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

mornin'.

2005-01-03T10:34:00.000-08:00

This chilly, icy morning, driving into work with the sun shining and the snow-dusted mountains gleaming against the bright blue sky, I had one of my favorite songs on my heart:

Your mercies are new every morning
So let me sing with the dawn
When the music is through, or so it seems to be
Let me sing a new song
Old things gone... (Nordeman)

Feels good to be back to normal. Or very nearly so. It's close enough... I'll take it.
***
Comments heard while walking out of the movie theater a little after midnight last night:

"Wow."
"Yeah. Man... that was deep."
"That's one to have a cup of coffee over."
"Yeah. Man..."

Julie and I laughed softly as we hurried through the freezing cold to her car. Our thoughts exactly.

The movie: Spanglish. Please see it. I know I'll have to see it again. There's just so much there, so many layers of depth, so many different relational interactions... messy and painful and loving and wounded to the point that they feel real, which gives the film so much of its beauty (like it needed more beauty after casting Paz Vega). I won't wreck it, but two things I will say - Adam Sandler, you continue to be amazing. And, I haven't been so conflicted since the first time I watched Castaway. I'll leave it at that. Go see it.

(In other news, I saw a preview for a movie starring a dog which co-stars Dave Matthews. This is troubling).

Thanks to Julie for being as bad as I am when it comes to remembering that the alarm will go off awful early in the morning. :)
***
Be well, be blessed today.

2004: The Rundown

2005-01-02T10:58:00.000-08:00

BY THE NUMBERS:
Moves: 1 (a nomad no longer!)
Pairs of glasses lost: 1
Transmission replacements: 2
Ran out of gas: 4 times
Changed oil: um, 3 times??? I think?
Major change-of-life-direction: 1
Haircuts: 2
Dated: 2 men
Regretted: 1
(Which brings me to Number of Chads dated in 2004: 1)
Articles published: 2
Words written here: 68,000 and some change
Attacked by wild dog: 1 time
Attempted attacks by same wild dog: 2
Alias episodes watched: 66
Weddings: 3
Times a bridesmaid: 0 (2005 will include at least 2x)
Funerals: 1

HIGHLIGHTS:
Idaho trip with Kenn, Lil & Wes – February
Sound to Narrows 12K – June
One week in Maui – June
Van Gogh exhibit with Levi – July
Summer camp (500 students!) small group director – July
Tubing down the river with Lil & Corey – July
Camping with the girls at Lake Cushman – September
Meeting Dave, Amanda, & Jeremy - September
Veteran’s Day – November

FAVORITE DISCOVERIES:
The Lighthouse Café & Wine Bar in old town Silverdale
Mexican mochas
CD’s: Jamie Cullum (Twentysomething) & David Gray (A new day at midnight)
Blogging
Alias on DVD
Cider
Authors: Anne Lamott & Annie Dillard
Yoga
Sheepskin slippers
How much I love writing
Kayaking
Cheesecake Factory
Costco’s Soy Ginger marinade
Sweet Pea-scented anything from Bath and Body works
VH1's Best Week Ever/I Love the 80's/90's
Ben & Jerry’s Brownie Batter Ice Cream

[on leaping]

2005-01-01T19:06:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year, everyone. Hope your midnight countdown was celebrated as mine was – surrounded by dear friends and smiles. We happened to celebrate ours watching fireworks on TV from the hot tub, clinking our glasses of Martinelli’s as we toasted each other. Excellent. Oh, and Jules and I watched the last of the episodes necessary to catch us up for ALIAS: SEASON FOUR, which begins on Wednesday. Um, I don't know how many we watched, all I know is that we began at 8.30 am and ended at 1.30. Sad. But you gotta love that Sydney Bristow. (And Vaughn).
**
Whelp, it’s been four days. I just counted it on my fingers. And was amazed. Seemed so much longer. That first night was a week in and of itself.

Times like these, I’m amazed by many things. I’m shaken a bit by the way that awful feeling in my stomach creeps up seemingly out of nowhere. I’m annoyed by the fact that, despite my feelings of resolute conclusion the last time I cried, I’m probably not quite finished. I’m happy to find that my quick smile has already found its way to my face again, and that my loud laugh still bubbles up out of nowhere.

What amazes me most is the vast expanse between my brain and my heart - what I know and what I feel - the battle raging between them. I am no good at practicality even in normal circumstances – this is a stretch. Which is why I appreciate even more the perspective and wise counsel of people who care about me.

I feel kind of foolish. Cynical eyes would no doubt judge this as unjustified. I mean, we didn’t date for long, and he was gone for a good measure of that. But mine is a heart that knows nothing of halfway. I’ve ranted, I’ve raved, I’ve cursed this inherent inability to tiptoe in, but try as I might, I have not been able to change the stubborn fact – I’m a leaper. I leapt. I leapt quietly, wanting to take things step by step, but I leapt all the same. And as much as it’s tempting to act like it didn’t matter that much, that it wasn’t that big a deal to me either, I lack the capacity for pretend. It did matter. It did mean something, at least to me. It can’t continue to, but it did. And I’m ok with admitting that to myself, even if it does brand me a silly girl.

I think the hard part is not even so much letting go of what was, but also letting go of what you had hoped would be. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I checked off days on a post-it note on my computer at work, looking forward to checking off that last day when I planned on picking him up. I literally could not wait to see him.

Dave and I dropped him off at the airport early in the morning. I threw my arms around him, kissed him goodbye, wished him a Merry Christmas, and jumped back into the car. I watched him walk away, bags in hand, til he was no longer visible beyond the sliding automatic double doors. As he disappeared into the bustling crowd of holiday travelers inside, I fought tears. I stared hard out the window, quickly brushing the evidence away, not wanting Dave to see me.

It’s hard to explain really, those moments when you catch yourself having a moment, those moments when you realize there is something deep and profound happening, but the words are just beyond your reach, and even if you could somehow grasp them, you’re not sure you’d say them, for fear your clumsy words would still fall so short of what they really allude to. Watching him walk away that cold morning, I knew I was living one of those moments.

I thought, as he walked away, that I was realizing how important it was that he flew back, not just back home, but back to me. What I realize now is that the tears fell because there was a part of me, deep down, that feared (knew?) he never would. Those words, just out of reach, will remain unsaid, safe in the darkness of what might have been.

Now my post-it note is more of a mental one. Each day is a check mark, realizing that I’m one day closer to forgetting him. Not forgetting him wholly, but reaching a place where I don’t remember him everyday in everyday things. Where I’m not concentrating on moving on, on getting over it, I just am. Where I’m actually present to the moment, rather than wishing desperately that I was in another – either about a month or two ago, or about a month or two from now. Right now I sort of feel like I’m outside myself, watching myself try to live. But that won’t last long. One day at a time.

One thing both my heart and my mind agree on – God is holding me extra close these days, and every day gets better. Each day feels a little more like normal. The color will return – is returning – to my world. And hope – beautiful, torturous, intoxicating hope – never left it.

Love will find me. And when it does, when he does, I’ll do what I’m best at – I’ll leap.

2004-12-30T16:44:00.000-08:00

Me and the brother on Christmas Eve...

the truth

2004-12-30T11:24:00.000-08:00

I can finally say this, now that I'm single.

I have had a fairly decent crush on Michael Ian Black (of I Love the [insert your favorite decade] fame) for quite a while now.

This article on Celebrity Baby Eating was particularly good, I thought. Maybe I'm at a bit of a dark place right now, and my sense of humor is a little off-kilter (I LOVE saying off-kilter). But I have been laughing out loud this past five minutes.

Read, and enjoy.

*****
Hey, me and Myles are on a website together. Apparently someone thinks we're a good read. Check it out.

***
Hey, Myles also wrote an article for Relevant. I think we're tied now at 2 and 2. I'd better get writing...

***
I read somewhere that young sopranos sing beautifully, but they don't really acquire the depth of emotion that makes their singing truly stunning until they've had their heart broken. I wonder if that's true of writing as well? I write more honestly and more often when I'm in the midst of some kind of struggle... but that's the nature of it all, I guess. When you're happy, you're happy. There's not much to contemplate, other than, wow, I'm so happy. (And I really was. Anyone who knew me could tell. And although it took a long day to realize it, I know I'm grateful for it, regardless of how I feel now).

The darker, more painful seasons of life offer layers and layers and layers of depths to be searched. And although there's pain in the learning, I'm looking forward to discoveries this season of quiet and solitude has to offer me. The thing is, I can't change where I'm at. Can't change what happened. My choices are limited to whether I will grow or be reduced by the circumstances in which I find myself.

And I won't be able to tell I'm growing. You never are conscious of it at the time. You never hear someone say, "Wow, I'm growing!" You hear them say, "Man, I've grown." So I'm going to take my buddy Kevin's advice and "grieve the shit out of this and grow big and big and big while you feel so small beneath it at times..." I'm going to let myself feel it, let it hurt, let it be real, and then I'm going to pick myself up. Well, sort of. I more allow myself to be picked back up again than anything.

I don't think it's about trying to grow, or trying to impress everyone with how strong you are, or trying to really be anything at all. I think it's more about surrendering yourself to the process, just sort of saying, "Hey, God, I'm here. I'm sad things didn't happen the way I wanted. And I'm kinda feeling broken right now. Put the pieces back in place however you want." And regarding being strong, it's not being strong in yourself. It's being strong enough to be humble enough to lean on those who you know love you. Even though you know and they know that you're a bit messy at the moment.

You know, I did ok this morning. Especially compared to yesterday. The first night and day are the hardest anyhow. I got up, got cute for work for no one other than myself (which is huge considering the fact that I lounged in my PJs and slippers on the couch all day yesterday), had a great talk with my boss, who is amazing, am smiling again, and am, even though hurting, feeling a peace. Peace. Not really feeling it fully in this moment, but more in knowing that the worst is over, and that only good and better things lie ahead.

And, as a friend reminded me yesterday - the hopes I had... they're not gone. Just postponed.

You know, I really feared sharing this, as I didn't want to come across like a sappy girly girl. Then someone wrote to me yesterday that they admire "The way that you don't hide your pain, you deal with it and you share it, at first for your benefit of healing, but then to help others heal." (thank you, anonymous, whoever you are). I promptly cried for two or three minutes, feeling my heart soothed and refreshed by the kindness of the words. They nailed the reason I write, the reason I share. First, for me, second, for someone else.

So thanks for all the kind words, for the prayers, and for giving me the grace to be just who I am in this moment - even if it's a sappy girly girl. Mine is a heart truly blessed.

2004-12-29T22:04:00.000-08:00

One phone call from Waco, Texas at 6 a.m. (which I answered cause I was still awake)
+One mocha from dad in the a.m.
+One bacon cheeseburger (no lettuce onion or tomato) and hugs from mom at noon
+One visit from Amanda in the afternoon with another mocha
+Three sweet text messages from Dave & Amanda (Dave's made me cry)
+One phone call from Wes, complete with Napoleon Dynamite impressions to make me smile (he needs some practice, but I loved the effort)
+One worship CD and a card left on my car windshield from Jules
+Three encouraging emails, one from a Hamster several states away
+One entire disc of the Friends DVD enjoyed with Lili in the evening

= Me feeling way more loved than I could ever deserve. And feeling better in general. Thanks to those who are so dear as to be there through sad times - with no apologies necessary on my part.

You know, I'm really doing ok. That void already looks a ton smaller as I look around at how full my beautiful life is in all the ways that count.

phantom pains

2004-12-29T05:12:00.000-08:00

So I got dumped last night. After waiting a month for him to come home from his work obligations and holiday travels, he talked with me the night after he arrived home. Dumped for the ex, who has had a change of heart about breaking his back in September. (Just a rough situation for us all the way around. I don't envy him). This would have all nearly been out of the blue, except for the feeling in my gut I had all week that something was wrong. I hate when I'm right. Seems that nausea knows more than I do about where my relationships are headed.

It always kind of shakes me, my capacity for this kind of breaking. You'd think I'd get smart and become closed off or hardened, but I'm terrible at it. I've been here before, where it hurts even to breathe. Where life is now bland and all the world seems painted in hues of gray... because something that seasoned your life and colored your world has now been ripped away. And it's not coming back. He's not coming back. And even though I know it's not true at all, it feels in this moment like my world will never be right again. And yet, I know that in just a short season, my world will be right again. And that hurts too. What a strange thing heartache is.

It's sort of like a person has died. They haven't died really, they've just died to you. The closeness you shared, the knowing of another person, the friendship... that all seems like it's passed away now, only to be replaced with a void. One of the closest people to me has now become a stranger. All I'm left with is an emptiness that makes me want to explode, and a silence that threatens to deafen me. (It's amazing how loud an unringing cellphone is).

I've been here before, but the wound is fresh. This time, it's especially deep, because even in my aching, even though he broke my heart, I know I said goodbye to a genuinely good man. So completely kind and honorable even in the breaking that I can't even be mad at him. Feel like he's an idiot for what he's doing, but a kind idiot, nonetheless.

In this moment, I have absolutely no idea what the hell to do with myself other than cry my eyes out.

It doesn't get much better for a while either -- all awkwardness and avoiding and explanations. And a few sleepless nights. It will get better, I know it will, I'm not devoid of hope, but all that exists for me right now is the searing pain of what's not there. I miss him. That's all.

I have no cute way to wrap this up, I'm just here, raw heart, puffy eyes. If you think of it today, say a quick prayer for me. There's an awful lot of hurt in the world, and I know mine is a small one in comparison, but even in my smallness I know God still sees me, and cares even about my foolish broken heart.

[peace on earth]

2004-12-27T13:05:00.000-08:00

Peace on earth.

Sometimes those words feel so foolish. So crazy a dream, so feeble a prayer in a world of suicide bombers and killer tsunamis and all else that tears fragile human fabric to shreds.

Last week we found out that one of my brother's best friends growing up was in that mess hall tent in Mosul. He had just sat down to eat when the bomb went off, thirty feet from where he sat. He was unharmed and assisted the injured in that bloody nightmare of a moment. Six from his group were killed. Kevin S. is 21 years old. Twenty-one years old, and carrying that moment with him for life.

Brings it home to have a face attached to the headlines. Amazing how it changes your prayers.

Peace on earth.

Yesterday was the anniversary of Dawn's death. Our broken hearts believed she died in a tragic house fire the day after Christmas - her husband, a trusted pastor, was arrested two years later for her murder, and convicted and sentenced to life in prison. I spent time with both of them in a small group before she died, spent time with him after (my boyfriend at the time rented a room from him), sharing dinners out and pizzas in front of the TV, listening to him tell me about what it was like to lose everything - his wife, his house, everything - all in the course of a day, and still not lose faith. I gave God lots of credit for this deep inner strength... never once glimpsing the truth (affairs and murder) that would later shake me to the core.

Thinking of it yesterday, I thought of her family and wondered if they've found any measure of peace. I hope so. I thought of Nick in prison and wondered what kind of peace there can be for him. I honestly don't know.

Peace on earth.

Lighting candles in a late-night service Christmas Eve, we all sang with gusto, but to me, peace felt distant. I sang, but my heart was distracted... not just by the craziness happening out there in the world - I'm far too selfish to be concerned about that for too long - but with some of the craziness that sometimes shakes up my own, smaller, self-centered one. I felt bad for my
numbness. After all, this is Christmas.

At the end of the service, we went forward section by section for communion. I knelt there, alone, and prayed a simple prayer: Jesus, come. Be near. It was all I really knew to pray.
As I ate the tiny bread and sipped the grape juice, my heart softened and tears slipped down my cheeks as I realized there's never a time I pray that prayer that it hasn't already been answered. Although "Peace on earth" is a seemingly impossible thing to take hold of, "God with us" isn't so unfathomable. Although we're no nearer to peace on earth than we were two thousand years ago - God has indeed come, and revealed something even deeper and truer - peace with Him. Peace in our hearts.

It hasn't escaped my notice that he brought this peace through the birth of a bastard son to a peasant teenager in a dirty stable surrounded by smelly livestock. That he brought grace through a bloody mess of a death on a Roman cross on a hill surrounded by more angry mob than grieving mourners.

Nothing seems to be beyond the reach of this stubborn love. Not redemption, not forgiveness, not even peace.

Even in a world that seems such a bloody mess.

Of all the crazy dreams, of all the foolish prayers, "God with us" seems about the craziest, the most unattainable, the most undeserved and unlikely thing... yet God made a way. If he can answer that prayer, then perhaps peace on earth isn't so damned a dream after all. It's worth holding on to, worth fighting off the numbness and continuing to hope. It's worth our fervent prayers. It's worth all the efforts of our hearts and hands.

God, bring peace. To our hearts, to our families, to our world. Bring it through us the way you brought it through Christ - through hearts and hands that reach out to the hurting with selfless love, grace and truth. Amen.

christmas shopping... day 1

2004-12-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

Whelp, Jules and I braved the malls last night, and it was, quite disappointingly, a rather nut-free environment. In better news, I was able to find everything I needed in the span of a few short hours, which was rare and wonderful.

I sort of had to laugh when - gasp - the GAP & Pier One had both run out of free gift boxes. Wonder how many freak-outs they'd had that day, because they were really apologetic.

I'd forgotten how much fun it is to shop for a guy! Good times. I think I did pretty well, even without the once-promised help of my ace, Jeremy's roommate Jason, who was going to give me startling insight into brilliant gift ideas. I guess I'll find out when the present is opened...

Side note... I am amazed at how capable I am of amusing myself in nearly every situation. Please don't judge me, but... Jules and I, in the midst of shopping for real gifts, had a great time imagining what I would buy Jeremy if I was a crazy stalker freak, (a la How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days). I kid you not, we're sitting there doubled over laughing in Hallmark, reading over cards that gave even ME the creeps. The description tab said "new relationship" - not "sheer desperation." My favorite: a card that said, "Our First Christmas" in big scrawly cursive, with an inside line that, translated loosely (Julie translated it), says, "Run! Run now! While you still have the chance!" (I read "Our First Christmas," but heard Kate Hudson's voice instead: "Our Family Album!")

Later, we walked past a kiosk that will make your name into a necklace. I considered the pros and cons of getting J a gaudy gold necklace with my name on it. Shopping at the Bon, I wondered aloud if J would wear an ugly sweater if it was me that bought it for him? Ah, good times with exhausted loopy shoppers!

Julie - thanks for braving the mall with me! You are absolutely one of my favorite people to goof off with. The everyday and ordinary become memory and laughter-filled when we're together. Love you.

As I finished my night of shopping, my phone rang. Surprise! Jer has been gone for two weeks, and (cruelly) has been scheduled swing shifts ever since he got back. I wasn't expecting to see him til the end of the week, and I was honestly a little bummed, because he flies out again soon to be with his fam for Christmas. He had unexpectedly been let off work early, and was headed my direction. I won't tell you how much Julie mocked me for my instant huge smile and flurry of excitement. But it was a lot. How much did I care? Not a lot. ;)

It's amazing how the whole world becomes right when you're wrapped up in the arms of someone you care about... (Happy girl. Merry Christmas to me).

braving the crazies...

2004-12-14T11:47:00.000-08:00

Um, how did it get to be December 14th?

Translation: this girl has not begun her Christmas gift shopping yet.

Shocker. Stacey, procrastinate?

