My throat is very sore and I'm coughing and sneezing. This is a bad sign. Everyone I know is sick and I was hoping to go against the flow, but that is not to be.

I ran out of sugar for my coffee yesterday and since I don't have a vehicle, I improvised with brown sugar. I have decided that I like it much better.

Since I feel unwell, I wish I could curl up at home next to a fireplace that actually worked and read all the books in my previous post. Instead I'm in my office eating week old banana bread (and strangely enjoying it) rifling through paperwork in preparation for Spring classes....sniff...sneeze...hack...cough...

This blog is possibly getting more boring with each new post.

I really like this picture though I'm not sure why. My last final was Tuesday and Friday noon I will lock my office doors for the break.

Normally, the first year in new place is the hardest. Making new friends, finding fun events, discovering the culture: loneliness in this time is okay and even expected as part of the process. I skipped that phase when I moved to Dallas, my sister and Jason were already here and had plenty of friends to share with me. Then I moved and lost my vehicle. Now is the lonely struggle of finding community. I'm trying to make sense of this flip-flopped sequence. Having community nearby but being unable to participate feels weird. In that context, loneliness happens but feels less permissible. I haven't made much of an effort to get to know my fellow students and to fellowship with people on a regular basis.

I was made to be poured out for others and so I think I'm shriveling a little inside. I haven't laughed or smiled near as much as I usually do. I have forgotten important parts of me and neglected them, like a beautiful flower left to die without any water. Part of that water is the sweet time with my Creator that I've neglected. Part of that water is the sweet time with friends. It started in August when I lost my car and didn't know quite how to cope so I simply stayed home and school provided the distraction to let me get away with it. I am most me when I'm loving, when I'm giving, when I'm caring and listening to everyone around me - when I'm throwing all my effort into demonstrating to others that they are valuable. When I die, I want there to be nothing left to me, I want to have given it all away. I don't want to settle inside for selfish complacency.

My weekend spiraled out of control in a good way. I'm resolving to post shorter entries but more consistently and frequently. This seems like a better option than dropping off the face of the planet when things grow insanely busy. My last final is tomorrow night and my roommate and I will celebrate with a walk across the street to the Irish pub we love. For all my moaning about the city, The Tippery Inn is one of it's perks. Also within walking distance is a small coffee shop roasting beans on a vintage roaster while old men smoke pipes and read newspapers; across the corner from the pub another little shop filled with trinkets of all kinds is run by a kind old gentlemen who gives most of the proceeds to benefit hospice. And have I mentioned that I can walk to church? Or walk a block west and see the Dallas skyline?

Must make it through finals then embrace the wonderfulness of Christmas - reflect on the the Son of God who was born that man no more may die and symbolizing that with gifts to my loved ones.

I'm not what I read, but sometimes I want to be

I find it interesting to know what types of magazines people enjoy reading. The subscriptions I have were gifts from last Christmas but I have no intention of renewing despite the numerous mailings plaguing me. (I want real mail :). Magazines are not a priority in life/budget. But if they were, this is what I would read.

Dwell - I've always enjoyed good design, but then I met Cathy and we sat in Starbucks talking for hours on many occasions discussing the integration of psychology and architecture. She was finishing up her degree in the later and I have a degree in the former. It was fascinating conversation. Dwell is about both good design and architecture.

The Economist - The really conservative think its too liberal and the really liberal think its conservative, this is partly why I like it. :) Ever since working in the School of Business, I have much more interest in being informed and this magazine covers a wide scope of political and business affairs on a distinctly international level.

Backpacker - I love backpacking. I'm not sure there's anything more to say. :)

National Geographic (and National Geographic Traveler) - I like geography, especially the geography of other lands. I love different cultures too; you can see how this is a good fit.

Modern Reformation - Despite their annoying fixation on infant baptism [which is probably only annoying to those of us who disagree] the articles are really insightful, theologically rich, and practically applicable.

I have yet to find a quality cooking magazine. Any suggestions? Also, I must admit I like fashion and so an occasional foray into Vogue (or the like) is enjoyable - please don't be ashamed of me. I need to visit a bookstore or a library soon because, while I'm not about to buy a subscription, perusing magazines feels a little decadent. If you were with me, what would you read?

to china with love

Relationships sharpen me simply because those involved are different than I am. My small group holds women of great faith and greater practice of that faith. I realized I rarely do anything unless I have the desire. I rarely do things which are difficult unless its a necessary part of getting to something I want. In small group today we discussed our strengths and our weaknesses to each other. I'm very strong being compassionate, empathetic, and giving of myself (or so it seems). When an occasion comes for such a response, it is easy for me to respond in that way. I'm always there for a friend who needs to cry at 3 in the morning. But I'm like a popcorn popper, popping in here and there, with no consistency or intent. I don't purposefully seek out serving others, I just grab the moment and people say: oh she's so sweet, and I think: oh this is my strength! when really it's just convenient. I don't like maintenance and my character lacks discipline of the will [my financial and time management skills are prime examples]. This huge flaw is becoming more apparent as I walk next to people who have the very thing I lack. It is difficult to acknowledge about myself. Being in relationship to others means people suffer from my lack of character. I can't always indulge my bohemian restless carefree spirit. If what I say is important to me, is honestly important to me then I have to make a change. It's time I grow up.

file folders are not beautiful

I wish I was walking through a misty field right now. I miss beauty at the moment; I think there's a part of me that needs it as an expression of something beyond tiredness or pain or file folders, something resembling hope. Beauty inspires and motivates me: beautiful pictures, beautiful rooms, beautiful fields, beautiful smiles, beautiful words, beautiful cards, beautiful presents wrapped with ribbons and bows, beautiful flowers (which I have at home from a wonderful man), beautiful music, a beautiful heart. You can't get caught up in gazing at beauty, by itself it is vain and misleading, but you can follow it's gaze and find behind it God's grace to you through out this life.

