A Few of Too Many

Incohesive thoughts that I feel the need to express:

Love: Am I ready for God's love for others to make its home in me? Just look how 'far' it got Jesus, right? The Bible tells us he was moved with compassion for multitudes. Am I ready to be moved to broken-hearted tears when His love in me identifies with their suffering? Am I ready to be moved into radical action? Am I ready to give up everything that's comfy and safe when His love is pursuing, and still expect nothing in return? Am I ready to look like a fool? Ready to be misunderstood? Ready to be rejected and betrayed? The answer: Probably not. But that's okay. I don't know anyone who would be ready for all of that (how would one prepare?). It is enough for me to be weak but willing. Willing to be made strong. Willing to let all-sufficient grace do its work in me as opportunities arise to be God's love. Think of it. We are vessels for His glory. What an amazing and precious gift we walk around with every day. Does anyone else get to see that? Do I see that in myself?

Story: I heard a Donald Miller quote the other day. He was quoting Henry David Thoreau, who said "Most men lead lives of quiet desperation", and he interpreted it something like this: Most people's stories suck, and they know it. At first I laughed. Then I laughed in the 'It's funny 'cause it's true' sort of way. I think he's right. He played this little game where he imagined that the movie trailer guy voice was following him around and, in thrilling intonations, describing all the dull details that no one would ever pay to see on film. I imagined the voice following my own life, and Mr. Miller is right. It's annoying. The truth is that everyone's life is always going to be full of little mundane details that would never make it into a script. But the truth is also that we all long for our lives to be a good story. We want to be characters that people actually care about. And this is a good thing. I'm massacring his sermon (It's called Story and it's in the Imago Dei podcasts on itunes) with all my rambling, but here are some things that stuck with me. 1. God wants to write a story with our lives, and He will, as long as we don't try to take the pen from Him and write it ourselves (I did this once, and my computer crashed...one of the most happy disasters of my life). 2. Our story is part of a much bigger story, which points to the glory of the greatest storyteller and the ultimate hero (these are my own words...they are not nearly literary enough to be a quote): God. I'm challenged and excited...for me and everyone I know. No one else can live out your story, friend (self...). Let God write to the glory of His name!

All right...I did pretty good...I only used one exclamation point! (Okay, two). I really do love you, friends. You challenge me and inspire me more than you know.

Better Things, Part II

It's me again. Back because you can't have a part one without a part two. Paul Harvey would not approve. I would say there's just a few things to add before I move on from what God is teaching me, but I guess I don't ever really want to move on from what He is teaching. That being said...I don't want anyone to feel dumped on or ranted to. I guess it's just here to be taken for whatever it's worth.

The overwhelming feeling I have right now is that of being thankful. Thankful for emptiness, because only then can I know what it is to be filled. Thankful for the opportunity of pain, because it is then that I experience His complete healing and perfect love more than at any other time...It is then that I can choose to humble myself and bow down...to go a little deeper in this walk of faith...to scratch the surface of an infathomable God...to slow down in a frantic world...to crawl like a child into the Father's arms...to wash my eyes, my face, my soul with tears...to be silent and listen...to surrender control and my ability to understand...to trust in His sovereignty...to share in the sufferings of Jesus...that one day I may be God's light in someone else's darkness.

I'm thankful. For the raw material that is life, and the tool that is sometimes pain. For the jeweled crown that He is helping* us to make, so that one day, when we catch that first holy glimpse, we may have something to cast down at His feet in worship. I read a book by Elisabeth Elliot once (you know the one) and in it she said something like 'God gives us material for sacrifice'. When we understand how worthy God is, and all that He sacrificed for us, then the most painful things become something to be thankful for. Material for sacrifice.

That's it for now...Thanks to everyone for bearing with me...and making it through even without pictures. Until next time...

*(The image I have in my head is of a mother 'helping' her 3 year old to make cookies. She probably ends up doing 3 times the work, but she is somehow blessed to share the mess.)

Better Things, Part I

Pain is the washer fluid that clears my vision, and my unwillingness to walk through it is the clog that keeps it from doing its work. Wash away, God. I want to see you more clearly today.

A Fate Slightly Better Than Death

They say that without pain, we'd die, because we wouldn't be aware of what was killing us. I suppose it's true enough. I know I've refused to feel pain before and ended up dying inside. I guess the worst pain we can feel is still better than the unfeeling-ness of death. All the same, pain sucks, and it's getting old.

Talk to you soon when I have better things to say.

