the gym

The filling-up stage in the gym of Community Christian Fellowship (CCF), where most of our Global Night Commuters slept.  

letters and art

These are my letters and art that were sent to the President, Senator Lincoln, and Invisible Children--all piled onto my little sleeping spot, made up of a blanket and a sheet-thing, and crayons, markers, rubber cement, and a pillow.  

just a fraction

A quick snapshot of our Global Night Commuters, from my vantage point, as we took the group picture to send to Invisible Children. 

Registration at GNC

Middle-schoolers, high schoolers, college kids, families with babies, pastors, businessmen, moms...our GNC crowd was very diverse! This is a picture of the registration table. The papers in the bottom left-hand corner are info packets and letter-writing material for petitioning our government officials for PEACE in UGANDA. 

Global Night Commute

That line stretched 280-people long! 

"Americans are closing their eyes to open the worlds' to an unseen war. By lying down, we are joining the invisible children in northern Uganda, and demanding that our government put an end to the longest running war in Africa, and one of the worst crises in the world today."

Click here to be a part.

it has come to this

Unless I wanted a SouthBeach Fiesta Wrap, I was going to have to be creative in order to eat tonight. Turns out, I did not want a SouthBeach wrap (the whole SouthBeach theme going on in my dad's kitchen is quite humerous to me, by the way). Surveyed the fridge: Pimento Cheese Spread Family Size, half-can sized Cokes and Dr. Peppers, Bread and Butter Pickles, a pony, a potato, bacon, Sharp Cheddar, and...what's that? What do I see perched in their rectangular plastic carton? The Incredible Edible Egg.

A week ago I could have scrambled that egg, and that was about it. Or, I could have boiled it. But the satisfaction of a boiled egg is slim without a little pedastal to put it on, and a butler to serve it under a shiny, pewter dish. But, my recent education on eggs and egg preparation boiled to the top of my brain, and my salivatory glands did back flips, when I recalled the highly acclaimed "Fried Egg Sandwich," which was introduced to my pallet last week.

On purpose, and out of purely my volition and desire, I cooked for myself and ate a Fried Egg Sandwich for my evening meal. Thank you, Dr. Drew, for the instruction and encouragement in such endeavors. Next stop: Bananas.

flowers

 

Easter with Emily

He fumbles at your soul
As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on,
He stuns you by degrees,
Prepares your brittle nature
For the ethereal blow
By fainter hammers, further heard,
Then nearer -- then so slow
Your breath has time to straighten,
Your brain to bubble cool --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
That scalps your naked soul.

Your Soul-- Dickinson

policy schmolicy

This is a sentence from the study sheet for my Econ exam. I have read this sentence at least 5 times, and each time I think I understand less of the sentence:

"Besides discretionary fiscal policy, there are various stabilizers to counteract decreased or increased aggregate demand: transfer payments, progressive tax rates, unemployment insurance."

Basic Economics has been my nemisis this semester. But, actually, maybe not. I think for something to be my "nemisis" would mean that I actually care what "it" does to me. I do not. However, I do find it quite hilarious that my class is convinced that I am a communist. I'm deeply considering entitling my final research paper "The Joys of Communism ~ a memoir." My class feels this way because I bring the issue equality, the image of God, and respectability of all human life into every class discussion about capitalism and fair wages and government spending and the sort. I wonder if people actually think before they speak anymore?

"How can we be expected to respect faceless people, people that don't even respect our government's laws and regulations?" said Ms. I-Do-My-Homework-But-Don't-Consider-What-Jesus-Would-Have-to-Say-About-American-Policy-on-Illegal-Immigrants.

