the Allender of Dan

As a result of Adam and Eve's folly, we all have been cast east of Eden. We live as aliens who know we are not at home and whose plot always involves efforts to rise above the tragedy of our condition. We seek a way to return to Eden that will bring resolution and peace. We are looking for our Eden and the intimacy we would have known with our heavenly Parent had we not disobeyed. At the same time, we are trying to make sense of the earthly parents we have been given. And we are simultaneously trying to understand our time, face, and name.

In other words, we are trying to make sense of our story.

from "to be told" by Dan Allender

okay

Everything is eternally okay. By that, I mean resolved. A resounding resolution that penetrates the deepest caverns of our lives, bouncing off the hard of heart and absorbed into the pores of those who yearn for truth. This glorious roar of reconciliation between God and man leaves nothing, no one untouched. It drowns out the shrieking voices of my fears. Everything is eternally okay.

and the Word was with God...

...and the Word fell out of its leather binding.

The inner pages of my Bible have wrestled free from their constrictive outer shell. I usually attempt to keep them together in order to prevent further mutilation of the curled, gold-edged sheets. The inscription on the inside, printed in neat architect-style handwriting, are words of blessing from Pastor Steve as I graduated high school. It begins thus:

"MY HOPE IS THAT YOU WEAR THESE PAGES RAGGED FINDING THE ANSWERS TO YOUR SOUL SEARCHING QUESTIONS. I PRAY THAT YOU NEVER LOSE THAT ABOUT YOURSELF..."


Confession: I have intentionally abused this Bible. Sometimes I throw it around to speed the fulfillment of Steve's hope for me. I wear his words as some sort of spiritual identity. I want you to look at my Bible and be impressed by how much I love God. I like that it looks well-used. Makes me feel proud.

Is the better way that someone would look at my life and know that I love God? I think we can fake spirituality by adopting the right Christian words or destroying our Bibles. I sometimes even deceive myself in this way. But to know God and be known by Him... this is what I desire for me and encourage for you this week. Can we agree to stop playing games?

God, give us courage to be seen by you...and others...for what we truly are.

poetry is supposed to be depressing

Sorrow bleeds from blue eyes
glistening radiant beside
stained crimson cheeks.

The mirror reflects
damp desperation, it
streaks the face.
This wide-eyed gaze,
deluge of desire,
devastates my heart.

vespers

I made tea tonight. I found dried mint leaves in a canning jar hidden within the small cupboard above the stove. I even used a kettle, just to be rustic. I have been desperate for communion, intimacy, fellowship and family, and though the house is quiet again and empty of the warm clamor and chaos of human presence, the tea is comforting and kind in my aloneness.

This is what I appreciate most about today: Charlie's compassionate loan of this computer and a bonding moment watching "The Office" on the floor of his room. Confident words from my dad. His assurance, once again, that everything is actually okay. The fact that God uses me in the midst of brokenness and confusion. That he only needs my willingness, not my pefection, in order to use me to serve others. Prayers on my behalf. A podcast about relationships that inspired me toward selfless, Jesus-style love. My overwhelmed response to this podcast that indicates I may have understood something true about the kind of love I am called to offer. Eritrean coffee and a friend named Luam. So great. A call to set up this week's Italian lesson.

In the midst of so many wonderful things this day has had miserable moments as well. I resist them with all my mental and emotional strength. I hate misery. But unfortunately, my intense frustration does not seem to scare my sadness away. The combination of these two emotions is so heavy that I just wanted to give up.

But here's where I need to let hope penetrate. I want to be a person who has a healthy relationship with my tragic emotions. I want to wave at them as they pass but refuse to allow them to determine my day. I want to be a person who hopes. I wish for my eyes to be fixed on dreams and vision, to make endless lists of the adventures I want to have and the kind of person I am excited to become.

When I was young I dreamed of helping everyone in the world by providing them with housing, recreation, and even letters in the mail so they would feel special ("I'm a special guy!")... and now I feel burnt out, afraid, and helpless. God forbid this is where I stay. In Him, I long to rediscover this passion for others and talk back to voices that tell me I can't, I shouldn't, I won't. I want to live a life of faith, directed by what God says is possible.

Sometimes it gives me confidence to write these things down.

Today, however, my cloudy mood would not glide away. I was most grateful to remember that I can be completely honest with God. There isn't a limit to the number of times I get to moan about the same issues. He is not frustrated when I seem to regress. He can handle my temper tantrums. He even knows what to do with my sin.

My heart feels stronger tonight than it did this morning. I count that as progress and look forward to the same tomorrow. Amen, everyone, and goodnight.

p.s. The podcast about relations is called DISCUSSIONS by Patrick Dodson and the episode is titled "Unconditional Love." You can find it on iTunes.

a new blog!

Hey dudes.

I wanted to give you a link to a new blog Jon Ullberg started for the Underground Youth at Northlake. It's hip. And there's an awesome video from crazy Jesus people. Real, real good.

Underground ReLOVEution

for your viewing pleasure

now, where was i?

I've been thinking about safety lately. There's something in me that longs for security almost more than I desire God himself. Apparently I'm not alone. In "An Unstoppable Force" I read this:

"Out of the community church context has come an unending parade of pop and bumper sticker theologies - the kinds that give us comfort for all the wrong reasons. One of these in particular has both misguided the church and diluted the calling on every believer who is shaped by it.

You've heard it said that the safest place is to be in the center of God's will. I am sure this promise was well intended, but it is neither true nor innocuous. When we believe that God's purpose, intention, or promise is that we will be safe from harm, we are utterly disconnected from the movement and power of God...

The truth of the matter is that the center of God's will is not a safe place but the most dangerous place in the world! God fears nothing and no one. God moves with intentionality and power. To live outside of God's will puts us in danger; to live in his will makes us dangerous" (32-33).

To be completely honest, this idea scares me. My life at the moment is incredibly safe. The most dangerous part of my day is walking across a dark parking lot to dump trash and recycling after work.

But I guess danger isn't merely physical. It also includes being outside my comfort zone when I talk with people, giving serious consideration to ideas that don't fit my current paradigm, attempting feats in my life that seem completely beyond my capability. I suppose that if God eventually wants to lead me into situations where I am at gunpoint for him, or standing up to corrupt governments, or starting a revolution, it may begin with my willingness to be challenged with whatever comes my way today, in this moment. My resolve and determination to not be afraid, to not be pushed aside, by what comes my way this week reveals a character that is being built for the challenges of next week and beyond. My life today matters.

I think about the day that lays ahead. It is 11 a.m. and I just woke up. I am sitting on my couch with greasy hair and a stubborn unwillingness to take a shower. The only things on my schedule are counseling at four and youth group at seven. Inherently benign. However...

I can call that girl who knows she's making bad choices and doesn't want to be talked to about it. I will ask her how things are going. I can delve into issues at counseling that I would rather not admit to or face. I can choose to change if change is required. I can be open to hanging out with a new friend around whom I still feel incredibly awkward, in hopes that our relationship soon develops into something that reflects God's glory. I can make a plan for graduate studies and take more initiative even though the whole idea scares me to death.

What else can God require except that we face today with intentionality and all the strength we can muster? And maybe tomorrow, guns and revolution.

yet again, we stick it to the man.

"So what is the answer for the church in the suburbs? There are at least four main ways the default suburban lifestyle needs to be challenged.

First, we need to speak out against the suburban value of extreme individualism and call Christians back to community.

Second, we need to deconstruct the value of consumerism in way that leads instead to sacrificial living.

Third we need to question the suburban value of safety and comfort and judge it against the call of the gospel.

Finally, we need to understand how our individualism and consumerism lead us to neglect the hurting and needy people in our neighborhoods and cities. . .



We have a monumental challenge if we are going to contextualize the gospel and live as missional communities of faith throughout suburban America. We cannot flee. We cannot get out of here. This is where we live. This is where God has called us. And this “God-forsaken place” that we have been called to desperately needs the Church to stand up and be the Church.

We need to be a Church that truly exists for the sake of others. We need a Church that gives up luxury so that others may have necessity. We need a Church that rejects the lone ranger mentality and lives in sacrificial and compassionate community. We need a Church that views money as a resource of God’s Kingdom and not an object to be consumed. We need a Church that trusts the Spirit and takes risks for the sake of the Gospel. We need a Church that comes together to care for the poor in their backyards as well as those in the city.

Perhaps, if we are careful to listen to the voice of the Spirit’s leading, we will see the power of the cross and the Resurrection can transform a place as cold and hard to the gospel as suburban America.

