Circuitous Ruminations

Maybe it’s the nexus you’ve been waiting for.

Check it out.

So this is a half-hearted post, but a post nonetheless! It’s a letter I wrote to a bunch of people today who were kind and generous enough to sponsor me on a 35 mile bike ride I did on Saturday, May 12. My two roommates, my sister, her boyfriend, and I all did this together, and raised over $1000 in sponsorships for our trip to Kenya in the fall! And I thought I’d try to start filling my Vox friends in on my life too cuz I love you guys! I’d like to say I’ll write more soon, and I do promise to seriously contemplate that endeavor!

Hello everyone!

Here’s a brief update and a HUGE thank you! My 35 mile bike ride was awesome on Saturday… it took me through the heart of Thousand Oaks, hugging the mustard clad hills all the way, down through Oak Park and Westlake, across the 101 freeway, wrapped around the lake of Westlake, cut through a small mountain pass to Lake Sherwood, and then on through Hidden Valley which was pristine and full of multi-million dollar estates and ranches. I think the Lake Sherwood/Hidden Valley part was my favorite, as I had never seen that lake before and I LOVE going through Hidden Valley — this time I got to do it on my bike, taking time to smell the alfalfa drying in the fields, the pungent aroma of the animals, the flowers, and to soak in the colors of the sky and the emerald green grass.

I’m deeply grateful to all of you who supported me in so many ways… thanks to your generosity, I have a good start to building the fund for my Kenya trip. If you want to be involved in further fundraising, we are planning another garage sale (at the last one we raised a record $1000!) for June (looking at the 9th). If you live locally and want to clean out your closets and garage, please give me a call or email and I will be happy to pick up just about anything and haul it away for you. Anything that is not sold at the garage sale will either be saved for the next one or taken to the Goodwill.

Thank you again for your support and love. Please keep me posted in all of your endeavors!

P.S. Couple pics from the ride, with a lovely watermark to go with them!



I may use the space in this post as a bit of a life update since I don’t normally write on such mundane topics. But some of you out there are actually desiring basic facts, so this post is dedicated to those 3 people or so

The sun shines down on me today, Wednesday, finding me with a bit of a headache but a strange and welcome lightness inside (mostly attributed to Ansus Berkana’s new song that I just heard today). The words from “Whatever You Want� by Ansus Berkana, “You’re wasting time with your feet on the ground� are echoing through my thoughts. I feel inspired to waste very little time from here on out, and the last few weeks show testimony to my current conviction.

Almost two weeks ago, my sister and I boarded a plane and took off for New York. We stayed with lovely people in an apartment in Manhattan and enjoyed exploring as much of the city as we could in 2.5 days. The first night we bundled up and ventured into SoHo, Chinatown and Little Italy. We ate our first slice of crunchy, cheesy NY pizza in Little Italy, admired the dead fish on display in Chinatown, wandered through the grand opening of an art show while sipping free wine, and stumbled back to the apartment cold but excited for the next two days. On Sunday we had the most amazing mochas from the chocolate factory/store of Jacque Torres, ran through most of the Met, ate more pizza, strolled through an icy Central Park, bought long underwear and another down jacket from Macy’s (it was SOOOOOOO cold!), set my eyes on Times Square for the first time, and ate at Chevy’s in commemoration of my sister’s dog who shares the same name. Monday brought even colder temperatures (8 degrees F, but the news said it would feel like -8 with the wind chill!!!), a ferry ride to the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island, a visit to Ground Zero, and one more foray out to Times Square before tucking ourselves into our chilly beds and rising for an early flight to Orlando.

New York was stellar, but I must say, it was quite enjoyable to step off the plane in Orlando and feel the sunshine and the mild humidity. My sister spent the first few days with a friend while I assisted my team in the creation, birth and sustained life of Humana 2.0, a conference hosted in Orlando. Pictures will follow the text, if not in this one, then soon (I’m at work right now and the children’s nap time is drawing to a close, thus the minutes allotted to writing are numbered!). Humana exceeded all expectations! It ran seamlessly, and united many heroes in joint cause to save the universe. I’m very proud of those I served alongside and I loved seeing so many familiar faces!

I hear a little voice repetitively calling my name from the upstairs region, so I should wrap this up. More soon, and much love to all my dear friends I saw in Orlando, and also to those who read this who are called to other geographical extremities (yes, I’m talking to you John and Bran and Meg!).

“Hey white people! Hey, people! Hey, HEY!!!� The call was repeated until we had walked well past the group. I almost felt like a celebrity for a second, tapping a quick rhythm with my feet as I hurried along the sidewalk, until I remembered where I was. 5th and S. San Pedro. Downtown. Skid Row. The sun was quickly falling behind the tall buildings and a chilly wind was sweeping through the alleys. We hurried to reach the safety of the mission lest we were caught outside with the locals in the lengthening shadows.

Some friends and I spent the day at the Union Rescue Mission in Los Angeles. It is the country’s oldest mission, currently housing between 300-350 temporary “guests� each night, and another couple hundred spread throughout their various programs. They provide three meals a day, an estimated 2300 plates distributed daily. Many of the same faces return day after day, meal after meal. Children. Elderly. Sick. Proud. Clean. Insolent. Crazy. Each face has a story, with details that are incomprehensible to orderly suburban minds. Each heart beats with pain that isn’t healed with a plate of food.

Five little fingers, stretched wide, reached for my yellow folder. She ran up to me when we momentarily crossed from the mission into the alley. I touched her tiny palm and smiled at her, but that wasn’t enough. She insisted on procuring my bright visitor’s packet, so I opened it up and gave her the business card. The smile I got in return made my eyes burn with moisture. Innocence and heavenly enchantment were made immortal in that brief exchange. Her face is unforgettable.

What can be done for the wide-eyed children of our broken world? It was not their doing that put them on the street, but the folly of another. I echo Jenna’s words… these people are fighting for their lives, and they need more than our mere sympathy. It’s time to act.

Today my body is sick. My head is heavy, my limbs are floating through jell-o, everything aches, and my throat is swollen. Ouch.

Today my heart is crushed and angry. I have been healthy for a record three months and I had a growing suspicion that I had reached an immortal status, or at least a strong defense against the remote possibility of contracting malignant germs. I’m not that annoyed at the actual sickness raging through my achy flesh; I’m vexed because my body isn’t the blooming picture of health and a strong immune system like I thought it was. My application for Good Health Super Hero status has been denied. Perhaps death will come soon…

(is that melodramatic enough ?)

