Unfair

Are you effing kidding me?! The cutest little buggers on the face of the whole planet. Don't even try to tell me there is anything cuter.

This Old House

I’m flirting with a great love affair with this city.

There’s a fountain at 50^th and State Line that, at night, feels like something out of fairy tales, or maybe memory. There’s a soft sound of remembrance in the water hitting itself, and a soft romance in the brightness of the yellow tulips against the icy blues of a full moon-lit evening. It’s about to rain. The ground already looks wet, and the sky is that pale lavender that’s too light for midnight. Lightening occasionally flashes in silence, almost like it’s trying to sneak up behind you. There’s such a deliciousness about the breeze that you want it to throw your hair into tangles and give you goosebumps.

Everything is something out of memory tonight. I have a memory of sitting on the front porch of the house that I grew up in, the murmur of the attic fan in the background. The air is cool, and bench is uncomfortable. I’m antsy and a little scared, but my daddy is next to me. Sometimes he has his guitar. The air is still for a minute. And then the breeze gets cooler, quicker. Thunder clears its throat in the distance. Rain begins a steady march over us. Then quicker, louder. I get bored too soon and go inside, dragging my hands against the uneven surface of the walls, textured by fifty years of paint. The moisture makes my feet stick the hardwood floor. I patter into my room with the pink walls. The pink walls that used to be blue, long before we moved in. I know this by the large chunks of paint that I’ve peeled off beneath the window sill. Even now I can see their exact spot in my mind. I remember the feelings of delight and guilt as I chipped away at small spots making them larger. All of the windows are open and the humidity and fresh air is stirring up the smells of old wood and paint, and marrying them with ones of spring and rain. I crawl between the cool softness of my sheets as it gets brisker and the rain gets louder; my pulse quickens and I consider running to my parents but decide to brave. Instead, I lay in quiet vanity focusing on my courage while the colors, smells, and gentle sounds of music and rain blur into the sleep of a seven-year-old.

Office Lighting

There are water-droplets on the side on my Styrofoam cup: a dozen perfect little spheres standing up like proud tiny prisms turning the fluorescent glare of my office lights into something a bit more beautiful.

As always, I’m thinking about things far beyond standard-afternoon-office-business, and therefore mostly irrelevant to what I’m doing right now. It’s estimated that 100,000 people died in a cyclone in Myanmar, a 6.8 earthquake rattled Tokyo today, and food shortages continue to spark riots around the globe. I can’t help wondering how much longer all of this can go on. I can’t help feeling that as a planet, we are nearing that “something’s got to give” point. Granted, I’ve seen far too many end-of-the-world epics, and my imagination does tend to be a bit overactive in general; but the fact of the matter is that if we believe the Bible, then the end of the world is coming. I’m not going to go all eschatogious on you, but I’ve been thinking. I love my job. I actually like going to work. But, what exactly am I doing to bring the Kingdom of God. I mean, I know that I’m in the right place for right now. It’s just kind of hard to see the eternal significance of expense reports, budgets, and event planning. Bah! I’m just antsy.

Well, let’s just say that the Mother Theresa biography “Come Be My Light” will mess your world up. In a good way.

And the Desert Blooms

Today is the type of day that poems are written for. Poets are inspired to write and readers inspired to read with rhyme and romance. Everyone comes together in an appreciation of true beauty. The sky is its most brilliant blue, the blanket boldest yellow; faces are sun-kissed and hair is wind-blown. And the very grass dances with such passionate grace that one feels certain it must sing as well. The lawn is freckled with violets and dandelions; perhaps they are weeds, but still they are the bearers of the wishes of our youth. Today is a day that the air smells like healing-it seems taboo to discuss anything but pleasant things. The sunlight, the perfect green of the new growth, the earth, and the air- all sing the unity of humanity and of nature and of the two of them together. All of them in a harmonious chorus of worship for the Creator. Every sigh of contentment is a whisper of thanksgiving to the Designer of this day.

Humanity is a loaded word. It can be used to describe something huge and vague or something deeply personal. Humanity is a hideous beautiful thing. All at once it sums up the best and worst parts of personality. It tells of sin, failure, and frailty; compassion, laughter, and life. Humanity is a painful joyous place to be. But maybe, maybe all this pain and discomfort and growth is the process of refining. When the Bible talks about the refining process of metals, I always thought of the end result. I never considered what it must be like to be "in it." I've definitely been "in it" for a good many months now. I'm a sad, broken, tarnished, beautiful thing at the mercy of my maker. The thing about refining is that it brings out the ugly. But the ugly doesn't just steam out and vanish into nothingness. No, unfortunately for me and those around me it floats to the top and gathers. It gathers and gathers and draws more to itself until it's hard to see what was underneath. But all that underneath is everything that it was and becoming more beautiful than before-still, hidden under the ugly. Ugly until the Creator comes to scrape it off. The scraping HURTS. Purification that makes the skin burn and the limbs ache and the heart faint, until everything glows with new light. Forgiveness. Holiness in all its icy fire, in all its unadulterated brilliance. Getting there, under all the ugly, I'm getting there.

