The Misnamed Trio

And suddenly, in a flash, I could relate to the three men in the fiery furnace. 

You probably know them as Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, though their mother's refer to them as Hananiah, Mishael and Azariah, but almost nobody knows that now. 

Here is what I used to think: King Nebuchadnezzar--let's call him Rupert--crafted an idol of himself and demanded everyone bow down to worship it.  The Misnamed Trio refused, because they only bow down to God. Rupert threw them into a furnace that burned so hot, the guards who threw them in died (my Sunday school teacher's always emphasized that).  But suddenly, Rupert saw FOUR people in the furnace, and one was super shiny.  He told the men to exit the furnace and realized they served the real God because even their eyebrows were still in tact.

If you have ever run the propane too long before starting the barbecue, you know how easy it is to lose your eyebrows.

I always thought this meant I should never bow down to a big golden statue.  And if someone tried to throw me into a furnace, God wouldn't let me die.

Then - something changed.  Like a crack of lightening (in the middle of a prayer meeting) I related to Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. 

These were three guys who loved Jesus.  Then Rupert, the most powerful worldly force around, (Daniel 2:26-40) tells them to worship his statue.  They refuse.  They are persecuted.  God shows up.  Amazing.

I ask myself; what is Rupert telling me to worship above all else?  What does the world say I should dedicate the majority of my time and attention to?  

Myself.  

And I do.

I am a proud person.  I was afraid of praying for humility for a long time because God would probably make me look like a fool.  I couldn't risk what the lover of my soul might do to me if I became vulnerable like that.

Then I talked to Pastor Bonnie, who is so wise.  Humility, she said, is realizing it is not all about you.

Game changer. 

I can absolutely live a life that is not all about me.  I think.

I reject Rupert's plans for my time and attention.  I'm going to mess up.  Now you know and that could be good or bad.  Though since it isn't all about me, you may not even consider it once the post is over.

It is going to be rough, but God will show up.  And I will come out of this with my eyebrows fully intact.

Please Jesus, let me keep my eyebrows.

Why College?

Deborah Rodriguez was a beautician living in Michigan. Dissatisfied with her life, she joined an aid team going to Afghanistan.

The rest of her team - Doctors, dentists, and nurses - had obvious parts to play.  But what could a hair dresser possibly do?

As her book, Kabul Beauty School tells, she could do a whole lot. Sharing her skills, she taught classes of women how to do hair, nails, and make up. With these skills, the women provided for their families and earned positions of respect in their households and communities.

With the technical skills of a hair dresser she turned around the lives of hundreds of women.

When I was in Haiti, I met an American woman who went to Haiti to pour concrete.  While she was there, the Haitians asked her if she could teach some kids.

And when I met her, she had been teaching for the last two years with no plans to quit. A high school diploma plus construction experience, and she was doing important work in a place that needed her.

I went to High School Camp a few weeks back, and a speaker came who had traveled the world with YWAM.  22 countries, 6 years, and who knows how many lives changed for Jesus?  He just graduated High School and started going.

So - what the heck am I going to college for?

I really just want to help people, but is college making me over qualified?  I mean, what good is a communications and sociology degree to people who need to learn to make a living?

Or maybe the opposite is true: maybe I'm under qualified.  I don't know anything useful to anyone.

I've been wandering the whirlwind of options for life after graduation: Haiti, , Fulbright, Peace Corps, Masters Degree, Kenya, Masters Degree and Peace Corps, Fiji, Teach for America, DTS, Starbucks Barista...and I can't help but wonder why all of this "education" is going to matter.  

If I wasn't so certain God wanted me in college, I'd be out of here in a heartbeat. But God's got a better plan. I'll try hard to be patient and wait.

Memoirs of a Newbie: High School Camp

I have never worked with high school students before.  Spending a week as a cabin leader this August was like learning a foreign language when you're already in the country, with a broken jaw.

My eight girls arrived Monday afternoon.  I woke up Tuesday morning and groaned, thinking: I'm still here! 

Lesson #1: Always seek advice from people who have been there before.  

Ten minutes of conversation with a 8-year cabin leader veteran told me everything I did wrong the day before. Mentality corrected, I lead the worst morning devotions ever.

Lesson #2: Never stop praying.

So, I started praying.  I prayed during lunch. I prayed during the all-camp game. I prayed while swimming. I prayed during dinner. I prayed during worship, hearing the burdens of some of my precious girls.

