Skatteblog

LOVE CONQUERS ALL THINGS

2010-07-31T13:21:00.002-06:00

To Christian- a favor done. Written at 3:00 AM, July 23/24

I was trying to sleep just now when the ocean woke me up. It appeared out of nowhere. Not the regular ocean, the one outside my Colorado window. It starts with a growl of wind, like thunder trying to breathe, and ends with pounding the glittery aspen-leaf-shore. I hadn’t found my way to sleep yet, but it’s a full moon, and apparently now the tide is coming in. Now sleep will probably evade me for a while.

The newly laid shingles on the roof beckon. There are no screens on the window and I have a thing for roofs. I have “a thing” for lots of things actually- hummingbirds, the ocean (the real one), vegetables. But this thing for roofs has to do with surrender.

The last time I crawled out on the roof at night was last summer. Then, as now, I couldn’t sleep. I had a lot on my mind. I was moving in the direction of a boy I loved and a dream that had been simmering for 4 years. But I knew my heart and wondered if I was holding on tighter to those desires than I was God’s hand in moving towards them. I hugged my knees on the summit of the house, staring out at the opaque outline of Pikes Peak and gave them all up.

I offered God the dirt of my life- the image from a dream that I felt like was true. In it, I was a garden that was dead: tubers of potatoes and rotten peppers spread out with arching roots uncovered. Messy and unsatisfying. But on the roof I asked if God would till me; compost those nasty, finished parts of what I had become and make me into new soil and do something new in me. If that meant something without this boy and this far-off enterprise, so be it. I needed a grip back on God’s hand.

But, the truth is, I got them both. I crawled into bed that night, slept, woke up, and still felt good about the direction I had. I took a flight with love letters in my hand.

Here we are now. Pikes Peak is at a different angle from this house, but still magnificent even at a profile in the half-light. The waves continue to rustle all around me. They wash up a fox, clear as day, hunting in the shallow waters of the front yard.

What next Lord? Today my shreds of hope for a promising job ended as “we’ll get back to you next week” got swallowed up by 5:00 pm Friday afternoon. I had already cried about it several times on “hump day” so today was a relatively numb realization. This week tears have come like these fictional waves outside my window- often and unexpected.

Am I mourning a season that ended just as unexpectedly? Am I running into dead-ends as I walk foward because that season’s exactly where I’m supposed to turn back to? Am I still in love with this boy I knowingly walked away from? It’s too much for me to know. But who else can know it? It’s all out here on the roof again, resting in my open empty hands.

It feels colder when the moon disappears behind the clouds. The moon reflects the sun’s light, but not heat. Still, it’s the darkness that makes me shiver, not the cold. It does feel dark.

Someone said once, “Don’t change direction in the dark.” In other words, make your decisions when things are clear- a clear conviction, a clear word from God, a clear next step. Put your hand to the proverbial plow, and go for it without stopping to look at other fields or wonder if the one in front of you was not the one they meant for you to plow.

I strain to think of the last time I felt clarity. I knew I couldn’t prolong my stay overseas. The clarity came in friends around every corner saying, “You need to KNOW you should be here.” I knew being near my family felt right. Even now that has been my only compass: “Here, not There.” But there are so many more things I want to know about it all.

I like to think of sociological experiments in my free time. My brain actually does this on its own when free from conversation or activity. So a few weeks ago as I drove through the starkness of Utah for 8 hours, there was a new one I came up with. It was really more of a survey. I must have been thinking about the countless relationships I have seen bloom and fail; or bloom, fail, and revive. “What makes them live?” I wondered, and decided it would be fascinating to chronicle people’s responses to the question, “What can love overcome?”

No sooner than I had formed the query in my mind and tried it out on myself, I heard the voice that I am slowly learning to recognize: a thought that comes from a source I know is not myself because it shocks me every time.

“I can overcome anything, Anna.”

So Lord, this is my rooftop prayer from this island I am stuck on in the middle of a windy sea: Will you please overcome? I don’t even know what I need you to defeat, but would you do it? Will you do battle like the wind battering these trees and help me out of this place?

A Car Door Slams

2010-07-24T20:02:00.003-06:00

I’m sitting inside my mom’s house, and for some reason, every time I hear a car door slam outside I expect it to bring someone I have been waiting for. But the weird thing is I’m not waiting for anyone tonight- no one has made plans to visit me.

This confuses me.

Maybe it’s because I miss my brother Michael. He’s been in Michigan for the past 2 weeks, and I can’t wait for him to come home so we can watch youtube videos and laugh with Nathan; so I can roll my eyes at his puns and scold him for terrorizing Nathan and the cat. He’s a great friend of mine, and maybe my heart wants him to drive up, slam the car door and be home.

My next thought is maybe it is a gentleman suitor of mine. This is a distinct impossibility. And actually, I am not necessarily mutually admiring of this suitor. He gives me the feeling that he is looking for a person to fill a role, not necessarily me, but why not me? But maybe he is the sign of something else: of possibility and hope and love. And so maybe my heart wishes it was him, driving up to surprise me and just have a little time talking on the lawn.

My last thought- no, longing- is that it’s my dad. This is indeed impossible. He has been gone for 12 summers, and there is no way that he will pull into our driveway this evening, closing his car door and opening our door to greet us after his day. But I wish he could. I wish that he would just stop by and have a piece of pizza with us, listen with furrowed brow, and say, “Well Anna…” followed by some kind of wise advice. It wouldn’t even matter if it was hard to hear. I just need a little advice.

So with every approaching neighbor I feel my deep needs for companionship, love and insight. I feel so lost right now. And a lost heart looks for meaning even in the slam of a car door.

Friends I've Never Met

2010-06-24T09:45:00.003-06:00

I had a cool realization last night.

My friends in China have a family who will be joining their team soon, and they were in Colorado this week for training. I called them and invited them over last night to connect with them about our mutual friends and interests.

I was bustling around the kitchen making iced tea and scrounging for acceptable "guest food" when my brother Nathan came up.

"What are you doing?" he asked.
"My friends are coming over so I'm just putting together some snacks," I said.

Then Nathan started asking a bunch of questions more irritating than truly interrogative, which happens to be his particular specialty.

"How do you know them? Do they have kids? How many kids do they have? How old are their kids?"

And my answers were.... "Uh..." I'd never met the Johnsons, and didn't know the 'how many' or 'how old' of their kids, or really very much about them at all. But I knew they were my friends. It must've sounded weird to Nathan that I had friends I'd never seen before, but it struck me as something really cool.

Being a part of the Body of Christ means we can claim friends we've never met. We have friends and family everywhere.

I'll never forget being overseas in 2004 and meeting a woman who was a secret believer. Neither of us spoke the others' language, but she was told I was a Christ-follower, and when she saw me, her eyes sparkled and she gave me the most thankful sincere embrace I have ever received. Sister. Friend.

Clarity

2010-05-24T23:16:00.003-06:00

Jolanda and I at The Bookworm

Here's a (relevant) Robert Frost poem I copied on a scrap from this bookstore in China:

VOICEWAYS

Some things are never clear.
But the weather is clear tonight,
Thanks to a clearing rain.
The mountains are brought up near,
The stars are brought out bright,
Your old sweet cynical strain
Would come in like you here:
"So we won't say nothing is clear."

written in Amsterdam, May 8th, 2007

2009-09-02T22:16:00.001-06:00

a hospice house
this is a house for the inevitable
children who will
die
come to this garden home
they are surrounded by light and beauty
so that the last things that fade away leave a rosy glow on them

what if all inevitabilities were cared for?
death, yes, but what about the ones in life
you will be hurt
you will hurt
you will gain and lose things
you will be confused at all this

and in a rosy colored building
they would nurse you and prepare you
for these tragedies
because they cannot be helped
but maybe a glow can be set upon them too
so that you can go into the world
and face the impending

your food is on it's way

2009-05-10T17:34:00.004-06:00

I had this realization at work the other day.

Oftern times at the tea house I will bring customers their tea before their food is ready. As I set down their red and orange pots of tea on their table, sometimes they look at me with an expression I can read as "where is our food?" They are afraid that I've forgotten about their orders, or that there has been some kind of miscommunication, or that I am a dunce. They are worried that they paid for a whole meal, and will only get to drink their earl grey tea instead.
Knowing this look, I often tack on to the explanation of their tea "and, I'll bring out your food when it's ready," or "your food will be ready in just a bit." In other words, "Don't worry, it's still coming."

I wish God would say that to me.

That's all I need sometimes. My expectations are still lying out vulnerably on the tea table. "Is this it? or is there more?" Can't He see my worried expression? Can't He intuit my worry?

Knowing that something's coming is good. Hope, right? Hope has taken me a long ways. And maybe it will re-emerge again. But tonight I am tired.

Rest and Enjoyment

2009-03-21T19:59:00.004-06:00

I am enjoying myself.

This may not seem like a blog-worthy thought, but I am inspired by my friend Lianne who shared her random beautiful moment with her friends today in an email! If I remember right, it included sheets drying outside in the wind, fresh tulips, and being outside in the garden. And deeper than that, it had to do with optimism, coming to the end of a tunnel, and living in the beauty.

And so, here, I find myself feeling joy.

I am resting. After 8 hours on my feet interacting with people, I often want to come home and do "nothing" which usually means watching a movie. Last night it was Eagle Eye, sometimes it's an old episode or two of LOST, sometimes it's a weird Red Box choice. The truth is, I've been thinking lately that instead of resting, Americans like to be entertained and pretend it's resting.

I do this all the time. I want something to do, but don't really want to exert more energy, so I'll sit and watch something, thinking that if I'm not moving, surely I'm resting.

"If I'm not moving, surely I'm resting." hmm...

But there's way more to resting than not moving. Sure, it's nice to give my feet a break after making them work all day, but I don't think entertainment recharges me as much as I'd like to think it does. Entertainment is about filling space with someone else's story. There is no space involved. I think I need a little more space for myself. I need my own story, or rather, I need to slow down so that I can feel my own story.

