In which I compare Michiana to Narnia.

My evil twin sent me a text yesterday from the corner of 6 & 31. He had no idea where he was when he referenced that seemingly random landmark, but every fiber of my being screamed home!

He's on a work trip, driving past frozen cornfields on his way to meet with Midwestern strangers (as if there is such a thing). He's bored and cold. 

But yesterday, he woke up in the city where my little brother sleeps and drove down roads I know by heart to have a meeting at a college where one of my oldest friends is finishing up her teaching degree. He stopped at an intersection less than ten miles from a hug from my mother, where she was getting her sister's house ready for a visit from area realtors and needed help moving furniture. He has no idea that Pops, hunched over his desk trying to restore electricity to Marshall County folks who lost power during the weekend's winter storms, might have looked out the window of his office to see his rental car speeding past. In between text messages, he was half a mile and one right turn away from the church where I was baptized and the backyard where my best friend and I used to spend summer nights curled up in her parents' hammock dreaming big dreams and searching for shooting stars. If he happened to glance over his right shoulder at just the right time, he would have noticed the restaurant where I burned my fingertips away delivering eggs to hungry truck drivers and learned the value of an honest tip.

He didn't know that his GPS unit was taking him down the least efficient route to the town where I fell in love for the first time, where my parents fell in love for the last time, and where I've prayed my most sincere prayers, cried my most heartfelt tears, and laughed the way only a teenager can. He didn't even drive past the Walkway of Lights, which will forever remind me of my aunt Lynette and her famously bulky camera.

There is a magical, complicated world of memories hidden beneath those 6-8 inches of lake effect snow, but all he can see are the mile markers between meetings. As I was being off-loaded from my Metro car this morning due to a suspicious package at the Pentagon (seriously people, can you not keep track of your Christmas presents?), this thought made me so homesick I almost teared up. I wished that I could transfer all of my memories to my evil twin so that he could truly appreciate the beauty of where he was, but, unfortunately, that's not how it works.

This specific phenomena is what C.S. Lewis captures so beautifully in his Chronicles of Narnia. Behind the most ordinary objects - a wardrobe in a spare room, an old painting in a weathered frame - Lewis creates a new, mysterious world for his young heroes to explore which enhances (rather than enabling their escape from) their everyday lives.

In fact, this is the world view with which Lewis approaches all of his work. He sees windows to eternity everywhere, especially in his fellow Christians. Behind every pair of eyes is a soul endowed with an eternal purpose, and every waking moment is heavy with the Weight of Glory:

It is in the light of these overwhelming possibilities, it is with the awe and circumspection proper to them, that we should conduct all our dealings with one another, all friendships, all loves, all play, all politics. There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal. Nations, cultures, arts, civilisations--these are mortal, and their life is to ours as the life of a gnat. But it is immortals whom we joke with, work with, marry, snub, and exploit--mortal horrors or everlasting splendours. This does not mean that we are to be perpetually solemn. We must play. But our merriment must be of that kind (and it is, in fact, the merriest kind) which exists between people who have, from the outset, taken each other seriously--no flippancy, no superiority, no presumption. And our charity must be a real and costly love, with deep feeling for the sins in spite of which we love the sinner--no mere tolerance, or indulgence which parodies love as flippancy parodies merriment. Next to the Blessed Sacrament itself, your neighbour is the holiest object presented to your senses. If he is your Christian neighbour, he is holy in almost the same way, for in him also Christ vere latitat--the glorifier and the glorified, Glory Himself, is truly hidden.

This is what my memories do for northern Indiana back roads. This is what Narnia does for the Pevensie children. This is what the weight of glory does for your neighbor.

This is what, on that very first Christmas, Jesus did for mankind.

More Sleep Please.

Today, I'm exhausted. I woke up extra early today for a doctors appointment and now I'm exhausted. I didn't even have coffee until 9:30am. Good thing I didn't try to make coffee this morning because apparently we ran out this weekend. Disaster.

Lately, I've been dreaming about work. This is probably very unhealthy. I do this from time to time and most recently, on Sunday and Wednesday evenings. My dream consisted of my endless list of work assignments. I was dreaming about how I was going to get everything done today. I dreamed up a very nice to do list. This list was organized and well thought out. I was very excited about my to do list...it wasn't messy, it was color coded and typed. Then, my alarm went off around 6:00am. I woke up and realized about 30 seconds into my waking up process, that my list didn't exist. Disappointment at 6am. So..I got ready for the day and tried to forget about the list.

Have I tried to recreate it? No. I gave up because now I'm exhausted.

I've been doing this for a while, dreaming about my work and strategizing how I'm going to accomplish everything. When I was working on Capitol Hill, at one point I handled the housing meltdown. I saw the entire issue crash right before my eyes. It was during those nights I would dream about being behind in my mortgage payments and facing possible foreclosure. Oh wait. That's right. I don't have a mortgage. Why am I freaking out about this in my sleep?

As always, I guess my subconscious is trying to maintain control of my life events and I've got to let God handle. It's even a battle in my sleep.

Well, I hope you got some good sleep today. Guess who's going to bed at around 9:30pm? I can't wait.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Why not just send a bouquet of tulips?

Deck the halls.

On Sunday, S & I had the perfect December morning. We started off with cinnamon pancakes, turned on some Christmas music, pulled out the decorations, lit some candles, baked some molasses cookies . . . Watching the white lights twinkle on our tiny tree, I really started to get into the Christmas spirit. It's all about setting the right atmosphere, you know?

And then this happened:

S (screaming at Dave Barnes via my iPod): LIAR!
Me: What's wrong?
S: "He bought a ring?" "Home and kids someday?" I don't believe him.
Me: S, the song is about Mary and Joseph. Like, the Mary and Joseph.
S: Oh. Well, I don't care. I still don't believe him. "Love right from the start?"
Me: Love does exist, you know . . .

