Give 'em Hell Harry

Okay, I've done a bit of slacking. I recently chastised my friends Brittany and Taylor for depriving me of new blog posts, and here I am, writing for the first time in nearly two weeks. Yikes, that is embarrassing.

What is new...what is new? Well, I could tell you about Christmas, being home or the joys of finally making (slow and rather shameful) progress in Anna Karenina, but that would be forced, I think.

My father has been watching a documentary on President Harry Truman for at least the last hour and I find that my speech is being affected by that old way of speaking. You know: you hear it in recordings of old news casters or in the voice of Cary Grant in "An Affair to Remember". As I write, I am tempted to use phrases like, "Now look here!" or "Say, what do you mean by that?" or even "I think we could get along alright, so long as he doesn't give me too much soft soap!"

I find myself partial to Bess Truman. She was shy, private and a bit stern. It seems she wasn't all that pleased at being the first lady - Joe calls her "A simple Missouri woman". But Harry loved her. When they were in their early-mid sixties he is quoted as affectionally telling her that she looked "exactly as a woman of her age should look." How romantic (please do not imagine that I am being sarcastic). I think I will make it my goal, from now on, to look my age - to embrace it. Thanks Bess, or rather...thanks Harry? I appreciate it.

I'm not going to try to change your mind.

I wondered today why I always wanted to be somebody else. With that haircut and that skin and that body with those clothes. And now the blinders are lifted to be replaced by another pair. I now desire that haircut and a body that looks like that in those clothes.

But you can only do so much. And the media only has so strong a grip because it doesn't breathe or ache for meaning, for salvation. Neither does an oversized scarf or hair that looks messy enough to be by accident. But I do, and along with the earth I pine for His presence and for final rest from this constant comparison. I am in the process of reminding myself that I am set apart.

A sweet smell.

I'll tell you right off - I've been a cranky girl. I mean, Friday was just lovely and this morning I listened to John Piper via podcast. I am currently drinking an americano, wearing a sweater that Cass lent me and listening to a "James Taylor" Pandora station. But the cranky is hiding just below the surface.

If I were a camera, I would be out of focus. Pray for adjustment?

But, fuzzy photography aside, I learned something really wonderful the other day. In New Testament last week we went through all of the worship in Revelation as a class. This means that we spent 45 minutes participating in a type of liturgy followed by some songs of worship. During the liturgy, we read over Revelation 8:4: "...and the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel." This is where it hits the bone. This illustration has been an incredible blessing to me. Incense is used for it's beautiful smell. The implication is that for the incense to mix with the prayers rising from earth is to create the most beautiful and appealing of smells. My prayers are like incense to God Almighty. How poetic to imagine words of desperation, praise, thanksgiving and petition having a particular smell.

Later that night I was at After Dark (a student run chapel offered on Wednesday nights), and I tried to imagine my prayers as incense. I was feeling weighted and anxious and I decided to offer each of my anxieties up to the Lord separately. I began to pick them out: school, certain social situations, plans for the future, etc. These floated lightly and quickly up to my creator. As I dug deeper into my heart, however, my anxieties became heavier and the "smoke of my anxiety" seemed to hang in the air around me, refusing to rise. This is when I realized that I have not been truly trusting God with all that I have been dealing with this semester. I have been hanging on to these anxieties, afraid to relinquish control. Here is where the cranky comes into play. As the small situations in my life become more pressing (school, etc.), the buried frustrations of the deeper and larger situations are becoming manifest.

I don't exactly have an answer yet, but I do have prayer that I know is reaching the nostrils of He who gives me life.

In the Hood.

This is what I experienced over the weekend. Alpha Third East finally took a floor retreat and, let me just say, I am surrounded by some encouraging, persevering and heartwarming women of God.

I am so thankful for where He has me.

The Lily and the Rug

Some days,

I think you are
a vased lily set
on a corner table
and I am
a patterned rug
beneath you.

I am hoping that
someday,
a cat will brush you,
an arm will nudge you
or the quaking earth
will upheave you.
Your white blossoms
and fertile water will spill
over the table's lip
onto me.

It's not that
I wish you turmoil:
I just want you
as a rain of flowers,
however unexpected.

This poem © Gabriel Gadfly.

Like a catfish dancin' on the end of my line.

This is what I've been waiting for. I remember when we bought the couch that I am sitting on - when we put it in the living room of my old home. That was something like 8 years ago, and now I am lounging in the midst of a radically different family situation. The dynamic might have been a bit off the last couple of days but, in this exact moment, time has stopped: Emily and Meghan are on the floor in front of the fireplace petting Peanut; I can smell the cooling coffee; the sound of my mother doing the dishes is in my eardrum colliding with the Springsteen that Joe put in my Itunes. I need to go take a shower so that we can begin our Thanksgiving festivities, but I am afraid to leave my seat and set time back in motion.

I'll just need a minute to swallow the lump in my throat.

Turned Around

Here is the latter part of an NPR article about why human beings cannot walk in a straight line for an extended period of time while blind-folded. This article seems to say something about the human heart as well. Where do we end up if we do not look to Christ as our "corrective" or "external focal point"? If an analogy is to be drawn, I would say that we end up exactly where we started - nowhere.

"Humans, apparently, slip into circles when we can't see an external focal point, like a mountain top, a sun, a moon. Without a corrective, our insides take over and there’s something inside us that won't stay straight.

In our radio broadcast, Jan and I explore (just hit the "Listen" button on this page) possible explanations for this tendency to slip into turns. Maybe, I suggest, this is a form of left or right handedness where one side dominates the other? Or maybe this is a reflection of our left and right brains spitting out different levels of dopamine? Or maybe it's stupidly simple: Most of us have slightly different sized legs or slightly stronger appendages on one side and this little difference, over enough steps, mounts up?

Wrong, wrong and wrong, Jan says. He's tested all three propositions (the radio story describes the details) and didn't get the predicted results. There is, apparently, no single explanation for this phenomenon. He is working on a multi-causal theory.

So like walking in circles, we finish where we started: with Asa Schaeffer's very simple field studies, his graceful pencil lines (especially when our animator Benjamin Arthur gives them beautiful motion) posing the puzzle: How can we be turning and turning and not know it?"