(taken from Al Hsu's nifty blog about suburban Christianity)

Thoughts? Anyone?

get smart

I apologize if my last post sounded bitter and cynical. I reread it this morning and realized my intentions might have been understandably misinterpreted. Honestly, what disturbed me most about my democratic exercise a few days ago was myself, not the candidates. Anyone who has enough motivation and persistence to run for office deserves my respect. There's no question about that.

But as for me...my ignorance about politicians, politics, and current issues is truly frightening. I meant to expose myself and actually to ask a larger question: am I comfortable operating within a democratic society in which people like me (I assume I am not alone in my lack of political savvy) form the foundation and influence decisions? I'm guessing I am not the only one who shies away from voting for a particular candidate because of his goofy haircut or her uninteresting statement. There has to be a better way.

Two options, right? One, I get informed. Two, I should not have the right to sway my country's political actions. The second option seems like a waste because of the arduous battle that was fought so I could express my opinions, no matter how ridiculous my reasoning may be. So I am left with the first option, which I will act upon right now by trudging through the rest of the voter's pamphlet. I'll spare you the details but hope I am not walking this road alone.

I really need some chocolate.

befriending the voter's pamphlet (part I)

I am, in fact, my own worst nightmare. Maybe you can relate to the following story:

As I walked into the Mill Creek library on my way home and saw a table on the left side of the small lobby. “Elections! Register now!” Blue and red signs covered the walls. Hmm, there must be an election coming up.

I vaguely remember glancing at the envelope containing my absentee ballot just before it was buried under a pile of coupons on our kitchen counter. Oops. I asked the graying lady who manned the booth if today was my last chance to vote. “Any day through Tuesday, except Sunday.” Apparently God still trumps politics.

Phew. I have four days to prepare to to enact my civic privilege. I grab a voters' pamphlet on the way out. A waste of paper given that I could read everything online, but it still feels like a step in the right direction and serves to solidify my intentions. I will vote. Watch me.

Upon arriving home, I change into a bathing suit so I can work on my tan, grab a blanket and the pamphlet and make myself comfortable on the lawn. Multi-tasking. I create a delightful blend of sheer vanity and the guise of political prowess. Hot.

“Okay, so what do we have here?” I am enthused as I tear into the ballot. Not only am I fulfilling my role as a citizen of this democracy, I am well on my way to ensuring I won’t feel the guilt that invariably springs forth at 7:30 p.m. on election day when I realize I once again forgot to vote.

A small yellow notice in the envelope informs me that I am not required to declare a party for this election because Washington state changed the rules of its primaries. This just gets better and better! What a relief to not have to label myself according to party preference. I am a renegade! I can’t be boxed in - I do what I want. I feel empowered by my state's recognition that I need to feel unique and independent. Awesome.

First on my ballot: Jay Inslee vs. Larry Ishmael. “Who is Larry Ishmael?” Probably a sucker. Let’s find out. I flip to page 10 of my handy dandy pamphlet as I mentally attempt to lay down some ground rules.

“Okay, Lacey. Remember it’s not about how they look.” Even as I think this, I know I will inevitably draw all sorts of conclusions from the candidates’ grainy black and white thumbnail photos. Shoot. But I’ll do my best.

Second rule: “Spelling errors count.” Okay, let’s be honest. It is okay if you can’t spell. It is a gift. But not seeking out someone worthy to edit your paragraph is just lazy. Lazy people shouldn’t get elected.

With these trustworthy guidelines to aid me, I begin to wade through the blurbs. Jay fancies himself a contemporary JFK and Larry has chubby cheeks. I mean…okay, I’ll actually read his statement. I skim it for interesting phrases.

Ah, what is this? “Not until we start relying on viable sustainable fuel sources, like nuclear energy, will we gain independence from foreign oil.” Wait…nuclear energy? I’m not a scientist, but I kind of thought that nuclear energy has a bad reputation for destroying the earth and, well, being nuclear. I texted Charlie: “Isn’t nuclear energy bad?” He replied that it creates nuclear waste, which is no good. A no for Larry Ishmael! On to the next section!

Governors. I’ve seen smear campaign commercials from both Dino Rossi and Christine Gregoire and haven’t heard of any of the other eight candidates listed. Here are some highlights gleaned from the time I spend reading about them:

Dino Rossi grew up in Mountlake Terrace. That’s almost like rising out of Harlem. Someone could make a movie about him. I’m pretty impressed.

Will Baker, I’m pretty sure, is simply running in order to expose some nasty business about Christine Gregoire. Reminds me of the Northern Irish political system, in which everyone and their mother runs for office simply in order to raise awareness about his or her particular cause without any desire of actually being voted in. Well, thank you anyway, Will Baker, for your concern for the truth. I mean, I guess it’s the truth…

Christine Gregoire. Last night someone I respect said that he didn’t trust her, so I am biased already. Not too impressed by her statement. Kind of uninteresting.

Duff Badgley. Let’s be honest – his name is awesome. But by the time I get to the point on his list of goals, all having to do with climate change, in which he proposed to “Demand full withdrawal from Iraq. Divert funds to climate programs” I begin to wonder if his scope isn’t a bit narrow for my taste in governors.

John W. Aiken, Jr., belongs to the National Rifle Association. I believe in the freedoms afforded by the Constitution, one being the right to bear arms. But I won’t lie – the thought of electing a man who enjoys guns enough to belong to a full-blown association makes me wary. I will pass on this guy.

Christian Pierre Joubert. A Frenchman! Let’s see what he proposes for our great state. Freedom from diseases, pollution, waste, wars…blah, blah…just like every other candidate. But wait, it gets interesting: "freedom from ignorance, alienation and recession." Freedom from alienation? Wow, sign me up! I read on.

“Freedom from hunger, deserts, and world misery.” World misery, people!

“Thanks to ethical trade, the doubling of exports, tree planting, vineyards, organic agriculture [Carla, pay attention!], health restaurants and the distribution of ‘superfoods’ (including but not limited to amazing dopamine-producing raw vegan chocolate mousses), we would find solutions to world hunger and deserts would flower.”

DID YOU HEAR THAT?! Dopamine-producing raw vegan chocolate mousses! I honestly don’t know what conclusions to draw about this guy. He sounds amazing and weird. I think I like him.

Aw, my job beckons. To be continued…

resolution: learn about political stuff

A purple ballot with my name on it serves as a nagging reminder that I need to get myself well-educated for this year's elections. And fast. Here's my first step toward political awareness:

BBC 2008 US Elections - Comparison of Issues

Happy reading, fellow voters :)

i like trash.

I read a passage from a book that said “if women are to be free to choose to pursue a career as well as marriage, they must also be free to choose the making of a home and the nurture of a family as their vocation…”

This author then said that creativity is a way of living life, regardless of our vocation or how we make money. I could be a housewife creatively. I could be a physician creatively. I can be a barista creatively. "It's not what you do, it's the way that you do it"... right?

The brothers at Taizé said something similar. They asserted that “eternal life” is quality of life here on earth, not just a future destination. What they meant is this: every choice we make, whether we abuse or honor others, destroy or create, eat chocolate cake or vanilla (just kidding)…these things determine whether we spend our days living or dying. Death and life, in this sense, have nothing to do with whether our heart continues to pump and blood flows through our veins. There’s a Braveheart quote tickling the back of my brain…

I am inspired to think that there are ways life can be lived that transcend typical categories of work and housing situations, geographical location, or the activities and relationships we spend time on when all our daily chores are done. How can I live this day creatively? Eternally?

Walking in Edmonds with Charlie a few days ago, I spotted a piece of glass partially exposed along the dirt path we use as a sidewalk on Sunset. To be honest, I probably would have ignored it if I was alone. But I picked it up and in my attempts to convince Charlie it was an amazing treasure (actually just a glass block that used to adorn someone’s bathroom) I myself grew more excited about the discovery.

I stared at it, waiting for its use in my life to be revealed. As we brainstormed possible functions, I savored the process of gazing at this seemingly useless and random artifact and allowing space for creativity to explode in brilliant colors. It hasn’t yet. I cleaned off the glass when I got home and unoriginally set a candle on it. Its potential remains untapped.

I know this story makes me sound weird. Maybe I am. But here's what makes me excited: that meaningless things gain meaning when questions of eternity and creativity are given room to breathe.

I don’t know how to conclude this post. I am simply loving the idea that I can live life beyond the mundane, no matter how uninspired I sometimes feel by the daily grind.

lonelily?

