pried loose

you think you're scared of camping now? just you wait...

2010-08-06T11:14:00.005-05:00

in an effort to be both amusing and cute, J. posted on his facebook wall his list of fears regarding our camping trip to the BWCA this weekend. allow me to share both his post here, and my rebuttle.

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J. writes:

"This weekend my girlfriend ... is taking me camping (way) up north. I have not been camping since High School. While I am very excited and have been looking forward to it all week, I do have a few reservations. The following is a list of my concerns.

1) Rattle snakes. ‘Hope I don’t get bit by one. Believe me, I will be. Guaranteed!

2) Bears. ‘Hope I don’t get eaten by one.

3) Tics. ‘Hope I don’t become home to one.

4) Swimming in the Lake. I can’t swim. While flailing around I hope I don’t attract a gigantic muskellunge who considers me any easy meal. And Ashley, no dunking!

5) Family style BBQ. Hope we don’t become unwitting participants in one (and yes, for those keeping track at home that is a Butthole Surfers reference).

6) This is the sound of an Elk mating call: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jNVx10VF9ss
Surprisingly and not without a teeny bit of irony, this call is very similar to the sound Ashley makes when she snores. So, what happens if, in the morning, I unzip the tent only to find a herd of Elk have made our campsite their nesting grounds? What then? Show me the camping survival reference guidebook that has a chapter on that, you can’t.

7) Cliffs. Hope I don’t get vertigo and fall off of one.

8) I forget what 8 was for.

9) ‘Hope I don’t come back a hippy.

10) ‘Hope we don’t encounter the Blair Witch. Hey, it could happen.

11) Lastly, I hope I don’t come back loving jam bands like phish, the Grateful Dead, etc. To prevent this, I’m going to load Ashley’s IPod with Husker Du, Daft Punk, Slipknot .

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and now, for my rebuttle.

1) you needn't fear snakes in minnesota, for only three snakes are native to the north country: the eastern garter snake (thamnophis sirtalis), the northern redbelly snake (storeria occipitomaculata), and the northern ringneck snake (diadophis punctatus), none of which are poisonous. however, should the one and only displaced rattlesnake in minnesota happen to make it's way into our tent? i offer the following from bear grylls: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WzMHVbQc0rA

2) black bears have been known to be a nuisance in northern minnesota, and their tales are many and legendary. and although i have been known to torture my friends on previous BWCA trips with a somewhat unwarranted fear of black bears, if one should wander into our campsite, they are most likely looking for food scraps or perhaps a warm cuddle.

in bill bryson's book "into the wild", he tells the tale of a family picnicking along the eastern seaboard who encountered a black bear during their joyous meal. thinking the bear was harmless and seeing a photo opportunity, the matriarch dipped her infants hand in a jar of honey and held it out to the bear while smiling for the camera her husband was operating. the bear thusly ripped off the infant's hand and forearm. and still, another story in the same book tells a tale of a boy scout who fell asleep in his tent with a snickers candy bar in his sleeping bag. later in the night, a black bear, obviously mad from the scent of caramelly-noughatty-goodness, ripped the tent apart and dragged the boy into the woods. by the time the scout leader stumbled awake to rescue the boy, both the snickers bar and the boy were half digested.

because of these stories, i am not bringing either of my infants, a snickers bar, a boy scout, or a jar of honey.

3) tick's can be a nuisance, this is true. but i have been bitten many a time and survived with my sanity and limbs generally in tact. of the things to fear in northern minnesota, tick's are not high on my list. being a good and native new yorker, i fear a crazy murderer on the run from the law who just might happen upon our happy campsite before i fear anything nature can induce.

4) swimming is a necessity in northern minnesota, especially when there are no showers to be found. if J. refuses to swim, he will not be sleeping in my tent. this is a very simple equation. swimming in lake + no available showers = happy J. sleeping in warm tent next to beautiful girlfriend. refusing to swim in lake + no available showers = J. sleeping on the cold, hard ground while beautiful (clean) girlfriend sleeps soundly inside tent.

5) i am surprised that J. and i have made it this far in our budding relationship, as i know nothing about the butthole surfers, husker du (pronounced "husker do", right?), slipknot or mountain biking. i digress...

6) i think facebook is an unnecessary place to disclose the nightly habits and/or rituals of one's partner. and because i care deeply for J., i will spare you all of his nightly habits and/or rituals.

7) cliffs? this is minnesota. i think the biggest cliff we have in these parts is the stone arch bridge.

8) nice reference... "10, 10, 10, 10, everything, everything, everything, everything..."

9) hippies are not the only genre of person to take to the woods. but it is, primarily and unfortunately, a caucasian-dominated recreational activity.

10) yes, 'tis true. i saw the blair witch film in theaters when it first came out WHILE ON A CAMPING TRIP. we thought it a good rainy-day activity versus sitting in a stuffy, drippy tent. i do not recommend seeing this movie before embarking on a camping trip. which brings me to my top five things NOT to see before camping:
sean penn's adaptation of 'into the wild'
michael jackson's "thriller" music video
any of the friday the 13th movies
stand by me
brokeback mountain

11) see #5.

sleep training twins will make one question the existence of god

2010-07-26T19:12:00.002-05:00

in my household of two babies, we have what i consider to be a sleeping "problem". and just for the record, yes, i do consider the fact that i have not gotten more than five hours of consecutive sleep in the past eight months a significant problem... for me.

i did some research today and, asides from realizing that we are doing a handful of things right when it comes to teaching a baby to put themselves to sleep, there are a handful of things that we seem to be doing wrong. after reading approximately four chapters of "the perfect guide to putting your perfect baby to sleep in a perfect fashion so that you can call yourself a perfect mama".com, i wondered if i might be keeping my babies up too late in the evening. the method that i read said, quite simply, that all of your middle-of-the-night problems would be solved if you put your baby in his or her crib when they are drowsy, but still awake. typically, i wait until my babies are so tired that they are rubbing their eyes and crying themselves silly before i put them in their cribs for the night. and the 30 - 90 minutes that follow said putting-in-crib are a test of wills, patience, and above all, an exercise in complete futility and exhaustion.

so this evening, i attempted to watch for signs that they were drowsy, but not yet overtired, and put them in their cribs at that point. that was at 6:15. dare i say this aloud, but save for a little bit of vocalizations from nash about three minutes ago, they've been sleeping ever since.

now, i may pay for this at 3:00 a.m. when nash and zeke decide that it's time to wake up and conquer july 27th, 2010 once and for all! but we shall see. until then, i'll take a few hours of peace and quiet in my house, and a bedtime routine that doesn't involve bailing wire, countless trips to the nursery with earmuffs, and vodka.

two parts panic, one part excitement

2009-09-22T10:13:00.003-05:00

i am now twenty-eight weeks pregnant with these two little burgeoning babes and find myself waffling between utter and complete panic, excitement… then right back into panic.

the panic stems from the reality that, very soon, i will be the sole caregiver for two bodies, two spirits, two souls that have been entrusted to my care by someThing greater than myself who obviously thinks i am capable of such a thing… which leaves me feeling two ways - #1) i am more than slightly inadequate for such a daunting task, and #2) this someThing greater obviously doesn’t know me.

the panic also stems from the fact that i have never held a baby for longer than 15 seconds without thrusting the screaming-red-faced-nightmare back into the soothing arms of its mother. i don’t know. there’s just always been something about me and babies – i make them scream their heads off. and in a very short period of time, i am going to, supposedly, be that soothing presence of "mom" for not only one, but two screaming-red-faced-~~nightmares~~ beautiful babes. i have also never in my life changed a diaper... not even on a doll. and, yes, very soon i will be changing two babies' diapers with some dreadful frequency.

oh, but in the midst of this panic and fear of the unknown, i am stricken with excitement that my entire life is about to change… forever. i will never again not be a mama to these two babes – no matter what may happen. what a beautiful gift i have been given.

i know there will be many moments of joy and beauty amidst the fumbling craziness that is soon to come. my only hope is that the moments of joy and beauty are enough to hold me fast and steady through the moments of panic and fear which will surely continue until i am no longer on this earth.

and here we are, at twenty weeks

2009-07-28T13:01:00.004-05:00

this week, i am twenty weeks pregnant.

from what i've heard, twenty weeks is a milestone. it's usually around the time you have the "big ultrasound" where they check for all important limbs, body parts, and specifically, those body parts. around twenty weeks, most women start to feel those first few baby kicks. twenty weeks is also the exact mid-point of your forty week pregnancy. twenty weeks down, twenty to go.

however, i am having twins. which means that i will most likely meet this two little creatures earlier than forty weeks. we could wind up face-to-faces around thirty-four weeks or anytime thereafter.

"so what?" you may be wondering.

well, i'll tell you what. i am losing sleep at night over the thought that i'm more than half way through my pregnancy and have nothing to show for it other than countless pairs of elastic waist pants and a fridge stocked full of food for my ever-increasing appetite. but that is pretty much all i have to show for myself at this twenty week milestone - a bigger belly, a voracious appetite, and bigger, more flexible pants.

the room we have designated as the "baby-baby room" is a vacant, un-painted, dreary disaster of leftover and yet-to-be-unpacked items from our move one month ago... we have researched carseats, cribs and strollers but have not made any decisions or purchased anything... we haven't decided what kind or type of slings we'll need, nor have we made a decision on what kind of cloth diapers will be best...

i had hoped that my thrust into motherhood would be the kind that my friends would admire or write to their own mothers about - a blissfully organized week-by-week planning guide to motherhood with items ticked off of a to-do list in a manner that would make martha stewart foam at the mouth. instead, i am as disorganized and behind-the-proverbial-eight-ball as one could possibly be.

i know i can do better than this, but i am just so damn tired... and hungry.

... and then there were two

2009-07-23T10:13:00.000-05:00

'round about the end of march, i wound up pregnant.

i guess the phrase "wound up pregnant" doesn't really quite fit. it's not as if i did nothing to bring this on. but this was definitely not planned. we were not trying to get pregnant. we had not seriously talked about starting a family anytime in the next decade. in fact, due to a medical diagnosis that my partner received in his younger years, we indeed thought it impossible to ever have children together without external and medical, eh-hem, "intervention".

the weeks that followed the discovery of those two little pink lines on not only one, two, or three, but seven different pregnancy tests, were a mixture of panic, excitement, fear and trembling. as the days ticked by, the panic began to subside into peace and i began to feel more and more okay with the idea of growing another human for the next nine months and then welcoming that human into this broken world with some modicum of sanity, a bounty of mistakes and an ample amount love.

so as i was, quite literally, just barely starting to wrap my head and heart around the idea of having a baby ("a" baby, meaning one, singular, solo) i went in for my first OB appointment. i was about 8 weeks pregnant. chris was not with me at this appointment as i figured it would be the standard OB/GYN rigamaroll, and let's just be honest - no one really wants an audience for this.

i will never forget the moment that the nurse practitioner "got in there" (pardon the bluntness, but if you're a regular reader of my blog you are used to it by now...) and said "well, both pregnancies look great". at this point, my lack of knowledge regarding conception, the female reproductive system and babies in general reared it's ugly head as i responded with - "both pregnancies? what, is one of them the placenta or something?" the nurse simply smiled and stated quite plainly, as if reading me the weather report for the next five days, "no, my dear. you are having twins."

i do believe that my heart stopped for approximately 8 seconds.

at the conclusion of this appointment, i walked to my car, clutching the ultrasound pictures of two little circular blobs in my sweaty hands. i fell into the car seat in wracking sobs. i had to talk to someone, but telling chris over the phone seemed somewhat cold and innappropriate. so, of course, i called my mother.

i happened to catch her at a thruway stop somewhere along the eastern seaboard. i believe she may have been in a dunkin' donuts. she answered the phone and heard my trembling voice squeak out "mom? i'm having twins..." . i believe at this point, she laughed with sheer joy and announced to the entire dunkin' donuts that she was going to be a first time grandma to twins. this was not exactly the "support" i was expecting, but her joy and excitement quickly eased my panic and fear. in fact, it became contagious.

i went into work and immediately walked to chris' desk. he knew that i had an appointment that morning and i'm sure he was somewhat fearful and nervous of what they might find. i walked into his cube and said "we need to talk. now." chris has since told me that i was white as a sheet. we walked into an empty conference room and sat down. i pried the now crinkled and sweaty ultrasound pictures from my trembling fist and simply slid them across the table towards him, not saying a word. he looked at it for a moment, and then gave me a big smile and said "...... two?!"

a lot has happened since then, as i am now 19 weeks along. i have stumbled into the vast and somewhat chaotic sea of all-things-baby including, but not limited to:

crib comparisons
ring sling and baby wrap shopping
support groups for mama's of twins
cloth versus disposable diaper debates
car seat shopping
maternity pants (quite possibly the only proof that there is, in fact, a God)
various birthing plans for twins
attachment parenting resources
breast feeding forums
organic pregnancies
prenatal yoga classes
stroller comparisons

all of this and i find myself somewhere in the middle of feeling "i'm only 19 weeks along" and "holy-crap-i'm-already-19-weeks-along".

so consider yourself officially welcomed onto this journey... this miraculous event that has taken over and changed me, forever and for the rest of my life.

why ashley rebekah is such a universe-sized idiot...

2009-02-13T12:58:00.000-06:00

alright. here's what happened.

for the past 10 days or so, i've been having "trouble" with my car. and by "trouble", i mean it hasn't been starting.i decided it was time to take the car in to the shop when levi (my brittany spaniel) and i got stuck in a chilly grocery store parking lot on tuesday night. i have lately taken to running errands with my dog. he's alone for such a massive part of the day that it is simply too heart breaking to leave him again in the evenings for errand running. so i usually throw him into the car and we errand together.

back to tuesday night.

after about 3 tries in that chilly parking lot, the car did finally turn over. levi, bearing witness to all the drama and panic of this event, gave me a look that only a disappointed child or dog could give it's irresponsible parent, as if to say "when are you going to start acting like a grown up and take better care of ME???". i sighed, gave levi a sideways glance as he tilted his curly auburn head in shame and embarrassment. i picked up the phone, called toyota, and made an appointment for friday.

which brings us to this morning. just wait... i'm getting to the idiot part.

bright and early, after about 4 cups of coffee and 6 attempts to start the car, it finally did start. i drove the car out to the shop, stepped out of my car, gave the nice technician my keys and explained the situation. he walked over to my car, opened the door and sat in the drivers seat to take down the usual information (VIN #, mileage, etc). but then, he stepped out of the car and kindly summoned me - "ma'am? i think i know what your problem is..."

yeah. my FLOOR MAT was all crumpled up under the clutch, so the clutch wasn't quite making contact enough to start the car.

for this, i woke up at 5:15 a.m., showered and drove 15 miles.

a lesson in urban speak and financial wealth

2009-01-22T13:25:00.000-06:00

Whatever You Like
Words and Lyrics by T.I.

Chorus
Stacks(1) on deck, Patron on ice
And we can pop bottles all night
Baby you can have whatever you like
I said you can have whatever you like, yeah
Baby I can treat you so special, so nice
I'll gas up the jet(2) for you tonight
Baby you can go wherever you like
I said you can go wherever you like, yeah

Verse 1
Anytime you want to pick up the telephone
You know it ain't nothin to drop a couple stacks(3) on you
Want it, you could get it my dear
Five million dollar home, drop(4) Bentley's I swear(5)
Yeah I want yo body, I need yo body
Long as you got me you won't need nobody
You want it I got it, go get it I buy it
Tell them other broke jokehs(6) be quiet

Verse 2
Shorty(7) you da hottest, love the way you drop it
Brain so good coulda swore you went to college
Hundred K deposits, vacations in the tropics(8)
Everybody know it ain't trickin if ya got it
Ya aint never ever gotta go to yo wallet(9)
Long as I got rubberband banks in my pocket
Five six, rides with rims(10) and a body kit
Ya ain't gotta downgrade you can get what I get
My chick can have what she want
And go in every store for any bag(11) she want
And know she ain't never had a man like that
To buy ya anything your heart desire like that

1 The word “stacks”, according to a standard definition, would lead one to interpret that T.I. is referring to smoke stacks, as in, he's taking his special lady friend to a factory so she'll get a job and earn her own money. But a slang definition of the word “stacks” is called for in this instance, being that this lyric is written in “urban language” format. According to the online Urban Dictionary, T.I. is most likely referring to stacks of money that he intends to give to his lady freely and without reserve.

2 It is expensive to gas a jet. This, yet again, proves that T.I. has a lot of money as he is willing to gas a jet and then let his special lady friend fly aforementioned jet wherever she wants to, whenever she wants to, regardless of the fact that there may be a wind on the nose of the jet which would greatly decrease the jet’s fuel efficiency, leading to more frequent re-fuelings. This is reckless spending, and therefore we can deduce two things - #1) T.I. has a jet; and #2) T.I. is loaded.

3 This is T.I.’s second reference to the word “stacks”, however in this instance it is highly unlikely that he is referring to smoke stacks at a factory (see footnote 1). If he wanted to drop smoke stacks on his lady, he would probably go to prison. That’s abusive.

4 The slang phrase “drop”, here referring to dropping Bentley’s, means that T.I. is willing to spend, or give, or “drop” anything on his special lady friend, even an extraordinarily expensive car such as a Bentley (list price $150,000). From this statement we can deduce two things - #1) T.I. isn’t hesitant to “drop” anything on his special lady friend; and #2) T.I. is loaded.

5 By saying “I swear” following the preceding statements regarding Bentley’s (see footnote 4 above), and also referring back two phrases to the five million dollar home, we can deduce two things - #1) T.I. is serious; and #2) T.I. is loaded.

6 The laws of syllogism state the following: “A + B = C”. To solve this lyrical problem, we apply the laws of syllogism to the statement “Broke Jokahs Be Quiet”. In this instance, “A” is a word meaning poor, or with minimal financial means (“broke”). “B” is a word that means funny person, or comedian (“jokahs” being the phonetic spelling of the word joker). In conclusion: Poor + Funny Person = Be Quiet.

7 “Shorty” – noun. A young, very attractive female.

8 “Vacations in the tropics” are only for the wealthiest of the wealthy. Even at an all-inclusive resort in a tropical location such as Cancun, you will spend thousands for a simple 4 day/3 night trip, which would be considered more of a long weekend rather than a “vacation”. The term vacation almost always denotes a trip that is at least 7 days and 6 nights. To have a proper vacation in the tropics, the amount of money spent would be astronomical once you include the price of fueling and re-fueling your jet, drinks, food, and your hotel. And, you’ve already established a symbiotic relationship with your “shorty” in which she can have “whatever” she “likes”, and you know she’s going to want to do a little recreational shopping in the tropics, get her hair done, or spend a day at the spa.

9 This is quite possibly the first time the T.I. isn’t being completely honest with his lyrical prowess. If he is with a “shorty”, which we’ve already established is a young and very attractive female, then we know that whenever they go out together for drinks she will be asked to show identification proving that she is of legal drinking age. If she “ain’t never gotta go to” her “wallet”, how is she supposed to show her identification? She will, in fact, have to go to her wallet. Fallacy #1.

10 A “ride” in urban speak often refers to one’s vehicle or mode of transportation. “Rims” are an after-market accessory that can be installed onto the wheels of one’s ride. Rims are often indicative of financial success and wealth. Also of ego and endowment.

