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.