the intrinsic inevitability of love

From Father Pat's Pastoral Ponderings:

Few themes, I suppose, are more pronounced in the teaching of Jesus than that of God's invitation. Whether to a banquet or a wedding, Jesus sees man as invited by God. I believe this divine invitation implies many considerations of anthropology, but I limit myself here to one: human dignity. God invites man for pretty much the same reason we send invitations to one another---friendship. Orthodox Christian theology has always insisted that His motive is friendship.

It is difficult, it is bewildering, and it is more than slightly frightening to assimilate the notion that God finds us loveable. It is among the most astounding truths in Holy Scripture. What could God possibly find loveable in us?

Indeed, even some Christians are so bewildered by this idea that they resort to subtleties to parse away the paradox of it. They may explain, for example, that God, being love, cannot help loving us, even though He finds nothing intrinsically loveable in us. It is taken for granted, in certain Christian circles, that God could not possibly find human beings desirable. It is assumed as obvious that there is nothing in us that would attract Him. It is impossible for God to love us for our own sake, we are told, but only because of His loving nature. He is forced to love us, as it were, because love is His definition.

Let me suggest that theories like this are difficult to reconcile with what God has told us about Himself---and us. In Holy Scripture He describes Himself as a bridegroom rejoicing over a bride, who is the apple of His eye. He speaks of Himself as a father who celebrates the return of a faithless son, in whom He recognizes His own image. Surely, these are the teachings that justify that beautiful adjective by which Holy Church addresses God: philanthropos.

When the Church calls God the "lover of mankind," She affirms an important truth about the human race: God finds man attractive. Indeed, when God made man, He put into his composition a radical point of attraction that man is incapable of destroying.

This favorable and loving attitude of God toward human beings perhaps justifies our speaking of a divine anthropotropism. God shows every sign of being drawn to man. It is hard for us to fathom this. It is as though the sun felt for the sunflower the same powerful attraction the sunflower feels for the sun. We would have to imagine a solar antheotropism prompting the sun to rush its rising each morning for another glimpse of the jonquil, the iris and the buttercup.

Holy Scripture, however, says no less of God's feelings for man. Numerous times Jeremiah, that most tenderhearted of poets, speaks of God "rising up early" to speak to the human soul (7:13,25; 11:7; 25:3,4; 26:5; 29:19; 32:33; 35:14,15; 44:4).

It is arguable, indeed, that Jeremiah was the prophet who best understood this aspect of God—and of man. It was in Israel's supremely dark hour, the dreadful day of Nebuchadnezzar and the destruction of the First Temple, that this philanthropic God declared through the lips of Jeremiah, " I have loved thee with an everlasting love: therefore have I drawn thee with mercy" (31:3). It is this everlasting love of God that summons humanity; it is His undying mercy that prompts the invitation He dispatches to human beings throughout the ages.

God loves us and desires us because He formed us in His own image, which is essential to---and inalienable from---the very definition of human nature. God's love for us is His response to the attraction He has made intrinsic to our being. There is absolutely nothing we can do to make God stop desiring us. Even the souls in hell are the object of His relentless affection, because they are formed in His image, the same image He saw on the day His hands gave them shape.

The truth is that God is drawn to us by love---that He has forcefully thrown in His lot with us, to the point of become one of us. This act of God---His deliberate assumption of our historical experience in order to make it His own---is what theology calls Divine Revelation, and its defining manifestation is the Mystery of the Incarnation. In the person of His Son, God has united humanity to Himself by an indissoluble bond that theology calls the Hypostatic Union. Human theotropism and divine anthropotropism are both fulfilled. Perhaps we may think of it as the mutual joy of the sunflower and the sun.

- Father Patrick Henry Reardon

When Christ and Secularist Consumerism Colide

Tonight I took the kids to the mall. It is still single digit November, so I was - of course - surprised to see the Salvation Army ringer as well as the Christmas decorations already streaming about us. "Oh yes," I told the kids. "Halloween is over, so it's Christmas time at the mall." Best to just tell them the truth about it now, I thought.

After a trip to the playland and the carousel, we stopped by to see Santa Claus. Because I am going to tell you right now, they are not going to see him again this season. Not because I have any spiritual concerns about it, but because I refuse to stand in a long slow line with an over-hyped 5 year old and a 2 year old who will be, no doubt, still buzzing on his sugar high from October 31st. Maybe Santa comes early for mothers like me.

This, however, was a Santa like no other.

Here is a transcription of Santa's conversation with my two children:

Santa (to Anna): So what are you learning about in school?

Anna (quite shyly): The letter "G".

Santa: That's a very good letter. Do you know what very important thing starts with the letter G?

Anna: What?

Santa: God. (pauses) Do you know why we celebrate Christmas?

(Mom starts getting tears in her eyes.)

Anna: Why?

Santa: Because that's the day that Jesus was born. Did you know that Jesus is God's Son?

Anna: Yes! We read about Him in the Jesus Storybook Bible.

Santa: Yes, that is a very good book. Do you know where Jesus was born?

Anna: In a little house?

Santa: It was more like a stable, with lots of animals. (pauses) So what do you want for Christmas this year?

Anna: I want the DisneyPrincessSleepingBeautyTalkingVanity and Noah wants the ImaginextAdventuresCaptainHook'sIsland!

Santa: Wow, that's ... quite a mouthful.

Now I lay me down to sleep

Last night, my wonderful children made their requests known to God.

Anna, age 5: "Christ our God, please make Luke Skywalker real! I need him; I want him! And Han Solo, and Princess Leia, and everyone from Star Wars. I just hope that, tomorrow when I wake up, Luke will be here with me. Amen."

Noah, age 2: "Jesus, help people. Help people, help people, help people. Amen."

This evening's prayers:

Anna: "Christ our God, thank you for my mom, and thank you for my brother Noah. Thank you for everything that my mom has done. And thank you for everybody who makes movies, especially Star Wars. Amen."

Noah: "Jesus ... is ... kind. Amen."

After a month, this is really all I have to say.

You have no idea how long I tried to come up with a snappy title to this post

A) To my recollection, Clinton was not impeached for lying to his wife. He was impeached for lying under oath. Perjury is an extremely serious offense, and he deserved to be censured. Then again, it was all just a vast right wing conspiracy. (My favorite political sound bite ever, followed closely by Lloyd Bentsen to Dan Quayle in 1988: "I knew Jack Kennedy. I worked with Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you're no Jack Kennedy." Zinger!)

2)Tom J, I take back what I said 'bout you being welcome here. You have RIPPED my rose colored glasses off my face! Women voting for women simply because they are women! So, there are people out there who really don't care what a candidate stands for or if they are qualified for the job they are being elected for? Are we, the 12 of us here, the ONLY informed voters left in America?! I ask you! I just went around with Colonel K about this last week, insisting that no Hilary vote would go to the other side of the aisle just because Palin is a woman. "Yes they would!" he was yelling over and over. And now, Tom J, our resident delegate at the Iowa Caucas, reports the same. *Hmph* Well, this makes me cranky.

Don't you think this is more likely a liberal agenda that would manifest on the Democrats' side of things? I find it less likely to happen with the Republican party, what with the majority of feminist issues being represented by Democrats. That is to say, if another woman in the Democrat Party ran, she would take the "oooh it's a girl" weirdo votes, but I just think it's more unlikely with a Republican candidate.