11 Fact - Women are only good at three things - spending money, spending money on shoes, and spending money on bags. Although a bag is merely an accessory, bags can be grotesquely overpriced depending on the designer and size of said bag. For example, a classic multi-pocket bag from designer Marc Jacobs can easily cost $1,200. For the average American, $1,200 is a monthly mortgage payment, or a down payment on a Ford Focus. The following two things are evident from this statement -.#1) T.I. does not drive a Ford Focus; and #2) T.I. must have a lot of money if he is willing to “drop” $1,200 on a bag for his “shorty”. In other words, "T.I. is loaded".

the chasm between the me's

2008-09-25T23:27:00.000-05:00

tonight i took a brief journey though my past blog ramblings (priedloose.blogspot.com) and i felt the oddest thing. i felt like a complete stranger to myself. who was it writing those things? it was me, it had to have been me. but it has been so long since i sensed any kind of inner connection to the things and people and ideas that once drew me deeper. to reflect on them now, well, just a beautiful short year and a half ago, i feel like an utter, total, and complete stranger to myself.

is this still formation? am i still be "formed" into something beautiful? or did i misstep, did i miss something and step off of some holy path that i am supposed to be on right now?

i do not have the answer to those questions. not tonight.

but i do know this - that i could not be more different than the person i was a short 15 months ago. yet... there is something in the words that i wrote then that i still feel pulsing within me. there is still that sense that i'm "in there"... somewhere. and. at the same time... i am so utterly and completely different now. but i could not imagine myself happier. and back then? i was miserable. absolutely miserable within. the darkness that ate at my insides was at times so consuming and heavy that i could barely breathe. i haven't felt that darkness in a long time.

maybe this journey of hide and seek, of seek and find, of learning myself and letting myself be is never over. so. i'm completely and utterly different than i was. and i need to embrace the chasm between the two versions of me.

maybe the chasm between the two is what is most beautiful.

what i have learned...

2008-09-24T22:08:00.000-05:00

when my beautiful brittany spaniel, known to humans as "moon", died last november, i tried not to knee-jerk. i tried not to do the thing most people do when they lose a loved one - go out and get a new one to love. and i didn't... i did not replace one furry companion for another. i enjoyed my dog freedom. i enjoyed not having to race home after work knowing she'd been alone for far too many hours today. i loved not having to consider her in my evening or weekend plans. i didn't mind not having to care for another creature. and, i have successfully spent my time since last november caring for little other than just myself. probably a wise decision, since it turns out i needed every emotional reserve i could muster just to care for myself.

but in august, i began to wonder. maybe i'm ready. maybe i'm ready to welcome a furry companion back into my life. i began to not mind the idea of having someone to take with me on my morning runs. i began to long for a companion on my evening walks. and the idea of sharing with a warm creature my bed that sometimes feels so big for one person was a welcome idea... but i don't have the time, or let's just be honest, patience, for puppies. yes, they're cute. yes, they're soft. yes, they are very popular with hallmark, cottonelle commercials, and e-cards everywhere. but they eat. and they eat absolutely EVERYTHING. furniture. carpet. undergarments. shoes. clothing. toiletries. tools. slippers. papers. plants. socks. wood floors. doors. anything they can get their cute little baby puppy teeth on. also, potty training a puppy can really make one question the existence of god.

but i kept looking...

around august 20th, on the american brittany rescue website i found a description of a two-year old brittany spaniel to the tune of "just wants to be loved"; "already house broken, potty trained, and does not bark"; "great with children, other dogs, strangers"; and the pictures of this mysterious brittany, known by humans as "eli", were stop-your-heart beautiful.

so. i arranged a meeting with "eli".

one beautiful august saturday in the late summer cool of morning, i drove the long 105 miles to brainerd minnesota and met "eli" at his foster home. what i had planned in my mind to be "just a meeting" turned out, of course, to be a full-fledged adoption. i came home that saturday afternoon responsible to and for another living being, now known to humans as "levi".

the thing about rescue dogs is this - you never know their history. it's really quite mysterious. did his previous owner hunt with him? did they play with him? were they kind? were they mean? as the weeks have gone by, i've figured out enough to know this - i'm pretty sure his previous owner was, how do you put this, "heavy handed" with him. he cowers or shrinks back if he thinks you are upset with him or if you happen to move too quickly in his direction, for example tonight, when i dropped a pan on the floor and he wincingly ran, butt-tucked-under-legs, into a corner. we shared a few tender moments together in that corner, me coaxing him out of the corner with assurances that i was not throwing the pan at him, but that it was simply an accident, etc etc...

so in these first weeks that i have had him, i've learned a lot about him, and i think he is learning about me too. i think he is just beginning to understand that i'm not the kind of human who will ever hurt him. that i just want to love him and be loved in a manner in which only a dog can love - that unconditional "you don't really have to do anything and i love you anyway" kind of love.

as i sit here and write this, he is sound asleep pressing into the left side of my body, quietly breathing. his pink nose is against my forearm and i hope that he no longer has nightmares of whatever his old may have been like, but now only has peaceful dreams of the new life he has with me.

selah

2008-07-18T14:19:00.001-05:00

the word “selah” shows up 74 times in scripture, most often at the end of a psalm that begins with instructions to the choir director, or musical leader. at the end of these musical petitions of the people of god, there is this simple instruction - “selah”. the psalms were written by king david, a man who is depicted in the bible as both holy and wholly loved by god. but david is also depicted as wretched with sin, consumed with his own desires and humanness. and in all of these bundled contradictions of the person of david, he is called a man after god’s own heart, a man that god truly loved.

we are all “david”... bundled contradiction of the holiness within and the humanness without. and since david included the word “selah” in many of his petitions, i think it may be important to understand why he chose this word, and pay attention to it.

from the little that i have studied so far, i have found that apparently the word “selah” is hard to define. but here is what i have found -

there is speculation that the word “selah”, when used in scripture, was probably either a liturgico-musical mark or an instruction on how to read the text, something like "stop and listen to what you just heard”.

selah. stop and listen.

the word “selah” is derived from the hebrew root word “salah” (סלה), which when literally interpreted, means "to hang", in the aspect of weighing or measuring something. historically, food and other necessities were weighed by hanging them from a measuring scale to figure out their value, to figure out what they were worth.

selah. to hang.

the greek term “selah” is used to signify a change in thought and theme at a certain time, a shift in direction, a change in course.

selah. a change in direction.

"selah" notes a break or pause in the musical psalm or passage of scripture. in this way, it is similar in purpose to the word “amen” (amen literally meaning “so be it”) in that it stresses the importance of the preceding passage, the preceeding time, the preceeding thought.

selah. so be it.

the word “selah” is sometimes defined as "forever" in the context of liturgy. psalm 84.4 says “blessed are those who dwell in your house, they are praising you. selah”; yet in other interpretations that omit “selah”, it reads “blessed are those who dwell in your house, they are praising you forever”.

selah. forever.

so we have “stop and listen”, “to hang”, “a change in direction”, “so be it”, and “forever”.
i don’t believe it to be an accident that this little five-letter word has jumped off of the page into my field of vision time and time again this year. because these ideas, these phrases, have been inside of me throughout this journey. this year has been, and will hopefully continue to be, my “selah”. a time when i have chosen to stop… to stop and listen. to think about what has happened, to pay attention to what is really going on, and to let the pieces fall where they may without trying to manage them away. to hang in this moment no matter how uncomfortable or painful, and remember to be gentle with myself because i am a child of the god of the universe, valued no less than the trees, the stars, and the entirety of existence. to remember that i chose this change in direction. i chose to step off of the path i had worn for myself of normal expected destinations, and rejoice in the hard work of wearing for myself a new path that is all and entirely my own. that in this process and journey, i am becoming the rest of who i am.

it was just yesterday

2008-06-14T11:49:00.000-05:00

there was something about the the earth yesterday morning, the way the sunlight tangoed on the green leaves of summer, that wet-dirt-earthy smell... there was something in the air that reminded me of october, and i felt something beautiful, positive and hopeful well up inside of me. the smell and feel of the air actually brought a smile to my face. in the wafting breeze, i felt a sense of comfort in my memories of this past fall, almost a sense of longing... how is it that my memories of this fall are laced with peace, comfort, almost a sense of joy? all those hours i spent weeping on my kitchen floor in agony over all of my failures... all those nights of sobbing myself to sleep... all those mornings of crying my way into work, barely having the strength to even get up for something that mundane. how is it possible to have fond memories of, and a longing for that?

perhaps this is just our way. our minds have a way of forgetting was is utterly too painful to recollect, yet our bodies hold on to triggers of smells, sounds, sights, and sensations. and so when our bodies are reminded by these smells, sounds, or sights, our minds go instead to the moments of peace and happiness we felt in the midst of that trauma. for me, it was the month when my mom was here, or making my first apple pie from scratch. or the experience of conquering my first toolbox, and all those beautiful sun-drenched morning walks before heading off to work. those lunchtime meanders down to peavey plaza to sit in the sun and watch the leaves change... those were the moments that i lived for this past fall. the times of peace, comfort, calmness, those moments when i truly felt that i was overcoming at least something.

to me, there is nothing more beautiful than fall. it is death, in physical form. you watch it transpire, as the life is sucked out of the leaves. and in the process of dying, they give off the most radiant beauty. in the process of letting go of that photosynthetic shimmering green, they become something even more beautiful than they ever thought they had a whisper of being.

i guess that is the process that began for me this fall. letting go of the life i was trying to build, and letting it die instead of worshipping at its feet as an idol. and in the wake of that death, i am becoming something much more beautiful than i ever imagined. so that is why my body triggers memories that feel, dare i say it aloud, almost happy... it was death, and i will always mourn for it just as one would over the death of anything they love. but on the other side of that death is more life that i ever dared to speak out loud or dream.

six months ago, march 24th, 2008...

2008-05-10T14:50:00.001-05:00

about six months ago, i made the decision to put a gigantic “pause” on the life i had been trying to create for myself, and step out with the whisper of a promise that there just might be something better for me. there’s no need to lay out in chapter and verse all of the reasons why that decision became not only plausible but possible, just as there’s also no reason to lay out why that decision was utterly impossible and implausible. but somehow in the months and weeks leading up to that day, the ledger line shifted and i knew what to do. and so, on september 24th, with a faith that felt more shaky than solid, i embraced a completely unknown journey.

the weeks that followed were a mixture of shock-slash-relief. i was taken in by a dear friend who offered me and my two bags of neccesities a place to live, a place to rest, and a place to ‘be’ until i knew what next to do. i remember falling asleep in her extra bedroom, in the cool september air, often to the sound of rain, feeling more worn out than i ever had a memory of feeling. she helped me get from day one to day two, from day two to day three, without looking too far ahead or regretting what i had done. i look back on those two weeks with a great deal of fondness… which is more than slightly bizarre, being that those two weeks came in the wake of a life-altering decision that i swore would rip me apart. but it didn’t rip me apart. instead, i began the process of getting put back together for the first time in my life, and the friend who embraced me through those first two weeks was one of the main reasons why.

when the time came to take the next step forward, i was surprised by the hands that showed up to lift a box, unpack dishes, put together furniture, or take me shopping for new sheets and towels. i was also surprised that my new home felt more like a sanctuary than the prison i had been anticipating it to be. there were small doses of joy and peace in those first few weeks of “nesting” in my new home and neighborhood. despite the trauma that lead to my living alone, there was so much good surrounding me on every side. it was nearly impossible to not find at least something beautiful to be grateful for, even on the days when i couldn’t pry my face off of the cold kitchen floor. i was somehow overflowing with gratitude and grace in the midst of my grief.

the next few weeks included those dreaded things we call “holidays”, which are painful enough to withstand without having just re-entered life post-trauma. but i made it through thanksgiving relatively unscathed with the help of my beautiful mother who stayed with me during what would have otherwise been an incredibly lonely few weeks. christmas was my first trip home for the holiday since my first year of marriage, and it was amazingly healing to spend those days in the house that i grew up in, the place where i started to become who i am still in the process of becoming.

december also marked my staggering re-entry into the many chapters of being a single adult, which often times include fresh new batches of heartache and disappointment. the weeks that followed christmas were some of the darkest. i woke up almost every morning crying, and could barely make it to work without falling apart on the way. i believe that i spoke to my mother on the phone every single morning… but it was hardly a conversation. it was mostly my sobbing, quickly followed by her offerings of love and compassion long distance. this continued until i got so bored with my own heartache that i had to begin to hope beyond what i was feeling. i began to acknoledge that the momentary heartache threatening to swallow me whole was not about the event that kickstarted it, but more about what it represented and reminded me of. and again, through all of this, i found myself encompassed by the kind of love that simply sat in the mess with me.

the months that have followed since then have been filled with a variety of life experiences that i never pictured for myself even a year ago. i have been surrounded by friends and family who have listened well, loved well, laughed well, and lived alongside me well. i have somehow wound up being the sole beneficiary of people who have been more than willing to let me be a mess, and love me anyways. i have found ways to navigate through the mess, all the while learning to have more patience with myself than i normally do, and remembering that what i did took a great deal of strength and courage. were it not for the people who have loved me, i could not have done it and i would not be here.

whatever small words i can offer are laced with gratitude... both for the journey that has lead me here, and for the decisions that i do not regret. i could not wish for anything different that what i have been given.

a little more light

2008-01-04T23:53:00.000-06:00

this is what happens on new years eve... you flip through your memories of the past year and ponder all that has happened, while simultaneously anticipating what the next year may bring. and most likely, if you're anything like the other 98.7% of us, as you remember the past year and look forward to the next, you have to get so completely annihilated with alcohol that you subsequently spend most of new years day with a headache, a hearty dose of morning-after regret, and a bunch of resolutions to the tune of "will drink less in '08".

as i look back on the past year with fear and trembling, the thought-slash-prayer that is buried within my broken heart is "i'm not sure if i can take much more of this". and it is in the beautifully penned words of anne lamott that i say, "luckily, at this point in time, i was still drinking".

i refuse to entertain you with an endless list of the events that have taken place this year. because what's more important that remembering specific scenarios or situations is to remember that i have tried to just keep walking forward on this journey. my knees have given out under the weight more times than they have held steady, and any forward motion i had looked less like a proud gait and more like crawling, clawing, and clutching the ground, with long pauses to press my forehead to the floor. i do sometimes wish that i could give myself a convenient case of amnesia in order to forget most of what has transpired this past year. but that is not possible. and so instead, i am trying to weather those memories with a little bit of self acceptance, a lot of self forgiveness, and more patience than i've been known to have with myself.

as i look forward, i hesitate to say that it couldn't get any worse. because it just might.

but somewhere inside of me, even though i shudder to admit it, i think i still believe that Someone greater than me knows exactly what i can handle. so here's to hoping that the same Someone hears me when i say "i don't think i can take much more of this", and will simply shed a little more light on my way through this darkness.

what comes at 3:37am

2007-10-24T16:56:00.000-05:00

in the middle of another dark night, tossing and turning, with the gods of sleep withholding their mercy, i pulled myself out of bed at 3:37am, consumed with fear and loneliness.

i have discovered that in the middle of nights like this, the physical act of pressing my swollen face against the cold linoleum of my kitchen floor can be incredibly soothing... and quite the event to witness. the other thing that helps me through these desperate nights is the discipline of writing without the luxury of self-edit. so last night, i decided against lying prostrate on the kitchen floor, and picked up my notebook to write. as the words took physical form on the pages, it was pathetic, desperate, almost feverish. i could hear the sound of panic, pacing the chambers of my grey matter with tap dance shoes. i wrote like this for probably 20 minutes. all my questions, fears, anxiety, depression, shame, loneliness, heartache, all coming out at once as if the flood gates had been ripped off their hinges. and then i thought to myself "yeah, this is really gonna help calm me down. great idea."

for the past few weeks, i've been gorging myself on elizabeth gilbert's book eat. pray. love. and last night in the midst of this frantic encounter with my writing, i remembered something i devoured somewhere in the first 50 pages of the book:

"...i'm spiraling in panic, like i always spiral when i don't know what to do. so what i do for tonight is reach for my notebook, which i keep next to my bed in case i'm ever in emergency trouble. i open it up. i find the first blank page. i write: 'i need your help.' then i wait. after a little while, a response comes, in my own handwriting: 'i'm right here. what can i do for you?'".

elizabeth goes on to explain how it is in her own voice, her own words, her own heart, the place where something holy resides, that she begins to find some peace and comfort. the voice of someBody holy and wholly-other-than begins to speak to her from within. so last night, i took a breath and a swallow of water and said out loud, into the corner of my bedroom "please help me. please." and the frenzied hysteria that had been streaming out of my head and onto the page, simply stopped. and from somewhere both simultaneously within and outside of myself, these words came...

"let go. you are holding on so tightly to what you think you need. but you have absolutely no idea what that is because you have utterly and completely lost yourself. so let go. get away with me and i promise you, you will recover your life... i promise you. you will recover your life.

"this is it. this is going to be your salvation, but this will not be easy for you. this is going to hurt for a long time, and this will not be over soon. and i have nothing but love to offer you. and i know you don't believe that you deserve this.

"beloved, be loved. let go.

"right now, this is about you and me. no one else. no one else. when you are alone with your face to the floor, i am there, hunkered down in the corner. when you want to feel anything other than this, i am within and around you. when the loneliness rolls over and envelops you, i am there. so hold. hold fast to me. i am there.

"get away with me. i am infinite.

"i am the infinite.

