impostor with mangoes

"i am slurping down homemade chicken noodle soup on a rainy day."

"i finally got around to making some stock out of a beer-butt-chicken carcass. i've been meaning to make stock for such a long time, and i'm proud to say, it's almost as good as I hoped it would be. A little lacking in flavor, but not bad at all. So now we get to sit under our new electric blanket (now with DUAL CONTROLS! Way to avoid compromise) and make our way through burning hot bowls of soup, along with some sharp cheddar cheese and month-old sprouted hippie bread. a winning combination if i do say so myself."

"AGH! I spotted one! On the computer! Kill it!!!!!!! Our home has been invaded by cretins from the depths of dirt. i think this home was built atop an ant mound. no, i will not share my warmth with them--there's only so much as it is--and yes, i will murder them on sight."

"i don't know if I believe in Raid."

"i've been paying attention to becca's typing style and must admit it's interesting. she'll type a few words, delete them, type the same few but slightly modified, erase that before finally typing the few words that stick around. mind any readers, especially becca, this is only an observation and not a criticism because i often do the same thing. "

"it's called self-editing, and spares other people the drudgery of reading my stream-of-consciousness blarfing. but yes, it is kind of amusing to watch. and it means that i can ONLY write on a computer now. gone are my days of journaling in a fancy leather journal. it sits, unused and moldering, on our ant-infested bookshelf. at least they'll pay it some attention."

"hmmm...i could probably use to practice some self editing. anyway. we also ate some ice-cream with chocolate sprinkles on top."

"not just any chocolate sprinkles. these were HAGELSLAG, the de ruijter variety to be exact. dark chocolatey goodness, in the shape and texture of, you guessed it, ants."

"god bless dutch chocolate, even if to Americans the word looks like vomit. i never thought a word so harsh and...um, rigid could mean something so wonderful. i imagine that's how English sounds to most Spanish-speakers."

"kind of how your farts sound after you've downed a bunch of dairy products. actually, today there was a chance that jonathan was going to experience dutch language firsthand for a few days. my oma hofland passed away yesterday, and we thought about flying our whole family over to holland to go to her funeral. turns out tickets are SO freaking expensive, though. like $1,500 expensive. darn it. guess the whole last-minute thing doesn't work out as well as you might think. so, we'll just have to celebrate and mourn from a couple thousand miles away, in our own time zone. miss and love you, Oma. You made the absolute awesomest cards, and were very good about sending them for each birthday and for christmas. thank you for spending so many hours cutting out the tiny flowers and gluing them onto the pages, and carefully placing each sticker ...just...so. You made great tea, too, by the way. And it really DOES taste better in a glass instead of a ceramic mug. Thanks for the enlightenment there."

"so folks...that's the news from lake ants-be-gone, where everyone is flippin' awesome.

peace, love, rock n' roll....and Merry Christmas!"

J&B

Yoga in the Redwoods.
Yes, I live in Sonoma County.
No, I don't throw paint on people who wear fur.
Yes, I've looked into buying a bio-diesel car.
Yes, I have preferences about which wine I drink.
No, I don't buy organic food all the time. I also pick it from people's trees.

Graduation Photos

I received an advertisement in my mailbox the other day. It was an offer from a photography company, telling me that for only (insert preposterous amount of money here), I could buy a framed photograph of myself shaking hands with Bobby B at graduation, receiving my empty diploma case, and making the headlong leap into “life after undergrad.” After snorting and throwing the paper into the recycling, my second response was to laugh at the thought of how ridiculous my face would probably look. I’d most likely have an expression of bewildered shock, similar to the one I had when I was baptized as an infant, which probably reads something like, “What did I do to deserve this?”

Now that I think of it, “graduation action-shot” photos sound a lot to me like those pictures they take on roller coasters at whatever point the engineers have decided is the scariest one of the whole ride, the place most likely to yield awkward or hilarious facial expressions. They couldn’t pick a more awkward time to take pictures of college grads, I’m sure. Imagine the expression of someone who is just leaving the womb of pre-paid rent and perpetual slumber parties, someone who has realized for the first time that life doesn’t take three months off for the summer, someone who is terribly afraid that she will never find a job that she wakes up excited about. Now stuff her in a polyester graduation gown, stick a categorically unattractive cap thingy on her head, and *snap* you’ve got a Kodak moment she’ll want to treasure forever. Right.

