listen. dream. worship. celebrate.

today was a dreaming day
a listening to the voice of God day
a celebratory day

today the 9 of us (jenn, tony, brad, chip, danmike, chelsea, sarah renee, sarah jayne, brooke):

• shared three meals
• explored the 6 practices of boiler rooms
• listened for and heard the voice of God
• dreamed collective dreams
• shed some tears of gratitude
• cracked ourselves up
• slurped on starbucks
• ushered in a few more inside jokes
• worshiped our little hearts out

these were the best "staff meetings" i've ever been a part of. ever.
why? because He was directing the show. really, friends! at each section of our conversation we paused, invited the Holy Spirit's direction, surrendered our wills and preferences, and shared what we heard. and all the pieces fit together to create the solution and conclusions we needed. through this process, He guided us SO CLEARLY and SO BEAUTIFULLY. we were surprised by what we heard; we also recognize the wisdom in it all. He gave exactly what is best.

here is some of it:
temple. toast. invitation. discipline. community. monastic. apostolic. creative. circles. word. non-emergency. civility. sunrise. instruct. growth.
the practices we've formed out of the guidance we received today will be the kind that we will be willing to submit to and embrace time and time again because they weren't formed by human wisdom or earthly leadership; they came from the mouth of God. we can trust this. we can follow this leader. His leadership is perfect.

so at day's end, the worship that occurred was not merely the few obligatory praise songs at the end of a strategic planning committee meeting. i don't know how to express this, but the worship was a natural exhalation of gratitude, overflowing joy spilled out at the feet of our visionary Leader. it was the most natural and inevitable thing.
and listening to the voices of my brothers and sisters around me (we were putting out some serious volume, earnestness forcing us to our knees or up on our feet with arms lifted high), seeing Jesus' kind and fearless eyes shining with pleasure...

ineffable. (i love that word).

i don't know how i got so lucky. honestly, it brings tears to my eyes when i really sit down and savor the taste of this life He's dropped me in.

ps: He dropped two miracle-blessings in our laps today: (1) an anonymous $200 in cash for DM's mission trip to Cape Town next month (2) a black pit bull puppy found stray in our neighborhood, who is docile and darling, and seems to be exactly what we've been waiting for.

caviar on mondays

jenn and tony saw fit to offer us a retreat day -- a cottage day, on lake michigan. i cannot tell you how perfect this place is, down to the last detail. it was delicious. i was so taken with the environs of the cottage itself, that i hardly felt the need to go down to the beach itself (though i did).
this day was care-free. we were served. we rode jet skis, read in the sand, reclined in deck chairs, had a bonfire on the beach, ate freshest foods on the deck, lounged in hammocks, took open-air showers, swam till our bodies were weary, and laughed a great deal.

i struggle sometimes with the guilt of having luxury and privilege my neighbors have never enjoyed and have no access to. this guiltiness is like a heaviness that comes down on me sometimes in the midst of the enjoyment of deep pleasure (laying in a green lawn, enjoying fine cuisine, fingering the soft fabrics of boutique clothing, eating a $5 bar of chocolate, flying across the country) and it comes saying, "how dare you enjoy this when your less-privileged friends never can?!"

though i can believe that God loves me such that He delights to spoil me in these ways, i have trouble receiving it with openness and freedom.

so at the cottage, on the shore, the guilt would like to come in. but then, at lunch, sarah jayne reminded me of a line from The Vision:

they could eat caviar on mondays and crusts on tuesdays. they wouldn't even notice.

yes! bingo!

to be able to move effortlessly between these worlds of wealth and poverty, plenty and want, without losing myself or forgetting my God...

to neither demand and expect the blessings nor seek to escape the poverty...

to receive it all as a gift, merely happenstance...

to be content in every and all situations (like Paul)...

to hold loosely...

this is how it works. this is what allows us to eat caviar a the cottage and crusts back in our neighborhood. i thank you, Abba, for both.

clearing the emotional brush

(a picture as random as the following post)

i'm sitting here on the floor of my bare-walled bedroom at 717 and it's supposed to be our moving day but all of my roommates are suspiciously absent, and i can't seem to get the momentum going on my own. perhaps we need music to rev us up, or at least some boxes to pack into, but we haven't got any. next door dm and brad are supposed to be preparing the space for us -- clearing it of clutter, cleansing it of grime -- so that we can come into something fresh and readied. but right now i am all sluggishness and melancholy.