"i know you are too worn out to believe this right now. but you are going to be ok. so just let go. beloved, be loved. let go."

to get inside, to get to me

2007-09-17T22:13:00.000-05:00

i had a dream a few nights ago that has stuck with me for a couple days, so i'm wagering that writing about it will help me figure out what it meant.

this was one of those dreams you have where you're watching yourself sleep, and in your dream you wake up, but in real life you're still sleeping. in the dream, i am sleeping on the dining room table, which in our house is right in front of a huge sliding glass door that opens up to our deck. there i am, cuddled up fetal style on the dining room table when suddenly, i am startled wide awake by the presence of something coming up the stairs to our deck. the figure looks like a woman, but she doesn't seem entirely recognizable as a human being. she has long red curly hair, so frizzy and ratted that it almost looks like dreadlocks. she's wearing a dress which looks like it may have been loosely related to the color white at some point in time, and it is very distressed (you know, "distressed", the style you pay an extra $100 to have someone else do to your designer jeans). she has two wings that look like they're made out of some sort of stiff gauze. one of her wings looks slightly bent out of shape, maybe even broken, and both are ripped in various places with translucent strips of gauze dangling from the edges. she is also wearing big black boots... not the sexy kind that you wear to your 9-5, but the kind that you wear when you're good and ready to kick some ass.

and it is windy. very windy. and eerily quiet. the only sound is the wind. all of her traipsing about on our rickety deck, her hair and her dress blowing in every crazy direction imanginable, and the only sound is the wind.

so this figure, this woman, walks to the glass door. i am still lying in the fetal position on the table, pretending to be asleep as if i can fool her into thinking i am. but i am not seeing her with my earthly eyes, as she is not seeing me with hers, and so my pretending gets me nothing except a false sense of anonymity. i lie there, frozen still, but am very awake watching her. she puts her hand to the door and pulls on the handle to open it and come inside. but the door is locked.

she cups her hands around her eyes, straining to see inside. she tries the door just one more time. and then, without any more effort, without knocking or trying to come in the house through some other means, she turns around, goes down the stairs and walks away from the house.

and the wind stops.

if you believe in guardian angels, or some sort of guardian "other" that watches over you, perhaps that's what she was. god speaks to people in their dreams all the time, or at least he used to when we used to listen to him. and maybe this dream was his way of introducing me to my guardian angel. if so, i think she's pretty incredible. she's exactly what i would want in a guardian angel, a ragtag tom-boy ready to fight, yet still holding on that air of earthen beauty and effortless grace.

but she was trying to get in, to get inside... to get to me and rescue me from something. and whatever it is that i need rescue from is so impenetrable that even she can't get at it to fight it off right now. she needs me to do something, to take part in my own rescuing... to let her in.

or maybe she just loves a good fight (hence the boots), and she's looking to get in and roundhouse-kick-to-the-face anything that is trying to break me. but for whatever reason, she can't right now. and so maybe this is her time to rest... because she didn't try to climb in through a window, or force her way in through another door. she simply walked away, as if she knew that i'd be alright for a little while. and if she really is my guardian "other", she knows i'm bound to wind up in something pretty deep that will require fighting and rescuing. you can't fight when you're broken and tired. she's going to need her rest.

or maybe she walked away because she's finally given up on trying to rescue me when i do nothing to rescue myself.

or maybe it's nothing more than the chicken noodle soup i ate at 11pm.

whatever it may be, all i know right now is that there is a wind outside and i can feel it through the window as i sit here and write this. and i can sense the presence of something alongside of and within me, as sure as i can feel the breeze on the back of my neck. perhaps it's protection. or maybe just a reminder. whatever it is, i hope that it stays.

the fall of a bridge, the clinging residue

2007-08-05T11:50:00.001-05:00

on wednesday august 1, a bridge that carries I-35W into and out of downtown minneapolis, collapsed 40 feet into the mississippi river, taking with it all the unlucky travelers who happened to be driving there at that precise moment. in the hours that followed, there was widespread shock and universal despair. phone calls were made and emails were sent amongst friends, co-workers, family, acquaintances... "are you ok?"

being from new york, i am very reluctant, if not adamantly opposed, to comparing this in anyway to what happened on september 11th, 2001. the events are, at their core, distinctively different. however, those heightened senses of connection, empathy, and gratitude are universal in the midst of disaster. in that sense, the events are similar. large scale tragedies have a miraculous way of bringing us together.

i remember where i was when i heard what happened. i was in my car, on the way home from south minneapolis. i remember my reaction... without much of a reason or rhyme, i simply began to cry and the tears overwhelmed me. i didn't know where they were coming from. usually when i cry, i know it's coming from about 3 days back, and i like to work myself up into a good old fashioned crying frenzy. but this came upon me out of nowhere. and my first immediate thought was to the people who had been on the bridge, their families, their friends, their children. that was someone's sister, someone's best friend, someone else's father, someone's daughter.

i thought too about myself, my husband, my beloved friends and family. and i thought "oh god, what if it would've been ________ (insert name)." and as i checked in with everyone that i love and found them to be safe, i was overwhelmed with gratefulness. and then overwhelmed with guilt.

it's been five days now. and as the number of missing people has declined from the predicted 30 to the now 8, and the confirmed dead has been announced as 5, it seems that the tone has begun to change. or at least, the tone has become more evident. "it could have been me"/"i'm so glad it wasn't me, or my family".

here's where the guilt comes in. it angers me that we make this about ourselves. it seems that the only way we can relate to the absolute nightmare that those five families of the deceased are living right now, is to imagine it happening to us. it seems so self-centered. it seems almost narcissistic.

i'm not trying to point the finger, because i did it too. but sometimes the thing you hate the most in other people is the thing you hate the most about yourself.

so i've taken a few deep breaths now, and gotten some perspective that isn't quite so collective-loathing. and i've decided that maybe it isn't so much about how we find these points of connection or empathy, but that we find these points of connection or empathy at all... that is the real miracle, that we find each other at all in this mess. maybe we get there the roundabout way, through self-awareness and egoism, but we still get there. and the only hope we have is in believing that the process, the journey, the way from A to B, is somehow covered with enough grace to make it all beautiful. that what is most important isn't the tattered remains of our sense of self, but the clinging residue of our sense of each other.

blueberry pancakes and the remnant

2007-07-18T23:00:00.001-05:00

matthew and i have triumphantly returned from our eastern seaboard gallivanting. part of our trip included a visit to jordan's, a restaurant in bar harbor maine, famous for their wild blueberry pancakes.

my parents, native new englanders, have graced jordan's with their presence many a time. they've learned the tricks... how to order, where to sit, and they said that the "best seat in the house" was at the counter, in direct view of the griddle and "jordan" himself (i'm actually not sure if his name is jordan, but he's definitely the founder and owner of this fine establishment).

what we witnessed in the 30 minutes it took us to devour said blueberry pancakes, is hard to describe. the place is filled to the brim morning after morning with a healthy mixture of both tourists and locals. there is no back kitchen, and all the food preparations take place right before your eyes. there is no electronic device for the waitstaff to type in their orders. there is no paper trail to be passed back to the kitchen. what there is, however, is a process that is beautiful to watch.

one after another, the waitstaff step back towards the main griddle, where jordan is on pancake and hashbrown duty, and his 2 fellow griddlers feverishly prepare omelettes, waffles, eggs-to-order, and many other breakfast pleasantries. the waitstaff approach and say "can i order please?" to which, silence from jordan means that they can. if jordan says "wait...", that means he's a little too busy at the moment to pay attention to the order. and he needs to pay attention because he doesn't write anything down. every kind of bizarre breakfast order from "double order of blues" to "easy over eggs, side of hash, one blue" is committed to his memory, no pen or paper is involved in this.

maybe this isn't amazing to you, but it was to me. there was something beautiful about this 50-something-aged man in a ripped up old t-shirt, his wedding ring covered in pancake batter and fingernails permanently stained a sultry shade of purple from the wild blueberries. i kept thinking, how simple and beautiful it was to watch him, that there is no small task in this world. thousands of people come into his restaurant every day, just to eat his pancakes. and at the end of the day, his hands are stained purple as a reminder of his efforts.

now that we have returned home, and my experience at jordan's is quickly becoming nothing more than a 4x6 on iPhoto, it has come time for me to face the reality that i am now unemployed. i am not only unemployed, but have no idea what to do with this next chapter of my life. dreams of grandeur pervade as i think about the word "career"... what big illustrious thing could i do next to change the world, to be remembered greatly, to be honored, thanked, seen.

but what i learned from my blueberry pancake experience, was that maybe there's nothing wrong with a little simplicity for a change. to simply believe that i have something to offer, and that no matter how small, it is enough. maybe i won't change the world or be remembered greatly. but maybe i could make blueberry pancakes for some people who are hungry. maybe the remnant would be nothing more than the purple stains on my fingers. and maybe that would be enough.

rescue

2007-07-17T13:29:00.000-05:00

the piercing sting of every end
is the silent growth of new beginnings

the deafening silence of every death
is somehow the mystery of new life

and maybe what we deem to be disaster
is quite possibly the holiest version of a rescue

so i'll believe what feels like the greatest betrayal
to be the neverending proof of your love

i don't give a rat's...

2007-05-11T19:26:00.002-05:00

it's the sad truth, i don't. at least, about the rat. we've all heard the vegetarian hype, about the poor innocent chickens who get their beaks seared off by hot serrated knives, and how they try to peck each other to death in the confines of their 1x1 cage filled to the brim with other beak-less chickens. and if they don't succeed in killing each other or themselves with their beak-less pecking, then their bodies in their entirety get ground up, packed, and deep fried in a form that we lovingly refer to as "chicken nuggets". i've heard the hype, so have you.

i have, at one point or another in my 29 years of life, sympathized with said "chickens" and attempted to do my part in not contributing to the heartless horror that is the meat industry. but i have always given in to that greasy-fried-"protein" craving and ordered up my fair share of 6 piece chicken nugget meals at mcdonalds… or that greasy hamburger at the c.c. club on lyndale (the best place to get a burger in uptown), or that chicago dog at the bulldog (locations in northeast and uptown, the absolute best place for a dog and a brew).

but i recently read this book "skinny bitch", which, to my surprise, delved headlong, in detail, into the horror that is the meat industry. i was not expecting this. i was expecting some bitches with attitude to give me some pointers on how to keep off the 50 lbs i've lost in the past year (insert pat on the back here). and i certainly did get that. however, these particular skinny bitches firmly believe that the reason we're all fat is because of all the animal protein we consume in the form of meat, eggs, dairy, and all other products that might come from (or claim to come from) an animal. they spend the first 4 or 5 chapters of the book explaining how we, as herbivores, do not need, nor naturally digest, animal protein.

if their sassy and sultry arguments don't convince you by chapter 6, look out. because they spend the whole chapter, in gruesome detail, divulging how violent and gruesome the process is that provides us with the hamburgers we crave.

i had college roommates who were card-carrying members of PETA. i saw the magazines and read the pamplets. to me, their publications seemed to be over-sensationalized fodder meant to win wallets and horrify the general unknowing public. however, when i read chapter 6 of "skinny bitch", there was something that stopped me when i read about the gory details of what happens to a cow, a creature that god almighty made, when i crave a hamburger.

i'm not trying to convert you. i'm not. i am not smart enough, nor convincing enough. if you eat meat, good for you. do it. because cattle ranchers and chicken farmers all over the united states of america are counting on you, just like i count on you to sing when you come to church, so that i can keep my job.

when i read chapter 6, i cried. i confessed. i gave it up. all of it. meat, eggs, dairy… and no one loves cheese and yogurt more than i do. my husband read the book and subsequently relinquished his desire for meat, eggs, and dairy, which i did not expect.

so here we are, the malette household, meat, eggs and dairy free. it's been nearly two months now, and we've felt amazing. we've both been sleeping amazingly soundly for having two brittany spaniels at the foot of the bed, and have been having some of the most vivid and colorful dreams we've ever had. the heartless onslaught of adult acne that i have been unable to rid myself of for the past 8 years has almost completely cleared up, and i've lost another 8 lbs without changing anything else about my lifestyle.

but here's where the rat's "you know what" comes in.

it's summer. all throughout our neighborhood, round about 4pm, people start heating up their grills. and the smell of searing meat flesh fills the air. i swear to you, it's like having a nic fit that starts at 4pm and ends at 10pm when the ever-wafting smell of barbequed meat finally has mercy and leaves the air.

i've looked for vegan grilling options that might be comparable, that might satiate the desire for a wet, freshly grilled hamburger. the portabella burgers, and sad attempts at grilled tofu, have done nothing for me. coitus non firma.

i really don't want to give in. but nail-biting and foaming at the mouth will only get you so far, when what you really want is a juicy hamburger.

got tofu?

ladies and gentlemen, for my next trick...

2007-05-08T18:10:00.000-05:00

in the shower this morning, where i have all of my clear-headed thoughts, i was thinking that i should write something on my blog. it's been a while since i wrote here, and for once i'm actually doing really well. i just celebrated a birthday last week, representing another year of life lived, another circle around the sun, and another season of self learning. compared to last year at this same time (read all blogs beginning in may 2006), i feel like a different person; better, clearer, fuller. perhaps it is the shifting seasons, or the onslaught of healthy choices. but who wants to read that sunshiny happy crap on someone's blog? ya'll come here for the endless wallowing misery, you know it. because misery is the best blog fodder.

speaking of misery, allow me to tell you what happened to me this morning after i got out of the shower, dressed, and headed to work.

at approximately 8:33am, i got into the first car accident of my adult life (accidents in highschool don't count. what the eff does a highschooler know about driving anyway?). now, i know what you're thinking... "oh, she was probably texting in the car like she always does" or perhaps you're thinking "she was probably doing her makeup while driving again" or maybe, for those of you who really know me "she was practicng 'the buffalo' and 'the robber' while driving again? she's really gotta cut that out". but i will have you know, that i was doing none of these things.

i was paying attention, watching the road, hands to the wheel, eyes to the pavement. and then, in the fraction of a fraction of a second, someone nearly pulled out in front of the person who was driving in front of me, who reflexively slammed on their brakes, which, as the laws of physics would have it, did not leave me enough time to reflexively stop. the sweet tender spot on the hood of my toyota matrix ("sister christian") met the trailer hitch of the gas-guzzling-earth-destroying-big-toosh SUV in front of me, which subsequently crumpled the hood, and probably some important expensive shit under the hood, like a cheap church bulletin.

shock. disbelief. panic. confusion. fear. denial. pain. more pain. yup, more pain...

on the prompting of the gentle yet authoritative police officer who responded to the scene, i got a free ride in an ambulance, 4 hours at methodist hospital that i can never get back, and some valium and vicodin to take the edge off.

here's to hoping that car insurance, prescription pain medications and "god-help-me" prayers all deliver what they promise: protection, relief, and peace, respectively.

mark it zero

2007-04-25T01:26:00.000-05:00

in the old testament, people often times would mark their bodies as an intentional, physical reminder of something they were trying to leave behind, or someone they were trying to become. a physical representation of an intentional choice to change.

tonight, i took a friend to get her nose pierced, and while at this beloved piercing parlor, i asked to look at some different options for my eyebrow ring. and the kind yet overtly pierced "piercing expert" informed me of some terrible news. apparently, my body has begun the process of 'rejecting' my eyebrow ring. this means that it is 'migrating' and will probably fall out sometime in the next month or so.

gross.

and very sad.

i got this peircing at a time when i was extremely exhausted from trying to fit myself into a corporate hole that i would never fit into. i was exhausted, yet extremely grateful to be able to put in my two weeks notice at said corporate job and begin a chapter in my life where music would be a part of every day. that was 5 years ago. the eyebrow ring was a celebration, a release, a physical marking. and now, i have to take it out.

this seems like some sort of weird omen, or sign. of what i'm not sure, but it bears paying attention to.

my immediate reaction tonight in the piercing parlor was to pierce something else, almost to spite my body for doing it's job of rejecting this foreign object that has migrated dangerously close to my eye. but i decided, on the gentle prodding of my friend and husband, to wait and think about it. i'm glad i did. if i do decide that inserting a foreign metal object into my cranium is indeed something i want, i want it to be a marking of sorts, the beginning of another chapter. and i'm just not sure that i'm there yet.

so for now, i bid a tearful goodbye to the eyebrow ring that has been with me for 5 years, and await the next chance i get to begin again, to change all over again, to mark myself again

tomato soup, goldfish crackers, and primordial ooze

2007-03-21T00:52:00.001-05:00

most of us look back on a certain time of our lives as being "the good old days"; a time when we were generally happy and carefree, a time when things seemed right with the world, our lives, and our sense of self. but for some reason, we look back on those times with rose-tinted glasses (or yellow-tinted glasses, whatever your preference), conveniently forgetting the bad things and only choosing to remember that we were happier, more carefree, full of life and full of freedom.

this morning when i stopped at the grocery store to pick up something for lunch, i got two things that i have not eaten in combination since my college days: a can of tomato soup and a bag of goldfish crackers. as i stood in the kitchen and cracked open that fresh can of condensed soup ("there's no food in your food"), i was taken immediately back to my junior year of college and how much tomato soup and goldfish crackers i ingested. i thought to myself "man, those were the good old days…". the version of me that i see in my memory is happy, fulfilled, energetic, stress-free, hopeful of the future yet present to the moment.

i remember spending many the happy hour in the piano studio with nothing but a cup of coffee and a book of rachmaninoff. when you major in music, you are given the extreme luxury of minimal homework - make music. and so you do. you spend 6-7 hours a day in the practice rooms making music, creating, practicing. and it never seemed like much of a chore. at least, that's what i remember…

i remember how easy it was to get together with friends at the last minute to do whatever random and retarded thing we could to get a laugh or blow of steam. spontaneous hassle-free fun with no pre-planning involved. at least, that's what i remember…

i remember how easy it was to eat. you'd just show up at the dining center, grab a tray, and suddenly food would appear. magic. no shopping, cooking, or dishes. at least, that's what i remember...

because nowadays, i'd give anything to have just one free hour to sit down with my piano or my guitar, just to play music for music's sake with no paycheck or strings attached... it seems that so many other distractions take precedence over the one thing in my life that connects me to Something greater.

i'd give anything if getting together with my friends could be simple, organic, and spontaneous. now it involves planning ahead, finding baby sitters, making sure you have enough money to go out.

i'd give anything if eating a meal meant all i had to do was pick up a tray. now, it means i have to decide what to eat, stop at the grocery store, cook, and clean up afterwards.

but as i cracked open the can of tomato soup and pulled apart the top of the goldfish cracker bag, i remembered that the years i spent in college were actually not as perfect as i've chosen to remember. i always had tomato soup and goldfish crackers on hand for the the times when i ran out of food-points for the dining center. i remember how much i grew to hate tomato soup and goldfish crackers because it meant i would have to eat alone in my apartment that didn't have a kitchen to cook in or a sink to wash dishes in.

and yeah, maybe i had hours upon hours to spend in the practice rooms, but i remember how terribly lonely it was to sit in those cold practice rooms with bad fluorescent lighting and how i grew to resent those hours when it meant that on friday night i would be pounding away on a piano while my friends went out.

and maybe i had a lot more friends back then who would do crazy spontaneous things with me at the drop of a dime, but that's where it stopped. i had a lot of friends and very few of them really knew me or cared about who i was trying to become.

if given the choice, i don't think i would choose to go back and relive those days. because maybe there was a lot of good, but there was also a lot of hurt, ache, emptiness and confusion… the stuff of reality, the pangs of a life being formed. it is more convenient to forget the bad and remember the good, but the intermingled memory of them both is what teaches me who i am, what matters to me, and who i want to become.

undeniably, someday down the road i will look back on these present days with a crimson colored lens as "the good old days", remembering the good and conveniently forgetting the bad. but the good alone is not what transforms us, so i hope that i always remember the bad too, because it is a tangible reminder of the primordial ooze from which my soul continues to crawl.

buried in my pocket

2007-03-09T16:05:00.000-06:00

i refuse to drag my purse to shows or bars for two reasons: 1) i cannot allow myself to become one of "those girls" who dance with a midget (purse) slung over their shoulder; 2) i cannot entrust the contents of said purse to the general public when i leave it at the table to go dance. so every week, as i mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically prepare for our thursday evening gathering at gluek's, i push the limits of my coat pockets to see how much they can take. in recent weeks, i have succesfully crammed some combination of the following into my sad little pockets: cell phone, id, the credit and debit cards that probably shouldn't stay within the tempting confines of my parked car on the streets of downtown, lip gloss, mirror, cigarettes, gloves, lighter, gum, newspaper (don't ask), iPod, water bottle, advil, chapstick.

so, in the wee hours of the morning, in the post-gluek's cleaning-out of my courdoroy jacket pockets, i found my id, my check card, a few pieces of gum, my iPod, some chapstick, and the sad remainder of a cigarette. i cannot nail down exactly why, but the ashen remains of that cigarette made me extravagantly grateful.

