in the fury of the moment

Stationery card

2011-12-04T23:53:00.001-05:00

Old Fashioned Girl Birth Announcement

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line in the sand

2008-11-01T08:40:00.003-04:00

This scares me, A LOT. I have known for a bit that I would not vote for Obama because he is wishy-washy on many issues, particularly the issue of abortion. The way in which he says he is personally against it, but does not feel it is his right to impose his values on others does not at all match with his early statement that he would not want his daughters to be "punished" with a child.

I wish this was discussed more than all the "yes, you did"/"no, I didn't" stuff. Argh. I remember how active I used to be in the pro-life movement, and feel sad that I don't really even think a whole lot about it now. But when I spend even just two minutes with a child of any age, I am reminded of how precious and unique that child is, and feel a bit of an innate urge to protect them from any surrounding harms.

Please watch this video and think about the child. Don't think of how well Obama speaks or how McCain is a little bit goofy-looking. Think about the little baby who knows nothing of all this political mumbo-jumbo and who has the ability to grow up to write inspiring novels or perhaps develop a cure of cancer, and who has the right to witness a breathtaking sunrise and the chilly splendor of a star-speckled night sky.

gnats and sweat

2008-08-20T22:04:00.002-04:00

I am in South Georgia for a training for work ... and it's hot. The gnats seem to enjoy flying in my face and sticking to me anytime I am outside. I don't quite understand why they like me so much. I can be walking in a group of people, and for some reason the gnats pick me out and envelop me. It's quite a sight to behold, I'm sure ... just as I am when I have little black bugs sticking to me.

Have I mentioned I'm not a huge fan of summer in Georgia? I suppose it could be worse. I could LIVE in this area with all the overly friendly gnats.

This is a wonderfully deep post.

I miss my husband.

I am looking forward to finishing my degree in February. I am SO ready to be a counselor/therapist/something else ... but I don't think I will be pursuing any job changes until after the tentative move out west in a couple years.

I am not even sure what I'm writing about.

I miss my husband. And, surprisingly, I miss my kitchen and all that it holds. A lot.

I'm heading out now to battle the gnats (the high-speed in my room is actually no-speed, which means I have to trek over here to the conference center lobby to get on their wireless).

Ok, that's all for now. The gnats call, and I must answer.

ha ha

2008-07-23T16:11:00.002-04:00

I'm married, and I have the pictures to prove it. You can find them here.

More soon (writing, not pictures ... although those may come also), I promise.

hooray for Pioneer Woman and the beauty of procrastination!

2008-06-28T11:05:00.002-04:00

Thanks to Darcie, I am now addicted to this site, and am using it (quite successfully) as an avenue to procrastinate all the various papers I need to write for school. The semester ends next week, and I have two book reviews (for books I haven't actually read), and a final paper to write (about a topic on which I have not considered at all).

So it makes perfect sense that I have been up for over three hours, and all I have done was make coffee, feed the dogs, unload the dishwasher and read about Ree and her man and how he swept her off her feet. That's about right.

This morning, my new hubbie went off fishing with his buddies to leave me alone to concentrate on schoolwork ... and I have done NONE of it. Hubbie ... still weird to think that I have one of those. But I have, for two weeks now ... and I like it an awful lot.

Speaking of hubbie ... I do believe I hear a certain white Jeep pulling into the driveway, so I need to go act very studious and productive.

More later.

ps - Thanks, Darcie. :)

I do

2008-06-12T00:08:00.002-04:00

And I will ... THIS WEEKEND.

Wow.

It's funny, I really sort of never thought I would get married. In a way I wonder what I'm giving up. Not when I think about him. Just when I think about MARRIAGE. So I guess I just really need to think about him ... and how I am crazy about him ... and how he held me tonight when I cried ... and how he led me in prayer as I sniffled ... and how I miss him during the day at the strangest times ... and how I already LOVE that I can just come "home" and see him and not have to make plans to get together with him. Because he'll be there when I get HOME! And home is a house that he owns, not a temporary stop involving a shady and incompetent landlord who doesn't fix things.

There's lots and lots going on, and it's a very good kind of busy.

I should be asleep already, but I am busy thinking about this weekend and about this new life on which I am embarking.

I turned 31 this past Saturday, and this Saturday I will turn into someone's wife. There's lots going on.

My birthday was wonderful. He told me what to pack but wouldn't tell me what we were doing. The day was full of surprises. We stopped at a bike shop and he bought me new riding glasses (after many complaints from me of what a dork I looked like with his silly goggles). It was HOT out, and I wasn't that prepared ... so he also bought me a tough little red tanktop, complete with skull and crossbones on the back in the middle of an ad for the bike shop.

THEN ... he took me to get a massage. It was actually a couple's massage, but at a strange place where no one in the room spoke. This caused us to feel as if we shouldn't speak either. It was wonderful but also very oily. So we had to go back to the house and take showers to get off all the very fragrant massage oil.

And then we hopped on his bike and took off to the mountains. I hadn't been to the GA mountains yet, and I liked them almost as much as the mountains in NC (but not quite as much). Very pretty, and very fun roads on the back of a motorcycle with a man who likes to go fast.

We had dinner and wandered around, and discovered that we had just missed the biker rally earlier that day. I felt a little conspicuous walking around in my red biker tanktop and my leather boots, almost expecting one of the tough biker chics to pick a fight with the biker chic poser (me!). But no one did, and we left in peace. I only wish I had worn my cowboy boots that day, to complete my look.

The drive back was even better, because we caught the sunset. Will the rest of my life be this nice?

I am off to sleep about photographers who don't show up (a real dream the other night) and whatever else comes up.

I will post a link to some pictures after I get them, which may not be for a few weeks.

But know that this weekend, in the mountains of NC, I will be wedding, kissing my HUSBAND (at the wedding, of course!), listening to a bluegrass band, eating BBQ, riding some horses, maybe fly-fishing, doing other assorted things, and not thinking at all about writing on this blog.

Catch you soon.

reason for my invisibility

2008-04-17T18:24:00.005-04:00

I've been busy ... because of this person (the bigger one):

who gave me this:

and now I'm busy making plans for a gathering in the mountains of western NC.
But I'll be back soon, with lots more juicy details and maybe even some pictures!
Hope each of you is doing well. :)

dreaming great dreams

2007-09-14T12:48:00.001-04:00

The weather today is my favorite: gray, rainy, and chilly. It's strange that I love this type of weather so much, because I would rather be outside any day than stuck indoors. But this kind of weather is somehow comforting to me. It seems like it's designed to get me thinking more than I usually do, while sipping coffee and relaxing in warm, comfy clothes.

I really considered working from home today - it's the perfect weather to do it ... but I had paperwork and filework to do, so I had to come into the office. But still, I'm sitting in front of a window, sipping coffee, and wearing warm, comfy clothes. So things are good.

This morning on the way into work I caught part of a radio show. The topic was "dreaming great dreams" - part of a 10 part series by Chip Ingram, who I always enjoy. The series is entitled, "Good to Great in God's Eyes" and I just went online and ordered the book. His words today struck some chords in my heart, and I can't seem to shake thoughts from my mind.

The main idea of today's study was that "God delights to do IMPOSSIBLE things through IMPROBABLE people to IMPART exceeding grace to UNDESERVING recipients." He talked about how we so often limit what God does in our lives because we keep Him in a small box and create small boxes around our lives, when He is just watching and waiting to instill great dreams inside us.

So much of what he said rings true in my life ... how sometimes we dream a dream and start to take steps toward it, but then an obstacle pops up or a door closes and we think we were wrong about the dream. Really, it's more likely that we are not in a place in our lives where the dream is ready to be realized. There are still things that need to happen with us before the dream can become reality. Like Joseph, who had the dream but then ran into snare after snare - eventually his dream became reality, but only after he became the man God wanted him to be.

My "dreams" lately seem to involve mountains, horses, other animals, troubled kids, and sharing lots of love. I am excited about the future and how everything may transpire.

2007-09-14T00:08:00.000-04:00

Lately the Bible has been coming alive to me. I'm not sure what's different, but in my morning reading - currently in 2 Kings - I am suddenly interested and intrigued by the stories of sons killing their fathers to take over reign of nations. Honestly, this particular section of the Bible isn't really all that exciting to me. And I know that God is not so concerned about me being excited about stories in the Bible, as much as He is about me living a life that is consistent with His ways.

But really, there are other sections of the Bible that keep me interested and keep me up later than I should be at night. The books of 1 and 2 Kings are not those sections. But I made a decision to read through the entire Bible, and I'm going to follow through.

Anyway, today I was reading in 2 Kings 19, and I realized I was actually absorbing what I was reading. Especially when I got to verse 28, which contains words God spoke to Isaiah for him to share with Hezekiah. They were talking about Sennacherib, who was not the nicest guy around at that time. The words in that verse really struck me. I love imagery, and God creates a powerful one here:

Because your rage against Me and your tumult have come up to My ears,
Therefore I will put My hook in your nose
And My bridle in your lips,
And I will turn you back by the way which you came.

My first thought was of a bridle on a horse. I guess I have horses on my mind lately, probably because I see so many of them as I drive all over the state. Anyway, then I realized horses don't usually have hooks in their noses. So I pulled out my commentary, and saw a note about this being a reference to the Assyrian custom of treating captured enemies like animals in a caravan. How powerful that God is using their own custom to create a picture of the way that He is ultimately in control over what happens to them!

I love the moments in the Bible where God sort of flexes His muscles and reminds man of His strength. I think too many Christians have a false sense of humility in their view of and approach toward God. We like to approach him meekly because we think we're being respectful, and in some ways while doing this we also treat Him as a weak God. I have a feeling that God really wishes we would be bolder and grasp a hold of the promises He makes to us, and claim the power He offers us. We are called to be more than conquerors, but it seems we act more like timid little kids than brave, valiant warriors. Verses like this give me a little bit of a rush, because I am reminded what a powerful, mighty God I follow and serve.

I have a renewed desire to know this book well. I constantly have a "to read" book pile by my bed, but for now the Bible is sitting at the top of it and staying there.

Lots on my mind, as usual. Last night while talking to a pastor at a nearby church, I heard him mention something about their visits to a local nursing home, and I felt a pull in my chest. I need to dust off my guitar and find a new place to plug in. I think one of the things I loved most about playing for the people in Sanford was that they always thought I sounded great. :) Of course, most of them also had hearing problems, so ...

I'm conflicted about a rambling man ...

2007-09-11T21:58:00.000-04:00

Lately, because I've been driving more, I've been listening to more music. And because I've been driving through the mountains, no other music seems to fit quite as well as the old, good stuff with heart ... lots of Waylon and Willie. And I love it ... but sometimes I still catch myself feeling a little troubled about the emptiness behind some of the lyrics. Can I sing my heart out without the sentiment seeping in a little bit?

Funny, I'm listening to Waylon right now. That's what you get for loving me. I guess maybe these are the questions that come with the quality.

Hm, can I ignore the sadness I feel when I hear about lonely cowboys riding away from women whose hearts they have stolen? I see the mindset being played out in everyday life ... and it hurts my heart.

This is one of those times I wish I didn't think so much.

starry eyed

2007-09-04T22:02:00.001-04:00

It was a challenging day ... the type that is good, because it demands the very best of me and results in much getting accomplished with my clients; but also the kind that finds me arriving home worn out and ready to fall into my bed.

As I walked the dogs tonight, feeling exhausted (especially emotionally), I happened to tip my head up toward the sky. I still don't understand how this works, but I immediately felt better. The sky is FULL of stars, and as I gazed at them I felt peace rain down over my mind and spirit. There is no logical explanation, and I hope I never stop having this type of reaction to beauty in nature.

Sometimes I wish I had more than two eyes, to take in all this wonder ... everywhere I go, I'm looking.

feels like home

2007-08-31T22:45:00.001-04:00

I hope I never cease to be amazed by life, the wonderful complexity of people, and the perfect way that lives intersect and blend, even if only for a moment.

While spending time with one of my clients today, we somehow got into a conversation about "home." We were driving through the edge of the Blue Ridge mountains, listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd (her CD, believe it or not), and talking about all sorts of things. She is 14 and has been out of her mother's custody for 5 years. She has moved from group home to group home, and has had a slew of people in and out of her life.

Somehow tonight we got to talking about how - no matter what we're doing, or who we're with - we can catch a glimpse of the mountains and feel like we're safe, and like we're at home. She said it first, and as I processed it I realized how true that rings with me. No matter where I have lived, there has always been some part of me that hasn't felt totally at ease ... but I feel more comfortable and relaxed these days than I ever have before. The mountains somehow have a soothing, comforting effect on me that I can't explain. My favorite feeling these days is to drive toward home after a long day, and see the mountains ahead of me or enveloping me, and feeling like I'm heading to my refuge in the woods.

Things are changing and beginning to take shape for me to get more of that feeling, as I look toward moving to the REAL mountains out west. The feeling of serenity I have here is nothing, I know, compared to the sense of simultaneous peace and breathlessness that I experience when I gaze at the ruggedness of the Rockies. Little things have been surfacing lately that are pointing me again in that direction, and I'm not sure how much longer I can ignore this urging inside of me.

Work continues to provide an incredible sense of meaning and satisfaction, as I have the privilege of being deeply involved in the lives of some incredible kids. I have enjoyed so many successes in my work, and I get such a thrill from watching these kids' lives move forward toward a brighter future. I continue to be amazed and encouraged by the power and resiliency of the human spirit.

I have determined that I never want to become so skilled or experienced in what I do that I lose this sense of wonder and awe. I will do all that I can to ensure that my heart stays soft and my spirit stays attuned to the needs of these kids and their families.

A few weeks ago, as I sat in the lobby of a psychiatric facility and waited for a treatment team meeting to start, I was encouraged to discover that my heart still is tender, although I wish I hadn't seen what I did. I observed a mother dropping off her son to stay in the residential facility, and I watched her fight tears as she said goodbye to him. As the therapist walked him down the hall, I saw the mother turn her face to hide the tears that were freely flowing, and I looked down at my notebook to discover raised spots on the paper where my own tears were falling. I ended up speaking to the mother, both of us brushing away tears as we talked. I assured her that she was doing the right thing, and that this was the best way for her to love her son right now. She said that she felt like a terrible mom, and I just walked over to her and hugged her, eliciting stares from psychiatric staff and other lobby guests.

That experience reminded me that ultimately my work is about loving other people, and guiding them to make choices that - though they might be difficult - are the best possible options to take. That interaction with a tearful mother helped me to consider the other side of my clients' situations, because I don't often think about the parents whose rights have been terminated.

There are so many ideas floating around in my head, looking for an empty spot to land. But lately I have not been slowing down enough for many things to settle. There is so much to do, so many lives with whom to be involved ... I don't want to miss a minute of it. I am encouraged by the God I see lately in the eyes of my clients. I am thrilled to experience God's love leading me to go hug a stranger struck speechless by sadness and ashamed of her tears.

I feel more at home than ever, and yet the mountains remind me that so much lies just past the horizon ... I am breathless in anticipation of all the goodness that is ahead of me.

the strength of weakness

2007-08-19T02:05:00.000-04:00

It was a Jeep-driving, star-gazing, enough of a wonderful chill to have the heat blowing on my feet kind of day (and night). I started the day with my traditional Saturday fare of pancakes, and indulged in some lazy morning time in my pj's. Then I went to see one of my clients, and took him for his very first Jeep ride, an occasion celebrated by a trip to (where else?) McDonald's. So much for working with him on his goal of eating healthy.

This evening I went to church. It is very telling and encouraging to me that I feel a sense of rest and relief when I walk through the doors of that building. The message tonight was good, although I couldn't tell you exactly what it was about. I latched on to one particular thing that Pastor Josiah said, and I mulled it over in my mind for the rest of the service.

He told a story of the very first church that he pastored, and the prideful, over-confident, fresh-from-seminary graduate that he was. Shortly after he moved to town and took lead of the church, he found himself in a situation with a member of the community in which he had absolutely no idea of what to do. He thought seminary had prepared him well, but as he approached this situation in a helping capacity he realized that he had no knowledge or experience on which to rely. He found himself praying to God - a very simple, humble prayer in which he kept repeating the words, "Help, God. Please help." He was so overwhelmed by the greatness of the need, and his inability to meet it, that he was unable to formulate any other words. His story ended on a positive note. God must have heard his plea and He did help.

The simplicity of that prayer lingered in my mind for the rest of the service and the entire ride home through the dark mountains. Part of the way home, I pulled off the road and parked along the river. I found a big rock, laid down, and gazed up at the stars, and contemplated the ingenuity of that four word prayer. I reflected on my own life, and realized that so many times I try to do things on my own when I have no idea of what I'm doing, and no right to try to pretend that I know anything. I see it my work, in relationships, and especially in my walk with God.

It's so silly, really. I think sometimes I try to impress God with my deep thoughts or complex ponderings. As if the Creator of my Soul can't see through the smartly-fashioned soliloquy to the desperate, pleading cry for help. I do the same thing with other people. I feel a need to have it all "together." I take pride in being independent and in getting things done, and I only ask for help as an absolute last resort. In doing this, I am doing a great disservice - to others, but even more to myself. I am missing out on the joy of watching and being a part of God doing something incredible, maybe even through me. And I am missing out on the feeling of fellowship that comes by allowing someone else to come alongside me and help me.

This all seems pretty basic, right? And it is all a lesson that I would easily share with my clients, when giving them guidance on their own lives and things that they can do. And yet, I continue to push myself and try to figure things out on my own, while the whole time God is watching and waiting for me to just ask Him to do what He longs to do: love me by helping me.

Tonight my prayer looks something like this, "Help, God. Please help. Help me push these thoughts away for another day, so that I can get some sleep tonight."

breathing deep

2007-08-18T00:46:00.000-04:00

It's almost fall, and I'm starting to feel that restless, wistful stirring in my spirit. I am looking forward to losing myself in the changing colors of the mountains around me this year. I approach this new season with the breathless anticipation for which I have mixed feelings. There is the passing emotion of excitement, but also the realistic side of me that knows the season and all its glories will come and go, and I will soon find myself in the coolness of winter again.

It's amazing how much impact a change in environment can have. Things feel different to me as I sit on my back deck and listen to the overpowering sounds of cicadas celebrating the night. The air demands that I breathe it a bit deeper, and the stars in the sky seem to tease me in an effort to convince me to stay up and wander beneath their light all night long.

I am taking a break from classes, just in time for the fall. I am looking forward to having more time to hike up mountains, wade through streams, read good books, lounge on the deck with my guitar, and engage in lots and lots of good conversations. I am also looking forward to some great concerts. Lately it seems that every where I turn I bump into someone with great taste in music, and I am being reminded of how much I used to love to sit in a coffee shop or bar or park, and allow myself to be wooed as talented musicians spilled their souls to a sparse but intense audience. This fall will involve more of that magical experience known as live music.

I will also be spending some time up in my old stompin' grounds in NY, as there is a wedding in the works. I saw the whole fam this past weekend, and was amazed anew at the life, youth, and beauty of my nieces ... and swept away in awe at the grace, wisdom, and strength of my 84-year-old grandmother. I returned to my home with fresh vegetables from the garden and lots of good memories of the almost-fall climate in NY.

I need to go spend some more time under the stars, but I will close this post with lyrics from a song written by quite possibly my most favorite lyricist, Bill Mallonee. If he were single, younger, and a little bit more normal I think I would absolutely be in love with him.

Songwriter (Numb)

yeah i wish that i could change things
rearrange the pieces and the bits resistant though they are
the ones that fell right through the cracks
the stuff left over from exploding stars
obvious from the back row
to everyone but me
it's always sad to see what you become
when you're looking after number one
yeah i wish that i could change things
testify to some deliverance
yeah i'd talk show it right into the ground
like some salvation experience
yeah i wish that i could change things
and say some new words for all these feelings that i felt
we all wanna change things
but can you change yourself
i tried to make you like me with some words and a six-string
'cause i wanted you to like me well some folks even spilled some ink
and even when it got cold i hardly knew i'd died
i guess you go a little numb and then empty on the inside
you're rarely remembered or thought well of
for when your game was its strongest
and words you wish your head didn't say
are the ones their hearts will hold onto the longest
and the promises you should have kept
you're one million versions of a stumbling-12-steps
and that never seems to be enough
when your flesh and blood keeps screwing up
i tried to make you like me with some words and a six-string
it was really just a cry of sorts and some fancy conjuring
and even when it got cold well i hardly knew i'd died
i guess you go a little numb before going empty on the inside
in spite of all my ties i was driftin'
and now the kids they are full grown
and just because you got an address
doesn't mean you've got a home
they say that it's a cruel world
some cite it as a sad fact
and they say God He must not give a damn.
and God says well I don't know about that.
'cause i keep hearing whispers
saying everything's gonna be alright
you put some goodness back in and you take your stand
and you hold onto to Him for dear life
i tried to make you like me with some words and a six-string
i was starving for a deeper love my God what shallow reasoning
and even when it got cold i hardly knew i'd died
i guess you go a little numb 'fore going empty on the inside
going empty on the inside

hey Jack Kerouac

2007-07-30T22:47:00.000-04:00

Today, in anticipation of the 5+ hours of driving I'd be doing to visit clients, I drove down the hill from my house and stopped at the tiny local mountain library to get out some books on CD.

This morning I started a Jack Kerouac book, and I LOVE IT. Ok, so maybe I'm a little late in the game. I have heard lots about him, but until today hadn't read anything by him. His words are perfect listening while driving, especially while driving through the mountains. He is one of those authors whose words cause my eyes to sparkle as I read (or listen) to them.

Though this quote isn't from the book to which I'm listening, I found it tonight while looking up other works of his, and I like it A LOT. It reminds me of the state of being in which I find myself most all the time these days, as soon as I step out of my front door and take a few steps from my house:

The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling. Ecstacy, even, I felt, with flashes of sudden remembrance, and feeling sweaty and drowsy I felt like sleeping and dreaming in the grass.

In other (not so deep or happy) news, I found myself tonight in an all-too-familiar conversation with a kid about MYSPACE. She is 13 and decided to set up a profile in which she said she is 18 ... and she made lots of older male friends as a result. So tonight I had the wonderful experience of addressing this issue with her and trying to convince her of how overrated Myspace is. Honestly? I am sick of the site, especially when I hear reports of thousands and thousands of sexual predators utilizing it to find their victims. If it were up to me, the site would go down ... and so would the parents who are clueless as to what their kids are doing online.

Jeeps, mosquitoes, and traditions

2007-07-22T22:22:00.001-04:00

Whenever I put the top on my Jeep, I am reminded of family camping trips and the silly little pop-up trailer we had. Much to the delight of the hungry local mosquitoes, I just spent about 10 minutes outside, negotiating zippers and snaps and little rubber pieces that I'm sure have some technical name (they're the ones that slip under the metal overhang thingies that go around the frame). The weather forecast for tomorrow says thunderstorms, and I'd rather not have to drain out the Jeep again (as much fun as it was when I had the pleasure of doing it about two weeks ago).

So, tonight, as the mosquitoes dined on my flesh and my dogs frolicked around the Jeep, I held a Mag lite in my mouth and - with each snap and zipper I snapped and zipped - I was flooded with memories of family and tradition. It was more common than not for us to arrive at the campground when it was already dark outside, so we got to be quite skilled at either putting up the trailer in the dark or sleeping in the minivan until the morning when we would then put up the trailer.

I remember other things about those trips, like roasting marshmallows around a campfire, and struggling to sleep at night on the stiff camper bed, kept awake by a sunburn earned by spending all day at the beach. I remember sneaking out of the camper at night to walk through the woods, guided only by the light of the moon, and coming out to an open space with my mouth wide open as I gazed up a star-filled sky. I also remember getting into trouble when I got back to the camper to find my mom awake and awaiting my return.

For several of my adult years, I looked back on those "camping" trips with a type of arrogant disdain, taking the lofty stance that we weren't really camping and that somehow those trips didn't really deserve to be all that memorable. Real camping would not involve flushing toilets within walking distance, or coin-operated showers. In the wilderness, you can't run an extension cord to power a transistor radio or tiny refrigerator.

But it seems that lately I am constantly reminded that memories are not so much about what you actually do, as who you do it with ... or even if you do it at all. The kids with whom I work, and today's generation in general, seem to lack the concept of tradition in their lives. One of the things that appealed most to me about my current position is that I have the opportunity to be a constant in the world in which these kids live, a world full of change and transition.

Even now as I write this, the trunk of my car is occupied with three Rubbermaid totes and a duffel bag, the evidence of one 13-year-old boy's most recent change and transition. While the traditions of my childhood involved pop-up trailers and Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, this young man endures traditions of being moved from one institution to another, in the hopes that possibly he will stay long enough in one place to create happy memories. I wish somehow that I could buy a huge RV and gather up all these children (or at least my seven clients), feed them Chef Boyardee Beefaroni, and take them on star-gazing walks. I want so badly to help to create traditions and memories in their lives.

Part of me is stirred with sadness when I think about my own childhood, almost as if I would go back to those restless, sunburned nights if I could. But a bigger part of me is filled with hope: the hope that I am now in a position to teach others how to build their own traditions. I am doing it now myself, in small, seemingly insignificant ways. I get up early every morning and run alongside the lake as it reflects the first glimmers and hues of a new day. I sit on my deck and read every day, as I eat oatmeal with fruit and drink coffee. I still make it a point to meet someone new each day, and to be a part of impacting someone's life in a positive way. I eat pancakes on Sundays (today I had whole wheat chocolate chip pancakes with fresh blackberries on tops) and go for long walks in the afternoons (today's was TWO AND A HALF hours long). At night I sit in bed and write about the day and think about what I will do differently tomorrow. Life should be characterized by change and improvement, but there should also be a steady rhythm which drives it all. My role right now is to help create this rhythm in the lives of these children. I still sometimes wonder how I got to be the one to do this, but I am so glad I did ...

Aerodynamically the bumblebee shouldn't be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know that so it goes on flying anyway.

2007-07-20T21:20:00.000-04:00

(ok, so the title doesn't really relate to the post at all - it's just a quote I liked, and I couldn't think of a good title, so there it is. You can deal with it.)

Somehow some of my co-workers convinced me to run a 5k race with them in a few weeks. Not exactly sure how that happened, because I'm not really a "race" kind of person. I have done them in the past, but - unless they're for a good cause - they really strike me as "things you should be able to do on your own but maybe won't do unless there are lots of other people doing it and you get a free t-shirt." I am content to run - alone - beside streams and through the woods on root-covered trails ... but I'll appease my friends, just this once.

Anyway, I just got back from a really tough run on some windy, steep mountain roads. And this is fun? Hmmm.

Lots going on, as usual.

I stumbled across this quote today, and it suits me REALLY well:

Excellence can be attained if you care more than others think is wise, risk more than others think safe, dream more than others think is practical, and expect more than others think is possible.
- Author Unknown

a little scratchin' goes a long way

2007-07-16T22:22:00.000-04:00

I was just stretching after a run, and both of my dogs decided they needed my attention and strategically placed themselves near my legs ... so my stretch time was a combination of stretching my muscles and scratching their bellies. And their backs. And around their ears. They love being scratched. I wonder how much of it is my ability to scratch, and their desire for any kind of attention.

Hm, I like my dogs a lot. I can't imagine what relaxing would look like without them. And I need to relax.

The past few days have been strange, but also good. Yesterday I went back to the town where I used to live. It was strange to be back there, to walk the streets of my old neighborhood, and especially to visit my friends at the rest home. There are so many memories in that place, so much information, so many shortcuts I learned (mostly by getting lost), and it makes me a little bit sad to think that all of that is now filed in the "not really too useful anymore" spot in my head.

I am discovering that my life is becoming a bit of a series of those kind of moments. Does everyone have a collection of library cards in their wallet, from several different counties? I catch myself still using some of them, so I hesitate to cancel them just in case.

I think back over the past several years and I am amazed at where I have been and who I have become. Last year at this time I was stepping up to some CRAZY stuff that even now seems like a movie of someone else's life. I am intrigued by the idea of where I might be in a year from now.

Yesterday, after hiking , looking at water, and getting eaten by bugs at a park near my old town, we went out to eat. Our waiter was super-likable, but also super-quirky. And I was reminded again of how much I enjoy people, and how grateful I am for the ability to communicate and engage and become a part of someone else's story, even if it's just for an hour while he serves me pizza and salad and some really corny jokes.

Today provided several more reminders of why I do what I do, and why I know that I will never be happy living in a house in the woods and spending all my time reading or painting pictures of trees and mountains. I spent time with several clients today, and I was able to participate in a group therapy session with one girl. I have had inclinations toward what I want to do after I finish my degree, but today provided more clarity. The therapy session was incredible, and I think I wasn't alone in being disappointed when it ended. The kids' responses rendered me speechless a couple times, and I had to turn my face more than once - to hide a smile, and also to hide tears.

I left the group home with my mind buzzing, and then went to meet another client for the first time. She is 13, and a girly-girl ... so we ended up going to the mall to walk around and talk. I admit, it's probably the coolest mall I've ever been to, but I still don't really like it too much. Anyway, while there I was able to observe lots of kids with their families and was struck by the similarity of those kids to the kids I work with. Take away the mom and screaming little sister, and swap the designer Gap Kids clothes with group home hand-me-down's ... and these kids act and talk the same as the kids who I visit and engage in "therapeutic activities."

I have lots and lots of ideas in my head. The run tonight helped some of them to settle, the dog-scratching session took care of some more ... but I have a hunch that some of these thoughts and feelings will never resolve. There is pain and injustice in the world, and I can't make it disappear: in my head, or in the lives of these kids and others like them. But dang it, I refuse to look back at the end of it all and wonder if I could have done more.

pay it sideways

2007-07-12T16:20:00.000-04:00

I think I need to make it a point to carry cash on me ... at least maybe $5 a day. I think this is maybe a reasonable amount that might just be enough to change the course of someone's day.

