possibility rises

in

the next thing that happened felt like a detour. i went back to tammy's comment space and saw that she had left more stories at the doorstep of our conversation. these stories, though, related to how God could perhaps use me in a non-profit capacity, given my business training.

she shared about a place she knew that serves as a care shelter for unwed mothers in unexpected pregnancies. she shared about another place that takes in people with emotional issues and drug and alcohol additions. she shared about another home that shelters battered women. she said a business degree could really come in handy for starting a non-profit like this, and how there are always people out there looking to donate to good causes to get them started and maintained.

then nate chimed in and said there was no doubt in his mind that i was meant for ministry. to have someone call that out so definitively after knowing me just a short while now, all i could do was whisper in my heart of hearts a quiet "really?"

i'll be honest (as i was honest with tammy) and say that i felt really, really resistant to this non-profit notion. none of the instances she shared felt like something specifically for me. and after my experiences in business school so far, i have become pretty closed to anything that will take me away from the front lines. i don't want to be cloistered away in an office, relied upon for my organizational leadership and administrative capacities, even though i have those to offer. i want to minister to people's needs, not be preoccupied with paperwork and making something go.

i remembered a vision God gave me about three years ago when kirk and i were dating. we were praying together on the phone one night, and i became so aware in that moment that God was going to use us in ministry, both together and individually. and then i saw a picture in my mind of an oxford flat. i was sitting on the hardwood floor in the front entrance area, and light was streaming through the window. there were about three or four women there with me, kneeling and sitting cross-legged and generally feeling forsaken and broken-hearted.

in this instance, i could tell that flat was being used as a place of ministry during the day, a refuge of sorts for the lost and disillusioned, those who go missed and broken and unheard, who need a place to cry and be heard and held and covered in prayer.

i called it a ministry of mercy. and i have wondered in the years since then if God ever means to bring it to fruition. i still don't know the answer to that question, but he at least used that moment of vision to instruct me in the ways of my heart, a heart of compassion and mercy and gentleness and grace and acceptance and love, whatever the ultimate uses he has for it. and i have carried the truth of those things, and the hope for something like what was contained in that vision, close and quiet in my heart ever since, pondering it, turning it over, asking God what he intends. my movement toward business school to create something that helps people help each other was my way of stepping even closer to him with that question i've been holding there.

it really helped to hear tammy's response to my concerns of starting anything formal. she hearkened back to the story of the starbucks girl, saying that eventually that woman needed people around her to bring about the church God eventually started. she needed praise and worship people, someone to handle the financials, an associate pastor, a building plan . . . and that God never called her to function in all those roles. he had called her to love and pray for people.

tammy said the thing is, God gave this woman the vision. he did not give it to the office people, the praise and worship team, or any other part of the church. the whole administration fell under her umbrella of God's vision. and this is where having administrative training could be an asset, even though a person's particular calling and gifting can stand apart from that.

that really gave me something to think about. i could see what she meant, the difference between having an asset and using that asset in a sole capacity. i felt the door to such a notion open up a little bit, making way for possibility.

finding jesus in me

in

after the semi-catastrophic day i spent with kirsten, i knew i would need to sit with God again in that place, ask him what he had to say about all this confusion and confession. but it seemed like the hardest thing possible to get to. i had two full days at the start of the next week that could have provided the quiet reflection with God that all this likely needed. but i avoided it on the first day, and also got caught up in all those food plans and preparations i told you about that completely wiped me out for the next day or so.

but eventually, a week ago thursday (what is it with thursdays??), God showed back up on the scene and began pushing some new pieces of the puzzle around.

but first, let me back up.

on that previous wednesday morning, i read a comment my friend tammy wrote to a friend on her blog. she said, "an emotional death is as frightening and as deadly as a physical death, and that is why we need real people who rescue the broken." totally off the cuff, i responded to her by saying how much those two statements meant to me, and how they were just the words i needed in that moment.

you see, kirk and i have been walking a semi-dark path before God for some time now. he felt God calling him to something more a number of years ago and took some pretty drastic steps to render himself completely open to whatever that was. i did the same last summer. and here we are, some time later, still trying to find our way to what that something is. the way has begun to seem so dark, and we both have begun to feel so discouraged.

when i read tammy's words, i felt my heart quicken. i felt such an identification with this need, and yet, as i told tammy, i feel at such a loss sometimes in this world to do anything about it. in fact, i have been feeling discouraged about my heart's desire to love people in these places because it seems such an ethereal desire and sometimes quite unexplainable in the world, much less possible to find a place i fit. aren't there people in the world with real physical needs who are just trying to survive and live to see the next day? what makes me think ministering to people on a heart level is anywhere near as important as that? isn't that such a first-world, twenty-first-century way of existing in the world? isn't having concerns about the heart a somewhat high-level privilege many people in the world never get? why should i think it's so important when some people are dying for lack of food and water?

it helped to hear someone else voice that emotional deaths are just as frightening and deadly as physical deaths. it felt good to find kinship with others who value these same things. it made me feel less alone and, to be truthful, less freakish.

so what happened first on thursday, the next day, was that tammy picked up my comment and talked back. she said she perceived my heart's desire was for ministry and that she would be sad if the world was deprived of my heart for hurting people. and then she began to tell me stories.

she told me one story about a friend who desperately sought God in a similar way, who had a heart for people, just to love them and bring them and their needs before God in prayer. so she started by visiting a coffee shop, each and every day. she began to make friends there. then this little band of friends grew . . . and grew . . . and grew . . . and today she is pastoring a church. wow.

this story totally floored me because it told me that God can do so much with so little, with something that starts with just a burning desire and an ability to see a need. the other reason it moved me so that i was losing my breath and crying all at the same time is that it bundled up exactly what i desire, too: to love on people's hearts and carry them to jesus because he is working his way through them. i really felt like this story of the starbucks girl was partly my story, a girl with a heart and not much else, starting somewhere and just letting herself be used for love of God and people.

and so i told tammy that this had brought tears to my eyes. i told her that she was saying things to me that i've been afraid to say to myself, particularly about my heart for ministry. i told her about being in business school and just not having the heart to run a company. i told her that i do have the heart, however, to sit with people for hours while they speak the truth of their hearts, or try to learn how to speak the truth of their hearts, or just try to listen to what their hearts are even trying to say. i could do this for hours and hours and hours, never tiring or even feeling the time passing. and then to wrap those lovely, beautiful hearts up in the love that is Christ, to embrace them with the embrace that is Christ, to offer a radical love and acceptance of them that is my love and acceptance of them but, even more, is how Christ loves and accepts them. exactly. as. they. are. with. the. truth. of. their. hearts. but that i feel so lost on how to even get to a place like this, to find a place that exists for me to do this, to find a place where i belong.

after all of this, i went to lay on my bed. it was around nine o'clock in the morning. kirk was home that morning with me, so i crawled into his arms and began to tell him what i felt was happening in me, starting with that conversation between me and kirsten and landing me at that morning, with tammy's ability to see me and share stories that i sincerely needed to hear. i told kirk that i felt my heart becoming stripped of everything else in there except this burning, pulsating desire to love people and receive them where they are, to offer them the grace that jesus offers, a grace that flies in the face of the lies and turmoil we otherwise carry with us each and every day of our lives.

pretty soon, i was blubbering all over the place. i felt like all i had was this bleeding heart to offer up to God, that i was holding it in my hand and raising it up to him with nothing, absolutely nothing else to give.

and what's amazing is what God offered me back in return. he helped me see in that moment that my bleeding heart is really his bleeding heart, the image of God placed in me. he told me it was beating so hard for these things and those people because his heart beats so hard for these things and those people. he told me that love was there because he put that love there when he made me. he told me that, really, this is what i have to offer the world because it's what he has to offer the world, and because it's what he made me for. it's what i have to offer, but it's really him i have to offer.