there's a heaviness on my chest the last few days, and it brinks on agitation, really. and there are things going through my mind that i know are worldly and stupid and quite possibly something that could be chalked up to pms (which i thought i had left behind), but still it's all there. i'm thinking about the loves i'm watching unfold around me, and others unravel, and how unexpected they all are -- how very different the finger of God is than the finger of man (or woman). it's like an almighty ambush, really, that's what i told Chelsea. so even though this week i suddenly had this strong and unmistakable conviction that i won't meet Him in Michigan (he'll be cut from the cloth of some other geography, i suspect), i have to remind myself that God is one who ambushes us. i think maybe He gets a kick out of doing this, or maybe it's how He protects us from ourselves, how He situates our hearts "just so" to be able to receive the real blessing for what it is and not what we thought that it would be. this is where the pms part comes in: that the unfolding loves make me want to cry because i feel left behind in their wake, i feel like i'm missing out. sometimes.

but the other thing is that most of the time i'm so satisfied in this life. there's not loneliness here. living in the intimate cocooning of this small tribe has healed places in me that no amount of talk therapy or journaling could heal. isolation, i am ever-more convinced, is the great enemy of human being-ness. oh, we have fled in SUVs to rural places where we can live on plots of land expansive enough to prevent us from brushing shoulders with our neighbors, so that we can devote all our energies to living for our nuclear family unit, ensuring they have access to safety and sports and academic privilege. we have done this thinking it was a good idea (of course, we never knowingly walk into something that will suck our soul; we believe it will feed our soul, else we wouldn't do it, would we?). but it is not a good idea! people are lonely and dying inside from the distances we've put between ourselves. here, 6 adults in one house, we will come up against each other's edges and it will be, as an old high school friend's dad said to me last week, a smelting furnace, bringing all impurities to the surface, which is where they should be, really.

so i can be in a pissy mood in front of these folks, like i was yesterday. i was just back from journaling about the Boiler Room Rule (which was fruitful and exciting) and swimsuit shopping (which was dreadfully depressing in its reminders of my body's betrayal of me -- weighing more than ever in my life, being smothered in a layer of dimply fat that i haven't had in years)... and i just felt agitated so that chelsea and danmike made me scream with them in the kitchen 'cause they said that it would help, and then they put themselves at my disposal and together we managed to squeeze out a really delicious Indian meal and sit down at the picnic table to eat it together in the coolness of the sunday evening. that agitation put in me a boldness and i think maybe the Lord needed me to be in that state in order to have the conversation i had after dinner with one of our friends, who is very much sunk in misery and no longer needed coddling compassion but sharp truth to call it like it is, which is exactly what i did for him, even though i don't think he particularly liked it, and Lord only knows whether or not he received it. but i don't own the outcome, i only own the responsibility to speak to hearts.

moving. again. yes, again. and perhaps again in several months. i want to be light and move-able. God loves mobility, Andy Freeman wrote in Punk Monk. He's always calling His people to GO! and so i downsized to move over here in the first place and now there are other layers to shed, not least of which is my cats. pet ownership doesn't facilitate following the wild honking call of of the Holy Spirit very well. i'm also wondering if my library will eventually have to go. how does one ready oneself to get up and go to africa, india, san francisco (???) at a moment's notice in obedience and joy? but moving is tedious and tiring and tedious and i sorta wish i could just blink and have this process over with.

though the nesting... the nesting is fantastically fun. i will have my own room again, which is a gift of grace that i didn't expect to have stepping into this lifestyle. but there it is, He spoils me with undeserved beauty. and i am praying that that room will have the fragrance of Christ upon it, that i'll wake up each morning in His arms, and that from that place He will often hear my voice lifted up to Him in intimate adoration. and i am also praying that in that room my roommates will come to linger and converse in the late pre-bed hours and that our hearts will be knitted tighter together in that way. it will be a simple space, an uncluttered space.

yesterday april played a song for me that she sorta dedicated to me (but mostly God) and in it she had this phrase "safe in the throne room of God." she was referencing a guided prayer imagery i shared one night, months ago, at evening prayer and which has left an imprint on her holy imagination that i don't think she'll soon forget. to me, this is humbling because i'm reminded of a time when she felt touched by some truth that came from my lips, a truth that i myself have forgotten to live in, while she lives in it continually. so perhaps it wasn't for me as much as it was for her, or perhaps i need to revisit that place and rest there a while. because it's true, isn't it? do you realize that it's true, Brooke?: that you can whirl fearlessly into the throne room of the Creator, approach His very throne, and watch His hand stay the guards who would have reached out to slay you were it not for your association with His Son? this is no small thing!

