A Lovely Cup.

I rented Mudhouse Sabbath by Lauren F. Winner yesterday on a recommendation of a very wise and wonderful woman named Pam Bush, who had just finished reading it. And now, not feeling so wise nor wonderful, I would like to recommend it to you. It is fantastic and I think I'll copy some of her quotes in a post before I return the book, but it has been good for me to read.

It is just what I needed. This morning I wanted to keep reading, but I needed to stop and process for a quick second. I always have this inner battle where I want to keep reading something, but I want to write about the words and phrases that impact me, and how it relates to my life. It's like when you have the flu and you have fluids coming out of both ends and have to decide whether you are going to vomit or...you know...
Do I write or do I read? Do I puke in the trashcan or the toilet? Same kind of thing. Except that the former is a much more enjoyable struggle, obviously.

So I took a moment to stop and process. I need to do more processing than I am currently while in this season of waiting. Thoughts and emotions are coming and going. Bubbling and building. And they need to be captured, reigned in from time to time and organized. So that is what I did this morning.

_____

I'm sitting at Kava House with a huge ceramic mug full of coffee. It's the low, wide, flattened kind of mug, the huge mouth full of a dark, chocolaty colored, goodness. It looks stark against the clean, bright white of the cup and saucer. I'm breathing. I walked here. I'm drinking coffee. I'm wearing my favorite off-white pajama shirt with the buttons down the front, chacos and my blue Sierra Designs coat that Tommy gave me is hanging on the chair behind me. I just read a good portion of a great book. Those are a few of the things that quiet me. That bring me back. Center me. Clean out my mind so that God can live there a little bit more fully.

Being in Grand Rapids, talking with people, and for some reason seeing myself through the eyes of those who know me well, I've been more cognoscente of whether or not I am walking the walk and talking the talk. So often I've been feeling like my lips and my heart are speaking different languages. Especially in my current stage of life. I'm figuring out my inconsistencies because I'm often times a walking contradiction, in my thoughts and ideas. I have rebelled and pulled more than ever before in my twenty-two years of life as of late. I mean I'm not doing anything absolutely ridiculous. It's really pretty tame. but it's this internal resistance. A skepticism, a readiness to argue, a propensity to keep one critical eye open. I want to be slightly rebellious and test things. Again, it's mostly harmless, but it's there none-the-less. And I'm starting to realize that it's silly. I'm finding some shreds of truth. Truth in tradition and they way things have been. There are reasons for things having been established the way they are. Perhaps I just needed to find this out myself. I needed to discover holiness in certain things. Feel the goodness. Taste the bitterness of those things that don't bring beauty and reflect the character of God, in order to taste the sweet things.

For some reason throughout this journey this passage:

"Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable-if anything is excellent or praiseworthy - think about such things." Philippians 4:8

has been on my tongue and in my thoughts. I'm trying to figure out how I want to live-how I want to be-and really, to justify this new "inner rebellion" going on. Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable, excellent, praiseworthy. So what are those things? I can use colorful words and have social beverages and waste hours on facebook. What if I'm looking to my own interests instead of to the interests of others? That kind of selfishness doesn't encapsulate Philippians 4:8. And I'm finding that while I don't think it's necessarily wrong, the occasional expletive, while fun, isn't always lovely. Or pure. Or excellent. And I'm realizing it because I feel it. Not because I've been told it's bad. Not because it's "unchristian"- but because those things sit in my mouth, filling it with a taste like stale, old cigarettes reminiscent of the taste on my lips after the Bottom 40at the Holiday Bar. It sits in my stomach like greasy, deep fried, clam strips we had in Boston on the hot fourth of July afternoon.

I want to practice those activities that are praiseworthy and noble. But I know that's not always going to happen. And that's the crappy part, or maybe the beautiful part because that's when Jesus steps in. Now, chances are I'm probably going to have a glass of wine and waste time on damn facebook. Let us hope however, and that my days and moments are filled with things that bring me closer. Closer to Jesus. Closer to the pure and the lovely. I want to speak words of truth. Listen intently. Take walks. Read and write. And have a cup of coffee or two. Because today-that is what brought me to an encounter with Truth. And that my friends, is lovely.

Sitting next to beating hearts.

There's a lot of talk about church lately. I've been a part of numerous conversations, what is church? And there's this movement away from church. That church can be found anywhere. And I've agreed. I've had moments where I've resisted the formal idea of church-possibly because it's hip and cool [let's be honest], but partly because sometimes gathering with a bunch of strangers within four walls doesn't seem quite right.