this completely floored me. i felt like i had stepped onto holy ground. and that's just the beginning of how things began to move that day . . .

with love, for kirsten

in

on this day of love, my thoughts are on you, sweet girl, and all that stands before you in what you wrote about here. God is here, and so are we. but how scary, still, to know that only we can walk the path that stands before us. but even still, you are not alone.

i found this poem in an epitaph to a book kirk gave to me tonight. the book is called anam cara, which is irish gaelic for "soul friend," which is what you are to me. the book and poem are written by the late john o'donohue, an irish poet and philosopher who writes much on beauty and the numinous and spirituality. (incidentally, he just passed away this past january 3rd, God rest his soul.)

this poem is my prayer for you this day, filled with all my love.

beannacht

on the day when
the weight deadens
on your shoulders
and you stumble,
may the clay dance
to balance you.

and when your eyes
freeze behind
the gray window
and the ghost of loss
gets in to you,
may a flock of colors,
indigo, red, green
and azure blue
come to awaken in you
a meadow of delight.

when the canvas frays
in the curach of thought
and a stain of ocean
blackens beneath you,
may there come across the waters
a path of yellow moonlight
to bring you safely home.

may the nourishment of the earth be yours,
may the clarity of light be yours,
may the fluency of the ocean be yours,
may the protection of the ancestors be yours.

and so may a slow
wind work these words
of love around you,
an invisible cloak
to mind your life.

i love you, sweet girl. happy valentine's day.

new soul

in

i found this video clip a few days ago when visiting boho girl's blog, and it has stuck with me ever since. part of the reason is because the song is the sort that naturally sticks in your head. (i dare you to listen and try NOT to hum it all day!) it's also the sort that makes you bop around while listening. you simply cannot sit still. it makes you feel like dancing around the house. except you also feel compelled to stay in your seat and watch the full length of the music video because the story that it tells is so intriguing. it has a whimsicalness that i love.

i knew i was planning to post this video clip at some point, i just wasn't sure where it would fit in the scheme of things, given that i'm trying to unpack the story of my life's last week. but when i watched the video again this morning, i knew that now is the time.

here's why. the artist, yael naim, sings about being a new soul in a very strange world. she sings about making every possible mistake. and yet on her face you see eagerness. in her decorating of her new apartment, you see creativity and the embrace of possibility. in her voice, you hear soulfulness and rich depths. and in the story that plays out, you see how her little steps to decorate her apartment and surround herself with friends leads her into imagination and risk-taking and eventual total surprise.

what i love about this is that it reminds me of our blogging community. specifically, the girl in the video reminds me of tammy, my friend who is coming face to face with God and discovering the start of a new beginning. she is becoming a new soul in many ways right now. and that newness of discovery is scary. the steps that we take in such a radically unknown world are tenuous at best. and yet if we just take one step, and then one more step, each time trying to move toward what feels most true to the truth of what's inside of us (just like the artist in this video did by rolling long strips of wallpaper on the wall and beginning to decorate them with her favorite pictures), then surprising and supernatural things begin to happen.

i still can't decide if the pictures of friends she places on the wall are real friends from her "old world" that she brought along to make her new home feel more like home, or if they are people completely of her own imagining. either way, i'm not sure it matters in the scope of how her interactions with these friends reminds me of us in this little community. in a way, we are all just pictures to one another, accessed through a flat, static screen on a computer. but then whimsy starts to happen. someone comes tromping through the reeds playing a woodwind. someone comes romping up through tall sunflowers clanging together a cymbal. someone else comes from behind a huge hay bale banging a big drum.

and then what happens is magical. all the walls come tumbling down. we are mystified but compelled to explore further. we start jumping up and down and dancing in our own crazy way. and then we all get on board together, creating a joyful train of love and music and free-spirited delight. and the little goldfish we'd been preserving so carefully in that little glass bowl gets released into the wild, where it belongs.

how it started

in

how do i begin to tell you what is going on with me? the past four days have been a roller coaster, to say the least. i feel the focus of my life shifting due north, to a place called home. and i want to tell you this story, but i feel so bereft of words and energy. all that i have has been pulled full-stop out of me through the course of these few days.

but i will try.

it began a week ago thursday, when kirsten was here. we've taken to calling this day of our visit "that thursday" because God shocked both of our systems that day.

for me, it began with an unassuming saunter into the front room after a thwarted attempt to take a nap. kirsten was sitting at the table in the quiet, organizing her digital photos on her computer. i sat down and promptly began what i can only call a spontaneous, surprising, unanticipated, unknown-even-to-me confession.

i told her that i had put my business idea on a high shelf about two months ago, that i'd left it there ever since, that i've been afraid to even think about it, much less talk about it, even much less take it back down, that just thinking about it brings me so much shame and pain. i told her that i have no idea what i'm doing with my life or what God wants from me. i told her that all i know is that i love people's hearts so much that it hurts, that all i want to do is sit with people where they are, helping them discover what that place even is and what God has for them there, that this is what fills my heart so full.

and then i confessed something even i didn't know until that moment: that i care more about being with people in these scared and overgrown places than i care about writing words. which basically means that if i had to choose between writing books and articles for the rest of my life or sitting with people in their deep heart places, petitioning the Holy Spirit for discernment and asking for his dispensation of grace through the whole of it, all i would say in return to that ultimatum is, tell me where those people are.

it was a big admission.

by this time, i was crying huge tears, blubbering all over the place. and my beautiful kirsten friend did the most inspired thing she could have possibly done in that moment. she simply asked, "can i pray for you?" so she prayed, and i prayed. tiny words to a big God.

like i said, this is where it consciously began, just over a week ago. (even though i know it's been percolating a long time more than that.) but i think that's a sufficient tidbit to get us started for now, because sharing the rest of the story is still going to take a lot out of me. i hope you'll be patient with me as i try.

It Must Be Love

in

Kirk and I got iPod Shuffles today as early Valentine's Day presents. Aren't they just the cutest? Sigh. Even cuter is Kirk bopping around the house with his little white earplugs in his ears and his metallic silver Shuffle affixed to his dress shirt, thanks to the handy little clippy thing that's part of these little musical inventions. Cutie!

This little nubbin is just an inch and a half long, one inch tall, and about a quarter of an inch thick. Tiny! And so, so cute. I particularly think the green was an appropriate selection, as everything else in my life finds me in a season of green, including the linens and comforter on our bed, my computer case, my desktop screen, the interior lining of my computer bag, and even the sweater I'm wearing right now.

So, right now I'm happily listening to a shuffle of Leigh Nash,Melissa Myers,David Wilcox,Deb Talan,the Weepies, and the Once soundtrack. I hardly know what to do with myself and this fresh induction into the hall of technology!

A Literary Meme or Two

in

Today's meme roundup is two-for-one on a literary theme. Laura tagged me for the 1-2-3 book meme, and Heather tagged me about two weeks ago for a bookish meme that I knew would take some time to think through, being the sort of person that struggles to locate "just one" of anything.

***

For the 1-2-3 meme, the directions are:

1) Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2) Open the book to page 123.
3) Find the fifth sentence.
4) Post the next three sentences.
5) Tag five people.

The nearest book on my table, as semi-boring as it seems, is MacBook for Dummies. Page 123 finds us in the chapter about taking your laptop onto Safari, the default internet browser for Mac computers, which I take personal issue with because I switched out the Safari browser for the lovely Firefox shortly after I got this computer. I'm tempted to reverse this meme and pick a different book instead in protest! Sigh. But I will continue.

The fifth sentence on page 123 is the preface to a list: "Figure 8-5 illustrates the sheet that appears, in which you can 1) enter the name for the bookmark, and 2) specify whether you want the bookmark to appear in the bookmarks bar, the bookmarks menu, or an existing bookmarks folder."