Distracted by all the craziness in my life lately, I've been in a bit of Christmas denial. Things have calmed down considerably: Amanda, one of the sweetest girls I know, is moving in come February (as much as I LOVE moving every nine months or so, not having to move a thirteenth time quite yet is welcome news), my boss bought my loyalty by providing health benefits (and the peasants rejoiced!), Grandma moved in with my parents this past weekend (good times were had by the cousins in Seattle, incriminating pictures coming soon), and, following some gutsy conversations, things with my internship have been clarified, and I'm excited for the future.

That's a lot of "stuff" to cram into just a few weeks. Happy to have things back to some semblance of normal. I'm reminded once again that I can stress all I want, God will let me exhaust myself doing that - but my life, my needs, my wants... all rest in his hands. Not only that, but even when I'm having a hard time trusting, when I'm anxious and frustrated, God's grace and kindness toward me is still so big. I kid you not - after a week of rather sleepless nights and way more tears than normal - the living situation, health insurance, and internship stuff was pretty much taken care of all in one day, all in the course of a few hours.
God answered the prayers I was too worried and stubborn to pray. I'm always amazed when God loves me in spite of me. I may be stubborn, but he is way more stubborn in his love toward me, and honestly, that gives me peace.

***

So now, I'm free to focus on Christmas craziness. This craziness is quite a bit more fun. I've already taken part in some of my yearly traditions... got the Christmas tree (real, of course) up last weekend... pulled out my decorations and lights... when "Santa, Baby" came on the radio in my car, I called my brother first thing and blared it into his cell phone (it's in the Christmas rotation at Albertson's and catapults him into an instant state of bitterness every time he hears that little vixen sing her familiar refrain)... these, my friends, are the moments. And then, the shopping!

Julie and I are braving the masses and heading to good ole Kitsap Mall tonight... I figured ten days out is a good time to begin, right?

Here's how I approach Christmas shopping: with the lowest expectations possible, and a good sense of humor. I don't even attempt good parking, I head straight for the farthest possible spot approximately ten miles from the door. (Pet peeve: riding with someone who will spend fifteen minutes and a quarter tank of gas driving around in search of a non-existent close spot... heaven forbid we strain our legs in two minutes of low-grade exercise).

When I realize that even these spots are taken, I become creative in determining parking spots. Yep, I'm that person... the jerk who snuck their green Mazda in at the end of the row, where there are no lines denoting an official parking space... I always feel a bit smug at this point as I walk my saucy little self into the mall... like I've stuck it to the system. (damn The Man! I park where I want!)

Once inside, the real fun begins. I am addicted to people watching, and second to the airport, there's no better place than the mall to study the beautiful absurdity that is the human race. The thing with shopping around Christmastime that makes it so precious is that even total nutjobs have to get their near and dear something special from Santa. And I get to stand in line for the cash register with them as they fuss and fume and stomp off screaming obscenities and boycott threats when the poor-overworked-clerk-without-a-lunch-break is out of those free gift boxes. There's a strange sort of moment the rest of us in that line share as we exchange chuckles and knowing smiles, shaking our heads at the fireworks we just witnessed... for the briefest of moments, we are all the dearest of friends, united by the secret smug enjoyment of knowing that, however crazy we may be, at least we're not that chick.

Just gives me the warm fuzzies, you know? I love Christmas.

Wish us luck. We may need it.

2004-12-11T17:21:00.000-08:00

Check out my view everyday... well on sunny days anyway...

it's the most wonderful time of the year...

2004-12-08T21:38:00.000-08:00

There are certain memories that always make me feel, well, a bit more Christmas-ey, full of holiday spirit and a joyful, happy glow.

This precious memory from last winter, forever etched in my mind, is among my favorites.

But Stacey, you may be thinking, look at your poor mother all covered in snow and looking slightly peeved... aren't you ashamed of yourself?

heh heh heh. the woman got schooled.

this, friends, is what comes of starting something you just ain't capable of finishin'. if you can't stand the chill, maybe you should think twice before chucking a well-aimed snowball in the direction of your only daughter, who has quite a decent arm herself.

Oh sure. She put up a decent fight. She did grab me by the jugular, flip me on my back with near super-human strength and rub large quantities of snow in my face. She fought hard, and it was an admirable effort. Props to you, Ma.

But that was before The Rage.

The Rage has been around since my childhood. The Rage is my secret weapon in any fight. It's genius, really. I let myself get pummeled for just a bit, at which point my red-headed opponent foolishly thinks they are winning the battle. I'll take some punches. Or snowballs. And then... out of nowhere... a burst of fury. Sheer adrenaline overtakes me and I beat the crap out of anything that dares to threaten me. Such as moms and brothers with foolhardy ambitions of greatness. Or aspirations of winning the snowball fight, for that matter. (Kevin learned a long time ago to fear the Rage. Then he got to be 6'1" and big boneded and sadly, there's very little he now fears from me).

Ha! Says I.

Long story short, The Rage took over and there's really nothing left to say other than that the battle was mine. She tried to run like a scared little rabbit - hoppity hop through the deep deep snow; she even called to Her Husband for help. Her Husband, however, from his excellent location on the porch, was too busy doubled over laughing at her painful predicament, and, of course, capturing the moment on film to be preserved for all posterity. All posterity and random blog entries.

I'm dreaming of a white Christmas...

Love you Mom. Merry Christmas. (I'm up for a rematch, any day).

2004-12-03T23:28:00.000-08:00

sunset

happy friday...

2004-12-03T13:11:00.000-08:00

Today is a good day to count my blessings. I guess any moment is an appropriate time to count your blessings, but this one, especially so. To me, nothing makes more sense than to purposefully look with grateful eyes at all that I've been given... especially at a time when I might be a bit more apt to complain about what seems to have been withheld. Looking at people who seem to live consistently joy-filled lives, I used to gawk in envious wonder at their secret... but I've come to find that it's really no secret at all. Joy... contentment... happiness... they're really more of a choice than anything.

So today, I choose to see my life for what it is: beautiful. As beautiful in the occasional ache and craziness of a gray and dreary day's grind as it is when the sun is shining, all is quiet and my heart is full.

1. Last night after work, my eyes were graced with an absolutely gorgeous sunset. I mean, around here, it's pretty hard NOT to see a pretty one - the combo of the evergreens and the clouds and the Brothers' peaks really makes for a nice sunset on a regular basis. But as I was on the freeway, driving my tired self home, this particular display made me catch my breath, and without thinking, a huge smile flashed across my face. The sky shone so bright that the trees, the grass, the buildings all over Silverdale, the water... all took on a soft golden glow. I grabbed my camera, drove down to the water, snapped some pictures, watched the birds, and just let myself be for a few minutes. Nothing to be done, nothing needing to be sorted through or figured out. Just breathing deeply of the chilly evening air - in, out, in, out... and being reminded that I am small, but God, painter of sunsets, is big, and from His perspective, all my concerns are really not as earth-shattering as they sometimes appear to my still-so-childlike eyes.

2. I may have found a roommate! She still has some thinking and planning to do, but we're talking about the potential of possibly, maybe, perhaps... you get the picture. Nothing is even remotely for sure, but I'm excited even just thinking about it... she's one of the sweetest people I know. We'll see what happens, but regardless, it was a good reminder for me... God is more than able to provide options and opportunities where I thought I'd run out of them.

3. I have a new workout partner. Grace has joined me at West Coast, and it's just like old times when we lived in Bellingham... except we still miss Gold's Gym quite a bit. I love her company, and it's fun to have that additional motivation to continue Operation Prevent Ghetto Booty. Nothing like the knowledge of an impending wedding (hers) to motivate...

4. Family will be here in less than a week! My uncle ("Big David") and my favorite, closest, big-brother-ish cousin, ("Little David", now 30, which makes that designation funny to me), are moving my grandma up, and they'll be here for the weekend. It's rare that I get the chance to have my extended family near, and rarer that they're up this direction, so I'm really looking forward to it.

5. Small group was just what I needed last night... loved it. Met a guy from Nigeria who seems to have a corner on insight about life, and God, and lots of stuff in between. Amazing. Driving away from small group (toward our habitual hot tub party, a la Bailey), I realized I'd been refreshed and encouraged by this time with folks who are such great friends. I am blessed.

Okie dokie, gots to grab some lunch here... have a great weekend all.

as-is

2004-12-02T11:44:00.000-08:00

A Starbucks extra-mocha mocha. A little bluesy Diana Krall in the CD player. A space heater warming up my frozen feet.

A few moments to savor. Ahh. Peace.

In a week like this, you savor what moments you can. It's been a when-it-rains-it-pours-Murphy's-law-is-now-in-effect sort of week. I'm trying to keep it all in decent perspective... no one is dying; I haven't been fired or evicted; I haven't been arrested for assault in a scuffle involving a stolen parking space... in the big scheme of things, all is well.

In the smaller scheme of things, however, in the near-sighted, close-range, right-now of things, I've been stretched. Tired. Frustrated. (Angry, even? Can I say that?). And perhaps it's the fact that I'm fully aware that it's the temporary smaller things that are getting to me, that's, well, getting to me. If something big were going on, I'd feel justified in falling apart a little. As things stand now, I have a hard time letting myself momentarily fall apart and be human without adding guilt to the pile I've been packing around.

Last night I went to my friend Dave's house to join in our near-weekly movie-fest. (His TV is, in my words, "the pimpinest"... we ended up watched a rather fascinating IMAX documentary about beavers and dam-building in hi-def... followed by Runaway Jury, which was excellent... but I digress). As I walked through the door and was taking off my shoes, this was our conversation:

D: "How're you doing, Stace?"
S: (attempting smile) "I'm doin' fine, how are you?" (I've been fighting tears on the drive over, it's been a crappy day, but, hey, "fine" is a great blanket term for all of that, right?)
D: "Are you fibbing?"
S: (averted gaze, inwardly cursing self for lack of ability to be convincing, and reminding self never to play poker for money) "No..." Dang it! Foiled again! "Ok, maybe yes..."

Despite my inner pity-parties, I truly believe that it's the Murphy's law kinds of days (or sometimes, weeks) that offer the biggest opportunities for me to grow. I've been forced (being shoved out of your comfort zone tends to do this) to look a bit deeper this week, and here's what I'm seeing, at least, right here in this moment:

I'm much more comfortable in the role of "Shoulder to Cry On" than I am in the role of "Friend in Need of Shoulder to Cry On." I'm typically flattered when someone trusts me enough to be a bearer of burdens and sharer of sorrows, but when the situation is reversed, I fight it. Hard. Even with those I trust the most, my "venting" conversations are often peppered with apologies... as if the person on the other end is sitting there with a stopwatch, annoyed that I'd take up so much time, bothering them with my petty frustrations. Anyone who knows me well, who has been a party to one of these conversations, probably has a bit of a rueful smile on their face as they're reading this. I lack the capacity to be anything other than myself (see the above lack-of- poker-face). But when "being myself" isn't all that impressive, when it's painfully pitiful and flawed... what happens then? I'm slowly starting to realize this: in the friendships that count, the ones that matter most... nothing happens. Nothing changes. I can be a bit of a freak-show from time to time, and still be loved. (If I'm crazy all the time, then someone needs to slap me upside my head. But I'm allowed my moments, just as I allow them for others).

The conclusion I've come to is this: I'm still learning grace. (Still discovering that people are quite capable of it).

I (finally) get that God loves me as-is, I don't have a very hard time loving people as-is... but I'm still learning to rest in the fact that people can love me as-is. My friends & family don't care about me because I have it all together; they don't enjoy being around me because I'm perfect, and never have moments where I flat-out just need to whine and feel sorry for myself. I suspect that they care about me just because I'm... me. Total klutz. Loud laugher. Annoying movie quoter. Constant smiler. Obsessive neck-popper. Ten-minutes late arriver. Good hugger. "Quaint." (Amazing football player? Good Scrabble loser?).

This learning is bittersweet... bitter, because the person who has the hardest time letting go of their notions of having-it-all-together is ME... sweet, because the only person who really gave a rip that I don't have it all together, was, again, ME.

To those who have patiently listened to my rants and raves this week... who have allowed me to show up, simply, "as-is," nothing too impressive... thanks. No doubt, I'll be all smiles again soon.

(And you guys can all come visit me in my dumpy studio apartment on the skeezy side of Bremerton. Hey, at least I'll finally have renter's insurance...).

we clean up alright!

2004-11-29T13:03:00.000-08:00

the fab five went to the nutcracker the other night... amazing. here are the pics... j and I, dave getting harrassed, Jules and Amanda trying not to laugh... and dave & amanda being cute, as usual.

what matters most

2004-11-29T11:55:00.000-08:00

I think that it hit me sometime Wednesday afternoon: the holiday rush is officially here. It may have been when Chatty-Cathy-on-her-Cellphone nonchalantly pulled into a parking spot I’d been patiently waiting on for about five minutes (as a family loaded up all thirteen of their children and all the groceries necessary to feed thirteen children into their truck). Chatty then looked at me like I was the crazy one when I held up my hands in protest. (I wanted to go yell at her like a good Irish girl should, but figured if I did so, she would show up at NewLife the following Sunday, so me and my righteous indignation kept silent). Or perhaps it was when it took me about twenty minutes to reach my parents’ house, normally five minutes from that same grocery store. I was feeling more than a little Ebenezer-ish by the time I finally tromped into the kitchen, where my sweet, loving mother took one look at me and ended up doubled-over in (quite mocking) laughter: "When I asked you to go pick up milk and bread on your way over, I never actually figured you’d do it... it is the day before Thanksgiving... I thought, ‘Man, she’s gullible today.’" Ah, the love.

(Some have been heralding the onset of this insanity for several weeks, and are thinking to themselves as they read this: "She’s just NOW feeling it?" Myles and Carly and others who find themselves working retail through the holidays, you have my deepest sympathy and respect. It’s been a while, but I still remember how kind and understanding customers can be as they descend en masse toward your poor register. Hang in there. And don’t let the repetitive droning of "Santa, Baby" from the overhead speakers make you too crazy.)

I love the holidays. I love being with my family and friends. I love the music and the beauty and the chill and the Christmas trees. I hate the stress and the rush and the crowds and the busyness and the battle that I typically find myself fighting to keep what’s most important, most important. It’s easy to simply let the wave of frenetic activity overtake us; to let cynicism creep in and poison what is supposed to be a season of joy and love; to let ourselves get a bit guilty about the fact that we often feel quite a bit less of that joy and love than we think we should...

In life, making what truly matters a true priority is a constant, conscious decision. During the months of November and December, for me at least, it’s more of a constant struggle than anything. It’s funny, really. Most years, I spend so much time stressing and running around from here to there, this store to that, and back again, trying to find perfect gifts... when what my friends and family really want more is for me to slow down long enough to look them in the eyes and enjoy their company... sharing some laughs (at my expense, typically!) and making memories.

I can’t really tell you what I received for Christmas last year (other than a bookshelf, which I love), but I can tell you how much fun it was to kick my mom’s tail last year in a snowball fight... how much I laughed til I cried as Abby (my old roommate) and I tried to set up our Christmas tree (several times, as it kept falling over at random moments, much to the detriment of our ornament collection)... listening to Frank Sinatra’s Christmas CD with my dad, the person I most love savoring music with... piling into a crowded living room to watch cheesy Christmas movies with all 20-something interns in a bittersweet combination of Christmas party and goodbye party...

Yeah, stuff’s nice (don’t worry, I still hope to come up with some cool gifts). But people are what really matter. I always have been one to roll my eyes a bit at all the cheesy reminders to remember the reason for the season; what Christmas is really all about, all those Hallmark-worthy types of sentiments. But honestly, I need them just as much as anyone.

I have a reminder, my favorite Christmas gift this year, arriving in just a few short weeks. In a 5'2", blonde-curly-haired, sweet-hearted package. I haven’t had a Christmas with my grandma in fifteen years, but this year, we’ll be together. My grandpa passed away in August and she’s moving up from California to live with my parents. At grandpa’s funeral (my first loss of a close family member), I walked away with a new awareness of how much time matters. Although it seems like people will always be around, although it seems like there’ll always be ample time for being together (not just existing in the same proximity, but really, truly being together)... the truth is, it’s not so. People move on, people move away, people pass away. Opportunities are given; sometimes they are enjoyed, sometimes they are missed... but there is always an end to them. Maybe it’s a little more tangible with our older loved ones, but life offers no guarantees...

All the people we love, all the moments we get to share with them... they are precious. As Frederick Buechner says, "if you were aware of how precious [today] is, you could scarcely live through it. Unless you are aware of how precious it is, you can hardly be said to be living at all."

I am going to slow down and enjoy people this year (and do a lot of my shopping online). In all the hectic rush and stresses that often accompany this next few weeks, my prayer for you would be that, more than anything, you are rich in moments and memories and people. May your heart be full, and may the people you love know it. (Long before the gifts are opened, and long after).

vulnerable

2004-11-18T23:15:00.000-08:00

In our small groups we've just begun our Courageous Conversations series. I'm probably a little biased, 1) because I am (was) a communication major, and absolutely love this sort of thing; and 2) because I was a part of putting these materials together (just one of many people who put their hearts into making this happen)... but I think this is going to really help people to grow. It's going to challenge people to be braver in their relationships; more authentic, more honest. But it will also teach people how to be more loving; more gracious; more humble in the way they approach other people. I can't wait to hear the stories of healing in relationships... restored friendships... healthier families. (Will make the sleepless nights completely worth it).

One thing I'm discovering as I learn this stuff, however: honest & authentic relationships don't come naturally. They take work. They take guts. They require vulnerability. Which, quite frankly, most of us aren't very good at.

We humans prefer safety. We prefer to keep up pretense, assuming that other people only want to see us at our best. This works great, for a while, because all of us have moments when we shine. But then, of course, life happens. We face situations that stretch us beyond our capacity for perfection... we face circumstances that strip us of our ability to have it all together. We hate it. We fight so hard to keep our illusions, if not for the sake of others, certainly for ourselves. Just below the surface, however, we're fully aware that we're sometimes annoyed, sometimes frustrated, sometimes scared half out of our wits. Sometimes we mess up.

Admitting this, however, would mean admitting weakness. It would mean admitting that we're human. Vulnerable. Wound-able. These kinds of admissions take more courage than most of us realize. We get so used to being loved for our successes, for all our doing... sometimes we wonder what response we'll get in those moments when we fail. When we're struggling, and far from our best.

It's really no wonder we try so hard to keep up appearances. It's so much safer.

If you're me, you make nice little speeches from your safe little corner about how relationships and friendships are worth taking risks, and how you have to put yourself out there and be willing to be hurt sometimes... and all that. It all makes all kinds of sense from safe solid ground. Then, the moment you find yourself taking a itsy bitsy step away from your safe little corner, you're quaking in your boots and trying not to chide yourself for your silly, naive bravado.

And then, and then. As you take those faltering steps, you find warm and friendly hearts in a small group that care about little things like whether or not you've found a roommate yet. You find that you can really say what you're thinking... and the shrieks of horror at the fact that you're flawed, and imperfect, and sometimes do dumb things -- well, you never actually hear a single one, despite your certainty that folks would die of a coronary if they knew what you really think sometimes. (What you're more likely to hear are sighs of relief. "Thank God, I'm not the only one!") You meet friends who actually, genuinely, seem to enjoy you as you are. When you're not even trying to be anything special. You find that there's a gracious, patient heart that finds you cute when you were afraid the more apt term would be... not so cute. You find that it's really and truly possible that people enjoy you... even when you're just your plain-jane, goofy, normal self. Even in little-to-no makeup.

