Murly Christmas

I have a week off from Indiana, and I already spent a wonderful weekend with my family for Christmas.  This year, for some odd reason, my immediate family decided to open our gifts the day before Christmas Eve.  That meant that Christmas Day was for SLEEPING IN!!!  That equals best Christmas Day ever.  Dinner that day was grilled cheese sandwiches, not even copious ones.  We almost had to use heels, and we definitely had to dip into the cheddar, which, we all know doesn't hold a candle to the melty goodness of velveeta...Then we watched Pirates 2.  I don't care what anyone says, I liked it.  It was an impossible movie to do a sequel to, and I thought it was fabulous.  Can't wait for number three.

 

More Later.. .My body is still digesting the pile of food it ate this week...not enough juices to write....

--
Hey YOU want G-mail?  I can hook you up...
 

Counting Crows.

The trees are heavy with crows. Saturated...I can't even begin to assign a number..thousands? Yes it's thousands. A dark fluid cloud of 58,000 crows plague the city.  Like a scene from a Hitchcock movie, they swarm in a giant amoeba above the tree tops, snagging on the thick branches now and again.    I crane my neck to the front of the window of the truck to see them circling overhead.  The black long arms of the cloud seem to be performing an incantation rite above the cauldron that is Terre Haute.  Aimlessly, they wander, purposeless, dark and strange.

 

I understand that feeling sometimes, my friends.

 

More Shrapnel from my Brain Cloud.

Black Hair Dye, yipes.

Awkward Situations.

Rainy Indiana

Madly in Love

Tripped and Fell over a Rug that was advertising safety in the workplace

Feeling stupid at work

Feeling pretty good at work

Feeling pretty cold at work

Miss my best friends.

Houlihans, Kayaks, Kaldis whatever.

Miss my Missouri Life

Still stuck in Indiana for awhile.

Brother is the best guy on earth, no kiddin.

TM is up there too.

No two guys would I rather have in my man-rig.

Christmas is merry.

Vmars was not on TV last night.

Who else is NOT a fan of Hayley Duff?? what the heck.. you're all "Vote for Summer" and all of a sudden you get to host an award show with Reverend Camden? Pshaw.. as if.

Bible Study teleconferences with TM, unbelievable.

God is so big.

Artie... heh. Heheeheh. HAAHAHA. We all have had imaginary friends, haven't we?

"DO not be afraid, Abram..I am your sheild. Your very great reward." (even though you lied about your wife being your sister twice i am the LORD and I will use you anyway..)

Proof of me being the biggest losesr: Retainers, badges, powercords, alarmclocks, phone chargers, phone numbers, sewer checks, receipts,

Willie and Annie prankin me on the day of Willie's birf. Not fair.. but funny.

Miss volleyball, because I need a vetrinarian.. because my pythons are SICK.

I can't even type that with a straight face.

I wonder how people really see me. I know the way I see me is so distorted.

I wonder how God sees me. My twisted mind says no one could possibly see the good, my sinful nature says the truly bad isn't that bad... how far from the truth.

Beth Moore reunion is new and not a rerun? How can that be?

I wonder if I will ever live as simply and as freely as Jesus would want me to? For my sake, not only his.

I wonder if I will ever make a good mom. I'm so selfish.

I wonder if I will ever trim my toenails again. I'm going for a Guiness over here.

I wonder if JL knows what an idiot she is, what a gold mine she has. Had? Has? who knows.

I wonder if anyone really eats the pickles at the chinese buffet in Terre Haute that are in the big vat inconveniently located next to the cottage cheese compartment... ahem... ew.

I wonder if anyone reads me anymore. I've become sparse.

Biggest Losers is on.. Crying. Slightly comforting to know that in order to lose 50% of my body weight, I would have to chop a leg off. Even thought I eat the sausage biscuits at the Drury Inn breakfast buffet with no shame.

Hotel comforters... can they even be classifed as such?

If you are reading this and you are in Missouri..or Illinois, or Pennsylvania, or California, or Texas, or Minnesota, or Washington....chances are I miss you.

Take Another Very Painful Vote...

What is the WORST part about finding the retainers (that you thought were thrown away by a cleaning lady at the Drury Inn) neatly tucked in the least likely place, the retainer case, that is actually in your purse.

 

A.  You are out 100 bucks.

B.  You had to cancel a perfectly good dentist appointment, miss work, and drive thru an ice storm to get said retainers made.

or

C.  You are just a complete and TOTAL idiot.

 

Oh the horror.
 

Take a Vote

If you leave your retainers in your hotel room on a paper plate on your unmade bed, and the housekeeper throws them away... who should be held responsible for replacing them?

 

A.  You are an Idiot.  Cough up the dough.

B.  You are entitled to some sort of re-imbursement.

 

OR

 

C.   Other (Please specify).

 

BTW, "You" is "me'. 

 

 

Murl's Anatomy

Hello all. For those of you I haven't spoken with in awhile... I took a mini-unscheduled vacation. To the hospital.

Last tuesday I had the stomach flu. I was becoming a pretty good shot, vomiting into the tub while sitting on the toilet, when I decided I needed some help. So my CLIENT came back to my hotel and took me to the ER. Where I was given some fluids and some nausea meds that WIPED me out. So my mom and my Monty drove out to Terre Haute to take me home. Before they arrived I was given fluids so they could get a urine sample. I had been too dehydrated before to give one, so they had to wait a little while. I finally had stopped, ahem, ejecting things, long enough to fall into a drug-induced coma. But apparantly I was getting too comfortable. A bald, giant, earring clad nurse bursts in, wakes me from a good REM sleep flips the light on and demands a sample. I wasn't moving fast enough for him yet, so he unhooks my fluid bag, throws it on the bed and wheels me out the door to the bathroom...which was less than 5 feet from my room. It was so disturbing, like coming out of the womb must have felt. I was cold, disorented, nauseous and surrounded by people in scrubs. He really wanted this sample.. maybe for himself.. maybe he was trying to play football and needed a clean one? Who knows. I asked him if I could have a pink tray before I left the bed.. and he said "What? Oh sure, but.. we refer to those as 'pukin-buckets'!"

Lovely.

I finally was discharged and rode home. The next day and a half I spent in a coma and the world just passed by without me. I didn't answer any e-mail or go to work so I ended up with six impromptu days off, and it was wonderful and tomorrow it will be horrible, but for now, for a few more hours it is still wonderful.

Thanksgiving turned into a mini-vacation and I got to visit a ton of folks. Closest to my heart being my good friend Coralea and her baby boys who I hadn't seen in YEARS. But the oldest son remembered me and both boys were so adorable and loving. Most kids I'm around are shy and not so quick to warm up to strangers, but these two didn't have that problem, I think it is an environmental thing. Check out these cuties!

Shards of Skull... the name of my new cover band...if I had a cover band...

Many tings.
My roomate Katie's weddin. Much belated post on the week-ago event... but Indiana happens.


Anywho. Great time. Ended up being a mini-DR reunion special.. Tons of old familiar wonderful faces.. speaking of faces.. This was my super-slick trick on Markus and JRo...


So super... so slick...so unnoticed.. so captured for-ever on film...




Willie!'s attempt at revenge didn't fare so well, totally knew he was there, and captured the pit stain for-ever on film.... :)


In other Katie and Patrick wedding related news... I "hosted" a part of the wedding party at my place, which would have been fantastic... except I picked that weekend to have my sewer pipes replaced in the front yard. In a deft flash of brilliance and planning skill, I had a bobcat and several savory characters in my front yard, a giant truck blocking my drive, seven women in the house and a pile of poo in my basement.

Got that cabled out after the fact and find to my horror, that the bobcat and his band of merry men did not unclog my clot, didn't straighten my sewer... didn't really help my problem. My problem may be under the house, where no man can go...

So stay tuned for the continuing saga of my money pit. I'm sure it will be blog-worthy.

Thankfully, Tim helped me clean up before when went and saw The Departed.. which by far gets my vote as best use of skull shards in a dramatic action film. Loved Leo in that one.. Hate Leo in everything else..

This week I blew a tire on the rented Jeep Liberty.

Good thing I had some good ole' boys there to help me change the tire.. It was a cold, rainy, bone-chilling, frosty windy, not warm 'Cheeseburgers in Paradise' parking lot in lovely urban-sprawling Terre Haute.

Of note.. the good old boy number one asks me where my jack is on the jeep.. since it's not mine, I do not know offhand. They take off on a 21 point inpection of the vehicle to locate said jack.

I look in the manual...The other female in the car says sarcastically under her breath... "Now Lindsey, why would you look in the manual?" I am the first jill to the jack.

O-E-yes!

Warning... Enginerd humor. Safe to say the whole room was crakin up when maybe the dearest little Indian Man on earth dropped the following bombs-o-funny. .

Structural Engineer: "We should put a note that says... Don't drill through beams...seems obvious, but I think it needs to be said."
Structural Engineer, disdainfully, on what scale to draw certain section in: "3/32 is a bastard scale".
Structural Engineer on which floors to pour: "Do the second first and then the first second."