D) Oh, sexual politics. Oh, sanctity of life issues. Pro-choice, pro-life, pro-woman, pro-child. What is life? When does it begin? The arguments are excellent and so respectful. I love you guys. These things are so important to our lives that we must discuss them, we must wrestle with them, and we must do everything we can to get to the truth of them. There is a truth to be found, I truly believe that. Not sure we'll all find it on my little blog, though I would hope for that, but I want to say that we can always talk about that stuff here and always in such a impassioned, dignified manner. Know that I am constantly monitoring, just please don't expect me to constantly moderate - I'm a little busy keeping other sandboxes neat and tidy - and please don't expect that any commenter's view reflects my own.

In my next post, I'll throw in my two cents, which is about what it's worth. Until then, Tom J, it is good to know that you'll be voting McCain/Palin because you want to see a woman in office. You woman voter, you.

Things are starting to heat up around here ... and I like it!

Micah's back!!

Very quickly, before the next post ... The socially conservative base are so excited about Sarah Palin NOT ONLY because of the pro-life issue. Palin offers a broad range of experience in executive offices as well as representing the best interests of her constituents and leading with conviction in her conservative values. The VP is an unlimited potential commodity to the president and to the country, as an advisor, as a diplomat, as an executive, as one "standing by." If the VP stance on issues is of limited importance, I don't know why we take a look at them at all. It certainly makes Joe Biden's foreign policy experience irrelevant in the face of Obama's inexperience.

As for inexperience, I just don't know how Obama supporters can question Palin's experience. That boggles my mind.

If McCain were throwing a bone, he would have gone with the obvious (Ridge, even Huckabee). Palin reflects (and restores, honestly) his maverick status because of her own.

Finally, Palin's daughter's teenage pregnancy reeeeeeeeeally doesn't make Palin a hypocrite at all. Micah, you and I both know that we've done things that our parents would not approve of, taught us not to do, and stand against. They still went about their jobs and lives and no one accused them of being hypocrites.

This young woman is proof of the value, unfortunately for her. She is 17, and the age of consent in Alaska is 16. (By law in her state, she has the right to an abortion without parental consent at the age of 16.) Clearly she chose to do something she was taught not to, and clearly she did not "choose" to get pregnant. But it is also clear that she had the right to terminate the pregnancy and is choosing not to.

I'm pretty sure that my parents would have liked to lock me - or themselves - up a couple of times after I got myself into trouble (speaking of which, I ran into Valerie Truitt the other day!), but I think they realized that, as a person, I make my own mind and own my own victories and failures. Is not this individual responsibility in morality not a fundamental value for the left?

People are just angry that she didn't get an abortion. That's the bottom line there.

what are you hiding in there?

About this six word memoir thing ...

I'm kinda into this thing right now. It's amazing how much you can say with so little. Did I come on a little strong, asking you guys to just bust out with some gems? Do I ever come on too strong, EVER??? Whoops. Well, for fun, here are some little things. A couple more memoirs from moi.

My baby smiles; I am free.

Just wanted you to love me.

God forgives, Christ Saves, Spirit moves.

She doesn't know what she did.

The Oceanic Six rescued me too.

Bob Costas, just watching for you.

It is what it is. Amen.

I miss Ambien

I can't sleep. *sigh* Congratulations; here's a new post for you.

First of all, for both of you who are wondering, my new heading is my latest work of art. It is my life's goal and purpose, summed in three sentences. "I love therefore I am; I am loved therefore I am. I fall and I emerge. So may it be with you." Colonel, did I get the translation right?

Well, it's state fair time again. I took my daughter out last night with my sister and her new little bundle, and it was by far my very favorite time at the fair ever! Anna took her first spin in a bumper car, we rode the Ferris Wheel, went down the slide, got a Bob Vose corn dog and Lemon Shake Up, ran into Joe Aiello and his family - including his oldest daughter Anne Marie who I used to babysit in high school and who is now almost 6 feet tall and in high school herself! - and finished the night with nachos and a snow cone. I wanted to get a fried Twinkie, but alas, my diabetes onset will have to wait another day. Bottom line: we had a wonderful time having a wonderful time!

It is also Olympics time again. Truly faithful readers of my blog (Micah? Micah! Why is it echoing in here?), who followed me here from Friendster (where?) will recall my love of the games. The drama, the pathos, the human spirit ... I cry alot during the Olympics. Seriously, it's a real catharsis for me. My bleeding heart is ripped out anytime a gymnast slips or a runner looks at her time to see it fall short of the gold. And watching a triumph is even worse. Oh my goodness. Tonight the US, in a massive upset, nudged past France in the men's freestyle relay for the gold, and I was an absolute wreck! Watching all of these hopes and dreams and hard work either realized or dashed is just too much for me. I freaking love it.

But the real reason - the REAL REASON - I love the Olympics is Bob Costas. I will not lie to you. I love Bob Costas. I have always loved him, and I will always love him. This man is everything: he is very accomplished, very intelligent, knowledgeable in a wide range of subjects, surprisingly witty and funny, and is extremely cute in a goofy sort of way. This guy can make a sport like curling sound interesting and accessible. If I found out he played the piano or guitar, I think I'd have a heart attack. I kinda have a thing for broadcast journalists anyway (Tom Brokaw, Brian Williams, Peter Jennings), but Bob Costas is my number one. And now I get him for two weeks straight! I'm telling ya, people, it's deep and it's real.

Finally, have you heard of the six word memoir? There is a website and a book featuring this experiment. It's fascinating! Basically you write your memoir in six words. Mine is "Amo ergo sum; amor ergo sum." Obviously. (Do you think Bishop Ware will sue me for copyright infringement?) So my challenge to you is, can you write yours? Please share it in the comments, because I know my readers, and you guys are going to knock this one out of the park. And I do love a memoir. (Tori Spelling's was delicious.)

Could somebody turn a light on in here?

Still talking about Martha ...

I said something in my previous post that I think needs an addendum. I wrote, "Jesus loved Martha. He just didn't want her to think that her doing would do Him - or her - much eternal good." I've been thinking about this today, because, as a single mother, all I do is work. From 6:30 in the morning till 11:30 at night, most days, all I do is work. And I am constantly burdened by concerns of various kinds. Life is work, and some of the most rewarding parts of life are the things we reap from the work we do. There is much work that is good and the good is eternal. Surely, when Martha fed the Christ, she was doing an eternal good.

But it is not what redeemed her soul. THAT is what I realize I was trying to say.

Jesus did not want Martha to think that her doing would redeem her soul.

Will wax more eloquently soon ...

The Stuff of Stars

Many women who are familiar with the life and ministry of Christ will often type themselves as one of two women: as either a "Mary" or a "Martha." These two women, sisters of Lazarus, were dear friends of Jesus and are mentioned several times in the Gospel for their friendship and support of Jesus' ministry. Mary is revered in Christian circles for being the sister who sat at Jesus' feet and anointed him with precious perfume. Martha, on the other hand, has been a bit maligned, I believe, for being the sister whom Jesus gently admonished for criticizing Mary for not helping her in the kitchen. I've been thinking quite a bit about Martha lately, and I think she's gotten a bad rap.

You see, I know quite a few wonderful women, and a handful of you are reading this right now, and if I put you on the spot and asked, I am sure you would all say that you are a "Martha." You'd generously display your faults of various Type A kinds, like being a control freak, a task oriented duty bound self-proclaimed martyr, and you would immediately apologize for these things. You sweet girl. You have no idea how much you are loved.

