wide eyed wonder

new digs! new digs!

2005-02-02T11:54:00.001-08:00

In an attempt to have a better site, and/or to destroy what steady readership I had, I'VE MOVED. Please go here.

Please, please, please update your links: srich.blogs.com.

Muchas gracias. See you there!

new digs! new digs!

2005-02-02T11:54:00.000-08:00

messy (there's that word again)

2005-02-01T13:01:00.000-08:00

Julie and I had a great weekend... Corey (my friend and Kevin's roommate in less than a week) met up with us over in Seattle for lunch and joined us as we checked out a little church in Fremont called Church of the Apostles. (I'll have to write a post on that soon, describing the experience, because it was so good for us to be there that night, and I'll be back again).

We then met up with Bethany, the first random internet contact I've ever had the privilege of meeting face to face. She's great! We had such a good time getting to know each other; I walked away happy to have made a new friend. After church, Beth invited Jules and I to a birthday party, where Julie and I ended up singing karaoke in front of an entire room of people we'd never met. Good times. Good times. She was brave for letting us crash in her living room; we were brave for showing up. I think it paid off. Random-as-all-get-out weekend, but sometimes that breath of fresh air is exactly what I need. Thanks Bethany, hope to hang out again soon!
*******
OK. So here's where I'm at. (This will not be a pretty post, I can tell now). Ministry relationships are proving really really hard. They're not so very different from any other kind of relationships, I guess, but somehow they still surprise me with their capacity for messiness. I don't know why I'm shocked - these relationships, just like all other connections, have one ingredient in common: they have people in 'em. And "ministry types" are no less human and no less flawed than any others. (Sometimes I question whether we're even more messed up).

It's not that I thought doing this was going to be a cakewalk. It wasn't easy when I was younger, and simply volunteering; and I knew it wasn't going to get any easier the more I became involved. Which is probably why I fought it for so long before finally giving in. The closer you get a magnifying glass to an object, the better you see the dirt on it. Its flaws and rough edges take on startling clarity. Ministry as vocation is still worth pursuing; it's an amazing journey and I am still awestruck that I get to be doing what I'm doing. I'm just getting close enough that I can see the dirt. Dirt on my heroes; dirt on me. We are so incurably human.

What makes it hard is that you sometimes feel like that dirt shouldn't be there. You feel like there should be this impenetrable unity, such clarity of vision and focus, that these petty little personal things wouldn't even show up on the radar. We're going to go on this lovely mission with Jesus; and all will be daisies and roses, right? Just like it was 2,000 years ago... hmm... If I remember correctly, the disciples were always jockeying for position and admiration, Peter was always blurting out something stupid (apart from the few brief shining moments he stumbled upon something profound); and half the time they all had little-to-no idea what the heck Jesus meant when he was talking. Even working directly with Jesus didn't seem to make everything run smoothly. (Which is kind of a relief and a bummer at the same time. We're no different, and yet, hope remains).

The other thing that has been a major wrestling match for me is that everything is so intertwined in this community of people, more so than in just a regular business. Boss is pastor. Coworker is accountability partner. Pastor is mentor. Coworker is friend. It's all so complicated. Issues in one realm tend to affect all the others. (This is true across all areas of life, it's just blatantly, painfully, ridiculously obvious here).

For me, it works out this way: whenever I get frustrated, along with it comes a very potent guilt. (Lethally toxic: guilt on top of frustration). It's hard to feel okay when I find myself on opposite sides of an issue with someone I admire and respect. If it's a person who is "above" me in leadership, double or triple the dosage. A Sunday School poster child, I grew up with a very powerful need to please people, especially those with whom I worked in the church... I count myself lucky that at least that need was to please people who were doing right things, people who loved God. A lot of that desperate need for approval has faded. But even now, at twenty-four, there are still moments, very painful ones, when I'm put through the wringer figuring out when I need to stick to my guns, and when I just need to shut up and humbly accept the startling revelation that I'm not always right. (and if I can't humbly accept it, at least I'll have shut up).

Lately, it seems like I find myself in that wringer all the time, in one particular arena, with one particular relationship. And I have no idea what to do. Am I following my heart, being true to who God made me to be, or am I being a stubborn jerk? Is the (more likely) combination enough of one or the other that I can have peace about what to do or not do?

For now, I've decided to say nothing, decide nothing, do nothing. It has occurred to me, in all my frustration, in all my weighing of potential decisions, that I haven't asked for any help from the One who understands this situation better than either of us ever could. I've been stubbornly trying to figure it out on my own, and God has always seemed more than willing to let me wear myself out until I remember Him. It occurs to me: the reason the disciples did great things even though they so often seemed borderline retarded is that they were with Jesus. There is hope yet.

I need to ask for, and begin to rely on, the grace I so often talk about trusting in. Simple as that. So, for now, I'm going to be still & remind myself that He is God (and, consequently, that I am not).
********
(I'm open to thoughts on this, especially if any of this sounds a little familiar. Thanks).

the adventures of Stacey & Kevo

2005-01-31T23:09:00.000-08:00

Here's an album chronicling our many adventures. Enjoy.

http://www.hpphoto.com/servlet/com.hp.HPGuestLogin?username=staceyrich1&password=90992815

So yeah, Kevo I know I said I'd write you a post, but it took a REALLY long time to find and download these priceless little treasures. So another day. Til then, you are immortalized in this album.

Gosh! You people and your freaking demands! Write a song about me. Send Trogdor over to my house. Put on a purple thing and dance around!

Ok clearly it's time for bed. Laters.

best week ever

2005-01-31T06:10:00.000-08:00

This past week was the best week ever here... had 1156 hits. (WOW. Some of you REALLY got bored at work this week). So thanks. :)
**
In honor of Monday and my best week ever... I give you... a not-very-hard quotes quiz. Hope it, at the very least, makes you smile a bit on this most painful of weekdays.

1. He’s in-famous? In-famous?

2. … and then you lick your palms. It’s a little childish and stupid, I know, but then again- so is high school.

3. The conceptualization, the whole abstraction, the obtuseness of this production to me was what was interesting. I wanted the audience to feel the heat from the fire, the fear, because people don't like fire, poked, poked in their noses…

4. A: What happened to that nice girlfriend of yours?
B: Oh, she got hit by a car, she’s dead.

5. [On answering machine] At the beep please leave your name, number and a brief justification for the ontological necessity of modern man's existential dilemma and we'll get back to you.

6. You know I used to wait two days to call anybody, but now it's like everyone in town waits two days. So I think three days is kind of money. What do you think?

7. This has been a very good … conversation.

8. I'm pond scum. Well, lower actually. I'm like the fungus that feeds on pond scum.

9. What am I gonna say? "I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?"

10. This'll be fun. We'll stay up late, swapping manly stories, and in the morning... I'm making waffles.

11. …if I ever lost you I don't know what I would do… (pause) ...I would probably move on, get another clone but there would be a 15 minute period there where I would just be inconsolable.

the surreal life

2005-01-30T20:57:00.000-08:00

I find myself not knowing quite what to say, but knowing all the same that something should probably be said, so please bear with me and allow me grace as I just lay out some thoughts buzzing around in my brain tonight. If you're new, just skip this and come another day; if you have no idea what I'm talking about, just nod and smile; if you know what I'm talking about, well, please read sentence one again.

I first discovered this whole blogging phenomenon about six months ago... and have been about as avid a participant as you can be. It's been a good place to share my thoughts and feelings - an amazing outlet - and I owe a lot of my growth as a writer to this little space in which I type.

And I've found community here. There's a certain kind of person that enjoys looking at their life in a deeper way, that enjoys trying to make sense of the everyday moments - large and small - that make up their existence. A lot of these people, seemingly normal enough, end up sucked into the blogging world and find themselves writing on a regular basis. (I am always a little defensive... YES, I have a blog, but I'm STILL NORMAL and only a little bit of a nerd...) I have met some people I now consider friends -- one, I met this weekend as she and Julie and I goofed off in Seattle. Another seems to have a really hard time remembering the time difference, but is actually a (usually) welcomed wake-up call. Some just happen to drop little emails here and there, who brighten my day out of nowhere. There's a kindredness about this whole thing; it's easy to feel close. For the most part, I fully enjoy the comeraderie. It's no substitute for time with friends and my bro, but it's still a welcome addition to my life.

