nobody would play mad libs with me at beth's bday party.

clockwise around table from left: whitney, micah, sharri, julia (nice face!), and heather (she belongs to micah)

clockwise from left: me, Chrissy, Chris (behind my big head), beth, heather, sharri.

i found this little record player earlier this year, and designated myself DJ for dave & beth's bye party. it was our first use of the little porch we discovered two months ago.

my roommate gena was head girls soccer coach this year, and her girls gave her this huge chocolate soccer ball as a thank you present. it's nice living with the coach, especially when you get to eat smashed chocolate soccer balls.

dave and beth have been such a fun part of this first year in kandern. beth and i led our small group of sophomores together, and saw each other on mondays and wednesdays when i taught at the elementary school. we both like newberry medal award-winning books (madeleine' l'engle's wrinkle in time is on that list) and took up felting together -- her felting skills have really taken off, however, and her credits include a nativity scene and a cat-head cat toy for edwina. dave likes to borrow my simpsons and laugh with me at my birthday season of seinfeld. :) it's just been really nice to have dave and beth as friends. i'm going to miss them terribly next year as they move back to the chicago area.

they came in contact! we'll miss you, dave & beth!

there they are -- the graduates of 06!

football fever is going strong

so here we are today -- cleaning

Espana

I'm in Spain! We went to see the Rock of Gibraltar today and there are wild and free monkeys! A baby walked right up to us! It was amazing. I promise to post pictures--including one of the Spanish and Moroccan coasts in the same picture! Oh my goodness this world is incredible!

Love you guys!
Suz

Smithing

to Kevin



We couldn't find the nails.

We had sought and sought. We were exhausted from the soughting. Gena and I had been up and down the aisles of Bauhaus, the German Home Depot, looking watchedly for the little boogers. We had found circular Christmas lights, browsed magnetic photo-covers for your washing machine, and finally located hammers, but no nails. And as much as I say I am loving learning German, I am probably just as equally hating the actually-using-it-and-possibly-looking-stupid part. Sometimes it's all I can do to gruntingly grunt out a "danke" or "tchüss."

"Oh, allright. I guess I'll go ask that guy over there," and I was already half-way to the info stand.

*cough, cough* I politely coughed.

"Ja, kann ich Ihnen hilfen?" Not even upwards looking up, the man helpfully asked if I needed any help.

"Um . . . ja, ich suche die . . . " and here I realized that I didn't actually know the word for nail. It was the pause that must have prompted my especially-helpful employee to join my playful game of foreign-language charades. I held up the pretend nail in my left hand and began to pound poundingly at it with the pretend hammer in my right hand. After what I considered to be a sufficient number of pretend whacks for the pretend nail to have been appropriately and sufficiently erected by the pretend hammer, I stopped and grimaced over at him.

"Achso. Sie suchen diese oder diese?" he asked questioningly, pointing to each of my pretend items.

"Diese." (I would hope by this point in the story that I wouldn't have to spend a great deal of time telling you which of the "not real but just pretend" items it was that I gestured to. That would just be a waste of my time and yours.)

"Ah, ein Nagel."

"Genau! Nagel!" and here's where I decided to get fancy and form the plural of nails on my own and try again . . .

"Wie komme ich zum Nageln?"

*silence*

You know, you have to wonder how Janet Jackson felt in the middle of her "star-studded" Super Bowl fiasco. At what point did she realize she was giving us a partial monty, baring her . . . soul to the a world that was about to dish it back to her via internet review-sites. At what point was it glaring that even years later semi-monthly bloggers would be comparing their own shining shame to her bare-chested performance?

"Um, you don't vant to say dat. Dat is some-ting else."

Apparently in the dialect of this region, I had just asked him where I should go to get nailed.

"Nägel sind am Gang 12."

"Danke," I grunted as we each turned, reddening.

Anybody have a sweater? It's getting a bit nippy in here.

"Tchüss."

The Jewish Nation and Me, Part 1: Seder Barbie

Oi! You must watch this film! (It received honorable mention at Sundance this year.)

I got my first Barbie in first grade. She had a purple-sequined gown with a versatile silk wrap that I could twist behind her head or around her plastic arms. Marianne, the daughter of the pastor of the church that had started our little Christian school, gave her to me. She was in second grade. Josh was in second grade. Josh could shoot baskets and make people laugh, and when I overheard him in the lunch line for Frito pies say that he liked girls with ponytails, I wore a ponytail for the rest of the year. Barbie's hair got put in a ponytail, too.