Breakthrough.

God took Rachel, Rachel's problems, and Rachel's emotions and set them aside.  When my strong girls broke and their hurt leaked out, my empty space soaked it up.  Helpless, hurting, we waited for Jesus. 

Lesson #3: The Holy Spirit will always come.

Tumbling from my lips in the shape of words, God came to bring hope. 

And the hurt siphoned away. And peace came.  

And for the rest of the week, I prayed.

Except Thursday.  Thursday I spent the afternoon swing dancing and playing on lake toys with a group of people only to happy to make sure I had a marvelous time. 

Lesson #4: God likes to have fun too.

My initial terror gave way, and I had a fantastic week.  No, I am not proficient in grades 9-12.  But God will always be around to build bridges across language gaps, and all will be well for it.

I Wear a Size Sexy

What if, instead of sizing clothes with numbers, we used compliments.

"I wear a size infatuating."

"Hmmm...Gorgeous isn't fitting quite right there, how about you try it in a va-va-voom?"

"Do you have these jeans in boodylicious?"

No one could complain about their size!

"Shoot! Radiant is too small. Now I'm a size exquisite."

I know it wouldn't solve all of the body image problems in the world.  Learning to love the way you look takes more than a dress in size beautiful, but claiming women of all sizes as attractive could be a step towards winning the mind game of impossible beauty standards.

So, the next time some one asks, I think I'm going to tell them: "I wear a size sexy."

The Gamble

"Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loose the chains of injustice and unite the cord of the yoke, to set the oppressed free and break every yoke? Is it not to share your food with the hungry and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—When you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard.  Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.  “If you do away with the yoke of oppression, with the pointing finger and malicious talk, and if you spend yourselves on behalf of the hungry and satisfy the needs of the oppressed, then your light will rise in the darkness, and your night will become like the noonday.  The Lord will guide you always; he will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and strengthen your frame.  You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.”

Isaiah 58:6-11 (NIV)

I have underlined this passage in my bible again and again.  I read the words and think of my beautiful Haiti girls, my Mexico babies and the hundreds of women and children on the streets and in brothels I have only met through the pages of my books. These are the oppressed people I feel called to set free!

Then I realize how limiting that is!  The passage says to feed the hungry.  It does not say to feed the hungry people who are in an economically worse situation than you.  It says to clothe the naked. It does not say to clothe the naked who shop at Goodwill more often than you do.

Everyone says to eat your food, because there are starving children in Africa.  What about the starving children in Seattle?  

What about my classmate with uncomfortably worn out shoes?

What about the people I see every day, oppressed by a racist, sexist system?

They need me too.

I know, that sounds like a lot of people.  1 in 4 children in Washington are at risk of hunger, according to Food Lifeline.   

How can one person given enough to feed them all?

Before you fall into the depths of inadequacy and despair, remember the rest of the passage.

After this call to action, there is a promise!

If we do these things, we will be healed!  

If we do these things, God will answer our cry! 

Our light will rise, night will be like noonday and – my personal favorite – “[The Lord] will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land.” 

How amazing would it be to feel satisfied? 

Not satisfaction from sitting in the lush green of nature with the sun caressing your face and the wind just barely lifting your hair, with the taste of bacon on your tongue and a Jane Austen novel in your hand.

Nothing like that.

Satisfaction in a place where none of this exists.  Satisfaction in a sun-scorched land where the only water is the perspiration on your brow caked with the dry dust that floats chokes your nostrils with every step.  

Satisfaction in that place of utter lack and desolation.   

I think we do not give because are afraid of that place.  

“If I clothe all the naked, what will I have left to wear?”  Well, should you reach a point of having no clothes, do not worry about it.  

You have reached the sun-scorched land and you are satisfied.  Having given so completely you will have reached a point where what you have simply does not matter anymore.

It is a risk; to give until you have no more.  You might end up with nothing, but according to this passage, it will not matter.  You will be satisfied.

Will you take that gamble?

Paintings and Plastic Castles

Here I am, looking for God's plan for my life.  I ask yet again, what should I do?  What skills should I focus on and where should I apply them?  In which position will I most benefit the Lord?  

What relationships should I have?  Who should I really invest in?  How can I love people better?  When am I going to fall in love?  