then rachel stopped by, hospital band on her wrist, looking tired and world-weary, which a 17 year-old should not be. she had miscarried and she is longing longing longing for her mother and she is also so deeply enmeshed with her crystal girl and my heart just aches for her everytime, at the same time as it admires her resiliency. chelsea said, "can we pray for you right now?" and she welcomed that, so with hands laid upon her we prayed and what she was hearing from our lips were prayers for her unborn baby whose name He knows, for her heart to be wrapped up in the embrace of God, for restoration of relationship with her mom, for her to rest in the knowing that her name is graven on the very heart of God (which is so much cooler than her initials being tattooed on crystal's arm)... and what she did not hear, but which was also being prayed, was for the unraveling of her false salvations, the righting of relationships that have become tainted and distorted by the evil one, the restoration of her femininity. and i gave her a small princess journal i happened to have on hand, and a pen to write with, and sent her off with the instructions to "journal her guts out."

i think i'll end here. having cleared some emotional space, i'll try to pick up some boxes from some dumpster somewhere and get this show on the road.

picture this

i've seen His face again
i love it that He lets me see
His generosity is not only in provision of material needs
He is generous in letting us hear His voice
in giving us glimpses of His face
in bringing us into His presence
that sweetness that settles in around us in the garage
we don't deserve
we don't deserve

the Spirit has been coming power during prayer this week, so
i was remembering that old quote from some saint long dead:
"the glory of God is man fully alive" and I complete it:
"and man is fully alive in worship"
this is what we were built for

(remember: imaginations can be sanctified; becoming
holy meeting places to encounter the Divine)
so

picture this:
we are standing around that Revelation Sea of Glass
(all of us in that prayer garage tonight),
all of us with his or her voice boomeranging
across that expanse to Jesus
who is standing there with arms open
receiving all that worship as One who knows
He is worthy, but not cocky,
no, not cocky at all because He IS worthy
and there is joy of His face,
He is smiling at each of us in turn
drinking it in and all of us know
it is good
and we would keep worshiping
holy holy holy
forever and ever without end
only then I see on His face that He wants
something else from us now
He seems eager, He is leaning forward
with invitation in His eyes and His arms still open
He wants our very selves enveloped in them
they ache to encase us
He is thirsty for us
and we will live our lives to satiate His thirst
for souls*, not least of which is mine
so i run for those open arms,
quieted in ineffable silence
and i am held

and here's another one, more private:
it is a wedding picture, see
(this theme has been meaningful to me in recent months)
and i was Jesus' new bride, white-adorned and blushed
my heart light and arduous
Jesus is presenting me to His Father
Father is beaming on His Son and
His Son's new bride (that's me)
The Father approves of me, completely
because His Son is ga-ga over me,
He's been talking me up to His dad,
who is happy to share His joy and
His reward (that's me)
This Father whose presence i was shy to enter...
(until Jesus washed me up, and
as He scrubbed the dirt from between my fingers,
even then He was smiling because He knew
He knew I would clean up nicely)...
now Father greets me with unreserved acceptance.
He says He's been always waiting for this day when
I would slip my arm through Jesus' and come to Him,
covenanted to Him forever
and He embraces us, He's so proud of us
He's proud of our union
His sigh is that of a man whose long-suffering desire
has just been satisfied
I know in this moment that
as long as I walk close alongside Jesus,
I'll be okay with Father,
His favor rests on me, it is not retractable
Then i return my gaze to my groom
and find Him looking at me with all the tenderness
you can ever imagine (just try to imagine!)
and He cups my face in those rough and
nail-pierced hands and
His lips meet my brow in a kiss as
He folds me into Himself.
I'm His WIFE
He's my HUSBAND
I love Him
He is so worthy
He is so beautiful
can't believe He's mine
and I'm His
and Father is rejoicing over this while
Holy Spirit dances between us



*Mother Theresa

Godwin and Jeni's Wedding

godwin, who is an old and dear friend of mine from Lansing Christian School days, got married on Friday! to a wonderful girl named Jeni. and i had the honor of being their photographer.
for more shots, please see my Flickr account -- there's a set called Franklin-Sathianathan Wedding that has more beauties to enjoy!