Sabbatical, or Something

2007. One year you roll out of bed with a terrible ache to go home, and you don't have the slightest notion of where on earth home is. So, you begin to set your heart on the journey. Not a journey with a destination to be settled in, but a roadtrip, flighttrip, floattrip, biketrip with the ones who make you feel like home along the way. There's only one home and it's not found here...but there are many steps to take and perhaps a few places to pitch one's tent along the way. Ben Harper says, "Life's the longest picture you're ever gonna take". But it really does move so fast. I don't want to wait for the perfect opportunity anymore.

Here I am...Ready to travel light, smile at strangers, make some friends, share some burdens. To talk about just where it is we're going until I can see the lights of home shining on all of our faces.

Love.

Reflecting

It's been a while, hasn't it? I would have written something sooner, but trying to channel a thought into wordsis like searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. Blindfolded. In the rain. With rubber gloves on. Anyway...

The reason for this altogether unthrilling photograph and the wordy counterpart which you now read, is to attempt to vocalize a frustration which (until now) has generally preferred to escape in the forms of tormented sighs and cries and the occasional reaches for ice cream.

The Sweatsuit and I were journeying home today from a visit to mom and dad's. The roads were wet from a momentary snow, and it didn't take long for cars to pass us (in all fairness, we got stuck behind a delivery truck who was making a turn), with tail-lights winking and tires casually spitting dirt in our faces...each one whizzing their way into a merry little future. Now this wouldn't be much more than a mild annoyance if we were equipped, like every other car and driver team, with washer fluid and a pump or sprayer that worked. But not so, I'm afraid. So each one passing by seemed to make the journey a little more unclear, until I began to doubt my sense of direction and ability to find my way. Lucky for me, The Sweatsuit is used to driving under such conditions, and it was not long before she slid into home. A happy enough ending for a car, but for me, the story goes on.

See, it's not just my windshield that's cloudy, it's my whole vision for my life. People zoom by, and I plod on. Adjusting my eyes to yet a little more dirt. Wondering if I'll ever arrive at anything resembling home. Every now and then, I stop and catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror and back window, and though everything is so clear, it doesn't seem to help me much when I'm trying to move forward--toward home. So...I pray for rain and I wait. I pray for something to give me even a moment's clarity, but I remember that my pump or sprayer or whatever doesn't work anyway. Probably clogged. But with what?

Eventually it becomes too much. The squinting into blindness. The wondering where you are, how you got there, why you can't seem to find the clarity that allows everyone else to zoom on. I guess you just do your best, and trust that Someone else besides you has got it covered. Sounds pitiful, doesn't it? But it is what it is, and there's nothing wrong with saying so. The wheels are in motion...and I along with them. Dad says it's easier to steer a moving vehicle, but I wonder if he'll still say so when he has to let me go. Anywho, it's 2:44 and someone is playing the accordion outside my door. If I wait for everything to clear up, I'll never go anywhere. I just have to get moving. I just have to get praying. And maybe, just maybe, I'll discover what this terrible ache is that's blocking the flow of any sort of clarity. Or not. Maybe it's a story that only hindsight can tell. Ouch.

Sigh

Said another good-bye to my sister today. I miss her already. In a few weeks, I will probably wonder if it was just a dream that she came home. Only 7 more months though...

On a funny note, we saw a girl at the airport using this as her carry-on.

Letters to Little Orphans who Make Big Promises...

Dear Annie,

Please hand over your bottom dollar. The sun will not come out today, and tomorrow is more than a day away.

Expectantly yours,
ed

Brrr...ish

(daily 'drawing' challenge...silly, I know)

They say it's getting cold...but I have yet to really feel it. Could be the fatty layers of walnuts and cocoa I've padded myself with, or just the fact that I'm feeling a little Spring revival in the old ticker. I even abandoned The Sweatsuit for a week in favor of walking (hoping to log in a few last minute commuter points for work), but she started up like a charm tonight (to my hidden surprise). She's a lady like that. So is Bee, for scraping the windows that were threatening to make us look more ice-sculpture-on-wheels than car.

I scored pretty big in the eating department today. I got treated to lunch and dinner and coffee and cheesecake. And Bernice the cat gave me a back massage. She's very good at it. Creepy, but true.

I'm getting very excited for Christmas. Not the commercial-y part...but the love and joy and cheer and inner warmth part. And the Solstice party on the 22nd (dude). You should all come. There will be a cookie swap...

Sorry I can't think of anything more profound to say. The theme for my life these days seems to be...Love the one(s) you're with. Do what you know to be doing (with joy). Don't freak out about what you don't know to be doing (with fear). Trust. Be thankful. Live. The quote on my mind? Wherever you are, be all there (Jim Elliot). The verse on my mind? Hour by hour I place my days in your hand (from Psalm 31, The Message paraphrase). The Chambers for the day? I am called to live in perfect relation to God so that my life produces a longing after God in other lives, not admiration for myself. Thank goodness it's not up to me to be profound.