The risks are certainly present. Sometimes you make yourself vulnerable, and the world is fully the cold and cruel place it's capable of being. But other times - and these are the times worth savoring - you allow yourself to be yourself, imperfections and all... and you find acceptance. Love. Grace. Based not on a pretend version of who you'd like to be if you could just get it together, but based on who you truly are - based on who God made you to be in the first place. This discovery brings about an amazing freedom... one that no amount of "pretend" can fake into being.

To my amazing family, to my dear friends - who have granted me the freedom to be my flawed and slightly goofy self... who have allowed me to be imperfect and still be loved more than I could ever imagine... thank you. This long-winded writer doesn't have enough words... but thank you.

they have faces

2004-11-16T11:31:00.000-08:00

This past Thursday morning found me in a van headed over to the Veteran’s Home in Retsil with Jeremy and some of the guys from his boat. We went to basically hang out with some of the residents, play cards, share stories, whatever the moment called for. It seemed a fitting thing, on Veteran’s Day, to show appreciation and honor in what small ways we could.
***
OK, pause for just a second: This is just too good not to share. One of the X.O.’s (yeah, I’m learning the lingo) who had ridden separately, walked up to the group as we stood around waiting to go inside. Jeremy, ever the gent, started to introduce me. Jim, ever the, um, not-so-much gent, busts out with this: "Ah, so you’re the flavor of the month?" I cocked my head, laughed, and said, "I just might be... I’m Stacey, nice to meetcha," as I shook his hand. More laughter, as I catch the embarrassed look of slight horror on J’s face. Awesome.

Ding-ding. End, round one. Stacey: 10 points. Jeremy: in the negative by just a bit. Poor guy... ;)

***
So, we went inside, and got to meet some of the residents. Got to listen to stories from Joe and John and David... where they served, where they’ve lived, what they’ve seen. All these guys need are a few good questions and a listening ear, and they’re off and running. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. And, maybe it’s just the fact that I’m a young blonde thing, but they for sure still know how to treat a lady. They were so sweet... I couldn’t stop smiling.

After this, we went to a Veteran’s Day service in the Home’s chapel. Two memorable moments: our entire pew attempting not to laugh as we enjoyed the ridiculously overdramatic vocal stylings of one of the singers (I would attempt a description, but alas, words fail me). The second memory struck a more serious note. An older general was our main speaker for the service. It was obvious fairly quickly that he was skilled more as a leader than an orator, but there was an emotion beneath his words that made me take notice of what he was trying to share up there at the podium.

As he spoke, his frustration (and perhaps, bitterness) was apparent. His main issue was this: many of the sacrifices that have been made for our country and its people have been forgotten, have been tossed aside. Worse, in all the rhetoric surrounding war, especially this war, some have vilified those in uniform, have dishonored them, rather than being grateful for the sacrifices they make. He maintained his composure as he went on to paint a picture of heroism and bravery, but I couldn’t help but be moved by those few passionate words.

Even amidst all the ugliness splattered across the Nation & World section of our paper, I know I’m not as sensitive as I should be to what’s happening in the desert, half a world away. I can’t see things in the same light as this general; I haven’t said a casual goodbye to buddies only to have them killed before I saw them next. I know I should feel it; but sometimes it’s just easier to clamp my hands over my ears and close my eyes tight. Sometimes it’s just easier to grow calloused and numb and get on with the everyday rhythms that fill my life. People don’t forget because they want to be cold or cruel; they forget because, well, it’s just easier that way.

And then somehow, the ugliness, the heartbreak of it - hits home. Over the past three days, the paper has been running articles about three local women who lost their husbands over in Iraq. One of them I remember particularly well, because I followed the story closely and found myself praying often - her husband was missing for three weeks before they found him - I read an update on Michelle and her children and thought, has it really been eight months already? My eyes filled with tears here at my desk as I asked God to continue to be near them in these moments, when the fanfare and noise is starting to die down, and all they’re left with is the quiet pain of their loss.

Part of being human, part of being a citizen of the world, is allowing yourself to care about what happens within it. Allowing your eyes to linger, even just for a moment, on painfilled people and places, rather than skimming right over them in favor of a shallow ignorance born of convenience. This past week, these faces - old guys with stories, an embittered general, a young grieving wife struggling to move on - helped me appreciate once again what has been given, what is being given, for my sake. The reminder hurts, as it should, but I’m grateful for it. I needed to be reminded that these numbers have faces. They have families. They have hearts.

Lord, be with our troops. Bring them home soon. Be with their families. Be especially near to the brokenhearted, who find themselves waiting for someone who isn’t coming home. God, I know it’s a lot to ask, but bring peace. Amen.

just in case it wasn't completely obvious what a total and complete helpless romantic I am...

2004-11-10T23:52:00.000-08:00

So Carly is in a wedding this weekend and was asked to read something. So Carly hadn't really figured out what to read. So Carly asked her good ole pal Stacey to find or write something. I figured writing something couldn't be as bad as googling for hours... so I sat down tonight and here's what I ended up with. I wonder how many people I can make cry? Yeah, it's sentimental, yeah, it's idealistic... but those are two things you want at a wedding, of all things. Here goes. And if you think it sucks, I don't want to hear it. Because it's all I got. And, consequently, all Carly's got. :)

I PROMISE

Today two hearts have spoken a promise; one that, among all promises, is the most precious and amazing promise we can know in this life. Precious, because it says this: “Of all the people with whom I could choose to share a life, I choose you.” Amazing, because it says, “Even though I can’t see what this life will bring our way, even though I have no idea what joys and trials lie ahead… I will continue to choose you. I will choose you – I will choose this promise -every day of our lives.”

“In moments when your heart is alive with joy, I will be the one thrilled to be sharing them with you. When cruel circumstances or even your own failures have bowed your head and heart low, I will be the one who believes in you… who sees not only what you are in this moment, but also what you will become. When your successes are celebrated, and all the world around you applauds, please know that I will be the one cheering the loudest. When your path seems dark and unclear, when you feel lost and without hope, I will be the one who takes your hand and walks with you, no matter how rough the terrain may become. Even when frustrations and doubts creep in, in moments when we may both wonder what kind of craziness led us to this promise – even then, I will still be there, choosing you, choosing our love. In quiet and peaceful moments, when we’re doing nothing in particular, I will be the one to catch your gaze and smile, fully amazed at how on earth I got so lucky.”

Today two hearts have spoken a promise, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer. As these two hearts continue to repeat this promise – in both moments of sheer happiness, and in moments of deep sorrow, they will make an awe-inspiring, astounding discovery: They will realize that, regardless of circumstance, they’ve already found the best this life has to offer. They will find that, no matter how large or small their pile of treasures becomes, they already possess all the riches worth having. They will know that in this precious and amazing promise, they have given and received the best gift of all – a love that lasts a lifetime. A love that is truly worth giving and receiving, better and worse, richer and poorer, in all the moments, days and years to come.

big surprise... ha ha

2004-11-10T13:07:00.000-08:00

I am the

Girl Next Door

Take the 'What Kind of Girl Are You?' quiz here.

Yeah, I know... dumb random quiz... but it was fun and I was bored... thanks to Krista's blog where I saw this...

2004-11-10T07:35:00.000-08:00

Happy Birthday, Myles Philip Werntz!!! Have a great day!

time to fly

2004-11-09T10:46:00.000-08:00

It’s been a bit of a strange season this last little bit. I’ve gotten so used to sharing so much of my heart here... and now I find myself faced with a situation where, although my heart is quite alive and full, there’s no way I would or should share it all, at least not right now. Suffice it to say, I’m smiling a lot more lately than I really have any justification for. And, for some reason, watching football of all things. I’ll leave it at that. :)
***
In other news, I finished my NewLife project on Sunday afternoon. Basically what I did is put together eight weeks of written materials for our small groups... compiling the teaching materials and then writing (hopefully) intelligent discussion questions to get people talking. (And, because I’m a font snob, etc., trying to make it visually appealing). The Courageous Conversations series begins this coming week... focusing on Jesus’ conversations with people throughout the book of John during the Sunday message, and then focusing on practical communication skills (based on Jesus’ example of truth and grace) in the weekly small group Bible study. You know, it’s really just a small thing... but I’m excited to have been a part of equipping people in the body to grow and become more like Jesus. My small gift was needed and used, and I couldn’t ask for more than that.

Wes and I had our last official meeting yesterday. We’ve been meeting once a week (for both assignments and mentoring) for at least six months. As the church has been growing so rapidly, his time has become more and more squeezed. I sent him an email just letting him know that I was open to adjusting when and how often we meet, that I understand, that I wouldn’t be upset or hurt if he couldn’t take the same kind of time he did when I was first finding my feet.

As I was writing the email, a realization hit me that a quiet confidence - one I’ve never known before, not ever - has steadily been growing in me over the past year. A consummate people pleaser all my life, I’ve been finding more and more that I don’t need the same kind of cheerleading I once did. Doing what I know I’m good at, what I know I’ve been uniquely created to do... puts a confidence in my gut that remains steady, regardless of whether I hear any "good job!" or not. I am fulfilled in the work God has placed in my hands to do. It’s work, it’s hard work; but it fuels me rather than draining me. I need no one else to say what my heart wholly recognizes: I have come alive.

It was a bittersweet moment, really. I got the sense that I was being pushed out of the nest a little. And while I wanted to exude an "I’m ok with this" attitude, I also didn’t want to seem to say to Wes, "Hey, no big deal. I won’t miss this." I mean, come on. The guy’s been my youth pastor since I was seventeen, he and Kari basically watched me (and helped me) grow up. It’s weird, it’s not like I won’t still see him and work with him all the time (and, as long as there are babysitters needed, I’ll be hanging out with the Davises)... but I recognize that this is a new place, a fundamental change from "intern" to... whatever the heck you’d call me now.

The cool thing is that I’m now going to be working with Dan, our group life pastor, one of the coolest human beings I’ve ever had the privilege of knowing. If there’s a pastor other than Wes who has just made it his mission to encourage me in all this, it’s him. It’s a great fit.

All this change - all these new steps. All in God’s hands. All I can say is, I’m amazed.

welcome to the jungle

2004-11-07T10:22:00.000-08:00

In other news, Jules & I watched five kids last night, all of them but Klara (the sixmonthold) hyped up on cake and large amounts of candy, thanks to the pinata. (Austin just turned six). Hyper they were, but it was still a fun night. Dang, they're cute.
(Dogpiling miss Stacey)

early calm

2004-11-07T09:49:00.000-08:00

Ah... almost done. There are times in life you just feel a sense of accomplishment that, dang it, you finished something! I am about two hours from that feeling, as my NL small group materials are almost finished. Proof indeed that miracles still happen! But I needed a quick break, so here I am.

I'm drinking some hot chocolate, listening to Norah Jones... and I have no intentions of changing out of my pajamas any time soon. This, my friends, is a glorious morning. It's foggy and freezing outside, and the realization is starting to sink in that indeed, my favorite time of year is just around the corner. In about twenty days, I'm justified in playing Christmas music 24/7, and going out and cutting down my very own tree, which will fill my apartment with what can only be described as the best smell ever. (Although I hope I don't set it up on my own this year. This one time, two hours into attempting to set my tree up, only to have it fall down a seventeenth time... let's just say I wasn't so much into the Christmas spirit, as I found myself glad not to have anyone around to hear my, um, exclamations.)

My heart comes alive just a little more during this season, as songs of joy and love and Christ fill the air, and as my family and I spend precious, laughter-filled moments together. And let's not forget... THE FOOD. Things will be even more special (although a little painful) because we'll have Grandma with us. Special because she'll be able to be with us, sad because, for the first time, he won't be. God will be with us in that moment, I know it.

Anyway, sometimes you just catch yourself in a moment when your heart is full - not only with what is, in this very moment, but also, full of what will be. I caught myself this morning, and just wanted to share it.

Be blessed today. God is with us.

breathing in and out

2004-11-05T11:27:00.000-08:00

I’m sitting here trying to figure out if my life has become fuller, or if I’m just learning to recognize a little better how full-to-overflowing my life truly is.

Kevin and I were able to hang out and relax two nights ago... both of us home at the same time, which is a rarity. Knowing that he’s moving soon only makes those moments more precious to me.

This afternoon, Wes read one of those "if you ever wonder if your sacrifice is worth it" emails – a story that had been emailed to him by someone who has had their life directly impacted by the ministry at NewLife...

Together, we dreamed a little of what the future holds as we visited potential new office space... I watched the sun setting behind the mountains from one of its windows, and felt God breathing courage into our dreaming even as I stood there.

After the meetings, cooked dinner for Kenn & Lili, just spent time together with nothing to be done other than just enjoying the laughter, Kenn’s dancing, and the garlic bread...

Went on a (great) date, and was reminded of the joy of being honored in simple, little ways... (and the joy of butterflies in your stomach)...

I came across a picture of a certain smashed-up car (I’ll post it later) a few days ago in a pile... and it struck me again how blessed I am, how happy I am and how grateful I am for my life; not just for the breathing in and out, (which could’ve quite possibly ceased had even the most minor of things been different that day)... but for the breathing deep. For the breath-stealing, awe-inspiring beauty that somehow I’m privileged to witness between sunrise and sunset each day. It leaves an ache (there’s a certain brand of powerful, overwhelming beauty that always does)... but, oh, what a precious and incomparable ache.

If there’s anything I want to attain in this life, it’s this: I want to be good at gratitude. I want to carry a list each day in my heart of ways God keeps saying to me, "Love you." "Love you." "Love you." Walking around with that realization of complete and total crazy-love makes it just a little easier to love those I share oxygen with each day.

If there’s anything I believe gets people’s attention, it’s a life at peace, a life of contentedness, a life that carries around a steadfast joy rather than a steady stream of complaints. This, I believe, is the heart of faith – a trust that God really does know what’s best for me, that he really does have my best in mind... and a willingness to give myself completely to whatever tools God uses to make my heart more like his.

Take a deep breath. Take another one.

(In case you missed it, you’ve just been blessed. Twice).

scared

2004-11-03T04:29:00.000-08:00

If you voted Bush, this will potentially make you angry at me, so don't read it. If you voted Kerry, you'll probably relate, so read on. I mean no offense to anyone... my family was split down the middle on this vote, so obviously I'm not rabid against anyone who voted W. That said:

***

If Ohio goes to Bush, it's all over. America seems to prefer the cocky cowboy, and his partner, Dick.

Congratulations America: four more years of the same.

Abortion? It'll stay legal.

Gay Marriage? Still will be legalized, if not nationally, then at least on the state level, eventually.

Wait! There were issues, other than those two, you say?

The War in Iraq? The War on Terror? Both will continue to be royally botched up... and please don't tell me we're safer than ever. Don't count on our men and women in uniform coming home anytime soon. Don't believe me? Listen to what near-every General from here to Iraq is saying. They know what they're talking about.

It took a lot for this girl to give up her typically republican stance. I truly wrestled with the decision. Me? Vote differently than probably 90% of the people with whom I share faith? Bush and his neo-con possy scare me so much that I felt I had no choice. Even so, I wasn't prepared for the emotion I'm feeling right now, as the votes are falling into Bush's collumn.

If you start with fear, throw in a bit of apprehension, mix in some tears, and top it off with a nice layer of despair, I think you've got a decent picture. Four more years of Bush. How did this happen? Only thing that makes me happy right now is that the term isn't longer.

Maybe after I've had a mocha, I'll switch gears, forget about the election, and have something uplifting to say. Just not right this moment.

2004-11-02T07:32:00.000-08:00

Mom and Grandma

here and there...

2004-11-02T07:23:00.000-08:00

First, a huge congrats to one of my closest friends (and fellow intern) Lili, who got engaged to her awesome man, Erik, on Saturday night. She's glowing, as she should be. Few relationships I've ever watched have honored God in the way they have. Lili, I'm honored to be your friend (and honored to be your bridesmaid). I am so happy for this time in your life and grateful to be a part of it. You know I think the world of both of you... be blessed. (Three words... Pick... cute... dresses).

In other news, I have yet another friend who I've sucked into blogging. Chad, Stephanie, Tawny, Julie, and now... dum da dum dum... Jessy's blog... My Bedroom Sanctuary. Jessy is one of my girls from my years in youth ministry... God has done amazing things in her. You want to see a picture of a grace filled life? Check it out.

waste not, want not

2004-11-01T22:04:00.000-08:00

OK, I know I've "fallen off the wagon" as it were... I think that's the longest time in four months I haven't written anything new (at least, anything new of substance... I don't think "I'm sorry" and "Go sox" really count). I'm still pretty tired, so be patient on this, my first day back...

Also - in absolutely wonderful news - my Grandma sold her house in California today, which means that, quite possibly, she'll be moved up here sometime in the next month. I'm all smiles.

Be blessed, my dear friends. Those of you who missed me, thanks for missing me. :)

*********************************
I've heard it said that God never wastes a hurt. I think it's not only true of pain, but true of all the many moments that make up the hours that make up the days and months and years that fill our lives. God wastes nothing.

God uses pain. Whether it be to get my attention, to soften me, to help me to feel what others feel... God uses my pain.

God uses joy. Whether it be to give me just a glimpse of what he has yet in store, to bless me just because, to give witness to the beauty of a life lived for Him... God uses moments of joy.

God uses my mistakes. Whether it be to remind me of my need of grace, to show me the power of grace given freely and without restraint, to help me learn wisdom the painful way... God uses the times I've blown it.

On it goes. God uses all of it. Pain, joy, mistakes, laughter, apathy, passion, heartbreak, love... if we allow him to take his place... if we allow ourselves to be the canvas, and him to be the Artist... we can trust that whatever shades he chooses to use are going to blend together in a stunningly beautiful portrait of grace. The dark shades will only make rays of light shine the brighter. When the Artist is finished with his work, the many hues of our many moments will, together, exude a beauty that, in the process of becoming, no one could remotely imagine. (Especially the lowly human canvas).

What does this mean?

Simply put, in means I walk in peace.

It means I can put my heart out there a little, without fear, knowing that regardless of the outcome, God will use it to draw me closer to himself.

It means I can have coffee with a dear transformed heart and revel in the miracle of her drastic change - of the new beauty that her canvas reflects. God did not waste the moments I invested in her younger years, even though at the time, her face and my heart said it wasn't doing a bit of good. God did not waste a thing. The look I saw in her eyes tonight is evidence of that.

It means that despite my feelings of exhaustion as I work to finish all the tasks on my plate... I can work with joy, understanding that God isn't as concerned with me checking off a box on my to-do list as he is in building endurance, strength, and a healthy, gracious servant-attitude in my heart when it comes to the work he's given me to do. He seems to be especially interested in trying to build that when I am at my most tired, most grouchy self. Interesting how that works.

It means, above all, that I can live in deep gratitude for all the moments of my life. The ones that lay my heart low, the ones that have me living a bit in the clouds... all just small brush strokes from a loving and patient hand, painting a masterpiece that time and trust will reveal.

God wastes nothing. Peace is found in this realization... a peace that no circumstance can shake. What a life I am privileged to live.

bad blogger! bad blogger!

2004-10-28T09:32:00.000-07:00

So this week has been a bit of a blur... sorry for the lack of new posts. Or decent ones. :)

I'm hitting a bit of a panic mode here... deadline for my NewLife small group material project is the end of this week (hence the lack of posts)... and so I've taken the day off at the law office to head over to NL's office to bust these puppies out. It will be a sheer miracle if all is done on time. (I'm still receiving the stuff I need from other staff so that I'm able do my part, so it's a little crazy... we're all running behind, but I'm the last one it hits before deadline, so I'm feeling the pressure).