I just came from a artsy bookstore coffee shop in the heart of downtown Asheville. While I was looking at books and waiting for my iced mocha to be ready, I overheard two teenage girls trying to figure out which coffee drink they would order to share. They very possibly went through the entire menu, asking the not-too-friendly, pierced cashier how much each drink was. They had finally arrived at a decision (after much discussion and asking several times the size of individual drinks, all of which were the same size) at just about the same time my drink was ready. They walked up to the cashier, I walked up to the other end of the counter to pick up my drink ... and then I walked by them, put a $5 bill on the counter in front of them, and kept on walking.

How fun to watch the stare of the overly pierced and tattooed staff person, and to hear the girls say, "Oh my gosh, thank you!" several times, in various high pitches of voice. Sometimes I wonder if I do this kind of thing because it's the right thing to do, or because I enjoy the reaction it elicits ... and I didn't even touch on the stares of some of the people in the bookstore.

there's just something i like about (being) a pickup woman

2007-07-12T09:51:00.000-04:00

While I'm getting some work done on my car, I'm driving this truck:
And I like it a lot.
Between the Jeep and this, I'm not sure I'll ever own a car again.
I know my posts are pretty shallow lately, but it's because the depth of things in my everyday existence has grown like crazy ... so I need to balance all that out somewhere. :)
I head toward the beach tomorrow to visit a client - I'm looking forward to some time alone in the car.
Lots and lots and lots going on ...

I like this a lot

2007-07-06T23:46:00.000-04:00

It's from Wednesday's Reflections for Ragamuffins:

What the world longs for from the Christian religion is the witness of men and women daring enough to be different, humble enough to make mistakes, wild enough to be burned in the fire of love, real enough to make others see how unreal they are. Jesus, Son of the living God, anoint us with fire this day. Let your Word not shine in our hearts, let it BURN. Let there be no division, compromise, or holding back. Separate the mystics from the romantics, and goad us to that daredevil leap into the abyss of your love.

It's a good reminder to me.

Lots going on. My neighbor (the one who is the mama to teeny, tiny little Ashley) is going to church with me tomorrow. And today I gave a new copy of Blue Like Jazz to Justin at work. I am curious about, and fascinated by, life and the people that fill it.

I have been reading about the history of the counseling profession. So interesting. There's a lot in there about how counseling sort of flourished during the Depression era. Makes sense, but it's nothing I would have necessarily thought about before.

Really, really good book I'm reading/listening to right now: The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. If Anne Frank lived in the South in the 60's and her writing ability wasn't quite so amazing, this might be something she would write. There's no Miep, and the narrator on the CD doesn't quite offer what Winona Ryder does to the recorded version of Anne Frank's writing ... but still - really, really good.

i like my life

2007-07-05T21:28:00.000-04:00

Today was a long day. But a good day.
It was a "working on files" day. I took one of my dogs to work with me, and took paperwork breaks to throw her bone and wrestle with her on the carpet and forget about work. Everyone else was doing the same thing. They sort of liked her at my office.
I took the Jeep to work. The drive home was the best part of the day ... it was just starting to cool down, and we caught the wonderful sight of the sky above the mountains growing darker as we drove alongside them. I am convinced that she was smiling as she leaned out the side and let the wind blow her cute little ears back. I sometimes almost feel a little bit guilty about my life being so good.
Last night I held 3-week-old Ashley for 40 straight minutes while her mama went for a baby-free walk down to the lake. She is perfect (Ashley, not the mom - though she is nice too).
I need to start giving back.

thoughts from a rain-cleansed runner

2007-07-02T07:57:00.000-04:00

I think that perhaps there is nothing I like more than running in the rain. Except for maybe the stretching and warm shower that come afterward - and even those don't compare to the wonderful rush I experience when pushing my body to its limits while the sky rains down refreshment upon me.

I feel sad when I think about the way that so many people don't push the limits - physically, emotionally, and especially spiritually. It seems to me that people who "play it safe" or don't ask the tough questions are really living a substandard life.

Lately the spiritual limits in my life have been pushed almost to a level of discomfort. I think a good part of it has to do with the extreme close-up view I'm getting of pain in its rawest form. The history of some of my clients reads like a psychological crime book. I'm not even sure that's what I mean, but sometimes I have to close a file and go outside for a few minutes before I can come back to it and finish reading. Where is God when these children are being robbed of their innocence and of their joy? Where is He when some awful creature is ripping these kids' childhood from them?

I know God is there, I just don't understand how He's there.

Something that I read recently is sticking with me right now.

"The very nature of orthodox Christian faith is that we never come to the end. It begs for more. More discussion, more inquiry, more debate, more questions."
- Rob Bell, Velvet Elvis

I guess, honestly, I don't want to pray to, serve, or worship a God that I can figure out. But it's also very difficult for me to do these things to a God who makes me freakin' mad. I have learned though, that I require challenges in my life in order to remain interested. If God was easy to grasp or explain, I don't think I would stick with Him for too long. It's almost like I need the frustration in order to have confirmation of the "feelings." And the frustration leads to personal growth, so I guess in the end it's ok. I'll just be running more, which can't be bad for anyone.

One thing that distracts me from these difficult thoughts is being constantly on the look-out for snakes every time I step out of my house. I heard from a neighbor that there are baby copperheads lurking around my place ... and I don't really want to have one of those not-too-smart cute little snakey-wakeys inject all his venom into one of my leggie-weggies.

my wrinkly time

2007-06-26T21:24:00.000-04:00

Today I made a 10-year-old girl cry. And then, five minutes later, I made her laugh uncontrollably.

An explanation for reaction # 1: today I started telling my clients about my new position. The tender-hearted, constantly smiling little girl teared up; the "I'm too tough to show emotions" 14-year-old boy looked out the window and wouldn't talk to me for the rest of the hour drive back to his foster home. I am really not looking forward to talking to the other kids.

The cause for reaction #2: today Hannah and I started listening to "A Wrinkle in Time" together in my car. We went to the library today, and she picked it out on her own (probably because she has gotten tired of me ranting and raving about what a great book it is). If you have never read that book, YOU NEED TO. It's technically a children's book, but it's great for anyone. The author (Madeline L'Engle) even covers this in her preface, where she laments about how all too often adults lock up the doors to their minds and don't allow magic and imagination in any longer.

I am a bit torn about this new position. I know that my heart is really with kids who have no real family, so I know I'll love what I do ... but I have started to grow close to some of these kids and their families, and there is something I very much enjoy about being the change agent for an entire family, and not just a child.

Ah well, my heart is alive in this work, no matter what avenue it takes.

Another thing I will miss is the incentives that I have started with these kids. I recently developed a reading program for them, sort of in partnership with the local library. If they read a certain number of books within a certain amount of time, the library will give them exciting prizes like stickers and bookmarks. I will give them lots of hugs and high-fives, and let them name a meal of their choosing. The catch is that they will eat the meal with me, we will talk about books while we eat, and the food will be consumed beside one of the many local waterfalls that I have come to enjoy. Last week one of my kids made it to the "dinner" stage ... lucky for me, he has cheap taste. I was ready to head home and whip up some gourmet fare and try to figure out how to transport it along a 1.5 mile trail to the waterfalls ... but all he wanted was deli sandwiches, chips, and homemade brownies.

I will miss this stuff, but I embrace a new challenge: instead of helping these kids adjust to the world around them, I face the task of bringing the world in to kids. My new clients will, for the most part, be in residential facilities, some locked. They have no involvement with their parents and for the most part are just waiting to turn 18 and do something different with their lives. So I will visit them and talk with them on the phone, and try to help them develop clear goals and plans for the life that awaits them after they leave the facility, and also to improve the quality of the lives they lead now.

Like I said, it will be tough, but I am jumping in with both feet. Lately I haven't been able to shake thoughts of my friends from the rest home that I still visit once a month. In so many ways, my new clients remind me of those folks. For the most part, the world has written these people off as "unproductive" members of society, and pushed them into a forgotten, drab-colored corner. I enter into their worlds, knowing that they have countless lessons to teach me and invaluable knowledge to impart ... and a very big part of me wonders what I could ever offer to them. These tests, these challenges and questions, these uncomfortable moments - these are where I discover the best part of myself. I can't wait.

and this is how i connect ...

2007-06-22T21:20:00.000-04:00

My niece visited for a few days this week, and somehow I missed taking pictures. I guess I was just enjoying the time with her and didn't want to let a camera get between us.

She's a great kid. First of all, I am convinced that she looks much, much better in my Jeep than I do. Her hair is pretty long now, and she sort of avoids the brush ... so I convinced her that baseball hats are cool on girls. We went cruising through the mountains yesterday, let the wind play with our hair for a few minutes, then stopped for ice cream, and threw our hair into ponytails and hats. We are pretty cool chics, if I do say so myself.

She is also really tan, because she plays outside all the time, and her blond hair is even blonder now that it's summer. She is a pretty, pretty girl, and I am already developing my interrogation packet for whatever young man is brave enough to ask her on her first date. Her beauty has a lot to do with her shimmering blond hair and twinkling blue eyes, but more to do with her infectious smile and her spunky attitude. She is cool - there's no way around it.

She probably would have been happy just to ride in the Jeep all day, but last night somehow the idea emerged to visit a wonderful mecca of children's delight and parents' empty wallets, appropriately named "Fun Depot." The place is huge and has just about every kind of form of kid-friendly entertainment you can imagine. I convinced Sarah to start with the climbing wall, which she flew up quickly and quickly grew bored ... so then she moved on to the arcade games. Throw in some mini-golf and batting cages, and we moved to the highlight of the evening: laser tag.

I admit that I really, really thought about trying to talk her out of playing. We made it into the "briefing room" where a quick instructional movie is shown before you go put on your vest and grab your gun. Everyone talked through the movie, so I'm glad I wasn't relying on what I learned there for my survival in the field. The room was filled with a random sampling on gang-banger wannabe's (and pretty convincing ones at that) and nervous church youth group kids from the suburbs. The wannabe's were the ones who had me a little nervous, as I overheard references to "going out like 50" and "going down like 2-Pac." While Sarah took it all in stride, I was looking around for the quickest way to get her out of there. How will this game possibly be fun for a 9-year-old girl?, I thought.

Then we got upstairs and the room went dark and the cheesy music started playing. And Sarah evolved into a laser tag automaton. I have to say - that was the most fun I have had with a group of 16 kids I didn't know, in quite a while. The wannabe's won, but I am convinced we were a close second ... and Sarah and I somehow made friends with those fellas. We saw them in the parking lot afterward. While the nervous suburbanites rushed to their buses, trying to avoid eye-contact with the hip-hop crew, Sarah and I gave them high fives and even took a picture with them. Of course, the picture is on Sarah's camera and not a digital one, so I doubt it will ever be available to the public.

The other highlight of my evening was when I played a 5-player game of the cheesy arcade basketball game ... I was the only female, the only person with light-colored skin, and the only adult type (over the age of about 16) ... I was also a good 4 inches shorter than my competition. And I won. Awe, yeah. Still got it. (Of course, I never really knew that I had "it" before, but it sounds awful cool)

I just pulled a pan of peanut butter-swirl brownies out of the oven ... off to share with the neighbors and engage in the mysterious act of connecting with another human being.

I did more thinking/planning/brainstorming today, about my combination counseling practice/bed & breakfast. I have been working on more variety in my cooking, and having some great, intelligent conversations with the therapists at work ... so I'm pretty sure I'm ready. :)

and this is my church ...

2007-06-19T23:23:00.000-04:00

It has been a while since I feel inspired, stimulated, challenged, and encouraged by church ... but I really, really like the one here that I have been attending.

Check out this slideshow - it was created by people from the church. It's one of my favorite songs, and it's even more powerful with images. Also look at this, or any of the other art stuff on the site. Wow. Worship really does come in many different forms.

so that tonight I might dream

2007-06-17T23:46:00.001-04:00

I have discovered something I like even more than driving the Jeep through the mountains, with the top off, in the daytime: driving in the Jeep through the mountains, with the top off, at night. Today was day of hiking and driving and good conversation ... and at the end of it I found myself driving along windy mountain roads as the air cooled, the trees became more fragrant, and the star became dotted with little points of light.

I am convinced there are more stars in the sky here. Tonight I pulled over and laid on the hood of the Jeep because I thought that was a bit safer than glancing up every few minutes while driving. I felt so small, and yet so significant at the same time.

I am going to crawl into bed and enjoy the smell of night, stars, and moonlight (incredible moon tonight!) that has somehow soaked into my skin.

new community

2007-06-16T21:49:00.000-04:00

Last night I met up with some people from the "young adults" group at church. Wasn't too sure about it, but ended up having a great night. We were going to go see someones friend's band play in Asheville ... but the show was supposed to be outside ... and there was hail and lots of rain, so the whole band thing sort of didn't happen.

Instead we went to a pretty cool restaurant/bar/pizza place downtown, played pool, hung out and talked, and eventually ate. I met some cool people and fed my culture-starved appetite. I hadn't realized how much I missed the arts, literature, and intelligent conversation. Last night I think I might have gotten an overdose. I realized for the most part that I really like college students more than people my age, because they are full of questions and ideas. I met a girl named Camden last night who I can already tell is going to be a good friend. She is an art major, and she is really, really good at drawing (she had her sketch book with her) and just fun to talk to. And talk we did, all night long.

After we ate, some of us went to the artsy theater a couple doors down and saw a random French film that was actually pretty good, although a bit weird in some parts. It reminded me of the independent theater in Rochester that I used to go to A LOT, and I liked it.

At church tonight, I met the guy who is going to be the pastor of a satellite church that is much closer to where I live. He is young and nice, and he and his wife got married on Elvis Presley's birthday (intentionally), so I like them already.

It was a good day. I hung out with Hannah, her brother, and sister ... we took pictures and made funky collages that they are going to give to their dad for Father's Day. In so many ways, she reminds me of myself at that age. She's 10, and her sister is 9, and I was right between those two ages when my father left. They have sort of a reverse situation in their family, because their mom is not in the picture. Anyway, after they finished their collages, we made a cake for their dad. Was that really work?

The whippoorwills are so loud tonight! The dogs and I sat on the deck for a while and watched some stars come out, and I am feeling that familiar aching inside. I don't know what it means. Maybe I want more of this, maybe I want this for other people, maybe I don't want to go to sleep tonight lest I wake up and find that somehow life lost its magic.

My neighbor Michelle had her baby. I hear the sweet little girl crying right now, and I am amazed at her (Michelle's) strength in raising this baby alone. I'm heading downstairs to give her a break. I found a great old rocking chair at an antique store the other day, and I have been working on sanding it down and painting it. I can't wait to give it to her.

What a wonder this life is, and what a tremendous honor to be who I am.

she talks too much ...

2007-06-15T15:19:00.000-04:00

I have made a very funny realization lately. Or I guess I haven't technically made the realization, but people have basically told me: I talk a lot.

Today I interviewed for a different position at my agency, and at the end of the interview the team offered me some feedback (basically part of the protocol here) ... and four out of four people listed my "area of growth" (a positive way of saying weakness) as the art of being more concise in my choice of words. This was funny for me to hear, since I used to be so shy that people thought I was rude.

Still, I like what someone recently said to me, and I used it at the interview today. I spend a good part of my day listening to people, so maybe I just need someone to listen to me for a little bit. I'll go with that!

The good thing is that they could only come up with one area of growth, and a huge long list of strengths. Ironically, one of my strengths mentioned was that I am very personable and easy to talk to.

Huh.

if this isn't a great way to start the day, i don't know what it is

2007-06-14T07:42:00.000-04:00

One of my very faithful email friends and blog readers just sent me this comment, after visiting my picasa photo site:

"You've got a smile that could light up a bear-infested dirt road on a starless night."

Awe, shucks. Thanks, Andy. I won't embarrass you or anything by telling your name.

ask and you shall receive

2007-06-13T21:19:00.000-04:00

A big part of my job involves taking my clients out into the community and participating in various activities - or I make this a big part of my job anyway. I want these kids to have a perspective that is larger than their trailer or cramped apartment. I want them to have an awareness of, involvement in, and concern for, the community at large.

One of the tricky things about activities is that they usually involve a cost. True, there are countless parks and hiking trails and waterfalls that we can visit for free, but rainy days seem to turn into "I'm going to end up paying to do something with this child" kind of days. Due to this fact, I have started to drum up support and tap into local resources, in the form of discounts and free things. It's something I enjoy doing, because my wallet thanks me for it, but also because I have this nagging suspicion that everyone (including business leaders) actually wants to do good. Sometimes these business people don't realize that they want to do good until I guide them to that realization, but I believe in my heart that most people really do want to help others. I may be naive, but I'd much rather be naive in my universe than bitter and resentful in someone else's.

Today was a successful day in the area of drumming up support. I called the owner of the local bowling alley and talked to him about 30 minutes. We talked about all kinds of things, but the focus was on the kids that I work with, the wonderful social and physical benefits of bowling (yes, it was a little bit of a stretch for me, but I'm learning that I can give a pretty good salespitch), and the benefits for him if he helps us. Then this afternoon I went and met with him for a bit, taking with me one of my clients who had never been bowling before. The end result? We worked out an arrangement where everyone from my agency (some 80+ employees) can take a client to the bowling alley, show their work ID, and bowl for about 60% less than they would otherwise be able to.

The even better end result? The owner (Nick) feels good because he's helping kids, I feel good because I'm able to take kids to do something fun and don't have to pay as much when doing so, and my colleagues think I'm cool because they're just plain smart.

At our team meeting today, I shared the news about the arrangement, and basically everyone asked me how I did it. It's amazing to me - I have been with the agency for exactly one month ... some of these people have worked there, and lived in that town, for two years ... and yet somehow it didn't occur to any of them to just get out there and TALK to people. I took Hannah bowling last week (you can see a couple pictures here) - it was her first time, and we had a blast. But I felt REALLY old when I saw the prices for bowling. I really do seriously remember when it cost less than $3.00 to bowl a bunch of games AND rent shoes. Prices sure have gone up! Anyway, that day I got the owner's name and phone number and began the dialogue ...

I don't understand if it's laziness, apathy, or just plain foolishness that prevented anyone else from simply talking to a very nice man about maybe giving us a break on the price. It was a natural thing for me, just as it will be when I go and meet with the owners of several local restaurants, the skating rink guy, and a few pottery places and art studios. What kind of life does one live if they hesitate to connect with another person? I firmly believe that people are the best resource around. We have so much to offer each other, if only we'll all just get over ourselves and ask.

Lots of stuff going on, including a magnificent thunderstorm. The covered part of my deck is calling me - time to grab a mug of tea and answer.

But first, some GREAT quotes from things I'm reading ...

We have much to be judged on when he comes, slums and battlefields and insane asylums, but these are the symptoms of our illness and the result of our failures in love.
- Madeline L'Engle

... for some of us, books are as important as almost anything else on earth. What a miracle it is that out of these small, flat, rigid pieces of paper unfolds world after world, worlds that sing to you, comfort and quiet you or excite you. Books help us understand who we are and how we are to behave. They show us what community and friendship mean; they show us how to live and die. They are full of the things that you don't get in real life--wonderful, lyrical language, for instance. And quality of attention: we may notice amazing details during the course of a day but we rarely let ourselves stop and really pay attention. An author makes you notice, makes you pay attention, and this is a great gift. My gratitude for good writing is unbounded; I'm grateful for it the way I'm grateful for the ocean.
- Anne Lamott

2007-06-12T00:31:00.000-04:00

I just came in from sitting by a dark, quiet lake. The dogs were restless, and so was I, so we went for a walk along the very dark dirt road down to the very dark lake. There are no streetlights on the roads around my house. I love this, but it also creeps me out a little bit because I am, by nature, a night person (I'm just rediscovering this fact, I think) ... and I like to talk walks or runs at night ... but I don't like to think about cute little bear cubs, or not-so-cute big bear mamas, and how they might also be walking along the very dark dirt roads.

The sky was all wrapped up in clouds tonight, so there weren't even stars to guide me as there have been other nights. But I trust the dogs, and my feet know the roads well by now.

I can't seem to shake the notion that I have been wasting time with my life, and yet a part of me feels that my thirty years are spilling over with unforgettable moments, the impact of which I will never fully realize. I have always known there was beauty around me, but lately I am more and more aware of the fact that the greatest beauty lies in people. Yes, mountains still take my breath away and sunsets still often render me motionless. But the reappearance of hope in wearied eyes, the promise of joy being returned to a drab existence, and the light of discovery in the wide eyes of a child - these things cause my pulse to quicken and my face to break into smile, sometimes simultaneously as my eyes well with tears. There is so much beauty around me, in the smiles and tears of wandering travelers ... and my eyes struggle to take it all in.

In a few hours I will pick up Hannah, and take her to a rescue mission for her first volunteer experience. She called me tonight, nervous, excited, and wondering what to wear, and all I could do was tell her that I am proud of her. She is 10 years old, and she wants to be involved in the process of handing hope back to someone who has forgotten what it looks like. I cant wait to watch her eyes tomorrow - er, today - as she sees the power of her sweet 10-year-old smile and watches as her hands bring healing to some tired, battle-worn warriors.

I read this quote today, and it seems to capture just a glimmer of my thoughts right now. I'm not sure there are words to explain what it is that is going on inside of me, but I'm going to keep trying. It's too important not to, and if I don't let some of this feeling (whatever it is!) out, I'm not sure what will happen.

"I pray that I may never meddle, interfere, dictate, give advice that is not wanted, or assist when my services are not needed. If I can help people, I'll do it by giving them a chance to help themselves; and if I can uplift or inspire, let it be by example, inference and suggestion, rather than by injunction and dictation. That is to say, I desire to be radiant -- to radiate life!"
-- Elbert Hubbard

I wonder how much pianos weigh

2007-06-09T19:27:00.000-04:00

Tonight I moved one by myself. I was tired of my piano being in my office (where my moving helpers left it after not being able to get it through the doorframe to the living room). I moved it out to the deck (by lifting it over the doorframe, bit by bit) and rolled/pushed/pulled it around to the back sliding door, then into the house (inching it up and over another doorframe) and into the living room.

I think I can skip the dumbbells tonight.

Be afraid. Be very afraid. Roar.

beavers, and bear cubs, and deer (oh my!)

2007-06-08T21:03:00.000-04:00

When I was driving up my road tonight I saw five beavers and two deer. I wish I had been the one to see the bear cub, but that was the luck of one of my neighbors.

Beavers are funny-looking, but I like them, and I'm a bit disappointed that Mr. and Mrs. Lake Lure Beaver are not like the Beavers of the Chronicles of Narnia. I see the creatures often, and at those times I have caught myself holding on to the hope that they might look at me and begin a dialogue. Sadly, however, the Lake Lure variety just scurry away. Or maybe they scuttle. Well, they do whatever it is that beavers do.

Tonight I made the wonderful discovery that thunderstorms help me to put the cover back on the Jeep much faster. I also discovered that it's much easier to just slide the cover back (and forward) than it is to complete remove it. I am forever learning ...

I picked up my coffee table this afternoon. It's the one that my new friend Sheri and I made together. I really, really like it. I still find myself surprised by my crafty abilities.

Umm, lots of new books, lots of new thoughts. I have started listening to "The River Why." The narrator is great at creating a unique voice for each character, and it's fun listening.

That's it for now. Lots going on ...

clarification

2007-06-07T18:43:00.000-04:00

Apparently my last post was a bit confusing in how it was written. The twenty minutes that I spent grumbling and thinking bad things this morning happened while I was removing the top from my Jeep. As it turns out, I made it much more complicated than necessary ... but oh well, it was a learning experience.

I was going to hang out at home and relax tonight, but I just got an invitation to go check out a local bluegrass place. I am pretty careful about these kind of invitations, because it seems like a lot of the "bluegrass places" around here are bars that have "bluegrass" (notice the quotes) bands play (or jam - another telltale sign that it's not the place for me) on a weekly basis. They're crowded and loud, and the music is more like pop music than bluegrass. People who go to the shows seem more focused on the beer anyway, than on the goatee-d, dreadlocked bunch of ragamuffins on the stage.

This place sounds a little more my speed ... it's not well-known, most of the players make their own instruments, and they usually have some kind of potluck deal happening.

Oh, real quick ... here's something fun. I have started to put together a small collection of quotes to give to my clients. I am writing the quotes calligraphy style and putting them together into little books. I gave one to my 14-year-old client and his mom yesterday, and I honestly thought they were going to cry. Here are just a few of the quotes I included:

Happiness is not something you postpone for the future; it is something you design for the present.
- Jim Rohn

The major reason for setting a goal is for what it makes of you to accomplish it. What it makes of you will always be the far greater value than what you get.
- Jim Rohn

Character isn't something you were born with and can't change, like your fingerprints. It's something you weren't born with and must take responsibility for forming.
- Jim Rohn

happy birthday to me

2007-06-07T09:39:00.000-04:00

I'm off to work.
(and it only took me 20 minutes of mumbling and saying not-so-nice words under my breath)

lost in wonder

2007-06-05T21:38:00.000-04:00

Life has been sort of knocking the breath out of me lately, in a good way.

I am astounded by the power of the human spirit, wooed by the ever-increasing beauty of trees and sunsets, and struck with awe at the fact that I am the one who gets the play the part of me in this wonderfully designed plot of a life.

I do not take these things for granted:

- that I enjoy getting lost. In the woods, in the mountains, wading through a stream ... I like the feeling of not knowing where I am, and not really caring.

- that my drive into "work" reminds me of roads I have driven through national parks. I smile often (which causes much curiosity among drivers around me, when I actually see any) and continuously lean forward to look up through the windshield at the clouds and the canopy of trees under which I'm passing, and sometimes I have to pull over so that I can be sure that the view of the mountains is real.

- that I somehow am blessed/fortunate/talented/lucky enough to have a job that I love. I shared with someone yesterday that I almost feel guilty to get paid for what I do. Hours fly by like seconds when I'm with clients, and sometimes I surprise myself with the things that come out of my mouth. I know what I'm doing, and I'm good at it. It's an amazing feeling that I don't know how I got by without earlier in my life.

- that the crazy twists and turns of my life are really starting to make sense, because I am using experiences and lessons learned to help other people. It is more the rule than the exception that I have conversations with clients and parents that consist of me sharing experiences from my own life. Stupid choices and recklessly chosen paths have educated me and helped me to develop a strength which is a tremendous asset in interacting with other people, and even more - in helping others.

- that the growth that has happened with me in the past two years is more than many people experience in a lifetime. There are lots of different factors that play into this truth, and a few incredible people without whom it wouldn't have happened. The remarkable changes and improvements cause me to expect great things for the next year or two.

- that I enjoy teaching others. I attended a training today where the subject was family systems and family dynamics, and I think I stole the instructor's thunder ... several times. At the end of the session, I was actually approached about becoming a trainer. It's a state mandated class for people who work in the mental health field, and I would be able to interact with the curriculum and make improvements as I see need for them. I'm going to do it.

- that any bad choice can be manipulated to produce positive results. Mistakes really can be transformed into opportunities of growth and learning, and somehow I am involved in initiating that process in the lives of seven children and their families. One of the things I like most about my job is the fact that I empower people to make positive changes in their lives. I am the small pebble that is thrown into the water of their lives and creates a ripple ... and then I help them keep the ripple spreading into every area of their lives. Again, I'm a little bit in wonder at how I got here.

- that there is power in words. The biggest challenge for me in this job has been to get down the lingo. We have to write up our service notes in a certain way in order to get money for the services we provide. I hated it at first, but I'm getting good at it because I can now see the deeper meaning behind the code words that we are required to use. My favorite word to use is "facilitate." The word is used a bunch in office settings, so I have thrown it around here and there in the past in an effort to sound like a grown-up. But it wasn't until I started this job that I completely grasped the word's meaning. The definition: to make easier, to help bring about. That is what I do with these families. I make it easier for them to make improvements and changes, and I help bring about the appearance of hope into their lives.

There really aren't words to convey all that's going on inside me and around me ... my eyes are wide with wonder, and my spirit is breathless with anticipation.

hey, it's good to be back home again

2007-06-04T00:15:00.000-04:00

I was welcomed home tonight (and yes, it feels like home) by the wonderful smell of a campfire and the breathtaking sight of a star-dotted sky. It is good to travel and visit with friends, but there is something about returning home that words cannot adequately express. And I very much enjoy returning to my little haven in the mountains which so wonderfully feels like a refuge of all things good, sweet, clean, and fresh.

There were two new books waiting for me in my mailbox, and I'm looking forward to continuing my return to reading and learning and growing.

A quote I heard today, and I like. I've heard it before, but I liked it more today:

"What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals."
- Zig Ziglar (even his name makes me smile)

reading, writing, and jeeps

2007-06-01T08:25:00.000-04:00

I am forming a book discussion group with people from work or around or wherever, and I started the book last night. Its title shall remain a mystery right now, as I'm still trying to figure out if I like it, or agree with the author's views, or think he's out of his mind ...

But I like these lines that I read this morning (even though I'm not sure I totally agree with them):

For thousands of years followers of Jesus, like artists, have understood that we have to keep going, exploring what it means to live in harmony with God and each other. The Christian faith tradition is filled with change and growth and transformation. Jesus took part in this process by calling people to rethink faith and the Bible and hope and love and everything else, and by inviting them into the endless process of working out how to live as God created us to live.

The challenge for Christians then is to live with great passion and conviction, remaining open and flexible, aware that this life is not the last painting.

Times change. God doesn't, but times do. We learn and grow, and the world around us shifts, and the Christian faith is alive only when it is listening, morphing, innovating, letting go of whatever has gotten in the way of Jesus and embracing whatever will help us be more and more the people God wants us to be.

I like how the words sound, I'm just not sure that I completely grasp what they mean. Or, maybe I'm not sure what the author intends them to mean.

post script: (that's fancy for PS) Ok, so I'm posting again. This is partly in response to the surprising number of complaints/requests I received to keep writing, and partly because there is so much going on that my hands are getting tired from writing in my journal.

post post script: I will be picking up my Jeep in 3.5 hours, and I'm excited.

professional christians?

2007-05-31T22:40:00.000-04:00

Today I had a stimulating conversation about Christian therapists, with one of my teammates, Justin. Justin is probably one of my more favorite people on the team. He is a white water kayaking guide on the weekends, he is super-sarcastic, and he laughs at my jokes. For some reason some of my other teammates don't seem to take him seriously, and I can tell he is tuned in to that fact.