Stimulating reading, indeed. It appears we have stumbled into a tutorial on setting up internet bookmarks.

To continue with the following three sentences, we learn: "To return to a bookmark, use one of these methods. 1) Click a bookmark button on the bookmarks bar. 2) Click the bookmarks menu and select a bookmark." Wow!

Okay, that was silly. It would have been more profound if I'd selected a different book. But memers can't be choosers.

***

As far as Heather's bookish meme goes, the questions are as follows:

1) One book that changed your life. I'm going to have to go with Anne Lamott's Traveling Mercies. I read this book back in 2000-2001, after having already read her cranky, cantankerous, wildly hilarious and honest Bird by Bird book on writing. When I learned that Lamott had become a believer, I had to learn what spirituality was like for this dreadlock-wearing, liberal, fiercely feeling white woman. Traveling Mercies is a book that moved me further along in the path toward grace. It helped me get more comfortable in my own quirky skin and to see the delicate, astounding beauty in every human being on this earth. Thank you, Anne Lamott, for helping my faith become as fierce and devoted and honest and raw and real as it is today. You have been an integral part of my journey.

2) One book that you have read more than once. This one is gonna have to be My Name Is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok. This is a book about a little boy who discovers an extraordinary artistic gift that both consumes and terrorizes him. The problem is, he comes from a devoutly Hasidic family, and his father is a leader both locally and internationally within their Jewish faith. "Making pictures" is considered unacceptable sacrilege. His father despises Asher's gift, and yet Asher can hardly control it and can only conclude that this gift has been given to him by God. It is an intensely vivid novel that explores the tension between art and faith and plunges one into the artistic mind and its highly emotional process. I've read it at least five times. Cannot recommend it highly enough.

3) One book you would want on a desert island. I know it sounds funny, but I would choose Blue Like Jazz by Donald Miller. It's funny because this book is primarily about community, about the ways that the collective members of the body of Christ can learn to love more purely, and yet I would be bringing it to a place where community only comes in packs of wild animals. (Yikes!) But I would choose it anyway for two reasons. First, because reading Donald Miller helps me feel so much less alone. His beautiful words on themes that mean much to me would make the isolation less painful. And second, because these themes move me so deeply that I would likely be moved to prayer for the collective body of Christ back on the mainlands of civilization. In my isolation, I would offer only what I could, making use of otherwise useless time, and still offering my own participation to a body that divinely connects and transcends location.

4) Two books that made you laugh. I think the first book I was conscious of spontaneously laughing out loud while reading was Nick Hornby's About a Boy. I read that book shortly before the movie came out several years ago (and the book was way more hilarious than the movie), and it had me laughing so frequently and happily that I went straight on to read Hornby's several other books. Just could not get enough. Don't you love that, finding an author who does that to you?

Another book that made me laugh was Anne Lamott's Grace, Eventually. Really, all of her books make me laugh, but this is the one that most recently did it for me. Kirk says that he can always tell when I'm reading Anne Lamott because I have a special kind of laugh that only comes out when one of her books is in my hand, when her words are running through my mind and steeping into my consciousness of life and what it's all about. What can I say? The girl disarms me, helps me take life a little less seriously, while heightening my attention to it at one and the same time.

5) One book that made you cry. This one's easy. The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini. I read this book after writing a research paper on the film version of the novel that released in December. I was writing about the negotiation that took place between Paramount Vantage and the families of the young boys in the film, who were disputing the inclusion of some of the thematic material in the script and were fearing for their safety in Afghanistan once the film released. After spending two weeks staring at photographs of the two central characters in the film, reading about the conflict, learning why the conflict was an issue in the first place, and becoming emotionally tied to the way this story was affecting these boys' real lives, I had to go right out and purchase the book, carrying those two boys' faces in my mind as I read.

I carried the book on the plane with me when we headed out to California for Christmas, and I read straight through for eight hours, leaving just about 60 pages for the next morning. I did not expect it to affect me the way that it did, but I bawled several times -- on the plane, no less!! Several times I had to put it down and push it away from me because the tears were so fast and furious and the pain and connection so deep. Oh, this book moved me so deeply. I wish I could eat it and let it become a permanent part of my insides. But I guess, in a way, it already is.

6) One book you wish you'd written. I wish I'd written Traveling Mercies, mostly for the reason of its being a beautifully rendered account of one woman's spiritual journey, laced with grace. All three of these things -- beautiful writing, spiritual themes, the infusion of grace -- are so important to me in my own life. And I suppose I look upon Traveling Mercies as a pinnacle because it represents so much of what I've come to value and is one of the books that started me on my journey toward an embrace of these themes in my life and this kind of writing in the first place.

7) One book you wish had never been written. I can't say I have one in particular for this category, but I do wish none of the books that were written solely for financial gain, sensationalism, or trite answers to life were ever published. All they do is clutter the world with drivel and are a detestable position from which to apprehend life and reality.

8) Two books you are currently reading. My reading has slowed these days. I'm eeking my way through several, as indicated on my sidebar, but none of them have me gripped in their throes. I guess I'll say that I'm reading Secrets of a Freelance Writer by Robert Bly because I'm considering how I might make a living freelancing my services to corporate clients as I continue to wait for illumination from God on how to serve his people's hearts. I'm also reading an interesting memoir called The Golden Road by Caille Millner, an author who is my age and who grew up in California but who, at age 29, has already graduated from Harvard, has written for Newsweek and the Washington Post, has received several prestigious writing awards, and serves on the editorial board for the San Francisco Chronicle. Hello! Can you say accomplished?! Part of me envies her success, but another part of me knows that her road has not been an easy one (which is the story of the book). The deeper parts of me try to remember that we are each on a journey just our own.

9) One book you've been meaning to read. I've been meaning to read A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier. Anybody read it? Recommend it?

***

And now for the tags. I'm going to tag some of my literary-loving friends out there because I'd love to learn what they're reading and what books have helped make them who they are today. And, because I did a two-in-one meme, I take the liberty of tagging 10 people instead of just 5. I tag:

Kirsten at Lattes and Rainy Days
Sarah at I Am Sarah Grace
Rebecca at Rebecca's Kitchen Window
Jen at Bourgeois Baby
Christin at Renewed Day by Day
Chloe at Beauty in the Breakdown
23 Degrees at 23 Degrees
Eclexia at Eclexia
Terri at Listening Out Loud
Nate at Stealthy Darky

Feel free to do one or both of the memes, and to tag as many or as few people as you like in return. I look forward to reading your responses!

Day of Industry

in

Quick and tasty black beans, topped with homemade fresh salsa, my surprisingly successful attempt for lunch today, after a not-so-successful dinner last night.

The day started unpresumingly enough. Kirk had his first day of a new class, but my new class doesn't start until Wednesday. This meant a day of quietness, which is just what I desired in the aftermath of so many rich revelations during Kirsten's visit. I hoped to sit with some of the new thoughts that rose to the surface while she was here, perhaps talk them over with God, see what more He might have to say about all those things, perhaps gain even greater clarity about the many, many questions bubbling up inside of me about my life.

While the morning was slow in its unfolding hours, I did not spend them in the reflective way I thought I would. Instead, I read news clippings, updated my planner with this month's class schedule, began tinkering with iMovie and iPhoto in order to publicly share the very special StoryCorps interview that Kirsten and I recorded while she was here (should have something for you within the next few days!), and played the Yes We Can video repeatedly as I worked.

All I really needed to get done yesterday was a trip to the grocery store, so I was putting it off to the afternoon. And since Kirk decided this weekend that he really wants to try a 28-day detox and fasting regimen this month in an effort to reconnect to a health-first lifestyle, I knew this would simply involve creating a list of lots of healthy legumes and vegetables.

Simple, huh?

