Living in the...

It seems like nearly every conversation I have lately involves my plans post graduation; as if a Masters Degree somehow equates with being complete and having life all figured out. The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach was named today while at breakfast with a dear friend. "It seems like you're waiting for a lot. That can be great. That's where we learn the most." Hmm... My friend's simple summation of my life caused me to ponder the waiting. I am living in the dot, dot, dot. An ellipsis is my home...and while I'm not yet ready to buy new throw pillows and pick out the paint swatches, I'm learning to settle in.

What good can come of waiting?
Most people (including myself) physically contort at the mere mention of the word patience. It's something cross stitching, front porch rocking, sweet tea sipping grandmas possess. It's passive, it's boring, and perhaps most frustrating of all, it's elusive. I recently heard a sermon by Tim Keller that threw my definition of waiting into oblivion. Without reducing Keller's sermon to a hacked Cliff's Notes version, I want to share a few things that really hit home. Waiting is NOT passive. Keller lays out 5 deliberate ACTIONS to be patient. Action? Yes! This is something I can get behind.

#1. Wait with Humility.
We have trouble waiting because we assume we know what we're waiting for and that it's way better than where we currently find ourselves. How do we know? What if the dot, dot, dot is better? Keller implores us to make a savvy vote for our own personal growth. If we are all completely honest with ourselves, the times of growth are in the waiting; they are in the process and in the journey, not in the destination. Ugh. I know, I know. It's not fun, but it's true. Next time you're tempted to reach for the remote control of life and hit the fast forward button, think about what you could learn and how you could be drawing closer to God in the midst of the waiting.

#2. Wait with Perspective.
This is huge for me. My perspective is limited and clouded with pain, emotional baggage, and desire. Not unlike seeing a tiny corner of a Monet painting, our lives look messy and don't even vaguely resemble the masterpiece that God sees. When we wait with perspective we actively choose to put the waiting in perspective to God's glory and believe that nothing will ever compare to it.

#3. Wait with Obedience.
"If you get nothing out of trying to pray everyday, I can assure you you will get nothing by not praying". - Keller paraphrasing John Newton
Sometimes I want just a small glimpse that all this waiting will be worth it someday. I want proof. Show me proof God...even though you have proven yourself faithful time and time before in my life, I need to see it in this specific situation. And like a spoiled child, I pout in indifference and waver in my ability to continue in prayer. Keller talked about waiters and waitresses and ladies in waiting. All of these vocations involve service. The 'serving' is essential to the 'waiting'. To wait on someone is to serve them. And Jesus did this for us. During his last supper with his disciples, he served them literally. And while He was 'waiting' for the death that was to come in hours and he was obedient in serving us...even in that death. Yes, but I'm not Jesus. It's hard to be obedient. It was hard for him too. Sheesh. He asked God if somehow it didn't have to be this way, but if it did, he would do it obediently. Because I am a cheesy girl, I think of a classic chick flick, Sleepless in Seattle. Tom Hanks' character has lost his wife and he is on the phone with some quack of a psychologist on a national radio program. She asks him what he is going to do and his response is simple. "Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breathe in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breathe in and out." I love this picture of obedience. It's hard, but when we do it, we don't have to remind ourselves to do it. I think God steps in and helps us to be obedient to him. We are transformed by being obedient.

#4. Wait on God God-centrically.
Ouch. This one hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like a cartoon character getting squished by an anvil of conviction. I will wait...as long as I know I am waiting for God's blessings in my life. I am waiting for the job, the husband, the greatness he has for me. I am not waiting on God simply for who He is and loving Him. My love (and ability to wait) is conditional. I will wait and trust and love you if...you give me a,b,and c. God is Holy. God is worthy. He is. He deserves my loyalty even when he is giving me nothing (or it appears that way). The Israelites were perfect examples of people who were given everything by God and yet they had to wait and wait and wait. God gave them everything they needed to live and promised them an even more abundant life and yet they still couldn't wait. They didn't delight in God, they were delighting in what He could give them. Hmmm...sounds familiar.

#5. Wait on God Joyfully.
When I was a child, my bedroom was directly above a three-season porch. In the summer after my family was asleep, I would quietly open my window, carefully unscrew the screen and crawl through the opening and sit on the roof of the porch for hours. I would stare at the stars and will a shooting star to appear so I could make a wish. I would sing songs and dream and just be. I knew that my life had just begun and I had many years ahead of me. I was waiting for so much and yet I anticipated it all with joy. Now that I am older and I've seen more brokenness and pain, I've also witnessed the redemptive power of God in people's lives and the joy and hope the gospel brings. Joy can be found in a summer night staring at the stars praying to a God that has redeemed you. So I will choose to focus on Him and not my circumstance.

So, I have to get going...because I have to go...and wait. :-)

*sermon by Tim Keller "Waiting and Living by Faith" May 10, 2009. Redeemer Presbyterian Church
http://sermons.redeemer.com/store/index.cfm?fuseaction=product.display&product_ID=18940&ParentCat=6

The second Sunday in May

Maybe it's because I've worked in a church for the last 7 years of my life, but I'm acutely aware of Mother's Day every year and all the emotions wrapped up in it. It's like an awkward junior high dance to try and honor Mother's Day as a part of the Sunday service without acknowledging those for whom motherhood is an aching dream or those for whom memories of their own mother are extremely painful. I had a hard conversation with someone this morning. His wife left him with three children and today is especially difficult for their family. Ugh! How do we tend to those hearts as well as celebrate the moms out there? Too often we skip the celebration of Mother's Day altogether or throw it in as a quick mention. In an attempt to not injure the hearts of anyone, we retreat with our tails between our legs and our hands in the air all the while telling ourselves, “It’s for the best”. It's disappointing to me that as the church we can't seem to find a way to honor moms without scratching at the scab for others.

Now that I am approaching 32 and still single (read: not a mother), it makes me think of Mother’s Day a little differently. While I’m excited to be a mom someday, the tick-tock of my clock is certainly not loud enough currently to warrant any kind of an alarm (although I'd be lying if I said I was a stoic observer of the child dedications this morning at church). However, I realize I am a witness to a ton of amazing mothering. When I grew up, I had my mom – who was fabulous, and now I see my dear friends and family with children of their own and it’s pure joy to watch mothers be mothers. Another thing that I’ve begun to realize is, I have mothering skills too. It’s almost as if I get to fly in and be all the fun parts of mommy-ing without the disciplinary, not-so-glamorous and fun parts.


