Clever new name coming soon...

Domestic Bliss (or...something like that...)

2012-02-19T15:49:00.003-07:00

Food and I, historically, have had a rocky relationship. We've been on-again/off-again for the last 15ish years. That is the first reason why I didn't learn to cook at the age when normal girls learn to cook (somewhere between ages 15 and 20, I think...).

The second reason is that my lifestyle since, oh...middle school, has not been too conducive to eating many meals at home. Especially now, because my job involves many obligations in the evenings and I live 15 miles out of town. So "running home" to cook and eat dinner for one before a 7:00pm meeting, when I'm already in town, just isn't very practical.

Lastly, my mother, who - for most girls - is the primary source of culinary mentoring in one's life, was the queen of casseroles. And I hate casseroles. Don't get me wrong. My mother is not a bad cook. She's a fine cook. But she had five kids and taught piano lessons in the living room everyday after school. So casseroles made lots of good sense. Cooking in our house was a necessity, not an art. My mom had neither the extra time or extra money (or appreciative audience) to make a hobby of gastronomy. So I grew up thinking that if you cooked your own food, you ate casseroles and sloppy joes (or taverns, if you're from east-river) and Hamburger Helper (not my faves). If you wanted to eat pasta, or ethnic food (my faves) you went out.

(There is a fourth reason too, which is that I'm quite content with a half-pound of raw almonds, a Granny Smith and cheese. I can eat this as a meal about six times in a week before I get sick of it...)

And hence, I didn't learn to cook. Well, at least not when I maybe should have. And I was okay with it, except on occasion when friends would want me to come over and cook with them, and then the embarrassing secret was out. I'd be standing around dumbly in their kitchen and they'd ask me to do something like "make the gravy", and I'd have to have them walk me through it step by step. Acceptable when you're 10. Less so when you're in your late twenties.

And then...something happened.

One day, about a year and a half ago, I was hungry for pad thai. (That's not the unusual part...I get hungry for pad thai every-other day...) So I considered calling up Saigon and putting in a takeout order, but the $14 tab was a deterrent. And then is when the unusual happened. It suddenly dawned on me that I could cook my own pad thai. Wha-?? So I googled a few recipes, found one that sounded doable, and headed for the grocery store. About three hours later I had a plateful of decent-for-my-first-foray-into-cooking pad thai. It was surprisingly good. Not as good as the Saigon, but still, good. This was a life-changing discovery. I could make something I loved to eat...ALL BY MYSELF! And it didn't cost me $14. It cost me $22. 'Cause I didn't have any staples in my cupboard to start with. But next time, it might only cost me the price of some beans sprouts and an egg. So, sooner or later, this whole cooking thing could turn out to be economical.

My second culinary revelation happened this last December. My friend Steph and I were going to hang out, and she suggested we spend the evening baking. End goal: cupcakes. This didn't sound like a truly enjoyable evening of leisure to me. Well, the cupcakes did...but not the baking part. I can rattle off a list of local dining establishments with brilliant desserts. Why not make someone else go to the trouble, and we could just enjoy the fruits of their labor? But I consented and I found myself a few hours later in my kitchen, with $40 worth of baking supplies, flipping through a Paula Dean cookbook and learning how to scrape seeds from a vanilla bean. At 2:30am we finally sat down in my dining room to eat what were, without questions, THE BEST CUPCAKES I HAVE HAD IN MY ENTIRE LIFE. No joke. They were incredible. Paula herself would have been proud. We made red velvet cupcakes with vanilla bean frosting and honey walnut cupcakes with goat cheese frosting, and I couldn't stop saying, "How is this possible!? We made them ourselves!" And that was the day that I discovered that I could derive joy from taking several hours to handcraft the perfect baked goods. Who knew?!?

And so, I've learned to cook. And learned to love it. Or at least learned what I love and what I don't. I don't love chicken, or beef, or pork. (I don't care if I never touch another raw chicken leg for the rest of my life.) I do love anything with sundried tomatoes, crimini mushrooms, and/or cream sauce. I've learned how to devein shrimp (thank God for youtube and an iPhone). And that couscous is the little black dress of the kitchen. And that my mini rice cooker is the best $15 dollar purchase I've made in years. And cream sauce...did I mention I love cream sauce?

So, I'd like to offer an open invitation. If you are reading this, you are invited to my house for dinner. I'm not kidding. Just give me a ring on the telly and we'll pick a day. I have a list a mile long of recipes I want to try. Consider yourself warned that whatever I feed you, it's most definitely the first time I've made it, so I don't make promises about any of it. And...I keep milk and granola on hand as a backup.

Resolutions, etc....

2012-01-01T16:31:00.002-07:00

I'm one of those silly (read, "naively optimistic") people who makes New Years resolutions. Sometimes they last for a few weeks. Sometimes they last for months. I can't recall any that have made it to the following New Years. But whether you ace the follow-through or not, I still believe that there is value in the resolution-making process. The thorough and periodic evaluation of one's life and habits and priorities is essential to living intentionally.

In a perfect world, I would take a few days after Christmas and retreat alone to a cabin in the hills with a giant mug of tea and my Bible and journal. I would go in scattered and worn, and I would emerge three days later a new woman - restored and focused and ready to take on the coming year, with whatever challenges and blessings and craziness it might bring. But this world is not perfect...it is real. So I've spent the days since Christmas catching up with the relationships, the work and the general tasks of life that seemed to fall a bit behind during the holidays. I DID get to go to the mountains and sip hot cocoa by a fire, but it was in a ski lodge with 50 Young Life kids, so while the trip included lots of fun and bananagrams and knitting and snowboarding (okay...not so much snowboarding. More on that topic later...) and some bonding over a few cases of the 24-hour-flu, it offered very little along the lines of solitude and reflection. And so, I feel a bit like I've hit the 2012 ground running, without a real good chance to assess the situation.

Nonetheless, I still managed to get a few resolutions on the docket. Unoriginals that I just whipped up on the 8-hour drive back from Bozeman the other night.

For one, I'm nixing my diet coke habit. I don't think it's continuation would kill me real soon, but it's not exactly contributing to my health. Second, I'm going to try keep my hands and eyes off of my phone while operating a vehicle. If I keep it up, it will kill me, and probably someone else, real soon. So I'm kicking it to the curb. Lastly, I'm making a line item for travel in my monthly budget so that I can quit feeling like a victim of my own wanderlust.

So, those are my resolutions. They are specific and concrete, like any good "life-coach" worth his weight in consultation fees will tell you resolutions should be.

But those things are not the real things. The most important things. They are not about my heart. The real change I need this coming year is in my heart. And it is change that, in it's fullness, is well beyond my capabilities. Beyond resolutions, or better habits.

I need this year to be about loving people well. About knowing Christ more. About knowing how Christ loves me. About being changed by that love. About viewing my finances and my time and my other resources the way God views them. About Him redeeming my incessant need to compare myself with others, my twisted view of His mercy, my graceless criticisms of others.

These kinds of revisions are more than I can handle. I know this. I've tried. I've made checklists and reminders on post-its and many, many, well-intentioned "pinky-promise" prayers. But these issues are deeply rooted, and not easily or comfortably plucked from the landscape of one's soul.

Consequently, I am grateful for a savior whose affections are too fierce, too vast to leave me in the mess of myself. Who loves me here, but longs to bring me there. Who is more than capable of doing the heavy construction in my heart, that will, with time, produce fruit in my life.

So as we dive headlong into the new year, I pray for these things in my life, in my heart. I also pray for a day of solitude and tea...very soon.

Oh yes. And adventure. Always adventure.

Visionaries, chain-smoking and bad dreams.

2011-09-18T18:35:00.012-06:00

I'm not one of those people who puts a lot of stock in my own dreams. That isn't to say that I can't take seriously the dreams of other people. When someone tells me that they had a dream and they derived some kind of lesson, or direction, or message from it I find myself a bit jealous. Whether or not it was God speaking, and whether or not they heard exactly what he wanted them to hear, I can't say...but I just really like the idea of learning great truths or receiving some kind of instruction or insight while sleeping. In my opinion, this is a SERIOUSLY good use of time.

I'm also not a person who has ever had recurring dreams. Unless you count the entirety of high school, during which I was chain smoking in every single one of my dreams. The smoking was never a central part of the dream plot...just this little habit I had on the side. Every single dream for four years. Smoking. (Including one that was set at an indoor water park...still smoking.) This is particularly fascinating since I haven't smoked a single cigarette in my entire life. I did have a few theories about that whole situation, but I'll save that for a different day, and apparently my dream-self decided to end my tobacco addiction when I started college. Since then, I haven't noticed any patterns in any of my dreams.

Until a few months ago.

Dream #1) Apparently I had agreed to cover a shift at Granite Sports, one of my very-part-time jobs. And apparently, on the day I was scheduled to work, I decided I had more important things to do so I completely blew off my obligation. About four hours past the time I was supposed to be at work I was overcome by guilt and I showed up at Granite to find my boss covering for me. The rest of my dream consisted of me apologizing all over myself and my boss saying, repeatedly, "This just isn't like you..." So I apologize more. And more. And then he - as kindly and sadly as you can imagine - fires me. And I leave...apologizing all the way out the door. And then I wake up...feeling like a terrible person.

Dream #2) Apparently my friend Chels had told me she could get me a job working a few spare shifts at Aeropostale and apparently, I had thought this was a genius idea and taken her up on the offer. (Let me pause the story right here to say...this is just ridiculous. First, I REALLY don't need another job. Second, I would have to be pretty desperate to work at Aeropostale. It's just not my thing.) So the dream begins with me showing up fifteen minutes late on my first day and the manager (played by a gay Stanley Tucci) really ripping me a new one about my irresponsibility and lack of integrity. Meanwhile I apologize and apologize and apologize, in between me telling him repeatedly that "This just isn't like me...", and Chelsey awkwardly standing nearby, really wishing she hadn't given me such a good recommendation. The dream ended with Mr. Tucci - not so kindly or sadly - firing me. On my first day. There was also a small bit in there somewhere involving Chelsey traversing a 3" wide ledge in stilettos due to a missing staircase. But that seemed to be somewhat irrelevant. So I leave...apologizing all the way out the door. And then I wake up feeling like a REALLY terrible person.

Dream #3) I remember almost nothing from this dream...not who was in it, not where I was...just the apologizing. Profusely. And then I woke up feeling like a terrible person.

And then, a few weeks later...

Dream #4) In this dream I am leading what is quickly becoming the worst Young Life club EVER. The entire twenty-minute scene is me standing in front of a room full of teenagers while I frantically shuffle through a huge pile of blank paper looking for my club plans. And of course...I'm apologizing.

Clearly...

I have issues.

I don't need to pay someone $75/hour to tell me that. But what DOES, in fact, puzzle me is why my dream-self has, as of late, become completely neurotic. Because my waking-self has always been just slightly neurotic (usually comically), with no mentionable episodes within the last, oh, eight years. So, why the recent flare-up of crazy?

Now, if I was paying someone large sums of money to psychoanalyze this situation, they would probably find this fact to be pertinent: these dreams started a week after I came on full-time staff with Young Life. But then, what might throw them for a loop is the fact that I have been on part-time staff for the organization for the last four years. And my new job description varies only slightly from my old one. So, I'll ask again...why the recent flare-up of crazy?

My dream-self is an over-reactor. A drama queen, it seems. She stresses me out...and she needs a cup of tea on my porch.

But seriously...a tiny bit of introspection seemed to be warranted. So I poured myself that cup of tea and did some introspecting.

And here's what it seems to boil down to (when you disregard the discrepancy that dream-self seems to be collecting W-2's like they're Beanie Babies circa 1994, while real self just downsized from 4 jobs to 1.3 jobs): investment.

When I was a freshman in college I stumbled upon a job at podiatry clinic (read "foot doctor"). I had virtually no medical experience, and - though I enjoyed the job - it was no secret that I was not exactly seeking a career in...foot care. I just needed to pay for textbooks, right? In less than a year the doctor I worked for sent me on an all expenses paid trip to a medical conference in Chicago. At the time, I remember thinking he was making a terrible investment. I actually told him this, reminding him that I was only going to be there until I switched schools, or found a job more suited to my major (sociology) or moved to Africa. He told me to book my flight to Chicago. I ended up working for him for five years. He made a - risky, perhaps - investment, and it "paid off".

Four years ago, before coming on staff with YL I sought advice from Pam, our regional director. I told her that I felt like God was calling me to vocational ministry, and that I loved Young Life, but that I was wary of taking the job...I might only be there until I started grad school...or moved to Africa (that's my classic fear-of-commitment excuse...I'm sincere when I use it, but I fear I borderline abuse it.) I distinctly remember her telling me to "try it out for a year, and see if it's a good fit." Looking back this comment is hilarious to me, because anyone that works with an association or business or ministry, whether faith-based or not, knows that longevity is key. You don't put someone on your team and have them jump start the organization in a new community if you think they're going to bail after a year. Pam knew that. But she - and Corey - saw something in me I didn't (and often still don't). They made a - risky, perhaps - investment. I won't say it's "paid off"...that would be terribly presumptuous of me. But, for what it's worth, my one year trial period did turn into what is now going on it's fifth year.

For some reason - in my head - I'm a flight risk. But I have been greatly blessed. By people who are willing to put way more in my lap than I believe I should be trusted with. And by a Savior who, in his great grace, glues my feet to the floor when necessary.

I have much to learn from these (and many other) people who have seen me - not just for who I am, but for who I have the potential to be. I am mostly near-sighted. I tend to see the present reality, and not far past it. But vision is a incredibly valuable characteristic. It is a common quality among the best teachers and leaders and mentors and parents and friends that I have known.

God's pretty good at it too. He's well known for taking the long view, for seeing where people could be if they listen and obey. Moses. David. Peter.

I desire to have this kind of vision. To love people where they are at, but to be discontent to see them stay there. To have the wisdom to know when people are short-changing themselves. To invest more in people than they believe they are worth.

So, back to psycho-dream-self....

I'm a little nervous about the new job. Well, the old job...expanded. I'm a little nervous that I won't live up to people's expectations, that I won't be able to do it well enough, that I'll let folks down. But I am grateful for people who see more than what is already there...

I Whistle A Happy Tune

2011-05-28T20:22:00.004-06:00

I know. You probably think that the 40 Days campaign without coffee killed me, and that's why I haven't updated this blog in nearly three months. This is not the case. I survived the campaign - quite swimmingly, actually - and I (along with several hundred other people) raised some good money to help build wells and install water purifications systems in several countries across Africa. (And don't worry...I'll hit you all up again next year.) So, that is not my excuse for my lack of writing. Rather, this spring has just been a little busy, and so many other things always seem to take precedence over sitting down for long enough to produce a cohesive stream of thought.

Since I last wrote here I have taken a trip to Omaha to hear Chap Clark speak about youth culture (a word to the wise in youth ministry...don't miss a good chance to hear Chap Clark speak), taken a trip to Fort Collins with the Hill City High School band, taught a few yoga classes at the Y, enjoyed a couple of Rent-a-Mom gigs, and worked a little here and there, among a few other things.

As I write this I am in Sioux Falls in the home of some new friends, surrounded by good friends (who are all watching The King and I...which is why this is poorly written...I'm easily distracted by Rodger's & Hammerstein). We came here for the wedding of some other friends, where I got to see some old friends. Quite the delightful weekend.

I wish I could say that things are slowing down, and that I'll have more time to write in the next few months (which I do for my own benefit far more than yours), but I'd be kidding myself. Next weekend I'll be in Parkston with my other best friends putting on a weekend for middle and high school girls (side note: the opportunity to do ministry with my very best friends - both through Young Life, and church - has been one of the greatest blessings of my life...more on that some other time). Then I get to spend 10 days in the middle of June at Young Life's Camp Malibu in British Colombia with several of the planet's coolest people (a.k.a. - my Hill City Young Life kids). In July my little sis and I are making what is sure to be an epic trip to Minneapolis to see the New Kids on the Block AND the Backstreet Boys in concert (seriously...how cool are we?), immediately followed by a week at the lovely Crystal Springs Baptist Camp in Medina, ND...serving in the position of rec director (i.e., "Captain of Fun"). So that's the first half of my summer - I think I've got some pretty awesome stuff going on the second half too, but my brain can only handle six weeks at a time.

Anyhow, this was more or less a worthless post, but Yul Brynner is now demanding my undivided attention, so I'm off. Peace out!

Forty Days

2011-03-06T17:05:00.004-07:00

Disclaimer: The following is a shameless plug for a fundraising campaign. You've been warned. :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As you are reading this, 884 million people are drinking water from unimproved (i.e. potentially dangerous) sources. One-third of those people live in sub-Saharan Africa. We can do something about it.

In 2005, Jars of Clay started a non-profit organization called Blood:Water Mission to personalize and raise awareness about and funding for the HIV/AIDS and water crises in sub-Saharan Africa. You can learn all about it here. Two years ago the fine folks at Blood:Water thought up a clever little annual campaign called "Forty Days of Water." You can read about it here.

Now, here's the part where I try to convince you to participate in the campaign:

"Forty Days of Water" works like this:

Starting on March 9 (following traditional lenten season) you give up all beverages, besides tap water, for 40 days.
During this time you save the money you would have spent on other beverages...coffee, orange juice, soda, coffee, wine, smoothies, coffee, tea, chocolate milk, Naked juice, kombucha, coffee...
At the end of the 40 days (April 23rd...which is actually 46 days - 40 fasting plus six sabbath) you take the money you saved and send it to Blood:Water Mission.
Blood:Water uses your money to build wells in Uganda, providing clean drinking water for many people who have never had any before.
Lives are saved.

