slivers

Today…

I read about Jesus and the masses. He was tired and frustrated, yet filled with compassion for the people who sought him. I am tired today, and mildly frustrated, and thankful that Christ in me can fill me with compassion for those who come across my path.

I drove one exit too far to go to work so that I could turn around and drive into the sunrise for a bit, and the rings of my eyes turned gold for a moment.

Javier, a ten year old boy, came in to take his medicine. I asked him how his birthday was- he turned ten on Monday. He told me they didn’t do anything for his birthday. I asked him if he got any gifts, and he said no, that his mom said they don’t have enough money this year. I nodded and hugged him. Inside I wished I could buy him anything he ever wanted. Instead, I told him I had met some children his age this summer who lived in orphanages, and who didn’t know when their birthdays were. We talked about how good it is to share with those who don’t have, and he perked up and ran to class.

On a lighter note… The headmaster of my school brought in a premature, tiny baby possum, with no fur or eyes.

I’ve had China stuck in my head all day long. Yes, the country. I don’t pretend I can contain it all, but I’ll be answering the phone, or handing out a tardy slip, and all the sudden I’m sitting on the roof eating sushi, or laughing at the Chinese air conditioning system (which for our city, meant men pulling up their shirts to let their bellies hang out), or near-fainting at the magnitude of the city apartments.

Slivers... so far.

The. Fall.

I think I've figured it out. The new winds that I'm breathing have come from far away, in the Rocky Mountains and perhaps even the Himalaya's, and they smell like newness and depth and I can't help but feel I should follow them. Every fall I feel that if I knelt down and then jumped high enough I'd simply fly away. Every fall I cry for beauty and changing leaves, and I live in DALLAS. It's probably God's grace that I have never made it to New England in the fall (though I check flight prices daily). I think I might faint for beauty. And it's God's grace that fall dies into Christmas, because I love twinkling lights and warm drinks and red cheeked children and soft sweaters. So I don't think to mourn the fall until the Spring, but then people are always falling in love all around me, and that drama keeps me too busy to think about weather until the time change, and I love the time change. Pretty soon school lets out and then everyone can take a deep breath and rest in the water, and travel to see family and go on mission trips, which makes summer quite... a delight.

The only reason I'm gushing like this about the seasons is because it is the fall. If you cut me, I think I'd bleed apple cider.

Cheerios and Sunsets

The recent gray skies and fall breeze have been sending nostalgic whispers to tease me. I say tease because I can’t catch them. One will jump up out of nowhere, kiss me, and I’ll sit, frozen, trying to hold on to the memory, the feeling, the scent or longing from the past.

It’s been happening all the time, and without warning. Today my banana tasted like the ones I used to eat in my cheerios. I chewed slowly and closed my eyes, back at the kitchen table with my sisters, in our pajamas on a slower day.

And I remembered being whisked away from school by my mom, for orthodontist appointments, optometrist appointments, what have you. I loved those days, not just because I got out of school, but because it would be me and mom, for a while. I’d want to freeze time driving in her car, sitting with her in the lounge, too young and too in the moment to be aware of the magic she held over me.

Every year autumn's breath wakes me up, alerting me to the beauty my friends, the grace of women who let their hair gray, the speed at which I’ve been running, the joy of holding coffee in my mouth a little bit longer before swallowing.

Yesterday I biked around the lake, and then sat to watch the sunset. I prayed and listened, and while we talked God wove a sunset so glorious I wanted to shift from a sitting position to a kneeling position. But if people noticed then I wouldn’t be invisible anymore, and I desperately wanted to be invisible. I was talking to God about all sorts of things, but soon He hushed me with a slow reaching of sun rays to water, and all I could say was, “Beautiful.”

How are you?

This morning a slightly chubby boy walked in twenty minutes late to school. I handed him a tardy and asked how he was. He answered, “I found two locusts at my dad’s house. They’re dead.” We looked at each other in mutual pensive respect for the dead locusts, and he went on his way.

I wonder what would happen if adults started answering the question, “How are you?” with a little more spunk?

The frame and a snapshot

When I haven’t written for a long time, it’s difficult to know where to start. Do I start in theory land, in what God is teaching me, rolling out, revealing about his world and himself? Or do I start in practical land and tell you stories? Even now as I write, I haven’t decided.

I’ll start with the frame, and then paint the picture. I came back from Ethiopia and ran, into a new apartment, a new job, a bit of a new life. I have eleven hours left in my degree, and am taking six right now. Lord willing, I’ll take five in the spring, and then graduate in May. I work as a receptionist at West Dallas Community School, a private Christian school in a historically underprivileged area of Dallas. The mission of the School is:

“to provide students with a challenging educational experience designed to help them know, love, and practice that which is true, good, and excellent and to prepare them to live purposefully and intelligently in the service of God and man.”

