More Adventurous

#11 TAKE PICTURES!!

2011-02-27T21:48:00.000-08:00

Which I can, because I found my long lost camera! After 8 months of being in hiding, she has returned to me. And what better first subject while back in action than the beautiful carrots the emerged from the earth this afternoon...

Well done, all. Well done.

I still like this one

2011-02-23T15:02:00.000-08:00

(I'm sure it's terribly tacky to post the same poem on your blog more than once, but it has a different structure, which makes it ok)

With windows down,
I stick my face outside
to be caressed by the wind.
My hair trails behind me,
and I let one
or two
strands be stolen
so that a piece of me will fly away
to places I've never dreamed of,
and there I will be where I cannot.

2011-02-15T15:17:00.000-08:00

I saw this posted on Facebook today, and thought it was really lovely. Please enjoy!

After a While

by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.

#10 Post more recipes; and Produce in the Park!

2011-02-05T18:38:00.000-08:00

For the past year and a half, my friend Heather and I (along with many others) have been putting on this event called The Produce Exchange (now known as Produce in the Park). It is a free community event where neighbors come to give some of their excessive fruit or veggies growing on their property in exchange for someone else's fresh gardened goodies. It was founded by Heather based on the philosophy that a.) so much good produce often goes to waste due to the fact that a family of four cannot eat a tree's worth of grapefruit, and b.) our interactions with our neighbors tend to be too disconnected and sporadic to have the type of relationship where we might freely share such bounties. Thus, the Produce Exchange was born!

These events have been a blessing to me over the past year and a half, as I get to see relationships develop between neighbors, get to establish some relationships of my own, learn about new recipes and gardening tricks, watch the children and dogs play with each other, and simply share in the enthusiasm surrounding this idea of sharing what the ground gives us. Today was the first one that was held in the park, which brought more neighbors and passer-byers, and, subsequently, more citrus than anyone could ask for. I made a delicious Lavender Lemonade with about three dozen lemons this afternoon! This was also the first Produce in the Park where I was able to showcase some of my growin's, which was about a pound of fresh arugula from my first lil' garden. It went fast. I was proud.

If you are in the Monrovia/Pasadena area, please come to Produce in the Park! We now meet every first Saturday in Library Park on Myrtle in Monrovia. Check out our new website: produceinthepark.com ! If you aren't from around these parts and this sounds like a cool idea, then, well START ONE! It's beyond easy to do, trust me. :)

Oh, and if you are interested, here is the Lavender Lemonade recipe. It's super, super easy, and will turn anyone on to craving lavender like chocolate like I do.

#10--Post more recipes: Lavender Lemonade

For Lemonade:

*Note: These measurements are all estimates, of course--the beauty of lemonade is its totally to taste! I prefer more of a sour-inducing ratio of water: lemon: sugar (3:2:1), but some people prefer it more sweet.

At least 16-18 oz of fresh squeezed lemon juice (preferably from your own or a neighbor's tree!)

30-32 oz water

For Lavender simple syrup:

1 cup water (best if filtered, if possible)

1 cup sugar (organic, raw sugar is the best!)

1 teaspoon-1 tablespoon of dried lavender buds, to taste (I buy my buds at Cost Plus World Market for $0.99 cents for a 2 oz. bag, which will last you quite a long time)

Directions:

In a medium saucepan, heat water and sugar over medium heat until boiling and sugar is completely dissolved. Remove from heat, and steep lavender buds in tea ball in sugar water until it cools, about 20-30 minutes.

Combine lemon juice, water, and syrup to taste! If too sour, dissolve more sugar in water before adding to mixture to ensure that it is completely mixed in.

Refrigerate, pour, and enjoy!! (You might want to start a support group for your new addiction.)

Ode to napkins

2011-01-27T14:24:00.000-08:00

Napkins can be anything: paper, cloth, recycled brown, printed party, big, small, tiny, thin. They can be made of denim jeans or the seat of your car or your own skin when your hands need assistance. Napkins can be made of water in your shower when you are wiping the sweat of a workout or a long day off of your skin. Napkins accept substitutes: tissues and paper towels and toilet paper and decorative guest bathroom towels can do their job just as well--and sometimes better, if you find your mess to be especially delicate or maybe very stubborn, and require a special attribute and talent offered by each stand-in. A piece of clothing draped across the shoulder or chest of a mother, lover, or good friend can be a great napkin, especially when your mess is very heavy and tender. Sometimes napkins are kind words that fall to kitchen floor on top of your mess, their graceful descent to the ground hesitant yet committed. Sometimes those words cover the mess and soak it right up into their fibers, its absorbency complete like juice on paper, the result a strange thing of beauty. Sometimes the mess is so big and dense that the napkins can't quite clean it up; instead, they even disintegrate into the mess, hardly distinguishable from it, and you can't tell if they were an initiation of or a response to anymore. But, hey, at least they tried. Napkins really try to do their best, you know.

#9 -Listen to Sonia!

2011-01-26T22:53:00.000-08:00

So, my friend and new mentor Sonia has a better idea for me for 2011: daily writing prompts. We've talked together about how I do like to write but frequently fail at actually doing it(much like how I like to run, hike, row, eat healthy, floss...), so her suggestion was to provide for me daily prompts, word associations, assignments, etc., for me. I will devote 10 minutes to each prompt and just write and see what comes out. I might even write down some of the ones I kinda like a little bit on here. I may even edit them beforehand, but no promises. See, MUCH better idea!

So, as a kick-off, here is today's prompt un-edited, so please enjoy with merciful eyes:

"...brings me gladness."

*The way a candle's flame can dance so effortlessly in an absent wind--fully knowing it's vulnerable and fragile existence, boldly moving and beckoning, nonetheless.

*The audacity of most of nature to do the same.

*The way a poem put to song can move my soul to tears and uplift my eyes.

I am often in a place of gladness when I don't quite know I'm there--in those times when I am lost in the marvelous wonder of the naturally mundane. Or maybe when I marvel in reflection of the wondrous mundane moments in which I am swept gently and fail to see as they occur. Perhaps when I am immersed in the most painful nostalgia of these moments that I am actually most whole, for the gaps and spaces carved out by missing and memory are filled with fountaining gladness for them. It is truly a bodily place to which I am brought, never beckoned, because if I was called towards a place of gladness, I would never come. I would approach it with trembling hands and an unsteady resolve, doubting that this is the right place--a place so wonderful and mundane and simple. Oh, so simple.

Enneagram

2011-01-22T19:16:00.000-08:00

I couldn't find a way to make this a 2011 goal, unless it was something like "be ok with your ennegram personality description", so I'm just going to do a post about it anyway. This is the most accurate "personality" test I've ever seen--it describes me nearly perfectly, and I've been able to pin-point most of my friends' types fairly easily and with skilled precision. You should take the test here: http://www.9types.com/ !

I've also seen a version that describes one's personality type by what they need. For example, I am Type 4, which is "The Need to Be Special". (It's a lot less narcissistic than it sounds, but only a little bit.) I like this rhetoric better, because, to me, it seems that a communication tool that centers on the understanding one's own needs and, in turn, enables one to understand the needs of others would foster a relational environment of self-acceptance, honest discourse, increased patience, and non-contingent love and affection. Which, hey, who doesn't want that? (I realized that the preceding paragraph dangerously treads near the parameters of the "children, clouds, and puppies" clause, but I am a Type 4, and that's just how we roll sometimes.)

#8 Learn that life goes on

2011-01-19T22:47:00.001-08:00

...without you.

Believe that people, agencies, communities, and entire nation-states live, nay!, even thrive without you there.

That's why it's a-ok to take a sick day.

Happy Paid Time Off.

#7-Fight Aging

2011-01-13T22:32:00.000-08:00

Tonight I was washing the dishes that had piled up in our dishwasher-challenged kitchen, and, without thinking, I placed a fragile ceramic bowl on a top of a pile of equally fragile drinking glasses in the sink. The result was a noisy avalanche of breakable dish-ware collapsing in on each other, followed by an outburst of expletives from my mouth. Our victim, a single water glass, was crushed into pieces--just like it's brother from last night. That's right: I broke two glasses in two days while washing dishes, a fact that wouldn't be so frustrating if my casualty rate was not so high. Over the past six months of living in this house and owning this glass set, I've managed to break 2/3 of the contents, usually while washing dishes with extremely soapy hands or from unintentionally crushing them under other dishes.

The reason I'm even dwelling on this small event is, for one, I'm going to have to buy a new dish set soon; but also because it illustrates my constant frustration with myself for getting stuck in certain lifestyle patterns that I find obnoxious, ineffective, or down-right debilitating. For example, I am rather unorganized with my things and my living space is rarely in an orderly state. I am cluttery and procrastinate on cleaning up (Confession: I haven't washed the outside of my car since I've bought it in August). I don't floss. The list of parts of my lifestyle that I am frustrated with yet never seem to change can go on and on, but the point is that I can't seem to break the habits. I either will attempt for a few days and get overwhelmed, or consider the odds of success that are stacked against me and quit with a little dignity intact.

I've heard from some personal and quickly-internet-researched* sources that my instinct to retreat from any attempts of changing my habits might be a little biological: it seems that at age 25, the human brain reaches it's peak weight at 1450g, and then slowly starts shrinking. After that, it starts to loose an average of 2g per year, and increases even more when an individual reaches their 80s. The reason I even did a half-ass attempted at googling this information is that my friend had mentioned to me one time that when adults hit 25, it becomes increasingly difficult for them to establish and integrate new habits into their lifestyles, due to the aforementioned brain shrinkage.

August 14, 2010 marked the 25th anniversary of birth, and apparently the dawn of a new era of ceasing brain development. I'm not sure if this shrinkage perspective is helpful for me to deter from being self-deprecating over my frustrating and annoying habits, or strikes in me a sense of impending doom over my apparent inability to change. In truth, I rest somewhere in the middle, so this year, in order to avoid inevitable death by brain shrinkage, I resolve to..

#7-Fight Aging, one habit (or lack thereof) at a time

Despite any research, I know that I have a healthy brain and am able enact and establish new routines that are enriching and beneficial to my lifestyle. However, the empirical and anecdotal evidence suggests that I will have to do so with a little more work and intention than I was previously able to, back in the "good ol' days" of my teens and early 20s. Of all of the habits that I don't have that I would like to adopt is maintaining a more organized and orderly living space, in order to avoid the onset anxiety that occurs on occasion when I am surrounded by mess. Living inside of a task-oriented, money-making, busy lifestyle leaves little room for integrating any additional habits or rhythms, so it does feel a little daunting to try to meet this goal while still maintaining space and peace. I guess the best way that I can think of to approach this is to adopt a little philosophy that I heard from my yoga instructor called the "one-minute rule" (or something--I may have just made that name up): do it immediately if you can do it in under one minute. Sort of a proactive front-loading approach to a whole lifestyle overhaul.

What I like about this idea is that it focuses on the small: if I think about how my entire dresser is extremely unorganized and full of bunched up items of clothing, I feel a little debilitated by the greatness of the task. Thus, the dresser is forced to survive in the constant open-drawer, strewn-clothes way of life that it's been alloted. However, if I take one minute to fold a few shirts in one drawer here and there, then eventually the chaos will subside and the balance of my dresser restored. I won't necessarily get everything organized all at once with this approach, but I will successfully establish a new sustainable habit, even if means I'll be folding those clothes minute by minute well into my 80s. At this point, I'll take anything that promises a little more organization--maybe it will inspire me to finally sort through my moving bins and store them in the garage. I wish I was kidding about that.

*I do not propose that this article holds any scientific nor factual authority in and of itself, but its validity seems reasonable due to the peer-reviewed article that it cites. Also, my friend who told me about this is really smart and knows her stuff, so it must be true.

#6 hair, Feeling health

2011-01-13T12:18:00.000-08:00

Last month, I decided on a whim that I am going to stop washing my hair with shampoo. I first considered it awhile ago, when thinking about how unnecessary it is to wash our hair so frequently, and to purchase so much shampoo and conditioner comprised of chemicals, only because a clever marketing campaign in the 1970's succeeded in integrating the habit into our social psyche. And I am a sucker for being stubborn and rebelling against clever marketing campaigns, for better or for worse. I wish my anti-commercialism is what drove me to say "screw the 'poo", but such is not the case: the turning point, I have to admit, was when I broke out in a thorough rash all over my upper body due to an allergic reaction I had to herbal shampoo I was experimenting with.

At the end of the day, it would've been difficult for me to stop using shampoo or alter my grooming ritual, because I really care about what my hair looks like. And, the best thing is, I can make my hair do what I want it to do, when I want it to do it! My very specific, mousey-brown, curly-waveyish, thin hair can change to any color, any length, or any texture in an instance at the whim of my mood at the moment. I have ultimate power to immediately change something about my hair if I don't like it, and that's not a power distributed to many of the other elements that comprise my appearance--or, my life in general. Though it may be a facade, my control over my hair often signifies an ultimate control over everything--that I have it all together.

So, why did I relinquish that power to flippant fancies of my hair follicles and scalp pores? Well, I felt like it was worth it: it was worth letting go, experimenting, and letting my hair be what it naturally wants to be. A few friends of mine use baking soda to clean their hair twice a week or so, sometimes with an apple cider vinegar rinse, so I decided to follow suit. And I will never go back, because for the first time since I can remember, I actually like my hair. The curls are more bouncy, the strands are less limp, and the shape looks less like the ears of a Cocker Spaniel. When I got out of the shower today, I pulled my hair back, and thought, "this feels healthy". I don't know if my head exhibits all of the signs of a healthy scalp, but to me, I can feel its health in my hands. I can feel its vibrance and strength. I have given my hair the freedom to do what it wants to do--what it is wired to do.

Thus, my goal #6: Feeling Health, which often derives from just listening to the whispers of your body and allowing it to function as its meant to function. Though images of long, shiny, beautiful hair is advertised right in front of my nose all day, my hair does not like products. All of the expert nutritionists out there can tell me what I should be eating, but only I know what my body wants and needs, and often its not low-fat dairy or processed power bars. And, my body knows that it does not like be run down by a busy day, and will make sure I remember that when it demands more sleep the next morning. I have to learn to not feel guilty about my body, or my hair, not looking like or performing to some standard that I think it is supposed to. Instead, I must listen to my body, and give it what it wants--which turns out to be baking soda washes for the hair, minimal makeup for the face, and lots (and lots) of kale for the digestive system. This year, I will give my body the permission to be healthy in the way that it was created to be (which seems to be retaining curves and rather frizzy hair). Rather than singling out parts of my body to fix and manipulate, I will put down the pieces, step back, and let it do its thing. And when I do that, I am always, always satisfied.

And in case you were trying to imagine what my hair used to look like frequently, here's a nice visualization:

Note the ears.