I came back down to Grand Rapids for the first time in several months, my first stop a Sunday morning service. As I was driving I realized it had been awhile since I'd really been to church, let alone the place that came to feel like home while in college. I sat in the grey plastic chair next to my friends Katie and Dan, reading the white lyrics projected on the large cube screen, and I felt whole. I was simply passing air through my throat, moving my lips and tongue to create the shapes my eyes were reading, with hundreds of other people, and it was profound. Profound for many reasons, but connecting with God in a deeply personal way, and in a very communal way, at the same time was powerful.

As of late I question why things are. And if I can't find an answer I am resistant to its presence. But this Sunday morning I was reminded, once again, that I need to stop arguing and just accept the fact that it is good. The church is flawed. And I think I can "have church" while sharing a meal with friends. But I need this communal gathering. I need to gather with other people. I need to praise and admit my weaknesses in song. I need to sit next to other beating hearts and hear scripture. It keeps me connected to my Creator. No matter my arguments or my "but what about?" statements- it's good and I need it.

Music for the soul.

Alright.

I fell in love with a few artists this summer, a few of them being:
+Josh Garrels
+The Welcome Wagon
+Jose Gonzalez
+Lady Gaga

Okay just kidding on that last one.

But in all seriousness if you have a pandora account make a Welcome Wagon station right now. [or just buy their albums] I'm currently working on my resume, sending out emails and surfing the world wide web in the hopes of finding employment, which isn't always the most enjoyable experience in the world. But my heart is happy because of what my ears are hearing.

I couldn't hold onto this beauty without sharing it.
...What else do I feel this way about....?

That's for another day, another blog.

Peacock Feathers.

So I spent a month in the backwoods of Maine. And when I say backwoods, I mean the middle of nowhere. If you know me well this won't surprise you, but I think I took four showers over the course of a month. I mean I averaged once a week right? I didn't wear deodorant all month, wore the same clothes most days, walked around sporting some prickly legs, and rarely looked in the mirror.

And it was absolutely marvelous.

Soon after I got home I met a friend, and some of their friends for dinner. It was someone I hadn't seen in awhile so I felt this pressure to appear like I had it all together. Whenever I see people from my youth, or recent past for that matter I have this desire for people to say, "Wow, Jen looks great" as I walk away. Does anyone else experience that? I worry that they'll think, "Wow, Jen really fell off the wagon since the last time I saw her..." but back to my previous train of thought. I spent about thirty minutes trying to figure out what to wear. The turqoise tank top over the purple one? The jean skirt or the capri pants? Perhaps the gym shorts? I put my hair up. I put my hair down. I put my hair up. I put my hair down. I felt myself feeling all stressed and worried. And annoyed that I was feeling that way. When I finally pulled myself out of the house, I had a great time catching up on life. As I drove away though, I felt this weight come off my chest. Not only did getting ready take me forever, there was this aura of competition in the evening. This fakeness. Vying for status. A covert jockeying for position, and the picture perfect life. I sat there, jobless, kind of homeless [if you ignore my rooves belonging to my parents], weari- hand me down clothes [thanks Rori and Danielle], sporting unbrushed hair and flip flops I've had for about five years [say yes to kenos]- feeling very inadequate. I turned over the key to my car, cranked The Welcom Wagon to drown out the rattling of the faulty air conditioner-belt-thingy and let the wind from my open windows blow the sludge from my thoughts.

I don't like this lifestyle. Struting around like peacocks, trying to display our together-ness in our feathers.

Currently, I'm sitting in a hotel room in Chicago and have seen my fair share of peacocks in the past couple days, and half the time it was my own reflection staring back at me in mirrors and windows. And after browsing rack after rack. Running my hands over hundreds of different fabrics and flipping a fair share of price tags, I was enticed. If only I had that cute olive high waisted skirt and that white blouse. And maybe add a pair of pumps. Or two. I want to have a pretty tail too. I want to have a list of accomplishments in hand, ready to display. I want to have pretty hair and a snappy, put together wardrobe. I want those long lost friends to say, "That Jen. She's going places." But by places they'll mean places of societal success. And I'm not sure those are the places I'll really want to be.

What was so refreshing about being in Maine, utterly ignoring normal hiegyene practices, was because there was no pressure. No pressure to measure up to an unseen standard. I didn't have to fluff my tail and evaluate how it compared to other tails. Instead of worrying about matching clothes, shoot- even remembering to change them, I was able to spend that time with the WILD one crew. I was able to share stories and hear stories. And ask ridiculous questions to which I mostly got answers like, "Where do you come up with these questions?"