As most of you know, I know next to nothing about preparing meals, much less healthy ones. The closest I had gotten were the few meals created while Kirsten was here, inspired out of her own creative mind, and the short-lived attempt at a raw foods life last year.

Thankfully, Kirk had a book in mind for this month-long feat. The book is called Get Healthy Through Detox and Fasting by Dr. Don Colbert, one of the authors I worked with during my time at the publishing house. In short, we are embarking upon something called a modified Daniel diet for 21 days, followed by a 7-day juice fast. This regimen will clean out and detoxify our skin, our cells, our tissues, and our organs, leaving our bodies healthy and whole at the end of it, something Kirk has come to increasingly value as he goes on in life, with me tagging along to bring up the rear. Ha!

I appreciated that Kirk told me that it was completely up to me whether to participate in this eating plan with him or not. As I've shared previously, me and my body have warring issues in the food department. I tend to feel confused, frustrated, scared, and schizophrenic when it comes to eating and taking care of myself. The thought of embarking on a 28-day commitment in this area was nothing short of perplexing. I decided to skim through the book on Monday not only to prepare the grocery list for the foods he would need but also to make my final decision on whether to join on in.

It took just a short skim through the first few chapters for me to remember that this is something my body probably needs. So I kept going, kept scanning the sections on the eating plan and eventually getting to the pages and pages of recipes in the back. Maybe due to having prepared a few healthy meals while Kirsten was here and finding it relatively easy and even fun, I found myself receptive to the idea of this plan. It really helped, too, that the recipes at the back of the book looked positively do-able for me. They were short and utilized a lot of similar ingredients, some of which I'd already become familiar with in my previous shopping expedition for Kirsten's visit.

I began to notice the problem as I worked to prepare the shopping list. Kirk had already begun a list of cruciferous vegetables, not linked to any specific recipe, but now I needed to buy manifold ingredients for 28 recipes for the week: breakfast, snack, lunch, and dinner for seven days straight. Yikes!

This became a problem because I had no system. I skimmed recipes that looked pretty good, noticed that many of the ingredients matched many of the ingredients in other recipes, and wrote down the items. I wasn't keeping track of overlapping items on the list or whether the items I wrote down were tied to recipes I actually wanted to try. However, in the hard-headed way that I do sometimes, I just kept blazing ahead.

Until I snapped.

"Arrrgh!!" I sighed, loudly. You might even have called it a harumph. I felt so confused! My eyes were swimming over a sea of ingredients, none of which were arranged in any sensible way. I felt completely taken out of the game by this lame 28-day idea.

Eventually I pulled it together and realized all it took was a bit of order. I turned the list over and created a list of recipes that looked easy to make. Why not go easy on one's self in the first week? Give yourself a chance to succeed and do it well, is what I say. So under the categories of breakfast, snack, lunch, and dinner, I selected about five recipes for each to try out this week, figuring we could repeat those which were successful or heat up leftovers, if there were any.

Once the recipe list was compiled, I transferred it to a clean sheet of paper and made it look pretty. (Gotta love the organized pretty; keeps one motivated!)

Then it was time to create the new grocery list. This became easy! I went down the list of my recipes for the week and shuffled to each recipe in the book as I went, writing down the ingredients I needed. When perishable items began to repeat, I added a tally mark to the existing ingredient on the list. And when it came to nonperishable items, such as the numerous spices and oils and other sundry bulk items, I just grinned to myself and thought, "Yeah, that one item will last me for a while."

This entire process took about 4 1/2 hours. I am not kidding you. I know that probably sounds like an exaggeration, but it seriously is no joke. But you can go ahead and laugh anyway, because I know it's pretty funny. Even though it didn't feel funny at the time, in the slightest.

In all, this grocery excursion required trips to three separate grocery stores: Costco, Whole Foods, and Publix. Seeing as how it took the entire afternoon to complete the list, the shopping began right about the time the streets became flooded with cars, everyone coming home from work but also stopping at the store to pick up some last-minute items for dinner. This means the streets and stores were crowded and this already cranky, tired girl became crankier and tired-er.

I could only muster the heart to do Costco and Whole Foods yesterday, saving Publix for this morning, but you should have seen me trying to complete this part of the job, staring at shelves and asking many employees along the way for help repeatedly. Where do I find Ezekiel bread? What about coconut milk? Rice milk? Agave nectar and butternut squash? Barley?

When I finally got home last night, two hours later, I decided to make one of the meals originally planned for Kirsten's visit, knowing I had all the ingredients, whereas many of the freshest ingredients for these new recipes were still on the produce shelves at Publix, waiting for me until morning to pick them up. I selected a Thai dish with homemade peanut sauce for our evening meal, and this took about an hour for my already tired mind and body to prepare. (Seriously, how do people do it??)

I guess the bummer news is that the meal did not turn out. I cooked brown rice for the first time, and for whatever reason the instructions are different than for white rice. I didn't cook it long enough but didn't realize this was the case until it was too late. On top of that, the peanut sauce did not turn out. It ran more watery than expected, even though I had it heating on a slow-burning heat for about 45 minutes. Grr!! This is not the way to end a difficult day of unexpected activity!

Kirk was a good sport, though, insisting on eating my share even as I looked on in disbelief. It really was not good, folks, but perhaps that estimation was more psychological and therefore exaggerated than it was based in reality. Even tonight, Kirk says he wants to heat up its leftovers. Silly boy! (And this picture to the left is his stamp of approval on the black-beans-and-salsa lunch I created today, which I must agree, was quite tasty.)

Too Much for Words

in

I'm not even going to try to encapsulate this week's visit with the gorgeous, lovely, beautiful Kirsten. Oh, what a rich visit, so blessed in so many ways. I'm trying not to think about the morning, when we will have to say goodbye.

Yesterday was the day of tears and deep conversation. Today was pure fun: our StoryCorps interview (oh. my. goodness.) and a fun day out at the beach, playing in the waves with our bare feet and with Kirk, our paparazzo. In a little bit, we're heading out for some last-minute girl-time over yummy cheesecake dessert.

Thank you, Kirsten, for the gift of your presence and conversation and deep friendship. I love you from the place in my heart only you can ever inhabit. And thank you, God, for your overwhelming goodness and creativity and grace.

What Kirsten Didn't Know . . .

in

(I tried to get this post written before I went to pick Kirsten up from the airport yesterday, but was not fast enough because of hunting down all the links. The fun outcome of not getting it written in time is that I can provide some follow-up pictures to go with the initial post idea!)

Our beautiful friend Kirsten is flying in the air right now. Her flight will land in just over an hour, and I'm leaving to pick her up after I finish this post. I thought, while she's in midair, it would be fun to let you all in on a little secret I've been preparing for her stay.

Some of you have followed Kirsten's story for a while and know that she had intense stomach issues last year. For others of you newer to her journey, I'll give you the skinny. She landed in the ER. She saw a gastroenterologist. She had an endoscopy and was diagnosed with a hital hernia and gastric mucosal atrophy. She still didn't get any better, nor did she feel she was heard, so she stopped trusting the status quo. She saw a naturopath instead, who put her on an intensely strict elimination diet. And she (finally!) got lots, lots better.

Because she felt so much better with that strict elimination diet, Kirsten decided to stick with a modified elimination diet long-term. She now lives a gluten-free life and is very careful about everything she puts into her body. I so respect that girl for this.

As you can imagine, for someone not keen in the kitchen (I'm talking about me here), plus not acquainted with the ways of the gluten-free world, this posed quite the quandary. What to feed this special girl while she's staying in our home? Of course, Kirsten was so gracious in every interaction we had about this subject, graciously assuring me that she was sure to find something she could eat no matter where we went. But still, I wondered about those meals we would share at home . . .