#5--less, less, less is more

2011-01-10T13:12:00.000-08:00

Hello! I'm not sure if it's terribly clear in my previous posts, but my "goal"/"resolution"/"practice" for this year is to daily reflect on how the rhythm of my life is supporting my ultimate goal for 2011, which is to give myself space and peace. Some of these reflections will be concrete things I want to start doing, or are in the process of habit-forming; some are things that I've learned through observing myself, the rhythm of life, and the lives of others; and some things are hopes for change in how I see my life and the world--perspective-alterations, if you will. I'm blogging these reflections, as
I would like my friends in the blogosphere to join me in this process so we can learn, discover, and reflect with each other. Sound good?? (I'm also excited to hear what some of you have resolved to do in 2011, and why, so please share!)

I'm super behind on daily reflections for this year since I decided what I wanted to do on the 10th. However, since I am giving myself space--which also includes space from unnecessary expectations and guilt for not meeting them--I plan on just adding as many as I want in each post, and trusting that I catch up eventually. And if I don't, oh well. Here's my reflection/goal for today:

#5 Get rid of stuff, but don't throw it away

One of the smaller goals I decided that I wanted to try in order to give myself space and peace is to reduce the amount of clutter in my house, car, and work space! I've realized that I don't have a fighting chance of reducing the amount of clutter and noise in my mind if I'm constantly looking at junk and mess piled up around me. So, I've resolved to: 1) Better organize what I do need or want to keep by putting them in aesthetically pleasing storage places (whatever works as an incentive, right?); and 2) Get rid of stuff I don't use!! I'm the epitome of the proverbial pack-rat: I have "craft boxes" piling up in my closet that are just full of paper scraps I've been saving for years on the off-chance that I might want to use them make a beautiful collage some day. I have yet to even be inspired to make a beautiful collage.

Luckily, a possession purge is quite an achievable task--just set aside a weekend afternoon and scour through the junk with militant persistence, fill up those trash bags, and mission accomplished! The only thing that keeps me from liberating myself from my stuff is this pesky guilty complex I have about creating waste. Part of the reason that I save things is because I convince myself that I will find a crafty and clever use for it someday, and therefore by saving it, I will single-handedly reduce the amount of garbage in the ocean that congregates here. Obviously (though sometimes not so obviously to me), the accumulation of things does not imply the reduction of waste--in fact, it signifies the exact opposite. So, this year, one by one, I am going to go through all of my boxes and drawers and storage containers and start getting rid of my stuff.

However, I still have that pesky conviction that throwing stuff away to amass in a landfill is not a just way to treat the earth nor its inhabitants. There are things that need to be thrown away (paper scraps, for example), but what about all of the items that I own that are in perfectly good condition and are just unloved and neglected? I've donated many a thing to thrift stores or friend's garage sales, but for some reason, it still feels like I am throwing things away, just now dumping them on Goodwill or on the lawns of others rather than in a landfill.

So, I've resolved to give away as many items as I can on Freecycle, an on-line network of local individuals who seek or are willing to give away various items, reducing the waste from things thrown away and the waste that is made from the production of new products! What I appreciate about Freecycle is that not only am I able to give away things that I don't need, but I am able to meet other's needs and requests while having a personable interaction with the people with whom I am exchanging goods. I've had the opportunity to help a woman in my area get supplies she needs for a home economics class by giving her old pots I was not using. I've also been able to get rid of an old hat I purchased for $5 at H&M and never wore (because, well, I don't like hats) by giving it to another woman who happened to want one in the very same style. I've e-mailed with these women, spoken on the phone with them, and meet them in person as I handed them these small items. I really appreciate Freecycle for its facilitation of bringing community and goods together in a manner that requires no economic exchange. Rather, it facilitates a different type of economy--one that centers around genuine human connection and community, rather than currency.

I would really encourage everyone to find, get rid of, and contribute their goods on their local Freecycle. Our local group operates through a Yahoo group, but it might run differently in your area. For more information, check their website: http://www.freecycle.org/.

Happy exchanges! :)

#2: Missing; #3 Comfort

2011-01-09T20:47:00.001-08:00

#2: Learn to feel and accept the distance between myself and my desires, while acknowledging the sorrow and vacancy that fills it.

Good luck.

#3 True comfort cannot come from finding any derived meaning in a situation, nor through determining any intrinsic blame. I'm learning that comfort cannot be forced or found, but simply welcomed when it arrives. Until then, I can just make sure that I keep getting up in the morning and make my coffee and breakfast, knowing that I'll live to see the end of the day--and that it might even end with sharing dinner with a friend.

(Also, #4--re-design blog so it looks incredibly awesome--check!)

#1: Rez-oh-lü-shuns: simply living, and the art of not just getting by

2010-12-28T16:07:00.000-08:00

As the final pages of last year were hovering at a 90 degree angle above the spine of the book in mid-turm, I found myself in constant joyous elation. All of the happenings of each day seemed to be a promise of happiness and newness. Even the timid sun had decided to show its face 'round these parts, almost as if its sole purpose was to warm my face with a shiny forecast of things to come. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, a new year is upon us! And my exuberant response is: "About f*@%ing time."

Why am I cursing the nondescript entity that simply forces the moon to pull the tides and pushes the sun in its predetermined orbit? That's a good question; because, as tempting as it is, I can't really hold gravity accountable for the several difficult trials that I have had to press through this year. And 2010's been tough one: in the past 12 months, I went through the diagnosis of clinical anxiety and started treatment for it, lived in a tumultuous living situation that ultimately resulted in a change in residence, experienced the tragic death of a family member, and had a sudden start and even more sudden end to a relationship. Of course, there were times of extreme joy when I experienced utter gratitude for my life, the people in it, my lifestyle, and happy changes that were happening; but, admittedly, I neglected to see those times for what they were, because I was still trying to catch my breath from those experiences that knocked everything out of me.

So, what's a girl to do? I looked over my last blog post I wrote when being confronted with my cousin's death back in October, and I appreciated my perspective of finding not only joy, but strength in the tiny activities of my day. I don't need to just feel ok, or better: I need to feel like I can do it, with strength and grace of God. Maybe listening to God and leaning on the comfort and strength of the Holy Spirit is to simply live: to get up, eat, work, play, love, smile, pray, kiss, and cry. To celebrate all things, great and very, very small.

And that is my new years resolution: simply living in the very, very small day-to-day. Most years I am tempted by grandeur thoughts of accomplishing very, very large things, like starting graduate school or getting out of debt or balancing my checkbook on a daily basis. But this year, I'm going to give myself as much space as possible, and allow as much peace to reign in my life as I can--not with the intent of learning life lessons in the space set aside, but rather just to quiet the noises. I don't want to be absent from those times that are good and bright, only relive them in painful nostalgia; I am going to make sure that I look at and listen to and taste and smell what's going on around me. I am going to simply be here.

Any sort of goal requires some pragmatic approach, so one way I am going to work towards the goal of living goal-free is to give myself space to reflect every day: reflect on where I am feeling strained, where I am feeling free, where I am feeling tired, where I am feeling joy. And, naturally, with any sort of reflection, things will be noticed and seen, and the process of learning what God will have us learn will unfold. Therefore, I've also decided that though I am not looking for any grand, sweeping life lesson to be taught in 2011, I want to intentionally look and note what I do find in this space I am giving myself, because, I think I will just be grateful for it. I also want to write and blog more this year, so I am going to kill the proverbial bird with one stone: this year, I will reflect every day through blogging on what I've seen, what I'm learning, and what I want to start doing (call 'em teeny, tiny goals, if you will). Note: I will probably break this resolution to write daily come mid-February, but, hell, you gotta give it a shot.

(I promise to everyone that I will try my very hardest to keep my daily reflections from being some myriad of trite and redundant grandiose statements about lessons we can learn about God through clouds and looking at the world through a child's or puppy's eyes. Please, if ever I write something that you feel falls in that category, you hereby have the right to comment that I am guilty of breaking the clouds, children, and puppies clause. Make sure to call it as such: the clouds, children, and puppies clause).

So, since I am already 9 days behind, I'm tempted to get to a-reflectin' and make 9 comments. However, after writing this post, I realize that my first goal prevents me from making up for the past week and half, because:

#1 Write shorter posts, because you won't write at all if you don't.

Seriously, I won't. I started writing this post a week ago. Brevity is not my natural-born strength, so I'm going to have to start practicing.

Happy New Year.

Empowerment meals

2010-11-09T23:03:00.000-08:00

What do you do when life literally becomes unbearable, and it's near impossible to enact your daily routine?
What do you do when you mention that the past two days have been great, only because you can't imagine that any alternative course of events leading up to them could be any worse than what you experienced?
What do you do to bring life to your aching bones that call out for mercy?

Make soup. And bake.

Unfortunately, the aforementioned statements were not a use of hyperbolic narrative, though everything in me wishes they were. I am in a proverbial "life has handed me lemons" state of being--though at times it seems like life is scraping at the bottom of the lemon barrel to find all of the putrid and rotting ones to toss on over to me. Redemptive lemonade does not even seem possible, most of the time. I have no control over these things that have been handed to me (trust me: my efforts to seize the reigns have been catastrophic failures); nor does it seems that I really have control over my responses to them on most days. It's been fun to watch that motivational saying fly shamefully out the window.

However, what I do have control over is my fridge. (Sort of--there must be some month-old left-over pasta dish with legs that keeps moving positions on the shelves, because I can never seem to find what makes it smell so rank). I can control the rice on my pantry shelves, spoons and ladles, my spices collection, and my fresh parsley that needs to get eaten up. I can control my ability to successfully pair tastes and texture together and create something delicious. I can control myself from feeling discouraged and scared when I mess up, or if the meal didn't turn out the way I imagined it would. I can clear my busy weekday schedule to make an improvisational dinner with a dear friend. I can allow myself to enjoy something that's tastes good, and to give myself credit for creating it. I can make a mean Kale, Tomato, and Rice Stew on the fly.

There is something so cathartic, so healing about taking what you have in front of you and making it work. I think most people thrive on being successful, in some capacity. Or, at least, watching things come to fruition in the way we imagine it by our own hands. So, when the course of events in life are thrown off the axis and we no longer know which way is up, we desperately grope for something to reinstate our center of gravity. (I usually pick smoking. Or chocolate.) When our insides don't know how they are supposed to sit in their own body, and when our bodies forget how to move about in space, how can we possibly feel like we are capable of doing anything worthwhile? Coping mechanisms are simply devises for reaching out, grasping for control, and sticking everything back where we remember them previously being. Usually very ungracefully, as our hands are shaky from shock and our vision blurred by constant tears.

When I was plowed over by a semi a week and half ago (figuratively), I had to brainstorm on what to do with myself--what instructions to give my body. I decided to make a pizza with my boyfriend and watch High Fidelity. Tonight, I made soup with a friend and baked banana bread without spending any money. I even have left overs for lunch tomorrow! The past two days have been the first time in awhile when I feel my insides straightening up again, my head clearing, my thoughts more coherent and concise, and my hands feeling empowered to produce once again. I'm recognizing the places in my life--as little or insignificant as they may be--where I still have control. I'm learning to not grope and grasp and cling to it, but gracefully and respectively step in, allowing myself to remember what it feels like to be OK, even if for a moment.

The banana bread didn't turn out as sweet as I wanted it too. I add brown sugar and cinnamon on the top, and that didn't do the trick. I'll still sleep peacefully tonight, I think.

**And, if you are REALLY interested as using baking a means of empowerment, please check out my dear Danica's blog! Not only does she chronicle the life of a new, super cool and creative mom (that's her) living in Pasadena, but she bakes pies on a regular basis. Further proof that women gain super powers when they have babies, if you ask me.

Bearing patience...

2010-09-01T14:42:00.000-07:00

To Self: "No no no no, stop it stop it stop it stop it! It can't happen. Not right now."

Right? You all know the feeling: the constant dichotomy of wants and reality, always fighting against the need to concede. Or, fighting against conceding.

What does it meant to be OK in the place and space where you are, while yet leaving room to dream? How do we live faithfully in a place where we must wait, though patience is arduous, leaving little left to look and see (really see) what's around you? I have a hard time living beyond my desires that distract me, sometimes. I wonder what it would look like to walk along your side of the street with the greener side in full view, feeling free to smile and even whistle in your current stride...

I wrote this a while back with the memory of England, my once home, weighing heavily on my heart:

With windows down I stick my face outside to be flitted by the wind.
My hair trails behind me, and I let one or two strands be stolen
so that a piece of me will fly away to places I've never dreamed of, and there I will be where I cannot.

Faith in the waiting. Lord, teach us your ways...

Gender and Faith

2010-08-16T12:50:00.000-07:00

I just had a thought that intrigued me immensely. I have been reflecting quite a bit lately on my journey with God since childhood, and the faith I've found: a faith that liberates me, a faith that restores me, a faith that promises me wholeness, love, and acceptance. However, a few months ago, a fellow woman at my church requested that the female members of our church write out a little vignette on what it has meant to be a woman in our life experience--particularly in the context of our faith.

Now, I also believe that my "womanness" embodied in the gender that God assigned me to plays a central part in my understanding of myself, which includes the faith in which I wish to fully embody me. My journey through understanding how my gender interacts with my life in Christ, mostly with the Church (which historically has not been necessarily very hospitable to women). Until I received the above request from my friend, I haven't been compelled to reflect on what it means for me, as a woman, to believe in God and live out that belief in the ways of Jesus the Christ. Not only as a member of the body of Christ, but simply as a person who has chosen the life of faith.

I understand that there are a vast array of perspectives when it comes to both faith and gender, but I can only operate from my little enclave of experience and therefore bias--which is there are true genders, that are not entirely socially contrived, which affect our experiences in life and our senses of self. Therefore, I really wonder: how do our experiences as men, women, and everything in between, affect our perspective of faith in God--or our choice to not believe?

I am well aware of the typical gender stereotypes that exist surrounding the interaction of both men and woman in the Church, which I would actually like to circumvent, if possible (though I know it is near to impossible to divorce God and Christ in God from the Church in which He is embodied on earth). Like I said, I am more interested in our experiences as individuals who believe. Individuals who experience those quiet moments when we find ourselves knowing Someone whom we know we are incapable of ever fully knowing--those moments that solidify our reasonings behind the illogical and rather crazy leap into the abyss that we've chosen to make. Those moments when we are know and are known.

When we stand before, sit with, lie down next to, run along with, walk towards, play with, delight in, be delighted in, love, or rejoice in God, how do we understand ourselves in the context of being gendered bodies and gendered people? How have our experiences as men, women, and anyone in between, affected our faith in God?

Glimpes

2010-08-09T21:31:00.000-07:00

#87.1 - YEASAYER - No need to worry / Redcave
Uploaded by lablogotheque. - Watch more music videos, in HD!

I will say that this video is one of my favorite things. Not one of my favorite performances, not one of my favorite songs (though those are both true), but one of my favorite nouns in life. It's one of those things that that transcends beyond the typical nature of it's own genre of subjects and topics to become something greater than it's intention. We all have at least one of those things: that poem that struck a chord in you that never really stopped ringing, that novel or essay which instigated a profound paradigm shift, or that speech given by someone you've never met, but who's words have affected you in a way that only those most intimate to you do. I wouldn't say that this recording of Yeasayer--though a favorite, I have to say--literally CHANGED MY LIFE; maybe I could say it helps me out by operating as a little illuminator to the way I see the world. (But Red Cave pretty much does make me tear up almost every time I hear it).