a handful of my beautiful beloved friends are going through some of the hardest things in their lives. i am trying to stand beside them with my heart in my hands, witholding my need to fix everything, and my own questions keep coming to the foreground. am i really fulfilled, "happy", complete? is this how it will be and who i will be for the rest of my life? these questions are nothing new to me. i've been staring into a dirty mirror with blurry eyes for probably a year now. but tonight, i was given the gift of staring into the face of gratefulness.

i was extravagantly grateful for my own heartache and emptiness because it reminds me that i am not alone... that my ache is known by and familiar to not only to my friends, but to a God who is infinitely greater than this world. i have a Partner who has given me the ability to change, to actually become a different kind of person because He lives inside of the shallows of my heart.

authentic change, the kind that resets your entire way of being, is not something you can "buck up" to, something you can accomplish if left to your own devices. and that is exactly why Christ doesn't leave us to our own devices.

that ciggy remnant reminded me of the conversations, the swollen eyes, the smiles, and the beautiful faces of my blessed friends who have dwelt too long in lonelines; who have stumbled to find a way out of this present darkness. but greater is the One that takes up residence inside the dark corners of all of us. i wipe my eyes and lift my empty hands in gratefulness.

throw it at the wall

2007-02-26T15:35:00.000-06:00

i'm trying to create some external rhythms in my life that will hopefully form some good habits. one of those rhythms is writing. so even though i don't feel that i have some phenomenal thing to write, i'm going to do it anyway. because you have to start somewhere. you have to throw some crap at the wall, see what sticks, and hold on to it.

i don't write music (don't start with me), but i do love to write words. i think it's because i process externally and it's often times through words that i discover more of who i am and who god is.

talking about prayer last week, someone said to me how important it is to unplug and get alone with god, that we all need quiet and solitude in order to connect with something (or Someone) greater than ourselves. but i'm not big on solitude. i thrive on people, experiences, relationships, conversations, noise, distractions, adrenaline. when people say that you need to unplug or get quiet to pray, you begin to think something is wrong with you if you don't "need" solitude.

seasons of my life have been filled with extreme self-loathing over my incredible inability to get quiet or solitary in prayer. i would try to change, to make myself need/want/desire solitude and quiet. i would try to practice disciplined "prayer", you know the kind, with every eye closed and every head bowed. but my wandering mind and incessant list of wants, needs, fears, desires, and worries left very little room for Anyone to get a word in edgewise. and let's just be honest. that's not helping anyone.

but i am in a season now of great self-embrace where i seem to have found my way, at least for the time being. because i do find Him, hear Him, speak to Him and He to me. i find him when i run, when i play piano, when i write. somewhere between putting on my running shoes and arriving back at my front door, the mire of the day gets lifted off of me and i remember that i am connected to everything and Someone greater. somewhere between sitting down in front of the piano and the next hour or two that disappears, i remember who i am and what i've been given. and somehow, when i start to write, i wind up closer to understanding than confusion, closer to peace than chaos, closer to connected than isolated.

there is no clasping of hands, bowing of heads, or closing of eyes. but there is perspiration and movement, motion and propulsion, dreams and hopes. and this has become my way.

between belief and life

2007-02-21T09:26:00.000-06:00

you are what you eat and you live what you believe.

i want to believe that the good news of the gospel is that this world and this life doesn't get to have the last word.

i want to believe that Someone greater gets to be the alpha-omega Word on who i am, on who we are, on what this life is supposed to be: beautiful and breathtaking, a yoke that is easy and a burden that is light.

i want to believe that all this depression and endless cognitive wormholeing means that i'm exactly in the middle of where i'm supposed to be, embracing and fighting for the ragtag kingdom of god.

i desperately need to believe that it's possible to be so in tune with the unswerving beautiful creator of all this mess that everything else becomes dissonant caucophony in comparison.

but i have embraced the dissonance as my bittersweet resolution. and i've grown more exhausted with every silent fight.

so if you are what you eat and you live what you believe, then i believe that i've taken up residence in the gap between belief and life. and in this gap is a vacuum of questions, manufactured liberations, and spiritual insanites.

if there is any hope of hearing a different final word on me, i either have to change what i believe, or change what i live. i wonder which will be the easier.

cut from cloth

2007-02-18T03:47:00.000-06:00

tonight, while my mom and i were talking, she said this to me (a direct quote):
"right now you need three things: jesus, a good counselor, and some penicillin... not necessarily in that order."

she finds a way to be wholly honest, genuinely compassionate, and amazingly funny all within the confines of 18 words.

amazing.

i hope that as the years wear on, that i can somehow become like my mother. this would a beautiful thing because she is beautiful.

temporary amnesia

2007-02-09T11:13:00.000-06:00

forgive my temporary amnesia
but i can't seem to remember
when i gave you permission
to tell me who i couldn't be

i didn't give you permission
to tell me when i should be afraid or alone
to tell me when i should be a woman or child
to tell me when i should stay within my lines

but time, age, and the ticking of biology
gave you an excuse to whisper the doubt
promise upon promise you crept in the dark
and too tired to fight anymore i gave in

the sweet poison from your tongue
that promised me life
now tastes rancid and stings like death

age, betrayal, and exhaustion
got more air time than the Holy within
and i gave up my freedom
for manufactured liberation

i lost myself in the journey
but i swear
i have gone out to find her

hope begins in the dark

2007-02-02T20:22:00.000-06:00

when you come awake to what's really going on, you pay the price. you carry the weight and the wait is real. i've seen some incredibly dark moments in the last few weeks. asides from what surrounds me, it seems to be running rampant everywhere. there is broken-hearted sadness in the beautiful face of a new friend, disillusion in the familiar faces of my companions, exhaustion in my own red-streaked and swollen stare. i hear you speak and the corners of my heart agree "this is a sad world...", but i believe that there is something beautiful trying to be born in the pangs of this childbirth. and so we wait and ache, alone in the dark, fumbling for a hand or at least a familiar glance that reaches through our eyes and whispers "i know."

there are easier ways out of this: self-medicate, deny, ignore, hunker down in the corner, isolate, have another. but my heart tells me that this is getting increasingly desperate. we need to fight, embrace the horror, and remember that we are not alone. not one of us.

anne lamott says "hope begins in the dark... you wait and watch and work. you don't give up." my memory of hope is daubed with fingerprints and dirt. but i am watching, and trying not to give up. don't you give up either.

"after the last tear falls
after the last secret's told
after the last bullet tears thru flesh and bone
after the last child starves
and the last girl walks the boulevard
after the last year that's just too hard
there is love...

after the last plan fails
after the last siren wails
after the last young husband sails off to join the war
after the last 'this marriage is over'
after the last young girls innocence is stolen
after the last years of silence that won't let a heart open
there is love...

in the end
the end is oceans and oceans of love and love again
we'll see how the tears that have fallen
were caught in the palms
of the Giver of love and the Lover of all
we'll look back on these tears as old tales"

oxymoronic organic outrage

2007-01-27T21:01:00.000-06:00

trader joe's gets an award for being the only thing (other than my general despair) that i've blogged about twice in a six month time span...

when i think "trader joe's", i think "organic". and when i think "organic", i think of such things as kindness, love, a general sense of well-being, janis joplin, patience, an appreciation for the earth and the humans who inhabit it, gentleness, songs like "dust in the wind", self-control, and other positive life-reinforcing things.

however, none of these things apply to the parking lot situation at the trader joe's in st louis park.

you would think that the kind of people who shop at trader joe's ("organic") would be generally happy people. people who care just enough to bypass the big-box stores like rainbow and cub, and the cake-eating stores like byerly's and lund's. people who enjoy the earth, humanity, and the virtues that make this a better planet and us a better people. so i don't understand.

i don't understand why, when waiting in line to enter the traffic jam known as the trader joe's parking lot, i am honked at and bumper-kissed. i don't understand why SUV's try to park in 'compact cars only' parking spaces. and i don't understand why, when i willingly relinquish my right to park in the lot and park three blocks away, i am then almost run over (yes, a pedestrian) by two different vehicles, who apparently didn't have enough other-than-self awareness to realize that there were other people in the parking lot besides themselves.

all it would take to make that parking lot work would be a pair of ears unstopped, a pair of eyes opened, and a smidge of patience. that's it my friends, that's it.

but fear not my fellow st louis park trader joe's patrons. that peaceful organic feeling you expect upon your arrival still awaits you... in the store. so let's hope these angry organic shoppers can keep their anger in its rightly ordered place: their car. because what the world needs now is more angry drivers who drink RsBT-free milk and grain-fed beef.

but i am in the safety of my anger-free home now, and there are at least three things i can smile about: the honeydogs' new album amygdala spins in the background (you must buy this album), percy sleeps soundly by my side, and there is a really good glass of red wine next to my left hand. i shall dwell no longer on the oxymoron of organic angry people.

"everyone take two steps forward"

2007-01-23T23:49:00.000-06:00

it is a cold, blustery friday night in january and the choices lay before you: stay home bundled up on your couch where life is safe, things are predictable, and no one will put any demands on you… or go out and brave the wind of winter to seek out some form of friday night entertainment. although it may seem so, this choice is not an obvious one. going out in the dead of a minnesota winter involves dressing in layer-upon-layer of increasingly unflattering outer-wear that you peel off in reverse when you arrive at your destination, at which point you will have to find a safe corner to stash your enormous pile of clothing that is approximately the size of a small pony.

but on this particular friday night in january, the honeydogs were playing a show at the varsity theater, and who would choose the couch over the honeydogs?

so on went the layers of clothing which warmed my soul all the way to the varsity theater in this my beloved city of minneapolis. if you've never heard of the honeydogs or their music, they hail from this the land of sky blue waters. you may know their mid-90's super pop song "i miss you" in which front man adam levy croons "i miss your laughing lips, i miss your eyes and hips, do you miss me, cuz i-ee-i miss you". i only know the song because whatever gentle sir i happened to be dating at the time put it on a mix tape for me, which i subsequently destroyed with the endless cycle of stop-rewind-play that i subjected this poor little honeydogs song to. the inevitable slowing of tempo and dropping of pitch meant that the shiny brown tape would soon come flying out of my tape deck and my brief love affair with this pop song would come to an end. but this little mix tape left a mark upon my musical memory, along the lines of "the honeydogs? sure, I've heard of 'em". forgotten in the following years of my developing musical taste, it wasn't until a new millennium, a friendship with matt patrick, and his recommendation of their 2003 album "10,000 Years" that the honeydogs squeezed their way to the forefront of my musical heart.

i will say this about the honeydogs… once you're "in", you are IN and you will never get out. you'll find yourself singing along with the melodies even though you've never heard them before. you will love the lyrics but you won't be able to explain exactly why. the beautiful melodies, honest musings and unpredictable chord changes are a rare and glorious mix of wit, intellect, craft, and beauty, landing the honeydogs somewhere inside the camp of american roots music.

back to the concert… the honeydogs finally took the stage after an audible barrage of two humorous but talented opening acts. thunderous applause, shrieking girls, confused introverts, the usual. we had been sitting at a table near the front, but everyone knows that when the band you came to see takes the stage, there is no table in the sense that "there is no spoon". and so we rose to our feet and made our way into the pack that had congregated near the stage.

what is it about every single concert, that there is always this curious gap of about 8 feet between the front row of people and the edge of the stage? round about the middle of the third song of their set, levy shouted into his mic "everyone take two steps forward… two steps forward… ONE-TWO" and like puppets who cannot disobey their puppeteer, everyone took exactly two steps forward, one-two. and you could feel it. the temperature of the room changed. it was as if someone pulled the 'engage' string on all of our backs. i wondered if perhaps levy was concerned about the crowd that had gathered in the back of the room. perhaps there was no space for them. two steps forward will solve any problem, right? one-two. simple enough.

by four or five songs later, that 8 feet had gradually regained it's rightful place between the crowd and the edge of the stage. and again, levy into his mic "everyone take two steps forward… ONE-TWO", and again we stepped one-two. and just like before, the temperature changed, the crowd came to life. "there must be quite a crowd in the back of the room if we have to keep stepping forward" i thought to myself.

by the last few songs of their set, most of the human-bulk had left the building, leaving about 100 devoted honeydoggers to relish in the remainder of the show. but levy kept asking "two steps forward" and we kept yielding, reclaiming that 8 feet of ground, over and over. i was beginning to suspect that levy wasn't merely monitoring crowd control, but perhaps he knew what he was doing… after all, you don't become a rock star without knowing a thing or two about humanity and its nature.

i'm sure that adam levy never meant for me to take this to where i'm about to take this, but stay with me.

we are the masters of collaborative disengagement. even when we pay $10 of our hard earned money to be 'entertained', to be engaged by and drawn in to an amazing musical experience, we can't hold on to the energy it takes to remain engaged for more than 3 minutes. someone has to remind us to take "two steps forward", over and over, to reclaim the distance we have put between us. we shrink back together, like a herd, like a glossy reminder of how bored we really are, how forgetful we can be, and how enticing the lure of slumber is. our minds wander, and in a breath, those 8 feet return to reclaim their rightful place.

there is this glorious metanarrative that is being played out around us every day. yeah. every day we get to wake up in the middle of something that is already going on. and if you listen, you can hear it... Someone reminding us to come to life, to take two steps forward into the dark… to wake up and engage, even though falling back seems the easier option.

this is what it means to be formed and reformed in christ. to choose and remember to engage. because the life and light of christ is already in us, within us, around us, and before us. there is no 8 feet that cannot be stepped into.

ambient distance will always take precedence over my ability to push forward, through, and out of the places that feel like stone. but with my hands to the ground and His hands on my face, He says "just take two steps forward… two steps forward. it's going to be alright. just take two steps forward." one. two.

you should really see the honeydogs in concert next time they come around. it'll change your life.

i am the mason jar

2006-11-12T12:47:00.000-06:00

this moment is not mine, it can't be.
some great crack in the cosmos and i find myself in someone else's moment.
this can't be for me.
these things are meant for the people who search for you, listen to you, look for you...
more often than i like to admit, that's not who i am.
because i am the one that stumbles along, shoulders hunched, hands in my pockets, eyes to my shoes.
i am the one who misses it all the time. i miss you all the time.

last i checked, my eyes were still to the ground, my hands were still in my pockets.
but this moment, i hear you now. i see you now.
you hold my face in your hands and in a breath my heart breaks open.

and suddenly i am the mason jar, trying to capture your light and hold on to whatever i can.
but there are so many cracks in the glass and the lid doesn't quite fit like it used to.
and before i can exhale, you escape like a vapor and the noise in my head returns.
the cracks get bigger, the lid gets stripped, and i cannot hold on to you.

but you keep inviting me. so i'll promise to try and hold on.
i promise to try and keep showing up.
even though what i have is more broken than whole and what i hold is more absent than present.
because you are the creating, unswerving, always here Presence.
you are always inviting me to just try... to try and hold on.

what gets broken

2006-11-02T16:37:00.000-06:00

having a heart means that it will break. and its really no wonder, because we come into this world broken, and the life that follows is a constant struggle to mend...to fill the cracks with anything (sometimes everything) that will prevent us from breaking again. but it happens. bones break, hearts break, we break. over and over again.

when a bone in our body breaks, this amazing thing happens. if the bone is set correctly and given the time and limited space to heal, it forms this sort of 'callus' - an excess of bone tissue that grows in the exact spot that was broken. if you've ever broken a bone, you can rub your finger over that tender place and feel a lump. the lump feels weird, like something's wrong, like it doesn't belong there. but this lump is the callus, and it means that in the exact place of brokenness, the bone is stronger than it ever was before. it will never break again in that exact same place. but the build-up of this tissue, this callus, takes time and limited space.

limited space is the splint. it's creating limits within which to move, and bounds to immobilize what's been hurt. and time is patience and endurance... it's believing in the things i have not yet seen, like redemption and forgiveness. because if i try to run on this broken bone now, it will never heal. it will stay broken and i will limp forever.

give me the time and limited space to splint this, to reset this, to rest this...because i need to hope in what i have not yet seen. i need this redemption and forgiveness. i need to believe that You will form this callus in me.

welcome to the neighborhood

2006-09-18T10:34:00.000-05:00

trader joe's, let me be the first of many to welcome you to the neighborhood.

you've picked a good place to settle down. i mean, if you're gonna pick a state in the midwest, you've chosen well. and if you're gonna pick a suburb of minneapolis, again, i believe you've chosen well. we're not as hip, trendy, or crowded as uptown, yet we're not as suburbanly sprawled as maple grove. welcome to the neighborhood.

you'll get your fair share of business here, from the soccer moms looking for a healthy snack for their athletically inclined offspring to the chino latino crowd looking for a fresh avocado to make their homemade guacamole. from the young urban professionals looking for a quick lunch bite, to the local coffee addicts grazing for the caffeinated equivalent of crack to cocaine (same great high, new low price). and even still, the retirement community across the street will peek their heads inside your 100% organic doors, just to see what all the hype is about. welcome to the neighborhood

people will come from north and south, from hennepin and 35W, just to see what you're about. discounted organic foods. less clutter. more fun. cheap wine that only tastes good when you're too young to know better (the nearly infamous two-buck-chuck). and above all, this:

trader joe's in-house-brand honey mango shaving cream.

upon the label, it reads "100% organic, 100% paraben free, 100% vegetarian".

you know, i've gotta hand it to you trader joe's... last time i checked, i wasn't going to eat my shaving cream. but i suppose if i got into the shower and was hungry enough, well, it might happen someday. and your label has been just informative enough to let me know that if i do decide to eat it, it fits within the confines of my paraben-free vegetarian diet. thank you trader joe's. your labels are quite informative. welcome to my shower. my belly. my neighborhood. my heart.

hunkered down in the corner (put down the mufffin in review)

2006-09-16T14:46:00.000-05:00

the church does not have dibs on being the only place to find jesus and community. we know this. you can find jesus and community anywhere that people are fully alive.

at one point during the put down the muffin show last thursday, i turned to aaron ankrum and justin law saying "i think i meet jesus here more than i do at church. does that mean i shouldn't work for a church?" to which aaron replied "well, you do need beer money...". i guess he has a point.

as bruce, zach, charlie and matt concocted new and slightly-more-feverish melodies, and as the scent wafted thru the air of the familiar PDtM tunes that keep us all coming back for more, i couldn't help but look around and smile. we are the funny, the lovely, and the holy. and we hold the presence of Jesus inside of us because He is all around us.

there He was, hunkered down in the corner, smiling at us, thrashing his head to the beat (which, at the time, was 11/8, and i'm pretty sure that Jesus is the only person who could find a way to thrash his head to 11/8). maybe He was smiling back at all of us because when we are the most alive, we are the ontological proof of his existence.

i've heard it said that the glory of God is man fully alive. i've had a major beef with this overly-used catch phrase for some time now. i see no direct corrolation to scripture on this, and often times i feel that being fully alive is drawing attention to the thing that is alive, not the Thing that gave it life. but i'm starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, it might be true... more than a thousand pipe organs, and a trillion blazen sunsets, the best witness to the glory of God IS man fully alive. and the best place i know to experience this is when i get to witness my amazing friends create music ex nihilo.

there are so many moments that can take your breath away with their beauty, hope, and love if you just let them. stop. look around. catch a breath. remember how rare these moments are. i believe this to be the most reliable evidence we have of an active Creator Redeemer. He's right over there, hunkered down in the corner, pouring the Good on every moment.

time for an honest fight

2006-09-15T14:27:00.005-05:00

derek webb (one of the original members of the band caedmon's call who wisely left the band before they went completely bubble-gum-toothpaste-commercial-pop-christian) is giving away his record 'mockingbird' for free. yeah. go to www.freederekwebb.com, download the record and join the conversation.

the conversation is loaded, open, honest, and blunt... you have to be willing to ask some questions that probably don't have answers. i think this is beautiful, what webb is doing - poking at the theology of a theocracy, and who we are as westernized christians. but through the poking and the asking, there is love. in his lyics, i hear a love for the Church, a love for the bride of Christ, and an honest love for the people Jesus died to save. but get ready, because this kind of love is going to hurt.

six years ago, these poetic meanderings of webb's would've angered me, because i wasn't ready to ask the questions, and i wasn't ready to have the 'answers' i had been spoon fed my whole life dismantled. at least for now, i know that i would rather live inside of the confusion and not know all the answers, than stand outside of the dialog with my neat little box of solutions.