Because it's Christmas, I'm willing to admit that perhaps I've been a little too harsh on guys lately. Do I still think that they ought to pay for coffee on the first date? Yes. But it wouldn't hurt me to extend a little bit of the grace that I myself hope to receive. My tone lately has been a little bitter. If, instead, I put the same effort into creating a hopeful atmosphere that I put into my Christmas decorations, maybe our hearts would stay a little warmer this season.

It's always wrong until it's right. And it will eventually be right. In the meantime, enjoy:

Mary was the first of three
Long black hair and sugar sweet
Daddy's eyes and Momma's crooked smile
She was barely seventeen
Got a job keepin dishes clean
Planned to stay in this city for a while
For a while

Joseph ran a lumber yard
About a mile from Olive Park
Quiet boy, he never had much to say
It was love right from the start
He bought a ring and won Mary's heart
Had hopes for a home and kids someday
Kids someday

The angel scared her half to death
She would've screamed but she lost her breath
On a midnight there in the middle of May
He said "Oh mary don't be afraid
You'll bear a son that the Lord has made

Name him Jesus, He'll light the way."

She packed the clothes, he made the plans
They had to go to Bethlehem
But there was nowhere left to stay
So in a barn she gave birth
To the King of Kings the Lord of Earth
Just a little bitty thing sleeping on the hay
Sleeping on the hay

The story's too long to tell
But he walked on water and lived through hell
Killed on a cross and rose from the grave
We got a King they got a son
Mary and Joseph were the only ones
There on that very first Christmas day
There on that very first Christmas day

RE: The Break-Up Starbucks Saga

Dear S,

Since you asked for thoughts about the recap of your most recent date, here are mine:

You ordered a decaf tall black coffee, which costs about $1.50 before tax. He didn't even pretend to offer to pay for it. Walk away. Don't look back.

At lunch today, my Evil Twin tried to argue that most men have had some kind of shared experience whereby they've been rejected because they put in too much effort up front. They showed too much enthusiasm early on (perhaps by suggesting a really nice dinner or by bringing flowers), and this turned the girl off. So, by aiming for coffee and letting you pick up your half of the tab, it doesn't necessarily mean they're uninterested. They're just trying to ease you into it. These men are strategically investing a little bit of seed money, hoping that it will pay dividends with a real relationship down the road.

The problem with his defense? I've never in all of my twenty-something years met a woman like that.

Here's my take:

The difference between buying someone dinner and meeting up for coffee is the difference between investing a  little bit of seed money and playing the slots.

I understand that every time you signal interest, there's some level of risk involved. Rejection works both ways. I could turn you down, or you may realize midway through dinner that I'm not as charming as you thought. But if you are genuinely interested in me and signal that, either directly (by flat out saying it) or symbolically (by putting in a little bit of effort to plan and execute an actual date), I can promise to reciprocate your honesty.

If you kinda-sorta figure that maybe we could sit close together in a public place for a while until we get bored, don't be surprised when nothing happens. If romance blossoms, that's called getting lucky.

When I went on all of those terrible .com dates last spring, my older brother told me that if a guy didn't pay for my coffee, I should just get up and walk out because he wasn't worth my time. I thought that sounded a little harsh, but in retrospect . . . he was right. I wasted quite a few hours listening to uninteresting men who were not all that interested in me talk about nothing, and then had to invest even more time retrospectively analyzing what went wrong. Why did he not think I was attractive enough to put down $1.50? Should I have worn heels? Or am I just not pretty? Am I not funny? Not flirtatious enough? Not smart? Too smart? Do I seem unkind? On at least one occasion, I had to pick up the entire tab! [side note: How do you know you're on a date with a Democrat? When he suggests you meet up for coffee and offers to pay, but then doesn't have enough cash to cover yours . . . or his own.]


Those dates didn't really have anything to do with me at all. They were arranged by men who had incredibly low expectations and who weren't willing to do more than pull the slot.

You and I are both perfectly capable of paying for our own coffee. But if we do so, I suggest that we get it to go and drink it in the company of people we enjoy.

xoxo,

EDB

Update: The Break-Up Starbucks

Well...

We met at The Break-Up Starbucks. I was reading some work materials when he showed up. I was kind of nervous. I think I talked a lot. You know, the I can't stop talking because I'm nervous and not really sure how to read you and don't really care for awkward silence. So...It was 7:30pm and we left The Break-Up Starbucks at 9:45pm. Thoughts?

Topics of Conversation:
What do you do for fun?
Where are you from?
Where did you go to school?
What do you do at your job? Follow-up: What does that mean?
What is your shoe size? Just kidding!
Do you have any siblings?
Where were you before DC?
Etc.........................................

Gosh, I hope the people sitting next to us couldn't figure out we were on a first-kind-of-sort-of-not-paying-for-my-coffee-date. They probably heard everything.

It wasn't difficult to chat with him. He does laugh a lot. I couldn't figure out why he was laughing so much. Um...yeah. BUT...he didn't buy me my coffee. Whoa. That's big time. Thoughts? Shouldn't 30 year old men know this by now? My Mom has always said, "all men know what to do." True? And, he doesn't drink coffee. But, he invited me to coffee? He ordered a lemonade.

Okay.

We ran into some friends before we exited the building. Talked a little while longer. Then we walked to his car which happened to be parked along my route home. He gave me a ride home. So, I wasn't sure if he was all that interested and I can't stand that awkward last 5 minutes of a date. As I was battling to get my large purse and backpack (I have my heavy laptop in it) out of the car, and I was in a dress, he asks if it would be okay to call me when he returns from his mission trip. My response:

"Yeah, that would be fun!"

Really, Sarith? Fun? So he's supposed to call when he returns to the United States of America. We'll see...

Will this be another The Break-Up Starbucks candidate or will he survive? To be continued.

The End.