Thanks to everyone who shared in my wanderlusty (why does that look so wrong?) post. It's so nice to know that I'm not alone in the things I wrestle with...that I'm not too terribly crazy...that I have friends. Truly. I am blessed.

Cousin (it)

Limited time only...or else I die.

O snow...

Oh, Le Pauvre Sweatsuit. This morning we woke up to several inches of snow. It would figure, she said to me, since you are filling in for someone else at work this morning. Yes, we all know what this means. Shovel shovel. Sweep sweep. The shovelin's all right, but the sweepin just ain't no good. Ah well. Made me feel like watching Christmas movies...but this will have to wait till November noveling's end.

After work I went straight to the Good Food Store for junk food to write by. After all, if you're gonna go junk, it might as well be organic. So, I loaded up on carob raisins (you sneer, but I love), papaya spears, walnuts, Hansen's vanilla cola and Annie's mac 'n cheese. I nearly got some tofu pups to accompany Annie on a gastronomical journey into organic white trash-land, but I decided to forego. (I forewent?)

I took an intense nap (complete with nightmares about being locked in a prison tent with two creepy adolescent boys and a knife...luckily, I escaped) and awoke with messy eyebrows. Let me tell you, this is a feat for me, because I don't have much to mess up. The other day I suggested to my mother that I was going to try using Rogaine to grow more eyebrow hairs, but she warned me they would fall out after 48 hours of discontinued use (of Rogaine, not eyebrows). I just don't think I can commit to being a Rogaine lifer at this point, so skimpy brows it must be.

Well this, ladies and gents, is how one procrastinates writing a novel.

Love,
me and the sweat(snow)suit

Thankful, but...?

I came across this picture that I think I drew while sitting on a park bench in Seattle. (Speaking of which...Pal, I miss you way way too much.) I don't know that it has a whole heap of a lot to do with what I'm writing about this morning (whatever that is), but I was feelin' it, so here we are.

It's funny how quickly my thankful heart turns prodigal. I'm still thankful, but...for some reason all I can get my mind around right now is grabbing a friend (or a knight in shining RV), packing up my life, tossing it into a film-, yarn- and tootsie pop-loaded vehicle, and hitting the road in search of sunshine and untold stories.

Have you ever felt like you're at a fork in the road? Not the kind you face every time you turn around to make a decision, but the kind that will completely sever you and your sheepish pants in two if you don't make up your mind right now? The scariest thing to me is that not deciding is a decision in itself. Passivity is scary. But so is passion. I wish I knew what is right.

I wonder what the prodigal was thinking the night he was packing his things. Did he justify his departure by saying he was not really living life in the safe confines of his father's house? That it was better to seize life while he was young than wait for an inheritance when he was old? Is this me? Because frankly, I'm terrified of the neat little life in the neat little house. Of the 9 to 5. Of the mom who one day says I wish I'd never married. I'm terrified of wasting my gifts. I finally wake up from years of wanting to die, and now I'm terrified I'll sleepwalk through life.

I guess the first test of a prodigal heart is to ask whether I am all about the me and now. God, help me to be wise to myself. Plant me where I'll bear good fruit. Help me when all I see around me is dirt and seeds.

Reading back through, I realize I may sound like a) I am wanting to turn my back on my Father and b) Wifedom and motherhood are hovering in frilly pink ribbons just above my reluctant lap. Neither is true. I'm just not sure where my place in this world is right now.

I'm still thankful for...anyone who actually reads my ranty rambles, Bernice (the cat, not the bakery)'s muffins, lip gloss, senses of humor, genuine diversity, thriftshops, local celebrities, fortune cookies, natural fibers, and sincere hearts.

Giving Thanks

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone! Count up your blessings, and find someone to share them with. I guarantee you'll get more back.

Here's my inventory of blessings for the moment...in no particular order...good health, good job, soft bed, warm house, hot showers, clean(ish) clothes, abundant food, abundant water, abundant free time, sunlight, night, sleep, dreams, letters, prayer, things that make me cry, foreign cultures, voices, places I've never been, mountains, pastures, cows, trails, dogs, tulips, sunflowers, color, rain, leaves, trees, Africa, snowmen, holidays, Bible studies, yarn, toilets that flush, The Sweatsuit, mom, dad, sisters, grandmas, grandpas, aunts, uncles, cousins, cat-niece, neighbor, wonderboss, friends here and friends there, hugs, beauty, truth, hope, joy, grace, forgiveness, smiles from friends, smiles to strangers, tears shared and tears alone, emptiness, fullness, laughter, stories, seasons, sounds, smells, scenes, music, old movies, good books that make mine look bad, guitars, pianos, children, old people, everlasting life, expressions, photographs, mystery, wonder...People I've never met. Jesus. Love that comes and goes. Love that never changes.