God our Mother?

Yes. And before you go all The Shack theology crazy on me, hear me out.

Isaiah 66:13 says, “As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; and you will be comforted in Jerusalem.”


Isaiah (as a prophet of God) uses the metaphor of comforting people like a mother. God knows how to comfort in a compassionate, all-encompassing, warm chocolate chip cookies and cold milk, kiss your scraped knee and apply a Care Bear band-aid way. He invented it. I know y'all might think Eve was the first mom, but where do you think she learned? C'mon! That means if we don’t have a mother or didn’t grow up with a mother like that, we have God.


What this also says to me, is that whether you are a mother or not, you can develop motherly traits. If we are made in God’s image, we should be living out His attributes. I doubt God wants us to compartmentalize mothering to those strictly in the mother role. That would be stifling greatness and He doesn’t do that, we do that. Plus, there are people out there who aren't being great mothers. Get it? It's not a role, it's a trait - and a gift.

So, if you are a great mom, we love you! THANK YOU for being a living example of God. Comfort and mother like you do. We need to boldly and sincerely celebrate mothers all year - not just on the second Sunday in May. And if you are aching to be a mother or have a mother that isn’t worthy of celebration, I apologize on behalf of the church and Hallmark for making your pain grow exponentially this time of year. My prayer is that you can think about the God who is your Mother. And Be the mother others need. You don’t have to be a birth mother to be a motherly presence in someone’s life.


p.s. Mom, thanks for the cookies and Care Bear band-aids. I love you.

Disappointment can be a four-letter word

Disappointment has four syllables yet it conjures responses consisting of one-syllable, four-letter words. It's frustrating, exhausting, cyclical, and painful. You feel like you've been had. You're the butt of some cosmic joke - except you don't get it. It's not even remotely funny.

Disappointment occurs when expectation and reality converge in a tangled mess of hurt. You've built something up in your head to be a certain way and when reality hits, it's more like a tidal wave than an ocean breeze. It knocks you off your feet and sends you reeling. I embarrassingly confess that I am a fairy tale type of person. I love stories. I love when the hero suddenly throws a punch at the villain unexpectedly right at the end when all hope had been lost. I hold firmly to that expectation that somehow good will prevail. My heart's desire will be fulfilled. After years and years of disappointment and unfulfilled expectations, I still am that girl...waiting, hoping, dreaming, believing.

So, should I tell myself to listen to history? To survey the tell-tale signs of the past only to give up and lower my expectations? Would I somehow be happier if I was pleasantly surprised when situations turned out well? or when people turned out to be better than who I thought they were? I don't want to live in a world like that. I don't want to think less of people just so when they rise to their true worth, I am stunned and amazed. I want to believe in more than that. I want to believe that God has more for us than low expectations.

As an almost therapist, I know that unmet expectations spell disaster for relationship. And while these words ring in my academic heart and I know how it plays out in interpersonal relationships, I hear another voice calling me to believe in something bigger. I choose to believe that people are better than their circumstances, better than their actions, better than maybe they even believe.

I think I'd rather take decades and decades of disappointment than a lifetime of low expectations, but you may hear some four-letter words come out of my mouth in that time waiting and dreaming and hoping.

Giving Thanks?

It's that time of the year when the marquee reads "Thanksgiving" and our hearts are encouraged to reflect on thankfulness. But can it be more than a directive? Can it be more than just a short burst of a holiday so easily overshadowed by parades, football games, and super savings with doorbuster deals? Please tell me it's more than the ringing of the ceremonial gong indicating the start of the holiday shopping season.

So what about the very first Thanksgiving? Images of Pilgrims and Indians sitting around a table of turkey and corn fill my head (well, that and a hand traced with crayon and colored to look like a turkey). What really happened and why do we set aside this one day and call it "Thanksgiving"? Arguably, the Cliff's Notes version sums up the new Pilgrims experience struggling to settle in Massachusetts and unable to make it through a tough season. The Indians saved the Pilgrims from starvation and showed them how to hunt, fish, and harvest food in America (hence, the picturesque scene around the table). The Pilgrims had nothing. Their basic needs were not being met.


I recently heard a phrase that went something like this: when your needs are high, your wants are low. If I need a glass a water like I need my breath, I probably won't be scouring the internet for that great new pair of boots. If I didn't have warm clothing in a MN winter, I wouldn't care if my jacket and hat clashed. Is the converse true? If our basic needs are met, do we always want more? How can we change our attitudes? How can we, those who live in a "land of plenty", choose to not want more? How can we be thankful for what we have and seek justice for those in need?

Luke 12:27-31 says, “Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you—you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well."

I am thankful that God knows my needs and I want to develop an attitude that can be grateful without wanting. Content without looking forward to the promise of more. Trusting without meddling in His plans. And blessed without neglecting the needs of others.

Christian Celebrity?

In approximately 6 days I will technically be in the same room with the Donald Miller. Now, I recognize that for most people the mention of that name causes you to scratch your head in confusion and say to yourself, "Who?". That's because he is a Christian Celebrity. What does that even mean? The fact that I'm attempting to strategize my potential meeting with Mr. Miller six days in advance (which is totally warranted if you know me at all and my cheesiness) caused me to think about this whole concept of Christian Celebrity and why it even exists.

We tend to admire people who are saying the "next great thing". They've cornered the market on the next kitchy phrase or cool way of doing things or articulating faith. I wonder what dude coined the phrase WWJD? That gave him mileage for a few years in the 90's. I can hear it now, "Yeah, my neighbor is the guy who made up WWJD!". Ick! Even though it makes me want to vomit, I must admit the Christian Celebrity bug has bit me more than once. A few years ago when I was in youth ministry I was attending a National Youth Workers Convention. It was around the time when Shane Claiborne's book, Irresistible Revolution, was gaining momentum. I can remember bragging to my friends that I brushed passed his homemade hemp shirt on the way to the trade show floor. I think I could even smell his dreads. Really, Dana? You're gonna brag about that? He's just a dude. A pastor friend of mine has a man-crush on Robbie Seay and before you say man-crush?, just take some time to silently admit that you know what that is. We brought the Robbie Seay Band in for a free concert a few years ago that spawned a ministry of people giving themselves away (see Robbie Seay Band's song, "Give Yourself Away"). I watched as my pastor friend almost tripped over himself to get Robbie whatever he needed and smiled incessantly almost as if he couldn't believe Robbie was actually at our church.