I think what is so wonderful about this video is that it records such a beautiful moment that is so precarious and fleeting: the decision of the band to sing that particular song for the video project on the subway, surprising both their fellow passengers and recording crew alike. The clear community of the band operating in perfect harmony becoming integrated into the temporary community gathered on the subway ride. The other passengers--who probably don't know what they are singing, as the video is filmed in Paris--joining along in rhythm and lyrics by quickly acquiring language. Everyone in that moment on that ride experienced something special that can never be recreated, which probably makes it all the more beautiful.

I would guess that the real reason I enjoy this video so much is because it reminds me of those moments when you raise your head up, look around, and realizing you are in the middle of something incredible. Call it the Kingdom of God realized on earth, call it the movement of the Spirit, call it simply a thing pointing to something greater than itself. Call it whatever you will, really; the words we use to describe these moments don't really matter, because it's not the words that move us but the vision we see before us of either the potentiality within or the trueness of something beyond. Whatever it is, it's something we look to and look for, and it's absolutely lovely.

I'm not sure how Yeasayer or the Take Away Shows crew would feel about this reflection, but I don't really care. All I know is that this simple, unpretentious and unassuming piece of art makes me a little happier to be alive. Or, at least, reminded of how "bless-ed" I am. :)

Enjoy enjoy enjoy. :)

Backyard

2010-07-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

Peace, stillness, and rest...

...is to lay belly-down on the ground and see the world with the blades of grass and their molecules, knowing there is so much more you'll never know

...is to let the wind move the swing tied to the tree branch, and watch it sway like a pendulum, marking time at a pace much slower than you're used to

...is to allow the grass to make your legs itchy and the breeze your arms cold, welcoming the sign that there is still room for you to change

...is to lie on your back and feel very, very small; and then lie on your front and feel very, very large--always feeling the earth holding you the whole time

...is to smile at the dirt that covers your house, because it is still so lovable

I've moved into a house. And I love it. I'm challenging myself to spend time out of buildings everyday--which seems to be the quickest and most effective mood stabilizer there is. And then there's the beautiful walks in my beautiful neighborhood when I spend a few precious moments with my neighbor doe, who have descended from the mountains to eat the new figs off of tree branches. They make it hard to feel like you could ever be alone.

Oh, the blessings in the world around us. May we always find peace and rest and stillness in them.

Do it!

2010-06-23T23:14:00.001-07:00

Please enjoy this website algorithmically played by my favorite band, Yeasayer!

http://yeasayer.net/codeorgan/

Survey

2010-04-21T14:25:00.000-07:00

Hello blog subscribers!

It is strange that this is a legitimate cyberspace greeting! I have noted that there has been an (unexpected) influx of readers to this crazy little thing called my blog lately. I have to say, I have really appreciated all of your comments and words of encouragement on some of the things I have written; I am both warmed and challenged by many of the things you say. All in all, I am really appreciative for our internet kinship that has developed. :)

Since there are people I actually do not know who are actually reading what I write up here, I figured I better tighten up the belt a bit and start being both more reflective and discerning about my posts. I want this to be a relevant blog to others, not just a place for me to vent about my angst about existence or give a comprehensive list of things I do not like to eat paired with Red Wine (the later topic might actually turn out to be more interesting than many other things I've written).

This is where your help comes in: if you would be so inclined, I would really appreciate hearing about why you are following my blog, what it is about my blog that you like reading about, what you would like maybe to be discussed in the future, etc. (If you never actually read this blog, and are actually quite confused on how you are subscribed in the first place, that's ok--let me know, and I'll say thank you anyway and give you instructions on how to unsubscribe.)

My parting words have nothing to do with this post, but just an out-pouring of my heart. This is an excerpt from one of my favorite books, The Prophet by Kahlil Gibran:

When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you believe in him,
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

Everyone must wonder sometime...

2010-04-19T12:32:00.000-07:00

September 15, 2009

I wanted to write today, but I feel like I have nothing to say, really. It's funny that it's when you have the energy to express everything that's been weighing on you like a fine-tuned migraine that you don't have anything to say. Those terribly tiring, headache-inducing themes that seemed to have required compositional processing have faded, and have been replaced with whatever noun's meaning is correlated with the sincere answer of "Fine!" when someone asks how you are doing.

Only a writer would complain about life feeling positive: it feels more exhausting to think of something to write about than to find a way to properly articulate that which lays so heavy on you. Maybe that's why so many artists seem to sustain self-imposed neuroticism in order to create. Those aren't the smart ones, the truly creative. I'm probably one of those.

I guess I find that I discover what is good and what makes sense in those things and people that surround me, and I'm contended in that. The urge to capture and share has subsided. That is the question, really: how does the writer convey the things that compel her to know the world without falling prey to acquisition? Which is ridiculous--how funny that we humans believe that suddenly by imposing language we suddenly can own a thing, an idea, a person? Who among us has ever uttered, "Thus", and then beheld? None.

Yet we think that if it is written, it is; a written contract is more trust than a verbal, the marriage license more recognized than the vows exchanged. Yet documents are more vulnerable than those who composed them, or whomever they are about, as they are reduced to ash at the first match strike. And, how much more life is exchanged when language is notably absent!--an embrace between two friends, two partners sighs of love, the wag of a dog's tail at the sight of it's master, the clearing skies right after a storm. I could never capture these moments in words without subjecting them to a severe reduction of meaning, robbing them of what they truly are. All because language wielded requires severe accommodation--most of all from the one who utilizes it as a tool of interpretation.

That's all we do, really: interpret. Funneling that which is beyond and beside this structure of sounds, inflections, and implied meaning into something we can name and thus own. How odd is it that we name--how audacious! Perhaps that's the problem: the implied ownership that the act of name implies. Parents conceive, birth, name, and thus own a child, even though they participated in the miraculous emergence of life only through incubation. Yet, for nearly two decades, they can itemize them on their taxes along with their second house in the mountains.

Maybe we are just irresponsible with our language; we categorize things prematurely--and often incorrectly--in order to understand them. Aristotle said the natural world was ordered thusly, and we nodded our heads in comprehension and conceded. "I name, therefore I understand." I wonder if it's the reverse that's true--that true understanding proceeds naming. If so, we would find ourselves in a wordless world, our eyes wide as we gaze at each other. We understand little and comprehend nothing, and so we build four-walled structures around us to shield us from the EXPANSE that surrounds us everywhere we are. I am anxious standing in the expanse, so much empathy is extended to she that fills up the expanse with thousands of four-walled structures and millions of implied-meaning-sounds to everything she sees in order to qualm her anxiety of the vastness of the unknown.

If only we could open our anxieties and buildings and words to prayer--that instead of burrowing ourselves away when facing the expanse, we life our hands to God and wonder, "What is it?", with no expectation of an answer! What if a mother's first to response to hearing the cries of the new life that had just emerged from her body was, "Who is this?" before declaring a name to call the child? If we wonder before we we build and name, then perhaps we will remember that it is not we who understand, and therefore cannot own.

Technological invasion, or, "How I learned to stop worrying and love the Telly".

2010-04-10T23:11:00.000-07:00

Here is a quick story about a self-posed question that I, much to my disturbance, could not find an answer to:

I am currently staying at my parent's house up North this weekend for a small vacation. We actually have been active on this trip that we usually are (it's amazing how many free things you find to do when you are in a personal and global recession!), so I am not complaining. However, inevitably, the T.V. always gets turned on every night, usually in three different rooms by their three typical occupants. This, of course, leaves me, a non-permanent resident of this home with no T.V. of my own, alone to sit at the table and thumb through a Sunset magazine (or go up in my room and write a blog entry). This, as you can imagine, frustrates me for two reasons: 1.) I just traveled 400 miles and spent quite a bit of money to spend time with my family, and 2.) I don't watch T.V. I will watch an occasional show on-line now and then, or watch a season of a T.V. show in succession once in awhile, but rarely ever do I just sit down and watch what's on. Mainly because I am too busy to devote a half hour to doing respectively nothing, and when I do have free time, I'd rather spend it with people. So my initial response to my family's recreational T.V. habits is that we should be doing something else. Anything else, because sitting in a room simultaneously being occupied by the same thing is not spending time together. (Can I get an Amen?)

But here's when my scenario takes a what I think is disturbing turn: immediately after haughtily thinking "we should not be watching T.V. right now", my next thought was...nothing . Sheer blankness and absence of thought. I could not conceive an alternative activity, at least one that did not involve media or technology. I was not capable of brainstorming a quiet family activity that did not include being entertained by some external electronic inanimate object. What did people do together before there were 7 T.V.s in one household? Seriously! Embroider? Talk about the farm? I am not being facetious here; I am posing a serious question. How can modern families, with all of the technology available at their fingertips, after spending 8 hours apart from each other all day working in isolated, unrelated jobs, spend time together without tuning out and being held captive by the T.V., or some other technological activity (including computers, an act of which I am entirely guilty as charged)?

Suggestions? Ideas? Theoretical Propositions? What do you think? Your ideas may save us all!

That audacious, confusing, pesky hope we have...

2010-04-06T16:21:00.000-07:00

*Warning: this is a long one! I guess I am making up for lost time. I wish this thing was wider, then this post wouldn't take up so much room!*

Oh, hello again.

I know, I know it's been a long time. This is due to the fact that, of course, I try to fit an infinite amount of activities into a very finite space, such as the mere 24 hours we are allotted every day--16, if you take time to sleep. (Which, trust me, I certainly do). This past weekend, Holy Weekend, I especially felt the finite nature of time; I know that celebrating the Feast, Death, and Resurrection of Christ is a beautiful, communal Church event, but, man, does it make for a busy weekend! But anyway, Easter is one of my favorite religious holidays: I love the time we spend preparing for it through Lent; I love that our whole lives and schedules become wrapped up in each other as we remember together; I love that Spring has usually sprung when it rolls around. I don't really love all the commercial/consumerism that surrounds it (what the hell is an Easter basket, anyway?), but man oh man, do I love those Cadbury Eggs. I love that we celebrate the new life that surrounds us in nature, and that we hope in all things made new in the Resurrection of Christ.

Easter is usually the season when I am most reflective of my life in God, and of the "Kingdom lifestyle" I have chosen to orient my life around. In fact, around 8:25 am Sunday morning (35 minutes before church started), as I was furiously whisking eggs in my pajamas, I started to reflect on Easter last year. I was in the midst of a bout of serious depression, struggling minutely with anxiety, desperate for consolation and guidance on dealing with Ed's impending death (he died two days after Easter last year), and felt isolated and withdrawn from life around me. The season of Lent and Easter was actually a dark season for me: in this time of life and newness, I was feeling grief, pain, and despair.

Thankfully, within the next few months, the clouds of depression started to lift, and the sun of hope and peace started to shine once more. I was able to make some internal and external life changes that reduced my anxiety and increased my connection with community. I made many new friends, deepened the friendship I had, and started to seriously reflect on the next steps I would take in my future. I felt alive and liberated: hope was no longer something I anticipated, but something I lived in. Though this year has certainly been hard, I think I will (hesitantly) declare that I am more healthy than I probably have been in awhile, if not ever.

And, you know, Thanks Be to God, right?! I am so thankful for this time in which I really live in hope for the future. And I'm sure many of us are able to relate to this scenario: life is hard (really, really, really hard) sometimes, and it sometimes seems impossible to get out of bed and go on. But, sometimes by making good choices, and sometimes by sheer miracles, things turn around, and life seems livable again. The possibility of good things continuing to happen doesn't seem so remote.

However, if that is what hope is--painful situations alleviating, and us feeling like life is good and possible--then I don't really like it. I don't think it has a place in Christianity, to be honest. It makes hope contingent on the diminishing of pain, trouble, despair, and death; it leaves no room for miracles. And don't get me wrong: I am not discussing the daily troubles and problems in life; I am talking about the devastating, crippling problems in life--both death of the body and the death we experience in life. The things that overtake us, that entrap us in despair. The things that make us not want to get out of bed in the morning because we know we must face them.

In the little Evangelical Church I grew up in, we would equate deliverance with the movement of God: if someone's illness was healed, if someone's difficult financial situation turned around, if major church problems dissipated, then all thanks was given to God. If we kept praying and praying with no avail, then we still gave thanks to God in the hope that eventually it would, because God is faithful to us. A gratefulness that I certainly admire, but an expectancy I am not sure I can jive with. This is why: in our finite minds, in our finite understanding of time, we try to fit what God's faithfulness is into a timeline we can understand--namely, in our lifetimes. We expect that eventually, things will turn around, because that's what God's faithfulness means. And who can blame us, right? How else are we expected to get through life--which for most around the world and in history is "nasty, brutal, and short"--without hope for deliverance? Maybe, maybe we live with the hope that even if we do not live to see our situation in life turn around, future generations will see that hope actualized.

But, what if it doesn't? What if none of us live to see all of the poverty, all of the injustice, all of the pain, all of the sickness, all of the despair vanquished? Does that mean God is not faithful to us? Yes, God promises life for all in the future Kingdom, but God also promises death for all who choose to follow Christ. The story I told to the kids on Easter Sunday said that, yes, we remember the Crucifixion of Christ in light of the Resurrection, but that we also remember the Resurrection in the light of the Crucifixion. We cannot have one without the other, they cannot be pulled apart. Death has lost it's eternal sting because Christ died; God showed faithfulness on Holy Saturday by communing with the dead and the damned. And when He rose from the grave, his body was still wounded; and Scriptures don't give us any reason to doubt that Christ's body was wounded when He ascended into heaven. Therefore, the Church, as the Body of Christ, still displays the wounds of the Crucifixion.

So, what does it mean for us to hope when we are eternally wounded? I guess it means that, a.) hell, let's still live in the hope in the future Kingdom of God being made full! That still remains to be God's promise to us, I think. But, also, b.) we must remember that the God of the universe, stars, little bunny rabbits and precious children is also the God that communes with the poor, the hungry, the outcast, the depressed, the sick, the disabled, the political prisoners, the terrorists, and the damned. God sits with them. God grieves with them. God dies with them. God does not promise that we will not suffer, but rather that God suffers with us. When we hope for life, God brings it by sitting with us in our suffering, but not necessarily by alleviating it. We hope in life actualized in the nearness of God.

Please don't get me wrong: I believe in goodness, I believe in joy, and I believe in rest. These things are all in God, I think. And I really do believe that miracles happen--that Jesus still spits down in the dirt to make mud to heal a blind man. But I hope never to dismiss the reality of death--which is not final, but certainly very, very present. Right now, my thoughts go to my grandmother, who is suffering from Alzheimer's. Her mind, literally, is deteriorating: she is loosing her memory of her life and loved ones, and there are days she is but a shadow of her former self. And I don't believe that when she dies, her soul--"the real her"--is going to be released from her body and then go to heaven, and everything is going to be ok (mainly, because that's neo-Platonic, rather than Biblical). But I do believe that God sits with her as she suffers, and that God suffers with her. The Creator of the Universe sits and communes with an old woman who doesn't even know who she is anymore. She is never left alone.

