an awkward encounter

It's strange sometimes, the little moments and awkward encounters that God sends our way to remind us of all that we have to be thankful for...

I went to Wal-Mart Monday night with a short list of things I needed to get -- one of them was new insoles for my tennis shoes. My beloved Nike cross-trainers have begun to show their age lately: long walks and thorough workouts are making my feet hurt because the soles of my shoes are almost completely worn through and without traction, and they just don't have the structure and support for side-to-side movement that they used to. But just as I cried when I drove away from my old Jeep for the last time, or when I chopped my unruly hair short for the first time in 20 years, I dread the separation anxiety that I know will come from parting with this comfy pair of old, reliable shoes. So I thought some good Dr. Scholl's might buy my Nikes some extra life support.

But as I stood in the footcare aisle at Wal-Mart, thinking all these morose thoughts about my dying shoes and trying to judge which insoles would make my feet stop hurting, a wheelchair came around the corner into my aisle, and in it was a young man with no legs. The irony of the moment absolutely flustered me -- there I was griping about my old shoes and sore feet, and there he was, perhaps wishing that he could feel the soreness of his feet once again.

I didn't buy any insoles. I couldn't, not in a moment like that. I just smiled and walked away empty-handed, completing my errands around the store and thanking God for my sore feet.

give my nose a pair of nikes!

I did a lot of running my pre-police academy days, but now I leave it all up to my nose. It's a good runner. It runs every day. Sometimes several times a day. I have always hated running, but my nose is apparently high on the endorphins it gets from all this running. I'm trying to walk gracefully through my workday, but the furious pace my nose sets makes it difficult to keep up with the Kleenex. You can only greet so many coworkers with that glistening snot moustache on your upper lip before something drastic must be done.

I'm calling Nike. This could be revolutionary -- just imagine! An aerodynamic, swoosh-designed device to help noses run more efficiently with less strain, some Jordan-endorsed way to maximize my nose's workout with minimal effort. Sturdy enough for long workouts, stylish enough for late evenings.

Nike Facial Tissue. Just blow it.

down time

I have had the most luxurious down time the past few weeks... an idyllic lack of busy-ness that will soon be over.

I spent Christmas week in Arizona with my family, watching LOTR with my dad, shopping with my mom, riding bikes with my nieces and nephew, having long conversations over really good food with my best friends, and never once setting a morning alarm.

I had a quarrelsome roommate move out of my house, taking all of the tension and turmoil out with her. And for a few brief weeks I've had the house to myself. Oh, the quiet and solitude -- just what I needed! Long days at the office dissolve into relaxation as I curl up in my favorite armchair and watch classic movies while I crochet a new afghan or scour the pages of a riveting new novel or biography. My house is once again a home... and I have been blessed with three new roommates who couldn't agree with me more about the importance of this principle. Our home is our sanctuary, a haven of peace and rest with an open door of hospitality and welcome.

And while my days at the office have been long, the pace of New Year's work has been leisurely, as everyone is slowly trickling in from their vacations.

While some may think all this relaxation and solitude is boring, I've learned to appreciate down time in all its shapes and forms, to let it thoroughly recharge my batteries before the pandemonium is unleashed... which won't be long now!

Happy New Year to one and all... and Happy Down Time, too!

close encounters... of the road kill kind

After years of driving past "deer crossing" signs, I have finally seen one come to life. I have finally seen a deer crossing the road! In fact, I had a very good view... because he ran out right in front of my car. I was driving to work on Saturday afternoon along the same two-lane road I always drive, when I reached the top of a hill and -- right next to one of these very signs, no less -- a huge buck bolted from someone's front yard and right across the road in front of me.

Completely nonchalant and nonplussed by the little Jeep Liberty and the substantial Hummer that were about to make him into a very fresh venison sandwich, the deer simply held his head high as he bounded from one unsuspecting home owner's yard to another. I do believe he even struck the sign's very pose when he reached the center double-yellow line, as if to prove that the traffic sign artist had captured his skill and poise perfectly.