"You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God. It will no longer be said to you, "Forsaken," Nor to your land will it any longer be said, "Desolate"; But you will be called, "My delight is in her." Isaiah 62:3-4.

a paltry tribute

Qualifiers come fast to mind: I knew him far less than others how can I attempt a tribute? The results will be paltry at best. Is that dishonoring to him; to his daughters? I just want to say what he meant to me. I want to share my memories. Grief is so weighty even the small droplet which falls on me needs an umbrella to deflect and absorb; this post is my umbrella. I imagine his daughters feel the tsunami of their loss ravaging, there's no protection or coping mechanism for that kind of grief. You don't really survive it, until you wake up one day and find that you have. My memories are for me, but my tears are for them.

I worked for Mr. Jackson for two and a half years while an impressionable college student. In the bubble effect, we saw each other everywhere and became fast friends. He was one of my first positive fatherly role models. Don always picked on me. :] Once, I expressed the need for a ride home from work, looking up I saw him standing there with that twinkle in his eye and a broom in his hand. I feigned outrage and we laughed a lot. Each day on the way to work, I would bring him a McDonald's egg mcmuffin and small coffee, he was always too busy for breakfast, he would say, and I would scold him continuously about his eating habits. :] One day in front of chapel, he told me if I could stand his motorcycle up, I could ride it. :] Since it was a half-ton beast, there was no way. We laughed then too. I think the most vivid picture I'll remember is of him on his red motorcycle. He would tell me, now and again, with difficulty, what Vietnam was like. I learned from his quiet unassuming self-sacrifice. It was his way of living.

He talked about his daughters endlessly with love and pride. As a single father his dedication to them was inspiring. You could tell they were his life. He was their champion and confidant and best friend. I loved getting peeks into their relationship. I know his daughters a little, they are my age and I feel for them deeply. When I saw him in April, he said, with the usual self-effacing good humor, he was fine, though we both knew better. He didn't burdened anyone with sadness he carried, instead, he simply gave ceaselessly with that mischievous twinkle. He taught me much about inner strength. I wish I would've said more to him then, about what he meant to me and how it blessed me to know him and keep up with him beyond college. But I think he knew.

To write every memory would be too long. The tribute is paltry but his gifts to my life are not. My father and I have a much better relationship, in part, because of him. So I'm filled with thankfulness even while I mourn and that's about the best I can do.

~never settle~

the cows are safe...for now

Samantha eloquently phrased my title. I'm still recovering from having parts of my body removed. They were just teeth but I still can't eat steak and that's just a shame. ;) You can't compensate for a broken mouth. When I break my arm, I have another one to use. Its much more convenient to have a broken arm. (tongue in cheek - wait, is that a pun?)

Thanksgiving is next week.

I am traveling to Michigan to see my grandmother for the first time in six years. This will also be the first time I see her without my parents present. Does this make me an adult now? I must say that Texas retailer's do not carry the necessary items needed to brave snowy 24 degree Michigan weather. I hope I don't turn into a pillar of ice. :) I will be flying with my sister. That should be fun. We might even do something crazy, like drive to Canada. Knowing my luck, if we try, we'll probably break down on the bridge and get snowed under and be stranded for days....

Today, my friend Jill gave me a ride home from work. As soon as we buckled into her van, it gasped and stalled. Getting it started, we traveled the two miles to my home and it stalled several more times. Anxiously, I tried to help- her husband is out of town, she had to get her kids from school, she doesn't own a cell phone, but I didn't have much to offer. If this were my life, all of those things would convene into a perfect storm. She dropped me off and bravely continued. It turns out, the van acted perfectly normal once I was no longer around and didn't stall once. WEIRD. My sister spoke to me about giving me her car (when she gets a new one in Jan.) and the fact that her car has many problems. "I'll just drive it until it stops" I offered. "Knowing you, that won't be long." she countered. ummm...good point. Don't let me near your car. It's not worth it. If you see me stranded or walking by - just pray for me and keep going - seriously... :)

the sky is falling, but not on me

My heart and mind is full. DTS is struggling financially and has reduced almost all administrative positions to 3/4 time instead of full-time. Salaries will experience a shocking 25% reduction and tuition assistance will end after spring semester. I am grateful I still have a job and that the changes won't go into effect until Jan.1st, but my budget won't fare well, neither will my master's degree.

The thought of discontinuing school, which I love so much, distresses me more than losing so much of my income. But some of my friends completely lost their jobs. Some have husbands benefiting from tuition assistance and may not be able to continue seminary. Jill has three kids to feed and a husband in seminary, she's not complaining but if I can't figure out how to live on such a salary, it makes me wonder how she will fare. If I didn't have to eat, I might just quit and ask them to give her my salary. I've been receiving phone calls and visitors from my administrative friends all morning. This will affect them far more than it will affect me. I wish I could help.

With all the change swirling around, I've been reflecting on the past semester. I worked full-time, went to graduate school part-time, made A's and even managed to have a boyfriend. I think I was proud I could handle all that. I felt capable. God is now showing me how pointless it was becoming. Was I loving anyone? Was I caring about the joys and pains of people I interacted with everyday? Tasks were crowding out love in my heart for others.

My father is very ill. He has a virus and fluid in his lungs and despite the irrationality of this, I'm having Nancy flashbacks and it takes my breath away. I think about her life and how rich and full it was even as it was short and it hits home, in my gut, how people are important much more than anything else in this world. In the end, nothing will survive except for the eternal souls all around us. Jobs won't, degree's won't, money won't: they are temporal and material opportunities for spiritual obedience.

And so are these changes, they are opportunities for me to start loving the right things. And I am grateful for God's mercy and patience to teach me again what I'd forgotten.

~never settle~

finding fall

Katie wrote a fun/inspiring post about fall and I realized I miss it. That sounds funny to say because, it's right outside. Somehow though, I still feel I'm missing it.

Maybe it's because I live in the city (and face endless streets instead of endless grass), maybe it's because I don't have a car or I work in a concrete box. Maybe it's because my desk no longer looks out a window toward big birch trees and endless streams of filtered light (I find myself writing less letters when, looking up to ponder I see only a wall - not very inspiring). Maybe it's because I haven't made chili or listened to enough sufjan or lit enough cinamom candles or watched a good independent film recently or don't have a yard to rake anymore or a pile of leaves to jump into or a hammock to gaze up into the trees from. I think my artsy side is a little starved and fall, in all its wonderfulness, is beautiful and enchanting and artistic. I need this season to store up for dreary winter. Maybe it's the heavy academics of graduate school. Maybe it's the lack of sunlight into my new home. Maybe it's because I haven't gone on enough long walks yet. Maybe it's none of that: maybe, like so many other things in life, I simply need to look up and really see what's already all around me.

can it be?

