Bloggers, Culottes, and Comp

I'm in Cincinnati this weekend visiting my friends Robert and Bobbie. If I were explaining that last sentence to you in person, it would probably come out, "I'm going to see Bobert and Robbie.. uh, I mean..." When he picked me up from the airport, Robert suggested that I reverse the order and say 'Bobbie and Robert.' You're right, Robert, it is easier to say--and type--but I might just have to revert to 'the Bobs.' Being friends with us single people is easy--only one name to remember and repeat. Couples become more complicated... more consonants to deal with. I think my couple friends owe it to me to shorten and/or combine their names. Wouldn't that be supported by Scriptural cleaving and such? So thanks, Bobs, for a so-far delightful stay in Cincinnati. I'll have to introduce you to my friends Dugh sometime... or maybe Driz.

Today is a very exciting day. Not only are Chactory and The H-ood Prince commercially available, but I got to meet my fellow blogger Rachel. I've probably been reading her blog since April or May. I'm really not sure--time seems to pass so quickly in cyberspace. On the way to the Starbucks we were meeting at, I think I was actually nervous. I've gotten to know old friends like Myl-vin even better through their blogs, but this was kind of the opposite--I was about to meet a person for the first time that I thought I felt close to already. Is this what internet dating feels like, Amy, er... Damy?

But there was no reason to be nervous--she's really cool. And she bought my latte. Our conversation came so easily, and my world got a little bit smaller. We went to rivaling TCA's in the Dallas area, and she laughed, "Oh, you were one of those cheerleaders [with the knee-length culottes at basketball games]." It turns out her husband Jared is an MK and went to an international school in Asia very similar to Black Forest Academy, where I will be investing the next two years of my life, and I think that's cool.

She's a full three inches taller than me, and I must say I am very jealous. She's 100% Dutch, and she doesn't like to agonize over big decisions. (I'm not sure those two things are related, though.) Her dad's rule of thumb--God's calling equals ability plus opportunity plus desire. We both think the desire part is very important but highly underestimated by many in the Christian community.

Rachel, it was very nice to meet you, too, on this rainy day in Ohio. Thanks for noticing my bat tattoo and knowing it was because of my Batman fetish. I'm very excited about your TA position--I really do think you're going to be a great teacher. And I would sign up for your English Comp class if it weren't for the fact that I'm leaving the country and you'd have to read my writing on a regular basis . . . um, wait . . .

I promise to resume the Barbie saga if you'll let me call you Jachel . . . or Rared? And now that we know we have the ability and the desire to be friends, I guess we'll just have to wait for the opportunity.

You Did What? Part Two

Allright, so this second installment might be a little anticlimactic--that's okay. That's exactly what I'm going for.

Quick review--I had just attempted to embarrass my brother by standing on my chair and introducing him to the whole restaurant, and in the attempt successfully embarrassed myself and the rest of my family. (Serge has since added me to his 'friends list.' Maybe I should try to embarrass my friends and family more often.) So after our delightful lunch at a Chili's that will have to wait a nice even month before my return, Amy and my sister and I met up with my friend Bambi. Yes, this is the Jack that we all know and love. She's been one of my best friends since college. We grew up in almost the same neighborhood in Flower Mound, Texas, and it took going to a small baptist university in Arkansas to meet.

We stopped at the Grapevine Mills Outlet Mall and Blockbuster and headed home to watch Hitch and sleep soundly. Everyone was changing into their pjs before we started the movie--I had washed my face, and Bambi was sitting on the stairs talking on her cell phone.

Now, it was really hot last weekend in Texas. Really hot. When Myles came up from Waco this week to visit, he kept talking about how nice it was--it was still in the 90's here in Kansas, and it is still humid, but Texas is a freakin sauna right now.

So I'm really hot after washing my face, right? Right. My face is nice and cool, but the rest of me is ready for a slip and slide across the atrium's marble tile floor. "Hey, Bambi, are you hot?" I walked toward her on the stairs and then I remembered that she was on the phone. She nodded and pointed toward the keypad next to the door.

"Oh, okay," and I walked toward the keypad. "Hmm... here's the plus sign, where's the minus sign? Maybe if I hit the plus sign, it'll show a minus sign on the screen..."

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!


is it hot in here, or is it just me?

The whole house was echoing BEEP, YOU STUPID IDIOT, BEEP, FREAKIN BEEP!! Bambi came over to the pad and started hitting buttons.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! WHUURRRRRRP! WHUURRRRRP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Wait a second... that's not the thermostat... that's the alarm system! And that's not the change temperature button... that's the medical alert button! Ah, crap, did we hit the fire department button, too?

"Don't you know the code?" I asked Bambi.

"No, Suzanne, I don't know the code." She was trying really hard not to punch me. Oh yeah, did I mention that we were staying at the house that she was housesitting... and they wouldn't be home for a week... and that she couldn't get ahold of them because they were at a lake house and their cell phone was out of their coverage area? Yeah.

After looking frantically for a code written anywhere in the house and getting hung up on by the Brinks people twice and having two firetrucks and one medical alert truck full of at least fifteen emergency workers show up lights flashing and sirens blaring in that quiet neighborhood at 11 p.m. ... it was quite humiliating.


um, it wasn't this guy

Fifty-five minutes later, while the BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! WHURRRRP! WHURRRRP! is still blaring and our nerves are smoking cigarettes, two police chiefs are still inside the doorway waiting for Brinks to call them back with a code. "So how exactly did the alarm get set then?" the second in command asked Bambi. "Um, she thought it was the air conditioner."

They just kinda stared at me with that grimace that seems to size you up and say, "Yeah, I can see that. I think I knew it was her when I walked through the door. There's no way she's got a masters degree in anything."

I wanted to shout, "I'm not an idiot! Ok, maybe I am, but I didn't want you to find out!" Instead, I asked, "You guys seen Ladder 49?"