We're Going to Need Some "& Guests"

The future Mrs. Johnston with her fiancé, Sky

WASHINGTON - Hearts broke in multiple hemispheres last week when Sky Johnston, Southern Baptist Theological Seminary '12, dropped down on one knee and asked southern belle Virginia Keen Wing, SBTS '10, to be his bride. Though she was momentarily too surprised to make any audible sound, Wing recovered with an enthusiastic "Yes!"

"I liked it, so I put a ring on it," said Johnston.

Wing is a 5th grade instructor at the Ambrose School in Boise, Idaho, and is known to be extremely excitable during the Christmas season. She enjoys the holiday so much that she has been rumored to play Christmas music for her students in the classroom as early as September. With an early present sparkling on her left hand and a promise in her heart, Wing will have more than jingle bells to celebrate this year. Break out the mistletoe, kids, it's going to be a party!

"I didn't believe that any men like him existed . . . but here he is!" gushed Wing.

Sources close to the bride-to-be knew that Johnston had distinguished himself from Wing's former suitors when they began receiving text messages over the summer likening the pair's budding relationship to mountain biking downhill at top speed without brakes. Though there's always a significant element of mystery and providence involved in matters of the heart, it was clear early on that the life Johnston was inviting Wing to join was an adventure she wouldn't be able to resist.

the evidence

At least two female friends of the bride will need male companions to serve as "& guests" at the June ceremony in Louisville. To apply, please leave a note with your contact information in the comment section. Prospective suitors will be required to submit pictures of themselves in a tie and suit jacket and must provide a list of references.

The Break-Up Starbucks

At Pentagon Row, next to the Lebanese Taverna (one of my favorite places to eat at) and near Bally's gym, there is a Starbucks. It's not very special or too different from most Starbucks. It has the pastry counter, the detailed coffee menu and a reasonable seating area. Nothing special.

This Starbucks has served as the location for many of my ridiculously bad break-ups. Yes, it was there that I had a few DTRs (determine the relationship) conversations that really went bad...really fast. And the thing is, they all happened at different areas of the coffee shop. Break-ups include:

The Blonde: We stopped by this Starbucks after church. Yes, the genius thought it would be a great idea to break-up after church. What I thought was a nice little coffee break turned out to be a confusing and heartless experience. After I suggested we break-up the week before, this guy suggested we "take-a-break" from our relationship at this Starbucks. I said, "we need to just break it off." Awesome. The End.

The Architect: We met here for some random reason. I guess it was a coffee date? P.S. I'm not all into coffee dates. Emily and I have concluded that they tell us, "I'm not sure you are worth dinner just yet" and "I'm not that into you just yet." So, this guy and I hung out for a while. It didn't go very far. The End.

The E-Harmony Failure: This guy came to visit me from Las Vegas. Yes, digest that...Las Vegas. After getting to know him and spending time with him over the Memorial Day weekend, we walked over to this Starbucks the Monday he was scheduled to return to Vegas. Our conversation went something like this...he thinks I'm reserved, not really sure about me, if he lived in town he would want to continue seeing me and he doesn't know where he is going to be 6 months from now (that's like today). Um...then why did you message me in the first place? Weirdo. The End.

So...the reason I highlight the Starbucks. On Wednesday evening I have another date at this Starbucks. This is another Harmonizing date. I actually met this guy by accident at a party a few weeks ago. God has a very large sense of humor. I was very sassy that night and kind of sassed him and yeah, he still wants to meet for coffee. Well since I don't have a car, he asked me if it would be convenient for us to meet close to where I live. And...this points me to the Break-Up Starbucks. Yes, we are meeting there. I guess if it survives the Starbucks test it's a good sign?

I'll keep you posted.

Thanksgiving by proxy.

Thanksgiving is right around the corner!

I'm a very blessed woman with much to be grateful for. It would be easy for me to sit here and recount my blessings for you. Instead, though, I want to talk about something a bit more complicated: how to be grateful for the blessings of others.

Perhaps it’s just me . . . But do you ever notice how right behind almost every “congratulations!” that slips past your lips, regardless of how heartfelt and sincere it might be, there’s a subtle (or not-so-subtle) “but why not me?” that jumps out of your heart and gets stuck in your throat?

For example: 

It's Monday morning, and your friend is enjoying a peppermint mocha. Out loud, you say, "Wow, that smells wonderful." Internally, you think, "I just realized how tired I am. Really wish that I had one of those . . ."

Or how about something a little deeper?: 

Your friend gets a much-deserved promotion at work. You say (and mean), “That’s fantastic! Good for you. I’m so glad you’re being rewarded for all of the extra hours you’ve been putting in, and I know you’ll excel at managing your new responsibilities.” You don’t say, “Wow, that reminds me that I didn’t get promoted, because my work isn’t valued as highly as his is.”

There’s a lot of envy going on there. Where is it coming from?

If we habitually compare ourselves to others, then we automatically use other people’s good news as a measuring stick by which to take stock of our own. Essentially, it’s pride. It means that I’m inserting myself into someone else’s story. Rather than just acknowledging that you have [x] and then moving on, my selfish heart says, “You have [x]. Do I have [x]? If not, why?”

We have to remember that when something good happens for someone else, that doesn’t mean that there’s less good to go around, as if God is operating with some kind of limited supply. Instead, it’s proof that God’s redemptive plan is alive and well, and that He is actively pursuing it.

A grateful heart humbly takes itself out of the equation and (as the subtitle says) participates in the blessings wherever they are found.

At my brother and sister-in-law’s wedding, the priest said, “Marriage is proof that God’s love for each of us is intensely personal. He takes two people with separate backgrounds, separate histories, separate personalities, and then joins their hearts together as one.” That’s a beautiful thought. But it took my Protestant memory a few beats to realize that, as a Catholic priest, he wasn’t speaking out of his own tangible experience. A large part of his life is spent counseling young couples on their way to the altar and officiating their wedding ceremonies, baptizing their children, and supporting their spiritual formation. If he wasn’t able to celebrate with them and count their blessings as his own, it would be impossible to sincerely and joyfully keep his vows.

