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

Just buy shoes.

In her most recent post, Sarith encourages her friends to try online dating. I respectfully disagree and offer this alternative: buy shoes. The price of a subscription fee will get you a decent pair of heels, and they will make you feel more beautiful than a bad date ever could.

To explain my point, here's a sample from one of my .com dates*:

Him: "I hope you don't mind me asking, but what were your SAT scores?"

[30 minutes later]

Him: "I know you didn't want to answer this earlier, but seriously, will you at least tell me what you got on the English portion of the SATs? Like, what's one big word that you know that I don't know?"

[awkward pause]

Him: "What's your most embarrassing moment?"

Me: [insert generic story about falling down in public]

Him: "No, I mean something R-rated. Like something that happened with a guy."

Me: "Buddy, my life is not rated R. If you're looking for something scandalous, you've got the wrong girl."

Him: "My most embarrassing moment happened when I was on a Contiki tour. We were in Greece, and we were drinking a lot, and I was kind of inebriated. I don't know, punches were being thrown, and there was this innocent bystander - I don't really know what happened, but my fist inadvertently connected with her face, and-"

Me: "Wait . . . Did you just say that you punched a girl in the face?"

Him: "Yeah. I was really drunk. I just punched her."

Me: "What happened to the girl?"

Him: "Oh, she was on the ground. Totally out cold."

Technically, because he actually paid for my dinner and asked me out a second time, this was the best date I've been on all year. I declined the offer to see him again, however, and canceled my subscription a few days later.

Sarith has a better perspective on casual dating than I do, and if you're one of the fortunate souls who can roll with the punches ("you know, like when a bad date inadvertently connects with your face . . ."), then go ahead and follow her example.

Yet because this blog is all about grace, I will say that my online dating adventures have taught me a thing or two about trust.

The honest reason behind my subscription was not that I actually thought I would find love through the internet, but because I was impatient. Sometimes, I don't actually believe that God cares about my heart issues much. When I pray about this stuff, I picture Him like an unsympathetic guy friend, rolling his eyes because I'm distracting Him from more important things, like getting to the next level in Contra. He sighs, puts down His controller, and says, "Em, you're just too picky." Thus, I signed up for online dating to signal to God that I was serious and was about to take matters into my own hands.

Seven truly horrible dates later (remember the one where the guy talked about his back hair?), I cried uncle. And then I cried, "Father!"

God is pretty good about letting me make small mistakes but saving me from the really big ones. He knows me better than I know myself; thus, He knows that the type of heart He gave me was not designed to be tossed around and poked and prodded. It's not a heart you practice on. It's delicate, which is why it's surrounded by so many protective layers. Some of those layers are things that I control, like who gets my attention and how much. But one of those protective layers is, apparently, time. God alone is in control of that layer, and I will gratefully defer.

*Normally I wouldn't make fun of a date on the interwebs, but seriously - he punched a girl in the face and then laughed about it. 

A Big Step

This used to be a sensitive topic for me. Now, I feel I can share these experiences with you because sometimes they are just so ridiculous that I think people might think it's somewhat interesting. As you may know from the infinite number of online dating commercials, online dating in a new and flourishing dating tool. Everyone knows someone who has tried it, yet everyone pretends they are too good for it or scared of it. Whatever.

This past spring I decided to be a little adventurous and try online dating. I thought, "hey, I know a ton of people who do it, and I'm open to meeting new fish in the sea." So I joined, and let me tell you, it's been really interesting. Some details...

Signing up:
After you have paid for the service, you are asked to answer several personal questions like, "how do you react to things, are you political, do you require a lot of personal space, are morals important to you?" etc, etc, etc. You preselect questions you would ask the opposite sex. They range from "if I took you to a party what would you do?" to "what physical boundaries do you have?" Not kidding. It can be a little overwhelming, but after approximately 30 minutes to 1 hour, you are all done. The matching is on.

Matches:
The online service matches you with people similar to your personality and interests. You have plenty of things the service says you have in common like beliefs and goals. It somewhat takes care of the "filtering time/get to know you time" you spend attempting to find out more about a person you are interested in. You receive anywhere from 5 to 10 matches a day. I found this a little overwhelming too.

Communicating:
You initiate, or in my case, wait for men to initiate contact. When contact has been made, you receive this really pathetic email from the service that literally congratulates you because so-and-so wants to communicate with you. Really? Congratulate me? There are better ways to do this. Thanks, online service who I refuse to mention by name.

At this point, you have the opportunity to really evaluate their profile, determine if you like what you see, and either respond or "close out" the profile. "Closing" a profile can be a little uncomfortable. You feel bad about rejecting this person because of their picture or because you didn't like the content on their profile. Some reasons why I closed:

1. They took a strange picture in front of their computer. By themselves. Really? Why? Dear men, why?
2. God isn't a priority.
3. Their profile name is "Temptation." Really? Run, Sarith, Run.
4. Gave me their number and didn't ask for mine. Really? Um...don't hold your breath. I ain't calling.
5. Tree farmer. Can't live on a tree farm. Sorry.
6. Live across the country. How do I reset my match parameters again?
7. Their name is Jeronimo. Isn't that what you say when you jump off something? Not that my name is anywhere close to being normal, but...
8. First Question: Ask me what would I do for them if they were having a bad day. Come on!
9. They are 15+ years older than me.
10. The first thing they ask me is, "why are you so cute?" Wow.