Here is why you should participate in this campaign:

To help others. As my little bro put it, "Or, I could KEEP drinking my coffee, and still send them $50, and we're all happy." It's true. The money you will save by participating, and therefore contribute to the fundraising won't be a huge amount. Last year I only ended up sending in about $75. But the money is only part of the campaign. The other two parts are solidarity and awareness. By making water your only beverage for six weeks you are experiencing a tiny bit of what our friends in Africa experience everyday - limited choices concerning what they consume. And the more we have in common the more we care. The more we care the more we help. Also, giving up other beverages is conspicuous...in our culture, choices like this don't go unnoticed. So every time someone asks you why you're sitting in a coffee shop drinking hot water, you have a chance to engage them in conversation about an important issue they might not be aware of.
To help me. I know. It's terribly selfish. But this is my third year participating in the campaign, and I've learned that it's a lot easier to stick to it if you have comrades. I mean, I roast coffee for a living. If I could make a living drinking it, I would. So giving it up for six weeks requires a tiny bit of will power. And I am weak. So, so weak. So please...help a sister out and jump on my little water-drinking band wagon.
To help you. If you're like me, you probably consume to much sugar, aspartame, or caffeine. It won't kill you to cut it out for a month and a half. Just sayin', man. Just sayin'. Also, doing something to help other people is proven to lower your blood pressure.

So, there is my shameless plug. If you decide to participate, let me know so we can order water in coffee shops together.

Nothing of substance here, folks...

2011-02-27T15:47:00.004-07:00

I've been sitting here at my computer for two hours now. Catching up on some reading, browsing pretty things I'll never buy on etsy.com, cleaning out my email inbox, perusing album reviews, and an assortment of other lazy-Sunday-afternoon-in-a-coffee-shop activities. And the whole time I've had this blog window open in the background, but nothing to put in the little blank box with the blinking...blinking...blinking...anticipating cursor.

Actually, that's a lie. I have plenty to write in here. In fact, I've started seven or eight different intro paragraphs and deleted every single one of them for one reason or another. Too cliche. Too whiny. Too shallow. Too self-centered. Too revealing. Too preachy. Too churchy sounding. Too trying-not-to-sound-too-churchy sounding. You'd think I was writing an article for the Times. Once upon a time, there was a period in my life when I could churn out 5-10 essays a week, either on my blog, or for school, or on a Perkins napkin. I could write 500 words at the drop of a hat...about the price of tea in the student union, or the history of my friend Matt's grandpa's hat, or even the mundane and/or trivial events of my day. But now I clearly take myself too seriously. This is a tragedy and something must be done. Not sure what, though. Probably should quit reading so much well written stuff....more tabloids. Then I could lower the bar, and be satisfied with my petty ramblings and excerpts from my running, inner monologue.

That being said...my inner monologue has sounded something like this lately: Am I doing my job well? Why am I so critical of people? What should I do with the change in my piggy bank when it's full? Do I like where my roommate put the couch? How can I love people better? Why do I continue drinking diet soda when I honestly believe it's terrible for me? How should I feel about health care reform and why? Who knew that your friends all becoming moms would change your life so much? Can wearing Chanel No. 5 automatically make you classy, even if you're wearing sweats and haven't washed your hair in two days? What does God think about my schedule? Am I a good friend? Did I forget to return Dinner for Schmucks to the redbox? Why did I waste two hours of my life on that movie? Should I keep doing yoga even though Mark Driscoll thinks it's demonic? What the heck is going on in the Middle East? How wrong is it that I find Justin Bieber strangely cute, even though he's, like, 12 years old? How much of what I do/read/eat/think/say/write/listen to/buy/wear is about projecting an image of who I want people to think I am? And very important...how late am I going to be to the movie I'm supposed to be at in 18 minutes, because I got carried away with this silly rambling?

You can eat bugs in America too...

2011-01-16T21:44:00.001-07:00

I grew up in a subculture of Sunday school classes and VBS weeks and missions conferences that constantly begged the question, "Will you go?" In it's broadest sense the question was referring to the foreign mission field. But more specifically, at least in the mind of this eight-year-old girl, the call pertained to some undisclosed location in the Central African jungle, or perhaps the Amazon, where everyone ran around in loin clothes, no one spoke english, and the threat of Malaria was imminent. There were only two options for accommodations: a grass hut or a tree house, neither with running water. The job description mainly centered around sharing the Gospel with these people who had never heard Jesus' name - but accepted your words eagerly - and, secondarily, convincing your audience to quit eating each other. Oh, and there were spears involved. Definitely spears. The whole thing was vaguely reminiscent of the Jungle Cruise ride at Disney World. Or maybe not-so-vaguely.

"Will you go?" they begged, over and over.

And every time they asked this question I cried, "Yes! Yes! I WILL go! Pick me! Send me! I'll go!" (I cried this silently, within my heart, because the mood was always very solemn on such occasions, and I was a very good little eight-year-old girl when I was at church.)

Thus began a twenty-year obsession with ethnic food and tree houses and Jane Goodall and pretty much anything having anything at all to do with anything even remotely related to Africa. (As a side note, I find it somewhat ironic that these Sunday school teachers seemed to be painting as bleak a picture as possible of the situation. And the more dangerous and savage it all sounded, the more I fantasized about it.)

And so, when I graduated from college, put in my one year notice (yes....one year...I don't rush into things) at my then-job, and notified the management (upper-upper-management...that being God) that I was now available to go to Africa and save the lost tribes of the Congo (and eat bugs and give up hot showers) I think I half-expected Him to thank me profusely and put me on the next flight to a grass hut.

But He did not do this.

While I was busy spending endless late-night hours googling third-world missions organizations and emailing contacts in Lesotho and Mauritania, God was busy making arrangements for the actual next chapter of my life...thirty miles from my hometown. I was exhausting myself trying to kung-fu-kick down closed doors and stacking milk crates to climb in high windows, oblivious to the fact that God had just blown off the entire south-facing wall. (I'd like to think that God wasn't really frustrated with me during this whole time that I was barking up the wrong tree. That instead, maybe he was happy to have me distracted and out of the way while he did all the prep work. I'd like to think that.)

So one morning - four months before my declared "last day" - I was working at the clinic. I had just returned (literally - I'd pulled into town just six hours earlier) from a missions trip to the Dominican Republic and upon clocking-in had told my boss that yes, I would be taking Jesus to a jungle...just as soon as He, you know, gave me a lead...of any kind...at all. The trip had been a sort-of "testing the waters" for me and after a week of hauling bricks and learning Spanish hymns and hugging little Dominican children I had decided that the water was perfect and I was ready to dive in. Right now. Any moment. Just say when. All systems go.

On my lunch break that day I checked my voice mail and had a message from Corey, the area director of Young Life, the youth ministry I had been volunteering with for the last five years. He wanted to hire me. To start Young Life in Hill City. Today.

So I did what any reasonable girl would do. I locked myself in a podiatry exam room and called my mom while having one of those low-grade, jetlag/"I'm-in-my-early-twenties-and-I-have-an-ill-defined-idea-of-God's-will-for-my-life" induced anxiety attacks. The conversation, in short: my mom pointed out that I loved working with Young Life. I loved the hills. They actually wanted to hire me. And that for the last two years every plan I had cooked up to do ministry overseas had fallen apart. (She may have also said something about not letting me ever live in a different zip code than herself - not over her dead body. But that part of our chat is a little fuzzy.)

She's a wise woman, that mother of mine.

Four months later I came on Young Life staff.

Shortly after accepting the job, while I was still feeling a little shaky about my decision to commit to being in America for an undetermined amount of time, I ran across the parable in the book of Matthew, where Jesus says that "he who is faithful with little will be entrusted with much". I told myself that that is what God was doing with me right then. Giving me little (Hill City) to see if I could handle much (a third-world country).

I was an idiot.

To think that the kids in Hill City (population 970) were somehow less significant to God, that he wanted me to go there to "practice" ministry and then when I had honed my skills he would turn me loose on something more glamorous and noticeably self-sacrificing...well, like I said, I was being really dumb about my whole philosophy of calling and God's will, and greatly misapplying Jesus' words.

As I began to get to know the kids in Hill City, to hear their stories and see their pain, to be invited into their lives, to love them, to laugh with them, I realized that I was being given so, SO much. I began to be filled with a sort-of overwhelming, divine sense of responsibility. My job here was no longer something to be taken lightly, to be seen as some sort of dues I needed to pay before I got what I really was aiming at.

I've been in Hill City three-and-half years. Getting to share Jesus with all these amazing, hilarious, wonderful high school students. I have been blessed and broken and stretched WAY further than I could ever have imagined.

I do have electricity. I do have running water. I don't have malaria. But I do have a tree-house in my yard that I can sleep in whenever I feel like it.

I still dream about Africa. I got to go there and love on beautiful Swazi people for a week in 2009, and it was amazing. I still feel this tug to share Christ with one of the hundreds of people groups in the planet who have no access to the gospel, and to help meet their physical needs for food and shelter and medical attention, and to seek social justice for them, and to learn their languages and customs. I still daydream about raising my own children someday in a country where a culture of entitlement and self-centeredness isn't pervasive. I still hope to live in a grass hut.

Maybe God is preparing me for that. Maybe God is preparing me for something I haven't even dreamed up yet. Maybe God is preparing me to stay in Hill City for a long time. Who knows? But as long as I'm here, I'm going to strive to be faithful with the so much I've been given.

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hund-....

2011-01-02T17:13:00.006-07:00

2010 - I crunched a few numbers, and here is the last year in numerical review. Then I realized it sort of looks like a bad "Seasons of Love" cover. Ah well.

29,519 - Miles put on my car

11,278 - Miles negligently put on my car between oil changes

4,740 - Pounds of green coffee beans roasted

3,010 - Approximate ounces of coffee consumed

212 - Rounds of Dutch Blitz played

77 - Number of times we sang the Bumble Bee Tuna song at YL club, by request.

32 - Grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins at my niece's 2nd birthday party

21 - Bottles of Sprite exploded on stage at Young Life's Timberwolf Lake in August

19 - Pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream eaten with my sister

18 - Pounds gained from eating Ben and Jerry's ice cream with my sister

11 - US States Visited

9 - Stitches received by YL kids, due to events occurring at YL club

3 - Babies born to best friends between October 19-November 5

2 - Rounds of Dutch Blitz won

1 - Stage light broken by exploding bottle of Sprite at Timberwolf Lake in August

Dear Verizon, thanks for taking so long to fix my phone...

2010-11-17T14:54:00.005-07:00

So on Monday afternoon I was sitting in my neighborhood Verizon thinking about God's love. I know that's an unusual segue, but it was a lengthy train of thought that got me from from point A (600+ missing phone contacts) to point B (God's love) so I'll spare you the details of the first half of the story. Suffice it to say, it's not because I was being pious and heaven-centered in my thinking. Rather, I was being a little neurotic and impatient, and strayed upon the topic of God's love unintentionally. Either way, that's where I ended up.

Specifically, I was thinking about something I heard recently...that God's love is so different than any human love we can know for this reason: God knows us completely AND He loves us completely...and ultimately, that's what we all desire more than anything else in life. To be known AND loved. Because most of us have experienced being known by someone who didn't love us, and lots of us can say that we have been loved by someone who didn't really know us. But so often we feel that the people that love us would quit loving us if they really knew ALL of us. Deep, deep down though, we long for the whole package...enter Jesus.

So then I was sitting in Verizon thinking about Jesus. And I was thinking about how if we love Jesus, he asks us to love others the same way we are loved by him. So we are called to know others well and love them well. Which led me to wonder how well I am knowing and loving the people in my life...maybe not very well most of the time.

Sometimes when I consider who or what I want to be and I get to thinking of an department that could really use some improvement, I try to think of people in my life that emulate those traits more effectively I do.

Which is how I came to be sitting in Verizon thinking about my friend Mary.

Mary has a gift. Seriously. She, more than anyone else I've ever met, makes a person feel known. This is why I wanted to be her friend.

Mary and I haven't always been friends. I mean, we were never enemies or anything like that, but we were simply acquaintances for a long time, first. And then one day Mary called me and said she needed an accountability partner and that I might be the person for the job. I have no idea - besides the great and wonderful providence of the Creator of the universe - why she would think that. I didn't exactly have a reputation for being organized, or consistent, or "lovingly confrontational"...things that would be good to look for in an accountability partner. But nonetheless, that's how our friendship began. After about a month of me rescheduling and canceling and flat out forgetting our plans to meet - and Mary not giving up on me - we finally started meeting weekly for coffee. What I lack in organization skills Mary has in abundance. So our accountability took the form of bulleted lists of things for which we needed prayer and help and wisdom and follow up. I was pretty honest about my own crap from the get-go, because Mary and I weren't friends yet so I figured I didn't have much to lose. If she knew all about me and decided she didn't like me...oh well. Lucky for me, that's not how things worked out. The more of my junk I told her about, the more Mary showed me love. Which doesn't make any sense, really. But that just goes to show that she was loving me with Jesus' love, and not just the world's surface-y, fair-weather-friend kind of love.

Sometimes when you share a lot about yourself with someone and they continue to love you in spite of it all, you chalk it up to their own forgetfulness.

But I knew that couldn't be the case with Mary, because I quickly learned that she has a mind like a steel trap. When we would meet every week for coffee she didn't just ask me about the things on the bullet list...she would ask me about things I had mentioned off-hand, and things I barely remembered telling her, and things I didn't even articulate but that she had picked up on. Shortly into our weekly meetings, she made me feel known. Which, like I said, is why we I wanted to be Mary's friend.

That was five or six years ago. A week ago I found myself on the other side of the state, sitting in Mary's kitchen at four a.m., in all of my messy-haired, pj'd-out, four a.m. glory. Her and her husband, Luke, just had their second baby and I had come to meet this new little person and help out for a few days. This particular night was a rough one for both little boys, which is why everyone in the house was up at four in the morning. Mary was apologizing - I suppose at the moment she was thinking that we were knowing each other a little better than even we really should. But the truth is, I couldn't have cared less right then that I was up at four in the morning with two fussy kiddos. Really, I was instead thinking that the whole situation was a lot like what God designed his church and his followers to look like...being deeply known and deeply loved, all at the same time.

I'm blessed by Mary and her family. I'm also blessed by so many other people who know me and love me anyway, not because I'm a walk in the park, but because they've been loved by Jesus and are loving me, and others, out of the overflow. I have so many of these people in my life that it's kind of ridiculous. It's an embarrassment of riches, you could say. Which is just evidence of how much God loves us.

Which is how I ended in Verizon thinking about God's love...

Freedom is not all cupcakes...

2010-10-10T13:58:00.006-06:00

I'm currently reading a nonfiction, faith-themed book that I can't recommend. (I'll refrain from naming the book or the author, because first, I'm about to rag on it, and second, I'll probably misquote him...) I was optimistic at the beginning (it had an intriguing subtitle). Then there were some red flags mixed in with some good ideas. And now, about 3/4 of the way in to it, I'm growing weary of wading through page after page of vague, possibly-heretical fluff to find a few morsels of wisdom. I'm going to finish reading it though, because I'm compulsive like that.

The chapter I read yesterday was the one that really made me scratch my head. The author talks about what he calls his "freedom filter." The chapter is on the topic of truth, and the author states that truth can be hard to discern in this world (true). He says that a lot of people will try to tell you their own idea of truth is the final word on a particular matter (true). He says that people with more education, such as professors or pastors, do not have a corner on the truth market (true.) He says that as Christians we have the Holy Spirit, who discerns truth (true). He also says that because of that, all you need is a "freedom filter" - like his own - to discern absolute truth (what?) Ah, yes. the "freedom filter". Paul talks about it in the book of Ro...phil...inthians.

The "freedom filter" works like this:

You are presented with/think up a new concept, statement, idea, etc., called a "truth claim".
You say to yourself, "Jesus died so I could experience freedom. Does this truth claim make me feel A) more free, or does it make me feel B) sad, guilty or condemned?"
If A: you, my friend, have found yourself some real, genuine truth. Celebrate by making a batch of cupcakes. With pink frosting. Share them with a friend. If B: reject the truth claim. Cannot possibly be truth. Eat some cupcakes. You'll feel better. If C: you shouldn't have followed Jimmy into the cave. There are snakes and your candle has blown out. Turn to page 18 to turn back and leave Jimmy in the dark.

(Okay, so I added the part about the cupcakes. And Jimmy. But the rest of it* is pretty much what he was saying.)

I get the freedom thing. I dig it. I mean, the whole concept was Jesus' idea. His brainchild. His MO. He explicitly stated that he came to "proclaim freedom to prisoners". That we shall know the truth, and the truth shall set us free. That whoever he sets free shall be free. Indeed. I get it, and I love it. I do.

But the part in this guy's (the author who shall not be named) thinking that I feel gets a little sketch is the part where he says that Truth (being the very thing that sets us free, according to Jesus) only brings feelings and emotions associated with freedom - and never the opposite, such as feelings of bondage, slavery, guilt and condemnation. The author even gives a specific example of hearing a sermon in which the preacher leads you to believe that you are a sinner...because you sin. And believing you are a sinner does not lead to freedom. So that can't be truth. I beg to differ. And here is why.

I struggle with sin. (Yes way.) There is one sin in particular that I have struggled with for a long while - sometimes less, sometimes more - but it's been hanging around in my life, bringing death to my spirit, and I have been a willing slave to it for quite some time. The last few weeks, I've been thinking an extra lot about how sinful that sin is, and every time I think about that, and every time I give in to that sin, I feel sick. Like a rock in the pit of my stomach. This morning, I went to church and the pastor read from Matthew, where Jesus directly addresses that sin. And that rock in my stomach felt even bigger. Then I came here, to Dunn Bros Coffee, and was reading an article on the Relevant website (if you're not familiar, you should be...www.relevantmagazine.com) that directly referred to the aforementioned sin as...yeah...sin. Go figure. And the rock grew, and I felt even more sick. That rock has a name. It's called "conviction". Interestingly enough, that too is a function of the Holy Spirit. (John 16:8)

The funny thing about conviction is that it feels a lot like guilt. It's not the same thing, but as long as we're talking about feelings, guilt and conviction bear an uncanny resemblance on the emotion radar. And let me tell you...conviction, in it's earliest stages, does not feel like freedom. It feels like bondage. It feels like a rock in the pit of my stomach. It feels like I should have taken a dramamine before I went to church this morning. Conviction feels this way not because it is bondage, but because it reveals bondage.