They didn't think it was funny.

You Did What? Part One

Eh-hem, so yesterday, I mean Sunday, was one of the more beautifully embarrassing days of my life. Unlike Bobbie's and Natalie's stories, however, (which were bee-utiful!!) half of my embarrassing day was on purpose.


maybe not as embarrassing as being these guys...

Amy and I roadtripped to my parents' bed and breakfast for the fourth of July weekend. We were going to go to the Grand Canyon, but we decided we were both too broke for that--that may have been a cover-up, though, for not having made reservations for the most well-travelled weekend of the year. Are there two l's in travelled? or is it traveled? I'm too lazy to look it up. So we got some good time in with my family. Yea! A couple of free meals and a free cozy room! It was nice.

My brothers Dimitri and Serge were in rare form. Serge has officially given me permission now to spell his name "Serge" instead of "Surge" (his self-proclaimed & self-spelled nickname) like the caffeinated beverage, so I'm taking full advantage. His real name is Sergei, but that's just too Russian for him. He's also threatened to name his children Dew and Pepper.

Well, my dad took all seven of us out for lunch at Chili's on Sunday after the other guests at the inn had left. The restaurant was packed. My sister Tat, Amy, and I entertained ourselves by watching Dimitri and Serge check out the cute hostesses. Teenage boys are so funny--mostly because they take themselves so seriously.

The boys argued for a good part of the meal--mostly about what Serge was and was not capable of. "Man, I just don't get embarrassed," he said with his arms bent up from the elbows, his shoulders shrugged, and his head shaking slightly back and forth--one could have mistaken him for having a tic. "No one can embarrass me."

"Is that right?" I asked. "No one?"

"Nope. No one. Whatchu got?"

I stared at him. Silent.

"You think you can embarrass me? Uh-uh."

A grin slowly spread across my face.

"I know what you're going to do, you're going to tell that story about..."

My chair scooted back from the table, and my hands reached for my drink. Next thing I knew, my feet were in my chair, and I was rapping on my plastic mug with my fork.

"Attention, Chili's! Can I have your attention please!"

A young hipster in a booth opposite us glanced over in mid-conversation with his cute girlfriend. A waitress with a full tray of food on her shoulder and a tray jack in the other hand eyed me and slowed down on her way to the next table. Our blonde waiter was headed toward our table with refills on tea and stopped in his tracks. There was still some chatter on the other side of the partition, but it was definitely getting quieter.

"Yes, thank you! I have an announcement to make! This is my brother Serge, he's 17 and he just had his first date with a girl last night!" There were a few oohs and aahs. Ok, maybe that was just in my head. I didn't freakin make crowd cards or anything.

"And he also says he can't be embarrassed, so if you could all help me by giving him a nice, big round of applause!..." The hipster and waitress broke out into applause with the rest of the restaurant as Serge stood up to receive it with a bow. I sat back down, and my heart was pounding out of my chest. I looked around the table to find blank, blinking stares.

When Dimitri came back to his seat (he had apparently left the table as soon as he saw his sister climbing toward the tabletop), Serge started again, "That didn't embarrass me!"

"Excuse me!" A woman from the table behind us was leaning in toward Serge. "You mentioned he had just had his first date with a girl... how many dates has he had with boys?"

"Ha-ha-ha-ha!" my dad belly-laughed, and my mom said, "Oh, that was a good one!" Serge just sat shaking his head and fighting to keep his cheeks a nice tan color instead of the rosy one that was creeping in. "I'll get you back for this," he said, "but I'm not embarrassed!"

"That was a good one, though, wasn't it?" I asked.

"Yeah, that was pretty cool."

Yesterday was one of the more beautifully embarrassing days of my life.

The E-burfing Challenge!

Ok, so it's been a slow day...

Do you ever type in random words or phrases into Ebay's search engine when you're feeling bored or blue? Today I went through "super cool neat," "super cool great," and "oh my gosh." Look where "oh my gosh" got me, oh my gosh!



Let's see who can beat that one, shall we? I promise to subjectively choose a winner by July 8. The winner will be sent (yes, by snail mail) a hand-picked gem from my garage sale adventures.

Happy E-burfing!! (Ebay-surfing)

Free Cameron!!

You know you want to be like me and take the survey....

This post is not about scissors

I like big . . . (click here to find out what).

hint: click play

Whether I Go to the Right or to the Left

I didn't know what to expect this week in Canada. Oh yeah... so I'm in Canada.

For those of you who have just recently tuned in, I will be moving to Germany at the beginning of August to serve as piano instructor for the children of missionaries at Black Forest Academy. I have hesitated to say "I have been called to..." But man, it is becoming more and more apparent that God is pushing, pulling, hemming me in from behind and going before me. He has been preparing me for this my entire life:

*Listening to German language tapes during the commute to elementary school with my dad.
*Studying in Salzburg and gaining a deeper passion for the Germanic language and people.
*Choosing music as a study and career when it was one of my deepest insecurities.
*Growing up in a private Christian school myself and knowing the joy of relationships and the pain of working so closely with Christians.
*Having 5 years of teaching experience now in a similar private school setting.
*Helping me to release strongholds of bitterness and unforgiveness in the past two weeks.

When I got off my flight Monday from Denver to Winnipeg, Kim and I realized we were both there for the same training with Janz Team Ministries. We found out we were both going to BFA as well. Customs checked our passports and when we had exited the customs area, we were confronted with a choice between two waiting rooms. Our chatter stopped, and we paused for a moment to think about which way to go.

"GO LEFT!" a voice behind us boomed. We jumped, then giggled and well... we went left. The man with his cart and luggage went right. And Isaiah's words came pouring out of me: "Whether you turn to the right or to the left, your ears will hear a voice behind you, saying, 'This is the way; walk in it.'" God is definitely telling me this week that this is His way, and I am to walk in it. He has been confirming that with those who are supporting me financially. He has been showing me His way through those who have prayed over me and are praying for me and who have promised to continue praying for me. He is showing me His way through the stories and journeys of the others here who are being sent.