Seven years ago, I found out I was Jewish. Well, an eighth Jewish anyway. My dad's grandmother on his mother's side had fled Germany and changed her name. She changed her name and married my great-grandfather. Their name was Diabell. So Grandma Jean is half-Jewish, my dad is a quarter-Jew, and my brother and I share the rights and privileges of the eighth-Jewish.

I packed up Barbie and her friends a few years ago. Since first grade we had each learned to play tennis, joined a rock band, and collected a few boyfriends. I remembered huddling with them in the bottom of my closet while hurricanes and tornadoes ravaged us. Her legs were sticky and discolored. Her hair was stiff, and stayed pulled back even after I had untangled the ponytail holder. I baby-powdered each leg of each doll and dressed them in their favorite outfits before closing the cardboard flaps again.

As a child, I enjoyed imagining the total destruction of my beloved Barbie collection. My Barbies liked their plastic men with dark hair. I grew up in the southern midwest United States. I went to my first Passover meal last year and didn't stay for the whole thing. I have always liked my dad's pork chops--medium-well, still juicy with seasoned salt.

But the LORD said to Samuel, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The LORD does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the LORD looks at the heart." --I Samuel 16:7

I am a bearer of the image of God's son. I am a descendant of royalty and a rich heritage. I am a princess dressed in white, twirling beneath the snowflakes that fall today in Kandern. I am beloved and caressed. I can take my hair out of its ponytail. For my Abba, my beautiful One, is pursuing my heart and has captured me.

our living room is now yellow!

the view from my bedroom window

the other view from my bedroom window

Bern Bears

"awwww, beeeears!"

Gena's favorite part of Bern was the bears. These are only two of the ten pictures she took of them... Bern means "bears," and the city has apparently kept bears for over two hundred years. I don't know... they didn't look that old. *mwu-wah-hah*


another bear

285 steps of Bern

beth, whitney, and me. gena was behind the camera. we took a weekend daytrip to the Swiss capital. it's about two hours away from kandern, or, as i like to put it, a full four games of sudoku.


we climbed this there...


in order to see this. looking closer at our view, we discovered dirty laundry, an empty birdcage being used as an outdoor fridge, and i revisited a bout with fear of verticals.

why yes, that is the celebrated ogre-eating-children fountain that you have heard so much about.

now that's a slide.

whitney had seen the spinny-thingy from the top of the cathedral and just had to sit in it...


so we did, too

a musical fly... we apparently hit the city during a protest of the World Economic Forum that was soon to be held in a Swiss resort town. this guy sure made me think twice about my use of the Dsus in a C Minor world...

me, beth, and cappuccino in bern

Dear Miss Emily

Dear Miss Suzanne,
Hi, I am ******'s daughter. They have Awana Clubs here in Missouri. In my Awana book says that I need to write a letter to a missionary and ask them some questions.Could you please answer some questions:
Where do you work? What is your job? What is the hardest part about being a missionary? What do you like best about being a missionary?Thank you for answering these questions!