How can I engage the world around me in a way that increases the divine mission on this earth?  

I feel somewhat like a chess piece.  An object waiting to be directed by the only one who can see the whole board. It sounds ideal, but who wants to be a piece of plastic, stuck moving in predefined patterns until we are put back on the shelf in the linen closet, or chewed up by the puppy who found us laying in the living room behind the couch.

Today, God showed me a new perspective.

We, the people in the world, are not little plastic pieces on a grid.

We are canvases of color specifically arranged in the grandest museum of all.

I am a spectacular canvas specifically created to be just as it is.  The Artist has used a masterful hand to create me.  Sometimes I grab my own paint brush and splatter on the canvas.  My unskilled self dabs and dots, scribbles and smears and makes a horribly botched mess of the whole thing.  Then, when I notice the storm clouds I have painted on Starry Night, I drop the brush and hang my head in shame.  

God, with loving, gentle hands, picks up the brush and fixes it.  My mistakes are still there, but he covers it with his grace and makes me beautiful once more.  He never mentions them again.

I hang in the grand museum of heaven, featuring billions of canvases specifically placed on certain walls in ideal proximity of each other.  Currently, I rest on the wall of my college years, surrounded by college friends, as well as my family.  In a few weeks, I'll be moved to the Haiti wall, participating in a missions trip down there.   This summer, I shall decorate a France wall, surrounded by people somewhat like me who also want to study abroad.  Each time I am moved, it is done with great care and consideration, always in a way to exemplify my own beauty, as well as the beauty of the museum.

Someday, perhaps in the not so distant future, my canvas will be permanently affixed to another canvas with God glue.  Together, the two canvases will become one, and God will move us around the museum as is best suited for who we are and what we can do.  

Yes, the Artist, the Museum Curator, he decides who we are and what we do.  But like any artist with their work, it is done with the greatest care imaginable. 

Dear Jesus,

Thank you so much.  I so very prefer to be a piece of art than a plastic castle.  Holy Spirit help me remember what a treasure I am, and how thoughtfully my place in this world has been and will be decided.  I look forward to seeing where you move me next, my loving Daddy-God.

I love you,

Amen.

Salt

God tastes like salt.

Or at least I think so; there is no other taste I can quite compare him too.

Salt is in cookies, pizza, home made macaroni and cheese, french fries, popcorn, and bacon. (God is in all things good to eat)

If ever in need of salt, boil seawater. (You cannot "run out" of God)

Salt is a preservative. (God keeps me alive)

Salt is in the ocean air. (God is in my favorite places)

Salt is in my tears. (God is in my pain)

If I use too much salt, I add more ingredients and have more yummy food. (There is no such thing as "too much" God.)

What does God taste like to you?

"Taste and see that the Lord is good." Pslams 34:8

Feet

I was walking down the steps to the cafeteria one day, when I overheard a conversation between two girls walking in the opposite direciton.  One was explaining to the other that happy people tend to walk around looking at the world, while sad or depressed people tend to look down at their feet when they walk.  As I was racing to make the omelet line before it closed, I did not follow them around to hear more of the conversation, so I have no idea where she got her information. Besides, that would have been weird.

This got me thinking; what do people see when they look down anyway?  Well, if they are out of doors, probably their shoes.  For this reason, everyone should always where shoes they like, so when they are feeling blue they can look down and see their glittery Toms or cherry red converse.  A splash of wonderful waiting for a chance to be admired.

What about when you are not outside?  A sad person looking down will probably see their feet-a justification for pedicures that provide sparkle or flowers for boring old toes.  Another option would be socks.

I love fun socks.  It all started when I was helping my Grandma in her backyard for a couple of weekends one summer.  The Oregon Grapes had over run the greenbelt behind her house, and I was helping her pull them out.  I was rather young, and probably didn't actually help that much, but one day, after we were finished, she handed me a pair of white socks.  The cuff, when unfolded, featured a yellow halo sprinkled with stars.  When folded down, the word "angel" could be seen in blue type, with a yellow outline. She told me she bought them because I was such an angel for helping her in the greenbelt. (A decade or so later, I only have one of those socks left, but I plan to keep it forever.)

This small gesture from my Grandmother sparked in me an sincere attachment to wearing fun socks.  Stripes in a plethora of colors, spots in a range of sizes, arigile in various color combinations, orange and yellow cheeta print, and even two pairs with peacocks. 