Enter a divinely inspired brainstorm! Up to the front of my mind came the memory of many elimination diet-related posts from Kirsten's journey through this process in which she shared many zany tales as well as favorite recipes she'd concocted out of her own ingenuity and creative, experimental spirit for this new experience in the land of food. I scoured all the posts she had labeled under "health" on her blog, and found a number of delicious-sounding meals we could create. All it took was a trip to the grocery store, special ingredients list in hand.

Voila! Here we have cubed, extra-firm tofu, sea salt, organic free-range chicken, crushed rosemary, limes, lemons, green beans, tomatoes, avocados, ground turkey breast, green peppers, rice vinegar, rice noodles, and much, much more. Some of these ingredients are a first for me!

Four recipes on the docket for this week . . . Turkey Pow, Mexican a la Kirsten, Southwest Chicken, and Thai Dish with Peanut Sauce. Sound good, huh?

Fun in the kitchen together. Isn't that girl on the right totally gorgeous?! I think so, too.

Ahhh, the delight of the prepared meal, complemented by a great bottle of wine. (We both got a little tipsy, which was a hoot. Kirk was our designated driver when it came time for dessert. Just kidding -- it wasn't that bad. Okay, it was. Kind of.)

Awaiting Kirsten

in

Here in sunny, crisp Florida, everything and everyone awaits with happy expectation beautiful Kirsten's arrival on the morrow . . .

The neighborhood and the light filtering through its

tropical hanging moss trees are hushed in expectation . . .

The lake waters are calm, reflecting the sky that

boasts blue for you, beautiful girl . . .

The sun peeks around trees and through wispy clouds

and off reflective waters in its joy to show off for you . . .

The house sparkles clean and stands ready

to show off its snug cuteness . . .

Solomon sits in my lap and asks,

"Will this girl let me lounge on her bed?"

Diva says, "I'm sleepy from my catnap,

but will she let me sleep next to her?"

Watch out! Kirk's got his party on . . .

And I've got my thrill on, big time!

Medium-Boiled Eggs, Properly Done

in

By request, for Rebecca, I'm posting here my mom's surefire recipe to perfect medium-boiled eggs. Yum, yum, and enjoy!

* Place eggs in pan with enough cold water to just cover the eggs. Place pan on stove, covered, and bring to boil.

* Once water begins boiling, reduce heat to medium and time for 3 1/2 minutes more.

* At conclusion of 3 1/2 minutes, scoop each egg out of the pan with a spoon and run under cold water for several seconds.

* Tap with a knife to crack shell and then peel. (Watch your fingers on this part! Ouch, it can sometimes burn if you haven't cooled the eggs under cold water long enough.)

* Once the eggs are peeled and placed in bowl, mash up with a fork.

* Sprinkle salt and pepper to taste. You may also enjoy melting a pat of butter on the eggs for extra flavor.

* Then eat and enjoy!

Silly Stuff

in

It gives me so much joy to share that this week has been filled with much lightheartedness. It began toward the end of last week, when the difficult season I've been walking through got a little bit easier, saw a little bit of light, which has felt so, so good. That was perfect timing, just before my birthday, which, as you know, was also a great gift. And since then, my heart has just been lighter. Less frightened. More space-filled. More light.

Which means that rather than anything profound, tonight I just feel like sharing fun stuff. Up for it? :)

First, I couldn't be more pleased that I am composing this post on my MacBook Pro in my little library nook . . . at home. This may seem like no big deal on the surface, but believe me, it's a big deal. It means that Kirk and I finally got hooked up with wireless internet access in our home.

We did this for our Macs. We also did this for our sanity. Up til now, we've been operating our internet access through a mobile broadband card that fits only into our ancient PC laptop. It was actually Kirk's birthday present to me last year, before our Macs were in the picture, when we'd been operating without internet access at home for about six months. However, since then, we've gotten new computers for school that can't use the broadband card. Plus, the card that only works in one computer also means that only one of us can be online at a time when we're at home. Which has become quite inconvenient for the reality of our daily lives.

Mostly, we've just been too cost-conscious to invest in an additional monthly bill for wireless access after we already pay $60 per month for the broadband card, for which we had signed a two-year contract. When I decided to call and see if there was any way to waive the cancellation fee on the card (thinking that would allow us to then channel the $60 payment into wireless access instead), the customer service rep said there was no way to waive that fee. But then she proceeded to tell me that she could reduce my monthly bill (which includes my cell phone) to basically what I pay for the cell phone by itself . . . meaning the broadband card payment would disappear. Which basically meant we could now afford wireless internet in the home for our Macs while still having the broadband card for use on the PC, all of it costing the same exact amount we've already been paying. Crazy, huh? Crazy cool, that is.

So the guy came today to set it up, and now Kirk and I are flying high and fast across these wireless internet highways. And the great news is, we can work across from each other at the table while both getting done what we need to do. No more of this, "Um, honey, can I get on there when you're finished?" stuff. We're stoked!

As I type this, I'm crunching on homemade popcorn, sprinkled with salt and drizzled with melted butter. Yum. I'm also drinking Pepsi. And I'm in the middle of watching Pieces of April (which I reviewed here, if you're curious). Sigh. I love this movie. And I still adore Katie Holmes. (I know, I know, most people don't. But I am not one of those people.)

Those of you who remember my fiasco in the kitchen that was an attempt to make soft-boiled eggs for breakfast will be happy to learn that I have finally mastered this skill. Just this week, I tried it out and succeeded. Score! (This was due in large part to my mom's detailed instructions in the comments section of that original post. Thanks, Mom!) Doesn't this bowl of eggs look yummy and much better than the last attempt?

And speaking of cooking, many of you are aware that I Do Not Cook. However, last night (probably surfing on the confidence wave of my soft-boiled egg success!), I tried my hand at a bona fide meal. I served up literal meat-and-potatoes: top sirloin steak cooked medium to medium well, boiled fingerling potatoes with butter and salt and pepper sprinkled on top, and juicy corn on the cob. Oh yes, and lemonade. Doesn't this meal look well-rounded and splendid? I'm moving on up in this kitchen scene!

I guess that's about all for tonight. Gotta get back to my movie now! :)

Jumping Into My Bookbag of Tricks

in

I recently finished three books that completely knocked my socks off, all for the same reason: they are superbly written stories that unveil the beauty and fragility of the human heart. Although one's fiction, one's spiritual autobiography, and one's a social work memoir, these books transcend genres by demonstrating that a well-told story that dignifies the spirit in us and others has the power to not only captivate but also help us better embody our own humanity.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

The Kite Runner is the story of two boys, Amir and Hassan, who grow up in Afghanistan. Although they come from two very different social classes -- Amir's father is wealthy, and Hassan's father is a servant in Amir's home -- the two boys are best friends. However, where Hassan is as innocent as a dove, Amir is watchful and possessive, particularly of his father's affection, which does not flow down to him freely. And on one particular afternoon, when Amir has an opportunity to rescue Hassan from one of the most vulnerable circumstances a young boy could possibly endure, Amir chooses to run away and leave his small friend alone.

It is a decision that haunts Amir the rest of his life. And when we meet him in adulthood, he is presented with an opportunity to atone for his sin. The only question is, does he yet have what it takes to take a stand, to be loyal, to exert himself beyond his own pain, even if it will ultimately cost him his life?

I don't know how to communicate with enough force the importance of this book. Not only is it a masterpiece in the art of storytelling, with layers upon layers folding and unfolding upon themselves with such skill and dexterity that it makes you gawk in amazement, but it tears your heart open at what we as humans have the power to do to one another, and how utterly vulnerable are the innocents. Hassan's innocence and loyalty and trust, in particular, captivated my heart and made me love him deeply; I felt the same tender affection and protectiveness toward his son, Sohrab, later in the book. But there were other times I wanted to throw the book as far across the room as possible, either because of Amir's despicable actions (or inactions) or because of the positive ugliness of human evil. This story maintains a constant tension between the delicate and the forceful, the beautiful and the ugly, the redemptive and the damned, with a final culmination that builds with greater and greater intention into events positively heartbreaking and full.