Love,

Emily

~~~~~~~~

Dear Miss Emily,

Thank you for your letter! I am so glad to hear that you are involved in Awana there in Missouri. I remember having a lot of fun in Awana clubs. I think I enjoyed all of the crazy games the most! :) Our gym floor at school had a HUGE red, green, blue, and yellow circle outlined on it--and it was just for us kids. I felt so special... Which group of Awana are you in now? What's your favorite part of going to Awana?

Ok, now you had asked me some questions...ah yes, here they are. Let's see, first, "Where do you work?" I work at Black Forest Academy in Kandern, Germany. (I think you probably remember a thing or two about that place! :) ) "What do you do?" I teach piano lessons to 39 missionary kids this year. My youngest student is in second grade, and my oldest students are in twelfth grade. Now, answering those two questions was pretty easy for me to do. It's your next two questions that make me think a little bit more. That might also be the reason I didn't answer your email sooner--sorry. It's just that your questions were so darn good!

"What is the hardest part about being a missionary?" Emily, I think the hardest part for me is trying not to live up to the word missionary. Have you ever known someone that you really wanted to be your friend? What did you try to do to get them to be your friend? Did you make something for them? Did you do nice things for them? Did you want them to see how well you could sing or draw or dance?

I think sometimes I think being a "good missionary" is treating Jesus like someone that I really want to be my friend. I try to impress Him by how many students I can teach or how well I can teach them to play scales (your dad has taught you about scales by now, I'm sure!). But Jesus doesn't want to be my friend because I can do all these things for Him. He wants to be my friend because He already loves me. Wow... that's pretty incredible, isn't it? Can you imagine if every person you ever wanted to be your friend, already liked you! Well, the best friend out there (the one that sticks closer than a brother... that means closer than Calvin... ok, maybe you'll understand that one better in a couple years... Calvin, be nice to your sister!) eh-hem, the best friend out there wants to be my friend already. And sometimes the hardest part is to stop trying to impress Him and to start getting to know my Friend better.

"What do you like best about being a missionary?" I am sooo glad you asked that question! My students are my favorite part of being a missionary. I think it's because they are teaching me so much about the countries they have lived in and the friends they have made there. They tell me funny stories and ask me questions that make me laugh and (not very unlike your questions) make me think. They make me want to get to know our Friend better.

Now, I'm no C. S. Lewis, but I hope this email answered your questions well. And I hope that you will get to know our Friend better, too.

Lots of love, Emily,
Suzanne

Gerontophobia

Tonight's the Valentine's party at school, and I've been home sick all day sleeping, coughing, blowing my nose, and watching the sixth season of Frasier (thanks, Sharri). On Friday, the high school guys were supposed to wear a hat to school if they were available, and the girls would then pin something to the hat of the guy they asked to the Valentine party. Girls at the dorm on Thursday night were a bit giddy, and I hear that there was a crowd of girls waiting for the guys' dorm vans to arrive early Friday morning. :) Sorry I missed that photo opportunity!

Last weekend, I went with the strings and choir kids to a church in France to do outreach. First, we visited a hospital and a nursing home. It's been a long time since I visited a nursing home. There are two that I walk past on my way to school every day. If I leave early enough, there's a woman who will be in the common room on the second floor of the building closest to school. She'll wave down at me, and I'll wave back up. If I forget to look up, she'll rap on the glass to remind me. I haven't left early enough in a couple weeks. And it certainly hasn't occurred to me to go in and visit her. I'm sure there are whole college courses on this subject--I know it's gotta be related to my fear of being in there myself or the inability to face old age. Whatever it is, it sucks, and I don't like it.

Maybe I expect them to be cranky or not care, because I was really surprised when the men and women in Mullhouse were appreciative and some followed us around the entire time. One old man was walking around and clapping for each song. The ladies with us explained that he was a pianist and had been pretty famous in his younger days. He wanted to give us a concert, too, so we agreed to meet him downstairs by the piano after we were done.


A few choir members and one of their faithful fans.

One woman started yelling unintelligible syllables while the kids were singing a capella in the hallway. I had designated myself official photographer, since we decided not to lug a keyboard up and down the halls. I don't know any French, so I motioned to some of the women that did. "I think it might be too loud for her," I offered. The lady chaplain went in to speak with her. "No, she just wants the group to come into her room so she can see them," the chaplain explained.