When I am bogged down by homework, depressed by the cloudy sky, and freezing, I can always look down at my pleasently adorned feet and know that the world is not as dismal as I thought.

English Country Dancing

With the first notes of the piano, she bows courteously to her partner across the aisle.  The intro swells into chorus, and she begins to dance.

Head erect, arms extended, she confidently takes the hands of her partner as they do a double turn.  She makes a modest curtsy and dances into to the second couple, unashamedly flirting with her neighbor's partner.  Her neighbor does the same, and none is jealous of the other.  All four hold hands across the center to form a star, and slowly walk a circle.

A slow spin outward bumps her down the row to a new couple, and the process repeats itself.  A new neighbor, a new flirt, but the same poised postures remains throughout. 

The room is lit by chandeliers equally spaced across the ceiling, all elegantly adorned  with silver and sparkle.  The windows look out into a crisp February night, lit only by the moon and stars.

Eighteen couples form two sets of lines; more than usual. The new comers are happily accepted and quickly paired with the more experienced dancers.

A splash of sunset here, clear ocean blue there, and tea rose behind her; the ladies' wide skirts swish softly in time with the music.  They spent hours on their hair, pulling it gracefully into twists and curls before hand.  Lovely necklaces and matching bracelets sparkle almost as much as the eyes of the men lucky enough to dance with them.  All are delighted to be here.

The last notes of song are finished with a flourish and a curtsy.  A gentle applause begins and the enchantment slowly fades while the pianist enjoys a brief respite.  The billowing skirts are no more, and salt and pepper hair returns to its long pony tail.  The delight remains.

The college girls, responsible for swelling the group's numbers on this particular Friday night, smile hugely.  It is true, they have not yet mastered all the steps, and all of their partners have grandchildren, but they are utterly delighted.  The music starts and the dancers return to the seventeen hundreds, ready to continue their English Country Dance.

Click here to see how you may go English Country Dancing as well!

Seeds

Life hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

It hurts.

That hurt is a seed.

A seed that can grow into bitterness.

A seed that can grow into beauty.

Take that seed to Jesus.

Sow that seed with Jesus.

Sowing seeds takes effort.

Growing seeds takes time.

Wait on God.

He will turn that seed into joy.

It is so worth it, to trade sorrow for joy.

"Those who sow in tears will reap with songs of joy. He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him." -Psalms 126:5-6

Location

Location; it matters so much, or perhaps so little.  
I love my Grandma and Grandpa's house.  To step through the door into that familiar abode is to enter comfort, security, and love; to be appreciated and accepted for all that I am. 

Grilled cheese sandwiches (with perfectly melted cheese), comfortable furniture (with a cozy blanket neatly folded across the back of every seat), and pictures of family (a frame for every grandchild) adorn the walls and appease my senses with familiarity.

I know I am in a place where I am wanted and loved.

Is it the house that promotes a sense of belonging?  The wood, windows, and shingles that embrace me upon crossing the threshold?

No. 

A museum without art is a building with awkwardly arranged walls and not nearly enough seating.  A home without people is mearly a roof under which to store things.

It is my Grandparents that make their house special.  They offer the sandwiches, embrace me with love, and attentively listen to the stories of my life.  They are the reasons I frequently long to go to that wood structure where I am always utterly overwhelmed with warmth and fuzziness.

Geographical location of these two whom I treasure is meaningless.  Even if they had no stove on which to make grilled cheese sandwiches, my visits would be no less frequent.  I love them more than is logical for the frail human condition.

The people are what give a place its meaning.  Without them, a house is only organized space to hide from the rain.

Inspiration

I like to write.

I would like to write well. 

I would like to write things that people need to hear.

I would like to write encouraging and thought provoking things.

I would like to write the type of things that spark revolutionary living.

I would like to write things from heaven that people on earth need to hear.

I cannot do this alone.

I am from this world.

I write like one from this world.

This world is corrupt.

Do I write things that are corrupt?

Jesus is above the corrupt world.

I would like Jesus to be my inspiration.

I would like to write things from above the corruption.

"The one who comes from above is above all; the one who is from the earth belongs t0 the earth, and speaks as one from the earth.  The one who comes from heaven is above all."  -John 3:31

Dear Jesus,

Be my inspiration in all that I do.

Amen.

