Next Tuesday's going to be a big day. One of my favorite morning radio hosts, Barry Young, keeps saying that this could be the biggest midterm election of his lifetime. I'm not sure about all that, but I know I am excited for it. My handsome hubby won't even let us get mail-in ballots...there is just something too invigorating about physically going to the polls on election day, he says. I secretly agree.
Politics are divisive, and not just for the same old reasons. It actually seems to be a pretty divisive topic in the church, too, which is really too bad. I'll admit - even I used to be someone who questioned getting "involved" with politics as a Christian. I heard a friend recently say that Jesus never said the word "politics" so we should all just go on our merry way. I'm sure my buddy had/has the best intentions, but I want to explore this a little bit tonight.
I've been deliberating over 1 and 2nd Kings for the past 6 months or so. Some chapters are bloody and violent and dramatic, and others seem to be just a rattling off of facts, always ending with the subtly snotty "as for the rest of what this king did.... are they not written in the annals of the kings of Israel?" (That seriously always cracks me up. I feel like the writer is yelling at me. I didn't ASK you what else he did, guy! It's ok!) But the main story line right now is that God's people have basically split into two 'nations', Israel and Judah. Israel has given to idol worship, building a false god, Baal ,and creating all these weird worship rituals and appointing 'preists'. This is an absolute affront to God, obviously, and He is heartbroken over them. Judah, however, continues to "do what is right in the eyes of the Lord" - for the most part.
Here's what I was reading last night:
"In the twenty-seventh year of Jeroboam King of Israel, Azariah son of Amaziah king of Judah began to reign. He was sixteen years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem fifty-two years. His mother's name was Jecoliah; she was from Jerusalem. He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, just as his father Amaziah had done. The high places, however, were not removed; the people continued to offer sacrifices and burn incense there.
The Lord afflicted the king with leprosy until the day he died, and he lived in a separate house."
-2 Kings 15: 1-5
("The high places" is referring to the altars Israel had built to worship Baal.)
And all at once I couldn't blame God but I also couldn't not tell him how much that rattled my "fairness" meter. How could he hold Azariah responsible for the sins of Israel? And not just hold him responsible - but plague him with such a terrifying disease?
I don't want to get into a discussion of God's judging one person for another, because I'll be honest with you - I haven't read enough on the subject and I'm not sure I know just exactly what God has to say about it. But hear me - I want to go in a slightly different direction with this, and it's a direction that points right to politics.
Azariah, though not king of Israel, was in a place of power as king of Judah. And during his time of power, Israel was continuously perverting, offending, satirizing, downplaying, mocking, and disobeying God; who not-so-long-ago had saved them from Egypt. Azariah was not doing those things - but he did nothing to stop them. And apparently God found that so disgusting, he saw fit to plague Azariah with leprosy. Not a subtle statement. And maybe there was a point when Azariah's left arm had the sores but his right arm didn't. I bet that right arm would have done anything to stop it from getting to him if he could have.
Listen. Anyone can sit and stare at a blank wall and after 24 hours, claim to have spent a day without sinning. But what's holy in that? I've been memorizing Proverbs 31, which described a 'noble wife.' Verse 27 says she "does not eat the bread of idleness." There it is again. 'Not sinning,' if accomplished by doing nothing, is also 'not doing anything good,' friends.
I don't want to get off on a rabbit trail. I also don't want to imply that we are responsible for wrong decisions our government makes - especially when they make them against our will. BUT - I do think that when we see something going wrong, we are obligated to at least try to stop it. God must value that - because in the absence of it, in Azariah's case, He felt that the appropriate punishment was a deadly disease and a cutting-off from society.
Moreover, we, just like Azariah have power. Luckily for us, we live in a democratic society, which asks for our vote. That is our power. I have heard so many people shrug off getting involved in politics as Christians, quoting Jesus when He said "give to Caesar what is Caesar's" and interpreting that to mean "we should leave government alone." But in the case study of the United States, what does a democracy, our "caesar," demand? Involvement. Give to Caesar.
I would also make the argument to someone who says we should leave government alone that in this day in age, as Christians, government is not leaving us alone; and we can't sit by like Azariah. I want to say two more things about this. The first is that I don't think it's always clear how we should vote. I am not trying to say that as Christians, we should all just blindly vote Republican and call our duty done. I am also not trying to liken our government right now to Israel. First and foremost, I am just saying we should vote. I can't stand when people try the whole "when did you hear Jesus say the word 'politics'?" thing. That's just semantics and it's pretentious. I didn't hear Jesus say the words "grapefruit juice" either but I don't think it's a sin to drink it. And since when didn't Jesus plead with us to change the world? Isn't that the reason He made us; and left us here in this crappy situation, even after it became crappy? Because he thinks we can make it better? And isn't that the Great Commission - to love each other, and look out for each other, and try to give everyone the freedom to live as He lived? Look around, sweet friends. It's starting to get a bit harder to live as He lived. It's harder to give to the needy of our own volition when a family with an income of roughly $60,000 a year is forecasted to have their taxes increase by an extra $2,000 next year. It's harder to help Phoenician associates living in poverty visit the doctor when they're sick when their HSA cards won't even cover over-the-counter meds anymore next year. (Rabbit trail again - but you cannot possibly imagine how many people depend on those accounts for over-the-counter lifelines like allergy meds and even shampoo. Starting January 1, they're SOL.) It's harder to stand up for life when a president doesn't even acknowledge that that life exists. If we don't get involved and we think we're 'doing good' by staring straight ahead, I think Azariah would have a different story for us.