The school is a calm and peaceful place in the midst of a dangerous neighborhood. It is part of a West Dallas Initiative to bring redemption and hope to families in the area. Less than two percent of adults in this zip code have gone to college, and for many of the children, college seems like an impossible goal. The school is funded by generous donors who are committed to giving their money to eternal things.

Within the year, they want to hire someone from the community to serve as a receptionist, but haven’t found the right person yet. I needed a job like this for a year to help me pay for school and life until I graduate, so on both ends it works very well. I love the mission of the school and the people I get to be around. On very hard days at my job (and there have already been plenty) I am reminded of how God blazed a path ahead of me to put me here, and how He will sustain me to do what He’s asked me to do.

I take classes at DTS at night. Not shockingly, I love them, and find myself energized by being able to learn about the reality of God and the way the world works. But I also can barely keep my eyes open once I get home at night.

This is the frame of my life, if you will. But the picture changes every day as I walk around within the borders God seems to have set for me. Today, into my frame, walked a woman whose nieces go to West Dallas School. They live with her because their mother does not want them. After a year and a half in foster care, this woman took them in even though she can barely afford to take care of her own children. She sat at the front desk and told me their story. Her niece is in Pre-K and has been sent home most days because of acting up, but this little girl has had more trauma in her life than most of us will ever experience. She is handicapped due to her mother allowing a fever to persist for two weeks before going to the doctor, and doesn’t trust a single adult in her young life. My keyboard was soon wet with tears, and I promised to pray for her.

I hate some of the things I saw in Ethiopia and some of the things I see here. But that makes sense, according to the Bible, doesn't it? This world is broken, and we who wish to give our lives away as He gave His know that there is nothing better than to Love Him and to Love others. To give ourselves away, and to be a part of making things right. More thoughts to come. Be blessed.

Addis

I am sitting in my living room on a blessed afternoon off, enjoying my teammates, Matt and Charissa. We are working on our updates, and struggling together to describe what we have been doing here. To describe a vision trip in which I for one, have felt like the world has been swirling around me for most of the past month. By God’s grace, our feet have remained firmly planted in His word, and in His truth, have kept us from getting caught up in the tornado of Addis Ababa.

My trip has looked (on the surface), as follows:

Our team: Matt and Charissa Fry (fellow DTS’ers and dear friends from Norman), Brian Bain and Crystal Reeves (both DTS), Emily and Ellen (nursing students from Austin), Jonathan, Kimmy, and their 15 month old daughter Jocelyn (a family from Tyler- Jocelyn has been the darling of our team), and Vic Anderson (DTS professor and our leader), and Julie, his daughter. We all came with different desires, and with willing malleable hearts, and have enjoyed each other immensely. All of our time has looked different, and rarely have we all worked on the same project at the same time. Nevertheless, God has given us a heart for each other and a tone of laughter. I have been amazed at the servant-heartedness of our team.

IEC- Sundays, our team helped with the International Evangelical Church. 1500 people from all over the world attend IEC, and our team leader, Vic, used to pastor there, We led worship (I played the djembe!), taught Sunday School classes, and Crystal, Charissa and I led a class on Godly Beauty for women. Our class was four Sunday’s long, and went better than we ever could have hoped. We chatted with women about beauty in different culture, looked at God’s word to see what He saw as beautiful, and celebrated visible and invisible beauty in ourselves and in the world.

Class- For the first three weeks I was here, we took a class on Contextualized Education at a seminary. We talked with future pastors and leaders of the Ethiopian churches about how to be better teachers and stewards of the knowledge God has given us, and how to bring Truth into any context.

ESL- In the evenings, starting that first week, some of our team helped out with an English class at a Christian College connected with IEC. Students who did not pass the first English exam must pass this class in order to enroll in the fall in college. The classroom is very fun, and we love helping the teacher, but it is also sad and difficult. Some students are progressing so well, others will not pass. They are humble and dedicated, and are giving up their lives to serve Christ, and I hurt for their frustration with English. I wish the stinking Christian College could just be in Amharic.