And this is my story: A Pandora soundtrack came first -my Kings of Convenience radio-while I was checking my email. Then I got led by a random google search to a beautiful photoblog http://photos.viczhang.com/. I felt ready for dinner, so I began to pull fun things out of the freezer and fridge.

So here I am: just finished a crunchy comforting quesadilla, sweet Brussels sprouts that taste like God makes brown sugar grow up into them, and frozen bowl of my new favorite thing- plain yogurt, frozen blueberries, grape nuts, frozen pecans, and honey. Perfect. Purple and Perfect.
Jose Gonzalez, Sufjan, and The Weepies have been serenading my little dinner. And the background has been these beautiful photos! Rolling hills, bright colors in shop windows, crinkly flowers, junkyard backseats. Curious about these delectable mini cabbages on my plate, I found another gem http://www.101cookbooks.com/. The images and recipes are so... tasty. Maybe I should read recipes when I want to rest. Recipe books and photoblogs.

The Weepies sing "the world spins madly on," and it does.
I'm glad I have my little still moment here.

Short thoughts on Lent

2009-03-13T21:37:00.004-06:00

Just a quick minute for a quick thought.

Desiring to make some space in my life for God and for more awareness of Him, I decided to participate in Lent. I have been surprised and curious that so many Protestant (Evangelical) people around me are also practicing Lent; have I been oblivious to this movement the whole time?

My curiosity led me where it usually does: wikipedia. There is a really interesting article about the history of Lent right here http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lent . The most interesting thing that stuck out to me was that Lent was a practice of solidarity for the early church. It was a way of incorporating new Christians into the fold- a way for them to show their seriousness about their new faith.

Lent was symbolic of Jesus' forty days of fasting in the wilderness before his ministry, which is also reminiscent of the 40 years in the desert spent by the Israelites. The forty days before Easter were meant to pull back and practice poverty in order to feel afresh the richness of Jesus' rescue of us out of desert and death.

So, here is this practice of Lent all about solidarity, renunciation, preparation, and awareness. Although I'm understanding more this year about letting things go, replacing them with prayer and action, and being aware of God in a new way, I don't experience the solidarity of Lent. As a Protestant (compared to being a Catholic), I miss out on the accountability and community sorrow and practice of Lent. Not every Christian has to practice Lent, which on the broadest scale helps us escape the legalism and mindless conformity that a mandated practice would bring. But it also allows us to think that our spiritual journey is just our own. Our own to think about, our own to design, our own to practice. It feels a little lonely. Or just weird. I said at the beginning that I was participating in Lent, but doesn't participation connote a group activity?

My roommates and I have each picked different things to remove from our diet during this time, and while I am sensitive in my cheese and chocolate intake for Lauren and Suz's sake, and continue to try to ignore the Newcastle Ale and orange juice in the refrigerator, I don't feel like we are doing this together. Maybe it would help us to be more intentional to pray together, or read about Jesus, instead of, at least for me, giving in to the temptation to replace one distraction with another...

This is a learning process.

February 13th

2009-02-13T16:58:00.001-07:00

Ok, this is so weird- I got on to edit a draft of a blog post and found a bunch of others I had forgotten about. And one of them was called "February 13th"! Weird... And never posted.
So here you go, from February 13th, 2007 but still true for me.

It is February 13th
It is the day before love

And so there is possibility
but not reality

there is hope
but no bread on the table

there are sparkling eyes
and a growling stomach

expectation
not only for love
but for life

The Banana Man

2008-07-10T17:32:00.002-06:00

There are three times I can remember that other people have saved my life with their simple kindness.

I must have been excused from class early for an appointment in high school because I remember walking down the empty hallway by myself. I don't know what high school was like for you, dear reader, but the word kindness could not often (ever?) be used to describe it for me. The lone person I passed in the hallway was an upperclassmen; I think his name was Travis Hanson. I expected the typical "pretend the other person is invisible" or the "avoid eye contact at the pivotally awkward moment," but as he walked past me he looked me in the eye and smiled at me! It wasn't a "hey, you're kinda cute" smile, or a "oh my gosh you are a weirdo" smile, it was a kind, human being smile. I was so caught off guard by that, and obviously it made an impact on me in a sea of high school memories I can thankfully not recall...

I think I came as close as I've ever come to nervous breakdown this day in Amsterdam. I don't even remember all the circumstances, but I had gotten into a strange conflict with someone, I had more responsibilities than I could keep track of, and I was on the verge of heavy tears. I was spending the weekend away, thank God, and just barely made it to the train platform to catch the right train. It was rush hour and the train was packed with commuters riding home. I quickly sat in the first seat I could find, but there was no place for my small suitcase above! Frazzled, I held the suitcase upright in my lap before trying to wedge it in between me and the woman sitting across from me. I smiled apologetically at her, but my face was red and I could feel my stomach turning and the tears pushing. Everyone around me was staring at me and my suddenly mammoth brown suitcase. As the train pulled away, a middle aged, middle figured man with glasses- one of the on-lookers- stepped over and touched my shoulder and pointed to a place under the seats where I could stick my bag. He said nothing- maybe he knew I was not Dutch?- but he had saved my life. I said quietly, "thank you" and took a deeper breath as I pushed my brown bag underneath and swallowed my tears for a little while longer.

Last week was a ringer of a week. I was tired and had felt sick all week from whatever feeling it is you get when it seems like hope has been lost (hopelessness, i suppose?). I was dejectedly wandering the grocery store aisles, trying to keep concentration enough to remember what to put in my basket, when my friend called. We would have breakfast together, we decided, and I should bring bananas for pancakes. Now, did we want mushy bananas or regular ones? We decided a little of both. As I talked, I walked into the produce area and over to the bananas where an older man was restocking. We said goodbye, and I moved up closer. "Can I sneak in and grab some of these out of your way?" I asked, and he turned to me and said, "Of course!" His eyes were blue and kind. "Is it taboo to pick a few ripe ones off of a bunch?" I asked, and he said no, to take whatever I wanted. Then we chatted some about ripe bananas and eating things quickly before they turn, maybe we talked about the weather. It wasn't even anything he said, but he saved me with his kind smile and conversation.

Hot... Hotter!... Hotter!!!

2008-02-08T13:34:00.000-07:00

In college I gave my friend the advice to start doing stuff instead of continuing to wait for specific direction from God. I had heard a Chinese proverb something to the effect of, you can't give a boulder direction unless it's first rolling, and I shared that with him. He seemed to think that sounded like a good idea. I smiled as I hung up the phone and felt very triumphant.

It is easier to give advice than to take it.

Soph is about 3 years old. She is blond, adorable and articulate, and is always the star of the show when our book group eats dinner together. This particular night Soph was enthralled with playing "Hide Mr. Angry Man." Mr. Angry Man is a stuffed version of Wallace from Wallace and Gromit, and the game consisted of Soph hiding her eyes with pillows from the couch while her mom would be hiding Mr. Man. From the table over cornbread and soup, all ten of us would try to ensure that she wasn't peeking, and then we would all watch and laugh and anticipate Soph's excited discovery of Mr. Angry Man behind the chair or in the empty fish tank. In our desire for her success, we began to give clues. "Look up!" we would say, or "Keep going a little bit further, next to Mr. Kevin."
Soon, the game had transformed into an exciting version of "Hot and Cold," and everyone took turns hiding Mr. Angry Man. (If you ever need a little dinner party entertainment, I suggest "Hot and Cold with Mr. Angry Man"- very intellectual!). As Soph realized that we were all participating, she would emerge from behind her pillows and come and stare at us, hoping for a clue. She would look around and when Mr. Man was not directly in sight, she needed us to help her. She stood there in her pink footy pajamas, content, but waiting for a hint of where to look. And oh, we were so eager to help! But we realized that we couldn't give her any direction unless she started moving around the room. Our shouts of "Hot, Hotter, Hotter!!" or "Cold... ooh, cold, colder..." were based on Soph's following some small idea of where we could have stashed her doll. "Well, start moving honey, and we'll help you!" said Kam, and Soph started sliding her little feet tentatively across the floor.
It hit me as we played this game that I often stand in God's dining room in my footy pajamas and stare at Him, waiting for some direction. I don't know if this is true, but maybe God is just telling me, "Start moving honey, and I'll help you!" Maybe as I flub around and create and crumple up thousands of rough drafts of my "life plan" and U-turn out of cul-de-sac after cul-de-sac of decisions, He will be there saying, "Hot, Hotter!, Hotter!!," or "Cold, Anna, cold... come on baby, don't go that way... colder, freezing..." A little direction would be nice. So I'm gonna start shuffling across the dining room floor.

Something New

2007-12-13T23:34:00.001-07:00

Silence has been killing me lately. I talk as much as I ever do, but honestly it's mostly fluff. When people ask me how Amsterdam was I say, "It was good" and I am really satisfied with giving that answer at the moment.

I think the problem is that I don't want to talk. I want to be listened to, but I don't feel like talking (haha, good luck friends!).
I am so unfinished, I realized today. I don't want to talk until I have everything fitted into neat and interesting categories, til I have that one "knock-em-dead" story, til I have slimmed down my overzealous new-digital-camera-owner collection of pictures into one that will fit on one cd, or into one 5 minute presentation.
How to sum up Amsterdam... it just can't be done. When I am asked, it seems like every distinct story, every interesting person, everything I learned just turns into one giant eight month blur. Umm, it was good. And bad. And...
Forgive me for my silence. I am afraid I will explode on you if I start talking. I guess I think it would be better to explode on my own than in public. But man, it's lonely in here.