What hope, then, have we in God's faithfulness! God is the life that dwells among death.

compiled thoughts on death that will one day make life..

2010-02-18T20:47:00.001-08:00

(I wrote most of this almost a year ago, which means it's almost been a year since Ed 's death. I figured the Lenten season is a good time to reflect on our mortality and the hope which yet carries us through. I still miss you, Ed...)

April 20, 2009

The first hour of my drive up north is always hard because I am driving through all of the familiar places, knowing they are not my destination...

I have traveled to the place where I was raised to attend the funeral of a man who helped shape my sense of self. I, as did he, found out he was given 6 months to live a month ago; the prognosis changed to two weeks on Sunday, then two days on Monday. He died early Wednesday morning. I cried almost constantly for those two days until I received "the news", and stopped until the moment I entered the room where his funeral was held. I had to protect myself: death had entered into our lives with much violence this week.

I have an interesting relationship with death. My knowledge of it isn't through witnessing the path of nature approaching its completion, the circle of life coming to a close. We Dosens are a hearty people--I have been to more 90th birthday parties than I have funerals of my aged relatives. The death I've know is only in the raw, knawingly tragic way. A 19-year-old church member killed in a car accident when I was 16. My mother's best friend succumbing to lung cancer before 50, leaving behind a 14 and 5-year-old, though she had never smoked a cigarette in her life. My dear high school pastor, mentor, and friend, Ed, who left his 7 and 5-year old at 37 last Wednesday, along with a host of communities that were touched by his faith, love, and compassion. I haven't known poverty; I haven't lived through dire injustice; I haven't seen genocide; but I have mourned. I am thankful that my hope in life has remained.

The funeral was a blur: I kept trying to hold back the immensity of tears that were building in my eyes, the constant reflections on Ed's wonderful life and cheesy humor acting as the scaffolding to my composure. After the service, I went out for lunch with a group of my old friends from high school. It was an entrance into the perpetual circle of attempted reconciliation and painful reminders that all of us change beyond recognition from the people we once were. Especially me. The personal affect of the loss began to weigh down on me: Ed was one of the few people from home who really knew me. He knew about those terrible things that I have been through, and cherished what I have become. My gateway to much of what made up my past life was gone.

I returned to my parents house, and not the house I grew up in, with the desire to think of anything else besides the week I had just experienced, so I decided to clean my closet that held all of my old things, much to my mother's delight. I decided to sort my depression away, and toss my grief aside with old photographs and term papers from my high school years. The spring cleaning of my soul yielded many moments of necessary reflection, especially over how skinny I actually was after finding those pictures from high school. I found that I was able to look through the box I had of Parker's things--the very existence of which disgusted me, but yet could not make myself dispose of. Though Ed's death plunged me into a despair that I did not emerge from for another 4 months, it did help release the heavy armor of pain and self-rejection that I had been bearing for the years following my break-up with him, my manipulative high school boyfriend (manipulative's being generous). I think I threw that box away.

My favorite finds were some things that I had stored from the summer after my freshman year of college--a summer of romance with both a man and a country, neither of which ever fully panned out. I had met and started dating the man whom I would be paired with for almost the entire remaining duration of college, and had traveled to Russia, with which I wish I had fallen harder for, between the two of them. I went to Russia after loosing a bet to God that there would not be a suitable place in the world where I could go to on a short-term summer mission trip. When the school-sponsored trips began to be advertised, I knew I didn't really want to go anywhere, but felt severely un-Evangelical for feeling thus, and said, "Fine, God: if there is a trip to...um...Russia, I'll go", thinking, of course, no one on earth would plan a trip to Russia. And the rest is history...

Russia captured a large portion of my heart that it still holds, and I was pleased to have much of my community back at home supporting me in my ventures there. The school wrote letters out to people who I listed as important to me, asking that they write me a letter of encouragement. Ed was one of those people, and his letter, though self-proclaimed terrible at grammatical structure, gave me hope and peace when I wondered what I was doing there. Though four years later I still wonder, I believe Ed's expression through writing his letter helps shed light a bit: I went to love. I always go forth to love.

I found and read the letter written to me four years ago by this wonderful friend. Only when I reconnect with the life we shared together by reading its words, when the sensation of our intimacy of friendship and mentorship is rekindled, can I say at the time of his death, "God, You are Good." When I am reminded of why God gives us one another, the loss becomes a little more understandable and the pain a little more tolerable. With this letter, the life of Ed in God will always remain--God has graced me with the essence of who this man is on a 8 1/2 x 11" sheet of paper that I will carry with me always. My journey would not have been the same if it weren't for my brother Ed, and I pray that he remembers me, and all of those precious people his compassion and Christ-like (yet imperfect) heart has touched.

The parting words in Ed's letter to me were: "Finish strong and seize the endless opportunities afforded you daily." I will, my brother, I will. In Christ's name, and for Christ's Kingdom, I will. I love you, my friend.

2010-02-16T22:33:00.001-08:00

Anybody know of any good websites that have daily Lenten prayers/Scripture readings? I'm thinking of adding something to my life for the next 44 days, rather than taking away.

Home is where the heart is...

2009-11-29T22:39:00.001-08:00

But what if your heart is in a few different places?

Like here:

Into the morning open your worn and tired heart

2009-11-18T12:23:00.001-08:00

I've had a rough week.

I'm not sure what blogging will do to aid in the situation(s), however. I guess I'm not sure what blogging about anything does to help.

But, anyway, we remember the good and helpful things, like

*a hug from housemates

*the color of the sky in the morning

*seeing the stars in the canyon--the only place where Los Angeles can see so clearly

*songs of hope and morning

*a damn good cup of coffee

*knowing my clients are excited to see me when I come to do therapy with them--and that singing and dancing along to the Chicken Little soundtrack counts as therapy

*Liturgy, prayers of the saints, and the Eucharist can always be approached and entered into, no matter how distant my heart feels at the moment

"Summer comes, yeah, as loud as hope and takes your breath away
Winter takes what the summer had to say"...

Matthew 8:18

2009-11-11T22:52:00.000-08:00

Forgive my un-edited thoughts...

During these past two days, Shane Claiborne has been our house guest. It has been a wonderful time of sharing conversation and meals together, picking his brain on community living, and him being hospitable enough to allow us to do so. I must say, I have not been moved by the fact I am in such close proximity to an author, public speaker, and renowned voice in the Christian community. A celebrity, of sorts--a lanky, dread-locked, and humble as all can be celebrity, but celebrity nonetheless. Rather, I am moved by being so close to someone who lives with the poor: who intentionally directs his life and deeds towards them, obediently going where Christ would have us go, to where Christ, the Crucified Son of God, is. I am moved because I do not go to the poor. I do not orient my life towards them. I live with that exact mindset: "me" versus "them", "us" versus "those people over there". Don't get me wrong--I care deeply for the poor. I care about their well-being. I am outspoken against unjust political and religious systems that oppress the poor. I pray for the poor--that God would be with them. On occasion, I'll even visit the poor, converse with the poor, break bread with the poor.

I live in a tightly-knit, loving, and faithful community, who also pray for, visit, and care about the poor. I often find myself so thankful that I share life with such people--people who listen, people who care, people who love. People who, at times, burn with a righteous anger at injustice, and who will bravely orient themselves against the Powers That Be to stand on the side of forgotten. People who hunger and thirst for righteousness, and who are constantly praying that God will continually move us to participate in the Kingdom. I live with these people, I work with these people, and I play with these people. These people are my family, and I believe that we, despite all our faults and failures, are a "community"--which is a wonderful, beautiful, Godly thing.

The early church lived in community; they, too, shared live and broke bread together. They were an extension of Christ's Body to the world. They lived out the Gospel, the Good News of Christ: that God has come in Christ, Christ is risen, and Christ will come again. The world is redeemed to God--the gates to the city have been flung wide open, and everyone--everyone, everyone, everyone--can come in. The radical element of the Gospel is not only that the Kingdom is come, but that it is extended to the poor. To the outcast, the prisoners, the slaves, the women, the Gentiles, the broken, the sick, the disabled, the forgotten, the tortured, the poor. When we follow Christ, we follow Christ out into the world, and Christ goes to the poor.

Maybe it's a little harsh to say that I don't live out the Gospel because the poor are not a part of my community. Maybe it's a little harsh to say that the members my church, my community, my family, look a little too much like themselves to be radical. Maybe I just have to trust that its ok--that it takes time to completely change the way we've been raised to live, that the Spirit will move us in that direction when we're ready. Then I think of those in Scripture who approached Christ about participating in the Kingdom, about following His beckoning call. I think of the Rich Young Ruler, who owned so many things that gave him value in this world, he could not conceive of a life more abundant without them. I think of the young man who wanted to wait to bury his father before he followed Christ, who wanted to make sure that his decision would not negatively affect his family, his community.

People in my demographic are often compared to the rich young ruler, as we have grown up in a world that offers us abundance at our fingertips. An abundance we've grown dependent on, that we cannot conceive of a life without it. But, sometimes, I wonder if I am more like the son who wanted to wait to bury his father, who wants to make sure that things move slowly and carefully, so that no one gets hurt in the process. I wonder if I'm like the one who wanted more time to decide, who could not up and leave everything, who wanted to feel prepared. But Christ would have him drop everything and follow Him: follow Him to the Cross, follow Him to the poor. And there is not enough time in the world that could prepare us for such a decision.

So, like many, I am thankful to have Shane, a wonderfully pleasant, kind, gentle man--and a celebrity. I am thankful to have met him, because I am graced by the presence of one who has sought the presence of Christ among the poor, and has found so much joy, love and life there. I pray for the strength, courage, and grace to listen to the whisperings of God like that, even though all that is within me screams, "No, not yet! Let me bury my father, and I will follow You."

Anticipating the feast...

2009-10-31T14:30:00.000-07:00

I already did the halloween thing last week (pictured right with Carissa--generic super hero with anonymous greek goddess!). I went to a very fun, very "West Hollywood" party last week, and it was everything one would think a West Hollywood party would be. (Forgive the stereotype, but sometimes they perpetuate themselves, if ya know what I mean.) Talk about an amazing time to people watch and interact with some very, very friendly people! It was a time when I was able to appreciate all of things that Southern California has to offer, which is not something that occurs very frequently. :) Usually during this time of year, I find myself fighting the temptation of embitterment towards the fact that once again, I have been denied a proper Autumn. The leaves that are green have not turned to brown, to say the least (or red, yellow, or orange, for that matter).

So, I actually keep thinking about All Saints Day tomorrow! The more I take seriously the call of community in the life of faith, the more I dwell on the beauty and hope of Eucharist, and thus communion with the saints. I'm really excited that it falls on a Sunday this year, and I get to contemplate it further in the context of my church community.

May we remember who we are, and give thanks for the blessed tradition from which we come.

Almighty God,
who hast knit together thine elect
in one communion and fellowship
in the mystical body of Your Son, Christ our Lord:
Give us grace so to follow Your blessed saints
in all virtuous and godly living,
that we may come
to those ineffable joys
that thou hast prepared for those
who unfeignedly love thee;
through the same Jesus Christ our Lord,
who with thee and the Holy Spirit liveth and reigneth,
one God, in glory everlasting. Amen

~Book of Common Prayer, 1979

Heritage...

2009-10-28T14:28:00.000-07:00

Can we talk about how cool my saint name sake was? Friends with Augustine??

Listening to Nico helps, oddly enough.

2009-10-26T23:03:00.001-07:00

Today didn't happen. At least I really hope so...

But I think it did. At least, the good parts did. I'll deal with the rest later.

2009-10-26T23:03:00.000-07:00

Today didn't happen. At least I really hope so...

But I think it did. At least, the good parts did. I'll deal with the rest later.

newness/constants

2009-10-21T23:31:00.000-07:00

Five new things that I have grown to love:

1.) Learning about homeopathic medicine/herbal remedies (and self-diagnosing myself with various ailments in order to put my newfound knowledge to use)

2.) Seasonal cooking

3.) Meeting new people

4.) That terrible screeching sound indicating a successful fax transmission

5.) KCRW's Morning Becomes Eclectic. (But now I get annoyed when they start playing the same Indie music all of the time...)

Five things my love for which has been recently awakened:

1.) The life and writings of Søren Kierkegaard

2.) Practicing Spanish again

3.) Children

4.) Dreaming of North Carolina

5.) Listening to records (ok, the hiatus was only about two months, but that is a long time Playing Records to Enliven the Soul Land).

Sometimes five is about as much as we can do...

2009-10-16T11:51:00.001-07:00

Today is one of the days during which I am very tempted to constantly think, "Can't you do anything right?"

Undergrad

2009-09-21T22:54:00.001-07:00

Nothing can be so amusingly arrogant as a young man who has just discovered an old idea and thinks it is his own.
- Sidney J. Harris

"Sex without Shame"

2009-09-12T18:40:00.000-07:00

Sojourners has little jewels of goodness here and there.

This article from the Sojourners website is important to read, even if you agree with everything being said. It's even better if you read it with someone, if simply to remind us that sexuality is a communal and ecclesiological reality.

"Liberation!"

2009-09-10T13:12:00.000-07:00

This week I decided two very important things:

1.) It's high time I introduce shorts back into my life; and,

2.) The pressure for women to shave their legs is misogynistic. And a pain in the butt. So, feministicly, I decided I'm not going to do that for awhile. (Also, think of how cool, artsy, and thoughtful I'll appear!) Thank goodness my Croatian blood does not include dominant dark hair genes.

I feel good about both of these; the title of this post might make the reader think that perhaps these might be rather freeing decisions, and that's very true. I've been thinking about the human body, mine specifically, in terms of them being our mode of interaction with the world. Think about it: God decided to bring together various elements into entities that are nothing more than lumps of flesh and blood, and breathed life into them. Life not simply understood as the sudden flow blood cells through ventricles, but as the many parts assembled suddenly became a Whole Being. Something that Is, not simply exists. Something whose brain could not only send information through its nerves to direct the lenses of the eyes to gaze at the heavens, which sends the image back to the brain, but also wonder. I am my body, and my body is me: I am known by the image of my self and the presence of my body to others. I am made to know my Creator through shivers that run down my spine and the pulsating of my heart when I sense something that I know I cannot through my senses.

So, in my many attempts to understand the audacity of property and the necessity of expropriation, I think too of my body: how odd is it that we will constantly step out of our bodies to look at ourselves, cast judgement (often with great anxiety) on what doesn't look like what we think it should look like, and attempt to arduously manipulate the individual parts of it, so as to reflect something (or someone) that isn't us. I am constantly trying, but mostly just wanting, to look like someone that isn't me! How absolutely preposterous is that? And I know it all comes back to the mindset upheld by the social consciousness that our value lies in how we are perceived, mostly by strangers, who have never spent a moment in conversation with us to know who we are.