So the other funny thing about conviction is that while it feels like bondage, it leads straight to freedom. When we decide that we don't want to walk around with this rock in our stomach any longer we can repent and seek Jesus' forgiveness. He will give it without reservation, and we are restored to freedom. Case in point, if the Holy Spirit had not convicted me of my sin, I might be still comfortably wading around in it for who knows how long, while it slowly sucks the life out of my heart. But instead this nagging cloud of "condemnation" that has been hanging over my head the last few weeks is the very thing that brought me back into right relationship with my creator - a place of extraordinary freedom.

I do, in part, understand where the author is coming from, and I don't mean to throw the baby out with the bath water. (On a side note: I used this idiom in the company of high school kids the other day and not a single one of them knew what I meant. They thought I was actually talking about throwing babies.) Paul warns us about being taken captive by empty and deceptive philosophies, namely legalism...and the author quotes that and other related scripture in "freedom filter" chapter. And I'll be the first to admit that I used to really get my kicks from being legalistic and just feeling guilty all the time. But I find that in our post-modern culture, so many of us want to freeze the pendulum on the opposite, feel-good upswing....because it doesn't make us squirmy and it looks more attractive to the world.

The thing I find though, when I try to look at the big picture of the real freedom God offers, is that the more I earnestly grieve my sin (something that makes me quite "squirmy" to say the least), the better I understand the price my freedom cost Christ, then the more deeply I can breathe when my chains are gone...and the deeper my love for Jesus.

*I don't have the book in front of me while I'm writing this, and I can't remember if the author used the word "feel" or not, when referring to the operation of his freedom filter. But for all practical purposes, I believe it was inferred that feelings were the primary gauge he was tuning in to - the chapter subtitle was, after all, "Can We Trust Our Gut?" - his conclusion is yes, we can.)

Coffee Beans, Karl Marx, and a Cookie Recipe...

2010-09-13T23:58:00.004-06:00

I spent some twenty-thousand dollars and learned some twenty-thousand theories to obtain my college degree. Four years after graduating I remember only three of these theories: Cooley’s Looking-glass Theory, Sutherland’s Theory of Differential Association, and Marx’s Theory of Alienation

I remember the first one because Dr. Goss made us recite it verbatim for my Soc 100 final. I memorized the second one because just using the words “differential” and “association” in the same sentence makes any person sound smart, so I always keep that in my back pocket, just in case my high school kids are questioning my intelligence. And I didn’t even know that I remembered the third theory until one day a few months ago when I was pondering how it was possible I could derive so much joy from my job with Dry Creek Coffee.

Maybe it’s the way my car smells after carting 30 lbs of ground Nicaraguan into Rapid? Or the solitude (and bonus view of Harney Peak) my roasting shed provides in the midst of an otherwise chaotic schedule? Perhaps it’s the rich culture surrounding the whole coffee industry? Those are all gratifying, but they didn’t seem to account for all of said joy.

Then I had this vague recollection of learning something…in some class…once…about the proletariat being incurably miserable because they are so disconnected from the finished product of their over-specialized labor. Merely cogs in a machine. Pieces of a system. Oh yes…alienated. That’s it! Dry Creek is the anti-alienation.

Note exhibit A:

A farmer in, let’s say Guatemala, plants, harvests, and dries his coffee beans. He then ships them to a charming little company in Minneapolis called Café Imports. I call Café Imports (where I get to actually speak to one of the handful of employees whose bios are posted on the company website) and order my beans. UPS drops the beans off at my roasting shed three days later. I roast the beans, bag them and deliver them to the customer, who then calls me the following morning to report that they just had what was possibly the best cup of coffee they’ve ever had the pleasure of drinking. (That’s how it works…every time…more or less. Ha ha.)

Voila! Joy accounted for. Karl wasn’t all wrong. There is something intensely satisfying about being involved in nearly the entire process of providing a commodity, even if it is something as (I hate to even say it) trivial as coffee, especially when you receive direct positive feedback from the consumer.

So there you have it. Applied social theory. Applied undergrad degree…ha ha. Dr. Goss would be proud.

P.S. The following is a recipe for chocolate chip cookies, because, well, I love chocolate chip cookies. In full disclosure, I have never used the following recipe...I flat out stole it from bettycrocker.com, so I can't speak to the quality of resulting cookies. However, if anyone wanted to make the cookies, I would be plenty willing to participate in quality control taste-tests. Enjoy.

3/4	cup granulated sugar
3/4	cup packed brown sugar
1	cup butter or margarine, softened
1	egg
2 1/4	cups Gold Medal® all-purpose flour
1	teaspoon baking soda
1/2	teaspoon salt
1	cup coarsely chopped nuts
1	package (12 ounces) semisweet chocolatechips (2 cups)



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	About Concordance™

Heat oven to 375ºF.
Mix sugars, butter and egg in large bowl. Stir in flour, baking soda and salt (dough will be stiff). Stir in nuts and chocolate chips.
Drop dough by rounded tablespoonfuls about 2 inches apart onto ungreased cookie sheet.
Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until light brown (centers will be soft). Cool slightly; remove from cookie sheet. Cool on wire rack.

Livin' It Up, Choppin' It Down, Keepin' It Real...

2010-08-18T16:46:00.006-06:00

Last Sunday I returned from three weeks at Young Life camp. Ahhh...long live the lore of summer camp. As a kid, the camps I attended (choir camp, church camp, horse camp) held their own special sort of...nostalgia. A certain charm of place. And I remember that when the week ended and it was time to pack my bags and head home, it was always kind of a bittersweet situation. Now that I'm an adult...well...not that much has changed.

My job puts me in the small percentage of lucky grown-ups who still get to go to camp every year. Even luckier (read blessed) is the fact that it's not just any camp I get to go to, it's Young Life camp, which is pretty much one of the best ideas any one ever had.

So every year - for the last nine summers - I get to take a crowd of my high school kids to a fantastic property for the best week of their life, where they will laugh hard and play hard and meet Jesus. It's not a bad gig, really. In addition, since coming on YL staff, I occasionally get to spend a month or so working at one of those properties. This year God and the Midwest Division powers-that-be ordained that I would be on the program team (in non-YL terms that pretty much translates directly to "fun squad") at Timber Wolf Lake, a YL camp in northern Michigan. It was a crazy, hilarious and sacred three weeks. We saw more than 1,200 middleschoolers and their leaders come through the camp, exploded eighteen 2-liter bottles of Sprite on stage, and snapped some 2,500 glow sticks. We also saw God plant countless seeds of love and change...which volunteer leaders will get to help nurture in their kids back home. Like I said...not a bad gig.

Three weeks is a while to be away from home and a job and my family and my bed and my own YL kids, so when the session was over I was mostly ready to get on back to the good old SD. But like I said, it's always a little bittersweet. Life at YL camp is, in many ways, a good snapshot of what I believe God intended life and his kingdom and his church to look like. So this week I've spent my coffee-roasting time thinking a bit about why that is, and how to recreate that environment, in part, at home. (Roasting coffee is perhaps one of the best spiritual disciplines I have encountered in this life. More on that some other time.) Below is a very short list of some of the key principles I feel I should carry over from camp to "real life" (I hesitate to use the term "real life" in this context because ultimately, God's Kingdom is more real than the broken world we live in on a daily basis...but for all intensive purposes...):

Every task, whether it be scrubbing a toilet, or doing the "Go Bananas" dance, or verbally proclaiming the gospel, can have something to do with glorifying God and advancing his Kingdom.
Living in community is a good thing.
Servant-hood is the most effective kind of economy.
Praying daily with other people who have a common purpose and heart and passion is another good thing.
Facebook, cell-phones and email are non-essentials and are no substitute for face-to-face conversation.
Shoes are optional.

A short list, but a good place to start, no? Next blog entry...principles you simply cannot or should not carry over from camp to real life. Ha ha. :)

The "F" Word

2010-05-30T14:47:00.007-06:00

A few months ago Sarah Palin called herself a feminist. This, of course, launched some heated discussion among Palin fans and feminists (well, mostly just feminists), the question at hand being, "Is it really possible to care about women and still be pro-life?" Could there actually be such a thing as a conservative feminist? NPR's "Talk of the Nation" was discussing Palin's controversial use of the f-word and solicited callers with opinions on the topic. I couldn't dial the 800 number fast enough. Literally. I was too late and just got a busy signal. But I definitely have an opinion on the topic, and for the first time in all my year of listening to "Talk of the Nation" felt that mine was one that might be worth airing.

My point here isn't to discuss this particular issue (Palin's claim) at length because the internet is already polluted enough with a full spectrum of related thoughts (seriously...just google "sarah palin feminist") but suffice it to say that I consider myself a pro-life feminist. (Interestingly, not a single one of the callers that DID make it on the air actually put themselves in this category. Disappointing, since the existence of such a person was really the debatable issue.) What I DO want to address is the issue of perceived conflict where there actually is none.

The reason Mrs. Palin's comment garnered so much controversy is because most people view these two topics (feminism and the pro-life movement) as inherently oppositional. I beg to differ. Both movements are, essentially, issues of the value of life. Of giving voice to a population that has historically gone unheard. Of advocacy. And I'd also challenge the belief that these issues are, at their core, political issues. Rather, for Christians, they are primarily biblical. I dare say, Jesus was a pro-life feminist...and teaches us to be the same. He teaches us to love one another. And care for the poor. And the widowed. And the orphans. And the "aliens in foreign lands". And...everyone. Curiously, these are the words Jesus used. Not political words. Not religious words. Not agenda words. Just real, practical, action words about love and compassion and advocacy. So in that context - the one that focuses on Christ's teaching - things like "feminist" and "pro-life" are two branches of the same tree.

When I was in high school, at that age when most people really start toying with independent thought, the fact that many of my beliefs on human rights and equality didn't line up with my conservative republican upbringing was a source of constant internal conflict and confusion for me. My Christianity and my "flaming liberal" stance (as my family so deemed it - though true flaming liberals probably wouldn't claim me) seemed to constantly butt heads. I would listen to Ani DiFranco sing about social justice (granted, she sang about a few things that were slightly more controversial, as well) and then read in the gospels where Jesus spoke about social justice, and then go to youth group where we didn't talk much about social justice. More often, we talked about making sure we were listening to good, clean, Christian music (Ani definitely didn't fit into that category). The more I encountered this incongruity, the more confused I became (I liked to use the term "tortured soul" back then...it sounded deep and mysterious...but I digress) until finally I decided that it wasn't my job to reconcile the two parties (or Miss DiFranco and Baptists, for that matter) and that I'd be better off spending my time figuring out who this guy Jesus was, how he lived, and try my best to follow suit.

And in the person of Jesus Christ is where I found the reconciliation I had been looking for in the first place. In Him I find the voice of justice...for unborn children and their mothers alike. I find a redeeming love that puts us all on level ground - regardless of our gender or ethnicity or political standings. I find a love that constrains me to love all within my reach and to put into action Christ's teaching on these topics. (This is stated beautifully and concisely by the fine folks at Imago Dei: "Compelled by love to live out and proclaim the gospel of Jesus, the church conspires to engage culture with hope on all fronts, to advocate for the defenseless, to seek justice for the downtrodden, to lift up the downcast, to embody the fearless love of the risen Christ.")

With Jesus as the epicenter of my ever-evolving world view, these issues (abortion, social justice, feminism, etc.) are a little easier to sort out than when building an ideology on an pre-fab belief system, or subscribing to an off-the-shelf party or denomination where all the pieces don't necessarily fit together. Be warned, however, that if you do this (strive to be Biblical ahead of sliding comfortably into a socially-approved sect) you will often find yourself awkwardly straddling the waves, with your feet in multiple boats. Lucky for us, it's not about the boats.

So...in closing, we no longer need to debate whether it is possible to be pro-life and a feminist. Now we can move on to bigger issues...like "Can you really be a Christian and listen to NPR?"

A Few Related Scriptures (because you shouldn't take my word for it...seriously...):

Micah 6:8
Luke 10:30-37
Jeremiah 22:3
Romans 12:15-18
Jeremiah 1:5
Psalm 139
Luke 1:44
Exodus 21:22-25

Same old song and dance...

2009-09-17T17:45:00.002-06:00

I clicked on a link to my old high school/college blog yesterday and found it missing. Five years worth of writing...gone. Of course I didn't have any of this saved anywhere...the only place it existed is the geocities server...because I'm just that responsible. So I freaked out a little bit and did some investigating (more than I really had time for) and eventually ended up in a dark and dusty HTML index loaded with the rough versions of all my entries, and an announcement in teeny, tiny little letters that read, "All Geocities websites will be disabled and deleted as of October 26, 2009. Your web site will no longer be accessible after this date." ??? Thanks for the MEMO! Anyhow, I copied and pasted it in 8 point font to 144 pages of word document. Dodge impending disaster...check.

All that to say...that while copying and pasting all those entries, I got a little caught up in reading more than a few of them. And discovered that, if I were to categorize my entries, the largest topic would be "Materialism: in my life and otherwise". I've written on it more than I realized. And think about it exponentially more than I write about it. It's a recurring theme in my life...wondering how Jesus feels about my finances and my use of them.

I recently returned from a trip to Swaziland, where 69% of the rural population lives below the poverty line of E57 (Emalangeni - the national currency) a month. That translates to $7.12. A month.

Needless to say...I could write a little more on the topic of the epidemic of materialism following that trip.

So I guess what I'm wondering now...is that if this is a constant issue on my mind...something the Lord keeps laying on my heart...over and over and over again...what am I supposed to do about it?

Maybe I'm missing the ball...

Sociology Rant #3,767...

2009-02-15T15:14:00.003-07:00

I went and saw "Confessions of a Shopaholic" this weekend. As romantic comedies go, it was a cute little feel-good film. Comical and clean with a quirky-but-lovable heroine and a beautiful, flawless (in terms of both character and physique) boy for her to fall for. The dialogue is cliche but not sickeningly so, and all the loose ends are neatly tied by the end of the movie. There are even a few morsels of truth scattered throughout the script, so I really don't have any reason to complain.

But I'm going to anyway.

Not about the movie, actually. It was a decent movie. It's what the movie reveals about our culture that I'm taking issue with.

Let's just take for instance, the title. "Confessions of a Shopaholic."; obviously, it's a story about people who are addicted to shopping. Addicted to shopping. Yes.

I know that this is a legitimate addiction. I mean, I don't think it's been classified in the DSM-IV yet, but I know that it is something that people really struggle with. I can relate to that feeling that somehow, when you are blue, all you need is a little iTunes spree, or a new pair of shoes (the shoes get me almost every time) or even just a new piece of...tupperware...and somehow you will forget your troubles - because you have something - anything - new and shiny and in colorful packaging to take home. (Of course, it's never as attractive once in my cluttered cupboard or closet as it was on that neatly stacked store shelf.)

Whether or not you would consider yourself a full-fledged shopaholic, or just occasionally guilty of consumption-for-the-sake-of-a-seratonin-boost, most of us Americans have an issue - to some degree - with unneccesary spending.

It's humorous when you are watching the movie (which I paid nearly $10 to see, I might add) and not-so-humorous if you are one of the average American households with over $9,800 in credit card debt. But its simply absurd when you take a step back and view it from a global perspective.

Globally, we live in a world where nearly 30,000 children die daily from malnutrition. The poorest 10% of the worlds population account for just 0.5% and the wealthiest 10% account for 59% of all consumption. (www.globalissues.org)

However, nationally, we live in a world where, for many of us, our biggest issues stem from spending more than we have to buy things we don't need. We've even labeled our compulsive tendencies to acquire piles of crap with victim-mentality terminology and formed support groups to talk us through our addiction and walk us through the purging of those piles of crap.

Economically, this living-above-our-means has finally sent us into a national financial tailspin. The solution? Let's spend more money we don't have to create jobs producing more things we don't need so we can make more money and start all over consuming these things...and on and on and on.

It's embarrassing.

It's not just our issue of obscene spending habits that is disconcerting. As a nation, we are depressed and lonely and empty. Our young men are killing themselves (The Rosebud Indian Reservation has the highest per-capita suicide rate in the world). Our young women are starving themselves (75% of American women have eating issues of some kind). And our socially approved genocide wipes out over 1.6 million unborn babies, by choice of their mothers, annually.

Meanwhile, in the Middle East, young men are ordered - by their own governments - to kill their friends and brothers. In Mauritania, young girls worry about having enough to eat, not about eating too much. And in Sierra Leone, 26% of children do not live past their fifth birthday.

Like I said, from that perspective, things get kind of embarrassing.

Please don't misunderstand me. I am not trying to make light of our country's social problems. They are very real and very devastating. I am also not trying to induce hopelessness or anti-patriotism. I just want us (me) to have a better perspective. I want to better understand that the answers to our problems and emptiness (whether they are impulsive purchases, or distorted body images, or making next months car payment - all things I worry about) are not going to come from a new president, a new bail out plan, a new diet, or a new set of tupperware. Nor will these things save children's lives in Sierra Leone.

The only thing that will solve any of these issues is recognizing the redeeming love and sufficiency of Our Maker for all of humanity, and consequently turning our gaze outside of ourselves to relieve, if even in the tiniest way, the suffering of those whose problems we can with the resources we have.

The First Amendment, Null & Void...Because Mom Says So

2008-12-28T15:32:00.003-07:00

As you may have noticed, it's the end of the year. And everyone who's anyone who writes for a blog or a webzine or a newspaper is busy making lists of the "Best Of" and the "Worst Of" and the Most Outrageous Of" for 2008. I normally shy away from jumping on the bandwagon, but I love lists. So I decided to make my own. It's not a "best of" or "worst of". No, I decided the greatest way to wrap up another year was simply to make a list of...