VBS- After the Contextualized Education course ended, a ministry called People In Need began a program for children of impoverished, mostly HIV positive, mothers. The program runs on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for ten weeks. We showed up the first day thinking we were assisting. The PIN people, however, thought we were running the whole show. This type of surprise has been fairly typical in Addis, so we rolled with it. That night, were able to write the bible curriculum. As a theme, we decided to focus on God’s desire for a relationship with humans, and went chronologically through the Bible telling stories of God’s pursuit of Adam and Eve, Abraham, Moses, etc. The program is run in Amharic, so we used translators. I never thought I would enjoy this ministry as much as I did, but today was our last day, and I was sad to leave. I played Isaac in the drama, and thankfully, God (Jonathan) jumped in to save me before Abraham (Matt), stuck me with some very sharp rolled up paper. The kids laughed and loved it. We pray for their salvation, and are grateful for how easy they are to work with.

Outside of these regular ministries, we have been visiting and serving at orphanages, girls homes, and most recently I was able to go to a ministry called Women at Risk, the only ministry I’ve found here that works exclusively with prostitution. This experience deserves an entire update, so I plan on blogging about it later.

We have also been able to get outside of the city twice now, for which I praise God. Everything you’ve read about so far has been exclusively Addis. You’ve read nothing about the rolling mountains and lush valleys of Ethiopia, about the three thousand year old tree with a trunk bigger than my apartment and branches to cradle our whole team. I simply can’t write it all!

Sunday, Matt and Charissa and I leave to visit Beletch Mesfine, the child I sponsor through World Vision. I get chills when I think about being able to greet her. Would you pray for our safe travel? The trip will take four days, and we will be going to a very remote part of Southwest Ethiopia. Pray for safe travel, and that I will not overwhelm Beletch or her family with enthusiasm.

the Lord's provision

Pauline married John last night, on a lovely Georgia plantation. We sat outside in white wooden chairs and they held hands under the gazebo. The ceremony was small and perfect, though a bit difficult to hear because of the rolling thunder. Nervous guests would jerk their heads up every few moments just to check to see if the rain had started yet. Sure enough, in between the rings and the kiss, the sky broke and water poured down. Amazingly, a tent had been set up for a wedding the next day, so we all dashed under it and surrounded the damp bride and groom. The laughter and love filled that billowing tent, and we whistled "Praise to the Lord" as they walked back down our human made aisle.

We danced all night, and ate apple crisp for dessert. Aside from the fact that my feet hate me, I'm deliciously happy with the whole event.

Today I should have been at the Atlanta airport all day. The people I stayed with could only take me to the airport in the morning. Since I'll be in airports for the next two days straight, I was not particularly excited about this plan, but thought perhaps the Lord had something for me there I did not know about. BUT, at the wedding, a wonderful couple from out of town heard about my plan and invited me to spend the day with them. I excitedly accepted, and so today, when I should have been sprawled out with my bags at the airport, I found myself instead laughing and talking and praying with Carol and Don, and then wandering around the Atlanta Art Museum, looking at Monet's water lillies. I sat in front of one of the paintings for almost a half an hour, shaking my head in wonder at the beauty Monet found, and at God's goodness to me allowing me to spend the afternoon this way. They dropped me at the airport after our excursions, where I encountered another round of fiascos, and where I was actually called a cow by an airport worker. I looked for the positive light in this comment, but finding none, decided to express my displeasure with my offender. He invited me to get over it, and seeing no other option, I turned around and walked to my gate.

There are so many stories to tell! This is a story of the Lord's provision, of tents and lilies and gardens so that Monet could paint them, and kind couples who would disrupt their afternoon in order to help me. I'm so thankful...

A turbulent start to a trip…

I was scheduled to leave yesterday (Wednesday) for a wedding in Atlanta for three days and leave straight from there to Ethiopia. The flight was delayed three hours due to weather, so at 6:30pm, when I would have been checking in, I found myself instead huddled in a restaurant with my mom, my dad, and my little sister, with no power, watching the violent winds of a nearby tornado tear through our hometown. (In a divine twist, we had chosen to eat sushi that night, perhaps the only type of food that requires no heat whatsoever. The Japanese chef just continued chopping raw fish, and we dined to small candles and battery operated lights stolen from the mens bathroom.)

We left after the worst of the storm passed to find our small town significantly beat up, and drove to the airport. My flight was scheduled to leave at 10:40, and my parents dropped me at the gate at 8:15. However, when I came in, no one was there. I felt my stomach twist a little, and asked the man at the counter where to check in for my flight. He informed me kindly but somewhat nonchalantly, that I had missed my flight and asked if I would like to reschedule. My jaw hit the ground. After much discussion, it turned out that I had NOT in fact missed my flight. The baggage check people left their posts at 8 for the day, and so I could not pass through security.