Well, I should probably go help my mom with dinner now. There is just no end to the blessings I have to be thankful for...externally, internally, and eternally (as I learned on Sunday). Therefore, I hereby deem it mandatory that everyone who reads this leave a comment with at least 8 things listed that they are blessed by. Come on, you know it will be fun.

That's it for now, friends. Chances are, if you know me at all, I'm probably thinking of you today, thanking God for you, and missing you. Take care.

Good Fruit

So I have this friend who just discovered pomegranates...The kid pretty much lives pomegranates now. Can't go a day without at least one. Can't stop talking about them. He's like the ambassador of pomegranates, sharing his love of them with everyone he knows. I find this very cool because a) Pomegranates are great, and b) There's something so right about enjoying the fruit of the season.

I feel like this is God's message for me these days. Summer may be over, yes, but life's winter bears a fruit all its own. Will I trust Him to sustain me with the fruit of whatever season I'm in? Will I rejoice in it...knowing that the season will pass and I may not always be able to enjoy the particular blessings that it brings? Friendship, creativity, free time, special lessons...God, help me to trust and rejoice in Your provision for each season, and to share the fruit of it with others. Help me never to waste or complain or wish for whatever is not in season for me.

Zimbabwe Eve and Nanowrimo?

One year ago today, I was saying "trick or treat" to my Grandma J (because she told me to) and being given yet another donation for the next day's journey to Zimbabwe, Africa. Hard to believe. Not the donations...My sister has already made it clear what kind of grandma I have. But the fact that God brought me on an adventure that would change my life in more ways than I could have imagined. I will never get over how good and gracious He is. And the journey continues. From the depths of a mended heart, I am thankful tonight.

So now I stand on the eve of a different journey, one that I suspect will be fairly life-altering as well. Cue the novelist. My friend Jersey Beth (Bee) has happily convinced me to join her in a wild, month-long fling at noveling. 50,000 words. 30 days. 4 hours from now, 1 soon-to-be-regretted-horse's-mouth. There's no turning back now.

Bring it.

Big Weekend, Part II: Pat and Irene go to a Barndance

Two months from today is Christmas!!!

Sorry...just had to throw that out there. So, yes. Big weekend for me, part II.

My friend Bee, also known as Beth (since I have all but dispensed with my one-time penchant for anonymity), invited me to a barndance put on by the career group (translation: singles group) at the church we have been attending for the last few months. I all but called her a liar when she told me the event was mentioned in the church bulletin. My response was somewhere between 'Why not? It sounds too good to miss' and 'You will have to drag me, wild-horse friend'. But in the end, I could not resist the story of it all. And by that I mean getting to e-mail Jamey (#1 Sister) with a casual "Not much new here...Beth and I went to a singles barndance on Saturday" or getting to call Pal (one of a few whose name has stuck) and say something slightly less casual, like the "You won't belieeeeeve what I did today" that we have always loved so much. I have yet to do either one, actually. Procrastinator that I am. I also have yet to tell the padded out version of the story to my eager audience of imaginary grandchildren, which is strangely a sizeable motivator in the things that I must force myself to do. In short, I thought a singles barndance would make a good story.

I'm not sure that it accomplished said goal (although it would seem that the story continues in some ways . . .), but I did discover something pretty cool. A leftover something from the night before...the big fundraising event. I am not quite the unlocked-prison-cell-dweller that I used to be. When I say 'unlocked', I mean that I was free to go, but too afraid to leave the 'comfort' of my prison. I was stepping in places that months ago would have paralyzed me, and not feeling an ounce of the debilitating fear that I had always tried to blame on shyness or awkwardness. God's freedom is good news indeed. The prison door was opened long ago, but the captive still cowered. The door of the cage was opened, but the little bird just sang to herself and watched the world go by from her swing. You can call me silly, but I can't help it. There is nothing like God's freedom. I have to say it was a long, hard road, those few steps from the prison-cage to the open door, and I would not have made it if Someone hadn't reached inside and grabbed my hand. I can almost remember each step now...like crossing stones in rushing water. Every now and then, prison's "safety" calls, and I must deliberately choose to keep walking (or flying) away. But on my way, I'll catch a mirror-glimpse or a memory of where I was, and I sing inside: I have been released.

