Grasping the Dash

The Return to Chaos

2012-01-09T17:03:00.000-08:00

It has been a very full season in our home. I'm enjoying the last bit of the semester teaching middle school Journalism. Today was a slide show on the "Factors of Newsworthiness," you know, things that make "news" news like "Exceptional Quality, Proximity and Timeliness" etc. I got all the way through number eleven, "Conflict," when a group of touring parents roamed into my doorway. Just in time for me to click open the last slide, "Titillation Component." That's right. The "sexiness" factor. I began stumbling across this as quickly as possible while my group of mostly sixth-graders giggled uncontrollably. Meanwhile, the group of impresive looking suits in the doorway continued peering in with great interest. Perfect.

I've also picked up a Korean Book Club--reading through middle-school novels to help exchange students grow in their English reading skills and comprehension. This. Is. Fun! Their current chapter book, "Ralph S. Mouse" by Beverly Cleary, is suddenly full of the words "shut up." This inevitably looses my class to stifled Korean laughter every time. They know this as a "bad word," the "s" word even. Hilarious.

This week has been very full also for MB. She lost her first tooth, turned 6 and got baptized all in the span of a week. We planed meticulously all the details for her birthday party, only to get a call the morning of form her best friend who has been "vomiting exorcist style" all night long. So sad!

No matter how many things we plan in the hours we have each day, life remains uncontrollable. "Life finds a way," says Dr. Malcom of Jurassic Park, life finds a way to return to chaos. And you know what? Its pretty hilarious, I've noticed, when I stop to notice.

Memory Box

2011-12-15T22:39:00.000-08:00

I got a box on the porch today. Not just any box, a HUGE box, big enough for both my kids to sit in (I know because yep, that just happened). While you might suspect this was the workings of some fancy Christmas thing, it was actually a box full of "JUNK." Well, to you it would have looked like junk. To me, it was pure gold--a treasured shower of memories that transpired as I carefully peeled newspapers out one-by-one.

My dad and Kacy are clearing out their old beautiful farmhouse in Roy, Oregon, to get it ready to rent-out while they move to Washington--where my dad just got a job. Even though I never lived in this particular little farm house (my dad married Kacy after I had already moved to California), it somehow collected many boxes worth of my siblings and my "leftovers" from when we all moved out to college and then the world.

Some of the more notable "treasures" were:

--An old band uniform, complete with shoes and the tassle-hat thingy (I spent four years in in it--yet I can't remember what it's really called. Huh.) Why this thing made it into the "keepers" list back at my dad's I'm not so sure, but it was an amazing thing to suck me right back into the throws of high school marching competitions and late-night freezing football games. I miss playing the trumpet...I've kept it up a little, but not nearly as much as I promised my then-teenage-self that I would. I was hard-core--marching, jazz, wind, orchestra, quartets, you name it. I even travelled to Europe to play with the Portland Youth Philharmonic my Junior year. Later, reality caught up with me and I realized the chances of me having a thriving career playing the trumpet were slim. (Irony: I then pursued a career in art. Ha!)

--A queen doll my parents brought back from England, another one from Russia, and several little straw dolls--unknown origin.
I never was much of a "doll" girl, but I really appreciated beautiful things.

--An illustrated children's book--in Spanish--that I'd put together for a class Sophmore year. I forgot I knew that much Spanish at one point. Wow. I also forgot how cool it was to not have a job and spend that much time drawing--the book looks incredible! I'm so proud of my 13-year-old little self!

--Pictures by the pound: my first trip to Disney and Knotts Berry with my marching band. Pictures of my brother and I as preschoolers, and pictures of the whole family "pre-divorce," which are pretty awesome to see. Lots of pictures of my troubled-teen years, the awkwardness is contagious even now as I glance past Prom and Homecoming shots. I went to Prom as a freshman with a senior guy who liked me--I guess. I was so intimidated! I found a beautiful, floor-length, long-sleeved lacy dress to wear. When I met up with my friends to get ready, every other girl had on short, satin spaghetti-strap dress, and I cried. I felt so out of place! This sets the tone for many more blunders I've had with fashion--I never did quite get it. At some point I stopped trying, and that's pretty-much the route I take today. Much less pressure.

--Journals. I had NO IDEA how much I wrote as a kid. And sketched. Holy Moly. Now that I am teaching some of my own 12 and 13-year-olds, my journals are a FANTASTIC look into the mind of an insecure-yet-lovable teenager.

Some teenage-diary favorites:
August 1-- "We were going to see "Waterworld" today, but mom's too nervous about it being too violent. I think Clinton should pass a law that says that if it is "PG13," those aged 13 and up can see it--no buts! Oh well."

August 10th -- "Growing up is scary! Right now I'm not a kid or a grown up, but I often feel both sides, luckily someone made up a word for it--"teen." ... maybe that's why I feel so stressed a lot of the time---I'm being stretched in the middle... Two days in a row I was asked if I had a cigarette on me. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Either I just look a lot older than 13, or I look much worse off in my youth than I thought I did..."

"So many people think our voice doesn't count. I don't know about other kids, but I think I know a heck of a lot more than a lot of other adults around...I don't know everything, but I know I have right to opinion. I want choices...I make my life what it is."

Wow.

And that's all folks for now. Thank you, Memory box, and all those who contributed to getting that down to California.

'Tis the Season of Obligitory Giving

2011-11-28T11:43:00.000-08:00

LR is two in two days. We had a teeny little party Friday (some of our family and her godparents were in town for Thanksgiving) We took a stack of pancakes, buried them in chocolate syrup and a couple of candles and sang the classic birthday song. That's my sort of party: the kind where there is nearly zero planning, only enough people to fit around a table and simple things to do that leave your child smiling, instead of wide-eyed in bewilderment or bawling with exhaustion. I like small, humble parties. But humility is not "in" nowadays. I feel the pressure all the time.

The Holidays are creeping up like an elephant, shaking millions of dollars in advirtizments back into our mailboxes and all over the media to ensure that we feel fully discontent, to ensure that we remember how badly we need "more" to be happy or worthwhile to our loved ones.

No matter how sincerely we realize the importance of kindness, contentness or generosity, the reality is that the rest of the world wants us to think that putting ME first is the only real way to be happy.

Disney is a great example. Disneyland has a daily parade that consumes the streets with flashing madness and a song that basically repeats over and over again: "It's time to celebrate today, it's time to celebrate YOU!" after all, "YOU" are the only one that matters, or haven't you heard?

"Happiness is wanting what you have, and contentment is not wanting more," I remember hearing sometime back. Is it possible to celebrate our loved ones, our families, our sons and daughters, without feeling the pain or guilt of obligitory gift-giving or extravagant parties? I don't even mind going nuts once in a while for celebrations, but it seems like it's coming from the wrong places, from the fear of acceptance, or the need to impress. I want my celebrations to reflect thankfulness, not greed, and I think that is really the intent of birthday parties and holidays from the start, isn't it?

Thankfulness. One verse claims "thankfulness" is basically the password to eternity. I'm very thankful for my daughters. I'm so thankful for my family. If you are reading this, I'm extremely thankful for you, although you might not see me express it in the form of a Best Buy gift card or anything, it is still from my heart. This season I'm celebrating the many things I'm thankful for, too!!

Grandparents and Never-Never land

2011-10-26T16:51:00.000-07:00

MB's school celebrated "Grandparents Day" this week: a muchly-anticipated opportunity to show of all the adorable things Kindergartners do to perhaps the most forgiving audience ever.

In lew of the fact that all three sets of her grandparents live in the Northwest, I got to "sub" as Grandma for her classroom visit, and my stomach was in a knot for days just thinking about it.

I'll explain further. The last couple years she did "Grandparent's Day" at her pre-school, and each time, the day was filled with tears and "If onlys" for days afterward. Such a sentimental and bright kiddo--MB hates being far away from her family and sometimes I'm right there with here. Oh, we're better prepared now, the day went just fine, but still filled with thoughts of family far away.

It's hard to explain to a five-year old (and some adults) why we live in Southern California when BOTH sides of our extended family mostly live up North. It's very hard when we are thrust into situations that make this distance just a little harder--Holidays and Birthdays and all those sentimental moments where the "If only" monster comes out to play.

The backstory (feel free to skip if you've heard this): Jeff and I were both raised outside Portland, OR. (yes, one and the same of "Portlandia" fame) Small world: our many childhood friends somehow knew each other. His brother even shared a class with my sister--but our paths didn't cross until college. Jeff was home for the summer and I was getting ready to go to University of Oregon that fall. We had a lot of individual hopes and dreams that had already come to a crashing halt by the time we were both 18. For one, he'd gone to college in Azusa chasing a girl that broke-up with him the week his Freshman year started. "If only!" As for me, I was on my way to University of Oregon the same year my parents divorced..."If only!" Things did not work out the way we'd planned, but after a stunning year of an intense romance, we were engaged, I was moving to LA, and God worked out our "if onlys" into a MUCH better plan.

We joke that we've been on the "two-year-plan" to live in LA for about ten years now--and as of yet, God keeps giving us reasons to stay.

So now we are ten years and two kids into California living, and now MB is old enough to miss her grandparents and I get it. I do. It's not really a problem to miss the ones you love: it just reminds you how much you love them. The problem is when you miss an imaginary Never-Never Land where you never lived in the first place...and while you are busy missing this imaginary Never-Never Land, you ACTUALLY miss the life God gave you, the moment you are in.

In my "If Only" Never-Never Land mental adventure:
I live on the same block as all my friends and family. We never fight, and if we did ever fight it would be quickly resolved over a bowl of rocky-road ice cream. The street is lined with beautiful old trees, and every person recycles. And rides their bike to work. And loves their job. And volunteers to help children and old people who are cherished for their wisdom. In my Never-Never Land, we manage to survive this utopia with a sense of witty humor and authenticity, fault and strengths on our sleeves, no add-nausium necessary.

What's wierd is that when I spell it all out like that, that place OBVIOUSLY does not exist on this planet, so it's easy for me to live in reality. But the more subtle "if onlys" we are sometimes not sharp enough to catch.
"If only" I lived in Oregon...I'd be avoiding sales-tax right now.
"If only" MB's grandparents fly down for every important event...

These "If Only" scenarios are JUST as fictitious as my utopia Never-Never Land! (they are just dressed in "closer to reality" sheeps-clothing). Earth to Teresa: if you are woefully dreaming about an "If only" scenario you have two options.
1. PURSUE the dream one step at a time. If it is important, God of the universe will make it happen if you step-up to bat.
2. LET IT GO! If it is not happening right now, guess what, it is NOT real. It's a Never-Never Land and it is stealing this moment.
Ask yourself why you want it so badly and see if you can answer that need with an actual walk into reality.'

"Where there is no vision, people perish." Proverbs 29:18

I remember the book "The Alchemist," which, coincidentally, I read the year Jeff's and got together. It is FULL of amazing reminders about how important it is to have vision and to pursue your dream. But that's the trick...don't sit there dreaming and stuck in Never-Never Land, but boldly pursue reality--without fear of failure.

"My heart is afraid that it will have to suffer," the boy told the alchemist one night as they looked up at the moonless sky." Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams."

Will Power and the Brain

2011-09-27T18:25:00.000-07:00

Boy have I been neglecting this blog thing. I guess that happens. I read recently that when you exercise extreme willpower in one area, you are bound to lose will power in others, and I find that remarkably reassuring! That means if you are trying to cut back on shopping, for example, you may find yourself binge-eating Ben and Jerry's "because you deserve it." Oh, and if you are trying to cut calories, science says your brain pretty much eats itself and you turn into a zombie. Ha. Silly BRain.

So I've been neglecting my blog, I suppose, because I'm diving into some intense will-power stuff this month.

Based off a health and marriage challenge--for the month of September I have done my best to be completely VEGAN. For anyone still under a rock, vegan means eating no meat, fish, dairy or eggs. Oh, and if that is not insane enough, I thought it would be fun to throw "no added sugar" onto my list. So pretty much the first few weeks of September I have been wreathing from sugar withdrawal and focused on surviving the knot in my stomach from hunger and bizarre new foods. As time goes on, I have learned tolerable ways to digest food (with actual protein) without resorting to snacking all-day-long on pine-nuts and peanut butter. Okay, I still sort adore peanut butter.

More on that challenge later...

Another major challenge in will-power this month has been cultivating the discipline to be organized enough to TEACH. I've been INCREDIBLY thankful to get a (very) part-time job teaching Journalism to middle school students at the same K-8 school my daughter MB now attends. It's been about two weeks; I think every day I teach I love it--and these students--a little bit more. No gag-reflex necessary, this is (shock) not sarcasm but actual gratitude! Yep. Tomorrow we are off to Barnes and Noble for a field-trip that (also gasp) I'm really looking forward to!

And if this month hasn't been strange enough, I also got steady gig drawing art: a stream of part-time work in a style that I adore. This connection came so out-of-the-blue--nicely timed.

With all the stress about job-hunting this year, I think it is awfully funny that I never did get some "HOT-SHOT" job as a Director or anything. But at the moment I have basically THREE part-time jobs (another potential for editing) in areas that I adore: teaching, writing and art. Life has a funny way of giving us what we need and not what we (thought we) wanted.

I'm not breaking the bank, but my brain is pretty dang-happy to be so busy in some of the right places. In case you get a chance to practice some important will-power this week, consider giving yourself the grace to remember that you will likely drop-the-ball in some unrelated way. Science says so. HA. It's all part of the package..silly brain.

He knows my name

2011-08-30T02:59:00.001-07:00

When I was about six or seven, I asked my mother to give me a new name. I've always loved the name "Teresa," but that wasn't the issue.

We were Catholic and, as part of the process of confirmation--or simply a family tradition, I'm not sure which--children are given a special "extra" name from Scripture. I doubt I knew much about the symbolism, but what I did know is that both my older sisters had been given a "bible" name so I was jealously overdue to get mine too.

My mother seemed taken back by my asking, as I recall, and I wondered if she had forgotten about me (now I bet she had just lessoned her grip on the formal nuances of organized religion by that time). Either way, she obliged, and scoured the Bible with me. I was thrilled to be a part of choosing my name. We sat down by the large garden window, huddled near the heating vent as she flipped through options, sharing with me glimpses of the amazing things these women had done to be written into history.

(I was mainly interested in a name that sounded cool.)

"What about Esther? She was beautiful and brave."
"I am not an Esther."
"Eunice was Timothy's mother and very faithful."
"Yuck."
"Rebekah--she married Isaac--was bold and driven."
"Nope."

And then--I saw it.

I absolutely loved the way it rolled of the tongue, it was the most beautiful name I'd ever heard.
"Naomi."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive." And with that, my mother kissed on the forehead and declared me "Teresa Frances Naomi Ritter." Sweet, I thought to myself, it sounded awesome. She read me her story completely, but it was far from the heroic tale I may have expected:

In case you want a super summary--here goes mine:
Naomi leaves Moab. Her husband and two sons are killed. She is left with two daughters-in-law (pretty much a death sentence not to have a man around). She tells the women basically to get lost and get a life. Orpah leaves but Ruth swears to stay no matter what, to live with her always and even serve Naomi's God. Naomi and Ruth return to Moab in search of food. Naomi is bitter and old. Ruth is young and works to glean food from Naomi's rich relative, a legal "kinsman-redeemer." Naomi persuades Ruth to carefully woo him. Ruth succeeds, marries, bears a son and viola: Naomi's family line and her joy are restored in full. A bunch of babies later we get king David and the line of Christ, which is a really cool thing for Naomi to have on her resume.

But I still cringe when I read the part where she first returns to Moab and says "Don't call me Naomi, call me Mara, because the Almighty has made my life very bitter."

How could Naomi ever ditch such a beautiful name? Moreover, how could anyone with faith be so hopelessly mad at God?

The story of Ruth and Naomi has woven itself into my faith and sort of become a part of me. God has used this example again and again to restore my faith in Him, and here is why:

When Naomi basically says "call me bitter," she goes on to say "I went away full, but the Lord has brought me back empty." Again and again, I have experienced seasons in my life where I felt this way--empty. After my parents divorced. After I moved and felt so alone. After a death of a friend, another loved one's cancer diagnoses, and most recently, in a desert-dry season of depression. But here's the catch. As Naomi hissed the word "empty," Ruth stood quietly by her side. Ruth, God's gift to Naomi, the path to healing, redemption, her life-line. Naomi was never alone, and neither are we.

Again and again, God reveals his faithfulness and brings all things for the good of those who love him, often in ways that are miles away from our expectations.

For a whole dark season I lamented in pain that I had no one to help me because my friends were either gone or going through major depression or illness themselves. I was too mad at God to imagine a way out of this season with my faith intact.

Now quietly, patiently, God's plan has begun to unfold and reveal cracks of light I never expected. When I became so broken that I finally asked for Gods help, I realized help has been with me all along. Not in perfect friends, but in all the broken ones.

A friend who nearly lost her faith this year has provided me with incredible moments of laughter and empathy in our pain, and allowed me to examine faith freely. God came through.

A friend who was buried in shame took the courage to share with me, and in her path to healing she has lifted my head and shone light on some important steps in my own journey. God came through.

A friend raising her two kids, though also struggling with depression, is more social than I am and all this year has gotten me out and doing things. She has humbly allowed me to serve her family and carved away my selfishness and pride. God came though.

Now, I attend a weekly worship service full of broken and recovering addicts and people with many issues. I'm not addicted to drugs or alcohol, but I am human, and I have issues, and I am just as in need of a Savior.

It wasn't the perfect plan I had in mind to go through so much hardship this year, but it is God's perfect plan to see me through it. He remains faithful no matter what, like Ruth, He never leaves us. He continues to teach me that I do not need to "have it together" in order to live my life well and serve Him.

MB prayed this morning for God to "keep us safe" today, which is a great prayer, but it also raised an opportunity to share with her: God does not always keep us "safe" the way we want. He let a king throw Daniel's friends into a fire...but saved them from being burned so the king might believe in Him. He allowed Naomi to lose her loved ones...but redeemed her faith and joy and led to greater good.

He let me deal with a rough year and depression, nearly abandoning my faith in order to reveal his faithfulness and mercy and through Jesus restore my faith in Him completely. He knows my name. He knows my innermost thoughts, and the most miraculous of all things: he loves me completely.

"My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness."
2 Corinthians 12:9

So what happens if I stop?

2011-08-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

Have you ever asked God for a "neon sign?" I woke up early the other day, before the rest of the house. As I sat down to enjoy a marvelous espresso, I glanced at the window, where a ribbon of light had come pouring in across our delicate curtains. There, in disbelief, I read across the ribbon the word "STOP." Yeah, it's strange, but that's how my brain saw it in a flash, scribbled clearly in-between the folds--just dazzling. I don't think God could have made that any clearer. I laughed to consider what to make of it.

What should I stop? Job hunting? Projects? Stressing? Family scheduling?

I have a hard time stopping. Being busy is a sign of being important, I've heard, and I'm prone to think many Americans agree. I think of "Kitchen Nightmare's" where master chef Gordon Ramsey comes blazing in to show restaurant owners all the things they are screwing up. My favorite episode so far is a place in New Orleans owned by two hot-headed brothers. Gordon nails one brother to the wall, calling him a "busy idiot," and almost gets himself punched. The other brother tries to cool his sibling down later by convincing him that "busy idiot" is a foreign compliment. "Sure it is," he croons, "'busy idiot' means you work real' hard, you just workin' in some of the wrong places."

So to what degree am I a "busy idiot?" And do I really want my ego stroked by sharing all the busy things I'm doing, or could I STOP and consider If what I'm doing really matters?

I love also the story of a reporter who got to ask Mother Teresa how we might come to create World Peace. I don't know what sort of answer he was expecting, but she gave one so simple, so anti-busy, that it was brilliant.

"You want world peace?" she said, "Then go home and love your families."

STOP. Okay. Without a pity party. Without regret. Good luck.

(Post Publishing note: after posting this, I opened up a cranberry juice and inside the top: the words "SMARTER, NOT HARDER." I know I'm reading into things here, but seriously. Ha. Got it. Loud and clear. Now, if only to put that into practice...

"God is more pleased with the quiet attention of a sincere servant than the noisy service of a sour one." - Max Lucado

Thoughts on marriage and my mother

2011-07-24T20:37:00.000-07:00

My mother got married yesterday. It feels strange to say that. But Joe is pretty great, as far as I can tell from our relationship 1000 miles away. Most importantly, she thinks he is great, and he makes her laugh, and she's a brilliant woman so I think she'll be okay. The wedding was in Portland, Oregon so we are up visiting for a bit. The ceremony was very sweet and traditional in some ways, and very tailored to fit their unique journey in others.
Events like this thrust family and friends together: a large melting pot of the past, so it is easy to soak up the nostalgia as much as celebrate the future together. I love my family a lot, but see them rarely nowadays as many are in the Northwest and others continue to stretch across the globe. My cousins are having kids now, so we're not the only ones with short ones running around, and the baton has been passed officially to our generation to be the "grown ups." Weird.
My parents met at Stanford and started a family very young. Erica was the first, then Corinna in '79, then me ('82) and finally William in '84. My mom's father died when she was around 15, and her mother died a few months after I was born. My dad's dad began to lose it and died in 92' I think, and between those stressors there were many more that come with the territory in marriage and family dynamics. After over 20 years, the marriage finally dissolved as I transitioned into college, William was the only one left home. It was a very civil split, but devastating nothless as divorce is. Corinna took it the hardest I imagine, because she was serving in Peace Corps in Morrocco at the time; so she went from a nuclear family home and returned only to the ruins left behind.
I married Jeff only two years after the split and moved to California, so we began our marriage after the death of another. We got it. A marriage must never be taken for granted.
The funny thing is, I think that mom met Joe before she ever knew my dad, also through Stanford, they had dated back then but my mom wasn't ready to get serious so they split, only to find each other again about 30 years later. Life can be funny that way.

Maybe it's because her parents were gone so young, but my mom has always had a unique appreciation for little things in life. She appreciates nature immensely, her children even more, and as a teacher she makes people feel very cared for. But I wonder if there is also a little distance there, too, the kind of distance that happens when you know that any sudden moment a person can be gone.
It's not such a bad thing to realize, I suppose: to live each day knowing it is a precious gift. And to share your life with another person is pretty priceless.

Scary Stuff

2011-07-19T14:33:00.000-07:00

An inspired speaker this week reminded me of this quote from Jurassic Park:

"Yeah, but your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could, they didn't stop to think if they should."
-Dr. Ian Malcolm:

I've spent most of this year desperately trying to carve out some of my plans (including finding work, growing friendships, planning family things). I didn't spend much time asking if "should." What a humbling idea.

God doesn't just have a plan (Jeremiah 29:11-12, Psalm 40), but a good and perfect WILL for my life:

1 Therefore, I urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is your true and proper worship. 2 Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will. -Romans 12:1-2

After so long job-hunting, I spent time this week asking God if it is his will that I am working, to which I felt a peaceful whisper, "I was just waiting for you to ask."

Wow.

So now, through an amazing series of events, I'm preparing for an interview tomorrow. Asking God's will can be scary, because it means you have the actual opportunity to OBEY it. Woah.

Wish me luck. :)

Hoarding life

2011-07-15T01:06:00.000-07:00

(photo from http://engimahippie.wordpress.com/2009/02/22/junk-becomes-art/)

I recently discovered the series “Hoarders,” a show about people who have a compulsive problem collecting and keeping things; even if the things are unsafe or unsanitary. I’d heard about this before, I recall a news story about someone with hundreds of cats in an old school bus. There was also one about an old woman who died in a house stacked floor to ceiling with old newspapers; it took weeks to discover her after neighbors complained of the smell. Creepy.
But I’ve become glued now to “Hoarders,” about people who hoard to a dangerous degree. What gets to me the most is not inside these homes, but what’s going on inside their heads. Many hoarders have endured great loss or tragedy, and they respond by surrounding themselves with possessions to bury their pain or grief. They keep things around saying “someday I’ll need it/ fix it / use it,” but that day never comes. They seem so ... broken.
What gets these people caught up into such chaos? And here’s the big question: what’s keeping any of us from doing the same?
Jeff chides me about my own minor “hoarding” habits, like saving some baby clothes or keeping old papers he sees as useless. It’s true, I do like keeping things that connect me to my past, that remind me of the journey I’ve been on. I think we all can relate to the nostalgic powers of certain treasured items; a childhood bear, a bouquet of flowers or a baby’s first shoes. But where do we draw the line to distinguish “what I own” from “who I am?” I like this verse:

7 But we have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us ...16 therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.”
2 Corinthians 4

I have to remind myself sometimes that I am not my stuff. My value does not come from the grades I made, the house I’m in or the car I drive. My value does not come from the family I’m from or the man I marry, the job I keep, or how many “friends” like me on Facebook. I don’t ever want to become buried with too much stuff. I don’t want to get stuck as a consumer asking “what else do I need,” but maybe start asking “what else can I give?”