Anyway, tonight I found myself alone with him in the office and somehow our conversation turned to a Christian therapist who is working with one of his clients. Justin has lots of questions and concerns about methods being used by this therapist, and he mentioned them to me to get my perspective. I definitely see the basis for his concerns, and the question I posed to him is whether or not he feels that the methods are actually helping the child. Basically the therapist has advised the child that whenever he is having thoughts of a particular nature, he should snap the rubber band that is on his wrist and quote a Bible verse.

I have heard of the rubber band technique before, the idea being that the individual will associate the pain (of snapping the rubber band) with the negative behavior, and eventually begin to lessen the behavior in order to reduce the pain caused by the rubber band. But the Bible verse Justin mentioned to me had nothing to do at all with the particular behavior or issue in question. Justin and I both agreed that it wasn't the Bible verse that was an issue (as far as I was concerned, the therapist could have the kid quoting from the Koran), but more that the technique didn't seem relevant at all to the situation.

Justin is not a Christian, and admitted that he is very skeptical of people who are "very religious" and especially those who try to apply religion to a therapeutic treatment. Today I caught myself siding with him, in essence against this Christian professional. This discussion broadened, and I went off on a tirade about Christian professionals on the whole, and how so many times it seems that a lower standard is accepted as long as someone is a Christian. Too many times, as is most likely the case with this therapist, people gravitate to someone (or something) because she (or it) is aligned with their personal beliefs, and not because they actually expect to receive a quality product or service. It saddens me very much to admit to this, and I basically had to apologize to a very wide-eyed Justin who seemed a little regretful that he had opened up a subject about which I am obviously passionate.

Anyway, I am starting to think that it is better for people to sometimes find out you're a Christian after the fact - after you have already loved them and added beauty to their lives ... and maybe it's not about the label at all, maybe it's just about the life.

on a brighter note ...

2007-05-24T00:04:00.001-04:00

I know, I know, I was going to avoid the blog for a while.
I just feel bad about all the negative words lately. Very unlike me, actually. It still surprises me (but also thrills me) to hear from others that I am "such a positive person" and that I "brighten up a room just by being in it" (feedback I received at today's team meeting).
I just read this quote, after my last ranting about someone else's space ... and I would rather have this be at the top of the page than my critical thoughts and words. I read it a WHILE back and sort of adopted it as a life philosophy. It still applies, maybe even more now than ever before.
So many changes, so much growth ... so much life around me screaming for me to get off this computer.

"This is the true joy in life, the being used for a purpose recognized by yourself as a mighty one; the being thoroughly worn out before you are thrown on the scrap heap; the being a force of nature instead of a feverish selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy."
-- George Bernard Shaw

please -- take YOUR space ... I don't want it!

2007-05-23T23:47:00.000-04:00

A quick follow-up question/comment to the last blog post.
Am I the only person over 20 who has not fallen prey to all the myspace craziness? It's funny, I used to hear all the kids in my program talk about it ... you know, 12 and 13-year-old's who were giggling about the "cute boy" that just added them to his friends' list. Now, somehow I have been transported to an environment where my COLLEAGUES talk about the site more than the pre-teens ever did!
Yikes.
Lest I be deemed as a liar, let me admit I went on to the site ONCE ... but it was only to try to track down a 15-year-old girl who had disappeared from the mentoring program, and also from her mother's house. I had heard from her friends that she had a myspace page, so I tried to find her profile. I did find it, after much searching and much exposure to the current state of the world (I was scared, by the way).
I suppose it can be some sort of a networking tool, but I'm not sure I would want to network with many of the people whose profiles I saw that day. And - call me crazy - but I have this thing about just walking up to someone and talking to them, instead of going home, closing the door, and sitting in front of a computer screen to search for someone to talk to.
I feel like I should start to write a manifesto of some sort. Or maybe that's what I have been doing in these last few posts.
I'm a different sort of person lately, and I'm curious about this process in which I find myself. I'm closer and closer to buying a big ol' 4 wheel drive truck, and have taken steps toward protecting myself and my property. Is it strange to bake cookies, knit, and clean a gun in the same evening? Hmmmm.

if you aint loving, you aint living ...

2007-05-20T19:08:00.000-04:00

I have been spending lots of time outside lately: in the woods, in the mountains, wading in streams, and sitting and talking with people. I feel like I have somehow re-connected to the real world.

I was without internet access for several weeks, and I have come to the realization that it wasn't such a bad thing. I try to avoid dependency in any form, and I am honestly very bothered by the fact that recently I had countless people asked me how I have survived without internet access at home.

I have commented here before on how easy it is to write about living, so much so that I miss the actual magic and wonder of taking my role in the story being written all around me, every moment of each day. I may sit in front of the computer and struggle to conjure up words in an effort to capture the sadness that creeps into my soul as I hear the sun whisper a soulful, almost audible goodbye as it falls into the mountains, but this act is in vain. Life is meant to be lived, not confined to dots and lines on a paper (or bits and bytes on a computer screen).

A recent addition to my life threatens to take the place that writing used to occupy. My digital camera has become an almost permanent fixture in my car and by my side. I witness a spectacular sunset, and I reach for my camera. I notice a certain glimmer in a child's eye, and I want to somehow capture the magic of that moment on film. Again, any efforts of the sort fail miserably. Joy and sadness, anticipation and anxiety ... none of these appear in their authenticity on film or in words. It almost seems to cheapen the moments and the individuals, to suggest that somehow I can do justice to them or the experience in words or by pushing a button on my camera.

So I am pulling away from technology for a bit, and regaining focus on the world around me. It's a world best experienced in hugs, laughter, tears, private sunrises, and soulful sunsets. Another human being will never, ever be able to experience the brilliance of a star-dotted sky as I do, and I am greedily slurping up these moments of light and awe.

There is something inside of me that requires tall trees, intimidating mountains, flowing rivers, gurgling streams, purpley sunsets, and twinkling night skies. These things fill me and flow through me, but I don't enjoy them as much when I keep them to myself. The inspired moments and thoughts, though, are not shared through emails, pictures, or even blog posts like this one ... their magic and beauty is spread when I love another person or say a comforting word that brings a smile to a tear-stained face.

I am convinced that the source of true joy for my soul is other people. It's easier to love them when I love myself, and I love myself best when I am a small dot in a vast, forest-filled, mountain-covered world. So I will put down the camera, and drop out of the blogging world (again), and run through the woods, splash in the streams, and then search for a person to hug and talk to about the green in the trees and the coolness of the water.

I think these mountains are getting to me.

queen of the nerds

2007-04-03T07:33:00.001-04:00

I got the final (corrected) grade for my class.
I got 99%.
I think I need a life.

today

2007-04-02T22:06:00.000-04:00

I bought some cool new paper on which to print my resume ... it's gray, sort of speckled and so much more interesting than plain ol' white. It's always good to set yourself apart somehow. I contemplated buying the copier paper with pictures of daisies in the background, but opted for the more traditional paper labeled "resume paper." I will be doling out the latest print version of my work experience tomorrow and Wednesday, at interviews with a family preservation agency in the mountains.

So there's another good thing. Tomorrow I will be in the mountains, and I will have my new digital camera with me to capture hints of their majesty.

I also bought a new suit today, and am looking forward to the aura of power it will create tomorrow. I received several compliments in the fitting room, so I know I look good. I always appreciate when my fashion sense is praised by ladies over the age of 70.

I also received a new book in the mail today. I have been on the author's site before and been impressed, so I am expected good things from this read.

Also, I discovered today that there are cute little birds raising young'uns in my mailbox. I am flattered, and also feel a strange sense of responsibility for their well-being. I have already scared the mama(?) away several times by going into my house, so I can only imagine the effect of the ruthless mailman and the many, many letters he inserts into my mailbox on a daily basis.

One other thing: a confirmation of my nerd-iness. I am arguing with my professor (amicably, through email, of course) over my grade. I am about a point away from an A, and while I know a B is still a fine grade, it's difficult for me to be happy with it because I know that I actually earned an A. He took off some points incorrectly on my paper, and sort of downplayed his error ... I am not a big fan of that. I screw up all the time (ok, those of you who know me don't need to agree that quickly!), but usually I own up to it!

Let's see, what else. My supervisor has taken to calling me Kristen. And she continues to be a pain in my you-know-what.

But I can't end on a negative note. Ummm, I have discovered I sort of like arena football. Sh, don't tell anyone. I went to a game this weekend and sort of had fun.

Ok, that's all for now. Hopefully soon I will be writing about the success of the cool resume paper and the knockout hot mama suit.

confession of a nerd

2007-03-28T21:44:00.000-04:00

I just got my grade back for my first graduate-level research paper.
I got a 97%. And, to quote my professor, "I know you will be writing articles for some psychological magazine or the AACC journals soon!"
I guess I sort of can't deny it anymore.
I'm a nerd.
And I sort of like it.

stimulating conversations ... with myself

2007-03-26T18:15:00.000-04:00

I got home from work today, just bursting to talk with someone. It was a life-changing day. A day that I really felt my job, and knew that (in those moments) I was exactly where I was supposed to be. My eyes welled up with tears a few different times today ... because of work ... and they were tears of compassion and empathy, NOT the tears of frustration that I have now and again cried over interactions with co-workers.

But I came home and there was not a person here to talk to. It would have been a good day to ask someone to lay on the couch with me and hold me for a few minutes while I cried out the tears that had somehow stayed trapped inside while I was at work. I wanted someone to listen to me and tell me that I was right to cry, and to be my ally as I spilled out my frustrations with uncaring adults who don't deserve to be parents. Most of all, I wanted to be understood.

But there was no one here to hold me or to understand me. Sometimes though, I almost think that my dogs "get me" more than another person will ever be able. They know that the times when I push them away the most are the times that I desperately need to be knocked onto my back with kisses and grossed out with stinky dog breath. And that's what they did today. At the end of the lick-fest I took them outside for a long, long walk.

We walked further than we have walked in quite a while. As I was serenaded by the eclectic blend of music drifting through various open screen doors and waved to by kids riding their bikes in driveways, I realized that somehow I felt as if I was being understood. There were people around me who, in the very moment that my hand was raised to wave hello, were feeling joy and pain and perhaps even unimaginable grief. I was not alone in my feeling, or in my being. Little children smiled and giggled at my dogs, and several old men watched anticipatorily for the opportunity to yell at me to pick up after my dogs ... and it all felt wonderful and somehow fit together to perfectly meet my unspoken need in that moment.

And somehow, through those smiles and looks of recognition and even the glares, I had conversations. Lots and lots of conversations, with other people and also with myself. At the end of it all, I walked into my house and laid on my couch and felt the words for which I had been yearning just hours earlier.

to my peeps

2007-03-23T10:34:00.000-04:00

Today I discovered that there were 20-something or so comments hiding on my blog, waiting for me to "approve" them before they appeared. I was a little surprised, and a whole lot flattered, to read the many words of encouragement from some of my blog readers.

Maybe you've stopped reading because I stink at writing. Or maybe you've stopped reading because you felt like your comments were not appreciated. But thank you anyway, even if you never read this ... Dave, Ryan, Doug, Sean, Darce, Stace, and Krista (another Krista - I'm not that vainglorious) ... you all are nice folks.

lead, follow, or ... lead

2007-03-23T10:18:00.001-04:00

I have been doing a lot of reading and thinking lately about leadership, and about what that looks like when it is done well.

The title of this post is sort of a joke (albeit maybe not a funny one) - the phrase actually goes something like, "lead, follow, or get out of the way." But getting out of the way doesn't seem like an option to me. So the choice is really between leading or following, since following is basically getting out of the way of those who have the guts to take the lead.

This morning, I read the following words, written by Nancy Ortberg, and I like 'em. A lot.

When people are led well, not only do they accomplish great things, but they become better people in the process.

Work is a sacred trust and there are a few things you can do to treat it as such in your role as a leader:
1. Yourself. I first heard the concept of “self-leadership” when I was on staff at a church. Here’s the main idea: You are responsible for carving out a life that has a rhythm that renews you. It is not anybody else’s job. As a leader you take responsibility for your own self-renewal which includes things like reading, planning alone time to do thinking and processing, and maintaining a schedule that allows you to keep your promises, which is one of the key jobs of a leader. Self-leadership will not only increase your leadership capacity and skills but will also work to prevent burnout.

2. Others. Leadership is the promise of development. People need three things to grow: opportunities, challenges, and relationship. It is your job as a leader to be sure, over time, that your people are getting all three. They need opportunities to use their abilities to make a difference, challenges that stretch them without breaking them, and relationships in which they are known and celebrated and told the truth about themselves.
3. The Organization. Organizations—not just individual people—are important. Organizations, as a collection of people, allow us to accomplish things we could not do on our own. As a leader it is your responsibility to make sure that meetings are compelling, that they are places where collaborative (not consensus, which Patrick Lencioni defines as “mutually agreed upon mediocrity”) decisions are processed and made, a place where goals are set and people are held accountable for those, where short-term and long-term gains are celebrated and lack of success is autopsied and learned from.

Leadership is a sacred trust.

I like ...

2007-03-21T08:45:00.000-04:00

One of the major reasons why people are not doing well is because they keep trying to get through the day. A more worthy challenge is to try to get from the day. We must become sensitive enough to observe and ponder what is happening around us. Be alert. Be awake. Let life and all of its subtle messages touch us. Often, the most extraordinary opportunities are hidden among the seemingly insignificant events of life. If we do not pay attention to these events, we can easily miss the opportunities.

- Jim Rohn

planet Krista

2007-02-15T19:09:00.000-05:00

There are times I am convinced that I really do exist in my own world. Here's an example from this morning: I was on a busy road, stopped at a red light, and all of a sudden a huge flock of tiny birds (warblers? sparrows? I'm not sure) flew across the intersection. They were flying quite low, so anyone with a pulse would have seen them if they were paying any attention to the traffic or the light or the world in which they live.

The birds descended on a small tree near the intersection, and their movements were perfectly orchestrated so that they covered the tree as one unit. It was incredible to watch as a green tree turned brown with birds ... and then they all fluttered their wings simultaneously and the group flew to another tree and repeated their conquest.

It was beautiful to watch the birds rise and fall in unison, and I caught myself smiling as I ducked my head to see them fly above my car. I looked around me for a fellow observer, and was disappointed to see cell phones and mascara wands instead. The quality of that moment would have been multiplied if I had been able to share it with someone else, even if only through a quick smile as traffic moved and forgot the synchronized fliers. But instead I drove away with almost a burdensome feeling, a feeling of sadness that so many people miss out on so much beauty, every moment of every day ... and it almost seems like there's nothing I can do about it.

I won't allow myself to be caught up in the oblivion that seems to plague the world. I'll keep looking up and smiling at the birds, even if I'm the only one doing it.

catch them doing good

2007-02-06T21:18:00.000-05:00

Tonight I went to two different stores in a row(sort of a stretch for me), and at both places enjoyed exceptional service. Maybe I was in a better mood than usual, maybe I emitted a friendly vibe in my comfy college sweatshirt (from my alma mater) and yoga pants ... but I was wowed by the service provided by the two employees with whom I interacted in each environment.

In both stores, I went to the customer service desk and asked to speak with a manager.

In both stores, the person behind the customer service desk immediately looked worried and asked if there was something with which they could help me. To both people I said no, and insisted (in a non-confrontational way) to speak with the manager.

I spoke to the manager in each store, and the start of the conversations was almost identical ... "is something wrong, ma'am?" I fought hard not to laugh, shook each of their hands, and told them that I was sorry to see that they seemed to be immediately ready to hear a complaint.

I engaged in conversation with each manager for a few minutes, and praised the respective employees ... the managers seemed surprised and also a bit relieved. I told them that I wished they received more calls with compliments instead of complaints.

A sort of "bonus" was when I learned that, at the second store, it was the employee's second day on the job ... and I was happy to see the manager head toward her at the end of our conversation.

My experiences tonight were a powerful reminder to me of the power of words, and of the tongue, and of what a very negative world in which we live. I am re-instituting the personal challenge of leaving each person and each place a little brighter than it was before I was there ... and I'm hoping that's what happened in each of those stores tonight.

various and random things

2007-01-16T21:30:00.000-05:00

I watched the movie version of "The Five People You Meet in Heaven" the other day, and I really didn't like it. Something about it bothered me very much, and I'm not completely sure what it was. I think maybe it's the way that some people live their lives with the same kind of expectation implied by the name of that movie, and focus on how their lives will make sense after they die. Maybe instead we should focus on the (more than) five people you meet on earth, and what we can learn from them while we're actually still alive and able to do something about it.

****************

Tonight while playing piano, I stopped for a moment to dig through one of the boxes of old piano books that came from my mom's house ... and I stumbled across a thin songbook with yellowed, dog-eared pages and the title "Sacred Treasures" written in cursive on the front page. I looked inside and was so happy to see that "Church in the Wildwood" is among the songs in the book. I am looking forward to Friday night at the rest home, and surprising Linda with that song. She has been asking me for MONTHS, and I had given up hope on ever finding the music in print ... but tonight, much by accident, I came across a book that I am sure I played from religiously as a little girl, when I didn't even know about Linda or a town called Sanford.

****************

Tonight, in our women's small group meeting, we talked about how we carry the fragrance of Christ with us wherever we go. Then we launched into a discussion about different scents and the feelings and memories they evoke within us. While the other women talked about perfume and food, I immediately thought of rain and the woods. Am I weird? I have very distinct memories associated with the scent of rain -- before, during, and after (there are different smells!) ... and also with the woods, and dirt, and the ocean, and campfires. I don't have too many memories of indoor scents. Why is that?

****************

I am deeper into Erich Fromm's "The Art of Loving", and I am spellbound. The other night I read the section on the love of God. Fromm was not a Christian, and I think that's why I am so captivated by his words and ideas. He was not afraid to push some boundaries and broach difficult subjects. In this section, he presents the idea that there are both motherly and fatherly aspects of the love of God. The way we view the character of the love of God depends on these aspects, as well as our own maturity and our concept of and love for God.

The patriarchal aspect makes me love God like a father; I assume he is just and strict, that he punishes and rewards; and eventually that he will elect me as his favorite son; as God elected Abraham-Israel, as Isaac elected Jacob, as God electeds his favorite nation. In the matriarchal aspect of religion, I love God as an all-embracing mother. I have faith in her love, that no matter whether I am poor and powerless, no matter whether I have sinned, she will love me, she will not prefer any other of her children to me; whatever happens to me, she will rescue me, will save me, will forgive me. Needless to say, my love for God and God's love for me cannot be separated.

Here's a part that really gets me: Fromm suggests that God goes through phases. At first He is a jealous God who considers man as His property ... this is when He drives man out of paradise, and destroys the human race by flood and saves only Noah (his favorite son), and demands that Abraham kill Isaac in order to prove his love for God. Then a new phase begins as God makes a covenant with Noah and promises never to destroy the human race again, thus binding Himself by His promises and also by His own principle of justive (through which He also yields to Abraham's demand to spare Sodom if there are at least ten just men). Fromm goes on to say that God is transformed from a type of tribal chief into a loving father, into a father who is bound by principles that he created ... and even beyond that to suggest that, in the Bible we see God being transformed from a father figure into an actual symbol of those principles (of justice, truth and love).

God is truth, God is justice. In this development God ceases to be a person, a man, a father; he becomes the symbol of the principle of unity behind the manifoldness of phenomena, of the vision of the flower which will grown from the spiritual seed within man. God cannot have a name. A name always denotes a thing, or a person, something finite. How can God have a name, if he is not a person, not a thing.

... To say of God that he is wise, strong, good implies again that he is a person; the most I can do is to say what God is not, to state negative attributes, to postulate that he is not limited, not unkind, not unjust. The more I know what God is not, the more knowledge I have of God.

... The truly religious person, if he follows the essence of the monotheistic idea, does not pray for anything, does not expect anything from God; he does not love God as a child loves his father or mother; he has acquired the humility of sensing his limitations, to the degree of knowing that he knows nothing about God. God becomes to him a symbol in which man, at an earlier stage of his evolution, has expressed the totality of that which man is striving for, the realm of the spiritual world, of love, truth, and justice.

Hm ... things to think about. I am inundated by the idea that my thoughts of God are much, much too small.

2007-01-12T22:24:00.000-05:00

I read this earlier today on the blog of a woman who claims to be an "ex-Christian", and for some reason it really bothers me.

When I relied on God and prayer to meet my needs, I became lazy about meeting them myself. When a stumbling block appeared in my path, I didn’t see it as a challenge to overcome, but instead as a “sign” that perhaps I was on the wrong path (compared to what was meant to be).
For me, there is a great deal of strength in taking responsibility for my own behaviors and choices.

I was also part of a really good conversation tonight about how critical feedback and authentic challenges are more helpful than sugary-sweet compliments. I was comforted to learn that other people value real, cut-to-the-bone criticism and doubting and questions more than just automatic responses like, "good job" and "great writing!" When people challenge us and ask us questions or to back up what we say, we are forced to re-examine, and most likely to learn even more in the process. We grow more than we would if we just got a nice pat on our ego and kept on floating along. And we respect (or we should respect) people who say, "heyyyy ... wait a minute" instead of just saying, "that's great" and leaving us wondering if they even read or listened or thought about what we said or wrote.

I wonder if God is like this. I wonder if maybe He might respect us more if we question things more, instead of just glibly saying, "good job, God" and "keep up the good work". Or, "I trust you just because", even when our souls are screaming out, "WHY IN THE WORLD ARE YOU ALLOWING THIS TO HAPPEN???? HOW CAN YOU BE GOOD, AND GOD, AND SUPPOSEDLY LOVE ME, AND YET I SUFFER THROUGH MISERY AND DISTRESS???" In the Bible we read stories of people basically making demands from God. If they were upset they screamed out to Him. If they wanted something, they shouted for Him to give what they desired. They grabbed God by the metaphorical collar and demanded that He listen and pay heed to their requests. Where has that boldness gone? Our prayers are like limp shadows and whispers compared to the bold colors, shouts, and proclamations of old.

I think part of the reason the above quote bothered me so much is because I think it's probably a pretty accurate depiction of how so many Christians do "use" prayer. They quietly offer up words of humility and surrender to a God who can see through to our hearts and our real intentions. He hears our thee's and thou's and verily's, but He sees the contrary way in which we live our lives. Prayer is not an excuse to lay something down before God and then meekly walk away. Prayer is a tool that God uses (if we don't get our "humble" selves in the way) to stir us up and get us going and show us how much we CAN do on our own. The catch though is that we're not REALLY doing it on our own. Through the act of prayer, God changes us, empowers us, and -- if we're doing it how we were meant to --
the last thing we would become is "lazy".

I am reading another book

2007-01-12T18:10:00.000-05:00

I should see what the record is for "number of books being read by one person at one time".
Here is a quote from the one I just started. It's sorta messy, but I like it:

If faith is understood as belief that something is true, doubt is incompatible with the act of faith. If faith is understood as being ultimately concerned, doubt is a necessary element in it. It is a consequence of the risk of faith.
(from Dynamics of Faith, by Paul Tillich)

Freedom Live-rs

2007-01-12T08:48:00.000-05:00

Last night I went to see the movie “Freedom Writers”. I left the theater with that “I need to be an English teacher and change the world” feeling again, and I was seriously thinking about going home and transferring to a Masters in Education program. But, after lots of thought, and even some tears, I realized that it (whatever “it” is) is not so much about teaching in and of itself, as it is about having a vision and then wholeheartedly changing that vision into a reality.

This has been something I have been doing for years, in one way or another, and I believe it has become a necessary life function for me. I breathe, I drink water and coffee, I exercise, I laugh, I cry, I sleep, I crave wide open places and clear skies, and I look around me and see things through these strange lenses that enable me to see through current reality and perceive the potential reality. Sometimes it’s a wonderful thing, sometimes it hurts so bad I wish I could just tear off those “what could be” viewing goggles.

Yesterday I bumped into someone that I hadn’t seen in a little while. She and I had never really been close friends, but she was one of those people with whom – from the very first conversation – I felt an immediate camaraderie. She lives out her heart, and she pours herself into others. While talking to this woman yesterday, I sensed discouragement because she had chased hard after a vision, only to find that those around her basically withdrew their support and allowed her to fall hard, after they pulled that vision away from her. Here is part of an email I sent her yesterday:

I have noticed that whenever I am really passionate about something, I often seem to find myself alone or with very few others. I think it's because people get uncomfortable or maybe feel insecure when they see someone who is good at what they do, or whose passion drives them to want to do more. The strength of our passion and conviction reminds others of the weakness or lack of their own. When we chase hard after what we believe in, we create a ripple – sometimes even a strong current – in the previously stagnant waters … and we stir up lots of muck that others KNOW is there, but about which they are unmotivated to do anything. People with colorful visions and big ideas are a threat to black and white worlds of small ideas.

I could have been writing those same words in reference to the scenario depicted in the movie last night. Where other “teachers” saw future gangsters and criminals, a lone visionary saw promising, talented students with untapped strength. Though she was faced with opposition and a staunch “don’t rock the boat” mentality from every angle, this woman chased hard after a vision she had for these young minds – a vision that was fully realized, and even today is being increasingly realized.

I looked around me in the theater last night and found myself getting angry to see people more interested in their popcorn and Milk Duds, than they were about being inspired and moved to act by the story of courage and passion flickering on the screen in front of them. It would be so much easier to write the movie off as “a movie for teachers”, or “the story of a radical”, than to realize that the moral of the story is about LIVING.

This process of visualize something in a “potential” form can be applied to just about anything. I open the cupboards and see flour, sugar, baking soda, baking powder, chocolate chips, and all kinds of other things … but I let my mind take over after my eyes stop processing, and I see cookies, cakes, brownies, pancakes, bread, and all kinds of other good things. I look at a skein of yarn and a crochet needle, and I see hats, scarves, gloves, blankets, rugs, and other things that I won’t be able to make for several more years. When I open up a blank notebook, I see a page beckoning me to spill out my thoughts, ideas, dreams, frustrations, joys, and visions. I see a guitar leaning against the wall and I can actually HEAR the music playing. The same with my piano … and the same, in a much larger way with the children with which I work. I meet a child who slouches in a chair and won’t even make eye contact, and I can see him as a distinguished, confident, young man who may very well go on to discover the cure for arthritis. I spend time with a slightly overweight young lady who constantly tugs at her ill-fitting clothes and laughs a little too long, and my mind sees her as a poised, well-dressed woman who will pursue the first woman Presidency.

There is a verse in the Bible (I'm not sure of the reference) that states, “Without a vision the people perish”. As long as I am alive, I intend to be full of visions, and caught up in the process of chasing after those visions, capturing them, and turning them into reality.

I just started a new book

2007-01-11T15:13:00.000-05:00

on relationships, and here is an excerpt:

... The single woman is excessively utilitarian, and auto-determining; she defines her relationships, her circumstances, and her future, according to her desires. The "other" only comes into the picture insofar as that person is useful to her. She spends her time resenting what she does not have, especially the lack of an intimate relationship, even though she bases her identity on that very lack. Her identity is about what she hasn't got (a boyfriend or a husband), not who she is.

A singular woman acts integrally. She chooses to do things because they are good in and of themselves, not because they will serve her immediate interests whether they involve dating and romance, getting a job, or any other desire. She allows herself to actually experience what a situation offers, even if she didn't foresee it. Unlike the single woman, she will go to a party simply to have fun and be with people she enjoys. If she meets someone at the party, it will be all the better. But whether or not she meets someone won't determine the success of the party.

I am so, so, so happy that I can say that the second "type" of woman more accurately describes me. The author clarifies that these terms (or ideas) apply to both men and women ... but - since she is a woman - she uses herself as an example over and over again, and thus it makes more sense for her to describe others who are more similar to her (in their female-ness).

More about this book later. I like books, ideas, words, thoughts, images, and language ... a lot.

I'm edumacated

2007-01-09T21:15:00.000-05:00

'n stuff.
Today I registered for my first graduate-level class: Human Growth and Development. Here's the course description (don't be jealous!):

This course includes a survey of the organic, social, and psychological factors that influence the development of personality. It seeks to understand what makes a person distinctively different along with a critical evaluation of various theories of personality development, particularly as they relate to questions of values and religious commitment.

I know what textbook I'll be curling up with on Friday nights! :)

Really, though, I am so very much looking forward to this new chapter.
I'm also taking an undergrad class, as one of the two prereq's that I didn't take as a happily-oblivious English major ... but I haven't actually settled on which Psychology course I'm taking yet ... besides, none of them sound as cool as the one I just mentioned.

The Importance of Meeting Earnest

2007-01-08T20:42:00.000-05:00

Today at the outreach center I met a man named Earnest. Yes, that's how his name is spelled (I asked just to make sure). He is 84 years old, and his wife Margaret is 85. We became quick friends after I told him that I wouldn't have guessed him to be a day over 83. He told me that so many people have it wrong today, that he gets sad because he sees so many people wasting their lives. He talked about cigarettes, alcohol, and laziness, and how all of those things will kill a person. There isn't room in his life for any of that -- he "messed around with" smoking and drinking when he was young and stupid, but he got older and grew out of the stupid. He told me that he smiles all the time, and a big part of it is because he's married to a great girl. He and Margaret still drive and "go out and about" and "love life" (the words in quotes are Earnest's own).

I could have talked to Earnest all night, but there was a line of people after him (many of whom are still stuck in the "stupid" phase, according to E's standards), so we said goodbye. As Earnest shook my hand and thanked me for the pleasure of my company, I found it interesting that his handshake is one of the firmest I have ever experienced. When Earnest walked away, there was actually a bounce in his step. I have heard the phrase, but I have never before seen it in real-life ... and I'm pretty sure it's a sight I will not soon forget.

making up for lost time

2007-01-06T15:43:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I am a blogging fool today.
So much good stuff that I need to share. So many good thoughts and ideas out there, and it's so encouraging to know that they are in other people's heads as much as in mine.
I read this on a friend's blog today, and it resonated well with me.

I know that God made marriage to be a love between two people who love each other as He loves His church ... and God is always using relationships to draw others to Himself. It isn't to fill ME, it is to show me HIM.