Through all the craziness of the past year, I have come to love and cling to a fantastic story in the book of John, chapter 11. It is the account of Jesus raising Lazarus from the dead. I first came to love the story because, more than once over the course of the last year, I observed things or people proverbially dying in front of me, and I needed desperately to cling to the One who could bring dead things back to life. My love for Jesus has grown just by reading and re-reading this story: He is so purposeful, mysterious, direct, loving, and powerful in this story. But I also came to love Martha. Here's why.

Jesus is walking down the road toward Lazarus' home in Bethany; Lazarus has been dead now for four days. Martha gets word that Jesus is coming, and she goes to meet him, though Mary stays behind. Martha is such a DOER. I love it! She knows He is on His way, but she can't wait. She must go and meet Him on the road. Martha pursued Christ, even as He was coming to her.

When she sees Him, she greets Him by saying, "Lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died. But even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask." This statement kills me every time I read it. It is dripping with the complex emotions of her circumstances. She knows Jesus is the Son of God, and she knows that He could have healed her beloved brother. She has absolutely no idea why He didn't; He healed complete strangers, for crying out loud. But Lazarus was His friend! And even more personally, Martha was His friend. Where the heck had He been?! "But even now ..." she says, and this always makes my heart beat, "even now I know that God will give you whatever you ask." Ugh. What gut wrenching hope against hope that statement was. It's an amazing statement of faith. Notice, too, that it isn't really a request. Martha has a hard time asking for what she really wants or longs for. It is difficult for her to address her own needs.

Jesus told her, "Your brother will rise again." "Yes," Martha said, "he will rise when everyone else rises on the third day." See, ya gotta love a girl who starts spouting theology with the Messiah in the middle of a crisis.

Jesus told her, "I am the resurrection and the life. Anyone who believes in me will live, even after dying ... Do you believe this, Martha?" "Yes, Lord," she told him. "I have always believed ..." Martha's dependability, her unswerving sense of direction, her steadfastness come in real handy at times like this. Because sometimes, too many times for us, Jesus arrives 4 days too late. When He does, what's a girl to do? What are any of us to do? Especially when we are doers. We want to do something to make things right. We want to read books and check things off of our Holy Character To Do List and participate in outreach committees and all in the name of making ourselves right. I wonder if that's why Martha insisted on doing so much in the first place. Was she trying to measure up? And yet, Jesus was the one who invited her to take a load off. And even in the midst of her trying and striving and doing, even while she tended to her dying brother and no doubt prepared his dead body for burial, she always believed. She always believed. Martha's faith brought glory to God; it was as great a thing as what was to come.

Later, at the door of Lazarus' tomb, Jesus declared that the stone be rolled away. Martha says, and this is hilarious, "Lord, he has been dead for four days. The smell will be terrible." Uh, Jesus, I don't know if you want to do that. Have you ever smelled a decomposing body? I LOVE MARTHA! Pragmatic to the end! The details are verrrrry important to this woman. She really can't help herself. I have to imagine that Jesus appreciated her idiosyncrasies as much as I do and that He kinda smiled when He said, "Didn't I tell you that you would see God's glory if you believe?"

His response to her is so important to me. He reminds her, but He is patient with her. He doesn't say she'll see it if she keeps her mouth shut, or keeps cooking fabulous meals, or keeps the floor mopped, or submits to her husband. He only asks her if she believes that He is who He says He is and that He can do what He says He will do, both for her and for who she loves. That's all He asks.

And then Jesus spoke, and a dead man walked out of a tomb.

The story stops here. No eyewitness news accounts after the scene is over are reported. How these events affected this headstrong woman are almost lost to history. I have a couple of theories though. I'll bet she cried. I'm sure she shed a few tears to hug her brother again, but when the day was done, and she was in her bed alone, I'll bet Martha cried that deep cry that comes from the bottom of the soul. Because that day, Martha saw Jesus be who He really was, and she didn't do anything. She was powerless but Jesus did everything she couldn't do herself, and I'll bet that was the day she finally knew who she was. She was loved.

In the next chapter, John 12, Jesus is back at their house having dinner with Lazarus, "the man he had raised from the dead." Martha served.

I love Martha. She's a real character. She cracks me up. She irritates me sometimes, and she is a little disappointing at times. She is real. She is a salt of the earth kind of gal, the kind that makes the world turn. I love her. I have realized that I have alot of Marthas in my life. My new friends on Thursday nights, my old friends from college. My best friend from high school. My best friend from church. My best friend from college. There is even one among us whose patron saint is Saint Martha. I believe I'm being represented by one in court. I am surrounded by Marthas! It's nothing to work your way out of. Jesus loved Martha. He just didn't want her to think that her doing would do Him - or her - much eternal good. He simply asked her to believe. And she did, and it changed her life and all those around her.

This issue of "doing" vs. "being" is going to come up again, but for now, if you commented on my "mad as hell" post, I responded in the comments section, so check it out.

I've never felt more like Rod Dreher in my life!

Let's clarify just a couple of things before we move on:

First of all, thanks for all the very sweet comments! You guys are very kind. You may not believe it though it's true, but I actually did not post my recent rant in order to receive any accolades or encouragement for myself. I was, in fact, very angry and wanted to hear what all 12 of my loyal readers had to say.

That being said, far be it from me to turn down or away from any pat on the back. Those who know me are aware that my engine runs almost entirely on aggrandizing, so please, feel ever free to send me on my next ego trip!!

Finally, I came across a fascinating interview with Andrew Stanton, the director of WALL-E, and his comments tie in very nicely with all of this. Here is a bite of what he has to say, but you should definitely read the whole article:

"WORLD: How does WALL•E represent your singular vision?

STANTON: Well, what really interested me was the idea of the most human thing in the universe being a machine because it has more interest in finding out what the point of living is than actual people. The greatest commandment Christ gives us is to love, but that's not always our priority. So I came up with this premise that could demonstrate what I was trying to say—that irrational love defeats the world's programming. You've got these two robots that are trying to go above their basest directives, literally their programming, to experience love.

With the human characters I wanted to show that our programming is the routines and habits that distract us to the point that we're not really making connections to the people next to us. We're not engaging in relationships, which are the point of living—relationship with God and relationship with other people."

I'm mad as hell and I'm not taking it anymore.

Please indulge my following rant.

There seems to be a pervasive lie within the subculture that a Christian woman, no matter where she is in her life, must strive continually to be better and better and better and better. If she has children, she needs to be a better mother. If she does not have children, she should. If she is married, she must be a better, more submissive wife. If she is not, she must find a Godly husband. If she is working inside of her home, she must keep a certain kind of home. If she is working outside of the home, why? She needs to pray more, memorize more Scripture, read more books, spend more time with her husband, watch less TV, stop eating after 6:00 pm, and bake moister brownies. She must grow grow grow because she is not enough. Who she is is not good enough. She is less than she should be, and therefore, she is unworthy of the love, affirmation, affection, and validation that she so desperately longs for in the dark of her soul.

I call these things lies because I believe that they are. I believe that there is one who would like nothing more than to keep our eyes focused on who we are not, rather than who we really are. The fact is that all of us are LOVED, right where we are at, in this moment, whatever the task or circumstance or situation. All anyone wants is to love and to be loved in return. What a great weapon against us, this belief that we are not good enough to love or be loved at all.