"Topics Banned From the Eben Family's 2008 Christmas Dinner Table"

I should explain that this list is one that is made by my mother, and is formed comprehensively. As the meal, and lively conversation, takes place, my mother continues to add to the list as necessary, and as she sees fit. Basically any subjects that would incite any kind of conflict whatsoever are added to the list. There were only four forbidden topics this year, which either indicates that my siblings and I have become more civil, less intelligent, abnormally non-confrontational, or altogether nonverbal. I'm hoping it's the first. Anyway, here's the list:

#1) Jesus (specifically, how to best share his love with rock climbers)
#2) Politics (specifically, the impending Obama presidency)
#3) Music (specifically, Sufjan Stevens and his musical genius or lack-there-of)
and...
#4) High Fructose Corn Syrup (I'm not kidding)

There you have it. I, of course, will probably find it necessary to write more about the beginning of the new year, because I'm sentimental like that, and because I've taken a few days off and have a little more time than normal to write. So, stay tuned.

Sheep Poop and Sinners

2008-12-18T16:59:00.003-07:00

I love NPR. I've been an avid listener since high school. By "love", I don't simply mean that it is my primary news source. I mean "love" as in I actually look forward to Science Friday, and Talk of the Nation, and I feel like Terry Gross and I are (or at least could be) good friends. I adore her. Weird. I know. But it's like a work of art to me: form and function all rolled into one little radio station.

Anyhow, while trying to counter the influence of high school drama on my life (it is embarrassingly easy to get sucked into when you are around teenagers all the time - like a cultural vacuum) I was reading up on a few news stories on www.npr.org this morning. I ran across this feature article: Selling the Bawdy Side of Christmas. It's a fairly average little commentary about the ever-increasing secularization of Christmas. Nothing, really, that I didn't already know. What I did really enjoy, however were the following included quotes (italics added by me) by Amy Laura Hall, a professor of theological ethics at Duke University (regarding the holiday juxtaposition of sacred and secular that has so many religious folk in a tizzy these days) :

"Christmas was, from the beginning, both holy and horrible, sacred and scary. There isn't an easy way to make it all hygienic, because the incarnation mixes God up with sheep poop and sinners." In the end, she says, it's somewhat fitting that Christmas has become an admixture of naughtiness and niceness. The contemplation of the humanity of the holiday — as well as the holiness — may make it more real than ever. As Hall puts it, "We doubt, with Thomas the disciple, that a Jesus all spiffed up and safe is real."

Kudos to Miss Hall. This is the most spiritually true and profound thing I have heard all week.

2008-11-19T18:05:00.004-07:00

Today I moved into my new office. My first ever office. Prior to this week, I have used my home (no internet), various coffee shops (great, but not a single decent one open year round in the towns I live or work in most often), my car (no room for a file cabinet...also no mailing address) and various hiking trails throughout the Black Hills (tough to explain to the boss) as office space. So, though it scares me a bit to have a single, designated location at which I am expected to be much of the time, (I had a job like that once before - I'm so over it) it will probably be good for me. It will hopefully help me structure my time a bit more. And, save me about $30/week in coffee money.

After we got all my stuff moved in - which is not much, at this point - I sat down (in a wooden, kitchen table-type chair, because I don't have a desk chair yet) and...wondered, "What do I do next?" Since I'm not really sure what people with my job actually DO with their offices most of the time, I decided to start with the obvious. Decorate.

And then I remembered that I don't really have a budget for decorating an office right before Christmas. So I just sat there for a bit and looked out the window - which happens to look right out on the Mickelson trail - and realized that I might need to board up the window...or I'll just end up back on the trail, calling it my office again...

I know the sun's still shining when I close my eyes...

2008-11-09T13:47:00.002-07:00

Yesterday, in an effort to cure my cabin fever, I decided to run around in the snowy woods with an old friend and a new friend all afternoon. So I was in a cave...literally, in a cave...when my grandmother had a heart attack, and I missed multiple phone calls of varying urgency from family members. When I came back into town and they were finally able to reach me, I met my parents and my sister and brother in the hospital cardiac cath lab waiting room.

After they moved my grandma out of recovery and into a room in the ICU, I stood by her bed, making dumb jokes about the terrible decor and watched while they hooked and unhooked wires and tubes and pumps and electro-sticky-tabs from her tired, slight body. Then I had to leave her there, because they had to remove a pressure device from her artery, and I would have been in the way.

So I went to the store to buy eggs. On the way there, I was rear-ended. The lady that hit me said she was very sorry. I got her phone number, but I don't think I will ever call her. It's barely a scratch. I bought my eggs and went home and watched my friend make brownies in my kitchen, since I don't really like to make brownies. And I drank coffee while another friend tuned my guitar, since I'm not very good at tuning my guitar. And when it was tuned, I hummed harmonies while my friends played my bongos (I'm not so hot at the bongos, either) and my guitar and my tambourine and it made beautiful tribal-sounding worship music.

After they left, a different friend called to tell me a funny story about his blind date and an almost funny joke that I can't remember at all. And my mom called to tell me that my Grandma was already looking better than she had looked when I saw her. Then I crawled in bed under my down comforter (God bless the man that invented down comforters) lined my face up just right with the slanty slice of moonlight pouring across my pillows and prayed for my Grandma. I prayed that she would heal up fast and not have any complications, but mostly I prayed that she would know how valuable she is, and how loved she is, and how much grace is still to be had in life, just when it seems we must have used it all up.

Red Beans & Rice...

2008-11-07T18:30:00.001-07:00

I am sitting on the kitchen counter next to my stove. In my sweats. Reading Anne Lamott and listening to Flogging Molly, and stirring my red beans and rice every once in a while so it doesn’t stick to the pot while it simmers. It is the day following a snow day. I hate the day following a snow day. It’s like the day following a sick day from work, when you wake up and realize that your throat still hurts, but not as much as it did, and you still have a headache, but it is not quite a legitimate one to justify another day off. So it is with the day following a snow day. You can’t, with a clear conscience, curl up in the papasan and watch 6 more episodes of The Office on DVD. If you want to at least be up to par with the rest of productive humanity in your area, you need to go dig your car out of its snowy cocoon and get with the program. Which doesn’t really explain why I’m still in my sweats at two in the afternoon…

My two-cents about todays election...

2008-11-04T13:04:00.002-07:00

I am far more disturbed by the way I see the Church in our country handling this election (and most elections, for that matter), than by the thought of any one candidate taking over the presidency.

“How we need to be freed from the illusion that we’re doing anything kingdom by voting a certain way every couple years! How we need to wake up to the truth that we vote for or against the Kingdom every day of our life. We vote by how we spend our money and time. We vote by where we live, who we hang out with, the kind of car we drive and the kind of clothes we wear. In the Kingdom, we vote with our lives, not in a booth expressing our opinion about what Caesar should do.” - Dr. Gregory Boyd

"The Truth is Out There...

2008-09-25T12:35:00.004-06:00

...I'd go looking for it if I wasn't so busy looking for my car keys."

I have written and deleted no less than six essays on the topic of the circus that is the 2008 presidential election. At this point, I am not sorry to say that I am still undecided on my vote. I've been holding out on account of lack of good information and lack of any idea as to where to get good information. As I'm sure you are all aware, educating yourself on "the issues" is easily a full-time job, and and even as a relatively well-read and educated citizen, wading through the BS is overwhelming and disheartening. However, I recently stumbled across www.2008election.procon.org. As far as I can tell, it is relatively naked facts about the candidates and their stances on various issues. I'm sure there is a slant hidden in there somewhere, but I haven't found it yet. If any of you are feeling as bewildered as I have been about the situation, I encourage you to check it out.

Materialism and The Epic Monopoly Battle

2008-08-28T12:19:00.000-06:00

It's a classic tale of the glorious rise and subsequent fall of someone to and from economic power. A tale of scandal and corruption and greed. A tale I like to call, "The Epic Monopoly Battle." It all started on a snowy afternoon in Bozeman, Montana. One Starbucks employee, one Young Life staffer, and several high schoolers. None of us what you might call "exceedingly wealthy." But over the course of ten hours, (that's right - ten hours) we went from rags to riches and...back to rags again. Except for Sharon, who won the game and conquered the world with some $30 billion racked up on her Monopoly Visa. (If you are not familiar with the new electronic variety of the classic board game, you might want to check it out...unless you are a purist and have an affinity for pastel paper money.) I came in second place with...zero dollars. I fought to the death, but just like in real life, I had about a trillion dollars and a hotel on Broadway at lunch time and by 3:oopm I was living in a cardboard box under a bridge and fending off evil rent collectors (i.e. Sharon) with Snickers Bars. Such is life.

I struggle constantly with having a Godly view of finances. I can be very judgmental of affluent people and often have guilt for having nice things or spending money on things that aren't necessities. Something deep inside of me longs to purge my life of all my possessions and the way they almost own me rather than me owning them. I think: I could give it all away and be much more contented. On the other hand, I want stuff. I want and want and want. I want expensive Patagonia baselayers and paintings by local artists (particularly the orange and red one of leaves that is hanging by the door at Common Grounds in Spearfish) to put in my living room and a car I can talk off-roading and a kayak and a tent and a plane ticket so I can spend a week floating on my back in the Mediterranean Sea. And shoes; oh, how I want shoes! I also want to eat at Q-Doba every day, and believe me, that adds up pretty fast.

Biblically, Jesus talks about the perks of poverty - it seems he feels that generally speaking, people who are just getting by are more apt to have correct world views, a greater dependency on him, and increased love and compassion for others. On the other hand, in the old testament, God was often blessing the good guys with riches. So it's obviously not the being rich that is the problem.

I suppose it boils down to healthy balance - constantly remembering that what I have is not mine...but that it is entrusted to me to manage with wisdom and generosity.

Hmmm. Any thoughts from the rest of you?

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

2008-08-20T07:53:00.002-06:00

...plus bluegrass, bicycles, and being home.

Part III

I promised I'd finish out this polytopical (I think I just made that word up) post sooner or later...and I'm following through. Even if it takes me all summer.

On the subject of bluegrass music:

#1) I really, really, really like it.
#2) Unfortunately, the only bluegrass I've really gotten to listen to this summer was half of the gospel show on the tail end of the Black Hills Bluegrass Festival the morning after returning from Young Life camp.
#3) Jalan Crossland will be in Hill City a month from today! Oh, be still my beating heart!!! (There's nothing quite like a banjo and a man who can play it...)

If this is my biggest concern, I have nothing to worry about...

2008-07-30T09:31:00.003-06:00

I decided after three years of not wearing my retainers and increasingly crooked teeth and an ever growing sense of guilt over the thousands of dollars my parents invested in braces while I was in high school...to start wearing my retainers again. Now I have a perpetual tooth ache, and a still imperfect smile. Humph.

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

2008-07-15T11:17:00.002-06:00

..also bluegrass, bicycles, and being home.

Part 2

I suffer from apathy. This is a pretty huge problem on many levels...but especially critical when your job is based on feeling passionate about a need in the lives of other people. And it's not necessarily that I don't care at all. But I definitely don't care enough. I mean, there are lots of things we say we care about. I care about the environment. I care about political activism. I care about homelessness. I care about nuclear warfare. I care about being healthy and buying locally and getting out of debt. But we all have priorities...and things we really, really care about. Things that affect the way we live and the decisions we make.

So when it comes to the kids that I work with, I frequently feel convicted that I don't care as much as Jesus wants me to. I love them, but I know I am usually complacent with my love for them. Complacent with their hearts. And when I really think about it, complacency is not okay.

I don't think Christ is complacent in his love for me. I don't think he's okay with me being where I'm at. I know that he loves me...right where I am...no small print, no strings attached, no prerequisites. But that love -true love- is only love if it desires more for me. A parent loves their child immensely, just how they are in the present, but still desires change and growth and victory over struggles. Therefore, I'm thinking that's how he wants me to love other people. A love that is not content with the current state of affairs.

This is a love that is a bit foreign to our human way of thinking.

So, in the last year, I've found myself praying over and over and over again for God to help me not be complacent. To see people the way he sees people. To love people the way he loves people. To break my heart for the things his heart breaks for.

Just a little tip...don't pray for something like a broken heart without first considering the consequences. That is what I did. Because to be honest, when I prayed for those things...the seeing people and loving people and broken heart stuff...all stuff that sounds quite noble, I prayed for those things for that reason: because they sounded noble. I didn't give any serious thought to what the ramifications of such a request might be. I also didn't take God very seriously...I think I was thinking he wasn't going to deliver.

I was wrong.

Sometimes I imagine what God might be saying when he's working in my life...and this time it went something like this: "Oh, so you want to know what it feels like to love people? What it feels like to really love people who are hurting and broken and running from their only source of hope and freedom and light? Okay. Fine. I'll give you just a teeny, tiny glimpse...because that's all you can handle."

So just for the record...broken hearts hurt. They suck. For the first time in my life, over the last few weeks, I have felt a sincere, urgent sympathy and compassion and broken-ness and love for some of the kids I work with. I have wept and lost sleep and been discontented with their current state of affairs. With their need for Christ. And it has been a very good thing.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not cured of apathy. And I'm not claiming to suddenly have this superhuman ability to love people just like Jesus loves them. Like I said earlier, I think it's just this little sliver of what Christ's love is like. But if this is just a sliver, can you imagine the immensity of his love for us?

"This is but the fringes..." Shane & Shane

Bridesmaid Dresses, Baby Birds, and a Broken Heart

2008-07-01T15:44:00.004-06:00

also...bluegrass, bicycles and being home.

Part 1
One of my favorite features of my little house in the woods is the wrap-around porch. From the wicker chairs on the south-facing side of the house, you look across the horse pasture at a grove of aspens, behind which are ponderosa pines and blue spruce covering a hill that rises to where the ridge meets the blue sky. It's pure Black Hills beauty at it's best. When I first moved into the house, I couldn't wait to sit on the porch in the mornings - drinking coffee, smelling the pines, watching the ridge change color with the rising sun, and listening to the birds...oh! It would be divine!

However, I quickly discovered that, though the porch is attached to my house, it is not mine. Nope. It belongs exclusively to a small black and white swallow who set up camp in the birdhouse directly above the wicker chairs. And she is violently opposed to my watching the ridge change color with the sunrise while sitting anywhere near her home. I tried on several occasions to be diplomatic about the situation...explained to her (while she repeatedly dive-bombed my head) that I meant no harm, that it was a big porch, that we could peacefully co-habitate the space. But she would have none of it. So I gave in and settled for the east-facing side of the porch. Fine. She can have the view of the pasture. I'll take the view of the...shed.

Well, after spending most of the month of June away from home, I thought maybe I would try again. With the exception of coming and going, I had not spent any time on my porch in several weeks and thought maybe that was adequate time for little Miss Birdie to reconsider her hostilities. So this morning I grabbed my cup of coffee and ever-so-stealthily slipped out the screen door and into the wicker chair. I maybe had three minutes of peace and quiet and the aroma of pines when all of a sudden, from across the pasture, came the angry bird...chirping and swooping for me to leave. Then I heard it: the tiniest little baby chirps coming from inside the birdhouse. Aha. She was not just an angry bird. She was an angry momma bird...just doing her job. Mmmm. Warm fuzzies. As I was getting up to vacate the premises, I spotted a little ball of gray fluff on the deck below the bird house. It was one of the baby birds who had fallen from the nest, and not survived.

Now, I know that in the grand scheme of things, this is only a minor tragedy, if that. But I felt this strange pang of sorrow over the situation. I suddenly felt like I was six years old...that I should scoop up the baby bird and go running to my mom. And then I felt annoyed. At God. In Matthew 10:29, Jesus said that not even a sparrow falls to the ground apart from the knowledge of the Father. So, my question is, why do they fall in the first place? If he knows all about it, then why can't he keep them from falling? Maybe it shouldn't matter to me so much, but it obviously matters to the momma bird, who was violently, instinctively protective of her babies.

And if he cares about baby birds, then what about Luke and Mary's baby Josh? If God sees baby birds fall, then I know that he sees the mysterious anemia that continues to plague Josh's little body. I know that he hears the fervent prayers of Luke and Mary, of myself, of friends and family across the country. I know he hears. But I don't know why he doesn't heal him.

I know he sees Riss and Jade...two little girls that he knit tightly into my heart. I know he sees them and their precarious circumstances...being tossed about like little leaves in the wind...never knowing where they will land next. I know he sees them. But I don't know why he doesn't rescue them.

I know some things, but there are many more I don't understand.

I apologize to the momma swallow for being a perceived threat to her precious babies. I apologize for the loss of her little one. And I take my coffee to the east porch.

I almost met my match.

2008-06-05T17:43:00.005-06:00

"When in doubt, call a man." - My Mom.

This is her philosophy when it comes to lifting heavy objects, smelling rotten food, and fixing all things mechanical. Don't get me wrong. She is a very intelligent, capable woman. She, like many women, has just happened to choose a few (or a slew of) tasks which she detests and/or feels men are more...accustomed to.

I beg to differ, and have thus rebelled on this subject for many years now. My mantra has, since high school, been "Never, ever call a man." This motto has led to me changing my own tires in the dark on the side of the interstate (note to my high school and middle school girls: I do not endorse this kind of dangerous, irresponsible, high-risk behavior), threaten my college roommate with physical violence when she suggested we not fix our own broken toilet, and devising some very creative ways of moving large pieces of furniture.

But, to all who feel that this "fierce independence" is a negative trait, I want to you all to know that, just the other night, I found myself in a situation that, well, necessitated...um...

...calling a man.

That's right. I said it. I did it. I telephoned my father for assistance.

You see, it was really a dire situation. I want to be sure to clarify that it did not involve car trouble, heavy objects, leaky faucets or pickle jars with impossibly tight lids. Nope. Much, MUCH worse than that. A dead mouse.