But, as with many of the forms of communication we so often rely on in our technologically driven lives... there are limits. Feeling close and being close are very different things. For some reason, it's so much easier to type things than to say them. Anyone who's ever sent an email they regretted in an emotional moment, or who shared something more personal than they meant to in an IM, knows exactly what I'm talking about. We type things we'd never say to a person face to face.

Here's the deal, as honestly as I can spell it out: I don't want anyone feeling closer to me than they are. The whole reason for this not-so-elegant post is just to make sure that doesn't happen. It's not to be prideful; but simply to be careful.

Guys have joked about me being their online crush. (It's fine; no one has done anything wrong. I can't emphasize that enough. This is not rebuke, simply caution). I typically laugh it off, much the way I did a few years back when one of my brother's friends used to propose to me on a regular basis. I'd laugh, pat him on the head, be flattered for half a second, and wouldn't think another second about it. Because it wasn't real.

The thing is, I try to be as honest about my life as I know how to be on this thing. I don't toss all my laundry out for the world to see -- there is plenty that remains unsaid and that's as it should be -- but I try to be me, questions and insecurities and all. No matter how authentic I tried to be, however, a person will never know me - the real me - simply by my words. It just doesn' t happen. My life is much more messy (and much more full) that that. I am more than that. (God! that my life would be as simple as it tends to be here. Where you can just craft all the chaos into pretty sentences and pretty words and wrap it up neatly in a nice ending line!).

Most importantly, I am more human than that. In real life I don't get hit on very often, and when I do, it's typically more creepy than anything. In real life, I get dumped. I get my heart broken sometimes. Not because life is unfair or because guys in the NW are jerks. It's because I'm human. Faulted. Just me. (And, because I just haven't met the right person yet). Here's me: I talk too much. I'm still a lot less secure than I'd like to be, still not wholly comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes when I get mad, I get really loud. (Just ask Kevo). If I'm really ticked, I clean like a maniac. (Kevin likes this aspect). I yell mean stuff at people while driving, because I know they can't hear me and I feel better (ask Julie). And that's just the stuff I feel comfortable sharing because it's a little bad, but not the deep dark variety.

Maybe knowing the yucky stuff would help paint a better picture, but does anyone really want to read about the mold that I had in my coffee pot last week because I forgot to dump the leftover coffee in it?

(Don't worry. My self esteem is fine. I'm not worried that I'll never find me a man, and I have great friends who love me even though (because?) I'm me).

A friend and I were joking a while back that I have much better luck with admiration from the guys here than in real life. I had several theories: perhaps I have a completely awful personality offline; maybe the real-life lens adds 10 or 15 pounds; maybe it's easy to toss something out there, knowing I'm far away. The first, I hope is untrue; the second, I suspect is true; and the third I know is true. These dudes, sweet as they are and well-intentioned as they may be, would never say the things they do if I lived in their apartment complex or if I went to their church or if I worked in the same building. I am far away; I am safe.

But still -- I am not real.

So please... let's all be friends, let's share our thoughts and the moments that make life beautiful. But let's make sure we keep aware of the limits inherent in this crazy little place we choose to meet.

[operator error]

2005-01-28T16:01:00.000-08:00

Notes from all over, because it is Friday and 3.38 p.m.:

I locked myself out of the office again the other day and had to wait for Bob the Lawyer to return from lunch and let his blonde secretary back in. I worked here a year and a half before I ever locked myself out, and it’s happened twice in the last month and a half. I’m slippin’.
***
That same morning I woke up in a slight panic because I had taken out my nose ring in my sleep and had to search for it in my bed. Some sleepwalk, others remove their facial piercings. Hmm...
***
I am drinking an extra mocha mocha at the moment, and it’s really good. Be jealous.
***
During dinner at Buca de Beppo’s the other night, I got the following message on my phone, which proved quite entertaining:

"Stace, it’s me – I’m trying to figure out how to get your stupid windows up on your car... I put them down– I can’t get... now they’re all down, and I can’t get any of ‘em up, so if you get this message, give me a call..."

The backstory: My mom, driving my car back from Seattle after Gracie’s bridal shower (we couldn’t get her to stay for the bachelorette ;) ), stopped and got her own cup of coffee at a drive through. She then couldn’t figure out how to get the window back up. She drove on the freeway (now dark) pushing random buttons at will, still with no luck. Except now all four windows were down. On the freeway. Wind in her hair.

SO, she pulled off the freeway, pulled into a Home Depot parking lot, and attempted, for another ten minutes, to put my car’s windows up. Finally, seeing a young man of decent intelligence gathering shopping carts, and hoping he lacked violent tendencies, she yelled, "Hey, could you come here for a second?"

After he suppressed his urge to bolt from the scary redhead lady yelling at him from the empty end of the parking lot, he came over, and my mom described her plight. Hoping she lacked violent tendencies, he agreed to help. It took our young hero about ten minutes as well, but eventually he discovered my Mazda’s secret: to put windows down, push down on the button. To put windows up... PULL UP. PULL UP, YOU SILLY SILLY PERSON. It ain’t rocket science.
***
I am meeting, in person, my first ever internet friend tomorrow. I’m going to go to Seattle, visit Church of the Apostles over in Fremont, and then hang out with Bethany. Julie might come. She doesn’t know that yet, but she checks this blog every five minutes, so "Julie, hey, wanna come? We can talk about it at the rents’ place later." (My mom, although she can’t put up car windows, makes great burgers. Yum).
***
In the words of Kip, "Peace out." Have a great weekend.

[Bible Jim and me, part ii]

2005-01-27T23:11:00.000-08:00

Backtrack to September 2001. Our scene: College, take two. After taking a year off recuperating from my disappointing performance at Bible college (maybe I’ll have the courage to post on THAT sometime…), I enrolled at Western, and, knowing no one in Bellingham, was forced to move into the dorms. I must admit, dorm life held much more allure the first time I tried it. Now I found myself moving in with a bunch of crazies who were in eighth grade when I was grabbing my diploma to Pomp & Circumstance.

I had, in a moment of later-appreciated wisdom, requested a single room. Western housing terms this a “Super-single” accommodation. “Super-closet” would have been more appropriate, as the room’s width was the length of my twin bed… one long skinny rectangle. The flooring? Think junior high cafeteria. Then think cold. (No one warned me of the glories of Fairhaven housing. I think I handpicked the ghettoest housing on campus. But hey, at least it was my own private corner of ghettodom, just below the laundry room). But I digress…

The first day, as I was getting things set up in my room, more specifically, shelving my massive collection of Christian non-fiction, Allie walked in. I’d already met some of the girls with whom I shared a suite (two shared rooms + a super single + bathroom = suite), and to be quite honest, thought she was one of their brothers for a brief moment before it clicked. Our eyes met, and it was that classic deer-caught-in-headlights look… from both of us. I can’t know her perspective for sure, but I could guess her thoughts as she caught my Bible on top of the shelf: I’m living with a Bible thumper. She’s going to hate me. Mine, as I caught her spiky hair and carharts: I’m living with a lesbian. She’s probably been given plenty of reason to hate me. We managed a polite, hello, how’s it going, but I know we both walked away thinking oh-crap-what-have-I-gotten-myself-into kinds of thoughts.

That night, as I lay there in bed, my nose stuffy from the potent combo of pot and incense wafting in from the celebratory festivities next door… I wondered again what I’d gotten myself into. I’d said that I wanted to be out of the bubble of sheltered surreality that was Bible college. I’d said that I wanted to be in touch with what was really happening in the world, to know people different than myself. Well, between Allie and her polar-opposite roommate, a Britney-ish cheerleader who was quite proud of her contribution to a Girls Gone Wild video… I’d say we were there. I would continue to be stretched in the months to come, as Allie’s girlfriend entered the picture, and as my allergies became fairly regular.

It was strange. It wasn’t that I’d never been exposed to any of this before… I’d been working with youth for a while, and after a while things sort of cease to shock you. But working with the kids, they’re on your turf. They’ve chosen to come, at least for the most part. I was on foreign turf; I knew I was far away from home, from familiarity, and felt it keenly. And the last thing I wanted to be – the thing I was most scared of – was that I’d be one more Christian earning the reputation of hatred and bigotry so far from the heart of who Jesus was.

So in those first few weeks, I decided something important: I decided to shut up. To just shut up and be as kind as I knew how to be; to let people be themselves, without being judgmental and condescending. Sometimes my former tendencies would have been to be harsh, to be unwilling to associate with people who were living certain ways, but things had changed. I think partially it was that I was out to prove something: All Christians aren’t jerkfaces. But for whatever reasons, I just wasn’t willing to be that person anymore.