These are just a few things I've experienced in my online dating adventure. There have been some quality experiences as well. Some have reached my heart and in turn, I have unintentionally hurt others. I guess it's all part of the same dating game.

Side note: I wrote the above content last night. The content below was written this morning after I received the correspondence below.

While there are an abundance of strange fish in this deep and unexplored sea, I can see some good in online dating. I do encourage my friends to try it. After all, it never hurts to meet new people, and I know several people who have met their significant other online (and... as far as I can see, they seem to be normal). I'm not all that discouraged. I view this experience as a blessing with some interesting twists. Although, I did receive this response from a guy last night:

8.26.10 Correspondence:

My Question to Questionable but Attractive Man: "What's with the computer picture? Please explain why you took that photo." (This is me giving him the opportunity to explain why he is not weird.)

His Answer: "It was for a profile picture for a Madrid-Based bullfighting ring. In
my spare time, between wood-widdling and Italian marble cutting, I am
a bullfighter and they needed a good headshot. With absolutely no time
left for my submission to be the opening matador, I had to get it
taken! So, I used my MacBookPro (PhotoBooth) to get the job done.
Personally, I think it says: "Hey, you should take this guy seriously
if he wears tights and gets in a ring with a raging bull." In all
honesty, I don't really understand your question."

See? Ridiculous. Life just keeps getting increasingly interesting. Thank you Lord for all the entertainment. I definitely can't say "I'm bored." And just for the record, I unhesitantly closed him out after reading his response.

God is good!

5 years deep.

I spent a lot of time in my last post talking about what marriage isn't. Today, let's talk about what marriage is.

On August 20, 2005, two of my favorite people in the history of ever got married. It was too early by every conceivable standard. They were too young, they were too poor, and Rach still had another year of school left. Yet as they walked down the aisle that day, they stepped out in the faith that if God had brought them that far, He would be faithful to carry them through. 

Now 5 years deep into marriage, they're starting a new adventure together: adopting a child! 

Their story is best told in their own words, and their words will give you a better picture of their hearts than my outside observations ever could:

Don't they look like movie stars?

Dear Loved Ones,

We come to the end of summer having been married for five wonderful years. It’s hard to believe that so much time has lapsed since we stepped over the threshold of our tiny first apartment that, ironically, sits only a few houses down from where we now live. And yet so much has happened in these few short years that it hardly seems possible.

Our time together has seen us go from part time jobs mowing lawns (Chris) and running a rock climbing wall (Rachael) to being the Call Center Coordinator for Undergraduate Admissions at Indiana Wesleyan University (Rachael) and The Director of Coffees at Alliance World Coffees (Chris). During this time, though, our primary calling and love has been our collaborative work at Exit 59 Church, where we share the role of lead site pastors. We have watched a moderately small and vibrant, young congregation grow into two separate church sites that focus onteaching the Word of God, raising up and equipping people to carry our God’s call on their lives, and seeing healing in the lives of the lost and broken. It has been a joy to watch God in our midst as He brings us together into maturity and builds His church.

We have had many adventures in the past few years as well, finding ourselves traveling in Central America twice (Costa Rica and Panama) as well as spending some time supporting missionaries in Northern Ireland, where our good friends have planted a church to reach those who, through the troubled times there, have left religion and God behind. Our hearts were stirred watching the real church (God’s beloved people) open their hearts and homes to strangers and invest into their lives. Our travels have taught us what an amazingly small perspective we sometimes have of what is truly at work around the world, and we are truly appreciative of the hospitality shared with us as well as the time spent in rest.

Roughly two years ago last spring we bought a house, as I alluded earlier, just down the street from where we first lived. We have spent what extra time we have sanding floors, putting in new windows and carefully rewiring each room. It has been a great learning experience for both our skills as craftsman and our skills in communication. We are just now putting the finishing touches on the house, but despite the unfinished nature of our place it has always been to us a home.

In all of this we have grown to love the place we’re in and the people that surround us in community, as they have helped us to mature in many ways. As we grow, we’ve found a heart for starting a family and having children--but more specifically have felt a call on our lives to welcome a child into our life by way of adoption. We feel privileged and humbled to be a part of shaping someone’s life in such a profound way and bringing hope to an orphan, which we find is at the heart of God in His Word. Simply put, if not for adoption as sons and daughters of God, we would be without hope, so it seems fitting to participate in something innate to our lives as believers.