Looking Up

2007-09-11T07:59:00.000-06:00

The sky keeps you sane when you're in the city. Greta, Dave turned our chins up to the sky last night and looked at the stars- I hadn't seen them in a really long time. "It's so cool that you can see the stars out here!" I said. "Can't you see them in the city too?" said Dave. "Maybe, but you just don't look up very much- you're always trying to avoid other bikes or see where your turn is."
Greta and I said goodbye to Dave and biked on the path through the park, We could see the stars in the dark part of the sky but the city lights shining on the clouds gave light enough for us to see. "Did Dave seem a little out of it to you?" I asked Greta. She nods. Dave left the Shelter a few weeks ago with new lyrics to all his songs and a burning feeling in his stomach when he prayed. He asked Francien if he could be baptized and my heart swelled to almost bursting! God is working so much in his life, but it's hard for him to keep going when he's all by himself, or rather, living on a hippy farm behind Westerpark. We spent the evening there waiting for him.
It was "music night" which means that people from the community are invited to come. For us it meant having tea served out of the old-bus cafe and then sitting in a warm yurt and listening to 3 Dutch guys play Van Morrison and Neil Young covers- keyboard and guitar accompanied by a saxophone. Greta, Chris and I had come and were welcomed warmly, if with curiousity. A lady named Peggy explained that we could come and volunteer there once a week or so, and that they rent the place out for parties. It looks like a hippy commune, but built with money (kind of like Whole Foods). The whole area is fenced off with real metal fencing like you would see outside of a contruction site and the whole area is covered with mulch. Apart from the yurt and the converted bus/cafe, there are small makeshift seating areas and a stage made with scaffolding materials and roofed by sails from a real sailboat. Behind some trees, the newest structure- the treehouse- is still under construction.
A few weeks ago Dave was living outside of these fences, in a tarp tent shelter in the trees. The day he left our Shelter I walked him there with his stuff- 2 backpacks worth. He had lived here with some people he met, then had come and worked with us for a month and now was going back. There were 5 other people chilling under the orange tarp when he and I walked up. "Hello? Is anyone there?" asked Dave. "Dave?? Dave! Hey! Proper Dave is back! Woah, where the hell have you been??" Dave and I ducked down and crawled in. His friends Walt, Benji, Greg, Dima and her friend were all there, huddled up under blankets on the old cushions which served as the floor. The tarp was only high enough that you could sit. An old asian umbrella held up the middle and a plastic orchid wrapped around as decoration. Everything looked orange with the light coming through the top and it reminded me of something out of Garden State. Dave introduced me quickly and they all continued with questions and updates of other people who had been in and out of the tent crew. I just sat and smiled, hoping that I didn't look as out of place as I felt. I loved this- I loved that I could come and be in Dave's place and with Dave's friends after he had been so long in my place- our place. The rules change then- I have to trust him and let his comfort there become mine, instead of it being my place. We sat and talked for a little while longer and then I walked out with Dave to bike him part way to work at the call center. "It'll be different here," he said, "When I've been at the Shelter, I didn't even want to smoke or anything because no one else was. But I know I will. I'll come back tonight and they'll be drinking and whatever- yeah, it's just different." "Yeah," I nod, "it totally makes sense that it's easier to not want to do that stuff when you're around people who don't." I didn't know what else to say. I knew there was no way for Dave to just stay at the Shelter for longer- that wasn't the issue. And actually doing drugs and drinking weren't the issues either. He needed to want something else. And I think he was beginning to at that point, but what do you do?
We saw Dave off and on in the next month, sometimes high, sometimes not, sometimes playing his guitar, sometimes wandering. He stopped in one night and Greta and I sat with him and had tea- we talked about Scott and Brian and how we hadn't heard from them and reminisced about all the funny things that happened while they all had cleaned together. Scott was coming back around in a week and we made plans for Dave to come back around then. He took a shower and then strapped his guitar on his back and biked back off to his tarp-covered home.
When Scott came back around, that was the turning point. I saw Scott's black-square glasses come around the door and yelled "Hooray!" We were all so excited to have our friend back! Scott is an amazingly smart guy who stayed with us on his first time out of the country and ended up cleaning for a month. He had traveled France and spent his last European days with us. Dave came and we all sat in the garden and listened to them play guitar and life was bliss.
We went to see the Psalters play at the City (check it out! psalters.com- Danny, I wished you could have been there!) and Dave was amazed. They are a group of self-induced refugees who travel around playing amazing crazy music and standing in solidarity with displaced people.
This Kiwi guy Greg was around that night and when Greg and Kevin asked me if I wanted to go out to Dam Square and pray for people, I was all in. We sat under the monument with a cardboard sign, "Would you like to pray with us?" and just waited. We were there for about a half hour when Scott and Dave showed up, walking back to the Jordan from the City. I got up and talked with them and goofed around until they decided to go. "I'm gonna stay and pray I think," I said. "Yeah, no one's coming to pray," said Scott. "Do you guys want to pray with us?" I asked. "Sure," they both said and I called Greg and Kevin over. Scott and Dave both prayed that night- such beautiful honest prayers to God saying thanks for the good things they've got. Dave didn't even believe in God when he came to the Shelter and now his beautiful fresh prayer came out as something so natural. We said amen and all walked back together, admiring the lights of the Western Tower reflecting in the canal.
The next night some of us staff were coming together to have communion and pray. I invited Dave and Scott to join us since they were sitting in the cafe also. Greta shared a passage from the Bible about Jesus and how He is what satisfies. A lot of other things were shared which I forget, but I do remember the LONG awkward silence that we sat through. It took every muscle in me to not fill in that silence with a call for prayer or some nice psalm or something, but the Spirit whispered that I should keep my mouth shut. Finally Scott broke the silence and he began to pour out his whole story- that he had come to Amsterdam believing in God, but how he had been learning about Jesus, how he was scared but ready, how he hoped that someone would come to him and hold his hand to lead him through the door of this crazy thing called being a Christian. I thought my heart was going to explode for joy! God was speaking to Scott during his travels, answering his questions and revealing Himself. Dave added his stories as well, how he had come to Amsterdam and how everything he planned had changed- that he had tried more and harder drugs than he ever had before, but that he had also come to believe that God was real and how he has begun to tell his friends that he is a Christian. Fear. Fear and trembling at this beauty that can't be completely explained or understood. Greg and Kevin and Greta and I encouraged and filled in Jesus, Jesus, Jesus where there were lacks. It was silent again and Kevin read Jesus' words about himself- This is my body, broken for you. This is my blood, poured out for you. We passed around the bread and the juice. "Is this ok since I'm not baptized?" asked Scott. My mind was swirling, but I knew that YES, this is ok. This is IT. This is who Jesus' body is for. We prayed then and a day later Scott flew back to Austin, we all went about our shifts and Dave moved to the hippy farm. What a Spirit-breathed beauty!
Please pray for my friends! Pray that God will disciple them and bring others around like Philip was brought to the Ethiopian to do the same. Pray that God will give us (and me) wisdom to know how to come around Dave and protect these seedlings that are growing in his heart.

Oh the joy of getting to throw out seed and taste this fruit!
He makes it worth it.

Writing more

2007-09-05T04:17:00.000-06:00

Ok, I have worked myself into a corner, feeling pressure to do what I really want to do anyway (share about experiences here). Here are some stories that need to be written still (and they may all roll out at once- beware!):
Switzerland
Homesickness
T-land
Cleaning
Paris with Joy
Psalters
Graffitti night
Prinsengracht concert

I am doing well and kind of just deciding to BE here instead of always trying to swim upstream and keep all my ducks in a row. (haha, are the ducks swimming upstream as well?)

To be a year older

2007-06-15T02:57:00.000-06:00

So I am 24 now.
Oh man, I am sorry for writing such depressing (but true) stuff on the eighth without recognizing the amazing days I had around my birthday on the third.
Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who wrote me on my birthday- I have never felt so surrounded from far away! I haven't gotten a chance to write any of you back and tell you thank you, but know that my heart was full.
I have had such a hard time to sit and write email these last days... my cross-the-ocean friendships have fallen into the background, and I'm sorry.

If I read the last blog I wrote, I have to be honest and say that life is still hard for me- really hard at times. This lifestyle is wearing me down. I went away for 2 incredible days last week and got to relax and be part of a family- it was so beautiful. Yeah, it was so beautiful, but... I think I expected to get over some kind of mountain of exhaustion and be ready to run down the other side. Instead I got back on the train to Amsterdam with the same heaviness, realizing that maybe the thing is not to get over the mountain, but somehow to adjust my pack. I don't know how to do that at the moment. There have been more cool moments in the past week than before, but I'm still having a really hard time. I wish I could say that everything's better, but it's not.

And I think the hardest thing lately is just struggling to hear God's voice, have God's wisdom, and see all this from God's perspective. But one thing I'm learning is that lack of simple confirmations, lack of small miracles throughout the day, and not really being sure of God's voice is not the end of the world, or the end of my faith. God is still Himself. I wish He was more visibly Himself, but I think there is something important in these hard times. Is this growth? Is this faith going deeper? I don't like this. If that's true it kind of makes me want the old, simple way back. I don't know.

It's frustrating to have more questions than answers:
Will these always be things I struggle with?
Will I always see the world from the melancholy side?
Why is the Bible true?
What does ministry mean? What does it look like?
How do we grow up in our faith? What does it mean that we are still supposed to see God as Father and to have childlike faith?
How can you tell how important things are? ("Meaningless, meaningless everything is meaningless" is not nearly as maddening as "Meaningful, meaningful, everything is meaningful.")
Will that wisdom come? Please?

Thank you friends for reading this, for having grace, and for praying for me. It's so huge to me.

Heaviness

2007-06-08T15:12:00.000-06:00

My legs are unshaven and my eyes are droopy. Valentin stares at me, lips together, his biting comments hanging in the air already. Amahd looks at me with sad eyes, "I hope there's something true," he says. He doesn't sound very hopeful. The Bible sits open to John 11 on my lap- Lazarus. Ron asks in his broken English about how Lazarus could have walked out of the tomb if he is wrapped in cloth. He shakes his head in decision about how the Bible doesn't make sense. All three cleaners look at me, waiting for me to explain this open book as though my next words will either change everything or confirm what they all already think.
A half an hour before this I am sitting in the office with my manager Linea. The "how are yous?" are exchanged and I tell her that I am at the end of my strength- about how all the people who trained me are gone, about how going home doesn't feel like going home anymore because of fifteen new faces and neverending get-to-know-you conversations. I tell her that I just feel burned out, and that it took every prayer I could muster to come to work this morning.
I sigh and return another how are you? I can tell her "ok" back is not true. "My friend died last night," she replies. NO. I swallow hard. How can I compare my hardship to this? And yet here we are, both at work. If we don't do this day, no one will do it. We pray together and take a deep breath and get to work- she counts the money and deals with angry guests, it is my first day as cleaner supervisor on my own.
And I cry out with 3 pairs of unbelieving eyes staring at me, "Lord! Help me, I am inadequate for these things!" I just barely make it through this day. "Keep going" are words He clearly spoke to me the last time I sat for an hour on my own. And here I am, but my question is "How long Oh Lord?"
And to still see His hand: to walk in the pouring rain with 2 good friends, and to play soccer with Bulgarian students and to talk 2 hours with Ron about the Bible and the Quran, to talk to a new friend who dreams in Tibetan; this is what helps me push on.
Yeah, mom, you were right: the honeymoon is over. Now is the hard work and I know it's good; how do I keep going for it? God uses me in this weakness, but what is exhaustion in a vocabulary of grace? It's a circus at home and a cave at work- Jesus, do some damage here.