Someday maybe I will share that kind of love with a godly man, and I will know in my heart he is the one when he always points me to my Father in heaven ... and not to himself. I used to look for that "giddy" feeling. That "oh so in love" feeling. That isn't the kind of love that lasts. I see young couples all the time who are so in love for a short time ... it is the "Britney Spears" syndrome. It fades and dies because it was really lust. I am not a relationship expert, but God has taught me so much through a decade of a failed marriage. He has taught me a love that lasts and it is only in Him that I find it. So if I do meet someone and feel like I love him enough to consider giving marriage another chance, it won't be the butterflies in my stomach that let me know. It won't be the goosebumps on my arms that guide me ... it will be the reflection of Christ that I see in his face.

Nothing too deep or profound, but it makes a whole lot of sense. Not so sure about the whole Britney Spears thing, but I think she is otherwise pretty much right-on with what she says.

i like these words

2007-01-06T13:23:00.000-05:00

Alot.
As I sipped my coffee this morning (in a mug with an intact handle), I found myself very able to relate to this:

One of my favorite coffee mugs was broken this week. Not sure how it happened. Just found it sitting there on the counter with the handle broken off. A friend had given it to me because it has one of my favorite Bible verses on it. "I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of God" (Philippians 3:14).

As I stood there looking with disappointment at my handle-less cup I realized that now the mug actually illustrates the verse. Before, it was a very nice coffee cup with a really meaningful verse on it. Now, it may represent what Paul had in mind when he penned the words. "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus" (Philippians 3:12-14).

Coffee mugs are made with a purpose. Mugs are made for drinking coffee, for drinking hot chocolate, for holding pens, for collecting change. They are not made to simply sit on a shelf and gather dust. When you use a mug there is the possibility that it will get damaged or broken.

Like the coffee mug we were created with a purpose. We were created for life. We were not created to sit and watch life go by. We were created to embrace life. Jesus said it this way, "I have come that you may have life and have it abundantly" (John 10:10). Paul said we were created to do "good works" (Ephesians 2:10). The abundant life does not happen without risks. Doing good works is not without dangers.

Life is for living. When you live life, there are risks. When you live you may get hurt. When you live you may experience disappointments. When you live you may get damaged. When you live you may get broken.

When that happened to Paul, he chose to press on. He did not allow his life to end with a broken handle. He kept pushing forward. He continued to move forward toward the prize God had called him to.

My mug with no handle will most likely be reassigned to be a penholder or a change cup. It has served me well. Many good cups of coffee have been consumed from that mug. But it is time for this mug to move on to a new goal, a new purpose for being.

What about you? Has life been unkind to you lately? Have you considered retiring, sitting out the fight, being shelved? Please don’t.

Take a lesson from my mug. Even if your handle gets broken ... press on. Move forward. Your handle is broken, but you are not dead. Keep living. God has something in store for you.
-- Tom Norvell

having church in the most unlikely places

2007-01-06T11:55:00.000-05:00

I just finished listening to this Johnny Cash song. I've heard it before, but for some reason the lyrics hit me in a new way today. I experienced one of those moments (or, more accurately, a bunch of those moments) when all different kinds of things come together.

Well, I woke up Sunday morning
With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.
And the beer I had for breakfast wasn't bad,
So I had one more for dessert.
Then I fumbled in my closet through my clothes
And found my cleanest dirty shirt.
Then I washed my face and combed my hair
And stumbled down the stairs to meet the day.

I'd smoked my mind the night before
With cigarettes and songs I'd been picking.
But I lit my first and watched a small kid
Playing with a can that he was kicking.
Then I walked across the street
And caught the Sunday smell of someone frying chicken.
And Lord, it took me back to something that I'd lost
Somewhere, somehow along the way.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down.

In the park I saw a daddy
With a laughing little girl that he was swinging.
And I stopped beside a Sunday school
And listened to the songs they were singing.
Then I headed down the street,
And somewhere far away a lonely bell was ringing,
And it echoed through the canyon
Like the disappearing dreams of yesterday.

On a Sunday morning sidewalk,
I'm wishing, Lord, that I was stoned.
'Cause there's something in a Sunday
That makes a body feel alone.
And there's nothing short a' dying
That's half as lonesome as the sound
Of the sleeping city sidewalk
And Sunday morning coming down

I am working on the lesson for the teen's Sunday School class tomorrow (why do the words "Sunday School" make me cringe?), thinking about the moments in which I saw God in the rest home last night, and processing words and ideas from this book I'm reading. And I can't shake the thought that somehow I'm off-target with my version of God and church and Christianity.

I was thrilled to receive this book as Christmas gift, and even more anticipatory when I read these words about the author on the front flap: she "has always been interested in discovering God in the places people say God isn't supposed to be". I feel like that's a silent, personal challenge that I instituted a while back: to discover people and places where GOD is the only possible explanation for someone acting a certain way or being in a certain place, or even saying certain things.

And, as I allow myself to get more and more involved in the messiness of other people's lives, I find that I see God more there than I do in a Sunday morning service. Last night is a good example. I really, truly did NOT feel like going to the rest home where the heat is on too high and the air always seems to carry scents of various bodily fluids. But I slowed down enough to allow my mind's eye to be filled with the visions of a crooked-tooth Donnell and a smiling Sheila, whose hair seems to be permanently in rollers. And I knew where I had to be that night. So I drove down the backroad to the building which seems to be quietly, patiently waiting for its own demise, much like those who are unfortunate enough to occupy the beds contained within.

I arrived to find the residents dutifully waiting for me. They had already turned off the television and some were rifling through the dusty hymnals, in search of their first request for the evening. Several of the women greeted me by name and welcomed me with hugs, and we entered into "church", as the residents like to call it. An amazing thing happens when I sing with people whose hearts beat stronger and more sincerely than most others that I know: my voice finds an undiscovered strength, and I surprise myself sometimes to hear notes that I otherwise am unable to reach. The music seems to somehow play itself through my often incapable fingers on the keys of ebony and ivory. And we laugh and share stories about our weeks, and I wonder why I was ever thinking about not coming. I go through this process every week, but I am always surprised by the incredible newness of how God somehow reveals Himself to me through these seasoned veterans of tears, laughter, and life.

My ideas and notions of who God is change through these experiences, as He grows larger than the boxes and compartments in which I place Him. This process sometimes hurts quite a bit, as quite often it involves re-examining my priorities. Lately I have felt like an overgrown plant on God's pruning table, and it hurts like anything to watch helplessly as God cuts away the people that I love, my ideas of what my life should look like, and the deep sense of personal right to which I hold.

I recently read the following words from Rob Bell, and I find myself really relating to what he says when speaking of the Eucharist:

"God's gift to us. Our gratitude. The Eucharist is where the body is broken and the blood is spilled, Jesus on the cross ...

And so we're a Eucharist for the world — we break ourselves open and pour ourselves out so that others may be fed. No wonder we're tired, deep-in-the-soul tired, sometimes. When someone has been fed, someone else had to have been broken and spilled — that's how it works ...

I break and spill with words and ink, others are broken and poured out in other ways. So there have to be these times when we let what's been broken be put back together and what's been spilled be poured back in. Cuz that's how we roll."

Somehow all of these different things come together to make me think of church, and God, and what that all looks like. Or what it should look like. Every day, everywhere I go, I am representing God and His church. I am pouring myself out in an effort to feed others, and sometimes it freakin' hurts. I run into men stumbling around in their "cleanest dirty shirts", and -- as a Christian -- I should be somehow bringing something useful to those men. If we're doing what we should be doing, there shouldn't be people around us feeling lonely, or hungry, or empty. Whatever we do, whether that be playing piano and singing with a crowd of elderly people, or stopping to buy coffee for a homeless man on the street, we have within us the ability to "have church". The Kingdom of God is something that we carry with us, all the time. When we break ourselves open and pour ourselves out, what should be flowing out of us is God and the hope that is found only in Him.

Right now I'm in the "what's been spilled is being poured back in" stage, and it hurts a whole lot. But I know that when I am filled back up again, somehow there will be more of me to give. Somehow I will carry even more of the Kingdom with me, and I look forward to more and more church services in new and unlikely places.

a warm bed is the best medicine

2006-12-18T12:28:00.000-05:00

This morning I indulged.

I woke up late, drank coffee, went for a run, came back and took a long shower ... then I pulled on some snuggly, warm, big, baggy sweats and crawled back into bed. Sipping the last of my coffee, I finally finished this book. I didn't want it to end. The book is a modern-day version of the story of Hosea and his wife Gomer. I can't explain the feelings that stirred inside of me as I read about Angel (the main character) returning home after having been gone from her husband for four years. As she approached him, she was so fearful that he wouldn't take her back ... and she didn't know what to do, what to give him, as a token of her love or of her regret ... so she gave him herself. It was beautiful and poignant and touching and powerful. And I cried and prayed and cried some more.

As I reflected on the story, I realized that I am dangerously similar to the main character who forsook her true love again and again. She left the one who truly loved her because she didn't know how to accept his love ... and yet he continued to love her, even when it seemed she did everything possible to convince him to do otherwise. She left him because she thought she could be happier somewhere else, or that she couldn't give him what he needed.

In the end, Angel realized that ultimately -- beyond the fading happiness -- she needed to find true and lasting JOY, which she was only able to find in Someone so much bigger than herself or her husband. That joy had nothing to do with the love of a person and everything to do with faith and the relentless and unshakeable love of a Father whose love would never change or fade or weaken.

It was a rough weekend, marked by too many things to do and not enough sleep ... but this morning more than made up for it. This morning, in the pages of a thick book and in the comfort of a bed warmed by sunshine and an electric blanket, I found joy. My happiness will ebb and flow with circumstances and situations -- I know this to be true. But nothing or no one is able to pry this joy from my grasp. This is a lasting, unflickering flame of peace and comfort and consolation ...

simple things that make me smile

2006-12-15T18:01:00.000-05:00

Last night I started a "Thankfulness" journal. The basic idea is that I write down things for which I am thankful. I am finding that it's difficult for me to STOP writing in the thing.

Here is one thing that I listed today:

Christmas trees. I think the idea of cutting down a pretty tree and bringing it into your house to decorate is silly. But oh, I love the smell of having one in my house. And I like to see the twinkling lights. It brings a warm, cozy feeling to my heart, and makes my house feel a little bit more like a home.

when things don't line up

2006-12-06T22:26:00.000-05:00

It has been a day full of thoughts and ponderings ...

So funny how I can do all kinds of different things and go to different places and not really think twice, but then something happens or a thought enters my mind and all of a sudden I see things in a different light.

I look back on my day, and I can't seem to make things line up. I woke up this morning in my comfortable bed and walked around my warm house ... then enjoyed a warm shower. After taking my dogs outside and watching them romp around freely in the backyard, I was welcomed back into my house by the wonderful smell of bread baking in the oven. I had made the bread from a selection of ingredients in my cupboards and fridge, some of which I had bought at the grocery store just last night. I brewed a pot of coffee and readied myself for the second weekly prayer meeting that is held at my house. At that meeting, we spoke about God and prayed and read our Bibles freely, even speaking about the incredible freedom and liberty that we have to do so.

Soon the meeting ended and I walked up the street to work. A morning full of computer work and phone calls. Then I went to Wal-mart to buy Christmas presents for the kids in my program, and ended up spending $246 on hats, gloves, socks, and body wash. I drove back to work (in the county-owned car) and popped my lunch in the microwave. After a couple minutes, the aroma of homemade chili warmed the frigid air in my office. I enjoyed a full hour for lunch, safe in my office with my warm food and a new book.

At the end of the day, I walked to my house, where I played with my dogs and changed my clothes ... then proceeded to job # 2. The restaurant was bustling tonight with women whose scarves matched their socks and men whose wallets looked tired from all the Christmas shopping in which they had participated. I served food to people who didn't say thank you or please, and picked at their food and complained if it was too hot or too cold or too sweet or too salty. Without asking any questions, people dished out $30 or $40 for a meal that they could have prepared at home for less than $8. I emptied out plate after plate into the trash, because there "wasn't enough" to take home or someone didn't really "like" the food enough to finish it.

After work, I stopped at the grocery store and grabbed some food for my dogs. The one human-operated register had a long line, so I opted for a "self serve" register where I could check out, pay, and exit the store without speaking to a single, living soul. And I managed to do just that -- I smiled as I looked in the eyes of employees as I was walking out, and was met with blank stares and expressionless faces.

My dogs were happy to see me as I filled up their bowls with food and gave them clean water to drink. We went for a short run outside, and I felt safe in my (fairly) well-lit neighborhood, strong with my healthy body, and capable in my new running shoes.

I enjoyed a warm shower and changed into yet another set of clothes (this time warm flannel pajamas), and sat down to read as I sipped a cup of warm tea that took me just moments to prepare on my electric stove.

I have been revisiting my bookshelves in search of books that I purchased a while back but never read, and just last night I dusted off a book entitled "The aWAKE Project". The subtitle is "United Against the African Aids Crisis". Basically, the work is a collection of pieces written by many well-known figures such as Bono, Philip Yancey, George W. Bush, and Danny Glover.

Here is an excerpt from the first piece (written by journalist Johanna McGeary) that I read tonight. I had to take several breaks to get through the rest of this article, because the tears made it difficult to read:

Imagine your life this way.
You get up in the morning and breakfast with your three kids. One is already doomed to die in infancy. Your husband works 200 miles away, comes home twice a year and sleeps around in between. You risk your life in every act of sexual intercourse. You go to work past a house where a teenager lives alone tending young siblings without any source of income. At another house, the wife was branded a whore when she asked her husband to use a condom, beaten silly and thrown into the streets. Over there lies a man desperately sick without access to a doctor or clinic or medicine or food or blankets or even a kind word. At work you eat with colleagues, and every third one is fatally ill. You whisper about a friend who admitted that she had the plague and whose neighbors stoned her to death. Your leisure time is occupied by the funerals you attend every Saturday. You go to bed fearing adults your age will not live into their 40s. You and your neighbors and your political and popular leaders act as if nothing is happening.

Kinda makes a "not sweet enough" sweet tea and a cold cup of coffee not seem all that important.

the many faces of love

2006-12-03T21:59:00.000-05:00

There are few things I enjoy more than a really good, hearty, full-of-wisdom-and-learning kind of conversation ... and tonight I seemed to have several of those.

It seems that I was most affected by the sharing of words and ideas I had with a recently married friend of mine. It had been a while since I spoke with him, so it was good to catch up and realize that he is the same ol' goofy Mat I always knew (oops, guess there's no anonymity with Krista) -- even if he is now a husband and is living thousands of miles away.

We talked about music and traveling and books and ideas, and it was good and safe ... and then somehow (and I'm still not sure how) we got on the subject of love. It was a little weird at first, because in some ways he is so incredibly different from my old single friend. He suddenly seems older than me (even though he's actually 5 months younger) and tremendously wiser.

While reflecting on our pasts, experiences, and relationships, we realized that there has been a bit of a change -- maybe even an evolution -- in our ideas about love and what it looks like. I still remember similar conversations that he and I had in college, where we questioned if love was really simpler than we made it or maybe more complex than we would ever understand. Because we were friends and somehow skipped past the whole "what if we were more than friends?" deal, we were able to delve into some issues that are sometimes a bit sensitive for men and women to talk about. Tonight we laughed as we recalled how we used to say that we would absolutely know for sure if someone was the "one", because the butterflies would never fly away, and the fireworks would never stop bursting. Our idealistic and romantic college student notions of an effortless kind of love undoubtedly came to us from the poetry we read in our literature courses and the badly written love songs we heard sung at the Friday night coffeehouse by artsy guitar-playing fellow students. There was no substance or reality to our ideas -- they weren't challenged by real life issues of hectic work schedules or mood swings or just the little eccentricities and unpredictable things that life sometimes throws your way.

I caught myself with tears in my eyes tonight as I listened to my newly wise friend talk to me about his discoveries regarding love. He is learning that love is not so much something that you feel or say, but something that you do and live. At first I pelted him with questions: "how do you know you really love your wife?"; "how do you know that she loves you?"; "what do you do when it doesn't feel like that love is there?"; "how do you get that love back?"; "what if that love doesn't come back?"

But soon I found myself shutting up and remaining silent as he poured forth words that were like gold to me. He reminded me that when he first met his wife, he had stronger feelings for her than he ever had for anyone. I remember teasing him at the time, because just a few weeks into their relationship they had both professed their love for each other, and I even heard the "M" word thrown around a bit. I remember being with him a couple times when he was on the phone with her, and hearing the breathless "I love you" at the end of each of those conversations, and hearing him sigh as he hung up the phone. At the time, I wondered how long it would last, or if maybe perhaps it really WAS love -- the kind that would last for as long as they would both live ...

Tonight, as I teased him again about those early days in their relationship, Mat admitted to me that it was so much easier to say "I love you" then because there wasn't as much involved. He could tell Jen he loved her but still hold onto the idea that he would eventually either act on that love or not act on it. It was still just words, really. A few more months into their relationship, things got rocky and soon it grew more difficult to say the words because they meant more. He had said "I love you" to other girls in the past and never really ended up doing much more than saying words and stealing kisses. With Jen, however, the words took on more and more meaning, and for some reason became more and more difficult to say.

Love, Mat told me, is not a thing that he and Jen feel the need to say to each other as much these days ... because their life together gives the opportunity to live it all the time. Jen loves him by washing his clothes and getting up early to turn on the coffeepot so that the coffee will be ready by the time he stumbles out of bed. He loves Jen by leaving her the last bit of the mint chocolate chip ice cream, even though he really, really wants to eat it. Each of them has a different way of loving the other, and those ways are constantly changing as their lives change. Neither way is better or worse -- it's just different.

We got a little deeper and compared love for another person to the act of worship toward God. I remember hearing a sermon once about how we worship God in every thing we do, even in the way we clean our car or brush our hair. It's not necessarily about WHAT we do, but it's about HOW we do it. Mat told me tonight that he has learned (and is still learning) that real love, at its core, is not about whether or not he tells Jen he loves her, or even necessarily what he does to show her that love ... but it's about his intentions and motivations behind whatever words he says (even if he says, "I like your socks") and whatever things he does (even if he just puts her dirty plate from supper into the dishwasher).

He doesn't wonder if he loves her, because he is too busy living out that love. He doesn't wonder if she loves him, because he is wrapped up in living with the way she's living out her love. There are moments when he feels her love more strongly, like when he reads a note that she hid in his pants pocket ... And there are also moments when he feels like he is loving her more, like when he is talking to a friend about his wife and how much he admires her and then realizes how much he really DOES admire her. Or when she is late for dinner and he worries about where she is -- so much so that he calls her cell phone, again and again and again (and again!) ... It is in those moments when the love that he lives is affirmed by his words and feelings, not the other way around ... he doesn't wait for the feelings to be there before he lives out his love for his wife -- he just knows that they will be there or not, at some times stronger than others.

I asked him when this "living out" thing started, and he told me it was when the speaking "love" grew difficult. This is amazing to me, and so beautiful. When they (or really, more specifically he) found it difficult to tell Jen he loved her -- even while they were still only dating -- he just began to look for other ways to express that love that he knew was still there. It felt different, and it took a different face, but it was still love in some shape or form ... and so he held on and lived it.

I still have so many questions, and so few of them got answered tonight. I'm not sure that any of this is new or profound to me. I just am so intrigued by this mystery of love, and how some express it by speaking it ... some express it by worrying about someone who is late for dinner ... some write a note or sing a song or bake cookies ... none of these is right or wrong -- they are all just many different reflections of one powerful ideal.

2006-12-01T12:28:00.000-05:00

I spent my lunch today reading, and I came across a couple of articles that inspired me. They were of the type that I read and then wish that I had been the one to write them -- the authors captured feelings and thoughts in such a way that I was almost envious of the way they did it ...

Nothing all that new or profound, really ... but it is always encouraging to learn of someone exploring new ways of thinking or looking at things. There is power in asking questions and trying to figure things out, or in challenging traditions or practices that have no foundation but are simply held onto just because "that's the way it's always been done." I want to eventually touch on more from these articles, but right now I just want to share a couple quotes that especially struck me:

Most of us think of salvation as the answer to the question, “If you died tonight do you know you’d be in heaven tomorrow?” and perhaps the better question we should ask is, “If you knew you’d be alive tomorrow (and most of us will be), then whom will you follow and how would you live your life?”

Christianity is a way of life. Jesus calls us to die to ourselves in order to walk in his path.

Maybe we’re asking the wrong questions? If so, we’re offering the wrong answers too. This would explain why the majority of people, both inside and outside the Church misunderstand what it means to be a follower of Jesus.

*************************************************************************************

Evangelism, like following Jesus, is all about going to where the broken and the lost and the forgotten are and loving them as Christ loved us. It’s not, I am convinced, about finding new ways to get them to come to us on our terms and to learn to believe the way we believe.

Jesus commanded us to “Go” and the command is still valid today. If we have any hope of accomplishing this command, it will only be as we go out in the power of the Holy Spirit and as we cooperate with Him in the process.

I encourage you to engage others in conversation. Tell your story, and listen to their story. Share your experiences with God in natural ways, not rehearsed speeches, but with a genuine voice of concern and compassion. Love others the way Jesus loved you. Invest in people. Trust that God loves them far more than you ever will, but ask God to teach you to love them more anyway.

allured ...

2006-11-29T09:02:00.000-05:00

This morning marked the premier prayer gathering at my house. I am excited about this new beginning, this opportunity to meet with others (even if it was just one other today) and approach God together. When my alarm went off this morning, I really didn't have these same feelings of appreciation. But then I peeked out the bedroom window and saw the first hints of TODAY in the sky, and I smiled. There's something sacred and almost intimate about being up when so many other people are still sleeping, and of enjoying that time alone with the Creator of my soul. It's like I have discovered this secret corner of the world where no person or care can touch me ... and I am free to indulge in each glorious moment of the pinks and purples and oranges as the sun beckons me into a new day.

Today we read from Hosea and listened to the song below and closed our eyes and got goosebumps as we really, seriously, deeply considered the unexplainable love that God has for us.

Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her.
There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope.
There she will sing as in the days of her youth, as in the day she came up out of Egypt.
"In that day," declares the Lord, "you will me 'my husband'; you will no longer call me 'my master.'"
-- Hosea 2:14-16

He will allure her
He will pursue her
And call her out
To wilderness with flowers in His hand
She is responding
Beat up and hurting
Deserving death
But offerings of life are found instead

She will sing
She will sing
Oh, to You
She will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead her away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

Here in the valley
Walk close beside me
Don’t look back
For love is growing vineyards up ahead
You have called me master
And though you’re in the dark here
Call me friend
And call me lover and marry me for good

She will sing
She will sing
Oh, to You
She will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead her away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

How the story ends is
Love and tenderness in Him
Not safe, but worth it
So in the valleys up ahead
Or in the ones we live
We’ll sing together
We’ll sing together

We will sing
We will sing
Oh, to You
We will sing as in the days of youth
As You lead us away
To valleys low
To acres of hope
Acres of hope

dogs in the bed

2006-11-03T09:52:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I was stuck in traffic behind an old pick-up truck with two dogs in the bed. It was a beautiful fall day, and I found myself growing wistful as I looked at the truck and looked at the dogs and transposed a bit until I was the driver and the dogs in the back were mine. In my version of reality, we were not driving on a paved road lined with shopping plazas and fast-food restaurants, but we were bumping along a dirt road surrounded by trees and mountains and a whole lot of nothing.

It seems like lately there are more and more moments like these for me. I have always known that some part of me needs more air than cities (or even small towns) provide, and that something within me is awakened even at the sight of mountains or horizons lined by nothing but clouds and trees.

Instead of grumbling and complaining about the fact that my car is not a truck and that my house is less than 20 feet away from my neighbors, I will enjoy this time in my life. I embrace those wistful feelings, knowing that they are glimpses of the longings of my heart, and knowing also that they are the destination to which I am headed.

My mind is cloudy lately, and words are tumbling and jumbling together ... but for some reason I can't stop thinking about those dogs in that truck. And the thought makes me smile.

Tonight I took a walk ...

2006-10-28T22:09:00.000-04:00

and I was reminded what a big place the world is. Ok, so I only walked around my neighborhood, but I haven't done that in a while. The weather tonight is incredible, and the conditions were perfect for a nice, long walk: leaves to crunch under my feet, a clear sky with twinkling stars at which to gaze, brisk autumn air, a light breeze, and lots and lots of good thoughts.

It was a good day. A long day, but a good day. Today I took the kids from the program to the zoo. A few mentors went, but it was mostly kids. At the beginning of the day, I issued them a challenge: each of them had to bring a smile to one person (not in our group) today. This may not sound like much of a challenge to you, but for most of these kids the focus of attention is usually on themselves ... they are rarely aware of the fact that there are other people around them, much less concerned about making anyone smile. A couple of them looked at me like I was crazy, but after egging them on a little bit I managed to get everyone to except the challenge.

They pulled it off pretty quickly, so I realized I had been much too easy on them. I gave them a second challenge, pushing them to dig a little deeper and try to find some reason to thank someone and then to express that thanks to them. At first they were just saying "thank you" to someone that held the door, and then running up to me and telling me they were done ... but then they started making me proud and really LOOKING at people and FINDING reasons to thank you. One little girl thanked a man for smiling at her, and one of the boys walked up to a zoo employee and thanked them for taking time to answer a question he had about an animal. Somehow in the context of smelly animals and zoo paths that seemed neverending, these kids were realizing that there was a big world around them.

In the van on the way home, we got into a conversation about my motives behind those challenges, and I explained to the kids that I wanted them to realize the ability they have to impact people and the world around them. I told them that their smiles and "thank you"s might have been the only smile or "thank you" that one of those people would get all day. I thanked each of them and told them that I am sure that each of those people would remember each of them as they looked back on today, and smile when thinking about them. The rest of the ride home was a little quieter than before, and most of the kids had this incredible look of satisfaction on their faces.

In trying to teach the kids a lesson about gratitude and attitude, I was taught a tremendous lesson myself. After many group events, I come home exhausted and sometimes feel like I leave my "work hat" at the door of my house. I spend all day setting an example for these kids, so when I come home I'm ready to focus on me. I was challenged today to wonder what these kids would think if they see me AFTER the activity. Would they still look up to me as they seem to otherwise?

I have been so focused on myself lately. I come home from work and into MY house and think MY thoughts about MY struggles in MY life. My evening walks seem to be a thing of the past lately, as I need MY time to do MY things. But tonight, after the time with the kids at the zoo, my head was full of ideas and I had to go for a walk to try to sort them out. As I walked by houses, I looked at lights in windows and saw figures behind curtains, and I found myself wondering if anyone would look back on their day and think about me and smile because of something I did or said. At the height of this thought process, I heard a noise and looked over and saw a woman sitting on her porch. She looked very sad and for a moment I was tempted to walk by silently and not bother her. But then I heard echoes of my conversation with the kids earlier today, and I waved and smiled and said "hi." We ended up in a conversation that lasted a few minutes, and at the end of it I thanked her for talking to me.

This wasn't a deep post, and it wasn't even that well-written. My thoughts haven't been the most well-constructed lately, and words don't seem to offer a glimpse of what is going on in my head. But I had to write, if only to remind myself of the importance of getting out there and walking around in other people's worlds.

the sincerity of love

2006-09-28T11:20:00.001-04:00

I know it has been a while since I have posted. There is a lot going on in my life, some of which has been hard to face or accept. And of course, if I write about it (in my journal or on this blog), the truth develops a face … instead of it being some abstract idea floating around out there, there is a solidifying of what is going on. If I don’t write or talk about it, it doesn’t change what is happening, but at least there is no real proof or no real account of what is going on.

I will not go into specifics, but let me just say that this is hard. One thing I notice, at least with this situation, is my tendency to push God away at the very time I should be drawing closer to Him. This morning as I was thinking about that, for some reason I was reminded of Romans 12, specifically verses 11 and 12:

Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer.

In verse 9, Paul says that love must be sincere. One of the ways this sincerity or authenticity is manifested is through that zeal and fervor mentioned in the later verses. If love is sincere, it doesn’t change faces just because something difficult is going on. It is consistent and steady and dependable, and that means that someone who is an authentic lover (of God and of others) is consistent in their zeal, fervor, joy, patience, and faithfulness. In these verses Paul draws a picture of someone who represents Christ, who is the perfect embodiment of Love. We see a picture of a person who remains hopeful, and does so with joy. This is a person who is patient, throughout any type of affliction, even if the suffering and trial are unimaginable. And, despite what is going on – whether there is mourning or dancing, this person is faithfully entering into conversations with God about all that is going on around him.

I have fallen so short of hitting the mark on any of these challenges lately. And, today as I reflected on these verses and on who I have been lately, I realized that I am not representing authenticity in my love. The trademark of a real Christian should be love, and love MUST be sincere. If it’s not sincere, it’s not really love. This leaves me to wonder about myself lately, for I haven’t been joyful in hope, I definitely haven’t been patient in affliction, and I cringe when I just type the words "faithful in prayer". But I think I’m on my way to getting back there, slowly. Is zeal something that grows and matures? I hope so, and if so I have hope for the amount of zeal and fervor I will have tomorrow.

Someone asked me how I’m doing today, and all I could say was "ok". Not good, not wonderful, but ok. But I know that today I am better than I was yesterday, and I absolutely plan to be better tomorrow than I am right now. So there is hope, and I find joy in that.

a quick one

2006-08-13T22:53:00.000-04:00

I am heading to bed, and there is so much going on in my head that I am hesitant even open up a window and let a bit slip out ... but I wanted to touch on something really quick.

I have heard that I am gathering quite a following in Louisiana, and I want to say thank you for somehow deeming my words worthy enough to read, and even to print up. I am humbled by the fact that somehow God can use me as a tool to touch anyone in any way, much less by impacting someone so much that they actually cry because of something I wrote. So thank you again for reading, and thank you for thinking, and for feeling ... and thank you for the way that you raised a certain young man who is doing lots and lots of good things every day to make the world a better place. You have good reason to be proud. And I have good reason to be thankful.

