Christmas Reflections

It's the 13th day of Snowpocalypse here in Seattle, and after many days of either being cooped up at home or having to trek through snow and ice to get anywhere, it is good to be warm and happy with family.

I'm at home today for Christmas, which is great since last night I was alone on Christmas Eve for the first time in my entire life because I didn't want to drive through the icy dark night to get home. That, and there wasn't anywhere for me to sleep here since we have family in town and the house is overrun with eight kids between the ages of 10 and 18. So last night was a quiet evening of wine and baking and watching Bill Cosby Himself (classic) on Netflix Instant. Yay for technology!

On Tuesday night we had our roomie Christmas celebration. We headed downtown and I took the girls to see Seven Brides For Seven Brothers at the 5th Avenue, and then went home where I got a stocking of gifts for the first time in I don't know how long (my family does not exchange gifts on principle). We then sat around the kitchen table eating homemade pizza and sharing reflections on the year, and hopes for 2009.

My reflection was that 2008 was a year of endings. I've blogged about moving out and the freedom from old wounds of the past. I definitely feel that I am in a long process of change, that new things are coming. The verses that have been on my heart these past couple of years are all from Isaiah: themes of redemption, newness, fulfilled promises. So the endings are good in that they are full of hope for the future. But one ending was harder than the others.

On December 15th, my grandma's life here on earth ended and she went home to be with Jesus. She was ready to go-she knew it was coming, and she wanted to be at peace and in the presence of her Lord and Savior. I am grateful that she is no longer suffering and that I had good time with her before she went. I've been blessed by years of her love and counsel and example of faith and compassion. And having the assurance of her salvation and current state brings my family an amazing amount of peace and contentment.

But it hurts.

It hurts to be here at home with family and not have her with us. It hurts knowing that so many things in my life that I thought she would be a part of-my wedding, birth of my kids, that kind of thing-she will be absent from. It hurts knowing that I will never hear her quiet voice or feel her gentle touch again.

In one of my last conversations with my grandma, she told me that her favorite worship song was 'Amazing Love'. I was going to make that song part of last week's worship set, because it was the fourth Sunday of Advent, with the candle representing the Love of God. And it is this amazing love that brought Jesus to earth as a baby. His love that caused Him to walk this earth and suffer for us, to experience the same hurt that I am feeling now, and to overcome that hurt with His sacrifice and the hope of His resurrection. So while I hurt, I also feel peace and joy, and love for this Savior who blessed me with my grandma and has now welcomed her into His arms.

Today we gathered the family together to read the Christmas story, and my littlest brother DJ said, "I know what Christmas is all about!" And so we asked him to tell us, and he did:

"Well, there were shepherds, watching their sheep, and there was a woman, named Mary (just like you Mom!) and the angels came and said 'don't be afraid, I have good news to make all people happy.' And there was Jesus, lying on his bed of hay. And the angels said, 'glory and God in the highest'. And so Christmas isn't about presents, it's about giving and love stuff."

That's what it's about kids. Giving and love stuff.

Forgiveness, Freedom, and Guy Friends

"Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free" ~John 8:32

"See, the former things have taken place, and new things I declare" ~Isaiah 42:9a

"See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland." ~Isaiah 43:19

My life has been changed dramatically in the last four days. Externally, it looks the same, but internally the transformation has been radical. I shared at church and on this blog at the beginning of this year that I felt like God was bringing big changes to my life, that He had put these verses from Isaiah on my heart and I was excited about what He was going to do. But I could not have predicted what has happened, the phenomenal change that culminated with this week's events.

To fully explain, I have to go back about ten years. Yes, a long story, but one that needs telling, if only because of the glory that it brings to God, the evidence of Him transforming my life. And now that the story has a conclusion, I can tell it in its entirety.

Ten years ago, I was a senior in high school. I didn't have many female friends, and was horribly unpopular. I spent most of my time hanging out with a group of guys. Mostly I hung with this group for two reasons: they let me, and I had a huge crush on one of them. The thing is, I realize now that they weren't really my friends. I just tagged along. They didn't know me, didn't try to know me, and didn't treat me very well. And the friend that I had a crush on ended up figuring it out and telling me he wasn't interested.

So I went to college feeling rather unattractive, and not really understanding what good male attention looked like. And on the very first night I met a guy who within a week was telling me how much he liked me and how beautiful I was. And while I said that I didn't want to date at the time, we ended up spending every waking moment together for the first couple of months. As the weeks progressed, however, our relationship became increasingly dysfunctional. He suffered from clinical depression, but would not always take his medicine, and had severe mood swings. He was very possessive and controlling, and I was intent on making the relationship work because I wanted to be loved. It took me awhile to realize that this guy was treating me in a way that was manipulative and abusive. The worse it got, the more I told myself that it was my fault, that I was doing something wrong, or that there was something actually wrong with me. Because I had never been in a healthy relationship, I couldn't see the unhealthiness that I was in. Fortunately, I realized that I had to get away from this guy, as I became increasingly afraid for my physical safety. When I did finally break it off, he proceeded to stalk me for a few weeks and sent me many many messages filled with horrible lies and anger. Eventually he left me alone, but the damage was done.

I couldn't really deal with the emotions I felt at the time, as a 17-yr-old college freshman taking too many credits and working nights to put myself through school. I took all those lies and packed them down deep in a corner of my heart, the same place I had put all the rejection I had felt from high school. I went on with life, telling myself that I was fine, when of course I wasn't.

After this, I started hanging out with my guy friend from high school again. I still liked him (of course) and consciously or unconsciously I kept trying to figure out what he wanted in a girl so that I could become that. Then one day at the beginning of my junior year of college, he told me that he was going to marry me.

That's right-not that he liked me or loved me or thought I was great, but that he was going to marry me. Now, that should have been my first clue, but because I was so far gone on him, I just rejoiced that I would finally not be alone. After a few weeks he started telling me that he loved me, we started making plans, we even talked about dates for our wedding (I'm serious, I was 19 and he was 20, and we had a date picked out). But the more promises he made, the less he fulfilled. The more he talked about our future, the less present he became. He would talk about how he was going to graduate and get a great job and a place for us, and then he would slack off and almost fail his classes. He would tell me how he loved me only to ignore me in favor of the computer when I would make time to come see him. During this whole time, my parents were trying to caution me as well as him about moving too fast, but I was too in love to listen.

But I eventually had to confront him, again from a sense of self-preservation, as our relationship became increasingly difficult. And then he told me what no woman in love should have to hear from the man she thinks she is going to marry: "I don't love you enough to marry you." He thought that God meant us for each other, but he didn't really love me, so I needed to wait until he was ready and loved me enough to change and be a husband.

Of course, it was true that he didn't love me and couldn't be a husband. But it is the most devastating thing to a girl to be told that she is not enough, that a guy can't love her enough to be with her. It makes her think that she is unlovable. And that is what I thought: that something was obviously wrong with me, because I couldn't make him love me, just like I couldn't make the other guy stop hurting me.

I had enough self respect to tell him that I was not going to sit around and wait for him to figure out if he loved me or not. And walking away from him broke my heart. But when my life fell apart, it brought me to a place of complete brokenness before God, sitting at his feet with the pieces of my heart, crying out for Him.

That's where I needed to be. I needed to find out that God loved me, that there was nothing wrong with me, that He made me the way I am because He wanted me to be in this world. It took a long time to learn that, to accept God's love in a way that I never had. I remember sitting at home one day reading Dallas Willard's The Divine Conspiracy, and coming across this passage:

"We will never have the easy, unhesitating love of God that makes obedience to Jesus our natural response unless we are absolutely sure that it is good for us to be, and to be who we are."

Reading that, I realized that I had never truly believed that I was lovable or attractive as a person, as God made me. I didn't think it was good for me to be, and I knew it wasn't any good for me to be who I am.

Over the course of many years or prayer and counsel, worship and teaching, I came to a place where I can say with confidence that it is in fact good for me to be who I am. I trusted that my life is in Christ, and finally discovered where my worth lies. And I was able to choose to forgive these two men who caused so much damage to my emotional life. But I never was able to tell them exactly what they did, was never able to extend that forgiveness, never able to find closure.

Until now.

Earlier this year, I received a message from the guy I was planning to marry. He asked to meet because he wanted to apologize. I was understandably surprised and nervous, but decided that discussion could lead to something like reconciliation and closure. So I went, and it was a good meeting. He apologized, I apologized. He admitted that he never should have made the promises that he made. I said all the things I had never been able to say. I forgave him. And we parted ways with the knowledge that it was in the past, that we were healed by grace and mercy in Christ, and that we no longer had to live in fear of running into each other at a mutual friend's birthday party.