That the only and true Holy Deity of all the universe would subject Himself to the abusive remonstrations of the very ones He lovingly created is the blasted incomprehensibleness of Christianity. It is far beyond me; it is too much for my soul.

And can it be
That thou my God
Should'st die for me

brownies

Squeaky rubber on glass panes alert me to his presence. Older, hispanic, shorter than me, with the left pant-leg noticeably wet, he squeaks clean my windows with quiet resolution. His smile is as hesitant as my own and I feel awkward already. The land lady just drove off in her Lexus, no doubt instilling instructions with him before she left. His hands are hard working ones, ones that I respect, but I don’t know how to tell him. I’m thankful that he’s cleaning my windows, though I know it’s not out of the goodness of his heart; I know he’s getting paid.

Still, I have a lot of extra brownies in my kitchen and doesn’t the window washer like brownies as much as the preacher or the bus driver or the senator or the financial planner or even the man who isn’t very nice to his family? And why can’t I bring myself to unlock the glass door and give him one? Would it interrupt his otherwise pleasant internal rumination? Would I be annoying? Would I cause a floodlight to shine upon an unpleasant recognition of our differences? Does he even give a ____ ?

There’s a distance between Creator and created reflected in the barriers (necessary and unnecessary) that govern human relations. I’m not talking about his job or his language or his ethnicity. Something is wrong with the world and in some acutely inscrutable way each moment reflects that. Sometimes, I feel it deeply. And I wish heaven were here. I wish the Kingdom of God would come more on earth as it is in heaven, and I wish it would come through me.

I wish I had given him a brownie.
Heck, I wish I had given my land lady a brownie too.

I really am happy

What do you do when you find yourself sitting at a desk in a closet-like room with no windows and a mound of paper work and people calling, feeling like you’ve been shot with a tranquilizer that also effectively mutinied your stomach against you and everyone’s yelling at you for not voting even though it’s not really your fault that you don’t have a car and that the county of Dallas didn’t register you where you live like they were supposed to and you’re not going to try and find a way to get to Duncanville, even though it was probably possible had you checked earlier but you were too tired/sick/confused about signing up for a dental plan that would effectively remove the impacted wisdom teeth which are now spreading bacteria through-out your body while antibiotics try to stem the flow of miserable ness so you can finally finish that paper for that class that ended last week and all you really want to do is hang out in a barn near Goshen, IN?

:) You blog [effectively making fun of yourself in the process]
eat chocolate
lock your office door
and dance

in that order ;-)

you know you're in seminary when...

Am I a nerd because I enjoy reading Calvin's Institutes? :) Just listen to this rich language!

Hence, it is obvious, that in seeking God, the most direct path and the fittest method is, not to attempt with presumptuous curiosity to pry into His essence, which is rather to be adored than minutely discussed {seminary students should take note here}, but to contemplate Him in His works, by which He draws near, becomes familiar, and in a manner communicates Himself to us.

Like water gushing forth from a large and copious spring, immense crowds of gods have issued from the human mind, every man giving himself full license, and devising some peculiar form of divinity, to meet his own views.

And as Augustine expresses it, (in Psalm 144), since we are unable to comprehend Him, and are, as it were, overpowered by His greatness, our proper course is to contemplate His works, and so refresh ourselves with His goodness.

'I will sing of your mercies in the morning, I will remember your faithfulness in the night."

God is good. There is perhaps no greater truth than God is good, and perhaps no greater doubt which Satan throws upon us than that God is good.

God is good when life is taken and life is given. God is good when joy comes and sorrow comes. God is good in the midst of the unexpected and the long awaited for; God is good in the wonderful and the wretched. God is good in the unknown and the obvious; God is good in the frail and the strong. God is good in fear and in surety.

God is good and He alone deserves all the Glory, all our devotion, and our all trust.

~never settle~

sin

Wouldn't it be nice if we didn't have an ugly side? No sin or self-ness to submit to God's squelching. I remember Christina giving me an analogy about the fondness of our own particular sin. This sin is like a little plant in a dark corner of our heart which we secretly water, not willing that it should die. We run around in the middle of the room sweeping it clean to present to God. Stumbling upon sin in it's evil ugliness there, we gasp and rip it out. But the plant, we steal softly to and caress, refusing to admit that if we pulled it out of the corner, it would be every bit as hideous as what we abhorred in the light.

My little plant is pride. It keeps me safe, that pride. I don't have to be weak or vulnerable because it makes sure that I never misperceive or react wrongly or do badly. It's a seemingly harmless plant on which I dote. In kindness, God thrusts the plant to the center and the rank poison of it is shockingly exposed.

Still, I cannot bring myself to rip out the hideous thing. I pathetically coddle it, strangely drawn to its preservation. It looks a little like myself.

Dear God, tear it from me for I cannot!

misty contemplation

The sky is overcast and the air is slowly moving towards a chill. Can I blame the weather for my contemplativeness? I do that often: blame the weather or the season. I've hit the middle of my first semester and I've hit the anniversary of my move to Texas; I'm listening to Derek Webb; I'm running off little sleep; I'm meeting lots of new people, both at school and elsewhere; I'm committing to a church. I'm having difficulty reigning in all my thoughts and feelings and focusing on the tasks in front of me. The danger of introspection (much like blogging) is self absorption. I can't avoid the next minute that is coming and I can't waste it trying to process everything that just came. I have to continue engaging those around me even while trying to figure out what is engaging me. Perhaps it's like mountain biking. There are times when you just run into a tree ;-] and it's a little disorienting, but the only way to get re-oriented is to keep riding.

I feel that this post is as jumbled as I am.

we come broken

In this world of seemingly endless transition, confusion, and inconstancy, to say of anything that you are confident, is monumental.