(note: names have been changed to protect the identiy of the ignorant)

Of course it is easier to love those that love you and those that respect your country's "policies." Loving those without a face might be harder, but loving those that love you is a shortcut. Loving and respecting those who don't follow the rules is counter-cultural. Loving those that don't love you is what we signed up for when we say that our Savior King came from Nazareth and that his suffering, death, and resurrection were sufficient and put an end to all this mud-pie-making, gave us a clean clothes, and asked us to follow.

we love this guy

This man is partly to thank for the creation of such crazy people. Take it up with him. 

flaming meat

I just can't get enough of these sword-kabobs. 

pirate tendencies

It's my birthday, I deserved this sword. 

we're twins, i promise.

quite the dichotomy... 

get it, dad!

 

flaming birthday kabobs

 

life again on Packenham

"I never asked God, why, Jennifer. I never did. But if I would have, I think he would have answered me with this little block party and all of y'all... He would have said, 'This is why, Betty.'"

Maybe it is that I'm not as strong of a woman as Mrs. Betty M. of 29 Packenham Avenue, Chalmette Louisiana, because I have asked God why he would allow such tragedy in New Orleans and the Gulf area over and over again for the past six months. How could a God of love let a hurricane and flood completely ruin so many lives? How could a God of compassion make thousands homeless with one storm? Why did God let Hurricane Katrina destroy families and homes and memories and futures? And maybe I haven't discovered the full answer, but I feel much closer after living among the victims for a week, experiencing life in a community which should have been lifeless.

We took a wrong turn, or maybe a right turn, as it turns out, placing our caravan of white Caravans smack in the middle of the 9th Ward, St. Bernard Parish, Louisiana. It was about 9:30 at night and we were lost in the hardest hit area in New Orleans. After a hurricane wipes out large portions of a city, by the way, there are no street lights, street signs, road signs, or stop lights. I learned that people deal with shock in many different ways-- some ignore it, some cry over it, some vocalize it, some just turn up the radio. For me, I wept. I watched block after block pass by my back seat van window and each block seemed more desolate and destroyed than the next. Abandoned cars, 100- year-old trees splicing houses in two, cars under houses, houses on houses, missing ATM machines, obviously looted stores and businesses, debris everywhere. And the eeriest part? There were no people. Actually, I saw one man. He was walking the opposite direction we were driving, and for good reason. A city without people isn’t really a city. Where did the city of New Orleans go? Our home for the next week would be in the 8th Ward of St. Bernard Parish, the bottom of the basin formed by levees.

"God, I don't see you here. But you are, right?" I thought to myself repeatedly through the week of de-mucking houses. Our task was to completely gut houses which had not been opened for about six months-- houses which had been flooded up to 15 feet for four to six weeks. These homes were rank. Mold and mildew covered everything. "Katrina juice," as it came to be known, was still in anything that could hold water, like coffee pots and casserole dished and glasses (precariously leaned against the inside of cabinet doors, only to come splashing on the unsuspecting person's face who first opened the cabinet). The kitchens were in the living rooms and the living rooms were in the bedrooms. De-mucking a house took about six hours with our teams of twenty students. Some days we even completed two houses. At the end of the day the trash pile, which was actually a pile of what people used to call their "lives," was bigger than the house and spilled into the street. Only the studs and exterior walls remained.

We worked mainly on one street, Packenham Avenue. Requests began to flood in (no pun intended) from neighbors and family members who heard of the respectful nature our teams displayed while gutting houses. So, we were good at getting rid of trash? Interesting. We met most of the owners of the houses we cleared. We asked them to come help us, if they wished, and at least come for prayer. We prayed before we began for peace and safety, and afterwards for restoration and blessing. Everyone we worked with wished to pray with us, so we did. But those weren't the only prayers I offered. I talked with God a lot while I carried arm-fulls of Mardi Gras beads and saturated photo albums to the curb, and wept in anger to Him as I smashed my hammer through molded sheetrock. "Where are you and why didn't you come sooner to Packenham, God? Richie and Betty created 41 years of memories here, but you allowed one storm to take them away? Why, Father?"