I love this phrase, loosely pulled from an article called The Pathological Critic:

“I am a complex miracle of creation.” My value is intrinsic as a treasured child of God.

What would happen if I lived THAT out each day? What’s stopping me? Is my stuff getting in the way?)

Language, nuance and other disasters.

2011-07-12T13:04:00.000-07:00

I'm captivated by the development of language. After spending many years studying art and communication, the concept of self-expression and its effect on culture and community is profound. For example, we spend our whole lives developing nuances of non-verbal communication: those subtle cues of clasped-hands, furtive glances or tapping toes that tell us volumes without hardly realizing it. People who are gifted communicators seem to ride the waves of conversation with ease, while many others flounder in a sea of social confusion.

I find myself somewhere in the middle.

On good days, I feel like communicating with people can be this incredible orchestral masterpiece unfolding before my eyes. Consider the general stages of getting to know someone, for example:
Going for the meet and greet: it's like shy little simmering violins that capture an audiences attention.
Topic is established: like a bassoon's steady melodic themes taking shape.
Tone and pace evolve with increased disclosure: like a melody building strength as it is tossed back and forth from the violins to the wind instruments.
Connection and purpose unfold: The exciting "aha" moments burst through like a row of trumpets from the back.
Synergy: without knowing quite how it began, all the instruments swell in perfect unison and unveil a melody bigger and more beautiful than ever.
The closing remarks: whether a crash of a cymbal or a delicate fade, the last moments reflect the piece as a whole, leaving a lovely and lingering sense of satisfaction until we meet again.

Then again, on bad days, a social conversation can feel like an entire truck of instruments just spilled out on the freeway in front of me. I'm left confused and deserted, just picking up the pieces and trying to figure out where I went wrong. How did I miss the signs? What did I do wrong? Were we even driving on the same side of the road? What in the world do I do if I see that truck coming again?

No matter how good I know communication can be, I live with the ever-present anxiety of those oncoming car-crash moments. Meeting new people, growing friendships, building professional ties ... all these moments come wrought with both excitement and terror, all part of the package when discovering a masterpiece or plowing into a major melt-down.

At the heart of it all, I am captivated by language. Even the car-crash moments, however impossible to avoid, are also amazing to watch and learn from.

...

On that note, please forgive me but I'm going to digress into absolute mom-mode and share some of the fascinating things that I've been watching unfold in the life of LR, my 19-month-old little girl. Yep, for anyone interested in the development of language, having a toddler is as good as it gets. If you've been around for previous posts, you'll remember how recently she was stuck in the "screaming-banshee" phase of exploring vowels and consonants as loudly as possible. While I am pleased to announced this phase seeeeeems to be fading, in it's place, yes, the actual "sentence" has begun to emerge. Oh, only the trained ear would know it, but I happen to be "MOM" so I qualify. The trick is know how to interpret the most common phrases. Here's a quick rundown:

"Eiyeh" = I have, I own, or I want (now).
"TAH" = sister, daddy, dog, draw.
"Apoooh" = open, close, I pooped, I want to poop, or diaper (has fallen off or otherwise needs help).
"Aboooh" = open, close, book, bonked (my head), ball.
"Eoww" = cat (as in, me-oww), owl, hurt, outside, wow.
"Biyee" = bike please, bye, I bit someone, someone bit me, or feed me (now).

So, based on these basic guidelines, anyone can easily see the amazing evolution of the toddler "sentence." A few examples:

"Eiyeh biyee" = I want to eat (now).

"Eiyeh eoww" = I want the cat that I see outside (now).

"Eiyeh TAH" = I want the crayon that my sister is drawing with (now).

"Aboooh eoww" = I want you to read me that cool book with the cats in it (now).

"Apoooh" = I need you to open the bathroom door because my diaper fell off and now there is poop on the floor in the kitchen and you need to go deal with that (now).

Ahhh, language. It's amazing.

“Haven’t you ever had a dream?” -Rapunzel

2011-06-16T01:53:00.000-07:00

“Haven’t you ever had a dream?” -Rapunzel

As you may or may not know, in addition to writing, I’ve been a freelance muralist for the last twelve years, and it is, as the phrase goes, “nice work when you can get it.” Art remains a deep passion of mine, but freelancing is just plain exhausting for the artistic soul who would rather dabble with mud-sculptures than start a career in self-marketing.
So, all said, I recently had the privilege to do a large canvas work for a longtime client of mine. She requested an ocean scene for her bedroom, but for months the concept just kept kicking my butt. I could not see it. While ceremonially banging my head on on the computer screen for some ideas, I pulled some seashore-shots online and layered them on-top of each other until I had roughly the right elements she’d requested. I kept trying to add more rocks when, at last, in a moment of sun-bursting muse, I had the “aha” moment I had been waiting for. The extra rocks didn’t belong. How did I know, you ask? Because I had been to this exact beach as a child, and often.
Yep. I got this great frozen goose-bumpy moment as I stepped back to see my conceptual creation: truly, it was an image not from my reality, but from a reoccurring childhood dream.
I know this sounds hokey, but bear with me here, it’s pretty awesome. In this dream, it was always the same:
1. I’m tearing through a wind-swept meadow.
2. I’m climbing up inside the shadows of a forgotten barn.
3. I’m pulling the curtain off of a dusty crate and squeezing through it.
4. I’m on the other side, the light is piercing, I’m on an open shore.
5. I’m rowing a faded blue boat past three massive rocks out at sea.
6. I arrive to see bright waters lap the hidden shore. No sand here, only round, smooth small stones like a low wall surrounding layers and layers of a vast and indescribably beautiful garden. The garden is surely sacred, and in my dream, I am never allowed (or perhaps don’t dare) to venture past the water and onto the shore.

As quickly as the moment came to me, began devouring the canvas to finish the painting, which at last I couldn’t wait to see. The final touches were immensely gratifying, as I saw my dream come to life.
I’ll admit I was a little sad to see it go, but thrilled when the client loved it. I pondered making another all my own, as an old art teacher once told me, “If you can’t create this again, then what the hell are you doing here?”

Then, after another month, a most strikingly bizarre thing happened. My client offered my painting back.
I know how this sounds, and on paper, any artist would bear clenched-jaw at the potential insult here. But you have to know this client. She’s has never done this before; quite the serious business woman. Endured much. Loved much. Gives it all. Apparently she's been praying for me, and this thought occured: “This painting is not mine. It is beautiful, but has never been mine, it’s her dream.” So she gave it back, no strings attached.

Now, I have my dream in my home, and after a pretty dark season emotionally this year, the painting has been almost eerily life-giving. As collect myself each morning for a cup of coffee and prepare for another day, I glance into the mysterious world beyond that canvas and am captivated.
It is fantastic to remember the child-like wonder of a dream.

“Where there is no vision, people perish.” Proverbs 29:18

Irony and the letter "dang."

2011-06-10T19:41:00.001-07:00

I was reading a fun book at B&N called "Write More Good," a fake apa-style comedic look at the industry, and was struck with irony.

Irony: that decent writers spend years in school just to be paid $6 for 1500 word articles on craigslist, while stay-at-home mom's eating from crock-pots are making fortunes off their blog advertizements.

Irony: that as a writer, I just spent four hours compiling a list of great outings for the family and, on this, Jeff's day off, the farthest we got out is Barnes and Noble.

Irony: that, as a writer, I recently applied for a potential dream-job for a professional reporter position and after hitting "send," noticed a typo at the TOP of my revised resume. Yep. In the phrase that should-be "and an eye for detail" read instead "and and eye for detail." Seriously. Writers are fired for this sort of crap, but instead I'm submitting it in the hopes they will hire me. So, this is for you, Claremont Courier, pleading a moment of empathy for my moment of irony. Please forgive my letter "d."

Dang.

Local Hidden Gems

2011-06-10T12:47:00.001-07:00

Above: scenes from a vacation to Big Bear and Lake Arrowhead this year.

While on an airplane last week, I had the privilege of sitting next to a young mother in the process of moving from Salt Lake City to greater Los Angeles. She seemed excited about the move, but a little apprehensive about what to do with her kids down here. As a 10-year-ago immigrant from Portland to LA, her story pulled my heartstrings and reminded me how hard it was to adjust here, especially after having kids. The Northwest and SoCal ... say what you want, but no one can deny they are truly different. But different doesn't have to be a bad thing.

Sitting next to her allowed me to dig deeper than Disney for all the incredible hidden gems for the family to visit around Southern California. By the time we had landed, I had scribbled a short list on the back of a business card and left her with a hearty "good luck." I think I needed to be reminded of all these gems as much as she did, so in honor of appreciating our greater community, I'm sharing a few here with you!

GREAT DATES
The Hip Kitty in the beautiful city of Claremont off the 10 Fwy and Indian Hill. This wonderful little Jazz and Fondue joint has intimate tables, glitzy-awesome decor and great music for a range of prices most people can fit into a monthly date budget. It's great to go with groups, the meat fondues easily feed four. I love their dessert menue like chocolate and berries, while Jeff loved stabbing raw stake with a skewer and boiling it in delicious hot oil. Win-win all around.

Paradise Cove Beach Cafe, Malibu. Jeff and I have been here many times, and love to take out-of-town visitors. This place is a real slice of history. Formally called the Sandcastle, it has been in Malibu for 100 years. It's the only restaurant in Malibu with it's own beach right on the sand. The food is great, fresh and affordable for folks like us even though celebrities frequent there as well. It has the feeling of a quaint little crab shack, up-scale-tailored for the stars. When we are done eating we love to walk on the beach and explore the rocks when the tide is low. One time we went after a Hawaii storm, the surf was so high that the patio was closed and the waves almost licked the windows! Fine with kids, fun for grown-ups.

The Stinking Rose, off N Cienega in Beverly Hills, CA. MUST. LOVE. GARLIC. This California-Italian cuisine leaves my taste-buds dreaming amazing garlic dreams for days afterward, so make sure to bring your date, or plan on heartily avoiding them after coming here. They have wild California-surfer murals on the walls mixed with intimate Tuscan-style tables and booths with long velvet curtains and lovely lighting. The prices are still affordable for that once-in-a-while treat, but Valet is mandatory on this busy road so plan on bringing a tip.

HIKES/OUTDOORS
Big Bear Discovery Center off Big Bear Lake, CA. Stop by this Center to get great maps and tips for fun all over the mountain. We went on a short hike right out from the Center that the kids and us all enjoyed.

The Foothills Great hikes include the trail straight up Loarraine Ave, Glendora, which takes 15 minutes or less with small kids to see a great field overlooking the valley, while more experienced hikes can wander on much farther up the hill. Watch out for cougars, the signs warn, but I've never seen one and we hike during the day. Garcia trail is another great, steeeeep hard hike best for grown-ups or energetic dogs in need of wake-up-call-type exercise.

Eaton Canyon Falls, Altadena Ave to New York off the 210 Fwy, another great easy hike through trees and fairly flat paths to see a stream and falls. It's set in a canyon so LA traffic finally disappears.

The Observatory and Griffith Park off the 101. We had a picnic near Bronson Caves or "The Bat Cave," where many shows including Adam West Batman TV shows were filmed there. You just can't go wrong in this area.

Laguna Beach, CA has a great park for kids, wild and beautiful beaches, incredible places to eat and an incredible artist community. Head to Johnny Rocket's for the classic California diner at the end of a great beach day.

Newport Beach, CA. We have NEVER been disappointed here. Dolphins, seals, lots of wildlife. Great surf, boats and whale tours, an amuzement park area, a ferry ($2) to Balboa Island where the family can enjoy great restaurants and a 1-mile walk to main-street fun, not one, but TWO of the best frozen banana shops in town.

KID STUFF

Discovery Science Center ("The Cube"), Santa Ana. Mon-Sat 10-5pm. If you carry a Bank of America card you get in free the last Saturday of the month, or at least I did about a month ago! Otherwise adults are $17.95 and kids are $12.95, parking is $4, so be on the lookout for deals. Credential teachers are free every visit. The place is huge with rotating exibits and a great outdoor dinosaur space full of science-themed fun. Great for kids about 2-12 years old, much older and they could get bored in my opinion.

LA Zoo by the 134 and I-5 Fwy. open 10-5 every day, it is much nicer than I ever expected, very well laid-out and while full of hills, worth the trip. $14 Adults, $9 for kids. Plenty to see, fun treats in the summer. We love the roasted almonds that fill the air next to the rose garden by the entrance shops. Cheap yearly passes that pay for themselves even if you just go with the family twice!

Apple picking at Riley's Farm in Oak Glen, CA. Seasonal apple picking around October-November. U-Pick Apples, U-Press Cider, Hayrides, Archery/Tomahawks, Living history & Hoedowns. Call for hours because it changes: 909-797-4061

CAFE'S/TREATS
Swork of Eagle rock boasts a play-place for kids, great home-made-granola and incredible drinks.
Bean Town of Sierra Madre boasts amazing food and drinks in the scenic small-town setting up the hills of Sierra Madre. Very near several parks to enjoy.
Some Crust Bakery, Claremont, CA. Incredible fresh breads, great coffee and healthy sandwiches for all ages. Kids drool over their desert displays.
Donut Man, Glendora, CA. World Famous strawberry donuts. They use fresh in-season ingredients and un-rivaled delicious recipes hot each morning.

GARDENS/MUSEUMS
LA Arboretum, Arcadia, CA, off Baldwin and the 210 Fwy. Open 9-4:30 daily, 8am for members. $8 adults, $6 students, kids $3 and under 5 years old are free. AMAZINGLY affordable for this incredible garden with over 300 acres of changing landscape and historic buildings. Totally worth it for a great picnic date for everyone. I believe it is free the last Thursday of every month, but check the website for details.

Huntington Gardens and Library off Allen and the 210 Fwy. Open 10:30-4:30 most days, closed Tuesdays. It is spendier than the Arboretum, but worth it for that special trip. Adults $15-20, Studetns $10, kids $6 and under five years old are free. It's also bigger and easy to spend all day here. The children's garden is a hidden gem that we only discovered on our last visit here, I couldn't believe I had missed it before. It is full of hideaways, fountains, chimes and amazing corners for kids about 1-10 to absolutely fall in love with. They also have tea, a great Chinese garden and a plethora of art.

The Getty Center, Los Angeles, off the 405 Fwy. Read: FREEEE. I think there is a small parking fee ($8?). Pick a clear day to head out to this INCREDIBLE cafe view of Los Angeles and amazing architecture and of course, the exhibits. This is definitely more of a grown-up adventure, but so many kids come and if they are too wired for the indoor exhibits there is plenty of outdoor play to escape to. The kid's section is newer and pretty fun for younger kids.

That's it for now gosh, what more do you want from me I'm only one woman. But yes, I have been to all of these places multiple times and highly, highly recommend them for a great way to appreciate greater LA!

Part 3: Let's get Physical

2011-05-29T22:46:00.000-07:00

Beautiful. A rustic barn with a fireplace, fresh cut green flowers hung from glass jars and lights wrapped around the beams like lace. The people that filled the room were just as warm: there was the rosy-cheeked and wrinkled, the rounded bellies, the frail, the loud; so many full of life and love. The rain poured on for most of the ceremony, but the barn was nestled in safe and dry under it's rafters and wrap-around porch. A great way to start a life together.

...

I'm sitting in the hotel again after a dip in the jacuzzi, feeling very fresh and settled in. It's very strange being here without my family, the quiet is consuming. I'm grasping to stop and cherish each little moment of this whirlwind trip, desperately trying to take advantage of the time to write and explore both the physical and immaterial.

The sound of the massive river. The smell of the empty barn in the afternoon, the burning wood stove and flowers filling the rafters. The fox in a field I caught dashing of with a rabbit in his jaws, the long-horn cattle in the rain, the red-tailed hawk diving through dark branches.

My friend Christin, who I miss dearly since she moved to Bellingham, reminded me once how we experience the Spiritual through the Physical. That, because we are physical beings, we must access life through our physical bodies. Like if I describe the physical bride: "wild chestnut curls atop a petite porcelain frame; she had a hearty laugh that all too often escaped her open jaws, tossing the curls about with beautiful abandon." This describes an experience so much richer than "the bride was beautiful, had a good sense of humor and seemed happy."

Those physical details help us access the great beyond that still often leaves us lost for words, such as the belief that we all belong somewhere. The mystery that somehow I still long to find that home on earth. The connectedness of us all. The magic of community. The sacred covenant of marriage. The divine awesomeness of nature. The incredible resilience of humanity.

I've missed feeling connected to God lately, forgotten how to access that part of my journey for many months. I've been floating, evading the God questions that feel too deep to ever get me anywhere. So, while I struggle with the vastness of my Creator, paying attention to physical details he created has been a remarkable exercise. The physical world is simpler to access than spiritual mysteries, yet is is not one against the other. Instead, observing the physical has been a more intensely intimate exercise in rekindling my thirst for the Divine.

Part 2: The Road Alone

2011-05-28T22:40:00.000-07:00

Sitting in the Salt Lake City Airport, waiting for my connecting flight to Boise. It's raining, hard. A stark contrast to the sunny blues skies I just left in LA. I've never been to Salt Lake before, although I've had friends that moved out here. Mormons, mostly. It's sort of a tragedy to have a first trip to a new place become merely a stop on the way to somewhere else. It's a flat, rainy terminal--a placeless community in the midst of a vast, beautiful state many call home.

I like flying because even though we will never visit all the acres on the globe, flying allows us to see so much of it. I love seeing the little plots of farmland sectioned-off so perfectly below, the circles and squares and subdivisions that make up all the tiny slices of the American dream. My writing is interrupted by an adjacent flight announcement to "Portland, Oregon, now boarding." My heart leapt and I found myself wanting to follow it and slip onto the other plane. I think Portland will always be home, no matter where my home is. I love flying into Portland. The route varies, but I always catch a glimpse of the Columbia river carved anciently into the rolling hills of evergreens. It is heavenly, if you don't mind the weather that comes along with the green.

...

I finished a whole book on the plane, gazing across the top of the sun-kissed clouds.

...

Sitting in my Hotel in Boise Idaho. Feeling aglow from successfully maneuvering my first actual car rental, along with booking the flight and hotel, and feeling very much like a teenager that got away with pretending to be an adult. Worked out in the tiny closet of a gym here, showered, ironed my clothes and paced. Often. It turns out when I'm away from the kids, I iron. Who knew.

I have to admit that at times I day-dream about such a getaway...just getting in a rental car and cruising wherever the road takes me, exploring the states. But like many dreams, when the real thing is offered up on a silver platter, it suddenly tastes different than you imagined. Of course. The dreaming is often the fun part!

The hotel, although nice, is not the oasis of freedom I had envisioned, but rather, already pretty lonely without my family in it. It is very quiet...something I've been craving for so long...but the quiet feels empty, whereas my children, even when wild, keep things feeling very full. I'm already grateful for the small amount of perspective.

Part 1: Flying Solo

2011-05-28T15:33:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at the airport, waiting for a flight to Boise for a friend's wedding. I absolutely love to fly, and I absolutely love weddings, so this weekend has stellar potential written all over it. But (almost?) more exciting than all of that, this weekend is the first I've had away from both my girls. As "stay-at-home-mom" being my primary role, I'm finding that simple fact and freedom has been on my mind more than other things. While I love my family fiercely and unconditionally, I am given the rare opportunity to reflect on life away from the kids, a life that can be consuming in ways I don't even notice.

Simple, everyday things already stand out on this trip, like getting to to sit and drink a whole cup of coffee with my friend who dropped me off without being interrupted, once. After that, I cruised through the airport screeners with only ONE pair of shoes, bags, etc., then actually browsed (browsed!) the airport bookstore without any tugging or screaming going on. Already I am feeling validated, that even on the days when I feel less accomplished, I am really doing a LOT in caring for our family, and that means a lot.

To all those moms, dads and other folks out there that assume the primary role of caring for others, props to you, it is a lot of work with a lot of unseen (though priceless) rewards.

Hopefully, I'll be writing more about this weekend when I'm not too busy celebrating a marriage. I have a feeling that I just might find the time.

Adventures with sound and sanity.

2011-05-16T20:12:00.000-07:00

Recent thoughts on motherhood...
MB is five years old now, smack in the middle of the "questions" stage. No matter the subject, every darling question that pops into her head seems to need immediate, devoted motherly attention. This includes (in the last 24 hours) everything from "mom, my knee is pink, can I have a Dora bandaid," to "mom, is it bad to pick your nose if you put the boogers back in?"

LR is a year-and-a-half old. She is also celebrating her age-appropriate use of language, which does include some signs and words, but primarily the banshee-loud and repetitive exploration of various vowels and consonants. Any five minute snapshot of her day sounds something like "AAAAaaaabh," breath, "AAAAaaaabh," breath ... repeat 500 times.

To make things interesting, apparently a sensor in our car went out this week according to my mechanic, so, despite a recent oil change, every time I tap the brakes the oil light comes on accompanied by a bright big friendly "DING!!!"

After some trying moments today, I tried to set the mood in the car listening to "you are my sunshine" from the "Oh Brother Where Art Thou" soundtrack.

The overall chorus went something l Iike this:

"You are my sunshi- *DING!* my only sunshi- *MOM?*
you make me ha- *AAAAaaaabh" when skies are *DING!*
did you ever know *DING!* how much I lo *AAAAaaaabh!* you?
Please don't *MOM?* my sunshi- *AAAAaaaabh!* away."

...

Do people really wonder why moms look frazzled?

I like to think that it's not so much that I lack focus, I just constantly split focus--like a beautiful prism---in a million directions every day. Next time you see a wary mom corralling her crazy kids in the grocery store, flash her a smile instead of a scowl, you better believe she needs it!

Beer and Passion

2011-05-10T14:15:00.000-07:00

Jeff and I were walking through Cost Plus World Market recently, just browsing and killing time. I dug for his opinion as we cruised past bright floral pillows, slick leather couches and tiny decorative pottery. "Do you like this orange? What about bar stools? Should we get Dutch chocolate?" He nodded, smiled or shook his head around in circles until we got to the drink isle.
"Do you want to pick up some Corona?" I asked. "Not really," he said, "but you can want Corona."
I stopped in my tracks. That hadn't occurred to me lately. "Sure, but it it's more fun to get things we can enjoy together," I justified.
"Yes," he said gently, "but it's ok for you to want things just because you do."

This one, small conversation has been on my mind all week. With all the devoted to learn how to be a nurturing mom, a caring lover, a generous friend ... I often lose sight of what I want.

What's worse is that losing sight of my own goals or values can contribute to those days where I become a more bitter mom, a cross friend or resentful wife, the very thing that my so-called "generosity" sought to avoid.

For example, I'll go to McDonalds to make my kids happy when I really wanted to be outdoors. I'll buy groceries that are neutral family favorites instead of discovering mine. I'll watch a movie Jeff likes instead of an older classic or chick flick I've had my eye on.

I don't feel pressured per-se, but choose to do these sorts of things based on some strange inner dialogue inside my head that assures me the most sacrificial option will bring about the most joy.

There are two fundamental flaws I have begun to unearth in this practice, not that serving by itself illogical, but its more about discovering the perverted logic of "serve against my own gut feelings:"

1) The people I am trying to please are often unaware of my efforts, and rarely asked if what I am trying to do is really even what THEY want in the first place. It reminds me of something Jeff and I overheard during separate conversations with a couple we know: Husband says, "I hate working all these hours, but I do it so she can fulfill her dreams of staying at home with our kids. If I had my way, I'd stay home." Wife says, "I really hate staying at home, but I do it because it's what he wants for our kids. I'd rather be the working mom." This sort of disconnect happens all the time when the real conversation stays inside our heads, something I'm certainly guilty of.

2) My gut feeling, my instincts, my values and passions are uniquely mine, guiding me on a unique path. When I sacrifice my gut desires for someone else's goals, passion becomes diluted.
There is something indescribably inspirational about someone pursuing their dreams, goals and passions despite the critical masses. I think about MLK Jr., Ghandi and Mother Teresa. Although all of those people spent their lives devoted to service and peace, they did in in their own way, following unique paths and passions. MLK Jr's "I have a dream" speech stemmed from his love for his own children combined with his passion for peaceful resistance to seek justice and equality. Those values, justice, equality, peace, don't seem to me things that he fabricated to show his momma or wife that he cared, but heck, I'm prone to believe he really did care about them from deep within his heart, which, in turn, surely made the world proud.