Growing up, I’d always been taught – subtly -- that it was about what you’d SAY to people far from God, that one day you’d have this talk where you knew all the answers, and they would be just SO hungry to hear how right you were, and that would be it. Uh huh. Yeah right. Only within the confines of the Christian college bubble does that kind of thinking survive.

For me, it didn’t take long to find that people already knew where I stood, what my life was about, simply by the way I lived it, imperfectly but graciously. I didn’t need to say anything... it wasn’t necessary to communicate my values. To say something would have wrecked it, I think. Yeah, I got teased sometimes. Especially at first, but as time wore on, it was nearly affectionate.

Allie, running into my room: “Stacey! Turn on channel 12! It’s Destiny’s Child! They’re singin’ about God & Jesus & stuff! You’ll love it!”

Me: falling off my bed laughing.

I don’t think I ever once talked to Allie about the Bible, or my beliefs vs. hers, or anything like that. Some would say that I was foolish, others would say that I did the right thing… all I knew was that I cared more about being able to laugh with her than I did about being able to out-debate her. What we did talk about was English. English, and Saturday morning cartoons. Allie was dyslexic, and admittedly was terrible at writing. Me, I wrote for fun, so it worked out for me to proofread her papers and help her get her essays started. I like helping people write in general, but getting that chance to build a friendship with someone so seemingly unlikely through something so simple… meant a lot. Saturday morning cartoons… everyone would pile onto my twin bed some Saturday mornings and we’d sit there and watch Flintstones or Jetsons or whatever else was on as we ate unholy amounts of breakfast cereal. You couldn’t have come up with a more assorted crew if you tried, but there we were.

One thing they did teach me at Bible college was true, however. I had always thought it was total myth, but it turns out it still happens every now and then. Sometimes people really do ask you what’s different about you. Emily, one of my other suitemates, asked me that once as we were hanging out in my super-closet. After I recuperated from passing out that she’d actually ask me, we talked. And talked. And talked.

During one such talk, she asked me about how I’d felt when I first met Allie. I was honest… saying that I was afraid she wouldn’t like me. Emily said they’d talked about it, and that Allie had feared the same thing. And then Emily said this to me, which I will hold on to forever: “Yeah, but then she got to know you. We were talking about it not too long ago and she said, ‘Stacey’s not like any other Christian I’ve been around. I actually like being around her.’”

(I smiled for like a week. People liked being around Jesus too).

***
No one “got saved” on my floor during the few months I lived on campus, at least not that I know of. All I can say is that I attempted to love people like Jesus did… that I tried to live truth in front of them, and let them open up the discussion. While I’m not concerned with my knowing the outcomes – those are up to God -- I do hope that because I lived there, people realized that God is nearer and more gracious than He sometimes has been portrayed.

Some more zealous types would no doubt think me an absolute failure. But that’s ok with me. Those zealous types were up in Red Square, yelling and screaming about who makes Jesus sick.

The prayer I prayed under my breath as I walked away from Red Square that day was that, when Allie thinks of a Christian, she doesn’t see Bible Jim. I hope she still sees me.

[Bible Jim and me]

2005-01-27T11:04:00.000-08:00

Luke 5:31,32 Jesus answered them, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.”
***
I still remember the first time I saw the man campus veterans referred to as Bible Jim. (2001 found me no longer at Bible college, but at Western Washington University in Bellingham WA, just to clarify...)

He was a little hard to miss as he hopped out of his panel van, wearing a bright blue sweatshirt emblazoned in huge white letters with the following subtle message: REPENT HOMO!

A little band of fellow crusaders braved the darkness of our campus alongside him: a woman I assumed to be his wife, with long scraggly, graying hair and a flowing skirt to her ankles; a boy and a girl (his kids?), probably around 10 and 13; and a man in his thirties with an equally subtle message on his own sweatshirt.

Running late to class as usual, I wasn't able to catch their full intentions in visiting our campus, but as I walked through Red Square an hour later, it was impossible to miss. Red Square is normally a great place to be, a center of campus life: other punctuality-challenged students such as myself trying to hustle to class without being horribly conspicuous, caught in a very awkward sort of half-run; friends catching up on the latest, laughing and joking; people on break enjoying a quick bite to eat, sitting on the ledge around the fountain; the occasional goofballs taking a run through the fountain.

On this day, I'm not sure what hit me first – the twenty-feet-tall signs held by the little group as they stood firmly and resolutely in the center of the Square, or the very tangible, seething rage that threatened to boil over at any moment. It seemed less like a crowd and more a hornets' nest.

The signs: one of them had to do with Hell, and how most of us were destined for it, I remember that much; and another, a huge monstrosity (probably hand-made by Mrs. Bible Jim), said this:

YOU MAKE JESUS SICK:
dykes on bikes
fags
lying penteco$tals
people who love their pets more than God
computer freaks
sluts
liberal liars
money-mongers
winos
perverts
etc.
etc.
etc.

(I can't remember the entire list because it consisted of about thirty types of nausea-inducing people). But you get the general idea.

The rage: I'm not sure who was more angry – the majority of Western's very liberal campus, or the Christians, who felt that they were being set back about a century in their efforts to show grace and love to those they lived and studied with. Some entered the fray, debating with Bible Jim, yelling verses back and forth. I found myself among others who sat down a little behind the huge crowd, mourning what was happening and silently praying that it wouldn't get violent. (Although I was so angry inside that I honestly wouldn't have minded if someone had given Bible Jim a fist or two).

If being a Christian meant that I was identified with these folks, then I was ashamed to be one in that moment. My heart ached to realize that these people would drive off in their van, feeling they had done an awesome work for the Kingdom; that they had stood up for Jesus and for what was right. They would never realize what a mess they'd left the rest of us with – what damage had been done; what hatred we'd have to attempt to undo. I remembered standing in Red Square a month prior with my friend Dustin, handing out free coffee in CTK cups to people cold and on their way to finals. We'd felt good about giving "a cup of cold water" without needing to convert anyone, without needing to talk about anything other than finals with people. People were like, "Really? Just coffee? That's all?" Now, I felt more than a little defeated. What was free coffee going to do against rabid hate? What would people remember more?

And then I thought of Allie.

Tomorrow: part 2.

[thoughts on gratitude]

2005-01-26T08:18:00.000-08:00

Thoughts in Solitude was my favorite book in my Faith in Contemporary Lit class with Debbie Pope five years ago when I was in Bible college in Kirkland. It still hasn't let go of me. Reading some of it this morning, it hit me again. As a friend of mine would say, "That's some good chicken." Enjoy, and may you walk in gratitude today. Be well, be blessed.

**********

There is no neutrality between gratitude and ingratitude. Those who are not grateful soon begin to complain of everything. Those who do not love, hate. In the spiritual life there is no such thing as an indifference to love or hate. That is why tepidity (which seems to be indifferent) is so detestable. It is hate disguised as love.

Tepidity, in which the soul is "neither hot nor cold" -- neither frankly loves nor frankly hates -- is a state in which one rejects God and rejects the will of God while maintaining an exterior pretense of loving him in order to keep out of trouble and save one's supposed self-respect. It is the condition that is soon arrived at by those who are habitually ungrateful for the graces of God. A man who truly responds to the goodness of God, and acknowledges all that he has received, cannot be a half-hearted Christian. True gratitude and hypocrisy cannot exist together. They are totally incompatible. Gratitude of itself makes us sincere -- or if it does not, then it is not true gratitude.

Gratitude, though, is more than a mental exercise, more than a formula of words. We cannot be satisfied to make a mental note of things which God has done for us and then perfunctorily thank him for favors received.

To be grateful is to recognize the love of God in everything He has given us -- and he has given us everything. Every breath we draw is a gift of his love, every moment of existence is a grace, for it brings with it immense graces from him. Gratitude therefore takes nothing for granted, is never unresponsive, is constantly awakening to new wonder and to praise of the goodness of God. For the grateful man knows that God is good, not by hearsay, but by experience. And that is what makes all the difference.

-Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

[re-creating me]

2005-01-25T11:14:00.000-08:00

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You
And how You make me new
With every season's change
And so it will be
As You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring
-Nichole Nordeman
***
So spring hit a bit early this year.

