Cerebral Debris

::twenty eleven

2012-01-02T16:35:00.004-05:00

I like to answer some questions from this survey whenever it's end-of-year season.
At best, it's a tool that helps me realize how much my life has truly changed and moved forward, thereby defeating my tendencies toward feelings of frustration and stagnancy.
====
What did you do in 2011 that you'd never done before?
-- moved to Detroit, visited St. Joseph & Lake Michigan, got an iPhone, acted in a staged reading, lived in community with friends, worked with Special Needs adults @ Camp Lake Louise, wrote press releases for new novels, had a job interview in Grand Rapids, saw a concert at DTE...many more, I'm sure...

Did anyone close to you give birth?
-- Yes! My friend April had an adorable baby girl named Emelyn.

What date(s) from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
-- December 23, because it was the day of Jeremy Combs' funeral.

What was the best gift you received?
-- My new-to-me computer for Christmas, a refurbished HP laptop. I'm very grateful.

Where did most of your money go?
-- Gasoline, I suspect

What did you get really, really, really excited about?
-- My niece turning 3, spending so much time at Camp Lake Louise, my new pastor's arrival, the "Dance 'Til Dawn" movie night @ Zach and Erin's house

What song will always remind you of 2011?
-- The Beatles' "Oh Darlin'"

What do you wish you'd done more of?
-- Keeping in touch with friends

What do you wish you'd done less of?
-- Worrying, stressing, wasting time

How did you spend Christmas?
-- My family spent Christmas Eve day together, then went to my parents' church, and the next morning, my parents came to church with me and we had dinner at Buca di Beppo...delicious!

What was your favorite TV program?
-- Parks and Recreation

What was the best book you read?
-- Soul Pancake: Chew on Life's Big Questions ~ Rainn Wilson

What was your greatest musical discovery?
-- nervous but excited

What was your favorite film of this year?
-- I didn't see enough great ones...but I did love The Help

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
-- I was 35. I went out to eat with my family & my friend Tim @ Red Devil (delicious!), then the next day, we had our Sunday night youth group at Buddy's Pizza, which turned out to be such a fantastic dinner...aaaand then I ended the day with a ferocious gallbladder attack. But let's not focus on that.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
-- Layers, scarves, jewelry, and color; mainly purple. I tend to wear lots of black because it's "slimming," but I'm learning to mix in brighter colors and creatively accessorize.

What kept you sane?
-- Music, writing, reading, and long talks in dive bars with close friends

Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
-- Kevin Smith, probably...I listen to his podcast network every day

Who did you miss?
-- My late grandparents

Who was the best new person you met?
-- Kimberly's brother Kyle and his wife Emily, and my new pastor, Phil Apol and his family

Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:
-- Faith can be both a very healing force, and/or a very dangerous liability.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

All of these lines across my face tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I've been and how I got to where I am
But these stories don't mean anything when you've got no one to tell them to
It's true
I was made for you

~Brandi Carlile

::restore

2011-12-22T23:00:00.002-05:00

On the first Sunday of Advent, my new pastor read a quote from Quaker writer Parker Palmer,
"The insight at the heart of nonviolence is that we live in a tragic gap - a gap between the way things are and the way we know they might be...we must learn to stand in the tragic gap, faithfully holding the tension between reality and possibility."

I have learned this year, perhaps for the first time, that Advent is a season of profound longing.

I have one friend whose newborn baby has a rare, aggressive form of cancer.
His tiny fragile body must soon undergo chemotherapy.
I read my friend's updates on Facebook, and I stare at the screen and weep.

I have another friend whose 22-year-old son died suddenly of an aneurysm last weekend.

His funeral is tomorrow, and I will be there alongside my parents as we watch our precious friend bury his son.

I sit with the horror of this pain, knowing it reflects so much more of its kind, worldwide.

And I know I speak for many when I cannot help but ask, Why at Christmas, of all times?

And the answer comes back, over and over, because this is why God became human in the first place.
This is why we enter into Advent.
This is why we wait.

Jesus was born into a world where the king wanted to kill him, and therefore ordered the slaughter of all male children under the age of two.
Mary and Joseph were trapped in a lonely cave with livestock, without their families or friends, devoid of rejoicing voices.

This is the same world that God created and entered; the one that He passionately believed to be worth saving.

We cannot reverse what has gone so horribly wrong.
We can only cry out to the One who makes Restoration possible.

Even if our prayers are bumbling and threadbare at best...

I'm SO angry, and so terribly sad, and I don't understand any bit of this primordial stew of suffering.
But please, please help.
We need the comfort, love, and peace that only You can bring.
Amen.

::thefridayfive

2011-12-16T17:07:00.001-05:00

Post a picture of the following and explain:

1. Yourself.
Do you like having your picture taken? Why or why not?
Do you have a "good side"?

I don't generally enjoy having my picture taken, no.

Unless I'm taking it myself.

And yes, there are angles and "sides" that are much more flattering than others.

Any angle or viewpoint I can find that hides my raging double chin? That's a winner.

2. Your pet(s).
What are their names?

I live in a house with pets, yes.
I wouldn't say that they're mine, necessarily, but I do love them as my own.
Pippin is the dog, a Maltese whom I sometimes believe is the Cutest Thing on Earth.

And there are two cats, Peg-a-leg (she's got 3 legs) and Pumpkin, the latter of whom is ordinarily very shy, but has somehow warmed up to me.

She stands at my door and meows when she wants attention and cuddles. I love it.

3. Your favourite vacation spot.
Describe exactly where the picture is taken.
What's special about this place?

Myrtle Beach, SC in 2009 was the best vacation I've ever had.

The photo above was taken at dawn on the first morning of our visit, from the balcony of our condo on the 11th floor.

I had never been to the ocean before, and felt therefore mesmerized by its beauty, its sounds, its sheer magnitude and overpowering presence.

Plus, my niece Emma was the most adorable beach babe ever.

4. Your bedroom or favourite room in your home.
Explain or tell a story about some of the items in the room.

My favorite "room" is actually the backyard patio + garden.
It's a beautiful and tranquil spot, ideal for reading, writing, visiting with loved ones and summer soirees.
I have written many a poignant word in this garden, and hope to write many more.

5. One of your favorite pictures of all time, whether for artistic or sentimental reasons.
Why is this picture special to you?

This is Emma at Camp Lake Louise, and I love it so much because it captures an evening that was so special, so precious; one I shared with my dear friend Robin and my family.
The sun was just lilting downward in the sky as we walked out on the sandbar.
My brother Josh threw sticks out into the lake for the dogs to fetch, and Emma ran after them too.
We laughed so hard we cried, the dusky cornucopia of color enveloped us, my soul swelled with Love, and my heart fell prostrate with gratitude.

::le sigh

2011-11-22T17:11:00.001-05:00

Today's been rough.

I'm in a mood.

A funk, if you will.
My emotions match the outdoor ambience.

What ails me is nothing extraordinary; just the everyday business of living, really.
I so deeply treasure the gift of communication, and it can be devastating when others do not.

It's a tough road sometimes when you're easygoing and considered "nice," because people figure they can do whatever they want, and you won't mind.
You don't have any preferences, and even if you do, they're infinitely flexible; certainly nothing to be taken seriously.
You finally start to assert yourself, lend a voice to your flimsy feelings, and they think it's cute. Comical.
They look at you the way they might at a kitten wearing a tiger costume.

A friend in college said to me one year, "I hate the holidays. They're so depressing."
And I remember regarding him with a puzzled, pained expression and asking with just the right note of annoying naïveté, "Why?"

The older I get, the more I understand why.

::barstucks

2011-11-18T12:34:00.001-05:00

I'm sitting in Starbucks, and there are lovely window-cling snowflakes everywhere.
I know lots of folks who scorn the perceived tyranny and highway robbery of Starbucks.
I understand that.
But I love their coffee. Always have, always will.
I also love the friendly employees and the wide array of characters who saunter through its doors.
Also, I have a long-standing affinity for their holiday drinks.
Peppermint Mocha seems overstuffed with some sort of narcotic.
Gingerbread latte? Oh jeez. Delicious.

I've been asked to write a spoken-word performance piece for a Christmas concert.
I have ideas, and I think it could shape up to be something special.
But I'm still nervous, like always.
What if I can't finish it?
What if I end up writing something awash with cliches that everyone has already heard a million times?
What if it's sub-par and everyone gets disappointed?
What if I try really hard and still can't piece it together so it makes perfect sense?

UGH.
Self-doubt is a stubborn, cruel bastard.
I know it doesn't come from any healthy places.
I need to pray for its eradication.

::butthead

2011-11-15T20:08:00.001-05:00

I'm about to answer some questions.
Hey!
Here's a song about that!

-- Are you addicted to anything?

Caribou Coffee. Instant Netflix. Cake. Chocolate. Pinterest. Procrastination. My iPhone. Angry Birds.

-- Do you find piercings/tattoos attractive?

Tattoos - not generally, but for some reason, I think John Mayer's left arm tattoo sleeve is hot.
Piercings - Not many people can pull off the more "exotic" ones. But I can't judge anyone. I'm seriously thinking about getting my nose pierced.

-- What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever licked?

One time when I was like fifteen, my friend dared me to lick one of these thingies in the church office.
It was in front of a bunch of people, which upped the ante to Triple-Dog-Dare territory.
I did it.

-- Do you actually believe Alaska is covered in snow?

Ummm...not all of it?
I don't know.
I saw The Proposal. Was that filmed on location?

-- Are you ever purposely irritating?

Well, my dad hates my British accent. It makes his skin crawl.
So naturally, when visiting my parents, I like to spread it on thick. 'Ello gov'na!

-- If you could make someone disappear, who would it be?

This question makes me realize that I passionately dislike way too many people.

-- What’s the most important thing to you?

Thing?
Ummm, either my computer or my phone.
I'm such a techno-slave, it's gross.

-- How do you spend your weekends?

Sleeping late (let's not kid ourselves, I do that on weekdays too), volunteering here, visiting friends, watching movies, drinking beer, eating pizza, laughing loudly in bars/restaurants, going to church.

-- What country would you love to visit?

England.
I'm such an anglophile.

-- What’s on your mind right now?

I need wintergreen Tums.
Like, now.

-- When was the last time you went to a good party?

I went an an anniversary party in July that kicked the sorry ass of every other party I've ever been to.
Read more here.

-- Do you like anyone you can’t have?

Always.
It's a sickness.

-- Do you speak your mind?

Not enough.
But I find that when I do manage to assemble the courage to speak my mind, I'm really shaky.
And afterwards, I'm instantly embarrassed.
I probably need to figure that out.