The blue box.

The air was still tonight. I danced in the street wearing a zip-up hoodie and a flannel and if I had closed my eyes I might have been moving my feet over pavement 1000 miles north.

What makes a place? What combination of people and buildings give an atmosphere? Am I really living somewhere that people write songs about? Mayer sings, "I don't think I'm gonna go to LA anymore," and I realize Johnny has that option. He is a real person, you know, he makes real decisions. He'll probably come to LA though.

Life moves a little more quickly when there are people in it. Community does something to the look of it - like on Saturday when I spent time just being with people. I mean that literally, we just were, and I think that it was my favorite. Find me a category and I'll give that adjective a noun. When I think about the next couple years I am reminded of how small I am. I am not the main character - I am actually somewhat of an antagonist. He is greater than I. But I hope that I can spend the next couple - or maybe the rest of - my years being comfortable with people the way I was on Saturday. On Saturday I think I was 1000 miles north.

All the vampires walkin' through the valley.

I am very, very behind in Russian but it is being overshadowed by the rest of my life. This isn't good. (This space was meant to have the Russian word for "bad" but Blogger sucks). Oh Lord, please give my professor a merciful heart this week. Tomorrow I will sing a new song!

To excitement for "what is to come", to acceptance for what the Lord has in store.

To bed for this rather academically-concerned child of the Most High.

To running two miles with this in one's head:

She's a good girl, loves her mama

Loves Jesus, and America too

She's a good girl, crazy 'bout Elvis

Loves horses and her boyfriend too

It's a long day livin' in Reseda

There's a freeway runnin' through the yard
And I'm a bad boy cause I don't even miss her

I'm a bad boy for breakin' her heart.

Oh November.

I am munching on cheerios in class and

I am disappointed. I received an 86 on my Biblical Interpretation and Spiritual Formation midterm. I just want to take this moment to express how much I loathe B's. I studied for hours for this exam and it is frustrating that there was so much room for improvement.

I know, I know. I should be thankful. We are about to spend time in prayer in class so perhaps I will take this time to ask the Lord to change my heart. I need an attitude adjustment.

Encouragement

I know some really wonderful, extremely encouraging people:

1. I spoke with my friend Dean on the phone earlier today and at the end of our conversation he gave me this brief and sage advice:

(paraphrased)

"There are essentially two things that we must remember as Christians: Truth and Love. We are able to love because we are under the grace of God."

So we must understand and remember grace. That we are under grace is the truth, and that we love is evidence of grace. In order to love we must share the truth: That Christ died the death we deserve, making us righteous and allowing us relationship with the God of the universe.

Something along those lines.

2. I skyped my dear friend Britt yesterday and she and I discussed what it is to live a righteous life. We reminded each other of the basics. She reminded me of the power of prayer and the importance of grace and truth. Britt is one of those people who knows how to look for truth. Watching her find it was something that strengthened my faith.

3. The Lord is putting people in my life here at Biola who are gifted in encouragement. I'll just leave that there.

Abrupt is so in. Didn't you hear?

I have a friend in Jesus

I am starting to understand that old hymn. This morning, as read through John 14 and 15 I begin to remember, or perhaps for the first time comprehend, that I can relate to Jesus as a friend. I am beginning to realize that relationship with him is not purely servitude (I do not wish to blaspheme: I am a servant of the Lord, there is no question) but has an element of give and take.

"I no longer call you servants because a servant does not know his master's business. Instead, I have called you my friends, for everything I have learned from my Father I have made known to you. You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you to go and bear fruit - fruit that will last. Then the Father will give you whatever you ask in my name. This is my command: Love each other." John 15:15-17

The implications of this is huge, even if not beyond the confines of my mind or my heart.

Had I mentioned that I am back to the basics?

Looking forward, looking back.

How clearly does the Lord provide in times of need. How great and magnificent is His power. Listening to Dr. Don A. Carson on Friday night and then again this morning has had a tremendous impact on my soul. Not only is he a renowned author, trusted theologian, and a clearly anointed man of God, but I know absolutely nothing of his personality. I could listen to this man and feel safe and nourished: I was fed for the first time in many, many months. Praise God for provision.

Today was a good day spent with good company. Joel was kind enough to help me with scheduling and sorting out the mess of transfer-credit-paperwork and Melody sweetly shared with me some of her story. I like these people. I fully expect that my plan for their lives will come to fruition (see conversation had at Pick Up Stix).

Also, the above photo spoke to me. It is of the sky before Hurricane Katrina hit. Incredibly beautiful, fantastic even, but the source of so much pain and suffering. Perhaps there is a metaphor to be had.

This morning (afternoon), during the worship at the end of church, I prayed acknowledgement to God that He will not forsake me. I know this; I learn this over, and over again. But to say it out loud is extremely comforting and has a tremendous impact on my heart and mind. It also helps me to trust that God will provide. Because He will. He will.

"Cast your cares on the Lord

and he will sustain you;

he will never let the righteous fall.

But you, O God, will bring down the wicked

into the pit of corruption;

bloodthirsty and decietful men

will not live out half their days.

But as for me, I trust in you."

Psalm 55:22-23

One of these mornings

There is just something about being in California that is easily forgotten and a shock when remembered. I can’t exactly put my finger on it, though it is akin to dreaming that you are the subject of a song. A vivid dream. I have a dream? A dream is a wish your heart makes.

“Going out to California / Gonna let the water warm my clothes”

There are a few people whom I miss very much right now. I would be happy to simply be in the presence of these people. You know me. Well, maybe you don’t: I don’t like solitude. I like solitude even less than I like cantaloupe. And, oh, do I loathe cantaloupe.

Check out this band. “The Story I heard” is my new jam.

I can’t seem to focus. Maybe one day I’ll put my money where my mouth is and write something thought out and complete. What is it that I want to do? Write? Cue skeptical looks from the jury. Nudge whoever is beside you and raise your eyebrows. I know, I know! I don’t read or write nearly enough. I am out of practice. Also, I am a bit lazy.