In my mind, I boldy asserted myself, asked for the manager, and demanded to be let behind the counter. In reality, my lip quivered a bit, a lump of tears stopped up my throat, and I picked up my cell phone to call my father. He came to my rescue, asserted himself to the point of me having to apologize to the management, and we went home with a boarding pass for 5:30 the next morning.

I went to bed at 11:30, and woke to my father’s voice at 3:30. At the sound of his brisk knock and “Goodmorningwakeupflightcomingmadecoffee,” I spent five minutes moaning and resenting him before rolling off the bed, picking myself up off the floor, and spilling myself into the bathroom sink, hoping that something came out clean and refreshed.

We drove to the airport to the cracks of lightening, and rolling thunderstorms all around us. We said we were thankful for an early flight, and for a moment, enjoyed a mutual silent fantasy in which lightening flees from planes and the rain carves out a path for their passage through the sky.

We pulled into the airport, hugged goodbye, and I checked in without much ado. I sat down and waited to be called to board. Eight hours, one hot chocolate, two protein bars, a major stomach ache, four crying toddlers, two seat changes, and one pooping Chihuahua (DID YOU KNOW THAT CHIHUAHUA'S CAN BE TAKEN AS CARRY-ONS?!) later, I found myself three rows away from this same seat.

The sky had had all the planes it could take for the moment, and fed up with the arrogance of flight plans, decided to show those metal birds who was boss. They quivered and stayed still in silent submission.

Twice our little bird invited us to attempt a breakaway. It tried to sneak off the runway without being noticed, humming and tiptoeing as only the sneakiest of planes can. We hushed and waited on the edge of our seats (that is an exaggeration. There is no room for hovering on the edge of seats in a tiny airplane unless you are a crying toddler, in which case you may hover anywhere you like as long as it keeps you happy and silent, as I learned from watching frazzled pleading mothers this morning) and waited for the plane to take off, but the sky caught us, slammed down some extra lightening and thunder as a warning, at which point our Boeing 747 turned and scurried down the runway to push us all back out into the airport. Passengers glared at the plane disgustedly from their seats in the waiting lounge. I was certain that one man, had he been forty years younger, would have literally kicked the plane in protest.

I frankly enjoyed the heck out of the whole scene. I switched seats somewhere in the mess to reunite two pre-teen sisters, and ended up sitting next to a couple who got engaged in an air balloon, who have the gift of story telling, and who happen to love the Lord. We talked about everything from missions to makeup and tried to outdo one another encouraging the pilots and flight attendants. They ended up giving us each those pin on wings for being such good passengers! We bore them with dignity, and offered to help steer if they should get tired. (Pictures to follow).

Eventually, we did make it out of the airport, and our little plane family cheered at take off and landing. I will not be back to DFW until July 25th, and am quite certain between now and then there will be at least one or two more stories to tell.

Reflections...

For about ten days straight, I turned page after page, typed paper after paper, turning one in after another, without stopping much to breath. Then, at noon on Friday, I clicked "send" on my last paper and stumbled out of the library, squinting at the foreign sun. The next few days I hoped to rest and slow down, but it was as though I had slammed on the brakes of my life but my body and mind kept going forward. Stopping felt unnatural. A few days ago I caught myself walking hunched over determinedly from my bathroom sink to the kitchen, making coffee with my toothbrush in my mouth, multitasking out of habit, only to stop and realize that I was no longer speeding down the finals freeway. So I stopped, toothbrush drooping, and wondered what I would do with all this time. Perhaps I'll take up flossing. Most likely not.

I know—I'll look forward. My world is hurtling forward and so much waits just beyond the horizon that I catch myself jumping just to see if I can get an early glance. Many of you know, Ethiopia, moving, watching God bring justice to people who don't have it—these are some of the present and coming treasures in my life.

But first, now, for a moment, I'll look back. God has held my hand through two years of Seminary. Each semester my professors handed me my syllabus, and yes, it looked daunting. But I had signed up for it—I expected the workload. But each semester God had things planned to teach me that I would have NEVER signed up for if I had known ahead of time. I think that's why He doesn't tell me anything beforehand.

Isn't life that way? We think we understand what we're getting ourselves into. We have the plan, the layout, the illusion of control. God has more in store for us. We would sell ourselves short with comfort. He would take us to depths and heights. I would accept the play by play of my life, so I could make sure I wouldn't mess up. He would draw out beauty in me by refinement, develop character in me by trail, draw me closer to Him by stripping me of my fierce independence.

