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.

If the only things considered noble are awarness of my own lack of nobility, and the fact that He alone is noble, and superb, and beautiful and stong, and capable and righteous, and good, and mighty, and tender, and loving, and kind, and limitless, and secretive, and obnoxiously obvious, and sufficient for my every need, and merciful enough not to give me my every want...

Well atleast I have the first part down.

SonofaMurl.

From Brother Murl:

In a little book entitled “Surnames as a Science,” published in London in 1883, Robert Ferguson, M.P., seeks to derive “Merrill” from a German origin through the Anglo-Saxon. Few of us will thank him for his efforts.
“Marlingen,” he says, is a Bavarian family name, and it appears in the Anglo-Saxon as “Merlingas.” The “ing” in this name “is a patronymic, as in Bruning, son of Br–n.” The ending “ingas” is of the nominative plural, Merlingas thus denoting sons or descendants of Merl. According to this theory, some family among the Saxon hordes which invaded England in the fifth and sixth centuries may have been under the patriarchal leadership of a man (or perhaps a 6'2" blond girl) named Merl, and all the individuals in the group accordingly took the name Merlingas, or sons or followers of Merl.

Interesting.

Murl Fragments

Champions of Trivia Night. I work with this guy who literally has a photographic memory. He would answer multiple choice questions before the question was finished and before the choices were given, and he knew every running mate on every ticket, republican and democratic, elected and not, a la Rainman. It was unbelievable.
"How many..."
"Twelve"
"In Alfred Hitchcock's movie..."
"39"
"The longtime host of...."
"William F. Buckley"

Hotel Bathtub actually had the correct directions for C and H. (Unheard of)

Hoosier. A word that if used in Indiana is NOT derrogatory. For example, as seen on a Billboard somewhere south of Indianapolis: "16,500 Hoosier jobs"...

Katie Lew is back from Africa, and I still haven't seen her.
Angela has a new apartment, and I haven't seen it.
I have a new white canvas and I haven't touched it.
I have a wooden floor in my bedroom and I haven't seen it.
I have seen a volleyball and my work computer screen.

So I got that goin for me.

I also almost held my bladder for the entire drive to Indy. I almost made it. It was almost impressive. (Considering I had to go the second I got in the truck to leave).

You MIGHT be a redneck if...

You tailgate at your mom's funeral.

Let that soak in.

True story. Someone I'm related to did just that.

Unbelievable. Nothing shocks me anymore.

Also worth mentioning... WU wins.

I sooo hated to post over the foil thing..

But we can't live in the past.

AND Wash U starts their post-season this Friday, so I had to advertise for the girls. (Friday at 7pm) Usually free, but since it's a tournament game, tickets are like 3.50 or something.. still the best cheap entertainment in town if you ask me... So go see them.. either Friday at 7 and potentially Saturday at 7 if they put the smack down.

Work has been crazy. I flop between feeling like a champ and a chump almost indistinguishably. It's good to keep humble I suppose, but it's really hard to feel like a moron all the time. Sometimes the only time I feel purposed is getting the trivial pursuit question of the day correct. Small victories.

I've been playing copius amounts of volleyball lately. It's not that I'm sick of playing (heck no) but I'm so busy all the time. It's three nites a week. Take out bible study nite and that leaves me with zero free nights with which to let things develop spontaneously. Very sad. But.. I am getting to play a ton of volleyball.

Been having discussions lately about getting older. It's so weird. I'm 26, and getting to 27 (in September) sounds SOOooo much older than 26. Is it because now you round up to 30? I think I'm going to like being 30 because there is a fair amount of drama to leave behind, but I also when I whine about being single people have stopped saying: "Shut up, you are only twenty three" it's more like "Yeah...yeah, that would be hard." So the nightmare that I'd been having since I was 19 about being unmarried at 30 seems closer and closer at hand, yet, somehow I'm ok with it. Ultimately, we just aren't here for very long. I would rather not waste anymore precious time in bitterness or jealousy. I am CERTAIN that is nowhere in the plan for Lindsey's most effectively lived life...

I also think that I have too many theories about life. (Think I just heard an "Amen") I think I have too many quick fix type answers to things, and that the real things that matter in life are much more habitual. Like honesty, integrity, discipline, faith, prayer, friendship, patience, forgiveness. They are not glamourous by any means, not trendy or new ideas, but they work and have worked for centuries.

Left foot, right foot, breathe.

