Love this song.

Listen.

Summer in South Africa

damp, drying hair
curling, stringy tendrils sticking to my shoulders

bare feet on the cool tile
quickly padding out into the sunshine

exuberant joy

bathing suit
peaking out from my black skirt, pulled up to my arm pits
hem rubbing against my knees

chlorine soaked skin
itchy like the short green blades between my toes

juicy and refreshing
sweet cold melon, literal translation: "spanish bacon"
bursting with flavor between my smiling lips

arms hot
face taut beneath the suns golden rays
sprawled out on the grass near the base of a tree

tiny ants
crawling up my legs, grass leaving marks on my knees

summer bliss

deep conversation
about future, love, trust, giving up and giving in

the perfect summer day in south africa.

Open Up My Eyes To The Things Unseen.

I don't remember their names.
But I remember their little faces. And I remember the sweet boy with the straight black hair, the under layers all sweaty and matted to his forehead. And the sticky, juice covered arms waving goodbye.

It started with a bandaid on a sweltering hot day in Paarl.

A few moments earlier I started giving some stickers to the kids hanging around while we set up. Innocent enough right? Until hundreds of kids started pouring through the fence of the library parking lot, over to the van, like a sweaty swarm of ants. I have no idea how the word spread. They must have a secret code or maybe the emit some kind of sticker pheromone signaling the others to come. Needless to say I had made a bad decision.

But back to the bandaid. They were four boys, probably ranging from about three to six. After the bandaid distribution they were my shadows for the rest of the day. And probably the most mischievous little rascals there, save the sweet one with the sweaty hair, I think he was the one keep them alive. During the evangecube presentation [which was done in three different languages...way to go team] I held two on my lap. Telling the others "hou op!" between their flailing arms and trying in vain to get them to sit still and listen.

Their wide eyes and tooth and gap smiles beaming up at me when I handed them paper and crayons at crafts. Excitedly showing me their sticker-ed creations for a high five and a good job. Pushing and shoving each other all the while. One came to me in tears, pointing to his friend. Then he proceeded to kick the assailant while I held his tear streaked face on my shoulder.

And then we got in line for getting food. That's when all hell broke lose. More tears. Running out of line. Shoving their way back in. I think I put one little boy back into line about fifty times. It was like trying to catch a greased pig or watermelon in a pool, neither of which I have actually done, but I can imagine it is something like this. One of them just ran to the front and pushed his way in, probably squeezing through the fence, proudly bringing his sack over, which only made the other two more obstinate.

Cute as all get out, but dang, were they naughty. Unruly, and antagonistic. Most kids pinch their friends while you aren't looking. Not the case with these boys. They would slap each other with their right hand when I was holding their left. While I was helping package food bundles they were suddenly at my knees. I walked them back over to the exit where Caleb was standing guard. He didn't even see them come in. Not two minutes later they were back again. This time we watched them. The little scoundrels were sneaking under the fence. After squeezing under again I tried to put them to work helping, but for the second time today, bad judgement call. I marched them back outside and let Caleb explain the rules.

At that point though, I didn't care if they crawled through a hundred times.

I left them snacking on fizzers to help with food prep, suffering from a lack of words. A moment ago all three of the littlest ones were pulling on my hands, insistently saying something in Afrikaans which I tried in vain to understand. Finally admitting defeat, I brought them over to Geoffery to interpret.

Geoff smiled and said, "They are saying they want to sleep where you sleep. They want to go home with you."

I looked at their tiny little smudged faces. Hugging them all at once. "Ek es lief vir jou" was all I could manage to say. I love you. I couldn't bring myself to tell them that I couldn't, that I would be leaving in a few minutes.

I bit into an extra popcicle after everyone had received a lunch and headed back outside the fence to say goodbye to my little gang of "seuns". I broke my melting popcicle into pieces and plopped them into their hands. I hugged them once more, wishing I could do more than supply them with chunk of frozen juice.

Then I got locked out. I thought for a second that they might leave without me. When the library guard [yes, a library guard] finally came over to unlock the gate and I joined the group in the vans, I kind of wished they would have left me behind with those little scoundrels.

I couldn't stop thinking about them as we drove away from Paarl. What would possess a little child to tell a complete stranger that they wanted to go home with them? They spent about two hours with me and they want to come sleep where I sleep.

Open up my eyes to the things unseen.

The reality is that these boys probably raise themselves. Their lives most likely void of direction and love. They were naughty because they probably didn't know any better. They wanted to leave with a stranger because they probably don't get hugs and high fives or bandaids and pieces of a frozen popcicle.

Amazed by the their attachment to a complete stranger, I shared these thoughts with those on the team. Why on earth would they ask to come home with me? Someone said, "They experienced the love of Jesus." I humbly pray that they did feel that, despite the seemingly insignificant things I did. Had they ever experienced any kind of love before?

What brought a little boy to ask a strange woman with pale skin, speaking a different language to take him home? I can only make assumptions as to the answer of that question, with eyes opened a bit wider.

Taking Your Heart.

I've always had a hard time leaving places. Even just getting off the couch at a friend's house proves a hard chore.

As the days between "today" and leaving South Africa rapidly decreased I started feeling it. Feeling the sadness creep up like grass in cracks of cement. Pesky and unwanted. When the day finally arrived, I sat, packing my bags, in the very room where the trip began. The tile floor in front of the wardrobe covered in sudsy liquid, remnants of retaliation. The metal bunks strewn with clothes, trinkets and Emily's camera gear. My heavy heart hanging down to my cross legged knees, folding shirts and stuffing socks.

In walks Khaya, who has been wandering to and fro for the past hour or so, asking with his deep, smooth, rhythmic voice: "Sooo are you ready to go home?"
"No."
"What are you excited about for home?"
"I haven't even really been thinking about it. All I can think about is not wanting to leave here, my heart is here."

And then he said something very profound. Something that shaped the rest of the day for me and kept my cheeks much dryer than they would have been without these words. He got himself worked up, feverishly speaking:

"No. No you must go. And you must take your heart with you. You need to take your heart with you wherever you go."

He was right.
Those words brought me such comfort. I hardly even cried while saying goodbye at the airport because I was clinging to those words. You need to take your heart with you wherever you go.

And I still think he is right. We do need to, I need to, take my heart with me. It needs to be present, doing the work of loving people no matter where I am at. But my footing on those words became a little shaky once I found myself sitting in the Chicago airport. It certainly didn't feel like I had brought my heart with me. It felt most definitely like I was missing a few pieces, maybe even the whole thing. Despite the comfort and truth of his words I just don't know if it's possible for me to refrain from leaving little fragments of my heart everywhere I go. And that's going to create some problems eventually. Unless. Unless it is less like losing, and it's more like this...

The holes that are created by lopping off portions will heal, leaving a little raised scar. And maybe, instead of shrinking to nothing, layers and layers of scar tissue will just result in a heart with greater mass!

And the best part is that I'll have the blessing of sharing the story behind each scar. "This jagged scar is from leaving a bit of my heart with Liezel in South Africa. This curved one went to Dinneline-desiring to create a better story for herself." It means my heart might be lumpy and misshapen but it'll be like the best things in life. Like your favorite old sweatshirt or blanket. It will be all used up. Battered and spent in the best possible way.

And so Khaya, for what am I most excited about returning home? The stories I can share by pointing out the missing pieces of my heart. The stories of the people who are holding them. I can't wait to give my family love and encouragement from Jermaine. A man whose righteousness shines like the light of the dawn. To tell those who will hear about the passion and perseverance of Pastor Woody in Mannenberg. Priscilla and her twenty-five children. Claudie and Niecie at the big white church in George. The stories are countless, the pieces have been scattered.

Lord, thank you for giving me a soft heart that can be easily portioned out. Administer your healing so that I can truly take all of my heart with me. A heart full of healed scars and restored holes, full of stories, full of hope.

It's More Than Numbers...

I am headed to South Africa.

Twenty-two thousand miles.
Six thousand kids.
Twenty-eight days.
Five cities.
Four month-ers, seven americans, fourteen south africans.
Three languages.
One Savior.

