"The goodness of the Lord in the land of the living..."

I'll spare you the gory details of my most recent pity party, which took place about 2 hours ago, but I WILL tell you what started it--and what ended it.

I came home from my family's Christmas celebration tonight, unloaded my bag of "goodies" and crashed on the couch. Alone. Just the cat and me, staring at my beautifully decorated, but now giftless tree, thinking about the day and what it means/doesn't mean (well, the cat was probably thinking about hacking up a furball or something, but *I* was, of course, thinking holy thoughts about the baby Jesus in his golden diaper. Or something similar.) ;-)

I've talked to so many people this Christmas season (including 4 yesterday) who are sad, depressed, disheartened, lonely, discouraged. It's tough, no matter what the reason, if you're alone on Christmas. It's tough for me. I mean, honestly, I would much rather come home and curl up on the couch with a glass of wine and someone I love than be sitting here by myself, fighting back those nasty, self-pitying tears. I'm human. I'm created for community and for relationship. I may be mostly "ok" with this ongoing, sometimes seemingly endless, season of singleness, but today, I DON'T like it one bit.

And then I got a phone call from a dear friend with whom I'd not spoken since...last April, I think. She was one of the long-term volunteers at God's Katrina Kitchen. An unlikely friend, because we have almost nothing in common except for the fact that we love God and were given the amazing privilege of serving the "marginalized" people along the post-Katrina Mississippi Gulf Coast. She and her husband have most recently been working with Hurricane Ike clean-up in the Galveston area.

The whole time we were talking, I was simultaneously mentally kicking myself for my big pity party and thanking God for providing a friend who felt prompted to call at the exact moment I really needed her. As we caught up on where our lives have taken us in the past 8 months, she shared a story about a time in her life when she felt the same way I'm feeling right now...she didn't blithely offer any of the stupid platitudes that make me want to slap people when the inane words come out of their mouths, nor did she jump in and wallow with me--she just told me that she understood how I felt and she knew that God would use this time for good, even though it might not seem good at the moment.

I know I'll see it someday. And that knowing makes being curled up on my couch alone tonight much more bearable.

Lesson learned...

...again.

Life really does go on. And you can choose to sit, molding and petrifying on the sidelines, wrapped in the tattered shawl of the past, watching all those beautiful brave people out on the dance floor, enjoying themselves while you rot away in your misery...or you can leap right into the scary-as-hell fray and grab a little of the good stuff for yourself.

Case in point (not really what I'm talking about, but it's a good enough example): I fell on the ice today. I slipped on the second step on my front porch and bounced (really, I did) down the remaining three. I could've crawled right back into my house and stayed there until all the ice melted and the world was safe again, but I got up, laughed it off, brushed the ice off my butt, limped to my car and went back to work. I'm really sore. I'll be worse tomorrow. But the ice didn't win.

*I* am going to win this. I'm done with the sidelined, feeling-sorry-for-myself crap. Fear of the unknown is a lot better than living an empty life. Fear of the unknown is, actually, kind of exciting.

Game on.

Hiatus not of my choosing...

Aside from the usual flurry of pre-Christmas activity, I've been plagued with a horrible cold that sidelined me for several days last week and has now turned into bronchitis. Per doctor's orders, I've been lying on the couch, doing NOTHING but resting, taking my meds and drinking gallons of water, addressing Christmas cards, and watching Season 2 of The Office.

I'm going to be out of town this weekend and I'm having a party at my house Monday night. Oh, well. I normally do a big thing for the Girls' Game Night Christmas party. Not this year. I'm thinking pizza. Or something else I can order from somewhere. The cooking thing is just not happening. This is a challenge for me--I've been spouting off about Christmas being more about spending time with our loved ones and less time/money on the insanity...now I get to put that into practice for real and all the little "Martha Stewart" cells in me are screaming in horror. Serves me right, eh? ;-)

Back to The Office. What a strange show. I can't honestly say I "like" it, but I'm drawn with a weirdly morbid fascination to each episode--I can't quit watching it. And I've even laughed out loud (well, as "out loud" as someone with bronchitis and laryngitis CAN laugh, that is!) a few times tonight. At the strangest things. Probably because it's a strange show and I'm...well, a little eccentric myself. I'm glad I finally gave into the pressure of my peers.

I'm working on a couple of posts that I hope to finish in the not-too-distant future. A man I deeply admired died last week and his death and funeral and the gaping crater he's left in the lives of many have affected me profoundly. God is challenging me to (even though I could never fill his shoes) step up to the plate and be what I profess to be. Not sure what that's going to look like right now.

The Griswold Family Christmas Tree in my living room (well, it's actually just a little Fraser Fir) either has the infamous squirrel hiding in it or an ornament is slipping off its branch--I hear strange noises emerging from it and the cat is sleeping peacefully on the back of the couch. Yep. The ornament just crashed to the floor. Good thing nothing is breakable on my tree.

And that's pretty much the scope of my wisdom for tonight. Too much "stuff" in my head for much deep thought.

When worlds collide...

On most days, I thank God I don't have cable/dish/rabbit ears for my TV. I get along quite well, thank you, with watching a couple of shows online every week and keeping up with the major world events through Yahoo. And this time of year, most definitely, I'm especially grateful. I've been exposed to enough "Get up EARLY and don't miss the bargains!!" Black Friday commercials while at friends' homes the past couple of days to reassure me that I could live quite contentedly for the rest of my life without bringing any of that back into my peacefully oblivious existence.

I chose to participate in "Buy Nothing Day" today...a grassroots movement of sorts to attempt to take back this day from the mainline, media-driven, blindly-accepted, consumer insanity. While people are dying in the name of Black Friday bargains (yes, DYING--a WalMart employee was trampled to death early this morning in a 5:00 AM stampede) and getting injured, I stayed home, slept in, ate some Thanksgiving leftovers and started working through the backlog of snail mail/email/blog updates that have been piling up on me during the busy last couple of weeks.

And here's what I learned:

While people are mindlessly stampeding others for the sake of a $200 Xbox or an $800 50" plasma TV or an $88 Barbie Jeep or a $20 Hannah Montana beanbag chair, my C4C Disaster Relief (formerly God's Katrina Kitchen) friends Vickie, Vance and Ryan Weesner, Steve and Lezlie Anderson, and Mary Edna Thompson are serving those in Galveston who remain homeless after the devastation of Hurricane Ike (the mostly forgotten because politics were more important, but third most costly disaster in the US at $21 BILLION in losses). And Beverly Hayden, an amazingly talented lawyer-turned-photographer-turned-world-adventurer, is trampling through the garbage dump in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, handing out bread, apples, oranges, hugs, and love to the more than 300 hungry, sometimes naked and shoeless, beautiful children who live there in the midst of the stench and toxic waste.

A vast chasm between worlds, eh? One that leaves me feeling helpless and hopeless and broken and paralyzed...and wondering how the hell we got here. And if there's really a way to get out...or if it's too late to even have the smallest shred of hope that things can ever change.

Thanks, Alanis...

She's certainly been my "soul sister" in the angry days--there's nothing better than cranking up SFIJ or Jagged Little Pill and singing out the rage. But. Alanis has a sweeter sound these days. Kinda grown up and content and peaceful...even when life hurts. Kinda blissful. That's where I am right now. And, even though I'm not in Cali, this song pretty much fits my mood right now...