I'm always a bit in awe of how and when God chooses to do his work. Those of you familiar with my life this last few months know that I was expecting a long and cold winter. Broken hearts of all kinds have a way of narrowing your vision; for a while all you can focus on is the hurt. You know there is a tunnel from your present misery to "being over it" - a tunnel that you have no choice but to walk through. (Your suspicion, if you're anything like me, is that it's gonna be awful long and lonely and horrible. An optimist in most things, I am terribly jaded when it comes to this relationship stuff).

Sometimes, that tunnel IS long and lonely. I've been there.

But God's timeline doesn't always follow our expectations, and his seasons are on a far different schedule than the ones we plant our flowers by. Right now, for me, it's spring. No one is more surprised than I am, that's for sure.

(What's really weird is that our actual winter here in WA seems to be mirroring my life. Yesterday it was sunny and nearly 60 degrees, as it's been for the last few weeks - unheard-of for late January. My brother and I are happy to enjoy the savings on our heating bill in our apartment... the skiers and snowboarders... are varying degrees of bitter and angry).

It's fully tempting to paint a happy face on the last month or so, to claim that my path through that tunnel was an easy one (or even to claim that I'm fully through it). Everyone loves an easy success story, right? It might be impressive, I might come off as strong and self-assured - but I'd be a liar, and friends who know me would call me on it (Julie...), so I might as well be honest.

Here's the truth: Blue jeeps still catch my attention as I'm out and about (I never knew how many of them there were before now), and last week the thought of potentially bumping into the gent in question put me in tears – out of nowhere, when I had been doing great. It fully feels normal to be on my own again; I am happy; but there are still moments when it just kinda sucks (i.e., not having plans on a Friday night). These things just take a while (and they don't always follow a practical line of thought). I'm allowing myself that time. Faking the process does no one any good. As much as I felt like it would make it easier on our group of mutual friends, I realized recently that more than anything – more than being able to hang out like old times, more than things being smoothed over – my friends want me to be healed and happy. And they're gracious enough to give me that time (without a stopwatch). I'm close. What remains to be healed is right around the corner.

What has surprised me (once again) is God's ability and willingness to work in me and through me even though I am fully aware that I don't have it all together right now. He brought spring to my tunnel, basically (to mix two analogies horribly and inexcusably... I'm sorry). I can't even put it into words fully, but there is new growth happening in my heart. I am more filled with hope than I've been in a long time. I am alive. There are some moments that being alive means I'm feeling pain, but more often these days, it means a joy that defies full expression.

I feel kinda like I did as a kid - remember those beans we all planted in styrofoam cups in elementary school? Every day, you're running to the window, anxiously looking to find the cup with your name on it... amazed to see the leaves unfold, in awe of the change that took place even in the last 24 hours. You're expecting a miracle every day, and everyday, there's one right in front of your face.

That's my life right now.

Like I said, you never know the exact timing of God's seasons. They don't always follow a prescribed pattern. He chooses what and when. I'm grateful for this time, but I think it's important that I not lose sight of the work he does in other, tougher, colder ones, as well. I think it's all about surrendering myself to the process; recognizing that God is God for a reason and that he knows more than I do; it's about allowing myself to live out the little that I do know: in all seasons, in all circumstances, in all situations, I can live in the confidence of trusting that, seen and unseen, God is at work, for my good, for his purposes.

Whatever season you find yourself in today, I hope this encourages you. If you're in the tunnel, be encouraged that it doesn't last forever, and that you're not alone as you walk through it. (Be encouraged, also, that God can use you, even there in that darkness). If you're enjoying the sun, as I am, soak up every moment. It's good.

new article!

2005-01-24T22:24:00.000-08:00

hey kids... I just found out that Relevant published another article! :) Check it out at the right... "Coming Alive." It's the same post from a few days back, but it's still cool to see in print. I might be a writer yet! heh heh.

In the meantime, keep on checkin' in, my little chickens...

Name:
Age:
Location:
How you found me:
Come here often?
Vocation:
What you'd like to see a post on (and please don't say "whatever you want"):

a very monday-ish post

2005-01-24T11:32:00.000-08:00

Whelp, I blinked and it's Monday again. Spent most of the weekend over in Seattle for Grace's bridal shower, followed by a quick trip to IKEA, and then off to her bachelorette party... Italian food courtesy of Buca de Beppo's (best chicken marsala EVER), and quite, um, fond memories courtesy of my first visit to Cowgirls, Inc. (think a Seattle attempt at Coyote Ugly)... all I'll say is this: Gracie rides a mean mechanical bull. Some of the girls there were friends of mine from up in Bellingham, so it was great to catch up and reconnect. Sometimes you just need a good girls' night out. (Mission accomplished).

Am hopefully going to have a good weekend out coming up soon... Jules and I are headed down to the Oregon coast soon for some R & R... making a few memories together before she ditches me for the glories of Bend, OR next month... something about following her dreams and all that. :) I am so proud of her for taking this step of faith. It has been amazing to watch this whole process, from the I-wonder stage, to the packing-bags stage. It's been awe-inspiring. God is good. However, I'm not sure what I'll do with myself once she's gone. (one thing is for sure... Alias parties will have lost their joy forever).
***
So, to unabashedly copy Myles (and partially because I saw my name crop up a few times over there)... I will ask the question as well: who ARE you people? Time to 'fess up, folks. (On a more serious note, I'd really like to know. Don't force me to beg).

Name:
Age:
Location:
How you found me:
Come here often?
Vocation:
What you'd like to see a post on (and please don't say "whatever you want"):

Alrighty, me to my Thai lunch with Julie, you to your work. Have a happy Monday.

(HEY HEY! U2 will be in Seattle April 24th! barring major disaster, I'll be there too!)

chicks, part II

2005-01-21T13:42:00.000-08:00

EASY THERE, tigers. I'm finding that you men are way more tough on the poor guys than I am! If any of you lived closer, no one would mess with me, because they'd have to risk severe beatings by my posse... heh heh. Lovely thought. Just kidding. Sort of.
****
The second approach that I came across as a SWF-M (single white female in ministry) was far more common and much less hurtful, but sometimes just as infuriating.

I feel the need to say that the people in the situations I write about here... they're not sexist jerks. They are men who love God, who deeply care about people. Many of them have grown so much that it's almost funny to remember how things used to be. I don't look for a chauvinist pig behind every door, don't always jump to "It's because I'm a girl" as a reason for why some opportunities are denied; I don't constantly look for excuses to be all feistified. Any girl can get ticked off and abrasive; can even be applauded for doing so, given our "you go, girl!" culture. It can sure feel good, but it's cheap, and cheapens what you're trying to articulate. My desire is that this would encourage women who find themselves in similar situations; and that this would also intelligently explain to the men what it can sometimes be like, maybe even stretch their perspective a bit. Healthy dialogue is the goal.

A situation from my early days of youth ministry (the Edge days... for those of you familiar) to illustrate my point: Six of us in our ministry were MIT's (ministers-in-training)... it was similar to an internship, but less formalized. Four were guys, two of us were girls. Kirsten and I, although we were grateful for a place at the table, felt often that our voices weren't heard, if we were a part of the conversation at all. Perhaps my perspective was skewed, but it sure seemed that opportunities to lead/be involved automatically went to the boys. Nearly every time. There was an unspoken boys club... something that we couldn't break into.

I voiced my frustration a few times about being a part of things in name, but not being a part in reality (although I'm sure it was much less eloquent than how I'd say it today)... these were some of the responses:

1) Well, we (the boys) talked about (insert a particular plan) the other night when we were all hanging out in the hot tub. I mean, it wouldn't have been appropriate for you girls to be there, would it? Sometimes these conversations crop up while we're just hanging out, like after a basketball game or something. It just happens. You weren't purposely excluded, but we do have to have good boundaries, obviously...

2) It's not like we sit around for hours and hours talking about stuff. The guys need much less interaction to feel like we've had quality time. I can give Josh "the nod" or a high five as I walk by, and it's equivalent to chatting with one of you ladies for about 10 minutes...

The thing that made it hard to respond to both those statements was that they were both TRUE. I couldn't figure out what to say. I thought, well, I guess this is just how it goes. Boundaries are there for a reason. I guess as a female, you'll just never really be "in". OK. I can deal. I still know I'm supposed to be here, so I'll do what I can. So I toughed it out. (And have never regretted it).