But He was there. He was there loudly and boldly. He was at the crawfish boil and at the fried chicken block party. He was in each home and neighborhood. He was on the roof with the families, waiting for days to be rescued. He was with John and his dad as they fished out families with their trolling-motor boat. He was there when the families came back and discovered that flood waters can wash away life. He was there as we discovered soaked wedding albums and heirlooms under dressers, somehow preserved. He never left. And he was weeping, too. And He will stay there with each rebuilding and relocation. He is a God of restoration and He is a God that does not fail. I learned these truths in a new way in New Orleans.

I don't know why God uses a horrible storm like Katrina to glorify Himself, but he does. I saw it. I saw the loving God that I know bring joy again into people's lives. And He didn't need to use anything but Himself. I think I might have been given a glimpse of what the kingdom of heaven on earth is supposed to look like, as strange as it may seem, amidst the storm-torn community of Packenham Avenue. On that street and through my work, my only joy was God, and He was all I could think about. Hope-filled laughter and thankful smiles were plentiful, and people were in the process of restoration. We prayed a lot. We shared pain and wept willingly. We listened to each other's stories because they taught us truth. We were thankful for our lives. And maybe just for moments, our neighbors had no needs. He was exalted and glorified. The food was fried and we got to eat with our hands. Heaven indeed.

about that...

Observation:
Tea-in-the-morning makes my body happier than coffee-in-the-morning.
I like coffee-in-the-night while enjoying good books that I read instead of required books.
Hot Chocolate is my new chocolate craving substitute (though I suppose it isn't really a substitute for chocolate, since it is chocolate).

Oh, about New Orleans and the lessons gleened therefrom.... be patient. Thoughts are still coming to a boil, and too many cooks spoil the broth, or something like that. I'll post soon about all that. In the meantime, check my Flickr pictures and invent your own story. Just make sure it includes redemption, restoration, heartache, and crawfish.

she censed me from a mile away

The US Census came to my house today (I'm taking a vacation to home where I can retreat from the short twin bed and dusty bookshelves of my dorm room).

Toni, The Census Lady, came bouncing down the street towards me. I was just getting out of my car, which now must park on the street because it is having touble controlling it's oil lately and having accidents on dad's driveway. Barely out of the door, I hear Toni say "OOOOOHHHHHHH a BIKE! [I had my bike on my roof rack] That's GREAT! Isn't it lovely out today...I hear it is going to be just a splendid weekend. Are you going to ride?" I looked down at her badge, and at this point noticed that she was a Census Lady, and was curious as to exactly what that had to do with my household income and occupants. But I also realized that people probably hate her and her job, and this was her way of breaking the ice with me.

The questionnaire was quite simple:
Yes, I'm over 18.
No, I don't live here.
Yes, my dad does.
No, he's not an illegal immigrant.
Yes, he owns this house.
No, you can't call me or him for follow up questions.

Then, I got to hear a great story about another "censed" person who forgot about one of his kids when he was filling out the census. Poor kid. I'm sure his/her homelife is charmingly unorganized. I hope the dad remembers the kid at supper time.

So, Toni The Census Lady bounced off down the street and out of my life, just like she bounced in. Before she went she needed to give me the confidentiality statement, but couldn't find it on her clipboard. I wanted to say I trusted her, but realized that she was only a pawn in the system, and that actually, I didn't trust the government she represented. I would need that half piece of paper telling me (and my household) that all information (which I typed out above) would be kept under lock and key, at least until it was needed to hunt me (and my household) and wiretap our house. Who knows what the government would do with the information that my dad is not Mexican! In her search for my half piece of freedom paper, a gust of wind "let fly" all of the censuses (censi?). It was a pretty, beige whirlwind of scantrons. There she went, bouncing off and collecting her paperwork.

I'm glad my dad has never forgotten me.

*sploosh* goes the sun

It didn't fall into the ocean tonight like it used to when I was spreading my wings. Tonight it fell on a hill, past the science building, and through the leaf-bare and brittle maples outside my window. I'm glad I have a window to the west.

First, picture a furry orange tabby cat exploding onto a bed of picked-apart cotton balls (and I hope you picked the name 'Samantha' for her, because it is only fitting).