This year God taught me a bit more how to love the desperately broken things in this world, and at the same time love the beauty of this world. What tension! I've never understood how I could soak in the beauty of White Rock Lake (yes, I think it's beautiful), and others could perish of famine. And how can I read good literature when people die without His word? Should I not cringe with guilt at the ease of my life? God teaches me. This world is filled with brokenness and beauty, and I as a Christian am called to be in this world, and not of it. If I'm going to love, if I'm going to embrace this world, I've got to accept pain along with beauty. I can listen to my God, praise Him for the Rocky Mountains (Psalm 104), and give to those I meet in need (2 Tim 6:17-19). God doesn't need me. He spoke the waters into being, he can call the world to Himself. He'll use me, and I want nothing more than to be a willing tool in the hands of my God. I respond to the life He's leading to me to live in thankful love.

My desire is to be a redemptive presence wherever I am. My friend Kelsey told me about a church that plants gardens in one of the roughest areas of town. Homeless people grow vegetables there, and tend the plots allotted to them. What redemption! Jesus came to make all things new. Tonight I look like a girl in sweats in a coffee shop. But I am a beauty hunter, hunting beauty in everyone and everything I come across. And I'm looking for chances to speak about the King, the Creator of all things, and the news of Grace.

Guilt Post

My newsletter invited you to come read my blog, and then I haven't written anything since February (or January?) So this is me, on three hours of sleep in the last couple of days, guilt blogging.

I guilt blog from a lovely well lit house with wood floors and classical music playing over the surround sound. I just finished a paper on a beautiful book, and my eyes are so tired that I am literally closing them right now as I write this.

Okay, now they're open. Today there are going to be flash floods in Dallas, which I like very much, because it reminds me that God is massive and powerful, and I think of how small I am in comparison. But tonight I'm going to sleep through them, I hope. I'd just be tickled pink to sleep about 11 hours tonight.

I don't like the phrase tickled pink now that I write it. I think it is because I have control issues, and do not much enjoy being tickled. When I was younger I used to pretend to hyperventilate in an effort to make people stop tickling me. They would get scared and I'd make them feel guilty, and they would swear never to tickle me again.

Come to think of it, I was not a very pleasant child.

I have big plans for a coherent blog in the very near future. ;) Thanks for reading.

A couple of new poems

I've written more of late. Hope you enjoy.

Real Hope

Myself-- not good. (Believe me, dear, I would)
My words, not true (Yes true but not complete)
Wanting to live (I see only defeat).

Appalled at sin (No hope comes from within)
Crave purity (Corruption eats away)
Waking to shudder (Shiver in dismay).

I lift my eyes (They do not lightly rise)
To Hope above (not to abstract ideal)
But Jesus’ face (He- personal, He- real)

My beauty, an illusion (False delusion)
His beauty all-consuming (Mine, reflection)
Resting in His protection (Basking in His affection, Sure hope of resurrection).


Cut by Shards

I read a book and knew the world had broken-
Dead dogs piled on the roads and pain unspoken.

Her eyes held hopelessness that made me shiver,
Her son stepped onto ice and broke the river.

But still I had not been cut by the shards
Of glass scattered in all of earth’s junkyards.

I read the news and wept for others loss
But for myself had not counted the cost.

But I met Pain- she pierced and broke my heart
My lungs shriveled to have to live my part.

My heart’s pinched in a vice, pain mostly dull
But then so sharp I cannot bear my role.

I read a book and knew the world has broken
But Brokenness and I— Now we have spoken.

And I lie still, and wait- for it will ease
And fix my eyes upon the Prince of Peace.

insomnia

I cannot sleep. Sometime after closing my eyes last night someone reached down my mouth and into my heart and ever so slowly exchanged it for a pretzel. Eventually the pretzel, fully formed and beating, woke me up and now it is 4:44 a.m. and I cannot sleep.

The word anxious fails to pin it exactly. Anticipatory, maybe? Excited? The problem is, I don't know what about.

Many of you don't know, but I changed my degree program to Master of Arts in Biblical Studies. This means I will walk across the stage this May, and graduate in August. Before I had at least till December if not May 2010. I won't go into all the details of how God led this decision, but He did, and depending on the day my future lay out before me like a giant white dry erase board inviting me to fill it with possibilities, or a god-forsaken black hole waiting to suck me in to a directionless mess of confusion with no gravity.

The black hole relates to a fear I have that I've deemed my Flounder Fear. Not surprisingly, it is my fear of floundering. I don't know exactly what floundering means, but I imagine a slightly overweight fish flapping outside of the water without skill or direction. I have a fear of becoming that flounder. Does anyone know of a prescription drug for that? Currently I'm medicating with the ridiculously true truth that God is with me today, has been with me every day till now, and so it is illogical to think that after I receive a diploma He will kindly leave me outside the pool of purpose. I might be confused, but not left behind. He has a purpose for me.

