Tales from a Leakey Faucet

Five Minute Friday: Real

2012-02-03T08:50:00.001-05:00

Begin

Since I am composing this post on my phone, it won't be a long one. But thanks to the wonders of technology and the appropriateness of this Friday's word, I couldn't resist.

I am visiting some dear friends in Jinja, Uganda. Yesterday I had the opportunity to go out to a local village for a bi-weekly Bible study. My missionary friend brought along a Flat Stanley from a little boy in Michigan. We took pictures of him with all the kids who came to church. My traveling giraffe Haji joined in the fun as well. When that little boy gets his Flat Stanley back, I know he'll be super excited to hear all about Africa and the things his friends are doing here. But for me, it wasn't second hand or by proxy. From the red dirt covering my feet to the language barriers bridged by a smile -- for me, it was all very real.

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Tebow

2012-02-02T02:50:00.001-05:00

Because good things bear repeating. The scope of my resources may be different, but this is the kind of human being I hope to be.

I believe in Tim Tebow
By Rick Reilly

I've come to believe in Tim Tebow, but not for what he does on a football field, which is still three parts Dr. Jekyll and two parts Mr. Hyde.

No, I've come to believe in Tim Tebow for what he does off a football field, which is represent the best parts of us, the parts I want to be and so rarely am.

Who among us is this selfless?

Every week, Tebow picks out someone who is suffering, or who is dying, or who is injured, flies them and their families to the Broncos game, rents them a car, puts them up in a nice hotel, buys them dinner (usually at a Dave and Buster's), gets them and their families pregame passes, visits with them just before kickoff (!), gets them 30-yard line tickets down low, visits with them after the game (sometimes for an hour), has them walk him to his car, and sends them off with a basket of gifts.

Home or road, win or lose, hero or goat.

Remember last week, when the world was pulling its hair out in the hour after Tebow had stunned the Pittsburgh Steelers with an 80-yard OT touchdown pass to Demaryius Thomas in the playoffs? And Twitter was exploding with 9,420 tweets about Tebow per second? When an ESPN poll was naming him the most popular athlete in America?

Tebow was spending that hour talking to 16-year-old Bailey Knaub about her 73 surgeries so far and what TV shows she likes.

"Here he'd just played the game of his life," recalls Bailey's mother, Kathy, of Loveland, Colo., "and the first thing he does after his press conference is come find Bailey and ask, 'Did you get anything to eat?' He acted like what he'd just done wasn't anything, like it was all about Bailey."

More than that, Tebow kept corralling people into the room for Bailey to meet. Hey, Demaryius, come in here a minute. Hey, Mr. Elway. Hey, Coach Fox.

Even though sometimes-fatal Wegener's granulomatosis has left Bailey with only one lung, the attention took her breath away.

"It was the best day of my life," she emailed. "It was a bright star among very gloomy and difficult days. Tim Tebow gave me the greatest gift I could ever imagine. He gave me the strength for the future. I know now that I can face any obstacle placed in front of me. Tim taught me to never give up because at the end of the day, today might seem bleak but it can't rain forever and tomorrow is a new day, with new promises."

I read that email to Tebow and he was honestly floored.

"Why me? Why should I inspire her?" he said. "I just don't feel, I don't know, adequate. Really, hearing her story inspires me."

It's not just NFL defenses that get Tebowed. It's kids who will die soon. It's adults who can hardly stand. It's high school girls who don't know if they'll ever go to a prom. For the game at Buffalo, it was Charlottesville, Va., blue-chip high school QB Jacob Rainey, who lost his leg after a freak tackle in a scrimmage. Tebow threw three interceptions in that Buffalo game and the Broncos were crushed, 40-14.

"He walked in and took a big sigh and said, 'Well, that didn't go as planned,'" remembers Rainey. "Where I'm from, people wonder how sincere and genuine he is. But I think he's the most genuine person I've ever met."

There's not an ounce of artifice or phoniness or Hollywood in this kid Tebow and I've looked everywhere for it.

Take 9-year-old Zac Taylor, a child who lives in constant pain. Immediately after Tebow shocked the Chicago Bears with a 13-10 comeback win, Tebow spent an hour with Zac and his family. At one point, Zac, who has 10 doctors, asked Tebow if he has a secret prayer for hospital visits. Tebow whispered it in his ear. And since Tebow still needed to be checked out by the Broncos' team doctor, he took Zac in with him, but only after they'd whispered it together.

And it's not always kids. Tom Driscoll, a 55-year-old who is dying of brain cancer at a hospice in Denver, was Tebow's guest for the Cincinnati game. "The doctors took some of my brain," Driscoll says, "so my short-term memory is kind of shot. But that day I'll never forget. Tim is such a good man."

This whole thing makes no football sense, of course. Most NFL players hardly talk to teammates before a game, much less visit with the sick and dying.

Isn't that a huge distraction?

"Just the opposite," Tebow says. "It's by far the best thing I do to get myself ready. Here you are, about to play a game that the world says is the most important thing in the world. Win and they praise you. Lose and they crush you. And here I have a chance to talk to the coolest, most courageous people. It puts it all into perspective. The game doesn't really matter. I mean, I'll give 100 percent of my heart to win it, but in the end, the thing I most want to do is not win championships or make a lot of money, it's to invest in people's lives, to make a difference."

So that's it. I've given up giving up on him. I'm a 100 percent believer. Not in his arm. Not in his skills. I believe in his heart, his there-will-definitely-be-a-pony-under-the-tree optimism, the way his love pours into people, right up to their eyeballs, until they believe they can master the hopeless comeback, too.

Remember the QB who lost his leg, Jacob Rainey? He got his prosthetic leg a few weeks ago and he wants to play high school football next season. Yes, tackle football. He'd be the first to do that on an above-the-knee amputation.

Hmmm. Wonder where he got that crazy idea?

"Tim told me to keep fighting, no matter what," Rainey says. "I am."

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This article was emailed to me by a good friend. But you can find it here: http://m.espn.go.com/wireless/story?storyId=7455943

Confession

2012-01-29T12:05:00.001-05:00

This is an honest confession from a worship team member.

"Will you be there next Sunday?" asked Cherie. "There are a few songs that have a lot of violin in them. I'll give you a CD so you can hear. But I know you can take it and make it pretty like you always do."

Well, what I always do is try to hide up there on the chancel and just...worship on my violin. Sometimes it doesn't feel like much, but it's what I've been given. I don't usually use music. I just fill in as we go along. It's an offering from my heart, and a way for me to give back to my church family.

Playing what was on that CD certainly fell within my skill level. But for some reason, I found myself being incredibly intimidated. Maybe it's because I *am* a little intimidated by the talent of the other musicians. They're so good at what they do. I'm a renaissance woman musically, but they astound me with the things they do.

So I played my special part, and immediately sought affirmation from Eddie and Cherie. (After the worship team finished and exited to our room where we listen to the sermon.) "Was that ok?" "Did it sound right?" "Were you happy with it?" They quieted my fears, but I still resolved (to myself) to do better during the next service.

And again I played, and it went well, but I still found myself hoping for reassurance...or I'll be honest, for praise.

And then God spoke to me by way of a song. More precisely, by a guitar lick.

I'm not kidding! I was sitting on the couch in our little room, over analyzing how I had just played, and a song intro just popped into my head. It took me a few seconds to remember the first line of the song, but then it came: "For the praises of man, I will never ever stand..."

I sat there, convicted and humbled, and reminded that it doesn't matter. If I played just like a CD, or if I played something beautiful and new, or if I played as well as the incredibly talented musicians there with me, or if my playing impressed someone or made someone happy or anything else. Yes, I need to do my best, and approach every opportunity I have to play with excellence and integrity. But the most important part is having the correct posture of the heart. *Why* am I doing this?

Of course I like to know that I'm being a blessing, and I've been genuinely encouraged by different comments from members of my church family. But once that encouragement becomes something I seek -- a requirement to determine if I played well enough on any given Sunday morning -- my heart has changed.

It can be a fine line, but that morning I crossed to the wrong side. I confess. I let my perfectionism and insecurity get the better of me. I was hoping to get praise instead of giving it. I'm thankful for that still small voice (guitar intro?) for reminding me why I play, and who I'm playing for.

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May these words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing in your sight, Lord. (Psalm 19:14)

Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.
(Psalm 51:10)

Crowned

2012-01-21T08:00:00.011-05:00

A package came in the mail for me yesterday. It was a crown (or more properly, a circlet) that I ordered to wear on Saturday to the Renaissance Fair. My sister and I dress up every year, and I finally decided to accessorize my dress with some jewelry.

So I put it on for the first time, and I felt so regal. My sister and I stood side by side and checked ourselves out in the mirror and just couldn't stop smiling. We physically looked the same. Our outfits hadn't changed (I was in my business casual garb, my sister in jeans and a t-shirt)...but our demeanor had. Even now, I'm at work and I'm sitting a little straighter because I have a crown at home. I'm regal even if people here can't see it. Then it struck me... how is today any different from any other day?

As children of God, being adopted into his family....we are royalty. How would your demeanor change if you were wearing a crown? (Wouldn't it be cool if one came down from heaven as soon as you got saved? All the girls say, "Amen!") The point is, remember who you are. Walk a little straighter. Remember all the resources you have at your disposal (and be a good steward of them). Remember that even if you can't see it, you have a crown. But most of all, be aware of the amazing love that wanted you to be part of the family.

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A rediscovered thought from my old Xanga blog.

House Call

2012-01-19T08:00:00.002-05:00

"Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved." Usually when I've heard this sentence, I've thought about the act of calling out to God. Saying his name or whatever. But it struck me that the phrase "to call" also means to come and visit.

People used to "call" on each other. Young men asked a young woman's father if he could "call" on her. Doctors made house "calls." Thinking of "call" in this way changes the implications. Motivated by either need or desire, someone intentionally sets time aside to spend quality time with someone else. The afternoon visitor wants to simmer in the moment and maybe enjoy a cup of tea over news. The doctor comes to examine and probe, to get to the root of the problem. The hopeful suitor isn't rushed because they want to get to know the other person... because they're falling in love with them.

"Those who call upon the name of the Lord will be saved." Do I spend time with God? Do I let him probe and get to the root of my proplems? Do I try to get to know him? Am I purposeful...and unrushed about it?

Just a thought for today.

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A rediscovered thought from my old Xanga blog.

Together

2012-01-17T16:05:00.000-05:00

It's one of the most poignant and heart wrenching scenes of the final Harry Potter book. Harry stands at the edge of the forest, gathering his courage to face his final showdown with Voldemort.

He has known for a while that a lot was going to be asked of him. But now the true enormity of his task stands before him. He believes this meeting will cost him his life. Because now he knows he's more than just "The Boy Who Lived." He knows that he's more than simply "The Chosen One." And knowing the cost, he still chooses to make that walk.

His only request? It's as poignant as the situation itself: "You'll stay with me?" He asks to make that walk with the spirits of Lily, James, Sirius, Lupin...his loved ones...by his side.

[Abraham] said to his servants, “Stay here with the donkey while I and the boy go over there. We will worship and then we will come back to you.” Abraham took the wood for the burnt offering and placed it on his son Isaac, and he himself carried the fire and the knife. As the two of them went on together, Isaac spoke up and said to his father Abraham, “Father?” “Yes, my son?” Abraham replied. “The fire and wood are here,” Isaac said, “but where is the lamb for the burnt offering?” Abraham answered, “God himself will provide the lamb for the burnt offering, my son.” And the two of them went on together. (Genesis 22:5-8)

I've always read this story and thought of what it must have cost Abraham. But today, I'm moved by the faith of his son.

After all, the passage portrays a shared faith between Abraham and Isaac. It says "we will worship." Isaac was committed to his relationship to God. Committed enough to travel three days away to worship together with his father. And he must have known it was a significant journey. Abraham knew the whole time. He knew. But Isaac gets to figure it out.

Have you ever had a moment when you realize you're in for more than you thought you originally bargained for? There's nothing quite like that feeling. Your stomach drops. The blood drains from your head. The world zoom in and zooms out at the same time. It's an epiphany of the most unique kind.

There's a choice to make in that moment. Maybe there's a way out. How committed are you? Do you believe in this thing as much as you thought you did? "Is this a hill worth dying on?" my old teacher might ask. Because if it's not, now is the time to bail.

If there's no way out -- if you're in-for-an-inch-in-for-a-mile, there's still a choice to make. Do be dragged along, or to accept the new insight and be driven by it. However scared you may be, do you take that step into the woods with commitment and purpose?

I wonder when Isaac's suspicions started. When he started to realize there was more to this trip than his dad was letting on. I wonder if he knew the answer to his question before he asked.

"Where is the lamb?"
"God himself will provide."

I wonder if it all clicked into place. If his stomach dropped through the ground. If a million thoughts and doubts and and questions and options raced through his mind.

All I know is this: The two of them went on together. Isaac took one committed step after another. Believing this meeting would cost him his life. But having his father at his side.

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"You'll stay with me?"
"I will be with you, even to the end." (Matthew 28:20)

Tightening

2012-01-10T18:10:00.001-05:00

Thanks to the wonders of the internet and the generosity of strangers -- and a whirlwind drive to Williamsburg and back -- I arrived at a friend's house on Sunday evening and gleefully unpacked an addition to my menagerie of musical instruments: a shiny, new-to-me mandolin. I picked it up, held it close, and strummed.

Woah! ...I immediately cringed and stilled the strings.

It was pretty obvious that this little beauty had been waiting for action for some time. (Translation: It hadn't been tuned in forever and sounded it horrid.) So I pulled out my tuner and started tightening.

And tightening and tightening.

The strings weren't hanging loose, but they certainly had a ways to go to be in tune. And for the lower strings, I wasn't too worried. But as I got to the highest pair, I wasn't feeling very confident.

"Please don't break." I kept saying out loud. "Please don't break."

But even though I knew I was asking a lot from these little strings, I kept on tightening. I was just so excited about playing my new mandolin for the first time.

And sure enough, as I nudged the highest string closer and closer to the right tone, it finally had enough and gave up.

I knew I should have let it rest. Those high notes require a lot of tension. And that's a lot of change to ask from a tiny string in one big push.

I knew better. But I was impatient and tried to do it all at once.

There's a lesson in there somewhere. About being out of tune and being tightened and needing to rest along the way. Especially in the "higher things" and in the areas that have been out of action for some time.

Because if I expect immediate perfection and try to go all the way in one go, there's a real risk of ending up broken in the process. (Not permanently broken. But set back just the same.)

One Little Word: "Fast"

2012-01-09T15:40:00.001-05:00

Ever since a friend introduced me to the "One Little Word" challenge, I've found it a simple but powerful way to focus on an aspect of my character I wish to improve upon over the course of a year.

In 2010, my word was tenacity. Last year I didn't really choose a word, but over the course of the year one was given to me. Generosity. In ways that continually stretched me, I had choices and opportunities to be generous with my time, my space, my finances...with many things. I'll have to write more about those sometime. It's amazing, but consciously looking for ways to be generous (and being obedient to that little voice that tells you to give when you don't think you have anything to spare) will reveal just how much you have.

I'll be honest. Being generous feels great! And I was beginning to feel a little proud of myself. But at the end of year when I was looking at my finances, I realized that some of my "generosity" was simply mislabeled obedience. (After all, supporting my spiritual family by tithing isn't generosity. It's what I do with the 90% that matters.) I also realized that for as "generous" as I was, I was also pretty selfish too. When I sat there and looked at how much money I spent on frivolous things -- on movies, on amazon.com impulse buys, on eating out, heck, just on fountain sodas -- I was disappointed in myself.

More than that, I was convicted. This year, my word is fast.

Part of it will be fasting food. (That's a spiritual discipline I haven't practiced in some time.) But I want it to be more than about food. I want to consciously forgo some of my selfish indulgences and refocus those resources to holy purposes -- to praying, to serving, to giving, to being Jesus with skin on.

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? ~ Isaiah 58:6

I love this verse for the opening phrase: Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen? Because fasting should be a conscious choice. It's about focus. About letting a feeling of lack drive an awareness.

And I plan to rock my singleness for all it's worth. After all, I am the sole custodian of my resources. Every time I forgo an meal, or step out of the movie line, or hit "delete" in my shopping cart...every time I commit to spend less here to leave extra room on the plate there, I'm only inconveniencing myself.

But I do *not* plan to be gloomy this year (Matthew 6:16-18). In fact, quite the opposite. I want to continue in my rediscovered joy of generosity. No one needs to know the details. But I do feel that by putting it out there as my One Little Word, I'm giving life to this commitment.

When you reap the harvest of your land, do not reap to the very edges of your field or gather the gleanings of your harvest. Leave them for the poor and for the foreigner residing among you. I am the LORD your God. ~ Leviticus 23:22

After taking a moment to assess, I realized how big my field is. How much good those edges could do. And how effective I am at harvesting every little bit to support my wants and needs. I'm so blessed. And I can honestly say I was generous last year. I truly was.

But last year, I found the edges of my field on accident. This year, I want to leave them on purpose.

This year, I'm fasting.

This year, my life will be a little bit less about me.

And maybe this year, by being a little less, I can also be a lot more.

A quick shout-out to Marie (I'll be cheering you on!) and to Katie (I know you don't participate in one little word, but your blogging consistency is an inspiration in itself).

Five Minute Friday: Roar

2012-01-06T12:09:00.001-05:00

Begin

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I'll try again tomorrow. ” ― Mary Anne Radmacher

I feel like this has been my life for the past few months. With the various changes and pressures swirling around my world, the best I've been able to do is to just try again tomorrow.

Even though I'm loathe to admit it, holidays make me feel lonely. I want to courageously walk out my singleness and remember that my life is filled with a great cast of characters. But when families hunker down and share all those special moments that families have, it's a reminder that I'm not on the same path. But that also reminds me that whenever I'm feeling down, it's usually because I'm focusing on me. But as Max Lucado would remind me, it's not about me. So the little voice in my heart says, "It's ok. You had a down day. But try again tomorrow."

The end of the year puts me in a self-analyzing mode. And I'm nothing but a perfectionist and overachiever. I made some stumbles this year, and I can start feeling very guilty about my fallibility. Truth be told, those critical thoughts roar in my ears sometimes. But then the little voice in my heart says, "It's ok. His grace is sufficient. Try again tomorrow."

Over Thanksgiving, we relocated my grandparents to Maryland to live with my parents. It's a huge thing, and I've found myself in an interesting place as an adult child -- seeing just how much my parents are stressed out, and wanting to do as much as I can (stealthily or overtly) to support them. I would be lying if I said it wasn't exhausting. But every day the little voice in my heart says, "You can do it. Try again tomorrow."

Which brings to mind the Tough Mudder -- this crazy 11-mile race I'm running later this spring. I'm intimidated, and I have to fight for every fitness victory. And when I have to bail out because I just can't complete what I wish I could, the little voice in my heart says, "That's ok. Try again tomorrow."

During my training runs I just keep telling myself, "One more minute. You can do anything for just one minute." And 50 minutes later, I've gone over four miles. And that's the secret, right? To just focus on the step coming next and remember I can do anything for one minute.