After seeking wise counsel and doing some practical fact finding, we decided to work with an agency based out of Indianapolis by the name of Kids First, which is not only an adoption agency but is committed to social development in the countries it works with. We have just begun the process of filing paper work and going through a series of home studies, but it is possible that we could be traveling for the first time by late January. After praying and researching, we decided that Ethiopia, Africa was the right fit for us. Chris has begun to do some work with coffee farmers in Ethiopia to promote better working conditions and learned through a documentary of the immense need there. Rachael also felt stirred bythe great need, as there are over 2 million orphaned children there.

This process could take as few as 8 months or up to 14 months, so it has been both overwhelming and exciting to find that we will probably be parents sometime in the coming year. In this time we are asking that you would be in prayer for us. There are so many things involved in this process and we want to follow God’s heart as He prepares us. We feel the weight of responsibility for life in new ways already and have much to learn before we enter into parenthood, and we feel strongly at the same time that God has everything we need in order to be a source of wisdom, hope, and deep love for this child.   

. . .

We love you all and are very excited to enter into this new journey with your support. You represent wonderful things in both of our lives and we are better because of you. 


Happy anniversary, my dear, dear friends!

Light Up the Sky

My friend Josh shared this song with me the yesterday. Today, I want to share it with you. It speaks for itself.

LIGHT UP THE SKY
The Afters

When I’m feeling all alone and so far to go
The signs are nowhere on this road guiding me home
When the night is closing in
It’s falling on my skin
Oh God will You come close

Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me
I, I, I can’t deny
Oh I can’t deny that You are right here with me
You’ve opened my eyes so I can see You all around me
Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me

When stars are hiding in the clouds
I don’t feel them shining
When I can’t see beyond my doubt
The silver lining
When I’ve almost reached the end
Like a flood You’re rushing in
Love is rushing in

Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me
I, I, I can’t deny
Oh I can’t deny that You are right here with me
You’ve opened my eyes so I can see You all around me
Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me

So I run straight to Your arms
You’re the bright and morning Sun
To show Your love, there’s nothing You won’t do

Light, light, light up the sky
You light up the sky to show me You are with me
I, I, I can’t deny
Oh I can’t deny that You are right here with me
You’ve opened my eyes so I can see You all around me
Light, light, light up the sky
Light up the sky to show me You are with me

A Prayer: Oh God, You continue to amaze me. I can feel You. Thank you for this reminder that You are close and right here with me. Even though, at times I feel You are silent and distant, you always comfort me and ease my mind and spirit. Thank you for teaching me Your ways. Amen.

"So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." Isaiah 41:10

"When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." John 8:12

Still working on that narrative . . .

My coworker convinced me to take a personality test today called Strengths Finder 2.0. The point of this assessment is that it reveals your strengths and encourages you to use them more effectively, as opposed to expending a lot of energy trying to overcome your weaknesses (or "lesser strengths"): an intriguing and encouraging concept.

These strengths can be manifested differently in different people, and it turns out that (according to my 21-page personalized report), my particular brand of "Individualization" makes me a great "partner." That specific word was used no less than three times, as in "you would make a great partner for an initiator, and an initiator would make a great partner for you." Taken to its logical conclusion (because where else would I go?), this means I can only fully manifest my top strength if I link up with someone (an initiator) whose projects I can finish. Given that the responsibility to walk around initiating relationships with initiators actually falls to the initiators themselves and not to me, then absent the opportunity to really shine as Ms. Follow Through to someone's Mr. I Have an Idea! . . . I'm kind off the hook for being an effective person. Right?

Yeah, I don't actually think that's the point. The point is, we're all designed to live in community, and we're all better off when we link up with people (coworkers, teammates, friends) whose strengths play well off our own.

But sometimes my joking example is exactly how single Christian women think - as if they can't really be maximally effective women until they become wives and mothers. Sisters, I'm about to get a little harsh with you (us), but please know that it's because I love you. We've been taught a lot of beautiful things about  how to be good helpmates and partners. But some of us are going to be single for a very long time. We need to learn how to be beautiful and effective helpmates even when we don't have one specific partner.

I was forwarded this article multiple times today, by several different friends: http://spiritualklutz.blogspot.com/2010/08/singleness-suffering-and-christian-hope.html

There is redemption in that narrative. The characters are hurting, and God - always close to the brokenhearted - reaches out and tangibly intervenes. It's a beautiful story, in an honest but sad sort of way. I hope you found encouragement in it . . . and if you did, please stop reading the rest of this post.

Here's the thing that gets me about that story as written: it's very difficult to use marriage as being somehow analogous to the resurrection without making an idol of it. I get that singleness can be painful at times. And I get that a large part of Christ's suffering here on earth was actually loneliness - rejection by men, and ultimately separation from God (temporary separation, but real nonetheless). So, in that marriage is a tool of companionship and a a tangible expression of love and sacrifice, I will reluctantly let that metaphor slide.

But let's be clear about this: marriage is not promised to you.

Love is.

Grace is.

Marriage? Nope.