-- What would you do if someone random on the street came up to you and started hitting on you?

Oh mercy.
This happened once. At a gas station.
I'm walking back to my car after paying, and some dude in clothes 10 sizes too big comes lumbering after me and opens with, "Wha'sup girl? You got a man?"
I hesitated, then said "Yeah...I'm sorry."
Yep, I lied.

-- Name the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?

Ummm...How about that time I lost my keys in Meijer?
Orrr...losing my keys in Target? Twice?
Ohhhh WAIT.
It has to be that time I was desperately searching my car for my phone,
only to realize I was TALKING ON IT.

-- Would you talk to someone you don’t know on the internet?

Oh jeez.
I do that pretty much every day.
Child's play.

-- If you could speak another language, what would it be?

Well, I kind of speak French.
I took four years of it in high school.
I don't use it, except for when I'm feeling pretentious and watching some French movie on Netflix, and then I can understand some of the dialogue without reading the subtitles.
I am an International Woman of Mystery.

-- One word to describe yourself?
Curious.

-- What’s the last present you’ve received?

This badass pair of black knee-high boots.
I feel very Sex and the City when I wear 'em.

-- You and your friends are bored. What do you do?

Watch Family Guy.
Always entertaining.

-- Who hates Twilight as much as I do?

Embarrassing story: I borrowed the Twilight books from a friend and obsessively read all four of them in three weeks.
Now? I see the movies and all through each one, my cheeks flush with humiliation because I feel like such a MORON for ever being captivated by this teenage melodrama tripe.
Also, I fell asleep during the last one.
I think Taylor Lautner took his shirt off, but I can't be sure.

-- What would you do if the world were coming to an end?

Look around for Kirk Cameron, definitely.
He seems like a guy who would know what to do.

-- Biggest regret ever?

Right after high school, I went to college and had a really awful experience.
Finally after two years, with a raging case of Major Depressive Disorder, I left.
Going there was maybe the worst decision I ever made.
Leaving was probably the best.

-- If you could see your future in a movie, would you watch it?

Surprisingly good question, Survey Writer!
I don't think I would.
I tend to enjoy being surprised.

-- If you won a holiday but had to choose either a cruise ship or resort, what would you choose?

Who am I going with? Where is the cruise? And where is the resort?
Because if either option includes weather that makes you choke on your own sweat, I'll pass.
Humidity and I do not get along.

-- Favorite color?

Purple.
And yet, The Color Purple is not my favorite movie or book.
What a waste.

-- What annoys you?

Loud chewing/eating, gum cracking, sweltering temperatures, my hair, Christian subculture, and people who talk incessantly, completely oblivious to the fact that no one's listening and no one cares.
I try to avoid those people, but once in awhile, they sneak up on me.
When all else fails, just walk away.

::eleven eleven eleven

2011-11-11T18:51:00.001-05:00

The thing about this whole internet business?
It's an illusion.
A gigantic, streaming, colorful, addictive illusion.

I had this conversation a few months ago with Heather, and apologized to her for paying more attention to her online persona than to her, the actual human being.

I think this is a common problem.
My friend Zach has touched on it as well, here.

Just last week, at home, my friend/housemate came out of the house and saw me sitting with two other people around a bonfire, only to find two of us fixated on our phones, the other on an iPad.
We'd forsaken the intimacy of face-to-face interaction, opting instead to stare at screens, hoping for Notifications and Messages and Comments and Likes, all of which are naturally what make the illusion so alluring.

I love being online.
Probably too much.
It means I can be alone and yet connect with others at once, however superficially; like I'm getting away with something that should not be possible.
I can write comical comments on Facebook and rattle off one-liners on Twitter that make me seem witty and engaging, when in fact I'm rather socially awkward.

Perhaps we all love appearing to be much more exciting and sexy than we feel.
It's understandable.
As addicted to approval and attention as our culture is, we're bound to be seduced by the construction of facades.

Hi, I'm Stacey, and I'm an Internet Poser.
More often than not, I'm unpolished and nervous and awkward and messy.
But I'll always hide that from you.
The Internet told me I could.

::pink poodle

2011-11-07T14:13:00.000-05:00

I may have a case of The Mondays.

Hence, I will attempt to shove myself into happiness by recapping the last time I saw Emma (my adorable 3-year-old niece.)

I drove up to my hometown last week to spend Halloween with her, at the annual carnival hosted by my parents' church.

The chief of police was roaming around with her adorable bulldog, dressed as a jailbird.
Awesome.
And Emma, lover of all things canine - dressed as a pink poodle herself - had to have a commemorative photo taken.

We meandered around the gym (sorry, Family Life Center) and she played nearly every game, her spirits reaching their apex at the sight of the giant Bouncy House. (They should really have those for adults.)

Although I try so hard to be a wordsmith, there are some things that even words, as magical as they are, cannot encapsulate with their elongated tentacles.
One such thing is the caliber and category of joy that Emma's presence in the world delivers to my soul.

::manner and means

2011-11-04T11:59:00.000-04:00

I was listening to Bright Eyes this morning.

It's been way too long since I did that.

His lyrical skills are unparalleled.

As I listened to him harmonize with Emmylou Harris on the delicate, lovely Landlocked Blues, I was reminded of an occasion of "tough love" that I experienced earlier this week.

I am a highly and unusually sensitive person.

I have trouble with confrontation and avoid it whenever possible.

When called upon to speak painful truths or receive them, I'm a nervous wreck.

As I sat in a semi-uncomfortable chair three nights ago, thrust into a situation wherein I was required to both give and receive confrontational-yet-loving statements, I was terrified.

My insides knotted, my eyes spilled over, and I managed to handle myself with grace and a fair amount of poise, but it was decidedly unpleasant.

Afterward, I slipped away to be alone and exorcise residual toxic emotions.

The next day, I still felt as though some sort of surgical procedure had lacerated my psyche.

I was tearful and raw, then angry and bitter, then terrified, then tearful again, and on and on...

Conor Oberst (aka Bright Eyes) provoked me with these (slightly paraphrased) lyrics:

A good friend will pick you apart;
A box full of suggestions for your possible heart
You may be offended and you may be afraid
But don’t walk away, don’t walk away

My fragile feelings had been hurt, and I felt as though I'd been probed and splayed open, utterly exposed.

I cannot foresee "tough love" ever feeling comfortable or being anywhere near enjoyable.

But maybe it's a big fat lie that love is supposed to be this hearts-and-flowers amalgam of saccharine pleasantries.
To truly love someone, I once learned, is "to want the absolute best for them, and to do everything within your power to make sure that they have it."

So if I love you and you love me, I suppose we must acknowledge each other's self-destructive behaviors and express our deep concern.

We must offer our assistance with firm sincerity.

We must say the things that hurt in order to do the things that heal.

::yo where you been?

2011-10-24T17:27:00.005-04:00

What's with the lack of blogging? Where have you been?

My friend Valerie, a regular reader (Hi Val! Thanks for reading!), asked me these questions last week.

Where have I been?

Well, I've had two major addictions fighting for top billing lately.

Pinterest and Instant Netflix.

Pinterest is, perhaps, the Internet's answer to heroin.

It leads me into these insomniac trances where all of a sudden it's 3 am and I'm like Holy crap, what year is it?
I highly recommend it, but also advise that you approach with extreme caution.

Also, Instant Netflix now features AMC original programming.

Mad Men and Breaking Bad, specifically.

Both shows boast supremely gifted actors, phenomenal characterization, fascinating premises, and wonderfully complex leading men.
All of those features and so much more are a recipe for addiction.

Again, they cause insomnia to the point where I'm lying in bed staring at my laptop and thinking, Just...one...more...episode...aaaand THEN I can go to sleep.

This is the sort of (pseudo-)logic that ultimately renders me zombie-esque and uninspired.

Hence, no updates for a while.

Also, I tend to write in spurts.

I'm not proud of it.

In fact, I kind of hate it.

But I can't seem to break away.

::all hallows

2011-10-24T16:39:00.004-04:00

So, I had a busy weekend.

I like those.

They help me create the illusion of a social life.

Halloween, Halloween, Halloween...it's all I'm hearing about lately.

Is it terrible that I don't really care?

I love caramel apples and cider, I've had plenty of fun at past Halloween parties, and I could eat a whole bag of Brach's Autumn Mix candy in one sitting, but that's beside the point.

I admire people who have the motivation to craft elaborate, complex costumes.

I'm not one of them.

Last year for a Halloween party, I borrowed fake leaves from my mom, attached them to my autumn-colored outfit and stuck them in my hair, and went as Autumn.

Conceptual costume.

Dig it.

Whatever I do this year - if anything - I doubt it will involve anything as elaborate as papier-mâché or, God forbid, sewing.

I may just wear my long winter coat, slap on a backwards baseball cap, draw myself a black beard, and go as Silent Bob.
This will carry the added bonus of not having to speak all evening.

Sounds promising, n'est-ce pas?

::queue and ay

2011-10-21T13:04:00.003-04:00

-- Where is your Mother?

I'm pretty sure she's at home, in Holly.
Although she's not watching my niece today so she may be, as my Canadian friends would say, "oot and aboot."
Maybe at Wal*Mart.
Or TJ Maxx. She loves it there.

-- Where is your Father?

My best guess: taking a nap.
He has the weirdest sleep schedule of anyone ever, besides maybe Leonardo da Vinci.
The poor guy has chronic insomnia and wakes up around 2 am every day.
He needs a daily nap.

-- Where were you born?

At McLaren Hospital in Flint, Michigan.
And now I live in Detroit, which is actually less dangerous than Flint.
Funny how these things pan out.

--How many days until your birthday?

44.
I'm trying to make plans already.
Operative word: trying.
I hate when people are non-committal jerkfaces.

-- What is the closest orange object to you?

A bottle of leftover Vicodin.
I like to keep it around for emergencies...you know, like those migraines that feel like a wrecking ball slamming against my skull.

-- How many books are in your room?

Not enough.
I have yet to undertake the grandiose task of moving my entire personal library to my new residence.
Dude, it's gonna be rough.

-- Who is your favorite teacher of all time?

Jill Armistead.
She was my favorite literature professor in college.
She had tremendous warmth, compassion, intellect, and a crazy awesome Scottish brogue.
I miss her.

-- Name one of your goals for this year?

I need a job. Jay oh bee.
Also, I'd like to submit a few poems for publication.
But I've been saying that for like five years now, so maybe it's not so likely.

-- What is the biggest trouble you have ever been in?