I can be joyful in the presence of my stresses for one minute.
I can make good choices with my actions for one minute.
I can take my mind off the hypothetical and celebrate my beautiful reality for one minute.

And when I can't. I can remember courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is just that little voice that says I'll try again tomorrow.

End

Travel Light

2011-10-17T16:43:00.000-04:00

It's a borrowed thought, but I found it tremendously encouraging and wanted to share...

A young lady confidently paced around a room while leading and explaining stress management to an audience. She carried a raised glass of water, and everyone knew she was going to ask the ultimate question: "Half empty or half full?"

"How heavy is this glass of water?", she inquired with a smile. Her audience was perplexed. Answers were called out from around the room and ranged from 8 oz. to 20 oz.

She replied, "The absolute weight doesn't matter. It depends on how long I hold it. If I hold it for a minute, that's not a problem. If I hold it for an hour, I'll have an ache in my right arm. If I hold it for a day, you'll have to call an ambulance. In each case it's the same weight, but the longer I hold it, the heavier it becomes."

"That's the way it is with stress," she continued. "If we carry our burdens all the time, sooner or later, as the burden becomes increasingly heavy, we won't be able to carry on.

As with the glass of water, you have to put it down for a while and rest before holding it again. When we're refreshed, we can carry on with the burden – holding stress longer and better each time. So, as early in the evening as you can, put all your burdens down. Don't carry them through the evening and into the night. Pick them up tomorrow.

Whatever burdens you're carrying now, let them down for a moment. Relax, pick them up later after you've rested."

Praise be to the Lord, to God our Savior, who daily bears our burdens. ~ Psalm 68:19

Vaguebooking

2011-10-06T16:16:00.005-04:00

We've all seen them. Status updates that make you go, "huh?" These open-to-interpretation posts have even warrented an entry into the urban dictionary:

Vaguebook (noun): An intentionally vague or one-worded status update, alluding to something else. This could be an inside joke, or anything meant for only a few people. More simply, it could be a plea for someone to comment.

Examples: Mark "is wondering if it is all worth it," Tom "decides to let go," Leila “should have not done it, now feels really guilty," Amy "loves it when a plan comes together."

Whether the intent is playful or protective, the end result is the same: the reader baited into commenting, while knowing full well they're firmly on the outside looking in.

I wonder if church-speak comes across that way to people. If the specialized words we use just leave listeners going "Huh?" "What does that even mean?" or "I must have missed something." It reminds me of that moment in A Bug's Life when Princess Dot gives Flick a pebble. It's a highly personal moment, but the circus bugs just dismiss it thinking "It must be an ant thing."

And like the majority of Facebook readers, I think people are more likely to be annoyed than to get engaged. If it's a private thing and you don't want to share, then don't put it out there for your web of friends to see. And if you do want your joy doubled or your burden halved...give your friends enough information for a proper response! But leaving folks in that awkward space of knowing but not knowing is just...well...awkward.

Peter encouraged the early church to be prepared to give the reason for the hope that you have. (1 Peter 3:15). My hope shouldn't be vague. Neither should my source of help when I'm struggling.

I realized that I've been sharing my faith this way. Somewhere along the line, my Christ-centric language has morphed into something vaguer. It struck me that I have been choosing my words in a way that could be interpreted through many spiritual lenses, justifying the practice by saying that I don't want listeners to have a hostile reaction to the J-word or that I want to start my conversation in neutral ground in hopes of embarking on a grander dialogue. And maybe it's not wrong per se, and maybe it doesn't leave people annoyed the way that vaguebooking might, but it does seem to dilute what God is doing in my life (whether encouraging or convicting).

Dr. Seuss would have something to say to that: "Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind."

So I'm making a conscious effort to give honor where honor is due. To be transparent with just exactly where my hope comes from. I don't want to leave anyone on the outside looking in. I want them to rejoice with me, to see where I'm growing, and to discover for themselves what a difference Jesus can make.

Manifold

2011-07-07T14:59:00.002-04:00

[God's] intent was that now, through the church, the manifold wisdom of God should be made known to the rulers and authorities in the heavenly realms, according to his eternal purpose that he accomplished in Christ Jesus our Lord. ~ Ephesians 3:10-11

Manifold wisdom.

The first thing that popped into my head was the phrase "drive manifold." I imagined this as a safe sphere that covers the moving parts of an engine. Not exactly true, but on the right track.

A manifold is a pipe fitting with several outlets for connecting one pipe with others; or a fitting on an internal combustion engine for directing the fuel and air mixture to several cylinders (or receiving the exhaust gases from them). And it can describe a sphere. *whew*

I love the picture of God's wisdom being a safe sphere that covers the working gears of our life. Of his wisdom connecting things together.

And for as much as this wisdom makes our lives better, it's not just for our benefit. The love story God is telling for us, is also a story he's telling with us.

What a thought.

Spock

2011-07-06T15:47:00.000-04:00

A short thought today. It struck me why I love Spock so much.

He's a child of two worlds, and he's constantly trying to find the balance between both of them.

I feel the sting in the bully's taunt: You're neither human nor Vulcan, and therefore have no place in this universe.

Because I often I feel that way

I feel the conflict between the earthly way and the heavenly way. I know what Paul means when he says, "The flesh desires what is contrary to the Spirit, and the Spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other" (Galatians 5:17). I think there's a deep truth in the statement "We're not physical beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a physical experience." (I can't remember who said that originally, but I hear it from Steve Hall all the time.)

Like Spock, there's just no escaping it. I'm a child of two worlds. But could you imagine if Spock completely shut off his human side to be fully Vulcan? Or if he completely denied his Vulcan side to be fully human? He just wouldn't work.

Neither would I.

Thank goodness we both have support.

"As always, whatever you choose to be, you will have a proud mother." ~ Amanda Grayson

"You will always be a child of two worlds. I am grateful for this, and for you." ~ Sarek

DVR

2011-07-05T14:42:00.005-04:00

During the last Men's World Cup, the Irish pub near my house promised to show every game live. But since the games took place during the work day, they also recorded each game to re-play them in the evening. Isn't that nice of them? I thought so.

One evening (I believe it was a Sunday), I decided to head over to watch the replay of the Germany game. I was greeted by a mostly empty restaurant, except for some extremely excited basketball fans who were gathered in the bar area.

I got the head bartender's attention and asked if he could put the Germany game on on the TVs in the far side of the room. He quickly agreed. And as he was getting me set up with game-time fare (The Sunday night special was peel-and-eat shrimp. Yum!), we shared this brief conversation:

"Do you know the score?"

"No."

"Cool. I'll just let you enjoy it. It's a great game"

That was that. I settled in and enjoyed the game. Every once in a while the bartender would walk by. He would chat about the tournament or comment about an exciting play. He even skipped over the halftime break, giving me 90 minutes of straight soccer. But he never gave anything away. He let me enjoy everything as it happened. It was divine.

Interesting side note: I didn't watch the whole game by myself. The soccer game acted like a magnet, drawing all the Europeans in Annapolis to my little section of the pub. Several accents were represented, and it was quite a fun phenomenon to behold.

There's nothing like watching a live game. The drama. The suspense. The conflict. The triumph (or defeat). They're so much more poignant because each moment is history being made.

In a way, I'm are like a DVR -- replaying the hope I've found and the story I've lived. But sometimes I get ahead of myself and give away the ending.

Or other times, when I meet people who are on a faith journey, I feel like someone who's already seen the game (because I've been loving and walking with Jesus for a long time). So I want to tie all the bows, connect all the dots, and share the highlights before they've had a chance to see them.

But giving away the ending robs them the joy of the journey. I could compare also it to taking away the wonder of a child's revelation. "Did you know in the Southern Hemisphere Summer and Winter are switched?" Bad answer: "Ummm...yeah." Good answer: "Wow, that's pretty cool!"

The best thing I can do is just let things unfold in the proper time.

Peter said, "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have." (1 Peter 3:15). I want to take his charge seriously, but I think I could take a lesson from my bartender.

Clean off a table. Be ready to talk about the tournament, to share the excitement of a good play, or the outrage of a bad one. But don't give anything away. I don't need to over explain. I don't need to tie all the bows.

I just have to live my story. To let it play and allow people to experience everything (my story and theirs), in its fullness, it as it happens.

"Do you know the score?"

"No."

"Cool. I'll just let you enjoy it. It's a great game."

May I have the same wisdom.

Bieber Hair

2011-07-03T23:06:00.001-04:00

It was my second concert with the Montgomery Symphony Orchestra. I was nervous because this was the first time I had been with the orchestra for a full concert session -- from first practice until performance day. (My first concert I snuck in halfway though the process.) I got to the venue super early and perched myself in the back of the horn section...hoping to blend in to the folding chairs until someone arrived to give more direction as to how I could help get ready.

After a few minutes, one of the french horn players arrived. I had this dialogue in my head: "Should I leave? I'm totally in his section? Should I try to make small talk? We've never really chatted before. His name is....um...something with an 'M" I think. Quick! Think of something clever and Regina-like to say!" But before I could settle on any opening words, his face got an "oh my goodness" kind of look and he leaned in and asked, "Is that Justin Bieber?"

Huh?

I followed the direction of his gaze. Sure enough, there was a very-tall-for-his-age middle schooler sporting Justin Bieber's signature hair. Employing the clever tactics of semi-whispering and significant look-giving, we spent the rest of the afternoon counting the Bieber look-alikes. (Little did I know this exchange would signal the beginning of a very close and quirky friendship.) In an audience of about 50, we counted five. I make no claims to the thoroughness of our search. We were also playing music at the time. But five out of 50 certainly seemed like a high Justin/non-Justin ratio. They were everywhere!

Later that night, I was leafing through the sheet music that lives in a half-organized pile on the top of my piano. Somewhere near the bottom, I happened across the song "And they'll know we are Christians by our love."

It struck me that our love should be as noticable and distinctive as Justin Bieber's hair. That when I walk into a room, people who have nothing else in common should notice the Jesus in me. Even if they can't exactly name it, it should show. (Who has swoopy hair like that? Isn't there some kid who sings or something?)

I'm sure those kids that day didn't have naturally occurring Bieber hair. I'm sure they had to use any number of creative techniques to get the look right. And I wonder how many of them had to wait for their hair to grow a bit longer, anticipating the awaited day when they could pull off Justin's signature swoop.

Walking in love takes effort and intention too. It doesn't just happen.

But the person I'm imitating should should be as obvious as the hair on my head. In fact, it should show on all of us.

They'll know we are Christians by our love.

Skadoosh

2011-07-02T09:42:00.004-04:00

I love Po. I love that he's imperfect and clumsy, and that his belly makes an awesome "boing" sound whenever it gets hit.

I also love that he doesn't turn into a flawless kung fu fighter. He has brilliant moments. But right after doing something fully awesome, he's just as likely to mess up again.

I can relate to that.

But what I love most about Po. In a word: "Skadoosh."

This is a word that only shows up once in each Kung Fu Panda movie. At the end of the first movie, when Po discovers his self confidence, and in a battle during the second movie when Po has his first moment of peace with his heritage.

No one sees it coming because Po is an average guy. His belly gets in the way. He wrestles with these things. He's a slow learner.

But I found myself mulling over that extra "something" in those scenes. The bit of faith.

It may be brought on by the inconvenient pressure of being the person caught between the rock and the hard place. Or the acceptance that good, bad, or ugly, this is what you've got to fight with and the bad guy is right there so you're as ready as you're going to be. Or the inspiration that comes from knowing you're a part of a fight worth fighitng. Or maybe just the clicking into place of the wisdom people have been trying to tell you all along. Maybe a little bit of all that.

But that bit of faith makes all the difference.

Deep breath. Skadoosh.

That's why I love Po.

(Well, that and his belly. I do love his sound-effect-laden belly.)

Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you. ~ Matthew 17:20

Half-baked

2011-07-01T13:05:00.000-04:00

- - - HALF OF 2011 IS GONE - - - -

So declares a daily email I recieve from a friend. Don't worry, the daily message also includes a quote, a ponderable, a jeopardy question, a word of the day, and list of notable events that happened on this day in history. So it's not all gloom and doom.

For whatever reason, I thought about all the half-baked ideas I have floating in my head. You know those little snippets that will one day grow up to be blog posts? I have a few laying around. (Several are scrawled on post-it notes that reside on my bedside table. I'm very high-tech that way. Now that I think about it...some are currently serving as bookmarks in the pile of books that also lives on/beside/around my bedside table. Poor things. They deserve better.)

As a perfectionist and an overanalyzer, I tend to hold onto these ideas for a very long time. I need to get back in the habit of just writing. Letting it out while the ideas are fresh. So I think July will be about sharing my snippets...even if they are half baked.

Stay tuned.

P.S. - For those of you who are curious about the contents of my morning email.

"He who lets time rule him will live the life of a slave." John Arthorne
Why are they called hemorrhoids – shouldn’t they be called asteroids?
Jeopardy category: Shall we play a game? $1000 Answer: Four of these “Hungry” animals compete to “eat” as fast as possible in a “frantic marble munching game”.
Word of the day: Supposititious \suh-pah-zuh-TISH-us\ adjective

1a : fraudulently substituted : spurious b : of a child (1) : falsely presented as a genuine heir (2) : illegitimate
2a : imaginary b : of the nature of or based on a supposition : hypothetical

On this day in history:

1863 - American Civil War: the Battle of Gettysburg begins.
1904 - Games of the III Olympiad open in Saint Louis, Missouri.
1963 - ZIP Code introduced for United States mail.
1979 - Sony introduces the Walkman.
1980 – “O Canada” officially becomes the national anthem of Canada.
1987 - Excavation begins on the Channel Tunnel.
1999 - At the first meeting of the Scottish Parliament in nearly three centuries, Winnie Ewing opened with the famous words, "The Scottish Parliament, adjourned on the 25th day of March in the year 1707, is hereby reconvened."

You're welcome. *grin*

Speeding

2011-06-10T13:50:00.001-04:00

This deep thought is brought to you by my morning commute.

I'm a rule-following driver. With as much time as I spend on the road, I feel I have to be. I want my unconscious habits to be ones that are keeping our crazy roadways as safe as possible.

On this particular morning, I was in a middle traveling lane, passing slower traffic on my right. A car pulled uncomfortably close to me, then used the far left lane to swerve around me, barely clearing both my back then front bumpers as it dodged both my car and those in the "fast lane" to get past. Pretty typical stuff for the metropolitan area.

What grated my nerves is that the offending driver was a policeman. Talking on a cell phone no less.

This is one of my pet peeves. If I drove like that, I would be pulled over in a heartbeat and handed a fair number of driving violations. But in the past few weeks I've encountered several police drivers acting like this one -- little more than careless bullies. This one was just icing on my commuting cake.

I allowed my annoyance to flare this driver. How unfair! How unjust! You're supposed to be upholding the rules and setting an example, not disregarding them and flaunting/hiding behind a uniform. I don't know who you are, but I know what you're supposed to stand for and represent.

Out of the clear blue came the thought: That's just like a "Christian" who's being un-Christ-like.

Why oh why does that still small voice have to turn my anger around and back to me?

The annoyance, anger and frustration I felt at that driver: I imagine that's just how others feel when they see someone who is supposed to be loving, patient, kind, peaceful, joyful, good, faithful, gentle, self-controlled... acting anything but.

Dear Lord,
Open my eyes. How often do I turn a blind eye to my own actions, justifying my own bending of the rules when I would be quick to hand out citations? How often am I distracted by my own worries and completely clueless to how my driving is affecting others? Am I upholding the laws I've pledged to follow?
Help me. Help me to be a be a good example. Not because I have any more or less authority than others, but because I've chosen to carry this mantle and to make your name glorious.

Marines

2011-06-09T17:54:00.000-04:00

This is what I read on my lunch break today...

When I was in high school, I seriously considered joining the Marines; this was when they first came out with the commericals for "the few, the proud, the Marines." What turned me off was that in those advertisements, everyone was always running. Always. And I hate running.

But you know what? I didn't bother to ask if they would modify the rules for me so I could run less, and maybe also do fewer push-ups. That would've been pointless and stupid, and I knew it. Everyone knows that if you sign up for the Marines, you have to do whatever they tell you. They own you.

Somehow this realization does not cross over to our thinking about the Christian life. Jesus didn't say that if you wanted to follow Him you could do it in a lukewarm manner. He said, "Take up your cross and follow me."
Crazy Love, Francis Chan, page 80

Galloping

2011-05-31T18:19:00.000-04:00

Mental battles. Aren't they the greatest? I recently found myself fighting a big one. Epic. It was keeping me up at night and dominating all my quiet moments.

Long story short, I was completely over-analyzing a situation. I was deconstructing all of my words and actions, and wondering how people interpreted them. Did they read things this way? That way? Sideways? I hope they didn't read it that way. Or *that* way. Yikes. What if they did? I bet they did. I bet they're angry / hurt / suspicious / disgusted / disappointed. I bet they think I'm a horrible person. I bet.... the downward, fearful spiral was out of control.

Do you ever have a memory so vivid you can almost hear it out loud? In the middle of my mental hurricane, I suddenly heard my father's voice: "If you tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse..."

I was nine years old, helping my Dad finish our basement. We were working on cutting paneling for the wall at the base of the stairs. I was as much of a perfectionist then as I am now. And I was getting really... um... specific... (and frustrated) with this one line in the wall.

Dad: It's fine. Grandpa used to tell me "If you can't tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse, it doesn't matter."

Me: *pointing out the obvious flaw in his statement* But you couldn't even see this from a galloping horse.

Dad: Exactly.

Me: Oh. *insert mental click here*

Those words brought peace to my storm. They snapped me out of my fearful spiral and allowed me a moment of clarity to remember that I spoke and acted the way I always would -- from a clean, sincere, loving heart.

Suddenly all those condemning thoughts were miraculously silenced.

Sometimes details are important. But sometimes being wrapped up in tiny imperfections is just counterproductive. And I don't think there's ever a time when it's useful to worry about things I don't know or can't control.

"If you can't tell goin' by on a gallopin' horse..."

Thanks Dad. I needed to hear that.

Cleary

2011-05-22T22:28:00.000-04:00

Ever since the speakers in my car decided they'd had enough, the times I spend in my car have become wonderful periods of reflection. During one such time (driving home in the wee hours of the morning after watching Game 6 of the Red Wings / Blackhawks series), I had an epiphany. Maybe because it's Stanley Cup season and I always have hockey on the brain. Maybe it's because I feel guilty for not having a "word of the year." I don't know. But that morning I realized:

I'm totally having "Cleary" kind of year.

I like Danny Cleary. I've liked him ever since I was introduced to the wonderful sport of hockey. He isn't a headliner like Zetterburg or Franzen. He's not a living legend like Lidstrom or Datsyuk. He's just a hardworking grinder who gets things done. His work ethic is bar none. He's a heart and soul player who truly loves his team. Every once in a while he gets to come into the spotlight, but most of the time Cleary's contributions are behind the scenes.

My schedule hasn't really stopped since I came back from Uganda. I have a highlight or two in there, but most of the time I've just been grinding away at everyday life. (I suppose they don't call it the daily grind for nothing.) It's been demanding. But I'm taking a lesson from hockey. Sometimes, it's those things that go on beneath the radar that make all the difference.

