Paradise Regained

Back in the Saddle

2010-11-03T15:29:00.000-04:00

Heading out to the barn tonight. It's been almost 4 weeks since I've seen my horse - much too long. We've been painting at home, and have been out of town, I've also been studying for the GRE. Life can calm down a bit now so I can head out without feeling like I should be doing something else.

I know, it's totally classless - what proper horse owner/rider spends so much time away from her horse? Well, to be honest I've been a bit discouraged. She's been visited by the chiropractor twice (two different ones) and the last time I was up there I could feel those back problems flaring up again. So I notified one of the guys there that I have to be on the list for when the chiro comes back up again - sure sure, no problem. 4 weeks later and I haven't heard anything. There's really no way for us to move forward if she can't!

I'm going up tonight and we'll get reacquainted. I"m also going to do a proper saddle fitting (which, hello, I should have done the minute I tacked her up but it looked like it fit just fine and the sweat marks were consistent) - I've been following this blog (http://saddlefitter.blogspot.com/) and now have a couple more things to look for. Part of me really wants to find problems with the saddle so I can say that the saddle is what's causing problems. She does snap at me and try to bite when I tack up but that's pretty consistent with how she behaved with the western saddle I used. So A) My english saddle doesn't fit her, B)both saddles don't fit her, C) she just has attitude or D) the back problems are exasperated when I ride so she recalls that pain when I tack up, regardless of whether the pain is actually there, or E) a combo of the above (not an answer you would find on the GRE). I sound like such a beginner with my excuses and "I didn't (do this/that)." At least I'm working this through though, at least I'm responsible (even if said responsibility is tardy).

Ok.

Peace out yos.

The World of Blogging

2010-09-24T08:21:00.002-04:00

I have had no desire to blog since well, 2009. Lots have happened since then to take up this time and lately I've been completely immersed in the world of other bloggers and knowing how little I do blog, have felt completely shamed and inspired by them. Most of the bloggers I read use blogging as part of their full-time and part-time jobs - interior design, therefore their blogs must be updated daily and filled with pictures and tutorials. I blog to share my thoughts with an unseen world and thus do not have to keep up a daily blog. I feel very narcissistic posting thoughts, rants, etc., as I know I'm the only one reading this and it's very similar to updating on facebook. Really, I just want people to be interested in my life and if they are reading this blog, I feel much satisfaction. That being said, I think subconsciously I self-imposed hiatus on posting on my blog. Rather to kill the selfish desire to be heard and stamp it out as best I could than to indulge it and allow it growth.

However the urge is back. I found a gorgeous new template/design and all of these blogs I'm reading have given me the urge to write again.

Plus I think I want some accountability as we redesign our home. Aaaaack! Accountability! Now either I have to do it or resign myself to another failed attempt at doing something.

P.s. blog world, I'm taking the GRE October 29. Hellllllllp!!!!!!

Invictus, The Man in the Arena, and If

2009-12-14T11:34:00.006-05:00

Michael and I watched "Invictus" Saturday afternoon as part of his birthday celebration. "Invictus," by William Ernest Henley, is a poem Nelson Mandela memorized and used as encouragement during his 27 years of imprisonment. In the movie President Mandela gives the captain of the Springboks this poem; in reality it was "The Man in the Arena" - an excerpt from a Paris speech given by President Theodore Roosevelt. Upon tracking down both poems I came across the "If-" poem by Rudyard Kipling.

These poems/excerpts, while they're not the passionate-bursting-forth-with-raging-action, are filled to the brim with passion, with calm stalwart passion, the very words that stir mens' souls to determined and long-lasting passionate action. Please read.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

-William Ernest Henley

If-

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream — and not make dreams your master;
If you can think — and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And — which is more — you'll be a Man my son!

- Rudyard Kipling

The Man in the Arena

It is not the critic who counts, not the man who points out how the strong man stumbled, or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions and spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best, knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.

- Theodore Roosevelt

Speaking of Grace....

2009-11-03T16:19:00.003-05:00

It occurred to me that when it comes to grace, I am constantly short-changing myself. I can't remember the last time I fully allowed grace to come and cover me. Not just the grace that forgives (I don't know about you, but to me grace often only comes when I feel forgiven- yes feel), but the grace that wraps around me and bundles me from allowing the foolish things I do (where forgiveness doesn't exactly need to be applied) to weigh me down.

Can grace be applied to when we are embarrassing? When I act foolishly and waves of self-consciousness flood over me, I never ever allow grace to flood overtop of the feeling of inadequacy. Nor do I give the people around me, those closest to me, the opportunity to offer grace, I'm too busy apologizing or feeling like an idiot.

I wonder how my confidence would look if I quit holding tight to the foolish feelings and instead just embraced grace. I think I'd be the very most me. With the strongest sense of self-awareness and confidence.

If I just embraced grace.

Visiting 'Dassah

2009-11-03T16:11:00.004-05:00

Lindsey and I are heading up to Bob Winn's to check out 'Dassah tonight.

It's so strange to feel this way, to have such hope in an area where in the past hope was merely praying to get through the year.

If I knew then what I know now, how to work with the horse, how to build a partnership with them, how to move forward in that partnership, that past hope would have a partnership with joy.

I know, I know, "what if's" are fool's play.

How difficult it is (and reluctant I am) to allow grace to cover me.

Health-Care

2009-09-11T09:10:00.003-04:00

Let me just get this off my chest: YOU PEOPLE MAKE ME SO ANGRY!

Now I can continue with a bit more restraint.

Dear Congress,

I am furious with you right now. My fellow Americans are suffering and dying because you won't pass a bill giving more of your constituents health-care. The people you represent, those under you care and watch, are going bankrupt and losing loved-ones because you don't agree about some sub-section of this bill. The overall theme, as I understand - so correct me if I'm wrong, is that those who can't afford health-care will now be able to, whether it's through a private company or the government. My family, friends, and co-citizens of this great country will now have access to services which will prevent illness, promote health, and should the need arise, provide medicine and treatment.

We are already in trillions of dollars of debt - spent on hmm, let me see... wars which cause more wars, and..well, that's a good enough example. So we're agreed that we can spend money to kill foreigners (and our own) but to spend less (LESS) to save lives of the very citizens (and non-citizen workers of this country) who make up this country and fill the ranks of those who end up being sent off to war TO DIE is something that we have to spend over 60 years hashing out the details.

Can we agree this doesn't make much sense? I would very much like to be there when you spill out the differences in opinion over this health-care bill to the woman dying of cancer because her insurance won't cover it, to the young father unable to afford the medicine and dr.s visit for his children - let alone any treatment that will (as it surely will) come from being unable to afford preventative measures, and to my friends who don't qualify for insurance because the only job they could find was part-time and their employer doesn't offer insurance for part-time workers.

People are precious, we agree that life is precious, we agree that America is one of the greatest nations of our time. How can we look at ourselves and call us a progressed country when many of the youth of our nation, the part-time workers, the elderly, and the homeless all will go without insurance at sometime? What do we tell the women who cannot afford the doctors visits which would pick-up the unusual lump or the cervical cancer. What do we say to our men who are at a high risk for prostate cancer and cannot afford the chemotherapy, the workers in the factories where exposure to certain materials will certainly lead to lung disease - who don't work enough hours to qualify for health-insurance, what do we say to their children when they lose that mother or father, sister or brother? What do we tell them? Oh, sorry, the deficit is too large now, the bill contains that little section on federal funding, hmmm, the language in that section on illegal immigrants isn't what we want it to be.

A radical idea is termed radical for a reason. "Reform" is "reform" for a reason. This isn't the time to shy away and continue down this path, at some point we have to step away and down and road not yet broken. We are America! This is the essence of our existance! The road was not yet made in 1492, 1776, or 1963. We are the land of the brave! If we want true reform we have to take that first step. Elect new politicans if they're not doing want we as a democracy need. If you think they're stupid, fine, vote for a differant one next time. Speak out, speak up, and move on!

We each have but one life. ONE LIFE. We each exist but once. How much more precious are our lives and the lives of the ones around us? The US has survived over 200 years with courage and bravery, we have survived over 200 years not by sheltering ourselves, not by shying away from the new, not by hiding from agressors. Passing this health-care bill, passing the bill to give our citizens the pursuit of life, is the least we can do to continue the American legacy as we have for the last two hundred years. We have to trust our financial advisors, we have to trust those whom we elect, we have to trust that should this go awry, we are smart enough, brave enough, and wise enough to know that not should we just fix it, but how. We have to trust that America is what we claim her to be.

Can we deny the constitutional right of the pursuit of life to our brothers and sisters? Why can't we pass a bill that to me seems for the most part to genuinely care about my fellow citizens? To me, a generic US citizen, this bill will provide those who live in this country with me basic health-care. How can we deny our people this?

Dear Congress - I should like not to view you as a bunch of old white men sitting around smoking stogies, swigging whiskey, and patting each other on the back. That's how I see you though. I don't think you actually care about your people, my people, I don't think you want anything more than to make a name for yourself, good or bad, in the history books. I sent you to Congress to look out for me and my people, why do I feel you are looking out for none but yourself?

Sincerly,

Sarah Wakefield Kinninger

Work

2009-08-04T13:10:00.002-04:00

I know I want to:

Work for people, the public, on a daily basis. Not just my co-workers.
Find solutions
Provide a service
Be a help
Be active at work
NOT be in front of a computer 40/40
Work in a casual atmosphere - it's either a casual uniform or casual dress
Did I mention interact with people?
Talk about healthy relationships
Be involved with sports, health, wellness, and/or providing information for better living (also known as wellness)

Side thoughts:

I also do enjoy the equestrian sports but I don't know how hardcore I am. I've been out of it awhile.*
How can I help people better their lives (via counseling, health services, health information, sport-ish camps, health/phys ed classes) AND not spend the next 3 years getting another undergrad degree?
I don't think I'm all that inclined for Physical or Occupational therapy - see above.
I don't find myself leaning to working with the special needs populations

* All I remember are crabby horses and CHILDREN WHO WON'T LISTEN because they don't care because their parents brought them and barking dogs.

Introspection Retrospectively

2009-05-12T16:19:00.000-04:00

I found this amongst my drafts from last year. It seemed well enough to post.

I don't even know where to begin.

I can't sleep at night. I just lay there, sometimes still talking (with no distractions my mind settles down and I just can't stop the thoughts from verbalizing themselves), mostly trying to stem the flood of thinking - my mind whirs like a fan on high and seems to take forever to slow down after I turn it off. It's strange how thoughts that come in the night are akin to epiphanies but the next morning the idea that shook me from head to toe is now casually recalled and then mentally tossed into the in-box for an indefinite period.

On the occasion that I do stir from near slumber to track down a pen and paper and allow my thoughts some validity, I find that the next morning those thoughts aren't as ridiculous as when I merely think about them. Sometimes I can hold onto that thought and the next night they will bear more fruit. Other times merely writing them down releases them from my mind and allows for more room for other pearls.

Many times I find myself on a soapbox late at night, mentally ranting on and on about the subject of dating, more specifically, the subject of girls yearning for the manifestation of their value and "finding" it in guys. Never would have I called it a "calling" but this morning, after giving the subject nearly an hour of my life the night before, it struck me that perhaps that's what it is, a calling. A desire to reroute my peers and the adolescent youth from digging through the garbage and slums for their pricelessness and to travel a healthier road.*

Horses have been apart of my entire life. Growing up I lived and breathed horses; to this day no smell compares to a deep breath of horse. I still have memories of watching my mother's horse, Beau, munch on grass beside our barn. I loved watching the process as they ate; the sound of the chomping, the grass there one second and gone the next. A horse grazes, meaning it moves around as it eats. The peculiar part about grazing is that horses eat in no apparent pattern. They don't start at one end of a field and methodically make their way to the other end. They weave around, moving as they please, sensing and smelling where the next bit of lush legume will be.

Horses do not graze in a standard pattern for several reasons, certain plants are toxic and horses can detect that, other times they simply want to be nearer to a herdmate, but most of all, horses know where to find the tastiest and, by default, most healthy grass. When their main diet is lacking in a mineral or nutrient, a horse is then forced to find that mineral or nutrient elsewhere. It will nudge and nose around, smelling it out and, believe it or not, will commence to eat or lick whatever it is that contains that mineral or nutrient. We had a mare once who, after we switched grain suppliers, began chewing up the wood in her stall. Our vet recommended a grain supplement and the chewing stopped. One might think, "Wood?" What the heck?! Well, when an animal can't find their default source of food, they will desperately seek for anything else. They will even eat toxic plants.

People do that with food too. When you're not eating healthily, your body will crave whatever nutrients and minerals it isn't getting. When your body becomes deprived it will focus on that deprivation and next thing you know, you've knocked back a whole bag of potato chips, a large soft drink, and you're working on a box of cookies. When in imbalance, the body seeks to compensate. If you begin eating healthily, providing to your body all the nutrients it needs in ways it can absorb those nutrients, you'll find that junk food is not in the least appealing. You won't chew on wood.

It's the same with behavior. When a person (or animal in some cases) is not provided with love, nurturing, and guidance (both in positive enforcement and constructive criticism (which we know as discipline)), when a person is not filled with the knowledge and feeling that who they are is important and loved (and validated and cared for), they will seek to compensate, they will fill their lives with whatever will give that to them. My old (way back in the day) volleyball coach used to say something along the lines of this (and though I don't care for the fact that he said it to us, it still holds a bit of relevance), "If I'm not coaching ( more like screaming at) you during the game, then I've given up on you." I'm sure it was meant as encouragement when he kept shouting at us, but I took it as the person whom he wasn't shouting at. In my mind I obviously wasn't cared about or had any worth as a team member; he wasn't paying attention anymore. I bring this up because the lack of discipline or instruction in a persons life is exactly the same thing as saying "I don't care about you," or, "I don't care about you enough to show you the best ways to grow as the person you are." Which then leads to, "I don't love you as you."

*I'm not quite ready to describe "healthier" as a life with Christ, even though it is. It's not my mode to slap Christ on a problem and say, "Well, there you go! That'll do it!" I feel too many use Christ as duct tape (even though in many cases, it's the only way to start the process of healing and life) and not enough show proof of that abundant life, of the results that come with core healing.

JERICHOOoooooo!

2009-04-28T14:51:00.003-04:00

Whilst storming around my office building today in a fiery rage, on the third lap to be precise, it came to me that with 4 more rounds and one good holler, I might find myself standing amid rubble.

Hallelujah hellfire and brimstone!

Prayer Not in School

2009-03-13T11:13:00.001-04:00

Please read Antique Mommy's take on prayer not in school.

In case you were wondering, I heartily agree with her.

L'amica del'Inverno

2009-01-29T16:15:00.003-05:00

Let's be friends,
Winter and I.
Thrill me with snowflakes
and I'll breathe in your beauty

Blanket the hillsides with unstained glory
Turn the trees into temples.
Soothe our souls with pastoral purity
Transform the skies into joy.

Let's be friends,
Winter and I.
Remind me of stillness.
Comfort me with quiet.

Winter's Beauty.

2009-01-29T16:09:00.001-05:00

I would dream all day
gazing at ice covered branches
dusted with snow.

nobodies business.

2008-10-17T11:52:00.002-04:00

I feel rough. Rough around the edges, rough around the soul.

Like a rough gravelly drive, looking over at her nemesis Enchantment, a slow moving creek with grassy banks.

I feel jagged and broken; nothing is fluid, nothing is smooth.

I want to be easy to take, like the weathered maple syrup cabin sitting on the side of the hill, framed by the woods.

Easy like a forest in autumnal flame.

Easy like water on the lake.

I should be that hillside, covered in nature. Permanent and home.

Winter has a hold on me; I’m dying for spring. A flower in frost.

Thank God the joke's on me.

Secret Shoppers for Churches

2008-10-10T11:25:00.003-04:00

You have got to be joking. I know many churches, at least the one's that make it in the news, have turned towards gimmicks to draw in larger audiences. I understand that nowadays, Christ is more of a perk in church, rather than the reason for it. I realize that following Christ is too much of a maturity process for people; it requires more adjustment, well hell, following Christ is fully an adjustment of the spirit/soul. One cannot buy their new life with Christ and have it delivered to their door; they can't return it when it doesn't fit.

This life with Christ will never fit at first and it will never adjust to fit one's self; each person must adjust to fit what Christ has so freely given. It's the marriage everyone dreams of and when they wake up 6 months into it, after pushing through the growing pains and the deep love and then times that try one's soul, they realize that 1) unimaginable growth has occurred (they're not the same shallow person they were 6 months ago, and 2) the more they die to their own selfish ways and attitudes, the more beautiful this relationship/partnership becomes!

I know 6 months is nothing to those who have decades under their relational belt, but these 6 months are priceless to me; I never knew how much it would mean to me to have gone through this process of marriage, I never realized how precious and life-saving the marital life would be. Now granted, I'm married to the most amazing man and that gift in and of itself leaves me speechless and forever grateful.

At any rate, this life with Christ can't be bought (does anybody remember that the price for it has already been paid?). This life with Christ cannot be replaced with small talk, specialty coffees, and a worship band! DOES ANYBODY REMEMBER THE TRUE MEANING OF THE CHURCH?! If you don't want Christ, stay of out of my church. that's right, little "c" church. The church.

This is why I hate what "Christianity" has become. This is why I don't like going to church anymore. This is why I don't want to be associated with Christians. How can you dare mock the name of Christ by calling yourself a "Christian"! Am I being hoity-toity about this? Yes. Am I saying I'm better than you because I think my bare bones relationship with Christ is better than your designer style relationship? Yes. (I realize this is an area where great work is needed, but frankly, all you "Christians" have pissed me off beyond the point of caring, at this moment at least). I'm saying that a true relationship with Christ isn't found in a building, it's not found with a rock-style worship band, it's not found in how appealing the sermon is; it's not found with how much you pour yourself into the small group, women's group, men's group, Saturday morning group. That relationship isn't found by attending the teen group, the new moms group, the singles group, the pre-marriage counseling group, the divorced support group, or any other support group. Disclaimer: the relationship can be encouraged and supported by attending the above groups; I'm not at all saying they're a bad idea, great help and a show of love and support and community is found with these groups.

I don't judge the church on the cobwebs, the water stains, the "random bucket" (what???) under the sink, or the worship band. I love going to churches that either have only one person signing acoustically or have no worship at all (I get so bothered with being in tune that anything that might speak to me from whatever song it is that I'm singing will blow right over my head. I'll sing on my my own time, thank you.). I'm not going to judge the church based on the cracks in the pavement or any other asthetically disturbing or pleasing aspect of the church. I want to know if the church is speaking the truth, both by pastor and parishoners. I want to know if I'm going to hear about Christ or if I'm going to be fed something to appease my guilty soul.

The article linked below is about a new church phenomenon: Secret Shoppers. Apparently these guys or girls attend church services to give their opinion as a "newcomer." How can they tell what a newcomer wants? Do you really want people in your church who are turned off by the greeters or the peeling paint? Don't you want people to come because your church is a place of Christ's truth and true love?

I've got more to spout off on but I've worked myself up into quite a mood; I'll need to settle.

The Mystery Worshipper

Antique Mommy

2008-10-02T10:04:00.003-04:00

Antique Mommy's Bailout Plan

This lady has the bailout plan done right. See the follow-up post on her site for more great thoughts.

a little bit small, a little bit strong

2008-10-02T09:41:00.005-04:00

I do not place my hope on the shoulders of all who gone before me. My hope does not come from the stories of yore, the hopes of ancestors, the ideals of those who have gone before me. But my hope is backed by the truth of the past and the complimented by the hopes of my fathers.

My hope is present. My hope is not dated and antiqued; filled full by others’ dreams. My hope is fraught with doubt and bombarded by the “truth of today.” This hope, the fuel that spurs my heart, should not be explained away by science. It is not scientific and therefore, my hope is not an equation; it is not an organ in me but still very much united with me, a running current that connects me to others.

Strip me down and find the source of this hope; how can I walk each day and breathe each day without hope? I would be nothing less than a cadaver.

My hope stems from what I know; it is not based on the pseudo-faith of others who merely use hope for an identity but have no idea of the life that hope gives.

Why explain my hope away? What is it to you if I believe because I do? Why would you try to destroy this?

Who destroyed you?

Hello Ohio

2008-10-02T09:03:00.002-04:00

Hello Ohio

The back roads
I know Ohio
Like the back of my hand
Alone Ohio
Where the river bends
And it’s strange to see your story end

In my life I've seen a thousand dreams
Through the threshers all torn to pieces
And the land lay bare
Someone turned a profit there
And a good son lost his life in a strip pit

When the sun went down we would all leave town
And light our fires in Egypt Bottom
And the reservoir was just as good for Joni
‘Cause we knew we would
Dream outloud in the night air

Holly said, Don’t go inside the children’s home
Mary said, Don’t leave your man alone
Valerie was singin’ to the radio
Ohio

It was summertime in ‘83
We were burnin’ out at the rubber tree
Wonderin’ what in the world
Would make all this worthwhile
And if I knew then I was older then
Would I see regret to the last mile

Hello Ohio
The back roads
I know Ohio
Like the back of my hand
Alone Ohio
Where the river bends
And it’s strange to see your story end
How I hate to see your story end
It’s so sad to see your story end

Words and Music, Karen Bergquist of Over The Rhine

Do it, go check them out.

Oh the life!

2008-10-01T09:12:00.003-04:00

All I want right now is for this to be me (with Michael and Jacks nearby)...

Viggo

2008-09-26T08:20:00.001-04:00

"It's about trying to make the right choices, but then you go along a little, then a little more, and then you try to justify what you've gone along with," (Viggo) Mortensen said. "Just like what happens in any country. Even now, I'm sure over the past eight years there are people that kind of go, `I voted for that guy twice,' or as a legislator, `I can't believe I allowed that law to compromise on another piece of legislation.' It all adds up to changes where you say, `If I had known eight years ago what all these little choices would have added up to, then I wouldn't have made so many of them."'

See the entire article here.

So I ran a 10K.......

2008-09-02T11:34:00.004-04:00

My Memories/Thoughts/Observations during the Nike+ 10K Human Race in New York City

12.) Conformity. Never have I seen so many red shirts (Two thoughts: sounds a bit communist, aye? and well, for that matter, so many shirts of the same color) in one place, at one time. According to the powers that be (Nike), there were around 10,000 runners, nearly all wearing red. We probably looked like a throng of giant red-orange centipedes, with spots. (Some runners just came to run in the event, not the race, and subsequently were not attired like the rest– apparently if you had the Nike+ getup you could run with the crowd and while your time wouldn’t count for the race, it would count with all the other Nike+ runners.

11.) Why the hell were we running on one of the poorest First World courses ever thought up? It’s NYC for crying out loud, not the back alleys of some high-range dying municipality, and it’s Nike, not some poor low-end sneaker company just starting out. Nike, you have plenty to spend; if you’re going to tout something like the “World’s Largest One Day Running Event,” at least get the logistics in order so consumers/runners don’t associate “fool” with your brand.

10.) Darnit how I hate people running in brand-new running shoes on race day. If you’re running, then you worked hard (or at least I would hope you had) to get up the stamina to run for 6.2 miles, let it show people! At least don’t give off the appearance that the idea to run in this race just popped into your little noggin at the last minute and off you bustled to the closest Finish Line to pick up the newest and brightest pair of the latest Nikes on the shelf. *Sarah bursts into flames in moment of last-straw fury* Darnit I worked hard, ran in pain and rain, and heat and suffered the frustration of loved ones who would love to have a life that wasn’t determined by “So, how many miles today?” I can’t stand it to have someone breeze past me in blindingly new sneaks; makes me feel like you can do anything on a whim and I have to bust my butt and I still can’t keep up! Blast it I’m smokin’ again.

9.) So many people! I got passed lots of times but I still managed to stay in the middle of the pack. This was just a long run with benefits for me so I didn’t really care at all about my time (which is good, as my time was apparently slower than a walkers’), but man alive did I get passed! And each time I thought I was near the rear of this chaos, I turned around and saw hundreds of runners behind me, eating my dust.

9.A) Okay, okay, the “eating my dust” bit was probably too much, but still, I’m not going to sugar it any, it was nice to look back and see tons of runners behind me. I know they probably didn’t get to start for 10 minutes after my group began… I know they’re probably the walkers who just decided to jog for a bit. I KNOW! Just being real though; if you’ve ever run a race in which you weren’t sure at all how you would compare to the other runners, I know you’ve thought the same thing. Go ahead and pray for my wretched soul.

8.) Holy Crap we’re stuck on a bridge. (See #9) Turns out someone didn’t think through mathematics of 10,000 people running over a maximum-4-person-wide bridge right before the Laps 2 and finish split. (Granted not all 10,000 were trying to cross at the same time, only say, 300 or so.) In order to instill a semblance of order, staff members were screaming at the people who were crossing, “Lap 1 TO THE LEFT, LAP 2 TO THE RIGHT.” Which makes sense except for one little tiny detail: Anyone crossing the bridge was ending their Lap 1 or headed to the finish line, which was a right past the bridge. So there were people finishing Lap 1 who were told the aforementioned and subsequently headed to the right, straight into the stadium for the finish and an amazing race time. Utter chaos. Oh, and need I mention the knee-high wooden benches along the left of the bridge? No warning whatsoever except for the sudden sideways movement of the person in front of you. Good times.

7.) Oh wow is Michael hot. In all absolute seriousness, those were my thoughts each time I ran by him. The first time I found him he was just after the bridge and since we were all past the “TO THE LEFT”, I was able to swing into the empty space on the right just past the split and wave hello and somehow manage to start running after my knees turned to jell-o and I couldn’t find my breath. (While one might think I was breathless from the race I was running it is to be recalled that this was just after the bridge where we had taken a 10min break to shuffle across, plenty of time to ease the heart-rate back down). The second time I was jarred from my focus by the lithe young man with smoldering blue eyes and a strong jaw occurred after the split and as I was heading into the finish. Handsome was waiting for me to come around and managed to get in a picture or two and some encouraging words. Am I a lucky woman or what? I have my very own McStudly who not only thinks I’m hot while running a race, but roots me on to the finish; talk about a prize!