God is good, and He does good things, even through messy, inadequate people. To anyone who is reading this right now, I am praying for you and for the amazing things that God is doing in your life today, and for the unimaginable things He will do with and through you tomorrow. Keep your head up and remember that you are royalty, and that you are powerful.

I can only imagine ...

2006-08-09T10:57:00.000-04:00

Last Friday night was my second time playing piano for the residents at a local rest home. I did the same thing as the week before, took requests from the hymnal there in the building. We sang songs like “Count Your Blessings” and “When the Roll is Called Up Yonder”, and I peeked beside and behind me as much as I could, looking at the living testimonies of salvation and grace sitting beside me in wheelchairs and slumped in recliners.

I played and sang a few songs from books that I had brought with me, one of which was the ever-popular “I Can Only Imagine.” To my surprise, most of the residents didn’t seem to know the song, or at least not the way I sang it (which was full of mistakes and wrong notes, I’m sure). But at the end of it I looked over at Marion, the woman who I have come to recognize and appreciate as the loudest singer in the room at any given moment. She had her eyes closed, hands raised, and – though there were tears rolling down her cheeks – a smile dominated her face. I asked her if she liked the song, and she replied (with her eyes still closed and hands still raised), “I was just imagining what it will be like.”

I had to play through the next few songs without singing because of the huge lump in my throat. I made it through another 30 or so minutes of singing and playing, and then I went around the building to say goodnight to some of my new friends. I walked with Marion down the hall to her room (she would not let me push her wheelchair), filled with a sense of envy at the way that this woman lives. No, I don’t envy the fact that she is confined to a wheelchair or shares a small room with another adult. I don’t wish that I could eat cold soup or drink warm sweet tea from a plastic tray brought to me by a person lacking warmth or compassion. I don’t wish that I was a person who needed help to perform basic physical functions …

But I do wish that I had just a tiny measure of the faith that it seems Marion has. I wish that hearing a song would lead me to closing my eyes and seeing Jesus, and imagining what it will be like to bask in His presence someday. I wish that I had the type of joy that it requires to roll down a hallway in a wheelchair and smile at the wonder of being able to use my hands to push myself along the railing.

Something that has been coming up again and again lately is the truth that – as Christians – we are royalty. We have riches and splendor and incredible power at our fingertips, if only we lift up our heads and claim that we are Children of the Most High God. Last Friday night I played piano before royalty. I walked alongside a Queen as she pushed herself along the hallway with a smile on her face and an assurance in her heart that she is wealthy beyond measure. Marion knows that she is regal – she has already claimed her spot at the royal table. Though I can’t see them, I know she is arrayed in fine robes of purple and gold. Her smile is her crown, and her tears are jewels that are evidence of her dignified state … I look forward to spending more time in that place, for I have the feeling that there might be a few more Kings and Queens hiding in some of those not-so-pleasant-smelling rooms. Actually, I get the idea that perhaps the Kings and Queens of the next world are the ones who don’t live in palaces here – it seems like maybe they are the ones who live in humble dwellings and in small circumstances, because they know that they are headed to riches and wonder that this world can’t even fathom.

A quote from The Chronicles of Narnia comes to mind right now:

"'You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,' said Aslan. 'And that is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor in earth.'"

putting faces on the Gospel message

2006-08-02T20:58:00.000-04:00

So tonight I met some new neighbors. I had noticed people carrying in furniture the other day, and I caught a woman's eye and waved to her, and I wrote a quick note to myself "meet the new neighbors". On Sunday night I baked a loaf of strawberry bread, but after several unsuccessful delivery attempts that bread found a different home today.

Tonight was cookie-baking night (yes, I am a dork). I have a couple different people that I baked them for, but I made one batch with these new neighbors in mind. About 30 minutes ago, I walked two houses down with the aluminum foil-covered plate in hand. I had a flyer for my Thursday night Bible study in the other hand. I was a tiny bit nervous, but I was also looking forward to meeting this new little family that I thought I had seen moving in.

I rang the doorbell and heard scurrying around, and suddenly two faces appeared in the window of the front door. They were not the faces of cute little children, or even of a mother and father. They were the faces of two young men. The door opened and I was greeted by a man who was pulling a shirt over his head as he said hello. His hair was up in a ponytail, and he quickly put his hand out and laughed as he said hello again. Actually it was more like a giggle.

I asked if they had just moved in, and two of the men said in unison, "we're performers!" I really had no idea at this point what I had walked into, but I smiled and held out the plate of cookies. I introduced myself and told them I live two doors down from them, and that I wanted to welcome them to the neighborhood. I learned their names, and that they are just staying in the house while they perform in a production at the local theater.

I met two other performers, and they invited me to sit down and chat. I sat down and stayed for a few minutes but I felt incredibly uncomfortable the whole time. I noticed one of the guys looking at the flyer I had handed him along with the cookies, and - to my shame - I mumbled something about having a meeting at my house every week. He asked what it was about, and I said a Bible study, and he didn't really ask any more questions after that. I found out the performers were from New York (City), and "oh my God" they were dying to be in this little country town ... they asked me, "how do you survive????" The conversation was full of laughs (more nervous than actual happy kind of laughter) and talk about New York, and eventually I got up and said I needed to get back.

They shook my hand again and thanked me and promised to have me over for dinner sometime. I left and walked quickly back to my house, fighting the urge to run. It wasn't until I got home and closed my door safely behind me that I felt it. I realized that it was no accident that I met those performers. It is so easy to go up to people who look and talk and maybe even think like me, and to talk to them about a God that they may already believe in. It's probably also easier and a whole lot neater to give medicine to someone who's not really all that sick. But I'm pretty sure that's not what the Gospel, at its core, is about. Jesus said that it's not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. It's not the good, clean people who need to be washed and cleansed ... it's the dirty ones that you don't really want to go near. I don't ever remember reading anything in the Bible about how neat and tidy and easy it is to really share the Gospel with those who need it. If anything, we are told that it will be difficult and challenging, and maybe more than a little bit uncomfortable. I have held back from really describing too much about the men in that house tonight, because I don't know what is true and what is just my condemning heart making a judgement that I have no business making. But, if what I think is the case is really the case, then I have even more of a responsibility to get to know these theatrical fellas, and to love them. It may have started with some cookies (chocolate chip with M&M's, to be precise) but I have a feeling it might end with me facing head-on some ugly things about myself and also learning to love a little more like Christ and less like Krista.

what ships are made for

2006-07-28T12:51:00.000-04:00

“A ship is safe in harbor, but that's not what ships are for.”
-- William Shedd

I came across this quote in something I read last night, and I find myself relating to it very well. I have never been someone who fit in well with the “crowd”. When I was younger, while my sisters played house with the girls down the street, you could find me with the boys building jump ramps at the empty lot on the corner. In high school, while other girls were out shopping at the mall, I was out rollerblading or mountain biking with my friends Damien and Bryan, jumping off of curbs and cliffs and stairs. While my friends from church were hosting slumber parties, I was camping out in a backyard or in the woods or on the bank of a river. I never have been much for conventional things … I actually start to feel uncomfortable when things are too comfortable.

Spending too much time in the tidy, quiet suburbs makes me itch and want to break out into a sprint toward one of two extremes: desolate, country, dirt roads or dirty, crowded, concrete sidewalks. I feel out of my element if I feel too safe, and I feel gluttonous when I spend too much time focused on myself or indulging in “creature comforts”. I don’t feel like the easy, safe, comfortable, quiet, self-centered life is something for which I am cut out.

After a recent conversation with someone about church, I was reflecting on a time in my life that probably represented the opposite of anything easy, safe, comfortable, quiet, or self-centered. It was when I was still up in Rochester – I used to help a bunch at a soup kitchen in the city, and I was also pretty involved with an outreach to homeless people. Looking back on it now, I don't know how I did so much with so little time. I used to basically get out of my work (at the publishing company) and walk the two miles home, then drive over to the soup kitchen. I did that almost every night for quite a while – if the doors were open, I was there. I prepared meals, I went out and did street evangelism, I drove people home, and I led worship or sometimes sang for the “coffee house” that they held on Friday nights. I lived on that stuff … I thrived on the energy of other people.

Although that time was probably a time in my life that I left most alive, I also remember it being a time when I felt most alone. Though I knew quite a few people who came to the soup kitchen occasionally to help, they always seemed to arrive late and leave early, and their presence was inconsistent and unreliable. As I began to build relationships with the people coming to the center, I made a commitment to myself, and a silent commitment to them, to do all that I could to be sure that there was no possible way they could avoid hearing the Gospel, or experiencing God’s love. My heart grew incredibly during that time, but it also broke often. There were lots of times when I had a trunk full of grocery bags filled with food to take to some of the homeless people, but there was no one around or willing to go with me. I used to plead with God to send along at least one person (preferably a male) who shared my passion and desire to do all that I could to be His hands and feet … but week after week, I found myself alone.

It got to the point where I would get angry, and - even though it was probably pretty foolish to do this – I would go alone. I usually had to try to work around the warnings and looks of concern from the leaders of the soup kitchen (who always seemed to have other things to do once the doors were closed) – I probably lied sometimes and told them I was meeting someone else, or maybe I just snuck out before they had a chance to ask … but I could not ignore the stirring inside about going and being there when people expected me to be. Sometimes I would not take groceries at all, but would instead go buy a couple pizzas and drive to the old subway tunnels (where a bunch of guys I knew lived). I was always careful to just holler in for them to come to me, instead of going into the dark tunnels alone. For a few months, this is what I did every Friday night. The toothless, alcohol-scented men used to tease me that I was the luckiest girl in town, to have a date every week with five or six such handsome guys as them. As I continued to build friendships with the guys, I felt safe, and they actually said they would "take care of me" whenever any new guys came around and weren't all that respectful.

Right around that same time, I was helping at a church plant that met in a low-income apartment complex. I helped lead worship, make coffee (not brew coffee, but pour coffee and add the right amount of tea and sugar – I still remember that David liked two sugars and one cream, and Willie liked two creams and one sugar), and do whatever else needed to be done … and I still feel that THAT church was the best picture I have seen so far of what heaven will be like. People who were confined to wheelchairs smiled and clapped their hands and overflowed with the joy of Christ. Some weeks, I was convinced I could see huge, beaming smiles on faces that were paralyzed by disease and illness. People who smelled terrible and looked like they hadn't bathed in weeks suddenly became beautiful as the love of God radiated from their ruddy cheeks.

One man whose face is permanently written on my heart is Willie, whose body was confined to a wheelchair, but whose heart freely chased after, tackled, and captured mine, week after week. From the front of the community room, as I sang “The Battle Belongs to the Lord” or “Victory is Mine”, my eyes would well up again and again as I saw Willie clapping and laughing and singing with his eyes. He was unable to speak, and I never did quite determine what it was that led to him being bound in a wheelchair (though I think it had something to do with a major accident), but his life screamed out words of love and joy and victory. Every week, he would motion for me to come over to his chair, and he would open his Bible and show me very specific verses or pictures. There seemed to be a specific order to his story too, as he would show me one verse and then grunt “and then” (one of the few phrases I could understand) and then motion to another verse. Willie taught me how to listen without actually hearing, and how to recognize Christ in a person who was of a different skin color, age, and ability than any handsomely painted Jesus I had ever seen.

Thinking back, I realize that that part of my life was one of the times when I felt I was closest to seeing what worshipping, serving, and growing (what I think church is SUPPOSED to be about) look like.

Though I continued to be involved at the church, eventually I pulled away from the homeless outreach to lead a neighborhood outreach in which we designated two blocks in a pretty rough part of the city, and intentionally positioned ourselves in the houses and lives of those people every Saturday morning. We termed this outreach “Adopt a Block”, and it was actually modeled after a larger ministry that I had seen while on a missions trip in Los Angeles, California. The idea behind the outreach was incredibly simple, yet wildly profound: knock on someone’s door and talk to them about any needs they have, then do the best that you can to meet that need and love them while doing it. For the first six or seven months, our “group” consisted of three people. In time it grew, as various young men decided to pursue the only young woman of the group, but then quickly lost heart and stamina when they realized that she was not there for them, but for the people of the neighborhood. The same type of thing happened with a couple different women, who came only to request to be on so-and-so’s team, and seemed inconvenienced by the thought that they should be carrying bags of groceries and talking to residents, instead of carrying on conversations with the object of their crush. My prayers during this time were lengthy and full of lots of me asking “why, God?”

I found myself pushing through the week with my focus on Saturday morning, and how excited I was to sit down and talk to Nilka, Abraham, Joseph and all of the other friends I grew to know and love. I was able to experience the privilege and honor of praying with people who claimed that they didn’t believe in God. I sat in houses that I had heard were drug houses and opened my Bible and shared stories and tears with large Hispanic men with layers of gold chains and sleeves of tattoos, and I felt God there with us. It almost hurts to think back on those times now, because I feel so far removed from any of that. My life almost seems too safe again, and I wonder why that is.

One reason for all of this reflection is because tonight I am starting out on something new. I won’t be knocking on any front doors or shouting into any subway tunnels, but I will be sitting down at a piano in front of a group of elderly people. I will open up a hymnal and sing songs and hopefully meet some needs or touch on some desires. I will pray and touch frail hands and probably cry a little bit. The hope is that I will somehow carry God to that rest home tonight. I was asked out to dinner tonight, and that would be the safe thing, and maybe the enjoyable thing … but in my heart, I know it’s not what I’m made for. As long as there are people somewhere hurting, I know where I need to be. God has put too much inside of me for me to ignore that and turn that off as I sit on the couch, watch a movie, and stuff myself with popcorn. My heart is screaming way too loud for me to somehow tune it out as I sit down to eat an overpriced dinner in a stuffy restaurant and engage in a conversation involving things about which I really do not care. Life is big and scary and dangerous and tiring and loud, and love is messy and painful and inconvenient … but it’s what I have been made for, and it’s what I’m chasing after.

the perfect church

2006-07-27T12:35:00.000-04:00

I am hungry. Not for food. But for a real church. For a real community. To be a part of an organism that has been built by God: a living being that infects its community and points people toward God, constantly and with every single activity and outreach and gathering that it holds.

Today I listened to a sermon online that dealt with this topic, and it gave me goosebumps. The pastor spoke about us catching even just a tiny glimpse of what God wants to build here on earth, and as I listened to the excitement in his voice I felt my pulse quickening. The text for the sermon was Acts 2:41 – 47:

Those who accepted his message were baptized, and about three thousand were added to their number that day. They devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and to the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Everyone was filled with awe, and many wonders and miraculous signs were done by the apostles. All the believers were together and had everything in common. Selling their possessions and goods, they gave to anyone as he had need. Every day they continued to meet together in the temple courts. They broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts, praising God and enjoying the favor of all the people. And the Lord added to their number daily those who were being saved.

I know I have written about this before, but it has taken on a renewed importance for me, as it seems I have once again discovered myself “church-less.” I have had several conversations with different people, in which I have been accused of searching for the “perfect church” or being “too critical.” It has gotten to the point where I have started to question if maybe I am looking for something that doesn’t really exist. But I can’t ignore the conviction in my heart that “church” is more than teams or committees or clever props or cool bulletin graphics. It’s more than perfectly coordinated church choir robes and family singing groups and whether or not you make a big deal out of wearing a suit, or a big deal out of wearing flip-flops. How much we must insult God by our Sunday morning circus acts! How foolish we must appear to the outside world, who honestly probably doesn’t care whether or not the pew cushions match the new carpet, or whether or not they can bring their coffee cup into the sanctuary with them.

I am being reminded lately that church has nothing to do with a building or a denomination. Church, if it’s done right, is completely about people … about people doing normal, everyday things like eating bread together and giving someone a pair of pants if they don’t have any. It’s about walking by someone on the street and looking up and acknowledging them, instead of casting your eyes to the ground to avoid saying “hi” to a stranger. Church is not limited to Sunday mornings – we have the opportunity and the privilege to “do” church at any given moment on any given day. We don’t need a degree from a seminary to be a pastor … because of the country in which we live, we have the incredible freedom to carry our Bible with us, and to open it and share truth with someone, whether we know that person or not. We don’t need to be elected to a committee to lead worship – we can grab a guitar and a song book and stand on a street corner or in the community room of a rest home, and we can sing songs about Jesus and the hope we have through Him. We don’t need to wear a special nametag that designates us as a greeter, we can look all around us and see people just yearning for someone to say hello to them and to make them feel welcome, wherever they happen to be. If you want to be involved in outreach, open your door, walk out of your house, knock on your neighbor’s door, and invite them to come over. Open up your Bible and pray and talk and challenge each other and stay up late wrestling with truth and ideas and passions. If you want to be a part of a prayer ministry, turn off the tv and fall to your knees and talk and listen to God. Think about the people you talked to that day and ask God to bless them and reach them and touch needs that you don’t even know exist.

When I heard that message today, I was filled with a renewed sense of hope, as I am reminded what church really is supposed to look like. I am not searching for the perfect church, I am searching for a church that IS chasing after a perfect God. The passage mentions that “everyone was filled with awe” … how often do any of us find that about churches today? What are the chances of finding a church that functions so well that it inspires awe within you – or even more, that it inspires awe within someone who is not saved?

The believers in the passage couldn’t get enough – they couldn’t get enough of God, of prayer, of fellowship with each other. They weren’t looking at their watches or craning their necks toward the clock on the wall to see if it was noon yet, and if they were free to go their own ways toward all-you-can-eat buffets and Sunday afternoon naps. No! They were glad and sincere about enjoying the favor of all the people. They gave things away so that they could bless their brothers and sisters. They left one place (a church building, maybe?) and went together to another (homes) … they shared stimulating conversation and joy and tears and a hunger and a unified passion and vision. They worshipped God through all that they did. THIS is what I am looking for, and I am convinced that until I find it – I will continue to feel that I am missing out on something big.

This doesn’t mean that I stop going to church, or that I decide to start holding my own services on Sunday morning with my dogs. It means that, until I connect with a community that has a real focus on God, I "do" church on my own. I visit, I pray, I reach out, I love, I write notes to friends, I send cards to missionaries, I open doors and let in strangers, I get in front of groups of elderly people and sing my off-tune heart out, I bake cookies for neighborhood children, I keep sandwiches in my car to hand out to homeless people, I open my Bible and share a verse with a friend who is discouraged, I engage … I live church as best I know how, not because I am any better than anyone else, but because I can not compromise what I know to be true. God has done something within me, and for that I will have to answer to Him.

This hunger for community within me is there for a reason, and I am starting to think that reason is so that somehow God can show me what church should be about. The ultimate end in all of this, in what a church should be, and in anything I do, is the glory of God … so I will keep on doing what God shows me to do, and maybe someday (soon, hopefully) I will find myself beside other people who are doing the same.

consider the daisies

2006-07-24T11:24:00.000-04:00

Lately it seems my thoughts have been focused on children. You might think that this would be the norm with me, since my full-time job is all about youth, and then I also work with them in a volunteer capacity in a variety of settings. But I guess sometimes, to my shame, I find myself going through the motions and not really engaging in what it is that I am doing. I call a child and have a conversation so that I can check a box on my monthly contact log. I type a name into a computer so that a file is created in my client tracking system, but I don’t always pause to consider that the name represents a small life, full of pain and joy and tears and laughter.

This past weekend I was reminded again and again of how precious life is, especially when it is found in small bodies and young hearts. On Saturday, I spent the day with a group of kids from church. I found myself in a canoe for several hours with two little girls named Courtney and Jordan. They are sisters, and they are living through moments and days that no child should have to experience. They ask questions and make statements that hurt a heart as big and supposedly strong as my adult one. While paddling along a river, we talked about God and about families and about things that we fear. Both of these girls told me that when they are home, they really don’t feel “at home” … they said that their lives are “crazy” (yes, an 11-year-old actually said this) and that sometimes they wish things could just be normal. They don’t have a dad, but it’s ok because they have a pastor that they like. They are sometimes scared of going to sleep at night, because they wonder if things will “be ok” when they wake up in the morning.

This was my first time meeting them, so I didn’t pry for more details on some of the more sensitive topics, but I got the sense that these little ladies deal with more on a daily basis than some adults ever even think about in a lifetime. We made it through the day, and it seems that I made at least one special friend as a result of that time … but I also now have two little lives on my heart, and I am asking God to show me what to do to help them know that they have every right to wake up and expect things to be “ok”, for the rest of their lives.

Yesterday I ended up thinking about youth in a totally different way. In the afternoon, while driving past a cemetery, I noticed a big church van parked there, and a group of seven or eight kids filtering out of the van. Curious to know more, I pulled over and watched as the group gathered around a tombstone, and linked hands. They were obviously praying – some of the teens fell to their knees, while others seemed to be comforting each other. I wanted desperately to walk over and ask them the story behind their actions, but I very strongly felt the desire to respect their privacy and space in that moment. I waited until they walked slowly back to the van and pulled away, and I drove over to the area where they had been. I got out and carefully walked over to where I had seen them, and scanned the tombstones for some kind of an explanation for what I had just witnessed.

And then I saw it: the grave marker for a 14-year-old girl. There was a picture of her lovingly taped to the marble stone - the scotch tape wasn't holding too well, and the color on the photograph was faded and yellow. There were various stuffed animals and trinkets piled around the stone, and as I looked at the date of her death, I realized it had been exactly one year before the date on which I stood there. I knelt before the stone and carefully poked through the objects, and I found a tattered piece of notebook paper. The writing (obviously that of a teenage girl) was faded and some words were impossible to make out, but I got a sense that this death had been the result of an illness. I don’t remember all of what was written, but this is what I jotted down in the notebook that I went and got out of my car:

Dear Lindsay,

You’ve only been gone for a week, and I miss you so much. I saw the prettiest daisy the other day, and I picked it for you, because I know that is your favorite flower. And then I realized I wouldn’t be able to give it to you because you’re gone. I went back home and I cried when I thought about how you wouldn’t be here this summer to splash in the pool, or to stay up late and eat ice cream with, or to laugh and joke about the boys in school with. But I feel better when I think about your body and how it doesn’t hurt now. Your pretty blonde hair is there again, and your legs are strong now. You’re running and jumping around and laughing way more than you ever did here, and if I close my eyes I can almost hear your crazy laugh. When I start to feel sorry for myself or to worry about things, I think about you and how strong you were, and I know that I can do anything I set my mind to. I went out this morning and picked a whole bunch of flowers and put them in a vase in my room. I will keep on doing this to help me remember how you lived your life, and I won’t be able to be sad anymore. Thank you for being my friend.

Love Always,
Kelsey

I sat by that tombstone and prayed for a while and thought about how I had just been blessed and educated by someone half my age who wasn’t even in this world anymore. I ended up calling the church and leaving a message on the machine … I am hoping to be able to make contact with an incredible girl named Kelsey and share with her how much her words meant to me, and how much I know she must have meant to Lindsay.

This morning, I experienced a different spin on my reflections on youth and the invaluable lessons that they offer. I read an article about a family in Lebanon that has suffered tremendous loss, and is continuing to undergo extreme difficulty. I am sure this story is just one of many, but given my experiences this past weekend, this story impacted me greatly. Apparently this family of six had set out to enjoy a vacation on the beaches of Lebanon. Their plans understandably changed a bit when all of the fighting broke out, and they were heading north to flee from danger. An Israeli bomb or missile slammed into their car, instantly taking the life of the father and wounding all four of the children. The account that I read takes the reader to the hospital, to the bedside of 8-year-old Mahmood, whose little body is covered with severe burns, and who has blood coming from his eyes. Lying in the bed beside him is his 8-month-old sister Maria, who is also badly burned, and is screaming her little lungs out. Their mother stands by, helplessly wailing at the state of her children and awaiting news of the hopeful success of the intensive surgeries of her two older children, whose fate is unknown.

Today I am tempted to close and lock my office door and spend all day talking to God about Jordan, Courtney, Lindsay, Kelsey, Mahmood, Maria, and hundreds of thousands of other children who experience things that you and I can’t even imagine. I feel convicted, burdened, undeserving, helpless, confused, and a little bit upset … but I also feel hopeful, grateful, assured, and comforted as I look up and realize that God is still in control. Through the hurt and the tears, the shrieks and wails, the life-consuming illness and the excruciating pain, God is still perfect. His ways are incomprehensible. He loves these little ones and He draws them to Him. I don’t understand the “how” or “why”, and I’m not sure I ever will … but I don’t need to. I know the “who” and maybe right now that is enough.

I walk away from this weekend and this morning with a new perspective – I want to walk up to children I don’t know and pick them up and squeeze them and tell them I love them. I want to somehow let them know that it WILL be ok … God, please show me how to do this.

almost famous, but not quite

2006-07-23T09:05:00.000-04:00

If you read this, you can say "I knew her when ...". Actually, you can still say it even if you don't read it - but if you read it, you can say "I knew her when ... AND I read an article that she wrote. Which article, you ask? Oh yes, the one where they SPELLED HER NAME WRONG on the author line." Cool.

If you need to further clarify WHICH article it was that you read, you can say that it was the one from which somehow the following was omitted (I am going to have a little chat with the "editors" over there):

I was lulled to sleep by the sound of a steady river, the comfort of strong arms, and a heart beating steadily in time with my own. I was struck with wonder at the magic and excitement of a first kiss, a second kiss, and a third kiss …

2006-07-20T21:06:00.000-04:00

Ok, so I know I need to write more about Louis and why I fell in love with him. I think it happened again today, as I remembered some of the lyrics that he sang on Tuesday night and went onto napster and found the song. Even tonight, I felt my heart sink again as I listened to the song.

First let me explain where I went on Tuesday night. It was a local bluegrass venue ... and it might just have been the best kept secret that I have come across since moving down to North Carolina. This is the place I always somehow knew existed, on those quiet Friday summer evenings, when I was itching to hear good music and to feel like someone really understood my soul. I wish I could say that I discovered this place on my own, but I have to give my friend Matthew the credit. He told me about it a while back, but I wasn't able to go until just recently.

On Tuesday night I drove to this little out-of-the-way-town (if you think I'm telling you the name, you're crazy!) and looked for the little pottery shop I had been told about. I pulled up to a barn surrounded by cars - mostly trucks, and most of them looked older than me. There were some older men standing out front and they looked at me suspiciously as I eased my little NY-plated car onto the dirt road alongside the building. As I drove to the back of the building I saw even more cars. In fact the line of parked cars didn't seem to have an end. I had thought for sure I would be arriving to a small building with just a few people buzzing around ... instead it seemed I had stumbled into a local hot spot. It was only about 10 minutes after the festivities were supposed to have started, but there were TONS of people there.

I parked and walked up to the front door, feeling very suspicious in my gender especially (I had not seen another female yet) but somehow feeling a strange sense of familiarity about the place. I said hello to several different groups of men outside and walked in to find myself in a very hot pottery studio. I followed the sounds of laughter and guitars and ended up in a hot room filled with people and chairs and tables. I found a seat at a table, next to a woman who I came to know as Judy. Judy and I talked and she was surprised when I told her it was my first time there. She squeezed my arm and praised my courage for coming to a place like that "all by my lonesome". It seemed that I had associated myself with a woman who knew people, and I was promptly introduced to Jesse, Merv, TJ, and Clyde, "the man behind all the fun" there. I couldn't believe how friendly people were to me (even after hearing my Yankee accent and teasing me about it), and also how much they tried to get me to eat.

Though I was more than satisfied in the company of my new friends, I found myself a bit disappointed that I didn't hear any music playing. At just about the same time as I finished having that thought, I saw a door on the other side of the room quickly open and quickly close, revealing a brief glimpse of soft lighting and sweet music. I asked Judy what was behind the door, and she told me that's "where it all happens". I found out that's where the bluegrass is played. I had thought they played out in that first room, and apparently they had at some point, but the whole event had gotten so big that they built on a performance hall of sorts. I was able to be cordial with Judy for a few more minutes before I walked quickly back to the door I had seen open only a few times.

As I closed the door behind me, my eyes adjusted to the soft glow of white twinkle lights draped along the walls. The stage was filled with eight people of various shapes and sizes, but they all had one thing in common: each of them held in their hands some type of stringed instrument, and from that instrument was flowing pure silk. I found a seat ... at first glance I thought all of the seats in the row were reserved, because they all had homemade seat cushions on them. But I soon discovered that all of the chairs had those cushions on them. I sat down and didn't get up again for about 3 hours.

It was incredible. I couldn't stop smiling, with my mouth, but also with my eyes and with my heart. Every concern and worry and care dropped away as I witnessed people pouring their souls into the strings of a guitar or banjo, and spilling their hearts into a microphone. It was beautiful and magical, and I'm not sure that I have ever experienced anything quite like it.

Several different bands came up to play ... basically the "official procedure" seemed to be that if you wanted to play, you gathered up your "band" and stood by the side of the stage to wait for the band that was on stage to come down. The first band was amazing, and I didn't want them to stop. The second bad was good, but I honestly think my heart had gotten off the stage with the first band and gone somewhere back into the other room to sit down and eat more collard greens and corn.

The second band was almost done with their songs, and I was looking forward to a change ... and THEN Louis sang. I had noticed him before, leaning back against the wall playing the huge stringed bass. He was a big man, and he was wearing a bright orange shirt with his name embroidered on a name tag that was stiched onto the shirt, and he had on a camoflauge baseball hat. He had spoken earlier in the show, and his words had been slurred and spoken in a strong country lilt, and I found it difficult to understand him. Somehow or another there was mention that he worked for the town's water department, and the bulk of what he spoke about seemed to be jokes on why "he's so fat" and how he ate up all the corn at the dinner that night. Nothing really disgusted me about Louis, but nothing really struck me about him either. I had seen him out in the pottery studio earlier, just after being referred to as a "sweet little thang" by several gentlemen. Louis didn't call me a sweet thang with his mouth, but everything about his gaze seemed to suggest he felt the same.