Since it's graduation season, I'm seeing "11"s everywhere. So perhaps it's no accident that 2011 should be a Cleary year for me. Now that I've seen it, I want to embrace it -- to put my heart and soul in everything I do and attack this year with a work ethic that would make Dan Cleary proud.

Encouragement

2011-04-18T16:51:00.000-04:00

“There is no effect more disproportionate to its cause than the happiness bestowed by a small compliment." ~ Robert Brault

This morning, I fired up my blog reader and saw this post by my friend Jen: "Hot Dogs." As soon as I read the title, I wondered to myself, "Do they have any hot dogs left from the batch I was able to bring in January?" Sure enough, they do! And not only are they being enjoyed by Jen and her family, but by their friends too. I can't tell you how happy her post made me.

But my reader wasn't finished with me yet. A few entries later I saw a post by my friend Marie: "Simplify." Just seeing the picture in her post made me smile, and then I got to read the rest of it too.

Don't laugh at me, but after reading those two posts this morning, I was trying not to cry in my little work cubicle. I was having one of "those" days. A day when I was questioning, and wondering, and just trying to keep the rhythm going. We all have those days. Two little "thank you"s turned it all around. They quietly shouted to me that my life is leaving the kind of ripples of which I can be very proud.

Jen, Marie...you made my day. Thank you.

Compulsion

2011-03-02T23:22:00.000-05:00

Have you ever experienced a craving? Like coffee in the morning? Chicken soup on a cold night? French fries when you're on a diet? Cravings like that just latch onto your mind and don't let go. They needle at you. Growing more and insistent until you everything you see starts looking and smelling like the thing you're craving you finally just have to cave and give in. The object of your affection leaves you little choice.

When I was in Uganda, I had the privilege of leading a youth group meeting. Kenna suggested that I open the discussion time by asking everyone to give their name and an answer to a silly question. I thought that was a pretty good idea, so I did. My question: "What is your favorite junk food." The topic was fresh in our minds since I had brought two suitcases of junk food with me. (No, that's not an exaggeration.)

I casually listened to several of the responses, and then one of my new friends said the magic word. "Brownies." Suddenly, after all my careful preparation, my mind was distracted. Brownies. Mmmmm. Delicious.

All through the rest of the lesson, I had had a picture of a brownie in the back of my head. Of course, when I picture brownies they are usually accompanied by ice cream. And peanut butter. And whipped cream. But that's beside the point. I could *almost* hear the crunch of a corner piece as it gives way to the soft and chewy center. My taste buds were in that place where actual taste is just beyond their reach but so close they can't help but water. Are you getting the picture?

Needless to say we made brownies later that night.

And when we did, they were delectable. The fulfillment of a craving is a beautiful thing. After all that longing and dreaming and working and waiting and smelling...when the brownie finally made contact, time stopped for a minute. I closed my eyes and sighed a little sigh of happiness and contentment. You know the one.

That's the picture I get when I read: "Christ’s love compels us."

What would my day look like if I was driven, compelled, commanded by Christ's love the way I was compelled by that brownie?

"If we are “out of our mind,” as some say, it is for God... For Christ’s love compels us, because we are convinced that one died for all... and he died for all, that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died for them and was raised again." ~ 2 Corinthians 5:13-15

Journal

2011-02-23T08:16:00.000-05:00

I've been organizing some old drawers and boxes, and I rediscovered this treasure. While it's not dated, I would place my handwriting around middle school. While I was reading it, Brad Paisley's song "Letter to Me" popped into my head. But unlike Brad's example, this letter is from a young me to a present me.

Dear God,

Thank you for all the things I take for granted...a family that loves you and parents that raised me to love you, a sister that I can live with without going insane. For friends that I have fun being around that love you too. For people I can talk to when I need to that knock me in line when I mess up.

Thank you for dying and saving me. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for all the times you direct my way and I'm not aware of it. Thank you for your promises that will always be true.

Thank you for changing me from what I was. Thank you for never giving up on me when almost everyone else did. Thank you for bearing my burdens and giving me joy and peace that passes all understanding. Thank you for my calling and what the future holds. Even when I'm uncertain, I know you will always lead me where you want me to go.

Thank you for being my daddy, for holding me in your arms when I'm hurting and comforting me when I feel alone. Thank you for rejoicing with me in the good times too. Thank you for the times when you have to correct me and I become a better person through it.

Thank you for Heritage where there are men and women of God who seek your face without shame. Thank you fro your spirit and anointing every Sunday that comes through our Pastor. Thank you for allowing me to grow up seeing miracles and prophesies and healings. Thank you for awakening me from my church-brat-ness so that I'm no longer a hindrance but a help.

God I would write forever. I'm so thankful for what you have done and continue to do for me. I can't write it on paper, but Lord I know you can understand my heart.

I love you,
Regina

To have a thankful heart, to trust God through a period as rough and confusing as middle school, to be a help and not a hindrance, to simply love God as much as I know how -- Thank you, little me, for writing it down and hiding it away so I could find it again.

Devil's Snare

2011-02-14T14:31:00.002-05:00

Ever try to hide hurt behind a smile? "Fake it till you make it?" I can remember a season in my life when I was determined to be happy.

I had experienced some profound disappointment and heartbreak, but I wanted to stubbornly cling to my silver linings. I tried to be intellectual and count all the the things I had going for me. I wanted to find the good in the bad and just make it a part of my experience going forward. I tried throwing myself into my work, my passions, and my friendships.

I was terrified to acknowledge how much I was hurting and grieving. I thought it made me ungrateful and a failure. After all, I live in the land of plenty, my life is filled with relationships, and I have this faith that is supposed to buoy me up in rough times. I didn't feel that I had any right to be as down as I was. Admitting that I was depressed and discouraged was conceding defeat to a battle I didn't want to admit I was fighting. And shouldn't my faith be stronger than that anyway?

I wanted to be a good Christ follower and live as a person of hope and joy. And I thought I was pulling it off pretty well. Sure, I had some dark thoughts and emotional moments. But I told myself that I get to choose how I will face each moment, and I would choose the path of peace and happiness.

I had myself convinced. I thought I was putting on a decent show.

But I wasn't fooling anyone around me.

After a time (a fairly long time actually), I confided in a friend and told them I was struggling. I admitted to being not just depressed, but weary and frustrated as well. And as the words started pouring out, I was finally able to put a picture and a description to all the "stuff" that had just been swirling around inside.

I called it "Devil's Snare." The harder I tried to fight it, the tighter its hold. I felt like Ron in the movie. Hermione: "You have to relax. If you don't, it'll only kill you faster!" Ron: "Kill me faster?! Now I can relax!" Of course, he makes this exclamation as he struggles harder than ever. And just like Hermione, my friend had to remind me how to defeat deadly Devil's Snare. Light and letting go.

Devil's Snare can't stand light. And I needed the help of a friend to shed the light on what I was feeling. I had to let go. To drop the mask and the pretense and fully acknowledge my hurt and pain. Once I did that, the tentacles loosed their hold and I was able to pass through to the other side. Now, just to be clear...it didn't magically wipe everything away. But it was so refreshing and empowering to not pretend to myself. And my "Regina-ness" came back quicker than I ever thought possible.

I learned my lesson. That picture of Devil's Snare has helped me to fend off other dark times. I'm not afraid to admit to having a down day now and again. Inviting light and truth into those days helps more than I can say. So for anyone who may be fighting a similar battle, let me encourage you. It's ok to be pulled in two different directions by warring thoughts. Devil's Snare can take many forms. Don't get caught up in the fight. Even if your mask fools the mirror, it's not really fooling those who love and care for you. Acknowledge it. Accept it. Shed some light, and let it go. If you don't fight it, and if you allow light and truth into the situation, those snaring tentacles will flee and you'll emerge unscathed (though probably changed) on the other side.

Psalm 18:28 "My God turns my darkness into light."

Ugly

2011-02-09T13:55:00.000-05:00

This is an ugly lampshade. When I bought it, I astounded even the store owners. "You're going to pay that much...for that? Really?" (It cost about the same as a nice lunch.) They had only stocked the items as a sort of favor. I assured them, "It's ok. I have friend who loves ugly things. You have no idea how perfect this gift is, and how much she will love it." I don't think they were convinced. But that's ok.

Upon initial review, it just looks quirky. Orange and blue maze fabric? Ok. Creatively colored chicken? Um, sure. But stick a light bulb underneath the quirky shade, and it just looks like trash. Because that's what it is -- half of a discarded plastic bottle with a bit of paint and paper.

What makes it perfect and beautiful for my friend is the story behind it. The lampshade was made by street children in Uganda, and the proceeds from the sale go to a charity that is helping them to make their life better. (Though, I think my friend would love it even without the story. She really does love ugly things.)

I feel a camaraderie with this lamp shade. Upon initial review I'm colorful and quirky. But illuminate me to the core and all my flaws become starkly apparent. And it's not all that pretty. But that's part of the testimony right? I have a story. I've been picked up and re-purposed. Every time I let that light shine through my flaws and weaknesses, it's a chance for me to share that story. (You paid how much? For that?) And the proceeds go to further a cause that brings life and hope into the dark places of this world.

I'm loved...just as an ugly lampshade...chickens and mazes and all. My story is just the bonus and a chance to share the light.

I'm so thankful I have a friend who loves ugly things.

Fished

2011-02-08T17:47:00.000-05:00

I learned something while white water rafting down the Nile river. (Can we pause for a second? Isn't that a fun sentence? White water rafting + Nile river = One memorable day.) Anyway, back to my lesson: There's nothing graceful about getting back into a boat.

Before hitting the more ferocious parts of the river, a group has to practice flipping over and getting back in their raft. I entered the drill as a fairly confident adventurer. Our guide said the trick is to grab the safety cord on the edge of raft, take a superman sort of position in the water, keep your arms locked, and use momentum from kicking your legs and pulling your arms just so to jump back in. Easily described. Easily watched. Not so easy to do.

I failed miserably.

No matter now much I tried to readjust my posture, to kick my legs, to pull with my arms or to follow through with my momentum, I just couldn't do it. I could barely raise myself out of the water, much less get all the way back up into the boat.

I had to be fished out the Nile by my guide. Who literally grabbed my shoulders, wrenched me up and over the wall, and dumped me on the floor of the raft. My outfit was discombobulated. I still had to find my center of gravity and untangle myself from the floor to return to my seat. It was not my most graceful moment. At all.

It would be really easy to compare that to my unintentional sabbatical from blogging. So I'll pause and acknowledge the parrallel.

Have you ever had to have one of "those" conversations? The awkward ones? The ones involving tough love? Sometimes, no matter how perfect the form, how protective the gear, how determined the swimmer...a person could use a hand. (Wait for it...wait for it...especially if that poor little swimmer is in denial.) And if someone is floundering in the water, they'll never be able to survive the ferocious bits of the river.

So if you're strong enough, if you have the foundation and buoyancy under you to support it, reach down, grab a shoulder, and pull. It's not graceful. Most likely there will be some discombobulation to sort through. But once everything settled, the embarrassment passes leaving only gratitude in its wake.

And then the fun begins.

iBand

2010-12-17T13:06:00.000-05:00

I just loved this! I hope you do too.

Merry Christmas!

North Point's iBand from North Point Web on Vimeo.

On Empty

2010-12-09T17:14:00.000-05:00

I love dogs. For many reasons. But one of them is this: they never travel on empty. No matter how many times a dog goes, it seems they always have a little bit extra. Just in case. (That's true for the girls as well as the boys...believe me!)

This is definitely a season where everyone is on the go. But in the hustle and bustle, what if we made a conscious effort to never travel on empty? To make sure we save a little patience, a little cheer, a little selflessness...just in case. After all, you never know when you may come upon the proverbial fire hydrant...or tree...or rock...or fencepost...that needs a little special attention.

"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope." ~ Romans 15:13

Holding Hands

2010-12-03T14:01:00.000-05:00

I have a quirk. (Or a feature depending on how you want to look at it.) I have a fragile pinkie. It's been broken a few times. (Twice by soccer, and once by volleyball.) The last break was kind of serious, and while my finger still works...it's...well...fragile.

It aches when it's cold. I have to budget how much I use it when I play violin. I have a difficult time with the classic interlaced finger configuration displayed by twiterpated couples (that's a Bambie reference for those less Disney-inclined). And if we're saying grace as a family and I'm next to a firm-hand-holder, I readjust our hold so that my pinkie is outside of the grip. It just can't take it.

A few years ago, I was fortunate enough to have a designated hand-holder. It didn't take him long to automatically readjust and accommodate my little quirk. In fact, he would keep a lookout for any silent cues that I was hurting and would reach out and cradle my hand with his. That winter, my little pinkie was looked after, held, protected, and warmed. It was glorious. I remember that season every time my hands get cold and my little finger let's me know it's still there and still quirky.

This year, the arrival of cold weather has me thinking: It's not just pinkies that can be fragile. We all have places that are sensitive. Where we've been hurt and patched. Where we have to budget how just much pressure and strain that area is allowed to bear. Where we're just plain quirky.

This is my challenge to myself: To think of myself as a designated hand-holder. To look out for the broken pinkies of those around me. To keep an eye out for silent cues that they're hurting, that maybe they've had enough stress or strain for one day, or maybe just that the cold weather is getting to them. To readjust my thoughts and actions so that they are cradled, held, protected, and warmed.

Wouldn't that just be glorious?

Arrhythmia

2010-12-01T23:13:00.003-05:00

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

That's the reassuring sound a heart makes when it's beating.

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

What happens when a heart loses its rhythm? Trouble, that's what. Suddenly a body feels tired, fatigued, out-of-sync. Which is no coincidence because that's exactly what's going on. If the symptoms go unchecked or are too severe, sometimes a heart can stop beating completely.

Cue the dramatic medical scene. *beeeeeeeeep* The medical gadgets go crazy. The doors open and a flurry of activity fills the room. "Clear!" yells a doctor. The flurry backs just far enough away to be safe. *thunk!* All the heads turn back to the gadgets. Beep. Beep Beep. All is well again.

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-what?

The reassuring rhythm of my life flew out the window on me some time ago. I didn't go into cardiac arrest (not right away anyway), but I'm not going to pretend that I haven't felt....well...tired. Scatterbrained. Out-of-sync.

What's a poor, arrhythmic girl to do?

Be wise enough to stop the flurry, take a step back, and yell "Clear!" That's what.

Prioritize. Prune. Reset... It's not an entirely comfortable process. But it's worth it to hear (and feel) that reassuring sound again.

Thu-thud. Thu-thud. Thu-thud.

Firing on all cylinders and ready to run. In rhythm once again. (Not that I'm claiming to dance to a normal beat or anything.)

They were at their wits’ end. Then they cried out to the LORD in their trouble, and he brought them out of their distress. He stilled the storm to a whisper; the waves of the sea were hushed. (Psalm 107:27b-29)

Cassiopeia

2010-11-09T11:56:00.000-05:00

While I was driving home last night, I noticed a familiar constellation rising above the horizon. So when arrived I took a moment to just pause and look at the beautiful night sky. After welcoming Orion, my eyes drifted above his head to the familiar "W" of Cassiopeia.

I thought to myself, "Cass, I know what you feel like." (Apparently I'm on nick-name basis with my constellations. Who knew?) She's one of just a few circumpolar constellations. This means that she's close enough to the North Star that her constellation is visible all year long -- just like the Big and Little dippers. But since she's sitting in a chair in her celestial portrait, it also means that she spends half her time upside down. I can relate to that.

My world has been topsy turvey. I've felt like I've been in over my head at moments. But like Cassiopeia, I have my own Northern Star that I hold in the center of all my craziness. And last night it was incredibly reassuring to remember that she's only upside down for half of the year.

Thought to self: "Just sit tight and hold on. Things will turn right side up again."

Rugby Angels

2010-11-08T11:39:00.000-05:00

Week before last, I went on vacation. This means that the day before I was in the bookstore searching for my in-flight entertainment. I randomly picked up a book with an amusing title, and flipped through the pages to check out the chapter headings. Equally funny. I stopped on one page when I saw the word "rugby" (That's just the kind of girl I am.) Here is the excerpt. Enjoy.

When people say "a hedge of protection" or "a hedge of angels," I start imaging a bunch of angels in pleated khakis standing around, bored, waiting for the bus. Forget that. A rugby scrum is where players from both teams lock arms and heads and start swirling around in a tangle of power and aggression and swagger. That's what I want angels protecting me to be doing. I want them to be constantly brawling, like some sort of angelic version of the Patrick Swayze movie Roadhouse. When something bad comes my way, the angels don't have to warm up. They just turn to my foe and say, "You want to get in on this? We got more than enough to go around."

I tell you what, if there are indeed angels watching over me... those are the guys I want.

Traffic and Weather

2010-09-29T14:22:00.000-04:00

I was driving the other day, listening to my favorite news radio station for the express purpose of hearing the weather update. (It's a somewhat compulsive habit during RennFaire season.) It should have been a quick and easy assignment. After all, the station gives updates every 10 minutes. I even have the clock in my car synchronized to the station so that I can know how close I am to the next broadcast.

But I kept letting my mind wander at the crucial moment. I'd zone back in right when the weather guy was ending his spiel. This didn't just happen once. I spent my entire drive home missing an update that happened every 10 minutes. (Though in my defense, after missing it three times I had the following epiphany and my brain was on a track all its own.)

"His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness." ~ Lamentations 3:22-23

"It's taken me years to recognize God's voice: those whispered words of encouragement when I'm down; that sudden sense of caution when I'm ready to launch a testy zinger at someone; those much-needed directions at the street corners of my life; tender words of love when I least deserve them; even humor at odd moments." ~ Virelle Kidder

As reliable as the traffic and weather updates, his voice is speaking. His grace and guidance are present. Sometimes I may let my mind wander. Sometimes I feel like I've *just* missed something that I really needed to hear. But it's ok. If I hang on, set my radio dial, and wait for it, he'll say it again.

And again....and again...

Rilke Poem

2010-09-27T12:17:00.000-04:00

You are not surprised at the force of the storm -
you have seen it growing.
The trees flee. Their flight
sets the boulevards streaming. And you know:
he whom they flee is the one
you move toward. All your senses
sing him, as you stand at the window.

The weeks stood still in summer.
The trees' blood rose. Now you feel
it wants to sink back
into the source of everything. You thought
you could trust that power
when you plucked the fruit;
now it becomes a riddle again,
and you again a stranger.

Summer was like your house: you knew
where each thing stood.
Now you must go out into your heart
as onto a vast plain. Now
the immense loneliness begins.

The days go numb, the wind
sucks the world from your senses like withered
leaves.

Through the empty branches the sky remains.
It is what you have.
Be earth now, and evensong.
Be the ground lying under that sky.
Be modest now, like a thing
ripened until it is real,
so that he who began it all
can feel you when he reaches for you.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Values

2010-09-25T07:41:00.000-04:00

Ideas are a dime a dozen. People who put them into action are priceless.

Truth and Trivia

2010-09-23T16:04:00.000-04:00

The Euphrates river, 55 mph, the Pecan State -- these things have an odd commonality. Want to take a wild guess what it is? Each is a representative of an answer, given with pride and confidence, that proved to be inaccurate. Whoops!