I made a decision today! One that might prove important, or full of lots of work and pain and reward.

I was asked by a friend a couple of weeks ago, “When are you going to be a writer?” He wanted me to give a date and time, like “In two weeks,” or “Next year.” Well, today is the day and here is the official announcement for what it’s worth (it solidifies the fact in my soul — that’s what it’s worth!). I am a writer. And here is an attempt at poetry on this day of decision. I welcome thoughts, criticisms, reviews, etc. from here on out Part of being a writer now is actually learning how to write and being open to all forms of help!

Potent therapy
penetrating like a drug.
Liberation for the weary soul,
winging toward the flames on the wings of a dove.
No escape, no turning.
Only sweet release
to the unsought peace.

(This poem was inspired by a morning soaking up sunshine with Tina, Dean and my kids. The warm sunshine was healing for all of us and brought much joy.)

I feel a breeze blowing from somewhere within. It’s skittering tangled threads of voices along the sidewalk in my imagination… “God is faithful (what does that mean?),â€? “It’s not your fault,â€? “Mail that old letter.â€? Completely disconnected, yet there is something or someone vying for my attention. Talk to me. I hear that voice clearly. Let me talk to you. Will you stop and listen? Maybe later… there’s too much to do…

How’s life? Life is busy. Life is constant. What’s new? Nothing. Everything. How are things? Just fine. Everything is just fine, thanks. All these questions that we ask each other. What are we trying to get at? What do we want to know, to hear, to experience from/with each other? Connection. Connectedness. Non-solitary existence. We want witnesses to our lives, witnesses who actually care. This morning I picked up the phone and called some friends. I wanted to know what had been going on in their lives and to share some of my experiences with them. To stay connected. Question: If we disconnect from people, do we cease to live? If we disconnect from the Source of life is there any life to be had at all? That breeze feels a little stronger now… I think the wind is picking up.

What is life? Existence. The period between birth and death. The feeling I have when I burst to the surface after holding my breath under water as I count to a million. The sensation on my tongue as frozen semi-sweet chocolate divinely melts into a delectable lump. I live and my heart beats and my lungs search for air every 2.3 seconds. How can I live more? I don’t think my heart is longing to beat faster or that I need to squeeze in more breaths per second or stuff myself with chocolate. And yet, there is a deliciously tingly feeling about having your pulse quicken and your blood speed up when a potentially perilous offer is put in front of you. I know of someone who said that life could be lived or given in abundance — what a crazy statement! But I feel this to be true when I ride a roller coaster, or stand up in the back of a jeep while off-roading, or through action realize my depth of love for someone, or look into a pair of eyes that moments before were filled with pain, but my gift to them brought joy and salvation. *my heart jumped at that last image.* I think that whatever abundant life is, it’s got to be found somewhere between the edge of a cliff, the rapids of a swelling river, and filling the belly of a hungry soul. Woa, my hair just lifted a little. Someone should open that window a little wider and let the wind blow; it might clean up some of those cobwebs in the corners that I can’t reach.

How is it that we get so lost in ourselves? How do I get so lost in myself? My little world of pain and joy and stagnation and movement really doesn’t mean much unless it’s connected to the bigger ocean full of global currents and wind and teeming life. I want my ship to sail as a part of the World Naval Fleet, not just the local boat club that meets in the harbor. The open ocean freaks me out (I hope my life vest holds out!), but there’s nothing like it on land. You should come try it too; give your sea legs a chance. What are you waiting for?

“I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore…â€?

I’m ready to talk now.

Did you hear that?

This update is dedicated to Deana and Niza… I hope it’s everything you hoped it would be

I live. It’s true. I live.

I’m not kidding! This is an important statement in my life at this moment. Let me explain… yesterday I stared death in the face and nearly succumbed, but in the end, I rose from the dirt victorious.

Okay, so that’s all a little dramatic (I like to throw some drama into my storytelling). But here’s what happened: last night was a big Vox Underground Culture Pub, and there was a lot of work to do. We were all very excited and the feelings of anticipation were running high. In preparation for the big day, I decided to go horseback riding with my sister in the morning. Something about being with her, racing through the trails on powerful beasts and breathing in the scents of the morning sounded like a good way to prepare my soul for the big day. Everything went great, until the last stretch of trail… all the danger had passed, all the sharp turns and galloping, and I decided to take off my jacket as we approached home. I had to set the reigns down to do that, and as I slipped my arms out of the sleeves, Travis, my not so trusty steed, spooked and took off galloping and bucking. I grabbed the reigns and held on long enough for him to gain some speed and then I fell off. As I bounced along the trail, I saw my life flash before my eyes (just kidding, but it sounded good). When I woke up (I never really blacked out), I spit the dirt out of my mouth, clutched my throbbing ankle, and shook clods of dirt from my hair. A neighbor caught my unruly, evil horse, a kind couple stopped in their car and drove me home, and my sister took over the care of the beastly beasts. Against my initial desires, I decided to go to urgent care later in the day to make sure the ankle wasn’t broken and that my neck and head weren’t damaged too badly. As everything stands today, I’m fine! My body is bruised and very sore, but I’ll be fine.

So that’s my exciting update for today. Hopefully more tomorrow with Vox news and pics, which is MUCH more exciting than my little mishap. Such a good night it was!

I realized that I didn’t exactly explain why I was calling my last post, “Soul Enema.” I’ve gone twice now in the back of the jeep for middle of the night forays through the mountains and coast of California, and each time I have felt like my soul is scrubbed clean. The stars are bright, the wind sharp and cold, cutting seemingly straight to my soul. God feels close and all I have to do is toss up small breaths of prayer and conversation, and the wind is ready to carry it straight to his inclined ear.

How is your soul scrubbed?

Have you ever wondered how to get that “just-washed-squeaky-clean� feeling in your soul? Just take a ride in a naked jeep. Consider driving it down the freeway, exiting to take Mulholland Highway through the mountains, taking a brief and terrifying foray down a dirt trail, singing in a mountain tunnel, dipping your feet in the surf at Zuma at midnight, and then heading home via the PCH, cutting up through another canyon to then coast through the sleeping city toward home. Despite some objections to the title, I’m calling this experience a “soul enema.�

Such were the happenings several nights ago, when Jenna, Andy and I were hanging out with Jason. Jason is the proud owner of the freedom machine, a fantastic old black jeep that goes “topless� and often doorless for much of the long California summer. We piled in late in the evening, none of us quite ready to re-enter the stuffy indoors of video games, internet surfing and movies, and all of us ready for an adventure.

