driving conditions: hazardous or: back in the saddle again

Last MLK weekend 2007 I got into a car accident. No one else involved but me, my Rodeo a highway divider protecting me from 20+ foot drop...I was able to drive away from it, but would never truly drive my car again after that white knuckled drive home. Through a wild set of extenuating circumstances I didn't have to drive in winter weather again.

Until this weekend. Yesterday, I woke up to another batch of snow (pre-Christmas snow and arctic weather -- everything I had always heard about Minnesota but had never experienced in the 6 years I've lived here) (side note: can it really be 6 years? Crazy! That's nearly a third of my life!). As I drove to pick up a few kids this morning, I had to laugh: it's amazing what comes back. Slushy, wet, snow still freaks me out to drive in. But the ice that had formed overnight after the fresh batch of snow had thawed and re-frozen? No problem. Because in Kansas, we don't get snowy conditions, we get ice. And you grow up learning how to drive in ice. Rationally, should it be the other way around? Should the snow scare me less than the ice? Definately, but there you go, no one ever claimed that anything weather-related was rational from Kansas.

concentration? shot.

Hello December 21. My, you came early this year. Despite the fact that the Christmas madness was extended for a week, I'm not sure where the time since Thanksgiving has gone. What I do know is that it is terribly difficult to work on a day such as today. What with the every third hour email from Viagra (no, no thanx YOU), the lack of people in the office and my uncanny ability to "wing it" (aka procrastinate the inevitable away)...work is becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate on. I'm giving myself 30 more minutes to hammer things out and then it's time to work from home.

Not that I am any more motivated to work on things at home. :)

In-laws are coming over tonight, Christmas presents will be given, and tastey food will be consumed. Happy Christmas everyone!

Pineapple Chicken

So, I'm pretty proud of myself. We've been cutting back on eating out and trying to make better food choices. We're still trying to get better at the whole "plan out a menu so you always have enough of the right food in the house." So, I'm left on Monday night with half of a chicken in the freezer and little in mind to do with it. Half a chicken and a can of pineapple slices in 100% juice.

As Dan is fond of telling his student workers: Google is your friend. I Googled chicken and pineapple recipes and came up with the following yumminess:

1/4 c . pineapple juice
1/4 c. low-sodium soy sauce
1/2 tsp. garlic powder
1/4 tsp. ginger
Combine to form a sauce, pour over chicken. Turn chicken in roasting pan skin-side up (I had already removed the skin, it still came out nicely done). Cook at 350 degrees for 45-55 minutes. Remove from oven, lay pineapple slices on top of chicken, return to oven for 5 minutes.

I served it with brown rice. It has a great sweet and salty taste, and I am a SUCKER for pineapple (baked, grilled, roasted, regular, whatever). It's a winner for sure...and I used a can from the cupboard we didn't anticipate using. :)

Today was a good "catch your breath" day. I'm not sure why it seems like we haven't had a proper Saturday since before the wedding (I know that one or two slipped in there, surely!, in the past two months) but...there you go. A day spent relaxing, sleeping, getting some shopping in and some things done around the house. Not overly having to worry about deadlines or whatnot.

Back to the grind in a few hours. I'm antsy to get home to KC. I miss my family, I miss seeing my KC friends. Life here, while incredibly good, incredibly amazing and exactly what I chose for myself, leaves me disconnected at the same time as well. I'm anxious to spend time with my family. It grows smaller more quickly these days, it seems, I keep getting the feeling that these are moments to savor, they won't come around again anytime in this lifetime. Thinking back to last Christmas, did I love enough? Did I share life enough? Did I stop to truly enjoy the moments before everything changed, irrevocably? Refusing to look back, one must believe -- I did what I could do. We all come to this Christmas changed. Happy changes, sad changes, life changes...just as we do every year.

Listening to my high school girls bemoan the lack of Christmas spirit in their own hearts, I found myself wondering, at what age did I start to notice that Christmas took time and effort, significant preparation in the soul for the meaning of the day to not be lost? I was their age or younger, I am sure. And even today, the house feels Christmas-y, but how have I been doing at keeping Advent in my heart? /Sigh. Many thoughts, few answers.