There is a HUGE difference between humility and humiliation.

And I also refuse to believe that the answer to a heart's cry for love is a book. I'm not talking about the Bible, but rather, Christian books. I love books, and I read all the time. When I read, I love engaging ideas, connecting through the page to the author, and entering into a larger conversation. But I'm sorry, the answer to my heart's cry is never, "I have a book that I want you to read." A cognitive application of the issue never solves the deeper problem, and a response so devoid of human contact never touches the real issue. How about, maybe, we are all human and the journey is hard, and hey, you are wonderful and you're doing a great job.

I see so many women being so hard on themselves. Heaven knows I have been hard on myself! I am just angry tonight that we believe this lie that we are unworthy to be loved by the One who created us SIMPLY TO LOVE US. The truth is, if you are alive and reading this, you have a great purpose. God loves you, right where you are at, and He offers this love to you already fully aware of how you don't deserve it and HE DOESN'T CARE.

Grace.

I am angry with a post-industrialized western culture that rejects faith and mystery. I am angry with the modern Protestant paradigm that keeps women convinced that, if they are not doing [fill in the blank] enough, then they are not eligible to receive and experience God's personal love. I am especially angry with the evil one for being so damned successful with this one.

I am nowhere near done with this, and I refuse to put any caveats on it. My readership here is small but diverse, so leave a comment. I am mad as hell and I'm not taking it anymore.

O Lord, hear our prayer

Enemies have driven me into your embrace more than friends have.

Friends have bound me to earth, enemies have loosed me from earth and have demolished all my aspirations in the world.

Enemies have made me a stranger in worldly realms and an extraneous inhabitant of the world. Just as a hunted animal finds safer shelter than an unhunted animal does, so have I, persecuted by enemies, found the safest sanctuary, having ensconced myself beneath your tabernacle, where neither friends nor enemies can slay my soul.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

They, rather than I, have confessed my sins before the world.

They have punished me, whenever I have hesitated to punish myself.

They have tormented me, whenever I have tried to flee torments.

They have scolded me, whenever I have flattered myself.

They have spat upon me, whenever I have filled myself with arrogance.

Bless my enemies, O Lord, Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Whenever I have made myself wise, they have called me foolish.

Whenever I have made myself mighty, they have mocked me as though I were a dwarf.

Whenever I have wanted to lead people, they have shoved me into the background.

Whenever I have rushed to enrich myself, they have prevented me with an iron hand.

Whenever I thought that I would sleep peacefully, they have wakened me from sleep.

Whenever I have tried to build a home for a long and tranquil life, they have demolished it and driven me out.

Truly, enemies have cut me loose from the world and have stretched out my hands to the hem of your garment.

Bless my enemies, O Lord. Even I bless them and do not curse them.

Bless them and multiply them; multiply them and make them even more bitterly against me:

so that my fleeing to You may have no return;

so that all hope in men may be scattered like cobwebs;

so that absolute serenity may begin to reign in my soul;

so that my heart may become the grave of my two evil twins, arrogance and anger;

so that I might amass all my treasure in heaven;

ah, so that I may for once be freed from self-deception, which has entangled me in the dreadful web of illusory life.

Enemies have taught me to know what hardly anyone knows, that a person has no enemies in the world except himself.

One hates his enemies only when he fails to realize that they are not enemies, but cruel friends.

It is truly difficult for me to say who has done me more good and who has done me more evil in the world: friends or enemies.

Therefore bless, O Lord, both my friends and enemies.

A slave curses enemies, for he does not understand. But a son blesses them, for he understands.

For a son knows that his enemies cannot touch his life.

Therefore he freely steps among them and prays to God for them.

From Prayers by the Lake by Bishop Nikolai Velimirovich, published by the Serbian Orthodox Metropolitanate of New Gracanica, 1999. Bp. Nikolai Velimirovich was a Serbian bishop in the last century who spoke out courageously against Nazism until he was arrested and taken to Dachau.

just one

Curled up in the tripping notes of an acoustic

Bobbing up and gently down on the lapping waves of a lilting voice

And dipping my toes in the warm tears collecting beneath the song

Sailing down the path of moonlight

Golden white rippled against the deep

Slowly reaching toward promises of new and redeemed and real

Stretched beyond my sight, beyond the future I can’t see

The trail of my journey folding in on itself behind me

What came before, it matters

What lies ahead, it matters more

(The soundtrack to this is Mindy Smith's "One Moment More.")

No revolution is worth anything unless it can defend itself.

Now I think McCain is just trying to butter me up. (Note to McCain: it's gonna take more than this, pal, but you're off to a good start.)

McCain Reveals His Office Ticket - The Caucus - Politics - New York Times Blog

McCain: No Clinton on his ticket; but maybe Dwight Schrute? - On Politics - USATODAY.com

In the immortal words of Dwight K. Schrute (and Mussolini), "we must never cede control of the motherland!"

all of my favorite women drink their coffee black

Today, in my continuing adventures on Facebook, I received a (virtual) cup of black coffee from a distant friend. This friend, though I don't know her very well, is - in my estimation - a mothering rock star. She is doing everything the attachment parent does, and she is doing it well, by all appearances. I admire her commitment to motherhood and hold her in high esteem. And she drinks her coffee black.

All of my favorite women drink their coffee black.

"Who taught you how to drink coffee?" - EK

When I was a child, I observed my grandparents' curious ritual of brewing a pot of coffee after every dinner. The adults, members of the elite coffee club by size and years, sat around the table after dinner and sipped the thing that left me out of it. It was my grandfather who taught me to drink coffee. He was the first person to ever let me have a cup. I was ten years old. The coffee tasted more bitter than it smelled, but I loved it, because now, I was in the club.

My paternal grandmother always seemed to have a pot on. Her house always smelled like her perfume (Chloe), her exuberance, and a pot of coffee. Her coffee was always strong and old because she let it sit on the burner for hours and rarely bothered to brew a new batch. She always had a cup near her, and I never saw her finish it. She always drank her coffee black.

"I like my coffee like I like my women ..." - BK

Before I joined the coffee club, I was always told that I couldn't drink it because it would "put hair on my chest." I still hear this phrase tossed around every once in awhile, especially when a cup is eye-poppingly strong. As if the strength of the brew is associated with the strength and characteristics of a man. Now, faithful readers of this blog know beyond a shadow that I am not a feminist, but I resent that this staple of society be likened unto the strength of a man. It seems to me that a warming, empowering, fueling, energizing cup of coffee is more like a woman than a man.

Those are the women I like to be around the most. Warming, empowering, fueling, energizing. Real, earthy, experienced, wise. Educated, and educating. Strong. Comforting. Powerful. Maybe been on the burner a little too long, but reduced by life to the very best parts of her.

"You're a woman after my own heart." - DB

I'm a little particular when it comes to my coffee, but I'm not picky. I like my Starbucks Cinnamon Dolce non-fat no whip latte, but I'll settle for McDonald's Hazelnut iced coffee. I love the affecting aesthetic of a cappuccino after dining out. The most delightful drink I've enjoyed in awhile is the Java Chiller at Sonic. But ask me what my favorite is ... I will not hesitate to answer as the faces of a dozen brave and beautiful ladies flash through my head.

I drink my coffee black.