Equating marriage with redemption, for the single woman, is kind of like being a Calvinist on the wrong side of irresistible grace. [Shudder.] Do you really want to spend the next decade (or five) exposing your heart (which is the wellspring of life) even metaphorically to the weeping and gnashing of teeth? Because you don't have to.

We must find a better narrative. We must learn to place our trust in a hope that does not disappoint, and ground our purpose in something bigger than an earthly family. God has given us strengths and abilities, and He wants us to use them honorably in the community He's put us in. More than that, He wants us to flourish.

Christ experienced suffering, but only temporarily. Thus, He can use our suffering to draw us closer to Him, but only for a time. In an eternal and unchanging way, He is Love. He's not going to hide Himself from us just because we're single. You will be loved. You are, and you always have been. My prayer is that we will learn how to walk confidently in this, even if He doesn't give us men to hold our hands along the way.

Perhaps I'll have to eat these words some day. If so, I'm sure they'll taste delicious.

Sabbath bread.

One of my favorite recipes comes from the September 2008 issue of Cooks Illustrated. It's technically called pizza bianca, but today I'm going to call it Sabbath bread.

Unlike other yeast doughs, this recipe requires no kneading or shaping. The art of the bread is in the resting.

Basically, there are three separate resting periods. First, you mix the flour, salt, and water together and walk away for twenty minutes. During that first resting period, gluten forms. Gluten is "the strong elastic network of cross-linked proteins that give bread its crumb structure." According to my siblings on the primal diet, it's also evil. But whatever - the point is, it's essential for making bread dough. The initial rest holds the whole thing together and gives it its shape and structure.

Next, you mix in some yeast and sugar and then let the dough sit for two and a half hours. During this second resting period - "rising" - the yeast will work its magic through the batch until the dough has tripled its volume. As all bread bakers know, rising is serious. You have to protect your dough during this time, keeping it covered, warm, and free from drafts. You also can't cut the rising time short without seriously disappointing consequences. So, when the recipe says "let it rise," you let it rise.

Finally, after the risen dough is poured into the pan, it needs to rest one more time. By stretching it out, you've shocked it a little, causing it to contract and tighten up. After about ten minutes, though, it relaxes and gets bubbly. You're now just 450 degrees and twenty minutes away from deliciousness.

To recap:

1) Resting is important because it gives us time to build up strength. Without gluten, our ingredients would never become dough, let alone bread. Likewise, resting gives our bodies, hearts, and minds a chance to connect in essential but mysterious ways, giving shape to our souls.

2) Resting is equally as important as doing. If we don't rest well, we can't rise well. So when it's time to rest, stop tinkering around and just rest. This might mean that you have to be a little defensive about your boundaries (in the same way that you have to keep your dough covered and warm).

3) If we stop resting as soon as we stop feeling tired, we're selling ourselves short. This dough is ready when it's bubbly - skip the final resting period and instead of chewy flatbread, you just have bread that's flat. We're not just called to be well-rested; we're supposed to be joyful. 

Now, it's time for me to get some sleep before this post becomes any more hypocritical. :)

An investment opportunity.

This might make me sound more hip than I actually am, but last night AML & I hit up H Street to listen to some live music at The Red & The Black.

You can't help but unwind while listening to Wendell Kimbrough & Ben Hofer take the stage with their acoustic guitars and lyrics that alternate between playful and heartbreaking. If you're a DC resident looking to get in on the ground floor of some local up-and-comers' fan clubs, check them out.

To our Advent brothers from your Ascension sisters, thanks for a good time last night!

You've been outsourced.

Last fall, I went through a stage (which I now refer to as my "contentment phase") when I really needed to understand the gap between my expectations and God's provision. One of the biggest things I wrestled with was the topic of marriage. *I know, I know, no one really wants to hear another single evangelical female ramble on about this.* But the point is, I had to learn that the things I ultimately want (love, companionship, protection, etc.) are, have been, and always will be provided to me in abundance. They don't always come in the format I expect, but God is not limited by my imagination.

Some of you might recognize this quote, lifted from my infamously long essay on the topic:

Protection

Sometimes, when I’m traveling alone, I switch my ring from my right hand to my left just so that if some menacing thug gets any ideas, he might be deterred by the fact that a husband might be waiting for me somewhere. Maybe I’m paranoid—ok, yes, I’m paranoid—but the world is a scary place sometimes. Evil is real. I want a husband because I want someone to look out for me.

And, really, is there anything more lovely than being wrapped up in the arms of a man that you completely trust, knowing that you’re absolutely safe? There’s a reason that people write songs about it, you know.

But speaking of songs . . . how about the one where God has the whole world in His hands? Am I not safe because He wills it? The human arms that God has wrapped around me—the arms of my father, my brothers, my friends, and perhaps eventually a husband—these are merely tangible manifestations of God’s protection. And no offense to the men in my life—some of whom happen to be very, very strong—but, their arms are not even the most powerful layers of protection at His command.

If God is for me, who can be against me?

I've outsourced my own protection directly to God, rather than looking around for a particular man to fill this role. I'm better off because of it.