We are often at our best and our worst with those we most love. Something about the safety to push, something about the trust that we have that they will love us at our best, our worst, in our beauty and when our ugly rears it's head. At times, it is as difficult when we are at our best as it is when we are at our worst. Both involve a deep and wide swath of truth and honesty. That is to say, we are interconnected. We struggle through this together. To hear and be heard. To love and be loved. To know and be known. In the tension of moments, hopes for longevity are formed. Spouses, friends, parents, people on the street. All are interconnected. Will we trust? Will we hear? Will we learn? We are all weak and broken. It's in our ability to be interconnected that we are strongest.

I am selfish
I am wrong
I am right
I swear I'm right
Swear I knew it all along
And I am flawed, but I am cleaning up so well
I am seeing in me now the things you swore you saw yourself

One of my (many) self-mantras is "live thoughtfully." I've been thinking about what the idea of thoughtful living actually means. And, in this season, I am increasingly aware of how good at living thoughtfully I am.

/Pause for self-congratulations and pats on back

Of course, I should mention, I am good at living thoughtfully when my thoughts are only focused on myself.

Self-indulgent navel-gazing blogging aside (did you sense the irony in the sarcasm too?) it is a sad fact. Our lives (mine included) are increasingly over burdened by thoughts of self: self satisfaction and filling some deeper self need. We are so insistent on grasping on tightly to our rights, our freedoms, our opinions, our time and commodities and space, our blessed need to be heard and loved and paid attention to, dammit, that it is so very easy to lose sight of the fact that our only thoughts are on ourselves. We have promoted ourselves above others, which is easy when we never intended to think about them in the first place.

At it's heart, that is why living thoughtfully is so hard, so unpleasant, so terribly unpopular. Not that we are called to loathe ourselves, or not think towards our own needs and safety and wants. But life is more about the focus on self, it's about thinking about others more and better than we think about ourselves. It's about putting the needs of others before our own, it's about thinking beyond the comfortable, thinking beyond the people and things that we know. It's about holding our tongue and not exerting our need for an opinion, or our rights, and thinking about how they may be perceived or who those words and actions may hurt. Even if we do not harm ourselves (or care if we do) harming others is thoughtless.

This does not, of course, mean that your person, your self, who you value yourself to be, is in any way diminished. Living thoughtfully, living by putting others first, by putting myself last, living in an other-centered mentality...only compromises and diminishes who I am if I let it. I am me, I am true to myself, I am authentically Kate when I live to the fullest extent of who I was created to be. It takes wisdom and discernment, speaking the truth in love is much more than stating an opinion because you can. People may get hurt all the same, but the intent is the difference. The rub is found in the delivery.

Living thoughtfully. I want to do better. I hope to do better.

stuck

Stuck in sick mode. Sleeping long and hard. Waking with ouchy glands and snot in the head, dead behind the eyes. It's hard to not be able to spark, to find yourself staring off into the distance as if you're waiting.

For me, I'm waiting to be un-sick. Waiting to feel better. Waiting to not be stuck. Stuck between wanting to make plans and to let timing go. Stuck between knowing what I ought to do and not always (usually) doing it. Stuck knowing I need to clean and do laundry and not having the enthusiasm to muster some energy to get it done (or vice versa). Stuck not seeing some people enough on purpose and by life design. Stuck between forward and backward momentum (sometimes). Stuck between wanting and needing. Stuck waiting for some sort of future leading.

Stuck isn't a bad place to be, it's mostly just a place like any other place. Instead of making your hands and feet busy going somewhere or doing something, you keep yourself busy while you wait. You learn, you heal, you persevere and you move on eventually. I'm very aware that I'm in this holding pattern, and have been. But in the same breath, I get to love my wonderful husband, enjoy my job, enjoy my co-workers, enjoy my time here in Minnesota, enjoy my new family and new aspects of life...being stuck affords you time. I suppose that we are only truly stuck when we are not accountable to the time we are afforded. Have you loved enough, laughed enough, cried enough and smiled enough today? Have I learned something about life or myself recently? Have I peeked into the future to see if it's starting to make itself evident lately? Have I prayed, looked, listened or thought at all? Have you?

wanderlust

I think I'm getting sick. I've been wiped out all week and today my glands are starting to hurt. I hope to have this out of the way soon, though. No good being sick during the holidays!