I cannot wait to see what God does there.

Philippians chapter three:

7 But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. 8 Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ 9 and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith— 10 that I may know him and the power of his resurrection, and may share his sufferings, becoming like him in his death, 11that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
12 Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me his own. 13 Brothers, I do not consider that I have made it my own. But one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, 14 I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. 15 Let those of us who are mature think this way, and if in anything you think otherwise, God will reveal that also to you. 16 Only let us hold true to what we have attained.

I love letter writing.

Letter writing is the only device for combining solitude with good company. -Lord Byron

Signs.

The rainy season in Northern California has officially begun.
It's the bone soaking kind of rain. The kind of rain that never ceases. The kind of rain that penetrates my rain layers. As was the happening today.
I started work at eight-thirty this morning and I just finished at seven-thirty, but the rain has yet to call it a day.
I was so wet while taking down the zip line trolley that I entertained the idea of just peeing my pants. I mean I had to go, and I was soaked anyway, so why not? Thankfully I did not follow through on this impulse, although it may have made for a better story. Well, actually it wouldn't have made for a better story. Because...I found myself, dripping like a bloated sponge atop the zip line platform, gazing out over the clouded distance, my hands numb and cold, the golf ball sized droplets hanging heavy on the end of the redwood branches and I could not have been more full of joy. The warmth I felt inside compensated for the cold, heaviness of my outer layer.

I had the privledge to work with a group of deaf students and faculty today outside in the pouring rain. I probably verbalized about 50 words today. But I spoke a whole lot. With my face and with my hands. And I heard volumes. It was such a blessing.
I was knocked off my soggy feet by bliss when a student, letting out stifled screams, illicited laughter from the adults and students behind me. Ah, laughter. It superceeds all languages and cultures. I absolutely, utterly, with all of my being loved laughing with this group of people today. How could you not burst into laughter when the most common, powerful form of communication is spreading wide your lips, exposing your teeth and bunching up your cheeks?
I learned how to say very 'brave', 'good job', 'hard', 'rain', 'wet' and 'cold'. I learned how to say 'switch' and 'next' and 'ready?' I learned what 'hungry' and 'joking' look like. I learned 'beautiful', 'warm' and 'you can do it'. I learned a bunch of names and the alphabet. It was an incredible day. And so, despite the possibly miserable conditions, I enjoyed every minute of it.
Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

"What it is to be a man." -Matthew Shedd

"Nothing is so strong as gentleness. Nothing is so gentle as real strength." -Frances de Sales

Heart Stuff.

I stole this from my roommates blog. So it's a quote from another author quoting another author. So unoriginal. But I liked it. And wanted to keep it. So I will post it.

"To love at all is to be vulnerable... if you want to make sure of keeping [your heart] intact,
you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries, avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket of your selfishness. But in the casket-- safe, dark, motionless,airless-- it will change. It will not be broken-- it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable....The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from the danger of love is Hell." C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

And while I'm thinking about it, matters of the heart always bring to mind this quote by Anne Lamott...

"The heart is a delicate and clunky thing."

Amen Anne and Clive. Amen.

Tag-a-longs and Hairy Moons.

Tongue tingling with paprika, maple sugar and black truffle salt.
Sticker covered wagon cutting through the heat
Carrying two skirted girls, crazy and confident.
Salty cool breezes far behind, they crawl up, up and up the winding road.
Under the gnarled oak trees and into the still silence.
Breeze crinkling the crunchy brown leaves.
Flys buzzing lazily in and out of earshot.
Red shining flesh beneath the flaking calloused skin between my thumb and forefinger.

A flash of memory.
Walking down Wealthy in East Town. Past Rafav's swirled window, Yesterdog and the ever changing restaurant across the street.

Edmund and Lucy begin their adventures while dozing in and out of sleep.
Flipped pages, escaping the thumb, falling with a soft thud.
The ends of my hair like small bugs on my skin.
The low hum of a plane and call of a bird far, far away.
Further still is the wind picking up speed in the valley, rattling the crusty branches.
Heavy eye lids, burning and dry like the leaves under my moleskin.
Left hand growing heavy as my cheek deprives the appendage of blood.
Fluttering wings in and out of sunlit madrone spaces, orange and green.
The distant wind rushing again.
I want to sleep a second time.
I want to keep writing.
The falling sun illuminating the heads of grass like little hairy moons.
Grey tag-a-longs cling to my black skirt.

Bring the Light.

My attitude clouded over this morning.
The dark sky heavy with rain. There were moments of clearing on my run, but the ominous mood continued brooding. I can't put my finger on it other than the fact that I simply did not choose joy. I hate that I can recognize that. But I still fail to make the choice. My struggle becomes more arduous. My breathing more labored, because I loose sight of where I'm going. I loose sight of the purpose and goal. Of truth.
Shameful really.
It's sitting there, ripe for the taking and I choose something of less substance. I choose to do it on my own. My own strength and motivation. And man, is it lame in comparison.

But the clouds broke as I drove to Jenner.
It started with with Mumford and Sons rumbling the clouds, shaking them loose.
Then I rounded the bend on Moscow road in Duncan Mills and a ray of light pierced the veil, sending its light down to my eyes. My heart became a little lighter and I drove on, following the curves of the Russian River. The banks rising up into the blue sky.
The sun was shining on the front lawn of Cafe Aquatica and the earl grey tea in my hand. The waves were lapping up on the rocks, the brackish water from the ocean in the distance mixing with the fresh water of the Russian. The voice of Lewis and my mother completed the symphony bringing peace.

I found myself refreshed and renewed. God is gracious even after my choice of clouds this morning. It's funny that despite my best efforts, God can always bring the light.
Glory Hallelu.

Oh-two Sensors and Oxygen Masks.

If you don't know this about me already, sometimes, I think I go a bit overboard with this processing thing.

The beautiful thing is that God provides me with people who will jump in the waves with me.
I went out with my dear friend Joy tonight. Joy is such a blessing. She is a great listener. This, coupled with wisdom, leads to her asking great questions. She inspires me to be more generous and has fostered a spirit of gift giving in me through her thoughtful example. She sits in her puffy vest drinking thrice steeped espresso reading her ESV most every morning. It sounds strange but I find peace in her patterns. She is a problem solver. And a doer. She replaced her "O-two" sensor on her car the other night. I don't even know what that is. Joy is so many things. And over the last few months she has been a life line. I have so valued her encouragement and exhortation. Most of all I just rejoice in the fact that she asks questions with me. I love that tonight there was someone with whom I could be vulnerable. What a blessing to have someone who understands me.

She summed the evening up nicely. "I wanted to pray but it was like the whole thing was a prayer." And it really was.

That was all just the prologue to the real reason I started writing this entry. I wanted to share an analogy Joyous shared with me. We were walking out to the parking lot of Hopmonk, talking about taking care of yourself. Knowing what you need. She said, "It's like oxygen masks on a plane. You have to put your own on before you help someone else. Otherwise you might pass out and be worthless."

I know I need to go overboard processing. I know I need to write. I know I need to have conversations with close friends. I know I need to be alone. I also know as soon as snap that elastic band around my head, I had better be pulling down all of those bags hanging down to the faces around me.

Anticipation

I just received three new books in the mail.
It feels like Christmas.

Spirit, Life and Days.

Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

"Right now, you are flying. Right now, your job is to hold your breath."

"How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives."

"There is no shortage of good days. It is good lives that are hard to come by."

Jesus, The book of John, chapter six verse sixty three.

"It is the Spirit who gives life; the flesh is of no avail. The words I have spoken to you are spirit and life."

Berry Picking.

I went berry picking tonight.

Tromping around in the fading light, I was taught a life lesson. Thoreau said, “Look deep, deep into nature and you will understand everything.” I wasn’t really looking, but I was provided with a lesson anyway.