It was a liberating experience, to be out from under the weight of past mistakes and pain. But in the back of my mind I wondered if I would ever hear from that guy from freshman year of college. I didn't really think he would ever apologize, and I still lived in fear of what might happen if he ever tried to find me again.

And last Wednesday, the thing I had been dreading came: he contacted me on facebook. He sent me a friend request, and when I ignored it, he sent another, asking why we couldn't "bury the hatchet".

And so I told him. I told him how he had hurt me, about the pain and fear and abuse. I said all the things I had never said when I ran away from him in fear and confusion. And the most amazing part was, he apologized. He told me that he realized now that I did the best thing for both of us, and he treated me mercilessly for it. He said that he didn't realize that he had never dealt with it either, that closure was something we needed. He told me that he was sorry he had hurt me.

In all these years, I had never thought that this day would come. I never thought that he would apologize and I would be able to forgive him. But he did, and I experienced the amazing freedom that comes from releasing a hurt from long ago and extending forgiveness to a person who had destroyed me.

It has been truly amazing to walk around with this freedom, with this burden gone from my heart. I had been living with it for so long that I didn't even realize how much it still affected me. All of the prayers and decisions to forgive were made real and concrete, and I now know what it is to be set free by peace and truth.

All weekend I've been listening to songs and hanging with friends and family, and every now and then I have to stop for a moment, overcome by gratitude and praise for my God who has set me free, who has given me beauty for ashes, joy for mourning.

And so this is the conclusion of my long journey: forgiveness, freedom, peace, and joy. Our God is so good.

In considering all of these things over the past few days, I've come to believe that one of the main reasons that I was emotionally healthy enough to give forgiveness and receive these apologies is the friendships I have with guys at Quest. Having truly healthy relationships with godly men, not romantic relationships, but actual deep friendships, has been one of the ways that God has been working on my heart. While there are ups and downs and moments of awkwardness, because of the friendships I have developed I have been shown through word and deed that I am beautiful and lovable.

These guy friends I have are amazing. Over the past few years they have demonstrated to me what it is to be loved and respected by a man who treats me as a true brother in Christ treats his sister. I have seen how these men treat their wives, fiances, and girlfriends. I have seen how they love Jesus and seek to grow and become the men God has called them to be. They have shown me that I must never settle for anything less than the best, because they are that awesome. So thanks friends. Thanks Jeff, Blake, Tre, Darwin, Mattsy, M@, Slater, Christoffer, Randall, Miles, Joe, David, Sam, Mark, Paul, Kevin, George, Jin, Erik, and JackJack. Because of all of you, I know what a godly man is like.

Now that I know what a healthy relationship is, and no longer live in the pain and fear of the old relationships I had, I feel an incredible sense of freedom. I know that one day I will be able to have an awesome relationship with a man who will treat me as I deserve to be treated. And I know that until that man comes along, I have fantastic friends of both genders who show me God's love each and every day. This weekend was such an example of that love: the counsel from friends, the depth of discussions, the fun times we experienced, the silliness and laughter. And so, with the past behind me, and a wonderful life to rejoice in, I walk forward, knowing that God is declaring new and amazing things in my life.

Dinner Parties

I was going to write a post about how angry I am at the current situation with Henry Paulson, but then thought better of it. It wouldn't be good writing, just ranting and raving.

Instead, I will mention my happy success with my first official dinner party last Monday. I found a recipe for chicken and dumplings that I wanted to try, and since I now have a house where I can entertain, thought I would put it to good use by inviting over a few folks from Quest and making them dinner. I bought a fabulously large pot, filled it with homemade chicken and vegetable soup, then dropped in spoonfuls of soft rosemary biscuit dough to make tender dumplings (and no refrigerator dough here, this was strictly from scratch). It turned out to be pretty delicious, and was quickly demolished by the nine people who squeezed into my kitchen. Soup was supplemented by a wonderful salad provided by friends Matt and Nicola (although apparently creation of the salad was quite a feat, as there was an incident with pomegranate juice exploding all over Matt's kitchen). We polished off a couple bottles of wine and a few pots of tea and in all, I was very pleased.

But today I read of an even better dinner party put on by superheroes JackJack and LaV here at musings of a mellocello. This meal was not merely about good food and entertainment, but also a way for them to live out their love for God and people. Challenging and inspiring.

I love the people I worship with.

Post-Election Honesty

I was leading my C group last night, but the evening of great discussion about God's character was bookended by time spent glued to the fuzzy screen of our television watching the election results come in. I knew what the result would be-I think I had known for weeks that Obama was going to win-so I wasn't too surprised. Nor was I surprised when my Google Reader filled up with blogs about how proud and excited and teary-eyed my friends and fellow Seattleites are. But I don't really know what to feel.

Relieved that it is over? Yes. Fed up with the election conversations? Definitely. Happy that our country has elected a person of mixed racial heritage despite everyone's predictions that we were too racist for that? Most assuredly. Excited about Obama as president? Well, no, not really.

No matter how inspiring a candidate, if his fundamental views on how government should function and what policies should be supported are different from your own, then you can't really be excited when he wins the top office in the land. But as my dad reminded my brother(who voted for the first time ever this year!), Obama is our president now, and he deserves our support as well as our discerning critique as he makes decisions in the months and years ahead.

I am glad that the election is over, however. I am glad that I no longer have to endure the shock and dismay from my friends when they learn that I am a conservative, that I didn't support Obama, that I actually like Sarah Palin's politics. I'm glad that I don't have to be the brunt of the jokes of my friends (anyone who thinks that all Democrats are incredibly progressive and nice has never been a lone conservative in a room full of liberals). I have a wait and see attitude about this presidency-Obama will have a lot of challenges when he takes office, and we will see if change is really coming, and whether that change is good.

I appreciate my pastor's words on Sunday, when he reminded us that our allegiance should not be to a politician or a party, but to God. He also made the point that those who say that clear-thinking Christians can only vote Democrat are wrong, that our reasoning and convictions can lead us to different conclusions and that is okay. Which is good, because I consider myself to be fairly level-headed, reasonably intelligent, and full of care and compassion for my fellow Americans and fellow human beings. And I didn't vote for Obama.

I hope we can still be friends. Because our unity is in Christ and not in our political affiliations. It's a reminder that Christians in both parties need.

Lauren Winner Conference, or, My Life As a Chauffeur

I had been looking forward to the Lauren Winner Learning Conference at Quest for a long long time. Ever since the idea first came up over two years ago. Finally, this month, she came, and as I told everyone around me for several weeks prior, I got to be her chauffeur.

It's very interesting having an author that you love and have always slightly idolized in the passenger seat of your car. Or knowing that she has your cell phone number. Or taking her to QFC to buy Airborne. Random normal things that are made completely not normal by the presence of a person you never thought you would meet, let alone share meals and jokes with.

I try to never be the overeager fan, although I am still a little giddy about the inscription in the front of my copy of Girl Meets God. But it was humbling to find that Lauren was just a person seeking to share her faith and learning with others, that she wanted my feedback after her talks, that she would share a bit of her life with me and ask about mine. I don't expect her to call my cell phone anytime soon, although it might be fun to catch up with her next year when I am in North Carolina.

But enough about me and my "meeting my idol" experience. You want to hear about the conference itself. It was the perfect conclusion to our Faith & Gender class: Lauren said some of the same things we had all been struggling to say, but in a much more elegant, learned way. My friend Randall commented on the plethora of "big words" she used: words that we rarely use in conversation (despite our often-touted reputation as highly-educated Seattleites). Lauren herself commented on how intellectual the audience questions were. But beyond the deep analysis of issues of faith and gender, she communicated truth about God, community, and how we should be living as people of God.

I took copious notes throughout the weekend, scribbling furiously in the notebook that I had used to take notes while reading Girl Meets God. Here are some excerpts from what struck me on Friday night:

"We always think of difference in terms of violence, heirarchy, domination. The Trinity models difference without heirarchy, community without violence."

"Love, not as emotion, but as a call to participate in a common vision"

"When we talk about mutual submission we are not talking politically. We are talking about a relationship where both people involved are changed."

"The picture of the Trinity reminds us of our fundamental incompleteness. Our gender should be a reminder of our need for each other, not a way to dominate each other."

"By being here, with you and different from you, I allow you to be more yourself and me to be more myself."

"We have taken the story from capitalism that men need to find their identity in their work outside the home and women are relegated to domestic life."

"In our culture, when we find a biological reality, that ends the conversation instead of starting the conversation on how to handle and manage these realities.

And from Saturday morning:

"What if we made looking at women in the church as normal and important as studying men and male disciples in the church?"

"The story of Mary: How an impoverished Jewish peasant girl became an international superstar."