"And the desert blooms, He makes all things new."

Unfin...ishe...d.

I bought a bike yesterday.
I can't wait to ride it! I need to buy a helmet and lock for it, but I have grand plans for it! But it should be stated that I'm a poor follow-through on grand plans.
Things that I have had grand plans for in the past year:
1. Learning to play guitar
2. Refreshing my piano skills
3. Writing letters
4. (At least) 3 paintings
5. Learning to knit
6. Becoming awesome at sewing; starting with a t-shirt quilt, ending with my eventual appearance on Project Runway
Things currently in grand-plan process:
7. Herb garden
8. Teaching myself French
9. BIKE!
SOOOOOOO eight things to half-do in the course of a year is A LOT. Now I have a guitar, a keyboard, a lot of cards, half-painted canvases, knitting needles and yarn, a sewing machine, Pots, Rocks, and Soil, French books and CDs (on loan from the library though!), and a beautiful blue bike. All listed like that makes me seem a bit crazier than I realized. Just call me Cornflake.

Maybe all the unrest in my life is a need to learn to follow through.

Sinking in an Ocean of Grace

What a crazy life this is.

The 'shuffle' option on ones' IPOD is ideal for mirroring thoughts about the complexities and diversities of life. Mine, for instance, will roll from Ray Lamontange to the Beatles, from Fiest to Nelly, from musical soundtracks to worship music, from Weezer to Justin Timberlake. Inside my IPOD, all of these genres, musicians, and bands, not only peacefully coexist, but enjoy rich friendship with each other.

Such is life. Life flows forward with its own temperamental moodiness, such that it seems to have little definitive direction or purpose. Sometimes its easy to feel that your life is just a mixed jumble of choppy rapids and stagnant pools. Day to day, even hour to hour, every minute is full of so much. The BIGNESS of life is shocking. Opportunities are endless. And still, the smallness of my life can be discouraging. How is it possible to be struck with both the grandiosity and insignificance of your life? Who knows. When I was younger, I had this idea that as I got older, the questions would get easier to answer. Not only do they get harder, but there are more of them. And still they keep coming forward, voicing their dissension, upsetting the status quo, until one feels like they may drown under their weight. What to do, what to do? How do we love one another? How do we fight for justice? How do we surrender the fight for our own interests? What does a life truly lived by Christ's commandments really look like? Which issues are the most pressing? Do politics even fit in? What to do, what to do? Where is the line between acceptance of a person and condoning things that you disagree with? What the hell is humility and how do I get ahold of it?! What does love look like? Why do we reserve it for a few, and withhold it from the rest? How do we pour out our lives? Where do we pour? What to do, what to do?

I wonder why we're so confused and crippled. And then I open up the New York Times and see articles about starvation, violence, disease, death, oppression, and war next to ads that tell me to spend more money, be more beautiful, have more stuff. There, it's impossible to hear about injustice without hearing about excess. Talk about disconnect. As my dear friend Mona would say, "What a freakin' nightmare!"

Questions, Questions, Questions. Failure, Failure, Failure. Oh, how I fail. Everyday. Everyday I choose my own needs over others; my own rights and justice for myself before sacrifice and humility; I choose who I'm going to love and affirm, and who I'm going to scorn and slight. I want to be filled with love abundant, but still I'm full of bitterness and selfishness and vanity. Drowning, Drowning, Drowning. In grace. This journey over rocks and deep pools, rushing, rushing, rushing; around trees, sharp bends running, running, running. Jesus, my Jesus, I'm sinking, sinking, sinking in your grace. Your overwhelming grace. Your grace and mercy that you sacrificed so much for me to use and abuse. Your grace that covers my failings, my miserable failings. Jesus, my Jesus, I'm sinking, sinking, sinking in your grace.

"If grace is an ocean, we're all sinking..."
-John Mark McMillian

The Upside-Down Kingdom

Life is so big.

So full of choices. Decisions. People. Feelings. Words.

And each one is an opportunity for catastrophic failure.

Failure to love; to be patient; to be silent; to be faithful.

I'm an utter failure.

And there is my success.

Forgiveness.
If I boast in anything, let me boast in the cross of Christ.