Now erase that image because it is disturbing (but for some it sounds lovely).

Now imagine the first seeping of color from the painbrush into a glass water cup after painting a picture of Samantha, the orange tabby. Or, picture the tea escaping from an Orange Chai tea bag into an already-warmed cup of milk. Oh! Look! Miss Pastel Pink has entered the scene from the top of the stage. She's just dancing there on top of the fur and orange chai, but she'll twirl right into the mix of action anytime now. And Llilac? I didn't know Lilac was envited this evening. Lovely to meet you, Lilac. Welcome.

Only a minute has passed now but the streaming white has separated into bigger chunks. I have a feeling that the sun has just exhaled. The screaming orange and flamboyant red were the point of no return, like when you think the tunnel will never end and your eyes are about to pop out of your head if you don't take a breath. Now the sun can breathe again...in China.

The ironic part of it all: I watched the sunset through my window hanging of a stained glass cross. I had to look through it to see the vibrancy of the sky. Why? Because something on the other side seemed better than the cross. But, the sun is gone now. The sky is black. The brittle trees even blend into the night sky. And my cross still hangs.

carnage

Well, here he is, Melvin the Incredible. Was it his name that doomed him? I'm not sure if this is the result of foul play or sheer sunshine. I've never disliked the sun so much. The sun killed Melvin. Let us all take a moment of silence.....Ok. Thank you, fellow advocates for a colder environment. 

Melvin

There he sits...alone on the bench, just outside my dorm room window. I would have sat down beside by him, but he was leaking. The next couple of days are going to be quite depressing as I watch Melvin cycle back into the atmoshpere. Circle of life, I guess.

 

flawless routine

"It's not only how he presents her, it's also how she responds to that presentation."

I heard this from the announcer last night as I was watching olympic ice dancing. He was talking about the couple on the ice, obviously. But...his comment got me thinking. That same line of thinking can easily be applied to the Church. How does she respond to the movement of God? What is her technical score? What does her routine look like? Is it tight, in-line, flawless?

The best part of this analogy is this: it's not just about her, the Bride, the Church. Ice dancing takes two people. The lady alone looks lost, incomplete, and just plain silly without her partner. So does the Church. She would just be dancing out there, swinging her arms and legs around, holding on to nothing. She would probably fall. The guy and gal are judged together and scored together on the rink. The Church partners with God and responds to Him. He presents her, but how will she respond?

Did you know that the ice dancing couple loses points for every second they are not touching? I know nobody is keeping a tally, but what would the Church's score look like if we counted the seconds she is disconnected from movement of God?

I hope we see roses on the rink after our ice dance.

if an if was a skiff

What if orange Tic Tacs tasted like carrots?

They look like carrots, but would they taste good with ranch dip?

Probably not...

recently...

I just ate 5-8 Double Stuf Oreo Cookies. (I deliberately did not count them, for obvious reasons.) I've never wanted to go to the dentist more in my life.

This weekend I discovered that I have a deep intrest in Chinese poetry, especially from the "Middle Period," and especially T'ao Ch'ien and Tu Fu. If China had cowboys, these guys would be the Pecos Bills and John Waynes.

My dad painted the floor of the garage with khaki paint, whereupon he used an eggshell and black speckle to add dimension and durability-- Because everybody knows that the "garage is just another room of the house where you park you car." I love my dad.

I also discovered that the words "disposable income" raise my blood pressure and cause my stomach to churn.

The "average propensity to consume" in the USA is 105%. That is disgusting. (I'm actually learning something in Basic Economics... who knew?)

God is calling a lot these days. I shouldn't screen my calls so often. I like hearing from Him.

Flora and I have a new message on our answering machine that goes a little something like this: "Hello, KLRC, you're on the air..." BEEP.

signage

This sign was posted on the podium in my Masterpieces of Literature class:

To All Would-Be

Commode- Cloggers

Four-Flushers

Throne-Blockers

&

Toilet Vandals:

Remember,

GOD

IS

WATCHING!!!