Prayer for the Acceptance of God’s Will

O Lord, I know not what to ask of Thee. Thou alone knowest what are my true needs. Thou
lovest me more than I myself know how to love. Help me to see my real needs which are
concealed from me. I dare not ask either a cross or consolation; I can only wait on Thee. My
heart is open to Thee; visit and help me, for Thy great mercy’s sake. Strike me and heal me,
cast me down and raise me up. I worship in silence Thy holy will and Thine inscrutable ways.
I offer myself as a sacrifice to Thee. Thou hast said, O Lord, “A man’s mind plans his ways,
but the Lord directs his steps” (Proverbs 16.9). Do not forsake me, O Lord, for I have put all
my trust in Thee. I have no other desire than to fulfill Thy will. Teach me how to pray; pray
Thou Thyself in me. Amen.

(Metropolitan Philaret of Moscow)

Soon to be a major motion picture, Part Two

That night, in front of a fire, he tells her she is better than that. She says she knows; he was the one who taught her that. This stings him. They were together once, but it was a lifetime ago, before her divorce. She says that, since the divorce, she just wants to rediscover who or what she is. She doesn’t remember what it feels like to have fun or to be with someone who wants to be with her. He listens and looks at her as if she were his father confessor. He tells her he is sorry. She takes his hand and tells him the girl who he wronged doesn’t exist anymore. She holds his hand too long before she lets it go.

She says she is going to take a walk, to clear her head. Through the dimly lit lobby to the pool outside, she sees her Australian. She can’t believe it; what is he doing here? I’m staying here, he says with a smile. They sit by the pool under the cabana and put their feet in the water. Soon he leans over to kiss her, holding her face with his hands. On the other side of the pool, across the deck, a door opens and he walks out. His eyes are immediately drawn to the couple and his face hardens. He turns and walks back inside.

The next morning, she slips back into her room. She sees the bed rumpled on one side, but he is not there. She gets into the shower. When she walks out of the bathroom in only a white towel, he is standing on the other side of the door. She freezes, caught. She looks guilty. He looks angry. Hurt. Almost afraid. Well? he asks. She is immediately indignant, after all they had been through, after all she had been through. Well what, she replies. It is not a question. It is the end of the conversation.

They are pulling into a vineyard. It is raining, and the top of the convertible is up. The winery is crowded with visitors in from the rain. They sip in silence on a chardonnay that the taster politely explains, but they are barely listening. The taster mentions that it would be good with fish like halibut or even Mahi Mahi. He makes a side comment about fish from Australia, and she looks at him sharply. He has made several passive aggressive attacks and she is done with it. It is none of his business, she says with finality. Maybe he should be more concerned about “her” and less concerned about the Australian. He makes a snide jab which obviously stings, and she throws the rest of the chardonnay in his face. She leaves the winery, and the taster and his co-worker, a redhead who looks a lot like her, bring him towels to clean up. He laughs that he ought to go after her; she has the keys. It is clear that the redhead sympathizes. He stays at the winery for the rest of the day, drinking freely.

The redhead takes him back to the hotel. She offers to take him to her place for a nice meal – she cooks – it’s not the first time during the drive that she offers. He politely declines again, and she leans over to kiss him. He begins to respond then pulls away before she reaches him, thanking her for the ride. He slightly stumbles in the lobby, but quickly sobers to walk into the hotel room to see her crying in front of the fire.

He sits down next to her, unable to look her in the face. He is angry, even bitter, and a little intoxicated. She looks resigned and ashamed. Finally, he simply whispers, it’s not like you. She begins to cry again. Without looking up, she leans her head on his chest. His face falls into her hair, and her shoulders heave. He gets up and reaches for her, sliding his arms under her legs and around her back, and lays her down in bed like a mother lays her child. She reaches for him and he lays down carefully next to and holds her, her face buried in his chest. Soon she is holding him, his face buried in her neck.

The sun wakes him in the morning, arms wrapped around her, fully clothed from the night before. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out his cell phone, which is silently vibrating. The caller ID says “my wife.” He pulls himself away gently and goes to the bathroom, answering the phone. How did it go? she asks. Did they like the script? He didn’t get the meeting, he says. She says she is sorry, then she begins to cry and keeps apologizing over and over. He sits at the edge of the bathroom with his head in his hand, letting her apologies in.

They are in the car again, top down, sun shining. They are smiling peacefully as he drives, saying nothing. They take turns and drive through the night and into the next day, until he pulls up into her driveway. As she walks toward the house, he stops her and says thank you. She smiles and shakes her head. For what? she asks. He doesn’t answer, just looks her in the eye with the gratitude of the redeemed. He watches her walk into the house, then gets in the car.

It is evening when he walks back into his home. There are still papers scattered on the desk where he tosses his keys. He looks up to see his wife, who looks a lot like Sara Ramirez, coming toward him. She is choked up, and says “I’m sorry.” He takes her in his arms and says that man that she wronged doesn’t exist anymore. She sobs, overjoyed.

Hey you, you with those bags in your eyes

Blurr: Tranny Bag

This is the bag for the man who is still bringing the funk. Career responsible but has a superhot dj gig on the weekends, or is recording his own CD of introspective acoustic gems that reveal the deep river running through his soul. The colors of the bag coordinate with all the vintage tees he wears carefully tucked behind his belt buckle in that oh-so-non-chalant way. Special pockets for gadgets, especially his PDA which contains all of his contacts. I wonder how my number got in there ... wait, what???

$59.97 at altrec.com

Is that a messenger bag or are you just happy to see me?

Ben Sherman Leather Flap Messenger

This bag is for the upwardly mobile, goal oriented sort, who alternates between graduate school and an internship in the field. To be worn with a suit, black shirt with small white stripes, and no tie, but can also work with the cerulean v-neck sweater and Diesel jeans. Keeps your iPhone, iPod, and MacBook Air right where you need them at all times. And bonus points for walking or standing with your hands casually in your pockets while wearing the bag. Big, big bonus points.

$98, online only, urbanoutfitters.com

Please don't kill the messenger

We are going to take a quick break from the riveting drama of my screenplay to talk for just a moment about a very important subject. This has been on my mind for quite some time, and in this day and age, we need to come together about the things that are truly important, do we not?

I have a real thing with messenger bags.

I cannot stay silent any longer. There is something so undefinably, post-millenially sexy about a man who is carrying a messenger bag! Walking along, going somewhere, leaving somewhere, with the strap stretching from one shoulder down to the opposite waist, carrying who knows what ... I mean really. What are they carrying in those things? A laptop? Very important papers? LPs from an erstwhile vinyl shop? Various metro products? Copies of a journal? Who knows, but whatever it is, it is way too important to leave at home. One cannot carry all such important things in one's arms while one is walking to and fro, so one wears a messenger bag. And one instantly becomes 82% sexier for wearing it.

I have always had an appreciation for the "man bag" but I think my love affair started the moment I first saw Jim Halpert rise from his office chair after a long day of pining for Pam, turn and in one fluid motion, sling his messenger bag over his shoulder and secure it on his back. My eyes are fluttering even as I write this.

So, for those of you who are at once culturally hip, secure in your manhood, and a safe distance away from me (that's about three of you), and for the rest of you who should be well educated in the finer points of the issue, I will be introducing you to three bags that will rock your face off. Here is the first:


Burton Mess Pack Wool Messenger

This is for the interminably hip metropolitan who walks everywhere, wears an impossible number of layers, and rotates his eyewear between the bold frames and the wireless frames, depending on his mood. Must keep an extra bottle of pomade in the bag to fix the hair should you take some extra wind around the turn of a corner.