However, quite a few years down the road, I realize that it didn't have to be that way. (The guys have learned this too, to their credit). The solution lay in two simple words: Being Intentional. Sure, we weren't purposely excluded, but we weren't purposely included, either. Yeah, we may not be able to all jump in the hot tub... but could we probably all grab coffee at Starbucks? Of course it wouldn't have been appropriate to travel with a pastor one-on-one, but could the girls probably jump on the ferry and join the boys on that trip to visit that church across the water? No one was thinking, we really don't want Kirsten and Stace to be a part... no one barred our way on purpose... it just didn't cross their minds to invite us into situations where the unscheduled (often way more vital) talks took place. The natural default is what prevailed back then.

Regarding the second response... yeah, but no. If a five minute chat asking one of your female leaders what's happening in her life is what it takes to make her feel connected, then do it. (You just saved all that time high-fiving that other dude, so you can spare it). The point is valuing people enough to speak encouragement to them in a language they understand. I won't go all into the "Five Love Languages" stuff, you can read it elsewhere, but it goes a long way toward building up the people you interact with. (Again, it's something that must be intentional, it doesn't happen naturally).

I'm happy to say that things are much different now. Maybe it's because two of the three interns in my current program are female, Wes would be down to one if he didn't figure out how to intentionally involve us... but seriously. These things take time to learn. The boundaries are there for a reason, but there's a lot of room within them to relate, to learn, to discuss, to plan, to dream. You just have to be intentional, create the opportunities on purpose. For instance, Lili and I got to go with Kenn and Wes to a retreat in Idaho last year. There were no planned talks. No meetings scheduled. But we went because we knew it created opportunity for the spontaneous deeper conversations. We went because we knew we'd have opportunity to serve and be used (which we did, all of us spoke to the students at the retreat).

Women: doors are open to us now more than any other time to be involved, to serve, to even lead. My advice: stick it out. It gets better. Continue to dialogue, continue to challenge, but do so in a way so that your voice can be heard. Above all, submit your service to God, let Him continue to work through you. I have found that those early seasons of ministry (even thought I felt excluded sometimes) really prepared my heart and character for later on, when doors were open to me. I never took my place at the table for granted, and treated the opportunities like the gems they were.

Men: we understand the boundaries inherent in working side by side with us. We'll guard them. But don't let those boundaries be an excuse for letting our unique gifts and talents fall by the wayside. Be intentional; open that door wide. Be just as good to women, just as progressive, respectful, kind-- as Jesus was.

On being a chick in ministry: part one

2005-01-20T19:46:00.000-08:00

Ok, I’m going to digress from my church story for a bit and, as Suzanne suggested, share a on a little bit deeper level about my experiences in ministry, being a single female in a world mostly filled with and led by married men. I’m going to share as honestly as I know how, trusting that 1) people know me well enough to know I’m not a feminazi; 2) I’ve dealt with forgiving those who may have unintentionally caused a few nicks and scratches along the way, and all of us grown up quite a bit since then anyway, and 3) this may be helpful for those who find themselves in my shoes.

I’ll start out with the dumbest-ever scenario, and work my way up to the healthy ones. This will serve to give you an idea of where I’m coming from (and hopefully will help some of you dudes in ministry know what NEVER to say).

PART ONE: Lord of the (wedding) Ring

During my days of high school worship ministry, there was a decision made to take one person out of leading the worship ministry (for various reasons, among them that his heart for people had not yet grown to match his heart for worship and music—all of which has changed now), and put me in. I didn’t seek this out, and to be completely honest, although I agreed with the decision, wish it would have been handled with a little more tact and grace, but it was done, and so I did my best to approach the situation well, honoring this guy in the process. We co-led worship one night, like we had often done before, and it went really well. Afterward, we were talking outside in the entryway, lots of kids around. I just wanted to be encouraging, wanted to let him know I valued him being a part of things. What I said went something like this: “It went really well tonight, it was awesome to have two people leading up there… Hey, I know things didn’t go down the best, but I just wanted you to know I appreciate you being a part, and that it’s a sign of your character that you’d—“

At this point he cut me off. He stuck his left hand in my face, waved his wedding ring in it, and said, “Stace, hey, I’m married.” He held both hands up in a back-off gesture and took a step backward. No laugh after, no I’m kidding face, nothing. Dead serious. The conversation pretty much ended at that point, and I left.

I cried all the way home. Sobs. Angry sobs. I felt stupid and humiliated. My efforts to try to make the best of an awkward situation… were reduced to something pitiful and pathetic and wrong. I do ministry for many reasons… none of which involve hitting on married guys. His words smacked of trying to get back at me… for a decision I had nothing to do with. One thing he had succeeded at: I felt very, very small.

I feel like I can get bumped around a bit, and be ok. I’d been in youth ministry for quite a while at this point… you either learn how to get bumped and not break, or you quit. I did the former. However… those few words went deep. It changed things. I felt like now, I really couldn’t talk to him at all, without risking being accused of something. I felt like I couldn’t even do the job I’d been asked to do. I for sure would never be caught dead talking to him one-on-one. Who would want to risk the damage?

Some things are not big deals, some are… to me, this was one. I talked to the pastors above us about what had been said and we sat down and had a meeting. (They were very supportive, very protective of me, and fairly stern with him). He apologized, saying that he hadn’t meant it like I took it; he just was uncomfortable communicating on that level, and had overreacted. (Memo to him: most girls communicate with nearly everyone on that level. It’s called kindness. Doesn’t mean we want you). Things eventually got better, but they were never the same, and I’m not sure they were ever comfortable. Not with him, not with his wife.

As a single female in ministry, no one is more aware than you that you need to be careful, have good boundaries. You’re always the first person to make sure doors are left open when you’re talking one-on-one, the first person to ensure that you’re not at the office alone with anyone… you get it. You guard it. No one is more cautious with your words, wanting to be sure that something you say won’t be misconstrued. When can joking (a staple in most ministries) be seen as flirting? Where’s the line between being real and being too close? These are questions we always have to have in the back of our minds. No one need remind us.

The worst part is, a good percentage of us would like to be married at some point. If you’re looking for a place where the wound will go deep… that’s the one. A lot of us, we would love to be married. Maybe not now, but it would be amazing someday. But should we be looked down upon because we don’t have the luxury of being married off already… somehow making us “safe?”

God calls all kinds of people. Married folks, single folks, young and old, he speaks to people, asks them to walk with him, to serve others and to build his kingdom. I will never feel that I need a “Mrs.” in front of my name before I have license to serve. Ever. And I’ll never be ok with others requiring that title before I have a place at the table, before I’m given opportunities to serve through leadership.

Apparently I’m still as feisty on this topic as ever. But that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
Tomorrow: part deux.

home, part two

2005-01-18T16:57:00.000-08:00

I want to eventually go into why I found myself so at home in my newfound community, but first need to explain what probably impacted me the most while I was there - the pastors who I was for some reason privileged to hang out with during my year there. First up - Matt.

Matt, my worship pastor, helped me to grow probably more than any other single person there. I had basically given up on music by the time I arrived at CTK, more specifically, had given up on my desire to lead worship. A pretty voice and passionate heart I had; but I lacked confidence, and more specifically, lacked the Bible-college-boy rock star persona that seemed so popular. I was always better in the quieter, more introspective moments, sharing my heart from the piano bench, trying to help people connect to who they were singing to, and then singing my guts out. I've never been good at smooth and polished; I was always probably more raw than anything (and perhaps more open from the stage than some were comfortable with). I hadn't found an avenue where that fit, so I figured it just wasn't my deal.

I think I'd been attending CTK about two weeks when Matt asked me to come in to sing and play for him, see if I'd want to be part of the worship ministry. He let me know they were going to work on a recording project for Christmas, would I maybe be interested in being a part of it? I promptly laughed out loud, not thinking he was serious. I was used to having to fight so hard to be a part of things, and here, seemingly, was a wide open door, for me to do whatever my heart wanted to run after. (Even though I was a big softie with no rock-star qualities whatsoever).

So, I began singing & playing with the worship ministry. I grew by osmosis, basically. Here were these absolutely amazing musicians, who, if they had wanted, could have put on the rock-star attitude... but didn't. I'd never felt like more of a rookie, but they were patient and helpful, and I grew musically just by practicing and playing with them. I grew spiritually just by being around them. I felt alive - often; felt for the first time in a long time that God could use me just the way he made me. I didn't need to become someone else; if anything, I needed to become more myself. I knew that, just as I am, I was helping people connect in a real way to God through music. My confidence in all these things grew like crazy. And for once, I just felt like I fit. (This was confirmed in a scary way the Sunday we all showed up in variations on a theme: black shirts, dark jeans, and of course, our so-intellectual dark-rimmed glasses. We promptly mocked ourselves. What serious musicians we all were...)