And since we are being honest with each other I should tell you: As I was writing the last sentence of the last paragraph I accidentally wrote “lonely” instead of “lazy”. Any of you psych majors want to weigh in? Oh, don’t bother. We all know.

I feel inspired today.

Oh, but we have hope in hope.

Oh California, you've snuck upon me like a snake in a garden.

My hopes for you are high and widely spent.

I found you among the roses and you drew from me

an act I never thought I would. I am surrounded by

a lake of souls, manmade - messing with nature,

but we've got to stop the water crisis!

This is not my blessing. The mountains in the distance

serve as mediator between sky and golden plain.

I didn't think you'd have the nerve to come and say goodbye.

Just call me Bandon.

Though the world did not stop turning, you may have heard the tragic news: I have lost my beloved Outdoor School water bottle. This wonderful, brown, nalgene holder-of-sustenance was forgotten in the cup holder of La Mirada's very own Regal Cinemas. It is hard to regret going to see It's Kind of a Funny Story because the movie was such a pleasure to see (flashback to the imagined rock concert given by the patients of the mental hospital, lip-syncing Queen and David Bowie's "Under Pressure"), but to have lost a water bottle that has stayed with me through countless (about two) weeks out at Camp Namanu and at least one freshman year at college is...heartbreaking. I love my water bottle. I love that my camp name was written on it. Some employee of the movie theater probably found it and thought that I either a) can't spell, or b) have an odd phobia of the letter 'r'. This would make more sense if you knew my camp name: It's Bandon.

This said, I now drink my water from a coffee mug that sits on a shelf beside my bed. This is far less convenient/the source of immeasurable subconscious stress (what if I knock it over in the middle of the night?!). Oh, to be me.

Any ideas?

I really wish I were in the middle of a good book right now. Last year when I went away to school I brought all of my favorite books with me. All of the classics, my poetry, books I'd read for school, etc. By the end of the first semester I had absolutely no room on my bookshelf. This year, in an attempt to not try and fit my entire world into one 14x18 dorm room, I did not bring a single book that was not required for school. I also did not factor in that I am roughly 950 miles farther from home than I was the first time around. Oops: no grabbing a book on a weekend home this year. You live and you learn, I suppose.

Anyway, back to the initial issue. I wish I were in the middle of a good book right now. I don't want to keep learning some song about the New Testament or memorizing the Russian word for German - I would far rather be lost in the mind of a character. Take me to another world, teach me something that I don't know. A new word, perhaps? Give me something to THINK about. Hulu is no longer a satisfying distraction: it just leaves me feeling empty, guilty and tired - kind of like eating copious amounts of a desert that I don't care for.

I think I have lost my touch...if I ever had one.

Sweaters are nice.

Life throws you curveballs. For seriously. I have to give a speech this Friday. I have a major paper due the same day that I won't be able to work on until Wednesday night. I probably won't see the gym this week. I just delivered a steaming cup of Stumptown coffee to a good friend as means of comfort. Also, today it is raining in LA: Sorry for the poor photography/quality.

Didn't I used to write stuff?

October 14, 2009 - Fiction

She usually watched them after Sophie was in bed. From her living room chair she had a clear view of Sophie’s bedroom, the television and the house across the street. The house she watched was brick, offered one large window stretching the expanse of a room and was the stage on which the family the woman watched performed.

The woman’s house only had two small front windows that sat on either side of a white wall. Sophie liked to run from window to window, her curly head bouncing up to see out to the yard and street. She would often call her mother to chase her with a high-pitched giggle but the woman would just smile and gather Sophie close to her body, tickling kisses into a small neck. Then she would put Sophie down and return to her daily duties.

Of daily duties the woman had many, and it was difficult for her to catch more then little glimpses of the show across the street-- Sophie would need to be fed, or her husband, Stan, would require attention. Furthermore, the family that lived inside the watched house was busy- a mini-van was always coming and going, the mother waiting for one of her three daughters to run, barefoot, to the car holding a pair of shoes.

The woman would think of Sophie when she watched the girls running. She would remember Sophie learning to put her shoes on by herself, how she would sit and carefully match the Velcro so it sat straight. Stan would usually grab Sophie by the arm and drag her to the car before she was finished: he had no patience for such nonsense.

But the best time to watch the brick house was Sunday night, while Stan was gone playing poker and Sophie was asleep. Sunday nights the mother and her daughters sat on a beige couch and, each engaged in some task-- homework, laundry, etc.-- would flail their arms and talk at the television. There was always laughter and sometimes the watching woman would flip through her television to try and match a program with the expressions held by the family.

This particular Sunday, the woman sat watching the three girls as they giggled in the large window and munched on popcorn. She thought of Sophie asleep in her room and was envious. An hour passed and the woman watched the mother kiss each of her daughters on the forehead and whack their behinds as they scampered off to bed. She could practically hear the “I love you’s” and “Angel-baby’s” and imagined what it would be to be one of those girls who had a solid woman smiling at them and waiting for them to run to the car.

The phone rang. Stan was calling from his poker game to remind her to iron his shirt. Is that the television… what are you doing? He asked his wife in a tone regular to Stan.

Stan’s wife agreed, yes, she should be doing something productive, and no, she didn’t want to be disciplined before assuring that she would take care of his shirt and hanging up the phone.

The mother now sat alone in the window, her face unsmiling, folding laundry without glancing at the television. The watching woman stared at the decision in front of her: to stand in the reality of a mother’s life alone, save her children, or to sit and wait for Stan to come stumbling home.

Sitting made her legs numb.

The woman walked to the bathroom and turned on the light. She noticed the shine it made on the white porcelain sink and the faucet. She stared at the sink, unwilling to lift her gaze. Turning the faucet on, the woman let cold water run over her hands before she splashed it on her face and finally looked up to the dripping woman reflected in the mirror. The bags under her eyes slowly emerged as her cover-up smeared and bits of her thin hair stuck to her face at her cheekbone and under her lip.

Suddenly a small blonde head appeared in the doorframe, giggling as it ducked back out of sight. “Follow me, Mama!” came a voice as feet padded down the hall. The woman took a deep breath and exhaled slowly in resolve, before following her daughter into a future that smelled like hope.

Several hours later, Stan returned home to an ironed shirt and an empty house.