The jeep took off flying down the 101, and I was indebted to the geese who gave their lives so I could be wrapped tightly in a down blanket. It was so freaking cold! Soon we exited the freeway and began a twisty trek along Mulholland Highway. At one point, as we rounded a turn and accelerated toward the next we spotted drums in the back of a truck parked in the turnout, so we did a quick u-turn and enjoyed some country music under the stars with our new friends from Pepperdine. Those moments were truly magical.

After two songs, we continued on our way and the soft sounds of guitar plucking and the warm romantic feelings inside generated by the music quickly faded as Jason began to enact his evil plan. He had refused to tell us where he was taking us, and we began to fear the worst. Jenna whispered, “He’s secretly an axe murderer and he’s going to take us down a dirt road and hack us to pieces!â€? Andy was less discreet, and openly accused Jason of homicidal intentions. And sure enough, we soon found ourselves bumping down a dark, dirt road marked “Private!,â€? “Keep Out!,â€? and “No Trespassing!â€? Our fear mounted as the initial warnings were repeated 100 yards down the jolting driveway. Andy, at this point, decided to abandon the vehicle, and Jenna and I begged Jason to turn around. Much to our surprise, he obliged our request! Andy climbed back in, Jenna and I settled back into our seats, but the wicked Jason proceeded to continue on the path backwards! He claimed that this was being “smart about it,â€? because in case we ran into any trouble, he could punch the accelerator and have the benefit of being pointed in the right direction. My fear of Jason killing us quickly and easily transferred to fear of the hillbillies killing us! We started passing abandoned cars and trucks and boats, precarious structures made out of sheet metal and pieces of wood, and heaps of trash. All the while we were holding on with white knuckles, bumping madly down the pothole filled, steep dirt trail. The dust swirled around the vehicle as Jenna and I reached official freak-out status, then without warning….!

… want to take a guess as to what happened?????

Beach clean-up, free t-shirt — who can resist that combination? Last week my friends and I went to Venice Beach to help KROQ and a couple thousand locals clean up the famous sands. Due to the coffee needs of our crew and a prolonged stop at our favorite Starbucks, we were late arriving and missed out on the free t-shirt opportunity. And by the time we made it to the front of the line, they were also out of lunches and wristbands. Well, at least we could still be contributing individuals and don our safety gloves and lift our trash bags high! We named ourselves the Hardcore Trash Whores,
and we stepped onto the beach with fierce determination that no garbage would go untouched! But as we walked into the sand and started combing for litter, our spirits shifted from those of committed collectors to a deflated second string team. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, had already walked our steps with their protective hand gear and their billowing plastic sacks. There was hardly any trash to be found! I uncovered the first treasure for our team — a piece of dirty styrofoam the size of a quarter. Success! We are helping the environment, making the beach a cleaner, safer place to be! Now if only some syringes and old rubbers could be spotted and placed securely in our garbage bag. That would feel like some real beach detox was happening under our careful labors.
After spending about 20 minutes wandering around and uncovering miniscule pieces of paper and plastic, we broke for a photo shoot by the resident photographer, yours truly. As we were heading off in search of sustenance to reward our efforts, Geoff lost control.
In his frustration at encountering an already clean beach, he decided to upend an existing trash can so he could frantically and heroically clean up the ugly scar of refuse on the virgin sand. Thankfully, Lindsay came to his rescue before he attracted too large of a crowd, and he only got a few ugly glances.
Next on the agenda… LUNCH. After our strenuous efforts of picking up nonexistent bits of trash, we were ready for some serious refreshment. We opted for the pizza joint and followed up with some ice cream shortly after, but not before Jenna and I made a brief foray into a piercing parlor. I decided to either get my nose done, or the cartilage in my mid-left ear, but in the end I left without any new holes in my head. Cost is such a prohibitive factor.

After strolling along the boardwalk of freaks, and racing Tim to dive into the water fully clothed, our ears caught the sound of electric guitars… the concert was beginning! Jurassic Five was in the house (or on the beach) and the crowd was swelling.
I must state here that I am typically not a fan of the hip-hop genre, but I became one with the beat and I was lifting my hands with the best of ‘em. But mid-concert, Tim and I decided it was time to play with my camera again. I discovered the hidden gangsta within for an afternoon as I posed against graffiti walls, and I found it very liberating.
Tim also found some truer expressions of his soul and overall, the photographic payoff was bounteous.
As the sounds of funk faded from the air, we saluted the seagulls and sauntered off in the direction of our car. It was truly a fulfilling day of loving the planet, loving my gangster friends, and loving the beat. Next time KROQ hosts a beach clean up, I’ll be first in line.

The hours slip by, slowing adding up to days and years. Life is being spent with every breath and each heartbeat counts the rhythm that makes up my existence. Thump-thump… thump-thump… thump-thump. My footsteps sense the tempo of my heart and begin an uneven skipping as I walk this weed-infested sidewalk. “Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back.â€? I hear a younger self singing somewhere in the back of my brain, like a vaguely familiar musical refrain that passes through the dark stairwell of a twelve-story apartment building. I knew that girl once. Where did she go? Who is she now? Who is she becoming?

The days meld themselves into months and the years group into seasons. Memories flit by on a broken projector screen… Cherry-pineapple big sticks and a favorite pink button-up shirt imprinted with bears in tuxedos. A brand-new kitten stuffed in a mayonnaise jar and a massive white dog bounding up with wagging tail and sloppy tongue. The feel of a new softball in my hand and a tearful farewell to my faithful old glove. Squirt guns and surprises under my pillow, candy stowed away in my closet, precious treasures stored in my “100-year old penny box,â€? and a sense of endless youth found in adventurous sleep-overs in the old, bug-infested fort. The pincher bugs and spiders weren’t all that frightening… it’s amazing how memory covers up all the scary inconveniences of the past.

Child, youth, adult. Such is the cycle all must endure, yet does each person pass through the phases successfully? Perhaps there are pieces of my self that I lost along the way… some pieces are found amongst the sneezy little dust bunnies under the bed, and others are uncovered in the weird “everythingâ€? drawer. But other pieces might have been destroyed or mutilated through suffering, or put in a box that was accidentally thrown away in the Monday morning trash collection. Who could I have been if someone had found that box of odds and ends headed for the dumpster and washed them in a strong solution of hope and love?