In 2003, I was in a car accident wherein I dislocated my hip.
Some douchey cop followed the ambulance to the hospital so he could write me a ticket for not wearing my seatbelt.
Hey, jerkface? My leg is out of its socket. I think I may have learned my lesson.

-- Did you cry when Michael Jackson died?

I did.
I was at a movie with my friend when it happened, and when I got home and saw the news, I cried.
He was sublimely talented and yet so tragically troubled.
The sorrow of it all just kind of crashed into me at that moment.

-- What does your 9th message on your phone say?

"Okay babe"

-- Are you scared about the end of the world?

Not really.
If I thought about it more often, I probably would be.

-- Is there a TV in the room you are in?

Yes.
It's an old-school TV/VCR combo.
I watched Liar Liar on it the other day.
Good times.

-- Do you usually hold your pee for a long time?

As a matter of fact, yes.
Even though, as an avid Seinfeld watcher, I did learn from George Costanza that "holding it in is bad for the kidneys."
That guy claimed to read medical journals a lot.

-- Worst feeling in the world?

When I am 100% sure that vomiting is imminent.
I cannot even move.

-- Name something you think is pointless?

Cheerleading.
Also, why do people cheer for games that they're watching on television?
If you're there, in person, it makes sense to voice your encouragement, I suppose... but at home or in a bar, you know they can't hear you, right?
It's just obnoxious.

-- Favorite fast food restaurant?

Does Panera count?
If not, then I'd have to go with Arby's.
Their chicken salad sandwich is an evil temptress.

-- Did you have a weird dream last night?

Not that I remember.
I have a strange habit of dreaming about famous people, though...like a couple weeks ago in dreamland, I was on a date with Russell Brand.
He was a perfect gentleman.

-- Do you wish at 11:11?

No, I'm not terribly superstitious.
But I think I will certainly enjoy the two occasions of 11:11 on 11/11/11.

::zuck off

2011-09-01T14:53:00.005-04:00

Confession: I have a complicated relationship with Facebook.

I check it several times a day, and can often be spotted on the News Feed uploading photos and videos and such (probably twice as often since the acquisition of my iPhone).

I also see the appeal of shunning it altogether, refusing to allow that sort of access into one's life, because publicizing any personal information is frightening.

Currently, I'm frustrated by some recent changes involving privacy, so I felt like procuring a Motivational Poster.

You're welcome.

::fill-ins

2011-08-26T13:56:00.005-04:00

Sometimes, dear readers, a blogger needs a little help.

Hence, the Friday Fill-In.

I can't...

...seem to stop hanging out at Caribou Coffee.
The ambience reminds me of "Up North" Michigan, the employees are so friendly and sweet, coffee drinks are delicious, and the free wi-fi is readily accessible, reliable, and very quick.

Lately, it's my favorite hangout.

=====

I can...

...feel myself becoming more and more comfortable with calling Detroit "home."

This summer has solidified its magnetic pull on my spirit.

When I'm gone for too long, I'm homesick for its bipolar beauty.

=====

...__________ made me feel really good this week.

...The end-of-summer party I went to on Monday night made me feel really good this week.
It's an annual gathering hosted by my friend Kathy, and this was the first time I'd been included.
Lots of laughs, adorable cats, good wine, and an experimental Arnold Palmer (iced tea + lemonade) with a splash of gin.
Delicious.

=====

I bought...

...a few (cheap!) books at a Borders close-out sale yesterday.
Garrison Keillor's Good Poems, A.J. Jacobs' The Know-It-All, The Best American Spiritual Writing 2010, and The Electric Guitar: An Ilustrated Guide (a gift for Paul).
Total: $20.24.
Not too shabby, eh?

=====

My car..

...is sadly on its last legs. Last month's visit to the mechanic revealed that the engine cradle had rusted through.
A sturdy sheet of metal is welded on for now, but I know it won't be long.
Car-shopping when you're broke is seriously depressing.

=====

My bedtime ritual includes...

...lying in bed listening to podcasts on my iPhone.

God bless the Stitcher app.

=====

This weekend I will...

...go to see/hear my friend Kim play music in Ann Arbor, enjoy a block party in my neighborhood, and go with some very fun folks to Lake Erie Metropark for some watery shenanigans.

Et tu, dear reader?

::LL lessons

2011-08-23T23:01:00.002-04:00

Last week, I spent a few more days back at Camp Lake Louise for the first-ever Special Needs week.

Our campers represented a wide range of special needs; Autism, Down Syndrome, Cerebral Palsy, Cognitive Impairment, etc.

What I was not entirely prepared for was, how much these people would teach me, how attached I would become, how intense our connections would be, or how much I would miss them after they left.

I feel as though I cannot tell stories of the week with words - no matter how finely sculpted - as effectively as my photos can, so I'd like to share a few...

[Also, you may want to listen to this song.]

Clarence, joyful as ever

Steven, Camper Extraordinaire

(Another) Steven, transfixed by the camera :)

Jenni introducing Erin

Campfire song leader, Hannah

Steven paints lovely trees...

...and loves giving kisses

Ron dances with Hannah

::of scales and physicians

2011-08-09T21:19:00.002-04:00

I hate scales.

They mock me.

They show me combinations of numbers that lacerate my hard-won confidence and perforate my self-esteem.

They are the first component of the visit to the doctors' office where I have to talk about all the stuff I don't even like to think about.

It deserves a think, I know.

And no one likes to focus on their painful dysfunctions. I know this too.

My doctor did advise me to pray every day for strength to achieve my weight-loss goals.
That's a prescription I can live with.

::grrrreat lakes

2011-08-05T16:33:00.001-04:00

It's such a bizarre experience to feel like a tourist in my own home state.

This week, I visited Michigan's west coast for what felt like the very first time.

I was dazzled by the enormity of Lake Michigan, the abundance of windsurfers and toddler tourists, and the sight of such lovely lighthouses.

My friend Ann was gracious enough to invite me along, and we went exploring with cameras in hand.

After lots of emotional stresses lately, it felt so cathartic and cleansing to stand before Lake Michigan, wind hurling my hair every which way, and feel the spray cleansing the darkened, lonely corners of sadness.

::happy thoughts, part one

2011-08-01T15:52:00.004-04:00

Today, I feel as though I have a serious case of Church Drama Meeting Hangover.
UGH.

Therefore, I'm choosing to focus on things that make me smile and feel utterly delighted.

Let's start with Wilma, shall we?

Now, the first thing you need to know about Wilma: She. Is. Awesome.

I have known her all of my life.

She's the "Craft Shop Lady" at Camp Lake Louise.

She's 87 years old.

She's been coming to camp for more than 50 summers.

She tools around in a golf cart most of the time these days, offering rides to any and all who seem even remotely in need.

Her kindness, creativity, generosity, and strength are incredible sights to behold.

The following picture is one of my favorite shots EVER.

This is what a wonderful, lighthearted, down-to-earth woman Wilma is...

Sideways hat, gang signs, kickin' shades.

Wilma RULES.

::leavin'...without a jetplane

2011-07-30T15:08:00.005-04:00

There is drama in every life.
It's unavoidable.
As a human living among other humans, it's an occupational hazard.

Amidst all the sub-genres of drama, I've decided that Church Drama is particularly stressful.

I left a church once.
It was painful; and although it was seven years ago, the byproducts of the transition are still sometimes painful.
Basically what happened was, my brother was fired (some would say "in a roundabout way") from his job as youth pastor.
I stuck around and continued to volunteer with the youth group, alongside my brother's replacement.
After a year, I was burned out and had found a community where I felt much safer, and where I was confident that I could grow and thrive.
If you'll pardon the saccharine analogy, I was a tree that had overgrown its yard.
It was (beyond) time to move forward.

Conflict/drama in my current church has tempted many to leave.
I cannot blame them, and I can never claim to be in a position to stand in judgment of anyone.

But I cannot help but wrestle with the question,

What are the "right" reasons to leave a church?

I can see the point about how, if we leave every time something happens that we don't like, then we're treating the Church like consumers, and the fellowship to which we belong may as well be something as crass as Wal*Mart. (Or, as Zach and I now call it, "Walmy's.")

I can also see the point that if the members and/or leadership of a church have behaved in a way that we find morally reprehensible - to the point where the simple act of entering the building makes us physically and psychologically sick - then leaving seems like the only option available.

I remember, all those years ago at my former church, pulling my car into the driveway while listening to Caedmon's Call's Love Alone, shedding tears, surrounded by the mysterious empathy I found in that fusion of word and melody.

And the hands I've seen raised to the sky
Not waving but drowning all this time
I’ll try to build the ark that they need
To float to You upon the crystal sea

Give me Your hand to hold
‘Cause I can’t stand to love alone
And love alone is not enough to hold us up
We’ve got to touch Your robe
So swing Your robe down low...

::emmy & calvy

2011-07-30T11:03:00.001-04:00

So, last week I went to camp.

As always, it was awesome.

Spending a week alongside my dear friends Zach and Erin is always a distinctive delight, as is their son Calvin.
My niece Emma is Calvin's BFF, and of course I love to capture this with my Canon lens.

Once in awhile, I like to join the party.

This is one of my favorite pictures of myself, ever.
These two are incredibly delightful company.
Last night, Emma said to me, "Calvin! He's my best buddy in the whole world!"
All together now..."Aww!"

::the LL

2011-07-26T17:07:00.002-04:00

I love the moment when I open the car door and step onto the grounds of Camp Lake Louise.
The aromas dance into my nostrils and it feels as though the very granules of sand, blades of grass, and droplets of water spontaneously sprout strong, tender arms and rush to enfold me in a warm, lingering embrace.

I hear the voices and feel the countless memories of all four of my grandparents -- all passed away now -- who volunteered their time at Lake Louise alongside our family, and the onslaught transforms my countenance into a tapestry of delightful reminiscence.

I see the house on the hill at the entrance, where my family lived when my father managed the camp for seven summers, where I shared a room with my two brothers and spent hours lying on my bed, reading preteen literature and listening to pop music on cassette tapes.

The camp itself is akin to a member of our family; a powerful adhesive of our heritage in past, present, and future days spent on its sacred grounds.

::happy murphiversary!

2011-07-12T13:32:00.007-04:00

Oh, precious blog, how I have neglected thee...

Let's remedy this, shall we?

On Sunday, I went to one of the best parties ever!

It was a celebration of the 20th Anniversary of my friends Paul and Paula Murphy.
(I know, their matching names are cute, right?)

Paula is the brilliant Music Director and pianist at my church, her husband Paul owns Bluefish Music and is an incredible guitarist who occasionally accompanies me when I read my poetry at various events.

