N.B.: I wrote this about a month ago, posted something else in its place and have since decided to delete that post and put this one back in its rightful place.
Starting now, if I were to shake a Magic 8 Ball and ask: Will 2009 be the best year of my life? The repeated answer would be: “It is decidedly so.” As I watched 2008 come to a close last week, I realized two things: 1). It had been a very difficult six months, and 2). Overall, the year was better than 2007 (decidedly the worst year of my life). If 2007 was the year of personal trauma, 2008 was the year of family trauma.
In June, my dad rapidly lost the ability to control his motor functions and had significant spinal surgery in July. During his surgery, I watched my mom have a 25 minute seizure, forced her into a cab (we had taken a short walk, to move around and get some air), and then forced her to get checked into the ER. (It was an internal seizure and looked, to me, far more like a stroke than a seizure. She was originally diagnosed as having a stroke.) They discovered a series of fistulas on her brain and she had brain surgery in October. For two weeks leading up to her surgery, she and I talked extensively on her desire to give me Power of Attorney, to make ultimate decisions if there were complications. That is not a conversation any daughter should have to have.
On December 15, my Sally, my beautiful black lab (she was my 13th birthday present) died. In her sleep, and next to my mom’s side of the bed. She had a great life and could rival Marley (of Marley and Me) as the World’s Worst Dog, but man, she was a great dog. In all the ways that really matter, she was a great dog.
In addition, there was the normal mess of this very, very complicated thing that we call life.
But, given all of that, here is what I know about life, after last year:
- My parents are both recovering, in every sense of the word.
- My mom’s hair is growing back. And she is the most gorgeous woman I will ever know.
- My dad allows me to be horribly flawed and real and ridiculous. And I will love his warrior heart every single day of my life.
- I am going to be an AUNT! Emily is due June 25. I shouted with glee when she told me. I cannot wait to meet this new member of our family.
- That, in the midst of true, recognizable sadness and loneliness, there is grace.
- That there are two concrete truths to life: 1). There is a Creator, and 2). There is this wacky thing called love.
- Friends make life truly sweet. To Jillian, Mer, Rebecca: I am not a sweet person at heart, but you make me try harder to be so.
- I can officially carry on with life for months at a time without therapy. Go me.
- 2009 is going to change my life forever.
For 2009:
Here is the announcement of all announcements: I am leaving Seattle. Hoorah! Finally! On July 14, I will fly to Northern Ireland and live in a teeny tiny town on the North Atlantic for four months to work at Downhill Hostel – checking folks in, giving tours, chatting it up with fellow travelers, etc. Afterwards, I want to do some extensive traveling throughout Eastern Europe, and hopefully visit the new friends I will make while I’m at the hostel (wherever they may be coming from). As for Eastern Europe, this is the current plan: Prague, Eastern Germany (particularly Dresden), Poland, Vienna, Budapest, Bucharest, Slovakia, Istanbul.
This, of course, is in addition to travels in the UK: Scotland, Republic of Ireland, London.
And then, who knows? I make life-changing decisions very easily – it’s the minor ones I have trouble with – but I want to give myself the flexibility and allowance for Northern Ireland and Eastern Europe to change my entire life. And knock my socks off.
I am, after all, going to 11 countries that I’ve never been to, and will fill several more pages of my passport. If I don’t come back a completely different person, you have my permission to slap me and send me away again. Don’t get me wrong: I don’t think there’s anything really wrong with me now – I’m fabulous and silly and caring and witty. But that’s what life is all about – change, growth, failed and exceeded expectations.
And so, for the next six months, I will live on a smaller budget than I did in college and continue to scrimp and save and save and save and work two jobs and float around in a constant state of excitement.
And then! I will become an aunt. To a baby GIRL that three weeks later I will have to say goodbye to. Ugg. I do not like the idea of having to say goodbye to this baby. I hate it, in fact, but this trip was planned before Emily got pregnant and I have wanted to get out of Washington for a decade. Baby or no baby, I know I have to do this.
Last week (when I wrote this a month ago), numb and crazed from an insane three weeks, Jillian allowed me to have a pity party for my single (yet fabulous) self. And yes, it is annoying to be very, very single, but I have to remind myself that I’m single for a very good reason – I’m not meant to stay in this area.
A toast to you, 2009. You will change my entire life, I am sure.