6.) Woo Running in New York! Look at that sexy skyline, ain’t she a beeeaut! Glory be I’m running in NYC! I really wanted to be like the runners from other countries who had pinned their national flag to the back of the shirt, which in my case would be the Ohio pennant. Not as cool but definitely a statement to make. I did hold back the urge to ask people around me where they were from just so I could nod and then proudly state “oh, cool, I’m from Ohio and inwardly giggle gleefully since it looks like I traveled so far just to run in this race. Which, upon reflection, makes it seem borderline pathetic…

5.) If one more staff members screams “TO THE LEFT” I am going to whack-chop them in the knee. Which means I will obligingly duck my head and pull an Italian*.

4.) Hey, I’ve just passed 5 miles and that girl with the pink shorts who freaking keeps slowing down to a walk just to pick.up.the.run.right.before.I.catch.up. Eat my dust, Red Shorts Girl.

3.) If the expected 1,000,000 runners actually signed up for the race and paid the entrance fee, $5 of which goes to your choice of one of three charities, we just raised $5,000,000 for charity. Plus, runners could raise money for the charities by signing up people to pledge money for each mile ran in training and in the race.

2.) Two words: Finish Line! I had paced myself so well that I upped the ante the last two miles and finished really strong. There were two girls ahead who I locked onto as the runners to beat and I caught them and finished ahead!

1.) Wow. I just ran a 10K with 10,000 other people in the Big Apple.
Now, where is my studly hubby? Give me some sugar, Baby!

*Going all Italian on someone means to get thisclose to them while in a line and then continue on with any conversation or in-line activity. Ask Michael about the Empire State Building!

H-I-L-A-R-I-O-U-S

2008-08-07T12:17:00.001-04:00

Mega-preacher's wife sued over loss of faith

Victoria Osteen accused of assaulting Continental Airlines flight attendant
Osteen is wife of Joel Osteen, whose sermons are televised nationally
Flight attendant Sharon Brown alleges Osteen threw her against door
Brown suing for damages equaling 10 percent of Victoria Osteen's net worth

HOUSTON, Texas (AP) -- She's the wife of a renowned evangelical pastor and one of the leaders of a Houston megachurch, but Victoria Osteen is being accused of behavior that wasn't very Christian.

Victoria Osteen leaves the courtroom with her husband, Joel Osteen, on Wednesday in Houston, Texas.

Opening arguments were set for Thursday in a lawsuit that accuses Victoria Osteen of assaulting Continental Airlines flight attendant Sharon Brown before the start of a 2005 flight from Houston to Vail, Colorado.

The lawyer for Victoria Osteen called the lawsuit silly and denied that her client assaulted Brown. Brown's attorney, Reginald McKamie, said he hopes the trial will show "that celebrity status doesn't take precedence."

Victoria Osteen is co-pastor at Lakewood Church, where her husband, Joel Osteen, preaches and where about 42,000 people flock each week. Joel Osteen's weekly television address is broadcast nationally and internationally.

Brown alleges Victoria Osteen threw her against a bathroom door and elbowed her in the left breast during an outburst over a stain on her first-class seat. The Federal Aviation Administration fined Victoria Osteen $3,000 for interfering with a crew member. Watch: A closer look at the case »

Victoria Osteen "clearly was angry on this flight," McKamie said.

Brown wants an apology and punitive damages amounting to 10 percent of Victoria Osteen's net worth as part of her suit.

A 12-person jury was seated Wednesday after lawyers spent several hours questioning a pool of 130 people. The questioning touched on religious beliefs, celebrity and the public's perception of preachers and televangelists.

Many of those in the jury pool said they had been to Lakewood Church and acknowledged holding the Osteens in high regard and being star-struck by them.

But other potential jurors said they didn't like preachers or televangelists and that ministers can lie.

Joel Osteen was at his wife's side Wednesday in court. McKamie said he expected to call the couple as witnesses.

According to an FAA report, Victoria Osteen pushed and elbowed Brown in an attempt to get to the plane's cockpit after two other attendants had not cleaned a liquid on her armrest.

Brown's suit says the flight attendants asked to have Victoria Osteen removed from the plane. Victoria Osteen's lawyer, Rusty Hardin, says his client and her family left voluntarily. The incident delayed the flight about 2½ hours.

Hardin asked that the FAA report's findings not be allowed in the trial, saying the agency's investigation was incomplete. State District Judge Patricia Hancock said she would make a decision later.

Brown had previously said she was attacked in another incident by an airport employee, according to a deposition she gave in the case.

According to court documents, Brown says that she suffers from anxiety and hemorrhoids because of the incident involving Victoria Osteen and said her faith was affected. She is also suing Victoria Osteen for medical expenses for counseling.

Herbal Happenstance: Herbs Behaving Badly

2008-05-20T09:39:00.006-04:00

My herbs want to die.

They really do. They want to end life as they know it now.

Case in point:

I bought six (6) herbs over a period of a week. One Lavender (smells divine), two Rosemary (one of the traditionally used variety and one of a dwarf like "barbecue" variety - from which all of this nonsense might stem, although all leaves point towards Basil), one Parsley, one Oregano and the aforementioned Basil. Please read with the following pronunciation in mind as this variety prefers "Bahzhill." (I'm telling you, the instigator in all of this is Basil.....or is it?)

Now after acquiring all of said herbs, I have had no place to plant them. Written on ever single one of their plant tags, with no exception, were the words, "Plant in FULL SUN." Well then, as the budding gardener that I am, I aspire to plant to perfection. Follow those direction I shall! There's a window box on the inside of our balcony in the far corner which would be perfect. Except it's on the inside and therefore lacks full sun like is necessary for my ~~hell bent on death~~ precious plants. The afternoon after my purchases I found Parsley's stems leaning as far over to the south (the side with sun) as its stems could go. This just would not do. As this "windowbox" just won't hunt, and I had no over-the-wall planters, an executive decision had to be made. I decided to keep my foul-minded flora et fauna in their respective containers until I could provide them with the heavenly herbal habitat that was due them. I love(d) my herbs! Of course I would think nothing less than to provide them with the best! They have every vegetations right to life, love, and the pursuit of happiness! Or at least the right to enjoy all previous rights until I deem it necessary to eat them. That time is coming more quickly than previously anticipated.

Instead of planting them in the life-sapping inside-the-balcony window box just to remove them and plant them elsewhere, thus disrupting their fragile roots and stems, all that came about of my executive decision as the rightful owner of these heinous herbals was to prolong their planting until their own Eden had been created.

Did they take to that idea?

How about a resounding "No!"

I set them upon the wide ledge of our balcony in order to give them the fullest sunlight for the longest period of time, as much and for as long as I could possibly give. There were no other options. None.

Late one afternoon, three days after setting them upon the wide-as-Aunt Bertha's-hips ledge, Michael and I arrived home from work. There on the bottom steps of our staircase, on the cold hard, SUNLESS, concrete steps in a fiberous mess of leaves and stems lay my ~~nemesis~~ beloved Basil. Dear sweet Basil had flung himself off the Bertha ledge in an unprecedented attempt to end it all. We had arrived too late to save one large stem, but fortunately for Basil, he still has a promising life left yet to live. I know he can move past this tragic event. He.will. ~~If it kills me. If I have to spend every waking minute watching that beastly Basil, I will, I will offer life to him and he will LIKE IT. THAT DAMN PLANT WILL SUCK IT UP AND LIVE.~~

I lovingly placed him back on the ledge, albeit a bit closer to the apartment. four days later, as we were leaving to go to my parents house, I noticed that the ledge seemed a bit.... sparse. Thinking nothing of it but that I had separated the perps in order to prevent conspiracy, I locked the door and we headed down to the car. Suddenly my life came crashing to a halt. There, on the bottom cold, hard, and concrete steps, er, cold hard and SUNLESS concrete steps lay two limp and lifeless aromatic plants. Parsley and Oregano. How could they? Parsley had long recovered from its tragic stem bending experience and Oregano, oh my dear sweet Oregano, you of all herbs, so lush and low, such an encouraging plant you are. You have such a great life!

I hurried them back up the stairs and placed them in the window box. In a desperate effort to ensure the safety of all my herbal hunnies, I placed each one in the window box. I scurried inside to fill some random vessel with water. Michael followed me halfway into the apartment but kept watch outside. As I filled said random vessel, out of the corner of my eye I caught Michael lunging out of the door to our balcony followed by a shout of "NO, DON'T DO IT!"

Sure enough, Rosemary the Dwarf had inched towards the ledge. I filled their containers with water, the better to weigh them down and hinder movement. As we drove to my parents I made an oath to buy window boxes at the earliest possible opportunity.

That evening we arrived home. I scoured the steps for any possible hints of attempted escape or suicide. I hesitantly made my way up the steps and rounded the top landing only to find that my fears were not yet to be set aside. There, in the window box, lay Basil and Parsley. Apparently as they could not fling themselves off the ledge, they did what they could to display their dissatisfaction. Sometimes I feel like my attempts are in vain. Why can they not embrace my love?

I went out the next day and bought two window boxes. The Rosemaries are now with the Lavender; Basil, Parsley, and Oregano are housed in their own window box. I wanted them to know I harbor no insult and that I can forgive, so I kept them with their comrades as best I could. As I am still lacking in over-the-wall brackets, I have placed the window-boxes on the ground.

I feel very victorious albeit defeated. They no longer have the ability to follow through with their suicidal plans..... of course, there's always a water-strike.

Mercy, cont'd

2008-04-23T12:07:00.001-04:00

This bit is hodgepodge at its finest. A running dialogue if you will....

What does mercy look like when it's given to those who don't know they're in desperate need of it. If Christ died for me, did I as a young child know I needed it? No, but I know it now even if I had never been told it would save me. Something deep within me knows this world is not put to rights and I enmeshed in that. Putting me back to rights is happening right now and mercy given to the naive is doing that.

If you didn't know you needed mercy and you received it, can you fully embrace what you've been given? Or should that person offer up forgiveness without informing you? I would think that if you forgive someone (are merciful), you should not inform them if they do not know what they have done. I imagine that being a little awkward. Although, if I parked in someone's spot at work and heard about it from someone else and the person in whose parking spot I placed my car has not mentioned anything, just then I've been given mercy that I didn't know I needed and I am very grateful. Does that bode the same if it's a person I don't like? I say yes.

14 words.

2008-04-23T11:38:00.003-04:00

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Mercy.

Can one comprehend mercy? What does mercy look like? What does it feel like? What does the person giving it (0r God) gain? How do they feel? It's not free, there is a cost to the one bestowing it. What is that cost to the person; not the Greatest Debt Paid but the internal emotional or even literal cost?

For the person asking it and hopefully receiving it, mercy is life. Mercy feels like clear, clean, crisp water for a parched tongue. Mercy feels like true love. Mercy is the key that unlocks the chains that have us constricted and breathless. Mercy is the sword that slices through our fetters. When I'm asking for mercy, my heart and soul are in anguish. The muscles around them seize up and restrict all of my abilities. When the words of mercy are given, my lungs swell and my soul breathes the deepest breaths it can handle. When the words of mercy are given, sometimes I don't want to know the cost to the other person; the cost when I must give mercy is the torment of the soul for the time leading up to the gift. I would avoid causing anything that would require mercy as I know that process they must go through. Mercy is a great love.

*nota bene: do those who give mercy in the justice system and do those mechanically give mercy realize they are loving that person? Every act of mercy is an act of love. I wonder how many do not realize how much they are loving?*

More to come...

Just some random pictures with their captions

2008-04-22T09:54:00.003-04:00

Mmhmm. Sometimes you just need some silliness.

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

see more crazy cat pics

Sometimes...

2008-03-05T09:59:00.003-05:00

Sometimes -

I get tired of being me. I get tired of being sensitive and emotional. Sometimes I want that freedom I associate with not caring.

I wish that when I speak, I did not slow down to think of the words or hesitate between them. I speak like I write. It's easier that way. I'm sure it frustrates people when I'm talking, when I slow down after a word and frantically search for the one(s) to follow.

Words escape me. My vocabulary is slowly turning into a sludge of words that are combinations of Italian, English, and gibberish. This must contribute to the previous "Sometimes."

Jealousy permeates my being. This next part is somewhat sick in the head, but when it rises up within me, I acknowledge it but then take great joy in smacking it around and kicking it out. Maybe that's not doing much.

Being me is much more hard than it is to be someone else. I struggle with clinging to what is "me" and discarding what is not "me." That politeness which I was raised with still overrides how I would normally react. This is good in many cases but in the moments when I should be absolutely vulnerable, there is an internal duel to decide how "me" will appear. This is an innate part of me then, sometimes it is best just to realize that this is how I work and I must take the internal duel as part of how I work. Just thought of that. Interesting...

I wish this wedding monster would get off my back. Driving to work today I realized that part of the aforementioned "me" is tucked away until its time to come out arrives. That time to arrive will likely not come until after life settles down post-wedding. I have a vision of lying in bed in the early morning and not moving. Of not thinking about anything but the body next to me and what I want to do that day. Of taking my rudimentary painting skills to the next level. Of reading a book that I really want to read. Like a Vince Flynn CIA novel. I envision settling down in front of the tv or next to a window and crocheting until my fingers get tired or I have lost interest or my stitches stupefy even me. Whichever comes first. Sometimes I allow myself to dream that my creative side will rise up. That even though I'm a terribly painter (no really, it's pathetic), a mediocre ceramic thrower, and a so-so cook/baker, I will take off and bloom once my life blends and settles down. My home will be filled with my fun paintings and I won't care what people will think of them. We will use dinnerware that I created and decorate with my own vases. Our home will smell divine and Michael will be the prime example of my cooking abilities.

When I start speaking, I should just shut up. I'm much too eager to contribute to the conversation. It's this deep desire to let the other person know they are not alone or that we have this thin thread to share. While that's nice on paper (or screen) it's unlikely I convey myself that way.

It is only after the person has ended the conversation that I realize I finally understood what they were trying to say. Typically that's a couple hours later. Usually it's when someone approaches me for conversation and I'm engrossed in something else or have my mind occupied with many other thoughts and while I should focus on the person in front of me, my mind runs rampant and only eons later do I realize they needed something or wanted to share something. I still stand by my firm belief that it is never too late. This is why many times I will bring up the other person's conversation topic days later. *Chuckle. Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, Nevah, NEVAH, Give up!

I want to be enveloped by a song. This is why I love to dance. I don't like "fast" dancing or whatever it is they do to pop songs, but I love waltzing and sashaying, and twirling. I love being involved in the song. I never know what to do with my hands though. This is probably a great contributor to why I dance only when I have a partner. Speaking of which, would you believe but Michael likes to dance with me? Well... I don't know so much that he likes it but that he tolerates it. I think he sees how much I love it and for that he will dance with me.

This is quite private, this next bit, but maybe it's because I worked with Option Line, or maybe I just like being free with information, but I am now on birth control. They said it would be best if I started before our wedding night so if I needed to change the type we had plenty of time. Plainly put, this is a big deal for me. All my adolescent and young adult life I have carried the abstinence banner proudly. I realize that some girls are on bc because their body needs regulation. But for me, for this young girl, I never need birth control. I listened to my parents, I heeded their instructions. I love the Lord and cherish my wedding night. Starting birth control is giving up that innocence. I'm one step closer to shedding this young girl that I've always been. It might seem silly to everyone else, but to me, to me I am in mourning. I am burying a piece of my identity.

When I start writing, "me" reappears to reassure me that "I'm" still around.

N.T. Wright: a discussion on heaven.

2008-02-27T09:55:00.002-05:00

Here's the link to the TIME article with N.T.Wright, the Bishop of Durham, on the subject of the distortion of heaven in the eyes of mainstream Christianity. The article follows.

Thursday, Feb. 07, 2008

Christians Wrong About Heaven, Says Bishop

By David Van Biema

N.T. "Tom" Wright is one of the most formidable figures in the world of Christian thought. As Bishop of Durham, he is the fourth most senior cleric in the Church of England and a major player in the strife-riven global Anglican Communion; as a much-read theologian and Biblical scholar he has taught at Cambridge and is a hero to conservative Christians worldwide for his 2003 book The Resurrection of the Son of God, which argued forcefully for a literal interpretation of that event.

It therefore comes as a something of a shock that Wright doesn't believe in heaven — at least, not in the way that millions of Christians understand the term. In his new book, Surprised by Hope (HarperOne), Wright quotes a children's book by California first lady Maria Shriver called What's Heaven, which describes it as "a beautiful place where you can sit on soft clouds and talk... If you're good throughout your life, then you get to go [there]... When your life is finished here on earth, God sends angels down to take you heaven to be with him." That, says Wright is a good example of "what not to say." The Biblical truth, he continues, "is very, very different."

Wright, 58, talked by phone with TIME's David Van Biema.

TIME: At one point you call the common view of heaven a "distortion and serious diminution of Christian hope."

Wright: It really is. I've often heard people say, "I'm going to heaven soon, and I won't need this stupid body there, thank goodness.' That's a very damaging distortion, all the more so for being unintentional.

TIME: How so? It seems like a typical sentiment.

Wright: There are several important respects in which it's unsupported by the New Testament. First, the timing. In the Bible we are told that you die, and enter an intermediate state. St. Paul is very clear that Jesus Christ has been raised from the dead already, but that nobody else has yet. Secondly, our physical state. The New Testament says that when Christ does return, the dead will experience a whole new life: not just our soul, but our bodies. And finally, the location. At no point do the resurrection narratives in the four Gospels say, "Jesus has been raised, therefore we are all going to heaven." It says that Christ is coming here, to join together the heavens and the Earth in an act of new creation.

TIME: Is there anything more in the Bible about the period between death and the resurrection of the dead?

Wright: We know that we will be with God and with Christ, resting and being refreshed. Paul writes that it will be conscious, but compared with being bodily alive, it will be like being asleep. The Wisdom of Solomon, a Jewish text from about the same time as Jesus, says "the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God," and that seems like a poetic way to put the Christian understanding, as well.

TIME: But it's not where the real action is, so to speak?

Wright: No. Our culture is very interested in life after death, but the New Testament is much more interested in what I've called the life after life after death — in the ultimate resurrection into the new heavens and the new Earth. Jesus' resurrection marks the beginning of a restoration that he will complete upon his return. Part of this will be the resurrection of all the dead, who will "awake," be embodied and participate in the renewal. John Polkinghorne, a physicist and a priest, has put it this way: "God will download our software onto his hardware until the time he gives us new hardware to run the software again for ourselves." That gets to two things nicely: that the period after death is a period when we are in God's presence but not active in our own bodies, and also that the more important transformation will be when we are again embodied and administering Christ's kingdom.

TIME: That is rather different from the common understanding. Did some Biblical verse contribute to our confusion?

Wright: There is Luke 23, where Jesus says to the good thief on the cross, "Today you will be with me in Paradise." But in Luke, we know first of all that Christ himself will not be resurrected for three days, so "paradise" cannot be a resurrection. It has to be an intermediate state. And chapters 4 and 5 of Revelation, where there is a vision of worship in heaven that people imagine describes our worship at the end of time. In fact it's describing the worship that's going on right now. If you read the book through, you see that at the end we don't have a description of heaven, but, as I said, of the new heavens and the new earth joined together.

TIME: Why, then, have we misread those verses?

Wright: It has, originally, to do with the translation of Jewish ideas into Greek. The New Testament is deeply, deeply Jewish, and the Jews had for some time been intuiting a final, physical resurrection. They believed that the world of space and time and matter is messed up, but remains basically good, and God will eventually sort it out and put it right again. Belief in that goodness is absolutely essential to Christianity, both theologically and morally. But Greek-speaking Christians influenced by Plato saw our cosmos as shabby and misshapen and full of lies, and the idea was not to make it right, but to escape it and leave behind our material bodies. The church at its best has always come back toward the Hebrew view, but there have been times when the Greek view was very influential.

TIME: Can you give some historical examples?

Wright: Two obvious ones are Dante's great poetry, which sets up a Heaven, Purgatory and Hell immediately after death, and Michelangelo's Last Judgment in the Sistine chapel, which portrays heaven and hell as equal and opposite last destinations. Both had enormous influence on Western culture, so much so that many Christians think that is Christianity.

TIME: But it's not.

Wright: Never at any point do the Gospels or Paul say Jesus has been raised, therefore we are we are all going to heaven. They all say, Jesus is raised, therefore the new creation has begun, and we have a job to do.

TIME: That sounds a lot like... work.

Wright: It's more exciting than hanging around listening to nice music. In Revelation and Paul's letters we are told that God's people will actually be running the new world on God's behalf. The idea of our participation in the new creation goes back to Genesis, when humans are supposed to be running the Garden and looking after the animals. If you transpose that all the way through, it's a picture like the one that you get at the end of Revelation.

TIME: And it ties in to what you've written about this all having a moral dimension.

Wright: Both that, and the idea of bodily resurrection that people deny when they talk about their "souls going to Heaven." If people think "my physical body doesn't matter very much," then who cares what I do with it? And if people think that our world, our cosmos, doesn't matter much, who cares what we do with that? Much of "traditional" Christianity gives the impression that God has these rather arbitrary rules about how you have to behave, and if you disobey them you go to hell, rather than to heaven. What the New Testament really says is God wants you to be a renewed human being helping him to renew his creation, and his resurrection was the opening bell. And when he returns to fulfil the plan, you won't be going up there to him, he'll be coming down here.

TIME: That's very different from, say, the vision put out in the Left Behind books.

Wright: Yes. If there's going to be an Armageddon, and we'll all be in heaven already or raptured up just in time, it really doesn't matter if you have acid rain or greenhouse gases prior to that. Or, for that matter, whether you bombed civilians in Iraq. All that really matters is saving souls for that disembodied heaven.

TIME: Has anyone you've talked to expressed disappointment at the loss of the old view?

Wright: Yes, you might get disappointment in the case where somebody has recently gone through the death of somebody they love and they are wanting simply to be with them. And I'd say that's understandable. But the end of Revelation describes a marvelous human participation in God's plan. And in almost all cases, when I've explained this to people, there's a sense of excitement and a sense of, "Why haven't we been told this before?"

I wanted to title this "An essay on the life of a wedding." but it's really, "How we plan our wedding."

2008-02-12T13:50:00.005-05:00

I had this big plan for telling you all about the life of a wedding and how I wanted to name the life "Minerva (or ~~a big fat tack stuck to my rear end~~) but that might actually be a whole other post and I have started this one and proceeded too far to change it all around now. And I'm antsy to put a post up. I would have liked to have written it all out and actually given an essay on Minerva, but this ~~is much easier and there is no desire to go through all that agony again~~ was a bit more fun.

How we plan our wedding (sounds like we've had several and it sure feels like it). As experienced by Michael and Sarah.

Promise that under no circumstances will you cave to the gods of the wedding industry. From here on out it is, "Screw the wedding industry."
Set the date. Spend lots of time pouring over the calendar in the hopes that family does not have conflicts with the dates picked.
Head back to the calendar when dates picked to conflict with family plans.
Repeat #2 as many times as it takes until correct access code (i.e. date) is entered and move forward.
Encourage as many people as possible to save this date without actually saving it so that in case #2 pops up, nothing was yet solidified.
Start picking out colors. Realize that colors don't matter a whit and yet they're a nasty necessity. Silently pick out black and gray just by spite. Ours turned out to be deep red and something. Never did quite figure out the complementary color.
Make up the guest list. This will takes ~~years~~ hours and hours so settle down with a large diet coke, popcorn, and make sure bride and groom have settled all aggravations between them so that guest selection does not incite bursts of argument. We took turns and just listed everyone we knew. E-v-e-r-y-o-n-e. I mean, of course they're going to want to come to our wedding, we're amazing! (but really, we did want as many people to come and share in this time. We would use force if necessary (or bribery))
Make up the bridesmaid list. Think of a few new words for "agony." How does "excruciating" sound?
Think up a preliminary shower list.
Send off guest list to parental units so they can fill in addresses. Parents have address books. Plus, whoever they add to the list will probably be the aunts and uncles and cousins whom you haven't seen in years and yet will cause centuries of strife if they aren't invited. So basically the parents will save the day.
Search for endless hours for a church to get married in. If you really really thought it through, you might reconsider your homechurch and forget the fact that it's 3 hours away from someone elses home. The endless hours will be just that.
Silently scream for hours on end that this is getting ridiculous. Keep searching for a church.
Visit a few, think "ok, this will work." Find out that churches are INSANELY expensive and make a mental note to stress to anyone you know that they must give their tithes. (not interested in discussion on how a tithe is God's money. I realize that. I also realize that realistically, that money is going into the church's upkeep and if everyone who attended church gave their tithe, WE WOULDN'T HAVE TO PAY $1500 FOR A 30MIN CEREMONY!)
Insert "Reception Location" in lieu of church for #8-10 and omit the part of about tithing.
Start inwardly groaning every time anyone brings up your wedding. Silently wish they would drop through a hole in the floor. Smile.
Realize that you are slowly being overcome by the wedding industry. Come to grips with the fact that #1 will have some addendums. Realize you can't actually stick it to the wedding industry and in some situations they are kinda right. Hate yourself for thinking that.
Go dress shopping. This will be a silver lining (yes, there are more silver linings to come) in the dim world of weddingness.
Find the dress of your dreams and wonder why in the world have you never considered one like it before. It's gorgeous.
Mention the dress anytime anyone wants to bring up your wedding and asks how the planning is going. Gush on and on about the dress until the person no longer wants to talk about the wedding and forgets why they wanted to talk to you in the first place. Works everytime.
Pre-marital counseling will be a time to hear the comrade lover brag and boast about you to other people. It will also be a time to share just why you are getting married. It's pretty cool. (DISCLAIMER: Michael and I work very well together, we use all parts of our mental capabilities, although the P-MC is treated lightly here it's only because we've worked very hard at our relationship and I think we've earned the right to speak humourously about it).
Start planning what you will serve at the reception. This will have been discussed when looking at reception halls, planning the colors, etc. But really, there will be a separate, equally grueling discussion on this when the parents are pulled in. Best to both be united on what foods will be served.)
Look at bridesmaids dresses. Groan in agony that you really wanted black but you might do red but if you do red you can't have red roses and lord knows you want red roses and they do not look good against red dresses and GASP, the carpeting in that ridiculously expensive church you want is red and red dresses and red flowers on a red carpet just.won't.do. Look at styles. Do you want them to match your dress? Why would you want them to match your dress? It's y.o.u.r. dress! But matching would be neat! Screw neat. They're dresses. Go strapless. Go tea length. Pull your hair out trying to find strapless tea-length dresses from the same designer that's making your dress, look at other places, almost curse those other designers for making lame dresses that make bridesmaids look like grandmothers. Wonder who in their right mind would design a dress that NOBODY WANTS TO WEAR! For the millionth time you pull close to you the mantra of #1. and then push it away for a bit while you try to figure out what colors the bridesmaids dresses could be in order to make everything pretty.
Decide to go black. Black is chic, the LBD is a powerful option for a woman to have. If it's in her closet she's ready to go.
Pat yourself on the back.
Go to book the reception hall. Refrain because it just doesn't feel right.
Repeat #25 several times. Relax when this is explained to amazing hubby-to-be and he ends up trusting you more than you trust yourself and says it's ok to wait.
Look for more churches. E-mail every church you find that has an e-mail. Visit the ones who don't respond. Spend time wondering about the distance between ceremony and reception. Groan again when you realize the church you can use is too far away.
Receive e-mails stating that

although your wedding is on a Friday, the church does not perform more than one ceremony.
You must use their pastor.
You're not a member so sorry.
it's $1500 and that doesn't include a diamond bracelet.