So what's stopping me from applying this principle to the rest of my life?

To say that I have strong sisterly instincts would an understatement. When I met my best friend's husband (then boyfriend) for the first time, I introduced myself by saying, "Hi. I'm so glad to meet you! But just so you know, if you ever hurt her, I'll beat you down. Ok?" Basically, if I love you, I instinctively feel the need to guard your heart like it's my own.

Friends (you know who you are), I've done many of you a disservice by trying to help you too much. I admit that sometimes I view your friendship as a stewardship issue. I find myself foolishly thinking that because you've been placed in my life, your heart has been entrusted to my care. We'd all be better off if I just let go and concentrated on being your friend, rather than your body guard.

From this point forward, consider yourself outsourced.

Gender essentialism.

Last night, over some delicious (and expertly ordered*) bul kalbi, the lovely bride-to-be MCG started running down the list of men in her wedding party who might be good matches for me. Shameless, I know - but first dibs on the groomsmen is one of the perks of being the maid-of-honor. Anyway, it turns out that they're all too "southern" for me.

I have to admit, I'm kind of scared of falling for a southern man. Not because of the men themselves, whose gentility and chivalry is well documented, but because of southern women. As someone who first learned about Cotillion classes and debutante balls from watching Gilmore Girls reruns, I would be such a disappointment.

While MCG (belle that she is) politely tried to protest, all of the men at the table last night seemed to be in agreement: I would not meet a southern man's expectations, especially those which he inherited from his mother.

But as D said, "It's not because you can't. It's because you won't." And that's probably true.

In the Christian evangelical subculture to which I wholeheartedly (if not always comfortably) belong, I am often labeled by my peers as a "feminist." I grew up in the Wesleyan church, which has been ordaining women since the 1860s. I don't find this theologically shocking. That's pretty much all it takes for me to qualify as a Christian feminist (which feels much more like getting kicked out of a club than getting admitted into one). 

To which I always respond, "Honey, I have an apron collection. I bake bread from scratch. I wear pearls. You have no idea what a feminist is."

Can we just get one thing straight? I love men. I appreciate manliness. I love being a woman, and I love (most things about) femininity. However, I also believe that when God equips people with particular gifts, He likewise places upon us the responsibility to use them - irrespective of which side of the gender line those responsibilities are normally categorized.

Gender differences are real, important, and fun. I just think the boundaries are a little porous, and that there should always be room for individual exceptionalism.

Therefore, I recommend the following lists from First Things for your entertainment**

• 50 things a man should be able to do
• 50 things a woman should be able to do (while I have a long way to go here, I'm totally on top of #22)  

Bonus: I suppose it's only fitting that a complementarian world view would find great value in learning by contrast. Thus:

• 50 things a man should never do
• 50 things a woman should never do

 *thanks again, G!
**HT goes to BStokes, who does an admirable job tackling the first list.

The Morning

Most mornings are pretty routine. I wake up, take a shower, drink coffee (oh lovely coffee) , put a piece of toast in the toaster oven (hopefully I don't forget it) , apply my makeup, tame my hair and try very hard to look like a well put together DC professional. Oddly enough, this morning was a tad bit different. At around 6:30am, I woke up to a crazy and overly dramatic thunderstorm. Normally, I wouldn't be intimidated by such a storm, but lately, we have seen some crazy weather in the DC metro area. At about 7:40am, when it was outright black outside and when the street lights had come back on, my roommate helped me realize that I could possibly escape the downpour by leaving for the train station (which is approximately 3/4 mile away from our house) at that moment. Well, I wasn't in the mood for taking on that risk, I mean there was, what I call, Texas lighting outside. You know, the kind of lighting that flashes, deep down inside you feel the power from the energy in the sky and then, BANG. I couldn't leave. I was paralyzed by caution. Maybe if I had started my day off with some great motivation I could have made it.

Which...brings me to this video Emily shared with me the other day. What if I had started my day like this? Granted, Emily might have thought I was exceptionally weird if I was yelling at the mirror, but had I woken up in a better mood, I might have made it to the train station just time to miss the torrential downpour. What if we all started our days like this kid? Wouldn't you feel great? Enjoy the video.

From Gramps.

The temperature in DC today apparently reached a record high of 97. But reading through the email (below) that my Grandpa forwarded to me tonight was as refreshing as a midwestern November. Now you, too, can know what it feels like to sit around our family's Thanksgiving table . . . 

These are so Batman-ish, I can't even tell you. I love my family.

____________________________________________________

1. The roundest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much pi.

2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.

3. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still.

4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from algebra class, because it was a weapon of math disruption.

5. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.

6. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.

7. A grenade thrown into a kitchen in France would result in Linoleum Blownapart.

8. Two silk worms had a race. They ended up in a tie.

9. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.

10. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.

11. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.

12. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway. One hat said to the other: 'You stay here; I'll go on a head.'

13. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.

14. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said: 'Keep off the Grass.'

15. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison was a small medium at large.

16. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a seasoned veteran.

17. A backward poet writes inverse.

18. In a democracy it's your vote that counts. In feudalism it's your count that votes.

19. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.

20. If you jumped off the bridge in Paris, you'd be in Seine.

21.  A vulture boards an airplane, carrying two dead raccoons.  The stewardess looks at him and says, 'I'm sorry, sir, only one carrion allowed per passenger.'

22.  Two fish swim into a concrete wall.  One turns to the other and says 'Dam!'

23. Two Eskimos sitting in a kayak were chilly, so they lit a fire in the craft. Unsurprisingly it sank, proving once again that you can't have your kayak and heat it too.

24.  Two hydrogen atoms meet.  One says, 'I've lost my electron.' The other says 'Are you sure?' The first replies, 'Yes, I'm positive.'

25.  Did you hear about the Buddhist who refused Novocain during a root canal?  His goal: transcend dental medication.

26. There was the person who sent ten puns to friends, with the hope that at least one of the puns would make them laugh.  No pun in ten did.

Tweet, Tweet

I subscribe to this service called TweetDeck. It's pretty amazing. It feeds me tweets all day long. I like this because I do not have the opportunity to watch the news 24/7 at my desk anymore now that I no longer work on Capitol Hill. Yes, I'm a news junkie. It's ok. I don't mind. I like to think I'm well informed?

Back to my main point. Well, my TweetDeck was feeding me all kinds of tweets today and it reminded me of a tweet a coworker of mine tweeted the other day which said this:

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life." - Winston Churchill

There are so many times in life when I've had to stand up for or stand up to something just because I know it's the right thing to do or just because God is demanding that I do. My parents have raise me and my sister on the principle, "by not saying anything means you agree." Oh dear, I can't even tell you have many times I have had to say something because this message keeps playing over and over in my mind. It can be exhausting.

It's encouraging to remember that even great men like Winston Churchill had to stand up to something or for something. They also inquired undesirable foes. I'm not implying that everyone hates me or that I enjoy when people dislike me. Who does? What I'm trying to say is sometimes standing up to situations or people is sometimes necessary.

And don't be afraid to stand strong. In the end, I know God is always with me when it's time to stand up for/to something or someone. I always ask God to guide my thoughts, give me grace and the right words to say. His outcomes are always perfect.

Well, thank you Mr. Churchill for the encouragement. I don't plan on standing up for anything at this moment, but then again, I don't usually plan on these sorts of things. Be encouraged and check out TweetDeck.

Shoes, shin splints & sanctification.

While connecting in O'Hare recently, I couldn't help but notice the struggle of a freshly-minted college grad in business attire as she stumbled down the jetbridge, lugging her seemingly heavy carry-on behind her 3-inch, black patent leather heels. Each step looked painful, but I couldn't tell if she was blistered or just unpracticed.

There was a middle-aged man walking between us who clearly had another flight to catch, so he was following rather closely behind her. Annoyed, the young woman stopped abruptly, turned, and gestured for the man to walk around. "By all means," she huffed, "GO AHEAD!"

Before sprinting past her in my flats off to Concourse F, I rolled my eyes and muttered: "Rookie." Four and a half years deep into Beltway living, I know better than to wear heels to the airport. 

Matthew 7 fail. 

I admit, I judged that young woman for wearing inappropriate shoes to try to fit a particular image. But I do the same thing all the time. Like tonight, for instance.

When I run, I don't wear shoes; I cover my feet with barefoot performance footwear. I know they look weird. I know the marketing information on the Vibram website is probably bogus. I just bought them because my brothers wear them, and I desperately want them to think that I'm cool.

Anyway, as I was meandering ("jogging" would be too bold a term) south along the Mt. Vernon Trail, I noticed that men kept checking me out. Naturally, I started asking questions like, "Why do I waste so much time doing my hair if this is all it takes?" and "Perhaps I shouldn't be jogging alone at night?" I quickly realized, however, that many of these lechers were also wearing Vibram Five Fingers. They weren't checking me out at all - - they were staring at my shoes.

By slipping my toes into VFFs, I'm signaling that I'm a serious runner - - or at least serious enough to be trendy. This is blatantly false. I try to hit the Parkway once a week or so, but mostly just to get outside and get moving. I love the distinctive (if not always fresh) smell of the Potomac, the cicadas' rhythmic chanting, and the occasional heron sighting. Unlike the people who sprint past me, my outings have very little to do with the concept of "exercise."

And so it is with sanctification . . .