And their children, Dylan and Emma, ages 13 and 15, are incredibly bright stars in my galaxy; constant reminders of genuine love and gentle joy.

Their party was held "out in the country" and featured many musically-inclined guests, so there were mics and instruments available for performing.

Friends performed everything from Sam Cooke to Beatles, from Carole King to Tom Waits.

Many of the songs were performed by Dylan and Emma, who honored their parents beautifully with their musical aptitude.

I am not a musician or a (good) singer, but I decided to write something and read it aloud to honor the Murphy family. Here it is...

I could begin with a litany of fun facts, such as Paul's monkey-trainer aspirations, or Paula's grand affinity for All Things Harry Potter.

But what I'd truly like to express is this:

Paul and Paula are two souls who have fused together and shared with the world two extensions of their union, Emma Simone and Dylan Francis.

Theirs is a love that achieved storybook romance, and then transcended it with the creation of two young people who exude the rarest and most exquisite of kindnesses.

Regarded by their peers and and elders alike as compassionate, joyful souls, Dylan's and Emma's countenances are no surprise, when we remember that they are reflections of the beauty in their parents, and of the God who cemented the covenant between them.

::job-lookin' rant

2011-05-17T15:31:00.004-04:00

I have just spent four hours in Panera, searching and applying for jobs online.

Frustration abounds.

My tolerance for tedium has overgrown its boundaries.

If you are not a job-seeker, let me break it down for you:

Oh, you want to apply for this job?

Awesome!

Go to our company website.

Click on 50 different categories until you find "Job openings."

Upload your resume.

Now, fill in your full, 200-question profile.

Type in every last teeny-tiny slot, giving us all the information that your resume already provides.

Now, choose a username.

Sorry! Choose a different one.

Now, choose a password.

Verify your password.

Sorry! Choose a new password.

Verify your new password.

Check your email for a verification.

Tell us what you did at your last job.

Why did you leave?

Explain why you didn't work for more a week.

Tell us what you did at the job before that.

Why did you leave?

Explain why you're a loser who can't find a job.

Home phone?

Work phone?

Cell phone?

Preferred phone?

Email?

Home address?

Current address?

Work address?

Certifications?

Confirmation numbers?

Please verify your account with us...

We're sorry, your account cannot be verified.

Please clear your schedule for the next two hours, re-enter all information, and try again.

Congratulations! Your online application has been submitted.
You have now been reduced to slices of text on a monitor screen.
Unless we know you or anyone else who knows you at all, you will never hear from us.
Thank you.
Have a splendid day.

::animaniac

2011-05-05T18:25:00.000-04:00

I love taking care of my friends' animals.
The past year has given me more "gigs" in this arena than I can even label with numbers.

The older I become, the more animals fascinate me, and the more I relish the discovery of their quirks and personalities.

Pippin, the Maltese:

My dear, sweet Pippin is the dog who consoled me during a very painful break-up last spring. Seriously.
I wrote a poem about it.
He is my canine Muse.
He is one chivalrous little gentleman.

Cassie, the neurotic-yet-very-sweet-and-lovable Papillon:

Cassie is a quirky, diminutive little companion I can lift up with one hand, which is convenient because she demands to be everywhere with me.
Her presence is truly a comforting blessing.

Matilda - "Mattie" - my friend Kim's beautiful, sweet kitty:

She loves to venture outdoors for all manner of mysterious shenanigans, even during the frigid winter months.
When she's inside, she likes to linger near me, just out of reach, often adorably bashful and elusive.

Pumpkin, the cat who loves my purse:

Pumpkin's connection with me is somewhat mysterious, as she rarely "warms up" to anyone. Her owners, my dear friends Susan and Lloyd, have been amazed at Pumpkin's friendly spirit toward me; she sleeps with me and cannot stand to have my attention directed anywhere else when she's in my room. If I'm reading, she literally covers the book (or the laptop keyboard) with her paws, stares at me, and purrs irresistibly.
Her unexpected alliance with me has earned me the title of The Cat Whisperer.

Is there such a thing as a Professional Pet-sitter?
And if so, can I please become one?

::guffaw

2011-04-29T18:41:00.000-04:00

I laugh a lot.

Chances are very good that if I know you, we have laughed together on several occasions.

My friend Erin once told me that it's "very satisfying" to make me laugh.
(Of course, I giggled at this.)

She took this photo:

I find laughter a beautiful gift and a glorious tool in life; for shaving the edge off of awkwardness, for shining tiny beams of light - however momentary - into dreary circumstances.

I've laughed in hospitals and hospices, in funeral homes, in counseling offices, in classrooms while teaching and learning.

Sometimes I laugh because there is nothing else to do.

And sometimes, because it's the only thing to do.

::friday fun

2011-04-29T17:48:00.002-04:00

I stole this from Stephanie. Y'all should read her other blog too.

Anyway.

Friday Fun Board questions:

1. The Royal Wedding: hot or not?

-- Not. Meh. I still don't get why I'm supposed to care.

2. Favorite board game?

-- Apples to Apples & Scrabble.

3. What food reminds you of your childhood?

-- Caramel corn. My family used to make it from scratch at camp.

4a. What isn't a sport, but should be?

-- Speed-reading.

4b. What is a sport, but shouldn't be?

-- Cheerleading. I know they work hard and all, but is it even necessary?

::commemoration

2011-04-22T17:53:00.004-04:00

Since becoming a liturgist (one of two) at my church last summer, I have harbored a great desire to write prayers and litanies for worship.
I've been particularly interested in composing a Confession of Sin.
To commemorate the unspeakable violence endured by God Incarnate on my behalf, I share here my own confessions.

Confession of Sin for Good Friday:

Against You, O Lord, have I transgressed.

I have savored what I needed to ignore, and neglected what I needed to cherish.

I have reduced my fellow humans - complex creatures sculpted in Your image - to things; physical bodies, convenient categories, collections of qualities I either admire or disdain.

I have failed to trust and accept Your love, and the love of those who sincerely care for me.

I have squandered priceless blessings, failing to acknowledge Your unspeakable grace, generosity, and providence.

I have failed to follow You faithfully, too often bowing instead to cursory sensations.

I have been enticed by flashy fallacy, willingly deceived by hollow philosophy.

I have failed to uplift You at the center of my soul.

Lord, have mercy.

Amen.

::acrostic love

2011-04-19T13:37:00.004-04:00

As I may have mentioned, I adore my 2-year-old niece, Emma.

A few weeks ago, after I assigned Acrostic poems to my class, I decided to write one of my own.

Enthusiastically greeting each new endeavor,
More eloquent than any toddler should be,
Merry creator of joy and laughter,
A fervent burst of sunshine for every soul.

::spoken

2011-04-16T23:09:00.002-04:00

I wrote my first poem in the second grade and read it to my class for Show and Tell.

I now teach poetry to teenagers, and sometimes perform my own poems in small, cozy venues.

I never cared much for "spoken word" delivery, as it always seemed to make poets sound flamboyantly self-important.

This woman, though?
I love her.
Sarah Kay.
Watch this.

::greatest happiness

2011-04-15T12:34:00.003-04:00

Several years ago, my dad spoke in church and told a story about me that I'd never heard.

(A bit of background:

Large heads are in my family's DNA.

I will admit, I have a huge head. Not figuratively. Literally.

I also have giant hair, so that doesn't help. But I digress.)

When I was a baby, my pediatrician was very concerned about the size of my head; he was afraid that I might have fluid build-up around my brain. [Spoiler alert: I didn't.]
So, there were tests performed.

CAT scans and such.

While my parents waited a few days for the results, they were both oppressed by anxiety and terrible unrest.

At church one Sunday morning, my dad was alone in the kitchen, pacing and holding me as he prayed for me.
In the midst of his frenzied worry, he sensed a healing, peaceful calm wash over him.

And he believes that God distinctly whispered to him,

"I love her more than you do."

In moments when I feel especially insecure, desperately inadequate, tempted to self-destruct, that story explodes in my brain like celebratory confetti.

The greatest happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved -- loved for ourselves,
or rather, loved in spite of ourselves.

~Victor Hugo

::gloomy gus

2011-03-26T16:17:00.005-04:00

I have heard Conan O'Brien say, in many an interview, "I am prone to bouts of gloominess."

Well said, sir.
So am I.

Here are a few strategies I have found helpful to the maintenance of healthy perspective during these dreary seasons:

=====

Think globally.
Visit here, here, or here, or countless other places, to remind yourself that you live on a wounded planet with broken people, where both large-scale catastrophes and redemption are coexisting. You are infinitely important, certainly. And so is everybody else.

Prepare a handwritten note, card, or letter.
Do you know someone else who's grappling with some sort of hardship? Chances are, you do.
You probably know several. Think of how much love and encouragement you can share by simply taking a few moments to write a note, letting them know you're thinking of them, that you care, and perhaps - if you're the praying kind - that you're praying for them.

Collect your feelings in words or visual art.
Write down all the feelings you're having. Don't judge or censor yourself. (Think of it as "verbal vomit," if you like.) If you're visually creative, draw a representation of your pain, or take photos that reflect your emotions. Just being able to express yourself, to pull your feelings out of your body in some way, will help to extract their toxicity.

Take a walk in a nearby cemetery.
Yes, I'm serious. As you pass grave after grave, consider the weight that each body must have carried; how rich every biography must be, how many triumphs and heartaches are collected in each one's soul. Someday, you will join them. Until you do? Celebrate your life.

=====

I am certainly not saying that gloominess isn't sometimes necessary.
It is.
It serves a purpose, just as joy does.

I also understand that there is such a thing as clinical depression, because it has plagued me for more than a decade. Some gloom is so severe that it's impervious to even the most clever strategies.

But if you should find yourself trapped in some garden-variety gloom, wishing to escape a pervasive onslaught of it, those are a few suggestions.

You're welcome. {insert winkyface here}

::barren beauty

2011-03-24T14:09:00.004-04:00

I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love,
If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am or what I mean,
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged,
Missing me one place search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for you.

~Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

::awry

2011-03-21T23:56:00.008-04:00

I may have had a "date" several weeks ago.

And it may have been miserable.

A few things he may have said during the encounter:

"No offense, but your profile picture kinda freaked me out."

-- No offense to you, sir, but your actual face kinda freaks me out.

"That coupon you got for a free drink? Give it to me. I mean, I did pay. "

-- I'm aware that Panera is considered higher-end fast food. However, you're being very George-Costanza-esque about this. Not cool.

"You dated a black guy? Do you know that not even black women like dating black guys? Don't do that. "

-- I have no words, people. No words.

"I can't think of any Protestants or Catholics that I actually have any respect for. That's the problem with being Orthodox."