My eyes are weak.

I contemplate spending my days

Upon a wooden bed.

Wasting into sheets and pillows,

I am stuck inside my head;

I am a watercolor person

Painted purple by The King.

Beneath His brush I'm smoothed

I am saved from reckoning.

My soul is restless for

"The place where I belong" (Thanks Phil)

Sister photoshoots

A coffee stained notebooks

Rain wiped from a windshield

Green hats

Loud music

A river rock

Two years ago

Postcards

A letter

A hug

Affirmation

The sound my great grandpa makes when it is quiet

Small children

A church community

TRUST

Baristas who know my drink

The future

The kingdom... am I already back where I started?

Where will I find silence?

"The Spirit of the Disciplines" by Dallas Willard is blowing me away. I may or may not be writing this from my Biblical Interpretations and Spiritual Formations class where the required reading for today was taken from the fore-mentioned book. Willard deals with Salvation as a life process as opposed to the heightened spiritual moment or ritual that our culture has come to define it by. He then moves on to discuss each discipline, be it that of abstinence or of engagement, and encourage the reader to be experimental with each spiritual discipline to become experienced seekers of a deeper and fuller relationship with Christ.

Here is an excerpt on the discipline of silence that really stirred my soul,

"Silence goes beyond solitude, and without it solitude has little effect. Henri Nouwen observes that 'silence is the way to make solitude a reality,' But silence is frightening because it strips us as nothing else does, throwing us upon the stark realities of our life. It reminds us of death, which will cut us off from this world and leave only us and God. And in that quiet, what if there turns out to be very little to 'just us and God'? Think what it says about the inward emptiness of our lives if we must always turn on the tape player or radio to made sure something is happening around us.

Hearing is said to be the last of our senses to go at death. Sound always strikes deeply and disturbingly into our souls. So, for the sake of our souls, we must seek times to leave our television, radio, tape players and telephones turned off. We should close off street noises as much as possible. We should try to find how quiet we can make our world by making whatever arrangements are necessary." (163)

This passage really inspired me to seek out silence so that I may truly "Be still and know" as in Psalm 46:10.

Perhaps I will end with Psalm 131:

My heart is not proud, O Lord,
my eyes are not haughty;
I do not concern myself with great matters
or things too wonderful for me.
But I have stilled and quieted my soul;
like a weaned child with its mother,
like a weaned child is my soul within me.

O Israel, put your hope in the Lord
both now and forevermore.

Love. Twenty. Love.

I had a fantastic birthday. Thanks, everyone :]

Nowhere to hide.

I was itching to leave but I made myself stay
Out of love for the Father and faith
In a day when the pain in my chest, the sinking
sand hole, would be cleared by the man I met
2 years
2 months
and 12 days ago.

Make me uncomfortable.
Keep me uncomfortable.

The light from above, an unnatural glow,
Shines through my skin and bares
My soul to the audience watching
(How did they know) - I am not really worth it
I wasn't
I'm not
I won't
Go away.

Make me grow.
Keep me with You.
Let me praise You with my life.

Technology works for me.

You might think it sad (more telling of your character than mine), but the next best-thing-in-my-life is a thirty minute long YouTube video of rain falling with occasional thunder. When I listen to this I am able to concentrate, I feel better, I smile. God gave creation as an expression of His glory and God gave YouTube that I might experience it while in the desert we all know as Los Angeles. I suppose LA has expressive qualities of its own, I just miss those of the Land of Port. You feel me?

Google did not pay a ransom for my soul.

The conversation over dinner this evening wasn't exactly light and fluffy.

Pray for Brad.

Tonight I experienced the Lord in a way that I am not sure I ever have before.

Natalie and I met up to work on some homework and were considerably less productive than usual (we are typically pretty focused when it is just the two of us). As we joked and teased, people-watching and scenario-hypothesizing, beside us sat a man who looked too old to be an undergraduate student. I imagined him to be a graduate student who had taken a few years off – a husband and a father of a 7-year-old child named Henry (trendy but classic) – and, in my ego-centric nature, I figured that the endless giggling that emitted from Natalie and my table was annoying to him. I apparently couldn’t be more wrong.

Brad is a businessman who graduated from Biola a number of years ago. He “fell away” from his faith and has proclaimed atheism for the past three years. Recently, in a state of frustration and hopelessness, Brad prayed to the God that he didn’t believe in for proof of His existence in the form of the counsel of another. While sitting on a park bench the very same night of the prayer, a man approached Brad and told him that he felt compelled to tell Brad a few things. This random man was a follower of the Lord and attributed this compulsion to God. The man then proceeded to tell Brad things about his life that the man had no way of knowing – the man spoke truth (hopefully) into Brad’s life and the experience has caused him to reexamine his beliefs. Fast-forward to tonight: happening to be in the area, Brad decided to go back to his alma-mater to do some work and reminisce about the days when he felt sure, when he “knew it all.”

This is where we found Brad: sitting in a comfy chair that faced the table where Natalie and I did very little homework. Out of some mutual overhearing of a rather amusing conversation, a conversation was struck up between Natalie, Brad and myself. Wasting no time at all, Brad relayed to us the circumstances that I described above and, as was CLEARLY the work of the Holy Spirit, words and encouragement began to pour out my mine and Natalie’s mouths. We were empowered by the truth of what we had to share and I personally found myself completely unafraid of boldly speaking truth to Brad. We told him to cling to what was tangible, to what he knows about God. I encouraged him to pray for God to show him the Truth. I advised him to read the scriptures with an open heart. We discussed humility and pride, life and purpose, pain and love. We discussed these things openly, boldly, and freely. In remembrance of this, all I can think is that God is so GOOD! I have never in my life felt so comfortable in sharing truth – especially in public and especially with a stranger. Brad admitted that he knows a decision must be made, that certain truths cannot be ignored and that the conversation that he had with us made him uncomfortable because it made him think.

How wonderful is it that we have a God who will not allow us to become comfortable in inactivity while we seek His face?

Praise God for the work of the Holy Spirit. Praise God for opportunity. Praise God for the environment of Biola University. Praise God for the salvation of our souls. Praise God for growth, for learning.

Praise God.