"don't teach me about politics and government
just tell me who to vote for
don't teach me about truth and beauty
just label my music

don't teach me how to live like a free man
just give me a new law

don't teach me about moderation and liberty
i prefer a shot of grape juice
don't teach me about loving my enemies

don't teach me how to listen to the spirit
just give me a new law

i don't want to know
if the answers aren't easy
just bring it down from the mountain to me

do not be afraid..." -derek webb

push redemption through me

2006-08-28T16:05:00.000-05:00

the miracle of redemption is that the God of the universe promises to keep redeeming you even when every single one of your inadequacies show up in full effect. i bear witness to this redemption, and it is the only thing that gets me through weekends like this.

nothing really went wrong. it was just that by the time we hit the second verse of the first song, when i'm supposed to be 'ushering people into the presence of god' by leading worship (sarcasm noted), all i wanted to do was run. i wanted to drive as fast as possible in the most opposite direction of my church and all the people in it. and the best part? it was only saturday. so after i got through singing the other four songs, i still had to wake up on sunday morning and do it two more times.

i went home and spent the remainder of the evening feeling some variation of this, and then felt ashamed for feeling this way. i was dismembered by my own inadequacies and then horrified for being so dismembered. because who am i to complain? i get to play music with some of the most incredible people i've ever known who love Jesus, and i get to lead people in singing songs about the God of the universe. what i get to do is a blessed gift. but on saturday night i kept digging in my pockets, hoping to wrap my fingers around the gift receipt so i could return it...

here's what i believe today... it is a blessed thing to be reminded of our inadequacies when it comes to leading worship. because when that happens, you can't walk off the stage and chest pump each other for how awesome 'worship' was. you can't take credit for people meeting God or not, because you didn't deliver what you promised yourself you would. you didn't hold it all together, you didn't play all the sweet licks, you didn't say all the right words and sing all the right notes. so many hallelujah's well up inside of me when i realize that God moves despite our inadequacies, to bring His kingdom here and now. the movement of the kingdom of God is not dependent on how i sing or play the piano. i have to believe that God is bigger than that.

i'm human and by definition inadequate. but the God of my redemption is more than adequate. when i want to run, God pushes redemption through me and bids me come and stay. He calls the weak in me out of hiding to come and lead the strong. the God of the universe is bigger than my inadequacies. this is the amazing grace i know.

falling through the sand

2006-08-22T18:42:00.000-05:00

i've stood on this rock for so long. and it has turned out to be nothing more than compressed sand. so i shift my weight with trembling knees and watch the sand crumble beneathe me. i put my hands to the earth and my heart to the ground about who i am becoming and who i've let go of trying to be.

what makes this formation slightly less painful is the people who love me not because they have to (read: family), but because they have chosen to... my beautiful friends, the most glorious creations God ever made. these are the people who see something in me that's worth loving and fighting for. they see in me what i've never been able to see in myself. they convince me that if i believe hard enough, i just might become the kind of person they all think i am.

they remind me that when i love, i love hard. they remind me that when i laugh, i laugh through the wall. they remind me that when we fall through the sand and land on sprained ankles, we get up and fight for each other again. they remind me that together, we are the broken and bruised kingdom of God.

jesus, can i get you a drink?

2006-08-21T23:44:00.000-05:00

one of my favorite authors, anne lamott, has a fabulous phrase in her book 'traveling mercies'. it goes something like this... as anne recalls some of the dark hidden places in her heart (the thoughts you try to keep really secret, the motives you wish you didn't have, the hatred you wish you didn't harbor, the bitterness, ugliness, etc) she says that they are so terribly hideous that it would make jesus drink gin straight out of the catdish.

and today, i thought jesus might need a drink.

you know that thing most people have that keeps them from saying every little thing that pops into their brain? yeah, that's called a filter. i don't have one of those. now, the good thing about this is, you'll always know where you stand with me. and, the bad thing about this is, you'll always know where you stand with me. so i offered up a few too many of my opinions to the general public today and said some things that weren't very kind about someone who wasn't in the room. i think i was trying to get a laugh, or at least a kindred 'uh huh, i totally get what you mean about her!'... but instead i got wide-eyed stares and some uncomfortable silence.

this happens to me a lot.

poor sweet baby jesus, lying in his ghost manger, being forced to drink gin out of the catdish every time i open my mouth.

sometimes i look like christ, and, well, sometimes i just look like me. this is the beautiful process of formation that we spend our lives in. and that's just it. it's a process. i'm not there yet. i fail miserably every morning, before my feet even leave the bed. but there is such grace and patience for me. because i'm not who i once was, and i'm not yet who i will be. so maybe next time i find myself wanting to open my mouth and let fly whatever random thought comes into my head, i'll have the character and formation in me to not have to say it out loud.

but until then, i just have one question: does this 'formation currrently in process' certificate have an expiration date?

drink away baby jesus. drink away. maybe there'll be milk in the catdish tomorrow

trespass within

2006-08-01T23:46:00.000-05:00

call it our irresponsible use of aquanet in the 80's. but whatever has brought on this excessive heat, you can almost hear the earth pleading for a reprieve. and that reprieve came today in the form of rain. now, i don't run in the rain. i'm just not that hardcore about running. but i wanted to celebrate with the pangs of creation, so i laced up my tennies and hit the road, donned in my running attire and rain jacket... because let's just be honest - the only running shirts i have are white. and no one wants to see that.

thirty consecrated minutes lay before me. to breathe. to remember. to get drenched in the tears of rebirth and renewal. to play. to care less about how frizzy my increasingly wet hair is getting and care more about just being here.

and somewhere in-between the sounds of pelting rain on my skin and the incantations of muse, Something translucent pushed through. something Holy trespassed within me. and soaked through and through, i shed the tears of baptism.

oh, two hundred hours

2006-07-28T02:21:00.000-05:00

the middle of the night is damn weird when you're awake for it. no one is around. it's just you, the sound of your breathing, and the sloshing of grey matter in your head. at least i think that's what that sound is. maybe it's just residual feedback from the muse show the other night, at which i learned that curly hair does not make very good ear plugs. but chewed up ticket stubs do.

grain belt does not make a beer that isn't premium. and for this i am grateful.

i heard that 'the goodbye party' (an organization that helps people plan and celebrate their funerals) has an event coming up at which you can listen to live bluegrass music whilst you build your own coffin. i was unaware that bluegrass music and coffin-building went together. but then again, i was unaware that chinese food and chocolate pudding go together. if i were to plan an event like this, i would have a volleyball play-off in which the winning team would have to build the coffins for the losing team. this is a good plan.

the text messaging on my phone does not recognize the word 'blueberry'.

come awake, from sleep arise

2006-07-13T19:07:00.000-05:00

tuesday night found me in my car, listening to a broadcast about the book rejuvenile - a book that explores the social phenomenon of a generation that doesn't want to "grow up". because our culture worships at the feet of youth and all things young, and because the tools of youth are more readily accessible to us via such resources as the internet and iTunes, we can remain culturally relevant, regardless of our actual age. in contrast to the adults of previous generations, we do not buy the same things, listen to the same music, or live the same lives that they did. we might have the same adult responsibilities (marriages, jobs, mortgages, schedules), but unlike the generations that preceeded us, we vehemently resist forsaking the dreams of our youth to simply become an adult who no longer dreams.

here's a quote from the book: "the fact is that today, adults who scoff at superhero movies, MTV, or the latest movie from pixar risk coming off as snobbish, uptight, or --worst of all-- out of touch. some rejuveniles admit that their attraction to kid stuff is at least partially driven by a desire to stay young in a culture that equates being young with being cool and being old with being irrelevant..."

as i listened to the author describe the rejuvenile male uniform (messenger bag, zip-up hoodie, iPod), it became clear to me that our new definition of adulthood effects much more than our purchasing trends or fashion sense. i wonder if previous generations defined their lives and gauged their value as an adult by the major decisions they made: where they would go to college, who they would marry, what career they would choose, etc. but we have been given the luxury of choice: to choose to define our lives not by the circumstantial decisions we make, but by who we are. and according to the book, we're doing it. more than any other generation, we are holding to our passions, trying to make it in this frightening world without giving up and giving in, without growing culturally irrelevant as the years pass us by.

what does all of this rejuvenile talk have to do with me?

i believe i'm in the midst of my first official quarter-life crisis, which began upon turning 28 a few months ago. i'm not exactly sure what brought it on like a smack upside the face. i think i just realized that most of the major decisions of my life have already been made and i'm not even 30. i have a great job, i have an amazing husband, i love my home and my friends and the life that i've chosen to live. but its depressing to be 28 and wonder if i've exhausted all possible options for the kind of life i will live.

all this rejuvenile talk has helped me rediscover a grain of truth that has brought some reprieve to my questioning heart. maybe the major decisions of my life have been made. but those circumstancial decisions do not decide who i am. i am still in the pangs of child birth. God has not given up on me and He has always been more concerned with who i am becoming than with the circumstances i am in. i am still in this. i am still on this journey. He makes all things new and i am reborn everyday.

it's beautiful and breathtaking. i have only just started to live.

a soundtrack for america's underbelly

2006-06-28T09:05:00.000-05:00

if you were to take a road trip this summer (and you really should because it's time to bring back that 80's middle class version of travel. screw airplanes. see your country the old fashioned way... by burning some good ole 'american' fuel as your tires thwap the pavement in their ever-rhythmic way... open the windows, turn up the radio, and gaze ahead to the open road and countless days in front of you filled with the good stuff of america's underbelly - 24 hour trucker stops, gas station gift stores, billboards, toll booths, diners with 2am all-you-can-eat buffets, no-tell motels, drive-in movies, small town bakeries filling their towns' version of main street with the smell of freshly made pie dough...) anyway, i digress. where was i? oh yes... if you were to take a road trip this summer, summer of 06, what would be the top 3 albums you would shuffle on your ipod?

we embark thursday morning on our trip. post your opinion and help me invest in some new music for our jaunt to the east coast.

here, are a few of my favorite "if-this-steering-wheel's-a-rockin..." road trip artists to get you started. this list is non-conclusive, innaccurate, and probably a lie:
mat kearney
the fray
sheryl crow (tuesday night music club only, not any of her happy toothpaste commercial pop sh*t)
jamiroquai
grayshot
kenna
imogen heap
soulive
owsley
wilco
bruce cockburn (no, it's not pronounced how it's spelled. come on, when you order thai, do you really order the 'fuck it noodles'? no. you order the phuket noodles. don't ask me why.)
black eyed peas
wheat
the white stripes
prince
east mountain south

now come on. give me three...

please be transcendent

2006-06-19T17:37:00.000-05:00

this is your breath and your flesh, hopeless skin braided with the hope of heaven, twisted up with all these contradictions. but just for a moment, your feet leave the ground. you are grasped and lifted up. look down, you are still standing here. you can see the floor under your shoes, you can feel your fingers as you rub your palms together. yes, you're still here. but something is different, transcendent, and other. and this is your memory of heaven.

how can you have a memory of a place you've never been?

because you've been there, every day. heaven is all around you. and in these moments, Something is transcendent. Something simply has to be, or this is all emotional turbulence and you're just going to lose cabin pressure. because when this moment is over (and it will be because every time the veil is lifted, it's over just as soon as you realize what is happening) you're just going to go have some dinner, maybe take a nap, turn on the tv, or brush your teeth.

but hold fast. breathe in slower. deeper. because the moment might be over, but the veil is rent in Christ alone and this Transcendence is not temporal. carry it with you. this is your memory of heaven.

what, on earth, is next?

2006-06-02T14:02:00.000-05:00

i purchased a shirt yesterday at delia's, and in return received a candy bar.

yes. i'm serious.

i signed the receipt, and the very-smiley-way-too-skinny girl behind the register offered me my choice of 'crunchy', or 'peanut butter'. i looked at her sideways, thinking that this was some sort of mean trick she plays on fat bottom girls. but when she kept smiling at me, i realized she was serious and just doing her job. so i chose 'crunchy' (who wouldn't?) and went on my chocolate-induced blissful way.

whose "brilliant" idea was this?

i wish someone at super america would offer me a new pair of jeans when i pay for my candy bar. i'd like my choices to include 'low rise', or 'don't-leave-your-house-with-these-on' illegally low rise.

maybe we could start doing this at church. whenever someone raises their hands in worship, a twix from heaven could fall into their open palm. this would be perfection.

so thank you delia's. fashion and chocolate never tasted so good together. except for the time i put a rolo in the back pocket of my khaki's and then got into the microwave...

my 97 year old reflection

2006-05-30T23:36:00.000-05:00

my great aunt julia died on march 9th. we're burying her this weekend and i'm officiating. that sounds very official.

i'm not one for speaking in front of people. i'll take all the help i can get when asked to do things like this. so instead of writing a sermon, i asked my mom and her two sisters to pull together some information about julia: her life, what and who she loved, where and how she lived, the kind of person she was... i received it today. julia's life compressed into 8 pages of a word document.

8 pages.

sometimes i look at someone, read a story, or hear a song, and something inside of me stirs awake. like the tuning fork of my very being has been struck and everything in me resonates. as my eyes floated over the words of julia's 97 years of life, it was like looking in an old smudgy mirror, the kind that no matter how hard you scrub, you still can't quite make out the reflection. but you know it's you. rub your eyes. it has to be you. you're standing right there.

she loved to write. she loved to read. she was a water baby, and watched lake michigan every day, picking up on its every nuance. she stood up for the underdog and found it easy to love the people that others found easy to hate. she had aspirations, but ended up somewhere other than where she had planned. she loved, and fought. she had a tough shell with a tender underbelly. she was bundled contradictions. you couldn't peg her.

i have to keep blinking. the reflection is blurry. but it's me isn't it, somewhere in there...

on march 9th of this year, julia dale released her grip on earthly life, and launched out into the depths to kiss His Face. may the same grit, grace, and courage that ran in her veins race through mine.

new dannon flavor: bowels on the bottom

2006-05-24T10:52:00.000-05:00

the scene is this: a college dorm room, one girl dressed up, ready to go out. she invites her roommate along for the frivolity. said roommate is in sweats, studying, with plates of food in front of her, running the gamut from pizza to ramen noodles. roommate says she can't go out because she's bloated from eating bad food. dressed-up-girl shakes her head with a smile and says "you need to eat some dannon activa", which, based on the information i got on the commercial, is a new dannon yogurt "proven" to "regulate" your digestive system in two weeks.

i just threw up in my mouth a little bit, thinking about eating yogurt everyday for 2 weeks. this offers no immediate help whatsoever. i have a better, more immediately gratifying plan for sweaty-bloated-roommate...

vodka.

a few shots and you won't even remember you were bloated. perfect.

my proposed new dannon flavor: vodka on the bottom.

birthing a promise

2006-05-15T09:34:00.000-05:00

the truth is this: it's amazing what the human body can do when abundant with adrenaline and inspiration.

i trained minimally for the 5K 'race for the cure' i ran on sunday. i've never run a 'race' before, so my mentality was definitely not to beat my best personal time. i just wanted to finish before everyone went home and forgot that there was still someone running way, way, way back there.

perhaps some of you out there reading this are those hard core runners that wear those tight black pants and cannot relate to what i'm saying because running 3.1 miles is nothing to you. but this distance was a feat for me. up until yesterday, i had never run the 3.1 miles without stopping to ask myself, as i huffed what felt like the last breaths God would ever give me, "why am i doing this again?"

but yesterday, let me tell you about yesterday. crammed into that mass of 50,000 people before the starting line, counting down to the beginning of the race, people all around you stretching, cheering... women running in pink to show that they've come through on the other side of breast cancer... women running in the tender memory of someone they've lost... women struggling to beat the disease. i was running behind a women who donned a shirt reading "i run for my daughter's future". it was hopeful. beautiful.

mandie and i ran the whole thing. we did it. in 33 minutes. we particiated in an event that is birthing a promise of hope to a lot of women out there in the throws of cancer. i am proud. and really sore.

a cracker, do you think it's enough

2006-05-08T10:42:00.000-05:00

i'm surrounded by some of the most amazing musicians i've ever known in my life, almost every day; their cups overflow with lyrical genius, musical camaraderie, and creative endeavors. i could sit and listen to her sing for hours, or watch him write, or listen to him play... but this interesting shift has taken place. i just don't know if this canvas as any room for me and what i have to offer. some of this is the truth: i am well aware that there are many things that i cannot do. but what about the stuff that's left over after that one truth? meet my identity Thief.

i struggle knowing if there's anything for me to contribute to this audio canvas. and what does a girl do in a time like this? well, self-medicate for one, go for a sweaty jog for two, and try to remember who i am. it's been probably 7 months since i sat down at my girl (read: piano) and dug in. so i did, and it was as if He gave my starving soul some crackers. when i sit down to play, i mean really play, all that is wrong and wrapped in melancholy is flipped right side up. and that's the amazing thing about being an artist... your skin, your ears, your eyes, your grey matter, your soul, your heart, they're all interconnected.

i played rachmaninoff's g-sharp minor prelude and felt the notes fly under my skin; i imagined what rachmaninoff was thinking, feeling, when he crossed his thumbs over on that chord, or rolled his wrist to get all of those notes. i took my fingers for a jog in the key of E to the rhythyms of bach, wondering how in the world did he write like this?

this is something amazing that i can do. i can do this.

i don't know what else in my life i will have to offer, but it felt really good to remember that what i have been given is this... this is part of what i was made to do, and who i was made to be.

identity thieves

2006-05-07T22:53:00.000-05:00

i never pictured being 28. i never saw myself here.

i have been forced to begin the process of admitting... admitting that i learned at a young age to let everyone's approval and opinion of me be the one thing that defined me. admitting that when i have tried things and failed, i have believed that i had no intrinsic value. admitting that i have long since forgotten how to even try, for fear of the fail and the fall.

i am learning to admit that along the way, i have drowned out the still small Voice that's been waiting to get a word in edgewise.

if everyone else's 28 is the new 18, my 28 feels like the new dead. but in this dying, this admitting, there must be life. there has to be life.

"...and so help me let go of the gap between who and where i thought i'd be, and who and where i am."

holy of holies

2006-03-15T10:00:00.000-06:00

"one secret of life is that the reason life works at all is that not everyone in your tribe is nuts on the same day. another secret is that laughter is carbonated holiness" - anne lamott

stop me if you've heard this one...

