peanut butter blanket.

I haven't really been writing lately.
I mean, occasionally in my moleskin but those are typically-correction: always-things I don't want anyone else to read.
But even the short blips in my black notebook are usually just quick rants. Not really writing. Not describing what I'm noticing around me. Not solidifying daily lessons.
I'm not taking walks either. Perhaps this has something to do with it. Or walks are just symbolic for slowing down, or rather, they literally force me to do so.

This is just not right. It must stop. The movie watching must stop. The dillydallying online, regardless of my lovely new machine, must stop. And with all this stopping, something must start.
And so it starts small. It will start again, with peanut butter.

I am eating some on a soft piece of Brownberry whole wheat bread. The irregular crushed pieces give way when I bite down. Soft. Crunchy. And oily. The other half of the peanut butter is thick and sticky. Oily too, but the line between nut and oil is blurry here, unlike the bits of nut floating in this heavy blanket over my bread.

Peanut butter is a blanket for me. A security blanket. It never gets old. Ever. If I totaled the amount of pb eaten in my lifetime, I think it would be appalling. I went through a jar by myself in about two weeks if that gives you any idea. We're talking in terms of tons here. There was about two weeks my junior year of college where I ate pb & j's and goldfish crackers exclusively. And I still love them. I think I could eat one everyday for the rest of my life. Which is a little bit unlike me. I never order the same thing at restaurants. I shy away from tradition. Routines and schedules typically fall by the way side. Consistency is something I desire but don't always achieve. Except for my love of peanut butter. That-that is consistent. And unending. And simple. I mean it's peanut butter and jelly for pete's sake. We're talking the patron sandwich of children.
And I love it.
With a passionate, unconditional love.
And now comes the "moral" or the story, full of maybe-s and perhaps-es that are so common in my writing. And so...

Maybe just like walking, peanut butter is kind of symbolic. It's a reminder that although I love change and adventure, there's a part of me that likes the familiar. The comfortable. And peanut butter is a way for me to subconsciously admit that.

Or perhaps, it's just plain delicious.

Squirrels.

The squirrels are taking over the city.
They are having councils in front yards all over east town. They're running around like crazy.
I think this is bad news for us. I think they know something we don't. And it has something to do with snow.

Equal parts.

I'm listening to Christmas music. Yes, you sticklers, it's before Thanksgiving but I don't care. I love it so much. I feel so young and excited. All it takes are a few strands of twinkling white lights, some pine. Throw in some sparkles and snowflakes and I'm done for. Totally and utterly flung back into a childlike state.

I helped some friends decorate their house tonight. I mean, it wasn't even my house and I helped hang lights and hook ornaments. What a blessing to be invited into that. We drank decaf coffee, sat on the floor, listening to Christmas music unashamedly, all the while talking about the upcoming Holidays, upcoming decisions, and upcoming changes. There's something so freeing about sharing. About giving a piece of your life and receiving a piece of someone else's. I'm finding I am most refreshed when this happens. When I have a safe place to speak and I can also be a safe space.

A lot of times when one speaks their mind,verbalizing their inner dialogue, we call it "sharing". I use that term all the time, thanks for sharing. Thanks for sharing your heart. But who is the person who's receiving the sharing? The sharee? The receiver? But that's not sharing. Sharing is when both people win. When you split a cookie, when you share a piece of cake, both people win. It's even. Unless of course one person is a pig, but then it's not sharing, at least not really. When truly sharing, both people receive and both people give. And I love that. It makes me glow like a Christmas tree.

I celebrated Thanksgiving with some friends tonight too. It was a great night needless to say. There were a few moments where I looked around, and felt like a proud mother, despite the fact that most of those in attendance where my age or older. It was beautiful. People standing here and there, food all over the counter, glasses in hand, couches filled. People sharing laughter and stories. Sharing the feeling of a stuffed belly. We brought food and ate food. And it went further. So much food was left over. I think it even tasted better because it was shared.

Moral of this story-I love sharing. It's good and beautiful. Sometimes rare, at times hard to find. But o, the treasure when found. Friends, thanks for sharing life with me. For listening and speaking, equal parts. For cooking and eating, equal parts. Giving and taking, equal parts.

Imperfect Birds

Anne Lamott has a new book coming out April 2010 titled Imperfect Birds.
The countdown begins.

California. Here we come.

God.
I just really want this.
Please just make this happen.

