When dreams become words

Act justly. Love mercy. Walk humbly before the Lord your God.

2012-01-21T19:58:00.000-08:00

I'm not one to jump on the "petition bandwagon," but this is truly imporant. I've met these women. I've studied and heard their stories. The should truly not be in prison. Please, sign this and pass it on.

Change.org|Start an Online Petition »

Grasses and dew

2012-01-17T14:22:00.000-08:00

(An observation, photo, and words resulting from my walk back from class today.)

"Dewdrops"

The dewdrops on every blade of grass are so much like silver drops
that I am obliged to stoop down as I walk to see if they are pearls,
and those sprinkled on the ivy-woven beds of primroses underneath
the hazels, whitethorns, and maples are so like gold beads that I
stooped down to feel if they were hard, but they melted from my
finger. And where the dew lies on the primrose, the violet and
whitethorn leaves they are emerald and beryl, yet nothing more than
the dews of the morning on the budding leaves; nay, the road
grasses are covered with gold and silver beads, and the further we go
the brighter they seem to shine, like solid gold and sliver. It is
nothing more than the sun's light and shade upon them in the dewy
morning; every thorn-point and every bramble-spear has its
trembling ornament: till the wind gets a little brisker, and then all is
shaken off, and all the shining jewelry passes away into a common
spring morning full of budding leaves, primroses, violets, vernal
speedwell, bluebell and orchis, and commonplace objects.

~ John Clare

In my own circumstance, I found a rare patch of grasses and plants sprinkled with dew on this sunny January afternoon. Given the short time that the winking, twinkling little beauties will be there, I feel like I found something special.

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, 29 yet I tell you, jeven Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, kO you of little faith? (Matt 6: 28-30)

Harmless religion and dangerous Jesus.

2012-01-12T21:32:00.000-08:00

I see and not only accept but fully embrace the challenge to the "religion" that we are left with when we remove a relationship with Jesus (and following his commands) out of the Christian faith.

Christianity is not pro-American culture and it is not about moralism.

However, I don't think that the two (Jesus and religion) are as mutually exclusive as the poet presents them to be. Rather, I think they intersect. After all, as dictionary.com provides evidence to, the word "religion" is in and of itself innocent (or otherwise harmless):

"A specific fundamental set of beliefs and practices generally agreed upon by a number of persons or sects."

That being said, I think that truly following Jesus will not only free you, but turn your life upside down. With those side-notes in mind, my response to this prophet-poet is, "Well done."

A Word.

2012-01-01T23:00:00.001-08:00

First night of the new year.
Burning the past and the regrets and the pain.
Looking forward in hope.

"Daughter, I have called you. And you are Mine."

21...again.

2011-12-17T19:49:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is my birthday. True story. When people ask me how old I'm turning, I've been telling them, "21...again."

It's not that I have any problem with my age. For some reason, I actually have less qualms about the age I'm turning than other ages I've turned. I think it's just amusing for me to maintain that air of mystery (which I don't think I normally do).

"How old are you turning?"

"Twenty-one...again."

"Oh And how many times have you turned twenty-one before?"

"...At least once." :D

Frupcake! (A cupcake that you get for free.)

26 and sparklers

2011-12-13T16:19:00.001-08:00

*
Perhaps there are people in life with whom we are just meant to interact. (It's an idea I've been wondering since last week.) There's that inexplicable draw - an attraction of curiosity - an innate *knowledge* that this person is someone with whom I need to talk, or work, or play, or...whatever. I discovered that for some people, talking with them releases me of my desire to interact with them again - not to say, "Oh wow, that went badly. I hope I never speak with again because he or she is such a bore/terrible person/etc." It's more like, "Okay, we talked. They seem nice. We didn't connect...and that's okay." But until that interaction happens, just the sight of them makes one's pulse quicken. It's the "I need to talk with them. I need to approach them. We need to interact. Now, how do I make that happen without being awkward/overeager?" Delightfully, so many of these interactions (at least for me) reveal some sort of kindred spirit in one way or another.

* * *

On Sunday I met a man and ended up talking with him for four hours. I came away with the conclusion that he understands grace better than I do. For some reason, I find that borderline frightening - this lack of definition that "this" is how we "should" all look and behave. And yet, I feel a slight rush at the thought of that much freedom.

I intellectually understand the deep-seeded truth that Christianity is not about being moral. And yet, I need examples that I can touch and interact with in order to fully know that. (I guess it's like the difference between knowing that honey is sweet, and actually tasting it.*)
*out of context shout-out to Jonathan Edwards

From our conversation, the words of Martin Luther still bounce around in my head:

If you are a preacher of mercy, do not preach an imaginary but the true mercy. If the mercy is true, you must therefore bear the true, not an imaginary sin. God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong*, but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world. We will commit sins while we are here, for this life is not a place where justice resides. We, however, says Peter (2. Peter 3:13) are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth where justice will reign. It suffices that through God's glory we have recognized the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. No sin can separate us from Him, even if we were to kill or commit adultery thousands of times each day. Do you think such an exalted Lamb paid merely a small price with a meager sacrifice for our sins? Pray hard for you are quite a sinner.

* Other translations offer, "Sin boldly." (You can read the whole letter here.)

It's funny: in reflecting on this, my knee-jerk reaction when I first heard it was, "Oh no! But then we will have chaos!" (I think that "chaos" is putting it lightly.) However, the reassurance that washed over me (almost just as quickly as my alarm) was the thought that a trust in Christ that is stronger than the weightiness of our sins will act to organically "control" our behavior. It's the old question of, "Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?"
I ran across a very loose, wonderful paraphrase of Romans 6 in a blog that provided the answer as, "You love Jesus now, and hate your sins." I don't think it's check list - as if to say, "Do *this*, and do *this.*" I think it's more like the one (our love for Christ) will cause the other (the hatred of our sins). And, yet, in sinning "boldly" or "with strength" (whichever translation you like best) we remove our masks of *righteousness* and in humility admit our fallenness. I think that's what Luther's letter and Romans 6 all very much revolve around: transparency, humility, love, and grace. There's a fragment idea floating around in my head as I read this that keeps resounding, "A surrender to the power of God's love, maybe?" My thoughts then answer, "I don't know."
...but I like the way it sounds.

* * *

I turn 26 on Sunday.

* * *

I wonder when one actually feels like a grown-up. I feel like I'm playing a game of pretend - waiting to be caught and told that I have to go home because it's time for dinner. I asked about that, wondering if I'm the only one who feels like they're pretending to be an adult. I was told, "I think we all feel that way." And...who knows? Maybe that's good, too. In the tension of "figuring it out," I am kept (to some degree) in a state of humility. Because I know I don't have it all together. It keeps me from getting cocky or judgmental...right?
Ah, me! I am such a recipient of grace!

*

ghosts

2011-11-22T23:09:00.000-08:00

I had the audacity to fall in love.

And on the day of what would have marked our seven months of dating, I went on a date...with somebody else. And I missed him.

I've gone on a couple dates since we broke up...as if dipping my toes into the ocean of relationships again, wondering if I'm ready to go swimming - hoping I can meet somebody who makes me forget him. But each time it's been the same: I miss him.

I asked a friend how long that lasts - the haunting. Really, it doesn't seem fair to my date - for me to be physically present and yet emotionally gone. My friend told me that I will keep missing him until I meet somebody who I like more than I miss him. I think those words are wise, and I think that they are true.
And I also think that I'm not ready to be done missing him yet.

There are days when I think that all I want is to spend the rest of my life with him, to grow old with him, to have some babies and raise our kids with him. I know he'll make a great dad. In my dreams I share my life with him. We would have to work hard - probably go to counseling - but I have such faith in us. We would work together, play together, and share our lives.

And my friends tell me this is a bad idea. And they are right.
I wasn't able to share my life with him (our him with me) when we were dating. There were fragments that intersected, and I think that we truly cared about one another, but in the end...our worlds were just too different. It's like we were slowly causing the other to suffocate. We didn't mean to. And we were happy when we were together, but that just wasn't enough.

So I'm here - caught in this painful tension where my heart bleeds each time I see the ghost of our relationship, but don't feel ready to move on either. The memory of him makes me cry, but so does the thought of forgetting what we had.

Love Never Fails

2011-11-14T14:07:00.000-08:00

I'm working on a small paper, analyzing a song. In the process, I found this little lovely melody. I love the simplicity and the hope that is present in it. In the face of all the sludge we almost constantly encounter on a daily basis, this is a wonderful pause and a breath of fresh air.

So Proud

2011-10-30T23:23:00.000-07:00

My sister and dear friend have created a production company called 31 Steps Productions. From that company, they have created their first official music video. I am so, so, so proud of them; excited for them; and can't WAIT to see what the future holds for them!

Of course, for your viewing pleasure, here is the video. "Hurry Up," by Jeevo.

Happy Halloween.

(If you want to find their Facebook presence, just click here: http://www.facebook.com/31StepsProductions)

Just wondering...

2011-10-11T22:49:00.000-07:00

Why is it that nearly all songs in the genre of "break-up music" include some sort of terrible circumstances? "Don't make me think about her smile or having my first child" or "he cheated on me" or "you lied" etc.

Why all the extra drama? Where are the songs about relationships ending in the dull "it just didn't work and now we really hurt"? Isn't the pain of a simple break-up enough? Perhaps my exposure to the genre is limited and needs expanding. However, what I've found thus far has left me unimpressed and thus wanting to create something in the void. I don't see that happening anytime soon, though. So, in the meantime, I will explore the music of Patsy Cline and content myself with songs like these:

(Below) Same song, different variation. I actually didn't understand the craze about Ani until I saw her play this song live. (Actually, this is the performance I saw her give). Something about the way that she struck the strings held me mesmerized.

For those who deal with emotionally bleeding hearts, perhaps this comes the closest for providing catharsis after a "dull" break-up.

he called me "dramatic."

2011-10-05T21:41:00.000-07:00

I think one of the most hurtful things I ever heard from a guy I was dating were the words, "I just can't deal with your drama," after we had gotten into an argument about something that I considered to be of great value (and he didn't).

I've spent most of my life shying away from labels such as "drama queen," and had actually been commended by a previous ex-boyfriend on what little drama I ever caused. Yet, that sentence felt like a slap across my face and carried the judgement of, "I can't handle you. You're too much trouble and not enough value to me." Setting aside the question of femininity and fear of being "too much and not enough," as described by John and Stasi Eldredge in the book Captivating, I have come to grapple with the accusation of being "dramatic" simply as a person (gender aside).

Tonight, I walked with a new friend after class through a freshly wet campus that smelled of rain. We discussed the intersection of art and theology and the role that they play in one another. We shared stories and compared experiences of life, art, how we create, what we do with "blocks" to creative production, and how we find God in the midst of all of it (among other things). I made a comment that she agreed with:

Artists, whatever form they specialize in, are storytellers. They have something to convey. It's what they do. The drama is okay - even necessary. Nobody wants a boring story, anyway.

So, there you have it. It may be simple or obvious enough, but it's something that I come back to repeatedly when those nasty words haunt me. I want to feel. I want to see or hear about the glory of the sun blazing across the sky at the breaking of dawn, green buds bursting forth on a tree branch after a winter's sleep, or how love could send One to the cross to pay for sins committed by the beloved. Give me the drama, yes, because in the drama there is life.

"It's never exactly the way you plan"

2011-09-28T09:01:00.000-07:00

(Shout-out to my friend, Ruthie, since I'm quoting her in my subject heading. I thought that her statement was a beautifully simple reminder of what I often forget.)

I think sometimes I don't realize how much I try to control my life. Even in areas that I am mostly unaware, I have expectations.

"I will move out and it will be like this."

"I will date this way.

...and he will be like this...

and it will be like this."

"I will go to grad school and it will be like this."

I feel like there is so much to write. So much has happened over the past month (and in the months extending before that).

In moving out, I faced loneliness...but God was there and He gently revealed to me some of the "stuff" swirling around in my heart. During a week of not knowing anybody, feeling far from friends and family, not yet having a roommate, and *gasp* no internet - all I had was my Bible. Even then, I found ways to distract myself, but I sensed that God was truly with me in my move and in my time of being alone. The time was painful yet...holy.

Relationships have left me confused, wondering, and excited as I see God's work and healing. Uncertainty has had me in - I dare not say "constant" because I am not that faithful, but "constant" is the word I lean toward - conversation with my Heavenly Father. Aside from my repeated question of, "God, what do you want me to do?" I have learned to explore (and question) presuppositions I had of, "Good Christians do this (or don't do this)." God has led me through questioning the concept of what it means to be a "good Christian" and where I came up with the concept that it was so important for me to strive toward being one...whatever one was.

Although I feel like the answer may be obvious to some, I'm learning in whole new ways that what God desires of me (and the rest of us) is not that I/we be "good," but rather that I/we enter into authentic relationship with Him. I'm reminded of David. He committed adultery and murder (so scratch being "good" off the list), yet his heart was one after pursuing God's. I believe it was the relationship that he had with God that left him convicted and repentant over his sins. Perhaps the moral could be summed up as, "Come as you are, not as you think you ought to be, and I will work in you."

I'm not sure what I expected of grad school (or of the community here). However, even those subconscious thoughts (and perhaps fears) are being confronted as I meet people and start classes. God has truly blessed me with an amazing, authentic group of individuals. I heard one person describe it as, "It's not like undergrad. You have to knock if you want to get community. However, when you knock, it's always there - waiting for you." I am blessed to be surrounded by such authentic, open, curious people - all of us curious regarding the direction in which God is leading us.

During my time in preparing to come and in being here, I have seen God bless me and provide for me physically, relationally, emotionally...and pretty much entirely in ways that I never expected. What a trip.

So, Ruthie (even with the pain), amen again: "It's never exactly the way you plan." And thank God for that.

If life was a movie, I think I'd be in a comedy.

2011-08-31T00:22:00.000-07:00

Chasing trains...just another one of the things that I do.

Tonight, dinner ended with me literally running out of a restaurant (weaving through tables), racing through a parking lot, grabbing a bag from my parents' van, throwing my arm over my head and locking the car behind me as I continued running (in flip flops)...all in the attempts of catching a train so that my friend could get home. We got to the tracks and the train was gone.

Perfect moment: While we stood, gasping for breath, looking down the tracks, hoping that maybe we were wrong...hoping that maybe we hadn't just missed the train; my 4-year old sister walked around the corner (with my dad) and informed us, "Hey, guys! That wasn't the right train!"

Brown gem

2011-07-20T22:15:00.001-07:00

A few weeks ago I stood in the front yard in the afternoon, dead-heading the roses and royally beating myself up. Doubts and criticisms swirled in my head. "I'm twenty-five and still living at home. I graduated college, got my degree, and now work in a coffee shop. What am I doing with my life?" Memories of voices told me, "You have so much potential...and what are you doing with it?"

"When am I going to be more independent?"
"Why am I not 'there' yet?"
"My brother just graduated, lives on his own, has a well-paying full-time job that is helping him go to grad school. Why can't I be more like him?"
"What's taking me so long?"
"What's wrong with me?"
"Why am I such a loser?"

My despair grew as I plucked off the dead flower heads. I felt absolutely lost. I felt like crying in my lostness and at the pinnacle of it, I looked to my right. There, suspended in mid-air was a hummingbird. Not a flying gem of a male, but a more subdued female. She was absolutely beautiful. The minute detail to her body was incredible and she also busied herself with the roses before us. She didn't need to be colorful or flashy to hold beauty or have purpose. Her beauty came from her mere existence. I felt as though God had sent her as an encouragement just for me. In the midst of me fighting, God decided to speak to my heart by showing me something beautiful.

I couldn't place words to it (and even now, my doing so is a stretch), but I felt my heart quiet into peace in the moments while she hovered - finally zipping away into the sky. Somehow, her presence let me know that everything was okay.

"Feed the birds..."

2011-07-09T14:50:00.000-07:00

I love it when I see God providing for me in small ways that carry deep meaning...

I've had what I refer to as a "tight budget" lately. I've been combating stress over it and striving to "cast it upon" God, as 1 Peter 5:7 says to do. (The context of this verse is that of suffering, but I am captured by the idea of "casting" my cares upon Christ - as opposed to simply "dropping them" or "handing them over." "Cast" has a force behind it which makes it hard to retrieve.)

God reminds me of His faithfulness. Praise Him for it - I need the reminders:
This week I didn't have to buy lunch even once. I didn't go hungry either. Food was provided to me for free in ways that I didn't expect. What a wonderful surprise!

Jesus' words delightfully penetrated my thoughts at the end of this week. The reminder in my brain was a paraphrase, but here is the verse itself: "Consider the ravens: they neither sow nor reap, they have neither storehouse nor barn, and yet God feeds them. Of how much more value are you than the birds!" (Luke 12:24).

As I face the stress of moving out, transferring to a new job, starting back up with school, and wondering how in the world I'm going to afford/manage my "new" life, I am comforted with a relationship with a God who keeps track even of the sparrows...and cares for me so much more.

About Fuller

2011-06-26T15:07:00.000-07:00

The letter came yesterday.

I got in!

It's two pages long and I didn't read much past the initial word of, "Congratulations!" I just started screaming and jumping up and down. In the process, I crumpled and ripped the letter a tiny bit, but that's okay. Of course, giggling was involved and a couple...a few...several excited phone calls.

I actually just read the letter a few minutes ago. There are some important details in there, but nothing for me to really worry about.

My largest concern is how I'm going to afford going. However, my friend Jessi reminded me that this is the degree that I need to get in order to do what I want to do. There isn't really much of an alternative. Also, I think this is where God is calling me. My dad gave me a helpful reminder that if this is where God is leading me, then He will provide the resources for me to go there.

Okay, He's a big God. He made the earth and all of creation. He numbered the stars and knows how many hairs are on my head. He knows my dreams, desires, fears, and worries...and holds my heart in His ever capable, trustworthy, loving hand...
He can provide the finances for me to go to school.

Back to school...the dream.

2011-06-03T00:02:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed I went back to high school in order to further pursue my education. Consider it a super "fresh start" toward getting another/new major. (I explained to a few "fellow students" and my guidance counselor that I actually had already graduated from college and was in the process of getting my masters...I just also wanted to broaden my education....) It was registration day/my first day and when I looked at my schedule I saw Trigonometry and Economics 6 (among others). "Dang it," I thought, "That's what I get for taking all those AP classes my senior year."

Oh, but the library in my dream was pretty cool.