$80 at urbanoutfitters.com



P.S. Could someone show me how to put more than one image into a post at once? I've been like Phyllis Diller over here trying to put the second image in!

a note for the peanut gallery

Just want to let you know that I've changed the settings for comment moderation and now anyone can make a comment, even if you don't have a Blogger account.

This is going to be fierce!

Soon to be a major motion picture, Part One

A man’s hand slams a phone down on its receiver. He is furious. He starts tearing through an empty house, sifting through papers, pulling a few pieces of clothing off hangars, stuffing them in a worn duffel bag. A door slams, and his feet are shown walking to a white sedan.

He is seen driving into a car dealership, then driving off in a blue convertible. He looks a lot like Matthew Fox.

He drives on a highway, then into a town where he begins checking written directions from a printed email. He pulls into a drive way and waits, when a woman, who looks a lot like Amy Adams, comes running out with a large tote bag and a carry on. His cold hard stare melts to see her, and he gets out of the car. She runs to him, drops her bags, and they throw their arms around each other. He spins her around and they are both grinning ear to ear. He puts the bags in the trunk as she hops in the driver’s seat, then they drive away.

Their banter in the car is light and excited. They obviously share a history. They drive throughout the day and stop at a less than reputable hotel. They stay up late that night, eating potato chips and drinking import beer, mocking endless episodes of The Golden Girls and debating the layered performances of Bea Arthur and Betty White. They are obviously not lovers, at least, not any more. They fall asleep sitting up, with their heads resting on each other, surrounded by the casualties of the evening.

The next day he drives, and they look happy and carefree with their sunglasses on. He asks her if “he” knows she is taking a vacation, and she reacts harshly. I don’t want you to even mention him, she says. I just want to get away. He says he knows. It is obvious that he knows very well.

The Midwest fading behind them, they drive past mountains and thru a desert to another motel. After checking in, they stop at a bar to get a sandwich and a drink. He strikes up a conversation with the hot bartender, and she is quickly irritated. More than irritated, even, especially when they both disappear for 20 minutes. When he returns, she doesn’t say anything. What? he says. Some things never change, she says. He tells her she has no idea. They go back to the hotel and go straight to bed, with their backs to each other and miles between them.

The next morning, she wakes up to an empty room and a note. He is at the diner next door; how about some breakfast? She walks into the diner to see him reading a paper, drinking a cup of coffee. He looks up at her and smiles. She can’t help but smile back, and sits down with him. All is forgiven.

The landscape changes again as they drive to lush rolling hills and trees. They are in wine country. It turns out that this is the trip they always planned on taking together. They have planned each vineyard they want to visit, can’t wait to fulfill what has been a dream years in the making. At the first vineyard, they sit at the tasting next to a friendly Australian who looks very much like Eric Bana and who is traveling alone. The three of them hit it off, and soon the Australian is in the back seat as they drive to the second vineyard of the day.

It is soon apparent that the mysterious traveler is paying more attention to her than to him. He watches, almost intrigued, then strikes up a conversation with a beautiful blond who is also from the Midwest. He is always stealing glances at his friend and the Australian, and the blonde soon tires of this. He is alone with his glass of cabernet.

Suddenly he gets up and goes over to them. He tells her that it’s time to go. She looks at him like she doesn’t recognize this – what is this, jealousy? – and he tries to be cool, wishing the Aussie good luck and safe travels. They leave, and she is angry but doesn’t say anything. They drive to a nice resort where they have reservations.

That night, in front of a fire, he tells her she is better than that. She says she knows; he was the one who taught her that. This stings him. They were together once, but it was a lifetime ago, before her marriage and divorce. She says that, since the divorce, she just wants to rediscover who or what she is. She doesn’t remember what it feels like to have fun or to be with someone who wants to be with her. He listens and looks at her as if she were his father confessor. He tells her he is sorry. She takes his hand and tells him the girl who he wronged doesn’t exist anymore. She holds his hand too long before she lets it go.

She says she is going to take a walk, to clear her head. Through the dimly lit lobby to the pool outside, she sees her Australian. She can’t believe it; what is he doing here? I’m staying here, he says with a smile. They sit by the pool under the cabana and put their feet in the water. Soon he leans over to kiss her, holding her face with his hands. On the other side of the pool, across the deck, a door opens and he walks out. His eyes are immediately drawn to the couple and his face hardens. He turns and walks back inside.

*Part two coming soon! Let me know what you think. BTW, please don't steal this. I have two fantastic attorneys and I will sue the pants off of you.

Sabotage

Alright, people, 'fess up.

Which one of you signed me up for John McCain's email list?

What a vicious subversive plot. I am shocked at the gall.

Not one of you is above suspicion. I demand to know.

(In lieu of a real entry, read another feast from our friends at No One Reads Our Blog. I love those two! And I suspect even them.)

"The Wise Woman's Stone"

An ancient parable from India:

A wise woman who was traveling in the mountains found a precious stone in a stream. The next day she met another traveler who was hungry, and the wise woman opened her bag to share her food. The hungry traveler saw the precious stone and asked the woman to give it to him. She did so without hesitation.

The traveler left, rejoicing in his good fortune. He knew the stone was worth enough to give him security for a lifetime. But a few days later he came back to return the stone to the wise woman.

"I've been thinking," he said, "I know how valuable the stone is, but I give it to back in the hope that you can give me something even more precious. Give me what you have within you that enabled you to give me the stone."

(as quoted in The Sociopath Next Door by Martha Stout, Ph.D., copyright 2005)

unsent

My heart contains a letter

Words declarations realizations secrets

A letter buried beneath snows and years and miles and now

Inside a small place with a child’s dream, a few stolen moments

And sin

Open, buried

It says it all

Because life is not black and white

Some things are never simple and never explained

And are better left unsaid

But they are still true

They are still real

They are still in the letter

Protected by truth and fear and righteousness

And respect

And regret

Standing guard at the wall they cast their spell

And keep us all alive and well

For in this time will never tell

My heart, which contains a letter

Jon Stewart is killing the Oscars

Am I the only who feels this way right now? I love Jon Stewart, maybe a little too much, but he is kinda bombing tonight. This Oscars is so boring. All of the members of the Writers Guild are sitting smugly because it is so bad, but that doesn't make Jon look less awkward and embarrassed with himself. I think he knows he's bombing.

I miss Billy Crystal!

Other random thoughts 120 minutes in:

- Tilda Swinton was a total upset! Even she didn't expect to win, which is probably why she wore the Hefty garbage bag to the show.

- All the red dresses are gorgeous. Helen Mirren is a British goddess. I love Hilary Swank's gown, and Jennifer Garner is strikingly beautiful tonight.

- Wait. Patrick Dempsey is presenting.

- Okay, I'm back.

- As much as I adore Jack Nicholson, he just strikes me as a dirty old man.

It's been 2 hours, so only 2 more to go!!

You look like a monkey, and you smell like one too

32 years ago, a wee one made her first thrashing cry in the world.

Me!

If anyone wants a chocolate cupcake with pink icing and sprinkles, come on over.

I'm going to go watch Lost now. Jack is hot.

What We Learned from the Hollywood Writer's Strike

1) We learned that labor unions and strikes aren't all bad. It seems that the entertainment industry needs this protection quite a bit, what with the unqualified greed of the studios.