Today I scrubbed and sweated and swept my way to the status of Domestic Goddess. I am quite proud. It is good to have gray, calm days that don't force me outside and give me a chance to organize my life. Oh my, the joy of clean clothes on the line! The tranquility of a clean countertop! Wow. Listened to the Benjamin Gate while I admire my freshly-washed car. Stared at an overcast sky while I wonder what Damien Rice meant by the word "lonelily." A day at spent at home has been good for my soul.

Speaking of songs, I realized that I don't have to have a clue what a song is about in order to thoroughly enjoy listening to it. I guess I am learning this about life too. It's okay that things aren't always clear. I can enjoy them anyway.

My grandma comes into town tonight and I'm stoked. She is a wildfire. Fashions new words and snorts when she laughs and won't let me use the word "fart." She shops and runs long distances. Cleans like she's on drugs - maybe my obsession with deep cleaning is genetic. She is amazing. And I get the next three weeks to make memories and laugh so hard I pee my pants. If I'm lucky, maybe she will tell me stories like she did when I was young of a princess named Lacey. Yep, it's true. Haven't you watched "The Little Princess"? Every girl has royalty buried deep in her beautiful heart...

what is love? (baby, don't hurt me)

Sorry, that song always echoes back in response whenever I ask that question.

Anyway, here's a possible answer. I really like this one...

"...[Paul's] poem on love in 1 Corinthians has shattering power. It is not a vague, genial sense of well-being that it offers us but a particular, painful, birth-giving love. How to translate that one word which is the key word? Charity long ago lost its original meaning and has come to mean a cold, dutiful giving. And love is now almost entirely limited to the narrower forms of sex. Canon Tallis suggests that perhaps for our day the best translation of love is the name of Jesus, and that will tell us everything about love we need to know."

Nice, huh?

I like what she says in the next paragraph too (this is a book about faith and art):

"It is a listening, unself-conscious love, and many artists who are incapable of this in their daily living are able to find it as they listen to their work, that work which binds our wounds and heals us and helps us toward wholeness."

(taken from "Walking on Water" by Madeleine L'Engle)

could it be?

I don't know why it's so hard for me to believe it...

This one's easy: God accepts me, exactly how I feel, as often as I feel it.

This one's harder: Given that God loves me like this, and He teaches humans how to love each other, there is a chance that other people could accept me unconditionally as well. Whatever I feel, as often as I feel it. Could it be? Today I betrayed my deepest heart by pretending I didn't feel. Silencing my emotions with the word "shouldn't."

This post may only make sense to me, but I'll persevere...

I hesitate to share my insecurities because I'm afraid of rejection. I don't want to be the needy one. The clingy one. The unstable one. Some days I do feel large and in charge. Occasionally, on nights like this, when the house is still and my room is dark and I'm alone in bed, my confidence dissipates and I wonder if the boldness I felt about life was ever real to begin with. Was it just a front? When I'm emotionally bleeding, certainty seems far away. If I can't accept my messy fears, how could anyone? How do I stay vulnerable and exposed and honest in these broken moments?

But this in-the-moment honesty is what I desire more than any other type of relationship. I need to adhere to this, to practice it even when my feelings aren't beautiful and my thoughts aren't holy. I need to be brave enough to acknowledge my fear that I'll be discovered for who I am and possibly rejected, and somehow still find courage to bare my heart anyway.

I guess this is the way God chose too. Seems less than majestic, I must admit. But I am committed to being a disciple of Christ. And this means exposure to ridicule. Raw vulnerability. And the chance to experience love and grace beyond what I could ever imagine. Trembling and afraid, yet still... I'm all in.

hrmph.

Today I am impatient with myself.

There is a vision in my heart of the life I want to live, the type of human I would like to be, the ways in which I desire to glorify God. Some days the discrepancy between this shining lifestyle and the one I currently live glare more brightly than others. This is one of those days.

I know it's okay. I know I'm in progress. But lest you (or I) start to think I have fallen into complacency, let me state for the record the desires that beg for change most strongly this afternoon:

switching to natural cleaning products
making time to do something fun with God every day
learning French
drinking more water
investing in friends
budgeting better (okay, let's be honest...I just need to budget, period.)
getting a food handler's permit and becoming more sanitary at work
reading
reducing the amount of waste I produce
spending more time looking at the sky
not worrying so much about all the things I'm not doing =)

Life seems hard to keep up with sometimes. The days seem terribly short. And I yearn not merely to survive and find success in my own affairs, but to serve God and fulfill His purposes for me. To be caught up in His master plan for the world. To humbly submit my life to Him. I strive to fully live. So I add to the above list a wide variety of ways I'm praying for God to shape and transform my heart. I don't worry so much about those - I figure I can let God work them out =)

Charlie recently said to me, "The only person you disappoint is yourself." And this is true. I feel only grace flowing from God as I come to Him, frustrated with all the ways I wish I was different. He...and the people who love me...are far more patient and kind toward me than I am toward myself.

The strange thing is this: by the time I actually attain to the full measure of the life I dream of living, the game will be over and I'll get to go home.

For the sake of balance and encouragement, I would like to add a synopsis of the things I have done recently that deserve my own adequate recognition:

keeping my car clean
continuing to write
logging more hours at work
responding to family needs and making plans
pouring my life out for the youth at church
picking wildflowers from the side of my driveway
allowing myself to daydream about Ireland
switching to organic shampoo

Perhaps this is an important quote for me today:

"When you're waiting, you're not doing nothing. You're doing the most important something there is. You're allowing your soul to grow up. If you can't be still and wait, you can't become what God created you to be" (When the Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd).

This post ends with a shrug of the shoulders. I'm not sure what to conclude from all of this, and actually I am not sure I need any resolution. Today is a day...a good one. And I am grateful for my life.

...and they're back

In gloriously vague terms, today was a victory for reconciliation, for God, for resurrection and happiness :)

I don't mean to be enigmatic, but I want to relish this day by myself for awhile. But tonight, as I savor the fruit of a period of waiting - what for me was a season of waiting on God or simply allowing myself to catch up with Him - as I whisper goodnight, I leave you with a dash of someone else's brilliant insight...

"I had tended to view waiting as mere passivity. When I looked it up in my dictionary however, I found that the words passive and passion come from the same Latin root, pati, which means 'to endure.' Waiting is thus both passive and passionate. It's a vibrant, comtemplative work. It means descending into self, into God, into the deeper labyrinths of prayer. It involves listening to disinherited voices within, facing the wounded holes in the soul, the denied and undiscovered, the places one lives falsely. It means struggling with the vision of who we really are in God and molding the courage to live that vision."

-When The Heart Waits, Sue Monk Kidd

Do everything without complaining or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation, in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life...

Shoot.

Dangit.

Everything? Really...everything? I'm pretty sure Paul does not understand how lame my job is sometimes, or else he would eat his words.

To be fair, now that I have left the coffee shop and have showered the sticky milk off my ankles and am sitting in front of a lovely lamp with the promise of sleep just 10 feet away, I don't feel as frustrated as before. I can say with integrity of conscience that it really isn't that bad, although at certain moments tonight it totally seemed to suck.

Thank God for perspective. For being able to step back and see that the big picture is much nicer than that one icky spot. I know I'm contradicting my last post. But let's just call it a paradox and decide that both are true.

stagnant joy water

Lately, thinking about life gives me major freak-outs at least twice a day. You know, mentally amassing the big picture. The whole hot dog all in one ginormous bite (did you know "ginormous" is not in the dictionary?). But I don't believe it is necessary to mentally digest life in this manner. Especially not if it causes freak-outs.

God seems to care very much about the details. The daily stuff. The incalculable thoughts and intangible moments. My every thought and action and reaction. The minute circumstances of my situation...all for Him, all for His glory. If He is content to work with me in the small things, why do I so stubbornly fixate on each opportunity and option I might ever possibly have in my life, gathering them close to me and then realizing that each one weighs as much as an overfull dump truck, the total mass of which is enough to crush even a man-giant like that guy Andre who always plays the big dude in movies. Are you getting my picture? The whole shabang all at once is too much to bear.

We can instead dwell on the little things. Practical steps we can take. I have a word picture for you. Imagine a glass jar filled with stones. When I can see my life as this container of small rocks (my fears and anguish and stress), joy is water that can effortlessly seep into tiny spaces between the stones and settle in the midst of them. Joy - lots of it. Not without the stones, but surrounding them. This is much nicer than when I imagine that my cute jar is filled with solid concrete - all of my problems as one disgusting mass.

These are the types of blogs we get when I'm deliriously sleepy. I will edit this one tomorrow. But I encourage you to dwell on the inspiring image of your nasty little pebbles soaking in a jar full of joy. Good night :)

every day is a holiday!

Happy Fourth of July =)

Today's patriotic trivia question at work: What makes America the best country in the whole wide world?

