two out of three ain't bad

I made it through Christmas. Didn't set myself on fire, didn't get sick, everything went off without a hitch.

So of course two days later I get sick. I'm staying away from any candles. Not going to push my luck.

goodbye Mrs. Mills

I found out last night at my parents house that my best friend from elementary school's mom, who was also one of my favorite middle school teachers, died this weekend.


Donna Mills spent most of her adult life confined to a wheelchair, but that didn't stop her from becoming an active and caring teacher at *** Middle School. Mills, an English and history teacher at the school for more than 20 years, died Sunday at her home following a four-year battle with ovarian cancer. She was 59.

"She always put everyone else's comfort and happiness above her own," said fellow teacher Bruce Robb. "She really was an incredible inspiration to all of us."

"Whether it was accompanying students to an outdoor education camp or joining in a school relay race, Mills became personally involved in her students' education. She was a ready listener and made a point of praising students for a job well done."

She just loved helping her students, and she just loved being a teacher," said her daughter, Amy Brasil of Penngrove.

Born in Reading, Pa., Mills was a young woman when she lost the use of her legs in an automobile accident southeast of Visalia near the Sierra Nevada foothills community of Springville.A few years later, she met her future husband, Paul Mills, and they were married 24 years.

She graduated from the teacher preparation program at Sonoma State University in 1985. The next year she took a job at ***. She developed close friends among the school's staff and became widely known to the city's students and parents.

"We couldn't go anywhere without getting stopped," Brasil recalled.

Mills, who was diagnosed with cancer four years ago, was able to keep teaching until this school year.

Along with her husband and daughter, Mills is survived by another daughter, Katy Mills of Freestone; a sister, Joyce Ney of Reading, Pa.; and her mother-in-law and father-in-law, Mary and George Van Loon of Riverbank.

this is why I hate the media

Beware, Krystle is pissed.

Yesterday morning at our staff meeting I learned of the two shootings that happened in Colorado over the weekend, the first at a YWAM base in Arvada, the second at New Life Church in Colorado Springs. Four people were killed (five including the gunman) and several were injured. I don't have TV so it didn't seem too incredibly weird to me that I hadn't heard about these shootings until then. Though I was, of course, shocked to hear of them. Yesterday after I got home from work my roommate was reading the paper and I asked her if she'd heard about the shootings. She said she had, and I asked her if it was in the paper. Where did we finally find it? Page A6! A6!!!! A guy opens fire in a Minnesota mall and it's on the front page two days straight, but someone walks into a church with a semi automatic weapon and proceeds to fire rounds until he is shot and killed by an armed security guard (!!!) and it winds up on page A6?! Seriously?! Now, I haven't seen today's paper and since there is more information available about the shooter there might be another article closer to the front page. But still, the Monday after two related shootings have occurred at religious institutions you'd think it would get a little better press.

So what was on the front page, you ask. Let me tell you. The headline was "At Christmas, It's All in the Cards." An article about Christmas cards. Not even joking. "I love getting holiday cards in the mail. That's why I send them out." I'm so glad that we could be informed of Stacey Dougherty's love of Christmas cards a whole six pages before we got to the real news. Good grief.

For more information about the shootings you can visit here for fox news or here for CNN. It's a tragic story from every angle.

"one last hurrah", or, "sleeping in shorts in november"

If my chronicles of this past weekend were part of a book, the chapter would be called one of the above titles, if not both. Actually, I think they're both quite reflective of the style of my current read, Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It's no secret that I tend to take on the writing (or even thinking) style of whoever I happen to be reading. During times when I was joyously engrossed in the Harry Potter books I found myself narrating my own happenings like a great adventure. I stopped just short of having a British accent, namely because whenever I try to do an accent it just turns into Australian.