Black berries are my favorite. Their pockets of tart and sweet exploding on the roof of your mouth, their seeds getting lodged into the crevices of your teeth. I now know that they are not expensive simply due to their delicious factor, but because procuring them is nearly impossible. They are booby-trapped. I'm not kidding you. The scrapes on my hands and forearms and snags in my clothes will prove it. I feel like I’m being really careful, moving gingerly, missing the thorny buggers to pinch the purple jewel when suddenly, as if from no where, I’m nabbed. And I spend the next five minutes untangling my leg, foot and back from the stinking things.

The first time I went picking a few weeks ago I wore a skirt, tank top and sandals. Big mistake. I wised up and this time donned a sweatshirt, jeans and sneakers this time. And it helped, a little. It was still a fight though.

Tonight I had the great idea of climbing up a steep, poison oak laced hill to approach the bushes from another angle. Will I ever learn? After several minutes of careful navigation, I managed about five berries. Spying a few up a bit higher I took some unsteady steps, and reaching out over the spiny sea I managed to spill the berries I had so painstakingly just retrieved. I decided that this may not be the best way to go about getting what I wanted.

My fingers grew steadily darker as my tactics steadily improved. I discovered that I could use the fibrous branches to keep my balance or pull them toward me. Setting my fingers carefully between the spikes, I was able to efficiently control the wiley branch to some degree. At least their attacks were more predictable this way. I also discovered that if I stepped on top of the branches, they stuck to eachother and pulled their neighbors down, instead of tangling with me.

I just had to learn to work with the bush, to use it to my advantage.

And so after all that, the lesson is this: the best things in life are the hardest to get. And you have to learn how to use the thorny parts to help you take hold of the sweetness trapped beneath the thicket.

Moses and Jethro Go Out For Coffee.

I loved this story. The relationship between Moses and his father-in-law. If these two lived today they would have met, listening and sharing over a cup of steaming black coffee. True,I have mentors, but it made me want more. More wisdom filled dialogs, where they tell me what I should do.
Yeah...that would be nice.

Jethro, the priest of Midian, Moses’ father-in-law, heard of all that God had done for Moses and for Israel his people, how the LORD had brought Israel out of Egypt...And when he sent word to Moses, "I, your father-in-law Jethro, am coming to you with your wife and her two sons with her," Moses went out to meet his father-in-law and bowed down and kissed him.

And they asked each other of their welfare and went into the tent. Then Moses told his father-in-law all that the LORD had done to Pharaoh and to the Egyptians for Israel’s sake, all the hardship that had come upon them in the way, and how the LORD had delivered them. And Jethro rejoiced for all the good that the LORD had done to Israel, in that he had delivered them out of the hand of the Egyptians.
Jethro said, "Blessed be the LORD, who has delivered you out of the hand of the Egyptians and out of the hand of Pharaoh and has delivered the people from under the hand of the Egyptians. Now I know that the LORD is greater than all gods, because in this affair they dealt arrogantly with the people." And Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law, brought a burnt offering and sacrifices to God; and Aaron came with all the elders of Israel to eat bread with Moses’ father-in-law before God.

The next day Moses sat to judge the people, and the people stood around Moses from morning till evening. When Moses’ father-in-law saw all that he was doing for the people, he said, "What is this that you are doing for the people? Why do you sit alone, and all the people stand around you from morning till evening?" And Moses said to his father-in-law, "Because the people come to me to inquire of God; when they have a dispute, they come to me and I decide between one person and another, and I make them know the statutes of God and his laws."

Moses’ father-in-law said to him, "What you are doing is not good. You and the people with you will certainly wear yourselves out, for the thing is too heavy for you. You are not able to do it alone. Now obey my voice; I will give you advice, and God be with you! You shall represent the people before God and bring their cases to God, and you shall warn them about the statutes and the laws, and make them know the way in which they must walk and what they must do. Moreover, look for able men from all the people, men who fear God, who are trustworthy and hate a bribe, and place such men over the people as chiefs of thousands, of hundreds, of fifties, and of tens. And let them judge the people at all times. Every great matter they shall bring to you, but any small matter they shall decide themselves. So it will be easier for you, and they will bear the burden with you. If you do this, God will direct you, you will be able to endure, and all this people also will go to their place in peace."

So Moses listened to the voice of his father-in-law and did all that he had said.

Don't Forget.

It shall be a mark on your hand or frontlets between your eyes, for by a strong hand the LORD brought us out of Egypt. Exodus 13:16

I went for a run this morning. It was crisp and cool. It feels like fall in Grand Rapids. And I listened to Mars Hill Music. Remebering. I love remembering.

He wants the Israelites to remember. He wants them to do something that will be a reminder of what God has done. I want to do things that help me remember too.

Getting Lost.

I so quickly get lost in story.
I just watched Julie and Julia and I wanted to be a cook. Move to France. Wear pumps and a strand of pearls. I wanted to live in a tiny apartment. Be in love. Write consistently. Have ‘followers’.

I get lost in story and want to be something else. I have all these grandiose ideas. I want to do something, be something, that’s worth watching. Something that people can identify with. I have lists. Goal lists. Things I want to do or accomplish. Triathlon. Marathon. Garden. Cook. Writ. Decorate. Play music. Travel. Make pottery. I could sit here for hours, chronicling the things I want to do.

I haven’t “lost” myself like Julie in the film. I don’t need to escape my mundane existence through cooking or anything like that. But there is one thing I can identify with. I can identify with her necessity to establish deadlines, or she won't finish. I own a guitar and a keyboard. The former I’ve had since high school. The latter two years. I can successfully pound out a few chords on each. And that is it. It’s hard for me to stick with things for long. I flit from one thing to another. I so desire something opposite of that. One of the stories I want to live out is to be that very methodical person. And so, I try. I am finding I can attain some form of this in cleanliness. I can make my bed [most] mornings. I can sit at the table and read my bible, eat my breakfast and drink coffee every morning. It gives me a feeling of order. And a feeling of order gives me an illusion of peace.

It appears as though I’m not quite as adventurous as I think. And so the girl who once clung to "wanderlust" is now reveling in tidy sheets and oatmeal and coffee. What is happening?

I want to write something. I feel as though I’m always trying to write the better version of myself. The one I have not yet achieved. The problem is I’ll never know if I have arrived because I’m not fully certain of who that person is. I want to know Christ. I want to be more like Jesus.
At least that’s what I say.
Do I really, really believe that though? In the pit of me. In the depths of my being-do I really just want to be more like Jesus? Ideally yes.
But really I just want to be a better form of me...which would be Jesus...haha.

Help me rest in who I am. Here and today. Rest in my faults and weaknesses too. I want to claim the creation you’ve made me to be, a new one. One that changes yes, but that can brag about the fact that you dwell in me. That is consistent. That’s all the consistency I need. That's the best story I could ever write.

Home.

Quote from my dear friend Amy Richardson 8.28.10:
"These people are more home than this place."

Lovely Words Must Be Shared.

I love old things.
Especially old books.
And I happened upon a treasure while perusing Eastown Antiques when I was home a few weeks ago. Near the jewelery cases, a row of books was stacked inconspicuously along the back wall. Their pretty flower covered spines caught my eye. Upon closer inspection I noticed one was had gold embossing while the others were pink and green. The title read, "Jesus Only". Curious I picked it up and found a series of daily readings-verse, quote, verse pattern. I love it. And if you love something you have the compulsion to share it. And so, that is just what I plan to do.

27.8
There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. Rom. 8:1

Know, my soul! thy full salvation;
Rise o're sin, and fear, and care,
Joy to find, in every station,
Something still to do or bear;
Think what Spirit dwells within thee;
Think what Father's smiles are thine;
Think that Jesus died to win thee;
Child of Heaven! canst thou repine?
MONTGOMERY

I will cry unto God most high; unto God that performeth all things for me. Psa. 57:2

September.

...Other refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on thee:
Leave, O leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me;
All my trust on thee is stayed,
All my help from thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of thy wing!

Thou, O Christ, art all I want;
More than all in thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and holy is thy name,
I am all unrighteousness;
False and full of sin I am,
Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound;
Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art,
Freely let me take of thee;
Spring thou up with my heart,
Rise to all eternity.
CHARLES WESLEY

1.9
Now to the Lord a noble song;
Awake, my soul! awake, my tongue!
Hosanna to the eternal name
And all his boundless love proclaim.