So this all poses the inevitable question: what do I care about? Maybe it starts with my favorite movie or flavor or ice cream. Maybe I can begin that journey to delicately peel away the layers of my passions and values and joys.

Pasadena window

2011-05-02T23:14:00.000-07:00

Pasadena Window

the stone Cathedral sits
a vacant rock below
amidst the dancing city lights
fluorescent modern glow

what masses dwelt there once
what solemn hymns were sung
while preachers roared and babies slept
in beams of stained-glass sun

and who resides there now
on lazy urban dawns
while stars fade silent overhead
and drifters shuffle on

Secret Abundance

2011-04-27T12:52:00.000-07:00

I recently read a lovely reflection on affluence, by a woman who spent much of her life and childhood in the outskirts of Africa and currently resides in Southern California. She noted how, as a child, she felt at times ashamed of how her missionary family drove through the villages in a car while others walked. She felt very privileged to live in a house made out of cinderblocks instead of sticks or mud. Even now, considered average middle-class by Californian standards, she is poignantly aware of the many things she is privileged to experience like hot showers, basic medicine and full cupboards. She keeps gifts cards in her wallet just in case she meets someone in need. I’m pretty moved today by this “attitude of abundance.”

Whether truly in need or not, I think I have cultivated an “attitude of survival” for some time. I was raised in a lower middle-class suburb of Portland, Oregon. Although we always had food on the table and clothes on our backs, looking back on it, I often felt embarrassed to be “poor.”

I’m not sure where this attitude came from, for certain. It could be the fact that I’m a third-born of four, and always got the hand-me-down clothes or shopped at Goodwill.

It could be because of my parents strong value system supporting simplicity and anti-consumption or branding. What that meant as a child was I was not allowed to have big brands on my clothing, was not allowed much more than PBS on our black and white television, which contributed to my lack of pop-culture saavy references.

It could have been the garden. For a long time we cultivated a half-acre garden of wonderful food, from nuts and berries to veggies and fruit we could nibble on virtually all year. But even this slice of paradise became a source of embarrassment for me at times; like the much of our home, it seemed overgrown and messy. It may have reminded me that we didn’t go to restaurants like other families, or maybe it was that our mini-farm came with a “hick” attitude that I wanted to shed for nice patio sets and paid lawn-groomers.

My poor “attitude of survival” could be because my parents were fairly academic. This meant they were not as concerned with housework or fashion, so I often went to school teased, with mis-matched socks or strangely disheveled hair (the later of which I will admit was my own doing, as a tom-boy-type who loved climbing pine trees).

It could be from the friends I kept, many of whom lived “up the hill.” Those friends has newer cars, bigger houses, better clothes and they even got the first snow to sled on in the winter, a grave injustice if you asked me from my vantage-point down in the valley-slush.

Whatever the root, I’ve managed to pack up this attitude of survival from my childhood and take it with me through college and my adult years as well.

I felt the need to survive a cramped closet-sized dorm room at rainy University of Oregon until I could escape to California. I felt the need to survive an apartment with three roommates in LA until I could get married. After I got married, I struggled to survive our first hot, one-bedroom apartment and wondered where we would fit our first child. After MB was born, we moved to a lovely two-bedroom apartment in Glendora, but I soon felt embarrassed to survive her first birthday where our many guests had no chairs. I fought jealousy of neighbors with real yards and fences, their children to running around outside, while my child’s playground was our quarter-fed laundry room.

The latest move was a grand one: finally into a rented house, complete with yard, shade, trees, fence, pool, pool-house/TV lounge, three bedrooms and plenty of space for our young family.

And yet a world-view attitude does disappear with circumstance.

I was sitting outside this morning with my feet in pool with the LR splashing her toes next to mine. I had our parrot on my shoulder, and watched our 63-lb tortoise wandering around the pool enjoying the sunshine. By ten in the morning it was a breezy 70-something degrees, and new flowers rimmed the small garden with fresh memories of an Easter-egg hunt. This is scene from a life I never imagined possible as a teenager, full of many gifts and luxuries, so much I don’t deserve. But bad attitudes are not logical most of the time, and mine crept in unaware.

A familiar voice tugged at my heart, “I don’t want to BE here.” I hated staying at home most days. Right then, I felt poor. If only I could get a job, then...then I’d have more to offer. I’d be a better friend. I’d serve more, give more. I’d conquer that debt. I’d be happier if only...

I can so easily grasp the indescribable wealth of blessings I’ve had over the years if taken stock, logically, but my attitude has such a hardened edge right now that my heart won’t hear it. I can look at the incredible values my family tried to raise me with: to not be obsessed with material things, but instead I catch myself somehow wishing I had grown up with more junk to feel good about. I can see the multitude of blessings in a simple garden, roommates, a husband, a child and two, caring friends, a family, sunshine and a place to call home, but it all feels beyond my grasp when my attitude proclaims that I am still the “poor” kid.

But as long as I’m stuck in survival mode, with “if only” my cry of a self-proclaimed closet pauper, no degree of circumstance will alter that attitude. I’m not sure where it all began, but it better not be where I’m going.

I’ve heard a lot of people talk about their journey through service changing their hearts, and I’m hoping that’s in store for this next year. I know I got a pretty big attitude shift after serving a week in the Tenderloin in San Francisco, but that just scratched the surface in terms of building an understanding of what is necessary to survive or thrive the human experience.

I guess I’m looking for more chances to discover places with significant shifts in culture and economics, to take stock of different value systems and different mind-sets about abundance or survival.

I heard a friend who grew up in poverty in El Salvador tell me once, when asked how she survived, “America has great wealth, they can’t imagine life without it, but they are so poor in Spirit. Where I came from in El Salvador we were poor financially, but we were so rich in the Holy Spirit.” That’s my prayer today...to discover riches where they matter the most.

When things get muddy....

2011-04-24T18:17:00.000-07:00

"When you are down, who lifts you up? How do you know?"

I'm beginning to suspect that I don't have the answers after all. I know, its a shocker, ha. Not that the answers I've stumbled upon are altogether foolish or particularly useless, no, it's much worse. I'm under the strong suspicion now that there are no actual answers to be found. It's the philosopher's dilemma; relativity and subjectivity: everything I know is filtered through my personal lens, altered, mutated and transformed to make it fit in my limited three pound little skull. So where does truth fit in to all of this? It's getting grayer to me all the time.

Take the "water" experiment, for example, something I tried with my high-school kids when I worked a few years as a youth Director at a small-town church on the suburban edge of sprawling Los Angeles. In the first part of the experiment, three buckets of water are placed on a table, one hot, one room temperature and one ice-cold. A question is posed: is the water hot, medium or cold, and how do you know?

After examining the buckets, students can say with some certainty which is which. But why? Because their fingers tell them so? What makes us the experts on what is really true?

The second part of the experiment is awesome: a volunteer is asked to place one hand in the "cold" bucket, and one hand in the "hot" for as long as possible (usually about a minute). After that, both hands are immediately submerged in the middle bucket and the student is asked, "what temperature is the middle bucket now?" Inevitably one hand is experiencing "hot" while the other hand experiences being "cold" at the exact same time. Wow.

I can apply this example to virtually any experience in my life that I ultimately label as "good" or "bad." Increasing my "good" experiences seems like a worthy goal, surely shared by many. But who am I to say what is "good?" What if a "bad" experience really is what makes me stronger, increases my capacity for love or peace or joy?

This year I have battled a surprisingly fierce depression. It's sounds so lame, "depression," like I'm some poor sap letting a bully push me into the mud... If only i would just get up and fight back. Whatever the reason and whatever stigmas are attached to it, the disease is still stronger. I'm wresting to find the "good" in it.

Paul tells me in Philippeans that my wellbeing, my sense peace and joy, can transcend circumstance. "I rejoiced greatly in the Lord ... I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength." I read this verse my first year of college, early in my journey as a believer, and thought "now that's freaking cool," and I wanted it, bad.

But what about when my "answer" stops being the answer? What happens when "he who gives me strength" does not appear to lift my head when in trouble? I've spent too long assuming that Jesus was the "best" fix for everything, like wonder glue, as in, "feeling broken? Try Jesus! Drugs didn't keep you high? Jesus will!" Etc etc. I think somewhere along the way I just assumed that if I said the name of Jesus, I'd have the strength to deal with whatever came my way, and the problem was that worked for a long time. Jesus had become my idol, my secret weapon, a rabbit's foot to get my way. And suddenly, when faced with post-partum depression, that version of "Jesus" didn't work anymore. I suddenly felt very alone.

Earlier in Philippeans, Paul talked about anxiety, too. "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."

I still want that. I want that peace, that mysterious peace that transcends understanding. I don't have the answers, so it would be such a relief to know that I don't really have to find them. I do want to find Jesus, however it can be done, and according to Jesus he's already done the work for me..."I am the way, the truth and the life."

So how do I begin? Prayers of thanksgiving? To be straight up honest, I don't feel very thankful for what God has done for me this year, because I'm still stuck feeling like so much of it was "bad." I know how bad that sounds. But maybe I've just been stuck in the wrong bucket for too long and I need some time to adjust my perspective, not on the basis of my own experience, but on the basis the Character of Christ.

I believe God is good. I believe Jesus, through the greatest of all divine mysteries, paved a path for my redemption by his blood and through his love. I believe his grace is sufficient, his mercies complete and new every morning...so oh God let that be enough. Crush my idols, my foolishness, my desire for all the answers, my ideas of "good" or "bad" and trust that somehow ... God will carry me through.

Pushing on...

2011-03-26T17:46:00.000-07:00

My friend Christin commented once (I'm sure from another source as well) that writing is like turning on an old faucet. I think about the faucets when I went camping as a child, how the water spouts were iron and red and you had to pump them to get the water going. How at first it was only a spitting gurgle but after a few good wrenches with your shoulder into it the great gushes of water would flow.

That's where I"m stuck today, if I may use the metaphor, stuck at the pump, pouring my muscles into it but still getting only spitting sprinkles of results.

It's a metaphor that goes for a lot of things right now: my job hunt, in particular, my search for friends after we lost so many due to moves and Jeff's job shift last year, my writing (that's a given) and even my faith.

I'm putting effort in without seeing the gain on the other end. I believe it's bound to come, I haven't lost all hope I suppose, but it's getting harder and harder to see what in the hell my efforts are all about anyways.

What spurred this thought at its core was the job thread. I've been seriously job hunting since November-December, and here about four months later haven't seen much come of it. Lots of resumes, lot of emails, a few responses, two interviews but no solid results and a lot of disappointment. That much rejection is a hard blow to take for even the most confident of women, which I do not claim to be even most of the time.

These last two weeks were intense though, I found a job posting on craiglist that lit me up like nothing before: it had everything. It was a call out for the right skills, experience, a great cause, hours and environment, just everything. I researched late hours into the night to nail it. The phone interview went great, I got asked back to meet in person. We met yesterday, an amazing conversation were I felt like I put myself out there, organically shared my shining strengths, and... I didn't get it.

I got the email earlier today, it was just "not the right time" or something like that. Although my writing, creativity and education would have been a spectacular fit, I imagine the job required more administrative/operational knowledge then I could pull out of my sleeve for the interview. As anticipated, I cried for the better part of the afternoon (oh, girls) knowing at some point I would pick up and brush off and try again. But, maa-aan. It's hard. Why did I have to go and get SO excited??

I just feel a little...frozen. Sure, I'll carry on with the faucet metaphor. I don't know why I keep putting effort in, but I'm afraid if I don't then the faucet will just freeze-up or rust over or dry out. Even if I don't see a refreshing spring for some time, I just don't know what the alternative is. With the jobs..I have to keep looking as best I know how. With gaining friends...I have to trust that the fast but deep friendships we made over the last few years are bound to come around again in one way or another, people we can talk to and cry with and share mutual passions...people like that are out there, right?

I got a taste of this amazing life about a year and a half ago, where we'd see friends every week that we really cared about, many who had small kids and struggled with similar life ambitions, values etc, but between about six people busy getting married, finding jobs or moving away, that little rosy season seemed to disappear as quickly as it had swirled into my life. Why was it so good then? Is it possible to conjure up that sort of happy season again, or do I just be patient and hope and hope and hope? Experience tells me effort is necessary with friends, just like that rusty fountain, just cranking away hoping something will eventually return.

I'm not even sure I'm ready to address the faith thread here, too, perhaps another day. I imagine the topic is just getting roped into a general sense of frustration because those other areas are stuck, but it doesn't help that my faith feels rockier than ever right now.

Is there some trick about pressing on? Is there something I'm missing about the effort I'm putting in in the first place? I'm writing because I have to get that muddy flow moving, I just have to, but if you are out there reading this and have a brilliant (or even mediocre) plan of attack for overcoming life's many frustrations, do feel free to pass that along, the encouragement is oh-so-appreciated.

(So far I've found working out, a great husband, laughter and the occasional shot of whiskey don't hurt a bit). I think I'll keep pushing into job hunting Monday, but today is not that day.

Sex and Scalpels

2011-03-16T08:45:00.001-07:00

Sometimes being a grown-up has its advantages. I get to plan my own vacations, eat ice-cream for breakfast and (score) spend the night with my best friend whenever I please (hi Jeff). But it comes with drawbacks, too: paying for the dentist, scraping-up rent and the all-too-dreaded female Doctor word: OBGYN.

After moving to California from Oregon, I was actually charmed by my OBGYN's office at first glance: the building was a quaint little German-style cottage tucked behind some older Oak trees in Glendora. Inside the building were pleasant-enough dark leather chairs, cork-boards filled with bitty-baby pictures and cheerful magazines.

But over many years of that oft-dreaded exam, I began to notice a startling change in decor.

First, it was the posters for the new 4D Ultrasound: a completely medically unnecessary and possibly dangerous sort of x-ray that new mommies went berserk over: the result was a keepsake alien picture of their soon-to be pride and joy. Worse still, it came with a lofty price tag, around $200 I think. Curious, but I have yet to see this expensive outer-space snapshot up on any mantel display after the (actually cute) babies are born. I began to wonder if this industry was really interested in patient well-being or just increasing the price-tag of superfluous procedures.

The shocks at my OBGYN office did not stop there. The cute baby posters and even ultrasounds seemed to be slowly replaced by ads for "post-partum tummy tucks," or what many Californians call the "mommy-makeover." I still barely believe it. The gall. I guess the other half of my OBGYN office is actually a plastic-surgery facility, so the motivation for patient care seems compromised, to say the least. At this critical, fragile time when a woman's body and sense of identity ride a roller-coaster to the moon ... instead of nurturing the process as a natural, beautiful event to celebrate, that OBGYN office--one that exists in theory to care for a woman's well-being--was actually fueling their worst insecurities and fears. And for what, another paycheck.

This week I was driving past the office, and did a double-take: a banner-ad sprawled across a major chunk of the front lawn, exclaiming "The Lap-Band is Here!" Most Southern Californians will recall the lap-band campaign that devoured freeway billboards when the economy crashed a few years back and billboards got cheap. The creator of lap-band actually came out with a statement last month demonizing the campaign with the slogan "diets fail, lap-band works!", saying roughly that his product was never meant as a fluffy cosmetic pill but as a serious life-saving procedure. Lap-band is full of serious risks, and again, my OBGYN was flaunting it just as brazenly as a new line of mascara.

The history of women's healthcare is not exactly a standing beacon shining with hope, which I may digress into another day. For now, let's just say, the battle to feel "beautiful" is hard enough without an entire health industry heaping millions in marketing against us. Viva la resistance.

Early

2011-03-10T08:57:00.001-08:00

It's a rare day lately that I peel myself out of bed before both of my children; LR likes to wake at what many call an "ungodly" hour. The few mornings I do crack an eyelid open before they do are usually met with a monsterous sigh and fifteen more minutes of sleep. But today managed to surprise me as a welcome exception: I woke up early with the sun and with no regrets.
The sky was stretched thin with wisps of grey and pink and salmon, the light escaping into the room a startling sort of white. I curled into a bathrobe and ventured out into the kitchen, clicking the kettle on. The kitchen is cold, as cold as it gets anyways for early march in Southern California. I reach for the milk for my tea and smile at our mess of a fridge: Mira's artwork, things to do, bills to pay, pictures of our girls in Christmas dresses and the last trip to the mountain, bittersweet pictures of faraway friends and family faces. I notice too the newest paper stuck with a chiropractic magnet right on top, a yellow paper torn and scribbled with marker a simple prayer, the "Amidah." it is an ancient prayer said three times daily by Jews since before the time of Jesus--a pratice Jeff and I have conspired to try this month--and I feel strangely rooted by the weight of the tradition. I sit down at our bar table, ease open the laptop to finish editing an article for a friend on the relationship between money, values and happiness and can't help but think what a perfect sort of way to start the day...maybe this hour is not so "ungodly" after all.

Fear and Hair Die

2011-02-08T09:13:00.000-08:00

I've died my hair since I was fourteen years-old. An impressive spectrum, I might add, from blonds to reds to blacks and the occasional war-with-nature hues. I'm not even sure how it began, although I suspect the culprit had to do with the average early teenage identity crises along with a mild creative stab at avoiding boredom.
When I was a child, I remember hearing stories of a distant relative, who was young once and playing in a warehouse with her brother when she got her long locks of hair caught in a massive piece of machinery. Her scalp came nearly off. As horrible and scary as that must have been, the part that always fascinated me was how people said from that moment on, a chunk of her hair was always a stark and silver-white. I didn't believe it at first, I thought it was a feigned ploy of grown-ups to make sure I was careful about my hair being pulled back and proper. But the story resurfaced enough times for me to suspect there was some truth to it, and since then I've heard of other people's hair turning "white" with fright.
I remember my mother sitting by the fire as her daughters carefully inspected the back of her head like a family of baboons. "I found one!" I would cry, and my mother would shriek with laughter, "pull it out, pull it out!" Slowly her peppered-silver streaks began to outnumber her daughters fingers and she fought us off instead, "I'll go bald," she'd laugh, "let them be."
Now as I near my thirties I've found myself captivated with the same turn of events. The week LR was born, I vowed to "let my hair be" for a whole year, I suppose just to see what my "natural" state really was, it had been so long since we had been aquatinted. My fourteen-year-old locks were a distant memory. After a long, full year, my "real" looks emerged, a lot more silver than I remember. It was just peppered strays at first. I decided I didn't mind at all, and, confident with my conclusion, promptly died my hair a fantastic mahogany hue.
The trouble about altering appearances is that you have to maintain the charade with some persistence, a trait that I'll admit is not my finest, and I've already let my hair "go" a bit.
This morning I found my first "cluster" of grays! Roots far enough back on my head that I couldn't get to pluck just one, they had come back with an army of friends, threatening pain in numbers if I attacked. Sigh.
Why is it that in a time so filled with fear and change and anxiety (the Terrible Twenties?) our hair maintains its youthful glow, but in this transition into the thirties, a time touted for being more mature, calmer, more centered, more focused...(or so I wish to believe!) the tell-tale signs of fear emerges? Why is it that the same signs of extreme fear (aka white hairs) seem to show up so naturally as a sign of aging, anyway? What does pigment have to do with this, anyway?
Luke 25 says "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life," or hair to our head, gray or otherwise. Why it it so hard to get away from this habit of worry? I'm also encouraged by Psalm 139, how God knows all my thoughts:
13 For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
14 I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.

It probably wouldn't hurt to focus less on the grays and more on the rest of the world for a while...perhaps I'll let you know how that goes this week.

Uniform

2011-02-07T10:00:00.001-08:00

I stop by starbucks this morning waiting for Costco to open. I nod distant greetings to an arsenol of other moms on the way in, a nod of familiarity and empathy. I note the universal uniform of the stay at home mom- sweat pants and jacket that try to say "I could be on my way to the gym" but really say "I didn't have time to shower, I slept in this between midnight crying fits, and it's a step up from wearing my old maternity pants because nothing else fits yet."

Up-hill battles

2011-01-23T10:45:00.000-08:00

Here is a picture of LR pushing her stroller up-hill in Claremont this week. That is a new pastime for this one-year-old going-on teenager: already trying to to everything herself. She wants to push the stroller herself, climb up stairs herself, get on the couch herself. The problem is that many of the battles result in either heinous screaming (the garbled toddler equivalent of "back off mom I can do this myself"), or letting her go for it with the inevitable tumble onto her head, followed by screaming (the garbled toddler equivalent of "mom, why the heck did you let me do that myself when you so obviously new there would be pain?!")

Up-hill battles. Life is sort of full of them. My mother gently reminded me this week that the problem in life is not that there are problems, but that we view that very fact as a problem. That is, life is all about facing problems, and I guess that is part of the joy of it all.

I also think that, true to LR's experience, I rarely succeed in my finest hour by trying to get somewhere "all by myself." I kind of like it when I remember to let others come along, lift me up, or catch me when I fall. Those loved ones "behind the scenes" can make all the difference. Just a reminder to restrain yourself this week from casting those little rolling-eye stares at the tired mom with the screaming kids in the supermarket- maybe she needs a hug instead. I'm just saying.

Got a Million Bucks, anyone?

2011-01-19T17:48:00.000-08:00

Updates in general since my last post:
LR turned 1. MB turned 5. Parties, Christmas, family visits, illness, health, New Year, volunteering, job hunting, car-selling and generally living life up to the best of my abilities. Managed to sell all the cars so this week we're looking to buy, (ahhh at last).
I'm feeling discouraged and excited about job hunting daily. Got advice of a counselor to help refine search...so far his advice has involved writing prompts (not the worst thing) but I've got a bad case of writer's block (as if the lack of posts wasn't a clue).
Here's one of my responses, in sum, to this career search challenge, enjoy.
The picture is related to a story I'm working on for a friend- based on a blend of medievel and ancient biblical villages. I love the sense of place, I sort of want to live there.

I was asked this week the question: "If money was of no concern, what would I do?"
Oh, I've pondered this in the past, daydreaming with dimes in my pocket and a WIC card in my purse. It's easy to dream big when you are scraping bottom, financially speaking.
Since Jeff and I got married on a beach in Oregon seven years ago, we have bounced around retail jobs and freelance art/music gigs until landing in ministry work. Jeff, complete with spiky hair and ear plugs, got a job as the worship director at a conservative church in Azusa six years ago. I came on then to work at their preschool, serve in their nursery and eventually got hired in as the Youth Director for a couple of years. Our first daughter was born a PK (Pastor’s Kid), and raised in the church as much as at home. Working in ministry is every bit as rewarding as it sounds, but for the most part the perks are not financial.
"Dreaming big" for those years meant hoping we paid our bills that month, found a way to put groceries in our fridge and get what we needed to keep our daughter clothed and fed. I was jealous of anyone who mentioned the word “clothing budget,” as if that phenomenon really existed. I was the one that did the lion's share of worrying: Jeff has always had an unshakable optimism that God will just "work things out." The part that drove me up the wall for years is that, somehow, He always did. Miraculous things just kept us floating between paychecks.
One time while we were away on a group camping trip, a church member discretely seized our car and fixed the horribly cracked windshield, paid for new tires, got it detailed and even filled it with groceries just when we needed it most. Another time I got a grant to go back to school: a direct answer to prayer with His mysterious and incredible timing. Later, the perks of ministry included everything from free cars to physical healing. I couldn’t help but to let that patient optimism start creeping into the edges of my faith; yep, as terrifying as it sounds, I began submitting to the idea that God was in control.
But back to that little question, if money was of no concern, what would I do? The logical step then would be to look at my life backwards...what would I like the end to be?
I pulled open the LA Times to the obituaries, looking for some inspiration I suppose. I was in luck; it seems like a lot of people died this week. (ha)
The first obit said: "Blake Edwards dies at 88; 'Pink Panther' director was master of slapstick comedy." Another said: “Bob Feller dies at 92; Cleveland Indians pitcher was one of baseball's greats.” There was an actress noted who played Cary Grant's fiancee in 'An Affair to Remember,’ an Armenian American documentary filmmaker and a marketing exec for James Bond.
What strange thing to have all these remarkable lives whittled down to a single “tag line” to be remembered by. I wonder, what could mine be? There is the simple: “Teresa Jansen, wife, daughter and mother of two.” The professional: “Teresa Jansen, writer, artist and faithful volunteer.” And then, there is always the imaginary: Teresa Jansen, who solved world hunger, travelled the world and brought peace and faith to North Korea through the simple stroke of a pen.”
The real problem with this question as far as I can tell, money is not a concern. Year by year, bit by bit, God has loosened my grip on money being my central motivation for anything. We’ve been blessed with Jeff’s new job this past last year. In this new season of ministry, we are covering our basic expenses and bills in a way I never thought possible, while still trusting God to sustain us and fill the gaps where worry used to reside.