But as much as I can retell these stories with sarcasm, here I am, doing the same thing with Donald Miller. I am actually trying to plan how I can say, "Hi" to him without seeming like a cheesy, ridiculous fan who mutters in a nasal voice, "Will you sign my book?". What is it about Christian Celebrities? What do we want that we think they have? What makes a Christian Celebrity? Have you made your pastor one? or maybe your worship pastor? What happens to God when we turn his people into celebrities?

p.s. I would totally brag if I ever grabbed a beer with N.T. Wright.

Welcome to the rest of your life?

I realize I have taken an extended hiatus from writing in my "oh so eloquent" blog. That phrase actually doesn't even make sense. How can something called a "blog" be eloquent? It sounds messy. It sounds unpolished and unrehearsed and unrefined. Not unlike how I feel these days. Let me explain...

I am just about to enter my third month of my practicum for my Marriage and Family Therapy masters degree. When I began this journey a little over three years ago, I was unrecognizable from the woman you'd meet today. The funny thing is, I thought I liked who I was. I thought I was fine. The last three years have completely broken me down and built me back up, or rather begun the process of building me back up. I couldn't have dreamed what this process what look like and how much I'd learn about people and systems and mental illnesses sure, but...about me. That is what really happened. Along the way God gave me the gift of discovering who I am. Let me be the first to say, it's scary, it's lonely, it's painful, but it's so worth it.

My previous posts seem to have a theme running through them. I like to tie them up with some cheesy bow that creatively utilizes a metaphor of how God loves us, works for the good, etc. The truth is, that is not how real life is. We are incomplete messes. In our mess God still says, "I want to be in relationship with you, YES YOU!" In our attempts to wear the mask we so frequently don we say, "But let me learn this lesson and pray about it and journal about it and apply it and...". God doesn't want us to be spinning our wheels in pretense. He likes us in process because that is where he gets the most glory. In our mess, He is revealed. That doesn't change the fact that we want the bow. We want the fancy overpriced metallic wrapping paper. We want to have it all figured out and be on to the next thing. Our desire to be complete and His desire to finish us is where we meet.

Where are you meeting God today? Or rather where is He meeting YOU?

I’m reading Don Miller’s new book. I feel like that in itself is a confession because I told myself I wasn’t allowed to break the binding until all my homework for the fall quarter was completed. I have one 10-page paper looming over me like an anvil from an old cartoon ready to fall and squish my head, so I thought I deserved a distraction. Whew! I feel better having confessed that and all.

Anyway, I write this because in the first few chapters Don discloses that his story isn’t interesting enough for a movie. I think most of us would agree that if our lives were displayed on a screen, there’d be a lot of dull (and embarrassing) moments. Remember, Jessica Simpson and the ill-fated Newlyweds series? She successfully achieved dull and embarrassing in one foul swoop. It’s easy to laugh at her misfortune, but if in the same situation, I might slip up and confuse chicken and tuna myself.

He also talks about narrative. His first book is written in a narrative, essay form. The moviemakers discuss how narrative isn’t engaging for an audience. They can’t get inside your head. They quickly lose interest when they can’t engage. It made me think about my narrative. I don’t know about you, but the voice inside my head is my most cherished companion. It laughs with me when I see an arrogant, toolbox of a guy trip on his ego. She helps me get rid of the red hue that sprays across my cheeks when what I intended to say and the actual words crash in a destructive mess of words and subsequent hand motions. She rehearses the important deliveries and pumps me up when I need an extra dose of courage. She reminds me that although my thighs are not as small as the girl working out in front of me, I am here working out and not sitting on the couch at home investing my evening into a sea of Ben and Jerry’s. She helps me to rationalize situations that would cause me to react poorly. She helps me make it through tough encounters with people I don’t want to see. She rolls her eyes internally so I can restrain myself from being impolite on a blind date. She prays deeply and loves freely. She is vulnerable. She cries when she hears songs that tell a story. She’s great. But I think the moviemakers are right. The audience doesn’t get to see all that. That comes when you are in relationship with someone. You can’t expect to know all there is to know about someone from a movie, or even a book or a blog. I think the gift of relationship is meeting their narrative and becoming part of their story.

I’m only a few chapters in…Dangit Don!

Lessons from the Apple Store

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to travel to Asia and before you think this post is about my wonderful adventure, let me say, I will save that for another date. Today’s story is however about something that occurred while jaunting halfway around the world. A friend had used my MacBook to access something via her thumb drive and my hard drive crashed...well, twenty minutes later it crashed. Coincidence? I think not. For any of you mac users, when you see the faint light grey file folder with a question mark blinking at you, you know how this feels. It reminds me of the coon dog that would enter the foreground of the screen during old school “Duck Hunt” from the original Ninetendo. It pops up and laughs at you and shakes up and down a little as if its laughter at your failure is causing it to convulse rhythmically. I would always try and shoot the dog to stop its berating of my hunting skills once and for all, but alas the gun only worked on the poor ducks. In other words, you feel like you are the butt of a huge practical joke. Like someone or something is laughing at you saying, “Ha! Your stuff? It’s gone! Sucks to be YOU!”

I didn’t have time to mourn the loss of my laptop while on the trip, but as soon as I returned home, the reality of what happened hit me like a ton of bricks. Questions circled about. “What will I do for school when I start classes again this fall? How can I afford to fix it or buy a new one? Are you supposed to keep graduate school papers for anything important? How many pictures did I have on iPhoto? What kind of small fortune did I drop on iTunes in three years?”

Craptastic!

I was able to grieve the loss of my papers quite quickly in almost as much time as it took to write them (don’t tell my professors), but when I started to think about the pictures and the iTunes, my heart began to sink.

Off to the Mall of America Apple Store where in a miracle of sorts the manager honored my expired extended warranty (that I forgot I had purchased once upon a time) and installed a brand new hard drive for free ($800 value, gasp!).