I had a fantastic weekend in Phoenix. Got to enjoy some warm weather, lots of great food, even better company, and best of all I got to relax. The trip started out pretty turbulently as my flight on Wednesday was cancelled...after they held us in limbo for a few hours. Honestly, it was pretty ridiculous. Everything was going according to schedule until *scary music* the door wouldn't shut properly. From there things kind of steamrolled. They kept us on the plane for two hours as mechanics got called out, looked at the door, went back to their workshop to look at schematics of the door, and then said nothing was wrong with the door. So you'd think we would have been able to go then, right? Wrong. Our captain vaguely referred to "another problem [he] didn't care to elaborate on" and after two hours of waiting they let us deplane. About 20 minutes later I started hearing rumors about cancellation. Then began the mad cell phone dash to try to get on the phone with a ticketing agent so we could avoid the hideously long line at the ticket counter and get transferred onto the next flight. They announced that our flight was cancelled AFTER a bunch of us had already switched our tickets and had known about the cancellation. So lame. Seriously, never fly U.S. Air if you can help it.

But, for as hellish as it sounds I wasn't really bothered by any of this. I was able to roll with things pretty well and found myself content to just sit and wait. I also got to make a few phone calls which can sometimes be hard to find time to do. So, 12 hours after leaving my house I finally arrived in Phoenix, exhausted but okay.

Once I got there I had a really great time. One of the best things was when I realized late Friday afternoon that I hadn't been wearing my watch most of the day and I'd spent most of the day in absolute ignorance about what time it was yet I didn't care at all! That's something that's very unusual for me, so I was so happy when I realized how much I'd been able to let go of any agenda.

Now it's 9:50 pm on Sunday night and I've been trying not to think about all that lies ahead of me this next week. It's going to be nuts, absolutely nuts. I am so glad I had this weekend to recoup before all the madness starts. God's grace was so evident to me this weekend in so many little ways - the ability to stay calm and patient, gorgeous weather, the beauty and fun of friendship, time to stop and pray, amazing food, church with no responsibilities this morning...the list goes on. And I think the biggest grace was the ability to see the grace itself. I feel like one of two things happens whenever I go away: I either totally lose my grip and fall apart because I lack my daily routine, or I totally thrive and am open to God in new ways because I lack my daily routine. Before I left I was so afraid of the former occurring because it's happened so many times before. Thankfully, this was a weekend of the second option, and I'm hoping that the refreshing and lessons of the weekend overflow into the upcoming days and weeks.

overflow

It's been a good week. A very full week, but a very good week.

[don't] entertain us

I'm not totally sure how this is going to come out, but I'm just going to try. This is one of those times I really wish I knew more people in my profession because I would love to bounce these ideas off someone who is facing similar dilemmas.

Anyway, here's the run-down:

This afternoon I visited (with several people from my church) another church in town. In fact, it may very well be the largest church in town, at least one of the largest. Anyway, this church is pretty well known in the area and is definitely the only church doing what they're doing. What do I mean exactly? The church that doesn't look or feel like a church. Multiple venues, professional lighting, staging and sound equipment, two coffee shops, ultra high tech. I was talking to their tech guy and he said that on their last staging set up they had something like 12 projectors in the worship center. Most people in the world aren't aware of how much a projector costs so let me just tell you, ballpark is around $2000. So there's obviously a lot of money and manpower going into the ambiance of this place.

When I'm surrounded by technology like that I feel several things. First, I'm a little jealous because there are obviously a lot of very creative and very technology savvy people at that church that I wish I had at my disposal. That's not to say we don't have those kinds of people, but we don't have them in that kind of abundance. However, my second feeling is one of discomfort. Honestly, I'm really turned off to that kind of environment. I've tried it. It just leaves me tired. Here's the thing, I know we're in a changing culture and that you've got to speak a language that people understand. However, what if the values that culture is espousing aren't worthy of being emulated? What if a technology driven, fast paced culture runs in contradiction to the values of orthodox Christianity? What if I'm tired of clean-cut, have-it-your-way, flashy, picture perfect, and just want something real....something genuine? I'm not saying these people aren't genuine and I know this church is doing a lot of good and a lot of people who wouldn't normally attend church are going there, but I'm just left with a lot of questions after seeing their facility and hearing a bit about their church this afternoon.

I wrestle with this stuff. This is really hard for me. This physically burdens me. I am so afraid of what the American church could be turning into. I don't want the American church to be a Christianized version of American pop culture. Things have got to go deeper than that. I'm just so weary of it. I guess I had my fill while I lived in LA, I don't know. What I do know is that I don't find that attractive at all. I don't want to be an audience member, I'm already one of those often enough. I don't want to be entertained, I have access to entertainment 24 hours a day. I want something different. Something I can relate to, but different nonetheless.