This is not a usual dialogue me and God have. This kind of request, if it ever gets voiced, is usually followed up with a..."but whatever you want it what I really want." You know the whole, "Delight your self in the LORD and He will give you the desires of your heart", deal where if I just want what he wants, if I'm delighting in him, well-then I'll be happy.
Not this time. Not this prayer. I just really wanted it.

And the funny thing is, it happened.
AND I'M MOVING TO CALIFORNIA.
I'm not excited at all...if the all caps aren't a dead give away.

I'm going to be working at Alliance Redwoods in northern California. An hour and twenty mintues from San Fransisco. Twenty minutes from the Ocean. In the redwoods. The REDWOODS.
And as if that alone wasn't enough to make me drive 2,323 miles, I'm going to be working with fifth and sixth grade kids, facilitating high adventure activities and teaching outdoor "science" curriculum.

Somebody pinch me.
It's exactally what I want to be doing at this point in my life. I'm sure in a few years I'll embark on a new path, with a totally different focus, but for now, it's undoubtably, unquestionably, exactally where I want to be. My usual indeciveness didn't even make a peep when I called back with an emphatic, "yes" to the job offer. It just feels right. A teensy bit frightening, but mostly just right.

I leave the beginning of January, after the first of the year. Bringing in 2010 with a move across the country. I cannot think of a better way to start next year.
I know I'll most likely be working a lot of hours.
I know there will be days where I wonder what in the heck I am doing.
I'm sure there are days were I will be lonely. I'll miss the people who really know me, I'll miss my favorite places in Grand Rapids, I'll miss my family.
But despite all that, I'm so freaking stoked about this next step. I'm thankful for the blank space beneath this newly titled chapter.

So to quote the O.C. theme song, [ingrained into my memory thanks to Rach, Ro and Jenn who decided to watch all the seasons AGAIN our junior year]

California.
Here we come.

Waking up.

I just listened to a podcast about "waking up". This is something often used metaphorically to describe a change. A switch. A new, sort of abrupt beginning. And it's usually a positive thing.

Except here's the thing, waking up in the literal sense really sucks.
I'm a morning person. I LOVE mornings. But the opening my eyes and getting out of bed part, really, really lame. Annoying alarm clock, also lame. But I digress, so this podcast talked about "waking up" to God all around us. To noticing him in the mundane. In the everyday. In those around us who are "Jesus-y" and those who we want to punch in the face. This is an idea that I've heard often. Not to leave love in the church on Sundays, to do the Jesus thing for an hour or two and then forget about it the rest of the week...yadda, yadda, yadda. But I guess you could say, despite it's seemingly common place occurrence in my life, it softly shook me awake. And although my run was slightly tiring, this awakening wasn't nearly as annoying as my alarm clock thankfully.

I briefly hit snooze while showering, eating dinner, driving to the library, grabbing my parking ticket and heading inside. And I almost made it to the door, hitting snooze every nine minutes.

Almost.

After I had walked past her, a woman asked me if I had the time. I fumbled around, finally locating my phone in the black hole that is my ridiculous purse.
"6:39" Smiling and starting to turn.
"That's not the question I wanted to ask you." I knew along what vein the rest of our dialogue would be. I thought of the granola bar in my purse and knew I could offer that. But her story took a different spin. Her car broke down and she needed to get home. She also needed to pick up her baby. Just a few dollars for a cab and what not.

When I was in Los Angeles, working with Center for Student Missions, they told us never to give money, but to try and physically meet the need. Buy food, buy bus tickets, etc. So I started asking her questions, awkwardly, not really knowing what I was doing. But somehow the questions came out.
"Where do you live?"
"Could I buy you a bus ticket?"
Finally it hit me. Duh, Jen. Just give her a ride. Slow down, notice the opportunities in front of you, and give her a ride.
"I could give you a ride?" I suggested.
"Well aren't you on your way to do something in the library?"
"No, it's fine. I can do it right now."
"But it's a long way, it's all the way on 7 mile."
"No, really I don't mind. It's really no big deal."
"Well..." my heart sank. She was stalling. I offered to give her what she needed. A ride home. And she wasn't taking me up on the offer. "Just go and do whatever you are going to do in the library and I'll try something else and if I can't find anything I'll take you up on it."
"Okay" and with one last feeble attempt I added, "I'll be inside in you need me."
I have a feeling she won't be there when I leave.