Psalm 37:4 says, “Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.” What I think this means is that the will of God, though mysterious, is not so far from grasp as one might think: it is as near as our own heart.
Proverbs 4:23 backs the the heart theory up, that “Above all else, guard your heart, for it is the wellspring of life.” In other words, career labels like “mother” or “teacher” might describe me. Living as a creation of God is at my heart, all other jobs and labels come after that truth.

Romans 12:2 affirms that our search for the will of God is a matter of the mind as well: “...be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.”
This all goes to show that seeking the will of God is not only a matter of searching through His word and in prayer, but searching our own heart and mind as well...in a word, reflection. But reflection never stands alone, without action, this sort of faith is dead,

James 2:17 assures us: “...faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”

Oh, looking forward to the next steps, to take action from the longing of my heart!

Fully known, fully loved

2010-11-27T10:31:00.001-08:00

I love this picture of Leah in her birthday suit, fitting as she turns one this week. It sure is easy to love babies, no matter how selfish, maddeningly messy or noisy they are.
I can't remember where I heard it this week, I'll try to find out, but I was captivated by this quote: that at the heart of every human is the desire to be fully known and fully loved. This is a suggestion with an arsenol of questions loaded not far behind, but perhaps the most obvious doubt it raised for me this: that if I am fully known, I would not be fully loved. Is that so hard to speak out loud? If we truly knew the deepest thoughts, the darkest intentions, the weakest moments of out friends and loved ones, could we ourselves claim to fully love? The second question raised then is this: what does it mean to be fully known? Is our desire to be fully known mean that whatever we might choose to share with a loved one would be accepted, encouraged or even admired? That is, is my own desire to be fully known come with the stipulation of it being self-disclosure, not constant, celebrity-style public exposure? Or perhaps my deepest desite to be fully known I recognize as one that might be satisfied only at the level that an omnipresent, omnivient creator could ever know me.
The third question raised was this: what does it mean to be fully loved? As a friend put it this week in response to my desparation over what to do about our unruly neighbors: "Teresa, love is not only gracious and merciful, but love is also disciplinary." 1 Corinthians carries a well-known definition for many: 4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. 5 It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. 6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. 7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails."
This verse is quoted at many wedding, Christian or otherwise, as the standard or at least the goal for healthy marital love. But what in the world do we have to suggest that example is within reach in the real world? It sounds like the perfect love among strangers, or perhaps the obsessional love our culture holds out for celebrities. Patient, kind, not easily angered, always hopes, never fails. But we all see this to be false in practice: love does fail. In this country, love as we know it fails about 60% of the time, according to recent divorce statistics. Maybe if we project love the way this verse portays it, as without envy, pride or self-centerness, maybe that love would perservere. But I can't help but doubt that if we were all "fully known," that out deepest insecurities and angers would only be further on our sleeve, ready to be ripped to shreds like an old itching, unpleasant bandaid. No, if it is true at all, I do not believe our desire to be "fully known and loved" is meant for this world at all, but it must be reserved for a much bigger picture, a God however mysterious or intimate, only such a diety could know all, see all, and love all completely. You know what I think I'm okay with that.

Passages

2010-11-17T20:33:00.000-08:00

A small photo journey through passages on an afternoon stroll. I was struck by how many back-gates go un-noticed, how, as a child, I would have yearned to step through, peer under, go around and explore these mysterious places. Some held wonderful mysteries behind them: a transient picnic, a life-size metal giraffe sculpture, a city, a wilderness...others quietly exposed backyards standard to suburbia, or blocked of any view at all. Fascinating, passages.

Passages

2010-11-17T20:18:00.000-08:00

The journey continues.

October Dreams

2010-09-27T14:48:00.001-07:00

October Dreams

1. Prison Bouquets
I'm inside a state-of-the art Norwegian prison, low security. It is a complex wonder, a free roaming micro society, but a small space. A long sidewalk adjacent to a brick walled building is lined with people, vendors of sorts. The other side of the sidewalk touches a fence and then drops off into an immense body of water. The wall side is lined with people selling flowers, beautiful boquets of very natural looking flowers they must have gathered in the hillside along the edge of the camp-like enclosure. The opposite side of the sidewalk is selling drugs: crack, dope, heroin, you name it. As people pass by, they struggle to scoot pass the dope-dealers and the flower vendors are having a hard time keeping fearful customers around. The warden stolls along with me in this little tour, explaining the dilemma, "How to we sell flowers when we are so hard-pressed for space here? The other side is closing in."

2. Margaret
I'm in a library, but a vast, marvelous one comprable to Powell's Bookstore in Portland. I have just entered through the gates and rounded a corner when I see a woman resting on the floor, her head propped up on a bookbag, reading. She seems beautifully relaxed. I marvel at how much the edge of her nose and smiling eyes remind me of my mother, and then realise, she is my aunty. "Margaret!" I exclaim, we embrace eachother, both happy about the surprize encounter. But as quickly as our visit began, I was interrupted by a phone call from a friend...I'm needed right away. I promply excuse myself, a little saddened that I didn't have time to browse the books or catch up with Margaret. In my hurry, I leave behind a beautiful dress I'd meant to change into that evening. I show up to meet the friend in the hospital, to mood is friendly but somber, she wants help planning her own memorial. Suddenly, Margaret arrives, my dress in her arms, and I am delighted. I sit on her lap and introduce my friend, "This is my mother's youngest sister Margaret, my aunty." Everyone is charmed. I am fasinated at the vastness of life summed up in that tiny little room, the joy of loved ones, the fear of change, and the shimmering dress so full of beauty, hopes and celebration.

Reality check.

2010-09-27T14:48:00.000-07:00

Thank you, Lord, for a great break in the clouds today. For a cup of coffee, a sleeping baby, and free childcare at IKEA for a whole hour. Thank you, Lord, for my mother, who serendipitiously, if that is such a word, found it in her heart to fix up her old laptop at get it to me very affordably at a time I needed it most, and thank you for the Post Office that delivered in only 2 short days. Thank you for the chance to write, what a great gift it is to get ideas out of my heart and tie them up into little bits of more meaningful communication... to clear them out of my muchly-much-too-full of a head.

So today, after some weeks of nearly collapsing under a bit of depression, illness and general self-loathing, I have the chance to resurface again a little brighter and more beautiful. Ironic that this feeling comes in the midst of our last September heat-wave, on a day that stretches near 110 degrees and feels every bit as oppressive as it sounds. The house has done well in the heat, the large pine tree out front and a pool in the back have gone a lone way in helping make the Southern California summer somehow bearable.

Our recent trip to the Northwest reminded me of how much a really miss what, after ten years away, I still refer to as "home." I think this is a dilemma that many in my generation go through, not just those that move far from home. It is the sort of "second awakening" of sorts in stepping into adulthood, that strange sensation that you can "never go home again." College has come and gone, and so many adolecent dreams have either failed to be realised, or matured into a more relistic vision, either way, this experience comes with it a sense of loss. Loss of expectation, loss of a hope that may or may not ever been realistic in the first place.

In my case, this expectation came in many forms: the hope to move back to the Northwest, for one, but also and in a much deeper sense, that hope to make a difference, to be consistantly involved in an environment/system/organization that gives back to a greater good. In a word, to experience JOY, no matter the circumstance. I believe, however naive, that this sort of joy is possible, and I've spent the last ten years or so really wrestling with what that look like. How do we manage to have an attitude of peace, strength and gratitude when life consistantly fails to "go our way?" That is a worthy question if I've ever found one.

This weeks verse from guest professor Doctor Presley stirred me up a bit from Zachariah 4: "Not by strength or might by my spirit, declares the Lord."

In other words, we can do all things through Christ's spirit, who strengthens us.

God and I have had a lot of words about this particular promise lately. How, exactly, does God strengthen me? How does my "mere" belief in Him help me, make a bit of difference in the day to day? I have become accustomed to the verbage since I was a child, to say "thank you" for all good gifts come from Him...to ask for God's help for everything from a lost sock to relationship troubles. I know how to say, when in need, "Dear Lord, please strengthen me," or in the midst of struggle, "Dear Lord, thank you that you are with me and I am not alone." I know how to say this, and I do believe it. But...do I really experience this strength in the way I believe God designed and desires for his children? Often I'm not so sure.

I found out early this summer on the 10 Freeway after the car broke down, again, just how much I was struggling with God's peace and provision. Standing on the side of the road with semi's whizzing by and clutching my sweet baby, I began to pray, "Thank you Lord, for taking care of us, for being with is..." then it occured to me, I did not believe that at ALL! That is, even if this experience was part of God's greater plan, I had no breath in me to be greatful or faithful that this experience was somehow "good." What good would it be for me to be crushed on the freeway? If I was not crushed, I would praise God for it. But if I WAS crushed, wouldn't that be God's will as well? I felt so confused. HOW does got strengthen us in affliction? How do I experience His strenth as my reality, and not just as a vague or future promise?

Thank you, Lord, that you are big enough for me to ask the tough questions. I'm reminded of the lines below...
Lamentations 3
19 I remember my affliction and my wandering,
the bitterness and the gall.

20 I well remember them,
and my soul is downcast within me.

21 Yet this I call to mind
and therefore I have hope:

22 Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed,
for his compassions never fail.

23 They are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.

24 I say to myself, "The LORD is my portion;
therefore I will wait for him."

25 The LORD is good to those whose hope is in him,
to the one who seeks him;

26 it is good to wait quietly
for the salvation of the LORD.

Entering Autumn

2010-09-15T22:50:00.001-07:00

I'm anticipating this autumn. I always have...loved autumn, that is-I love the smell of deep-wet leaves and the brisk breeze that the fall brings to Oregon, and now in LA I love that sweet desert-dry smell of crisp leaves on the sidewalk and a warm September wind. I like the events, apple picking, farmers markets, pumpkin carving; all things i get to revel with young kids in-tow. This week: the Los Angeles County Fair. I not so secretly love the Big Red Barn, where animals do their thing and have babies and children run around in the hay. I like that Barn because it is always the same, and at the same time, everything is always changing.
Like most of the human race, I struggle with change. Instead of embracing change as the natural eb-and-flow of life, the way the Big Red Barn so beautifully portays, I tend to fight change like rabbit tangled in a cobra.
Change and i have been battling a lot this year, and lately i believe I've met my match. After a year of new house-new job- new baby -new church-new friends madness, I'm throwing in the towel. I resign my sunny disposition tauting the "greener pastures" change will bring, and I am curling up into a small, fetal ball in the corner of my little slice of comfort I call "home," vowing, perhaps for just as long as possible, to not change one more damn little thing.
I have felt like a needed a break for so long that this Sunday I commited a terrible, horrible parental taboo: I put BoTh my snot-nosed children into the volunteer daycare for the morning, colds and all. Sure, I justified, they were MoStly healthy kids, "recovering" from colds, but the snot betrayed me. As I dashed away from the baby in the nursury, my face slightly flushed with adreneline at the wild freedom that surged through my pulse with every step, I heaved a sigh of relief. I made it.
I scurried upstairs to sit in the overflow room/cafe for the last morning service, sitting down not before grabbing a coffee and a scone, reveling in my long-awaited moment alone.
My silence did not last for long. No, change, my old foe, had crept past the boundries of my daily outine and into the row of chairs in front of me, thumping at my soul. There sat, in the chair touching my toes, an energetic and severely disabled young boy. He squirmed, squaked and moaned while others cast sqeamish glances and his mother "hushed" in frenzied tones. For a few selfish seconds, I still felt this unexpected circumstance had something to do with me and my day, as in, "oh brother, I can't get a moment of peace?"
Well, God met me square between the eyes that morning. This mother, the mother of a boy who for life would strain to find a daycare qualified to help, who's son may never tell her he appreciates her sacrifice...this mother does not get a break. I do not pity her, no, that would still be about me, no, I nearly envied her as the hour unfolded minute by minute, as she cared for her son the only way she knew, without a break. I was humbled beyond humanity. I wondered how many times change had defeated her, how many times het own expectations of parenthood, of love, of forgiveness were hurled out the window again and again, only to pick up, dust of and move as the wind so guided her.
I've always liked the autumn. I was the first to leave service, to grasp my children and hold them tight, to apologise profusely to the volunteers who glowered at my carelessness for leaving kids with colds, their coughs betrayed me and I felt the burning shame and secret glee that I had done something so awful and surived another day.
I don't know what tomorrow brings, I don't know what to expect but I know it will bring change. I hope to grasp sweet threads of little moments to be thankful, to stitch together an attitude of hope for all that lies ahead.

Being still again.

2010-08-11T10:10:00.001-07:00

I was staring out the window this morning, at the freshly cut shrubs and lawn around the neighborhood. What does God think of landscaping? Does he celebrate this need for control? In trying to be the master of our worlds, we cut the wildness, awe and adventure out of our lives. How do we get it back? Cultivate, garden, grow, prune...let the master gardener work. As I scramble to write these words, I can't help to think of the irony of writing about untamed wildness upon the confines of my little iPhone "notes" program: a technology that saves time, organizes and plans now my day-to day. How to I recapture adventure? Surrender control. How do I surrender control? Put it down. Pick up God; stillness, nature, scripture, truth wherever it stirs your yearning, thirsty soul.
Lord, thank you for making me be still today, for clearing out my plans to make me notice yours.

Bruised Fruit

2010-07-09T21:39:00.000-07:00

It's been a while since I've written much, although reading and research and life have been full to the brim.

I love the above image, a spliced lemon-orange tree. It is marvelous, it's smell intoxicating, but there is a downside. The tree is so busy putting energy into lemons and oranges, it has forgotten the flavor of each...the lemons have a strange-bitter-sweet flavor not quite right for a lemon, and the oranges all taste like sickly lemons. That is the state of my life right at the moment: busy with too many things to bother making one thing taste just right. The temptation to drop everything is looming...Ahh...time to slow down and do some pruning...

Latest moments worth mentioning:

The baby hauling herself up from a worm-roll to a scoot to a crawl and now kneeling at my feet like a puppy. Unbelievably amazing how human beings get started.

MB at preschool doing wonderful, getting blisters on her hands from all the monkey-baring and not minding a bit. Jeff and I bumped into a favorite teacher of hers, Pastor Phil, who visits from time to time to teach the kids, and he shared a wonderful story I will call "Loving the Monkey," it went something like this:

Pastor Phil brought a convincingly-real-to-children orangutan puppet for the weekly lesson. He was sharing the story about Jesus helping the lame man, so he pretended that the monkey (yes, I know it was an orangutan, but go along here) was hurt to show the children how the man needed help. MB piped in, "we need to pray for the monkey!" Pastor Phil sputtered, of course!

Phil shared with us later, "now, there are two types of kids at this preschool. There are the type that say, 'hey, a real monkey!' a dive right into the monkey business. Then there are the type of kids that say, 'that's not real, that's a puppet,' and won't have a part of it. Then, there is MB, who says, 'I know that monkey is not real. He is on your hand. But, I get it, it's funny. I will talk to him.'" Said Phil, "She probably one of the most well-adjusted kids out there."

It makes me beam.

On to other things...Jeff and I are planning/scheming great and grand future endeavors. On the list to do: pool parties, a potential (next few years) trip to Africa/Sweden, lazy Sundays, camping, a trip up North to see family and friends, a possible business venture and a marriage study about essentially the nature of sex and faith, written together. Whoa.

I recently finished a marvelous writing workshop by a friend of mine (one I HIGHLY recommend, BTW for anyone with any inkling of writing in their veins they are hoping to squeeze out. Don't take my lazy writing here as the only word for it, got check out her site www.christintaylor.com).

I've been puttering with my own creativity since the workshop finished a couple weeks ago, I feel fully fueled for the next step as far as writing goes, but I think I am in limbo, waiting to be sure my foot will fall on solid ground so I can take off running on the right course. For now, I've got to much strange fruit on this tree, I need to pick good soil and take root in it.

I've got all kinds of creative energy, and in many ways, I have more knowledge and resources to finish any task I put my mind to, I just can't make up my mind about the most precious task at hand. It's rather a new predicament for me, having all the tools and energy with no where to go. My past experience with the creative arts is that tends to fall into being all energy no tools, or all tools and no energy, one or the other.

Jeff is just rocketing into his new position over the last few months, really enjoying the staff and ministry and challenges, I think I'm a tad jealous. Of course, spending time with my family is precious to me, and takes up a considerable amount of time and energy as it is, but I've got God-given gifts and desires to create, encourage and contribute and a lot of other ways through this next season, so my prayers now are for patience and the common sense to know what to put my time into.

In the midst of all this, there has been a lot transition for the community around us, from a whole mess of friends moving away, to several friends (and family!) having babies, joys as well as other very human hurts, illness and pains that affect us deeply. Vagueness here only because the shifts are too massive to describe in a bit of a blog. I feel a bit lost in this tree of networks as well, not sure how/when to contribute but appreciate prayers for encouragement and strength for wherever I might lend a hand.

Thanks for tuning in, I'll keep you posted.

Friends...

2010-06-15T11:10:00.001-07:00

Well, as I write, a couple of our friends are on their way to Washington to begin their new lives. Originally in Holland, they've been in southern california for a couple of years while he finished a Masters degree. It's not a terribley long time, two years, in the span of a life, but it feels like we've been through so much. We've watched their little girl go from a wobbly one to a precotious three-year old. We were there the day their son wad born, with his bright blue Dutch eyes waking up to the world, to then see him crawl and walk and laugh and explore. And they were there for us, as MB went from two to four, as LR was born. As we struggled to thrive in ministry with few friends our own age, they were with us as we met others and our ministry grew a growing group of passionate, faithful, funny friends that we only dreamed of having around.
Life is a strange and fleeting thing. When we found out about the opportunity for jeff to switch jobs back in the winter, I reeled at the idea of leaving these friends, our small group, our ministry and routine. After so many years of struggling to thrive there, when it came time, I really struggled to go.
As always, God knew the plan. All in one big summer sweep, so many of our friends that we've grown close to are leaving. Our Dutch friends, and two others, to Washington. Another to the bay area to get engaged. Another back to Belarus for the summer. Suddenly, I find myself reeling again at the prospect of change. Life changes, whether you are staying or going, it changes.
Now my summer awaits with the task of rallying old friends, making more new friends, and braving the heat as out family prepares for yet more transistion.
It seems transition is much more of a constant state than I realized, like trying to grasp sand at the coast istead of just riding the waves.

Kickboxing

2010-06-09T12:08:00.001-07:00

I woke up today in quite a rush, not entirely abnormal I'll admit, but today there was an air of excitment and butterflies.

MB had a field trip to a local water park today, so I got to help her dress twice, first the swim gear and lotion, then the day clothes, plus a hat. Went through my routine: shower fast. Make rice cereal, nurse the baby, bring breakfast and my own gear and off we go. Get to preschool, kiss the kid, then to my friends house who is watching the baby. Kiss the baby, wave to friend, then ... To the dojo for Kickboxing. Miracle of miracles, I made it on time, 8:58 to be exact. This is day one!

The room is small, a blue matted rug stretches across the floor that smells oddly nice, like clean sweat and rubber and discipline. There are about 6 human-sized punching bags around the dojo, and I am pleased to see that there are men as well as women getting geared up, they all seem serious and somewhat fit, perhaps jeff will join me soon after all.

The instructor says his name is Chicco. He looks like a sumo wrestler, which startles me. He seems very sincere and has a sort of quiet fierceness, it makes his commands sound like real business.

I get gloves, stand by a bag try to look serious too, like i have a clue what to do. Rocky- style dance music surges through the building, Chicco begins to bark our routine.

Stretch, roll, breathe. Punch, kick, jab. Squat, jump, upper-cut. The routine is fast and furious, I have no time to second guess if this is something my body can keep up with, I just go. The other boxers grunt ad yell, I wonder if I will feel brave like that soon and grunt an yell too. I keep good form. I take deep breaths. I am secretly thrilled every time chicco says "water break." Red faced like a tomato, I stretch, roll, breathe, and with a clap of victory we are done.

At first, I think I have not worked out like that in years. It feels good. As I cool off in the car with a towel to my face and chug more water, I begin the think, that was not so bad, I could push harder next time. Easier said then done.

It is amazing how such a simple thing as excercise can seem so daunting to begin. It is amazing how such a complex thing as our daily routine can seem so simple once I have exercised-- I think I will do it again!

New Ap

2010-05-30T23:21:00.001-07:00

Jeff just figured out an app for writing ony blog from my phone since Internet is out at home, hooooooray. I feel connected to writing again, I'll see about picking this back up more frequently.
Latest musings: mom's in town. I'm enjoying conversations about
Life, parenting, trees, compassion and beyond. My favorite was untangeling the concept of forgiveness this evening over some fatastic Ginger Thai food and iced tea.
"I forgive you" can be a true act of love, or curiously, a statement of pride and superiority. "I forgive you" may claim righteousness in that another has done wrong. " I forgive you" can be a wealth of healing and resoration when given in response to the simple request, "will you forgive me?"
Why forgive? We do not recieve what we do not give.
I know how to say "I forgive." but do I know how to experience this surrender and love daily?
I know how to say "I trust." but trusting is another thing all together.
That is my mothers gift to me this weekend, the true artnof language. What is a word without an idea? What is an idea without a reality? What is a reality without some faith? I like to think about these sorts of things, at the risk of sounding like a freshman philosophy major, I like that I think, that somehow validates the "I Am" and everything that I experiance therafter. Glad jeff found an app to grant me access to these free rambles. Glad because I don't mind so much sounding mad in here if it help me cope with the real world out there after my thoughts have been strewn about and untangled on the page.
Wondering how to put on forgiveness today. My right To be right just might melt away. :) onward again, into the real world, from theory to practice, what a large step that is, here to the moon.

Grasshopper

2010-05-07T14:12:00.000-07:00

I was in the pool house with the girls yesterday afternoon, and I began to notice this grasshopper stuck between the curtain and the window panes. I didn't pay much attention to it at first, just waiting for it to find its way out and stop making all the fluttering noise. But after some time, I became captivated.

The curtain was only about three feet wide, but for some reason, the grasshopper was stuck there for hours. He would jump to the glass and stop, jump and stop, jump and stop. If he would only jump to the curtain and fall down to the floor, he could get outside in no time, free to roam and chomp and leap to his hearts content.

All at once, I was struck by metaphor, and felt sudden and fierce empathy for this little friend.

It is extremely difficult to understand the bigger picture when you our caught behind the curtain of your own circumstances. It is nearly impossible to take a leap of faith that defies your own logic and intuition, yet will somehow set you free.

I really felt for this little friend, in many ways, I feel stuck too.

¹² Do you see a man wise in his own eyes?
There is more hope for a fool than for him. -Proverbs 26:12

and again...

¹⁵ The way of a fool seems right to him,
but a wise man listens to advice. -Proverbs 12:15

I am so tired of being "wise in my own eyes." I am so eager to surrender to the bigger picture, to gather advice from those with a better plan!

Good luck, little grasshopper. You will need it.

Losing patience

2010-05-07T13:58:00.000-07:00

It's been about two weeks since my last post.

A series of events, including voluntarily discontinuing our internet at home, makes this blog project a much less frequent endeavor. However, I plan to continue writing at home and periodically updating the blog, because it has been good for my soul to have this outlet and I hope, as a bit of icing, it may bless others along the way.

This has been a very intense season of discipline, along with other things. At first, it started out as self-promoted discipline, for example, Jeff and I choose to remove the TV from the house, to cut up credit cards, and refine our spending habits, to eat healthier (giving up soda and coffee dates) etc. All around good things, a lot of self-control and accountability while not lacking in discomfort.

Then, in the midst of that, bizarre things began to happen. Within the last few months, our truck, our car, our fridge (and then even a replacement fridge) broke. Jeff's guitar was stolen. It is as if the universe has conspired to join us in our journey towards patience, faithfulness and self-control. Umm, thank you?

I mentioned a while back how we should be careful to pray for patience, because God just might send the traffic to put you to the test? I feel a bit like that lately. Most would say I am reading to much into this, and I am. But I also can't help but wonder what I am supposed to be learning here.

God always provides. It just is (rarely? never?) the way we planned it. I guess that is a good thing. I just wish God could help me plan things the way he wanted them in the first place, so that I would stop getting my hopes up and getting disappointed. It feel like such an un-necessary waste of energy!

This too will pass.

I'll keep posting as time allows, till then, prayers for peace and gratitude through every circumstance to us all.

Hearing Voices?

2010-04-23T00:55:00.000-07:00

Well. I've just spent the better part of three hours trying to upload some images that apparently were just not meant to be, so, at the risk of calling myself an idiot, I will be content to share my mind and soul (instead of the original article source that has inspired my musings this week). And it will have to be enough!