On that same theme, I had the distinct privilege of hosting a bridal shower this weekend for one of my very dearest friends. The man she’s about to marry also happens to be one of my favorite people, and I’m going to shamelessly (if not entirely accurately) take credit for introducing them. As an amateur matchmaker with a maternal streak, watching them make each other happy is like getting two for the price of one. I’m genuinely, truly thrilled for them.

It’s hard, though, because it means that – tomorrow morning –  she’s moving. Sitting next to her at church for the last time, I realized midway through the sermon that I had picked the wrong night to wear smoky eye make-up. By the final hymn, my cheeks were streaked with mascara. I will no longer get to see her twice a week at small group and on Sundays. I won’t get to hang out with her on weekends and catch up over tea. My introverted self won’t be able to drag her along to parties and rely on her to make small talk when I start to feel tired. It’s hard because, at least for a little while, her absence means that I’m going to feel lonely.

So I have a choice: I can either choose to be upset because, in order to bless someone else, God has taken my friend from me. Or, I can believe that He has allowed me to play a supporting role in someone else’s love story.

During this holiday season (and always), I'd rather choose to be grateful.

I'm not going to be able to hear anything you say tomorrow.

But needtobreathe put on an amazing show at the 9:30 Club tonight!

Enjoy:

Pouting, parades, and parking tickets.

Not too long ago, I was in a bad mood for a week straight. I was angry . . . but I knew that was irrational, so then I would get angry at myself for being so angry, which led me to feel bad for being so hard on myself, and then my brain would get tired and I'd get angry again just because I was exhausted. Vicious.

I felt so bad for snapping at my friend that I went home and baked him a pumpkin spice cake as an apology. It looked almost perfect when I took it out of the oven, but upon cooling it was obvious that I had accidentally mixed my emotions into the batter. The middle sunk almost immediately into a gooey, unappetizing mess and I had to pitch the whole thing. (I offered him the bowl of widowed frosting, but he declined.)

Anyway, the point is: I was kind of a wreck.

I realized that my soul-searching had caused me to become a bit self-absorbed, so I tried to counteract that by looking for opportunities to serve others. Fortunately, this plan aligned perfectly with a plea from a friend who needed an extra set of hands at her new consignment store during the Del Ray Halloween Parade. I hopped in my car, parked my good intentions on the street in front of her boutique, rolled up my sleeves, and got busy.

Several hours, 100 hangers, 17 trick-or-treating princesses, 10 lions, and 4 junior firemen later, I was feeling sufficiently distracted but still a bit bruised inside. So I prayed:

Father,

Maker of all that is, seen and unseen: You hold all of history in Your hands and yet still have room to hold me. Search this heart You created; test my anxious thoughts. I confess that I've been feeling a bit forgotten lately, but I know that Your eye is on this sparrow. Please send me a tangible reminder of Your love today.

Amen.

That seemed reasonable at the time. My heart was too hardened to feel anything useful, so I wanted a reminder that I could wrestle with. But here's what happened instead:

My car got towed.

Because that's what happens when you park on a street where a parade is about to pass by.

Embarrassingly, I cried the entire seven blocks between the newly vacant parking spot and the middle school where my car had been relocated. Really, God? I ask You to show me that You love me and instead you let them tow my car?


Funny thing, though: on each of  those seven blocks, I noticed at least two "Emergency - No Parking" signs. I swear they had been invisible before.

When I finally reached my car, there was a bright orange envelope on my windshield. It contained a $40 parking ticket from the city of Alexandria, but it might as well have been a note reading something like this:

Em, 

You asked Me to show you that I love you, so I sent you to the parade. You could have participated, but you were too wrapped up in your own world to notice the signs. Don't park your car where I'm about to throw a party. I do love you, but I need you to participate in the work that's already been planned.

Always,

God

On busyness & burnout.

I wrote this a month or so ago in response to a challenge from a friend who caught me drowning in busyness. If you're a kindred spirit who needs permission to say no every once in a while, I hope you find this helpful:

I’m a giver by nature and a peacemaker by birth order. When I see a need, it’s instinctive for me to try to fill it. I recognize that this is not a bad instinct, but that it needs to be tempered by a proper sense of scope.

Not every need is my responsibility.

Those words are unnatural for me to type. As my fingers move across the keys, Scripture verses and prayer fragments spring to my lips. What about loving my neighbors, caring for the “least of these,” sins of omission? Am I not supposed to pour my last two copper coins into the offering plate as it passes by?

I want to spend my life in service to others. The problem that I seem to face, though, is that I’m no longer in charge of the life that’s being spent. I’m not stewarding my time, talents, energies, or affections in a responsible way. There are needs around every corner – friends who need my affection, causes that need my attention, neighbors who need my time. By responding indiscriminately, or by letting others decide which needs warrant my attention, I’m not allowing God to tell me where He wants to use me. I’m listening to others’ voices instead of His. This means that I’m also acting out of my own strength, rather than trusting that God will meet me and equip me for the tasks He’s called me to.

It’s possible that someone might need my help, and that I might be the most well-equipped person to meet their need (because of my particular skill set, or because of my unique relationship with that person, or simply because I have free time), but it might not be God’s will for me to act. It’s possible that the most God-honoring act I can perform would be to say no.

This is hard, because those people might be disappointed in me. They might judge the way that I use my time and my talents. They might be hurt or offended that I’m prioritizing other needs above theirs (which is particularly hard when the needs I’m meeting are my own). Worse, their need might actually not be met. They might be hurting, and saying no means that I have to watch them hurt.