Help

2007-05-31T10:58:00.000-06:00

I don't have a lot of energy to write right now, but would you please pray for me?

I am so exhausted and drained right now... yeah, can't even explain it all right now, but if you could pray for me for rest, protection, and sanity, that would be awesome.

Pray also for the house- things have been strange around here and a bunch of new people are here and old people leaving. Yeah, we need God's stability.

ok

love to all

anna

This is Anna Jippie!

2007-05-14T15:40:00.000-06:00

This is the most awesome car in Amsterdam. And this is Anna (also really awesome, just not a car :p)

She is really hansome and very cool and nice and all that stuff.

Groet Francien

Thoughts on the way back from the Train Station on Sunday morning

2007-05-14T04:30:00.000-06:00

The man sits, stoned out of himself
lost behind a dropped lip, a fixed stare,
his green facade

The coffee shop owner stands next to his chair outside the shop
speaking softly and patiently to the man

is this kindness?
-----

Amsterdam:
When early in the morning someone
rolls their huge suitcase
on the cobblestones
and it startles you,
not just because it's the only sound
so early in the morning
but because it sounds like
the take-off of a flock of pigeons
and you worry if they will fly right into your face

-----
you find seashells under lampposts in this city
because the whole city is built on top of sea shells
-----
Rembrandt is one of the most well-known portrait painters of all time. He gives his subjects such soft precision, such life and realness. He is a master. He also painted as a profession. Each famous face that hangs in the Rijksmuseum was a certain months wage for Rembrandt. In that way, his art wasn't always his own expression- but still they are masterpieces.
Could I be a Rembrandt? Could Van Gogh have been?

We decided, (am I right Philip?), that if you must be paid for what you do, you might as well do it as Rembrandt did!
-----
YOU ARE STATIC AND CANNOT CHANGE YOUR FREQUENCY
THE NAMES ON HEADSTONES ARE CRYING OUT TO BE REMEMBERED
YOU CANNOT SELL YOUR FAITH

and what were the other ones??
These are graffiti clearly painted in English by the same tagger all over the city.
Although I don't understand them, I like them because they make people think.

is it good to just make people think? or should you also consider what they think?

----
think think think think think
oh, haha, and these are my dreads on the eleventh floor of the Modern art museum!

My friends

2007-04-27T04:09:00.000-06:00

Almost every night in the cafe, Walter wants to play a game. In his Dutch-English he points his finger at you, flares his eyes and says, "You play a game??" Woah. How do you say no to that? You can tell in his eyes if he's had a few beers yet that night or not. If he has, the game will be really interesting. If he hasn't, the game will be interuppted by a few "bathroom breaks."
Tonight I am working in the kitchen until 11:45. "You play a game?" asks Walter. "Well, maybe after I'm done with all my chores," I say. "Bah!" says Walter, "I help you! What you want me to do?" He doesn't take no for an answer. I tell him he can clean the garden while I scrub the grill. He must really want to play tonight, because he grabs a rag and goes. In ten minutes he is back, explaining that he cleaned all the free tables and told the guests still out there that they better clean up their own spots. I can only imagine their reactions! Having a 40 year old, tall fiery Dutchman tell you to do anything would probably bring complete obedience.
We sit down at the table with Keila, another cleaner right now and try to decide which card game to play. We are talking about the hostel- how it is Christian, but how everyone upstairs in the dorms break the rules. We talked about being honest and Walter proudly talked about how after he was caught the first time drinking upstairs he hasn't done it again. "But everyone else f---ing does it upstairs!" "Yeah, Walter, I know. It's not right, but that's cool that even though they break the rules, you are trying to do what's right," I say. "Yeah," he says, "it's not easy," wagging his finger at me again. I nod. Keila smiles at Walter. After 2 weeks we're learning how to respond to him.
Rico, another one of our cleaners, comes in. He sits down with us in the middle of our paused game and makes us laugh so hard. All of a sudden, Walter lights the cigarette that has been teetering between his fingers all evening. "Walter!" I say. We both look at his smoking cigarette and he is shocked! Walter always complains about not being able to smoke in the cafe, but he would never do it on purpose. His mind, caught up in the fun of the moment, let go and let him light up. I laugh at his shocked expression and we both jump up. I follow him outside and we go sit at the corner by the canal. "I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to!" he keeps saying. I just laugh- "I know Walter, it's ok!"
He finishes his cigarette and then pops open a Heineken can. It's ok for him to drink, just not in the hostel. I say nothing. Staring out over the canal, my mind starts running. The wind picks up and the sky is pink. "Is it going to rain tomorrow?" I ask. Walter has lived in Amsterdam all his life. "Do you know what the weather will be like by looking at the sky?" I interuppt him mid-sip, not meaning to, but my mind is running. I laugh and tell him I don't mean to. I tell him about my dad and how I used to go and sit in my dad's office armchair and ask him a million questions. Walter's eyes soften. His daughter Mellie is 10. "And he was angry with you?" "No," I say, "he was a good dad." "I think you're a good dad too Walter," I tell him. He scoffs so I continue. "I think you have a good heart too Walter." This is something we have talked about before. He can see this heart in us and has told us. Walter's eyes see so much.
Keila comes out to the corner. She has her ratty black jacket on and her walkman in hand for one of her evening walks. Keila doesn't talk to us much unless it's about what she wants to talk about. A "how are you Keila?" usually is answered with a swift, "I'm fine, and you?" Walter doesn't want her to go alone. She doesn't want to wait. "Let's all go," I say, and I run inside to get a jacket. Well, the jacket I don't find, but I do find Rico, bored and sitting at the table waiting for us to return. "Come on a walk with us!" I say and he gives me "the look" which is really difficult to describe, but basically means, "why are you so weird, but i'm going to come with you anyway."
As we head to the corner, another friend of ours approaches. Al was a cleaner before he got his new job as the head chef at the Cafe Limon. He has worked crazy hours and had so many ridiculous things happen. He passes his joint off to Keila as he begins to imitate the waitresses at the Limon fixing their hair and talking on their cell phones. His Scottish accent thickens as he gets more and more animated. We are all standing around nearly rolling on the ground in laughter and I have one of those moments that you just pause in your head.
These are my friends. And somehow the Lord wraps my heart in peace when I'm around them- unruffled by all these "ruffling" things- the pot, the alcohol. What a moment of fun, of laughter, of such random community! I can't believe I'm here.
Walter had slipped away and brings back a coat for me. We say goodnight to Al and the 4 of us- Rico, Walter, Keila and I head out on a 2 AM walk around the block. We walk past closed but lit shop windows, laugh about the thought of stealing a car or a bike, twice convince Walter that we don't need to go to a bar or liquor store tonight- that we're tired and just need to walk back. We are German, Dutch, British, American. We are all tired, in the same way, in different ways. We are atheist, closed off, searching, in love with Jesus. We are on a walk in Amsterdam in the middle of the night. And I know that Jesus walked with us that night.
Will you remember my friends in prayer? Pray for Rico- that inside himself, he would put down his pride and skepticism and believe in God. Pray for Keila, since this story she is on the street again. Pray that the walls around her heart will keep crumbling- that she will let Jesus love her. Pray for Walter- there is so much more to say about his journey so far, but he is journeying! Praise God! Pray that the power of Jesus would cut through his addictions. I know it is possible.

3 Announcements

2007-04-24T13:21:00.000-06:00

Announcement #1
My hair is a bit different than it was when I left Colorado Springs. My friends Greta, Martina, Hannah, Christian, Sarianne, Louise and Lindsay helped me dread my hair last week. Finally! This is something I've been wanting to do since I was in high school and I'm so happy to have it done! Yeah, it's a big step, but I'm excited. I have 60 small dreadlocks and they stayed pretty long (I promise to post pictures soon!). Amsterdam is the perfect place to start dreadlocks- no one gives you a second look because actually every second person has dreads themselves!

Announcement #2
I have decided to extend my time at the Shelter. This is something I've been thinking about since the first week I came. Before I came I thought that 3 months would be enough time to understand the ministry, get my feet wet and then move on, but I see now that I have so much to learn still. You barely learn a place in 3 months, much less the ins and outs of a ministry, the hearts and wirings of fellow staff, the way to pronounce Spanish and French and Portuguese names at breakfast. I am planning on staying until November 11th. I will be able to stay and serve until the Jordan closes for renovation and will also be home in time for Thanksgiving. Perfect. Thank you Lord. I am really excited to stay and be a part.

Announcement #3
God is so awesome! Man, I can't even write everything down that I have seen God do in the past few weeks. He is after people in the most beautiful way. I have a huge story or two still to explain to you, but let me tell you this picture that I had that describes it all perfectly. I see people- hundreds of people- standing in a huge open white space. And I see a colored ribbon flying in this crowd. It is chasing someone. It is God's spirit and it is chasing someone to show them His beauty. He is after them. And this ribbon goes through the people standing there. It weaves through people but always it chases, pursues, soars. We are those people. God uses us, God chases through us and we don't get to be in control, but we get to see the beauty of Him working His work through us. And so the crowd is criss-crossed with ribbons- teal, orange, red- turning and fluttering and following. It really brings tears to my eyes how much Jesus LOVES us and wants His freedom to be ours, His victory to be ours, His comfort and love and community and everything to be ours. He's after people and the biggest blessing I could pray for you is that you get to be part of the work.