Jesus, help me do the harder day to day work of being non-glamourous, of being faithful. I heave my broken self up onto your surgeons altar and say. "Fix me."

While you are at it.. I could use some new knees for playing volleyball.

Foiled Again!

Let this be a lesson to you. Don't turn 50 in our office.


Funny.



Funnier still ...is the foil disco ball memento of the occasion:

There IS no doubt...
This IS my best post ever...

Inspiration, Investigation... Carbonation.

In my office building, the coke machine that has been there since day one of my employment, dropping 24oz. bottles of Coke, Diet Coke, Coke with LIME (blech), and tons of other worthless bervages that market research has told them too... FINALLY added to it's arsenal one solitary chute that contains my beloved diet black cherry vanilla coke.

It was one of those great suprises. I faithfully (some could say naively) look everytime I go up to the break room to see if they have added a diet cherry, or even a diet vanilla, never daring to hope for the joy of seeing a diet black cherry vanilla... but today was the day...

And the peasant rejoiced.

My mom is here this weekend for an old fashioned sleep over, just the girls, exploring furniture stores that have never been explored before, watching movies we've seen a hundred times, laughing the laugh of people who share DNA. It's good to be friends with your mom. We dropped my pop off at the airport for his annual week-long golf outing with his boys, and never have I seen a grown man so excited. My mom described him correctly as a "worm in hot ash." He shows up with his suitcases at my door at 12:45 for his 5 o'clock flight. (I live seven and a half minutes from the airport).

Adorable.

I am feeling inspired lately. Inspired probably by God, but through some unlikely people, situations and conversations in my life. Inspiriation that comes from the least likely of places tends to be God tugging at me more often than not. The question that begs to be answered as God stirs my own hot ashes and breathes on them, is "How am I going to respond?"

I long to utter the tear-stained words of Bastien in the Neverending Story: "I'm not afraid anymore, I will do what I dream."

I hope and pray that I look back on my life and see a life poured out, completely emptied.

I hope to be linked up with other believers who, like my subs in the college b-ball days, allow me to run until my lungs burn, to spend everything, to hold nothing back. So that I know that when the race becomes too long, when my stamina fails, they will tap in spell me until I can hydrate and return the favor.

(In the meantime, I've bought some acrylic paints... Bob Ross does make it look so easy...but happy little trees are all he ever did. I don't think he explored his full potenial. I just looked at some stuff that was upward of 300 bucks and thought to myself... "Pshaw, I can do that".

Well. I can't. But I'm gonna keep trying.)

And not just because everyone else is..

Giving Bono his props...
I like this guy. I really like this guy.

?

Just found a pair of pants....inside out... hanging on the coat rack in my living room... they are my brothers... and he moved out a month ago.

That's it.

This is why Liz is Awesome:

Liz made these. They are quilts. Well, ulimately they are high-res photos quilts. But with her own two hands, she has sewn herself into contention for an "Addy" which is an award given in the Advertising world. (Amendment: She has WON two and is up for EIGHT) I'm so excited for her about this.

But I've seen them in person and they are Beautiful. Just Beautiful.

Plumbing Code...

OK. Plumbing Code: All I was going to say about this is God bless America, and the Webster Groves Municipality. I went online to try to figure out how the )@($&^ to get a bathroom put into my basement. What I found were pages and pages of code.

For my job I often get to sift through pages and pages of code about hazardous materials, fire protection, explosion proofing, midget revolt mitigation and the proper handling and storage of deceased persons. Can get very indepth. HOWEVER, I like that they exist. I like that some crusty old engineer a billion years ago and his cronies sat around a table with torches and a gong and conferred and discussed the intended spirit behind the stack of dead trees that would be the Webster Groves Municipal Code. One day the black smoke rose through the city hall chimney and it was done.
I'm very glad indeed. Iif I sound insincere, I assure you I'm not, I love that there are authorties that exist soley to ensure domestic tranquility. It's a pain to sift through and comply with at times, sure, but there seems to be a desire for building excellent homes, and ensuring safety and correcting mistakes that others have made. Hmm.. seems straw is NOT a good choice for building material. This we learn from the three little pigs. The third one, who built his house out of brick, is now and Alderman. His name is Rex. Anyway. I digress. My point is. I like laws that protect me. I like that God gave us his laws so that the wolf wouldn't eat me. I like that people still try to make order from chaos because it's what we were put on earth to do.