So maybe Flounder Fear tied the pretzel in my stomach, but I don't think so. I woke up in a dry white erase board kind of mood, lay in bed and contrived my new plan of getting a Masters degree in literature, teaching high school, getting midwife training and taking art classes while doing inner city work where I can somehow use Spanish, lest I completely forget the language I paid way too much money to learn. I also think I'd like to take karate.

I've decided to treat the pretzel with a spin class at Baylor Fitness Center. This is severe punishment. If you've ever talked to me about spin classes, you know that I would only take one if I were desperate. I am. I've taken two classes ever and both times I lowered the resistance when the he-woman said to raise it and then peddled slower to make it look like I was doing something really difficult. Admittedly deceptive, but have you seen the women that take these classes?! They are not to be messed with. I hate spin classes, but I think the pretzel will be less likely to rear it's ugly salted twisted self if I squish it with a he-woman spin class.

Wish me luck! Oh, and I'm back to my blog.

Elkmont, Alabama

I am in Alabama right now. I am in Elkmont, Alabama, sitting on a velvetish couch next to a marble statue of a horse and a glass case full of ethnically diverse Santa Clauses. My favorite is the Mexican one holding a guitar and wearing a sombrero. Elkmont is a charming town of about 300 people, all of whom seem blissfully unaware of themselves and in general, the world around them. I say blissfully because they are happy, and it has been nice to escape to this random corner of the world and remember how many different lives are being lived all over the world, and how self centered I can sometimes get.

I took a walk in the cold Alabama air this morning, was blinded by a brilliant sun, enchanted by people stopping to ask if I needed a ride into "town" and chased and bitten by a mangy mutt protecting a run down farmhouse. Unfortunately, the charm of the light and strangers did not overpower my fear of rabies, and my walk ended in a frightened and angry hop skip. But now I am showered, coffee'd up, and feeling better.

The woman who owns the couch and the Santa Clauses is my roommates grandmother. Aside from Santas, she also collects pictures of grotesquely overweight children from Enquirer Magazine. She then laminates them and puts them into a manila folder next to her cookie recipes. She showed her collection to us proudly within 10 minutes of our arrival. This morning after I came back a bit shaken up from my run in from with the dog, she called the neighbor to give him a piece of her mind, and then invited me to watch television preachers with her to make myself feel better. I accepted, and found myself pleasantly entertained. Don't judge me.

Purple Berries

The world lies still, soaked and saturated with meaning, waiting to be squeezed. I walked up a hill in Elkmont, Alabama today, and the way was rough but pain free. Atop the hill the sun was so bright I couldn’t see anything. I turned around to behold a dead field washed in the sun’s white light. Everything took on the white-washedness, including myself, and I climbed a bit further to an old rusted trailer that had most likely been abandoned and still for decades. I touched it, and wondered if it ached for the days when it pulled bales of hay with purpose and dignity. Something purple in the white tugged the corner of my eye, and I looked down to see a cluster of berries I’d never seen before. I plucked them up, and proceed to hunt until I had a full bouquet of purple berries and red leaves. I laid them out on the rusted trailer, an offering to the God who showed them to me, and turned the forgotten trailer into a holy altar. I knelt, and watched the tall grass that had overgrown the field dance and sway with the wind. No one but God knew where I was, and no one was there to absorb the beauty but God and me. We enjoyed it together.

A poem for Jess

This is a poem to my friend, Jess
whose mess is beautiful
and whose beauty is a mess.

To Jess,

whose room is a cavern of open books, fabric,
of thoughts and captured moments.
On their own, tiny islands- inconsequential,
but let her swirl them together, and a room becomes an
explosion of profuse and profound beauty.
She calls it disaster, I call it a treasure chest.

To Jess,

whose heart is soft and big,
filled with dreams, pain, wonder and lessons hard learned,
and ill at ease with its imperfections.
She calls herself enemy, I call her angel.
She calls herself stranger, to me she is home.
(I know better).

To Jess,

I love her and one day she’ll see
The extraordinary beauty in her room, her head, her life.
And she’ll stop trying to clean it up and instead,
laugh and revel in it.

s.l.o.w.i.n.g..... d.o.w.n.....

Every day you and I are assailed by billboards, radio, demands from school or work, etc. We are over-committed, over-stimulated, and often find ourselves rushing through a world of colors and noises, not able to take any of it in. Because I want to write, I'm forced to slow down a bit. You can't write what you don't see, and seeing takes time. Plus God has taught me that I lose my sanity if I don't stop everything every day to read His word, to journal, to push everything aside and rest in Him.