I'd appreciate your prayers, as I want this to be a God-breathed project, not Stacey-breathed. I want it to be a useful tool for our groups, one that helps people grow... closer to Christ, and closer to each other.

I just have so little time, so I need even more of God to see this thing through.

Blessings, dear friends, and thanks. Whatever you're facing today... God is more than enough to see you through.

C'mon, just two more!!!

2004-10-26T17:14:00.000-07:00

The game is starting right this very moment...

Go Sox!

yep, he opened it up... welcome to the can of worms

2004-10-26T03:12:00.000-07:00

"Now, I fully understand that the difference between a person following Christ and a person not following Christ is the difference between a living breathing person and a corpse. I get that. We’ve crossed over from death to life. Heaven and hell are real."

Are the 4,273,554,000 people who don't follow Christ going to Hell? If you were born in India, and you had never heard the gospel, would you go to Hell? I don't get the corpse analogy. Curious curious.

A friend of mine posted this comment recently and it's a really good question. A really good question. I was going to respond via email, but J, you don't have your email address anywhere handy, so I guess here's as good a place as any... I think perhaps I was just trying to avoid public scrutiny, but maybe that was just chicken of me anyway... I know this will be a long one, but it's not to slam your question, it's just to provide the best answer I know how to... so bear with me.

J, first let me say that I appreciate the respect with which you posed the question. A lot of people would've said something more to the effect of "OK you wacko religious nutjob..." or something fun like that. I'm glad that we're friends in real life, (not just in computer-land) and that you'd be gutsy enough to call me on something and ask a question that a lot of people wouldn't ask. They'd just write me off as, well, a religious psycho, and move on to the next blog. Thank you.

Second, let me say that while I've learned a lot, especially in this past few years, I don't have all the answers. I've wrestled quite a bit with my faith, with why it is exactly that I believe what I believe... because I never wanted to be one of those kids who just believed because their parents did, or because they were raised in church. (In fact, maybe the fact that I still believe despite being raised in church is a testimony to the fact that there is, indeed a God - as this is a miracle in itself). I've thought through this a lot, but all the same, I for sure don't have all the answers. What conclusions I do feel I've come to, I offer humbly, as someone who still is figuring things out... I hope that comes across. I respect you (geez, I've known you since I was nine), and I respect your question. So here I go. I'd recommend reading this in two parts, as it's ridiculously long (but necessarily so).

(Sometimes Christians have a tendency to be self-righteous windbags when someone questions an aspect of their faith... if you can't tell, this is me trying not to be).

PART ONE

OK, so here goes. I'll start with the corpse analogy. The Bible recognizes strongly that we are not only our bodies, we are not only our physical being. What separates us from any other life on earth is the fact that we have not only physical life, but spiritual life as well - we have souls, spirits, whatever you want to call it, but we are more than just flesh and bone.

We as human beings, because of sin, live separated from true relationship with God. We are physically very much alive, but spiritually empty. You could even say spiritually dead. The corpse analogy came from a verse in John (5.24) where Jesus said, "I tell you the truth, whoever hears my word and believes him who sent me has eternal life and will not be condemned; he has crossed over from death to life."

In a conversation Jesus had with a guy named Nicodemus (also in John, chapter 3), Jesus introduces the concept of being born again. I think it's significant that this conversation took place with a guy like Nicodemus. Nic was one of the most religious, the most pious of his day. He observed all the Jewish law; if there was anyone who you'd think had his stuff together, it was Nic. If there was anyone who would earn God's favor by being a "good man", it was this guy. And yet Jesus says, "You must be born again."

Nic's a smart guy: "How can a man be born when he is old? Surely he can't go back into his mother's womb to be born!" (3.4)

Jesus continues on in his explanation, but here's the kicker: "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life." (3.16) "For God didn't send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but to save the world through him."

Later in John, a guy named Thomas asks Jesus, "Lord, we don't know where you're going ... how can we know the way?" Jesus' response is this: "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me."

Jesus is pretty clear that he is the one way to relationship with God. He says it several times, just to take care of any lingering questions.

This is pretty unpopular in today's culture. We're much more comfortable with relativism - whatever's truth to you is truth. I have my truth, you can have your truth, and somehow those can reconcile, because then we'll never really have to have the courage to disagree with one another or ask tough questions. But is that really compatible with what we know of the world? Believing the world is flat doesn't make it so. Our court system shows pretty clearly that it believes there is a person who is right, and a person who is wrong. We can't all be right. We can't pack our truth on our backs and take it wherever we feel like going. If that were so, there would never be any such thing as "verdict: guilty." As much as I wish sometimes I could determine my own truth, I think I'd be more comfortable with that... it's not so. So why do I believe what I believe? Why, of all the ways that I could see the world, why do I choose to see it this particular way?

Jesus said, "I am the way." "I am the only way."

So why would I believe him? Why would I accept this belief, and by doing so, reject others? A lot of people believe that Jesus was a good man. They think he was even a good prophet. But they hesitate to call him God, because as soon as he's God, then there's some weight to it. But how could Jesus be a good man, a good prophet... and be a liar at the same moment? One guy put it this way: "Jesus Christ was either a liar, a lunatic, or he's Lord."

There have been other men to think that they are God's gift... we know them today as the biggest dictators and all-around-psychos the world has ever seen. They built themselves up, they made themselves big in the eyes of mankind... typically they forced their mindset on those they overpowered. (I won't speak of how Christians have historically done this... I shudder).

Here's what gets my attention: Jesus didn't come to be served, but to serve. Jesus healed the sick and the lame and the deaf and the blind. He performed crazy miracles (prompting Nicodemus to question him in the first place: "Rabbi, we know that you are a teacher come from God, for no one could do the miraculous signs you are doing if God were not with him") (Even non-Biblical accounts support Jesus' miracles -- the writings of Josephus, for one) The world's lowly, he loved. The social outcasts, the ones who were considered sinful and messed up and broken -- these are who Jesus spent his time with. In the end, he let himself be put to death on the Cross -- all as one big giant message to humanity from God: Yeah, you blew it. Yeah, you've been trying to get it together ever since, and continuing to blow it. But I'm not okay with leaving it there. Come back. I've made a way. He made it abundantly clear that it's not our works that matter; it's not our having our stuff together in our own strength that counts. As one person said, the distance between the farthest person from God and the closest person to God is about an inch, when compared to the distance between the closest person to God, and God himself (which stretches on practically forever in comparison). We can't do it on our own. That's why Christ was sent. Jesus, full of grace and truth. Full of grace, because he says "I accept you, even where you're at. You don't have to have it together to come." Full of truth, because he says, "Come through Me."

The one way that Christ and his message are different than every other religion is that it doesn't say "Get it all together. Do all these good things." It doesn't say, "Look within." It doesn't say that truth is to be found in our own meditations, our own good deeds, our own inner peace. Every other religion says that freedom and redemption are found in one thing: ourselves. And not to be a pessimist, but I don't think there's a whole lot of evidence that says we've done a super great job of that. Christianity admits that we can't save ourselves and admits the need for someOne greater. Christianity is the only religion that provides a savior.

PART TWO

OK on to the hard part of your question. Do those who never hear of Christ go into eternity without him? Ouch. The Sunday school answer I learned would've been a casual "Yes, of course they do." Then the sheer magnitude of that answer hit me; broke my heart. Could it really be so? And further still, I began thinking. As wholly uncomfortable as this makes me, there are a few pretty huge things that lead me to think, yes, it's true.

First: In Matthew 28.19, one of the last things Jesus says before he ascends into heaven (with quite a few people watching, I might add)... is this: "Go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I'll be with you, to the end of the age." Jesus seems to think this is pretty important. Being one of the last things he says to Christ-followers, it seems to matter. Second: if it were unimportant, if there were other ways, such as by being a "good" person, then why would Christ command we go out? Wouldn't he say not to tell people... because here's the thing: if someone has never heard of Christ, and they die, and God says, okay, no problem... then I should probably tell as few people as possible. Because once I tell them, they're now responsible. It's like, congratulations: I've just told you news that, if you reject it, will send you into an eternity separated from God. Haven't I just done you a great favor?

I hope this makes sense. I'm doing my best.

Honestly, I don't know for sure how it all works. There are some parts to this that stretch me, your question being one of the major ones. I'm sure it would be much more impressive to act like I'm smug and comfortable, have it all figured out, but I have to admit to you that I don't. All I know is that the love and grace I've found in my relationship with God through Jesus Christ has changed my life... has taken me from death to life. Like a particular blind man said when everyone was questioning him on exactly who this Jesus was that had healed him (some of the super-religious types were upset and calling Jesus wicked because Jesus had the nerve to heal the man on a holy day): "One thing I do know. I was blind but now I see!"

Most of what you've read here has been a story of my discovery of that grace, so I won't rehash that here. This post is stinkin' long already. But let there be no doubt: what's happening in my life that I write about so gratefully on this little piece of the web is all because of the grace of Christ.

Here's what you've reminded me of, J: The truth is, I don't think Christians (myself included) let themselves feel the gravity of this whole thing. We live selfish, comfortable lives, a lot of times... only a few of us have the balls to go out into India and China and wherever it is that people haven't heard. Heck, only a few us us have enough to even live a life that reflects Christ even in our own country. If Christ is who he says he is... if I claim to follow Christ... then my life has to look a whole lot more like his. My life has got to be more grace-filled. I need to serve those who the world rejects as unlovely or unpopular or unworthy. I need to be more humble. I need to be more willing to speak the truth more often, instead of waiting for a gutsy question from a friend to give me the excuse. I believe that God is at work in me to make me more of all these things.

The question you asked was this: Do people who don't hear the gospel really go to hell? The deeper question that is hitting me is this: If you really believe that, Stacey Rich, then how is your life preventing that? How are Christians reaching out and serving... instead of hanging out in their cool church buildings, fat and happy now that they've made it in?

The one thing that will matter at the end of my life is this: Was my life a picture of the love of Christ to those around me? Did I serve, was I full of grace and truth like Jesus was?

J, your question, although it could've been posed for any number of reasons (I haven't wholly disregarded the possibility that it may have been out of a wondering if your friend is really one of those uber-religious crazies)... it reminded me of some things I needed to be reminded of. I hope that I answered you with some sense of clarity - I know it was long, and involved. Email me if something didn't make sense, or if you've got more questions... I think you started with the toughest one, so maybe the next one could be easier, I don't know (but then again you're wicked smart, so we'll see...).

Thank you J. Whether or not you agree, thanks for respecting me enough to ask. Be blessed.

2004-10-23T15:44:00.000-07:00

mom and dad... awww...

2004-10-23T15:42:00.000-07:00

mom and stace

life at the casa de rico, volume I: refrigerator poetry

2004-10-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

I was looking at our fridge last night, and thought to myself, "Self, the talent represented here, the pure artistic genius of this, your fridge, is too good to be kept a secret. It must be shared with the world." I do have to say, that the soon-to-be-classic "Your Roses Smell of Death" is not mine. Kevin brought that one to life. Check his bitter self out! (By the way, we are once again happy campers, in case any were curious. All is peaceful and well once again in our goodwill-furniture-littered abode. After venting last night via post, I went to the kitchen for a glass of water and we shared a gut-laugh over the South Park special that was on... how can everything not be ok after that?).

Yes, and we ARE ninja. Just in case there was any doubt/speculation.

Today was one of those come-home-change-straight-int0-pjs type of night, as it's rainy and cold out, and I desperately needed a night to take 'er easy. Happy to slow down for a moment. And, if miracles DO happen, I may get some writing done on my small group stuff, but we'll see. I took pictures of my refrigerator ten minutes ago... not super hopeful that any sort of useful work ethic will kick in during this next few hours. Hmmm... glad I've set aside tomorrow to go drink unholy amounts of coffee at B&N and get these puppies done...

What a good night it's been; not to have to do, just to be. Not as good as if I'd been able to share in the joy of watching old folks' karaoke at the VFW, I mean, what could compare with that? I'd like to know. But we can't all have the good life all the time. (Thanks for the call, kids, you made me smile, you made my night).

Wherever this Friday night has you, out partying with the Golden Girls, or kickin' it, loner style, be blessed.

[Any ideas for life, volume 2, I'm taking suggestions. I started out with pictures of my fridge magnets... there's nowhere to go but up].

the one I love the least (most)

2004-10-21T21:25:00.000-07:00

Today at our intern meeting we talked about being full of truth and grace. Wes posed to us the question: If you err on one side, is it more on the side of truth, or grace? Not that one can be too truthful -- he referred to being too harsh. And not that one can be overly gracious -- he referred to being a bit too soft.

It's funny the dynamics that are represented even in such a small group. Two recognized their tendency toward erring more on the side of truth, as they're sometimes brutally blunt -- and the other two of us are historically a bit too soft -- taking a long apologetic time to get to what we're afraid to say, if we say it at all.
(Wes & Kenn called me out on being a strange combo -- gracious toward others, and ridiculously harsh on myself... hmmm, I don't know any writers who fit that description). But we're all growing, trying to become more like Christ in all these things, and it's great to know that we're not who we used to be.

We talked about criticism... and how we find out how gracious we really are when it is leveled at us. The thing is, if criticism is 100% untrue, it doesn't really affect us. We glance at it, say, "Well, that's untrue," and move on. But what happens if it's 90% untrue? Or 50% untrue? Yeah. All hell breaks loose, because we're out to defend that 50% with all the fight that's in us. We also talked about how we get a glimpse at how gracious we'll be toward our future family when we look at how we treat our family now. I nodded, thinking how true it is.

So what did I do? I picked a stupid fight with my brother over something he said to me when he got home from work. I knew five minutes into it that I was wrong. Did I back my truck up and apologize? Nope. That would be way too smart. Instead I stubbornly dug my heels in, was a total, well, you know, and what could've been solved in five minutes turned into a forty-five minute long argument. In circles. Which, with me still getting over being sick and him tired from work, is what neither of us needed. Would I say these same things to a roommate I didn't share genes with? I would hope not. Augh. How we take one another for granted because we feel we can. I don't have a temper often, but if anyone has seen it, it's my family.

"I only love God as much as the person I love the least." - mother teresa

Would the same be said for grace? Probably. I'm known for being gracious, and then come home and am the most graceless person I'm capable of being. Good move. How gracious am I, really, when that's the case?

The only good result is that our apartment's pretty clean (when I get good and angry, I clean like a maniac).

I've apologized to him. We'll be fine. But the fact remains that we really only have about a month and a half left to live together... it occurred to me as I vaccuumed the carpet within an inch of its life that I contributed to negative memories Kevo may have of this grand experiment called sibling-as-roommate. That was a harsh realization to come to. We have a great relationship, and although it's been stretched by sharing the same space, we'll continue to be close. But the fact remains that I don't get that moment back. Or others when I was less than gracious because I knew I could get away with it. Hopefully when this situation comes back around (and I know it will, as long as there are dishes in the sink, there will be dumb arguments about who left them there) I'll remember this ache and these frustrated tears and hold my tongue, and be, simply, like Jesus. Jesus, full of truth and grace. Jesus, the non-jerk.

The ones we truly love the most are the ones we struggle the most to truly love. Bitter, huh? But also one of the most beautiful parts of God's plan, that he'd put people in our lives who see in vivid detail our rough edges, regularly, and yet they love us even as the rough edges are being smoothed away. Smoothed, of course, by the day-to-day grind of humans sharing an apartment and a kitchen and a rice cooker.

(God, make me more like you. It'll take a lifetime, no doubt. But please don't give up).

(the children normally play so nicely together)

the missing

2004-10-21T11:33:00.000-07:00

Last night we met at our friend Jeremy’s place for small group. He lives on the beach, literally about ten feet from Hood Canal, blessed with a view of mountains covered in fog and evergreen, diving directly into the calm waters below. We built (the boys built) a bonfire on the beach, and after eating our fill of hotdogs and s’mores (and running to the living room to check the score of the Sox game from time to time), we began talking about the book we’re reading, the ways we’re being stretched, the stuff God’s been doing in our lives.

I love sitting around a fire – the light dancing in people’s eyes, the golden glow of each face in the shadows, the shared warmth & shared smoke whenever the wind switches directions – they all make for a special atmosphere. The only thing that could’ve improved it was a guitar or two... another time, perhaps.

It was my turn to lead/facilitate the discussion. This is something I’m quite comfortable doing with teenagers; toss me in there, and I’m fully confident. It’s a little more difficult when leading a discussion with peers and people at least a decade older than me. I’m having to learn to get comfortable with letting a question hang out there for a few seconds; letting there be a silence while people process and think; being brave and creative in finding ways to draw people out into the discussion. It was a stretch for little miss communication major – sometimes that few seconds of silence following a question felt like an eternity – but overall, I think it was a good discussion.

One of the more interesting topics that came up was one person’s frustration with reading chapter on reconciliation – on stepping out and making things right. She was touched as she read, but then found herself disappointed and frustrated as all the emphasis was placed on making things right with believers. Not with other human beings in general. With believers. Another person mentioned that he saw a lot of unbeliever vs. believer talk... and he wasn’t sure what to do with that. I knew what he was thinking, because I was thinking about it too. What are unbelievers? Chopped liver? (and the unspoken question that hung in the air... Is that how you saw me just a few months ago or a year ago? Is that how I’m being asked to see my "unbeliever" friends now?)

They brought up a good point, something I hadn’t really noticed before. I read over that stuff and don’t even think twice about it, many times. My default mode is to take any encouragement to love, to forgive, to bless, as inclusive of any I may come in contact with, believer or not. I kind of skim over the distinctions. I love Rick Warren’s book, I hope to actually read the whole thing someday, but this misunderstanding of a few pages of his book brought to light some deeper issues regarding how we view ourselves and those we’re called to.

I thought about it all the way home. I have to admit, sometimes, that this is how a lot of it probably sounds: We want as many people as possible to join our club. But only be nice to people who are already in the club. People outside the club are misguided, and more often than not, they’re bad. It’s a hard fight against those outside the club, but we’ll persevere. If any of them (for some reason) really really really want to be a part of the club, we’ll let ‘em in... so long as they look, think, and talk like us right away.

I’ve been in the clubhouse a long time, and I’m glad there are newer folks around... my heart and ears need to be made sensitive again. Some of the words and phrases we are so used to in our Christian-clubhouse-conversations... they have a greater impact than we realize... not just on those around us, but on us and our perspective as well.

Unsaved. Lost. Unbeliever. Sinner. Saint. The Church. The World. Us. Them.

Now, I fully understand that the difference between a person following Christ and a person not following Christ is the difference between a living breathing person and a corpse. I get that. We’ve crossed over from death to life. Heaven and hell are real.

But if we could really hear ourselves sometimes, I think we turn things adversarial when they were never meant to be. Who is the real enemy? Is it really the unsaved? The unbeliever? We sometimes talk so disparagingly of those we’re supposedly reaching out to... and never realize it til we think we’re in an all-Christian arena and start unpacking our frustrations at "the world" and realize that the empty chair we prayed over last week at group is actually filled this week with a person from out there in the world. Gulp. Foot in mouth, perhaps?

You can’t fight people and fight for them at the same time. The fact is, people who aren’t yet following Christ are not enemies of his family, they are MISSING from his family. There is a place set for them at the table, and they aren’t there. All the blessings you know and experience and take for granted on a regular basis as you sit there at the table? They’re living without them. They’re missing from the feast. If that doesn’t break our hearts, maybe we need to leave the table for a while, get out of the clubhouse, and see the spiritual starvation that exists all around us. It’s real. We can either sit in the clubhouse and complain about how crazy those starving people out there are acting and how tough they’re making it on us, or we can be Christ’s hands and feet and start serving them up some grace and love and forgiveness-- the only real food we have to offer in this world.