I'm kicking myself for having waited so long to read this book, because it is one of the finest novels I have ever read in my life. I mean that sincerely. It will get inside your soul and eat you up. It will make your heart explode. It will make you weep again and again and again. It will spend you. I do hope you decide to read this book someday, if you haven't already. And I would love to hear your thoughts on it when you do.

The Spiral Staircase by Karen Armstrong

As I shared in a previous post, Karen Armstrong's The Spiral Staircase: My Climb Out of Darkness is a book that found me, quite unexpectedly, in a Borders bookstore. In my original post, I shared that I thought this book might be important for me at this time in my life, and I believe I now know why.

Armstrong's story is many things. It is the story of someone who wanted to find God so badly that she went searching for him inside convent walls, only to learn that God was not found in strictures and the flagellation of the self. It is the story of someone learning how to live outside convent walls and outside the life of faith. It is the story of someone who thinks academia can save her, only to find herself eventually cast outside its walls, too.

It is the story of someone searching for a life. It is the story of someone finding a life. It is the story of someone struggling for many years through a misdiagnosed illness, and it is the story of someone eventually moving back toward the idea of God, though from quite an unconventional vantage point.

I really resonated with many of these searches of Armstrong's life, but what struck me most forcibly about this book is that it is also the story of the tenderness of the human heart and why it must be treated with care above all else -- why it must be given room to breathe and have full life or it will die. Much of Armstrong's painful experience of the Catholic convent concerned the rigidity, the rules, the fastidiousness, and the uncompromising obedience she was forced to give in questionable circumstances without being given the privilege of a question. She makes repeated pleas for love, for affection, for understanding, and for God, only to receive in return closed doors, closed lips, and closed hearts. She is dismissed as dramatic and dangerous. She is left completely alone.

My own heart broke for Armstrong many times as I saw the many instances where the opportunity for true life was there, right within reach, and could have been had through the simple attempt of another human being to understand and receive and love her, right where she was, and yet how each human being chose instead to turn away. There seemed to be a treacherous fear of reality behind the eyes of each of those people.

I read this book while staying at a monastery in Santa Barbara, California. It was a quiet space to contemplate these themes concerning the human heart, honesty, and understanding. As I read, I felt a tremendous roar welling up inside of me to protect and defend the hearts of other human beings, to allow them room to speak their truth, no matter how scary they have feared that truth may be, even if such truth has been hidden for years behind masks and rage. It is my conviction that the love of Christ is found in such unguarded moments and in such merciful places. I guess you could say that my compassion for Armstrong and my rage at what harm she received from so many different outlets was simply a confirmation of my own calling.

This book was also a teacher for me. Many times I watched Armstrong reach a crossroads in her life, either through circumstance or relationship, and then watched her look introspectively inside herself to decide who she was going to be, separate from anyone else's dictation. Sometimes, when accused of wrongdoing or exaggeration, she went deeper inside herself to consider ways she may have been wrong, or what part was hers to own in some mishap. I really respected these qualities in her, the willingness to carve her own path and the openness to consider her own fallacy, especially in a time when I am learning to speak my own truth and to own my own life. This book, probably without the author's intention, taught me much about personal boundaries.

And finally, this book challenged me. When I spoke of it in my previous post, many of you indicated an interest in learning where Armstrong lands spiritually by the end of the book. The book is very much an excavation of her own appraisal of that question through an approximately 30-year journey. After leaving the convent, she stands on the fringes of Catholicism, simply because it is all she knows. Then she brazenly rejects it for a very long season. Religion becomes an intellectual pursuit only, and she finds much to criticize in the Christian faith. But slowly, slowly, she begins to contemplate God and His real presence again.

For those looking for a final-page conversion story back to Christianity, I'm sorry to say you will not find that here. Armstrong embraces the Abrahamic faiths -- Christianity, Judaism, and Islam -- as equals and more symbolic than true. What you will find, however, is something somewhat remarkable in its own right. Because Armstrong met with so much personal injustice in her own life, saw the effects of hard-heartedness and an unwillingness to listen and receive vulnerable pilgrims in their quests for love and understanding through the unfolding of her own story, the momentum of this theme builds through the book until it makes perfect sense that she ultimately embraces something which she calls the science of compassion: a so-high regard for the dignity of other human beings that it asks for our sincere attempt to get inside their skin, to see the world from their eyes so that we can truly understand and receive them where they are.

I found this idea marvelous on one hand, because I think it is the true spirit of Christ. It also mirrors much of my own conviction about the need for compassion and the dignity of the human heart. However, it also lands Armstrong eventually at her own conviction that no human being can proclaim to have knowledge of any supreme truth of one religion above another, which challenges me because I subscribe to the Christian faith as a true representation of reality. Her movement from compassion to this rejection of any overarching religious truth forced me to consider how my own zeal for compassionate love does not land me where she does. This is a complicated question I have not fully wrestled to the ground. Even so, hers is a superbly told story that is very real and worth reading, and which ends with some strong roots shooting down into true and beautiful places, even if not fully mirroring my own perspective on reality.

One Small Boat by Kathy Harrison

I picked up One Small Boat quite by accident two weeks ago when browsing the bargain racks at Borders. I was drawn to the cover (isn't it cute?) and then to the title and subtitle: One Small Boat: The Story of a Little Girl, Lost Then Found. Wow. Compelling.

It didn't take much more to hook me. The jacket copy described a five-year-old girl named Daisy who showed up on the author's doorstep in need of care. Harrison, who with her husband is a long-time foster care parent, has seen almost everything in her twenty-year tenure, yet Daisy's case is unique. She barely eats. She doesn't speak. She flaps and spins. And what's more, her family doesn't fit the usual demographic.

Yet what happens under Harrison's roof in the name of Daisy's healing is nothing short of miraculous. Here, she learns to eat real food. Here, she begins to smile. Here, she starts to communicate. Here, she begins to shine.

I am not a parent, nor do Kirk and I have plans to ever be. So why was I so taken with this book? Why did I carry it with me everywhere I went in this past week? I finally realized that it came down to this: the sheer vulnerability of a life, how it can be broken in such young places, and how healing is found in love, in safety, in trust, in strength, in softness, in grace, in the arms of a human touch. This book will break your heart and make you laugh. It will amaze you and astound you. It will make you shake your head and it will make you yell out loud. You will wish to God the story wasn't true. But you will also give great thanks that it is.

You're Talking to the Birthday Girl

in

Getting ready for my big night out!

Last night, as the clock struck midnight, Kirk broke out the vanilla bean ice cream with gobs of chocolate sauce to begin the celebration of my special day. We sat at the table in the farmroom with candles flickering around us, chocolate covered yumminess in bowls before us, the contents making their way to our mouths quite quickly, and a few Deb Talan songs playing on my iTunes. (I finally discovered her yesterday after Kirsten's great recommendation, and I played "Comfort" and "Big Strong Girl" to give Kirk a sneak peek, too.)

When we turned in for bed, Kirk said he wanted to pray a birthday blessing for me. I was willing to receive that, but asked if he would also pray that I would feel the specialness of my day all day today. In years past, it has been hard for me to really embrace the fullness of my birthday when it happens. This might be because I shared the same birth date with a longtime significant other in my life for ten years; birthdays were spent as a shared event, rather than a unique focus on one or the other of us. This wasn't a bad thing, but it did have the effect of keeping me from experiencing the fullness of a special day just for me. And even in the years since then, I've felt disconnected from my day. The residue of long habit, I suppose.