I know that I have always believed that I won't be loved if I don't look a certain way, never mind the rest of the whole that constitutes who I am. And I've realized this is just so silly! Who is not going to love me because I have cellulite on my inner thighs, or some baby padding around my waist? I wrote this in my journal last week in the midst of feeling rather self-conscious about my upper arms:

I was just thinking about how absolutely ridiculous this statement would sound out: loud: "You know, I would like you, if your upper arms better reflected the currently cultural standard of leanness and muscle tone, achieved through a strict diet and rigorous exercise. You're really great, though..."

Beauty is a gift of God for our eyes to see and our hearts to feel. People are beautiful, and are gifted to us by the grace of God. The moment we start valuing our bodies as just pieces of flesh and bone that we can manipulate to look like something else, we loose not only a vision of ourselves, but we also fail to rejoice. The moment we fail to recognize people as beautiful gifts of God, we fail to rejoice. So, when I wear shorts, and choose to not live up to a ridiculous cultural expectation of smooth legs, I am liberated--made free to rejoice.

Instead of transcending ourselves, we must move into ourselves. Tell the image makers and magazine sellers and the plastic surgeons that you are not afraid. That what you fear the most is the death of imagination and originality and metaphor and passion. Then be bold and LOVE YOUR BODY. STOP FIXING IT. It was never broken.

--Eve Ensler

"The Pen is Might[ier]"

2009-09-09T13:09:00.000-07:00

Maybe if I post things that I've written before I might get more motivated to write something new...

Maybe.

Anyway, this is from about a year ago. It's far from perfect, hardly edited, and actually liked by me.

That is why concession became a word that was more and more meaningful to her: its presence in her consciously accepted subconscious became the lens thru which she interpreted everything around her. The boom of every laugh was slightly muted. The brightness of the setting sun was less menacing. The immobility that gripped her, that sunk its claws into her open eyes every morning, as she would lie motionless on her back in bed was all because she had conceded to the fact that he had not. The painful glimmer of hope that she had used to taunt her own better judgement fell from its perch fruitless--as all things artificial suck the life out that from which it originates, yielding nothing by means of compost and promise. Lying between her sheets every morning, she enacts her concession, watching her blind, stupid hope flit down through the air like a plastic shopping bag caught in the wind, watching it inevitably sink, yet still thrusts itself upwards at times in a last ditch effort to fly again.

"You should be a bird," she always thinks, watching her un-recyclable, transparent hope dance before her on its way down, aiming to entice her with its artificial beauty. "I wanted you to be a bird."

She finishes her illicit rendezvous with her hope every morning by punching her loving and sympathetic pillow. They usually start out rapid and powerfully, the blow delivered by a fist clenched as tightly as the anatomy of the human hand allows. The punches were intended to create the most trauma and devastation to its target--a very pliable pillow personified as a very specific human face. As the satisfaction derived from what was imagined as the breaking of facial bones and eruption of blood vessels began to subside, so did the punching. That breaking point always occurred when she felt a tiny solitary tear escape; after the first tear, she quit with an added grace of pacifism and continued on with her day. She was determined to maintain some air of strength, convinced he didn't deserve more than just one of her tears each day. So on a particularly windy day in her imagination, she would spend a great deal of the time allotted to her morning routine aggressively slamming her fist into her pillow.

the ever-constant musings on the possibilities of expropriation...

2009-09-07T20:20:00.000-07:00

something i was thinking about in terms of property: if we think that we own things, that means we feel entitled, and we also feel entitled to people. like, when i meet someone wonderful, my first reaction is that i deserve to be with them, because they are so great. and i get upset when i think that someone great doesn't want to be with me. like i am 'entitled' to 'own' the wonderfulness of that person, so to speak.

it just comes down to us not knowing/practicing how to love and marvel at something wonderful that was created, without feeling like we are entitled to own it/them: like, open spaces, food, art, things, people.

just some thoughts.

Dear Surprise(s),

2009-08-17T17:50:00.000-07:00

i would be much obliged if you would kindly cease from performing such charming and gracious acts that may cause me to fall for you.

sincerely yours,

This was a year ago...

2009-07-31T15:40:00.001-07:00

Of the better parts of 2008 was the summer, even though we did not know it. The obscurity that resulted from the big life change of graduation had left us with no money, no clarity, and time to use our imaginations. We were settling down in the unknown in anticipation for the permanent, and on our worst days that left us in abject horror. Plans, plans, plans, with predictable outcomes and expected fulfillment, is what drove us to the edge of insanity and back while we navigated through our education, endured existential breakdowns, and befriended those who we would want to be in our weddings some day. But those plans were suddenly absent from our lives, their sweet comfortable structures as reassuring as those parts of childhood we cling to in our memories. Snatched from our hands with considerable violence, we lost our perspective and sense of direction--up was no long right, good no longer west.

But, we had learned to be resilient. We could be given $3 and make our day's meals; we could be given three hours and create a thesis. So when we were given life with no direction, we filled it with each other: weekly dinners together, evening reading time at coffee shops, theological discussions over a pint, job hunting in each other's living rooms, creative dinner parties, back yard reflections with a smoke. Small excursions distracted us from the fact we weren't escaping from anything. Journeys into the heart and world of a masterpiece helped rebuild meaning in our own. Prayers over meals, smiles and laughter because we were all in this together.

And, then, suddenly, we weren't; some of us found full-time employment that sparked excitement in our hearts, and some found their hearts were best to roam elsewhere. We started to fill our lives with the stability we were yearning for rather than each other, and it took awhile to notice the absence. That the colors that surrounded us seemed less vibrant--that the beauty of life in somewhat less compelling when you can't point it out to someone else.

A tasty little teaser...

2009-04-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I've been M.I.A. for the past two months on here, so I offer this formal apology to my five followers who have probably been anxiously checking the blog daily, wearing out the front edge of their chairs and couches in anticipation for new posts. Lo siento.

This mid-Lent to post-Easter season has brought along many changes for me, both promising and tragic, yet always hopeful. And all of which will hopefully be chronicled in a blog post for all to partake in. Here are some small updates and potential teasers:

*I may have found the graduate program I want to participate in! It's an M.A. of Religion at Claremont Graduate University--I'll probably specialize in the Ethics and Society track, and focus on Social Ethics. I'm going to an informational meeting next month, so I'll give an update on how that goes...

*I have found where I will be living after the summer, and that's all I can say about that right now...(but trust me, it's good stuff!)

*My community at home has experienced a terrible loss through the death of our friend and my former high school pastor Ed Denton on April 15. I'm still daily processing this, though very slowly and very quietly. I had to drive up north for the service last weekend, and I started a post on that experience as well.

*Danica and Matt have successfully indoctrinated me into nerdom, because I am so excited for these two movies to come out in May. Hopefully us at Sci-Fi Pi will get our acts together after watching these...

*I posted some pictures of my various travels on my Picasa page. There is a slideshow near the bottom of my blog page with a link to the site. View, and enjoy...

There's more, but I won't write them down, 'cause, eh...I'm still emerging from my lazy slump.

What I wish I was doing last Tuesday, but I have peace that I couldn't

2009-04-20T20:43:00.000-07:00

And it came to me then
That every plan is a tiny prayer to Father Time
As I stared at my shoes in the ICU
That reeked of piss and 409
And I rationed my breaths as I said to myself
That I'd already taken too much today
As each descending peak on the LCD
Took you a little farther away from me
Away from me

Amongst the vending machines and year-old magazines
In a place where we only say goodbye
It stung like a violent wind that our memories depend
On a faulty camera in our minds
But I knew that you were a truth
I would rather lose than to have never lain beside at all
And I looked around at all the eyes on the ground
As the TV entertained itself

'Cause there's no comfort in the waiting room
Just nervous paces bracing for bad news
Then the nurse comes around and everyone lifts their head
But I'm thinking of what Sarah said
That love is watching someone die

A tale of modern children's interpretations of Easter

2009-04-12T20:34:00.001-07:00

This is an almost verbatim transcript of a scene at my church this Easter Sunday. A bit disconcerting, and very hilarious...

At my church on Easter Sunday...

Pastor Josh: "Do any of you kids know what day it is?"
Kids: "EASTER!"
Josh: "Right! Do you know what Easter is about?"
Kid 1: "Umm, well, I thiiiiiink...eggs?"
Josh: "Well, yes, um...do you know what comes out of eggs?"
Kid 2 (son of pastor): "Oooh, oooh, I know! CANDY!"
Josh: "Any what else?"
Chorus of children: "MONEY!!!"

Oh, and that Jesus guy, right? I'll say whatever you want, just keep giving me candy!

A half-hearted excuse

2009-03-22T21:52:00.000-07:00

So, this quote: A writer is a person for whom writing is more difficult than it is for other people.
- Thomas Mann

sums up March's deficiency of entries.

Holy Cow, I love Beirut...

2009-03-19T19:41:00.000-07:00

Give me a man who can play the accordian...
That's all.

Let this be what it may...

2009-03-18T07:16:00.000-07:00

"Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ through whom we have gained access by faith into this race in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit. who, has given us."
Romans 5:1-5

Baraba (transl. "Lover boy".)

2009-03-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

Above is the only word I know in my grandfather's native tongue. Well, that, and another word that does not have a kind English translation...

This is something else that made me happy to be Croatian (The red stitched pattern is now the background on my computer.)

That made me happy to legitimately feel connected to a place and history and people, even though those nouns and concepts have little to no affect on my daily life. I guess part of the American Curse is that we are forced to grasp on to any dangling end of any line of heritage we can, even though we were forced to cut our un-cuttable ties generations ago.

We need to talk

2009-03-03T07:37:00.001-08:00

I think I need me some "spiritual leader" or mentor or something of the like. Where d'ya get one of those?

When things from long ago suddenly make sense again...

2009-02-26T07:12:00.000-08:00

You have led me to the sadness
I have carried this pain
On a back bruised, nearly broken
I'm crying out to you

Chorus
I will sing of Your mercy
That leads me through valleys of sorrow
To rivers of joy

When death like a gypsy
Comes to steal what I love
I will still look to the heavens
I will still seek your face

But I fear you aren't listening
Because there are no words
Just the stillness and the hunger
For a faith that assures

Chorus

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

While we wait for rescue
With our eyes tightly shut
Face to the ground using our hands
To cover the fatal cut

And though the pain is an ocean
Tossing us around, around, around
You have calmed greater waters
Higher mountains have come down

Chorus

Alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia

Yeah

Alleluia, alleluia alleluia, alleluia
Alleluia, alleluia alleluia, alleluia

Chorus (4 Xs)

Oh, Lord sing of Your mercy,
Mercy
Your mercy

Happy Lent

2009-02-25T06:58:00.000-08:00

I got up at 6:15 this morning. There was no sunrise to behold, but the singing of the birds gave me hope for a new day...

I read the daily readings for the Lenten season from the Book of Common Prayer this morning, along with Nouwen's Show Me the Way; the readings from Nouwen and from the Word were both of grace and discernment--a call to live in the mercy of God in belief of this silly freedom in forgiveness we adhere to. Hebrews 12:1-14 left me a little jaded, though--I still can't quite grasp the concept that God has us go through trials and periods of suffering as a means to better ourselves to be with God. This is something I struggled with when I first read Wesley's A Plain Account of Christian Perfectionism: if suffering is of God because that is the path God chose, then how do those who are forced to suffer great things every day read Hebrews 12:1-14. In some ways, how do I read that passage? Have these great things I've suffered been purposeful so that 'I may be more like Him', or something? I can't help but jump to a Neo-Marxist paradigm when reading this, though: it just seems like a good method of keeping the suffering in society in their place.

Obviously, I need a little enlightenment and Biblical interpretation here. Please, if you can help illuminate this passage in the Holy Word of God for me, I would greatly appreciate it. May we always hope in things unseen...

P.S.

2009-02-23T21:15:00.000-08:00

February is going to kick Jan's ass in number of postings! Five days left, and I've already caught up. Uhhhh!

I'm sure this has been done before,

2009-02-23T21:11:00.000-08:00

but I'm still gonna play around with it...

Sporadic rendition of a modern love letter.

I kno that technology isnt the best wayof saying it, but I rally luv u. Alot.
Is luv alwys precise and carful? Isnt it a outpourig of the heart? I hope our childrn and grandchilren dont look at our emails someday and thnik, ‘i don know if he

contd.really luved her, because he wouldnt spell it right’. I hope they think, he luved her so much he couldnt wait for grammar to catch up.” Or sumthing like that. Ok, srry for such a

contd.long text, but i hope it makes u smile. ;)

I don't know, I'd love to receive this someday...

I'm a delight?

2009-02-19T18:32:00.000-08:00

I had my 90-day review at work today...90 days late. :)

It went really well--to put it immodestly, they sang my praises. They told me that the things I do, really without thinking about them, are great and an example to others, yadda yadda. It was weird, because I don't really feel as if I try really hard at this job. I try to be patient, all the time. I try to think about everything I do before I do it, all the time. I try to keep my snarkyness and cynicism at bay, as much as possible. (haha). But this job really seems to be a natural extension of, well...me. And my review with my supervisors sort of confirmed that.

So, I don't know what is more scary: not knowing where you are going to go with your life, or to be at the place you might end up.

(I purposely switched the word "like" with the phrase "as if" in this post because of Danica and Matt...now I won't be able to, as if, use that word, as if, you know...as if, without thinking about how, you know...as if...how stupid I sound when I say it.)

Things to remember...

2009-02-09T22:51:00.000-08:00

Art can be a gift to the world or a personal expression of the soul. If it can be imagined, it's poetry...

It's not that you aren't good enough for him/her. In fact, it's usually the opposite...

A natural, organic love for the rejected emerges when you adopt their identity...

God meets the created in birth, water, and wind...

Hope is not naive. It may be the purest form of worship of all...

I will pay someone to design my tattoo

2009-02-07T13:19:00.000-08:00

Talking about it in my second edition of "25 things about me" list made me realize that I am really ready to do it. I've been thinking about it for over a year, with different elements fading and changing, but this design is the one I keep coming back to. I think it's a great testament to the journey I've been on--where God has taken me and where I hope and pray to go.

SO, if you or anyone else feels like they want to design it for the monays, let me know! Here is what I want again:

Sparrow and Blackbird (from left to right) holding up a banner that reads Dum Spiro Spero ("While I breathe, I hope" in Latin). This will be on my left shoulder blade, or in that approximate vicinity.

Oh. And I impulsively got a hair cut. You likey?

And that is after sleeping on it. Not bad, eh?

"I am blessed to be a witness."

2009-02-05T21:28:00.000-08:00

I just really love God and the Crucified Son so much. And I don't dwell in that enough--yet I am still given wonderful little reminders about why I love Jesus day in and day out.

That's all.

Corcovado parted the sky
And through the darkness
On us he shined
Crucified in stone
Still his blood is my own
Glory behold all my eyes have seen
Have seen

"Hold me, my world is closing; help me to keep it open..."

