Several years ago we went on a date one summer evening in downtown Rochester. At that time I didn't have a smart phone and Instagram didn't exist. I just brought my point-and-shoot camera that fit in my purse and I pulled out as often as I pull out my camera-phone now.
I took a few pictures as we walked through Peace Plaza after dinner, but after a few shots JD asked me to put the camera away. I was not very happy that he was not happy to let me take pictures. I was really feeling the artistic vibe. I was really feeling close to him. I experienced it as a rejection of part of who I was. The funny thing is, he was experiencing it as a rejection of him.
I was going through some of my old journals from middle school and I came across something I had forgotten: a scab.
One of the highlights of my youth group's winter retreat in the mountains of upstate New York was tubing down the icy hill towards the frozen lake. The thrill of flying over the ice was fun, but it was the boys lining the hill to jump on our inner tubes -- that was the highlight.
As I was headed downhill, Mark Roemke jumped onto my inner tube. I didn't even care he jumped right onto my head, pressing my forehead against the ice all the way down the hill. When we got to the bottom, I joined my friends and was all "You guys! Mark!! Was on my head!!!"