OK Gay Hairdressers: I got a haircut today and I used a new stylist at my normal salon. Don, my former favorite gay hairdresser moved to Phoenix. Ray, the second replacement gay hairdresser was busy tointe, and so I recieved Jeremiah. He was a nice looking man, seemed obviously gay, and very well kept and sharp. We get to talking and he asks me if saw the TV cameras out front. Apparantly they were doing something for the super bowl and asking St. Louisans questions or something, and he commented that his co-worker Angie was interviewed and he was not, he explained that Angie hated being on TV because she always looked like a crazy person, and then he said "I always come out a little too gay"

As I sit and dare not laugh. I did not know how to respond. A minute or so (and by a minute I mean an eternity) passes, and he says "I'm NOT, you know". Sure. He proceeds to explain that he is the proud father of 7 and the grandfather of 3. I was floored. This was obviously the most metrosexual man I'd ever met. How many straight male hairdressers do YOU know?

I just don't know still if he was yanking my chain to see if I'd buy it or not.... he may be having a good laugh as we speak at the naive mid-western gal who bought is pseudo family story.

Who knows. It was awkward theatre at it's best.

OK. New awesome roomate: KT Lew is the best!

OK. Jesus Stuff: Heard a great (maybe the best) sermon I've ever heard today from they guy at the Journey about THE GOSPEL. He said so many great, soul-balmy things, but the best was a tie between these: "Christ lived the life I should have lived, and died the death I deserved to die so that I am able to reap the reward that was to be bestowed on him." Or something to that effect, it wasn't his, it is someone elses quote. The other thing he said was "other religions are books of good advice with a little bit of story thrown in, and Christianity differs and the bible differs because it is really a book of a great story with some good advice thrown in."

I go to church and to my mentors and to my bosses even, and constantly say to them "What should i do now?" "How now shall I live?" "How many old ladies to I have to help across the street until you accept me?" Answer. Silence. Silence. Silence. The cross is a legal transaction. It is not to be minimized but not to be reduced by slapping formulas and rules onto it. It is not to be built into a set of regiments which our own consciences call into constant doubt. It is a humble confidence that there is a God. I am not Him, and he has accepted me on the merits of Christ. Not mine. It's so easy and simple.

I'm free to love and free to neither be insecure or superior around ANYONE. Because Christ is the measure that I could not attain.

I need this truth everyday. For my health.

Ok. Liz is awesome: I'll tell you why as soon as I find out if it's confidential or not.

Ok. Disclaimer: Since I've gotten braces, not only is my speech muddled, and confusing, but my thoughts seem to be as well. I think the metal is interrupting the firing of my synapses. It's really rather weird. That is my defense for everything unintelligible that comes out of my head for the next 6 months. Just so you know.

Ok. Hotel Rwanda: Good movie just saw it on DVD. It's got... Joaquin in it. Of course it does.

They will know we are Christians by our T-shirts.

"It is easy for Christians to say today, "Well, yes, this is true. We've got to teach the truth, obey the truth, and believe the truth about Christ. And of course, we've got to stop doing the things the world is doing." That is as far as they go. Have you heard Christians get up and testify along this line? They say, "I used to smoke and drink and dance and go to the movies and play cards and gamble and all these terrible things. But I don't do any of them any more. I believe in the Lord. I've stopped all these things." They leave the impression that it ought to make everyone become a Christian, to see such a tremendous change.

But what you discover, soon enough, is that people are not a bit impressed by what you have stopped doing. Not the least bit. Why, worldlings can stop doing these things if they have a good reason. And they do it. If that is the basis of your Christian testimony, you have got nothing more to say than they do. No, the world is not a bit impressed by stopping something. What does impress them is seeing you do something they cannot do. That is love. That is why John says that the third mark of a genuine Christian is that he begins to love---not those that love him (anybody can do that, is Jesus' remark)---but beginning to love those who do not love you; to treat kindly those who mistreat you; to return good for evil and to pray for those who spitefully use you; to welcome and treat kindly those who are against you and are trying to hurt you. This is the mark, isn't it? You no longer treat those who have needs around you with callous indifference, but you respond to them and do not shut them out of your life." --Ray Stedman on 1 John

Curses, Jim !!

I'm apparantly a low-ranking nerd.. Which seems like the worst kind... just cause I can recite the whole periodic table of the elements does NOT make me....

nevermind.