2009-02-03T20:44:00.001-08:00

I just really feel that these lyrics by Denison Witmer are really pertinent to small but great quest of healing and understanding I'm on. Counselor and I talked about what it would look like to invite more people into my story tonight, instead of it carrying it in that safe quiet place in my brain that I have been storing it. That concept absolutely terrifies me, and articulating why is exhausting in equal weight, right now. There are some things we've carried for so long, our muscles have fused with the burdens they bear, and we fear what we will look like if we give it up. Sometimes, feelings run so deeply, we wonder if God will stoop so low to bless them, so we don't offer them at all in fear that we are right.

My hope is that I am being walked with, even though I can't want it or feel it there.

I wish my blog was more relevant to the mass public. It's a rather selfish (like 'self...ish?') blog, if ya think about it. I'll probably start a new one soon--so look out for....

Pies and Sci Fi! Awesome Science Fiction commentary by two intelligent, thoughtful, witty, and beautiful women! Pie Recipes! Impressive html'ing! Yes!

Coming to a blog near you in 2009!

this just in...

2009-01-30T20:52:00.000-08:00

I am very anti-social.

I think, actually, the term 'asocial', as in, 'without, or lacking in opportunity for, social interaction' may provide better insight to my current predicament. I remember when it was a thrill to squeeze in a 45-min coffee date with a friend into my jam-packed college life schedule. Now, I am excited to have dinner plans once in a week scheduled on my iCal, while the rest of the empty blank squares staring at me, the oblivion that constitutes their white nothingness mocking me for being so damn lame. Friday night, by myself? LAME.

And this time ('cause I find that I am a creature of habit when it comes to asocial-ism), it's not because I am depressed or too exhausted or too overwhelmed with making sure the fundamentals of life are in line: I literally don't know what to do. There are always the fail-safes of cable TV, internet, and helping the economy get all ship-shaped again with needless spending, of course, but I don't think I really need to elaborate on why those methods are inadequate, at best. I think the culprit is a lack of imagination. I don't know what to do with myself when the activity that accounts for most of my day does not spill over into its remaining hours. This is why I have the urge to take another class: just to have something predictable enrichment activity to put in my calendar! Deadlines, I need deadlines to be productive!

Anyway, that's it. The point of this post was most likely to take up some of my evening. And I have successfully utlized...oh....10 minutes of my Friday night.

Hmm.

P.S. I have done very well with my posting this year thus far! I have already met and may likely surpass my last-year high of 8 posts in a month in the first month of 2009! Well done, me, well done!

Impressive

2009-01-28T18:32:00.001-08:00

I found this website that does some personality measurements through answering simple questions with pictures. I really enjoyed doing it, and I actually think that this is one of those tests that actually accurately assessed my approach to life and job skills and such. Whatya think?

Do the quiz yourself!

Your Core Skills
A natural academic, you have an extremely impressive capacity for deep analytical thinking. You are able to absorb and efficiently interpret extremely complex material. This is balanced with strong communications skills. You are confident about expressing yourself and feel most comfortable when channels of communication are open.

Potential Areas Of Weakness
You have a low tolerance for inefficiency or for muddled thinking and this may mean that you are reluctant to collaborate except with the most impressive minds you know. As a result, you may come across as arrogant and valuable contributions may be missed. Your need to think things through rigorously may mean that you fail to fulfill the potential of your dynamic creative mind.

Areas You Might Want To Work On
pay more attention to personal management tasks and time planning
make the effort to ensure that communication is two-way - actively encourage and listen to feedback from your colleagues
embrace your creative streak and allow yourself to make informed leaps of faith if required
Careers That May Suit You
SCIENTIFIC JOURNALIST UNIVERSITY PROFESSOR DETECTIVE FORENSIC PATHOLOGIST CONSULTANT
Your Detailed Personality Assessment
You clearly have an impressive and flexible intellect which you are able to apply successfully to whatever takes your fancy. You work best when you are energised by challenging ideas and concepts. You owe it to yourself to make sure that your work environment offers you maximum stimulation and satisfaction. By keeping things fresh you will find the buzz and intellectual reward that you need to keep you exhilarated. You have great potential when it comes to inspiring others so it would be really worthwhile to try to incorporate an element of this interaction into your daily work.

When it comes to leadership, you are a firm believer in conviviality. You like to be a friend as well as a boss. Job satisfaction lies in building strong relationships with the people you work with. But it's important to always be careful not to blur those boundaries.

You have a strong sense of wonder and enchantment at the world around you. You probably get a kick out of blue sky brainstorming.

You can sometimes be quite laid-back about achieving your goals. You tend to land on your feet and so you don't get too stressed about pushing too hard. You definitely have a good life-work balance. And it's true, sometimes success comes to those who don't seem too desperate. This healthy attitude is great so long as you don't come across as disinterested or lazy. It's important that you make sure your colleagues feel that you are pulling your weight.

You're feeling fairly laid-back about life right now. You're pretty content with the status quo. There's nothing major to stress you out so it makes sense just to take things gently and avoid any big dramas. It's not surprising that you're feeling upbeat. You seem to be getting a lot of satisfaction from your work. And this good feeling pervades the rest of your life.

The way you approach each day can have huge implications for your success in the workplace. Bouncing out of bed with a spring in your step doesn't exactly come naturally to you. You sometimes find it difficult to get moving in the mornings. It might be worth trying to reinvigorate your morning routine so that getting out of bed is more of a pleasure than a battle! That way you can face the day firing on all cylinders. If you haven't already, why not try exploring some evening relaxation techniques that might help you get the rest you need - whether it's yoga, a soak in the tub or even a full-on gym session. It could make all the difference.

The Future
You may not be looking for a new job right now but you're committed to understanding more about yourself and recognise how valuable this can be in terms of self-development. Life an feel like a bit of an endurance race sometimes. It's all about making sure that you have the stamina and commitment to go the distance. You seem to be quite pragmatic about the fact that work has its ups and downs, and this is a really healthy way to be, as long as this doesn't dampen your natural enthusiasm for life.

today

2009-01-26T08:25:00.001-08:00

She saw that there was frost on the ground and knew she was in for an interesting day...

merrrp.

2009-01-20T22:37:00.000-08:00

Found this in a journal. Not very coherent, but yous gets the idea.

Also: I have an ideeeaaaaa? For a boooook? (said with a crescendo-ed high-pitched voice).

I wrote this day before I enrolled in Fuller Counseling (Nov 10 2008).

I have never been more drawn and repelled to a single item in my entire life...

I know the reality of fighting escapism with escapism--those days when the only time you know you are slightly tolerable is when you are severely alone. Even then you clad yourself in anonymity, to cover your head from God and the world. On those days, the battle against your own body is so tempting.

The understood sensual alluredness is right on, for the only way will fight so dirtily against ourselves is if we believe we look sexy doing it. And, oh, do we look sexy: lips parted to shape our mouths into an O, exhibiting our superhuman ability to breathe in fire. With every inhale we are tempting death, and our every exhale is the aversion of fate, the victory of the chase, the high-five after getting laid. We are the Ubermann, and we blow our smoke the face of the morality that pits itself as the basis against our actions. Our smoke creates rings that tighten around its neck, lassoing it to our back pockets.

Because we need that morality to smoke in the first place, to remind us that something is so despicably wrong inside of us that it can't be faced and must be smoked out of us into the open. When the wrongness is so strong we find it can't possibly exist (and also find ourselves arguing that we shouldn't either), that drag is the only thing that's real--more real than the day you might live tomorrow, more real than the promise of something new and big, or small, more real than the fantastical dreams you might chase away with a warm breakfast the next morning...

Snap.

Without realizing, I had killed my possibility of existence. Between my two fingers lay the two halves, innards exposing nothing but flaky earthy repetition, the pattern of humanity's moments of defining their being. I could not see the possibility of clarity but only death and ashes, flicked away on the ground beneath my feet, or blended an ashtray of all the thoughts of the generations that approach it.

I throw my promise away, and begin to think about cloud formations and what color scarf to wear the next morning...

Just putting this out there

2009-01-17T12:05:00.000-08:00

This is something I might do in a year or so, if I don't go to graduate school at that time. Or after. Maybe just someday...

I might do it here. Or even here? We shall see. I don't know when or if--all I can recognize is a small subtle whisper transpiring in what I perceive this little life to be.

***

As I was typing this entry, my friend instant messaged me this excerpt from Alexander Schmemann's For the Life of the World: "The Eucharist is the entrance of the Church into the joy of its Lord. And to enter into that joy, so as to be a witness to it in the world, is indeed the vary calling of the Church, its essential leitourgia, the sacrament by which it "becomes what it is." The liturgy of the Eucharist is best understood as a journey or procession. it is the journey of the Church into the dimension of the Kingdom."

Sign from God? Probably. :)

Needs

2009-01-10T17:06:00.000-08:00

Frost/Nixon

Revolutionary Road

Rachel Getting Married

Milk

am I missing something?

ehhh

2009-01-10T13:15:00.000-08:00

Wow, my last post was very...er, how you say--vulnerable? I'm not sure whether I should apologize or not. I guess that's what blogs are, though: they either feed the author's narcissism or give them a false sense of safety and security to practice the art of intimacy.

What's left

2009-01-05T23:01:00.001-08:00

My past counseling session was a little traumatic--not because of the subject matter discussed (which, mind you, often wades in the pool of dysfunction and tip-toes near the boundaries of neurosis), nor my tendency to burst into tears within five-minutes of sitting on my very nice intern-counselor's couch, but because of the following conversation.

Counselor: (After spending the duration of the session discussing how I don't feel that I deserve to take care of myself) "So...how are you right now?"

Me: (with tears welling up in my eyes, and wringing a messy mascara-stained tissue in my hand) "Um...ok..."

Counselor: (Sits back with a slight smile, that smirky, smirky smile). "I'm going to leave that for now..."

Me: (What??!! You bastard! How can you do this to me?) "Are we meeting next week?" (please please please please PLEASE)

Counselor: "Ho-hum...I guess I could make it out here on Monday..."

Me: "Uh, no, it's ok...we can meet after the New Year," (I'm only dying inside)

Counselor: (With a genuine smile) "Great! So, you remember what to make the check out to? And, also...just try to have fun."

I'm not sure if it was the insistence to plunge into the very depths of my murky soul and then cut me off with an clearly impossible answer to my unanswerable questions, or that frackin smile he had on his face the whole time that caused the emotional atom bomb. All I know is that I've had really bad heartburn ever since.

What is really disheartening is that after two weeks, I will fail to report back anything from my first and only homework assignment tomorrow. 11 days of genuine time spent with family, friendships caught up on, adventures in different cities, a beautiful and sacred union of two souls, breakthrough personal and spiritual conversations, laughs, tears, and more canine cuddling than I could ever want, yet I can't say I know joy. This is the first time in my life when I have seriously considered requesting a prescription for Prozac. And I definitely can't blame it on the weather.

I wonder if part of moving on is embracing the pain that is deterring you from doing so. I hurt. A lot. Because of various, often terrible things. And I need help. Many people in the mental health field would say that in that sentence, I've just fought half the battle. That it's brave to do what I've done. I think my bravery is very quiet; a small voice trapped amongst the schedules, duties and real, very real problems of others, and is often left between my two ears. As much as I hate to admit it, I think that with somethings, you have to be brave alone. And I'm not really sure I can do that right now.

So, I'm left popping extra-strength Tums, taking numerous pictures of my face on my MacBook so I remember that it's pretty, and listening to the same songs over and over again until they make me feel numb. They probably aren't paying Mr. Counselor enough for this...

Ontario airport, 11:00pm

2008-12-27T16:05:00.000-08:00

(because the deepest meanings we find in life occur in the briefest of moments and shortest of sentences...)

She walked up and down the empty tiled corridors, her body and soul absorbing the reverberation of her footsteps--the only sign or recognition of her quiet existence.

"Can we move to the UK...?"

2008-12-07T13:10:00.000-08:00

trafalgar square, london

september 2007

no....seriously. Can we?

tbc...

2008-12-07T12:51:00.000-08:00

My desire to connect with the world is great;
to open myself as a nourishing outpour,
a gentle soothing rain for the earth
so that others may partake of my fruit.

Yet I have no means or methods:
for I cannot paint the lilly pads
nor compose the secrets of man's hearts.

for wendy...

2008-12-07T12:49:00.001-08:00

With windows down

I stick my face outside

to be flitted by the wind.

My hair trails behind me,

and I let one or two be stolen

so that a piece of me will fly away

to places I've never dreamed of,

and there I will be where I cannot.

(there!)

2008-12-01T23:31:00.000-08:00

I realized this simple yet fundamental fact about myself today:

I could never love a man--I mean, really love him--if he did not love Harry Potter first. We would just be too incompatible.

And I think if I was to choose someone to narrate my life, I pick Jim Dale ("the facts were these...").

And that is that.

Reflections on the "reflections on this special time of year'

2008-11-26T14:16:00.001-08:00

Y'all know its a joke right?

Usually my cutting sarcasm is pretty blatant--apologies for the ambiguity.

Remember: "it's a joke"! (see above)

Reflections on this special time of year...

2008-11-16T14:47:00.001-08:00

Please take my special holiday poll at the bottom of the page to have a special reflection on this special time of year...

Election Day Prayer

2008-11-03T08:29:00.000-08:00

A Prayer for Election Day, AD 1998

Lord God of all creation,
You rule and judge all nations,

You scatter the arrogant of mind and heart,

You cast down rulers from their thrones and raise up the lowly.

Today we elect those who will serve in our government:

the voices that call us to go this way or that way are confusing,

the signs of these times that we must discern are tragic and unjust,

the culture of death that afflicts all people is powerful.

Open our eyes to see your Reign in history,

our hearts to share your love with all people,

our ears to hear the cry of the widow, the orphan, and the stranger among us.

Send your Holy Spirit upon the people of this land:

Teach us to make wise and prudent decisions.

Increase our faith and hope.

Help us to live the Gospel we profess.

May all who are elected this day:

do justice,

love goodness,

and walk humbly before You and all people.

We ask for these blessings,

confident in your providence through all time

through your Son, Jesus Christ, Redeemer and Savior, Amen.

--Anonymous

[Prayer 2]

2008-10-29T22:14:00.001-07:00

Lord, deliver me from the powers that would seduce me into desiring greatness,
and have me seek identification with the forgotten,
following in Your example:
for though You are in the very nature of God,
You did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,
and made yourself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant (Philippians 2:5).

Make me nothing--
nothing of myself, and all of You.
May my life be nothing of a constant prayer,
an offering to You.
Help me to living the mystery of your coming Kingdom
and to momently partake in you present Body.
Consume me, Lord, so that I may be consumed by others.

I pray not only that the meditations of my heart and words of my mouth bring You glory,
but also the works of my hands and the steps of my path.
May I live not for substantial movement and change,
but be guided by the hope for miracles.