Phillipians 1:6 'For I am confident of this very thing, that He who began a good work in you will perfect it until the day of Christ Jesus.'

Hebrews 13:6 "so that we confidently say, 'The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid.'"

we come broken and we come undone

we come trying hard to love everyone

but we come up short in all that we do

because we do

so we come to you

-aaron tate/derek webb

unnecessary roughness, five yard penalty

I would like to be the type of person who lets things roll off her back. But sometimes, I just can't do it. There's enough evil and pain in the world that it always surprises me when someone would choose to take advantage of my strength by assaulting me with the reality of life (as if I weren't already acutely aware of it).

I know that I wrote awhile back that I longed for kindness and that is still true. I think it hurts me even more, though, when I think someone is kind and then they do something completely unclassy and jerky. I know no one is perfect and I wish I could be perfect in my response, knowing the right balance between forgiveness and a healthy "no way buster!". But I'm not, I'm confused and on the edge of being just as wrong in my response as they were in their assault. I received some unnecessary roughness tonight from a friend (not just mentally but physically) and it's made me more sad than I expected.

Christina's wedding

The last photo is of Christina's parents: they are very amazing!

I'm it.

I don't normally do tags but Kelly Hellmuth tagged me and she is special. :-]

The "rules" of the game are as follows:

1. Post the rules on your blog

2. Write 6 random things about yourself

3. Tag 6 people at the end of your post

4. If you're tagged, DO IT and pass on the tag

Six random things:

1. I have large feet (size 10) so all those cute pointy shoes that are in style are off limits. They add at least two more inches to the length of my actual foot!
2. I drink soda maybe three or four times a year. I just think the stuff is nasty and completely unheathly. Unfortunately/fortunately? I suspend this logic when it comes to coffee :-]
3. Sometimes I write long research papers about things I'm thinking about or am interested in knowing and not because I was assigned to. And no one ever reads them. Eventually, I sometimes even delete them.
4. I never polish my toe-nails and almost never my finger nails either. I just don't see the appeal. Plus it's too much work. Plus, polish on toe nails (at least on mine) seems a little gross.
5. I really want to learn to cook with wine. But wine is intimidating (especially those LONG aisles of every imaginable kind at the uppity kroger where I shop (they also have live music!)). I know very few people who drink wine (I don't even really drink it) and even fewer people that know how to cook with it.
6. Photography has always interested me and I love taking pictures of people. Unfortunately, I've never had a camera (once for a short time) and haven't had one in years. So I can't experiment or dabble - I have to be content to look at other's pictures and stay on the periphery of that artistic medium

There are not six people who reguarly read this blog (that I know of) and some of them wouldn't do a tag so this might be stretching it :-]. Hilary (or Trey - or both), Samantha, Eilidh, Caroline, Jill G., Randy.

living a monday

How do I live today?

Hebrews tells us: 'being content with what you have; for He Himself has said 'I will never desert you, nor will I ever leave you' so that we confidently say 'The Lord is my helper, I will not be afraid. What will man do to me?'

For it is good for the heart to be strengthened by grace

Through Him then, let us continually offer up a sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of lips that give thanks to His name.

Do not neglect doing good and sharing, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.

Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they keep watch over your souls as those who will give an account. Let them do this with joy and not with grief, for this would be unprofitable for you

Now the God of peace, who brought up from the dead the great Shepherd of the sheep through the blood of the eternal covenant, even Jesus our Lord, equip you in every good thing to do His will, working in us that which is pleasing in His sight, through Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory forever and ever.'

Surely, if God is powerful enough to raise Jesus from the dead, He is quite capable of working in me to make me pleasing. I can be content, gracious, sacrificing, praising, sharing, obeying, and submitting while being none of those things in and of myself. But even if I fall flat on my face today, I will still sing as the song goes:

You can have all this world, give me Jesus.

Girly

Interesting, isn't it, how much our focus has changed?

On a different note: I've been thinking recently about girliness and allowing myself to be as girly on the outside as I feel on the inside. I'm not sure if I just made up some external pressure to sucumb too or if it stems from a menagerie of real life exposure. My mom is a farm girl, my dad is a truck-drive, I have two older brothers, my sister is very non-girly, and I went to college with alot of boys. :-] I'm sure that none of this is an excuse for my lack of bravery when it comes to embracing bows and ribbons and flowers...etc. Perhaps it's my own intellect that beats down my girliness. I've been told that I seem very girly - afterall, I do write letter's and drink tea :-] but I know there's alot more inside that never gets let out. Beyond mere appearance, I think I let out strength more easily than I let out gentleness. Why do I stiffle it so much? Anyhow, that's what I've been thinking lately. I'll let you know if I suddenly start wearing more pink or squealing loudly. ;-]

The grace of God

I wish I could spend my posts crafting beautiful word pictures of life and sharing only joys and anecdotes but I'm too honest for that. Life is richer when the hues of both hardship and joy, pain and happiness, are mixed on it's canvas. And I would do a disservice to the grace of God in failing to show the awful depths into which it shines.

I wrote previously that I expected God to get me through this weekend. I wrote how alone I felt. Well, during those exact moments on the beach when my strength began to falter, God sent me a friend, an old friend from years ago, filled with a willingness I found slightly astonishing. Nonchalantly present during the toughest hours of my weekend, I doubt he knew how much God was using him to help me. But I was no longer alone and the emotions inside suddenly seemed more bearable. The body of Christ: you my readers, and you, my friend, were God's saving grace to me. I am so grateful.

~never settle~

what beckons my heart?

I debated whether to write. What would I say? Is it pointless or necessary? The journey I'm about to take is a lonely one but I'm not alone. Many people have gone this way and many more will go. I just don't know those poeple and they can't come with me.

When my older brother married, I experience the intrusion into the sacred four. Who was this girl? No longer could I see Alan and relate only to him, I now had to relate to Alan and Stephanie. It was a difficult transition at first, until I realized that Alan and Sarah were still the same: still siblings: still close. And the four of us were still okay, even with the addition.

Stephanie is gone now. It was a sad departure of her own choosing and though I wish she hadn't left, we've gone back to the four of us. Us against the world. We can do anything.