Matt put together a small group that went through the book "The Heart of the Artist" by Rory Noland. This figured significantly into my growth as well, just talking honestly about what it is to be an artist serving the church. The book takes a blunt (brutal?) look at issues that artists of all pursuits face, such as excellence vs. perfectionism, servanthood vs. stardom, etc. I was humbled at certain places as I was made aware of wrong motives. I wished I'd have read the book five years ago. The main point, however, is that God made us as artists sensitive for a reason, there was no need to fake it or thicken our skin... we were made sensitive in order to see God, hear God in the everyday... and translate it, point at it, scrawl it out in big letters for those who perhaps have a harder time noticing. Good stuff.

I think the thing that made the biggest impact on my life was that, from almost the very beginning, I knew that Matt believed in me, thought I had potential, and was willing to invest time and relationship into that process. He basically put a "10" on my forehead, as I've heard it explained before. I was so used to having to try so very hard to please my ministry "superiors"... and found myself able to just be myself. I was used to trying to find a way to fit in with my Bible-college-youth-ministry-major-guy peers (if you've been in ministry, you know exactly what I'm talking about), and for once didn't have to. I was on the radar of those I worked with, even though I was different. I was used to especially not fitting because I was the token chick, and found myself included just as the rest of the guys on the team were. (Side note... I understand the importance of boundaries, and no one guards them more than I do. I was trained well in my years of youth ministry. But there's a point at which it just gets ridiculous, where doors to opportunities end up shut just because the poor girl doesn't have the luxury of being married off, and therefore, "safe." I was impressed that Matt, and the other pastors there, weren't afraid to talk to me like a normal person, unafraid to have deeper-than-surface talks about what was going on in my life.)

Everyone needs a champion at some point in their life. Someone who's way further along, whether it be in skills, experience, or both... who sees something in you that makes it worth their time to let you come along for part of the ride. With lots of good talks (and good music) along the way. God, for some reason, saw fit to send me Matt for that all-too-short season before I had to move home from Bellingham. And however discouraged I sometimes feel, whenever I start to feel like "this just isn't my deal"... I remember that season, remember some of those casual but life-changing talks. And then I go grab my guitar for a while, and let my heart sing loud.

(Matt and Wendy now pastor at a church near Seattle... sometime this month I'm going to head over and we'll lead some worship together. Looking forward to it. Mentors never REALLY go away, I'm finding...)

stumbling upon home: part one

2005-01-18T11:33:00.000-08:00

Just finished my second batch of small group materials... phew. One of these times I'll quit procrastinating, quit playing chicken with my deadline, but... I don't know. I think there's some sick part of me that secretly enjoys the rush and the late nights and the ever-present question in my mind: How much mountain dew and coffee can I have before I actually risk heart failure? Anyhow, I'm happy to be done; we're using outside material for our next series, so I have a break for a while. (At least, that's the theory).
***
It seems to be all the rage lately (or at least here and here) to write memoirs of significant experiences in Christian community (church, Bible college, small groups, etc.). I think that the present season, for me, is going to eventually prove a deeply impacting one, but wrapping my head around what's happening, as it's happening, is difficult. I can't quite see what the man behind the curtain is doing right now. So, I too am going to take a look back. I have stories probably much like any Christian does of scars that have been left by growing up churched, but it's January, I've been melancholy enough as it is, and I want to think of a happy time. So here goes.

I remember the moment I decided to go to Christ the King Community Church. I hadn't been to church regularly in about six months, lost in a typical college student cycle of I'm-lonely-and-don't-know-anyone-and-church-"hi-my-name-is"-just-reinforces-that-feeling-so-I'll-stay-here-and-get-lonelier-by-the-day-and-shut-God-out-while-I'm-at-it, etc. A guy (Chad the First) from work and I had been dating for about a month, which was a stupid thing to do for many reasons, the main one being that when I mentioned church, he positively bristled... I was so lonely that quite frankly I didn't care. Even that fell through, as I sat on the couch in my apartment listening to him tell me why it wasn't going to work (I had always known it wasn't going to work, but what was funny was hearing his reasons why... none of which had anything to do with my reasons why). I hung up the phone, and sat on the couch without moving or saying anything for about ten minutes. Just let the tears fall.

I can't really say why... but I grabbed the phone book and looked up CTK's number. OK God. You win... (It didn't feel so much a prodigal-running-home scenario... it was more akin to a grudging surrender at gunpoint). Still not sure why it was CTK, I didn't know a soul that went there; I had just heard its name mentioned in passing. I got directions and service times, and that Sunday, I hesitantly walked through the big glass doors of a grocery store turned church.

When you walk in, you enter this big open commons area. The first thing you see is a round booth with people inside it who are there to help you find your way (and after service, they have the happy job of giving you a mug or water bottle for stopping by, and coupons for free espresso on your next three visits). Along both walls are trifold boards (think science fair) detailing how to get connected to nearly every ministry the church has (at least, on an official level). In front of those are people from each ministry, looking to meet you and get you connected to others. The third thing you see is coffee. Loads and loads of coffee. And, much to my delight, basketfuls of french vanilla creamer.

God, in his ridiculous grace toward me, saw fit to pretty much get me "adopted" right away. Trying to figure out where to go, I ended up talking with one of those people in the round booth, Pastor Dan (I seem to have good luck with Pastor Dan's, I just realized). Dan asked me where I was from, I mentioned that I'd gone to church in Poulsbo, and it took us about two seconds to figure out that his uncle was a pastor at my home church. Dan's uncle had mentioned me to him, asked him to keep an eye out for me. From that moment I had a church-dad who looked out for "the Rich girl" regularly. This was the first of many people I would meet there that would make my experience among the most joy-inspiring I'd ever known.

I can't explain it, but I had a very strong sense in my gut that I had somehow stumbled upon home, a new kind of home, one that I'd never even realized existed. For once, I fit. I, Stacey, fit. You can't understand what that means unless you've spent a really long time feeling like you don't fit and perhaps will never fit, but it was a big deal. I felt that way from about the moment I walked through the doors. I had never known it before, and I haven't known it since... but once you get a taste of it, you never forget.

TOMORROW: part II.

seattle... all its glory...

2005-01-17T15:26:00.001-08:00

Ok, these are some pics I meant to post a long time ago, and I just now got bored enough. I love trips to Seattle, and use any excuse possible to hop on a boat and go goof off. Took my cousin there a while back... fun playing tourist with someone who's never been.

Ahem, from the top: a picture of a ferry from our ferry.

View from the ferry on a pretty day.

Kevin and Cousin Dave riding one of the decorative carousel horses (they're all over Seattle).

The ferry loading dock. Where cars drive on and off. It's pretty sweet.

Pike Place Market. Love it.

Pike Place Market is a great place to buy flowers (huge bouquets for cheap!)

The ORIGINAL Starbucks.

Me (very tired) enjoying my Extra-Mocha Mocha.

The ORIGINAL Starbucks sign. Sinner.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.

Kevin found a friend.

Dave and I on the ferry ride home.

THE END.

Awakening Dreams

2005-01-14T22:13:00.000-08:00

(or, How to Be a Dan)

It was supposed to be just another cup of coffee. That’s all I expected, and certainly all I was prepared for. I walked into Barnes & Noble, and waded my way through a group of bored high-school girls flipping pages of Seventeen in the magazine aisle as I headed toward the café. I promptly took a deep satisfying breath. Mmmm… coffee… I ordered my tall extra-mocha-mocha and sat down at the table, a little breathless. As usual, I was running a few minutes late. Nothing out of the ordinary here… I’ve had countless meetings exactly like this one.

OK, I’m ready to talk business. Let’s go. I was meeting with Dan, one of the pastors at my church, someone I’ve only recently begun working for. I opened my notebook, grabbed my pen, and was fully prepared to talk shop on what needed to be done on my current project.

“So first and foremost, how’s your life? How’s Stacey doing?”

Um, that’s not your line. Hmm. How am I doing? My holiday season was rough, even prior to getting dumped just before New Years, and vocationally, I’d been wondering if maybe the time for dreaming had passed me by. Things just weren’t moving forward like I’d hoped. I tried to think of a brief way to answer him, so we could get back to what needed to get done. No way he really wanted to hear this.