Friday, January 9, 2009
Saturday, August 30, 2008
And together we will float into the mystic. (AKA: Rachael says Farewell to The Carlton)
Really. Does it get any better than Van Morrison? Hmm. For now, let's go with no.
I said goodbye to The Carlton yesterday afternoon (approximately 4:23 p.m., PST). I took pictures (front of The Carlton, Rachael in The Carlton, Rachael's feet in The Carlton, view of Lake Union from #204, etc.) It is the first time since I graduated that I felt sad about leaving a place. I loved, loved, loved living alone. It was, by far (and so far) my favorite living experience.
So now. I live in Ravenna/Sandpoint and have three roommates. They are fabulous and the house is huge and lovely and I have a near perfect room with white wood-paneled walls and windows and a separate dressing room/closet. There is a silly dog and huge kitchen and a fireplace. It is far more quiet and I no longer have the bright lights of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance spilling into my apartment at all hours of the day. I don't have a water view, but I am within walking distance of Third Place Books and don't have to use sticky-tack to hang artwork up. All good things.
So, while I am a little heartbroken from having to leave my adorable little studio with its exposed brick walls (perfection) and hardwood floors, I am already feeling very at home at the new house. I am surrounded by my 500 books, the best-smelling and softest bedding in existence, and Van Morrison. That, and I've already entertained twice: dinner and brunch. Not something that is easy to do in 416 sq. feet of space.
So, here's to moving. And saving money. And communal living.
Cheers.
I said goodbye to The Carlton yesterday afternoon (approximately 4:23 p.m., PST). I took pictures (front of The Carlton, Rachael in The Carlton, Rachael's feet in The Carlton, view of Lake Union from #204, etc.) It is the first time since I graduated that I felt sad about leaving a place. I loved, loved, loved living alone. It was, by far (and so far) my favorite living experience.
So now. I live in Ravenna/Sandpoint and have three roommates. They are fabulous and the house is huge and lovely and I have a near perfect room with white wood-paneled walls and windows and a separate dressing room/closet. There is a silly dog and huge kitchen and a fireplace. It is far more quiet and I no longer have the bright lights of the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance spilling into my apartment at all hours of the day. I don't have a water view, but I am within walking distance of Third Place Books and don't have to use sticky-tack to hang artwork up. All good things.
So, while I am a little heartbroken from having to leave my adorable little studio with its exposed brick walls (perfection) and hardwood floors, I am already feeling very at home at the new house. I am surrounded by my 500 books, the best-smelling and softest bedding in existence, and Van Morrison. That, and I've already entertained twice: dinner and brunch. Not something that is easy to do in 416 sq. feet of space.
So, here's to moving. And saving money. And communal living.
Cheers.
Monday, June 23, 2008
This is what it means to say, “I’m home.”
How strange it is to feel at home in yourself. In the past, there have been times that I’ve been so struck by this feeling -- to feel alive and complete in the blissful aloneness of the self –- that it makes me light-headed and disoriented. As I’m always on the hunt for adding corniness to my life, I would say that this feeling causes me to stand, with open arms, and say, with a breathy sigh, “This is life.” What is life, really? Serendipitous moments of glee and heartbreak, a weather-beaten journey of loneliness and love and the discovery of peace.
It is awful sometimes, this life. We break and burn and starve our bodies in order to somehow obtain a level of physical satisfaction that someone, somewhere told us was not only obtainable but a necessity. We toil and twist our souls, our minds so that they reflect a perfect balance of decisiveness and open-minded reflection. And for what? So that we can fit in. Find a group of people who make us feel comfortable and safe and not alone. What does it mean to be at home in yourself and then (!) seek out those fellow seekers of the truth that sets men and women free, and of the peace that passes all understanding? What does it mean to say, “I’m home.” to yourself? To the creative spirit that was gloriously made in the sight of the Trinity?
These moments, which I look back on with the same longing I have from never going to sleep-away summer camp, are miss-able. They buzz past you, thisclose, just touching your left ear, like the summer dragonfly. If you listen closely, you can hear the buzz of past happiness, of past comfort, with the scent of home lingering on your shoulders like a freshly-washed beach towel wrapped around the torso. (My home smells like lilacs in mid-May.) Here, after the fall, the miss-ability of “at home” moments is excusable, rather than craved. It is far, far, far too easy to tell yourself that you are lucky to experience the fleeting moments of a fullness of peace. My personal motto is, “Why settle for glass-half-full when you can have free refills?” Indeed. Why must we settle for second-rate happiness? For happenstance and every-once-in-a-while joy?
