Strange Communications

This Christmas I received a Christmas voicemail from a complete stranger, or at least someone with an unrecognizable voice who did not identify himself. He hoped us guys were doing okay down here.

We are.

This reminds me that my uncle who works for the United States Postal Service told a story about how very recently somebody came around to various route worker stations asking if anyone had certain people on their route. Because they had been working with a very old letter sorter and found two letters stuck in there. From 1979. Imagine the bittersweet memories possible in the receipt of those letters.

Did you get barbecue on that?

(And don't try telling me I did it myself. You know I don't even LIKE barbecue.)

I got a Christmas present tonight. It made me laugh more than any Christmas present I've ever gotten.

Just for the record.

A Fear Realized

I went to the dentist tonight. I haven't been for a year and a half, but I have untouchable tooth enamel, so that was all right.

Except NOT.

I have a cavity. My first ever cavity. I am hyper-nervous now, as if my tooth may fall out at any moment. I have an appointment on January 4 to get it filled. The thought of getting a cavity filled terrifies me beyond the capacity for rational thought.

*whimper*

Please keep any dental horror stories to yourselves until this nightmare is over.

By Faith

Janessa sees the tide turning, the enemy vanquished, the battle won. She sees the power of the king at work in the land, and today she bore the news to another of his subjects, and so I bring it to you, and so it goes on, or not, as you choose.

She started me thinking about the stories in Scripture, and how many radical reversals there were, and how hopeless things appeared just before: Joseph's family starving in Canaan; Hebrews breaking their backs in a hostile land, helpless against the slaughter of their children; a widow returning to a home turned strange, accompanied only by a foreigner; the Philistines with the world's most powerful warrior on their side and the Israelites with a king cowering in a tent.

Who is it who's been telling you that things are only going to get worse? Don't you think that's what the disciples thought, watching their hope die before their eyes?

This could be the last moment before everything changes for the better.

Some People Change

Montgomery Gentry lyrics

His old man was a rebel yeller:
Bad boy to the bone.
He'd say: "Can't trust that other fella,"
He'd judge 'em by the tone of their skin.
He was raised to think like his Dad:
Narrow mind full of hate.
On the road to no-where fast,
Till the Grace of God got in the way.
Then he saw the Light an' hit his knees an' cried an' said a prayer:
Rose up a brand new man; left the old one right there.

Here's to the strong; thanks to the brave.
Don't give up hope: some people change.
Against all odds, against the grain,
Love finds a way: some people change.

She was born with her mother's habit:
You could say: "It's in her blood."
She hates that she's gotta have it:
As she fills her glass up.
An she'd love to kill that bottle,
But all she can think about,
Is a, a better life, a second chance,
An' everyone she's letting down.
She throws that bottle down.

Here's to the strong; thanks to the brave.
Don't give up hope: some people change.
Against all odds, against the grain,
Love finds a way: some people change.

Thank God for those who make it:
Let them be the Light.
(Let them be the light)
(Some people change.)
Here's to the strong; thanks to the brave.
Don't give up hope: some people change.
Against all odds, against the grain,
Love finds a way: some people change.
Some people change.
(Some people change)

Look! Up in the sky!

A weather service warning scrolling across the bottom of my TV screen alerted me that the Northern Lights had been spotted over West Michigan. The best place to view them from, I was informed, was from somewhere dark. Undaunted by the fact that I lived in an apartment complex, I raced downstairs to the parking lot. This was not an entirely bad notion, in that a) at least I was outside and b) the parking lot light is often burned out, in which case the parking lot feels very, very dark.

I exited through the front door and was looking up at the sky before I reached the sidewalk to the parking lot. There were no Northern Lights visible, and, perhaps in related news, the light in the parking lot was quite bright.

So I didn't get to fulfill my dream of seeing the Northern Lights. But I did see, out of the corner of my eye as I was gazing up earnestly, that the man out walking his two dogs across the way had started looking up, too.

That, along with the three constellations I recognized instantly, made my evening.

Church by any other name

Tonight I went to a two-hour long discussion on what kind of church building we might build/buy, and how we might work out logistics until we have such a building, and by the time I left the meeting I was in tears.

I don't think this is all church is. Is it? A building? Is church two Sunday services (different sermons, for the love of the Book of Church Order!), a half-hearted Sunday School class or two, a Wednesday night Bible study where all of the factual questions are answered "correctly" and all of the subjective "what does this mean for you" questions are met with reticence? This is how I've lived for so long, and really in some ways it's how I’m comfortable.

So why did I leave crying?

Because of the part of me that desperately longs for more out of church than attendance. Because of the part of me that fears more. Because I feel that the kind of church I've been living recently makes my worst nightmares possible.

Because I don't want a building, I want a family.

Defeating Lies

Today I finished reading a book called Waking the Dead, by John Eldredge. (See my reading journal for more on this book.) This afternoon at lunch I read a chapter on spiritual warfare. Eldredge doesn't state that Satan has unlimited power over believers, but points out that we grant him power when we agree to his lies, lies that can come from the outside or rise seemingly from within ourselves.

You're so stupid.

You're always like this.

You can never change; you'll always be this way.

You don't love God enough.

You aren't a good Christian.

You don't witness like you should.

You aren't who you should be.

Everybody is disappointed in you. Everybody wants you to be [fill in the blank], and you're not.

Nobody really cares about you.

Everybody's busy looking out for themselves. If you want anything to happen in your life, you have to do it yourself. The dwarves are for the dwarves.

You had your chance, and you blew it.

It's staggering to realize the quantity of things like this I've told myself over the years. But what if I wasn't the one telling myself? What if I am agreeing with an enemy? What if the people who have told me some of these things were unconsciously repeating lies that have invaded their own hearts? Aren't we free to disagree with the lies? And what if we agreed with a new voice?

You are honored.

You are precious, and I love you.

You belong to me.

Your heart has been cleansed.

You shine with the glory of God.

I have equipped you with everything you need to live; not just to survive, but to live.

You are free indeed.

Last Sunday, my pastor spoke of joy and obedience. "I think Reformed Christianity," he said, "has a problem with talking about" (and I knew where he was going with it) "obedience."

Wait...really? I was expecting "joy" to be that last word. In my experience, the point at which my Reformed Christianity has most been attacked is on this level of joy and obedience, and it's usually joy that gets pushed aside. If you're like me, talking about obedience has often been just another way of talking about failure.

"If you were everything you should be, which you're not and never can be, you could have joy. But since you're worthless, what you have is a sludging through this measly life hoping that God takes you out of it quickly, because joy is only available to perfect obedience, and thus only available in heaven."

That's what I've heard, from one source or another. I'm done with that.

Tomorrow is new. And so is the next hour--even the next second. I want to stand for truth, not fall to lies. I want to live. And since the Lord of all things defeated death on my behalf, that's just what I can do.

Who's with me?

Marooooned! (Almost.)

I just got inside from being stuck in the snow. In my parking lot. My car went over the edge of the parking lot (there is only dirt on the other side of the paved area, and the dirt is lower than the asphalt), and when I put it into reverse there was only a recalcitrant whirring noise as my tires tried and failed to grab traction.

As an obvious first resort, I called my family members, who are between 2 and 9 hours away. No answer. I seriously considered calling one of my two closest male neighbors (well, the two closest ones I know) to see if somebody could come saaaaave me, but I decided I wouldn't do that until I had exhausted all of my other ideas. For instance, I realize now I've heard that you can put your floormats under tires for traction purposes. I didn't have to use that idea, but I'm putting it out there so you can see the gears are working.

Using my ice scraper, I cleared the area behind my front tires. Success!

Also, what better place could there possibly be to get stuck than outside of your own house?

Practically Perfect Weekend

Over the past three days, I have done everything I didn't want to do. Which means, of course, that I actually did want to do it, I know, but what I mean is that when I would think about doing something and then think immediately about putting it off, I just did it.

I got So Much Done.

On Friday night, I went to Tim and Lisa's and spent the evening with the two of them and Brittany. Hilarity ensued. Then on Saturday, I had absolutely no appointments on my calendar. I did everything on my list of things to do for Saturday, plus two more things that had been on my list of "Things to Do Soon." My apartment hasn't looked this good since before I had friends in this town.

One more day of the weekend to go, and I'm sure today will be as good as the others. Happy Sunday, everyone!

My First Proposal

This weekend I had my first to-my-face proposal of marriage. From a 15-year-old boy. (Later, he clarified, "You know I was just kidding, right?" But I had picked up on that before the clarification.) Anyway, it was funny, so here it is:


Andrew: "Suzanne, will you marry me?"

Me: [after an abrupt, hysterical laugh] "No, but thank you for being so direct."