Some people run in order to clear their heads. Unfortunately, my thoughts race much faster than my feet, so my mind always wins (and then it gloats). Here are the thoughts that were keeping pace with me tonight:

• In the same way that wearing these shoes doesn't automatically make me a runner, manifesting the fruits of the Spirit doesn't make me a Christian. 
• However, consistently putting on these shoes and jogging are essential actions if I want to be called a runner. If I don't actually run, then I can't be a runner. Likewise, if I don't put a little effort into living like a Christian and practicing the fruits of the Spirit, then I can't claim to be led by the Spirit.
• So how do I know when it's appropriate for me to stop referring to myself as an amateur and start thinking of myself as a runner? Two more miles? Ten? Also, how do I know if I'm saved? Two more years without any major slip-ups? Ten?
• Both my calves and my brain are starting to hurt. 
• Running is hard work. If I ever call myself a runner, it will be because I feel that I have earned that term. However, other people sometimes call me a runner . . . so I technically get that distinction, even if I think that doesn't count. Likewise, grace is free. I get the distinction of being saved because God calls me His own, not because I've earned it. Fortunately, that counts.
• So what I accomplish during my weekly jogs does matter, in a sense. It affects how long, how hard, and how fast I can run. But it doesn't affect whether or not other people will call me a runner. And the way that I conduct my life also matters. Practicing the fruits of the Spirit will draw me closer to God and enable me to be more fully Christian. However, it doesn't affect whether or not I'm saved.

Just to be sure, I looked up sanctification in my trusty copy of the Beacon Dictionary of Theology (which Pops sent with me to college so that I could answer all of my questions without becoming a Calvinist). Here it is:


     . . . in man's sanctification God is the actor; man is the object (John 17:17; 1 Thess. 5:23). The verb "sanctify," as the verb "convert," is generally in the passive voice. Only God can purge sin from the human heart, restore the moral image of God, and produce the communion with God that is reserved for the pure in heart. And only as inbred sin (inherited depravity) is destroyed can the human personality be set free to mind the things of God (Rom. 6:6, 22; 8:1-5). . . . 
     Entire sanctification does not deliver from all the consequences of the Fall. Bodies still die. Impaired humanity still suffers frustrations. Temptations continue to be felt. Time, effort, and patience are still required to develop the skills of Christian living. New light demands fresh improvements. But we are committed in our hearts to the will of God and to the guidance of the Holy Spirit. God's complaint is not against our limited ability but only against our reluctance. He gives more grace.
     Entire sanctification does not end growth. It promotes it.

Ok, let's try this again:

***Apparently, my initial post was a bit too cryptic and required access to the deep inner workings of my mind (or at least my iPod). It's a really simple request, but I guess I'm one of those people who has a hard time asking for the things she wants directly. Here are some hints:***

Dear readers [1],

I need your help. August is already slipping through my fingers, and I can't help but feel as though something is missing [2] from my normal summer routine.

I'm not talking about a summer fling [3]; I don't need a man to bring me flours [4]. I just need a little bit of help turning off the mathematical side of my mind [5] and refocusing my creative lenses (turning my inner camera on [6], if you will).

If you know what I mean, 1) please send me your suggestions or post them in the comments below, and 2) I think I might love you.

I'm in a pretty adventurous mood, so I'm willing to check out [7] whatever you suggest (once I pay my overdue library fees) - - just please [don't] [say] [this] [8].

Many thanks,

EDB

[1] people who read, broadly

[2] something is missing . . . from the picture . . .

[3] So that thing that's missing? Sometimes people use that word as a verb. That's not what I'm doing.

[4] Aside from being one of my favorite cinematic moments, the title of the film from which I stole this clip is important.

[5] So that thing that's missing? It's the name of a band. And this is a reference to one of their songs. Happily, this song is featured on the soundtrack of the film I referenced earlier.

[6] Also a song by that band, also on the movie soundtrack. THE TITLE OF THE ALBUM ON WHICH BOTH OF THESE TRACKS ARE FEATURED IS THE ANSWER TO THIS RIDDLE.

[7] I was just trying to be cute here.

[8] 1st link - you click here because you want to access recipes to cook and eventually _ _ _. 2nd link - you go here if you want to _ _ _ _. 3rd link - though I would strongly encourage you (based on personal experience) not to waste your time here, you can access this website if you want to find _ _ _ _. Combine these words, and it becomes the only wrong answer to this riddle (because I'm halfway through it and I want something new).

Pause

Sometimes, well..., then again, most times I don't know what I'm doing in life. I'm just walking and following God's direction. I feel like I'm walking in the dark, blind. It's that time when everything in your life feels as its standing still. You have been put on "pause." There are seasons when I'm confident I know I'm right where God wants me to be. Then there are times when I just fill up with multiple layers of questions. This relates to all aspects of my life; family, friends, boys, yes, I said it, and just for that I'll type it again, boys, my job, my current location, church and ministries. Oh, this list goes on and on and can easily, and usually does, overwhelm me. God? You there?

I don't like this lost [quiet/pause] type of feeling. It makes me worry, nervous, scared and anxious... all not of God, I know. I start questioning everything about my current status in life. Am I supposed to be doing what I'm doing? I'm I supposed to be here? Am I doing what God wants me to do? Am I supposed to be doing something else right now? Is what I'm doing in life pleasing to God? Am I focus on God right now? Am I doing enough? I my heart right? Oh...they just go on and on. And this feeling begins to drain me. Don't get me wrong, I do welcome self-evaluation and think it is, sometimes, necessary. It just gets me all worked up.