I had my Pecan State moment while studying the last chapter of "Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World." The author started talking bout the well-known story of Mary and her alabaster jar, anointing Jesus' feet with oil at dinner. She identified Mary as the sister of Martha...and my catch-every-little-thing radar went crazy. Everyone knows that the alabaster box Mary was Mary Magdalene! I've heard the sermons, I've listened to the song. This is one Biblical fact I knew.

Armed with my righteous indignation, I waited for Bible Study night. And when we got to this chapter, I asked if anyone else found this passage interesting. My best friend spoke up. She said, "It seemed off to me. So I looked it up, and it turns out that it was Martha's sister Mary."

Look it up? Why didn't I think of that? I was just ready to dress the author down for her obvious mistake.

But indeed, there it is: "Six days before the Passover, Jesus arrived at Bethany, where Lazarus lived, whom Jesus had raised from the dead. Here a dinner was given in Jesus' honor. Martha served, while Lazarus was among those reclining at the table with him. Then Mary took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; she poured it on Jesus' feet and wiped his feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the perfume." (John 12:1-3)

Mary, Martha, Lazarus. The family trio that is at the center of several of Jesus' most relational moments.

I immediately thought of a commercial that's been on the radio. A reporter is talking about a new salad or something that features pecans. The restaurant in question gets their pecans from Georgia (apparently Georgia is a treasure trove for pecans). The reporter is talking back and forth with some pecan farmers, and at the end of his spiel he says, "And that's why I call Georgia the 'Pecan State.'" ::pause:: A farmer replies, "But Georgia is the 'Peach State.'" The reporter, ::a little uncertain:: "Well I call it the 'Pecan State.'" The farmer, ::you can just see the flat look and possible eyebrow raise:: "Well...that's weird."

When did Christian pop culture get the Mary's mixed up? (And when did I start letting pop culture dictate the things I take as truth?) Is it because Luke says this woman "lived a sinful life," so obviously he must be talking about Magdalene? Whether or not it makes sense or a good sermon or a moving song, that's kind of mean when you think about it. But however the seed got planted, it's grown to be the pervasive opinion.

As a side note: I think there's something beautiful and profound about the Alabaster Box song if you swap your mental picture from Mary Magdalene to Mary the sister of Martha and Lazarus. Because really don't know all of her back-story. We know that Jesus had a very special relationship with this family. But we -weren't- there when it started. We don't know the scars that Mary carried. Those answers and mysteries are between Mary and Jesus alone.

Name the river that runs through Baghdad: ~~the Euphrates~~ the Tigris
In the movie Speed, what was the minimum speed at which the bus must travel: ~~55 mph~~ 50 mph
What is Georgia's tag line: ~~the Pecan State~~ the Peach State
Who anointed Jesus' feet with expensive oil: ~~Mary Magdalene~~ Martha's sister Mary

Thank you to my best friend for reminding me that instead of gloating in my "rightness," sometimes it's a good idea to check the facts. When something seems off (and even if something seems right), it's always good to go back to the source instead of relying on someone else for the truth.

Can't you imagine me as that little reporter? "And that's why I call her Mary Magdalene." "But it was Mary the sister of Martha." ::a little uncertain:: "Well I call her Mary Magdalene." ::eyebrow raise:: "Well...that's weird."

Banter

2010-09-20T12:42:00.001-04:00

My morning on the Renaissance Faire site started out as it usually does: double checking supplies, lacing bodices, making up crazy lyrics to familiar songs, talking in movie lines and half accents...playfully bantering with my fellow hairbraiders.

So it caught me off-guard when one of my friends reacted very strongly and negatively to a comment I made. I meant it as banter. Slightly sarcastic, admittedly flippant, but honestly meant as jovial. It was a harmless. But what I didn't know is that there was a whole lot of extra details to her initial statement. I even foolishly tried to defend myself -- walking through brief exchange and letting her know where my intentions were and why I said what I did. But then she started listing all the things I didn't know, I felt terrible. You know that feeling when your stomach sinks and you just wish you could take it back? When you feel two inches tall? Just like that.

On one hand, I didn't know. I couldn't know. My words were not meant to be hurtful. And there was no way I could have had all the perspective I needed to recognize that this was not banter. It was deep and emotional and "real life" stuff.

On the other hand, when in her chastisement my friend said, "Well maybe you should think before you say something." She was right. (Perhaps a bit harsh for the situation. But right nonetheless.)

For the rest of the day I thought long and hard about that. About how my speech should be intentional. About how as an adult I've consciously changed my habit of speaking to move away from sarcasm and double-meaning statements...because it's just too easy to pass off real cut-downs and malicious statements as jokes. In fact, it's for that very reason that in my last relationship I specifically told my boyfriend that I didn't want us to let sarcasm be part of our dynamic. I wanted him to always trust the things I said and wrote. No secret wondering as to whether I was joking or serious. And I expected the same from him.

Words are powerful. They build up or tear down. And once they are out there, they can't be taken back. I had gotten lazy, and my friend has a point. My words should be thoughtful and beautifully coordinated for the occasion. Ironically, I have a reputation for doing just that -- for finding the right word and being careful about what I say. I think that's why her correction threw me for such a loop. It's something I care very much about and I blew it.

It was an innocent blunder. But it reminded me that if I truly want my speech to build up, then I have to be careful even in my banter.

A word aptly spoken is like apples of gold in settings of silver. ~ Proverbs 25:11

One

2010-09-01T22:40:00.001-04:00

The video window on my computer screen showed a screenwriter talking about his experience in the film industry. He had an idea. A story. He wrote it, polished it, pitched it, watched in battle it's way through rounds and rounds of approvals and reviews....and years later it became a movie.

The movie had a mediocre showing, and was bashed by critics. He took it all in stride, but was disappointed. Was it as bad as everyone said?

A few months later at an industry party, a woman came up to him and asked if she could have a few moments. She proceeded to tell this screenwriter about how she had lost her husband months earlier. About how both she and her son were grieving, but were doing it separately. They just didn't know what to say or do. But after watching the movie this screenwriter was instrumental in making, they broke through the wall and were able to cry together. His story made the difference.

And this screenwriter, talking through emotion that was still poignant at the memory, paused and looked at the camera. He said, "At that moment...I knew. I had made the movie for her. And that was enough."

Can I be inspired, polish and pitch and battle, and wait and endure both the criticism and all the ways my hard work falls flat....and know that it all might just be for that audience of one? One that I may not even know is watching? Such a simple reminder, but a good one.

I hope I tell my story with integrity. That will be enough...no matter who's watching.

Photo by CoolMcFlash

Diet Coke

2010-08-26T15:41:00.000-04:00

I had a drive-thru breakfast this morning. Three chicken minis (230 calories of deliciousness) and a Diet Coke. As the server was handing me my drink, her eyes suddenly got all big and happy. "I love that water!" she exclaimed. I sleepily looked to my right to refresh my mind to what she was talking about. And there, very healthy and conspicuous, was my 5-pack of 1-liter smart waters (There were six yesterday). I love them too. I grinned back at her and said, "I know, right! And once you have one, you can't go back to regular water. They're just so good."

It was as I was driving away that conviction struck.

My smart water was right there. Right there! It's the good, healthy choice. And here I am, drinking a Diet Coke. It's not the worst choice, but certainly not the best.

I've made other Diet Coke choices lately too. Choosing the option, reaction, attitude that wasn't best. They weren't ice cream mixed with peanut butter perched on a warm brownie and topped with whipped cream. They were just Diet Coke. Even still, I'm a little disappointed in myself. But just like in my car, I'm not without my resources. I know what to do. The smart water is right there. It's just up to me to open up and drink it.

Do good, Regina. Do good.

Effort

2010-08-09T15:37:00.000-04:00

I'm challenged by this thought today...

"Most people never run far enough on their first wind

to find out they've got a second."

~ William James

Clumps

2010-08-04T07:00:00.001-04:00

I recently did something I haven't attempted in years: put together a 1,000 piece puzzle. I admit, I didn't seek out this challenge for myself. It was cunningly presented to me by my sister. Well, maybe not cunning. She just brought a puzzle over, plopped it on my kitchen table, and helped me sort and complete the border. Then she left. "Errands." uh huh. Likely story.

I admit that I was able to resist the draw of the puzzle for a few days. 1,000 are little more than a jumble at the beginning. In fact, they're kind of a big mess. One of the hardest things to do is to narrow in on one color or pattern or landmark and begin making sense of it all.

But by experimenting and eliminating and carefully examining the example picture...little by little...the pieces start to come together. Before long there are little clumps of the pieces that take the senseless mass of color and turn it into a little bit of the big picture.

Those clumps are a turning point for me. Because once you have a clump or two, it's easier to figure out where other pieces go. "I'm looking for a piece with a green line down the middle." or "I'm looking for a piece that's green and oddly shaped on one side."

And right there, while surrounded by the innards of a half-finished puzzle (that's generous...let's say quarter-finished), a verse came to mind: "Let us not give up meeting together...but let us encourage one another—and all the more as you see the Day approaching" (Heb 10:25).

I've always associated this verse as a sort of "go to church" command, where the benefit is for those who are meeting together. But it struck me that maybe it's just as important for those who are outside of the clump.

Because when clumps start to form, those disconnected pieces have a better idea of where they fit into the picture. For a person who has a green line down the middle, or who is oddly shaped on one side...seeing that gap in the picture could change everything. They can go from being lonely to being connected. From wondering what their piece means to seeing how it adds to the greater picture.

But that can only happen if the clumps stay faithful and sticking together.

And only a tiny part of that is being in a special building on a certain day of the week. It's about the relationships that get us through all the joys and trials that life throws our way.

Hello Blog...

2010-08-03T14:02:00.001-04:00

As I brush off the articulate side of my brain...let me share with you this list.

Simple pleasures:
Dinner with a new friend
Dinner with an old friend
Making dinner for a group of friends
Being called an in-house Mensa
Reading a chapter (or two) before bed
Rita Springer chord progressions
Refilling vending machine coin dispensers
Netflix
Friends who know your favorite shoes
Friends who aren't afraid to dance with you while you're barefoot
Fiddling
Thunder
Don't Stop Believin' on the radio
Being "handed around" on a phone call
Coming home
Finding a new line of greeting cards
Standing bow pulling pose

Complicated pleasures:
Being trusted for one of "those" phone calls
Full schedules
Possibility
Balance
Standing bow pulling pose

Hearts Song

2010-07-16T06:30:00.002-04:00

Hearts Song by Gary A. Lippincott

What can you see, on the horizon?
Why do the white gulls call?
Across the sea, a pale moon rises.
The ships have come, to carry you home.

~ Into the West, Annie Lennox

Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead.

~ Louisa May Alcott

All these people were still living by faith when they died. They did not receive the things promised; they only saw them and welcomed them from a distance.

~ Hebrews 11:13

Hindi

2010-07-14T16:49:00.000-04:00

As I put my first Bollywood movie in the DVD player, I had no idea. It was just a Netflix recommendation. "Since you liked ___ and ___ we think you'd also enjoy Veer-Zaara." Say what? What's a Veer-Zaara? But I figured, what the heck? Sure. I'll give it a try.

So there I was, blissfully ignorant. Little did I know that I was about to fall in love....With the colors. With the storytelling. With the spontaneous musical sequences. (With the obvious lip syncing.) With the melodrama. With the heartache. With the dancing. With the joy. With everything.

I didn't understand a word. But that didn't matter. I was hooked.

Thank goodness for Netflix. I started watching as many Bollywood movies as I could find. And before I knew it, I started recognizing things: actors, plots (one movie I found was a reinterpretation of "A Walk in the Clouds"), cultural norms, a word here and there. Once, I recognized a Bollywood actress in an American movie -- not because of her name or her look, but because of the way she acted. It was the things she did and didn't do that gave her away. And one day, I actually recognized a word I know from my brief study of Arabic. It was a pretty funny moment. Who knew that Arabic and Hindi would have some shared words? I was so proud that I knew the word before the subtitle appeared!

My obsession has grown so much that I've actually decided to learn Hindi. If for no other reason than to watch these films without having to rely on the subtitles.

And then it struck me how similar that was to my walk of faith.

I want my life to be for other people what that first movie was for me. Starting with common ground, but giving them a glimpse into another type of story. A completely counter-cultural story. One where my origins are given away by what I do and don't do. One filled with color and music and joy. Where they don't have to know the language to understand what's going on, but where there's the option of subtitles so they don't even have to worry about it. Maybe some of the words are familiar (maybe none of them are), but the more they hang around the more they understand. And before they know it, they want to learn the language too.

Jacabo

2010-07-12T19:34:00.000-04:00

"O to grace how great a debtor daily I'm constrained to be."

While playing this song in church last Sunday, my imagination decided to carry me to the land of Monte Cristo and to focus for a moment on the unforgettable Jacabo. I saw him laying there on the sand after losing a fight to a nameless stranger...

When Edmond finally breaks out of jail, he washes ashore and immediately encounters a man in trouble. Jacabo made a bad choice, and he was going to have to pay with his life. He's given a chance to to get out of his fate by fighting Edmond. And he probably thought it was going to be a walk in the park. After all, he's the best knife fighter Luigi has ever seen and Edmond is little more than jailbait. But he's easily bested. And Jababo's out of luck. But then something happens he could never have seen coming. Edmond offers Luigi a different solution and Jacabo's life is spared. Cue one of my favorite movie quotes: "I swear on my dead relatives - and even on the ones who are not feeling too good - I am your man forever!" What else could he do?

Jacabo is indebted to Edmond's grace and their journey begins. That doesn't mean they're always on the same page. Cue quote number two: "Why not just kill them? I'll do it! I'll run up to Paris - bam, bam, bam, bam. I'm back before week's end. We spend the treasure. How is this a bad plan?" I suppose that isn't surprising since when they met Jacabo knew absolutely nothing about Edmond (not even his true name). The treasure wasn't the point. (There's a thought that could send me on a ramble!) He just knew that one moment he was looking at death, and the next moment his hope and future were restored.
I'm sure at times that grace felt like as much like fetter as much as it felt like a gift. But whether he understood or not. Whether he agreed or not. Jacabo was true to his word. He was Edmond's man forever.

There are days when I'm sure I share a thing or two with Jacabo. Endebted to a stranger (though I'm getting to know him more every day). Not always understanding the plan (or the point for that matter). Wearing different hats and having to wait for the whole picture to come together. But grateful every day for grace.

The moral of the story: You never know what the violinist is thinking on a Sunday morning. *wink* Thank goodness I can still play violin while my mind wanders on these God moments!

Rearview Mirror

2010-06-29T15:07:00.000-04:00

I was minding my own business on Sunday morning. Greeting my parents. Grabbing a bit of breakfast. When out of nowhere the space in front of me was occupied. Standing there was a very smiley woman. Just behind her was another. The first looking very pleased and a bit mischievous. The second looking happy and hopeful. The first is a normal part of my landscape. And there was....something....familiar...about the second.
The bits of information my brain needed clinked together and recognition came. And in the blink of an eye I turned into a giggly squealy mess as I threw my arms around my beloved friend and greeted her with a massive hug. Being in her presence was just so unexpected and ridiculously joyful.

It was quite the three-second span if I do say so myself. I can only imagine all the expressions that must have cycled through my face.

That's been happening a lot lately. Spontaneous reunions with beloved people from my past. I'll be the first to admit that my exisitence is filled with quite the cast of characters. But I've also gotten used to letting people go. Realizing that our paths were only meant to cross for a few precious strides.

But time is a funny thing. Instead of those nostaligic moments staying...well...far in the past. They've been reaching out to smack me on the head. (That sounds unpleasant...but it's not.) All the distance and space just falls to the side, as if it never existed at all.

The best part is, all the things that made that person special come swarming back to the surface of my memory and edify me all over again: the lessons I learned, the example they lived, the adventures we shared, the valleys we survived, the mountains we conquered. More often than not, I needed the reminder. Coincidence? Not a chance.

"Caution: Objects in mirror are closer than they appear."

My Prayer for Today

2010-06-26T08:32:00.001-04:00

Lord, make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is doubt, faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
Where there is sadness, joy;

Grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
To be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.

~ St. Francis of Assisi

Thoughts on Tenacity

2010-06-25T10:37:00.000-04:00

Whether it's the perverbial bicycle kick that keeps the other team from scoring, or the rebound run that gives you the chance to shake the twine at the other end of the field... never give up.

I've played a lot of soccer in my life. In highschool I was a defender who sometimes adventured as a left wing. Beyond I played in the crazy world of indoor soccer in which the roles of defender/midfielder/offender are blurred beyond all belief. I know that pit-in-the-stomach feeling when you get beat on a run by a striker, or when you see your goalie having a rough moment. And in a split second, you have a decision. Let it go and concede, or run.

It's a moment in the "Write the Future" commercial, but I've also seen it happen in the 2010 tournament. A player zoned in on the goal and a goalie who's out of the picture for one reason or another. The striker takes the shot. And... a moment from his worst nightmares. His shot is blocked by an amazing bicycle kick thrown by a relentless defender. It's the kind of moment that's made for TV. But it only happens because there's just that one guy who refuses to give up.

At the other end of the field, I know the feeling of tentative hope. You know the star player has things in hand as he rushes to the goal. But as a supporting wing you just keep running at that back post, because you never know. At the last moment, there could be a defender in the way, or a shot that goes off the crossbar or off another player. If you're there, you can make a magical moment happen. As my high school coach used to say, it's the stuff dreams are made of. But you'd never have the chance if you hadn't run the whole time.

Tenacity.

Note to self: I know sometimes you feel like that last defender...the tiny little hope that's staring down the eye of the tiger in the things coming at you full blast. Don't be afraid. Don't be discouraged. Don't even worry about the pressure. Just stay with it. Don't give in. Don't give up.

And I know sometimes you feel like you've made that supporting run a thousand times only to celebrate with the other guy. But run. Keep your eye open for those opportunities. You want to be there when the ball comes your way. When it does, don't hesitate! Take the shot! It will be a moment a long time coming. Until it does. Keep making that run. (And remember to celebrate no matter who took that last shot.)

Hula Hoops

2010-06-23T21:55:00.001-04:00

Sometimes a picture is worth a thousand words. My thirty-something birthday had dawned bright and busy. Tucked into a pile of bills I found a card. The message inside wished me a "Hoopy Birthday," and that made me smile, but the picture on the front was what really grabbed my attention. Taken back in the early 1950s, the photos showed a young woman in Greta Garbo shorts with eight or nine Hula-Hoops swinging madly around her waist. 'How does she do that?' I wanted to know. ...I looked once more at the girl on the front. There were so many hoops, but she appeared calm. Her upper body seemed to be perfectly still, her arms outstretched slightly, as the hoops raced around her waist in synchronized chaos. Her face captured me. Looking straight into the camera, she smiled peacefully as though she hadn't a care in the world. Then it dawned on me -- I saw her secret. 'She found a rhythm,' I whispered to myself. 'She established her center, then let everything move around that.'