This year, I wanted that to be different. I wanted to drink it in, allow myself to receive all the love from those around me, believe that today is special because I am in it, because I was born and my life is a miracle created by God.

When the morning came, it crept in slowly. We slept in because Kirk didn't have his morning class, and that felt like luxurious goodness. I dressed for the day in a layered outfit that made me feel girlie and pretty, and tied a spun-gold glass heart necklace around my neck that Kirk had given me for Christmas. It was a cloudy, cool day -- like English weather -- which is just the way I love it and would have it be every day if I could control the skies.

And then I proceeeded to freely tell people it was my special day all day long. I had an appointment this morning; I told the lady at the desk and the person I was meeting with that it was my birthday. Instead of hello when I answered the phone, it was, "You're talking to the birthday girl!" And when the waiter at dinner tonight approached the table to introduce himself and ask how we were doing, I told him we were doing great because it was my brithday. He said, "All right!" and knocked fists with me (even though it was a classy joint). All of this was fun.

But back to the chronology of the day. After lunch at my favorite Thai restaurant, Kirk dropped me at school. I was running a few minutes late because of lunch and my earlier appointment, and someone from class text messaged me, asking, "Where you at, girl?" Turns out she had baked me a cake, complete with a personalized birthday message on top! They were hoping I hadn't skipped out on class because I wasn't there yet, but I hadn't, so we enjoyed some yummy butter-pecan-cake richness together as a class when I arrived. I felt vervy in class today, hamming it up during a somewhat spontaneous presentation my group had to give about a made-up product we had to create for a pretend product launch. My phone continued to buzzz with birthday calls and text messages, so I felt enfolded in love even as I sat through this afternoon class.

But what's really special about today is the secret plans Kirk made to take me out. I had received an e-mail from Kirsten yesterday, asking about our plans for the birthday weekend (since Kirk's birthday is tomorrow, the day after mine, if you can believe it), and I had told her a sketch of what we might do, though nothing had been set in stone yet. When I mentioned this to Kirk yesterday afternoon, to get a feel for how his own thoughts on the weekend had developed, he said matter-of-factly, "Oh, there are plans." Really?! He's quite the secret planner guy, and I felt all amazed and special inside to learn that he had made plans to take me somewhere I'd never been before tonight. It made my day to anticipate the evening outing all day long, without having to know what it was. I love surprises.

But before we got to the special plans, we came home from school and took a nap. I pulled on flannel pajama bottoms and a comfy t-shirt and crawled into bed. It was cozy on a cloudy day, and we slept soundly for an hour. We were tired!

And then he took me to dinner. Kirk told me the place would be hip, not formal, and he was right. "Z," a restaurant and wine bar in downtown College Park, has dim lighting, red walls, and original artwork hanging everywhere like a gallery show. All of the artwork is for sale, and new artists get shown every two months. Pretty cool revolving decor concept, we thought.

My handsome hub perusing the wine list

So happy to be enjoying the special evening

At our quiet table by the window, we enjoyed soup and salad, a full-bodied bottle of Merlot that the general manager recommended to us himself, and their famous filet mignon that really is famous for a reason. Yum! Of course, we are dessert people. Kirk got sorbet, but I couldn't resist ordering four chocolate-covered strawberries to enjoy with the rest of my wine. Yum-yum! And of course, great conversation centered around art and faith.

Yummy desserts!

Afterward, we stopped by Borders to purchase a CD by the Weepies, another new band we wanted to hear because we now love Deb Talan so much (she's one-half of the Weepies group with her husband), and we drove home listening to our new tunes.

Except the night wasn't over. I still had to read my birthday card, and Kirk said there was one more gift. As he set up the front room for the final gift-giving, I went into the bedorom to read the card and proceeded to be moved into a whole other galaxy. Can I just say my hub is so deep and feeling in the way he expresses himself to me? Inside the card, he had written me a poem of sorts. It reads so beautifully and lyrically and contains so many images of how he sees me in the world, and I felt so held and cherished and seen and loved as I let those words wash over me.

When Kirk invited me back into the front room, I found he had lit candles and turned the Weepies way up on the player, and that he had settled on the mantle shelf, so subtle that I had to really notice it was there, my gift: the one original print of Kelly Rae's that I've always, always wanted, called "Tell Your Story." When I noticed it sitting there, I squealed so loud and jumped up and down and threw my arms around him before hopping up on a chair to study it more closely. I just stood there and stared, taking in every single word of this gorgeous piece of artwork that this gorgeous woman created. Every single word on this brilliant print is my heart's deepest song, the words I want to remember as I live in the world every day, the words I am learning to live for real and for true right now.

Gazing at my Kelly Rae print

A closer view of "Tell Your Story"

Thank you all for your words of love and birthday well-wishes on my last post. In all, it was such a wonderful day. I feel like I truly embodied the fullness of its specialness in a way I never have before, just like I asked Kirk to pray that I would. Your love was a part of that specialness for me, carried so close to my heart.

My Heart Shouts Her Way Into My Consciousness

in

If you had spent any amount of time with me in the past few days, you would have felt the mood surrounding me to be that of heartbreak. Deep sadness. Grief. Fear. Long, thick disappointment. Pain. Disbelief. Spurts of anger that did their best to flash brightly, only to flicker a brief instant before fizzling without fanfare, giving birth to the mother of all horrible realities: shame.

It began over the holidays, with the awful, scary emotions that stirred up from my deep without any forewarned explanation. I was in freefall mode, only these past few days realizing my heart had closed up shop on interpretations of my life that simply no longer worked. I suppose my heart knew all along, knew it in the deep interior rooms that got locked away before I was ever conscious that heart had a person living inside of it, before I ever knew she needed care, before I ever knew I had chosen not to choose her, going instead with forces outside myself that taught me to survive.

I'm older now. Now I know I have a heart and that we share a name given only to the two of us, inextricably bound forever, her and me. She has unlocked some of the interior rooms in recent years, now moves freely in and out of those rooms she has learned I am trustworthy to guard, the ones I will fight fiercely to protect and make safe because they are her sanctified abode.

But there are more rooms inside there, rooms that have long been locked and bound and strapped with heavy leather strips a stitching awl cannot sever. She is wise, that one. She learned long ago she cannot trust me with some things, that I will quickly and easily abandon her in favor of other loves like a tiny child left at the curb by a parent too preoccupied by the concerns of his or her own head, the young girl's soft, small hand reaching for the handle just as the car pulls away and speeds far, far from there, the driver's mind already racing elsewhere with no thought for what got left behind until many hours later.

I think she has learned, though, that I am learning to listen. She has seen me protect her in the main rooms, has allowed me to invite other visitors to come and spend time there, trusts that those visitors are safe and is therefore increasing her trust in me.

Perhaps that is why what happened over the holidays happened. She's learning she has a voice, learning she knows how to shout, and that now I have the ears to listen and will likely choose her over anything else if I know it is her that's doing the shouting. So, timing it just right, she let out an ear-piercing shriek that wailed and wailed and wailed for fourteen days on end. And I got it. I listened. After I tried for most of that time to drown her out. And after I recovered from the shock and temporary hearing loss.

Then began the hard work. For the first time in years, I have begun using a journal. This is our journals, hers and mine. Most times I use it to channel my own thoughts as I seek to work out this new reality; other times I hand her the pen and let her say whatever the hell she wants. Sometimes I talk directly to her. Sometimes I talk to God. Sometimes I just talk to myself. I do this several times a day, whenever the noise of my own head or the sadness of my own heart gets too loud or deep to handle it on my own. Then I go: me, and her, and God, together in that small book. It is a saving grace.