I guess what I'm getting that is that without all the outter fluff, you have time to focus on things of substance. The things that at the end of the day are true and good and lovely. How am I loving people? Am I listening to what they are saying? Am I genuinely interested in their life, what's important to them? Am I taking time to to be still in the presence of the Creator? How am I challenging people to become their most whole selves? Am I seeing beauty in the trees, in the lakes, in the brief moments of sunshine, the early morning moose sightings, the bald eagles? Am I uncovering treasures in the words of profound thinkers and passages of scripture, and in the lives being written around me?

I want to run away to the back country again. Away from this pressure of society to look right, to achieve and wash my hair. I want to throw away my razor and wear ten different shades of blue in one outfit. But I can't bring myself to do that in normal life. So I'm trying to find a balance. I'm not sure if their is one, let alone if there even should be one. But maybe tomorrow I'll take a shower. And then put on the clothes I wore yesterday and strap on my smelly, very un-city-esque chacos. Throw on a little deodorant and stop to tell the doorman to have a good day with the time I would have spent brushing my hair.

Ramblings of a whiner.

I've been reading other people's blogs since I've had the luxury of internet access again. And it's great. And I'm jealous. I envy their whit. Their word choice. The clarity of their voices.

But I'm still going to write. Because it makes me feel more connected with people. [what?] It's strange how typing on a keyboard makes me feel more connected with the world. I find myself looking at photo albums over and over again on fb. There is comfort staring at this flat screen. Maybe it's due to the fact I was mostly disconnected from technology this summer between a faulty computer and being in the back woods of Maine. Call it what you will, but sitting in the midst of family, all I want to do is blog. What a loser.

And I'm still going to write because I need to process. Something which I feel like I haven't really been able to do since arriving in the mitten state. You'd think that eighteen hours in a car with one Caleb Barrows would have been sufficient. It was truly about eighteen hours of talking about the summer and life. Learning to drive a stick shift and stopping at Niagra falls were just icing on the cake. Many thanks to you sir, for your questions and listening ear. I don't think a trip on 90 could get any better. Worth much more than $17.50.

I've realized something though. People don't really care.

Here's the disclaimer, this will probably come off sounding whiny. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to be the center of attention. But there is this shift that takes place as you get older. People ask out of social responsibility. You ask, "What's new?" or "How was _____?" to be polite. The answer doesn't really matter.
But at the risk of being needy...I want to express the lessons learned. I want to tell stories about my "co" and the kids. About being with Rachel in San Diego. What it felt like walking around Portland. It's hard to express what really happened to people who weren't there. You can carry the lessons with you, take certain things-memories, pictures, quotes, music, inside jokes, but the experience stays there. The experience stays with the people. We've shared it-and it's ours. But it belongs only to us. Which is sad. And sacred at the same time.

Saturdays.

Something magical happens on summer Saturdays in Pentwater.

This morning I went for a short jog with my Dad which ended in a long swim in Lake Michigan-warm and crystal clear blue.
A coffee stop, some window shopping and bananas for breakfast.

The beach was absolutely packed. Bright umbrellas creating pools of shade, the edges of their colored pie slices flapping in the steady breeze. The sun was beating down on tan and pasty bodies alike. The sun and the sand and the wind and the waves are like a magnet...and I wanted to say equalizer for some reason...but that is not the case. Equalizing in the sense that so many of us seem drawn to this place. This love of water and warmth. And yet it's one of the places that feels most competitive. Because you're walking around in the equivalent of your underwear with strangers, some of which look much better in their underwear and some who look much...well...different.

Dinner consisted of grilled zucchini, tomatoes, onions, tortillas and hummus. Ice cream and fireworks finished off a beautiful day spent with Dad, Grandma and the masses. As I sat their under the bright explosions, so close the sound was deafening, I felt an itch. The propulsion to go. Even after a day of bliss, of paradise on the coast of Lake Michigan, I am not at rest. As I've been telling people, "I feel a move coming on."

I'm not sure where or how or why, but I need to go. Again.

If anyone has any suggestions, connections or couches to sleep on, please-I'm all ears. And for those curious, hopefully over the next few weeks posts will continue, stories of the past two months will bleed into each entry, and there will be some semblance of an update before the next adventure begins.

Or perhaps it has already begun. And magic is not held to simply Saturdays and Pentwater, it's everywhere. And I'm going to chase it down.

[And "punch life in the face". :) ]