Condensed from Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World by Joanna Weaver, pp 99-100

Life is filled with Hula-Hoops. And while I wanted to be encouraged by Joanna's story, it made me a little discouraged instead. Here is a woman writing about finding time to balance work, marriage, parenting, being a pastor's wife, and probably five other things I'm forgetting (and I'm too lazy to open the book back up and check).

Right now, I feel like I can barely handle my one hoop. I don't have to worry about anyone else but me. And yes, I have my roles...but it's just me. How in the world do I expect to handle more than that?

For example: It's partially my fault, but I haven't worked out regularly for a while. I miss it. My body misses it. But I feel like every time I start to get my rhythm back, my hips just lose it and the hula hoop falls back down to the floor. I may try to frantically save it, or stop the embarrassing rattle of a fallen hoop by spreading my legs out as far as they go. But it's no use. It's lost.

And it's just one hoop! Yeesh.

I'm sure I'm not the only one.

I think what the picture doesn't show is the journey to nine hoops.

Conspiracy

2010-06-16T15:57:00.001-04:00

The stage is set. The players present, the instruments tuned. The lights have been dimmed, and the atmosphere is humming with anticipation. In the middle of the stage sits a grand piano, just waiting...

A side door opens and out strolls the soloist, with the conductor following just a step behind. And for those who look close enouh...is that a smile? Just a tiny one. But that secret smile turns the conductor's walk into something different. Not a swagger. There's no haughiness in it. But there's a sense that she knows exactly what's about to happen. And it's gonna be good.

The soloist sits down and fans out the tails of his tux as only a pianist can. He positions the bench just so. He briefly moves his hands up and down the line of keys. And then...it happens.

The soloist and the conductor lean in toward each other, and as a glimmer passes between their eyes they breathe together and launch into the song.

If the audience wasn't riveted before, they're captivated now.

The soloist isn't the first person to play this piece. It's been done by all kinds of pianists all over the world. But no one has performed it quite the way he's doing it now. Because the notes on the page are just a piece of the puzzle. There's a freedom and joy found beyond the structure.

The soloist is reaching the end of a section of the song. I can tell because of the way the music is ebbing and flowing. And just as he's getting to the point where the orchestra will take over the dominant part of the music...aha! I saw that smirk! He looked up for the briefest moment to catch the eye of the conductor to make sure they were in sync with each other. But it wasn't business-like at all. She grins as if they'd just shared a private joke, even as she turns back to guide the orchestra. They're having too much fun.

It's a conspiracy I say! Between the soloist and the conductor. He's focused on what he's doing, but he knows he's not alone. His performance is backed up and augmented by the contributions of all the players who share the stage with him. And while he's putting his own flair on the notes, those consipiratorial glances keep it all together.

You ready for this next part? You bet!
I heard that! Yeah, I know...but it worked out just fine.
Did you hear how I slowed down that one phrase? I was really feeling it. I'm right there with you.
You nailed it. That was awesome! I know, right?!
My cue is... Right...here. Go!

I don't know if anyone else sees it, but I do. And I'm taking notes.

Photo credit to colors98 (still away) on Flickr

Redeemed

2010-06-13T19:56:00.003-04:00

I've been doing too many crossword puzzles. They're driving me to distraction. I'll hear an interesting or familiar word and try to imagine what its crossword clue might be. Of course (honest confession is good for the soul), there are words that I randomly ponder anyway. For example: paradox. Do they always come in pairs, or could you just have one dox? What would that be? A straightforward phenomenon instead of one that pulls you in opposite directions?

This morning I heard the word "redeemed" as part of our team prayer before service. And I thought to myself: hmmm...redeemed...crossword clue -- 'to deem again.' Because of course, it was deemed in the first place.

I thought about relationships. I've had to help my friends mourn some broken ones in recent months. You ever hear the phrase, "I love you, but I don't like you very much right now"? Some relationships can weather that kind of storm. Others can't. Whether friends or lovers or whatever...they chose each other once. But at that moment, if faced with the same choice, they may not do it again. Even more heartbreaking is "I don't love you and I don't like you, but I'll stay because I'm trapped" (by commitment, by shared history, by intersecting social circles, by whatever).

I wonder sometimes if I would be chosen again.

*Warning: ramble ahead. It's perfectly acceptable to skip this paragraph* Chosen now. Now, not when I'm an innocent little girl asking my mom if I would have to ask Jesus into my heart with all the people at church watching. Not when I'm a middle schooler hungrier for discipleship than anything else I could imagine. Not when I went out on a limb and went on my first mission trip. Not when I was learning how to live out this whole Jesus-walk thing in college. Not when I came home to carry a worship mantle. Not when I laid that mantle down to pass the worship legacy to those I believed would follow after me....but now. When I'm a 20-something, who fell into some sort of career and is living on the fringe of so many things. I wonder if I've made the right choices, and if I've lived up to my potential, and if I'm living a life that leaves others feeling God's love "in my face, my eyes, and my smile." The person I am has changed so much. And I'm not saying that it's a bad thing, I'm just noticing that it's a different thing.

All those things flashed through my head in a split second and I asked myself: "I still don't understand why, but you deemed me once...would you redeem me again? I know you love me, but do you like me right now? I know you'll never leave me, but do you ever feel trapped?"

And just as quickly, the answer came back loud and clear. That word "redeemed" transformed into the phrase "I would choose you again."

I chose you once.
I gave my son and chose you twice.
And today, just as you are...I would choose you again.

That was exactly what I needed to hear.

"For not, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name. You are mine."

"I choose you again."

Hunt

2010-06-09T20:21:00.001-04:00

In Donald Miller's new book, he shares a story about a friend of his who had just become a new father. This friend said that he had never been more in love with, or amazed by, his wife. He was particularly in awe at how his wife's body had supported this little life for nine months, and still continued to supply all the sustenance needed by this little human being.

I was suddenly zapped with a Baptist school flashback: "Milk to Meat" -- the theme of the book of Hebrews. If I remember correctly (and I'm willing to admit my 7th grade Bible class memories are more than a little fuzzy), I believe this theme is taken from Hebrews 5:12 "You have been believers so long now that you ought to be teaching others. Instead, you need someone to teach you again the basic things about God's word. You are like babies who need milk and cannot eat solid food."

Aside from the whole digestion thing, I think there's another side to this concept.

Babies are fed directly from their mom. They don't produce anything. They don't search for anything. They have no ownership in the process apart from consuming.

But then they grow up. And they learn the mechanics of feeding themselves. Later, they learn to make their own dietary choices. They grocery shop. Some hunt and fish and garden. Some enjoy raw foods, and become masters of preparing dishes and desserts.

They take ownership of the process.

I think spiritual food is the same way. Going from milk to meat isn't just about going beyond the basics. It's about taking ownership of the whole food process. Even if we've graduated from milk to the chewy stuff, we're still missing something if we're just sitting on a pew or listening to a podcast getting spoon-fed.

Can you find the meat in the jungle of your life? That deep thought. That inspirational moment. That lesson that you needed to learn. That affirmation you needed to hear. It's there. The good stuff.

Chase it down. Dig it up. Hunt for it.

Unwritten

2010-06-08T11:32:00.000-04:00

"Staring at the blank page before you...Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find...Drench yourself in words unspoken...Live your life with arms wide open...Today is where your book begins...The rest is still unwritten"

Write the future. Indeed.

Side note: I love that word. Indeed. Because while intentions and words are powerful, our lives are written by what we do.

Nnnnneaw

2010-05-27T09:04:00.001-04:00

Anyone familar with Jeff Dunham? (DunHAM...Dot COM!) One of his characters -- Peanut -- makes this sound to poke fun at the noise a Prius might make as it drives by: NNNNNnnnnnnnneaw (How would one write out a sound effect?)

That's the sound of me zooming through May. Does your life ever sort of explode into chaos? All of a sudden you have these elephants staring you down, and your tried and true manta just taunts you: "How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time." Ha!

Well, it's true.

One thing that is also true:

“Sometimes the most important thing in a whole day is the rest we take between two deep breaths.” - Etty Hillesum

Ironically, I've had this picture saved as a draft post for a while. I wanted to save it for the perfect moment, and talk about something profound. But this month, this picture has been oddly inspiring. I just keep pulling it up and staring at it, and thinking about how all this stuff is like fog -- it's clouding my view, but it doesn't have to take my peace. So maybe this *is* the perfect moment. You eat an elephant one bite at a time. You climb a path one step at a time.

It may seem like an awful lot (perhaps because it is!), but it's conquerable. And never underestimate the power of that deep breath.

Sometimes you can't see more than a few steps in front of you. But sometimes, that's ok. Your peace doesn't have to flee in the presence of the stuff that fogs your path. Take that one step. Eat that one bite. Those elephants will dwindle, the other side of the mountain will come into view.

Maybe quicker than you think.

Nnnnneaw

Her waist

2010-05-24T15:58:00.002-04:00

Swing dancing has a unique frame. The leader adjusts his free hand (not the one on his follower's shoulder) to the height of his follower's waist. Wherever that happens to be. It's not a random place in space, and it's not even necessarily the height that is most comfortable to the leader. It's all about the height of his partner.

And when that frame is in place, all sort of fun stuff can happen. I just love how that works.

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD."As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts. (Isaiah 55:8-9)

Sometimes I feel very short when it comes to God. But I think he's a swing dancer at heart. Because even though he's very tall, he meets each of us right where we need.

I don't have to be as tall has he is. There's no taunting stick saying "You must be this tall to ride the roller coaster." He adjusts to me.

He leads from the waist.

Your waist, my waist, the hero you admire's waist...even that person you don't really like's waist ....all different heights, but one very committed and creative leader.

And when we take his hand and allow that frame to lock in place, he can show us his ways.

Momma

2010-04-28T09:07:00.003-04:00

"My mother was the most beautiful woman I ever saw."
-- George Washington

"My mother had a great deal of trouble with me,
but I think she enjoyed it."
-- Mark Twain (tee hee *grin* I love you Mom!)

Washing Dishes

2010-04-27T13:24:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, my friend was regaling me with stories from a party she attended. It was one of those in-home product sort of parties. The kind that are almost more about the fellowship than about the shopping (almost). Like most parties of this sort, it included a wacky game at the beginning to break the ice. Each participant had to admit to their least favorite household chore, and give the reason why she doesn't like doing it. The answers got twisted around in a hilarious way, but I'll leave that part out to protect the innocent.

My least favorite chore is washing dishes, because after I'm done eating...I just want to be done. I want to sit and just enjoy my food coma. The chore of washing dishes just gets in the way.

Saturday, I had the privilege of cooking for a few friends. We had a wonderful lunch (complete with dessert). We had appetizers and snacks too. We laughed and played games all afternoon. It was a fantastic time.

And the next day: I had a pile of dishes. Just sitting there. Taunting me.

As I was sudsing up my sponge and letting the water get hot, I recalled that silly game from my friend's story. And I thought to myself, "Instead of despising this chore, how can I invite God into this moment?"

After all, dirty dishes are reflective of used dishes. It made me think about how when I allow myself to be used for something good, I may get dirty in the process. But that dirt is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, perhaps it should be looked upon with a little bit of joy. Plus, it's so refreshing to go through the proverbial sponge-bath on the other side!

I also thought about how its easier to clean dishes when they're fresh. Once everything gets crusty and hard, it takes a lot more scrubbing to get things clean. And life is like that too. If we let things sit and coagulate or crust, it takes a lot more elbow grease to break the mess up. But with a little soap, a little soaking, and a little determination...that piece can be shiny and clean again.

As I let my thoughts continue to drift that way, I found that my taunting task had become a teaching moment. And I wasn't annoyed. In fact, as I placed the last dish on the counter to dry I was pretty refreshed. Fancy that!

Perhaps I should extend that invitation more often...

Caught

2010-04-22T09:20:00.000-04:00

Good golly.

Don't you love it when a movie catches you by surprise? I was watching what I quickly decided was a lame excuse for a romantic comedy, until a scene near the end blindsided me and I found myself tear-streaked in the middle of my office.

A father cornered a son-in-law...year's after his daughter's (and his wife's) death. The son had been driving the car at the time of the accident and had carried around the guilt, and the belief that he was blamed and despised for years. But now he couldn't run. The father had interrupted him in a public setting and there was no where to hide. And as his faced his father-in-law, you could see him at the end of his rope...panicked...hurt...tired...and bracing for wrath.

But instead of anger, he heard these words: "We didn't blame you, all we wanted to do was mourn with you. But we couldn't find you. That was the worst part."

And a guy who had been putting on a brave face and talking a good talk (though he wasn't fooling many people) for far too long...broke down and cried in the arms of his father.

Yep. I was wrecked.

Why do we run? And who should we be catching?

Lord give me the humility to lay down blame that never belonged to me, to courage be vulnerable and caught by those who love me, and the tenacity to keep running and keep looking for those who are burdened...even if all I can do is mourn with them.

Patches

2010-04-21T06:45:00.002-04:00

It's amazing where my mind will wander during church. Not that I don't pay attention. Just that some lyric during worship or some statement during a sermon will send my brain on a crazy rabbit trail.

For example: "God is not an add on."

I work in the technology field, so I immediately began thinking of iPhones (*There's an app for that*) and applications and add-ons and program suites and the like. And then it struck me, God is not an add-on, but maybe our faith requires patches and updates.

Let me explain. Have you ever had iTunes open, and that little screen pops up and tells you that there are new things available to download? 1) You have to have iTunes open for it to scan and recognize there's something missing. 2) Seeing the pop-up is step one. You have to actively engage and click for the update to install.

Security programs have similar things. They're called "security patches." Because while a program may completely comprehensive (I know that's redundant...run with it.), there are constantly new viruses and threats being developed by 'bad guys.' When the 'good guys' find stuff like that, they'll write some new code that combats the problem and send it out as a patch...a band-aid...a fix...to help make the security program even better. Did I lose you, or does that make sense?

God is not lacking. Neither is his truth. They are constant and full and are everything we need. But as Rob Bell might say, like art and Velvet Elvis, the way we look at it and live it out changes. The Christians of today look and act and do church differently than the Christians of 2000 years ago. (And different from when God first spoke to Abram out of the burning bush.) It's an ongoing, vibrant, living sort of relationship. I think that's a good thing.

I think trials and temptations work that way too. There's "nothing new under the sun," but old tricks take on new guises. Pride, selfishness, vanity, deceit...new ways to fall to these foibles pop up all the time.

And just as technology has gotten smaller and more portable, I think the Church has gone through a similar process. The 'temple' has gone from a place to a people. I have lots of friends who have very deep and active faith lives, who don't often find themselves within the walls of a church. Churches themselves are growing big as they grow small -- returning to the idea of small groups and community and living out these principles we believe in the context of every day life.

Which makes Christians kind of like mobile technology...and we have the ultimate security suite. But in being a very mobile and busy group, it's easy to get swept up in all that we're doing and forget to reconnect to our home network. Just like computers and iTune programs, we need to connect to our network and check for new patches. Otherwise our system might be caught off-guard and infected by the newest virus that's been going around.

And we all know what happens when one computer gets infected. Before you know it your address book has been hijacked and crazy emails have been sent to everyone you know, putting people that you care about at risk because you weren't as vigilant or as careful as you should have been.

So no, God is not an add-on. He's all you need. Finding him and downloading him into your life will change it forever. But life isn't stagnant. It changes all the time. And it's messy. And temptations can be clever. But the Holy Spirit isn't silent, the Bible is called the "living word," and we get to pursue this thing in good company.

Don't be caught off-guard. When was the last time you did a vulnerability scan and checked for an update? (And remember, seeing it is not enough. You have to download and install it too.)

Colors

2010-04-20T07:00:00.000-04:00

I see your true colors shining through.
I see your true colors, and that's why I love you.

It's a great song. But there's a line in there that bothers me
"We're all the same color when you turn out the lights."

I know the songwriter's point is that we need to look beyond skin color. But we shouldn't have to hide or lose our vision in order to "see" each other. We should embrace and respect our differences when the lights are on.

Mister Rogers once said, "When we love a person, we accept him or her exactly as is: the lovely with the unlovely, the strong along with the fearful, the true mixed in with the facade, and of course, the only way we can do it is by accepting ourselves that way."

Not hidden like a secret in the dark, but love out in the open. Lights blazing, colors showing.

Shopping

2010-04-19T18:26:00.000-04:00

A ramble a few weeks overdue...

Good Friday morning, I was trying to remember everything I needed for church service that evening, including a suitable outfit to wear for my participation on the praise team. Easter Sunday morning is the time for bright colors and floral prints, but Friday night is not Sunday morning. So I decided to go with my good 'ole concert black. After all, it was Black Friday, right? Wait... not Black Friday. Good Friday. Black Friday happens in the fall. But my mental misstape made me think about shopping. And God.

For a moment, I looked at Good Friday like God's Black Friday. Like some big cosmic 2 for 1 sale. Not really 2 for 1. But still, Jesus's life made it possible for all humanity to be in reconciliation again. It's a bulk deal that happens one-one-one with each of us.

There's a joke that says, A woman will pay $1 for a $2 item she doesn't need (It was a good deal.), while a man will pay $2 for a $1 item he needs (He needs it!). God just broke all the rules and paid $2 for a $1 item he didn't need. (But he wants and loves us!)

If you've ever come back from a victorious shopping mission, you know you the celebration well:

"Look at what I got!"
"But look at what it cost you."

A triumphant gleam.
A squeal and a clutch to the chest.
A happy dance.

"It doesn't matter what it cost. It's mine now. And it was worth it."

I know it's not a perfect analogy. But, oh how he loves us.

Scars

2010-04-13T08:38:00.001-04:00

You never let go. You never let go. You never let go.
~ David Crowder

The first time I heard this song, it made me cry. I remembered a story.

A story about a boy who was swimming. But there was an alligator. His father saw the alligator and called out. The son started swimming toward the shore, and just as he approached where his father reached out to him from the dock, the alligator reached him. The same time the father frantically grabbed his little boy by the wrists, the alligator clamped his jaws into his calves. That began an incredible tug-of-war. The alligator was much stronger than the father, but the father dug in his heels and refused to let go. Someone came along and shot the alligator. The boy survived, but had horrible scars. Scars on his legs from the alligator's powerful jaws. But scars on his arms from where his father dug in and refused to let go.

I think some of my biggest scars aren't from when I fell down, but from when He held on.

He held on when I got myself in trouble.
He held on when I tried to pull away in hurt or anger.
He held on when I was too complacent or lazy or distracted to move myself.
He held on when I didn't feel hold-on-able.

Each one represents a different kind of pain. If I'm really honest, some of the deepest pain I've felt has been from things I've felt wrenched away in lieu of His vision for my life. In those times, the words of Crowder's song aren't words of relief and gratitude, but words of anger and disappointment. You never let go! But I think if I could look back, the struggle would seem different now. Perhaps with the perspective of hindsight, I would see the alligator chomped down on my legs and pulling with all it's might.

Regardless of the alligator...those scars are beautiful. Because when I reach out to someone else they'll see those scars. Maybe they'll ask, "What in the world happened to you?"

And I can say, "He didn't let go."

He never will.