Cycles… I once heard that life is like an ascending spiral (or a descending spiral, if hope is lost). A series of connected concentric circles, climbing round and round, higher and higher. If I were climbing this spiral, I would notice that I would see similar surroundings each time I completed a full cycle. That from point a all the way around to point a again, I would encounter points b, c, d, etc. So in a sense, I would have twenty-six points of scenery, twenty-six different walls to climb, joys to delight in, or issues to encounter. And I’ve found this to be true in my life — things do seem to cycle around and I encounter the same things again and again. But the part about this ascending spiral that I like is that each time I encounter that “thingâ€? again, I’m a step higher than before. This thought brings me hope, because I might “loseâ€? something at point g but perhaps I can find it or rebuild it when I come back around the next time.

“Tiny steps, dancing on the rim. Is there welcome within? Toes and heels, asking with eager uncertainty.� Am I okay? Life seemed simple with that huge popsicle in my hand, climbing nimbly up the wooden ladder to my fort.

There was no tension in those apples, but rather eccentricity and perhaps even madness. Why did one fall away? Who allowed that to happen? Abnormality. A failure to conform to the norm. Irregular. That apple was eccentric. Maybe that’s what brings such interest to this painting. Such is my experience of Cezanne’s painting of the apples on the table, which I saw in the Getty museum a week ago. Maybe that apple was on the run and saw a chance for escape, like the captive fish in the dentist’s office in the movie “Finding Nemo.â€? Their big hope was to be put in little plastic bags on the table, and then have the chance to push their soft spheres out the window, across the street, and into the ocean. Yeah, that’s what was going on… that apple one step away from fugitive status. So many beautiful paintings that day, and I can’t forget those crazy apples.

My world is shrinking rapidly — I think someone put me in the dryer on an extra-hot setting, because the cotton fibers that compose my structure of the universe have shrunk considerably tonight and I find myself bumping into other inhabitants unexpectedly! Here’s the story — I went to theHollywood Bowl tonight with two dear friends, Margaret and Cheryl. It’s a HUGE outdoor amphitheater/performance venue that holds thousands of people. We were looking forward to enjoying the Irish/Scottish music and the stash of chocolate and “specialâ€? beverages stowed in our cooler. As we were happily munching our pre-show chocolate and sipping from disposable champagne glasses, a group of four noticeable individuals settled into the seats right next to us — the two men were wearing kilts *inward gasp* and Margaret simultaneously emitted an audible gasp in my ear as she gazed at our bench-mates. In an incredulous whisper, she informed me that she knew one of the girls from the blogging world! Months ago in her labyrinthian internet wanderings, she had come across various blogs and links to blogs. One of those “links to a link to a linkâ€? led her to this girls’ site, and Margaret found it interesting enough to pursue a habit of reading it, though never commenting on the posts. What makes this particularly interesting, is that the girl and her husband had been living in Scotland until just two weeks ago (hence the display of kilts), and for whatever reason (perhaps it was the promise of Celtic music at the Bowl tonight) decided to sit in a Hollywood theater right next to us. Margaret quickly mustered the courage to walk over to the group, and informed the girl that as strange as it may seem, she knew many intimate facts about her life which the stranger had willingly posted on the world wide web for all to see. The first dubious looks quickly switched to surprise, which led directly to laughter! Two strangers meet, and one intimately knows the other… what an interesting world we live in! Can the human psyche adjust to this kind of global vulnerability?

P.S. To the lovely lady who has lionhearted friends manly enough to wear those beautiful kilts (and who looked very handsome in them) — if you ever stumble across this post, please say hello I would be delighted to make your acquaintance!

Gnarled hands reach out, sliding easily through the bars that confine her soul. The lock is secure, but her prison is not impenetrable. A sob escapes from her throat, and a finger rushes to catch the solitary tear. Warm breath pulses through the darkness and a steady throb lures her heart into its rhythm. Someone is near.

She shrinks back in fear to the corner of her cell. Frustrated at her inability to walk in freedom, confinement was her only option. Self-incarcerated, the pit pulled her deeper. It had been days since the last thin beam of sunlight stole away from sight and the dense darkness became her only companion. How then, was she not alone? She ran till she dropped, tunneled till she couldn’t lift her arms, and wallowed till she couldn’t recognize her own humanity. Shutting down thought and denying emotion. Emptiness was her only truth.

Who then is this unsought guest? Why does the emptiness take on form and life? She huddles further down, curling her toes around the uneven stone pavement and clenching her fists tightly against her body. A thought flashes, “I will not be taken by this eerie stranger, this unnamed person,� and her mind screams, “I control me! I will choose when I cry, when I run, when I rest, when I speak. You, oh vibrant visitant, will not affect me without my leave.�

Despite the strong offensive assault of her stubborn will, her heart raises a timid but firm hand, asking permission to be heard… “Perhaps this stranger isn’t here to mock or shame, or to use coercive force…. perhaps it is safe to show myself to him… perhaps there is another way than the one I’ve chosen…â€? Her will bends slightly, inclines an ear, and suppresses further protestations. Weak legs raise her battered body and she inches herself closer to the one who inhabited and warmed the darkness. He extends an invitation, and she reaches for the water, held in hands she instantly recognizes.

“Fear knocked at the door, faith answered, and no one was there.” ~ Tim (xrayeyes.voxtropolis.com)

Thanks Timmy. I am now reconciled to starfish.

We had a fun afternoon at the McManus household today. Tina, Cheryl and I drove over to help pack up books and start filling the temporary storage units as Niza and Alex are quickly approaching a move. Alex called us Navy Seals of the church, or something like that (correct me if I’m wrong!). I like that idea… that we have a mission, we subversively move in, accomplish our goal, and get out. A mission of love and movement. Beautiful. So that was the deep thought for the moment. There was thick stress and emotion but laughs grew and tensions alleviated as progress was made. I really love these people!! Here are some pics of the afternoon.

Extreme muscles with this guy!

Alex, hard at work at nothing (he said his work was invisible).

The lovely Cheryl packing books

I wasn’t trusted with this delicate job, but these ladies showed me how it’s done.

What a terribly fickle person I am. Up one day, down the next. Exalting in the breath of the wind one moment, swirling in darkness the next. I’m on a self-propelled roller coaster, my path dictated one track at a time. Sometimes many tracks are laid in quick succession as the coaster takes a dive, and other times the tracks are laid carefully and slowly as I ascend toward the skies, sometimes only to plummet again leaving my stomach lurching and my heart gasping for understanding. Every once in a while I hit a straightaway and the wind churns to tornado speeds; my breath is snatched from my throat before my lungs have a chance to enjoy the oxygen needed to sustain my body. The exhilarating, breakneck pace never lasts long and is usually followed by a period (a day, a few days; it’s always different) of slowness and recuperation.