I just hit the "Submit" button for my grad school application!

2011-05-30T18:32:00.001-07:00

Oh man, I am sooooo excited right now! I finally finished my essays for grad school and then submitted the application! My mom (one of my three proof-readers) then declared, "And now for the happy dance!" We've been "happy dancing" since then. (For me, this looks like a lot of jumping up and down, throwing my fists up into the air, and spinning in circles while excitedly squealing. Basically, it's like I'm three.) :D

(I suppose I resemble the image on the left over that on the right. Hehe.)

These essays have been a long time coming. So, after all that work, I think I will post them here. So, here you have it - my application essays for admittance into Fuller Seminary. What happens from here, only God knows. :)

A. Reflect on your past Christian experience, including the most significant spiritual event/influence in your life, the role of Christ in your religious experience, the effect your faith has on your worldview, your involvement in Christian service, your perceived gifts/calling for ministry, and your reason(s) for attending your church.

My Christian experience might be best described as an epic journey – an organic adventure filled with important landmarks and passages along the way. I was raised in a Christian family and accepted Christ as my savior at an early age. My parents’ divorce shattered the world as I knew it and I subsequently spent much of my childhood living in fear of God’s wrath. Yet, by God’s mercy, I came into a gradual understanding of what salvation really meant – that it could not be lost or revoked. The peace and grace offered unconditionally by a forgiving God changed my life. Since then, He has led me through rich times of sweet discovery, of painful refining, of clear direction, and of discipline in learning to discern His calling.

Christ is central to my life and I see my worldview through the lens of my faith. I believe in absolutes concerning God and how He would like for us to live, though I am also completely willing to allow for mystery and to acknowledge that there are some things that are completely beyond my understanding. My worldview is also heavily influenced by Micah 6:8 where we are told to “do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly before the Lord [our] God.” I believe that we are called to seek righteousness and to champion for justice where there is none. Yet, in light of the fact that God’s ways are not our own and that we have been spared the wrath that we deserve, we should act in a way that provides mercy for those whom we might otherwise be quick to judge.

My view of the grace given me has led me to Christian service. Starting in high school, I went on short-term mission trips ranging from building houses in Mexico, to leading VBS in Canada, to evangelizing door-to-door for the purpose of church planting in India. I served on the servant leadership team in the college group at the church I attend. After graduating college, I stayed in the college group as a Growth Group leader for two years and as a volunteer staff member for one. Last year, I was privileged to go on a compassion trip to a Muslim country in North Africa for the purpose of loving the lost like Christ would.

I believe that my gifts and callings for ministry have to do with the arts, the (irresistible call of the) beauty of God, a love for teaching, and an interest in a more holistic worship experience (for the benefit of the body to the glory of Christ).

Church is more than a building or an organization – it is family. I might not always like it, but I do love it. Attending a service stretches me beyond my preferences of style and the focus that I have on myself. It also gives me the reminder that I need of the Gospel – how quickly I forget!

B. Reflect on how attending Fuller Theological Seminary would complement your present Christian experience and/or help you to achieve your future professional and vocational goals.

Shortly after graduating college, I decided to leave my current church because I felt frustrated at the lack of service avenues for people with various artistic gifts. However, through “church hunting” I realized that the church I attended was a wonderful community, albeit flawed. I realized that the solution to “fixing” my frustrations with the church was not to leave it, but to work to make it better (which has also provided a good lesson regarding relationships).

I desire to help grow the church into a more holistic worship setting – helping others to create a space where those with various gifts can serve and benefit those in the worship service by offering them an experience of God’s beauty and truth on a multi-sensory aesthetic level. Past this general idea, I am not sure how to begin. When I posed this question to a college professor, he directed me towards attending Fuller. The encouragement of my college pastor and results from personal research have given me further affirmation in trying to discern God’s calling on my life – leading me towards attending grad school for His glory and my growth.

I am excited about the ecumenical environment that Fuller offers and I hope to learn about Christian traditions that are different from my own. Through the fusion of what I learn to what I already know, I hope to help create “out of the box” worship experiences that still maintain the integrity of the tradition that I come from. I want to pursue a Masters of Divinity with an emphasis in Worship Arts Theology because I want to know more about the practical execution of arts in the context of ministry and because I am irresistibly drawn to the beauty of God. I am excited about the Brehm center for arts and hope it will spark ideas that are beyond my current understanding and imagination. I am looking to be stretched, challenged, encouraged, and inspired within the context of and purpose for pointing to Christ (the ultimate beauty).

My vocational goals include working in the ministry to more holistically incorporate the arts in worship. I would also like to teach at a college level about the theology of beauty. A Masters of Divinity from Fuller would give me both the practical knowledge needed for hands-on working in the church and set me up academically to pursue a Ph.D. in order to teach college courses. I believe that the theology of beauty needs to be taught because we are losing sight of it in our modern culture. My concern is that if we lose sight of Beauty then Goodness and Truth may soon share the same fate as society deems them “unnecessary.” I want to help direct Christians to champion for the cause of Beauty so that they are led closer to the heart of God – giving life and protecting us from falling into moralism (the corruption of what is good) or legalism (the corruption of what is true).

My heart is a well, so dig deeper.

2011-05-23T15:25:00.001-07:00

It never stays the same and at the end of it, someone is always left alone. There are no exceptions. Somehow, we missed beyond the point of "they lived happily ever after" to the reality of when "they" no longer lived. One heart stops and another heart breaks.

In the face of pain and loss, why do we then bother? Why do we willingly sign up for what will inevitably cause us pain? I suppose that the answer is "because it's worth it."

We have two choices before us: we can either live for something greater than ourselves, or we can live a mundane, "safe" life - never risking for greatness for fear of getting hurt. Yet, pain is inescapable - it is a byproduct of living in this fallen world.

I've referenced this quote before, but it's one of my favorites: Mother Theresa said, "I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.” To love is to be stretched outside of yourself to the point of pain. But pain is the price we pay to leave a legacy.

To have loved means to say, "I have been a part of something greater than myself. I have died and continue to die to myself for it. I have grown, and I have hurt. I have cried and burned. And I continue because it is worth it."

We were made for love - to love and to be loved. It reflects the Divine in whose image we were created. When we love we are alive.

We have the choice of pain before us: play it safe and hide - protect the self at all costs and slowly curve inward over the years, becoming more bent in our selfish loneliness; or learn to love - vulnerably open up the heart to something bigger than yourself and allow the pain to expand your heart so that you become more able to love than you were before.

Perhaps, at the end of our relatively short lives, one of the best things that could be said about us is, "they loved well."

Real quick-like before I go to bed.

2011-05-22T22:54:00.000-07:00

This may be silly, but I love Dictionary.com - seriously. I love that it acts as kind of the ultimate spell-check and that it's attached to a thesaurus. Combined with UrbanDictionary.com, unknown words and terms don't really stand a chance at maintaining their aura of mystery.

I've also found it to be a pretty simple site to visit when checking to see if my internet is working. I guess it's the lack of whistles and buzzers, but it loads (or doesn't) really quickly. At any rate, I found a link to this dictionary blog about cicadas a few moments ago.

...In reading the article, it brought back memories of how at my high school graduation the valedictorian made a speech (which I mostly couldn't hear because of the poor sound quality) wherein she compared us as the graduating class to those miraculous, amazing...insects. It made me giggle.

And that's the point.

When we were children we played

2011-05-13T10:15:00.001-07:00

I stopped for gas on my way to adventure a few nights ago. My eyes wandered as I waited for my truck to fuel up when a sudden flash of movement pulled me from my meandering thoughts.

In the intersection before me a little girl raced with her arms outstretched, holding her blanket like a cape. It fluttered madly behind her as her father followed close behind at a more leisurely pace. Once they reached the sidewalk, she wrapped the blanket tightly around her and walked with him into the 7eleven across the street. All the while, she fidgeted with her blanket, perhaps mentally exploring the possibility of "flying" again.

I stood captured by her because in that moment she reminded me of my own childhood and those moments when I just knew that if I figured out the secret in taking off, I might truly fly. In those moments, I was good. I was free. I was a heroine simply waiting for my opportunity to show my worth. I was full of crazy, exuberant life and the world before me was full of opportunities. And I was safe because I knew that my protector was near.

While I am certainly thankful for (and happy with) the life that I have now, I cannot help but look back on moments like those with a slight twinge of nostalgia. In my adult life now, I am facing the opportunity (and challenge) to fly. I still know that my Protector is near. I also know that while the world is full of open possibilities, but it is also full of more risk - danger. That's what makes life an adventure, I suppose. But, like the song says...

wish I didn't know the meaning of fear

"To fall is not to fail. You fail when you don't try."

2011-05-08T18:52:00.001-07:00

It's funny how the word "no," which might bring about the crushing disappointment of dreams deferred, can actually bring relief and freedom. The first flight of a bird might not be majestic, but the point is - it flew.

So, there's this film called "Roy"...

2011-04-30T15:34:00.000-07:00

I started this blog promoting things that I liked (well, it was one website/clothing company that now no longer exists...but that's beside the point). That being said, I'd like to draw your attention to the excitement and hard work of my friend, Mr. Clarke. He just finished a short animation film called "Roy." I got to help.

I am excited, too.

So, check out his blog! Click here for to visit his page, Low Budget Comedians. And then, stay tuned for more updates on the release of his film!

Life is not so simple

2011-04-17T10:43:00.000-07:00

I drove up to the Pasadena area yesterday. The sun shone with such warmth that I kept my window rolled down and enjoyed the wind blowing through my hair as I zoomed past green hills scattered with trees, fields, brush, and the mountains in view. Closer to LA the old neighborhoods and stretches of beautiful barren land replaced the hills. The heat also became more stifling. I pushed through, determined to enjoy a day when I was free of work and free to enjoy the beauty around me. The sky above shone so bright, so blue...

Hours later, after an enjoyable afternoon, I decided to make a quick purchase before returning home. Walking down the street, I suddenly felt aware of my singularity. Most people around me were with others - especially the females. I felt vulnerable and alone. I crossed the street with a mass of people, free to go where I wanted but also free of protection...not that I needed any - I just felt the void.

I made my purchase after some deliberation and friendly chatting with the salesman and then headed back outside, proud of my prize. This time, I stood alone in the sun while waiting for the light to change, allowing my eyes to wander. And then I saw her - a woman. Was that bare skin? Were her pants pulled down? No. It couldn't be. People didn't do that in public. And yet...was it? I tried not to look in case it was what I thought it was. Nobody around me seemed to notice her. Was she actually...? No, she couldn't be. Reality finally had it's way though, and I saw her pull up her bright green sweat pants as a puddle of piss ran down the sidewalk.

Driving home, I longed to return to the cooler temperatures of home. As traffic crawled, I reflected on the day - relatively relaxed even though I normally get antsy when I'm not "moving." My happy anticipation of returning home grew once I returned to a more familiar highway and traffic picked up. Cars came to a quick slow, though, and I thought I was in for a traffic jam caused by an accident. The "accident" turned out to be a fallen box of books and magazines that had apparently fallen (perhaps out of a moving truck), exploded, and subsequently been run over. The debris of written material scattered across the highway as words which once had meaning were reduced to discarded trash - to be avoided by oncoming vehicles. I remembered the woman.

It made my heart hurt.

What a complex day. The beauty. The brokenness. The pleasure. The discomfort.

Life is not so simple...

My heart currently wants to beat out of my chest. I keep telling it that it has to stay put. It is not pleased.

2011-04-14T21:39:00.000-07:00

I am currently writing this post while hooked up to my nebulizer. It's for the purpose of treating my bronchitis...that I still have. (It'll be 7 weeks on Saturday, but that's another posting, I suppose.)

Here is my current thought: I don't know much about Jack Kerouack, but I think I need to get my hands onto whatever he's written. These quotes of his convince me of this:

The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "Awww!" (On the Road)

I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life but that great consciousness of life. (from a journal entry)

You see? This man has passion. This man is tapped into truth. I need to pick up his writings.

The Shy Dancing Zebra: A Story for Kyle

2011-04-05T17:59:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, there were two friends who met at a church.

He was from one part of the world, and she was from another and they were both a little differrrent.

One day, decided to go on an adventure with a group of other like-minded friends.

They traveled from one place

to another.

While in that other new place, they learned a new language.

(They shared the language book...

...because everyone knows that sharing is caring.)

They went shopping at an outdoor market, called a suk, where they bought things...like pots;

they road camels;

they tried new foods, drank a lot of tea;

and they shared new music with one another. One of the friends really liked a song called "Fatima.")

They also went on a hike. One of them climbed a tree while they rested in the shade.

They did a lot of other really neat things and had many incredible adventures while in this far-away place, but that would make for a very long story to tell. Eventually, though, they had to return home...and he went away again (this time on an adventure of his own).

But they were still friends. So, one day, she wrote him a note to tell him so...

...because that's what you do when you care.

The End.

Childish

2011-04-02T14:01:00.000-07:00

It seems to go this way:
Something comes along in life that I want. By "want" I don't just mean, "Oh, I'd like that. It'd be nice." By "want" I mean want as in my heart desires it - I long for it. Often times with such things that I want, it ends up being something that I cannot or should not have. The frustration at keeping my hands off generally results in exposing a lot of the hurts, fears, and struggles in my own heart. Generally, this expresses itself in my frustration with God.

God, you won't give me what I want...

My mature response, then, is to turn my back on Him and sulk - frustrated over not being able to have what I think would make me (at least temporarily) happy. I caught myself going through this cycle the other day. While I cannot say that my attitude or behavior has drastically improved since then, I will confess what dawned on me:

God, for all the times that I get mad at you and turn my back on you, thank you for not doing the same to me.

Gasping

2011-03-27T22:54:00.000-07:00

It's like this: four or five weeks ago, I managed to catch "a bug" which quickly developed into something worse than a cold. I rested, took lots of vitamins, but did not get any better. I decided to visit the doctor wherein I was told that whatever I had was turning bronchial. Enter: the use of three prescriptions. A week later, after finishing up my antibiotics, I decided to visit the doctor again because I still had a "lingering cough." The experience of having a night where I had extreme difficulty breathing helped fuel this decision. Upon my second visit, I was told that my bronchitis had moved deeper into my lungs. Enter: the prescribing of more medicines and even stronger antibiotics along with the admonishment to not drink any caffeine (which I actually had already stopped drinking from the week before). About a week after that, I finally finished my prescriptions, feeling much better - so much so that I would have called myself "healed"...

After three weeks of being sick, I felt "fine"...

my cough bothers me on rare occasions now...like yesterday when it came back in a force so strong that it left me feeling light headed and needing to sit down.

I don't get it. I just don't get it.
Three weeks. Three weeks of intense resting, taking care of myself, taking vitamins (until I had to stop because of my prescriptions), and of taking some very strong medications...
Three weeks of doing everything I was supposed to do. And yet I continue(d) to struggle with being sick. I just don't get it.

In the midst of my frustration, I see an illustration of my spiritual life. I "do the things I'm supposed to do" and yet the results are not what I expect. I do not quickly emerge victorious (even though I think I should). Instead, I continue battle in an exhausting fight. Then, when I finally "win," it comes back so that I have to fight it again.

What an image of sin in my life.

This is why prayer is important (concerning matters of health and beyond). This is why I need to rely on the strength, knowledge, and love of One who is greater than I. The doctor can tell me what's going on with my body, and he can tell me what I need to do to be healthy; but only God can take care of my soul.

Foolish

2011-03-22T23:08:00.000-07:00

Today at work a girl came in to order a drink. By my estimation, she was probably in junior high or early high school. Naturally red, long, thick bangs swept across her heavily freckled face. She seemed tired or disinterested and I picked up on something going on internally as she gave me minimal eye-contact and hardly returned my smile (perhaps it was battles with insecurity, thoughts over a heavy homework load...I don't know). She had a sweet, kind face though. After ringing her up, I commented to her as she walked away, "By the way, you have adorable freckles." She did. They were really cute. Her face immediately broke into a smile and she turned around to beam at me as she walked away, bright blue eyes sparkling.

Honestly, it was a slight risk on my part. I mean, it's easy to tell someone that you like their hair, clothing, nails, cologne or perfume, etc. but to say that you like a person's facial features takes a bit more risk. It just does. I thought it was worth it and it was an honest compliment though, and it paid off, so I'd say it was worth it. (I try to live my life in following up, "if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all," with, "if you have something nice to say, then share it." Life is just too short.)

I was caught off guard when my coworker (whom I'd been unaware of watching or listening to me) remarked, "You are so weird. Who compliments other people on their freckles?"
My indignation and response aside, my remaining thought on the incident is that we live in a very sad society if we are so insecure that we are unable to say kind things to one another for fear that we might look like fools.

I guess this is what it looks like to have my identity grounded in the love that Christ showed for me on the Cross. I am released from having to work for approval. I could never earn it anyway. I could never be good enough, cool enough, pretty enough, talented enough. Instead, God, in His ultimate mercy, chose to shower me in His grace and determine that which was unlovable to be worth of love - love beyond reason or understanding. How often I forget: the world doesn't understand that.

Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, 23 but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. 25 For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.

For consider your calling, brothers: not many of you were wise according to worldly standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God. And because of him you are in Christ Jesus, who became to us wisdom from God, righteousness and sanctification and redemption, 31 so that, as it is written, “Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” (1 Corinthians 1: 22-30)

So, let me look like a fool, then, if it means that I get to love.

Blinders

2011-03-13T21:44:00.000-07:00

She sat silently after my last statement.
"Mom, what are you thinking? I can see the wheels turning."
"Well, I don't know what to say. I can't make you not want his approval so badly, and I can't make him give you approval either." As instantaneous tears sprang to my eyes, she added, "I can give you a hug though."

Approval. I hadn't realized that I wanted it so badly.

Oh Lord, have mercy on me. I don't take my faith seriously. I brush it off. I brush Your Word off. I brush You off. I look for love, approval, and acceptance from things, people, and relationships that do not satisfy - that cannot satisfy. I lack discipline. I am totally and completely unable to fix myself so that even with the desire to live in healthy relationship with You, I am cannot make myself better. I look in the wrong places for forgiveness - for meaning. I live my life for things that make me work and yet never satisfy me. I am tired. I lack intentionality. Instead of pursuing the beautiful things that make my heart come alive, I waste my life with the mundane - with noise - endless static. Refresh the internet page. Maybe something interesting will have happened. No, click it again. God, I'm bored. Instead of living my life to its fullness, I settle for mediocrity.
And yet, I hide all that so well. No wonder I feel so tired.
Physically, emotionally, spiritually.