The Perfect Place to Study

I sit at my dorm room desk and stare at a map of colonial Africa. From the crack under my door a host of distractions beckon: a dance party in the bathroom, a movie in the room across the hall, a trip to get hamburgers, and a game of Ultimate Frisbee.


The smell of burnt popcorn and fresh baked cookies assail my nose. My stomach gurgles in response. A snack would taste yummy, but would only make studying harder.

My roommate turns on the TV. Of course, Wipeout. The big red balls toss ordinary people like acrobats, twisting and turning into the waters below. It is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. How am I supposed to get anything done now?

After a plethora of weak-willed attempts, a paper describing the decolonization of Ghana has proceeded no farther than a title. The blinking cursor flashes like a neon sign taunting me to chase it across the page with a torrent of words, but none will come.

It takes all my powers of refusal to pass up an opportunity to play ping pong. Instead, I gather my supplies and strike out on a quest to find a place where I can study.

I try the library. I sit at a desk with walls on three sides, immediately eliminating any potential for visual distraction. This could work.

Twenty other students study around me. I can smell the remains of a portable dinner- Thai food from a doggie bag-mingling with the musk of old books.

Only the sound of air whizzing through a vent can be heard.

My ears ring with the silence.

It is intolerable.

Again, nothing is being accomplished.

I decided to move again, this time off campus to a coffee shop.

I walk through the doors and am greeted by delicious smells and cheerful baristas.

I purchase a cup of heaven covered in whip cream and sit at a table by the window. I situate my textbook and computer, sip my beverage, and try again.

My quest, it seems, has finally come to an end.

Baristas continue to brew coffee, crush ice in the blender, and steam milk. Other patrons talk quietly across the little tables. The unique white noise is louder than silence, quieter than my thoughts, and diverse enough to prevent a stalemate in my mind.

Trendy music flows through the room and unique artwork adorns the warmly painted walls. The ambiance surrounds me like a friend who knows me well enough to let me work in peace.

Distractions are limited. There is no TV, no friendly floor mates, no dance music and no flying discs. I do not need to worry about my laundry, my messy desk, my perpetually unmade bed or the constant stream of customers who remain outside of my sphere of interest.

Many of the people seated around me are reading, writing, knitting, and other such solitary activities. They focus only on what it is they are doing. I am inspired to do the same and dedicate myself completely to the task at hand.

Time slips past unnoticed. I easily become so absorbed in my studies that the “open” sign is turned to “closed” before I realize it is time to go.

If I am diligent in my work and finish before the sun has fully set, there is the opportunity to walk back to campus. I step out the door and find myself embraced by the crisp air. Colorful leaves crunch underfoot. Cozy houses line the street, and occasionally the smell of a homemade dinner will drift from a kitchen window, teasing my palate with its garlic scent.

Feeling like a conquering hero, I return from my quest ready to socialize. My assignment is finished, and the brisk stroll in the fresh air has chased away the heavy, intellectual thoughts that had previously consumed my mind.

In the future, should I be confronted with a monumental task, or menial writing assignment, I intend to skip the foreplay and go directly to a coffee shop, where success is assured.


(written for my journalism class as my first column)

Life Calling

The most stressful day of the quarter is not what you might think.

Some would say it is the first day of class.  Walking into a new class, trying to find a good seat, and hoping some one you know will walk through the doors and the two of you can be bosom friends throughout the hour and twenty minutes you will be sitting there.

Others will declare that is completely incorrect!  The most stressful time in college is not a day at all, but the three days of finals, and the "dead week" that proceeds them. 

I disagree with both of these statements.  The most agonizing time for me is registration.

Every single time I pick classes I seem to re-evaluate what I want to do with my life, and what major/double major/minor/double minor combination would be the best path to getting me there.

And of course, now that I have registered I have been doubting if I am taking the correct classes and constantly scan the "open class" list, searching for a class that particularly calls out to me.  None have yet screamed my name.

These thoughts have been running through my head all week.  All month, really.  But last night, when I went to my secret place to spend time with Jesus, I wasn't thinking about it at all.

I said, "Jesus, I love you.  I'm listening."