But if I fail to take care of myself, then I can’t be maximally effective at meeting the needs of others. My body and my soul are connected, and they both have limits. I need to eat, sleep, and exercise. I need to play, rest, pray, and work. These verbs are not optional or negotiable. It honors God when I take care of my own body.

Most importantly, though, I need to recognize that my primary devotion is to God. He is not glorified if I pretend that taking care of others is service to Him if it means that I’m on autopilot rather than being responsive to His call for my life. Service enables me to substitute good works for actual devotion. (Why stop and listen when there is work to be done?) 

The most important commandment is to first love God with all of your heart, mind, soul and strength, and the second is “like” it. It doesn’t replace it.

My friends are so creative!

Have you started your Christmas shopping yet? Keep these shops in mind as the season approaches . . .

 

Psalm 27 Designs

photosyntheses

The dish ran away with the spoon [and my heart].

I've decided to buy myself a nice set of dinnerware. This is a very big deal.

If you're not a single twenty-something female, recent experience has taught me that you probably won't relate to anything I'm about to say. Thus, I've decided to approach this topic by sharing real life examples and including my responses below:

Example 1:

Me: Guess what? I'm going to buy a new set of dinnerware!

Male: Can I give you some dating advice?

Me: Um . . . yes.

Male: Buy a flat screen TV instead. Oh, and a PlayStation.

Me: Why would I do that? I don't even watch TV. I use plates every day.

Male: Just trust me.

Example 2:

Me: Hey, come look at these plates I'm going to buy! Aren't they beautiful?

Male2: Why don't you buy these ones instead? It says they're chip resistant and oven safe up to 350 degrees.

Me: Why would I need my plates to be oven safe?

Male2: You know, so you can keep a plate of dinner warm for your husband when he comes home late from work . . .

Me: I'm going to leave now. 

Example 3:

Me: Which set of plates should I buy?

Male3: I'm going to need a lot more information than that.

Me: What do you need to know?

Male3: Who are they for? What's the occasion? What's their style like? When's the wedding?

Me: No, no - these are for me. I want dinnerware.

Male3: Oh, well then go cheap. Just buy the cheapest ones possible.

Response 1:

There comes a point in every woman's life when she realizes that she must transition from playing house to keeping one. 

For women who get married young, the transition is obvious and sudden. One day you're using multi-colored plastic plates that you bought from Target during your freshman year of college, and the next day you're updating your wedding registry at Crate and Barrel.

For the rest of us, the transition is more subtle. You graduate from college, find a job, move to a new city, find some roommates, and gradually fill your bare first apartment with whatever necessities your paycheck can cover. After food, rent, and utilities, matching plates seem ridiculously high up the hierarchy of needs. You can get away with hosting dinner parties on paper plates for the first year or so; everyone understands. But after the novelty of being young and poor wears off, you start to look around and think, "I wish this place felt more like a home." And that's it: you need plates.

Perhaps getting a "real" TV serves some kind of analogous function for men. Knock yourselves out. I'm buying plates.

Response 2:

Right, the husband thing. This is actually a huge mental block for a lot of single women. At least, I know it was for me. Real plates belong in real kitchens; real kitchens belong in real homes; real homes belong to real families. Why start collecting dinnerware when the matching "completer set" can't be purchased in stores?

Look, the party has to start sometime. The appetizers have been served. If prince charming decides to show up for dinner, I'll pull up a chair. But I don't think his absence is a valid excuse for holding up service (metaphorical or otherwise). I want to have a home where people feel welcomed and relaxed. I want to do that now. Let's hope he makes it in time for dessert, but if not, at least my coffee mugs will be coordinated.

Response 3:

Going cheap makes a lot of practical sense. I could buy a sixteen piece set from Bed, Bath, & Beyond for less than I'm going to end up paying for a single place setting of the pattern that I chose, and I feel a bit guilty about this.

I could justify the financial aspects of my decision to you in great detail (quality v. quantity, etc.), but instead I'll just say that I want my investments to align with my values, and I value hospitality. The kitchen is the heart of every home, and you ought to take care of it.

Friendship with windows.

This sermon series was recommended to me by a very wise friend earlier this week, and I've been listening to it during my commute. It's about marriage. I honestly can't remember how it came up in conversation, because we weren't talking about men at the time (though I suppose it's likely that I slipped in a bad date story or two). Regardless, I'll see her recommendation and raise you mine.

I listened to number 5 ("Marriage as Friendship") this morning. Somewhere between Pentagon City and Farragut West, part of my heart sang, and part of my heart died.

In this sermon, Tim Keller describes the Christian world as a world with windows. Our lives are firmly planted on earthly soil. But every once in a while, when something beautiful or hopeful or redeeming occurs, we catch a glimpse of eternity. 

Blarney Castle, November 2009

Thus, getting-to-know a Christian is "kind of like looking for a mountain on a cloudy day." You can't see the peak because it's hidden by fog. But when the winds shift and the sun peeks through, you get an occasional glimpse of who that person is becoming. You're not there yet, but you know where you're headed, and every once in a while you see not just their potential, but their destiny.

This, Keller says, is friendship with windows - a calling forth and celebration of the other's "glory self."

Friendship between Christians is constantly looking beyond time, saying, "I want to be your friend for a few billion years."

Westward [Ida]ho!

Beauty is to the spirit what food is to the flesh. 

 A glimpse of it in a young face, say, or

 an echo of it in a song 

fills an emptiness in you 

 that nothing else under the sun can.

Unlike food, however,  

 it is something that you never get your fill of. 

 It leaves you always aching with longing 

not so much for more of the same  

as for whatever it is, deep within and far beyond both it and yourself, that makes it beautiful. 

"The beauty of holiness"

is how the Psalms name it (Psalm 29:2) and

"As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee" (Psalm 42:1)

is the way they describe the ache and the longing.