At what point along the road did we allow ourselves to settle for second-rate living?
This weekend brought forth several moments that are beautiful in their ability to force one to consider this “at-home” notion: Skipping down the street with friend in Pioneer Square, our stomachs full of Krispy Kreme donuts, talking about God and men and hope. The unconditional love of a dog, a pure example, albeit a very small fraction, of God’s love for His Creation. The face of my Mom, gorgeous and rested in her skin, watching me as I drove away from my childhood home. My mom is the ultimate example of what it means to call yourself “home”. To be fully vested in the relationship one has with Abba, Father and the relationship one has with herself. She is a miracle.
I wonder -- at what point during the creation of man did God decide to give us the ability to love? From the minute amount that I know about the Father, I can only imagine He was crying through copious laughter, knowing what He was getting us into. The ability to love – and be loved (not to sound like the dénouement from Moulin Rouge) – isn’t that enough to have us ache, crave first-rate living? To seek innocence (more on this later), joy and freedom? And, love, of course. Love is what started it all. And love is what allows us to feel at home in ourselves. To be comfortable and at peace in the skin, blood and bones that God provided for us.
In such bliss, yet with an absolute knowledge of pain, comes not necessarily a new way of life, but, and perhaps more importantly, a new understanding of the senses and what it means to use them to their full extent.
To you all, summer is the perfect time to read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. It infuses the power of sight unlike any other piece of prose I have ever read.
Summery, blissful blessings to you, my dear friends.
It is awful sometimes, this life. We break and burn and starve our bodies in order to somehow obtain a level of physical satisfaction that someone, somewhere told us was not only obtainable but a necessity. We toil and twist our souls, our minds so that they reflect a perfect balance of decisiveness and open-minded reflection. And for what? So that we can fit in. Find a group of people who make us feel comfortable and safe and not alone. What does it mean to be at home in yourself and then (!) seek out those fellow seekers of the truth that sets men and women free, and of the peace that passes all understanding? What does it mean to say, “I’m home.” to yourself? To the creative spirit that was gloriously made in the sight of the Trinity?
These moments, which I look back on with the same longing I have from never going to sleep-away summer camp, are miss-able. They buzz past you, thisclose, just touching your left ear, like the summer dragonfly. If you listen closely, you can hear the buzz of past happiness, of past comfort, with the scent of home lingering on your shoulders like a freshly-washed beach towel wrapped around the torso. (My home smells like lilacs in mid-May.) Here, after the fall, the miss-ability of “at home” moments is excusable, rather than craved. It is far, far, far too easy to tell yourself that you are lucky to experience the fleeting moments of a fullness of peace. My personal motto is, “Why settle for glass-half-full when you can have free refills?” Indeed. Why must we settle for second-rate happiness? For happenstance and every-once-in-a-while joy?
At what point along the road did we allow ourselves to settle for second-rate living?
This weekend brought forth several moments that are beautiful in their ability to force one to consider this “at-home” notion: Skipping down the street with friend in Pioneer Square, our stomachs full of Krispy Kreme donuts, talking about God and men and hope. The unconditional love of a dog, a pure example, albeit a very small fraction, of God’s love for His Creation. The face of my Mom, gorgeous and rested in her skin, watching me as I drove away from my childhood home. My mom is the ultimate example of what it means to call yourself “home”. To be fully vested in the relationship one has with Abba, Father and the relationship one has with herself. She is a miracle.
I wonder -- at what point during the creation of man did God decide to give us the ability to love? From the minute amount that I know about the Father, I can only imagine He was crying through copious laughter, knowing what He was getting us into. The ability to love – and be loved (not to sound like the dénouement from Moulin Rouge) – isn’t that enough to have us ache, crave first-rate living? To seek innocence (more on this later), joy and freedom? And, love, of course. Love is what started it all. And love is what allows us to feel at home in ourselves. To be comfortable and at peace in the skin, blood and bones that God provided for us.
In such bliss, yet with an absolute knowledge of pain, comes not necessarily a new way of life, but, and perhaps more importantly, a new understanding of the senses and what it means to use them to their full extent.