And this is what he said to me:

"I am like the voice of one calling in the desert, 'Make straight the way for the Lord.'" -John 1:23b

"A voice of one calling, 'In the desert prepare the way for the Lord; make straight in the wilderness a highway for our God.  Every valley shall be raised up, every mountain and hill laid low; the rough ground shall become level, the rugged places a plain.  And the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all mankind together will see it.  For the mouth of the Lord has spoken." -Isaiah 40:3-5

First I thought, "If everything is made smooth, we will have no hills for sledding!  Instead, we will fly on our joy."

Then I wondered what exactly this meant for me?  The voice that calls out in the desert promises that all obstacles will be removed at the glory of God will shine everywhere.  That is such a hopeful message! I need to share that message with people in deserts.  Does that mean a literal desert?  No.  It means places where there is no life.  It is there that I should go.

Haiti.

I asked if I thought it out of habit, but I am certain that God whispered it in my ear.

I am going to go there and say good things for them

"Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute.  Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy." -Proverbs 31:8-9

and to them

"Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your moths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen." -Ephesians 4:29

I know I am headed in the right direction because

"If the Lord delights in a man's way, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand." -Psalms 37:23-24

You can bet I'm shaking, but I have not fallen yet.

So I'm going to stick with a communications major, but I plan to throw in some english courses (for writing purposes), some theology courses (for a more sound biblical education), and political science courses (because I like them so much that they must be important for something in my life).

Now that you have read this, I ask that you help me.  When I can't seem to have forgotten what direction I am supposed to be going with my life, remind me to read this post.  Then I can remember where exactly I am going. 

It'll make the most stressful time of the quarter a little easier on me.

Gratitude

I love thanksgiving!

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on how you look at it, to write down everything I am thankful for is impossible. The list would be so incredibly long that I would die from hunger before I finished; especially considering that I have not eaten breakfast yet.

Therefore, I've decided to do an abbreviated list focusing on why I am thankful to be at my house, as opposed to still being at school.

1. Better quality toilet paper: I never realized that I missed it until I used the bathroom and my fingers weren't slightly damp afterwards.
2. A fully equipped kitchen: butter knifes and itty bitty sauce pans have their limits, but my Mom's kitchen?  Anything is possible there!
3. My own room: no, I did not get dressed right after getting out of the shower yesterday.  I laid under the covers and watched a TV show for two hours instead.  Perhaps I shouldn't have said that, but when some one you hardly know catches you naked, it makes being naked in your room a little less comforting.  Unless, of course, they have seen you naked since you/they were born (i.e. my mom, my sisters etc) 
4. A comfy couch: the stupid couches at school have hard backs and solid arm rests, but real couches in real houses are much more squishy.
5. One toilet, one shower, one sink, one person: I really love the girls on my floor, but did you ever want to brush your teeth alone?  Call me crazy, but sometimes I do. 
6. Hand Towels: students at colleges across the country use so many paper towels in all of their bathrooms.  I wash my hands, I dry them with the paper towels.  I wash my face, I dry them with the paper towels. I spill stuff on the floor, I dry it with paper towels.  I need tissue paper to wrap a present in, I use paper towels.  SO MANY DEAD TREES!
7. Hugs: family gives hugs all the time, without the awkward "who's on top?" and "I don't like touch" problems.  I am certain I do not get enough hugs at school, and it is bad for my health.
8. Predictable "floormates": yesterday, my little sister came into my room.  She set her scarf on my desk and her coffee on my window sill.  Despite her promise to remember both when she left, I still bet against her.  As predicted, both the coffee and scarf were there long after she left.  It is comforting to know the habits of the people around you.
9. Friendly Fire: as in, fighting-my-littlest-sister-tooth-and-nail-for-the-chocolate-that-I-stole-from-her-because-if-I-didn't-steal-hers-first-she-might-have-stolen-mine-and-I-wanted-to-win.  Considering I enjoyed two truffles compared to her single piece, I consider myself victorious.
10. Mediation: when two of the sisters start fighting, without fail the third, and/or fourth, will step up to try and stop the argument.  No one came to my rescue when my roommate-whom-I-love-so-much was sitting on me the other day. (POST-PUBLICATION EDIT: My roommate whom-I-love-so-much would like me to add that I was sittng on her pillows, therefore deserving of being sat on.  I, on the other hand, would like to add that she took my keys and phone, which is I why sat on her pillows)
11. The Wii: that's right, a video game system.  Granted, we've only got two racing games, Super Mario Bros, Wii Fit, Wii Sport, and Wii Sport Resort, but that sister I fought tooth and nail for chocolate?  Well, I get to blow her up, push her off cliffs, stab her with a sword, and bounce of her head as much as I darn well please.  Or, if we are so inclined, work with her to beat up on everyone else.
12. A toaster that toasts evenly: I'm so tired of burnt toast.
13. My Doggie: always wanting affection, always giving affection.
14. Parents: they are among my favorite people in the world and I much prefer talking to them face to face.  Facebook chats and phone calls are in no way comparable to real life conversation. Not to mention my Mom is a fantastic inspiration, and my Dad can fix anything, even my hurting relationships.
15. Grandparents: especially those that call me Rachel Elf and tell me how proud they are of me and feed me Elf food when I help them do holiday things.  Oh, and then there's the Grandma who makes macaroni and cheese with bacon, and does anything sewing-related that I ask for.  I'm a pretty lucky girl!