Is this life? Is this normal?

I died today. It was kinda crazy, really; I think it’s too bad that I only get to do it once because I’d almost like to experience it again just for the fun of it. Some people say that when you fade away from this world, you’re supposed to walk toward the light of the next. But it felt more like the light came to me, wrapping me in its warmth and assaulting all my senses with a feeling of HOME. And OH! how I love being here!!! I’m home now, finally home in the arms I’ve been aching for all my life.

But that’s not what I wanted to tell all of you now. You’ll have your chance someday to take that final step home, and we’ll compare notes and laugh about our different experiences then. For now, I wanted to address the matter of my eulogy. I noticed that some of you have already been scrawling notes and ideas, and I wanted to thank you for your good intentions, but let me offer a little assistance. I thought it would be much more expedient to simply send my own eulogy, transmitted through a willing source (thank you dear reader, for speaking my words to everyone. The colorful and welcoming slate of your sleeping mind was a delightful place to transcribe them). I didn’t want everyone to focus on my outward achievements or accomplishments; no statistics or recounting of deeds. There are more important things to consider when it comes to remembering the value of a life.

Here is my request: I want you to fill a canvas with faces. My treasures are the hearts that learned to beat to the rhythm of my Lover. My life was made full by leading lost sheep to the quiet waters of the Shepherd, watching their eyes widen with sight, hearing their little bleats of infant love as He healed their wounds and beckoned them forward. I loved racing around the suburbs and cities, making connections primarily with my peers, youth, and children, and teaching them about my Shepherd. It was my joy to lead them to the base of the mountain where He waited. The stream flowing there was so fresh and pure, the meadow safe and inviting. It was from there that the Shepherd would take them, loving, leading and drawing them further up and further into the mountains. Often I accompanied my friends as far as I could, but would ultimately turn around and run back down to the populated wastelands to invite others into the joy of the mountains where the Shepherd walked. My heart grew strong and my legs powerful as I raced up and down the hills, alternately bringing new sheep to the quiet meadow, and then following Jesus to the peaks with the others. Love made my eyes shine, Beauty propelled my feet to greater heights, and Trust made me leap across increasingly wider canyons and rivers, knowing that I was as safe as a small child under her father’s watchful eye.

There were many sacrifices though, and many painful decisions. It was hard and tiring living this crazy life, and through it I learned to follow in the footsteps of an ancient man who once wrestled with God for a blessing. I, too, have wrestled with God, and I have both the scars and the crowns to prove it. And it turns out that God has been very pleased with my passionate determination to be a warrior; I have no regrets.

Obviously, that is the more imaginative approach to describing my life, and there is so much more to say, but I think I will save it for another time. Simply, I loved my Jesus, I loved people, and I loved bringing them together. I learned to be a gentle yet fierce warrior fighting for lives, but keeping in mind that love is the ultimate weapon.

So when it comes to my memorial gathering, plaster the walls of the room with faces and fill the seats with the broken and beautiful immortals who heard the name of Jesus from my lips and saw Him through my life. I was stretched beyond limit but I didn’t snap. I was broken, but not erased. My feet were calloused, my breath short, and my body raw from weather and wilderness, but Love sustained me and has now brought me home. It was all worth it.

That’s what I want you to do when you gather for my final party a few days from now. That’s what I want you to remember.

I got “tagged” on myspace, and thought I’d include it over here too. I know I’ve been silent for a long time, but more is coming soon, I promise!

Lindsay, I’m doing this for you! Okay, six weird things about myself… I guess I’ve taken a lot of flack for some of these things through the years, so it won’t hurt to tell a few more people…

1. I still sleep with a blankie. No, not a “blanket;� a blankie (I guess you could spell it with a “y� at the end if you wanted to). My mom gave it to me when I was born, and I’ve been unable to part with it. I finally came to complete terms with my attachment disorder somewhere in college, realizing that it really is here to stay, yes, my future husband will sleep with me AND the blankie, and NO, I never plan on trying to work through my “issues.� So don’t talk to me about it.

2. I’m a really finicky sleeper — I can mostly only sleep well in my own bed, in utter darkness, with no sound except for the soothing white noise of a fan. I have my special neck therapeutic thingy pillow, my blankie, my cat, and a down comforter. That is my happy place. I’m not a huge fan of sleepovers, and I get REALLY grumpy when my routine is messed with Maybe I’m open to growth in this area.

3. Every time I travel, I over-pack (except for once, I was so proud of myself!). It’s tricky though, when I have to have my small down comforter for the plane/car ride; my big digital SLR camera with extra accessories for the incredible shots I know I’ll get; 5 books to choose from for reading pleasure cuz I don’t know what kind of mood I might be in when it comes to actually scanning them; clothes for all kinds of weather just in case the weather man was on acid when he gave the reports and Tuesday brings snow while Wednesday melts it all away; some snacks in case the plane food is scary; water cuz plane water cups never hold enough and everyone knows dehydration is a big issue when flying on a jet plane and who wants to get sick and pass out?; paper in case I want to write; my laptop in case I want to watch a movie… and the list goes on. Yeah, I think I’m making myself ill. Maybe next time I’ll just go with the clothes on my back, money and a passport. That sounds refreshing.

4. I chew the two lower inside corners of my mouth (and so does my sister… WEIRD!).

5. I have a foot phobia. Until recently, I did not particularly care for anyone touching my feet. Now I can tolerate it in certain moods with certain people in certain circumstances. I CANNOT tolerate feet touching me (thanks Bran and Bre for the painful torture).

6. I feel like the most beautiful creature on the planet when my hair is perfectly curly (it’s happened, like, twice ever).

The sunset cut through my chest like a knife. A surgeon wielding a scalpel couldn’t have made a more precise cut to my heart. Blood stained the skies. I was speeding due west, but was unable to catch the sun. My truck crested a hill and a deeply cut canyon opened up beneath me, as the wide road suddenly narrowed to a treacherous, hill-hugging wedge of asphalt. My eyes darted around to take in the throbbing beauty, narrowly missing other cars and quickly adjusting to sharp turns. There were hidden emerald meadows, grazing horses, ruby and silver clouds above, and no place to pause to quench my thirst. The canyon slipped away and flat plains of agriculture stepped in, with the ocean in the distance and jutting mountains at my shoulders. The wide expanses overwhelmed me. I thought I would allow myself some tears, but remembered that it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and I should keep my wits about me whilst operating my beastly machine, allowing the possibility that others may have been celebrating early.
(I, too, was on my way to a party… a party for two. Her name is Summer, and we shared some milk and cookies before she went to bed at eight. Sweet cherub. As she slept in my arms, her rosy lips came to a perfect pucker. Angels must be near, I concluded, as her lips formed the shape to receive their kisses.)

