My friends

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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)

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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