KenJa the NinJa.

Over the Rhine...

He visits at night.

I am a basket case right now. After a hard four days of meetings in which I do no actual production, I had a day an a half to myself to really get down to brass tacks and get something accomplished. I thought I did a pretty bang up job, myself, but I can't seem to get over this hump.

So does this hump ever go away? It seems like I forgot how to operate lately. I am so scared of everything. Let's drill this down. The times that I react the most and have the most anxiety are when some one seems to question my intelligence. Even when they have a right to. I don't get it. I just spaz out when some one tries to correct me. I feel so very justified in my right to be respected I completely lose it. I cannot figure this out. Scott says that the place where we react the strongest is where our idols live. What is this idol I have? It's certainly work related and It's certainly self-directed, so I know it's not me being over passionate about the truth of God. Is it that if you strip away my brain, and my wit away (the brain and the wit, consequently, have been negated quite effectively as of late, I am working with people who are so smart that it would appear I am only here to carry their stuff around, and the language barrier makes my jokes fall on dead ears.) I find that I am just standing here naked and everyone now knows there is really nothing special there. And my whole life is an orchestration to keep people from somehow figuring that out.

What if they find out?

Or worse... what if they already know?

Why don't I know that I am special? Why do I now, at 27 years of age have this all of a sudden identity crisis?

I have often thought of myself as a candy. Not unlike one of those Queen Anne chocolate covered cherries my Grandmother loves. Hard, cold, crunchy exterior and runny, drippy, gooey messy interior. That interior is the super sensitive me. The one that you can hurt very easily if I let you past the shell. The goo feels it can do nothing perfectly enough. The outside can't really do much. It feels it can't make a difference, it can't really be a catalyst for change because what if the exterior forgets its important job of keeping the goo at bay? Maybe I'm more like that little green nuclear/bio-terror weapon in "THE ROCK"...What if it leaked out and exploded on contact with the world? The world doesn't care for my tender interior. It has long shown me that.

Why the hell am I blogging this? Probably because you can't fix a problem and have others help you fix it if you don't put it out there. And I like analogies using the word 'goo'.

I am thinking that the operation I need to have is a re-distribution surgery to even out my density. I need to be more like a pumpkin. Still sweet and tender on the inside, but with a less damageable interior structure. More consistent. And that skin.. it still takes some work to get through but it's not as hard. Not as dark, and just a jigsaw away?

Oh to be a pumpkin! To have all that stringy gross stuff scooped out of you and a placed light inside that shines through and in spite of the vessel it's in. I desire to be a Gourd.

There it is.. that mushiness again. It's not about me.

It's not about me. How do we live with an outward focus, without disrespecting and hating the vessel we occupy? How do we love ourselves and see the way God sees, yet not become vain and obsessive? How do we not hate ourselves for not knowing the answers.

Monty says: "I think you out-think yourself" Probably true...but how do you stop?

Please answer in 1 million words or less. You know.. if you have answers.

Traveling Mercies...or lack thereof.

Hello friends, I'm writing from beautiful Basel, Switzerland.  It's not at all like I remember, not a yucky industrial city, but rather a small charming city on the banks of the Rhine.  I think I may have spelled that wrong. Too tired to check.

 

I left on Friday at 1:20 pm.  The very second I got in the air, the plane I was on to Atlanta was put in a holding pattern which caused me to miss my connecting flight to Zurich.  After waiting in line with a nice young Swiss man who missed his Zurich connection as well, for a few hours.  We both had "stand by" tickets on a flight to Paris leaving that night on Air France.  Had to wait on pins and needles while 499 other passengers boarded the Beluga-whale shaped plane to receive the very last seat.  I was lucky enough to make the flight but my traveling partner did not. Felt like one of those odd moments when you win a beauty pageant and you have to like feel a lot sorry for the runner up.  But you are really not that sorry. I was so glad I got on that plane.  Sorry Niklas. 

 

The flight to Paris was awful, that last seat I got on the plane was broken, the headrest wouldn't say up. French steward dude tried to help, but didn't really care.  Sat next to Erik the Snuggling German, and behind a South African shin banging seat recliner man.  Got to Paris and missed my connection to Zurich.  Not in small part thanks to mister between-terminals-bus-driver man who replaced a seeming competent bus driver and commenced his FIRST DAY ON THE JOB training.  Awesome.  Sorry Mademoiselle, your next flight will not leave until it is the perfect time to make you not want to take a train straight to Basel, but it will be delayed another two hours because we, are incompetent and can't make a flight land or take off on time.