Does anyone hear what I'm saying in this incoherent babbling?

mia

I can't believe I'm saying this, but, is it really that hard to meet a guy who is mature, has good character and isn't socially awkward? It doesn't seem like many requirements. I'm a little frustrated.

oxy moron

If you've been following the news at all you know that the Supreme Court has asked the states to suspend the death penalty until they figure out how procedures can be changed to ensure that it is administered in a way that does not constitute cruel and unusual punishment. Here's what I want to know:

How is killing someone not cruel?

It seems a little oxy moronic to me to say that there can be a humane way to kill someone. The death penalty does not make sense to me on so many levels (ethical most of all).

you are the sun

When I first bought Sara Groves' album Add to the Beauty one of my least favorite tracks was no. 3 "You are the Sun." Well, a couple months ago my roommate and I went and saw Sara Groves perform live in San Francisco. The first song she played was "You are the Sun," and my feelings about the song have been different ever since. Needless to say it's now one of my favorites.

In light of that (no pun intended) it was a privilege to perform that song this weekend with a woman from church at our women's retreat. It was a small group, just 20 of us, but it was deep with meaning. The theme of our retreat was darkness and light, and we spent a lot of time meditating on Scripture and sharing our experiences of darkness and light. It was a great time of honesty and many people opened up and shared deep struggles and profound moments of God's intervention in their lives. Though it was really weird to be the youngest person (by far) there, once I got over the initial discomfort I was really able to enjoy the wealth of wisdom these incredible women had to offer. For me the weekend was really so much about 'sitting at the feet' of these wise women and learning of them.

We did lectio divina three times throughout the weekend and our pastor's wife had such an awesome reminder for us before each time we did it. She was saying how sometimes with lectio you can have these really profound moments and really feel like God has spoken something, but other times you don't feel any thing at all. She wanted to reassure us that if you have one of those times where you really don't sense anything going on that that doesn't mean that nothing has happened. Prayer is transformative, so even in the times that seem mundane and unfruitful we have to trust in faith that somehow God has mysteriously done work on us in that time. And in that way there's really no pressure, because regardless of whether you 'get' something definitive from the time it was still time well spent. Any time open to God is time well spent. And that's so much of what I've been learning lately with my mantra of "anything is better than nothing." Reading Scripture at all is better than not reading. Praying anything at all is better than not praying, even if it's just a sentence. And it has made a difference. I really do believe that somehow in the midst of our opening ourselves - even just a little -God is pleased. And even though I don't feel His presence that doesn't mean He isn't there.

wake up

Tam tect. There is a test...tonight...in my Russian class. We're supposed to have one every week, but up until now they've been cancelled each time. It'll be fine. I'm actually more worried about staying awake in class tonight. I feel like I could keel over right now. I hope the allergy medication I just took was non-drowsy. My nose has been running like a faucet today.

anywhere

The last month or two I've tried to be more aware of the different times and places I see God on any given Sunday morning. I started thinking about this a little harder because I realized that it just might be the case that I can never really fully engage in what's going on during the service because I have too much to think about logistically. I'm too wrapped up in my responsibilities and what's coming next to really live in the moment. While that's unfortunate, I had this great realization (with some help) that there are other places and other ways to encounter God. That's really helped change my mindset on Sunday mornings, especially when I start to evaluate and become critical of my own ability or inability to connect.

The last few weeks I've found myself more engaged during rehearsal with the band, especially during its very beginnings when we are running through our first song or two. The song is more fresh at that point. It's the beginning of my day and these are the words and notes I pour out. This Sunday however, that was not the case. There were a couple extra things that I had on my mind that really distracted me and I spent most of the morning feeling like I was having an out of body experience because I was so disconnected from everything that was going on in the service. It's okay. Sometimes that happens. Sometimes we've just got to obey and trust that God meets us there too.