As I went to pick it up the next day, I was explaining my plight to a cute, little Apple Store associate not quite nineteen years of age. As she returned from retrieving my computer in the back, she handed it to me and said, “Well, you could look at it as cathartic!” Now aside from the fact that lil’ miss Apple probably just learned the word ‘cathartic’ the previous year in her freshman ‘Intro to Theatre’ class, it made me think – “Maybe she had a point”. My entire hard drive was wiped clean. Everything good and bad, gone. A fresh start. A new hard drive with no mark of my history of my struggles or memories I’d like to erase. Hmm…

Now, to be honest the three years I’d owned that hard drive had been riddled with some crazy memories. Most of which have been deleted. But, you can never completely delete things off your hard drive, right? CSI could probably locate those bad memories in two minutes flat. So, yeah, I like this new hard drive. Cathartic indeed! But then I start to think about the memories that I would never, ever want to delete - Pictures of my nephews growing up, years I spent in CA as a youth director with students I love, goofy photo shoots with forever friends, secret songs I got from ordering Matt Wertz’s latest album early!!!!!

I think what it comes down to is you can never erase just a part of who you are. The good comes with the bad. It makes up who we are. Even though I have painful memories that make me nauseous to think about, I love who I am today and I know that those painful days played an intrinsic part in making the “today me” happen. I think about the many photos I lost and how many I had uploaded to facebook (oh, thank goodness for facebook). But, isn’t true that you only upload the best to facebook. You don’t upload the photos where someone blinked, or when someone is cracking up because someone said something funny or farted right before the shot. You edit life a little for facebook and that’s what I missing. So, as thankful as I am to have a new hard drive for free (plug MOA Apple Store once again), I would rather have an unedited version of me and my memories. I’m learning that the journey isn’t worth deleting no matter how silly or painful it is and that the destination is just another starting point.

Happy Father's Day Brosef!

I have a big brother. I’ve never written about him because, like most sibling relationships, ours was tumultuous at best. From summer afternoons spent being forced to play the “robber” in cops and robbers with the neighborhood boys to dirty sock ambushes suffocating my face while my brother pinned me down on the couch as well as the classic loogie fake, I was subjected to the most common “big brother” moves directly from the playbook I’m convinced they all receive at birth (the little sister’s birth, that is).

Even though I daydreamed of what it would be like to have a big sister instead of a big brother, my favorite books and tv shows had brother/sister relationships. “The Berenstein Bears” and “The Cosby Show” were the top two. I felt special like Sister Bear and Rudy Huxtable. I have a big brother and even though he beat me up, made me play the roles nobody wants to play like goalie, catcher, and ‘robber’, and incessantly framed me for his indiscretions with mom and dad, I would still catch him sticking up for me. See, it was only okay for him to treat me that way. As my big brother, he held the exclusive rights to all teasing, embarrassment, roughing up, and fear induction to the point of tears. Any treatment toward me of this nature that occurred outside of his puppet strings was not allowed and he made sure to defend his birthright….out of my sight of course…or so he thought.

Growing up I also saw that he would feign disinterest or even a sense of irritation or indignation at having to help me with a ‘pickle’ I’d gotten myself into, but I’d soon learn to recognize the sly joy he got from helping me out and in later years, he grew weary of the mask and settled into the helpful big brother role, albeit a sassy, know-it-all one.

During our awkward transition into adulthood, my brother started to open up to the idea of me reciprocating some of the advice giving. The summer before I went off to college he began to actually ask me for my advice...in a very sneaky way. This odd tradition began. On the nights where we were both home, he would yell at me to turn his TV and bedroom light off because he was too lazy to get out of bed. Under the veil of darkness my brother shared his fears and struggles and hurts. It was almost as if he couldn’t see me, I wasn’t really there. He wasn’t really telling his little sister about all the crap he had endured his first two years (and incidentally the only years) of college. I was just a necessary sounding board for the pain he had been keeping inside for too long. I was the only one he felt safe enough to share his fears. That summer I sat in the threshold between the hallway and my brother’s room many a night and remained silent. He cried. He laughed. He sat in silence processing. I’m so thankful he couldn’t see my face because although I never said a word, so often my face betrays my desire to remain neutral (something I have to work on if I am ever to be a therapist). He shared a HUGE secret I have kept to this day and that, in itself, is a huge victory for this self-professed Chatty Cathy. I’m so thankful for that summer and how it allowed our relationship to mature and afforded me the amazing opportunity to see my brother in a different light.



Today, I see him as a dedicated husband and father of two boys. I see how the two rascals I call my nephews disarm my brother’s tough exterior in an instant and how they alone can soften him in a way that makes me smile on the inside. I get to put so many pieces that comprise my brother together: smart-ass, son, brother, husband, father. Growing up, I definitely took some knocks from my big brother, but I wouldn’t trade him for a sister for anything. Truth is, in a lot of ways, I look up to him. But, don’t tell him that. ☺





"Danielson" and I. Circa 1981.

Keep Your Crabby at Home!

If there is one character trait that I could eradicate from my being, it would have to be my crabbiness. Yes, I said it. Does admitting the fact that I have some crabbiness in me, give me any points? Like GI Joe says, "Knowing is half the battle". Can I be given a tiny bit of credit? Maybe? Just a tidge? I didn't think so.

A few weeks ago I had my first meeting with the team I'll be traveling to China with in July. We were having a great discussion on how to be servants to one another and the Chinese teachers we'll be partnering with as we teach summer camp. I blurted out, "I should make a shirt that says, "Keep your crabby at home". This t-shirt would soley serve as a reminder to myself. The idea came from a statement I heard about ten years ago in college. The summer after my freshman year I particpated in a cross-country tour with a group of students. We had a couple of purposes, but mainly we served as ambassadors to our college. "YAY, We are happy, smiling, perfect Christians! Come to our school. Give money to our school!" The problem was I wasn't happy, smiley all the time. We put on a show every night complete with lights, set, music and dancing. We ate countless potluck feasts handmade by congregation members named Hilda and Gertrude. Incidentally Hilda and Gertrude like to guilt-trip you into seconds and thirds and think that everyone is too skinny. We slept in the homes of Gertrude and Hilda's kids or cousins or neighbors. We travel in a van all day and eat bag lunches made by...you guessed it Gertrude and Hilda. It was like Christian Road Rules on...Testamints!