"Mary prompts us to ask ourselves how we expect God to act in our lives."

"When Jesus weeps, He's not getting in touch with His feminine
side, He's getting in touch with His humanity."

"In an eschatalogical reality, singleness trumps marriage. The tie that persists is that of baptism, our lives as brothers and sisters."

"You're not 'waiting' you are conforming your body to what the Spirit is doing in your life right now."

"We are going to be seated together at the heavenly banquet, so we should start reconciliation now."

So much good stuff! So much depth, so much to think about. If you didn't make it to the conference, I hear that the recordings will be available on the Quest website soon, so you should check them out. Be challenged.

All in all, the work put into this depth class and conference and the words of our pastors, leaders, and Lauren have all made a huge impact on how I view myself as a woman, a Christian, and a servant in the church. I'm grateful for the opportunity and hope to continue the conversations and the consideration of all that was said.

Faith & Gender: Gossip, Sex, and the DTR

It has been an interesting three months of preparation, research, and teaching for this Faith & Gender class and Lauren Winner Conference. The possibility of having Lauren Winner come out for a learning conference has been tossed around for a couple of years now, and from the very beginning I spoke up to say I wanted to be part of it. Admittedly, this was because I was a major fan of Lauren Winner's writing. Her book, Girl Meets God, was one of the more impactful books on my spiritual development over the past few years.


When we started to put together the depth class, however, I felt completely in over my head. How was I supposed to teach on the theology of Faith & Gender? I certainly didn't have a good story to tell or any answers to give. I was still confused on what it meant to be a woman, a leader, and a Christian all at the same time. Every week at our planning meeting I felt like I had more questions than ideas, more uncertainties than conclusions. Everyone else seemed so well versed on the subject, and I felt like the farthest thing from an expert as you could get.


At the beginning of our work, I still wasn't sure what I believed about women in leadership and marriage roles and sexuality, all these things that I was supposed to teach on. These are issues that I will probably never stop turning over in my mind and heart and searching the Scriptures on. But somehow in the process of trying to find answers that I could share with my fellow Questers, I found myself coming to a few conclusions that have given me a clearer sense of self, a confidence in the validity of my place as a leader in the church, and a renewed passion for God's justice.


A few things I have discovered or concluded:

1. Being a good Christian woman does not mean you can't be a leader: I was told for so long, directly and indirectly, that in order to be a good Christian woman, I needed to learn how to not be a leader. This went against everything I felt in my spirit about who God made me to be. Now I feel confident that I can honor God and my fellow believers, both male and female, while embracing the gifts and callings that I feel God has given me.
   
2. Submission in marriage is a good thing, a Biblical thing, but that doesn't mean you have to be a dominated pushover: Submission comes from a place of strength; it is a choice of the woman, not a forced subjection by the man. And submission doesn't mean you lose your voice. The Bible never says "Husbands, lead your wives."
   
3. Furthermore, the prescription for marital submission does not mean that I should be forced to be submissive in my dating relationships or any other relationship with a man, other than the call to "submit to one another out of reverence for Christ". The call to submission for the woman (and the corresponding call for the man to sacrifice and love as Christ loved the church) comes from marriage vows.
   
4. There is no one definition of masculine or feminine: God has made us each unique, and accordingly, we all have strengths and weaknesses. In a relationship, each person will take on different duties and roles based on their talents and how they work together as two becoming one.
   
5. Despite all this talk about marriage, it is not the end-all be-all of human existence and I should not be looked at as half a person because I am a single female over (just barely) the age of twenty-five. While I may feel called to marriage, it should not be the only thing about me that people ask about, or the only thing I base my worth and identity on.
   
6. You can be a committed evangelical with a high view of Scripture, who believes in submission in marriage, and also wholeheartedly support women at every level of church leadership, including pastors and elders.
   
7. The more honest and open and-dare we say it-vulnerable we are with each other as men and women, the more we can work towards healthy relationships and good ministry as the body of Christ.
   
8. Sexuality is more than sex: it is the call to be present to each other in our embodied selves, in non-erotic as well as erotic ways, and seek healthy intimacy in all its forms.
   
9. Yes, men and women can be friends: but the biggest pitfalls of those friendships are gossip (other people speaking untruth into the relationship) sex (an unwillingness to be honest about sexual tension or attraction and deal with it in a healthy way) and fear of the "DTR" (an unwillingness to openly "discuss the relationship" on a regular basis to guard each other's heart and soul).
   

Whew. That was a lot of stuff. But I think I did more reading and researching and discussing in the past three months than I have in the past three years. I had huge checkout lists from the library, borrowed books and ideas from fabulous friends, talked over coffee and the phone with wise, opinionated men and women, and thought and prayed long and hard about all of this. There are still many more questions unanswered, and ways these conclusions will need to be lived out on a daily basis, but I am grateful for the opportunity to challenge my confused preconceptions and reexamine what Scripture says about gender and our roles as men and women in the body of Christ.



Next up: Reflections on the Lauren Winner Conference!

Grandma

If I was a good blogger, I would have immediately posted on Saturday or Sunday about the Learning Conference with Lauren Winner at Quest this weekend. But my life is too full of craziness to be a good blogger. These past couple of weeks have been insane: my grandma has been in the hospital, the market has been crashing repeatedly with no end in sight, and I am in full teaching mode at Quest, both for the Faith & Gender Depth Class and my new C group.

I think if it were merely the church responsibilities, I would be more than fine. Even with the market insanity, I would be okay, because I can (mostly) leave that at work. But with my grandma in the hospital, everything took backseat to the intense anxiety regarding her condition. Last week we were not sure that she would make it to the weekend. I took a Wednesday off work and spent it at the hospital with my mom and grandma, praying as she went into atrial fibrillation that she would make it long enough for my aunt to see her one last time. But my aunt made it here, and despite all odds, my grandma is still with us, just as sassy as ever.

My grandma is an amazing woman. She was an ER nurse for about 40 years, head RN for awhile, and worked well into her seventies. She spent most of her life praying for the salvation of her husband and children, prayers that were finally answered when my grandpa was much older and finally came to God after a series of medical issues (all of her kids were by then believers of Christ). Up until that time, she had taken care of the family almost singlehandedly while my grandpa was a bit of a deadbeat. After he was saved, his Alzheimer's set in, and she continued to work while taking care of him for the next ten years, with the help of her children. He's been gone for a long time now, but I am still amazed at the way she was faithful to him, never wanting to put him into a nursing home or see him as a burden. She is an amazing example of faithfulness, generosity, and love.

I can't imagine not having her for a grandmother, and yet, she is only in my life because of the tragedy of my birth mother's death when I was a toddler. You see, this grandma is my second mom's mom (I'm not a big fan of the "stepmom" term, it's too negative for my purposes). But even though we are not flesh and blood related, I feel closer to her than some of my other family. And this family that I have reminds me that God truly makes all things work together for good.

We don't know how long my grandma has: her myelodysplasia is quickly progressing into leukemia, and while the doctors are no longer talking days to live, they are talking weeks, at best months. But I will be forever grateful for having known and loved and been loved by this amazing woman of God. Her example, her caring, her perspective on life have helped to shape me into who I am. Her advice continually bowls me over with an incredible quiet wisdom, like the time she told me that the question wasn't if a guy was "right for me" but instead if God had called us to walk the same path. That was deep and profound and changed the way I view relationships dramatically. And that is just one example--we have had so many more good conversations, late night talks where I saw her heart for the lost and her love for her Savior.

I wear a ring that my mom gave me many years ago. It is a simple white gold band, made from her grandmother's wedding ring. This is a family heirloom of a family that I was brought into, accepted as being part of no matter the genetic ties. I wear it and I think to myself, blood may be thicker than water, but love is thicker than blood.

ps: I will blog (hopefully soon) on the Lauren Winner conference and my amazing experience of being her chauffeur. Stay tuned!

Drizzle

I am a big fan of fall. The heat goes away, the sweaters some out, hot coffee and tea are abundant. I understand the general aversion to rain, but I actually don't mind it. According to blog Seattlest, that means that I am truly a Seattleite (the fact that I was born here helps too). And I do promote and live the myth that true natives do not own an umbrella.

Yesterday I took advantage of a slow day at work to enjoy my penchant for fall. I walked from my office to Pike Place Market, which is just about five blocks, quite handy, and tooled about the stands, picking up some baby bok choy for dinner. I was wearing my new H&M beret and was consequently given a sample of a French pear from a vendor, who said that I obviously needed French pear wearing such a hat. I continued the theme as I walked around, buying flowers and stopping by Le Panier for a Pain et Chocolat and a cappuccino. I did feel rather chic.