She had explained to us earlier that nearly all of the 400 people in that hospital wing would be in a bed for the rest of their lives. So 20 of us crammed into the small hospital room and sang "Give Me Jesus." The last verse was especially moving to those of us who spoke English..

Oh and when I come to die
Oh and when I come to die
Oh and when I come to die
Give me Jesus

Give me Jesus
Give me Jesus
Oh and when I come to die
Give me Jesus

Dangit, I want to have Him before that! After writing all of this, I have visions of myself becoming the next Florence Nightingale to the nursing homes of Germany. In high school, I started walking to the nursing home across the street with my piano books. I played on the baby grand in the foyer, and there were lots of folks who would wheel or walker themselves in to listen. But then they started asking for requests. I didn't know the pieces they wanted to hear, and I felt like I disappointed them. So I didn't go anymore. Maybe that was just my excuse, though, to not have to go back.

The formerly-famous pianist gave us a delightful concert on the electric piano downstairs. He and his knobby, niccotine-stained fingers played Chopin, Debussy, and a familiar French tune. I sat right by his hands, and he looked up, smiled, and winked while mumbling in French. We cheered and clapped, and some of the kids played for him, too. As we left, I gave him the traditional French kiss-on-each-cheek goodbye. He grinned and reached for his cigarettes that one of the chaplains was holding out for him.

I guess walking in was relatively easy. It was the walking out that was hard. Walking out is still hard. Maybe that means I should be walking back in more often . . .

(pictures from the trip)

Today

I am now sitting at school at my desk in my office that I am oh-so-proud-of. The walls have finally been hung with a painting of daffodils on a red background, a mirror (for the flute students who need to check their embouchure--I promise), and a music staff-lined chalkboard with the question, "What is a scale?" The tall, curly bamboo that I bought at IKEA last fall is still twisting toward the sun on the marbled windowsill next to my desk. The plant next to it was not so lucky--picture a three-weeks-with-no-shower Kid Rock.... but without the hat to hide under. Ravel's La Valse is swelling and pulsing from the cd player behind me, and Für Elise is seeping through the so-very-not-sound-proofed neighboring wall. I just took a break from this post to give my friend Julia a hug, fill the hot-water-making pot, and wash my coffee mug--it's spiced tea for me this morning, though. It should be ready in a few minutes.

In a bold move, I left my gloves at the apartment door this morning and walked to school with my hands inside the pockets of my lime-green coat. It wasn't as cold as it has been but just enough to force me to tuck my chin behind my thick collar and tilt my head down to avoid doggy treasures on the sidewalk. Success today--my school shoes remain undefiled!

Laurel is coming in 12 minutes for her lesson. I love this kid. She's got the curliest hair in school and just got a short bob over break. She always has a smile stretched from ear-to-ear. In one of our lessons last year, she was telling me about a boy that she liked. Well, somewhere in the story, I picked up the phrase "...and then he kissed me."

"Oh, so that's why it was awkward?" I asked.

"Huh?"

"It was the post-kiss awkwardness..." I tried to explain.

"WHAT! NO! HE DIDN'T KISS ME!!" and she burst into the most endearing fit of giggles and snorts.

So I've made it to the leaf particles at the bottom of my tea, and the soundtrack is now Daphnis et Chloe. The post-it on my monitor reads "What's my goal? What do I want (really)?" I think right now I want to change the cd (really).

p.s. the boy in the picture is her brother, Corban.

I Fought the Settlers, and the, Settlers won

It has pursued me, and it has won.


the settlers of catan

I love this game. Mz first invitation to plaz was over a zear ago, and I plazed for the first time last night. Thanks for having a birthdaz, Dave. It has changed mz life.

Germans know their Wurst, snowsports, and games that involve cards. Promise me. Promise me... if zou are given the chance to plaz that zou will take that chance. Zou see, thereäs this island that zou are trzing to ÄsettleÄ on... )i think thatäs where most of the name comes from? and zou can build roads... but onlz if zou have wood and bricks because we all k now thatäs where real roads come from but if zou have too much wood or wheat zou can alwazs trade it in for a sheep or two but thatäs onlz if someone else has a sheep that thez want to trade for zour wood or wheat ... mazbe zou should ask someone else to walk zou through it, though. someone that uses fewer zäs in their explanation...

p.s. couldnät get the kezboard off the deutsche version

Pink Pants and Santa Shoes

I remember reading a children's book when I was little about how different countries of the world celebrated Christmas. The illustrations showed drawings of little boys and little girls in their native garb holding a symbol of their way of celebrating (a synechdoche, if you will). In my heart of hearts, those pictures have continued to come to mind when I hear again of those traditions. If I close my eyes, I can still see the German child holding her leather shoe filled with fruit and candy. She's wearing a red skirt with little flowers and over it a white apron. I see her blonde hair and shy smile.