Congrats, you two!

painting 713

you will look at this photo and say to yourself: "you DIDN'T! did you REALLY paint your ceiling hot pink?!"and i am smiling back at you saying, "yes, we really did."
but then i will be quick to add that we were eventually able to admit to ourselves that it was pretty horrible and not quite as nice in actuality as was the vision in chelsea and sarah (renee)'s heads. that in fact the pink so so luminescent that all of us were glowing with its hue. it was even compared to peptobismo and an exploded teletubby by some whose names i will not mention (you know who you are).

(and here is my "i told you so" moment -- the pink ceiling was my idea but i wanted it a barely there pink, feminine and fresh, but very subtle. so when my roomies got the idea for hot pink i had to talk them down from watermelon to this slightly paler shade. i knew it wouldn't be pretty but compromise is part of living in community, right?)

anyway, it's repaired now, with a lovely shade of pale pink that is exactly in line with the original vision. and the chocolate walls are delicious! and that's just the kitchen... (here it is BEFORE we painted in around the ceiling):
my room is now an obtruse shade of something resembling green (a color totally custom made at Home Depot by me and Cory, the paint center guy), with "putty" chair railing, doors, and trim. Picture my dark wood antique furniture in here. Beautiful and ever-so-airy.

sarah (renee)'s room was inspired by the sea at dusk (which is SO her). so three walls are a stormy but warm grey, and the fourth is a breezy aqua.

chelsea and sarah (jayne) decided to keep their room the same color as it already was, which is two shades of green, bold but tasteful.

this is going to be our new home. the more we invest in it -- financially and creatively -- the more excited i think we are all becoming.

a few thoughts (disjointed)

there is pleasure and then there is joy. one is a cheap fabrication of the other. pleasure comes when i'm seeking out what seems best to me; joy comes when i'm walking in tandem with Jesus. i want joy, even though it cost me some pleasures.

connected to above thought is this: i can choose to have Jesus as my [nominal] lord or as my husband. the latter is much more precious, but much more counter-cultural (the narrow way). in either case, the religion is the same, the relationship is vastly different.

the cloud that leads me through this desert life has come to rest above this house of prayer. here i've been given the gift of spending a year in adoration and prayer, becoming a friend of God. this matters to God.

thinking about taking up a part time job in september, maybe. work that will give me yet another avenue to put my money where my mouth is when it comes to being invested in this neighborhood. missional employment?

i'm gluten-free, sugar-free, and dairy-free again. i'm trying to eat my medicine, which means a lot of raw veggies, nuts, seeds, and fruit. (yeah, all those things i always preached to clients but have been so far off from myself of late).

i love the iced teas that sarah and i have been making these days. they disappear quickly.

tonight was a spontaneous dance party in the SBR living room. good dancing with you, ya'll (brad, dm, jamin, jordan, chels, chip, michelle). i do love to dance.

saw the father of an old high school friend yesterday. he was telling me about some of his experiences living in various forms of intentional community and he said two things that particularly stuck with me: (1) community is like a smelting furnace -- it brings impurities to the top that you never knew you had. this is good preparation for marriage. (2) "don't grow weary of doing good" -- what we are seeking in community is holy and pleasing to God, but it is also very hard. this ministered to my heart in a timely way.

i'm indulging lately in [east] indian fiction, which is one of life's sweet pleasures for me. i've also got Brazilian and Moroccan novels on the hit list for the summer.

this week i'll take paint brush and primer to what is going to be my new bedroom by month's end. it used to be chip's room, which explains why it is painted like a U of M football stadium. even the doors are painted maize. i have my work cut out. (good thing i love a good home makeover).

it's late. i'm awake because i'm processing the wedding photos from Godwin and Jeni's wedding yesterday. i promise to post a few here once I've done (which'll likely be tomorrow).

for Sunday night dinner at the SBR tomorrow: Thai-style quinoa and cabbage (from Trillium Haven). maybe some sort of chicken something, too, to please the carnivores.

love.