Love that guy.

V Mars slips in the Murl ratings..

Before: After:

Yes.. Jim, Mark, basically I'm dissappointed with VMars after her big change to the CW. They took the best TV detective/comedy/drama and made it the O.C! The show started out with Veronica being a junior in high school with a big story line, great deeply developed characters.. from the gold-hearted motorcycle gang leader, to the confused sarcastic lovable bad boy, to the bumbling simple minded local sheriff who you love to hate, and taken it and scrubbed it of all it's unique-ness and turned it into a typical college drama. Shouldn't the writers have known from the examples of 90210 and Saved by the Bell, that you CAN'T transition a high school drama into a college one effectively... heck.. you can't even do it in real life. This season of VMars has turned Veronica into a jealous "girly-girl", had dropped or ignored HUGE plot lines (maybe because actors didn't return for this season.. but we are just left hanging on major parts of the story..like where is Duncan? Where is her mom? There is no emphasis on the relationship between her and Wallace.. (which is one of the best story lines, and relationships they had going). Ugh.. and NOW her Dad (who also constitutes one of the best Father-daughter acts of all time) is having an affair with a married woman. BOOOO, I say.. HISS BOO. Another example to follow many others of a show that had GREAT potential and was so different, turned into every other pop show on TV.

Yeah. I was scared to admit it.. but I'm not happy. I will say the first two seasons are some of the best work I've seen on TV, and this third season leaves me with an "eh" feeling.

Don't get me wrong.. it's still a good show.. it just used to be a great show.

And it make me sad.

Bold, Scandalous Hope

Ok. So I think I've had a revelation. Not one that I haven't had before... but somehow it seems to have more stick power, and less emotion driven as previous "yay-God-type" revelations. Ever since my bff Angela mentioned the lack of a "Bold Hope" driving back from Greenville, the ring of that phrase hasn't left my brain. There are so many reasons to be cynical. Countless reasons. It is absolutely justifiable to be hard, and cold and self-protective and to look out for number one. It really makes a lot of sense. Good advice from the 'wiser' older to the younger. Watch out for you, because no one else will. My spirit is crushed daily with the weight of this world, I stood at the polls today wanting to kick the booth over with angst for the lack of real solutions, I see the droves of homeless around Monty's loft and I want to get a bull horn and chant "GET A JOB" out the side of the car, but I also want to make them sandwiches, but I don't want them to mug me. (How awful am I?), I want to take the fowl mouthed people who yell at each other on the reality shows and I want to force them to watch video of themselves while tied to a chair, but I keep watching them while not tied to anything. I want all politicians put in a boxing ring in sumo suits with built in tasers and let them fight to the death. I want fat people to be thin, I want emaciated people to eat, I want the sick to be healed and I want wrong to be RIGHT. But how? It's overwhelming to the perfectionist in me that says ALL or NOTHING. But there is one BIG giant reason to be hopeful. And that reason is that God is at work. And the God of scripture DOES have power and has purpose and is all that is good and light in the world. It is all things worth forwarding in an e-mail that warm your heart, it's all things that are so beautiful, that stand out against the stark white cold hardness of the world we live in. They are often very small things. The diary of Anne Frank was a very small thing. Very small words from a little teenaged girl, in the midst of a hurricane of hate and tragedy. Those whispered words spoke much louder and lasted much longer than the Hilters did. The trials of Martin Luther King Jr. who was up against violence and hate whose voice now rings out victoriously in a world that more and more (I feel) sees people being judged by the content of their character. In a backyard example...I see men like Monty. He may be unpolished on the surface..the things he says make me cringe sometimes, he may have scary tattos, but his heart is one that is beautiful. He loves people who can't love him back. He loves people who have hurt him.. loves them radically, even monitarily and wouldn't imagine playing it any other way. He cares for people whose lives are messy, and he gets into the mess for them. He loves freely and often and doesn't count costs before deciding to love. He isn't ruled by fear. Period. He isn't concerned with appearances, says what he thinks and isn't afraid to be wrong. He feels things and isn't afraid to feel what he's feeling, fully and completely. Isn't afraid to chase after a girl who dumped him. Is isn't afraid of anything really..except God. Mmkey that was a mush-fest-over...sorry. With all of the examples I could give of the merits of hoping, of trying. I still I see people, including myself, plugging into a world that wont heal. It refuses medicine, it refuses love, it refuses to drink, it refuses to breathe. I get too smart for myself sometimes because i don't "see" God working. Or it seems better and smarter to play the odds that things are going to turn out badly, that people are going to hurt you and that life is going to dissappoint you terribly if you start getting this "hoping" notion into your head. Can we rise up? We are engaged in an epic battle (oh geez John Eldridge...) and it is a grand shame that i forget it so often, because I'm surrounded by smart people who don't believe. People I admire for their brains and talent, who can't see what I can see. And it, honestly, makes me feel a bit stupid. It makes the little girl in me stick her chin out and fold her arms and choke back hot angry tears. B-but he IS real. Why wont you see? Oh ok, to maintain the 'coolness' factor, I'll take my God down a notch. I'll what? Am I serious? I can do no such thing. May God not smite me. I can't because it isn't true. It shames me to say that these are my thoughts. I pound the nails in further. My revelation is this. It's ok to hope. It's the better deal. And I'm going to...damn it. Don't care who thinks I'm a Pollyanna. I don't care. I have reason for hope. I mean the Cardinals won a freakin' World Series this year... ANYTHING is possible... ;)

True Story.

My brothers hilariously inappropriate friend, Steve, sent Dusty this video he took on his phone.

This is in a long drive comptetition. Note this particular contestant's lack of shirt, shoes and the presence of the HOUSE ARREST anklet.

Oh yeah.

Riddle Me This..

How do you find exactly THREE white castle burger boxes in the abandoned fish tank in the backyard? One, maybe... I could see it accidentally getting blown in there from God knows where... but THREE? I'm thinking deliberate deposit of the crave cases into said water-laden fish tank. Oh yes.. someone..some late-night good-timer PURPOSELY used the abandoned fish tank in the backyard as their own personal trash-can... and WHY are they wandering out in my backyard??

I'm setting up cameras...
Crochety. party of one.

Go Crazy Folks!

Yeah Birds!

I DIDN'T JINX HIM!!

http://www.longdrivers.com/news/remax/102606.html

Un-believable, considering he didn't get out of round one last year...

I was trying to get to Vegas this weekend to see it myself.. but no tickets cheaper than donating my left kidney.

Probably just as well..

Keep your fingers crossed for my bro!!

Not to Jinx....

Saying "not to jinx" ensures no jinxing..

And I'm not superstitious anyway...

So I don't mind telling you that Dusty is in round 6 of 9 in the Remax World Long Drive Championship.

Boo-to-the-yah...

He knocked out the previous world champ...

How cool?

Too Long.

Who knew that Boston's Pizza had a wireless connection? Who knew that there was such a place as Boston's Pizza?

Long time no blog.

Life on the road has obstructed my ability to blog as of late.. and I’ve had some crummy internet connections in my hotels as of late as well. And lets just be honest… I’m spending some serious time being smitten with a certain someone. It’s a very good thing.

Only… I feel as if I’ve left a club of sorts.. I feel as if I finally don’t get to be the one who knows what it feels like to be single. I hate that feeling. I hate knowing that people most dear to me now put me in a “them” category. Ugh. The sheer “Ugh”. Does it not count that I’d been exactly there for ten years previous?

I want to be like the Cary Murphy’s of the world. Cary Murphy, who last year, at her New Year’s Rockin’ Eve party noted I was one of the only people there without significant other to smooch and walked up to me and planted one fat on my cheek. She had no idea at the time how much that meant to me. As if she were almost saying… you know it’s great… and all, but not worth the heartache you make it… you don’t have to “be” anyone to be here with us… it was sweet.

That said, I’ve had some very good teachers on how to be a good fighter, a good receiver, and a good woman, so it’s nice to put those into practice in an actual, real-live relationship. He’s great. But he’s still just a guy.

He’s still not Jesus and will never be.

That said, I have a large text message bill.

In other news, I have elevated my golf game. Wow I shot an highly questionable 85 the other day. On the back 9 I shot at 39. That is absurd for me. It wouldn’t pass USGA scrutiny, but I was hittin the sticks.

Speaking of sticks. Dusty is in Vegas as we speak hitting his sticks, hopefully for some big money. Proud of my bro. He’s da man, the quintessential “Big Deal”.

Cardinals wins remind me of nostalgia of days past. When the Cards won the series in ’82 (saying “in ‘82” makes me sound like a sports bad-ass, yes?) Getting to see my dad jump straight up out of his lazy boy and clap his hands over his head and almost TOUCH THE CEILING made my three year old self much impressed. I mean… the CEILING was far far away to me then. When did world series tickets get to be like buying a small business? I went to the series in 2004 with my Dad on standing room only tickets and they weren’t quite so absurdly expensive. I dunno what happened there. But looks like I’ll be watchin’ from the couch this time.