I have been battling my "inner critic" for some time. Since birth, perhaps, who knows, but certainly this week the battle has been rampant and brought to light. Thanks to an article I read last week (thanks, Vicki) I have been given the chance to "catch" my inner critic, to give it a purpose and a name, and to disarm it's sharpened spurs from my backside, so to speak.

The article described the "Pathological Critic" (from Self Esteem, McKay, Fanning, 2000)

as that negative voice in your head that attacks and judges you. The Critic does not simply observe, as in, "Wow, look at this mess," but the critic comes in with a very sly one-two swing: "IDIOT, SLOB!" If you listen to this voice often enough, it becomes just as true to you as thinking, "gosh I'm cold," or "wow that sky is blue today."

The article does not only describes the phenomenon, but suggests a way to begin to carve the critic out that I really like.

First, for one day, observe: catch the negative comments in your head and write it down on paper. It just might blow your mind.

Next, label what that voice was trying to do for you: motivating, or avoiding? For example, I might have written down: "at park with MB, don't want to play--LAZY MOM!" A cutting comment that, at its heart, might motivate me to play more with my child, or avoid ridicule from my family or friends should anyone ever echo that sentiment ("I told myself I was a bad mom first, so it won't hurt so bad when I hear it from you."

The point is that no matter why the voice showed up, it is DESTRUCTIVE. It does not reap long-term healing, only short-term fixes, and often costs you. It costs blows to your self-esteem, health, finances, relationships...you name it.

The last steps are ongoing, to establish worth as separate from achievements.

I love the lines, "You are a complex miracle of Creation...What you do should come from the drive to fully live, rather than the fight to justify yourself."

This week, despite all kinds of trials, I have an infusion of hope, a freedom from the guilt-trap way of life, the "should be's" that I get stuck in. I want to live in abundance, not in fear ... not crippled with "but what if's," but confidently in "what IS."

I am reveling in the opportunity to dwell in my Creators love, and let my life simply be an outpouring of that affection. The more I "catch the critic" and deflect those falsehoods, I pray, the more clarity and space for the truth of God's gracious love to dwell in me.

I pray this for you too, my beloveds.

Got voices? There are some fantastic verses to disarm the critic, too:

1. GOD'S SPIRIT SPEAKS TRUTH In LOVE

Christ sent a helper for those who believe. Galatians 5:22 says But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.

The "CRITIC" might sound like truth, but it will only bring destruction because there is no love in it:

1 Cor 13:1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.

2. THE ENEMY DECEIVES

1 Peter 5:8 Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

Eph 6:10-12 Finally, be strong in the Lord and in his mighty power. Put on the full armor of God so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes.For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.

Great notes below are from here: (http://www.dashsermons.com/2009/06/spiritual-warfare-ephesians-610-20/)

A great Chinese military strategist once wrote:

All warfare is based on deception. Therefore, when capable, feign incapacity; when active, inactivity. When near, make it appear that you are far way; when you are far away, that you are near. Offer the enemy a bait to lure him; feign disorder and strike him. Pretend inferiority and encourage his arrogance.

All warfare, he says, is based on deception. Paul is saying that we have an enemy who engages in deceit and who has all kinds of other schemes. The word schemes there actually has the idea of deceit.

And at the end of Ephesians, he says that there are two things we need to do to respond. First, we have to recognize the nature of our battle. Second, we must use God’s resources in the battle.

3. GOD HAS THE POWER so that we walk in the light as heirs, not by works, but by faith, trusting and earnestly seeking the Lord

Philippeans 4:12-13

I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. ¹²I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. ¹³I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Colossians 1:9-14

For this reason, since the day we heard about you, we have not stopped praying for you and asking God to fill you with the knowledge of his will through all spiritual wisdom and understanding. And we pray this in order that you may live a life worthy of the Lord and may please him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work, growing in the knowledge of God, being strengthened with all power according to his glorious might so that you may have great endurance and patience, and joyfully giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

iPhone Home

2010-04-18T18:54:00.000-07:00

There's nothing like getting a piece of shiny new technology to remind me of how much I like the real world.

After spending a beautiful day at the beach (a first for Little Girl) full of ferry boats, frozen-bananas, sand castles and lots of splashing, we headed over to the Apple store to retire our old, broken cell phones for the newest thing.

Oh, we have a lot of really good excuses why it was time to get an iphone, including bad old phones, new cheaper internet, syncing with Jeff's work stuff, yadayadayada. But I would be lying to suggest we were not a bit enticed by the modern "wow" factor. Yep. We also like them because they are "cool."

IPhones are pretty amazing stuff. They do more today then most laptop computers did just a few years ago. With a swish-click, they get you online, play all your music and more, not to mention the oft-understated function of connecting phone calls.

I was quick to discover (as an admittedly-last-wave consumer) much of the buzz around "apps" as well. With an iphone, you can just click on the "app store" and add any number of useful (or useless) little extras for FREE on up. That is, shortcut buttons for games, favorite websites, tiny programs and more. Jeff was quick to discover a "guitar-tuning" app, that's pretty cool. I found one to help me take notes, one to find local museums and entertainment, and even one to quick-read the Bible.

Then came the dreaded task: learning how to USE my iPhone. For someone who worked with teenagers for the last three years, my learning curve with technology must seem abysmal. Then again, I'm not sure many of my students know what that word means, so perhaps we're even :P

First, because Jeff had gotten the Genius demo while I was watching the girls, he had to show me how to turn it on. Yep, I could not get that much on my own. Then, he showed me my various buttons for internet, phone and apps, all of which eventually require some keyboard typing.

Getting used to the new keyboard was kind of a joke. I was slow enough on my OLD phone texting, and now I get to learn a whole new keyboard with my thumbs, making one mistake for every three letters got a bit nuts.

This shiny new technology was kicking my arse.

Then, he showed me the camera. This, I could use. I was quick to snap shots of my family, save/send/or text without a hiccup.

Today, after spending about an hour and a half fumbling around to update my contact list (to the tune of my daughter begging me for an outing), I finally consented to enjoy walk to the park with Big Sister and Little Girl.

My iPhone snapped away to capture flowers along the way, MB tugging at my hand. (The top-shot is a rose from along our route today). I finally tucked my technology away to celebrate the sunset with my favorite girls.

I'm happy to have an iphone - I like being able to reach out into the world in one more fascinating sort of way - but it did not make me feel cool. At least not yet. I'm happy to have the phone as long as it doesn't have me. The temptation to enjoy the real world remains greater, so far...

Doing the Thankfuls

2010-04-13T20:54:00.000-07:00

I have been reminded this week about doing the "thankfuls."

1 Thessalonians 5:18 says "give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus."

But what if the circumstances seem...well, not awesome? I think that is the point, but I'm trying to wrap my mind around this in a new way lately.

When MB began preschool, she reeled at the transition. "Do I HAaaaAAve to go today?" became her morning mantra. The times we had our wits about us, and had not been beaten down with impatience, Jeff and I would re-phrase this lovingly,

"Yes, my daughter, you GET to go to pre-school today, and I know you will do your best today!"

This seemed to sink in after a few weeks (months?) and now MB's attitude had improved considerably, but then I caught my own habits creeping in. In order to encourage her to have a great day, I would downplay my own "fun" time.

"I have to go to a meeting today, but YOU GET to go to Preschool and play with friends!" How boring must that sound to her budding little ears, how dismal a view of growing up if her parents "have" to attend "boring" functions all the time, and worse, still choose to go to them over spending time with her?

SO I started re-phrasing my own outings as well:

"I GET to go help a friend today and do a painting, and you GET to spend time with your friends too."

This seems to have worked for a while, noticing these "thankfuls" in my own day to day. But then, things got sticky. Our truck broke. Our car exploded. Now it is the fridge, melted into oblivion. It is hard to say, "

"Thank you Lord, I get to have a broken car."

"Thank you, Lord, I get to have a broken fridge."

This sort of gratitude is not part of my daily practice. Sure, I can be thankful for the incredible blessing of a barrowed car, a barrowed mini-fridge, and despite any inconveniences, I am truly thankful and aware of what a gift these things are.

But...how can I be thankful for the BROKEN? For sick kids? For tense relationships?

I heard a friend say recently, "be careful when you pray for patience, because God will send the traffic to put you to the test."

It's like MB in time-out. She can look out the window and say, "I'm thankful for a pretty day," but she is still in time-out. Rather, she can say, "I'm so glad my parents care enough to correct and instruct me, if they didn't love me, they wouldn't care. I'm thankful I'm learning so I wont have to do this again soon."

A truly thankful heart is not BLIND to circumstance, but trusts God IN it.

That is my prayer for today, to remember the thankfuls, deeper, wider, longer, truer than ever before...God has a WONDERFUL plan. I can't wait to grow in it day by day.

For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. 12Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. 13You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. 14I will be found by you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back from captivity.^b I will gather you from all the nations and places where I have banished you,” declares the LORD, “and will bring you back to the place from which I carried you into exile.”

-Jeremiah 29

A Day Without Facebook

2010-04-08T18:31:00.000-07:00

Due to a number of discussions about the absurdity of "talking to walls," a few friends and I have temporarily boycotted Facebook. Just for a couple of weeks, I'll attempt to regain my perspective on life beyond technology (the irony of posting this on a blog, I know, is glaring. Tough. I'm posting this anyway).

Facebook and similar "social" technology has the tendency to draw our far friends nearer, while sending our close friends farther.

For anyone living on Mars lately, Facebook is an online service that facilitates messages, sincere or mundane, to be splattered carelessly on a community "wall" for all to see. On this wall, we see anything from "I finally got a new job" to "I've got gum on my shoe," then giving readers who happen to stroll by your cyberspace the chance to say "great job, woot," or "thumbs-up," and boosting our fragile social egos by two-points an hour to think *squeal* that somebody actually noticed us and considered our lives worthy of their fleeting attention.

The outer shell of this technology looks shiny and wonderful: it easily connects networks much larger than your neighborhood. It is free. It is an easy way to stay up-to-date on people otherwise hard to reach. It can be a tool for a greater cause. It brings humor into a perhaps boring day. It challenges to users to be witty and interesting, albeit rarely successful, (sorry my FB folks) I have to add.

The inner muck of Facebook is a much stranger beast indeed. It causes us to constantly seek the attention and praise of friends, and more often, virtual strangers. It causes us to talk "at" people instead of "with" anyone, because our posts can be censored, meticulous, and quintessentially without any vulnerability or intimacy. Besides all this, Facebook is brilliantly run by advertisers and cookies, few users realize how pervasive they are. Every application or cause the user clicks on such as "farm ville" or "fight breast cancer" goes into the sites memory, therefor contributing to personalized banner ads for each user. In return for a "free" site, we are giving strangers passwords to our lives, letting the lions in to devour what is left of our consumer will-power.

On Facebook, beautiful, fragile, painful or treasured moments of the day-to-day are whittled down to a status "clip."

I recall one gorgeous afternoon last fall when I was visiting Riley Farms, an apple orchard about 2-3 hours east of LA, and I was watching a particularly rowdy family with teenage girls wearing classic short-shorts, a pile of make-up (for a day on a farm) and they were all wielding iphones. When they were not glued to the phones, they we taking turns squealing at various farm items: a cart, a pumpkin, a sun-drenched apple tree, posing together with classic teenage kissy-faces in front of each one. The family had "LA" written all over them, and the real icing was the repeated exclamation after each picture:

"Ooooh, this is SOOOO FACEBOOK worthy!"

The very act of observing a moment for the purpose of sharing with others has robbed our souls of living in the moment, content to simply be ourselves.

We live for the unseen audience, behave as if our lives are unseen, and hide our true colors from what is left of our "real" friends.

I'm glad I am taking a breath away from Facebook. Instead, I am blogging to my own "unseen audience..." absurd, right? I don't know why it feels so different. I feel like writing here is for the joy of the journey, it feeds my musing, creative soul. I blog at the end of my day, at the end of a moment, when my own reflections are bubbling over so much that I can't contain my sanity if I don't connect my thoughts into some tapestry of purpose.

I'll close with, fittingly:

TEN THINGS I DID TODAY (WHILE NOT ON FACEBOOK):

1. Kissed my family good morning.

2. Had a cup of coffee under the sun of my backyard.

3. Rode a bike with a baby up a small mountain.

4. Correction: walked, gasping, to make it to the top of a small mountain.

5. Rode down a small mountain, marveling at the breeze that elicited noises of pure squealing baby-delight.

6. Had a small picnic with a sketchbook in hand.

7. Wrote a friend a "REAL" letter on a pretty piece of paper, tucked in in an envelope and put in in the mail.

8. Spoke on the phone to a few "REAL" friends, found out about a new baby, a faith crisis and a small tragedy all in an afternoon.

9. Watched my four-year old for an hour of "shows:" currently reciting "head shoulders knees and toes" while I type. Spent time with my family without agenda.

10. Spent the (ongoing) evening pulling the bed into the living room for some family reading and cuddle time. Just because.

Enjoying my life in the moment! I'll keep (you) posted.....

Forgiven by Bob

2010-04-05T12:41:00.001-07:00

This morning, I got a phone call. It was Bob. "You are forgiven," he said, I could almost feel his gentle old smile. I was standing in the middle of the grocery store, and began weeping while holding a can of cream-of-mushroom soup. I'm not exactly sure why I was so relieved, so quick to tears, but I couldn't stop thinking: it feels so good to be forgiven.

Perhaps I should back up a day or three.

Since our Saturn's clutch gave out, and until the next miracle, we've been borrowing cars. The latest is a large, long, impressive-while-older Chevrolet long-bed pickup truck. In a word, it is HUGE.

The Saturday before Easter we were terrifically busy, and I woke up in a terrible mood. It didn't help that it seemed like my seat was glued inside that truck all day long.

Since the truck gets about 10 miles to the gallon, we tend to burn through gas lately, and it just made me all the grumpier at the prospect of running errands all day instead of sitting home with a sketchbook and a cup of tea. I tried my best to put on cheerful face.

I got Jeff to work, only to find I needed to make a second trip to go get a keyboard. I got back home, only to find I needed to make a third trip to go help with a neighbor's couch. I got the keyboard to Jeff, and went to Pasadena to relax with with a friend, only to arrive with my cell phone ringing: "we need you to come back to Glendora to get the canvases, they wont fit the singer's car ... oh, and the store closes in an hour." I say hi to my friend, say goodbye to my friend, and rush back in traffic to the art store, minutes before closing.

As I pull in to park, I hear the most... dreadful... scraping... sound. I have grazed the shiny bumper of the Cadillac beside me. I get out to survey the damage, a condemning bit of rubber left it's mark on the bumper. On the brighter side, my mammoth borrow vehicle is left entirely unscathed by the encounter, but I wrestle cursing under my breath and fight the tears as I leave a note for the mystery owner. The note read as follows:

"I hit your bumper. Please forgive! Call me about money/insurance, whatever." -Teresa

I get the canvases in the back. I head home, hoping to drink-up an hour of napping girls so I could relax before I have to go back and pick up Jeff. I walk in the door. I lay MB on the couch like and angel as the baby snores in her carseat. I flop down into a chair and...

My cell rings. "I'm done early!" Jeff's cheerful voice booms.

"Okay!" I say, with unconvincing excitement. "I'll be right there."

By the time we all get home again, it is dark, cold and I have utterly surrendered any chance of recovering my plans for a peaceful Saturday.

The next morning, Easter Sunday, although filled with otherwise lovely moments, breezes by as busily as Saturday, and we end up in a Jack-in-the-Box drive-through for dinner at about 8:30pm.

Today is Monday. I am spent. We had planned to enjoy Jeff's day off at the beach, and I was secretly thrilled to hear that it was raining this morning. I use the chance at a rainy-day in to break-in my crock pot, and head to the store to buy some ingredients for soup.

Then, Bob called. "You are forgiven," he said, "I know just the trick to fix it, and that was about the sweetest note I've ever seen." It took me a moment to catch my breath. I began to sputter about my awful Saturday, about our broken car, about the enormous truck and everything, but the only thing that came out was "I...I...I...thank you."

"God bless you."

I feels so good to be forgiven. Especially on Easter. Even by Bob.

Birthday thoughts

2010-03-31T12:07:00.000-07:00

I've never been the sort to complain about birthdays.

I look forward each year for the opportunity to reflect on life and consider my goals and dreams; birthdays seem like a nice sort of day to think about these things.

Granted that today I am yet again one-year-closer to 30 and this (albeit arbitrary) number seems to freak a lot of young-twenties out. Not so for me, I've always looked forward to 30 as a sort of right-of-passage into "real" adulthood as we shed the restricting skin of angst and immaturity.

I don't even mind the idea of aging for the most part ... my new-daily wrinkles, freckles and yes, even a few silver streaks I wear like a warrior, thankful to have survived every moment thus-far to earn them. And even what features I am not fond of...those I pocket as a reminder against the threat of vanity.

I just have to admit though, today I absolutely woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and ... I am increasingly tempted to blame my birthday.

I think it is something to do with how counter-intuitive it is to spend a day thinking of myself. I should not say counter-intuitive ... no, it is amazingly easy to think about myself. It is just a habit I have tried hard to shed for the last few decades because it only reaps rotten fruit.

I woke up with a well-meaning husband trying his best to carve out a few nice moments for me--he even took the day off work, an enormous gesture especially in such a busy week for him--and all I could think about was all the missing things ... the things I wish he knew I wanted. It's stupid, I know, the generally female "you should know what I'm thinking" trap, but there I was, sitting in it with an aire of complete indignation.

Here I was with a loving husband asking me what I wanted for breakfast, and I was thinking about the pile of dishes. The laundry. The many projects I just wished I could ditch my loving family for a couple of hours to "get something meaningful accomplished."

Why is that??? Why is it that no matter how incredibly meaningful my life may be, I am bent on looking over the fence, longing for greener pastures.

I have to mention now, that in the midst of writing this, MB has climbed up on the couch and cuddled up next to my ear (Jeff is out running errands, preparing for a family hike today).

She whispers sweetly,

Can we go on our outing now? "When daddy gets back, love." (I hope my answer is sufficient for her to let me finish typing).

But...can we go an an airplane and see our family today? My stomach sinks, knowing that is yet another goal that has been pushed off into the distant future. "Not today, sweetie."

But I remember that you said that on your birthday you said you wanted to go on an airplane and see you family? I am amazed at the memory of this little four-year-old, recalling a conversation that must be at least two months old. "My love, it takes a lot of money to go an an airplane, and I'll need to save up," I tell her.

Can we take my piggy bank and dump out my piggy bank and give it to the airport guy?

It takes me several more moments to convince her that is not the plan for today, but not before getting completely melted by her thoughtfulness and sincerity.

Why is it so difficult to appreciate the little things? "Happy Birthday," I chew over what this sentiment really means, isn't it enough that it comes from people who mean well?

I squirm to finish these last few lines, trying to type from under the arms of another too-tight little hug, and marvel at what motivates my mood today ... what a mystery we are.

Grasping glimpses

2010-03-25T09:27:00.000-07:00

And I thought I was losing my mind...

I've been noticing lately how many memories I thought that I shared with MB only to find out that at the tender age of four, she has already forgotten.

Remember when we saw that play together? "No."

Remember when we went to that farm with the pig? "No."

Remember what blue and yellow make?

"I don't know."

Honestly. She has seen the movie about 5,000 times, but after ditching our TV for a month, this kid has already forgotten the plot to Cinderella.

I imagine the effects of parenting are cumulative, so it is my only hope that the foundation in trust and love and obedience we are trying to prepare her with will stick, even if she does forget all the details.

It is simultaneously my hope that she with magically forget all of our major parenting screww-ups ... there's a chance, righhhht?

My mother told me once, when I was very young, maybe 5 or 6, that many people lose memories of before they are 5. "Absurd," I thought, it whatever mental vocabulary a 6-year-old might have, "I remember everything before I was five!"

I thought about sitting in a toy drawer with my brother, I thought about skating on the ice with a neighbor girl pondering impending preschool, and I'm sure I thought of many other things...

But sure enough, when I was about 10, I recalled that conversation, and was devastated to realize that many of my pre-age-5 memories had already escaped me. Of course, this phenomenon has only grown so that now I barely remember events before my teen years, except in fleeting glimpses.

There is the other side to the mystery of memory ... It is all about the glimpses.

I don't remember any of my birthdays before age ten, but I remember the first time I noticed my mother lie (a very small deal), at about 7 years old. I was heartbroken, that moment I discovered she was human. This has stuck with me struggle to be a honest parent.

I remember hunting for candy in a pile of October harvest hay with my little brother, we got to take the hay home and I loved the way it smelled like a tootsie-roll barn, and I loved that time with my brother. We kept sneaking out to find more candy, even though we were not allowed.

This has stuck with me as I search out moments to let loose with my own kids, just to let them have fun. I have a lot of glimpses in my memory of getting into trouble with William, usually my fault, and I treasure them all.

I remember hunting for blueberries with my sisters. The Japanese student we had staying with us tried for hours to pick every single blueberry because of a simple mis-communication with my dad. I was barely 6 I think, but I was so sad for her, because she looked so embarrassed and frustrated, while picking berries with my sisters had always been so fun.

I imagine this stuck in my memory bank as an important glimpse of the power of communication, and who knows if this was a contributing factor in my going back to school and getting that degree. All I know is that communication is at the root of my passions.

Besides all that she has forgotten, MB remembers some obscure glimpses too. "Remember when we lived in our old house and I used to play peek-aboo on the garden window? She asked me this week- a game we played when she was two as I did laundry in the back house.

Who knew doing laundry with my daughter would be a treasured moment for her?

I guess I never will know what those moments will be.

As more childhood flies by like wisps of smoke, I can only try to treasure my own little glimpses of bliss with them both.

Words from the Source

2010-03-24T11:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a noteworthy week.
I managed to finish several articles and a mural, hence the lack of blogging of late. I feel terribly accomplished when I ... umm... accomplish things. Funny thing. I like it when I get things done, but life gets super exciting when those constant little miracles are drwn to my attention, and it has been that sort of a week.

Yes, our Saturn blew up and we have basically no money or credit for a car. That was a frusterating day, for sure.

More significantly though, God is GOOD.
He works all things toward good.
And the good this week: apparently we will be getting (another?!?) FREEE car.

Yes, that's what I've heard.

NOW.....a ministry of our church gets cars donated and fixes them up for people who can't afford a car, and apparently we got on the list. Ain't no shame in the real God thing!!!

A prayer I have taken to heart this year, even though at times it is so difficult to say:

Keep falsehood and lies far from me; give me neither poverty nor riches, but give me only (emphasis mine) my daily bread. Otherwise, I may have too much and disown you and say, 'Who is the LORD ?' Or I may become poor and steal, and so dishonor the name of my God.
(Proverbs 30:8-9)

It is not a common prayer in our culture to ask for "just enough;" no, we wan't it all. Yes, most days, I want it all. I want a house to own. A brand new car. A lovely wardrobe. I want to look cool, I want to hear adoration and praise from my peers, even though I feel like such a goof most of the time. Deep, deep down, I know that none of that matters.

God wants life in abundance for us, not a life buried in our own pride, plans and foolishness. God is the lover of our souls, wooing us daily to trust in His incredible power, "My grace is sufficiant," God says, "my power made perfect in weakness."

I don't just trust that God said "I will always be with you," and assume it to be so. I yearn to experience this truth, marking moments and miracles, because I trust the Source.

I heard recently how often we cling to God's words, when even that very act of faith can be missing the point:

We don't read:
"Abraham believed (God's words) and it was counted to him as rightiousness."
We do read:
"Abraham believed GOD..."

The Creator. The Source.

It is very possible that this INCREDIBLE blessing of getting this free car this month could fall short. The car could fail. We might have to wait an extra month. But I will not fall to pieces, because His grace is sufficiant, he provides my daily bread. AMEN!

The Wrong Side

2010-03-20T18:23:00.000-07:00

Somedays, I have my act together. Or so I like to think.

I get up on time. I engage my spouse and children in warm, challenging and caring conversations. I contribute to society for the most part, manage goals, keep in shape, care for others and get things done.

Today was not that day.

MB was up super late last night, and woke up on the wrong side of the bed like a cross rhinocerous. I have to admit, the grumpiness was contagious. After getting out of the house an hour late and letting MB eat MandM's for breakfast, I go finish a mural and take the Saturn in to our mechanic. Things quickly go down hill.

I asked the staff for some tape to keep my gallon of navy blue together, and before we could turn around, the gallon tips off of the dolly and lands "splat" all over the bookstore floor. I have seen this very moment in slow motion in actual nightmares. Luckily, this is latex house paint and despite being mortified and my face turning three shades of red, I manage to clean it up fairly quickly.

In the same ten minutes, Jeff comes to meet me and drop off the girls, and LR had one of those indescribable diaper moments that left me with a naked baby, a mess of paper towels and quite a scowl.