I was just going about my business the other evening, chatting on the phone with Em about natural child birth and cloth versus disposable diapers (I'm getting old, aren't I?), fixing up some late-night mac'n'cheese, when I noticed a slightly mysterious odor emanating from one of my kitchen cupboards. I dismissed the smell, because my house is old, and has a lot of mysterious odors. Opening a drawer to look for a wooden spoon released a more pungent frangrance. The kind that should not be ignored. Hrmmm. With fear and trepidation I decided to investigate further. I quick peek into the cupboard under the sink revealed a completely rancid smell and the source of the funk. Poor little Mickey. He had not gone quietly. Evidence suggests he fought to the death. But when your little head is tightly clamped in a spring-loaded device of torture, and you don't have opposable thumbs, and there is no one around to hear your cries for help, your don't really stand much of a chance.

I would like to take just a moment at this point in the story to state that I do not have a weak stomach. I worked for a podiatrist for five years and saw lot's and lot's of repulsive things...fully avulsed toenails, gangrenous infections, amputations...that sort of thing. But nothing makes me weak in the knees like a dead animal...especially one that is mangled...and reeks...and is in my kitchen...lying in a puddle of blood...and has apparently been so for more than a few days.

So, when I gained my composure and bid farewell to Emily, I sucked up my pride and did what any self-respecting feminist does in this situation. I called my dad who lives 25 minutes away and asked him to come handle the situation. Let me point out here, too, that my dad is the first person to encourage me to call if I ever need anything (for some reason he's not a big fan of me changing my own tires on the side of the road in the dark...?). So I was merely complying with his wishes and giving him opportunity to be needed, come to the rescue of his little girl and exercise his masculinity. And outrage of all outrages...

HE WOULDN'T COME!!! He told me to call, so I called, and HE WOULDN'T COME!!! Something about it being midnight, and raining, and the mouse being dead and harmelss. He told me to take care of it myself. He even offered me a few suggestions. Paper towels. Plastic bags. Rubber gloves. But he WOULDN'T COME!

You see? You see why I don't call men? Because they WANT to be needed by women, but when we are truly in a desperate circumstance, they want you to deal with your OWN dead mouse. Figures....ha ha.

So, in closing, I want you all to know that I did take care of my own dead mouse. With a stick. Holding my breath. And trying not to look. It was quite traumatic. But, now that I've faced that fear, I'm pretty much sure that there isn't anything left that I can't handle...

Spring Has Sprung

2008-04-13T17:26:00.003-06:00

My mom's a good mom, and therefore instilled in me the conviction that it is a sin to be indoors on a beautiful day. Today is such a day. It is 60 degrees and sunny and sometime between yesterday and today the grass turned green. But I am supposed to be nailing down details on next Sunday's Young Life Mattress Run. So I've confined myself to a dark corner of Dunn Bro's, far away from windows, so as to remove the temptation of fresh air and sunshine. This kind of offense might be justifiable, were I actually being productive and getting my work done and getting the Mattress Run planned. But I'm not. I've been here an hour and all I've done for the event was open the word document with the information. Distractions abound; I currently have a terrible case of wanderlust, a growing list of articles and books I want to be reading, and a 10K to be training for. Also, I've been suppressing my creativity for months now, and I hear that if you do that for long enough, um, your hair will all fall out. Okay, I just made that up. But, still, it can't be good for you, right? Hrm. Alright. I'm going to get down to business and then have time to goof off guilt free. Yep. That's the plan, Scotty. And here I go.

There's No Place Like Home

2008-01-19T12:29:00.000-07:00

I just recently came home from a week in Florida. I was there for a Young Life conference and had a fabulous time...um...conferring. A week is a good length of time for that type of January getaway. Just long enough to stockpile some serious sunshine and then realize that I miss the Black Hills terribly.

With the exception of one half-day trip to Cocoa beach, I spent the rest of my time in Florida trapped in what I like to call the T.I.P. (Tourist Industry Prison,) a roughly 50,000 acre block of land just outside of Orlando City Limits, owned mostly by Disney, consisting entirely of theme parks and resorts, and bearing very little resemblance to the "real world" what so ever. It is sort of a realm of existence unto itself, where corporately brainwashed people are willing to pay nine dollars for a bottle of water and fifteen dollars (a piece) for collectible character pins and twenty-three dollars for a parking space, all in the name of American-style escapism. And while the palm trees are lovely and the warm, temperate climate constitutes year-round outdoor living, you never really feel like you've been outside. Thus, my quasi-vacation-invoked claustrophobia. I came home with a desperate need to just "get outdoors;" to wander on a path where you don't expect to see a friendly, underpaid, cleanly uniformed employee with gloves and a "litter-picker-upper" thingy and a trash bag around the next corner. You know, a place where the landscape hasn't been landscaped.

My plans were to spend today wandering around somewhere up in the hills. I didn't have to work, and I'm finally on the uphill side of this nasty cold-virus thing...so I was rearing to go. Unfortunately, it's just too dang cold. I mean, I'm no wimp, but jeepers! It's freezing out there! I have yet to acquire the Patagonia Capilene Baselayers (that I so smoothly sell lots of at my little shop) required to make hiking in single digit temps safe or reasonable. So I've the next best thing. Took up temporary residence at my usual corner table at a coffee shop to spend a few hours people watching, working (or at least thinking about working), writing, and catching up on my newest interest...reading. It's amazing the things that fall by the wayside when you let life control your life.

So, with that, I'm going to move across the coffee shop to a bigger table and join about half of my family for lunch. Then I'll probably move back to this table and read some more.

Life is good.

(And P.S., no, I'm not missing Florida yet.)

The Proverbial Elbow Jab...

2008-01-03T14:24:00.000-07:00

"Let us consider how we may spur one another toward love and good deeds. Let us not give up meeting together, as some are in the habit of doing, but let us encourage one another - and all the more as you see the Day approaching." - Hebrews 10:24-25

I just had coffee with an old friend who was home for the holidays. I hadn't seen him in at least two years, and not only was it good to catch up with him and see what he's up to, it was really a blessing to hear him talk about the amazing ways God is working in his life. It seems a rare thing to see someone genuinely excited about Jesus, to hear someone speak in actual anticipation of what God is doing. Here. Right now. In real life.
The conversation was a breath of fresh air. I left feeling encouraged, challenged, and more excited about what God is doing in my life and in the lives of people around me. I left with an increased desire to be in God's word. I left hoping that I bless and encourage people with my words the same way I was just blessed and encouraged.
My aforementioned coffee friend "spurred me towards love and good deeds," you could say. My Koine Greek is a little rusty so I can't tell you precisely what kind of word picture the writer of Hebrews had in mind when he wrote that verse. I did, however, check out a few other versions and found translators also using the verbs provoke, stir, encourage, stimulate, incite, motivate, and promote in place of the word "spur."
All interesting words, no? They don't all necessarily imply mere gentle suggestions. I mean, spurs - the literal kind...worn on cowboy boots...to make horses run fast - are a little uncomfortable. That's why they are effective. Now, if the horse is receptive the cowboy only needs to tap the horse with the spurs, and the horse goes, and the cowboy lays off with the spurs, right? But if the horse is stubborn, or distracted, or lazy, the cowboy's going to have to "spur" a little harder. It's going to be less comfortable.
The other interesting verb in that verse is "consider." We're not just instructed to spur people, we're told to "consider how." Give it some thought. Roll is around in your brain a bit. Think about different ways to do the "spurring." Some of us are motivated, stirred and provoked in different ways than other people. I, for instance, am the stubborn horse most of the time. I take a lot of poking. A lot of prodding. A lot of elbow jabs. And I am very grateful for my friends who are not afraid to elbow jab me on occasion.

Emmanuel

2007-12-24T23:41:00.000-07:00

Funny how the Season that is most consciously tailored to draw our thoughts to the Savior of the world is possibly the least likely to allow us any time to spend with Him. This is no ones fault but our own, and I'm not pointing fingers - except at myself. I don't know if I get caught up in the busyness of the holidays and somehow think that Silent Nights and warm fuzzies are going to float me, like they are some limited-time-only substitute for digging into God's Word and hanging out with Jesus and talking with Him. But I do it almost every year. I run around, talking about Him, singing about Him, writing cute little phrases about Him in newsletters and cards - all the while ignoring Him. Sad.

I've been raised by Godly parents. I grew up in the Evangelical church. I've known the Christmas story for as long as I can remember, and have been an angel in too many Christmas programs to count. I've heard a hundred bazillion times about the irony of the King of Kings making his debut as a baby in a manger. And it never actually clicked in my brain until just a few days ago. I was making my regular Rapid-Hillville commute, just listening to Jars of Clay sing "Love came down at Christmas...", passing my favorite spot on Hwy 16, where you can see out over the Needles and Harney and so much of God's glory in the form of trees and stone and the thought occurred to me, (as if I'm the first person to get this, right?) "Wait a second...so the God that spoke this phenomenal landscape into existence is the same God that initiated His plan to save the human race in a barn in a crowded city in the middle of the night? How much sense does THAT make?" *ding! ding! ding!* Genius, Marci. Pure genius. And it only took you 25 year.

It is Christmas Eve. It is after midnight. It is snowing (a direct answer to fervent prayer.) And I have a two day old baby* to feed. Merry Christmas.

*Not my own baby. I thought I should clarify this for any newcomers, or people who were suddenly thinking, "Wow! It HAS been a while since I talked to Marc..."

Winter Cleaning

2007-12-23T18:12:00.000-07:00

It is the end of the year and with it comes my ever-increasingly-compulsive urge to "clean out" my life. As if it were a closet. Which, in a quite accurate analogy, it sort of is. While shuffling through piles of "things" I don't need or use anymore, I ran across this fairly neglected blog you are now reading. I thought to myself, "Hmm. I started that silly web page journal my senior year of high school. Life has changed a bit since then. I've changed a bit since then. I don't think I really have the need to keep a random, mostly anonymous, and probably very, very, small group of readers posted on the ins and outs of my life anymore. Besides, anyone that cares need only ask, and I'm happy to tell them what I'm up to, and what God is up to these days." So I added "Write minimally sentimental farewell entry and do away with blog/website for good" to my to-do list.

A few days later I was reading something. A newspaper article. An webzine essay. The back of the cereal box. I don't actually remember what it was, just that it was very well written. I realized that not only have I all but quit "reading" (for anything but necessity) but I've quit writing as well. I spent a good part of my childhood thinking I would be a writer when I grew up, and now I almost never write at all. Which then led me to remember that the whole reason I went out and got myself my own little corner of the internet when I was seventeen was simply so that I could have a little outlet for more writing (okay...well, that, AND I really had a crush on this guy that set up web pages...so that came in handy too). The fact that the page served as a bit of a news feed for my shenanigans over the last seven or so years was merely a latent function. As for the many poorly written entries, I apologize to anyone upset by this. (I know we all have to put up with poor writing, day in and day out -especially if you frequent myspace- ...and I strongly believe we shouldn't do it more often than absolutely necessary...)

All that to say that I've decided to keep the blog for the time being. (I moved it from the "throw" pile to the "find someplace to put it, and throw it out next year if I haven't used it more by then" pile.) I plan to reintroduce my original intentions to practice improved writing skills. A little personal challenge of sorts. What this means for you, is: if you DO continue to check up on the humble little blog, on occasion, I hope to be a little breath of fresh time-killer-reading air on a forum too often filled with bad grammar (wince) and emotional rants about online relationships gone bad, and so many other kinds of nonsense.

Until next time,
Peace, Love, and left-over Turkey.

These are the good ol' days...

2007-10-01T23:04:00.001-06:00

I am an incurably nostalgic person. I can look back on the vast majority of my life and think, "Wow. Those were some good times..." Every once in a while I read back to old entries on my old web page (still accesible at www.geocities.com/marciebens) just to see what I was thinking six years ago today...three years ago today. It is not just for the sake of looking back at chapters of my life that I have romanticized into being better than the present...it is mainly to see how faithful God has been. I like to read about the things that I was worrying about, fretting about, stressing over...and then realize that most of those things worked out just fine. And sometimes it is good to know that six years from now, or even six months from now, I will look back at most of the things that cause me worry today and realize that they were not worth loosing sleep over. God is good.

Tonight was our annual Young Life banquet. It was also my first official day on Young Life staff. Interesting. I am excited. That is no lie. I am truly very excited about what God is going to do in Hill City. But I am scared. I of course have all kinds of doubts and fears. I am nervous about "being in the ministry." What if I crash and burn? I have a lot of people watching. I have run over all the right answers concerning those fears a million times. I know they are not valid. But they do cross my mind now and again. I am learning a lot. I learning that the more I learn, the more I learn I need to learn. If I happen to cross your mind, feel free to pray for me. I'll take all of that stuff I can get :)

Hit the ground running...

2007-09-24T00:25:00.000-06:00

My days as a professionally unemployed person officially came to an end last week. The month without the burden of a paycheck flew by all too quickly. Upon explaining to friends, family, co-workers, clinic patients and the checkout guy at the grocery store that I was quitting my clinic job in August and not starting my Young Life job until October, most replied, "And what are you going to do with a month off? You're going to be bored to tears!." Well, to all and any who lost sleep over the fear of my being under-occupied, you can flush the Snooze-aid.

In the last five weeks, I (in more or less chronological order):

Sat on my front porch and drank tea and watched the rain fall until all hours of the night
Began training for the Rushmore marathon
Wrecked a mountain bike in North Dakota/sprained my ankle/gave up training for the Rushmore marathon
Had my wisdom teeth removed
Went to Denver on a bus with 40 teenagers to see a Rockies game and hang out at Elich's
Innertubed down the Niobrara River
Moved out of my apartment
Lived nomad-style out of a suitcase (4 hotels, 3 houses, a cabin, a retirement center and a church)
Bought a mountain bike
Waded in Rapid Creek
Watched the fountains at the Belagio at midnight
Swam in the ocean
Met Mickey Mouse
Hiked, hiked, and hiked some more
Read a few good books
Spent some much needed time just sitting in coffee shops and brushing up on my long-neglected love of writing
Spent too much money at Borders
Fulfilled my life-long dream of being a Barista
Substitute taught at the high school
Met at least 100 new, wonderful people

It's been loads of fun, but I am becoming anxious to get going with all this new stuff in my life right now. I'm pretty sure I haven't experienced this much change at one time since...ever. It's a little nuts. I have that sort of terrified/excited/adrenaline-rush feeling you get just before you try something crazy, like flying Kamakazi (sp?) style down a single track on a bike. (Which, in the past, didn't work out so well for me...which is where my analogy sort of breaks down...but, um, anyway...) It's going to be great. I often think, "Whoohoo! I have no idea what I'm doing!!!" But whatever happens, it's going to be good, right? I mean, it's not necessary all going to be fun, but it's all going to be good, in the long run. (Which is my philosophy about travel...which is an entirely different journal entry...) I prayer regularly (and selfishly) that God would fill my life with adventure. He hasn't let me down yet.

Vitamin D is underrated...

2007-05-13T09:11:00.000-06:00

In my last post, I promised to return on the next rainy day I had to spend in a coffee shop. I am in a coffee shop, but it is not raining. On the contrary...it is well on it's way to being a 90 degree day. And while I tend to favor rainy days, I must say that it has been one of the most beautiful, sunny, warm spring weekends ever created. This is mostly due to that fact that we didn't get a late freeze to kill all the lilacs and apple blossoms this year...so every breath you take is laced with their fragrance right now. Simply wonderful. Anyhow. To catch you up, as promised....

The job: In October I will go on part-time YoungLife mission staff in Hill City. This essentially means that I will be doing pretty much what I have already been doing for the last five years, only now I will be getting paid for it, and I'll have more time to do it. I'm not sure this is fair, actually. It seems like I'm getting a heck of deal. I mean, I was pretty much happy doing it for free. My only gripe was that my job just seemed to be getting in the way, in terms of time to commit to hanging out with kids. But that has been remedied. I guess the pay is just a bonus. What this also means, is that I get to move to Hill City. And spend the other half of my time working at Granite Sports. So pretty much, all I need is a giant dog, a bicycle, and tree house and I'll be the happiest girl you know.

It is far to lovely outside to sit here by the window any longer. I must get out there in the sunshine. So I'll fill you in on the trip some other time. I'm out.

Hola, Mi Amigas!

2007-05-04T21:33:00.000-06:00

Hey kids! This is for the few faithful that are left out there. Those two or three people that still check my blog, periodically, even though I only post 3 times a year anymore. I just dropped in tonight to say that I have plenty to catch you up on some rainy day when I'm sitting in a coffee shop with a public use computer. Since the last time I was here I have traveled the world (or at least a small part of it) and gotten a job that actually does have something to do with my expensive college degree. You know I'd much rather just sit in a coffee shop and tell you about it than type about it, so feel free to give me a call if you find yourself in the vicinity on a rainy afternoon. I know a good coffee shop or two...

Just a note...

2007-03-30T13:48:00.000-06:00

GOOD: They tore down the BurgerKing on Mt. Rushmore Rd. and are building a Sonic Drive-In in it's place.

BAD: They moved two old houses on Mt. Rushmore Rd. and are building yet another Starbucks in their place.

and I AM actually still alive...

2006-12-15T12:59:00.000-07:00

Here I am. I have neither dropped off the face of the earth, moved to a monastic island in the Mediterranean, or joined the witness protection agency, though my absence might have had you worrying. I'm sorry. But no, I have had none of the above excitement in my life. On the contrary. I am alive and well and...a little bit bored. I am also going to be late getting back from my lunch hour if I don't leave this coffee shop very soon. Lunch hours these days are few and far between, and the time must be used with utmost discernment. So I used this one to put your hearts at ease. I know so many of you have been losing sleep over my lack of...postage. Anyhow, I must get going. Adios.

Only in South Dakota...

2006-11-07T22:22:00.000-07:00

While driving to work at 8:00 this morning, I passed my governor. He was standing by himself on the sidewalk in the gap, holding a cup of coffee and waving at all the people driving to work. There's something to be said for living in not-so-metropolitan places.