Speaking of Tickets.. if anyone knows anyway to get USC vs. Notre Dame tickets and can assist me in getting said tickets.. I’ll… I’ll…. Be your best friend. Yeah.. move over Joaquin Phoenix.. the position will be filled.

I hit a possum on the way to Terre Haute this time. That makes my wildlife bloodletting streak go up by 50% in the last two months. I got a squirrel earlier this fall.

Someone told me that if the department responsible for clearing road kill ever went on strike we’d be knee deep in otter brains before Christmas.

Someone else who was not a native St. Louisan or a Cardinal fan told me that if the Arch fell over and crushed the stadium tomorrow, he wouldn’t bat an eye. Heh.

Does anybody remember the Carol Burnette Show?? Wow. I caught a glimpse of an infomercial peddling her collectors edition DVD’s for her show and I was just reminded of how funny that lady really is. Great gams too.

I’m going to buy them, or request them for Christmas or something. The DVD’s not the gams.

I became a statistic for the second time by running over my upper retainer with the lawn mower. Curse that Orthodontist for telling me that his adult patients NEVER lose their retainers.

Reaching way back in blog-history I would be CRAZY not to mention the TOOTH BIKE, Boneless Arm Roast Anniversary special, and horse-drawn carriages build from cornstalks. Thus IS Greenville Illi-noise.

Boo to the Yah.

The crazy hippy pirate praise band the Psalters were there. And they were fantastic. I danced. I danced with the wild abandon of someone who didn’t care who was watching.. I used to never care who was watching. Something changed. Not sure when, but regardless… I danced. In my bare feet in a carpeted almost “garage” in the middle of nowhere… where they had no tickets to purchase, and homemade snacks at the door. Oh memories of college. When shirts were flannel, and things were simpler, only we thought they were much more complicated. Hooray for being the oldest people in the room. Hooray for my two dear friends who make me laugh so hard and who have bacon wallets. YES BACON WALLETS. Oh man.

Stick that in yer bacon wallet and fry it.

Oh Thank Goodness

For the little church volleyball league I find myself playing in.

We play in a gym in a church, the gym behind the kitchen. It's carpeted. We pray before we play and large tattooed men in muscle shirts who love Jesus tell us about the ministry of the church and then we bang balls around in the name of Jesus.

It's even the marooney color of my church that I grew up playing basketball in. Felt weirdly good. Like I can't believe I forgot that this happens around the midwest, I can't believe I forgot. I'm so glad it still happens. After the too-cool-for-school days at washu, the snobby anti small town place for your mind to 'expand', I'm so glad we got to play with Josh, the mentally handicapped sixth man on the other team who never ever stopped smilling the entire time.

The small towners got it right.

On completely different note, I find it ODD that we cant end sentences with prepositions... sometimes there just isn't a better way to say it. Anybody with me? It seems completely arbitrary.

The Apple Picker

He says:
"That's great news".
"I called Adelaide today".

"Lives of Service".

Things are "Stupid Good".

I say things are stupid good.

Greetings from The Haute.

Many things have happened since we last posted.

I turned a year older. Twenty seven is delicious so far. Heard it described most perfectly by a sara of mine, "Old enough to be making decent money, and still young enough to not have old people responsibilities." Yeah, I'm down.

I now have a beaux. I'm not going to put much info up here about him. He's in the public eye (well, ear, rather) enough. But he's great, and great for me, and I'm very excited about this developement.

I have started week number in Terre Haute in 'Lindsey-style'. Hows that? By leaving the lights in my rental car on all night, requiring a member of the Hampton Inn housekeeping staff to jump my Ford Taurus. I was a half hour late to my first day of training, but that got worked out. I didn't miss anything and I now have a badge on a stringy bungee thing that I pull out and let snap back to my hip.

It's fantastic.

I have also already snagged a spot on a volleyball team for Monday nights in Terre Haute. Which is also fantastic.

On the way home I definitely drove by a semi-sized caged truck that was chock full of live chickens, not terribly unlike this one:


Only in Indiana.

Branson, Busch Stadium. Whatever.

"I got Shoji Tabuchi's Autograph!"













Who?

"Uhm...I mean So Taguchi's autograph.. "







Love, Love, Love you, Mom!.

Moving to "High Ground".

That is "Terre Haute"

Looks like I'm getting shipped off. I'll be living in Terre Haute, Indiana for the next 6 months of my life. I get to come home on weekends, no worries, the Lou will not be Murl-free ALL week long.

I'm actually rather excited about it. (Ask me in a few months what I think..). I'm mostly glad because life seems like it will slow down a bit. I get to focus back on one job and to take some evenings to rest more. I am welcoming that.

Not welcoming missing my volleyball night, or my small group night, but I'll survive, I suppose.

I'm still pretty tired. Was in Terre Haute, on Monday (there and back) then on Tuesday flew to KC, stayed up too late working, then got up way too early and sat through a 10-hour meeting.

In a word I'm nauseous-tired.

Had to give a presentation today infront of a lot of people that should have made me quite nervous. It went pretty well, and people actually stopped checking their e-mail when i was presenting. That was nice.

So there is a light at the end of this busy-tunnel, and good times, in a place where someone makes my bed for me everyday, which means my bed will actually get made everyday. This is something that I'm actually ready for.

"At this point in my life" Says Tracy Chapman.

Insert Clever Title Here

Crazyness. Life is a little nutty right now.

I can't begin to tell you how crunched I am at work. (Lindsey you always say that) NO it's TRUE. Too busy. Even my boss says so.

I'm frustrated in general. There is no curing it. I AM type A, Marc, you were right.

I get to this place where there are so many things to do that I cannot decide which priority is the most important. So I, a lot of times, just go limp and start cleaning my desk just so I feel like I've done something of value.

I am even too tired to try to put something on here that is worth reading.

Folks, I'm zapped, a little discouraged, a little sick, and am just not going to make any apology for it.

This is me right now.
With all the gusto of a bowl of oatmeal,

Linz

BLIMEY!

Oh sad day! Everyone's favorite man in khaki shorts died today at the prong of a giant stingray. In reverance I say of Steve Irwin: He was a beauty.

Psalm 13

For the director of music. A psalm of David.

1 How long, O LORD ? Will you forget me forever? How long will you hide your face from me? 2 How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and every day have sorrow in my heart? How long will my enemy triumph over me? 3 Look on me and answer, O LORD my God. Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death; 4 my enemy will say, "I have overcome him," and my foes will rejoice when I fall. 5 But I trust in your unfailing love; my heart rejoices in your salvation.

6 I will sing to the LORD, for he has been good to me.

My Bro.

He did it!! Again.

Qualified for the Remax World Long Drive Championship in Laughlin, NV. Heck yeah.
This year he said was a bit harder, considering the burden of having qualified relatively quickly last year and the larger number of competitors entering the sport. In any case, I'm uber proud of him. This time it was 343 into a headwind.

I'll, as always, keep you posted on my brothers studly progress.

Good job Schmusty.

Confessions of a crappy flosser.

Deep dark sadness. I think sometimes that Jesus is like getting a root canal.

I have to get a root canal. Ok. So I haven't been to the dentist in quite sometime. The last time I went the guy did such a bad job, it freaked me out and I haven't gone back. "Oh maybe you have a hypersensitive tooth or something.." maybe it feels like you are boring holes into my head and hot lighting flashes of pain shoot up into my brain.

Maybe I have a cavity underneath the filling you just put in, wacko.

I'm such an idiot. I've been in pain for so long and have just tried to ignore it and chewed on the other side. Whilst the tooth keeps rotting along. Just because I pretend it's not there, doesn't mean it's not there. Ugh.

So I finally get up the nerve to go to Dr. Pmurph, and he looks at me like I have three heads.

But. The good news is, I'll feel better when it's all said and done and I'll be able to eat chocolate again, be able to drink water again, drink hot tea, open my mouth again. Hooray.

I'm such a wuss. It's just a root canal.

Hey Boys and Girls!

Over the Rhine IN ST. LOUIS in the Duck Room at Blueberry Hill, Friday, September 8. You all need to come to this. If you like MUSIC at ALL.

It's only my favorite band of all time.

Come one, come all.

Come from everywhere.

Frying pan... to the side of my head.