Realize you still have a honeymoon to plan.
ealize you have no place to live once you get married.
Realize you can't find a place to live until you get this monster off your back that everyone keeps referring to as a wedding.
Hold the hand of your comrade lover and hope that somehow you are spending more time preparing for marriage than planning a wedding. Hope that wedding planning counts towards that.
Bang your head on the desk when you realize you haven't done anything non-wedding related in forever and that all you really want to do is curl up on the couch and read a book but you have no time to do so and are sapped of what energy you might have used to do so. And really, the stress is too great to even think of taking time off to read a book. Sheesh, that's for retired people!
Chuckle when you realize that when you and the hubs joked about your parents finally meeting at the wedding, you didn't actually believe what you said but now it's looking like it. Maybe that's best.
Decide it's not best and invite them to lunch at a spanish restaurant in town in the hopes that a neutral territory will ensure a peaceful time. Bank on it.
Go to the luncheon. Forget to tell all parental units that you do not, under any circumstances, desire in any way shape or form to speak of the wedding. Yeah, just let that one completely slip your mind. I mean, don't even give it a nanosecond of a chance to form. They're meeting for the first time. Of course they won't want to. Of course they will spend the entire time talking about you and Michael when you were kids and what life is like now they are all grown up. Naturally it won't occur to them to even bring up the slightest little hint of a wedding. The thought will be the furthest thing from your min.
Order a beer when you realize there is only one thing they will speak of at the luncheon. One thing. There will be only ONE THING they want to talk about. Guess? I mean, I know I know, I haven't even given you the slightest hint as to what that might be. But do, please do, take a gander. Just throw something out there. "Wedding" did you say? Really? You have a plethora of possibilities and you pick "wedding"? Cheater.
Start a drinking at the Sunday afternoon luncheon. Every time anyone mentions anything related to "wedding" one swig is allowed.
Wonder how many beers that's going to be. Oh. It's going to be a lot.
Limit yourself to the one bottle. Ticking off your parents is one thing, they'll forgive. Let's not push it with the future in-laws. It was pure luck that that last snippy comment made about something someone said about the wedding was only noticed by Michael.
Kick yourself when you let another one slip but refuse to put the drink down.
~~Dash headlong through the doors to freedom.~~ Walk out with the family and know that they mean well and they really love you and they're only bringing this up because they care.
Holler the whole way home that "you can't believe they did that and OMGosh what were they thinking and HOLY CRAP was that the luncheon from h..(parents, if you are reading this I am only using this to bring in a wider demographic reading audience. Or just an audience at all. Thank you so much for the next part.)"
Stand in shock when the love of your life looks you straight in the eyes (once home) and says, "Sarah, I could really go to Scotland." That line was previously said but you were sure he was joking and yet now he's standing in front of you in all seriousness.
Let minutes tick off the clock while holding your breath.
Exhale. Inhale.
Suddenly the blood starts pumping again and some serious lightheadedness takes place. Scotland.
Jump up and down and all around when it's realized that nothing has been booked, bought (aside from the dress) or ordered. Hoot and holler while the dream becomes reality.
Speak breathlessly while frantically grasping at anything that might prohibit this dream from manifesting itself.
Kiss and hug and shout with joy as you and the groom-to-be finally find yourselves again.
Begin the real wedding planning. (and spend lots of time thanking your parents for being just who they are. Wonder in amazement that they are even letting you do this and never ever ever forget to remind them how priceless this is to you."

A Conversation.

2008-01-03T09:23:00.000-05:00

It's been on my heart to call up a very dear friend of mine; unfortunately time and energy has had to be directed elsewhere. Fortunately Christ has been on her heart as much as he has been on mine, only she just acted on it and contacted me via that beautiful creation which is google talk. Here's something I don't think she'd mind if I shared from our conversation, it's me writing to her, responding to her desire to hear my heart. The reason I am posting this is because it's a very clear, concise description of what's going on in my heart right now. So I must thank her immensely for asking and allowing me to share.

I just want to share what is happening with the wedding plans, the pain of people's reactions when they stand back and their faces reflect the shock they are verbally expressing at how soon we are getting married. Instead of sharing in the joy that is us and Christ bringing us into a union with Him.

I wanted to share the frustration of people not understanding how good Michael and I are together. How we really function as a unit and work at our relationship. How we're not basing this relationship on emotion but a deep understanding that we believe this is what Christ wants for us, this is the best that he wants to give us and how we work so well as people, let alone as a couple who dearly love each other.

I wanted to talk about how wonderful it is that I am a bride! I'm getting married to the man I never dared dream might exist. How wonderful it is that I get an experience that is directly related to how we as the bride of Christ will feel on the day He comes again for us.

I wanted to talk about how nervous I get at moments but when I think that Mic is going to be my husband and we are going to learn to work even better together, I am filled with peace and joy and excitement.

I wanted to talk about how we'll fight as a married couple, how he'll drive me insane at moments, but how we'll get through the fires and and how we'll go on at the point so many couples turn back and say it's not worth it.

The Engagement

2007-12-20T16:24:00.000-05:00

Note!: This is long. This is long and there's a ton of detail and I tend to change tenses. But it's my story and I can tell it any way I want! Read at your own desire!

- How it all began.

Michael planned a most impressive proposal set up. The Sunday before Thanksgiving we headed down to my hometown for some family time and horseback riding. While I attended a friend’s bridal shower, he sat nervously at my parents’ house, waiting for the opportune moment to ask them for my hand. While I waited 20 minutes for him to pick me up from aforementioned shower, he answered the questions my parents had for him and received affirmation that my parents would not interfere in our marriage (such as: if I ever got so mad at him that I went home to my parents, they’d console me and then set me straight back on the road to him, there would be no “wicked in-laws,” etc). So with their blessing he left to pick me up at the shower. Where I had sat for 20 minutes. ~~Irked beyond everything that I had to wait.~~ I’m 25, I'm ~~annoyed~~ patient. I'm ~~not good at~~ waiting. He was very apologetic and begged me not to be mad at my parents (I knew it was their fault). Looking back I now know why he insisted on me not railing at them when I got home. I just figured they wouldn’t stop talking (which is true but not because of them being the, “aging, forgetful, digressing, and generally talkative parents” I thought.)

Wednesday morning he bringsup the idea that we should go horseback riding at my parents the next morning. I immediately want that idea as far away from his thought process as possible, but wanting to be the girlfriend who supports her man and does not immediately squelch any ideas he comes up with, I manage an indifferent, “oh… really?” Oh really. He wanted to, very much, very, very much. We end the phone call and I mull over it some more at work (the “mulling” consisted of me thinking, “How in the world can I convince him not to go horseback riding?”). Later that night he gives me a call, after some small conversation, I can’t help but remember that we’re to be very honest with one another, so this is how the rest of the call went:

Me: Babe (very humbly) I love you, but I’m going to veto the idea of horseback riding.

(You might as well have told him Obama had chosen Giuliani as a running mate.)

Mic: WHAT?!

(Pause.)

Babe, come on, it’ll be horseback riding before Thanksgiving, how neat would that be?!”

(Pause)

Me: Mic, please, I really don’t want to go, I don’t think it’ll be any fun at all. I don’t want to go.

At this point Mic notes to me that he’s almost at my house (we’re going to B&N for something).

We hang up but the conversation continues in the truck on the way over.

Me: Look, I’ll give you four reasons why we shouldn’t go horseback riding in the few hours before we go to Leslie and Richard’s for Thanksgiving. (I hold up four fingers, serious as a heart attack, and tick them off accordingly) One, the horses will be muddy and it’ll take us a half hour to get them tacked up. Two, we have one bathroom for seven people, we’ll be dirty, the natives will be running around chaotically, it’ll take forever to get ready. Three, we’ll be pressed into service, the H.M.S Wakefield is a beastly ship and we’ll be relegated to the galley. Four, the transport system works as such on the ship: Whoever has transportation, transports. We’ll end up with some random kid or food product. Wait, I’ve got five! We’ll be late!

After this he turns to me, grabs my hand emphatically and looks lovingly into my eyes.

Mic: Sarah, I’ve worked 12 hour days these last two weeks, I just want to enjoy my Thanksgiving. Horseback riding is something I really want to do, can we please do it this? I’ll even call your mother.

Me, with an, “I dare you” tone to my voice: Do it.

He calls my mom and I can hear her agreeing (traitor!) over the phone, she’ll even have the horses ready in the morning. I halt their conversation to make sure that the above possibilities are not in the contract for horseback riding. Ultimatums are the only assurance in the household. If you want to do something or get something done, issue and ultimatum and by golly, you’ll get to do it, your way. Their conversation ends with the agreement that it will all go smoothly. (yeah, whatever!)

I turn to him: If any of the above instances occur, I get an infinite amount of “I told you so’s.”

Amazingly he agrees, and slowly the guilt of treating this event so harshly begins to grow. I refuse to apologize yet though. I have the satisfaction of “I told you so” and I am not giving that up, yet the sinking feeling that all will will go smoothly starts to hit me. Slightly grumpily I realize once again that getting my way, no matter what I've gotten, always turns out to work against me in the end. Nuts.

The next morning he arrives 10min early and we fly down to Bremen. I vocalize my apologies for having a bad attitude and silently give myself a good talking-to the whole ride home. I will enjoy this horseback ride. What kind of sister and daughter and girlfriend am I? It hits me that I’m a terrible person. Mentally I hang my head. My boyfriend wants to visit my family more than I do! What kind of message does that send to my parents and siblings? Well, way to go Wake! I promise myself that I will enjoy this time with my family, I do love them! All Mic wanted to do was enjoy the holiday! By the time we arrive I am in full family appreciation mode. This is going to be a good day.

We arrive and the horses are completely tacked up, warmed up, and fitted with halters and lead ropes, something we haven’t done in years. I take note but it’s nothing too out of the ordinary. Mom has the horses all warmed up and ready to go, so we head out to the fields. He's on Doc and I'm riding Shadow.

Shadow is quite possibly the most romantic horse possible. He's a light dapple gray (a light gray horse with dark gray pigmentation in the shape of circles that gives a dappled appearance. Which he is, since he’s a dapple gray. And this description definitely takes the romance out of moment) Arabian/Saddlebred cross (not a National Show Horse) with an amazing personality. Ellie, my 10 year old sister is his primary rider (I should say his “dominant” rider, seriously, she’s a force to be reckoned with) and he obediently listens to every command she issues. The poor ol’ chap is whipped (not literally, although the crop is kept by her side at all times). What this all means is that he listens really well and loves to be ridden by adults, granted Ellie is probably the best and most amiable rider he could ever dream of having. Doc is my brother Caleb’s horse, a good quarterpony with solid conformation and a good head on his shoulders. He and Mic seem to have hit it off magnificently and I think Doc prefers Mic to me, which is actually kinda cool. My man’s got horse sense.

So I’m cantering around the fields, having a great time on Shadow (mom used to tell me he’s the horse any girl should be riding when they meet their man, guess she was onto something) and Michael comes along with me for a quick canter and then veers west over our hayfield. I join up with him down at the low end of the field and he offers up the idea of going on the path in the forest next to us. A few years ago my mother had a terrible riding accident (a horse flipped over backwards on her) on the ridge of that path and although we’re always ones to get back on the horse after we’ve been bucked off, it’s a path we haven’t been to ready to take, although we have walked it numerous times. Michael brings up the fact that Mom said she’d just cleared it and I agree to head on down. I did promise him it would be a good day.

As we head down the path through the woods I notice that it’s really clear. Very clear. And I also notice that the leaves on the path are recently rustled and the multiflora rose bush branches are all freshly broken. Michael shushes me with an exasperated, “Oh just keep going!” All in all though, I’m just doing it to show off my superior tracking skills. And I know all the stopping and pointing out things will drive him nuts. ~~I find it pretty humorous~~ So I mentally ~~take note of who to trust if we ever get lost outdoors~~ refrain from pointing out anything else. Spoilsport. You can definitely tell who's seen Last of the Mohicans in this relationship. At the bottom of the hill (the path goes down into a valley within the woods) we cross the creek and I continue on leading. It’s a wonderful ride and the horses are behaving beautifully. Shadow really is a dream to ride. It strikes me that it’s Thanksgiving morning, we’re riding horses, we’re riding horses through woods that are very special to me (I spent most of my pre-teen through early college spare time riding or walking through these woods), and well, we are close to an engagement. I hear him halt his horse and I do the same, turning around in my saddle to see what’s up. I can’t help but grin at the thought that this might be “the day.” He looks around and without making eye contact mentions that it’s, “Very beautiful out here.” I look around and honest to goodness think, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s November, it’s cold, it’s bleak, and it’s dreary. Beautiful?” But if Michael’s bringing it up, you know it’s for a good reason. I acknowledge likewise and can’t keep myself from grinning that this is getting terribly suspicious. I put the thought aside though, there’s no sense in building up an occasion for something that might not happen. Back to riding.

Michael takes the lead and I’m refrain from spouting off, “Hey you! You don’t know where you’re going, get behind the trail master!” Really there’s no way to get lost and if he wants to lead, so be it. Eventually we get to the end of the trail; the property ends at the edge of a neighbor’s yard about 100 yards ahead. I go to turn around and he stops, telling me we should tie the horses up and walk a bit. Well, hey, if he wants to, why not!? So we dismount and tie our horses up. I ask if he knows how to do the slipknot/safety knot and he retorts like he’s been doing it his whole life. Really there’s nothing unusual about a non equestrian knowing these things, Michael’s a pretty smart guy and he knows things. Plus he’s really good at giving off the impression he knows things. (sidenote: he's really good at that.)

As we start walking around, I begin to get a little nervous. We’re walking, not very intentionally, and certainly with a very slow pace. It really can’t be called a pace, it’s more like a shuffle. As I start babbling about not getting out of sight of the horses a lilting tune begins echoing off the hills. To my amazement a bagpiper’s (bagpipes!) tune fills the air and my heart begins to skip and the beats take up my entire being. It’s as though Scotland is here and now. Michael pulls me to face him and looks deep into my eyes. He tells me that he loves me and wants to spend the rest of his life with me. As he gets down on one knee I am struck with the realization that “the moment” is happening right in front of me. The next scenes pass as though in a dream, he’s very pale and shaky and getting down on one knee. Then he pulls a box from his pocket and from it takes a most gorgeous diamond ring. With a very emotionally-charged voice he asks me if I will marry him. The moment has fully arrived. Full of nervousness and joy I stare in shock and say, “Yes!”

I’m going to fast forward past all of the rest of the moment, it’s very precious and whilst I would share it with all of you, I must keep it for my own enjoyment.

The bagpiper switches to another tune, this time it’s, “Amazing Grace” (the first tune was “When Irish eyes are smiling”). We’re jumping up and down (ok, really, I’m doing all the jumping, he just appears relieved and very worn out) and hugging and all of that other lovely nonsense. Then suddenly it hits me like I’ve been run over by a train. I have just committed my life to someone. To Michael. I have just said yes to be his wife. My life as I know it is no longer. I slowly turn to him and as lovingly as possible give him some insight as to what is going on inside me, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

He chuckles and wraps his arms around me. “No babe, I’m really going to puke.” With the serious tone in my voice he realized I meant business. We move over to a fallen tree and take our seats. For the next 10 to 15 minutes we sit, I with my mouth gaping open and the blankest of blank looks upon my face, he with his arm around me, occasionally reaching up to close my ever open mouth. I pat his arm and tell him I love him, but I just can’t look at him. Honest to goodness I didn’t know whether I would throw up, cry, pee my pants, or do all three. He continues to sit beside me and hold me close. I hear him speaking words of love and encouragement to me, but I cannot keep them close enough to soak in. Then he says something that pierces through this cloud that has befogged me.

“Babe, we’ll get through this. We’ll get through this together because we always get through things together.”

Slowly that filters through and I grasp ahold of it. “We get through things together.” I’m not alone in this wretched moment. The cloud lifts and I glance over at him. My Michael. Yes, we get through things together. The cloud lifts more and with it joy comes in and I am struck with another solid thought. I get to marry him! He will be mine and I his forever! Oh how lucky and blessed can a girl be? Once again I am free and me and we hug and kiss again and now the real joy of being engaged sinks in permanently. Let the festivities begin!

We sit there in engaged bliss a few moments longer. Jordan, the young man who drove out to the middle of nowhere to play his bagpipe has left; we shouted our thanks to him and received our first, “Congratulations!” in response. The horses are getting restless, Shadow has managed to make his short lead long and has wound himself around the tree to the point that his face is plastered to the side of the trunk. There’s a muddy, leafy, and circular mess where Doc’s been tied up. I think he had it in his mind that if he were to be tied to this tree, the whole of the forest would know he’s been there. We mount up and head on out. The horses need no urging to bring the good news home (really, they’re not that barn sour!). As we make our way back to the homestead Michael tells me that he came down the day before (while I thought he was at work) and cleared the path with Mom, then took the horses on a ride down the path to make sure they were comfortable with it and to work out any quirks they hadn’t anticipated. Can you believe the planning he went through? He and I have very similar if not the same tastes in nearly everything, but he really sought to coordinate something that would mean something to both he and I. Something we would treasure.

When we get back everyone is waiting to hear the news. Like they didn’t know I’d say yes. It is a beautiful day indeed!

The End!

Why do we have weddings?

2007-12-13T15:11:00.001-05:00

Hallelujah! This article lays down why we do not want to be engaged for months on end, why I don't care to send out invitations 6 weeks ahead of time, and why I am not turning our wedding into an ordeal. I wish the whole of society would read this and realize that increasing the complexity of a staged production does not increase the significance of the moment. You will not create a better marriage and intensify the covenant moment by upping the expense and extravagance of your wedding. That moment is intense because of what your two hearts are creating, not because of what has been created.

Please, do yourself a favor and give this article a read. Realize that you're only buying into insecurities (that apparently haven't been healed or addressed like you had hoped) and disillusions for creating a production that will impress you (which it never will), your fiance(e) (which it never will because you have kept them at a distance for however many months it took to coordinate this), or the guests, or the gods of marriage (of which there is only One and he cares more about your hearts and what is important to you and Him).

Things that irk me.

2007-12-06T09:37:00.001-05:00

I realize that I should be posting something about my amazing fiance and how he proposed and how wonderful it is to know that I will one day take his name and he will one day be my husband and how being engaged to him is the greatest honor in the world.

Well my friends, today is not that day. Today is the day I list off a couple things that have been irking me.

My name is Sarah. Not Shara, Sahra, Sara, it is Sarah. With the “h” at the end. If I send you an e-mail with my name appearing in the “From:” section that reads “Sarah Wakefield,” end it with “Thanks, Sarah Wakefield.” Have my signature appear at the bottom that reads “Sarah Wakefield.” WHAT PART OF THAT DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND? Why do you send me an e-mail back saying, “Hey Sara….”? I have just spent most of the intro and all of the ending with the “h” attached to the end of my first name. Would you stop using my name in vain?! I just might not respond anymore to people who address me as “Sara.” Do I ever assume that you want me to spell your name any differently than what you have given? Do I take it upon myself to correct you and how you spell your name? Do I think to myself, “Oh, they must have forgotten that Susie is spelled with a ‘z’”? No, I trust that if you are old enough to be working and to be using the computer, you are old enough to know HOW YOU SPELL YOUR NAME!!! Granted when used vocally there is no real tried and true way of determining if they have mentally attached the “h” or not, but that’s not an issue. THE ISSUE IS THIS: when my parents named me before I emerged from the womb, when they then wrote my name on my birth certificate thus determining forever how I should be addressed, they wrote “Sarah” (plus the rest) and they assumed that all who interacted with me on a written level would respect their decision. So yes, that’s what I’m saying. When you knowingly desecrate the spelling of my name, you are knowingly laying insult against my parents.

Great, now you’ve insulted my intelligence and my family.

YES I want to get married in 3 months. No I do not want to spend my time planning a $30,000 wedding for a year. Don't you realize that the only reason people wait a year is because 1) they don't know if they want to marry that person, 2) they're compensating for years of feeling like they were never their father's princess, 3) they've spent years believing they were a princess and care more about their wedding than investing that time and money in something that will last longer than 6 hours, 4) they're not out of school, 5) that's what everyone else is doing because they are dealing with #'s 1-4 and even 5.

No, I am not pregnant. No, I have no hidden crimes I am running from. No, I am not an illegal immigrant and thus need a natural born citizen to marry so I might stay in America.

No, I am not rushing him. I am not pushing him into a marriage he does not want. I am not begging to be married right away. We happen to really like each other. We have no reason to wait to get married. It's only going to drive us nuts. Get this: I would much rather get married in City Hall than have an elaborate fest of bows and ribbons and fake ornaments and fake elegant. I want real. He wants real. Together we're planning a very beautiful, very genuine (no curtains to cover up the messy plumbing of the hall, no fancy decorations to pretend it's a party (no one looks at those things in admiration anyway!), very honest wedding. We're signing a covenant between the two of us with our invited guests as witnesses. The covenant is a serious yet celebratory event. Please don't ask me to make my parents pay for something that will not last a lifetime like our marriage will. Flowers wilt, paper disintegrates, ribbons shred, everything gets old. I want to celebrate, I want to rejoice, but I want to do it without creating, without creating the "poser" atmosphere. I want it to be real.

That's all for now.

I'm stepping off my soapbox for a drink. Be back soon. O' wait, announcements and disclaimers.

I'm engaged!!!!

I realize that many of you have waited for longer than a year and while school may have not been a factor, something else was. Please know that I respect your decision and am just fired up at all those, Christians and non, who seem so shocked that we're marrying soon. As if we're creating some faux pas. We're a pure, honest, loving couple. We make a great pair. Were we in some sort of world war, waiting 3 weeks would be ridiculous. So back off it, it's nunya. Don't make me go ninja on you. I've about had it. I can't stress enough how irritated I get with people who go on about how long they were engaged, and how fun it was to plan the wedding. Plan the wedding? How about plan your lives together? Who cares about a program? No one is listening to the various instrumental and vocal performers! No one is going to stay in awe of the building you chose any longer than it takes for them to step out of the doors and onto the sidewalk. Your invited guests are there to celebrate sure, but they're not the bride or groom. All I care to do is walk down the aisle, make the covenant with my betrothed, and celebrate. Gussying up a building that I will not look at (as I will be staring intently into my beloved's eyes) for an audience that does not care about the ribbons, bows, flowers, etc, is a waste. I could never do that to my parents. And no, I am not downplaying the importance of a wedding, I'm just questioning and pointing fingers at everything we don't need and everything we do for the sake of appearances.

Shew.

Still don't feel like I'm finished, but ol' gal is thirsty.

Are You Kidding Me?

2007-10-18T12:29:00.000-04:00

Maine is giving it's MIDDLE SCHOOL girls The Pill.

No joke. Apparently there's been a "rash of pregnancies" and so they're offering Birth Control instead of ABSTINENCE!

Middle School!

HELLO PARENTS, how about stepping up as such and taking your role as their PARENT. Quit trying to relate to them, quit trying to be their friend, quit avoiding the discipline.

You have got to be kidding me.

"We are dealing with children," said Diane Miller, a former school nurse said. "I am just horrified at the suggestion." You and me both, sister.

"I know I've done my job as a parent," Thompson said. "(But there) may be a time when she doesn't feel comfortable coming to me ... (and) not all these kids have a strong parental advocate at home." She might not feel comfortable coming to you? Right, and you think you've done your job? You would count yourself as one who is a strong parental advocate?

My frustration level just soared out the roof! Tell your boys to keep their pants zipped and your girls to keep their legs crossed. Open up those avenues of uncomfortable conversation and you will open up the avenues of vulnerability, they will come to you with the sensitive topics if you start talking about the sensitive topics- WHICH SHOULDN'T BE SENSITIVE TOPICS!

This is ridiculous! Middle school? Middle school?!!!!