Matthew 6 as Art.

25"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? 26Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? 27Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life[b]?
28"And why do you worry about clothes? See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. 29Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. 30If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? 31So do not worry, saying, 'What shall we eat?' or 'What shall we drink?' or 'What shall we wear?' 32For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. 33But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. 34Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

I can't sleep.

I am writing this from an Ipod touch. It is very modern of me. Or something. I don't know how to feel right now. That is a lie. I know exactly how I feel, it is just that it isn't very pretty. I am trying to trust God with everything that is happening: I pray that hearts will change (mine included); I pray for peace; I pray that His will be done; I pray for acceptance and that my heart will desire this; I pray for safety and that He will be with her always; I pray these things with Phil's "Heaven Song" on repeat. I pray these things through Los Angeles rain in a bed that isn't mine with an old friend in a bed nearby.

I am scared. Psalm 42.

This will always make me shiver in delight.

Glory be to God for dappled things--
For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow;
For rose-moles all in stipple upon trout that swim;
Fresh-firecoal chestnut-falls; finches' wings;
Landscape plotted and pieced--fold, fallow, and plough;
And all trades, their gear and tackle and trim.

All things counter, original, spare, strange;
Whatever is fickle, freckled (who knows how?)
With swift, slow; sweet, sour; adazzle, dim;
He fathers-forth whose beauty is past change:
Praise Him.


Hopkins, "Pied Beauty"

God blessed me with some Portland today.

Today is a good day. I say this partially because yesterday was such an awful day, in spite of the fact that I have copious amounts of reading to do, and largely because I woke up to an overcast sky that enabled me to put on some yoga pants and a flannel and head out for some coffee shop bible-reading and bagel-eating. Did I mention the white chocolate mocha that Cass sold me on? It’s a Grind didn’t disappoint.

Neither did the coffee spot that Natalie, Marin, and a nice fellow named John (Jon?) took me to. McClains is located in the lovely downtown Fullerton and, though I found myself disappointed with the customer service, I was quite pleased with my iced tea and the homey feel of the menu and of the smokers who outside lounged. Quite pleased indeed.

Now I am sitting beside an unmade bed hoping that tonight I will buy a bike. I want to decorate my room. I want it to feel like home! Everything costs money. Bah, bumbug (like ‘humbug’ but less well-off).

Good music seems to be floating in my direction more often than usual. I’ll let you know what makes like butter and sticks (I just made that up...or maybe I didn't).

How is that for fluency?

He'll take care of it.

I’m ready. Hit me with another late night ramble, bartender. Tonight I got to Skype my dear, dear friends Britt and Taylor. I have decided to call it “Grype” – you know, group Skype. It was nice. I got a side-by-side narration. Pleasant indeed. God has a plan. Mmmm.

Now, as I listen to John Mark McMillan’s voice sing about an adoration for the King of Glory, I feel it. Through my dull headache and developing sore throat I desire for God to “peel back our ribs and step inside of our chests”. Focus, focus, focus. I feel it.

P.S. I get to study Russian as my foreign language here at Biola! I can’t wait to tell Scott (any Linfield readers should understand…)! Oh dear. I hope I will be good at it. Prayer, right? That stuff really sticks.

I need sleep, but I want to be poetic.
“You can’t always get what you want,
But if you try sometimes, you might find,
You get what you need.”
Yeah, yeah.

I go to school.

Oh my goodness, I am so blessed. God has been teaching me many wonderful and rather painful lessons in the past couple weeks. Where to start?

1) 1. I am incredibly prideful. Apparently my academic m otivation is fueled by competition with other students. Not being amazing at something, or rather not knowing that I am better than others at something is difficult for me. This I discovered via the Bible Bridge program that ate up most of my summer. God definitely taught me A LOT through the program, my incredible pride and sin being central.

2) 2. God is enough. Okay, wow. This is a big one. I have learned it in the past and I will learn it again in the future – “I’ve seen that tree before!” My worth, value, identity, future, reward, salvation and LIFE is found in Christ Jesus. Nothing else matters. Nothing else will satisfy my need for joy. Nothing else will give me peace. No amounts of chocolate nor any earthly relationship will adequately fill the hole to be found in the human heart – only the love and acceptance of the Lord is able. This sounds cheesy and you (oh, you reader, you) might be tempted to skip right over it, but I implore you not to. When I think that my purpose in life is to serve and glorify the creator of the universe and that He is enough to provide for my every need AND that I can trust that He will never forsake me…. I find myself at a loss for words. Pain and suffering exist in the world because of the sin of man and God was gracious enough to become man and take on sin so that we might have relationship with Him and be one day free from the evil that it in this world. I yearn for it.

3) 3. My roommate is rad. Yeah, Cass rules. She is from San Diego (ish) and is a particularly competitive Catchphrase player. Plus her tan makes me look like a sheet of paper.

4) 4. Reality L.A. is legit. I went to church at Reality this morning and loved it. Actually I went last week as well, so I wasn’t surprised that I liked it this week. I would make it my home church without question if it were closer, but I will spend some time in prayer and check a couple other places out before I decide. To be an active part of a church body or to stick with having community mainly on campus. Decisions, decisions!

5) 5. I love my families. But you all already knew that.

My list didn’t exactly stay on track. It is late and I have to be up in about six hours. FUN! I’ve missed you, Oh blog-land.

I will soon return.

I haven't blogged in oh-so-long. I don't have time to now...

BUT, I haven't forgotten about you. Or this. Or...well, yes.

I do apologize. See? I even gave my "I-am-so-sorry-if-there-were-anything-I-could-do-to-change-the-situation-I-would-face".

And I will return. Soon.

"Indeed I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord." Philippians 3:8

Oh very young, what will you leave us this time?

No, I still haven't finished Joshua. I keep getting incredibly tired whenever I sit down to read. Or my neck will hurt. Or I will get a text message. Or... You get the point.

So, I made french press and turned on some Cat Stevens to try and put some of this into perspective. Cat asked me, "And if you want this world to see better days, will you carry the words of love with you?" I thought, "Well, good question, Cat. I should probably keep reading those words of love - they ARE being written on my heart (for the Bible tells me so). Thanks for the perspective, my very-confused-yet-musically-talented-brother-of-the-human-race."