After the service I was cleaning up as per usual and my mom was waiting for me because we were going to go to lunch together. As she waited she got into a conversation with our pastor's wife. They were still talking when I finished and I joined in the conversation, though most of it was information I'd already heard from her or her husband during the past week. I didn't have anything to contribute, but I was content to listen. At the end of the conversation we were about to walk out the door and I reached over and gave her a big hug. It was one of those great mutual it's-going-to-be-okay-even-though-we're-not-sure-how sort of hugs. And that was the highlight of my morning right there. God met me in the embrace of my pastor's wife.

It can be anything, anywhere - in the smile of a friend, a handshake, a baby's laugh, a verse of Scripture, a line of a song, a piece of the sermon. This week was a hug. Who knows what it will be next time.

waiting

I thought I wasn't mad anymore. Turns out, I still kinda am. Mad and depressed. Thanks a lot, jerk.

thank you Annie

"The opposite of hope is not doubt, it is certainty."

These words have been ringing in my ears the last couple days. It is good to know I don't have to be certain. I don't have to know everything. There is something holy in grabbing hold, though I'm not entirely sure of what I'm holding on to. Not knowing everything doesn't make me a failure; on the contrary, it's an attitude I'm commanded to have (thus making me a success in a strange, backwards way). That's the gospel, isn't it? The poor are rich, the weak are strong, the broken are healed, the blind receive sight, love your enemies, when you lose everything you gain it all.

Christianity does not deny the brokenness of the world. Christianity acknowledges all the pain, darkness, and messed up-ness of this place and offers, in Christ, a way to see the light. Some say they can't believe in God because of how messed up the world is. I say I have to believe in God because of how messed up the world is. He/She is my hope.

peace

Despite tumultuous circumstances I am feeling good. I am not worried. I've got my equilibrium. I feel like I'm on the cusp of some good things. Mainly I feel I've got some peace. I don't have answers, but I've got peace.

thursday morning

I am very unmotivated this morning. In fact, I am typing this from my bed. I justified my staying here by sending one important work email. I've been awake for a while, I'm just having a hard time getting going. It will happen eventually.

It's been a strange week. A long week. On Tuesday I thought it was Thursday or Friday. Surprises, turmoil, birthday party for the recently deceased, listening, hour long conversation with a beloved friend, tacos, company picnic, an overwhelming 3 hours of Russian. Today - work, clean, baby shower.

Right now I've got seven books sitting on my dresser. Somehow in the course of a few days I went from looking for something to read to having seven. Anne Lammot, Lois Lowry, Brennan Manning, Tony Campolo, Robert Kaplan and a couple more.

This post sucks. I'm just not able to relate what's really been going on in me lately.

theotokos

Tonight I was reminded of the meaning of theotokos. God-bearer - the Virgin Mary. At least I had the theo=God part right. I haven't forgotten all of my education.

Went to an orthodox service tonight. It's a feast day - Transfiguration. At first I didn't know what the heck I was doing. No. The whole time I pretty much didn't know what I was doing. But I started to get the hang of a few things as we went on. The marking on the paper signaling when to sustain a note or to go up or down. How the Orthodox make the sign of the cross - up, down, right, left, feet. The orthodox can sing. They can read music, they have great ears, and they are not ashamed or self-conscious...at least these people weren't. The singing was by far my favorite part and there was a lot of it. I stayed for about 90 minutes and the service was still going. i tried to leave about five minutes earlier, but a very friendly woman who had been helping me keep track of where we were in the music and chants told me outside that in a couple of minutes they would be anointing people with oil and I was welcome to partake in that if I wished.

So, I went back inside. A little while later there was a line forming up to the alter. We went in pairs. It took me for or five times to figure out all the motions everyone was making and to memorize them. Two signs of the cross. The person on the right kisses the image of Christ, then receives the blessing of the oil. As they do, the person on the left (me) kisses the icon, and then receives the blessing. We kiss the hang of the priest because he has been set apart and blessed by God to give this blessing to us. Then we do another sign of the cross, bow to the priest, and then to each other. It was really beautiful.

I'm excited to go again. I really want to hang out with some of them some time outside of church. I'm curious about their faith - what it means to them, how they encounter God, what their journey of faith to orthodoxy looked like (many of them are converts). There were several teenagers and young 20s there. It would be very interesting to talk to them about their experiences.