2006-03-13T14:07:00.000-06:00

i had a dream about blogging last week, and since the good Lord likes to speak to me in my dreams, maybe He (or She) is trying to tell me something.

in an attempt to keep yup, here is a brief list of what has gone on in my life since i last bloggered... (this list is non-conclusive)

* we celebrated christmas, along with the rest of the judeo-christian world. it involved eating a lot of pork, cross country skiing, sleeping, and watching 'the family stone' with a heavy controversial conversation following, in light of which i have learned that maybe the Lord is going to use the conservative people in my life to teach me how to love conservative people.

* my great aunt julia died.

* while we're on the topic of great aunts, i met a great aunt i never knew i had, on an impulsive drive to arkansas in february (yes, i am certifiable) for a family reunion of sorts. my mother and her two sisters (june and miriam) were both at this reunion as well. i have learned that i come from a very, very, very long line of highly flammable women. i do mean this as a compliment. my great aunt ulma (who i met for the first time on this trip) is in her eighties, and is still raising beef cattle on her 200 acre farm. she still goes out into the fields in the dead of winter to break up the frozen river so that the cows can hydrate. i tell ya... i come from hearty stock. so i hope you all like me, 'cause if i inherited any of that DNA, i'm gonna be around for a while.

* i signed up to run the susan b. kommen 5k on mothers day.

* i got the new david crowder band cd, and there are no words for me to describe how much i love this musical weaving. i seriously think that the stuff of david crowder is exactly what we need right now... some intelligent artists who find creative ways to convey truth in culturally relevant mediums. here's a sampling of why i think this album is complete genius. one of the tracks on the album is a recording of an interview that crowder apparently had with some sort of 'dj' (i hold the term dj very loosely here, because the dj on this track is mediocre in his knowledge of radio or music or the human condition for that matter...) the dj askes crowder why they chose the image of an atom for the album cover art. this conversation follows:

crowder: "the atom is a symbol. you see that and you think 'atom'. it shows electrons moving in an elliptical path around a nucleus and all, and we know that's not how an atom works, or looks even for that matter... so that's why it's appropriate for the cover..."

dj: "right, um... (sniff)... ok, yeah... ok. i'm not really seeing the connection..."

crowder: "well, what we mean to say is that the elements of worship are inadequate, very much like the atom depiction, but this is what we have, you know, it helps us carry the idea..."

dj: "(silence)... (sniff)... um, ok. uh..."

the interview only gets better from there. and the entire cd is beautiful. please get it. it's called 'a collision'. let me know what you think.

* i've been in the belly of planning open doors good friday service for this year. and i am overcome. not just with the work load, but with the holy weight of this, trying to tell the story of what Jesus did for us on the cross. and who am i? i am soul intermingled in hopeless skin, redeemed in the shadow of the cross. and so i must let the cross change me as i research, and wonder and wait...

* i'm going to florida with my mom and her dog lily, to visit my aunt june who lives in ft myers. it seems a little nuts to take a week off, just as we are on the crest of the wave of easter. but maybe some sun, citrus, and family will be just the thing my spirit needs right now.

things have really improved since then

2005-11-28T16:33:00.000-06:00

it's over, it's all finally over. we made it, we're in!

we moved in a week and a half ago. i could not begin to describe in my own words what it was like, but in the words of my mother 'it was hell on hot wheels'.

let's start on the positive: the day of the move went wondrously. friends, family, co-workers, and neighbors show up in various shifts throughout the day to help carry boxes, lift furniture, or offer a friendly smile of blessing on our new home. jan bros unpacked all my dishes. joel hanson, terry steinmeyer, dan bennett, matthew malette, and bruce balgaard all helped to unload the truck. steve burk and dan erickson (aka the electrical SWAT team) spent the whole day getting the wiring put back into a rightly-ordered fashion. on friday night, erin and dan bennett brought us a homemade meal. then whilst my mom enjoyed mr. toads' wild ride through minneapolis driving a 20-foot rented truck, mandie and bethany unpacked the rest of my kitchen. the help didn't stop there. beth howington joined the fiasco on saturday evening and put together my new kitchen furniture. jennifer, steven, and aaron baxa brought us a meal on monday evening.

but in spite of all this wonderful help, we swear the place must be cursed. i don't necessarily believe in a place being cursed, but i might start to. first, there's the whole mess with the wiring (read previous blog), then my kitchen sink backed up in the worst most disgusting fashion, then matthew electrocuted himself putting up a new dining room light, then our brand new phone on our landline shorted out. there were myriads of other things; supposed simple projects that turned into 2 and 3 day battles... i could go on and on. so i will.

in the middle of this move, percy, our youngest brittany spaniel, had complication after complication following his 'standard procedure' neutering on the tuesday before the move. so on a weekend when i'm supposed to be unpacking and enjoying our new home, instead i'm doing midnight runs to the emergency vet with a hemorrhaging half-dead dog. at one of these emergency vet visits, i broke down into wracking sobs, clinging to my mother like i was 7 yrs. old.

things have really improved since then.

percy didn't die. when monday finally came around and our regular vet was open (of course your regular vet is never open when you need them, on a weekend), they kept him for a few days to monitor him and care for him in a way that matthew and i could not. he came home on wednesday dramatically improved, thanks to tranquilizers (note: a brittany on tranquilizers is like a normal dog). we had thanksgiving dinner at our house with 7 friends and it was glorious. throughout the evening, more friends showed up to share a glass of wine and a smile in our new home.

friday morning we awakened to the fresh snow. we took the dogs for a long beautiful walk to our neighborhood dog park. saturday was a day of resting and homework. sunday morning, we loaded the dogs up in their leashes and walked to caribou for our morning coffee because we still can't find the coffee pot.

all is well.

a month of silence

2005-11-09T12:10:00.000-06:00

we're in the process of moving. we have decided to become bruce balgaard's loyal tenants (hopefully to be co-owners at some point in the near future) at what we are dubbing 'the compound'.

my resistance to 'sell out' to the suburbs was very strong (sorry to all of you who live in suburbia). but here's the deal. i believe that we will have truer community living in this neighborhood of st louis park than we've ever had living in minneapolis proper. i know that there are suburbs that are very isolating and desolate, but st louis park has this very unique thing going on. neighbors actually talk to you. and the greatest thing of all is that we get to recconect with and share space with the balgaard's. i am looking forward to many a shared evening around the firepit in the backyard, with brewskies in hand.

suburbia is not all bad. this little neighborhood we are moving to is unbelievable. we can walk along tree lined sidewalks to any number of quaint neighborhood parks. within a reasonable walking distance is a caribou, a chipotle, a movie theater, and our new local hangout: bunny's. the compound has a big beautiful yard with tall trees. and it's a great football house. i don't even know what that means because i hate playing, watching, talking, or thinking about football. but it seems like the kind of house where you just wanna grab the ole pigskin and throw 'er around in the back yard after thanskgiving dinner. and that puts a smile on my face for no apparent reason.

the last few weeks have been rapidly filled to the brim (our cup overfloweth) with remodeling. we find ourselves frequenting home depot and ikea. carpet has been removed, carpet has been replaced, cement has been repaired and stained, flooring has been 'clicked' together, paint has been applied, new windows have been created, new countertops have been installed, and rejoicing has come with the disappearance of that wonderful decade 'the 70's' that once dominated 6010. steve burk, dan erickson, bruce & cheryl balgaard, becky & tim malette, cory mills, and many more people have given their time to help make our house a home that we will enjoy for many years to come. and i am grateful.

a response, in love

2005-10-07T01:44:00.000-05:00

i don't know how many of you care, but rick (http://rick.beckman-ministries.com) has been posting on his blog, replying to my 'jesus is still lord? really?' post and replying to all of you commenters out there. he has mostly twisted scripture to support his judgemental view (at one point, i believe he wrote that our job as christians is to judge... anyone? anyone?), and tried to debate me on something i wish to not debate on... the fact that our job is to LOVE, not to JUDGE. not worth debating in my mind.

but since he has posted twice about my one post, i figured it warranted a response.

so tonight, after waiting a week, i penned a response to rick, and posted it on his blog. i referenced matthew 7, about how we shouldn't judge others unless we want that judgement to fall on us, don't tell your brother about the speck in his eye when there's a plank in yours, etc. i typed, i deleted, i edited, i re-read, i had an objective bystander read it for me to make sure it didn't sound mean, harsh, judgemental, or cruel, and... posted. i checked, and it appeared on his website. i prayed and had high hopes that even though there has been a disagreement over the vastness of computer technology, that perhpas we could reconcile our differences to the fact that Christ makes us one, and we are brothers and sister in Him.

now when you go to his website, 'mysteriously', it is gone.

so, here's what i deduce (i deduce, therefore i am)
A) my blog was eaten by the ever-mysterious always-hungry post-monster
B) i was delusional, or drugged, and even though my conscious self tells me that i did spend at least 45 minutes penning a response to rick, i did not
C) rick could not handle someone responding to him in love, albeit still in disagreement, and deleted it.

so, CAST YOUR VOTES! was it the post monster, my delusional state, or the occam's razor choice, C!?

jesus is still lord? really?

2005-09-26T15:00:00.000-05:00

this is a quote i found today at the top of this website when i was googling some lyrics for church this weekend:

"homosexuality is sin. islam is a lie. abortion is murder. and Jesus is still Lord."

wow.

i would like to make an ammendment to the above statement - "Jesus loves homosexuals, Jesus loves islamics (yes, even the militant ones), Jesus holds the mother and the unborn child close in His arms of tender mercy, and Jesus is still the Lord who loves his followers despite how wrong we are 90% of the time."

i'm two steps away from renouncing all ties i have to christianity and calling myself a follower of christian spirituality, a follow of jesus (shout out to donald miller for that redefinition).

how on earth do we expect people to ever know the love of jesus if all we do is shout hate statements at them and each other?

jesus, may your love and truth ring out louder than our judgements.

it's time for a career change (maybe)

2005-09-24T04:01:00.001-05:00

yes, i am really posting a blog at 2.01am, and here's why: i just got back from my first ever experience at a piano bar. screw all you suckers that paid upwards of $100 for u2 tickets, i got free admission (did not pay the cover) to a piano bar in blockE downtown and it, was, amazing.

in my stupification (is that a word?) i'm trying to remember all the songs these 4 rotating piano players performed... there were always at least 2 guys playing butt-to-butt baldwins, two guys would switch out of the piano bench and then hop on drums or bass while the other two guys slipped in behind the keys, without missing a note. and then the 2 guys who had just played drums and bass would sit out for an hour whilst the other two 'took over' playing requests, etc. we heard everything from 'highway to hell' to 'i like big butt's/baby got back' to 'living on a prayer' 'everybody's working for the weekend' (yes, this was the song i requested) and 'bohemian rhapsody' (definitely a highpoint).

the way they played that piano had bach rolling in his grave, i'm sure. but it was contagious, passionate, hilarious, fun, funny, creative, energetic, beautiful, amazing. it really was. i need more of that kind of music in my life.

so, look for me at a piano bar someday. i should add that to my list of 'things i desire to do before i die' number 5: play at a piano bar.

getting to know me

2005-09-21T17:26:00.000-05:00

at the request of jan, i am going to attempt to share some responses to a few questions that are supposed to help you get to know me. don't know that that is the case, but anyways...

things i desire to do before i die:
(original question said "things i plan to do...", but i think we all know that life is what happens when you're busy making other plans)
1. play another concerto with an orchestra
2. play all of rachmaninoff's preludes
3. be more like jesus than i am presently
4. spend a summer in italy's countryside with my beautiful husband while he paints

things i can do:
1. listen to a recording of me playing moskowski's piano concerto in C#minor
2. play 4 rachmaninoff preludes
3. listen to jesus and try to be more like him
4. spend my summers loving my husband and my furry companions (read: brittany spaniels)

things i cannot do:
1. pretend i'm something i'm not
2. fly in an airplane unmedicated or sober
3. walk on water
4. eat sushi

things that attract me to my husband:
1. the fact that he never intentionally could hurt any creature, not even insects. if we find an insect in the house, he carries it outside in his cupped hand while i scream "kill it". he will not. and i love him for it.
2. he puts up with me and my craziness
3. he understands
4. he is so patient
5. he is beautiful
6. he is hilarious
7. i occasionally 'catch' him dancing with the dogs when he thinks i'm not home. anyone ever seen the movie 'babe' and rememer the part where the farmer danced with the pig in order to make him well? i always wanted to marry someone who would "dance with the pig", and i did.

modern "celebrity" "crushes"
(like tonya, i am changing it to 'modern celebrities to admire', and i'm holding the term celebrity very very loosely)
1. bruce springsteen (all i have to say is 'born to run' and any woman with a pulse should understand)
2. bono (he sings like he's trying to save his life, as though the fate of the entire world depends on how passionately he can involve himself in the music. that sort of passion ought to be contagious)
3. tori amos (i really can't describe this in words)
4. jonathan veenker (i've never known anyone who can put his heart into music like he does, with such humility)
5. anne lamott (see #4)
6. trey anastasio (one of the only performers i've ever seen who actually enjoys himself and has fun playing music for his fans)

ancient celebrity crushes:
1. johann sebastian bach (how did he do that?)
2. sergei rachmaninoff (how did he do that?)
3. sergei prokofiev (he knows how to light a piano on fire like none other)

people i want to answer these questions:
1. jennifer leigh
2. beth ann
3. matthew troy
4. scott madison
5. judy haugen

nostalgia runs rampant in pop culture

2005-09-20T17:47:00.000-05:00

i've noticed lately that in almost every genre of music that i listen to (rock, pop, country, r&b, the list goes on and on... and on...) someone somewhere is singing about the town they grew up in and how it's not the same anymore, or the people they grew up with and how they've changed. from trisha yearwood...
"screen door flapping in the wind
same old house i grew up in
i can't believe i'm back again
after all these years away...
the georgia rain on a jasper county clay
couldn't wash away the way i love you to this day
the old dirt road's paved over now
nothing here is the same
except for the georgia rain"

maybe this has always been a popular theme in song writing, or maybe it's just that i'm presently paying attention to it. when i traveled back to massachusettes for my grandma's funeral (see post 'to leone'), i was overwhelmed with memories of my childhood. and now that my grandma is gone, i have no ties to the places i spent a majority of my formative years.

when i moved to minnesota in '96 for college, i wasn't running away from anything. at least, i don't think i was running, but i don't think i ever even looked back. i was very much done with that season of my life. even now, i very rarely think about the town i grew up in (cornwall, ny) or the places i spent most of my childhood summers (queen lake, ma; monadnock bible camp, nh; pilgrim pines, nh). i figured those places would always be there for me to pick and choose when i would acknowledge their place in the weaving of my history. the whole time i was in massachusettes, i kept thinking 'this is the last time i'll drive on this road'... 'this is the last time i'll be at this lake'... 'this is the last time i'll see this house'. it was a lot more painful for me than i ever expected it to be. add to that the fact that my parents are nearing retirement age and will soon leave the house i grew up in. i hope i can learn to say goodbye before i am forced to again...

"this is where i grew up
i think the present owner fixed it up
i never knew we ever went without
the second floor is hard for sneakin’ out

remember the old arcade
blew every dollar that we ever made
the cops hated us hangin’ out
they say somebody went and burned it down

we used to listen to the radio
and sing along with every song we’d know
we said someday we’d find out how it feels
to sing to more than just the steering wheel

every memory of looking out the back door
i had the photo album spread out on my bedroom floor
it’s hard to say, it’s time to say it
goodbye, goodbye
every memory of walking out the front door
i found the photo of the friend that i was looking for
it’s hard to say, it’s time to say it
goodbye, goodbye

i miss that town
i miss their faces
you can’t erase, you can’t replace it
i miss it now
i can’t believe it
so hard to stay, too hard to leave it

if i could relive those days
i know the one thing that would never change

look at this photograph
every time I do it makes me laugh
every time I do it makes me..."

the year was nineteen-ninety-six (this post is pointless, only read if you're bored)

2005-09-16T14:40:00.000-05:00

in anticipated celebration of my 10 year highschool reunion which is supposed to be happening this spring (but if things shake down in typical highschool fashion as i experienced it, i won't be invited because let's face it, i never was part of those reindeer games), i have decided to list a few of the songs that made ''the top 100 of 1996'. below are the songs that i actually remember turning up when they came on the radio. consider this my way of letting you in on my embarrassing past.

One Sweet Day, Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men
Always Be My Baby, Mariah Carey
Tha Crossroads, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony
Twisted, Keith Sweat
C'mon N' Ride It (The Train), Quad City Dj's
California Love, 2Pac
Loungin, LL Cool J
Be My Lover, La Bouche
Name, Goo Goo Dolls
Counting Blue Cars, Dishwalla
You Oughta Know, Alanis Morissette
One Of Us, Joan Osborne
Gangsta's Paradise, Coolio
Sweet Dreams, La Bouche
1, 2, 3, 4 (Sumpin' New), Coolio
No Diggity No Doubt, BLACKstreet (Featuring Dr. Dre)
1979, The Smashing Pumpkins
Champagne SuperNova, Oasis
Woo-hah!! Got You All In Check, Busta Rhymes
Doin It, LL Cool J
Just A Girl, No Doubt
My Boo, Ghost Town Dj's
Get Money, Junior M.A.F.I.A.

wanna remember what songs were popular when you graduated? go here and in the search function, type your graduation year.

blogger, reveal thyself!

2005-09-16T13:32:00.000-05:00

alright, so i guess enough of us are blogging now that it has warranted a public gathering, of sorts.

so, if you want to meet face to face with the people who post, compose, and read within the blogosphere, there is a meeting of the minds occuring on sunday the 25th. go to the timbu blog for details...

so long anonymity, the rides' been nice...

a loose haiku: to the honkers outside my window

2005-09-15T20:40:00.000-05:00

honkers (read canadian geese)

i wonder if you've forgotten your chevron formation
because i see you still out there on the pond
the water must be getting cold by now
brrrrr, your feathers

i wonder if you'll be back again next year
when spring finds it's way back around
one thing is for sure, you bird
i won't miss seeing your poop on the ground
brrrr, your feathers

so take to flight, oh bird of the summer
find your way to a warmer home
i hear miami's nice this time of year
brrrr, your frozen daquiri on the beach

imposing october

2005-09-14T16:06:00.000-05:00

the light and scent of the earth is changing. the days grow shorter as they fight to share these twenty-four hours with the night. we now begin greiving the days of hot sunshine, lemonade, lazy lake floating, and humid hikes. in its stead come crimson leaves falling through a crisper air, a cool afternoon exploring an orchard of apples, a stroll through a patch of pumpkins, and the warmth of pulling that first sweater of the season over your head.

for those of you who know me, i do not need to tell you that halloween is my favorite holiday. i know it's a bit dark, but i can't help it. i have ever-increasing fond memories of the holiday from my childhood. every single year, my mom took us trick-or-treating, and every next years' costume far surpassed the previous'. with the help of my mother, i threw a halloween party in 8th grade that people are still talking about TO THIS DAY (i'm serious... i occasionally hear from high school friends who will occasionally mention the party). the list of things i have disguised myself as in celebration of halloween are endless... the list follows, in no sequential order

~a witch
~punky brewster
~a hobo
~a ghost
~cindy lauper
~a paddidle (yes, a car with one headlight)
~a christian (don't blame me, i was in highschool. i think my hyper-evangelical youth pastor was trying to cure me of my love for halloween, so he suggested i dress up as a 'christian'. now, what, exactly, would that costume look like? i did suffer a breif departure from my love affair with the holiday, but upon awakening from my evangelical-sub-culture-induced slumber, i realized that loving halloween is, contrary to KTIS and Northwestern Bookstore, not a sin!!! departing soap box now...)
~a slightly inebriated female (was that a costume?)
~darlene zschech (pronounced 'check', as in darlene 'check me out')
~david crowder

below, i leave you with a lyric that will warm your heart and send you running to the kitchen for the pumpkin carving tools and candy corn.