To you all, summer is the perfect time to read Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. It infuses the power of sight unlike any other piece of prose I have ever read.
Summery, blissful blessings to you, my dear friends.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
oh me, of little faith...
so much for sleeping. (although. fortunately, skagit finally settled down and stopped trying to lick my face and he's curled up against my leg. love it.)
a couple of weeks ago, we had a "sharing sunday" at church. slightly annoying, but for the past 2 years, i haven't been able to keep my mouth shut and not say something. i shared psalm 30, which, for me, is about restoration of spirit--of learning of mercy and grace and love, over and over again, after suffering. i found it at the very end of 2007, which is fortunate, because i don't think i would have appreciated it had it come to me earlier in the year. (although finding it sooner would have been difficult, as i spent most of the year a selfish brat that didn't go to church or read the Word.)
psalm 30 is included below, for your reading pleasure.
in my mid-teens, i had this beautiful, simple, pure faith. i was intricately united with the trinity, and was truly aware of faith and what it meant to be faithful and a lover of Christ and the bride of Christ. now, i have no clue where my faith is. or what it stands for. don't get me wrong: it's there, i'm sure of it. and it stands for Christ, but in a way that i can no longer describe or pinpoint. i think stumbled along for too long, took far too many wrong paths, without ever really wanting to be found again (that's the kicker), that it's difficult, internally, to get back to faith. what does it mean to call God "Father"? what does it mean to have a Savior? what does it mean to go beyond words and not only believe it, in the soul, head and heart, but live it?
(side note: my cat has the softest belly. i adore him. when's he not biting, clawing or licking me, that is.)
i want it back. badly. to be free in faith. to believe so fully that, rather than being burdened by temptation, that it's there for the taking, and what you are. that's what i saw so often in malawi: this free joy and faith. watching the kids, having gone through horrific events during infancy and early childhood, singing and dancing and, in the greatest sense of the word--the the most humble and absolutely gorgeous way i've ever experienced it--praising God. they rejoiced. it was perfect. and blessed. those nights, during devotions, with the kids, were the best moments of my crazy little life. i want to go back. and i am so mad at myself for the way i have lived my life the past 3.5 years. i told myself i would be living there after 2 years. and i'm not even close to being ready. damnit.
okay. nightie night. blessings to you all.
Psalm 30
A psalm. A song. For the dedication of the temple. Of David. [a]
1 I will exalt you, O LORD,
for you lifted me out of the depths
and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
2 O LORD my God, I called to you for help
and you healed me.
3 O LORD, you brought me up from the grave [b] ;
you spared me from going down into the pit.
4 Sing to the LORD, you saints of his;
praise his holy name.
5 For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may remain for a night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.
6 When I felt secure, I said,
"I will never be shaken."
7 O LORD, when you favored me,
you made my mountain [c] stand firm;
but when you hid your face,
I was dismayed.
8 To you, O LORD, I called;
to the Lord I cried for mercy:
9 "What gain is there in my destruction, [d]
in my going down into the pit?
Will the dust praise you?
Will it proclaim your faithfulness?
10 Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."
11 You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
12 that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever
a couple of weeks ago, we had a "sharing sunday" at church. slightly annoying, but for the past 2 years, i haven't been able to keep my mouth shut and not say something. i shared psalm 30, which, for me, is about restoration of spirit--of learning of mercy and grace and love, over and over again, after suffering. i found it at the very end of 2007, which is fortunate, because i don't think i would have appreciated it had it come to me earlier in the year. (although finding it sooner would have been difficult, as i spent most of the year a selfish brat that didn't go to church or read the Word.)
psalm 30 is included below, for your reading pleasure.
in my mid-teens, i had this beautiful, simple, pure faith. i was intricately united with the trinity, and was truly aware of faith and what it meant to be faithful and a lover of Christ and the bride of Christ. now, i have no clue where my faith is. or what it stands for. don't get me wrong: it's there, i'm sure of it. and it stands for Christ, but in a way that i can no longer describe or pinpoint. i think stumbled along for too long, took far too many wrong paths, without ever really wanting to be found again (that's the kicker), that it's difficult, internally, to get back to faith. what does it mean to call God "Father"? what does it mean to have a Savior? what does it mean to go beyond words and not only believe it, in the soul, head and heart, but live it?