I have been feeling a lot this week. That’s the answer I’ve been giving when a friend asks me how I am. “I’m feeling a lot,â€? I’ll respond, with a little smile. Often a second question will follow, something to the effect of, “Like what?,â€? or “What do you mean?â€? I almost don’t know how to explain it. I sense more deeply the changing of moods in my friends and family… sometimes I can do something to participate in the joy, alleviate the sorrow, or lift the bad mood, but other times the burden of emotion is too heavy and I can only retreat, or watch from a distance… nursing my own inadequacies, and/or asking God what I can, or should, do. Other things have been stabbing at me too, like the drive to Port Hueneme last night, the homeless man holding his sign, a hand on my face and a kiss on the head, the green and budding trees of spring, a glance of love given and received, ripe strawberries piled high on shortcake (and boy, was it short! it failed to rise at all!), reading “Memoirs of a Geisha,â€? the sweet lips of my little Summer. Beauty has stopped me in my tracks more than once this past week, in all it’s various forms. Or should I say, all of His various forms…?

But as I continue walking this path toward Beauty, I leave a trail of blood in my wake or splashed across the skies. At times it is mere drops or smudges in the dust, and other times, an unchecked flow. Allowing emotions to affect seems to come at a price… each time I reach for beauty, I am seared. Eventually my skin will be unable to hold me together, and I will become transparent. Naked for all to see. Unencumbered by it’s constricting wrap. But His touch both draws the blood and staunches the flow. How is it that my heart gushes with the life-force inside threatening to spill every drop, and yet when the rush of emotional experience is over I am more alive than before? My scarlet fluid may be escaping from this weakening body at an alarming rate, but the faster it flows, the more alive I become. Well, I think I’d like Him to have it. I’m not sure I’m always willing to freely give it (fear is still a bitter taste in my mouth). But I want to learn to say, “Take it. Take it all.â€?

The fire of His touch. Flaming lips and branding fingerprints. My skin ignites as the swirls of His fingertips are burned into the trembling, willing flesh. Why do I long for this fiery caress? The pain may prove more than I can stand.

You can view more pictures from Florida at my Flickr site. Sorry, I still don’t know how to do links! That will hopefully be amended soon!

www.flickr.com/photos/stacijoy

Well, I haven’t exactly been a prolific writer these last few weeks. I’m not sure if I just don’t have words in this time in my life, or perhaps I’m terribly lazy. I do know that the writing muse has been whispering less in my ear… I’m confused at her absence, but I have resisted bucking against the silence. Why force something that is not ready to be born?

So that is the state this cold and dreary Sunday afternoon finds me in. And yes, I mean cold! We have a high of only 55 degrees today, with temps dipping into the 30’s tonight! I do hope all the strawberry crops survive! How my skin longs for the the tingling warmth of the Florida sun right about now… I sustained a mild sunburn last weekend while in Orlando, and I loved it.

Now I am lounging in my room, with three cats next to me, curled into tight, cold defying balls. My mind starts to wander, pondering the meaning of my existence. It is too much to grasp, so I turn to other matters… but wait! A thought takes hold! I never did say much about the trip to Florida so I think I will take a moment to do so now… about 14 of us flew from the LA area to Ocoee, a city just outside of Orlando. House Blend, a lovely new coffee house, was celebrating their grand opening, and we came to support them and to officially stamp them as the first Voxtropolis Hot Spot! Do Sul and Jason Sharp both played that night, the coffee flowed, and much fun was had by all. House Blend was created and is run by a phenomenal group of people with similar vision to the dreams we have for Voxtropolis. It was a great honor to hang with them for the weekend and to share our common purpose.

On a personal note, when Dean and Dave were affixing the Vox Hot Spot sticker to the window, something inside of me responded — my heart skipped and I had to take a deeper breath. It is one of the first public manifestations of our dream actually becoming a reality, and it was awesome to witness. We don’t work for nothing; our dreams aren’t unattainable; there are lots of people in this world with similar vision and desires, and I am confident that God will continue to hook us up with the right people at the right time as Vox grows.

Hello to everyone! Life has been busy, but perhaps I’m slowly learning to keep up. More info soon, but for now, know that I live and am quite well, if not just a little sleep deprived Just returned from a long weekend in Ocoee (near Orlando) — a big HELLO and a huge hug to any of those folks who happen to stumble on these few words! Exciting things to share, but for tonight, a VERY early bedtime. Much love to all.

The vines are bare this time of year, sleeping the short winter before once more stretching forth their green tendrils and drooping clusters. The exposed shapes are eerie, passionate, alluring. This one caught my eye…

conflict. tension. passion. pain. opposite poles. trapped. longing. connected. imprisoned. unified. yearning. Is there freedom in forced unity?

Some days I want to smash small heads together. Does that sound harsh? I can feign apology if that would help…

Sure, they look cute now. Please, don’t be deceived.

The gorgeous one in the middle is my sister — there is no animosity toward her at the moment.

(okay, I can’t fully rage, as I honestly do love my little charges to pieces. I need to apply for “Super Nanny” status… I hear the outfitter package is worth the start-up costs)

I took a drive last night. The weather has been in a state of bright
perfection for several days now, and I knew I couldn’t spend another
evening inside. So I packed my pink jacket, a beanie and scarf, my
camera and tripod, and I allowed Sigur Ros to serenade my soul as I
drove the 45 minutes to Leo Carillo.
This is my favorite local beach — there are tide pools, caves, rocks
and small cliff faces to scamper around on, scuba divers, surfers, kids
jumping the gentle swells and people of all ages drinking in the
beauty. I arrived at the tail end of sunset and as the last traces of
fire left the western sky, I set up my camera to capture the eerily
mystical sheen on the water, cast by the rising moon.