Needless to say, when you are with the same group of people day in and day out for months at a time, I don't care who you are, the gloves come off! One morning I just wasn't feeling it and before my backside even found the worn bench seat of the van, I rose my right hand with an air of attitude and said, "Fair warning everyone, I'm having a crabby day today". I thought this warning would protect me from cutesy small talk, pranks, and all other shenanigans that I normally participated in. One of my friends and fellow tour members totally derailed my plan, my wall, my fortress of crab. Dan was a football player with the voice of a Disney prince. I'm serious. You can't help but listen to this guy and feel rebuked and comforted all at the same time. What? Dan says (in his hero-esque voice), "Dana, you know, crabbiness is a choice." My facial expression I'm sure spelled out my disgust in letters that Disney corp. will never use. He continued, "Everyday I wake up and I have a choice to be crabby or not". CRAP!!!!! It made sense, but it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I thought I'd written myself a free ticket out of relationship at least for a few hours by my declaration of crabbiness. And I was pretty sure the whole van heard "Deep Thoughts from Dan". Ugh! I'm caught! I have to choose to not be crabby.

I recently went on a trip to CA with some dear friends from college, two of which were in that van on that 'day of reckoning' years ago. As I knew it would, crabby came to the surface like an explosive volcano (that how she works with me). It spewed all over my friends and I may have spouted a curse word or two. Immediately a wave of disappointment and guilt washed over me. I pushed crabby away, but the damage had already been done. It only takes minutes. Thankfully these friends love me and forgive me, but I couldn't take back my immature display or the words I had said.

What happens when we let our crabby infest those who don't know us at all? Those whom we are called to love? Can we simply say, "Oops...Sorry, I was having a crabby day"? What kind of an excuse is that? Really. I've tried to forget that day in the van many a time. I want an excuse. I don't want to be responsible for my actions ALL the time. But I can't shake it. We do have a choice to be crabby or not and the choice that we make affects so much more than we can see.

I know I'm not perfect and I'm sure crabby will make a cameo appearance on the China trip, but I pray that I can make a choice to stop her instead of feed her.

A Different Ending

I have a confession to make. I am a habitual page-skipper. Like stealing cookies from the cookie jar before dinner, I often peek ahead to the last page of a chapter or, gasp, even the last page of the entire book. I can trace this impropriety back to when I started buying my own books. I’d quickly grow insecure of my “loitering” in the aisle at Barnes and Noble or Target and feel a need to expedite my book selection. Surely people were judging my lack of decisiveness, right? I’d quickly scan the first few and last few pages to see if it was worthy of my hard-earned $19.95 and then quickly be on my way to the safety of the check out counter. But later at home cozying up with my brand new book, I’d inevitably find that my sneak peek had either made no sense in the context of the story or it completely ruined the whole storyline for me. Back in the corner of my mind I couldn’t forget the words written on the last page. Almost like a snapshot, they were imprinted into my memory. Shoot! I ruined all the preceding chapters because I tried to connect them to the ending that I already read. And to think I tried to ensure my $19.95 was well spent, but instead I sabotaged my own makeshift “Consumer Report” system.

Last week I chatted with a couple of friends. One is entering into a brand new relationship complete with butterflies flitting about and birds chirping songs in harmony with the breeze. I think the sun is actually shining brighter on her these days. She is happily experiencing all the joys of the newness, but she can’t help but think about the future. It’s only been a week or so and even though she tries to push it out of her mind, she finds herself searching for the guarantee that this one will work, that this time it will be different. “Can we just fast forward a little bit? Can I sneak a peek to the end of this chapter? C’mon what will it hurt?” Tempting as it may be, and believe me, as I divulged earlier, I’m a page skipper, skipping ahead to see what will happen will affect the process in a way that will steal away from the beauty of the experience. Just like the end of a book, knowing the end will make no sense out of the context of living the experience out or even worse, it’ll rob you of the joy of experiencing each day to its fullest because you can’t get the ending out of your mind. “Oh, sure he doesn’t want to go to my work party, that’s because… or I knew he would react this way when I told him about my past because he did this…” Analyzing is best left to the scientists. We get to simply live.

In stark contrast, another friend of mine just entered therapy after it became clear that relationships were not being lived to their fullest. This friend is being asked to read backwards instead of forwards. My friend must reread pages that were painful to read the first time around. I’m sure skipping to the end of therapy, getting to the place where everything is healed seems all too appealing right now, but by reading backwards and reliving the pages that are difficult to read, a different ending is being written.

A different ending.

By inviting God to stand by us in the process and walk through it no matter how impatient or how racked with pain we may be, we get a different ending.

If only my books would’ve had a different ending. Then I wouldn’t have wasted my measly gap paycheck. Don’t waste your $19.95. Live it out. Don’t desire to skip the pages. Because truth is, your new ending is worth way more than $19.95 and God is dying [has died] to write it.

I need you more than you need me.
I need Africa more than Africa needs me.

On April 25 I’ll be running a half-marathon in Nashville with my friend, Mel. The problem is Mel lives in Sioux Falls, SD and I live in Minneapolis. So, I’m training alone and have absolutely no motivation aside from the few hundred dollars I have invested into my plane ticket and marathon registration. When I lived in CA, I ran two half-marathons (within a month) with my good friend and roommate, Jenni. She made training fun. We’d rock out to iPod dance parties at stoplights and laugh at the differences in our playlists. When you train WITH someone, you’re accountable. You can’t look someone in the eye as they’re lacing up their shoes and say, “Ah, nah. I don’t feel like running tonight”.

This is where all (or some, I hope) of you come in.

I recently joined an organization called Mocha Club. Mocha Club’s philosophy is to forego two mochas a month ($7) and then that “pocket change” provides a wide range of services, education, resources, clean drinking water, and much more to many communities in Africa. Seriously, 7 bucks! You can build teams and together make a difference in Africa. Now, I know some of you are thinking, “Africa! Dude, there are people right here that need help!” I agree, wholeheartedly. So, don’t stop what you’re doing here. Continue to keep your eyes open for opportunities in your city, neighborhood, and family. But, think about this: $7/month can be deducted from your checking account without you so much as blinking an eye or even affecting your monthly routine (other than a few mochas). Conversely, that $7/month can do amazing life-changing things for people in Africa.