Oh, great and loving Father who still beckons me in the midst of my brokenness - which extends beyond my own comprehension - wash over me with a love that blows my understanding.

Oh Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Desires and Drives

2011-02-06T14:07:00.000-08:00

In looking around me, at society, at my own heart, at how we as a people seem to move, I've come to a small conclusion:

Sex comes easy, but relationship is hard.

With our over-sexed society, we can get sex in a myriad of forms for a variance of prices. "Open up the menu, see what you like and if it fits your price. We can even customize it!" However, relationship (what I think our hearts really desire) takes vulnerability, commitment, and absolute work. It's not something that we can get by opening a magazine, turning on the TV, cranking up the radio, or flirting around. Sure, those things can temporarily dull the aching desire in our hearts, but they don't provide what we truly desire - love and relationship.

Here's the thing about sex - it's not something you can really get a la carte. It's designed to be within the context of absolute vulnerability, danger, and commitment. Hearts get involved, and that's a tricky business. Giving into that drive may feel good at the moment, but when that person goes away - the hole of loneliness is only ripped wider.

In looking at my own heart, I think that's one of the reasons why I'm waiting for marriage. I'm not one to be sustained by empty flowery language, passing admirations of beauty, or indications of love. No. I'm not here for the quick and easy - building a house of sticks in hopes that it will protect me from the wolves. Give me something of substance. Give me something that lasts. If I ever get married, sex will be there...but it won't be the reason for which I marry. It'll simply be the icing on top of the cake.

And if I never marry, I already have that dangerous, vulnerable, committed love.
Just give me Jesus.

Lessons in Sleep

2011-01-08T22:50:00.000-08:00

I dreamed last night of the loss of innocence and of evil incarnate in the form of a giant spider (comparable to Shelob from The Lord of the Rings, I suppose). Interestingly enough, I'd call it a dream and not a nightmare. It was a setting where I understood the gravity of the situation and the intention of the monster (to destroy and consume all human life in order to feed her own procreation). I understood my own fallenness, and I understood that I had to destroy her in order for survival (not just of myself, but for others). There were some who gave into the despair of "knowing" that they were going to die. I fought for them. She was was stronger than we were. She had a higher intelligence and awareness of our activities (and thoughts). But she did not know everything and she was not indestructible...

I say a lot of this in hindsight (and with the commentary of a friend), but it makes sense (concerning matters in my own life, but also in a macrocosmic sort of way).

It may seem obvious, but I think she might be taken as a huge commentary on the nature of evil and its force (and intention) in human life. However, no matter how stark the circumstances may seem...there is always hope. Christ provided that victory. So, rather than submit passively to the raging appetite of evil, we fight the good fight.

That's not to say that it's all in our power though. Remembering back to an actual nightmare I had about a month ago, I dreamt that I fought a cobra - first hooding it with a towel and then pinning it to a wall. Yet, for all of its "disarmament" and inability to bite me, it still squirmed beneath my hold and sought for any possible way to get at me. I knew that my job was not to kill the beast (because I was unable and unequipped to). Rather, the next step was to wait for rescue from somebody who could free me by taking it away.

Does that sound like another picture? We are told to resist the devil, but we are never told to defeat him. In truth, the only one with the power to do so is God.
Thank the Lord for His care in rescuing us through the Cross.

The LORD and the Wife

2010-12-26T16:01:00.000-08:00

I needed to read the passage of Ezekiel 16 in order to find context for some verses I was invited to recite. I was supposed to read the New American Standard Bible (NASB) translation, but stumbled across the New International Version (NIV) first. Both had something unique to bring to my understanding (and each link directs you to its rendition of the passage). Wow. It's passages like these that leave me with in firm agreement that if it was not for the fact that the Bible is the basis of Christian faith, it's one of the books many would be trying to get taken off of the shelves. Its content is not tame.

The story of the adulterous wife...and some renditions are more graphic than others. And yet - I find it to be such a depiction of the Gospel message. Through Israel's example, it sets up the unmerited love of God; our vile, sinful rebellion (in shades that we would not otherwise like to admit); and God's merited wrath at such unfaithfulness. The problem of sin is clearly set up. God's pain is evident. His broken heart is there. And yet, in the face of Him promising the consequences of such actions (His wrath), He still offers restoration at the end.

Again, the heartbeat of His love carries through. He promises in verse 60, "Yet I will remember the covenant I made with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish an everlasting covenant with you" (NIV). God, in the image of the betrayed husband, offers to His wife more than any human could ever offer considering the magnitude of betrayal.

The passage ends with Him describing the new relationship in verses 62-63, "'Thus I will establish My covenant with you, and you shall know that I am the LORD, so that you may remember and be ashamed and never open your mouth anymore because of your humiliation, when I have forgiven you for all that you have done,' the Lord GOD declares" (NASB).

Pause for a moment and let that sink in.

This passage is directed at the nation of Israel, but we can still learn from it and see how it points to the cross. Just as Israel fell short and was unfaithful in the covenant with God, so we as indivuals also rebel. Pride fills us individually (and as a society). We are good. We are beautiful. We are young. We are strong. We don't need God. We can do it on our own.

...at least, that's what we often wish to believe. We work harder and harder to convince ourselves that these things are true, and our frenzy consumes us. And when we are faced with the truth about our character, it can be devastating. This is true of ME. This is true of YOU.

Yet, God speaks of a covenant. Looking at the covenants in scripture, they became more inclusive and more one-sided as God offered then on the contingency of His own faithfulness (rather than ours). Ezekiel 6:60 promises an eternal covenant. Through Christ, his (innocent) death on the cross (for our sins), and his resurrection, that covenant offers redemption to the unfaithful. The humiliation spoken of is not one of vindiction. I think it is merely the recognition of realizing the depth of the depravity that we were saved from. We no longer boast in our own goodness, because we realize that our goodness is there because of God.

The cost to God was unimaginable to us. In the face of the heartache at being rejected, betrayed, and stolen from, He then gave more of Himself - to the point of a sacrificial death on the cross - in order to bring about a restoration of the unfaithful. This is true of me. This is true of you. And that love is what saves us from destruction when we have our masks pealed back so that we might see how bad off we really are. The strength of God's love rescues us from being crushed beneath the weight of our sin.

I don't understand that kind of love. I mean, I cannot fully comprehend it. But it is my prayer that I come to understand it more.

How deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only son
To make a wretch His treasure

A Hug and a Kiss

2010-12-25T23:28:00.001-08:00

At the end of this night, I have to tip my hat to a holiday that I love so much. Yes, "cynics" are right when they say that Christmas has been smeared with commercialism, consumerism, watered down to mean nothing more than "magic and childlike happiness," over-produced and under-enjoyed (and I have to admit that there are times when I get caught up in that)...but my heart is captured by the meaning and purpose of Christmas. I find Christ in Christmas. The wonder and love of a God who would miraculously send His son to earth does not escape me.

I've heard it said by some that Christmas is a lesser holiday compared to Easter when considering theological importance. However, I disagree. Christ's death on the cross, burial, and resurrection from/conquering over death was crucial, I agree. Yet, on the day of Christ's birth he started on that physical, linear, time-lined path to the Cross. I don't really see one holiday (holy day) as more important than the other. I see them as intermingled. Both were actions of love that stand out as markers on the Christian calendar.

Christmas was the embrace that led to the kiss of Easter.

"Created Beauty" - from The Beauty of God

2010-12-21T17:53:00.001-08:00

I'm currently reading a book given to me, called The Beauty of God: Theology and the Arts. It's a series of essays and the first one is entitled, "Created Beauty," by Jeremy Begbie. Here are a few of my favorite excerpts:

"The deity celebrated in Christian faith is not an undifferentiated monad or blank "Absence," but a triunity of inexhaustible love and life, active and present to the world as triune and never more intensively than in the saving life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. " (Begbie; p. 21)

"We are not overpowered by God as a sublime truth; we are romanced by God as pure beauty." (Rosty Reno, quoted by Begbie; p. 24)

"...a theological account of created beauty will speak of creation as testifying to God's beauty, but in its own distinctive ways. Much here turns on doing full justice to a double grain in Scripture's witness: the Creator's faithful commitment to the cosmos he has made, and his commitment to the cosmos in its otherness. Creation testifies to God's beauty, but in its own ways; or better: God testifies to his own beauty through creation's own beauty." (Begbie; p. 25)

"The vision is rather of the artist, as physical and embodied, set in the midst of a God-given world vibrant with a dynamic beauty of its own, not simply "there" like a brute fact to be escaped or violently abused but there as a gift from a God of overflowing beauty, a gift for us to interact with vigorously, shape and reshape, form and transform, and in this way fashion something as consistent and dazzlingly novel as the Goldberg Variations, art that can anticipate the beauty previewed and promised in Jesus Christ." (Begbie, p. 44)

*I think I will update this with more quotes as I continue to read the rest of essays in the book.*

"The Tree": An Attempt at an Exegesis

2010-11-30T22:34:00.000-08:00

A little over a year ago, I got to be a camp counselor at Hume Lake for a group of wonderful freshmen girls. One particular day at camp offered the opportunity to paint for a few hours by the lake. The cost was only $3. Excited, I jumped at the offer. However, by the time I got there, they had run out of canvases. As a deal though, they offered that if I found something that I'd like to paint on, they would supply the paint to me for half the price. Deal. Along with another girl (who shared my name) I went out in search of an appropriate substitute. Along the edge of the forest, we found some bark.

I painted two and then kept the one that I liked. The other, "Good News from Distant Lands," I left on a pile of logs for the campfire when I went home. (As a side-note, one of the characteristics of beauty is it's transitory nature - that it is marked by a certain time, where it exists for a period and is then gone. What I mean is that I didn't like this, so I threw it away...but I took a picture!)

My intention in painting was to express the message of the Gospel, but in a way that was more abstract - that engaged the mind while hooking the emotion. I wanted people to feel something when they looked at the piece, and then to wonder why they felt what they did. For me, the story expressed in my painting was clear, but I still wanted it to be thoughtfully challenging for the viewer so that their heart and mind engaged in worship while pondering and finally arriving at the meaning.

And here's what I produced: "The Tree."

(I took it home like this, unfinished, and left it like that for about a year.)

For me, it's a piece that tells the story of redemption. The vibrant colors painted into the cracks and multidimensional surface of the bark represent the beauty of life. However, the black that covers and threatens to completely hide the vibrancy represents the destructive power of sin in our life. Through the work that Christ did on the cross when He died for our sins (and then resurrected three days later), we are restored to life. Thus, the only space I left "unpainted" was the area that leaves the shape of the cross - pure and untainted. His perfection and glory shines as it covers us, washed in his blood. At the cross, also referred to as "the tree," our sins were atoned for and God proved the victor in the battle for eternity. Red splashes across the piece signify the shedding of Christ's blood.

"The Tree" does not exist as a linear piece. We are redeemed, but we still struggle with sin. In Romans 7:15,18a Paul confesses his own weakness, " For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate. [...] For I have the desire to do what is right, but not the ability to carry it out." Our process of sanctification is ongoing as we continue to struggle with our fallenness while simultaneously growing in holiness (a continual process of restoring the "vibrancy" marred by sin). Thus, this piece is meant to convey the continual grace provided by God as the Holy Spirit works in us towards that restoration. Our ability to desire and do "good" can only have deep and lasting progression if it is fueled by the gift and power of God. We are too weak to be righteous out of our own strength or pride. However, as a static piece of art, it also serves as a reminder that the justification of our souls, bought with the blood of Christ, only needed to happen once and for all. Christ's words, "It is finished," come to my mind (John 19:30). Paul writes in Romans 5:9 "Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God." (Actually, Romans 4-10 seem to have a lot of things to say about justification. I encourage you to check it out if you're curious.) It's a tension reflected in 1 John 3:1-2 that we are legally and eternally considered innocent and children of God, but practically speaking, we still have to deal with the sin-nature embedded in us as we live our linear lives.

Basically, what it comes down to is this: I wanted to paint something beautiful that presented the Gospel message in a way that wasn't cliche and that dramatically expressed what happened at the Tree. Really, just as an individual must work out his or her own personal faith with God, so I want the viewer to come to his or her own understanding of what is found to be the meaning of the painting.

I had no sermon to guide my intentions, but in looking back on my original intent, I think it was fueled by statements made in things like the old hymns. The Catholic hymns for Lent, "En, Acetum, Fel, Arundo" and "Vexilla Regis Prodeunt," provide a good example.

The lyrics of the hymn "Alas! and Did my Savior Bleed?" by Isaac Watts also fit well with my thoughts on what was done on the tree.

Here, I will include one final piece that I think captures my intent. "Not Without Love (Benediction)" by Jimmy Needham.

I should probably mention that I DID finally finish the piece a few months ago in time for an exhibit. All I had to do was add the nails and cord...

(And here it is again with a different setting for better color capture, but with annoying shadows. Meh. I guess I'm not a photographer.)

Drama. Trauma. Struggle. Life and Death and Resurrection. Redemption. Rescue. Absolute love. Absolute sacrifice.

I don't think that the Gospel should ever be tame.

Statement of Intent

2010-11-30T22:00:00.001-08:00

I've found myself experiencing push-back over my desire to go to grad school. Honestly, it's hard to hear when what I would like most is to have what I think the desires of my heart to be supported by those whom I love. However, I think that it's actually a good thing because in experiencing opposition, I go through a refining process. In having everything questioned, my motives and intentions are kept in check. If anything, it proves to me the absolute need that I have to ground myself more in seeking discernment through communication with God - prayer, His word, and keeping alert to how else He might guide me. Oh, it would seem that I have a long way to go. However, in the refining, here are my thoughts:

I do not want to make the worship experience "cooler" for the participants. In looking at worship arts and trying to bring that into the corporate experience at church, I want it to be something that unifies the body for the glorification of the Lord. I want it to be something that at all times challenges or moves (intellectually or emotionally) the congregation into a closer relationship with God. I think it should be led, of course. But I think that it should never be a one-man show. The whole purpose of corporate worship is that we come together as one to glorify He who is worthy. Thus, I think it should be something that is contributed to by as many people as possible. And since we are multi-sensory beings, I think that worship should be as holistic as possible.

However, it is never about a show. It is never about being cool. The purpose or value of art and beauty is not for art and beauty in itself. Art and beauty are only the means to a goal - tools that move, inspire, and enliven us as they point to God. When we stop and use them as a way to glorify ourselves they, like cut flowers, quickly wither and fade from the depth of life from which they came.

Fitting

2010-11-28T14:50:00.000-08:00

I started listening to Christmas music today. I made a really great station that combines contemporary songs, classic carols, hymns, and worship music. In my mind, it does a good job at capturing the excitement of Christmas. I had a small epiphany the other day that Christmas is not just one day - it's a season. So, I want to celebrate everyday of it.

My brother, Jon, pointed out to me a few minutes ago that today is also the first day of Advent - that season where we celebrate the coming birth of Christ in the Church calender. The fittingness of it just leaves me with a smile on my face at how God orchestrates even the simple things that bless our hearts...and all for His glory. Jon encouraged me to look up Jeremiah 33:14-16.

I then found this.

In further searching on Advent, I discovered that the lighting of the first candle is to represent Hope.

What a wonderful season of joyful expectation for promises made and kept.

And here's something to contemplate. It's initially a little hard to sit through because of the silence, but I think that's a good thing. My soul could use a little quieting every now and again.

Trot, prance, fly, marvel ...alive

2010-11-20T14:18:00.000-08:00

Last night, I tried to get some journaling done at Starbucks but got distracted by what ended up being a conversation held with some friends for about 90 minutes. Our conversation finally ended not because we ran out of things to talk about, but because we were sitting outside and it started to rain. The rain reminded us all that we had other things we were "supposed" to be doing. As we scattered, one of them apologized for keeping me from getting my work done. I said it was alright because - honestly - I'd get distracted if I were home too. I prefer, though, to be interrupted by the interaction with real life, as opposed to wasting my life away doing something numbing like incessantly surfing Facebook.

I'm dog sitting this weekend and this morning I set out to take Lucy and Trotsky on a walk. The rain continued off and on, but left me with a waiting, cloudy sky for the duration of our walk. I realized that although I love the rain, it's been a while since I've actually been in it. There's something about being outside that allows one to experience the full magic and beauty of a rainy day. As we walked, gusts of wind blew the trees, sending small, but fierce showers down on whatever might be nearby. The clouds hung in steely blue and even the air held the smell of rain. I took the dogs down to the park near the neighborhood and we walked around the baseball field. My rainboots made delightful sloppy, squishing sounds in the wet grass as I watched the dogs splash through puddles.
In the outfield, Trotsky suddenly burst into so much excited energy that he started racing around in frenzied circles, unable to contain himself or his happiness at...I don't know what. Perhaps his delight simply came from being a dog on a rainy day in a great field for running in. I kept him on the extended leash at first and let him race around and around like a powerful kite. Finally, though, I decided that I was putting my arm at risk for being dislocated with some of the quick jerks and tugs he made, so I let him off the leash. I wish I could express what a joy it was to watch him. A Saluki - a sort of Egyptian greyhound - he was made to run, but "run" might be an understatement. He raced as fast as he could in large circles around me, occasionally prancing to a halt to wait for me to egg him on. Then, he'd tear off again or perhaps make rushes at Lucy in attempts at antagonizing her into play. (She's old and didn't feel much like running.) Gracefully jumping through the air, the feathers on his legs, tail, and long ears made it seem even more like he had wings and was flying. I laughed, cheered him on, rushed at him to keep him from harassing Lucy too much, and also rubbed Lucy's ears and neck to keep her from feeling neglected. When I finally put him back on his leash, his legs and underbelly were soaked.

I learned a lesson from this dog - simply delighting in being alive and in the world on a day like today.

Walking back, feeling the warmth of my body in my jacket contrasted with the cold wind chilling my face - blowing through my hair, tussling and curling it - I understood how Elizabeth Bennet must have felt when she took her walk through the wet fields to see her sister at Mr. Bingly's. She arrived, much to the horror of the other ladies, a "mess" but filled with exuberant life after tactually experiencing the beauty of the world around her. I thought also of how C.S. Lewis experienced the world around him - with a sense of awe and mystery, convinced that the magical beauty around him pointed to an absolute Creator God.