Ruthless Trust, Brennan Manning

When the brilliant ehticist John Kavanaugh went to work for three months at "the house of the dying" in Calcutta, he was seeking a clear answer as to how best to spend the rest of his life. On the first morning there he met Mother Teresa. She asked, "And what can I do for you?" Kavanaugh asked her to pray for him. "What do you want me to pray for?" she asked. He voiced the request that he had borne thousands of miles from the United States: "Pray that I have clarity." She said firmly, "No, I will not do that." When he asked her why, she said, "Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of." When Kavanaugh commented that she always seemed to have the clarity he longed for, she laughed and said, "I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God." "We ourselves have known and put our trust in God's love toward ourselves" (1 John 4:16). Craving clarity we attempt to eliminate the risk of trusting God. Fear of the unknown path stretching ahead of us destroys childlike trust in the Father's active goodness and unrestricted love. We often presume that trust will despel the confusion and illuminate the darkness, vanquish the uncertainty, and redeem the times. But the crowd of witnesses in Hebrews 11 testifies that this is not the case. Our trust does not bring final clarity on this earth. It does not silence the chaos or dull the pain or provide a crutch. When all else is unclear, the heart of trust says, as Jesus did on the cross, "Into your hands I commit my spirit" (Luke 23: 46). If we could free ourselves from the temptation to make faith a mindless assent to a dusty pawnshop of doctrinal beliefs, we would discover with alarm that th essence of biblical faith lies in trusting God. And, as Marcus Borg has noted, "The first is a matter of the head, the second a matter of the heart. The first can leave us unchanged, the second intrinsically brings change." The faith that animates the Christian community is less a matter of believing in the existence of God than practical trust in his loving care under whatever pressure. The stakes here are enormous, for I have not said in my heart, "God exists," until I have said, "I trust you." The first assertion is rational, abstract, a matter perhaps of natural theology, the mind laboring at its logic. The second is "communion,
bread on the tongue from an unseen hand." Against insurmontable obstacles and without a clue as to the outcome, the trusting heart says, "Abba, I surrender my will and my life to you without any reservation and with boundless confidence, for you are my loving Father."

Shrapnel

I hit a bird with my car the other day. Mid-flight. (the bird was in flight, not my car... damn dangling participles...) It was rare. What is wrong with birds lately? I heard that someone else did this recently too. All the birds in Missouri are juiced.

I don't even think it died, just a weird pathetic thump.

I love where I work. I love the people I work with. Today I was talking to perhaps the guy I admire most in our company and our mentor, and he was telling me that he A. Likes to wear womens pajamas as opposed to mens because they make just nightshirts, as opposed to two piece pajamas for men. B. That he doesn't go to wal mart, except for the one time he had to buy worms for his sons science project, and a second time for when he needed emergency shaving cream, and found a substance for women that was not in a can, but just poured out of the container, whatever it was... and C. That he started purchasing the product, by the case, directly from the manufacturer to avoid wal-mart.

There is one man, secure in his manhood and not afraid to walk his talk. He also is an avid creme brulee fan, and wears pink. A hero to us all.

This weekend I'm driving to Denver with my bro, we are crashing on Poshak's floor, if anyone has any messages/parcels to send him. I leave early early Friday morning. Jim, i'll tell him to ice his... nevermind.

My roomate is getting married, and leaving us, in pink tennis shoes.
My other roomate may as well be getting e-mails from God about her direction.
Beth Moore is over. Very sad. I, however, still have about 4 weeks to complete. (yay for me).

My ipod is broken again. Any five of you want to help me out with this?

There is this crazy guy on cable TV that is called the Dog Whisperer. He is like this crazy dog psychologist and it sounds completely cheese whiz, but this guy is amazing. I've seen him put a spell on Sandy and it's nuts. (1000pts if you can name that movie).

My sewer line has backed up, hopefully for the last time. Mu ah ah. The city of Webster Groves and I are going to k it's a. And it's going to be great.

Uhm go see Talladega Nights. Fun-ny.

I dropped off some of the last 8 years of bad fashion choices yesterday at goodwill. If I knew how easy it was I would have done it ages ago. I am the antithesis of trendy. I blame the frame. It's hard to find curtains for this window, especially trendy ones.

My Gorgeous Crooked Family Tree

Like her, I am angry. I feel cheated and sad. Like her, I think he's a jerk. Like her, the hippie life has a draw to me that I cannot deny. Unlike her, I do not like soy latte's with double shot espresso. And unlike her, I like sausage, and bacon.. but I do understand that beans doused in bacon bits are not a good compromise. Like her I laugh often and am happy with simple things. And yes, that girl was snarky, I agree with that.

Like her, I am judgemental. I am afraid of the things that I do not understand. Like her, I love to dance. Like her, I say things that I don't realize hurt people the way they do. Like her, I want to take care and control of people.

Like him, I do not understand the pure type B. I do not get messy hair, and I like tasks. I like getting things done, and I like a game of golf. I like to help people. I like to be a hero. I understand responsibilities and sacrifice. When poked at, I lash back harshly, hoping to wound as I have been wounded. Like him I like to entertain.

Like her, I care about how I look. My own flaws bother me. Like her, I laugh and move and speak, like her I talk schmoopy to babies and puppies. But the dog whisperer hopes to break me of this. Unlike her, I say what I feel and wish more people did. Like her I fear conflict and laugh to lighten up rooms.

Like her, I do not put stock in ceremony, per se. Unlike her I believe in God and everything he stands for. Like her, I cry. I weep when I see my grandmother hug her in her wedding dress. I weep when I see the necklace that all three of my aunts and my two cousins have worn in their weddings. I weep when he said his vows and showed his heart. I laugh when my dad felt him up.

Like him I dance for joy. Pure unadulterated joy that makes people wonder for just a second "Is he ok? What the heck is unadulterated joy? It's been a long time since I danced like that.. I wonder if he's ok?" Johnny B Good. I love her as he does. As the little girl who was his little boy too, she was my idol in many ways and I took her lead in many ways.

Like him I am awkward and insecure, but people think I have this confidence and comfort in my own skin. Like him... I'm so like him.

Like him I wonder if people see me. I am crippled and wonder if people see me. Like him, I also wonder if I will get married before I die, and I wonder if there is cake. Where the hell is the cake?

Unlike them, I have not held grudges. I have let myself out of prison. For I can hold no other in a prison but myself. So I am unlike them.

Like her I wish for the fairy tale. I wish for the perfect fantasy with whispy white lanterns and light streaming in through the gauzy curtains. I wish for perfect place settings and gorgeous flowers. I don't care how much it cost, for a night, it's perfect and I could die happy. I don't care if it puts me in debt, it's a memory and it's worth it. Like her, I schmooze and smile for the camera, and I entertain the crowd and long to be someone. Unlike her, I want the fairy tale to run deeper than the surface. It matters more to me that the icing is on some cake instead of a house of cards.

Like her I'm freer than I was. Like her, I find adoption a special, a precious gift of God's perfection right her on crappy sad earth. I like spirituals sung a capella near a creek and I like chocolate chip cookies and elmo's dressed like birds. Like her I like the spiritual and the sappy and make no apology for it. Dolls and china, jury's still out. I hate him. But more than that, I feel sorry for him.

Like her I'm young and innocent, so impatient, so tired, so very very very loved just because I exist, and so very very lucky. I like giving hugs and kisses and I like ketchup too.

Lindsey, in the Kitchen, with the Cooking Spray.

This past weekend for my mother's birthday, I thought I'd do something extra special for her by trying to kill her.

I decided to make french toast for breakfast. The boys were gone in Atlanta and it was just the two of us for the day so I had her fire up the griddle and she sprayed oil on it for me. She then sat down and drank her coffee while I mixed up the stuff, and make the finest french toast I've ever made. She even commented 'Lindsey this is really good.. No I'm serious. On a scale of one to ten.. YOU are an Eleven.'

No she didn't really say that, but she did like it. And I liked it too, cleaned up every last bit. As I sat there fat and happy, my mom, who had started to clean up the kitchen turns to me and asks:

"Lindsey! Why is the cap off of the furniture polish?"

[Pause]

"Well, I suppose it's because I just made the french toast in it. "

We laughed the slightly crazy laugh of people who didn't know if they were going to die or not.

The cooking spray that she used, got put away unbeknownst to me... and I just grabbed the nearest spray can which just happened to be sitting on the island next to the griddle... and happened to be Gordmans Furniture Polish. Yummy.

Ingredients; Natural Oils, Surfactants (fancy word for 'soap') , UV sunscreen, and propellant. I think we'll be fine. I think.

I should do a commercial for them:

"Guardsman Furniture Polish with UV Sunscreen cleans, polishes, and helps furniture resist fading caused by exposure to sunlight. Guardsman polish protects while producing a deep, brilliant shine with a fresh wood scent and does not leave a dulling wax, on your french toast."

"Thankyou and Goodnight."

Charrrrrr....

I chop and kick and punch the air.

Because I love Charter Communications.

I make an appointment. Charter GRACIOUSLY confirms the appointment for cable service one day before the appt. They don't call you, they have a robot do it. And leave you a unintelligible voice message, but they contact you nonetheless.

Then they chain you to your house from 1 to 5 pm on a Saturday. The Robot calls again. Confirming the appointment again AND letting you know that the technician would be there in an hour. SO I sit on my front porch and I wait. I wander to the front yard, I water the plants, I look up one side of the street and down the other... I chat with my roomate, A WITNESS who can verify my presence at my residence.

Imagine my suprise when I toddle back into the house to see if the Cable company, had, by chance, had it's robot contact my robot. And it had. To CANCEL my appointment. Thanks guys. Cause I wasn't WAITING ON THE FRONT PORCH AT ALL!!!