Here’s my idea/plea/invitation: I need help motivating my training for the half-marathon and I think that it’s time I train with a purpose. A lot of people run to raise money for various causes. So, in that same spirit, I will be running for Mocha Club.

Here’s my goal: I’d love to have 13 people (one for each mile) join the Mocha Club.
Here’s the catch: To qualify, I must run 2:10 or under.

Two hours and 10 minutes is a significant drop from my other times. In the first marathon my time was 2:21 and I felt healthy and great. The second marathon I had injured my knee and finished a poor 2:28. I've never been a "runner". Just to give you a glimpse into my “running past”, my freshman year I faked having to pass out after my inability to complete killers under the specified time. My slow running caused my entire team to continue doing the killers until we made the time (as a team) the coach had set for us. I saw no way that I was ever going to make it and after the third try, seeing even the huskier girl cross the line before me and under the time, I thought it was time to act…like I was going to pass out. Sorry, for any of you that are reading this for the first time and you were on that b-ball team ☺ .

So, like Jump Rope For Life in third grade where we asked friends and family to donate for each minute jumped, I am asking you to commit to join the Mocha Club only if I complete the Nashville half-marathon in 2 hours and 10 minutes . You are my accountability. I need you more than you need me. And I’m hoping you see that you need Africa more than Africa needs you.

Please consider it. Watch a super sweet video they made
and check out the wicked cool free t-shirt you get for joining here.

See how Africa is full of joy, hope, and promise and how far $7 goes to impact lives.

Join my team!

Love Means Nothing

Did I get your attention? Before you think this post is about some embittered, poor woman destined for membership in the "Old Maid Club" complete with a lifetime supply of cats, let me assure you. It is not.

I am a tennis player. I eagerly peeked through the fence holes watching my dad play when I was barely old enough to walk on my own. As I grew older, my dad would tote my grade-school self along to the park for his match and give me a racquetball racket and a ball. I would never tire of hearing the thud, thud, thud against the huge green wall outside the courts. Sometimes I'd take a break to study my dad's game and try to emulate his fancy technique. Other times I'd end up running after the rogue tennis balls that were attempting a daring escape into the wooded area near the courts. During my awkward middle school years no matter how bad my day was, I could always count on warm summer evenings spent enjoying the sweet sound of a tennis ball hitting my racquet until the sun set. My older brother, dad and I would ride our bikes to the neighborhood park after supper and play until our arms were dangling with exhaustion or the dusky mosquitoes became unbearable, whichever came first. We'd quietly curse the disrespectful kids rollerblading on the courts next to us and laugh as we tried to earn a soda by pegging my dad at the net. Then we'd climb onto our bikes and coast down the hill to our house (it was a blessing that we had a downhill journey on the way home). Post-tennis snacks consisted of a heaping bowl of ice cream with Nesquick chocolate mix on top. And then satisfied, spent, and elated I'd crawl into bed and sleep like I hadn't a care in the world.

But now...my cares are plenty and many are unwarranted.

A few months ago I began playing competitively again following a long hiatus after the close of my college career. It has been a very humbling experience for me. I'm pretty rusty granted, but nonetheless ranked as a 4.0 player so my matches are against other 4.0 players. In five matches so far, I've managed to squeak out a "w" in only one. And, to see the lineup of my competitors you'd think I was in the senior league. A fair assumption is that the youngest opponent I played was 40. So, yes sports fans, that means I'm getting schooled by players that are at least 10-20 years my senior!

In a particularly grueling match last week, I thought of the title of this post because of its proximity to Valentine's Day. I thought it would be humorous to post this ON Valentine's just to spite the holiday. In tennis scoring Love = 0. . In my recent match if you were to look at any given time, you would've thought I was winning. I had two aces for goodness sake. But, believe me a couple of aces a winner does not make. I lost the match 6-0, 6-1. That's bad in case you aren't familiar with tennis scoring. Sometimes in my life, I am tempted to gaze at the other courts. I see the aces and ardently wish that I could have that same kind of luck or skill or talent or hair, boyfriend, job, house or fill in the blank. But the truth is, I am looking when an ace is happening and I don't see the whole match. I compare my whole match to their one ace. I need to remember my love of the game. How I enjoyed playing not to win, but because I enjoyed the people I was with, the sound of the tennis ball on my racquet, the laughter, and the ice cream :).

Life is not about winning or points. It's not about who has more or who is "better". No one ever shouts across the street at you 40-Love. But if people said I was Love (0), I'm starting to think that maybe I wouldn't mind.

Thirty by 30!

One of my friends from college started a list long before Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman made lists of the "bucket variety" famous. About a year and a half before Melodee's 30th birthday she dreamed up a list of thirty things she'd like to do before she turned 30. You can check it out here. My girl Mel is ambitious and inspiring. After completing her measly list of 30, she continued on. Currently, Mel's list stands at 249...and she's completed 93 of those. It's fairly significant to note that Mel is what I'd call an "introvert", but came busting out of her shell right about the time she created her list. Mel found a passion in running at about age 27 and it became sort of an impetus for change and adventure...and her LIST. Also, interesting side note: during college I was the athlete not Mel, but this summer we went for a run in Spearfish Canyon during a little vaca and she nearly lapped me. I consoled myself with a juicy slice of humble pie :)

I've been listening to John Mayer lately. A song that has been hitting me square between the eyes lately is Stop This Train.

A phrase in this songs says:
So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun

So, with Mel and Mayer as my muses, my numbers game is my own list of Thirty by 30. Although 30 is knocking loudly at my door and I fear getting things done, I'm choosing to embrace the day; to happily and expectantly drive toward the sun rising in front of me instead of run with my tail between my legs lamenting all the goals I have failed to achieve.