(side note: my cat has the softest belly. i adore him. when's he not biting, clawing or licking me, that is.)
i want it back. badly. to be free in faith. to believe so fully that, rather than being burdened by temptation, that it's there for the taking, and what you are. that's what i saw so often in malawi: this free joy and faith. watching the kids, having gone through horrific events during infancy and early childhood, singing and dancing and, in the greatest sense of the word--the the most humble and absolutely gorgeous way i've ever experienced it--praising God. they rejoiced. it was perfect. and blessed. those nights, during devotions, with the kids, were the best moments of my crazy little life. i want to go back. and i am so mad at myself for the way i have lived my life the past 3.5 years. i told myself i would be living there after 2 years. and i'm not even close to being ready. damnit.
okay. nightie night. blessings to you all.
Psalm 30
A psalm. A song. For the dedication of the temple. Of David. [a]
1 I will exalt you, O LORD,
for you lifted me out of the depths
and did not let my enemies gloat over me.
2 O LORD my God, I called to you for help
and you healed me.
3 O LORD, you brought me up from the grave [b] ;
you spared me from going down into the pit.
4 Sing to the LORD, you saints of his;
praise his holy name.
5 For his anger lasts only a moment,
but his favor lasts a lifetime;
weeping may remain for a night,
but rejoicing comes in the morning.
6 When I felt secure, I said,
"I will never be shaken."
7 O LORD, when you favored me,
you made my mountain [c] stand firm;
but when you hid your face,
I was dismayed.
8 To you, O LORD, I called;
to the Lord I cried for mercy:
9 "What gain is there in my destruction, [d]
in my going down into the pit?
Will the dust praise you?
Will it proclaim your faithfulness?
10 Hear, O LORD, and be merciful to me;
O LORD, be my help."
11 You turned my wailing into dancing;
you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy,
12 that my heart may sing to you and not be silent.
O LORD my God, I will give you thanks forever
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
insomnia. part deux.
i adore bullet points. for some reason unknown to me, this blog deal does not feature bullet points. this must change. thus, i will settle for the @ sign.
@ i truly am in love with andrew bird. if you don't know his music and actually hang out with me, let me know IMMEDIATELY and i will remedy the situation. sigh...
@ i really hate insomnia. it's 2AM and i am not tired at all. i went to bed at 3AM last night and 6AM the night before. no, my life is not that exciting that i was out and about in this oh so fantastic city, doing oh so fantastic things, i was mostly at home, in my still messy apartment, working, dancing around and listening to the beatles.
@ trader joe's sells these completely amazing and delicious dark chocolate covered macadamia nuts. i go through a little container of them every 3 weeks or so. (they are quite sweet). please go try them.
@ i have rapid cycling feelings about my job. i'll be on a kick to leave and then something fabulous will happen and i'll decide to stay and then something annoying happens and i want to leave. this has been going on for three years.
@ i am currently in a "fight" with someone i trust completely and have a very unique and great relationship with. wait, fight isn't the right word. it's very complicated and i'm not sure if things will ever go back to normal, which is very sad, because our relationship is wonderfully complicated and blessed and fun.
@ why is adulthood is at once so amazing and so terribly hard?
@ why are men so time consuming? (mentally, i mean)
@ i'm not in the mood to go to french class tonight.
@ i had a very interesting conversation with one of my very best friends tonight. we talked about feeling distant from life. about not feeling "alive". my sister said something funny a couple weeks ago: she turned to me and said, excitedly, "can you believe that we're alive; that we're human beings?" she is graceful and faithful and lovely, my sister. i wish i had the same wonder and excitement about life more often.
@ i want to take a cross-country train trip. a new friend recommended this to me the other day. he spent a couple months as a tramp and hobo, which sounds weird, but really just means he hitch-hiked and jumped on trains, which i think is wild and amazing. i have always wanted to do something similar, but just doesn't seem to be an adventure that would work for women. i do really like trains.
@ i recently read "into the wild", the book by the dude who wrote "into thin air". both are very good, very well written. the author writes about a need to be in the wilderness. my new friend (mentioned in last "bullet") said that tramping/train hopping requires one to become wild and learn how one is wild, in mind, body and soul. i thought that was very interesting. i was thinking the other day that maybe it isn't just about being "wild" or "wildness" that is required, but rather a "wilderness" in the soul. in that case, there is realization of a mystic, adventurous, challenging, sorrowful part of human nature. i also think that when one is accepting of his/her own "wilderness", there must also be a true, born and breed, intimate relationship with loneliness. wilderness is a lonely idea and, i think, accepting of alone-ness and loneliness. i'm not saying i fit into this category, but it's very interesting overall.