2) We learned that Hollywood still has a vested interest in the whole concept of "fuzzy math."

3) We learned that Conan O'Brien and Jon Stewart are possibly funnier without their writers. We will never know if this is true about David Letterman. (I still love him, though.)

4) We learned that the Late Show writers are funnier on their strike blog than they are on the Late Show.

5) We learned that life without The Office is like life without sunshine. You can live without it, but it makes life miserable.

6) We learned who Nikke Finke is, though most of us will quickly forget.

7) We learned what a douche Carson Daly is. Wait. That one wasn't ever really up for grabs, was it?

8) Finally, we learned a most valuable life lesson: Sometimes you have to fight in order to achieve peace. It was a timely metaphor for all of us.

God bless our troops, and God bless my little family.

It's over!

This was sent out yesterday by the WGA:

The membership of the Writers Guild of America, West (WGAW) and the Writers Guild of America, East (WGAE) today voted overwhelmingly in favor of lifting the restraining order and ending their 100-day strike that began on Nov. 5. 3,775 writers turned out in Los Angeles and New York to cast ballots or fax in proxies, with 92.5% voting in favor of ending the work stoppage.

“The strike is over. Our membership has voted, and writers can go back to work,” said Patric M. Verrone, president of the Writers Guild of America, West. “This was not a strike we wanted, but one we had to conduct in order to win jurisdiction and establish appropriate residuals for writing in new media and on the Internet. Those advances now give us a foothold in the digital age. Rather than being shut out of the future of content creation and delivery, writers will lead the way as TV migrates to the Internet and platforms for new media are developed.”

“The success of this strike is a significant achievement not only for ourselves but the entire creative community, now and in the future,” said Michael Winship, president of the Writers Guild of America, East.

Breaking News: Is The Writers' Strike Over???

The WGA votes on a deal within the next 48 hours, and Hollywood could be back to work by Wednesday! Woo hoo!

And that's because he's Mike Huckabee, not Mike Hucka-was

A) I am a terrible blogger. I am so sorry to all nine of you that I didn't post earlier, like when everything I am about to discuss was relevant and newsworthy. I just haven't gotten around to it. I would love to tell you that I'll make it up to you with a post full of biting wit, brilliant commentary, and insight that will break the issues wide open for you, but I've just eaten a ton of ice cream and I'm already half asleep. Here's hoping.

2) The writer's strike appears to be maybe happily hopefully almost over. Not that we should break open the Veuve Clicquot, because I guess the WGA is scrambling to get the tentative deal in writing before the weekend, and that may not happen. It seems the big incentive right now is to keep the Oscars alive. I think I'm more excited about that than seeing The Office again!

D) For the few politicos here at It Is What It Is, Tuesday evening was pretty fascinating. All of my original thoughts (all 3 of them) have flown away like the first dove out of Noah's ark, seeking dry land, never to return. Here are the recycled reactions I am left with, 48 hours later:

- I am of the opinion that Obama is suffering from his own hype. I am also of the opinion that he is also suffering from his own lack of substance. I have watched the Democratic debates (far more interesting that the Republican ones, which were all McCain/Romney jabfests with little Ron Paul waving his arms and squealing "I'm here too!"), and I have to say that I was surprised how my perception of Obama has changed since watching them. I think his lack of seasoning shows, quite honestly. He doesn't have many hard answers to things, it seems. But he is a great orator. Wow, can that guy give a speech. But on Tuesday, he again fell victim to the media's hype. He did not do as well as predicted. It makes him look very bad. Primary season lasts another 3 months, so anything can happen, but his PR people better start telling Chris Matthews to shut up, or his hype will be his undoing.

- Mitt Romney is out! He dropped out! I kinda love it. He's such a [pick your derivative].

- And then there were two. I predicted that Huckabee would drop out after Super Tuesday (not that my readers would know that because I did not blog about it), but happily, he picked up momentum. He was the story of the evening! Could a Huckabee/Colbert 2008 campaign be coming around the corner? Oh Auntie Em!!! Now it's highly unlikely that he will actually get the nomination (he would need to get almost 1000 of the remaining 1191 delegates), so his fortitude is all the more fascinating right now, and I just don't know if he is what the party is looking for in a VP ... oh wait! Who cares what the party wants, because John McCain will be the nominee, and he couldn't give a rip about what anybody else says! I can tell from the noise of my own teeth gritting against themselves that this is a topic for a different post on a different day. In the meantime, ol' Huck is really something to watch. He's also someone to look into a little further.

The beat goes on ...

Oh, for crying out loud

What did I say? Didn't I say that she would cry again? Didn't I? I think I did. I think I said that she would cry again.

Hillary, Hillary, Hillary. *sigh* Oh, my my my. After 30 years in public life, thank heavens you have finally "found your voice."

I will write a better post tomorrow as results come in.

Be sure to vote, everybody!

a moment

Heath Ledger?! Wow. This was really a shocker.

It makes me sad.

God, rest his soul.

with a face like an open book

I’ve been collecting people. You’d like to call it networking or something post-millenially appropriate, but face it. You check your friend count on Facebook as often as I do, which is to say, about 37 times every day. Yes, that’s about how many times I check my profile every day. And that’s my current friend count, as well, which isn’t a bad collection after only a week and a half.

My trite cynicism over the whole thing took a bit of a turn tonight, when I skipped onto one of my newest friend’s profile, an old friend from college who I have not spoken with in over 10 years. He was one of my first friends in college, and one of the dearest. I had a bit of a crush on him, truth be told. This does not distinguish me among the other females at my small Christian liberal arts school, by the way. The first morning he sang in Chapel, there was a palpable surge of estrogen and half of the girls fell to the floor. I even remember the shirt he was wearing that day.

It’s sad, I know.

Where was I?

He’s married now, has a whole life now. He has a wife and a son who is the same age as mine, and his career is what he loves, which is music and ministry. But that is not what captured me on his profile.

He listed a website for his wife. Now, I have heard about his wife. One of my roommates was friends with her through church in high school, and many of my old college co-horts became friends with her as well. You undoubtedly would recognize her name if you heard it, you who travel in the same circles as I. And so I click on her website because I am very curious to find out just a little bit about the girl who stole my old friend’s heart.

I peruse the site like I’m browsing a bookstore. Here are some beautiful pictures, of fruit and books and friends. Nothing too intimidating so far. She likes food, I see, and Ann Lemott and wine. Over here is her picture, whimsical and well lit. She has piercing blue eyes that defy the cliché. And she wrote and published a book.

She published a book? Now I’m a little jealous. Jealous enough to feel the first pinpricks of irritation but not jealous enough to keep from clicking on the link to her reading a few chapters. I immediately loved it despite myself. Her style is simple and honest, her voice is lilting and feels familiar. It was inspiring actually. Inspiring the way that Ann Lemott’s books are, or John Eldredge’s, or Father Pat’s, or Donald Miller’s. All such different authors, sharing the same Truth in such different voices. All touching me so and making me hungrier to write about the Truth as it has touched me. Yes, inspiring, her book, and also a bit accusing.

If I wrote a book, it would be so so different than hers. I doubt she knows the horrors of a broken marriage, court dates, and police interviews. I wonder if she has any idea what it means to fill out paperwork for government assistance. She talks about hiding the worst part of yourself in a basement, but what if you have no house? What if there is no basement, and all of the ugly cluttery mess that you tried so desperately to keep from spiraling out of control was on the front porch for the world to see? No wonder she has the book, my enemy whispers. No wonder she has the life, the husband, the house, the ministry, the family, the dream. No wonder.