The last thing I want to say - while trying as hard as I can to avoid another rabbit trail - is that it is a crime, a betrayal, and plain willful ignorance to ignore the abortion issue. You can't get around it. You can't pretend it's not there, or that it's not a giant tragedy, or that it's not a black and white issue. Whether a person is a person or not is not a moral question. It's a scientific one. And there is only one answer, friends. I'm not a question mark if one person thinks I'm real and another one doesn't. I either am or I am not. If a baby is a baby, then there are no questions left. You cannot not get involved. Whatever other questions you might have about Christians in politics don't apply to this. I hope that you hear me.
There are so many facets to the Christians-in-politics issue, but I just feel encouraged that God read 2 Kings 15 to me last night. I hope my rambling about it encourages you, too, and I hope this election next Tuesday pleases our Guy in Charge.
P.S. Shameless plug - if you live in AZ and you're still on the fence about some candidates, check out my gorgeous husband's brainchild, the AZ Voter Guide. And hey, donate to CAP while you're at it! ;)
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Autumn
Some days I feel magical. Then, other days I feel like everyone else is more magical. And then on really rare days I feel like everyone else is magical, and I am colorless. I may get flak for this, but I always chalk those days up to being somehow related to my womanhood. I am sure they are. Because Aaron never feels colorless - not that he should. But so many women do, don't we?
Perhaps in a few days something will click.
Today I don't feel so magical, but I certainly can see that everything around me is. So let's talk about that.
Autumn in Arizona is quite different than the chilly, cloudy, cozy autumns in Ohio. But I am still mesmerized by it all the way out here. Right now I am sitting at our kitchen table with every single window in our apartment open around me. Do you realize that that hasn't happened in almost 7 months? The heat usually keeps them closed and sun-blocking curtains drawn, but today they are wide open. And we have A LOT of windows - it's the first thing we loved about this place. Tonight it's a bit breezy out, and the crickets are really at it. Jethro keeps running to the back door to see what's going on out there - such a watchdog. The other night we were woken up by coyotes right outside our window, so I think he is feeling a bit hyper-alert.
Today after work I could feel that it was Ohio football weather - I would say it was around 65 degrees in Ohio talk, but that translates to about 81 out here. (They really do feel the same - it's the lack of humidity). So I knew I couldn't let the opportunity pass. I got Jethro hooked up to his leash and made a mad dash out to the street, and he and I went on a 45 minute run around the mountains up here. The sun set while we were out, and it was purple and pink and orange and magic. By the time we got back to the apartment it was downright chilly out, and I had a good stretch on the porch and got in a hot shower.
Now there are pumpkins sitting on our hearth, and a jar of apple butter on the counter, and the open windows are making it just cold enough for me to need a blanket. Aaron Michael is in bed... he's been getting sleepy earlier and earlier lately. He must be getting old. ;) It's quiet and dim and dark and chilly in here, and even though I don't feel magical, tonight certainly does.
If I were magical today I would have something profound and simple and enlightening to say, or a story to tell, or a verse to tie in my feelings and what-I've-learned-today. But I'm not, and I don't. I'll just let you know that if you're not here, I wish you were, and I wish you could try out an Arizona autumn because it's quite charming. We found this in Sedona two weeks ago.
Perhaps in a few days something will click.Wednesday, October 13, 2010
October 13
All day today, I've been thinking, "I've GOT to write a blog today." Because I always write something on October 13. Ever since the real October 13 in 2004. When Pastor Phil died.
But I'm not quite sure what to say; on the 2010 October 13. Sadness speaks for itself and it's not fun to write under, and it's not new. My sadness has changed over the years though. Now instead of being sad for Pastor Phil, who is done with the pain that his cancer caused him and undoubtedly singing God's praises with the best of them, I am sad for the people that knew him and miss him, and the people that might've come to know him. But that's the way it works.
His beautiful wife Carole was remarried a few years ago to Tim, who is just about the coolest guy on the planet. And now in addition to Carole and Phil's two too-cool-for-school boys Jared and Jordan, Carole and Tim have the cutest baby on the planet - and I really mean that. You know how some people think you're supposed to say that all babies are cute, on account of them being babies? No. I don't think so. We all know there are un-cute babies. But Ty is seriously the cutest baby I have ever seen. THE CUTEST. His nose makes me giggle uncontrollably. The adorableness is that overpowering.
Pastor Phil's last words were "I love you Jesus, I worship you." Have you ever, in your life, heard of that being someone's last words? Well you have now. And if it doesn't give you goosebumps, well, you're on your own.
And here's another cool thing that Pastor Phil did for us. Every year on this day, a group of friends that are now scattered all across the map always seem to take a minute for each other. Texts, e-mails, facebooks messages, phone calls. I was part of this group, and they changed my life and made me feel loved even when I didn't comb my hair and I couldn't stop humming Copeland. Even though October 13 was a gut-wrenching day for us, we went through it together and it seems like it just might always stay that way.
Thanks, Pastor Phil. I hope you're enjoying yourself. I'm sure you are.
But I'm not quite sure what to say; on the 2010 October 13. Sadness speaks for itself and it's not fun to write under, and it's not new. My sadness has changed over the years though. Now instead of being sad for Pastor Phil, who is done with the pain that his cancer caused him and undoubtedly singing God's praises with the best of them, I am sad for the people that knew him and miss him, and the people that might've come to know him. But that's the way it works.