The weather was just right for the excursion: not too warm, but not cold either, with slight sprinkling of rain. No coat needed, just a hat and sweater and a warm cup of espresso and foam. Perfect afternoon.

I know in a few months I will start to dislike the cold and wet as I get drenched on my way to and from the bus stop. But for now, I love the rain, the fresh produce, and my hat. Yay for fall.

Visitation Rights

October is the month of visitations.

Every single weekend in October involves a visit with a long-distance friend. This upcoming weekend my very very best friend Tenae is coming into town for her brother's wedding and while I will have to share her with family, we will still be able to spend some time together, including some lindy hop fun. Tenae and I have been friends for almost nineteen years, and we still never get tired of each other, as evidenced by our cell phone bills and the amount of money I have spent on plane tickets. Three hour phone conversation: $12. Plane ticket to Hawaii: $350. Time spent with best friend in whole wide world: Priceless.

The following weekend is the Lauren Winner conference, and while Lauren and I aren't personal friends yet, I am sure that by the end of the weekend we will be bosom buddies. I have already read her memoir more than once, so we have a good start. Also, the fabulous Linda will be returning from her Alaskan adventures that weekend. Fortunately for us, she will be staying in town longer than a day before gallivanting off to her next excitements of Kenya, Switzerland, and San Francisco. Can't keep that girl down!

Then-wait for it-on the 17th Matt Schaar arrives. When Matt left Quest and Seattle for B school long ago he promised to visit soon but with all his trips to South Africa and Jamaica and wherever else he has been, he has not deigned to grace us with his presence until now. Matt and I became good friends on a day trip to Leavenworth for some Oktoberfest action a couple of years ago, and he's been keeping life crazy fun ever since. He is also known for giving me my nickname of "Reebok". No one knows why he called me that, since I don't wear hightops anymore and I am not an athlete, but Reebok I have become.

And finally, on the last weekend of October, I myself will be traveling to visit my college roommate Hilary. Hilary also traveled about the world after school, going to Scotland for one master's and Philadelphia for another. She also picked up a fabulous husband in Philly. Now they have moved to Bloomington, Indiana so said husband Jon can pursue his doctorate in astronomy. They're big on higher education, these two. They talk about Karl Barth over pancakes at IHOP.

While I have a wonderful group of friends in Seattle, and can't ever see myself leaving this city for permanent residence elsewhere, I do miss my long distance friends and sometimes find myself jealous of their jetsetting ways. I have also always preferred in person conversation to phone or email, and the fact that I haven't seen Hilary in over two years is just a travesty. So I am understandably excited for this month of October. I'm glad that the September insanity will give way to the October fun. I just hope I have the energy after this month to keep up with my fabulous friends!

Bailout Schmailout

It's been awhile since I blogged on financial matters and the markets. Too much has been going on in my life and on Wall Street to make sense of the insanity. And it truly is insane: people are actually taking negative yields on treasury bills. They are paying to have their money invested, more willing to take a small sure loss than a chance at an even bigger possible loss.

And it is all insane according to one popular definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. The government continues to try to provide more credit to huge failing companies and cheaper credit to the market, when credit is what got us in trouble in the first place. Our entire economy has become based on credit and derivatives, and this is where it has led us.

I enjoyed reading Robert Kiyosaki's brief article on the bailouts, as well as this blog equating it not with socialism (as many have said) but with fascism. If you want to read whole lot of interesting perspectives on this stuff, from balanced critique to conspiracy theory craziness, go here. Some of it will make you roll your eyes, but some will make you think.

While I understand why the government has taken the steps it has taken because of the general market panic, the fiscal conservative in me is appalled at the amount of national debt we have just taken on. Being much happier as a debt free person, the fact that my government is in debt up to its eyeballs scares the bejeebies out of me. And when we can't pay our teachers what they are worth, can't provide adequate social security funding, and have two presidential candidates spouting about how they will make our lives so much better with their competing tax plans, I shudder to think what will happen when the bill for all of Paulson and Bernanke's efforts shows up in next year's budget. Make no mistake my friends: whomever gets elected, taxes are going up, or inflation is going up, or both. Most likely both.

I don't have much to add to the discussion except this: awhile back I laughed at one columnist who said that the way to beat the market and inflation was to invest in commodities: not silver or gold, but toilet paper and canned goods. That's a pretty extreme position, but with the wild markets, the panicked calls I keep getting from clients, and the nonsense coming out of politician's mouths, it makes me want to go invest in a couple of cases of Charmin.

Today is the Day

I've been talking about moving for so long it seems unreal that the day is finally here. I've been signing leases, getting keys, packing boxes, moving a few carloads-but today, today I move my bed and tonight I will officially sleep at a new address. It is a fabulous but bittersweet day.

I moved home the summer after my junior year of college. It was not the home I grew up in-we had moved to my grandma's house the September that I started at SPU. I had a bed in my grandma's room that I would sleep in on breaks, and now I was her roomie. When it became clear that I was not moving out anytime soon, they moved some things around in the basement, whitewashed the stone foundation walls, and my hole was created. It is truly a hole: behind the pantry shelves, under the stairs, with no door and one small window that doesn't open. Just call me Henrietta Potter.

I needed to be home at that time in my life. I had broken up with my almost-fiancee, given up my plan of getting a teaching degree, and was generally depressed and uncertain about life. God and I had a lot of anguished conversations in my hole. A lot of fear, anger, hurt, and confusion was poured out in my journal and on my pillow. But healing also came; joy and acceptance were found in my hole where I slept next to the hot water heater and the furnace.

My family had a lot to do with that healing. When you are lonely, the sight of four young boys rushing the door when you come home from work yelling, "Becca's home!" can give you an amazing amount of encouragement (not to mention the hugs they lavish on you when you do actually get in the door). So many nights my mom stayed up late with me as I processed and cried, giving me advice and comfort. So many times my dad has rescued me with rides to work or a morning cup of coffee and love. So many times my grandma would speak quiet words of wisdom that would change my life.

When people looked at me strangely for saying that I lived with my family, that there were eight of us in one small three-bedroom, one-bathroom house, I tried to explain these things. But after awhile I would just smile indulgently and think to myself, they just don't know. They haven't had my mom's pancakes or my dad's fried egg sandwiches. They haven't played cards with my brothers or listened to my grandma make scandalous comments on the good looks of my guy friends.They just don't know.

I didn't always appreciate it either. The weeks when all I did was work and come home, work and come home, work and come home-these weeks I wallowed in too much self-pity to see the blessings I had. But the more people I meet and the more time I spend away from home, the more I realize how unique it is to have such a great family that you are able to enjoy living with.

Perhaps it is because I realize this blessing that now is the time to move. I have thought about it before. I have had offers before. I waited, wanting the right time and the right people. And I have found them. I have a lot of peace about this move (even though life in general is nothing like peaceful right now). I recognize what I am gaining and what I am losing, and I make this choice not out of a desperation to get out or move on, but because my roots are firmly planted in this thriving family I have.

I will miss a lot of things. I love the drive from Burien to Seattle up the Alaskan Way Viaduct (yes, I love the viaduct!) because of the view of the bay. I even wrote a poem about the drive in college (no, you can't read it. It was horrendously bad poetry). I'll miss waking up to the sounds and smell of fresh coffee brewing. I'll miss coming home and finding the family at dinner, with a place for me at the table. Sneaking into my brothers' room and tickling the giggles right out of them. Having my youngest brother wake me up on a Saturday morning by jumping on my bed.

Yes, even that.

But now I will move in with fabulous gals into a fabulous house near a fabulous lake. I will be able to drive home in a few minutes instead of half an hour when I am at a friend's house late at night. I'll have a place to invite friends over to cook for them. And I'll even have a door (although somehow I still ended up in the room under the stairs, go figure).

So today is the day. I am beyond excited about what I will gain. But I am aware of all I will lose. As with any life change, it is a bittersweet blessing. But it is a blessing.

One Year Later

Last year on September 10th, I got up early, put on my best suit, and rode the bus and an elevator to the 21st floor of the main building of LUBI for my first day as a sales assistant. Within a couple of months, I had upgraded my title to "registered" sales assistant, reflecting the untold hours I devoted to studying for and passing the multiple licensing exams needed for a financial advisor. Now, here I am, a year later, happily settled in this job that I agonized for weeks over accepting.

I think we can all agree that taking the job was a very good idea.

Stress levels? Down. Income? Up. Schedule? More flexible. Opportunity in the world of finance? Much broader. Overall employee satisfaction? 73.6% higher.