_______________________________________________________

Aren't our lit profs just so great? I mean, who posts something like that? Apparently over-flow is a big problem in the Lit department.

afternoon snack

"Would you like a taste of this?"
"Well, what flavor do you have there, Mr. Herb?"
"Oh, there really isn't a flavor to it," he said as he observed the carton of his apparently vanilla protein shake, a perfect combination with his afternoon snack of cottage cheese.
"You know what, I think I'm fine just as I am," I said, respectfully declining the straw-sip of powder-to-water magic of a shake.
"You sure?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you, though."

Forty-five seconds pass.

"Would you like a sip of this?"
"Well, I think I'll have to pass this time. I had rice krispie treats for lunch. I'm trying to watch my figure, you know," respectfully declining, again.
"You sure?"
"Yes, sir. Thanks so much, though."

Thirty seconds pass.

"Would you like my shake here? It's vanilla they tell me."
"You know what, I'm really just fine. I've got my water bottle here, and it is filling me up just nicely."
"You sure?"
"Yes, sir. Very kind of you to offer, though. Maybe next week when I stop in it will be chocolate. You can bet I'll have a sip of that!"

Thirty seconds pass.

Mr. Herb sucks the protein shake carton dry.
"Oh, I've hit the bottom."
"Sounds like it," I noticed.
"Oh no. What have I done," Mr. Herb horrifically gasped. "I just drank this whole shake and didn't even offer you one sip."
"Oh, Mr. Herb, no bother really. You know, I've been drinking my water here, and I'm doing just fine. Don't worry about that at all. Sounds like you enjoyed it, down to the last drop!"
"I didn't. But you don't understand. Don't you see? You would have found more satisfaction in this than I did. You should have had it. I can't believe myself...not offering you even a sip. You would have loved it...."

Again I comforted Mr. Herb, reassuring him that I'd take him up on the chocolate shake next week.

Mr. Herb won't remember me next week when I bounce in his barren room in the Siloam Springs Nursing Home, and take him for a whirl in his wheel chair. He won't remember that my name is Jennifer and that he offers me his protein shake upwards of 10 times a visit. This is the heart-wrenching dialogue that occurs over and over again with Alzheimer's patients. But I will remember his generosity. Mr. Herb and his "vanilla" protein shake taught me that if I see that another person will find more satisfaction in my wealth, no matter if it is in a carton, on a hanger, or in my wallet, I should offer it. I should offer whatever I have, again and again and again. Mr. Herb is the most giving person I know, even if he doesn't realize it anymore.

foggy jurisprudence

ewwwwww. It's foggy today. The only thing that I like about fog is that it reminds me of one of my favorite "chapter books" from my wonder years. I think the book even came with a locket. Or, maybe that was a princess book. Ah... the glory days. Now, I'm stuck with Law and Jurisprudence in American History. ewwwwwwwww.

VS.


(I don't think Law and Jurisprudence ever won any Newburry Honors...)

Book Description

Greta had always loved the fog—the soft gray mist that rolled in from the sea and drifted over the village. The fog seemed to have a secret to tell her. Then one day when Greta was walking in the woods and the mist was closing in, she saw the dark outline of a stone house against the spruce trees—a house where only an old cellar hole should have been. Then she saw a surrey come by, carrying a lady dressed in plum- colored silk. The woman beckoned for Greta to join her, and soon Greta found herself launched on an adventure that would take her back to a past that existed only through the magic of the fog.

VS.

Book Description

Originally published in 1980, this text was the first casebook in the field of American legal history. It encouraged the formation of the modern discipline of American legal history, sought to create a canon for the field, and is now regarded as a classic compilation. There are two main alterations or additions to this edition. The first is a reworking of the slavery materials in Chapter Four, substituting the testimony of the slaves themselves. The second major change in the book is the addition of materials regarding the impeachment and trial of President Clinton.