No, I’d rather have a picture of me camping out on Caf Lane with my friends, five of us squashed together in my three person tent, our mouths wide with shock as jets of water from the sprinklers spear the thin material and wake us at four in the morning. Or a snapshot of me hunting on the beach below Young Hall for beach glass and interesting shells, seaweed wrapped around my neck like a string of slimy green pearls. Or maybe a picture of my roommates and me in our living room, dressed in hideous sweaters for the Flex 45 H first (and last) annual Christmas Gala. Perhaps a photo of me peeking my head into Dr. Lodahl’s office, as I do every time I see his door open, just to say hello. Maybe me wandering past the crowded international line with a half-eaten cookie in either hand, me serving communion to the student body in chapel, me on the stage of Crill with tears glistening in my eyes as I sign the words to “The Lord Bless You and Keep You.”

With only eleven days until graduation, the end is fully in sight, and I’m most assuredly ready to fly the coop and take on the great wide world. I’ve got dreams, I’ve got plans…and heck, I’m going to be a camp counselor this summer! But I’ve decided that the picture I want framed in my memory is not one of me getting my money’s worth out of my college education. To conclude my college experience looking only toward the future without taking careful stock of everything Point Loma has been to me, or to leave without genuinely mourning what a loss it will be to leave this family, would be nothing short of greedy. Take ol’ PLNU for all she’s worth, and jet out? I don’t think so.

Before I graduate, I plan to spend an afternoon walking the campus, remembering, laughing, probably crying, and most definitely praying: for those who are leaving, for those who remain, and for those who are yet to come.

A song of simplicity

"One thing God has spoken, two things have I heard:
that you, O God, are strong, and that you, O Lord, are loving."

Psalm 62:11-12

Grant us your love, oh God, that we would see your face in all Creation,
and grant us your strength, that Creation would see your face in us.

Where we are ascending from...

How hard to believe that we are still in just the beginning stages of this tragedy... We're still trying to figure out what even happened - rumors are flying and people are still numb with shock. People close to me are still finding out for the first time that there was a school shooting at Virginia Tech. This is the “before”: Before the in-depth police reports have been issued. Before the South Korean-hate groups are started by people who want someone to blame. Before we feel comfortable admitting that in our very darkest moments, we too are violent and hateful and capable of murder.

It's painful to imagine what the “after” will look like: the time when the flowers left at the site of the shooting are all decayed and swept away, when this will be yet another reason for heightened airport security and tighter gun control. The days after songs are played on the radio about the lives of the students who died and how heroic they were, and after the committees are formed to revise their school's emergency plan in case other students decide to try the same stunt.... how long until the authors make their thousands of dollars writing bestsellers about what turned this unsuspecting student into a deranged maniac who locked his classmates in a building and brutally murdered thirty three of them, taking his own life in the process?

And what beyond that? Is it foolish to look forward to a time when news of a mass murder is no longer passé? Can we really expect that someday there will be triumph over the power of darkness that so adamantly tries to drown us in grief? Can we even dare to dream of a world beyond bloodshed and alienation?

Sometimes I wonder at myself for saying yes, that there is a Prince of Peace and he is coming again to restore Creation, yes he will judge the living and the dead, and yes his Kingdom will have no end. I am baffled by this fire in my bones that fiercely refuses to cave in to despair. What reason have I to respond to this tale of violence with a refusal to beget more violence? Why can I dream only of healing these wounds with love?

“And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us.” Romans 5:5

"you put stones in the pocket of Quiet, to give it weight."

Today's lesson:

"It ain't that easy, but it ain't that hard... We just love with more love and we do the best we can."
- lyrics from a song by Wes Wilkes, a member of the recovery program at San Diego Rescue Mission. He gets it.