Yesterday, I followed the ways of my beautiful friend Emily and went "no-poo" (hippie internet term, not Emily's). This is AWESOME. This doesn't meant that I never wash my hair, what it means in my case is that I am now washing my hair with a paste of baking soda and water. Let me tell you something, the stuff works. My hair was thicker, fuller, clean and full of shine. Seriously, I am hooked. Now, I am a bit concerned that my hair will dry out, so I will either continue to use my regular conditioner or I will experiment with a diluted vinegar scented with essential oils. I am opting for the latter at this point because I would like to get away from the processed chemicals and such that make up so much of the products that we put on our bodies. Watch out, I am moving one step at a time but next thing you know I will be making my own soap and deodorant.

Okay, it's 1 PM: time to revisit Joshua.

Redolence.

Madeline and Jacob came home today. Things are a little less lively around the house when they are at their Mom’s, so it is always nice to have them back. The back door was open when I returned home from work and the late afternoon sunshine was spilling in. I managed to convince an ever-willowy Madeline to go on a run with me while Papa Bear prepared corn on the cob and the trout that he and the kids had just returned from catching.

My favorite nights with my family are nights such as this. Even though we were missing two (it seems like we always are), the summer evenings spent sitting at our kitchen table with cloth napkins left over from the wedding four years ago, eating and sharing stories are pictures I will always treasure.

Now Jake sits wide legged reading a lego magazine by the kitchen light and Maddi sits in Joe’s lap giggling at her father’s recycled humor. Mama is naturally doing laundry. The evening light is fading and I am feeling decidedly poetic. Perhaps you have noticed. I am thankful for this. God has blessed me with quite the family and such a youth that I can only hope to provide for my children. It is not without it’s trial, and for that I am also thankful.

It is easy, in this moment, to find joy in trial and temptation. It is easy, in this moment, to rejoice in the building of perseverance and in the majesty of God who, in his infinite wisdom and depth, is all that He is wholly and fully. It is easy, in this moment, to worship. I wish I could bottle this moment and wear it as perfume.

On a bench at Main City Park.

Last night was a pleasant one. As stressed as I am about my summer classes – you know, doing them right…or getting them done at all – I still manage to find time (if only for a few minutes) to be with people I love engaging the lungs in activities controversial (talking, of course). In the midst of memories and reenactments galore I am struck by the picture that if taken of us would hang framed on my wall, or stamped in my mind to be discovered on some future date when I had long forgotten the joys of youthful community and unhealthy habits and voiced, inexperienced perceptions of love, life and marriage. Four people arranged on a bench, observing the behavior of rabbits that hop vapidly across the horseshoe lanes out of sight and laughing together in communal enjoyment of something to do with their hands while they talk. These are nights I hope to remember.

There is something oddly poetic about everyday life that cannot be explained in naturalistic terms. Tease me all you want guys, (Nico, Matt and Adam), but my tendency toward the dramatic is an expression of love for you.

You know this.

I have never been all that good at telling things exactly how they are. I try to leave things out and remain a mystery, but I usually say too much. I throw people under the bus or I share inappropriately personal nuggets that are really meant for much larger, deeper conversations then just a "Hey, how are you doing?" Yikes.

I am still working on my Genesis homework. Which is, you know, great because I just keep learning stuff. Like that God is faithful. Like really, really faithful. My creative writing professor would have a problem with that last sentence. She says that people today don't use strong enough adjectives. I agree with her, but I am also lazy. Anyway, God is faithful. Also, my sister's friend is really sick. In fact, she is in the hospital. This stresses me out because, as old as my sister and her friends think they are (and I felt the same way at their age), they are little girls and I don't want my little girls to be sick.

What is funny is that when I was in high school I felt like I was rather grown up, but when I step back and look at myself now, I feel unbelievably young. I look at how much of my life I have completed, nearly 20 years, but I feel like a little baby: I don't feel ready for the world. In fact, I would like to redo childhood, please. Heck, I would like to redo today, please. And go to grammar school, apparently.

Sometime in November

I want to be that which inspires.

See a face red with laughter and realize this could be the future-

Yours. Not every verse has to be romantic: you know this.

You know that not everyone knows what is right and

Sometimes the cowboy kills the bad guy out of spite

And finishes life drunk and alone, and that is the end of it.

But you know this, and you write it anyway.

You realize that life isn’t an illusion, or an allusion and cannot

Be summed up in a metaphor in a poem on a piece of paper.

You know that each blank page is territory un-crept, not defiled

Yet. You know this.

You are learning that conscious failure is sometimes hidden

Success and the only revealer is time: you know this!

What is more, you have seen the consequences of death;

You feel them and fight them and press to be beyond them.

But these consequences won’t send you to skip into the sunset.

Yes, you know this, so you turn to He who lives beyond

And you write and write and write

And thank him for a language geared mind and fingers to hold a pen.

Unrefined

I am most definitely not a swimmer. This I discovered today after work when Ms. Krieger and I slipped into our suits and did some laps in the pool. It is “a full body work-out,” as my mother would say.

Oh my lovely Mother. She is sitting across from me in our dimly lit family office/library, perusing old photos on one of the computers to the backdrop of my father’s music: The Beatles Anthology. Around the room paintings are propped against walls in her latest attempt to get them on the walls (Mama, please know that I mention this with love: your inability to actually hang the paintings is one of your most endearing characteristics). I have great parents, by the way. They even brought home leftover Chinese food for me to eat when I came home from work. So great.

I think my favorite part of this office is the wall with the bookshelf. Books are stuffed in mild order, the Poetry Section bleeding into the Northwest Section and the Biographies casually fraternizing with the Classics. Traitorous, those Biographies are. Among the books are placed photos: one of my little sister, Madeline, several years ago, straight faced with her feet cut out of the frame, another of the entire blended family posing at my second cousin’s wedding that summer.

Summer 2008. The summer of my car accident. A summer of change. Real change, not the type of change one would associate with Queso Cheese – you know: chemical and rubbery. More like change that grows from the ground: nice and organic. Wooden, if you will? I never permit rubbery change. Praise God for organic alternatives. More on this later.