Yeah, yeah, I know. File this one under rants. But it’s what I’ve been wrestling with today, so... if there’s a shred of discernable truth in it, let it hit you. If not, I’ll just let it hit me.

Be blessed today... pass your blessings on today... invite someone else to the table... amen.

the yanks got spanked!

2004-10-21T08:18:00.000-07:00

In case you were in a cave somewhere, NY and their team got a whopping dose of bum-whoopin' last night... it was beautiful.

Those of us who prayed for the smiting (smitation?) of the Yankees were shown that 1) God heard our prayers; and 2) He still works absolute miracles.

I love baseball.

(An actual post may follow a bit later today. Til then, smile. Everyone but those in NY have a reason to).

my cup runneth over (with pennies)

2004-10-20T01:33:00.000-07:00

Some pennies this week:

- Jules, on her way to cover a babysitting job for me, stopped by my apartment tonight with a surprise care package. Inside: two cans of chicken noodle soup, these strawberry vitamin C drops that I developed an addiction to over the weekend, a Barnes & Noble gift card, and a ticket to a Frank Sinatra Tribute (!) at the Admiral Theater in a few weeks (Girl, you know how to bless me... that TOTALLY made my week. Seriously. Thank you thank you thank you).

- The Sox are still in it, they've come back from being down three to force a game 7! Didn't get to see the whole game, but saw the only inning that mattered... four runs in the fourth! Way to kick some Yankee tail.

- Mom, Wes, and Lil all made a big fat deal over the fact that they thought I looked nice yesterday. To the point of near-embarrassment. But I smiled a little bigger all day. (Amazing what happens when you straighten your hair. Apparently it's my secret weapon... at least, according to Julie, who refers to it as "breakin' out the big guns")

- At B&N last night, trying to work on my NewLife project through my headache, in serious need of a break and some encouragement, my phone rang. A welcome friendly voice was on the other end. Sometimes it's just nice to know someone thought of you, and cared enough to dial up just because.

- It poured down rain today. And then sunshined in the afternoon. And then rained again. Absolutely beautiful.

- Rachel, one of my closest friends from Bellingham, called me today to tell me the big news, she and Ryan got engaged this past weekend! And, of course, I got to hear all the sweet details. (It involved camping, fishing, a candlelit dinner in the woods... way to go Ryan!)

- Had coffee with Grace tonight at the Lighthouse Cafe in Old Town Silverdale, quickly becoming my new favorite coffee joint. Big red leather couches that you can take your shoes off and curl up in... soft piano/jazz playing, candlelight, good coffee... absolutely wonderful. Got to continue reading this novel I've been digesting the past few weeks before she arrived, a nice moment of peace. Then we got to talk about the fast-approaching wedding and just took some time to catch up, talk about what God's up to. What wonderful stories God is weaving in our lives.

- It occurs to me that I am rich in friendship, laughter, and love. I am rich in all the things that matter.

That's all I've got for now, goodnight.

stacey's mom

2004-10-19T11:51:00.000-07:00

"Whatever you did for one of the least of these, you did it for Me..."
***
My mom’s probably going to kill me, but this is too good. You thought you had it rough at your job.

My mom told me this story last night... unbelievable. We laughed til we cried. And I walked away with one more reason my mom is my hero.

My mom is a dental assistant at an office down in Silverdale. I would find that a difficult job in and of itself, but Friday was especially challenging, for reasons having nothing to do with dentistry.

First patient, a younger patient, went to use the restroom, and left a puddle all over the floor, which my mom had to clean up. Good way to start your morning.

No sooner does she finish up this pleasant job, than in rushes Albert, a 92-year old regular. Albert is the sweetest old man. He comes in, and always recites the same poem the office has heard 500 times, or tells this one story his mom used to tell him as a boy. He loves Jesus with all his heart and every now and then gets a tear in his eye when he says his "only regret is that I waited til I was 37 before I finally let the Lord into my life." Sweet guy.

So in rushes Albert. "I know, I know, I’m late, the transit bus took me to the wrong dentist’s office. But I really have to go to the bathroom."

So he rushes on in to the single restroom. Where he remains. For a really long time.

My mom starts getting a little concerned, especially given his age, and waits til she can wait no longer before knocking on the door, "Um, Albert, are you doing ok?"

"Is that the nurse? Can you open the door just a little?"

She cracks the door just a little. "Are you ok, Albert?"

A sheepish and embarrassed 92-year-old Albert replies, "I didn’t quite make it." His pants are around his ankles.

There’s no nice way to say it, so I’ll just say it. There’s poop everywhere. All over the bathroom, all over Albert, all over Albert’s pants, belt... you name it, there’s poop on it.

God loves Albert dearly, and just to remind him so, I think he sent Albert a red-headed angel in the form of my sweet kind mother. Who didn’t even think twice, but went to work helping Albert and getting him cleaned up. (Luckily, my mom had worked a long time ago at a nursing home, so this wasn’t completely unfamiliar territory).

As I’m sitting there, aghast at the horror of the situation, she throws in the kicker: She grabbed a wad of TP and he said, "Whoa, you don’t need that much!" To which she replied, "Oh yes I do... You’re not the one back here." I’m sure she appreciated his concern for Mother Earth and paper conservation, but now wasn’t the time. (This was the moment in which we were doubled over, laughing without sound, wiping tears from our eyes).

At this point in the story, I asked my mom what the heck you talk about when you’re wiping an old man’s arse. She said they had a fairly normal conversation, under the circumstances. He said he bet she’d never done this before. She said he’d be surprised, and told him about her previous work experience. They shared a laugh, and he said there’s really nothing else to do, but laugh about life, sometimes.

She cleaned him up, treated the humbled old man with dignity, tried to make him feel like it was no big deal... like it was quite the normal thing for a dental assistant to have to do. Albert called the next day to apologize and "say thanks to that young gal that helped me out yesterday, she was so nice about everything..." He has another appointment today, let us hope things are less... eventful.
***
Mom, I just wanted to let you know I’m proud of you. Not simply for your response in this situation, but for living a life that honors God, so faithfully, so consistently and without fanfare. There are more than a few situations God has chucked at you, particularly this past few weeks (not all of which I’ll mention here) that have thrown you far out of your comfort zone, but your response has consistently been obedience and servanthood, even when God asks of you something you’d rather not do. Your heart is beautifully soft and tender, and it’s becoming more like Jesus, full of grace and truth, all the time.

Just wanted you to know I notice. And I’m still in awe of how the heck I got so lucky. Love you.

he is, he will...

2004-10-19T07:45:00.000-07:00

I took you from the ends of the earth,
from its furthest corners I called you.
I said, "You are my servant;
I have chosen you and have not rejected you.
So do not fear, for I am with you,
Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.
I will strengthen you and help you;
I will uphold you with my righteous right hand...

For I am the Lord, your God,
who takes hold of your right hand, and says to you,
"Do not fear; I will help you.
Do not be afraid, O worm intern,
O little Stacey,
for I myself will help you," declares the LORD,
your Redeemer, the Holy One of Israel.

-from Isaiah 41

***
My head is still a bit foggy, but I still wanted to share what’s on my heart this morning. About six months ago, I was going through an excruciatingly painful time. My internship was not going well, and I was beginning to hate the very ministry I’d entered the internship to pursue. God, are you here? Did you really call me to this, or did I hear you wrong somehow? I felt like I was running, running as hard as I knew how to, but some unseen hand held me about two inches off the ground. I was going nowhere, and killing myself doing it.

I was discouraged. I was exhausted. I was tired. And as far as I could tell, there was no end to this dry and bitter wilderness I found myself in. I was experiencing a spiritual and emotional brokenness far worse than the physical brokenness I’d known a year prior. And the one thing I’d come to completely despise in that season was being broken. Being weak. Being dependent. I thought I’d left that season behind, and now the pain was re-emerging, just in different, more potent form.

One night, I’d completely had it. I had nothing more to give. Empty. I basically told God, Either you show up, or I’m done. I can’t do this if you’re not here with me. I just need something. Anything. Anything to show that you haven’t abandoned me and left me here in the dust to die.

I continued on in this prayer, basically crying my guts out, for the better part of two hours. When I and my prayer were fully exhausted, I finally fell asleep, utterly spent. No answer came.

I woke up the next morning, puffy-eyed but oddly, rested. I grabbed my Bible (something I rarely do first-thing) and opened it up randomly to Isaiah (another rarity; I’m typically a sucker for Ephesians and Psalms). The verses above were what my eyes immediately fell upon.

God had answered. And, as usual, his answer was himself. His answer wasn’t to make everything become suddenly clear; it wasn’t to make my circumstances more gentle; it wasn’t to make me some towering pillar of strength. His answer was himself.

I took you. I called you. I have chosen. I am with you. I am your God. I will strengthen. I will uphold. I will help you.

When we cry out to God in our most desperate prayers, we often cry out for specific needs. God, I need direction; I need peace; I need comfort; I need strength. God answers, "I AM; I AM; I AM; I AM; I AM." He is the answer to every prayer we utter.

Like a small child, there are many times I feel lost and weary. The path I’m on is sometimes darker and colder and more uncertain than I’d like it to be. In those moments, I don’t need a roadmap. I don’t need something to light the way. What I need is a voice in my ear and a hand holding mine. What I need is to know that I’m not alone. That someone bigger than me has this whole thing under control.

"Do not be afraid; I am with you. Don’t be dismayed; I am your God."

God speaks not only those words of comfort, but these as well: "I have chosen you... I will strengthen you... I will help you." God is in the process of making me what he designed me for. A burden lifts from my shoulders when I realize I don’t have to create or initiate the growth and change and strength that God wants to see in me. I’m not the driving force. My task is not to push myself, but to yield myself. To allow myself to be led. To take the hand reaching out for mine. To listen. To follow. To obey.

Frederick Buechner wrote that every direction God gives us is not only a command, but a promise as well, because he not only gives the command, but gives the necessary resources to fulfill it as well. God is for us on both sides. He is the voice that calls us out of our comfort, but he is also the voice that whispers peace in our ear as we take that first fumbling step. He is the voice calling us to have courage, and he is also the one who delights in giving us the very courage we need. All of this is a gift of himself.

Take heart. If the road God has you on right now is a rough and winding one, be at peace, knowing this: he is, and he will. Of all the answers we ask for, this is the one we truly need; the one answer that encompasses every need or desire we could ever hope to see filled. Not only is he the one thing we truly need; he's the one thing we're truly assured of receiving. God has given us himself. Amazing.

He is. He will. Amen.

wherever and however

2004-10-17T21:11:00.000-07:00

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He makes me lie down in green pastures...
***
Winter arrived this weekend, apparently. It's about 40 degrees out right now, and the wind is blowing hard. I'm wrapped up in a blanket, attempting to have warm feet for the first time all weekend (I'm normally really warm blooded, but this cold has me, well, cold.)

My weekend went by quickly, and I'm shuddering at the thought that tomorrow is Monday already, but I am so glad I got away, even for just a few days. I forget that Bellingham is as close as it is - a half-hour ferry ride, and an hour and a half drive has me there. Need to do it more often.

All three of us were totally sick - the three-part chorus of sniffles, sneezes and coughing struck us as rather funny. Especially funny around midnight when the NyQuil was startin' to kick in. (Whoever invented NyQuil... God bless you). Despite our colds, we genuinely had a good time. I love taking trips with folks who are laid-back and easy-going... up for whatever, without having to have a fixed plan. Lili and Jules are so dear to me - was great to take time out of all our busyness just to be. Together. I think I spent half the weekend laughing. Mostly laughing with Julie and Lil as they laughed AT me, but that's quite normal. Happy to entertain, as always.

Drove past my old apartment and through campus... beautiful this time of year, as all the leaves have turned and piles of them lay all over the cracked sidewalks along North Garden Street. Drove past the part of the freeway where my wreck happened, supressed a shudder, and breathed a quiet prayer of thanks to God that my life looks so much different now (and that he used it for so much good). Went downtown and had late-night coffee at Stuart's, my favorite little hippie-ish coffee place. Full of aged (slightly musty) furniture, creaky wooden floors, strange artwork and often, live music, it was my favorite place to read and journal when I lived five minutes from its door. Best thing - open til midnight. There are certain things you grow to miss when you no longer live in a college town. (What? Closed at nine? What is this madness?).

Spent part of Saturday shopping up there (the mall here in Silverdale inspires nothing but sorrow)... and miracle of all miracles, found great jeans. I know that's a very girly, materialistic thing to be excited about... guys will not understand my joy... but girls, you understand the need to celebrate. Great jeans. A rare and beautiful thing.

Probably the most wonderful thing - a visit to my precious church up in Bellingham, Christ the King. Visiting there is the most awesome and the most painful thing I do during my journeys up north. Every time I step through the doors, I know the same sense of homecoming I knew the very first time I came. When I hear the band begin to play, I remember the sheer joy I felt when I served alongside these friends, the beautiful energy of lifting our creative talents to God together. And when I hear my pastor, Grant, speak, I remember anew how God used his words and his heart to breathe life into my hungry soul week after week after week. I soaked it up like a dry sponge. And I fit there like I've fit nowhere else. Not before, not since. Every time I visit, I sense a faint stirring in my heart... I don't know if I'm understanding it correctly, but it always seems to softly say - this chapter isn't totally over. You're not done here.

I have no idea what to do with that, but there it is. There's a part of me that hopes it's true, but who knows what paths God is going to lead me on? I know that right now, God has me exactly where he wants me, and that's a great feeling. I guess it's only natural to long for an old season, especially one that, for me, was among the most defining seasons I've ever known - both exquisitely lovely and painful all at once. Whether that sense I consistently feel is from the Lord, or is just me, suffering from an overdose of nostalgia, time will tell. The grass is always greener on the other side... or seemingly so. I'm learning how to choose contentedness with what God has seen fit to bless me with right now. The thing is, I'm not just content. I'm amazed. It's definitely harder working with a younger church (Christ the King is about 10 years older than NewLife)... but to know I'm a part of birthing something that's vibrant and growing and impacting the community I grew up in... incredible.

We drove back in time for service at NewLife tonight, and despite the longing I'd known earlier in the day, I was glad to be home. The time away was a breath of fresh air, but I was glad to be among faces I've come to love, serving with people I dearly love. For the first time ever tonight, our auditorium was totally full, and we had to set up extra chairs to be able to accomodate all those pouring in the doors. My breath caught in my throat and I had to fight tears a little as I shot a knowing glance at Jules, sitting next to me. What we've worked so hard to see, I'm seeing. Not just people filling up chairs, but souls sitting in those chairs, hearing a message of grace that perhaps they've never heard before -- not even one time. Not just souls drifting in and out, but getting connected and finding, at last, a family.

GOD IS AT WORK. How lucky am I, that I get to join him in that? Wherever he chooses to let me be a part of that... this rescuing of souls, this pulling people into his family... wherever and however he wants me to fulfill that call, I'm in... with my whole heart.

I've come to realize that despite my wandering gaze at times, the grass on my side of the fence is truly a deep, lush, satisfying green. I may take occasional glances at the pasture on the other side of the fence, but I know in my heart of hearts... I've got it good. And until God directs otherwise, here - and at peace - I will be.

The NyQuil is starting to kick in... to bed I must go. May you be able to look at the pasture he's placed you in and know what it is to be content. Not just content. Amazed.

Be blessed and at peace, my dear friends. God is good.

and you thought I was incapable of a short post...

2004-10-15T07:42:00.000-07:00

hey everyone...

I'm sick.

But still going to Bellingham for the weekend, so it should be interesting.

Lili, Julie & I are taking a little roadtrip, and despite the fact that I have a sore throat and man-voice... I'm excited to be away for a few days.

Will be good to visit up there... see old friends, drive by my old apartment, etc.

This is a lame excuse for a post, but here it is.

Have a great weekend everybody, be blessed.

murphy's day

2004-10-13T14:28:00.000-07:00

I’m not sure whether it was a) when Kevo told me he’s moving out in December, b) when I woke up this morning with my friends’ cold, c) when traffic came to a dead stop on my way to work, d) when I, ten minutes later, ran out of gas on the side of the freeway, or e) when, killing time, I called to check my account (you know, the two-days-from-payday holding-your-breath checkup) and the pleasant lady’s voice started with "negative" as a key descriptor, that I realized I should never have gotten out of bed this morning. The gas thing actually had me laughing at myself a bit. The culmination of all the other stuff has me more at the other end of the spectrum.

Although I like to talk often about the waves life tosses me, the worst kind of waves are the ones I create myself. And I do it far more often than I’d like to admit. Today’s one of those days when I think, Why can’t I just get it together? I am frustrated, both by life’s cruel timing and my own stupidity.

Did I mention that my first official communications project for NewLife (seven weeks of small group materials) is due in a week and a half (near-impossible in the first place) and the screen on my laptop died early yesterday morning?

Heh heh. That Murphy is a funny guy.

It occurs to me in this moment, however, that I can’t really change how the first four hours of my day have been. Some crud has crept in, out of my control. I also could’ve been smarter... a whole lot smarter (I could have stopped for gas, for instance)... but now, what’s done is done. I do, however, have a choice in how I will live the remaining hours of today. They still count.

THIS IS THE MOMENT when I find out whether I really believe all the stuff I’m forever writing on and on about. It’s not revealed in times when I’m feeling all poetic and philosophical and deep. It’s tested right now, when life gets hectic, when I’d rather be doing anything than looking at the state of my own stubborn heart. Do I truly believe that today is important? Do I, in my heart of hearts, trust that God is in control (and is working all things out for my good)? Do I understand that Jesus is worthy of my worship despite how I feel right now?

I will not offer to God that which costs me nothing...

Will I still give God my day, even though it feels a bit ragged already? Even though I feel a bit ragged already?

Just some thoughts. Does it sound like I’m trying to talk myself into something? Because I am. Sometimes that’s the best I can do, but hey, it beats wallowing (which I do plenty of).

I still have the rest of my day at work, a small group tonight with people who are fast becoming dear friends, and a soccer game to enjoy after. I choose to let myself truly be there, or I choose to miss it.

Let us make the most of every opportunity...

[swimming 101]

2004-10-12T16:03:00.000-07:00

I remember learning in Sunday School how Peter, upon seeing Jesus walking on the water, said, "Lord, if it’s you, call me..." Jesus called him, and with his knees shaking and his heart pounding, he somehow gained enough control to put one foot over the edge, and then the second. He locked eyes with Jesus. He took a few halting steps forward, looking like a toddler who might lose his balance and pitch forward, face-first, at any moment.

"Then Peter saw the waves." Hmm. No kidding. They were in the middle of a storm, and everybody was about as scared out of their wits as they could ever remember being.

And here’s where our hero made a crucial mistake: He took his eyes off Jesus.

Peter began to sink.

Poor, foolish Peter. Doesn’t he have any faith? Never mind the other eleven white-faced scaredy- cats watching from the boat. All eyes are on the wannabe-water-walker.

Well, at least that was our attitude in my Sunday School class. You don’t exactly feel Pete’s terror when he’s a badly-drawn paper man stuck to a board covered in blue felt made to look like the ocean, a few inches from an equally poorly drawn rowboat. From the distance of nearly 2000 years, from our felt-board perspective, we asked what seemed like a crucial and justified question... Peter, why didn’t you have more faith? Don’t you know you’re supposed to keep your eyes on Jesus?