Many people introduced themselves and asked me, "Are you from the bookshop?" Daniel told them I was coming.

back to school

Russ 50A Conversation for Beginners - Part 1
Beginning oral communication course designed to improve listening and speaking skills needed for survival at school, on the job and in the community. Participate in a variety of pronunciation, listening and conversational activities to improve their oral/aural competency.

It's going to be strange to have homework again. Strange but fun. I am, however, worried about my attention span. I haven't had a three hour class for a couple of years.

degrees of coordination

This morning I decided to go a little bit more on the dressy side and wore some new clothes to church. My new brown pants necessitated a little bit more than the usual flip flops so I had to wear my new heels. Now, the heels are only one inch, but they're fairly skinny, and for me, any heel might as well be four inches.

Just in case you're thinking this is a story that ends in my humiliation, it isn't. I didn't fall or make a fool of myself in any way (though a worship team member did take the opportunity to remind me of the time I set myself on fire). I did, however, by the second song kick the darn heels off because I couldn't move at all for fear of falling over. Guitar and heels do not mix.

the quest

This afternoon I decided to finally begin the long process of getting my various pictures from overseas developed. I decided to start with Russia. So I loaded about 100 pictures from Russia '05 on my flash drive and headed to Long's. Alas, the machine could not find my files. I thought this was because I'd put them in a sub-folder. So I dropped my grandma's for a bit and reorganized the files. I went back to Long's, and once again it would not work. At this point I was pretty pissed. But I decided to move on. I headed downtown to drop off my Russia vocab cds at the library, then headed to Barnes and Noble, one of my favorite places in the world. I've been thinking the past few days (thought it's been a passing thought for longer than that) of getting a Book of Common Prayer. Well, B&N actually delivered, and I found one.

BoCP in hand, I decided to take a little walk down to the Episcopal church and see if I could actually have someone show me how to use the darn thing. This was really an unusually brave mood on my part. So, I made the 1.5 mile or so walk down to the church, and talked to the nice lady in the front office about the book's layout and how it can be used. Just down the street from that church there is an orthodox store. I decided to stop in since I'd never been there before. There were icons everywhere. Several shelves of books, and the mixed smells of incense and candles. Small and very full. I looked at icons for a while, then got into a small conversation with the shop keeper. He told me that they had a little chapel, "the most beautiful part of the store." I stepped through the doorway into a small back room and was amazed at what I saw. The walls and backdrop were all draped in black so the icons could stand out. There was a small table in back with some different prayer books and a bible. Toward the front there was a kind of alter with a few more icons. Candles were burning on either side of the front of the room.

My first inclination was to kneel or to make the sign of the cross...two things I have seldom done. I'm protestant. We don't really do those things...especially the latter. I didn't though because I was too self conscious about the shop keeper coming back in. I wish I had though. At least I silenced my cell phone. It was a holy moment. I have not felt that way in a long time. I walked over to the table and opened a book of prayers. I prayed the first morning prayer. Theotokos. A word I remember hearing out of Okholm's mouth in theology on a number of occasions. I remember it is something about Christ being God (theo). Lord, have mercy on us. Twelve. Twelve times asking for God's mercy.

I am wondering if I should set up a chapel in our basement. Not really, but it is an interesting thought. The studio could work. Incense, candles, icons, prayer books, Bible. Space. I love how three dimensional it is. Each permeates your being in a different way. And the routine of it, the devotion appeals to me. Doing it even when you don't feel it. When I am left to my own devices I seldom make the choice to keep trying; to trust that God is in it, even when I don't feel Him; to believe that something formative is going on.

I am trying to trust that this season will not last forever. And I am trying to understand my role...what I must participate in and what I must be patient with. Trust.

it's still the best

Tonight I am happy. I am happy because I had a nice, relaxing evening at home. I actually made it to the gym (first time in about a month), I got to hang out with my roommates, and the kicker - we watched The Sound of Music. Nothing can brighten my day like Julie Andrews as a would be nun turned nanny turned wife. I still say I would be Maria Von Trap, minus the Nazis.