I've learned more this past year about markets and economics than I ever could in a college course. And while I feel competent in my job, I am still intellectually challenged on a day to day basis by customers wanting to know what the @#$% is going on with the markets (don't ask me, nobody knows). I also feel more valued as an employee than I had in the past couple of years, even though I am now "just" an assistant as opposed to a manager (further proof that titles means nothing to your leadership ability or potential).

This position, like my entire time at LUBI, was surprise, and a blessing. I have no idea what the next stage of my career entails, or if this will be my last hurrah in the banking world before I settle down into my true calling as a church secretary. But I do know that I am still enjoying myself, and I still feel that I am walking the path God has set for me. I have no idea where the path may lead (although I have some wishes) but I trust that it will be a good journey.

Spice Girls

September is going to be officially INSANE.

I was asked about a week ago in a meeting what was going on in my life, and my answer included:

1. Being part of the planning team for the Faith & Gender depth class and Lauren Winner conference (more about that in a minute)
2. Getting ready for another year of C group
3. Leading Life Together and recruiting more folks for the LT leadership team
4. Being on the WAC (Worship Advisory Council) and helping with 5pm setlist/team scheduling
5. Moving (something I haven't done in over six years)
6. Other assorted things in life, like dance lessons and trying to meet regularly with a girlfriend to "verbally process"

After listing these off, the WAC members looked at me in a mix of disbelief and horror and pronounced that I had too much going on.

What else is new.

I am trying to learn how to say no and choose carefully how I spend my time. It just happened that a few things I couldn't say no to all ended up in the same month. They are all really really good things. I'm definitely looking forward to Lauren Winner, who wrote one of my favorite books, visiting Quest. I am excited about C groups and Life Together starting again, I am beyond excited about moving, and leading worship is becoming one of the most fulfilling things in my life.

That being said, I tried very hard to get out of leading worship this past Sunday. I knew it would be a busy weekend, what with the Life Together Summer BBQ and all. I also knew I was starting to burn out and needed a break. However, the other worship leaders (and almost the entire team) were out of town, which left me to hold down the fort. Mattsy called it "Rebecca Torture Sunday". While it wasn't quite that bad, it was looking a little dicey there for a second.

Fortunately the fabulous Jessica and the equally wonderful Melissa came to the rescue, and the three of us led worship with no problems. Jessica plunked down some amazing guitar skills and taught us a new song, and we finished practicing in a record half an hour, allowing us to go relax over some coffee before church. With Jess taking lead I got to bust out some high harmonies, which I don't get to do too often, and all in all it was a good Sunday.

The only unfortunate thing was that both George and Matt kept referring to us as the "Spice Girls." Despite my contradictions, it came up in multiple emails. Jessica and Melissa also protested the moniker and insisted that we were more like Dixie Chicks or TLC, but the boys liked their idea too much to listen. It got to the point where I was being sent lyrics to "Wannabe", including a new verse:

If you wanna be a worship leader
you gotta be George's friend
making lots of music
and singing in his band....

Thanks for that one Matt. Really, there's nothing you can say to respond to that.


Anyway, it was especially cool to lead worship with two other fabulous strong women of God because of this Faith & Gender class that we are putting on. Jessica is on the planning team with me and we were joking about how we were a walking, singing commercial for the class. She said we should have made an announcement: "Wanna know why this is ok for us gals to lead you in worship? Come to Faith & Gender!" While it doesn't seem that crazy at Quest for three women to lead worship, in some church traditions, it might be questioned. And throughout history, it certainly would have been a scandalous thing-I can hear Tertullian yelling about the sinful daughters of Eve as I write this.

Although coming from a very conservative home, I was always encouraged to be a strong, independent woman. I am the first female in my family to have a bachelor's degree. My mom, who will be the first one to tell you that submission in marriage is part of God's design, is herself a fiery woman who isn't afraid to speak her mind. She more than anyone has taught me how to be strong yet gentle. But as I work through the readings and Scriptures we are bringing out for the depth class, I find myself struggling to articulate my own point of view on Biblical gender roles. I am proud of my female pastors, proud of being a woman in leadership at church, aware that my own ministries and callings would have been denied to me at other points in the history of the church. But I also see the beauty of my parents' marriage, and I am challenged by the Scriptures and how to interpret them.

The other big questions that keep coming up for me are, what is my role as a single woman? How do I express my sexuality? How do I reflect my wholeness in Christ while also acknowledging my deep desire to be a wife and mother? These are questions I seem to have trouble finding answers to. Books on Christian sexuality seem limited to telling us the importance of being chaste. Well, I know that, and I am pretty darn chaste, let me tell you. But I am also a real flesh and blood person. I don't have a sexuality switch in my head that I can keep in the 'off' position until I say my I dos. And I don't feel that singleness or celibacy are my calling, AT ALL. But I also cannot stand these books with titles like, Waiting For Her Isaac. I'm sorry, but I think that God has more for me to do than just sit around waiting for some man to come calling.

But I really do want one to come calling.

Sigh...so many questions, too few answers, and no time to sit and think and research and reflect. I am looking forward to the discussions in this depth class. While I know that not all my questions will be answered, at least we will bring up the issues, and I think I will find that I am not alone in having these questions (if the reaction from the women I have already talked to about it is any indication, it seems to be a common concern). As I seek to be more myself, more as Christ would have me be, I welcome this opportunity to explore these things with my church community.

But after this, I really am going to get better at saying no.

Pins and Needles

Patience has never been one of my virtues. I am all about efficiency. Additionally, I am a person who desires clarity, stability, and a clear plan.

God likes to challenge these areas of weakness in my life, on a regular basis.

Case in point: moving. I decided a few months ago that I would move out of my parents' home, where I have been living for six years, to join in the adventure of living and/or owning a home with my wonderful friend Melissa. I joined my fate to that of the fabulous Petersen gals and sifted through house listings on ZipRealty and rental properties on craigslist, yahoo, msn, and any other site I could find. After some disappointments and deciding to rent now, buy later, we found what seemed to be a great place north of Greenlake. We applied on a Thursday; the owners said they would let us know the following Wednesday.

I did okay until about Monday. People started to ask if we had heard yet. No, we won't know until Wednesday, I would say. Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday, was my constant reply. We're really excited, I would say. Pray for us, we really want this house. I'll let you know as soon as we hear on Wednesday.

Wednesday came. I sat at work with my cell phone next to my laptop, which had my gmail up all day. And I waited. My coworker in the cubicle next to me kept poking her head over, asking if I had heard yet. Not yet, I said. Give it time, I said. All day I waited. Maybe they won't call until after work, I said. Five o'clock came. Six o'clock. I started to wonder if I should email them. Seven o'clock. Nothing. I chatted with Melissa and she said to wait until the morning. Still nothing. I watched a movie. Still no email. My phone rang-it was Rachael, asking if we had heard about the house. No, we haven't heard. I am still on pins and needles.

I went to sleep with no answers.

Thursday morning came. I woke up and the first thing I did was check my email. Four emails. None from the owners of our desired abode. I crafted a light, happy, we-really-want-you-to-rent-to-us email and sent it. Got in the shower. Got out of the shower. Checked email. No word. Went to work. Setup the cell phone and gmail as the day before. Explained to coworker that no, we still had no answer. Reminded myself that a watched pot never boils, and that God must simply be teaching me to relax and rely on Him for my fulfillment. Yelled at God a little internally. Bounced up and down in my chair. Took a walk around the floor to calm down. Repeated to myself, "patience is a virtue. Patience is a virtue. This is good for you." Reasoned out why they were not calling-they had been out of town, were exhausted and busy. Had trouble getting ahold of the credit bureau to see my and Melissa's insanely awesome credit scores. Lost the application. Needed to pray about it more. Were getting a sadistic pleasure out of making me wait.

Oh, no, not that one. That's not reasonable. We are going for reasonable here.

I started to chide myself for being so neurotic as to freak out over a few more hours of waiting. Inbox showed one new email-a sale at Chico's. I don't need any more clothes right now, I need to know if I can move the stuff I have. I started to write this blog, deciding that no matter the outcome, I could at least make fun of my neurosis. Another email: Allrecipes. I don't care about Kevin's teriyaki recipe, I thought, I just want to know if I get to live on Densmore! Drank some tea since I had already had multiple cups of coffee. Researched some stocks. Johnson & Johnson-to buy or not to buy? S&P says buy, I say I want to pay first and last and deposit instead.

My boss finally gets to work and so I end up spending the next hour or two in his office. I wander back to my desk, and there it is-the reply to my email. I open it in breathless anticipation and...

They haven't made a decision.

All of my reasoning is true: they got back late from travels, haven't completed the background check. They will let us know by tomorrow. Afternoon. Ahhhhh!

I email Melissa, explaining that I might implode. I pound out a little frustration on my desk. And I remind myself to breathe. In and out. Not a big deal. Not a no, just a not yet.