Walking back, I rejoiced at a God who would interrupt me with conversations of theology and laughter and bless me with walks of beauty and life.

A Break from the Mundane

2010-11-11T19:51:00.000-08:00

I woke up upset today. And exhausted. Exhausted and upset.
I dawdled my morning away and then took a shower until I ran out of hot water. I then planned on walking the dogs so that I could give vent of my frustrations to God and thus add to the wind that blew the clouds across the sky.

How narcissistic.

I never made it out though. Instead, I continued to waste my day away, feeling sorry for myself.

Finally, exasperated with my own immobility and tired of feeling unhappy, I packed up a couple things that I want to/need to work on and headed out the door to Starbucks. There, I got my Orange Blossom Tea Latte with soy and vanilla (my own creation) and then sat at a table and (for lack of a better word) lived.

For hours, I sketched out an idea I need to work on, took breaks by chatting with the baristas or friends who walked in, shifted over to editing a long overdue letter once I got stuck on my drawing, and then decided it was time for me to go home after I finished that. However, I instead ran into a former co-worker and ended up talking to him for about an hour about our plans for life and how we're working at getting there. He encouraged me to make the necessary steps towards going after those goals.

After all - I'm 24, have my degree, and work at Starbucks. I have dreams and goals. It's time to go.

I just got home, feeling refreshed and enlivened, still aware that I have woes...but not dwelling on them.

Nothing reminds me of the fullness of life more than actually living it.

What a sin to sit and do nothing with the great potential of life that we have.

Our Song

2010-08-29T13:33:00.000-07:00

Driving up the 57 freeway a few days ago, I sat talking with God, captured by the view in front of me: the bright blue sky spreading over the golden-brown hills rolling around me. The vastness. The fresh cleanness of it. It was hot outside and while the experience was familiar, it also felt new - fresh - as if I was seeing it for the very first time. It brought back memories of seeing North Africa for the first time. There was no distinct emotional reaction, simply an acceptance of being.

My heart ached slightly and I knew I was alone...

The music playing started to a new song. I don't normally listen to Future of Forestry, but I'd had a hankering to since early that morning, so that's what I was doing. A song with beautiful guitar started and but I was half-distracted from the lyrics by my own thoughts and the view in front of me. However, the lyrics caught me, pulling me from thinking over the conversation I'd had with Abba a few moments earlier. It was one of those, "Wait - what?" moments. A quick glance - the song was called, "If You Find Her." *Replay*

She won't falter easy, she'll be careful, she'll be coy
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...
But still she paints her heart among the musings of a boy
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...

If you find her, tell her that I love her
If she hears you, ask her heart to come
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...

At the break of morning, the day awaits her when she sleeps
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...
Deep inside her dreams is all the beauty that she keeps
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...

If you find her, tell her that I love her
If she hears you, ask her heart to come
Mmmm-mmm-mmmmm...

A catch in my throat and the tears fell down my face. In this alone-ness, I felt God whisper to my heart, "this is you."
I am alone for now - no prospects near me, with many of my loved ones away (although even in this "lack" I am so incredibly blessed with what He has given me). Yet, I am coming to a realization of things I already knew: when you have nothing left - there is nothing left to lose. In having nothing left to lose, I have nothing left to distract myself from the filling love of Christ. Now is a time for me to be with Him - to let Him pour His love into me as I try my feeble best to return.
Mother Theresa said that if you love to the point of pain, then there can be no more pain - only more love. The stripping away hurts like none other (I'm reminded of Eugene having his dragon scales clawed off of him by Aslan in order to free him to his real human-self in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader), but the simplicity of pure life is so much better than all the complex trappings I could ever distract myself with.

So, here I sit now - in front of my computer a few days later, doing my best to write about where I am right now. I'm alone, but so very not. I'm in a place where my "job" is to listen, receive, and be surrounded by Abba's healing love. And THEN, dear ones, I can pour that out to those around me.

Like a Foghorn in the Dark

2010-08-24T15:14:00.000-07:00

I've been there. Maybe you've been there too. Maybe you're there now: a point in your life where you have no idea where you're going or what you're supposed to be doing. We pray for direction in life. We pray, "God, tell me what you want. Show me where you want me to go. Just tell me!" We pray for something like the Israelites had - obvious direction in the form of pillars of fire or cloud.

I experienced and continue to experience this since leaving for college. I wanted to be so very sure of where God wanted me to go. I actually had anxiety over "getting it wrong" (as if God would punish me for not following Him "right"). I prayed but felt no sure direction of where I was supposed to go. So, as I waited, opportunities passed me by and God shut doors. I went to a junior college I swore I'd never go to. *Surprisingly*, God grew and stretched me there. Then came the time to transfer. Again I prayed and this time God made it obviously clear where He wanted me to go. So, I went. I didn't know what my purpose was for going there, but it was enough for me to know that I was going where I was meant to be. Upon graduating I faced the issue of still not knowing why I went to the university that I did. What was the great purpose? Even more muddle-some, I didn't know what to do with my life after graduating. So, I moved home, got a job to pay the bills, and have been figuring it out ever since.

I'm learning that in the process of not knowing what to do, God still directs me. He gently moves me where He will as I stay in communication, desperately returning to Him because - to be frankly honest - what I call a "lack of direction" drives me up the wall. We want purpose in our lives. Rather, we want to know what we're supposed to do. Once, in sharing my frustration with a friend, he responded that he had another friend like me - not sure of direction or purpose, and then he added, "I'm the kind of person who would make up my own direction if I didn't have any, though. I would go mad without any direction."
Why do we have such a hard time sitting still?

So many times in our lives, we get upset when we don't know what we're supposed to be doing or don't know where we're supposed to be going. We feel like we're paddling in the dark on an ocean surrounded by fog, desperately listening for the sound of the lighthouse horn.

Maybe that's not such a bad thing.

We forget that while the Israelites had pillars to lead them by day and night - they still didn't know where they were going the next day.

Uncertainty keeps us from doing things in our own power and instead forces us to rely on God. The reason? There is no other option. Either we are completely with God, or we can walk away and say, "forget it." And if we say that we want to be with God, then we struggle through in communication with Him. The blessing is this: instead of working to do something great for God - as if we could ever earn His blessings, favor, or love that we so desperately and deeply want to be told, "you deserve this" - we instead work with Him. The focus shifts from ourselves to Him. It becomes about the work HE is doing as He blesses us in the opportunity to be used by Him. It's almost like the wonderful invitation we all craved as children from our best friends, "Do you want to come play?"
In being never able to work on our own, we are stripped from the ability to work in our own power. Thus, we are never able to earn love. It is simply given to us. Even the opportunity to be used by God to bless a dying world around us is an expression of unmerited mercy and grace.

Maybe we don't need to know what's going to happen tomorrow or where we're going anyway - as if we could ever really know that. Maybe it's enough for us to follow that pillar of fire, that could of lighting, to listen for that metaphorical sound of the lighthouse in the foggy night - and to simply follow Him one day at a time, one step at a time, one moment by moment...not really sure of where we're going, but absolutely sure that we're with Him wherever we go.

That's what relationship is, after all.

Slide

2010-08-22T23:07:00.000-07:00

It seems I'm right at where I was before I left for North Africa...before I even knew I was going to North Africa...falling right into the pattern of self-complacency that I found myself so very entrenched in back in January.

A month after returning home and the pain and confusion (from processing the trip, missing a country that isn't really my home, and losing my grandpa) is finally easing up and what do I do? I return to my old habits of simply coasting. It's like I turn on the cruise control and tell God that I'll "get back to Him later...when I have time." And then I justify or ease my guilt by telling myself, "He's my Abba. He loves me. He understands." (And He does, but that doesn't make my behavior "okay.")

Ugh. I disgust myself. And it breaks my heart. I pray that He won't let me get away from Him - and if it takes more heartache to be in a place where I realize my absolute dependence on Him...well, that's not something I'd wish for - but so be it.

We sang a song tonight in church that was so appropriate. "In the Light" by DC Talk:

(Verse 1)
I keep trying to find a life
On my own, apart from You
I am the king of excuses
I've got one for every selfish thing I do

(Chorus)
What's going on inside of me?
I despise my own behavior
This only serves to confirm my suspicions
That I'm still a man in need of a Savior

I wanna be in the light
As You are in the light
I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens
Oh Lord be my light and be my Salvation
Cause all I want is to be in the light

(Verse 2)
The disease of self runs through my blood
It's a cancer that's fatal to my soul
Every attempt on my behalf has failed
To bring this sickness under control

(Chorus)

(Verse 3)
Honesty becomes me - there's nothing left to lose
The secrets that did run me - in Your presence are diffused
Pride has no position - and riches have no worth
The fame that once did cover me - has been sentenced to this earth
Has been sentenced to this earth

Tell me what's going on inside of me
I despise my own behavior
This only serves to confirm my suspicions
That I'm still a man in need of a Savior

I wanna be in the light
As You are in the light
I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens
Oh Lord be my light and be my Salvation
Cause all I want is to be in the light

* * *

Abba-Father, I need you now just as much as ever.

Appology

2010-08-18T12:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Blog of Mine,

Sorry you've felt neglected. It wasn't you, I promise. It was me.
I've just had a lot going on...a lot to process...to think about and feel and mull over. (I'm being redundant, I know.) But I think I'm starting to get to a point where I'm ready to start writing here again. I felt the urge last night - so we both know that's a good sign! In the meantime, sorry I've been absent. Don't worry though, I still think you're nifty. See you soon (hopefully).

Sincerely,
Your Writer

March

2010-07-25T09:38:00.001-07:00

Some time around junior high I remember visiting a place akin to Heritage Park in San Diego and touring an old Victorian home. (Perhaps it was the Christian Home there. I really don't remember.) The thing that stood out to me the most was that the home still displayed the wedding photo of the lady of the house. Shortly before she married, her sister unexpectedly died. In remembrance and honor of her, the woman had two black stripes placed on each sleeve of her wedding dress to signify mourning during what would have otherwise been such a joyous occasion.

I returned home yesterday after two amazing weeks of being out of country, during which I experienced how much God desperately, deeply loves His people. After sharing some of my stories of the trip over breakfast, I was told that while I was gone my grandpa had an accident and died. The grave-side service was last week.

I feel much like that bride.

Emotionally, I feel filled with this chaotic mixture of excitement and expectation combined with deep grief and a sense of loss. Yet, when I think about it I also can't escape how much death is like a wedding. Scriptures describe Christ as a bridegroom and we, his people, as his bride. We march down the aisle of life to meet him at the alter where he takes us and lovingly joins us for all eternity. We all die. What a blessing that my grandpa had Christ to meet him at the end of his march.

When describing him, I often said, "My grandpa is a super hero." To be honest, aside from how many times he cheated death, he lived a quiet life. But he left a great legacy. My grandpa was a giant among men with how well he loved.
Grandpa loved his farm (where he died).
He loved his trees.
He loved animals.
He loved God.
He loved his family - children and grandchildren.
He very much loved his wife.
He loved telling stories and sharing his knowledge.
He loved to laugh.
He had an unquenchable sense of curiosity for the world around him. He loved life.

Grandpa always had a twinkle in his eye and a smart aleck response ready for anyone and everyone around him. He had rough, strong hands after years of working in his orchard that readily clasped for a hug. He was an ornery old coot who did things just to get a response from people. He loved practical jokes. He was a father to many of us. And he will be dearly missed.

Yet, as one who also walks down the aisle towards death and the ultimate, loving uniting with Christ, I know that I will see him again some day in a time when all our tears are wiped away. In the meantime, in joyful, brokenhearted expectation, I march.

She said. So I'm doing.

2010-06-13T16:22:00.000-07:00

A few weeks ago I stopped by the church to drop off a pound of coffee to my college pastor as a "surprise." The surprise seemed to be on me, though, because when I got there everybody had left for lunch. The idea was presented before me to go leave the beans with the church secretary to deliver.

I walked up the stairs, opened the door into the office and almost immediately exclaimed, "Sweet Peas!" She had a lovely bouquet sitting on the ledge and we almost immediately started talking about flowers...and then coffee...and then trips we're going on this summer... my involvement with the college group...and then she asked me what my dreams are. Seriously, I barely knew this woman and she wanted to know what my heart looked like...so I shared with her! At the end of our conversation, she told me that I should talk to another woman in the church about my passions for art (networking) and to write this all down. According to her, if I don't write it down, my dreams and ideas will stay at just that - dreams and ideas. I'm not sure I agreed with her fully, since these thus said things have been in my mind and on my heart (relatively unchanged) for a year now, but she seemed like a kind, wise woman. She also asked me for my name and told me that she'd be praying for me. So, here I am, taking her advice. Nancy, this is for you. :)

Becca's Dreams:
~ I want to write. Not only do I want to write, but I want to be published. And I want to write meaningful things that encourage or challenge others toward growth. I have two main heroes, authorically speaking: C.S. Lewis because the man was brilliant and because of the impact that he made/had on modern Christian thought; and Donald Miller, author of Blue Like Jazz, a book honestly written and which helped me get through some really dark times in my life. I love his writing style, and it helped me realize that I wasn't alone in my struggle. When those around me at church were unable to speak to me, God used his book to fill in their place. I also want others to know that they're not alone in their pain and their questioning.
(Two things: I know that "authorically" isn't a word, but I like it and it makes me happy. Hehe. Also, I have this secret dream that maybe Donald Miller and I would be friends if we ever met.)

~ Since the age of about 7, I've dreamed of the Red Carpet. I went to school and became a Theatre major with this ultimate goal in mind. After facing drama (not the kind on stage) and dealing with the politics of the department, I decided to take "a break" from the whole thing. I was just burned out. I currently still sit with doubts as to whether I could actually survive in the industry (I'm a sensitive soul and don't want to change the way that I look so that I can get roles), but something in my heart still longs for it. I got to get a taste of acting again when I took a roll in a grad student film at Chapman U., and it's left me hungry for more.
I'd like to start auditioning. This is such a huge mission-field in the secular realm; and such a potentially powerful means through which to express our God-freed voices, if we can work past the cliche mediocrity that we face now.

~ My last semester at school, I decided to take a class with a professor simply because I'd heard that he was amazing. "Beauty and the Christian Life" seemed like a really cool class anyway. I really had no idea.
The class almost completely changed my paradigm...awakening a realization about my passion for art and beauty, for the church, and for people. (This realization was subsidized by my Christian Heritage class.)
What it comes down to is this: as a theatrically trained artist; with giftings, passions, or at least appreciation for fine art, dance, the written word, and dramatic representation; I have a huge desire in my heart to see the aesthetic of worship within the church setting to grow beyond what is oral (and by this I mean what is spoken, read, or sung). Words are hugely important, but I think that we are really missing out on the power of what good art can do when harnessed to convey the beauty of the Gospel. Currently, my dream is to join a church where I could work alongside a worship leader in order to collaborate about creating a worship space where the congregation is exposed to the multifaceted nature of God's character.

~ I'd also like to continue swing dancing, improving to a level where I can start competing.

~ I've thought about grad school: writing (creative or analytical/research), acting (perhaps within a conservatory), and seminary.
For the past year, I've been leaning towards the third out of that list. Fuller Seminary offers an MA in Worship, Arts, and Theology - basically a theology degree for artists. My next step is to look into the school, consider the cost (and amount of debt I'll wind up with), and then decide if it's truly worth it.

We'll just have to see...

Saturday Night's Alright...

2010-05-01T18:19:00.001-07:00

It's Saturday. I'm excited. I'm listening to Elton John and his music has me pumped. It's been a beautiful day.

It's the kind of day that has me wanting to say that I'm a "picnic and a dance."

I am a picnic and a dance.

Okay, so there we go. (Anybody needing a hint as to what I did today and what I'm doing tonight?)

Listen to this, it'll have you bouncing. :)

They say it's just a part of life...

2010-04-25T14:27:00.001-07:00

He went home to be with the Lord on Tuesday.

The memorial service for Hawaiian Brian is this Wednesday. I'm not going to deny that I'm hurting. But, once again, I'm not exactly sure why this hurts.

I wasn't super close with him...but I worked on his living room for 9 months. He was a nice guy. I cared about him...and his son.

Sometimes, you just get hit really hard with things. Personally, the past two months (with the passing of Grandpa Bill and a slew of other things) have felt like a barrage - like getting pounded over and over again with the crashing of new waves. Over. And over. And over again.

I currently don't like hospitals.

But I currently love people a whole lot. And I know that Christ is here with me in this. He's what's keeping me from getting my face planted in the ground. And if this is what it takes...to get me to a place where I realize the value of people even more...to get me to a place where I cling to the love of God and realize my absolute dependence on Him (in the good days as well as the bad)...

then, okay, so be it. Here we go. Continue.

Tips from a Wing Girl

2010-04-20T21:17:00.000-07:00

From Target, the other day, when I *ahem* wasn't feeling good.

Here's a note of suggestion for the gentlemen: if you want to start up and conversation with a girl, slightly catch up, chat her up, or see how she's doing - that's great. Just don't do when you see her shopping in the feminine hygiene aisle. If you, as a security guard, find her in the...oh...movies section, that could be a good time to get friendly. However, if you catch her when she's shopping for "supplies," your rate of success automatically drops by about one-thousand percent. If she hands you a misplaced item that she finds in the aisle, take that as a really good opportunity to say you'll see her later. It's your call, but sticking around and trying to sympathize a conversation out of her won't really help your situation when she's already told you she doesn't feel good, and has made it pretty much as clearly clear as possible that she doesn't feel like talking...much less interacting with any human on the planet at the moment. The sad humor of the matter is she'll know exactly what's going on but will probably make little effort to relieve your sense of awkwardness.

A quick "hello" is fine, but a conversation probably isn't wanted.

If you should happen to find yourself in such a situation where you've tried to start a conversation in thus designated area and find it going towards the spectrum designated "unsuccessful," it is not recommended that you stick around to further try and fix the situation. If "that kind of stuff" doesn't bother you, that's great. However, in the silent awkwardness, if you try to break the ice by turning from her to stare at the shelves in front of her, you and she will both know that you really have no clue what you're looking at. She really doesn't need your help buying a box of tampons, anyway.

Scripted. (almost)

2010-04-19T15:36:00.000-07:00

Scene 1: A coffee shop

Girl: Hello! How can I help you today?

Cop: What are you smiling about?

Girl adopts a very stern face, holds it for a second, and then breaks with a giggle.