I stumbled across a new blog the other day: dailycoyote.blogspot.com -- this woman lives in a one-bedroom cabin in Wyoming and had an orphaned 10-day old coyote come into her life. She's not attempting to domesticate him, but allow him to grow and develop -- and of course, leave when he's ready. This read lead me to her other journal, about her cross-country road trip on a Vespa. I love reading travel memoirs and books about the wild...which leads me to wonder: can our hearts be judged by our book's covers?

There is an innate beauty, at least to me, about the northwest of our country: Wyoming, Montana, Washington, Oregon (and Idaho has to count, although it doesn't hold the same appeal to me). Maybe it's the difference in lifestyle, or the enormity of the sky, or the wealth of Native American history and folklore surrounding the area. I read Into the Wild, books by Barbara Kingsolver and Nicolas Evans and my heart yearns to travel, to live that life, to be on the open road, if not on a Vespa, then on a motorcycle. With a camera in hand and my husband at my side as we go towards the road not traveled. Not just for a day or two: but an extended trip over a month or two. Looking for unfindable monsters and wonders, exploring this country before we get to be too tied down.

Of course, I am already tied down. I'm not a country girl -- as much as the books I read may want to speak to the opposite -- and I know that. I have a job, committments, a limited amount of time off. Motherhood and further education are in the not-too-distant future (though, thankfuly, not yet.) An exploration of that sort would come on the cusp of some other life change. And as fabulous as I imagine it to be now, in reality it would be sore muscles, no creature comforts, riding in bugs and rain and more of those things that put you in touch with your personhood. We don't go on these trips not because we can't find the time or place to go...but because we are afraid of who we will be when we return.

What I do know, is that at least today, I want to go. I am taken back to whipping across the Montana highways, seemingly unchanging despite our 100+mph velocity. The state stretching out vast and wide. The impending storm bearing down on the bleached brown land and a pure white horizon line running along beside us. There are adventures yet to be had and places yet to explore. I know I will get there, that I don't go alone, but when I haven't a clue.

Dan keeps telling me that I overthink things. That life will happen and things will fall into place. I've never not had a plan, I've never not known what was going to happen, not had options and a safety net in place. Today, surrounded by snow and swollen glands....it's hard to not think to planning. To not think about where life will take me...to not plan for the detailed future, but keep what is coming in mind. The wanderer is shelved for another day, another time, another dream.

Things seem better in the light of day. Daylight brings perspective -- after a long weekend full of laughter, relaxation, family and friends...a stressful day can be difficult. I go back to concentrating on breathing, on taking life one day at a time.

broken hearted

I decided that any blog worth it's salt has to have some sort of theme. Without a theme, I end up doing what I've done for the past 30 minutes: write five lines, back space three of them. Write several more lines, delete the entire thing. Look at facebook. Decide to start writing again. And so on and so forth. I'm probably going to opt for the easiest solution: the life of a newly married youth pastor. The two coincide more than you might interact.
It's broad enough that I get to talk about work, Dan, life and theology -- but also dictates some sort of packaging.

Lately, I've been constantly on the verge of tears. Happy tears, sad tears, hungry tears, frustrated tears, laughing tears, tired tears, go and sit on the front porch until you can collect yourself before your husband decides that you're crazy because you're crying over a thought in your head tears -- I pretty much have squeezed them all out. This is weird because I don't cry. not a crier, not a fan of the Hallmark moment where tears are appropriate so the recent waterworks are perplexing.

On my good days I prefer to think marshmallow thoughts about these tears being able to be released because I am finally in a relationship where I feel comfortable expression my full range of emotions. After I clean the puke off of my shoes, I content myself with this knowledge: the stress is catching up to me.