The last few years I have had this daily slow time with Him, but then usually when I close my journal or bible, or when I get in the car to leave the lake, the rush begins. I haphazardly slam together my day, skipping and flying from event to event, baking without measuring, driving without getting directions first, sending letters without stamps... etc. I knew this about myself, and in a way enjoy living life like this. It creates some interesting moments. But this past month the situation has taken such a drastic downhill turn that I've had to reassess my ways. Here are a series of things that happened which culminated in this blog, and the realization that I MUST slow down.

1) A few weeks ago, I lost the entrance key to my apartment building and parking lot. For three weeks, until I could buy a new one, I had to wait outside the parking lot until another car came and rush in after them, or else call my manager to let me in.
2) A week after that, I lost my license. I lost my license because I had used it to get into the gym because I had lost my student I.D. card. Seeing a pattern here?
3) A few days later I lost my keys. I thought I had thrown them into my trunk and then shut it. I called roadside assistance to get them to help me, but ended up finding them in a decorative basket on my desk. I had somehow managed to bury them under a picture frame, a stuffed animal, and jewelry. Why, oh why, would I have done this?
4) Around that time, I started getting into tea drinking because I could feel the stress building, and thought it might relieve me a bit. I was making honey orange spice something or other tea for my roommate and me, and leaned over too far into the stove and caught my scarf on fire... yes, me in the kitchen in flames. Not too much harm done, it actually added to the character of an already fringy scarf... but still...
5) The final blow came last night. I went camping this weekend with some friends, and last night we sat around a campfire cooking and singing and just enjoying each other in the moment. A girl beckoned me to come from across the fire pit, and without a thought I stepped into a pile of burning coals. Um, are you kidding me? Worse, I did not even realize it until someone pointed out that my shoes were smoking. I looked down and had burned a hole into my brand new running shoes. This was a hundred dollar misstep. (I had been waiting for the shoes for a month, and my parents got them for me for my birthday). I had to excuse myself and swallow an egg sized lump in my throat.

After this event, I saw two options. One, throw myself into a pit of despair at my apparent complete lack of stewardship and responsibility. Two, ask what God might be trying to teach me. I'm going with number two for now. See, I love my life, and I want to do things well. I'm learning in my classes, absorbing everything I can from older women, trying to be effective and humble in ministry, attempting to meet needs around me, but I know that I have GOT to slow down a bit. If catching two items of clothing on fire within a week won't teach you that, I don't know what will.

So I'm done running again for the time being, both physically and metaphorically. The former because of a new found lack of footwear, the latter because if I keep going this fast, I will miss important details like rent due dates and... things being on fire...

Please pray for me in this slowing down endeavor. You slow down too, and for goodness sake, turn off the radio in the car to think about where you've been and where you're going. Forgive the preaching, but let's help each other out a bit.

God hugged me today

This afternoon I sat outside with no shoes on and let my skin warm in the afternoon sun and cried because I hurt. I told God that this was hard and I needed him. And then, God met me.

Allison and Jacob Kemp (fellow DTS students) walked by with their baby Joel. Allison handed him to me and we talked as I loved on Joel and absorbed baby therapy... Immediately I forgot myself a bit.

Another friend handed me half a 3 musketeers and joined our conversation. It hit the spot.

Another friend drove by, parked, and got out to come talk to us. He had encouraging words, wisdom and love.

My precious roommate and her fiance stopped to talk and laugh and play.

A girl from my hall stopped and put her arm around me while I played with the baby.

I couldn't believe it. One minute, aching. The next, surrounded by so much warmth and love....

Thank you so much God. Thank you so much.

on people pleasing and the two sides of the coin

Today I ran on the outside track at the gym. I ran way too fast due to the summer weather, (I am now convinced that Texas weather has attention deficit disorder- summer. no winter. no fall. no summer.), my new shoes, and the fact that Pauline and I spent thirty minutes freaking out about how wonderful it is that our bodies work and we can laugh and pinch and run and play, and how we should do it now while we can. (We spent the previous thirty minutes realizing that one day we would have children, and that afterward the skin that stretched on our bellies would hang there loosely. What do you do?! Tuck it into your pants?! Hide it with a sweater?! We needed the positive thinking for our mental health, so changed to celebrating the now)

Anyway... So I ran too fast, and had to stop early and walk. Which actually worked out well, because for the next forty minutes everything I saw was a story. A squirrel hiding an acorn from me, a weeping willow tickling its shrub girlfriends, a man who ran so slow he almost did not move, but did so with such a determined look on his face you would have thought he were running the olympics. Even I was proud and stood straighter.