I laugh now. At least Peter got to take a few steps. I feel more like I’m dog-paddling most of the time. When I’m not taking in huge gulps of ocean water, that is. And in the midst of all that's happening and not happening in my life, it's easy to drop my gaze to the small and temporary swirlings all around me. Stacey, why don't you have more faith? Don't you know you're supposed to keep your eyes on Jesus?

About two years ago, I left my own boat behind. I came to the place where no amount of discomfort could be as painful as sitting in that boat, trying to clamp my hands over my ears tight enough to drown out the ceaseless, insistent call from the Voice out on the waves. As great as my fear of stepping out was, it paled in comparison to the fear of missing out on walking with Jesus. Nothing could be worse than living out the slow torture of knowing full-well that I was denying the life for which I was created.

It wasn’t that I was brave; it was just that I knew what to be more afraid of. Give me the waves and Jesus any day over my sinking ship.

Still, it’s a crazy world in which to live. I see miracles; I see the waves. I see growth; I see the waves. I see Jesus; I see the waves. The waves, I’m beginning to realize, are a near-constant. This past year I’ve felt inundated with more tumult than even I expected. It’s been less like an internship and more like ministry boot-camp, as we’ve watched our church grow from 400 to 800. (In a year).

As I’ve seen this past week, the waves don’t calm down once you are married, a parent to great kids, and on staff at a church you love. Our associate pastor, Del, and his wife, Kerri, came home on Tuesday night to tell me (the babysitter) that they are leaving staff to take a new position across the water. Wave. I love working with Del. I love the fact that in the midst of all the busyness and all the to-do’s, he stops, looks me straight in the eye, and takes time to ask me "How are you doing... really?" It would be hard enough adjusting to just him moving, but this is the third pastor in two months to feel that God is asking him to step out a different direction than what he had planned and expected. Wave. Wave. Wave. The other two guys are around my age, so change of direction wasn’t wholly unexpected. This one’s harder for me.

I had probably the best conversation I’ve ever had with Del that night. He and Kerri felt that they could stay, and be comfortable. In fact, they really wanted it... Wes and Del are best friends, were college roommates, and had always dreamed of doing ministry together, long-term. But in Del's heart of hearts, he was certain that their staying would be ignoring a call they knew they had heard clearly. So now, they’re stepping out yet again. Trembling? More than a little. But also walking in an assured peace that while they're headed down an unknown path, it's not unknown to God.

Sunday night, they made the announcement. I knew it was coming, but still couldn't stop my eyes from filling. Some things are just plain hard. Watching him step out helped remind me 1) not to get too comfortable, and 2) to continue to fix my eyes on Christ. Not my job-title. Not my "ministry". Not my heroes. Waves will crash again and again, washing all of those things away. I lock eyes with Jesus and find myself secure once again. Still doing quite a bit of dog-paddling, still fully aware that there will be moments I start to feel the water rise up all around me, but one thing I know: unlike that ship I left behind, I will not sink. He's got a hold of me.

And he won't let go.

one

2004-10-11T06:30:00.000-07:00

Happy Monday, everyone.

I'm feeling better after my slight venting session the other night; thanks to you who responded with your honesty and encouragement... not that I'm glad it sucks for some of you as well, but it actually kinda made me feel better. Misery loves... more misery.

God's at work in my heart on this; I think what I've received this past few days is peace. A peace that it's ok not to have it all figured out, to not know all the "rules"... it's ok not to have that longing completely quenched, and it's ok for it to ache sometimes. It's ok to still feel a bit incomplete. God's not going to deny me his blessings because I'm not perfect yet. When has he ever?
***
So after being without it since July, I finally got my Bible back a few days ago. (Thanks Brent). I'd left it at summer camp and it had been sitting on a bookshelf somewhere up at my friend Micah's place in Bellingham ever since. I'd missed it. Like all my books, it's marked up with stuff that's meaningful... (I've been mocked for being the only girl who reads most books with a highlighter or pen in hand). It took me a while to get over the fact that I'd be defacing its pages to write in the margins, to note what was spoken to me in that moment, but I did. So now the poor thing is a bit of a mess, but it's a mess that means a lot to me. (Plus I can find what I'm looking for. I can't remember scripture references to save my life, I'm bad with numbers, but for some reason I can remember what color pen I used to mark it up).

I was looking through it this morning, and came across these words written in the front. They were written when I was 19 & studying at Northwest College... during one of my late-night coffee binges at the Denny's just down the road. Man, I miss that place. And I miss my waitress, Eileen.

Anyway, the words still hold great meaning to me... great words to hear on a Monday, I think.

I have just one life here.
One.
Each moment that slips away is forever lost
And cannot be regained, relived, or reversed.
I don't want regrets, God.
I don't want to get so caught up in the details, worries and stresses of my life
That I miss living.
I want to take hold of the things that really matter
And just let the rest of it go.
I want to have the courage to live my life so that when I die,
I won't be worried about important words left unsaid, new things left untried, crazy risks left untaken...
Because I was too afraid to speak out, stick out, or be left out.
I will not settle, God.
I want your best.
I want to live my life like I really believe all those things You've said;
All the promises You've made.
I don't want to just barely scratch the surface of who You are.
I want to know Your power because I've put myself in a place where I have to rely on it.
Help me to have the courage to be the person I've always wanted to be;
The person You've always wanted me to be.
When I die, may they say
She loved Jesus. She loved her family. She loved people.
She loved her life. She loved new things.
She laughed. Hard.
May they say I understood what life is really all about.
It's about striving to live for You each day...
It's about milking each moment for what it's worth.
Because only one life here on earth has been afforded me.
One.

God, please reawaken that heart within me. Even on a chilly Monday. Even in a tired me. Amen.

what summer conceals, winter reveals

2004-10-09T01:05:00.000-07:00

When autumn comes
It doesn't ask
It just walks in
Where it left you last
You never know when it starts
Until there's fog inside the glass around
Your summer heart...
--John Mayer
--------------------
Nights like tonight should be illegal.

When I left my apartment at 7.30, headed over to Mom & Dad's house, it was already pitch dark and cold. Not just mildly chilly; COLD. The rain and the wind and the dark have a way of giving the chill a more piercing quality; its icy grip goes straight for your heart with no hesitation.

I don't know what it is, but this time of year always gives me trouble. I feel pretty good January through about right now, and forget that loneliness and melancholy ever tried to eat me alive. Summer especially is a great time for me... all my life is framed in a soft golden glow.

And then I have nights like tonight. The chill sneaks up on me, and the pain is sharp. My heart aches to belong. My hand longs to be held. My lips... well, you get the picture. Add it all up: A sarah mclachlan CD in the player-rip your heart out-why don't you just go watch Castaway and get it over with-type-of-night. I've become my own worst nightmare.

I went over to my parent's house to help them get ready for a garage sale. My mom's timing is impeccable -- forecast calls for rain, rain, and more rain tomorrow. Not even rain can dampen her enthusiasm, however... she's been waiting forever to get rid of all the junk my dad has stored out in the garage and attic; my grandma's move up here from California in a month is as good a reason as any. My dad and his junk have had a close relationship these last 15 years... he's a bit sad. But really. Can he really claim a strong sentimental attachment to two years of Golf Magazine? (When he's only played golf once?). It will be a sad adieu, but I think he'll make it. Plus, I'm absolutely convinced he'll take half of it and hide it somewhere his redhead wife can't find it...

I'm pretty sure I was the opposite of help tonight. I oohed and ahhed over bits of my childhood and rescued way too many books I decided I couldn't live without. The memories flooded back with vivid clarity. I opened my favorite Bible nursery rhyme book and heard my mom's voice in my head as well my own, begging her to read just one more. Mom caught me reading it and humored me by reading my favorite. I stumbled on report cards and awards and certificates; yearbooks and pictures. Faces I'd completely forgotten flashed through my mind. Friends I thought would stay a part of me for life were now faint memories I struggled to recall. I stumbled upon pictures and love letters I thought were long gone... I laughed aloud for a moment and then suddenly fell silent.

Half of this stuff went in the trash. (Which is probably where it needed to be... but still. It's hard letting go).

I left the house a few hours later with two boxes containing the last of my belongings. I never plan on moving back to my parents', but there was a sort of sad finality to it, even so. It will always have traces of home, reminiscences of home... but it is my home no longer. Everything is changing all around me, and no matter how tight I squeeze my hand to hold what's precious, I open my fingers to find it all slipping through.

My own home... doesn't really feel like a home. I'm caught in the dreadful in-between. I'm building my own beautiful life; I'm not waiting to begin it. But at the moment, I'm fighting the reality that right now, there's no one to share it with.

It'll pass. It always does. I know enough about myself to expect that it will come and go, growing more insistent as Christmas approaches (who doesn't want to walk around bundled up and rosy cheeked, being all sappy and ridiculous to the sound of bells and the smell of pine?)... and then, in the silence of January, the awful beast will stop its tireless nagging and be at peace at last.

I'll fight it and quit being such chick flick fodder. Tomorrow. For tonight, I'm just going to let it ache a little. I'm going to bundle up beneath my blankets, quiet my heart, and be nearly almost happy in the fact that I'm another winter closer to what is painfully & obviously absent in this moment.

Someday probably isn't as far away as it seems.

I shall not want

2004-10-08T08:16:00.000-07:00

I woke up early this morning to peace. A dream had terrified me; had shaken and startled me awake. The pain was real. I woke up to the rain pouring down on my roof and the puddles outside, playing and singing a soft melody all its own. Curled up beneath my many blankets, I was warm. Just-right warm. I sighed in relief. The reality of the dream began to fade, and I was happy to be exactly where I was. I stumbled out of bed to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water - and here's the best part - got to return to my blessed state for another two hours as I drifted back to restful sleep.

That was the easy part of my day. Now I actually have to go do something. A lot of somethings. My days are getting fuller and busier, and I'm glad to be doing the things I'm doing. Mostly. But I'm feeling it... the juggling. The tight schedule. The slight anxiety of always running about five minutes late.

I was grateful for this small moment of real rest this morning. I needed it.

You will keep in perfect peace him whose mind is steadfast, because he trusts in you. ISAIAH 26.3
----------------------------
A little Buechner for this morning:

"I SHALL NOT WANT," the psalm says. Is that true? There are lots of things we go on wanting, go on lacking, whether we believe in God or not. They are not just material things like a new roof or a better paying job, but things like good health, things like happiness for our children, things like being understood and appreciated, like relief from pain, like some measure of inner peace not just for ourselves but for the people we love and for whom we pray. Believers and unbelievers alike we go on wanting plenty our whole lives through. We long for what never seems to come. We pray for what never seems to be clearly given. But when the psalm says "I shall not want," maybe it is speaking the utter truth anyhow. Maybe it means that if we keep our eyes open, if we keep our hearts and lives open, we will at least never be in want of the one thing we want more than anything else. Maybe it means that whatever else is withheld, the shepherd never withholds himself, and he is what we want more than anything else.

--Frederick Buechner, Listening to Your Life

2004-10-07T22:23:00.000-07:00

My friends love this Irish girl because I make their tans show up so nicely... sigh.

Brent was calling us jungle fever. Had a little party for Carly tonight since she was up from LA...

good times had by all.

hey, baby

2004-10-07T05:40:00.000-07:00

Last night found me at week 2 of our small group (already behind in my reading, of course, but no one asked, thank goodness). Since we'd split up into meeting at two homes, it was a smaller, more intimate setting. Still getting to know each other, we went around the room and shared a bit about ourselves. Then, a deeper question: how did you view God growing up? There were as many varied responses as there were people in the room: God was only on Sunday, Jesus was a piece of paper stuck to a felt board (and always a shepherd), God was the stern loud voice of the 10 commandments; God was the faultfinder. It was interesting to share this and to consider how it had shaped each person.

We watched the video and then continued discussion on a life of worship, and how our first purpose in life is to bring God pleasure. One of the discussion questions was this: "The Bible says that God created you so he could love you, enjoy you, and adopt you into his family. Stop and ponder that statement for a moment. How does that make you feel and is it consistent with your view of God?"

Wendy shared the only story I remember from that part of the conversation. She had heard it from a friend who'd just been at some sort of women's conference. The speaker at that conference had shared how God doesn't just speak to us coldly and generically: he calls us by name. Sometimes by a new name. This particular speaker had a lilting Southern drawl, and said that when she felt God speaking to her, he always called her "baby." No, baby, that's just not in my plan right now. Hey, baby, I'm leading you this way. Just be patient, baby. I'm at work here.

It struck me in that moment. My view of how God sees me is just as important as how I see God himself. In fact, I think it may have impacted me more. The moment I first realized that God was not angry and disappointed in me, as I supposed, but was actually full of love and tenderness toward me, EVERYTHING CHANGED. All of a sudden it was real. It was personal.

I think it's the same way in my relationships. I get far more hung up on the way I think people see me than I do on how I see them. I'm pretty laid-back, and find it fairly easy to like most people (although there are some personality traits that drive me batty, let's be honest). But I used to have the most difficult time believing that people enjoyed me as I am. Before anyone had said a word, I had already thought of fifteen reasons they probably thought I was any number of terrible things. Larger groups of people were a nightmare... way too much impression management. I'd leave emotionally and mentally exhausted from trying to battle my own self-doubt the entire time. Luckily, no one else could tell, but it was utterly frustrating.

As my view of God has changed, so has a lot of the above. I wish I could tell you that it's all completely vanished and that I am little miss brazen confidence now, but that would be a lie (although I do have my Irish girl moments... but these just typically involve me hastily putting my foot in my mouth and inevitably having to quickly backpedal, however). I still have to recognize times when a wrong thought process is going on (although it's rarer now) and take it captive to what I know is true. It's gotten better. I'm not afraid to be myself and to speak my mind. (I sometimes completely second-guess myself once I've done so... but that, too, is being transformed with time).

I've reached a point where I'm a) fully aware I'm imperfect, and b) still happy to be me, and if someone doesn't like me, I'm (finally! Thank God!) ok. They can go their merry way. My view of who I am is no longer based on the reflections I see bounced back in the people around me. I see myself in view of God's grace, mercy, and hope for what is yet to come. As confidence in God and his work in my life has grown, I've been able to see this most frustrating, painful part of me slowly, slowly, SLOWLY be redeemed. The best part is, he's not finished.

I'm not sure God calls me by any particular name that I'm aware of, but I do know this: God smiles whenever he sees me. You want my picture of him? That's my picture. I make God smile. (I make him laugh pretty often too, but that's a whole other thing). When I talk to him, when I sing to him, when my heart is responding to him, when I reach out to others in his love... I know with my entire being that God has a grin as wide as the ocean on his face. To someone else, that might not mean a whole lot. But for me, given my past, it's a thought that sends grateful tears cascading down my cheeks.

I find myself smiling back. Often. I can't help it.

What does God call you? Child? Daughter? Son? Friend? Precious? Chosen? Beautiful? (Baby?) If you slowed and quieted yourself long enough to hear him call you by name... imagine how that would change everything. Slow down. Shut up for a second. Listen.

Whatever name he might call you by, I have a good idea of at least one I'm sure he uses often: Beloved.

2004-10-06T15:59:00.000-07:00

everybody loves o'rich

congrats, kevo! punk!

2004-10-06T14:56:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry, I know I'm an obsessive blogger, but this needs to be said:

MY LITTLE BROTHER IS AWESOME! (OK, "little" meaning, no longer little, he's 6'1" and I'm 5'6", so yeah he's a big ol' moose... but you know what I mean)

Just need to brag on him a little bit - he nailed his 2nd interview for a Drafting (CAD) job for a firm over in Seattle. I figured he'd get the job: he's top of his class, a pretty sharp guy, has a great sense of humor, and is generally kind to old ladies and fuzzy animals. They said they'd call Monday, and didn't, so Kevin was a bit heart-heavy. I, the ever-supportive big sis, said, "They always do that. They'll call. They will call..."

He got the call yesterday and the paperwork today... he got the job and they're paying him ridiculously well for it. (Plus his boss is a Christian, which is pretty cool, too). Once again, my brother starts out in a job making more than me, a lowly secretary. Sigh!

I am hugely proud of you, my dear brother. (And, I told you so).

I am also totally sad, because today begins a countdown toward, at some point, the inevitable roommate divorce, when he gets too good for us and moves across the water with all the other hoity-toities.

I get the couch. And the 25 pound bag of SuperLuckyElephant rice. So there. ;)

Happy Birthday Dad!

2004-10-06T07:39:00.000-07:00

A full deck plus a joker thrown in for good measure... happy 53rd! Dad... words fail to say how much I love you and how much I know I lucked out. Thanks for all that you do... like moving hideabeds that I call couches, like moving me thirteen times since I turned 18, for rescuing me when I run out of gas. Again. Thanks for that look you always get on your face when I'm singing or playing, or when I'm otherwise making you proud. I love you. See you tonight after work.

making noises

2004-10-06T07:15:00.000-07:00

Came across some CD's I had buried for about six months, among them one of my all-time favorite CD's. I love it because it's raw & unpolished (at a time when most worship music is pretty slick) and heartfelt and honest (as some worship music has seemed to cease to be as it's taken hold of its own monstrous genre)... Don't get me wrong, I love that worship music is growing, but it's nonetheless refreshing to have something that seems to come straight from the gut. Here's Making Noises, a song that has ministered to me countless times... and one I'm happy to resurrect.

Oh Lord I'm down again
This life you've got me in
Keeps pulling me to the floor
I've bought what they're offering
And now i need to be
Set free from my own desire

Your love is all I need
Redeem the worst in me

Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't know what I'm doing anymore
Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't want to just be making noises
I don't want to just be making noises... Lord

Lord my heart is tired
Worn out and uninspired
Traded my passions for gold
I won't play the game again
I have lost the will to win
Jesus save what's left of my soul

Your love is all I need
Redeem the worst in me

Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't know what I'm doing anymore
Lord I give you my all
Cause I don't want to just be making noises
I don't want to just be making noises

letting go

2004-10-05T23:27:00.000-07:00

Tonight I got the kind of news that I hate getting, and love getting at the same time. Some folks I love are moving on to a new chapter in their life, a new piece of God's plan for their lives. Good and bad news all wrapped up in one painful moment.

It's going to leave a hole; the truth is, I'm heartbroken.

It should leave a hole.

I could easily flit from season to season, from path to path, were it not for the requisite goodbyes that inevitably accompany them. The goodbyes are the hardest part.

I've been through so much change this past year and a half, it feels like all I've done is say goodbye. I said goodbye to Bellingham and my church family there when I moved home. I said goodbye to my home church and my fellow interns when I took a step out in faith to work with NewLife. Two interns that had made the move with us quit in June, leaving three of an original eight pastoral interns. I said goodbye to my grandpa in August. Two pastors on staff at NL have moved on to other callings in the past few months.

God... just a little stability. Please.

I will never leave you nor forsake you...

Ever since I decided that I could no longer run from what God had designed me to do, ever since I took the no-looking-back step toward ministry as what I'd devote my life to, things have not been more stable, they've been less. The terrain has changed so much in the past year that I barely recognize it anymore. I'm growing to enjoy this new place gradually, especially as I understand God is at work in all of it, but man, there are moments when it just plain hurts.

My eyes are starting to fill and it's getting hard to see the screen. I just needed to say (and mostly to myself) that amongst all the many things that are constantly shifting all around us, God doesn't. He is a beautiful constant.