It was just a moment -- a flash of fur and antlers and squealing tires and swerving SUV's and flying shoulder dirt -- but it ended quickly and happily for all parties involved. The deer, of course, couldn't have cared less about the accident he almost caused. The Hummer driver and I had each swerved off the road to miss him, so we smartly avoided hitting each other in our attempts to not hit the deer. And as we recovered and continued to pass each other, he looked through his windshield at me, drew his hand across his forehead and mouthed a very big "WHEW!" :-)

'tis the season?!?!

Holiday store displays are clearly messing with my mind...

For months now -- yes, months -- I've been bombarded by Christmas trees on display in every store and shopping center I've visited. It was maddening to have to dig my way through aisles of Santas and elves and collectible Dickensian villages to find Halloween candy. It's too soon! I've been grumbling to myself since mid-September.

And the grumbling continued today as I watched my coworkers set up an artificial Christmas tree right in front of my desk... until I realized... wait a minute... Halloween is long gone... Thanksgiving is now behind us... it actually IS the right time now!

Christmas is my favorite time of year... how could it possibly sneak up on me like this?

i want my l.l. bean

I admit it: I have a weakness for any advertising that involves puppies. You could be trying to sell me anything -- socks, furniture, motor oil, post-it notes, lawn fertilizer, hubcaps -- and if you throw a couple puppies into the picture, you've just landed a customer. I can still recall so fondly favorite TV commercials from Scotland, with these fuzzy little Labrador puppies frolicking in the rolls and rolls of soft-quilted bathroom tissue, only to get tired and fall asleep in the big fluffy pile... and I would buy that brand every time I went to the store and saw that sleepy little puppy on the packaging. Now, if I would've bothered to stop and think about it for one second, I might have realized that I was getting sappy over an ad campaign for biodegradable butt-wiping products that featured animals who just lick themselves clean... but I never did. Why? Because they're puppies!

And I have another advertising weakness, quite possibly worse than the first -- the Brawny Man. Talk about your classic strong, silent type! He was one of my childhood heroes. Looking into those crystal blue eyes (which the cellophane packaging made even more sparkly), I just knew he could fix anything. He could clean up the whole universe, if he wanted to. His red and black flannel shirt was clearly a superhero disguise -- and yet, it was so cozy and snuggly, too, he was just irresistable. And so I would always grab him off the shelf and take him home with me, my little knight in buffalo-plaid armor.

All this to say that I am completely and hopelessly enthralled with my new L.L. Bean catalog. From the moment I glimpsed the adorable golden puppies on the cover, I knew there could be no going back. Puppies in the snow, puppies on the hearth, puppies sleeping on a sofa... I want to buy a puppy just so I'll have a reason to buy a fleece-lined doggy bed. But if that weren't temptation enough... there's the Brawny Men. Page after page of ruggedly-handsome tree choppers and firewood stackers and snowman builders and cocoa drinkers... in wool and soft chambray and cashmere and, best of all, plaid. Confident yet cozy, it's hard to believe they could do any wrong when dressed so comfortably stylish. It's easy to envisage those corduroy-clad arms hauling in a Christmas tree one moment, then gathering the whole family for a big bear hug the next... and it's even easier to imagine snuggling up next to that soft flannel in front of a roaring fire, with sleeping kids upstairs and sleeping puppies at our feet...

So keep your GQ, if you please. No People Magazine's "Sexiest Man Alive" for me. I want my L.L. Bean...

my talking donkey day

So, it's not even lunch time yet, and already it's "one of those day..." It's a talking donkey day.

For starters, I overslept. This has actually happened several times this week, as the temperatures begin to drop here in Colorado Springs and my duvet just feels ever warmer and more snuggly with each passing chilly morning. So right away, I knew I'd have to scramble through the cold of my closet to put together an ensemble that didn't need to be ironed. And the hair? Yeah, it was going in a ponytail at best. Good thing I've mastered the ability to complete my morning skincare routine while driving my Jeep to work, I thought as I hastily brushed my teeth and dabbed my favorite apple perfume behind my ears.