Jeremiah: "Not even if you were the last man on earth."

Andrew: "I've always wanted to be the last man on earth, just to test that out...."

How true that is....

In Peter Pan, J.M. Barrie says that children are carefree, and innocent, and heartless. Meanwhile, the adults love the children, despite all that the children are doing to hurt them without caring, without even considering.

Sir James sure knew his stuff.

Maybe from now on I should stick to the jukebox in my head....

This weekend I was talking to my grandmother about computer savviness, and she said that what confuses her now is all the iPod stuff.

In similar news, I am about to swear off downloading any more songs ever because I have been having inordinate difficulties with my downloading software. Grrr.

Insert long, complicated, detailed version of events here. Also, you might as well imagine a satisfying smashing sound. I am.

Halloween Party

I wish I had a Halloween party to go to. Just because today I have my own version of Trill spots. And how would that not be cool to show around?

Hm...I wonder if my spots would run if I go to the gym before I wash my face/neck....

UPDATE

The spots did not run at the gym. However, when someone I know looked through the window and saw me, she thought I had blood running down my face. Which is probably more from the out-of-context factor then from my less-then-Westmore skills.

"No stealing!"

Sometimes fanfiction writers put disclaimers on their stories, as if that would protect them if extremely well-paid lawyers were sent after them.

Frequently, such disclaimers say things like: "The Harry Potter characters don't belong to me. Which is a shame, because then I'd be rich. And I'd really like to have Draco Malfoy, if you know what I mean." I try not to read fanfiction disclaimers anymore because they are usually this idiotic.

A common disclaimer on a fic that contains an original character goes something like this: "Clark doesn't belong to me (boo-hoo), but Jenna does! So no stealing!"

Okay.

First of all, little hyperactive fic writer, stop writing fanfiction just because you think so-and-so is a hottie. Or at least stop broadcasting it. Not even your mom cares.

Secondly, nobody wants to steal "Jenna," who is clearly a Mary Sue character, by which is meant a character that is clearly the author, except an extraordinarily idealized version of the author that exists only in her imagination.

Finally, hello, are you serious? You are writing fanfiction. And if you don't get what I mean by that, you're probably part of the problem.

The lost roots of blessing

I am beginning to feel that "blessing," like "awesome," is a word that has lost its power.

It is not uncommon for me to hear people talking about "looking for ways to bless each other," or asserting that "so-and-so is such a blessing to me." While it is true that the word "bless" carries the meaning of any sort of bestowal of good, in the Scriptural context it is a word most frequently used by and of God. When I went to Bible Gateway and looked up the phrase "bless each other," I found a grand total of zero references. The word most commonly associated with "each other," by the way, seemed to be "love."

People have asked me how they can bless me, and I have never really known how to answer. It's like having someone ask you how to love you. You love someone or you don't. You bless someone or you don't. There is no middle ground. But blessing, like love, is a nicely nebulous concept today, and it is made more so by churchifying the word—ingraining the word so deeply into common church-goer parlance that it cannot be defined.

But then, we don't need dictionary definitions of these words. We know how to love people. We know how to bless people. We know by the means Jesus laid out in all their painful simplicity: "Treat others the same way you want them to treat you" (Luke 6:31).

We love because we are loved first. We bless because we have been blessed. We are not the source of love or the source of blessing, both of which originate with an awesome God. Neither can we rob true love, blessing, or awesomeness of their power, no matter how flippantly we use the words meant to signify them. Still, shouldn't the words carry a reflection of that power?

We are far removed from the Hebrew scribes, who had special rituals that accompanied the writing of the name of God. Is all of that removal to the good?

Tonight's quote

"Guess what? You can put Gambit and Rogue on the same team, and then you can have Scott and Jean on the same team, and they can be boyfriend and girlfriend."

I responded with "What??" but what I meant was "I love you."

Who am I, anyway?

Firstly, everyone reading this should follow the above link, take the quiz, and report back to me with their answers. Go on. This post can wait. Please. Do it for your king.

Secondly, sorry about the awkward HTML. And now for the post.

I love online quizzes. I cannot emphasize that enough. Today my coworker found a "Which Star Wars Character Are You" quiz that spans the whole saga.

My first serious try was a tie...

Your results:
You are Luke Skywalker

Luke Skywalker 73% Princess Leia 73% Yoda 69% Padme 68% Obi-Wan Kenobi 66% Han Solo 65% R2-D2 61% An Ewok 58% C-3PO 54% Anakin Skywalker 51%

You value your friends and loved ones, but can sometimes act recklessly because of your emotions. Occasionally you resort to whining. You look ahead to great things for yourself.

(This list displays the top 10 results out of a possible 21 characters)


Click here to take the "Which Star Wars character are you?" quiz...


...with my second, actually.

Your results:
You are Princess Leia

Princess Leia 75% Yoda 74% Padme 74% Luke Skywalker 72% Obi-Wan Kenobi 67% Han Solo 64% R2-D2 63% An Ewok 60% C-3PO 53% Anakin Skywalker 52%

You are an excellent friend and an unselfish person, yet you like to spend a lot of time on your hair and fashion. You spend most of your time with guys that are too cocky, too hairy, or too related.

And then my coworker asked me to throw the quiz so I got the following, which she feels also applies to me.

Your results:
You are An Ewok

An Ewok 78% R2-D2 73% Yoda 72% Chewbacca 67% Luke Skywalker 66% Han Solo 63% Qui-Gon Jinn 62% Obi-Wan Kenobi 61% Princess Leia 55% Jar Jar Binks 55%

You're a hard worker, cute, and view all your close friends as your own personal tribe. Yub yub!

(This list displays the top 10 results out of a possible 21 characters)


Click here to take the Star Wars Personality Test


Any other great sites I should try out?

From Yahoo News: "Scientists Create Cloak of Partial Invisibility"

"Sightings of translucent men in lab coats reported."

Of course I'm just kidding. Apparently, the invisibility effect works only for "creatures or machines that see only in microwave light." (That quote is for real. Go ahead, click on the link and see for yourselves.)

That is a big draw for me. I don't want whatever is in my microwave able to see me. If somebody put me in a microwave, I'm pretty sure I would want revenge. And what if the combination of microwave radiation, centrifugal force, and just the right secret sauce set off a chain reaction that gave whatever was in the microwave the power to project an image of the oppressor to someone--or someTHING--who/that could avenge it?

I don't know about anybody else, but I do not want to take that chance.

Weird Al has a new song called "White and Nerdy."

Legal music downloading software was made for times like these.

"Love won't save you" ~ Anakin Skywalker

Revenge of the Sith is one of the saddest movies I have ever seen. It is also one of the most gripping. Even with the mediocre acting, sometimes awkward scripting, and overly flashy special effects sequences, the thematic material emerges strongly. I hate that I won’t have time to watch A New Hope for several days.

Over and over, in story after story, we see the darkness, in one form or another. Sauron. Emperor Palpatine. Lord Voldemort. They show no mercy or compassion, even to those who are on their side. They serve themselves, and will cut down their allies on a whim.

Over and over, in story after story, we see the side of the light, in one form or another. Gandalf. Luke Skywalker. Professor Dumbledore. They go to war when forced, and take no joy in it. They believe, in the face of any and all evidence, that their opponents can change, that enemies can become friends.

Where do the two archetypes come from? Why do they keep coming?

I am story-oriented by nature. All of life reminds me of a story, and every story reminds me of life. Sitting in the hopelessness of Episode III reminds me that I know the end of this saga. The darkness seems unbeatable, but it will be beaten.

Or, as the author of the Revenge of the Sith novelization puts it:

"The dark is generous, and it is patient, and it always wins—but in the heart of its strength lies weakness: one lone candle is enough to hold it back.

"Love is more than a candle.

"Love can ignite the stars."

Correction:

There were only 16 kids in my class last week. The kid who had counted everybody on Wednesday said, "There are 14 boys, and 3 girls...I mean...." and it turned out he was counting my co-teacher as a boy but not counting me as anything. I love kids.

10,000 Maniacs

That, my friends, is what it felt like last night as I taught my first group of 5th & 6th graders at church.

"But what are the consequences if I break a rule? I need consequences!" -- Jacob

Then I made a semantic error in asking a room of kids what they want to get out of the class, and got some of the following responses:

• Money
• Candy
• Soon (as in "I want to get out of this class soon")

The class had 17 kids. Only three were girls. I didn't know that until last night. I love boys. I do. They are a lot of fun, and they have great energy. I know that their comments on getting out of class soon are bravado, make-my-friends laugh comments, and I knew it even before I said, "Well, if so many of you really don't like this class..." and at least half of them were quick to respond to the contrary. (There is nothing quite like an expression of total concern on the face of a 10-year-old.) But MAN, it's a challenge to get them to focus. At least the 21st century American version. They talked over each other for almost the entire time. Part of the problem is that a lot of times I want to join in on their conversations, so it's partly a problem of getting the 21st century American me to focus.