2007-04-10T04:36:00.000-06:00

I was the prostitute in the Red Light District this weekend.
There were six of us visiting the Shelter City, presenting a drama for the Good Friday outreach. Lukas was God, Christian was Man. Greta was the Temptation of Money, Sarianne the Temptation of Wild Living, I was the prostitute. And it wasn't until we were standing there practicing in the stairwell that I realized how powerful this thing was.
The Red Light District is the next block over from the Shelter City. Many of the guests that stay there come simply to be in close proximity to the women. Tonight the cafe was full of guests, mostly men, staying for the free meal and program.
In the drama, God creates Man. They have a good relationship; He gives him everything He needs, but warns him about the 3 temptations- which are exactly what he goes for. Christian drinks with Sarianne, he chases the money Greta waves at him, he is seduced and played by me. We become the wall between him and God- we torture him and then God steps out and takes his place. Greta and I hold Lukas's hand taut as Sarianne gives the lashes Jesus endured. We pound the nails into His hands and feet and laugh at his last breath. We slink towards Christian to torture him again, but Lukas springs up- defeating death and sprawling all of us out on the floor.
My heart beats hard as this scene runs through my head in the stairwell. There is power in it. There is power in it because it is true. And I think of our surroundings and the light and power that we are presenting in this dark place. I also think of these women. On the way as I had walked to the City, I passed some of the windows. I was struck by this familiar signal- their fingers beckon just like my part in the drama. For them, this is real. They are part of this wall that tempts and separates others from God. They have this wall in their hearts as well.
God used the drama powerfully. We performed it again at the Jordan and it brought tears and questions. Walter left the room after it and sat between the front doors, just staring. He told me he drank hard that night. Because of the drama? He wouldn't say. Pray for Walter and all the other guests and cleaners who saw this drama. Pray that they will understand that Jesus is the one who makes this wall come down; that He is the one who makes relationship with God possible again.

p.s. In all my stories I have changed people's names a bit, just to keep them safe, but Jesus knows who they are- please pray for them!

How Deep the Father's Love for Us

2007-04-05T11:04:00.000-06:00

Ok, this is your assignment, for real: Have someone sing this song to you, or read it out loud, very slow, as if it was a poem instead of a song.

How Deep the Father's love for us
How vast beyond all measure
That He would give His only son
To make a wretch His treasure

How great the wounds of searing loss
The Father turned His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen one
Bring many sons to glory

Behold the man upon a cross
My sin upon his shoulders
Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice
Call out among the scoffers

It was my sin that held him there
Until it was accomplished
His dying breath has brought me life;
I know that it is finished

I will not boast in anything:
No gifts, no power, no wisdom
But I will boast in Jesus Christ;
His death and resurrection

Why should I gain from his reward?
I cannot give an answer
But this I know with all my heart:
His wounds have paid my ransom

Fruitfulness

2007-04-03T04:56:00.000-06:00

I have a cold.
This shouldn't be strange, but it is for me considering the following: about 2 weeks ago I had my first bike crash. It was really stupid and totally my fault, but I walked away from it with my knees totally purple and cut up. It made it really painful to bend down to do anything.
Then, last week, I rolled my ankle. I have done this before, but never as bad as last week. I couldn't walk on it at all after it happened, and it took me 3 days to be able to walk normally. I was "Gimpy."
And now, just as I am able to walk, my nose begins to run... What's the deal Lord??

And as I was laying in bed with my foot up, not able to work, not able to talk to guests, not able to "do" anything, I got really frustrated. I thought, "This is not why I came here- I came here to be with people and share the gospel and serve." I thought about when I could go back to work, how I could have more ministry, how I could approach people and how I could bring up the gospel more often. And I got overwhelmed. It is easy to get lost in the expectations of this ministry and hard to find your place. And I prayed, "Lord, show me where I can be fruitful here- show me how to do this thing." And right away, He spoke SO clearly to my heart:
"Fruitfulness comes from My heart."

Wow. Yes. How can I measure these things? How can we measure the fruitfulness of our own lives? "I saw 20 people come to Christ. I talked to 5 guests today. I led a Bible study. I sang really well for worship." How quickly it becomes a list that we make! Then we reach our own standards, but what about God's? And am I willing to look lazy, to wait, to draw away, in order that I can know His heart better? "Fruitfulness comes from My heart."
So maybe my cold is just extending this lesson. I better stop blogging and spend some time with Jesus.

Some of my friends

2007-03-29T15:22:00.000-06:00

This is Ati! She (and all the other girls on this post) work at the Jordan with me. Ati is great- she is 18 and wants to go to midwife school after her time here. She has a laugh that reminds me of you, Joy Lewis! (Biola friends will appreciate that).
Sarianne! She is Dutch too and so wonderful! She is a painter and also awesome at drama, and getting excited for other people.
Hannah is from the States and we have a lot of fun together- "With our powers combined, we are Hananana!"

My roomie Francien! She's on vacation for a few days. She is my sounding board here and I really appreciate her perspective (which is usually very eagerly given!). I like to call her "the Flash."

The deeds of darkness

2007-03-27T04:47:00.000-06:00

I pulled my bike through the back door of the hostel into the garden to park it. There was someone sitting under the overhang in "smoker's corner" but the light wasn't turned on and it was completely dark out. It was Lida. "Hey," I said. "Hey," she said in her mellow African voice. Lida has two voices- mellow or really worked up. As I approached her, all I could think of was "the deeds of darkness" and how they want to stay in the dark. "Do you want me to turn the light on for you?" I asked. "No," she said. I sat down across from her. Lida is an African lady who lives in Germany and is trying to move to Amsterdam. She is very smart- speaks English and German very well. She is probably about 40 and has so much pain. She hates the German people, and if you will listen to her, she will tell you how much she hates them and how badly they have treated her. She has come to Amsterdam for a new start and raves about how wonderful this city is, how different. She has stayed with us for two weeks and all of us have talked with her at different times- shared the gospel in many ways.
She quietly rolls her cigarette up in the dark. "I'm just tired, you know? I'm tired of it." she says. I just nod. This is a familiar conversation. She flicks her lighter and as I see her face in the glow, it just grieves me. When you talk to Lida, she sees so quickly the fault in other people and cannot see her own fault. I talked with her a few nights ago about grace and how, even when Christians, or just people in general fail us, if we realize that we mess up too, we need that grace. She says that she is an open book, honest, trying to live well and surrounded by people who do not live that way. I tell her that everyone has secrets in their hearts that even they don't understand.
She has a new outlook since she came here. You can see that the things that have been told to her have taken some root. She realizes blind spots in her own perspective that she wouldn't have admitted before. There's so much to give up though, if she was to follow Christ. She seems to want to settle for doing well enough on her own.
A thin, sour smell comes from her dark corner. There is pot mixed into her cigarette. With it I feel my nose curl up like it's been stung- my heart also. I think about all the conversations and patient times the staff has spent with Lida and I wonder at this moment, how much she has understood. Has she been stoned for 2 weeks and I didn't even know? Anger bubbles up in me. All of a sudden the sour story wrapped up under this puff of smoke doesn't hold as much weight for me. I feel a boldness, but really it is an anger. I feel like I am talking to an adult who is not an adult.
Pot is not allowed in the garden. I don't know what to do. I decide to ask Lida if she wants to take a walk with me. I can be with her outside. She says no, she is so tired, shopping all day, getting ready to go back to Hanover. I say I'm going to go take a walk anyway. And in my heart I was really running away. It is so hard to have compassion for people who choose their own prison (though I do the same). It is so much easier to walk into the next room and ignore the pain and the medications people choose. Pray for my heart here in this area.
As I worked in the kitchen that evening, smoke drifted through the garden window. It was so hot in the kitchen, but I just wanted to shut the window. I just wanted to pretend it wasn't there. I just wanted to run.
"Anna," I hear the Lord whisper, "Leave the window open."

Such an Endless Longing for Friendship

2007-03-22T16:08:00.000-06:00

This is the inscription on the gay monument here in Amsterdam.
It's so heartbreakingly true.
Damen was here for 3 days. On the first, he came into the cafe. "Does anyone know a restaurant that serves authentic Dutch food?" he said in a distinctly French accent. Hmm. That's actually really difficult to find in Amsterdam! He came back later to the cafe and ordered dutch pea soup from a can, and the typical Dutch snack- thin waffles with syrup in between- even though he said he didn't like waffles.
In the evening at the cafe, he was sitting alone, drawing in a small sketchbook. I asked him if I could see his drawings and he said yes, with a sheepish smile. "They're a little strange," he said. In his drawings, I could see some of Damen's heart. They were all amateur drawings in colored pen- many of them people, most of the people men. They were mostly suggestive- short shorts, colored pictures with a key that had words for each like masturbation, beauty, fashion. He watched my face as I looked at them. I tried to thumb through quietly, agreeing with him in a smile, that yes, it is different- in my heart, sorrowed to see this man's longings for love simply in his artwork.
He had come here to visit the office of a famous gay magazine here in the city. "They show real people," he said in praise of it, "not princesses." That is his dream- to draw and do work with this magazine. We talked for a while- about art and the city. I gave him the address of a really beautiful art cafe which excited him. We talked about dreams and thinking outside of the box. I told him about my dream to go and show people love in Tibet. He told me about his desire to really experience the city- the underground- and how he had met this great guy who had taken him back after an evening out to his flat. He raved about the man and about the flat, and after I got up from the table as the movie in the cafe began, he was sending messages back and forth on his phone, reading the green glow with a smile.
My heart aches for Damen. There is such fear and fearlessness in his eyes. He is so set, and yet, so hungry and vulnerable. On the day after we talked, I was overwhelmed with compassion for him. Such an endless longing for friendship... I prayed that I would see him again before he left.
And I did! He walked in as I was passing through the hallway to the kitchen. "Hey Damen! How was your day?" He made a polite smile but didn't hide well. "It was OK," he said, but I knew it hadn't been. I asked him if he would be in the cafe for dinner, but he had already eaten. He did come in though, he brought a book for me to borrow that he had mentioned when we talked. I was excited he remembered me with that. We planned that I could leave it at the desk for him afterwards. "Are you going out tonight?" I asked. "Oh, yeah," he said, "I will go out to a bar and maybe I will meet someone." I could see that his friend wouldn't be meeting him there. Perhaps his visit to the magazine had not gone well either. He was hurting, longing again.
Later that night I read through Damen's book and wrote him a note to stick in it. "Never will I leave you nor forsake you." These are words the Lord has spoken to me here in this place; words for my loneliness. I wished Damen the best and shared those words with him, wondering on paper to him if maybe they would mean something to him as well- that God wanted to be there for him. He came back into the cafe just as I was finishing it. "I wrote you a note," I said, and he smiled and said, "Maybe I'll read it tomorrow"- he had had a few cocktails he confessed with another sheepish grin. We laughed and said goodnight.
Jesus, oh, Jesus, give love to these who are unloved- lost in the shuffle of this city, or other cities- tossed around by promises unfulfilled, eating but still hungry, adding layers but still cold. Give them real warmth, real love, real identity. Take away the longing, and remake it- Such an endless friendship with the ONE who fills.