Just kidding. Sometimes Mill Creek doesn't have a very good sense of humor.

But just in case you were wondering, the answer is barbecues. Without a doubt, hands down. When I was overseas this year all I wanted was to stand on the grass and eat meat. Mmm...

The actual trivia question: How many cookouts happen nationwide on the Fourth of July?

Answer: 150 million.

That is a lot of dead cows.

On a completely different note, last night over frozen cookies and large mugs of drip coffee I learned about trust. I had an amazing conversation about hope and forgiveness and joy. For two hours I wiped tears and a snotty nose as we spoke because these concepts have wriggled their way into my reality with surprising force and depth. I am asked to live them now in a new way. This is true, and it is good.

The truth shall set you free. Happy Independence Day.

midweek sabbath

This slow, sultry day has dulled my senses and muffled my thoughts. I indulged in a gluttonous amount of sleep this morning and the drag of stupor has clung to me all day. The afternoon is quiet and the world seems to be under water. My gaze moves lazily from my coffee cup at my right hand to tall weeds in the yard that must be pulled...eventually...to my red toenails, which I finally finished painting yesterday. Feels like time for another nap =)

I set some goals for the summer, one of which is to do something fun with God every day. Yesterday I rode my bike around the neighborhood. I felt so free, and I got to the top of a hill and looked up at our giant burning sun and mouthed along to some worship music on my ipod (I didn't want the neighbors to think I was crazy) and I adored life. Today I get iced coffee and a blanket and a Bible in my backyard. I told some junior high students last Sunday morning: God is the cure for summer boredom. The friend who is always available. I encouraged them to take advantage of their free time to invest in their relationship with Him, and I'm trying to take my own advice. It's been good so far.

Dear Bekah is flying away today. Bek, you will be missed by so many people. You are precious. Godspeed. Click here to access Bekah's blog.

(extra)ordinary day

I pulled weeds out of the cracks in our driveway tonight. Less poetic than the Bishop's evening garden walks, but equally therapeutic. (Another reference to Les Mis...I'll try to pace myself. I'm only on page 98 of 1463). When my heart and mind are calm, I love doing yard work. I make joking references to transforming our house so that it outshines those in Better Homes & Gardens, but immediately wonder why. Don't I hate everything that magazine stands for? (What does it stand for?)

Anyway.

I find joy in creating spaces where people feel loved, comforted, relaxed. Charlie and I shared a hearty breakfast of applesauce and watery coffee on the back patio this morning. It was the sun and the music and green vines reaching for our hair...

Memories of moments like these sustain me through our nine months of wet and cold, when I gaze not out the window but at dull folds of window coverings and a million shades of gray and warm my soul by the golden glow of nutmeg-scented tea lights.

I squinted down at seaweed and crashing waves through sandy toes this afternoon as I lounged on a sheet with Clarissa at the Edmonds Beach. She noticed but forgot to mention that my shoulders were burning. A bit tender tonight, but I don't mind - bring on the cancer! (I don't actually mean that.) I resolve to suck the life out of every last ray of sun and twilight bird song God provides this summer. Each day is precious.

When I visited Alaska two years ago I was struck by how much they valued daylight. We frequently stayed up until 2 or 3 in the morning because the moon never shooed us to bed. It's a shame to sleep while the sky remains illuminated...

I copied the following quote into my journal tonight, and to it say "yes and amen." God is steadily broadening and deepening my understanding of what it actually looks like to be a follower. Sometimes it's messy.

"Those who believe they believe in God, but without passion in the heart, without anguish of mind, without uncertainty, without doubt, and even at times without despair, believe only in the idea of God, and not in God himself" (Unamino, quoted in Walking on Water by Madeleine L'Engle).

This post made possible by the accommodating folks at www.flickr.com/photos/charlier.

grateful

Here's what I give thanks for tonight...

The ability to share my feelings with the one who inspired them. The surreal experience of being as deeply intrigued by the soul of another as I have until this point only been by my own (how self-absorbed does that sound). The peace-giving sense that comes with ultimately wanting God's will to be done even more than I want my immediate desires to be filled. The awe that occurs when I consider the path I have walked on to reach this point. The fact that I have had close companionship for the journey.

The freedom to surround myself with city when I am overwhelmed by suburb. The relief of not caring that my purse doesn't match my outfit. Melancholy music on cd mix tapes. Lyrics about the search for a fleeing girl... "send out a battalion to find her"... that remind me of my own God-given desire... under all the right circumstances... to be pursued forever, to the ends of the earth. A smiling inner acceptance of this girly wish. The adjective "smashing" (I'm obviously getting tired). My growing hope - confidence, even? - that for the rest of my life I will find freedom to evolve and daily reinvent myself.

Unfortunately this may be my last post for awhile. I resolved tonight that I will not publish again until Charlie adds a brand new photo to his stunning collection: www.flickr.com/photos/charlier. Bye for now!

tonight was worth the drive

I've realized most of my posts lately have been quite somber. 'Tis the season. Will probably not always be this way :)

Two posts for tonight because the subject matter is different. This is number one:

My heart is full tonight - too much thought and emotion to be contained within Lynnwood city limits, so I drove to Greenlake and perched on a concrete runner at the water's edge. The quietness of sunset and a relieving sense of anonymity as strangers walk the path behind me, mindless of my presence, provide much needed space to think without engaging. It is peaceful.

The birds and the water and the airbrushed sky flood my senses, distract my attention from Hugo's detailed character profiles.

An Islamic man comments on the passing ducklings and eventually asks about Christianity, redirecting my thoughts from nature to religion.

Five phone calls from a friend interrupt our conversation and allow me to drift from theology into relationship.

This is my travel. This is my adventure. My body stays local while my soul and mind explore fresh terrain. My eyes discover new beauty while tracing familiar landscapes. My heart steps beyond well-worn paths, vulnerable and exposed, into deep and lovely territory.

My exploration lately has been as wide as the greater Seattle area and as deep as the reaches of a soul. I am satisfied because I am being challenged...in the past this was one of my main incentives to travel. Maybe new motivations will come, but for now my mission is this moment.

fully human

The delightful comments stemming from my most recent post made me consider the issue of self-acceptance again tonight. Okay, to be honest, I've been thinking about this for the past few days.

Kind of obsessively.

(that's another personal trait I am trying to love)

I appreciate Bekah's confession. It is true that the things I listed on Wednesday are probably the quirks I have grown to like and have already embraced. The ones I truly abhor will not as easily find their their way onto this public blog. The ones I most wish to hide or vanquish I tried tonight, for the sake of transparency, to enumerate, but still cannot bring myself to post.

But this list - all the things I am really ashamed of and need to work on accepting - seems harsh. Those who read it would likely denounce it as exaggerated, unrealistic, or unbalanced. But self-perception can become hazy when it creeps outside the grace-filled and absolute boundaries of truths the Bible offers about who we really are. Our self-concept may have very little to do with reality. We must cling most desperately to what is eternally true.

What if God looks at my "worst" traits and labels them more graciously? "Searching and growing" instead of insecure..."deeply connected with people" instead of lonely... I have this idea that He is much kinder toward me than I am.

I agree with Charlie: the things I most admire and love about other people truly are the strange quirks and unique traits that make them human and accessible and individual and interesting and different than any other person in the world. Like not brushing one's hair for four years (you really are my hero).

I start to feel bad when I, for example, lock my keys in the car or call my dad five times a day to update him on my emotional well-being, because I think about how this must make life more difficult for those around me. I feel I should be able to keep my issues from bleeding into other peoples' lives. But when I consider similar habits I observe in my friends and family, I would not wish for them to change, not the slightest bit (unless it was hurting them in some way). Even the habits and characteristics that make them difficult to interact with or understand. Because I see that these things make them who they are. And I love who they are, just as they are.

I do not want them to become smaller or quieter in order to make my life more convenient or less confusing or even to save me frustration. I want them to be fully themselves, fully human, fully who God created them to be. Young children do not apologize for who they are or shrink back from making requests or stating their opinions. When do we learn to do this? When are we first told that it is not okay to be ourselves?

I have been ranting, but I know this is an important thing to wrestle with. Maybe instead of writing self-absorbed and tragic lists of the many things I wish God would change about me, my time would be better spent sharing enumerating all of the crazy habits and oddities of the people I love that make them absolutely beautiful in my eyes. Consider yourself warned... :)

In other news, I bought a plant today. The flower lady at Central Market informed me that it was her favorite... she said that each of them had a specific personality and I chose the one she liked best. It made me beam. Apparently I have good taste in plants.