When this time in my life revisits me, I have to remember, yet again, that God is in control of EVERYTHING. It's good for us to check in with Him to see if there are any additional directions or messages He is supplying us with. When it's right, God gives me this peace about the situation or the event in my life. When it's wrong, he stirs everything up...I can't sleep, I dream like crazy and I'm just not at ease. The thing is, I know, because I've got the peace thing going on inside of me, that God has me where He wants me. But I feel like I've been placed on "pause." Yeah, I feel, I'm human. Time feels like it is standing still. Maybe I need to do some more listening. God? What are you up to? Talk to me. I'm here. I'm listening.

This might not make a lot of sense to you or anyone reading this. I'm sorry. I just hope that when and if you do feel this, you know, God is always there. Sometimes He's just silent. I don't know why He is sometimes silent. I usually learn why later. In the meantime, be patient. Quiet. Listen.

"Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139: 23-24

Bleg

Dear readers,

I need your help. August is already slipping through my fingers, and I can't help but feel as though something is missing from my normal summer routine.

I'm not talking about a summer fling; I don't need a man to bring me flours. I just need a little bit of help turning off the mathematical side of my mind and refocusing my creative lenses (turning my inner camera on, if you will).

If you know what I mean, 1) please send me your suggestions or post them in the comments below, and 2) I think I might love you.

I'm in a pretty adventurous mood, so I'm willing to check out whatever you suggest (once I pay my overdue library fees) - - just please [don't] [say] [this].

Many thanks,

EDB

It's not technically stalking if you live Tweet your wedding.

This is really lovely. Please read it.

Last night, over a slice of raspberry lemon cheesecake, a friend and I reminisced over lost loves and missed opportunities. Bittersweet though such memories are, please know that the glass I raised for you was full of grace and good wishes (technically decaf . . . but, metaphorically, grace).

One day, when I was frustrated at myself over something I can no longer remember and making some unfunny self-deprecating jokes, you grabbed my hand, looked me earnestly in the eye, and said: "Em, no one talks to my girlfriend that way. Not even my girlfriend." Those simple words showed me what it felt like to be protected by someone who had my best interests at heart, and though they didn't keep us together, they have kept my heart from making a thousand bad decisions since. Thank you.

I'm glad you have new fodder for your sermon illustrations. So, though I doubt you will ever see this, I want you to know that I'm so very happy for you and for your happily ever after.  

Because I wanted to blog about ironing.

As I was standing in front of the ironing board last week back home in Indiana, pressing shirts for my dad and for my brother, I couldn't help but be grateful for the chance to starch their collars.

That sounds kind of ridiculous, right? Yeah, I know; I'm weird. But we live 650 miles apart. The fact that I could iron for them meant that we were together.

Before you start to get the wrong impression about my servant-heartedness, you should know that I'm kind of obsessive about ironing. I love the sizzling sound a hot iron makes against a misted sleeve; I love the swirling clouds of steam; and, mostly, I love the immediate gratification of watching wrinkles melt away into something wearable. That's not to say that there aren't plenty of things I enjoy more than ironing . . . it just means that, as far as housework goes, I don't mind it so much. So, there's really no glory to be gained from my contribution to the family to-do list. The real test is whether you can do a chore you don't enjoy and walk away a better person than when you began.

My grandma used to have this piece of folk art hanging above the sink in her kitchen with a corny poem that said something like, "Thank God for dirty dishes . . . ". Go ahead - google it. The message is kind of a hard sell to a kid who doesn't actually want to be standing in front of the sink. I always kind of assumed that Grandma nailed it to the wall one day out of frustration. I mean, come on, what kind of a saint actually means that day in and day out? But there is plenty of truth to be found in that simple poem. A kitchen full of dirty dishes is evidence of blessings indeed. Furthermore, if you can train your heart to actually view the piles in your sink that way, then the act of washing them becomes a way for you to participate in that blessing. As you balance each dish in the drying rack, you not only acknowledge that you are blessed - you actually become blessed.

To be honest, I'm really tired right now. I'm not sitting in front of my computer tonight because I have something profound to say, or because I'm so excited about the memory of ironing that I can't sleep. I'm just trying to toss something together because I think it's good for me to do it.

The reason that I tried to convince Team 308 to start blogging together is that, insofar as writing is just thinking on paper, the act of sorting through your thoughts in a coherent, presentable fashion is a healthy exercise. Habitually posting about the little evidences of grace in the context of our daily lives (ahem, "contextual grace") should shape the way we look at our circumstances, and eventually change the way we look at grace.

As with my ironing example, I actually enjoy writing, so I can't pretend to earn any kind of points by "forcing" myself to type this out. But I do hope that anyone reading this will be challenged to look at their day's to-do list with fresh eyes. Who knows what kind of blessings are waiting for you near the sink?