My poor assistant made his Harvest Time assisting debut last night. Afterwards, when I asked him what he thought, he said, "I don't know what to think...I think I'm glad I'm not the one trying to teach them."

Now I know the challenges in store. And knowing (I've heard) is half the battle. Onward!

Not that this has happened to me, but...

...did you ever try to communicate on the internet, only to run into the question if true communication is ever possible on the internet, leaving you to wonder if it is a flaw in the medium or you are completely incapable of true communication, possibly in any form?

Yeah, like I said, me neither.

Seriously, I know that I am a highly dramatic personality with a tendency to overstate things, even to myself. But, also seriously, I have been rocked over the past year by challenges to my perceived stellar communicating skills. Turns out many people don't actually hear me, by which I mean they don't seem to understand me.

Then again, listening is as much of an art form as communication. In the past year, I have also encountered individuals who seem to be able to read my mind.

Semi-conclusion: The internet is not necessarily a good place to discuss deep issues with people you don't know, unless you have developed a relationship with them so that in essence you do know them, or at least you know their internet communication style. Such relationships are not to be found upon every mouse click.

It's entirely possible that I have been spoiled by my awesome relationships with most anyone I've ever lived with, such that we can talk to each other and each know where the other is coming from without a lot of false starts or erroneous assumptions on either side. Hm. Why might that be?

"Because you lived with each other for years. Also, a strong common history, especially a positive one, tends to have a diminishing effect on disagreements."

Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me.

I guess I'll cut the rest of the world some slack, remember that the next mind-reading kindred spirit could come along when I'm least expecting it, and know that even people who can't read my mind can still love me.

"I'm sixteen years old! I'm not a child anymore!"

Yesterday I bought The Little Mermaid on DVD, partly to streamline my VHS collection. I find that I am loath to part with the VHS. I remember getting it. It's the first movie I remember receiving. It would have been—let's see—if the movie was released in 1989, I probably received the video as an 11th birthday present. I remember (from pictures) the presence of Grandma and Grandpa Crowe, Aunt Irene and Uncle Raymond, and Susan. I remember getting a wallet from Grandma and Grandpa Crowe that was blue and had my name stamped on it. I used that wallet for years (until they saw I still had it, semi-flipped out that I was in college but still using a wallet that I had when I was 11, and gave me a new one). I remember a dirt cake in a clay pot. It was my first ever dirt cake. I don't know that I've ever had dirt cake again, actually, but the memory lingers sweetly, far more sweetly than anything named after dirt has a right to linger.

The Little Mermaid was one of my first favorite movies. (The Neverending Story was on that early list, too. This means that two of my favorite movies had a character named Sebastian. I didn't realize that until tonight.) At the time I first saw it, I remember taking Ariel's righteous cry very seriously. Of course she was ready to be on her own. Of course she was old enough to get married. She was sixteen years old! She wasn't a child anymore! Sixteen was very old to me in 1989. It represented everything television and the movies told me it represented. Of course, when I actually turned sixteen myself, I found myself not dating, not fond of driving, and not all that reluctant to accept that my parents knew what was best for me.

In the carefree childhood days of 1989, it was still okay to want to be part of another world. Love at first sight was a given. Marrying a prince you had practically just met was not to be wondered at. Leaving everyone and everything you knew behind...well, that was scary then, too.

In 1991, I would experience a paradigm shift, although at the time I didn't know what "paradigm shift" meant. My favorite animated Disney movie would become my second-favorite animated Disney movie. But for two years, I was Ariel. And, in the sense that every character I have ever loved has become part of my identity, part of me is Ariel still.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to use my dinglehopper and go to bed.

Landunn

Hello. My name is Landunn. I am the second cousin of the person writing this blog. I don’t know why I’m getting so much attention if there’s already a first around somewhere.


Last Saturday, a bunch of people came to my house. I heard they were my relatives. I’m not sure what to think about that.

Being passed around a lot is tiring. People keep saying that Christmas, whatever that is, will be interesting this year. I’m not sure what they mean, but I have a feeling I should get some rest while I can.

Favorite Person of the Day: Micah

Why? Well, if I may steal a Lana-esque way of phrasing things:

Smallville.

Season premiere.

Pancakes.

Smallville is awesome. I love superhero shows, even shows with ridiculous continuity leaps like Jimmy Olsen being about the same age as Clark Kent. It helps when Jimmy Olsen is played by Iceman, who is just one of those all-around likeable types.

And this was the first time I've ever gotten to see a first-run Smallville season premiere on premiere night. I've usually had to wait several weeks. I've been advance-geeking-out about this for weeks, and now I'm post-geeking-out.

So thanks, Micah.

Most Horrifying Thing I've Ever Seen in a K&B Toy Store

Desperate Housewives: The Dirty Laundry Game

Thoughts on tutoring for ESL

I signed up for ESL tutoring for several reasons:

• I speak English
• I majored in communicating
• I thought, "Here is a service I can perform with my gifts"
• I have often feared both commitment and failure, and signing up for five months of ESL tutoring was signing up for ample helpings of both

That last one is really on the list. But I didn't realize it until after I signed up.

Pulling back into observer status, I find myself paranoid that I will (get this) single-handedly screw up this child forever. FOREVER! Me! Ohhhh, the power I wield!

Ha.... I am such a nerd....

As my dad says, this will be a good experience no matter what happens. I hereby choose to define this ESL "experiment" as a success--for me and for Hassan. He is 8 years old, and so he is still in the prime years for language acquisition. He'll pick English skills up quickly, and I will be there to help him when he needs to figure things out. It'll be a learning experience for both of us, in various ways.

*deep breath*

Okay. I'm ready to learn.

Random Acts of Acceptance

The link Brittany provided in the last comment section led me to a page in which a young man said that offering kindness took guts, and so he appreciated it when people (girls, particularly) responded with "thank you" instead of "no, I'm fine."

I was thinking about that today when I was at the home of the Somali refugees my church is helping. The mother doesn't speak English, but when I was standing in her living room she pulled out a chair for me. I resisted my initial impulse to offer the chair to her instead, said "Thank you," and sat down.

I was also thinking about offering and accepting kindness tonight when the man in front of me at the grocery store offered me his place in line. I said, "No, thanks, I'm okay standing in line," and I had to say it more than once. I don't think he was a native English speaker.

I was thinking of the latter incident on the way home when I decided to make a carpooling offer after all, even though I would rather drive solo to my destination tonight.

Thanks for the link, Brittany. It has made me think. :)

Chivalry

[More about ESL in another post or so, Jessie. I haven’t forgotten you.]

A lively discussion on chivalry broke out in the comment section of a recent blog post that my friend Brittany wrote. (I comment as Prin there, for the record, for reasons I choose not to reveal.) Someone had told her that chivalry was dead, and that any action interpreted as chivalry should really be interpreted as "that boy wants to date me."

Whether or not the person who made that comment really meant it seriously, it bothered me a lot. I only just realized why today.

Today's Revelation

I don't know what the word "chivalry" means to everyone. To me, it means looking out for the interests of others. I refuse to believe that the only reason someone of the opposite sex would look out for my interests is because he wants to date me. To me, that makes kindness a means to an end--"if I am gracious, generous, and civil to this person, I can get what I want from her." How horrifyingly demeaning.

I choose to believe that people of both sexes can be honestly concerned about others in such a way that they would potentially inconvenience themselves by taking action for other people.

Bear in mind that this is a reaction to a perceived use of the word "chivalry," not to anyone's stated personal definition of the word. Really, I dislike the word. It seems like a bumper-sticker version of an important concept. And like the word "romance," which is another word I have problems with, it seems to have acquired a thick layer of chicanery (a word with which I am still okay).

*shiver of excitement/fear*

Why the shiver, you ask?

I had ESL tutor training tonight. I'm going to be tutoring someone who just came from a refugee camp in Somalia. I've committed to this for the next 6 months. I don't know when my schedule will be. I don't know when I'll be doing the other things I have in my life, because I don't know what my schedule will be. I am wondering if my stated availability is actually untrue, based on other commitments I have made. My time is not my own. Which is a good reminder.

The training itself was exciting. I'm most excited about the most scary things: learning to plan lessons, to speak simply, to think on my feet, to interact with people from a very different culture. I'm afraid of failing--failing the child I will probably be working with, failing his family, failing the organization, failing life. Because that's what this is, now. Life. It isn't school anymore. There are no more top grades to be handed out. But there are no more failing grades, either.