Now the intrusion doesn't just come from an ouside person but from an entire outside world. And I'm more afraid than ever of losing something that I love.

When I stand on the beach in California this weekend, I don't expect God to miraculously change their hearts. I don't expect to be comfortable at every moment or figure out how the heck I'm supposed to love graciously without betraying the truth or be the representative for a family far away (my own) or how, even, to preserve John and Sarah even though there's someone else now, someone I can't ignore (nor should I).

I only expect that God (and your prayers) will get me through.

the art of mankind

The Smithsonian hosted a free museum day on Saturday. By going to their website, you could print out a free admission card to any participating museum. I took advantage of the offer and visited the Nasher Sculpture Center in the arts district of Dallas. I've never been one inclined to art but several pieces struck me.

The first was Jonathan Borofsky's Walking to the Sky (2004). It's a fiberglass pole with figures of different age, gender, and ethnicity, walking toward the sky (with several onlooker's below). I thought it was incredibly creative but I also saw an immediate comparison to the tower of Babel. The artist intended for it to be an inspiring tribute to the power of human dreams, but we know that man's own efforts actually lead him the opposite direction. As with most of the art pieces, this was incredibly humanistic. I wonder at the lack of ingenious and creative art pointing away from man toward God. This was an incredible sculpture both in design and scope.

Magdalena Abakanowicz's The Bronze Crowd (1990-91) was especially moving. "As a child in Poland during World War II, Magdalena lived through the German and Soviet invasions, experiencing firsthand the horrors perpetrated by dehumanized masses under the sway of evil leadership. Frequently addressing the theme of the crowd in her sculpture, she has said "A crowd is the most cruel because it begins to act like a brainless organism." From a distance, the thirty six over-life-size figures of Bronze Crowd look identical, but a closer view reveals their individuality." It was disconcerting to walk in the middle of the structures as they towered intimidatingly. Expressing that the individual will do atrocious things in a crowd, that they would not do otherwise, the headless army hit the message home with a shock to the senses. Here was a tribute to a different side of humanity, an expression of the fate of man in the midst of his own kind.

In contrast, Borofsky's sculpture The Hammering Man is an expression of the fate of man in the midst of mechanized society. A towering structure (part of a larger series displayed around the world) it utilized a motor to move the arm in an endless hammering motion. In attempting to cast the working man as heroic it brought Marx to mind, one who attempted to cast the working man as heroic in economic policy but the result was actually a dehumanizing mass. Man in a purely mechanized society has no individuality (especially if Imago Dei is not acknowledged). Jonathan's philosophical beginning point for man ends in Magdalena's haunting sculpture (though I doubt he would agree. :-] The connections between the countless expressions of humanity in this museum were astounding.

The last piece of art that was intriguing to me was not about man. It was a frame of the sky. The real sky, the everchanging, "living" sky. James Turrell's Tending, [Blue] is basically a box the size of a room, with a bench along the entire wall inside, and a perfect square cut out of the ceiling. Looking up you see the sky - no trees or buildings - the room is concrete with no color or features other than the bench. It is like stepping into a 3-d frame and it frames the sky. I really enjoyed that piece. We did take pictures while we were there, but I don't have them yet. Perhaps by tomorrow. :-]

I am a mess

I am the most messed up person I know. Dysfunctional is too mechanical a word. I manage to function with veneer’s and good moods and cognitive insights. I like to pretend that I know what it means to be serve the Lord, to abandon myself to His spirit, to know my God and understand the beat of His heart. But it’s mostly just pretending.

I am so tenaciously defensive that I’m incapable of loving; so chock full of fear that I never try; and so wrapped in my self-made identity that the mere mention of a skirt gives me a complex. So confused in my identity that moods toss me any direction the wind happens to blow.

So frail that I barely crawl to God in prayer; so warped that I read the Bible thinking of analytical applications to the general christian life instead of the fortress within. So distorted that every expectation or encouragement for success is kicked in the shin like an unwelcomed burglar. How dare a standard be erected? How dare a light to illumine my weakness exist? Destroy in the name of self-preservation. I hide in the closet giggling as if it’s funny when God searches unrelentlessly to know me.

Who is this King of Glory? In my desperateness to know, I find that my biggest enemy is the thing I love and hate the most: myself.

innocent again

I caught myself looking in the mirror, wishing I was someone else, cause I was born with a bleeding heart and veins of loneliness. And I know it, I've seen it, I've held it in my arms, but love can't seem to break me down. I've pleaded, I've begged, I've bloodied my eyes just to feel it, to believe it will stick around.

Swing wide the glimmering gates.

And I told myself, that habits and secrets were just to get me through the night. I got lost in a world of angles and a city of grays and lies. I feel it, I taste it: this longing to be free, the joy of believing like a child. So you, you there listening, send up a prayer for me, to help me find the light.

Swing wide the glimmering gates. Leave your pride and pain.
Swing wide the glimmering gates and be innocent again.

~Andrew Osenga

A beautiful kind of wednesday

Last night for homework, I read a paper on the meaning of the Trinity in the life of a Christian. Today in chapel, I managed to escape my office and hear Shane and Shane lead worship. They sang one of my favorites that I haven't heard in awhile: Before the Throne of God Above. For another homework assignment, I attended the Church of Scientology on Sunday and afterwards talked for some time with a young man named Zac about his beliefs. All these things (and more) fill my heart and mind as it overflows into my prayers and into my posts :-] I write this preface as a context for the seemingly random thoughts to follow.

'The truth of the Trinity shines light on the meaning of God is love. Defined in I Corinthians 13, agape is the outward giving of oneself. No one ever says that someone has charity because he loves himself - it must be directed towards another. Unlike Islam or Judaism, our God is not monotheistic; He is not egotistical, isolated, or self-centered. For God to be love, he must exist as at least two persons.'

"Precisely because God is more than one person, this God can both demand absolute justice and he himself pay the price that he requires." [paraphrases and quotes of Scott Horrell]

As I sat and talked with Zac, I wondered how anyone could really believe everything He was saying. I prayed that he would understand the truth. After reading the paper on Trinity I realized again that an infinite God revealed Himself by entering into the reality He created. He is perfectly loving, perfectly demanding justice and extending mercy at the same time towards me and I, for some reason unfathomable to me, was made to know Him: this pretty much makes me cry.