I felt my soul expand last night. I sat on a smooth, high rock, tracking
the ascent of the moon, looking around when the waves broke on the
rocks and the tide came galloping up through the rocks to skim across
the waiting sand. I watched night divers swim out past the breakers,
their lights blinking and then disappearing into the depths. I found
out later they were hunting for lobster. I felt I had a lot of things
to talk to God about… what a doozy of a week it had been. I brought
up a few things, but I felt a stronger urge to become quieter and
quieter. Like His hand was pressing down on my heart, a finger on my
lips, while other senses were invited to grow and swell. I felt secure
and safe with His hand on my heart — He wasn’t constricting it… it
was the tender touch of a master gardener, pressing down good soil and
fertilizer around the tender shoots and blossoms rising up toward the
sky. The firm press of the good shepherd, checking His beloved sheep
for blemishes and plucking thorns from the wool… the sheep destined
for slaughter must have no imperfections. He will continually see to
that, as this particular sheep has a knack for getting pretty messy.

I eventually moved on from my prime spot, and wandered around a little.
It’s an extensive beach, with lots to do when the sun is high and
friends are abundant. As it was, it was dark and I was alone. Much of
my initial fear at being alone had dissipated, but it was reawakened as
I was walking down a moonlight strewn shore and there was a lone figure
wending it’s way toward me. I turned on my heel and booked it back to
my truck… No crime shall be committed against me this night! (Okay,
so I can be a little paranoid.) I decided to continue this ethereal
journey, and chose a circuitous route home. Instead of following my
tracks south and then east, I headed north on the Pacific Coast
Highway, driving by more beaches, along mountains meeting the sea,
through farmland as I cut east, up a beautiful and steep canyon by way
of a cut through the mountains, avoiding the freeway, and then a slow
introduction back into suburbia.

So what did I experience?
Him. Jesus. He was very present. There are so many things constantly
vying for my attention and analyzation, but He asks for one thing…
“Come be with me! Sit at my side! Drink in my beauty! Feel my embrace,
rest in my love. You are my beloved; on you my favor rests.� I want to
be ready for sacrifice, and I think that readiness is found by staying
close to my Shepherd. It was good to drink deep and find my thirst even
harder to quench.

I’ve had a strange, full week of introspection and deep conversations with various friends. Cheryl and I laughed one day (the second day in a row of detailed conversation) at our fascination with exploring our own depths, strengths, idiosyncrasies, and other varied bits of sea foam and barnacles. Is this unhealthy? It can get to that point. But at the same time, I feel I’ve learned a lot this week. A long conversation with Tina brought some of my experiences into the realm of words and communicable thought. Nate’s recent post led to thoughts and major questions regarding strengths and gifts. Laura, Dave, Dean, and Aurick are other major contributers to my life this week. Part of me feels on overload right now, but there are other elements that are rearing up to run on the wind.

“I am your Beloved, and on me your favor rests.�

Is that something you can say out loud to God? It’s something that I tried a few times this week. I’m reading a book by Nouwen, called “The Return of the Prodigal Son� and every few pages something jumps out and hits me. This sentence seems to be a theme that he’s weaving in the various threads of the book.

Here’s a piece I wanted to share:

“At issue here is the question: ‘To whom do I belong? To God or to the world?’ Many of my daily preoccupations suggest that I belong more to the world than to God. A little criticism makes me angry, and a little rejection makes me depressed. A little praise raises my spirit, and a little success excites me. It takes very little to raise me up or thrust me down. Often I am like a small boat on the ocean, completely at the mercy of its waves. All the time and energy I spend in keeping some kind of balance and preventing myself from being tipped over and drowning shows that my life is mostly a struggle for survival: not a holy struggle, but an anxious struggle resulting from the mistaken idea that it is the world that defines me. As long as I keep running about asking: ‘Do you love me? Do you really love me?’ I give all power to the voices of the world and put myself in bondage.

…I am the prodigal son every time I search for unconditional love where it cannot be found…Why do I keep leaving home where I am called a child of God, the Beloved of my Father? …Here the mystery of my life is unveiled. I am loved so much that I am left free to leave home… But the Father is always looking for me with outstretched arms to receive me back and whisper again in my ear: ‘You are my Beloved, on you my favor rests.’â€?
Arg! So much of the time I allow myself to be defined by the little uppers and downers a typical day brings. My boss praises me and I glow. My friend speaks a curt word and my spirit cracks. Up and down, up and down. What a ride life is.

“I am your Beloved and on me your favor rests.�

I like that. I like trying to say it to God in my quiet room. Whispering it as the breeze brushes my lips and carries it away. Trying to speak it a little louder on a hill or in an open field. Sometimes truth can be hard to speak out loud. But it needs to be spoken. I am His and His favor rests on me.

It was a big day on Sunday… though I feel a bit unqualified to comment fully on it (others put in so much more work and effort — thank you!!!), I still desire to communicate a few impressions. Our community, the Spring, put on a huge God-party. We had free espresso, great food, incredible music (Jason Sharp Band and DJ Flood), a fire-pit, outdoor patio area, tons of special lighting, cafe bistro tables and all the usual interior decorations. It was our biggest effort yet to create the best cafe, or “culture pub,â€? in our history… and we’ve put together more than a couple in the past!

The night started with some teaching from the book of John, with the core group of people (about 25), which is part of our normal weekly gathering. Then, by 7 pm, about 100 people converged for the concert and to partake in the free cafe experience. It was a tantalizing sample of our future Vox, and a taste of what our town is ready for. We need a permanent place like this so badly!!! The majority of our guests were youths — late high school to college age. The conversations were buzzing, many wondering what this place was, what opportunities this venue might bring for their artistic expressions, who we were, and why were we doing this? Words feel stuck now as I’m trying to convey the layers of thought and emotion surrounding this night — so many implications for the future, and so much encouragement that we are on the right path pursuing establishing a Vox culture pub here!

People want a place to go. They want a place in which to express themselves. They want a place to hang and talk and drink coffee and sit by a fire-pit and hear good music and get a massage and bring up the deep questions of life. It all happened here last night. With some minor advertising and the motion of wagging tongues, word was spread and 100 people came ready to experience… experience what? Is it too big to say that they came to experience God? Yeah, that’s a stretch, but if they come back day after day, week after week, they’re going to run into Him. God, we need a place for these people!!!!!!