Bad words. BAD words.

Goo. I was so mad. I'm still mad. Granted the cable in the entire universe was out due to the storm so they realistically couldn't have done anything anyway, but in principle I'm right and I'm ticked. :)

So I call to make sure I'm not charged a cancellation fee, and I got to listen to every zip code that didn't have cable service. I should have felt compassion toward the other cable-less victims, but I was extra ticked that I had to LISTEN to EVERY SINGLE zip code that had no cable service.

In case you weren't aware, that was a big storm folks... a big big storm. A LOT of zip codes later, I FINALLY got to a person who was no help and transfered me to billing where I got to listen to the zip codes again. Before I hung up (one of those times that you wish you still had a land phone to slam down, the snap shut just isn't gratifying) the nice lady says "Thankyou for Choosing Charter" I said. "Ma'am, I didn't HAVE a choice!"

I'd rather slide down a slide of razors and land in a pool of lemon juice. HEEYEAH.

Someone's been writing in my notebook...

Today at work I found a note in my pile of legal pads that said simply:

"You have dissappointed all of us & we will miss your WB frog impersonation"

Zoinks!

Oh! Funnies from the darling Angela. An excerpt from an e-mail she sent to someone else. This is so typical...

funny story....on saturday night while linz, casey & i were watching movies (at linz's house) linz got up to go to the bathroom. casey says to me, "let's hide and scare her"...so we both start scurrying around and i decide to go through the kitchen and hide right inside the basement door at the top of the stairs. i'm waiting and laughing because i knocked over a chair and tripped on my way to hide and i was sure she would know something was up. so the door starts to open and i scream to try to scare her, but it's casey because he couldn't find a hiding place in the living room. i start dying laughing and knock a dustbuster off the wall and it bangs down the stairs. we're standing there at the top of the stairs laughing & waiting for lindz, and casey keeps saying, "bite your tongue! bite your tongue!" to get me to stop laughing. finally, linz comes out of the bathroom and is going, "hey...hey guys. this isn't funny guys. hey guys, where are you? i'm really creeped out. hey guys." so in her searching she finally gets to the basement door and opens it, and we scare her, and she goes flying backward across the kitchen on the floor like acartoon character. i think i almost peed my pants. "

Final Countdown.

Braces come off this week.

FINALLY. Ugh. Immediately after I got them, I envisioned spending the next six months sealed up anti-socially in my basement, mute and starving. But alas, I got over myself, and came out of hiding, and eventually stopped drinking slim-fast shakes. Which, according to Kyle, and this list is one of the ten worst foods for you. (Interestingly enough they are not as bad as Alcohol, which is the worst of them all. Kyle doesn't seem to mind that one as much as he thinks I should mind a liquid diet...BUT I DIGRESS).

Yes finally the braces come off, and I'll be able to speak normally again and eat apples covered in caramel and roled in nuts, and run my tongue along the teeth and be able to say "Sister Susie Sittin on a Thistle" without the lisp.

I have three days left. I'm stoked. Stoked like the soldiers in Les Mis... the ones singing show tunes and prancing about. In fact, if I wasn't getting them off THIS week, I would have taken them off myself with pliers and a chisel. I'm not kidding.

I'm a Plagerist.

Back from Camping. Rested, rejuvenated, and refreshed which I can't often say after a typical "vacation".

Wrote a whole long thing about and I lost it... stupid internet. So since this isn't college and my blog isn't due tomorrow, I'll fill you in later.

But it was just lovely.

Decided that I couldn't say it better than this.

I'm OUT

Finally. A vacation for ME! I am driving up to Cornerstone to see, primarily, (finally), Over the Rhine. Hooray. It's been awhile since I've camped. It's been awhile since I've been to the madness that is a Chirstian Music festival. It's crazy. Polite moshing?

Yes. It will be fantastic time to my self on the road.
Not so fantastic is my suckity sucky ipod that is broken again. I am sick with angst.

Then I remember it's just an ipod, and I can sing any song on it myself, as loud as I want in the car by myself. Improvisation. The child of necessity... or something.

Now that I am old and wise, I WILL be taking sunscreen with me. As, I still have freckle marks in the exact pattern of a tank top I wore to my last music festival. Ah. Me love me Irish roots. (and me lucky charms?)

Bushnel IL. Look out. Here comes murl.

Halle-lu-yer.

What's that noise?

It's the sound of my I.Q. going up...

I'm now a brunette.

(Yipes, that picture is sorta "Senior '97" sorry about that.)

Chi-who?

Chihuly Glass in the Garden. Good.

The day was hot, and a little steamy, inside the climatorium at the Botanical Gardens, we walked inside the lower compartment where they sell books, postards, DVD's and drinks. I strolled over to the Coke machine with cash in hand to purchase a frosty beverage. I notice a supermodel esque couple strolling toward me. A tall eastern block-man and his tan gorgeous girlfriend in an emerald green figure-hugging dress. As I fumbled for my dollars, I notice the price is 1.50 (a rant which I'll delay until another post) and I feed the cash into the machine, trying not to stare at this couple, trying to ignore the fact they were intimidatingly pretty, and very artsy looking, trying to blend into this surrounding and just for crying out loud get in and out of the coke line with grace and style.

Fine time for the machine to give me change in dimes.

Instead of 2 concise quarters, my swollen from walking all day fingers had to fumble for five tiny dimes, out of an impossibly small hole that was impossibly low to the ground (in case you forgot, I'm 6'2") Me and my frizzball head are hunkered over this machine thinking the change should, my god, already be there. But it wasn't. As I waited for this eternity my back was cramping up from a dishwashing injury the night before, and my best side pointed toward Mr. and Mrs. Multi-Cultual-America. After 37 years, the dimes were corraled, and I was standing up right again. I crack open my diet coke anticipating relief, only to have it geyser up out of the bottle in a frozen chihuly-like snake. Awesome.

Then Ange and I witnessed a marriage proposal. I've been to a lot of weddings. But this was the closest I've been to an actual proposal. We almost interrupted it. It was sweet. A guy all in black, a gal in a white sundress, both just sweet as could be. He had a journal, and was reading from it. It was near the fountain in front of the rose garden. She said yes. We clapped. We whooped and cheered.

The boys on my brain.

I've had a lot on my mind. Got another sick grandparent. My grandpa could use your prayers, he took a tumble backwards out of his wheelchair after some "inhouse" modifications by the nursing home staff. He hit his head on the bed and had to go to the emergency room. After that, he didn't wake up the next day and had to go back to the ER. He eventually came to, but they aren't sure why he wouldn't wake up.

They took him in for x-rays, and they found a fracture in his head from when he was 12. He fell on some ice in the driveway and broke his melon. But no one fixed it back then, no one wore "Bumpy the safety dog" helmets. No one took kids who bumped their heads to the doctor. He's been in a nursing home for over 4 years. He's won valentine's day "king" while there, and got his motorized wheelchair privledges revoked for reckless driving in the halls. That's my boy.

He used to be a sharpshooter. He would win countless trap and skeet tournaments, and was a basketball star with massive massive feet. (Hmm talk about getting it honestly). He was a smoker, and then was a quitter. Cold turkey, and never went back. He loves his dogs. Now he says weird things and pats strange girls on the rear thinking that they are me, or one of the eight sweet girls in his life. He used to call me Lindsey-bug. I remember HATING it. Like would run away from his open arms and just hated being the center of his attention. I hated being called Lindsey-bug with the fire of a thousand suns. Once, he picked out my Christmas present, it was this an awkward sweater with a giant number "1" on it. "Cause I was his number one girl." I guess he liked that I was athletic, and he could most relate to that. But it was still awkward, considering he had four granddaughters and three daughters and a wife that watched me open this gift. I never wore it. He was one of my biggest fans and my biggest critic. Funny how those two roles tend to be driven by the same emotion.

Yeah. I have all four of my grandparents. It's a huge blessing in my life.

Another blessing was meeting little James Wacker for the first time this week. Caroline and Dan's firstborn. He's precious and perfect, as little boys should be. Beautiful kid.

In case you were actually reading this thing, the aforementioned boy was a false alarm. It's good though, I'd never actually been rejected before, and it was kinda nice. Like, life went on. Whew glad I got that outta the way. On with the Chorophyll.

I'm up late again... and I'm watching Conan O'Brien. He's hilarious, I'm sorry. He was just doing spoofs on musicals. One was the "Phantom of the Juicer". So that's going to be stuck in my head for-evah. Thanks. I had just gotten "In the year two-thousand...In the year two-thousand" out of my head. It took, like, six years.

Good Ole Anne Lamott.

"What did you hear in my voice when I called?"
"I just heard that you were in trouble."
He was about the first Christian I ever met whom I could stand to be in the same room with. Most Christians seemed almost hostile in their belief that they were saved and you weren't. Bill said it bothered him too, but you had to listen to what was underneath their words. What did it mean to be saved, I asked, although I knew the word smacked of Elmer Gantry for both of us.
"You don't need to think about this," he said.
"Just tell me."
"I guess it's like discovering you're on the shelf of a pawnshop, dusty and forgotten and maybe not worth very much. But Jesus comes in and tells the pawnbroker, 'I'll take her place on the shelf. Let her go outside again.'"