John's Garden by Peter Mayer

Farmer John wandered back
When he reached the pumpkin patch, he began to speak
He said, "The weather's getting colder
Summer's over and it's almost Halloween
That's the day, the reason you were raised
When everything about your life will change

You will have eyes to see
And for that night, you'll be a bright lamp burning in the darkness
But remember that candle shines for only the briefest time
In a jack-o-lantern's heart"

The pumpkins held a meeting then
Some were very apprehensive and afraid
"Could this really happen to us?"
"What could be the meaning?" is what they were saying
"This is home, it's all we've ever known."
Then one bold, outspoken pumpkin spoke

He said,"I don't need eyes to see, it sounds like a lie to me
I like it just fine here in John's garden
And remember that candle shines for only the briefest time
In a jack-o-lantern's heart."

There is much to ask and to ponder in the pumpkin patch
When imposing old October shows up at last

Then a pumpkin from the farther end
Who had been silent up 'til then
Over the commotion, said "What would you rather have my friends?
A chance to shine, or die here on the vine?
The better way seems very plain to me...

You will have eyes to see
And for that night, you'll be a bright lamp burning in the darkness
So maybe that candle shines for only the briefest time
In a jack-o-lantern's heart
Oh, but one goblin's smile should make it all well worth while
You know you might even see the starlight
And knowing that time is brief makes it that much more sweet
When you have a jack-o-lantern's heart."

ingredients: cake

2005-09-09T15:11:00.000-05:00

here's all i'm'a'gonna say.

i had lunch today at quiznos. before leaving, i made sure to pick up one of their double-chocolate super-sinful brownies, pre-wrapped for "my" convenience, because let's face it, it's just a chocolate sort of day.

anyways, i just pulled it out of my bag to munch it down. i turned it over to read the ingredients, and here's what i saw:

INGREDIENTS: cake...

wow, thanks. i feel so much better knowing that there is CAKE in my BROWNIE. hello, if i wanted cake, i'd go buy cake. would it really be that ridiculous to say that the #1 ingredient for a brownie would be, um, brownie?

alas, what has this world come to?

to leone...

2005-08-25T23:38:00.000-05:00

my grandma leone passed away last night. after about a year and a half of dementia induced suffering, a fall in the middle of last night turned into a brain hemmorhage. she went to be with jesus. she suffers no more. the evil that surrounded her tender aging brain and that overtook her is now reconciled to the One who called her home. the prolongued grief that my mother and her two sisters endured as they watched their mother slip away is finally over. the actual grief now begins as we embrace each other and embrace her memory...

sorrow is never easy, even when you know the person's soul is at rest with our Savior.

"when all around is flailing
and nothing seems to last
when each day is filled with sorrow
still i know with all my heart

He's got the whole world in His hands
i fear no evil for You are with me
strong to deliver, mighty to save
He's got the whole world in His hands

when i walk thru fire
i will not be burned
when the waves come crashing 'round me
still i know with all my heart

He's got the whole world in His hands
i fear no evil for You are with me
strong to deliver, mighty to save
He's got the whole world in His hands

i know that He's got the whole world in His hands
i believe, i believe...
the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night
He's got the whole world in His hands
he will watch over your coming and your going
because i know He's got the whole world in His hands
strength for today, bright hope for tomorrow
He's got the whole world in His hands" - t.h.

help me not forget

2005-08-24T17:05:00.000-05:00

"when the air comes in at night
it almost seems to call out Your Name
when it's dark out, when it's light
the seasons change but Your Love remains

there's a blue sky, it's got Your Name on it
when the sun shines, it's got Your Name on it
even this heart of mine, it's got Your Name on it
so i never will forget You

when the leaves fall past my knees
reminds me that i can't live without You
something You are
changes me into something I want to be

never could remember names
always seem to forget a face
but if my memory of You should fade
all i have to do is look up, up...

there's a blue sky, it's got Your Name on it
when the sun shines, it's got Your Name on it
even this heart of mine, it's got Your Name on it
so i never will forget You"

the work of church

2005-08-24T12:43:00.000-05:00

working at a church can be confusing. it can rip you apart. it pries you open and forces you to ask the question "am i really following Jesus in this meeting, or in this strategic plan, or in this restructuring..." you hope against all reality that you are, and that you are looking more like Him in your everyday-ness of life. but sometimes the hope of that seems bleaker than the reality of days filled with meetings and formulas.

yet i feel called to be here. and i know i have fight in me. a joan of arc. a warrior daughter. a deborah walking into the tent, sword drawn, piercing the unknown until what remains is the luminescent face of my King, illuminating me to shine forth His truth. His bride is beautiful and worth fighting for.

so i look for some help and hope elsewhere. i look in a hymnal. ahh, there it is...

"o Love that will not let me go
i rest my weary soul in Thee
i give back to You this life I have
that in the roar of Your waterfall
it's flow may ever fuller be

o Light that illumines all my way
i yield my fainting torch to Thee
my heart resigns its borrowed ray
that in the blaze of Your Sonlight
it's flame may brighter be

o Joy that seeks after me through pain
i cannot close my heart to Thee
i trace the suns rays thru the clouds
i know Your promise is not vain
that the morn shall tearless be

o Thy Cross that lifts up my head
i dare not ask to fly from Thee
i lay in dust, life's glory dead
and from the ground there blossoms
a life birthed from hope in Thee"

a daughter of the church, what jan bros will leave in me...

2005-08-22T15:30:00.000-05:00

"i think it is the next revival - or re-formation - of the church. it is like a stream of water gathering momentum from the ancient soils of the past, moving, gaining energy and volume as it pushes to the sea. it is the beginning of an answer to john 17, a whisper of possibility.

i have been reading a lot of church history lately. god is leading me backwards to again discover how he has worked throughout the ages. there are patterns of movement throughout time we can learn from. god is always calling his church forward, clothing it, readying it for himself. it is all interconnected because christ is the center of his church.

my hope and prayer is that we can contine to hear and follow god at this time... that fear and arrogance will not keep us from the next thing.

open door as we know it grew because of a violent turnover of an old regine. i pray we can make a way that gently carves a path for the new to come.

i believe we are in a seaon of gestation, secret and quiet, waiting for the 'babe' to be born. as in the natural, care for the 'mom' is important. good food, excercise, hopeful preparation and expectation is the call of the day.

time will tell what is gestating among us. prayerful attentiveness is of utmost importance. watch and wait. god is moving. his ways are not our ways.

passing the hope on..."

-a foreshadowing of sorts, written by jan bros in the fall of '04.

jan, may you find your voice in the stream of living water that you have chosen, and may your voice resonate profoundly in the hearts of young leaders looking for a reason to hope. may you follow the voices of the ancients to lead the way towards the future. may all that you have planted here grow in strength and anxious anticipation. and may we never forget all that you birthed and loved here.

like the godfather says "go to the mattresses"

2005-08-12T17:35:00.000-05:00

i need to take a poll, and i need your help.

i am full of knots in my upper shoulders and lower back. and my neck is so stiff that i have to turn my whole upper body to look out my car windows in order to pass anyone on the highway. this is, as of late (past two years) typically the case for me. being a woman i carry a majority of 'stress' in my upper back and shoulders. and since the lord blessed me with favorably sized frontal cantelopes, it doesn't make the matter any better.

usually andy stella (read: chiropractor with angels wings which he hides under his ralph lauren polo) comes to my aid. however, with fundage being at an all time low in the malette household and insurance not covering any of my chiropractic problems, my visits to him are infrequent.

now, whilst in the boundary waters, i carried a 40 lb. pack, sometimes a 55 lb. pack, paddled hard against wind, and slept on bumpy ground... all things that involve my upper back and neck. and guess what, no pain. my neck was flexible as a wet worm on a pavement after the rain. my upper back was knot-free, as knot-free as a piece of floured-and-pressed pizza dough.

so, who do we blame now for my miserable state of affairs? my love affair with wheat? (andy stella has a theory that wheat products may be causing my pains. i, for one, don't buy it... mostly because i'm not ready to relinquish my affair with carbohydrates). so could it be stress? i don't think so, because i have always lived a stressed life, even in college. i never had neck or upper back quandries back then.

that leads me to believe that it is our effing mattress. i believe we paid $89 for it our first year of marriage. it is a 'pioneer' (i know, i've never heard of that brand either), and we do not have a box spring. but supposedly, our IKEA bed frame does not require a box spring. i no longer buy that theory. or any other theory for that matter.

so, my plan is to start a pay-pal proram on my blog and all ya'll can contribute some money towards the buy-the-malette's-a-new-effing-mattress fund.

don't mess with gunflint lake

2005-08-09T19:18:00.000-05:00

i am back. back from where? you might ask. back from our four day boundary waters excursion.. our route was classified by cliff jacobson (self-proclaimed boundary waters 'expert') as an easy four-day route, with peaceful meanderings along the granite river, which opens to some beautiful lakes and lovely portage trails around scenic waterfalls.

our first day, we spent a lofty four hours just trying to get TO our entry point of magnetic lake by paddling across gunflint lake. paddling across gunflint in the waves that day proved to be quite eventful and unsafe. after a capsized canoe and a few verbal fist fights, we decided to take the more scenic shore route around the lake shore. longer, but safer. we finally entered magnetic lake expecting some peace on a smaller body of water, only to encounter more effing wind, and more effing waves. we finally made it across magnetic lake and entered the granite river. and yes, it was peaceful meandering for a good few hours. everything was going well until we got lost at a place where the river split into three channels. our effing map, which turned out to not be for "navigational use" did not tell us which of the three channels to take. after trying all three narrow and shallow channels, we finally found the hard-to-see 45 rod portage and did the portage only to discover at the end that every campsite on that lake was taken. my panic starts to set in, as the sun is setting and we're all getting increasingly tired and hungry and hot. so we paddle on, and we portage on, and we paddle on, and we portage on, 110 rods, to clove lake and find a campsite. all is well. we enjoy a dinner of chicken, stuffing and gravy, and a good nights rest.

friday was beautiful. we packed up camp and headed north on the granite river. that afternoon found us at the most beautiful campsite god ever made, on a portion of the river called 'devils elbow'. the site was up on the high rock bluff, with very deep water for marvelous jumping. the fire pit faced westward over the lake, perfect for sunset gazing. we stayed up late that night laughing, talking, smoldering, and injesting northern lights.

saturday, we were spoiled again with marvelous weather. we paddled north thru horsetail rapids to saganaga falls where we swam in the falls and ate a lunch of jerky, cheese, bread and peanut butter. thinking the rest of our 2nd to last day would be easy, we lazily paddled north. once we turned west onto big saganaga lake, we got slapped in the face with 25 mph winds and 2-foot white caps. needless to say, more verbal fist fights ensued, but all were triumphant. i had a brief stint of heat-induced confusion (where am i? and why am i holding this paddle?), followed by much hydration and a swim. our final campsite proved to be what one might call the 'mall of america' for squirrels. they were quite active that night! so active, that they t.p.'d our latrine. i didn't know squirrels were capable of such things.

oh, and one other thing. the wilderness caught on fire one lake west of us. yeah.

all in all, we enjoyed a marvelous backwoods kitchen, we had many laughs around the campfires, we marvelled at the northern lights. it was a glorious trip. thanks for tuning in.

save it open it

2005-07-27T03:03:00.000-05:00

my husband and i have been saving a bottle of shalestone merlot since our trip to the fingerlakes. our hope was to open it maybe on our anniversary, or some other 'special occasion'.

and then i remembered a conversation i had with my friend jennifer a few years ago. it was the night before thanksgiving, and we were planning on sharing thanksgiving dinner together. i called her that night to see if there were any last minute preps i could help with, and she sounded a little giddy on the phone. at my prompting of what was going on, she replied 'oh nothing. steven and i are just enjoying a bottle of champagne'. and since champagne is usually associated with (again, here's that word) 'special occasions', i asked 'what's the special occasion' to which she responded 'there is no special occasion.'

so last night, matthew and i had a monumental discussion (read: breakthrough) about our financial situation, resulting in something that will hopefully catapult us positively in the right direction. and we've also been having some beautiful hard discussions ever since our experience(s) at 10klf, trying to decifer what the crap just happened to us. the past 48 hours have been good hours of together.

and so, we decided to open the bottle of shalestone.

here's what i want to know: are you an 'open it' or a 'save it' sort of person?

dancing in the desert

2005-07-20T18:20:00.000-05:00

i keep hearing this really funny song on 93X. it sounds like one of those songs where the writer(s) had three different song ideas, and they couldn't quite finish any of those three ideas, so they decided to cram them into one song. the title of this blog comes from that song.

and then this morning, i heard a song on 105 that, according to the DJ, is classified as acid reggae rap. the band is called matisyahu, and the song was 'king without a crown'. check out the band here. the website sucks, but the bio is pretty interesting.

my friend shannon is driving into town today. she's driving from new york. she is crazy, just like me. we're heading to the 10,000 lakes festival at the good ole' soo pass ranch in detroit lakes. matt is afraid of the hippies. i think i am too.

this blog has been completely pointless. i truly hope you enjoyed it.

pour

2005-07-17T00:45:00.000-05:00

pour into me
until only You pour out

breathe in me
until only You breathe out

only You

this circle really doesn't have a beginning or an end, does it...

2005-07-15T17:14:00.000-05:00

i have been surrounded by thoughts of death and the end of things this week. rachael dies, alexander is left to mourn her loss.

and then yesterday, our dear frends steven and beth welcomed into this world two new lives, sebastian jakob and julien thomas, twins that have been nine months in the waiting.

loved ones depart and leave a wake of mourning. new life arrives upon a wave of rejoicing. and we get a front row seat to watch it all go by.

'You give and take away
still my heart will choose to say
blessed be Your Name'

may i have enough mercies in my heart to bless Your Name when faced with death.
and may i remember to sing Your Name above any others when i rejoice with new life.

comfort has gone the way of the baptists...

2005-07-14T19:21:00.000-05:00

hello my friends.

today i attended the very sad funeral for a friend, rachael r. grudem, who was married to a friend of ours, alexandar grudem. they had only been married 3 1/2 months. she was 23 when she was struck by a pick-up truck and died on saturday.

it was very strange to be at a funeral surrounded by young people, myself and my wonderful husband included, who have yet to even grasp what death really means.

it was even stranger to be at a baptist funeral that basically saw the loss of a beautiful daughter of the King as a means to lure numbers into the Kingdom. at one point, john piper, after reminding us of the details of the accident that claimed rachael's young life (a pickup truck ran a stop sign and killed her instantly) declared emphatically "what will you give as an account for your life if you get hit by the pickup truck today?" umm, sorry, but i thought we were at a funeral to help minister to each other and the family in the middle of our grief, not contemplate our own spiritual vacancies and, yet again, make it an all-about-me festival, that we american christians are so willing to do. and then to stand and "triumphantly" sing the traditional baptist hymn declaring that our 'victory is in Jesus'... really??? i would say that before we start shouting victory chants, a heavy dose of 'have mercy on me' would do wonders.

i like victory, heck, at one point in my juvenile life, i even contemplated being a cheerleader. i'm even partly baptist, being a bethel grad and all. but could the kind people of bethlehem baptist church allow the family and friends of rachael grudem to grieve a little, and not try to placate the grief with theological debates on how the Lord 'gives and takes away'? thanks.

the fear that guides me

2005-05-24T03:53:00.000-05:00

we are maui-bound, this thursday morning. there is so much beauty and fresh adventure that awaits us... snorkeling in God's 'fishbowl', hiking to hidden beaches, eating fresh pineapple and drinking mai tai's, surfing in real ocean, the sun, the wind, the waves...

and all i can think about is the airplane: boarding my human body onto that flying metal tube, whereupon i sign my life over to a group of complete strangers who will "miraculously" transport my body from one time zone to the other, from land over sea...

now, don't start with me. i know that my odds of death are greater by a donkey kick than by an airplane. and i've read david crowder's holy tribute to our King which was supposed to calm me down about flying. but i'm still scared. i'm so scared that i can barely look forward to maui.

where does my fear come from? i know! i'll blame my mom and my aunt, who are both so afraid of flying that they can only fly medicated. or i'll blame the terrorists. or i'll blame bernoulli's principle for coming up with the whole thing anyway. or i'll blame that duck that flew into the propellers and made the plane crash before it even took off. or i could blame the media for telling me the story (with dramatic embellishment) about that duck, or...

i could just blame my own self-created neurosis. i realize that the more fear i give in to, the more years i suck off my life. i realize that the more adventures i have and the more risks i take, the fuller my life will be. and normally, i am a risk-taker. i love adventures. this flying paranoia just doesn't seem to fit with any of the rest of my personality. and it doesn't fit with the bigger picture of my life. so what if i die... death only means that i get to hang out with Jesus for the rest of eternity. and that doesn't sound so bad.

i think it's safe to say that normally, i'm pretty fun to be around. but pity my poor husband who has to sit next to the white-knuckled version of me for a 10 hour flight to hawaii. may God speed some comfort to my anxious heart.

i have to tell you about this dream

2005-05-19T21:37:00.000-05:00

i know what you're thinking "what?!!! two blogs in one day? ashley must've gone insane!" i know, i know, but i didn't go insane. i just realized that i forgot to tell you guys about this dream i had.

i dreamt that matt (my husband) was kirk cameron. and kirk was very upset with me and wanted a divorce because i did not believe that we were in the end times, and i flat out refused to watch or read anything that had to do with the 'left behind' series.

your thoughts? too many onions on my pizza before bed? or am i'm secretly married to the end-times mafia?

my waking state of mind

2005-05-19T18:27:00.000-05:00

in my dreams, i am fully awake
filled with adventure, anxious anticipation
i dream of the jump, the plumett
the plundge
but in my waking state, i am fast asleep
shivering in my awkward skin
poised on the edge
wishing i wasn't afraid to just shut up and jump
longing for my dreams

help me awaken every morning
to the Sonlight on my face
and the warm reminder that
You are new every morning
You are brand new every morning

a life loving You
a life awake
a life lived like there might not be another one
a life in You
a life in awe
a life like this
my life like this

surprise3

2005-04-21T19:40:00.000-05:00

i think that we met God on park avenue last night. to be exact, the 2500 block of park avenue. after dinner, matt and i decided to walk our dogs (and ourselves in the process). not two blocks from home, we met eduarwis from uganda. he stepped off his bike and engaged us in a twenty minute conversation about many things, some of them including "jesus thinks you're all beefed up" and "i could take your dogs right now, they have all the power" and "love is power and power is god". at one point in the conversation, this very strange man reached into his pockets and pulled a bunch of crap out in a quick jostling movement and said 'i could pull a gun out on you right now...' and i jumped.

i admit it. i jumped. i don't really want to admit it because it's nicer and way more 'cooler' to sound all tough and south-minneapolis and say that i wasn't afraid at all. but i was. for a moment i was. but what made it worse was after eduarwis got on his bike and we went our merry way, matt said "you really jumped when he pulled his hands out of his pockets" and then he let out a chuckle and told a story of some dude putting a knife to his neck in san fransisco and how non-afraid he was. and what rose in me surprised me. i got really mad. i thought i was mad at matt because he was poking fun at my fear. but as we walked, i realized that who i was mad at was myself.

why did i jump? why was i afraid? so what if some dude shoots me up on 2500 park avenue, at least i died trying to be kind to someone who really needed a dose of kindness. i kept thinking of all these 'cool' christian people i know, and how non-afraid they would have been. and how even if they were afraid, they would never have told anyone. and then they would they have bragged about how they were never afraid and that they were being an 'american missionary' in their non-fear of the crazy-dude-on-bike-with-the-non-gun-in-his-pocket.

so then today, i heard this song and it made me think about last night again. maybe i did meet God on the streets. not that eduarwis was God, but that God was standing right there in the midst of me and matt and hudson and percy and eduarwis. He was breathing the same air, standing underneathe the same sky, and was ok with my fear. and He was giving me just enough in the moment to truly love this man. He wasn't ashamed of my fear, so maybe i shouldn't be ashamed of it either. and just maybe, He will bring me to a place of rememberance... He will give me the memory of being cut from the same cloth as every human i meet; that we are all connected and the only thing i really should be afraid of is the crippling effect of my fear.