"Giggling Again for No Reason"--Alanis Morissette

I am driving in my car up highway one
I left LA without telling anyone
There were people who needed something from me
But I am sure they’ll get along fine on their own

Oh this state of ecstasy
Nothing but road could ever give to me
This liberty wind in my face
And I’m giggling again for no reason

I am dancing with my friends in elation
We’ve taken adventures to new levels of fun
I can feel the bones are smiling in my body
I can see the meltings of inhibition

Oh this state of ecstasy
Nothing but road could ever give to me
This liberty wind in my face
And I’m giggling again for no reason

I’m reeling jubilation
Triumphant in delight
I am at home in this high five
And I’m smiling for no reason

I am sitting at the set of cali sun
We’ve gotten quiet for its’ last precious seconds
I can feel the salt of the sea on my skin
And we still hear the echoes of abandon

Oh this state of ecstasy
Nothing but road could ever give to me
This liberty wind in my face
And I’m giggling again for no reason

Random gratefulness...

...or maybe "gratefulness for random things". In my best Erin-esque form (meaning bulleted, because I love it when she does that). :-)

• I spent the weekend at a church retreat. Not what I expected. Not really, even what I hoped for. But better than both. We talked a lot about what it means to be a "church" and a "family" and a "body". It would have been wonderful if more of our church family could have participated--many didn't, for a variety of reasons. But the ones who were there were changed...in small ways or big ways, but all in at least one good way, simply by virtue of the fact that we were acting like family. It was good.
• At the retreat, I got to hang out a lot with one of my oldest, dearest friends in my church family. He's the one who invited us to the church to begin with. He's the one who got me involved in Godstock. He's the one who wouldn't let me disassociate myself from Godstock when I was in the middle of my divorce. He's the one who listened to me rant and rave, let me cry, cried with me, prayed with me...and mostly just listened and stuck right by my side when things were horrible and sad. Our lives have taken different paths and we rarely see each other outside of Sunday mornings anymore. But we sat and talked a lot this weekend and I loved it. He's a godly man who's full of wisdom, but his voice is quiet and his demeanor is unassuming...and people don't listen to him nearly as much as they should. I'm so glad I got the chance to sit down and listen (again) to his heart.
• I'm cooking next weekend for a bunch of high school/college people. Which means I get to hang out with them. Which makes me feel young and hopeful. I love convo...and I especially love when it's at our church--it always helps me "see with eyes anew" to quote from my favorite Chad song.
• I spent last weekend in Texas with Chad. I needed the time away. I needed the time with my friend who likes to think he's my big brother. Actually, *I* like to think that, too. I'm grateful for our long, LONG friendship...never picture-perfect (hey, it's us--how could it be?!), but precious and affirming (almost) always.
• My job lately has been overwhelming and stressful and sometimes horrible, but I'm blessed to have a friend who understands and speaks peace and encouragement and integrity and desperately-needed laughter into my life and just diffuses all that stress and horribleness and makes it seem like nothing. Words can't express how grateful I am...I won't even try. It's beyond measure.
• I'm warm tonight. I bought an old handmade quilt at an auction years ago, because I wanted something pretty to hang on the quilt rack my granddad made for me. I needed something warm to take to the retreat this weekend and couldn't find my blanket, so I grabbed this quilt instead. It kept me warm all weekend and I realized how silly it was for me to keep something "for show" when I could snuggle up in it and feel warm and comfy and happy. So, I'm all wrapped up in my "new" old quilt and I'm so happy and comfy, I may start purring any moment.

Reading between the poles...

I've taken a little hiatus lately, because...well, because I really haven't had much to say, which is quite unusual. I took a small, much-needed vacation (really just a long weekend), have spent some time catching up on reading, and I've been working on "perfecting" my knitting skills (which will take a LONG time, since I'm still laboring over the first stitch I learned!)

When I got home Tuesday night, I had well over 100 unread emails in my inbox. I've been weeding through them, reading them a few at a time, and I'm finally caught up...that's a good feeling! As I was scrolling through the last of them today, something happened that made me stop in my tracks and really think.

I'm on an email list from Sojourners--a daily message containing a Bible verse pertaining to social justice and a thought-provoking quote from someone on poverty, justice, peace, etc. The email also contains ads for various Sojo publications, mostly small studies designed for home groups on a variety of socially just subjects. Today's email had an ad for a study on Christians and nonviolence (a subject near and dear to my heart right now, as I explore what it means to be a pacifist in the gun-toting, blow-'em-all-to-hell atmosphere in which our country seems to have found itself lately) and a study called "A Vision for Overcoming Poverty", also a subject I tackle every day--both in my workplace and out in the "real world".

Those subjects inspire me. To think less of myself and more of others. To do more than think. To give up that new movie/pair of earrings/book/coat and act more like the woman I say I am...that one who understands what being a "community" or "body" means, the one whose heart breaks at the thought of people going hungry or not having warm clothing for winter and shares what I have with someone else instead of thinking of my own selfish "wants". I stopped to remember how incredibly blessed I am here in my beautiful little warm house with plenty of food to eat and warm clothing to keep me toasty on cold days. I'm not "wealthy" by the standards of this country, but I'm blessed with more than enough.

And then I clicked to the next email. From MarthaStewart.com. An article, complete with beautiful photos of beautiful food, telling me how to have the most lavish Thanksgiving dinner yet. And decorate my whole house for the occasion with candles and gorgeous (expensive) fabrics and turkey-patterned china and all that good stuff.

Wow. What a contrast. Polar opposites.

My pastor is the former executive director at a not-too-distant rescue mission/homeless shelter. I read "Under the Overpasses" daily. The best thing I've ever done in my life is cook and serve meals to hurting people at God's Katrina Kitchen. For a moment, I pictured the two worlds colliding...perfectly coiffed and polished Martha serving turkey and all the fabulous trimmings on her beautiful china to the men and women at the Mission. Or under the big tent in Gulfport. One of those pendulum swing things...where do we find the balance? I refuse to stop believing that, as Shane says, "another world is possible". It's all around us. But unless we take at least ONE step in that direction, we will never make it.

But the poles are magnets. And somewhere, right in the middle, isn't there a spot where the two magnetic forces, working against each other, will hold a piece of metal in delicate, tenuous balance? That's what I want to see. I want to hang in that balance. Anyone else?

Don't feed the trolls...

...ahh, but it's SO tempting!!

In the past couple of weeks, someone with whom I'm (MOST unfortunately) acquainted but have never (thankfully--and let's keep it that way!) met face-to-face has been posting anonymous ugly, hateful, vengeful, rude comments on the blogs of people whom I love. I was also the victim of Madame Troll's vitriolic spite awhile back.

I guess I shouldn't be amazed that someone who claims to be a believer and spouts scripture to "back up" her crazy-ass rants ("crazy" being the key word here) would waste so much time (even as she accuses other people of wasting time online) attacking people who are "bad" solely by virtue of association.

My natural reaction is to go on the defensive and fight back. I guarantee if it's a battle of words, I'll win, because I know a lot of them...and I can use them well. But is that productive? And does that not put me right in the same category in which I've put her? And maybe worse, because she is, without doubt, suffering from some sort of mental illness--no one in their right mind behaves in such an atrocious manner.

I've never been a fan of the whole "WWJD" thing, because I'm never a fan of mass-produced crap, especially not crap that's supposed to "spread the gospel". Whatev. But in this situation, I have to stop and think about it. How would Jesus, if he had a blog, react in the face of such undeserved hatred? It's not in me to love this woman. It's not really even in me to have the slightest bit of compassion for the obviously wretched life circumstances in which she's found herself (self-created or not).