I wonder what my life will look like in six months? I have this strange feeling that it could be much different than I expect right now.

Exciting, in a scary way.

I'm a second cousin!

Who -- Landunn Walter Tagert (son of my cousin Heidi and her husband Nate)
When -- 9:09 p.m. this evening
What the stats are -- about 20 1/2 inches, and about 8 pounds and 1 oz. (surprisingly small considering his dad is more like 6'7" and proportionately large)
Why women care about these details -- I don't know

I don't call babies miracles, because they're produced by natural processes. But then, so is a really good sunset, or a beautiful starry night, or the laughter of a friend. We have a God that does the amazing EVERY DAY! So a new baby may be natural, but not one is common.

Here's to Landunn, who had at least two nicknames waiting for him before he was even born. He's the firstborn of the next generation in my family! I've never met him, but I love him already.

*claps hands excitedly*

Yay!

Tonight...

...I saw a kid I hadn't seen in years. He's not really a kid now. Actually, he's only a year or two younger than I am. But I knew him at college, when I was a few class years ahead of him, so "kid" was the first word that came to mind. I was his Spanish conversation group leader, and he was the slacker kid who didn't do his homework—as he himself was saying tonight. I had started to re-introduce myself, since we hadn't seen each other in at least five years, but he remembered me. He said he remembered one specific session in which I reacted to him with one of my sigh-and-shake-of-the-head-in-semi-despair moves (soon-to-be-patented).

...I met a friend's roommate, and she said she'd heard me spoken of very highly. We talked for a while and I saw why my friend had spoken of her so highly.

...I talked to a budding acquaintance. We exchanged a lot of amused looks and appreciative comments.

Something about being remembered, being praised, and being enjoyed makes me feel I can live up to everything involved in being a person who is treated this way.

...I am filled to overflowing.

Denver Adventures

The Airports

The TSA came through for me once again with a sign warning me that the "Bandara Ngurah Rai International Airport in Denpasar, Bali, Indonesia does not maintain and administer effective aviation security measures."

I have to make a conscious effort to shut my brain off in an airport and on an airplane so that I don't think about the sheer volume of people before me who have used the same chairs, touched the same surfaces, and walked the same ground, with who knows what on their shoes. Another huge thing I don't want to think about: public restrooms. Possibly it wasn't a great idea to bring a Monk novel on this trip. But it was good to have a book to while away the extra hours I spent in the airport on the first day due to mechanical problems with the planes.

I was talking on the phone to Dad and wondering aloud why you could bring 4 oz. of contact lens solution in an opaque container onto the plane, but not 4 oz. of water in a clear container. Dad's response: "That's so you and your ten friends onboard can't flood the airplane."

The Cows

Kerri and I went to downtown Denver on Saturday and walked around. Here we are waiting for the light rail to take us downtown:



We saw many cows from the Cow Parade. Some of my favorites:

This one is called "It's Your Moove." I'm sure cows never get tired of that joke.

This cow was outside Barnes & Noble.

The Hikes

We went on a few easy hikes. I got to read Harry Potter books out loud on the way out and back. Ah, the joy of fellowship with a kindred spirit! ("Nymphadohhhra....")

Here we are at Alberta Falls:

(I got Kerri taking pictures of her feet by the end of this trip. The tradition lives on.)

And here is an acquaintance we met at Bear Lake:

We also spent time at Kerri's house, watching movies and being panted at and entertained by her golden retriever, Chester. He's a Red Wings fan, like Kerri is.

I thought this would seem like a nice long trip, but it turns out Kerri and I don't get sick of each other's company that quickly. Which is cool. The hiking was fun, and the movies were fun, but they were all better because I shared them with such an awesome friend. So here's to you, Kerri! Thanks for a great trip!

Denver in Digital: Random Pictures

The Denver baggage claim area features these Borg regeneration cubicle things. It is possible that much of their airline staff is really composed of partly or fully mechanical beings who regenerate during slow hours. Colorado residents such as my friend Kerri pose an alternate theory--the "they're for golf bags and skis" theory. When I told her I'd never seen such a thing before, she countered by saying most airports probably don't have as much of a need for them. Sounds about right.

That would be Combos.

I like taking pictures of signs. Especially signs that remind me of people. I think my friend Brittany needs the sign above.

Brittany's younger brother needs to be told not to vandalize trees in a national park. Even if they are short-lived aspens. It is still not cool.

"Huh"?

There were several signs referring to buffalo, as well as a few buffalo statues. When I took this picture, I didn't expect the bonus--the most prominent lettering on the T-shirt hanging in the window says "Dad." Awww! How appropriate!

For last year's Arizona trip companions.

Later: more on Denver. Now: sleep.

Just a few more weary days and then...

Actually, I'm flying away Friday morning. So...less than a few days.

Flying in these troubled times is at first nerve-wracking, then rather hilarious. Because, seriously, even if my life were governed by statistics, which it isn't, there is still probably a greater statistical probability of me accidentally slicing a major artery with a box cutter on the job than of my plane being hijacked by terrorists. Boy, will this be an uncomfortable post to read if my plane IS hijacked by terrorists. If that happens, I would ask two things: one, try to see the funny side of this; and two, please take care of this bear...I mean, bird. Who will, speaking of flying, be getting his wings clipped so he doesn't kamikaze-attack his new sitter, not that this would be likely to happen. (She reads this blog.)

But enough about his flying (which won't happen). Back to mine.

The trauma and the hilarity of flying are one, and for "one" you could very well insert "baggage," except that wouldn't hold up well grammatically. Let's review my Big Baggage Fears of Labor Day Weekend 2006: 1) No water; 2) no chapstick; 3) no recourse if the TSA decides mobile phones really aren't allowed and that they'd rather throw mine in the trash. A quick review of some pertinent websites reveals that some people have bigger problems than I do! For instance, Northwest Airlines warns their passengers that they can "expect to be asked to remove all shoes at security checkpoints." ALL shoes, folks. Not both, but ALL. While you're thinking about that one, how about my favorite on the TSA's list of prohibited items: Spear Gun. Yes, fellow citizens, while I'm worried about my lips drying out and cracking, some Captain Ahab wanna-be is going to have to check his dream at the gate.

It was good to see this sign that the TSA was thinking of me when they created their website: "We also ask that you follow the guidelines above and try not to over-think these guidelines. "

Awww.

They don't call him Big Brother for nothing.

Are you pondering what I'm pondering?

Another Yahoo! News gem: "Spain prepares for tomato-throwing festival." That crazy Spain!

Currently pondering: A way to say "That's none of your business" without saying "That's none of your business," or at least without sounding catty. Also, how to sew a button on a fried egg [in joke].

Did you ever notice that lots of strangers read your blog? (Sorry, Lisa.) Apparently, somebody in Greece visited my reading journal recently. Of course, it could all be an elaborate ruse, and all this traffic from other states and countries could turn out to be one or both of my computer genius friends trying to hide their IP addresses.

Just in case....

To anybody out there who wouldn't recognize me if I stood five feet away and stared at you intently: Hi. I hope I helped ease your ennui for just a moment. Have a nice night.

As you go on your way, perhaps never to visit again, I would like to leave you with this one thought: maybe that person staring at you in a creepy/fascinating manner really is me. Introduce yourself next time and find out.

Love, luck, and lollipops,
Shopgirl

By popular demand...

...of Abby, that is, here is the next installment of Build-Your-Own-Celebrity.

Abigail "insert today's nickname here" Tjapkes was born the third son of the Tjapkes family. At least, so her two older brothers tried to make her believe. As part of her male indoctrination, they tried to cause brain injuries through activities like hockey and sledding. They wouldn't let poor Abby join in any raind--girl-like games. Thus, she grew up without such things as Jump Five, glitter, and large amounts of pink. They are things she does not regret.

I got to know "Abby," as I call her, when she was props mistress for a little show I like to call The Importance of Being Earnest (abridged school-gym version). She also cameoed as the cocktail waitress--unless I mean the character who brings out the tea. We have since worked together in a larger-scale production known as Tim-and-Lisa's wedding.

Abby enjoys watching sports (notably hockey), playing sports (notably ultimate frisbee), and dreaming about sports (notably Michigan players). She is also a fan of the superhero and fantasy genres, with Batman and The Lord of the Rings ranking as favorites.

Abby is tragically afflicted with Celiac disease, a disease which not only makes it impossible for her to be exposed to any gluten product without nasty stomach-wrenching, head-aching consequences, but also makes her predisposed to turning into a seal (under the right conditions, obviously). It is in her alternative guise as a seal that she does most of her own crime-battling work, a work made difficult by the fact that she lives in the suburbs and not near any large bodies of water.