When you place a leaf in the water...

It has been a long time since I last wrote. The longest it has ever been, in fact. I've gone so far from where I've been. And actually, it is as though I have been under the attack of a giant eraser for the past month. All that is left of what little I knew are a bunch of those little pieces of eraser and paper - the ones that smell like a mistake.

I move far away soon. I don't know if you knew.

Work at Persimmon is excruciatingly (easy) (slow) (boring) (wasteful). I don't use my mind at all. The upside is that I usually get to read a lot. Except today and yesterday when the sun came out. You remember Sun don't you? It is that big light in the sky that makes things warm. I know we haven't seen it for a while.

Someday (over the rainbow?), I am going to write an intelligent and thoughtful blog about something other then myself.

P.S. I finished The Sound and the Fury and yes, it did become more fun to actually read then just talk about reading. Also, I read Little Bee. You probably should too. It was amazing.

The pale yellow moon shone in his eyes.

Spring semester of my freshman year of college has come to a magnificently anticlimactic close. I don’t feel relieved: I feel worn. I have definitely been hiding in my studies for the past couple of months, and now that I can’t do that any longer I am being forced to face reality and the quickness of time. If Time and I were to race, Time would be running circles around me. Also, I spent today worrying about my Soviet final, feverishly writing about the various characteristics of Korenizatsiia, packing up my life and saying permanent goodbyes. Whatever happened to “goodbye for now”? This feels like a country song. You know, the one where someone says goodbye…

Summer is here. Maybe my mood has something to do with the dark and dreary rain that made driving on the freeway a bit more of an adventure. Perhaps I can blame it on my upcoming search for the perfect pair of khaki colored pants for my cool new Persimmon Pool and Tennis Center job. Who knows (Shouldn’t I)?

I am wearing one of my impulse buy shirts. So that is nice. I want my bess frann to come over now, please.

Okay. Summer Goals:

Finish The Sound and the Fury

Read Anna Karenina

Be a stress-free summer schooler

Run, (Forrest), Run.

Wear dresses. Lots of dresses

Buy a new pair of boots

Do yoga because it feels good

Study some Bible and drink it like water

Be with people and tell them I love them

Be on time to work

Get some sunshine; Get more freckles

Have painted fingernails

Make a trip to Yakima

Make a trip to Prineville

Talk to Papa Dean about life

Get sleep

Don’t sleep past 10 (11 MAX)

Bike to Portland

Go see live music

Leave the future in the future

Wear lipstick

Okay, Go!

The last train is nearly due.

Earlier today, in a sudden burst of spontaneity, I joined my friend Suzy in attending Jesse Hughey’s senior thesis presentation. Jesse is an English major and a minor celebrity here at Linfield as lead singer of the homegrown band Jack Ruby Presents. It was only fitting, then, that his thesis should be a collection (album?) of six songs that conflated his creative writing and musical skills. The songs were centered on the concept of a travelling musician, the question as to whether leaving home is necessary and a discussion of the transition from home to away. As Jesse began his first song, “The city’s smoking cigarettes/ against a concrete wall/ and I refuse to believe/ that you felt nothing/ at all/ London never felt so right/ without you,” I realized that I might never hear these songs again. The presentation/performance was held in a classroom and the small audience sat in desks. The setting was intimate and I began to sense a premature seed of nostalgia settling inside of me. For the next 50 minutes and five and a half songs I made it my intention to fully experience the present. I wanted to soak up the lyrics, the music, the sound of Jesse’s voice, and, beside me, the orange of my friend Jason’s shirt and the thorough, easy academia of Suzy’s note taking.

Soundtrack of the moment: "Poem on the Underground Wall" -Simon and Garfunkel

I finally started Faulkner’s “The Sound and the Fury.” I haven’t reached the point where reading it is more fun than talking about reading it. I am confident that moment will come. I am only on page twelve. I started it one night after a full day of studying—finals are becoming pretty intimidating. I have two more to go: full of in-class essays. Yikes. Tomorrow I will buckle down and structure my day. Let’s see:

8:30 Wake up. Run.

9:30 Breakfast with Kate

10:00 Study, Study, Study

12:ish Thai fooooooooood

1:ish Meet with Smith

2:ish Study, Study, Study

6:15 Leave for Monmouth, See Heidi, Listen to Ty, Love life

If I have any hope to accomplish this, I must sleep. And scene.

Me?

Today I realized.

No, I don't know what. Maybe one of me does (there are two). I was telling my friend Jason that I exist as a binary, except I didn't use such a pretty word. Often, the characteristics that are the dichotomy of Sarah are in conflict. Jason immediately offered an example, "Flesh and Spirit." This is true. Here are a few more:

Mother-er/ Child

She who longs for approval/She who doesn't give a rip

Academic/ Flake

Lover/ Failure

Rational/ Emotional

Emotional/ Caring

Liberal/ Conservative

Old-Fashioned/ Hand-shaker

Needy/ Needy

Sister/ Independent

Follower/ Leader

Hippie/ Sloth

Activist/ Exhausted

Learner/ Explorer

Traveler/ Homebody

Eh.

Midnight Meditations.

I know some wonderful people. I mean that literally: these people are absolutely full of wonder. Wonder the noun, of course. These are people who leave me at times speechless and in awe of the Lord’s handiwork. God has given these people passion and direction and has gifted them in honesty and discernment. Some are wise. Others have an intuition that I could never dream of having—they know how to care for others deeply and efficiently. Some are filled with emotion that permeates every aspect of their lives. I truly know some wonderful, wonderful people.

Tonight, despite the fact that I finished my reading an hour ago and was able to take a much-needed shower and clean up a smidge, I will only get a few hours of sleep. I had planned on writing a lot more—I have so much more to say, to express—but I am this very moment realizing that if I don’t sleep now the sermon Kate and I will listen to in the morning will be useless to me.

Goodnight (moon).

Forgetfulness is an agent of the soul.

Sometimes I forget what truth is. That is, I mistake it for something else and am disheartened. Tonight, as I contemplate a Shakespeare paper that should have been completed days ago, I find myself in the aftermath of my fore mentioned confusion and am frustrated. Why is it so difficult for me to be disciplined? Trust, Sarah, trust.