Tuesday night, Gena and I were beginning our four-flight trudge up to our apartment to have a quiet cup of decaf and enjoy the stretchings of the cat and the twinklings of our small Christmas tree. Gena stopped on the first landing and said, "Oh! Look!" Two small pairs of shoes were in the stairwell outside our landlord's door. They each had an orange, a wrapped gift, and a treat bag. "St. Nikolaus has been here..." Gena and I giggled. "Oh, I have to take a picture!" I whispered.



Alex and Katharina, our landlord's children, in the tradition that has gone hundreds of years before them, put their shoes out on Dec 5 for St. Nikolaus. Huh, I thought. They're not old leather shoes with woolly tops . . . they're tennis shoes and fun bright Euro-school shoes. And an image of Katharina's bright pink pants replaced the red skirt of my memories.

Deck the Claws

Ah... thanks, Sean--a topic. Similarly to a man-of-glass shipping himself to the Americas as a Christmas present, this post will arrive in pieces.


kitties get advent calendars, too... "meow-meow-meow-meow-meow, meow-meow, meow, meow." the girl is Alyssa, one of my roommate's small group girls. she loooooves Edwina.

Death by Death Ray

The things you find when you google yourself... egosurfing, I believe it is aptly named. The following are excerpts from the very first episode of Law & Order in 1990. (I'm the dead girl.)

Dr. Raza: My children want to stay in this country, my wife wants to stay, and to stay, all I have to do is to be perfect all the time!

Det. Mike Logan: Well you, uh, fell a little short of perfection on Suzanne Morton's chart.
_______________


Philip Nevins: Isn't it possible that pneumonia killed Suzanne Morton?

Medical Examiner: It's possible that death rays from Mars killed her. But I don't think so.

A Two-Edged Hope

"We must come to accept and even honor our creatureliness. The offering of ourselves can only be the offering of our lived experience because this alone is who we are. And who we are--not who we want to be--is the only offering we have to give."
--Richard Foster, Prayer

There is so much in my heart right now--so much to say. It's so full, and I can feel it bubbling over already. It seeped into ten pages of my journal on the trainride home from Stuttgart tonight. It flowed into a two-hour conversation with my roommate. And it's currently coursing its way into a post... Maybe the moment when I have much to say is the same moment I should say nothing.

My voice hurts from writing. My throat aches as if I have cried out to Him audibly. If I had, would You have heard me more? If I groaned, would You listen? You are still to be praised. I will still praise You. I must. For You alone know me. You alone hear and recognize my voice. You alone know when I rise and when I lay down. You alone keep me from travelling alone, though the seat next to me remains free.

You are in Jerusalem. You are in Baden-Württemberg. You are in my heart. You hem me in from behind and from before. You--One full of grace and truth. There is freedom in You, and I will not choose mere emotion. I will not choose what I want if it is not what You want. I will not choose self-fulfillment... at least, I'm having a pretty strong moment here, and I don't want to.

How long, my God? How long will I continue to judge by a man's exterior? His verneer? How much am I missing in those around me? Help me to look--to really look--and to know how to respond actively, intentionally, lovingly to what I find there.

Yeah, life is going to go on--it must, and I'll feel tomorrow a bit less than I do today. But I will hold on to hope--the hope that I do, in fact, want You.

Subtitled: I Can't Keep This From You

1.

Our landlord Tomas came up to introduce his family to us last week--his wife Birgit, his son Alexander, and his daughter Katharina. Thomas was telling us about rent and how to get DSL, Birgit was listening, Alexander was hanging on the stairwell railing, and Katharina stood in front of her father beaming up at us.

Alexander looks just like the little kid in Jerry Maguire of "The human head weights eight pounds" fame. Katharina is just too cute for words. They're both in elementary school, which I think starts this week or next. So, of course, when I made cookies last Friday for my students I had to make some for Alex and Katharina, too! Alex answered the door.

"Hallo?"

"Diese sind für Ihnen."

"Ah, ok. Danke!"

"Bitteschön! Schönen Tag!"`

"Tchuß!"

"Tchuß!"

It was a short conversation as he was apparently entertaining a little friend who was over for the day.

2.

Gena and I were walking to our apartment from our new parking spot--right up against the clock tower on the cobblestone square. A teenage boy was sitting on a park bench with one of the largest dogs I have ever seen. It was laying down, but all we could see was brown fur.

"Wie heißt er?" (What's his name?)

"Er heißt Elton John," he replied with a grin.

Gena and I started laughing.

"Er sieht ihn aus!" (He looks like him!) I smiled.

Uphill

"What am I doing?!" In front of me was yet another steep slope in the mountain trail. "I don't think I can do this anymore," I thought to myself but wasn't about to say it out loud. Most of the cross country kids were a good way ahead of me, but Kathryn from Personnel had stayed back to make sure I didn't lose my way.

"This should be the last steep one before we get to the llamas," she shouted over her shoulder. "Okay," I panted back.

"Go, Happy Camper! You're doing great!" One of the cross country guys had stayed behind on a log to nurse a bad ankle. He didn't know my name, so he was cheering me on by the lettering on my tshirt. I smiled at him. It was a brief smile, however. His log was right in the middle of that hill.