His beautiful wife Carole was remarried a few years ago to Tim, who is just about the coolest guy on the planet. And now in addition to Carole and Phil's two too-cool-for-school boys Jared and Jordan, Carole and Tim have the cutest baby on the planet - and I really mean that. You know how some people think you're supposed to say that all babies are cute, on account of them being babies? No. I don't think so. We all know there are un-cute babies. But Ty is seriously the cutest baby I have ever seen. THE CUTEST. His nose makes me giggle uncontrollably. The adorableness is that overpowering.
Pastor Phil's last words were "I love you Jesus, I worship you." Have you ever, in your life, heard of that being someone's last words? Well you have now. And if it doesn't give you goosebumps, well, you're on your own.
And here's another cool thing that Pastor Phil did for us. Every year on this day, a group of friends that are now scattered all across the map always seem to take a minute for each other. Texts, e-mails, facebooks messages, phone calls. I was part of this group, and they changed my life and made me feel loved even when I didn't comb my hair and I couldn't stop humming Copeland. Even though October 13 was a gut-wrenching day for us, we went through it together and it seems like it just might always stay that way.
Thanks, Pastor Phil. I hope you're enjoying yourself. I'm sure you are.
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Anniversary One
Today we've decided to open all the blinds in our apartment. We don't normally do this, on account of the heat it usually lets in. Actually, I can't think of the last time we did. But it's very sunny and bright in here again. It feels like a new apartment. And a new day.
My heart is aching a little bit though as we watch the Packers game (and Steelers game on Packers' commercial breaks. I know the rules). It's 52 degrees at Lambeau Field today. Perfection. If I were there I might even wear gloves.Anyway, it's still over 100 degrees here in the southwest. It feels like nothing has changed in years. Like it's been summer since we got married a year ago. There are positive things to it, but I think seasons are good for my heart. They give the feeling that time is moving. Like you're going somewhere and getting things done. And really, you just can't underestimate how much I love a good hoodie.
I just can't help but daydream about OU, with it's brick streets and green hills and rainy days this time of year. Ohio is so quietly beautiful. If you've never been there, go once for me.
BUT. Last weekend my bud and me got to discover another breathtakingly beautiful part of our country. It was our first anniversary - look how He loves us!- so we took Friday off work and road-tripped out to Rancho Mirage, California. Since I work at The Phoenician, we get 50 % off at all Starwood hotels, so we booked a room at the Westin Mission Hills. Our Assistant Director of HR, Stefanie, just started at The Phoenician and came from this Westin. So she called her friends over there and got Aaron and I upgraded to a suite. :)
The drive out west on the I-10 was beautiful...the sky got bigger and bigger the farther west we went and the mountains got taller and the sun got hotter. We listened to the Fleet Foxes Pandora station and drank Sunkist. And then, as we got closer, these huge, white spikes started shooting up out of the sides of the mountains. And then we got closer and realized what they were - wind turbines. I have to say, they were a little unnerving. There was literally no other sign of civilization in sight - but suddently these huge (I can't describe how big, honestly), ominous, strange-looking turbines. It felt strange to look at them. Futuristic. Do we believe in that technology enough to build such huge structures? I know that sounds ignorant, but that's truly what I was thinking. And I want to take you on our trip with us for a little bit.
After we checked in to our suite, we realized that we were playing the greatest game of "let's pretend" ever...as in, let's pretend we have enough money to be doing this. So we put on "Blankest Year" by Nada Surf and jumped on the bed like 12 year olds. And I smiled like a 12 year old. So did he.
We ate at the beautiful restaurant, got drinks at the lobby bar, took lots of walks, sat out on our deck and sipped champagne in our robes, got HEAVENLY massages at the spa, had margaritas at the pool, ordered tons of room service, and even closed the curtains a couple of times to make our room pitch black and put on some movies. It was so perfect.
On Saturday night, we had a knock at the door from room service. They had an amenity for us. The ladies in my HR office had ordered us a box of chocolate and... a boom box? The server walked in, plugged it in, pushed play, and left. And Nickel Creek singing our wedding song came on. We danced.
Normally I wouldn't write about all the details of a trip like this. Because I like to have a little life between Aaron and I that is only ours. But I have been reading Kate McDonald's -er, Kate Andre's blog - about her recent wedding and honeymoon and I've just felt so inspired by it and so grateful and God lets us experience love like this. And our trip just shook my soul and I wanted to write about it. I truly can't believe how much I love Aaron, and how much more I love him every day. On Saturday night we were sitting out on our porch. I had just taken a shower and my skin smelled so clean, and I sat there in my robe holding Aaron Michael's hand. It was completely silent outside. Only crickets and a huge full moon. And Aaron told me something that I will never forget as long as I live. I'm not going to write it in here; because it is a part of our secret life. But it broke my heart and mended it at the same time. It made me cry and laugh, and it made me know that I had always been going to find Aaron, and he had always been going to find me. And that he loves me in a way I will probably never understand. I don't know why I'm so lucky, but I won't question it.
It was a beautiful trip. Here's to many more years.
The outside of our suite
Bella Vista, the restaurant
Part of our room...
Where we took our walks
The Pool
Sunny!