...you decide...
I've cast my vote.

smile-wrinkles

I heard the most beautiful laugh today. I was walking down the stairwell in my dorm. A hearty gaffaw billowed through the staircase. It was more than gutteral, it was thick and full of energy. I didn't want it to end. I looked to see who was sending out sounds of such joy, and it was just a girl. Tall girl, I've seen her around. But her laugh...oh my...her laugh. It made me think of beauty. As I continued on my way, my destination became fuzzy and all I could think about was Jesus. I know, strange twist. Why would a laugh send me pondering my Savior? I wondered what his laugh sounded like. I know he laughed...he must have. He hung out with Peter. I even laugh at Peter. But, what did it sound like when Jesus was joyful? Was his a belly laugh? A wheeze? The laugh that never ends? A hissy, leaky-baloon laugh? The silent laugh? What did his eyes look like when he laughed? Did he ever have that 'I'm crying because I'm laughing so hard' feeling? Now I can only think of seeing His face. I want to see the face of purest joy, and feel the purest joy, together with the Creator of the universe. Come, Lord Jesus. Let's laugh together, forever.

whoosh...here I come again.

What's up with the wind? It's like this crazy stong force, but I can't see it. I'm just walking along and it decides to blow my feet right out from under me. I pick up a foot to step and *whoosh* there it goes, whirling off toward the right or left, off the path of my sauntering. You know the feeling.

It happens to my spirit, just like my feet. I'm just cruising along, on fire for the Word of God, every morning, noon, and night. The only thing that satisfies me is the Word. Then, here it comes, without notice or sound. *whoosh* I'm depleated, disinterested, unfocused, lazy. The devil sneaks in like the wind and tries to knock me off course, and just when I feel like my steps are in line. Sneak attack.

But, there's victory in Jesus. He won't let some sneaky, earthly, slithering, scoundrel-of-a-creature have the best of his friend. He's mightier. He will fight for me. He sets my feet on solid ground and says *whoosh* to the devil himself.

That old tune seeps back in....There's pow'r, pow'r, wonder workin' pow'r. There's pow'r in the blood of the Lamb.

It might take all I have to stay focused, alert, attentive, desiring, thirsty. But I wouldn't imagine giving any less. Take my life. Consecrate it. Plant my feet, Lord Jesus....and come quickly. I want to see your face.

phew...

Have no fear, Barbie still makes phones. This phone happened after my previous phone was bit by my car door. Luckily, the color pink has not, nor will ever go out of style. But, living on a budget (new year's resolution), has provided me this gem of a phone. It was seriously the cheapest, oldest, used phone Sprint could afford to sell for an outrageous price.
PS: Please call me. All of my phone numbers were lost in the "incident."

stitches

A piece of the Turkish tapestry now gracefully hanging above my bed. 

excellency

So, here it is...the New Year's Post (just 1.5 weeks late)
I resolve to do things better. 'Intentionality' is the buzz word for me this year. I shant procrastinate....never ever again. I really do want to stick to the to-do list in my head, rather than put it off, put it off, put it off, until I'm crazy. I was challenged by Louie G. at the Passion 06 conference to do things with excellency, all for the glory of God. The end result of my new-found productivity will be more glory for God through my life, I hope. Its not about me. It never was.

In an effort to approach all things with excellency in mind, here are some things I've learned during my first few days of classes. Keep in mind, "Basic Economics" would have gone in one ear and out the other in my old frame of mind, along with anything said in my legal history class.

Toyota has more market shares than GM in the United States.

Jurisprudence can be defined as the 'love of the knowledge of law.'

2001: A Space Odyssey was filmed in 1968.

I think my lit. class should be quite interesting. We're reading Gilgamesh for the first few weeks. Talk about old...It is the oldest recorded literature....ever. Plus, the teacher reminds me of my P.E. coach from elementary school-- redhead with freckles. "I recommend copious amounts of caffeine," he said, when giving tips for staying alert in class.

Other ramblings:
Check out Charlie Hall's new CD...when it is released (1.24.06)

If you have an extra hour on your hands, do the "Kneel" prayer journey. This was offered at the Passion 06 conference, but I didn't get a chance to experience it while I was there.