I wish it were only a Karaoke Microphone...

I see that land, On the far side of the river J.
It's wild and terrible.
But it's with You.

Here in my chains I'm happy and fed.
Here in captivity I know what beating is next.
Here in my head, I'm right about me.

Over there is where I should be.
But here I stand.
Even if you part the sea, I need to trust and walk.

I thrust my balled fist into the air.
Pry it out of my cold dead hand if you must.
And you must, because I cannot let go.

Bethanese.

The Beth Moore study is amazing. You know this. You know she's awesome. She can't help it. She's an instrument of God. :P

The opposite of Phillipians 4:6, 7 in Beth-Speak:

"Do not be calm about anything, but in everything, by dwelling on it constantly and feeling picked on by God, with thougths like "and this is the thanks I get" present your aggravations to everyone you know but Him. And in the acid in your stomach, which transcends all milk products, will cause you an ulcer, and the doctor bills will cause you a heart attack and you will lose your mind."

Heh.

Stained Glass Window to my Soul.

I am oddly drawn to the imagery of stained glass. It's this intricate puzzle only makes sense when light shines through it. Even if you put all the pieces together perfectly, without light, it's not alive, and it's not fufilling it's purpose. But when the light hits it...

I know nothing about life; I'm 22, jobless, aimless and unsure of anything, dirty, sweaty and tired from riding in a bus all day. Growing numb from all the sights and the barrage on the senses that is a 17-day whirlwind tour of Europe. I find myself in a Cathedral in France. I find myself struck.

I find myself.

I gaze up at the most beautiful stained glass windows I've ever seen, in a blue that makes my breath catch in my chest and tears come to my eyes, I tiptoe around afraid that if I made a wrong move, they would all come crashing down around me. Images of Jesus and Mary and every biblical story that I had been just recently inhaling. I was jealous of the citizens of the town. I bought a thousand postcards and took pictures that did no justice. I brought the pieces home with me and framed them. Right now they are in my bathroom, only because they don't make wallpaper with those images, or else I'd wrap the entire house with it inside and out. Just today I found out that they are Chagall's.

It's was the first piece of art that I loved. I loved how it made me feel, I loved that it was of Christ, I loved that it felt like it was mine. Now that I know more about Chagall, it makes it even more special. He was a devoted family man, who smeared his happiness all over canvases and glass, in the form of a Savior and of violin playing goats.

For my birthday my roomate sara bought me a mini stained glass window that I love. It turned out to be a Chagall too. This I recieved before I went to Europe.

Interesting, I thought, that all of the things that struck my eyes and heart as beautiful turned out to be from the same creator.

One that seems to know just what I need.

Solid as Iraq

I just had to copy this paragraph I just read from Funny Autumn who is stationed in Irag at the moment. And Nate, aka Meat Pocket, I think this is an answer to the late night tuxedo clad conversation we were having regarding our purpose.

I am challenged daily. I declare myself a failure every
other day, then remember that I'm human every other other day. There are
constant reminders around here that I am human and faulted, but certain
occasions when I feel bulletproof and invincible. I make decisions that put
lives at risk...but with the knowledge that my actions cannot control this chaos
that I live and operate in. Not that my attempts are futile--they matter. It is
a balance between knowing that a certain choice may make all the difference...or
have no effect at all.

Check me out.. right down the middle...

Your Political Profile:

Overall: 55% Conservative, 45% Liberal

Social Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Personal Responsibility: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Fiscal Issues: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Ethics: 50% Conservative, 50% Liberal

Defense and Crime: 75% Conservative, 25% Liberal

How Liberal Or Conservative Are You?

Hooray for Summer.

Watering little green plants in the yard.
Steamy black driveway basketball.
Strawberries and front porch sittin'.
Driving the boat with Uncle Bob, and canteloupe.
My dad's electric blue luau swim trunks that he swears are "just shorts".

Been awhile since I blogged, I've been slacking a little bit as of late. There are some reasons for that.

I have been really busy at work. Working way too many hours and trying to get some stuff done there, and it's sucked the life out of me. I gotta knock it off.

I met a boy. More on that later. This one has potential of being a keeper, but if nothing else, has restored my faith in men. So he is getting some Murl time. Prayers, good.

A bible study is starting at the house. About 20 thirsty girls are getting together to do some BETH MOORE. (OH MAN is that EXCITING!!! You have no idea.. really.) We are doing "Breaking Free" and I am so pumped. I am craving scripture lately and I'm craving some community like this, all girls, all of us really ready for something, for God to do some amazing things in our lives, all of us ready to be free from something. I really can't describe how excited I am to be apart of this. The thought of being a part of a group of gals who are thrilled about having the blocks removed that keep them from experiencing the weight of the love and mercy and peace of God. Shivers. I need this. My spiritual mouth is watering.

I got bit in the face by a dog this weekend. So if you see me, and I look like a prize fighter, that's why.

Hallelujah

"The baffled King composes..."

This song is in my head. It stuck into my head the very first time I heard it as the background music on a West Wing funeral. I hadn't realized what an amazing song it really was until it showed up again on janely's Christmas mix. (Everyone needs Christmas in May).

I have it on constant repeat and I can't get the achingly beautiful haunting voice of Jeff Buckley out of my head.... So to the internet I go.. looking for info on this song and to my dismay, I'm no musical scout, it's been covered 44 times to be exact and it was written in '84.

But it's still a good song...

It's amazing really, the blend of sorrow and joy. They are truly inseparable.

Sunday, as I listened to Susan recount the grief and beauty of her life, and her husbands death, and raising her two boys alone, I started to understand the cold and broken Hallelujah.

I understand, maybe am only beginning to understand, the beauty and the true goodness of the holes in our lives. The God shaped holes.

Paul wasn't an ass when he said "Rejoice" in suffering. He wasn't an ass, because he WAS in prison and rejoicing... and because he KNEW what was ahead. He did know why the thorns weren't removed. He did know why he was allowed to hurt. Because it was only for a time. Because he had seen the prize that was waiting, and everything else was dimmer by comparison. Because his hurt was purposeful, because it was for the sake of spreading the news of an epic love gone wrong, with the possibility of becoming right.

"The minor fall and the major lift... "

So often we take Paul's words and others like his, to mean "suck it up" or "be happy" about this event that has caused you pain. Don't shed a tear, become hard, become strong...

Wrong.

Cry, weep, break... let Him lift your head. Because God cries with us, He cried when he was here. We do not come to know Him in the blessing, but in the breaking. That is why a good God lets bad things happen to good people.

Doctors smack a baby to open it's lungs so that it will cry and be able to breathe, or it will die.

It seems too simple and profound written down. It's much more confusing in the realm of reality. It's much harder to see the good, loving and purposeful movement of a God who IS all knowing, all loving and all crazy about us when the rains come. When your husband dies, when your friends get cancer, when you lose your job, when your wife leaves you, when you are lonely, when you are starving. But we must recall that Jesus knew all these times too, and in the incredibly observant simply put words of my adamant brother...

"Jesus' suffering only helped his case"...

'Birds out of the nest.

Finally went to a game at New Busch.
I had free tix from the real estate man. (My realtor is, DA MAN by the way. Anyone need a realtor.. please don't hesitate to contact me for Mister B.J. Sonderman's info. He's awesome and I went to high school with him...Rockstar.)

Anywho. I'm a little dissappointed in the Stadium. I liked it overall and I didn't want to take a hammer to it or anything, but I miss Old Busch.. with it's ... roundness. It's closed in-ness. From section 329 you can't see the left fielder, and the blazin' sun is in your eye until the top of the fourth, but overall, it's a happy place. Take my view with a grain of salt considering I'm the girl that didn't want a new car because she was so attached to her '92 Pontiac Bonneville whose wheels were falling off. What? It only had 156K on it! C'mon. I loved that car. (I was constantly running into curbs and breaking the fog lights, so it always had an "eyes-poked-out" quality to it.)

And I loved Busch stadium. At least the hotdogs are the same. That would have been a real travesty*.

On the weekend agenda: First big tournament this weekend for b-ball (in Bellevegas no doubt..) Markus and Annie! make the switch from MH to WG. (whoop whoop), and Jeff Stiles is a year older. (Horppy Borthday, Coach Z).

I'm feeling a little better physically, thanks for the prayers.

(Authors note: I did not have a hot dog last night, I had nachos... but the sentiment still applies)

Rough Week

It's been a rough week.

Two lost credit cards were followed by a rental car fiasco. Apparantly you can't rent a car without a credit card. I was almost calling a cab to drive me an hour to Woodstock IL, when God reminded me of the New York and Company mastercard that I had randomly stuck in my bag. I wasn't even going to activate it. I was going to cut it up and not use it, but for some reason I had it. I activated it, and drove away in a blue trail blazer. Weird how that works sometimes.