Because, really? Here's the deal. I work in crisis. The church I work at is in some fairly serious crisis. My job is potentially effected, my friends and coworkers jobs are potentially effected too. Which definately puts that environment significantly higher on the "general hysteria scale." I work with a population that is in crisis. I found out this morning that the latest break in (the 5th this year, I believe) didn't just target one of our partners, they also stole our drum set. I work with students, who dwell in drama and crisis. Being of the generations that I am, I know more about their crisis' than I (sometimes) care to, and that breaks my heart.

What hit me like a smack in the face tonight over dinner was the simple fact that whether I had this job or not, whether we stay here or go some place else...I'm doing this with Dan. And it's not that I thought that he came with the housing package, but a deeper realization set in over bbq turkey tacos -- I'm not in this crisis alone. I have someone who holds me when my broken hearted self is overcome by mixed expectations, higher self-standards than I can fill (yay setting myself up to fail!), the cat looks at me funny, I get bad news about a student's choices, or a 4 year old sings a song of welcome to her 4 month old sister at her baptism in church.

And he doesn't mind those wet marks that my tears leave on his shirt.

Some days I feel like I am out of words and out of sparkle behind my eyes.
Some days I feel like I've made this all too much about me and not enough about things that matter.
Some days I feel lost and scared and aimless. Like I've lost direction and joy.
Some days I am glad that every day is not a "someday day."
But those somedays seem to be so much longer than other days.

the snow hearlds the hearth

I'm sure that there is some poetic metaphor in all that has to be done to ready a house for winter. Waking up to wind howling outside of the windows and later observing wimpy flakes riding those gusts in front of the school the list of things to be done starting forming. Blankets need to be washed and organized, storm windows closed as the last vestiges of light and warmth now start to recede around 4. Sweaters are pulled out from underneath the bed and warm layers begin to make a stronger appearance. Foods that are somewhat fortifying and stickily warm come to mind, we begin to think of drinking coffee with baileys instead of mojitos.

None of these changes are bad. If I was a more thoughtful person, I would contemplate the changing of blankets and closing of windows as a battening down the hatches of the soul, of preparing the heart's hearth for the warmth and light of the holiday season. Things need to be organized and set in place so they can be moved for Christmas trees and other holiday-esque trappings. Not everything is Santa on a throne (as Dan and I observed at the mall over the weekend. Not 3 days after Halloween and already "Santa coming soon" signs were everywhere). We must find fortifying as the commercialism and unnaturalness tries to strip away joy and peace from the season leaving crazed frenzied individuals aside. This is a time to make places safe for community and friends. Time to counter-act the elements by warming the air inside and welcoming others in.

Days like today I wish to be more thoughtful. I wish that I was filled with the joy of the shouting children boarding their buses, exclaiming with glee "It's snowing! It's snooooooooooo-wwwwwwww-iiiiiiiinggggggg!" Instead, I count my blessings for storm windows to close, laundry to do and baileys to add to the coffee.

God bless the feeble flakes
Whirling upon the whipping wind
Announcing to all who happening hear
The time is here for heart and hearth
The time is come for warm light and life
Though winds may blow cruelly cold
A roaring love this way winds.

:) vs. >:(

I have a love/hate relationship with Fridays at work. On the one hand, no one is in the office except for Jessica and me. I can put my iPod on shuffle and not worry about skipping over Justin Timberlake. I get more accomplished (usually) because I have to make authoritative decisions without running upstairs to run ideas and options past people -- it's empowering. I can come in a little late (or a lot late, depending on whether or not I have an event occuring that evening to offset morning hours. I can work from remote locations and it' s fine, although I can do that on other days too. Mostly, the day is more relaxed and the weekend happily before me whenever I can finish up and walk across the parking lot. It's pretty much up to me, and that's really nice some days.

On the other hand....the freedom is tempting. I've learned that working from home rarely amounts to what I want it to be unless I'm appropriately zoned into what's going on. It's easier to work, but easier to be distracted as well. And with fewer people here, it's easier to stay distracted. With fewer people in the office, there are some things that simply can't be finished until Tuesday (when we're all back here together). It's a little crazy.