"This isn't encouraging kids to have sex. This is about the kids who are engaging in sexually activity," Richard Veilleux said. Yuh, okay! Safe sex. That's what you're promoting. At that age when hormones are just starting to rage, you want to offer safe sex. Who doesn't want safe sex? What part about safe sex doesn't encourage sex? Sexually active people will continue to have sex because you're promising (or give the illusion of promising) that they can do it safely. Tell me I can continue to eat chocolate all the chocolate I want without gaining weight and I'm in! Tell my friend they can eat all the chocolate they want without gaining weight and even if I've never tasted that delectable treat before, oh, I'm definitely jumping on that train. (Sarah hits her "I'm-so-hungry-and-it's-after-noon/can't-take-anymore-of-this-agonizingly-moronic- hypocrisy/so-angry-I'm-seeing-stars" shock and keels over..... the smell of coffee awakens her)
CAN WE SAY "STDs"? Birth Control won't stop those! No babies does not mean, "Safe Sex." It just means a lack of pregnancy. And that's can't be guaranteed with birth control! The only 100% guaranteed means of safe sex (no pregnancy, no STD, no emotional bond) is NO SEX!

Oooo, what I would give to have those parents in a room together. Give them a good shaking, a real good dose of backbone, and a whole lotta chastity belts.

I need a diet coke right now.... and some chocolate, fat and all.

Adieu, bella donna.

2007-10-18T11:23:00.000-04:00

One of Britain's most fair of ladies has bid farewell. Deborah Kerr, classiest of classy leading ladies of a bye-gone era has passed away.

I remember watching her in "The King and I," every fiber of my being longing to dance as she did in the post-banquet ballroom scene. Many times as a young girl (and once, partnerless, as a young lady on a moonlight and foggy beach) I would gallivant around the living room, stopping only when my lungs and legs were screaming for mercy. I had the honor of dancing in that manner, quite unexpectedly, with a friend during an "Aloha" party, barefoot and carefree, complete with the pang that it wasn't as perfect as it should have been. The friend would never be my knight, as the King of Siam would never fully be hers. It is still a treasure I shall never ever forget, although I do long for the opportunity to dance as she did, complete with her beautiful ballgown. There is nothing like dancing resplendent as a princess, the feel of luxurious fabric twisting and swishing and splaying out at each turn. Ah heaven, the hope you instill in all our hearts.

I remember catching glimpses of "An Affair to Remember" in the movie "Sleepless in Seattle." Finally, years after that first viewing, I rented "An Affair" and bawled my eyes out at the very end. The tragedy, the heartbreak, the hope and despair, all leading up to the most wonderful of endings.

"The Prisoner of Zenda." Oh what a glorious sword fighting, dueling, steal-the-heart-of-the-damsel movie! One of my guilty pleasure movies in which Kerr plays the most enviable role of a honorable, noble, and dutiful princess. (and the dresses!)

Thank you Deborah Kerr, for the heartbreaking roles you played, the dreams you set in the soul of this girl, and for always being a lady.

Movie I need to see: The End of the Affair.

Day in Scotland, compliments of Teitur.

2007-10-03T16:36:00.001-04:00

While listening to"One and Only," a song about best friends and lovers, I found myself on a train in the late afternoon, coming home from a visit and journey. Rain beating on the windows, the cloud cover darkening the outdoors, the cold just outside; my head tilted back on the seat, my body facing towards damp and dark, a perfect cove created.

O what a beautiful ache.

Today on CNN

2007-09-27T14:17:00.000-04:00

I don't want to be a downer but this time it's inevitable and, for some reason I believe, necessary.

This is what I found on a casual stroll through CNN's website today. I think I want to throw up. It's very doubtful anyone will want to follow the links to the articles but I'm putting the respective link up anyway.

Two young girls (under the age of 10. 10! YOU SICKO) were videotaped being sexually assaulted. Police have identified one, they are searching for the other. May the innocents get their justice; I hope he rots. (just one more reason I know there is a God- so many times I could care less about certain members of homo sapiens and would even rejoice at their death and dance on their grave (were they so lucky to have one) yet it is evidenced by that very presence of hatred that something stronger than that, something akin to a father's love, must exist. If I so feel loved all the time, then that love must cover them as well. Ooo I hate that so much! I want them to be hated, spit on, shunned, tortured, I want their very being to be despised. It speaks volumes to me that even the least have a chance. I want that God.)

Young children at a daycare center were found to have their mouths taped shut in order to silence them. This happened in Russia as well; Iraq orphanages were almost worse. This could be a sign you are not in the career field you need to be, ladies (although the word I'm thinking of rhymes with "witches.") Thankfully I am not God and so He can bestow mercy and grace upon you creeps; hopefully they realize how blessed they are that vengeance is the Lord's and not mine.

A young pup had to be euthanized after it was found nearly burned to death. Someone had doused the animal in gasoline and set fire to it. I would include animals in the innocents, we were given dominion over the earth, an entrusted dominion. We were placed in care of it, not to abuse it at will. The Michael Vick case is still all over the news so he's not included in this list as everyone already knows about it.

Everyone also knows about Warren Jeffs. At the age of 14 I was innocently working on chemistry homework, playing in the band, and babysitting. I was not being raped. No one ever deserves to be treated as having no soul and no heart (unless you are any of the aforementioned assailants), how can one look into another person's eyes and steel themselves against the creation inside? We are a selfish people, fixated on our own desires of success, all at the expense of (hmm, have I mentioned them before?) the innocents.

This young woman tried protecting herself. She had a restraining order issued against him. Yet someone insisted that their interests were superior to all else and she died because of it. Death happens and it happens to all of us. I hope whoever killed her realizes this and takes it in fully, as I've mentioned before, whoever you are, you might get on your knees and repent. I have not the heart to tear you apart thanks to Someone Who cares about you.

Monks are protesting in Myanmar and the government doesn't like it. So what do they do? They beat and kill 9 of the protesters. Someone has the government scared. I read a quote in Money magazine this morning, so Myanmar, listen up.

"There is nothing new in the world except the history you do not know."
--Harry Truman

Pay attention to what happens when you try to force your people to listen. Pay attention to the countries that are successful. Pay attention to what happens when unsuccessful countries work with violence to dominate. It. Never. Works. Any country that does not send the message that citizenship in the country means provision and protection, will have its inhabitants fleeing. If they're not safe at home, then where? AND QUIT WITH THE MURDER! Where was your grandmother when you needed a good spanking? Oh yeah, you probably did away with her too!

Touching on the above subject, 50+ people died in Iraqi insurgent attacks. They were all someone's relative, someone's "someone," and fear and selfishness killed them. How meaningless life would be unless someone cared about them. Someone Who would ensure they were loved, that they weren't just another number on the death tally. People, you've been forewarned, you have no idea Who you are messing with. He is mercy and love and justice (although so many times, the mercy and love give him a passive connotation. On the flip side, man's ideas of His justice have given Him the picture of hostility and ruthlessness and of choosing sides.)

I'm done for now. I've worn myself out.

Practiced Christianity- Worship

2007-09-24T23:09:00.000-04:00

I cannot enjoy corporate worship as presented (note the "presented") by the stereotypical Protestant (low) church. In fact, I believe it would not be an understatement to say my spirit even rebels against said corporate worship. My soul desires raw, unpracticed, unscheduled, unrehearsed, and unaffected worship and praise of my Lord and Savior. I want a childlike worship of Christ, not a mature worship that is praised for its skilled performers and talented musicians. This includes those who would stand up at the altar and insist all attendees rise and lift their hands towards the Lord. Does not the Lord desire for us to be real before Him?

The Lord is neither pleased with a deceitful heart, no false humility. He created me to be as I am, a glorious creation as I am, and I cannot deny Him the praise He is due (and that which I long desperately to give) from an honest and true heart. To deny Him the praise which is unique to myself and only that which I can give is to blatantly disregard my God and flout my sinful nature, my prideful nature. Any praise and worship that is motivated only by pride, the careful examination of the actions of my peers, and the desire to impress is nothing short of utter rudeness and complete disobedience.

There is something to be said for the embarrassment of one's pride and the complete dismissal of pretentiousness as one's heart is brought before the Throne.

May I never be content with drinking milk like a child or speaking like one, but may the heart of a child and a childlike faith never be far from me.

Anselm

2007-09-24T16:16:00.000-04:00

Apparently I relate best to one of the most brilliant minds of the Catholic Church in theology.

Sweet!

Wait a sec... I'm not Catholic!

As it is, this is quite interesting to me as I have never been one to delve deep into theology, although as a Christian I am automatically a theologian. Mayhap it is time to find out where I truly stand with regards to all of this.

Here's the Wikipedia entry on Anselm

You scored as Anselm, Anselm is the outstanding theologian
of the medieval period.He sees man's primary problem as
having failed to render unto God what we owe him, so God
becomes man in Christ and gives God what he is due. You
should read 'Cur Deus Homo?'

Anselm

100%

Charles Finney

73%

Karl Barth

60%

Jürgen Moltmann

40%

Martin Luther

40%

Augustine

33%

Friedrich Schleiermacher

33%

John Calvin

33%

Paul Tillich

33%

Jonathan Edwards

Which theologian are you?
created with QuizFarm.com

Branded Slavery

2007-09-04T10:18:00.001-04:00

So this guy in the UK decides to take a year's sabbatical from shopping for name-brand only merchandise. Quite frankly, I rarely ever, EVER, buy anything because of the brand. I only make purchases based on #1- Do I need it?, #2- Do I like it? If #1 isn't relative (i.e. jewelry, various accessories) then I head straight to #2.

There are allegiances to certain brands, Crest, Propel, Trader Joe's, and Skippy, that I have to say are based on their ability to perform (*chuckle, just had an image of a performing peanut butter), their ability to walk the walk and talk the talk.

This guy, while going to extremes that I'm not sure necessarily apply to myself, does raise some good concerns. It's an interesting article if you're bored- another one of the plethora of articles raising concern over how the earth is treated and how we as humans can do something else better.

Atomic Anguish

2007-08-31T13:56:00.000-04:00

Very rarely do I ever read an article that focuses on human deformities. I feel it's an exhibition of someone's struggle in life; their own pain and suffering exploited for the "rest of us." As I am not physically deformed (no one can deny thought that what lies within is never perfect), taking notice and interest in articles such as the aforementioned are something I refuse to do. It's not a matter of denial and it's not a matter of not having the stomach for it; it's the matter of respect, it's my way of saying, "They (the afflicted persons) may not be like me, but they're human; they deserve any respect I can give them." It's the same as children with Down Syndrome and those who are blind; they do not want to be treated any differently.

This article caught my attention and led me to review it for one reason and one reason only: there is blame to lay and someone to fault. The ramifications for the actions in Kazakhstan are just the same as Chernobyl, nuclear fallout in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the pollution infested rivers and lakes which in turn cause cancer and birth defects all over the world (I almost included the young blind man Christ heals in John 9:1-8 as he too could have blamed someone else (his parents) for his lack of sight; maybe I still will. The only reason for leaving him out of the above stemmed from Christ saying, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned..." I also did not include atrocities such as Darfur and the like as the children and adults who remain alive yet brutally disfigured were not born as such. Burn victims such as Yousiff were also born (forgive me for such a terribly incorrect term) "normal" and while the former and latter know exactly where to place the blame, at some point they had a fighting chance at life. Please forgive me for my callousness. )

I wanted to ignore this article on CNN as it was front and (leftish) center on the page. Who wants to be sucked into reading an article for it's "ooo" and "eww" factor"? If I'm going to read something, I want to read it because it's important, because if I do not read it I'll be an irresponsible and ignorant citizen of this world. Which is why after reading the tag-line, I gave myself permission to read more. Fury filled my veins and grief seared my heart. The children, like the others mentioned earlier, and the adults had no idea they were being blatantly destroyed by their government. Their government fully abused them with every intention to do so; they chose a place where the casualties could be dispensable and replaceable and no one would know until long after their "trial runs." Would that I had the fortitude to write what I really think of them, rhymes with "dastards."

Three things run through my mind right now. "God o' God, must they suffer?" "They (the government and the authorities in charge) should suffer as the people have, they must pay." And then, "I know forgiveness is supposed to be there. But how, how does one forgive after that? Not just a portion of their lives have been damaged or disrupted but their entire lives. From beginning to end." I am made aware of how easy it is for me to forgive, of how casually I can give it; how can they forgive? How can they get past an entire life filled with misery, how can the heart even separate itself from the physical damage to begin to mend? The two, in these cases, seem indivisible. To me there is no hope. And where there is no hope life ceases. Where life ceases to be, so does the importance of living. And therein is where I see no Jesus. I see no great plan where "the work of God might be displayed in (their) life."* Deep within I know He is there, deep within I know He cares, I know He is present in their suffering and their wounds are just as equally felt by Him. My soul within knows it but I can't see it. I. Can't. See. This must be where a deeper faith in Him and His love for this world takes the place of my physical vision. I do not sit on the sidelines now but I do have to trust that He is just as in charge and in control of their suffering as He is of my own non-suffering. This knowledge does not decrease the lust for vengeance; I still want to inflict pain and suffering. Just a work in progress I am.

*John 9:3. I do realize Jesus was speaking as this was for all to see Him as the light of the world.

Abbott and Costello

2007-08-28T15:38:00.000-04:00

This is the comedy I was raised on. Beats rude and crude comedy any day.

Pirating Princess

2007-08-28T14:12:00.000-04:00

Take that Blackbeard! Apparently this chick knew her stuff! Can't believed she survived to be a grandmother!

Sweetly Broken

2007-08-09T10:27:00.000-04:00

To the cross I look, to the cross I cling
Of its suffering I do drink
Of its work I do sing

For on it my Savior both bruised and crushed
Showed that God is love
And God is just

Chorus:
At the cross You beckon me
You draw me gently to my knees, and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered

What a priceless gift, undeserved life
Have I been given
Through Christ crucified

You’ve called me out of death
You’ve called me into life
And I was under Your wrath
Now through the cross I’m reconciled

Chorus:

In awe of the cross I must confess
How wondrous Your redeeming love and
How great is Your faithfulness

~Sweetly Broken, by Jeremy Riddle (emphasis mine- nota bene: non-emphasized words are as moving as the ones in bold)

Here is Jeremy Riddle singing it, from YouTube. Now as much as I hate sappy Christian videos as they really make me groan in agony, this one wasn't bad. The kids at this church did a fine job and outside of the "Passion of the Christ" clips (which for the most part weren't a melodromatic groan inducer) and the ending clip, it was a proper good piece.

Lunch Break Epiphany

2007-08-07T15:24:00.000-04:00

Epiphanies come in all shapes and sizes; some mind-set shattering (the jolt that comes with touching an electric fence) and some as a second-long fragment of a thought. Today's epiphany lasted a mere 2.5 seconds (or so it would seem) and until I sit down and let it slowly wind around within my mind and develop into something with more substance (although it is substance enough as is), it is as follows (and thanks must be sent in J.K. Rowling's direction as it is so due-- highlighted words are the original flashes of thought):

This is a maddening world, this fallen world with no security and no guarantees, always death. Oh my, to be placed under protection from God's wrath by the covering of an innocent man's blood. God has not changed; He did send Christ however. Oh that I might never wander out from underneath this umbrella of safety. What better place to be than in the shelter of the house whose door has been painted with the blood of a Lamb. A more close-call rescue I will never know.

Title Unknown

2007-08-07T15:23:00.000-04:00

With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh –
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.

George MacDonald

Going Home.

2007-07-27T15:00:00.001-04:00

My family is out of town this week for vacation. At a beach. On the eastern seaboard. Having loads of fun.

Jealous?

You'd better believe it.

I decided on Wednesday to run down to the farm to give Caleb a little mid-week support (with 11 horses, a Great Dane, Jacks ( Jax, or Jack), and 5 cats (apparently some of them went to God's Great Litter Box in the sky before the Parents went to God's Luxury Litter Box for Kitties on this earth- not that they actually went to a giant cat-poo location for vacation-- yee, sounds gross.. "So, where'd the 'rents go for vacation?" "Oh, the litter box" Right. I'm done) .

So I left work at 6 and did not arrive in B until 9:15. The drive is an hour, max. 15 minutes from home I decided to take Sweet B for a trip down one of the twistiest roads in Fairfield county, the strip of 664 that runs from West Rushville to Logan. The B was looking B-utiful and (hey! license plate name!) a car that red, shiny, sporty, and vintage must be on a road that curvy. So I head down Coonpath and as I get closer to my Aunt and Uncle's place, I decide to pull in and give a quick "Hello! Just in the neighborhood" visit.

(side note: this route takes me past my grandfather's old house- it just sold- and THEY'VE STUCK THE MOST-OBSCENELY OUT-OF-PLACE-UGLY-BEYOND-IMAGINATION barn RIGHT SMACK DAB NEXT TO THE HOUSE! It is a grotesque piece of architecture (FAT ol' pole barn next to a classic cape cod with cedar siding and large front porch. Despicable. It makes me tremble with rage. I need to stop, I'm starting to see spots... blast it, it's UGLY. It's so u-g-l-y, it ain't got an alibi, it's ugly. But really, it is. It makes me want to throw up. Oh the abominable structure. YUCK!))

Grr, I'm still so angry! Must move on. Food. Family. Right. So I zip into the Aunt and Uncle's and pop in for a quick hello. Which turns into dinner and a long discussion on whether or not Josh and I are extroverted, introverted (which we are), or just verted. I'm mostly verted. We also discussed various family members and had a great old time just staring out over the pond and weeping willows, chatting about our families.

So the B and I head home, roaring around the bends, flying past the cornfields, whizzing by the herds of cattle. As we crawl up the long hill of the long driveway (no racing up gravel driveways for my B), I heard a faint "HEY!" come from above. "God? Look, I know I was speeding and I know I got mad at that driver on 33 but.." oh wait, Caleb!

Turns out 'Vanna had escaped and Caleb and Jacks were on the hunt. I put the B in reverse and we start to make our way down the driveway, heading back to the road when out of the corner of my eye, a giant black and white monster comes hurtling towards the B. It's "The 'Vanna." She comes galloping up to the B and in a moment of self-preservation, instinct calling to catch the animal, and B preservation, I stuck my arm out and latch on to her collar. Well then Jacks in my lap is growling at 'Vanna for the intrusion into his territory (I'm his territory) and 'Vanna is slobbering to beat Beethoven, and I'm screeching at her to stay off my car and for Caleb to get out of it. Except Caleb's never exited the car and so he has no idea how to pull the handle. So there I am, one hand holding Jacks, one hand desperately trying to cling to 'Vanna, hurling violent threats of dismemberment towards her and yet trying to calmly instruct Caleb to "PULL THE BLACK THING, NO, THE OTHER BLACK THING! GET HER, SHE'S GOING TO KILL MY CAR! BACK UP 'VANNA BEFORE I HURT YOU! NO NOW PULL NO NOT THAT ONE, PULL THE..." and then he got it and whipped out and around to save my B from 'Vanna's claws, literally. She put her two front paws on the B and I nearly kicked her face in, except I had forgotten to put the B in neutral and had both feet on the clutch and brake. After 'Vanna is under control, Jacks and I oh so gracefully make our way up the rest of the drive. Jacks is the perfect dog for my car. Jacks is to my car what my car is to curvy roads.

More to come...

Two of Me.

2007-07-27T14:25:00.000-04:00

Last night I had another one of my wedding dreams. In every wedding dream I've ever remembered (I would say about 5+-), in the dream it never fails that I am never present during the ceremony. I walk up the aisle, either tell the groom "Nope, not doing it" or I blank out during the ceremony and arrive back in my body afterwards. I never know if I married the groom or not, although I always lean on the side of not being married, so as not to spend my wedding night with someone who is not my husband. Not once do I say "well, maybe I am married!" and move into a life with the groom (although in one dream I did as I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had married him-- I really wanted to be his wife).

Last night I dreamed the wedding dream, only this time there were two of me- one to make sure all went well with the wedding (say that 5x fast!) and another to be in the wedding. Which body did my mind elect to stay with? Apparently not the one in the ceremony because I had to ask the groom afterwards how it went! For some reason I think I stuck with the "wedding planner body" as some table cloths needed sewing! All I remember is coming up to the groom afterwards and wondering how I handled it and if everything went smooth. The funny thing is I dislike immensely weddings that are a production, so why in the world, when given the option, would I have stayed with the "wedding planner body"?

As my wedding dreams go though, the emphasis on the actual ceremony has become more and more heightened. There are no details covered in the wedding and I dream of nothing pertaining to the wedding except for the very minutes before and during the walk down the aisle. Very briefly do I dream of the reception (many times I'm sitting around a table with the whole family and quietly trying to determine whether or not I am married [quietly so I don't embarrass myself for not knowing]) Also, I never like my dress. This past one had very little attention was given it by me, so possibly the dress was attractive.

Why were there two of me?
Why did I opt for the body running around tying up the loose ends? (i.e: avoiding the ceremony?)
How is it that in every wedding dream, I am never ever there for the actual ceremony?!
Why, for the past 8 years, have my dreams centered so specifically on a wedding?

The built-in investigator wonders what is it that needs attention and healing.
The Spirit inside me must be telling me I need to address something, something in me needs looked over, otherwise I would not continue to dream the same dreams with the same scene running over and over.

I am trying to remember in my dreams to force myself to be mentally aware during the ceremony. I want to ask myself in the dream why I am so eager or willing to avoid it; there is hope that while in the dream state I can answer these questions.

Screech I am not.

2007-07-27T14:21:00.000-04:00

Confirmation: I am not a full fledged nerd. This has been disputed at various points in my life but I am here to tell you, I am not a bonafide nerd.

Booyah.

Blocked from Blogging

2007-07-24T09:43:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted in quite awhile. It's slightly ironic that I check others' posts frequently and when they haven't posted, I get a little antsy, "Sheesh, come on, it wouldn't hurt you to post every now and then!" yet if I don't post for a month, so what?! I expect to have something new to read every morning; this is assuming however, that people actually read this post and I'm not blogging to a readerless blogging cosmos.

I certainly assume a lot by putting up a post:

That what I'm putting up is worth even reading,
that there are people who stumble upon this post and stay long to read these random thoughts,
and that people actually find it interesting enough to come back to and stay "in the loop" with whatever is going on in my life (when I actually do post something about my life).

Why am I posting?

Better yet, since I really shouldn't care whether or not people read because it is for me, not them, why haven't I posted in so long? And not just a random historical rant, "My Utmost for His Highest" daily devotional post, or news blurb; I wonder what is going on within that has me blocked from blogging about me.

My Utmost- July 9

2007-07-09T11:43:00.000-04:00

July 9th.

	THE GREAT PROBING

"Ye cannot serve the Lord." Joshua 24:19 Have you the slightest reliance on anything other than God? Is there a remnant of reliance left on any natural virtue, any set of circumstances? Are you relying on yourself in any particular in this new proposition which God has put before you? That is what the probing means. It is quite true to say - "I cannot live a holy life," but you can decide to let Jesus Christ make you holy. "Ye cannot serve the Lord God"; but you can put yourself in the place where God's almighty power will come through you. Are you sufficiently right with God to expect Him to manifest His wonderful life in you? "Nay, but we will serve the Lord." It is not an impulse, but a deliberate commitment. You say - But God can never have called me to this, I am too unworthy, it can't mean me. It does mean you, and the weaker and feebler you are, the better. The one who has something to trust in is the last one to come anywhere near saying - "I will serve the Lord." We say - "If I really could believe!" The point is - If I really will believe. No wonder Jesus Christ lays such emphasis on the sin of unbelief. "And He did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief." If we really believed that God meant what He said - what should we be like! Dare I really let God be to me all that He says He will be?

Tiny Warrior

2007-07-05T19:30:00.000-04:00

This little boy is my kinda big brother. Bravissimo bambino!

He'll have something heroic to carry around all his life, that is priceless; he's a true defender. Can you imagine having done something so brave while so young? I hope he remembers this and carries it humbly and proudly at the same time his entire life. I pray he is entitled to carry it and does not abuse the honor; may he grow up a noble and integrity-filled youth.

Incredulous Bystander

2007-07-05T12:05:00.000-04:00

This is so ridiculous. Unfair, uncalled for, diabolical, and I'm outraged. I feel like the tourist on the bus driving through Yellowstone who can only comment on the enormity of it all.

What am I going to do?

The price paid.

2007-07-03T23:43:00.000-04:00

What is the cost of freedom?

Is the price paid worth it?

Why is it that I look around and feel guilty to be an American... ashamed at all that I have, embarrassed to admit I have it. I have it all. I'm living on stolen land, living a stolen life, preparing for a future that, by basic human rights, should not be mine.

I have nothing to be proud of, everything to be ashamed of, and so much for which I will never be thankful enough.

I enter this July 4th wondering if I will join the masses emblazoned in the red, white, and blue. Pieces of me want to paint it all over my body and display these mighty colors for all to see. The other pieces want me to quietly offer up my thanks and duck my head in shame for all that we as "Patriots" have done.

What right have I to be a proud American?

I am so confused. Do I gather the beautiful banner and wrap her around me, relishing in the glory and the pain and the triumph that is our history and future? I cannot be ungrateful towards all those that have fought, suffered, and died so that my life may exist. I realize that part of what they fought for was the right for me to air this question out and allow it space within me. I cannot say, "Thanks... but no thanks."

Can I really be honestly proud to be an American? Can I dare not to? Do I separate myself from the masses who would blindly and wantonly wear these universally known colors and think that my thankfulness is much deeper and more sincere than theirs?

This is almost parallel to how I feel about mainstream Christianity and my honest desire to know Christ and be known for loving and following him- without hating/despising/looking down on all others in utter ignorance.

Corn-fed (by that I mean hear it and believe it and then speak it)Christians (funny they're all Americans--except for that crazy "I am the new Christ" South American or Mexican) make me so angry! They only believe because they've listened and they only speak that which they've heard or read from mainstream sold-out-for-celebrity-status Christian authors. Where is the "real" Christianity? It's really not that much work to seek and find and question until you do. Put some elbow grease into it people.

I'll clean this all up later. Thanks for letting me vent.

SONO GIUSTA!

2007-06-08T13:59:00.000-04:00

I WAS RIGHT!