I don't tell this story to make myself look good. Or to make someone else look bad. I'm writing it because it just happened and I think it might hold some meaning-so here goes. Number one, I woke up. I for once stopped worrying about my agenda and schedule. I finally had the clarity to notice a need and have the courage to actual offer up a possible solution. Number two, sometimes, the world sucks and we get burned. I don't know this woman's story, but when I mustered up the courage to make myself vulnerable, it hurt to know I was being lied to. Being played. But here's the thing. I'm going to do it again. Hopefully anyway. Because maybe once, just one time, a ride will really be just what someone needs. And I'll be able to offer it up. And once I get over the annoying, unnerving buzz of the alarm, it will be a good morning.

Bicycle built for two.

Riding wobbly down the street were two on a tandem. Helmets completed their matching outfits of bright orange zip-ups and brown pants. They seemed to be twins, this couple riding their two-seater. Seemed to be. Her pants too tight and too long, his pants too loose and too short. One bearing glasses, the other without. Their strides different, their hair different. Had I heard their voices, they too would have been different. So much alike, and yet distinct. A metaphor for the perfect couple, clad is hunter orange and chocolate bottoms, wobbling along on their blue bicycle built for two.

GR

Grand Rapids is the best.
Does everyone feel this about their own city?

The view heading west on 196 early on a sunny fall morning is delightful. The sun is glinting off the blue glass Varnum building. The river is sparkling. O man. It's just great. The other day, at dusk, I was driving over the bridge on Fulton with the blue bridge to my left and the city, bathed in that evening glow, breath-taking. I experienced another phenomenal sunset on a run through East GR two days ago. Leaves everywhere. The sky bright pink.
The best view of my beloved city is heading east on 196 right there by Lake Michigan Drive. As it slightly descends, heading around that curve, and a panorama of the city is framed by the trees. Gosh, it's beautiful.
I've almost gotten into several accidents because I can't stop looking.
Mmmm. I love this city.

Sheets of pink, presents of gold.

I celebrated a birthday with a friend last night. And it might as well have been my birthday because I feel like I received a gift.

The evening started with a drive out to Grand Haven. The big fat sun making it's way into Lake Michigan. We ran around throwing frisbees, bare-foot, and I realized how it's been much too long since I've been on a body of water. The waves crashed in, rolling under and over each other as the last bit of sun plunged out of the cloudless sky and into the lake. We made our way to the pier with the little red house. I have no idea what the other two were talking about because I was lost in the water. It was washing up onto the wet sand, leaving behind a sheet of gold and pink before it was absorbed into the beach. Add a few more friends, head to Kirby grill, and things just keep getting better and better. I ate a pizza with pesto, feta, artichokes, red onions, tomato and pineapple and had a creamy, dark lager while we laughed and chatted. Shuffle board and covers, poorly done, were our dessert. The original three then park our car in a church parking lot. Not so stealthily made our way to Rosy Mound, climbed stairs and hills and descended to the beach yet again, this time with the moon at our backs and the sky littered with twinkling lights over head. I turned to my friend, "This is exactly how it should be."
Life that is. It's risky, and a little brisk perhaps, but o, is it beautiful. This was exactly how it should be. We sat under the twinkling sky, talking about life and questions and doubts, finally snuggling into our lovely mummy bags after a Happy Birthday song to bring in a 24th year. I woke in the morning to a runner and barking dog, fog rolling over the ridge to the east like the fog coming off the hills in San Fransisco. The sun was creeping it's way up, making a line of rainbow colored light on the opposite horizon. For breakfast, we went to Morningstar Cafe, drank good coffee and ate delicious meals surrounded by brightly colored broken plates and the hum of conversation. We asked questions about life and decisions and futures on our way to Mars Hill, and ended up praying for these very issues as soon as we sat in the plastic chairs. Just saying "Yes", we agreed is easy in theory, and more difficult in practice. To be continued conversations about hope and faith and waking up. I sit here, tired, most likely from lack of sleep and the exposure of deep seeded questions. And yet, I feel like I too opened a birthday gift.

A gift of refreshment. A gift of friendship. The presents of nature, gifts of creation. I opened a little bit of community, thoughtful questions to my own thoughts and comfort in a shared quest. The vibrance of it all leaving behind a sheet of gold and pink like the waves on the sand. It was my birthday too yesterday. Thanks for sharing.