I am inviting those who can help me or think I should add some things to my list to please comment. I am open and willing to accept help...maybe that should be on my list too. :)

So, without further Adieu, ah, ah, ahem: THE LIST

1. Surf in Hawaii
2. Sing one song at a coffee shop or bar (not karaoke...with a real band)
3. Learn how to play a song on the piano
4. Write a play
5. Run a half-marathon in Nashville
6. Audition for a local production or commercial
7. Drink a margarita in Mexico
8. Organize and launch a shoe donation company
9. Learn how to play a new sport
10. Make at least 10 new friends
11. Write a song
12. Read a book recommended by someone I normally wouldn't ask
13. Write a letter to the Editor to a magazine or newspaper
14. Only buy coffee from local (non-chain) shops for one month
15. Eat healthy for an entire week
16. Anonymously help someone out
17. Forgive someone
18. Ding-dong ditch and leave a bag of groceries at someone's door
19. Finish editing a wedding video from this summer...sorry Alexander's :)
20. Paint fun portraits of my nephews and give to them as a gift
21. Make a funny non-sensical video with friends and post on youtube
22. Refrain from eating out for two weeks (I originally put a whole month, but I'm a realist :) )
23. Stay in a really posh hotel with a rooftop pool
24. Choose to make someone's day even when I'm having a crabby one
25. Get back in touch with an old friend
26. Make it to the second round of a tennis tournament
27. Accept a compliment without making a remark about something I'm not good at
28.
29.
30.

Please add to my list or comment on what I have so far. I turn 30 on June 26 and will be updating all my "faithful" blog readers on my progress.

Procrastination Station

A new quarter started a few weeks ago and already I'm failing at getting ahead of my assignments. It's not a new habit for me, I've been perfecting it for years and years.

Growing up, my family was known for their timeliness. The Ward clan was never late. In fact, I remember showing up early more times than I can remember. Believe me, it's a bit awkward when you show up for a party and the hostess opens the door wearing a bath robe and curlers while a forced welcoming smile directs you to "make yourself at home". At an early age I picked up on the awkwardness of being too early. We seemed too eager, too desperate for an outing, and we put the host(s) in an uncomfortable position. Inherently, I think this contributed to my current affliction of being slightly late to events and a procrastinator in general. I think somewhere inside me I wanted to alleviate the awkwardness of being too early and like a pendulum, I swung too far in the opposite direction and developed a habit as equally as negative and a faux pas in its own right; I'm a late procrastinator. This fall I even showed up late to a first date! Seriously, party foul! Recently I submitted an assignment that was due at 1:00pm at 12:59:46pm. What? I laughed out loud, but my professor wasn't laughing when he told me his TA had designed the link to submit the assignment to disappear at 1:00pm. Am I going to the same school as Jason Bourne? Sheesh!

Maybe it's a bit of a stretch to connect being late to procrastination, but my point is: I think it's easy to get caught up in the rules. We criticize those that are late and shake our heads in disapproval while we wait, but what is important? I say what it is most important is that we show up. Showing up communicates more than simply being on time and not being present. Getting it done. Following through. Finishing what you started. Being true to your word. I may be late and the reigning "Queen of Procrastination", but I finish what I start. I follow through. I do what I say I'm going to do. We owe that to people don't we? We owe it especially to the people we have enough of a relationship to have that kind of a commitment. My parents may have inadvertently taught me to be a late procrastinator, but they taught me to follow through and finish what I start and for that...and countless other things, I am grateful.

Peace on Earth

On The Corner Of First In Amistad

My new favorite song is You Found Me by The Fray.

About two years ago I got a call from a former intern who gave me free tickets to The Fray show. He had grown up in youth group with two of the band members in CO and when voicemails got returned, he and his fiancee received better tickets and backstage passes, which left him with two extra tickets for a sold out show. "FREE? The Fray? Yes, please!" This was at the height of The Fray's introduction to mainstream music. It coincided with the beginning of their whirlwind trip to massive radio airplay and popularity... and I got FREE tickets to a concert (and consequently never failed to mention the six degrees of separation with the members through my connection to the aforementioned intern. Oh, and I did get to meet the drummer before the show, super cool, I know).

The Fray are about to release their second album, which usually spells doom for bands with a particularily successful first run. The writing is never quite as good, the melodies not quite as tight and somehow these sophomore efforts always seem rushed...and forced by greedy record executives. But, the first single to be released to the scores of eager radio listeners is amazing and even prompting a blog entry. :)

In lieu of posting all the lyrics, go here to find them.

I love how this song paints an authentic picture of a relationship with God. And, more importantly, I rest in the fact that we have a God who can take it. He can take us standing and pounding angry fists up at Him. He can take our endless questioning through tightly pursed lips. He can take our indignantly folded arms and our pointed fingers. And, when we find ourselves lying in a pool of our own tears at the fraying (pun intended) ends of ourselves, He finds us. He picks us up and loves us as much as He ever has. Who we are and how we understand suffering has nothing to do with God and can never change His character.

We can have it all wrong. Our perception can be as muddy as a river in Alabama...and usually is. I'm thankful that He never tires of sifting through all the gunk and mud to find us, His beloved.

Not unlike the “School of Hard Knocks” the School of Contentment takes in the rough-edged people needing to learn something. The difference is those entering the School of Contentment have more than likely already taken the beating.

I ashamedly admit I’m only a part-time student in the School of Contentment at the present time. Full-time enrollment would require me to give up so much of my whining, martyrdom, and my intimate little pity parties for one with such great tiny violin accompaniment. Uh…Okay…sign me up.

Now, I understand everyone has their own reasons for donning the suit of armor known as pity and refusing to let any joy in. My reasons may seem frivolous to many, I am sure, but to me…they are HUGE.

Let me attempt to explain. Last week two bombs dropped. The first, I found out my ex-fiancée is in a “relationship”… ugh, not that it was a competition, but did he have to reach that stage before me? Second, my extended family canceled Christmas…or, to be a little less dramatic, they canceled our traditional gathering on Christmas Day because all the cousins my age (including my own brother) are spending the day with their significant others’ families. Awesome. As if I needed a reminder I was single. Now, I have “dated” since the big breakup over a year ago. I’m no hermit. But, I need to make sure everyone sees the quotation marks around the word “date”. I must use the word lightly or humorously rather. Actually, that could be an entertaining blog by itself in a Bridget Jones-esque style, but I digress. ..