Anyway, back to the song ... apparently this is a song that some woman in the audience had asked him to sing, and he had been teasing her by waiting until the end. The song started with the driving low notes of the stringed bass and then the guitar, mandolin, and fiddle came in. I liked the sound but was still ready for the next band. Then Louis opened his mouth and began singing. His voice was like nothing I had heard before. It was all kinds of things wrapped up in one. It was raw emotion and soul and I had to close my eyes in an attempt to filter out the intensity of what I was experiencing. I don't really want to say the name of the song, because it has since taken on a special sacredness for me. I think this will be one of those songs that - if someone knows it - will immediately prove someone's worth and demand my respect for them. Incredible.

As I closed my eyes and rubbed at the goosebumps on my arms, I wondered if I could love a man like Louis. I wondered if I could live a life with my eyes closed, as long as I was with someone who sang like that. It sounds terrible and shallow and mean, but when I had my eyes closed Louis turned into a stunning man with rugged good looks. I didn't want the song to end, but obviously it eventually did. I found myself, along with the people around me, rising to my feet to clap and shout for Louis. It was incredible.

As the next band came on, the music seemed to slow and the twinkle lights seemed to twinkle a bit more softly. Older couples took their places at the fringes of the room and swayed closely to the music. Something about the place felt comfortable and sweet and right. For some reason, the rest of the evening I couldn't stop thinking about my future. I thought what the summer nights of the rest of my life might be like someday ... I thought about being in the arms of my husband. No, I didn't really fall in love with Louis. But I fell in love with the idea of the feeling I got while listening to Louis.

I am learning a little bit more about what I want, for my life, and in a man. I am not a checklist person, where I will completely push someone away if they aren't meeting certain requirements that I think are important. But I have established some non-negotiables, even if I am flexible about how they are expressed. If ever I find someone who is man enough for me, he must do the following things:
- slow-dance with me in the living room, to the song that Louis sang and to others
- hold me in the morning (and kiss me at least once), even if I have morning breath and my hair is scary-looking
- wrestle with me on the front lawn (or really, anywhere) and not be afraid that he is going to hurt or break me
- bring me flowers "just because" ... not flowers from a fancy florist, but wildflowers from a field on the side of the road, or from a garden (mine or someone else's)
- get up earlier than me in the morning to start the coffee and to bring me a cup as I'm waking up
- stay up with me at night to lay under the stars and talk about the rest of our lives
- recognize my strength (see the wrestling comment) but still need to be the "strong one"
- go skinny-dipping with me in a mountain stream (this is AFTER we're married, remember)
- enjoy listening to, and appreciate a wide spectrum of music - from songs like "American Woman" to "Gettin' Jiggy Wit' It" to "Sunshine on My Shoulders"
- be the one to suggest hopping in the car and driving to the mountains or the beach (preferably the mountains), just for the day
- scream louder than me on roller coasters
- pray for me
- cry in front of me
- pray in front of me
- cry for me
- dance not-slow with me (to songs like "American Woman" and "Gettin' Jiggy Wit' It")
- surprise me (not with anything in particular ... I'm just pretty quick, so it takes a lot to surprise me)

... I know there are other things, and maybe it's silly to write a list like that. But those were just things that, for one reason or another, were on my mind on Tuesday night as I looked around that room and saw couples who have probably been married for more years that I have been breathing air in this place. I looked at them dancing closely and felt a happiness about the sweetness of what they were sharing at that moment.

I also have decided that I want to raise up children in this kind of culture. Maybe not in North Carolina, and maybe not exactly with bluegrass music (though that would be wonderful) ... but a culture where a man is not embarassed to call his wife "sug" and to smack her butt as she walks past him. A culture where a man is not too much of a man to walk out onto a dirty cement floor and pull his wife close to him, despite the fact that neither of them is a very good dancer and they move a bit off beat to the music. A culture where a complete stranger invites you to sit down and eat a dinner and won't let you pay a cent for it, despite the fact that everyone else is handing money to the cashier at the end of the table. Sure, the people I met the other night might be "unrefined" ... they might not have college degrees, or even high school degrees. But they have heart. They have soul. And they live life by loving it and loving each other and not worrying about what anyone else might think of them. There were some kids there the other night, and they all seemed to have huge grins on their faces. I didn't hear any whines about the flavor of soda, or whether or not there was an X-box to play ... they were out there dancing and laughing and even playing mandolin. It was good, and right, and real, and it hurts me to think about the fact that some people never ever know that kind of reality exists.

One more thing I look forward to (well, there are lots, but here is just one) ... Louis singing that song at my wedding someday. I will find that big, goofy, giant of a man, and I will buy him a clean bright orange shirt and a new camouflauge hat, and I will dance slowly with my new husband (not Louis, he'll be there with his stringed bass, singing) as he croons and takes the guests' (there won't be many of them) breath away.

today I fell in love

2006-07-19T16:11:00.000-04:00

with the God of thunder, lightning, and rain.

*************

Last night I fell in love with a large water maintenance worker named Louis.

*************

more to follow later ...

the wrong formula, the right response

2006-07-18T12:29:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, while volunteering at the local outreach center, I experienced an interesting thing. I was only about 5 minutes into my “shift” and I was given the file for a Hispanic woman. The coordinator came over to speak to me about this particular family, warning me that they actually weren’t eligible for food that day (there is a 10-day wait period from one visit to the next, and it had only been 5 days since their last visit). She also told me that the family had come to the center on Saturday to get clothes from the thrift store, and had insisted on receiving one free bag of clothing for each family member. This particular family consists of 10 people (2 adults and 8 children of various ages and parentage).

Armed with a warning not to let the woman take advantage of me, I called out her name and walked her back to the interview area. As it turned out, the girl who was there yesterday was the oldest child of the family, a 17 year old girl with a child on each hip and another little one in tow. As I looked through the application, I learned that the two children on her hips were actually her children and not her siblings. I smiled and introduced myself and asked her if I could pray with her. Unfortunately, none of the other interviewers do this, so she wasn’t quite sure how to answer … but she breathed a sigh of impatience as if to say “whatever” and nodded. I prayed and thanked God for her and her family, and I praised Him for being able to meet her needs better than I or that center ever could, and I also asked that God would somehow use me that day to help to meet her physical needs. When I finished praying, I opened my eyes to see a blank stare and the still-present look of disgust, but I pressed on with a smile stuck to my face.

I explained to Angelica that she was not eligible to receive food again yet, and asked her what it was that she needed. She told me that they didn’t get diapers, formula, or clothes last week – like they asked for. I explained to her that - while we can request specific items from the pantry - there are no guarantees that we have those items. She sighed again and nodded. I asked for more details about clothing, and told her that it looked like we had given her some on the previous Saturday. She replied with a sharp, “well, we didn’t get what we needed.” I smiled again and explained that the thrift store operates under the same circumstances as the food pantry, and that we can never guarantee a specific item but will do what we can to help.

I filled out a request for formula and diapers, and was just about to hand it off to 11-year-old Ashley (the runner for the day) when Angelica spoke up and asked if I had written down what kind of formula it was that she NEEDED. I hadn’t, so I pulled back the request form and wrote the brand and type of formula that she specified. I shook her hand and thanked her for coming, and wished her a good day. She started to walk away but turned on her heel and asked “what about the clothes?” I told her that someone else would be writing out the request for that, and we would give it to her with the food when it was ready. She rolled her eyes and walked away.

Usually I go straight from one interview to the next, but this time I walked back into the office and closed the door and exhaled deeply, hoping that somehow I could breathe out all of the ugliness that was brewing inside of me. I prayed for God to go with Angelica and those children and to help them feel His love. I prayed for God to please remove the thoughts that were burning in my mind and heart. I took a deep breath, walked back to the front, picked up the next folder, and began the interview process again.

After I finished the next interview with Chester, a man I am beginning to recognize from the center, the local soup kitchen, and also the streets in my neighborhood, I looked out into the waiting area and saw Angelica. She was walking back in with a plastic grocery bag in hand and a look of mixed disgust and anger on her face. She came up to me and said, “this is not the formula I need.” I told her that it was possible that we didn’t have what she needed, and that I had written the request – but that it was just that: a request, and not a guarantee. She threw the bag on the desk and said, “but that’s the kind I need!” People in the waiting area were craning their necks to see what was going on, and I put my hand on Angelica’s shoulder in an attempt to calm her. She pulled away sharply and glared at me. I took another deep breath (I must have been claiming all of the air in that little building yesterday) and said I would see what I could do. I walked to the pantry area and explained the situation to the man in charge. As it turned out, they happened to have the exact formula Angelica wanted, but for some reason the teenager reading the form didn’t catch what I had written.

I mustered up a smile on my face and pushed open the door to the waiting area. I walked over to Angelica and handed her the bag and apologized for the confusion. Again, she rolled her eyes and began to walk away, but turned and reminded me about the clothing request. I went upstairs and spoke to the coordinator, and she wrote up a voucher so that Angelica and her family could come back on Saturday to get clothing.

It was nearing closing time and there were no more people to interview, so I snuck into the back office and closed the door again. My head was spinning with unbelief at how ungrateful this young Hispanic girl seemed to be. What nerve – to ask for help, and then demand that she receive that help in a specific way or through a specific thing. I was feeling quite self-righteous and pretty smug, when suddenly I was able to see a parallel between Angelica and myself. My eyes welled up with tears at the truth that I am very much like Angelica, in so many ways.

I pray and ask God for help, and I place my requests before Him … and I wait for Him to come through. Sometimes I am good at waiting and trusting and letting go, knowing that He is sovereign and that His plan and timing are perfect. Other times I sit and tap my foot impatiently and wonder what is taking Him so long. And then sometimes He does give an answer, but it’s nothing like the answer that I want or that I think I need. How many times have I “surrendered” something to God, but then been upset or disgusted with the answer that He gives? How many times have I come back to Him and suggested that He made a mistake or didn’t really pay attention to my original request? The truth of it is that He has something better in store for me, no matter what I think I need or what I could ever possibly dream of. And the right (although incredibly difficult) response is “Thank you.”

keep it in perspective

2006-07-17T10:40:00.000-04:00

Lately I have been reminded of the importance of keeping things in perspective. I’ve sort of been stumbling around in a haze in my life, with all kinds of decisions surrounding me, and the feeling like I need to take action on ALL of them now. It’s enough to make a girl want to lock herself in her house with coffee and books and lots and lots of blank notebooks. Sometimes I really do think life would be so much easier if I kept to myself and managed a very small and predictable world of my own creation. But how incredibly drab and devoid of variety and “ahhh” moments and tears and belly-laughs that kind of world would be! So I press on, forging through the fog and confusion and uncertainty, trusting fully that my God and His grace is more than enough to sustain me and satisfy my longings better than I ever imagined.

As I move forward, I look around me, and through the mist I see that I am traveling through an awe-inspiring landscape. I catch brief glimpses of mountains and as I reflect on their enormity I realize how small I really am. I have been spending a lot of time in the Psalms lately, and God has been reminding me that, in spite of how accomplished or capable I may feel, I am in actuality just dust. My days are like grass … at times I get distracted by feelings of self-importance, as if the future of the whole world depends on whether I pursue this or follow that desire. But then I read verses like Psalm 103:16, and I am smacked in the face with the truth that all of my achievements and successes are like flowers in the field that can be blown away with one big gust of wind. When all is said and done, none of those things will be remembered.

My soul has been consumed lately with a longing for something more, and I am coming to recognize that the “more” that I crave is nothing that can be found here. There is a land that lies just past the horizon, a place of such indescribable beauty that my mind can barely conceive of its existence. It’s tempting sometimes to think so much on that destination that I no longer desire to continue the journey on which I travel now. My heart grows faint and I (like David) call out to God to lead me to the “rock that is higher than I”. Take me away from this wasteland, Lord, and carry me into the splendor and brightness of that land beyond. But He doesn’t. I’m still here. And lately I have been reminded that I really don’t have it so bad.

I am not a news-watcher. But lately I haven’t been able to stop reading stories about what is going on in the world that exists outside of Krista-land. If anything will help to put these into perspective pretty quickly, it’s stories of what is going on in those far-away lands like Lebanon, Iraq, Indonesia, and other places. Of course it’s easier if I don’t watch the news and don’t think about the thousands of people whose lives are being changed or even lost, but it’s not reality. It sort of makes my little decisions pale in comparison, when I hear stories about worlds being ripped apart as they are. I don’t even know how to pray for these lands or these people or what is going on there, but I can’t stop praying about these things. And when I do so, the whole idea that “I am dust” really becomes even more solid.

Even now, to think about the things that are happening, something like posting on a blog doesn’t really seem all that important. It almost seems like a joke, the things that I do: coming to work to sit in an office, talking on the phone to mentors and kids, filling out spreadsheets and replying to emails. Right now, at this moment, there is someone dying simply because of the fact that they happen to live on a certain street in a certain country, and that street happened to match the coordinates set by a person launching a rocket, with the express purpose of taking the lives of others. I’m not even sure that words do justice to what I’m feeling right now, so I’m going to stop …

to be ME

2006-07-15T13:43:00.000-04:00

If you're anything like me (which, chances are you're not - that's kinda the focus of this post), you have a difficult time feeling like you are really "connecting" with someone. This can lead to feelings of frustration and sometimes downright loneliness. I know in my heart that the loneliness part is wrong, and I refuse to give in to that FEELING ... but it threatens sometimes, especially when I have put my hopes on a relationship as being different than others that I've known.

The desire to be known and - even more - to connect with another is something that I believe God has instilled within us for a reason. So many of us view another person as being able to fulfill that desire, and it is easy to do this (sometimes without even realizing it). But ultimately the only One who can satisfy that desire is the One who knows us better than we know ourselves.

You may think I'm talking about a romantic relationship here, and I guess it applies to that, but really I'm just thinking about relationships in general. The most recent experience that led to this post involved me and another woman who is right around my age. She is one of those people that was a promising friend prospect. We have spent time together here and there and had some good conversations, and I thought perhaps there was potential for us to become good friends.

Please don't misunderstand and think that I am saying anything negative at all about this woman. I still see her as a neat-o person, and I enjoy sharing her company ... but today I realized that we are very different in some big ways. I admit, when we ended up in conversations on various topics and we held diametrically opposed views, I couldn't help but feel disappointed and maybe even a little cheated. Here was someone that I thought could maybe "get" me and with whom I thought maybe I might be able to share some of those deep heart desires, and she could be excited with me or frustrated with me or whatever. But what I found myself getting, instead of a sense of camaraderie or empathy, was a bit of a blank stare.

I talked to her about my neighborhood, and the passion I feel about reaching out to those who live around me. Instead of encouraging me in this discussion, she asked if I really leave my front door open and if I feel safe when I do that. When we went to the store together and I made conversation with complete strangers and shared with her how much I enjoy meeting new people and learning from them, she almost seemed a little bit uncomfortable to be beside me as I greeted others and smiled at passersby.

Now I realize that we are all created differently and that this world be an incredibly boring place if we were all monochromatic in our personalities. But I guess I forget that sometimes. I want everyone to share my passions and to understand why I do things. Actually, that's not accurate - I don't want everyone to be that way, I just want someone to be that way. It's difficult sometimes, especially in areas of ministry, to feel like you're on your own ... sometimes it's even enough to cause you to question why you're doing what you're doing.

But, as I closed my door this afternoon (after waving to my friend who was still out front, watching to make sure I got into my house safely ... in the daylight!), I prayed to God and thanked Him for making me exactly as He has. I kneeled right there and told God that I will not wish to be someone else, or to live in someone else's neighborhood, or to have someone else's personality. I am special and I am me, and there is a reason that I (and not my friend) am the one living in this house. The things that make me "me" - those are the very things that are needed in the world and moments in which I exist. I am tailor-made to live my life, and to engage in the relationships with which I am blessed, and to BE THERE in the mountains and the valleys of the landscape of my existence.

God is perfect, and His plan and timing are perfect, and He wants me to be the me that He has created me to be, and not to be anyone else. It doesn't matter if I am alone in all that I do, and it doesn't matter if another human being never understands why I am the way I am. He does. He, the Creator of my soul, the Romancer of my heart, the One who prompts me to look up at just the second that a star is in a certain place in the night sky above me, the One who beckons me to look at the horizon at just the moment that there is a specific hue of pink or purple gracing the sky ... He knows my inside and the deepest essence of Krista, and He thinks it's good.

As I think more about this, I realize that there are absolutely other people who could live my life. There are other people who could work the job that I have, and maybe even do a better job at it. There are other people who could take part in the relationships of my life, and maybe have more success in certain areas. I am confident that there is someone who could be a better sister, a better daughter, a better driver, a better pet owner, a better singer or guitar player, a better girlfriend, and someday a better wife or mother than I can. I will always be able to find someone who can outperform me in any one area, but I will never find someone who does any of these things the exact way that I do. No one else will bring exactly the same blend of quirks, life experience, perspective, passions, frustrations, strengths, weaknesses, talents, skills and individuality that I bring to a situation. And so, even if someone might be able to do something better than me, they wouldn't be able to do it the same as me. There's something to that.

I was thinking today about this idea showing up in the Bible. I have always been struck by the differences between Mary and Martha, and how they acted toward Jesus. If I remember correctly, when Jesus first came to their house for dinner, Martha was busy running around in the kitchen and getting frustrated with Mary for not being like her. But later, after their brother Lazarus dies, Jesus comes to dinner again and Martha serves again, but seems to do it with a much different heart this time around. Martha and Mary still show a huge difference in how they act toward Jesus, but the difference here is that Martha seems more willing to let Mary be Mary. Jesus' interaction with them on this second visit seems to suggest the fact that he was pleased with this change in conduct. This example illustrates the idea that while one person's personality shines in one situation, another's does so under different circumstances. Through their individuality, both Mary and Martha were able to make a vital difference in the lives of certain people (in this case, Jesus) in certain situations ... this is something I believe each of us is called to do (ESPECIALLY as Christians).

I like something I recently read:

... if we don't respect our individuality - in how we live, and in the choices we make - others will be deprived of important benefits that God wishes them to reap from our life. Being the individual God has made us takes courage, though, and is a greater challenge than we usually expect. To meet it, we need all the inspiration we can get.

It seems, in truly embracing who we are, we find answers to some of the questions with which we struggle, such as what we are "supposed" to be doing with our lives ... the answer to that question is wrapped up in who we are. I believe that once we fully face the truth of who we are, we are in the best possible position to then make decisions as to how our lives can most powerfully impact and benefit others.

I'm off to go be ME some more and to live my life the way that only I can.

the beauty of aging

2006-07-14T21:47:00.000-04:00

Today was another day of contrast, though of a different type. I spent a good part of the day with a 12-year-old girl who is in the program I coordinate. If I were given a choice of what child in the program to spend time with, she would probably be the last one I would choose ... I'm guessing this is exactly why God put us together for several hours today.

This girl is everything I was not as child - chubby, clingy, loud, giggly, boy-crazy, and really just kind of draining to be around. I feel terrible saying all of that, but honestly - it's true. She is the client I dread going to visit - for several reasons ... one is because I can count on her grabbing all over me as soon as I see her, and the other is because of the men that are usually hanging out front or in the porch inside. They chew their tobacco and look me up and down and just cause me to feel really uncomfortable.

Anyway, I picked this girl up today because we were going to go take a birthday cake to her mentor as a surprise. But her mentor wasn't home. So we ended up going out for lunch and also to the park and just walking and talking. And I began to see why this girl is the way she is. About an hour into our time together, she was telling me repeatedly that she loved me, and hugging me and tickling me and just being pretty weird. My impulse was to pull away or even slap her hand, but then I looked in her eyes and there I saw an aching to hear someone tell her that SHE loves her. So I did. And, though I didn't tickle her or poke her or hold onto her waist, I did give her a big hug and tell her that she is full of beauty and that she is absolutely precious to God. She completely changed. She looked happy and her eyes didn't look so hungry for attention or confirmation anymore. She walked beside me and was able to do so without holding on to me. She was like a different person, and it was all because she knew that she was loved.

Later on in the day I went to visit friends of mine in a rest home. When I arrived, the husband was sleeping (and I think he is the loudest snorer I've ever heard!) but the wife was laying in bed and looking toward the window. She was crying softly and saying words that I couldn't understand. I stood beside her bed and took her hand, and as she looked in my eyes I saw the same look I had seen earlier in the eyes of someone 70 years younger. I kissed her on her head and told her that I loved her, and her moans and shouts subsided as a quiet peace came over her. We sat in silence and looked out the window as the sun softly went down and the sky grew dark. She squeezed my hand and I couldn't help but reflect on the day's events.

This world is full of so many different kinds of people. Some are loud and clingy, and some are quiet and reclusive. There are some people who you try to avoid, and others who you can't get enough of. I had spent time that day with both types, and at first thought they seem so incredibly different. But really, in each of those women (both young and old), I saw a commonality ... a desperate desire to be loved, and to be told that they were beautiful. I hope and pray that with time, the grating young girl from the day will become more like the peaceful sweet elderly lady of the evening, but I am not sure of the likelihood of that happening.

I had to pull myself away from that rest home today, for I get the definite feeling lately that my time with my friends there is drawing to a close. Tonight, as I prayed with my friend and grasped her frail hand in mine, there was a moment when my heart sensed that she had left me. Her breathing and paused and all of a sudden her grip loosened. I opened my eyes and saw her piercing blue eyes gazing at mine, and I spoke her name, and she responded with a smile. I knew she was still there, but I have a feeling her heart is ready to leave. I can't blame her. Tonight I reminded her of the full life she has lived, and I apologized to her that she is where she is now ... through it all she stroked my hand and smiled that haunting smile.

I wonder what she was like as a little girl, and if she tickled people and clung to near-strangers as she offered her love a little too freely. I have a feeling she didn't. Sometimes when I look at her, I see the mischief in her eyes and the playfulness of her smile, and I catch a glimpse of a precious little girl. But mostly I see a woman made beautiful by a life lived well. I know very little about the details of her life, but I sense very much by the power of her spirit. Her beauty inside shines through her, and I know that beauty has been growing steadily through the many years of life. She gives me something to strive for. As I walked out of the home tonight and tearfully considered the frail woman lying in that bed, I realized that no diet or workout or beauty regimen will ultimately matter in the end ... beauty is so much bigger than any of those things. It's about grace and mercy and kindess and softness and sweetness and love and wrinkles and saggy skin and thinning hair.

I'm not sure how to end this, but I really think that maybe it is just the beginning of something for me.

what does contrast mean, teacher lady?

2006-07-12T21:18:00.000-04:00

I have found contrast to be one of the most powerful ways that I learn or realize something. When I see a light color among darkness, it seems even brighter and more vivid. When I spend time with someone who talks very fast and then have a conversation with a slow-speaking southerner, I am much better able to understand them but also find myself growing a bit impatient with the way their words amble on casually. When I spot something of incredible beauty in the middle of utter ugliness, I am overwhelmed by the way that the loveliness is somehow enhanced by its unattractive surroundings.

Today was a day of stark contrast, and I really wasn't even looking for that or the lessons that would come from it.

I began my day with a mandatory employee "training" session, in which we learned about a new performance evaluation method that is being implemented this year. I am familiar with the process, as it's something that I had to endure each year at my old job at the publishing company. The title of the training today was "pay for performance", and basically the idea behind it is that employees can be rewarded for the quality of their work. If someone wants to just do their job and meet the basic expectations, they can do that and just ignore the whole process. However, if someone desires to go "above and beyond" their job expectations and establish goals and then get their supervisor to sign off on those goals, they may be eligible for a certain percentage of a bonus at the end of the year. According to this system, there are two levels of increase that you can work toward -- one would be if you exceed job expectations, and the other would be if you are outstanding at exceeding job expectations. I understand the big push these days for incentives in order to try to ensure that people stay motivated and blah blah blah, but I don't buy into it.

What am I getting paid for in the first place? For doing my job, I would hope. Why should someone have to offer me extra for doing extra? Why don't they just ask me to do extra and then I do it? Or why shouldn't the "extra" be a part of my job in the first place? This all seems so ridiculous to me. If there are things that I can do that go above my current job description, then maybe my job description needs to be rewritten. Seems kinda like a big "duh" issue to me, but maybe I'm just strange. It just seems like, to me, that maybe the incentive to go a good job should be just that - doing a good job. Have we set such low standards for ourselves that someone can't take satisfaction in their work, but they need extra in order for them to do something well?

So, these are some of the thoughts running through my head during this meeting. And also, I should mention that I am not even eligible to write out goals this year anyway, because I am still considered a "new employee". But, even if I were eligible, I'm not sure I would do it just because I think this whole thing is ridiculous. Ok, so I was thinking about the stupidity of it all when we were instructed to break off into small groups (as should be done at any effective training session, of course).

Each of the groups was designated as a certain department within the organization and was given the task of establishing a goal. The details here aren't important. My group began to work on a goal, but somehow (and I still have no idea how) we ended up on a discussion of wages and how no one in the county gets paid what they deserve. There was a ___ man in my group (I need to insert blanks so that I don't use other words here) who opened his mouth and began, "I'm not prejudiced against anyone, I have no problems with people of other races, but ..." Ok, here's a hint -- if you have to make clear that you aren't something before you say something else, then you probably shouldn't say any of it in the first place. I have learned that most of the time when people say this kind of thing (especially about race issues), that they are in fact what they are saying they're not.

This man went on to say that he doesn't understand how a particular ethnic group (he said which, I will not) gets such a good deal on life. He went on to talk about totally irrelevant things like how he was in line the other day at a grocery store and ended up behind a family that had two carts and blah blurb blah blurb blah. I know he must have felt the glare that I was giving him, but he still went on and on and on. And then somehow the rest of the group (people who, based on appearances, you would think were educated and somewhat human) started chirping in about this race and that race and people who live in trailers and draw public assistance and don't work and have the easy life. And they moaned and whined about how we are basically punished because we get out there and "bust our butts" (boy, that training session was just SO physically exhausting!) to make a dollar and pay our bills. And they griped and complained about how we are basically supporting these people who just sit around and get to enjoy life.

I thought my tongue was going to split, I was biting it so hard. Several times I brought us back to the task at hand and spoke not a word about their conversation. I wish that I had, but it didn't seem worth my while to step near the pile of dung which seemed to be surrounding me. Anyway, we made it through (by busting our butts, of course), and I left that auditorium as quickly as possible. I still cannot believe what ingrateful people I was with this morning. And sadly I work for the county, and these people are considered "servants to the community." They are social workers and health educators and prison staff, and they are idiots. I have a feeling that they represent only a small sampling of a larger epidemic of people who think that the world owes them everything, and they should have to do nothing to get it.

It seems there is possibly a direct correlation between the mental flabbiness of these individuals and their physical states. Maybe if they exercised their minds and bodies as much as their mouths and their complaining muscles, they probably would be much happier and not have as much to talk about in the first place. That sounds harsh, but I couldn't help but notice it. Obviously this experience affected me more than even I realized (until now), because this post is turning into a bit of a venting forum for me.

Here comes the good part of my day ... the beauty in the midst of the ugliness. Tonight I spent three hours at the local community college, volunteering as a teacher's aide in an ESL class. I arrived a few minutes late (the program director had actually suggested I do so, so that I could be there once the class was actually in session) and took my seat in a classroom full of people with a skin color different than mine. There were 16 students in the class, one teacher, a teacher's assistant, and then me. With the exception of one Asian man, all of the students were Hispanic. I knew that they were all there willingly. No one was forcing them to give three hours of their night to sit and learn a language that was foreign to them. They were because they believed in the importance of furthering their education and expanding their minds and abilities and horizons.

As I had the opportunity to speak to several of the students, I learned that many of them came there straight from work, or were going to a night job straight from the class. Some came from one job and were going to another as soon as the class was over. Without exception, every single student in the class smiled at me when I walked in. If any of them hadn't yet introduced himself or herself to me as I walked around the room and answered questions (and also caught one mischievous looking Honduran student asking a Mexican student for an answer on the vocabulary test), they were sure to come up to me during the break and tell me their names.

The mood of the evening was light and jovial, and the teacher (who I think is quite possibly the best teacher I have ever seen in my life) encouraged the students and praised them and made them feel like geniuses. As a man named Oscar sat beside me and worked on his vocabulary test, his face was wracked with tension and nervousness and uncertainty, and Teacher Lady (as they called her) came and put her hand on his shoulders and told him not to worry, that there would be other tests for him to ace. I looked at his paper and saw that he had only left one question blank, but he was determined to do his very best, even if the rest of the class had been done for quite a while.

As I sat in that room and listened to 16 voices stumble to repeat words that the teacher spoke to them, each of the students refusing to move on to the next word until they had gotten the pronunciation exactly right, I felt my eyes welling up with tears. These were the very people that I had heard being spoken of in such a cruel and belittling way earlier that day. These eyes, so intently focused on the teacher as she unveiled ideas and opened doors simply by speaking new words, were the eyes of people who supposedly just sit around and expect things from people like those I sat with this morning.

There is a major disconnect here for me, and I can't quite express it. But I can tell you without hesitation who I would rather work alongside if I had a choice between those colleagues this morning and those "foreigners" tonight. In a millisecond I can tell you who probably deserves a paycheck and then some, and who deserves to be kicked out to the street. This morning I was forced to listen to people who think the world owes them everything, and tonight I was fortunate enough to listen to and speak with people who can't wait to start to give back to the world that they feel has given them everything. What a sad, but beautiful contrast I experienced today ... and it's something I hope to somehow work towards changing.

check out the kindness on that one

2006-07-11T15:37:00.000-04:00

This is really not a profound post at all, but I just need to vent.

There is currently a crew of three men at my house, working on my bathroom. They are installing a new window and hopefully working on some other things there. They arrived this morning shortly after I got out of the shower (they had called to let me know they were coming, but I didn’t hear the phone from the shower so wasn’t forewarned). Luckily I had enough time to get dressed, but I was still left the dilemma of not being able to use my bathroom to get ready for work.

As the sole mirror in my house resides in the bathroom, I was not really all that happy about having to come and use the bathroom at work to finish getting ready. But I have learned that I should embrace those rare “good landlord who is actually doing what I request” moments when they come, so I packed up my stuff and strolled into work with wet hair and morning breath. Ok, not total morning breath – I had brushed my teeth, but then I had a second cup of coffee, so I still had that morning/coffee hybrid breath going.