the outpouring of a stirred-up heart

and there is this steady stream of music playing through the i-pod port each day. the furniture has been moved around to something dignified and splattered with growing green things. iced tea has been showing up in the fridge (homemade and honey-sweetened) and jenn just invited us to go pick raspberries on monday morning, which seemed to me like an invitation into rest, into just being. so far from the hyper-productivity urge that is like a dog nipping at my heels incessantly. little did she know, but by that invitation and by the permission to go have a good cry, she has just loosed the guilt and never-enoughness that has been my companion here these days. i know something needs to break open in me. i know that even in the face of nominal christianity and the pleasures of the sanfrincisco way i will still choose the narrower path of wifehood with jesus because that's where the joy is. but that graspy, anxious, insufficient, floundering identity crisis... oh, i need to be lifted out into a new perspective that will transform paradigms and plant me again in the soil of His love, even when the whole world around me won't let itself rest there. it's hard being the only one, or part of a small minority because it starts to seem like i'm the crazy one and that other way has some allure. i never thought of myself as someone who has trouble being different (it's part of being a FOUR) but now...

i want to work but i don't want to work in such a way that i return to self-sufficiency, self-seeking, security, and financial greediness. i want to work out of a place of freedom and with joy. i want to look back at my life and say i've accomplished things, but not at the cost of missing Jesus. why's it so hard to BE? to know that i'm valuable, worthwhile, and pleasing to God even in my quietness and rest? so difficult, especially when the activities and accomplishments i would define myself with are so appealing, so in line with my personality and preferences. to die to all of that is to die to myself, but i guess that's exactly the point.

the tears were just below the surface, as it turns out. i didn't realize it was so until i found a sympathetic ear with sarah. i've been floundering about in a haze of mistaken identity, confused expectations, and loads of anxious guilt... and it drains me. Lord, be the keeper of my heart and speak your truth over me. i want to live the life to the full that you gave your life to give and i want the joy, not merely pleasure. i want you to be my husband, not just my nominal, hands-off lord. i do i do i do.

and all these dreams and wishing about sanfrancisco, world travels, education, and fascinating friends... well, let them be secondary. if my core is worship of you (dwelling in your courts) then i will be constant and steady wherever i am, no longer at the mercy of what is happening and what i'm doing or not doing. i'm still asking you for freedom from debt, a home in a place that is sunny and temperate and unharried, the company of people who stimulate me, a husband that opens me up inside, and work that is meaningful to the kingdom. i want these things and i guess you get to decide if they're best for me and whether or not to give these gifts. but i can ask, right? i can ask...

i start to feel this urge to work my own deliverance in this department of mate-finding, rather than foolishly (?) waiting for you to drop the right one in my lap. don't i have to put myself out there in the line of vision of eligible men? i fear i won't recognize him when he comes, or that i'm putting off vibes of not being an option for pursuit. but what of it? won't the right man come thrashing through any amount of brush to make it to my heart? will he? do i need to help him out? may he PRAY his way into my heart, trusting you to open a wide road between us. let it be clear.

you’ve sent ministers to my heart these last few days and I have been able to sit and allow myself the receipt of what they are offering. First christine and erin who came to evening prayer Thursday night and through their tender and sincere questions drew out my reflections and feelings and convictions about this life I’m living here, suddenly throwing it all back into the light of goodness, no longer taken for granted. Then lee cogan who exhorted us to “weary not of good-doing” because what we are seeking after is holy and pleasing, but difficult (a smelting furnace). So timely, this nudge for perseverance. Today DM and Sarah both taking a few minutes to sit with me a while and hear my heart and reflect your heart back into mine. I remember a while ago praying that I want to trust you for provision not only of financial resources, but also provision for the needs of my weary heart – for peace, encouragement, rest, fellowship. And you have been doing so, beyond expectations. This frees me from grasping if I’ll allow it.

I need you. I need your perspective, your vision, your life, your breath, your everything. All of you for all of me. It’s not a fair exchange, really. But I’m seizing it!

new boundaries and rhythms

in the spirit of moving into a new season here
today we cleared out and cleaned up the house and basement
we made space and hung art and trashed what wasn't necessary
until dumpsters were overflowing and the thrift store had something coming
it was the satisfaction of watching chaos turn to order
before our eyes and under our diligent hands

then tonight three of us went to get the produce from the market
we came home and got our hands dirty in the kitchen together
putting together whatever odds and ends were available
(chard, rice, beans, avocados, pesto, limes, onions)
and what emerged was something delicious and wholesome, made in love
we sat down around a table that was actually set
8 plates with forks, knives, napkins, glasses
the prepared dishes on the center of the table
dishing heaps of steaming chard and beans and rice onto one another's plates
we sat across that low table from one another, family style
with a seat left empty for elijah (who didn't come tonight, but you never know when)

and at 9 pm we shuffled ourselves and our visitors out the back door,
(locking it as we did because this is when we close the door and when
our house - for so many hours a day open to all - becomes the home of us who live there)
into the deepening night toward the lit prayer garage where
we spent that last community hour together in mostly silent prayer

these are some new practices and boundaries emerging
we are trying them on for size and
i have to say they feel pretty good
(healthy, appropriate, sustainable)

goodnight.