After a semi productive meeting, I drove back in the rain. Had a struggle with the toll booth. Don't ask.

On to Chicago O'Hare, the black hole of inefficiency. I wasn't scheduled to leave until 8:10, I got an earlier flight, but it changed gates three times, and was delayed several hours (still earlier than eight...).

I am feeling sick lately, and I can't seem to kick it, or to get it bad enough to actually slow me down. So if you are a praying sort, please send some up for my puny self. It's a thing where my body is exhausted and feels like it could keel over at any moment, but my brain is racing and wont slow down. I took Tylenol PM and woke up at 1AM, rather ticked that I was awake at such an hour after doping myself.

Saturday (in the midst of being uber productive) I lose my phone, and realize that I am a hopeless, hopeless case. This one wasn't totally my fault, a lady at the Home Depot stole my cart. I bent over to look at some plants and when i stood up it was gone. I shrugged and got another not realizing that she had made off with my phone. I missed hanging with my college roomie because of it, and was generally in a swampy mood. A surprisingly fun baby shower and a couple of eye-opening books later, I am feeling a little better.

I want so much, and I just have to wait for it. I have no choice...but to wait. And
I.
Am.
So.
Flawed. Forgetful. Absent minded. Sick. Human....

God has met me in the wait, in the sick, in the forgetfulness. I magically had a credit card. I recieved the others in the mail. I found the phone, before it rained. My fabulous family helped me with my yard. I planted some daisies and some other stuff. Then it rained. Perfectly.

I hadn't been to church in a couple of weeks, and it was starting to show. I went and was so blessed.. Blessed by daddies holding thier daughters in their arms and worshipping. They weren't the sitcom dads, burdened with their kids, bored with thier wives, they were real guys, in love with their families, crazy about their non-supermodel wives and they seemed that they couldn't be happier, that they didn't want to be anywhere else on a Sunday morning. I needed to see that. I have been wrong. I wept.

I don't know what he's doing with me right now. But if I know anything.. it's that my shit has a point.

Spam Haiku

Lately I've been getting interesting spam. It's like structured or something. The person and a weird subject line that has nothing to do with the message.

Lew Peters Braise
Gertie Baxter Shortcut Idiosyncratic
Christy Rodgers Octopi Badly

I almost like skimming it.

In 2nd grade Mrs. Butcher would always have us start our Monday writings off with "This weekend I..."

I think mine would have read like this:
"This weekend I went to eat supper at Angela's house. She is my friend. She made salsa. It was so good, it had corn, and beans, and avocados, and onions, and tomatoes in it. Her other friends were there. They have kids. They were sooooo cute. We laughed and laughed.

Then I went out to a bar in Dogtown for Cinco de Mayo. My friends were there. It took me awhile to find them. I found them. I left sad.

Saturday, I got up early. I met Bill, Rich, and Kyle for golf. It was cold and wet. But then it was nice. I played well. We ate hamburgers and drank beer. I won a prize. I went home after that and took a nap. My hair was wet after showering. When I woke up it stuck out in funny directions, but I didn't care. Deana called and we got dinner with our friends and saw a movie. It was a movie about gymnastics. It was very very good.

My friends came over to my house and played a game, but Anne fell asleep on the couch.

Sunday I slept through church because I felt bad. I got up and went to work. I went to my basketball game. We lost. It sucked.

Then I drove home. I need an oil change, and gas. I got the gas. Still need the oil change.

I ate fish with my family. My Aunt talked. My Aunt other cried. I love them very much. I love fish very much.

I lost my ATM card in the machine. It got shredded. I don't have my other credit card and last night I wrote my last check. I am a genius. A genius with no money. I've been bumming cash and eating stale graham crackers. Lindsey is stupid. Lindsey can't find things. Lindsey got a quality report back on a design she did saying that she didn't use commas in the appropriate places....

I BLAME YOU MRS. BUTCHER!!!

Actually...

Actually....The quote on the right hand side was first stated by Marianne Williamson in her book, Nelson Mandela did not say it. (Fabbs, this wasn't just for you.. several people try to tell me this) When I put it up there I actually looked it up and found several sources saying it is not Mandela's, including this one.

Actually... I love Square One TV. I wish they would come out on DVD. I think not only do I love the math, which was not very advanced in general, but I love the punny nature of the presenation of the math. For example, my brother's favorite music video "8 percent of my love". And the classic "Mathman" a video game based on "Pacman" . "Mathman...your mission is to eat ONLY prime numbers. Beware the notorious Mr. Glitch... He will EAT you if you are wrong.

Oh that is good stuff.

Actually... I'm thinking about going to an Over the Rhine show as a road trip. Anyone want to go with? Fort Wayne? Or Chicago? Or Nashville? I'm leaning toward Ft. Wayne 'cause it's a Saturday, and the Chicago show is on a Tuesday. And I'm leaning away from the Cornerstone trip, because... eh.

Blech

This past Saturday I got out of bed at 2:13 pm. I haven't done that in years. I stayed in my pajamas, didn't brush my teeth, watched the entire first season of Grey's Anatomy, after episode 12, and I cheated unmercifully on my diet with IMO's pizza. As I started to feel guilty for doing nothing of importance all day, I got up and washed my sheets and the last straggling pieces of laundry left in my IMMACULATE room, did my ab video, washed my hair, brushed AND flossed, and I still felt guilty.

I could not take a sabbath.

I could not enjoy a dreary, windy, Saturday with Patrick Dempsey on the best couch in the world. What is wrong with me? Maybe it was because there were so many nagging things I needed to take care of at work, and I didn't go in and do them. Maybe it was because Bono is probably out saving the poor, and I am ordering pizza with Patrick Dempsey. Maybe it was because I had nothing scheduled but it was sort of too late to shedule anything, and the weather was no motivator. No parties to go to, friends were out of town and I'm not a doctor and I'm not dating Patrick Dempsey. Maybe it was because I snapped at my mom on the phone because she was worried I was going to go out and take a chainsaw to the powerlines that were tangled around the downed tree in my yard. Maybe it was because I didn't talk with my roomate at all, and she was there all day. Maybe it was because I was a fly on the wall the night before for a discussion I didn't need to hear about what guys really think, and it depressed me.

Blech I've been in such a mood lately. Could be PMS. Could be that I have finally slowed down enough to look around, take a deep breath and clean everything, and I'm wondering now, that my closet is finally organized(!), I've cleaned out under my bed (!), I've sorted my shoes, and generated a giant pile of stuff to give away, the kitchen is spotless, worked on the yard to the degree I can, now that I've got my material life completely under control... what is left? Seems like God should vaporize me right off the earth... or, at least, blue monkeys should be flying out of someplace.

Who knows... it was just a sucky day...now that you are uplifted, and encouraged, have a great week.

Tree didn't fall on my house, I still have electricity, and we DID fire up the pit Friday night. So all is not totally crap. And that, is good.

Broken World

Broken Man, Broken Woman.
by Heather Coaster *

TAMAR JUDAH
He died and I waited He died and I waited
And wondered if there would be another man, And wondered if I could afford to lose another son,
Wondered if the empty would go away by my waiting. Wondered if you might go away by my waiting.
I waited for you I waited for you
To tell me what to do To find something to do
And where to go Somewhere to go
And how to make the empty go away. And really just to go away.
But you never came So I never came
You never called I never called
And the empty stayed My own empty grew

I became desparate I became desparate

And hid behind my veil And hid behind your veil
I hoped that you wouldn't see me I hoped that you wouldn't see me
I prayed that you would I feared that you would
I gave you myself I took from you yourself
And settled for the price of a promise And negotiated the price of a promise
A goat. Was that all? My goat. Was that too much?

But I went home But I went home
And tried to forget And forgot
Until the day that forgetting became impossible Until the day that forgetting became impossible
Remembrance was growing inside me Remembrance was growing inside you
They found me out You found me out
And brought me before you They brought you before me
So that you could make me disappear And I no longer had the choice to disappear
But I held your name in my hand You held my name in your hand
Your seed in my womb My seed in your womb

I had fooled you, I had failed you,
Yet still felt alone and afraid, Had left you alone and afraid,
As if the sin was all mine to bear. As if the sin was all yours to bear.
Was your unrighteousness so much less than mine? But your unrighteousness was so much less than mine
My hunger overcame me My hunger overcame me
And now the fire awaits me. And now the fire awaits you.
Why is it mine alone? It is not yours alone.

I'm sorry I fool. I'm sorry you fail. I'm sorry I don't know you yet.

The plasitc kind even...

I have a lot of hangers.

A LOT.

A small army. A large army. An armada...of hangers.

So, a box of hangers. A large box of hangers...
A large, free box of hangers. Come and get em, if you want em.

I also have two closets that I just dominated.

THAT is a good day.

Boo Yah.