But God surely has some compassion and love reserved just for her...maybe someday she'll find the person in whom it's been placed. And maybe I can take a miniscule step (not even really a step--maybe just a VERY slight leaning) in that direction by not following the basic instinct I have to invite her to fully engage in battle with me.

This is NOT what I want to do, mind you. But, for the moment, I'm choosing to take the higher ground and give her that "grace of free will" that my beautiful and oh-so-wise girl wrote about here. It's tough, sometimes, to be a lover of God.

Oprah and I...

...have something in common. :-)

I've recently discovered Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day, an amazing line of "aromatherapeutic" cleaning products--mostly natural ingredients (no ammonia or chlorine--yay!), biodegradable/environmentally friendly, no nasty anti-bacterial chemicals, and fragranced by essential oils.

I bought some of the basil-scented laundry detergent and all I can say is, I'm in love.

I've always thought it was silly for people to sit around discussing the finer points of cleaning products, so I'll just tell you that this detergent makes my whole house smell good--having a load of laundry on the drying rack is like burning a basil candle. And my clothes smell great!

When I told my mom about it, she informed me that Oprah uses this product line and talks about it on her show "all the time" (I find it funny to think that Oprah is one of "those" people who sits around discussing the finer points of cleaning products...).

It's good to know that Oprah has such good taste... ;-)

I'm a student!

I'm taking a photography class...and I'm pretty excited about it.

Tonight was the first class of an 8-week mini-semester. Dr. Scott talked mostly about terms that will be important to know as we discuss how cameras function. Tonight was a lot of technical stuff, which is exactly what I need to know. I have this amazing camera that I know can do some pretty amazing stuff in the right hands (its former owner was a wedding photographer) and I need some outside influence to get me disciplined enough to learn the "techy" stuff so I can make the artistic images I want to do.

I even have homework. I haven't had homework for 20 years. And, as some self-imposed "extra credit", I also have a really cool book on using light that Peck gave me to read. I AM going to learn this. And, after I learn this, I'm going to learn how to use PhotoShop--I have CS3 and haven't taken time to read ANY of the tutorials yet, so when I open it, it's like trying to read Swahili.

I know I can only rely on my artistic/creative nature so far--at some point, I've got to learn the technology so I can take full advantage of my creativity. I "see" shots all the time--I'm constantly framing things in my head, but when I don't know how to change my settings to take full advantage of lighting, etc., I'm doing a huge disservice to myself. So, I'm going to learn it.

"Andrew Peterson is my friend"...

I have one of those shirts. One of those OLD shirts from back in the day. Back when Andy looked like he was about 15 years old but was singing "old soul" songs--the words coming out of his mouth never looked like they matched with the boyish face.

He's still singing the songs of an old soul. And though he doesn't look "old", he does finally look grown up, so the lyrics aren't quite so incongruous with the face anymore.

Andy and I aren't really "friends" in the way I define friendship, even though I have a shirt that says he's my friend. I could count on one hand the times we've had "real" conversation. But he knows my name and, obviously, I know his. Our paths don't cross much--every couple of years or so at a show and we chitchat a bit. I baked him my famous chocolate cake once. And I think I made a lemon tart for him several years ago. (I know how artists are normally fed by their venues when they're out on the road.) And I'm pretty certain that if he and Jamie and their children lived in this town, we would be "real" friends--I know they would fit in perfectly with my little gang of ragamuffinish friends.

I'm holding a copy of his new CD in my hot little hands right now. (Well, not while I'm typing, but you get the idea.) I listened to it all day Friday. And I'm convinced all over again that Andrew Peterson is a genius. And by "genius", I mean "he writes songs that I understand". Songs that tear my heart out. Songs that remind me that, when no one else does, God understands.

Here's the song that I've played over and over and over the past couple of days. This is SO where I'm at right now. It always seems that when I think I'm finally getting myself back together, God shows me just how NOT together I am. The past year has been much harder on me than I've been thinking it was. But that's another blog post for another day...for now, I'll let Andy tell the world how I've been feeling. I'm glad he's my "friend". :-)

"I've Got News"--Andrew Peterson

So you think I'm something special, like I know a thing or two?
Like my eyes don't ever wander, like my aim is always true?
So you think I'm not a dirty rotten scoundrel through and through?
Lady, I've got news for you.

So you think that you're the only one to cry yourself to sleep?
That you're the only one who's scared they all forget you when you leave?
So you think that you're the only one whose heart is black and blue?
Listen, I've got news for you.
I might as well just tell you that it's true: listen, I've got news for you.

So you think you don't need anyone to love you?
So you think you don't need anyone to love? But you do.

So you say there is no hope. Maybe God is dead and gone.
So you think that he can't break a heart that's harder than a stone?
So you feel so wrecked and dirty, he could never make you new?
Man, have I got news for you.
I'm so compelled to tell you that it's true, so true: listen, I've got news for you.

I've got good news for you.

My love/hate relationship with FaceBook...

Unless you're my blog's RSS Feed Reader on FaceBook, this is a pointless post. I moved the RSS Feed box from the Boxes page to the Wall page and now it won't display until the application updates itself. So...I'm posting something to get it to do just that.

Technology just irritates me sometimes.

When the boss is away...

...the sluggards will play. No...make that SLUGS.

Before I left for the weekend, I got all the laundry washed and hung up on the drying rack in my laundry room.

When I went to collect said laundry for folding today, I noticed something shiny on the first shirt I picked up. And then saw that same shiny stuff on every piece of clothing hanging on the rack.

Every shirt was covered with the snot-trail of a nasty, slimy slug. That is about the single-most disgusting thing I've ever encountered. If you know me, you know that I LOATHE slugs...the thought of one of them in my house sends me into near-hysteria. It's really almost worse, I think, than the time I found the snakeskin on the closet shelf right after we moved into my previous house.

And the worst thing is, I've re-washed all the laundry, swept, vacuumed and mopped the laundry area of the room, but I STILL can't find the icky, slimy slug. I hope it crawled under the washing machine and died. Or maybe the cat ate it. I've moved the drying rack to the kitchen and am praying that I don't find more trails when I get home tonight.

Y.U.C.K.

Oh, people...please!!

I'm not posting the video OR a link to this because I flatly refuse to perpetuate the spread of utter nonsense, but if you really want to see it, do a search.

Someone sent me a link to a video on GodTube--it's a 2 minute clip of a microphone-clutching toddler, stomping about the stage at a church, waving his arms and shouting angry-sounding baby-talk gibberish.

People in the "audience" are clapping and cheering and shouting and (it may be the wielder of the video camera), you can hear a woman saying "thank you Jesus, thank you Jesus" over and over, as if this little knee-biter is actually preaching the Word.

There are about 70 pages of comments attached to the GodTube page. Some people think it's really cute and hilarious (I found nothing amusing about it at all and I love kids). Some found the video "disturbing" because the kid: 1) sounds angry or 2) is "entertaining" a crowd and disrupting a church service. And a lot of people (like me) found the whole thing disturbing not because of the child, but because of the crazy reactions of people who were posting responses to the video.

Aside from the semi-normal people who said it was better for the kid to be mimicking a preacher than a foul-mouthed rap singer (the anger level seems to be about the same as some of those "bad" rap singers I've heard, though), many people took it a step further and quoted scriptures and said this was fulfillment of prophecies about children leading in the last days. And then there were those "out there" people who swear the kid is speaking in tongues.