berkeley and what might have been

(this one is long but, i hope worth the time it takes to read it)
my dear friend jane was married this past weekend to a man named lars. they were married in berkely, where they now live. i was down there since wednesday to keep company with her. the days were packed from morn until late into the night with wedding errands, tours, photography, site seeing, open houses, rehearsals, meals, and so on and so forth.

between me and berkeley/san francisco there sprung up an almost instantaneous love. this i did not expect, but the bay area sent tentacles of affinity wrapping around my heart. what's there to love?: the weather (temperate, sunny and dry), the architecture (particularly the townhouses in sf), the holistic health culture (as evidenced by alternative medicine practices and an abundance of whole food stores and restaurants), the greenness (bicycles, public transport, signs reminding us to use resources frugally), the scenery (rolling hills, lush flora), the energy (relaxed, unhurried, quirky, bohemian)...

then into this already blissful scene waltzes a troop of people colorful, traveled, intelligent, cultured, and kind. lars' and jane's people are an amazing bunch. these friends came from london, paris, china, seattle, nyc, chicago, and more. they are musicians, artists, wine and language enthusiasts, and academics. they are, if i can say this without sounding somehow elitist, my kind of people. my true peers. after warming up to them, i was stimulated, confident, and expansive in their company. every day while i was down there whole bunches of us would gather for hours on end enjoying conversation and good booze. the air was celebratory and light.

i began daydreaming about moving down there, getting a fabulous job, surrounding myself with people like these and all the intriguing culture and hobbies of the area...i was (am) smitten.

contrast this with the life i live here: the company i keep, the activities i am engaged in, the matters that occupy my head space. here i so often feel the need to retreat and claim space for myself, but this is only because the people who surround me all day every day are deeply needy, requiring emotional and spiritual resources that often leave me drained. but to spend all day in the company of peers has the opposite effect: it is rejuvenating and effortless. those parts of myself that i tone down in order to "be all things to all men" in the Boiler Room life were allowed to come out to play this past weekend. there were neglected parts of my personality and preferences that rushed out like children to an over-due recess on the first warm day of spring.

so en route home i was journaling about this a bit. i was telling Papa how much i had enjoyed that gift. yet i was also thinking about the scripture i read in jane and lars' wedding on saturday:

When the LORD your God brings you into the land he swore to your fathers, to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, to give you—a land with large, flourishing cities you did not build, houses filled with all kinds of good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant—then when you eat and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the LORD, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. (Deut 6:10-12)

this passage is for me. see, it is easy in this self-satisfied, pleasure-laden circumstance with people who are also self-satisfied and put together to forget the Lord. it is easy to lose mindfulness of my need of Him, which is of course a great illusion because no matter how lovely my life is i am ever hanging on His grace for every breath, which He gives whether or not i acknowledge Him. in life at the SBR i am in a place of more conscious need, and that creates a certain sweetness of fellowship with Jesus that i lost touch with while reveling in my rendezvous with san francisco.
what i experienced in the bay area this weekend was nothing short of what might have been. it hit me with that Holy Spirit revelation on the flight home that "that" is what my life would be if it were mine to choose; if i were living for myself. all my fleshly inclinations and personality patterns reach for it. and i am equipped to create such a life for myself (travel, education, culture, magnificent and worldly friends).

BUT

but i have died to myself and put on my new self which is every day being created new in the image of Christ. i no longer live according to my flesh but to the Spirit. i am daily counting the cost of discipleship, taking up my cross to follow, leaving behind plows and family and not looking back. i am associating with "lowly people" and becoming the least. (at least this is the goal, the trajectory).

upon realizing this, i cried. with silent tears rolling down my face right there in seat 16D somewhere above san francisco, i mourned what could have been.

i feel a bit like Scrooge in "A Christmas Carol," allowed to see a glimpse of the future he will live were his course to remain unaltered. i feel like Papa set me down in the middle of the fulfillment of so many cravings and let me play there a while (and all the while my fellowship with Him was far less intimate; this also by design, i suspect). and then He whispered to my heart, "will you still choose my Way?"

yes, Papa, i will. i do.