He is doing what He said He would do. I have had to pull an Indiana Jones and step where I have seen no bridge. How does one go about raising $2500 a month? How do I get past my pride of asking for help? How do I lay aside my fear of rejection and my anxiety of what others will think? God, how will you move? How will you bring this about? I cannot see it or imagine it, so I tend to disbelieve it. Help me to continue to listen and step whether I can see the sand on the bridge or not.

You are faithful. You are faithful. You are faithful. You are faithful.

So this is goodbye ...

Well, it's all over. Check it out.

Hair Don't's & Kitty Do's

So I'm not sure about the new haircut. It's a bit shorter than it's been lately. Janz Team training is next week in Canada, and I've got a thing about meeting people for the first time when I don't think I look like myself. I walked out of the salon after this picture had been taken and put it right up in pigtails . . . kind of. What do you think?

Amy's gone for a week, so I made dinner for one this evening--Moroccan chicken with ginger, honey, tomatoes, zucchini, and slivered garlic. Yum. I glanced out the kitchen window as I was rinsing off the cutting board between veggies. Fuzzy, Amy's cat, was staring at me from the top of my car. I waved at her, and she gave me a wide-eyed meow. I guess she was just saying hi. What a great cat. The other day I gave Amy my corduroy coat that she has loved since the day we met. "Really?" she asked incredulously. "Is there anything that you want of mine?" I thought for a second as I sorted the mail. "Can I have Fuzzy?" She told me to keep thinking.


kitchen with a view

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the iPod

shuffle me, baby, yeah!

I have recently discovered the wonders of the iPod. For one, I really like typing "iPod." I feel so dirty typing a lower case letter before the capital. It makes me feel like a rebel. There's an entire instant-messaging world out there with a blatant lack of respect for the capital letter--a world in which e. e. cummings would s.t.a. (stand tall and proud). The words for which my pinky finger will still dutifully stretch out for the shift key? God, Bible, and iPod.

I purchased the iPod 20 GB in order to pack my 200+ cds into the lining pocket of my purse for the move. iTunes stopped counting my library music in hours 75 cds ago. It now announces "1886 songs, 5.2 days, 6.96 GB." 5.2 days! It's a life goal of mine now to last on shuffle mode for 5.2 days and listen to every track. I'll keep you updated. We'll stick in a sidebar counter. "One down and only 3.6 to go."

And speaking of shuffle mode, I believe that might be my favorite feature. I don't like it enough to buy just the iPod Shuffle. There's a control factor involved in the original iPod. If I'm listening to Queen's "You're My Best Friend" and it reminds me of James Taylor's "You've Got a Friend," I don't have to wade through three nocturnes, a Batman theme song, and Ben Harper's "Mama's Got a Girlfriend Now" to get to it.

Shuffle mode is like squeezing the last ounce of toothpaste out of the tube. It's responsible and efficient and minty fresh.

Shuffle mode is an equal opportunity employer. Larry Norman, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Lucinda Williams each get paid diddly-squat to serve onion rings and mop the floors until it's their turn to take the stage.

Shuffle mode is the international language of love. In German, it is Zufaellige Titel--literally, shuffled titles. "Now playing..." translates "You're hearing..."

Other areas of my life that I wish I could put on shuffle:
5) my closet -- I would love to wake up wearing that blue shirt that always gets hidden at the back or those jeans that I have totally forgotten I own.
4) language -- today we're going to speak croatian.
3) old friends -- Aubrey came to see me last week. Who knows who would be next... Cade? Jamie? Bobbie? Kim? I would get to see everyone in a shuffle period of at least three months.
2) the bed that Amy's cat pees on -- it's usually mine.
1) books -- maybe then I'd finally make it all the way through Moby Dick and have the guts to sell Max Lucado in the garage sale.

Bye Bye Batgirl!

It's a sad/exciting day. Due to the sheer amount of stuff I have to pack and put in storage/give away/ship to Germany, I have decided to sell my prized collection of DC Comic glasses on Ebay. :( So that's why it's a sad day.


holy lack of a caption, batman!

However, this same event is also an exciting one due to the expenses that moving to Europe tends to incur, and the timing of Batman Begins that comes out next Wednesday. So technically, a move and a movie have increased the number of potential buyers for my collection and have thus increased the potential income that such a collection might bring. So that's why it's a semi-exciting day as well. Hopefully six days from now will be an even more exciting day.


riddle me this...

If you are interested in giving these beloved children a home (or just want to see what holiness looks like on Ebay), check out my auctions.

Of Strange Lands & Felines

I'm sorry. I've tried to not be one of those people that talks about their pets on their blog, but I thought maybe these pictures were appropriate. Meet Edwina. She will be receiving her pet passport soon and travelling to Germany courtesy of the seat in front of me and a couple of sedatives. She has begun her language studies and currently tries her paw at Bird. She is also considering changing her name to Brigitte. (p.s. when you go to the "bird" link, click on bi-lingual. this is what dwini sounds like when she stares out the window, too)

what was that?

naptime

Richard and the Winter Wind

Richard is in third grade. His parents are from China, but he grew up in Alabama. He speaks perfect Chinese, which makes that little 'bama accent even cuter.

Richard's assignment was to come up with a story to go with the piece he was practicing this week: "Winter Wind." This is his story. He hadn't written it out, and I wasn't prompting him. You'll catch words like "mayor" and "meeting." :)

I am Jack's Melted Face

I've got the worst headache, and I'm tired, and I have to get up early in the morning to teach, but I just have to write. I've been putting it off.