I made it to the llamas where the rest of the team was already stretching. My face was as red as my tshirt, and there were a couple happy-camper jokes. There were no llama jokes. I wanted to make one, but I wanted to puke more than I wanted to think about llamas. So I did.

"I feel so horrible that I just don't know if I ever want to run again ever, and if that's true, how am I going to get down this mountain?" I thought to myself. So I just started walking. After a few hundred feet, I started jogging, then I began running. The next 25 minutes were gloriously beautiful. The trail weaved back through the forest, into a glen, past the public pool and camping grounds, back through a cute little neighborhood, across Haupstrasse, and onto school grounds. I had a big smile on my face when I joined the team's stretching circle. It was as if I had completely forgotten how much pain I had been in.

These first ten days in Germany have been fast-paced and fun, but they have been hard, too. You can read and prepare for culture shock as much as you like, but there's really no way to be completely prepared for it.

I think the biggest struggle for me right now is just how long it takes to get simple tasks done. Going to the grocery store takes longer because I'm not familiar with the items on the shelves. Getting tasks done at school takes longer because I missed orientation, and I don't know how to do simple things like print out a schedule. I must limit my non-food shopping errands to one or two stores a day because stores in Germany close at 6:00 p.m. I'm in kindergarten all over again and find myself doubting my worth and abilities. I think I find a lot of self-worth in multitasking. But I really think that this is just the initial uphill climb. There are genuine moments of beauty that deserve attention as well and God has been good. My next post will include these moments.

For now, if you could pray that my body would be quickly healed of the same bug that I had before I left for my Germany trip last March, that would be awesome. I start lessons with students on Monday, and my schedule is almost complete. They will be coming to my studio on Friday for lunch so we can chat and mingle. Many of them are very advanced, and I am nervous and excited all at once. I will have pictures as soon as I can download my camera software.

Thank you for your patience with me.

an outfit that will not be making the trip. alas, fare thee well . . .

*insert trumpets here*

Dearest Highness Ellen,

*insert groveling bow here*

Mine ears have heard the most wondrous tales of your talent and beauty from afar. The good Queen Rachel and the newly-crowned Queen Jennie speak only of the delights of being a member of your court. They have praised your goodness and your generosity and have compelled me to come before you with my plea.

I am no more than your loyal servant, but I come before you on bended knee. Dare I ask it? Would you bestow such grace upon me as to induct me into your court? Nay, I should be so lucky as to find favor merely to be your musician or jester.

So here I am with nothing and no one to recommend me, but I ask all the same. Would you be so kind as to coronate me?

Your Loyal Subject,
Lady Suzanne

p.s. I might just make you an original Royal Handbag.

Time to Get Ill

Licensed to Ill is only $7.99 on iTunes. Thirteen white-man-overbiting, head-nodding, arms-pumping-above-head tracks for the same price as half a batman tshirt.

Sure Shot isn't on it, though. I had to purchase that one separately.

If leaving this place should feel a bit like dying, then I am expecting St. Peter to meet me at the gate greatly disappointed if I haven't met my Beastie Boys quota by Friday.

Leaving on a Jet Plane

I am leaving!! My flight leaves Friday, and I am in mass-panic mode. I may not post much this week, but I'll try to at least leave vignettes if at all possible.

Yesterday: co-hosted wedding shower for Chris and Alicia. They will be getting married while I'm gone. It was my first time to meet Alicia, and she is beautiful. I'm very proud of your choice, Chris, and very excited for you. I then proceeded back to Paula and Adam's and fell asleep on their bed, forcing them to take the couches. Sorry about that.

This morning: breakfast with Kevin and Latonya and back to Ta-town.

It's a beautiful Sunday, isn't it?

Scrubbing & Surfing

The dental assistant job ended yesterday, and I find myself once again unemployed. So what do I do to occupy my day? I clean the bathroom. For three hours. Three hours, folks. And this is not a large bathroom. The tall people on Ellen's site would hit their knees when they squat. Somehow, I managed to scrub for half an afternoon. I scrubbed and re-organized our three-person corner caddy and found the hole that the ants have been climbing through. And Rachel was right. Mr. Clean's Magic Eraser is a miracle-worker. I swear, all I did was gently wipe, and the soap scum ring around the bottom of the tub packed its bags yelling, "I'm packing my bags and yelling!"

It is so clean that I have come to the edge of the linoleum several more times today (I've been drinking a lot of water) and been compelled to remove my shoes before entering. Ahhhhh. It feels so nice to have a clean bathroom. I'm wondering how long I can hold out on taking that next shower . . .