Like so many other things in my life.

Perhaps someday I will get over this tendency to freak out and live in stress while waiting for answers. But today, I just know that I will be sleeping on pins and needles again tonight.

Oy vey.

Alone In The Kitchen With A Zucchini

It is an interesting thing to cook for one's self. Growing up, I cooked a lot, but it was never for less than five people, the majority of the diners being male and hungry. This gave me a lot of experience in cooking large, satisfying meals. Cooking alone, however, is it's own special breed of experience.

I am actually a pretty good cook. My cookies are legendary, my macaroni and cheese has been praised at several potlucks (this ain't no blue-box shtuff here). Also, you haven't lived until you have eaten my chicken tetrazzini. My ex-boyfriend might have had his faults, but even he knew that this stuff deserved three helpings.

Of course, I also seem to have fabulously awful experiences in the kitchen. Like tonight, when I dumped an entire pot of pasta down the sink while draining it. Invariably burners have smoky burning episodes when I cook on them. And of course, my mom will always be able to say to me, "remember that time when you put in tablespoons of baking soda instead of teaspoons of baking soda and the banana bread exploded in the oven?"

Tonight I found myself in the kitchen cooking a fabulous improvised recipe involving bacon, zucchini, pasta, and asiago. Barring the episode with the sink, it turned out pretty well. Next time I might try to add a cream sauce. But sauce felt too over the top when I was going to be the only enjoying the fruits of my labor. As satisfying as my dinner was, not cooking for or with other people felt like too much work.

I recently picked up a copy of Alone In The Kitchen With An Eggplant, a book of essays on "cooking for one and dining alone." While this might seem a depressing premise for a book, it is actually quite enjoyable (and the authors even include recipes! It's like two books for one!). The myriad authors were both self-deprecating and fiercely independent, asserting their rights to prepare a five course meal for no one but themselves, while acknowledging the sinking feeling one gets when asked "table for one?"

I don't cook for myself much, usually there are brothers or friends around to be the recipients of my labors. But I do dine alone quite a bit. A couple of weeks ago I was given a gift card for Palomino that expired that night, and since I did need to get dinner out before I went to a meeting, and it was too late to find a friend to join me, I decided to go alone. It felt slightly indulgent to have a dish of pasta and a glass of wine all by myself, eating slowly while reading my book, overhearing bits of conversation from the loud parties around me. But it was also liberating to be secure enough in myself to not feel like I had to hide from my singleness, from my independence.

I suppose this eating alone thing has a layer of metaphor for my life: I am joyful in my single state, secure in the knowledge that I am a whole person all by my little lonesome. But sometimes I am also, well, lonesome. Desirous of company, a table for two. Wanting to cook for someone else.

I won't be cooking for just myself for too long-my housesitting gig will be up at the end of the week and then in a month or so, if all goes according to plan, I will be cooking for roommates. But I am sure there will still be nights when I will be alone in the house and I will have to decide: peanut butter and jelly, or cream sauce?

Q+Y=F

Attempting to interpret the motivations behinds a guy's actions is futile. While most (but not all) women tend to overanalyze every word and facial tic, most (but not all) men seem to communicate with reckless abandon. If they feel like flirting, they flirt. If they have a question, they ask it. They don't stop to think what a girl might intuit from them asking, "So, if a guy liked you, would you want him to ask you on a date or just ask to 'hang out'?"

Perhaps this is not their fault. Perhaps we would all be better off if we were guileless and uncalculating in our speech. Certainly it is better to say what you mean and then let your actions match your words. No one would ever read into anything you said, and you would never have to guess what someone meant. We would all just be honest, and when we wanted to say something, we would say it without fear of being misunderstood.

However, life does not work that way. Not only do you have to say what you mean, but you have to worry about whether the listener will hear what you mean. And interpretation in verbal communication, somewhat like literary analysis, is affected by the reader or listener's bias. The information possessed by the listener forms a framework by which they evaluate the statements made. If I know X, and friend says Y, I interpret it to mean X+Y=Z.

But what if X is incorrect? Or X is correct, but when friend says Y, he also knows W, which I am not aware of. And so, really, X+Y does equal Z, but X has to be multiplied by W, which makes Q, and Q+Y does not equal Z, but instead equals F.

Confused?

Me too.

Guys complain that girls are confusing. I think guys take the cake. But that might be because I am a girl.

Multiple Copies

I don't go out to the movies much. I think I have actually been to the theatre (that's re, not er) for real live plays more than the movies this year, which is fine with me. That's not to say that I don't like movies, I just would rather not pay $10 to go see one. I do, however, utilize the fabulous King Country Library system for the purpose of free movie rentals. It's like Netflix for free: you place a hold on an upcoming release, find yourself as number 547 of 935 holds, and wait patiently for the movie to magically appear at your local library. Sometimes it takes a little longer than you would like, but hey, it's free.

A movie I put on hold a few months back came up last week: Definitely, Maybe. It is a sweet tale of a father telling his daughter the story of the three women that he has loved in his life. He changes the names so that the daughter has to guess from the story which of the women ends up being her mother. Unfortunately, the parents are currently divorcing, which lends a sad element to the story. But eventually the daughter guesses (correctly) and everyone learns good lessons.

Anyway, I liked the film, and I even liked how it ended. But what I really loved was that a major plot element was the fact that one of the girls owned multiple copies of the same book. She had an entire collection of used copies of Jane Eyre. Now, some of you may know that used books are one of the great loves of my life. You may also know that Jane Eyre is one of my favorite novels. But you probably didn't know that like the heroine of our movie, I too have multiple copies of this book on my shelf. Currently in my collection are three, no I think four, editions of Jane Eyre.

Now, the girl in the movie had way more. Probably about twenty or so. I recognized several versions on her shelf as ones I had seen in stores and/or owned myself. She had a touching family story related to the book and was searching for one specific copy (which incidentally, is an edition I have also seen and almost bought once). I have no such story-in fact, other books have impacted me more than Bronte's tale of the governess and her devotion to morality in the midst of passion. But for some reason I keep buying beautiful copies of the same book.

You see, it is not just the story for me. Old books are beautiful and comforting-they are a multisensory experience with their worn leather covers and old style font. The inscriptions in fancy handwriting, the illustrations, the sense of history that they give lends something to the reading process that a new mass-manufactured Barnes & Noble paperback just can't match. You read the book and wonder about the person who has held it in her hands before you-did she cry at that part? Did she throw the book in anger at a lover? Toss it away in disgust? Clutch it to her chest in prayer?

Reading a book can be a life-changing process. As you read, you see yourself, you see your parents and friends, you see the person you love in all their beauty and weakness. The details might be different, but the personalities are the same-I saw myself in Madame Bovary and in St. Augustine's Confessions. These books changed me in ways I can only call spiritual. At times in my life when I could barely pray, God spoke through the writings of both believers and atheists to get His point across. And so each time I pick up a book and read notes in the margins, I wonder how God changed the previous owner's life-if they heard the Spirit whispering to them while they read Ash Wednesday.

I have been able so far to keep most of my purchases to books I do not already own, although I don't count ugly paperbacks in that estimation. I do have more than one copy of Pride and Prejudice, I believe, even though I do not score as Elizabeth Bennet in my "Which Jane Austen Character Are You?" quiz on Facebook (I am more like Elinor Dashwood, from Sense and Sensibility or Anne Eliot from Persuasion). I am sure though that as I continue to haunt bookstores and antique malls I will time and again buy a beautiful copy of say, Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca or Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov simply because of a great inscription or a beautiful cover.

And one of these days I will again find that same edition of Jane Eyre that was featured in the movie, and I think, perhaps, I shall buy it. That will only make five copies-I still have a long way to go.

The Secret to a Good DOL Experience

Apparently, the thing to do if you have to get your driver's license renewed is to dress as cute as possible. Because then when you are waiting in the incalculable throng of people some nice young man will give you his ticket and move you up 40 numbers in line. My lucky day, indeed.

Of course, this might not work for my male readers. Sorry about that.

I also was blessed with probably my best driver's license picture ever. Awesome. Happy early birthday to me.

Wordle

The results from my wordle:

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Interesting that the biggest word is "One". I wonder where that came from.

Arches Road Trip

It still amazes me that I agreed to go on a road trip to a desert location in the summertime. I am notorious for not liking the heat or road trips: as a child, my parents dragged me all over the country visiting family and friends, packed into the back of a VW Vanagon (horrible) or Eurovan (slightly better), sometimes with young brothers, to exotic locations such as Iowa and Wisconsin. My favorite pastime on these trips was to check the road signs for the miles to our destination, and calculate in my head how many hours or minutes it would take to get to the next town at whatever speed we were currently driving. It was a small thrill to beat the calculation, and a crushing disappointment to run up against traffic or construction and arrive at the planned city a few minutes behind schedule.