(Frederick Buechner, Whispering in the Dark)

Rain, Rain, Go Away, or Stay? I Don't Know.

Somehow I missed that a tropical storm was heading our way. This morning during my commute to work, it rained like it was going out of style. The downpour was heavy and escaping it's baptism was inevitable. I. Was. Soaked.

I don't really like starting off the day with my feet wet, my hair frizzed to the point where it has developed an unfavorable personality of its own, my pants sticking to my body and then I'm officially chilled to the bone.

When it rains like this and it interferes with my plans, I sometimes feel as if God is saying to all of us, "haha and you thought you had plans! Why don't you stop and take a break?" Sometimes I need that break.

However, I love sleeping to the sound of rain. Rain gives me the perfect excuse to stay indoors, take a nap, watch a good movie and drink some hot tea. I think if it didn't mess up my hair and get me wet, rain and I would have a better relationship.

I'm not sure these fixes are going to happen so I'm going to just count on rain and I having a conditional type of relationship. Even with my rain boots, rain coat, rain hat and umbrella, ella, ella, ella...I still manage to get soaked.

Oh, well. Let it rain. At least it isn't snow right?

Thank you Lord for promising not to send another flood. And thank you for the rainbows when I get to see them. They always remind me of Your goodness, mercy and grace.

Virtues & Vices

For Pride is spiritual cancer: it eats up the very possibility of love, or contentment, or even common sense.

-CS Lewis, Mere Christianity

Click for larger image.

Just play.

After a season of heavy emotional lifting, it's important to take a break.

This may mean that we spend time alone, sorting through the weighty implications of our experiences. After all, God is blessed by our pursuit of intellectual integrity.

It may mean that we spend time resting, acknowledging our real physical limits. God can be blessed by our silence.


But we also serve a creative God: the Maker of all that is, seen and unseen. Sometimes, He is blessed when His children just play.

The photos below are from tonight's jam session. Pretend we sounded like this - and enjoy:

,

Adventures in lucky aisle #7.

For S, as promised, because she fields this question as often as I do.

People often ask me, "Why are you still single?"

It's a fair question. I grew up in a small midwestern town where marrying your high school sweetheart is not uncommon, and I went to a Christian college where so many people hook up senior year that we actually have a catch phrase for it: "ring by spring." I have multiple bridesmaid dresses in my closet, and I'm currently prepping for my second tour of duty as a MOH. So it's perhaps unremarkable that I've been asked this question (not infrequently) by family, by friends, by friends of the family, by complete strangers, at church, at funerals, on first dates, while crossing the street . . .

Perhaps my favorite version of this question came from an ex-boyfriend in response to a picture posted on facebook. "How is that you live in our nation's capitol and haven't landed a sugar daddy? Did you just completely stay away from men while wearing this get up?" Um . . . thanks? It's not like you put a ring on it, buddy.

So here's the honest answer:

I turn into a troll at night. It's kind of awkward. Most guys just can't handle it.

Ok, no, I don't have a serious answer for you. I do want to be clear, however, that I'm not offended by your question. Every time you ask, I find it vaguely reassuring. At least the answer isn't obvious! When you stop asking is when I'll start to worry . . .

***

Perhaps it's possible to glean some insight into this question by dissecting this series of events from my evening:

1. On my Metro ride home tonight, a (probably unstable) man in a mismatched janitor's uniform started staring at me from the back of the car, and then crept his way over to the seat in front of me. Without a book to stare at, I was defenseless. His smell preceded his sultry greeting: "Hello there, beautiful." I did my best to ignore him, so he pulled out a comb and started brushing through his greasy hair while checking out my reflection in the glass windows. When he finally made his exit a few stops later, he tapped on the glass from outside the train car and started making frantic farewell gestures to me, leaving people on the platform and my fellow passengers staring at me in confusion. He's not mine, I promise.

2. In my neighborhood, a guy out walking his dog smiled at me, and then dropped the leash so that his curious puppy could come make his introductions for him. If only he knew how ineffective slobber is on me.

3. While jogging tonight, I was passed by a group of four male bikers who each made some kind of comment about my face, my body, or the fact that I was alone. (Note to self: get a jogging partner.)

4. When I finally made it to the grocery store, I was approached by a man in the baking aisle holding a couple pots in his hand. "Do you ever feel like a complete klutz when it comes to cooking?" he asked. Well, no, I don't. Grocery shopping is one of my favorite pastimes. So, I answered him honestly. He tried again, "I mean, I don't even own a muffin tin. Who doesn't own a muffin tin?" Sorry, buddy, I have no answer for you. I have four muffin tins in three different sizes. It was at that point that I noticed that he was legitimately attractive and not at all creepy. He also looked completely dejected by the fact that I blew off his pick up line. Whoops. "Well, thanks, have a good night," he said as he made his way toward the self-checkout kiosks. "Uh, good luck!" I called to the back of his head. Fail.

***

The point:

After a while (a series of creepy encounters, a string of bad dates, a few dry months), it's easy to go on auto-pilot. The answer is no. Unhesitatingly, unequivocally, uniformly no.

But when you operate this way, you miss all of the maybes.

Chin up, eyes forward. Maybe I'll see you again someday in lucky aisle number 7 . . .

In which I outsource to e.e. cummings.

When I was a little girl, my mom taught me to start all of my prayers by saying thank you first before launching into my wish list. For years, Jesus patiently listened to some version of this: "Thank you for sunshine. Thank you for ice cream. Thank you for my cat. Please make my brothers be nicer to me. Amen."

Have you ever tried this? Forcing your mouth to say thank you when your heart is screaming please? It kind of messes with your head.

Philippians 4:6 tells us that, instead of being anxious, we ought to preface our prayers to God with thanksgiving. Thanksgiving doesn't mean that we should simply learn how to be content with our portion without wanting more. It's saying that if anything is making you anxious-anything at all-you should bring it to God, but do it with a grateful heart.