I've been reading 1 Samuel this week. Faithful Hannah feverishly prays for a son, and her gift-child at age twelve recognizes the voice of God more clearly than Eli, the high priest of Israel does. Then Eli's evil priest-sons are killed violently in battle because they asked for sacrificed meat to be roasted instead of boiled. And Eli falls off a rock and breaks his neck when he hears the news. Granted, he didn't fall off a rock when he first learned of their meat-roasting habits, so he kinda had it coming.

In the same battle that Eli's sons are killed, the ark of the covenant is captured by the Philistines. God's people mourn because they think His presence has been taken from them. The Philistines think they're hot stuff for having the ark until the rats and the tumors start popping up. I personally picture Arnold Schwarzeneggar as a rogue Philistine telling some young innocent, "Eet's naht a ... ok, eet ees a TU-mah." They end up sending the ark to four of the five Philistinian cities as a test to see if cancer-carrying vermin continue to pour out. By the time the ark nears the fifth city, the people are outside waving their hands and wailing to be spared of the ark--please don't send us this God.

The concept of the ark of the covenant has always fascinated me. God had his people build him a gold box for a house. The movie Raiders of the Lost Ark gave me nightmares in eighth grade. All the melting of faces and stuff--ew. (Hmm, Kevin talked about melting faces this week, too...) And then I read about the return of the ark to one of the towns on the outskirts of the promised land. As kind of an afterthought the author explains God's judgment. The ark returneth verily and greatly unto the people of Israel. There was much rejoicing and ... oh yeah, He melted the faces off 70 men who looked inside it, too.

And sitting on my front porch, I nearly choked on my coffee--half because I didn't remember the melting faces actually being in there, and half because I would've been one of the ones to look. It's not in the holy museum. It's just in this guy's house. I'm a chosen one. He's my God, why wouldn't he want me to look? Okay, so he told me us not to look, but surely he didn't mean me right now in this situation. I can already hear the excuses. I mean, just look at how many times I typed the first person pronoun in this paragraph! It's all about me. I think about me. And italics. I think about italics, too.

NPR's All Things Considered had a special report today about the scientists who discovered a persistent low-frequency hum in the mid-70's. Two non-Ivy league astronomers won the Nobel Prize for discovering the 15-million-year-old residual sound of the Big Bang. It was science's first physical evidence for all of life coming into existence in a single moment. Interestingly, they also cite it as evidence for all of life eventually ending apocalyptically in a moment. They interviewed one of those astronomers who had this to say about their conclusion: "When you've eliminated all the probable possibilities, then you must conclude that the least possible is the most probable."

Can't you just imagine the power that must have unleashed in that moment when the dark void first heard the words "Let there be ..." Couldn't the universe have replied with a primal birthing scream that was so powerful we could still hear it today? Wouldn't that have been the birth of sound itself? Systems of harmonics yawning and flexing their newly-found muscles?

A God that overwhelming--a God that ancient--asking His people to build him a little ark. All of a Big Bang God in a box. That'd be enough to melt anyone's face off.

Please...

What does your alone time with God look like when it happens? I don't want to know about what you've read unless you've applied it--no theology or 'isms. Don't tell me about what you want it to look like. I don't want C. S. Lewis or G. K. Chesterton or anyone else with cool initials and fantastic writing skills. I want you. Give me a flawed, real peek into your relationship with Him. I'm struggling right now, and I'd appreciate your input, and I'm too tired for image-maintenance.

Tuesday, May 10, 1:45 pm
Thanks for your transparency. I easily replace getting to know God with doing stuff for God.

If my roommate Amy were to water the plants, mow the yard (even sweeping after edging), take out the trash, vacuum, dust, make our beds, clean the cat litter, and make my dinner--that would seem wonderful and healthy to both of us. But if she were to do all these things and go through that same day without speaking to me, I would be hurt and not care a lick about the lawn or litter. I don't want to treat God like that.

It takes a lot for me to just sit and be still. When Amy and I watch movies, I always have something in my hands to do (It drives her crazy). What must it be like to need Him like I need air? What must it take for me to get to that point of trusting Him like I trust this computer chair?

Right now, He feels a little bit like a suitor that I'm not sure is cut out for me. So I don't always return his calls, and when we do hang out, I make sure I do all the talking--the relationship is easier to control that way. When he asks a hard question, I have a witty retort and casually turn the subject to the latest on itunes or that project I hear he's into in China. At the end of the date, I'm sure to thank him for the coffee so he can't say I'm an ingrate, and I give him a vague promise of doing it again sometime. I smile to friends when asked about him later and remark, "Yeah, he's a nice guy . . . I'm just not sure about that China-thing, though."

"There's a fish in the perculator!"

forbidden love

Ok, I don't know how many of you out there have watched Twin Peaks. I personally was too young to be able to appreciate it when it was on television in 1991. David Lynch is a genius, though. Twin Peaks was unique in its plotline (a precursor to the X-Files), using the mystery of a small-town high school girl's murder to develop its characters. If you are a fan, please sign the petition to release the second season on DVD. Pretty please?


"Now, that's a darn good cup of coffee!"

Allright, what it really breaks down to: I have been able to rent the first season at Blockbuster, but no one has the second season. NO ONE! I don't know what happens! I'm dying here! And don't go telling me either if you know! There are websites that could tell me, but I've been avoiding them. Sweet, Cooper, hang in there, buddy!

I don't promise anything special will happen to you, but I do promise to give you a hug if I'm ever close enough to.

Please sign here.

The Blue Slide

I watched an 87-year-old woman go down a slide last night. She'd been visiting her son and grandsons, who happen to be my piano students. In mid-Ode to Joy, Mark turns around to look out the large glass window into their backyard. "Grandma's going down the slide!"