Once dressed, I hustled back downstairs to rummage through the fridge for leftovers. I was up late last night making a lasagna (and listening to my roommate do something in the kitchen that involved a lot of pots and pans banging around for several hours), so I sliced a piece out of the pan for my lunch and selected the appropriate-sized Tupperware container to put it in. Soon, the fight was on to get the Tupperware lid to close! Somehow, it seemed to have shrunk and was no longer the same size as the container. And sadly, it took me about five minutes of struggling 'til blisters were being rubbed on my fingers to realize that I could just get a different container out of the cupboard...

I then threw on my fleece, grabbed my purse, shoved a bagel and my lunch leftovers into my tote bag, ripped the keys off the hook by the door, and dashed outside into the brisk, misty morning... only to find my Jeep completely covered in ice. So there I was, at the time when I'm normally arriving at work, still scraping ice off my windows. Once my lateral vision for tactical vehicular maneuvering was established, I finally climbed in the car and joined the now very-thick-flow of commuter traffic, which was made even slower by several construction trucks entering and exiting the freeway in the work zone through which I always have to drive.

Hoping that my day would improve once I got to work, my hopes were quickly dashed when my scheduled short meeting with a lady in the accounting department to reconcile my boss' confusing credit card statements turned into a two-hour head-shaking, eye-rolling, nervous-giggling "These don't make any sense to me, either" session, which we both left with more questions than answers.

And my talking donkey day is far from over, I know. What is a talking donkey day, you may be wondering? Simple -- it's a day full of moments when nothing goes your way. You know what I'm talking about. I know you can relate. Everyone can relate. We all have those moments when everything snowballs, when all the fates seem against us, when our horoscope is most definitely out of whack, when we order Chinese and not only do not get a fortune -- we don't even get a cookie. That's a talking donkey day. Talking donkeys are everywhere: the 18-wheeler you're stuck behind while driving up a mountain freeway... the run you discover in your last pair of pantyhose... the cup of coffee you spill all over your handwritten thesis manuscript... the meeting you aren't prepared for because you thought it was tomorrow....

The story of Balaam's talking donkey in Numbers 22 is one of the most humorous and relevant stories you could ever read. Humorous, because Balaam actually starts arguing with his donkey once it begins to talk -- instead of realizing that he is talking to a donkey! Relevant, because the donkey knew something Balaam didn't know, and was actually acting for his benefit. The donkey saw the angel of the Lord in the roadway, waiting to strike Balaam dead, and so she kept turning away and refusing to go forward in order to protect Balaam. But what did Balaam do? He beat the donkey nearly to death.

Oh, how we can all relate to Balaam! We get so annoyed and aggravated when we don't get our way, when everything seems to be working against us, when every traffic light is red, when the alarm doesn't go off, when our tires are flat... or when the lid to our Tupperware container doesn't fit. Was the donkey trying to give Balaam a hint? Absolutely. Was my Tupperware container trying to tell me something? No doubt. But what did I do? I kept trying to beat it into submission.

What would have happened it Balaam had got his way? He would have been struck down by the angel of the Lord. What could have happened if I'd stuck with the ill-fitting Tupperware? The lid could have broken open and lasagna could have spilled all over my tote bag, ruining my planner, smearing my utility bills in marinara sauce, making my sunglasses smell like parmesan and garlic. What if I hadn't overslept? I could have awakened on time and had no ice on my car, and could have ended up in the car accident I passed by while driving to work.

Since a sermon I heard many, many years ago about Balaam, I have learned to be grateful for my talking donkeys -- because you just never know what they might be preventing you from. Now, everytime I encounter one, I just give a loud "EEE-YAWWW!!!" and praise God that He sent something so simple and trite to get my attention.