And, while you're in the praying mood, please consider joining the "21 Days of Prayer and Fasting" with others from our generation, praying for more message bearers, zealous for the Lord's renown. Read about it here

Pleasure doing business with you...

the christmas post

I don't really want to make a long "what's been happening since I finished my fall semester and have been home being a couch potato" post. So, this is a

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JESUS!

post. Well-said, jennifer. My family and I are ringing in Christmas in Bernice, Louisiana. The nursing home across the street from my grandma's house is shooting off fireworks as I type this. We are watching the 24-hour Christmas Story marathon. And it is only 9:15pm. Whooo-wah. I heart the holidays.

In other short, abbreviated news: Why do I not feel ready for Christmas? Why on earth would I want to delay this celebration? This feeling comes over me every Christmas. I feel like I want to postpone the celebrations, like I want to get "more in the mood." Shouldn't I be living each day "in the mood" for the return of the Savior? Get in the mood. It is all we should be living for. The Comforter HAS come. We celebrate because we're so thankful God stretched on skin, and because we're so darn excited for his return.

sugarplums

I'm pretty sure I didn't sleep a wink that night, waiting in great anticipation....for new stone-washed-splatter-paint jeans.

Merry Christmas, all. May these merry faces remind you of the source of all giddy smiles, and may you anticipate that great Return of the one that came by way of virgin womb and spent his first night in an oxen's stall.

double take

I walked through a Mad-Lib scene tonight. I shall share:

As I was walking through Barnes & Noble, where I stopped in to by a White Chocolate Mocha to tide me over during the time I arrived in Fayetteville and the time I actually needed to be in Fayetteville to watch my cousin sing in her first Madrigal Feast, I saw my French professor from my freshman year of college, who is originally from Algeria, picking his nose in the Philosophy section; the section where I found my newest tool for procrastination, a book entitled On Bullshit, by Harry G. Frankfurt (a name almost as ironic as the title of his book).

In other untimely and unsettling news, this week I found out that my 3.5(ish) year boyfriend-of-past is engaged to one of my best friends from my past life in California.

Praise God anyhow, and just for that exactly.

Father in heaven, thank you for refusing to be understood only through grand events like powdered-sugar-snow in the early hours of the morning. And, thank you for coming to a stinky stable to stretch on skin and save the world.

clinically speaking

Once upon a time....I was not tired. I'm always tired. I can't even fathom exerting energy, on anything. Dr. Drew calls this clinical exhaustion. Thanks, Doc. Now I have a fancy term that I can throw around to evoke needed pity for my pathetic drudgery. I claim to have Mono. However, this could not be the case for several reasons: 1) Mono is "The Kissing Disease." Ha. no such luck. 2) You usually have fever with Mono. I do not, as far as my inner-thermometer can tell. 3) Wouldn't I be dead by now? Whatever the case, my roomie has respectfully removed her toothbrush from our shared toothbrush holder, and relocated it to the other side of the sink.

So, here's the prognosis: sleep more.

I tried that, unintentionally, actually. Last Wednesday, I fell asleep at 7pm. I awoke at 8am...the next morning. Ooops. Those were 13 hours in which I fell even more behind. Needless to say, my body needs sleep, but isn't so lucky to find it (except that fateful night).

On another note, I just looked across the street (from my dad's house) and saw a Christmas tree, glistening in the bay window of our neighbor's house. I threw up a little in my mouth. What are they thinking? We still have a week before Thanksgiving, c'mon! According to all the sources I've ever read, one is NOT permitted to decorate for Christmas until AFTER Thanksgiving. Ugh. Yes, I'm being Grinchy, with due cause. Then again, a pastor and his wife live in the Christmas tree house. Maybe they know more about that stuff than I do....