I set aside some time this afternoon to try to put my previous posts on prayer into practice.  I really do want X, and I would really like God to respond. After a quick jog along my new favorite stretch of the Mt. Vernon trail, I sat down at a shaded picnic table overlooking the Potomac. I stretched my list of Xs out in front of me, took a deep breath, and . . . realized that it was the most beautiful day I'd seen in months.

Thank you for the merciful respite from summer's heat. Thank you for the sweet promise of change this new autumn season brings. Thank you for a quiet moment to enjoy the beauty of the way the sunshine gets tangled in the tree leaves before shattering on the river's smooth surface. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

What was it that I wanted again? 

A playful breeze picked up the piece of paper I had been scribbling on and sent my wish list floating toward the river, forcing me to literally chase after the things I wanted. My petitions were made, but they were made by a thankful heart, not an anxious one. God would have heard them either way. But this was a much more pleasant conversation.


i thank You God for most this amazing

i thank You God for most this amazing
day:for the leaping greenly spirits of trees
and a blue true dream of sky;and for everything
which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,
and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth
day of life and of love and wings:and of the gay
great happening illimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing
breathing any--lifted from the no
of all nothing--human merely being
doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

e.e. cummings

I still want X.

My evil twin (ET for short) is under the impression that God gives us what we want. We simply need to be bold with our prayers. As you may have noticed from my earlier post, I struggle with this concept . . . because experience has taught me that He doesn't.

"Oh, how thoughtful - more patience exercises! I know I asked for X, but patience is such a practical gift. I can't wait to try it out! Err, I mean, I'm quite content to sit here quietly and wait to use it until the appropriate moment presents itself . . ."

So what's going on in Matthew 7? Is God really promising - unconditionally - to grant my evil twin's random requests? Or, through the ask/seek/knock process, is God going to painstakingly show me that the things I naively think I want are just "stones" and give me some nutritious slices of whole wheat "bread" instead?

I don't know. Perhaps we're both wrong. (You knew I wasn't going to let ET be right, at any rate.)

I wish the following thoughts were mine, but the credit goes to Rob Bell, who more eloquently elaborates in his sermon "Ask, Seek, Knock." He explores the passage in question by applying the "ask" method to human relationships first:

How do we get other people to give us what we want? Sometimes, we try to manipulate their behavior by judging and condemning them. We shame them into action. Other times, we try to buy their behavior by bribing them with stuff. The more expensive the gift we lavish upon them, the more indebted they feel to us.

When we stop playing games with one another and simply ask for what we want, we honor the other person's free will. They can either say yes or no. When our request is honest, the choice is theirs. The outcome is uncertain, but the process is full of dignity and respect.

I play these games with God all the time. I taunt Him and I test Him ("If You really loved me, You wouldn't let me be so miserable."). I try to earn His favor ("Look, I'm fasting! Don't you want to bless me now?"). But He really just wants to have an honest conversation with me. When I ask, seek, and knock, I acknowledge that He is a sovereign entity, not some sort of supernatural vending machine.

I'm pretty interested in the outcome, but God seems more interested in the process. Maybe instead of asking and then waiting to be blessed, I should ask and then listen.

So, here we go again: God, I still want X.

What is done and yet to come.

As I watched the sun set over the Atlantic this weekend, I spent some time thinking about the beauty that has been built into nature's rhythms: the mighty, living pulse of the ocean's waves; the slow and gentle slide of the sun from one horizon to the other; the shy twinkling of the stars, so quiet that you hardly notice them until they all but fill the sky and then meekly slip away, one by one; the determined rise of the tide, crawling steadily up the sun-dried sand until, its curiosity suddenly satisfied, it gives up and shrinks back from whence it came.

Welcome back to the rhythm of your regularly scheduled lives. I hope that you find beauty in both the rushing and the resting.



We will have love, we will have pain
There will be days and days and days that feel the same
We will have fear, we will have joy
And maybe little girls and little boys

We will have friends, we will have peace
There will be nights of lights and music 'til you sleep
We will be strong, we will still break
We'll live through so much more than we can take

Amen Amen
With the dawn, we all begin again
Amen Amen
What is done, and yet to come
Amen

We will have hope, we will have doubt
There will be memories we could never live without
We will have tears, but there will be grace
There will be prayers that we never thought we'd pray

Amen Amen
With the dawn, we all begin again
Amen Amen
What is done, and yet to come
Amen

In the sun or the storms, the flood or the flames
Let everything come, and I'm the one to blame
In heartache or hope I swear I'll say, I'll say

Amen Amen
With the dawn, we all begin again
Amen Amen
What is done, and yet to come
Amen

I want X.

My pastor challenged me earlier this week not to be so self-protective with my petitions to God. That was a kind way of saying, "Em, your prayer life is a little lame."

I believe that God does interact with us personally, and that He longs to give us good gifts - but my fear of His sovereignty cripples my ability to ask for anything too specific. Here's what usually happens:

1. God, You are good.

     a. Thanks for everything You've given me.

     b. It's more than I deserve.

2. I want X . . .

     a.   . . . but only if You want to give me X.

     b. I probably shouldn't even be asking for more stuff (see point 1b).

3. If You don't want to give me X, please replace my desire for X with a desire for whatever it is You'd like to give me instead. Unless . . .

     a. . . .You'd rather give me nothing (see point 2b).

     b. . . .that somehow violates my free will and You don't actually intervene in our hearts that way. Oops, did I accidentally become a Calvinist again?

4. I give up. Thy will be done!

5. Amen.

This can be a helpful exercise when the desires of my heart are suspect and need some questioning, but it doesn't really demonstrate trust. It's like I'm saying, "God, I believe that You are good, generally speaking . . .  but I'm sure You're really busy with big picture stuff, so feel free to ignore me if that will hasten Your redemption of the world or something."