I read today. I think I am ahead in the race to devour Les Miserables. Despite the beautiful weather I find myself indoors too often. It may take some time to adjust my habits. I am used to assuming I will get wet and frizzy outside.

Happy First Evening of Summer :)

avoid all forms of self-rejection

It's a phrase I just stole from Henri Nouwen. He entitled a chapter in "The Inner Voice of Love" (sounds like self-help, huh?) with those words. Avoid all forms of self-rejection.

A former counselor instructed me to wear a rubber band on my wrist and snap it lightly whenever I started thinking derogatory things about myself. My new counselor says this sounds like a mean way to learn to be nice :) It worked though. And the less I judged myself, the less I judged others. It was a natural outcome. Things started to flow.

And now I'm working on the same issue again. So here is today's list of things I will no longer hesitate to embrace about being me. I'd like to hear yours...

perpetual ice cream stickiness on my forearms
frizzy hair and mismatched clothes
lateness. aaaaaalways late :)
dirty fingernails
more alive in evenings than mornings
2-3 week infatuation periods with new hobbies
enjoy thinking about books and buying them than actually reading
becoming best friends with the AAA slim jim guy
cavity teeth from too much coffee

I think that's a good start. Tomorrow will bring new opportunities to grow.

and until then...

Tonight I'm not overwhelmed by questions and contradictions, but find myself peaceful and simply observing their presence in my head and my heart. Somehow tonight I feel unconcerned and carefree in spite of them.

We are all waiting for something, no matter who we are or what situation we're facing. I have to believe that a time is coming - maybe not so far off - when I will have fewer questions and more answers and more peace about the things I dwell on right now. History proves this, and faith bolsters my confidence. It helps to just acknowledge that the time is not yet, but will come. That I am still in the midst of many things, but will at some point emerge. It is quite alright with God that I can't see with perfect clarity or think with logical or linear precision about issues. He knows and He loves. Now is the perfect time for faith and peace and trust to reign. And they do.

Today's important lessons:

don't roast coffee beans to 490 degrees - they will be too toasty and set off the alarm.

father's day sermons about fathers were never intended to interest non-fathers.

it's better to be humble than proud.

a surprising amount of happiness can be found in autistic children and excursions to the grocery store.

"naan bread" sounds confusingly like "non-bread" to a listener.

i am worth dying for. so are you.

the poem marched in at six this morning demanding its debut

the loving
(is no longer found in the shade of Eden's
giant dinosaur leaves and
romantic silhouettes against sunset)
began as perfection

has persisted and grown
despite
regardless
as "ideal" faded from our temporal scene

the sorrow
regret
wondering if the loss of perfection
meant
the loss of love

the miracle
love thrives not in standard, anonymous forms
but in random
oddball
quirks
giving contour to relationships
surprising Type A personalities
reflecting a creative Creator

the joy
(a discovery)
my heart will find its place in love
not despite
or regardless
but because of
me.

you must remember this:

God is always okay with how we feel, even if we are freaking out about nothing.

A man on a porch was rocking a baby that was crying and someone walked by and asked him what was wrong, because the baby just kept crying but he was so calm. He responded, "Nothing's wrong. But she doesn't know that and that's why she's afraid. And I'll just keep holding her until she realizes that."

quotable

You can't be connected with God until you're at peace with who you are. If you're still upset that God gave you this body or this life or this family or these circumstances, you will never be able to connect with God in a healthy, thriving, sustainable sort of way. You'll be at odds with your maker. And if you can't come to terms with who you are and the life you've been given, you'll never be able to accept others and how they were made and the lives they've been given. And until you're at peace with God and those around you, you will continue to struggle with your role on the planet, your part to play in the ongoing creation of the universe. You will continue to struggle and resist and fail to connect.

-Rob Bell, SexGod

Mary [the virgin] did not always understand. But one does not have to understand to be obedient. Instead of understanding - that intellectual understanding we are so fond of - there is a feeling of rightness, of knowing, knowing things which we are not yet able to understand.

During the question-and-answer period after a lecture, a young woman said to me, "I read A Wrinkle in Time when I was eight or nine. I didn't understand it, but I knew what it was about."

As long as we know what it's about, then we can have the courage to go wherever we are asked to go, even if we fear that the road may take us through danger and pain.

-Madeleine L'Engle, Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art

saturday play-by-play

a healthy move from the sad darkness at the back of my house to the sunny front

caring about details like lamp placement and the smell of a flower (this is progress)

an emotional conversation that somehow turned out better than I thought it might (it often happens like this)

today's trivia question at work for 25 cents off: tell us your most embarrassing moment. laughter, good stories shared among strangers, a tribute to our humanity.

two delicious iced decaf peppermint mochas

a pitiful attempt at cleaning the attic with my mom

off work a half hour after closing - a record! loving my job.

a joyful phone call reunion with my former roommate in Belfast

crouched on our roof, protected from the elements by an overhang, pondering life and the slight rightward direction of silent drizzle

two new songs on the piano

time logged at apartmenttherapy.com (thanks to Molly)

beyond restoration

I now stay away from generalizations like "life is complicated" or "relationships are messy" because to be completely honest I'm not making assumptions about how things work anymore. A close friend says this means I'm more open to God, to life. This is good. But the vague haziness between the loss of my preconceived ideas and the discovery of a deeper truth is kind of a scary place to hang out. I grope into the darkness for the rock, the word, the truth…

when they call on me I will answer them...

in all things God works for the good of those who love Him...

And so I fight for my rest, and occasionally breathe easy.

Three thoughts gave me comfort during an especially difficult and emotional yesterday.

First, that in the end God's will will be done. Despite me. Through me. Encompassing me. I am not the final say.

Also, that in each second that passes, God reigns. This one. This one. This one. No matter what the next second brings, the defining truth of the moment is that God is King and Jesus is Savior. Hell could break lose - and sometimes seems to - and yet, in that instant, neither death nor failure nor meaninglessness prevail.

Finally... and ultimately... God's faithfulness surrounds Him. Like a massive bathrobe or a cosmic aura of good juju, anyone who comes near to God is immediately surrounded and penetrated by His faithfulness. His commitment to seeing us through to the beautiful, shining end. To pulling us out of our gutter water and cleansing us to the core. To not allowing us to languish in sorrow... even if he has to pry our melancholy and self-pitying little fingers out of the mud one by one. To orchestrating every detail and circumstance so that we will reflect His glory more, and find greater joy in eternity and in life.

All I have wanted for the past few months has been restoration. I beg God: I want to feel like me again! I want to be joyful. But the truth I discovered yesterday is that restoration isn't on God's agenda for me. He wants more than that. The resurrected Jesus was not simply a restoration back to his old self. His disciples couldn't even recognize him after he rose. God did something new.

And so my hope is this: that God's best for me is better than what I have been hoping for. That His vision for this year, and for the rest of my life, is far greater than what I had imagined and if I'm not careful I'll be looking out so narrowly for restoration that I'll miss my own resurrection. God is doing something new.

I am beginning to start my mornings by asking God for a gift that only He can give, that defines my attitude throughout the day... the ability to hope and to believe. When I call, He answers.

Reconciliation

Tonight the church became flesh. A group of broken and beautiful people boasting reconciled relationships, triumphing over Satan's plans for division through the medium of laughter and a lame TV show.

Thank God for Lost.

and so it is

I want to emerge for a second from today's saturated state of melancholy and shake the sadness from my eyes so I can see truth and glory. I want to celebrate God today. This is my birthday reflection.

I wouldn't exactly call it a quarter-life crisis. But it has been a struggle to squash thoughts of where I thought I'd be in life as I entered this new and golden year. It is important I fight this battle. I get confused and panicked when I give weight to vague expectations and standards, and my own condemnation. It has been my challenge this week to climb out of the mire and perch on the edge, whence I can view my life from God's perspective. Fresh, clean air. New life.

I repeat it often to convince myself: He isn't disappointed in me. And I know it is true. He knew I would be exactly at this spot on the eve of my 24th birthday, having accomplished very little, and also very much. Having reached a place where I am starting to be less concerned about accomplishing anything at all. This is progress.

This season of my life must be allowed to simply unfold. My mind cleared of specific goals and expectations, I find short- and long-term planning impossible. So I am trying this new experiment: I live each day as it comes. The benefit is that I can breathe. The challenge is that I don't understand the greater purpose behind everything I do each day and sometimes this freaks me out. Maybe my biggest fear is meaninglessness.

But I like being carried by life right now instead of paddling to beat the current.

Faithful.

God has been committed to seeing me through this year even when I've been ready to throw in the towel, when I don't want to do life anymore. He continues to poke and prod me toward a better existence. He has been my constant companion.