Well, I find I still do the calculations, and it is still a bit of a thrill to beat your time, and also very easy to do so when Melissa Petersen is driving. My future roommate/home co-owner and I hit the road with our friend David Owen (aka the Biochemist) and headed to Arches National Park in Moab, Utah. We left Seattle on Friday night and drove straight through, stopping only for gas, snacks, and a brief perusal of the Mormon Temple in Salt Lake City, arriving in Moab Saturday afternoon. We had a nice shady campsite next to a creek a couple of miles outside of town, made better by the provision of real bathrooms and showers (cold showers being a must when you have been hiking in hot weather).

After the first night, when we walked around Moab and took it easy, we developed a kind of rhythm: get up, eat/shower, hike (and thereby get sweaty and exhausted), go back to camp, collapse into the showers, go into town and hang at the internet cafe so David could get work done and Melissa and I could read or shop in air conditioning, head to the grocery store for food and figure out where to eat dinner and watch the sunset, then head back to camp for a fire and tea.

Our first hike was both the best and the worst: on Sunday we did Devil's Garden, the full 9 or 10 miles with the "primitive loop" and all the side trails. The pictures are incredible-the arches, the views from the top of the rocks we climbed up on-the entire park was amazing. However, being as it has been a long time since I did a 10 mile hike, and we were a mile high in the sky, and we started a bit later than we should have for such a long hike, I ended up with a combination of altitude sickness and/or heat exhaustion for the last mile or so. I don't think I had enough water, and I know my body was not happy that we were hiking in 100-degree heat, and my lungs started to rebel. We would climb up the trail for as far as I could go, and then stop in a bit of shade until I could breathe normally, and then start again. At one point, David actually left us in a shady spot and went on ahead to get more water from the trailhead, and Melissa slowly but surely kept me moving until we got back (David met us when we still had about a third of a mile left, and the water helped). I think Melissa started to get a little scared for me, especially when I said that I felt like throwing up (a definite bad sign) but she did a good job staying calm and keeping me going so I didn't just curl up under a rock and beg for Jesus to take me home. Although I did feel like that a couple of times. But we made it back, and I stuck my head under the water spigot for a good long time and then passed out in the car on the way back to camp. After a couple hours of rest, food, and shower, I felt a lot better.

After that little drama, we took it pretty easy for the rest of the day, hanging out at the internet cafe and then heading over to the Delicate Arch viewpoint for an attempt at viewing the sunset. We missed the sunset but shared a bottle of wine and ate salads and sandwiches. The next day we went for an easier hike through Morning Glory Canyon (traditionally but horribly called "Negro Bill Wilderness Area", someone needs to change that). We hiked for a long time but never saw the "bridge" we were supposed to see. We are not sure if we missed it or didn't go far enough or what, but we did lots of exploring, and climbed up a rockface. Melissa and I had teased David for bringing along a bunch of rope and climbing equipment that we were uncertain would actually be put to use, so he was pretty excited to break out the rope and help us climb up on the ledge and then back down. Not being a rope or rockclimber myself, I was a little nervous, but had fun tackling my fear and joining the fun. We hiked back through the creek for awhile, which was super fun but resulted in a lot of bug bites. However, I have discovered that I am most certainly a water creature and not a desert creature, because I had way more fun in the creek than in the sand!

We had been missing the sunsets but finally got a good one Monday night when we hiked Delicate Arch and then came down and found a spot on the side of the road to park and took the Coleman propane stove out to a rock and made grilled cheese sandwiches while watching the sun go down. It was probably not entirely legal to go off trail and use a coleman stove in the middle of nowhere and enjoy some Tecate while doing so, but it was incredible. Delicate Arch was an amazing site-hard to get to, what with my body's aversion to steep climbs, but so worth it. The funniest part was sitting up on the top, gazing out at the view for miles, and hearing my cell phone ring! Reception was fine, but it was a little windy, so I had to put off talking to my best friend Tenae, who was calling from Hawaii to schedule her brief time at home as she moves from Honolulu to North Carolina. But then as we were laughing about the cell reception and sending evil text messages of beautiful pictures designed to create envy in all of our friends, we discovered that all of our watches/phones had different times, so we had no idea what time it was and thought we might miss the sunset AGAIN. We practically ran down the trail and found that we really weren't as late as we thought we were and then went and found our spot for grilled cheese.

Tuesday morning we went on the guided hike through Fiery Furnace, which was actually a little slow even for me, what with all the stopping and talking about plants and such. But the guides were nice and there were funny fellow-hikers with us and we got done with plenty of time to go into town, get frozen yogurt/shakes/smoothies and then pack up the campsite and hit the road. We left at 1:30 Seattle time and got back around 7am Wednesday morning, a bit of a faster trip back, since we didn't stop and hang with the mormons.

I was so tired. And sore. And not even ready to do another trip like this anytime soon. But definitely glad that we went. We had a fabulous time with good conversations, and only one minor argument in the car about how to get back onto the interstate after getting turned around, in which, according to Melissa, David and I were stereotypical examples of classic male/female communication differences. I was giving verbal directions, he was thinking spatially, and um, I was right. I mean, he could have been right, but I preferred to go with the more certain route. Of course, I had also made the same mistake at the beginning of the trip about getting on a horribly marked onramp going the wrong direction, but I got us back on the freeway going the correct way in no time, without major argument about the spatial orientation of the road. Either way, we got back, and we now know that stopping for burgers means you will end up going the wrong direction on the freeway when you try to head out of town.

It was a great trip overall, and now I have to try to get all of my pictures loaded and labeled and categorized. But of course, I went right back to work, so I am busy and tired, and not too much is getting crossed off my to-do list. But that is okay-it's summer! Time to relax! Time to have fun while not being in charge!

This weekend I am headed to Portland with some friends and the band for shopping and a concert. More summer fun, but the temps will be in the nineties. I thought I had left those behind in Utah!

More photos on facebook

Unrequited

"All love is unrequited"

-Susan Ivanova, from the TV show Babylon 5 (yes, I realize I am a scifi geek)


Friday night at the retreat we had an interesting conversation about love and relationships, the nature of connection and the validity of unrequited love. It was definitely a stimulating conversation (and not one I expected to have with half a dozen guys and only one other girl). I also found it interesting that I had written the following passage just a couple of days prior in one of my daily writing times (I am trying to write a little something every day, like Anne Lamott recommends):

If you asked her why she loved Ethan, she would not have been able to tell you. She could list his pros and cons, the things she loved about him, the things that drove her mad. But to answer 'why do you love him?' she could only say, because I do. Love is something that cannot be reasoned-it simply is. While you may give up hope of it being requited, it will never leave you. Likewise, you can try to convince yourself to love a person because they seem to be everything you thought you wanted, but in the end, if your heart, your soul, does not beat wildly in anticipation of their very presence, you know that your admiration is not enough.

Of course, people will say this is merely romance, or worse, lust. They argue that love is a choice, a commitment. True, but still there is a mystery to real love, something that makes a person stay when their spouse has hurt them, makes a parent see a child through years of rebellion, makes a wife care for a husband dying of Alzheimers. That connection that brings the deepest part of you into communion with the other-that cannot be found on a pro and con worksheet.

This was the kind of love that Abby felt for Ethan. She knew she would always love him, despite the uncertain future of their relationship. There would always be a place in her heart reserved only for his smile, even decades in the future, perhaps after she had given the rest of her heart to someone else, someone who would love her back, with whom she would have children and would grow old with. Even then, when she sat in her rocking chair and looked at her grandchildren, she would remember the love that she felt for Ethan, and a bittersweet smile would steal its way onto her face. And when her granddaughter asked her what she was thinking of, she would pull her onto her lap, and say, "let me tell you a story, dear. A story about love."

This little section, while just a random bit of freewriting, will hopefully (in some form) be part of my grand novel someday. But for now I think it expresses some of my current perspective on relationships. We can talk for hours and days about what we look for in a significant other, perhaps the merits of a particular person, or what we believe is most important in a relationship. But in the end, we fall hard for people in spite of our logical, rational arguments for or against them. And while I am rather practical when it comes to the reality of how hard relationships can be, and that no matter how much you care for someone, sometimes it doesn't work out, I am still a romantic. I still hold to the mysterious nature of love and the beauty of the process. And I trust that someday I too will have beautiful stories to tell my grandkids.