And now for some fanfiction:


It had been a long, hard day for Abby Tjapkes. People who had once called themselves her friends had chased her for hours with a bag of bread crumbs, a flour sifter, and a Jump Five CD.

"If only people would understand," she mused morosely. She cast an angst-ridden gaze out of the window.

Then, she felt it. A crumb. Under her sock. In her left shoe.

"NOOOOOOOoooooooooooooo!!!" she cried. "Not again! Not so soon! Curse you, Pink Baroness!"

A figure clad in sparkly pink leaped from the shadows. It was indeed the Pink Baroness--Abby's arch-enemy; the only enemy who knew her secret identity; and, incidentally, her younger roommate.

"AHH-hahahaHA!" laughed the Pink Baroness. "Not as dumb as you look, are you? But how did you figure it out this time?"

"As if I would tell you," said Abby, the image of the Jump Five CD lingering in her mind.

"Well, drat," said the Pink Baroness.

There was only one thing to do. Well, only two things.

"Look!" said Abby, pointing at a mirror behind the Pink Baroness. "Your hair is out of place!"

"It is NOT!" said the Pink Baroness, but she turned anxiously to the mirror anyway.

Quickly, Abby whistled the secret code, and her sidekick came running.

"Eggplant!" she said. "You know what to do!"

Her sidekick looked at her in confusion, then realized that "Eggplant" must just be the latest random name she had. It was new every few days.

The small blond girl ran to a nearby shelf and pulled out a teaspoonful of salt, which she stirred into a handy glass of water.

"Faster, Eggplant, faster!"

"It's ready!" said Eggplant.

"Do it now, while the Pink Baroness is stuck admiring her own reflection!"

Eggplant tossed the glass of salt water at Abby, and the transformation began--the transformation that so often occurred after gluten exposure--the transformation that had necessitated Abby employ a sidekick to answer phone calls and emails with "sorry, but my stomach/head/kneecap is hurting too much" excuses--the transformation into...SEALYAQ!

Sealyaq, who was constantly being harrassed by people saying her name was too difficult to pronounce, leapt into action, flopping across the floor just as the Pink Baroness turned.

"Selly...sealyy.... Ack!" cried the Pink Baroness. "Why must your name be so confoundedly difficult to pronounce??"

Sealyaq reared up on her back flippers. Eggplant tossed a ball. Sealyaq caught the ball on her nose. She waved a front flipper at the Pink Baroness.

"You...you...." The Pink Baroness sighed. "Awww, man...you know I can't hurt anything cute. I'm going to the mall."

She stormed out of the room, turning only to shout, "And if all my fish are gone again when I come home, I'll know why!"

The door slammed. Eggplant gave Sealyaq a high five on the flipper.

The world was safe once again.

Spidey Wisdom

"Some days I almost wish the world would go away, so I wouldn't have to worry about things. But if it did--if everything that bothered me vanished--then all the good things would vanish too."

Build Your Own Celebrity

First off, I have to draw your attention to this Yahoo! News item: "Giant invasive oysters found in S.F. Bay." I didn't put a link because I didn't actually read the article. There was no way it could live up to that title.

But the main reason for this post is that my friend Beth wrote a great post on the nature of celebrity. (Beth was once a celebrity herself, to me, anyway, until she got promoted to "super-cool-and-talented friend," or "friend" for short.) As I thought about what celebrity means to me, the first two things that came to mind that set celebrities in general apart from the rest of us are: image saturation, or seeing pictures of the celebrity anywhere and everywhere, doing anything and everything; and fan websites.

Now, I can't promise to follow any one of you around taking random pictures of you. You should be grateful for this, because I have not mastered the art of taking candid shots in which the subject's eyes are 1) open and 2) not red.

I have not made a website on my own since Theatre History class, which was something like aeons ago in computer years. So that's not really going to work, either.

Fan blog posts, however, are an option. For the subject of my first fan blog post, I will use Beth Dekker, because she inspired the whole thing.

Beth Dekker was born Name-Which-Must-Not-Be-Used-Never-Mind, in a small town west of Calcutta. She is trained in absurdist theatre and the finer points of making gallons of salsa at one time. Her hair does this fun wavy thing, and she also has beautiful eyes. My first real recollection of interacting with Beth in a meaningful way was in a Playwriting class. Later on, I would take part in a Bible study to which Beth invited me. I remember meeting at her apartment, and I would marvel at the number of herbs and tomato plants growing on her balcony. (Notice my self-validation through talk of personal experience with this celebrity.)

And now for some fanfiction:

Beth Dekker strode into the empty theatre and stopped abruptly. She squinted to stare at the empty stage. It wasn't empty enough. She tilted her head to listen to the silence in the theatre. It wasn't silent enough. 'We can do better than this,' she implied with a subtle lift of an eyebrow. As she turned to leave, she ran into a familiar-looking man.

"Mark Rylance!" she gasped. "My hero!"

"I'm no hero," said Mark Rylance humbly. "I'm just an out-of-work actor."

"Out of work?" Beth asked incredulously.

"Since my last show wrapped, yes," Mark Rylance replied.

"When was that?"

"Last night."

Beth stared speechlessly.

"I heard you'd be here," said Mark Rylance. "I was hoping...."

Beth waited.

"Well, you see...I've always wanted to play Man in Beckett's 'Play,' but I've never heard of a director I trusted to bring it off."

Pause.

"Until today."

Beth gaped.

Mark Rylance waited.

A silence louder than any crowd rushed over the theatre.

'This is better,' Beth said (but only with a twitch of the lips that was almost a smile).

Mark Rylance nodded.

They raised their eyes to the stage.

It was empty.

Empty.

Of all but hope.

SCENE

Dream Log

I don't know if this is true of most people, but my dreams/memories often play out like home movies. That is, I know it is me in them, but I usually see myself from the outside instead of seeing the event through my eyes. I also tend to have extremely vivid dreams in emotionally tense times. (This morning I took a close friend to the airport because she is moving back to California after nine years in Michigan.)

The other night, I dreamed I was Elizabeth in Pirates of the Caribbean. (In my view-from-the-outside moments, I was Kiera Knightley as Elizabeth.) I had some magical power/device that emitted blue rays that caused the top of a sand dune to change to a brilliant white, making it easier to locate the place where the treasure was buried. I also played a scene with Jack Sparrow.

Almost immediately afterwards, I had this bizarre Lifetime-movie dream in which I (again, not really me but me as someone else) was chased down on a sidewalk at night, knocked down, shot in the spine, and paralyzed. (All of which I knew was going to happen before it did, but still had to play out.) I was waiting for the gunman to fire a kill shot, but he was either fooled by my playing possum or he had already accomplished his goal. I had a long rehab, in which my family stood by me like the troopers they are (or maybe it was my family playing my character's family). Then there was a fairly touching recovery where I regained most of my movement, and could get out of the wheelchair to shuffle across the room and hug my mom. When I woke up, I could still feel a tube in my neck.

Can this possibly be my brain de-stressing? A paralysis story and (more disturbing) Jack Sparrow?

Lois Lane's Top Ten Signs Your Boyfriend May Be a Manipulator/Manipulative Psychopath

10. He seems to be wearing a hairpiece.
9. He has a god complex, but laughs it off.
8. He favors windowless buildings underground or far removed from civilization.
7. You have an exchange like this—Him: "You remind me of someone." You: "Who?" Him: "The woman of my dreams."—and he seems to be taking it seriously.
6. He pushes you into crime in a don't-knock-it-til-you've-tried-it sort of way.
5. You can't remember who you are or anything about your past, and he's all over you like white on rice.
4. While you're trying to recover your memories, he suggests major life changes like moving to the south of France.
3. There is another man always hovering around looking tortured whenever he sees your boyfriend touching you, and your boyfriend seems to get a kick out of this.
2. The veins on his head twitch when you mention major figures in your life, such as a coworker or a close friend.
1. He is anybody but Clark Kent.

Suzanne Lives!!!

Thank you very much.

This weekend was horrible, then awesome, then horrible, then awesome, so that in balance it was good and I'm becoming nostalgic for it. It was challenging in a lot of ways, I met a lot of people, I got pushed and pulled out of my comfort zone several times, I ran up against my dark side several times, I told my story, I received new chances. I realized things I already knew in stronger ways, I practiced communicating intentionally, I got sick of my usual schemes and lies to myself and saw a way out of them.

Favorite quotes of the weekend:

"A person with a commitment is not held hostage by circumstances."

"Up until now...."

"From now on...."


I would love to talk about this more with any of you who want to hear about it, but it really isn't an electronic conversation. Although I'm sure bits of the experience will sift through electronically. I feel alternately like nothing ever happened and like I'm filled to bursting with all of this.