 

Get to Zurich.  Luggage?  Hmm.  Didn't leave Atlanta.  That seems to be Americas fault, but I still blame France.  And Portugal.  Mostly because Portugese sounds nothing like Spanish so I couldn't fight with the lady who tried to butt in line infront of me in the "we lost our luggage line".   Hey lady, no espanol, no service.  And I had an hour train to catch after that.  So after 24 hours travelling I arrived in Basel and the crew met me at the station and took my carry on from me and graciously carried it the rest of the night.  We had some good food (for Europe) and a great night sleep in a pretty nice European hotel.  After two days in the same t-shirt and a move to a hotel that actually had internet... and a garden... and free cokes in said garden... I got my luggage back and then took a hot bath.  MMMMmmmmm.  Much better. 

 

Electical situation is good, only burned up my hair straightener thus far, and that is a sad causualty but I will find another... one that the power grid in Switzerland can handle.

 

Man I work with some smart people.  I tell you what.  I am blown away by the minds I'm with for these two weeks.  Couldn't ask for better road warriors.  The Swiss are strange, Deiter-like, nice, smart beautiful people.  Watches and trains and buses they do very well, air conditioning, not so much...

 

Pics when I get time. 

 

Linz

Blue and Fruit

Out of the blue I have to have a surgery.  I have just recently found out that I have three rather large fibroid tumors in my uterus.  They are about the size of grapefruits or something.  Good news is that this is fairly common and it shouldn't have any long term effect, they are benign but i do require an incision to remove them and I will have a 4-6 week recovery time.   I'm doing fine with this and am not in any discomfort or anything, just weirded out that I have three citrus fruits in my womb.  Mostly scared about missing that much work.  I'll be on short-term disability so finances and vacation time isn't the issue, it's more about being out of the saddle for that long. Ultimately God is driving the bus and I am more than safe in his hands, but still... I have fruit salad, and temporarily, no purpose.  Weird. 

 

You may be surprised that I'm blogging about this, but I'm fairly open with stuff like this and I think it's important to tell women to GET TO THE GIRL DOCTOR.  I hadn't gone in three years and I am regretting my squeamish-ness about this.  This is much more a big deal than my root canal...

 

Anyway this adventure isn't without a blog worthy story:

 

I am getting ready to get my MRI scan done to figure out how these babies are attached, and "the Dude" running the desk takes me back to a small lockerroom.  A. It was a Dude, I guess that isn't uncommon, but when getting your scrubs handed to you it's odd having a dude tell you what things to leave on and what to take off.  B. "The Dude" hands me a giant, blue.. PARACHUTE??? What IS this thing?  I swear it was 4X day at the hospital and these crazy blue paper scrubs were GI-NORMOUS!  If I had dropped my business card in them me and LITERALLY four our five of my closest friends could have been joining me in this free time-share of a pair of pants.  It was nutty.  The sillouette of me in these pants was so much like a ping-pong paddle on it's end I almost snapped a picture of it so I could blog it, but I didn't. (try to hide your disappointment)  C.  I walk back out of the dressing room with my sandals, my scrub top, and my hammer pants and Dude says to me, "You can have a seat back in the waiting room if you like."  I obediently slithered back toward the double doors that I walked through earlier, the other side of which were scads of fully clothed people reading magazines.  Then I stopped.  "You want me to go where?"  I am only still wearing 5% of the clothing that I came in here with and those people out there are not trained medical professionals.  Dude says "Well there a TV in there, but you can sit wherever you want."  Thanks.  I'll give up the TV.  Me and my blue paper tent are just fine here where there is no danger of givin' any octegenarian a free shot.  I was seriously wondering if I was being Punk'd.  Insane.

 

So if you are a praying sort, I could use some prayer for this.  I am also leave for Switzerland on Friday for two weeks.  It's a work trip and I'm generally a dork, so stay tuned for good stories of Murl abroad.

 

I'm sure 4-6 weeks at home will be good fodder for this blog thing that I've all but abandoned.

 

I also have ripped out basement pictures to show you...ooh are you all tingly????
 

Love Joel

3: 9 Proclaim this among the nations:

Prepare for war!

Rouse the warriors!

Let all the fighting men draw near and attack.
10 Beat your plowshares into swords

and your pruning hooks into spears.

Let the weakling say,

"I am strong!"

Upon re-reading this whole passage..., it didn't mean what I thought it meant. But I do like what it does mean. I still like how it sounds.