Then, there is the car. I save $100 on getting a diagnostic test, because after describing the "revving" symtoms, the mechanic is honest enough to waive the test fee and just say "look, it is your clutch, its about $800 to fix that."

Gulpp.

For a 13 year old car with 225,000 miles on it, this is just not an option. However, he basically tells me I'd be neglectful to even put my kids in this car again, the clutch could go out in 6 months on the freeway or in five minutes backing out of his driveway, there's no way to know.

Luckily again, we had already barrowed a (wonderful) friend's car just in anticipation of the Saturn being in the shop for a few days, so at least we had a safe and extra car for a bit. I took the girls, Jeff took the Saturn to get gas as we weighed our options.

Well, not only is our mechanic honest, but apparently he is prophetic. Jeff put $20 in gas in the Saturn and as he pulled out of Chevron, one big "VrrRRRRrrr--puhhh" and that was IT for that car. It is toast. Kapuut. And yes, I guess we just lost that $20 bucks too. :)

I basically lose it, I'm snapping at MB most of the day and am less patient with the baby. I meet a friend at the mall, a nice respite despite the hours in traffic and crowds at the mall, and continue to feed my whining child fast food and sugar.

This day, I have accepted defeat.

I embrace whatever is left of my energy and patience and sit out in our pool house with my girls, cuddling on some pillows to a little outdoor movie night.

Some days are like that, even in Australia...

...and I'm not putting high hopes on getting it together by tomorrow. :)

PS* yes, after hitting "save" to this post, the baby threw up all over me. Thank you and, goodnight.

Fitting life in the edges

2010-03-16T23:03:00.001-07:00

I have so many things swirling around in my head, it is a little hard to keep track of it all. I love being able to express myself on "paper," but I have this sudden surge, this unquenchable longing for finding something new, something real. Climb a mountain, build with clay, travel a path through my ancestry, who knows. I just have this itchy feeling all over, like the rhinoceros in Kiplings "Just So Stories" who put on a skin full of cake crumbs and remains grumpy for ever after.

That's how I've been as long as I can remember, once I find a new pencil, a new paint, a new canvas or a new notebook, my heart pours out until all that's left is a bleeding trickle and I'm on the the next thing. I have little interest in finishing much as far as the long-term, I just love to devour new things day to day. Luckily, I skate by with a tremendous aptitude for the creative endeavors, so much that those invested will marvel, "wow, what potential you have!" But I often stop short of turning my potential into any real strengths.

I want to experience life a little richer, a little deeper, a bit more beautiful. I want to really connect to people, to dive into a passion and use it for the Greater good, to be a drop in the great sea of the world and make some sort of ripple. Why? For who? Who knows.

I'm sitting here writing from my soul, staring into a lifeless screen and wondering about the scattered friends I have that might bother to comment...it feels so bizarre, this whole internet era, my very desire to capture my life for a moment leaves me utterly connected to experiencing it fully. Internet lately tends to mean that I talk "at" the world instead of engaging with it.

Even the time I devote to this little post here could be perhaps spent start-gazing, researching, letter-writing or any number of things. I did get some awesome time today gardening in this early Spring sun. While the baby sat marveling at the sky, I think I pulled out about 5000 weeds and killed--I'm ashamed to say how many--snails. MB danced around the sprinkler while I went nuts on my tiny backyard, realizing that some of these little weeds had become taller than my 4-year-old and twice as alarming. How do I capture that moment? How do I cultivate a deeper gratitude for these simple blessings in my day to day, instead of pouring over the "greener pastures" of my more adventurous friends and wondering "what if?"

What if I was a little richer? What if I traveled the world? If I was taller...(Thank you, Gangta's Paradise, for infusing my mind with a theme song while I write this...) Braver, Calmer, Kinder, Humbler (is that really a word even?) Wilder, some how, than seems this house-wife-mother-artist life of mine?

I crave the unexpected, but cower at the risks. When I am "out on the town," I dream of snuggling up at home with my family and a cup of coffee. I guess I want discipline. I want to know that whatever my heart desires, whatever I set my mind to with any serious effort, that my effort will not be in vain, that I will live I life blessed and without regret. I think we must all want that in some way.

I came across this verse in my group this morning, I'll close with this tonight. I've put only excerpts in form Deuteronomy Ch 30: Grace, Lord...I need grace for today...

¹¹ Now what I am commanding you today is not too difficult for you or beyond your reach. ... ¹⁴ No, the word is very near you; it is in your mouth and in your heart so you may obey it.

¹⁵ See, I set before you today life and prosperity, death and destruction. ¹⁶ For I command you today to love the LORD your God, to walk in his ways, and to keep his commands, decrees and laws; then you will live and increase, and the LORD your God will bless you in the land you are entering to possess.

¹⁷ But if your heart turns away and you are not obedient, and if you are drawn away to bow down to other gods and worship them...you will certainly be destroyed.

¹⁹ This day I call heaven and earth as witnesses against you that I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live ²⁰ and that you may love the LORD your God, listen to his voice, and hold fast to him. For the LORD is your life, and he will give you many years in the land he swore to give to your fathers, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

Metaphor

2010-03-14T12:36:00.000-07:00

My Life as a Metaphor

I'm sure you have come across good communicators in your life. Speakers, Leaders, Managers, Pastors, Friends.

These people have a gift in metaphor. They can take the simplest little experience and draw deep truth and meaning from it:

"I spilled my coffee on my shoe today" turns into...

"Coffee is temptation....It is as if all the burdens we carry are too much to handle, and without guarding ourselves, without warning, everything can come tumbling down and ruin our very foundation...."

I'm not sure if I have the gift of metaphor, but I am certainly blessed/cursed with trying to draw our deeper meaning from the everyday.

Sometimes, coffee is just coffee, a spill just a spill. Trying to figure it all out can be exhausting.

Maybe if I spent a little time experiencing the world instead of trying to disect it all into little bite-size-pieces, my life would make a more sense.

Or maybe not. The metaphor is inherent, it is a part of my experience, and maybe I don't experience anything until I am able to draw it out on the the page....

So goes the life of the artistic soul.

Homeless

2010-03-13T20:42:00.000-08:00

As an addendum to the "Trucks" post, I'd like to make note here of some "Super Fantastic Homeless Signs." I realize the risk of sounding less compassionate for our less fortunate folks, but I am truly inspired by some of the creativity involved.

"Necessity is the mother of invention," is it not?

I'll kick off with a SUPER fantastic sign that I saw on the road today, was as follows:

"10 SECOND CHICKEN DANCE: $1"

Thank you, America.

Trucks

2010-03-13T11:23:00.000-08:00

Ever since we have acquired an old Ford pick-up truck (currently a garage-weight in case of hurricanes) I have had a special eye out for "TRUCK" people. Large tires, large flags, large bumper stickers, vinyl and lots of mud, it is clear that truck people have something special goin'-on.

I would like to begin a new segment, ongoing, entitled "100 Idiotic Things Some Dude Actually Purchased to Display on a Pick-Up Truck.

Today will begin my first phenomenal phrase, actually seen on the streets of LA county, 300FONT:

"IT'S GOD'S JOB TO JUDGE BIN LADEN.

ITS OUR JOB TO MAKE THE APPOINTEMENT."

Yes, folks, some dude actually spent money to express that sentiment on his pick-up truck. God Bless America.

Phrase number two, actually seen on the streets of LA county:

"THIS TRUCK WAS MADE WITH TOOLS...

(Followed by an Asian-looking font:) "NOT CHOP STICKS."

Sure, this dude could have just said "Buy American, hate Asians," but that would be too simple.

God Bless America. To be continued...

Guarding the Heart

2010-03-10T22:44:00.000-08:00

I spoke to an old friend today. She recently separated from her spouse due to various issues with abuse and deeper things. A beautiful little girl, a brand new baby just entering the world...and a family torn apart, they could not conquer darker patterns of the past. This story is so common, but where does it begin? Why are we all so broken? I feel sad.

Nobody dreams of becoming an alcoholic or an abuser.

Nobody hopes to one day file bankruptcy or lose their home.

Nobody wakes up saying, "I think I'll get divorced today."

Patterns grow so gradually, become so engrained with the day-to-day. We lose sight of our goals, lose hope of another way, let the little things slide...un-wittingly inviting destruction in.

"Your enemy prowls like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour." 1 Peter 5:8

Is there an escape? How do I catch my own patterns before it is too late? How do I develop a culture of awareness and accountability into my daily walk?

It is not enough to change a behavior, I've heard lately from a few wiser friends. Take away the bottle, an alcoholic may just find another addiction. Take away the cigarette, a smoker may begin to over-eat instead, to fill that void.

Sure, behavior stems from the heart.

"Guard your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life." Proverbs 4:23

I want my heart to be ruled in love, in truth, in light. This is a constant battle. It feels terrible when those darker moments take hold. For me, it comes often in the form of selfishness, pride, fear, or just being judgmental.

Lately, I'm wrestling with developing healthy patterns of discipline with MB. I'm trying to be conscientious of choosing to discipline based issues of the heart: aka, when she truly needs correcting and guidance, versus when I feel angry or inconvenienced. Any parent knows this is a hard road.

We were in a busy restaurant bathroom yesterday and when the dryer went off, she let out a banshee shriek unlike her mostly civilized 4-year-old self: "That hurts my eeeeeeeears!" I was mortified, angry, and embarrassed in about .5 seconds for her scene, and lost my cool. I flicked her hard, "MB, that is not appropriate!" and before the words escaped my lips, my hypocrisy sunk into my heart like lead. If I couldn't demonstrate a little self control, why should I expect her to?

I chewed on this scene most of the afternoon, trying to justify my behavior (she HAD needed correcting) trying to justify my lack of remorse (If I apologized to her, would I lose authoritative ground?). But I don't want to develop a pattern of anger with my children. Finally by bedtime, I knew I should make it right. I asked for her forgiveness, I had been afraid of what strangers thought, worried more about their words than obeying God's. I doubt this little conversation made a major impact on MB, but it was so important to me.

As if waiting, poised like a lion ready to devour, I was presented today with another opportunity to test my parental patience on another level. She was shrieking around a toy store, waving a toy sword with some new found friends (volume and behavior appropriate in this setting thus far) when something horrible happened.

Roaring from the back walls, I hear, "Daaaaaaamnit!" in my sweet, dear little girls l o u d e s t voice.

I did a quick head check as if to say, "Was that seriously my child?" When my heart already knew the answer.

I did not lose it.

I paid for my purchase and said, "MB, we need to go have a conversation."

"Why?" She asked innocently.

And we did. I asked her what happened. I asked if she knew what that meant. I told her the consequence, followed through and helped her practice a few other phrases to vent her frustration.

V-I-C-T-O-R-Y!!!!!

1439 more minutes to go today....364 more days this year...I guess that gives us a lot of time to practice.

To aim high...to forgive fast...to guard our hearts.

wind watchers

2010-03-09T16:02:00.000-08:00

wind rips through

a clear winter sky

we watch trees rattle the window

from the waiting room

. . . we wait again

nurses come and go

tapping screens writing things

doctor enters

nods her head

everything looks good she says

we step outside

buggy up the cold sun-kissed sidewalk north

to some crust bakery

it smells of hot coffee toast and jam

. . . we wait again

hiding behind glasses

scanning beautiful people

wrapped in scarves and literature

chatting about matters of

consequence

we wander in and out

past well-kept windows

mannequins in paper dresses

pausing by the iron pond

and dig out lunch from brown-paper bags

. . . we wait again

pretending to ponder the timing of

theatre listings

sipping chai tea lattes

while daughter dances along-side

the chlorinated water

we wander south to find

the bus stop

. . . we wait again

for past an hour

baby sleeps while daughter howls

along with the wind in sleepy purple tones

we wait and wait

wondering who we shall be

tomorrow

Pressure

2010-03-07T20:10:00.000-08:00

The pressure to be fascinating is sinking in.

At a glance, my life has begun to take a remarkably common shape, and at times that worries me. Trips to the park, changing diapers, going to church and the occasional "family outing" to the mall or the mountain, if we really want to shake things up. Washing dishes, getting laundry done, baking cookies or worse, actually getting excited about a "cleaning day:" these are the moments I begin the internal scramble to escape the ordinary. To BE someone new, exciting, alive, to be somebody special.

In these moments, I cast a line into the recesses of my childhood to stir up old passions: what excited me then? What dreams may I have forgotten? I muddied mess bubbles to the surface: I always wanted to play the violin. To travel with Nation Geographic. To be a veterinarian. A zookeeper. An illustrator. A book writer. I wild woman in the mountains. Yep. A passionate leader. And yes, a wife and a parent usually made the list, but I'm not at all sure what I expected.

In the middle of writing this, I let out a little grumble to be interrupted once again: to make MB a sandwich, to nurse the baby, to calm another little storm.

"Nothing is so common-place as to wish to be remarkable." Shakespeare wrote.

I'm still stumbling along trying to make the most of my day-to-day, to appreciate the little moments to live, grow, learn, and contribute in some little way.

BUT...

This musing will have to wait for another day. Bed times on the horizon, a wailing baby waits...

C'est la vie!

Living Stories

2010-03-04T21:41:00.000-08:00

I had the great privilege to interview the owner of our little Glendora bookstore this week for an article, and was just blown away by her heart and vision. She'd dreamed of running her own bookstore since college, and finally got her chance about four years ago. Despite two small children and a chronic illness that limits her muscles considerably, her passion for building literacy and making stories "come alive" is inspiring. In the past year she has, along with the help of her family, staff and volunteers, brought great life into this little corner of old town. Drum circles, music, reading, special guests, rock-climbing and free play help bring stories to life and sincere joy to the faces of many young ones. I don't want to give it all away...I'll link the article later this month, but it was really a treat to uncover such a gem of a soul this week. It is rare to find someone really living their dream, washed in deep gratitude and contentment.

She is not rich. She has many limitations, but she is a model of sincerest joy.

Selah to that this week. Now, on to my dreams...

TODAY'S MOMENTS:

My favorite moment today was sitting outside having a picnic with my girls waiting for Jeff to come down from his office loft and listening to MB describe another day at preschool. Her joy is also inspiring to me. She feels things all the way: when she recalled a sad moment, she was all-the-way sad, and when she recounted a hilarious story-time, getting a sticker or a moment with a friend, she was all-the-way joy. She seems content to be just figuring things out day by day and I just delight in her.

Resting in the Storm

2010-03-03T13:36:00.000-08:00

I love writing, most of the time.

Writing helps me organize an endless stream of cluttered thoughts; it helps me process an untangable outpouring of emotions. Writing helps me connect to the bigger picture, drawing truth out of the day to day, clearing the way for more mindfull relationships in the process.

It also serves as a crutch of sorts to avoid dealing with real life.

Everything looks better "on paper," in the proverbial sense, but yes, "on screen" does the trick just fine. Through writing, I can take the chaos of day to day and lay it out smooth as butter.

Writing from my life is sometimes like trying to organize Alphabet soup: straining it, removing all the carrots and junk, and laying it down in a clean piece of tupperware to spell the "A-B-C's." It might look nice, but it is just no longer soup.

Sometimes, I just like to eat the soup.

This week got a little crazy, and I kind of felt like I was drowing in my soup instead of enjoying it. I know I am not alone here: I've had friends falling to pieces all over the place dealing with family illnesses, financial crises, temptations, relationship changes and all sorts of events.

I am grateful that life seems to roll along in "seasons," that the calm follows the storm but...then the storm inevitably follows the calm, and this I too often forget. The next storm always catches me by surprize, and in shock and awe, I cry out, "Why now, things were just going so well!" as if that was ever meant to be the permanant state of things.

A healthy child will, at some point, be sick again, so is the nature of building the immune system. A healthy marriage will, at some point, encounter conflict and challenges, so is the nature of growing trust and enduring love.

A healthy believer will wrestle with faith, asking the big questions, seeking the answers and yearning to grow nearer to a real and living God:
"Lord, save us! We're going to drown!" the diciples cried out in the storm to Jesus, resting in the back of the boat. "Don't you care about us?" they seem to say.

"You of little faith, why are you so afraid?" Jesus replied, instantly putting the storm to rest.

We are afraid of the chaos, the unknown, the uncontrollable, but that is because we can not see all, know all, control all.

But He can.

If our lives were ours alone to rule, we should be afraid! We merely have the duty to obey: to love, seek, ask, serve, worship and adore.

He has the power.

I don't mind so much feeling lost in my soup, enjoying the chaos I was never meant to control. I can be too busy to write, too wrapped up in the living to bother sorting it all out.

Meeting new friends and nurturing old relationships. Growing in my marriage and wrestling with new challenges. Making rediculous faces at my cooing 3-month-old, reading new stories with an increasingly curious 4-year-old. Marveling at a clear blue sky after a stormy week on our walk to the park this morning, wondering how in the world we are going to make it through this very hectic week, but feeling a strange and surpassing peace through every storm.

This too will pass. Enjoy the soup.

Spilt Milk

2010-03-01T13:11:00.000-08:00

Sometime last week, Jeff left his charger who-knows-where and he has since been without a phone. Nevermind that his cell was already 3 years old, missing two pieces and only held a charge for two hours anyway, but this was the final straw. I felt so irritated, reeling with the irresponsibilty of losing his cell phone (when we rely on them instead of a land-line). I would not say I tore into him or anything, but I definately let him know I was not pleased. It seemed so foolish.

Then, it happened.

After several events through a Sunday afternoon, I lost my phone. I had a faint mental image of seeing it sitting on a table next to a candle, but that was it. My memory eluded me. I scoured my purse, the car, and tried to contact everyone who might have a clue, to no avail.

I was so embarrassed. I had made Jeff feel so badly, and all he lost was his charger.

It took me back to a family moment many years ago dubbed the "Spilled Milk" incident.
With four young children, there was plenty of spilling going on, but one evening my father had enough. "No more spilled milk," he warned, "or you're going to get it." My older sister, Erica, was about 7. Eager to please, she tried her best, but one careless glance and an elbow later, her glass went pouring all over her plate.

"That's IT!" my father roared, leaping to his feet.

"I've told you again and again! Why can't you pay attention! Look what you've..."

As he waved his arms in anger, something unthinkable happened.

He knocked the milk over.
The...entire...gallon went gushing across the table and on to the floor.

There we sat, frozen in time, unable to move.

Then, a stifled giggle. It was my mother.

Roars of laughter soon exploded as my father sunk into his chair, beet red from residual anger and increasing embarassment, his head in his hands.

This story has stayed very-much alive at family gatherings and beyond, the moment was so remarkable, reminding us again and again to not "cry over spilled milk," because there are certainly worse things that could happen.

Matthew 7:3 warns: "Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother's eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?"

Well, after an evening of burying my own head in my hands, I ventured out into the darkness of the night to look in the car for my phone one more time, mostly with a futile heart.

And there is was, right under the seat all along. Pheew.

But not before I got a serious lesson in humility.

15 minutes

2010-02-25T22:17:00.000-08:00

15 minutes.

That's about how late I am to any event.

Good, bad, like it or hate it, at least you can say I'm consistent ... consistently late.

I've gone through seasons where I have remedied this ... I've taken the seminars, heard the sermons, gone to the classes to help things change. But old habits die hard.

A lot of times I don't mind so much, the events I go to are somewhat relaxed and people are very understanding. But sometimes it just sucks being "that" person. It's rude, it inconveniences others, its selfish. All this I know, yet have not shaken the habit yet.

I have gone through the gamut of excuses for habitual lateness: I've used the spouse, the kids, my friends, the phone, the freeway, and especially those pesky slow employees at the gas station and Starbucks (yep, it's their fault, not mine for stopping there thinking it would take 30 seconds to go though a morning coffee line).

Some days it seems I'm more late than others. Today was just that sort of a day. My mother-in-law is in town, I was hoping to entertain her a bit.

Instead, I was running late all day long: dropping Jeff off to work, two trips to Kaiser, babysitting for a friend, a tutoring appointment ... and we never did make it Jiffy Lube or Jeff's guitar lesson.

Anyone who has ever been late knows that awful feeling: not when you arrive, not before you leave, but the 15 minutes it takes to get there and you know somebody is waiting. I just hate that 15 minutes. I grate my teeth. I grip the wheel. I pray. I moan. I go over my excuses, I rehearse the conversation to repair potential damage.

I decided today that it is not so much the being late that I loathe, but that 15 minutes of agony before-hand. I wallow in my selfishness, left alone to my own thoughts and guilt.

Maybe I don't need to fix my timing issues...I have a feeling that won't change anyway, but maybe I could change how I experience those 15 minutes. Maybe, just maybe, I could enjoy those 15 minutes that I'll never get back anyway.

It starts by communicating my timing better to those I care about. This is a process I have begun already, saying things like, "I'll be there at 9, which means 9:15, just so you know." And I always mean that I will try for 9 and surprise them, and I always get there at 9:15..or 9:20. But at least they know what to expect, and I don't feel like reeling with embarrassment on my way over.

That 15 minutes is my time. Do I really want to spend that time helplessly wrapped up in guilt and shame, or is it possible that I could skip the theatrics and enjoy the scenery, sing or just ponder the universe? Time will tell.

We're driving to the mountains tomorrow morning...and I plan on being 15 minutes late.

Big Tree Small World

2010-02-22T21:49:00.000-08:00

""Why is the world so small?" my daughter asked today, in the middle of a trip to a park with the biggest tree we have ever seen. Perpective is a funny thing.

I suppose the world is small, after all, I bumped into friends at a coffee shop yesterday although we live 15 miles apart. And hey, we can fly anywhere on the globe now in the blink of an eye.

If we are all just a small part of this great big plan, why do our problems always seem so big?
I've been trying to gain some perspective about circumstances in a month with a lot of changes.

Someone told me a story about a wise man and a boy (that I'm sure I will butcher, but here goes anyway) Please let me know if you know the source.
The boy gets a horse. The people say, "Good!"
"We shall see" says the wise man.
The boy falls and breaks his leg. "Terrible" the people say.
"We shall see" says the wise man.
There is a war. The boy is not drafted because of his leg, so he can stay and care for his mother.
"Good!" The people say.
"We shall see" says the wise man.

It is a little parable that spoke to me this week. What makes circumstances good or bad but our own small perspective? If the Lord knows all things, and all things work together for the good, then what difference does it make if I moan and complain...it is only my attitude that is bad.

Even through our grief, we can rejoice in the Lord's faithfullness. I found myself grieving two strange losses after the birth of LR, #1: having a baby boy #2 having a natural birth (both kids were c-section). I still struggle with both of these at times, that is, when I think about it, it still makes me sad. But what am I grieving? Those realities (boy and a different birth) never existed, only my expectations did. God knew all along what the plan was, it was only me that expted different. So that is it then I greive the expectation of a different world, a "better" world...but who's to say it would be better! If it was never meant to be, than I have to submit myself to believing that God is faithful and His plans are good.

"This the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad in it."

I think about my dear loved ones who have experienced great losses recently: the loss of a mother, the loss of a child, a lost possibility of bearing children, the loss of a marriage. We grieve, but not as those without hope. We lift each other up, carry each others' burdens and trust in the bigger plan with a humble "we shall see."

Moving Mountains

2010-02-21T17:34:00.000-08:00

This is a short post:

I would just like to make a note about the previous post that was inspired by watching rain pour over the hillside "moving mountains" a few weeks back. I was amazed at how much mud a little rain can bring, just like that verse about a little faith moving mountains. It was neat for me to see a visual, thinking that all that mud actually would bring the mountain down in time.

Well, call it creepy or what, but it was that VERY mountain (off the 57/10 Fwy) that just collapsed this week, closing down our daily route for who-knows-how-long...

I just wanted credit for foreshadowing that mountain actually moving, that is all!

Curiouser and curiouser....

Beautiful Lie

2010-02-19T22:48:00.000-08:00

It just occurred to me this evening a simple truth: I am a liar.

I spend a lot of my time encouraging people to be honest, authentic and open in various communities, especially my high schoolers. They struggle so much with self esteem that it should not be called an identity crisis, rather the "shifting identity norm." One high school girl would come consistently to youth group on fire in her faith, and then crash into Hollywood shows on the weekend, totally losing touch with her moral compass and goals.

I guess I thought I was more grounded by now, more grown up, more sure of myself than I really am. All it takes is a little change to test what you're really made of...I think I came up short this week.

Here I go, meeting all kinds of new people again, and I find it hard to be myself.

I'm not only struggling with a new community at work and church, but with my own shifting identity aka post-pregnancy body. I have been labeled since I was a child as someone who is "beautiful," but I'm really stretching to understand what that means right now.