Living in a City (this one)

2007-03-13T09:27:00.000-06:00

Jazz is the soul of a city.
We went to hear live jazz last night at 11:30. As we walked out the door of the Shelter City, Eileen turned one way and Marga the other. “Why not this way?” asked Marga. “No, I don’t want to go that way- it’s dirty,” said Eileen, and she meant the strip of the red light district that is right around the corner from the hostel. We snaked our way through the streets a different way. I walked with Ronald, a visiting friend, who told me about Tunisia as we past coffeeshops and wide-eyed tourists.
We sat in the bar for an hour or two- talking about travels and drinking coffee and tea. It would have been better with the red-faced owner if we had gotten beers, but we’ve promised not to. Only an espresso to go with my music tonight, dank u vel. The singer is Dutch perhaps, but her song is Sinatra. We decide that to be a real jazz singer you must stop washing your hair- I’m well on my way! The music is wonderful, well, not wonderful musically, but just because it’s being played at all. I sometimes feel like this is a dream- living and working in this different place, but the jazz music made me feel as though I am really here in this city.
Marga and I left early, about 1 am, and went straight through the district to walk back. It is so full of movement. In LA, on Sunset Boulevard when the prostitutes work, they are the ones that move constantly- 6 or 7 women who hover over their corners, never stopping to be talked to. Here, it’s the men that move. They walk fast and constantly through the streets, surrounded by the glow of neon lights from all the rooms. It is a show, a show that you can touch. It’s really dark there. As we walked quickly through the crowds, I caught a glimpse of a swan swimming peacefully in the middle of the canal. It doesn’t fit- this innocence in the middle of so much dirt.

Errol

2007-03-08T06:10:00.000-07:00

At the Shelter hostels we have cleaners who come an work for us. These are usually people from the street or who have just come to Amsterdam and need help. They stay for 1-2 months and then have to go.
Today is Errol's last day (it makes me want to cry to even write it). Errol is British, probably 37 or so, shorter than me and skinny. He grew up between South Africa and England, and came to Amsterdam from Japan, were his ex-wife is from.
He has two sons- there names are tatooed in Japanese on his forearm. Errol's whole life he has been a part of the goth underground scene- drinking, bands and guitars, Czech motorbikes, pain and sorrow. He showed us pictures of his sons and the rest of his life before, and he looks so different. "It's your eyes, Errol, that are different," says Francien.
And it is his eyes. Errol is so kind- tenderness is the best way I can think of to describe him. He is so eager to talk and have conversations about anything. He is also eager to learn and discover- I asked him about a Japanese character in a tract we have behind the counter, and he spent the rest of the evening trying to find it in his Japanese dictionary.
Errol was baptized a week or two before I came. He became a Christian at the Shelter, and in a small chapel in the Red Light District was dunked in public for his new faith. He was so nervous I think to be in front of people that day, but how beautiful!
Errol smoked 3 cigarettes the other day. "Well, six," he said, "if you count it, because I split them in half." This is a record low for Errol when in the past he chain-smoked about 30 in a day. Coffee is the in-between fix for Errol. He comes up to the counter during his breaks or before work for cup after cup, always with an embarrassed smile, and surprised that I remember what he wants.
Today Errol smoked a few more bits of cigarette than yesterday. He doesn't know where he's going tomorrow. He'll probably be on the street. And it breaks my heart. During Bible discussion we talked about the provision of God for the Israelites in the desert- Nehemiah talks about how their shoes didn't wear out, how they always had food. "Manna," suggests Errol, and we all nod. I pray that God will let Errol find manna, daily bread no matter what the next days bring for him.

Please pray for Errol!

The Zee

2007-03-04T14:23:00.000-07:00

The sea here is woollen
It is grey and grey and grey
Grey sky
Grey sea
Grey Dog
Gris
Gris with a 'G' that sounds like a cough
The same 'G' that makes my companion Van Gogh seem like a stranger
Gris
A grey dog with black feet
Zwaart

The shells here are made with wool
They pull it from the sky and sand
To form the lines of their bodies
They are orange
Blue, Yellow, Striped
They end with grey wool
Pushed into the sand and at my feet
Dripping in the Dutch rain that rolls off my hood
like Dutch colors roll off my tongue

2007-03-02T05:10:00.000-07:00

Day three at the Willemsstraat (staff house). I have probably spent more time hanging out here than being out in the streets, which is fine with me! There are so many great people to hang out with- it reminds me of college. Lots of thee (tea) and Nutella toast!
I worked last night for the first time (training of course) and it was great! It reminded me so much of working at Peaberry and the great opportunities you have to serve people and interact with them. I am excited about it! I will have a lot of time to not work though, so I pray that God will lead me with what to do with my free time. It feels very different than any missions trip I’ve been on, which is so nice- this feels more like real life.
Overwhelming is the word I would use to describe life these three days. To know a miniscule amount of all that I need to know is, wow, hard for me. I need to have patience with myself.

well, that's about all that my brain will produce right now- more later

Here's my writing address for my wonderful snail-mail friends:

Willemsstraat #33
1015 HW Amsterdam
The Netherlands

My First Day

2007-02-28T12:09:00.000-07:00

When you land in Amsterdam, the pilot says "Flight attendants, prepare for landing," and you don't see land for another 10 whole minutes! You stare at the white-cap waves and think to yourself, "Are we landing in the water??"
I saw amazing clouds and light today as the sun rose and we passed over England.
I saw amazing white, cloudy light from the three picture windows of my room in the staff house.
There is a dentist's office in the building directly across.
There is a Chinese Indian (?) restaurant across and below.
My roommate is amazing! Her name is Francien (Francine) and apart from getting lost in this amazing new place, meeting her was the best part of my first day!

the dew of sleep that has been longing to fall and rest lays heavy on my eyes after endless travel now has it's way and must come to it's still and quiet slumber

more later...

Maybe I'm Craaazzzzeee...

2007-02-23T14:10:00.000-07:00

Gotta love Gnarls Barkley...

I am getting ready to leave and feel like I'm going Crazy! Literally, on Wednesday I was running around the house and this was my thought process: "Gotta wrap Karen's presents where's some paper no paper ok gotta find cool magazine cutouts tape stickers oh gosh my room's a mess i need to clean the bathroom before i leave where are all my boxes going to fit which books should i take wrapping presents wrapping presents wrapping presents oh crap there's so much laundry to do i wish mom was here maybe she'll come back Saturday instead of Sunday oh man i need to change shirts what am i going to pack oh shoot need to call Glenn need to wrap presents need to remember to take shirts pack to the Glen need to make a card for Renell where's the paper where's a sharpie what should I write oh gotta wrap wrapping wrappity wrap did i eat lunch how many euros do i need"

and so on and so forth

I was having a hard time breathing! But now I feel much better thanks to God and Allison Daniell.

"I remember when,
I remember, I remember when I lost my mind,
there was something so magic about that place,
even your emotions had an echo,
and so much space..."

cheers!

Church in the Dishwasher

2007-01-31T22:39:00.000-07:00

So I learned something cool when I was unloading the dishwasher at work today. I was taking my dirty coffee mug back to the kitchen and the dishwasher had a note clipped to it that said "clean." There were dishes in the sink under the "DON'T LEAVE DISHES IN THE SINK" sign and it was after 5:00 so I figured I might as well unload the dishwasher and clean things up a bit.
Unloading the dishwasher at work is way different than at my mom's house, or anyone else's house I've ever been to. I took out the plates first. There were three heavy white plates with a thick blue trim. There was one thin off-white plate with ugly floral designs on it. There was one that was kind of squarish. There were a few others that I can't remember now, but I just remember being so shocked at the miss match of it all.
The silverware was the same. I smiled to myself when I unloaded the mis-matched spoons with different patterns and handles, because I've always thought it would be cool to have random dishware instead of matching dishware. That way everyone gets something unique at their place at the table. Some forks are smooth, some are bent, some have fancy designs but there is only one of them.
The mugs were the best. The one I drank from today said "Anchorage, Alaska" and had a city-scape, which, considering the beauty of the Alaskan wilderness, struck me as pretty funny. It had good colors though, which was why I picked it. I unloaded some that matched- I think someone probably donated a set as they matched the heavy white plates with blue trim. There was one mug that had a label on the bottom. "MATHESON." I guess Mr. or Miss Matheson did not want to lose their mug in the dishwasher shuffle, although I put it back on the shelf with the rest of the eclectic collection.
I thought about potlucks while I was unloading the dishwasher. I love potlucks. We had one last week at our church, and even though you might be stuck at the end of the line and have to eat the most suspect casserole, no one goes hungry at a potluck. I used to want to have a potluck wedding reception. I thought that would be so great- everyone brings their favorite food and we all share and are happy and full and smile and dance. Then my mother told me it was very tacky to invite people to a potluck wedding. And I can see why. But I still love the idea that if everyone shares, no one goes hungry.
The office dishwasher is like that. Well, the whole kitchen is, but the dishwasher made me think of it. Everyone brings their extra dishes, or maybe they just bring their own dishes, but they share them. Some people don't bring any dishes. I don't. I don't have any to give right now. I haven't cooked a meal since last spring- I don't have dishes or even a lot of food. But somebody brought an extra "Anchorage, Alaska" mug so that I could drink coffee (made by someone else) while I stuffed envelopes. And I just think that's so beautiful. And it's tacky. Real tacky. Nothing matches at all. But it's so great. It works and the people who have old ugly flower plates and overstock of mugs at their houses are happy to share, and the people who need ugly flower plates and don't have houses are happy to have something to use.
So maybe I won't have a potluck wedding, but I sure want to have a potluck life. I am thankful to the people in my life who have brought more right now when I don't have anything to bring but my appetite. And I can't wait until I have an abundance of suspect casserole to share.