Their jungle gym literally rivals the public one across the street. It has swings and a wiggling ramp and a rope climb, and of course--the glory of the playground--two slides. There's the smaller Yellow One that has one curve in it and no cover which, for those a little more timid, allows for hand-holding while sliding. But Grandma was climbing the stairs of the Blue One. The Blue One -- higher and covered and with at least two complete curves. There's no hand-holding on the Blue One.

"Can I be done?" I looked down to see Mark's eyes pleading with me. "Grandma's going down the slide!"

"Ok, but tell Michael it's his turn."

The picture through the window showed Mark running as fast as he could out to the playground to join his dad and his little brother Michael. Grandma disappeared behind the entrance to the slide. There were some encouraging cheers from her grandsons in the swings, and her son was standing at the bottom with his arms out wide. And they waited. And they waited. Then there they were--little grandma legs flailing after a few seconds of neopropylene thrills.

"A-ha-ha-ha!" my own laugh surprised me. It echoed against the living room ceiling and into the kitchen, and I realized I was the only one in the house. The laughs were involuntary, and as soon as I thought one was done, a new one bubbled up to the surface. Michael came running into the living room.

"Grandma just went down the slide!"

"I watched her," and I laughed.

Grandma came in later to plop down exhaustedly into the chair next to the piano. It took her five or six minutes to come back inside the house after the slide. "I've been wanting to do that all week!" she sighed, and her wrinkled old face spread into a wide ribbon of satisfaction.

5k A-Ok

This morning, I ran my first 5K . . . 3.1 miles. I believe that's the furthest I've ever gone running toward something. I'm no Forrest Gump. The last half mile was inside the zoo--the last half mile. By that time, I didn't care all that much about the hyenas and hippos. Though, the elephants were still kinda cool. "Oh . . . pant . . . pant," I said to Katie, my running buddy, "there . . . ele . . . phants . . . "

The thing was, I didn't realize that the race continued inside the zoo. When we got close to the gates, I kicked it in. Once inside, I didn't see anybody stopping--bad sign. So I had to recover and keep up some kind of a pace just to stay with Katie. Katie's a good pace-setter. I wouldn't have done nearly as well without her. I mean, there is a lot of pride attached to doing something like that on your own, but there's a lot that gets pulled out of you when you're with someone else--especially someone else that's pretty well matched.

As Katie pulled ahead to pass runners in front of us, I would pull to the side and follow her around. It was just understood that we were staying together. As I stared past her back, it occurred to me that I need pacesetters in my life. I needed Katie to decide to pass the girls with walkmans in front of us (do they still make walkmans?), because if she hadn't, I wouldn't have. I had been telling myself that I was just trying to finish this thing. But there was a lot more in me than I thought. Because of Katie, I exceeded my own expectations today. I probably could have finished those 3.1 miles by myself. But it wouldn't have been in 31 minutes.

In a brief Boston marathon moment, we poured our dixie cups of water over our heads at the 1.5 mile mark, laughing. Just afterwards, we passed the park restrooms and saw a girl come sprinting out to rejoin the race. "She went to the bathroom, and she's still beating us," I panted to Katie.

Dumbbutt

Dumbbutt is my brother. He has been since he was eight--I was eighteen. Somehow the name "Dumbbutt" came to replace Dimitri's Christian name. It probably happened after pointing to his nose and saying "ear" after an hour-long session of learning what his bodyparts were in English. Our pastor walked up to meet Dima at lunch one day, "And what's your name?" My little brother grinned through his cute Russian accent, "I'm Dumbbutt!" My mother covered her eyes and groaned.

He's sixteen now, a sophomore in high school, and we still call him Dumbbutt. When I was home over spring break, he pulled the drawstring from his athletic shorts over his head and walked around our sister Tatiana's room dancing and singing "I love dan-cing . . . oh yes I do . . . I love dan-cing . . . na-na-na-na-na-na." Tat and I couldn't stop laughing, and I snapped a photo of him with my camera phone and titled it, you guessed it, "Dumbbutt."

This morning I decided to change the wallpaper on my phone--Ben Folds needed a rest. I grinned when I saw Dimitri's picture. "Menu . . . Photo gallery . . . Assign pic . . . Wallpaper . . ." I waited a few seconds and the phone replied: "Dumbbutt Activated."

Dumbbutt activated. Yes, indeed. Reminds you just a smidge of the Wonder Twins, too, doesn't it?

Happy Birthday, Sweet Friend

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of the eyes,
And sweet is the voice in its greeting,
When adieus have grown old and goodbyes
Fade away where old Time is retreating.

Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand,
And earnest a kiss on the brow,
When we meet over sea and o'er land
Where furrows are new to the plough.
--John Keats

This picture was taken two summers ago in Boston. I was in town for a chamber music festival, and Peter was kind enough to let me stay at his place and give me a lift to Brandeis University. We hadn't seen each other in ... one, two ... five years--not since our semester together in Austria. We had Indian food, and he let my friends and me into the old theater in Boston that he worked at. He was a ... oh dangit, Peter, I'm going to forget the proper term ... projectionist? Is that right? It's not projector... Hmm. I have come to expect to find Peter behind a camera of some sort, that's for sure. He studied film at Hampshire College in Amherst, Mass, won a filmmaking award in Vermont for a short entitled Waiting for the Time Being, and is currently finishing up a masters degree in art at the Art Institute of Chicago.

He's going to hate me for telling you all that, but I can't help it--I'm proud of him. He's one of the most passionate people I know--and I swear he had just shoved some kind of food in my mouth before he snapped that polaroid. B**tard.

In Letters to a Young Poet, Rilke wrote:

There is only one thing you should do. Go into yourself. Find out the reason that commands you to write; see whether it has spread its roots into the very depths of your heart; confess to yourself whether you would have to die if you were forbidden to write. This most of all: ask yourself in the most silent hour of your night: must I write? Dig into yourself for a deep answer. And if this answer rings out in assent, if you meet this solemn question with a strong, simple "I must," then build your life in accordance with this necessity; your whole life, even into its humblest and most indifferent hour, must become a sign and witness to this impulse.