I don't know what 24 brings. But I give thanks for the unexpected happenings of 23: A year of Christian missions administration. Two trips to Europe. Lots of love. Self-discovery. Belly laughs with friends. A deepened heart. A beginning and an end and a continuation. Questions. Answers. Frustration and tragedy and joy. A new job. A completely new life. Beautiful Christian community. Family and selfless love. I am struck by how impossible it would have been for me to plan all of this. All of it too wonderful or terrible for me to have imagined and put into action. An argument for divine sovereignty.

My desires for this year are vague, but pulse strong in my heart: Joy. Above all, joy. Simplicity. Health. Perseverance. To serve Christ with goodness and peace. Confidence and excitement. Overflowing delight in the details of life. Strengthened friendships. An outpouring of love and energy into youth. Discovery. Long summer days in Seattle. Hours logged in coffee shops, behind the counter and on overstuffed couches. Education? I certainly don't have a clue. I am at God's mercy, and luckily He is a merciful God.

even there

Where can I go from your Spirit?

Where can I flee from your presence?

If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.

If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me and the light become night around me," even the darkness will not be dark to you; the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.

charlotte bronte rocks the party...

Jane Eyre is probably the best book in the whole entire world (God-breathed works excepted).

be excited! this is a tangible post full of concrete information =)

Hello friends!

You will be happy to know that I am taking a short break from my obscure thoughts on the inner life in order to bring you some solid news: I am coming home! I am writing from Paris, at the house of the gracious and generous Vermes family, and will be sleeping my way across the Atlantic on Tuesday. I have been counting down the days and hours until I get to see the shiny streets of Lynnwood again... they are paved with gold, right?

My return has come sooner than originally planned, but everything has been brought to completion for me at Taize and I know it's the right time to head home.

1. I realized I do not want to be a nun. I would rather have Top Ramen and a movie.
2. There is so much love in me that can't be expressed through the thin wires that connect a phone to its box or a computer to the wall.
3. There is a limit to the number of God-lessons I can learn in theory without actually putting them into practice.
4. There is also a limit to how many struggles I can overcome without moaning to all of you face-to-face.
5. I miss you.

Obviously this is a condensed version, but I hope you're tracking.

So, with a circle of friends waving goodbye at Taize, I left the monastery on a bus full of nuns and arrived in Paris to a warm welcome from the Vermes and a banana split. Nuns and sugar-coated bananas in the same evening? How does one girl get so lucky...? :)

Please pray for safe, hassle-free travel and a speedy journey to Sea-Tac. Thank you for so many prayers and notes and emails and phone calls... my cup overflows.

Catch you on the flip side!

(To those who have been writing to El Abiodh, now is the time to return to my normal email acccount. Thank you!)

silence

"A young man asks me how to face the dryness, sometimes the emptiness, of his prayer. When, in their heart of hearts, someone knows they are loved forever and ever, they are not afraid to wait in silence, even if some silences were to last until death" (Brother Roger, Taize).

Taize really emphasizes silence - actual silence, and inner peace of heart - as a way for God to communicate with us and be present in us. I know that sounds kind of New Age, but it is definitely Biblical. There are 10 minutes of silence built into each prayer service. Lately I have spent this time reading the Bible or daydreaming about home or sometimes making to-do lists. But tonight I decided just to listen and see if God spoke.

I didn't hear his voice, but He did give me eyes to see something internal. I'll give you some words from my journal:

In the inner silence of my soul, sun reflects off the sound of crashing waves and scenes of the Sacre Coeur from "Amelie" play in sweet, endless cycles. It is a deep inner life of beauty and color and simple, profound moments. It is continually flowing forth and expressing, which may be why I incessantly talk, and write, and sing. Inside it is silent but eternally communicating - His Spirit existing through my heart takes on unique shades and a combination of tones. Love expressing itself in color and music; a fullness of joy.

This inner life will thrive and breathe and grow in a favela or a private boarding school, in the gutter and on the balcony of an Italian villa, laughing with the stable and the deranged, loving from a position of servitude and of leadership, talking and listening with the heart, in arid climates and freezing cold, in the heat of the day and covertly at night, through music and silence, sitting on straw mats and eating off of fine china.

Though my eyes grow blind, this life will see how to heal. When I am tired, this Spirit will remain willing. This is the space in me where God lives - the source at the center of my heart from which He pours out His love to those He draws into my life.

and now i breathe

Only perfect love could create such calm. Sitting on a wooden bench in the quiet of twilight, the still crispness of the air, watching the lights of villages and homes scattered across green hills grow brighter as the sunset humbly retreats. An absolute, undeserved gift of refreshment. A moment when I feel nothing demanded or required of me, from the inside or out. The peace I sought after and strove for but couldn't manufacture by myself. A space in time when I can breathe. I am embraced and gently carried to a quiet place and laid down for rest. "Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life..." The sensation of deep, calm breaths filling my lungs with clean air after so long breathing short, frenetic, strained gasps. This is a gift.

The single, final bell announcing evening prayer follows timeless seconds of silence, then another pause before the brother's voice confidently strikes the initial note of worship, ushering us into collective centeredness on God.

The stubborn will in me has left only a space that is now occupied by peace. I have no desire to fight such goodness. I sense every fiber of my physical and spiritual being and find no thread of resistance to Him. Not a single stronghold.

There were so many heavy and dark emotions flooding my heart today - loss, anger, confusion, fear, guilt. They do their damage to my soul but at the end of the day it is God who kisses me on the forehead and lays me down in a place of absolute safety and stays near to guard as I relax into a peaceful rest. It is His presence, the knowledge of His nearness, that is the healing balm for my soul. The fact that He has not abandoned me but instead rushes to comfort me - this is my restoration.

The restoration is a physical and spiritual reality, not just a fleeting feeling. Suddenly I understand what Jesus meant: "My peace I give you, my peace I leave you. And I do not give as the world gives..."

Thoughts about the future are not allowed to enter my circle of protection because fear is not permitted to exist. The enemy that has crushed me all day long cannot penetrate. The unmoving, watchful eye of God keeps me safe. Fear cannot harm me here; nothing can threaten or hurt me.

just a note!

i have been hanging out with the monks for about 3 weeks now and to be honest i miss home most during friday night prayer services, which for some reason really make me crave pizza and a movie on the couch with all of you.

i have settled into a rhythm here and in spite of missing you i have found a way to live each day like the only one i have. i have had the opportunity to spend luxurious amounts of time lounging in god's presence, soaking in lessons about love and suffering and patience and trust. learning to leave self-absorption and turning my eyes to see god. it is really beautiful to be here during holy week. as i struggle with my lame issues and internal struggles i am amazed to realize that even as he suffered on the cross jesus would have cried out to me to lay my burdens on him. can it be? is he still so strong in his weakness that he could invite my heart to rest on him? he is indeed.

during the past few weeks, i have directed people to clean toilets, learned the german words necessary to instruct them in this complicated task, danced into the night with the girls i live with, met with a Spanish nun once a week who has fire in her eyes and wisdom in her heart, learned why german people don't like The Sound of Music, passed hours in the church singing and crying and daydreaming, sometimes listening so intensely to god that i don't realize the service has finished and other moments so bored that all i can think about is the choirs of people coughing during the ten minutes of mid-prayer silence.

my relationships with people here are developing naturally. as i hear their stories i am surprised at how few of the people who stay here long-term are committed christians. my ministry is my friendships, and i get to live it all day long. this seems the perfect way for me. some relationships are more mutual... i hang out with a finnish girl, whose shaved head and chain of cigarettes at first made me think we would have very little in common, and every day we can't wait to share what god has taught us about love in the past 24 hours. this sounds strange, i know, but it is good and right. god is working...

it was warm and beautiful here today, and tomorrow it will snow. feels like home.

i hope you all have a lovely easter.

you can reach me by writing to el.abiodh@taize.fr with "Lacey - America" in the subject line.

talk to you soon =)

not one single thought

The past few days have been a bunch of randomness and I haven't been able to find a single thread to grasp and blog about.

Last night I went to a pub for traditional Irish music. Exposed black beams supported the low ceiling of a dimly lit cozy of a room and we walked on a creaking wooden floor splashed with drink. Was crowded, relaxed, and smelled of smoke and sweat. Quite the scene. I enjoyed the experience but when I took a mental step back realized how crafty Satan is to have interwoven a moral sin (specifically, excessive drinking) into the tapestry of Irish history and culture. Many of their beloved songs and stories - oral traditions passed down through generations - centers on this activity. For Christians or others to condemn the practice of intentional drunkenness means coming up against a deep-rooted national pride hundreds of years in the making. I'm not saying it is the solitary fact of Irish history, just that it is so interwoven that it is now hard to separate the sin from national identity. Not sure where I'm going with this. But even after being here for a week I forget to allow my heart to break about it because the prevailing attitude is that it's harmless fun. Drinking looks so much different here than at home. So many people on all nights of the week intentionally drinking to a state of illness.