Rome, America, correlation? Oh yes. The Colbert Report has verified my findings here. Or you can watch it here

G.K.C

2007-06-07T11:45:00.000-04:00

Here dies another day

During which I have had eyes, ears, hands

And the great world round me;

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?

G.K. Chesterton

6-6-44, cont'd

2007-06-07T11:24:00.000-04:00

It's awesome (read: awe-inspiring, shocking, puzzling) to me the idea that we were right and they were wrong. Hear me out: in no way do I condone the Nazi treatment or mentality towards those of non-Aryan blood; it's just amazing to me that one group (Allies) could be so right and the other (Axis) could be so wrong. For those citizens who, by the determination of their leader's association and pact with the Axis powers, would have been called the "enemy," I have much sympathy (and empathy). It's just the same nowadays, countries being judged by their leader's political inclinations. How is it, that in a world that so questions the existence of God, or a purpose/Natural Law for all, can be so aligned with an idea and find themselves facing half of the world against them.

The good guys vs. the bad guys. And the kicker is this: they were really bad. Vile, evil, and determined to destroy all that prohibited their idea of perfection. To think that even evil longs for perfection as well. Therein lies another puzzlement. Both good and evil long for their idea of perfection. They strive to create worlds where their "utopia" exists. Why such the need for perfection, for a perfect world and existence? This has turned into a much different post than I intended.

So "good/right" (that which is selfless and desiring happiness for their neighbor- I don't think I would receive much argument against that definition) desires to live with best intentions for all manifested in everyday life, striving for an utopia for all. "Bad/wrong" (that which is completely selfish, desiring that the self be served first and foremost) almost expectantly assumes that those around must sacrifice in order that aforementioned "self" receive their utopia first, others might benefit from that when self has arrived in utopia, not before. (keep in mind I still maintain vast amounts of sympathy for those who were forced to fight for "wrong," it takes a strong soul, stronger than mine, to accept death instead of fighting for that which is wrong.)

Is it not amazing that we were faced with "good/right" and "bad/wrong"? How often are we faced with such blatant examples as we had in World War II? How often do we really get to fight for "right" and do it freely? So often I am reminded of how the United States is much like the Roman Empire: absolute domination in the world, a formidable opponent to all who would seek to strike against it, their citizens having the keys (citizenship of Rome/US) to the world. We have such awesome opportunities as Americans, opportunities we take, I take, for granted. Aside from the Spanish War, Panama, the Philippines, Vietnam, and now even Iraq and Afghanistan (not forgetting that while the war itself is failing, we still are doing quite a bit to help those developing countries, let's keep that in mind), we have waged war against the most formidable foes, the "wrong," and won. No doubt that had we lost the War for Independence, we would still have the same opportunities. Again, not saying that as Americans (also demonstrated by the Romans) we are always right, or even slightly right, but we have the keys to strive towards the "good/right." We've had the opportunities to show the world what "good/right" is all about, that it is necessary for life.

Thank you Allies, thank you for persevering towards "good," for laying your lives down for the "good," even as we now take advantage of that, even as we now abuse that.

Thank you Christ.

6-6-44

2007-06-07T09:45:00.000-04:00

During high school I used 6-6-44 to remember D-Day/ Operation Overlord. I also know that the 25th amendment is the one stating the vice-president shall assume the presidency should the president become to "sick" to retain the position. "Sick" starts with an "S" which looks like a 5, hence 25th amendment = sick president. I actually did that for all the amendments and for quite awhile had them all memorized. Not so much anymore....

Right, turning back around and heading from that tangent to the main subject. (Seriously, my attention span needs some thorough examination, the places my mind wanders to when triggered... Mmm, Roy Rogers, did you know his name was actually Leonard Slye? I read somewhere that he grew up so poor that he used to run barefoot over fields of cut corn, building up callouses so he didn't need boots. Ack, I'm doing it again!)

Point is this: Yesterday was the initiation of Operation Neptune (heading into Operation Overlord) and it has been 63 years since they first landed. One of my absolute favorite film productions is Band of Brothers.

Talking about BoB can be my way of honoring the soldiers who landed on the beaches and those who fought before and after. Growing up I've always watched war movies, read the books, (remembered little), and latched onto whatever else I could find to connect me with that era in history. Through all of that though, little has stirred me like Band of Brothers has; little else aside from visiting the "sbarchi" ("disembarkments" in Italian) and battlegrounds. I'm sure in real life Maj. Winters is not as great as he seems in the movie (although, I did read his autobio and was even more impressed), but the entire time I'm watching the series I can barely keep it together. This interpretation of what happened really does break my heart. It's the cinematography, it's the script, it's the lighting and costumes; it's how true to life it feels. Deep inside I am torn between weeping and "hurrah"-ing; knowing their lives are in peril and death so near, all the while so proud of them and wanting each of them to make it home to freedom and joy.

In BoB, the enemy is not portrayed as vile, demon-possessed fanatics, fighting for an vile (evil), demon-possessed dictator. Not that you actually see much of the enemy, really it's only when they're getting spiked by a bayonet or killed in some other manner that you catch a glimpse of their humanity. There's a scene where one of the men from Easy Company comes across some POWs and overhears one of them speak with a familiar accent. Turns out the "German" was from Jersey (I think.. Bronx maybe) and had grown up only a few neighborhoods from the American soldier. The German's parents had paid heed to the Der Fuehrer's request that all Germans of pure blood return to the Mutterland and so he joined up with the German army. Not five minutes after having this conversation, the American soldier leaves to catch up with his Company and having gone a ways, hears gunfire behind him. The POWs had been killed as a answer to the squadron leader's question of, "What to do with them?" Aside from their brutal and uncalled for death, I greatly appreciate the demonstration of the enemy's humanity. They were and are real people too: following what they thought was right.

If you ever have time to sit and appreciate Band of Brothers, and have not had the pleasure to do so yet, I highly recommend it.

Celtic Knot

2007-06-04T17:52:00.000-04:00

Deep within I seek to find
a hand-hold to the depths of mind.
Where it begins
Where it ends

Something to grasp
Something to hold
Something to make sense
of all I know.

Yeah, it's a pretty elementary poem, but it's all I've got right now. Deep inside I feel like a Celtic knot, no beginning and no end! Joy abounds within me, great delight as well, yet part of me is cast in vast loops and turns and twists. I wish I could step within myself and bring out a great clarity of self. I really want to write right now, I want to pour myself out on paper (err.. screen) and write something beautiful and true.

Something beautiful and true... that's really what I want to convey! Thinking now I am reminded that there is so much within me that I want to share but yet want to keep tightly secure, as precious gems. It is true though, my heart is like a treasure box and many gems have been poured in lately. Right now I feel as though I'm running my hands through the loose jewels, letting them trickle down between my fingers into the pile. This started out with each gem making up but a mass of color. However, as I write, these little pieces have become less overwhelming as a whole and more intricately precious as individual pieces. Now I need to sort through them, pick each one up and cherish it, and then appreciate the beautiful mosaic they are needed as a whole to create. Mosaic in a treasure box? Mmm..... oh yes.

That resounds within me. Yes, it is a beautiful mosaic and when I step so closely to it I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the intricate pieces. Making out the picture at this point is not necessary, the gems themselves are a delight and joy to behold. The gems take on a whole new value of worth if you move forward and just reach out and touch them, if you just grasp that they are real and tangible. They were poured in separately in some cases, or many together at other times, meshed together as a mass in the box, and then hand-picked so that each specific piece would create a whole new exquisite dimension of beauty. I love this picture they are creating, I love how I cannot pick out what it will be.

Sometimes locating neither the end nor the beginning of a Celtic knot is important, sometimes all you need to do is just start. Start at any point, no matter where on the end/beginning spectrum it is located, and go. I may not be progressing with any discernible pattern or path or even sense, but I've started.

Sometimes you just need to go.

Or type.

Sizzle

2007-05-30T14:50:00.000-04:00

I can't help but brag. The Sweet B is hot.

Way hot.

I know I'm smiling in this picture, but really my fingers are on fire.

What a lovely way to burn.

Thank you Tennessee!

2007-05-30T14:03:00.000-04:00

It's about time. I thought this day would never come.

Now I'm really looking forward to hearing his platform and stance on Iraq/Iran. Will he step up to the plate? Can we finally have an honest, legitimate, and plausible answer to the war? Mr. Thompson, I'm ready to hand you all the eggs in my basket, don't let me down, you have "President" written all over you; I'd like to see you in my history books. Please, I really want to get excited about this election, be the catalyst!

May 15th My Utmost for His Highest

2007-05-15T14:56:00.000-04:00

May 15th.
The HABIT of RISING to the OCCASION

"That ye may know what is the hope of His calling . . ." Ephesians 1:18

Remember what you are saved for - that the Son of God might be manifested in your mortal flesh. Bend the whole energy of your powers to realize your election as a child of God; rise to the occasion every time.

You cannot do anything for your salvation, but you must do something to manifest it, you must work out what God has worked in. Are you working it out with your tongue, and your brain and your nerves? If you are still the same miserable crosspatch, set on your own way, then it is a lie to say that God has saved and sanctified you.
God is the Master Engineer, He allows the difficulties to come in order to see if you can vault over them properly - "By my God have I leaped over a wall." God will never shield you from any of the requirements of a son or daughter of His. Peter says - "Think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you." Rise to the occasion; do the thing. It does not matter how it hurts as long as it gives God the chance to manifest Him self in your mortal flesh.

May God not find the whine in us any more, but may He find us full of spiritual pluck and athleticism, ready to face anything He brings. We have to exercise ourselves in order that the Son of God may be manifested in our mortal flesh. God never has museums. The only aim of the life is that the Son of God may be manifested, and all dictation to God vanishes. Our Lord never dictated to His Father, and we are not here to dictate to God; we are here to submit to His will so that He may work through us what He wants. When we realize this, He will make us broken bread and poured out wine to feed and nourish others.

My Tornado Dream

2007-05-09T14:27:00.000-04:00

I usually look forward to having dreams. Nearly every night I go to bed and pray I get to dream (those other nights I don't think about dreaming, I end up doing so.. go figure). I can remember a few dreams that have filled me with terror, a very heart wrenching dream where I woke up crying, four where I was so moved in the dreams that I could barely keep it together the next day, one dream that has been forever seared in my memory because of the joy in it (in the case I would get Alzheimer's, I wrote it all down), and then there are my tornado dreams.

Call it the curse of the Wicked Witch of the West, bad food, or my mind trying to communicate with me, but I hate tornado dreams. Number one, tornadoes and I have an agreement: They stay in cornfields and wide open spaces (in real life and in dreams), and I don't have to worry about them ravishing through wherever I live, sucking me in and killing all my horses. And family. And friends.

I hate tornadoes.

COSI helped very little. The wind tunnel they use to show how a toothpick can shatter a 2x4 only served to increase my fear, forget toothpicks flying through the air, what about all those 2x4s? Nothing, absolutely nothing, causes me to stop breathing like the sound of tornado sirens or black clouds (yes, I know, green clouds are the ones with the tornado, hush). It's uncanny though, this past fall Columbus had several "funnel clouds" come right around Westerville and where was I? On the balcony, trying to figure out where they were. I had the tv on in the living room with the weatherman urging everyone to seek shelter away from windows, preferably in their basement or bathroom, and there I stood, outside, just eagerly waiting for some action. I think the thing with that occasion was the fact I had only 25 feet between the bathroom and I, so safety was right within my reach.

Right, on to this particular dream. (keep in mind I'm still terrified of tornadoes- in case you missed that)

For some reason I was lined up in a parking lot along a street festival, maybe a car show (#1, what the heck? A car show?), and the tornadoes were just sweeping through the festival at will. My MG sat lined up with the rest of the cars facing the street. At some point my row of cars and everyone in them nearly got swiped away. In the next scene I got a glimpse of the makeshift rescue station and everyone in the cars next to mine and I had our pictures posted on this board with the letters MIA boldly placed above. I instinctively knew that we were being worried over and mourned and knowing that I wasn't hurt at all made me happy and eager to share the news, for some reason however, I couldn't. I managed to survive that particular tornado by putting my car in reverse and backing up just in time. After it passed I moved forward into my spot again. At some point I remember making communication with the people around me and possibly my family, but we weren't allowed to leave our spaces.

Then, at the tail end of my dream and the very end of the storm, this huge F5 tornado came directly at me from the left and while I was trying desperately to get my car to move, it picked up my car and I inside it. Fear instantly raced through me and I covered my face as the B and I were swept around this tornado. It was dark gray inside and sounded as though a million freight trains were driving this monster. While this is all happening, I am still remembering that I might be impaled at any moment by a toothpick, 2x4, or telephone pole, yet at no point did anything strike the car or hit me. I distinctly remember being absolutely terrified and crying out to God to save me. At no point though, did I feel as though He assured me that it would turn out alright. I would hope that being a Christian, I would trust Him even as I face death; this was not the case. While I begged Him to save my life and my car (I guess I really love my car!) peace seemed to evade and even avoid me. "God, God, please," I cried over and over, even shouting to be heard above the roar. I thought of death and knew that I would be with Him should I die, yet no trust or peace filled me. I still remained stricken with terror. I knew, my mind told me so, that He was there, but if His presence was, I felt it not. Desperately I wanted Him to hold me, to soothe my worried heart, and to take care of helpless and hopeless me. I feared surviving this tornado and then plummeting to earth and being shattered to pieces. Terror filled my soul and I wept.

Then, suddenly, my car was slowly eased to earth and came to a stop, hovering inches above the land. I stepped out lightly from the B, my bare foot landing on a cushion even before the car had touched ground. All was well.

End dream.

It seems to me as though I am walking on water right now with my spiritual eyes firmly fixed upon Him. In this test of faith I do not question His existence or desire for me, I am just learning to keep walking, to rest assured that He will provide. This, I believe, is quickly becoming my first real test of Faith: While I may not see Him or feel His presence, I know that I must keep walking, that I can keep walking, and that He will do all that He needs to when His perfect will so determines. This is my tornado.

National Expansion

2007-05-04T10:48:00.000-04:00

A little over two weeks ago I went up in the St. Louis Arch, formally dedicated as "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial." As fantastic as the view is from the top (at 630 feet tall), I found myself more in awe of what is below the arch, the "Jefferson National Expansion Memorial Museum." I love museums. Nothing fascinates me more than to wander around a museum and peering into the portholes of time, catching little snapshots of history; the time before me.

The Gateway Arch's museum is very well constructed. A bit confusing because although there existed a definite trail to follow through history, the period displays were scattered around their respective time, one needed more time than I had to fully appreciate the quality of material culture this museum contains. Displayed properly, as this museum exemplified, material culture and the historical descriptions can be very captivating. Many times artifacts are set out with minimal explanations to give context to the object; most times a description is all that accompanies the material and one is left to fill in vast gaps with an (usually incorrect) idea of the importance and necessity of the object. I felt like a kid in the candy store, ooo-ing and ahh-ing at nearly everything, so much to read, so much to see! I'm pretty sure Brandine and Cricket had about enough of wandering around, so I didn't get to spend nearly enough time there.

Inspiration to dive more into American History did find a place within me (I've mostly concentrated on European happenings) and I'm eager to delve back into my native history. As we were leaving I happened upon this quote, which left me speechless and still.

"At the rate of progress since 1800, every American who lived into the year 2000 would know how to control unlimited power....To him the 19th century would stand on the same plane as the 4th - equally childlike - and he would only wonder how both of them, knowing so little, and so weak in force, should have done so much." Henry Adams, 1907

Would that I could hear his thoughts now.

What will be my "so much"?

This is why I love my Jax.

2007-05-02T16:12:00.000-04:00

My 10 year old Jack Russell Terrier, Jax, is quite possibly the greatest chap, err, dog, that has ever graced this earth. He's accompanied me on long 4 hour horseback rides, sat on my lap as I've driven the horse-trailer hours to and from events, kept my bed warm (and taken up 3/4 of it) during the winter, and when it storms outside he's right beside me. Every time I come home, he props his paws on my lap and begs for my attention, giving no heed to whomever else may call his name. To him, I am numero uno. The big cheese. The Mac. The Queen B. I am his and he couldn't be any happier to be mine.

My Jax couldn't care less about the others who inhabit his abode (oh yes, he reigns supreme in the Wakefield house. Our Great Dane is his serf) when I'm around. All others can just "sod off" when there's an opportunity to bask in the glory that is me.

Well, so he says.

When my ol' Pops first brought him home, the poor pup was so terrified that he scurried up to my room and sought refuge on my bed. He was, and is still, the most adorable pup that I have ever seen. I just patted his little head and scooped him up next to me and we've been BFF from that moment on. We even eat our meals together. Just don't tell my good parents, I still think they believe I inhale all my food more quickly than my brothers. Tee hee. Ok, so they may be on to me... I mean, every time we sit down for dinner, Jax takes his proper place right by my seat, hidden slightly by the corner of the table. Usually I can slyly flick the morsel down or, if the timing is just right, I just casually drop my hand down and he'll get it. Not that I condone begging, but when it's Jax, you just can't resist those big brown puppy-dog eyes. I'm a sucker for those eyes. They just plead with me, "Sarah, love me, feed me. Feeding is love. Look deep into my eyes, don't you remember the memories we have together? All those evenings of playing fetch, how I never once tired from showing you how fast I could run, how I always let you throw that stick (insert a jaunty little wag of the tail). Remember how I've always let you rub my tummy, are you forgetting how I've always followed and protected you, I could be gone tomorrow! (his eyes flicker back to my plate) Mmm, roast beef tonight aye?"

When I come home and sit on our porch, he will yip and yelp (ever politely, he is a gentleman) until he finds me, then he'll plop down beside me and try to mesmerize me into obliging him with a long belly rub. It used to be that if I went out to the barn, he would go too. If I headed down to the woods, he would be right beside me, happily searching out any pesky woodland creatures that my disturb my trek. Now he moves more slowly and carefully, knowing that he cannot be with me like in the old days. It's still fun though to walk up and down the stairs, the little pitter-patter of his feet following me as he climbs behind me. As soon as I pull in the drive, he's right by my door, eagerly awaiting me, ever the proper host. If he's in the house being held captive by my conniving siblings, all I have to do is holler "JAX!" and he comes running. He is precious.

So, anyway, there's a reason for this post. Here is a prime example of why I love my Jax so much. This little fella exhibited all those characteristics which make up a true Jack Russell. (FYI, I am only particular to Jacks because of my Jack, I know there are plenty of other members of the canine species that do the dog justice, I just happen to have the best.)

My Utmost For His Highest

2007-05-01T11:58:00.000-04:00

(The following is an excerpt from My Utmost For His Highest, Oswald Chambers.)

May 1st.

INSIGHT NOT EMOTION

"I have to lead my life in faith, without seeing Him." 2 Corinthians 5:7 (MOFFATT)

For a time we are conscious of God's attentions, then, when God begins to use us in His enterprises, we take on a pathetic look and talk of the trials and the difficulties, and all the time God is trying to make us do our duty as obscure people. None of us would be obscure spiritually if we could help it. Can we do our duty when God has shut up heaven? Some of us always want to be illuminated saints with golden babes and the flush of inspiration, and to have the saints of God dealing with us all the time. A gilt-edged saint is no good, he is abnormal, unfit for daily life, and altogether unlike God. We are here as men and women, not as half-fledged angels, to do the work of the world, and to do it with an infinitely greater power to stand the turmoil because we have been born from above.

If we try to re-introduce the rare moments of inspiration, it is a sign that it is not God we want. We are making a fetish of the moments when God did come and speak, and insisting that He must do it again; whereas what God wants us to do is to "walk by faith." How many of us have laid ourselves by, as it were, and said - "I cannot do any more until God appears to me." He never will, and without any inspiration, without any sudden touch of God, we will have to get up. Then comes the surprise - "Why, He was there all the time, and I never knew it!" Never live for the rare moments, they are surprises. God will give us touches of inspiration when He sees we are not in danger of being led away by them. We must never make our moments of inspiration our standard; our standard is our duty

The Time is Near!

2007-04-26T16:24:00.000-04:00

If this happens a third time, I'll know it’s a full fledged conspiracy. For the second day in a row I left my deliciously healthy lunch at home. Yes, twice.

It was the same lunch.

Carrots, purple (seedless) grapes, and a (the greatest sandwich in all the world) peanut butter and honey on whole wheat. Doesn’t that just scream, “Healthy food, right here, delicious and nutritious!”? Oh, but it does.

Too bad I left the same lunch on the same counter two days in a row. How the hell am I supposed to be eating healthy when my carefully and deliberately made lunch refuses to join me at noontime? Heck yes I’m ticked! I’m trying to get ready for swimsuit season, to run multiple 5ks, a 10k, a 10 miler, a half-marathon, and hopefully a marathon in October. I can’t do that when I don’t have a flippin’ lunch!

It’s definitely a conspiracy! How else would you explain the absence of my lunch? I believe it to be the scouting party for the FVBEPM (funded in part by the CACFACU National Alliance-Chickens against the Chick-Fil-A Cattle Union*) -Fruits and Veggies Board to Explore the Possibility of a Mutiny. When you forget your lunch too, you’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. Sure you think, it’s only a small bag of carrots and a cupful of grapes, what’s the harm in them staying at home? Well my good people, you’re hearing it right now, these small uneaten doses of healthy nutritious goodness are operating on a small scale. Next it will be at potlucks, bbq’s, and holiday get-togethers. Then they’ll try to broaden their scope, refusing to be dished out at restaurants, encouraging the digestion of sweets, delicacies, and (gasp) “junk food.” (For the record I have nothing against junk food, but it took me 6 years to regain control over Grandma's Chocolate Chip Cookies, Sour Cream and Onion chips, and refrigerated cookie dough. I'm not about to lose this fight.)

Again, I’m getting a sense that you all are a bit incredulous. If we die because our arteries all clog up and kill us, you can all go down knowing I was right. What better way for veggies and fruits to survive if we are all gone!? Herbivores unite! Let us stock up on our ginko biloba, ginseng, and vitamins and remember our lunches!

On a more serious note though, while I won't say I have an eating problem (truly, I love, love, love, love, love food), for all of college I did struggle with my weight. Each time I groaned about the fit of pants or the number on the scale, my mom would urge me to, "Wait until you're out of college honey, it's just the stress." And she was right. My metabolism has levelled and I'm not packing on the pounds like before. However, I'm now an avid fan of running. As I've mentioned before, I'm definitely not athletically inclined (I do dabble a wee bit in casual flings with volleyball, softball, soccer, racquetball, and..um.. Frisbee), so now that I've really stepped up the pace (chuckle) with running, I'm super excited! I'm actually running. I can actually say that running 3 miles is an easy run! For once I have something to take pride in (plus I even give the appearance that I do for the most part) and when the nurse takes my heartbeat, I can respond to it's slow and steady thumpa-thump that, "Yeah, I run." AND NOW SOME BACKSTABBING VEGGIES ARE RUINING MY LIFE!

Over dramatic? Melodramatic? Bah. A little frustrated that I want to up the ante on my physical tone and endurance and stupid little murderous plants are foiling the product of my blood, sweat, and tears (oh yes, there has been blood and tears)? You'd better believe it.

Just for that I did remember my lunch today and I packed twice as many carrots and grapes as usual. Vengeance baby.

*Yes, I believe there is a direct correlation between the CACFACU and SNAFU/FUBAR)

Jim takes on Dwight. Woot!

2007-04-25T14:15:00.000-04:00

Must love "The Office." On a serious note though (hmm, serious and The Office... that's an interesting thought) the acting here is just really great. It's amazing to me how well Jim impersonates Dwight. Now that is getting into character.

Dum-Dums

2007-04-25T11:45:00.000-04:00

The mailman brought me a Dum-Dum(R) today, a cherry cola Dum-Dum(R). We have a great government-postal service and client relationship. Everyday around noontime he trots on in with the mail, delivering numerous surveys and misc mail paraphernalia and most days I'm sitting here at the desk, ready to recieve "The Bundle."

Actually, he's a really jocular mailman. He seems to find something to pick on me about everyday. Typically it's something to do with my hair or my dress. Right, the mailman, picking on what I look like! Two things though:

My hair is of the curly/messy wave tress-type. This means that the time spent on my hair in the morning is less than the time I spend brushing my teeth. I frankly just don't care sometimes. Most times I just pop out of the shower, put some "product" (aka gel/mousse), run a comb through it and leave. Three options for "doing" my hair exist. The ponytail (low or high), the braid (French or single), or just letting it rest in whatever curly/wavy state it may be in.
We have a very low key office environment. When I first started here, I dressed business everyday. The problem was that no one else did. By dressing business everyday, (ok, biz casual) I created a division between myself and the others. In essence I gave off the vibe that I was "better" than them, more sophisticated, and much more serious. This lasted maybe a month. I gave in to my co-workers passive aggressive dressing tendencies and have now joined the ranks of the jeans and hoodie wearing mob. I would like to point out though that I do dress biz cas quite a bit... usually... like once a week.. or semi-monthly.

The mailman does not agree with me. Everyday it's the same thing (unless he catches me on my semi-monthly biz cas day), "Gosh, look at you, what is this?" Essentially he means I'm a mess. When I do manage to braid my hair or put it up, I get the following, "Well finally! It's about time you started looking like you're working! Now all you have to do is dress like it!"

When I manage to put on some dress pants or a button down top, I get this, "See, now you're talking, now it really looks like you're doing something... except you're goofing off on the Internet. Gosh, what do they pay you for?!" And then he has the audacity to question mail I'm sending out!

Today though, Mr. Postman brought me a Dum-Dum(R). I think it's really neat that in some precious way, he is trying to do his best to make sure I'm doing my best.

I think I'll wear my hoodie tomorrow. Rebel me.

My Road Less Taken, (the prequel)

2007-04-24T22:30:00.000-04:00

Picture a puzzle, divided into three pieces. The jagged piece on the left is you and the middle piece is Christ who smoothes out those jagged edges to form a most spectacular picture. Those two pieces alone make out a perfect puzzle compilation. There’s the third piece though. Interestingly enough the right edge of the middle piece fits perfectly in with the left side of the third piece. Add the third piece in and the picture takes on a whole new dimension of beauty.