So if you should drive past my house this winter and see me "EEE-YAWWW!!!"-ing while scraping ice off my car yet again, just roll down your window and bray right back, 'cause we'll both know your turn will be coming soon!

school shootings

I'm so angry right now, I need a very loud and very active "BLEEP" censor.

How dare these men do such atrocious things to children!!! The shooting in Columbine that took 13 teenagers. THe massacre in Dunblane, Scotland that killed 15 kindergarteners and their teacher. The Colorado school shooter last week who raped a half-dozen teenage girls and killed one of them with a shot to the head. And now today, a one-room Amish schoolhouse in Pennsylvania has been attacked, and 6 elementary and middle school children killed, and even more wounded.

What kind of human can perpetrate such a heinous crime? They're not human. They're demons. They're not only the scum of the earth, they're the scum of hell. To attach such innocent, helpless people. There is no "I'm a victim, too" defense that could ever justify what these men have done.

I'm glad these cowards have taken their own lives. I'm glad our taxpayer dollars aren't paying to keep them alive in prison, with 3 square meals a day and cable television and even college degrees available to them, while their victims are buried in coffins far too small. If anyone doubts the justice of capital punishment, I dare them to look into those parents' eyes and explain why such a killer should be shown leniency, as they lay their 5-year-old child's favorite teddy bear in front of a small headstone.

More than anything, I wish I could do more than just get angry about this. I wish I could find such demons before they attacked. I wish I could put my life between a child's and his killer. I wish I could repeal the automatic appeals process for death row convicts. I wish I could comfort all these families. I don't doubt God's sovereignty, even in the midst of this hell on earth... because when I read headline after headline like this, I long with all my heart for the day when these demons will be destroyed forever. Lord, come quickly!

what i mean to live

It dawned on me recently that one of the reasons I love to read so much is that I often find myself wandering blissfully through the words, hand-in-hand with the author who somehow manages to perfectly say what I mean to say but can't express. I will be lost in the ardent confusion of my thoughts, struggling to make myself understood, and then suddenly I stumble across a page or a sentence and discover a Cyrano behind the bushes of my mind. And it is those authors who become my favorites -- the ones whome I read and find myself exclaiming, "Yes, that's it exactly! That's what I mean!" George MacDonald is my favorite author for this very reason: I'm continually amazed at the multitude of ways he manages to express my deepest emotions and thoughts and fears and prayers.

Sometimes this phenomenon works in reverse: I will read a sentence or paragraph and find myself tripping over the magnitude of thoughts I never even imagined before. And rather than finding words to express my life, I'm faced with words that my life should express, but doesn't. Such a surprise came to me while reading this in The Weight of Glory by C.S. Lewis:

You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilizations -- these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub and exploit -- immortal horrors or everlasting splendors.

Wow. It's one thing to tell yourself "Jesus loves everyone." But it's quite another to think of every person you meet as an immortal... and that's a new thought for me. The homeless man outside 7-11. The checkout clerk at Safeway. The driver who always cuts me off when exiting the freeway. The next-door neighbor who wakes me up with his leaf blower every morning. I try to live every day with a view that Jesus died for all these people, that He loves them just as much as He loves me, but I have to confess how often I find myself failing in that regard, or catch myself thinking I'm better than others or more deserving of my salvation because of the life I've lived. Clearly, when I tell myself and others that "Jesus died for them, too," it's just not saying what I really mean. If it were, I think I'd behave differently. I'd work harder to share that message with others, because there's no question they will live forever. It's only a question of where.