Hip-hip-hooray (3x) for warm, clean, towels! My 5th load of laundry is rumbling its way to a static-clingy-ness of perfection. I haven't done laundry in almost a month. My wardrobe was beyond pathetic. One day this week, I resorted to a t-shirt from Jr.High, dirty socks, and the jeans which were going on their 20th day of wear, sans soap. Gross. That smell I kept blaming on the stinky kid behind me might actually have been me.

I don't know a clever way to end this post.

blahhhhhh-blahhhh-blahhhhhhhhhh.

today is normal?

I feel like a cowgirl today. This could have stemmed from a number of sources:
1. I am wearing a brown belt.
2. I recently saw the play Oklahoma! at the Walton Arts Center.
3. I live in Siloam Springs, AR.
4. I participated full-heartedly in a bluegrass sing-along at a nursing home last night.
(There's pow'r, pow'r, wonder-workin pow'r. There's pow'r in the blood of the Lamb.)

Speaking of which, 'What a friend we do have in Jesus.' He is the 'Rock of Ages.' I am today, just as every day, 'Amaz[ed] by Grace.'

I've made the library on campus my home-away-from-home. I like the smell of old periodicles. I suffer from an unstoppable urge to check out as many books as are allowed. (that's 15, by the way). Did you know that Teddy Roosevelt and his brother Kermit went on an expedition through Tibet? I didn't either, until I checked out East of the Sun and West of the Moon. It was in the row of books right by the bathroom. I also checked out a couple others simply because I like their covers. I ended up liking their guts, too. Longfellow, Ruskin, Milton. Interesting collection. Maybe the only thing they have in common istheir last check-out date, before me: the 1960's.

I had a dream that I inherited a mission agency. Is that even possible? In my dream I arrived on the scene where a family had just learned of the death of the founders of the agency. I guess you'd call it good timing, but they decided I was who they had prayed would come and take over. I thought this would leave a pleasant aftertaste when I awoke, but today I've felt even more overwhelmed....about choosing the right agency, about my where to serve, about time committments, about the "real world."

I read about the martyr Nicholas Ridley in preparation for a paper and presentation in a ministry class. He was burned at the stake under Queen Mary, but his body would not burn. He literally had to lean into the fire to finally die.

Bring then, Lord, the fire.
I promise to lean into the flame.

ps: my hair is dark chestnut now. I went to the store for cough drops and came out with a box of #62, Herbal Essence hair dye. Much thanks to Flora. She was right, it did make me feel better than Hall's Mentho-lyptus, cherry flavored. Now, I'm more chestnut flavored.

Partly Cloudy with a Change of Rain

 

SCHWASHBUCKLED!

The invitation read, "An Aristocratic Night on the Town." We got all dolled up, ready to rub elbows with the classy folk. An opera, perhaps? Our only hint was to dress "18th Century and formal." This left me wondering, but I decided on a little 1950's number. We could hardly wait to see what our "high society gentlemen" had planned for the evening!

Little did we know, our plans were thwarted by an unruly gang of pirates! Your eyes are not deceiving you. That is actually a pirate ship. What we thought would be an evening on the town among the classiest of the classy turned into a schwashbuckling of all schwabuckles! The "gentlemen" pulled up in a caravan of cars, with the pirate ship paramount. They threw us into the cars and wisked us away to the mecca of all pirate eateries-- Long John Silver's.

Aye, a rough bunch they were.

The gruff nature of the pirate life was starting wear off on me, even before the meal arrived on deck. I quite liked it...

But they sure knew how to treat a lady. We were served Long John Silver's finest...off of the coupon menu, of course. After a fish dinner, we were shipped off to New Life Ranch. We danced and sang around the campfire, like any good gathering of pirates and piratesses.

We were even treated to some pirate tales of the lost loves and lost limbs. The pirates never broke character! Amazing!

In the end, roasting marshmallows (pirates/college boys don't have money for chocolate and grahams...silly) with pirates isn't all that bad. An amazing time was had by all, aristocrat and pirate alike.

So, Dad acutally does work. Hmph. Interesting....

A day at the office with Dad.

justified napping