See where it shines in Jesus' face,
The brightest image of his grace.
God in person of his Son
Hath all his mightiest works outdone.
WATTS

4.9
O gentle One, on Mary's breast,
Our want and pain were cradled there;
Thy heart with grief like ours oppressed
Hath borne for us life's cross and care;
Thy dwelling in our feeble frame
Hath given thee a Brother's name.
H.M.J.

Inspiration.

"We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect." -Anaïs Nin

Honest to Goodness.

I just did something I've never done before.
It wasn't jumping off a cliff, trying some exotic food or kissing a stranger-I went to see a movie by myself.

In my defence I saw Eat, Pray, Love based on the Elizabeth Gilbert novel [that is currently plastering the shelves of every bookstore in America]. If you're going to see a movie alone it might as well be this one. I mean, she travels for a year to find herself, her life, her faith. I actually listened to the book on tape last fall and for some reason it just felt right to see it by myself. A kind of symbolic thing.

I'm reading a book right now called Traveling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd and Ann Kidd Taylor. It's a mother and daughter writing about a trip they take to Greece and then after, and then Paris. The daughter has just graduated college and is trying to find her purpose while the mother is about to turn fifty and is trying to find her new purpose. After finding myself in tears in the middle of the bookstore while reading the jacket, I bought it for my Mom for Christmas. Their writing is full of vivid description of settings, honest introspection and a consistent presence of symbols. Which is something I love and find myself wanting so much as I read their words. Both buy trinkets and save postcards that are deeply meaningful for one reason or another. And so, loner-movie night suffices as a metaphor.

Despite the whimsical desire to turn this whole thing into a "symbolic" gesture, having a cinematic experience by yourself is just plain pathetic. It's on par with dining alone. Which I have also done, actually. And now that I've admitted to both of these offenses along with listening to books on tape, I have reached an all time low.
Self-mockery aside, let's be honest, we have pity on those we see eating alone. It just doesn't seem right. But, speaking from experience [as we now all know], it's really not as tragic as it may appear. I remember thoroughly enjoying myself eating out alone. I wrote an entry about it last summer come to think of it. And I enjoyed myself tonight too.

It was a fairly good movie. As long as we are on a role of confession, I must admit I really like Julia Roberts. The film also depicted scenes of exotic places and adventures, which I love. The book is always better of course, [even if it is on tape] but the movie held its own. I think however, that the enjoyment reached beyond just a decent story. It was almost an act of defiance...although this doesn't quite capture it. Maybe "coming to terms" would be a better fit. Satisfying.

My single status has become more poignant recently. Mostly due to the fact that it feels like everyone in my life comes in a two-pack. I know this is most likely a grossly inaccurate assessment, but it's like when you buy a new car and suddenly everyone on the road has the same model. I actually made a verbal list of my closest girlfriends who weren't romantically engaged in one form or another. I honestly counted three. Now again, I may have missed a few because higher numbers would make this a mute point and who really wants to gather evidence disproving their hypothesis? Everyone [seemingly] has someone.

But I took a stand against this hypothesis in the form of a trip to the movies totally alone. If I'm honest with myself, I look forward to the day where I no longer question "our" rightness. But there's another honest part of me that is completely content with being in solitude season. I like being able to venture off without a sidekick and honest to goodness enjoy myself, by myself.

Cardboard Flame.

Where to begin?
I desperately want to write about the last six weeks of my life. It is a daunting task. Daunting because there is so much to tell and I want it to accurately portray the experience. And so I ask, where to begin? I have already once tried to start where one would think would be appropriate, that being the beginning. But to no avail. And so I believe I will begin with the present and hopefully fill in some of the blank spaces as time unwraps the delights of these past weeks.

My soul is never more awake than when it is engulfed in creation and community. And my spirit is never so quickly snuffed as by familiarity and comfort. I came upon this realization after a few months in California, this deadening of fervor with time, and it is just as infuriating now as it was then. [See Zealous]

Returning again this summer to the comforts and luxuries of home after a month of living a stripped life, I find myself desperately clawing at the intensity, the intentionality and the peace I found in the woods of Maine, traveling alongside another crazy twenty-something and a group of students I now call friends. For a month we live in tents, eating elbow pasta, tortillas filled with peanut butter, and the dreaded chewy bar. Forsaking the brush, abstaining from mirrors and most general hygiene practices bring about a certain kind freedom, as well as a certain kind of odor. It's the bare essentials, living off of what we can carry in our backs. It's the bare essentials of relationships too. Texting is obsolete, there are no movies, no computers, not even a watch to keep track of the time. You cannot avoid relationships and as one of the kids so perfectly said it, "There is no where to hide". Another thing that cannot be hidden, when stripped of all that is noisy and neon, is the majesty of God. Views of miles and miles of mountains and trees, sunsets and sunrises, eagles and moose, wind and rain, flowers and stones, cannot help but shout the Artist's beauty.

I was writing a letter to my friend last night, and one thing I love about letters, is that they are like a vault. I write things I will most likely never see again. But as I was processing with the mighty, mighty pen, I wrote something I wanted to share.

"I want them to LOVE Jesus. Not just create successful, 'good' lives. Rich or poor. Artsy or Athletic. Book smart or street smart. Everybody needs more Jesus. I need more. I get so frustrated with the way that my ability to closely resemble Christ diminishes with familiarity... or for some reason I haven't quite grasped yet. Being with the kids makes me want to live better because I want to practice what I preach. It's real and I want them to see that. This desire for consistency coupled with constantly being in God's unaltered creation, away from distraction of poplar culture, makes it easier. It's easier for my thoughts and actions to breathe whispers of God's goodness."

More than last year at this time, I am noticing this slow slippage into the old, and I'm trying to fight it tooth and nail. It's annoyingly difficult. I don't want this fire to diminish into coals. Coals are good for roasting marshmallows, sure. But I want to burn something. I want to be like that huge cardboard fire we all had to take a step back from.

I now would like to write a list of ways to keep the fire raging. Consuming everything around it until it too burns with a white-hot flame.

Unfortunately there is no bullet list. Annoying point number two. Spending time reading the Words in columns and writing them on the tablet of my heart might be a start. ["Stop rhyming I mean it!"..."Anybody want a peanut?"...Wow it's getting late...] Prayer and quiet is always welcome. Writing of course needs to happen as well as taking moments to notice the leaves or the clouds moving across the sky.

The hardest thing to replicate are the relationships and the community.
Al.
Roon.
Juje.
Sarah.
Cars.
Kat.
Will.
Jared.
Luke.
Paul.
Hannah.
Keith.
Kortus.
Danny.
Jake.
Sammy.
Milan.
Justin.
Claire.
Caroline.
Dev.
Thanks for helping me live more like Jesus.
For this, I am forever grateful.

Skype equals love.

Most of the time I like to think of myself as someone who isn't a big fan of technology. [As I sit here writing a blog on a laptop...what a hypocrite...] "Technology is lame" is the phrase I believe my brother uses against me on a regular basis. I take the 'holier-than-thou' approach to the newest and fastest because I feel like it's so often a distraction from real relationships and experiences. Most of this coming from the ridiculous amount of control facebook has over me. What starts out as an innocent message to a dear friend turns into an hour long photo scanning sesh where I end up looking at photos of people I don't even know! [Please, can anyone feel me on this?] And don't even get me started with iPhones. If I ever try to get one just kick me in the shins. Let's just hope this doesn't turn into a repeat of the skinny jeans incident or I'll end up with bruised shins and few tangible relationships...yikkes.

But let us set this hostility aside for a moment. Tonight, I sat and talked with my redwoods roommate and dear friend Christa, who is now on a new adventure in Washington. She sat outside a coffee shop in the sunshine, wearing a blue tee and a huge headband. Her big green eyes practically popping out as she told me about exciting things of late. After swapping stories-silly and serious-we ended in prayer. Over skype. I was so encouraged by this 'virtual date', as a passerby so named it. Encouraged by our conversation. Strengthened by her courage to pray for me or rather talk to her computer, outside a busy coffee shop in the name of Jesus. Love it.