You have never talked to a mere mortal... now that certainly puts your life into proper perspective. While I continue to explore all the wonderful words that say what I mean, I hope I can live and mean what these words say.

the orange balloon

Was it the sunshine
the beautiful morning
that made you dance that way
Was it the singing
the birds' sweet harmony
that made you smile

I heard your laughter
and longed for more
Nothing different from the day before
nothing wrong

You were drifting lighter than air
dancing with the wind
This grown-up world
was somewhere in the distance

Where was the sunshine
the beautiful morning
when anger exploded that day
There was no singing
no tender harmony
while you cried
while you died

You were everything to me
how I tried to hold on
But I'm not as strong as the wind
just not strong

And now the sunshine
the heavenly morning
shines upon a small grave
And now the churchbells
the solemn harmony
sing you a lullaby

You were not the only one
no, I'm not the only one
to feel this pain
I don't want to let go
but I know you've gone home
to wait for me

You are drifting lighter than air
dancing with the wind
And I see you
smiling... in the distance


Written after the massacre of schoolchildren in Dunblane, Scotland on March 13, 1996. Posted here in memory of my niece, Aubrey Faith... blessed with imperfection, she was too perfect for this fallen world.

love is in the air

Pikes Peak looked like a giant Frosted Flake yesterday morning as I walked to church, and I couldn't help but smile... snow! in AUGUST!!! I love Colorado!

All of my belongings are now scattered through my house, and I'm working on a new to-do-list of painting and unpacking and organizing... I love three-day weekends!

The complete second season of House is now out on DVD, just in time for me to get caught up before the third season begins next week. I love technology!

I have bug bites on my arms and neck from getting a little too carried away in my weed-pulling this weekend. I love living in my own house!

A phone call at 11:30pm Saturday night. An unexpected visitor (and shopping companion!) last night. A phone call at 7:30am this morning. Three different emails waiting for me when I arrived at work. I love my friends!

Movie suggestions from Mom. A hammer drill (on loan) from Dad. Accidental phone calls from my almost-two-year-old nephew. A Hello Kitty drawing from my nieces. A camera-phone pic from my brother. I love my family!

I'ts Monday after lunch, and I'm in a good enough mood to recognize and enjoy all these wonderful blessings. I love Dr Pepper!

and in my spare time, i foil would-be shoplifters at the 7-11

There was a point several weeks ago when I thought that taking my time to move out of my old apartment and into my new house was a good idea. Needless to say, I have changed my mind. It was a beautiful theory that now haunts me as I dwell among the boxes that I swear are multiplying on their own, and in rabbit-like quantities. My days at work are consumed with thoughts about the work waiting for me at home, and I spend my lunch breaks creating detailed "to do" lists that even as I'm writing them I know won't ever be completed. It's the pinnacle of my moving insanity -- the only thing I seem to be accomplishing is a bunch of lists of things I need to accomplish. No matter how many details I try to set down on such a list, something always comes up that I didn't think of and I get sidetracked from what I intended to do: old friends move away, new friends start to call, girl friends need to talk, boy friends need to cry... and before I know it, packing or unpacking more boxes is the last thing I have time to do.

So I caved in to my moving delirium this week and hired the services of "Two Men and a Truck" to move the heavy large objects from my apartment. As advertised, two men drove up to my apartment with a big truck yesterday morning; a portly black man named Cliff and a very thin and wiry Hispanic man named Luis (for a visual aid, think Abbott & Costello). They were very friendly and got to work right away, shrink wrapping my couch and orange armchair (they left the white chair uncovered, though... odd...), my corner china-cabinet, my Total Gym... everything. And then they saw the bedroom furniture -- and there were audible gasps. I had to take a few minutes to reassure them that the bed and dresser could be fully dismantled and weren't nearly as heavy as they looked, but even then their eyes were wide and their heads ever-so-slightly shaking back and forth in disbelief.

Three hours later, the piles of furniture and boxes in my new house were so out of control that I had to move boxes of Louis L'Amour books out of my kitchen to get to the box of pots and pans so that I could cook dinner. Even then, the only empty place in the entire house to sit and eat was the stairwell!

And if this weren't enough, I have suddenly found myself moonlighting as "Super Amy, Guardian and High Protector of David's Sunflower Seeds at the 7-11." Yes, yes, it's true -- I caught a shoplifter redhanded at the 7-11 the other night. (Sigh.) See what I mean? Something always comes up to keep me away from those to-do lists... and it's exhausting!