It was good.


And now for something completely different. Check out this link. You will thank me.

http://forum.creatusmaximus.com/showthread.php?t=1264

Family quotes

"People who read are stupid. Write that down somewhere where people can read it." -- Jeremiah

"I have a couple things to say to you about this weekend. Don't let them shave your head. Don't drink the Kool-Aid, even if you're really thirsty. And we're praying for you." -- Dad

Boot Camp (my version)

This weekend, I'm going to boot camp. At least, I'm going to my version of boot camp, which means Vulnerability Fest. This is where I'll be: http://www.accd.org/index.cfm/pages/48

The website doesn't explain very much or very well. I went to the informational meeting and I'm still not entirely sure what's going to happen, which is adding to the boot-campness of it for me. Here's what I know: a) I'm going at the urging of a friend who went and found it both freeing and empowering; b) I'm expecting that any freed and empowered state would make me a better soldier in this age-old war; c) I'm realizing that I'm really scared.

I'm thinking, fairly or unfairly, that people are more likely to pray for someone in actual boot camp, featuring actual physical injuries and actual godless intimidation tactics. Or maybe someone with cancer. Or someone without a job. You know, somebody with "real" problems.

What I'm hoping for is compassion.

Please pray. I know He hears. And I know that He never hears without taking action.


"For this reason I bow my knees before the Father, from whom every family in heaven and on earth derives its name, that He would grant you, according to the riches of His glory, to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in the inner man, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith; and that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may be able to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ which surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled up to all the fullness of God.

"Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or think, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen."

~~ Ephesians 3:14-21

Quote of the Day

"When we build a wall around our solar system, do we not also build a wall around our hearts?"

~~ from www.fiveminute.net/thisjustin/lc1.php

I want the world...I want the whole world

Don't all of us have a compass that shows us what we want? And isn't it "broken" for most people?

It's hard, this business of wanting things. It's hard placing it into context. It's one thing to know what you want, and another thing to know if the thing/place/person that you want is a good thing/place/person for you to want, or when the want passes into obsession.

I want God. I want to be closer to God. You know the most comforting thing about such a want? It can't possibly be wrong. There is absolutely no uncertainty, absolutely no way that I can pour my heart into God and then find out that I made the wrong choice, absolutely no way I can decide that it's best and safer if I don't pour my heart into God. Although it probably would be safer. He isn't tame, after all.

One of the annoying things about God is how much He loves us, because He loves us too much to let us settle for safe. He wants us to glorify Him with our whole beings, which means living life fully for Him, taking risks for Him.

Once there was a master who was going away on a journey. Before he left, he called his three servants and gave them each a large quantity of money--$500,000 to the first, $300,000 to the second, and $100,000 to the third. "Take care of this," he said. "Use it wisely." The first servant invested in real estate. The second servant invested in livestock. The third servant sat down with the money in front of him and was afraid. He was no investor. What if he made the wrong choices? What if he lost all of it? So the third servant bought a safe with his own money, and he put the master's money in the safe and locked it up in a secure room. Day and night he kept guard over the room, jumping at all who came near the entrance. When the master returned, he called his servants to him and asked them to report on what they had done in his absence. The third servant's heart sank as he heard that the other two servants had doubled the master's money, but he remained confident of his inability to do the same. When the master asked him about the $100,000, the servant said, "As you know, I'm no investor. But I kept it safe for you. And I protected it with my own money, and my own time. Here it is." The master was angry. "No investor?" he said. "Do you think I am such a poor judge? Do you think I gave you more than you could handle? Do you think you have any money or time that doesn't already belong to me?" He took the money from the third servant and gave it to the first servant. The third servant was thrown into the streets, jobless and penniless.

It's a scary story.

All those years of watching MacGyver paid off

Late last night I had two waterfalls in my apartment: one in my bedroom and one in my kitchen. The one in my kitchen was turning the linoleum floor into a linoleum lake, and the one in the bedroom was just soaking the carpet. I had tried stuffing towels along the bottom of the windows, but the towels soaked through in about 15 seconds and the waterfall returned. I called maintenance and left one of my trademark 20-minute-long messages (I'm exaggerating, of course—it was under 10 minutes), decrying the sorry state of affairs in which the maintenance staff did not respond quickly and effectively to reports of gallons of water streaming into an apartment, as I had notified them of this problem the Monday before last, when it first happened. I am NOT exaggerating about the gallons of water. My bucket holds 14 quarts, and it was filled last night in under 20 minutes.

As part of my attempts to keep the water from reaching my possessions and/or my ankles, I decided to clean out the window tracks. Maybe there was so much dirt piled up inside that the water wasn't able to drain? Worth a shot. As I was doing this, the screen wiggled. I found it could be pushed up, leaving a small slot at the bottom where rain might, just might drain out faster than it could fill the track and overflow into my apartment. I cut fabric swatches I didn't need and shoved them under the screen. No more rain through the window last night, as far as I could tell. Though it was already calming down before my ingenious plan.

Then today, in moving things around the office, it came to our attention that the proposed new position of a shelf would block off a light switch. I tried taping several pencils together to use as a heightened switch, and that was precarious. Then I thought of taping a chain to the switch, which works better. (Why couldn't we just move the shelf over an inch? Because that would make the shelf ends uneven. Which was going to bother at least three of us, in the long run.)

I also used a paper clip as a screwdriver today. Really.

Current favorite CD rack discovery: PFR

You know you have them. CD's in your personal library that you listen to so rarely you might as well not even own them, but you can't bring yourself to get rid of them. CD's you got for free, and may listen to someday.

I admit it--I'm a recovering packrat. And by that I mean that I have been getting better at gritting my teeth and throwing something in the trash before I can think twice about it. (Something thrown into the trash is nearly always irredeemable because...well, it's the trash. There's no going back.) A few weeks ago I was looking in my CD cabinet and thinking about how I hardly ever listened to CD's at all, and how there were a few CD's I had gotten for free from a former college/career group leader at my church that I couldn't remember ever listening to all the way through.

Let me pause here to note that writing "CD's" is making me a little twitchy. But "CDs" is just as bad, if not worse. With that said....

I put PFR's Great Lengths in the CD player and fell immediately in like with the group's sound and thoughtful, heartfelt lyrics. I would highly recommend them.

They also cover other artists with thoughtful and heartfelt lyrics. Here's one that jumped out at me tonight:

Trials Turned To Gold
a song by Keith Green

He's brought me here where things are clear and trials turn to gold.
He shared with me His victory He won in days of old.
Oh Lord, I don't deserve the riches of your word,
But You've changed my filthy rags to linen white as snow.
~~~
The view from here is nothing near to what it is for You.
I tried to see Your plan for me, but I only acted like I knew.
Oh Lord forgive the times I tried to read your mind.
Cause you said if I'd be still, then I would hear your voice.
~~~
My Lord, my King, my urge to sing and praise the things above.
No words can say the glorious way you changed me with your love.
~~~
He's brought me low so I could know the way to reach the heights.
To forsake my dreams, my self esteem, and give up all my rights.
With each one that I lay down, a jewel's placed in my crown.
Cause His love, the things above, is all we'll ever need.
He's brought me here where things are clear and trials turn to gold.

Any new features?

Why, as a matter of fact, yes! Those of you who have been reading this blog and wishing you could comment may now do so. I changed the settings, so now hopefully non-Blogger members can post comments and Blogger members with scamming spamming operations can't reach me. We'll see how long this lasts. Anyway, comment away. I will read your comments. Others will read your comments. You will get to see your words "published." It will be enjoyable on many levels.

You know what I really don't like?

Posts about comments.

Seriously. People who write posts asking for comments sound so pathetic, don't they? "Please validate me as a person by acknowledging my existence in this least personal of all forms of 'communication,' the public blog!" (I fully grasp the irony that I myself am writing of the need for interpersonal communication on a blog.)

Aren't most people crying for acknowledgment of any kind in their hearts? Isn't it amazing how we can skulk around, afraid to talk to people because we don't want to bother them, or to be seen in such-and-such a light, or whatever, and yet if someone were to come up to us and say "Hi" out of nowhere we would take it as a compliment and be so pleased they took the trouble?

Why are we so resistant to admitting that we need people? Who are we kidding?

Essay Question: "A hundred and fifty years ago, there was no internet. Many people still lived in small rural communities. Were people more isolated then or now? Why or why not? Discuss."

Start living, or start dying.

The Shawshank Redemption is one of the best top ten films I've ever seen. Not necessarily favorite top ten. It certainly isn't light, fluffy, and/or relaxing fare. On the contrary, it is deeply disturbing. It also exhibits one of the most Christian philosophies ever to shine out of a movie where the only professing Christian is also the most abhorrent villain.


Now, because I hate people spoiling a movie or film (following a friend's lead, I often use the latter word to describe more thought-provoking works) I haven't seen yet, I have typed the rest of this post in black. So in order to read the rest of the post, you will have to highlight the text. Personally, I would recommend watching the film and then coming back to this. But that's your decision.


::SPOILER ALERT::

Andy is unjustly imprisoned for almost 19 years. He is under the supervision of a ruthless warden who claims Christianity at the same time as he is embezzling prison funds, approving savage beatings of the inmates, and planning the murder of at least one inmate who gets in his way. Andy is subjected to brutal, inhuman behavior at the hands of prison officials and inmates alike, but he clings to his innocence and finds resourceful ways of keeping himself employed during the long years. He tells his friends in prison that hope is something that comes from inside a man, that no harsh or unjust treatment can take away. Against apparently overwhelming odds, he holds on to a dream of the time after his captivity has ended and he walks free. And though he holds himself at least partially responsible for the deaths of two people, in the end he is fully responsible for saving one life, and for bringing hope to many others.

Nineteen years of brutality and oppression. Is one man's life worth it? Is hope worth it?

Yes.

As Christians making our way through this life, under constant attack from the world, the flesh, and the devil, may our hope prove even more constant. Just a little longer in this imprisonment, then one final passage, and we will stand free, with others to follow.

It will all have been worth it.

::END SPOILER::


Andy: "There's something inside that they can't get to, and that they can't touch. It's yours."
Red: "What're you talking about?"
Andy: "Hope."



Andy: "Hope is a good thing. Maybe the best of things. And a good thing never dies."

My Superpower (or one of them)

Tonight I went to see Superman Returns, which now holds the honor of being the first movie I ever went to see all on my own. When watching movies again, I like to look for details I missed the first time. So there I sit, trying to read the articles under the giant Daily Planet headlines, and in a story on the theft of a meteorite is this word, and I quote: "musuem."

*pause while you absorb that information and come up with the next two paragraphs by yourselves*

The newspaper page is on the screen for about two seconds, and that's the word my eyes gravitated towards.

I'm not just good. I'm super.

Think of Me

Last night I watched Bride and Prejudice. Bollywood = way fun. India and Indian culture looks so cool in these movies. It makes you want to be Indian yourself, if there were some way to avoid the caste system and the rampant opression of Christianity. As it is, I still want the clothes, the music, and the dancing.

In the movie, there is a repeating bit about a superstition that when you sneeze, it means someone is thinking about you. But none of the sneezers in the movie sneeze more than once.

So if, like me, you rarely sneeze less than three times per session, and habitually sneeze five or six times, does it mean that lots of people are thinking of you? Or that someone is thinking of you to the point of obsession? And why are they always thinking of me on really bright days, or when I'm in very dusty places?

Formal Declaration of War; Call to Arms

I've had enough. Enough failed marriages, enough unwed pregnancies, enough depression, enough apathy. I'm declaring war—or, rather, I'm taking up arms in the war that has been raging around me for my whole life.

This war is not about America vs. Whoever Else. It isn't about democracy vs. tyranny. This war is the first, the last, the only real war. This is the war between the forces of darkness and the forces of light. The minions of Satan and the children of God.

No longer will I buy into the lies of the affluent modern society, the lies that cite failed marriages as statistics, unwed pregnancies as not that big of a deal, depression as solely a chemical imbalance, apathy as a lack of proper entertainment. I have looked the demons in the eyes, I have seen them smirking at my weakness, I stand firm on the promises and the grace of God. Resist the devil, and he will flee from you—the latter is a promise, the former the only condition. I choose to resist.

I fight to win the hearts, souls, and minds of this world for the next world, for the God Who knows this world and the next as intimately as He knows each person in them.

I fight as one crucified with Christ, so that it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me (Galatians 2:20), and as Christ lives in me I am not weak, but strong, strong in His strength, by His power, for His glory.

Be strong and courageous, brothers and sisters, for the victory belongs to Christ and the gates of the enemy cannot hold against our onslaught. Do not hold back from the battle—we'll hit the trenches on our knees and we won't rest until we hear the trumpet that calls us out of the battle or, more to be longed for, the trumpet that heralds the return of He for whose glory we fight.

The outcome of this war was determined long ago. We need not be dismayed by what setbacks we see here—just beyond our meager vision are chariots of fire.

"The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective."

– James 5:16b

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might.

Put on the full armor of God, so that you will be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.

Therefore, take up the full armor of God, so that you will be able to resist in the evil day, and having done everything, to stand firm. Stand firm therefore, HAVING GIRDED YOUR LOINS WITH TRUTH, and HAVING PUT ON THE BREASTPLATE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS, and having shod YOUR FEET WITH THE PREPARATION OF THE GOSPEL OF PEACE; in addition to all, taking up the shield of faith with which you will be able to extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. And take THE HELMET OF SALVATION, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

With all prayer and petition pray at all times in the Spirit, and with this in view, be on the alert with all perseverance and petition for all the saints."

– Ephesians 6:10-18

Beautiful Day

Sunday morning I was not pleased with my reflection. Specifically, I was not pleased with my hair.

On Friday I had a conversation with a friend about how Sunday wasn't a day for us to be filled, but a day for us to be poured out; that we were to be filled by meditating on the Word throughout the week, and that corporate worship was a time to overflow in praise to God. With those words of hers still fresh in mind, I began praying that God would remove my focus from myself—that I might be freed from concern about how others perceive me, what they are thinking of me, and be free to worship.

The first two people I spoke to as I walked into church said, "I like your hair!" and "You look gorgeous!" That's how much God loves us. He always gives us more than we thought we were asking for.

It was the beginning of a beautiful day, a day that was beautiful because God revealed Himself—in the words of the pastor, in response to meditation and prayer, in conversation centered on Him. Is this how beautiful every day would be if I went into it praying to glorify God and not seeking to make myself look good?

There's one way to find out.

From ghoulies and ghosties
And long-leggedy beasties
And things that go bump in the night,
Good Lord, deliver us!

Riddle

How and where can extinct lizards provide Thought-Provoking Commentary for today's troubled times?

The answer is....

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

Just because you can spell it doesn't mean you know what it means to me.

Ways (in no particular order) to lose my respect:

• Not respecting other people

That's pretty much it. How are some ways (again, in no particular order) you can exhibit a lack of respect for other people?

• Putting pin-up girl decals on your vehicle (I saw this on a pick-up truck today, and my immediate revulsion sparked this post)
• Having pin-ups (male or female) anywhere
• Referring to any person as "hot" while not meaning temperature
• Playing up the "battle of the sexes"
• Talking as though your interests are the only interests allowed
• Looking down on those who don't share all of your perspectives

On the first four...many people would say they do these things "jokingly." I maintain that jokes come from somewhere. The sort of jokes you make tell a lot about you as a person.

On the last two, I would point out the yawning chasm between talking up your own interests because you are passionate about them and talking down somebody else's interests because you don't enjoy them; as well as between having an intelligent conversation in an attempt to clarify your position and slinging insults in an attempt to make your opponent see the light by way of humiliation.

Flood of quotes

Cry for the broken tribe, for the law and the custom that is gone.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light

they exchanged the truth of God for a lie

The world is too much with us

"You deserve to be happy" is not in the Bible. They actually think it is. I tell them, we're all sinners. You don't want what you really deserve.

Thus they exchanged their glory

Cry, the beloved country, these things are not yet at an end.

How long, O Lord?

Childlike, not childish

Children are persistent in clamoring for attention. When I am with them in a casual setting, it becomes hard to count how many times I am asked to "watch" someone do something or other. Then there are stories they want to tell, and jokes, and problems they want to share with someone. This persistence goes hand-in-hand with their directness. "I like you," a young girl said to me recently. I had talked to her for about two minutes before she made this pronouncement.

Jesus told His disciples that if they wanted to enter the kingdom of heaven, they would have to become like children. Being around children is an opportunity, then, for study and reflection. What parts of childhood should be maintained, and what parts are childish and must be discarded as we grow towards adulthood?

When we are children, we are afraid of monsters, and bad guys, and fires. When we grow up, we turn our fears towards people--we fear rejection, and ridicule, and isolation. Children hide under their beds so evil won't find them, and grown-ups hide our true selves because we are afraid of what people will think of us. We certainly don't ask for attention--is it because we are really all that unselfish, or is it because we are afraid of all that comes along with needing people besides ourselves?

What if we were to try behaving more like children, while being careful to separate the childish from the childlike? We would be quick to point out the positives, quick to express appreciation, quick to smile. We would ask people for help, for time, for attention. We would talk about what we loved, including God, with excitement and a lack of concern. We would be the people God made us to be without being embarrassed if some people thought we were a little goofy for it.

And if we got scared, we would feel safe by simply remembering that our father was near.

Psych...

Tonight I got home freakishly late, got my mail, and in flipping through it was excited to see an envelope with handwriting on it. Handwriting! Which means a letter! To me! Right??

Wrong. True, I shouldn't be too upset about this, since by all laws of correspondence you typically don't get letters if you don't send any letters yourself, but it was disappointing.

"Wait, what was it," you ask, "if not a letter?"

Well, it was a letter. Of sorts. Apparently the Jehovah's Witnesses don't just have to go door-to-door, they can also send letters. So then I was disappointed and sad.

Now I'm going to try to sleep. Hopefully the fan in my room means it isn't 84 degrees there anymore.

Your cheatin' heart

I saw Superman Returns this afternoon. In this movie, Superman has been gone for five years and Lois has "moved on" and started living with this other guy with whom she supposedly has a son.

I hate when my favorite couples in fiction date other people. Hate it.

Oh, sure, he's been gone for five years, and he didn't say goodbye, and "maybe saying goodbye would be too hard" is a really, really lame excuse, and why shouldn't she get to move on with her life, since he's basically blown her out of his by not telling her anything about why he was leaving, and in real life things are confusing and over the course of not hearing anything for five years I would have assumed I was wrong about somebody, too, no matter how many times my frequent flyer card was punched.

Superman, you're a dork!

*ineffective swat*

Okay, Lois is within her rights in this case. But there have been other times, with other charcters who weren't so bright, and made stupid mistakes about breaking up with their soulmates because...because...um....

*uncomfortable silence*

Okay, so maybe they had their reasons, too.

Maybe sometimes I want Art to be neat and tidy and pleasant in the way that Life is not.

A Fairy Tale

Once upon a time, there was a swan who was afraid of heights. When the other cygnets in her nest had spread their wings to fly, she had shaken her feet, one at a time, and set off walking. She walked over hills and across fields, through the rain and in the sunshine, and then, just when she thought she couldn't walk any more, she came to a pond.

The pond was full of small, noisy creatures. They looked rather like ducklings, but if she tilted her head and squinted, then....

"What funny-looking little swans," said the swan. "I think I will live here with them until they grow up and we can take walks together."

So the swan took up residence in the pond, and she lived there for many months. She tried to teach the little birds to trumpet, but they insisted on quacking. She tried to teach them how to stretch their necks far into the water below, but they preferred flipping their feet in the air. As they grew older and their feathers came in, she tried to clean them so that they were as snowy white as she was, but they remained persistently brown.

Alas, all too soon the swan had to admit that her charges were, in fact, ducks--that they had been ducks all along and that they would be ducks forever. She had to admit that they were very bad at being swans, but very good at being ducks.

One day, the ducks spread their wings and flew away. The swan got out of the pond and looked around, trying to choose a direction in which to begin walking. She turned back to the pond's glassy surface and stretched out her wings, slowly and not without some pain due to the lack of use. She was surprised to see how big they were.

Silently, she stared at the reflection of her wings in the water, wondering if it was too late to learn how to fly....

Figments

How strange it is that small children can't tell the difference between real and pretend, since they pretend all the time. A fellow skit participant had the idea that perhaps kids expect that adults don't pretend. This led to the rather disheartening reflection that adults do pretend, except it usually gets a lot more messy and complicated than it was when they were kids.

Part of the reason I like literature and theatre so much is that you know where you are. The characters are real to you, but you know they don't exist in the physical world. As for the people who surround you in that physical world—it's harder to tell which of those are real towards you, and which are only real to you. (If you grasp that last distinction, then you grasp the dilemma.) Art offers a clarity that is absent in much of life.

Who have you invented today?

Highlights

• Feeling like Mickey Mouse, because a girl I didn't know came over to say hi and hug me because she's seen me onstage.
• Having a little boy ask (after seeing me collapse earlier in the evening): "Were you dead?"
• Hearing that another little boy had been extremely concerned yesterday to see a bottle around with less "toxic liquid" in it than previously, and had told his mother that "Someone at church drank poison!"
• Coming home to a singing answering machine message.

Commander! Report!

First off, someone is trying to kill my bird, and I don't appreciate it. I have a scratch across my leg because when the neighbors set off this strange hissy firework, Apollo and I both jumped, except Apollo skittered across my leg and to the other side of me. I appreciate his trust that I could save him from the fireworks.


Tonight's VBS Stories

Kid to me, before VBS: "Are the skits gonna be better tonight?"
Me: "Is the audience gonna be better tonight?"
(My brother, after hearing this story: "Oh, great. Way to be a teacher.")

We got a lot of good feedback on the skit tonight. I love the little kids coming up to me to shake my hand. It's great to be a celebrity in the eyes of children—you can make their day just by talking to them. (Which is one of the things I love about kids anyway.) A pair of girls who must have been about 7 came up to ask if I really drank any of the toxic liquid from the skit (supposedly acid). I told them I didn't, but that it would have been okay if I accidentally did because it was really lemonade. This made their night even better, because, as both of them started saying at the same time: "I thought so! I thought it was lemonade!"

I incurred a minor rugburn injury tonight in practicing for tomorrow's skit. Some people sacrifice their bodies to catch spherical objects hurling through the air. I sacrifice my body for the show.

Best Groupie Award

Goes to two young girls from my church, who came up to me after each of the first two VBS skits to say things like, "You had a rough crowd. You guys were good, though. We were laughing. Don't worry; they'll come around." They are so sweet.

The skit group for this year has not yet had a practice together. The other two people in the skit are married to each other, so they've run lines at home. Then there's me. I love this stuff. I am comfortable onstage (sometimes more comfortable than I am offstage). I wish we didn't have to concern ourselves with microphones, but it's a necessary evil when your stage is really a platform in a gymnasium. Good acoustics are for the coddled.

Tonight my fellow actress told me a story about a play she was in where they dropped a crucial plot element in the first act and had to weave it into the second act. This was funny to hear because I, too, have had this experience (though from a directorial standpoint). It's kind of a rush in a way--or it is when it works, and in our cases it worked. Hers was even more involved, because while my play was The Importance of Being Earnest (the dropped information regarded the information that Bunbury was not, in fact, a real person), hers was a murder mystery. Bit more intricate plot.

Song running through my head this morning

Although I've only heard it sung by Harley Quinn in Batman: The Animated Adventures, "Say That We're Sweethearts Again" was one of those kooky songs written in the 1940's. I include here the Harley version, which is abridged and slightly tweaked from the original (but not much).



I never knew that our romance had ended
Until you poisoned my food
And I thought it was a lark
When you kicked me in the park
But now I think it was rude
~~~
I never knew that our romance had finished
Until that bottle hit my head
Though I tried to be aloof
When you pushed me off the roof
I feel our romance is dead
~~~
It wouldn't have been so bad if you'd told me
That someone had taken my place
But no, you didn't even scold me
You just tried to disfigure my face
~~~
You'll never know how my poor heart is breaking
It looks so helpless, but then
Life used to be so classic
Won't you please put back that acid
And say that we're sweethearts again