Cop: Did you spit in my coffee?

Girl:...yes. It's what gives it its special flavor!

Cop: Well, I don't like special flavor.

Girl (to cop's silent partner): Did you not come in this morning, or was I on my break and I missed you?

Cop: Why are you stalking my partner?

Girl: I'm not stalking your partner! You're the one who told me his name!

Cop: Hey, I don't even know this guy.

Girl: Why are you picking on me today, anyway?

Cop (gesturing): ...You see this badge?

Girl (gesturing): You see this apron? It means I can spit in your coffee.

Scene 2: The next day

The cops enter.

Cop: Are you going to give me attitude today?

Girl: Only if you start it.

Cop: Good.

Scene 3: A few days later, as she is getting off of work

Girl sees the cops and waves goodbye as she leaves.

Cop: Bye! Drive safe!

Girl: Thanks! You too!

Cop: I will.

Voices: Who is “you,” and where am I?

2010-04-15T13:09:00.000-07:00

I'm normally hesitant to post my original "work" on here (at least without some sort of protection), but since this has been published I thought I'd put it up. Actual copyrights - gotta love 'em. It's my first scholarly article to find its way into publication. It's long and FULL of contemporary literary criticism (it was my final paper for the class - go figure), but if you like (and can follow) that kind of stuff, you might enjoy my paper...
Or, you might hate it.
At any rate, I'm posting it here.

(Side note: I would encourage you to do a separate reading of only the poem before you really read my paper. Get a feel for it yourself. Get an idea of what it means to you and how it makes you feel, etc. Then, go ahead and read my paper...if you want. Or, you may just want to stop and leave it at the poem.)

* * *

"Voices: Who is "you," and where where am I?" Synecdoche. Vol. 7. Eds.
Hannah Petrak and Ashley Wells. Costa Mesa: Synecdoche Literary Journal of Vanguard University, 2010. 77-87.

* * *

This is not the poem that you will never see.
That poem
I have buried in my heart
So deeply
That I'm not sure that I can even find it.

And so you see the product:
See the many poems that I have cranked out –
Perhaps in search of the one that is hidden.

Wouldn't you like to know what it says?
I'll bet you would.
But perhaps behind the many words
Of so many poems
Is the fear
That the poem of my heart
Cannot be set to words
And yet you would be able to read it anyway.

Grammatically straight lines
Give way to cryptic messages,
And skewed codes of language
Are obvious in their meaning.

When I write,
My messages
Are so encoded
That so often
I don't even catch their meaning
Until it’s too late.
And that frightens me.
Much like you frighten me.

And so,
This poem
That you will never see –
I dedicate it to you.

The first line and the title are the same, “This is not the poem you will never see,” warns the author. But, if I as the reader then become the character in the poem, according to reader-response theory, then who is the “you” that I am speaking to? You can’t do that. What? Can’t do what? You can’t do that. You can’t just use start using a poem and then not provide proper citation. Yes, I can. No, you can’t. It’s plagiarism. No, it’s not. Yes, it is. If you don’t cite your sources, then it’s plagiarism. Okay, fine. I’ll try again.

The first line and the title are the same, “This is not the poem you will never see,” warns the author (Testrake 98). There, are you happy? I’ve even put it in the works cited page. You can check it and see for yourself, if you want to. No, you really can’t do that. Yes, I can! I correctly cited the poem. I can write a paper about reader-response theory on it if I want to. What’s to stop me? You can’t write this paper because you wrote the poem that you’re analyzing. Says who? … According to transactional theory under reader-response criticism, “Even authors’ stated intentions in writing their texts, as well as any interpretations they may offer afterwards, are but additional readings of the text, which must be submitted for evaluation to the text-as-blueprint just as all other readings are.” (Tyson 159-160). A text becomes its own entity after being published. So, yes, maybe I wrote this poem. However, if my intent as an author when writing this piece no longer matters, then my response to the poem is also valid according to reader-response Theory. I see. Yes. Now, will you please stop interrupting? It’s rude and I’m trying to write a paper. Sorry, I’ll try. Thanks.

So, the initial question is who is “you”? If the reader were to read the poem from the standpoint that the narrator’s voice was speaking, then the reader could assume that he or she became the “you” who was being spoken to. In fact, when I wrote this poem, I was thinking about a specific boy. I told you that this would get in the way. Excuse me? Your memories of writing the poem, the emotional connection that you still have to it – they all get in the way and make it impossible for you to read this poem from the standpoint of the reader. You can’t escape being the author. Yes I can. It might take a little bit more work, but I can do it. It might just take a little bit more focusing to think about what this poem makes me feel now instead of dwelling on my original intent, but I can do it. Okay, fine. But don’t say that I didn’t warn you. This was originally one of those semi-angsty love poems and was in reference to a very long and secret love poem that I had written, but had no intention of ever showing him. This is a sort of break-up poem. I rarely admit that aloud, but on page the admission seems somehow safer, more private. It’s almost like the secret of the poem – the page is a safer place to express the inner thoughts than if spoken aloud. When ideas are spoken, then the individual must claim them as his or her own. However, when ideas are printed on a page, the author can (forgive the pun) write them off as “artistic expression of an ‘idea’”. However, as a reader, I have been stripped of my original narrator’s voice. My target audience is taken out of the picture and I am left with an undefined audience. And yet, I can’t escape the nagging feeling that I’m being spoken to in this poem. The “you” is me. I am talking to myself. And honestly, when I read it that way, the poem becomes completely different than how I originally wrote it.

Are you kidding me? What now? I thought this was an academic research paper. It is. Right. Well, as far as I can tell, you’ve basically turned this into a creative writing exercise as part of a lame excuse to talk about analyzing your poem. It is a research paper. I’m not seeing much research so far. Well, that’s because you keep interrupting me. Sorry. I hate it when I interrupt myself. And this is a research paper. I have sources. Look, here are a few:

The purpose of criticism as “in all branches of knowledge, theology, philosophy, history, art, science, [is] to see the object as in itself it really is” (Arnold 809).

“Reader-response theory, by contrast, is properly an effort to provide a generalized account of what happens when human beings engage in a process they call ‘reading’” (Harkin 411).

Also, “different readers may read the same text quite differently. In fact, reader-response theorists believe that even the same reader reading the same text on two different occasions will probably produce different meanings because so many variables contribute to our experience of the text” (Tyson 154).

Okay, so what are these supposed to mean? Well, in his article, “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time,” Matthew Arnold explains that the purpose of reading is to find an understanding of reality, as we know it. However, our life experiences and knowledge influence our understanding of reality. To approach a text without the sum total of what we know is impossible for us as human beings. So, what does that have to do with the rest of your argument? I’m getting there. Patricia Harkin says in her article entitled “The Reception of Reader-Response Theory” that reader-response happens when a person reads. Thus, since I am literate, I am qualified to write about my reader-response to the poem that I wrote. Oh. And the third? I’m telling you: in Lois Tyson’s book Critical Theory Today, she explains that not only do reader-responses vary from individual to individual, but the reader-response of an individual can vary from reading to reading. Experiences or knowledge gained can change our understanding of a text. This explains why when I read my poem, I have two different responses running through my head. The first is, of course, remembering writing this poem to Eric – although he never knew that I wrote it for him. Of course, I don’t think that there’s much in the poem that gives way to the idea that the poem was born out of thwarted romantic inspirations. There are a few hints, I suppose. I wrote that the poem that “you will never see” is “buried in my heart.” I confessed that “you frighten me,” like having my soul exposed and recognized despite my best attempts at creating a clever façade. You didn’t cite this. I don’t need to. I wrote the poem, so, as the author, I give myself permission to write a paper about it. Oh. The poem closes with a dedication:

And so,
This poem
That you will never see –
I dedicate it to you.

However, even the dedication is not overtly romantic. People dedicate books to their mothers, mentors, pets – the relationship does not have to be romantic. However, the irony of the poem is that I am trying so hard to mask the fact that its origins are romantic. I am mildly successful in the use of my “skewed codes of language” that still give way to the impression that the intended reader holds some special place in my heart. Despite my effort to hide what I am really saying in this poem, my words were proved “obvious in their meaning” when my roommate, after hearing it read aloud asked, “is it about a boy?” I still don’t see why you just listed off those sources – one right after the other. It doesn’t provide for a very smooth flow in your paper. It doesn’t look very professional. Well, I just wanted to show you that I’d done some research. You have this annoying habit of interrupting, after all.

Back to the question “you:” Wolfgang Iser, in his article entitled “Interaction between Text and Reader” explains, “a narrative text […] is comprised of a variety of perspectives, which outline the author’s view and also provide access to what the reader is meant to visualize. As a rule, there are four main perspectives in narration: those of the narrator, the characters, the plot, and the fictitious reader” (Iser 1677). However, since the narrator has a voice, this mysterious entity becomes a character in the text, as does the so-called “fictitious reader” when he or she interprets the text. The reader has the options of assuming the role of the narrator’s voice, the role of “you,” or the role of an uninvolved third-party who is observing a confession between the narrator and “you.” Since I directly address “you,” and since my poem elicits an emotional response from the reader, the option of assuming the role of the eavesdropping third party becomes weak, if not inaccurate. The reader is left with two roles to assume in the story of this poem, then: the narrator or “you.”

Laura Mulvey in her article “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema” discusses narrative and audience participation in the gaze. Oh boy! Psychological Theory! This is great! I had to study this a lot for a presentation, so I really know what I’m talking about here! Oh, no. What? I’m being interrupted again. Hey, I’ve been quiet. I let you write a whole paragraph without butting in. But I’m being supportive! I’m excited about this! This is ridiculous. How am I going ever going to write a paper analyzing my poem if I keep getting interrupted? Personally, I think it’s fitting that you’re having all these voices interrupt you now that you’re getting psychological with your reader-response criticism. I think we should analyze you. Now’s not a good time. It’s never a “good” time. I think it’s a great idea! Let’s do it now! No, but – it might be a better use of time than the paper you’ve been trying to write. Are we going to do it? No, I don’t think that it’s a good idea – yes, we’re going to do it. YAY! Ooh, ooh – are we going to use Freud? No, Freud is overrated. We’re going to apply Lacan’s theories because that’s more interesting to me. That’s pretty arbitrary, don’t you think? I don’t care. I’m the one doing the analyzing here, not you.

Let’s see…in looking through “The Mirror Stage as Formative,” by Jacques Lacan, I’m able to find a few things that I think you might be dealing with here. I’m of the opinion you suffer from “a certain dehiscence of the heart of the organism [you], a primordial Discord betrayed by the signs of uneasiness” (Lacan 1287). Clearly, you still struggle with feelings of chaos and fragmentation since you are fighting with the rest of us. You have a “fragmented body-image” so you have assumed “the armour of an alienating identity, which will mark with its rigid structure [your] entire mental development” (Lacan 1288). The libido of your “primary narcissism” for self-preservation makes itself apparent in your struggle to control this paper, and your sexual libido produces itself in your poem and in your attempted analysis of your poem (Lacan 1289). Your anxiety that you experience reflects the realization that you are isolated from your parents. You simultaneously fear your mother and envy her for the lack of connection that you have with her. You feel abandoned. I’m pretty sure that I just experienced a death impulse. Ha ha! That’s funny! Basically, you just might be crazy. No, that’s not the point. Your neurosis is actually normal. We “understand the inertial characteristic of the formations of the I [the id], and find there the most extensive definition of neurosis – just as the captation of the subject by the situation gives us the most general formula for madness, not only the madness that lies behind the walls of asylums, but also the madness that deafens the world with its sound and fury” (Lacan 1290). So, basically, I’m normal. Yes, you just suffer from anxiety brought on after the mirroring stage. Clearly, that anxiety is manifesting itself in your inability to get along with others. Are you a doctor? No. Have you studied this in depth? Well, I read this article. Alright then, I’m going to ask you to please be quiet from here on out. You are not qualified to analyze me and this conflict that you keep referencing is brought about by an irritation of being constantly interrupted. Oh, but I thought that – you too. It just seemed to me like you keep othering yourself throughout this whole process. I don’t even want to get into that. Sorry.

Going back to Mulvey, she explains that in a film, there are three gazes: the gaze of the main character(s) in the film, the gaze of the camera, and the gaze of the audience members. The gaze of the audience is subject to the gaze of the character, with the gaze of the camera serving as an intermediary to smoothly bring the viewpoint of the audience into alignment with the characters in the story. The audience has no choice but to become a character in the film. Similarly, the reader comes to identify with the characters of a text. Yet, because of my experiences (of writing this poem) I have the interesting position as a reader of identifying with both the narrative voice and “you.” This poem then becomes a question of identity.

As the reader, I can analyze myself as the narrative voice. In her brief analysis of my poem, guest editor of the literary journal Synecdoche and author, Rhoda Huffey, writes, “the poet uses negative constructions, what is not, to tell us who she is, to tell us of the fragile and passionate entity who almost cannot bear to be seen, but who must be seen. Don’t Look Up Here! it screams, like the sign on the Crab Cooker Restaurant in Newport Beach” (Huffey v-vi). To phrase her assessment differently, I might tell you that the message of this poem is, “I can’t not be loved, but I’m not going to ask you to love me.” With lines about the unseen poem that “I have buried in my heart so deeply” to the point where “I’m not sure that even I can find it,” and with comments like, “you frighten me” in regards to the idea of perceptively being known and understood, a fragile invitation presents itself to play seek-and-find with a person who, for so long, has kept their heart in hiding. Of course, this interpretation lends itself if I adopt the role of “you” only. When I accept the role of the narrative voice and the role of “you,” I am presented with a different interpretation.

In the first line, I inform myself, “This poem is not the poem that you will never see.” In response to the question of where that unseen poem is hidden lies the response, that I have buried it deeply within my heart. The poem is inside of me. In an attempt at reaching self-discovery I produce “the many poems that I have cranked out.” I will never be able to find the unseen poem because, as a human, I am so multi-faceted that one literary piece cannot capture all of who I am. I am constantly growing, learning, and changing. The thought of full self-discovery frightens me because a full recognition of my identity would reveal aspects about myself that I do not like. However, the search for identity continues because without an awareness of who I am, I am lost. Thus, as a closing line, I acknowledge my unending search for self-discovery with a dedication to myself. I offer “this poem that you will never see” like a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I may never fully arrive at self-discovery, but the further I travel towards my destination, the more I grow. “I dedicate it to you.”

Wow, you actually did it. Yeah, I told you that I could. Is this a sort of “congratulations?” I guess it is. I’m impressed. I didn’t think you could do it. I did! I did! And I’m so proud of you! I especially liked how you brought in the psychological stuff about Mulvey – although I wish you’d talked more about othering. I’m particularly pleased that you finally came to a place where you were able to analyze yourself. You brought up questions of identity, that was good. Okay, well thanks. I worked pretty hard on this, and I’m glad to finally have a finished product in front of me. I just have one question. Yeah? What’s your point? My point? I’ve been trying to prove you wrong. I’ve been trying to prove that I can analyze my poem. I’ve been trying to combat your incessant interrupting and mutinying of my paper in order to show that I can analyze my poem according to reader-response theory. I’ve been trying to show how my voice as an author holds legitimacy as a reader of the same text. That’s what you’ve been trying to do? Yes, that’s it. Oh, well then…I guess you did it. Thank you. I’m glad it’s finally over.

Bibliography

Arnold, Matthew. “The Function of Criticism at the Present Time.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Vincent B. Leitch. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2001. 806-825.

Harkin, Patricia. "The Reception of Reader-Response Theory." College Composition and Communication. Vol. 56. Feb. 2005: 410-25. JSTOR. 1 May 2009. http://www.jstor.org/stable/30037873.

Huffey, Rhoda. “Introduction: Voices.” Synecdoche. Vol. 4. Eds. Allison Blackwell and Kimberly Love. Costa Mesa: Synecdoche Literary Journal of Vanguard University, 2007. iii-vi.

Iser, Wolfgang. “”Interaction between Text and Reader.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Vincent B. Leitch. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2001. 1673-682.

Lacan, Jacques. “The Mirror Stage as Formative.” The Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Vincent B. Leitch. New York: W. W. Norton and Company, 2001. 1285-1290.

Testrake, Rebecca. “This is not the poem that you will never see.” Synecdoche. Vol. 4. Eds. Allison Blackwell and Kimberly Love. Costa Mesa: Synecdoche Literary Journal of Vanguard University, 2007. 98-99.

Tyson, Lois. Critical Theory Today: A User-Friendly Guide. Garland, Inc.: New York, 1999.

Fear blooms into Freedom when stared straight in the face

2010-04-12T18:37:00.000-07:00

So, I just got in the mail notification that what I was worried about has already happened: I wasn't able to work enough hours and I lost my benefits. Well, there goes my health insurance...guess it's time to look into a private plan...again.

On the plus side, this opens up a lot of opportunities that have been offered to me but I've been hesitant to take lest I should risk "losing my benefits." Benefits = gone.
Opportunities: here I come.

It's kind of exciting, really.

In which the writer writes...

2010-04-01T11:33:00.000-07:00

So then I shot that sucker right out of the air. Bam. Right out of the sky.

My house is under attack by moths. Of course, we've responded to the challenge.
The problem with moths is that they leave grossness all over your hands when you smack 'em.
Somehow, I feel like there's metaphor in this.

I ran out of deodorant the other day...as in completely ran out...for a few days, actually. Oh, of course I was able to borrow some from the "emergency" ration at the end of the hall, but I hated it. I think it smelled weird. It was kind of a masculine smell, which I thought was interesting because it was labeled as "Jordache for Women." To make up for it I bought three different kinds from the store...and razors...and shaving cream. (So much for sticking to my shopping plan.) Ironically enough, one of them was a man's deoderant. (Why can't I properly spell that word on my own?) It's called "Wild Country" and I like it. Go figure.

So, things as of late:
~ I thought Grandpa Russ was going to die. But he didn't and he hasn't. It was the kind of thing where I had stopped praying for healing. And then God did it anyway. Oh me of little faith. And oh, what a great and loving God.

~ I wasn't sure how long my client has. I was told he's "living on borrowed time." But aren't we all? It turns out that he could go tomorrow...or he could go 30 years from now. That's the way it is with hearts. I've been praying this time. I have more peace about it. Funny though, how I can pray for him, but give up so easily on Grandpa Russ. I think God sees how bruised my heart is...
it's like He whispers, "Don't give up. Have faith in me."