"If God had a name, what would it be
And would you call it to his face
If you were faced with him in all his glory
What would you ask if you had just one question
If God had a face what would it look like
And would you want to see
If seeing meant that you would have to believe
In things like heaven and in jesus and the saints and all the prophets
What if God was one of us
Just a slob like one of us
Just a stranger on the bus
Trying to make his way home"

surprise... 2???

2005-04-19T13:03:00.000-05:00

alright, i admit it. i'm way too A.D.D. to keep up with the whole 'surprise me' prayer. and besides, do i really want to pray 'surprise me' to the God who invented things like black holes, galaxies, quarks, atoms, the pointer sisters, hippos, and venus fly traps? i dunno yet...

april sixteen and seventeen...
a long walk with an old friend under a brilliant sky
a rekindled love
a dose of patience in the sunlight
a cuban breakfast in the rain
a glowing cigarette under cedar and lunar blue
a reminder of the strength of friendships that have endured
a reminder of the beauty of new friendships that will endure
a lot of beck
a dip of my toe into the water of summer
a song sung from a fighting heart

surprise1

2005-04-06T16:42:00.000-05:00

one love
one blood
one life
you got to do what you should
one life with each other
sisters, brothers
one life
but we're not the same
we get to carry each other
carry each other
one... life

"surprise me..."

2005-04-05T16:05:00.000-05:00

i haven't blogged in a month. sorry to everyone, mostly myself. i guess i've been looking for something to blog about... my everyday life has been way to busy to put down into html form. so yesterday, my friend jan bros put me onto this series they're doing at upper room. from what i've gathered, it seems simple enough, perhaps even juvenile enough that even i could do it.

now, i wasn't at the upper room to hear the kick-off power-packed sermon that kicked this all of. but i'm gathering this: the premise is that for 30 days, i pray "surprise me, God", and that's all. no lists or petitions or anything else. just "surprise me". and then at the end of each day, i journal about how God barged into my life and surprised me with a little sumptin' sumptin'. now, i have to admit, part of this sounds like a manipulative bargain... or maybe that's just because for me, hidden in the depths of the "surpsie me" is 'oh god, surprise me with everything i've ever wanted, including enough money to buy gas for my gas-eating machine that drives me 20 miles out of my urban dwelling to my suburban Calling; and then maybe, could you throw in some sunshine so i could go outside and play today... and while you're at it, how about a matching furniture set for my living room? but make sure to surprise me".

alright, enough of the saracasm. maybe i should just shut up and give it a try. after all, since my 40 days of fasting are over, i need something to perseverate on.

so i'm giving this a shot...

here we go...

"surprise me, God..."

to be continued...

(i'll let you know if that matching furniture set shows up)

the scent of Home...

2005-03-05T00:30:00.000-06:00

i've heard people say that there's nothing like the smell of their 'home church'... when i hear this, in my mind i see a church out in the country with wood pews and a cemetary littered with stones engraved with the names of the relatives of the people sitting in those wood pews. the scent is something of must and mold, time and history, fried chicken and homemade pies, boyscouts and dusty organ pipes, love and anguish, God and history.

i never really grew up in a church like that. most of the churches that i grew up in were big churches. plenty of history and friend chicken to smell of, but the smallness to get in close enough to whiff the scent of God always seemed lost on me. the building was too big, too crowded, in too much of a hurry.

i was in the sanctuary of my huge church on thursday night. i was laying on my belly on the stage and i was praying. i folded my arms in front of my head and rested my forehead upon them so that the tip of my nose was touching the burgundy carpet. i inhaled. and i couldn't believe what happened. in a moment, i was transported to standing on the spot of barren earth that used to be underneathe this carpet and concrete, and remembering the dreams and hopes of what this church would become. in a moment i was reminded of all of God's promises delivered to my heart and to the hearts of the people i love as we sang and cried and played and smiled in His presence while standing on this carpet. i inhaled peace, music, my fingers praying on ivory... bruce, matt, joel, michelle... the hotness of the lights when they first come on... people moving to the Table to taste a morsel of His grace, people coming closer to find Him somewhere up above this carpet... i inhaled my God, i found my home.

it was faint, and buried deep under the new-carpet smell, but it was the scent of time passing by rapidly and history being made right before my very eyes as i dawdle and complain that i can't seem to find God in all of the chaos. i realized... the scent of God lingers in all of His churches. it really is a shame that we inadvertantly blame Him for making them too big or too crowded or too busy. we are the ones that are too big, too crowded, and too busy to just bury our noses in the deepness of Him.

so breathe deep. find your home and breathe deep. God is there.

swash buckler

2005-02-16T10:00:00.000-06:00

My pirate name is:

Mad Anne Kidd

Every pirate is a little bit crazy. You, though, are more than just a little bit. Even though you're not always the traditional swaggering gallant, your steadiness and planning make you a fine, reliable pirate. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from fidius.org.

after the last tear falls

2005-02-14T14:32:00.000-06:00

'after the last tear falls
after the last secret's told
after the last bullet tears through flesh and bone
after the last child starves
and the last girl walks the boulevard
after the last year that's just too hard
there is love

after the last disgrace
after the last lie to save some face
after the last brutal jab from a poisoned tongue
after the last dirty politician
after the last meal down at the mission
after the last lonely night in prison
there is love

after the last plan fails
after the last siren wails
after the last young husband sails off to join the war
after the last "this marriage is over"
after the last young girls' innocence is stolen
after the last years of silence that won't let a heart open
there is love

and in the end, the end is oceans and oceans
of love and love again
we'll see how the tears that have fallen were caught in the palm
of the Giver of love and the Lover of all
and we'll look back on these tears
as old tales

meadow green, river wide valley deep, mountain high there is love'

-andrew peterson

time to blog about something happy!

2005-02-14T13:05:00.000-06:00

ok, ok. i admit, this blog has taken a bit of a downward, depressing turn. but hey, if ya'll want to journey into my brain with me, sometimes that's just what you're gonna get.

but maybe i should take a break from the self-deprecating humor and lighten things up a bit. so grab your partner, get ready for the 'couples skate' and read on...

it is the day after a very wet snow, the fresh white is clinging to the trees. i enjoyed a lovely cup of tea this morning while almost throwing my very bad puppy against the wall (yes, i do actually have a very bad puppy, this is not a metaphor for my id or super ego). after almost throwing him against the wall, i felt an intense pang of guilt for the hatred that almost stemmed from my fingers onto his tender fur and so i pulled him out of his cage and we enjoyed a lovely Forgiveness cuddle. to pass the time this morning, i have wandered off to warmer days, sunshine on my face, being in duluth and pondering the mysteries Superior holds, the chartreuse green of spring trees, the thaw of winter and the thaw of my heart. spring should come soon. any day now in fact.

time to get back on the coffee

2005-02-11T02:15:00.000-06:00

i know that john mayer is pop. some people don't dig pop. but i have a stupid mouth just like he does.

i had a really hard day yesterday. and the day before. in fact it's been a hard month. maybe it's seasonal, or maybe it's just being a female. whatever. anyway, these hard days bled over onto some people around me that i really love. and i realized that the people i love the most and the people that love me the most are the ones who i "allow" to see this side of me. yeah, because that's a real privalege that should only be saved for the people who have taken the extreme risk to love me and be let in. i should treat the people who have taken the risk to love me the best, and show them the best side of me.

i become this person so hideous that it would make jesus drink gin straight out of the cat dish.

i didn't make the choice to love yesterday. or the day before. i think that my decision to get off coffee just isn't working out.

what makes it all better

2005-02-09T13:00:00.000-06:00

in the end, the thing that really does make it all better is this...

a small bowl of cheap-ass chocolate ice cream.

where is my other sock?

2005-02-03T21:55:00.000-06:00

we, as christians, as artists, and especially as christian artists, have the incredible ability to weave downward spirals in our minds about things that most 'normal' people don't obsess over (no, christians are not normal. we're really a bunch of weirdos).

for example (this is not a complete list):
"what is the right thing?"
"what should i do?"
"what does God want me to do?"
"is this holy?"
"i should've done that instead of this"
"am i even supposed to be here?"
"are You pleased?"
"will You ever be pleased?"
"where did i leave my other sock?"
"did You lead me here?"
"why did You lead me here?"
"why did You leave me here?"

you ever wonder if people who don't believe in any sort of higher Being, or don't believe in anything within themselves, have it easier than us? they just do their 9-5, make their money, hang with their friends, slam their beers, and move on with their lives. we, on the other hand, spend hours, days, sometimes months, torturing our innards trying to move towards our God to follow, listen, and obey... we do this to the point of inward torture at times, not being able to discern His voice from the voice in our head and the voices of the people around us... this whole Christian thing could really drive a person nutty.

admist all of the inward torture and drama, i love my God so much that i couldn't imagine not torturing myself to follow him, and to let Him fulfill the desires of my heart.

but dang it, it'd sure be easier to just work a 9-5 and be able to sleep at night without the help of Tylenol PM.

"what's He saying?"

2005-02-01T18:00:00.000-06:00

i seem to be a little lost in myself lately.

but maybe the problem is exactly that... i'm looking for myself.

my phone rang monday morning. i answered "hello?"

a familiar voice responded "what's He saying?" well, here's what He's been saying:

i was reminded by my God this weekend that what He is doing is amazingly larger than my little human brain could ever conceive. if He actually gave me a picture of how big It really is, my brain couldn't even handle it.

He also reminded me that because He is big, i am small. "... you're not unimportant. not forgotten. just small. try to move past the inward stuff. stop obsessing about where you fit and how you feel. i am a God of process. I am most certainly in this with you. but it's time to just breathe a little and let it go for a while. search for Me and you will find Me. come be part of what I'm doing and leave yourself behind. trust Me for all that you need, not the people around you. I am more than enough for you. come to Me..."

and so i find some peace. for now...

reclaim this earth

2005-01-17T16:00:00.000-06:00

last night, one of my very intelligent friends explained quantum physics to me. we somehow moved from a discussion of quantum physics to a discussion about how this world is really a dominion for our enemy to pursue us, our brains being the battle ground. someone in the room said something about how everything on this earth, this place that we find our bodies dwelling presently, belongs to the evil one. now, i know from scripture that our adversary "prowls about like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour" (1 Peter 5), but i couldn't help hearing the music of the spheres echoing in my heart...

"this is my Father’s world
and to my listening ears all nature sings
and round me rings the music of the spheres

this is my Father’s world
i rest me in the thought of rocks and trees, of skies and seas
His hand the wonders wrought

this is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise
the morning light, the lily white
declare their Maker’s praise

this is my Father’s world,
He shines in all that’s fair
in rustling grass i hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.

this is my Father’s world
oh let me never forget
that though the wrong seems oh so strong
God is the Ruler yet..."

so whenever the day comes that i can once again go outside without my lungs seizing at every inward breath, i want to be a person who actively reclaims this world back to Him. what can i do in each moment to remember that He is the ruler yet, ever still, and forever... this earth is His kingdom already and not yet come. i want to remember in every sunrise and every crashing wave that He sees this earth, and He sees me. we are the music of the spheres.

out of place

2005-01-13T17:57:00.000-06:00

there seems to be a theme in my life lately of feeling out of place. more accurately, i can't find my place. i am so easily persuaded to believe i need something that i don't really need, or that i should be someone i never should be. at some point in my life, i have allowed my identity to be defined by the externals in my life... my friends, my co-workers, my family, everyone except my God. i've become so lazy that it's just easier to let others define me than to do the work of letting my God define me. this has left me at the end of the day without my own place. this has left me with an overwhelming sense of underaccomplishment, and a need for affirmation dangerously close to the boiling point. i have come now to a place where i am unable to believe the affirmation that i do get. i've always wanted to be that person so confident that it's contagious, so strong in self that i don't need or care for others approval. but i am a different tale of mixed contradictions, confident in who others think i am, and yet obsessed with what seem to be my everincreasing weaknesses and lack of identity.

this world will forever define me by what i do. my God defines me by who i am. i have to get back to Him...

are these treadmills reserved for coordinated people only?

2005-01-08T21:44:00.000-06:00

i decided to go to gym today, to keep up on my ever-increasing inability to use any of the machines at this gym with any grace or poise whatsoever. so usually i do one of those trendy resistance machines, or i go for a swim (a pool is pretty easy to understand). but i was feeling extra saucy today and decided to go for a run on the treadmill to nowhere . yeah, you can guess that this story is about to go downhill rather rapidly.

all was going perfectly well, i was listening to my del amitri and jogging like any normal person, i think. i mean, what's "normal" jogging? let's face it... if god made us to jog, he would've put tennis shoes on our feet instead of skin, and we would've come standard with sports bras. anyway, i digress...

so i don't have one of those trendy i-pod thingees, or an arm-strapped walk-man. all i gots is my ghetto circa-1998 personal CD player. treadmills don't come with a ghetto personal CD player holder. so i had the CD player delicately balanced on the top of the treadmill. i know, a bad idea in hindsight, but at the time, it seemed an ingenius solution. well, once i started speeding away and running to nowhere at a very intense speed, the CD player lost it's balance and fell. on it's way to the floor, the CD player caught the 'emergency stop cord', which brings the treadmill to a grinding halt with no warning, and sends the jogger directly to the floor in a chin plant. so, this is what proceeded to happen to me. fine. no big deal. honestly, i've done more embarassing things. so i looked at the two incredibly in-shape people on either side of me, the dude to my left was trying to pretend that nothing was going on on my treadmill, and the guy on my right let out a little chuckle. so i leaned over and said "so these treadmills are reserved for coordinated people only, eh?" and he replied "um, not really. they're not that hard". eh hem.

so a few minutes later, yeah. it happened again. the cd player went cliff jumping off the top of the treadmill, pulling the emergency cord, sending me to my face on the convayer-belt-esque treadmill. this time, the dude on my left just walked away and went to another treadmill. the guy on my right said "you really have to stop doing that", in a tone that said "i am waaayyyyy too good-looking and in shape to be working out next to this uncoordinated lady..." i replied "well, i'd stop doing it, if i was doing it on purpose..."

and i kept running.

it's fun to be a klutz.

you can come in

2005-01-07T16:26:00.000-06:00

"I went back to St. Andrew about once a month. No one tried to con me into sitting down or staying. I always left before the sermon. I loved singing, even about Jesus, but I just didn't want to be preached at about him. To me, Jesus made about as much sense as Scientology or dowsing. But it was the singing that pulled me in and split me wide open. I could sing better here than I ever had before. As part of these people, even though I stayed in the doorway, I did not recognize my voice or know where it was coming from, but sometimes I felt like I could sing forever. There was no sense of performance or judgment, only that the music was breath and food. Something inside me that was stiff and rotting would feel soft and tender. Somehow the singing wore down all the boundaries and distinctions that kept me so isolated...

But then everywhere I went, I had the feeling that a little cat was following me, wanting me to reach down and pick it up, wanting me to open the door and let it in. But I knew what would happen: You let a cat in one time, give it a little milk, and then it stays forever. So I tried to keep one step ahead of it, slamming my houseboat door when I entered or left...

And one week later, I went back to church, and this time I stayed for the sermon, which I just thought was so ridiculous, like someone trying to convince me of the existence of extraterrestrials, but the last song was so deep and raw and pure that I could not escape. It was as if the people were singing in between the notes, weeping and joyful at the same time, and I felt like their voices or Something was rocking me in its bosom, holding me like a scared kid, and I opened up to that feeling -- and it washed over me. I began to cry and left before the benediction, and I raced home and felt the little cat running along at my heels, and I walked down the dock past dozens of potted flowers, under a sky as blue as one of God's own dreams, and I opened the door to my houseboat, and I stood there a minute, and then I hung my head and said, 'Fuck it. I quit.' I took a long deep breath and said out loud, 'All right. You can come in.'

So this was my beautiful moment of conversion." - Anne Lamott

there will come a day

2005-01-06T12:36:00.000-06:00

"i learned as a child not to trust in my body
i've carried that burden through my life
but there's a day when we all have to be pried loose
if this were the last night of the world
what would I do
what would I do that was different
unless it was champagne with you" - bruce cockburn

"you run and you run to catch up with the sun, but it's sinking
racing around to come up behind you again
the sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
shorter of breath and one day closer to death" - roger waters

why have we always taken such a fatalistic approach... the question is NOT 'if i were to die today'. the question really is 'if I were going to live forever what kind of life would i live'. as if I had eternity to make things right? or as if i had one moment to do this, to love louder and laugh harder... do not choose to "flitter and waste the hours in an off-hand way"...

a choice to love

2005-01-05T15:14:00.000-06:00

everyday, i have a choice. once my cold feet hit the floor, i can choose to be a basic human and love myself first, or i can choose to love others first. i awake every morning in the middle of something that has always been going on and will always continue, the Kingdom. i can choose to love. i've been given that choice.

i guess this would apply even before i have injested my needed 2 1/2 cups of coffee. it's hard enough to form consonants before coffee, forget loving others. but i still have that choice.

passionate about nothing

2005-01-04T11:43:00.000-06:00

“A friend of mine, a young pastor who recently started a church, talks to me from time to time about the new face of church in America – about the postmodern church. He says that new church will be different from the old one, that we will be relevant to culture and the human struggle. I don’t think any church has ever been relevant to culture, to the human struggle, unless it believed in Jesus and the power of His gospel. If the supposed new church believes in trendy music and cool Web pages then it is not relevant to culture either. It is just another tool of Satan to get people to be passionate about nothing.” – Donald Miller, from Blue Like Jazz.