Dan crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, seeming to signal that he was okay with waiting on my response while I figured out what to say. I was planning on saying “great” or “fine” or another customary something-or-other, when I realized he wasn’t just being polite. He was in no hurry.

Thus began a conversation that, while probably commonplace for him, is now listed in my book as pivotal; influential; life-changing, even.

Apparently Dan didn’t know any of his lines. The next hour would be spent, not telling me what needed to be done, but asking me about what I love to do, what makes me come alive. He didn’t stop at politely inquiring about my passions - he point-blank requested a good reason for why I’m not currently chasing wholeheartedly after them. Even beyond that, he let me know that he already saw me as someone who is capable of doing the things I dream of, that he sees God at work.

Leaving our meeting, I walked out with a whole lot more than a nice caffeine buzz. I left with five million formerly dormant possibilities running rampant in my stirred-up brain. Quite frankly, he messed me up. I can’t sleep at night for how full my heart and mind are with ideas and what-if’s and wouldn’t-that-be-incredible.

It’s completely amazing, the power we hold in our words, in our time, in our taking notice of another God-created human being. We get so busy, we are so consistently pressed for time and so wholly engulfed in running our own agenda that we hardly see the people we care for the most, much less dialogue with them about what’s really important. How sad, that we so often miss opportunities to nudge people toward the callings that lie buried beneath the surface… the ambitions and desires people never speak about because, even in the abstract, they just seem so big and scary and unlikely.

Even as my own heart has been reawakened by this simple conversation (and others like it in the past), I’ve realized that I can have a similar impact on those that have been placed in my world. I’ve been looking at these life-changing exchanges from my own experience, trying to find a common thread. There are probably many, but I boiled it down to three. Three simple things you can do to basically ruin a person for safe, ordinary, resigned-to-their-fate living.

First, you have to be keenly interested in their story, in the chapters already written. Not only interested in generalities, but in details. Big moments. Key influences. Most people won’t unpack these things right away. Why? I think a lot of us are concerned, given our hurried culture, that we’ll take up too much time talking, so we’ll go with the Cliff’s Notes version unless someone proves they’re really and truly interested. How do you prove this? By asking questions that show that you’re attentively listening, in detail, to what they are sharing. By purposely trying to read between the lines and looking past the spoken words to the heart beyond.

[As a side note, I feel the need to prepare you for what will undoubtedly happen the moment you ask someone to tell you their story: You’ll have to fight this inexplicable urge to immediately jump in with some anecdote from your own story. You’ll want to compare. You’ll want to advise. You’ll want to say, “I remember when I used to think about life that way.” Please don’t do this. Let the moment be about them, with no agenda of your own.]

Second, you continue asking questions, except that you shift the focus from the past to the here-and-now. You start digging a little deeper, past the surface, trying to understand their aspirations. Dan did this by asking me questions like “If you could be doing anything…?” and “What makes you come alive?” and “What do you most enjoy doing?” I was kind of startled. It had been a while since even I had thought about these things. I’d been hiding from them, immersed in the safety of day-to-day routine and thoughts of “Well, that would be nice… someday,” and “It’s a cool thought, but…”

Then he asked the really big painful obvious question. “Why aren’t you doing those things? What’s in your way?”

Even though I hadn’t thought about the dreams themselves in a while, I had no problem rattling off a list of the barriers to them. He listened. Just listened. And seemed to understand. And then, after I’d exhausted my list, he told me what he sees. (This is the third step. This is where you finally get to talk).

There is nothing more encouraging than being told that someone already sees in you clear glimpses of the person you want so fervently to become. There is nothing more relieving than realizing that, in all your hoping, in all your wondering if you’d really heard from God, it wasn’t just you. I don’t care who you are, when someone sees in you God-given worth, potential, great opportunity to be used for something beautiful… and they take the time to say it… it changes you. The impossible doesn’t seem so out of reach. God’s whispers to your heart have now been echoed in a human voice, spoken by a human face. There’s a quiet power there in those moments.

For me, that hour spent over coffee, that simple conversation, brought renewed courage and faith when I sorely needed it. There are people in my world, and most likely in yours as well, who are in dire need of a conversation like the one I just had. Be that person who’s willing to slow down and notice what’s going on beneath the surface; who is willing to care about the details. Be a person who sees past the present; who sees what is yet to be.

Simply put: be a Dan (or a Julie, or a Matt, for that matter). Be you… used by God to breathe new life into those who are weary. Those in your world are waiting.

Poem: What We Miss

2005-01-14T17:59:00.000-08:00

by Sarah Manguso, from The Captain Lands in Paradise. Copyright Alice James Books.

Who says it's so easy to save a life?
In the middle of an interview
for that job you might get
you see the cat from the window of the seventeenth floor
just as he's crossing the street against traffic,
just as you're answering a question about your worst character flaw
and lying that you're too careful.
What if you keep seeing the cat at every moment
you are unable to save him?
Failure is more like this than like duels and marathons.
Everything can be saved, and bad timing prevents it.
Every minute, you are answering the question
and looking out the window of the church
to see your one great love blinded by the glare,
crossing the street, alone.

bye bye bye

2005-01-11T08:14:00.000-08:00

I'm doin' this tonight,
You're probably gonna start a fight.
I know this can't be right.
Hey baby come on...
***
I apologize for the above. It's necessary for explanation's sake.

I went and picked up Kevo from the ferry after work, and since he's sans automobile at the moment, he asked if we could stop by the grocery store to pick up a few things. "Sure," says I.

I remember the moment it happened as if it was yesterday. (OK so it was yesterday). N'Sync was playing on the happy shopper rotation... and I didn't even realize I was conscious of it until, as we were rounding the aisle to head toward the sody-pop... that last line above played, and I belted out "come on" in my best boy band falsetto. (No doubt startling a few fellow shoppers in the process).

The reason for this post, and the reason Kevin is one of my favorite people in the world, is that Kevin, without even looking at me, without even anticipating my own involvement... belts out "come on" in his own best boy band falsetto, along with me. For those few precious syllables, we were our own boy band (with less capacity for singing really obnoxiously overdone vocal lix...). We exchanged slightly startled glances, and then couldn't stop laughing for about five minutes.

I love being a sibling. More specifically, I love getting to be the sister of my brother. Got lucky.

I also love shopping with someone who is too stubborn to go grab a cart when he realizes he's there for more than "just a few things." The boy carried 50$ worth of groceries in his arms (including 6 or 7 canned items stacked under his chin), only ceasing his shopping when he couldn't carry anymore. (He said it really helps you know when you need to stop shopping).

I'm living in slight denial of the fact that he's moving out in just a few weeks... but am thankful for getting time to goof off and make memories (and for once, really appreciating them). Even if it's just the simple mix of grocery shopping and, of all things, N'Sync. :)

Have a happy Tuesday.

breathing free

2005-01-09T10:15:00.000-08:00

The self-conscious in me wants to apologize for the overabundance of posts regarding relationship junk... but the feisty in me says that this is my blog, my outlet, so deal. :) Or, just come back in a few weeks. Plus, I can't be the only female in the continental US going through a heartbroken new year. Hope these words serve as some sort of encouragement.
***
Jules and I went and grabbed a cup of coffee at Barnes and Noble last night... taking my usual quick gander at all the books, one popped out at me. I'd seen its author randomly on Oprah one night, and thought he was genius. So despite my horrific embarrassment at purchasing such a book, I set my resolve and walked up to the cashier line, praying to God that I didn't get a male cashier.

The kind middle-aged lady at the counter took one look at the cover and said, "You know, that is our top-selling book right now." I chuckled and said, "Good, then I don't have to be so embarrassed to be buying it. Apparently I'm not the only one." She smiled sympathetically.

"He's Just Not That Into You." Catchy title.

When I saw the author on Oprah, I felt sooo good. See, the book deals with all the excuses women make for why men aren't fully pursuing them, among them: He's just really busy. He's afraid of wrecking our friendship. He wasn't able to call. He's just afraid of getting hurt again. I sat there, seeing my former self in all these women, happy to (finally) be in a relationship where I had no doubt of his feelings, of his intentions. Felt great to be pursued, to be chased, to be treated like I'd always secretly believed I was worthy of being treated. Felt great not to need to tell myself things that weren't exactly true, just to protect my fragile heart.