Back to the School…
So, you see why I need to enroll. Obviously the invitations to pity parties have been coming more frequently, I catch myself just before I lay the hand, palm up across my forehead as I tell of my Christmas Day “plight”, and I’m just plain crabby.

What is the School of Contentment?
In Philippians Paul writes: I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.

Paul enrolled in the School of Contentment too. What? Paul? Little Mr. Gold-Star, Apostle of the Millennia? If Paul had attended Sunday school, his mom’s fridge would’ve been covered in certificates. He is the man. And he needed to learn contentment. Wow. And notice the favorite bookmark quote so oft taken out of context that follows: I can do everything through him who gives me strength. The way I see it, if Paul had to learn contentment then maybe it’s not so bad that I have to learn it too. It’s not natural. It’s okay to be in process, working on it. And the secret isn’t so much of a secret is it?

Also, a good friend of mine shared a bit of her story with me recently and closed with this great advice. “The more impossible the challenge and the amazing the outcome, the greater God is glorified”.

I think about my story to date. Those that have stood by me are both close to God and not so close to God, but they love me and that’s why they’ve stuck by me. How amazing will the day be when God writes more of my story (the part of the contentment that is the plenty part) and I can point to Him and He truly is glorified?

So, if the more impossible the challenge and the more amazing the outcome, the more glory to God…I’m thinking Matt Wertz probably needs my number right about now…:)


Note:For a good sermon in which I stole the title of this blog:Check out Jeff Manion speaking to the community at Mars Hill, The School of Contentment, 2007. THANKS CRISSY!

It's Official...I'm the Grinch!

This past Saturday I endured one too many helpings of Christmas cheer...and completely lost it. That's right, I was officially Grinch-ified. Working in a church is especially taxing during the Holidays. I get so burnt out on the songs, the decorations, the concerts, the productions, and the services that by December 1, I'm ready for it to all be over and...ugh, it's just begun.

Like the mall Santa in A Christmas Story I wanted to kick some children down the slide and out of my way. I'd been at church all day Saturday rehearsing the youth choir production with some teenagers when I suddenly remembered that I forgot about an important errand. I had arranged for someone to sew us offering bags and she was picking up the material (which I already had) and the cording to make a drawstring (which I didn't have). Crap. Off to Michaels? Nope. Target? Nope. JoAnn Fabric? Sheesh! After almost vomiting from the overly cinnamony scent wafting from the fake topiaries strategically placed at the entryway, I was greeted by a mass of people wandering about JoAnn Fabric on a Saturday night. Happy people. Buying fabric?!?! What the? I just need to get in and get out, people. Clear the way. I am buying cord for offering bags. That's right, I work at a church. I'm not buying something for myself. I'm not caught in the clenches of a consumerist Christmas. I'm here to buy something for a church, so get outta my way!!!

I (of course) didn't find enough of the cord I needed, but decided I'd just buy what remained on the spool and get started, but at a fabric store you have to go to the cutting station to get it measured and get your neat little slip so you can check out. Awesome. I just want the whole spool, but I can't go directly to the check-out. I have to make a detour to a cutter. I quickly scanned the store. Every cutting line has a line. A LINE. Nice. Well, I'll just go...here. About 2 minutes into my waiting, I noticed I had chosen to stand behind the Duggar's. Okay, not really, but this family had Duggar written all over them. You know, the we make all our own clothes, are homeschooled, and freakin' happy all the time? I didn't want to wait behind a family buying all the fabric for their winter wardrobe, nor at this point did I care to be around happy people. Crazy, I know. I feverishly scanned the room again for any hope of an open cutting station. Nothing. The lines at other stations were longer. I was trapped in an annoyingly happy hell. I felt my rage begin to boil just below the surface. I just want to get this whole spool. I wish I could just skip this charade and check-out. I am buying it for church remember? Gosh, I am so good and what, you are buying fabric to make your Christmas frocks? The fabric continued to pile on and on. 3 yards of floral polyester, 4 yards of...what? Blanket material. You are making blankets to give away? Great.

I started to feel like Scrooge and the Grinch all rolled into one. I didn't even care that they were giving blankets away. My thick casing of crabby crud was inpenetrable. Not even puppies and chocolate would've made a dent in it by now. I was gone. I was a B and it was showing. By the time it was my turn, the toxicity of my crab was poisoning those around me. The cutting station lady threw the cord and slip at me without so much as a word. I raced to the checkout only to find myself behind the DUGGARS! Really? A lady opened a counter when I was at the front of the line and a guy behind me rushed to her as his wife pointed to me and protested, "She was next". "That's okay", I replied in a snotty tone. "I've been waiting all night" I said as I shot a dirty glance toward the sweet blanket making family. I finally got to a checkout counter and subverted any attempt of the high school clerk at small talk. As I exited the store I took one last chance to say, "EXCUSE ME!" to the Duggars who were blocking the entire lane.

As I entered the safety of my car and started home, a wave of disgust immediately washed over my whole body. I actually shuddered or shivered or whatever you do when your whole body trembles at something disturbing and gross. That disturbing and gross thing was me. I didn't like me. My heart was disgusting. I thought, How great would it be if any ONE of those people go to your church and see you leading worship in a few weeks? Awesome. God would be proud of me...the hypocrite.

How can I be so self-righteous one minute and then so full of anger and impatience the next? How can I profess to have Jesus' Spirit living in me and yet spread the toxic crud of crabby to everyone I meet?

Maybe this season I need to actually listen to the lyrics that I am so quick to tune out. Maybe I need to once again reclaim the essence of Jesus' birth and His impact on our world. Maybe I need to learn to love in a way that is so simple, yet requires so much more of me than I realize. A smile and conversation with a family making blankets, a free pass ahead of me in line, encouragement to a high schooler working the long days of a Holiday season.

I want to like me when I get in my car to drive home because I'm stuck with me.

Found

I am currently sitting in Hermeneutics class and as we were discussing empirical versus implied authorship a classmate brought up this website. Found

Interpret away. Isn't it amazing how we want to interpret and know the context surrounding everything?

It's heartbreaking, hilarious, and what the ? all at the same time.

Warning: A bit addicting. My professor called me out in front of the whole class. Good thing I'm sassy and quick on my feet :)

Here is a sample of one I "Found" on found




Haha! Cheeeeeesy, but oh, so cute.