I am not voting. But I will pray and fast.

You know it's true...

2008-10-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

Question posed: "and anyway, what's the big deal? can't someone think that they are fucking fantastic and simultaneously doubt their redemptive qualities?"
Answer given: "yes, you can. in private. society only likes one or the other my friend..."

songs and images

2008-10-26T21:38:00.000-07:00

My life is not my own, but I keep trying to re-claim it. I think these mediums of expression and thought are both fundamental in conveying the realization I came to today. The conclusion is so simple, I can't believe I've been ignoring it as it's stared me in the face all this time (like most conclusions to problems that you don't really want answers for)...

Mr. Tambourine Man
by Bob Dylan really hit home today. Though the lyrics of this song is arguably drug-induced, but still really resonate with me and my perspective towards the life I'm living, especially this stanza:
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

I am constantly looking towards a new beginning, a fresh start, something new and exciting to occur...now. (No? How about...now. Nope? Damn it, what's wrong with the world?) I guess it's another way in which college life has created unhealthy expectations for the world in which it is supposedly supposed to prepare me for. The burden of freedom and plethora of obligations that I could not wait to escape from while in college I almost readily welcome now, as life has settled into a pretty yet unsatisfactory rhythm. The constant question of 'how' has quietly transformed into 'why', which provokes much more intensive thought and intentional response. But then, as usual, the answer was presented to me today in church (right? where else?)...

This is my why. This is my how. This is the culmination of all meaning and purpose, the hope I look to, and the path that guides me. I am gathered to the source of my hope and light, lest I forget from whence I came. Thanks be to God.

I got so many little affirmations in church on the path on which I am to be taking, and I really think it might be towards the Community House. I am so not sure, but I can't discern on whether or not my lack of clarity is because I am staring straight into the ugly face of all of my doubt--doubts on whether I can do this, whether or not I want to. Focusing on what I am giving up if I do this rather than remembering what I gain. But it's not really about gaining, but about walking the narrow path of Our Lord. The centricity of purpose and meaning is what I gain when I do this, I suppose. I have already committed to fasting and praying when the time comes to decide on whether or not I will move in, but I have a feeling that my prayer will be that a loud shout will confirm the small slight whisper that I think I already hear.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
--"My Back Pages" by Mr. Bob Dylan

Here are things:

2008-10-20T23:22:00.000-07:00

Right now, I can't elaborate on all of these things as much as I want to, but I can offer a coherent list of organized thoughts! Yay! Progress!

*Things really suck at home right now, and I feel really helpless...praypraypraypraypray, please.

*I might go to grad school...for free? The only catch: I have to go to APU. Details to follow...

*I still haven't sat down to articulate my convictions on voting and why I'm making my decision not to, but here are some bits from a conversation I had earlier that I think pretty much outline my 'whys':

"I think I'm offensively hopeful in that I have so much hope in Christ, I don't see the need to vote for a political leader..."

yet..."I was praying about all that the other day, and I felt the need to apologize for even thinking about it. Like i'd forgotten that the cross happened and removed, virtually, all need for politics...how i had forgotten to practice the politics of our Lord. instead i made it (the politics of Jesus) an item of discussion, rather than a way of life..."

but, in the end... "Everytime I even think about voting I feel like I'm cheating on Jesus."(It's true.)
Most of that was said by the wise Misty (harhar), but I really resonate with all of the sentiments. Again, further elaboration will follow...

*Ok, plain and simple: adjusting to life after college is hard. And the instability in my life since May has not made this process any easier, to say the least. I feel like i go through circles with emotional situations rather than moving along linearly. In all honesty, I just feel like my emotional stability and level-headedness that I so pride myself in is just slipping out underneath me: I'm not 'the strong girl' anymore. In fact, just accepting where I currently am emotionally has been half the battle for me lately, and I have had really wonderful encouragement from really important people to just 'feel my feelings', and let them be ok (regardless on how silly I think they are, or how little legitimacy they hold).

Ok those were things.

I've realized...

2008-10-18T13:52:00.000-07:00

I'm really good at making commitments to myself and to others and even to causes and ideas without any real direction on how to follow through. (I'm also really good at writing tiny little quips on my blog without expounding.)

This came in my head last night:

We often found that at times, the only real direction we had were the freeway lanes marked in yellow. Our only momentum to move forward was the engine of our cars, and the only reason we had to continue was the song playing through the speakers, the words of which were the only thing that could really move our disenchanted souls. So, sometimes, we would drive a little further than we needed to...

2008-10-14T20:47:00.000-07:00

puppies...

2008-10-08T23:29:00.000-07:00

Instead of restating the process that was both personally and communally induced, I'm gonna request that everybody go here to see the discussion that was had about abortion that was initiated by a recent BBC Health article regarding advances in testing for down's syndrome during pregnancy.

I feel that for the first time, I am seriously and legitimately torn about this "issue". I also believe that as soon as a deem it an "issue", it no longer is as such in my life, but escapes into the densely ambiguous outer atmosphere of the Other. Issues are about the people discussing them, not the groups or individuals who are being discussed.

Ok, enough of my ranting. Enjoy? Or, at least, read and tell me your thoughts? I love the thoughts...

Unsheathing the student identity...

2008-10-06T20:40:00.000-07:00

I graduated from college, but I still create homework for myself. Except now, the amount and level of bullshitness has greatly decreased. I'm all about quality, not quantity, folks. Future students: rejoice!

Azusa Gardens is a very special place (or, unearthing the details)

2008-09-29T22:03:00.000-07:00

These are the reasons why Azusa Gardens is very special place. (The term "special" can be interpreted as derogatory as the reader so pleases, by the way...)

Reason #1: The guy who plays Taps every night around 10pm sharp.

Reason #2: The non-native English speakers East-Asian neighbors who play video games, and seemingly yell and bang against the walls...

Reason #3: The cat statue outside our across-the-way neighbor's door. It has those decorative stones for eyes and is holding a sign explaining just what species it is.

Reason #4: The man who walks around banging bells and yelling out indistinguishable phrases, who is either enacting a pagan seance, or is selling little Hispanic goodies.

As for the later portion of my blog title, I've realized that my face is not symmetrical. At all. In the slightest. The nerves or something in the right side of my face raise everything a little higher. I tried my hardest to find some sort of important life-reflection lesson thing that would be illuminated from this, but...alas. Yet I still feel it is very important to put this out there. That's all.

Sorry for wasting your time. :) This sort of remedial verbal processing is what my roommate has to endure all the time, so...don't feel bad.

lalalalalala Bobby McGee

2008-09-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

"Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose,
Nothing don’t mean nothing honey if it ain’t free, now now.
And feeling good was easy, Lord, when he sang the blues,
You know feeling good was good enough for me,
Good enough for me and my Bobby McGee. "

Man, I'm glad I have this on vinyl. I also wish I had a digdy-tal version of it, so I could listen to it over and over and over and over...

"Everybody's got something to hide except me and my monkey"

2008-09-04T23:32:00.000-07:00

Life=good=not posting blogs?

thus seems to be the case. and is rather depressing. i guess i do my best work while being under pressure, and God is blessing me with a time period of not being under pressure.

I just get to dream in non-sequentialisms and admire the little pockets of beauty around me--like the light reflecting off the heat coming out of the oven dancing on my kitchen wall. I have to be absorbed rather than observe. Learn to simply exist in the moments that make life worth it, rather than capitalizing on them through insincere prose. Celebrate, and pray that eventually my first response will be a murmur of praise rather than a conception of my fabricated involvement in such events. Share for the sake of giving Glory to God and to give witness to the Kingdom, not to make myself appear to be thoughtful and intuitive and, as all of us writers really (really) want to be: interesting.

So, when I share that the highlight of my week thus far has been my 50-year-old client, who has never really had the opportunity to grow and operate independently in her life, checked out a book from the library all by herself and without any prompting, it's because I have to give thanks to the One Who loves her more than imaginable. When I describe the look of joy and pride on her face, and recount her insistence on telling everyone that "Book...Myself!", it's because I can't contain my joy. We both offer simple and short words, but they hold a depth of a joy and hope beyond which any of us are capable of articulating.

But these words aren't really for you, or me, or anyone else in particular, because they are just reflections of a life that does not belong to me--a life i cannot harness and domesticate with my considerably inadequate language.

and thus sums my apology for not writing blogs more often. :)

List 2.0

2008-08-29T23:37:00.000-07:00

Seven ways I secretly wish I could make a living:

1.) Singing in a Rilo Kiley/Mariah Carey band (the slash indicates 'and' and not 'or')

2.) Writing pulp (science fiction, fantasy, smut...whatever)

3.) Having a love for all things Russian with no practical manifestation

4.) Homemaking

5.) Puppy-sitting

6.) Harry Potter theorist/scholar

7.) Being a UK citizen (just living there)

2008-08-14T00:22:00.000-07:00

Chris Stevens: Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

This is why I love Northern Exposure.

List 1.0

2008-08-07T12:16:00.000-07:00

('cause there just ain't enough of them)

Ten things The Decemberists have inspired me to do:

1.) Read me some Myla Goldberg
2.) Live in Portland
3.) Listen to The Pouges
4.) Study Japanese folk stories
5.) Subscribe to 'Word of the Day'
6.) Play the accordion, or spend ample time with individuals who do
7.) Avoid sailors
8.) Sing in rounds
9.) Listen to Joanna Newsome (big deal)
10.) Locate the city/state/street/commonwealth of Valenica

Nine reasons I probably can't and/or won't be a 'real' writer:
1.) Can't commit to my vices
2.) Am too social, in an un-tragic way
3.) Have other marketable skills, in a tragic way
4.) Live in a perpetual state of self-induced writers block
5.) Am not quirky/eccentric/derranged enough
6.) Don't respond well to mental threats of immanent death or the annihilation of all puppies upon failure to write daily
7.) Am funny, but not that funny

8.) Am creative, but not that creative

9.) Spend time writing useless lists rather than actually writing.

When Charles Shaw feels like your only friend...

2008-07-05T21:52:00.000-07:00

Yet. Again.

"I didn't mean to waste your time
so I'll fall back in line
But I'm warning you: we're growing up..."

*Vulgarity*.

The Belly of the Beast

2008-07-02T11:48:00.001-07:00

So, I'm doing it. I'm applying to Starb-b-b...*sigh*. Starbucks.

Is this the final end? Have I finally and ultimately conceded to my monetary and self-sustaining "needs" rather than holding fast to my ideals and desire to be a pervasive difference in the world? As much as I am attempting to express my upper-middle class social angst here, truth is, I don't really feel all that bad. The economy sucks, I need another job, and Starbucks is hiring. It's that plain and simple.

Right now, I'm subconsciously trying to grapple with true dependency on God, and the distinctions that exist in that state (or, rather, attempt). Honestly, my lack of consistent housing and adequate income since graduation in May has really made me swallow my pride and American self-sufficient tendencies and lean out into God and my community for care and help. And, God and my community have responded, and I've been cared for (albeit, there is a last-minute pattern for each of these circumstances, as if our Lord is trying to make a point or something). This is beautiful. Read that sentence again, and say it slowly: this. is. beautiful. As stressful as it can be, I almost would prefer this state for the rest of my life rather than anything steady and calculated. It invites adventure: I don't know where I'll be or what I'll be doing in the next few weeks. It also invites a deeper connection with others, which occurs when we learn to remove our "selves" from ourselves and learn to how to operate holistically with our community. And it most assuredly promotes a much more consistent prayer life. :)

Perhaps, then, applying to work at Starbucks doesn't conflict with my newly adapted lifestyle, as I am forced to (once again), swallow my middle-class, educated, "socially responsible" pride, and work. And really work. Not sit at a desk all day, but be on my feet, preparing things for others. As hip as they may be, coffee Baristas are still blue-collar jobs (perhaps the collar is just popped? Or something else more congruent with the fashion trends as of late?). And that's humble, or something? But not really--maybe it's just an attempt for me to slowly peel away the very middle-class concept that I am "better" than certain jobs because of...whatever. A concept that I've been inbred to believe. ( I understand that this paragraph vividly reflects that I still am very much operating out of this paradigm, but hopefully also expresses that its a paradigm that I very much wish to shift away from. Quickly. Any help in that is accepted).

And, I don't have as strong ethical contentions against Starbucks, unlike the other corporate monsters out there like Wal Mart and Micky D's, aside from their infrequent if at all use of fair trade coffee. I don't like how harmful (devastating, even) the coffee industry is to local farmers, but I'm not sure notworking at Starbucks can rectify that. Suggesting that customers purchase the fair trade option perhaps can?

All in all, my qualms aren't potent enough to keep me from applying for this second job. I believe that God will provide for me, miraculously, if need be, but I also know I'm not "better" than Starbucks. Plus, those iced soy lattes with sugar-free cinnamon dulce syrup are soooo goood...

So, that's it I guess. Hand me a black hat and one of those charming green aprons: I'm heading into the Belly of the Beast. If I get hired, I'll donate all my free pounds of coffee to charity.

Sunday afternoon, 2:29 PM

2008-06-22T15:39:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, when we’re really down about the moments, events, and circumstances that constitute our lives, significant or mundane, it’s important for us to remember our history: where we’ve been and how we got to where we are. Whenever the light at the end of the tunnel seems to grow more and more dim, when everything around us seems to succumb to darkness, when all avenues have been tested with no avail, and we have but a glimmer of hope in front of us for which we desperately grope, we must remember the times in our lives when we’ve stepped out of the darkness and into the light. When we’ve been delivered from utter despair, when we’ve gone to hell and back, and still made it out on the other end in one piece. We must remember those moments, and we must cling to them with everything that we have, because they often will be our only salvation and means of survival.

“Remember your history, O Israel”, the prophets often implored in moments when all seemed lost. “Have faith”, they beseeched, “in the Lord who delivered you from slavery and into the Promised Land.” Never forget, they said, that you have been saved once, and you will be saved again. Those of us who follow the rather eccentric sect of Judaism know that we need not worry about future salvation from inevitable and impending doom, as our forefathers may have. We needn’t worry, because we know that all of creation has experienced the ultimate salvation in the death and resurrection of an obscure first-century Nazarene carpenter. That is why when we gather as the Body of Christ, we partake in the Eucharist: to remember the audacious hope of all things made new, and to recognize our commitment to it, a commitment we make with our lives, with every fiber of our beings.

“No guilt in life, no fear in death” is a proclamation of hope that many Christians sing the hymn In Christ Alone. It’s a stanza that reminds us that the Powers of this world are obsolete compared to the Power of Christ in us—a power that invites us to live as though the Resurrection of our Lord really did, in fact, occur, and that that event has eternal significance. We have been brought out of the darkness and into the light.