I leave for Taize on Tuesday but haven't had much time to think about it. I can see that God is preparing my heart for the experience but still really don't know what to expect.

A quiet Sunday afternoon. I went to church this morning with Jenni. A beautiful service but my mind and heart are currently so distant from the book of Ezekiel that it was hard to connect with the sermon. Hoping to take a long walk with God this afternoon, gaze at old stone houses and delight in each step taken on pavement so far from home, remembering whenever I feel lonely that my friends and family love me from across the world. Only this, and remembering that Jesus is present, gets me through the empty moments.

Tomorrow I'm catching up with two friends from my last visit - one, an older woman who has sacrificially given up almost everything to serve full time at a ministry called The Way In. The second is a woman a few years older than me who has a cute apartment, went to university in Scotland with Prince William, and teaches ESL with a Belfast accent to a whole host of foreigners in the area. Will undoubtedly be great conversations.

A thought from my journal yesterday:

Feist is an excellent band to listen to in Europe. Grey half-light of a rainy midmorning in Belfast brightens the room but does not invite me out of a warm bed. Deep under covers, arms tucked in to keep away the chill. Blogging, quick emails, reading Jane Eyre. So nice to be here.

emerging artist

You know those really relaxing days where everything seems a bit quieter and laying on your bed all day seems like the most reasonable response to the soft light coming in through your window? As it looks, today is making out to be one of those peaceful, modest days. Unfortunately I'm at a place where I want to be jumping off of something, screaming till my lungs pop, running until I fall down, all culminating in me laying in a pool of my own sweat, a near-lifeless heap strewn about on the grass... restless I think best sums it up.

-Anonymous

some Germany photos

Me, Katharina, Thomas and Regina hiked to this view of the Rhein













Beaming after my first experience climbing




















Some nice candles in a massive cathedral

for the love of the Irish

I told my friends here that I am dedicating this blog to them. They are quite excited and now I feel great pressure to perform. Here goes...

Not much has changed since I lived in Belfast in 2006. The new Starbucks at the end of the road and two beautiful new roommates add excitement but don't alter the essence of this city that now lives simultaneously in my memory and in reality. Many strange and stimulating moments as we record new memories over old ones in familiar places. I love the narrow streets and never remember when I walk to Nicola's parked car that the misplaced steering wheel is located on the right, not the left.

I am a roommate again. I have been welcomed back with warm embraces, giggly smiles and hearty Northern Irish cooking. Love seeps through the walls of this hundred-year-old house. Excited squeals about Nicola's new boy, collective moans about Jenni's decision to cater a 1200-person meal, and me repeating every other word they say in order to acquire their queer Irish accent. My favorites: pain (pronounced peein'), power (pronounced paahr) and various nicknames already thrown at me...wee pet, dote, plonker, numpty. I'm starting to develop a strange kind of complex.

I've already drank more tea and eaten more small pastries than my body knows what to do with. Remembered that the last time I was here I ate so many of these desserts... they call them tray bakes... that I actually threw up, and have been trying to refrain a bit. Praying for God's help.

I visited Belfast Bible College today and in the evening went to an evangelistic kids' club where I reunited with some kids from East Belfast, most of whom need Jesus and a warm bath. They pretended to remember me from my last visit (so sweet) and I teared up as they walked out the door. God's love for them overwhelmed me. Now I sit closer than a sister to these girls on the couch, them "revising" (studying) for a medical exam on Friday and me indulging in Jane Eyre and wishing I had some chocolate cake.

Missing you all quite a lot. Loving you from afar.

life in a list

I am sorry this will be a lame and short post but I just have a few moments and wanted to share some of the past few days...

God gave me another piano, this time in my friend Katharina's room, and sunlight streamed onto the keys as my soul played this morning. Just what I needed.

Good and deep conversations throughout the past few days. Learned this universal truth about women: we don't have the solution but we admire the problem. Hours of talking lead us to restate our initial hypothesis as a conclusion - wow, life is complicated. I usually do not tolerate generalizations like that but all of our analyzation proves nothing more or less than this one declaration.

Visited Beethoven's house. Felt more talented after just moments standing on his winding staircase and scuffing my feet along black and white tiles in the entryway.

College students look the same everywhere and the university district is inherently cool. 

Proud to be an American. German friends were aghast to learn about drive-through Starbucks and outdoor library drop boxes that exist to save us the hassle of actually leaving our cars. You think their efficiency-oriented minds would react with jealousy instead of shock. What is it about traveling that makes me immediately more cynical?

German breakfasts and dinners centered around bread. It's a beautiful thing.  

wish to see your face

I would be lying to say that my weary body wasn't crying for lack of sleep and my heart for the absence of home today. I enjoyed a beautiful first day in Europe with the family of my dad's wife just outside of Frankfurt, Germany. Brilliant sun stole the shock and sting of Germany's cold winter air. I learned vocabulary from small children and was comforted to play quiet notes on a keyboard in the living room. But my thoughts and heart were torn.

I struggle tonight to know with how much finality to shelve my longings for the person and people and things of home, and conversely with how much loving acceptance to acknowledge my heartache and allow it to linger. There is risk either way, but my conclusion during this jet-lagged, wide-awake hour of 1 a.m. is that the greater danger lies in silencing the sighs of my soul, one of God's main method of communication with me. I dare not deny the presence of my deep longings and instead must enter fully into the missing and the pain, that I might discover what God has to teach me there.

You are each one dear and precious to me. It remains to be seen whether my irrational, culture-shocked frustration at there not being English writing on my package of cheese, for example, will linger and lead me home, or if by acknowledgment of my feelings, understanding and okay-ness will grow and God will give me peace.

It goes without saying that this has nothing at all to do with cheese.


(disclaimer: for new readers of my blog, please realize that in my writing I tend to emphasize small details of my daily life that sometimes make my experience and interpretation of events seem melodramatic or tragic, when really I am doing just fine. this is art...please don't worry.=)

transcending the cow

Fire warms my cheeks to pink in this beloved world: a sink-into-able leather sofa and within my reach African red tea steaming silently from a wide-mouthed porcelain mug. Strangers become friends by shared experience. Absorbed by George Muller's biography, his story comforting and challenging, while a hundred years later coffeehouse satellite radio makes me trendy just by the listening.

The sky darkens outside and intimacy glows brighter as I await the arrival of a close friend. Frequent glances toward the door. My thoughtful meditations on the words of an inspiring man slip to darker corners of my consciousness and solitary moments stretch with anticipation. I am eager for shared time and quiet conversation.

All this for a dollar and some change. I moan about the extortionary price of tea but money can't buy the beauty of this moment.

he tells me - "bury your head"

...or something along those lines.

My latest briefing with God yielded this directive: I must close my eyes in battle and choose blindness. My critical task is to shut out the artificial light of my own wisdom and scheming and stalwartly refuse to predict a million different dangers, mapping the location of potential land mines and carefully calculating avoidance of each one. This burdensome and futile task of concerned analysis falls perilously beyond my duty and call.

The Commander demands retreat and regression - "become like a child." Intentional vulnerability is my weapon. Closed earthly eyes will allow for the strengthening of spirit-vision that sees only God, and Christ in God.

His words to me tonight:
stop.
stop.
stop.

I know not the way God leads me, but well do I know my Guide.
-Martin Luther

what I need is the one who made the need

Our scramble to fill voids in our lives created by loss cause us to miss the point.

I lost my wallet on Wednesday and count this event a highlight of the week. The stress came first, followed closely by frustrated regret. But if I hadn't misplaced it, God couldn’t have brought it back. And the excited shrieks that ensued after He returned it to my care created an intimate moment between me and my Maker that wouldn’t have existed but for the loss.

“Look!” God proudly declares. “I have given you the seed-bearing plants throughout the earth and all the fruit trees for your food. And I have given all the grasses and other green plants to the animals and birds for their food.”

God could have designed humans and animals to survive without needing food or shelter, or a valid driver's license and Safeway Club Card. But these physical, (somewhat) universal realities allow the divine to penetrate the dirt. What at first seem to us irritations and limitations, as our God-eyes adjust to the light of His presence on earth, we begin to view as shadows that prompt us to turn lightward and ask, believe, receive. Whether simple or wise, let us recognize our dependency and be quick to seek the single Source that both created and joyfully satisfies our longings.