While I stubbornly hold onto the fact that technology can often cause a rift in relationships, I am now a believer in the power of Skype. Or perhaps the ability of God to encourage me through mediums such as these, however 'lame' they may be.

[Also, a shout-out to Rori Jean. A current resident of Boulder, CO with whom I also recently 'skyp-ed'. (can it be used as a verb?) This conversation also brought much joy to my soul and provided me with yet another reason to love the internet, built in video cameras, speakers, and free programs to chat with people in different time-zones. Love you Rur!]

[Okay. I just thought of Kari too. I miss you Kari. Skype date sometime soon?]

Walk.

Ephesians.

For we are his workmanship created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should WALK in them.

Now this I say and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer WALK as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds...they have become callous and have given themselves up to sensuality, greedy to practice every kind of impurity. But that is not the way you learned Christ!

Therefore be imitators of God, as beloved children. And WALK in Love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.

Look carefully then how you WALK, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time because the days are evil.

Grace be with all who love our Lord Jesus Christ with love incorruptible.

Purple tutu.

The yellow balloon bounced out of the small fountain onto the green grassy lawn followed closely by a head of long brown curls. The rascal balloon was quickly apprehended by two little hands and promptly returned to it's perch atop the bubbling water. Bright orange tee-shirt, purple tutu, white hair clip, flying across the sunny maze of sidewalk and turf.

I wanted to be her. I want a purple tulle skirt and an orange tee. I want to splash, carefree in the fountain. She was supremely happy. Not worried or distracted. She is contented just to watch the water fall through her fingers with her two moppy haired brothers. I want to run and skip and twirl.

The great thing is, that I can. I can twirl till my heart is content. I can laugh and skip and find joy in the feeling of grass between my toes if I stop and take notice. The only thing I'm missing is the purple tutu.

And he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. 4Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. Matthew 18:3-4

Opposites attract.

I roused myself from the purple paisley sheet laid on the sole grassy patch of the property I now call home. I shoved the uncomfortable black buds into my ears and tossed my backpack over my shoulder, heading back down the mountain for some dinner. The little violet contraption I recieved for christmas has this amazing shuffle feature and while it may have been coincidence, I am going to say that the start of David Crowder's Forever and Ever was providence.

My sandaled feet headed down the hill, the steady rhythm quickening my steps. My shielded eyes greeted by green spires and the beautiful sunshine-its rays warming my face.

Love so indelible to know...
Love too unthinkable and true
I think I'm on the brink of something large
Maybe like the breaking of the dawn
Maybe like a match being lit
Or the sinking of a ship,
letting go gives a better grip

I'm finding everything I'll ever need
By giving up gaining everything
Falling for You for eternity
Right here at Your feet
Where I wanna be
I am Yours

With each passing day, I'm learning how true those bolded lines are.
Letting go really does give a better grip.

Which makes absolutely no sense. I know.

But the more I let go of myself-my selfishness, my pride, my "wisdom", my plans-the more simple my life becomes. The more difficult, true. And also more complex...which seems to fit with this whole releasing and grasping paradigm shift. Simple in that my purpose is clear. Complex in that life takes on a much grander meaning.

So the less I squeeze. The easier it is to hold on. Weird. But I like weird.

Insert foot here.

When you talk all day for a living, you are bound to say something stupid.

I fumble over my words quite a bit because I want to make sure I'm informative and exciting at the same time so...sometimes I get a bit carried away and today, it happened. One of our challenge course elements is called the "pinata". After the participant gets harnessed in, one of the kids needs to take a carabiner and clip it to the back of the participant's harness. As I was assigning jobs, I forgot to explain that the carabiner was a double locking model so I yelled out,

"Where are my two hooker girls?"

Awesome.

The kids paused before following their counselor's lead in laughter. Can you say foot in mouth moment?

Quotes from my current fix.

I've been reading this book Desiring God by John Piper and even though none of the quotes here are actually his words, it's turning out to be a good read and I like sharing good quotes so here are a few:

Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature f the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased. -Lewis, The Weight of Glory

I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. -Lewis, Reflections on the Psalms

Of late God has been pleased to keep my soul hungry almost continually, so that I have been filled with a kind of pleasing pain. When I really enjoy God, I feel my desires of him more insatiable and my thirstings after holiness more unquenchable. -quoted in E.M. Bounds, The Weapon of Prayer

You have put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound. -Psalm 4:7

Back to you.

I love my job for a lot of reasons.

One being the gift of last week.

I don't feel right calling last week a vacation. It wasn't "time off". Sure I wasn't trying to gain the attention of thirty rambunctious kids or preparing for classes, but it was more than just ten days of leisure. I am a better person coming back here. Better because I was loved so well. Better because I witnessed God's love extended to high school students and their families. Better because I read and heard some wise words. Better because I then talked about it. Better because I was able to explore my head and my heart with a dear friend who knows both parts of me so well.

There's just something comforting about sharing your observations and questions with someone who knows how you operate. Who can see things I can't even see about me. I learned a lot of lessons last week, which sadly, I'm not going to recount here. Because you don't need to know everything about me right? I did find out that the Easter bunny travels in helicopters these days and that earthquakes feel a little like trying to stand still on a trampoline when everyone else is jumping crossed with a skateboard...? Southern California is ridiculous and super rad.

And the beauty of this whole thing is that even though last week was perfection, I was excited to come back and pick up my schedule from the cork board. We have now come full circle.

I love my job for a lot of reasons.

So thank you God for this job. For this place you have me in right now. For the people you've put into my life. For the lessons you are teaching me and reteaching me. I have o, so much to learn. It's a bit ridiculous. But you're teaching me. And your blessing me along the way too, which so totally rocks and is so incredibly undeserved. And so I will just say thank you, thank you, thank you and do my best to always turn the gratitude right back to you.

Step Three: Always pack a rain jacket.

So, I'm teaching a class today-minding my own business-when out of nowhere we start getting pelted with hundreds of little ice chunks. They're bouncing off the pavement like tiny white bouncy balls. Plunking onto the tops of our heads and rolling off our shoulders. It's like a war zone out there. For about a minute. Then, it just stops. No rain for an encore, it just stops. And within about ten minutes the sun returns to its original position and we go about our business identifying plants and eating redwood sorrel. Epic.

After dinner, I was feeling pretty brawny, and decided to tackle our food order. Every two weeks we place some requests to the lovely kitchen staff for staple items to stock the cupboards of Glen Iris. And today was pickup day. So I'm carrying a crate full of milk and balancing on top is a large-ish rectangle box full of cereal, sugar, peanut butter and the like. O yes, and a flat of eggs. Perhaps not the smartest of ideas to carry a flat of eggs on the top of two boxes full of heavy food, but sometimes intelligence is ignored for the sake of efficiency. I made my way down the flight of stairs with the goods only to be met at the bottom by another onslaught. I parked it under the overhang of the dining hall to watch a hail blast for a second time today. Plummeting out of the sky, crashing into the sidewalk, deck, roof and dirt in front of me made for crazy little picture. It was like someone from above shot a bunch of tiny paper wads down to earth. I stopped and smiled. I ventured out, the egg flat getting a little moist, only to have the surprise attack stop short once again. Totally epic.

Everything in the redwoods is exciting. Even the precipitation keeps you on your toes.

Hanging up the dirty laundry.

James 5:16
Therefore, confess your sins to one another and pray for one another that you might be healed.

This passage is in the context of sickness, so they're encouraging those who are sick to confess their sins that they may be healed. But could we take it further than that? Could we generalize to sin in general and the sickness of the heart? I'm not sure if this is totally off base...but I liked the idea and it challenged me.

Imagine if we confessed all our sins to someone else. What if I were to speak them aloud for others to hear? How does that sound for accountability?
Freaking scary.
Now, these hearers of my wrongs would not be able to save me or to cleanse my slate, but would I live differently if I practiced this? If I confessed and asked others to pray with me about whatever the issue may be?