My guy :)
My heart is aching a little bit though as we watch the Packers game (and Steelers game on Packers' commercial breaks. I know the rules). It's 52 degrees at Lambeau Field today. Perfection. If I were there I might even wear gloves.Anyway, it's still over 100 degrees here in the southwest. It feels like nothing has changed in years. Like it's been summer since we got married a year ago. There are positive things to it, but I think seasons are good for my heart. They give the feeling that time is moving. Like you're going somewhere and getting things done. And really, you just can't underestimate how much I love a good hoodie.
I just can't help but daydream about OU, with it's brick streets and green hills and rainy days this time of year. Ohio is so quietly beautiful. If you've never been there, go once for me.
BUT. Last weekend my bud and me got to discover another breathtakingly beautiful part of our country. It was our first anniversary - look how He loves us!- so we took Friday off work and road-tripped out to Rancho Mirage, California. Since I work at The Phoenician, we get 50 % off at all Starwood hotels, so we booked a room at the Westin Mission Hills. Our Assistant Director of HR, Stefanie, just started at The Phoenician and came from this Westin. So she called her friends over there and got Aaron and I upgraded to a suite. :)
The drive out west on the I-10 was beautiful...the sky got bigger and bigger the farther west we went and the mountains got taller and the sun got hotter. We listened to the Fleet Foxes Pandora station and drank Sunkist. And then, as we got closer, these huge, white spikes started shooting up out of the sides of the mountains. And then we got closer and realized what they were - wind turbines. I have to say, they were a little unnerving. There was literally no other sign of civilization in sight - but suddently these huge (I can't describe how big, honestly), ominous, strange-looking turbines. It felt strange to look at them. Futuristic. Do we believe in that technology enough to build such huge structures? I know that sounds ignorant, but that's truly what I was thinking. And I want to take you on our trip with us for a little bit.
After we checked in to our suite, we realized that we were playing the greatest game of "let's pretend" ever...as in, let's pretend we have enough money to be doing this. So we put on "Blankest Year" by Nada Surf and jumped on the bed like 12 year olds. And I smiled like a 12 year old. So did he.
We ate at the beautiful restaurant, got drinks at the lobby bar, took lots of walks, sat out on our deck and sipped champagne in our robes, got HEAVENLY massages at the spa, had margaritas at the pool, ordered tons of room service, and even closed the curtains a couple of times to make our room pitch black and put on some movies. It was so perfect.
On Saturday night, we had a knock at the door from room service. They had an amenity for us. The ladies in my HR office had ordered us a box of chocolate and... a boom box? The server walked in, plugged it in, pushed play, and left. And Nickel Creek singing our wedding song came on. We danced.
Normally I wouldn't write about all the details of a trip like this. Because I like to have a little life between Aaron and I that is only ours. But I have been reading Kate McDonald's -er, Kate Andre's blog - about her recent wedding and honeymoon and I've just felt so inspired by it and so grateful and God lets us experience love like this. And our trip just shook my soul and I wanted to write about it. I truly can't believe how much I love Aaron, and how much more I love him every day. On Saturday night we were sitting out on our porch. I had just taken a shower and my skin smelled so clean, and I sat there in my robe holding Aaron Michael's hand. It was completely silent outside. Only crickets and a huge full moon. And Aaron told me something that I will never forget as long as I live. I'm not going to write it in here; because it is a part of our secret life. But it broke my heart and mended it at the same time. It made me cry and laugh, and it made me know that I had always been going to find Aaron, and he had always been going to find me. And that he loves me in a way I will probably never understand. I don't know why I'm so lucky, but I won't question it.
It was a beautiful trip. Here's to many more years.
The outside of our suite
Bella Vista, the restaurant
Part of our room...
Where we took our walks
The Pool
Sunny!
My guy :)
Monday, September 20, 2010
Just put it on my tab
If I were rich, the first thing I would do is buy one of those robes that makes me look like a marshmallow. It would be like having a big pillow wrapped around me at all times. Well, at all times that I would be at home. Because I would wear it at all times. Also, it would be bright blinding white and never get a shade muddier.
The second thing I would do is buy plane tickets home for Christmas for the rest of my life. You should never, ever, ever, EVER not be home for Christmas. And if you ever have to be, don't let Christmas come. Make it wait a year and then make it a double Christmas the next time December bumbles through. But that's a moot point - because I'm rich and I just bought plane tickets home for every year from now until Jesus comes back.
The third thing I would do if I were rich is find the most uppity, luxurious, VIP's-only spa in town. Then I would book so many appointments that it would take me an entire day to get through them all. I'd have a mud bath (what do those do again? Not that I care. It's a mud bath.) Then I'd get cucumbers put on my eyes and have green stuff lovingly and smoothly applied all over my face, and I'd have a big white pillow-robe on, and puffy white fleece slippers on, and some music twinkling in the background with song titles like "Seascapes" and "Irish Flute Trio." Then I'd get an exfoliation, and then I'd take a bath in a tub full of rose petals. Then I'd have a mimosa brought to me in a big champagne glass with an orange peel dangling off the edge. And everyone would talk in really quiet whispers. And there would be a waterfall bubbling somewhere close by. Then I'd have a massage with stones and whatever else would make my muscles groan in protest and then with a deep sigh, give in.
The fourth thing I would do if I were rich, after recovering from my spa day, is start putting pegs in my world map. The first peg would go in Jerusalem. Then Thailand, and then probably London. After London I'd just play it by ear. If I happened to be craving cheese, for example, I'd go to Paris. And I am always craving Cheese.