ENFP

For you Myers-Briggs friends and fans out there, and all of you who accuse me of "non-mellow-ness".
I have proof that I'm swinging back toward the middle, I'm ALMOST an INFP....
According to this I used to be more extroverted, and now, I'm
E: 1% "slightly expressed Extrovert"
N: 38% "moderately expressed iNtuitive personality"
F: 50% "Moderately expressed Feeling personality" (I'm definitley a feeler).
P: 44% "Moderately expressed Perceiving personality

I guess this means this and this. I know more ENFP's than not. Is that because I am one and I recognize the letters?

I'm not sure I buy this stuff altogether...

Coach Murl

I gave in. I am finally doing some coaching. Before you get excited, it's only assitant coaching in a summer league, but it's for some pretty committed high school sophomores. I'm the post coach. Heh.

Today, a girl in a pink t-shirt knocked me over.

Not kidding. Laid me out flat... I had a football pad and i wasn't expecting it, and she cleaned my plate... ... It was awesome and my arm hurts.

Another girl in the same drill punched me in the right eye.

I'm coaching with Neety, Sparty and Sue-Bear. It's fun. I tried coaching before with some girls who were too young to care very much, who didn't want to be there, and I had zero patience with it. Now I am amazed at what they can do, and how good they are. I'm excited to see them play in some games and stuff. I'll keep you POSTed.

Hams, Grams, & Gracie.

The Honeybaked Ham gift certificate that I lost at Christmastime was found at Eastertime as I fished underneath the seat of my car at an Arby's drive thru. A timely find indeed, since this weekend was my Grandma Murl's 70th birthday party. It was a Luau, so I drove home with 8 pounds of pig, my contribution to the festivities.

Let me just tell you that the Honeybaked Ham store has quite a bit of business around Easter. Enough to warrant not one, but two traffic cops in the parking lot and movie theatre-like rope lines inside. It was a Hamstravaganza! (not my word).

Grandma turned 70 amongst friends, family and fake motorized palm trees.

As two of these friends came walking up the drive, I did a double take. It was Benny and Betty Bradley. These two sixty-somethings I remembered from the two years that my family spent in Conroe, TX. Benny went to elementary school with my grandpa in Irondale, MO and moved to Conroe several years before we did. My dad became fast friends with these two home-towners when he traveled down there solo, setting up camp before we arrived. My father showed up on Betty's doorstep one day and announced who he was and she invited him in for dinner, Benny came home from work and they all ate. When my dad stood to leave, Betty looked pleasantly suprised and uttered "You're leaving?" When dad confirmed this, she said, "The last time a boy from Irondale show up on our doorstep he stayed for three weeks, and I had to TH'OW HIM OUT." She liked my dad much better after that. I hadn't seen them in sixteen years. I think I must have been very impressionable at that age, and I remembered everything, the name of their English Bulldog, Gracie, with her wayward lower jaw. I remember laughing so hard when we went over there that I couldn't eat. I remember a sense of home, when we were so far away (they had the "You been farmin' long?" poster that seems to be a southern MO staple). Benny retired at 55 and they bought a giant RV and traveled the country for 6 years. They bought a house back home in Missouri, and depending on which one you ask, they are moving to Alaska in a year (Benny) or they are DONE traveling (Betty). They both agree that they are getting another English bulldog.

Happy Easter.

Even though it probably stems from a pagan festival... let's just honor the stone rollin' away, Amen?

Hallelujah.

Lovin' springtime. Lovin' life.

I am Little

Lord Almighty.

GOD of the Nations, Creator, Preserver, Transcendent, Mighty, Strong God All- Sufficient, Lord God the Almighty, Master, LORD, Yahweh, The Self-Existent One, I AM WHO I AM, I WILL BE WHO I WILL BE. The name of God, too sacred to be uttered or written, The Lord will Provide, The Lord Who Heals, The Lord Our Banner (as in on the battlefield, from the word that means to glisten, to lift up), The Lord Who Sanctifies, The Lord Our Peace, JUDGE, The Lord Our Righteousness, The Lord Our Shepherd, The Lord is There, The Lord of Hosts, The commander of the angelic host and the armies of God, The most High, The Mighty One, The Branch, the Holy One of Israel, God of Seeing, Jealous, Deliverer, Savior, Redeemer, Shield, STONE, Strength, Everlasting God, God of the Covenant,Mighty God, God our Rock, The Sun of Righteousness, Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, Ancient of Days, King, Father, The First and Last, I AM, I AM the Light of the world bread of life, living water, the Resurrection and the Life,the Way, Truth and the Life JESUS, The Anointed One, King of kings; Lord of lords; Bishop and Guardian of our Souls; Daystar, Deliverer, Advocate, Second Adam, Ancient of Days, Branch, Chief Cornerstone, Immanuel, First Born, Head of the Body, Physician, Rock, Root of Jesse, Stone, Potentate; Chief Apostle; Great High Priest; Pioneer and Perfecter of our Faith ; Lamb of God; Lamb Slain before the Foundation of the World; Lord God Almighty. The First and the Last, The Beginning and The End.

Funny how I think I'm capable of making him such a small part of my day.
Funnier still that things like this and this and this and this occur and we, who have access to his power, who have tasted and seen Him, been rescued by Him, do nothing, say nothing and feel nothing.

God where are you...
Come.

Girls go crazy for a "shot-glass" man.

Threw a party last night. We gathered around the best purchase I've ever made.

A fire pit.

Mine looks a little less like R2-D2, and a little more like a terra cotta flower pot, but the principle is the same.

It was fabulous. We drank, ate, make s'mores, some of us almost fell out of the hammock. Perfect night for a fire. And much more responsible than our last attempts at fire which you'll remember ended with an empty bottle of lighter fluid, a charred champagne cork, and a stained patio. So this night of burning things, was much more advanced, and safe, much to the delight of my insurance man, I'm sure.

Later we also played a stirring round of my new favorite game "buzz word". I highly recommend it. Woo Hoo.

Then church was really good today, I spoke up front for the first time and I like doing that. Scott talked about our desire for justice and how that is both a good desire, yet that vengance is not something to be taken into our own hands. Scott is great at presenting a balanced view of the issues of scripture and the pit falls of swaying too far to one side. I used to hate the word "balance" as it refers to Christianity, as if it were a tightrope that we would fall off of if we strayed to either side, but now I like the word more, and see balance as a safe place to stand.

Later, I had a market fresh sandwich from Arby's.

Mmm.

Lunch Club

Why Lunch Club exists:

On the topic of Cremation....
Leigh: "No, you know why I don't want to be buried? Have you ever seen Poltergeist...the part when it rained and all those dead Indians floated up in the backyard? Uh uh.. not me. I want to be cremated..."
Linz: "...And have your ashes scattered at the mall?"
Pat: "...To have yourself poured into little silica gel packets and stuck in random pairs of designer shoes?"
Linz: "Yeah, 'Do not eat'"
Pat: "'Do not eat Leigh'"
Wendy: "My grandma was in the basement in a shoe box for, like, three years."

Starting to Thaw

This afternoon, as I walked up to my front door, I notice a cluster of tiny purple flowers poking up through the blanket of day old snow. I think to myself... Right on.

I myself am starting to thaw.

I am waking up a little. Things were always moving, scars have always been healing, but the order...or lack of order... is starting to thrill me.

The beauty, the grand joke of it all, is that God is not safe.

He. Is. Not. Safe.

I say it all the time. I incessantly quote the C.S. Lewis story in my head. (Not safe, but Good) I type it over and and over again hoping that one day I wake up and magically become who I want to be. But truth be told all I strive for now is comfort... and God has so much more for me than that.

If I'd only thaw out a bit. If I'd only stop with the constant questioning of every move, the critical, quizzical self-protective junk, the rules, the disciplines, the things that are driven by the stark white terror of doing the wrong thing, of... hurting.

I have thirst. It scares me to have it. Yet it thrills me to know that it will be quenched. Not here, don't kid yourself, but it will be quenched. And if that is all I get, the hope that my 'i's will be dotted and the 't's will be crossed in the hereafter...and maybe some glimpses of it now, well it's all I need.

Do I want more?
Hell yeah, with all that I am I want warm house, full tummy, tragically beautiful music, to see people change, to see God move, a jet ski, really good oatmeal, pedicures, good books and to sing at the top of my lungs in the shower. I want jeans that fit, and friends who laugh, and a sense that I'm doing something right. I want someone to see that I'm trying, and to kick my ass when I'm not. I want to live without fear.

I want to slam volleyballs really hard.

I want to live as I'm led. I want to be led. I want to heed the gentle thunder that says "Come. Further up, Further In." I want people to agree.

I'm silly. I know. I'm a hopeless romantic who gets these grandiose ideas and who, still, at the end of the day...lets just say it... is wanting. The wanting wont ever stop. The joy is, that I get to know that it wont stop. I get to know that my thirst is valid, real, and totally incurable this side of heaven. So the immediate lesson I've learned is that my optimism for perfection is not off-base, I just predicted it too soon, and from the wrong, wrong, wrong sources.

So.. not only am I FREE to love with abandon (as I was starting to figure out) but I'm FREE to be loved poorly, as I often am, by the broken army of the Lord.