Cliche?  Perhaps.  But I'm thankful for all of it anyway.

Have a happy Thanksgiving!

Power of One

"Consequently, just as the result of one trespass was condemnation for all men, so also the result of one act of righteousness was justification that brings life for all me." -Romans 5:18

One act condemned humanity to hell; one act gave us the oppurtunity to live in eternal bliss.

One person, one act, and history is changed. 

There is so much power in one.

3 Wishes

Once upon a time there lived a young woman named Rose. 

Poor Rose's garden looked utterly despondent.  Her flowers were browning, aphids had taken over, and the tomatoes refused to grow. In an effort to bring new life to her yard, she rolled up her sleeves and pushed her spade into the ground and withdrew a clump of earth. Returning her shovel to the ground, she heard a quiet "clink."  Curious, she pushed the dirt out of the way and discovered a teapot buried there.

Painted a deep shade of purple with elaborate gold filigree, Rose was surpised to find it there.  She removed it from the ground and worked to rub away the dirt with her coat sleeve.

Suddenly, the teapot began to vigorously shake! A puff of glitter spewed from the spout and a little girl appeared!

Wearing a gold tutu with purple polka-dots, she floated three feet above the ground in order to make herself eye level with Rose.  After taking a moment to adjust the golden curls surrounding a cheribic face, the little person bowed to Rose and said, "Your wish is my command!"

"Oh dear!" said Rose.  "What are you?"

"I am a genie, Rose.  I live in that teapot and only come out when it is rubbed by mortals. It is quite cozy, actually, andI would very much like to go back.  Unfortunatley I am doomed to remain out here until I grant three wishes for the bearer of the teapot."

"You enjoy living in this thing?" asked Rose.

"Yes I do!  I have filled it with the most wonderful things; sunshine, rainbows, crunchy leaves, green trees, and chocolate milk cows." 

At first Rose was suprised that so many things fit into that ordinary sized tea pot, but then she realized she was talking to a genie, and decided it was not worth meditating on.  Instead she asked what she should call her new companion.

"Gertrude," was the response. "But enough with the formalities, please Rose, let me grant you three wishes so that I may go back home."

Since she had been working in her garden anyway, Rose wished her garden was beautiful.

"As you wish," responded Gertrude, who pulled out a handkerchief and began sneezing. The cheerless garden turned into a flowering Eden, complete with water feature.  "I threw that in as a bonus," she explained.

Rose was astounded!  Her feet carried her around her new yard as she soaked in all the sights and smells.  Stunning flowers in a rainbow of colors, grass softer than a feather bed, and grape tomatoes the size of apples!

But Gertrude was impatient.  Floating in front of Rose as she wandered, she demanded another wish be asked.  "You have the rest of your life to enjoy your garden, now help me get back to mine!"

Rose looked around herself.  Between the branches of her vivacious apple tree, she could see her delapitated house.  The shutters were falling, the paint was peeling, the roof leaked, and the door was so difficult to open that Rose had resorted to climbing through the window.

"I wish my house could look like the darling country cottage it was intended to be."

Pulling out her hankie and falling into a second sneezing fit more violent than the last, Gertrude transformed the crumbling shack into a house directly out of a story book.  Painted yellow with a dark red door and calico curtains in the window, Rose fell instantly in love.

But before she could cross the threshold, Gertrude blocked her path once more.  "I will not let you in your home until you send me back to mine!"

Dissapointed, but not wanting to upset the Genie too much, Rose stepped back into her garden.