jane & lars

my dear friends were married in Berkeley, CA today.
to have been present for these precious moments leading up to and surrounding their union was a great gift.
their love warms and delights me. their story rouses desire and hope in me of someday having my own love story.

congrats, dear ones.
i love you!

the women [of the street]

the women are the hardest for me; those women who have been living the street life. in order to do what is necessary to survive on those streets, a woman has to do and become all sorts of things that are very far from what real womanhood is. they have lost themselves. and sometimes, it turns my stomach.

to see the receptivity and openness of femininity displaced by thick walls of defensiveness or sometimes full-fledged aggression breaks my heart. sometimes when a heart is broken and burdened, anger surfaces more easily than the more accurately representative tears.

tonight i and two of these friends rode the bikes out for ice cream. seated at the picnic table at Dairy Queen, these women told stories reminiscent of some horrible made-for-TV movie and they swapped their stories like badges of honor, indicating how tough they are and what has been endured. the scars -- both on skin and on souls -- seem to be grounds for bragging rights. but at what cost!

the younger one has become masculine in mannerisms and dress and taken to some self-destructive tendencies, but she still carries dreams in her back pocket and she can still cry. the older one has become haggard and hardened, insistent on doing it all her own way and figuring it out herself. trust is eroded, if not non-existent, and this life on the streets is just the way it is, the culture she lives and moves in; the water to her fish. at what point did she stop even dreaming there could be more? the younger one hasn't finished yet with optimism, and she delivered a small motivational speech to the older one, who won't be taught. because the older one is doubly caged: once in a prison of circumstance and devastation, and again in a cage of cynicism and chosen isolation.

when i pray for them -- usually face down because i am so heavy with them -- i pray for a restoration of womanhood and all that that entails: receptivity, tenderness, vulnerability, grace, nesting, inviting, heart-sharing, innocence. i pray for things that they would never even think to ask for themselves (because they wouldn't think it possible), like for Jesus to come in an minister to wounds of rape, abuse, prison, and betrayal with His healing balm, thereby setting them free from the legacy of fragmented and hardened identity that follows in the wake of such pain.

i asked Him tonight, "is it possible, Lord, for them to be saved?" (because the divide seems almost too wide to gap) and He seemed to whisper, "their access to me is just as easy as yours," which is both good news and bad. then i think of the 12-year-bleeding woman who had nothing left in her but to reach out for the hem of His robe and i think that that is the sort of access He means. may we all be found desperate and reaching.

Pancakes, Parades, and Paradise

1. Pancakes. Woke up and went next door to the Boiler Room at 8 am to start preparing for the pancake breakfast we decided would be fun to serve to our neighbors and friends. Chip flipped pancakes, max arranged the Costco sausages on baking sheets, and Lily helped me slice oranges. Jenn oversaw it all and poured OJ into small cups. The gathering was small because the advance notice was short, but all the same, a festive feeling began to settle in and my heart delighted to see the combinations of neighbors, hobos, and other friends of all ages and places seated at our yard tables sharing this meal.
2. Parade. The only piece of this parade pre-planned (besides that it should happen at all) was the acquiring of a trailer, balloons, and decorations. The rest, organically unfolded. The kids decorated their bikes with flags and streamers; Chelsea and her artist-kids made the signs for the back and sides of the trailer; Michelle, Sarah, and others attached signs and balloons to the "float"; the guys (Chip, DM, Brad) along with Holly and Chels climbed into the "float" with upside down buckets and trash cans and drum sticks and drummed happily the entire way; Krystina was a clown, complete with balloon animals; and other kids took cups of candy to throw at those who might watch us go by. And so at about 10:30 am we headed off on our little bootleg-style parade (west side!) and did a few turns around a few block radius. A smattering of families came to their yards or porches to wave and smile, but mostly it was ourselves we were entertaining. I couldn't stop grinning. The pure innocence and joy of it, the silliness of it, the slightly-illegal deliciousness of it!3. Paradise. The Klavers invited the entire SBR family over for a 4th of July dinner. Their home is in a less urban location, so the air was quiet except for the sounds of our own merry making. Kim had put together a feast fit for kings and we opened a couple bottles of wine. It was relaxed and so far removed from the chaos of our neighborhood; a much-needed respite. I was struck by how enjoyable it is to just ENJOY my SBR family in non-ministry ways; just as people. Dan and Kim's company and hospitality was so comfortable and delightful that some of us lingered there until it was time to head back downtown for the fireworks.