~ Funny - how I'll give up on praying for the plausible, but hold on so fiercely to praying for the impossible.

~ I'm going to be in a film tomorrow for a grad student at Chapman. I'm just excited.

~ I finished my painting on Sunday.

~ After my success with TEN, I've been encouraged to submit my ten-minute plays to another, bigger festival in northern Arizona. There's a small entrance/submission fee, but I think I'm going to do it.

~ I found out on Monday that I'm going to be published at the undergrad level in the literary journal Synecdoche, again. I remembered yesterday that I submitted two pieces. I'm not sure which got chosen. (maybe one...or the other...or both!) However, the point is: I'm excited.

~ Today is April Fool's Day, which I hate.

~ Today is Maundy Thursday, which I don't know much about but feel irresistibly pulled to anyway. I can't help but feel drawn in by a sense of holy mystery. Even the term "holy week" has a gravitational feel to it for me.

~ I need to file my taxes.

"Psalm 88"...not to be confused with 87

2010-03-30T20:21:00.000-07:00

I finished this on Sunday. Unlike my last painting, "Sodom and Gomorrah," I've had the name for this one in mind all along...although I got the two of the Psalms mixed up and have been calling it by the wrong name for the past...oh, few months.

I'm not gonna deny it: this is has been the hardest painting for me to produce so far. I struggled with major blockage, fear over not wanting to screw it up, and also learning how to paint things like clouds and rain (of all things). However, although I don't think it's perfect, I'm still really satisfied with the outcome.

I've been asked what it means several times (well, basically every time a person sees it) and although there's very much a part of me that wants people to look at it and figure it out for themselves, I think it's also fair to offer my thoughts of intention. So, here we go:

Back in October, our pastor at The Paradigm Shift spoke on "The God who is Silent" (you guessed it) mostly based on Psalm 88.
When crisis or hard times hit our life, we often cry out to God...wondering where He is in the midst of our pain. When He remains silent, we often struggle with guilt and shame. We must have done something wrong. God, where are you? Why did you leave me? As Christians, we often try to just muscle through it and "be good enough" or "fix" ourselves. And yet, these efforts fail. In the psalm, there is no resolution. There is no happy ending. The psalmist remains in his uncertainty and his paint. The pain continues and we remain feeling isolated - abandoned - as though God has turned His back on us.

The psalmist in Psalm 88 calls God out - falsely accuses Him of basically screwing him over his entire life. God, You're the one who put me in this hellhole, and You've been doing this to me all my life. But we know from scripture that God is a good God, a God of love and justice and mercy...which might bring us to the point: "Psalm 88 is in the Bible?" Desperation leads to dangerously blasphemous tones. What we know about God objectively comes into conflict with what we feel about Him subjectively in times like these.

Saint John of the Cross said that silence purges (a violent expulsion) the heart. It shows how consumed we are with ourselves and how much we need pleasure to measure how we're doing with God. Darkness shows us how deep our vice is and how shallow our character is. It's also a great place to start having adult conversations with God. In actuality, when the psalmist writes that darkness brings more comfort than God, the statement actually points to God's understanding (along with others like it in the Bible). As explained by Bible commentator Derek Kidner, "The very presence of these prayers in scripture are a witness to God’s understanding. He knows how men speak when they are desperate.”

In Philipeans 3:8-11 Paul talks about sharing in Christ's sufferings on the cross (and the benefits/joy of that). To flesh that out a bit and tie it in, consider this: in Matthew 25:47 Jesus hangs on the cross and cries out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" before He dies. Although we may feel abandoned at times, Christ is truly the only One who has ever been so - when He took upon His innocent shoulders the guilt, sin, and shame of the world...and God, in His perfect holiness dealt righteous judgment upon that sin (He in our place), turning His back upon Christ in the process. If anybody ever truly was abandoned - it was Jesus. When we experience places of darkness, we experience what Christ went through on the Cross. Your pain points you to the Cross. And in that, you are pointed to how much God absolutely loves you.

Towards the end of the psalm (vs. 10-12) a question is posed which might look sarcastic:

Do you work wonders for the dead?
Do the departed rise up to praise you? Selah

Is your steadfast love declared in the grave,
or your faithfulness in Abaddon?

Are your wonders known in the darkness,
or your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness?

But to this, God responds with a resounding, loving answer of, "yes." The silence we experience is not intended to destroy us. It is intended to shape our souls.

None of these ideas are mine. I simply listened to them coming from Jon Nitta; eagerly wrote them down; and listened to the resonating in my heart to produce, through a painting, what I understood about my own journey and struggle with pain.

Taking that into consideration, the cross in this painting is intentionally tiny. It's the kind of thing where if you look at the painting from across the room, I don't think you can see it. You have to look for it. Sometimes, that's how it is in life with our pain. We are so distracted by the heaviness, destruction, the details, and darkness of the storm around us...and we are so busy trying (unsuccessfully) to deal with the shame and the guilt of that in our own strength that we don't notice (or at least not right away) how God is with us and loving us in the midst of all of it. That being said, I'll leave the rest of the imagery for you to interpret and figure out.

(The detail in this image is sharper, but I don't like how the color got warmed. I think that the mood is better conveyed in the first.)

Here goes another one...

2010-03-25T01:07:00.000-07:00

He's only 17. He's only 17 and we just found out his dad is "living on borrowed time." I don't know where his mom is, if he ever knew her. I don't know. I paint their walls. Their living room looks like a tropical dream home - bamboo paneling on all four walls with "carvings" painted over doorways and onto "beams" and "posts." Two "windows" overlook a beach scene as plumeria bloom outside and spread their leaves into the room - so close to being finished. It's art. It's beautiful. Cheerful. I'm a faux painter. It's what I do.

...But the father is dying, and the son will be left alone.
What am I supposed to do with that?

Hey, Lady!

2010-03-19T10:15:00.001-07:00

I wrote a poem called "Lady Godiva."
It seems like a lot of people don't really know all that much about her, so I did some quick internet researching on her. I like this link a lot. I think my favorite part is the images. They're beautiful.

Icing

2010-03-01T03:14:00.000-08:00

So, looking back at the month of February, I think this has been one of the hardest months of my life. I mean, sure, I've had some hard times...but this one takes the cake for variety.

How fitting that I cried myself to sleep...what a perfect flourish to end it with.

Grief Weary

2010-02-28T21:41:00.000-08:00

Oh, here comes another wave I didn’t expect.

Acute grief leaves the rest of me feeling numb,
Hazy as the initial racking stabs pass and the dull ache settles in

“I’m falling on my knees, offering all of me. Jesus, You’re all this heart is living for.”
(There are so many songs about kneeling or falling down before God.)

It’s funny…the result is only that we as the worshippers fall on our knees before our Sovereign Lord. The reason for the fall isn’t there. Sure, it could be voluntary – a natural response to seeing the glory and beauty of God…but I’m in a place where I identify with a heart that is broken and exhausted. Mayhap the singers have done his or her best to go it alone in their own strength, finding themselves only more and more empty, more and more lonely, more and more wounded. The race becomes a crawl.
Me? I just feel broken – as if I’ve had my legs taken out from underneath me and all I can do is fall on my knees, begging God to be all that I live for. The kind of pain that takes you to your knees. The, “Oh God it hurts!” kind of pain.

Heartache and hardship do wonderful things for revealing the stuff swirling around in your heart, and for helping you to realign your priorities. I need God so very badly right now. Only His peace will calm my heart.

“Lord you are good and your mercies endureth forever…rejoice in the Lord always! And again I say, and again I say rejoice!”

Worship songs serve as a form of thanks in the good time, and a reminder in the bad. His mercies endureth forever. He is good. Period. With no beginning or end, He simply is. And we are called to rejoice always – because no matter what our circumstances may be, no matter how dark our night may look, His mercies and love rain down on us.

Amen.

And now for bed.

Love, Pain; Mountains; Imitations, and Reader Response Theory.

2010-02-22T20:57:00.001-08:00

"I have found the paradox, that if you love until it hurts, there can be no more hurt, only more love.”

Mother Teresa

...I find that so comforting and affirming.

Driving home on the 55 North today the clear, bright blue sky held tangible clouds. Cool air blew in through my slightly open window and the mountains loomed in the distance, snow capped - beckoning and warning in the same stance - purple in majesty and obscurity. The view on the 57 North afforded me lush, rolling green hills. They looked friendly.
I thought of Norse mythology (not that I've studied any, but JR Tolkien did...or maybe it was C.S. Lewis...or maybe it was both) and The Lord of the Rings.

I'm reading The Imitation of Christ. I haven't gotten past the intro yet, but already I'm delighted. The editor spoke of it as being a breath of fresh air...it's so true. Also, he talked about Reader Response theory and I geeked out a bit - with fond memories of Contemporary Literary Theory. It feels good to know that I retained (and actually use) information that I learned in school.

...I guess that's all for now.

Tender Heart

2010-02-22T00:11:00.001-08:00

My mom said I'm a "tender heart"...

I thought to do an image search for a potential new profile pic.

This:

and this:

It's hard to decide which one fits better.

I Get it.

2010-02-21T23:09:00.000-08:00

Death.

My dad said that sometimes grief leaves you sideways. I understand that in concept, but don't think I fully comprehended the fullness of the statement until tonight.

It's like one of those games where you place your forehead on the end of a baseball bat and then spin around in circles until you feel sick....with the idea that you are then supposed to run forward to the finish line.

In life, one will merrily be going along their way when grief sideswipes them, leaving them stumbling...doing their very best to move forward, but spending most of their energy just trying not to fall down.

The "stumbling" and "careening" takes several forms: anger, tears, exhaustion, the need to take care of everybody else, sarcasm, laughter, self-absorption...
I'm still trying to think of more - from my own experience and from others.

Peaks and valleys. I laugh in the peaks, I cry in the valleys. The tears flow easy. I'm waiting for stable to return...but I'm not giving myself a deadline for that one.
It's interesting - I was able to allow myself the freedom from guilt over not crying yesterday. The thing I keep getting caught up on (or feeling guilty over) is my laughter. My humor is dark - boarder line angry and sarcastic. See me stumble sideways.

I wish people just knew without me having to talk about it. I'm tired of talking. Once I start, it seems I can't stop. Or I get pity. I don't want pity. I want compassion. I want prayers for my family. But I am so ____ tired of trying to be strong - and knowing that while I'm doing it I'm trying to be strong...when I don't have to. It's okay for me to fluctuate - to feel "okay" at one moment, and then a few hours to not be okay. I'm just rolling in the waves of grief, not trying to fight or control them - as if I could. I want people to know or understand what I'm going through and then just be with me.

So, I'm here...just trying to figure this out. It's nice that my stress-level has lowered enough to the point where I can organize/express my thoughts (verbally or written) a little better. I just wish...I wish...

I wish I understood myself a little bit better. I wish I understood why I feel this way...
Yes, it's the loss of a relationship. It's the ultimate "goodbye" (or "see you later" in this case) for the girl whose always hated goodbyes. It's helping those I care about carry their grief - and I really wouldn't have it any other way. But, relationally speaking, Bill wasn't integrally involved in my life. I've lost a step-grandparent: a tiding of things to come for the rest of my family, my friends, my loved ones, and for myself (and my descendants). Death - it gets us all in the end. But still, I don't know why I feel it this sharply...as my friend put it, "torn up."

Numbness is death. In this life, you're either living or you're dying. There is no in-between. Things that live feel (the question of plants aside). If you're not feeling, you're not living.

I feel like I need to be writing. It helps me clear and keep track of my thoughts. And I've had so many of them lately, they almost seem to be jumbled. Almost. I'm actually amazed at my ability to keep track of it all, actually...

End.
(I know. It's abrupt. But so is...nevermind. I'm just sideways again.)

Ash Wednesday.

2010-02-17T20:47:00.000-08:00

"Ashes to ash, dust to dust."

* * *

The cross and all other representations of Christ covered in purple cloth - the color of mourning, the color of royalty.

Incense - God's presence.

The sign of the cross on my forehead in ash.
"Remember you are but dust, and to dust you will return."

The communal confession of sins.
Prayer.

Incense again - God's blessing.

Bowing - a sign of respect and humility. The removing of hats every time Christ's name was mentioned, another sign of respect and a rich tie to the heritage of the Anglican church. And it wasn't just dead tradition - it was ritual alive in richness.

The sacrament of communion. The priest held up the bread and broke it. The cracking sound resounded - a reminder of what breaking the body meant. I told myself to remember what was said to me as I received the blessing, but it slipped a few minutes later. We drank wine. It had the strength and the bite that wine carries, but it was oh-so sweet. It was strong, it was bold, it was not "safe." A picture of the cross through taste.

I've forgotten what the hymns said already, but I know that the next-to-last one talked about how we are all in the process of death - that we are only here for such a short time. And then, in the last verse we sang about being newborn in Christ.

I've had such a mix of death and life today.

Saying goodbye to the body of Bill this morning, saying goodbye to the person of Bill two days ago. And at the hospital, they play a lullaby over the intercom every time a baby is born. Monday, Kathryn (now 3 years old) played hide-and-go-seek with me in the entrance while baby Claire (now 6 months) slept. Today, only Claire was there - a beacon of joy, peace, and life in a room of death and mourning. She was such a comfort.
But he is no longer in pain. He is truly free with God now.

At church tonight, all walks of life gathered, and families with infants received the sign of the ashen cross on their forehead reminding them of their own mortality and of the mortality of their children.

We are all in the process of dying, and in Christ we are given new life. Continually dying - physically, and to our sinful ways; and continually being renewed - in a way, continually being reborn into the life that God had originally intended for us - this restoration. And in the mix of death and life, all intertwined, I find such peace. It's the peace only Christ could bring.

I've been afflicted by a strange divide in my life for the past week or so. I've either felt numb - completely fine, or the pain has surprised me and taken over. There has been no in-between - no integration. No "dealing." Today, the dam broke and I now carry with me the weight of grief for those who just lost a father, a husband. I carry the grief of death in a natural manner - integrated. But I see the life in it too. Beauty and pain. Life is never simple.

Christ is found in the complexity. God's peace is there, waiting for me like a soothing balm to my wounded soul.

Thank you, God.

Today at work...

2010-02-11T23:35:00.000-08:00

I accidentally dumped what was left of a green iced tea down my shirt. Let me clarify, not on my shirt, but down my shirt. Like...I somehow managed to miss splashing it all over myself and basically just sent it down my collar (although I got it on my clothes too). It didn't hurt (it was cold) but it was certainly surprising..and wet...oh so very wet. This was no ordinary iced green tea either... it was sweetened. So, as it dried, I remained lightly sticky. I spent the rest of my shift looking forward to taking a wonderful, cleansing shower once I got home.

Hours later...

just as I was about to get off of work, a woman came into the store. "Do any of the employees here drive a _____?" she asked. "I do," I answered her, thinking that although she didn't look like the type I'd figure would want to buy it, she might be in the market for a work vehicle. (It's not such a crazy thought - people have offered to buy it before.) "Oh," she responded, looking concerned, "I hit it."

The lady was actually really nice. And after talking to her for a little bit, I was able to piece together that she's going through a really tough time in her life right now. I felt/feel bad for her - here she is with her life basically in turmoil already, and she has the misfortune to hit my car. I say "misfortune" because it was an accident and I'm in the clear. I'm trying to figure out how to love on her. And yet, when I got home today...I had a very deep-seeded urge to just cry.

I got off of work at 4pm today.
I got home from work at 6pm after figuring out what to do when one's vehicle has been collided into (and all the learning processes associated with that), dealing with the exchange of information, and then (literally) sitting in 5 o'clock traffic.

I'm not going to say that today was the worst work day in the history of my life, but it certainly wasn't my favorite, either.

...however, I can't escape the notion that if this happened (green tea aside) for the purpose of being able to love on another person in a way that Christ would do, then maybe it's totally worth it. What an amazing opportunity...

(I don't remember where this was going, but I found it in my "drafts" so I thought I'd publish it. Reason: What I have written has merit.)

2010-02-09T01:46:00.000-08:00

I could probably sleep right now, but I just don't feel like it.

What's that about?

I feel like it's a sort of metaphor for my life. I have this amazing ability to push myself past my energy limit. I can (theoretically) be exhausted and ready for bed at 9pm, and yet stay up 'til 2am.

I adore this.

2010-01-23T20:57:00.000-08:00

Click here:
This film is great.

Scroll down to the Screening Room Archives, and click on "Tanghi Argentini."
You won't be disappointed.

I want to learn to tango...

Good to know!

2010-01-16T16:51:00.000-08:00

What type of Fae are you?

Vow.

2010-01-15T11:12:00.001-08:00

This I have decided: Let heartache crash down over my head again and again, like the waves of the ocean – I will remain vulnerable.

Little Thought

2010-01-10T23:59:00.000-08:00

So, I did some processing on my birthday, and I came to this conclusion:
On one's birthday, one just wants to know that they are loved - that on this day especially, those around you communicate to you how glad they are that you were born and that you are a part of their life.

That's what it comes down to - feeling special. The parties and the balloons and the bounce houses (or whatever) aren't REALLY the object of desire.

We all just want love.

Yes, operator, I'd like a direct line to God, please.

2009-12-30T19:02:00.000-08:00

So, circumstances lately have left me feeling a bit flustered. That's putting it lightly. But the pain of uncertainty has had me wondering if I should just walk away. And here I shall leave things vague.

Two weeks ago I went to church with this "situation" on my mind. I picked up a bulletin for the sermon and read the title, "Know When to Run."

Fantastic! Here was my answer. It was as if God had prepped me for what I knew the sermon was going to be about. We'd been going through a series called "Christmas Through the Eyes of Skeptics." This sermon was going to be about how after Jesus was born, Joseph and Mary had to get out of town because Herod was a psycho-baby-killer - I just knew it. I sat in my seat, secretly already preparing to thank the pastor afterward for delivering to me this God-sent message that it was time to get out of my "situation."

Right. Not so much...

"Know When to Run" was apparently secretly titled, "Christmas and the Wondering Shepherds," taken from Luke 8. Instead of, "get out of Dodge," the message I got from God was, "Come to Me." Instead of a concrete "stick with it" or "run like you want to do," I was told, "If you want peace, run to me. I will put you back together."

In the end, I'm not sure that this is about whether pursuing or deserting a certain relationship will make me happy or bring me peace. God brought me a third, unseen, forgotten option instead to bring myself and my situation before Him. Only He can heal the fragmentation of my heart.