@ i really wish i could fall asleep.
@ ohh! a yawn!
@ i truly am in love with andrew bird. if you don't know his music and actually hang out with me, let me know IMMEDIATELY and i will remedy the situation. sigh...
@ i really hate insomnia. it's 2AM and i am not tired at all. i went to bed at 3AM last night and 6AM the night before. no, my life is not that exciting that i was out and about in this oh so fantastic city, doing oh so fantastic things, i was mostly at home, in my still messy apartment, working, dancing around and listening to the beatles.
@ trader joe's sells these completely amazing and delicious dark chocolate covered macadamia nuts. i go through a little container of them every 3 weeks or so. (they are quite sweet). please go try them.
@ i have rapid cycling feelings about my job. i'll be on a kick to leave and then something fabulous will happen and i'll decide to stay and then something annoying happens and i want to leave. this has been going on for three years.
@ i am currently in a "fight" with someone i trust completely and have a very unique and great relationship with. wait, fight isn't the right word. it's very complicated and i'm not sure if things will ever go back to normal, which is very sad, because our relationship is wonderfully complicated and blessed and fun.
@ why is adulthood is at once so amazing and so terribly hard?
@ why are men so time consuming? (mentally, i mean)
@ i'm not in the mood to go to french class tonight.
@ i had a very interesting conversation with one of my very best friends tonight. we talked about feeling distant from life. about not feeling "alive". my sister said something funny a couple weeks ago: she turned to me and said, excitedly, "can you believe that we're alive; that we're human beings?" she is graceful and faithful and lovely, my sister. i wish i had the same wonder and excitement about life more often.
@ i want to take a cross-country train trip. a new friend recommended this to me the other day. he spent a couple months as a tramp and hobo, which sounds weird, but really just means he hitch-hiked and jumped on trains, which i think is wild and amazing. i have always wanted to do something similar, but just doesn't seem to be an adventure that would work for women. i do really like trains.
@ i recently read "into the wild", the book by the dude who wrote "into thin air". both are very good, very well written. the author writes about a need to be in the wilderness. my new friend (mentioned in last "bullet") said that tramping/train hopping requires one to become wild and learn how one is wild, in mind, body and soul. i thought that was very interesting. i was thinking the other day that maybe it isn't just about being "wild" or "wildness" that is required, but rather a "wilderness" in the soul. in that case, there is realization of a mystic, adventurous, challenging, sorrowful part of human nature. i also think that when one is accepting of his/her own "wilderness", there must also be a true, born and breed, intimate relationship with loneliness. wilderness is a lonely idea and, i think, accepting of alone-ness and loneliness. i'm not saying i fit into this category, but it's very interesting overall.
@ i really wish i could fall asleep.
@ ohh! a yawn!
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
on faith, love and growing up
first: best website ever. http://www.toothpastefordinner.com/011107/meaning-of-this.gif genius!
ponderings:
1. If 2007 is going down in the books as the hardest year of my life (see post "one"), then October is going down as the month of restoration. Sigh. Life is so fun. And good. And blessed. And overall, a kick in the pants.
2. Even though this month of restoration literally started at midnight on the first, this weekend was a beautiful expression of what I think the rest of this year could be for me.
3. I spent the weekend at Our Lady of the Rock, a monastery run by seven nuns on Shaw Island, in the San Juans. It was lovely and grace-filled. They raise llamas, sheep and cows and allow visitors to come, work on the farm for a day, weekend, week, etc. and will feed and house them in return. They serve raw milk (cows most definitely know what they are doing!) and veggies and meat from the farm. It was an amazing experience.
4. I really hate having a desk job. Human beings were not meant to spend their days sitting at a desk in front of a computer. I read something this morning about the importance of feeling tired at the end of the day. Not just mind-tired but body-tired. Somewhere along the line, when we buckled down to corporate consumerism, we forgot about that part of being human. And it's a shame. Actually, yes, that's exactly what it is--we should be ashamed that we have let ourselves become so lazy. Good grief.