I find myself in a sea of new faces, many of them far more beautiful than mine. An unfamiliar surge of emotions has come to play: jealousy, pride, and a lot of inner ugliness to say the least.

Now that I'm thinking about it, "beauty" has always been coupled with ugliness as far as I can tell.

Everybody wants it, no one really gets it, people we think have it never really realize it.

A stunning woman can turn wise men into fools. She can alienate friends by her selfishness, intimidate others by her pride. Perhaps she is kind, perhaps she is wise, but many will never seek to know her beyond her face. What is a beautiful woman, really?

It there a woman alive that is truly stunning from the inside out, who knows her beauty, who know herself, who knows her creator and her purpose, who walks with confidence and peace?

Even this woman would be followed by a wave of ugliness. Greed, anger, lust and a gamut of worldly evil. And so she hides. She hides her beauty, she begins to tell herself lies to fit in. She treats her body poorly, she believes the lies, she forgets the beauty once radiating from her face.

We never see this woman, because she has hidden truth from herself. She has convinced herself that her own beauty is evil, therefore she must bury it deep within.

I am seeking real beauty, I am hungry to be the woman that God designed before all shame. What would it be like to be truly beautiful? To be naked before the the world without a hint of sin, without a hint of lust, insecurity or shame? What a beautiful feeling that would be.

I am seeking real beauty. To understand what in the world it means to be created in the image of a mighty God, who forgives my ugliest, most selfish thoughts, who will continue to transform me, renewing and transforming my mind, calling me to worship with my heart and soul and strength.

I want to be beautiful!

Pocket Doors

2010-02-18T22:11:00.000-08:00

A friend visited our home for the first time recently and exclaimed, "I love that pocket-door!"

I hadn't heard of that term before. I heard the phrase the way a child might: "pocket door...like, a special door you store in your pocket?" I know that sounds dumb, but that just how it sounded bouncing around between my ears.

People put a lot of attention into the ambience of household spaces: the living room (where we spend our lives) the bed room (where we enjoy our beds) the bath room (because we don't want to say poo-room) the basement (where we can hide our worst junk).

I heard this metaphor and it really stuck with me, the Rooms. It goes something like this:

The Living Room: our cleanest room. The place everybody sees. Our best side. Our comfy spot.

The Dining Room: The place we invite our friends. Where we get a little messy. Where we share our lives.

The Bedroom: A sacred place. Our most intimate space. Where we share our love. Where we are most vulnerable.

The Garage: Where we store our junk we always meant to get around to but never really do. Where we'd like to see something valuable inside, but get too attached to the junk. A place we like to keep closed from the public eye.

The Basement: A room of the deep. The past. The dark. A room we keep locked away. We often have no intention of ever facing its wildness. A place that scares the child within.

God wants access to every room in our soul, not just the presentable parts. The deeper we bury our fears, our insecurities, our addictions, our shame...the farther we fall from accessing grace.

Add now: the pocket-doors. Life is constantly presenting us with opportunities to step through into grace, little magical moments that we will miss if we are not looking close enough. God's faithfulness is all around us.

I was at the Dentist office today, and I shared a little bit of my life with a woman there. I recognized her from church in the past, but we barely know each other. I shared news about a women we both knew who's daughter is battling cancer, and shared about God's incredible faithfulness, how He has answered their prayers in ways they never expected.

I guess I was just making small-talk, but the woman left with a tear, saying, "Thank you for chatting with me, it means more than you know." I was thrown, thankful to be a part of this moment.

Little doors are all around us.

When I am humbled enough to ask a friend for help. When I am bold enough to encourage a stranger. When I am committed enough to ask the tough questions. When I am broken enough to pray a real prayer.

God is faithful through every opportunity. But we rarely notice the doors.

Thanks, Mom

2010-02-16T21:50:00.000-08:00

One of the more humbling things about parenthood is how much it has draws me near to my own parents, my own childhood again and again.

We have reached, it seems, a solution to ease some of MB's preschool worries, taking her from full days to half days already is feeling much better, while still allowing her to grow and letting me get a little writing time in. I really wrestled with this.

You know what? It's hard being a mom.

I think about the many things my mother did to help me through so many transitions, and countless many more I'm sure I never even noticed.

Loving notes in the lunch box.

Getting us through a rough day with talks and chocolate on the bed.

Reading Narnia, Tin-Tin, Jeeves and so many other classics to keep us quiet in the car.

Helping me learn to read, write my name, to do math, to write stories, to do algebra (well, almost) while I whined the whole way how I would never get it. I did.

Teaching me to appreciate beauty, nature, people, compassion, education, justice and all the rest, and sharing her passions with us all.

Scratching my back until I fell asleep, even if she beat me to it.

Flying out to see me as a prepared to have my own children, to support me in ways that only a mom really can.

...

Being a mom can be rough, and you never know what little moments are going to stick, for better or worse. Luckly, the long string of caring, loving and giving it your all seemed to add up in the end,

Thanks mom.

Eph 6:2 says:

²"Honor your father and mother"—which is the first commandment with a promise— ³"that it may go well with you and that you may enjoy long life on the earth.

TODAYS MOMENT:

Sitting with an amazing group of moms this morning, enjoying sharing lives, food and sunshine.

All I need to know I learned from IKEA

2010-02-15T09:13:00.000-08:00

We're in IKEA more often than I'd like to admit lately. Sometimes it's for the food, sometimes for the fun free hour of childcare, sometimes just for entertainment (and every once in a while, we go there with the intention to buy something). Let's face it, IKEA has got it goin' on.

With IKEA on my mind, I've begun to wonder how my own parenting would improve if I took a few lessons from this modern design king.

Lesson #1: Cost before Design

IKEA prides itself in getting designers to invent products with the cost in mind first. This is a concept that is easy to translate to a parent: Weighing the cost of parenting before the practice. Parents get lost in trying to discipline every behavior for every moment, but with little regard to the long-term results. It's like giving a screaming child the toy he wants just because the result is immediate silence...the long term cost is far more damaging.

KEY PRODUCT: Intentionality reaches goals: picking battles, parenting with intention and following through with the original design develops trust and an obedient consumer, er, child.

Lesson #2 Waiting for Rewards

IKEA has got all these lovely showrooms, but the products are not set up to just grab and go. You've got to wind through a maze of every possible option, and then if you are still confident that you've picked the perfect thing, you have to wade through miles of flat-boxes, take it home, and build it yourself. Instant gratification is a concept foreign to good parenting. Think about it: which cookies taste better, the store-bought preservative-package, or the home-made-with-Grandma variety?

KEY PRODUCT: Letting children try, fail, and earn their own rewards reaps great confidence and appreciation for the things that matter.

Lesson #3 Following the Rules

Last time we were there, I lost track of Jeff, so committed a terrible IKEA taboo: I wandered BACKWARDS past the arrows and got myself hopelessly lost. Going the wrong way in IKEA just feels ... wrong. Every sign, step and product is placed to help you follow the intended flow, guiding the consumer seamlessly through to the finish line. Children are no different: they like order. Sure, they like to test the boundaries, but they are secretly hoping the boundaries succeed in being secure, making sense, and bringing them to the finish line. Giving a toddler a spanking for spilling milk may backfire: while having them sit in a soggy shirt while they clean the mess and fix the problem teaches natural cause and effect.

KEY PRODUCT: Make rules that matter, follow through with natural consequences; kids won’t get lost in the maze of options.

Lesson #4 Own it before you buy it

Every show room is designed to make you feel at home. You can flop down in a chair, color on a chalkboard, or grab a magazine just to test the merchandise as if it was already yours. Kids need a sense of ownership, too. They need to feed a goldfish before buying the hamster, they need to clean that cage before getting a puppy.

KEY PRODUCT: If kids are given a sense of ownership they can thrive with the opportunity to grow, making wiser decisions down the road.

Lesson #5 Enjoy the View

I'm not sure about all the other stores, but IKEA Covina has a fantastic view. You are rewarded with this view and a nice, cheap lunch after reaching the half-way mark of the IKEA pathway, giving you energy and perseverance for the journey ahead. What is parenting without enjoying the view? It means praising the child for picking out her own pajamas, while letting it slide that she forgot to flush the toilet just this once.

KEY PRODUCT: It's not all about discipline: spending little moments with your kids and catching them doing something right is priceless. It will encourage their strengths and give them energy for the challenges ahead.

So as I begin to wrap up my ramblings, IKEA has helped me stumble into some great ideas, ideas that echo some ageless wisdom:

A few gems to affirm my findings: It's not about us. We are simply stewards of the children in our care, here to build the foundation. No matter how perfect your design may be, they still get to make their own choices. Humility is a constant companion for the faithful parent: there is a much bigger design that really matters.

Has not the Lord made them [husband and wife] one? In flesh and spirit they are His. And why one? Because He was seeking godly offspring. Malachi 2:15a

Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it. Proverbs 22:6

Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord. Ephesians 6:4

Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Deuteronomy 6:7

Snow Where: Part 2

2010-02-13T21:20:00.000-08:00

Another top SoCal spot that we some how missed for years living here: Temecula wine tasting. It's like going to Napa Valley, but much closer and with a place to stop for a picnic lunch with gorgeous views. Each Winery has its own little flavor, in more ways than one. This picture is from a place called "Briar Rose," a cottage across the rolling hills with a nice view of snow-caped mountains and the valley of vines.

I got to spend a lovely afternoon here today (and other stops along the valley) for a friends 29th birthday party. I guess she's a little freaked out about being 29, it being so close to the big 3-0 and everything.

I'm getting up-there too...but I've been looking forward to 30 for some time. When I was pretty small, I remember asking my mother when she felt like a "real" grown-up.

After a short pause, she smiled, "30." She said. "I think I had it pretty much figured out by the time I was 30."

I'm sure that she meant she finally felt like an adult (having 4 kids by 30 will do that) but I took it as a magical moment to look forward to: when I get to the other side of 30, I'll just have life figured out. Just like that.

Then again, I also believed that you got a little richer every birthday, a little smarter, and got more friends. It turns out, additional effort and know-how is involved!

But I'm holding out on this magical moment, still looking forward too 30...I guess I'll keep you posted.

Snow Where?

2010-02-13T21:02:00.000-08:00

We've lived in Southern California for almost a decade now, and it took us at least five years to find Arrowhead. Wow, snow, only about an hour-and-a-half away, very exiting. We began making regular trips and camp events, and then, new news.

MOUNT BALDY! Apparently, there is mountain snow in the winter about 20 minutes from our house. Why has no one told me this before!?!? Sure, the exit of the FWY that we pass every day is called "Mountain," and sure, it even says Baldy on it, but how was I to know that it was so close?

With some serious sledding, stomping and snowballs, the family came home tired and totally renewed. There's nothing like a good outing to re-vamp life perspective.

My mother calls this "entering good slides" into the pictures in my mind, so that as the days and weeks roll by, I can recall beauty and peace amidst the chaos. It seems to work for her: she could be strolling through a meadow or waiting in a screaming line at the DMV and she carries the same glowing countenance, as if to say, "Its all the same to me."

My goal this week: to carry this little moment in the mountain with me this week: the crunch underfoot, the quiet coolness between the trees, the smell of dessert bursting through the snow.

Observing the Natives

2010-02-12T00:15:00.001-08:00

Well, MB is adjusting to her preschool friends about as well as I am.

She had a Valentine's Day party today, so I leaped at the opportunity to help/spy on her classroom and maybe help see what the trouble adjusting is all about. Well, her teachers turn out to be MARVELOUS after about an hour of subtle observation, as suspected, but still a relief. Her friends turn out to be marvelous, too, products of great genes and parenting and all the rest, as suspected. However, they ARE four-year olds, which means they are prone to periods of wild, unruly and savage behavior at the drop of a pin (carefully corralled by her teachers, of course.)

MB wants nothing to do with this. This pictures was taken this morning, as the children shouted "party party party" in anticipation of a Valentines Day celebration while smaller children whizzed past our feet on tricycles. Shock and horror: drama child's face seems to paint a clear picture of her take on the matter.

She much prefers the safer, quieter and all together more civilized confines of her own bedroom, where she is still (mostly) the center of attention, and the wildest thing around is herself.

WHo's to blame her?

Just the night before, Jeff and I braved the wilderness of new friends in, where else, a BOWLING alley. Sensitive insecurities plus thundering noises and overstimulation is a dangerous recipe for gaining any real social ground. Oh, the people were perfectly friendly, as people go, gracious, welcoming, and kind.

But I just can just imagine the architect of a bowling alley plotting his revenge on a friendship gone wrong: "Hmm, let's see, how can I avoid those pesky friendships in the future? I know, I'll build a bowling alley hangout: 6 DMV-style chairs facing each other, just far enough apart that you can't hear each other over the pins. Then, I'll make a bar table for drinks in the center, perfect for two to start a conversation, but right in the way of all the bowlers coming through. THEN, to really smash the odds of any serious intimacy, I'll time the game so that every time a serious topic comes up, it will be interrupted by the players turn. PERFECT!"

Ahh, meeting new people is always such fun!

TODAYS MOMENT

Painting outdoors in Pasadena, a sunny day and a cool breeze, alongside Kari for her fantastic canvas mural. It is a nearly finished collage a beautiful animals, gardens and impressionist influences. It was fun remember that there ARE some people that God puts on this earth to encourage and inspire you, she is often one of those sorts.

Old and New

2010-02-10T14:24:00.000-08:00

We have all heard that old nursery song, "Make new friends, but keep the old...one is silver and the other's gold." When I was little, I recall wrestling with it like it was a riddle, trying to figure out which was meant to be better. I guess that all depends on the friends!

This month is definately about stretching out of my comfort zone with friendships. We have this fantastic group of "old friends," many accumulated from church life and jobs. But as our careers shift, so does our routine, and we can't claim those friendships out of sheer convenience anymore. That is, it takes a little conscious effort (not entirely a bad thing).

And then...there is the new. New job, new church, new school, new routine. In order to stay sane melting into a large pot of new people, I need to put some actual effort into being more than civil to our new aquaintences (squirm) which is not a gift of mine. It takes effort. Honesty. Time. Sigh. I'm stuck either way!

So...last night some "old" friends gave us a call to come hang out for dinner. Best-night-ever! We laughed easily for about 3 hours, and I'm so glad they called. Sure, I could have been at home in bed with a cup of tea, but instead I got a glass of wine and much better company than my own rambling head for once.

Tonight...we are meeting some "new" friends at a get-together, a group that knows each other I assume fairly well, but not us. The invite came from a co-worker of Jeff's. Squirm!

I always love the process of change in retrospect, just not when I'm looking ahead.

The future is murky, dangerous, unclear and unknown...the past is comfortable, stable, enhanced by a rosy-glow of forgotten details and softened emotional blows.

The present...I think I stay here for now. It is much simpler...one thing at a time.

I need my friends. I'm a relator. Sure, I hate the idea of effort, the future and the unknown, but if I had no friends, I would become a rambling hermit poet moping under a rock just waiting to be stepped on. Yes, folks, that's how it is. I might not call everyday, but I sure appreciate a little encouragement now and then. I try to remember to dish it as I take it. The Word is on to something here:

Iron sharpens iron; so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend Proverbs 27:17

So we are made strong to sharpen each other. Better yet, God makes us strong.

2 But who can endure the day of his coming? Who can stand when he appears? For he will be like a refiner's fire or a launderer's soap. 3 He will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver; he will ... refine them like gold and silver. Malachi 3:2-3

I hope I get to be the gold.

Brain Brake

2010-02-08T23:19:00.000-08:00

We got an extra day with MB at preschool today, which meant I was free to finish an article by deadline, what a novel idea! Just a quick run to Coffee Klatch with the baby, a meeting, and the afternoon was mine. As most plans of mice and men...or how does the saying go...some days are like that, even in Australia.

My little one-hour meeting was with some Lawyers from a previous job, (I am part of the potential defese or something not fun at all) and it ended up taking three, and the baby went nuts at every little coffee stop and my day ended with an indecribably gross diaper and a little girl who skinned her knee on the way out of the parking lot.

Six-hours of sheer focused writing time ended up being about half-an hour of scattered nonsense, which leads me to this, my scattered and hopelessly short blog today, since the last four hours of my evening were eaten up by skipping dinner with the family and finishing my battle with the Adoption article locked in the back room (I think the article finally won, viciously un-tamed).

Insert your own witty parable or verse here. My brain is shot.

I will end with the trademark "quote of the day" though:
TODAYS MOMENT:
MB, recovering from a recent cold, in the car as I drive her to pre-school, is sniffing loudly.
"Mom!" she declares, "I do not have boogers in my nose anymore." Great.
She adds, matter-of-factly, "They are all in my head now."

Laundry Fort

2010-02-07T07:57:00.001-08:00

Last night when I was folding laundry, MB announces, "I need that to make my fort."

One large sheet, several chairs and three blankets later, our living room was transformed into an enchanted hideaway.

I'm not sure how children just know, instinctively perhaps, about the "laundry fort" phenomenon, but every kid just knows how to do it. It's as if it is part of their DNA. Jeff made oodles of forts when he was a kid. I have fond memories making them too, so much, in fact, that if I'm in a happy sort of mood, the smell of laundry reminds me of my own mischevious childhood. My older siblings used to take a sheet and throw my little brother and I inside it, swinging it around like an overstuffed hammock. My parents would inevitably shout at us to stop the fun, but their frustration rarely overpowered our squeals of laughter.

I left the fort up for Jeff to see when he got home, and he asked me, "Well, did you get inside it?" No, I thought honestly, it had not occured to me. "Would you like to come in there with me?" He asked with a grin. No, I answered frankly, that didn't sound like fun at all, I might get stuck down there.

And there it was, the official end of my childhood. Thank God for the memories!

Just a little MUD

2010-02-06T17:06:00.000-08:00

I am amazed by the amounts of MUD pouring down California's hillsides today. It seems like the storms a few weeks back got everything ready, because the rain last night just let the mountains loose. On my way from the 10 to the 57 this morning, there was a crew sweeping up damage from mud and waterfalls pouring into the freeway. My heart goes out to those in North Sierra Madre and other areas too, a few have lost homes and hundreds evacuated. It is weird to see so much damage from a little mud. Ok, well, a LOT of mud.

It has got me thinking about those wild verses about faith moving mountains, what a huge thing a mountain is, but to bring it down really takes just a little mud trickle to loosen a foundation.

Jesus said in Matthew 17:

^{²⁰... I tell you the truth, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there' and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you."}

I don't know why anyone would want or need to move a mountain from one place to another, but the image is undeniably striking.

And again, he said in Matthew 21:

²¹Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth, if you have faith and do not doubt, not only can you do what was done to the fig tree, but also you can say to this mountain, 'Go, throw yourself into the sea,' and it will be done. ²²If you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer."

A few years back when my parents divorced, I began praying a lot. I was also dreaming a lot, tremendous, terrible dreams of hurricanes, floods and fires sweeping structures into the air and destroying them (does not take Freud to understand my family foundation felt a little unsettled). A common dream was of getting swept away into a wild and raging river, ready to drown. I would wake from the dreams in cold sweats, crying out in my grief and anger, wondering why God had taken away my real dreams for my family.

It was that same year that I really connected to my faith, reaching for a Savior who could move mountains, who loved me, who promised to never leave.

Soon, I had another dream. A sort of a vision, actually, I can not remember if I was asleep or waking, but the image is vivid. I was being carried by a huge bird (an eagle?) as wide as the sky. His talons dug into my shoulders, they were sharp and sometimes painful, but they had a firm hold on my life. The funny thing is, I was still in the river, not knowing if I would live or die, but I was not afraid: I knew who was in control, and felt utterly at peace.

Just thinking of this vision still brings me peace. I didn't need a lot of faith to draw me in, just a little trickle to let a loving flood begin.

Jesus did not restore my family the way I had hoped for. But He did restore my life, fully and completely, to trust Him through any circumstance, and He carries me through every storm.

Orange Tree

2010-02-05T22:04:00.000-08:00

I just got back from doing a little mural this evening. A lovely early fifties home, with a real orange tree outside the window so I got to bring it "in" a bit. That's the nice thing about murals, its a relatively easy way to radically change an atmosphere. I think that's what is so neat about the arts, music does the same sort of thing. It was a gray-rainy sort of day today, but with a splash of color and a little radio blaring Ella Fitzgerald, the room seemed filled with light and wonder.

TODAY's MOMENT:

MB bounding back in the house, home from her "honeybun" with her daddy, she showed off the special huge rock from the beach she had found fo her collection. Best part about this daddy date-away from home? I got to sleep in super late with the baby. AWEsome.

Honeymoon

2010-02-04T21:20:00.000-08:00

MB was looking through pictures, and asked, "what is a honeymoon?"

I told her, after a wedding when I got to go stay some plsce new and walk on the beach and I had a wonderful time with daddy.
"Can I go on a honeymoon?" She asks me. Umm..
It's really only for grown-ups after they get married, love.
Saddest...face...ever...
"How about a honey...bun then?"

So off they go, MB and her daddy, on a special honey-bun date to enjoy the beach and some time together.

And why shouldn't we invent our own excuses for fun once in a while?

TODAY'S MOMENT
I'm not sure what I think is beautiful about today. I can't think of any one moment, just a string of little things, MB resting a sleepy head on my lap, the baby's smile, frustrations and meetings and people we saw. I think today I am not overly thoughtful, just glad to be human and trying to figure it all out day by day.

Sex Addiction: A Darker Hour

2010-02-04T01:53:00.000-08:00

It is, technically, a new day. 1:53 in the morning on--what the heck day is this--Thursday, and I have finally completed my article on "Sex Addiction" to submit to the paper.

Due to a car issue (see previous post the Truck) and currently sharing one computer, I have squeezed my writing time into the most obscure little gaps in my day, and, thanks in part to this posting process, I am getting quite adept at getting a LOT done FAST. Hopefully no major compromise in quality, only time will tell. I write during nap times, during breakfast, and at the moment, while Jeff is out at practice...

It is strange enough reeling off of the sensationalist stories of Tiger in the news lately, stranger still I feel, writing about such dark habits at such a dark hour.

I feel personally connected to this issue a bit---hold your giggles please--because of my so-recent involvement with youth. I've had at least three young men disclose an addiction to internet porn in the couple of years I've been there, and perhaps ten others share similar struggles of addictive sexual behavior and feelings of shame. Worst yet, one of these people ended up making some terrible choices after failing to get help, and really, really hurt some lives, especially his own. He had such a passion for God, for soul-searching, for serving others, what now? He has fallen.

What do you tell yourself when you have such a secret to bear? How do you carry your head high when you are burdened by the weight of your own despair? When sex is supposed to be such a celebration with someone you love, who do you turn to to share in your shame?

It is not just the young men, but the women, the young and the old, that somehow get stuck in this cycle of shame.

For me, it is so much more than the issue of addiction. I am of course no Therapist, only a writer and a musing soul, but for me it is all about the fear and the shame. What else do I do, on a day-to-day basis that is based on fear or guilt (perhaps they are the same thing?) How different could we possibly be from those struggling with addiction...sin rears its ugly head in so many forms. It is all darkness. It all leads to despair.

One of may favorite verses from Ephesians captures something beautiful in the midst:

⁸For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light ⁹(for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) ¹⁰and find out what pleases the Lord. ¹¹Have nothing to do with the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them. ¹²For it is shameful even to mention what the disobedient do in secret. ¹³But everything exposed by the light becomes visible, ¹⁴for it is light that makes everything visible.

Some versions, "everything that is illuminated becomes a light."

I pray for us all.

Coffee Quest

2010-02-03T19:23:00.000-08:00

At about 3 O-clock today, I finished a massive load of bills and mail, and realized...gasp, I had no stamps.

The nearest Post Office is only about a mile away, but thanks to a new (free) double stroller (see previous post--Strollers Good vs Evil) I was feeling particularly adventurous. Once we got to the Post Office, I realized with my super coffee-radar that we were already half-way to a Starbucks..or so I thought.

Basically, we took a stroll through the entire city of Pomona today to track that shop down, and yes, we finally made it: Starbucks is TOTALLY within walking distance from our house, that is, if you don't have to walk back.

Unfortunately, I did not order the Star-Trek transporter and JEff's cell was off, so I think I about burned holes in my shoes getting back home today with a sleeping little girl and by the end of it all, a screaming-hungry baby.

Although it got very late, very dark, cold and against my better judgement, I got some GREAT mommy exercise today. Feel the burn! (or is that my cheeks beet-red with embarrassment for getting stuck out in the dark with my girls in the middle of Pomona?) Live and learn...

TODAYS MOMENT: Got no fewer than FIVE shocked gasps from strangers today when I told them Baby Girl was only 2 months old. One of them was holding a baby herself, as it turned out, only three-days older than her, and easily HALF her size. Well...a lot can happen in three days, don't you think?