What I have noticed is that it's easier to get up in the mornings. Rather than rely on a snooze button, Dan's getting ready movements (and his resetting of his own alarm clock) go a long way in getting me ready to get up. I seem to have an internal clock that lets me know about how long I can putz around the house before heading in and today I was ready to go and surprised to see the time on the clock, it was significantly earlier than I thought that it would be. Plus, getting to spend some time with the husband before work is a motivator as well.

We have the weekend coming up. It should be good. There's not too much on the radar yet, and I'll be the first to say that after the past 3 weeks, a low-key weekend sounds pretty good to me. Other than going to the bank and figuring out some of that stuff, it should be pretty simple. :) And that is a wonderful thing.

crisp walking morning

After making a presentation at Johnson Highschool this morning, I had the extreme pleasure of walking back down the block to work.

As I exited the building my first thought was how I wish I could take a walk today. And maybe that will happen. But more likely, I'll come home around 7:30pm and eat some dinner. At that point I'll either watch a show I've TiVO'd, play on the Wii, cross-stitch or play with Ender and read. Then it will get late, Dan and I will watch an episode of Futurama and off to bed go we. Plus, it will be dark and colder and this morning it was beautiful and sunny, crisp and cool (but warm in my sweater and wool coat) and good walking weather.

And I know this, because life is slowly settling down into a routine. People still surprise you, every day is different...but finding the rhythm of life is great.

Ender

Just some pictures since we got Ender our sweet kitten to share with the world. Ender is named after Ender Wiggin of the "Ender's Game" fame by Orson Scott Card. If you have never read the book "Ender's Game" you simply must, and if you have read that book you should move on to "Speaker for the Dead." In that book the Ender character becomes fully fleshed out and a moving picture of harmony is ultimately painted. Moving on...



Ender with Dan and me on the first day. It's amazing how little and tiny he is!

What do you mean you're going to the Boundary Waters and leaving me wif Dan? I can haz Kate home now plz?


My teeth may look small and unassuming, but they are sharp talons of pain!


Our little boy has grown up so much. Here you can see that red bear used to be his favorite toy and was the perfect size, now he has grown "up" to his blue bear doll which is more his size. For cute.

Pre Wedding Present Adventures. Hooray!

Dan and I outside of his apartment. We look like we're going on a walk.
The first boxes arrive....anticipation builds. We decide that we don't want to wait until we get married to start opening them.
What is it going to be? I thought it was something large, I was obviously unaware of how much packing material they include in these boxes. Quite misleading.
"I'm not sure what it is but it sure is shiny!"
Where are we going? I'm not sure but I look excited.
"What did we order that is shaped like this?" was often our pre-opening question game. Little did we guess that a tent was inside. I think that we thought it was a folding chair.
Nope, no more presents in here. I checked for you.

I think that I'm frustrated with the packing tape. Obviously fake pouting helps.

reviving flames

Friendships are funny beasts. Sustained by different interests and issues, it is difficult to pinpoint which ones will keep and which ones will fade away. Worse still are those that don't fade away, but self destruct -- leaving a scorch marks on memories and souls. More beautiful still is when the smoldering ashes are revived to a life-giving fire. Those friendships that had the fire and passion to errupt are sometimes the ones that have life enough left to revive time and again.

Dong laundry and listening to a tape made in high school from a friendship that faded away forever, I was struck by the thought that our friendship was never equal. In the end, she had and I wanted to take -- be it popularity, intelligence, ease with boys, wit and charm, or what have you -- not truly realizing what I had to offer of myself. And, ultimately, she was able to seek those friends whose inner security lied within themselves, not to be found in others, and I was left out to dry. The interest in the friendship was ultimately mine. In the end we outgrew our equality.

There is grace in the reviving flame. It gives warmth, it needs air and room to breathe. In college I gained and nearly lost another great friendship. The friendship grew off balance, gaining steam and passion as it grew nearer and nearer to careening off-course and when it did, the smouldering embers left few unscorched. More greatful and thankful am I, however, of this friendship nearly lost but now found. I regret some decisions but closure and forgiveness have shown me the growth and health that have come forth from time spent apart. The other friendship, it was never resolved. I miss her still. No longer in the gut wrenching "Why does my best friend no longer like me?" angst, but in the lonely melancholy of lives that, growing apart take bits and pieces of yourself with them. Life, once to intertwined are no longer. There was no grace, no forgiveness, no explanation.