I have definitely been given opportunities to ask for forgiveness for careless words and insensitive actions as of late, and I like it...kind of. It's hard but it's good. Good because it causes me to "call myself out", admit my faults, take responsibility for them, and seek reconciliation. Again, this verbalizing offenses doesn't detract from my need of cleansing that can only come from a Savior. But I want to squelch this tendency to offend, and so, perhaps by experiencing that kind of accountability, I can "heal" my poisonous patterns. I'll still be requesting cleansing from the fountain, being washed in the blood of the Lamb. But I'll also be creating vulnerability with those around me, airing out my dirty laundry, that I may be challenged and encouraged in order that God may be glorified.

So if you see some dirty frocks flapping in the breeze, don't be alarmed.
I'm just confessing my sins, that I might be healed.

Ezekiel 36:26-27

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put with you.
And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.
And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules.

amen to that right?

Zealous.

Romans 12
9Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. 10Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. 11Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. 12Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. 13Share with God's people who are in need. Practice hospitality.

There's something about newness that brings about excitment. I mean, think about New Year's resolutions. People make all these plans to start fresh. To jump into a new exercise routine or suddenly become super organized. And people usually start out really well. They're all jacked up, excited about the possibilities, and then...

time goes by.

And the longer the minute hand spins, the more the original excitment fades and you find yourself throwing your clothes on your exercise ball because they don't fit in your closet.

Now that I've been here for a few months, the newness has worn off. I don't need as long to prepare for activities. There's a "predictable" ebb and flow to the days, combinations of work and rest. I'm also losing some of my diliegce. My alarm clock somehow keeps getting set for later and later even though I'm still going to bed at roughly the same time. The once riviting routine of morning bible reading has fallen by the wayside and something has taken it's place. I say "something" because I don't know what those extra minutes go to...a few to sleep, some to dilly-dallying, I'm not really sure. But I'm falling into a routine. I can "go through the motions" and still do a fairly decent job.

But I don't want it to be like that. I don't want that determination and dilience to fade with time. I don't want to loose my zeal.

"Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord."

A few of the other passages talking about zeal are actually pretty violent. Isaiah and Ezekiel talk about God's zeal and it always involves annihalation, fire, burning, etc. It's powerful stuff. I want to be dangerously passionate. About life, about truth, about God.

No matter the years I've "been a Christian" or the days I've been at a job, I want to keep my zeal, hold on to my spiritual fervor and dangerously serve the Lord.

INFP

Okay so I've missed a few blogging days. But I haven't actually skipped out on writing everyday. It has just taken place in my moleskin with a pen instead of on my account with a keypad.

For today, a characteristic of a perceiver:

"Instinctively avoid commitments which interfere with flexibility, freedom and variety."

This is take from an online description of the Myers-Briggs Personality Type assessment. I am an INFP. I read another, more lengthy online description of this "personality type". Totally me. So spot on it's kinda scary. The little snippet right there is the cause of most of my angst when it comes to relationships the last couple weeks. I've felt like a flake, but I'll just blame it on my perceiver personality type.

If you haven't taken the Myers-Briggs attempt a knock-off version [the real one is lengthy and expensive]. Just do it it's fun. In fact, here's a link. Just do it right now, and share your results. I love this stuff. Probably because I'm an INFP.

Poems.

I got a letter from a camper today. She wrote this poem on the back:

The day says, "Let's play!"
The world says, "I'm yours!"
Adventures await
In the big, bright outdoors.

Little snippets from the mouth of a fifth grader negate any unenjoyable task or moment.
O, the small joys in life. May they continue to feel big and overwhelm me with gladness.

Step two: Joy beats duty. Always.

A wise friend shared this quote in our morning meeting:

A perfect man does nothing out of duty. -C.S. Lewis

I am most certainly am not perfect, and so I often act because I ought. I perform out of a sense of duty instead of the actions bubbling out of a place of sheer joy. But as Mr. Scott so kindly pointed out while sharing his thoughts, this is refreshing because it reminds me of my imperfection. It reminds me that I need a little help up in here. So, I'm not perfect, meaning I will continue to do some things out of a sense of duty. And honestly, if I did only what I truly desired, I think I'd be a jerk of a person.

I need a bit of duty, but I'd like to move in the direction of perfection, moving from an earnest desire instead of a 'should-place'. My question is how do I cultivate this joy-driven lifestyle? I want to get there, but it seems a bit daunting. So I'm going to keep trying to figure that one out. To start this off 1 Peter 1:22-23 says:

Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart, since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God...

I have been born again. Always a good place to start. My soul has been purified. Because of the obedience to the truth.
-Rewind-
Obedience? This word feels like it's leaning a little bit toward the duty side to me. Dictionary: "compliance with someone's wishes or orders or acknowledgment of their authority". Not quite duty, but it doesn't feel quite like desire either. I want to desire to obey. I want to love earnestly from the heart. I want to be kind to these sixth graders not because I should but because I want to.

Right now I want to go to bed. I'm not thinking about my heading hitting the pillow just because getting rest is the responsible thing to do. I really, from the bottom of my heart, want to go to sleepy town. So I think I will even though there is so much more to say about this topic.

God. Fill me with earnest joy. That I may love deeply, from the heart. May I walk not out of duty or responsibility, but out of pure delight.

Step one: Give yourself a pep-talk.

I'm starting an experiment.
I figure I'm kinda like a scientist these days, and scientists do experiments, therefore I do experiments.

I'm going to write something everyday for the rest of this month. Er...wait. That might be a bit much.
I just checked the calendar and it's only two weeks. I can do this. It's an experiment after all and things usually blow up during testing. Go big or go home right?

Right. So, here begins two weeks of daily happenings and thoughts. Recorded and published. [I still wonder why I do this whole blog thing...?] Hopefully short and sweet, holding some sort of value. [Thus giving purpose to this public sharing of words.]

________

I drove into Sebastapol today in Joy's red subaru, blasting the music, singing loud and ugly. Just what the doctor ordered. I happily butchered Regina Spektor's poetry in On The Radio:

this is how it works
you peer inside yourself
you take the things you like
and try to love the things you took
and then you take that love you made
and stick it into some--
someone else's heart
pumping someone else's blood

It's beautiful. Simple. True. Annoying. Blunt.
I peer inside myself, and the good parts are Jesus. I peer inside myself and there are a lot of parts that aren't Jesus. And those parts aren't so good.

I went to a concert the other night in The City. It was super fun. [sidenote: I fell in love with the fiddle.] It was the first time in awhile I've done something in the "real world" so to speak. And something crept up.

I wanted to be pretty. I wanted to be popular. Seeing those thoughts in black and white make them sound really dumb. Because they are. But you peer inside yourself and try to pull out things, the things you like. And then you think if you can get someone else to love those things about you too, then everything will be good. I wanted to take those "not so good parts", and give them to someone else in the hopes that they would put them into there heart and hold onto them.

At one point I just closed my eyes and whispered to myself: "that's really stupid jen. you don't get your identity from outside sources. so stop being such a dork, remember where you do get your identity from, and hold onto that. share that with people." And I felt a lot better. Sometimes you just need to give yourself a little pep-talk.

To reiterate, I love these lyrics she wrote. Because to me, it seems like a comical social commentary that I'm so quick to participate in. The next verse continues like this:

and walking arm in arm
you hope it don't get harmed
but even if it does
you'll just do it all again

...unless you give yourself a little pep-talk.

The honeymoon is over.

This past week I felt the first pangs of absolute exhaustion. That tiredness where your bones feel weak and it's incredibly hard work to keep your face from looking like one of those wrinkly, droopy faced dogs. Early mornings, long days. Confusion with schedules, misplaced and much needed items lost in the chaos of our new office [affectionately referred to as "The Natch"], late nights coupled with early mornings, trekking up the mountain and back down again with excited children glued to your sides- it all begins to wear on one's spirit come Thursday.

I started to think about being a summer camp counselor and adding the responsibility of being with the kids twenty-four-seven to this full plate. Surviving that summer was nothing short of a miracle. That's probably why it was such a formative experience in my life, because it was utterly exhausting and absolutely impossible to carry out in my own strength.