Man, Peter, I think of you when I read that.

One of my favorite photos from my semester in Europe is a black and white that Peter took in the small practice room at the school. I was practicing Liszt's Un Sospiro (A Whisper). He told me it was his portrait of me. I think I told him then that it was inaccurate--that it didn't feel like me. But I think there's something deeper in me that is beginning to nod. I'm beginning to see that it's who I want to be.

Let me have a tenth of the passion you possess. Your pursuit of excellence and honesty is truly beautiful. Thank you for your kindness and your encouragement. You have taught me a great deal, and I am grateful. Have a beautiful birthday.

Girly Prejudice

"Here's a tip I've never used: I understand you can learn a great deal about girldom by reading Pride and Prejudice, and I own a copy, but I have never read it. I tried. It was given to me by a girl with a little note inside that read: What is in this book is the heart of a woman. I am sure the heart of a woman is pure and lovely, but the first chapter of said heart is hopelessly boring. Nobody dies at all. I keep the book on my shelf because girls come into my room, sit on my couch, and eye the books on the adjacent shelf. You have a copy of Pride and Prejudice, they exclaim in a gentle sigh and smile. Yes, I say. Yes, I do." --Donald Miller, Blue Like Jazz

I'm kinda embarrassed to be girly. I always have been. In high school, I wore oversized clothes and would only wear lip gloss and would never apply it in front of my dad. I didn't bother to brush my hair until sixth grade. And my sixth grade year book picture proves it. Someday when I'm famous, this is the picture they'll dig up. So I'm giving them a head start. Nowadays, I'll pair my funky red velvet Airwalks with a dress or carry my beat-up army mapbag as a purse with slacks and a blouse to teach. It just makes me feel better.

But I've always loved Pride and Prejudice. My mom and I used to watch A&E's Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy on Saturday mornings. We could quote lines to each other. A few birthdays ago, she bought me the DVD's. Now I only have to change the disc once instead of hopping up to insert six videos. If you sneak up on me, you'll find me stepping back and forth between Lizzy and Darcy's "moment." But I would never let you see on purpose, especially if you are a boy.

Lizzy: "My feelings ... are so different now. In fact ... they are quite ... the opposite."

Darcy stands facing her with the goofiest love grin on a movie-face ever.

The A&E miniseries made me fall in love with Colin Firth. It just happens. Whoever plays Darcy, quotes Darcy, will soon have the ladies following in unified cooing. I say this from experience because I just watched the new remake of P&P, and thought it was kinda cheesy, but Orlando Seale still made my laptop wallpaper.


i think we'd make a nice couple, don't you?

I don't pride myself in unified cooing. I like to do my cooing solo. Ah, but what the heck...

Coo.

I Still Love You, Pool!

Natalie said she would play pool with me yesterday at the Y! Pool! And it's free with our paid monthly memberships! Free! I was so excited!

And then we found the pool tables. I guess you get what you pay for. The tips of the cue sticks had come off long ago, so while it saved the Y the cost of cue chalk, there was a hollow rattling with every shot as if my stick had hit the table. I mean, those nine-year-olds in the corner could've thought I didn't really know what I was doing. And then the 8-ball had a bite taken out of it like some kid (with very sharp teeth) had asked it a question, and it gave the wrong answer. Huh. That joke has potential.

I used to have a love affair with pool. My senior year of college, Cade and I would head to the student center and trade in our ID for balls and sticks. I can't remember what time of day, though it must've been afternoon-ish. Man, it was fun. He would kick my butt, but it was fun. And I like to think I got to be pretty good. 'Course, I like to think my German got pretty good, too, but my last little excursion to the Motherland made me think otherwise when I ordered driver's ed instead of a train ticket. Oh right, I already told you that one. Sorry.

So Katie and I have been playing pool more. 'Cept we've had to pay $10/hr for a good smoke-free table with no old men staring at our butts while we make our smooth long shots OR going to the smoky places for only a buck a game (i usually learn more trick shots from the dirty old men.) I don't think I'll mind the smoke or the money now, though. Free sucked.

Click here

i'm sorry, my cat's on my lap & i'm pecking, so just do it.

Holy Bingo, Batman

My roommate and closest friend, Amy, has played bingo every night this week. Every night this week. In the process, she has won over $400. Over $400. So I went with her tonight. I tend to be more enthusiastic about going when she's had a big week like this. In the beginning of our bingo adventures, she had to drag me. Now, I volunteer. I was completing the caller's sentences tonight. (It was my sixth time). So far, my grand total of winnings comes to $16.50. $16.50--that's it. And that wasn't even on Good Friday.

Yes, I found myself praying to God for the $1,000 progressive jackpot so that I could pay my insanely-high taxes at just about the time the Son of God's side was being pierced with a sword at hundreds of passion plays. That's the kind of focus I had today.

I had a cranberry-orange scone and a darn good cup of coffee this morning with an old friend (as old as my four-and-a-half years in Wichita allows friends to be). The two of us haven't talked by ourselves in over a year, and she asked me after an hour about why I had called her in the first place. I tried to be honest. I think maybe I was too honest and then not honest enough.

The truth is, I tend to write people off. If they hurt me or say things that hurt my pride or that i think hurt my pride, i avoid them. I can say hurtful things about them to other people. I look for people who agree with me to back me up. It's a subtle thing--this competitive spirit in relationships. There are a couple people in my life that I just don't talk to. And it might not be obvious to anyone else, but it's obvious to me. And it's obvious to a cross-defeating Christ, and He has been letting me know about it.