Anyway...about that barndance. To sum it up, Beth learned how to dance. I learned that I cannot dance. (Unless of course you count the danse ridicule that may or may not have been invented by the Frenchman who called us Pat and Irene). I learned that it is foolish to care about what you're wearing when it's so cold you never take your coat off. I learned that you should never bring pie to a potluck if there's a chance you could take it home with you. And yes, I re-learned that each of us carry a hidden story within us, and that things (people) are not always what they seem. Oh...and as far as I can tell, I don't have Future Wife written anywhere on my person. So...I'd say I learned a lot.

Big Weekend, Part I: Stretched and Blessed

Big weekend for me.

On Friday evening, I got all foofed up to volunteer at our first we-hope-it's-annual fundraiser for work. Normally I would have been scared to death, but for some reason, this time all I could find to be afraid of was the slightly teetering 3 dollar heels I was wearing. Speaking of 3 dollar finds...I have to say that my 3 dollar dress from The Underground (the Senior Cititzens Center thrift shop) made quite an impression on an even more teetering lady in her in-the-know stiletto croc pumps. I confess it produced a secret smile in me.

Speaking of secret smiles...I have been holding one in all weekend long ever since I saw the crowd of people gathered in the cocktail-lit room for the benefit. To see that many people turn out on a Friday night in support of the work that you are lucky enough to be a hidden part of...Incredible. To be honest, it moved me to tears. I was totally overwhelmed. Not because people were lining up to say thank-you (to be honest, where I work, there is seldom a shortage of thank-you's), but because I felt like I was watching them catch the vision of what we're about. And because I am one who gets to carry out that vision every day (or night). I get to be the eyes and ears and arms to the people we're all trying to reach out to. How incredible that God allows that.

Now...lest you think I've come here to rub my job in your face, let me tell you what hit me the hardest about the evening. As followers of Jesus in this life, we are all called to be night managers, right? We work and watch in the night, right up until the final daybreak. Maybe our specific assignment doesn't feel like a particularly magnificent one at the moment...Maybe our work is all but invisible to most...But I believe that one day, God will overwhelm us with the fruit of hidden faithfulness. Perhaps what I witnessed last Friday in that sparkling, buzzing room is just a little reflection of what all God's workers will witness when they stand dumbfounded at the threshold of a heavenly gathering. All the lives that we had no idea God touched through us just because we kept about His work. I hope you're encouraged and challenged. I know I am.

The last thing to say about the evening is this. I had the prickly job of trying (with questionable success) to pin a boutonniere on our locally famous newscaster. She was very friendly and gracious about it...but a word of advice...If you ever find yourself in similar (teetering) shoes, don't preface your performance by saying, "I don't know if you trust me to do this...". Because they probably won't. Incidentally...now I know why the boy who was forced by my English teacher to ask me to our school's pseudo-prom chose to go the wrist corsage route.

Just Call It God

Chambers' words are for me today:

The test of a man's religious life and character is not what he does in the exceptional moments of life, but what he does in the ordinary times, when there is nothing tremendous or exciting on.

Here are some words I don't believe you will ever hear God say: "Let's just call it good." I remember my own father saying those words to me at various times throughout my youth, when I was drowning in sleepless tears over some insignificant school project that I couldn't get just right. Sometimes those words would be accompanied by a fatherly lecture on how I majored in the minors and minored in the majors (Jamey will chuckle at this, though I doubt she ever got that particular lecture). But I have yet to hear God say, "Let's call it good." God, unlike me, is not a perfectionist. He is perfection.

The tricky thing about perfectionism is, it is more often than not a futile attempt to please an impossible audience (everyone), or an attempt (also futile over time) to hide the imperfect self you can't face behind a perfect exterior. God's not interested in either, thank goodness. Everything He does is perfect by the nature of who He is. He can't be less than perfect. He can't try to be more perfect. He will never say, "Good enough. I give up. I'm done here." I think that I have actually asked Him to say that a few times. When each baby step up the impossibly steep mountain seemed too painful. When we would pass by a little green stream and I decided it would be a good idea to just make ourselves a home there and not go on. Nope. Despite my pleadings to the contrary, He keeps on making me press on, hold out, look up...for His very best. We're the children of a perfect God. Unless we demand our own good enough way, He will keep shaping, pinching, stretching...Excuse me for mixing my metaphors. But you catch my drift. I'm off to my women's study. God is good. Chambers is not bad either:

Getting into the stride of God means nothing less than union with Himself. It takes a long time to get there, but keep at it. Don't give in because the pain is bad just now, get on with it, and before long you will find you have a new vision and a new purpose.