Pharisees from the inside

When you think about it, the Pharisees were the most theologically educated people of their day. They had gone to religion classes and had ample access to the Scripture and to commentaries. They sound...awfully familiar.

I've thought about the Pharisees a lot this year, since I am one and since I recognize them in many well-catechized and well-educated church people. As a general rule, I think Pharisees were probably nice people. They knew a lot about Scripture and the various commentaries on it. It probably would have been very easy to be friends with them (at least as long as you kept on the right side of their doctrine). I think many of them woke up every morning fully assured of their place in the divine covenant, and just as sure that those who disagreed with them in any point were NOT assured a place in said covenant. Not all Pharisees were wicked people, and probably all of them would have been considered moral people. Nicodemus was probably not the only one to become a follower of Christ. But what does Jesus say to him? "Are you the teacher of Israel and do not understand these things?" He confronts Nicodemus with his lack of understanding because that was his stumbling block. That was the obstacle he hadn't known existed. Nicodemus had been following God, yes. But he had also been following Nicodemus. God could have let him keep on blundering around on his own, but instead Jesus brought humility to Nicodemus, right where he lived. Hundreds of years later, we modern-day Pharisees can look to the same source of deliverance.

It is God, not you or I, Who is the Keeper of Knowledge. Yes, He has chosen to reveal some of His knowledge to us (praise be unto Him!), but even revealed knowledge is His, not ours. May we use it faithfully.