I also found this picture of my old friend Andy Scott from OBU. He's a diving coach at Duke now!! Way to go, Andy!!

And for those few yet faithful fans, the Barbie saga has returned.

Jesus Christ

I went to see The Killers tonight for the first time--nice. I gotta admit I was a bit skeptical about them at first, but I highly recommend you catch them live if at all possible.


mm, mm, good

After rocking out to "Somebody Told Me" and "Mr. Brightside," we went to IHOP for late-night pancakes. It was our 18-year-old waitress Rashael's second night on the floor by herself, "So I hope I do okay," she told us as she set down our pitcher of decaf. "You're doing a great job," we assured her. She was so cute about explaining her waitressing thoughts out loud to us. At one point, our conversation lulled to find her leaning against the divider next to our table. "I didn't want to interrupt you guys, so I thought I would just stand here and listen until you noticed me." How can you not just smile about that?


i found this picture in a google image search for an ihop pic-- let me be that happy to have pancakes.

It took a while for our food to come out, and we were excited when we saw Rashael (pronounced Ruh-SHELL) come around the divider with plates of eggs and pancakes lined up her arms. "Short stack?" she asked Matt. "Who did you call me?" he asked. "JESUS CHRIST!" she answered and blushed. Apparently the plates had been hotter than she had anticipated, and our hunger pangs were quelled momentarily for several minutes of laughter.

The Tooth and Nothing but the Tooth

So I've been pretty busy this week. By night, catching up with friends on the phone, trying to raise the last 35% of my monthly support, and writing thank-yous for those wonderful souls who make up the first 65%. By day--a dental assistant. No, you read that right--a dental assistant.


i did this all by myself!


I am now a semi-certified, x-ray-developing, instrument-sterilizing, patient-room-cleaning, coffee-making, trash-taking-out-ing dental assistant. And let me tell you, I am exhausted. Teaching piano doesn't really fall into your 8-5 work schedule. It is 10:17 pm as I type this, and I wanted to be in bed two hours ago. My dental hygienist roommate Amy's boss (d'ya get all that?) hired me for this week plus a couple days. It's pretty perfect timing really. But that's how this whole week has been--perfect timing.

At some point last week, I had reached the breaking point. August 5 was my goal-date for being in Germany, and, well, I'm still in Wichita. "God, I am unemployed and not at full support--how am I going to do this? Is this really what you have called me to do? Am I really with you? Am I just making this up?" And the tears welled up. It was the first time I had cried out of frustration and fear. All tears up to that moment on my couch had been about saying goodbye to dear friends, family, or places--these were out of doubt. I had reached the end of me.

Within an hour, my friend Austin walked into the same restaurant where my friends and I were eating lunch. "Hey, I think we can help you out on that support thing." The next night at the movie theater we ran into Amy's friend Amber. "Well, send me information on supporting you." Before walking into a pizza place the following day, I heard "Suzanne!" Natalie wanted me to send her family more information on supporting me. My support jumped from 41% to 65% in one week.

It only takes a little thing like money for me to begin to doubt his ability to be God. He turns Jupiter and Mars in their orbits, and yet I doubt his power to move the hearts of those I ask. The wealth of the nations is his, and I can't trust his ability to provide next week's groceries. He loved me first, and I cannot begin to fathom it.

"My people have committed two sins:
They have forsaken me,
the spring of living water,
and have dug their own cisterns,
broken cisterns that cannot hold water."
--Jeremiah 2:13

Muddy water. I've sacrificed the moisture in my hands for sanitization processes and latex gloves this week, and yet I'm still not willing to give up my muddy water. These cisterns, these wells of mine--they're not deep, they're just familiar. There's too much me in this picture. Trust really does require abandon--and until now, I've been trusting my online bank account.

God, lead me to your cisterns. Help me to recognize them. Give me courage to drink deeply.

100 Things About Moi (II of IV)

26. The worst lie I ever told was at summer camp in Wisconsin. We had meals family-style, and I seemed to always get stuck at the end of the table, where the servings plates got passed last. This particular evening, we were having fried chicken, and I had my eye on a particularly juicy-looking piece when Jackie, who slept two bunks over from me and had made fun of my favorite t-shirt, decided she wanted that piece, too. I seethed under my breath, "That Jackie is such a pig!" "What," asked her friend next me, "What did you say?" "Um, I said my friend Jackie's on a dig . . ."

27. I am actually a world-famous journalist that was forced into the witness-protection program after single-handedly protecting the long-lost language of the tribe of Widuni, which survived near-extinction by re-introducing the adjectival hyphen.

28. My lying and hyphenating skills have greatly improved since fifth-grade summer camp.

29. I like shoes.

30. I really like shoes, but I've only worn one pair of hot pink Reef's for the entire summer.

31. I'm not really a Coldplay fan. Many apologies.