And so, the honeymoon is over. This job isn't all chocolate cupcakes and daisies. It's stinking hard some days.

The funny thing is though, I probably had the most fun I've had yet with this group of kids. I felt like I was the most prepared for my classes, and actually had a ton of fun teaching. The kids remembered stuff at the end of class, which is a big deal for a fifth grader when they are out in the woods and there are all kinds of rocks to throw and leaves to kick around. I even got to talk to them about why I wake up in the morning, about church and family and "how old God is" after questions starting coming from the mouths of these little squirts from Napa Valley.

Now, I've never been married. So I don't have actual, real data on this one, but I'm just going to extrapolate. Couples always say "the honeymoon is over" when things aren't all romantic and googely eyed anymore. The honeymoon is bliss, and once that state of euphoria leaves, you receive in its place- a pile of dirty dishes in the sink, the closet door that always gets left open, and spaghetti that tastes nothing like the way you've always made it.

Coming out of this week, the rose-coloured hue of being a Naturalist was taken away while picking up trash in the rain, spilling plaster of paris on the tables, walking around with a scale and clip-board, running to and fro, and wrestling ladders. To my pleasant surprise however, things still looked pretty good even without the pinkish tint. In fact, it was really quite beautiful. So this whole end to the honeymoon thing might not be so bad after all. Sure, it's a bit more difficult and the colors aren't quite as vibrant. But it's real. The real McCoy, the real deal. And sometimes reality can be a little brutal, rugged and fierce, but that just adds to it's beauty.

Rumor has it that next week is going to be another big one. This work week will start without romantic excitement, but it will start with excitement none-the-less. Excitement to get my hands dirty, to dig in my heels, call out for help, and dive in head first. Because this new spaghetti isn't too bad, and leaving the closet door open just saves me a step in the morning, and because perhaps the end of the honeymoon is actually a good thing because you get to start tromping through real life with someone getting muddy right along side you.

Better all the time.

People always look back at the "glory days". The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence, that side you were on a few years back. I've heard that, "high school is the best time of your life". Or, "it won't get any better than college".

That's a bunch of crap.

This weekend, on a sunny Saturday afternoon, we loaded up some kayaks and headed to a waterway called Austin Creek. It had just rained the day before, giving us a little more water for a more exciting adventure. [It rains like mad around here by the way.] After dropping off one the vehicles for our return trip, three of us hopped on top of the boats strapped to the bed of the truck. I knew it was going to be a good day when it started off with me, leaning over the cab, arms extended grasping both sides of the red top, the wind whipping me in the face as we headed up a "Winding, One Lane Narrow Road". Thankfully no bugs ended up plastered to the windshield my teeth created.

We put in under a bridge, after muscling our kayaks down a steep bank, and we were on our way. Navigating over, around and through branches, rocks, bubbling water and placid river bends. As we floated and darted past houses nestled on the banks, singing silly camp songs and telling sillier jokes, my mind shot to the future. Looking back on these months, I have a feeling I'm going to see them as one of the best times of my life.

But I felt the same way in high school. And when I got to college, I thought, "this is it, it's the pinnacle, life at its best."

And here is my life, exceeding its own expectations.

I could often times be labeled an idealist, but I'm holding to the notion that life is just going to keep getting better and better. I know there will be hard times, sure. I know it's not always going to be all sunshine and roses, yes. But life is rich. And it continues to become more rich with each passing day. Not because I'm always going to be doing something extraordinary, something worthy of a book or screenplay, but because I'm on a journey. I'm on a journey to know God and the power of his resurrection. I'm seeking; and if I seek, I shall find. I'm knocking; and if I knock, the door shall be opened. How can I become dissatisfied with my present position? How can I look longingly towards the past? If each day parts of my old self are dying and I'm becoming more like Jesus? Why would I ever want to go back when I'm falling more deeply in love? Growing more in wisdom, knowledge and depth of insight? Being transformed by the renewing of my mind? Each morning, each day is loaded with the opportunity to be better than the one before because each day gives me the opportunity to learn a little bit more about the Almighty God.

And so, in the words of Frank Sinatra,
"the best is yet to come. and babe, won't it be fun?"

Twisting to Find the Su[o]n.

I can't believe I live here.
I find myself unable to control the reflex to smile while driving down winding roads through redwood giants, in and out of patches of light. The sun seems brighter when it has to fight so hard to make it to the ground. Even just walking up the slight incline from the Tab to the Cave, I am struck speechless, neck craned upward, attempting to soak up every drop of beauty.

I am continually catching my breath, being slapped in the face by the incredible glory of the master architect.

Thursday night I hiked up the mountain Alliance Redwoods is situated on, making my way up the trail in the dark for a little solo-rejuvination time. I wanted to try and hike the whole thing in the dark, relying on my rods and rhodopsin, but I chickened out. I'm going to blame it on the cloud cover but maybe I just need to eat more carrots and man up. I definitely needed my headlamp though to set up my borrowed tent in the blackness. Snapping out the poles made me think of Maine, and Paul and WILD ladies and gents. So I laid out my sleeping pad and stuck my head out the tent door and just stared up into the night sky. Thinking about memories from last summer in the wilderness of Maine, praying for friends, thinking about this new place I'm in, and the people here. After some reading, I slipped into some crazy dreams, and woke up to the hooting of an owl. The grey sky slowly being illuminated by the hulking, burning mass pushing itself above the horizon. I walked slowly down the dirty path breathing in the fresh air, watching the sun flit and flicker through lichen covered branches and twigs.

Alliance is a mixed forest, and one of the friendly neighbors of the Costal Redwoods are Madrone trees. The Madrone tree is phototropic, meaning it bends and twists itself, always reaching toward a sunnier spot. This bending and twisting is a pretty good idea seeing as they're living among the tallest trees on the planet who hog up all the light before it reaches the forest floor. Maybe it was just the time of day, but it was interesting to see that in some places, the Madrones had bent perfectly to receive some of dawn's light. And in other places, their branches hung in the shade.

During training, I decided that the Madrone was my favorite tree. All twirly, its fallen bark exposing deep reddish hues set against vibrant green leaves. And this sun chasing it does, I can totally relate. But this morning, I saw it in a "different light".

How often do I chase after something that looks like the sun? Momentarily, the sun is right over there, so that is where I want to be. Life will be better there, warming and more nourishing.

The problem is the sun moves.

Don't get me wrong, this ability of the Madrone is totally necessary for it's survival and totally bomb, but, let's just set that aside for a moment.

The point I'm trying to make is this, that I chase after the sun and have to keep bending and twisting trying to find it's next location. When maybe, just maybe, I should stubbornly grow straight up. Not wasting my energy twirling and swirling around, but just heading upward. Standing on my tip-toes, one arm extended, stretching up toward the One responsible for my existence. Because if I keep my focus up, I'll be guaranteed to find the sun. And the son.

I love that there so many are lessons in these trees. Hanging like ripe fruit, just waiting to be plucked and ingested. All that is required: the courage and diligence to get out my basket and climb up the ladder.

Unnerved.

The rain was falling steadily as I trudged up the muddy hill. Tucking my chin into my chest I pressed myself into the rushing wind as it whistled past me. The fog hung among the towering trees. Darkness quickly approaching. With my head bent, I saw my wide, weathered, weary feet morph into a pair of chunky keens and the grey elven cloak fade into a purple hood. The familiar Lord of the Rings soundtrack score played softly in my mind as I continued upward.

---------

I am on a journey indeed, but to liken it to the grueling, and grave journey of one Mr. Frodo Baggins would be an incredible overstatement. I just finished The Two Towers and feel like I'm living in Middle Earth. Here in the middle of a creation masterpiece-the redwood forest. At every turn, I am transported to a land of fantasy. I'm engulfed by the beauty of my surroundings and the hearts I'm beginning to know.

I live a blessed life. Let's take it truthful step forward to say posh and privileged. Even as I day dreamed about Frodo's quest today, I was wearing a newly purchased pair of much "needed" hiking pants. My conscience quieted by the Clearance sign above the hanger. And although I am wet, I am only on an hour long leisure hike and will soon return to a house containing dry clothes, a warm bed, and cup boards full of food. I'm not trekking across Mirkwood forest or climbing the steep stair or running for my life in Sierra Leone. I have been given so much, and honestly, most days it just doesn't seem fair.