Kerry Park

I wrote this on Monday morning, but life has been crazy and I haven't had time to actually post it, so here you are:

Last night I went to Kerry Park. I was happily exhausted after a long weekend at the Life Together retreat (more about that in a bit) but I had caught glimpses of Mt. Rainier (aka The Mountain) and I knew that with the sunset and the not-quite-full moon, it would be the perfect night to sit and gaze out at the beauty of Seattle. Kerry Park has always been one of my favorite places and views, and last night it did not disappoint. While there were more people around than I usually prefer, the view was spectacular: the sun glinting off the skyscrapers, the mountain in the distance, the hazy purple-blue sky. I only wish I had my camera.

I used to walk to Kerry Park when I was in college. I loved living on campus in Queen Anne- it is close to the heart of the city, with beautiful homes and tree-lined streets all around. Despite the busy life of Seattle being so close, I always felt peace when I went walking through the neighborhoods. Kerry Park is one my "thin places"-a Celtic term for places where we feel the closest to God. These are the places where it seems easiest for me to pray: a favorite quiet corner of campus, at the beach, and Kerry Park.

After this weekend, I think we can add Cascades Covenant Camp to the list. I was so glad that we scheduled quiet times into our retreat along with the worship, teaching, discussion, and play. I took a nice walk Saturday morning after breakfast and stopped a couple of times to journal, pray, and even sing a little (one of the best things about walking by yourself in the woods is singing to yourself. You can't do that on the bus or walking down the streets of downtown Seattle). It was refreshing mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

The whole weekend was really a breath of fresh air. After spending weeks and months planning and stressing over the weekend, it was such a relief and a blessing to have it go so well. Despite arriving late (and starting a couple of hours after our scheduled time) I was hit by such a feeling of joy and excitement when the cars started to arrive and my friends and fellow Questers started to scramble out. There were people I knew well and people I had barely met, and while I didn't become best friends with every single person (that would have been impossible) by the end of the weekend I had experienced amazing fellowship and participated in some incredible conversations.

Of course, when we came back, life went right back to busy, as I tried to squeeze in some Father's Day time with my dad before dashing off to catch the end of church and hang out with people on Linda's last Sunday at Quest (at least for awhile). I'm hoping to spend some more time journaling and reflecting on the retreat and the teaching from Dr. Spencer (look for more blog entries to follow). But I am glad that I took a few minutes, even in my tiredness, to sit at Kerry Park and watch the sun reflect off the city and appreciate the beauty of the mountain.

Please Submit Ideas For My Pen Name

It's been awhile since I put together a blog post. Life since vacation has been a little insane, what with a retreat to plan and promote (please come please come please come) and myriad parties and activities to enjoy. That and I have been trying to spend more time one on one with friends who I have lost connection with, or friends that find it necessary to move about the country (or the world) instead of staying here in Seattle (aka best place to live ever).

This break doesn't mean I haven't been writing, however. As a matter of fact, I may have stumbled upon a novel in my head, or at least something that can be shaped into a novel. A couple of weeks ago I was expelling frustration in the form of prose and shared it with a fellow writer-friend, who encouraged me to work with the characters I had created. And so a couple times a week I sit down and start freewriting, crafting scenes and conversations, bits of plot exposition and backstory, that I hope someday to make into something readable by the general public.

This writing has been interesting, because a good chunk of the characters in my little novel are based on actual people and events. It's a challenge to change them enough to protect the innocent (or guilty, as the case may be) while preserving the drama of the interaction, the meaning I found in processing the event. While I can change the name of the female protagonist to Abigail, she is still a Seattleite with a coffee addiction and a habit of falling in love with emotionally unavailable men.

My other big question in writing my stories is how to be true to my Christian faith while not making the book into a religious tract. I don't think I can write a book without a Christian protagonist, but I also don't want my work to be pigeonholed in the "inspirational fiction" section. I suppose I want to be the Switchfoot of the literary world: communicating the message of Christ while never using the words "what would Jesus do?" in a sentence.

It will probably be a long process of figuring all these things out as I write and edit and all of that. Perhaps this particular story will never make it into print, and I won't have to worry about my friends calling me up and protesting "I never did that!" But my dad told me once that I would write two books, two published books, that he felt I was called to minister through the written word. I don't know what that will look like, but I trust that if I keep writing what Anne Lamott calls "shitty first drafts" one of these days I will get to a good story that someone will pay money to enjoy.

Or at least, rent from the library.

Recipe for a Good Vacation

I've taken a few trips to see my best friends. For some reason they feel it necessary to travel the globe in search of advanced degrees and/or job opportunities. Thanks to my friends, I have been to New York, London, Scotland, Paris, Philadelphia, Florida, and, um, Denver. And now I have taken my second trip to the islands of Hawaii to see my long time (18 years and still going strong) best friend Tenae.

Now I will admit that as much as I love Tenae, some of the trips to see her have been, well, mixed. Some times she had to work a lot. Other times (okay, most times) I was too stressed at the start of the trip to actually relax enough to enjoy it. And I will go down on record saying that I do not like Florida, at least not the northern part.

But this trip was AMAZING. Yes, worthy of the all-caps description. Granted, she had to work the first two days, but the first day it was late enough in the morning for me to be able to sleep in and then head to town with her, spending my day shopping and walking around the beach (which was across the street from the mall). And the second day, when she had to work early, I slept in and then lounged by the pool for several hours. I achieved such a level of relaxation that I even got a little sunburnt.

(See, at my old job at LUBI, going on vacation meant that you had twice as much to do before your trip (in order to prepare your staff for your absence) and twice as much work when you got back (in order to clean up the mess they had made despite the effort you made before leaving). Because of this, I could never really unwind, being so stressed before I arrived that I couldn't quite make it past "normal" to "relaxed.")

Anyway, that night we left for the Big Island with Tenae's roommate Tina and our politician-manservant Joseph. Joe is the perfect traveling companion for a group of girls-he opens doors, pumps gas, and brings you coffee in bed. Seriously. We call him the politician because he is good at making new friends in unfamiliar places, walking up to strangers and making them love him. And he can dance. These are just some of the reasons why from time to time you could hear one (or all) of us yell out to Hilo, "Vote for Joe!"

While on the Big Island, we saw some incredible sights. Black sand beaches, a green sand beach (accessible only by a four-wheel-drive "road" that Tenae showed who's boss), volcanoes spewing hot lava into the ocean, lava tubes, waterfalls, and to top it all off, snow. We had a ton of fun playing tunes off of the iPod and trading in our beat up jeep for a new one, turning off all the lights in the lava cave and experiencing true darkness, and enjoying some impromptu swing-dancing at the jazz club (if only the waitress had been a bit more attentive to the fact that we wanted to eat before we had to leave for the airport).

When we got back, Tenae had another day off, so we went hiking and conquered a rather steep ridge that gave us an amazing view of the island coastline. Despite a minor disappointment that the tea shop we headed for afterwards was closed, we enjoyed the rest of our afternoon, eating some more good food and heading up to the North Shore to watch the sun set.

The morning of my departure, I told Tenae that this had to be one of the best trips I had ever taken to visit her. I was able to relax, her days off worked perfectly for our plans, we saw beautiful sights, and enjoyed good conversations. Best of all, our friendship is stronger than ever, because as we both allow God to work on us, He brings us closer together in our friendship and shared faith.

So while she and her fantastic roommate might be leaving the beautiful islands and heading for the east coast, I will look forward to my next trip to see her. Even though it will be to North Carolina.

The Politician-Manservant

I Told You

I told you.

So many times
So many ways

When I was leaving and couldn't
go without seeing
your face
touching
your arm
meeting
your eyes

Didn't you read it there?
The sonnet I had written
dedicated to you
perhaps it was too small
my fields of hazel
are not wide and innocent

But didn't you hear?
the catch in my voice
I tried to make my goodbye
Cheerful
unaffected
When I was crying

Perhaps my acting was too good

But I was sure you would know
Thought my heart was obvious
always dancing on my sleeve

Thought the tears would show
not stay bottled
lined up perfectly
on the shelves of my soul

How could you not know?

I told you

So many nights like this
Hellos and goodbyes
Each one a telling

Were you not listening?
Should I have shouted?
Given up my attempts to remain calm?

I held it in until I felt I would implode

Should I have let it go?

Perhaps I should let you go

Because I told you

and you didn't want to hear it

This is a rough first draft, but it came all at once, after thinking a bit on someone's comment that girls are not as obvious in our romantic "signals" as we think we are. I find that my poetry is better read, or performed. When I write, I imagine someone speaking the words to me, but I'm not skilled enough to communicate the tone and inflection perfectly.
I think in the end, I am more of a screenwriter, always thinking about how the scene would be acted, how I would read each line, the facial expressions that would go along with it. Maybe someday I will attempt to write a play. But we'll work on the poetry and short stories first.