Listening to that mix tape, I was overcome by how close we were to not showing each other grace. To not forgiving. To living lives apart, taking bits and pieces of the other with us. By the grace found in the One outside of ourselves, that didn't happen. And I share in a friendship that is life giving, healthy, safe and a place to go to find myself again. I am so thankful, so blessed.

Sing It Loud So I Can Hear You

Ender is more thrown by the marriage than we are. Dan and I are basically going about life as usual (for the most part). But whenever it comes time to go to bed, Ender doesn't quite know what to do. For starters, I'm still sleeping on the same side of the bed, but his space is taken up by Dan. Who he loves, but isn't used to him not leaving come bedtime. So then Ender sleeps on top of me possesively until he decides that Dan isn't a threat and then wanders off.

Mornings are also different. Ender gets up with Dan (who rises earlier than I do) but then decides that I have to get up to. So I woke up to a wet, hard nose in my eye this morning. "Go away Ender, go bug Dan!" Ender responds by pouncing on me. Apparently I have to get up too. No snooze buttons this morning. Or yesterday, really.

Sigh.

Last night, Dan and I were sitting on opposite couches for awhile. Ender would jump up and snuggle with Dan for about 10 minutes. And then hop off and come over to me. 10 minutes later he would transition back. Incredibly funny. He's adjusting quite well, though. Things will certainly become more "normal" for him soon.

Other than that. The wedding was nearly perfect. The honeymoon to Duluth was wonderful. Being back to work is zero fun, but okay in the end. I enjoy being married, and I enjoy finding that it's not overly different than life before. I hesitate to say it, but at the moment, life is okay, life is good.

Smile Like You Mean It

We still have a lot to do, but two days of long hours have brought about significant change in our house. As I exited the church and headed for home, a crisp breeze moved my hair to dance in the wind, face upturned to catch a sunbeam a smile splits my face in two. I find myself skipping a bit, unconsciously, as I cross the parking lot towards home. Home. Something to be proud of. Something that we have created together, something that is us, not just mine and not just his. A shared pride in the small life that we are creating together. Entering the door, I scoop up the already purring kitten cuddling him to my chest as I cross the house, turning on the newly fixed furnace. Taking time to look at the spare bedroom, hang my purse on the chair, my puffy vest on the coat rack. Taking in the newness of this place, savoring it before this life becomes routine, savoring the assurance that routine brings to life.

It is somehow possible that Saturday is only moments away. Possible that dreams and hopes and prayers are becoming reality. There is no where else I would rather be, then celebrating with my nearest and dearest. Life lately is fully of adventure and comfort. Joy and happy tears. Warm sunshine and cold breezes. I consider myself blessed.

rearrange, realign

Growing up, I rearranged my room approximately once every two months. I would get the urge, minimally think about it and start moving things around. Lasting usually until about two o'clock in the morning, a new beginning in my room's history would take place. I would start getting the itch, the need to rearrange, to change, to start anew. I would uncover found treasures and heartaches as I cleaned under the bed and from old drawers. I would pause and reflect as I created a fresh, new space.

Last night took me back to those late Friday and Saturday nights rearranging my room. Sunday had found us moving most of Dan's possessions into our house, haphazardly intermingling with furniture and scattered piles that had been in places for weeks and months. Last night we spent time rearranging. Unpacking, moving, cleaning, realigning lives. As difficult as it can be to have someone elses things move into my space (because space is a holy thing in the United States) moving your possessions into unknown space is possibly more intimidating.