These stories were cut (though I cheated and gave tiny story sprinkles) in light of the following:

I looked over as I walked and saw a man with sunglasses on and headphones in, running like with arms out to his side, singing loudly to his music. I thought to myself, "now this is a free man. " And I thought about people-pleasing and what a waste of time it was, and how he didn't give a damn what I thought or what anyone else thought, (though anyone with any sense had to think he was rockin), and how happy he was as a result of this perspective.

So I decided to write about living to please people, and why we shouldn't do it. This is after all, the day the Lord has made, and you are the only you in the world. You might have no desire to run and sing out loud, but you might want to lay down on the grass, or introduce yourself to a stranger, or bake some bread. And it was going to be the greatest, most inspiring blog ever.

But then...

I rounded the corner and saw the other side of the coin. An older man in short shorts and nothing else lathered himself up with oil (though I actually only saw him lathering his chest and bald head), and sprawled out on one of the picnic tables to bathe himself. Now this man too clearly did not care what anyone else thought. (or else he did and was quite pleased with himself, which is somewhat frightening) and my "just be yourself" blog went out the window. I would have appreciated very much if he had asked my opinion on him laying there while I enjoy the fall weather.

I know how this sounds- like I think that people should be themselves unless it happens to infringe on my interests. But what do you think? Where is the line? I think it comes down to living as unto God and no one else. Please seek him earnestly before going to my gym and undressing outside.

Again, if you don't know Him, call me. I know this post is mostly just in humor, but I'd love to introduce Him to you.

jer 6:16

Thus says the LORD: "Stand by the roads, and look,
and ask for the ancient paths,
where the good way is; and walk in it,
and find rest for your souls.
But they said, 'We will not walk in it.'

God says, "Walk in the good way. Rest. Ask for wisdom."

We say, "No thank you."

WHAT?!

My roommate and I talked about this verse last night. She said this pretty much sums up all of history. I agree with her, and I see it in my life. God says, Come my child, believe. Walk in the way. And sometimes I say no. But by His grace, sometimes we say yes. We say yes, and rest, and he soothes our broken hearts with balm.

I am on a retreat right now with my roommate. This week I made it, but barely. I knew I had to get away for a bit, and prayed that God would show me where. I mentioned it to Christen, and she felt the same way. We are at an undisclosed location (that we accidently disclosed a few times) that is terribly close to DTS, but I think God worked a miracle, because I feel like I am a million miles away. I've been able to get some perspective, to rest, to understand why things are hard, to laugh at myself, and to hope. God has told me, 'Abby, this is the way, walk in it.' I respond with this verse...

You have said, "Seek my face."My heart says to you,
"Your face, LORD, do I seek." Psalm 27:8

I pray that this encourages you, and honors God. I pray that you seek God, that you lay before him all that you are, and seek Him. You have everything to gain, and will lose much. But better is ONE DAY in His courts than thousands elsewhere. Better is one moment believing truth, basking in the light of it, than a day of lies.

May you rest in Him today.

beards

I get the feeling (though it’s never been plainly stated)
That for a man, the capacity to grow a beard is quite the source of pride.
Those with full beards can look pensive and wise
Merely by leaning back and rubbing their chins.
Those who cannot faithfully shave their thin whiskers every day
As if to say,
“Oh I could have a beard if I wanted one.
I simply choose this naked face."

And those with the power to beard that truly do choose a naked face
At least once a week,
Will “forget” and leave a scruff, to distinguish themselves from their lesser smooth-faced friends.

Surprisingly, for women, it is entirely different.

I know some women with quite a bit of chin hair.
You’d think they too would wear it proudly.

But they hide in a room with a mirror that blows their face up to the size of the room
And a vicious pair of tweezers,

And emerge only when their face is smooth and clean.
They walk into the world and say, “Of course I have no beard. I am woman.”

Now some women have nothing like this to worry about.
But for them the shock will be worse
When around fifty they look into the mirror
And the light catches their face in such a way
That they note, a rather long hair
Where there was none before.
Were psychologists to do a test, I have a suspicion they would find a strong correlation between this traumatic discovery and the purchase of new clothes, a gym membership, and the word “botox” typed into the Google box.

Some people say I’m really reading into things, that people actually just shave and don’t shave and don’t think about it at all.
Skeptics.
In the same way I can’t understand when they speak another language,
They simply don’t speak beard.