The fifth thing I would do if I were rich is buy a pair of shoes for every day of the week. This is of utmost importance. I would need black, shiny black, black with some quirky detail (Wednesdays are for the quirky details), brown, brown with a hint of red, gray suede, and yellow wedges, because I'm that kind of girl.
The sixth thing I would do if I were rich is fill my schedule every day with things rich people do. I would go to Yoga with other rich women that never wait long enough between hair appointments to have their dirty blond roots show through. Oh, and I would never wait long enough between hair appointments to have my dirty blond roots show through. And I'd leaf through magazines on park benches with dangly hoop earrings in and always smelling like Spring and a freshly-showered, sugary expensive person. And I'd meet people for lunch on verandas, but I'll just have the salad thank you. And I'd run after the taxi in my heels to make sure I wasn't late for my pilates class. And I'd have a glass of wine and a bath every evening. Except after spa day. I'd had enough of baths that day. And I'd constantly be clicking away on my smart phone. That clicking, by the way, is from my freshly manicured nails.
The seventh thing I would do if I were rich is buy feather and down pillows. Six, at least.
The eighth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy this painting and put it above my fireplace, which of course is on a brick wall.
And every night I would look at it and I would hear Carly Simon swooning
"In a pine forest cooler
than the rest of the island
lives a young fisherman
with eyes like the sea..."
And the ninth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy Bob Evans, plant a franchise in Scottsdale and place a standing order for an apple pie, extra apply, to be sent to my front door each evening.
Here's the thing though. I'm not rich. I probably won't ever be. But even if one day I am, I probably wouldn't do all those things. Or I would, but they would take me about a week and then I'd shuffle back inside my house with my tail between my legs, because I could feel my brain start to atrophy and my heart start to get bored already. I hope if I were rich, I would give most of it away. C.S. Lewis says there ought to be things we'd like to do but can't, because of how much we give away. Looks like there's no spa day in my near future.
I'm still going to buy a blindingly bleached pillow-robe the first second I can.
Happy dreaming. Just don't forget how silly it is.
The second thing I would do is buy plane tickets home for Christmas for the rest of my life. You should never, ever, ever, EVER not be home for Christmas. And if you ever have to be, don't let Christmas come. Make it wait a year and then make it a double Christmas the next time December bumbles through. But that's a moot point - because I'm rich and I just bought plane tickets home for every year from now until Jesus comes back.
The third thing I would do if I were rich is find the most uppity, luxurious, VIP's-only spa in town. Then I would book so many appointments that it would take me an entire day to get through them all. I'd have a mud bath (what do those do again? Not that I care. It's a mud bath.) Then I'd get cucumbers put on my eyes and have green stuff lovingly and smoothly applied all over my face, and I'd have a big white pillow-robe on, and puffy white fleece slippers on, and some music twinkling in the background with song titles like "Seascapes" and "Irish Flute Trio." Then I'd get an exfoliation, and then I'd take a bath in a tub full of rose petals. Then I'd have a mimosa brought to me in a big champagne glass with an orange peel dangling off the edge. And everyone would talk in really quiet whispers. And there would be a waterfall bubbling somewhere close by. Then I'd have a massage with stones and whatever else would make my muscles groan in protest and then with a deep sigh, give in.
The fourth thing I would do if I were rich, after recovering from my spa day, is start putting pegs in my world map. The first peg would go in Jerusalem. Then Thailand, and then probably London. After London I'd just play it by ear. If I happened to be craving cheese, for example, I'd go to Paris. And I am always craving Cheese.
The fifth thing I would do if I were rich is buy a pair of shoes for every day of the week. This is of utmost importance. I would need black, shiny black, black with some quirky detail (Wednesdays are for the quirky details), brown, brown with a hint of red, gray suede, and yellow wedges, because I'm that kind of girl.
The sixth thing I would do if I were rich is fill my schedule every day with things rich people do. I would go to Yoga with other rich women that never wait long enough between hair appointments to have their dirty blond roots show through. Oh, and I would never wait long enough between hair appointments to have my dirty blond roots show through. And I'd leaf through magazines on park benches with dangly hoop earrings in and always smelling like Spring and a freshly-showered, sugary expensive person. And I'd meet people for lunch on verandas, but I'll just have the salad thank you. And I'd run after the taxi in my heels to make sure I wasn't late for my pilates class. And I'd have a glass of wine and a bath every evening. Except after spa day. I'd had enough of baths that day. And I'd constantly be clicking away on my smart phone. That clicking, by the way, is from my freshly manicured nails.
The seventh thing I would do if I were rich is buy feather and down pillows. Six, at least.
The eighth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy this painting and put it above my fireplace, which of course is on a brick wall.
And every night I would look at it and I would hear Carly Simon swooning
"In a pine forest cooler
than the rest of the island
lives a young fisherman
with eyes like the sea..."
And the ninth thing I would do if I were rich is I would buy Bob Evans, plant a franchise in Scottsdale and place a standing order for an apple pie, extra apply, to be sent to my front door each evening.
Here's the thing though. I'm not rich. I probably won't ever be. But even if one day I am, I probably wouldn't do all those things. Or I would, but they would take me about a week and then I'd shuffle back inside my house with my tail between my legs, because I could feel my brain start to atrophy and my heart start to get bored already. I hope if I were rich, I would give most of it away. C.S. Lewis says there ought to be things we'd like to do but can't, because of how much we give away. Looks like there's no spa day in my near future.