ANYWAY, for some reason these three men seemed to think they were entitled to gawk at and ogle me while I was getting ready for work (as much as I could, anyway, without the use of my bathroom). I am the first to admit that I am not Cindy Crawford and I do not have the body of Paris Hilton (or whoever else you may happen to lust after if you’re a man), but I think I’m in pretty ok-shape. And I am happy with how I look. Today I happened to be wearing a semi-fitted v-neck shirt and some not-so-baggy pants. I am a firm believer in modesty and I would not step out of the house if I looked like a hoochie-mama. But I know this particular outfit shows a little shape … and I just felt like I looked good.

However, in the safety of my home, I was only concerned with how I felt I looked, not the opinions of three rough-looking men who took it upon themselves to watch me stoop to pick over the keys I just dropped. And I – no lie – caught one of them looking at my chest the whole time I talked to him, and also while I was leaning over to grab my dog who was trying to jump on him (I should have just let her jump!).

Arrrrgh, this stuff gets to me. What ever would cause someone to think that they have the right to assess or even look at someone else and their body like that? This happened to me yesterday too, as I was volunteering at a local outreach center. For some reason, it didn’t affect me as much there because I have come to accept it as part of the territory. When I used to go and do homeless outreach (sometimes alone, stubborn girl that I was), I was constantly hearing words and comments and catching looks that made me want to go home and take a 3-hour-long shower just to wash off the “ick” feeling that I had. I have had some of those types of encounters in my job now, as I have made home visits and spoken to fathers who were checking me out even while their wives/girlfriends/baby’s mamas were sitting beside them. Yuck. I don’t accept that stuff, and I have acknowledged that to those men on several occasions.

But it’s a totally different feeling when that same kind of thing is happening in your own home. I know it’s not really an accurate comparison, but I have heard stories of people whose homes have been broken into, and how they feel incredibly violated afterward. And that’s a little bit like how I feel.

Why don’t I hear men talking about this? Where are the strong godly men who will take a stand and tell their slimy brothers that they need to clean up their act, their thoughts, and their words? And why do we, as women, shake our heads or slouch our bodies or give these men the right to treat us as big slabs of meat? Of course, I admit that we as women are not totally the victims here. We have a responsibility to make it more difficult for men to have the opportunities to say crass things. If we showed a little more modesty and a little more class and covered up a little more skin, maybe we would have more of a platform from which to demand that men treat us with respect and dignity. This is going to sound incredibly cold, but I see way too many women advertising themselves and their bodies and then getting upset or offended when men start yelling out prices or trying to make a bargain. If you don’t want men to come at you with their steak knives and their appetites, then don’t hang yourself out there like a big juicy steak.

I have been really convicted lately too of how I look at my brothers. I remember once reading a quote by CS Lewis, and – though I don’t remember the exact wording – I remember the gist of it was that if we really saw each other in the image of Christ, we would fall down and worship God because of the beauty and wonder that are embodied in another person. What a good thing that would be, and what a thing to strive for. Instead of commenting on whether or not a man is “cute” or a girl is “hot”, we would be captivated by how much they reflect Christ’s glory and His splendor. Maybe that’s really what those guys at my house were checking out (ha!) – I would consider it an honor for someone to do a double-take on me just because they wanted to catch another glimpse of patience, kindness, gentless, self-control, grace, or beauty (God’s beauty, not mine!).

2006-07-05T11:25:00.000-04:00

I have had all kinds of crazy things happening lately. It got to the point the other night when I felt completely wiped out, worn out, exhausted, drained, and honestly a little bit defeated. I felt battle-weary and a little bit bruised from the blows that seemed to be coming my way, over and over again. I know from experience that it is such a temptation to entertain thoughts of self-pity at times like that. If I’m not careful, it’s easy to let things grow to the point where I have lost a bit of perspective and I’m totally wrapped up in myself and my circumstances. And I think I did that, for about 5 or 6 days in a row.

I am still not completely over all of that – I still sometimes wish that maybe God didn’t trust with me with quite so much. Sometimes I relish the experience of being in the throes of battle – of course it’s exciting, enthralling, and invigorating to be on the front lines and to be actively engaged in war, especially when I am fighting for someone who can’t fight for himself. I view it as an honor and a privilege to experience hardships and struggles for the cause of Christ, and for the cause of those I am seeking to love for Christ. But there are times when I find myself looking back at the smaller soldiers at the back of the line, the ones who maybe aren’t as trained or don’t yet have all of their armor, and I wish that I could find some rest by hiding out with them. In my heart it feels wrong, and I feel very strongly a duty and responsibility to the One who commands me and trusts me and my abilities enough to place me on the front lines … but when I’m tired and weak, I start focusing on myself and not so much on duties and the incredible honor of my rank.

Yesterday was a day full of prayer and reflection. I was wrestling with these ideas and still giving in a bit to the whole "woe is me" thing … and then I turned my eyes upward. It was right around that time that we (I was in a car with my mother and sister) were nearing the mountains. Immediately I felt relief and comfort, and the strange thing is that I felt relieved because I was suddenly reminded of how very small I am. As I looked at the looming mountains and the clouds that billowed above them, I felt myself and all of my circumstances shrinking in the shadow of their largeness. I wasn’t afraid and I didn’t feel intimidated by their greatness – instead I felt a peace in knowing that everything wasn’t about me … my problems are nowhere near as big as I am making them.

Mountains always seem to have a calming effect on me, and I’m still not completely sure why. I know that they remind me of God, and they direct my thoughts back toward faith. I know it’s a Bible verse too, but there is a song that I used to love when I was little … it was sung by B.J. Thomas, a singer who I didn’t appreciate that much at the time but I have come to really enjoy now. We were subjected to him and his music on road trip after road trip, and I just wanted to listen to the radio or Psalty (the talking, singing Christian song book) or some other fluffy children’s music. Anyway, the chorus of this particular song said, "If you have the faith of a mustard seed, you’ve got all the faith you need. You can do anything. You can walk along with the King. You can move those mountains. If you have the faith of a little child."

It's strange to me, that the mountains and their majesty and mightiness represent God, yet they also represent something that God will give me the power to move if I just have enough faith in Him. Perhaps it is their greatness that reminds me of God and His omnipotence, and their size and sheer vastness that represent things I try to tackle on my own. God is great and mighty and worthy of awe and admiration, and yet sometimes I make Him out to be so small and weak. I have been wrestling with all of this stuff and letting it wear me out, and then I look up and see huge beautiful hills and all of a sudden everything is smacked into perspective. What in the world do I have to worry about? These "things" in my life, these struggles and hardships, are like tiny little molehills compared to the mountains in front of me. It’s so easy to forget about their might and greatness if I look back down at my circumstances and lose perspective again. But walking with God is never something that is static or achieved. It is a process – an act of constantly growing, changing, learning, re-learning, losing focus and gaining it again, hurting, rejoicing, weeping, sinking, soaring, but most of all yielding and surrendering again and again.

For me, my faith grows through times like these. As I look to the mountains, I realize that this battle I fight is just a measly little skirmish compared to the mighty wars that God has already waged for me. Through fighting battles over and over again, my abilities are strengthened and my craft (the art of fighting) is honed a bit. But the mountains that rise above the horizon protect me from greater battles and wars that would most likely defeat me. I press forward in faith, wielding my sword and finding new strength and courage, knowing that I am more than a conqueror in Christ.

This is one of those posts that I am not so sure makes a whole lot of sense. Things are still a bit messy in my head and spirit right now, though they’re beginning to clear up a bit … but I cling to the truth that God is good and mighty and bigger than anything that will ever come into my life.

I'm closing with a quote from one of this morning’s devotionals:

"We never know where God has hidden His streams. We see a large stone and have no idea that it covers the source of a spring. We see a rocky area and never imagine that it is hiding a fountain. God leads me into hard and difficult places, and it is there I realize I am where eternal streams abide."

rasgado abajo de las paredes

2006-06-25T21:54:00.000-04:00

This is my new favorite website. I used it to come up with the subject line for this post, which (according to the site) means "tearing down the walls".

Tonight at church someone gave me a pie and a coffee cake, I guess to take to work with me tomorrow. I accepted the food, even though I knew that no one at my office needs anything more to eat. For some reason, I felt like I should take it. When I got home, I knew why.

As I was getting out of my car, I looked across the street and saw that the windows in the house across from me were all lit up. Instantly I knew why I had taken those pastries.

I went into the house, dropped my stuff off, and fed my dogs ... then I ignored the doubts that were rising, grabbed the pie and cake and started across the street. Please understand that I have never actually met these particular neighbors. I have shared smiles and waves with a Hispanic man who I believe lives in that house, but these exchanges have always taken place across the safety of a street and/or sidewalk. I have never known his name, and we have never much got past the joking "Tenga un buen día" from me and the "Have a good day" from him.

As I stumbled up the dark path to the porch, I felt a moment of nervousness but I pushed on and soon found myself on the porch of complete strangers. I could hear people talking in Spanish, and I could see the flicker of a tv as I knocked on the door. Soon a girl probably around 20 answered and said "hey", so I asked if she spoke English. She said yes, and I admit - I breathed a sigh of relief. Yes, I had run to my computer before heading over, and I had looked up several different phrases and repeated them to myself several times. But it seemed that all of those phrases had slipped away during the 40 second walk from my door to theirs.

They were eating dinner, and they invited me to join them. I politely declined, and offered them my food gifts. Every single person at the table got up and hugged me, and I learned that Chaco is the name of the man I had been waving to and laughing with for several months now. His wife's name is Rena, and their daughter Brisada and her little son Daniel live there too. The incredibly strange thing was the immediate comfort I felt with these near-strangers with whom I couldn't communicate very well. They humored me as I tried to speak only in Spanish to them, and they made me feel appreciated and welcome the moment I stepped in the door. I learned that they came here from Mexico six years ago, and that they like to go to the beach. Ok, so we didn't get into a very deep conversation, but we knocked a hole through a wall that was there before.

I cannot describe how beautiful and precious were the smiles on the faces of these four individuals. There is a realness there, there is a story behind each of those smiles. I have a feeling that each of those people, even little 1.5 year old Daniel, knows things about life that I will never, ever know. Because of that, I want to honor them and somehow learn and glean from them. There is so much I want to know about them, and I want to somehow tell Chaco that there were some mornings when his smile and his "Good mornin'" in broken English were the bright spot in my day. But for tonight, we hugged and learned each others' names, and I believe we started something that has nothing to do with language or with cultures or with the color of our skin.

This morning I heard a sermon that reminded me of how Jesus was constantly living his life for other people, especially the people that society overlooked. I used to live my life that way, and I don't know when I stopped. There are people all around us who we walk by and don't even see. We are surrounded by souls who are heading somewhere, and each of us, at any given moment, has the opportunity to interact with these people. What could possibly be more important than experiencing the privilege of connecting with another human being? How can we be so busy that we miss those moments that we will never be able to recapture? How can we live 20 feet from people and not even know their names?

My new friends told me to come back again for dinner sometime, and I can't wait to do so. I will definitely be studying my Spanish dictionary before then, but I have a feeling that even if I were to go knowing nothing more than I did tonight ... God would somehow translate the warmth and the smiles and the hugs into truth and love and Him.

every season

2006-06-21T11:58:00.000-04:00

I have always felt strongly that nature provides powerful evidence of God, and I have long been fascinated by the changing seasons and the analogies that we see there ... I just came across this song today, and it's one of those ones I wish I had written.

Every evening sky, an invitation
To trace the patterned stars
And early in July, a celebration
For freedom that is ours
And I notice You
In children’s games
In those who watch them from the shade
Every drop of sun is full of fun and wonder
You are summer

And even when the trees have just surrendered
To the harvest time
Forfeiting their leaves in late September
And sending us inside
Still I notice You when change begins
And I am braced for colder winds
I will offer thanks for what has been and was to come
You are autumn

And everything in time and under heaven
Finally falls asleep
Wrapped in blankets white, all creation
Shivers underneath
And still I notice you
When branches crack
And in my breath on frosted glass
Even now in death, You open doors for life to enter
You are winter

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You
And how You make me new
With every season’s change
And so it will be
As You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring
-- Nichole Nordeman

2006-06-20T10:21:00.000-04:00

Recently I did something really wrong to a friend, someone I care about very much. As soon as I committed the wrong (and even while I was doing it), I felt terrible. The offense hadn’t been well-thought out or planned, it was something I gave into in a moment of weakness. Ok, or maybe 10 or 15 moments of weakness. I had thought that maybe I would have some kind of satisfaction when it was over. But instead, all I felt was a gnawing feeling inside of me telling me that I had done something terrible. I tried praying and asking God to help me forget, thinking that if I was ok with God then I would be ok in the end. Maybe the person wouldn’t ever find out, and telling him about it might just cause more harm than good. I guess I thought about it long enough that I convinced myself that my logic was somehow sound, and that it really could work out the way I was planning.

That night I couldn’t sleep, and I actually got to the point where I was physically ill. Even through this I talked myself into believing that I could get through this if I just held on and stayed strong. The next morning I woke up with a heavy feeling in my heart, and I knew that there was no way I could talk that weight away. But I continued to pray and ask God to take this burden from me and to give me relief. Instead I felt God very strongly urging me that the only way I would find relief was to confess my wrongdoing to my friend. It was what I already knew in the deepest part of my heart, but I fought it. I fought it hard. I had visions of this person yelling and being upset and telling me he never wanted to see me again, and as far as I could see he would have been completely justified in doing so. I had violated a sacred trust, and I recognized the severity of my actions.

Finally I called the friend and talked to him about some other things, but still couldn’t bring myself to broach the subject that was so heavy on my heart. I felt like I was living out the story of the elephant in the room that everyone knows is there but no one talks about. I was sure that somehow my friend knew, even though another part of me was convinced there was no way he could ever find out. After I got off the phone with him (without mentioning a word about what I had done), the pressure in my chest seemed to intensify. I was even more convinced than before that I had to tell him. I guess the hardest part wasn’t even his possible reaction (because I felt that I completely deserved to be shunned) but instead the disappointment in myself that I would do such a thing as I had done. Of course we all like to see ourselves in the best light possible, and we hesitate to believe or accept the possibility that we are not as good as we want to be, or even as good as the self that we present to others.

The weight continued to pull on me throughout the day until I couldn’t take it anymore. I wrote a letter and headed to my friend’s house. I think it was probably the most pathetic letter I had ever written, because I couldn’t seem to find the words to convey what it was that I was feeling. It may have also been the shortest letter that I have ever written – I tend to write a lot, but the words really just wouldn’t come that day. As I approached his house I had so many thoughts of turning around and forgetting the whole thing. But I knew I couldn’t. I knew the possible outcome of losing this friend was a chance I had to take, compared to the possibility of our friendship going on with this huge wall between us – a wall that I had erected in just a few moments of stupidity and selfishness.

I got to his house and it hurt me to even look at him. I felt shame and the inability to even try to explain myself to him. So I just handed him the letter and waited for the wrath to come. The anticipated wrath never came. This hurt even more, and I felt even worse, because I knew in my heart that I was still holding back. I had only told him about part of what I had done. Surely if he knew the full scope of my act, then he would be overcome with anger toward me. I lingered and tried to formulate words to express the rest of my confession to him, but nothing seemed adequate. I talked to him and he actually gave me the opportunity to tell him about the rest of what I did, but I panicked and lied. Things just seemed to be getting worse, and I was filled with an inner turmoil that I had never before experienced. First, I had done wrong to someone for whom I held an incredible amount of respect and appreciation … now I had lied to cover up that wrong. Eventually the level of disgust with myself rose up so high that I had to force myself to leave. As I drove away, I looked in the rearview mirror and broke into sobs as I saw empty eyes looking back at me.

I went home and fell to my knees, hoping that somehow I would find some relief in knowing that I had at least been partially honest with my friend. But relief did not come – if anything, I now felt worse. I could not understand myself … I so desperately wanted to remove the thorns in the flesh of the trust that I had built with this friend, but instead I seemed to be pushing them in even further. I ended up calling my friend and admitting that I lied, and he told me that he already knew. To some people this news might have been a relief, because they would feel as if they had surrendered before getting “caught” … to me, this news made the pain even more real. As my friend reassured me of his forgiveness, I felt pangs of hurt travel throughout my heart. Deep down I knew that I in no way deserved his forgiveness … in fact every part of me wanted to cry out to him NOT to forgive me, but to be angry with me and to yell at me. However, the awful beauty of it all is that my friend refused to take the easy approach. He harbored no anger and held no grudge, but he lovingly forgave me.

I have been through some crazy things in my life, and I learned a while back that I always seem to have an easier time forgiving others than forgiving myself. I’m not sure why this is, but it’s definitely true with me. It is true today, as I still struggle to understand how someone could willingly let go of a wrong I did and treat me as if I had never done it. But I am wrong to be this way – I know in my heart that I am, and yet still somehow it’s almost easier to go on being wrong than it is to work at being right. The reasons that I forgive others – those same reasons apply to me. God commands us to forgive, whether that means forgiving others or forgiving myself. The amazing thing, and the thing that is maybe the most difficult thing for me to grasp, is that this forgiveness doesn’t have all that much to do with me and everything to do with Christ. I have this tendency to think that somehow I can work out my own forgiveness, and there is absolutely no way I could ever do enough good or nice things to earn the right to forgive myself. Christ has already done everything on the cross that would ever need to be done in order for me to be forgiven, and it would be nothing less than an insult to suggest that what he did wasn’t enough. For me to spend today wallowing in self-pity and continuing on in this guilt trip – that would be dishonoring to God.

The point is not how many wrongs I do or don’t do – the point is what I do after it. I knew that I had to tell my friend, regardless of whether he forgave me or not. I knew that I had to tell him, regardless of whether there was ever a chance of him finding out what I did. I had done wrong, I had broken a trust, I had misrepresented myself and my actions … I had undermined part of the very foundation of my friendship with him. “Making it right” is almost always messy, and usually it’s the difficult thing to do, but in the end it’s the ONLY thing to do. If we are really Christians and if we really love other people, there is no option but to put ourselves out there and say “I messed up, and I will probably mess up again tomorrow” and close our eyes and wait to feel the sting of reality or the force of being pushed out of someone’s life. It’s what we do when we come before Christ. Christ can see through us, and he knows every wrong we have ever done and every thing we will ever do. But whether or not he knows about it, or whether or not he will punish us for it, we need to tell him about what we have done. The wonderful thing with God, the incomprehensible thing that doesn’t make sense and isn’t easy to accept – is that somehow, for some reason He tells us, “I forgive you.”

Yesterday I saw Christ in my friend. I felt His love in the arms of a companion. I don’t understand it, and I definitely don’t feel like I deserve it, but I tearfully embrace this forgiveness and love. And I tell myself that even if I don’t feel like forgiving myself, I know I will … and I know that – like so many things in life – as I step forward in faith and choose to forgive, the feelings will come later. They’re already starting to come a little bit right now. Recently I re-read the story of the prodigal son … I have always loved that story, but I have a really difficult time making a real-life application. I think if I were the son in the story, I would have a really difficult time accepting the embrace of the loving father. But it’s what God calls us to do, so today I throw myself in His arms, and I plan to stay there for a while.

ponderings from the pool

2006-06-17T15:39:00.000-04:00

Today was my niece's 6th birthday. I spent most of the morning and early afternoon at her party ... it was a pool party. This morning, it almost looked like the party wasn't going to happen, or that it was going to change from a pool party to a board game party. The sky was gray and it looked like it might rain. Spirits were low as we filled up water balloons and hoped for the best. As we drove toward the mountains to the park where the party was going to be, I noticed that my niece seemed to be the happiest one in the van. She chattered and jumped up and down in her seat and was obviously not affected much at all by the ominous clouds that surrounded us as we drove.

We arrived at the pool to discover that we were the only ones there except for the lifeguards. Bekah (my niece) remained unphased and grabbed my hand and pulled me to the bathroom with her so that we could change into our suits together. Her smile and energy were infectious, and we couldn't change fast enough for her liking. We raced out to the pool and stuck our toes into the water. Her cute little nose wrinkled up as she said "it's cold!" I asked her if it was too cold for her, in a teasing way ... she recognized the challenge in my voice. She headed for the ladder into the shallow end and eased her way into the water -- I went straight to the diving board, knowing that the best way for me to get into the water is to just get into the water. So we looked at each other from opposite ends of the pool, and I jumped off the diving board straight into the chilly water. As I kicked myself up toward the surface, I found myself unable to speak for a few seconds. The shock quickly wore off though as I plunged back beneath the water and swam over to the beautiful little girl giggling on the other side of the rope.

We laughed and played and I rubbed her little legs in attempt to rub away the goosebumps. Eventually the other party guests started arriving, and some of the mothers claimed lounge chairs along the pool. Somehow I became the designated pool adult, as all of the kids changed into their suits and inched their way into the chilly water. I was having so much fun that I found myself disappointed when I heard the announcement that it was time to eat pizza.

We got out (I was the last one out) and ate pizza and watched presents get opened, and then ate birthday cake ... and I ended up back in the pool with a few kids. It was still cloudy out, but it was warming up, and there were a few moments when the sun broke through the clouds and gave us glimpses of hope that the weather might turn around. Throughout this whole process I noticed that I had somehow fallen into my usual role of the "fun" aunt, or the one who plays with the kids while all the grown-ups stand around and talk about mortgages and car payments and the next big birthday party. I noticed also the looks that I was getting from some of the mothers who were reclining in the lounge chairs. These were women who had swimsuits on, but they obviously had no intention of swimming. I have a feeling that they wouldn't have been getting into the water even if the sun had been shining.

There is a truth that I learned several years ago when I first started working with kids -- it's a deeper lesson that can be applied to other parts of life. During the summer after my junior year of college, I worked as a nanny for two of the prettiest little girls I have ever seen. They were from California, but they spent the summers in NY with their dad. They were girls in the girliest sense of the word. If it were up to them, we would have spent every day at the mall or inside painting our toenails. But somehow that summer we arrived at our compromise. I would paint their toenails after we went and played at the park or did something else outside. So we ended up spending most of our days at the pool. Remember that this was about 8 years ago, one of those times in my life when I was in incredible shape ... I know that I looked good in my two-piece bathing suit, and I had quite a solid tan too from all the time I spent outside on my mountain bike or going on runs. Anyway, that's really unimportant ... but I remember the feeling I would get when we would go to that pool. The pool was actually at a hotel in downtown Rochester. It was a nice hotel, and people from the community could buy memberships at the health club and pool. On any given day that we went, there were at least a handful of women lounging alongside the pool "tanning" or doing whatever it is that someone does when they just lie there and do absolutely nothing.

I would walk into the pool area with Olivia and Phoebe and assorted floaties and beach balls in tow, and I would get looks that I don't even want to remember getting. We would jump into the water and splash and do cannonballs and just act silly ... I would swim along the pool floor and let the girls "surf" on my back ... we just had FUN. And I can remember looking at the women laying by the pool and wonder if they were having fun -- actually I remember the day that Olivia asked me what those ladies were doing, and I remember that I couldn't give her an answer. Some of them were pretty, some of them weren't ... but that really didn't matter at all. Those days taught me a lesson that still rings true today -- at pools and in life, there are those of us who sit on the sidelines, looking pretty or trying to do something that will make them look pretty (working on tans, I guess) and then there are those of us who dive off the edges and hurl themselves into the water and laugh and have a good time and don't care if they're getting dirty looks because they splashed some water on the people in the lounge chairs.

Summer after summer, as I continued to work with kids and take them to pools, I found this theme playing out again and again. Last summer was perhaps the epitome of this kind of thing, as it was the first summer I was in North Carolina, and there seemed to be more women and lounge chairs than ever before, and the children I was watching were the splashiest I had cared for to date. On my first visit to a pool last June, I wondered if maybe it was time for me to act more like a grown-up, and to take my spot in a lounge chair and not in the pool with the kids. I think I even tried it for a few hours. But I got hot in the sun, and even though I had a book with me I found I couldn't concentrate it because my attention was being constantly directed toward the children shouting and splashing in the water ... so I acquiesed and put down my book and went back into the deep end to splash the kids back.

I know now that I will always be in the pool and not in a lounge chair. As in life, I don't want to miss out on the fun just because I feel like I should be doing something else, or because I am so focused on one thing (getting a tan) that I miss out on others (having fun and sharing unrepeatable moments with children who may not be there the next day to tickle or snuggle or splash). I so look forward to having children of my own and being a mom who is never too old or too busy or too tired to run and play and splash and LIVE. I mostly just enjoy being someone who has that attitude now, even if it's not being revealed through motherhood ... and I am so happy that I will be that kind of person in the future. I look forward to pool parties that I will attend in around 40 years or so, where I will still be doing cannonballs off diving boards and earning dirty looks from lounge chair'ers. To me, this is the only way I know how to truly LIVE, and I make no apologies.

the bigness of small lives

2006-06-13T06:53:00.000-04:00

This will be a really short post, because my head and my heart hurt. But recently I have been reminded of how much a person's life is really just a vapor. There are some lives whose vapors pass way into nothingness, and sadly we don't even realize they were ever there. There are other lives that leave behind a sweet fragrance, a scent that floods your mind and heart with memories and truths and goodness and fullness. On Sunday night, two friends of mine left this earth so that they could finally and fully experience that which they had only known partially before: the joy and wonder of the presence of God.

Though they are gone, the ripples caused by their lives continue to spread. They loved and lived out Christianity. They believed that life was something very big and full to be lived and experienced and thrived on. They recognized our tendency to make life small or make it focused on something as inconsquential as a relationship or a financial struggle or a bad day at work ... and they refused to live that way. They took hold of the lives they were given and they ran with them ... they loved 'til it hurt, they gave 'til they had none, they stayed up late and got up early so that they could be there for people if they needed someone. They were Christ to so many, and now they're gone. But the fruits of their lives - those shall linger and grow and become bigger than the small things that we cling to. I love you, Erik and Ann, thank you for reminding me that life is so much bigger than us, and that we shouldn't and can't settle for small lives. God longs for us to do things well and to do things on a huge scale ... when we do, our lives will live on even if we are gone.

the matter of a heart

2006-06-11T22:11:00.000-04:00

What a strange but wonderful weekend I had ... I went to the mountains, to hang out at a place that is designed to be a "nature preserve", or something of the sort - the focus is supposed to be about teaching people how to go back to the "way we used to live."

I rode a horse bareback. I learned how not to chop off my legs with an axe. I dug holes and then filled them again. I took a bath in a stream so cold even the crayfish were shivering, while thunder rolled and lightning flashed in the night sky above me.

But mostly, I experienced moment after moment where I stood face to face with truth, in myself and in others. There is a blatant contrast that stands out to me when I reflect on this past weekend ... I met one person who - at first glance - simulataneously disgusted and confused me. I made a judgment about her and interacted with her based on that judgment. I saw another person this weekend that I had met before. I had heard stories about him, and in my mind I had created an image of the incredible person I thought he was. I interacted with him based on my ideas of him as a person.

In each of these cases, I was wrong. Krista grew up a little bit this weekend, as she was reminded again that beauty really, in its purest essence, has nothing to do with the outside and everything to do with what is inside a person. I met a woman who, though confused and perhaps a little bit lost, has perhaps the most honest spirit that I have ever encountered in another female. If it had been up to me, I probably would have spoken to this person as little as possible, because of my preconceived ideas of who she was. But, thanks to God and His ultimate wisdom and the way that He orchestrates the details of our lives, I ended up spending as much time as possible with this person. At first, I viewed my time with her as something I just had to "get through", maybe even in order to spend time with the person who I felt like I was really there to see. But somehow, as a weird series of events placed me with this woman for several hours, I found myself discovering quite possibly the strangest friendship in my life. We laughed and cried and had lots of those "me too!" moments. But mostly we were just THERE as things happened around us, and I think we both were surprised to find that we were able to share those moments so easily. In her core, this woman was beautiful and honest and true, and it was so refreshing to encounter that in someone. On the outside there were things about her that at first caused me to not want to look too long or not let her catch me staring ... but once I got to see who she was inside, I found that those things I had noticed before weren't even noticeable to me at all.

The other person that I mentioned seems to personify the phrase "things aren't always what they seem". This man, I had thought, was the major part of why I was there this past weekend. I had prayed and asked God to give me wisdom and words and opportunities in which to speak to him about God ... I felt very strongly in my heart that somehow this person needed to hear something, and maybe God would allow me to be the one to tell it to him. I looked forward to being around this man, and feeling just an ounce of his energy and catching just a glimpse of his vision ... but, as I sat and talked to him and saw the inner self of him, I was discouraged to find that there was not much there at all to see. This man truly seems to be one who (in reference to an earlier post) puts most of his effort into making the front yard look good, while the back yard grows wild and messy and ugly. This man talks a good talk and presents an impressive front, but after he does that he seems to vanish from sight, leaving nothing to support any good ideas you might have about it.

Maybe my words sound harsh, and I don't mean them to be that way. I sincerely enjoy every person I meet ... I appreciate variety, especially in people, and I cherish lessons learned as my life connects with another's, even if only for a moment. The point is that I learned a little more this weekend about how God sees us, and how that is how He wants me to see others. It is so much easier to just look at the outside and make our decisions about people and act accordingly ... but real, authentic Christianity is rarely ever easy, and it's hardly ever about what we would do if left to ourselves. God calls us to look past the outward appearance and at the heart. I'm not even sure it's that He calls us to look past the outward appearance - maybe He doesn't want us to look at the outside at all.

Things are rarely what they seem, and I am so relieved. Help me God, to keep looking at the hearts of others ... and please help my own heart to be one that others would want to see and learn more about. I think about how God promised to give His people a new heart, to replace their heart of stone ... I long for that to be true in my life, that I have His heart instead of my old, ugly hard one. I want that heart to be ruling my life so strongly that people don't even have a chance to notice the outside of me.

everybody's got one

2006-06-08T12:32:00.000-04:00

There’s a line in a Vigilantes of Love song that demands to be song loud and from the heart, but it hurts to say it aloud, and it hurts even more to realize the inescapable truth behind it:

When you find there’s nothing special about that big hole in your heart … ‘cause everybody’s got one and precious little time to talk about it.