I've got language on the mind. Perhaps it is the horrid (quite wonderfully) social theory we've been assigned for Soviet class: language is neither solely the creation nor the creator of thought, but somehow a combination of both. Constative. Performative. Base. Superstructure. External Master. Truth-there it is again-Public Discourse. Metadiscourse. Mmm mmm mm, the sweetness of language!

Metadiscourse: An umbrella term for words used by a speaker or writer to mark the direction and purpose of a text; broadly defined as "discourse about discourse." Adjective: metadiscursive.

Speaking of language: I should get back to (slash start) Shakespeare. Thanks for the distraction.

A Heart Will Beat Passion.

Claiming rationality:

Caught in the appeal of argument-

Fair/Unfair/Untrue, definitions mean nothing-

You don't see the tears that hide behind my

Genuine Assurance.

Carefully subdued, but

You clearly don't know me.

Why do you insist on attacking my Truth?

Am I in need of an education?

Is your reality somehow more tangible,

Your death more meaningful in its futility,?

Does the repulsive history of man's sin

Somehow validate your point?

No. It augments mine.

When I pray, I pray action.

When I pray, my God listens.

The fact that you do not

Acknowledge Him

Does not make him any less

Real.

Snap out of it!

It's time for a deep breath. Then perhaps a shower. Then reading, reading, reading, reading, reading. Today has been a waste of a day. Really, it has. I'm not exaggerating the way you think I am.

In Andrey Platonov's "The Foundation Pit," a male character, weak and feeble-minded with ambition that later saw him dead, rejected some lovesick woman with a note,

"Once the table groaned with fare,
Now there's just a coffin there.
-Kozlov"

I didn't like Kozlov very much. But I thought his method of "disclaiming the responbsibility of love" (aka. dumping his girlfriend) was straight out of some Portland indie film. Or something. Oh the creative genius of 1930's, censored, Soviet writers. We all have pain, but they had lots.

Musings.

When I was younger, I dreamt of jumping head first into a cloud. From below, I perceived it to be made up of substance as soft as my mother's shoulder, as sweet as whipped cream and as dry and cool as slipping into the fresh sheets of a made bed. The luxury of submerging myself into something so largely wonderful is still appealing. This afternoon, there were scoops of cloud floating in the distance at a perfect contrast to the sky; white fluff suspended before layers of projector transparencies tinted blue with old Vis-à-vis remnant. Our God is an artist.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

There is a tapping in my dorm room wall, except now it is in my head: the tapping is real, it is just that the intensity of my annoyance is heightened by consciousness. I am sure that wasn’t grammatically correct. Anyway, this tapping makes it difficult to sleep. So, the last two nights have been spent in the beds of gracious, darling friends. I can’t, however, continue this way for the next two months. Ugh. I guess I will invest in some earplugs and hope that I will hear my alarm through them in the morning? That question mark was not appropriately placed.

I am really losing form, here.

Kristina and I watched 27 Dresses last night and talked and gave our life stories. Or… kind-of. I told her about my life pre-car accident and post. That is always a fun story. Just kidding, it sucks. It is true, though.

I filled out my housing form for Biola yesterday. It was super exciting and slightly nerve-wracking at the same time. Yikes. Big risk = big reward. That is the thing to remember.

“When you get down, there’s one thing to remember: there’s such a thing as trying too hard.”

I really am stoked to get down there. I get to study the word in an academic setting! How cool is that?! And I will totally meet people and make friends. No problem. Psh: easy as pie. (How convincing was that last part? I know it needs some work). Didn’t I write the other day about not stressing in regards to the future? I swear I retain this stuff. Really I do.

Procrastination.

Stop this train. I want to get off and go home again. I can’t take the speed it is moving in. I know I can’t but, honestly, won’t someone stop this train.

John Mayer’s poignant song about growing up has been rolling around in my head (and my heart) for roughly two months now. It’s a good song so I haven’t been trying all that hard to be rid of it.

Does it ever go away? The uncertainty about the future, I mean. I have a sneaking suspicion that it doesn’t. I am already coming to terms with it. God is teaching me, over and over again, that I can’t know what is coming next and that to stress about it is so completely useless that I might as well worry that the roof will get wet when it rains. What a folly, how feeble-minded. I am not really saying anything of substance.

I have class in twenty minutes and have not yet written a cover letter for a Journalism scholarship that I really should have mailed by Friday. (No mother, I still haven’t taken care of it). So, of course, I am using this time to write this blog. It is nice to have an outlet like this.

Oh gracious. Time to visit Huntsberger in Broadcast Practices. Right.

Okay, here goes nothing.

What a season it has been. Perhaps I am confused and the season is not over. I still have reading and scholarships up to my nose (my nose, which is fed up with the stress of existence on my face and is thinking of taking after Kovalyov’s nose – creative Gogol, giving ideas to noses everywhere). I am still searching for motivation and attempting to glorify God with my body, a.k.a. eating right (mostly) and working out. BUT, there has been a change. And so I must conclude that, no, I am not confused. I have entered a new season of life. This one might closely resemble the last, but I have arrived nonetheless.

You see, I have been praying for clarity in regards to this summer and next year. As it turns out, God provides these things, “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him” (please see James 1:5).

So, I have decided to pursue Biola University.

I know what you are thinking. Yes, a tuna sandwich would be delicious right now. And yes, it might seem that I have been pursuing Biola for over a month now. But up until this point I was uncommitted. There were a lot of “maybe’s” and “might’s” and “we’ll see’s.” Now, however, I am buckling down and proceeding full steam ahead. I feel confident that the Lord will provide what I need to get to Biola, and all that I will need once I arrive. Is it scary to move to a strange and dry place where people dress nicely and home is a long and stomach-aching 18 hours away? Why yes, yes it is. Do I trust that God has a plan and that I will find the community that I have been thirsting for? Why yes, God-willing I do. (I sure have been asking a lot of questions. I tend to overuse favorite writing techniques. Oh well).

Pray for me, will you? This feels like California Adventure’s Tower of Terror all over again. Terrifying, but worth the ride.