And even here, in the searing pain of letting go, he stands with us, wiping our warm tears, soothing our aching hearts.

decisions, decisions...

2004-10-05T14:11:00.000-07:00

I did a very bad thing today. After I missed Jamie Cullum by about a day, playing here in Seattle, I said "Enough of this MADNESS!" and started taking a peek at local venues. Dang it. I may have to buy a ferry pass.

Jules and I are going to Late Tuesday on Thursday night at the Triple Door... (anyone want to come, let me know, tix are $10 and go to support a new domestic violence center). Haven't seen them since I lived up north, so it will be great to see them again.

I then pulled up the Moore/Paramount calendar. Hmm. Should I see Mindy Smith, Switchfoot, Wilco, or Death Cab in November? Or maybe Riverdance... ha ha. What difficult decisions...

What a lovely problem to have.

in spite of me

2004-10-05T10:12:00.000-07:00

I think God's grace is amazing because it works in me and through me, in spite of me. I am proof positive that using flawed and broken vessels is God's specialty.

On Sunday, when I showed up at Klahowya Secondary School to begin setup at 2 p.m., I was fighting an I-don't-want-to-be-here attitude. It comes and goes, typically coming as I'm driving out there, leaving as soon as setup is completed. I HATE HAVING TO DO SETUP EVERY SUNDAY. There. I said it. Sunday morning was rough too, which didn't help. I was just mad to have to be there. Don't they know I have better things I could be doing? Like all the other things they have on my to-do list? Slightly grouchy intern. OK. Pretty pissed off intern.

As I was driving the curvy road that wraps around the school's campus toward the parking lot, I felt God admonishing me: If you're caught up in yourself today, you'll miss Me using you. Do you really want that? Dang. Gut-check. OK. I'll try. Still slightly grudgingly, but I'll try.

So, I walked in there and did my part and when one of the pastors asked me how I'm doing, I smiled a real smile and said, "Doin' good." And did my best to mean it, too. That probably doesn't seem like a big deal, but to me it was a battle won. Being the sensitive type, I used to walk around with a sour look on my face and basically pout until someone would ask me how I was, at which point I would launch into a long sorrowful monologue about the sad sad drama that was my life. When I'm able to flip the switch and get over myself despite whatever selfish emotions are running through me, it's a big win. I nearly missed it.

As I was running into Silverdale to do a coffee run, the high school girl I'm mentoring walked through the doors, trying to hide the fact that she was fighting tears. I grabbed her, told her to skip the youth meeting, and we'd get her some coffee (I've come to find that there are few ailments, at least when it comes to us girls, that coffee and a venting session won't seriously help). So I listened to the afflictions of a sixteen-year-old for a half hour. (I'm so glad I'm 24 and not 16...) Listened, and sympathized, and offered perspective, the main one being "this too, shall pass." When we returned, I could see the relief in her eyes, and my heart was glad for knowing I had a part in it. I also was reminded that even my own frustrations are merely temporary. I could've missed it.

The service was meaningful, and I was able to respond with my heart, as I described yesterday. There are many times I've been so wrapped up in listening to myself whine that I've been deaf to God. Thank God I didn't miss his voice that night.

In between services, I was able to find some newer people from our small group and talk with them for a while, despite how much I get nervous and feel like a total fool. But they're coming again, and seem anxious to hang out and get to know each other better. Had I been sitting by myself somewhere off in a corner, that opportunity would've been lost.

God's grace is constantly at work in us, but I'm beginning to realize that some opportunities, once they pass, are forever lost. With Em, there may not have been another moment just like that where I could be a listening ear and further earn her trust. My heart needed to be softened by the message and the music, and had I not listened, my heart would be a little bit harder rather than a little bit softer. I don't get that moment back. Those new folks may have walked out the doors and never come back if someone didn't try to get to know them better & make them feel welcome. There is a stern gravity to our choices, not just the big ones, but the daily ones also. I don't say these things to inspire guilt. God's grace is sufficient. However, when I choose to be wrapped up in myself, I lose the opportunity to be God's grace extended to another human being. That's a big deal, and not even God's grace can bring those lost opportunities back to me.

God, give us sensitive hearts. Not just sensitive hearts to our own needs and wants and attitudes, but sensitive hearts toward those around us. May we make the most of every opportunity you place before us. Amen.
****
In other news, I got my very first paid communications project at NL yesterday! I'm writing small group materials that we'll begin after the 40 Days of Purpose is over... right up my alley (I did a 25-pg small group packet for 500 high-schoolers in July for summer camp and LOVED IT). Wes just reaffirmed that he's extremely happy with where I'm at, what I'm doing, how hard I'm working. The best part about the whole conversation was that I didn't need it. I already felt great about things... his confirmation was just icing on the cake.

Thank you Lord for what you're up to. If you keep this up, I'm never going to catch my breath...

I love you too

2004-10-04T14:36:00.000-07:00

I've taken communion countless times. It comes part and parcel with growing up churched. When church was more ritual than relationship, I remember being annoyed because it meant another ten to fifteen minutes of being stuck in a pew, but things have changed greatly since then. I'm finding that as I grow older, it means more to me, not less. There are still times I miss what God is speaking to me in those moments; I'm ashamed to say there are still times my heart is numb, as I mechanically go through the motions... but last night was not one of those times.

During his message, Wes used the following example: "Let's say I was to walk up to my wife Kari and say to her: 'Here are some flowers, Kari. Please take them now. There are three strategic reasons I have given them to you: 1) I am your husband; 2) Today is our anniversary; and 3) that is what husbands are supposed to do.' No way. She'd probably smack me with those flowers. She wants passion from me. But how many times do we approach God that same way?"

Ouch. We approach God to worship with so much baggage to offer. Our puffed-up notions of piety; our inner list of dutiful reasons why we should worship; our empty ritual. The only thing we deny him is what he truly asks of us, the one thing he doesn't already have: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength. This is the first and greatest commandment."

Using another example from human relationship: "When we finally get up the nerve to say 'I love you' to someone, there's a fear there, a vulnerability. What do you want them to say in response? That's nice... thank you... No! We want to hear these words: 'I LOVE YOU TOO.' " Anytime we give God our affection, we're not saying "I love you," we're saying "I love you too." God proved his love at the cross. Whatever we give is simply in response. This is true worship.

So last night after hearing this, we shared communion. As I passed the bread and the grape juice to a woman next to me, a picture entered my mind. We weren't sitting in our individual seats in that auditorium. We were all welcomed to a grand table instead. We shared and we ate together of the grace and mercy of Christ, his body broken and his blood spilled for us. The beautiful thing is that I knew there were people there last night who sat down at the table for the first time, who never even knew such a feast existed, nor imagined that they'd be welcome there even if it did. This knowledge made sitting down at the table new again for me too. It wasn't so long ago myself that I felt I could only watch the meal from a distance. Sensing the awe in hearts new to this extravagance... I find awe again in my own.

As we took each element, we were encouraged to quietly say to God, "I love you too." As I mouthed the words, the tears began to flow as they typically do. Several vivid moments came to mind as I stood there in silence; times when this weary soul was welcomed again to the table, when God said "I love you," once again. In light of that, I couldn't help but say it back. That's all I said, those four words. But I meant them as much as I could mean anything.

God doesn't want my impressive words. He wants my heart. He wants my passion. He wants ME.

Living my life as an "I love you too." It's all I have to offer, and it's really not much, but it's all God truly asks of me. I won't deny him that.

the blog, formerly known as d.b.t.

2004-10-03T23:10:00.000-07:00

Yeah, yeah, so I changed the title. It's been a whole three months. When I first started this puppy, I had no idea what personality this thing would take on, (and also what a monster it would become). New name is probably a more apt description of me & my musings. (Neverending Story, This Is the Blog that Never Ends, and Holy!!! You Talk Alot! were taken).

Thanks to everyone who reads this (even the lurkers)... the encouragement I'm receiving from you folks is part of a major confirmation of a new direction I'm stepping out in. I'm amazed at what God's been up to. I'm also fairly amazed that I've stumbled upon something God has shaped me to do; a way I can nudge other hearts toward him. Scary and exhilerating to have found one thing I must do. There's a knowing to this season, a certainty: I must write. I must write, or die.

Don't plan on kicking it anytime soon, so lucky you. ;)

P.S. Julie Love's blog is operational! Love's life is a new link to your right. We almost named it "love life" (as in "I love life") before we really thought it through, but happily avoided that unfortunate, um, "happenstance." I actually said happenstance during a conversation with Julie the other night. We both promptly mocked me and said that if possible, I'm becoming even more of a nerd. (It's weird when you begin talking like a writer, too...) She however, has taken a critical step into nerd-dom herself... hence the happy announcement. Jules is one of my best friends, so check her site out.

P.P.S. Stephanie the Non-Updater has joined the land of the living, and so has been removed from blog probation. She appears on the list as kitchen's thoughts.

for the love

little survey

2004-10-02T23:20:00.001-07:00

One of my favorite things about this whole blogging community is that I'm getting exposed to good music/good reading. Without this, I'd never have been exposed to Jamie Cullum or Wilco... sad. So, because I am a book&music glutton, please pass on with brief descriptions your

book recommendations...

music recommendations...

I do actually check them out. gracias.

the wobbly and weak-kneed

2004-10-02T23:19:00.000-07:00

Awesome day. Went with Julie to Conference over in Seattle. (It was 75 degrees on Oct 2... crazy). Saw many of the friends in youth ministry I've made over the years (at this point, the larger events are more like a family reunion for me...).

Saw Josh Epperson, who I haven't seen in practically forever. He and Julie and I worked in the same youth ministry for about seven years, and he's always been a wise and supportive friend. I remember specific moments he's spoken into my life, they've always been huge. He's one of those that you're going to brag about knowing when they make a huge impact on the world.

His first words after the hug and happy greeting: "Scott forwarded me your relevant article! Where did that come from? Awesome..." Second topic: "So I'm reading Annie Dillard...you've got to read her..." Ha ha! Old friends are just so comfortable. They see how far you've come, they have hope for where you're headed. The three of us and Wes went out to lunch, it was like old times, except that we're all grownups now. It's great when you can reminisce about mission trips and visqueen slipnslides and dramas and ballroom dancing, AND still have the ability to talk about the present and future, too. Even had I just come out for that lunch, it would've been worth it.

We parted ways with the boys and played tourist at Pike Place Market, came home, made enchiladas, and SET UP JULIE'S BLOG. (sucked her in). What a lovely day.
**
Was reading this today in Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel, wanted to pass it along. Think it speaks strongly to the church's absolute calling to reach out and accept all people with grace. (By the way, check out Myles' discussion over in his neighborhood regarding sexuality and identity, specifically as it relates to homosexuality). Good stuff.

"...WE NEED NOT hide all that is ugly and repulsive in us. Jesus comes not for the super-spiritual but for the wobbly and weak-kneed who know they don't have it all together, and who are not too proud to accept the handout of amazin' grace. As we glance up, we are astonished to find the eyes of Jesus open with wonder, deep with understanding, and gentle with compassion.

Something is radically wrong when the local church rejects a person accepted by Jesus: when a harsh, judgemental and unforgiving sentence is passed on homosexuals; when a divorcee is denied communion; when the child of a prostitute is denied baptism; when an unlaicized priest is forbidden the sacraments. Jesus comes to the ungodly, even on Sunday morning. His coming ends ungodliness and makes us worthy. Otherwise, we are establishing at the heart of Christianity an utter ungodly and unworthy preoccupation with works...

Any church that will not accept that it consists of sinful men and women, and exists for them, implicity rejects the gospel of grace. As Hans Kung says, 'It deserves neither God's mercy nor men's trust. The church must constantly be aware that its faith is weak, its knowledge dim, its profession of faith halting, that there is not a single sin or failing that it has not been guilty of. And though it is true that the church must always dissociate itself from sin, it can never have any excuse for keeping any sinners at a distance. If the church remains self-righteously aloof from failures, irreligious and immoral people, it cannot enter justified into God's kingdom. But if it is constantly aware of its guilt and sin, it can live in joyous awareness of forgiveness. The promise has been given to it that anyone who humbles himself will be exalted.'"
***
There's no way I can say it better than that. Let it sink in. How does that (should that) kind of perspective change the way we live & the words we speak to our world?

2004-10-01T17:39:00.000-07:00

baby Klara, and Austin pre-trauma...
(not mine just to be clear, but figured some of you far away ex-legacy types would like to see the kids...)

mt. st. helens is blowing, baby!

2004-10-01T13:19:00.000-07:00

Well, here we go. It's about time for the west coast to jump in on the Nature Headlines.

all things new

2004-10-01T11:59:00.000-07:00

I am so glad for mornings.

Not right away, mind you; my first conscious thoughts are typically annoyance as I regretfully curse my night-owl tendencies and try to creatively devise plans to sleep just a few moments longer. Next thoughts, as I groggily tumble out of bed, are "Dang! When did it get so cold? It’s only Octob-... Oh."

It was so cold this morning that I nearly lost all resolve and abandoned The Crusade (I’m sorry Kevo. I don’t mean to be so weak. I’ll be more determined). What crusade, do you ask? Our Crusade to Cheat The Man. Kev and I refuse to pay The Man for heat. That’s what multiple layers of clothing are for. (And wearing parkas indoors). To be honest, we’re sort of hoping that our downstairs neighbors are not on a similar crusade. Heat rising... it’s a beautiful thing when you’re apartment 301.

After all my talk of pennies, I had a pretty good day yesterday. But the evening... My plans were wonderful: Dinner with Wes & Kari, working out, then catching up with Tawny for an Alias fest before packing for my little trip this weekend.

Ha ha. Nothing ever goes like you plan. Five minutes before dinner, Austin picked up a hot lid and burned his hand. I could see Kari’s disappointment. Goodbye, enjoyment of dinner you worked so hard to prepare. Hello, screaming hysterical son. Who is dead-set on never under any circumstances taking his hand out from under the faucet on cold, running full-blast (total time: over 2 hours). Poor guy.

There are some duties it simply falls to Mom to do. Comforting owies is a non-negotiable. Kari let out a barely discernible sigh, and then got busy soothing and calming and doing all those things she’s great at. I did have to laugh watching her wrestle and pin her kid, trying to get medicine on his fingers. He put up a brave fight, but she won. I think I can wait a while for motherhood. Understatement of the year.

Workout plans out the window, we were sort of a tag-team. I held Klara (and caught twenty minutes of the debates) while Kari tried to calm Austin down... then when the baby had to be fed, I sat with Austin, well into his second hour of running-water-therapy. I could tell when he started feeling a little better... some of that water began being used as a weapon against Miss Stacey. We then relegated ourselves to one handed ninja fighting (one hand still under water) and name calling, "Babyhead" being the choice phrase of the evening. It actually ended up being fun, as he laughed at the genius that is my sense of humor (at least genius to a 5-year-old) as Kari wryly observed: "Well you were always family before, but you’re really family now."

In the midst of this, I was making phone calls, trying to figure out how to get a couch moved from a friends place into my apartment. In typical fashion, I’d forgotten about the deadline (last night), and hadn’t set up help. Dad’s truck? Full of yard trimmings. Kevin? Working evenings all week. Me? Needing to be in Seattle as of Friday afternoon with some of our kids for a youth conference.

In the midst of these frustrating realizations: Ring ring. Hey, Stace. You still coming over? Just wondering because it’s getting late. Totally forgot. I’m a jerk. Be right over.

Went to bed frazzled and worn out. And still unpacked, with the couch still taunting me: "I shall not be moved." I decided to nix Seattle, a bummer, but overall the wisest choice. Woke up still a bit in knots. Over stupid, temporary, small things. But stressed nonetheless.

As I was driving to work this morning, despite my determination to stay in my blessed state of extreme agitation and annoyance, I found myself enjoying the fifteen minute drive. I hate it when this happens. Just let me stay ticked off! The sky was brilliant blue with not a cloud in sight (in OCTOBER!), the trees are turning bright hues of red and orange, and the sunshine was so bright I needed to dig out my sunglasses. It was gorgeous, everything fresh and clean and new in light of the morning sun. I didn’t stand a chance.

It hit me (again): Today I get another start. I let myself get stressed out over stupid things. So what? Today is new. So I chucked a decent perspective when things started unraveling. Oh well. God’s at work. The sun is shining. I’m in his hands. I’m letting go. I’m doing alright.

His mercies are new every morning,
So let me wake with the dawn...
-Nichole Nordeman

Unrelated tidbits this morning:

2004-09-30T10:52:00.000-07:00

* I’m drinking a mocha that’s uncommonly good. Cinnamon is a genius thing to add to chocolate and coffee. The only thing better is adding more chocolate.

* Watched Eternal Sunshine again last night. Liked it even better than the first time... probably because I caught more of the details. In the second viewing, you see it through a totally new lens.

There were several parts I really liked:
- Clementine talking about her doll as a child and asking the classic girl question: am I pretty?
- Rain falling inside his apartment, Joel under the table with his hands out to catch the rain. I have no idea why, but I fought tears on this part. The joy of childhood revisited, perhaps.
- The scene in the crumbling house, talking about why he ran away.

This was the most artful, creative, lovely movie I’ve seen in a while.

I love what this movie says about our limitations; our regrets. How often we fall short of who we really want to be, especially in our most intimate relationships. We have our wounds and our hangups, and they hinder us in our efforts to love another flawed and fragile human being. It’s not so much that we don’t want to reach beyond our walls of self-doubt and fear; it’s more often that we don’t know how to. Two people, each carrying a lifetime of wounds (some unhealed), blindly fumbling to communicate, to make meaningful contact... it’s the perfect storm.

In the re-living of Joel’s memories, we get to see a deeper part of him - the person he wishes he would have been in those turbulent moments: When they’re fighting, and he’s apologizing for the hateful things he said... "I was just angry, I didn’t mean it. Don’t go." When he’s begging to be allowed to keep the memories that are perfect and precious. When they’re talking in the house, about why he ran away, as the waves are washing in, and the house is falling down around them on the sand: "I wish you wouldn’t have run away." "Me too." "Was it something I said?" "Yeah, you said ‘Just go,’... you said it with such disdain..." "Aw, I’m sorry..." "It’s ok." For all their violent moments, when their defenses are down, they’re tender with each other. They’re forgiving and generous. They’re the people they really, in their heart of hearts, want to be.

This film didn’t present chick-flick love. There’s no illusions of perfect tranquility at the end... it’s more of a "Here’s who I am. I’m messed up some times. And it scares the crap out of me to even begin to try, knowing that... but I still am going to love you, damn the consequences." "Me too." "OK." "OK."

If only more people started out with that kind of honesty, rather than being shocked when their partner isn’t that perfect person they’d idealized.

*Small group at Wes and Kari’s was awesome last night. All people new (within two visits or so) to NewLife. Such a nice fresh perspective. So not-churchy. Jules and I go to a miscellaneous group, all ages, from about 19 to 60-something. I absolutely loved it. Which was a pleasant surprise. I went to this mixed ages group because at least there, I could justify feeling awkward and shy. (It’s always more painful when you’re with those your own age and still feel weird and out of place). But it was strangely comfortable. I loved hearing people’s stories. I loved watching people in their fifties share that they’re still figuring out their life’s purpose, still running after God. I left encouraged.