As she stood there, she caught a glimpse of herself in her new fountain. She despised her appearance.  Her hair never sat right, her cheeks always had a ruddy hue, and her nose seemed to be the most prominent feature on her face.

"My garden is beautiful, my house is beautiful, I wish I was beautiful too!"

Gertrude pulled out her hankie, made one, delicate sniffle, and zipped towards the teapot.  But Rose jerked it away as she turned to look at her reflection.

"Nothing has changed!" she cried in despair.  "You could grow my dying garden and fix my broken house, but I am so far gone that nothing can be done for me!"

Offended, Gertrude retorted, "Now wait a minute! I did my job, you are beautiful, so let me back to my house!"  Making a dash for her teapot, she caught sight of the tears streaming down Rose's face. With an exasperated sigh, she tried again.

"Your garden was pretty bad, so it took quite a sneeze to fix it. Your house was much worse, and it took even more sneezing to fix that. You, on the other hand, have always been beautiful.  All you took was a sniffle to get the dirt out from under your finger nails."

Rose looked at her, unconvinced.  "Then why do the other girls look so much prettier than me all the time?"

"Don't you know?  God made you beautiful in your own way, completely different than anyone else's beauty.  So stop crying and let me go home!"

Rose uncovered the teapot and Gertrude shrunk to the size of a push pin and slid down the spout.

Drying her eyes, Rose looked at her reflection once more. Her hair had too much life to sit a certain way, her cheeks were rosy, not ruddy, and her nose seemed much more appropriately sized than she realized.

Looking around her, she realized Gertrude must be right.  The Genie had enough power to make the garden utterly glorious and the house completely charming, Rose must be beautiful too.

Beauty, she decided, is not a scale with which to compare who is prettiest.  "Beauty simpy is, and it is all over me."

A Depressing Blog

Have you ever read those blogs by people who always talk about how much their lives suck, and give you a horribly depressed feeling after the first three, long winded, sentences that do not actually say anything about what is really going on in the author's life?  I have; and I always told myself that I was not going to be one of those bloggers.  Instead, I would write about encouraging things, all the good stuff that happens in my life and the lives of the people around me.  But tonight I remembered something some wise person some where once said: without the bad stuff, we would not know what "good" is.

Growing up, everything was good.  A loving family, great friends, lots of interesting books to read, and many days filled with the backyard play set and glorious sunshine and ridiculous games and delicious home-cooked meals.  Sure, my Dad lost his job a few times and, with a stay-at-home Mom, we had no income.  We rarely went to restaurants, wore hand-me-down clothes and most vacations consisted of camping trips with other families from the church.  It was my job to go to school, do my chores, and get along with my sisters.  All fairly easy and entirely uncomplicated tasks.  Life was simple.  Life was good.

So when did that change?  Why did things become so much more complicated?  Why does the "good life" now require a cute hair cut, a sexy body, stylish clothes, and constant fun and smiles?

I put to the court that my life is good.  Yes, I have a full time job this summer and I have limited fun time.  Yes, academic scholarships are essential to making it through college and demand an intense amount of studying.   Yes, I cannot afford a car and have to take the bus everywhere.  Yes, my Grandma is sick with a disease that cannot be cured and my family is hurting. My life is still good.

At the rate I am going with the money God is providing, I will graduate college debt free.  I will owe zip, nada, nothing.  I get to read for hours on the bus, every single day and save a mammoth on gas and car insurance; or I catch rides and have insightful conversations with friends on the drive home.  And as much as my family is hurting, we are growing stronger.  God is doing things in us and through us and for us and around us, because of what my Grandma is going through.

My Mom and Dad still have a strong marriage.  My sisters and I are still very close.  God is still taking care of me, and talks to me all the time.  The sun still shines, the stars still glow, and I still eat good food.  Life is good.

Yes, you must have bad in order to see good.  But let bad things (human trafficking, starvation, thirst, crime, hate, abuse, drugs, natural disasters, terrorist attacks) be bad things and let good things (family, love, caring, sunshine, cookies, ice cream, pets, Jesus, books, mattress to sleep on) be good things.

Philippians 4:8 "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy--think about such things."

With all the good stuff to think about in the world, why would anyone write a depressing blog?  I promise, life does not suck nearly as much as your veiled complaints and ambiguous statements make it seem.