Portland, anyone?

2010-02-02T16:31:00.001-08:00

Well, I almost flew to Portland today.

Yep.

We dropped of MB for her first day of pre-school, and got a phone call that a friend had a free ticket if I left TODAY, and would be gone till next Tuesday. He wasn't sure about the time... how did he get the free ticket, you ask? That's another story, well, his.

I ran home to get MB something I forgot for her school, and seriously contemplated leaving on vacation with one hours notice. I had not made up my mind, but found myself packing a quick suitcase for me and the baby while weighing the option.

Luckily, I suppose, our friend called me back at 11am to say, oops, the flight is not for the afternoon, it leaves at 11:45.

Well, one hours notice for a weeks vacation, that I could handle, but instant trip to the airport?? That was out of my league. Sigh of relief, would have been nice, though. Still feeling proud for being that adventurous....

TODAYs MOMENT: MB wanted to take an apple to her teacher on the first day, sweet thing. I spent the afternoon NOT in Portland, but painting a mural fro JEff's new office...upstairs in this neat building with open doors and a palm tree out the window, very peaceful. I painted a fake fireplace around a real fireplace...kind of odd, and some wispy things around the wall.

Strollers: Good vs Evil

2010-02-01T19:45:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I'm spending an entire blog devoted to a stroller, but that is my life sometimes, here goes:

Thanks to a tax return and a free afternoon, I spent much of my weekend looking for a stroller that would work for my girls. At least, one that would fit baby's carseat in it, and at best, one that would fit the both of them.

We started at Target, only to find that it was in the middle of a remodel and had next-to-nothing.

Target Number 2 had the most GI-normous beast of a stroller I have ever seen, or a short-useless model and not much in-between.

Children's Orchard, an awesome 2nd hand store sounded full of promise. but when I arrived, there was only one stroller left on the floor with a "sold" sign on it. Rats.

Well, next door to Children's Orchard is a spendy little store called Baby USA or something, which I've largely ignored because it is for granola moms with larger houses and money to spend. But hey, I had a tax return to blow, I decided to give it a try ... and then...I saw "it". The most magnificent example of engineering a stroller has ever seen.

A bright red jogger, tall, slender and easy to use, with seats stacked over each other so it looks as slick as an airplane. It didn't fit a carseat, but it wooed me instantly with its doule-seat design all its other little extras.

Then...the price. Nearly $500!!!

You have got to be kidding me. I talked them down to a sale price still over $400, and they told me another couple was looking at it. OOOh, the pressure!

I'm convinced I could buy a working Pinto for that price and just teach the baby to drive herself around. But still....my simple consumer brain was in love.

I called Jeff to talk me out of it, but not-so-secretly wanted his blessing. Like a good husband, he told me I was nuts, but like a stellar husband, he told me I could get it anyway if they would sell it out-the-door for $375.

I beamed with greedy pride and went to the register, only to find that they wouldn't budge. I sighed. I gulped. I clenched my hands so I wouldn't change my mind, told them "Never mind," got into the car, and nearly cried.

Then, I called a friend, who suggested I call another friend (with five kids) who really knows how to get a deal.

SUPER MOM: "You need a stroller? Why didn't you ask me sooner? I have one that we're done with."

ME: WHAT???

SUPER MOM: Yeah, it's a double that fits a car seat, a removable back-seat, folding storage and cup-holders too.

FREE.

Of course.

Perfect.

And you know what, it's not even that huge. :)

Some things are worth waiting for...even if it's only an extra hour.

I can't freakin believe I almost dropped $400 on a stroller. Hmm...now what about that tax return? ....

TODAYS MOMENT:

I took the stroller on a practice run to Scary-Park with the girls (dubbed today for the dubious characters in it, the park itself is really quite nice). Yes, the stroller does rock. Yes, I am still embarrassed about even thinking about spending $400 for mostly vanity. Tonight was not so peaceful- Jeff dropped off the computer so I could send in an article, but it took me an hour to get the internet working. Then, baby woke up wailing. Then, MB is jumping out of her skin. Needless to say, I did not quite make my 5pm deadline. BUT....Jeff took Big Girl out for dinner and left me and the baby for some much-needed peace, and I am LOVING it. Finished my article and this big fat blog, too. Jeff says I am a much saner person after writing a bit, and I'm inclined to agree with him. Thanks for reading.

Coming and Going

2010-01-31T15:55:00.000-08:00

Sunday Afternoon: we've just come back from our last day at Village. It meant the world to have to many people share such nice things about our family and ministry, most people don't get that lucky until they're dead, and then I'm sure they don't appreciate it!

I'm not sure how I feel right now. Tired, like any Sunday afternoon, but I don't think I'll really realize what I will miss until it sinks in that we are really done our season there. I really struggle with celebrations in general- it's hard for me to celebrate anything without writing and reflecting, and most parties and gatherings are not "Write and Reflect" parties. Maybe I will start my own trend..."Come to my house! We'll all sit around a fire, listen to great music and spill our guts on paper!" Wierdo.

I wonder sometimes if people really got in my head, how quick they would turn and run. I bet this is true for most of humanity: we have the capacity to harbor the most selfish, dark, ignorant or malicious thoughts, and yet we also posess some self-control and enough conscious love hide to them.

Not that today I'm feeling particularly malicious, exactly the opposite. I'm very thankful for all the kind words I've received today, it's just that as soon as I get to feeling a little smug, God knocks me right and reminds me gently how far I have to go. What would life be if we were not allowed to fail and grow, fail and grow? I am getting all-too familiar with this process.

Thank you, Lord, who helps me to do all things...(Phil 4:13)

Today's Moment: Enjoying the peace of a quiet household after such a very very busy day, and wondering about the little wisps of joy and grief and hope that this week might bring.

California

2010-01-30T10:35:00.000-08:00

After nearly ten years of living here--and nearly a lifetime before--spent complaining about California, I suppose I'm overdue to share some positive spins of this Golden State here.

I doubt I'll get to in in one single little day, so I'll try to remember to just add in "California" notes to future articles.

I'll begin with today....I like this season in California, after the heavy rains the hillsides open up into this lush-jungle paradise, with the sun basking down and the air crisp and clean. I like that flowers grow year-round here, and that my children can play in the grass without even getting their knees dirty (it's rarely that wet here). I like being able to go to the park without the slide being soaked, although it does get baking-sheet-hot in the summer.

After growing up hiking in the deep-north rain forest trails of the Willamette Valley and the Columbia Gorge, where the woods smelled of rich dark soil, sweet ponds and cedar trees, it was hard for me to get used to hiking arounf California. At first, everything just smelled of dust. But like a good wine, it took time for my pallette to develope and understand the beauty and complexity of a desert landscape. Now I love hiking through the foothills, soaking up the smell of sage and desert flowers. And on a hot day, when you come around the corner, the shade feels like it is conected to the center of the earth itself, and you smell the earth and feel its coolness under your skin.

Great places to hike, we've found:

-Lorraine Ave in Glendora: a quick hike up hill for a giorgious view.

-Garcia trail by the Firestation off Sierra Madre in Azusa: a serious comittment hike, straight up, but super excercise and great picnic spot at the top where hang-gliders used to launch from.

-Mystery trail off the 57N when you take Raging Waters/ViaVerde exit and take the next right around the gas station, its less then a mile on the left. It goes STRAIGHT down, swirling all the way, and back up again, very good exercise and quick canyon feel.

-Eaton Canyon up Altadena/NewYork Ave in Sierra Madre/Pasadena area. Super trails, way off the beaten path, horses sometimes and lots to see.

-The M.A.S.H. trail- google it, where they filmed the series.

-The Observatory area up by the Zoo- google it!

-the Batman Cave and the Hollywood sign trails in Griffith Park (heck, anywhere in Griffith park!)

So more much more...for another day.

Happy hiking.

Wake Up, O Sleeper

2010-01-28T18:43:00.000-08:00

I am enamoured today by the life-long process of waking-up. I'll try to explain...

Delicate Girl, nearly two-months old, has begun to smile and have "coversations" with those patient enough to engage her. I love seeing her "wake-up" like this. One day, she's barely focusing on my nose, the next, she seems to be drinking up my very soul from the pools of her eyes, smiling at what she finds.

This stage is fascinating, the human experience at its most fresh and most raw: without social influence or pressure, without even the restraints of language and cultural nuances (although some argue cultural tones are present even in the newborn's cry). It is just her, as she was meant to be, at her finest, at her core.

Even sounds have no meaning to her, just experiences in each moment: the sound of her mothers voice, for example, might seem ticklish, blue, warm, delicious or dark. She has no words to try to contain it. It is all just one sensation, the way that many voices form one sound wave, so do many sensations form one reality.

She is "waking-up," unmasking the veil, revealing more of who she is every day. It's easy to see in a newborn, but for some reason, as we grow, we stop noticing the miracles.

I think of MB "waking-up" as a four-year-old, understanding humor, sarcasm and joy in new and beautiful ways. She has gone from parroting phrases to asking critical questions about things that matter. I think of my youth-group girls "waking-up" too, from walking balls of insecurity to radient, confident women with purpose.

Should I try to define it?

"Waking-up:" an observation perhaps similar to maturing, but it is more like letting our deepest truth shine through; allowing ourselves to be reflective, to be molded, to let transformation to occur without shame or regret. To be ourselves. When we resist this, the results are obvious.

When we resist, we seem to live in shame, guilt, denial and a feeling of being overwhelmed, a feeling of being worthless, unloving and unloved. Waking-Up in ourselves is just the oppostite: knowing we are living a Spirit without fear, with peace, faith, joy, kindess, discipline and love...

In the middle of a big week of change for our family, I love the challenge of facing transition without fear.

We all share the experience of growing in unique ways. I remember getting SO mad at my mom when I was learning to read, crying,

"I'll never get this!"

Yes you will, she assured me, everybody does.

"NO!" I stubbornly clung to my blindness. "What if I am THE ONLY ONE? The only one that never will."

That's how it is. Just when we throw up our arms in desparation and anger, sure that we can not survive the new barrier, the next challenge, or move through our fear, the life reveals itself exactly as it should be. It's like a snake shedding it's skin: nothing seems right just before everything changes. We complain, scratch, itch and wail, only to find that our very predictament is essential to our moving on, to growing up, to shining our best in that new set of skin.

"Wake Up, O Sleeper, Rise from the dead, and Christ's light will shine on you." Eph 5:14

Chihuahuas and LOVE

2010-01-28T15:30:00.000-08:00

I'm researching an article on pet adoption this week (please comment if you have adopted a pet from a shelter in the last 5 years!) and interviewed somebody today who laughed, "I love my Chihuahua more than my husband."

WHAT?

Does anyone out there seriously feel this way? Please enlighten me. I know we all have our moments, but...seriously?

It seems like we have such an addiction to finding unconditional love. Pets are pretty well known for offering this (cats love is unconditional as long as you are feeding them, so I've been told).

My marriage couselor once asked us,

"Do you know what the number one cause for divorce in America is?"

Hmmm....I know this....Money? Kids? Sex? Addiction?

"Nope," he replied, "People."

He went on to describe how we carry all these expectations about what love should be like, how marriage should be, how people should be. And, without exception, people will fail those expectations again and again. People are, simply put, JUST PEOPLE. Imperfect, flawed and precious beyond all measure in God's sight. He forgives us, but we often neglect to do the same for eachother. We set ourselves up for failure when we expect eachother to be anything more than human.

So yes, I love my pets. But not more than my husband, who is absolutely wonderful and the light of my life (and terribly imperfect, just like me). Not more than my children, who I cherish and adore, and who certainly have a long way to grow.

Love somebody? Let them know today! (And yes, if you love your pets, give them a hug for me, just don't neglect your fellow humans in the process. Wow.) Love to all my friends and family!

-Teresa

Todays Moment:

Set a timer to finish this article so I can read to MB, off to go read Berensteins Bears "Be Kind to Others" Ohhh the irony. Made bisquits today because we are out of bread: they look like a very bad, very delicious mistake. Baby has slept a ton today letting me get my research done, loving that, loving her smiles and "cooing" getting more conversational by the day. Last week at our current church/jobs...big transitions! Feeling pretty reflective but very positive about the whole thing.

Playlist

2010-01-27T11:31:00.000-08:00

Jeff and I recently stayed up until who-knows-what hour creating a playlist: mostly my favorite songs from various albums, just kind of a pick your brain date night in I guess.

Among the dozens:

Madeleine Peyroux "Between the Bars"

Imogen Heap "Back Body Double"

Paolo Conte "Happy Feet"

Counting Crows "Round Here" and "Colorblind"

Ben Folds "Luckiest"

Down Here (unreleased?) "Horizon" and "Rock Stars Need Money..and it comes from you!"

Chris Rice "Smelling Coffee" and "Color Nine"

Norah Jones "Come Away With Me"

Newsboys "Shine"

Jars of Clay Redemption Songs, "Frail" and more

Aimee Mann "Cigarettes and Red Vines"

Alison Krauss "Down to the River"

War "Low Rider"

and more

and more....

To get even this far, I would sing a line like "People I've been before.." and Jeff would go "Oh, you mean...Madeleine Peyroux" etc. (Mostly because I can't remember a name for anything). He's like a super google-song source all wrapped-up into one super-spouse.

After just a few minutes of this excercise, he goes, "oh, so your a 'hits' sort of person."

Reeling, I stammer out something like, "no, I like all that indie stuff, you know, the creative behind-the-scenes lines.."

"No," He assures me, "You like the hits: pretty much pick any album, and the most mainstream hit song, that's what you like."

"No!" I pedal backwards, trying to come up with any song I like at all that the world might have hated...to no avail. For some reason, I feel totally shallow that I just like what gets popular, like I have bought, hook-line-sinker into the consumer formula or something.

But hey, there is a reason a song gets popular to begin with, or as our lovely friend Sereyna Avila put it, music is "truth speaking." Music gets under our skin, it conquers up memories, speaks to our souls what our own voices may have been unable or unwilling to express.

So there it is: my great confession: I like mainstream hits. I like the lines that blow your socks off because they make you laugh, cry or just move you. There. I said it. It feels so good to let it out!

Todays Moment: In the midst of trying to reflect on the true and deep nature of music, my daughter has just put in a children's CD of "Pop Goes the Weasel." Well, maybe not ALL hit music is truth speaking or profound...

The Truck

2010-01-26T17:15:00.000-08:00

A little while back, we were gifted a free truck. WOW. Yes, it was a 1985 Ford, about 60,000 miles, and no, it was not really running, but hey, it was FREE!! Jeff got stuck on the Freeway a few times, so we decided to be smart and actually fix the thing. We settled into a deep gratitude while it sat parked for a month, perhaps dreaming of a better past.

Finally, we got a tiny bit of cash, and a little bigger loan to get the thing fixed. First, it was $100 to fix a minor electrical problem. No go.

Then, it was going to be about $900. Not it.

Then...another surprize, $380 for the carborater and a few little tweaks.

At last, we were able to take the thing home last week, during LA's torrential rain. Jeff soon discovered that there are some holes in the firewall, which means everytime it rains, the water comes out in a big gush from the engine into the drivers lap. Minor stuff, right?

At least now it was running, oh wait, just kidding...it died about 27 times from our house to work this morning (and no, the kids are NOT getting inside that thing).

We called mechanic today to get the low-down, because we figured for $1,400 the thing ought to at least move, and at best, not be a death trap. New news! Our mechanic is switching ownership, and is COMEPLETELY shut down all week, maybe more.

This might just go to show that FREE is not always a good thing...as much as we appreciate the...um...thought.

Waking Up

2010-01-25T09:16:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling a little bit proud that I'm up interacting with MB this morning instead of letting a movie babysit her so I can go back to sleep. Now that I have proved myself a worthy parent by watching her play, and getting her breakfast, and smiling at her adoringly, I'm seriously considering going back to sleep. Pinnocio is not so bad, is it?

Boy are we all ready for Pre-school!

We toured a school last week, and the sweet Director took us into to classroom after classroom with a different animal on each door. "This is the bears room....this is the lambs...here's the Giraffe's..." to which MB piped up, "I can be a Giraffe!!! I already have a costume!!"

Miracles

2010-01-24T21:20:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a cheap addiction to our local Red Box, Jeff and I finaly got around to watching "Religulous" last night. I'm sad to say I was under-whelmed by the whole mock-u-mentary, although it certainly had its funny moments making fun of the oh-so-often very stupid-human side of religion.

The whole movie is about this guy's quest for the purpose of faith, which he generally believes makes otherwise logical people kind of insane. I guess I was hoping for a real debate, or at least real entertainment.

What I got from it was how little the host, Bill Maher, seemed to be interested in getting actual information: he traveled the world, from Israel to the Vatican and across America, found all these interesting people to ask questions (smart, dumb, educated or otherwise), and then proceeded to cut them off in the middle of their answers. Finally, one clever Rabbi took a stand during his interview saying "let me finish!" to which Bill said "I'm out of here" and walked out of the interview. Go figure.

We never really want the answers, we just want to feel like we are right.

I remember early in my quest for faith asking Jeff, "How are you supposed to have faith in this God, this Jesus, someone who I do not know? It is as confusing as asking me to believe that Elmo (another famous and sweet character whom I do not know personally) died on the cross for me, and that when Elmo died, he took all my sin ... WHAT in the hell is that about?"

Well, aparently that really threw Jeff for a loop, he still recalls not knowing what to say.

Well, nearly ten years later, I struggle to share my faith with others in just such a way...here I am on the other side of that question: I've grown far in my faith, I am so in love with my Lord and yet I can't possibly explain or express what this means for others in a meaningful way.

Asking about why I have faith now is like asking me to explain what made me fall in love with Jeff, or asking how do I know it is love? "Well..." I might stammer, "You see, there was this river, and he carried me, and he laughed and smelled like chocolate, and we danced in a fountain...then his hands fit...um....SEE?"

"suuuuuure....."

I think of all the moments that brought me deeper into faith, from simple words to awesome miracles, and yet I stuggle to put it into words:

"My parents divorced, God was with me. I met my love, He was in my dreams. He showed me visions. I was drowning, He caught me, still in the river, He carries me through. I've witnessed healing to the sick, provision to the poor, safety through the storms and peace beyond understanding. I continue to discover joy through every circumstance....um.....SEE?"

"suuuuuurrre...."

Even Jesus' disiples asked him why he spoke to the crowd in parables (seemingly confusing metaphors). I guess his friends wanted Jesus to put on a sort of Cirque-De-Solei show about his Divine Power and Awesomeness and wow their socks off. But He answered them saying:

¹³This is why I speak to them in parables:

"Though seeing, they do not see;
though hearing, they do not hear or understand. ¹⁴In them is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah:
" 'You will be ever hearing but never understanding;
you will be ever seeing but never perceiving.
¹⁵For this people's heart has become calloused;
they hardly hear with their ears,
and they have closed their eyes.
Otherwise they might see with their eyes,
hear with their ears,
understand with their hearts
and turn, and I would heal them.' ¹⁶But blessed are your eyes because they see, and your ears because they hear.

When I first read this, I was enraged. "WHAT? I already have a hard time understanding all this, and you are saying you are MAKING it confusing on PURPOSE?"

Maybe it is less about WHAT is being said, and more about WHO we are seeking that makes the difference.

Much like Bill Maher, we don't want to hear, if we do not want to listen, we will MISS so much. No matter how many miracles we may hear about, we will not believe something until we can internalize the experience as truth. Otherwise, its just another he-said-she-said story.

Today's Moment looks like this: My entire family passed out by 8:30pm. Jeff and MB on the couch, baby in the swing and mama typing away on the living-room floor. I'm looking forward to doing a little more listening this week, planning on interviewing a few therapists for an article I'm working on. There are a lot of smart people out there (if we can all get past the more obvious stupidity) and I can't wait to see how much I can learn. Got a gem to share? Let me know!

Vanity

2010-01-23T11:09:00.000-08:00

I was putting make-up on in the car, and MB pipes up from the back seat, "Mom, what are you doing?" Putting on some make-up, dear. "But MOM, you don't NEED make-up, you are special just the way you are!" (Thank you, Veggie Tales for that little gem).

I have to admit there are plently of times where I don't feel special. I have those mornings (today is one) where nothing fits, the hair is nuts, or I just feel low. I have those moments where no matter how desparately I want to feel special, I just feel ordinary in the face of so many beautiful women in the world.

Oh, I have tried vanity on, and it does not fit me. When I was fifteen, I pierced my belly button because all my friends were doing it to be hot (back before the fall of Britany). Well, that definately backfired after having two kids, and now it looks like I have five-belly buttons, 4 with bruises. I pierced a few other things too: the labre (a piercing right under the bottom lip) left a hole in my gums and a scar on my face, and all the fond memories of scaring young children.

What about make-up? One time I bothered to REALLY be fancy for my senior prom, I went to a MAC counter and had someone absolutely bury me in make-up: it left me feeling like Marylin Monroe on crack. To make things worse, my family was flying to New York that same evening, so I didn't get a chance to really scrub clean for some time...the resulting photos looked like a dripping Cruella Devil in a crying spell.

Oh, there's other instances where vanity backfired: I was worried about a lump on my chest (cancer free), so I had it removed for vanity, and it left-instead of a secret lump- an enourmous pink scar right where my clevage should be proudest.

The truth is I never really wanted to be pretty: I just want the feeling of confidence, energy and unending joy that we keep suspecting comes with it.

I tell my daughter often that she is beautiful and we love her no matter what, but I reel with embarassment when she waltzes into the grocery store with mis-matched shoes or ratty hair or gunk on her face.

Galatians 1:10 says: Am I now trying to win the approval of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still trying to please men, I would not be a servant of Christ.

I suppost some days I do not feel so faithful, I am a slave to my own insecuries. Facing them is what really makes my faith come alive.

Psalm 56:11 In God I trust; I will not be afraid. What can man do to me?

1 Timothy 1:7 For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

I want the confidence, not a pretty face in the mirror. I only need a small reminder now and then where real confidence comes from.

Today's Moment looks like this: MB is picking out her clothes for a Pirate birthday party. Today's outfit includes a new denim dress, polka-dot tights and a parrot. I am wearing my pajama's to this party, because they are the only thing I own that is striped, and it seemed fitting. Also super comfy. Yes, I am wearing my pajamas out today, ON purpose. Loving it.

Motivation recovered...

2010-01-22T19:53:00.000-08:00

SO...Here I go again. I'm not going to pretend to put the energy into the amazingly funny, insightful and witty article that just got deleted into space this evening. In fact, it might have just been the best thing I've ever written, too bad for you, its for me to know and you to only dream about while weeping.

And yes, I do find it funny that I actually finished something about "never finishing anything," only to have it get deleted.

Seriously. I wrote a little bit about what its like to have no will to finish anything: the dishes, the laundry, or any creative project. Everything is much for fun to start, and if it does not totally appeal to my deep sense of Muse or Purpose, off I go into the next endeavor. I've spent years developing tools to get past these bad habits, and yes, I can make a deadline now when needed.

But the problem is not a deadline, it's just in the WANTING to finish. You see, the finishing I do not care about so much as the inpiration. Inspiration comes with Hope and Promise, finishing only leaves Critisism and Regret. OR...I support a sense of pride and satisfaction, but what artist ever seems satisfied with what we have done? If we were ever truly satisfied, we would have no reason to keep doing more.

It's like that (deleted) article I just finished a bit ago, I'd say: "Gosh, this was the finest piece of work I have ever accomplished, I am so happy, so proud, I might just publish this around the world and never have to work again.....(blip)...aaahhh, just kidding."

I guess its back to the grindstone.

TODAYS Moment looks like: A little bit of joy I've been delaying. I've spent most of the last month avoid emailing my editor because of God knows why, and after finishing writing last night, just went for it. Immediate response today, we're going with a couple of article ideas she loved, and she even pitched a new one (about sex addiction, of all things) that I can't wait to start writing on. What is God trying to teach me hear about Motivation? I guess its okay that I am never satisfied, because I'm motivated me to try something new again and again. I do love the process.

Verse of the day...Revelation 2:2-5

“I know all the things you do. I have seen your hard work and your patient endurance. I know you don’t tolerate evil people. You have examined the claims of those who say they are apostles but are not. You have discovered they are liars. You have patiently suffered for me without quitting.
“But I have this complaint against you. You don’t love me or each other as you did at first! ⁵ Look how far you have fallen! Turn back to me and do the works you did at first...

Delete

2010-01-22T19:19:00.001-08:00

HONESTLY? I just spent half and hour on a post about motivation, and hit send and it dissapeared. Gone. Into the ether. Some days are like that, even in Australia. I will attack this again with a vengeance when I get over being pissed!