Posters for our musicians

Jason Sharp Band

Jason

DJ Flood

Segment of the crowd

Man twirling gold flags by the fire

Tim and Josiah enjoying the fire

There’s so much more I wish I had captured and so many faces I want to see here. They’ll come…

This is one of my top favorite poems, and it also happens to be the content of my very first blog, many months ago. I found it in an ancient book of poems by George MacDonald (well, it was over 100 years old) in one of my favorite bookstores, the Archives, located in Pasadena, CA. I ran out to my car for a scrap of paper and a pen so I could copy it down. Somehow it seems right to re-post it now, though I’m not entirely sure why. Hope you like it.

I am a bubble
Upon thy ever moving, restless sea:
Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble;
Take me down into thee.

Give me thy peace:
My heart is aching with unquietness;
Oh, make its inharmonious beating cease;
Thy hand upon it press

My sun! my day!
Swift night and day betwixt, my world doth reel;
Potter, take not thy hand from off the clay
That whirls upon thy wheel.

Oh heart! I cry
For love and life, pardon and hope and strength;
O father, am I thine? – I shall not die –
But I shall sleep at length.

As I wrote to a friend a few days ago, I feel there are many things inside of me, jostling around in freezing water, trapped under arctic ice. Surely there is an escape hole nearby so I can break free from the taunting jaws of my predators! (pardon me, I watched March of the Penguins this week and I apparently have lingering Antarctic images in my mind). It’s not that I truly feel that I’m being eaten alive from the inside out — it’s more that I haven’t expressed myself in much depth lately, and things are starting to get dangerously full inside. Like I need to let them out to make room for newness. Confessions? No, it’s more along the vein of declarations. I want a witness(es) to my inner life. Can a life be validated through the sharing of thoughts and ideas and impressions?

Brandy and I were talking a few weeks ago and I was telling her about how I’m not exactly reconciled to my past in terms of my conservative religious upbringing. Sunday School, Awana, structured “quiet times,� weekly attendance of a church service, summer camp, scheduled helping of the poor and needy, extreme elevation of the Scriptures (making the Bible, God, almost), etc. Where does all of that fit with my shifting paradigm? Knowing God is like being in love. Being enraptured with beauty and becoming it’s captive. I never heard that in Bible college.

Beauty. I feel driven by my desire for beauty… integration and absorbtion into the ultimate source of Beauty (God) but also driven in my quest for finding beauty all around me. In the way my friends’ eye lashes c ( t’s a guy, of course), in the slope and undulation of the hills surrounding my city, in the mysterious wafting of steam off the rim of my coffee cup, in the bounce and sway of the coniferous trees outside the house where I work, in the falling rose petal, in the sudden rush of birds out of the brush as I hike in the hills (I saw a bird that hovers — any ideas what it might be?), in laughter shared with friends. I want to know Beauty and become it’s prisoner. His captive. My Father’s beloved daughter.

As I test out this new, unknown path of adventure and vast possibilities, I find myself scorning the ideas of the past. Yet that doesn’t feel right to do and I feel a time coming when my past and my future will collide in an homogenized, authentic present.

Thoughts…?

I was inspired by Rachel and Deana, and wanted to add my experience as well!

So here I am, joining the fun wagon of posting my walk to Starbucks, in Thousand Oaks, California. I am a nanny, and I work at a home in Thousand Oaks. My babies and I love to go for walks, especially if it includes coffee (for me) and the playground (for them). It’s about 30 minutes from the house to the coffee shop, with a park trip somewhere in the middle. So here we go!

Michael and Summer can load themselves in the stroller now — so nice!

One of my favorite little windows of scenery tucked under the freeway, inbetween tract homes. I think fairies live here.

This path leads to the park and is a small shortcut on our way to my place of addiction.

Here we are enjoying a warm brew and the morning paper

Here’s a stop at the park on the way home. Can you see the puffy white clouds, feel the light breeze, savor the mild temperatures? Come on out and play with us!

And here’s a pic with one of our favorite Starbucks baristas, Jenna. This is at another location that we also frequent quite often and have made lots of friends here despite our mess and loud voices

Goodbye!

I’d love to see a photo journal of your favorite walk!

My sister and I had a wild time tonight of laughter and over 40 self-portraits. I won’t bore you with all of them, but here’s a sample. Maybe I’ll be unable to resist the temptation to add more later. I love this kid SOOOO much! We’re 8 years apart but have become so close these last couple of years. She turns 18 in just a few months and life as we’ve known it will end as we both consider moving out and pursuing our dreams. How I treasure times like tonight!

Kristin’s on the left with the green eye, and I’ve got the blue.

I took her for her first “illegal” piercing — when she was 15, mom and dad said whatever I pierced she could pierce (they thought I would NEVER pierce anything more than my lobes), so I decided in that moment to take us to get our cartilage pierced. Since then she’s added a few more holes in her body than I’ve been willing to endure, but we still share a bond in the upper left ear!

If you were a super hero what would you be called, what would your powers be, and who would you focus on saving?

Relationships can be so fragile. Like gentle waves touching the sand in a protected cove, there are nearly imperceptible undulations that seem insignificant in the moment, but that eventually reveal chasms of space. Have you ever noticed that? Maybe relationships are attached to the lunar cycles as the tides are… a give and take, a closeness and a sucking away. Sometimes a tsunami hits and leaves destruction in it’s wake with little hope of recovery. Why do we do that to each other? Is this ebb and flow experienced by others?

I think I’m stuck in self-analyzation today. Not sure I’m willing to do anything about it all. What is “it all?� Arrrrggghhh! I kinda don’t want to think through it, but I wonder if I should. Maybe it will be better if I can just get stuff out.

God and I haven’t connected in such a long time. I read something yesterday that said that God is waiting to be wanted. So I put the book down and lay on the floor to talk to Him. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough, or my heart wasn’t soft enough, or I was too tired, or not humble enough. No matter… I tried to want Him but He didn’t come. So maybe He’s still waiting to be wanted. Well, I’m waiting too!!!!! I hate feeling that I’m unwanted… is He going to come after me?

I don’t like asking for help. I don’t like admitting need. I don’t like being wrong and gross and messy. So maybe God’s waiting to be wanted by me when I’m in the moment of trouble and pain. Not when I’m casually trying to talk to Him, hoping I’ll be able to summon Him like a genie. I wouldn’t like it if someone came up to me and said, “Well, I know I should want to be friends with you, but my heart’s not really into it at the moment… but will you talk with me and help me and love me anyway?â€Â? Maybe He’ll wait a long time… as long as it takes for me to believe that He’ll be there to hold me when my world breaks.

Here’s my first post on the new Vox site. This is going to be a great place, I just know it. More to come soon. Thanks to everyone who has put so much into creating this place!