2006-10-29T23:39:00.000-07:00

My Grandpa died on Friday night. My grandpa that I had lunch with on Thursdays. My grandpa that never missed a single one of my concerts. My grandpa that taught me how to play harmonica, and then let me play with him in church. I've been blessed. I've never lost someone very close to me before. But now, I wonder if I heard too many lectures in college about the grief process. I have this usually undesireable ability to disconnect myself from my emotions and view them objectively. This can make it tough to get past the "how I'm supposed to feel" and actually deal with the "how I feel." It' strange really. It's strange to lose someone so suddenly, as I'm sure most of you can attest too. Hmmm. Well, that's about all I have to say about that right now. More later, as usual.

Like rollerskating in the china shop...

2006-10-27T12:59:00.000-06:00

Hi. I'm back. At the library. They have added a coffee shop. Right in the middle of the library. Inside this coffee shop is a sign that reads, "Feel free to enjoy your beverages throughout the library." I find this a little perplexing since I grew up in a world where having food and beverages inside the library, especially within spitting distance of the books or computers, was a sin that would at least send you straight to the same zip code as Hell, if not the precise coordinates. But since then, some genious figured out that they could make a buck - heck! thousands of bucks! - if they compromised their committment to careful preservation of their books and documents and just let people sip java while they browse. Don't get me wrong. I like coffee. I like libraries. I like to drink coffee in the library. I just see it as an interesting development.

In other coffee shop news (as coffee shops and their dynamics, social demographics, etc. positively are my favorite topic of discussion) the loathesome Starbucks recently announced that they plan on doubling their number of stores worldwide next year, bringing their empire to a measley total of some 40,000 stores. They must be stopped. With that, my lunch hour is drawing to a close and I must get back to work. More about my feelings on Starbucks later. Or, simply refer to Natalie's recent blog rant on the corporate big boys. We share similar sentiments.

I'm out. Happy weekend.

Monday Monday.

2006-09-25T17:30:00.000-06:00

I have approximately 38 seconds here at the computer in the public library to post this. Having no computer at home, I decided I would stop down here after work and "quickly" print off (the highschool activities schedules for the other YoungLife leaders. (Sharon and I have been given the lofty, prestigous, and coveted positions of "Co-Contact Work Coordinators") Quickly. Right. It should not be so hard to copy from a website and paste to a word document. But my brain is very small, you see, when it comes to things of such technological difficulty. And, as is often the case, it has taken me much longer than planned. I had also imagined that after leaving the library, I might get a chance to stop home and grab some dinner before high-tailing it to YoungLife club. Dinner. Right. Also, not going to go as planned. I will survive. I am very excited about club. Last week was our first club of the semester and it went just swimmingly, (seriously...is there really a better adjective than that? I think not...) so I pray tonight is just as fun. Wow. I've seriously exceeded my 38 seconds. I really need to get a move on. It was nice to write for a bit though. Peace.

Pleased as Punch

2006-09-20T00:34:00.000-06:00

It is with great joy that I announce to you all: I'm moving. Finally. Not just thinking about it. Not just talking about it. Not just hanging imaginary roman shades on the imaginary kitchen window in my head. No, kids, I actually HAVE THE KEYS to the front door of my own appartment. (Truth: the kitchen window is now a reality, but the roman shades remain a figment of the imagination for the time being.) I know. Hard to believe. Even more shocking is the fact that I signed a six month lease - which sets a new record for comittment in my life. Scary. But exciting. Granted, it's only a four and a half minute drive from where I currently live, but it's still considered moving, nonetheless. This has been a very, very, very long anticipated event as well as an answer to prayer...so I'm pretty stoked. I have my own mailbox. My own fridge. My own bathroom. And best of all - get this - a murphy bed. That's right. And YOU thought those only existed in old movies! But you were wrong, my friend. I have one. And I'd be more than happy to have you over to my new place so I can demonstrate the ease with which one can fold a perfectly unmade bed right up into the wall, leaving no trace of a perfectly unmade bed. What more could a person ask for, really? A dishwasher? Oh, well, I have one of those too! And if you think I'm happy about this situation, you should see my hundreds of books. They're beside themselves with excitement, as they get to come out of their boxes, following three years of musty darkness while they waited patiently in storage. My dishes are pretty thrilled as well. So, that's my news. The other detail in the story is that fact that I will no longer have computer access at my residence. This could be both good and bad for you, my beloved readers. The benefit of this situation is that there will be no more post-midnight writing here in my journal...which means better, more well-rested writing. The bad news is that there will probably be less writing over all...which you may not even notice, since I've only been posting something up here about once every other week. Anyhow. That's all I've got for now. You kids have a good night.

2006-09-13T01:48:00.000-06:00

This is my little sister, Sarah Jill. She just turned thirteen yesterday. As I'm sure is the case in most sister-sister relationships, especially those spanning an eleven year gap, she thinks I'm pretty cool. She likes to hang out with me, likes to steal all my clothes, likes to make jewelry with me and style her hair like mine. It would seem that she wants to be like me, to a certain degree. But what she doesn't know is how much I wish I could be like her. She is a far more confident and secure person than I was at her age. She is comfortable with the shape of her body. She doesn't care what her peers think of her. She's quirky and hilarious and has a completely ridiculous obsession with ducttape (She can make pert near anything you can imagine out of ducttape.) and red cars and Geico commercials. She has dozens of best friends, all who love her goofy sense of humor. She's simply beautiful. I adore her. I really hope that someday I can grow up to be just like her.

2006-08-31T23:46:00.000-06:00

It's that time of year. Everyone's going back to school, if they aren't there already. Everyone, it seems, except for me. This is the first September in eighteen years that I am not going back to school. For most recent graduates this situation is cause for much rejoicing and gladness of heart, as they watch their less fortunate school-bound friends ceremoniously draw their summer to an end and painfully readjust back to class'n'homework mode. I, however, am not most people. No, for me this detatchment from academia has been a catalyst for an identity crisis in my life. I loved being a student. I loved most everything about it, with the exception of, well, work and such. I'm not really a fan of reading textbooks unless I've chosen them, or writing papers unless I've determined the guidlines. But really, for the most part, I loved being a student. Perhaps the reason I fear the end of that role is because whatever it is that comes next seems sort of...generic. I'm sure it will only be a matter of time before I slide gracefully into a niche, right? I will soon find the joy in being a "young professional", or whatever it is they call people who have just graduated from college. But for right now, when so many lucky ducks are headed across campus, crunching leaves and trying to figure out how to pay for text books, I'm going to wallow in a bit of envy.

2006-08-18T23:51:00.000-06:00

Nine years ago I had a crush on a boy I had never spoken to, because he was beautiful and had blonde hair and played the guitar. His name was Chris. Eight years ago I gossiped about a girl I had never spoken to, because she was beautiful and had dark brown hair (I always wanted dark brown hair) and all the boys liked her. Her name was Sharon. Three years ago they met at a friends wedding. Today I was a bridesmaid in theirs. Not only are they one hot couple who is crazy in love with Jesus Christ, their relationship is a testimony to the goodness of God and his faithfulness to orchestrate billions of little details to fulfill his plans for our lives, in his perfect timing. (By the way, the wedding was lovely.) P.S. Sharon's the beautiful one on the left with brown hair. I'm the one covered in...shaving crool whip...er...stuff.

The Great Camping Fiasco

2006-08-05T15:16:00.001-06:00

I love camping. I really, really love to camp. So when I asked Adrienne if she wanted to go camping the weekend she'd be home, I had idealistic mental images of a tent in the woods, kayaks in the water, and campfires in...campfire spots. Like most of my camping experiences. Well, Adrienne came home, and we did go camping last week. It just didn't look exactly how I had pictured. There were a series of mishaps and unfortunate circumstances that contributed to the crushing of my camping ideals. The first was the fact that when I got online to reserve our camping spots the morning before, every spot at Sheridan Lake and any surrounding National Forrest campground was already reserved. Hmmm. No problem...plan B...we'd just "find some place in the hills when we get out there." Second problem: the kayaks I rented at an affordable rate turned out to be 12 foot ocean kayaks, not 6 foot river kayaks. We had two of them. I have one compact car. Despite my most valiant efforts, my father convinced me in his logical engineering way that there was no possible way I could put two 12 foot kayaks on top of my itty-bitty hatch-back. So we were forced to borrow my brothers monster truck (Ford F150.) By the time we actually got the whole kayak transportation problem solved, it was rather late in the day, and Adrienne and I were starving. This was just fine, because we had planned on eating dinner at the Alpine Inn, which, in my humble opinion happens to be the best dinner in the hills. Unfortunately, the 1/2 hour wait for a table turned into a 2 hour wait for a table when they accidently missed our names on the list, and we didn't get out of the place until 10:30. By this time it was very dark, and the only place we could find to camp was a lovely AAA approved family campground near Hill City. Nice, but not really my idea of "roughing it." They only had one spot left. We didn't ask to see the spot until after we'd paid for it. (We were tired. Give us a break.) Refer to exhibit C. We were practically camping in a parking lot. It was 112 degrees during the day and 78 at night, so the campfire seemed somewhat impractical. The rest of the weekend continued in pretty much this same manner. Etc. Etc. Etc. A smidge less than ideal. Nonetheless, Adrienne and I had a delightful time. The whole thing turned out to be pretty hilarious in it's not-going-as-planned nature. And, we invented a new kind of water sport. We haven't named it yet. The general idea is that you paddle your kayak out to the middle of the lake, sit there until a speed boat whizzes by, and then "ride the wake." I don't think I'd call it an "extreme" sport, but we haven't perfected it yet. I'll let my know when we do. So, that was the "camping" (only to be spoken of with the use of air quotes) weekend. I'm actually leaving again in 5 minutes for another "camping" adventure, this time in a friend's cabin, with my huge family and lots of board games, and no fire (because there is a fire ban right now). And no 12 foot kayaks.

2006-08-05T15:16:00.000-06:00

Exhibit C: The worst camping spot ever (red square)

2006-08-05T15:14:00.000-06:00

Exhibit B: My 8 Foot Car

2006-08-05T15:12:00.000-06:00

Exhibit A: 12 Foot Kayak

2006-07-25T00:24:00.000-06:00

Sorry. I've been neglecting my journal. I was busy getting my kicks...

2006-07-25T00:23:00.000-06:00

And delivering my best friend to her shiny new "grown-up" career. Doesn't she just look all grown up?

2006-07-25T00:22:00.001-06:00

And attending some first rate sunset viewings...

2006-07-25T00:19:00.000-06:00

My apologies for neglecting the journal. I've been out galavanting around the country again, trying to satisfy my wanderlust, which I've determined is a chronic condition that is only growing more severe with time. Three weekends ago I was in Minnesota for my cousin Katie's wedding. While there I beheld three lovely sunsets, (see photo) and visited the one and only Spam Museum (see more photos - the one is of my little bro - in the provided Hormel costume - and my little sister - too cool to put on the costume - racing to see who can get a better time producing and packaging fake Spam) A top notch museum. (Take my word for it...I've been to many a random museum...I know what I'm talking about.) The following weekend AJ and I took a killer roadtrip down to Phoenix. It was terrific. We traveled a bit of Route 66, ate at "Earl's Diner - World Famous Since 1943," and picked up many many hitchhikers. Just kidding. About the diner part. Okay, seriously - about the hitchhikers. To my middleschool and highschoolgirls: NEVER EVER EVER PICK UP HITCHHIKERS. IT'S VERY DANGEROUS AND I WOULD NEVER EVER DO IT OR LEAD YOU TO BELIEVE THAT IT'S A GOOD IDEA. Alright. That said, we honestly didn't pick up any hitchhikers. One, because her car was literally packed to the gills with stuff and there would have been nowhere to put them but my lap, and two, because in New Mexico there are signs every 75 miles that say "High security prison nearby. Do not pick up hitchhikers." Stupid NM roadsign putter-uppers. They should know better than to do that to a person like me. Lucky for AJ, we didn't see a single hitchhiker to pick up after that. Anyhow, we had a grand old time. Well, until the part where I had to come home and leave AJ in Arizona. (Did I mention all my favorite people are moving to Phoenix?) She does, however, have a lovely classroom (see photo) with lovely clean chalkboards and a little reading nook, and her name on the door, so I'm delighted for her. And a teensy bit jealous, because I've always wanted a classroom, even though I don't really want to be a teacher. So, those are some more tales of my journeys. I think I'm home now, for the rest of the summer. Unless I leave again. ;)

I should have said I was sorry...

2006-07-12T12:50:00.000-06:00

Some things just "blow over." They say something, you say something, they're hurt, you're mad...or some variation on that theme. And sometimes it's best to just walk away for a little while. Let everyone cool down, take a breather, forget what it was all about in the first place. And it all blows over, like it never happened at all. But sometimes, it dosn't work this way...doesn't blow anywhere. It just hangs over your head, toxic and hiding the sun, tying knots in your stomach. And it doesn't matter who said what first or who hurt who, because if you don't do something about it, if you let it stay there long enough, it settles in and eventually the smog is too thick to see through, and the trees all die and you both get permanent lung damage, and your kid's kid's kids will all get cancer or be born with extra toes, because you thought it would all blow over and it never did.

2006-07-01T01:05:00.000-06:00

Dearest Em: Whoohoo! You are getting married tomorrow! (Surprise!) I must confess, I'm a little disappointed. This probably means that we will never be roommates in a tree house (I am certain Jesse would not allow it. Actually, he'd probably go for the tree, just not the extra girl hanging around the house all the time.) However, I can look past this issue, and I want you to know that you are very much loved (by me, by God, by your soon-to-be-husband, and "all the other people whose names won't fit here but were essential, influential and indispensable in multiple aspects of the creation of this album - you know who you are.") You are also very much prayed for and will be greatly missed. (Why are all my favorite people are moving to Pheonix?) Know that you can come visit me in my treehouse any time you want. We will eat vienna sausages and microwave cajun rice (or not) and drink coffee and cranapple juice and listen to Carbon Leaf and talk about our mutual love for...certain color schemes, shady ethnic restaraunts, and "the outdoorsy type." If the weather's nice we'll go for a drive and get "lost" in a canyon in Colorado and be late for church. Until then ~ Peace, love, and lucky second-hand finds. See you tomorrow. ~ Marci

Willful Insomniacs Anonymous

2006-06-23T02:47:00.000-06:00

It appears that I am back to my old ways. It is 2:44 am and all the resolve I had to be in bed early (i.e., before 1 am) has gone out the window. Correction: I still have the resolve, but since it is actually past that time now, it's worthless and irrelevant resolve. You know, like eating "The Frankenstein" (10 scoops of icecream, 5 toppings) at the Totem Inn (yes, I have done it) and talking about losing some weight, in between bites.

I have a touch of a cold and I was tired all day long, and I haven't had two normal, restful, 6-8 hours worth of sleep, back-to-back nights in over a month. So I had good intentions. But now I am wide awake and this is the healthiest I've felt in 3 days. So I feel like I should be doing something. Specifically, I feel the need to create. It's this strange craving I get every now and again...okay, about every 6 hours. The feeling that I need to be painting, or writing, or even just playing with some food. The sad thing about this is that to be a functioning person, to get the things done that I need to get done - like work...and...stuff - I usually have to supress that desire. Responsible people can't just sit around playing with their food all day long, right? (Okay, so a few lucky ones can, but these jobs are really hard to come by, and I'm still waiting to hear back on my last four interviews for the position of culinary architect.)

This constant suppression of creative energy results in a fear of starting a project when I do have the chance, because then I'm always afraid I won't have time to finish - something I am notorious for. However, while this may be the case, I suppose it's still better to have a hundred unfinished creative endeavors lying around our lives than to never even give them the chance to become something. That said, I'm going to go raid the fridge for art supplies.

2006-06-20T01:40:00.000-06:00

Behold the lovely Young Life Malibu Club at the mouth of the Princess Louisa Inlet in British Columbia. Behold especially the majesty of God's creation (i.e., the physical evidence of His love for you and I) I just spent an incredible week there, hanging out with 10 of the coolest highschool girls in the world. I also spend about 48 hours on a bus and 10 hours on two ferries. I'm exhausted and not quite fired up about going back to work tomorrow. But don't get me wrong. I'm not complaining at all. I am not oblivious to the fact that I'm one of the luckiest (read: blessed) people in the world. And I'm home for the rest of the summer. I promise. And, Steph and I buffered the "back-to-the-daily-grind" blow with some serious midnight thunderstorm puddle jumping. So I think I'll be okay.

2006-06-06T19:40:00.000-06:00

Ireland was perfect. They had to kidnap me to get me back on the plane to come home. This photo was taken from my hotel patio in Kilarney.

2006-05-17T10:59:00.000-06:00

Whoo hoo! That's right! It's about time. I worked dang hard for that pretty piece of paper that says "Diplomas for May graduates will be mailed the first week in June, pending final grades." So techinically speaking, I have yet to actually graduate. I guess if I miscounted my chickens before they hatched, I might be back in school in the fall. But I'm going to run off to Ireland today and not worry about it for two weeks! Whoohoo! You kids take care. Later.

2006-05-11T23:42:00.000-06:00

What's for lunch? I don't know. Haha. Gross.

Overheard.

2006-05-11T23:38:00.000-06:00

I needed to stay home tonight and organize stuff. You know, all that random stuff that piles up at home when you're busy. All those things that can wait until some unspecified time when you have a chance to get to them. Catalogs. Bank statements. Newletters. Court subpeonas. Invitations to tea with the queen. That kind of stuff. Anyway, I was going to stay home and take care of that stuff and balance my checkbook, and make a shopping list. But then I remembered that I needed to return a few DVD's I rented last weekend. So I took those down to Hollywood video, and decided that I should study for my last final. The act of studying at home is a real challenge for me, so I headed for Bully Blends Tea House. I got my coffee with one cream and one sugar, and my cranberry orange scone and planted myself and my textbook at the little tiny table by the front window. At a table nearby were three people, (a chinese guy, a funny mustache guy, and a girl in a blue shirt) hovering over something that apparently was pretty fascinating.