This is no quick and easy "fix-it" answer. It's an invitation to do relationship with God, to sit with Him. This invitation takes longer and does not produce what I'm initially looking for, but it's so much more substantial than anything else that I could hope for.

And in the end, I think that's the better end of the deal - a true relationship with the Person of God, as opposed to a robot dispenser-God who only gives me what I want according to when I think I want it. His love, grace, and mercy abound even when I'm not aware of it.

* * *

Fast-foward a week. (Or, look back to this Sunday.)

Circumstances haven't changed much. Again, I go to church with a heavy heart, full of strife and tumult. The normal Encounter service which I attend was combined with the Celebration service in the main sanctuary for a combined "family" worship service.

I hardly wanted to be there.

I showed up late and throughout the service listened to people from different ministries get up and give testimony to what God was doing and how they'd seen Him at work. After each speaker sat down, the worship leader would begin, "The Lord is good" and the congretation would answer, "and His love endures forever." (Taken from 2 Chronicles and from Psalm 100).

"The Lord is good, and His love endures forever."

I wish I could say that I wholeheartedly agreed and that hearing the professions of those around me moved my heart to gladness and gratefulness, but the truth of the matter is that I've had a lot of pain to deal with. I sat in anger, silently refusing to open my mouth. But, as I heard the phrase repeated over and over, my stubbornness was overcome with the truth of the statement. God's goodness and His love is eternal. The presence of turmoil does not diminish that to any degree.

Finally, I opened my lips and let fall the words, "The Lord is good and His love endures forever. At first, I spoke out of mere obedience, but the more I said it, the more the truth sunk into my heart.

My point is this: that God meets you wherever you are. He doesn't always answer the questions and grievances of your heart in a way that you want or expect Him to. He is not governed by your desires. But His steadfast love and goodness endure for you and all generations.

Joy.

2009-12-22T20:40:00.000-08:00

(I can't figure out how to format these pictures so that you can see them fully in this post, but if you click on them individually, you'll be able to see them enlarged for all of their full wonderfulness.)

I said this recently to a friend, and realized it's something I'd like to share:

I'm currently listening to the "Christmas Carols" Radio station on Pandora. I've really been craving the spiritual significance of those (hymnal) songs this Christmas season. The classical manner with which they're performed really hits on the holiness and sacredness of the season for me. They inspire just a bit of awe and a sense of peace in me...I love it. I just want to listen to it forever and let my soul soak it in.

Here we have what Christmas is about - Christ coming to earth. The gift of love.
Not consumerism or a fat little man in a red suit.
Innocence. Love. The battle and triumph of ultimate good over ultimate evil. Pain. Messy, organic love. Fear, Trust. Miracles. Beauty. Glory. Humility. God coming to earth. Peace. Comfort and Joy.

And this, I extend to you, my brothers and sisters this Christmas season:
Good tidings to you, for you and your kin. Glory to the newborn King! Oh, come, let us adore Him.

I wish you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Save me, Santa

2009-12-20T09:28:00.000-08:00

The official music video to "I Believe" (which I wrote about in "Sing Along..." on Nov. 29) has been released. Here it is.

Divisible by 2

2009-12-18T23:46:00.001-08:00

I have eleven more minutes to say this: Today it is my birthday.

I am now 24.

I think that Dec. 18th is an aesthetically pleasing date. It just sounds pretty.

*Update: ten more minutes.

flicker . thoughts

2009-12-02T19:16:00.000-08:00

Observation: When you stare into a fire and let your eyes unfocus from looking at anything, the flickering of the embers makes them look like they move according to stop-motion animation.
Things aren't always what they seem.
(Experience: Even though a fire can make your skin hot, sometimes that quick heat isn't enough to take the chill out that has sunk down into your toes.)

I have felt frustrated, but not irate; critical, but not cynical. I feel uneasy about my last post because I think it toes a very fine line in this area, but I will not recall it. I take issue with behaviors, people, and institutions that promote the destruction of others (or the adoption of [self-]destructive behavior of others) not because I think that they are necessarily inherently evil in and of themselves, but because I do not like to see the ambiguous group of "others" hurt or so led astray by lies. I could probably work on being more gentle though. Am I making any sense?

The past three days have been difficult ones for me. Physically, I'm officially fighting a cold and emotionally - well, they've been a rough few days. Here's what I've come away with though...

As I sat on the floor, leaning against the wall with my knees hugged up to my chest while I cried, I couldn't help but wonder, "Where is God with me in this?" Sure, I know the concept that God mourns with those who hurt - that He shares the pain of His beloved, but I'm not sure that I really know it. I don't feel God crying with me. If anything, it feels more like I've done something wrong and God is sitting on the other side of a sterile white room cooly observing me, waiting for me to learn my lesson. Okay, I know that this isn't true...but when I can't feel God, it's hard to accept otherwise. My prayers become something a little more like Psalm 88, and even if what I learned about "pain revealing Christ's love for me" becomes a little bit more real, it's still a minimal improvement as my head and my heart fight against each other to acknowledge it.

I was recently pointed towards the story of Gideon as encouragement about feeling inadequate regarding whatever my future may be. I wasn't quite up to scratch in remembering Gideon's story, so I decided to re-read it. It's funny... About 4 o'clock AM, I read before work and had only a few minutes to get what I could. I speed-read while I waited in the dark parking lot for my coworker to show up so that we could start the opening shift. During that time God served me something great. In the dim lighting of a street lamp, I scanned the header, "Midean Oppresses Israel," and then moved on to "The call of Gideon." I read the first 5 verses before my coworker came, but that's all I needed. I absolutely love the opening: Israel is being absolutely thrashed by Midian...enter our character in Judges 6:11-13:

11 Now the angel of the Lord came and sat under the terebinth at Ophrah, which belonged to Joash the Abiezrite, while his son Gideon was beating out wheat in the winepress to hide it from the Midianites. 12 And the angel of the Lord appeared to him and said to him, “The Lord is with you, O mighty man of valor.” 13 And Gideon said to him, “Please, sir, if the Lord is with us, why then has all this happened to us? And where are all his wonderful deeds that our fathers recounted to us, saying, ‘Did not the Lord bring us up from Egypt?’ But now the Lord has forsaken us and given us into the hand of Midian.”

The angel of the Lord shows up, tells Gideon that the Lord is with him, and Gideon's response is, "Oh yeah? Then why does life suck so much?" I identify with this guy so much, it's almost shameful sometimes.
And yet, for all that (and more)...God uses him in mighty ways (as the rest of Judges 6, 7, and 8 testify).

So I'm left with this disconnect between my heart and my head that God loves me, that He doesn't abandon me for "not being good enough," and that He goes through the pain with me - not apart from me. I guess it's just up to the Holy Spirit to work with me to get that head knowledge to seep down into my heart...

Sing Along...

2009-11-29T10:33:00.000-08:00

Well, the turkey has been put away and we're officially in the count-down for Christmas! We started the rush towards "holiday spirit" so nicely, too, with the manic rush to "get the good deal" on Black Friday. (I'm just glad that I haven't heard anything about anybody getting trampled this year.) As Christmas gets closer, I'm looking forward to parking lot rage as people fight over parking spots - motivated by last-minute shopping panic. (I am reminded during this time how glad I am that I no longer work at the mall.)

However, now that the day dedicated to giving thanks is over and out of the way, at least we have the release of holiday music to play a constant soundtrack for us in the growing mania.

My particular favorite is "Christmas List" by Simple Plan. This song is great. It's upbeat and (more importantly) it's culturally honest. I respect that.

I'm not sure if the song is satirical or serious, but either way I like it. (Although I like to think it's the former over the latter.) It's also really fun to sing.

A few songs after hearing "Christmas List" play, "I Believe", sung by Kermit the Frog and Tiffany Thornton started playing. (Thank you, Radio Disney, I guess I caught the premier release of the duet. The music video comes out December 8th.) My speakers are basically junk so musical clarity wasn't exactly something I was given, but I was caught by the possibility of some theological hunger that I heard in the lyrics:

What makes a miracle?
What makes a Christmas dream come true?
How can a man in red change the world I thought I knew?
How can there be miracles if hearts are filled with doubt?
It's time to leave the doubt behind and find out what life's about.

I believe in a wondrous place they call the imagination.
I believe in a childhood world of hope and celebration.
I believe in the miracle of love.
Because
Oh yes, I believe in Santa Clause.

At this point, I turned off the radio. The song continues in the usage of religious terms to describe a magical, imaginative god in a red suit. I guess we prefer him to the real thing, because we can control him.

Here's a sample of the song. Look for the duet (which has more developed lyrics) in about a week. If you'd like to listen to the song before then, you can YouTube "Tiffany Thornton 'I Believe'" for some really poor quality videos.

A few years ago, I stumbled across a lovely little ditty called, "All I Want for Christmas is to Get it Crunk," by Dirty Boyz. With a title like that, I don't think I need to go into the lyrics to explain what the hip-hop song is about or to describe the moral caliber sung about. However, the song caught my attention not only because it was a direct slap in the face to what every Hallmark Christmas card tried to paint the holiday season as and not just because it was the first song that seemed to honestly confess consumerism as the driving motivator behind "celebrating." To me, the song is one of those that highlights the purpose of the season in that it absolutely points to the need for a savior (while Christmas answers the need - celebrating that the Savior came to the earth). Don't get me wrong - I don't recommend that we go out and start listening to trashy "Christmas" music that is ridden with sex, consumerism, and narcissism...but this song in particular caught my attention.

But maybe this is the result we get when we look for Santa to save us. We reject believing in the love and the gift of Christ, who paid for our sins with His death on the cross. Instead, we "believe" in a man in a red suit, who gives us goodies according to if we are good enough or not.

To clarify, I'm not anti-Santa Clause. I absolutely love the Christmas season. I just think that when we see the selfish, frantic, panicked, guilt-ridden symptoms of a society that has chosen "Santa Clause" to be god (the reason for the season), then the obvious cure is to dump the old god and perhaps return to the old stand-by. Personally, a Christmas inspired by God and producing a time of wonder, thankfulness, and meditation on what Love really is appeals to me a lot more. Sorry, Santa Baby, but you just ain't cuttin' it.

And now I need to go to the mall...

Nancy the Truck Attempts to Thwart a Red Light

2009-11-11T21:54:00.000-08:00

So I sat at the red light, my foot pressed down on the break pedal. However, it wasn't pressed down enough to keep the engine from engaging. Almost imperceptibly, the idle strained against the breaks - but to no avail. All that resulted was a gentle push as the truck's tires failed to move forward. However, I noticed the attempt at movement and pushed my foot down harder.

For all of the effort and energy spent towards moving, nothing happened.

Sometimes, I feel like my life is that way.

Laughing

2009-11-08T10:01:00.000-08:00

So, I saw this a few days ago (and I remembered seeing or hearing it once in Memphis when my attention was partially distracted). I now can't get it out of my mind. I don't know where Ms. Spektor is at spiritually, but I think this song has a lot of merit as far as it provides commentary on our society. (And perhaps on ourselves?)
Oh, and I think the song is pretty, too.

Hurt

2009-11-06T16:14:00.000-08:00

Here's an outline of how my thought process went the other day while driving home:

~ As to why pirates are cooler than ninjas.
~ A comparison of the Pirates movie(s) to Batman
~ The Dark Night
~ Heath Ledger
~ Heath Ledger's untimely death and how saddened I was by it. Man, I had such a huge crush on him.
~ The drug overdose of Ryan, a kid I went to school with from elementary school up through high school, when he died.
~ Why is it that we care more about the famous people who die than the everyday individuals who hurt?

I wanted to pray for their souls, but part of me felt like it was too late. They're already gone. But then I got to thinking about C.S. Lewis and prayer...and only God knows the state of a person's heart...

And I don't think God would mind me praying for others anyway.

So, I did. And that is all.

I wound up with Sodom and Gomorrah

2009-10-27T21:20:00.000-07:00

I finished this today. It's funny how naming something can sometimes be the hardest part. My other working titles were "One Righteous for the Unrighteous" and "The Scales of the Cross." I couldn't decide on which to go with, and Lauren suggested, "How about 'Sodom and Gomorrah'?" Perfect.

I painted this for the Paradigm Shift, the college group at church. We've been going through various aspects of prayer and this particular topic looked at Abraham speaking with boldness and with holy reverence to God over the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah.

In Genesis 18 Abraham basically bartered God down to spare the city, but never asked Him to spare it for the sake of one righteous person because he recognized God's heart and realized that there were none in the city. (Wow, that's a run-on.) The idea was then raised - would God spare the many unrighteous for the sake of the one righteous? The answer is found in the cross.

I love that song

2009-10-25T18:38:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I feel like I'm a wild horse. I'm not looking for anybody to break me - I just want somebody to run with.

Parallel to the things we do

2009-10-23T12:41:00.001-07:00

See these little guys? They're cute, huh?
(Okay, I'm well aware that this is not a cute or "artsy" picture, but I can let that go if you can.)

They're a variety of bird called Button Quail. When I took this picture, they were the same size as the length between the tip of my thumb to the first knuckle. They're about the same width too. They grow faster than corn and evoke squeals of delight and an exclamation of, "Oh how CUTE!" from most females.

After admiring the adorable little figure of the tiny birds, most people are quite surprised when I tell them that the birds are absolutely vicious.

"Really?"

Yeah. Really. Here's an example: the mothers commit infanticide. We actually have to incubate the chicks because a few days after hatching, the mother will kill them. It's quite disturbing. We had it happen once. The chicks huddled under her for warmth. She reached under her, grabbed them by the leg, and then flung them across the cage. The little chicks die if their legs break - not like they die instantly...exposure, lack of food, inability to get to water...that's what gets 'em. The mother also dealt out some harsh pecks. Naturally scared of the "predator" out to get them, the chicks ran back to their mother for protection. It was a sick cycle.

...And that's why we now raise the chicks ourselves with a heat lamp.

Okay, but the point is - if the response to the awful behavior of seemingly adorable little birds is one of shock and (mild) horror, what about our behavior as humans towards one another? ...We who carry the image of God upon us.

I'm just thinking about how we treat each other...or have the capacity to treat one another. While I don't think God is shocked or surprised, I do think it hurts His heart and I can't help but see the parallel.

Wakey, wakey!

2009-10-15T14:22:00.000-07:00

A friend shared this with me a few days ago. I still think it's funny.

Top Ten Most Annoying Alarm Clocks

Honestly now

2009-10-11T21:32:00.000-07:00

Okay, honestly - it was a really hard week. And my heart hurts. I'm not sure exactly where the wounding came from, but I think a lot of it had to do with the silence - from my brother and from the distance I felt from God. Abandoned. I felt unwanted.(Having my phone completely die on my during the trip proved to be the icing on the cake of isolation.)

What a sweet relief tonight to learn about laments in prayer. In the silence, our pain - my pain - points to Christ. It points to the Cross. "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" I am reminded of Christ's love. He is majestic. What a blessing that He is with me in the midst of it - even when I don't feel Him.

My pain helps me better understand how much God loves me. Woah.

Weather Report

2009-10-07T20:08:00.000-07:00

Jon and I walked down to Sun Studios and took a tour today. It was fun. And while Jon called it a "tourist trap" but patiently humored me by paying for both of us to take the tour, I very much enjoyed myself.

Coming back, we shed our jackets and sweaters in the sun, but we never really got hot. The air felt warm with a crisp edge of coolness to it as if to say, "Enjoy this. Fall is on its way."

I seriously think I might be in love with the bread factory. The scent of fresh baking bread hangs tantalizingly in the air whenever I walk by and often it wafts down to the street around the apartments. Today smelled like yeast. A few minutes later the scent changed and I told my brother, "It smells like fresh donuts - like when they cook them in the oil." He didn't say anything in response, but I decided to take his silence as agreement since - technically - no response was needed, I suppose.

There's something about this city. I had decided a few days ago that I probably didn't like it here. I would certainly never live here. But there's something beautiful...amidst the brokenness and the urbanity...something that calls to me. It's as if Memphis has a secret that it's waiting to show me if only I'll give it the chance and get to know it better.

I've never been in a city like this one before. It's not dirty like L.A. It's not destroyed like New Orleans. A few minutes drive leads to autumn-changing forest, tree-lined roads, and green fields. The fingers of the country reach into the city and refuse to lessen their grip amidst the broken windows of abandoned factories and the lots overgrown with weeds. There's a richness. Maybe it's the music that carries the city. The blues express the longings of the soul.

Life is hard here. It feels spiritually exhausting. My brother told me earlier, in reference to the casual nature with which the Christian life seems to be widely approached, "Welcome to the Bible Belt." But God isn't gone. He hasn't abandoned this city. He is just as near as He ever is, simply waiting with open arms for His beloved to turn to Him and His embrace. (I am completely referring to myself as much as anybody else, at this point.)

Jon and I went on an adventure to the mall late this afternoon to get ourselves "snap belts," as called by the girl behind the counter who sold us our buckles at Sun Studios. (The purchase of our buckles at the studio inspired our quest for accompanying belts.) The clouds started to roll in with an abundance of texture as the sun hung lower in the sky. Brilliant pink and orange mixed in the blue sky as white light broke through the clouds and smeared the gray billows. I stared out the car window window over his shoulder and marveled at the strength and gentleness of the wonderful beams that I could only describe as "God's glory." Tonight, the rain returned.

I was told today that I needed to experience the autumn weather so that I could describe it to others unfortunately unable to do so. So, here's my weather report: cloudy with a chance of hope.

Memphis Fall

2009-10-06T00:06:00.000-07:00

Maybe this is what autumn is supposed to feel like. I’ve been sitting here, staring out the window, nestled into a broken lazy boy chair while watching the glow fade on the brick walls of the apartment buildings across the street as the sun sets. Yesterday it rained and today the clouds hang heavy in the sky, hanging even heavier and lower in the evening like an overly ripe crop ready for harvest.

I’m graciously being allowed to stay in the apartment of four skinny musicians – my brother being one of them. Together, he and I have walked down streets, sidewalks, and grassy hills as my newly purchased, gently used, Converses slap the ground. I’ve never jay walked so much before in my life. A layered super coat of two hoodies and a thin jacket keep the chill out and I bury my hands into the outer jacket’s pockets to secure the belongings there, to keep my hands warm, and to attempt assuming the stature of one who lives in Memphis. I’ve been here two days and I’m already tired of being stared at. I didn’t realize it was so obvious that I’m not from around here. My brother and I avoid sketchy alleyways and everyday I begin to become a little bit more familiar with the vibe of this city. However, I cannot seem to help looking people in the eyes and I am usually rewarded the smile or nod I offer with one in return. This is a strange city.