Outliers

2010-04-08T13:25:00.012-04:00

No one -- not rock stars, not professional athletes, not software billionaires, and not even geniuses -- ever makes it alone. …They are invariably the beneficiaries of hidden advantages and extraordinary opportunities and cultural legacies that allow them to learn and work hard and make sense of the world in ways others cannot." ~ Malcolm Gladwell, Outliers.

A lot of the stories in this book brought to mind a passage from 1 Samuel, “Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” David would never have been a hockey star. He was the youngest brother. The smallest. The older boys would have been the one to get the extra coaching and training because people saw something special. They saw strength and coordination. Little did they know there was a giant slayer in that little shepherd!

It made me wonder whom I have cheated of success because I did not give the gift of opportunity. Who could have been a great friend if I could have overlooked our initial personality or preference differences? Whom could I have mentored if I could have seen beneath the surface?

But looking back is silly. So instead, I’m turning those thoughts forward.

Am I willing to “bite deep into a welcoming land and work like a madwoman at what I know?” That’s the legacy that built the fashion and law moguls of New York. They had parents that took what they knew and rocked it. It wasn’t a glamorous skill. For some it was as simple as making aprons. But they were faithful. They didn’t wish for a different talent. They didn’t begrudge their limitations or the opportunities they didn’t have. (Ok, they might have. But that didn’t stop them.) They worked hard. And their examples and core values helped the successive generations to become superstars.

I may think my talents are far too ordinary to be life changing. But if I’m willing to put those thoughts aside and just work hard at what I know, maybe I can give someone the opportunity they need to be an Outlier. Who knows, maybe those investments and interactions will help me too. To see the world in a way I couldn't before.

That’s my challenge to you today: Give the gift of opportunity.

** Edit **
What exactly is an "Outlier?" It could be defined as "an observation that appears to deviate markedly from other members of the sample in which it occurs." But I borrowed the term from the book of the same title by Malcolm Gladwell. He uses it to describe people that fall outside the normal realm of success, whether they may be Bill Gates, the Beatles, J. Robert Oppenheimer, Mozart, or professional hockey players.

The Hearth

2010-04-06T22:59:00.003-04:00

Ok, I admit it. I haven't been very "tenacious" for the past few weeks: I haven't been blogging. I haven't been to yoga. My "to do" list is giving me dirty looks. I've felt like my schedule has been out of alignment. Not blown to bits, but just off enough so that my time doesn't clump the way that I want it to. Does that make sense? Some of the distractions have been quite wonderful, but the end result is still there.

But thanks to Easter, Nexus, and Percy Jackson, (bizarre combination, right?) I feel like I've got everything back where it should be.

Easter is like my real Thanksgiving (In recent years, I've been away on Thanksgiving). It's a day of family, food, thankfulness, and celebration. People come home. Families and communities have get-togethers. And whenever I get to hang out with family, I always leave feeling a bit more balanced and energized.

Then, last night after Nexus (a time I've come to treasure each month) I came home and wrapped up the Percy Jackson series. One of my favorite moments happens in the final book. I don't want to give too much of the plot away, but let me try to paint this picture for you. A battle of cosmic proportions, a hero with a fatal flaw, and homely minor god whose been basically overlooked with everything else that's going on. Percy decides to leave something very important with this god. When he makes that decision she asks, "Why would you leave me with this?" He replies, "Because Hope survives best at the hearth. Guard it for me, and I won't be tempted to give up again."

The term "hearth" isn't used much anymore. What came to mind when you read it? For me, I envision a fireplace in a family room. Where adults recline while children play. New pictures are constantly crammed on the mantle or on the wall. It's where everyone crowds on Christmas morning or on Thanksgiving afternoon. Or it's just where you sit and catch your breath at the end of a day.

And then it all clicked together. Nexus is like coming back to the hearth for me. Sure, I spend time with God throughout my regular schedule. But it's like everyday running around. "You need anything from the store?" "Do you have something going on tomorrow night?" "Can I take your car today?" "Did you hear that new song on the radio?" "Thanks for doing the dishes." But those few moments at Nexus are like kicking back in front of the fireplace and catching up. It's no wonder that I feel realigned!

Hope survives best at the hearth.

Typography

2010-03-30T13:50:00.003-04:00

The last bit bears repeating:

"I entreat you, I implore you, I exhort you,
I challenge you: To speak with conviction.
To say what you believe in a manner that bespeaks
the determination with which you believe it.
Because contrary to the wisdom of the bumper sticker,
it is not enough these days to simply QUESTION AUTHORITY.
You have to speak with it, too."

- Poem written by Taylor Mali

Bloggy Fun

2010-03-30T08:00:00.004-04:00

I was tagged by my friend April from 2SlicksGoodTimes.

Here are my Joys, Fears, Goals and Obsessions.

Joys:
1) Playing music. (Voice or violin...either one....or both!) Whether it's on the worship team at church, reuniting with my Nomadic Grubfest friends, fiddling down in Annapolis with the Weems Creek Jam, or something different altogether. I enjoy playing a well-written piece or finding a harmony that's brand new. Each one gives me a moment of fullness that I just can't quite describe. It's a beautiful thing.
2) Being a friend and 'token daughter.' I've been blessed with so many relationships. It seems like the more love I give away, the more I have to give. It brings me joy to give that love and support to those I have in my life. It's an ever expanding circle, and thus an ever increasing joy.
3) Those everyday moments when I know that Jesus loves me. Sometimes they're happy. Sometimes they're serious. But they give me roots and wings. The vibrant, dynamic relationship I have with my creator is my greatest joy. I hope I never become obnoxious about my faith. I just want to do what I think Jesus did....live a life that made others ask questions and love people without getting tired.

Fears:

1) I've been able to do some amazing things and serve some incredible people. I fear that my glory days are behind me. Silly, since I'm only 27 right? But there it is. But that fear won't keep me from preparing, and jumping when I think I hear the word "go!" Sometimes it's the hardest thing in the world to just wait, watch, and be faithful.
2) I fear that no matter how I wage war with my body, I won't be the athletic wonder of my imagination. (There's a little sarcasm there, but the heart of that fear is very true.)
3) When given a golden opportunity, I fear I won't have the right words to build a bridge...or that I will use too many words when only a few are needed. But that won't keep me from sharing the message. Hopefully with my life first, and my vocabulary second.

Goals:
To blog about each book I read this year. (I do a lot of reading. Did you know that? I talk about my literary adventures here.) I didn't do so well last year, but I'm making myself keep up in 2010. All part of being "tenacious." *grin*
To continue with my "cash only" policy, with the possible exception of gasoline. It started as an experiment/exercise for the Lenten season, but I like how it made me think about every purchase.
To return to my habit of writing letters. I've let it slip in the past year, but I enjoy writing out and mailing letters to people. (I LOVE finding cards too. It's dangerous for me to walk down a card aisle unattended!)

Current Obsessions:
The Amazing Race 16 (I blame my Realtor - now good friend). Bikram yoga. NHL.com and excuses to watch hockey at "Twiga Central." (I can't wait for Stanley Cup season!) Scouring DVD stores that are going out of business. Hunting for an affordable flight to Uganda. Making pies. Inventing reasons to host things at my house. Brownie edges.

I won't tag anyone else this time, but feel free to join in the bloggy fun! (This epilogue is for you, my long-lost Twiga friends!)

Elysium

2010-03-29T17:44:00.003-04:00

You know what happens when you pray to find God in the everyday? You start finding him. Sometimes in the most unlikely places. Like in a Books-a-Million on a Friday night in the middle of Percy Jackson book, when all you're planning to do is kill a bit of time before a hockey game.

"In the middle of the valley was a glittering blue lake... immediately I knew that's where I wanted to go when I died. 'That's what it's all about,' Annabeth said, like she was reading my thoughts. 'That's the place for heroes.' But I thought of how few people were there...so few people did good in their lives. It was depressing." (Percy Jackson and the Lightning Thief, p 302)

And just like that, God burst into my ordinary moment. I thought about the truth of that statement. How so few people get it. How we can get wrapped up in avoiding bad and in doing so forget to actively do good. How if we can catch just a glimpse of heaven, we'll immediately know that's where we want to call home.

I felt conviction to walk the narrow way -- the way that isn't always convenient, but is right and pleasing. Conviction to be the social center of God's love. Maybe all I can do is help people see through a window darkly...but just a glimpse can be life-changing. I thought about how I long to be counted among the heroes. And amid all that, I felt hope. Because unlike Greek heroes, I don't have to earn my way onto the Elysium Plains. Salvation, reconciliation, forgiveness is a gift. Made possible by the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

All of that from a God moment in the middle of a bookstore. It's amazing what you find when your eyes and heart are open!

My prayer for today

2010-03-24T10:12:00.000-04:00

My Lord God
I have no idea where I am going.
I do not see the road ahead of me.
I cannot know for certain where it will end.
Nor do I really know myself,
and the fact that I think I am following
your will does not mean
that I am actually doing so.
But I believe that my desire to please you
does in fact please you.
And I hope that I have that desire
in all that I am doing.
I hope that I will never do anything
apart from that desire.
And I know that if I do this
you will lead me by the right road
though I may know nothing about it.
Therefore will I trust you always
though I may seem to be lost
and in the shadow of death.
I will not fear,
for you are ever with me,
and you will never leave me
to face my perils alone.
- Thomas Merton (1915-1968)

Be exalted over my reputation. Make me ambitious to please you even if as a result I must sink into obscurity and my name be forgotten as a dream.
- Originally from A.W. Tozer, though I'm claiming his words as my own today.

Full Attention

2010-03-18T15:03:00.000-04:00

I know I haven't been speaking very much...but I've been listening.

In high school, we had a yearly jeopardy competition. We all faced off in groups of 6-8 and the winners moved on to the next level. We were each equipped with little buzzers and everything. It was great!

But of course, this wasn't a mainstream TV competition. Instead of having little video displays of each question, we had to rely on the voice of the Quiz Master...reading from his bank of index-card clues.

To keep things fair and honest, he would stop reading the clue as soon as someone buzzed in. And inevitably, there would be a contestant who was overconfident in their ESP-esque ability to predict both the direction of the question, and the accuracy of the potential answer.

For example: Quiz Master - "This director was the first..." BZZZT! Contestant - "Kathryn Bigelow" Quiz Master - I'm sorry that's incorrect. "This director was the first African-American to be nominated for Best Picture of the Year." Second, more patient contestant - "Quincy Jones." Quiz Master - "That is correct."

As the first contestant is still reeling in disbelief, his points are claimed by another. He may have known the answer, but he didn't listen to the clue.

Sometimes, I think I have the same problem when it comes to God. As soon as I think I know where he's going with something, I'm off and running. I'm too excited about the points to realize that He hasn't finished with all he has to say.

Daniel Golman said: The act of compassion begins with full attention.

If I truly want to have a 'common passion'...to make God's heart my own, I need to give him my full attention. Otherwise, I may find myself running off in the wrong direction with a false sense of confidence and camaraderie, while he's standing there shaking his head wanting to give me the critical information/inspiration/direction I need.

I certainly don't want to be standing there going "Ta-da!" only to hear him say, "I'm sorry, that's incorrect." Even if those few extra moments feel like forever, I'd much rather be delayed than be on the wrong track. Wouldn't you?

The need for full attention goes for our other relationships too. My dad once told me that guys tend to stop listening after the first sentence or so because they're already trying to figure out their response. (I think girls do this too.) But instead of jumping ahead, what if we waited and gave each other our full attention?

Spare Change

2010-03-04T14:12:00.002-05:00

I had a moment. You know the kind in which you wonder, "What's the point?" Of life, the universe, and everything? I was in my car at the time, and found inspiration in the strangest place: In the door handle, right next to the window toggles:

My bits of spare change.

Sometimes I feel like all I have to offer is bits of spare change. Disjointed. Fragmented. Left over.

But all those bits are valuable. Maybe not on their own, but put them together...

An everyday, nondiscript treasure trove. One that lays dormant and near forgotten until I really need it. But when that need kicks in, I'm really grateful that it's there. (And I doubt I would be able to tell you the purchases for which those pennies and nickles weren't used.)

I don't know if that answers my original "what's the point" question. But it made me reassured about all the little bits that make me...me.

At the right time, for the right purpose...those pennies can be priceless.

Anemic

2010-03-02T14:38:00.003-05:00

Even though I've been tenacious about sticking to my gym schedule...I've been really tired lately. I'm still putting in the time, but I'm not covering the ground required to stay on top of my training (Meaning: instead of running four miles, I spend an hour on the elliptical.) I just don't have the energy to do it.

Now I know why.

I tried to give blood to the Red Cross last week, but I was denied because my red blood cell count was too low. You know that lovely finger prick you have to survive before answering all the heath history questions? I didn't pass the test. (Actually, I was well below the threshhold.) So the lady asked me if I would consent to a second finger prick. I agreed, but secretly I thought the whole thing was silly. Wait five minutes, use a different finger, and viola! a higher reading? Riiiighhht. Low and behold, a second prick and reading later, my level was actually lower than before. So they said thank you very much, but I get to keep my anemic blood to myself.

The most common cause of anemia is iron deficiency. But while you have to add iron back into your diet, you can't just munch on scrap metal. (I hear it's bad for one's teeth). Your body has to absorb iron in the context of healthy food.

You ever feel emotionally tired? Spiritually weak? Just worn out or out-of-sync? Maybe your life-blood is anemic. But like iron, it's difficult to just munch on a bar of cheer or chug a cup of courage or have a sandwich of optimism or a patience pasta. You need those things, but I would argue that it has to come in the context of a healthy diet.

What are you listening to? Watching? Reading? Discussing? Because they're feeding you. And if your life blood isn't working well for you, you won't be in a position to give to others. Waiting five minutes or using a different finger won't change that.

(On the bright side: I have a new and completely legitimate excuse to eat more asparagus!)

Beautiful Blogger

2010-02-25T15:47:00.001-05:00

I momentarily surfaced from my happy "All-Olympics-all-the-time-especially-when-it-comes-to-curling-and-hockey" Bubble to discover that the most exciting things can happen when one steps away for a week. For example, my dear friend April gave me the Beautiful Blogger award.

April is quite a beautiful blogger herself. I always love when she leaves me comments, and I often find myself encouraged and uplifted by the things she shares on her own blog: 2SlicksGoodTimes. Thank you April! (Both for the award and for being a beloved bloggy friend *grin*).

The rules of this award are:

Thank the person who nominated you for this award (See above)
Copy the award and place it in your blog (Ta-da!)
Link the person who nominated you for this award (Click here for awesomeness)
Tell us 7 interesting things about you (I'll do my best)
Nominate 7 bloggers and link to their blogs

Now for the interesting:

I've become NPB Fitness's resident expert on curling. It all started when I asked the manager if I could change on channel to catch a game. Then a crowd gathered, mostly confused about the strange sport on the channel I refused to change. Some mocked, some inquired, some just stood there looking like puppies trying to puzzle something out. Then I started talking. I explained the basic rules and strategy to those who were already there. Then more people would come and I would go through the spiel again. More onlookers, more explanation. I was fielding questions and putting my two cents in on the strategies of the two teams. All while working out. (I'd like to point out that everyone else was just standing there staring while I was running. *sigh*) Thankfully, I made enough converts that no one is bothered when I change the channel, or surprised when I time my visits to coincide with curling matches. And apparently dramatic retellings of that first day have been circling various offices of the business park.

The Olympic Games captivate my attention. Probably not a revelation, given my blogging silence since opening ceremonies, but there it is. I think my channel-surfing skills would make my father proud. I can toggle between NBC, CNBC, MSNBC, and USA to catch curling, hockey, and the headline sports at the same time. Sunday was my biggest challenge. But oh the reward! USA over Canada in hockey. Need I say more?

I avoid leaving voicemails whenever possible. I have a tendency to ramble, which I don't like. Also, I don't like the sound of my voice on a recorder. In my head, I sound like a responsible adult. But those on the other end of the line often say I sound much younger. Like ten years younger than I actually am. When I hear myself on an answering machine (or recorded anywhere), I tend to agree. It annoys me a little bit.

I can spreadsheet anything. I have a file called "Palm Pilot" which proves that statement to be true. I realize that sounds boring. I can assure you it's not.

My favorite shoes are starting to fall apart in earnest and I don't know what to do. Seriously! I bought them for swing dancing but promptly started wearing them all the time. Dancing, working, lounging, shopping, trekking across Europe... they're my favorite shoes.

The writing side of my brain has a strange on/off switch that functions on it's own time schedule. Becoming a blogger has been an amazing thing for me. I love when I sit down and flesh out the thoughts I've been thinking. But if my mind isn't in writing mode, there's nothing I can do to force it. I may have the most inspired idea of all time...but when the brain is off, it's off. That frustrates me. I try to remember that there's no pressure here. I share when I can. And in all honesty, I wouldn't want to force it...because then it wouldn't be sincere. Whatever shows up here is true and honest and from my heart. I wouldn't have it any other way. When it does turn on...it can be at the most inconvenient time, and I can't fight that either. It's like that part of my brain demands my full attention. I have to stop and write and get it all out. That makes me sound a bit loony huh? Trapped by the whims of one's own rambling head.

A seventh thing. Hmmm.... Asparagus is my favorite vegetable. In face, one of the many things I love about my Twiga herd is our communal love of asparagus. If we ever have a gathering, bringing a bunch of asparagus is always a safe bet. The bearer will most certainly be greeted with cheers and applause. Yes my friends, it's the deep things that bind. *wink*

Now to pass it forward:
Katie at *Explanation Required. Katie is my fellow spoon in a land of forks. She'll know what I mean. :-)
Marie over at Spun By Me. I'm so grateful for Marie. We truly have a bloggy friendship.
Johnny at I Hack Stuff. I'm proud of what Johnny and his family are doing in Uganda.
Heather at Age30Books. I get so many good ideas from what she reads, and I love hearing the tales of her book club. They really have their act together!
Carlos Whittaker at Ragamuffin Soul. He's a complete stranger, but his blog is awesome.

The last two are shameless attempts to get my friends to re-enter the blogging world...the posts may be few...but beautiful nonetheless!
Mandy at the Internet Mandy Database.
Christine at Spill The Beans.

Commercials

2010-02-17T14:36:00.007-05:00

I'm not normally one to post videos. But these two get me. *right here*

Convenience

2010-02-17T14:16:00.000-05:00

Two years ago: Caffeine and sugar. Last year: Hurry. This year: Convenience.

I use my credit card for everything. I like having everything on one bill at the end of the month. I like the points I get to redeem later for gift cards (Amazon...*happy sigh*). And if I'm honest, I LOVE the convenience of not carrying cash. Just swipe and go.

Also, if I'm really honest with myself, I have to admit that I've become far too used to spending. I buy something almost every day. Don't get me wrong, I'm a responsible spender. I have an allowance that I stick to (most of the time). But budget isn't the point. It's the habit of swiping that card. Just because I can. And just because I know I'll get points for "free" things later. It's quick. It's easy. It's the American way.

So... *insert dramatic drum-roll here* Ladies and Gentlemen, I'm giving up my credit card for Lent.

I'm giving up the convenience. I'm giving up the points. And every time I find myself annoyed by the extra time and hassle, I hope it will remind me of all the "inconveniences" experienced on my behalf. Jesus emptied every savings account and gave all he had in one big charge....racking up enough reward points so I could have the greatest free gift eternity could offer.