Still, the end is definitely in sight -- it's kind of like being trapped in a caved-in mine, and then someone finally drills through the rubble to provide me with oxygen, Gatorade and a Martha Stewart Living magazine. There is still drilling and digging to be done, but I can finally see my way out. After all, I did manage to assemble my large and very comfy bed last night, so no more sleeping on an air mattress! And as my head sunk into the feather pillow, and I breathed deeply, relishing the cool 65 degrees of my new air-conditioned bedroom, I thought to myself, "It will all be over s..." ZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

a d'backs victory... and other holy moments

I admit it -- I was moping last night. Well, all day, to be perfectly honest. In one short conversation Sunday night all my excitement about moving into my new house just went completely down the drain. One of my new roommates bailed, and I was instantaneously body-slammed by a cruel new financial reality. Not fun. Not fun at all. Of course, there are other fish in the sea, they say, so I shouldn't lose any sleep over the one that got away. But this wasn't just a fish that fell off my hook as I was trying to reel it in -- this was a fish that jumped out of the icebox in the back of my truck as I was driving away from the riverbank after a long day of fishing and wriggled its little scaly body all the way back down to the water. I guess I should've remembered to close the icebox lid.

So yes, I spent the day moping, worrying, and all the other stupid, self-centered things we fallen humans do when things don't go the way we want them to. I know I was at work for nine hours yesterday, but I don't remember doing a bloody thing to earn my paycheck. I just remember scribbling away on a legal pad, trying to think of new waters to explore in my search for another elusive roommate fish.

The irony of my wallowing is that all the while I was "counseling" a friend of mine to remember God's promises and provision. We were emailing about Abraham and Isaac, about the difficult choices we have to make, about the seemingly impossible ways God asks us to trust Him, and I have to admit, I was talking a pretty good talk, but that very moment I knew I wasn't walking it. My hot air is renown (I'm a piper, after all), but my ability to relax and inhale isn't. I talked for hours encouraging my friend to trust God's provision, and all the while that legal pad full of my own provisional ideas was staring me in the face. So I shut up, took a deep breath, and chucked that legal pad in the trash. It was a holy and insecure moment.

What does all of this have to do with major league baseball, you ask? Well, not much, except that the D'Backs exciting victory over the Cubs last night (or as one Cubs-fan coworker more aptly put it this morning, the slaughter) shook me out of my doldrums and helped me refocus my attitude. There I was, sitting in the empty library of my new house, listening to the game through a phone conversation with my mom (they don't broadcast Arizona games here in Colorado), and as I found myself rejoicing over the final out, I realized that what I should really be rejoicing over was the very spot I was sitting in. God had brought me to this house! He hadn't lost track of me -- He knew right where I was sitting. He not only knew, He cared. He's always cared. He always will care. He cares even more about me than I do about the Diamondbacks. It was a holy and humble moment.

And then, just to put His special explanation point on the day, it began to rain. We haven't had rain in quite a while, but it came last night, and the coolness and relief it brought made me almost giddy. Rain has always been God's special calling card for me, His way of saying "And just to make sure you really understand that this is Me talking and that I always keep my promises..." I sat on the back steps of my new house, my bare feet getting wet as they stuck out from under the eaves, and I laughed at myself for all my stupid moping. It was a holy and peaceful moment.

God does provide -- He always has, and He always will. He provides absolutely everything we need -- whether it's a job, a home, a roommate, a soulmate... or just a good baseball game and a bit of rain.

the challenging shield of faith

I remember feeling rather let down when I took my first "spiritual gift inventory" test and the number one analysis of my responses was, "You have the spiritual gift of faith." Well, duh! I'm a Christian, of course I have faith! Can't this test tell me something more relevant, like what I'm supposed to do with that faith? My friends had the gifts of discipleship, pastoring, healing, compassion, teaching... "action" gifts that seemed a lot more important to me than simply "faith." I wanted more direction than that! (Don't we all.) If faith was the gift I'd been given, well, quite frankly I wanted the gift receipt to go with it.