So I told her that I called her earlier this week as a step toward defeating the competitiveness, the sinful self-sufficiency, the bitterness. And I tried to tell her that. But it's hard to tell someone that you are taking a step toward forgiveness by contacting them, so it came out kind of weird and awkward without the use of the word forgiveness. And afterwards, in trying to explain all this on the phone to Kevin, I realized that I had actually avoided the crucial part of this exercise--dealing with my heart.

Coffee and conversation were a cover-up. Even in my efforts to forgive, I am alarmingly self-sufficient. I need much more than a smile on my face and an encouraging word to forgive. I need a miracle. I need grace. I need a cross.

Jesus, I don't want to write you off anymore. (p. s. i really could use some help paying my taxes, Lord of All)

Ode to Uncle Sam

i hate doing my taxes.

so there.

What I Love Can Kill Me

It would only take 233.23 cans of Diet Dr. Pepper to kill me. I am assuming this is all at one time, which is good. Because I have probably already drunk this much Diet Dr. Pepper. (have drank this much Diet Dr. Pepper?)

On the upside, it would only take 211.68 cans of Diet Coke to kill me. So I've definitely made the right coke decision. (where i'm from, if it's fizzy, it's coke)

I think a lot less could kill me if it were in a bucket and my head got stuck in that bucket. And maybe it would only take about 1 can falling on my head from the top of the empire state building to put me in the ground.

(thanks, rachel)

p.s. the title's a link.

A Celebration of Dancing Shoes

There are at least three thrift stores within a one-mile radius of our home. I randomly pulled into one of them on the way home from working out this morning. Even as I was parking my car two spaces away from the door, I was asking myself what I was doing there. "I don't really need anything," I tried to tell myself. But as I was already parked and out of the car, "Aw, what the hey."

This particular shop is run by a church I think because there's always a Bible verse on the white board in the entryway, and the music they play is usually a flute or clarinet version of a classic hymn or worship song from the eighties. I found a pretty blue cable-knit cardigan sweater, a long polka-dotted scarf to use as a belt, and a much-needed set of white embroidered sheets. Amazing Grace started trickling from the speaker overhead. This time, there were words, too. I hadn't realized it, though, until a thick female voice from the next aisle entered at the second phrase. "....that saved a wretch like me!"

The voice was coming from the shoe aisle. I continued to look at handbags and suitcases because I didn't want my huge grin to make her self-conscious. Well, actually, I just didn't want her to stop. She sounded like a woman who knew what she was singing, and her voice seemed to fill the store, though no one else seemed to notice her. I decided to brave the shoe aisle. My eyes began the up-down-left-right scan of the cubbied pairs of dress shoes, and I almost missed them. Black strapped heels. "Wait, are those...." They were. Black character shoes--dancing shoes.

Now, this moment would hold a lot more significance for you, the reader, if I had informed you at an earlier time of my quest for dancing shoes. I haven't needed them like I need hummus or a good book or a budget. But the swingdancing, though lately intermittent, has been nearly a Sunday night habit. Three weeks ago, Holli, Katie, and I took a six-hour class on a Saturday morning. Yes. Six hours. The shoes I have work, but I kept thinking how nice it would be to have a good pair of character shoes.

"Only a dollar? I knew there was a reason I came in here," I thought out loud.

"Yes, hon, there is always a reason," the singing woman was looking right at the dancing shoes that were now on my feet and fit perfectly. "God is . . . He knows what He's doin. And them are some nice dancin shoes, mm-hmm."

"Let it Be" began to play as we walked toward the counter to pay for our finds.

And when the night is cloudy,
There is still a light that shines on me,
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music
Mother mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be.
There will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

God is . . . He does know what He's doing. A random stop at a thrift store, and He spoke to me through a singing stranger. And some nice dancin shoes.

Jailhouse Talk

I had to get a personal background check today. "It's behind the new courthouse beside the church in the lobby of the jail, hon," Tracy from the county sheriff's office told me over the phone. "You can't miss it." After circling the block three times, I finally didn't miss it.

I was the only person in the jail lobby not smoking or contemplating smoking, and I was the only person in pigtails. I saw the Records Office sign and made straight for the door. The lady behind the bullet-proof glass gave me a funny look when I asked to get a background check. "Well, hang on, I'm new here, too," she explained. So she got a quick lesson from a coworker on how to tell young naive girls in pigtails how to fill out a piece of paper with their name and address requesting information on whether or not their meth lab's been busted and if they had to kill someone in the process.

"Why do you need the check?" she asked.

"I'm applying for a teaching position overseas," I replied.

"Okay, we'll have that right out."

I sat in an orange chair and discovered that my phone could download worldwide weather maps at no charge for the next 24 hours.

"Allright, here you go," she rapped on the thick glass. There was some muttering from the women in the cubicles behind her. "Oh, they want to know what you're going to be teaching."

"Piano."

"What?" I hear a woman behind her yell. She turns back toward them and plays an air piano. Muffled voices. "They want to know where you're going to be teaching."

"Germany."

"Germany." More muttering...

"She wants to know if you'll say something in German." She opened the door to the office so that everyone could hear me.

"Danke fuer meine Papier!" I shouted.

"Allright, whatever," came the reply.

Batman Begins

Woo-hoo for another Batman! That's right, folks, the superhero superstar that refuses to be relegated to your local video store is back in full-force by the persons that brought you Newsies, Dawson's Creek, and some other stuff.

"Nice work, Anakin . . . I mean, Bruce."

Really? Liam? Doesn't that seem just a little too, um . . . familiar? Katie Holmes is in this one, and I must say that I am glad to see the heroine pendulum swinging toward brunettes again. Godspeed you Holmeses, Portmans, Garners, and Olson-twin-with-dark-hair-s.

"I love this job more than I love taffy ... and I'm a man who enjoys his taffy."