Now, I must have read Harriet the Spy one too many times when I was kid, because I'm a compulsive eavesdropper. Lucky for me, we were about the only ones in the place, and the three people were loud talkers. The chinese guy on the right was a coin collector. The other two people clearly didn't know anything about coins, which was just fine with the chinese guy. He was passionate about the subject, and he had an intruiged and captive audience of two. Plus the owner of the shop, and myself, though I tried to look like I was all wrapped up in my chapter on film theory. He talked and talked and I learned all about a coin with a picture of a horse on it, and how there was a production error and a small number of coins ended up with three-legged horses instead of four-legged horses. This lucky guy had a three-legged-horse-coin, which he claimed was worth "a whole lot of money", and he was pretty proud of it.

After a few more show-and-tell coins, the conversation switched gears and they were discussing having children versus not having children, and how old is too old to still not be married, and why the blue-shirt-girl's brother's wife's hairdresser's cousin's poodlegroomer's friend can't have kids because she waited too long, and how the mustache-man's fiance of 4 years just got deployed with the national gaurd. That's about the time I actually started reading my text book. But I was distracted again when the chinese guy reached into his bag and pulled something out.

"Have I ever shown you my sweetheart? She's my one true love. She's not perfect, but I love her, and I think she's beautiful."

I quit reading again. I was taken aback. This man was in love. And not afraid to talk about it. He went on.

"Most coin collectors would say, 'Look at those scratches', but I don't even care. I know, most men treasure women, or their cars...but not me. No, sir. She's the only one for me."

Wow. Such passion. Very strange and lovely.

What's for lunch? I don't know.

2006-04-27T11:23:00.000-06:00

I adore my job. Not because I have the rare privilege of assisting in the occasional transmetatarsal amputation, or even for the virtue-cultivating experience of daily suppressing the desire to go on loud rants about the evils of Medicare. I mean, those things are great and all. But mostly I love my job because I meet so many people that I would otherwise probably have no contact with. And if that were the case, I would really be missing out.

One of my favorites is a patient we'll call "Susan." I only see Susan once every 60 days, when Medicare will pay for her periodic diabetic foot check. She is mentally handicapped. A paraplegic. In her mid-thirties. Always accompianied by her case worker. And always happy to see me.

We have essentially the same conversation every 60 days.

"Susan! How are you today?"
"Very good. It's good to see you. How are you doing? What's your name?"
"It was still Marci, last time I checked. And I'm doing great."
"Oh hi Kathy! I will call you Kathy. Hi Kathy!"
"Wait! I thought you were Kathy!?!"
"No! I'm SUSAN! You are Kathy. Hi Kathy. How are you Kathy?"
"I'm just super!"
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? I don't know."
"Ummm. I'm going to have...donuts. What are you going to have?"
"Hot dogs. We're having hot dogs. What are you going to have?"
"Ummm....spinach enchiladas."
"What's for lunch? I don't know. What's for lunch? Do you like hot dogs?"
"Only at campfires and baseball games. Do you like hot dogs?"
"Yes. I LOVE hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy."
"Well, it's good to see you too!"
"Hot dogs are made out of carrots and peas."
"Really. Is that so? Where did you hear that?"
"Bible study. Hi Kathy. Hi Kathy."

Last week was even better.

Enter the doctor:

(Doctor) “Hi Susan!”
(Susan) “Hi Patty!”
(me) I thought I was Patty!”
(Susan) “I’m Patty. You’re Kathy. Hi Patty. Hi Kathy.”
(Doctor) “Hi Patty. How are your feet doing these days?”
(Susan)“Just fine. I got my nails painted. What’s for lunch? I don't know."
(me)"Hot dogs. I'm going to eat 10 of them."
(Susan)"Hot dogs? Yuck! I hate hot dogs. It's so good to see you Kathy.”
(me)"You too, Patty."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Anyway. I'm headed off to Chicago for the weekend to learn about foot deformities and shoe inserts and the like. I get to go the cadaver lab again this year. I'm pretty stoked about that. Nothing wierd about a bunch of severed feet laying out on tables in a fancy hotel ball room. Nope. Nothing weird at all. ;) Have a nice weekend.

I know it's spring...

2006-04-17T16:41:00.000-06:00

...because all the little allergens have come out to play! I hate taking medications, but thank goodness for antihistamines.

I also know it's spring, because I looked at my calendar (graduation in less than a month) and panicked. As per usual Marci correspondence study habits, I'm nowhere near being done with my classes. But it's sunny and 75 degrees out, so the world could be coming to an end, and I'd probably still be in a good mood. I'd write more, but I think it's a sin to be inside on a computer on a day like today, so I'm heading out to enjoy a little more sunshine before I have to go to my meeting. Adios.

2006-04-04T22:40:00.000-06:00

At the risk of sounding like something Hallmark would print on a coaster set, let me just say this: old friends are important. The kind you can see after not talking to them in 2 weeks, or 6 months, or even 4 years, and have a good conversation, and leave just feeling better about life in general, but not feeling like "keeping in touch" is going to be a burden. The kind where you can say, "I'll see you later." and not know when that's going to be, but just know that it will happen sometime, sooner or later, and you will pick up wherever you happened to leave off. I've gotten lucky enough, a few times in the last couple of weeks, to run into some of this type of friend, and have lunch, or coffee, and enjoy one another's company and conversation and brains and point of view and stories for a while, and then go our separate way, having been blessed. Of course you have to have the people that you keep up with and communicate with on a regular weekly or daily basis. People need intimate relationships. But it's also just nice to catch up with people who "knew you when..." and have had enough distance from you to notice you change and grow as a person. Anyway, I'm exhausted, so I'm going to head out. I'm still housesitting, and not staying at home these days, so I can't write at the ungodly hours of the night. And the horses are probably hungry. I'm out.

I love guac.

2006-03-26T21:36:00.000-07:00

I got back about 1:00 this morning from a very quick trip to Sioux Falls for the YoungLife Mission Community Weekend. It was great. I good time of training, fellowship, worship...very refreshing. But also a little stressful, because the trip was kind of the kickoff for the next 3 months of my life...which are going to be just nuts. Very exciting, but pretty much insane. From now until the beginning of July, I literally have something going on every weekend, including the Lammies (some of you know what that is...for the rest of you, I'll post some pictures after next weekend...it's pretty much the biggest thing to hit Rapid since...the Olive Garden...haha. And I get to plan it. It's a real good time) a choir concert, graduation, two weddings, and being out of town four times...a grand total of 31 days. So now I kick it into high gear...which, when it comes down to it, I really love. High gear is my comfort zone. Which brings me back to the YoungLife retreat. The theme of the weekend was "One True Thing." We talked about putting aside everything we chase after...absolutely everything...to seek the face of God. About really boiling it down to what matters, and what doesn't. About Mary and Martha, in Luke 10:40something. If you struggle with an addiction to a full schedule, like I do, that short little story is a real kick in the pants. Go read it. It was a good way for me to head into these next couple of months. And with that, I need to go, because I'm housesitting, and if I don't head out now, I'm going to have some really antsy dogs on my hands. I'm out. Take care.

Ireland. In May.

2006-03-20T21:35:00.000-07:00

In honor of the three-days past St. Patrick's Day, I have decided to plan a trip to Ireland in May. Seriously. I'm going to Ireland. In May.

Okay. You got me. I'm not just going because it's St. Patrick's Day. Also I want to celebrate the color green. And what better place to do that than Ireland in May?

What. You don't believe me? Geesh. How many legit reasons does a girl have to have to plan a trip to Ireland in May? Well, believe it or not, I'm going, and I'll show you some pictures when I get back. Promise.

I Don't Need Shoes: Thoughts on the Epidemic of Materialsim

2006-03-17T00:05:00.000-07:00

I don't need shoes. I don't need shoes, because I just ordered a pair of custom molded Birkenstock clogs (perhaps the best shoe ever created) from work, and hardly had to pay anything for them - one of the perks of working for a podiatrist. I don't need shoes, because I have at least 32 pairs in my closet - most of which I never wear. I don't need shoes.

I just want shoes.

And so, here I sit, at midnight. Online. Shoe shopping for shoes I don't need, and definitely don't need to be spending money on at this particular time in my life. So I'm not even really shopping to buy. I'm shopping to covet, which is worse. I just look at all the shoes I could be buying, and grow increasingly discontent with the 32 plus pairs of shoes I already have to choose from. It's ridiculous.

Our culture is partly to blame. We live in America in the 21st century. Everyone wants to make a buck, and the media is no moron. Marketing gurus have expertly tapped into brainwashability of our generation and spoon fed us the "can'tlivewithoutit" lie. Electronics, cars, clothes - you name it, we want it. On the other hand, humans (i.e. you and me) are mostly to blame. People are greedy, by nature. We just want stuff. We want to keep up with the Joneses...to have what they have, and then some. It's no new thing. I mean, heck - look at King Solomon. If you want to talk about someone who had alot of stuff...that guy had everything. So whether it's kingdoms or cows or shoes, people have always wanted to hoard stuff, and lots of it.

So, anyway, on the same website where I found the shoes I now think I just have to have, (but never would have know I had to have, had I not been shoe shopping tonight) I ran across a sticker. It reads "Protect me from what I want." Brilliant. I want to buy it, and put it on my wallet, to curb my frivilous spending habits...perhaps it would be a deterent to keep me from buying stuff I don't need. Interesting though, that they want $6.75, plus shipping and handling for the sticker.

I have a bad case of wanderlust...

2006-03-15T23:10:00.000-07:00

Now playing in theater #1 (i.e. the family room) "My Little Bro and His Two Best Friends Road-Trip to Cali Last Summer: The Complete Documentary." They went to Zion, Yosemite, Grand Canyon, Lake Meade, and Golden Gate Bridge National Parks. They were on the road for two weeks. My senior road trip consisted of Steph and AJ and I spending 5 days in a little cabin at Rafter J Bar campground in Hill City. We were on the road for...oh, about 25 minutes, each way.

Now, don't get me wrong. We had some good times on that "camping" trip. We biked the Mikelson Trail, fished in Sheridan Lake, fought alot about who had the better outdoor cooking skills, purchased my most prized material possession at a antique/junk shop (a 7 foot suit of armour - $200) and played cards with campground maintenance boys. But still - road trip? I commuted farther to school three days a week last semester.

"Why," you may ask, "the downscaled trip?" And here is the answer. Because AJ and Steph and I are girls. That's why, if I remember correctly. There was a bit of financial limit, as well, but I'm pretty sure that even if we had had extra money, our parents wouldn't have let us take off. Of course, they were just looking out for us. Which is probably good, since we had (read: I have) a tendency to think that I'm invincible. And when I have daughters, I probably won't let them head for California with their friends when they are 18 either. Nonetheless, I don't think I've entirely gotten over that whole situation yet. I still resent my parents for it...just a teeny tiny bit. Which is my explanation for why I wake up every morning and have to remind myself that I have responsibilites and commitments and bills to pay, and can't just run off on little jaunts here and there.

I really shouldn't be worrying about it right now, though. I'll be out and about plenty over the next couple of months. But as of this minute, I'm just itching to go somewhere. How about Disneyworld? Or New Mexico? Boston? Patience Marci, patience.

Silly me, I thought it might be Spring!

2006-03-12T21:56:00.000-07:00

Snow angels. Snow forts. Snow cones. Snow men. Snow day???? Could we be so lucky? Nah. It's only been snowing ALL DAY. I mean, heck, we've only got some 18 inches of heavy, slushy white stuff. Us South Dakotan's are hardy folk. It takes at least 36 inches to slow us down. Well, work or no work, it's gorgeous out there.

So anyway, last night, Nick and I went to the "Slow Roasted Songwriters 2006" show at the Dahl. Basically, it was a 3 1/2 hour conglomeration of the "best of" Dunn Bro's weekly open mic, with a fabulous jam session of sorts as the finale. One heck of a good time, if I do say so myself. My personal favorite was Amanda Conway, an incredibly talented young songwriter/guitarplayer/musician. She's fantastic...and has a cute new haircut, to boot. I swear, I'd think she was great even if I hadn't know her since she was 12. If you ever get a chance to hear her play, don't miss it. (Shameless plug...I know.)

I used to go to stuff like this all the time, back in the day. Back before I was trying to actually graduate from college. I had forgotten how much I missed live music, the local arts scene, and all the intruiging people that come with the package. I had forgetten how, when I was about 19, I wanted more than anything to be a crazy guitar playing chick. Funny how you can want something very badly, but you have to prioritize and other things you want a little more float to the top of the list. Huh. Well, that's my pensive thought for the evening. I'd have more, but I'm surrounded by people, and having a hard time writing and not watching the evening news. So with that, I'm out.

You unlearn something old every day.

2006-03-06T23:49:00.000-07:00

Hi. I'm back.

I apologize for my absence. I've been trying to figure out how life works for people who have routines, and I've pretty much determined that that's not something you can learn. Either you're a routine person, or you're not. I'm not. I'm not making that transition well this semester. As you may have noticed, I even tried giving up my 2 a.m. journaling habit, but it's been all in vain. I still can't get on a normal schedule.

I wish I could say that I've returned after all this time with some large amount of wisdom, but really all I've learned in the least few weeks is that I have even less figured out than I thought I did. Which wasn't much to begin with. This isn't a bad thing, necessarily. Not knowing anything. It's got it's perks. It teaches you to be humble. It teaches you to trust other people. Scary. It teaches you that God is sovereign, and He's under no obligation to let you in on his immeadiate plan if he doesn't want to. He can do whatever He wants, and He's still righteous and perfect.

Yep. That, kids, is all I've got.

Whoohoo!

2006-02-15T17:42:00.000-07:00

Beautiful, white, perfect, glorious SNOW! (It's about time...I was beginning to forget that I live in the midwest) It hasn't stopped coming down since last night. They closed the clinic at 3:30 and told us we'd most likely have the day off tomorrow. Ahhh. Simply beautiful. What more could you possible ask for? Okay, well maybe one thing: the peruvian beanie that I ordered from REI. It's not going to be here until next week, probably after the snow has all melted. Ah well, even that can't ruin my snow-evening. I'm going to go roll around in it for a while. Bye.

2006-02-11T20:00:00.000-07:00

Roadtrip!

2006-02-03T11:33:00.000-07:00

Em and I are headed down to Denver for the weekend to get her dress fitted, shop for bridesmaid dresses, eat at Sonic, and just generally run amuck (on a budget.) I'll talk to you kids in a few days. Don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone.

Coincidence? Or something else....

2006-02-01T23:15:00.000-07:00

I was in a bit of a funk last weekend. You know those days. Worrying about my future. School. A job. Finances. Going abroad. An apartment. More tuition debt. Decision making. Conflicting summer Younglife/job/camp/church commitments. Friends. Relationships. Friendlationships. Being envious. Insecure. Not trusting God at all. Not trusting anyone. Self pity. Self loathing. Self righteousness. Just plain negative all around, and not even kicking myself to quit being that way, but rather content in my self-centered wallowing.

Sunday morning, I rolled out of bed and stepped on an envelope. Saturday's mail that someone had tossed into my room. The envolope was hand-addressed. We all know that if it's hand-addressed it's not a bill or a credit card ap or the Sierra Club asking for money. If someone took the time to actually write out your name and address it's got to be something good, right?

So I open the envelope and inside is a half-sheet of paper with a hand-written note that says this:

"He is it. He is all there is. And you are His. He is worthy of your praise. Worthy of all honor and praise. And you know that. It's not about paying rent. Or grad school vs. Greece vs. Africa. Or even the man you may or may not marry. It's really just all about Him. And on the days you feel like it, and on the days you don't, lift your hands and voice and heart to Him. It's all you can do when you can't do anything else. Bless the name of the Lord. You have vowed yourself to Him. He has you forever, and there's nothing you can do about it. Nothing you can do. So let Him love you, and bless His name."

So I'm a little taken aback. And quite confused. I pick up the envelope again. How odd. It was my handwriting. The return address is the camp in North Dakota where I spent two weeks with teenagers last July. I had completely forgotten that we had written letters to ourselves one night at camp. We addressed them and sealed them and the camp director promised to mail them several months later. After we had forgotten all about them. When we least expected it. When we were needing some encouragement. Like on a Sunday morning in January, when we're in a bit of a funk.

Nothing in particular...

2006-01-25T22:47:00.000-07:00

Natalie just posted 100 interesting things about herself on her website. I read them all and thought, "Well now, that's a novel idea. I think I'll do the same." And then I realized that I'm feeling too lazy right now to do that, and instead I'm more in the mood to just write little comments about each of her 100 things. While it might spur lively webversation between her and I, it would probably prove to be rather boring for the rest of you, most of whom probably don't know Natalie.

So, in other news... I'm going attempt to make it to power-yoga again at 5:30 tomorrow morning. Don't be deceived. I know that the phrase "5:30am power yoga" evokes certain mental images of self-disciplined, pulled-together, trim and toned morning women with, what appears to be, a lack of ribs (how else do bend like that?). Such is not the case. Not my case, at least. That is the image I would like to live up to, but really, I'm just a wannabe. I barely drag myself out of bed at 4:50am one morning per week, and stumble into class, half-conscious. By the last 10 minutes of class, the cool-down period, when you lie in corpse pose and "clear your mind of worries and tension," I'm either struggling to stay awake, or just getting started prioritizing my worries and tensions for the day.