This is not an easy work, the unlocking of these new doors. I carry enough reverence for her and for those locking mechanisms to know that being invited down these hallways and anywhere near these hiding places is something to undertake with great humility. I am learning not to defend myself; she doesn't want to hear it. I am learning to listen; she's more than happy to speak if she believes I really want to hear. I am learning even greater gentleness; she will recoil and hide again if I'm not careful with my moves, and I will be left to fend again in my old devices, which have only become more solitary and suffocating since she opened this new hallway and invited me in.

Most of the time, the work of this is done in solidarity, the two of us together, alone. Other times it involves speaking her truth out loud. That is the scariest part for me, but it's also her biggest test. She watches me warily, hanging back with great hope in her huge, deep-set eyes full of such feeling and depths I don't yet know the fullness of, but they are eyes that also flicker with fear and doubt that I will actually shoulder our life out there with others who may not understand and may want me to assign my loyalty to them instead. I know each one is a test, though, thankfully, and each one I face is yet another moment of asking myself the very same question again and again: What kind of person will you choose to be, Christianne?

It's heartbreaking work, as I said at the beginning. Mostly because life with my heart in the context of other people has meant an unexpected change of seasons, perhaps permanently. It has involved speaking my heart's truth in scary, dark places to those who may not understand, who have demonstrated that they do not, in fact, understand, and I turn to see my beautiful heart racing away like a squirrel, only the flash of white on the underside of her tail the reminder of what I had promised to do but am now tempted to betray in a compromise of truth. And so I turn back again, facing the truth head-on, deep breath, no matter the pain or humiliation it causes me for all the pain and humiliation she has already suffered, no matter how many of these encounters in the world tempt me to steep myself in all those emotions I listed at the beginning of this post so that I will turn and abandon my closest joy. This is me, defending her honor. I hope to serve her well.

Making the Day More Sweet

in

Early this morning (around 4 a.m.?), Kirk and I woke up at the same time and proceeded to stay awake for a slow, meandering conversation in the dark about many things: how to find the deepest meaning out of life, whether dying to self means losing our unique personhood along the way, what we think America most needs right now, and, finally, how to make each day a little sweeter.

Kirk asked me, do you think it's possible to make the day more sweet?

And I said yes. I think it's about being present in the moment. Taking the time to appreciate the beauty of what's right in front of you. Not rushing by in a frenzy to get to the next good place but taking in the goodness and the sweetness of what is right there already.

Today, because Periwinkle honored me with this award yesterday, I turn around and honor those who make each day a little sweeter in my world. The ones whose names I look for first when scanning my Bloglines account through the day. The ones whose blogs I revisit multiple times, just to catch up on the comments. But most of all, the ones whose words betray their own determination to drink in the full sweetness of each day by reflecting, making words out of their hearts, and offering themselves fully to others.

Kirsten and Terri, you two sweeten my every day for being the ultimate embodiment of these truths listed above.

Nathan and Tammy, I've only known you each about a week, but already you are often on my mind, and just the thought of you brings a smile of gratitude to my face.

I carry each of you in my heart each day, which means whether your blogs have new posts or your posts have new comments, you are always with me, bringing secret smiles to my face and blooming wild in my heart for the love of you. Thank you for offering true and safe community to me and to others, and for the companionship of your friendship in my heart.

A Beginner's Thoughts on Politics

in ,

Last night, Kirk and I previewed a DVD copy of a movie he'll be promoting this month and next. The film is called Article VI. It's about the interplay of faith and politics. You can check out the trailer here or here. (Personally, I find the trailer a little raw, and it certainly can't be faulted for not sparking controversy -- but perhaps that is its intention.)

The film is a documentary, not intended to promote any particular view or any particular candidate, even though the filmmaker is a Mormon. It's intended as a conversation starter. For instance, how has religion historically impacted politics? How is it impacting the '08 election? Should our religious beliefs dictate our voting behavior?

I'll be frank: it is at times difficult to watch this movie. Filmed in documentary style, it includes live footage of rallies, picketing protests, personal interviews, and religious extremists. Many of these extremists are evangelical Christians that I would not personally want to associate with. At one point, I had to ask Kirk to pause the film because the hatred spewing out of the eyes and mouths and swaggers of people standing on street corners wearing Jesus shirts and waving their Bibles became too much. My eyes could not help welling over with tears. These demonstrations and extreme views that preclude love really must grieve the heart of Jesus.

But I think the extremism of the film is effective. (And to be fair, it eventually moves into providing a more balanced view of evangelicals and the central questions in general.) At least for me, the movie was effective because it got me thinking about my own perspective on humanity and freedom and what America is founded upon. Is America a Christian nation, founded upon Christianity and with an obligation to stay that way, as so many of these demonstrators insisted, or is it founded upon free religious expression for all? I think the latter.

Hugh Hewitt, in a scene where he is interviewed on the film, seemed to say it best: "America is not a Christian country. It is a country that is predominantly populated by Christians. It takes its value system from Christianity. Its great civic religion is very much out of the laws of Moses and the teachings of Jesus Christ. There's no one that can deny that. . . . We are not a Christian republic in the sense that Iran is an Islamic republic. We do not have a Christian version of Sharia that is informing our laws. We have a constitutional order, as it has been from the beginning and as it ought to remain."

This post is not intended as a teaser promotion of the film, though you can choose to see it if you like. (It releases in theatres, with a simultaneous DVD release, on January 15.) This post is also not intended as a blanket statement of my political views. Far from it. I am so far from determining what those are that I would not presume to profess them here. And finally, this post is not intended as an exhortation for how I think other people should vote or believe, politically or in faith matters. I am the last person who would try to say -- or even desire to say -- what I think people should think or do with regards to their vote this year.

Rather, I'm writing this to express what the film stirred up in me and how that impacted my day today and my trajectory toward thinking about this election.

I'm sure you've heard about Hillary's surprising upstage of Barack Obama in New Hampshire this week. This morning, perhaps because of last night's film viewing, I began sifting through some of the articles and op-ed pieces about what happened. I watched the footage of Hillary's emotional response to a coffee shop interview question that likely won her the New Hampshire vote. And then I checked out Barack Obama's website.

I've got to say, I was impressed. Not only did I like the straightforward simplicity of how I could go about learning about him and his positions on the major issues, but I was heartened by his notion of America being a place we all live and make better together. I was inspired by his humble background and his work on the streets of Chicago, where he wasn't afraid to work hard and get his hands dirty in order to see real change happen. He really is a people's man, and I must say I like that in a presidential hopeful. It also says something about the personal political views beginning to form in me that I got teary-eyed twice when I previewed this short introductory video to his history and candidacy. In the end, I wondered if people feel about Barack Obama now the way people felt about John F. Kennedy when he came out of nowhere and took the presidential vote back in 1960.

Personally, I've got a long way to go in working out my political views. I'm registered Republican but have long wondered why this has become the predominant Christian party line if God really cares as much about social justice and compassion as the Bible indicates He does. (And it indicates that He does -- a lot.) I've wondered if I will ultimately vote Democrat in this election, and if I will eventually change parties altogether.

In order to do that, though, I need to learn. So today I finally got started. I went out and purchased the two books so far published by Barack Obama, The Audacity of Hope and Dreams from My Father. And I got goosebumps again just reading what feel like incredibly honest words in the introductions to both books. For instance, he says in his biography that one reason he loved working in state politics for a big industrical state like Illinois was because "one sees every day the face of a nation in constant conversation: inner-city mothers and corn bean farmers, immigrant day laborers alongside suburban investment bankers -- all jostling to be heard, all ready to tell their stories." Yes, that reference to everyday people's stories really got to me. I'm pretty sure anyone following this blog knows why. I loved that he seemed to be saying he understands the value of every human being's story and life.

I don't know how I'll vote this year, and I don't know what party line I'll ultimately take. But it's the first election I've ever really cared about, ever really wanted to understand, and so I'm glad at least for the baby steps I'm taking toward a political sensibility (albeit very much a beginner's sensibility) for my life.