How do you even begin to describe the gift of faith? Is it some perpetual optimism that refuses to see the dark and depressing sides of life and is always singing chipper, zippety-do-dah songs and blissfully smiling as the raindrops are falling on my head? Hardly. It's more like the grueling boxing match in which blood and sweat are flying everywhere as blow after blow pounds me into the mat, blinding my battered eyes, making my head spin as the referee starts to count... and yet somehow I always find myself back on my feet before the count reaches ten.

In Ephesians 6 Paul describes the armor of God, and faith as our shield, our primary defense against all the evil plots and schemes of the enemy. I think of the large, full-body shields of the ancient Roman army, and the way legions were trained to use them individually and as a team. The shields were extremely heavy, they were large enough to cover more than one person if necessary, and they could be locked together to form an impenetrable barrier that protected the entire column while still enabling them to advance on the enemy's line. They were also spiked, making them something of an attack weapon, too.

Faith is a difficult spiritual gift to live with. Sure, it's hard to keep getting up, to keep crawling out of my corner round after round... but the hardest part of living with the gift of faith is realizing that not everyone has it -- that some of my fellow soldiers have lost their shields in the midst of their battles, and that my shield of faith has to be large enough and sturdy enough to guard more than just me. I still don't know everything that it means to have faith as a spiritual gift, but in realizing my calling to continue fighting for the faithless, for the despondent and discouraged who are ready to give up on the victory God has promised them, I'm learning that faith is an action gift after all.

focus

A hesitant step away from all that came before
A deep breath before going forward
I look back for a final glimpse
Of the one I used to be
But I'm not there anymore
Even my shadow is vague
Just the outline of a hidden flower
Choked by weeds, blurred in mud
Smothering in the dark
Where I now stand in the light of today
And face a new path
So clear, so obvious
So joyously frightening in all its possibilities
That I don't know how I ever though
I could see before this moment
If only for today
I know where my hope lies
I step into the crystal clear darkness
And await tomorrow's smiling light

bad boy smurf crush

Every girl I know who grew watching The Smurfs had a crush on Handy Smurf -- myself included. Why? All the Smurfs were identical, except for Papa (who wore red and had a beard), Brainy (the glasses), and Handy (that lovely little heart-shaped tattoo). So why were we all smitten with Handy and not Brainy? Can anyone even NAME another Smurf besides Papa or Smurfette? (And yes, it should be disturbing that she was the only girl living with all those guys...)

I used to think Andy Leyland was my first bad-boy crush, but now I have to recant. It wasn't Andy, it was Handy. I was a six-year-old with a crush on the bad-boy Smurf. La LA la la la LA, LA la la la LA!

deuteronomy... by way of australia

My nieces love to sneak up on me -- to surprise me when I round a corner or tickle me unexpectedly or practice their scariest faces and growls at me. Most of the time, I know they're there or can hear them coming, and so I just play along. Sometimes, though, they genuinely catch me off guard. Either way, we always end up laughing and giggling afterward.

I think God likes to sneak up on us, too. Sometimes we can sense His coming -- say, during a sacred week of remembrance like Easter or Christmas, or perhaps during a spiritual retreat weekend -- but other times He catches us completely off guard with an omnipotent "Boo!" Either way, the surprise always yields the contentment that can only come from true joy -- it's God and I laughing at our inside joke.

God surprised me last week. I turned a corner in one area of my life and "Boo!" God was there, just waiting to get me. I arrived for my first day at my new job, still hesitant that I had made the right decision even as I walked through the doors and took my seat in orientation. But then our devotions begam, and "Boo!" God and I started laughing, for only He could connect the dots between my current doubts, the testimony of a brother in Christ from Australia, and Moses' descent from Mount Horeb as recorded in the first chapter of Deuteronomy.