Out of a somewhat morbid fascination, I read about half of the pages before I got fed up and quit. It WAS quite interesting, though, to read the "people, if you really believed in God and were filled with the holy spirit, it would be blatantly OBVIOUS to you that this baby is saying: blah, blah, blah..." I think I read about 5 of those posts. And each one translated the "obvious" as something com-plete-ly different.

Don't get me wrong--I'm pretty sure God can do anything he wants. But. I think we as believers spend way too damned much time looking for demons lurking under every rock or "prophetic words" or gold dust or whatever, instead of setting ourselves to the task ALWAYS at hand, which is to just simply love God and let him love people through us. Certainly not glamorous, usually not very exciting, but it's WAY cooler in the end than listening to a toddler act like an angry, hate-spewing pastor.

A moment of pure, unadulterated clarity...

...in the midst of the murkiness of my life.

See, I've been (mentally/emotionally) chasing this thing. This thing that I've been telling myself would make me happy. Not solve all my problems, and, in fact, would add a "whole 'nother" layer of...well, issues, at least, if not all-out problems, to my life. But I've had myself convinced that this is what I wanted. Needed, even.

It's really a beautiful, good thing. The idea of it makes me smile. Makes me almost giddy at times. But would it make me happy? I've told myself and others that it would. I've chased it for so long, I feel like King Pellinore on his endless search for the Questing Beast. It's been a delightful hunt, what? (Read "The Once and Future King" if you want to chase down that obscure reference.)

So. Moment of clarity. Curtains pulled back. Daylight pouring in. Dispersing shadows. This thing is NOT for me. It absolutely will not bring me happiness. And now, with all this light pouring in, I'm taking a good look at my heart...and I'm realizing that, somewhere deep inside, I knew it all along. And you know what? This isn't another one of those "kill your hope on the altar" kinds of things like I went through a month or so ago. This is just another step toward authenticity. It doesn't hurt. In fact, I laughed out loud when I saw how clear it was.

Maybe when you let go of things that aren't really yours to claim, it opens the door to what really COULD be. Guess we'll see.

Not sure it fits, but I've had Andrew Peterson's "The Chasing Song" on my mind since my little epiphany, so I'm sharing it.

The Chasing Song
Words and music by Andrew Peterson

Now and then these feet just take to wandering
Now and then I prop them up at home
Sometimes I think about the consequences
Sometimes I don't
Well, I realize that falling down ain't graceful
But I thank the Lord that falling's full of grace
Sometimes I take my eyes off Jesus
And you know that's all it takes

Well I wish that I could say
that at the close of every day
I was happy with the way that I'm behaving

'Cause Job, he chased an answer
The wise men chased the Child
Jacob chased her 14 years and he
Captured Rachel's smile
Moses chased the Promised Land
Joseph chased a dream
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Well, they say a race can only have one winner
And you know you've got to pull out front to win
God knows the only time I'm winning
Is when I'm chasing Him

Well I wish that I could say
that at the close of every day
I was happy with the way that I'm behaving

'Cause Samson chased a woman
and he chased the Philistines
I'm not quite sure what Jonah chased
But I know he caught the sea
Cain, he chased the harvest
While Abel chased the beasts
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

And Jesus chased the moneymen
And he chased his Father's will
He chased my sin to Calvary
And he caught it on that hill
Saul, he chased the Christians
Till his blindness made him see
David, he chased God's own heart
All I ever seem to chase is me

Tending to my knitting...

...because I'm not really up to tending to anything else right now.

I did some "real" knitting tonight. Several rows, as a matter of fact. It took me quite awhile, but I was actually starting to feel somewhat comfortable with it. I'm quite proud of my accomplishment, small though it is.

Knit one, purl two...

...or something like that.

I am mastering the art of casting on. I really want to learn to knit. I made a half-hearted attempt last winter, but never really got further than having 3 people show me how to cast on and making a few knotty, messy attempts. So I gave up.

But I still want to learn. So, I found a website tonight and got out the lovely fuschia knitting needles and tried again. It actually doesn't look too bad, considering it's my real first attempt.

Maybe tomorrow I'll try the purl thing.

And someday...someday, I'll have my very own hand-knitted blanket.

No more politics...

...after this. ;-)

Disclaimer--I did NOT compose this...

...nor do I (completely) agree with everything the author (Matt Taibbi, published in Rolling Stone) says. But. It makes me think. And that's what we should ALL be doing, instead of allowing ourselves to be blindly led to-and-fro by media frenzy. If you've talked to me at all, you're probably well aware that I am NOT a Palin-for-VP fan. She may be just lovely as a person, as a soccer mom, as a smalltown mayor, and maybe even as a governor, but she is NOT vice-presidential material. What I saw of the debate last night pretty much sealed that for me.

Let's not be swayed by emotion, people. I'm hoarse from yelling correct pronunciations at the poor woman. And I'm not a professional speaker, but when I DO speak in public, I do my best to lay off the droppin'-my-Gs-at-the-end-of-my-words so I don't sound like a complete dumb-ass hick. Of course, that might have been just the population she was gunnin' for last night. ;-)

Anyway...here are the excerpts from the piece by Taibbi:

"Here's the thing about Americans. You can send their kids off by the thousands to get their balls blown off in foreign lands for no reason at all, saddle them with billions in debt year after congressional year while they spend their winters cheerfully watching game shows and football, pull the rug out from under their mortgages, and leave them living off their credit cards and their Wal-Mart salaries while you move their jobs to China and Bangalore.

And none of it matters, so long as you remember a few months before Election Day to offer them a two-bit caricature culled from some cutting-room-floor episode of Roseanne as part of your presidential ticket. And if she's a good enough likeness of a loudmouthed Middle American archetype, as Sarah Palin is, John Q. Public will drop his giant sized bag of Doritos in gratitude, wipe the sizzlin' picante dust from his lips and rush to the booth to vote for her. Not because it makes sense, or because it has a chance of improving his life or anyone else's, but simply because it appeals to the low-humming narcissism that substitutes for his personality, because that image on TV reminds him of the mean brainless slob he sees in the mirror every morning.

Sarah Palin is a symbol of everything that is wrong with the modern United States. As a representative of our political system, she's a new low in reptilian villainy, the ultimate cynical masterwork of puppeteers like Karl Rove. But more than that, she is a horrifying symbol of how little we ask for in return for the total surrender of our political power. Not only is Sarah Palin a fraud, she's the tawdriest, most half-assed fraud imaginable, 20 floors below the lowest common denominator, a character too dumb even for daytime TV – and this country is going to eat her up, cheering every step of the way."

Worth quoting...

...from Under the Overpasses, one of my favorite blogs right now:

"I was married to fundamentalism until I cheated. I had an affair with God and everything changed."

The stuff that matters...

Okay, so I'm excited about the prospect of the Cubs winning a World Series Championship for the first time in 100 years. BUT. It's. only. baseball.

I posted the song in the previous post, then started catching up on some blogs that I read regularly. Two of them, "Under the Overpasses" and "Today at the Mission" are written by guys who serve broken, hurting, marginalized people at two different homeless shelters. They break my heart. They re-center me. They remind me that we (and that would be a big, fat "me included"), as the hands and feet of Jesus are, for the most part, doing a piss-poor job of being those hands and feet. Unless it's easy. Unless it's convenient. Unless we (gasp!) can keep ourselves clean while we serve (we don't really have to touch them, do we?) Unless it fits into our 2 hours of scheduled "charity" service on the third Saturday of each month.