I wanted this verse to say: "RISE UP MIGHTY WARRIORS!! BEAT YOUR RUSTY OLD BENT TOOLS INTO SPEARS AND FIGHT!!" "FIGHT AND USE WHAT EVER YOU HAVE LAYING AROUND! FIGHT AGAINST THE ENEMY" But that's really not what it says. It says fight how you will, bend your lame excuses into weapons but you are going to war with me over your wickedness and I'm gonna win. There is a bounty of evil that is to be harvested an judged.

11 Come quickly, all you nations from every side,
and assemble there.
Bring down your warriors, O LORD!
12 "Let the nations be roused;
let them advance into the Valley of Jehoshaphat,
for there I will sit
to judge all the nations on every side.
13 Swing the sickle, for the
harvest is ripe. Come, trample the grapes,
for the winepress is full
and the vats overflow—
so great is their wickedness!"
14 Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of
decision! For the day of the LORD is near
in the valley of decision.
15 The sun and moon will be darkened, and the
stars no longer shine.
16 The LORD will roar from Zion
and thunder from Jerusalem;
the earth and the sky will tremble.
But the LORD will be a refuge for his
people, a stronghold for the people of
Israel.

I was looking for something to pick us up. Not beat us down. Church is whiny lately. Everything is sadness. Everything is trial. And SO much so that it is depressing me a bit.

I am a wreck and so are my friends. Some of us are so hurting and broken and pathetic. We all know who Jesus is. If we knew healing would it be any different? Would we be whole-er? Do you ever look at someone else and say. That person is whole. Not really. I used to think those people existed, but I was very wrong. We are not capable. Does the surface of a person actually change when the heart is redeemed? It must. But you can't do it backwards. The heart must change first. Otherwise the surface works are pecked out by the black crows of criticism and the world. The world is aching and it needs it's Jesus. It's comfort. It's hope.

13Then Jesus said to them, "Don't you understand this parable? How then will you
understand any parable? 14The farmer sows the word. 15Some people are like seed
along the path, where the word is sown. As soon as they hear it, Satan comes and
takes away the word that was sown in them. 16Others, like seed sown on rocky
places, hear the word and at once receive it with joy. 17But since they have no
root, they last only a short time. When trouble or persecution comes because of
the word, they quickly fall away. 18Still others, like seed sown among thorns,
hear the word; 19but the worries of this life, the deceitfulness of wealth and
the desires for other things come in and choke the word, making it unfruitful.
20Others, like seed sown on good soil, hear the word, accept it, and produce a
crop—thirty, sixty or even a hundred times what was sown."

Yeowsah. Just cut myself on a thorn.

Thoughts on messes.

I am in love. With a woman. My cleaning lady.


We'll call her Diane. Because that is her name. Folks... I know that it seems a little bit like cheating to get a cleaning lady, a little, shall we say.. extravagant? But TRRRUST me. This lady, for a measly 20bucks an hour makes my life easier. What's weirder, is that she seems to love doing it. I had her come over this past Tuesday and I was promising myself to not be one of those peeps who cleans their house before the cleaning lady comes over, but I couldn't help it.. I was straightening and fussing the night before like a goon. Didn't seem to matter, this gal came in, and it almost brought a tear to my eye to see THROUGH my glass shower doors once again. I didn't think it would ever be possible. I didn't think I could ever let Cary Murphy see my house ever again. But now, I'd let her eat off my shower doors. I'm not sure how that would work, maybe I'd spray someting jam-like on them and squeegee it onto some toast? Dunno. Anyway...it was one more task I got to take off my list of things to do that week. It totally freed me up to not feel guilty about not doing it again, and getting back to living life. I don't know if I'll become a regular or just get quick fixes once in awhile (is this how drug addicts start?) but I do know that it was SUCH a blessing WELL worth my time and money. May I suggest similar gifts to any and all moms out there for this upcoming holiday?

May I suggest not getting your hair dyed three times in one day? I hate my hair right now. For it to be my natural dirty blonde color ever again, I will need to Sinead it all off or let it grow striped-ly out. Two-tone Malone.

For those of you privy to the cleaning lady discussion, I had this post crafted before that conversation came up.. so don't think I'm beating this dead horse to a bloody pulp.

But do think that I am amazed and awed, humbled and happy to be clean.

I have finally done it.. lost the last retainer in my set of four. In less than six months I have lost six total pieces. One to a lawn mower, one to a church gymnasium, two to a random place I have yet to figure out, no make that three, and now, one to Qdoba. I'm a mess.