All my life I wanted to be the girl that everyone knew. I wanted to be the one that everyone watched and liked to be around and liked to be. I wanted to be interesting and funny and beautiful. I wanted to be the one that people noticed. I wanted to have something to say, and I wanted to say it for all the world to hear. But my friend count has never been high enough, my profile has never been cool enough. I have never been what I have dreamed of, or at least, that has been the lie I have believed.

I still have so much to say. I keep so much of it inside because I have a profound sense that, for reasons known and hidden, the timing just isn’t right. Yet.

But this girl, who sounds so much like someone I could talk with and know and love, who seems to come from common interests, common friends, and common faith, has the husband and the family, the house and the ministry, the connections and the security and the life. She has my life!

This chick has MY life!

It is important for you to know right now, before we go any further, that God talks to me.

He does. He’s been talking to me for a couple of years now. Well, more accurately, I’ve been listening for a couple of years now. I love His voice. I can’t describe it except to say that it is an exquisite resounding suddenness that I hear with my head and my soul and my womb. When He speaks, I hear Him. He never says many words to me at once; He never needs to.

So, I’m staring at my old friend’s wife’s website, feeling increasingly sorry for myself, when He says, “Your life is for you.”

Your life is for you.

My life is for me and your life is for you.

I am not one for cliché Christian catchphrases. I don’t usually repeat to myself that life is a precious gift and all of that, though I know it is true. But I never stopped to consider that my life, such as it is, is a precious gift to me. God, the Triune author of life and mystery, crafted and created me, and this life that I have lived and am living is a present specially gift wrapped from Him. Is this true? “Your life is for you.” If this is true, then the Word of God truly comes alive in an entirely new way, because the invitation to delight in trials, to cry out in caves, and to follow a carpenter become personal. To be thankful in all things means not skipping the bad parts. It means not looking over your shoulder, or your laptop screen, into your neighbor’s backyard or blog and wondering how you got where you are. It means raising your hands in your heart or your living room and just letting the gift be what it is. And making the most of what He gave you, because He would like you to share it with His other children. And He will show you how.

I am so glad that this beautiful woman, two degrees from me, is sharing the gift that God gave her. It inspired me tonight, and God got a word in edgewise too. I am not so jealous of her now as for her. I am jealous for her to know the riches of intimacy and motherhood, of Godly connection, of satisfaction and of love. She should enjoy all the wonderful things God has for her.

I think I might go buy her book. I need to add it to my collection.

The Ice Queen Melteth

Politics is fun. Now that tonight's returns are in from New Hampshire, I think we can say that some very interesting and important things are happening. Let's look at some of them together...

1) Maybe it's too soon to say, but in light of Iowa's winners last week (Huckabee and Obama) and New Hampshire's winners this week (McCain and Hilary), I'm going to say that the real race right now is not between candidates but between culture and paradigm. Huck and Obama are the visionaries who have strong charisma, authentic personaes, and capitalize on their connections with the heart of the voter. This kind of personal connection appeals to our post-modern culture; we want what is real and genuine. Iowa, as the representative Heartland, made a very strong statement about that with their caucus. For anyone who would say anything elitist about that state, consider that the grass roots that came out for those two candidates were primarily new voters, college students (educated people, hello!), and the always under-estimated evangelicals.

New Hampshire represents a demographic slightly to the LEFT (dare I say), representing the difference between a red state and blue state culture. New Hampshire has a very established politic, and it stands to reason that they would vote for McCain on the Republican side. We are at war, and he is an obvious choice for Commander in Chief. But while I predicted Hilary would win tonight, I thought it would be because it is New Hampshire, a state who loooooves her husband. Then I looked at polls yesterday, with Obama coming out ahead and I thought, "hmm ... it's that authenticity thing. A candidate like Hilary doesn't have a chance in a post-modern culture." Until ...

2) That woman CRIES, and then she WINS! "This is very personal for me," she chokes, with tears glistening in her eyes. When I saw the video yesterday, I had two equal and opposing reactions. The first was that I thought she looked *choke* beautiful. Vulnerability is beautiful, especially in a woman. She seemed so real, it was a good hair and make up day for her, and we got a glimpse of who she really is. And it was beautiful. She was beautiful. There, I said it.

My other reaction? For the love, that woman will do ANYTHING!!! Where are the violins, WHERE?! Between her sniffles, all I could hear her say was, "I am so scared to lose again tomorrow! Because then it will be all over and I'll be forced to cut ribbons and collect all those stupid 'honorary degrees' and pretend it was an honor just to run!"

"This is very personal for me," she says. THAT is what today's voters need to hear, no matter what state they are in. She knew that voters needed to see something deeper from her BECAUSE of the returns in Iowa, and she needed to pull one out because she heard the pundits and the last minute polls and they were giving Obama double digit leads. Well, she pulled it out, all right. Well done, Hilary. Come on up and get your Oscar.

Okay, okay, and this! In her acceptance speech, she thanked voters for "voting from their hearts" and for helping her "find her voice." Find her voice? Find her soul, more like it. Find her ace card. You mark my words, those tears will make an encore appearance before this thing is over.

3) Hilary is still very nervous. And she should be.

4) I just don't like John McCain.

5) In this post-modern culture, negativity is deadly. If you are the guy who is doing the attacking, voters think it is ugly and they will not vote for you. Mitt, 1972 called. Said it needs it's campaign strategy back.

6) John Edwards says "two states down, 48 to go." That guy wants to lose 48 more times??? I lost student council elections twice, and I'm still trying to get over it!

7) It really is very early. But I don't think there is a clear cut candidate on either side of the aisle anymore. This is going to be very interesting.

8) I feel like Bleys right now! I just turned on the TV, and they are all saying what I'm saying. I feel like yelling at the TV Kueck-style, "I just said that!!!"

And finally,

9) Rudy who?

If Eisenhower were here instead of me, he'd be dead by now.

This is so good I had to share it! This was written by my friends Shauna and Tom, who participated in a very important (and, in this case, somewhat historic) moment in our democratic process this election year.

It is fascinating, entertaining, and answers important questions such as what the hell a caucus is.

No One Reads Our Blog » Blog Archive » Hillary Is Not Viable (or ‘How To Caucus in 11 Easy Steps’)

Facebook: The Obsession. Chapter 1: How I Lost My Job

Loyal readers, this week I capitulated to the overwhelming force of nature of networking (read: people collecting) websites. I got a page on facebook.

And I am out of control.

I was on the phone with one of you at the time, and on a whim, just logged on and got started. This power overtook me instantly. I immediately tuned out of the conversation, and the few sentences I formed in the 2 more minutes I was on the phone were slurred and incomplete. That actually describes pretty well how I have felt ever since.

I can't pull myself off. I am consumed with checking if I have a "new" "friend." I keep adding new applications to my page, keep getting sucked into silly games and pointless quizzes. There is an upside to this: I have connected with a couple of people that I haven't seen or spoken to in 10-12 years! And that means alot to me (see my post Ode to Kelley German). But getting paid also means alot to me, and my children, and if this doesn't run its course soon, I might be on one of your doorsteps with my two kids in tow, and of course, my laptop.

If you are unconcerned about my employment status, whether my house is clean or not, or essentially if I have a real life, come check it out. Go ahead, enable me.