The Cricket Speaks.

2007-04-20T16:42:00.000-04:00

Oh right. In case I need to prove my point about Cricket, I've compiled some anecdotes.

We're headed across town to BB's when we spot a horse and carriage at the curb on the opposite side of the street. Well, we amble (I do love a good amble or meander) on over to catch the next light. No sooner do we get to the other side when I hear Cricket gasp in fear and exclaim,"Oh dear Lord, it's a horse!" The lady-driver nearly lost it after Violet, I mean I, deadpanned, "Yeah, she doesn't get out much."

Earlier we visited the great Arch of St. Louis after a delicious lunch at Charlie Gitto's. When I say delicious, I mean mouthwatering, heavenly, out-of-this-world, and knock-you-off-your-socks delicious chocolate cake. Needless to say, I don't know how we walked out of that place, rolling would have been easier (and yes, my pants fit a bit more snug today). So we head on over to the Arch. The closer we get, the more Cricket and I begin to question whether or not now is the time to take off on this adventure.

Actually, the closer we approached to the Arch, the more my stomach began to question whether or not this was such a good idea. Waiting in line to get our tickets, I began to question whether or not I wanted to continue living. Never have I felt so sick in my life. Laying down and dying seemed so sweet. I even asked the ticket-taker if I might come back at another time (in-between breathing deeply) but she was neither in the mood for such a question nor willing to answer it. It seemed that it was now or never. I managed to methodically make my way down the stairs to the landing for the tram. Slowly I slumped to the ground and woefully leaned my head against the wall, grateful for the coolness of the marble. Finally Cricket and Brandine seemed to notice the pale, slightly perspiring, moaning being that made up the last third of their party. Having taken pity on me, Cricket forced, I mean urged, me to sit up and try her "Digestion Yoga Poses." Here I am, in the midst of 30 other tram travellers, sitting on the stairs and slowing breathing and turning. Breathe in, turn 25 degrees to the left and breathe out. Breathe in, turn 25 degrees to the left and breathe out. Back straight, feet facing forward, and continue this time to the right. I looked pathetic. The doors open to the tram to expose a most stomach-flipping sight indeed. The "tram-pod" held 5 seats and was created in the shape of an egg. Ergo, it shall now be referred to as the "egg-pod."

Cricket nearly lost her nerve with that one. No sooner do we get in then she starts hyperventilating and breathing heavily and praying to "Baby Jesus." There is nothing like watching your boss, ahem, co-worker, and other co-worker stuffed inside an egg-pod, hurtling 630 feet in the air to calm your stomach. Seriously. I nearly lost it when Cricket started crossing herself and praying "Oh sweet 6lb 5 oz Baby Jesus, please hear me."

The rest of the trip was sweet and stomach-flipping free. More to come as the events happen!

BB's Jazz and Blues Bar

2007-04-20T15:44:00.000-04:00

Last night Cricket, Brandine (formerly known as Sunflower), and I (Violet) headed out to St. Louis's finest jazz and blues bar. By finest I mean dyed-in-the-blue, authentic, BB King probably played here (we forgot to ask), been-here-since-the-dawn-of-time, finest jazz and blues bar. No kidding. It started out in the mid-1800's as a warehouse in old "Frenchtown," then a general store, we think a dentist's office, and neither least nor last, a House of Ill-Repute. Hopefully it's last occupation is as a jazz and blues bar, for as such it is the epitome of a low-light, dusky, brick-walled, artistically vibrant, and smokey jazz and blues bar.

From 7pm until we left, a lone man played his guitar and sang the blues. "Playing" is a harsh, crude, and unfulfilling word. This man (whom we referred to as "Catfish") owned that guitar and owned his blues. The twang and "thunkety-thunk" beat that emanated from his strumming filled my soul. While his voice was no operatic wonder, his bluesy crooning (no matter that I recognized a mere two words- "cocaine" and "catfish") had me enraptured. There was an old knowledge that enveloped this man. He knew his voice, he knew his guitar, and he knew his blues forwards, backwards, up and down, inside and out, and sideways. Singing and strumming were to him as breathing in and out. The aura about him gave the impression that he played because life couldn't exist otherwise. I imagine that he must sit on his porch and speak in blues.

Not to burst that ol' Mississippi blues picturesque moment, but my tale does go on. Cricket and I decided we must have a drink with our cajun dinner. I can handle one glass of wine, Cricket can handle one glass of wine, so two glasses of white zinfandel ended up on our table. As our stomachs were full though, Violet (I) was enticed to imbibe just one more glass (so as to equal the level of intoxication of Cricket). Just for the record, Brandine did her share of encouraging as well. The result: two giggly and fiercely protective ladies on one side of the table (also pretending to have mild southern accents. For the record: Cricket sounded just like Britney Spears, while Violet on the other hand would have been mistaken for a southern belle), one sober and composed lady (Brandine) on the other.

Cricket and I had to use the ladies room and so headed downstairs to said location. The conversation heading into the room and whilst there went as follows.

Cricket: You know Violet, I am just sharp as a tack after I've had a drink."

Violet: Right. Sure you are, that's why you came up with K-Bread as a nickname?

Cricket: Oh hush, you know that's a great name. And I am so going to call him that. Anyway, like I said, I'm sharp as a tack right now. Before I've had one though, I'm dumber than a box of...

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'm dumber than a box of....

(Flush)

Cricket: I'M DUMBER THAN A BOX OF ROCKS!

Exit older lady from stall with terrified/horrified/mildly amused expression upon her face.

We tried explaining ourselves, but considering that we were both rocking the southern accent and stumbling just a tad, I doubt anything we would have said could have changed whatever that lady was thinking. I can only imagine.

Nevertheless, we still greatly enjoyed the blues and jazz for some time after. If anyone is ever in the greater St. Louis area, please head to BB's Jazz and Blues Bar, it's right close to the St. Louis Cardinals stadium.

Oh beautiful for spacious Arch!

2007-04-19T16:42:00.000-04:00

"Meet me in St. Louis," is a dangerous song. It starts out delicately enough, liltingly and lightly flowing out of your mouth, the chorus repeating over and over. After running through it first all the words are remembered and, if you are lucky enough to have companionship, the camaraderie of knowing the same song encourages an increase in decibel strength. It also encourages swaying. Next thing you know, it's five minutes later and the song is forever embedded within your mind. It cannot be forced out.

I managed to finagle "London Bridge," by Fergie as a precursor to "MMSL," in my mental playlist but, "How come every time you come around/My London, London bridge wanna go down like/London, London, London, wanna go down like/ London, London, London, we goin’ down like…" cannot maintain the #1 spot no matter how many times I can get Cricket to sing along with me. Heck, we even throw in the eyebrow raises, a bit of shoulder shrugging, and some hip bopping. Alas, it's all in vain, Fergie's Fergaliciousness cannot cut the ties that bind.

As a last ditch effort Cricket and I replaced every noun (and most adjectives, adverbs, and conjunctions) in "America the Beautiful," for "arch." As in we now sing it as "O' Beautiful for spacious arch, for archy archy arch. (etc)" Lest you all think this is a great idea that works well both in theory and in reality, our roomie for the week is about to murder us in our sleep. I doubt Sunflower would derive any greater pleasure than shutting the two of us up. I'm sure she's plotting as we speak. There are gargantuan pillows in our room that would serve as smothering devices, no doubt the thought has crossed her mind.

I've even tried giggling every time we sing "Hootchie-Kootchie" or "tootsie-wootsie" but it's to no avail. Cricket just keeps belting in out with nary a blush nor a skipped lyric. Silence comes with sleep, but with the morning the whistling begins subconsciously. For me, rising in the morning with the great Arch greeting me starts the wheels a'turning. It's the stream of water that flows through the watershoot down onto the wheel, filling up the pockets, and slowly setting into motion the subconscious wheels of musical life. As I brush my teeth the tunes begin to make their way through the fog of early morning mind. By the time I've buttoned the last button on my shirt, I have whistled at least 4 lines of the chorus without realizing it and Sunflower is screaming "Stop!" from the shower.

Cricket is such a bad influence.

Isaiah 41:8-20

2007-04-03T12:31:00.000-04:00

8"But you, O Israel, my servant, Jacob, whom I have chosen, you descendants of Abraham my friend. 9I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, 'You are my servant'; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. 10So do not fear, for I am (surely) with you, do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. 11All who rage against you will surely be ashamed and disgraced; those who oppose you will be as nothing and perish. 12Though you search for your enemies, you will not find them. Those who wage war against you will be as nothing at all. 13For I am the LORD, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not Fear; I will help you. 14Do not be afraid, O worm Jacob, O little Israel, for I myself will help you," declares the LORD, your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel. 15See I will make you into a threshing sledge, new and sharp, with many teeth. You will thresh the mountains and crush them, and reduce the hills to chaff. 16 You will winnow them, the wind will pick them up, and a gale will blow them away. But you will rejoice in the LORD, and glory in the Holy One of Israel. 17The poor and the needy search for water, but there is none; their tongues are parched with thirst. But I the LORD will answer them; I, the God of Israel, will not forsake them. 18I will make rivers flow on barren heights, and springs within the valleys. I will turn the desert into pools of water, and the parched ground into springs. 19I will put in the desert the cedar and the acacia, the myrtle and the olive. I will set pines in the wasteland, the fir and the cypress together, 20so that people may see and know, may consider and understand, that the hand of the LORD has done this, that the Holy One of Israel has created it."

I love this passage. It starts out with Him gathering His people and bringing them under His protection. Then it moves on to say that not only will He protect us, but He will not treat us as babies; He will develop us, prepare us, He will turn us into something to be reckoned with! We will be made into a bold people, a people that God himself would want (yes, he wants us as we are, broken, weary, and sinful, but this is a fallen world, He will soon make us into all that we were supposed to be). Then we are placed into an oasis. Out of nothing, absolute awful puniness (word?) and desolation, He creates strength, beauty, and life.

What's more is this: He desires Israel as she is before the transformation. He doesn't ask that she be desirable beforehand, He doesn't ask that she be able to care for herself and manage her life properly, He wants her stripped bare, naked, of everything that she is not. He doesn't tell her, "Hey, once you figure out what your gifts and talents are, once you can play an instrument with grace, sing a song like a lark, excel athletically, and get a sweet toned body, then I want you and I will give you life abundant." He doesn't stipulate, "Well, once you quit being so prideful and assuming, once you're attractive and get those blemishes under control, and get your spiritual life in gear, then I will transform you." This is what He tells us, "I took you from the ends of the earth... I have chosen you (and not rejected you!), I will strengthen you and help you! I will help you MYSELF, I will make you into a force to be reckoned with (the threshing sledge), then I will transform the desert into a vast oasis, filled with rivers, flora and fauna, and place you smack dab in the middle of it. Did I mention I will help you? I want to help you! Let me help you!"

Now I like the sound of that.

Radio and TV Correspondents' Association Dinner

2007-03-29T16:18:00.000-04:00

Every year there's a lively ol' dinner hosted in D.C. by the Radio and Television Correspondents' Association. Hence "Radio and TV Correspondents' Association Dinner." This year proved to be as interesting as last year's (the first one I've ever watched) and I get a big kick out of the President poking fun at his past year and himself. What I particularly like about this is that President Bush is just so darling when he is self-deprecating and moderately humorous. He knows he's not a stand-up comedian and he knows he's not slap-the-knee hilarious, he just tries. Were Mr. President and I to ever hold a conversation between ourselves, I have no doubt that while I would respect and honor him as my President, there would definitely be an atmosphere of ease and good humour. This is someone who I would want in the family at get-togethers, putting everyone at ease, mingling with all, and yet one knows they could sit down and have a good solid conversation with him.
While many mock his presidency and take up arms against his policies, I would like to point out one thing: if I feel I can trust this man in my family, you'd better believe I can trust him with domestic and international matters. This isn't to say that if you can trust Uncle Steve over there on the couch watching wrestling with a beer in his hand, then he's qualified to be on the forefront of domestic and international policy. As a President, he is someone I would be eager to claim as a relative. Uncle Steve as a relative is not someone I would be eager to claim as President.

Thus I am very delighted to post highlights of the RT Correspondents' Dinner.

Of course, one cannot pass up the Deputy Chief of Staff in his musical debut.

March Madness

2007-03-15T15:39:00.000-04:00

In honor of March Madness, my blog will be honoring it's authoress' alma mater and #1 tournament pic.

GO BUCKS!

The power of words.

2007-03-15T14:29:00.000-04:00

Right now I'm in the middle of extreme data entry. Extreme in that it is pushing my attention span and anger threshold to the max. Apparently one of our parent companies decided that every center in this hemisphere must update their information and send it in at once.

Translation: 1500 centers send in one survey per center to my lovely little desk and I update all of their information in our database. Out of 1500 surveys, at least 65% of them are incorrectly filled out and I have to call the center to get the proper information.

Conversation: "Hi, this is (my name) from (my company). I'm calling about the survey you sent and wanted to know if (questionable information about location/services/hours) are correct."
Center staff: "Who are you?... What does your company do?"

Thus my days are spent explaining my company to the person who sent the survey in to my company! Heck, we're not even a company! We're non-profit! Those centers would not have clients if it were not for us! (note: we are not in the business of getting girls pregnant, spreading STDs, or kicking pregnant girls out of their homes.) Heck, we can even make the appointments for the girls for the center. We're flipping all-inclusive-help. Right, back to the surveys.

I hate these surveys. I mean, passionately despise them. Not only do I have to spend 3/4 of my DAY entering these surveys, but in order to complete my true job tasks these surveys must be finished. Here's an equation for you: hating surveys + loathing of entering the surveys + having to enter the surveys = low work productivity. Want those marketing reports? Want to know how well WV's billboard campaign ran last year? Too bad. O what? You want reimbursed for your travels? Hah. Try again. In fact, try again in a week.

Oh, what's that you say? Just enter them quickly and you'll be done with it? Nice idea, Einstein. Gee, why didn't I think of that? Just move along more quickly; it's just like ripping off a band-aid. Have I mentioned the inane, mind-numbing, gag-reflex inducing pain that is a survey? Have I mentioned that with each day of entering the aforementioned blindingly horrendous surveys, brain-cells flee by the thousands? All I have to do is glance at a survey and a grey mist begins enshrouding various parts of my brain. The left and right sides are now tinged, nay the borders are even more encroached upon, by a grey haze of nothingness.

Then every so often, someone from the outside (as in, everyone else in this office) will dare to stop their beautiful work day to inquire as to how I am doing. Bless them, Lord. May they always know of Your unfailing love.

So they move closer to this mass of turmoil that is my desk and speak to me. Usually, as I sit covered in this mountain of surveys, their voices come to me as rescuers come to those stranded in the depths of an avalanche. Is it possible? Could that be? No... it must be my imagination.... but wait! It is! There are voices out there and they are calling to me! Slowly and surely the haze retreats, ever so slightly, and brain functions being to churn into motion. Speech slowly makes its way to my mouth and I begin to utter a few monosyllabic grunts. Should that unfortunate being remain long enough they will gaze in utter amazement as my head pops out of these snowy-esque papers. Then as my lips form intelligible words, o the beautiful words, they will gaze fondly upon me as a parent does their child when they have just uttered those beautiful nonsensical words that most interpret as "da da," or "ma ma."

It is no wonder then that at the moment, my iPod is playing, on repeat, "Caught Out there," by Kelis (also known as "I Hate You So Much.") It is no wonder then that every night I scurry off to the gym for a run. I need my running time to ease my mind back into a properly functioning state. It's hard to head straight off to a people-friendly function as the shock is sometimes too much for my brain. If you've ever caught me right after work, please understand that it's not that I don't want to talk to you, I just can't comprehend and react with conversation. The blank stare and gaping mouth are not permanent, keep talking and I will respond within the half-hour. This also explains how after that half-hour of re-entry into society, I can't stop talking. It's as a semi taking off down the road. Slowly it moves along, snails beating it by furloughs on either side, then a lurch, an increase in speed, another lurch, and the speed nearly doubles. Then when the semi has reached full speed, try stopping it. Let me refer to Sir Issac Newton's First Law of Motion. Yes, my brain can be affected by inertia, not just physically, but mentally.

Now let me bring in the subject line for this post. The power of words. Communication is important, speaking to the people you're around is important. Silence may be polite, but there are times when it could not be more detrimental to the people around you. Pay attention to those with whom you interact and respond accordingly. Heed the words you use when you interact with them and never ever speak down to them, they might just be smart enough to understand you, yet caught in the grey haze. Remember also the actual power of your words with regards to you speaking them. This has been a fun post to write but I know it did absolutely nothing to inspire any positive/optimistic thinking towards my job. (see, vocab is definitely suffering, I dislike severely using "thinking," when I know there is another word that will substitute much more aptly). Singing "I hate you so much, AGHH," at my computer and mountains of surveys around me does nothing but urge me to hate them more. Forcing myself to like them is quite out of the question, burning them would be more satisfying (which I still might) but the longer I sit here and speak words of loathing upon them, I might as well be speaking that same ill will towards the people running the centers and the girls headed to them.

Irena Sendler

2007-03-14T10:16:00.000-04:00

Noticed this Holocaust article on msnbc and did a little bit of investigating.

Makes me wonder, "What am I doing?"

There's more here about Ms. Sendler, but it's more focused on the girls in Kansas and the play.
For some more information, which I personally found more helpful than msnbc and the Kansas website, Ol' Wikipedia comes to the rescue.

And yes, I just discovered how to link to a page and now show the whole entire link. I'm pretty excited about it!

MasterCard Parents

2007-03-10T23:07:00.000-05:00

Monthly rent for apartment in the city (to get away from home ): $366 + utilities
Four months in small group that you found on your own: 40 hours of lost sleep/various activity costs
Attending graduation party for small group member: $4.50 for Hallmark Card
Parents showing up (unexpectedly/uninvited) on motorcycle at college graduation party of aforementioned member: 20 minutes of mortification where even death itself would shudder.

Having every person there audibly wish they had your parents: Priceless

Blogging the Bible

2007-03-05T15:11:00.000-05:00

My superior, Bri, recommended this blog to me and I must say, it's very interesting. Jewish guy, David Plotz, is reading through the Bible and adding his own commentary. Now, I know, who wants to read about someone else reading the Bible? Right, but give it a chance. He's not a practicing Jew, yet has decided to see what the OT is all about. (running low on sleep so I'm having a hard time making this sound intriguing, but rest assured, it is)

http://www.slate.com/id/2141050/

Give it a once-over and then check out his actual blogs. It's kinda cool to see him run into the prophecies of the Christ.

And the tides began to change

2007-03-02T11:52:00.000-05:00

From the time the U.S entered The War in 1941 to early 1943, the Pacific Theater was pretty much being run by the Japanese. The U.S was ill-equipped, albeit rushing to up the ante, and struggling against a well-prepared foe. As soon as the factories began turning out subs, ships, and fighters/bombers, the U.S began quickly catching up. Here's one of the more pivotal points in the war waged in the Pacific Theater. (About this time in the European Theater, the Soviets are busily maintaing their lead after whomping all over the Germans at Stalingrad. The U.S. has just started their bombing campaigns on Germany.)

Anyway, this is the point: the U.S has finally begun to make progress in the Pacific. Read on.

1943 : The Battle of the Bismarck Sea

On this day, U.S. and Australian land-based planes begin an offensive against a convoy of Japanese ships in the Bismarck Sea, in the western Pacific.

On March 1, U.S. reconnaissance planes spotted 16 Japanese ships en route to Lae and Salamaua in New Guinea. The Japanese were attempting to keep from losing the island and their garrisons there by sending 7,000 reinforcements and aircraft fuel and supplies. But a U.S. bombing campaign, beginning March 2 and lasting until the March 4, consisting of 137 American bombers supported by U.S. and Australian fighters, destroyed eight Japanese troop transports and four Japanese destroyers. More than 3,000 Japanese troops and sailors drowned as a consequence, and the supplies sunk with their ships. Of 150 Japanese fighter planes that attempted to engage the American bombers, 102 were shot down. It was an utter disaster for the Japanese--the U.S. 5th Air Force and the Royal Australian Air Force dropped a total of 213 tons of bombs on the Japanese convoy.

British Prime Minister Winston Churchill chose March 4, the official end of the battle, to congratulate President Franklin D. Roosevelt, since that day was also the 10th anniversary of the president's first inauguration. "Accept my warmest congratulations on your brilliant victory in the Pacific, which fitly salutes the end of your first 10 years."

Many thanks to the History Channel for this summary. You rock.

Easing up

2007-03-01T13:57:00.000-05:00

I think I can finally breathe again. It comes with our nature, I believe, to over think things and mull over them until the point of obsession. At least it is mine! As soon as an idea forms within my mind, forget common sense and reality. Take my last few posts for example. Well, just the last two. The first one (Stupid wonderful life) obsessed over moving out on my own. I don't think I'm bold enough to say my mind. When, through patience and consideration, I was able to talk it out with someone I respect, I found that I wasn't fearful, I wasn't a coward, I just plain and simple felt no need to strike out on my own. Now that I've addressed that issue, it's probably very likely that I will. But now that I've calmed down and don't have to, I'm much more open to the idea. I had a horse that every time I introduced something new, she balked. As soon as I released her from any pressure of having to do that, the next time I asked her she was more than willing to go through with it.

I think it comes with the territory. I'm a fairly cheerful person. To think negatively feels like nails on chalkboard and so my joy is very dear to me, we get along quite well. However, my joy is something that once obtained, I have to fight to retain. Doubts and insecurities will creep in as soon as joy walks through the door. It's hard to fight for something that is now overshadowed by doubt! What's the point in fighting for something that might not really exist? It's easy to be joyful when surrounded by joyful people, but as soon as I'm alone the doubts creep in. Not fair, huh! Well, I like to think I'm a hot commodity for the Kingdom and if my joy is stolen, then who will I want share His love with? I tend to frustrate, annoy, and irritate those around me (as does anyone in my position) when my joy is gone, it's just against my nature. I become grounded in myself and desperate to try anything to regain my joy. Things dear to me become even dearer (aka my life, those close to me) and I fear that if my joy is gone, I'll lose them.

It's scary to be so honest! What eventually (hopefully sooner rather than later) happens though is that somewhere along the line, the Spirit manages to force it's way through all the commotion and through me a lifeline. There's always a note attached to this lifeline with these words, "I AM." At the risk of sounding.... cheesy, He is my calm in the storm. I step out of the whirl of my life and into His calm reality. My life is not my own, everything around me and in my life is there only for as long as God wills it. Such sweet surrender comes from that knowledge. It's quite freeing actually. I'm pretty sure there's a nice little pattern in my blogging as well. Weeks will go by lighthearted and cheerful, then there will be a flurry of desperate sounding posts, followed by the "whew, I made it through," post. This is one of them. David had them too.

Wait, a tic.. don't those with genius capabilities go through these ups and downs? Hmm.

The Great Steeds of Wakefield

2007-02-28T14:07:00.000-05:00

When I was a child, horses were my life. I had the most adorable Dartmoor Pony (see links for more detailed info : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dartmoor_Pony, http://www.imh.org/imh/bw/dart.html), named Fondly Marietta, we called her Etty. When I was about 3 or 4 years old (approximately 3 or 4 years into my riding career) a trailer pulled up to the house and out popped the most darling (aye, she was darling) little pony ever. During the summers I would snatch her out of the field, take a long line (lunge line), and tie one end to the swing set and hook her up to the other end. Then I would find a bucket, turn it over, and clamber up onto her back. Usually I was wearing a dress, or something similarly girly, so that I would feel like a real princess on her trusty steed. Then I would lie back on her, with my head on her rump, and just doze. I can still feel the sun on my face and hear the sound her chomping on the grass. She would slowly move around and my head would roll from side to side when she shifted her hind feet. Never once did she take off. Never once did she spook. Never once was I ever concerned for my welfare. I don't know what my mother was thinking. Can we say dangerous. Looking back I can't believe she let me do that, but looking back, I wouldn't have had my mother change a thing. I thank God my mother was so trusting.

Moving on. We've had plenty of horses these past 24 years. Just for fun I thought I'd list a run-down of them all. Or at least the one's I remember. This is really more for my benefit than anyone else. Read if you so desire.

Red Cloud-huge, obnoxious, loveable Paint.
Beau- Delicate, trustworthy, do-anything Crabbet Arabian gelding. I learned to canter on him (and he was twice as big as Etty).
Abby- Cranky, unscrupulous grey mare. Dam of Shooting Star.
Shooting Star- Surprise colt (boy) of Abby. Hence the unscrupulous part about his momma. Grandson of famous Quarter Horse stud Impressive (who was later found out to have HYPP- designation for crazy genes..literally, his offspring are crazy. The Quarter Horse Association has much information on that subject if you're interested.) I was supposed to do all my riding on him when he got older but two things happened. One, my mother had a dream where I was lying on the ground with him standing saddled beside me. Two, he ran between two trees and shattered his hip. I stood with him for about 3 hours while my father tried desperately to find a vet to come out. He was beautiful.
Etty- dark/blood bay pony mare. I've mentioned her. She threw me off three times in a row. Mom promised to catch me the second time. Yeah, my butt hit the ground each time except for the last. I know she threw me more times than that.
Bessie and Beauty- Two grey Percherons (Arabian-esque draft horses). One winter we had a huge party for people (city folk from C-bus) from our church. Dad hooked the mares up to our sweet black wagon and gave rides to the Christmas Tree farm 3 miles away, all day. Dad liked the mares a lot. He'd go out into the woods with them hooked to the stone-sled (long flat sled) and bring it back overflowing with firewood. Once Bessie stepped on my mom's foot. So glad it's finally funny. We sold them to some awesome Amish friends in Holmes County, the Stuzmans.
Prince- Vaguely remember him, not really that smart, flighty. Sold.
Roscoe- Grey mutt/"Grade" horse. Smart horse, very friendly, lovable, trustworthy. One winter it iced 3 inches think all over the place and he foundered (sugar, "fructon" I think, destroys the interior of the hoof). So... we put him down. My mom really liked him.
Candy- Tennessee Walker. Huge horse, very sweet, VERY big. We kept her over the summer for the "Bluejacket" outdoor drama company. I fell off her and landed on my head. Got back on though!