32. It is a secret dream of mine to one day attend an Aerosmith concert. oops.

33. I don't like change . . .

34. I got my first CD my sophomore year of high school. I had had two really cool pine racks that each held 100 cassettes hanging in my room. In my mind, there was no economic need to entirely redo the format of my music collection. So, I procrastinated. One afternoon I was shopping at the mall with my friends. We were browsing in a Christian bookstore, and I recognized the band playing over their speakers--Out of the Grey. They were a current favorite of mine, and I walked over to the CD section of the store. "Excuse me, do you know what's playing right now?" "Why yes, it's Out of the Grey, and this is their CD right here!" I replied to the woman who had asked. It turns out, she wanted to buy it for her daughter. "You think she'll like it?" "Well, that's the one I'd buy if I had the money," I said. There was only one CD left, and next thing I knew, the clerk was handing me a plastic sack, telling me it was mine. "Um, no, I don't think so . . . " "Um, yes, I'm pretty sure this is yours." A stranger had purchased my first CD for me. I still like that cd.

35. I bought my first CD player shortly after receiving my first CD and winning the school-wide candy sales competition (see #23-24), which granted me a $125 shopping spree at the mall.

36. Between the two of us, my roommate and I own five cats. No, after three re-readings, that is not a misprint. We have five cats, they are family, and I can identify each of them by the jingling of their collar alone.

37. I was a senior rookie on drill team--meaning, it was my first year of drill team, and I was a senior. I never got entirely comfortable with being in a leotard that year in front of the whole school.

38. I am a HUGE Adam Sandler fan. The love affair began with Billy Madison my junior year of high school. "Stop looking at me, Schwan!" It's still in my top five. Mr. Deeds is my current favorite.

39. "Mrs. Lippe's car . . . is green." Mine is currently a silver Jetta, but my dream car is an orange Scout, and my high school English teacher's name was Mrs. Lippe.

40. I won my first swing dance contest last night. This comes as a shock to me as well.

41. I love experiences that speak to deeper parts of my spirit. Swing dancing has become one of these things. I had my first private lesson today with a kick-ass teacher from Chicago. She worked almost the entire hour on keeping my body and frame in a position that allows me to follow my partner (the lead). Following is really about positioning myself to respond to whatever the lead throws my way. It was positioning that stuck out to me today--there is intention in that word. There is an art, a will, a discipline in allowing myself to be led, rather than a limp-limbed slinging-about. It occurred to me that I am incapable of sensitivity to God's gentlest proddings without that same art, will, and discipline. Thanks, Evin.

42. I sucked a bee up my nose at summer camp in Wisconsin in fifth grade. I think it may actually have been one of those water mimics, but the bee-thing makes a better story, so we're going with the bee.

43. I can't stand cottage cheese or tapioca pudding. I think it must be a texture thing.

44. The list of lessons (we're talking private lessons) that I have had at some point in my life in no particular order: gymnastics, ballet, soccer, softball, tennis, golf, crocheting, baton-twirling (seriously), drawing, piano, guitar, painting, swing dancing, jazz, swimming, Spanish, voice, violin, scrapbooking, driving, jazz piano, racquetball, knitting, typing, strength-training, German, cooking, wine-tasting, basket-weaving (also seriously).

45. I can be indecisive (maybe also insecure) about choosing clothes for the day. I have been known to go through three outfits before deciding. I just don't like the part of the day when I have to decide what to wear. Can we invent an iPod shuffle mode for my closet? Please?

46. I love journaling, but blogging has kept me from writing as much as I used to. As Oscar Wilde's Gwendolyn says, "I carry my diary with me wherever I go. It is always best to have something sensational to read on the train."

47. I may forget birthdays and anniversaries, but I never forget trash day.

48. I like to buy cereal, but I don't really like to eat it. Mikey, the rabbit, and Fred Flintstone call to me as I walk past their aisle, and I just can't resist. "Ooh, look, I can get a big cool bag of generic Cocoa Pebbles, and look how much I'd save . . . " I had two bulk Raisin Bran boxes for over a year--I packed them and moved them to our new home and still didn't eat them, then sold them in a garage sale. I'm currently working on a box of generic Bran Flakes and am determined to finish them before the week is out. Feel free to ask me about those later.

49. I first encountered the word determined in a Superman comic on a ski vacation with my family when I was 7 or 8. I remember asking my dad, "Why is Superman always DEET-uhr-myned?"

50. One of my favorite quick-wit moments (since I have had many) happened at a small gym that used to be downtown where Amy and I had memberships. We had just finished working out this particular day and were hanging out at the front desk. A UPS worker had exercised that morning and was heading off to work in his uniform. "Thanks, Kim! See you tomorrow!" he said on his way out. My friend looked confused, "Did that UPS guy just work out?" "That or he's delivering a gym bag," I quipped. *insert laugh machine*