Goldi-Linz and the Three Bears

Some say too fat,
Some say too tall,
Some thought her beautiful,
Some thought she "had a good personality"
Some say too smart,
Some say too dumb,
Some say her teeth jutted out at funny angles,
Some say she should have left them be,
Some say "Get that girl a Mic"
Some tell her to keep her day job,
Some say she sucks at her day job,
Some say works too hard,
Some say too lazy,
Some say too loud,
Some say too quiet,
Some say too messy to be healthy
Some say too clean to be happy,
Some think her a saint,
Some know shes a sinner,

She thought she was all wrong,

He thought she was just right.
He said:

"Just to be with you, I'd do anything, theres no price I would not pay.
Just to be with you I'd give anything, I'd give my life away."

She said "Sweet, I'll listen to you instead."

Not Your Usual

WU LOST TO NYU. Blech. NYU is the quintessential "bad" guy of all sports movies ever made. They wear black shoes and black socks, have black uniforms edged with purple, and wear their greasy hair slicked back into tight little ponytails. And, in general, are thugs. The white team lost this time, and deserved to lose it, they had no fight in them. Came close to pulling it back out, but did not.

As I sat with my left knee throbbing with sympathy pains, I decided I didn't miss it that much.

Ol' Blue Eyes on the Journey:

But not as sad as it sounds:

Thanks for the memory
Of things I can't forget
Journeys on a jet
Our wond'rous week in Martinique
And Vegas and roulette
How lucky I was

And thanks for the memory
Of summers by the sea
Dawn in Waikiki
We had a pad in London
But we didn't stop for tea
How cozy it was

Now since our breakup I wake up
Alone on a gray morning-after
I long for the sound of your laughter
And then I see the laugh's on me

But thanks for the memory
Of every touch a thrill
I've been through the mill
I've lived a lot and learned a lot
You loved me not and still
I miss you so much

Thanks for the memory
Of how we used to jog
Even in a fog
That barbecue in Malibu
Away from all the smog
How rainy it was

Thanks for the memory
Of letters I destroyed
Books that we enjoyed
Tonight the way things look
I need a book by Sigmund Freud
How brainy he was

Gone are those evenings on Broadway
Together we'd go to a great show
But now I begin with the Late Show
And wish that you
Were watching, too

I know it's a fallacy
That grown men never cry
Baby, that's a lie
We had our bed of roses
But forgot that roses die
And thank you so much

Good Things

Randoms fragments of my past few days: Car broke, car fixed. Brother moving out, sad. Kaite Lew moving in, happy. Really bad day at work last week. Really fantastically fun office Christmas Party shennanigans this past weekend. Long story short, I was the killer in the murder mystery dinner theater thing, and the acting troupe offered me a job.

I'm off to Philly this week for a work thing, and seeing a good friend in the process, would love to get into see Body Worlds (that thing we tried to see in Chicago, but realized it was nearly impossible to get in without a reservation... at 10:30 pm the place was packed.) but looks like they are sold out again.

I have reverted back to junior high and have my third set of braces. Which means I'm into keylime yogurt and making up code words for people telling me I have junk in my teeth. i.e. "there are escapees caught on the fence" or "the cheerleader got stuck in the hoop"

I am knee deep into Season Five of the West Wing and still have an inappropriately high interest in Josh Lyman. The world is a great place when I can stick a DVD into my laptop and take it down stairs with me, fold laundry, and then take it back upstairs without missing a syllable of the witty banter. My kinda Sabbath.. heck yeah.

Life is life, God is Good, all the time.

Today, I was wearing an ancient pair of pants. I notice that the teeth to my zipper had ripped away from it's fabric. The zipper still works, but wasn't attached to the pants on one side.

I just recently got braces which has regaled me to a liquid diet and over-frequent trips to the bathroom. The fly issue was bugging me (since I was seeing it so often) and not to mention had the potential of exposure at any moment. Normally, that wouldn't bother me, because it wasn't gaping open, but we had clients in the office today, so after restroom trip number 5, I get the brilliant idea to just staple my fly shut.

Ask me if I took a staple puller with me on trip 6? ...I didn't.

...Idiot.

I should apply to be a carnie.

Cutting Edge

Oh.. and just in case you were wondering. Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke = Good.

It's so new I couldn't even find a picture. I'll have to take one myself.

Oh.. AND I know some of you were wondering what the big deal was with coke zero? I figured out that it's got 0.7 calories per can. Which, I feel, is misleading. Marketing Bastards! That is not zero...

Some other random ingredients differ too including slightly less sodium, but I don't know if it tastes different than DC or not.

Regular Diet Coke has 1 calorie. I could have sworn it's also listed as zero calories on the can...

Now you know.