Monday Musings

Writing often feels like walking through a dark narrow alleyway. I'm not sure where I'm going but am compelled to keep moving, compelled by adventure and fear. The second paper is due for my spiritual life class and the topic is breaking free from a habitual sin based on Paul's argument in Romans 6. As I sit down to write, I recognize that a good paper will only come if I put myself into it and I don't like that. Like my music or my painting or even relationships, I instinctively want to self-preserve, but I can't do that and still have meaning in my efforts. Risk is necessary. Will I be misunderstood? Will I fail? Will my thoughts be under appreciated or, worse, shown to be different than I thought they were? Possibly. But things worth doing are often difficult to do. So it is that I approach writing simultaneously propelled and hesitant, hoping to find at the end of the alleyway something extraordinary.

The thing about losing control is that sometimes you don't realize you had it until its gone. So in that way I'm grateful, grateful when I lose control and find myself completely helpless. That's really how it should've been all along: simply following the voice of my Shepperd instead of how I intend to accomplish this or that, peering into the depths of my own vision.

But this doesn't have to do with metaphorical vision. It has to do with physical health, something I've fought for since I can remember. From broken legs and arms to meningitis to carbon monoxide poisoning and reconstructive bone surgery, I've fought to be strong and healthy and unlimited. This time I lost. At first I was flustered, then I was angry, then weary, but now I'm thankful.

Dependence rather than independence, weakness rather than self-reliance, these things make grace sweet. Tomorrow it could all get better or it could all get worse. But the One who sustains my mind and heart and body is gracious and I rest in that.

not the meaning of life

Watching: Penelope: a strangely delightful movie with a normal humanistic undertone.
Miss Pettigrew lives for a day: good movie but not for mixed company.

Reading: The Universe Next Door: excellent summary of various religious worldviews.
The Pleasure of Finding things out: because I needed something light.
He that is spiritual: required reading for class, I'm suspending my opinion.
Poetry: Wordsworth is my current favorite.

Playing: The Well-Tempered Clavier I by Bach: practicing the piano is probably driving my roommate nuts.
Soccer: friday nights with a menagerie of international students (i was the only girl admist 15 guys!)

Speaking: Ethiopian: my roomie taught me how to say hello (tenesteleen!) and that's about as far as I've gotten :-]

Drinking: Chai and coffee and water but especially chai because, it's fall you know.

Listening: U2 The Atomic something or another :-]
Last of the Mohican's soundtrack
An excellent compilation of music/sermon snipits that Jason gave me.

Longing: to do more backpacking. sigh.

expression

The blogs I enjoy reading most (beside those belonging to friends) are blogs about food or photography or travel or sewing or music or reading. Yet, mine is none of those things. Perhaps because I don't do those things with great committment or depth. The thing I do most frequently and sustantially is think. I can't seem to help it. Do I have a problem? Do I need a five step program? Do I need a new blog expressing creative informative things? Possibly. But I'm content to sit and ponder the meaning of life and share it with whoever happens to be nearby :-].

I'm glad its gray outside because it makes sitting inside with piles of reading all the more cozy and beckoning. Yesterday, I ran in light rain down a historical street lined with huge oaks and bright grass and Tudor mansions. I could almost believe I was back in England.

I don't fit in here. It's apparent on several levels. Strangely, my love of learning is one of them. Everyone bemoans the difficulty I have yet to discover. Reading interesting books on interesting topics is difficult? I never knew! ;-] Second, the absence of dallasite materialistic tendencies but literary, poetic, organic tea drinking habits put me distinctly on my own. Which I'm finding hard to cope with. A 27 year-old still haunted by not fitting in? I annoy myself. Third, I'm full-time staff taking classes on my lunch breaks and in the evenings. That's just weird ;-]. Lastly, I can't seem to consume information about God without being emotionally affected. While the class moves onto the depths of our depravity, I'm still plunging into the depths and wonderousness of His holiness. Yes, I know we've moved on in class, but I haven't! My mind may have wrapped itself (mostly) around a concept but my heart is still wrapping around its implications. My friend aptly described taking many seminary classes at once as a sort of gluttony. I only have two and I already feel gluttonous.

compassion

It's cool outside and I wish I was on top of a mountain. My assignment to demonstrate the unattainable holiness of God by describing a hypothetical situation in which I would perfectly be a communicable attribute of God's(deep breath) turned out better than I had hoped. My last post was steam blowing but now I'm twirling in the wind reveling with the cool breeze and throwing my frustrations out the window. Its fall and I'm in school again. You, faithful readers, are so kind to go up and down, in and out of seasons and moods and perspectives with me. Below is the first part of my paper. The second part: explaining holiness to a 10 year-old, is still being crafted. Criticism are welcomed :-]. I'm off to find some cinnamon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Every day I step onto the subway. It could be argued that, at the end of my life, I will have spent more time riding the subway that I will have spent reading, or eating, or going to church. This is, after all, New York City. And everyday, rain or shine, happy or bleak, crowded or sparse, there he sits.
I have many responsibilities, things to attend to and people waiting for me. I am important and known. My picture has been on a magazine and my name in the paper; everyone in my sphere knows of my accomplishments. I am educated, cultured, rich and refined. He is dirty and his pants have holes. We are nothing alike.
Every day of every week in every month and through every year, he beckons me as I cross the platform. Desperation overrides shame as he disregards the distinction between us. Again and again and again and endlessly, relentlessly, irreverently, he calls for me to notice his plight.
Why hasn’t he gone to a shelter? Why hasn’t he gotten a job? Why hasn’t he picked a different column? Why hasn’t the passage of time altered his state? Why is he as helpless now as he was ten years ago? But none of these questions would bother me.
I never alter my route to avoid him. I never quicken my step to hurry past or lift my chin to avoid eye contact. On the contrary, every day of every week in every month, and through out every year I stop to ask him what he needs. I am never too tired or too cold or too hurried.
“I’m hungry.”
“Let me take you to a place to eat.”
“No, I will not go with you.”
“But I can satisfy your hunger.”
“No, give me food to eat or money to buy it.”
The next day I bring him food.
“I am cold.”
“Follow me to a store where I can buy a shirt that fits you.”
“No, I will not move.”
“But I can make you warm.”
“No, give me warmth where I am.”
The next day I bring him a blanket.
“I am lonely.”
“Come to a place where you will find many friends.”
“No, I will stay here.”
“But I can give you community.”
“No. Stay with me.”
The next day, I stop and say with him as long as he desires. Though many people clamor to meet with me, I sit with him in dirt.
“I can not see, it is dark.”
“Let us go outside where the sun is bright.”
“No. Bring the sun inside.”
“The sun is not meant to be seen inside.”
The next day, when he beckons, I choose to respond. I am different not just from him but from those around me who ignore his constant cry. My desire is that, one day, he will follow me to the feast, the warmth, the community, and the sun. But perhaps he never will, choosing instead to suffer from his own folly.
I have places to go and things to do. I am important and known. I am loved and honored and respected. But still, every day of every week in every month through every year, I pass by the man beckoning beneath the column and notice his plight.
If I was perfect, this would be me: holy with compassion. Constant and everlasting, my compassion would never vary and never end. But this isn’t me. With the first glance and every one since, I pass on by.