Last night I saw a sad sight. It’s a sight I have seen before, but it still hurt to see it again. In my neighborhood there is a woman who I see outside every so often. We have never met or spoken, and only once has she noticed me and returned the wave that I usually offer. From a distance she looks pretty and young and maybe even like someone with whom I would be friends. I see her once in a while in the daytime, as she is out walking her dog and I’m out with mine. In the past month or so, I have also seen her outside in the evenings … only she’s not with her dog, she’s with a man. And each time I have seen her, it has been with a different man. And with each of those men she seems to be quite familiar, in a physical sense at least. Last night I watched with an ache in my heart as she stumbled down the sidewalk, falling clumsily against the tall dark-haired man that walked beside her. His step seemed a bit more sure, and – although I was watching from across the street and the streetlights were quite dim – I am positive I saw a twisted smile on his face and a selfish look in his eyes. From my vista, it seemed that he was looking at the woman as a hungry wolf might gaze at a lost little lamb that somehow got away from the flock. Her blonde hair looked messy and her face appeared to be a little too relaxed. It was quite obvious this woman was drunk, and it didn’t seem that the man was drunk at all. Sadly, I can think back to a few other nights when I watched from afar as the same "walk" took place. It makes my heart hurt for this woman. I feel anger toward these men. I want to grab the woman and shake her and shout at her and wake her from her intoxicated stupor. I want to tell her that she is beautiful and lovable and that she is so much better than what she is settling for.

But I didn’t move. I sat in my car and looked at her and thought of the words to that song, about everyone having a hole in their heart. And I cried as I realized that I am no different than that lovely woman I was watching. There is a hole in my heart that is more evident and sensitive at some times than it is at others. Without realizing it, I sometimes look to other people in the hopes that they can give me something to fill that hole. I look to activities and ministries and causes, and maybe I’m successful at stuffing that hole full of things … but those things eventually settle, and there’s still a whole lot of "hole"ness there. There is still some space between emptiness and fulfillment. But I’m stubborn and hard-headed, and I still clumsily and unskillfully try to fill that hole myself.

We all have holes inside of us. You can use the catchy clichés and say they’re "God-shaped" if you want. Maybe they are. I guess if we say that, then we can say that whatever we are trying to use to fill that hole, whether it be sex, or love, or drugs, or alcohol, or causes, or careers, or money, or relationships … those things become our Gods. And if we push and pull and shove and pack them in there, they may do a really good job at filling part of that hole within us. But the truth is, I’m not sure that hole will ever totally be filled as long as we live on this earth and dwell in these bodies made of flesh. There is some part of us that will always be unfulfilled and dissatisfied, and I think that’s the way God wants us to be. If we somehow discovered the secret to fulfillment, then we wouldn’t look to Him, who is really the One who can satisfy or fulfill us anyway. It hurts my head to think about the absolute fulfillment we will one day enjoy when we stand before Him and long no more for anything.

This could be a depressing post, but if anything it should serve to motivate me (and you) to do the best we can to reach out to others and to take time to talk about the holes inside of us. As long as we are on this earth, we are all in the same boat … it’s just that some of us have found the oars and learned the joy of rowing, so that we can see more and enjoy more and feel more. There are many around us who are simply sitting in their boats with no idea of what to do. Last night I had the chance to invite someone into my boat and maybe let her rest a bit as I rowed for her, but I let that opportunity pass me by. I watched as she used her hands to try to paddle to an island where she thought she would find happiness. I have a feeling she never got to that place, and I am quite convinced that the island doesn’t exist. Tonight, and tomorrow night, and the night after that, if I get my eyes off myself long enough to see her, I have a feeling I might know where to find that young lady, and maybe next time I will be willing to slow down and help her out of her water-filled boat and let her sit with me a bit.

the need for fences

2006-06-07T09:50:00.000-04:00

I have only lived in North Carolina for a little over a year – I still sometimes forget that the south is different from the north, and that bikini season comes early down here. I have come to very much appreciate the fact that I am not a man, for I can’t imagine the torture that I would potentially experience in seeing that much temptation paraded in front of me. I was just about to write that it would be especially difficult to be a single man and have that much flesh teasing and taunting me, but I think it might be equally difficult to be a married man and be subject to that kind of enticement. In either case, it might be very much like a person who hasn’t eaten for several days, sitting and watching a procession of t-bone steaks and (since we’re in the south) fried chicken, but being unable to get up and enjoy the food. Even to walk away from the food doesn’t solve the problem, because that image still lingers in your thoughts and in your appetite and renders you dissatisfied.

This may be a really touchy subject for me to broach, but life is sometimes touchy and I tend to (especially lately) run into the difficult stuff head-first. Or sometimes it seems I get thrown into this stuff head-first. I was working at the group home last night, and somehow I ended in a conversation about women with one of the boys. We spoke in particular about lust and attraction and what God thinks of all that. I know this guy seems to have girls on his mind a lot, but usually the tone of the conversation is light and more teasing than anything else. Last night, after things quieted down at the house and most of the guys were in bed, we ended up talking about beauty. The focus was more about physical beauty than anything else. Apparently earlier that day this young man had seen a picture of a woman in a bikini, and he couldn’t shake the image from his head. He asked me if it was wrong to feel attraction toward her, and if it was wrong to continue to think about her and what she looked like in that bikini. He asked me if God would be “mad at him” for thinking about her in that way. This was one of those paradoxical moments when I really wondered if I was there, why I was there, or if maybe I had somehow slipped into someone else’s body that was supposed to be there … and at the same time, I knew that was exactly where I was supposed to be in that moment.

I took a deep breath and tried to recover the wind that had been knocked out of me, and I said a quick prayer … and I started talking to this young man (I’ll call him J) about beauty, and how God created beauty for us to enjoy, but how we have tainted and polluted something that He intended to be pure and holy. I watched his face closely and slowed a bit when I saw the flush rise to his cheeks as I talked about Adam and Eve in the garden, and how they were completely naked. I watched his eyes as they scanned the carpeted floor as he listened to me talk about how the beauty of another person is something God longs for us to enjoy in the context of marriage, and how we can actually worship God and honor HIM in the way that we treat another person and another person’s body.

I asked him what it was about that woman that he thought was so attractive. His cheeks grew rosy again as he mumbled “her body”. I asked him if she looked like a nice person, and if he thought that she was someone that he would enjoy spending time with, even if she was wearing baggy sweatpants and a big oversized t-shirt. He laughed nervously and looked at me for the first time in 15 minutes and said he didn’t know. I asked him if she would still be beautiful if he met her in real life and found that the shape he admired was actually the shape of the bikini and not the shape of the woman. Again, the nervous laugh, and a “probably not.” We got to talking about marriage, and about his own family life. I asked him what he thought was missing in his own parents’ marriage, and if he thought his mom was beautiful. He said that he didn’t think she was now, that maybe she was once, and that he didn’t know what was missing – probably love.

I really put J on the spot and asked him to give me a definition of beauty. He hemmed and hawed and sighed in frustration and finally said he didn’t know. I grabbed my Bible and asked him if he wanted to know what God thought about beauty. We ended up in (surprise!) Proverbs 31 and we talked especially about the verses that say “charm is deceitful, and beauty is fleeting … but a woman who fears the Lord is greatly to be praised.” J asked me what that means. I talked to him about my life, and my past – I didn’t give too many details, but I shared with him how there were years and times that I completely based my view of myself on how other people saw me. I put so much work and effort into the outside of me that the inside was totally neglected, like an unkempt garden overgrown with weeds. I made the analogy of a beautiful house with a perfectly landscaped front yard … there were flowers and trees, and it was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. If I was that house, people would have driven by me and stopped their cars and stared and felt drawn to walk through the yard – or maybe they would even wish they lived there … but if they looked further, past the really good presentation, and walked into the backyard, they would see a landscaper’s nightmare, with weeds and uneven ground and swampy spots. I put so much work into the front yard that I completely ignored the needs and devastation happening in the back. Eventually those passersby would grow tired of the front yard, and they would start to meander toward the back … and when they did, they were completely disgusted by what they saw. As beautiful and enticing as it was at that point, the front yard did not hold enough attraction to them to keep them there. That beauty and appeal into which I invested so much time and energy – it was deceiving, and eventually it faded away. It fled because of time, because of the process of going beyond the surface, but mostly I think it happened because God wanted me to learn that He would rather I have balance in my life.

I was so relieved to see that J seemed to be following my story, because I wasn’t even completely sure where I was going with it. But then God took my breath away again. I guess what I really needed to do was just shut up for a minute, because as I sat and listened in amazement, J said “kinda makes you think … maybe a yard that looks so good that it’s unreal IS unreal. Maybe everything should be kept up, and one part shouldn’t get so much attention that other stuff is ignored.” I heard the buzzing of the clothes dryer, telling me that my clothes were done, so I excused myself from the room just in time to blot the tears forming in my eyes. I had rambled and ranted and somehow I had communicated a truth to this precious young man.

When I came back in the room, J was looking at the floor intently. He said, “Miss Krista, what about what’s in the house? Forget the yard, what’s in the house?” I could have jumped up and hugged him … and actually, I did. I said, “that’s IT!” I told him THAT is the question he needs to ask himself when he’s thinking about beauty, especially as he gets older and thinks about a woman that he would want to spend the rest of his life with. I was the one to blush next, as he said (mumbled) to me, “Miss Krista, your front yard and back yard and house – they’re beautiful.” At least I think that’s what he said – his mouth was buried in a pillow, and I couldn’t get an indication from his eyes because they were still focused on a single spot on the carpet.

We prayed together that night, that God would guard J’s mind. We thanked God for the beauty He created for us to enjoy, and also for the way that He gives us limits and teaches us to learn to appreciate them. I prayed for J’s future, and for his future wife, that God would protect both of them and help them to learn how to care for their inner beauty as much as (if not more than) their outer beauty. I thanked God for J and his heart and his passions and his desires, and prayed that God would preserve those until the day when He wants J to be able to fully express them in joy and worship to Him.

As I drove home and continued in prayer, I felt a sadness when I realized that I will only have one more night of official “work” with those boys. But the sadness was soon replaced with joy and appreciation at the privilege of being able to be a part of these boys’ lives, now and in the future choices that they make. There are so many decisions ahead of them, so many battles to be waged and so many victories to be experienced … it amazes and humbles me to realize that somehow, in His sovereignty, God decided to let me be a part of their journeys.

I also thought a bit more about the house/lawn analogy. Of course if you take anything to an extreme, you risk damage – sometimes unrepairable damage … I’m sure that people might put SO much work into their backyards that the front yards are an eyesore. The key is balance. Or maybe the key is a privacy fence. If I owned my house, I think I would probably put up the highest, strongest fence I could find … my lawn and house would be beautiful, but this beauty would only be known by those to whom I open the gate. I’m sure there would be many grateful men if more women would build those fences.

bright mirrors that glow

2006-06-06T15:28:00.000-04:00

Someone just told me that I’m glowing. He is the third person today to say that. I get a good feeling when I hear that, to know that what I am feeling inside is being reflected on the outside. I remember a CS Lewis quote that I once read, "We are mirrors whose brightness, if we are bright, is derived from the Sun that shines upon us." I can’t describe or explain what God has been doing in me lately, but I am enjoying it immensely.

There is a richness to life that I know can only come from Him. As I am re-learning how to fall in love with Him, and as I loosen my grip on my carefully protected heart, I am experiencing something that is humbling and more than a little frightening, but it is SO, SO right. It’s the thing that, if I’m honest with myself, I realize I want the most … to be fully and completely known. But of course, it’s the thing that I fear. Yes, it’s wonderful when you find that freeing experience with another person, and I do still want that in my life … but that pales in comparison to the knowledge that every single fiber of my being is known and loved by the One who summons the sun to rise with just a word.

I have known very few people who I feel really "get" or understand me – when I find someone like that, I know I have found a treasure because I’m a complex individual. I have been told that I’m an enigma … and I feel that way – a lot. I’m hard to understand and explain, usually I can’t even understand or explain myself. So when I happen across another person whose soul speaks the same language as mine, another part of me comes alive. I strongly believe that there is some part of me that is in a way weary of limitation … I get tired of holding parts of me back so that others can understand me or find a relationship with me a bit more manageable. I really believe there is some part of me that NEEDS to be nourished … it’s the part of me that has the power to develop the true potential of who I can be – who I was created to be. It’s an amazing thing to have a relationship (of whatever form) with another person in which that part of you is really being acknowledged and fed … but the truth that I have been overwhelmed with lately is that – as wonderful as it is to feel that type of connection with another human – there is a God who created that complexity and uniqueness within EACH of us. He is the one that makes that type of connection even possible.

I think a real temptation in life, especially in love, is to seek something that is in truth just a representation of a more abstract reality. For example, we "fall in love" and feel alive and feel energized and feel as if our lives are fuller than ever before … and we associate these feelings and experiences with that person, with the object of our love. What we should be doing is associating those feelings and experiences with the object itself. As Christians, we should realize that the warmth and energy that we are feeling have to do not so much with another person, as with Love itself. God is Love. He is also the Creator of Love, but He IS Love. That means that those butterflies and fireworks and even the solid rewards like growth and improvement – these things are just pale little shadows of what we are meant to experience. I’m not saying it’s wrong to love another person (I’ll hold off on what I feel about being "in love") … I am saying it’s wrong to think that, even if the person we love is a wonderful, godly, authentic follower of Christ, the connection we have with them means that NOW our lives have begun, and NOW we know what love is. I think we settle far too easily for things.

In all honesty, it’s frightening to think about the intensity and power of what we can have if we really plunge ourselves into the depths of God’s love. We can’t present our best versions of ourselves or really hope that He doesn’t show up before we have a chance to clean our house or get our makeup on … He sees inside of us. He knows every trace of evil or negative thoughts that linger in our brain … he knows the resent and fear that lie (maybe dormant) in our hearts. When we’re really and truly wrapped up in love with God, it’s messy and scary and painful and at times overwhelming. But it’s good, and I refuse to settle for anything less. That glow that it seems I have – maybe it’s a flush from the heat of this battle for God’s highest, maybe it’s a blush from realizing how undeserving I am of this kind of love … whatever the case, it’s good and I’m not letting go of it.

shut up and deal with it

2006-06-06T10:44:00.000-04:00

Recently I got an email from a friend of mine that just sort of left me there staring at the computer screen in astonishment. He’s a nice friend, one of those probably “forever friends” with who, even if I don’t talk to him for months and months, I still feel that bond. We have never actually even met in person, and there’s a very good chance we never will, but there is a deep connection there. He is the friend of this post, who said this nice thing about ME: “With such a blend of a serious conscientiousness of character and soul with a carbonated lighthearted frivolity, what young man, disenchanted with the status quo, could resist you?"

Anyway, he is going through some incredible things in his life right now. He and I seem to have a knack for going through big things at the same times … different “big things,” but still – big things. I’m not sure I should even try to interpret or paraphrase his wisdom, so I may just end up doing a whole lot of quoting. I am going to take some editorial liberties and cut out some names and details that you don’t need to know about, but I want to preserve his points.

Keep doing what you’re doing, no matter how logical and reasonable and biblical it sounds and no matter how it fails or succeeds … people like us need to be taught a lesson. We can't figure God out. We have to go by faith and waiting. Our beliefs about Jesus have a rational and historical basis, but He treats every believer different - and what He wants most from us is character development and faith development (even it if it comes at the expense of our understanding rationality.)

What do I mean at the expense of rationality? I mean, God gave you and I intelligence and a literary bent. We love to interpret and analyze and manipulate metaphor. He won’t be handled, though. And we will do well to just shut up and deal with it.

… you know what? I have tried to force God's hand before, and that's why I'm where I am right now. Because I never learn that sometimes He calls me to "stick it out". I wonder if I had "stuck it out", if things would be different. I wonder if He would have even chosen her for me, or if I would have chosen her for myself. But the truth is, I love her more every day and also am more irritated and confounded by her every day. Truth is, I don’t really have absolute control of my life and - even if I did, whatever steps I would rationally take would make it as imperfect as if I had just left it alone and waited for God.

What am I trying to say? There is no summary for it. I don’t know and am in the dark as much as ever! But I do know that He will get me from point A to point B. I don’t know how or if I will be happy or depressed about the means. But as little consolation as that offers for any given problem, conundrum or situation, that’s all I know anymore.

Am I at peace with this? No. I want orderliness and rationality. I want to predict God's steps and either manipulate them or get in line with them. It has never worked for me before, not as far as circumstances go. But honestly, I am going to try to get in line with interpreting AFTER THE FACT and not before. My philosophy of life now is to try my best at everything that is in front of me no matter if 99% of the things fail or are imperfect. IN that I think God is happy; that I push in faith regardless of what I see happen. How irrational this seems to me!

Maybe you don’t agree with what he said … but if you knew what this incredible man is going through, you would recognize the power behind his words and the ponderings of his heart. There is beauty in those words. I’m not even sure I totally agree with them, but I applaud his honesty and his sincerity and I hope he’s not upset with me for posting his email on my blog. He is right though – I catch myself very often trying to force God’s hand or “figure Him out”, and I really sometimes do need to just quiet down and watch as God reveals His plan. Anyway, those words seemed way too good not to share … they deserve to be read by others who can hopefully relate. And again, I hope he doesn’t mind that I posted his email on my blog. :)

the quest for the elusive VW

2006-06-04T21:33:00.000-04:00

I got into a conversation the other day with a friend of mine about Proverbs 31. It’s a chapter of the Bible that seems to keep coming up quite a bit with me lately. In this conversation, my friend told me that she used to hate to hear sermons or read anything that cited those verses, because she always ended up feeling guilty and insufficient. She said it seemed like one big list of “to do” things, most of which she failed to do. I didn’t have words to say at the time, and I’m still not sure I do, but that conversation got me thinking quite a bit about the verses and the implications …

This morning in church, the message had nothing at all to do with Proverbs 31 or virtuous wives, but as I looked around the congregation I found my mind drifting to thoughts of those verses. Surrounded by families of various ages and sizes, I found myself in the minority as a single person. There was a beautiful, freckle-faced little girl sitting in front of me, and she turned around every so often and gave me a gap-toothed smile. I watched with warm feelings as she threw her arms around her mother’s neck and snuggled against her shoulder, smiling that same precious smile and looking at her mother adoringly. My mind was filled with thoughts of what a child should see when she looks at her mother, and I wondered about who this little girl looks up to.

Something that has been dominating my thoughts lately has been the idea that – as Christians – we are commanded to be excellent at EVERYTHING. This is not to say that we need to have the perfect body or wear the latest fashions or drive the most expensive cars … but it does demand that we do the absolutely best job we can at taking care of what we DO have. It means that we make choices to honor God with our talents, our time, our resources, our minds, and our bodies (to name a few things). This is the example that we should be setting for our children, whether we are parents or mentors or leaders in whatever capacity.

Proverbs 31 provides a list of qualities that King Lemuel’s mother apparently thought were virtuous. I admit, until this afternoon, I’m not sure that I ever really read the first 9 verses of that chapter, or thought about the fact that this chapter is basically a mother’s speech to her son. It’s easy to understand the mindset of the friend I mentioned earlier – this list of seemingly unattainable virtue seems a bit intimidating. But to me, these verses still don’t even scratch the surface of what we (as women) should be doing and choosing and living. Today as I considered the tone of these verses, I realized that they are not just about wives, but about women in general.

The woman described in Proverbs 31 does not wait for life to come to her – she is purposeful and diligent about going for the life that God has promised her. She arises early in the morning because she realizes that every day is a part of her journey, and she doesn’t want to miss what God has in store for her. I think even if this nameless woman did not have a husband to praise her, she would still make her life full. The choices that she makes wouldn’t change, regardless of whether she was single or married. She chooses to be purposeful about life, and she chooses contentment with her situation.

King Lemuel’s mother doesn’t describe at all the husband of this virtuous woman. We don’t know if he is everything that this woman would like him to be, but I get the feeling that she is so secure in herself that she realizes that she has a role of her own, and she is responsible for playing it. I think a huge mistake that people often make, ESPECIALLY in marriage, is that they make someone else responsible for their happiness. This is wrong. In any relationship, in any life, we are each responsible for ourselves: for our emotional well-being, for spiritual development, and for physical wellness. Why do so many people get married and then think they’re safe and no longer need to put any effort into being the best person that they can be??

I have long held to the idea that too many people expect another person to “complete” them. I am not completely sure how this works in marriage – I guess maybe it’s not about completing another person as much as it is about completing the other part of the marriage relationship. In order to do that though, each half of that whole needs to be complete on their own. The virtuous woman looks for what she can do with her circumstances – she’s competent on her own, she’s not waiting for someone else to do what she knows she is capable of.

Like I said, I never really thought so much about the fact that this description was given by a man’s mother, but I think it’s interesting … I wonder if this kind of thing would translate to today, in a mother telling her son to go for the really nice woman of good character instead of the really cute little kitten that he has his eye on. In verse 3, Lemuel’s mother actually warns him against the kind of women that destroy kings … kinda gives the feeling that maybe she’s telling him to stay away from the “loose” women of the day. She’s looking out for his best interests, I think, and realizes that if Lemuel can find a woman who fears the Lord more than anything else, he will have a gem that will be a blessing to him and to his children.

This is the kind of woman that I want to be, whether I’m married or single (and since I’m single right now, that’s what I’m working towards) … this woman does only good for her husband as long as she lives (verses 11 and 12). Ok, so I don’t have a husband right now, but the idea here is that to do my best in loving others, I am doing what’s best for myself. I am not weakened by serving or loving others, I’m made stronger. People can trust me because I am at peace with myself and with God … I am not looking for another person to answer any questions for me, because I know that Christ is the answer to any question I have. I know this will be a key thing for me someday if/when I am married … because, regardless of what someone else is doing or giving or being, I am self-sufficient in Christ.

Honestly? I love the thought of someday getting married, and getting up while it’s still dark and preparing food and a welcoming environment for my family. I really like the idea of using my strength to tackle the tasks at hand. The thought of someone counting on me through the hard times, and the beautiful strength shown in reaching out (through body, mind, or spirit) to the needy … these things bring me such an incredible feeling of joy and hope. I long to fill a home with peace and security and wisdom. When I read this chapter, I love to think about me living out this woman’s life. The thing I need to remember though, is that I can live it out even when I’m single.

To get back to the start of my post … the woman of Proverbs 31 is strong and resilient and dynamic and refreshing. Where are these women in our churches today? Why do so many get married and decide that they need to stop pursuing excellence in their mind, soul, and body? This woman in Proverbs 31 is a picture of beauty and strength and grace and tenacity. This is the type of woman that little girls should be looking to for a role model … it seems like we’ve missed it somewhere.

It’s getting late and I’m rambling now. I’m not sure I even conveyed what is on my mind. I just feel so strongly that in general we Christians live very small, ho-hum lives, when God shows us again and again that He wants us to pursue excellence in every way.

the tune of my prayers

2006-06-03T14:12:00.000-04:00

I woke up at 2:30 this morning with a song in my head. It's a song that was a favorite of mine when I was in college, and I probably haven't heard it since. I crawled from my bed to the floor beside it, and amazingly those lyrics from eight or nine years ago poured from my heart as I kneeled and savored the sweetness of the silent world around me. After spending some time with my God, I came to my computer and found the song online. Tears flowed freely as I listened and felt a powerful stirring inside of me. I had every intention of going back to bed, but I felt a powerful draw to the Word and also to more of that sweet communion to which I awoke. So, for the next four hours I prayed and sang and cried and smiled and praised and lamented and thanked and questioned ... and at the end of it I crawled into bed and slept the sweetest sleep I have had in a while.

Here are the words of that song -- they are true and sweet and real ... but this morning I was reminded that I already AM free. I am free to love, give, feel, hurt, laugh, cry, hug, reach out, run, push ahead, grow, teach, share, and shine this light that He has put inside of me. We make our lives so big, but in reality they are so small. And yet within each of us is the capability to make our puny little existences beautiful. In light of eternity, my life is a short little gasp of air in the midst of a powerful windstorm. And yet, this quick breath, this vapor of time and being - this is what we have to work with. This is what God entrusts us with.

It's SO easy to get wrapped up in what is going on in our lives, and to miss the bigger picture of what will come of our lives in the end. Yesterday, today, tomorrow - these are tiny brushstrokes in a HUGE picture that God has painted and is still painting. But still, these moments are what we have possession of, as much as we can possess them. What a waste to spend our time lamenting over ultimately insignificant losses or rejoicing over temporary gains. I have a feeling God longs for us to fully live each moment of our lives, to feel the richness of the vivid colors, and to savor the sweet fragrance of His grace and mercy flowing through us. He gives us victory and strength and power, not so that we can use it to build up ourselves, but so that we can engage in battles and wars that maybe have nothing at all to do with US. We are His ambassadors - that means we represent Him here on earth. It does me well to remember that, for I have a feeling that God would be living my life a little different than I sometimes do.

Here's the song. The freedom that I feel today pales in comparison to what I will one day enjoy, but still - tt's what my heart is praying today:

The mountains are steep
And the valleys low
Already I'm weary
But I have so far to go
Oh, and sorrow holds my hand
And suffering sings me songs
But when I close my eyes
I know to whom I belong
Who makes me strong

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits for me
Oh, I will be free

A wise man, a rich man
In pauper's clothes
A shepherd to lead us
Through the land of woes
Though many battles I have lost
So many rivers yet to cross
But when my eyes behold the Son
Who bore my loss, who paid the cost

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits for me
Oh, I will be free

Oh, and I'll dance on silver moonlight
And I'll walk through velvet fields
Oh, and I'll run into the arms
The arms that set me free

I will be free
I will be free to run the mountains
I will be free
Free to drink from the living fountain
Oh, I'll never turn back
'Cause He waits....
I'll never turn back
Don't you ever turn back
Because someday, someday we're gonna see
We will be free

2006-06-02T16:17:00.000-04:00

There is something so precious, almost sacred, about hearing another person ask for help. There is something so incredibly humbling about being the one being asked for help. Today I took a long lunch and went and spent a couple hours at the outreach center in town – it’s a place that, until this past Monday, I had no idea existed. When I moved to this town just over seven months ago, quite possibly the hardest thing for me to leave in Salisbury was the mission where I used to spend 2-3 days of my week. It was in that musty, crowded building that I caught a glimpse of what it really means to be a Christian.

I still remember the first interview I did there, and how those 20 minutes revealed corners and crevices of my heart that I wasn't even aware were there. As I sat across from a young hispanic woman and her three small children and tried clumsily to have a conversation in order to determine her needs, I realized that I had nothing to offer her. As Yesmina looked at me, she probably thought that I could help her: me, a white woman just a year younger than her, with clean hands and nice clothes. I had a college degree and had written term papers on how to best serve other cultures within our country; I had years and years of Sunday school under my belt - I could tell her children stories about David and Goliath, and how Jonah got swallowed by a whale; I had traveled to other states to serve meals and build homes for people just like Yesmina and her children ... and yet, there I sat, clinging desperately to my pen and clipboard, with the full knowledge that all of my education and training and serving and reading had done nothing to prepare me for the moment in which I found myself. Here was a woman sitting in front of me, basically revealing her life story to me in a plea for help.

I fumbled my way through a conversation that was half-Spanish, half-English and discovered that Yesmina's husband had recently lost his job as a factory worker. Soon after he lost his job, Yesmina and her children lost him. Jose had left her alone with no money and no idea of where to go for help. She had found out about the mission through a woman on the street, and she came to us asking for help with her rent, power bill, water bill, groceries, clothing, and school supplies for her children. As a freshly-trained interviewer, the policies were still fresh in my mind, and I knew we would probably only be able to help with one of the items on the lengthy list she presented. I started to open my mouth to tell her this, but as I looked at little Jose and his almond-shaped eyes shining back at me, I mustered up a smile and said I would be right back.

I stepped out of that room, closed the door behind me, fell against the wall and finally exhaled. I breathed out all the sadness and helplessness that I had been bursting with in that small, cramped room. I cried for Yesmina and for the reality that those children would probably never again see their father. I cried at the injustice of life. I cried out to God in a search for answers, wondering why I was sitting on one side of the table instead of the other. Why wasn't Yesmina the one wearing a nice dress instead of dirty cutoff jeans and flip-flops? Why wasn't I the one burdened with diaper bags and a stroller and three tired children? I took a deep breath and walked down the hallway to go talk to the program coordinator. She saw my face and she ran to me and hugged me, and reminded me that she had warned me that my heart would be tugged and pulled and stretched in unimaginable ways. I had heard her words, but nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

I reviewed Yesmina's file with her, and somehow we were able to figure out a way to meet almost all of her needs. I was also able to refer her to a housing program run by the mission, in which single mothers can come live in apartments with their children while receiving training and assistance from the mission. I went back into the room, this time with a real smile on my face. Two of the three children were crying and Yesmina's eyes looked weary and defeated. As I sat down and tried to explain to Yesmina that we would be able to help her, her pretty blue eyes desperately searched mine. She leaned forward, listening intently and grasping for a word she recognized, finally latching onto the word "ayuda" and beginning to smile. I held out the various vouchers and payment slips to her, and her smile grew as she read the Spanish words written alongside the English. She jumped up from her chair and squeezed me with her strong, tan arms. I hugged her back, feeling undeserving of her appreciation but so glad I was somehow able to help her.

As I helped Yesmina and the children out of the mission that day, I realized that I am unworthy and - on my own - I do have nothing to offer. But the wonderful thing, the truth that simultaneously takes my breath away and knocks me to me knees, is that God does things through me. And God does things through people like Yesmina. There is no "us" and "them", no "this side of the table" and "that side of the table". We are vessels, containers filled with something ... that day, Yesmina was filled with grace and humility and Christ. I realized as I watched that little family walk down the street, that I had just spent 20 minutes with Christ in a person. And because of what I was filled with that day (and what I hope I'm filled with everyday) - love, and mercy, and compassion - God was able to use me to love her. There is nothing that I possibly could have done to prepare for that moment. I just needed to be there, so that God could work.

I am so looking forward to the privilege of being involved with this outreach center here in town. I have a feeling there will be lots of opportunities to be there and watch as God somehow, amazingly, does something through an unprepared person such as myself.