So, in times of great sorrow, anxiety, and depression, find joy. Discipline yourself to dwell in the past—in the times of light and hope and deliverance—in order to remember your hope for the future. Today, for example, I woke up surrounded by a cloud of depression about the current state of various situations in my life. I felt a little hopeless about certain things falling into place, and doubted the wisdom of important decisions I’ve recently made. As I was about to get ready for the day, I put on some music, and a song came on that was very important to me a few short months back when I was literally facing the most difficult trial I’ve experienced in my short life. The song reminded me of strength, and hope, and joy, and comfort, and the promise of deliverance from oppression and evil that our Lord has given to the world. Immediately, the cloud lifted, and I danced cheerfully in my living room, the music granting me empowerment and instilling in me a fresh, unadulterated sense of new beginning: I have been delivered once, and I will be delivered again.

Everyday, the tremors of the drumbeat of life fill our ears: the resounding sounds of anxiety, fear, obligation, oppression, and pain drown out any sweet whisper of hope and life. When that happens, when the deafening noise penetrates your ears, and you feel that you’re doomed to listen to nothing else for the rest of your existence, remember: there is always music playing. There is always music; it’s there—we just have to cling to the faith that God will enable us to hear it once in awhile. And God will, for God has delivered us from slavery and into the Promised Land.

“Remember your history, O Church.”

hmm

2008-06-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

This is a "briefer" (yup, I just made that up).

Like every other conscious humanoid on the planet, I have been thinking a lot about love...umm, my whole life. Love, relationships--you know, the simple torturous concepts and the idea of their supposed essential place of centrality in our lives that we keep subjecting ourselves. I have been "officially" single for half a year now, and practically single for about ten months, and I am in a self-diagnosed 'good place' in the relationship department. Due to the anticipated radical geographical changes that I plan on undergoing in the next few years, I'm not set out to find a spouse right now. I'm actually not that interested in finding anything super "serious" by any means, as I am still "recovering" (for lack of better word) from those strange, long-term interactions that bears the aforementioned adjective that I have been in for the past several years. I'm simply not quite ready.

Yet, I still have a hard time shaking that slightly obsessive and very self-depreciating tendency to put myself and my heart in a position to be broken when it comes to my interactions with the opposite sex--a position that I am fully aware is inevitable. These situations simply will not work out for a number of reasons, and I know this going into it. Yet, again and again, I am not satisfied with being "ok" with being single--which, to me, has always translated into the word "lonely". Again, I'm not looking for anything life-altering, I'm just hoping for anything. I haven't quite descended to the "I'll make out with anyone who looks slightly tolerable, especially if I'm drunk" state yet (and I don't anticipated to), but, hell, I'd like a date once in awhile.

And then I ask myself, "Self, why? Why are you doing this to yourself? What is it that you desire so strongly that you'll put yourself in the line of fire to experience the sensation?" I'm not operating under any fallacy of the wonders of love and relationships--experience has taught me those fables simply are not true. But there is something that creates an inner yearning for something only members of the opposite sex whom I am attracted to (or make myself attracted to) can provide, and I think today I got it: it's the feeling of being special to someone. Of being extra important in a way that other human relationships just can't provide. That feeling, sensation, whatever, is what makes us humans go crazy, jump off cliffs, and put ourselves in harms way for even the idea of love. And that's what I somehow, deep down inside need, or have convinced myself that I need. That's what makes me willing to date someone who I know isn't good enough for me, that's what has made me become less of myself so the current relationship situation I was in would work.

Current obession

2008-06-13T22:30:00.000-07:00

It's ridiculous. But soooooo good, at the same time. If you have a spare 36 hours, read the three 500+ page books--that's all it will take you, because you won't be able to put it down.

I know this is a teenage girls sensation. I'm trying to take to the college/post-college generation, specifically those who are still slightly depressed that Harry Potter is, in a word, over. You know who you are.

Oh, and this will give you ridiculously high expectations of men. Or, at least, god-like gorgeous virtuous vampires. You know.

i wrote this yesterday.

2008-06-06T11:37:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I (foolishly, I think) toy with the idea of writing a book. If I ever do, this will be a component of a chapter.

Leaves.

I felt the wind on my cheek comin’ down from the east/
And thought about how we are all as numerous as leaves on trees/
And maybe ours is the cause of all mankind…

So, I have this necklace.

It hangs real low, in a real fashionable way. Sort of too fashionable for me—I’m not sure I can legitimately pull it off. I bought it at a college art show opening—one of the last few on campus my senior year—at a comparably low price of $25 (not bad for hand-made art jewelry). It wasn’t my first choice, but it sort of presented itself to me vividly from the sales sheet, its image casually yet assertively positioned between the others in a series that already bore the “sold” mark of purchase. My first love, a quaint yet unique piece that was a mosaic of pattern, fabric, and lace, had betrayed me, flaunting its beauty and attraction to the first buyer who was conscious enough to hold a pen to write a $25 check, rather than waiting for me, it’s one and only.

What a floosie.

Anyway, when the sudden surge of angst and dire disappointment subsided, my necklace was there on the sales sheet. Faithful, virtuous, true. And waiting for me. I rushed from the sales table as the beloved sprints into the open arms of her lover to view the display of the original necklace—after all, I am not one to purchase an object based on its photographic image, treating it like some mail-order bride. No, I will at least hold out for love at first sight, which is exactly what I (or, as I should say, we) experienced.

It was perfect. Simple, yet bold—much like I am. It was a symbol of dichotomy: an individual, blue leaf against a background of red. Its color scheme was clearly unnatural; as was the solitude of the leaf, for a leaf is not a leaf alone, but is a product, or rather, reflection of a tree in its entirety. Leave are symbols of change and seasons, yes; but they are also symbols of multiplicity, of connectedness, of society. No leaf is an island, so to speak.

Staring at my leafed necklace for a few moments before literally sprinting back to the sales table, my tempest nearly knocking over the artist’s elderly grandmother who visited for the opening, I acknowledged that I was staring at a symbol of myself. Forcibly plucked from any sense of a connected society by my culture and upbringing, unnaturally colored as an “individual”—as well as all of the other adjectives and nouns that exist in the plethora of things and concepts that we are told we are to be. This blue leaf on its own didn’t make sense, just as on my own, I don’t make sense either. Not really. People don’t, really. (Ok, 99.9% don’t—forgive my hasty generalization). Perhaps the leaf would make more sense if it existed in the presence of a multiplicity of blue leaves: majestically and confidently stemming from a red or purple or orange or whatever color tree, their unnatural yet consistent uniqueness a testament to the tree’s validity in a forest of boring green and brown.

And this, this is the pretense of my analogy. I, as human, may not make as much sense alone, individualized. But I, as believer, follower, disciple, adherer to a path that demands complete and total devotion and promises pain and death, member of the Body, Christian, make absolutely no sense alone. Disconnected from the tree, my stance as a blue leaf in a sea, ocean, planet, really, of green is almost arbitrary. But imagine what a blue tree in an emerald forest can be: a contrast, for one thing. A point of reference, for another. Perhaps a place of refuge, a haven for those who refuse to believe that green is all there is to this life. Or, as our “trunk” might offer, this blue tree can be a city on a hill, a light in the darkness.

I really, firmly believe that one cannot be Christian and be alone. Or, rather, disconnected. Trees are symbols of life, and their leaves are extensions of that. They proclaim it and are dependent on it, which is why their beauty and life fades and dies when they are disconnected from the tree. A multitude of blue leaves may stand as individual, personal testimonies to the tree, but are really incapable of “living life” (or whatever it is that leaves do) differently than green leaves alone. Which, at the end of the day, is what Christ calls the church to do: live radically, entirely different. Live life fully, promote fullness in each human, and live fully without fear of the inevitable consequences of doing so. Live to die. Live like Him. Live as though the Resurrection took place, and as though that event has any ultimate and eternal significance. Live as though all things were made new (Rev 23:11).

We are to be Him, as the Body, as the Church—which Alexander Schmemann claims exists “for the life of the world”. So we live life, but we live it differently, joyfully demonstrating that everything is different now, now that He is risen. Green may have been the way to perceive and interpret life, but now, now we do it differently. Perhaps, now, we live as though blue means life—a life that is full and thriving.

But we can’t do it alone. We need to exist as a social body, interconnected in our contrast with world, constantly connected to the One whom we call Lord. Existing as blue leaves that resemble the color of their tree in a forest that protests that they should be otherwise.

That is why I wear my necklace, even though I can’t fashionably pull it off: like Christians who wear a cross around their necks, I wear my blue leaf to remind myself where I belong, and to whom I belong to. I live in the hope of resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, and chose to belong to His Body, the Church. I wear it to remind myself that as the Church, we are to live differently, in contrast to the lives lived around us, as much as a tree of blue leaves differs from the green terrain in which it is rooted— it lives in this world, but is clearly not of it.

ps...

2008-05-26T23:09:00.000-07:00

damn. i wanted to utilize the brevity of that writing tool without having to inadvertently refer to the movie title...

but anyways:

"P.S. I love you".
I loved this movie. I laughed a lot, I cried a bit (BIG DEAL), and I smiled often. I felt it encapsulated the reality of life and loss-- which I know was a criticism of many people who saw it--but I tend to favor reality and crave things that seeks to explore what's real--and I thought it was beautiful. (And, OH GOOD LORD, that man is beautiful! I would argue that the element of this movie that demanded criticism was the fact that it might have given women the unrealistic expectation that they will find such a hot, charming, and darling foreign man who will fall head over heels in love with them and marry them.)

But yes, see it, and tell me your opinions. I liked it more than most things.

"and you're not happy, but you're funny..."

2008-05-26T21:57:00.001-07:00

I didn't think the post-college depression and phase of loneliness would occur so quickly...

I'm pretty sure mine first settled in prior to the actual date of graduation--perhaps around the time when we first started packing up our apartment about a week before school ended. I certainly held no strong emotional ties to Crestview N210--it was yet another place that I've lived in the long list of residences I've held over the the past four years (I believed I've moved into new places about 11 times since I've started college? That includes my treks home for the summer as well). The sadness occurred because I had to face the looming reality that "life as I've known it" was ending, several of the things I've learned to value and depend on were likely to leave, and stability of any sort was simply not in the picture for the time being.

Now, I would argue that I've been raised to live in instability: my mother seemed quite keen to instill in me her adventurous, un-settled spirit that she had in youth in my sister and I (though I would argue sometimes with no avail). I've always been encouraged to try new things, enjoy my freedom, live while I'm still young, etc. I don't think I've done an especially good job at that. Sure, I've traveled, lived in another country (England--which arguably isn't that much of a stretch), lived in inner-city Los Angeles, been involved in things that are really important to me while on campus, blah blah blah. I hope all of this looks good on a resume. Whilst participating in all of these privileged activities, I haven't been able to shake the feeling that life is just not about what you do, but who you are. Or, more precisely, what you do that stems out of who you are becoming. The importance of this very fine distinction is something that been haunting me since Los Angeles term, and haven been gratefully learning since Oxford.

I've been able to evade my feelings of anxiety, panic, and loneliness with various hours of work and time spent with my temporary roommates and friends--most of whom will be leaving and no longer be in close proximity to me anymore. This has been helpful. I should say that our discussions about how lonely and panicked we all feel should have provided comfort to me, but, honestly, it hasn't. (And I have to say this: I sometimes resent the comment "well, I'm going through [insert pain-inducing situation here] right now, too; does that make you feel better in dealing with yours?" How the hell is knowing someone else is going through pain as well as I am going to make me feel better? What kind of sadists are we?) Again, fine distinctions seem to be something we need to practice: there is empathy, and then there is the common acceptance of social ills and "generational struggles" (I suppose?). There is something wrong with the fact that college students feel unprepared to function in society and feel systematically abandoned by their parents and family and that the average twenty-something now experiences a quarter-life crisis. That is wrong--I am making a value-judgement here.

I know that I am speaking of the angst of the middle- to upper-middle class educated white experienced (forgive my generalization). In most parts of the world (including in this country), we should be rejoicing in the fact that we are alive--and that's the exact point. We are so isolated from community and fragmented within our society, we can't even recognize lifewhen it surrounds us. I can't believe I've gotten to this point in my life, but I'm about to reference a Zulu proverb that my old boss quotes with slightly irritating frequency: a person is a person through others. I really don't believe that we can truly be who we were lovingly and intentionally created to be unless we are being reciprocally supported, invested in, and developed by our community--those who love us the most and with whom we travel on the road that leads towards the same goal. My community, the church, fashions its focus towards the cross, and we are constantly simultaneously holding and sharpening each other with the implications of that vision in mind.

Ha. I always tend to bring it back to the cross and the church. Guess it's quite evidential that my perspective's gone through a paradigm shift this semester...

I'm not sure what the conclusion of this blog should be. I honestly didn't want to include any hopeful musings about the church or of God when I started it, because I really wanted to dwell in the reality of the severe loneliness that most people can acutely relate to. I guess this blog is long enough without adding any other banter to it. I just hope people starting thinking about and discussing what they are experiencing, and then maybe commit--in small or big ways--to fight it. Eradicate it.

Lord, may we, through the guidance of your Holy Spirit, discipline each other to fight the fragmentation and isolation that is a direct result of individualism.

note...

2008-05-21T13:42:00.000-07:00

It's amazing how much shit absorbs sound. When you take all of your shelves that are filled with things, dressers that are filled with things, etc. away, you simply hear so many more sounds. Maybe that's why we fill our lives with shit and crap and things we simply don't need: it absorbs the bouncing echos of our cries of hurt and pain that we can't help but utter.

[prayer 1]

2008-05-10T21:26:00.000-07:00

Lord of all that was, is, and is to come, grant us the grace to live outside of ourselves.

In a world that promotes individualistic ideology and self-fulfilling consumeristic tendencies, may we as your people be audacious enough to live lifestyles that pervasively speak against a culture that seeks to fragment and disconnect us. May Your Holy Spirit give enough fortitude to reduce the noise of self-obsession that permeates our lives so we are able to hear the whimpers of the suffering. Give us the courage to leave the paths that lead to success, comfort, and safety, and walk together on the rocky path that Jesus Your Son and our Savior walked, facing the Cross and Kingdom. Turn our heads away from facing our impending futures, personal goals, and plans of self-promotion to face the poor, broken, and discarded that sit and lie next to us every day.

Create us to be a Body, affix us together, so that we are no longer ourselves, but Christ who lives in us. Give us the great privilege of being Jesus, the Body of Christ, the Crucified One who was buried, the Risen Savior who makes all things new, to the world. We pray in hope and for hope for the establishment of Your future eternal Kingdom, but ask that You give us the grace and strength to live as though we are living in it today.

hope.

2008-04-15T23:15:00.001-07:00

I am carrying a little white stone with the word "HOPE." written on it in red permanent ink. Whenever I work on my senior sem paper, I set it out in front of me so I am always reminded that I am to live in hope for the future.

When this is over, I am going to place it next to a girl bathroom as an alter of prayer for all women who walk through it who still live in the shadows, are coming out of them, and those who are survivors. I'm rather excited about it.

That's all.

its the little things...

2008-04-14T19:05:00.000-07:00

I am excited at the prospect at a few theology acquaintances that have amazing things to think may end up at Duke in a few years, as I [hopefully] will. I find lots of hope in that...