This is pretty much the batman I fell in love with. Okay, not this one. This is just some guy dressed up in a batsuit. Adam West, current mayor of Quahog, was really my first love. It never bothered me that strings held his cape up in the 'wind' and that his muscular structure would never allow those Pow- and Wham-producing feats every day after school. I've never really been a fan of large pecks anyway.

nothin like a ford
The car was cool, don't get me wrong. Cade told me as we were walking into a KC Goodwill that he saw the man that bought the set Batmobile from one of the previous movies. The man donned a batsuit and drove around town in it. Wish I coulda seen that.
I don't like change, but I have to admit I like the new Batwheels.

I think he is contemplating deep-fried bananas here. I personally really like deep-fried ice cream. I'm sure bananas are good, too. I learned from some new Canadian friends last week that you can also fry Oreos, Twinkies, and probably Ho-Hos, too.

Too Many Marshmallows

Maybe it was the handfuls of marshmallows that I felt compelled to stuff in my mouth this morning. Maybe it's that I only had good sleep until about 4:00 a.m. Maybe it's the swirling emotions in my chest and nasal cavities. Maybe it's cause I don't feel like a missionary.

I remember walking down the aisle at school chapel when I was twelve. I told God after a long sermon, probably from a man living in Mali or over the Great Commission passage, that I would be a missionary. In my mind, this meant that I could expect to get a letter from Him in the next couple days stating the exact head-hunting tribe in Africa that He had assigned me to. The letter never came. In fact, it still hasn't come.

How could living in a western culture be missionary work? How could learning a language I have coveted since elementary school be a valid spiritual assignment? How could God be asking me to do what I love to do in a place that I would love to do it in?

Before my freshman year of college, my piano professor, David Allen Wehr, called me to say hello and tell me what pieces he would like me to work on before classes started. I remember him calling me Stephanie and telling me to prepare Copland's The Cat and the Mouse and some others for the fall. I showed up scared out of my mind with the assigned music for my first college lesson. "Oh, I gave Stephanie that piece. You're working on this one," he explained.

I'm not altogether convinced that God hasn't assigned me the wrong piece. There's someone named Gertrude or Brigitta out there holding my pygmies letter, and I'm holding my breath in hopes that they won't find me.

Book Meme

[got this from Rick]

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the fifth, sixth and seventh sentences on your blog, along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it. Just grab what is closest!


"Household cleaning products display warnings against everything from fumes to prolonged skin contact. Prescription drugs often bear warning labels about recommended dosages and possible side effects. Even a seemingly harmless packet of scented potpourri carries the warning that it should not be ingested!"

from Pure Sex by Ed Young

I'm sooooo tired . . .

*It's 4:00 am by my body's clock.
*I have been awake for 22 hours.
*My hair has been in the same pigtails since Frankfurt.
*A German agent checked my passport and ticket before I went through security. He told me I looked like Heidi and that he hoped I enjoyed my flight to Miami Beach. (I was flying to Dallas)
*I got the last standby ticket on the first American flight to leave Frankfurt when the flight was oversold with 20 people ahead of me on the waiting list. I don't know how that happened.
*I got to tell a new Slavic friend named Martina, who was staying in the Frankfurt hostel because her mother is in the hospital, why I believed there was a God, and she thanked me for it.
*I forewent the bulk of packing a towel for the night in the hostel, so I am currently not a little bit stinky.
*I was beginning to feel pretty good about my language skills again when I proceeded to ask a German train conductor in German if I could purchase a 'Fahrschule' from him. "A Fahrkarte?" he asked. I had just asked him to sell me a traveling school.
*I'm home and well. More later. For now, sleep.

On the 27th Anniversary of the Day of My Birth

King James and I had a reunion today.

I couldn't find my special Bible--I think I left it at Holli, Cely, and Katie's house. So I dusted off the old broken blue pleather King James-er given to me three months after my birth by some dear family friends. The school where I spent kindergarten through tenth grade didn't allow us to use a version other than King James... I think because of evil things like copyrights and paraphrases. I got pretty used to hearing the 'thees' and 'thous.' Since leaving the school, however, I can't remember cracking the blue pleather, and the NIV translations have replaced my KJV memory verses. It was a beautiful day today--almost 75--and it was porchswing time once again (armed with kleenex and claritin).

O LORD, thou hast searched me, and known me.
Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.
Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.
For there is not a word in my tongue, but, lo, O LORD, thou knowest it altogether.
Thou hast beset me behind and before, and laid thine hand upon me.

In second grade, I discovered highlighting. I had noticed Dad obediently ruffling through his Bible to find Hezekiah-something that the pastor had rattled off in a foreign language on Sunday morning. And there they were! Flashes of color on the tissue-thin pages. They couldn't have been pictures. They were too small and monochromatic to be pictures. Why did his have color? Mine was only black and white. Then I noticed the girl sitting next to me in chapel had color in hers, too. She had written in her Bible! Her Bible! We weren't allowed to make any marks in our readers, but here she was making marks in color in God's book! After school, I went straight to my dad's desk where I knew he kept his yellow highlighter for his calendar. I took the highlighter and my Bible back to my room and shut the door. I opened up to page one and began my beautification process. Random verses of the first three pages of Genesis are still an aged yellow. My childhood was apparently before cell phones and pink highlighters, because almost all of the highlighting throughout is yellow. Also yellow but done a few years later:

Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?
If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I make my bed in hell, behold, thou art there.
If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea;
Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me.
If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me.
Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.

I leave for Germany Tuesday to "survey the land," as D.D. puts it. This time it's not a vacation. This time I am visiting a new people and a new place that God may be calling me to claim as my own. Tuesday looms like Easter weekend--excitement for Resurrection Sunday mixed with the dread of knowing Good Friday must come first.

I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made: marvellous are thy works; and that my soul knoweth right well.
My substance was not hid from thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.
How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!
If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand: when I awake, I am still with thee.

As you read this, would you please pray that God would heal my body before I leave and that I would hear His voice clearly while I am there? Thanks.