Last Thursday the instructor said, "Close your eyes, and go to wherever you want to be." So I took myself to Greece. I was sitting in the sunshine, among red potted geraniums on the roof-top patio of my whitewashed, blue-shuttered house stacked with hundreds of other matching houses on the side of a hill in a dense, car-free island village, looking out over blue seas. It was eutopic for about three and a half seconds. And then I thought, "Why am I here? How am I paying for this gorgeous little house? If I'm blowing all my money, just kicking it here on the Mediterranean, how am I going to pay for grad school? Am I going to go grad school? When? Should I be in school now? Shouldn't I at least be working? This is far too perfect to be responsible. Should I even be here? Did everyone at home think I shouldn't be here? Was this a bad idea? Should I have stayed in Rapid? Is my little sister mad that I bailed on my middle-school girls just when she became a middleschool girl? Who took my job at the clinic? Will I get my job back if I go home? Do I need it back? Do I miss home? What if something happens to my grandparents while I'm out of the country? What if something happens to anyone while I'm out of the country? "

So I came back to poweryoga at the gym in Rapid, because going to work was suddenly not seeming like a stressful activity at all. So, see? I'm not what you think of when you think of "5:30am poweryoga." Not at all. If I can do it, so can you. Except that I maybe can't do it tomorrow. It's almost midnight. I'm out. Night.

"Adventures in Academia"-Episode #326

2006-01-25T00:18:00.000-07:00

A little brain teaser for you problem solving types.

Facts:
#1) You are five credits short of receiving a bachelors degree from State University A
#2) You are currently registered for two classes at State University A
#3) You wish to drop both classes at State University A due to scheduling and commuting conflicts, and instead...
#4) You wish to enroll in two correspondence classes from State University B (referred to State University B distance education enrollment and application website)
#5) To drop all SU-A classes, you must officially un-enroll as a student at SU-A (referred to Dawn in the registrars office)
#6) You may not graduate from a university from which you have unenrolled (referred to Pam in enrollment office)
#7) You may not drop or add any SU-A classes because you have a block on your WebAdvisor (online registration, bill paying, etc.) because you did not pay your tuition for the two classes you do not intend to take but were not able to drop because you have not filled out an "un-enrollment application" for SU-A (referred to Candice in financial services office, who referred to Dawn in registars office who referred to Pam in enrollment office who referred back to Dawn in registrars office)
#8) To take classes from any other university but A your final semester, you must have written permission from the dean of the college of your major (referred to Holly in College of Arts and Sciences, who referred to Dawn in regisrars office)
#9) SU-B may not enroll you in any classes because of the WebAdvisor block (referred to "Student Help Line" at SU-B, referred to Pam in enrollment)
#10) Apparently Pam, Candice, Dawn, Holly and SU-B are forbidden to communicate directly
#11) The official drop/add day is Thursday. You have less than 48 hours to solve this problem.

Your education hangs in the balance. If you succeed, you walk in May and receive your college diploma. If you fail, you go to jail (i.e., another "extra" semester at Black Hills State.) Do not pass go, do not collect $200. Best of luck to all of you.

Two beautiful things:

2006-01-22T22:11:00.000-07:00

#1) Last Sunday I went for a walk in the woods on this mountain bike trail that takes you kind of south of the monastary and branches off in about 8 different directions. I was meandering along and stumbled upon a lone Christmas tree - all decked out in tinsel and garland and handmade ornaments. A little worse for wear, but still hanging in there in the middle of January, in the middle of the woods.

#2) Yesterday I was second-hand shopping with Emily. We were scrounging for costume jewelry and whatever else struck our fancy at the Cornerstone Thrift Store. The place has little funding and just moved in some shelving units donated from another store that closed recently. All the shoes are now nicely paired up on shelves that are labeled "Non Fiction," "Romance," and "Novels."

I guess you could say I'm easily amused. Perhaps that means I'm simple minded. Regardless, I think I've got an advantage over people who don't care.

I regret to inform you...I am a closet pacifist.

2006-01-11T00:20:00.000-07:00

I'm not typically a combative person. I don't like conflict, especially with people I love, and I've discovered that one of the best ways to avoid conflict is to keep your mouth shut when you disagree with people. This not always right, easy, healthy, or honest, but it keeps people happy. So if peaceful, relatively shallow relationships are what you're going for, it gets the job done. Unfortunately, despite my natural inclinations, I strongly desire to be honest and sincere and do the right thing - which can often lead to tumultous, though much deeper, relationships.

I have a professor who makes this statement: "Relationships create roles. Roles create responsibilities." (I tried to disprove this theory for quite a while, and hurt my mom very much in the process. I've since realized he's right. Unless we are hermits, we inherantly have inescapable relational responsibilities.) These responsibilities sometimes require us to openly counter the opinions or actions of the people we care about the most - (sometimes responsibility just sucks) not because they are just stupid, or because we are always right, but because sometimes we can just see things from a different perspective, or are the only ones who will buck up and tell them the truth.

Solomon said in Proverbs that wounds from a friend are better than kisses from an enemy. So. that's my self-motivating essay for the week. I figured that if I published it somewhere, I would feel more obligated to act accordingly.

That's all. Thanks.

I won't lie to you...

2006-01-09T00:52:00.000-07:00

it's been a tough weekend. A tough week. Even in the grand scheme of Marci things -my whole life - it's been one of the tougher ones. But through it, I have seen God's faithfulness, up close and personal. Just the way he sees our individual needs, in the moment, and meets them - meets us where we are...even if that's in the middle of the dark, or a bunch of crap, or our own self-loathing, it just blows my mind, every time. So anyway...what I started out today say was this: that if someone held a gun to my head and forced me to choose a theme song for my life...just one, I'd think I'd pick this one:

Blessed Be Your Name, by Matt Redman

Blessed Be Your Name
In the land that is plentiful
Where your streams of abundance flow
Blessed be your name

Blessed Be Your name
When I'm found in the desert place
Though I walk through the wilderness
Blessed Be Your name

Every blessing you pour out
I'll turn back to praise
When the darkness closes in
Still I will say

Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your name
Blessed be the name of the Lord
Blessed be Your glorious name

Blessed be Your name
When the sun's shining down on me
When the world's 'all as it should be'
Blessed be Your name

Blessed be Your name
On the road marked with suffering
Though there's pain in the offering
Blessed be Your

You give and take away
You give and take away
My heart will choose to say
Lord Blessed be your name

"The Night the Road Won" (or, "Marci's Jeep Fantasies Crushed")

2006-01-04T00:35:00.000-07:00

I come to you this evening, humbled. A woman whose pride has been wounded. I have been known, at times, to boast of my night-time four-wheeling escapades. And I boast, because in this game, that I like to refer to as "Geo/Aveo vs. long-neglected Black Hills National Forest Logging Road," (or "500 lb., cheaply-made city vehicle with ridiculously small tires vs. 'is that really even a road? ' ") I always win. But tonight folks, tonight...the tables were turned. Tonight was the night the road won. We tried. We kept trucking along, valiantly, despite some very large rocks, very deep ruts (puddles deceptively covered with a thin layer of ice) and Andrea nearly hyperventilating because of my mad tree dodging skills. Two and a half hours, 42 miles, and 3 different attempted routes. Three impassible routes. One completely dead-ended, with tree's so thick only a skinny hiker could have gotten through. Another had some random, very hostile looking, tire-slasher contraption embedded in the dirt from tree to tree, across the trail (and yet, completely unmarked as private property or anything of the sort,) and the third ended at a small drop off with a 6 foot boulder at the bottom. No matter how determined I was, there was no way I could force the little Aveo could go any further. I accepted defeat, hung my head and (*sigh*) turned back. Not much to show for the night except a decent sized battle wound paint scratch on the drivers-side door, and probably a "slightly scuffed" under-carriage. Tomorrow, I intend on obtaining a map of Forest Service four-wheeling trails and old logging roads, so that I can see where I was and why exactly the stupid psuedo-roads didn't go anywhere. Seriously, roads that go nowhere? That's like very mean practical joke.

Well, we arrived back home safely. I don't want to sound like too sore of a loser, so I will add that it was a splendid adventure. Or at least I thought so. Andrea's a real trooper, but I think the evening took years off of her life. Kudos to her for tolerating my hair-brained schemes. With that, I'm out. Night.

The party's over.

2006-01-03T00:27:00.000-07:00

Back to the daily grind. I love my job, but having time off makes me realize just how much fun NOT working can be. Ah well. Eating is great too, so as long as I feel that way about it, I'll keep working. It will also be good to have less time to spend money - an activity I've grown quite accustomed to in the last couple weeks. Well, I of course have plenty of amusing, clever, wise things to say tonight, but I must get a long to bed, so you'll all have to wait until a different time. Au revoir.

2005-12-28T01:42:00.000-07:00

I'm exhausted. I've crammed as much Christmas-break, catch-'em-before-they're-gone, power-socializing in as possible. So many good friends came home and I desperately want to see them all before they go back to their respective schools, jobs, countries, etc. I have not succeeded entirely. There just wasn't enough time, and I leave tomorrow morning to go to Avon to visit my grandparents and 166 cousins, so there were a few people that I missed. Ah. Such is life.

It's been a good couple of days though. Yesterday AJ, Steph and I climbed Harney Peak. It was just magnificent. The weather was chilly and perfect and cloudless. It had been far too long since I'd been in the hills, and even longer since I'd hiked, (as I am reminded by my sore calves today,) so I was a very very happy girl to be out in the woods again. Following that I went to see King Kong with Nick and his family. Great movie. Monkies are just soooo cute! (Kidding! I'm kidding!!!!) I'd give it three thumbs up, if I had three thumbs. Thank goodness I don't, because that wouldn't be very attractive. Today I was supposed to have breakfast with a friend (whose name will go unmentioned, to protect the oversleepers.) She was unable to attend, so I unded up having coffee and bagels with Walt Whitman. Always a delight. Melissa and I had lunch at the Mediterranean restaraunt, (Mmmmm. Falafels.) and Nick and I had dinner at La Costa, so I've been eating multi-culturally. It's cheaper than a world tour.

Well, like I said, I'll be back on my grandparent's farm for a few days - eating, sleeping, eating, reading, eating, bungee jumping, eating, crocodile hunting, eating, gold mining, eating....

Until then, take care and stay out of trouble.

2005-12-27T02:35:00.000-07:00

Our glorious tree, before we removed it from it's natural habitat.

...and to all, a good night.

2005-12-26T01:15:00.000-07:00

You know life is good when your biggest dilemma is no milk for your Cap'n Crunch. No worries. I've got egg nog. Merry Christmas.

156 hours later...

2005-12-16T02:23:00.000-07:00

A week ago I said I was starting that 20 page term paper and not quitting until I was finished. Well, now it's 2:24am, Friday of finals week, and I'm still not finished. I have to admit that I did take a few breaks, to sleep, and work, and drink some coffee, and sing, and hang out with Nick (just a few). But other than that, I've been working hard on school stuff for a week straight. Thank God, it will all be over, for better or worse, in just over 12 hours. I'll sleep then. Anyway, this entry brought to you by the NCSCSPAFPWTPW (National Counsel for the Sanity of College Seniors Pulling All-nighters to Finish Papers Which They Procrastinated Writing). Commercial break over. I'm back to work.

A little bit bittersweet.

2005-12-11T23:17:00.000-07:00

Besides a short recording session this Tuesday afternoon, I am done with concert choir and MC for this semester. This is a relief, because in just the last week alone, I've put an estimated 27 hours into it. My voice is just shot. But it's also a little sad, because I'm one of those dumb sentimental people that cares that this is my last concert in the cathedral. While this probably means nothing to most of the people reading this, a few of you have had the opportunity of singing in a candlelight service in that huge, green marble nave, so you might know why I get a little choked up. It really is a very cool experience. There's no good way to try and describe it. Just one of those things you have to be there for. Don't worry. The choir will be there next year, and the year after that, and that year after that, so those of you that have never gotten in on the fun, fear not...you'll get another chance. Just put it on your list of things to do you before you die: candlelight Christmas carol service at the cathedral. Believe it or not, I'm still not done with all my semester projects. So I'm going to go to sleep now, and get up early and work on them. Or so the story goes. Night.

P.S. Natalie...this is Idaho Jon. Jon, this is Nat, whom I've spoken of before. There. Now you can be friends. :)

Let the good times roll!

2005-12-08T11:37:00.000-07:00

Four pages on housing development policy. 20 pages on Canadian Judicial system. I'm starting now, and besides going to class here and driving back to Rapid and going to class there, I'm not stopping until I'm done. Anyone else who wants to participate in this paper-writing marathon shin-dig is welcome to contact me, and we can move the party to Perkins for the whole night. Bye.

RE: Today's Blizzard

2005-12-05T16:53:00.000-07:00

I would like to offer a formal apology to anyone endangered, inconvenienced, or otherwise negatively affected by the angry snowstorm that blew through the area today, causing a large number of cancellations, closings, etc. (that would include nearly everyone in the state of South Dakota, and eastern Wyoming)

It was all my fault.

I confess that I did, in fact, at approximately 2 am this morning, petition God - in his great mercy - to use whatever means he felt necessary to delay my Program Planning & Eval semester presentation until next Monday, when I can be more prepared. I may have mentioned hazardous weather conditions in that prayer.

Bless His name. Classes this evening were cancelled. :) Once again, sorry about all that snow.

It's the most wonderful time of the year!

2005-12-05T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's the time of year when people sing carols and wrap gifts and decorate trees and are generally full of cheer. It's the time of year when I find myself just sitting down at the computer at midnight to work on various projects (that are due tomorrow) and eat microwaved "Michelina's Budget Gourmet Premium Cheese Manicotti with Marinara Sauce" (I've determined that by premium, they mean it has an extra 6 grams 0f saturated fat.) So kids, that what I'll be doing for a good three hours. Wish me luck.

So then SHE said...

2005-12-04T01:54:00.000-07:00

I've decided to create the equivalent of a quote wall on my web page. Find it at http://www.tobethere.blogspot.com Contributions welcome from people I know and love. (That's pretty much all of you, I think.)

Live, from Dunn Bro's Coffee

2005-12-03T15:25:00.000-07:00

Currently coveting my brothers laptop with wireless capabilities. It opens up a whole new world of coffee-shop-junkyism that didn't exist for me before. Unfortunately, I promised to return it to him tonight. I just spent the last two hours working on my Program Planning and Evaluation semester project. I have to present it on Monday night, and I'm not even close to being ready. I have a huge, expensive, idealistic NPO that I've created and have no idea how to pay for it. And the world of government grants is a scary, confusing one that I don't know how to navigate. This is my future! Whoohoo! Actually, I have no desire to be in a management position for a program like the one I'm creating. I'd rather be the "little guy" at the bottom of the ladder, and not deal with all this stuff. I'd rather deal first-hand with the drug addiction and behavioral problems than through the red-tape and bureaucracy and paperwork from a big desk. Anyway, I'm off to decorate a Christmas tree now. Much more enjoyable than NPO research. Joy.

What little I know...

2005-11-29T14:42:00.000-07:00

I just spent two and a half hours writing an opinion paper on my proposals for welfare reform. This of course, is a useless paper because, as anyone who has ever studied social welfare for more than 10 minutes knows, barring a miracle, effective social welfare reform will never happen. Ever. What it boils down to is there are lots of poor people (for various reasons, various places of blame) and just not enough money. Nevermind that Americans spent a collective $8 billion + at retail stores on the day after Thanksgiving. So I take the money comment back. There is actually plenty of money. It's just a matter of what we do with it. The New Testament church had the right idea. They shared everything. People with more gave to the people with less and nobody lacked. Don't confuse this with socialism. In a socialist society, the government takes and distributes the money. In this NT community, the goverment didn't have to take, because people gave of their resources freely. If our entire country followed suit, we could have a utopic society, economically speaking. But is not going to happen, because we are selfish. I am selfish. I spend about $50 a month on coffee; enough to heat an elderly person's house for all of December. No matter how passionately I argue, the fact of the matter is that I don't require coffee for survival. Heat, on the other hand, is fairly important. And there are plenty of people who can't afford any this time of year. Anyhow, I have to get to class. The moral of this story is not to make you feel guilty about spending money on things you don't need (but if you do, that's your own issue, with your own conscience...haha) but just to say that when I'm a sociology professor, I won't force my students to write about "solutions" that they know aren't going to work anyway. I'll let them write about the depressiveness of hopeless situations, if they want. Haha.

Why psychologists are crazy people...

2005-11-27T23:40:00.000-07:00

The more you learn about explaining behavior in other people, the more you use your self as your own personal case study, the more you can view your own neurosis objectively, the more you can know what you should do to fix or even just improve the situation, the more chances you have NOT to do what you know you should do, the more self-conflicted you become, the more crazy you get...it's a vicious cycle.

Right on schedule with the procrastination...

2005-11-22T01:47:00.000-07:00

This semester is really catching up to me. Not that I didn't expect it to, it's always just a matter of "how close am I going to cut it this time?" Pretty close apparently. I just realized tonight that I haven't written a single paper yet this semester. I've taken a few tests, given one presentation, but not handed in a single paper. That's about to change. I think I have 8 due before finals week, which is quickly approaching. Awww...I'll make it. I always do...

2005-11-19T01:38:00.000-07:00

Well, would you look at that. I'm feeling like a genious for figuring out this whole picture posting deal. Yes, I know my 12 year old sister could do it. Quit bursting my bubbles. By the way...from left to right: Myself, my narcoleptic little bro, Jamin, my mom, my other little brother, Aaron, my little sis, Sarah Jill, my big brother Jared, and his beautiful bride, Jess.

The "Marci Chronicles" get a makeover...

2005-11-19T00:46:00.000-07:00

It's not that I didn't love my old, sloppy, HTML journal. It's not that it didn't have it's merits, it's own kind of beauty. It's just that...well, people change. People grow. People move on. People want colored text and links (http://www.randomshirts.com) and pictures (okay. still working on that.) And you know, "we can still be friends." I'll still keep all my old entries in the archive in that same, old, trusty format that you faithful readers of 5 years have come to know and love. (Those of you who are newbies will find my homepage and those archives at http://www.geocities.com/marciebens) Oh, don't cry. You'll get used to this shiny new blog. What's that? Okay. Fine. I won't call it a blog. I know, I know...far too trendy. But I do think that you'll learn to like this one just as well. I promise.
~Marci