Now I don't know about you, but when I look to Scripture for inspiration, Deuteronomy is not the first book that comes to mind. But it just goes to show that all of Scripture is indeed God-breathed and profitable!!! Here is what our devotional reading was that morning:

The Lord our God said to us at Horeb, "You have stayed long enough at this mountain. Break camp and advance into the hill country of the Amorites; go to all the neighboring peoples in the Arabah, in the mountains, in the western foothills, in the Negev and along the coast, to the land of the Canaanites and to Lebanon, as far as the great river, the Euphrates. See, I have given you this land. Go in and take possession of the land that the Lord swore He would give to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and to their descendants after them." (Deut. 1:6-8)

God's word was as surprisingly clear to me that day as it had been to my Christian brother when he felt called away from his home in Australia, and as it was to Moses -- I had stayed long enough on the mountain. It was time to come down, time for me to break camp and move on to the new place God had already prepared for me. And it became so obvious at that moment that, doubtful as the decision had seemed, it had been God telling me to leave my comfortable, familiar mountaintop, to break camp and move on to the new place He was showing me.

God doesn't call us to a place of comfort -- He simply calls us to a place of obedience. and it's only when we're obedient to what He's clearly and very obviously called us to do that we can have confidence in the less obvious, that we can trust His leading as we break camp and head into the unknown, and that we can thoroughly enjoy His many surprises... even those that come to us from Deuteronomy, by way of Australia.

When is the last time God snuck up on you said "Boo!"?

countdown

My last Monday at this job... only five more days of sitting at this computer, at this desk, of looking at these very stale grey walls. Am I excited? I think I should be. And yet I still find myself questioning whether or not I've made the right decision. In a lot of ways, as someone pointed out to me, it's a "no-brainer." More money, less working hours... but there are deeper issues longing to be resolved that "no-brainer" simply isn't a good enough answer for. What is God up to? Why did He so obviously put me in this job in the first place, and now why did He so obviously open this new door that leads elsewhere? (And why on earth did He give me a new job that requires skirts and stockings???)

But the decision is made. The resignation was accepted here. The new-hire orientation is scheduled there. I'm looking at the pictures and knickknacks that I've collected on this desk, and am wondering if they'll fit as nicely on my new desk there as they do here. Will my new computer be as spiffy as this one? Will my new coworkers accept me? Will I find new friends to connect with, talk with, laugh with, hang out with? I have so many questions... and that's only looking forward. It's all but impossible to think about what I may be leaving behind, what I may be turning my back on...

I guess this is what trust feels like.

snow globe

Peaceful, calm
Exquisite to behold
But utterly useless on this shelf
Safe, settled,
dead
Admiring glances won't do
I was meant for so much more
I want to be more, all
But I can do nothing on my own
please
Uproot me from my complacency
Unleash my dormant potential
Unnerve me gently, wildly, lovingly
Unsettle my world till I am
glistening with hope
dazzling with peace
churning with life
Only then will my true beauty be revealed
That at last all may behold
The timeless serenity that swirls within me
when I am in Your hands

the bowling rematch

It seems I'm starting a trend... when the going gets tough, the tough go bowling.

Friday was one of the crappiest days I've had in a long time -- so bad that crying in the ladies' bathroom was actually involved -- so at 11:30pm Friday night my buddy Tim and I once again ventured to the lanes. This time was supposed to be a rematch, because Tim swore he was "just letting me win" the last time we went. Well, the highlight of my night was rather Babe Ruth-esque call-it-before-you-do-it turkey in the tenth frame of our first game, and the highlight of Tim's night was my vain effort at human bowling in the second game (a sad fact of life, sometimes those slippery shoes stop slipping, and your body doesn't stop with them... man, those lanes are really oily... the real miracle is that I still managed to knock down eight pins, even from a flat-on-my-face release point).

The results of the rematch were not very satisfactory... for Tim. But he got an extra laugh at my expense when the alley manager commented on my less-than-graceful fall while we were turning in our shoes, so we're probably even now. What's next -- bumper bowling?