Why is that Lady Screaming?

A portion of one of my engineering drawings. Monty says: "Why is that Lady Screaming?"

Ramen Noodles

Great people go to my church. It's really cool. Props to Mary Schawacker. Cool lady. Makes the place run like a top.


"If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even ‘sinners’ love those who love them. And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even ‘sinners’ do that. And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even ‘sinners’ lend to ‘sinners,’ expecting to be repaid in full. But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful."


Nice walk today with a most excellent companion.


Nice burning on the top of my red feet. I have been known to be allergic to certain types of carpet fibers... Which is nice. No more dancing and being silly for me!
The palms of my hands swelled up as well. Strange freaky freak-ness.


Nice Dinner and Movie company on Friday night. Fracture is a good flick, go see it. See if you can figure it out.

My brother shattered his personal best record this weekend at 474 YARDS. That's right. YARDS... that almost five football fields and thirty past his last PB.


I love my hammock. LOVE IT.


I love my yard. I love spring in St. Louis


Love love love.


Grace like Rain.

Guitar Playing Goat

Gray, quiet and tired and mean

Picking at a worried seam

I try to make you mad at me over the phone.

Red, eyes and fire and signs

I'm taken by a nursery rhyme

I want to make a ray of sunshine and never leave home

No amount of coffee, no amount of crying

No amount of whiskey, no amount of wine

No, nothing else will do

I've gotta have you, I've gotta have you.

The road gets cold, there's no spring in the middle this year

I'm the new chicken clucking open hearts and ears

Oh, such a prima donna, sorry for myself

But green, it is also summer

And I won't be warm till I'm lying in your arms

I see it all through a telescope: guitar, suitcase, and a warm coat

Lying in the back of the blue boat, humming a tune...

Lines from the Weepies are running through my head. As much as I wish that Jane wasn't so perfect at being my musical barometer, she is. I like a lot of the music she so graciously sends me. It feels like cheating. Like I didn't dig around fifty music festivals and find these diamonds in the rough, it almost feels like I'm not allowed to lay claim to the music that steals her heart as mine. But once you drive through the stiffling rain, broken wiper banging on something that it shouldn't be banging on, and find yourself flipping the arrowed buttons on the steering wheel to the tracks that sing YOUR life, you really cannot help yourself. They feel like an old college buddies, hugging your heart and letting you know...Hey girl, I been there... and I sang about it..and we danced to it.

"Sometimes rain that's needed falls, We float like two lovers in a painting by Chagall, All around is sky and blue town, Holding these flowers for a wedding gown, We live so high above the ground, satellites surround us.

"I am humbled in this city, There seems to be an endless sea of people like us, Wakeful dreamers, I pass them on the sunlit streets In our rooms filled with laughter, We make hope from every small disaster, Everybody says "you can't, you can't, you can't, don't try." Still everybody says that if they had the chance they'd fly like we do."

Just wow...

2006

2007

What a difference almost a year makes....Case, I'm glad we have taken turns each looking somewhat normal in each of these pics...

He Said.

He said to her in her foul, depressed, icky mood:
"I love you more when you are like this."
"How is that possible?" she asks.
He said.. "Because that's when you need it more."

Birth Pains and Hope

It is said that people should live more in the moment.

I don't think I'm one of those people. I think I live too much in the moment.

The sky is drizzly and cold grey like the scarf I'm knitting. My muscles are tight and knotted with tension of a soul that cannot find it's Jesus. Can not find it's peace.

Perhaps it really is the illusion that they say it is. That contentment is never really found. That mostly you get out of the creaky bed in the cold grey half-hour late morning and you put one foot gingerly on the creaky cold hard wood and you take another step...and another... take a shower, sing a little... let the hot water work out your knotted muscles and your sore, world weary back.

And you breathe and you laugh and pray and breathe and wander and waffle and you wonder about the point. You wonder if you are doing "it" right... whatever "it" is. I have never quite felt that I am doing "it" right. I think sometimes I wrongly live for what other people want, at other times I think I'm only living for myself. I am so terrified of not being perfect.

Ladies, let me be frank, is it so abnormal for a woman not to want to be a CEO? Check that... knowing ME is it weird that I don't want to be a CEO? I am not built for it. In my young life, by the worlds standards I am highly sucessful. Especially considering that if you have a roof over your head you are considered among the richest people in the world. I have a roof AND a basement. Granted it's a basement that has crushed pipes and drippy valves and a furnace that sounds like an old man, but still it is real estate nonetheless...