Hugh Hollowell lives among "those" people in Raleigh, NC. He blogs here. You should read him. And, if you don't read him there, read him right here. I'm quoting this post in its entirety because it should be read. He speaks truth. And it's not "truth" just because I agree with it. I agree with it and, in the agreement, I acknowledge my own ugliness--my lack of mercy, my failure to feed the hungry, my refusal to love wholeheartedly because that demands more than I'm sometimes willing to give. I digress. Just read it.

"The Death of Evelyn and the Failure of the Church"
A heavy girl, perhaps 250 pounds, Evelyn’s greasy, stringy hair only served to accentuate her poor skin. Her weight made her shuffle rather than walk and her head was always bowed, seeking not to offend, avoiding eye contact. At 23, most people her age are very conscious of their appearance, but Evelyn’s wardrobe consisted of thrift store finds and cast offs, leaning heavily toward stretch pants and sweatshirts that advertised events she had never seen and places she would never visit.
It was my second month in Raleigh. I was volunteering with a group that fed the homeless in the park on Sunday when I met her for the first time. She shuffled through the line, mumbling thanks for the watery mashed potatoes and chili-mac, eyes on the ground. Several times I tried to engage her, but between my maleness and her demons, it just was not happening. Like a dog that had been struck once too often, she flinched at contact, muttering secrets only she knew to people only she saw.
When there was an open bed, Evelyn would stay at the woman’s shelter, but more often then not she had to make other arrangements. On cold nights, she would trade sexual favors in exchange for a warm bed. To pick up spending money, she would give men oral sex for $5. Because of her weight and mental issues, often the promise of a warm bed was revoked, or the money not paid after the oral sex had been given. Several people later told me Evelyn was often sexually assaulted and raped, unable to resist her attackers.
The last time I saw her was on a Thursday in early November. I remember it was inordinately cold that day, with a sharp, piercing wind.. Evelyn shuffled down the sidewalk, huddled down into her jacket, oblivious to my wave, ignoring me when I called.
That night Evelyn made it into the women’s shelter. In here she could sleep, secure in the knowledge she was safe. In the night Evelyn died of complications from sleep apnea. At age 23, she was another statistic of life, and death, on the streets.
* * * *
I told Evelyn’s story in a church once, and when I was finished they prayed fervent prayers that Evelyn would be at peace in the loving arms of Jesus. They prayed that those who would injure and molest women like Evelyn would be caught and punished. They prayed for God’s kingdom to come and for shalom to rest on our city.
At the end of the talk, a lady came up to me, obviously moved by my story and asked me the question I dread most: “How could God have allowed this to happen to Evelyn? Was this all part of God’s plan?”
If you spend much time working in the inner-city, you try not to ask yourself those kind of questions–not because you don’t know what the answer is, but because you do. Because if you think about it too much you get mad and because if you tell people the answer, you will not be invited back.
What I wanted to tell that lady, but did not, was God did have a plan to take care of Evelyn; God’s plan was us. God’s plan was to put us here to be his hands and feet. We are to show mercy, to love justice. We are to show mercy, as he is merciful. We are to feed those who are hungry, with the assurance that when we do, we are doing it to, and not just for, Jesus himself.
I wanted to tell that lady God did have a plan and we screwed it up. I wanted to tell her that it is not we who are waiting on God, but rather God who is waiting on us and that what Evelyn really had needed was not this lady’s prayers but a safe place to sleep at night. What I wanted to tell that lady, but didn’t, is that it is very obvious that we have the resources to help invisible people just like Evelyn but we simply lack the will to do so.
I did not tell that church lady any of that. But often I wish I had.

All together now...sing with me!! :-)

If you've not heard the news...

...the Cubs clinched the division title Saturday!! :-)

Yay for us. One step closer to THE dream. I don't get too excited about much in sports, but this excites me. I've been a Cubs fan since I was in college (I have a Ryne Sandberg jersey that I am PROUD to wear). As Cubs fans, we are eternally optimistic, always hopeful, always looking forward to that season when we play well after the All-Star break.

This year, they've been not only their division leader for most of the season (honestly, I'm not sure there was a time when they weren't, unless it was very early in the season), they also have the best record in all of the National League and, for a large chunk of the season, had the best record in all of MLB.

Every year, I tell all my Cardinal friends that this is our year...and every year, I eat my words at some point in the season--usually much earlier than this. But. This COULD actually the year. It's not just wishful thinking and a little bit of good ball-playing this year. This team is solid. Good. They could actually do it. Break the so-called "curse". End a century of dashed hopes. (Yes, it really has been 100 years since the last World Series victory for the Cubs.) It's time!!

I. AM. EXCITED.

Order...

...what a beautiful thing.

I spent a large part of today entirely gutting my closet and dresser drawers. I always dread the task, but once it's done, I'm supremely glad I've done it.

I instituted a new "life rule" earlier this year--I decided that if I hadn't worn something for a year, unless I had a really good reason, it was going O-U-T. The 14 Rubbermaid RoughTotes on my porch, filled with clothes I'll never wear again but held onto for years, are testament to the reason for the rule.

So. I was tough. I have tees in every shade of the rainbow (thanks to Kohl's) and they look really nice in my closet when they're all in rainbow order like they should be. But. I think I wore maybe 3 of them this summer. Onto the "toss" pile they went. All but 4 of them. (#4 fell into that "good reason" category.) :-)

I threw out shoes I haven't worn in years...and now I have room for the ones I do wear. I kept the snowboots...probably just wishful thinking! Those cute little orange sequined flip-flops...come on. They were cheap, they ARE cute, but they hurt like hell every time I wear them (which has been maybe twice). All that foot surgery didn't do anything to make wearing cheap shoes feel any better. Oh well.

And then I moved on to the dresser. Out went socks and underwear. And more t-shirts. And everything went back into the drawers in my feel-good rainbow order.

My laundry is all done. My sheets are clean. Everything is in order. NOT the way I really like spending my Saturdays (really, I need a housekeeper, if I could just afford it, because I want to play on my day off), but I feel good. Satisfied. Organized. In order (rainbow, that is). Ready to face a chaotic world again.

Maybe I'll tackle the bookshelves tomorrow...

Montana, Take 2...

Here are some shots from my recent little adventure to Montana/Canada with my mom and my aunt. I'm still mulling over some things, trying to put the words together in some semblance of coherency, but it's just not really happening. So, I'll do the photo thing for now.

He says my name...

I have a friend who, in the course of every conversation we have, never fails to call me by my name--at least once, usually several times.

We've been friends a long time. We've walked through a lot of tough stuff and heartache together. He knows me...more than just the good stuff, more than just the "surface me"--he knows my shortcomings and stumblings.

And I feel the full weight of that knowledge--and his acceptance of and care for me, even when my attitude is poor and my words are ugly--in the kindness of his tone and in the strength of my name as it rolls off his tongue. He says my name. He knows my heart.

He encourages me, because he's full of character and integrity and honor and God--he exemplifies all those good, godly characteristics...and rarely does he waver.

And when he says my name, it resonates with the strength of those traits and always reminds me that God knows my name and my heart and my shortcomings...and yet He never wavers in his love for me--even when my attitude is poor and my words are ugly.