The trees are just starting to turn color and hints of gold or bright red tinge the edges of leaves. The smell of fresh bread from the Wonderbread and Hostess Factory floats tantalizingly through the air. I asked if they gave tours but was told, “no, they don’t do that anymore.”

So, I settle for a large mug of hot tea and watch the lights turn on in apartment windows as outside the late afternoon sky fades to night. This is a hard city – rich with culture – “the home of blues and the birthplace of rock and roll” – but also a depressed one. A sense of struggle hangs in the air – of beauty and life trying to desperately overcome the oppression and mediocrity that could push the soul into hopelessness. Well, it is a city, after all and I, for one, cannot shake the excitement and sense of anticipation that I hold with each new brick, abandoned building, change of weather, or autumn-tinged tree I discover.

The Reality of Pain

2009-09-28T18:22:00.000-07:00

It’s funny how pain can cut right through the mediocrity of life. Similar to beauty, it causes us to freeze, intake an involuntary gasp of breath, and sometimes shed a few (or several) uncontrolled tears.

However, we’ve become so accustomed to beauty that we often take it for granted. Or we try to twist and warp it so that we can force it to conform to our utilitarian standards.

Pain does not politely wait to be acknowledged though. It rudely intrudes at the worst moment possible – just when life was going well, when we had gotten comfortable with our routine…sleepily going through the motions of an otherwise stagnant life – void of risk, pause, or refreshment.

My step-grandpa had a stroke today. While I’m not very close with him, I know him to be a very warm, social man. He would rather risk reintroducing two people to each other five times over than to have them possibly not know one another. He loves getting people (especially family) together for what he calls “parties.”

What a shock to find out that he had a stroke today – a stroke that has left him partially paralyzed on one side of his body.

Pain makes you realize the value and fragility of life.

I hung upside down tonight, trying to stretch out an uncomfortable area in my back, and did something wrong. Out of nowhere, blinding white pain stabbed, like a hot knife, across my lower back. I have no idea what I did in that moment. I only remember the vivid, sensory memory of pain. Everything in life came to a freezing halt as reality viscerally intruded and utterly destroyed any thoughts of mediocrity.

I struggled to breathe. I gulped in a deep breath of air, trying to release the tension in my body, and opened my eyes, surprised to see the ground spotted with tears I wasn’t aware I had cried. My friend helped support me, and only when I clung to her did I realize how wet my face was.

Beauty inspires life and creation while pain makes you realize your inability to do life on your own.
Both make you realize that there is something bigger in life than “self.” Both can reveal the other. Both teach and inspire. Both are real.

2009-09-06T01:31:00.000-07:00

So, I haven't posted here for a while (okay, so a long while) but here's what I've been up to as of late (well, the past 3 or 4 days):

Parking Lot Theology

2009-07-28T11:57:00.000-07:00

I've said this before, but I need to own this thought - not that it's mine exclusively, but I need to identify with it. Writing seems to help me do that. It's sort of a public declaration. I have no clever or smooth introduction, so I suppose I'll just say it (correct me if I'm wrong):

One cannot love God without also loving others. To put it another way, if you don't love others, you don't love God.

I stood in the parking lot of the church with a friend two nights ago and we discussed theology until the wee hours of the morning. It was so refreshing - edifying - restorative.

I brought up John 3:16:
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life." He reminded me that the response (and therefore purpose) of this verse is the glorification of Christ. Agreed. However, look at the reason for God sending His Son - it's out of His love for the world - for His creation.

John 3:17 continues, "For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him."

God's purpose was one of redemption - a restoration of relationship of us to Him. His glory was revealed out of love. You sacrifice for the things that you care about. And God sacrificed the most.

Loving God brings you into a closer relationship with Him. As hearts become closer, they become more unified. They become one. I think it's like this in our human relationships, too. Couples care about the interests of their beloved. As they come together, she might find out that she enjoys soccer and he might discover that going to tea is actually fun. This is a poor example because it's a flawed shadow of what our relationship with God is like, but I think it points in the right direction.

As we grow in our relationship with Christ, our hearts become more and more like His through the continuing process of sanctification. Thus, if we say that we love God we should also be loving people.

But what does that look like? Love is not just a feeling. In acting classes that I took during college we were told, "acting is not feeling something, it's doing. You have to show it." Love is an action. It's a choice. It's something we decide to do even when we don't feel like doing it. It's putting the needs and wants of another before our own (John 15:12-13). It's sacrifice.

It's risky. It's reckless. It means calling out for justice in a mindset of mercy (look at Micah). It's done through community. Love requires relationship, so it's not something that you can do alone.

The Church provides that community of love. But let's be honest - the Church is far from perfect. And how could it be? It's comprised of a bunch of broken, flawed people. But that's the way it was designed to be. The Church is like a hospital - you don't go there expecting to see a bunch of healthy people. Yet, those in the hospital have realized their need for help, their inability to heal themselves. The purpose of a hospital is to bring about the restoration of health. Similarly, the purpose of Church, through the power of the Holy Spirit, is to help bring about the restoration of relationship - to God and to one another. That's not to say that the hospital (or Church) should be chaotic. Mentally unstable people are not let out of the psych ward to go wandering about at free will. Similarly, there is discipline and boundaries within the Church.

Peoples' lives rub up against one another creating friction, revealing our rough spots that still need working out. And that's what community does. But out of love, we realize that we are all fallen. We are all sick. We are all rough. And so we love eachother. But we don't love out of our own power. There is nothing about you or about me that is so great that it deserves to be unconditionally loved. But God's love transforms our hearts so that we can grow to love others as He loved us - unconditionally.

And those are my thoughts. Loving God produces a love for others. It has to.

Fish Song

2009-06-12T13:23:00.000-07:00

First off, I'd just like to say that I love working at my dad's house. I get to be with people whom I love, I get to do activities that allow my mind to wander, I get to rest while working hard, and I've been listening to my Pandora station of The Three Tenors (although currently I'm visiting the Coldplay Station). It's beautiful here. And I get to do a lot of processing...

So today as I was scrubbing paint over spray off of the kickboard in the bathroom with Krud Kutter and a toothbrush, I started thinking about salmon. I have no idea where the thought came from. I wasn't even listening to music to put the idea into my head, but it invited itself nonetheless.

Here's what impresses me about salmon:
~ They are born in freshwater, live in saltwater, and then return to the freshwater to spawn.
~ When spawning, they return to the same place that they were hatched - sometimes/often swimming upstream against currents of force to get to the location.
~ They generally die within a few days of spawning.

These fish are amazing.

The last fact has always caught my attention. While my initial response may be some cynical joke along the lines of, "and that's why we say 'no' to kids," I realized something kind of beautiful today. Scriptures say that it's a picture of Christ.

The whole purpose of these fishes' lives is to give life. And while I can't exactly say that these fish are motivated by love, I cannot help but notice that collectively, an individual dies so that others may live. This isn't a passive decision. This isn't just bad luck - a "well, you got picked in the lottery, so sucks to be you" kind of sacrifice. It's active - something brought about by the fish's actions to bring about life.

That's really neat.

So, if the whole purpose of a fish's life is as such (evidenced by what they die for), then how much more amazing does that make the actions of Christ?
While fish may act out of instinct, that beautiful component of love is central to the divine love story found in the cross.

Monshers of Reckless Abandon

2009-06-05T00:29:00.000-07:00

Here's how working in the garden went for me yesterday (well, two days ago now):

A wonderful little two-and-a-half year old came running at me from across the yard, blonde hair flying and hazel eyes full of joy. I was either half bent over in a rose bush, trying to cut out a sucker...or I was completely squatting under the plant (it's hard to remember exactly because this happened a coupe of times).

"Beppa Boo!" she cheered as she came to a stop and gripped her hands into either my back pockets or into the top of my jeans - whichever suited her fancy on the various trips she took to see me during her flight around the yard.

With the back of my jeans firmly in her grasp, my favorite little person then brought her teeth down over one of my back pockets and "bit" me. "Beppa Boo, I a monsher and I eating you!" she informed me.

"Oh...yep!" was about all I could say each time as I stood there with a pair of clippers in one hand and a very large rose branch in the other - doing my best to focus on breathing deeply so that I wouldn't betray how much she was tickling me or how ridiculously cute I thought she was. Also, if I squirmed, I was likely to wind up face-first in a rose bush. To say the least, the experience was super cute, very funny, and tickled like crazy but I couldn't let onto that because to wiggle out of her grasp and laugh would only encourage the behavior.

And let's be realistic: although having a two year old grab you by your jeans and bite your butt while informing you that she's a monster that's eating you is really funny and charming when you're in the backyard, that sort of behavior isn't typically embraced too much in public. As children age and come to "know better" this sort of behavior is also discouraged. So, I treasure it for now.

I love watching young children because they are free from many of the constraints that society has placed on them. They are free to laugh, explore, be silly, play, and love without further thought. They don't feel the pressure of not fitting in. If they understand that they are loved, then that's all that matters. Everything else in life follows for them to pursue with every ounce of energy in their little bodies.

I think maybe that's what Jesus meant when he said that we were to become like little children. We are called to a relationship with him where we wants us to understand how unreservedly he loves us - unconditionally, no exceptions. And in the depth and security of that love we are free to live our lives as passionately as little children who just saw a butterfly for the first time. We are free to marvel, to love extravagantly, and to take bold risks - to loosen the shackles of our insecurities, and to live in the knowledge that we are being watched over by One who has the power to protect us even in the face of real "monshers." We can experience wild, reckless abandonment to joy.

Kathryn conquers the "dinoshwawr".

Good.

2009-05-30T16:01:00.001-07:00

So, I dunno...I graduated, what - about two and a half weeks ago?

I'm still writing thank you letters. It's a good thing to do.

I moved home. It's a good place to be. My brother came home about a week after I graduated, and it's really nice to see him. Today I went out to lunch with a friend and then came home and just sat with him as he changed the oil in his car.

The whole point of me writing right now is because as I'm sitting outside writing my thank you notes with the intention of keeping him company while he washes his car, my cat decided that my lap would be a good place for her to occupy.

She circled around the legs of the plastic lawn chair, looking for a good entry. She settled on her target and jumped.

It was really funny. There wasn't much room for her and she ended up sitting on my keyboard (the list of people to thank are on my computer). Although my leg is now slightly scratched, I thought it was pretty funny, and for some reason, leaving a little, silly, inconsequential blog seemed like a good thing to do.

I'm in the process of pursuing some really exciting dreams of mine with a few dear friends.

And it's good.

After today...

2009-05-10T00:29:00.001-07:00

I am now a college graduate.

Mr. Bumble

2009-05-07T19:19:00.001-07:00

Okay, this is not to trivialize my last post or anything, but this makes my heart smile, so I thought I'd share it. (Call me nostalgic, if you will.)

Here's another blog post I found the other day:

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Mr. Bumble and me
Current mood: hopeful

"I love my Mr. Bumble. I brought him home with me from Singapor. Although some ignorant people may say that he is a monkey, I happen to know that he is a Bumble-Bee-Dog. Be informed."

here's why Mr. Bumble is great:

1. he says that going to Vanguard will be great and exciting and that he's going to go with me just to make sure.
2. he's good at cuddling.
3. he has amazing fashion sense.
4. everybody knows that dogs are extremely loyal.
5. i can tell him my secrets and he doesn't tell them to others.
6. he likes hugs.
7. he's squishy. (not just anyone can be squishy and not gross simultaneosly.)
8. he makes me smile.

*say that he's a monkey and i will end you!

hahaha - no, but seriously though...

Back to today:
Mr. Bumble has come to school with me every year. Although he's lived in a drawer in my desk all this year, the 8 reasons above still apply. Add one more: he loves me even though I'm graduating as a spinster. So, many thanks to Mr. Bumble for his steadfastness and loyalty all these years at Vanguard.

Bumble, this one's for you.

Final.ly

2009-05-07T12:24:00.000-07:00

So, I just took my last final. Granted, I still have make-up forum posts to do for my English 466 class (freaking elective - who does that!?), but still...

I just took my last final. Ever.

It's funny - I don't know that I've ever had a week of finals that was so busy and full of challenges. And yet, I think I've handled them really, really well...all things considered. So, now that I've had a moment to breathe...

Wow, this is it. I'm done with school. How many years of my life have gone into this? Let's see, starting with pre-school, kindergarten, grades 1-12, five years of college...19 years. Wow, I've spent 19 years of my life in school.
And I loved it.

So, this is bitter sweet. I'm really going to miss school. I've loved learning. I walked out of my final today, got on my bike and rode around a campus that I'm saying goodbye to. It felt like one of those beautiful days in summer camp where part of the beauty of the day came from its transitory nature. It's fleeting. And in that, there's a subtle, quiet, peaceful, slightly melancholic beauty. I can feel God with me. I can see Him in His creation, and I can feel Him whispering to my gently grieving heart. The sun is warm, the air is soft, a butterfly jigs across my vision. I'm grieving the passing of something I knew, but I'm celebrating a race well run.

And now there's the future. It's unknown. I don't know what I'm going to do with my life, but I'm excited about it. I have a passion for beauty, for art, for people, for emotion, for God...and for the church. I want to do something that involves all of it.

It's a beautiful day.

So, I'm thinking about seminary. It's a thought that's been there as of last night, but I'm thinking about it. Fuller Seminary offers an MA in Worship Theology and the Arts. Maybe Here?

It's a beautiful day, it's a beautiful day. And hello, and goodbye, and it's a beautiful life. Thank you.

Self-Fufilling Prophecy

2009-05-04T16:48:00.001-07:00

Soooo, I was browsing through my old myspace blog posts in search of something that I wrote a few years ago, and I stumbled across this post from Wednesday, September 06, 2006:

cats, LOTS of cats...
Current mood: amused

okay, so i've been going to Vanguard for a week now and I'm not engaged yet...

I guess that means that I'm doomed to graduate as a spinster...

;)

Currently reading:
Much Ado About Nothing
By William Shakespeare
Release date: 01 May, 1995

...Dang it. I guess this is one of those things where I say, "I went to college and all I got was this lousy degree." Heh, heh, heh. ;)

Somewhere out there, there's a big world with an ocean, beach, and grey skies...

2009-05-02T18:12:00.000-07:00

It's 6:13pm and I'm still in my pajamas. I woke up at 11am today, ate an apple and my left-overs from my celebratory dinner Mimi's Cafe after my Senior Recital.

Lunch included crackers and a Snicker's Bar. My neck is really, really stiff and I feel pretty gross from sitting in relatively the same position all day.

However,

I think I just finished my Contemporary Literary Theory paper, and I feel pretty good about that. Of course, I think I'll feel even better about it after I've had a shower. I think then I'll come back and review it.

I don't know that this entry really has any significant importance, but I thought I'd share about it since it isn't everyday that I feel like an academically-induced sloth.

Today is May 1

2009-05-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

1. I graduate in 8 days.
2. I performed my senior project last night. It went soooo well! God is good.
3. I'm trying to write a paper right now.
4. I have another paper to write after I'm done with this one.
5. I have a lot of extended dead-lines that I was graciously given by my professors.
6. I have a final project due Monday.
7. I have finals next week.
8. I graduate a week from tomorrow.
9. I have Theatre Awards Banquet tonight.

Wow.

Life is changing so quickly.

Yes...23 is a good age to be.

Lovely

2009-04-24T01:29:00.000-07:00

–adjective

1.	charmingly or exquisitely beautiful: a lovely flower.

2.	having a beauty that appeals to the heart or mind as well as to the eye, as a person or a face.

3.	delightful; highly pleasing: to have a lovely time.

4.	of a great moral or spiritual beauty: a lovely character.

–noun

5.	Informal. a beautiful woman, esp. a show girl.

6.	any person or thing that is pleasing, highly satisfying, or the like: Every car in the new line is a lovely.

–adverb

7.	Nonstandard. very well; splendidly.

I looked this up the other night...I didn't know that the definition would make me so happy. :)

This is life...

2009-04-23T04:07:00.000-07:00

and it's beautiful.

~ Irish breakfast tea
~ a joint-effort snack of cheddar cheese and wheat thin crackers
~ "I need to wear that beanie...it'll help me write my paper."
~ theological discussions
~ reading quotes of literary value
~ art and painting and discussions thereof
~ "I finished another painting!"
~ talks about wonderful boys
~ "okay, I need to focus now..."
~ good music provided by the Coldplay station on Pandora...
~ "I LOVE this song!"
~ the felt presence of the Holy Spirit

what a beautiful, joyful, life-filled all-nighter. I don't think I've ever had one this good before. I was happy to do it.

God is so good.

fight.

2009-04-23T00:46:00.000-07:00

Do you ever feel like you're in a situation that just careens out of control like a train running down a mountain with failed breaks? Disaster is imminent: the train will jump the tracks at the next bend or it will crash into the stone side of the crag leaving a messy product of blood, sprawled limbs, and destroyed bodies. What started out as a slow and steady climb ended in death.

That's kind of what tonight felt like...

except that God showed up and saved the day.

Okay, so I'm normally a girl who likes to avoid conflict but tonight we had to deal with it. Things weren't looking good and I had just about all but given up...

and then a miracle. I don't know what happened, but I do know that there was a turn-around.

So many thanks to Ashley for being that lion of justice and for coming alongside of me and pursuing reconciliation.

So...the story ended differently. Just as the train was about to dive off the cliff at the bend in the tracks, that Holy breakman showed up and saved the day - errr, night.

This is poorly written, but I need to settle. It's strange, I've carried all this tension around with me, and now it's gone. But there's now a vacuum.

It's like a tumor: it starts out small and then grows larger and larger until it bulges under the skin with its tendrils sneaking into vital organs. Through a touchy, risky surgery, the cancerous mass is removed and the patient is saved. But a hole is left where the mass once grew and the patient has to relearn how to be comfortable being healthy.

So...that's where I'm at right now. It's a good place. It's a little unsettling, but oh I am so glad to be here.

I'm breathing free, thank you Jesus.

Okay, now I have a paper to write...

A loan means you have to give it back...

2009-04-16T15:54:00.000-07:00

If something was never mine in the first place, then "losing" it is no longer as big of an issue, right?