today and tomorrow

I had class last night and today and I loved every minute! Please be praying for a solution to my transportation needs during my Thursday evening night class. I'm still wary of taking the bus in my neighborhood at 9:45 at night.
I'm going backpacking tomorrow. I'm so excited. Learning and backpacking all in one week! Can you tell I'm feeling very thankful right now?

I don't believe random Bible opening is an appropriate method of studying God's Word. However, last night I was very tired from working on a paper (for a class that hasn't even started!) so I plopped it open for a couple minutes to read with tea before bed.

I have been struggling to have a good attitude in work and school towards those around me. I despise bullies and refuse to be intimidated by those who try to lord their knowledge or power over others. Maybe it's because I have two older brothers, maybe it's because I went to legalistic churches as a child or grew up in the ghetto, but I'm feisty and I cannot stand people who intimidate others purposefully. Sometimes, though, I am needlessly feisty, I often respond to those in authority as if they were lording over me when they are not. I struggle to allow myself to be humbled, to respect, and to serve, especially when those I'm serving are prideful or rude (human! just like me! :).

Particularly because today is my first full-on class and because of a recent work situation, it was meaningful that God led me to I Thessalonians 5:12-14:"But we request of you, brethren, that you appreciate those who diligently labor among you and have charge over you in the Lord and give you instruction, and that you esteem them very highly in love because of their work. Live in peace with one another." I needed to be set straight in how I view and treat those I work with and for and learn from. I need to strive for peace.

Soon, I will be meeting other students and interacting with the body of Christ, an organism of faulty and weak people, and just like my family, I can't walk away from the Body simply because its not perfect. Thessalonians continues to give guidance: "We urge you brethren, admonish the unruly, encourage the fainthearted, help the weak, be patient with everyone."

bouquets of freshly sharpened pencils

My first day of class and I learned several things:

1. bring a sweater.

2. sit on the side of the room where all the girls sit [gender segregation is very important ;-]

3. no one uses pencils anymore :-[

4. i will need to get used to typing noises during class...weird.

5. i still love learning. five years at LU and four years in the working world have not sucked that away.

submit to God

I've been reading James. To be candid, with the upheaval of the last three weeks, my bible reading has been slacking. Its hard to focus on the Bible when I sit down in a room surrounded by boxes and things to do. Three weeks can slip away so fast and before you know it, a month is gone and you've lost your identity and your peace and your tenderness.

James 3:13 says "Who among who is wise and understanding? Let him show by his good behavior his deeds in the gentleness of wisdom." I use alot of excuses to behave badly: humor, liberty, personality, stress. Knowledge is not wisdom and knowing tempts me with pride that pushes all gentleness out the window.

James 4: "What is the source of quarrels and conflicts among you? Is not the source your pleasures that wage war in your members?... You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives, so that you may spend it on your pleasures...whoever wishes to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God..." He jealously desires the Spirit which He has made to dwell in us"? But He gives a greater grace, therefore it says, 'God is opposed to the proud, but gives grace to the humble.' Submit therefore to God." When conflicts or bad attitudes arise I don't automatically begin to think: what pleasures of the world am I after? Yet, James points to this as the source. I remember a quote by Aristotle "It is the nature of desire not to be satisfied, and most men live only for the gratification of it." In the face of my almost automatic behavior to seek worldly pleasures (and by wordly I mean: status, knowledge, prettiness, new things) I'm heartened by God giving me a "greater" grace.

As so many things do, it comes down to this: Submit to God.

-never settle-

current project

http://www.barneys.com/Hidden%20Pocket%20Dress/22108.5372,default,sp.html?cgid=BARNE09&start=0&sz=1

Surely there's a way to replicate this dress without spending $950.00! Although - I am finding it difficult to locate a wool/silk blend fabric...

Also, I haven't been feeling well lately :-[

of no consequence

I feel a little bit like I'm posting for the sake of posting - and whenever I do that - I eventually return to delete it. My roommate Sara arrived and we're attempting to create a semblance of order. The problem with quaint older homes is the lack of storage and the problem with us is the plethora of things we own. Can the two be reconciled?

Christina's wedding went wonderfully. I didn't cry as much as I anticipated. Her father called yesterday to thank me for all my hard work. That was sweet and meaningful but my response was awkward. I'm not used to praise or thanks. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it.

I saw Becca and Jeremiah and Samantha and now Maggie is visiting. It's all exciting and sweet but I'm too tired to embrace everything. School starts soon. I have the urge to go backpacking and escape for a little bit.

I'm considering making a decision that's rather large - though its one within my heart and will be barely noticeable to others. Every attempt to explain it has been a little misunderstood (except by Christina). I think the fault lies with my explanation - not with the listeners. Still, it's been on my mind lately. Submission, trust, expectation, God's goodness.