I think I can live without my credit card for a few weeks.

(This will be a good chance for me to live up the moniker "Tenacious G.")

Take Hold

2010-02-11T12:08:00.002-05:00

It's close to the end of an epic journey. Two companions have traveled impossible distances and weathered incalculable trials, all while one has carried an increasingly heavy load. But all of that is behind them. They're beaten up, worn out, and barely hanging on, but finally the finish line in sight. In fact, the finish line has technically been crossed, but the danger is far from over.

Because one of them is dangling over a cliff and a lake of lava is waiting below. You can picture the scene. The faithful companion has his hand, but he's slipping. Partially because there's a bunch of blood making his whole arm slippery, and partially because he isn't making any effort of his own to hold on. He's not gone. But he doesn't have anything left.

But something changes. Maybe it's the sheer determination in his companion's voice, or the love he see's on the companion's dirty tear-stained face. But he goes from acceptance of the fall, to fighting for that life-saving hold. And once they're both invested, after a little struggle, they both make it back up on the ledge and out of the doomed cave.

That's the picture I get in my head when I read: "Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already been made perfect, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me." (Phil 3:12)

He's already taken hold of it. I just have to take hold of him. Ignoring the danger below. Disregarding the mess I've made of and for myself. Just looking up to see the love, compassion, and determination on his face, and daring to take hold of him the way he's taken hold of me.

Plowed In

2010-02-09T21:25:00.000-05:00

Maryland is receiving record-breaking snowfalls this year. And with the snow comes the dig out. And with digigng out comes the snow plows. (Which usually leads to more digging out. It's a vicious circle.) On one hand, I'm extreamly grateful for those men and women working to keep our roads clear. On the other hand, it can be a frustrating waiting game, and then a sometimes more frustrating dig-out from what the plows leave behind.

Let me be clear: I'm thankful for the plows. But the following thoughts came to me after I had to dig through another two feet of ice and snow that was plowed onto my driveway and sidewalk this morning...after I dug out Saturday...and Sunday...and dug out my parents...twice (The second time through at least six feet of snow sometimes four feet high. Thank you plows)...and a family friend...and my neighbor. *sigh* I suppose they're not calling it the snowpocalypse for nothing.

In any case: Deep thoughts from being plowed in.

Do it right the first time. While digging myself back out from a new mountain of snow displaced from the middle of the street, I kept thinking...I wouldn't be in this position if the plow had got it all the first time. Where possible, as much as you can, I think it's important to do a job right the first time. Don't stop halfway through. Clearing one lane isn't good enough. If you stop clearing snow before you've reached all the way down to the pavement, you'll regret it later. Do it right. Do it all the way. And do it the first time. It's true in snow removal. It's true in life.

Sometimes, it's more than one pass can handle. Some messes, some habits, some projects...they take more than one pass. For example: record-breaking snowfalls. Sometimes there isn't enough time (or enough strength) to just go and go until it's all clear. When that's the case...be patient. Do what you can. Take care of the essential roads first. Rest. Then come back and clear some more.

Where do you put this stuff? We all have snow we need to plow. "Stuff" that rains down and clogs our path and makes the way treacherous. Stuff we need to tenaciously remove. But where does it go? When I shovel snow off my driveway, I'm careful to put it in my yard. I can't just shovel it out in the street. It takes some level of conscientious effort to make sure your mess doesn't end up in someone else's space. But what happens when there's no room? Shoveling back out today, I kept trying to be patient. After all, it's not the plow's fault that the snow had to come off the road, and by pushing it off the road it ended up filling in all the spaces I had cleared. The snow had to go somewhere. (Though, it did make me think about kids who clean their room by stuffing everything in the closet.) For issues that require a lot of clearing and re-working, I think we need to be extra patient with each other. Stuff has to go somewhere. Which leads me to...

By our powers combined. (We are Captain Planet! Sorry. Couldn't resist.) I do some. The plows do some. I do some more. Neighbors come together and bring to life the adage "many hands make light work." It's a beautiful thing, even if it is a bit of a vicious circle at times. Some piles we can't handle on our own. And there are times when I know I'm being messy and spilling my mess into someone else's space. (You know what I mean?) But if I can extend a little patience and lend a helping hand, perhaps I'll find the same when I need it.

Every shovel-full helps. This is the mantra that has kept me going. No matter how small, every shovel-full helps. Sometimes you may feel like you're facing down a mountain. A mountain that keeps returning no matter how many times you clear it out. But every shovel-full helps. It may feel like you're on a treadmill, like you're fighting the same battle, like you're going no where fast. But that's not true. While the pile in front of you may look the same, what you may not see is the growing pile on either side from the stuff you've already cleared and conquered. Take heart! Every teeny tiny bit is getting you closer to solid pavement and a clear road ahead.

Snowmageddon continues. More snow is falling even as I type. And I think I just heard a plow go by...

Snowed In

2010-02-06T17:13:00.005-05:00

Plato once said, "A wise man speaks because he has something to say; a fool because he has to say something."

I suppose that makes me half-wise right now. Because I have things to say...but I'm not exactly in writing mode (despite being snowed in with nowhere to go)...but I'd like to be a good blogger and post every few days. So here's my compromise.

The *last* time I was ordered to sit down and watch the world go by, I was enjoying the view from my friend's porch in Ireland. (Today, it's not a friend, but rather Mother Nature who has ordered me to sit down and pause. But I digress.) Remembering that day made me remember that I never followed through with my promise for pictures and stories from my European adventure.

So here are a few snippets from my exploits on the other side of the pond. A story from each stop:

Stop 1: Bitburg, Germany. Only in Germany do they leave their castles unattended. Here Haji sits triumphantly atop the tower of the upper castle in Manderscheid, Germany. The lower castle was closed, but the tourist office informed us that the upper one was still open. We soon discovered why. It's only accessibly by a treacherous walking path. No wonder it is always open! When we finally made our way up the path (with a stroller no less), there was no door or signage or anything. Just the castle. We roamed through the ruins, enjoyed the view, and climbed all the way to the top of the tower....all with no other people in sight. It really felt like we were breaking in, or jumping back in time. My friend Dan and I kept joking about looking out for Orcs or seeing the beacons of Gondor. There was a flag pole at the very top of the tower, so we both took pictures like we were Mario. (Of course, the Princess was in another castle.) It was a great day.

Stop 2: Kaiserslautern, Germany. It was during my time in Kaiserslautern that I truly fell in love with Germany. I'll tell you why: Christmas Markets! Nearly every town has one. There's food and crafts and sweets and decorations and concerts. And Gluwein! In fact, each Christmas Market has their own signature mug. My friend Jess and I joked that while our mothers would certainly go home with a collection of corny mugs, *we* would certainly never fall to their tempation. Famous last words. Jess is an adventurous nomad like and me. We went to four markets (in three countries) in two days and racked up quite a collection for ourselves. Here's Haji with the one that started it all.

Stop 3: London, England. Potential little known fact about me: I love William Wilberforce. If you don't know who he is, I highly recommend that you read the book Amazing Grace and find out more. He's just a brilliant human being. My to do list in London was pretty short. Find Platform 9 3/4, and visit Westminster Abby to see the Wilberforce memorial. Now that I've been to London, I would also add "eat at an Indian restaurant" to the list. The Indian cuisine in London is the best in the world. (At least, that's what I was told, and after eating at this place near the Royal Opera I would fully agree.) This story makes the cut because while we were eating, I recognized a song that was playing on the restaurant's sound system. I can't even tell you what the name of the song is, but I can tell you what movie it's from. I can even tell you the scene of the movie. I *may* even be able to mimic a few of the dance moves from the scene. I have officially watched way too many Bollywood films.

Stop 4: Cork, Ireland. Ireland might have been my favorite stop of all. My friend lives on the coast, and when I first saw the view...I wondered how he and his wife ever leave. It's just breathtaking. (Bonus tidbit: you can see the island from which the Titanic set sail on it's doomed voyage from their house.) Anyway, no trip to Southern Ireland would be complete without a stop at the famous Blarney Castle. So Haji and I set off to find the castle...and kiss the stone of course. To kiss the Blarney stone, you have to take off anything "dangly" - glasses, bags, umbrellas, etc. I sat my collection of stuff to the side and had my fun snogging the stone. But as I was re-situating myself as a sort of one woman traveling pack-horse, the catcher asked me if my giraffe would like to kiss the stone as well. (My purse works very well as a sort of pet carrier, with Haji's head poking out the top of the large pocket.) I'm not kidding. HE brought it up! Naturally, I said Haji would be very delighted. (Actually, I first asked him if he was serious. It was only after our mutual insanity was confirmed that I got super giddy and said that it would be great.) They held him down there and let him kiss the stone while I took a picture. He's not the first stuffed traveling companion to take the plunge, but he IS the first giraffe. No baloney.

So there you have it. A much overdue retelling of some of the tomfoolery Haji and I shared last fall. Now I'm back to the adventure of the day: Snowpocalypse/Snowmageddon/Blizzard of 2010.

I hope you're warm and cozy. Wherever you are.

Follow through

2010-02-02T15:10:00.000-05:00

Deep thoughts from a recent bowling excursion:

The biggest enemy of a strike? That one last pin. (This one is courtesy of my dad. He made this statement after he had a particularly frustrating string of frames. That silly 9-pin has a stubborn streak and just alludes him sometimes.) But it made me think of another bit of wise knowledge: goodness is the biggest enemy of greatness. As a recreational, every-once-in-a-while bowler, it would be very simple for me to be happy with getting those nine pins. But that's not the object of the game. And it's not how you get the big scores. Whatever it is you're going after, go for all ten pins.

You can throw as many balls as you want, but you'll never improve your aim if you don't follow through. You won't get the strike if you don't throw the ball, true. But if you don't use good form and follow through, it really doesn't matter how many times you make the throw. If you get knocked down, get back up. But don't be halfhearted. Make sure you follow through. Don't just pitch an idea, create a plan and carry it through. Don't just let that person cross your mind, pick up the phone and get in touch. Don't let a bad day derail you, hang in there for the next frame. Finish what you start. And finish with good form. That's how you'll catch that pesky 9-pin (along with all the others), and get the strike you've been chasing all game.

Wine and Chocolate

2010-01-29T09:36:00.002-05:00

Sometimes I feel like a red wine, especially when I'm a little more "full-bodied" than usual. Reds can be delicate, but they can also be bold and feisty. There are some reds that are almost rough and nearly too much to handle.

However, if I've learned anything in my brief forays as a wine connoisseur at Linganore tastings it's this: the taste of a wine can completely change with the introduction of chocolate. Seriously! The last time my friends and I made the journey, our favorite wine was one we barely tolerated alone, but wanted seconds when we drank it in conjunction with chocolate. It's like magic.

I know that sometimes I'm full and delicate in all the wrong ways. My words and emotions may come out more tart or rough or feisty than I intend. And on my own, it might barely pass as drinkable.

Thankfully, Jesus is the chocolate to my red wine. (It's not that far of a stretch. After all we all know that a good chocolate is simply divine. *wink*) If I introduce a bit of his character into the mix...everything changes. He can soften all my rough edges and bring out flavors I didn't know I had. People just might come back for seconds. And it won't be because of me, but because of the chocolate shining through.

TILT

2010-01-27T14:52:00.001-05:00

Remember pinball machines? They were always lots of fun. Especially if the one you were playing had ramps and missions and lots of bumpers, slingshots, holes, and blinking lights. (For example, check out the picture of the Flinstones Pinball Machine I found. Oooohhhhh...pretty!)

Pinball requires concentration. You have to pay attention to where your ball is and where it might be going. You have to time your flippers just right so you can aim and influence your ball's direction, while keeping it safe from the drain below.

It's engrossing. One can become completely sucked into what they're doing.

Some enthusiastic players really get into their game. Instead of simply pressing down the flipper buttons, they really jam them. Sometimes throwing their body weight into the machine, hoping to save the ball from an untimely fate. Nudging is ok, but if the machine senses too much manipulation, it has a defense mechanism. "TILT." Everything will shut down and force the ball down the drain. The player then has to reset and start again.

There's a pretty well-known verse that says "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength." (Mark 12:30) That's an engrossing commandment. Hard to get away from it. To put it into practice, you really have to pay attention. Aim your thoughts and actions, and try to complete the missions as they come.

But the verse that captured my attention is the one that comes before: "Hear O Israel." (Mark 12:29). I wonder sometimes if we get so engrossed in our pursuit of the commandment that we tune out the voice we're supposed to hear. I have no doubt that God stands beside us, giving us helpful nudges as we go along. But I also know that he's not afraid to give us a good hip-check when we need it.

It knocks us off our course, completely derailing our train of thought. It might even mess with our current mission or high score.

But it quiets the din of the game and throws the reset button so we can hear him again.

In Season

2010-01-27T00:15:00.000-05:00

Psalm 1:3 (NIV) He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf not wither. Whatever he does prospers.

I've been thinking about seasons, and fruitfulness. I've admitted before that I have a great internal pressure to do things that are "big" and "great." But it's nice to be reminded that there are times to bear fruit, and times to rest. Times to prepare and times to grow.

I love how the New Living Translation uses the phrase "bearing fruit each season." It's very similar to the thought in the NIV....except that it reminds me that while I'm resting or preparing, it's still a time to be producing. It also gives me the freedom to not try to force an apple crop when it's not the time. It's not always time for apples. Sometimes it's the season for oranges. Or cherries.

Patience. Investment. Struggle. Growth. Pruning. Harvest. ...Pie. I'm grateful for the season behind, and looking forward to the one ahead.

Arranged Marriage

2010-01-23T23:37:00.001-05:00

Strange things happen in a yoga studio while one is in camel pose. For example, it came to me that perhaps finding love and fulfillment in the path of one's life is kind of like finding love in an arranged marriage.

Where did that come from? Too much Bollywood and a very honest conversation with my best friend. (And I suppose the supercharged blood rushing to my head while I was in a deep backward bend. Silly camel pose.)

The last time I was able to truly talk and catch up with my best friend (it doesn't happen as often as it should), we talked about how it struck us recently that we were grown-ups. Somewhere along the way we ended up in a rhythm of work and life and bills and everything else "normal" in life. The time had passed from when we were wide eyed, ambitious high schoolers who had no idea how exactly we would do it, but we would be great worldchangers. That's not to say that we aren't world changers in our own ways. But at some point we stopped dreaming about what we might be "when we grew up." It sunk in that we were grown up. And our lives didn't look anything like what we imagined. The funny thing is, the more we talked through it, the more we realized that was ok. Sure, there are dreams we mourn and "what if" questions we ask. But as we sat there and analyzed and affirmed and laughed and cried with each other, we saw that we *are* worldchangers. Divine nobodies quietly doing what we can to live out this glorious hope we have inside.

One of my favorite Bollywood movies is "Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi." It's a way over-the-top song and dance movie with a strong case of mistaken identity. (Mix a dose of 'Step up' with a dash of 'She's the Man' a pinch of 'Office Space' or 'The Drew Carey Show' and a smidgen of 'Lois and Clark' and you get the basic idea. It's fantastic. Don't judge me.)

There's an arranged marriage between near strangers (the husband is the favorite student of the wife's father). Through the course of the movie, the wife falls in love with her husband while he's pretending to be everything that she's looking for. But the ruse poses a dilemma for both of them. She wants to escape what she believes is a loveless marriage, but feels compelled to stay due to the promise that she made to her father. He faces the paradox of her sheer misery as his wife in contrast to her delight with his fabricated alter ego. He tries to win her love as himself, but that only alienates her further. She nearly runs away with 'the other man' before deciding to stay with her husband. Of course, in a dramatic scene she finally realizes they are the same person. There may potentially be a dance competition involved in that scene. And a delightfully corny montage. If you can stand reading sub-titles, you really should watch this movie. I'm just saying...

How in the world does that relate? Just this: Maybe if I look past the wrapping paper, I'll realize that the path I fell in love with is the path I've been walking all along.

Rushing

2010-01-23T12:38:00.000-05:00

Today was supposed to be a leisurly morning. Wake early, get a workout in, quick trip to Target, and then relax and write.

Instead...my day has exploded! I'm rushing here and there, trying to time everything just right. Get to one person's house before they leave. Make it back to another place before something begins. Try to relax and be sociable, while keeping my eyes on the clock for a commitment later tonight. Where did my Saturday go?

Do you ever find your schedule running away with you like that? Here's my goal for today: just take one minute at a time. Keep moving, but enjoy each moment.

On a tenacious note: look for a post later today! Blogging about a certain thought was a goal I had for today. And even if I'm a little busier than I anticipated, I want to meet my goal. I also want to make sure I enjoy the run to the finish line.

Happy Saturday!

Ebay

2010-01-18T15:41:00.000-05:00

“He is jealous for me…” So begins a song that has completely captured my attention in recent months. After first hearing it at a very emotional Nexus, I got to spend a Sunday morning between services simply lingering in this song. Just Eddie and me, playing violin and piano, sharing one of those heaven-meets-earth moments up in the rehearsal room. But I digress.

Have you ever really wanted something, and you would do whatever it took to get it? Not like wanting a new shirt when you scour the clearance racks or see what deals are out there. Not like that. Not like clipping coupons or shopping smart to fill your day to day needs at the store. Not like that at all.

More like an Ebay bidding war. When you’ve found something rare and precious. They don’t make it like that anymore. It’s that thing that you remember from a while ago. It’s that rare, no-one-can-find-it-anymore treasure. Or it’s that brand new thing that no one knows where they can get one yet. The kind of thing that you watch for a few days and then put it all out on the line. Entering a bid, but knowing that you’re willing to pay so much more. Timing your move until the last few moments, hoping to avoid raising the interest of others. Knowing that if everyone knew this thing were here, the hopeful bids would skyrocket to the land of the “I can’t really afford this anymore.” And yet, you know that if that bidding war happens, you’re not going down easily. You’ll purge, scour, borrow, save… you don’t know what you’ll have to do, but you’ll find a way to make ends meet so you can make it your own.

*That* kind of wanting. That’s how God wants us. The precious part of us. That little bit of our heart that yearns for eternity. (Because he knows if he can get that, the rest of us will follow).

He’ll risk anything to get it. Our comfort…his son…whatever it takes. It doesn’t matter how many bidders enter the fray. He’ll go out. He’s reckless. He’s found the treasure, and he’s not backing down.

It’s the kind of love that makes you see the treasure that lies within. The kind of love that wipes away regrets and turns a life around. The kind of love that drowns you in a sea of grace until there’s nothing left to do but ride the hurricane of his affection and glory.

I’m still learning just how deep God’s pockets are. And though sometimes the bidding war rages, I don’t think anyone (or anything) could win against a love like that. I think instead I’ll let myself be won over. Though, I think mine is the greater prize.

"There is no pit so deep that God’s love is not deeper still" ~ Corrie Ten Boom

"He did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all…I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[m] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord." ~ Romans 8:32, 38-39

Pause

2010-01-18T11:30:00.000-05:00

I know I've been quiet for the past several weeks. I'm sorry for making you wait for me. But as Mark Twain might say, "The right word may be effective, but no word was ever as effective as a rightly timed pause."