Which is where the idea of realigning comes into play. No longer are we independently arranging our lives around our priorities, we are rearranging our lives together. In order for Dan and I to synthesize, we have to realign our priorities. And isn't this the definition of love? Your priorities are realigned, the focus comes off of you and your things (or your precious space) and moves towards the idea of an other, or in this case: an us. A new life. A life moving beyond where we are now. This realignment takes time, as Dan continually reminds me. Our couches won't look like they match, space will probably be an occasional issue until we figure out our pattern, our routine, our understanding of this new life becomes just life as we know it. It may be years until our living room looks like a cohesive whole. But until then, the fragments of our single lives are coming together, fusing, aligning, creating a pictures of who we are from who we have always been. For the moment, the parameters are clearer but in time the "us" will shine through even more.

I'm excited. I'm weary from moving. Weary from rearranging. But invigorated still. Our lives coming together to create something of beauty. May it always be so.

freedom and slavery

As a staff, we are reading Mark Buchannan's book "The Rest of God." It's about Sabbath taking, and a play on words. Today we discussed the chapter about the book of Deuteronomy. How Moses hated the forced legalism that was inflicted on the Hebrews when they were slaves. How the reason that the Hebrews left Egypt was for the freedom to worship God at their leisure. There are lots of great ideas, surrounding the idea that rest is something that only the free enjoy (if you are a slave, you don't rest. You might sleep, but you don't get to rest.)

But also the idea came up that our obedience is an exercise of our freedom. We are free to be obedient, free to rest, free to Sabbath times. Our lack of legalism requires Sabbath to be an act of free obedience, only when we are free can we really and truly experience this freedom. If it is forced on us, it no longer becomes a choice, despite how good or pleasurable the results might be.

So, rest and Sabbath at their best are acts of wonderous obedience. Why our insistence on running ourselves ragged? Why the need to run ourselves into the ground, until we are too exhausted to dream? Why does our church leadership, present company included, not take greater advantage of this gift? Why is self care looked down on and the greater importance of a bottom line and fitting some other mold exalted? Of course I know the answers. I've always known them, and unfortunately mroe times than not I fall prey to them instead of acting on my freedom in Christ. And in doing so, I return myself to a life of bondage. I change my chains of mud, sweat and hay for chains of guilt, exhaustion, inadequacy and heartache. More and more I realize that this thing of Sabbath is about being broken. Better to be broken in my freedom than to be broken by slavery. In either case, I end up on my knees.

Sleep was not happening last night. The body was willing, but the mind was too strong. Thoughts upon thoughts piled up. Not about anything specific. Not about any one thing. On the contrary, I was too ADHD to concentrate on anything more than about 30 seconds before my mind was on to the next thing. So very tired then, so very tired now.

Hard to believe, I am getting married in 2 and a half weeks. Hard to believe in the best possible way. Hard to believe that I get to spend my life with this man. Hard to believe in an undeserving, can't believe that daydreams come true type of way.

The getting married thing might play into the unable to sleep thing. Maybe.

Needy

So much of the time we are consumed by what we think we need. Often it is what we surround ourselves with that dictates what we are consumed by. Be it trendy clothing, stimulating conversation or environments, money or decorating concerns...it's all nothing in the face of this:

I need nothing more than to be here. Right now.

Pressed firmly against the arm of my love, purring kitten on my chest, my head nestled deeply within the pillows, I know deep to my core, that in this moment, I am content. In this moment, in the silence of my house, I need nothing more than to just be here. Now. I need nothing more than to keep making space in my life, to enjoy these last few days of singleness, to breathe deeply the autumn air and smile into the unknown.

Guilty Pleasures

Many a Sunday night I find myself driving home between 11p and midnight. when such things happen, I am invariably listening to 101.3 Dawson McAlister Live. Yes, a quasi-hip-aging-guy giving advice to grief and panic stricken teenagers and young adults. While I may not always agree with him, or have a clue about the slang that he throws around, this conservative guy does truly care about his listeners, doesn't force a Christian mindset on them and seems to do it with an air of authenticity.

A different guilty pleasure I've found recently have been some well-written, sardonic, sarcastic blogs written by women in crisis. For the most part newly married but living in the face of infertility or being widowed. Morbid, I know. But these women are excellent writers, truly engaging as they pass on their story.