And then there were fireworks. Oh, were there ever fireworks! The downtown ones, of course, which a bunch of us saddled up our bicycles to go watch (just in the nick of time), but then apparently the west siders do a lot of their own explosive miracles during 4th of July weekend. So we got our fill, for sure. And i got to sit next to Max during the fireworks show downtown and discuss how they each work and what each one reminded us of (sparkly rain, tadpoles, etc.). Since Max is a very cool kid, this was a highlight for me.

Happy 4th of July!

midnight

this will be a rambling post. the post of a mind that is full and swirling, but also surprisingly quiet at moments. moments like this morning, laying on the floor of the prayer garage (see above) for nearly 3 hours, first with chelsea and sarah and then with marguerite, and recognizing every conversation and every tear and every spoken word (and unspoken) as prayer in its own right. and the making of very amateur paintings and art is also prayer. its all about how you do it, or where your focus is when you do. i can even chop vegetables and soak beans with jesus.

to have a mind that is stilled and submitted -- to have Him be the first thing on my mind at day's end and the first conversation of my morning, in that semi-conscious state preceding breakfast and showering. and to still be with him when i sit long spans of time in the waiting rooms of health care departments for the "under-served" with Joe, who definitely qualifies as under-served. Joe, who is is such a delight this time around, who has been freed from the gods that ruled him before so that now spending hours at a time with him is light and easy. it's easy to remember that you're spending the day with jesus when the man you're hanging out with all day is aglow in the radiance of holy surrender to that same jesus. so we're hanging out with jesus together. in the waiting rooms. and through the sorting of paperwork, requirements, and other bureaucratic nonsense. and there are jokes and stories in the waiting times. tonight when i came back from visiting friends he said, "ah! there she is -- my companion and helper" and that made me warm and fuzzy, you better believe it.

walked through the dark grittiness of my neighborhood tonight after 10 pm -- through darkened residential streets, down the stretch of broken-glass sprinkled sidewalks and under overpasses -- with Jordan tonight to get some cat food for matteo and bella and also jules' cat, pesky, who is looking dangerously lean these days for want of shelter and sustenance. jordan gave me the gift of his story and i handed him part of mine in what time remained of our walking. i felt a bit afraid walking tonight, i admit. perhaps because there are so many bangs and clicks and i can't yet discern between gunshots and fireworks. or perhaps because i have heard so many stories by now about muggings, beatings, and foul proposals within the immediate vicinity to realize that we're not in kansas anymore. i wonder if living in the midst of violence, abuse, godlessness, and addiction doesn't create some sort of low-grade, chronic stress... stress that burns out adrenals, increases cortisol levels, and makes the belly and thigh fat pile on (cos it sure is!). i've been spending far too much head space these days trying to figure out why i'm piling on fat in places i never had it before.

which brings me to my next point, which is that i am overly concerned with my appearance. i have to admit that even when i'm praying in church or community prayer i am often conscious of my posture and my facial expressions, in case anyone will look up and see me and if they do i want to be sure to be looking lovely and in love with jesus and maybe radiant with peaceful contentment, too. even when i under-dress as a way of claiming status as low-maintenance, that is sometimes less due to conviction about what the real source of a woman's beauty is and more due to keeping appearances -- and for me the idea is to keep the appearance of uniqueness -- NOT do what others are doing, so if "everyone else is getting fancy on sundays, i'll get fancy on fridays," as my little friend Bea recently said (she is an enneagram 4, too). and the excessive preoccupation with the shape and size of my body is a part of this too -- giving undue attentiveness to something that is insignificant indeed. oh, Father, break me of this.

i listened to tony pray thanksgiving for his wife tonight in prayer, for the gift of being able to life and work alongside this partner of his. today is thirteen years for them and he declared before the multitudes (well, all 9 of us in the prayer garage) that theirs is a story of breath being breathed into dying bones. it's a resurrection story, like almost every God story is, at heart. and that got me to thinking and praying about what resurrection would look like in some relationships in my own life that give every appearance of being dead, but perhaps for that one little fluttering of life barely perceptible to the naked eye. so i prayed into those things, praying for an inspiration (in-blowing breath) of life there, God willing.

you should also know that in addition to joe's miraculous resurrection, heart transformation and impending trip to Mission Bible Training Center in Illinois next week... also Cindy will be going to the one in Indiana. she's serious. talk about life breathed into dead bones. can't wait to see what she'll be once there's muscle and flesh on that skeleton.

goodnight.