glasses are fun

Me, Matt, Henry, and Flora--staying classy...er...glassy...whichever.

breathing felt good today

An old friend came to visit today. I haven't seen this friend in at least a year or more.

He reminded me to bring a sweater. He smells good.

I enjoyed his company today.

His name is Autumn.

I hope Autumn stays.

lagnaippe

In honor of my loyal readership (my twin sister and best friend) and fan club (the afore mentioned), I felt an update was high-due. Thus, the following:

School is hard and time-consuming and everything in between. The kicker: I like it that way. As my dad says, "that's what you're there for." He would be the first to encourage me to make sure all of it is "fun," though. My dad was also a hippie. Hmph...

I'm leading a Bible study with gals from my church. Attendance is shifty, but I feel confident God has me in this position for good reason. I'm learning just as much from the Word as I am from the dynamics and members. "Trust me," He says each day.

Our house plants are thriving. "Lucy" and "Croton" seem to like the window seal and the afternoon sun. I'm careful to watch their rotations and hydration. My late plant, Johnny, is no longer with us. I left him in the care of a friend this summer and he did not return to me, much like his namesake, Johnny Knox, the rugger of my dreams. Alas, I am pouring love and water into my new green friends. They have given me the opportunity to teach my little Latina roommate phrases such as "green thumb." She tried to use the phrase in a non-plant related way. Something to the effect of "we have green thumb crushes." I tried to re-explain, to no avail. I love her.

Speaking of "thriving": I just found a growing mold population on my toothbrush holder. Ugh. I should probably burn my toothbrush. But, its new and soft and un-mushed. I can't throw away $2.47 so easily. I'll continue to brush with mold.

I have perfected the art of procrastination. My pictures from Turkey are not in their album. I have not written thank-yous to my supporters. I am amassing heavy loads of reading for some miracle read-a-thon in the never-near-future weekend. I've put off joining the Frisbee team until an indefinite time because I'm waiting somehow stumble upon "in shape." My car is now brown. It used to be black. Sleep even falls into the "I'll get around to it" category.

Since "participating" in a flag football game on Monday ("play" is too strong of a word), my jammed/dislocated/spranged/broken/shattered index finger has doubled in size. It hurts to type and to flush the toilet. I need a pinch-flusher.

My car is as speratic as my sleeping patterns. It sometimes works in reverse, sometimes not. The A/C works when I go over 3000 rpms. Cruise control is shot. But, it smells like Jamaica on the inside. Or, what I would imagine Jamaica to smell like.

I've been having moments of intense creativity. Sometimes I just want to leave class and go sculpt something out of Play-Dough. Sometimes I doodle out masterpieces. Sometimes I just want to sing an out-of-this-world high A. Most of these moments are spurred on through my Philosophy of the Christian Faith class. Dr. Johnson (through the writings of St. Augustine) is implanting nuggets of pure gold in my mind. "Being free is scary. Luckily, God's willingness to free us is far greater than our resistance to being free." I'm reminded daily to keep my soul listening.

My family and I have dealt with a huge loss. Heaven gained an incredibly wise man. I'm jelous of Dandu. He's seen the revealed Glory, the greatest Physician, I AM, the Bread of Life face-to-face. I'm still waiting...in hope and memory.

Fall break is rapidly approaching. I'm going to visit my dear friend in St. Louis. I anticipate lots of dessert and finishing her sentences. Splendid. We share a brain. And I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm picky with who I lend my brain out to. You never know, with all the crazies roaming around these days.

Goals for the next week: Find someone to give me piano lessons. Take more pictures. Drop off my resume at the City Library for the "shelver" position. Give more I-love-yous, especially to my Lord. Become an archaeologist.

pity into action

“The police told me to take the water, ‘cause we were thirsty, but the man behind us got shot for taking the same water…”

“There were dead babies all around me, but mamma told me just not to look…”

“My daddy stayed down there because he didn’t want anybody taking our stuff. He said the government forgot about us…”

“Just come and see about us…”

Children echoed these phrases through the evacuee camp, just a few miles from my university. I listened and cried. ‘They have seen more horror in one week than will see in my entire life,’ I thought to myself.

Barely two weeks ago, Hurricane Katrina slashed through the gulf coast, shredding homes, businesses, churches, and identities. Over a million people woke up homeless and hopeless. The Big Easy is underwater, her inhabitants scattered. The same story is horrifically repeated in numbers of coastal towns in Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. As of this weekend, people are still being fished out of houses in New Orleans.

My family is from southern Louisiana. While most of America watched the news unfold through CNN, I was forced to watch it unfold at my fingertips. The weekend after the hurricane hit I traveled to Louisiana to see for myself the devastation, and to offer any help I could to ailing friends and family members. I had been numb to the misery until I stepped into fellowship-hall-turned-evacuee camp at the local Methodist church. Only a minute into a three-hour conversation with a 16-year-old girl named Christal, and misery had injected itself straight into my heart.

“I just made the cheerleading squad,” she half-heartedly reminisced. “I don’t think we have anything to cheer for now.”

Her father, Tracy, a pastor in New Orleans, shared a similar observation, “We just finished laying the carpet in the church. My congregation has been saving for eight years to finally have a building to meet in. Now, we don’t have a congregation.”

As I interacted with more children and youth at the evacuee camp, I learned to read the trauma on their faces. Some are still confused, most are angry, and all are wondering where the life they knew has gone.

Effects of the hurricane are far-reaching. Arkansas is seeing an enormous amount of evacuees, even in tiny Siloam Springs, the location of John Brown University. We have over 500 evacuees in my town of 8,000. That’s over 500 people, clinging to all they do not have and desperate for even a pair of shoes that fit. But, I’m noticing a trend. Hope is prevailing. Prayers are being answered and tattered lives are being patched together. Make-shaft support communities are developing among the hundreds of displaced people as older kids looked out for younger kids and mothers wipe away tears from all crying eyes. Communities throughout the south have taken in thousands upon thousands of displaced families, such as Korah and Deac and their two children. They hitched a ride with a group of students from JBU traveling back to school after delivering supplies and food to Gulfport, Mississippi. “Adopted” by a local church, Deac’s family will begin to adjust to life in Northwest Arkansas. Tracy, the pastor, told me he hopes to return to New Orleans one day, but for now will try to start a new life for him and his family in Ruston, Louisiana, building from the ground up…again.

Most of America sits on the unaffected side of the TV screen thinking, “how could this happen in our country?” It did, it’s still happening, and it won’t get any better by changing the channel. As the Body of Christ, we are called to give our extra coat and walk the second mile. An encouraging note, the five pairs of jeans you never wear, your home, your money, your physical aid, prayer—anything is more than they have. Our brothers and sisters need more than our pity. Don’t wait for the next hurricane. Pray fervently and act now.

compañeras

"just come and see about us..."

You must do something.

Don't just watch it on the news. Its real, and the people are in your backyard.

Go and help.

Pray harder than you've ever prayed before.

Prayers are being answered here. I am in Louisiana this weekend. I have family and friends in the area of the hurricane. I came to see what help I could offer. All I had wasn't enough. People are absolutely hopeless here. We are so fortunate to have what we have.

Give your other cloak. Walk the second mile.

When I get back to Arkansas I will be organizing a group of people to come back down within the next weekend or so. Please consider joining me. I think it would be important to attend the disaster relief training provided through the Red Cross. The meeting in on Thursday (8 Sept) in Tontitown. Contact me if you want more information.

In the meantime, pray.