I'm built for knitting and cleaning and smiling. Giving grace and hanging pictures and making art and writing and mourning and dancing. I want hot glue guns and a garden, a swiffer vacuum and mini-muffins.

I do live in the moment, oh yes. So much so that those close to me think me a bit fickle...crying one minute, laughing at a commercial the next.

I feel my pains, I feel joys, I feel things that remind me that I'm, indeed, alive. But I am still in a prison of sorts. I give it different names, but it's bars are made of shame. Shame for not being ambitious enough. Shame for having an attitude that says "I just don't WANNA". But I will because I hafta! I think the elders are all right. About most things, really.

I do not like being told what to do. The times in my life where I show the least grace to people does not have to do with substance abuse, sexual immorality, abortions, homelessness, rage, greed, or wrath... to those sins I find my heart tender and compassionate.. my hate wells up and boils when I am condescended on. When people tell me what to do and how to do it like there is no other option I do not like it. Because I am certain that no human is ever right all the time... Not even me. I don't know why it irks me so, but it irks me like nothing else.

Proverbs 29:23
A man's pride brings him low, but a man of lowly spirit gains honor...

there seemes to be no sin in the bible that is more punished than pride...

I have enough of it...

Jeremiah 49:16
The terror you inspire and the pride of your heart have deceived you, you who live in the clefts of the rocks, who occupy the heights of the hill. Though you build your nest as high as the eagle's, from there I will bring you down," declares the LORD.

I care very little if I am judged by you or by any human court; indeed, I do not even judge myself. My conscience is clear, but that does not make me innocent. It is the Lord who judges me. Therefore judge nothing before the appointed time; wait till the Lord comes. He will bring to light what is hidden in darkness and will expose the motives of men's hearts. At that time each will receive his praise from God.

I tremble.. who can stand?

Can I go where He went?

Hooray for:

Being wrapped in blankets and belly laughs on my front porch with wine and a backdrop of spice bushes and tulips.
Cowboy Boyd's Rasperry Chipotle Salsa.
Beautiful Upstate New York.
Trips to Chicago, Superdawg and the House of Blues.
Buildings that disappear into the clouds at night.
Seeing where my boy grew up. Seeing how he grew up.
Growing up.
DietCoke,DietCoke,DietCoke,DietCoke,DietCoke,DietCoke,DietCoke...
Margarita on the Rocks!
Mowing the front lawn.
Getting the Mini-Muffin recipe that I have been begging for for years and years, given to my by the folks who consider me the daughter they never had.
Liz visiting my church.
Angela eating my vegan nuggets.
Charlie Brown Christmas.
Huge wheels of cheese on the salad bar at dinner.
Humility. From Pastors, Associate Pastors, Boyfriends, and self.
Baby showers bring May flowers, and pens wrapped in flowers, and flower seeds, and cookies shaped like flowers.
Notorious D's Mom.
Easter.
A date for Forest Park.
Leviticus 8.
My boyfriend getting a sexy new ride.
My funny co-workers who actually get my jokes.
Jesus. Sweet Jesus. Whom I need to pour grace on me, whom I need to carry me, whom I need to teach me.
Al-be-coy-kee.

You are Indescribable

I must have blinked.  It feels like I got on a plane back in early March and it was snowing sideways, and this morning there was a beautiful tree outside my window in it's white blossomy robe.   When did this happen?  Where did winter go?

 

Last year I felt I was starting to thaw out at about this time.  This year feels just as significant, and even more so, yet I can't figure out the word that goes with it. 

 

I have much to say, much to praise, much to mourn.

 

But not today. 

 

Today I soak.

 

Three double oh.

My very second post ever was about one of my most favorite books. 'Gates of Fire' by Steven Pressfeld, depicting the 300 Spartans that held off the Massive Persian Army in a narrow mountain pass for three days.

I always thought it would make a great movie. And it did. I went and saw 300 with Monty and Duster and it was awesome. I guess it got bad reviews, and I was a little scared to see it but this is one of my favorite stories of all time and I felt they did a good job with it. Except for some perhaps unecessary skin.

Where is the honor? Where has honor gone?

Those men would have rather died than live with dishonor. Fires me up I tell ya.

Unbelievable. It's based on a comic book series that was based on a true event, the story portrayed had a little more mythological fantastical license, but the basic story is the same. I do not know why this particular story strikes such a chord with me...

Go see it.. it's good.