-- Right, Orthodox. I'm sure that's the problem.

=====

Something he may have said in a message, after the hideous ordeal was over:

"I find you very attractive. But in the long run, I would not be comfortable with your weight. I'd be happy to work on it with you. Let me know."

WHOA.

Okay...I am the first to admit that I've struggled with my weight for most of my life, and it's still an uphill battle.

But for you, a virtual stranger, to say such a thing, is outrageously uncalled for.

If I had to venture a guess, I'd say that roughly 99.9% of American women are sensitive about their weight, whether they're thick or thin or somewhere in between.

And even if I did want to "work on my weight" with someone, it would NOT be you.

Just sayin'.

And in the long run, I would not be comfortable with your...well, your whole repugnant personality, really.

Epilogue:

I haven't heard from him at all.

I'm not upset about that.

::forty days

2011-03-08T23:31:00.002-05:00

Lent is frightening.

Not only because I am compelled to "give something up," but also because I am called to a higher level of discipline.

I am called to make a commitment to sacrifice things I do not feel ready to sacrifice; things to which I feel very attached, things that richly contribute to my daily comfort and satisfaction.

I am the first to admit that I'm a procrastinator.

I cannot speak for all who struggle with this, but for me, it's because I'm afraid to try.

And I'm afraid to try because I'm afraid to fail.

I cannot identify all the particulars of why or how this happened, but somehow I adopted the dangerous paradigm of performance-based acceptance.

That is, who I am is not sufficient.

I must be constantly doing, and doing, and doing, in order to gain and maintain approval.

If I fail at what I do, I become substantially less appealing, acceptable, lovable.

Last week at a neighborhood tavern, drinking Corona with lime and sharing a theological chat with a dear friend, I had what Oprah would call "an A-ha! moment."

My friend said, "The grace of God is a gift. It's not about what you do. You don't have to do anything."

Certainly I had heard this before, but somehow it had never slithered its way into the core of my spirit, spreading its tranquil truth all over my ever-present anxieties.

Perhaps my Lenten disciplines ought to involve the further exploration of these issues.

Graphically confronting oneself is to give up the falsehoods that comprise our own carefully constructed facades.

::haiku

2011-02-18T13:05:00.003-05:00

My poetry students are writing haikus this week.

Here's one for today:

Amid the spring scents,

snarling lips of snow remain:

Winter's last hurrah.

I'm excited to hear theirs.

Young, enthusiastic writers restore my passion for my own discovery of lingual rarities.

::elle eye kay ee

2011-02-10T16:31:00.000-05:00

I like:

barren branches, sunlight on snow, textured paintings, uncontrolled giggles, sincere gratitude, strawberry pancakes, scented stickers, argyle sweaters, long embraces, chivalry, purple scarves, suddenly bursting into song, unusual photos, fleece blankets, word games, poignant poems, historic houses, cinnamon sticks, vintage fashion, black keyboards, antique instruments, typewriters, handmade necklaces, geometric doodles, roller pens, stolen glances, handwritten letters, fastidious librarians, anglophilia, elaborate costumes, one-hit wonders...

Et tu, dear reader?

::telly

2011-01-27T15:04:00.003-05:00

There is something I do on a regular basis that is frowned upon by many people.

I watch television.

And I thoroughly enjoy it.

I've seen the bumper stickers that say KILL YOUR TELEVISION.

I've heard the why watch mind-numbing drivel when you could be doing something productive? argument.

Our culture perpetuates this gratuitous emphasis on being productive.

I don't necessarily disagree with that, but why is being productive so superior to relaxing, observing, laughing, or even learning?

Are not all of those things important, even necessary?

Maybe I'm just lazy.

Or maybe some days I feel like my relentless brain never stops pelting me with worries and anxieties, and I just need an escape.

Maybe I watch raw, gritty documentaries because they help me to empathize with the suffering of others.

Maybe I love to sit and giggle uncontrollably at silly shenanigans and razor-sharp one-liners because I need to be reminded of triumphant joy.

::winter warmth

2011-01-24T22:28:00.002-05:00

One lovely perk provided by frigid weather is the Plymouth Ice Festival.

Saturday evening found me strolling along the snow-pelted streets, snapping shots of gorgeous sculptures.

Later, at the Plymouth Coffee Bean, I was very blessed to hear my friend Kim perform an hour's worth of her own original songs.

Her voice, musicianship, and songwriting are exceptionally rare gifts.

Her artistry speaks to my soul on a profound, visceral plane.

Joined by "special guests" who only made each song better, the show was a fantastic way to spend an evening, as her shows always are.

The next afternoon, I accompanied two lovely ladies to Ypsilanti, where we saw my friend Emily in a play at Eastern Michigan University.

Having taken on a role that required her to play a character who ages from 8 to 16 years old, Emily's performance was brilliant; both hilarious and subtle.

Although cameras were forbidden in the theater, I managed to snap a few shots on the sly.

A new friend, when told about my weekend, commented thusly: "Wow, you REALLY love the arts."

Why, yes.

Yes I do.

::present obsessions

2011-01-22T16:07:00.002-05:00

I get obsessed with things.

It happens rather haphazardly.

Currently:

In the auditory department, it's SModcast; although I have been a fan of this podcast since its inception, Kevin Smith has now created an entire podcast network.

My favorite is the one entitled Plus One, that he records with his wife, Jennifer Schwalbach.

A close second is Jay and Silent Bob Get Old, recorded with his erstwhile onscreen sidekick, Jason Mewes.

Kevin Smith is perhaps best known for his raunchy, filthy sense of humor. While I do not necessarily condone this, I am not offended by it either.

And I find him very endearing, in spite of all the vulgarity.

He's an Everyman who has carved out a very specialized niche, simply by being himself.

I've found that very rare in Hollywood.

In the culinary category, it's Naan -- Indian flatbread -- preferably garnished with some sort of soft cheese, and/or hummus.

A lifelong lover of bread, I'm generally guaranteed to love any kind that brushes across my path.

But this is exceptionally delicious.

In the blogosphere, I'm absolutely loving a site I just learned about while listening to The Splendid Table this morning.

It's called Cake Wrecks.

Here's a taste:

[Believe or not, that was supposed to say "Just Because."]

There you have it, folks.

You're welcome. ;)

::friendly fracture

2011-01-21T11:48:00.004-05:00

Last year, I lost a friendship that I never expected to lose.

I was under the impression that it was one of those rare, unspoken We'll always be friends, no matter what covenants.

How wrong I was.

I make sincere efforts to avoid this sort of disclosure in this forum, afraid of coming across as some attention-whoring drama queen.

But sometimes, the pain of this loss is so searing that I simply must regurgitate it.

[I will heretofore refer to the Friend Who Bailed as FWB.]

I am the sort of person who makes concerted efforts to get along with everybody.

I try to locate the good in my fellow humans, persistently searching for common ground and points of connection.

I treasure every friendship that I have, and although I have a myriad of foibles like everybody else (chief among them, absentminded procrastinator), I am vigilant about caring for my friends.

Therefore, even when what I must say to them is difficult, I make every effort to cushion my words with encouragement and love, so as never to hurt them or make them feel unloved.

I sent a message to FWB, containing words I had sculpted very carefully, so as not to offend FWB or make FWB feel slighted or attacked.

Imagine my surprise when, after reading these words, FWB refused to contact me for four months.

After spending some time together after the initial 'silent treatment' period, FWB decided that I was "a totally different person;" so different, in fact, that FWB no longer desired any sort of friendship with me.

As you might imagine, this news was devastating.

Over the past several months, I have made many efforts to apologize profusely and appeal to FWB, attempting to mend what I never meant to fracture.

Every effort has been futile.

FWB continues to behave as though I do not exist.

Most of the time, I can focus on the friendships I do have and enjoy, cherishing the connections with those who are eager and delighted to be my beloved friends.

There are moments, however, when FWB's rejection bends me to the ground with grief.

I was once assured by a wise clergyman that, in conflict, if I have done everything I possibly can to humble myself and make amends, then I need to surrender.

It sounds so simple.

I really wish it were.

::holiday afterthoughts

2011-01-14T12:36:00.000-05:00

Crosspointe Community Church, Christmas 2010

I do not enjoy hearing people climb atop annoying soapboxes about how retail employees don't say "Merry Christmas" anymore.

I'm not bothered by the Holiday Sensitivity Initiative.

I was bothered, however, by a conversation I had between the 2010 holidays.

The one with whom I was conversing, when told that my church holds a worship service on Christmas morning, asked with a fair amount of distaste, "On Christmas Day? Are you serious?"

Um, yes.

Quite serious.

What do you think Christmas is for?

Honeybaked ham and iridescent bows and spiral-curled ribbons concealing all manner of neatly packaged digital distraction?

NO.

Despite having been raised in a Christian home, I must admit, with a fair amount of shame, that I never quite fully understood what Christmas was for.

That is, until three years ago, when I went to church on Christmas morning, and partook of the Body and Blood of the little baby Jesus.

The story of Christ crystallized in a fresh, sharply poignant manner.

My attitude has changed drastically from
Let's Get Church Out of the Way and Get to the Presents!

Let's Get Presents Out of the Way and Get to the Worship.

Gifts and get-togethers and other such trappings have become entirely secondary, and I still cannot fathom the liberation that has arrived with this experience.

I would wish it upon every Christmas celebrant.

::tidbits

2011-01-12T23:02:00.004-05:00

I know, I know, lists are kind of lame.
Adapt.

Lately...

-- I'm reading Jeffrey Eugenides' Middlesex. So far, so good.

-- I'm amazed by Emma (my 2-yr-old niece)'s verbal skills. She's such a little brainiac.

-- Ever since my unfortunate brush with stomach flu in late December, I've been craving Vernors. It's slightly troubling.

-- I am reminded, every time I watch his show, that Conan O'Brien is HILARIOUS.

-- I bought Season 1 of The Office because it was on sale. Best impulse buy ever.

-- My inordinately curly hair continues to perplex me, even after all these years.

-- Snow is not the bane of my existence. Yet. (Check back with me in April.)

-- I found this recipe for cinnamon toast, and I may have drooled a little.

-- I despise the lack of Cell Phone Manners. I may need to start posting Public Service Announcements.

::words flung heavenward

2011-01-10T09:42:00.004-05:00

I believe it was Anne Lamott who so deftly identified that, in truth, there really are only two prayers: Thank You, Thank You, Thank You, and Help, Help, Help.

I often pray these very words.

As an adolescent, deep in the throes of (largely self-imposed) legalism and self-flagellation, I wrote detailed prayer journals, outlining all my confessions, deepest thoughts and darkest desires.