Fast forward... and I'm now 12. Al those horses were either sold (Prince, Abby, the Percherons) or were put down (Red Cloud, Beau, Roscoe, Etty, Shooting Star). We always put down the horses when they showed signs of struggling when they were dying. I think Etty is the only one that died naturally.

Since then we've had:
Magic- Psycho Appaloosa mare who scared the crap out of Ashlie and myself. That girl was nuts.
Chip-P.O.A (Pony of the America's.. cross between a Shetland and an Appaloosa.) Had her for a couple years and used her in 4-H. Great trail pony, rotten in the show ring. Got struck by lightning! (what a way to go out!)
Hitter and some other paint that I can't remember-Bought them at an auction for mom. Sold the other one, and then sold Hitter after she flipped over on my mom. They weren't half bad at first! Ok, Hitter was. Wench.
P.Q (Precious Queen)- My first Thoroughbred that I actually traced back to the Goldophin Arabian (famous Arab stud sent to England and then "accidentally" sired a colt with Roxanne (who was meant for another stud). Turns out his son (and subsequent offspring) were the fastest England had ever come across. The G.A can be found 14 times in P.Q's lineage.... which is common amongst TBs. I wanted a foal out of her really bad, so when she was 16 we bred her with a neighbor-ish stallion name Pittsburgh (very big, very nice, very talented.) I prayed that baby into conception and now I have...

(The following are the current horses)

Hadassah!- Big filly of P.Q and Pitt! She's got a wonderful temperament and is off to a great start. I'm just letting her grow up and settle into her bones for now. One day though, we'll be doing Cross-Country, hopefully all over the world. I think she's my dream horse.
Sully- Short for Solomon. He's a big baby and quite reliable. Walks where he's looking, even when you're riding him. Good guy though, good guy. Has a bad habit of licking people.
Doc- Quarter-pony with big attitude. He's the leader of the pack and isn't afraid to show it. Very bold, very reliable, pals around with Kiwi.
Kiwi- Quarter-pony mare. Could be in-foal by Reagan. Pals around with Doc for the most part. This little gal has thrown me three times at the canter. Once I landed on my back on the gravel driveway with the saddle on top of me. She's real sweet though and I do think she's apologetic.
Missy- Quarter-pony mare. Has a filly named Beauty who is just the nosiest, sweetest, peskiest filly out there. Missy might be in-foal by Reagan as well. Turns out that boy can jump fences like none other!
Reagan- Morgan/Arab (Morab) cross gelding. Er.. newly gelded gelding. Seems he likes the quarter-pony mares a bit too much. Very sweet head and has wonderful conformation. Used to be a biter but we "nipped" that in the bud real quick.
Shadow!- Wonderful dapple grey Saddlebred/Arab cross. He's the greatest guy ever. Bought him from an abusive home, fattened him up, and he's now the sweetest, most wonderful guy ever. He's quite handsome. A bit too fat and a bit too spoiled, but Ellie rides him like she owns him, and he couldn't be more happy. He's very romantic.
Molly and Bucky- Our two real ponies. Molly is as ancient as Adam and Bucky's about 4. Molly is semi-blind, slow, and very old, and she kicks (she's a Shetland too). Bucky is a feisty little Shetland/Miniature cross who resembles a Trojan horse. He's become much nicer but he still looks evil and I never go anywhere where he might be. He used to chase us around the paddock and try to bite our legs off. Caleb's been working with him and so far.. there's been an improvement.

Wow. That's a lot of horses! If there is one thing my parents have sacrificed, it's a life of comfort and ease to give us children a life of real experiences. We've always had horses. Horses don't last forever, and my mom was with each horse during their sick times and dying times. My dad would lead them out to the back pasture with the vet when their time came. Through their pain and hard work though, they've taught us priceless lessons.

We've learned responsibility, the reality of life and death, and how to love. We've learned how to overcome embarrassment (nearly running over a judge), how to face failure (getting bucked off) and how to overcome that failure (getting back on). We've learned how to be bold (going off on a ride ourselves) and the power of prayer when being bold is risky (too many experiences to count). We learned that getting up at 5:00 am to go out and feed horses all through the school year is not as bad as one would think (of course, now that I'm not doing that... I can say it!). We've learned to cherish the moments we have with our horses (even if it means getting slobbered on and stepped on and mucking out their stalls) because they're not going to be here forever. Life happens and you can't blame God.

Also, the farm is always going to be dirty. And where there's a farm, there's a cat. And where there is one cat, another will always follow. It's like it's the French Resistance: "Wakefield's just got in a load of grain... bet they'd appreciate a tighter guard on the grain. Might want to show up on their doorstep with a mouse. If you head on over and meow pitifully at around 7p, you might get lucky and have the young girl hear you. Suckas!" (although, I doubt the members of the French Resistance said "Suckas!"....now the members of the French Revolution are a whole other case.) Hah hah, mental image of half the cats saying "Suckas..." seems quite plausible.

Stupid wonderful life

2007-02-27T16:59:00.000-05:00

Well, it's not stupid, but it can be aggravating at times! I do have a nicer post that's being mulled over but until then, this is how I feel.

I'm aggravated. Not at God, not with God's plan for my life, I'm absolutely in love with Him. I'm aggravated that I'm a pansy. I'm irritated that I don't want to move out of Ohio/Columbus without a close friend to be with me. I'm aggravated that Becky can move to Florida, Ashlie to Colorado (but she does have close friends out there), and Leslie to Cleveland then on to who knows where. I'm aggravated that I don't want to move out of Columbus because I'm actually worried that I might get mugged, abducted, or raped. Here's the kicker: I don't know that I would worry about that if I moved to a foreign country! Here's another little bit: I just don't think that I want to put myself out there in harm's way! Am I saying that all women who live on their own will be raped/mugged/abducted? No, but the chances are very high. Am I saying that by living in C-bus I'm limiting my chances of those things happening? Nope, but I do have a roommate. She's awesome. She carries mace while I flitter about without a care to my well being.

I'm angered that I think like this. I'm angered that I think about my well being and take into consideration that harm might come my way, so I take precautions to avoid it. I should be fearless. I should remind myself that God is with me at all times and nothing happens outside of His will. That said, I still don't want to move out on my own, sans roommate. I love people and having people around me, heck, having 7 roommates for 3 years was awesome! Thinking of living in a new town without close friends is.... not appealing. But I am brave! I do brave things! I travel the world by MYSELF! Ask anyone who knows me and they'll not call me a coward. I am brave like Becky and Leslie. I don't mind being by myself, I do know deep down that the Lord is with me. Really, deep down I know that. There's just something within me that rises up and says, "Man, no. I really don't want to do that!"

I think I'll go bang my head against the wall for a bit.

And if any of you quote scripture at me, I'll bang your head against the wall. Hey, I'm just being real...... and I'll really do it.

Stupid life. Am I not supposed to die to myself and live for Him? As a Christian I'm not called to worry about my well being! I'm not to give a care about myself. I think I've arrived at Frustration Station and I have one foot on the train to "Resting in Him," and the other in "selfishly-caring-about-my-own-life."

Well, now I've got to take off. I've got yogurt and orange juice in the trunk and if I don't get them into the fridge I might die of some parasite/virus/disease. Call that ironic.

L'isola di Iona

2007-02-21T12:54:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in quite some time (obviously) but hopefully this won't be as painful or time consuming as I keep thinking it will be.

Right about now I'm suffering from some remaining wisps of that painful travelling affliction they call ,"Jet Lag." So far I'm still (hah, still... like two days really) waking up at 3am and falling asleep around 6-ish. This means that around lunchtime I wander around the office in the hopes that I can find something that might keep me awake. Alas, coffee has lost it's hold on me and I fear I've become immune to caffeine. I'm also suffering from a lack of appetite. I was going to post about 3 weeks ago that I had been eating everything in sight (which is absolute truth), but I didn't mostly because it seemed ridiculous to just post that I had the appetite of 5 teenage boys. Now I've the appetite of a 80 year old lady with no teeth. Except I have teeth.

For all those who do read this post (and from what the public is telling me, quite a few of you do) in case you didn't know, I had been travelling for the last 9 days in Scotland. Hence the jet lag. 2 summers ago I spent a couple months in Italy and travelling around Western Europe/lower UK. Scotland has been my dream to visit since I was a young lass (mmhmm, and I did pick up some lovely vocab while over there) and after 20+- years, I finally made it. Scotland did not disappoint. She's as lovely as a country should be and more. Although I had planned on posting a few anecdotes, because they are so precious to me and so dear to my heart, I just cannot share them. I will share this in the hopes that self-deprecation will prove humoring.

Scene: Pitch-black evening, no stars out, no street lights, on the Island of Iona. Michael and I are walking back from the Bishop's House quiet service. There's one main road on Iona and our hostel is at the very end of it, down a farmer's lane, through a sheep pasture, and nestled among some crags. We're about halfway back to the hostel and it's been quite the journey in the dark. When I say you can't see anything, I mean, zero visibility. Suddenly a (unseen) dog starts howling and barking and proving itself quite the guard dog. I thought for sure it might be some large Doberman or such.

Michael: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.... Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil....." (etc)

Me: "Why are you reciting the Lord's prayer?"

Michael (whispering): "I'm not preparing to eat the dog, Sarah. I'm praying against it."

(end scene)

DISCLAIMER: I do know what the Lord's prayer is and I do know the 23 Psalm, I would like to remind all that all I could think about was the dinosaur-sized Doberman that was about to have me for a mid-evening snack. - Turns out the dog was a farm collie and friendly as all get out--yeah, not so hot with the whole dog barking interpretation.... I'll work on that though.

The truth be that my heart was eager for Scotland and the beauty that one's heart and soul desires was found there. The most precious little nooks and crannies of my heart that are reserved for embracing true beauty were loved on and filled. Each person's heart is unique in their shape and so only few things will ever fill and fit that mold precisely. My heart's mold ran over with all that tried to pour into it for each minute was filled with something that my heart desired. I remember kneeling down at the beach on Iona and thinking that if I just felt the sand in my hand and placed a tangible feeling to what I was feeling inside, I might be able to ground myself. I let the sand dribble down between my fingers and slowly rubbed the granules but instead of drawing me out of the whirl of beauty I was experiencing, it only proved to add to it. It only proved to show me that it was real.

This past year and much more so these past few months have taken me much deeper in my quest to know my Lord. I've continuously asked myself these questions:

Why am I a Christian?
What does it mean to follow Christ? (and by that, follow God/Holy Spirit)
When I shed all that does not pertain to the truth of following Christ (the things that we humans add that will supposedly help our relationship with Christ (rules and such)) what do I do with this freedom?
Should I be this free?

Mostly I've been dwelling on the whole concept of Free Will. I don't know if I shall be struck down by lightning with this next sentence (family joke), but I think I would be a Christian merely (hah, merely) for the sake of His Free Will. Now I am no philosopher or theologian (although, as a Christian I'm probably entitled to be) so for all ye great thinkers out there who know everything, please refrain from commenting. Allow me my mullings. Allow me to reference to 1 John 4: 7-19. The general gist is this: He loved us first (v 19). He didn't make me love him although each day is filled with loving Him because He loved me. I have been chosen, but I believe I had the free will to say aye or nay. The minute I said, "Aye," I walked through this gateway and when I had gone through and turned around on the back of the gateway it said "Chosen." But per usual, I digress.

I shall be hurt, heart broken, and wronged all my life. At some point I know I shall suffer great injustices. Many times people will hold things against me that I never committed or said. Lives of loved ones around me will be taken and those I hold dearest may turn from me and never love me again. There might be a time when I am greatly injured, either emotionally or physically, and I will never be the person I was prior to that. But for all of that, I will rejoice. For those who commit those wrongs against me are living proof that the Lord loves me. They have the very same free will that I have and for that I am desperately thankful. It is at the expense of the innocents that we all have the free will to love Him, but He shall stick true to His love for us. He loves all equally and is eager to share Himself with all equally. How could I love a God who loved me more than my neighbor? Evil men and women are just as equally given free will as the innocents and I love Him for that. And what more precious is this, knowing that the innocents shall suffer great harm and pain and abuse so that He might love us all, He has provided His Spirit so that we might always have healing and love readily available.

Now carry that in your heart and travel to the lands of Scotland and Iona and tell me that a pouring out of His love and beauty in your soul is unrealistic. So many "Christians" wander around morose with the complaint that they are never shown His love. I ask you if you've prepared your heart to receive it! Haven't you longed for His love? Why do you keep telling yourself that it's unrealistic? Don't ever let go to that which your heart deems as precious. What is unrealistic is this: that so many of you might come up to me and ask me why I have all the wonderful experiences! Why are you so envious?! I am no different! I refuse to give up the hope and desires of my heart. I shall cling to them like a drowning sailor in a hurricane clasps a life-ring. I might not have the mind of a physicist, I might not have the talent of a world class gymnast, and I might not have the ability of a surgeon. (I say might not just because I don't want the rest of you to feel bad if it turns out that I do :)) but I do know that in this life, I have His love and He has made known His love to me. That's all I care about.

Oh yeah. I don't know if I mentioned this, but Scotland was great! If you ever visit Iona, tell the people at the Abbey that the starving Americans sent them and send their best!

Wonderments

2007-01-29T16:42:00.000-05:00

That God created us with eyes. Bats don’t use their eyes to see and they get around just fine! Technically speaking, God didn’t have to create us with eyes but yet we have them. It is amazing that God cared enough about our relationships with one another and God’s creation that we were given eyes. I think I take them for granted. And I'm slightly fearful to look into them.

Humor. Why do we find things funny? Why do we laugh? Why is it so healthy to laugh? This puzzles me and yet I shall continue to laugh until I can laugh no more or all the funny people and things in life die off. Even then I shall continue to laugh at myself… so I guess I’ll laugh forever! (Surely God must have laughter in heaven.)

Four Mysteries from Proverbs 30:18-19 (New Living Translation)
“18There are three things amaze me, no, four things I don’t understand: 19how an eagle glides through the sky, how a snake slithers on a rock, how a ship navigates the ocean, how a man loves a woman.”

Stocks, bonds, and Roth IRAs. Thank goodness Josh set up my Roth but it’ll be years from now before the S&K 500 and I ever form a lasting friendship.

Beauty. It amazes me that certain things can appeal so perfectly to our senses. In that same line, that certain things can repel me so.

Imagination. One of the things (along with beauty) for which I needed no instruction.

Friendship. How is that people who have had the most polar upbringings may form a lasting friendship and that some friendships may find themselves bound by kindred spirits. Along with that, emotional bonds. I’m frequently amazed that two people may form an emotional bond and after their relationship has ended that bond will continue until it is healed.

Babies. Anything baby. Why is it that any living baby, be it human or animal, or even ideas, seems so wonderful and cuddly and delightful while still very young? Animals certainly cannot find any attraction in their young, I mean, look at the mates they pick! (I know, I know, it’s all about survival, but still!) There is no purpose for their young to be so darling! In that same strain, how is it that human babies can be such terrors! A little infant can reduce a grown man to tears and fear in less than 2 seconds. Why are they so precious?!

My car engine. Just today it started making a new terrific noise. I think though that it’s a ploy to harass me and be a daily reminder that although I can pretend to know what I’m talking about, I’ll never understand what the manifold gasket does. And yes, I've been shown a million times and just recently a good friend of mine sat me down and we watched movies and diagrams about it and he gets it but I haven't the slightest idea anymore.

Geniuses. The French guy who first made movies and Ford (or whoever developed the first steam vehicle) render me speechless and forever in awe. How do they do that? And how in the world do people write symphonies? How?! I tried to "channel" some Mozart while in Salzburg and I just could not conjure up anything! Not even a short little ditty.

The fact that I was ashamed to wear make-up. I strongly desire to walk around au naturel but good gracious! just let me step foot in the cosmetics aisle and I'm a sucker for a new mascara or blush or lip gloss! I'm reading a book called Travelling Mercies and in it the author describes using cosmetics as (and a I grievously paraphrase) "to enhance the beauty that is there, not cover it up." I felt as though a great burden has dropped off my shoulders because I was literally ashamed to be cosmetically inclined! Thank you so much Travelling Mercies authoress!

I'll be adding to this list often so do check back if you so desire.

P.S The snow has been falling off and on over the weekend and my little cheery lamplight and tree-friends are just absolutely delighted. They told me so. They also encouraged me to gaze out on the swirling snow in the lamplight and to take notice of the saplings' and pine tree's new attire..... as often as I so desired. I think they are all quite dashing and resplendent and shall take them up on their offer.

Warm, bright, cheery light.

2007-01-21T22:51:00.000-05:00

After much deliberation, it has been determined by the powers in charge (ahem, me) that while the hiatus in posting was necessary and a most deliberate decision, there happens to be certain occasions that arise and deem an untimely post necessary. I shall continue my hiatus/sabbatical after this post, as I am never one to take joy in going against my word. Ergo I shall break this draught of posting to bring you all some very important news.

Snow has arrived to Ohio and it is now officially winter!
When I say snow, I do not mean a dusting and I do not mean flurries. I mean three inches and counting and no roads plowed. I mean driving to church and wondering if it is cancelled and then fishtailing twice (the one time was with mother after church and as she is my witness, we were going sideways down the road and I pulled us out of it with nary a bat of the eye). When I say snow, I say BY JOVE IT HAS SNOWED!

To celebrate said snowfall I took a three hour nap at the rents and then went sledding and sledding and snowball-fighting. Tried hooking up the Great Dane to see if she'd pull me along while on the sled but she just pulled me along, sans sled. Can I just say this, and I don't know if I've ever mentioned it before, but I love snow. I really really really love snow. I love driving in it, I love sledding in it, I love skiing in it, I love walking in it, and I certainly don't mind shovelling it. Snow is magical.

Right now I am sitting at my window in Columbus. There, right outside my window, is a most beautiful scene. A big pond stretches out before me and right in front of my window there is a lamppost. Next to this lamppost are a couple of saplings and a darling little pine and I like to think that they are a very happy group. There is no reason for this lamppost to be in such an illogical spot so I just know that it is there just for me. The tree limbs are covered in snow now and the pine tree looks romantic as a snow-covered pine tree should. The lamppost gives off such a warm golden glow that covers its friends and seems to be an invitation to admire the scene. Of course I am more than happy to oblige. It's my lamppost in Narnia.

Without this wonderful picture before me, I don't know that I could ever have returned to the city without despairing that I would miss out on this most marvelous snowfall. I have been giving a small present, a souvenir one might call it, and I am most blessed. The Lord knows just how to meet the small unspoken needs in my heart and takes great joy in filling them as a bridegroom should. Doesn't that speak volumes about the bride He is pursuing and His love for her?

Oh Dad.

2007-01-10T11:38:00.000-05:00

Ok, I lied. I couldn't wait to post this forward that my father sent me so NOW I'm starting my two week sabbatical from posting. (this is just to prove that Bri's father is not the only one who sends out crazy forwards) See you in two weeks.

Subject: THE DONKEY

One day a farmer's donkey fell down into a well. The animal cried piteously for hours as the farmer tried to figure out what to do.

Finally, he decided the animal was old, and the well needed to be covered up anyway; it just wasn't worth it to retrieve the donkey. He invited all his neighbors to come over and help him. They all grabbed a shovel and began to shovel dirt into the well.

At first, the donkey didn’t realize what was happening and cried horribly. Then, to everyone's amazement he quieted down.

A few shovel loads later, the farmer finally looked down the well. He was astonished at what he saw. With each shovel of dirt that hit his back, the donkey was doing something amazing.He would shake it off and take a step up.

As the farmer's neighbors continued to shovel dirt on top of the animal, he would shake it off and take a step up. Pretty soon, everyone was amazed as the donkey stepped up over the edge of the well and happily trotted off!

Life is going to shovel dirt on you, all kinds of dirt. The trick to getting out of the well is to shake it off and take a step up. Each of our troubles is a steppingstone. We can get out of the deepest wells just by not stopping, never giving up! Shake it off and take a step up. Remember the five simple rules to be happy:

Free your heart from hatred - Forgive.
Free your mind from worries - Most never happen.
Live simply and appreciate what you have.
Give more.
Expect less

NOW ............Enough of that crap........The donkey later came back, and bit the farmer who had tried to bury him. The gash from the bite got infected and the farmer eventually died in agony from septic shock.

MORAL FROM TODAY'S LESSON: When you do something wrong, and try to cover your ass, it always comes back to bite you.

Nota Bene

2007-01-09T22:18:00.000-05:00

Unfortunately, due to unforseen (and I mean, completely unforseen) circumstances, I will be taking a two week sabbatical from posting commencing yesterday. Posting will continue when there no longer lies within me the desperate urge to crawl into a hole and cry myself out of existance.

In Memoriam donations may be sent to:

The Ohio State University
C/O PTSD Committee for the Health of Ardent OSU Alumni NCAA Football Fanatics.
Columbus, OH 43210.

Linen shirts and leather boots.

2007-01-07T01:54:00.000-05:00

So it’s 11:59p on Saturday night as I start this entry. Right, wait a bit…. and now it’s 12a on 1/07/2007. Buona mattina tutti!

Now I know most of the rest of the world paid attention in history class (as I most certainly did) but I think I failed to realize just the extent to which Great Britain involved herself with Northern Africa. In the last week, in 3 completely unpremeditated and unrelated instances, I’ve read and watched examples of such. Just this week alone I read The Four Feathers and Sharpe’s Tiger, and today because it was the last movie in our pile that we have yet to see, Lindsey and I watched “The English Patient.”

All three books (we’ll include “The English Patient” as a book because it started out as such and will make this entry incredibly easier to write, so I’ll thank you not to make a big to do about what the book was like and how it’s probably not at all like the movie and how the book is so much better than the movie and blah blah blah. Hush. Besides, I don’t want your opinion whoever you are that wasted the time to read that sex-driven novel, as a matter of fact, I do believe that if you did read that book you should be in a state of penitence at the moment. Trash and no plot. It was a big affair that should have stopped but no, Katherine just couldn’t resist the adoring eyes of another man. Rotten behavior by most and I don’t know what he was thinking when he left her in that cave. I mean, please, start the credits rolling then because you KNOW what’s going to happen! If he loved her, he would have carried her or rigged up one of those Native American things that they pulled behind dogs and horses. Chavois? What the crap is that called? Right, hold on. (Commence grumbling about it being 12:30 and no idea what the heck that thing is called; they always talk about it in the books. Wakefield, come on!). GOT IT! A Travois! Now those Native Americans, they really know their stuff. If someone’s injured and there’s no water transportation available, THEY DON’T LEAVE THE YOUNG AND HELPLESS. GOT IT Cmte. Ralph Fiennes from Hungary? Idiot. There’s a war going on and he’s got some name that’s Hungarian but the Americans/Canadians/Brits don’t really care at this point because they’ve been getting the crap kicked outta them for years and now it’s revenge baby. Tough crap ol’ chap. You should have known. Plus you left her to die all by her lonesome and now she’s writing poetry about it!(p.s. she probably died hating your guts) Here’s what you do my good man, you rip off the rest of the wing that was shattered in the plane crash and use it as a sled, rig up a mast with the wing supports, then you tie all the rest of the parachute silk to it and presto! You’re windsurfing on the sand and you’re taking the love of your life (cheaters that you are) with you so that she won’t be left behind when you get mistaken for a German count and have to travel far far away then jump off a train and nearly break your ankle in the process. And you wouldn’t have to betray your country to fly back to her to get her AFTER she died and then crash and then burn your face up and then die) [1] deal with lots of desert and fighting and the Brits.

So anyway, where was I? Oh wait, one more point. If we as a people do not want to see naked people in public, what the heck makes you think we want close ups of naked people in movies for SEVERAL REALLY LONG SCENES? I avoid looking at naked people in public (Barcelona, Italy, Downtown Columbus), I certainly don’t want to have to sit through MULTIPLE scenes in a movie looking at a naked person. I know I choose to watch the movie but should I have to sacrifice a movie just because somewhere someone said naked people are supposed to be entertaining? And with that, what is with the sex scenes? What purpose do they serve? Don’t we all joke about shuddering at the thought of those old dorm days with your roomies and their mates (fyi, my roomies never did, they all were freaking fantastic)? If we don’t want to watch it in real life, then why is it in there when it doesn’t have to be? We get that they’re having an affair, we’re not daft, we don’t need you to spell it out for us! And I know I would lose this argument if ever confronted with opposition but I’m allowed to have my opinion here, whew. And don’t get me started on that whole “Yes, but this is art,” crap. I know art when I see it and there was nothing “Birth of Venus,” about this.

This is so not where this post was headed. I cannot even recall where I was going with this. Something about sand and Brits and lions and tigers. Oh right, Africa. This whole desert thing is starting to grow on me. I’ve always wanted to read T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom (the T.E. Lawrence of “Lawrence of Arabia”, you know, Peter O’Toole, early 1900’s, desert) and I have read Kenneth Robert’s Lydia Bailey, and “The Last Crusade,” is one of my favorite movies, along with “The Black Stallion Returns,” “Hidalgo,” and any movie set in a desert for that matter (just as long as there are no scorpions involved, I absolutely hate scorpions.) So, I want to travel Northern Africa. That’s the point. I should have studied archaeology and headed down to Egypt or Tunisia or even Algeria, but no, I didn’t. History might help I do believe. (wink wink, maybe a little). I think I would like to see the endless miles of sand dunes. There’s something very adventurous about the desert and its mysteries. I want to see the stars at night out there, under an endless sky. I want to race the wind on an Arabian horse and laugh when we come to the end of our course. Realizing that there is more to the desert then riding horses and crossing sand dunes and staring at the sky (though what else there is I don’t know) I am fully prepared to prepare myself for all that comes with my dreams.