I'm still going to buy a blindingly bleached pillow-robe the first second I can.
Happy dreaming. Just don't forget how silly it is.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Faces
This afternoon I drove home right into the middle of a huge storm. I can't describe how beautiful that looks out here in the desert. It was perfectly sunny as I left work, with big white, puffy clouds above me, but as soon as I got out on the highway I could see the palm trees start to blow sideways and I could feel the wind shifting my little Cobalt to the right and to the left. And then on the horizon - right up towards our side of town - the sky was a deep, bruise blue.
Last week I googled around until I found the story of that song. I had already deduced that it was about a girl named Albertine, and that Albertine was somehow disenfranchised. The bridge says "I will keep my word - I will tell them, Albertine!" ...and how can you not google that? I was dying to know the rest of the story.
It makes me think of faces. There are four faces so far in my life that have done a certain something to me. All four of them are little kid faces, with impossibly big eyes - in all four cases - and even more impossibly adorable cheeks. All four of the faces belong to boys, and each one of them are a child I've connected to in some kind of volunteering capacity. I met Diego and David in Ecuador two summers ago, when I was there teaching English and living in an extremely impoverished neighborhood. They lived there with their sweet mom Germania, their sister Kati and a handful of adorably mocha-skin-colored cousins. For the first few days that I was in the neighborhood, Diego followed me everywhere, and after chatting with him a bit I realized he had a wise-beyond-his-years sense of humor. I tought him some English words and he loved reciting them back to me. "Book." "Friend." "Water." Every evening after I had been volunteering all day, I would saunter up to the internet cafe that his uncle owned, and we'd sit at an old Macintosh monitor and giggle. I always made him tell me what he'd learned in school that day, and then I'd tell him to go get me some ice cream and he'd just laugh.
After about a week there, I bought him a soccer ball, because about two minutes after I had stepped off the plane I could tell it was his heart and soul. He loved it and I gained instant popularity among all cousins and neighbors - but mostly with his little brother, David.
David had chronically messy hands, and his smile stretched outside of his face beyond his ears. That sounds improbable, but you wouldn't say that if you'd met him. He had the kind of giggle that sounded like he couldn't control it at all - like once he started, he couldn't stop and it rolled out of his belly like a long sigh. I've never heard a giggle like that one - it was the same kind of uncontrollable, slightly hushed laugh that someone gives when they're being tickled and wish they weren't. He couldn't help it. Everything made him so full of giggles, they just spilled. He clung to my neck so much that by my second week there he looked like he had hooked on for good - teeth flashing, wavy brown hair going in every direction, giggle filling the air.
David's favorite thing was hearing his name pronounced like an English-speaking person would pronounce it. (He of course pronounced it "Dah-VEED.") So every night he made me call him "DAY-vid" and the tiny giggles would string out on a chorus line all the way down into the mangroves.
One day, David fell asleep on my shoulder while I held him as we took a long walk, and my heart hasn't been the same since then.
On the six-week winter break between fall and winter quarter of my junior year, I volunteered three nights a week at the Haven of Rest in downtown Akron, OH. It's a shelter for women and children, and it's a lovely alternative to freezing temperatures and scary alleys. It was during my time there that I met Joshua.
Joshua was a skinny, wriggly, wide-eyed African American boy who had an adoring mom, though I forget her name now. During most of the time I hung around the Haven of Rest Joshua had a cold, and he always had a little bit of dry skin around his mouth and nose. That's still how I see his face. Huge, curious eyes; mouth open because he couldn't breathe through is nose; and dry skin.
He was about three feet tall with lanky arms, and he gave the best hugs. He was extremely quiet, but he started clinging to my leg after the first day I protected him from the mean kids in the playroom. After that day I had earned his trust, and we were best buds. We played with every single toy in the shelter, and every time I walked in the door there was a happy screech and a running hug. Every time I smooched him goodnight I felt a cement lump in my stomach - and now I do again, picturing his little arms and legs and sniffly nose.
And then there is little Sam. Little Sam is the tender-hearted little artist that Aaron and I sponsor through World Vision. He lives in Uganda, and is 9 years old. We've never met him, but his little face absolutely knocks the wind out of me. He likes to draw us pictures (mostly of soccer matches) and his favorite color is pink! We will meet him one day; of that I'm sure.
Something supernatural has happened to me when I've seen these faces. It happens even now when I recall them to memory. They've sparked something in me that makes me want to yell. I want to hug all of them and give all of them everything, and force all of them to understand just how impossibly much I love them - how even I don't understand how much I love them. How their faces make my stomach hurt and I cry when I go too long without seeing them. How Aaron doesn't even mention them to me because it throws me into fits of tears and hiding underneath my covers. How it makes me physically ill to think of them going without something, or having a tummy ache, or not knowing just what incredibly magnificent, humongous stories they all are and how I'm on the edge of my toes waiting to see the rest of them. How I feel like someone has kicked me in the chest when I think about how desperately I want to be with them. To help them.
I still send Diego and David a little present just about every month - with a letter telling them I love them, to do good in school, and to enjoy whatever little toy I'm including. I get e-mails from their Mom on occasion. I know I will see them again.
I haven't seen Joshua since January of 2008, but I pray for him, and his mom and baby sister. I send them love.
And I've never met Sam, but we will.