(my life) work in progress

I used to love life when I could imagine it as the handiwork of a painter devoted to realism. Accurate, precise, clean. But I have grown to love messy.

After I graduated from high school, my exact lines and perfect proportions faded and I was devastated. Life stopped working like it was supposed to – my Brady bunch family dissolved, I bent beneath the weight of clinical depression, and my liberal college education smeared rigid black and white convictions into a smudged gray sketch rendered by a blunt No. 2.

Since then, color has slowly bled back into my palette. I emerged from university into a relaxed watercolor painting in which I allowed myself to live instead of think. I stepped out of heavy intellectual debates and wrestled as little as possible with grand theories. I could breathe.

The forms are beginning to emerge again and definition grows. But the shapes and faces that materialize aren’t the harsh “realities” of my high school paradigm, unquestioning and unquestioned. They are dynamic, fleshed-out, shifting. They are imperfect and underground and full of humanity.

I want to grasp God’s hand and charge into the sea of an impressionist’s billion spots and LIVE and when I die to resurface, lifted out of the madness, and smile as He reveals His masterpiece.

As long as I’m made of dirt I want to see His brush strokes with my earthly eyes – imperfections pointing to a perfect Painter.

while

I’m standing on the shore and I study the far-off line: sky kisses water; I see the future. And the wind tempts and screams and my feet grow wet and cold from lapping waves. Garbage scars the sand.

And I just smile toward the line and the wide-open sea: the fullness of love that carries me to promised joy.

My life drags with lost momentum. Even in these recent days, with a job and plans for the future, I question my external value. From where will confidence come in 50 years without these activities to pad my identity?

The thought of growing old is frightening in a country that esteems beauty over age. The contractors at the end of my driveway watched my mom walk through the mud but later offered my roommate a ride to our door. Maybe it’s a silly reason to be somber. But there was something dull and devalued in my mom’s eyes even as she joked about the incident.

A forced smile. “Isn’t that funny?”

In this vein, a thought to reinfuse glory into our forward gaze:

“And their hands aren't gnarled, they're in love with the earth.
And they're dying to go there again.
We say the essence of life is strong in our youth,
Slowly buried under wrinkles of skin.

But there's God in the way that life comes to an end,
In the way that it draws to a close,
In the saying of soul to the house of the skin,
You're too weak now to really oppose.

Singing:
Take me,
Take me,
Write my name in the most Holy Tome.
And when it's my time
To assume the sublime,
Take me to my promised home.”

-Waterdeep, “Take Me”

this one's for you...

There's really nothing worse than a green banana.

Jesus

Carried in their devotion
lifts me to you -
my strength not bolstering
rest, receive.

Precious golden moment
quiet, open, heart.
Memory burned into soul history
moment out of time, alone together.

Fearing but not afraid in
love’s rushing embrace.

Not the Mob

I’ve joined the family business. A mild form of nepotism and certainly not harmful; it turns out to be less exciting than Italian-style family ventures, but still important and I’m learning a lot.

I always wondered about those kids who work in their parents’ teriyaki shops all weekend – are they bitter? Now I'm starting to understand. There’s this sense that even if my tasks were to seem inherently directionless or without a greater significance, there's an underlying motivation because each moment of work offers a payback to me. That sounds selfish, doesn’t it? It’s not about helping my dad make money so he can treat me to Starbucks more often. He would do that anyway. It's about true fulfillment found in assisting someone I love and knowing that even if his company doesn’t make it in the long run, my labor was not in vain. I am storing up treasures where they last – in heaven, or in his heart. My presence is a support and encouragement to him. This deeper meaning makes the mundane manageable.

Glad it’s this way:

• Grandma’s homemade cookies
• Breaks for piano playing
• Daily “corporate meetings” which usually consist of me throwing down the hammer and earning in response my dad’s amused smile
• Suddenly, I’m in sales. And I don’t feel too dirty about it!
• Unexpected excitement about a generator
• I can fancy myself either Pam from The Office or a kid at a teriyaki shop.

Wish it wasn’t but it is:

• A concern for my dad that makes it hard for me to emotionally disconnect from his stress

not ( ) enough

Tonight I tried to outrun it. I thought freeway speeds on residential roads would ease anxiety; 35 just wasn't cutting it. It felt good, but didn't help me breathe better. It seems my demons fly fast too.

Simply this: I have been measured and found wanting.

Grace

“It is hard to get reconditioned to the conditioning of grace. A flower doesn’t bloom in one hour of sunlight, and a believer’s soul needs constant exposure to the rays of grace day after day, year after year, before it moves from an intellectual assent to a truth that our lives bask in and live by.”

(Walk On: The Spiritual Journey of U2, Steve Stockman)


"Dr. John Witherspoon was a great American and a man of God. He was one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and president of the College of New Jersey which later became Princeton. He lived about two miles from the college and drove over in his buggy each day.

"One morning a neighbor came excitedly into his study and said, 'Dr. Witherspoon, you must join me in giving thanks to God for His providence in saving my life. As I was driving this morning the horse ran away and the buggy was smashed to pieces on the rocks, but I escaped unharmed.'

"'Why,' answered Dr. Witherspoon, 'I can tell you a far more remarkable providence than that. I have driven over that road hundreds of times. My horse never ran away, my buggy was never smashed, I was never hurt. God's providence has been for me even more remarkable than it has been for you.'"

(God's Psychiatry, Charles Allen)


"Theologians of the Reformed school use the New Testament word grace (free favor) to cover every act of divine generosity, of whatever kind, and hence distinguish between the common grace of 'creation, preservation, and all the blessings of this life,' and the special grace manifested in the economy of salvation - the point of contrast between common and special being that all benefit from the former, but not all are touched by the latter. The biblical way of putting this distinction would be to say that God is good to all in some ways and to some in all ways."

(Knowing God, J.I Packer)

plastic idols

I am stuck on the verse in 1 John 2 that commands me to squelch, or at least tame, my lust for the world. To stop feeding my greed for coolness or the crushing admiration of the appearance and accomplishments of others.

What is inherently sinful about this life I seek? Vanity. Competition. An outward instead of upward focus that will leave my poor heart exhausted and convinced of its own unoriginality, and even worse, neglect the unbelievably precious me that could be if only I stopped striving for otherness. This would be the tragedy; not the experiences I imagine I'll miss out on or the pats on the back I'll never enjoy.

It is time to choose my loyalty, and I do choose Christ, the life in which my true life dwells. "Your real life is hidden with Christ in God." Not in vintage record players or depressing music or sonnets by lamplight. These things must be enjoyed for the genuine glory of God, or else not be enjoyed at all - as gods they will deflate, crumble, fail, break, steal my hope, seal my fate: I will always remain as small and self-contained as they are. My cool little idols. Tragically plastic and unromantic.

writer's block

stark white January sun against naked charcoal trees
the beach to myself.

Maybe it's my belief in common human experience that makes me reject the idea that I have something unique to contribute through writing, or song composition, or art...

What emotions have I lived or verbal expressions have I formulated that haven't already been articulated by thousands of others throughout decades of existence? Is it a futile waiting for the perfect vocalization or a completely new sentiment that will keep my soul timid and voiceless forever? Or is it simply fear of failure or ridicule?

You have given many precious experiences to many people who feel more deeply and articulate more profoundly than I do.

Am I denying a gift, counting myself unworthy? Am I storing the blessings of others in my own secret well out of insecurity? Let it not be.

I don't want to join the masses of watery Christian novels or musings of mediocre poets who use long words to their own detriment. I sometimes think that the continual outpouring of writing since its origination has left me in the year 2008 facing a saturated market, so to speak. But this is not the case. For the same reason the music industry continues to live, authors can still sell books.

Why? Is it because they restate old truths for a contemporary audience? This seems useful, perhaps, but rather uninspiring. Or are people actually writing new themes? Could it be that your creative energy is still flowing and growing through human words? Could my writing become an outpouring of your Spirit and somehow bless the world? Could I find the bravery to act if I become convinced this is true?

I pray to discover a new confidence. I have a lot of bravado but very little deep assurance about who I am and the gifts you've given me. Is timidity my divine thorn or a tragic flaw?

Jesus, what a beautiful afternoon. How I can sit here with harsh wind nagging me back to the comfort of my car but the crisp beauty of the Sound and novelty of crashing waves giving me a militant determination to brave the tumult, and the Holy Spirit for company while thoughts of self-destructive tendencies give my mind sober fuel for endless questions.

Despite all my issues, I am still happy to be me.