With a grain of salt

2007-01-25T22:02:00.000-07:00

These thoughts just spilled out of my head and I haven't really done any clean up, so take that as my disclaimer if you choose to look:

I.
Dear Mr. President.
I was wondering this evening, who do you think Terrorists are? Do you think those people love evil? Do you think those people kill just to kill? Do you think those people hate happiness? Has it ever occurred to you that everyone wants something good? Even if they want something bad or want something in a bad way or try to get something in a bad way, it is usually at the core about something good. That is what terrorists want the same as everyday American citizens. Perhaps they want help and are crying out to one of the richest countries in the world to turn its cold shoulder. Perhaps they are making war on our religion. Perhaps they are trying to get treasure in the afterlife or victory against the empire in this life. But they are motivated by something they consider to be good. They are pursuing their own happiness.

II.
Consider:
A “rich, well-educated, well-fed kid” might get picked on at school by bullies. Is it jealousy? Perhaps. Is it anger at this child and his lifestyle? Yes. Is it anger at God for seeming to have blessed one so much and not another? This also could be true.
The mother of this child is upset- her son has been attacked brutally and unfairly. The mother is justified to seek justice. She goes to the principal, she demands a punishment, she wants to speak to the boy and his parents. These are all good reactions to this behavior.

(Has her son learned anything from this incident? In most cases, wouldn’t cruel words and bruises inflicted by a bully make you think? Even if they tell lies about us to our faces, we have to hear them, right? We have to, for at least a moment, think about what is yelled and spit into our ears- have to consider the truth of them. Have we done that as a country? Or can we not tell what they are saying? Did we even pause to think before we went crying for revenge?)

The mother goes a little berserk. She has already seemingly resolved the conflict with the bullies’ parents. They have received their just reward. But now, in a desperate attempt to protect her precious son, she has gone on a hunt for any children at the school who might have negative feelings about her boy. If others might hurt him again, she feels it is her duty to chase and find them, no matter how long it takes. She goes to every classroom, extensively interviewing all of the children to find out if they know her son, what they think about him, if they have ever hurt him before and if they ever plan on it. She is more haggard than she used to be. Her voice has gotten louder and more overbearing. Life seems to be draining from her each day. Her eyes droop but she is still determined. The teachers whisper to each other and watch from afar as she comes. She has already gotten 2 children suspended and is ever on the hunt for more.

Even at home, she prowls. Her precious boy has brothers and sisters- he is the youngest and gets picked on- or has in the past. In the past, the boys’ parents would allow some teasing- it was healthy for a boy to grow up under a little bit of pressure. After the incident though, the mother decided that this too was debilitating to the young boy. She began to censor jokes and interrupt wrestling matches. She punishes these siblings for being on the side of the bullies from school. “But mom,” they say, “Some of those things they said are kinda true about him!” This cannot be allowed. They are grounded for the rest of the week.

Will I be grounded too?

had a bad dream last night...

2007-01-15T22:42:00.000-07:00

Did Abraham have strange dreams of having no son?
Did he set out empty picture frames, did he buy a baseball and mitt?
Did he tell his neighbors, his nephew?

What if?
What if it wasn't true at all?
What if he heard wrong?
What if he had sent away his son Ishmael in vain?

Humiliation.
Faith is walking in the face of humiliation.
Letting God pick up the pieces if it all comes smashing down.

Dreams on the first of the year

2007-01-01T21:25:00.000-07:00

I don't know my way home
no I don't know my way
You might be my way home
Can I just stay?

-Kevin McCarthy

My friend is coming back from Nepal.

And I am going to AMSTERDAM!!

Tears fall for dreams held deep and long.
This is the part of my life I call happYness!

Christmas Loss

2006-12-27T00:37:00.000-07:00

James Brown died
So did Gerald Ford
So did a sister
what do you do when someone dies at Christmas?

People died on the TV screen yesterday
They were in Africa
but also in our living room

and tears rolled down my face
in a season when i can't cry

it's the helplessness of it
the fact that you can't change the day
you can't change the happening at all
you can't give your breaths to her
your tears don't have salt enough to be smelling salts to death

Kyrie Eleison

Mary

2006-12-23T23:24:00.000-07:00

I heard this song by Patty Griffin last night and it's really beautiful. I always wonder what Mary's part of the story felt like- being the mother of the Son of God, and I love the verse, "Mary pondered all these things in her heart."

"Mary"

Mary you're covered in roses, you're covered in ashes
You're covered in rain
You're covered in babies, you're covered in slashes
You're covered in wilderness, you're covered in stains
You cast aside the sheet, you cast aside the shroud
Of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
On some sunny day and always stay, Mary

Jesus says Mother I couldn't stay another day longer
Flys right by me and leaves a kiss upon her face
While the angels are singin' his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place

Mary she moves behind me
She leaves her fingerprints everywhere
Everytime the snow drifts, everytime the sand shifts
Even when the night lifts, she's always there

Jesus said Mother I couldn't stay another day longer
Flys right by me and leaves a kiss upon her face
While the angels are singin' his praises in a blaze of glory
Mary stays behind and starts cleaning up the place

Mary you're covered in roses, you're covered in ruin
you're covered in secrets
Your'e covered in treetops, you're covered in birds
who can sing a million songs without any words
You cast aside the sheets, you cast aside the shroud
of another man, who served the world proud
You greet another son, you lose another one
on some sunny day and always stay
Mary, Mary, Mary

My dream

2006-12-10T17:06:00.000-07:00

I was in a huge building with hundreds of people- we were getting ready for a race (if you know me, you'll know that that is kind of out of the ordinary- not a flashback dream most definitely).
There were lots of friends there with me- friends and acquaintances from college, my sisters, friends from Colorado. We were having a great time chatting and catching up, all in our street clothes with our running gear set aside somewhere else.
All of a sudden this woman who seemed to be in charge of the race, called my name as she read it off of her clipboard. I thought she might be organizing all of us into running groups or lines, so I came forward, not thinking anything of it. She didn't call anymore names after mine, and she told me to follow her. Confused, I followed her down the hall, asking if I would get a chance to change into my running stuff (I had these funny bowling shoes on too). She said no and we stood there alone in the dark, empty hallway. I asked her anxiously if I would still get to race at all. She looked at her watch and then opened a door that led to the outside- the race had already started. I had missed it. She said I could go, but I was heartbroken (too strong a word??). I couldn't run with my friends and probably wouldn't even finish the race on time. Why even run the race at all? I was so discouraged as I watched people run down the street.
Somehow I decided to run anyway. As I walked outside (now in my running clothes,hmm...), the goal of the race seemed to have changed. Everyone had long skinny flags and were playing some kind of game of tag before they continued to run. I was up in a tree (?) and watching the whole thing, flag in hand, but not playing. The runners disappeared quickly after that and I was left to run alone.
I made up my mind to finish the race. The city we were running in felt like San Fransisco with the hills! The end of my dream was me running up this hill that was suddenly so steep that I had to climb up it- setting my feet over the top of this small overhang and pulling up- a slow climb instead of a run.

God has been speaking to me in dreams a lot recently. Some dreams are just ridiculous and I'm living in a trailer park in China and shopping at Walmart. Some dreams are heavy and they sit in my mind and make me say "There must be something to this."
When I sat to write this dream out, I almost started crying because I realized what it was. A passage of scripture God recently brought to me is Isaiah 51:1-3. I think these are life verses for me. The first two verses are this:
"Listen to me, all you who seek righteousness, who seek the Lord.
Look to the quarry from which you were dug, the rock from which you were cut.
Look to Abraham your father and to Sarah who gave birth to you in pain.
When he was but one I called him, then I blessed him and multiplied him."

When I graduated from college, all I wanted to do was to stay in California with my friends. I wanted to stay and pray each other out to the mission field, to live in community, to be bohemian and artsy and to live in the inner city. But God said to me three times, "Go home."
And here I am. I have realized that I HATE doing things by myself. I can read by myself, run by myself, and shop by myself, but when it comes to doing anything significant and adventurous, I am paralyzed without a companion. And here I am, so very alone in so many of my dreams for the future and my desires.

But my name has been called. I am not in a running group, I am alone. Many of my friends are together, praying together about going overseas together. I think it's so beautiful and yet, I am not called to be WITH. I'm having to make decisions and trust God that I can move forward on my own. And that's what's so beautiful about the passage from Isaiah. God called Abraham "when he was but one" and then He brought others into the picture. The other amazing part of that is that Sarah, in having the son who was the fulfillment of all these promises of God, "gave birth in pain." God is faithful to His promises to us, but that doesn't mean that things aren't hard- like running up a hill you have to slow down and climb!

God you amaze me. You speak to me so clearly and then you sing to me in my sleep- pictures of things I'll never forget that just repeat your goodness and your meaning for my life. Please tell me what you want for me and then sing it to me slow.

How to's

2006-09-04T23:36:00.000-06:00

How do you praise and admire beauty in someone who has ceased to see it in their own life?

How do you create art that does something life changing without being commercialized and stripped? How do you change the world without being altered a bit for mass consumption?

