mother and my uncle – I inherited my silliness from them, and they retain that part of themselves even though they’re middle aged.
3. Spiritual maturity – resting more fully in Jesus, exulting in all of his blessings and goodness toward me.

Where is here:
1. Spontaneous outbursts of joy, manifesting itself physically and verbally.
2. Laughing and smiling all the way to my toes; generally being in a good mood.
3. Not being afraid that my expressions of happiness diminish or disrespect the difficulties I am otherwise experiencing.

On Friday afternoon I visited my friend’s mum in the hospital. She’s very ill, yet in our conversation did not complain about her condition or worry about the future. She was easygoing and we talked about all kinds of things; in fact, she’s like this whenever I see her. I marvel each time at her equanimity and feel comforted and encouraged after our conversations (although I always want to be the one encouraging and giving some comfort to her). Seeing her manage her illness is influencing the way I want to handle my own struggles.

After my visit I spent the night laughing, often to tears, at the storytelling of Evelyn from the Internets. I felt so refreshed afterward, and grateful for her and the work that she’s doing. As with my mum and uncle, she reminded me that I don’t have to take myself so seriously all the time.

I am so thankful to be in this place! I want to continue down this vibrant road, becoming even stronger, and not slip back onto the now-familiar, comfortable, pale-coloured one. This is it, my life, and there’s no reason not to twirl and whoop as often as I’d like, as often as I can. I hope you’ll do the same. 🙂

Busy Sundays Make for Hopeful Mondays

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It’s dinner time! And I’m just getting started on this post. Typically I like to write in the morning, before the day’s thoughts can crowd out the thinking space in my brain, before I am tired out from chores and To Do’s. Today, I had to work on an urgent editing project that came across my desk, and for which I am so thankful.

Now that it’s done and I have the evening to myself, I can pause and reflect on the hopefulness I feel about the task I have kind of unintentionally set for myself: self-employment. This project is a boon to my confidence, not only because I have spent so long trying to find work, but also because I live in a country where creative work is to varying degrees not considered ‘work’, thereby not worthy of payment.

I am not now assuming that henceforth everything will be peachy, but it felt so good to have a job doing something I enjoy and actually being paid for it. I can more easily envision a future where I am secure and independent, sustained by projects that are fulfilling and stimulating. One thing I’ve learned in the past two years is how much patience and perseverance I need to walk this road. I alternate between patronising smiles and head shakes at the memories of my younger, naïver, self. But hopefulness is important too! To fuel that patience and perseverance. So I am thankful for this peaceful, hopeful moment.

May the favour of the Lord our God rest on us; establish the work of our hands for us – yes, establish the work of our hands.

~Psalm 90:17

How Many Women Does it Take to Read a Wedding Invitation?

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My childhood best friend got married yesterday; her wedding was a sweet celebration and high energy dance party. I’m so glad I got to be part of it, though there was a bit of a comedy of errors for my mum, sister and I to get there in the beginning.

We started off on the wrong foot because of a combination of: dressing in two different places but riding together – my sister went to a friend’s house to get her makeup done – the current going off in the middle of us dressing, and having to make an unexpected stop on the way to help out my uncle.

After the hustling, hurrying and slightly exasperated sighs we were finally on our way to the church. My sister asked: Where is it, why is it there? My mum and I answered: Kemp Road, friend’s Grammy and mother worship there. We pull up to the entrance, ready to turn in, and my sister says: The parking lot is empty I don’t think it’s here. We all agree. So where could it be?! Thankfully Mummy had us bring the invitation with us, super cute in the style of a passport because half the new family is American, and we look at it closely. We’re very much in the wrong place.

My sister whips out her phone to create a snap video of our mistake, and proclaims that she knew it was in the other place – Atlantis – all along. My mum and I agree that we too knew it was at Atlantis. So how we all managed to drive in the completely opposite direction – south – when we needed to be going north, is a mystery.

We laugh and pray that my friend’s is a typical Bahamian style wedding – starting at least 30 minutes late – and turn quickly towards Atlantis. It’s a resort on an island almost all to itself, so where exactly the ballroom is that we need to be going to is a bit of a mystery. We decide to confirm with the person at the tollbooth which building we need to go to… and she sends us to the wrong one! We pull up, I hop out of the car and run over to the valet parking desks, shouting at Mummy and my sister to follow, asking why they’re taking so long. I never found out what the hold up was, but luckily it enabled another staff person near them to let them know we were at the wrong tower.

My sister frantically waves me over, I hop back into the car and we speed off – this time with her behind the wheel – to the other side of the island. How could the person at the toll not know that there are absolutely zero ballrooms in the place she sent us? We all wonder, but our spirits are still up. My sister quips that she’s actually right on time, since she’s habitually 30 minutes late to everything. We laugh, repeat prayers for a late start, and keep it moving. Once at the right tower, parking is a problem. No garage. No valet. Do we all hunt together? Mummy tells us to go inside. She takes the last hit for the team and drives off to find a spot and meet us later.

My sister and I slip quietly into the ceremony room and watch my friend’s mum and grandmother give her away, listen to the heartfelt vows she and her husband wrote for one another, and chuckle at the pastor’s advice tucked into jokes. Mummy doesn’t get to sit with us, but we reunite after the ceremony and enjoy punch together before splitting up to talk with other friends. It was a wonderful day all around, despite the hiccups in the morning, and though I initially thought Mummy’s instruction to bring the invitation with us was overkill – we’d all read it! we had the details in our calendars and mental notes! – it’s a habit I just may adopt from now on.