There are still faces I see every day that spur my heart to action - feeble and awkward though those actions may be. I give Rosy, the woman who washes dishes at The Phoenician, hugs in the hallway when her arthritis is acting up. I share family pictures with Julia, and I hurt for Pati, who fights with her daughter. But I still feel something else.
It's when I listen to "Albertine;" or when I think of Diego, David, Joshua and Sam that I get a little shiver that comes from somewhere outside myself. And suddnely I'm right behind the starting line; jumping up and down to keep my muscles loose; shaking out my arms to keep them ready and the adrenaline is spilling out so much and so fast that I know I'll almost take off before the gun. This is where I am now. I'm waiting for God to give the go-ahead. When our circumstances are right and He waves the flag, I'm leaving nothing but a trail of smoke behind me. I can almost feel the new faces that are going to break my heart.
Face of Diego.
Face of David.
Face of little Sam.
I tried to listen to the Hugh Hewitt show - he usually keeps me company on my drive home - but I couldn't get the station in. I think the storm was messing with the signal. So I pressed play on the CD player, not remembering what was in there, and Brooke Fraser's "Albertine" started up. You've got to hear the first few bars of that song - if there were ever a perfect sound to drive into a storm to, it'd be that.
Apparently Brooke was visiting Rwanda, and met an orphan named Albertine whose mother, Angelique, had been killed in the genocide; which the Rwandans refer to as the "day the world forgot us." (Sends shivers down your spine, doesn't it?) So Brooke made a promise to not let the world forget about Albertine. I'm certain Brooke can tell that story much better than me - but surely you already feel the beauty of it.
After about a week there, I bought him a soccer ball, because about two minutes after I had stepped off the plane I could tell it was his heart and soul. He loved it and I gained instant popularity among all cousins and neighbors - but mostly with his little brother, David.
David had chronically messy hands, and his smile stretched outside of his face beyond his ears. That sounds improbable, but you wouldn't say that if you'd met him. He had the kind of giggle that sounded like he couldn't control it at all - like once he started, he couldn't stop and it rolled out of his belly like a long sigh. I've never heard a giggle like that one - it was the same kind of uncontrollable, slightly hushed laugh that someone gives when they're being tickled and wish they weren't. He couldn't help it. Everything made him so full of giggles, they just spilled. He clung to my neck so much that by my second week there he looked like he had hooked on for good - teeth flashing, wavy brown hair going in every direction, giggle filling the air.
David's favorite thing was hearing his name pronounced like an English-speaking person would pronounce it. (He of course pronounced it "Dah-VEED.") So every night he made me call him "DAY-vid" and the tiny giggles would string out on a chorus line all the way down into the mangroves.
One day, David fell asleep on my shoulder while I held him as we took a long walk, and my heart hasn't been the same since then.
On the six-week winter break between fall and winter quarter of my junior year, I volunteered three nights a week at the Haven of Rest in downtown Akron, OH. It's a shelter for women and children, and it's a lovely alternative to freezing temperatures and scary alleys. It was during my time there that I met Joshua.
Joshua was a skinny, wriggly, wide-eyed African American boy who had an adoring mom, though I forget her name now. During most of the time I hung around the Haven of Rest Joshua had a cold, and he always had a little bit of dry skin around his mouth and nose. That's still how I see his face. Huge, curious eyes; mouth open because he couldn't breathe through is nose; and dry skin.
He was about three feet tall with lanky arms, and he gave the best hugs. He was extremely quiet, but he started clinging to my leg after the first day I protected him from the mean kids in the playroom. After that day I had earned his trust, and we were best buds. We played with every single toy in the shelter, and every time I walked in the door there was a happy screech and a running hug. Every time I smooched him goodnight I felt a cement lump in my stomach - and now I do again, picturing his little arms and legs and sniffly nose.
And then there is little Sam. Little Sam is the tender-hearted little artist that Aaron and I sponsor through World Vision. He lives in Uganda, and is 9 years old. We've never met him, but his little face absolutely knocks the wind out of me. He likes to draw us pictures (mostly of soccer matches) and his favorite color is pink! We will meet him one day; of that I'm sure.
Something supernatural has happened to me when I've seen these faces. It happens even now when I recall them to memory. They've sparked something in me that makes me want to yell. I want to hug all of them and give all of them everything, and force all of them to understand just how impossibly much I love them - how even I don't understand how much I love them. How their faces make my stomach hurt and I cry when I go too long without seeing them. How Aaron doesn't even mention them to me because it throws me into fits of tears and hiding underneath my covers. How it makes me physically ill to think of them going without something, or having a tummy ache, or not knowing just what incredibly magnificent, humongous stories they all are and how I'm on the edge of my toes waiting to see the rest of them. How I feel like someone has kicked me in the chest when I think about how desperately I want to be with them. To help them.
I still send Diego and David a little present just about every month - with a letter telling them I love them, to do good in school, and to enjoy whatever little toy I'm including. I get e-mails from their Mom on occasion. I know I will see them again.
I haven't seen Joshua since January of 2008, but I pray for him, and his mom and baby sister. I send them love.
And I've never met Sam, but we will.
There are still faces I see every day that spur my heart to action - feeble and awkward though those actions may be. I give Rosy, the woman who washes dishes at The Phoenician, hugs in the hallway when her arthritis is acting up. I share family pictures with Julia, and I hurt for Pati, who fights with her daughter. But I still feel something else.