How do you admonish honesty and remain pure? untainted? Where does goodness fit in our desire for truth? Raw truth is often grating, dirty, unpleasant. How do we reach into the world's truth to connect, without being "of" this world?

How do you live out a lifestyle in response to things you know are true about God when no one around you seems to live or see that way? How do you step in and out of living as if those things are true?

The Most Beautiful Words

2006-09-01T00:31:00.000-06:00

Number One most beautiful thing said to me in the past week:

Me: "I just don't know what I'm doing with my life- I'm such a committment-aphobe."

My beautiful friend Karen: "You're not a committment-aphobe. You just haven't heard your lion yet. In Sheldon Van Auken's book A Severe Mercy, he says this about dating other women before falling in love with his wife: When you hear a hyena in the woods, it's easy to think it is a lion- until you hear the lion roar. You're not afraid of committment, you just haven't heard your lion yet."

Wow, that gave me such freedom... I pray that I can just have that sense when the Lord calls me to something. I am not passionate about tutoring kids or working at camp or serving food and scraping plates. I am only semi- passionate (and mostly for silly reasons) about the whole coffee industry. I am perhaps good at all these things which makes me think that maybe I am just being too picky and should just settle down, work hard at some of those things and call it a calling. But I hope that the Lion's roar is more gut-wrenching than that. I hope it scares me to death and that it grips me in the heart to the point where I can't escape and I don't want to.
Hearing the lion's roar makes you say "That is it." and diminishes any thought that you should have believed that the hyena's shrill snarl was enough.

Second most beautiful thing told to me this week:

My amazing friend Molly: "Basically I woke up this morning [mind you, Molly is in Nepal] and thought i want to write to Anna. I want to tell her that it's ok if she doesn't know what she's going "to do" for the next while. i think it's more important who we "are" and who we are becoming than what we do. it's more about how we do it than whatever it actually is. and i think that you are precious and that you are a fool according to the world (which I love and also aspire to be).

Humbling words from a woman who I consider to be an example of this beautiful foolishness of following Christ. Who we are. The way we do things. Even things we don't like. Scraping plates in view of God's glory.

Acting Lessons

2006-09-01T00:28:00.000-06:00

And we get to this point in our friendship
The point where I start feeling insecure again
And wonder in the hours and hours that we spend
And wonder in the wrinkles of your smile
or the careful stare of your attention
If you are acting
You are such a good actress if
if that is what you are

And it worries me a bit
And I tense up
My smile curls a little more
I laugh a little more
I ask a few more questions, now just to keep up with you
I become the desirable one
I am such a good actress

The Man Watching

2006-08-23T20:24:00.000-06:00

I can see that the storms are coming
by the trees, which out of stale lukewarm days
beat against my anxious windows,
and I can hear the distances say things
one can't bear without a friend,
can't love without a sister

...

Winning does not tempt him.
His growth is: to be the deeply defeated
by ever greater things.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

2006-08-23T20:13:00.000-06:00

2006-08-23T19:50:00.000-06:00

I was cleaning out my stuff today- all 15 boxes of it- and I realized I could throw almost all of it away. I wouldn't miss it particularly, although there is a lot of it.
I have several boxes of things that I only keep for sentimental reasons- airplane tickets from countries I visited, cards people wrote me in seventh grade, dark grainy pictures and their doubles from my summers at camp, ugly gifts from friends I love. As I look at all that stuff, it reminds me of those times, but not any more than if I just happened to be thinking of them anyway- my time in Russia, my summers at Eagle Lake, the way my friends love me. I threw a lot of stuff away today and it felt strange. All those things are are memories. What is lasting about them?

I was really into marching band and choir and key club in high school. Today I threw away my letter jacket letters for all those things. I don't care that I did them. That scared me a little bit. What about the things I care about today? What about China and camp and missions and youth hostels? What if I don't care about those things 10 years down the road? What if I throw away my Learn Chinese book and my Tibetan travel guide? What will this have been worth?

And then I thought about the people I have met along the way- in Russia, at camp, in college. What if those relationships had continued? What if I had kept ahold of those people the way I did all the little objects that I've collected? How much richer I would be. It's not about collecting little trinkets from every country I've visited- I think I do it sometimes just to remind myself that I lived once; that I did some cool things once- instead it's about connecting with people and LIVING life with them- Continuing, which is something I am not very good at.

I left my boxes on the living room floor. I sat down and wrote emails to the girl in China who I love, to the beautiful 15 year old who brought friendship to me at camp, to a friend who teaches down the road. These fleeting, invisible things- these friendships- these are what I want to collect and continue in.

feverish clarity

2006-03-01T20:02:00.000-07:00

it feels like summer time
kind of like a dream

i feel like i have a fever
but i don't
but i do

i feel lost and disoriented
like the only thing i should do to be found is take a walk

everyone's gone
the house is silent
i've slept the whole day away
only to wake up to silence

the air is cool
it's march but it's warm
but the sky warns of snow

i danced with you in my dream
i want that to make it better somehow
somehow, can a feverish dream be true
and not all of this

confusion
conversations put off til tomorrow

how long oh Lord?

2005-12-22T22:11:00.000-07:00

The world rushes around in a way I never thought it would.

I complain a lot.

I don't really know what to do with the fact that I complain.

On the one hand, I shouldn't complain. It is good to be content and satisfied with what God has put in front of you.

On the other hand, the world is not as it should be.
And I can feel it. I can feel it in my heavy, confused heart. I can tell it in my tired eyes. I can tell it in my shredded hands. I can tell it in my mother's tears and my brothers' hunger for attention. I can tell it in the silence that is between me and the friends I love the most. I can tell it in the ache that hovers over me from waking through each day I walk through.

It is not a very beautiful ache these days.

I feel defeated by these things Lord. I am tired and confused. Which is ok. I have been tired and confused before. The defeat comes in the question, "Will these things ever leave? Will there be clarity and rest?"

Make me satisfied with you Lord. Show me the abundance you talked about- define it for me so that I can trust you for it. I don't know what I should be waiting for...

sigh

2005-10-06T15:36:00.000-06:00

can it really be october?

time is slipping away from me and it makes me sigh,
first because I am happy that time does not drag since I am just surviving and making ends meet right now (as far as dreams and ambitions go)
second because it means that I am getting closer to what I don't know...

The future comes quickly-
a relief because it means something new is close,
scary because I don't know what that new thing is

But I have been convinced- after a round about drive home through dark hauntingly beautiful hills- that being lost is ok.
Moving forward for now is what to do.
Lord meet me in the rolling lostness.

sweetness

2005-07-24T23:19:00.000-06:00

So I found out that my boss at my recent God-given job personally knows my favorite band!!!
What?! Yeah, My boss knows Don and Lori Chaffer who are the cornerstones of Waterdeep. My boss and his wife even met because they were both involved in Waterdeep stuff. The gave me bootleg tonight!! I was so excited you would have thought it was moonshine.

bootleg
moonshine
hill billies

anyway, I am SO happy- I have mostly unheard Waterdeep music!

and again...

2005-07-19T20:51:00.000-06:00

another example of being caught off guard:

these Tibetan kids made me weep...

the rest of the story

2005-07-19T20:39:00.000-06:00

Ok, so, back to the scene in the film.

Rhia has been holding in her pain and anger and disgust over this uncle who molested her when she was a child. She finally breaks and tells her family. Her other uncle, who is like her father because her father died, is heartbroken because he loves this brother in law very much, but he also loves Rhia like his own child.

For a while he convinces Rhia to just bear it and get through the wedding but in this scene, he breaks.
He can't handle anymore what this man has done to her and he refuses to allow his presence. With inside-twisting emotion he tells him to leave, destroying the connection between families. He goes over to Rhia and kisses her on the forehead. She is thunderstruck and her eyes well up with tears.

And so do mine.

I wish I had someone like that to protect me when I get hurt. Someone to make things right in the end.

And my insides start to twist and expand until I can't hardly breathe. The pain rises and falls. But I don't release it until it goes away on its own. Until my tears dry on my face instead of being wiped away. I sit blurry eyed and lonely.

I miss my dad.

So, you see, this is what might happen when you are caught off guard. But it is good to be caught sometimes not guarding. It shows that you are human.

off guard

2005-07-19T13:06:00.001-06:00

Being caught off guard

You know sometimes when you've either finally gotten comfortable or finally decided to deal with things the way they are and then you get caught off guard? That's an interesting way to describe it- caught off guard- like you're guarding your heart from things that might give it pain.

I was caught off guard last night watching Monsoon Wedding. I was half watching, half cutting magazine pictures and pasting them together and didn't expect anything but to enjoy myself.

There's a scene in the movie where the father interrupts a man who hurt his neice.
Rhia has been holding in her pain and anger and disgust over this uncle who molested her when she was a child. She finally breaks and tells her family. Her other uncle, who is like her father because her father died, is heartbroken because he loves this brother in law very much, but he also loves Rhia like his own child. For a while he convinces Rhia to just bear it and get through the wedding but in this scene, he breaks. He can't handle anymore what this man has done to her and he refuses to allow his presence. With inside-twisting emotion he tells him to leave, destroying the connection between families. He goes over to Rhia and kisses her on the forehead. She is thunderstruck and her eyes well up with tears.

And so do mine.

I wish I had someone like that to protect me when I get hurt. Someone to make things right in the end.

And my insides start to twist and expand until I can't hardly breathe. The pain rises and falls. But I don't release it until it goes away on its own. Until my tears dry on my face instead of being wiped away. I sit blurry eyed and lonely. I miss my dad.So, you see, this is what might happen when you are caught off guard. But it is good to be caught sometimes not guarding. It shows that you are human.

the sun

2005-07-13T22:57:00.000-06:00

Youaremysunshinemyonlysunshineyoumakemehappywhenskiesaregrey
you'llneverknowdearhowmuchiloveyou
ohpleasedon'ttakemysunshineaway

thanks for visitingme Clairebear!

Hello... hello...?

2004-10-24T09:35:00.000-06:00

Is anybody out there?

a Trebuchet is something my friends built to shoot tomatoes over (and onto) their house

it's also the name of this font...

ok...peeth out!