5. All of my really great, poignant thoughts come to me while I'm in the bath.
6. I was thinking this morning that life is really hard. Adulthood is really hard. Mer said to me the other day that as kids we just want to grow up and that really, if we had any idea how hard adulthood is, we would never wish growing up on anyone. (I don't remember if that's exactly how she said it; maybe it's a combination of what she said and my response.)
7. So yes, life is really hard and sometimes it hurts like crazy. I was thinking this morning that I have always treated those hardships in one of two ways--I'm either stupid and prideful and so focused on my own dependence on myself (and the fact that I don't always think that I deserve to depend on anyone else) that I completely forget about faith and God and grace. In this case, I always end up lonely and sad and miserable. OR--and this is the sole reason why life is so amazingly awesome: I allow myself to be accepting of grace. And I allow God to give it me (because that's really just what He wants to do, for us all). And in those cases, life is so amazing, because we see that yes, it's hard and hurts, but it's ours, given to us with grace and peace and love by the Father. And in those times, He holds us high atop His shoulders and we get through it and He takes us on glorious ride through life and Heaven.
8. Sigh...
9. Sometimes, I'm so ready for heaven that I pray... okay, God you can take me now.
10. This is not one of those times. I am happier to be alive right now than I have been in months, maybe years. And life couldn't be sweeter.
ponderings:
1. If 2007 is going down in the books as the hardest year of my life (see post "one"), then October is going down as the month of restoration. Sigh. Life is so fun. And good. And blessed. And overall, a kick in the pants.
2. Even though this month of restoration literally started at midnight on the first, this weekend was a beautiful expression of what I think the rest of this year could be for me.
3. I spent the weekend at Our Lady of the Rock, a monastery run by seven nuns on Shaw Island, in the San Juans. It was lovely and grace-filled. They raise llamas, sheep and cows and allow visitors to come, work on the farm for a day, weekend, week, etc. and will feed and house them in return. They serve raw milk (cows most definitely know what they are doing!) and veggies and meat from the farm. It was an amazing experience.
4. I really hate having a desk job. Human beings were not meant to spend their days sitting at a desk in front of a computer. I read something this morning about the importance of feeling tired at the end of the day. Not just mind-tired but body-tired. Somewhere along the line, when we buckled down to corporate consumerism, we forgot about that part of being human. And it's a shame. Actually, yes, that's exactly what it is--we should be ashamed that we have let ourselves become so lazy. Good grief.
5. All of my really great, poignant thoughts come to me while I'm in the bath.
6. I was thinking this morning that life is really hard. Adulthood is really hard. Mer said to me the other day that as kids we just want to grow up and that really, if we had any idea how hard adulthood is, we would never wish growing up on anyone. (I don't remember if that's exactly how she said it; maybe it's a combination of what she said and my response.)
7. So yes, life is really hard and sometimes it hurts like crazy. I was thinking this morning that I have always treated those hardships in one of two ways--I'm either stupid and prideful and so focused on my own dependence on myself (and the fact that I don't always think that I deserve to depend on anyone else) that I completely forget about faith and God and grace. In this case, I always end up lonely and sad and miserable. OR--and this is the sole reason why life is so amazingly awesome: I allow myself to be accepting of grace. And I allow God to give it me (because that's really just what He wants to do, for us all). And in those cases, life is so amazing, because we see that yes, it's hard and hurts, but it's ours, given to us with grace and peace and love by the Father. And in those times, He holds us high atop His shoulders and we get through it and He takes us on glorious ride through life and Heaven.
8. Sigh...
9. Sometimes, I'm so ready for heaven that I pray... okay, God you can take me now.
10. This is not one of those times. I am happier to be alive right now than I have been in months, maybe years. And life couldn't be sweeter.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
dan allender
today, i received a grad program brochure with a quote from dan allender. i've read several of his books and have considered going to mars hill graduate school for a masters in counseling, which he is president of. one of his books in particular completely changed my life.
as one who is planning to return to mission work (very soon, see previous post), i have tacked this to my refrigerator: "If you don't need the Gospel more than the people you're sharing it with, you ought not to be sharing it with them." Amen!
side note: after all these years, i still spell refrigerator wrong! not good.
as one who is planning to return to mission work (very soon, see previous post), i have tacked this to my refrigerator: "If you don't need the Gospel more than the people you're sharing it with, you ought not to be sharing it with them." Amen!
side note: after all these years, i still spell refrigerator wrong! not good.
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