But I have found that the older I get, the less words my prayers contain.

More often, my brain silently utters the urgent cries of my soul in simple, minimalistic phrases.

Prayers for others are often visualizations; I conjure a portrait of you in my mind, meditate upon it, and my mind repeats over and over, Lord, please help.

I used to be so wrongfully convinced that in order to be effective, words directed to the Almighty needed to be sculpted into ornate phrases and verbose petitions.

Not true.

Not even close.

Thank You, Thank You, Thank You.

Help, Help, Help.

::joyeux noel twenty-ten

2010-12-24T16:37:00.004-05:00

This year, it's been something of a challenge to avert the inevitable Scrooge Moments.

When I was able to transcend them, I managed to compose the following reflection, and subsequently read it at my church's Christmas concert.

Tonight, I'm reading it again at CrossPointe Community Church, performing alongside my friends Kim and Paul.

This is most certainly a first, but I do enjoy finding new methods of celebration for annual holidays, preserving the festivities with freshness.

Happy Christmas to you all.

Grand Entrance

On the fourth Thursday of November, we celebrate the discipline of gratitude, expressing thanks for the bounty that we have…and the very next morning, we frantically scurry about in search of what we do not have.

We must locate the perfect object that will express what our words cannot, or perhaps the most current and sought-after novelty, designed to make our pulses race and our endorphins sparkle.

Churches adopt the rhyming marquee slogan, “Jesus is the reason for the season.” Preachers wax philosophical about postmodern culture, admonishing Americans for our shameless and frenetic greed, asking catchphrase questions like, “What crowds the Christ out of your Christmas?”

I no longer wonder why, every year, I simultaneously cherish and dread the highly commercialized and increasingly garish “holiday season.”

But the "Good News of Great Joy, which shall be for all people," is this:

Jesus Christ presents a God who plunges headlong into the fray; pushed from the helix of a teenage girl's body into a microcosm of beauty and terror.

He senses how we have, for centuries, desperately craved the tactile sensation of a Deity we could touch.

The Life who created the very idea of Life, Sculptor of synapses and capillaries, embodied the very flesh inside of which we squirm and ache and cry for restoration.

He inhabited our own bittersweet environs, tantalized by all manner of momentary bliss, afforded every opportunity for dysfunction and self-destruction, only to endure the agony of ultimate ruin.

He redeems what is tarnished and mends all that is broken, but never without knowing, in the most intimate dimension, what it is to be utterly undone.

Here is a God who boldly declares that we are both lovable and loved, precisely for who and what we are, and dares us to do what is both brave and heartbreaking: believe Him.

::a face without freckles

2010-12-07T22:26:00.006-05:00

Several weeks ago, I went with my friend Kim to a talent show.

One of Kim's voice students, Bailey, was slated to play and sing Natasha Bedingfield's song Freckles.

Although I had never met her, and never even heard the song before, I felt my eyes puddle with tears by the end of the performance.

Bear in mind, this girl is twelve.

Oh, if only I had internalized this timeless wisdom while I trudged through the treacherous corridors of middle school...

A face without freckles is like a sky without stars

Why waste a second not loving who you are

Those little imperfections make you beautiful, lovable, valuable,

They show your personality inside your heart

Reflecting who you are

Watch carefully...this precious girl's confidence grows as her amazing voice soars above all insecurity.

::betrothed and beloved 2.0

2010-11-18T22:17:00.009-05:00

Have I mentioned how much I love Camp Lake Louise?

Oh, that's right.

I have.

I hung out there for many years with Greg and Katie, way back when they were 'tweens, before they fell in love... before Greg asked Katie to marry him.

Today, I took their engagement photos.

Despite the chilly air and somewhat gloomy gray day, I had a glorious afternoon.

Love is a many-splendored thing.

::letter to a lost poem

2010-11-10T22:23:00.004-05:00

I had such high hopes for you.

Oh, such high hopes.

You were destined to be clever and witty; even that coveted and rarest of adjectives: "punchy."

I heard the phrase "unhinged praise" on National Public Radio, felt the Nudge of Inspiration, and dashed into the local trendy book/coffee shop, whereupon I wielded my not-so-trendy-anymore Smartphone and furiously punched at tiny buttons, attempting to compose the World's Next Masterpiece.

I failed.
At that moment, my self-consciousness flared, hard and loud, and I realized what I was...one of those thirty-something hipsters trying to look like I wasn't trying to look like a thirty-something hipster.

Damn you, self-consciousness, you nefarious adversary of unbridled creativity.
You may have wrecked my Next Great Poem.

Or maybe you saved it.

::are you interested?

2010-10-26T15:51:00.000-04:00

Just a few things I often wish I were interested in:

Sports
All the grand declarations of "Sparty On!" and the sparring of "Go Blue!" and "Go Green!" are completely lost on me.
It seems to offer a great deal of camaraderie, so I do regret my deep apathy sometimes.
But sports are simply not intriguing to me at all.
I'm so non-competitive, I feel bad when I give someone the "Draw Two" card in UNO.
During the Super Bowl, I read Entertainment Weekly.

Star Wars
I saw Return of the Jedi in the theatre when I was little...and fell asleep.
I have yet to see any of its prequels.
I can appreciate the innovative storytelling and creativity of George Lucas.
But my affinity for this series is simply nonexistent.

Cars
Top Gear bores me to tears.
Antique car shows? The auto show? I'd rather go to the dentist.
I have the highest respect for mechanics, especially the honest, gracious one who's been fixing my car for as long as I've owned one.
I can muster a vague interest in an authentic Model T at Greenfield Village.
Therein lies the apex of my fascination.

Boating/Sailing
To be fair, these things are not entirely uninteresting.
They're just terrifying.
When I was sixteen, I was in a canoe that tipped over in very deep water.
As I tried to push my way to the surface, my foot got trapped in some sort of undergrowth, and I became paralyzed by the fear of drowning.
This terror-induced paralysis has lingered; Ergo, I possess no desire to kayak, or canoe, or voluntarily operate any manner of watercraft.

::funnies

2010-10-26T09:30:00.004-04:00

Oh, how I LOVE Modern Family.
It's the only show in recent memory that I can watch with my whole family, and it makes every one of us laugh.

::page turners

2010-10-24T21:51:00.000-04:00

I stole this from Stephanie.

Please, by all means, feel free to steal it from me, dear reader.

Name fifteen authors (poets included) who've influenced you and who will always stick with you.

List the first fifteen you can recall in no more than fifteen minutes.

David Sedaris

David Dark

C.S. Lewis

Roald Dahl

Wally Lamb

Dante Alighieri

Billy Collins

Garrison Keillor

Anne Lamott

Flannery O'Connor

e.e. cummings

Augusten Burroughs

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Walt Whitman

Henry David Thoreau

::canine + toddler = Canon Moment

2010-10-20T20:03:00.005-04:00

Three days a week, I care for Emma.
She is two years old.
She is my niece.
And she is utterly delightful.

She has definitely inherited our family's love of dogs.
As you might imagine, it's adorable.

See?
Yesterday morning she tried to hug Camille - the neighbors' Doberman - through the cyclone fence.
Future veterinarian?
I wouldn't be surprised.

::autumn nuptials

2010-10-20T09:50:00.001-04:00

Perhaps I've mentioned this before, but I LOVE Autumn.
October is my favorite month of the year.

I love its colors, its implications both obvious and subtle, its chilly breezes and crunchy leaves, its celebration of apple cider and warm, cinnamon-saturated doughnuts.

Two weeks ago, I went to a wedding, and found it such a beautiful celebration of such a worthy season, and for such a worthy couple, Megan and Todd.

These two are incredibly, irrevocably Made for Each Other.

As a congregation, we sang a few songs during their ceremony.
As we lifted our voices for "How Great is Our God," I felt tears pooling inside my eyes as I watched Megan, holding Todd's hand with one arm, and raising the other toward the sky. Forging a Covenant with the man with whom God blessed her, and passionately praising Him for the blessing.

I became acquainted with Megan via my lovely friend Kim, who is a kindred spirit of the highest caliber. She looked especially gorgeous as the Maid of Honor.

Merriment continued at the reception, complete with - in the style of a salad bar - a Candy Bar, overstuffed with all manner of autumn treats.

treasure boxes filled with...

Personalized M&Ms

Kim, Emma & me (looking silly) on the dance floor

Beautiful, festive centerpiece

Capped off by an evening spent in the wonderful hospitality of Kim's house, and some good strong coffee and a delicious homemade breakfast the next morning, I felt overwhelmingly blessed to be included in the company of such loving, generous, joyful people.

::reading writing (sans 'rithmetic)

2010-09-20T10:05:00.005-04:00

So, it's official.

I'm a teacher.

My parents are both (now retired) teachers, my older brother is a teacher who married a teacher.
And then there's me, who never harbored any desire to be one.

I tried to outrun my family's Teacher Gene, but it chased me down and tackled me.

After reading a few poems at Trinity House Theatre in June, accompanied on guitar by the brilliant Paul Murphy (proprietor of Blue Fish Music), I was asked to teach a poetry class at Palaestra, a co-op group for home-schooled children and their families.

My class has five students, which feels more akin to leading a small group; a task with which I am tremendously familiar.

I've found that it's a fantastic way to spend an afternoon.

:: fred phelps

2010-09-13T22:31:00.004-04:00

Many times, when called upon to write some sort of autobiographical paragraph, I am often compelled to write, "I believe empathy is the most paramount of all virtues."

Attempting to empathize with the plights of others has always been a very natural practice for me.
I recognize that I am very fortunate in this respect.

But it deeply disturbs me to encounter people who obviously make no attempt at empathizing.

This is particularly upsetting when the issue is homosexuality.

My younger brother Joel, whom I love immeasurably, is gay.
The day before our grandmother's funeral in 2004, he came out to me.
I had known for several years, but his official declaration left me feeling indescribably honored.
I have sat with him and listened to his story.
I try my best to share his burdens and steep uphill struggles.

I cannot even count the number of times that my poor ears have been assaulted by some ignorant blowhard, yammering on and on about Homosexuality is an Abomination! and The Gay Agenda is Taking Over! and Next Thing We Know, They'll Want to Marry Their Dogs!

Whenever I have been able to summon the strength to actually engage these people in conversation, I find that they are not personally acquainted with anyone who is gay - surprise surprise! - nor do they have any desire to be.
They are speaking from those all-too-familiar perches of As Far As I Know and As Far As I Can Tell.

As David Dark reminds us in The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, "as far as I know" and "as far as I can tell" are not far at all.