My friend speaks my name with kindness and caring and knowledge...and that one word echoes back to me the deeper, stronger voice of God.

He says my name. He knows my heart. He loves me.

A brief hiatus...

I just got home from a whirlwind trip to Montana on the train--I took my mom and my aunt to Glacier. Two days out on the train (3o+ hours), 3 days there (one in Canada), and 2 days home. I'm tired. Exhausted really. But feeling inspired.

I wrote a blog post on the back of an envelope while I was on the train. As soon as I can get it sorted out and typed, I'll post it.

I just finished reading "Jesus for President". It's lit a fire under me again. Not sure why I always have to be the weirdo who gets inspired by the "out there" stuff (which is not really all that "out there" when held up to the light/life of Jesus, but...).

I have some cool "social justice" project ideas for my church. Can't wait to share them with our pastor...he came straight from a homeless ministry to be our pastor, so he and I are pretty close to being on the same page on a lot of issues. I like that.

I just realized that every paragraph starts with "I"...and I wanted to add one more. ;-)

Stupid baseball...

(BIG sigh)

The BEST team in Major League Baseball has now lost 4 games in a row. Fortunately, Milwaukee and St Louis are on the same losing trend. My Cubbies are still in first place, have still won more games than any other MLB team and are still 10 games ahead of their arch-rivals (ha!), the Cardinals, but...

I'm ready for a WIN!! Or, quite a few, actually. This is no way for the future 2008 World Series champs to be acting right now.

Just had to vent... ;-)

Grateful...

...that Gustav is history.

...that Gulfport wasn't hit as hard as was initially predicted.

...that the levees in New Orleans have held so far.

...that people I know were making plans to head to the coast to help if needed.

...that people I DON'T know were doing the same.

...that I saw some very familiar places along Highway 90 on The Weather Channel.

...that I was able to feel "connected" all day, thanks to the wonders of technology.

Hurricane Gustav update...

New Orleans is now under a mandatory evacuation order. Hotels in the city are being closed; the airport closes at 6 PM tomorrow.

Gustav went from being a tropical storm to a Category 4 hurricane in less than 24 hours. It's expected to become a Category 5, possibly by tomorrow evening. That means winds over 155 miles per hour.

I read a comment from someone who believes this could be worse than Katrina. Not sure what there is to back that up besides fear, but...if it's true, well, I just don't even want to think about it.

Because I still remember miles and miles of this:

Not-so-happy anniversary...

Today is the third anniversary of the day Hurricane Katrina wreaked havoc on the Gulf Coast.

And what are we doing? We're watching Hurricane Gustav bearing down on a shoreline just starting to wear some semblance of "normal".

My dear friend John is taking a group of 30 people back to the Gulfport area in October...to continue the rebuilding process. After three years...

And now, of course, I'm wondering if we're just going to be starting it all over again.

If you're a praying person, this might be a good time to practice.

It's PAC-MAN!!!!

Look at the pie. Seriously. I cannot even BEGIN to tell you how much I'm loving this.

Fiery destruction and regrowth...

I know I've been mostly silent since I returned home from Montana...I've been thinking. A lot. This trip changed me. I know every moment we live is a change from what the last moment was, but...this is something else. Or maybe I just have more of an awareness of the change now. No. I'm different. I know that.

Most of it goes beyond words...it's just a sense in my spirit that things will never be the same. If you asked me for details and I trusted you completely, I still wouldn't be able to vocalize some of it. And I've tried. The words somehow get stuck in one of those synaptic paths and never make it out my mouth.

But I DO have stories to tell. And some of them, like this one I'm "fixin" to tell, will eventually be told. I've learned that when I hear or read something more than once in a short span of time, it's usually something of which I should take note. This is something I heard twice in 3 days while I was at Glacier...with some of my own perspective thrown in, of course.

Forest fires destroy thousands of acres of trees each year. Over 5000 acres burned in the Skyland Fire, right outside of Glacier Park, last summer. There are an average of ten fires per year, usually small and quickly contained, inside the park. If a forest fire starts by natural means (lightning strike), the National Park Service policy is to allow it to burn itself out. If they determine it was started by human error/intention/etc., they will take steps to put it out.

Lodgepole pine trees grow in abundance in Montana. They are tall and beautiful...and if you look carefully, they are often towering above burned stumps remaining from old forest fires. And that is because...

The pinecones of the lodgepole pine tree are coated in a dense resin. So dense that the seeds don't release unless the resin is melted away so the cone can open. Melted by high heat. From a forest fire. When the fire burns the existing trees, the resin melts, the pinecones open, the seeds release and...the "circle of life" begins again.

Hmm. So, God has a plan. And even when that original plan is thwarted, there's a perfect "back-up" plan already in place. Kind of echoes the creation/fall/redemption story, doesn't it?

And, of course, I bring this all down to a personal level as well. I've had several "firestorms" in my life. I've set some of those fires myself. Others, I guess, you could say were "natural"...or at least not of my own making--I was just in the path of the blaze...the right (wrong) place at the right (wrong) time. Some of them burned their way through my life and extinguished themselves when there was nothing left to be burned. Others were put out by people who care, people who put themselves in the fire's path to help me.

But no matter the cause, the fires burned. Burned away things/people/ideas/attitudes I held dear...or at least held onto. And I was left semi-standing--a burned-out, smoking stump...a barely-recognizable remnant of what I once was. Dead. In the middle of a charred field. A blackened field full of...newly-released-from-melted-resin seeds ("forged in the fires of Mt. Doom" for you LOTR people--don't you love my randomosity?!). Fresh starts. Unexpected potential. The blessing of a clean slate and a new day.

And once again, I'm reminded that change, even that change forged by fire, is a gift. Part of the plan. A page in my redemption story.

Such a little word...

...to be causing such a struggle for me.

TRUST–noun
1. reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc., of a person or thing; confidence.
2. confident expectation of something; hope.

I read this definition and it makes perfect, logical sense. And then I turn around to see how this fits into where I am right now and it all falls apart.

I wrote a few weeks ago about having faith in a God that I can't see...and now I'm struggling with trusting that same God. If I really have the faith I say I have, why doesn't trust automatically follow?

I can pick this definition apart and fully agree that I can rely on the integrity, strength and ability of God. And I DO, indeed, have confident expectation and hope of...well, something. I guess it comes down to the fact that I trust what *I* think is best for me more than I trust the great unknown of what's behind door number one in the mystery of whatever God's thinking.

I know this sounds crazy, but I have to sacrifice my hope. I'm seeing, with some clarity, that my trust, my "confident expectation of something" has been in myself. My hope hasn't been in God...it's been hope that God will give me what I want. It's WAY too similar to some of that "your best life now, name it and claim it" prosperity BS. I've always found a way to justify it because my dreams aren't for financial riches--my dearest dreams are, for the most part, cloaked in really good, unselfish intentions. But now I'm seeing that, if I'm really going to trust God, it requires laying those things (and one especially) down...tying them up on an altar, actually, and taking the knife to them. Sounds pretty morbid, doesn't it?

So...I'm honestly not sure where I go from here. On the surface, it's an easy answer. An obvious one. But when it's the thing you hold most dear--the most treasured, precious, beautiful hope you currently possess--and you see that God may choose to NOT provide another lamb for the sacrifce and hand your dream back to you, well...I'm not there yet.

The song I'm loving right now...