Instead of trusting that the God who knit my heart together might actually want to bless me with the desires He stitched into it, I've ended up with a martyr complex.

It's much easier for me to say thank you than to say please. When I ask for something specific, there's a possibility that He'll reject my request or answer it in a way that feels disappointing. I always feel like I need to  see something good happen before I'm willing to put myself out there.

But hope is not always born of blessings . . . Here's a challenge, from Romans 5:1-5:

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.

Suffering --> perseverance --> character --> hope.

In the midst of confusing and trying times, I should be even more confident that He is a good and loving Giver: out of suffering comes a hope that does not disappoint.

Well, here we go . . . Father, I want X. Amen.

An End To The Tuna Era

I sent this mock press release to my friends today. I thought it would be good press release writing practice. I now work for a public relations firm and writing press releases is something we do often. My experiences on Capitol Hill did not expose me to much press release writing. I felt the need to practice and share my recent decision with friends. I also just felt like being random and silly. Sometimes, I crack myself up.


S.R. LEAVES TUNA SANDWICHES BEHIND

For Immediate Release September 2, 2010
S.T.R
202-680-XXXX

Washington, DC - Today marks the day of a new era. S.R., age
27, will no longer consume tuna sandwiches from Subway or any vendor
that offers the delectable sandwiches. After reviewing the
nutritional contents of the sandwich online, she has determined that
tuna sandwiches are not worthy of consumption and several miles of
challenging exercise. The negative nutritional value significantly
outweighs the joy her taste buds experience and communicate to her
brain. In a press conference today, all by herself at her desk,
S. said:

"Goodbye tuna. It was fun while it lasted. This is an unfortunate
finding, but this step is necessary for my mental and physical well
being. I am saddened that our present national economic conditions
convinced me that the tuna sandwich was a wise dining choice.
However, I now know the truth. I must move on."

S.R. will now consider different sandwiches during her lunch
and dinner hours. She will make sure to carefully evaluate her
sandwich choices before purchasing. She wants to thank her family and
friends for their support.

--End--

###

I promised Marg I would blog about beets.

One summer morning back in 2008, as I was sitting in my office sipping my second cup of coffee and skimming the day's headlines, I stumbled across an article about beets in the New York Times. It was a short article - a mere 397 words - but it spun me on a culinary adventure that, two years later, has proven to be one of my longest-lasting love affairs.

Once, at a high-end restaurant in San Francisco, I tried to order a beet salad but was dismayed to find that I had misread the menu and was served a big hunk of foie gras with a few beet slices on the side. Chicago's infamous ban on the infamous pâté had only recently been lifted, so it seemed ironic that I could accidentally order foie gras in the city that gave us the Haight-Ashbury district, but was legally prohibited from ordering it in the city that inspired Upton Sinclair's The Jungle. But I digress.

In addition to being delicious and nutritious, sliced beets are beautiful. Classic red beets are my favorite (both because of their taste and their color), but you can also find golden and white varieties, which makes them a fun vegetable to serve. I've made my friends eat them in salads with goat cheese, arugula, and homemade molasses vinaigrette; I've packed roasted beets on picnics; I've brought them to church potlucks mixed with hunks of brie. I've had entire conversations with grocery store clerks at Giant about how to sauté the greens with garlic and chili pepper.

I thought everyone loved them.

But one day, I was eating falafel sandwiches with MC at a kabob place out in Arlington, and she made a face and spit something into her napkin. "Ugh," she exclaimed, "I think there are beets in my sandwich. My mouth tastes like dirt!"

"Oh, you mean like sugar?" I asked. "Beets are really sweet."

"Um . . . no. Like dirt. Beets taste like earth," she clarified.

That's when I learned that a lot of people really - and I mean really - dislike beets. In fact, it's probably one of the few things upon which my dad and President Obama agree.

But whether you're predisposed to like beets or not, they're still good for you.

I was thinking about this phenomenon during tonight's sermon on the Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-23). That parable has always seemed a bit scary to me. Is my heart full good soil, or is it possible that I'll wake up one day with a heart of stone and realize that grace has withered because it wasn't able to root? How about the people I love - will they be attacked by birds or choked by thorns? The ground in this story is not a free agent with a choice about how to respond to the seed that's being tossed upon it. If we are the ground, the Gospel is the seed, and the Holy Spirit is the sower, is it not terrifying to imagine that all you can do is wait and see whether or not grace will sprout and bear fruit in your life? In the same way that we're born with certain tastes (either you like beets or you don't), we might be predisposed to listen to the Gospel or reject it.

Pastor Aaron's take on the passage was a bit different. He reminded us that we are all predisposed to reject the gospel. We're all depraved. But we're also all gardeners of our own hearts. The parable is not encouraging us to quickly survey our internal landscape and make a quick judgment about whether we're full of rocks or good soil. It's encouraging us to put on our gloves, pick up a shovel, and get to work. Each new season, we'll need to till our hearts, weed our minds, and protect our metaphorical gardens from birds and pests. In his words, "Fruitfulness does not happen by accident."

So, at risk of being sacrilegious with my analogy, I'll conclude by saying to all of the beet haters out there: if you think that your particular combination of taste buds make you exempt from having to eat them, perhaps you just need a little more practice. If you want help coping with your beet phobia, check out this article from The Atlantic.

And finally, a poem:

HARROWING

The plow has savaged this sweet field

Misshapen clods of earth kicked up

Rocks and twisted roots exposed to view

Last year's growth demolished by the blade.

I have plowed my life this way

Turned over a whole history

Looking for the roots of what went wrong

Until my face is ravaged, furrowed, scarred.

Enough. The job is done.

Whatever's been uprooted, let it be

Seedbed for the growing that's to come.

I plowed to unearth last year's reasons-

The farmer plows to plant a greening season.

-Parker J. Palmer