The reference to Sierra Leone comes from Ishmael Beah's book A Long Way Gone which I just started today. [thank you 2010 reading list] I've been told it is a heavy book. Even discouraged from reading it by a friendly bookstore clerk in the Mission in San Francisco. Everyone has been telling the truth. I cannot begin to wrap my mind, so soaked in safety, comfort and fortune, around the experiences of this man. And there are so many others like him. So many stories of young eyes seeing violence. Of being torn from family. Stories of empty bellies, evil and brokenness. And what am I doing about this? I'm hiking in the woods, wearing upwards of two hundred dollars on my back. It's something that burns deep within me. I feel nauseous as I write this, letting my mind sit in this feeling of frustration and contradiction. My journey is not trying to save middle earth or running from rebels with guns. The biggest journey I'm on is reconciling the life I've been given and the great disparity between it and so many other's lives in the world. But wait, there should be no harmony achieved in comparing my undeserved privilege to the rest of the world. I should be beside myself, angered to action. Praise be to God that I am unnerved when reading accounts of injustice.

But what about this bit about action. What action am I taking?
Where is the biggest need God. Send me there.
This has been the question for a few years now. And as I slowly settle my bubbling heart, I'm reminded that there is hurt all around me. This week there have been several instances striking very close to home, reminding me of this. And sometimes it still seems so small in comparison to the atrocities experienced all over the world. Miniscule compared to the current situation of those in Haiti. And yet it's real here too. For some unexplainable, honestly somewhat annoying reason, I was born into privilege and plenty. So what can I do from here? What is my role in the redwoods, working with school children?

While asking these questions, part of a verse kept coming to mind. "One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard: that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving."
You are strong and loving God. Give me your strength and your love to do what seemingly little I can and please, I beg of you, take care of the rest.

Hunger and Thirst.

I took a walk in the rain a few days ago. I will need to learn to love the rain here. Breathing heavily, I climbed up the steep dirt path, water beading off my new purple raincoat, dripping from high branches, while pondering my new dwelling. My new situation. I prayed and my mind wandered. Bits of passages, memorized in days of yore, made their way out of the vault and into the front of my mind.

Take captive every thought and make it obedient to Christ. Be still and know that I am God. Be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry. Do everything without complaining or arguing. Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit but instead consider others better than yourselves.

I am trying to find the words to describe the way these words tasted as they fell upon my tongue again. They made me feel hungry. A hunger I had forgotten I had. A desire to indulge in more. The more bits that came up the more I wanted to flood forth. And just like that a prayer is answered. A prayer to hunger and thirst for righteousness. To crave spiritual milk. To seek and to find.

How can a young man keep his way pure?
By living according to your word.
I seek you with all my heart;
do not let me stray from your commands.
I have hidden your word in my heart
that I might not sin against you.
Praise be to you, O LORD;
teach me your decrees.
With my lips I recount
all the laws that come from your mouth.
I rejoice in following your statutes
as one rejoices in great riches.
I meditate on your precepts
and consider your ways.
I delight in your decrees;
I will not neglect your word.
psalm 119:9-16

Things learned while in the Bay Area.

If the voice you use to talk to yourself with takes on a french accent you have been alone with your thoughts for too long and are most likely going crazy.

I like buses and I love subways. Except I am perpetually nervous about missing my stop.

I have the uncanny ability to get turned around even with a map in my hand.

If up to me, I will never stay in a hotel again. I will frequent hostels, getting little sleep but much satisfaction.

Taqueria Cancun on Mission between 18th and 19th serves the best vegetarian burrito I have ever eaten. And I've eaten a lot of burritos in my day, trust me.

I smile easily. Especially if I'm tuned into what's going on around me. The kids begging for gelato and the old asian couple doing synchronized arm exercises while on their walk, even just the sun glinting off the steeples of a church, I smile like a fool.

There would be no need to insert "hill routines" into your running regimen in San Francisco. You'll be all set whatever route you take.

Keen shoes can handle pounding the pavement. My right leg, specifically knee and back of ankle, does not handle it quite as well.

I'm terrible at decision making when I'm tired.

I'm drawn like a magnet to bookstores. It doesn't matter where I'm at, they suck me in. City Lights has a third floor poetry and beat literature section with rocking chair labeled "The Poet's Chair" and for a bit I was a The Poet.

You can use the same bus ticket for two days. I think the bus drivers hate their jobs and could care less whether or not you have a ticket.

The North Beach is one of my favorite places. There are cute old italian men roaming the streets, little italian flags painted around the light poles on the diagonal, slightly slopping street, tons of trattorias, canolis and gelatto. And a book store. See above.

I grew up in an incredibly homogenous area. Sadly, I have rarely, if ever, been a minority until this weekend. I think it's something I need to experience more often.

Fisherman's Warf is most beautiful as the sun is setting. Leaning over the rail looking out at the ocean at this particular time is also a great place to meet up with God.

I love cities. For exploring. Not for living. At least not as big as San Francisco. And by the way, they call it "The City" not San Fran, according to Justin the front desk guy at Fort Mason Hostel. Like it's the only city, a bit pretentious no?

I genuinely love traveling alone. There is a freedom that you cannot obtain while traveling with others. I can get lost and nobody cares. I can wander aimlessly in and out of random stores, and wander right back out. I can stop and take pictures at random. I can dart across streets haphazardly.

About the only thing it's missing is being able to share all of these little morsels of joy with someone. With you. And so that's why I write. Or at least that's the conclusion I came to while spending the last two days alone. Many of my conclusions and realizations, my observations and discoveries, happen when I'm flying solo. But as quoted from Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer, "Happiness is only real when shared". So this is me making these delights real.

Or maybe just an attempt at securing my memories because otherwise the will be lost in the sea of my forgetfulness. Probably both.

Touching Down.

Every so often, I open my eyes and find myself breathing. Like so many times before, I find myself waking up while finishing the pages of a book. Annie Dillard's An American Childhood. I'm awakened to my life. The flesh and spirit in my general vicinity. It always surprises me a bit, not realizing that I've missed it so, this eyes-open existence. It's surprising and yet so familiar.

I smile closing the book, cover in my lap. Knees aching. Skin on my arms prickling with bumps, cool and bare. The sunlight coming through the small hole in the plane splashing, pressing itself into my face. The tear ducts under my closed lids threatening to explode sending salty rivulets down my cheeks. These almost tears are not tears of sadness. But would be rivers of comfort and relief. Like waking up to a soft breeze and sunlight blowing through your window on a late spring morning.
I delight in the old man's fabulous tortoise shell glasses in the seat in front of me and in his companion's wonderfully wrinkled, polished fingers resting lightly on the wall beside her. I feel the hum of the bird-machine carrying me toward Denver. And revel in the large scar on the face of the reading man next to me.

We've just touched down. I've just touched down. And not a moment too soon.

A Reader's Resolution

In lieu of a resolution commemorating the beginning of a new year, I've decided to create a reading list. I just figure I'm setting myself up for success because >one: it's not an actual resolution and >two: my love of the written word will hopefully help in this goal's completion.

A Long Way Gone -Ishmael Beah
On The Road -Jack Kerouac
The Writing Life -Annie Dillard
Unspoken Sermons -George McDonald
Walden -Henry David Thoreau
A Passage To India -E.M. Forester
Return of the King -Tolkein
The Prodigal God -Tim Keller
The Pilgrim's Regress -C.S. Lewis
A Million Miles in a Thousand Years -Donald Miller

Ten books for two-thousand and ten.
I may have my work cut out for me for I will most likely be finishing other books on undocumented lists, but would also like to hear any suggestions you may have. It won't get on this list. Like I said, I'm trying to set myself up for success, not a never ending, ever expanding list. But I love good books. So I'll make a new list-Great Books from Great People. [Coming soonish to a blog near you. That is if you share with me.]