I'm running the race - it's uphill and not very scenic right now - but I'm running nonetheless. :-]

satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love

Psalm 90:14-17

• Satisfy us in the morning with your unfailing love, that we may sing for joy and be glad all our days.
• Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, for as many years as we have seen trouble.
• May your deeds be shown to your servants, your splendor to their children.
• May the favor of the Lord our God rest upon us; establish the work of our hands for us—yes, establish the work of our hands.

My roommate comes today. It is cooler outside; I'm thankful for that.

Current project

What I'm working on: 8 pages of wedding liturgy!

Do you ever have those rare moments in life where you look around and have absolutely no idea what to do?

I thought it was going to be so simple. That should've been my first clue that the evening was going to end in flames. Literally. My fear was misplaced towards the piano. It was the family piano I had played since I was seven. After years of pleading, I finally got to take it home. I gathered a posse of friends, my dad cut a hole in the front deck, backed the truck up and we lifted the piano through without drama. Hours after we began, the piano was safely in my new apartment and I was headed back to Duncanville.

The posse headed to my sister's house for pizza, ice-cream and celebration. It was 11:00pm, I was driving from my sister's when my relatively new car refused to kick out of first gear on an incline in the middle of an intersection. So I floored it. It managed to crest the hill and rolled down billowing smoke. I turned into a Wendy's popped the hood and to my horror, discovered fire. This was no small flame in some little corner, but huge ones, licking at the engine and closing in on the transmission.

Thankfully, I had a gallon of water left over from a camping trip still in my trunk so I doused that thing and managed to put it out.

Jason and the possee came to the rescue. In a twist of irony, I had called my sister and everyone ran out of the apartment leaving her oven on. She went back to turn it off lest we have a second fire on our hands ;-]. The car still ran in first gear so Jason and the posse followed me as I crawled towards home. I was only about a mile or so away. Unfortunately, I forgot that there was another hill standing between me and home and the car just couldn't take it. Rolling backwards, Jason had to move from behind me quickly - we were in another intersection so he and Seth and Nick, tried to push my car but it was too heavy and the incline was too steep. After it almost roll backward over them, they jumped aside just as a jeep pulled up behind me and I rolled back into it. Almost as a matter of convenience (I was in his way) he pushed me forward over the hill into a parking lot.

So there sits my car, as I type. Burned, alone, broken waiting for me to come and get it. The transmission shop isn't sure they can help. And here I sit, alone, broke, and haunted by the question: what the heck do I do now?

When things are slow here, it often means my life it busy.

Here are some thoughts from my recent reading in Acts 2 & 3:

- Peter denied Christ three times and here he is converting thousands and healing a lame man. What an astonishing picture of grace.

- In 2:42 it says they were continually devoting themselves to the apostles' teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer. Reading this was like looking at a picture of food and realizing I was hungry. I long for a group continually devoting themselves to teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread and prayer. That group is supposed to be the church but a scene like this is hard to find, even in a city like Dallas, with churches everywhere.

- It's no wonder, with such a life mentioned above, that everyone kept feeling a sense of awe (v.43). I meet many people searching for the awe (indeed, I search for it) but we are not people of such devotion and attempting to disect awe from devotion has left us with neither.

- Anytime I can read a sermon straight from the Bible, I get excited. Acts has lots of sermons. Makes me wish that I was a preacher :-]

Keep the faith.

p.s. Did you know that, before the fish, an anchor was the traditional symbol of Christendom? That makes sense considering Hebrews 6:19. I hope it comes back into style :-]

I don't have any profound thoughts for anyone.

I was sitting on a bench eating lunch with a friend and I looked up to see the President of DTS standing by a window looking out. Our eyes locked and I didn't want to be rude so I smiled and He waved and I waved back and it was a little awkward. My friend asked if I knew him to which I responded that once, right after his knee surgery while he was using a cane, I almost ran him over as he exited a building, :-/

Normality, wherefore art thou?

Maybe Saturday and Sunday will spark some profound thought in me. Its possible that the paint fumes from the walls of my cinder block have hindered the firing of my neurons (they patched some spots on my wall today).

have a good weekend.

story time

Last night I was watching wheel of fortune during a thunderstorm when my brain began to separate the mass of audible input into 1)television, 2) storm and 3)strange noises being emmitted NOT from the television. I followed my ears to my fireplace. Now, my fireplace is broken and is enclosed by two heavy orange glass-paned doors which not been opened for almost a year.

The noises began to escalate into freakish shrills, scrapping, and screaching. I KNEW that something was inside of my fireplace, not simply my chimney, but on the other side of those crusted doors through which I could not see. I called Jason, because the shrieking was weirding me out and I didn't want to face alone whatever was in there. I could've swore that a bat and a cat were fighting some epic battle to determine the fate of the animal universe.

When Jason arrived roughly 40 minutes later, the sounds had almost ceased. Almost. There was definite movement and slight, barely audible whinning. With gloves and courage, I slowely opened the door. At the first sight of a fuzzy body, I jumped up "It's a bat!" I moved hastily away from the small opening so Jason could peer in. "No, it's a raccoon!" With that, I returned to open the door further and discovered, not one, not two, but THREE baby raccons in my fireplace! They were SO cute and furry and didn't have their eyes open. It didn't take long for me to wonder if the mother had actually given birth to them in there the hour before. There is a tree branch hanging directly over my chimney, she could have fallen in, or purposefully climbed in (raccoons are great climbers) to escape the storm.

I faced a dilemma. It was after hours for animal control, I didn't want to put them back in the fireplace but I wanted them to live. My backyard has an opening to neighborhood dogs roaming around (I didn't want the cuties to end up as canine supper). Finally, Jason moved a heavily wooded door to block the opening barring the dogs and I left the babies in a box on my back porch, hoping that, come morning, the mother would have returned and taken them away.

And guess what! She did! The box was overturned in the morning and they were gone. Considering that they were too feable to move last night and considering that their dead carcasas were not laying anywhere near by, I feel confident that the mother returned and that they will survive.

Just another day in the raccoon rescueing life of sarah jo and jason.