You're Beautiful--
James Blunt

My life is brilliant.
My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

You're beautiful.
You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face
that I was flying high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

You're beautiful.
You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful.
You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.

There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you.

On a reading binge...

I've finished The Shack.

I'm still thinking about it. Trying to process it all. If I've talked to you lately, you probably know that this book, combined with some other things that have been going on in my world, has brought to the point of near-meltdown. I don't think the book itself would've had that much effect on me, since much of it lines up with the direction in which my thoughts have been heading for the past couple of years, but combined with the other "stuff"...well, let's just say I've spent the last week either in tears, near tears, or in complete emotional shutdown to avoid the possibility of tears.

I need to chew on it all some more. And maybe I can come back with something readable. Well, something I'm comfortable with posting here, anyway.

And now, I'm reading Rob Bell's Sex God again. In a weird way, the two completely fit together--it makes perfect sense for me to be reading them back-to-back. I think I'll be able to glean more from the re-read now.

It's kind of strange...I have so much that I'd like to write about, but I sit here and look at the screen and NOTHING comes out. Someday, though...

Correspondence with the cat...

Dear Pissy:

I've just spent 2 hours vacuuming my niture. Take note of the fact that there is no fur. Frankly, I would like to keep it that way.

Love,
Me



Dear keeper of the cathouse:

Fat chance of that. And who is this Frank Lee person? Please don't discuss our personal issues with strangers.

Paws and kisses,
Lady Pissy of Hairball Castle

Women of hope, women of change...

...if you're feeling helpless, help someone.

GOOD counsel.

Beautiful messy truth...

...from a guy who runs a homeless shelter and blogs here:

The real world keeps on spinning and our lives continue to unfold. Life is not like a television drama or a novel with tidy resolutions that pull everything together at the end. We do not have the luxury of living happily ever after or being damned for good at the final page. Each day is another page in the story. There is failure, relapse, redemption and hope lurking on the horizon. That is bad news. That is good news. It means I cannot tidy up a person’s story and give it the permanent, Christian fairy tale ending. It also means I cannot write anyone off as beyond hope. Once I do either of those things, it will be time to turn the page and be surprised again. It is both a blessing and a curse to have the longevity in this business that I have. Most people do not get to stick around long enough to see redemption take place. Most people do not stick around long enough to see the sure thing unravel. Real people live real lives of not so real permanence.

Shacking up...

Ok, for those of you who keep asking...I FINALLY bought "The Shack" today and I'm heading to bed right now to start reading. :-)

Tears and laughter...

The music is loud and the crowd at the bar tonight is raucous. I'm a stranger here...and that's ok--it's easier for me to just sit back and watch people than try to shout over the top of loud music.

He's a friend of a friend...and he's enjoying himself. His face is careworn and grizzled, but his eyes snap with mischief and he laughs loudly--it's contagious. He greets the women with hugs and kisses and dance offers and the men with an invitation to a game of pool.

Our eyes meet across the room and he dances my way, waving the pool cue to clear a path and bows deeply when he finally stands in front of me. He offers to buy me a beer and asks me why I'm so serious. I smile and he tells me I need to laugh more. He begs for, and gets, a kiss on the cheek for luck in his next pool game and tells me he'll buy me a drink if my kiss brings him victory in the game.

He wins. And buys himself another drink to celebrate. He plays another game and loses. And buys himself another drink to help him forget the list of losses stacked against him.

His eyes find mine again. I smile. He doesn't buy it. No dancing across the room this time--he makes a direct line for me and plants himself solidly in front of me. "Why are you so sad?" I tell him I'm not sad and he edges closer. He asks me again, more intently and insistently this time, "why are you sad?" and I look into his eyes and know I could drown in the depths of heartache and knowledge and understanding I see swimming there.

How do I answer that? How do I tell him that, without him uttering a word of it, I know his story...a life of disappointment and lost love and abandonment and despair? How do I tell him that life is bigger and hope always remains? How do I tell him that I'll go home tonight and weep the tears for him that I'm fighting to hold back right now? How do I tell him that I'm full of anger and overwhelmed with despair when I look at history and see how our government has played a part in the "something" insidious and ugly and hopeless and evil that brought us to the point where we're standing at that very moment? And how do I tell him that my heart has somehow found kinship and comfort and, in some odd way, "home" in a veritable stranger?

I don't tell him any of that. I tell him that people disappoint me and I'm tired of being hurt. He steps nose-to-nose with me, eyes still inviting me to dive into the haven he's offering, and lets me know without saying a word that he knows I'm giving him the "easy out" answer.

Sometimes that's all I can manage.

No words could describe this...

"...And I saw the mountains waking with the innocence of children
And my soul is still there with them wrapped in the songs they brought
And the Holy King of Israel loves me here in America..."

Not really about baseball...

...it's just the platform from which to tell the story.

I've been to 4 Cubs vs. Cardinals games, spread over several years, at Busch Stadium in St. Louis. No matter if they're having a winning season or not (and yes, it's been "not" more often than I care to acknowledge), the Cubs have a track record of beating the Cardinals the majority of the time on the Cards' home turf. It's an indisputable, statistical fact that even Cardinal fans have to admit.

And just to prove my bad luck, the Cubs lost the last 3 games I saw. But I went Saturday fully expecting a victory. The Cubs have held the #1 position in their division for most of the season and they've statistically outranked every other team in MLB for nearly all of that time. And, until the very bottom of the 9th inning (actually, the last 10 seconds of the game), I was confident I was about to break my "losing streak" and witness a victory. But the Cubs lost. I watched it all happen and still can't believe my eyes.

And this really ISN'T about baseball.

The Cubs and Cardinals played a 3-game series--Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The Cubs won Friday and Sunday. I didn't see those games. I didn't see them win, but I know they did. I didn't see them win, but I know they're a winning team. I've never seen them beat the Cardinals, but I know they do...almost all of the time.

And crazy as it may seem, this reminded me of the verse in Hebrews that talks about faith...when we have faith, we KNOW when something's real, even if we don't witness it with our own eyes. I've had a lot of challenges to my faith lately...and not just my faith in God, but essentially, it all points right back at God.

I never lost faith that I had a kick-ass printer (see the previous post), even though I had trouble getting it configured to work with my computer. I still have faith that there are decent, "dateable" men out there somewhere, even though I've encountered several that make me want to join a convent. I've not lost faith that marriage can be an amazing thing, even though...well, never mind--TMI alert going off there. ;-) And I've not lost faith in other believers, even though some need to have "Christ-follower" tattooed on their foreheads so I can recognize them for what they claim to be.

And if I can still have faith in fallible things like printers and men and Christians and the Chicago Cubs, even when they break and lie and cheat and lose because there's some small evidence (and a LOT of hope) that they will work and speak truth and be faithful and win, then I know I can have faith in a God who, unseen though he may be, just keeps inundating me with evidence that he's real.

My very own Clark Griswold moment...

This is one of my favorite moments from National Lampoon's "Christmas Vacation"...after the kicking-the-Santa-and-punching-the-reindeer temper tantrum, Clark tries ONE LAST TIME to light the thousands of lights he's stapled to his roof. He slams the plug into the outlet with every ounce of strength he has...and the lights come on.