Fast forward a few months. Argh. I think the human psyche can only handle so much truth, so it deals with hurt by degrees. Not for all females, but for many, I think (unless I'm the only one), it goes like this: he's breaking it off with me. (Ouch ouch ouch ouch bloody ouch). But there's a really good reason. (Still ouch). But he's just working through some stuff. (Ouch, but he's not a bad guy, right?). We're still going to be friends, though... he doesn't want to lose me from his life. (Slightly soothing, although it's complete BS because it hasn't happened in the history of time, at least not in my history... besides, who REALLY wants friendship when they were hoping for love?). He still really cares about me, sees me as a "really special girl." (Slightly soothing, never mind that he didn't see me as special enough to warrant his love and affection). And, of course, the whopper of all whoppers: Maybe he'll realize he's made a terrible awful mistake and come back. (Soothing. But absolutely torturous).

I think it's ok to allow yourself time to work through these thoughts til you're ready to face reality. It's natural, it's human. The problem comes when it's been months and months and you're still sort of waiting by the phone, cause you haven't owned up to what really happened. I'm ok with giving myself a few weeks.

This morning, I had a sort of epiphane as I was reading. Here's my reality: a guy who was into me (or thought he was) is no longer. Regardless of how nice he was when we were dating, that's done now. Yeah, he was really nice during the breakup, yeah, he was reluctant to leave. But not because he was fighting feelings for me -- he was nice about it because he felt really bad. Which he should have. I'm not perfect, but I'm a great girl. Any guy should feel ABSOLUTELY HORRIBLE for hurting me.

Reading a certain paragraph in the book, I realized a little more - Here's my reality: he looked into my big blue eyes, took full stock of my qualities, of who I am, and told me that he doesn't want me - he'd rather be with someone else. Of course, he didn't say it quite like that. But he might as well have. A pretty unmistakable message. I can't wriggle him out of that one. I can't wriggle myself out of it. A guy who's into me - wild horses couldn't drag him from pursuing me. As it was in this situation, an out-of-the-blue phone call from the ex was enough to send him running in the opposite direction. (But I'm such a special girl... see the danger?)

I deserve so much more. Great guy, good heart, he meant well and I wish him well. But I will not waste any more time making excuses for him or thinking "what if." I kept on saying that J had raised the bar way high for anyone who would want to date me... but the thing is, I realize now that those things are things that should have been bare minimums... a long time ago.

You'd think it would be a completely hurtful revelation to realize "He's just not that into me." But it's really freeing. The overanalyzing is done; the weighing of all his words is lost in honest evaluation of his actions. There is no subtlety here. If a guy wants to be with you, he will be. If he's not with you... do the math. It ain't rocket science. (But apparently it's such a hidden truth that it got two not-super-great authors a best-selling book).

So this morning, I'm still a bit achy, still a bit lonely, but am optimistic for what the future holds. And I've got my heart back... at least a large percentage of it. Feels good.

I'm going to go play in the snow now. Snowed another two or three inches last night. :)

SOUNDTRACK: the winter of my discontent

2005-01-06T23:09:00.000-08:00

OK I got bored tonight... made myself a nice little acousticky CD. Nothing too exciting, but I happen to like it. Want one? Email me your addy (staceyrich1@hotmail.com) and I'll get one in the mail to ya. Hopefully before next winter.

1. Stay or Leave - Dave Matthews
2. Victoria - John Mayer
3. Collide (acoustic) - Howie Day
4. Twenty-four - Switchfoot
5. Grace Is Gone - Dave Matthews
6. Superman - Five for Fighting
7. The Reason Why - Rachael Yamagata
8. Be Mine - David Gray
9. More than Anyone - Gavin DeGraw
10. The Scientist - Coldplay
11. Freedom - David Gray
12. My Sundown - Jimmy Eat World
13. Let that Be Enough - Switchfoot

life as a snowglobe (thoughts accidentally inspired by Darcie Clemen)

2005-01-06T13:30:00.000-08:00

All my days were written in your book
Before one of them came to be. -David the Psalmist

Something is up. I can feel it. I can't explain it fully... there is just a knowing. If you've ever walked through one of those moments, you don't need me to explain it. You've known, too.

When I was a kid, I thought snowglobes were pretty cool. I'd shake it up, watch the flurry, watch that last solitary flake float back and forth, back and forth, til it finally rested at the bottom. Then... I'd do the whole thing all over again. A couple of times. (Then I'd get bored and go back to fighting with my little brother... much more entertaining to shake him up).

I think I may be living that split-second between the last snowflake falling and the violent flurry.

Things are so lovely and settled right now. I mean, minus last week's festivities, things have been relatively calm. Relatively predictable. I've lived in my apartment for 10 months... longer than I've lived any one place in at least three years. I've worked my grown-up job for a year and a half... longer than I've worked anywhere, period. I have friends who simply give two quick raps on the door before walking right in... the kinds of friends you can't remember not knowing.

I am home. It's wonderful. I love it. But there have been small whispers on my heart, growing louder (or perhaps recent happenings have made me more sensitive)... There have been all these quiet yet insistent moments over the last month - songs on the radio, random what-if-I-did-that? wandering thoughts... reminding me not to get too comfortable.

Last night Julie came over for our Alias season premiere party (a fancy way of saying the two of us lounged on our respective couches in our pj's, propped up just enough to eat ice cream and see the TV)... and we were talking about how short the time is til she will be taking brave steps toward her big dream. Watching her face, watching her excitement, even through her fear, was amazing. But, to be truthful, I watched with a sort of detachment. Julie is going through that "big step of faith" time of her life. That is so awesome. She's going to do amazing things. Then, unexpectedly, this thought followed right on its heels: That was you, once upon a time. When did your heart get so old, that you're content to gain nothing, for the comfort of risking nothing? I quickly brushed it aside, and watched Sydney kick some spy butt (sportin' a very nice new haircut, I might add).

Last week, flipping through my favorite mag, I came across an article that asked this very frustrating, very dangerous, very potentially freeing question: "What would you do if you couldn't fail?" I skipped it. Life is hard enough without asking dumb questions. Regardless of what I would do, the truth is, I can fail; I do so quite frequently. To ask the question is only bringing up longings that can't be satisfied. (It's a "moo" point, to quote Joey). It's only inviting impossibility and despair.

If there's no God.

But there is a God, not a detached God, but an involved God. A God who knows the days of my life just like an author knows the pages he's penned. If I believe that, everything changes. My moments of failure are not total failure, because it is merely the end of a chapter, not the end of the book. I already know the ending. It's a good one. I don't know what specific calling I'll be running after, or where I'll be living, or who'll be surrounding me when this story has reached its final words - but it's a good ending. Hopefully involving the words "well done."

I do. Believe it, that is. Don't always feel it, in fact, there are many times I don't, but I believe it all the same.

This morning, however, I do feel it. And the anticipation is beating so hard in my heart that to sit behind this computer this morning is an exercise in restraint.

"What would you do if you couldn't fail?" (I have some ideas).

No worries, I'm not going to start packing my bags for anywhere just yet. (I doubt any change right now would involve a change in location, anyhow... more a refocus on my passions than anything). I believe in doing whatever it is that you last felt God asking you to do, til He makes it clear (miracle of miracles, he does somehow make it clear, or at least clear enough to take a few feeble steps) that it's time to do something different.

So here I remain, a seemingly unadventurous legal secretary in severe need of coffee... hanging on to home with all the love in my heart...

But when I've answered that question for myself, and when I sense God (kindly) saying, "um, go already, you idiot..." my answer will be (already is) "Yes."

Bring on the shaking.

the tools we're given

2005-01-04T16:45:00.000-08:00

HEY, EVERYBODY EVERYBODY. Supposed to snow this weekend. The kid in me is thrilled. The grownup is hoping they cancel work so I can stay home and be a kid (and still get paid...). In other news, I had lunch and good conversation with my Grandma today. (She made me a fried potato sandwich, nothing better).

FOR ALL OF YOU who said, "Stacey, you simply MUST watch Garden State," I did. And liked it. Not all of it, but some of the discussions, especially the one regarding home & family... brilliant. I'll try and find the quotes and post them directly at some point, cause they were goodies.

CAME ACROSS these words while I was reading Traveling Mercies (Anne Lamott) today... they stir me.

It's funny: I always imagined when I was a kid that adults had some sort of inner toolbox, full of shiny tools: the saw of discernment, the hammer of wisdom, the sandpaper of patience. But then when I grew up I found that life handed you these rusty bent old tools -- friendship, prayer, conscience, honesty -- and said, Do the best you can with these, they will have to do. And mostly, against all odds, they're enough.

Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue. -Eugene O'Neill