Many who make these ill-informed, hateful statements also claim to be followers of Jesus Christ, which is even more tragic.
They don't even have one iota of interest in meeting an actual gay person, much less (gasp!) hearing their story and attempting to see the world through their eyes.

I write these reflections for the all-important task of drawing attention to the ineffable role of empathy in the human experience.
It's one of the best gifts we have to offer, dear reader.
Give freely, and often, and with humble sincerity.

::"What I Did Last Summer..."

2010-09-07T13:59:00.008-04:00

For seven summers of my childhood, I lived at Camp Lake Louise while my father was its manager.
Both sets of my grandparents worked there as well.
This place is a thriving, vibrant force at the heart of our family's legacy.
Ergo, I spend as much time there as is humanly possible.

The summer of 2010 blessed me with two full weeks in this glorious locale, surrounded by friends both old and new, and by family, both biological and honorary.

Robin = Lovely Model

Lake at Sunset

First night's dusk

Worship session

Tall, gorgeous trees

Emma & Calvin with Bubbles

I sincerely doubt that my passion for this place could ever be captured by any expression, but I will persist with photo-snapping and virtue-extolling, because its majesty must be honored.

::theology by Michael Stipe

2010-09-06T12:40:00.000-04:00

Sometimes this happens: I seriously dislike someone, and then they say something that tickles my fancy, and I warm up a bit.

It happened several years ago, when a dude I severely disliked was talking about God, and he said, 'You know, God isn't all love, luck, and lollipops."

Brilliant.

When describing the character of God and/or Jesus Christ, it's very dishonest to present Him as "warm and fuzzy."
He's not.

I am convinced that there are Christians who believe that our goal is to embody the chorus of REM's "Shiny Happy People."

A true encounter with God is not comfortable, nor is it supposed to be.

When I read the Bible and observe how Jesus interacted with people, even His disciples, He certainly was not Sunny and Nice all the time.
He provoked them, He challenged them, and I suspect He sometimes hurt their feelings.

He was confrontational.
He asked difficult, painful questions.
He probed people to their deepest recesses.

I love the scene in C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe, when the children have heard of Aslan - the great, powerful lion of Narnia (the story's Christ figure).
One of the children, Susan, inquires about Aslan to Mr. and Mrs. Beaver, long-time residents of Narnia.

"Is he—quite safe?" asked Susan." I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion.”

“That you will, dearie, and no mistake,” said Mrs. Beaver, “if there’s anyone who can appear before Aslan without their knees knocking, they’re either braver than most or else just silly.”

“Then he isn’t safe?” said Lucy.

“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver. “Don’t you hear what Mrs. Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe. But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”

======

He is NOT safe.
But He is good.
And He's the King.

::walk with me quiet, walk with me slow...

2010-09-05T23:57:00.000-04:00

Sometimes, when the pistons of anxiety fire and conspire to churn my guts into some twisted primordial stew of panic, I like to take a walk.
Oh, wait.
I also kind of have to.
My diabetes pretty much demands it.

[Also? Garrison Keillor says that writers should take long walks.

I'm on it, GK.]

This evening, I strolled through the acreage adjacent to a local park, where the four bodies of my parents' parents are buried.

When I take strolls, I often fill my ears with melodic, moody, guitar-driven ballads.

Their lyrical content usually smacks of lovelorn loneliness, which seems highly appropriate somehow.

I amble about, and I ponder, and it never fails to occur to me that I worry constantly about things that do. not. matter.

Surrounded on all sides by tombstones etched with heartfelt epitaphs, my mind swarms with memories of all those whom I love, whose burial services I have attended, standing silent as their respective virtues were extolled.

It's slightly ironic to be exercising on an expanse of land dedicated to housing the dead; the truth is, I'm there doing something I hope will postpone my own arrival.

::you talkin' to me?

2010-08-06T02:38:00.004-04:00

Lately it seems I think a lot about conflict.
It is 2:37 a.m. as I sit to process this.
Hence, conflict = insomnia.

I hate it.
Despise it.
I will spare no expense to scurry away from its talons.

Sometimes, however, it catches me.
And then I am forced to engage in confrontation.
It's never pretty.

But it's ugly for peculiar reasons.
I cower in the face of any accusatory anger, and spray it with apology after apology until its flames are completely drowned.

The problem is, I do this even when I don't need to apologize.
It could be that the other person has grossly mistreated me, and is still emotionally abusive enough to suggest that I provoked them.
Even if I know I've done nothing wrong, I still apologize.
I kowtow.
No matter how much you've hurt me, I will gladly admit guilt and full responsibility, if only for the sake of temporary truce.
Even if it is, in truth, as useless as sticking a tiny Band-Aid on a broken leg.

I'm a coward.
I must learn to defend myself against disrespect and voice my displeasure at undeserved, unprovoked cruelty.

Turning the other cheek is one thing.

Allowing oneself to be repeatedly abused, is quite another.

::let's rivet this

2010-08-05T14:17:00.004-04:00

"You should blog more."

I have heard this multiple times now.
I suppose it's high time I push past the neurotic perfectionism and Give The People What They Want.

Lately I have been approached with a very humbling opportunity, which is an invitation to work on the church bulletins with one of the most gracious people I've ever met.
Ann is a talented, thoughtful, creative Force of Nature.

My church's liturgy is very intentional, very specific.
It's a shame that it doesn't include something like Random Prayers of Thanksgiving.
I'd write one like this:

Thank You, O Lord, for the gentle hues of blue contained in the expansive ceiling over traffic backups and natural disasters.
Thank You for the moments when even the simple glint of an earring can remind us of the brightest Light.
Thank you for the sight of toddlers squabbling over the possession of plastic french fries.
Thank You for the moment when icy water touches our tongues on days when we fear we will never escape the swelter.
Thank You for the random paintings hanging in restaurants that burrow into our psyches and render us amazed.
Thank You for the sweetness of a long-awaited embrace, the tenderness of a brush of lips against an unsuspecting cheek.
Thank You for the laughter that penetrates to our very core, forcing us to drink in the splendor of joy, of wonder, of Being.
Thank You for the countless ways in which we recognize You every day, and have mercy on us for neglecting to thank You for each one.

::dialogue

2010-06-24T01:42:00.006-04:00

I have felt profoundly challenged and inspired by David Dark's book, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything. (Get it here. Now.)

=====

These questions are almost as old as the Earth...

Why does God allow us to kill each other, to rape, molest and cheat and lie to each other, to commit horrifying acts like mass genocide and perverse persecution?
Why?
Why do girls drown on beaches in front of their friends while they're on vacation?
Why does my precious friend Robin have to see what she sees in places like Bangla Road in Phuket, Thailand?
Why, why, WHY?

Because we live in a fallen world.
God allows us to choose how to behave.
Some choose wisely, some choose poorly.

But if He has the power to force us to choose wisely, why didn't He create us that way?

God's mind is infinite.
Ours are finite.
Even if there were a complete answer - and there is, but only God knows it - your mind would not be capable of comprehending it.

It seems terribly cruel to allow my brain to ask questions whose answers it will be incapable of comprehending. Does that mean that God is terribly cruel?

No.
That's just your human understanding.
Remember, even your understanding is depraved.

So, wait...God allows us to make poor choices, to "miss the mark", as it were, because He loves us?
And he wants us to choose to love Him?
Because Love isn't authentic if it's forced?

Correct.

But if God created Love, then He could have created it any way that He wanted.
So why can't it work like this: "I love you, therefore I will use my omnipotence for your ultimate Good, and I will create you so that you are incapable of hurting anyone, and they are incapable of hurting you?"

Only God knows.
And remember, when we are hurt, He is hurting right along with us.
He is just as upset, if not more so, as we are.

But why would that be true?
Our hurt feelings are largely due to the fact that we are powerless to change our nature.
But God can.
If He can actually keep it from happening, why doesn't He?
Why does He get upset about it, rather than prevent it?

You do not understand this, because you do not need to.
Can you trust that?
Can you trust that He loves you?
Can you trust that He knows every question you have, even the ones you haven't asked yet? Can you trust that He listens to you, and does not dismiss your inquiries?
Can you trust that He is worthy of your trust?

Maybe.

I'm trying.

=====

"I believe deliverance begins with questions. It begins with people who love questions, people who live with questions and by questions, people who feel a deep joy when good questions are asked. When we meet these people -- some living, some through history and art -- things begin to change. Something is let loose. When we're exposed to the liveliness of holding everything up to the light of good questions -- what I call "sacred questioning" -- we discover that redemption is creeping into the way we think, believe, and see the world."

~David Dark, The Sacredness of Questioning Everything, p 14

::lottery

2010-06-20T23:17:00.002-04:00

I like:

luminaries, fresh fruit centerpieces, underdogs, anthologies, purple gerber daisies, second chances, poignant pauses, listening, macro snapshots, kisses on the cheek, reusable tote bags, smiling babies, helicopters, pink sunsets, rusty hinges, novelty lunchboxes, thunder, cobblestone walkways, seahorses, literary quotes, long-lost friends, unexpected hugs, handwritten letters, lazy afternoons, cashews, patterned lampshades...

Et tu, dear reader?

::waterlogged

2010-06-12T09:38:00.005-04:00

I grow weary of hearing complaints about weather.
Although I am not entirely innocent of weather-whining, so
I do understand the tendencies.

Maybe sometimes, for some of us, laments about the weather are merely masquerades.
They contain a much larger message; the ultimate frustration we feel about all the things over which we have no control.

We can decide how to behave and how to speak, but we cannot control how others will react.
We can make meticulous, detailed blueprints for our days, but outside forces may "conspire" to squash our best-laid plans.

These are just a few of the thoughts that passed through my brain this past week, when I realized that I have always found something special about rainy days.
They're really not so bad, dear reader.
They deliver nourishment to the earth, and foster countless opportunities for creativity.

Toddlers learn the fine art of puddle-splashing.

Emma, June 10

Raindrops linger in strategic locations, inviting us to marvel and capture.

And we are, hopefully, left with the residual wonder of a simple, soggy day.

::Celibacy and the Village

2010-05-31T11:30:00.004-04:00

Last Thursday night, I joined my sister-in-law, her sister, and their cousin, for a late-night showing of Sex and the City 2.

A new friend, one who doesn't know me well, commented thusly: "I thought you were all deep and intellectual...why do you even care about that movie?"

Now, I have never described myself as deep or intellectual.
This is his impression of me, and it's a kind one, and I'll take the compliment.

As Carrie Bradshaw herself might say, I couldn't help but wonder...

So, I probed my own brain to try to "justify" my SATC fandom.