But here's the thing, I think that I need to stop reading them. These problems are not mine yet (hopefully never to be). They just introduce more unspeakable fears into my life...and I've found myself emotionally flatlining after I read them. It's as if my thoughts are telling me that this is more certainty than actual unlikely possibility and shutting down to protect myself (itself). So, no more reading those blogs. I'll miss them, but I'd rather choose to love the moment than be reminded of fear. Come what may.

Amazingly enough, I figured that out on my own...I didn't need Dawson to help me at all.

Have you seen that episode of Friends where Rachel is in the process of moving, has boxes in her old apartment, boxes across the hall and boxes in Ross' apartment but no idea where she is going to move to? And she just wrings her hands and sits in the kitchen and calmly says "Wow...I could so easily freak out right now..."

Life is a little bit like that.

I'm getting married in a month and with that joy comes innumerable tiny and big details. For instance, nothing of Dan's lives here yet (save his gamecube and nintendo. Those OBVIOUSLY are here.) nor do I know when said belonings will travel over here. Regular programming begins at work. There are a hundred little crises at work as well. Plus personal discontent. Plus premarital counseling stuff to do. Plus I have no real food in the house. And money concerns. And and and -- see my point?

So, I resolve to focus on the upsides of things.
1. I am healthy. For the first time in months, I'm like 97% good health, 3% weird phlegm in the back of my throat when I talk after being quiet for awhile.
2. The weather has been fantastic! 50-60 degree days, chilly nights...perfect blanket cuddling and sleeping weather.
3. I see my mom in 2 weeks.
4. Even though work is difficult (but also rewarding) I had an excellent night on Wednesday, the SH girls group that I lead is so, so, so great. They had so many good questions. Fantastic.
5. I've had good music stuck in my head all day.
6. I think that I'm getting to a place in my life where, even if I still mentally jump to the worst possible conclusion, I don't stay there. I'm trusting myself to trust others better. That's a good thing.
7. I have TiVO!
8. I'm getting married in a month. :)

I think that's about as much as I can muster for tonight. I would like to put "well rested" on this list someday too. We shall see though.

July 2007 -- Mexico City -- Life Around Church

Dinner at Karl and Sue's. Woohoo!


Finished playset, complete with happy children!




Excited about craft time!


Church from the front.


Cabin that the pastor lives in on the church property.


Church from the side.


View from inside the church.


Dan staining the church.


All of the VBS kids at church.


I ate dinner with this kid and his family midway through our week there and immediately fell in love with their warmth, hospitality and generosity. Plus, the kids are so cute!


Cutest kids ever.




Just one of the many fantastic crafts at VBS.

July 2007 -- Mexico City -- Tlalpan

Bell Tower in the Cathedral in Tlalpan Square


Inside the Cathedral


And again

July 2007 -- Mexico City -- Sights Within Walking Distance of the Seminary

Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico (UNAM). 250,000+ students. 200,000+ faculty and support staff. This is the library, the entirety of the outside is an incredible mosaic of stones ranging in sizes from your thumb to your fist, detailing the history of Mexico, and the world.


A beautiful sculpture slash pond slash planter at the university.




Cuicuilco. One of the only round pyramids in the world. Built by generations and generations of ancient Mexican peoples.


These layers are the only parts of Cuicuilco they have excavated. They are continuously digging it out.

september 6

five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
five hundred twenty-five thousand moments so dear
five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
how do you measure...measure a year?
in daylights...in sunsets
in midnights...in cups of coffee
in inches...in miles
in laughter...in strife

in five hundred twenty-five thousand
six hundred minutes
how do you measure
a year in the life?

measure in love
seasons of love

Boundary Waters, July 2007

They came in by twosies twosies...


I'm looking pretty clean here, it must be early in the week.


Flowers at the first camp site.


Canoing with Joel.




Straddling the border, feeling good about the large load on my back.


Having fun on the USA.Canada border. Here we are stupid Americans.


...And here we are clearly Canadians.


Duluth Packs


Finally a break from the rain.


I pretty much fell in love with this campsite.


One of our guides gathering water at sunset.


Sunset.


Sunset on the last night.