It's when I listen to "Albertine;" or when I think of Diego, David, Joshua and Sam that I get a little shiver that comes from somewhere outside myself. And suddnely I'm right behind the starting line; jumping up and down to keep my muscles loose; shaking out my arms to keep them ready and the adrenaline is spilling out so much and so fast that I know I'll almost take off before the gun. This is where I am now. I'm waiting for God to give the go-ahead. When our circumstances are right and He waves the flag, I'm leaving nothing but a trail of smoke behind me. I can almost feel the new faces that are going to break my heart.
Face of Diego.
Face of David.
Face of little Sam.Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Feeling Blue
Today I had a conversation that just made me blue. I'm not honestly sure why. It wasn't a sad conversation, and the topics covered weren't sad. But it just made me blue. Sometimes I tend to think that everyone views the world the same way I do. I don't mean that they come to the same conclusions I do. I mean I tend to think they view facts the same way I do. Sky's blue, money isn't everything. We move forward. Doesn't everyone think that? I guess, no. And people who are older don't even think that way. That's what troubled me today, I think. Even when I find myself confused about some moral dilemma or nervous about what financial stability actually looks like I always try to remind myself that I'm young and I'm not expected to have it all together yet; and that in truth I'm probably doing a bit better than what's normal at my age. But when I meet someone older who still has whacked out ideas about money and family and kindness and priorities, I just get... blue.
What's weird about all that emotional vomit I just wrote is that I really like the person I had this conversation with. He is an older guy I work with that is tons of fun and a blast to talk to - most of the time. He has the exact same political leanings as me and we both love to listen to Rush, so we have a lot of fun with that. But I don't know... something today rubbed me the wrong way. I was telling him how I struggle with the irony that Aaron and I are young enough and not-tied-down enough to travel now, moreso than we may ever be at other times in our life, but this is the time that we don't have the money for it. And that when we do have the money for it, we will most likely be more tied down, older, and possibly parents? (My best friend Amy just fell out of her chair. Not now, Ame. I'm ranting.) Why does it have to be this way? And my friend's response was, more or less, get a second job! Do whatever it takes to make more money now! When I told him that I thought it was more important for me to spend time with my husband and work on building a good marriage, he told me there would be time for that later.
I think he was somewhat kidding, but just let me say this, since I'm on a bit of a whine kick. When I'm having my general weekly freak-out that I'm "not doing enough" (not volunteering enough, not writing enough, not singing enough, not donating enough, not saving enough money, etc. etc. etc.) there really is no talking me down. You cannot help me. The only thing I want to hear when I am in a mood like that is that I'm not lazy, and that even though I'm not doing everything, I'm at least doing something. I'm helping support Aaron and I. I am investing in a marriage. I am trying to invest in my community. I am investing in my own health. I am learning. I am doing ok. So when someone's response to my freak out is "well, if you feel like you're not doing enough, do more" I get SAD. Don't say that! I don't want to do more. I am exhausted! I just want to reap the benefits of doing more.
Ohhhhhh, sigh.
Sorry to bum you out, if I have. Just feeling a bit blue today. I think another part of it is that I was looking at some photos of my old college roommate on facebook earlier and I just miss her so, so so so so very much. I miss both of them. They are beautiful and I want them here.
Well shucks. I'm such a downer. I am going to eat some spaghetti and read some more of The Girl Who Played With Fire. Hope you're having a cheerier night, friends. I'll be better tomorrow, promise!
What's weird about all that emotional vomit I just wrote is that I really like the person I had this conversation with. He is an older guy I work with that is tons of fun and a blast to talk to - most of the time. He has the exact same political leanings as me and we both love to listen to Rush, so we have a lot of fun with that. But I don't know... something today rubbed me the wrong way. I was telling him how I struggle with the irony that Aaron and I are young enough and not-tied-down enough to travel now, moreso than we may ever be at other times in our life, but this is the time that we don't have the money for it. And that when we do have the money for it, we will most likely be more tied down, older, and possibly parents? (My best friend Amy just fell out of her chair. Not now, Ame. I'm ranting.) Why does it have to be this way? And my friend's response was, more or less, get a second job! Do whatever it takes to make more money now! When I told him that I thought it was more important for me to spend time with my husband and work on building a good marriage, he told me there would be time for that later.
I think he was somewhat kidding, but just let me say this, since I'm on a bit of a whine kick. When I'm having my general weekly freak-out that I'm "not doing enough" (not volunteering enough, not writing enough, not singing enough, not donating enough, not saving enough money, etc. etc. etc.) there really is no talking me down. You cannot help me. The only thing I want to hear when I am in a mood like that is that I'm not lazy, and that even though I'm not doing everything, I'm at least doing something. I'm helping support Aaron and I. I am investing in a marriage. I am trying to invest in my community. I am investing in my own health. I am learning. I am doing ok. So when someone's response to my freak out is "well, if you feel like you're not doing enough, do more" I get SAD. Don't say that! I don't want to do more. I am exhausted! I just want to reap the benefits of doing more.
Ohhhhhh, sigh.
Sorry to bum you out, if I have. Just feeling a bit blue today. I think another part of it is that I was looking at some photos of my old college roommate on facebook earlier and I just miss her so, so so so so very much. I miss both of them. They are beautiful and I want them here.
Well shucks. I'm such a downer. I am going to eat some spaghetti and read some more of The Girl Who Played With Fire. Hope you're having a cheerier night, friends. I'll be better tomorrow, promise!
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