I don't have thousands of lights on my roof (I'm a Griswold in name only, thank you very much!), but I DO have a new, supposedly top-of-the-line HP photo printer that has caused me so much frustration by not printing even 1/10 as well as my 8 year-old cheapy DeskJet. Even set on "best quality print", the printer would print a photo in about 1.5 seconds...horrible quality, horrible color, huge banding--all my prints looked like bad cartoons. I've done every "fix" possible...and nothing's worked, not even the fixes other people have used on the same printer model with the same non-compatibility with XP drivers issues. GRRRR. I was pretty much ready to list it on eBay and go back to my junky little antique.

But I tried one last combo of "fixes" today and, with every expectation that the results would be the same, hit the button to print a test page. And I immediately heard the difference. S-L-O-W feed of the paper through the printer. Steady, even, concentrated dispersal of ink. And the finished product? Absolutely breath-takingly perfect. Exactly what I knew this printer could do.

You can call me Clark Griswold today and I won't even mind.

Technology...the wonder-drug

So, if you haven't heard, I broke my phone. Completely in half.


This is the best phone I've ever owned. When I bought it, I asked the salesman if they had one made of titanium, since I'm known to be hard on phones (that might be an understatement). This one wasn't titanium, but it withstood a lot of drops, several onto concrete. The last drop (actually, more of a flight) from the van to the parking lot started its demise--I didn't mind the 2 big cracks (my last phone was held together with black electrical tape, so cracks are nothing), but when I lost the front screen and the inside screen started turning strange yellowish colors, I knew the end was near.

Something prompted me to upload the photos onto Facebook Saturday morning...the inside screen started turning yellow Saturday afternoon and was completely gone by Saturday night (which meant I lost my text-messaging capabilities--NOT a good thing for me). And the phone completely popped in half later that night.

I have a new phone now. It's purple. Plum, actually. And it's a pretty cool phone--I think I'm going to like it. Not as well as the old one...and I don't think it's as durable, but I still haven't found that titanium one, so I'll settle for a cool color. And I've learned how to make my own ringtones, so I'm not too heartbroken over all of the ringtones I lost from the old phone.


But. I lost things. I'm a keeper of memories. My text message storage was over 80% full of messages that I just couldn't bring myself to delete. Some were funny...probably only to me, probably because you just had to be there in the moment. Some were sad, like the message telling me the tent at God's Katrina Kitchen was down. Some were good advice, like the one from Chad reminding me that I was bought with a price and there wasn't an "unsigning clause" on the day I was ready to give up and walk away. And some of them...well, they were sweet at one time, but painful to read now. Reminders of how life turns on a dime and leaves you looking at your empty hands and wondering what the hell just happened. Deleting them acquiesced to defeat and I wasn't ready to give that ground yet. I wasn't ready to let go.

Technology, though, had other plans. For a clean slate and a new start. Doesn't matter if I like it or not. Doesn't matter if I was ready to turn the page. Maybe it's a good thing that I now have a new plum phone with an empty inbox. Maybe I can see tomorrow (or even today) better if I'm not turning to glance back at yesterday. Maybe it's a good thing that decision didn't rest in my hands. I feel kind of robbed and naked right now, but in the end, I might just be grateful that I was dragged into a new day.

This is one of the ringtones I lost. Not sure yet if I'll use it again, even though it remains one of my favorite songs. Who would ever have guessed how appropriate it would be right now?


"Into the Day"--Bebo Norman

You could turn a hundred years and never empty all your fears
They’re pouring out like broken words and broken bones
They could fill a thousand pages, be the cry for all the ages
And the song for every soul who stands alone

The ache of life is more than you are able

Hold on love, don’t give up
Don’t close your eyes
The light is breaking through the night

Step out into the day, all the clouds and all the rain are gone
It’s over now
Step out into the sun, for you have only begun to know
What it’s all about
As the hungering dark gives way to the dawn, my love
It’s over now

Time will let the story told grow and grow ‘til it unfolds
In a way that even you cannot ignore
You can say the seasons change but never if you just remain
In a place where the freeze is at your door

What you don’t know is the signs are right for the turning tide

Hold on, hold on

It won’t be long
So hold on

Ahh...glorious (?) summertime

I have all my windows open this afternoon because the weather is SO beautiful...breezy, semi-cool--a perfect summer day. Time to enjoy all the sights and sounds of summer:

• The neighbor kids setting off pack after pack of firecrackers.
• The neighbor dogs howling loudly because they don't like firecrackers less than *I* like firecrackers.
• The neighbor kids playing with a dirt bike...revving the engine over and over and over and...
• The neighbor adults drinking heavily, which leads to...
• The neighbor adults fighting, which leads to...
• The neighbor adults screaming vulgar obscenitites at each other, which leads to...
• The neighbor kids screaming at them to stop, and...
• The neighbor dogs howling at all the screaming, which sometimes all leads to...
• The neighbor ME calling the police and someone (sometimes it's Mom, sometimes Dad) getting hauled away for domestic violence.

Not today, though. I'm escaping to the country with my camera and my blackberry (as in real berries, not the phone!) pail. More productive than napping, anyway.

Chemicals, schmemicals...

I deep-cleaned my (in)famous bathroom floor yesterday.

I've been using a new hair product in a bottle with a crappy sprayer that never sprays where you want it to go and I've consequently accumulated a lot of sticky gunk on the floor. So, I spent a couple of hours de-gunking yesterday.

The problem is, the stuff that won't spray where I want it to spray and won't hold my hair where I want (if I DO manage to get some of it on the proper spot) somehow sets up like concrete when it hits vinyl flooring.

I try to use natural products whenever I have that choice. I've been using citrus-based cleaners for a few years now, simply because I believe as a society we are unwittingly toxifying ourselves with all the possibly lethal chemicals we use, on a daily basis, to make our lives "easier" without counting the potential down-the-road costs. (Another sermon for another day, maybe.)

I tried all the natural stuff on the hairspray gunk. Nothing budged it. So, I dug in the back of the cabinet and found a couple of old chemical cleaners. I tried some kind of spray stuff that SAID it was orange, but the only thing orange about it was the hideous color and artificial orange scent. It kind of worked. Then I tried the "scrubbing bubbles" stuff. That, or the combination of the two, worked. The floor is de-gunked. All pretty and white again.

I, however, am not. I was wearing shorts. My legs are now covered with an ugly, itchy poison ivy-ish rash. I am truly MIS-ER-A-BLE. And I've learned my lesson. Those chemical cleaners are in the trash. Along with the others I'd shoved to the back of the cabinet. And the cheap, gunky hairspray is going in there, too. If natural products won't clean it up, I won't be using it. Harsh chemicals and I are parting company...as much as we possibly can.

Sometimes I have to be reminded why I've made the decisions I've made in the past, especially when another way looks easier. Point taken...and the basic truth of that will be applied elsewhere as well.

Beautiful...

I want to join the dance!!


Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Broken...

...courtesy of Heather at Deconstructed Christian:

"I’m a broken person. A collection of smashed pieces. I used to think God fixed the broken and made things perfect and whole. Now I’m not so sure.
I think it’s more like he holds a candle in such a way that it illuminates all those broken pieces, so the light shines through and makes them beautiful in their brokenness."

OUCH!!!

Courtesy of Frederick Buechner, from "Wishful Thinking":

Of the Seven Deadly Sins, anger is possibly the most fun. To lick your wounds, to smack your lips over grievances long past, to roll over your tongue the prospect of bitter confrontations still to come, to savor to the last toothsome morsel both the pain you are given and the pain you are giving back—in many ways it is a feast fit for a king. The chief drawback is that what you are wolfing down is yourself. The skeleton at the feast is you.