I certainly do not have the financial means to live as luxuriously as these women live, or the body to showcase their haute couture ensembles (few women do, I would imagine.)
I don't suspect that I share their worldviews, or even their values.
I can see a very valid argument; that this series glorifies hedonism and perpetuates the myth of materialistic satisfaction, that it claims to be pro-feminist, yet actually objectifies the women it portrays.
I can see how it's vapid, shallow, and undoubtedly offensive to many people.

I can see beyond its superficiality, however, and what I connect to is, its celebration of the institution of friendship.
These are women with drastically different personalities (some would argue that they're overly stylized archetypes) who love and support one another.
Their acceptance of each other is not conditional, nor is it afraid to confront self-destructive, unhealthy behavior.

I must admit, also, that there is a part of me - however tiny and ill-advised - that would actually love to be able to traipse around Manhattan in high-fashion dresses and overpriced jewelry. I'd love to flit from a leisurely Cosmopolitan lunch with my girlfriends to a date with a gorgeous man, visiting all the most exclusive nightclubs, hobnobbing with socialites and celebrities.
The problem is, I wouldn't want to live like that.
I could probably only stand it for one or two days.

My own life is much different.
I buy clothes in which I feel comfortable and confident.
They are not runway-worthy.
I wear makeup and jewelry because I genuinely like to.
I style my hair because, let's face it, if I didn't, I'd have a giant helmet of frizz.
My days and evenings are not spent in "glamorous" locations.

But, generally speaking, I like my life.
I feel very thankful for my blessings, and I try my best to recognize new ones.

Every once in awhile, though, it feels nice to indulge a fantasy or two.
And that's why I love Sex and the City.
It's a nice place to visit.
But I would never want to live there.

::stand and deliver

2010-05-05T13:53:00.007-04:00

I was raised by two teachers.
My father taught sixth grade for nearly 30 years.
My mother taught fifth grade for 30+ years.
Since my mother's retirement, she has occasionally worked as a substitute (or "Guest Teacher," as they're now christened).

On December 11, she was teaching a fourth-grade class, and learned that one of the students - Jade - was a second-generation pupil under her tutelage; that is, Jade's father had my mother as his fifth-grade teacher.

At some point during the day, the school secretary received a mysterious phone call. A man's voice asked if my mother was teaching in the building that day. The secretary confirmed that she was, and the man said "Okay! That's all I needed to know!"

At the end of the day, Jade's father came to the school and waited outside the classroom, then presented this bouquet of flowers to my mother:

He told her that they were a long-overdue "Thank you" for being such an excellent teacher and an influential force in his life.

That story, as simple as it is, makes me cry.

This is Teacher Appreciation Week.

The work that teachers do is challenging, frustrating, under-appreciated, and often thankless.
The best ones persist because they are tenacious, because they harbor the genuine desire to enrich young minds, and because they know that their labor is not in vain.

I've always found something very mystical about this - the impartation of knowledge from one to another - something almost sacred.

And in today's educational climate, the responsibilities placed on the shoulders of teachers are more plentiful and stressful than ever before.

In order to perform daily duties, their hearts must be gigantic.

For this alone, our appreciation for their everyday efforts ought to be outgrowing itself.

::i ♥ jesus

2010-04-30T20:32:00.007-04:00

I do not like Christian bookstores, and generally frown upon roughly 75% of the merchandise they're peddling. (aka "Jesus Junk," the dregs of which are found here.)

In my youth, before I grew older and became so "jaded and cynical," I used to wear Christian t-shirts.

I found their brazen copycat logos endearing, even witty and clever.

Now?
I am physically sickened by them.

Tonight, I found myself reluctantly accompanying my dad on a stroll into the local Christian bookstore, and here are a few gems I managed to capture with my phone's camera...

For those Facebook Fanatics:

For The Bass Player:

And finally, for those Twitter Addicts:

=====

I understand their appeal.
I genuinely do.
I used to belong to their target demographic.

I also understand that my mockery of them may be conveyed as sheer snobbery.

My deep-seated objections to Christian merchandising are difficult to articulate.

What I can express is, I find it insulting to reduce the Sanctity of God, Jesus Christ, the Gospel, and Scripture, to an imitative silk-screened logo on a cotton t-shirt, or shiny symbols emblazoned on the wrappers of crystallized sugar.

No human brain is capable of comprehending the whole of Who and What God is.

But I do know this: He is not a product.

::demotivational wisdom

2010-04-28T12:11:00.000-04:00

You may purchase this gem, along with many others, here.

::church it up

2010-04-24T21:30:00.005-04:00

I attended a conservative Baptist church for 27 years.
I was a volunteer youth worker for seven of those, and attended countless concerts, retreats, mission trips, and "evangelism training" events.
I went to three private Christian colleges to earn my Bachelors degree.

On the subject of the evangelical Christian subculture, I know a thing or two about a thing or two. **

Today, I have read two online interviews from Christianity Today.
One with Jennifer Knapp, who recently announced that she's gay, and one with David Bazan (former lead singer of Pedro the Lion), who has reportedly "lost his faith."

Now, I can understand the "disappointment" that will undoubtedly occur when someone was a public representative of your community, and then their words or behavior, or both, seem to suggest that they have deserted said community.
It's not surprising, and it's only natural.

What I cannot abide is the pervasive attitude I have encountered on countless occasions, of Christians affecting an air of superiority, almost arrogance, when interacting with those whom they deem "prodigal children."

Often, if a Christian begins asking raw, vulnerable questions, it's almost as if a State of Emergency is declared.

"Oh no! She's really GAY?! She has a GIRLFRIEND? I thought she was a CHRISTIAN!"

"Oh, jeez...he's not even sure there's a GOD anymore? What on Earth do we DO?"

And my, oh my, whatever shall we do?

How about, we listen?
We do our very best to empathize with these precious souls' undoubtedly painful processes.
We force ourselves to become vulnerable and admit that we, too, have sometimes felt (*GASP!*) a little unsure.
We admit - however begrudgingly - that we may have unanswered questions fluttering about inside our brains as well.
We dismantle our fears by freely confessing them to each other.

And we trust that God is not averse to our candor.
In fact, we remind each other that He invites it.

**[Several years ago, I recorded (on VHS, kickin' it old-school) an interview with Amy Grant on 20/20, wherein she said "I think the true heart of God is wild and passionate and everything creative. Of course, we just barely scratch the surface of that because we're human.
But frankly, I sometimes feel grossed out by the ways in which we try to package that and sell it to people."

AMEN, sister! ]

::requiem for an artist

2010-04-21T18:10:00.008-04:00

As a teenager, I wrote a lot of bad poetry.

This is perhaps why I used to get so excited when my brother Joshua would bring home Parnassus, the literary magazine from Taylor University, where he went to college.

I would pore over the brilliant poems printed between its covers, sometimes memorizing slices to recite to friends, attempting to convey the power those words wielded over my spirit.

One of my favorite featured poets was always a guy named Jason Francis.

His work was so original, so innovative, so infused with wonder and vibrant joie de vivre.

In the spring of 1997, I was a student at Taylor University, and flailing in the suffocating sludge of what the psychiatrist called "major clinical depression."
I remember sitting in the student union, probably looking listless and miserable, when I looked up and spotted the person I knew was Jason Francis.
He had graduated the previous year, but I recognized him from his pictures, and it was clear that he was returning to visit his alma mater, walking around reminiscing with a few friends.
I remember feeling slightly starstruck, but he met my gaze for only a moment before offering a warm, friendly smile and a cheerful, "HI!"
I returned his sentiment with as much gusto as I could muster, but felt too timid to say anything more.
Later, I passed him again walking around campus, and he said "Oh, HI!"
His group kept walking, and so did I.

Last week, my latest Taylor alumni magazine arrived, and in the alumni news section, I saw that Jason Francis had died of cancer on January 11.

I felt suddenly weepy, and as I reflected upon my threadbare memories of him, I realized that his life had brushed against mine in unspeakable ways, though he never even knew my name.

By sharing his poetic prowess, he blessed me with gorgeous phrases that still inspire me today. And by offering such sincere kindness to me, a stranger, he extended Love to me in a time when I desperately needed to feel its soothing warmth.

I'm rather fond of the proverb that states:
Be kind. Every person you meet is fighting a battle.

Jason clearly knew this, and endeavored to practice its simple wisdom.

I was able to locate his obituary online, and as I read this, my eyes erupted with tears of wonder:

In his last hours, with painful gasps, he spoke to his wife
these words:
“God is sovereign. He will do what He will. And I love it!”

::toddler tales

2010-04-21T12:24:00.004-04:00

One of the greatest joys of my life is my niece, Emma, who is 20 months old.
I spend four days a week caring for her.

I once saw Johnny Depp interviewed about the birth of his first child, and how he was often asked "How did it change your life?"
And he said that was the wrong question, explaining, "The birth of my daughter gave me life."

The more time I spend with Emma, the more I empathize with those sentiments.

She gently reminds me of countless simple majesties I had long forgotten; the contour of an acorn, the texture of a pine cone, the treasure of a dog's allegiance, the luscious sweetness of a ripe strawberry, the sheer delight of a guttural giggle.

Every moment spent with her is one that I cherish; and the world, when viewed through her young, fresh lens, is a bold, pulsing adventure.

::human soap opera

2010-04-14T15:09:00.006-04:00

Drama Queens.

Main Entry: drama  queen
Function:  noun 
Date: 1979
 : a person given to often excessively  emotional performances or reactions

We all know (at least) one.
We all possess the potential to become one. (Frightening, I know.)

I have been acquainted with several.

When you enjoy listening, and generally make concerted efforts to be kind and polite - as I tend to - you attract them.
You are their primary prey.

I recently spent [read: wasted] most of a day with one, and when I was finally able to evacuate the DQ's presence and seek sanctuary in my parents' living room, I felt a degree of relief that was utterly otherworldly.

I once heard a psychotherapist describe DQs as "energy suckers," inasmuch as their Modus Operandi seems to be sucking the energy from any available human source.
They are high-maintenance individuals; overreactive, emotionally manipulative, attention-seizing, inordinately fragile and, at times, infuriating.

Since I treasure empathy as perhaps the most paramount of all virtues, I do attempt to place myself in their position, try to learn all I can about why they may behave in such a peculiar manner, and try to be as sensitive as possible.

But I cannot do this at the expense of my own well-being, my own sanity.

I cannot entertain the notion of allowing such people to penetrate my inner circle.

I cannot function in any sort of healthy manner in the presence of anyone whose psyche is so crowded with self-absorption that it leaves no space for love.