I've had a lot of beginnings and endings during the past month or so. And while my crazy head has still been racking up thoughts and analogies, I needed to just sit and be. But I'm ready to jump back in. To live, and learn, question, celebrate, and share...

Has your new year started off with a bang? Let me encourage you. Don't be afraid to take a few moments to pause and catch your breath. You may just find the right words (and actions) will follow.

Tenacious G

2010-01-10T23:10:00.001-05:00

Inspired by my friends (including Marie), I've picked a word to focus on for 2010.

When Mandy was first telling me that they were choosing a word of the year, I didn't wait for the rules and proclaimed that mine would be "ubiquitous." It was the first word that popped into my head. (No, I'm not kidding.) Mandy just paused and laughed at me, and then went on to explain.

The idea is to choose a word that you can focus on, mediate on, and reflect upon as you go about your daily life.

Oddly enough, 'ubiquitous' is not such a bad word for me. It's an adjective that means "existing or being everywhere." For someone who has as many diverse interests as I do, I often feel like my life is a blur and I'm surprised that I can keep up with everything at once. So even though it's an awesome word...it's not my word for 2010.

Tenacious
Etymology: Latin tenac-, tenax tending to hold fast, from tenēre to hold
Date: 1607
1 : not easily pulled apart : cohesive
2 : persistent in maintaining, adhering to, or seeking something valued or desired

And call it God's sense of humor or Pastor Steve's impeccable taste, but my word fits perfectly with our memory verse for the year: Let us hold tightly without wavering to the hope we affirm, for God can be trusted to keep his promise. Hebrews 10:23 (New Living Translation)

They're like two peas in a pod. I'm genuinely looking forward to 2010...

Remembralls

2009-12-10T15:52:00.002-05:00

Coming home to the States, I enjoyed a long approach into Chicago airport. It was like landing in a sea of light. And because of the time of year, in addition to the normal cityscape, I got to enjoy a sky-high view of all the neighborhood Christmas lights. It was lovely.

As I heard in a recent sermon, we light our houses to remind ourselves of the arrival of the light of the world. So my brain started wandering. A light-up reminder. Where have I heard that before?

Remembralls!

In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, forgetful Neville receives a remembrall from his Grandmother. It lights red when he’s forgotten something. But in the words of poor Neville: “The only thing is, I can’t remember what it is I’ve forgotten.”

From Christmas trees, to the tip of Rudolph’s nose, this time of year our everyday lives are swarming with remembralls.

But it’s one thing to see the light, and a whole separate thing to live out the truth behind it.

Living full of light. Letting my light shine. Remembering what the light is that fills my spirit with peace, joy, and purpose. That’s what all the lights of the season should help me remember.

You know, in a way I think Santa is a kind of remembrall too. (Not just because he wears a red suit either.) The idea of Santa Clause originated with St. Nick, right? St. Nick wasn’t about getting. He wasn’t even about being generous to our families. He was about giving to the less fortunate, especially to children.

I think this is one area where our culture does a decent job of remembering. It seems like every where I turn, I’m presented with a different opportunity to adopt a child or provide a meal or send a care package or…. (In fact, sometimes I feel like I am bombarded with so many messages encouraging me to “remember the real meaning of Christmas,” that I want to throw up my hands and say, I GET IT ALREADY! Yeesh! )

Frustration aside… it’s encouraging to see that for as many opportunities there are to be greedy, there are just as many opportunities to be generous.

If we remember. More importantly, if we remember why.

“If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.” (1 Cor 13:3)

Love. Love is light behind Christmas. It’s why God sent his son. It’s why the sky went from pitch black to blazing with an angel choir. It’s what inspired an ordinary man to be anonymously generous and inspire a red-suited legacy. It’s the bond that holds friends and families together. It’s the tug in our heart that compels us to empathize with those who don’t have what we do, and to reach across that chasm to give of the abundance in our own lives.

Love. And the love-filled life that changed everything.

Let every blinking light remind you.

Haji

2009-11-22T11:32:00.001-05:00

Allow me to introduce to you Haji - Machupa's younger, very adventurous cousin.

He'll be my traveling buddy for the next couple weeks. We'll bring back lots of stories. I promise!

(Until then, allow me to wish you a very happy Thanksgiving. It's my favorite holiday. Savor the day, and fill it with love!)

Work

2009-11-16T23:22:00.000-05:00

I have something I want to share. But my brain is stuck. I take that back. My brain is working just fine. But somewhere between the whirling gears in my head and the calloused pads of my fingers (thank you violin), I have a disconnect. Does that ever happen to you? *sigh*

But I'm trying to be a more consistent blogger. It's a discipline I truly wish to nurture and pursue. So...until I get to share the thought that has been mulling around my spirit for nearly a month, I will share something else with you. Because it has to do with my state of mind right now.

A little while I came across this quote: "The artist is nothing without the gift, but the gift is nothing without the work." - Emily Zola

It was one of those quotes I immediately flagged and saved and wrote down to memorize. Because it's both encouraging and convicting. Also, because it jolted my mind back to a poem I started writing about a year ago (still unfinished).

It began with the thought: After a beautiful song has been played, it would be foolish for the piano to think it had done the work. Somewhere in the middle is this phrase: I may not always understand / But I concede the right to play. And it might end with these lines: And when the last note has been aired / Let the song point straight to you / For art is not in the instrument / But in the one who plays the tune.

The past year or so has shown me that blogging is a gift of mine. It's a gift that has given back to me as well. When I share something that has been on my mind, and the thought comes out just right, and I find out one way or another that I've encouraged someone...I don't feel as if I can take any credit. While it's my crazy thought, in some ways I'm just an instrument. Blogging is like playing violin for me. I just play (or write), and somehow...it works. It's a gift.

But like Emily Zola says here, the gift is nothing without the work. I can hit those moments, and blog those thoughts because I work at it. I need to continue to push myself: To fight through the mental apathy and write even when my 'muscles' are tired. To keep up with my inspirations before they get stale and I have to try to recapture the truth I stumbled upon. To be unafraid of sounding silly, because it's when you let go that truly magical moments happen. To put in the practice time so that I'm ready for the moments when I'm standing next to a microphone....

So this is me. Working at it. Not to force it. I don't ever want to do that. But to develop. To grow.

To give.

What's your gift? Are you willing to put in the work?

High Flight

2009-11-11T11:16:00.000-05:00

High Flight
John Gillespie Magee, Jr.

Oh, I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds — and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of — wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there,
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long, delirious burning blue
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew.
And, while with silent, lifting mind I've trod
The high untrespassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand, and touched the face of God.

I read that poem at my grandfather’s funeral. He was a pilot during WWII, and never left the world of aviation after that. His son went on to be a marine, his daughter to be a soldier, his granddaughter to be a pilot, and his grandson to be a rocket scientist. A legacy of patriotism and flight. Today, I want to remember his service and sacrifice. I also want to honor all the others who give of themselves for my sake. To my family, friends, neighbors, and countrymen who serve…thank you. Your sacrifice is not unnoticed, or unappreciated. May God bless you and your families, and may he hold you safe in his arms until you come home again.

Love like that

2009-11-10T16:13:00.000-05:00

Just a quick thought today...to make good on a Bible Study promise.

How would you explain the difference between God’s love and human love, even at it’s best?

One is physically tangible, but the other one can change the soul. And perhaps, when we manage to touch each other’s hearts, that’s when we are loving each other the way God loves us.

Greatest Sacrifice

2009-11-07T17:37:00.000-05:00

You laid down your life, the greatest sacrifice.

It’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line. Sung in the lower registry. Right before the big kick into the chorus. But when I last sang this song, it was like I hit a pothole in the road and my axel broke. There was no moving forward from this one thought.

Usually, when I think of the “greatest” sacrifice, I think of it in terms of the biggest scope. After all, Jesus’ sacrifice was sufficient for all of humankind. That’s a pretty big requirement to fill.

But as my mental car was smoking in the aftermath of the musical pothole, a thought came to me. Maybe his was the biggest sacrifice because it was the biggest risk. After all, he made his sacrifice not knowing how we would react. All his cards are out there on the table. He’s given all he can. He’s paved the way. And now the ball is in our court, and there’s no guarantee that we’ll take him up on his offer.

I have a hard time giving up things when I know there’s a benefit on the other side. (Giving up carbs or sugar or extra portions of food to lose weight. Giving up going to the movies to save a few bucks. Giving up an extra hobby to make time for my family.)

And though things rarely turn out the way we expect them to, we know what we get out of the deal when we take Jesus up on the forgiveness and wholeness thing... and usually God surpasses our expectations. So while we do “sacrifice” for him…it’s a known risk. We have a history of faith to look back on and be confident in our decision.

But he had no idea.

Remember this line from Bruce Almighty? Bruce asks, “How do you make someone fall in love with you, without messing with their free will?” and God (as the super cool Morgan Freeman) answers, “If you figure that one out, you let me know.”

To sacrifice everything, without knowing if there’s going to be a return? That’s a pretty great sacrifice.

Majesty
Here I am humbled by your Majesty
Covered by your grace so free
Here I am, knowing I'm a sinful man
Covered by the blood of the Lamb

Here I am humbled by the love that you give
Forgiven so that I can forgive
Here I stand, knowing that I'm your desire
Sanctified by glory and fire

Now I've found the greatest love of all is mine
Since you laid down your life
The greatest sacrifice

Majesty, Majesty
Your grace has found me just as I am
Empty handed, but alive in your hands
Majesty, Majesty
Forever I am changed by your love
In the presence of your Majesty

Energy

2009-11-05T18:16:00.000-05:00

I can turn almost anything into a song or a movie reference. Sometimes, songs just pop into my head when I hear a key word or phrase. For example, On my way to work one day I heard a radio commercial. The narrator started off: “What the world needs now is” ...and by this time the music has already cued and I’m finishing the phrase: “Love, sweet love.” Right? But just like comedically timed movie moment, the proverbial music screeches to a halt when she continues: “Energy.”

Ahhh….something I did not expect. So my head cocks to the side, much like a confused puppy, and I process her statement.

The more I pondered it, the more I agreed. After all, how does someone know you love them? You have to show it, right? How does someone know you respect them? By how you act and treat them. It’s in our speech, our body language, our choices. It’s in the way we prioritize our time and commitments.

Maybe what the world needs *is* energy. How would our relationships change if we were intentional about building and maintaining them? How much differently would our world look if we poured ourselves into the things we profess to care about?

And just like love, you seem to get more energy as you spend it. Have you ever spent the day sitting still? It’s likely that after all that non-energy you felt tired. Have you ever had a day when you kick in and get a bunch of things done? If you’re like me, you probably felt like you could just keep doing more.

Energy breeds energy. Love breeds love. It’s just one of those crazy things.

Now every time I hear this commercial, it's a reminder: To be proactive. To be loving. To be kind. To be kinetic ...To fill my world with energy.

Sweet! *cue music*

Lava

2009-11-04T09:07:00.006-05:00

Dried out. Stuck. Barren. These are words I would use to describe my spirit the past few months. Nothing catastrophic has happened. But I still feel as if I’ve been slowly drying out. A light reprieve here at there, but you know what I’m saying.

Then I cracked. Not in a broken pot sort of way. In a volcano sort of way. A deep kind of cracking that reaches down beneath the surface layers where life is carried out.

And maybe the stripping and drying and breaking was for a point. It was so those things that are at my core can come to the surface and reshape the landscape. (Also, I think I needed some things burned and cauterized.)

What broke through in my life? Inspiration. Identity. Purpose. Determination. Joy.

Like fire shut up in my bones.

Be prepared for the lava flow.

(Complete and utter side note: Did you know “volcano”s were named after the Vulcano island off the coast of Sicily, which was named for Vulcan, the Roman god of fire? I’m totally having a Star Trek moment. Vulcans. Perhaps because for as calm as they appear, there’s a lot going on beneath the surface.)

Drizzle

2009-10-27T15:53:00.006-04:00

Last fall, I survived a torrential deluge. This year, demands and stresses of my everyday life have been a mere trickle by comparison. The thing is: when it comes to driving on rainy roads, a light drizzle can be just as treacherous as a downpour.

It’s easy to forget that.

Remember the safety lesson from driver’s ed? When it starts to rain, all the oils that have settled into the pavement loosen and become on oily film on the road’s surface. The rain will eventually wash it away, but until it does the road can be very slippery.

I think the same thing happens on the road of life. We have oils and greases and other things that settle into the pavement of our lives. They’re just the normal gunk of everyday life. But when it starts to rain, that stuff can come to the surface and create slippery spots. If you’re not paying attention, they can catch you off guard and send you for a wild ride.

How do you deal with it? The same way you do with your car:

Have good windshield wipers and leave your lights on: Keep your vision and awareness.

Drive slowly so you are prepared for unexpected hazards: I was introduced to a quote recently, “The bad news? Time flies. The good news? I’m in the driver’s seat.” Don’t get swept away. Life intentionally and in control.

Keep your tires well maintained for the best possible traction: Yes, you have to pay attention to the road, but you have to pay attention to yourself as well. Never underestimate the power of “me” time. A quiet moment in the morning with your coffee, or in the afternoon reading your favorite blog, or even in the evening just sitting still for a few minutes might be just the thing to help you keep your traction.

If you do end up in a skid, stay calm. Steer gently into the skid and stop accelerating, allowing the car to find the road again: There’s a lot of wisdom in those instructrions. “Stop accelerating.” “Steer into the skid.” “Allow the car to find the road.” I’m patient and calm when it comes to my literal car. But I need to remember to be patient with myself. It’s ok to slow down and find the road. Otherwise, a harmless skid could turn into a horrific accident. Or, how many times do I try to steer away from the skid? The answer is not to run away but to face it head on.

Drizzle or downpour, it’s important to remember that rain is a good thing. I don’t want that stuff to be on the road forever (even if it is just everyday gunk). And while the road may become slippery for a bit, it does end up nice and clean and washed of all the built-up gunk. I just need to remember to drive safely through the rain.

This Way

2009-10-20T20:32:00.003-04:00

"The Fellowship awaits the Ring-bearer." Frodo turns and walks forward, past a veritable who’s who of Middle Earth. He’s agreed to an impossible quest, carrying an incredible weight, to protect those he loves. It’s the right thing, and the hard thing. Before him, the path winds away to either side. Trying not to break stride, Frodo whispers over his shoulder, “Mordor, Gandalf, is it left or right?” And Gandalf quietly replies, “Left.”

That’s what I picture when I read, “Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, ‘This is the way; walk in it.’” (Isaiah 30:21)

**This may not be a long post...but it's a meaningful one to me. It's also my 100th. :-) **

My Refrigerator

2009-10-19T23:28:00.007-04:00

Here's a much happier thought (just to balance the post a little earlier)...

About a year ago, I started training for my first road race: The Celtic Solstice 5-miler.

Since then: My friends and I trekked to Frederick for the Twilight 5k; I filled in for my gym buddy and survived the hills of the Baltimore 10-miler; I ran under the Chesapeake Bay with the Fort McHenry Tunnel 5k (Which was really fun with the echoes of the Police Academy cadets cheering the whole time.); and I completed the Baltimore Half-Marathon (I even have the medal to prove it!).

So the things I proudly adhere to the refrigerator have changed a bit from when I was younger. My drawings and permission forms have morphed to magnets and race numbers, but I feel just as proud when I get to add to to the collection.

And you know, out of all the numbers that are up there, I think my favorite is for the 2008 Celtic Solstice 5-Miler. After all, It was the race that started my running journey.

I never thought a year ago that I would have been able to finish a Half-Marathon. I was scared to death of the thought of 5 miles, much less 13.1. Today, I'm setting a time goal for next year's Half, and even thinking about running a full.

What a year!

Mad Libs

2009-10-12T20:19:00.002-04:00

We all have blanks in our lives. I know 20-somethings don’t own the entire market of feeling in-between or like our blanks aren’t all filled in. But let’s be honest. Post high school and pre-family/home of your own is a crazy time. I can look at the blanks in my life and think: A noun goes there. An adverb should fit over here. A place there. A color there. And I could fill in those blanks with the options I like the best. The hitch? That’s not always my job. And my choices may not make sense. He’s the author and finisher of my faith. (Heb 12:2)

When I rush things, or just try to fill in the blanks before my plot has moved that far…I’m turning my beautiful story into a mad lib. It may work. It might even make sense. But it may not be the best possible design.

No analogy is perfect. I don’t think that there’s only one perfect option for our lives. For example: the perfect job, or the right hobby, or the perfect soul mate I may hope is in my future, or whatever. That’s just way too much pressure. And really, it’s not all that practical. (Plus, I don’t think that’s what life’s about. It’s not what you do, but how you do it. Or who you love, but how you love them. Or what race you run, but how you train and finish it. Does that make sense?)

Maybe the real secret to letting him be the “author and finisher” is paying attention to the direction I’m given. That way, I’m not trying to put an adverb where there should be a noun, or a verb where there should be number. And perhaps another part is being willing to erase what I’ve penciled in, when I realize that there’s a better option for that space. (That doesn’t apply to all the blanks, but hopefully you can see where I’m going with that. If I figure out that my job isn’t the best one for me…I can change it. If I can see that I need more quiet time instead of more socializing…I can fix that. If I need to exercise more or distance myself from a poisonous relationship…I can do that.)

But filling in blanks just for the sake of filling them. That’s never a good idea. So I guess there’s a balance somewhere in there. I can’t be afraid to move forward and write my story. After all, no one else is going to write it for me. But when I know that there are blanks that need to be filled in, to keep my story from turning into a mad lib…I need to stay in touch with the author.

Floppy Hair

2009-10-09T14:36:00.003-04:00

Sometimes the strangest thoughts hit me when I’m watching musicians play. Last year, I spent an entire Elgar Concerto completely distracted by the cellist’s hair. It was glossy back, perfectly healthy…and flopping around as if he was on a Pantene commercial. At a tiny international club in New York, I was captivated by a hammer dulcimer player who couldn’t keep his feet still. He had this flamingo stomp thing going on, and it was fantastic. Just recently I watched the give and take between the members of Time for Three, and while their music was phenomenal, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the bass player and his crazy faces.

What do all of these things have in common? They remind me of the beauty of one buttock playing. If you haven’t heard this story, here’s a quick recap: There was a young pianist struggling to get through a piece. A famous player told him “The trouble is you’re a two buttock player. You need to be a one buttock player.” He told him to lean forward on one butt cheek and then play the piece again. The pianist was a little skeptical, but considering the older player’s reputation, he tried it anyway. The result? Almost if by magic, the pianist connected with the piece and the music took flight. Instead of just thinking about the music intellectually, he brought his body into it, using his posture to help unlock his passion.

To really get into music, and to really live life to the fullest, you can’t keep both cheeks on the bench. It’s not enough to understand the music intellectually. It’s not fulfilling to just go through the motions and hit the right notes. For things to take flight, you have to let go a bit. Don’t think about every note on the page. Think about the phrase. It’s about vision, and the long line, and the joy of playing. Let your hair flop about, find your flamingo leg, get off that other cheek …your music will take flight.