[Yes, that’s right folks, I’ve joined the masses: for the next forty days I am a Rick Warren minion. I am reading the Purpose Driven book, I’m in a group. I expect to be a complete failure when it comes to reading the book with any semblance of consistency, but in a group with ears & eyes open to learn, I remain. (I’ve tried four times, and on my best attempt, read through day 10 or something. That really made me feel purposeful...)]

picking up pennies

2004-09-30T01:42:00.000-07:00

It is still the first week in January, and I've got great plans. I've been thinking about seeing. There are lots of things to see, unwrapped gifts and free surprises. The world is fairly studded and strewn with pennies cast broadside from a generous hand. But--and this is the point-- who gets excited about a mere penny? If you follow one arrow, if you crouch motionless on a bank to watch a tremulous ripple thrill on the water and are rewarded by the sight of a muskrat kit paddling from its den, will you count that sight a chip of copper only, and go your rueful way?

It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won't stoop to pick up a penny. But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days. It is that simple. What you see is what you get.

-Annie Dillard, from Pilgrim at Tinker Creek

eternal sunshine...

2004-09-28T22:14:00.000-07:00

"Valentine's Day is a holiday invented by greeting card companies to make people feel like crap."

Best opening line in a movie. Ever.

I am, after a forever-long wait, FINALLY ingesting the beauty that is Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

It had the indie-ish quality of limited release, so every time I'd go to see it, it would be just out of that particular theatre, or not yet in. Ticked me right off. So, of course, first chance I get, I'm watching it. And loving it.

Kevo just got home and was jealous, so I started it over for him. It's that good.

I just figured I'd share my jubilant enthusiasm for what promises to be a wonderful movie. Reports tomorrow. If I ever wake up. It will be a late night.

everywhere you look, everywhere you look...

2004-09-28T19:38:00.000-07:00

My insecure, bit too honest moment for the month:

If writers were TV shows, would I be Full House?

I hope not. As a kid, I always walked away from Full House feeling a) a contact sugar high, b) sick of those cutesy Olsen twins (geez, some things never change), c) enamored with Jesse's mullet, and d) discouraged that my mom and dad didn't sit down on my bed, soft music playing in the background, and solve whatever problem we were facing, (from homework to cancer), within the half hour, or worst case scenario, a two-week special. My family (especially with two redheads thrown in the mix) lived life on a slightly louder volume setting when it came to "talking things out." (We go to eleven).

Here's the deal: I'm a bit nervous that in all this rambling on about grace and redemption and seeing God at work in the everyday, I've unintentionally presented an airbrushed view of my life, a spruced-up look at who I am. In this strange online world, I can set the filter however I choose. Stacey: the girl who never loses sight of God for more than a day; who can always attempt to find some way to wrap up what she's going through in a nice, pretty little two-liner. The thing that was annoying about FH was that it was never an accurate picture of reality. No one's family looks like that (and if it did, there's no way in hell I'd want to live there. I'd kill that goofy Bob Saget within the month).

If you're just popping in for a visit on this puppy, go read something else, like this post I dearly love about my brother's deodorant. But for those of you wonderful constant commenters, and you lurkers (you know who you are)... hear my heart, and then I'll go back to being my normal self, a bit lighter hearted for my bit of disclosure. (For all the seeming non-personal-ness of this whole thing, this is somehow personal to me, and I consider some of you long-distance friends, so, for better or ill, I feel the need to say this. Any friend will tell you... I am morbidly addicted to disclaimers).

Much of my life was spent without a very good picture of God, and so now, much of my time is spent searching for clearer glimpses of this God I've been introduced to. I used to live my life with a constant list on-hand in my head of all the things going wrong in my life (mostly petty little things). I felt lonely and unlovely. Now, if I seem overly awestruck by grace, it's because I am; if it seems like I'm trying hard to be joyful, it's because I am. If I seem like I'm starting to get comfortable in my skin, it's because I think I might be getting a little closer.

I know that it's sometimes more attractive for people to act like they've got this huge deep inner struggle going on about their faith. It seems deeper somehow, and there have been times that I have been tempted to try to wear that mask. (Anyone who genuinely is going through that, I'm truly blown away by your guts and your honesty. I'm sure I'll walk that path again before my journey's through, and hope I can walk it with as much fortitude). But at this point in my life, that's not my struggle. I've walked that season, at least for now, and I see no reason to return to those heart-wrenching questions for the sake of seeming deeply intellectual.

Once certain questions are answered, however, a new hoarde of them follow. This new season is full of a new kind of tension. My dear wise friend Josh, Mr. Mars Hill Sem. Student, calls it "the tension of the not-yet." I am happy for the most part; but there is a quiet stirring that keeps me up at night and wakes me up sometimes a bit too early in the morning. I live in expectation of God's blessings in my life, but a lot of those fall into the not-yet category. Some of them are the biggies. I may be hired on as Comm. director in January, but then again, the funds might not be there, and I'll end up working another year of full-time papershuffling plus full-time volunteer work, living my life in a constant dichotomy. I see some of my former youth group girls getting married (19!! 20!!), and feel a definite not-yet tension in that moment. I hold baby Klara and have a ninja-fight with Austin (5), and know a quiet rumble off in the distance. Those ones come and go. Some of them are the smaller, everyday ones I laugh at myself over: my desperation for work to be OVER, my girlish waiting for the phone to ring; my impatience as that last 20 cents of gas oozes into my tank. (Why do they slow it down so early? It takes me an extra minute. That minute is precious). The questions I'm asking now are "How long? How long, God?" The words I write are sometimes straight to myself, reminding myself of who's got me in his hands.

So, anyway, all that to say - I hope that in my writing, you see hope. Not well-put-togetherness, not a nice annoying Sunday-schoolish moral to the story everyday, because that would be a wrong impression, by a long shot... but I hope you see this: that where God is sought, God is found, even if he comes in small bits and pieces, in sunsets and moonlight and music and laughter. I hope you can see that even in the messy, even in the unsure, God is really here. That his grace is found even by us "ragamuffins" as Manning loves to call us.

That's why I write.

Thanks for listening.

eyes wide open

2004-09-28T01:10:00.000-07:00

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle." - Albert Einstein
***
Bellingham is full of old houses, brimming with character and faint reminiscences of a simpler time. I know there are those who would argue with me, but I think I lived in some of the best.

I dearly cherish the only place I ever lived alone: apartment 8, 500 East Myrtle Street, three blocks from Western's campus. The venerable building, constructed in 1925, was a three-story vision clad in pink stucco. Its subtle charm was based mainly on the premise that old and worn meant homey and comfortable. (As my mom said with a wry laugh, "It's so ugly, it's cute.") The front steps were missing chunks of concrete; the stairs leading to my little piece of the world creaked and groaned with every advancing step. The indoor hallway leading to each apartment was a mix of several aromas, typically, tons of incense (wonder why?) from apartment 4 and whatever was cooking in apartment 7.

I loved it. The more I lived in it, the more I loved it, the way you love a friend you've known your whole life. You know their secrets, you know their quirks, but you also find a quiet comfort in them. Among my favorite quirks: My front door had a chain-bolt, just like in the movies. Friends waiting at the door often had to humor me: I'd open the door three inches or so to the end of the chain. They'd see in my face a quick sign of recognition, then, abruptly, the door would close again. My friend would then hear the clink and clatter of me clumsily fiddling with the chain to get the door unlocked - sometimes for a few moments - they'd hear me muttering to myself, and then, welcome to my humble abode. I never got tired of my little ritual. My friends - well, that remains to be told.

The interior consisted of a bedroom that lived up to its name (a bed was all that fit), a small kitchen with a genuine article icebox, and a living room with windows that overlooked Bellingham Bay especially well when the only blocking trees lost their leaves in the fall. It was a tiny place of the world to call my own, but I did so happily, in spite of its chipped beige paint and old-fashioned fixtures. (The world hasn't outgrown its use for huge porcelain bathtubs, that's for certain).

Out in front of the building, there was a small yard of sorts, enough room for a few people to sit and have a chat, or for one lonelyheart to sit and read her book. This small space, and the memory that accompanies it, is one more reason why this place will always be special. For me, it's holy ground. It was here, in this spot, that God made sure I knew he loved me. In a very tangible sense of it.

Summer was fading, and there was a slight hint of chill on the fresh breeze meandering through the air. I decided to take advantage of a quiet afternoon to read out on the lawn (quite the generous term for a small grassy patch). I grabbed a Mexico-blanket and my newest book purchase, and made my way downstairs to lay out in the sun.

It took me a few minutes to settle into my reading. I was a little too warm in my hoodie; once I took it off, goosebumps appeared and remained as I suppressed a shiver. I settled for wrapping my sweatshirt loosely around my shoulders. I read five words and realized that I had left my glasses upstairs (typical). A quick bound up the stairs, two at a time, and back had me resettled in my spot, a little breathless. Again, the chill, and again, the readjusting.

I lay on my stomach, propped up on my elbows. My bare feet hung off the bottom of the blanket, as I dug my toes into the cool, damp grass. The sunshine's warmth spread over my back. Comfortable at last, I finally settled into my book. And as I read, I found my heart aching at the piercing truth of the words I was seeing.

"The voice often comes in the middle of the night or the early hours of the morning, when our hearts are unedited and most vulnerable... Aren't you thirsty? Listen to your heart. There is something missing. We listen and are aware of... a sigh. And under the sigh is something dangerous, something that feels adulterous and disloyal to the religion we are serving. We sense a passion deep within that threatens total disregard for the program we are living; it feels reckless, wild. Unsettled, we turn and walk quickly away, like a woman who feels more than she wants to when her eyes meet those of a man not her husband... We tell ourselves that the malaise of spirit we feel even as we step up our religious activity is a sign of spiritual immaturity and we scold our heart for its lack of fervor."

OK. You have my attention. I'm busy. I'm worn out. I'm having a hard time seeing God in all of this. I read. And read. And came to a part in about the third chapter that talked about the author's struggle with believing that God enjoyed him. It basically said, Yeah, God, I know you love me. But do you like me? Are you pleased with me? Do you really truly love me? Am I worth having rescued? My heart echoed the words, as an anguished cry called out to God from deep within.

At this point I was forced to pause as my eyes were so full to the brim with tears that I couldn't decipher the words on the page. I blinked, and tear after tear streamed down my face. I was glad I was facing away from the sidewalk. I was happy for this honest moment, but also happy to avoid inquisitive glances.

It was at precisely this moment that a small red rose was dropped right beside me, on my left. Jerked from my thoughts, I glanced up at the giver of this strange token, astonished, but he was already making his way across the street. He wasn't someone I had ever met before, and I'd never be able to recognize him. He had his own hoodie and a fisherman's hat on. I called out a bewildered "thanks," and he raised his hand and waved, never turning around.

As I lay there, I reread the words. I let my heart hear them. I let my heart accept them. And I considered the rose I'd been given not a token from a stranger, who, in my neighborhood, could've been quite high, for all I know... I considered it a message from God's heart to mine. Hey, by the way. Love you. Really really love you. I still have the rose, it's kept in a small box of keepsakes, and whenever I see it, I'm reminded again of how God took a moment out of all he was doing in his busy schedule to whisper an "I love you" to my stubborn heart once again.

I believe that God is reaching out to our hearts not just once in a while, but constantly. The miracle consists not in him speaking to us, but perhaps more in our deafness receding enough that we hear his whispers (or in some circumstances, his shouts). The miracles take place when the veil of our blindness is lifted, for even the briefest of moments. We glance up, wide eyed in wonder, once again astonished at this unexpected, out-of-nowhere sign of God-with-us.

If there's anything I wish for you today, this week, this moment - it's this kind of miracle.

May you sense God's overwhelming love for you today. May you increasingly find your eyes and ears open to him everyday.

Amen.

Back in the saddle again...

2004-09-27T11:34:00.000-07:00

OW. I. Can. Barely. Move.

Operation Prevent Ghetto Booty is now back in full effect. However, now I have a slightly different objective. I am now undertaking Operation LHBD. (Look Hot in Bridesmaid Dress). I figure if I start now, I can still stuff my face during the holidays (one of the best parts of the holidays) and do minimal damage control before Grace’s wedding in February. (Plus, my Grandma is moving up from California to live with my folks, and Grandma AND Mom’s cooking joining forces is going to be... double trouble. I can’t wait).

Props to Grace for picking a Non-Hideous Dress. One I’ll probably wear again, if a fancy to-do occasions it. It’s black, and quite lovely. As opposed to the lilac monstrosity from my last wedding that’s gathering dust in a closet at my parent’s house, where forever it will remain. Unless my kooky friends throw another "Wear Your Worst Bridesmaid Dress Party/Contest", in which case it will come in quite handy, and I will win. I’m not kidding. Do brides, envisioning their victory march down the aisle, purposely pick the homeliest dresses possible, in order to highlight their beauty by contrast? I’m not positive, but it’s a sneaking suspicion.

[By the way, I read Jeremy the Perfect Boyfriend, a link on Ochuk’s blog, a few days ago. Nearly fell off the couch laughing. Whoever wrote that is a genius. As a girl who survived Bible college for a year, I can vouch for the truth in much of what he says. If I saw one more bridal mag... or one more door covered in cutouts from a bridal mag... I was gonna puke. I think I’ve already shared my distaste for this, so, moving on...]

Kevin walked into the kitchen and saw a catalog on the counter... one that Grace had given me that has my dress in it. He looked at me disapprovingly. "Stace... what is the meaning of this?" As in, who are you and what the heck have you done with my sister? "Get a grip, Kevo. I haven’t gone crazy or joined the desperate masses. It’s for Grace’s wedding." "Oh." Relieved.

So anyhow, I’ve been working out Tuesday nights with Wes’ wife, Kari. Good plan... time to gab (she’s a main mentor-type friend in my life), a guarantee that I’ll work out at least once a week, and great motivation. She just had her third baby five months ago, and is a woman on a mission. I, nine years younger, am in no way going to let a 33-year-old kick my tail. So we both are ridiculously sore Wednesdays and Thursdays, is the basic story.

Today is Monday, however. Why am I limping around? Glad you asked. Like you care, but this is my blog. Deal. (Sounds like someone has a case of the Mondays).

Lili and Wes and I did a race at the end of June (the three guys still interning with us at that point all bailed, I think that says something). I think the race was called "10k to Hell" but I can’t really remember. My body was screaming and cursing at me at about mile four... but dang it, I finished. I, total wimp extraordinaire, finished.

And sort of took three months off to recuperate. I am pathetic.

Yesterday morning was a rare slow paced, no place to be sort of morning. I read for a while, I strummed for a while (I sounded out Mindy Smith’s Come to Jesus, kinda fun)... and then the urge hit me.

So I threw on my tennis shoes, grabbed some tunes, and out the door I went. It was perfect. Still a bit foggy, 65 degrees. Unfortunately, Western Washington is all hills, and my route is either downhill first, uphill all the way back, or vice versa. Being an instant gratification type, I chose the former, and felt like a total stud for the first half my jog.

Nearly suffered a coronary on the way back.

Awesome.

I’m back in the game.

Dreadfully sore after a mere sad two miles, but back in the game.

Hopefully it won’t be three months before my next attempt. If so, I might be relegated to Operation FIBD. (Fit Into Bridesmaid Dress).

Happy Monday, everybody, everybody! I have the night off, and plan on chilling out. A beautiful thing.

Hey, Mt. St. Helens is rumbling again! (We're pals, she blew three days after I was born...) Could be exciting...

music in laughter

2004-09-26T20:40:00.000-07:00

Tonight an old friend breathed fresh life into my weary heart.

As I was walking into the auditorium tonight, Melissa caught my eye, so I went over and said hello. We hugged, and she gave me a quick kiss on the cheek as we chatted for a few before the service began. A few minutes later, she was searching for a spot to sit, so I slid on over. And got the privilege of hearing her laugh - loud - in my ear the rest of the night. I love that laugh. I'd missed that laugh. You haven't heard music in laughter until you've heard hers.

Melissa and I have known each other since we were nine years old, when I moved up to Washington from California and began attending the same church. We were "best friends" in seventh and eighth grade. (A very important title). We eventually grew apart as many childhood friendships do; and years later we both found ourselves at NewLife, living totally different lives: she, married and busy raising three children. Me, not married, really proud of myself that I keep my bamboo plant alive.

A casual eye would miss the miracle that walked through those doors tonight. Less than a year ago, Melissa was diagnosed with a rare and agressive form of bone cancer. She was experiencing pain in her side, but since she had just started a workout regimen, she attributed the pain to exercise. Eventually the pain couldn't be ignored or rationalized any longer, and tests confirmed that she had a tumor on her right side larger than a papaya, and growing fast. The next few months were a flurry of tests, trying to determine what could be done.

I couldn't even imagine. When I was nineteen, I discovered a small tumor on my side that had to be removed. I was told that the chances were small that it would be anything bad, but still had to wait a nervewracking month for my surgery to take place (it was benign, everything was ok, but I have a little badge of honor in the form of a scar...)

Her situation was far more terrifying. To know that something was definitely wrong, and still have to wait in agony... wondering if you were going to be around to raise your kids, or if your husband would be forced to walk it alone... there aren't words. We finally heard the awful news: less than a fifty-fifty shot at surviving this monster. The odds were even worse that she'd be able to keep her leg; we were told that she might be confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life.

She was 25. Nine months older than me. And staring Death right in the face.

I remember the moment I found out. After service, a small group of people were gathering around Melissa to pray for her. My mom, in tears, grabbed me and I joined her parents, her sister, her husband, and a few others to pray. I still had no idea what was going on, until I heard the desperate cries for God's mercy to be shown. In moments like those, you have no idea what to say, but you try your hardest to get over the "hey, it's been a while," awkwardness. Life and death have a way of cutting through things like that. I read these words somewhere: "Don't just do something; stand there." Stand there I did.

Melissa's lengthy surgery required half of her pelvis to be removed & replaced, and the doctors were still holding their breath that they got it all. So far, the surgery seems to have been a success. She was able to keep her leg, and now runs after her three kids with the aid of a cane. She's quick, lemme tell you.

Her faith is... real. A lot of people would, even after the fact, be asking, "Why me?" after much more minor trials, and here she is, nodding her head emphatically at everything Wes is saying. (He preached tonight on our life's purpose). Some would be pitying themselves off in a corner somewhere (it's natural), but here she is, still being her slightly larger-than-life self, laughing and having a good time (Melissa is constantly the life of the party - she's hilarious). Most would, in her circumstances, turn their back on God, but she, a bit distant from God when this whole thing started, allowed the painful process to draw her close in Jesus' arms. I'm not saying she hasn't had moments, because I know she has, but I'm just in awe of her heart's response to God during this time. It's worship, pure worship.

Moses saw the face of God and was forever changed; whenever the people looked at him, they walked away different as well. I think the same goes for those who have seen the hand of God work on their behalf. After seeing Melissa for a bit tonight, I walked away a little different; grateful for my friend's joyful heart, for the fact that her life was spared.

I walked away grateful for my own life once again, and determined to quit taking so much of it for granted. Walked away determined to live out my days as fully and as beautifully as I can.

Her laugh is still ringing in my ears. God is good.

it's a beautiful day...

2004-09-26T01:17:00.000-07:00

It was gorgeous out today, crisp and clear, still a little warm at 70 degrees...

so as usual I got a little camera happy

and went down to the waterfront park a few minutes from my apartment.

Here's Dyes Inlet from the Silverdale Pier...

and with Mount Rainier in the distance...

Pretty, huh? It's nearly impossible to take a bad picture here in the NW. I love it.

By the way, you simply MUST see The Forgotten. Saw it tonight with the folks.

(If you do go, and you hear some chick scream, don't worry, it's just me).