A point about the Brits and the desert is this: The Brits, a cold, wet, and dreary group, (whom I’ve always thought were contented to live as Englishmen due to the fact they all stemmed from the same Celtic/Anglo/Saxon/Jute backgrounds and obviously chose the British Isles because they liked them) managed to wrangle their way into a land that in no way resembled England and set up a thriving economy and (at some points) a government and many Englishmen actually stayed there! But it is understandable to me why the British would have been so keen on Northern Africa. Look at where they lived! England is like the size of a postage stamp! Everything is packed in nice and cozy to make room for everyone and out in the desert, there’s nothing but hundreds of miles of nothing! Who knew that a country that small would eventually become known as the empire upon which the sun never sets! It takes determination and an urgency inspired by the prospect of near-death to accomplish what they did. In no way am I condoning one nation taking over another nation but I must give credit where credit is due. (But if ya’ll ever head back to the States, remember this: you gave up once, do you really want that shame again? This young buck of a country is growing up and growing up quick…just thought I’d throw that out there, in case the tides ever changed)

Next time: Cowardice. Who has felt its stung, when does it most commonly attack, why does it attack, and how we can prevent it. (I have, when I'm skiing, because I got off the bunny hill and am now looking down a flippin' mountain, by staying in the lodge)

[1] Right, I know what you’re thinking, all that was in parentheses?

Run Chicken, Run!

2006-12-20T16:04:00.000-05:00

I'm at my aunt and uncle's house in the country this week. It's an absolutely gorgeous house filled with antiques and my aunt's art works. It's pretty much a vacation. Located on about 10 acres with a pond and weeping willows and garden after garden, it's also home to some goats (for goats milk) and chickens, and several dogs and cats. Let me lay this out there, I pretty much hate chickens. I like eggs and fried chicken and any chicken dish you can imagine. I detest, nay, loathe, live chickens.

Far be it from me to disturb any chicken for fear they might claw my eyes out. Yet disturb I had to otherwise the mean ol' fox in the field might eat them or that chops-licken' raccoon down by the pond. So being the good niece that I am and fulfilling my house-sitting/farmhand responsibilities I headed back out to the barn to round me up some chickens. I would have left them alone to sleep (or die) in peace (unless they're dying) but no, cousin Josh thought it most imperative that the chicken coop contain all chickens. Forget that I might get my eyes CLAWED OUT! Forget that I might never get to see again! Forget that no chicken is important enough to risk physical harm! Nope, come hell or high-water, them chickens was going in th'coop.

Armed with nothing but my trusty dog Murphy (chuckle, yeah, not feeling the whole trusty part with a name like Murphy, but you never know) and a huge dose of courage, I strutted into that barn like a Banty rooster, sized up a hen, and squinting through my right eye (hey, if I'm going to lose them to a flippin' chicken, I'm not going down with eyes wide open), I reached out and hoped for the best. Well, if hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, I'd hate to see what the analogy is for a disgruntled layer. That hen let loose like her tail was on fire. Feathers flew, hay flew, and squawking like you've never heard before. You would have thought I was chasing her with a frying pan the way she let off.

Chickens 1, Sarah 0

There were 3 hens left on the fence so I gathered my wits and headed for the second one. By the way, Murphy, my fearless companion, yeah, not so fearless. He was huddled behind some hay bales watching me with an amused expression on his black curly face as if to say, "well, I never said I'd help!" And the goats! Oh those Alpines, I knew they were mocking me! They were all lined up in a row to watch the action. I'm surprised the peacocks weren't around hooting and hollering. Well, it's better than having a human audience..... I think.

The next chicken snatching fared as well as the first, only this time all the chickens left the fence and scattered throughout the barn. Great, now my chicken record's as good as my P-I-G record against my 11 year old brother! Just then my little eye spied some other, more sleepy looking, victims in the goat pen. At this point I was bound and determined that at least one chicken was going to get in that coop if it was the last thing I did. So I snuck into that goat pen, along the wall, and over to the corner where my last chances at redemption dozed peacefully (or so I thought). If I had snuck up behind them and set of a fog-horn it wouldn't have been any different. This time I held on longer and did my best to secure that blasted chicken in the crook of my arm (apparently that's what you're supposed to do). But apparently the tighter you cling to that chicken, the more frantic it becomes, and this time ALL the chickens outside of the coop, along with the one previously held in my arms, ran either all through the barn or outside into the night. And Murphy chased them. And I stood there, wounded and dejected. And the goats laughed.

Apparently herding chickens doesn't work as well. Tomorrow night, if that chicken doesn't make it's coop-curfew, well, say hello to Mr. Fox and Mr. Raccoon, they've an outstanding invitation to dinner.

Happily mistaken!

2006-12-18T16:59:00.000-05:00

Attitudes are not to be relied upon. Prayer changes attitudes. Thus prayer is to be relied upon.

Earlier I discussed the matter of my dysfunctional family and our dysfunctional Christmas gathering. Funny thing, before I went to our dysfunctional celebration, I gave it up to Christ and said "Do with it what you will, I, however, will not enter that house bearing anything but a Christ-like attitude and mentality." Turns out it was one of the best, if not the best family Christmas gathering I have ever attended. It was hard to enter the house with my "I love my family because Christ loves my family" mentality but as I had given it over to the Lord already I washed my hands of the whole matter and decided to celebrate at any costs. (thanks to some orange juice and champagne, it was a heck of a lot easier than I thought! .... ok, kidding, really. (well, not tooo "really." but yeah, nevermind))

Also as it turns out, my uncle has a 1959 Austin Healey "Bugeyed" Sprite. You can imagine how we got along after I told him about my 1976 MG-B! If I bought that car just for the look and appreciation on my uncle's face for that one day, it was worth it. He was literally stunned out of his socks and throughout the entire time, my uncle, my esteemed uncle, sought me out to talk about cars. He even volunteered to wash and wax it if I brought it over. He's so excited to go to Mid-Ohio Vintage car races with our cars (tee hee, this is so great) and... well, I just can't get over how surprised and excited he was. Plus he let me ride in the Sprite with my cousin Michael at the helm, who had never even driven the car before. My cousin Michael and I have never spoken more than ohh... 5 sentences between ourselves and Saturday, we chatted the whole afternoon! Talked about his new restaurant, his wife's car, talked about motorcycles, OSU, you name it. As for my aunts... well, next time I'll bring some exotic dish and we can talk about cooking and decorating and such. Anyway, the power of prayer is not to be underestimated. (and if you have a spare vintage car handy, that helps too).

So much for being a "British" car.

2006-12-14T09:36:00.000-05:00

So I'm ranting and as soon as I post this, it will (ok, might) be over. But still....

http://www.latimes.com/business/la-fi-chickasaw10dec10,0,7483753.story?page=1

So I'll finally get the "new" MGF and maybe the MGR but that's not the point. Point is: I don't care that they made MGs in the U.S 30 years ago, I care that now we can no longer call it a British car. It's like making tea in China and then moving the factory to South America with African investors and calling it "Chinese Tea." Or making Belgian chocolates and then moving the entire factory over to....Afghanistan and merging with Mongolian investors and calling the chocolate, "Belgian Chocolate." The recipe may still be the same but HELLO, it's no longer true Chinese tea or Belgian Chocolate. EVERYONE knows you have to go to the original country to get the valid object. *sob* it's just not the same.... *another sob* I don't want everyone else to have the same car.....*pounds the desk* I want to be unique...I want to be original.......What? Yes I'm 23! 5 year old? Excuse me? Tantrum? I beg to differ, it's called being passionate, and yes, the floor of my office is just fine. SO THERE!

And yet another ramification for the Western Expansion. Isn't that just great.

The Solution

2006-12-13T09:48:00.000-05:00

Good gracious! So I've been ranting for several posts (2) that I'm never going to go past the "good" emotion to ecstatic or tragic. After talking to a good friend of mine I realized that that's not important. What is important is this: I must make the most of this "good" time that I have. To let it go by without utilizing this peaceful time would be a waste. This is the time to read and delve into the Word. This is the time to fill myself up on the knowledge of Him. If I'm going to be in a "good" time then I'm certainly going to make the most of it.

Solution: For period of "easy times" use every moment and all spare time to "brush up" or explore the heart of God from all aspects and learn as much as possible while I can.

Meet me here, dear heart.

2006-12-12T14:04:00.000-05:00

Nota Bene: I love most movies. Not all movies but most movies. Not silly chick-flicks or horror/gory movies and not romantic comedies but the movies where deep inside you emotions are affected by the circumstances and characters in that movie. The emotions that the world does not see and you yourself might not know what they are but they are moved. Be it action/adventure, drama, or even comedy. Do not discredit emotions because they might react to a movie. Do not scoff but know this: whoever created that movie and whoever had the idea for that movie knew those emotions you are feeling. That's my take on it. I will be referencing to many a movie character in this post, if you're one to jest and poke fun then this post is not for you to read. Thank you.

It's come to this: I have resigned myself to the knowledge that I will most likely lead a peaceful and harmonious life for the next 60+ years (or longer, depending on if they find that stinkin' Fountain of Youth... gosh Cortez! *chuckle*). For many people that would be a desire met. How many people long for a peaceful life in harmony with the rest of mankind? And I take it for granted. Strife, I do not ask for but possibly tragedy and most definitely adventure and passion. I only ask that I feel. I want to know that I can feel.

I recently took a personality test for church and basically I'm personality-less. Well, not true, but the results came back that I had unclear goals in life and thus my personality at this time cannot be determined. Well, my core personality that is, my outer mask is one of "Adviser." Whoopdy Doo. It's true though, I do have unclear goals. In fact, I wonder if my goals (other than loving and following my Lord which is definitely the prime goal of my life) even exist. I would even go so far as to say that in lieu of the fact I do not have any goals that in and of itself is a reflection of the lack of emotion within me. Follow? Right, probably not, but pretend you do.

Point is: Am I never to experience a Great Adventure and a real passion for something? (Before I go to far, realize that I'm not asking for tragedy and a harsh life, just adventure and passion and not passion as the world would think) I used to think that I was a mistake. Not a pregnancy mistake but that God is preparing for the Rapture and realized that little curly-haired me still had yet to grace the Earth with her presence (that's right, grace you all with my wonderful presence...yup, you heard me) and so he threw me in right quick before the end times. Now I know those are only lies from the enemy of our souls but it's still hard not to wonder why I am here now. Why not 700 years ago? Why not 100 years ago? (nota bene due: Yes, I know how hard it was back then, I happen to know a bit about history so back up off it) Why now? Why in the U.S? Why in Ohio (Well, obviously God is a Buckeye...)

If I am created uniquely to love the Lord my God with all my heart, soul, and strength, and if I am created the way I am, with these desires for adventure and passion, then is there a reason for this cubicle existence? Point is: Will I ever be rescued like Elizabeth in "Pirates of the Caribbean," and Jessica in "Man from Snowy River"? Will I ever sob like Christian in "Moulin Rouge"? Will there be a daring mission where I am needed? Will I ever risk my life to save another's as Maj. Winters does in "Band of Brothers"? Will I ever really care about something? Am I not focused on the Lord enough? Have I skipped over something basic in Christianity 101? Is it because I live in the U.S? Or is it a matter of faith? It could very well be that I must wait. All that is needed is a promise that yes, I will partake in a great adventure and will know someday what it is to be passionate about something. (I feel a lot better now that I wrote this all down, not so... panicky now)

I love how soundtracks and certain songs pluck at your heartstrings. I've been listening a lot to the "Pirates of the Caribbean" and "Last of the Mohicans" soundtrack along with "Star Wars," "Man from Snowy River," "Rhapsody in Blue," and "Saving Private Ryan." Throw in some more instrumental soundtracks and my heart is all over the place. Then I start looking over pictures of England and France and next thing you know, I"m thinking "Ok Lord, what about the part where I'm supposed to be a young Lady Wakefield cantering all over the countryside?" Oh yeah, and "Lord... what the heck am I doing in Ohio? Shouldn't I be winning cross-country event or travelling around on a small yacht, living off the ocean? What about the part where I help find a historical treasure? Remember that life I'm supposed to save in that foreign land? What about where I'm sitting on the patio of a small villa overlooking the clear waters of an Alpine lake?..... Um, Lord...?"

And that's what starts a post like this one.

The Agony of Earth

2006-12-11T18:12:00.000-05:00

Do you ever watch a movie and it so stirs you that you cannot watch it again for several months?

I do. I’ll watch a movie and it will break my heart in a way that I cannot express. The girl deep inside of me will cry out and say, “That’s supposed to be me!” It’s a very rare movie that will have that effect on me but when it happens, it’s a most severe stab to the heart. There is never a greater blow to the heart than the one that affects the soul. The girl that I really am, the perfect girl inside who I really would be without the Fall, cries out because she knows that character. She says, “Yes, that is me, that is who I should have been!” Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m now and I am who I am because that is who I've been created to be but the Fall’s effects are still being felt. Wouldn’t we all be different (drastically) had the Fall never happened? I digress. The point is not the Fall but the person you are deep within that has remained unaffected by the Fall and that is your true person, your Name.

Recall that in heaven we will all be given our True name. I maintain that there is part of me that knows my True name and when it comes across examples of it in this world, my soul leaps out with that recognition. When that happens I am not sure of how I should handle it. I just know that I cannot go near whatever it was that my soul knew because of the heartbreak that ensues. The object that my soul recognizes as part of my Name nearly pierces my soul and that area is so tender that to go near it again would only cause more heartbreak. Certain music, books, movies, and interactions cause that injury. The injury, besides being composed of heart-wrenching pain, also feels like a kick to the stomach. The days after said event usually are filled with a certain amount of grief, despair, and a touch of depression. My heart, interestingly enough, does feel a great amount of joy in the recognition of a part of its Name but the aftertaste of reality sets in not soon after.

Heaven will be that Name. I’ve no doubt now that Heaven will be that which fulfills my soul’s thirst for a Name. If ever I wanted to be a character in a movie, the agony that my soul feels by that desire will be met by Heaven. That is where I will be whole, that is where I will be my Name, I will be the true Sarah.

John Eldredge’s book Wild at Heart, which should be read by every human, talks in great detail about the moments here on Earth that are glimpses of heaven and our true Names. Nostalgia is a great example, i.e. “The Good Ol’ Days,” another example would be when hiking out in the countryside and the view just takes your breath away. Music and lyrics that “speak” to you, books where your soul says, “Yes, I know that! Art, be it in any form, that causes your heart to ache even just a bit are tastes of what Heaven will be. Heaven is not The Land of Fulfillment of our every “worldly” desire nor is it the land of eternal harp playing (or attempting, for some of us). If our soul reacts towards those particular moments here on Earth when it recognizes its true name, can we not acknowledge that He Who created us will not deny us our true identity when we are reunited with Him? Would the Bridegroom deny anything His Bride? If He surrendered His very life so that we might be reunited with Him for eternity, if He has gone through those great lengths even to death, to save us, do you honestly believe He would relegate us to anything less than complete unity with our Truthful names?

That is what my soul must realize in order to continue on past the brutal agony when it cannot be joined with its Name in this life. The pain is much to “personal” to bear without the promise of eternity as my Name. The simple things that speak to my soul i.e. the desire to be the beauty to be rescued, the desire to share in a great adventure, and the desire to be desired, are just too great to be ignored. Yet I cannot help but resign myself to the knowledge that those desires will not be met during my time on this Earth. Those desires were created for a reason, they are there because they are who I am, but they will not be met now. And that is why my hope rests in He Who created me. Those are the treasures I look forward to, nay, desperately look forward to, enjoying.

Tidings of NOT joy!

2006-11-30T21:27:00.000-05:00

My family spells our last name D-y-s-f-u-n-c-t-i-o-n. That's right, dysfunction. And you know what, it's not just my immediate family, as it turns out my entire family tree on either side all have the same last name! Freaky. Hey, want to invite the Dysfunctions over? Sure, they're always good for amusement. Did you hear about that family that is getting together 2 WEEKS BEFORE CHRISTMAS AT 11:30 AM to celebrate Christmas? Why no I didn't! Yes, it's the DYSFUNCTION family. Dad Dysfunction, Mom Dysfunction, Big Brother Dysfunction, Little Sister Dysfunction, Aunt and Uncle Dysfunction and all our little Dysfunction cousins!

Riddle me this: what kind of family, FAMILY, gets together TWO weeks (14 days or 336 hours) before Christmas, at 11:30 AM to celebrate?

My family. My insane, dysfunctional, related only by blood and name, completely ridiculous family. Hey everyone, let's celebrate Christ's birth by pretending we're only friends and scheduling a convenient time DURING LUNCH. What better way to help our nieces and nephews and grandchildren bond and grow together? That's right, over ham and pie, early enough before Christmas that everyone forgets that we even met. I mean, we only meet once a year anyway, why make it special? Why make it memorable? Why even try?

That's why when I have a family (there, I said it) we're getting together for Christmas no earlier than 2 days before Christmas and I am living in a house big enough for everyone to stay over. Heck, we might just all stay together for the entire time from Christmas to New Years. Why not? We'll bake and cook and eat and drink and play cards from dawn till dusk. We'll make snowmen (because God couldn't possibly deny us snow-- um...please Lord?) and we'll decorate cookies. I'll have my parents over (they're pretty awesome) and brothers and sister and my husband can have his family over and the adults will stay up late and drink wine and no matter what differences may pop up, we'll work through them. Our house will be lit with candles and pine scents from our tree and pine boughs and lights will be everywhere! And we'll have Wassil and Mulled Cider and Mulled wine. We'll stay up late and talk about Christ and the incredible passion of Christ and his love for us. We'll argue theology and discuss books and poems and the like.

That is when we will no longer be a dysfunctional family. Then and only then.

Two Races.

2006-11-28T12:02:00.000-05:00

Last night I wrote a post, published it, and then as soon as I woke up, took it down. I felt that although it was truly a good post, very honest, very genuine, it wasn't worthy of publishing. I desperately want to write a post. These last two weeks though, the time and energy have not been conducive whatsoever to writing anything. I have been mulling over an idea and I think I'm going to use it now, if anything it'll be a snack until something better comes along.

My Christian walk is like my running. Took awhile to get moving, but once I found the joy that comes with the running and the athletic fitness it brings with it, I wanted more. So I ran more. Like my Walk my faith was there (my ability to run) but I had never quite put it into action. Once I began Walking (running) I realized how important it is! Though there were times of great struggle and of pain and awakening and the ripping off of scabbed-over wounds, (burning lungs and running up hill) the cleansing of my heart and the dedication to He who created me overrode all the agony (similar to cleansing the body of toxins). I began to study so as to improve my walk (time), I committed myself to contributing to my Walk with devotions (committed time running), and I began to acquire essentials such as books by Lewis, Chambers, Eldredge, etc.(running shoes, shorts, tops). If I hurried and skipped over the essentials and tried to prove my faith too soon, (running too long too quickly and not stretching) I ended up battered and bruised a bit from reactions and situations I had not prepared for (stress fractures), having to go back and start over and this time, pay attention to the details of Christ's attitude and instruction.(returning to running after physical therapy). After it seemed I had plateaued in my faith and had no reason for exploring deeper into the Heart of God (running several 5Ks and doing fine) I would drop the ball in my Walk (quit running). Once however, I brought in structure to my life, be it via planner or what not; as soon as I re-introduced discipline (began going to the gym or outside), my Walk (running) would take off again!

If I lounged around the house, watched TV, or spent time on the Web, my walk (and running) suffered. So did the rest of my life. Friendships waned, going out and doing things slowed to a crawl, and sometimes depression would set in. The key is to keep moving. My parents taught me to never wallow in self-pity/ self-loathing but to just keep moving because I would eventually drag myself out of that slump. And they're right. Time after time, when I heeded their advice, I found myself ready to move on, ready to get Walking (running). Once you experience the change in your Christ-muscles (nice calves), you want more (toned thighs). It's hard sometimes to crack open that Bible or devotional (put on the shoes, get outside), but once you're in the middle of reading and praying, one realizes how imperative it is to continue the Race (running).

Some people would tell you to move along on a solid course. No depths or heights, just plug along running and walking without interruption and without change. I beg to differ. King David plunged to the depths and then soared to the heights. God loved his heart. If I stayed at a true horizontal walk, moving along in a tried and true pattern, where is the trust in Him? If my life were never to change, if I were to avoid all depths, I could not experience the heights. Just as if I always ran 2 miles, afraid that going 3 might kill me and 1 might not be enough. I'm neither challenging myself nor stretching the limits. I am lukewarm (hey, that sounds familiar!). My Walk may seem like a crawl or a sprint at times, but I prefer that to the tortoise. Slow and steady will finish the race, but the crawler/sprinter learns a lot more.

Just some winter humor!

2006-11-15T09:19:00.000-05:00

Happy Holidays!

2006-11-09T17:22:00.000-05:00

There is something about Christmastime that brings so much joy to my heart. This is the time when we celebrate Christ's birth; a time for all to publicly rejoice in redemption's arrival. I understand that nowadays the world wants us to say "Happy Holidays," instead of "Merry Christmas," but isn't it essentially the same? So I'm going to go on now in my blissful state and continue to sing the praises for this season. You know why I like it so much? Because deep within us all our souls, even those held captive, are celebrating. For some that voice is as tiny as a church-mouse's whisper, for others it is as loud as thunder, but in all of us it is there. The voice of our souls saying "my redeemer has come! Hallelujah, let us rejoice! Let us sing and shout for joy because today, on this day, salvation came into the world and we are set free!"

This is why I love the holidays. There is this atmospheric tension that seems to build. Each day is more pregnant than the last with the anticipation of our dear Savior's birth! And the whole world celebrates! Lights are strung up, bells are hung, tree's decorated, gifts bought, garland wrapped down banisters, carolers sing, Christmas music blares from every speaker available, and people bake the most delicious food ever! Do you realize no other day, nay, no other season can hold a candle (pun intended) to the amount of songs dedicated to this time? The songs go on forever! Beautiful melodic songs that we sing that began in the 12th century? What song do you know that began 9 centuries* (900 years) ago that we still sing? Right!

Yes this is a time for retailers to rejoice as well, but realize this, no matter how commercialized this time becomes, it only exists for one reason. For One reason is there this holiday season and quite frankly it can become as materialistic as anything because in the long run, in the end, the True Reason for this season will win. You can take my credit card but you can't take the Christ out of Christmas. You can change the name for all I care, you could make into whatever you want, be it Presents day, be it Spendallyourmoney Day, be it Reindeer Day, WHO CARES?! Do you really think that your soul will be change its tune just because our society (bear in mind it is only a society) is trying to warp this season? My soul will still rejoice and so will yours! If I were kept in a windowless room and my ears were closed, my soul would still know this season.

* O Come O Come Emmanuel.

For a plethora of Christmas Carols and Hymns, visit http://www.hymnsandcarolsofchristmas.com/HTML/The_hymns_and_carols_.htm

The Man in Black

2006-11-08T11:34:00.000-05:00

So I've been reading this biography (ahem, the authorized biography) of John R. Cash. As I first heard of him, way back in the day, he was known to me as Johnny Cash, Gospel singer and relatively boring person. I know, I know, I know, Johnny Cash boring? As I knew him, he hung out with Billy Graham and sang the old hymns and uninteresting gospels. Without watching Walk The Line, I would never have taken an interest in this man and his wife. Well friends, I shall commence eating crow because this man is probably the furthest thing from uninteresting.

So far this is what I've gathered: He became a Christian at 12, was traumatized by his brother's tragic death, entered the Air Force, married Vivian because (and I think so) he loved her, started his music career (and drug/alcohol abuse), had an affair with June, divorced Vivian, cleaned up his act, rededicated his life, and married June.

Did you know that after his marriage to June and rededication to living a Christ-like life he spiraled back into drug abuse? This is a man who was baptized three times, including one time in the Jordan River, made a movie about Christ, wrote a book about Paul, attended church regularly, had a hit TV show that emphasized a life with Christ, and was revered by many influential Christians (i.e. Billy Graham and his wife) and leading politicians. This man had a plantation in Jamaica, the house of his dreams outside Nashville, and another house somewhere else that he liked as well (yes, stellar description of the latter, huh?!). He had that long sought-after son, a wife he loved/adored, and a career of which he could be proud. Yet even with all that he hit the drugs again! After knowing that it once nearly killed his career, let alone him, he couldn't say no. Once again though, the people around him pull together and with them and the recollection of what happened those many year ago, he made it out of that deadly mire. That's as far as I am now in the book, but I know there's a happy ending and I know his relationship with the Lord deepens even further.

Doesn't that say something about what the Lord desires in his followers? Think about it, Abraham, David, and Paul (they're the only ones that come to mind at the moment). They were not lukewarm! They were men who screwed up, and recovered, and screwed up, and recovered. They didn't just sit around and twiddle their thumbs, saying "well, if I do nothing then I won't risk doing the wrong thing and getting in trouble, so I'll just sit here and make no trouble." Hmm... interesting, because when you read Revelation 3:15-16, the Lord doesn't say he only wants those who are piously following him. "15 I know your deeds, that you are neither cold nor hot. I wish you were either one or the other! 16 So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth."

Neither hot nor cold. Far too many times I believe I am lukewarm, never willing to risk; I'm the worker who buried his master's money in the ground. Always afraid I'm going to step on someone's toes, always afraid I'm going to hurt someone, always afraid I'm going to do whatever it is I set out to do wrong. You would think that after all the teachings, all the books, all the experiences I've been through already I wouldn't worry about failing. When it comes to a crunch time, when in the midst of a situation that calls for my decision, I never hesitate though. Under pressure, I will make a decision that I consider wise. It's the lull before that causes me to question everything and frown any action on my part. Being lukewarm is discouraging! You stand there in that tepid area, thinking "ooo, but what if I get too cold... what if I get too hot?" Oh I hate that I let the "What if(s)?" influence my life! Stupid hesitant bane of my life! (right now, bane of my life is the hit phrase).

I wonder what Johnny would have done.